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About Florida20

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    10+ Posts


  • This profile is a...
    real profile.
  • Gender
  • What are your interests?
    Lifting, writing, science, being with friends and family
  • What are your stats?
    5’11 Swing between 180 and 205 depending on my dedication to fitness at the time. Like to stay between 10-15% body fat
  • What are your dream stats?
    As big as I can get while maintaining some semblance of a six pack...which is apparently 205. If we’re talking drama, 220, lean, and able to run a mile in under 6 minutes.
  • Favorite Stories
    Jaypat's stories always pressed the right buttons.
  • Got Any Fetishes?
    The growth itself: that rush the moment you realize you or someone else is getting bigger.

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  1. Chapter 1 Chapter 2-4 Chapter 5-6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 CHAPTER 9 I laid in the complete darkness of my room, naked and on top of my sheets, letting the fan blow cool air on my oversized, overheated body. I'd finished the day's fourth workout, followed it up with my eighth meal, and promptly collapsed on my bed near midnight, mind and body exhausted. Sweat still bled from my pores and the fan's wind was a welcome relief. I could feel the aches and pains of my broken body fade as it unnaturally repaired itself, growing larger and stronger. My gut, once bulging with food, slowly returned to the deep washboard sheet I still couldn't believe was mine. I could bury a finger between each ab block and make it disappear. I felt my skin tighten over the expanding body beneath it as I, not for the first time, ran my fingers from my thigh, up my abdomen, and across my chest, relishing the god-like body running under them. It had been ten days since I made the deal with Lewis, four until we agreed he could take the second canister. He'd tried to cut the deal to a week but I convinced him to hold course. Still, I made every day count and worked out like the obsessed man I was. I don't know how much weight I'd gained, I'd maxed out the scales weeks ago, but I knew it was a lot. What was I now? 400 pounds? More? I hadn't a clue. But, like Lewis, I looked far smaller: perhaps 6'3 240. But that loaded mousetrap feeling had only intensified. My 400+ pound body didn't want to be crammed in a 240 pound frame. It wanted to escape. It was a like a muscle that I couldn't flex but was dying to. It was both agonizingly frustrating and erotically exhilarating. I drifted in and out of sleep in the darkness, mind was exhausted but my body full of raw vigor. Fuck me. The sultry whisper made me stir. I smiled in the darkness, thinking I was having a dream. Then I felt fingers gently tickle the bare skin of my chest, sending goosebumps down my naked body. My eyes opened in vain. My room, as always, was pitch black. I really need to get a nightlight, I thought still half asleep. Then those ghostly fingers found my dick and a second later I felt something wet and smooth make its way up my suddenly swelling shaft. It was someone’s tongue. What the fuck?! I jolted up in confused panic, but a gentle ssssshhhhhh calmed my nerves and an equally gentle hand calmed my body with a slight push against my chest. The tongue became a mouth and I felt it wrap itself around me and skillfully thrust down and up, down and up, down and up. Its tongue pressed firmly against the underside of my shaft. I fell back with a moan. The hand that caressed my chest suddenly became two. They pressed down on my granite abs as I felt a weight being added to the bed. Whoever was in my room was now climbing on the bed with me. I didn’t care who it was, I just didn’t want that mouth to stop. My dick involuntarily flexed and swelled to a thickness I still wasn’t used to. Those hands found their way to my arms, still gorged and swollen from the workout. They squeezed hard as I felt the lips around my growing dick stretch wide. The tongue pressed harder and I spasmed in delight. I reached down to caress the face of this sexual wunderkind, but those hands rediscovered their composure and pushed mine away. The invader was not interested in my caress. The hands left my arm and moved down and down, down my lats and over the thick wall of my abs. I felt my nipples grow erect as those hands reached under my ass and pulled me closer to those straining lips. My dick was shoved into the back recesses of the intruder's throat but those lips barely made it halfway down my giant shaft. I squeezed my glutes together, sending a surge of energy though my body. My dick swelled even more and I heard a stifled moan from the intruder and suddenly my dick was released just as I was about to climax. I moaned but those hands masterfully grabbed my egg sized balls and gave them a gentle squeeze. My back arched and I rode the edge of orgasm as the weight on the bed shifted. The head of my dick was greeted by something warm and inviting. It just touched the tip at first then slowly and rhythmically fell over the head where it rolled me with that gentle rhythm. It slid against me, hugging tightly. I heard another moan, I didn’t know if it was mine or the invader's but then the hug started sliding down my dick, squeezing with its walls. Those hands returned and resumed the gentle caress until most of my dick was covered in that warm and strong embrace. Then I felt air brush my ear as a voice whispered. “Now,” it said. “Fuck me.” I squeezed my ass, arched my back, and pulled my dick back before rolling it back in, gently at first but with increasing speed and strength. The intruder’s moan became a surprised gasp and came almost immediately, lubing my dick and letting it slide through the tightness with and increased level of ease and power. Those hands grabbed me tight and I felt them try to dent the armor of my arms with all their strength as the climax intensified but they remained hard and unmarked. I flexed my biceps under those hands, letting them grow and swell, spreading those hands out. “Oh god oh god” the voice whispered, almost squealing. The intruder came again and so did I. Our bodies grew taught and hard, sweat creating a sheen across us both. I reached up now, my hands cupping the small of a back and I could feel the muscles underneath contract as our bodies grew ever closer. Breasts pressed against my chest and I felt a taught stomach brush against the boulders of mine as the body on top of me rose up and down. We used our hands as eyes and we liked what we saw. The voice muffled a scream of pure pleasure as it came yet again. Then I tilted my head up to the invisible face I knew was there and felt hair brush against my face. I found what I guessed was an ear. “My turn,” I said. With no warning, I held the body tighter to me and lifted it up. I was on my feet in less than a second. The body I carried was tall and hard but I held it effortlessly. Strong legs wrapped themselves around my waist and rested their ankles on the shelf of my glutes. They squeezed hard against my core but I barely noticed. I found a wall in the darkness and pressed the intruder against it and pressed my own body against the intruder’s. My dick found home again and those hands grabbed my swollen lats as if they were handle bars. They pushed and pulled on me and I let my dick do their bidding, finding the spots that made them squeeze tighter and not stopping until the moans became gasps and those hands practically tore at my sides. My muscles flexed harder and harder and I felt that now familiar exhilarating burn form in the pit of my stomach then grow outward in a radiant heat that was soon dancing across my entire body. Sweat beaded and fell across my mountainous back. The veins on my body bulged and I heard a gasp as I started to grow elsewhere too. I came immediately and the intruder’s head slammed back against the wall in sheer ecstasy as my dick grew harder and larger inside. The walls that held it grew tighter. My arms exploded in raw power and those hands were soon pinched from my lats. They moved to my gorged pumpkin shoulders and they pulled me close. I felt lips press firmly against mine and we kissed in raw passion as we both kept coming. The arms and legs wrapped around me squeezed until they shook with exhausted orgasm. The hands found a hold in the writhing crevices of my back. The moan was guttural and raw and then the limbs when limp and nearly fell away. I took the body’s weight and held it, gently sliding my still erect dick out and letting the intruder’s feet touch the ground. We held each other for a moment, both of us gasping desperately for breath. Our arms held each other tight, the intruder nearly swallowed in my mass. Then the hands pushed me gently away and I felt them touch my dick, exploring it in the darkness. I could tell by the touch it was a caress of awe and wonder. I moved back towards the naked body in front of me, wanting to go again. But those hands pushed against my sweat covered abs. The fingers curled into claws and scratched down my iron trunk. A breath released in ragged shudders. The intruder wanted more too. “Can’t,” the voice croaked. I felt a forehead rest, exhausted, on my chest and the voice gave a breathless “holy shit” before pulling back. Bare footsteps made their way to my front door. It opened and a dull, negligible light of the hallway beyond made its way through the door. To our night trained eyes it was practically sunlight but the intruder’s form was only blackness against the light behind it, silhouetting its naked body. It looked back with its shadowed face at me. My form, flooded in the grey light, must have looked like the marble statue of an ancient god. The intruder turned and closed the door behind it, leaving me alone in the darkness. I exhaled a breath I hadn't known I was holding and made my way back to the bed. It groaned under my inhuman mass and I was impressed it held up through what we’d just put it through. This wasn't the first time I'd been laid in the last couple months (my dick needed to be used at least a half dozen times a day and it was always nice when someone else took care of it). This was the first time some had snuck into the room, though. I smiled in the darkness and let the sweat evaporate off my body under the fan’s gentle breeze as I slowly drifted towards sleep. There was a knock at the door. So you want some more huh? I thought as I got out of bed. Dressed only by the air I walked to the door from memory opened it expectantly, hoping the visitor from earlier was back for another round. I was instead greeted by Lewis's hulking form. Still dressed in his laughably tight military uniform, his eyes were wide and he started speaking before I had the door all the way open. "Sir, we have a problem," he said, his voice shaking and breathless. He was visibly scared and must have raced here from his own dorm. "What is it?" I asked. “I don’t know what to do,” Lewis answered, wild eyes searching everywhere at once. Forgetting how naked I was, I reached a hand out and put it gently on his shoulder. “Lewis, calm down. Everything will be ok. Just tell me what went wrong.” Lewis took a few deep breaths and eventually found his words. "It's Whitaker," Lewis said finally. "He's...he's taken the serum."
  2. Chapter 1 Chapter 2-4 Chapter 5-6 Chapter 7 CHAPTER 8 The sun well below its peak but already scalded the desert below. Sweat had long ago soaked through Lewis's skin-tight green shirt and his muscles stood out in bold relief through the fabric. He grunted as he bent over and picked up a thirty pound sand bag from the pile at his feet. After placing it on his free forearm, he bent over and loaded another on top. Then another. Then another. His arm bulged larger with every new addition, the giant vein pulsing along its peak grinding into the bags it supported. The young airman finally stopped at five bags and, after wiping dripping sweat from his brow, turned to walk the ten paces separating the pile from a three foot deep square ditch he just finished digging. He dropped the bags along the rim, organized them into a nice border along the edge with a few well placed kicks that sent his quads flaring, then turned again to retrieve more. His sweat darkened shirt clung ever tighter to his body. Deeply cut abs stood out boldly where it wasn't heavily shadowed by engorged pecs that heaved and fell with each breath. He bent over to retrieve more bags forcing his calves and hamstrings to flare in response beneath military issued shorts that rose well above mid thigh. The Christmas tree striations of his lower back bulged through the shirt as he stood. Every ripple and fold of his lats and traps writhed as he loaded another five sandbags onto his arm as if they weighed no more than couch pillows. Back and forth Lewis went, carrying his sandbags from the giant pile to line them up around his pit. That pit was ten feet by ten feet and had taken him only an hour to dig. A small crowd began to gather around him as he'd dug and had recently grown to more than twenty gawkers. Some stared in open admiration. Others made as if they stood there for other reasons and only glanced Lewis's way as if by accident as they carried on conversations that any sane person would have accomplished an air conditioned building, not in 100+ degree heat. I stood among the masses, arms cross and drenched in sweat myself. These heavy uniforms did a good job hiding my rapidly growing body but were better suited for freezing weather. I was there to officially observe Lewis's punishment for nearly strangling Whitaker. There were a number of authorized punishments available to me as the commander: reduction in rank, reduced pay, court marshal, etc. But the nineteen year old airman was already at a pretty junior rank, taking pay was relatively cruel for someone already played a pittance, and a court marshal was a little harsh since there were two sides to the story. For Whitaker, I had him reassigned to another unit on base. He'd already been gone two weeks and there'd been no issues since. For Lewis, I went with one of the lesser used (and more...old school) punishments: hard labor. The option was buried in one of the more antiquated but "still-on-the-books" policies, right next to being rationed bread-and-water. But the punishment seemed fitting: single handedly build a defense bunker. The process involved digging a ten foot by ten foot square three feet deep, then creating a defensible position using sandbags and roof slats, complete with turret holes. They were scattered all over base to provide quickly accessible shelter should a flock of terrorists come charging in. So at the crack of dawn a young and very buff Lewis started digging his hole. People took notice of the baby-faced bodybuilder, some even stood to gawk before making their way on. But as the day wore on, Lewis kept going. Instead of growing weary and exhausted, he instead appeared to get stronger and more virile as the process moved on. Once he finished the hole and shifted to the sandbags, his strength seemed impossible. That's when the passersby were suddenly stopped dead in their tracks, helplessly watching this sweat-covered god of a human toil under the desert sun. Standing at 6'2 (or maybe a little more), he was "big" enough to be maybe 230 or 240 pounds. Those weren't inhuman proportions. But just one look and you knew something was different. His muscles looked too dense. It was the small things: his biceps dented the sandbags instead of the other way around, his forearm didn't give against his forehead when he wiped sweat from his brow...all-in-all, the bulges of his body seemed too hard. It was hard to explain but there was something that just looked...fucking amazing. "Sweet Jesus," a familiar voice said admiringly at my shoulder. "He one of yours?" I turned to see Dasa smiling hungrily at Lewis as he toiled. "Yep," I said. "Strange, haven't seen him." Her eyes squinted at him. "I guess he kinda looks familiar." I just nodded; the last time she'd seen him he was half the size he was now. Lewis was now carrying six bags at a time, somehow supporting all that weight in the crook of his forearm. His biceps were screaming, skin stretched and shiny, displaying individual muscles I didn't even know existed on the human anatomy. The crowd around us continued to grow but, by his face, I wasn't sure Lewis even knew there was a soul around him. His eyes were focuses inwards and I could see he was relishing every moment of this "punishment." His face was contorted in a strained grimace as he lugged the bags over to the rapidly developing bunker. The fibers in his arm continued to quiver and shake under the load. I let my hand wrap around my own bicep and gave it a good flex, feeling the muscle jump under my sleeve and swell into my hand. I was quickly on my way to matching Lewis. In the two weeks since Lewis's incident, I'd put on another sixty pounds and my uniform was now snug in all the right places. Any more size could not be hidden. I was pulled away from my self-appreciation when I heard another baritone grunt. I looked up as Lewis now struggled with ten sandbags in an obvious effort to test the limits of his strength. I could see his massive quads ripple violently with each step as they supported the extreme combined weight of his body and bags. Lewis's back muscles bulged and his traps swelled up his neck. His face was red with the strain, veins bulging along his forehead. But his arm. Oh my god his arm. The muscles in it writhed and rolled as if they were fighting each other for space. Then something happened that no one in the crowd would ever forget. A few steps into Lewis's trek to the bunker, that quivering bicep suddenly...popped. That's the only way I could describe it. In the blink of an eye, his shredded nineteen inch arms just doubled in size to the circumference of a person's waist. The rapidly expanding boulder of muscle shoved against the sandbags he carried and they fell to the ground as if thrown. A rip formed at the base of his sleeve and cleanly tore its way all the way up to the top of his shoulder, letting the pumpkin sized deltoids swell out of them. A gasp ran through the crowd. "Holy shit," I heard Dasa say but I couldn't break my eyes away from the inhuman spectacle. Lewis noticed too. He stared down at his insanely proportioned arm and gave it a good flex. The peak of his bicep rose and rose and rose to a granite mountain and the fabric around his lat finally gave up as he raised his arm to admire himself. It was as if every muscle fiber in his arm just decided to double in size. Lewis smiled as he flexed the engorged arm. Blood vessels pulsed around the giant peak, feeding it. The crowd watched, dumbfounded and silent as Lewis finally bent over and picked up the bags he dropped, again resting them in the crook of his now superhuman arm. That over-sized arm flared angrily, sweat dripping down the newly formed ravines that ran from shoulder to elbow. But it now carried the ten bags with less effort than it once took him to carry half that. Lewis had grown stronger in an instant. A lot stronger. I felt my own body without touching it, its hardness, its growing size. I would have that power soon enough. "What on earth..." Dasa was having a hard time processing things but her eyes stared hungrily at Lewis as he continued his labor. "I may have to find an excuse to come by your office more often." She chuckled and gave my arm a playful punch. I thought nothing of it until I felt her hand rest against my arm and give it a squeeze. I smiled without looking at her and gave my arm a flex, letting my iron bicep swell under her grip. I looked down at her after a moment. She was looking up at me, her brows raised and her mouth parted slightly. She took her hand away and smiled. "See you later, sailor." There was heat behind those words. I smiled and looked back at Lewis, who was now lugging a full dozen sandbags on that supersized arm. His shoulder had joined in the grow game and was now the size of a basketball and still growing. The shirt sleeve that once contained it now hung in tatters, and a rip was now growing up the seam of his trap. Before too long it would fall away and his shirt would be more toga than t-shirt. The crowd around us was getting bigger now and I spied a two star general now among them, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed under a furled brow. My breath caught. This was not the attention we wanted. Shit, game's over. I walked up to Lewis just as he finished placing his latest pile of bags. "Consider the punishment complete," I said quietly and put a hand against that monstrous arm. Lewis turned to me, face red and sweating. His chest heaved and I heard popping sound of strained cotton strands accompany each inhale. He smiled through his exhaustion and nodded. Five minutes later he was back in my office, my metal chair grunting and squealing under his mass. He was fixated on his swollen arm, flexing the basketball sized monstrosity and rubbing its veined peak with his hand. He obviously liked what he saw as his dick had recently exploded through the inner lining of his shorts and was forced, fully erect, down the side of his tree trunk thigh. It protruded, thick and pulsing, from the hem of those straining shorts and ran halfway to his knee. It jumped powerfully when he gave his bicep a squeeze. I found myself speechless; so fixated I was on the scene before me. I was experiencing the dual wonder of wanting to join him rubbing that inhuman arm while at the same time knowing I was only a couple weeks away from having that power myself. "So fucking unreal," he said, mostly to himself. "Oh fuck fuck fuck." his dick jumped again and its head swelled. I considered moving in case it fired something at me but stayed put for some reason. "I've felt like a mousetrap this whole time," he said. "Like I was about to erupt. Fucking hell, I finally did." If I wasn't experiencing the same thing, I'd have no idea what he was talking about. But I knew all too well. I believed it had something to do with gaining all that weight but not having the size to match. I was so much denser now and I felt like a giant shoved into a child's body. I felt like I SHOULD be bigger, so much bigger, but I wasn't. I looked like a 220 pound freak of nature but weighed well over 300 pounds. And my body wanted to LOOK well over 300 pounds. It was like being constantly on the verge of an orgasm but just not able to climax. "Fuck," Lewis moaned and grabbed his collar with his free hand. "Too tight." He pulled and ripped his shirt off his body as easily as if it were a blanket lying over him. His concrete body seemed to balloon slightly now the constructing shirt was off. Taking a deep breath, as if his first since putting the accursed thing on, he looked back at his swollen arm then at me. "It's getting smaller," he said. "Pretty soon it'll go back to what it was." He turned his eye to the other bicep and gave it a good flex. The nineteen inch boulder was impressive but nothing compared to the monstrous other one. I was disbelieving at first but a closer look proved him right; the arm was indeed slowly shrinking back; like a pump an hour after working out. He was silent a moment before continuing. "I've stopped growing," he said finally. "I didn't want to believe it but I haven't gotten any stronger in the last week." He looked back at me. "I want more. I'm taking the next step." There was no doubt what he was talking about. He wanted to take the second canister. "What do you think will happen?" I said smoothly. Lewis shrugged, his swollen lats flaring between his engorged delts. "Only one way to find out." He spoke as if he was heading over right then and there. I took a deep breath (and couldn't help but relish how my uniform stretched across my chest). I brushed the euphoria aside, focused instead on the consequences if something...noticeable...happened to Lewis if he took the second canister. What if he took both?! If we got unwanted attention, it could ruin everything. I wasn't ready. I needed more time to max my own body out. I needed to be as big as Lewis...and there it was. You want to be the biggest, don't you? a little voice asked me. I shook my head to clear it. "What if it makes you smaller?" I asked carefully. "Takes away everything you gained." "It won't," Lewis said confidently and actually got up as if to leave. "Two weeks," I said, standing as well. Lewis's eyes crew dark and the muscles in his body all jumped as he grew tense. He seemed to gain twenty pounds in that instance. "I didn't ask," he said. I stepped up to him, hands up in a calming gesture. My mind raced, nearly panicked, searching for anything to give me more time. His body radiated heat and I could smell the musk of the day's work hanging in the air. He was taller than me and far more powerful. We both knew I couldn't force him to do anything. I put a hand against his granite chest, beads of sweat pooling around my fingers. I felt a thump against my leg and looked down to see his dick swelling and lifting itself up against the nylon fabric of his military issue shorts. Without thought, I reached down and wrapped my hand around it, feeling the tha-dump-tha-dump of his heart beat through the shaft. It was as hard as the rest of him. He moaned and I locked his eyes with mine. "Two weeks," I said again and started rubbing him. He gasped. I didn't know what I was doing or why. There was just something about two rock hard bodies leaning against each other like boulders. We touched and I let my eyes wander across the close up view of his inhumanly powerful body. His deeply chiseled abs rose and fell, flexing as his body tensed. I moved my hand faster and he swelled until my fingers no longer made it completely around him. Lewis's muscles flexed and fell, flexed and fell as veins bulged across his traps and upper chest. He leaned his head back, eyes closed and mouth open. I found myself on my knees, eyes locked on a foot long dick bordered by thighs as bulging and hard as any bodybuilder's. Before I could even think about it, he was in my mouth as my hands continuing to work him. He came a moment later and I felt molten hot liquid fill my mouth and force its way down my throat. I took him in, not knowing if the sudden powerful surge rolling through my body was real or psychological. Either way, I felt like I could lift a truck. I felt my own dick raging against my pants, desperate for freedom. Each spurt filled my mouth and I only had time to swallow before he filled it again. Afterwards , I stood and used Lewis's tattered shirt to wipe my mouth. "Two weeks," I said again and threw the shirt at him. Lewis nodded shallowly, eyes distant and blissful. "Two weeks," he agreed breathlessly.
  3. Chapter 1 Chapter 2-4 Chapter 5-6 CHAPTER 7 I awoke in utter darkness, alert but confused. My dorm room was windowless, giving me no indication of whether it was night time or day. I sat up and let my feet find the cold tile floor. Standing was strangely easy, my body held none of the stiffness which usually accompanied it just after waking up. I stepped forward gingerly in the darkness, one hand stretched into the darkness before me in search of the wall holding the light switch, the other rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Yawning, I reached down to scratch my side and froze when my fingers touched skin. What the fuck? I felt instead of scratched, running my fingers over a set of oblique muscles as tight and defined as I’d ever felt. I felt my abs, where shallow but chiseled bricks marched from just above my groin to just below my pecs. Those…were mine? In a flash, the memories of the night last night rushed out of my sleepy fog and my heart skipped with utter exhilaration. It worked! I rushed forward, risking finding objects with my face instead of my hand, but I found the light and switched it on. I turned to my front door, where a full-length mirror hung, and saw my face sitting above an anatomy chart. That’s the best way I could describe it. Every muscle on my body stood out in sharp definition, my overhead light only increasing the look of shear definition. The first thing I noticed were my quads, always my best feature. I was used to them being hard as a rock without a pinchable bit of fat but they’d always been rather flat with the only definition being just above my knees. Now, deep valleys ran between striated bulges all the way up to my groin. These were bodybuilder legs. I flexed them, relishing the feel of that almost orgasmic squeeze and watched the muscles swell and roil. Striated balls exploded from my calves sending a jolt of energy through my body. I heard myself moan. My abs were clearly defined bricks crowded between to iron plate sets of obliques. My chest had clear striations even without flexing and my shoulders were bulging softballs that capped veined and glistening arms. In short, I looked like a bodybuilder the moment before stepping on stage. My hands kept rubbing my body but my mind allowed itself a few grounded indulgences. How did I get here? Where’s Lewis? I tried to think. I remembered driving to the silos all the way up to jamming the EpiPen of the Gods into my leg. The rest was…foggy. Patches of clarity made their way through. Lewis was talking to me. He was driving. I was…I remember there being a fire. Or something felt like fire. I looked down at my right leg and among the bulging muscle was a star shaped prick. The injection site. It was still tender to the touch. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember anything. But a glance in the mirror again erased any concern. I had to use this body. I rushed to my nightstand and checked the time. It was just after two in the morning, which didn’t matter since the gym never closed. I put on my gym gear, somewhat disappointed the clothes still fit. The scale at the gym offered another disappointment. 185 pounds, the same weight as before. Well you can’t gain weight out of nowhere, a little voice told me. I looked longingly at the weights in the mostly empty gym. But just doing that made my stomach groan. I was starving. I pulled myself way from the gym with difficulty but knew food was more important. Besides, the dining facility was just next door. Options were limited due to the off hour but I sat down with my usual oatmeal, hard boiled eggs, banana, and milk. Two minutes later, the food was gone and I was still hungry. I got another plate. Same stuff. Ate it. Still hungry. I don’t know where the food went, but I lost count of the number of servings I had before my gut finally cried for mercy. With a painful sigh, I stood, a little embarrassed to see my stomach bulging out like a third term baby resided in there. I made my escape and found myself back in the gym. I grabbed hold of a pair of thirty-pound dumbbells and began a warmup set of arm curls. At first I felt nothing unusual other than, perhaps, the weight being slightly easier to lift. But at ten reps a tingly burn started to swell in the muscle. It was like the normal burn before a good pump but this wasn’t accompanied by muscle exhaustion. Instead, my muscle felt more powerful, more alive. I switched from alternating curls to lifting both simultaneously. The burn intensified as did the powerful rush originating in my arms. The exhilaration began to flood across me. Twenty reps, thirty. The high hit my brain and I heard myself grunt as the muscle finally started to fail. But I kept pumping, relishing the feeling as my arms began to swell and fill the confines of my sleeves. There was a burn in my stomach and I felt more than saw veins swell across my body. Finally, I let the thirties fall to the ground. I looked in the mirror at the sickest pump I’ve ever had in my life…all from one set of thirties. My reflection smiled at me. I switched to forties and started to curl again. The rest of the workout was a blur. I dropped any semblance of optimizing the order of my sets, or the timing between them, or the rep count. All I did was chase that amazing feeling and did anything I could to make my body grow. And grow it did. After a set of body-weight pull ups that left my back so tattered I couldn’t even lift my arms, I could feel my skin on my shoulders and back grow tight as muscle bulged beneath it. My arms pressed against the edges of my lats as they hung uselessly while my body tried to repair itself. I switched to rows and relished the feeling of my back squeezing together, growing fuller every rep. I found myself under a squat bar, three plates loaded on each side. I’d never squatted that much but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind I could do it. My legs begged to be pushed and flexed. My quads quivered. I lowered myself and felt my dick grow hard. I pushed up and raw power flooded through me. It was like my legs orgasmed as I rose up and I felt them flex and push against my shorts. My dick pulsed; I could see it clearly beneath the tightening folds of my shorts. I dropped again and that power intensified. I saw my arms flex, veins roped across my sweat-sheened skin. Another rep. I was about to cum; I didn’t care. Another rep. Oh god. I threw the weight off my back and rushed to the bathroom. Finding a stall and closing the odor behind me, I dropped my shorts, finding it a bit tough to get the waist hem around my gorged thighs. My dick sprung out like a wild animal, rigid and throbbing and bigger than I’d ever seen it. I wrapped both hands around the shaft, the head still poking from above both. That was all it took. My still swollen muscles all contracted. I felt my glutes clench tightly as I came…and came and came. My knees buckled and I held myself up by the bar as the sensation overrode all else. Finally, my face dripping with sweat and my chest heaving, I opened my eyes. I just held myself there a moment, dazed and high on pure adrenaline and endorphins. Holy fuck, I thought as my bearings returned. I cleaned up and moved to the sinks, still breathless. Someone came in as I washed my hands and I noticed his eyes linger on me as he walked to a urinal. He said nothing but couldn’t peel his eyes away. I looked at my own reflection, seeing the swollen yet ripped Adonis stare back at me. My eyes lingered as well. I smiled. The workout was over; my stomach had overcome my brain and I headed yet again to the dining facility. I arrived at the office two hours later than my usual time but my team did little more than acknowledge my presence when I entered. They would assume I was off doing something officer-worthy. The same could not be said for Lewis however. He stared at me from the corner of his eye, his lips upturned in the faintest of smiles. I gave him a nod; the last moments of the night before still a complete blank. I sat at my desk, hoping I gave an air of normalcy as I turned on the monitor. It was hard to concentrate, I kept relishing the feel of my undershirt stretched tighter in all the right places. It wasn't much of a change, but it was A change...and certainly more of a change than two meals and a single gym session should warrant. When the day finally ended, I pulled Lewis into my office after everyone else departed and had him close the door before sitting down. His neck writhed with muscle and roped veins as he struggled to contain a smile. "What happened last night?" I asked. "You dove into a swimming pool without learning how to swim," he chuckled. "You spend all day coming up with that?" "Most of it," he answered without pause and his Mona Lisa grin finally broadened into one that showed all of his teeth. "I don't remember anything after I used the...stuff," I continued. Lewis leaned back in his chair. "Well, you writhed on the ground for about twenty minutes in probably the most pain you've ever felt in your life. I could only watch. It's not like I could have picked you up and carried you screaming through the gate. James would have definitely escalated things." He was referencing the on duty guard. "Was it that bad?" Lewis nodded. "The same thing happened my friends and me," he continued. "Your body was taking any energy stores it could and converted it all to muscle in minutes. You were feeling all the fat in your body BURN right off of you. You're lucky you were already lean. My buddy Fitz was, uh, lets say skinny-fat. It took an hour for him to finally calm down. We thought he was going to die. But when he stood up, he looked better than all of us." "So I just ate half a truckload of food and didn't feel anything like that," I countered. He responded with a shrug. "It's less painful for your body to burn food than fat stores I guess. Look, I don't know much more about this shit than you do, sir. But I do know that all you need now is food and weights and the stuff will work. Workout all you want, you won't be able to over train. You just need to eat enough to make it worth it." I paused to think about it for a moment. If I hadn't seen the results first hand I would have called bullshit. "So what about the other canisters? The red and white ones?" "I don't know what they do," Lewis replied. "I tried looking up the script written on the side but they're just the same instructions on how to use the thing. The numbers and colors are the only things differentiating one from the other." I nodded and let the possibilities wash over my brain. Then I pushed the thoughts away. "So what do I do now?" Lewis chuckled. "You grow." And grow I did. My days were filled with me either working out or thinking about working out. My appetite was insatiable. I never stopped eating and I never felt full. There would be days I gained ten pounds and kept it on. By the end of the week I'd gained fifty fucking pounds, weighing in at 235. Even so, my size wasn't keeping up with my weight. I was definitely larger but I looked maybe ten pounds bigger instead of fifty. One touch of my body gave away where the weight was hidden. My muscles were metal hard, paradoxically unyielding to the hardest squeeze yet could move and flex and grow at my pleasure. Every morning I would sit at my desk with clothes fitting a little tighter. By the end of the first week, I couldn't figure out why I was making so many typos on the computer. It was only a little while later I realized my hands were getting bigger. My feet too. That same day, my toes found themselves crammed against the inner lining of my boot. I had to limp to the supply office to make the switch. I was on cloud nine...until one morning a simmering pot finally boiled over. After concluding a meeting with my boss (who spent more time complementing my physique than conduct actual business), I walked through the office door to find most of my team standing slack jawed and silent at their desk. I followed their unified stare to find Airman Lewis with his hand wrapped around Sergeant Whitaker's neck. Whitaker's back was slammed against the wall, his hands wrapped helplessly around Lewis's iron forearms. Whitaker hung there suspended two feet off the ground. His eyes were squeezed shut in pain and his face was already a deep red. If Lewis felt Whitaker's struggle, he didn't show it. His arm remained firm and unmoving, single-handedly supporting the former bully's 210+ pounds. His uniform was now pulled tight around most of his upper body. I could see the swell of his lats bulge firmly against the seams, pulling them tight. The horseshoe of his triceps, the striations of his shoulders, the swell of his glutes were all clearly visible even through the thick canvas fabric that contained him. "Lewis!" I barked. "Put him down!" "He just won't fucking quit," Lewis yelled back, his neck red and bulging with rage. "He just keeps pushing and pushing. He's a fucking bully!" What Whitaker had done this time to set Lewis off didn't matter. By the color of his face, Whitaker didn't have long before he passed out. "Just put him down," I ordered again. Lewis gave no sign he heard me. If anything, his giant hand wrapped more tightly around Whitaker's neck. I was close enough now to put a hand on his arm, where I felt those iron tendons and muscles flaring under the strained fabric. "He can't bully you anymore," I said quietly. Something changed in Lewis's eyes then and a moment later he released his victim, letting him fall and unceremoniously crumple onto the floor. He lay there coughing and hacking, his hate-filled eyes sending daggers at Lewis. "My office. Now!" I pointed a finger at my door and gave Lewis no chance to argue. I glared at my senior enlisted leader, Master Sergeant Reeves. "Have you called a medic?" He blushed and immediately found the nearest phone to make the call. I reached down to Whitaker but he brushed me off violently as he awkwardly stood on his own power. He stopped abruptly when he made contact with me and he directed to raged eyes to me. He didn't break eye contact as he rose. "Fuck the medic," Whitaker croaked, then coughed again. He lumbered his way to the door leading outside and turned before walking through it. "Fuck all of you." Then he made his way out, the back of his neck still red with Lewis's fingerprints. I turned back to Reeves and nodded toward the door. He hung up the phone and ran out after him. Next I turned to the stunned team and made an effort to soften my gaze. None of this was their fault. "Take the rest of the day off. We'll handle it from here. Don't worry about this happening again." As they filtered out, I overheard more than a couple whispers that Whitaker had just gotten what he deserved. I was just relieved they weren't going to claim any sort of hostile work environment. Moments later, I was alone with Lewis. "What the fuck was that?" I yelled across the table. Lewis sat on a chair that moaned angrily under his weight. His sandy hair was messy and his blue eyes stared darkly at the ground. He wrung his had between both hands, making his gorged biceps jump and press hard against his uniform. Actually, his whole uniform hugged his body tightly. The camouflage pants, which were usually overly generous in the thigh area, was stretched across his quads tight enough to show the definition beneath it. Further up, I could see the giant outline of his dick extending halfway towards his knee. I pulled my eyes away and when I returned to his stare, he was smiling. "It's incredible," he said quietly and stretched his back by rolling his shoulders forward. His back bubbled up behind him like a mountain. "It's like I'm about to explode but..." "I have to punish you," I said. Lewis, still absorbed in his thoughts, merely nodded. "What do you have in mind?"
  4. CHAPTER 5 Lewis’s blouse was held loosely in his hand while he stared at me with uneasy blue eyes. Standing before me was a marble statue of a Greek god. His size small shirt was stretched across his body like plastic wrap, hiding nothing of the body beneath. The shirt didn’t even make it to his waist line; an inch-wide strip of pale skin separated pants from shirt. Solid bricks of raw muscle rose up his stomach beneath a pair of swollen pecs that danced with every nervous flick of Lewis’s arm. His lats flared so wide that his arms practically sat on top of them. Rounded shoulders stood with shadowed separation from arm and rap, large enough to pull his sleeves halfway up his upper arm. Swollen, vascular biceps hung heavy from those powerful shoulders, crisscrossed with veins. It was hard to speak. “How-“ I swallowed, hoping to come up with more but could only repeat it. “How?” Lewis, seeing my reaction, lost a bit of the nervous fear that held him there. “You, uh, were right sir. About working out, I mean. I just had to eat a lot.” “Bullshit!” I said loudly, with more confidence than I felt. “We both know it.” Lewis shrugged, every muscle in his body seemed to ripple in response. “Milk does a body good, sir.” I sat there a moment before speaking again. “How tall are you?” “Six feet even,” he said immediately. I noticed something about him that moment. “Weight?” This time he paused. “Two ten.” “You mean to tell me you’ve gained over sixty pounds in a month?” And then I added. “And four inches in height? Just eating and working out?” Lewis’s eyes danced but he just nodded. “Some people hit their growth spirts late.” I realized the fact his answers were absurd didn’t matter; I had to think of a different approach. I had to put myself in his (size 12) shoes. I let a smile break onto my face. “How does it feel?” I asked. Lewis looked confused. “Feel, sir?” “Yes, Lewis,” I said, letting the grin broaden. “How does it feel to have so much power all of a sudden?” “It –uh-,” he stammered but then I saw that spark in his eyes light into a full fire. “It feel fucking great.” The words practically exploded from his mouth. I remained silent, staring. Something I learned long ago was if you wanted people to talk, let them. The pause was short. “I mean, look at me,” he said and his arms rose, presenting himself before me. His lats flared even more and I heard a stitch pop somewhere in that sorry excuse for a shirt. “I’m a fucking stud.” His arms flexed, showing softball sized biceps with perfect peaks. I heard fabric tear. “Oh, god, you should feel this.” He grew breathless as he cupped one bicep with his other hand. He straightened his arm then flexed the cupped bicep again, only hard enough to make his arm shake. His bicep swelled. He straightened his arm and then flexed again. And again. His bicep swelled each time. A tear formed in his shirt at the peak of his bicep and another rip grew below the armpit where his lat swelled outward. “Fuck yeah,” he said and gave one more giant flex, letting the pathetic sleeve explode around his arm. He was completely self-absorbed now. I wasn’t even sure he remembered I was there. I knew it; he wanted nothing more than to talk; to let his secret out in spite of what his brain told him. I just needed to play my cards right. “I can curl seventy pound dumbbells with these babies,” he said as he reached over and squeezed the blood-gorged bicep again with his hand. The motion caused a seam to rip on the other side of his shirt behind his delts. It grew and revealed the mountainous folds of his back. He looked at the small tear and his eyes grew sharp. Then he raised his arms wide and flexed every upper body muscle in a powerful most-muscular pose, screaming “I’m a fucking GOD!” The shirt exploded off his frame. Deeply striated traps rose like mountains over his shoulders. Boulder like pecs swelled between his arms forming a deep irregular canyon between them. His neck swelled and reddened. Curling veins drove through the pulsing muscles up to his head. And there he was, naked from the waist up, panting and sweating with exhilaration. I forced myself to remain calm, although it was hard to ignore the raging erection I was hiding under the desk. In a steady voice, I went for another nail in the coffin. “Are you saying…this” I motioned to him with my hand “…is because of a sudden and miraculous growth spurt? This sounds like a medical emergency; perhaps I should call the medical team.” “NO!” Lewis boomed, and his fist crashed into my desk. A small crack appeared in the veneer circling his fist. Raw power was overriding the synapses in his brain. In this new-found euphoria, the secret was suddenly unimportant. “No, sir,” he said again, lowering his arms. “W--I…found something.” “What did you find, Lewis?” He paused but knew he had to finish. “I found the secret to Saddam’s Supermen.” “What?!” I asked frantically, my mind taking a moment to remember Dasa’s photo of the giant Iraqis. My gut leapt in its own euphoric crescendo the more I thought about it. I didn’t let him answer. Instead, I tried to keep a calm face as I spoke the two words that were sitting on my tongue since I brought Lewis into my office. “Show me.” CHAPTER 6 The sun was just setting as Lewis and I stepped out of the office. He zipped up his blouse one handed, the other hand lugged his gallon of water. A large Tupperware of chicken breasts, an accessory he constantly lugged around with him, was held under his arm. We both hoped no one would notice the fact he no longer wore an undershirt. His boots thunked heavily on steps leading down from the office; it was as if he wasn’t used to his newly added weight. We stepped into my truck and I started it. He tore into one of his chicken breasts as soon as his ass hit the seat, looking nervous. “Silo four,” he said as I pulled out of the space. “It in the silos?” I asked, surprised. He nodded as he chewed. “Tell me everything,” I ordered, making every attempt to seed my words with the fact that I was his superior officer and he was legally required to do what I told him to. Regret had already crept into his eyes but he nodded and spoke around continual bites of chicken. “I overheard you and Captain White talking about Saddam’s Supermen and I saw the file you had open. I, uh, spent the rest of the night looking for stuff about it on my computer, if only to see a couple more pictures.” He paused but I just continued driving, letting him speak. He did. “I didn’t find another pic of the supermen but I entered the Arabic script on the bottom of the original photo into our translator and it came up with something to the effect of ‘Project Jalut. Praise to god and his mercy. For the victory of Iraq’s holy army’ and some other fluff. Well, Jalut is apparently the name for Goliath, like David and Goliath, in the Koran so that seemed like a good start. I searched the share drive for the word Jalut and viola, there’s a whole file dedicated to it buried deep in the archives. There were photos of our servicemen raiding a lab and pulling documentation from the walls and pictures of what I could only assumed to be the serum they used to make the…uh…supermen. I don’t think the people there even knew what they had found. You couldn’t tell from the pictures what the place was for. “So,” he continued. He was on a roll now. “I figured there’s only one place they’d store this kind of stuff and I had the fucking keys to it.” I knew where he was going with this and I interrupted him against my better judgement. “So how on earth did you know where it was out of all those silos?” The task of finding something specific in those cavernous places was close to impossible. Lewis shook his head in a dismissing way. His confidence in dealing with me was growing. Soon I’d lose whatever advantage my rank gave me. “Fucking officers,” he said as he stared out the window. “Y’all don’t know shit about what you’re supposedly responsible for. Look, silos five through twelve are well inventoried. We know everything in them since they were filled after the Army got their shit together tracking what went in there. This superman stuff isn’t on those lists, so that leaves silo one through four. Silo one is mostly stuff from the first gulf war in the nineties, silo two and three are pretty much only big shit like tanks and trucks. Silo four is where they put all the little shit.” “Even so,” I added slightly defensively. I knew that silo. It was basically a bunch of haphazard piles stacked one after the other after the other. “That one silo would still take a year or more for one person to look through.” “They filled it chronologically,” he said and after a moment’s pause he sighed and continued as if speaking to a child. “The photos of the US raid on the lab were dated in April of 2003, only weeks into the invasion. So I figured what I was looking for had to be in one of the earlier piles. So I started there. Took me all night, but…” “You found it,” I concluded the obvious as we pulled into the gravel lot next to the silos’ guardhouse. Lewis unceremoniously threw down his Tupperware and water jug; I was shocked to find both empty. Holy fuck, I thought. There had to be a dozen chicken breasts in there when we got in the truck, if not more. By his face, Lewis regretted the nervous binge eating. He looked stuffed and uncomfortable. I badged us in, giving the guard on watch some lame excuse about inventory checks. He didn’t argue; it was my area after all. We found our way to silo four and walked in. Lewis closed the door behind us. “So where is it?” I asked, facing the seemingly endless waves of dusty junk. After a moment without response I turned and looked inquiringly at Lewis. The kid stood against the closed front door, his hand resting on the door frame as if for support. His breathing had grown deeper as if just finishing a sprint. “Ya know sir,” he said between heavy breaths. “I don’t think I have to tell you anything.” There was a menacing tone in his voice that made my stomach drop. Shit, I thought. There goes whatever edge my rank gave me. My mind rushed to find a way to regain my advantage but those thoughts were shattered as Lewis hunched over in what appeared to be great pain. “Are you okay?” I asked, generally concerned. “Oh, I’m more than okay,” he said, sweat beading on his reddened forehead. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. It. Feels. So. Fucking. Gooooooood.” He stood up and his arms spread wide as if stretching. The cuffed sleeves of his uniform pulled up his wrist, exposing the base of his forearm. I could see the dents of his chest through the canvas blouse as the fabric pulled tight across it. “Augh,” he moaned, his breaths getting deeper. “Too. Tight.” He reached up, unzipped, and discarded his blouse in less than a second. I was again face to face with that chiseled and bulging body. His body stretched with new freedom and he tested it, flexing everything he could: arms back, chest, abs, shoulders. Every muscle responded by pumping ever larger and harder. He whispered to himself, eyes half shut in ecstasy. “Feels so good. Feels so good. Fuck. Shit.” He wasn’t done. He tore off his boots without unlacing them, which I didn’t know was possible, and threw the tattered remnants across the room. Moments later, he had his pants off. Quads bulged like mushroom tops over his kneecaps and cascaded in muscular crests and valleys all the way up to his crotch. Striated calves, like giant diamonds, bulged and writhed as his giant feet adjusted themselves on the ground. His briefs were plastered over cut and swollen glutes and couldn’t cover a fully erect cock that snaked across his front. It throbbed beneath the straining cotton. “Fuck me,” he whispered to himself as he tore off the briefs with a snap of his wrist, letting his ten-inch dick free to throb at attention before him. His body was covered in pulsing veins that seemed to feed his gorged muscles. Granite-blocked abs covering a stomach gorged with food, started to tighten and fall as if the contents of his guts were being drained away. His body swelled in response and his muscles flexed and relaxed in sudden twitches as he groaned and started rubbing his cock. Faster and faster he rubbed with his oversized hands, the muscles in his arm and back writhing as he did. Then every muscle in his body seemed to flex all at once, making him look like a morphed human being. His dick erupted, spewing its contents ten feet away in heavy spurts. His moan was almost a roar and it ended in exhausted pants as he leaned back against the doorway, using both his hand and forehead as support. Lost in his own world, his hand still squeezing his spent dick, he stood there, panting. “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten all that chicken at once,” I heard him whisper to himself. I don’t know if he was bigger but his body had suddenly gained an elevated form of definition. My guess is the three pounds of chicken and water he’d just consumed had somehow immediately digested and distributed itself in raw muscle across his body. It was a full minute before he noticed me again. There was not a shred of embarrassment or shame in his eyes as they locked with mine. His lips curled in a sinister smile and he stepped up to me, naked as the day he was born. “I think we’re done here, sir. Maybe you should take me back to my dorm.” I found myself sizing him up. He looked bigger than the 210 pounds he claimed but wasn’t a monster by any stretch of the imagination…but he was all muscle. He could have added 20 pounds of fat and still looked good enough to grace the cover of a fitness magazine. He was close enough now for me to feel the heat radiating from his sweating body. I looked at him for a moment, knowing there was a RIGHT thing to do but also knowing that conflicted with what I WANTED to do. The RIGHT thing to do was grab my walkie-talkie, call for base security to detain this hormonal airman while I reported to my superiors that he’d come across some strange chemical somewhere in this shed. They could find and property dispose of it. All would be well. But looking at the body I had always dreamed of having, I knew I didn’t want to do that. I was at a cross-roads… I raised the walkie-talkie and saw Lewis’ face grow dark and show hints of despair. His game was up. Now he feels it, I thought. Now he knows. I lowered the walkie-talkie, took a deep breath, then reached down and ripped the Velcro rank insignia off my uniform. I then took off my hat, the only other part of my uniform that had a rank on it. I let both symbols fall to the floor. He knew what that meant: we were no longer talking officer to enlisted, we were now talking man-to-man. “You need me,” I said to him. He looked confused. “That uniform isn’t going to contain you much longer and you need ME to approve new ones. You need ME to have access to this place. You need ME to help keep this little experiment of yours under wraps for as long as possible.” I locked eyes with his. “I’m not the enemy unless you want me to be, Lewis. And I see no reason for that.” I paused. “I’m not here to stop you.” Lewis’s demeanor changed on that last line and I let go of a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. He took two steps toward me and held out his hand. “Partners?” he asked, almost desperately. I grabbed his hand immediately, feeling it engulf mine. “Partners,” I replied. He made to pull away, but I held on. Something was…without thinking, I took my other hand and laid it on his forearm. It was hard as a rock. My hands grew a mind of their own. I let go of his hand and grabbed his unflexed arm that hung from those boulder-like shoulders. Even unflexed, they were iron rapped in skin. That is no exaggeration; his body was fucking granite. I pushed hard into his chest with my hand; it didn’t even dent. I may as well have pushed against a wall. Lewis closed his eyes and I saw his heavy dick jump. I pulled my hand away, not wanting the distraction of another self-lust scene. “How heavy are you really?” I asked. Lewis looked at me and I could see unspoken words bouncing in his eyes. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t really know. The scale at the gym maxes out at three hundred pounds.” It was unbelievable on the surface. Lewis was built like a god but still hovered around six feet and was still able to hide behind a normal sized uniform. He LOOKED no more than 220 or 230 at most, not over three hundred. But I only nodded. Insane, yes, but it made sense. He was just too dense. “So show me,” I ordered. Lewis’s face grew dark and his body suddenly seemed to loom over me. It was an effort not to take a step back. Unspoken as it was, the message was clear. I was the junior partner in this operation. “Please,” I added. We made our way to the back of silo four quickly enough and we found ourselves standing before one of the dozens of junk piles that filled the place. They loomed twelve feet high or more, stacked junk that could topple over at any time. This one looked no different than the others except it had obviously been picked through (as were a couple of the neighboring piles). “I -uh- had to bring by friends along to help,” Lewis admitted as I looked at the piles. “Some things were just too heavy for me to move alone.” I thought of the buff trio I saw Lewis sitting with before and remembered how I assumed they were new friends, replacing the skinny runts he’d previously hung with. “You gave them this…stuff…too?” I asked gravely. “I had to,” he said with no trace of guilt. “We were partners, too.” The put an emphasis on those last words. “Ok,” I said finally. I would worry about them later. Lewis nodded then walked, naked as the day he was born, across the littered floor to one of the picked-through piles. He reached over and picked up a full sized copy machine. His back muscles flared and grew impossibly thick, a deep and shadowed canyon ran from just above his glutes to the base of his neck. Thick lats and traps flared on either side. Setting the copier aside, he moved a few other objects in search of something. I guess he doesn’t need his friends’ help anymore, I thought as he moved more debris aside. He stopped suddenly, crouched down, and began manipulating something. I looked over his shoulder and saw he’d revealed a large iron safe. He was entering the combination. “How do you know how to open it?” I asked. “The combo was taped to the back, would you believe it?” Lewis chuckled as he worked. I stepped gingerly around the junk and looked on the back wall of the safe, finding nothing but smooth iron. Whatever had been there was now removed. Lewis had stopped working and was now staring at me under a suspicious brow. Again, after a hesitation, he sighed. “Sixteen, seven, seventy-nine,” he said finally. There was a click and the door opened. Behind it were six rows of heavy metal shelves. “We thought about taking this stuff back to the dorms,” Lewis said as he pulled out the second drawer, revealing twelve canisters lined in a row. “But we figured this stuff was safest here.” I looked at the canisters and quickly noticed they were in four groups of three, each group consisting of a green, a white, and a red canister. Arabic script was written on each. “I don’t know what it says,” Lewis said after I asked. “But…” He removed one of the green canisters. “I DO know the big symbol on the bottom there is the Arabic number ONE.” I looked at the symbol and recognized it as well, having picked up a bare minimum of the written language since I’d arrived. “I suppose…” Lewis cut me off with a nod. “The white one has a TWO on it and the red one a THREE.” “So you took this one,” I confirmed, toying with the green canister I had in my hand. Upon inspection, I realized the canister was actually a delivery system, much like an EpiPen. I can do it right now! I thought with a barbaric euphoria. I looked hungrily at the innocent looking canister. Lewis had pulled out the top drawer, showing only empty spaces where four green canisters would have been found. The white and red ones, I saw, were untouched. My eyes shot to a preoccupied Lewis, the muscles in his body flexing and curling over each other as he searched the safe. I looked back at the green one in my hand. “We’re not sure what the—” Lewis started as he turned to me then his eyes grew wide as he saw me raise the canister high above my head. “WAIT!” he ordered. But it was too late. I drove the device down hard and slammed it against my thigh. I felt a sharp prick as the needle penetrated my canvas pants and drove deep into the meat of my quads. There was an immediate hiss accompanied by a sharp burning sensation as the liquid in the canister emptied itself into my body.
  5. CHAPTER 2 The next evening, after dinner with Dasa and a couple other friends, I put on my workout gear and began the five-minute walk to the gym. The sun had gone down an hour before and, while the air WAS cooler, it was still humid enough to immediately cover me in sweat. I welcomed the conditioned rush of air when I walked through the gym doors. The base gym was impressive. It had to be. It was, after all, the effective place of worship for half the servicemen and -women who called this place home. Sprawling over a hundred thousand square feet, it was still crowded. I hunkered down on a bench and warmed up with a few presses with just the bar. Along the way I saw myself in the mirror. My shirt had no sleeves and I was happy to see the soft bulges of my shoulders and arms stand in relief under the harsh overhead lights. I had decent traps and my pecs cast a nice shadow on the fabric beneath it, hinting at a flat stomach. My legs were my pride and joy. They’d always been the most developed part of my body and they still were. Nice tear drops hung below the hem of my shorts and my calves stood out even while sitting down. It was slightly depressing to think that while I had the lower body of a 200-pound gym rat, mathematically that meant I had the upper body of a 170-pound gym rat. That will be change, I thought to myself as I added some weight to the bar. After a few sets I spied Dasa talking to a giant of a man I’d seen here a few times before. She caught my eye and I gave her a wry smirk. I had to admit she had good taste. The guy was perhaps 6’3 and 240 pounds of rippled muscle. He filled his sleeveless shirt completely; I could see the bricks of his abs pressing through it. Smooth pecs bulged above the low hanging color of his shirt and sat below traps that rolled halfway up his neck. He wore the comically short military issue PT shorts that barely made it below mid-thigh. Mountainous quads blossomed from below the hem, making the legs I’d just been proud of feel like bean poles. They shook every time the guy shifted his weight, muscles gnarling over each other It took a moment to notice Dasa was trying to wave me over. I got up and did so, face slightly reddened at the thought they’d caught me staring. “Alex,” Dasa said when I got within earshot. “This is Boulder Hodges. He’s a navy guy, just like you!” I smiled, genuinely happy to meet someone from the navy I’d be a part of had they not sent me here as a sacrificial lamb. “Nice to meet you…Boulder?” “Call sign,” Bill said with a grin, referring to the nicknames naval pilots loved to give each other. “Can’t imagine where it came from,” he said sarcastically as he raised his arms and flexed nineteen inch arms. Lats flared under them. I had the sudden urge to just grab and squeeze them just to find out what they felt like. “He was the linebacker at the Naval Academy,” Dasa said and added wryly: “But he lost twice against Air Force.” The latter was Dasa’s alma mater. “And won twice,” Bill said, looking down at Dasa with a broad smile. She gave his arm a pinch that barely dented it. I was beginning to feel like the third wheel. As much as this Bill thought he was running the show here, he was the prey. Dasa had him under her spell. It was just then I spied someone across the gym that had no business being here. That piece of shit, I thought menacingly. “It was nice meeting you…Boulder,” I said awkwardly, feeling my hand get swallowed in his as I shook it. “Excuse me, please,” I said to both of them and walked towards my new target. “Whitaker,” I said gently but firmly to a broad, sweaty, and very shirtless back facing me. Staff Sergeant Whitaker’s shoulders jumped at hearing his name and recognizing who said it. He turned around and presented me with his body in all its shirtless glory. God, he used his 215 pounds well. It must be chest day; his pecs were gorged and swollen and red. Needless to say, wearing a shirt was one of the more obvious gym rules but Whitaker had a record of not caring about the rules and gyms had a record for not enforcing them. That said, it was a distraction I really didn’t need right now. I think I could bury my finger to the knuckle between those pecs. “I know what you’re going to say,” Whitaker said, his hands going up as if to surrender. The simple act making those amazing arms swell. I calmly raised my hand in a quieting gesture and looked at the two other muscle heads Whitaker was with, who both actually wore shirts (if the ones that were little more than strings with a napkin on the front). “Please excuse us a minute.” I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his friends and tried to make this conversation appear every bit a simple work discussion. I felt bold for some reason and grabbed the back of his arm to escort him from the weight room. His skin slid across the bolder hard muscle of his triceps, which were pumped from his evening workout. “You’re supposed to be on watch,” I said in a sharp whisper once we were in the hall. I could feel the heat radiating from his musky body. “Lewis took it,” Whitaker said. I felt genuine rage build up inside of me and my awe of Whitaker’s body for once took a back seat. “He what?!” This fucker bullied Lewis to take the watch he was supposed to take as punishment? Whitaker’s eyes showed a hint of fear. “No, it’s not like that,” he said, reading my thoughts. “I went and stood last night’s watch and everything. But he comes strolling up when I was taking relieving Rogers tonight and says everything’s cool. Then he asks to take the watch. I told him no, sir, I really did. But he kept saying it was ok.” I didn’t believe him and it must have showed. “Honest, lieutenant, he really did.” I stared at the asshole Adonis for a few moments before stepping back. “I’m going to pay him a visit. If I get one whiff that he was pressured into this, I’m sending you home.” I may have overplayed my hand because Whitaker’s eyes lost their fear. He loved this place. The easy access to food, gyms, and women made this a wonderland to him. “Fine, sir, ask him.” He turned to rejoin his friends, leaving me to stare at his wide and bulging back. I could see the bumps of his glutes peaking over the top of his shorts where it joined the muscular ridges of his lower back. A shirt dangled from there, held between the elastic waistband and his body. I pulled it free, reached around, and pushed it against his bare chest. It was like pressing against the side of a refrigerator. “Put your shirt on,” I said. “You don’t always have to be the exception.” Whitaker took the shirt and gave me a wicked smile. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” He pulled the shirt over his body and sauntered back to his buddies. CHAPTER 3 The silos, as we called them, were actually warehouses. Twelve of them to be exact. They sat on a forgotten corner of the base surrounded by a single tall fence topped with barbed wire. This was my empire of rust. Although I conducted sporadic inventories of the newly acquired stuff, half of these building housed equipment from well before the military was organized enough to track each piece. The first few years of the war had been a chaotic time. My biggest fear was leadership demanding I do a full inventory of everything. I couldn’t imagine how long that would take. These places rivaled the scale and density of the giant cavernous warehouse in Indiana Jones. Each building was half the size of a football field. But it was my job to manage the place and my staff of six took turns guarding it around the clock in twelve hour shifts. I wheeled up in my military issued Silverado and looked inside the guardhouse for Airman Lewis, buy found the guardhouse empty. Probably patrolling the interior, I thought as I walked into the shgack and grabbed the spare hand radio. “Airman Lewis, this is Lieutenant Kane. Do you copy?” There was a static pause but Lewis’s voice eventually made it over the receiver. “Sir, I copy.” He sounded breathless. “Mark location,” I said in reply. “Uh…silo four.” “Copy, I’ll meet you there.” I badged myself into the gate and walked over to silo four. He was at the building’s front door when I arrived. “Sir?” he asked a little too innocently. Sure enough, he was out of breath and trying to hide it, which only made the gasps more obvious. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Oh,” he said, diverting his eyes from mine. “I’m just cleaning up a corner where some stuff fell over.” I looked at him, knowing he was up to something. There wasn’t much to do, though. The outside of the silos was littered with cameras so I’d know if he took anything. Also, any keys, ammo, activation switches, or anything else that could actually turn this rusty shit into a weapon was in a safe only I knew the combination for. I decided to let it slide. “So why isn’t Whitaker here?” I asked gravely. Lewis actually brightened. “Because I felt bad he had to take two watches for something as innocent as calling me skinny.” “That’s not the only thing he’s standing the watch for,” I said, reminded of the comments he made of me and Dasa. “Besides, it’s not your call whether he’s punished or not.” Lewis dropped his eyes. Although he was hiding something, my senses told me he actually DID want to stand the watch. I let it go, knowing that it was probably a mistake. It had been a long week and I was tired. So I just looked Lewis and nodded. “Fine. Take the watch.” Then I turned and left for my dorm room. CHAPTER 4 Monday came after an otherwise inconsequential weekend. Whitaker was still a problem but now I had my Master Sergeant back and could let him handle the asshole. Lewis stood the watch as promised and didn’t have to show up until Tuesday, allowing him to adjust his sleep pattern back to normal. He seemed in remarkably good cheer when he strolled in. Everything was back to normal. During my second month in Kuwait, I gained another three pounds without putting on any noticeable fat. I had to remind myself this was a marathon, not a race. I wasn’t new to working out so understood progress would be a slow grind. Three pounds a month was actually pretty good. I saw Lewis at the gym a couple days after that first weekend, skinny as a rail and as awkward with the weights as a one legged dancer. He was surprisingly ripped for such a slender guy. I gave him a few pointers and found he was a quick learner. By the end of the session he had the basics down and I was shocked to see a sizeable pump on him. He started complaining about hunger a mere thirty minutes into the workout so I cut mine short and joined him at the Dining Facility. The boy put me to shame when it came to eating: I ate a lot but this kid was downright offensive with how much he shoved into his mouth. Stuffed beyond reason I got up and left him to his forth helping, giving him a quick pat on the back before heading out. “Nice work,” I said as I left. “Thanks,” he said shyly around a mouthful of eggs. I saw him again a couple days later, this time with a group of three friends of similar age from other commands. I wouldn’t have thought it possible but he’d managed to find friends smaller than him. Actually, Lewis may have put on a few pounds himself. Although still skinny his frame had some definite shape to it. Well, he had two things going for him: he was nineteen and he was just starting. Initial gains would be rapid. He noticed me notice him and his face strangely reddened. I gave him a thumbs up but let him be. Then I stopped seeing him at the gym altogether. After a couple weeks, I found him at lunch wolfing down his food as usual. “You quit the gym?” I asked as I walked by. I didn’t want to ask at the office as I didn’t want to give Whitaker any additional cannon fodder. Lewis shook his head, the muscles in his jaw flaring under the skin of his cheek as he chewed. “I’ve been going late at night. Gym’s pretty empty then,” he said between bites. The muscles in his narrow neck flared as he swallowed. Fuck, I thought to myself. Where did that vascularity come from? I looked at the back of his hands, the only other skin visible outside the confines of his baggy uniform. Veins laced across the back of his hands like spider webs. Curious. He reached down, seemingly not noticing he was doing so, and massaged the top of his boot. “Injure your foot?” I asked. He shook his head again. “I think my boots are too small,” he offered. I barked a laugh. “You’ve been in theater for six weeks and have been suffering small boots this whole time?” His face reddened further but he gave a slight nod. “Well what size are they?” I asked. “Nine and a half,” he said meekly. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll have Sergeant Meyer order you some tens.” I started to walk past him with my tray off food. “Can you make it elevens?” he asked my back. I turned to him, doubtful he’d been sporting boots a size and a half too small this whole time. “You can get whatever size you want as long as they fit. How about you work with Meyer yourself. Have him measure your feet. I’ll tell him he’s got authority to buy you a pair.” Lewis nodded gratefully. “You start your midwatch shifts tonight right?” I asked. Lewis responded with another food-filled nod. “Ok, well I guess I won’t see you this week. Take care of those boots but otherwise, I’ll see you next Monday.” Lewis nodded again and I left. The team rotated their watches on a weekly basis to minimize messing with their sleep cycles too often. As common sense dictated, standing a twelve hour watch over night meant you didn’t have to work days in the office. A few days later I ran by the Tech Sergeant Meyer in the hallway. “You get Lewis his shoes?” I asked as I walked by. “Yes sir,” he replied. “Thanks for taking care of the measurement,” I continued. “He was asking for size elevens. Can you believe it?” Meyer shrugged. “No I can’t, sir.” I left it at that and kept walking by the man but he said something as my shoulder passed his. “I had to get him twelves.” I stopped in my tracks. “Twelves?” I asked, incredulous. Meyer just nodded. “Boy’s got big feet,” he said simply. I felt my brows furrow. “You mean to tell me that poor boy went through more than a month here with boots that were over two sizes too small?” Meyer shrugged again as if there was nothing unusual about it. “Guess so.” I gave a distracted “thanks again” and continued on with my day. Something tickled the back of my mind; too many things just weren’t adding up. The next Monday, I walked in the office to find Lewis already sitting at his computer. The prior week had been busy and I’d since pushed any curiosity of Lewis’s condition to the back of my mind. I grunted a good morning as I sifted through the paperwork that gathered up during the weekend. Lewis offered a “good morning” back without looking up from his computer. His voice sounded funny, as if he had a cold. We were all busy and generally kept to ourselves those next few days. It wasn’t until late in the week the oddness surrounding Lewis roared back to the front of my mind. He stood behind the Whitaker next to the copy machine, waiting for his turn to scan some documents. I looked up just as Whitaker turned and without looking ran smack into Lewis, whose head was down reading. I grimaced, expecting poor Lewis to go sprawling backwards, flinging fifty sheets of paper across the room in the process. But that didn’t happen. If anything, Whitaker was the one who bounced back; Lewis merely looked up with his mouth open in surprise. Suddenly things that I’d missed the whole week became clear in unison. The most obvious thing was that Lewis was TALLER than Whitaker by a good inch. I could have sworn he was a good four inches shorter. Whitaker seemed to notice this as well; his face was a mask of confusion covering a boiling fury. My first sergeant had put the fear of god in him last week so he kept his mouth shut. But I could see the gears turning. Lewis actually gulped and it was then I noticed how muscular his neck was. It didn’t match Whitaker’s, who’s neck was wider than his head, but I could see individual muscles flex and veins writhe as Lewis swallowed. No one else in the office seemed to notice save the three of us. Every time I looked up at Whitaker, he was staring at Lewis, studying him. Lewis didn’t say another word and was still sitting hunched over his computer when I left that evening. He was munching on one of the chicken breasts he had brought from lunch. The next day, the AC went out again, making the office into a furnace within the hour. I gave everyone permission to deblouse again. Everyone did immediately, sweat already staining their undershirts; all except for Lewis who remained fully dressed over his computer. He must have been miserable. I dropped any attempt at stealthy glances and finally really looked at the young airman. The camouflage uniform made it nearly impossible to know the shape of the person wearing it but…wait a minute. I looked closely at the area under his armpit and saw that the fabric that normally hung loose on people was actually pulled tight. Holy shit…this kid had lats. Big ones. I glanced over to Whitaker for a comparison. Already debloused, his lats pressed firmly against the thin cotton undershirt, the individual bulges of muscle rippling down his side. Looking back and forth, Lewis was narrower but had the same v-shape. I felt myself grow hard at the thought of what Lewis hid beneath his blouse and made it my mission to find out. But he didn’t make it easy. I caught him that night at dinner, where I sat with my usual retinue, Dasa among them. Most people changed into civilian clothes for the evening meal. It’s what made Lewis so easy to spot as he was one of the few still in his uniform. He sat with three others, each dressed in gym clothes. Apparently, he’d ditched the wimp brigade I last saw him with; the three surrounding him now each looked like fitness models. Their shirts were almost comically tight across narrowly muscular upper bodies. I put each of them at about the same height and weight as me but with practically zero bodyfat, making the difference between their bodies and mine leagues apart. I saw Lewis glance over at me and I waved. He waved back with an awkward smile and quickly picked up three Styrofoam boxes sitting next to him. Those were filled with what I only guessed were Dinner numbers two, three, and four. He stood and said something to his friends, then left. The fucker was avoiding me. Unfortunate for him, I was his boss. The next day I counted down the hours to closing time, sneaking glances at Lewis the whole time. Impossibly, he was even bigger today. You didn’t even have to try hard to see his back was pressing firmly across the whole of his uniform. Even his upper arms seemed to modestly fill the void of the uniforms incredibly baggy sleeve. His traps, once flat now rose with an obvious crest to his neck. The rest of the office was finally taking notice something was up too. Corporal Janelle Peterson, one of my two Army personnel, was the first to speak up. “Look at that neck,” she bellowed. “You been working out, Lewis?” “A little,” Lewis said, not taking his eyes from his computer. His voice had grown noticeably deeper the last couple weeks. “Pssht, a little?” She reached over and grabbed the sleeve of his uniform, giving it a quick squeeze before he had a chance to shake him of. “Take it easy, Lewis,” she said as she pulled her hand back. She gave the other female in the room, Staff Sergeant Miller, a wide-eyed stare and mouthed “wow” to her. She grabbed her own bicep and made a motion of it swelling as if to say “his biceps are huge.” Now both females looked at his back with hungry eyes. Whitaker had known something was up the whole time but said nothing. I could see anger in his face at not being the center of the ladies’ lust. I was pretty sure he had slept with both. I dismissed the team fifteen minutes early but called Lewis into my office as he was trying to leave. After making sure the others left, I turned to the airman standing before me. He wrung his surprisingly large hands nervously. “Close the door,” I said, still seated behind my desk. I’d been thinking about this moment all day but found myself just running on unplanned instinct. I decided to cut to the chase. “Take off your blouse.” Lewis’s face reddened and his jaw worked. It was more squared than it was a month ago. “Sir?” he stammered. “You heard me, Lewis,” knowing I was treading on some thin ice here. I was at risk of sexual assault here if I pushed too hard but I was desperate. “Please.” Extremely reluctantly, Lewis tore at the Velcro revealing the zipper of his blouse. He zipped it down slowly at first but then with increasing speed. Once undone, he practically ripped the garment off his body, revealing the undershirted body beneath. I nearly fainted.
  6. So on a day away from family, friends, internet, and work, I had an impulse to write a story for the first time in years. I didn’t get out of my chair until I finished the eighth chapter. I’ve got a few more chapters to go I think, but I feel confident I’ll have the entire story posted (in pretty regular intervals) within the month. Fair warning, (1) it takes a couple chapters before the real growth starts and (2) it’s got some hetero content in it. I hope you all enjoy… CHAPTER 1 I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow and sighed as I resumed the email I’d been writing. Fans hummed throughout the room but only made the hot air feel the devil’s own breath. I reached down to my lapel and gave my blouse a shake. Fuck these uniforms, I thought for the hundredth time. What’s the use blending into the desert if you’re dead of heat exhaustion? I looked out the door to my office at my staff, each dutifully working at their respective cubicles, knowing they were equally miserable. “Whoever decided to install shitty AC units in the middle of a god damn desert country needs to be drug out into the street and shot,” Staff Sergeant Whitaker said as he dramatically wiped sweat from his muscular neck. That desert country was Kuwait and those shitty AC units were probably top-of-the-line twenty years ago when these buildings were originally constructed. I decided to let Whitaker’s outburst slide; lord knows he’d be guilty of another at some point that day. Not for the first time, I wondered at the strangeness of this group. Myself, a navy lieutenant, in charge of four air force and two army enlisted men of varying ranks; a regular kumbaya commercial showing how the US armed services could work together. Each of us were at varying (but mostly early) months of one year tours at a Kuwaiti Air base where the United States oversaw its assets in the entire Middle East. It was a large base, housing about five thousand NATO personnel, most of which were from the US. I had been pulled unceremoniously from my normal navy career path to “support” joint efforts…the navy’s diplomatic way of saying “we can play in the desert and kill terrorists too!” I chuckled. I didn’t see myself killing any terrorists today. I was more likely to get a papercut. What my staff and I were actually responsible for was all confiscated foreign assets from the decades of wars we’d fought in this region. This meant supervising a dozen warehouses filled with the tanks, trucks, and weapons confiscated from Iraqi, Syrian, or terrorist organizations. We intended to hold it until peace broke out or something…then we’d return it. In practice, I was the overlord of a pile of rusty shit that wasn’t going anywhere fast. I wiped another bead of sweat from my forehead. Fuck it, I thought before saying: “Okay everyone, feel free to de-blouse.” A collective “yaaaaayyyy” went through the room and my team immediately tore off the heavy camo-print over-shirts (aka blouse) that made up the standard military OCP uniform, leaving them in their mud brown undershirts. My eyes immediately and covertly darted to Staff Sergeant Whitaker. Goddam, I thought as he threw his blouse onto the floor as if it was a pile of shit. His undershirt, darkened by sweat, was plastered to a body made of bulging muscle. I could see the striations in his shoulders dance as he returned to typing on his computer. Dinner plate sized pecs stretched the shirt comically over visible blocks of abdominal muscles. Those globular shoulders, bulging like pumpkins under short sleeves screaming for mercy, sat above the most beautiful upper arms I had ever seen in my life. Full and swollen yet cut and hard. A single bulging vein laced down the front of each one, bunching up each time he bent his elbow. God, they were perfect. I couldn’t wait to build a set of those myself. An isolated US Air Base in the middle of a desert country left little to do, leaving its inhabitants with a small set of options: work, eat, sleep, workout, or fuck. And all five options were in ample and endless supply. I noticed it the day I landed, almost everyone walking around the base was exceptionally fit, men and women alike. In the month since, I still wasn’t bored noticing the tight and taught bodies working out in the gym or walking by when civilian attire was authorized. I’d already made some progress. Always obsessed with fitness, I landed here a pretty fit 180 pounds. At 5’11, that doesn’t make me huge but people who saw me knew I worked out. In the month since, I’d gained three pounds. Certainly not something to write home about but if I kept that up for the next eleven months I’d be heading home weighing a ripped 215 pounds. That was, not coincidentally, Whitaker’s height and weight. I took another look at the Staff Sergeant, who now had his hands clasped together and arms stretched above his head. His lats bulged like wings under those beautiful arms. Striated horseshoe triceps flared as he gave one last good stretch and lowered his arms. He turned his head. “Jesus fucking Christ, Lewis,” he said in his testosterone laden voice. “You got your head suck on a scarecrow?” My eyes darted over to the subject of Whitaker’s comment, Airmen Lewis, my newest and most junior staff member. The nineteen-year-old was on his first overseas deployment and showed up only two weeks ago. My guess is he was 5’7 and couldn’t weigh more than 135 pounds. His brown undershirt hung loosely on a shrunken body, his twiggy arms void of shape or definition. Until now, his diminutiveness had been hidden under the baggy and ungainly blouse we’d just removed. The OCPs wore like pillow sacks on everyone whether fit, fat, skinny, or what have you. Even Whitaker’s body didn’t look exceptional when wearing the uniform…if one ignored his impressive bull neck. “Cool it Whitaker,” I said sternly from over my computer screen. I meant it too. I can both appreciate the guy’s body and completely loath his personality…which I did. The Staff Sergeant was a bona fide bully, always making every effort to cross the line if there was one to cross. “But look at him, sir,” Whitaker said and gestured to the airman with his paw of a hand. “Dude,” he continued as he turned back to Lewis. “How the fuck did you make it through basic?” “Knock it off!” I said loud enough to make Whitaker involuntarily cringe. “Fucking beta,” I heard him whisper to Lewis. I saw Lewis’s face redden and was about to formally council his bully when a female voice chimed into the room. “Hey guys,” the voice said to the room as it made its way to my office. Air Force Captain Dasa White turned into my office and smiled when she saw me. “Hey there sailor,” she said. “Hey Dasa,” I said as blandly as I could to the hottest female this base had to offer. This was not my opinion, it was fact. Captain White was gorgeous and she knew it. Her blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun that only accentuated her wide smile. Her blue eyes sparkled at me. I tried to avoid looking down as she too had debloused and sported only the brown undershirt that somehow hugged her well developed and femininely muscular body in all the right spots. Did she have those tailored? She was within a year or two of my own twenty-eight years, our ranks being equivalent, so we usually called each other by our first names instead of the more formal rank. “You up on the high side?” she asked. “I am,” I responded and shifted my computer screen to the military’s SECRET level internet. She invited herself to my side of the desk, leaned over my left side, and took over my mouse and keyboard. Her toned shoulder brushed lightly against my face as her tan arms did their work. She smelled of faint and distant perfume. Her breast rubbed against my arm just once as she reached for the mouse. God, she knew was she was doing and she was good at it. But I didn’t push it any further. Over the last month I’d given her both subtle and not so subtle hints that I was incredibly interested in her but she’d kindly and just as subtly rebuffed every advance. I’d noticed during that time she was only truly interested in the really muscular guys. I don’t think even Whitaker was big enough. She tastefully flirted with everyone but he’d only seen her mean it when the guy was at least 6’3 and 230. And there were plenty of those types around here. “Look at this,” she said once done with my computer. I looked at the screen and the first thing I noticed was the grainy picture in the middle of the screen. It looked like a still from a shitty security camera but in it was a group of about one hundred men, all obviously Arabic by their faces, naked from the waist up and wearing military fatigues from the waist down. It was immediately apparent the men were huge. Grainy as it was, they were as broad and wide and vascular as any professional bodybuilder. An old Iraqi flag hung over their heads and some Arabic script was imprinted on the bottom of the photo. “Iraqi bodybuilders?” I asked innocently, trying to make light of a picture which definitely had my attention. “Bodybuilders?” she asked back with incredulity dripping from the word. “Look at the rifles they’re holding.” I was embarrassed to note I was so taken by these men’s bodies that I had missed that each of them held an AK-47 in front of them. Well… they looked like AKs but something wasn’t right about them. “Are those toy guns?” I asked without taking my eyes off the picture. It took a bit to put my finger on what was wrong but I finally noticed the guns were too small. “No Alex. They’re real,” she said, letting me put the puzzle pieces together myself. “But that would mean…” My mouth dropped. She nodded, her perfect smile broadening. “My guess is those guys are eight feet tall.” “No fucking way,” I said but the more I looked at the picture the more I had to believe it. It wasn’t just the guns. These men were lined up on bleachers that looked a little too small. The doorway cut in half by the edge of the picture looked too small. Everything looked to small next to these guys. “It has to be a fake,” I said finally. “Look at the file name,” she said. I minimized the picture and looked at the folder she had open. “Saddam’s Supermen,” I read aloud. My heart fluttered a bit. “But that’s just a bullshit rumor.” The rumor apparently originated during the Iraqi invasion of 2003. I was a middle schooler at the time of that invasion so wasn’t around to hear it at the beginning but the story still cropped up jokingly in small circles from time-to-time. Who knows now much the current rumor had changed from the original one. Regardless, the version I heard stated that Saddam Hussein was obsessed with turning his famed million-man army into super soldiers capable of taking over the entire region. The rumor also suggested that we’d invaded Iraq back then because these supermen were the ACTUAL weapons of mass destruction we were desperate to take off their hands. “I guess you could call these giants weapons of mass destruction,” I said aloud with a laugh. “Hell yes you could,” she said, her eyes glued to the screen. “It would take an entire magazine to take one of those beasts down.” I looked at the folder from which she pulled the photo. It and the slew of parent folders housing it gave no indication a photo of supermen was to be found. “How did you find this?” “By accident,” she said simply. “I get bored on the watch floor and like to surf the web so-to-speak. There’s probably millions of files scattered in the guts of our SIPR servers and as unorganized as those warehouses you’re responsible for. I’m probably the first to stumble across that picture since it was first dropped there.” “Are there any more?” She shook her head. “Believe me, I tried. There could be. Finding a specific photo here is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.” Her eyes were still locked on the photo and were hungry. She liked what she was looking at. “You think they’re still around?” she asked. “Doubtful,” I said, shrugging. “I think people would raise an eyebrow if guys like this found their way into Abu Ghraib.” “Hm,” she muttered, nodding before shaking herself. “Anyway,” she concluded. “Thought you’d be interested.” She gave me a knowing wink that confused me but I willed the confusion away. “I’m heading to the gym. Dinner at six?” “Yeah,” I said as she turned to leave. I saw the heads of my team all snap to their screens in comic unison as she walked by and headed to the door. Their heads then bent to get a final shot of her backside as she walked through the door and shut it behind her. I couldn’t blame them, she was the only one I knew who could make those thick baggy uniform pants look good. The door was barely shut before Whitaker clapped his hands together loudly. “Ooooh, sir,” he said, a broad smile cracking his square head. “You gonna fuck that tonight.” He moved his hand as if slapping an invisible ass. The rest of the room looked shocked at the outburst. Proper military decorum was more than a bit dulled in a forward base like this one but there were certain lines that one did not cross. Sexual references of an officer was one of them. I slapped my hand on the table loudly. “That’s it, Staff Sergeant,” I bellowed and spoke to the broader room. “I don’t know who has the midnight watches on the silos this weekend, but you can thank Whitaker for taking them off your hands.” Whitaker’s face dropped. “But sir.” “Both of them,” I said over his objections. I looked at the time on my computer. 4:30 pm. Close enough, I thought as I felt another bead of sweat drip down my back. “Ok everyone. Close up shop,” I said, ignoring Whitaker’s sputtering. “See you all on Monday, when the AC is hopefully working again.” The team rushed out as if on fire, readily escaping the hundred-degree heat. I yelled after Whitaker before he made his way out the door. “Your first watch starts in thirty minutes Whitaker. Be. On. Time!” He grunted as he walked out. I spied Lewis close behind him. “Wait one, Airman Lewis.” Lewis lowered his head as if struck, turned, and begrudgingly made his way into my office. “Shut the door,” I said as gently as I could. Lewis did so and sat across the desk from me. His face was youthful even for nineteen. Sandy blond hair was tightly cut to his head. His narrow face was pale (unusual for desert dwellers) and blemish free. Bright blue eyes stared at me with apprehension. “I’m going to address what Staff Sergeant said with the Master Sergeant.” Master Sergeant Reeves was my second in command and the senior enlisted leader of my staff. It was technically his job to quell personal issues like this but he was on a trip to Afghanistan until Monday. “Don’t bother, sir,” the Airman said. “Master Sergeant is on him every day and it hasn’t done much.” The boy shrugged. “Besides, he’s right. I’m skinny. I’ve tried to bulk up since I’ve gotten here but I think I’ve actually lost weight.” “Eat,” I advised. “I have a fast metabolism too but the food here is free and you can get as much as you want. You should leave every meal stuffed to the gills.” Lewis just nodded. His eyes flickering to my computer screen and his jaw dropped. “Wow,” he said at the monsters in the photograph. “You think that’s real?” he asked. I turned my eyes back to the picture. “Could be,” I said noncommittally before continuing. “I’m no superman in the gym, Lewis, but I can give you some pointers in that arena if you like.” Lewis shook his head, his eyes remaining on my computer screen. “Thank you, sir, but no. I can take care of myself.” “I’m sure you can,” I said, removing my access card from the computer, sending the screen dark. Lewis shook his head as if breaking out of a trance. I grabbed my blouse and began putting it on. “You coming?” I asked as I made my way to the door. Lewis followed but broke towards his own desk instead of following me out the room. “If you don’t mind, sir,” he said awkwardly. “I have some work I forgot to finish.” “Suit yourself,” I said and gave the room a once over to ensure no classified material was left out in the open. Finding none, I walked out. Looking over my shoulder upon leaving, I saw Lewis back on his own computer, the picture of Saddam’s Supermen sitting boldly in its center.
  7. I pop in every now and then. One day I’ll get another story up but life has dictated otherwise lately.
  8. I wrote a story called “The Chest” on the old forum that half meets your criteria. There is a ‘Nick’ and he grows in locker room and the football team gets a hookup. However, the suppliers are other players, not coaches. And that part of the story isn’t until chapter 9. Below is a link to the first four chapters. There’s a link to the remainder of the story in one of the comments. Sorry about the formatting issues on the old forum. I only got around to updating the first four chapters Hope that helps
  9. As stated in another post, I've been asked to upload some of the stories I wrote for the old site. The one below was the first story I ever wrote...I may have been 17 or 18 at the time...and I could only find the first four chapters. It ultimately had 14 or so if I remember correctly but the forth chapter ends at a pretty nice spot so I figured a partial story was better than none at all. The other chapters are on the legacy site; I'll post them if I can get around to digging them up. CHAPTER I: THE JOURNEY THE SUN was just reaching its midday peak. Tyson, shirtless as usual, was taking the hard way up the hillside and climbing up a rocky crag while Jason lumbered up the leaf covered path to the side. Jason couldn’t help but notice the muscle rippling under Tyson’s tan back. “Showoff” was all he could mutter. The two made an odd friendship but then again, middle school doesn’t see the segregation of cliques quite the way high school does. Both fourteen and days out of eight grade, Tyson and Jason had been friends since kindergarten even if it was apparent even then that they were destined for different futures. Tyson, then and especially now, visually screamed the word jock. He had featured a six-pack from the womb it seemed and throughout his life had never had a drop of fat on him. He was your standard muscle-kid: not thick but shredded enough to show every line of muscle that was roped on his frame. Tyson knew that description would be ending soon; over the last few months he had noticed Tyson beginning to thicken out. Although still thin in adult terms at 155 lb and 5’10, the telltale signs were there. His lats had begun to expand out when he strained them. Striations could be seen in his chest and back and his arms had begun to expand from their circular baseball shape to a more adult football shape. His body was begging to grow and beginning to get its wish. These changes had just begun and would be hard to notice at a casual glance but Jason knew his friend and couldn’t help feel a little helpless. Jason was the opposite of Tyson. A little shorter at 5’8, he weighed a good eighty pounds more and all of it was fat as far as Jason was concerned. A portly child from a portly family, he had accepted his fate as being the cliché chunky, fat kid. He was active. In fact, he did almost everything with Tyson and he extended energy as much as anyone did. That made it worse, for Jason’s physique was not for lack of trying to change it. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt that made his arms look like upside down bowling pins for their lack of definition and pale coloring. His gut hung over the top of his shorts and sweat stains made a nice outline of what his less-than-friends called breasts. Jason seemed to be the only one of the pair who secretly assumed that high school would separate the two of them; he would join the chess club while Tyson became the star quarterback. In spite of himself, Jason smiled, for the time being he did have a great friend and had no real reason to feel sorry for himself. “Don’t be hating, Jason, just tell me how awesome I am and hurry up.” He turned around. The overhead sun shined on Tyson, shading his body in vertical contrast and making him look larger that he really was. His pecs and abs cast shadows on the creases of his torso all the way down to the slight ‘V’ that tapered into his low hanging basketball shorts. While he patiently waited for his friend, Tyson began flexing his forearms. Jason wasn’t the only one who noticed Tyson’s growth spurt. “Just taking the scenic route,” Jason said. The two of them were doing what they had done each summer since elementary school: exploring the seemingly endless wilderness behind Jason’s house. As far as any map insinuated, the woods were endless. There wasn’t a city or road to speak of in what was labeled as a government preserve, whatever that meant. Jason’s father said it had been such since after World War II. The two continued their aimless quest deeper into the woods and the sun continued past its zenith and began to descent. They went through the lunch they packed themselves and lost track of time until mid-afternoon when Jason’s stomach started requesting more. “Ready to turn back, Ty?” Jason asked through his panting. Tyson turned around, looking at his watch, and his eyebrows rose. “Wow, we’ve been out here for eight hours. That’s got to be a record.” “Eight hours!?” Jason exclaimed. “That’s was in a straight line, man! It’ll take us just as long to get home.” “Relax, Jason,” Tyson said in his carefree way. “It’s all down hill anyway and—What’s that?” Tyson looked past Jason’s shoulder towards a flatter spread of forest. “What’s what?” Jason turned and saw a chain link fence that stretched off to the distance until hidden by hill or forest. “A fence? Out here? Looks old.” The fence was completely brown with rust and in many parts was at an angle other than ninety degrees from the ground. The two walked up to an aged aluminum sign hanging on a section of the fence. Without the sign, the boys would have missed the fence completely since it blended so well with the wooded background. They had to strain to read the sign since most of the lettering was faded: WARNING Government Research Installation Trespassers will be Prosecuted !DANGER! Fence energized with 10,000 Volts DO NOT TOUCH “Well that’s inviting,” Tyson chuckled as Jason reached for the fence. “Don’t touch that, you jackass, you’ll—“ He was cut off as Jason touched the fence and screamed at the top of his lungs, shaking from head to foot. Panic stricken, Tyson began screaming too and began setting up to tackle Jason away from the fence just as Jason’s scream transformed into laughter and he let go of the fence. Panic turning into anger, Tyson charged and tackled his still laughing friend to the ground anyway. “You fucker! I had images of having to drag your ass all the way home.” Tyson, fending off his friend’s punches as best as he could, continued to chuckle. “I don’t care how buff you’re getting, you couldn’t drag my fat ass a quarter mile before passing out.” “True, so I’d just have to heave you into a tree and hope the bears didn’t snack on your corpse, you ass.” “Whatever. That fence is a shove away from turning into dust. You thought it was actually still electrified?” He started laughing again. Throwing one more punch in the gut that cut Jason’s laughter off with a grunt, Tyson got off of his friend and helped him up. While Jason brushed the leaves off his sweat soaked shirt, Tyson walked over to the fence and did give it one solid shove. The fence broke off its stabilizing beam and fell to the ground with a clang. “Looks like a door to me,” he said and stepped into the recently forbidden territory. Feeling that sense of adventure that only young teenagers feel, Jason followed, careless of the sun continuing its journey to the horizon. CHAPTER II: THE DISCOVERY At first their misdemeanor appeared to be about as exciting as two rocks facing each other. The world behind the fence was the same as the one they left: trees, foliage, and rocky hills. After about fifteen minutes, Jason’s hunger began to signal his sense that they should begin their return home. He was just about to voice it when they both saw the clearing. Once passed the trees, they stopped and stared at the stretch of seemingly abandoned buildings that clustered together at the end of an uncared-for road that ran off into the forest. Whatever the maps said, there apparently was once humanity here. The boys looked at each other and with sparkling eyes started off to the buildings. The structures were anything but permanent. Perhaps five large steel buildings made up the ghost village, most missing windows. They went in and out of them at random. One building held what was once dozens of beds lining the wall. Another may have been a kitchen once. Another may have been an exercise room discernable only by what might have been a basketball court. The entire place had ancient junk strewn about. Here an old comb, there a clipboard. The place looked as if the occupants left in a hurry. The largest building was the last they came to. It was more sturdy but still in major disrepair. It also differed from its neighbors in that its now glass-absent windows were fortified with bars and the front door had a lock that had since rusted to a solid lump of brown. Not one to allow anything to get in his way, Tyson grabbed the lump and began twisting. The muscles on his back once again began to dance. The striations in his shoulders made waves across his skin and the veins in his chest began to stand out as he flexed every muscle in his torso in a vain attempt to get the lock off. Regardless of the display, Jason knew his friend’s efforts were useless. Rusty steel was still steel and that lock was one of the few things in this area built to last. After another few minutes, Tyson released the lock, gasping for breath. “It’s useless, man, that lock is on there pretty--” A crash cut Tyson off. He looked at its source where Jason stood about 10 feet away, smiling; the bars that once covered one of the windows lying at his feet in a cloud of dust. “A half-inch bolt rusts much faster than a three inch lock, Ty,” Jason lectured. “Who’s the showoff now?” Tyson snorted as he lifted him self up into and through the gaping hole without another word. Jason followed right behind. The sun was at an angle now where it cast its fading light directly into the building. The disarray was magnified here. Everywhere lay what looked to be science equipment: broken vials, dusty stools, splintered desks, and translucent goggles scattered at random in the large room. It was like the people here left with the fear of god in them. Tyson began rummaging in the back corner where it appeared a makeshift vault had been built into the wall and Jason went over to one of the desks. A manila folder lay on it, making it the only paper either had seen since coming here. On its spine, in letters to faded to make out completely: HU-AN GRO--H INI--ATI-E : MUSC--AR DEVE-OP---T D—ARTMENT Before he could attempt to make out the words, he heard a scream. Turning towards his friend, he saw Tyson grabbing his forearm as a weasel darted across the room. “Fucking rodent!” Tyson moaned as blood started trickling from between his fingers. Jason watched as the animal darted to a hole in the wall and as the sun caught its black leathery tail he gasped. That was no weasel; that was the biggest rat he had ever seen. It had to be the size of a mailbox. He turned to his friend, who was wiping his arm off on his pants. Aside from where a few teeth had punctured his skin, there wasn’t much to see. “You ok?” Jason asked. “Animal bites can get pretty nasty if you don’t treat it.” “It’s fine,” Tyson shrugged, obviously embarrassed he had made anything of it in the first place.” “Dude, I’m serious, we need to get back now.” Tyson looked at him then out the window. “Jason, it’ll be dark in a couple hours. We’re crashing here for the night.” “What?” was all Jason could retort. They argued for a few minutes but in the end Jason knew his friend was right. Walking home under the darkness of night was a good way to break a leg or get lost. He sat down hard on the ground in defeat. At any rate, their adventurous spirit died with the sun. They made a camp of sorts in the vault at the back of the room, Jason falling asleep against a chest shoved in the corner. His last thought was whether or not he’d have to drag a rabies infected friend home in the morning. CHAPTER III: THE BOX Jason awoke to the crackle of a fire. The vault was dark but through the open door he could see Tyson sitting over a fire. He stretched and walked out to his friend. Over the fire was a makeshift spit with what looked to be a dog roasting on it. Closer inspection showed it to be a rabbit, if the largest he’d ever seen. Then again, if rats could get so big in the wild then why not rabbits. Off to Tyson’s side were the bones of at least 2 other rabbits. Another lay ready for the fire nearby. “Where the hell did these come from?” Jason asked in shock. “And how did you gut them? And…” He didn’t really know what to say. Tyson turned around, swallowing a mouthful. “Morning champ. It was the strangest thing; I woke up with my stomach growling something crazy. At first I thought that rat bite got me sick but then I just realized I was jus starving. It got so bad that I had to get up and find…something. It took a while but a few well-thrown rocks was all it took to bring these massive bunnies down. Want one? I got one for you too.” He gestured at the corpse lying next to him. “No thanks, I just lost my appetite.” He sat down across the fire from Tyson. “You feeling ok?” “Actually, I feel great. Like I could run a marathon or push over a tree,” Tyson said as he tore into the third rabbit and got the forth on the fire. Jason’s jaw dropped. If the other rabbits were as big as these two then Tyson was about to devour the equivalent of half a cow. I guess he is feeling fine, Jason thought. He stared at his preoccupied friend across the fire. The light danced across his body, casting shadows over his muscle His shoulders were as striated as ever, completely separated from his biceps. His chest bounced with every moment of his arms and his abs were clearly defined even while sitting down. He must be flexing every muscle in his body, Jason thought. He’s going to be trouble… I’ve never noticed how defined his traps were, either. It was true. A slab of muscle now rose up out of his shoulder and connected halfway up his neck. He almost glowed. After finishing his forth animal, they both got up. Jason had to convince Tyson not to go out for more food. “I don’t care how hungry you still are, there’s plenty of food at my place. Besides, you just ate like thirty pounds of food. Look at your stomach for god’s sake.” Tyson looked down at the now prominent bulge that stretched his abs. “Heh, heh, yeah, I guess I’ve had enough. Weird though, I’m still famished.” “You’ll make it home before wasting away, I promise.” Jason stated as he turned to go. “Wait,” Tyson said. “One more thing.” Jason turned around, exacerbated, as Tyson raced into the vault. After a few grunts and thuds he emerged from the door with the same chest that Jason had fell asleep against. It looked heavy whatever it was. Each yank moved the thing about 2 feet. “What on earth are we going to do with that?” Jason demanded. “Take it home of course,” Tyson said as he continued to drag it to the window. “I tried to get it open in there but it’ll take a screw driver to get that thing open.” “Like hell we are,” Jason snapped back. “The two of us together couldn’t lug that thing a mile. We couldn’t get it through the window.” Tyson stared at the window sitting just at chest level. “If I can get it out of here will you help me the rest of the way?” Jason looked at the window too and smiled. “Sure, but I’m not helping you get it through the window.” Tyson smiled and hoisted himself through the window. Confused, Jason looked out of it to see Tyson run to the door and grab the lock again. He twisted it with all of his might and within a few seconds the lock groaned and gave way, falling to the ground. “Holy shit,” Jason gasped as he ducked back from the window while Tyson kicked the door in. The sun silhouetted his heaving body as he stood smiling. “I never said HOW I was going to get it out.” Now Jason was stuck in a promise he didn’t want to keep. They each grabbed an end and began hauling it the long track home. The chest must have been made of lead; it may have weighed over two hundred pounds. Not like Jason had much to go by. He wasn’t much of a weight lifter. Tyson did most of the work. He took most of the weight as they trudged down the hills. “Man, look at this pump,” Tyson commented on his own body during one of Jason’s frequent breaks from the trek. Jason, now also bare from the gut up and using his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, looked at Tyson as he flexed his arm. Pump indeed. His friend flexed a bicep the size of a baseball. Veins protruded from the muscle seemingly pumping with blood. Veins stood out everywhere, seemingly struggling to feed his body. Tyson flexed his chest, making them bounce like Jason had never seen in person. The sides of Tyson’s abs were absolutely shredded. Muscle could be seen clearly, everywhere. What was going on? Tyson’s eyes looked hungry. He put his hand over each muscle as he flexed it; flexed it harder and harder as if willing them to grow more. A they seemed to be doing just that. Jason shook his eyes away and went to pick up his side of the box again. “Let’s just go,” he said with a sigh. Tyson came up and moved him away. “Don’t worry, man, I got it.” And with that he hoisted the chest up and carried it himself. Jason stood there awestruck. There was no way Tyson could have done that this morning. Granted, the chest was still heavy; Tyson labored under its weight as if each step would be his last. All he could do was follow though, and stare at his friend’s back as they worked their way home. The hours rolled by without any conversation. They both knew their way home. Jason was lost in his own thoughts. He kept staring at his friend and his ever-increasing “pump.” He just kept swelling up. The veins snaked across his back and seemed to pulse with blood. His lats began to flare out. His back, constantly under the strain of the chest, swelled out with added layers of muscle. It was covered in rolling bulges; striations forming at his lower back. His traps continued to grow upward. His triceps, which shouldn’t even be feeling any strain, also started to bulge, every muscle defining itself as if he had trained only that muscle for hours a day, months on end. It wasn’t that he was getting massive, he was just nothing but skin and muscle and that skin was stretching to cover his muscle for all it was worth. His calves were shredded as well. They strained and seemed to grow larger with each step. What was going on? Suddenly he noticed that in the two hours they had been walking by in silence, Tyson had not put the chest down once. In fact, he walked as if he were carrying a box of books. He strained, sure, but not nearly as much as he had when he first picked it up hours ago. He couldn’t just stand there anymore. “Tyson, I-” He cut himself off. Tyson turned around and put the chest down effortlessly. Pump nothing; his friend was growing. The veins had died down a bit, as if their job was done. Tyson looked at his body and touched it with both hands. “What’s happening to me?” He turned around and faced Jason, “Holy shit!” Jason blurted out. Tyson was a different person. His biceps were, in a word, huge. No pump could explain it. What had been a baseball was now swollen from his inner elbow to his shoulder. He flexed it and it peaked up a good two inches it seemed. He touched his abs. “Dude! Feel this shit.” Jason couldn’t help himself. His hand immediately went to Tyson’s abs and pulled away just as quickly. “Holy shit” he said again as his hand returned to Tyson’s midsection. It was like touching skin-covered metal. Not in a figurative sense, either. His body was as hard as any substance he had ever touched, covered in bronze skin. His hand, having a mind of its own, moved up to Tyson’s chest. All sinew and mass, they were two heaving slabs of beef. All in all he looked like an anatomic model of skeletal muscle that had skin vacuum-packed around it. He looked strong. Every movement of his body sent Tyson’s muscles dancing. Pulling his pant leg up revealed quads that rivaled a bodybuilder’s; each muscle separated with deep enough grooves to put a finger in. Jason stopped and took his hands away. It was more than he could handle. Tyson was still enthralled with his new physique, his hands all over his new eight pack. “The rat bite,” he said suddenly. “It must have done something to me. And those rabbits. All those animals were huge. What was that place?” “It was a government lab,” Jason answered. “They must have worked on human growth formulas and got shut down somewhere along the line. I guess those animals were decedents of the animals they tested. They—“ Their eyes suddenly went to the chest. “Let’s get home and get that thing open,” Tyson demanded. Jason had no hesitation about complying. CHAPTER IV: THE EXPERIMENT They made their way home in record speed. A quick of his home told Jason that his parents were gone, apparently not worried about their son not returning home the night before as the letter dated for that morning told him his parents were off for a summer vacation for the next few days. How convenient. When he walked back to the porch, he watched as Tyson strained to get the chest open. The miraculous growth had stopped about when they had first commented on it. It made sense; Tyson’s body had absorbed every bit of food he had eaten and even used every shred of what little fat he stored to give him the muscle he had. Question was: Was his body done growing or did it simply need more food? Tyson meanwhile, was grabbing the handle with one hand, the base with the other, and was giving everything he had to try to get the chest open. His body was as tense as iron, every muscle pumped and flexed to its max yet nothing happened. The box was made of steel and so was the lock apparently. And this type didn’t rust. With a last grunt, Tyson violently gave up, kicking the chest with a sigh of rage. He stood up, sweat soaking his taught body, gathering in the channels of his chest, abs and arms and running like rainwater down a window. A simple motion of turning his head even set his neck muscles to work, each one flexing and grinding against another like a pile of snakes. “I’m still hungry” was all he said as he brushed by him and into the house. The next two hours consisted of Tyson consuming every bit of protein in the house, and there was plenty. An obese family of three knew their way through a grocery store. Tyson consumed eight cans of tuna, every pound of hamburger, chicken, steak, and turkey they owned and had even started eating peanuts before he finally felt full. His stomach bloated beneath his boulder-like abs as if he were 8 months pregnant. Hands on the countertop, Tyson stopped to take a breath, then rounded the corner to the bathroom. A quick look inside showed Tyson on the scale, the digital readout displaying 187 pounds. “Holy shit, you’ve eaten 30 pounds of food.” “And twenty of it is still in my stomach,” Tyson said with a possessed gleam in his eyes. “I wonder—Man! I’m tired.” And as if his brain was running solely at the demands of his body, Tyson, clad only in a pair of gym shorts, collapsed on the couch, asleep in seconds. Jason watched his friend lie there for a little while before his grumbling stomach pulled him into the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten since the afternoon before and only just now realized he was famished. He got a good way through a third Hungryman TV dinner before he heard Tyson moan from the couch. Jason scrambled to the couch and saw that his friend’s breathing had quickened and his muscles were twitching. Within 5 minutes, his friend’s veins started swelling in that telltale precursor for growth. They started by just getting bigger, then they began to pump with every beat of his heart. And every beat made his muscles bigger. The bulge in his stomach slowly retreated as the energy inside it transformed him. His muscles involuntarily flexed and twitched as they swelled. His neck strained as it expanded, the cables in his neck expanding. His traps bulged and formed a peak between his neck and shoulder. His arms flexed and relaxed growing to the size of softballs while his triceps, every muscle protruding like it was trying to escape, pushed his arms out the other way. The grooves in his abs grew deeper as the rectangles of muscle that made up what was now a ten-pack pushed out. His lats flared pushing out his arms. The veins continued to pulse as they snaked their way down beneath his shorts and to his legs. His quads rolled in a never-ending battle as one set of muscle tried to grow over another. His calves looked perpetually flexed, shaped like diamonds and probably as hard. Tyson moaned in his sleep and his hand went to his crotch. That was when Jason noticed there was another bulge he had yet to see. His friends cock looked like it was already erect but when his sleeping buddy unconsciously adjusted to give it room he noticed that it was flaccid and probably over seven inches long. Suddenly Tyson’s eyes groggily opened and he sat up, stretching. The movement sent his body rolling as the brand new muscle moved for the first time. He stood up, eyes fixated on the chest, walked over to the chest and picked it up. He tested its weight with both hands then in a solid motion grabbed the latch and the base separately and tore the box open. “I feel so strong, Jason,” Tyson said as he put the opened chest down. His voice was dreamy, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. “It’s taking all of my willpower to not try to punch a hole in a tree or even push it down. Because I feel like I actually could.” At that moment he looked down at his body for the first time since waking up. He grinned and looked at Jason before reaching down into the chest. He pulled out a smaller black chest with an intricate clasp. Placing it on the table, Jason pushed the button on the front and the top opened with a hiss. Jason walked over and looked in the 2’ x 1’ box. Inside lay row after row of sealed vials, each set in a perfectly shaped hole in a cork bed. Tyson pulled out one of the vials. ‘Serum 07D-54’ was stamped on the side. Tyson smiled, looked at Jason, and handed him the vial. “Your turn” was all he said. And it wasn’t a question.
  10. I posted the old story here. Hope you like it as much as you remember... https://muscle-growth.org/topic/9349-blood-brothers/
  11. I was asked to post some of my older stories recently and am obliging by providing the ones I (a) still have on file and (b) were specifically requested. This was the original Blood Brothers story (Books 1 and 2) I posted many years ago on the old site. There is the beginnings of a Book 3 but I was gearing it up to be a Dark Tower of sorts by drawing together all of my other stories. For those who have patiently read the 100,000+ words I have posted in this genre over the years, you'd notice they all take place in the same universe, often referencing each other in some form. That became much too large an undertaking for the tastes of this site (as I started spending time on character development and plot vice muscle growth). Anyway, I haven't edited the story below since originally posting it so my apologies if it comes across as amateur...I was, after all, in my early twenties when I first jotted it down... CHAPTER 1 The first thing I saw was Casey’s hat fly into his own lunch. Then I heard laughter; not the friendly kind. Casey’s head was completely bald. He didn’t even have eyebrows. Apparently that was funny to the two fifth graders standing behind us in the cafeteria. There was no confrontation; the two abusers just went along their way. When I turned back to Casey, his normally pale face was a deep red and I could see the swelling purple veins at his temple. He said nothing, simply swallowed what he was already chewing before he took his soggy and corn-covered baseball cap out off his tray and began a mostly vain effort to clean if off with a napkin. I didn’t know what went on in his head and years later I would still think back to that moment, wondering why I did nothing about it. There were other moments I saw him tormented, I’m sure, but they have since faded into the glass haze of the past. Those few seconds, however, were somehow chosen by my brain to represent all the bullying and indifference a child went through when he was dying of leukemia. “He’s very sick” my mother told me months earlier when I complained that Casey wasn’t playing mini-mite football with me that season. I put the pads on my shoulder and fastened them while my mom held the practice jersey. “When will he get better,” I had asked. My mother looked at me with an expression I would later register as both adoring and sad. I didn’t know then how close Casey came to dying that fall. I knew what leukemia was but only in those partial truths which populated the world of a nine year old boy. It made you tired, it made you pale, and it made you lose your hair. But, like any cold or flu, I assumed you woke up one morning feeling better. “Hopefully soon,” she said in reply then put my jersey on the bed next to me and walked away. Casey and I had been friends since birth, a result of a close friendship our respective mothers had shared since they were in college. We were both active kids and my memory is speckled with bike rides through clay gorges and romps through tangled woods that our mothers would condemn and our fathers would applaud. I was always a little faster, a little taller. We were always on the same teams when we got old enough to start the annual round-robin of sports a kid is encouraged to play. Flag (then tackle) football in the fall; baseball in the spring; soccer in the summer. Juvenile athletics seemed specifically geared to ensure a snotty-nosed brat was exhausted by nightfall. The fact that their parents had the rare chance to communicate with an adult other than their spouse seemed to be a nice touch as well. Nine year olds base their reality on a limited and narrow history, and that history told me that Casey should be carpooling to practice today. It wasn’t until his hair began to fall out and he started feeling tired all the time that the seriousness of the situation began to register. Another sharp memory from that time put Casey and I in the backyard while our mothers sat on the back porch. I remember Jeannine, Casey’s mom, starting to cry and was quickly mimicked by my mother. Very few things affect a child stronger than seeing their mother cry. It diminishes their invincibility. A flash of anger swept through my body as I tried to listen to why my friend’s mom was making mine upset. “Casey,” I said sternly as I caught a word in their conversation. “What does terminal mean?” Casey stopped what he was doing and looked up at me from beneath a bare brow and scalp. There was a sly twinkle in his eye that later made me wonder what he knew of his future. “It means I’m getting on a train,” he said with a smile. I took it at face value. On the way home my mother told me they were taking Casey to a special clinic in Jacksonville. It didn’t go over well. I don’t remember much about the weeks leading up to his move but I remember him saying “see ya later” as he walked into his parents’ house on the way home from school. There was no cliché wave through the window from the back of the minivan as I chased his car down the street. Just a “see ya later” we weren’t sure was true. I lost contact with Casey but my mom would give me periodic updates she garnered from his mom. He was going through some very experimental chemotherapy on his blood. Neither of us knew much of what that entailed or meant but it didn’t sound like Casey and his family knew either. “But what’s important is that he’s alive,” she said cheerfully a few months after he left, which was the summer after fourth grade. A few months later my mom came in with a huge smile on her face. “He’s cured,” she said excitedly. I felt profound relief but could only ask when he was coming home. Her face dropped slightly before saying, “They’re going to keep him at Mayo for some tests. He didn’t respond to the tests exactly as expected.” “What does that mean?” I asked. She never answered. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know. My life moved on. Fifth grade started and ended. I went through middle school and grew into a young adult. At some point I realized I was athletic and got really into sports. At another point I realized I was good looking and got really into girls. It was the summer before ninth grade that I started lifting weights and was excited how well my body took to them. After a few months of using my dad’s basement equipment I developed a nice little six pack and had a nice bounce to my pecs. Little did I know then that it took more than pushups, and sit-ups, and some curls to go through a full body workout. But when your body comes from nothing, it responds to everything. By the time I started ninth grade, I was a mid-level stud. Nothing too special but I had a good enough mix of looks, athletics, and social stamina to made me popular enough. I played freshman football and learned what real weight training was like. The defensive coordinator, Coach Rodriguez (or Coach Rod) saw my interest in weights and took me under his wing. The team called him Coach Roid behind his back in part because of his sporadic tendency to go ballistic on a player doing something he considered brainless and also because he was 250 pounds of iron-hard muscle. “Just wait until football season is over, boy,” he said with a mischievous grin. “That’s when the real training begins.” I was excited and I looked forward to the beginning of the spring semester like it was Christmas. That didn’t mean I was stagnant through the first half of my freshman year. That first semester of high school I went from 140 to 150 and kept that six pack I was so proud of. One afternoon in mid-December, I came home after school and opened the door to find my mom sitting with Jeanette at the kitchen table. The two of them stopped their conversation and both turned to me. “Oh my, how you’ve grown,” Jeanette said with a wide smile. She got up and went over to hug me; I returned the favor. “Why you’re as tall as me now and it looks like you’ve been getting some exercise in too.” I was suddenly very conscious of the too tight shirt I was wearing. I liked the stares it got in high school hallways but it was kind of embarrassing when family and other adults noticed. “Casey will be going to school with you next semester. You think you could show him around? It’s been so long since he’s been here.” A flood of questions wanted to erupt from my mouth but seemed to be jammed in my throat. “Sure” was all that could escape. “Great,” she said and I suddenly noticed touch of sadness entering her eyes, and something else. The woman was exhausted. “He’ll be so glad to hear that. Maybe he could come by tomorrow?” I nodded, unsure why I was having trouble speaking. She nodded back and looked to my mom. “Well, Debra, we’ll have plenty of time to catch up later. It’s so good to see you again.” My mom said something similar and led her out. Once the two of them were alone, she came to the living room where I was sitting on the couch flipping channels. “Kind of a lot to take in, huh?” she said at my back. I shrugged in the way which infuriates adults trying to get information from their children. “I guess so,” I said back, not turning around. Mom sighed, forever patient, and sat next to me, then took the remote from my hand and turned off the TV. “We need to talk about Casey, sweetheart.” I turned, eyebrows raised. She took it as acquiescence. “He’s still very weak,” she said sadly. “Whatever they did to him cured his cancer but has severely limited his strength and endurance. It sounds like he really needs a friend right now. I’m hoping you could be that friend.” I thought of the hat being knocked off Casey’s head and into his lunch; how I had done nothing while my friend’s emotions boiled. Something inside of me resisted getting to know Casey again; I had a life and was really enjoying it. Did I want a sickly former friend fallowing me around? The shock that cold final thought sent through me forced the words out of my mouth. “Of course.” Our parents wasted no time: the doorbell rang the following afternoon. I was working out in the basement, dressed in a ribbed tank top and gym shorts. Standing on the other side of the door as I opened it was Casey. I recognized his face immediately but that was pretty much it. Although I knew Casey for eight years before he got sick, I remembered him only the way he looked those last six months. His dark blond hair had returned and he wore it like a mop on his head. What I remembered as grey eyes were now blue. He was also tall, taller than me I was surprised to find out. He’d always been the shorter between us, if not by much. He was slim but not sickly as I’d imagined. He actually looked healthy. “Hey, man,” he said with a forced half grin. His voice was deep. I for some reason expected the same nine year old voice.. “Hey,” I said back. We both stood there for a moment, shuffling feet. Then Casey said something that probably set the rest of their lives on the path it did. “Nothing like having our moms set us up like we were going on a date, huh?” I laughed genuinely and suddenly felt like everything was back to a normal too long ago to remember clearly. “I know. My mom acted like she was asking me to take the ugly girl to the prom.” The other side of Casey’s mouth finally completed the smile. “Awe, at least she’d put out,” he said, neither one of them really knowing exactly what that meant. “Come in,” I said, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders that I didn’t even know was there. “You working out?” he asked, his eyes shining. I looked down, realizing the colder air of the first floor had covered me in sweat. “Yeah,” I said. “Football season just ended and I’m trying to pack on some weight for next year.” “Still play football?” he asked, genuinely interested. I nodded as he followed me down the stairs to the basement. “Yeah, they want to send me to varsity next year so Coach Rod says I need to be at least 170 when the season starts.” We made it to my dungeon of a basement. My dad’s “gym” consisted of a weight bench, a bowflex, and an EZ curl bar with some plates…none of which my dad used. My mom was just happy to see the “rusty metal get some dusting.” I started putting some weights away, suddenly very conscious of what my mom told me yesterday. I looked at him standing tall and lanky surrounded by a room full of iron. Sometimes boyish impertinence overcomes social expectations: “You don’t look sick,” I said bluntly. “I don’t feel sick,” he replied just as bluntly. A pause. “I’m not sick.” “Mom says you can’t do any activity,” I retorted. He shrugged. “Not supposed to. My body can’t take it.” “What did they do to you?” I asked softly. He sat down on the bench, brushing hair from his eyes with his hand, eyes looking inward. “I don’t know much,” he said finally. “I remember what they said they were going to do but I don’t remember when they actually did it. They put me in a cold coma and circulated blood from my body into some sort of machine that introduced an enzyme which was supposed to kill the cancerous cells.” “I guess it worked,” I said simply. He looked at me patiently. “They said I had days left to live. That the cancer had metastasized to my organs and bones. There was no hope,” he said calmly. “I was prepared to die.” Not a fan of dark moods, I said what came naturally. “Sorry the docs let you down, buddy,” I chuckled and quickly changed the direction of the conversation. “But why were you gone for so long?” Casey sighed. “I was cured within six months but apparently I was reacting to the treatment strangely. That’s the part I don’t remember very well. I thought I handled all those stress tests fine; I felt better than ever. I was gaining weight back and everything. But the doctors told me that I failed them and that I had to minimize any activity.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a baggie with some pills. “I have to take these three times a day and avoid any physical exertion.” He smiled. “They taste like death.” “What do they do?” I asked. “They supposedly keep my body from falling apart. Exercise in a bottle my doctor said.” I was intrigued. “Do they work?” I asked and Casey surprised me by taking off his shirt, revealing the body of a healthy teenager. He was by no means as built as I was. Although couple of inches taller than my 5’7” I probably still outweighed him by a few pounds. But for someone who apparently never exercised, he looked pretty good. “You been cheating, Casey?” I asked with a grin. My friend shook his head. “No. I haven’t had a chance to. I’ve been on ‘round the clock surveillance for years. In fact, this is the first time I can remember being away from doctors and parents at the same time.” I looked at the pills in his hand. “Um, Casey,” I began nervously. “What would those pills do to someone like me? Someone who works out?” My friend shrugged nervously and looked at the baggy. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “They never told me what they are.” He paused and looked at me seriously. “Not sure if I like where this is going.” Damn, I thought. “Dude, just one. You take them three times a day, every day. What would one do? It’s not like it’ll kill me. I’ll take one, you can help me finish my workout, and we’ll do something else.” Casey looked back at the pills and then proved many parents right when it comes to estimating the decision-making skills of their young teen. “All right,” he said and threw me one from his bag. My heart was fluttering in my chest. If this did what I wanted it to, I thought, Casey might have to tell his mom he lost his bottle. Casey helped me rack my weights and we began what was supposed to be the final thirty minutes of today’s workout. CHAPTER 2 “Dude,” I said breathlessly. “I have to sit down.” We were about a five minute walk from my house, Casey’s suggestion. He wanted to get a feel for the old neighborhood. My old friend acquiesced and sat with me on the concrete drainage ledge on the side of the typical suburban street. “That workout really tapped you, didn’t it,” he said to me as I sat down next to him. I barked a grumpy laugh as I got comfortable. “It was the worst workout of my life,” I said in spite of my intension to merely think it. Casey shifted. “Looked like you started off really into it.” I thought for a moment and realized he was right. I was doing great initially; every rep felt like it was making my muscles larger. But within minutes, the inspiration wore off and a few minutes after that every lift was a chore. He didn’t feel sick, he didn’t even feel weak. It was like his body was depressed in spite of his mind. “My burps taste like a dog’s ass,” I said as a particularly raunchy one erupted up my throat. My friend chuckled. “If I didn’t know what you were talking about, I’d ask how you could be so sure.” “Those pills suck,” I said mirthlessly. Casey blushed. “What did you expect?” he asked, slightly offended. “To blow up like a beast?” “Well,” I began, “yeah.” Then I laughed. We both did. “Sorry to disappoint,” Casey said with a chuckle. “Guess these have a different effect on you.” I was disappointed, but I thought of the personal instruction Coach Rod was going to give me after school next semester and I brightened up. Besides, I was in a better situation than Casey. “You ever think about doubling your dose? You know, to see what happens?” Casey chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, made me feel like shit.” His face grew serious. “Dude, I feel like I’ve been a shadow walking through life these last few years. I don’t even remember what it’s like to just be a normal kid. I’m ready to start over.” “What do you mean?” I asked. Casey looked over at me. “Everything I read about leukemia says that I had something different all those years ago. Nothing adds up and for years I’ve felt the pawn in a scientific game. I can’t even trust my parents anymore.” “You can trust them,” I said confidently. “They did everything they could to make you better. Even moved to another state.” Casey nodded as if he knew that very well. “Well, now that I’m out from under that doctor’s and everyone else’s microscope, I can start being a kid again. Apparently the more experimental a procedure is, the more they own you afterwards.” He took the baggie of pills from his pocket. Tears were streaming down his face. “Fuck that doctor and fuck these pills.” He threw the baggie into my lap. “They are yours for all I care.” Ten minutes later, when Casey’s sobs had softened into short breaths, we got up and started walking to his old house where his parents were still moving in. He actually spit out a sad laugh as he wiped his eyes. “You would have probably had a less emotional day if your mom had forced you to take the ugly girl to the prom.” I laughed as well. “Yeah, well I got you to take your shirt off well before she would have.” I paused. “It’s good to have you back.” And it was. We made it back to Casey’s house. I still felt out of breath and lethargic, as if I’d spent a week straight sitting on a couch. Casey went up to the back of the moving truck and went to pick up a box. “What are you thinking?” a shrill voice moaned from the house. I turned and saw Casey’s mom rush from the house. “You know you’re not able to do that.” Casey let out an exasperated sigh and he put the box back on the truck bed. “Just thought I’d give you a taste of my life’s been like,” he whispered to me under his breath. He walked back into the house. I turned to follow after him, but I didn’t miss the sad and desperate look on Jeanette’s face. “I’m sorry,” I said and ran into the house. “Don’t be,” he heard her say quietly at his back. Three days later, winter break began and it was a countdown to spring and my new workout regimen. I got supplements for Christmas, and lots of it. “That’s all you’ve been talking about for four months,” my mom said. “We didn’t know what else to get you.” She looked nervously at my hoard. “That stuff is safe, right?” Casey and I continued to grow closer and before long we felt like the friends we used to be. On the Saturday before school started, on one particularly chilly day, the two of us were racing our bikes through the paths we did as young children. Casey’s mom didn’t approve but her son was breaking her down little-by-little. Besides, he felt great he said, and he wasn’t even taking the pills anymore. Not that his mother knew that last part, and she thought we were just casually riding through the paved streets of the neighborhood and not these arduous semi-trails in the rolling woods which lay at its border. Deep in the woods behind Casey’s house, we were pushing our bikes to the limit jumping over fallen trees and powering our way up hills. After a particularly daunting hill, he pulled to a stop. We were both out of breath but relishing the exhaustion the way only the young are able. “What’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly worried about Casey’s frail health. I turned towards him. His face was flushed and healthy, and that made me relax a bit. “Nothing,” he said as he stepped off his bike. He looked down at his legs and kicked them around at the knee, testing them. “Nothing,” he said again. Then he looked at me, his eyes sparkling. “You know, I’ve felt better and better ever since I stopped taking those pills.” I’d heard this before from him over the last couple days but was still confused by it. I hadn’t taken one after that first day so had nothing to compare it against. “Why do you think that is?” I asked, unzipping my jacket to let some cold air in. Casey seemed more interested in his legs than answering my question but eventually spoke. “You know my clothes aren’t fitting like they used to.” “Well, stop eating so much food,” I said sarcastically. The guy seemed to be eating whenever we weren’t stealing away from the steady gaze of his mother do to something she didn’t approve of. Casey’s eyebrows shot up and he smiled a knowing smile. “Let me show you something,” he said and started taking off his jacket. “What are you doing,” I asked him but barely finished the sentence before he pulled off his sweater and undershirt. The sight choked any other words from escaping. I couldn’t believe it. My friend was a stud. The overhead sun cast shadows under his pecs and detailed every soft line of his abdominal muscles all the way to the hem of his pants. Although not as striated as they were a few weeks ago, his pecs were easily denser and he bounced them a few times for good measure. Then he flexed his arms and a small bulge bloomed from each. A shadow was easily noticeable between his flexed biceps and relaxed triceps. He was easily as big as me now, and taller. “Holy shit,” I whispered. “That’s nothing,” he said and his smile grew wider as he bent over and unzipped his jeans. Dropping his pants revealed a set of quads that belonged on a track star. They swelled from his knee caps and were covered in deep set lines which only grew deeper when he flexed them. Turning revealed a ripped set of hamstrings and a set of striated glutes that bulged through his boxers. Compared to these oaks, his upper body looked like a sapling. “What the fuck?” I blurted out, unable to comprehend what my friend had become. “Sick, right?” Casey said. “Every day we ride our bikes through here, they start swelling like this. They tingle all day, like a mini-orgasm that lasts for hours. The shrink down after a few hours but, when I wake up the next morning, they’re definitely bigger than the day before.” I was at a loss. “How…what…dude!” Casey laughed as he pulled up his jeans, which for some reason disappointed me a bit. How have I missed it? It wasn’t hard to notice the size of his lower half even through the denim. The pieces were starting to come together in my head. I suddenly asked the right question. “What did they do to you in Jacksonville?” Casey’s smile dropped and his eyes lost their mirth. “I don’t know,” he said seriously, still shirtless in the cold. “But I’m not going to be their guinea pig anymore.” “What do you mean?” I asked, a little fearful of his tone. He smiled again and his eyes flashed with excitement. “I have a favor to ask,” he said. CHAPTER 3 Coach Rodriguez, or Coach Roid as his players called him when he wasn’t looking, looked at the two of us with a stern look. His heavily veined arms were crossed in front of his steel gut, making his forearms look like the size of pig shanks. “Now I know you,” he said to me. “And I know your dedication. I see something in you. But who’s this other kid you think I ought to waste my time to train?” Casey didn’t flinch but he let me answer. “I think you’ll like his work ethic every bit as much as mine.” It was the afternoon of the first day of spring semester. The day I’d been waiting for. And I was here with my best friend. Coach scanned Casey with his eyes. “You bring gym clothes?” he asked casually. Without hesitation, Casey took off his shirt and jeans. While he was wearing a pair of gym shorts beneath the jeans, apparently “gym clothes” meant bare above the waste. At 6’3” and an easy 250, Coach Rod made the two of us look like bean poles but he was surprised to see the definition on Casey. “Where you been all season?” he asked my friend. I was about to answer but Casey appropriately cut me off. “I’m new here, sir,” was all he said. “You play football?” “Used to,” he replied. Even though “used to” meant five years ago, Coach Rod apparently thought that was enough to assume Casey would be in pads next season. “I’ll tell you what, squirt; you give me one hundred pushups right here, right now, I’ll train your ass.” Casey immediately got on the floor and started doing pushups at a quick pace. “Real pushups, squirt,” he screamed loud enough to get a blood filled cable to rise from his neck. “Not those girly shits, elbows at ninety. There you go. That’s one.” About five real pushups later, Casey began to slow. Muscled or not, I wasn’t sure he’d done a push up since PE in third grade. I was suddenly hoping Casey could do twenty, let alone a hundred. Casey got to ten before his arms started to shake. Coach rolled his head and stared dramatically at the ceiling. “Oh, Jesus Christ, what the hell is it with these pussies? All this aesthetics bullshit and they can’t even throw their own weight around.” “Fifteen,” Casey said through gritted teeth. Coach looked back down at my still shaking friend. He kept his arms straight for a moment to catch his breath then dipped back down with shaky arms. “Six…teen,” he gasped as he slowly made his way back up. “Ok, kid,” Coach said. “I’m not sure you’re going to—“ “I’M NOT FINISHED,” Casey roared as the dropped down and pushed another rep. Coach’s eyebrows dropped and his face grew red in anger. He opened his mouth to verbally assault the disrespectful sod but was cutoff again by Casey yelling “Seventeen!” Only now each pushup seemed to be getting easier. By twenty he was only struggling and by thirty he was performing each rep in a clean, fluid motion. Fifty, sixty. The muscle on his back began to flush red and roll beneath the skin. “Well I’ll be damned,” Coach said under his breath. I could only smile. Seventy, eighty. Casey’s breath was now steady and strong. The horseshoes of his triceps, once only vaguely visible, now flared angrily from beneath his skin. Ninety. Then Casey did something I still can’t get over: he took one hand off the ground and started doing one armed pushups. One hundred… one-oh-one, one-oh-two. I started laughing. Coach got serious behind his own sardonic grin. “Get up, you arrogant ass,” he said. “I get it. You’re in. But can it with the sarcasm. You wasted a lot of my time acting like you would collapse at twenty.” Casey stood up, his face red with the effort and his pecs bulging like a pair of watermelons. Coach gasped and had his hand on my friend’s pec before he even knew what he was doing. Casey smiled and flexed them, making each into a striated ball that pushed against Coach’s touch. They were now so out of proportion with Casey’s body, the almost looked like breasts. “Um, ok,” Coach said as he dropped his hand and wiped it on his hip as if cleaning what he’d just done out of history. “This could be interesting.” Casey didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were semi-closed as if stoned. He flexed his pecs a few more times, squeezing them together as if noticing them for the first time. Then coach screamed an inch from his ear, “Wake up Goldilocks!” That did the trick. Five minutes later, the two of us were marching to Coach’s relentless drum. He pushed me a dozen reps past what I used to consider my max effort. He had me falling on the ground before he let up. I puked twice but he was quick to throw me a pre-made protein smoothie or something similar each time. “Nothing worse than working out on an empty stomach,” Coach said with a wry grin. It was the hardest day of my life, without question, but I could say that knowing that well over half the coach’s attention was on Corey. Coach seemed to finally understand that Corey somehow gained strength on each set, so he would start Corey off with light weight and incrementally increase it after five or so reps until he reached some sort of max. “You’re making me break every rule in the book, son,” the man told my friend after a particularly intense set under the bench press. Corey had just finished forty reps, the final ones being at 245 pounds. His entire body now matched the size of his swollen pectorals. It was like he was gaining mass out of nowhere, although coach was handing him every food item he had at hand throughout the workout. Although I knew he was 155 when we started this workout, he now looked over 180 and cut like a mountain. By the end of the hour, Casey had the sum of Coach’s attention. And I was ok with that. Casey lifted like an insane superhero and his body bulged more with every rep. Finally, Coach called it quits. As the energy in the room died down, Coach Rod’s game-time fury dissolved into something akin to confusion. “Young man, I don’t know what is going on with you, but I’ll be goddamned if I’ve ever seen anything like it.” He looked at Corey’s naked torso, now looking like an avid teen bodybuilder’s. “What are you taking, boy?” Corey smiled up at the behemoth man. “Nothing, I swear.” And it was the truth. Coach didn’t seem convinced but let it go. “I’ll see the two of you here at 4 pm on Wednesday. Eat at least four thousand calories a day from here on out.” He looked at Corey’s gorged body again and reached out to squeeze his arm, as it proving he was seeing reality. Corey lifted his arm and flexed what must have been a 16” arm. Not huge, but definitely bigger than the 13” one he walked in here with. Coach mumbled under his breath and continued doing so after he turned to leave. I only caught a few, “freak” was one of them. CHAPTER 4 “One hundred eighty three pounds!” Corey exclaimed through a mouthful of food as he stepped off the scale. That was a gain of over thirty pounds…in three hours. It shouldn’t be possible. It wasn’t possible. I mimicked Coach Rod and put my hand on my friend’s body, if only to make sure it was real. His skin was burning hot and there was a vibration coming from the muscle underneath, so faint that it may have been my imagination. And his body was hard. Too hard. It was like touching a brick wall covered in skin. He was in only his boxers, which now looked more like briefs on his gorged body. He had the vascularrity of a bodybuilder; there was muscle everywhere. I kept expecting the insane pump he attained during the workout to go away but if anything he was bigger than before, and more defined. A pump usually makes you look bigger but not more defined. That ballooned look was now gone, replaced by striated and cut muscle that was every bit as big. “How big do you think I am?” Corey asked while he entertained me checking out his deep cut abs. I pulled my hand away. “Guess we can find out,” I said simply. Five minutes later, I had found a tape measure and had measured every part of him that wasn’t covered in fabric. Neck 15.2”, Arms 16.1”, Forearms 12.6”, Waist 31”, Hips 34.7”, thighs 26”, calves 16”, chest 46.8.” “How is this possible?” I asked, meaning for it to be rhetorical. Casey’s eyes flashed and his mouth narrowed. “Isn’t it obvious? They’ve spent the last three years doing everything they could to keep this from happening. Well, I’m not under their vulturous stare anymore. I own my body,” he said as he threw up a double bicep flex that would be the envy of anyone at the school. “And I’ll fucking do what I want with it.” My brain had enough; it was exhausted. I looked at my watch. “Dude, it’s eleven at night. You staying here tonight or you want my mom to take you home?” Casey was snapped out of his cloud and looked up. “Staying here. If my mom sees this, I don’t know what she’d do. She’s obviously tried to keep it from happening.” I couldn’t exactly disagree with him so I threw him a pillow and blanket and told him to sleep on the floor. Two hours later I was still awake, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. Casey, as energetic and excited as he was, had surprised me by falling asleep immediately. The causes of my insomnia were a mix of a racing mind and the frequent moans of my friend as he perpetually shifted under his blanket. I was more than a little jealous of my buddy’s sudden…superpower, but I was happy for him. A week earlier I thought my life was perfect. I figured by sophomore year I’d be 180 or more; after that, who knows? If anything, having my friend back should make my life better, right? I smiled at the ceiling as Casey shifted again under his sheets. As a sense of peace settled over my mind, I finally closed my eyes and fell asleep. Strange sounds fluttered into my dreams throughout the night. However, as often happens when one falls asleep to unwanted background noise, my sleep remained firm if light. I don’t know how long the sounds continued but it wasn’t until the grey light of predawn filtered through my window that I finally opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was the black silhouette rummaging through my closet. The second thing was the mess on my floor. Empty bottles were everywhere and after a few seconds I recognized them to be most of the supplements I got for Christmas…empty. I could feel anger bubbling through the sleepy fog blanketing my mind, but it was soon cooled by a sense of curiosity tinged with fear. “Casey?” I asked the lumbering shape in my room. He didn’t respond and the fear pushed up a couple notches. Although the logical part of my brain said of course its Casey, the rest of it knew that couldn’t be true. The shape was too…different. I got out of bed, quickly losing any groggy remnants of sleep, and made my way to the door. Although I tripped over a few empty jugs of protein on my way to the light switch, the shape didn’t seem to register it. It seemed completely absorbed in eating my damn supplements. I flipped on the switch, my eyes squinted at the harsh new light but quickly registered the site before me none-the-less, and I almost passed out at the site of it. CHAPTER 5 Although the beast in front of me had Casey’s hair, the similarity ended there. He was facing away from me, his back muscles bulging and writhing as large hands sifted through what used to be my supplement store. Traps rose up and disappeared behind the shaggy mane atop his head. They ended at shoulders the size of cantaloupes. The rest of his back was wide a mountain of muscle that tapered into a waste more tight and taught than I thought possible. His boxers were glued to his skin and every striated detail of his glutes showed through the fabric. His oak tree legs were now redwoods and tapered down to calves that could carve granite. “Casey?” I asked again, my voice horse and barely above a whisper as I drew closer. He was obviously taller, perhaps 6’1 and that made him look even wider. I walked around him and glanced at his face from the side. His eyes were only partly open as if in a trance and his mouth hung gaping open whenever he wasn’t chewing on something. “CASEY!” I said louder. Still nothing. I reached up and grabbed his rock of a shoulder, trying to shake him. It wasn’t as effective as I’d hoped, he barely even moved even when I tried moving him with both hands. I ended up bulldozing into him with all my weight behind me before he took a balancing step and snapped out of it. “What?” he asked curiously, as if I’d simply woken him up from a good night’s sleep. He squinted at the light just as I had a moment earlier and wiped sleep from his eyes with his hands. Finally somewhat conscious, he looked at the mess on the floor around him. “What did you do to your room, man?” he asked innocently. I was more than at a loss for words. As Casey turned to me he revealed a body that could grace the cover of any fitness magazine. His pecs bulged from his ribs and looked like they were straining to cover the distance from sternum to shoulder. Eight dense and ripped abdominal muscles were carved between oblique walls that, themselves, bulged as if his ribs themselves were growing. His biceps were veined globes of muscle that looked made of steel even while relaxed at his side. My silence seemed to give Casey pause to figure things out for himself and it didn’t take long for him to notice how much taller he was than me now. Less than an inch over my 5’7 yesterday, he was now at least 4 inches taller…maybe more. He looked down at his hands, his eyebrows rising. Then he saw his body and a quiver went through his ripped form. “Look at me,” he whispered, mostly to himself. He put his hands on his stomach as if testing its reality. He smiled and his eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “Look at me!” he said louder. “I am, I am,” I whispered harshly. “And quiet down, will ya? Last thing I want to explain to my parents is why there’s a big, naked bodybuilder in my bedroom at…5 am.” Casey strolled up, heavy footed and obviously not used to his added weight. “Wanna make me?” he asked with a mocking grin. I gulped. I was roughly eye level with his chin, making his powerful chest very visible in my field of view. Each pec looked as big as my head. He caught me staring and gave one a bounce just for good measure. It popped up like there was an animal trying to get out of it. “Go ahead,” he said. “Touch it.” I did. Maybe any overly muscled person felt like my friend Casey did that day but it was a far cry from the body I called my own. His skin was smooth yet barely contained muscle as hard as bone. When, flexed it was a whole different story. It was like touching a block of steel. It’s not like his size was inhuman but I’d never seen a body like this except in pictures and it was a completely different world when there in the flesh so to speak. He was just...so much bigger than me. “It’s incredible,” I said as I moved my hand to his bicep, first poking it goofily with my index finger, then grabbing it with my hand. His skin was still on fire and there was still that faint vibration. It was like the rumble of the earth when a freight train is passing nearby. He curled his arm at the elbow and I felt a powerful bulge rise up and push my hand back. “You should feel it the way I feel it,” he said breathlessly. “It’s like the only thing keeping me from being twice this size is my skin.” I couldn’t necessarily disagree with the idea; his skin felt as tight as a balloon ready to pop. After a few awkward moments of silence where I could only feel a body I had only dreamed of seeing let alone have, we finally got down to business. “I guess your supplements work,” Casey said finally. “I’m sorry about that, man. Would you believe I didn’t know what I was doing?” I nodded, and did. I could hear the sound of movement from elsewhere in the house meaning my parents were up and about. They could not see Casey like this. Luckily, I had some clothes and a jacket to hide his width but not much would hide his height. “You shower up and find some clothes. I’ll go get some breakfast.” Casey nodded and walked to the bathroom, feet pounding like a gorilla’s. “Quietly,” I whispered. “I don’t want them to even know you’re here and that won’t happen if you’re stomping all over the place.” “Sorry, man,” Casey said as he adjusted his stride to tiptoes, forcing his vein-covered calves to flare out like diamonds. “You try being stealthy with a body like this.” He flexed his back for good measure…I didn’t even know you could even do that. I rolled my eyes and went downstairs, only to find the kitchen a small disaster zone. Slight panic welled up in my gut when I realized Casey had not only eaten my supplements but had devoured everything in the kitchen. I pictured him sleepwalking in only his boxers, rummaging through the kitchen, body expanding with every bite of food. Considering the situation, I considered myself lucky it was only as messy as it was. He was surprisingly thorough, leaving only empty cans and boxes scattered everywhere. I spent the next ten minutes gathering the tuna cans, peanut butter jars, egg cartons, milk jugs, deli meat bags, Wheat Thins, cereal boxes, you name it. By the time I was done, the pantry and fridge looked like they belonged to a poor college student…without the ramen noodles. Even after collapsing everything to as compact a pile as possible, it still filled up the garbage can in the garage. With no breakfast save a handful of goldfish crackers he had missed, I went back up to my room, still hearing the rushing water from my shower. Looking at the clock, I saw it was already 5:45, fifteen minutes before my parents ventured downstairs. I started to panic a little but kept my cool. I barged into the bathroom and drew the curtain on my friend, who seemed to be lathering his body for the tenth time. “You fucking ate my kitchen bare,” I said. He looked at me, looking half annoyed I wouldn’t let him enjoy his new body and half amused at the situation. “Oops,” he said. He flexed his arm. “Does a body good. These puppies are over eighteen inches around.” They looked every bit that big. I looked on the counter and saw my tape measure in a pool of water, as if he used it in the shower. The scale was also sitting in a pool of water. He must have thought of that particular stat after he got in. “Two twenty one,” he said smugly, following my eyes. My jaw dropped but I wasn’t all that surprised. It’s not like that body was full of air. It took every shred of effort not to touch his body again. “Look, you gotta dry up and get dressed, Casey,” I said, practically begging him to cooperate. :We got fifteen minutes before my parent notice we were invaded by a mob of hungry drifters.” That seemed to get his attention because he immediately turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. His glutes formed ruggedly carved boulders each time they bounced with each step. He grabbed a towel and dried off, seemingly enjoying the experience as much as he did the shower. Meanwhile, I held up the clothes he wore yesterday to my own body and quickly ruled out his ability to wear them. I rummaged through my closet for the biggest clothes I could find, meaning invading the stash of gifts from my grandmother, who seemingly thought I looked like adult-large material. “You’ll grow into it,” she had said confidently. “Yeah, in five years,” I said to myself. Five minutes later, we were both dressed, sort of. The shirt looked almost painted on his torso and the pants, although only slightly snug at the legs and butt, rose a good inch above the ankle standing up. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about people making fun of your capris,” I said after he made a comment about them. “Who would dare?” he said cockily. His feet were too big for his shoes now, so I gave him a pair of flip flops. The fact his toes and heels extended past the soles was nothing compared to the ridiculous ensemble he was already wearing. I completed it with my oversized ski jacket. If anything it made him look bigger, but at least that size might be blamed on the clothes and not the man underneath. We both crept down the stairs. Well, I crept. He stomped like a one-man marching band. “I can’t help it,” he said, still grinning. “Honey, is that you?” my mom said from her room. “Yeah,” I yelled back, my face red with frustration. “Heading to school early. Have a meeting.” It was the most ridiculous explanation I could have offered but it seemed to suffice to a woman who didn’t know there was anything to worry about. “There’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch,” she said in reply. Casey failed at any attempt to hold back a laugh, most of it escaping through his nose in a sort of snort. In spite of myself, I laughed too. What can I say? It was funny. “Thanks mom,” I said, voice filled with humor. Ten seconds later we were out the door. “Well, its six am,” I said matter-of-factly. “School doesn’t start for another hour-and-a-half.” I looked over and saw Casey thumbing through his wallet. “I’m sure we could fill that time up.” Believe it or not, we did. School was about a half mile from my house, as was a local convenience store. After raiding it of any nutritional value and one extra large “No Fear” t-shirt that I didn’t know people even sold anymore, we found ourselves back in the gym at school. “I wanna test these babies out,” Casey had said, popping a double bicep flex while walking down the road. The jacket stood attention as it rose with his bulging arms. I relaxed somewhat. That jacket was plenty big enough even if the shirt underneath was not. Fourteen hours and sixty pounds after his first gym experience, my friend Casey, cancer survivor, was benching 405 lbs for reps. My body was in tatters from the night before, feeling like it would hurt for days. I wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow’s workout with coach. But Casey’s body was apparently begging to be used. His chest swelled with each rep, his lats flaring like wings as he pushed his arms up. He was beginning to look like a pro-bodybuilder, except his muscles were still long and hard, not puffy and bloated like I’d seen on the cover of magazines. Not for the first time I wondered what the limit of his growth would be. Between each set, Casey would pose in the mirror, and each time a new body would pose back, a little bigger, a little leaner, a little stronger. It was something neither of us got tired of. However, at 7 am, I finally touched his boulder of a shoulder and told him it was time to stop. People might be showing up soon. “So what,” he said, the left side of his mouth curling up in a smile as arrogant as a drunken fratboy. “Let ‘em come. He flexed his biceps and Olympian arms exploded from their cocoon, both heads of each biceps stretching their constraining skin.” I still remember the feeling I had right then, inches away from the herculean body of what must have been the most developed fifteen year old in the world. Little did I know then how many Casey’s there were out there. I finally convinced him to put his clothes back on and walk to the front of school, and it involved letting him know that more people could see him there than here. The jeans were a little tighter and the polo shirt was a joke. It stretched across his torso like a rubber band, every ravine in his back visible and every bulge threatening to tear it apart. He smiled knowingly and lifted his arm. “Corey, no,” I said pleadingly but he had already flexed his bicep and the sleeve ripped lean across the seam and his arm exploded out of it like water bursting from a dam. It was criss-crossed in veins and the striations writhed beneath. “Dude,” I said, internally wincing at how winey I sounded. “That was a nice shirt.” “Was,” he said matter-of-factly as he ripped the rest off as if it were paper. After a pause, he looked up guiltily, “Sorry, bro, got carried away.” I couldn’t feign anger I didn’t feel. Everything that had happened since he awoke that morning was too incredible to focus on the negatives. Looks like it was a No Fear day, which was somewhat appropriate. It fit well, his vascular arms and 60” chest still had some breathing room. Ten minutes later we were both milling around in front of the school with the rest of the early arriving students. Although at school the day before, I never really had the chance to introduce Casey to any of my friends. He made up for that today. People I only rarely spoke to now came up for no reason to introduce themselves. One in ten looked like the name sparked a memory from years back but none said anything. Most had never known Casey anyway. His face was the only thing that made him look the age he said he was. The jacket was somewhat successful hiding the bodybuilder figure he was sporting but the jeans, ridiculously baggy on me and only barely tight on him an hour ago, now showed off his powerful legs that took every inch of its circumference. He was a hit to say the least. We split up for home room but shared first period. At no point did I see him without food in his mouth, most gotten from the convenience store, the rest from the “healthy” vending machines in the hallways. He stood out when we walked from class-to-class, easily mistaken for a senior athlete. In a class laden with other freshman, he looked downright foreign. He did well and kept his jacket on, although he looked increasingly uncomfortable and shifted around in a way that garnered some unwanted (or wanted) attention from the rest of the class. Our schedules split us up until lunchtime, and the couple of hours in between allowed me to hear all the rumors flying around about the “hot new stud” at school. I even heard one of the teachers whispering about him to her aid. “We’re training together,” I often said to any person curious how I knew him. More than once, I garnered the reaction I secretly wanted: the look that pictured me being just as big as him one day. The bell for lunch finally arrived and I finally saw Casey again. He was hard to miss. I still couldn’t get over how big he was and suddenly realized that I was at eye level with his upper chest now. My heart both sank and fluttered at the same time. He was still getting bigger. He had to be 6’5” now. The hem of his pants was well up his calf now and his quads and glutes now pressed violently against the denim and stretched it across his girth. The thick jacket now only served to enhance his frame. Although it still did a good job taking away his definition, his biceps now stretched it when his arms were bent and you could begin to see the outline of his chest under the inches of padding and cotton insulation. He was eating beef jerky out of a Warehouse sized bag and carried a gallon jug of water with his pinky as if it were an empty teacup. “Where did you get that shit?” I asked harshly, knowing quite well how unintimidating I was. I had to very obviously look up to make eye contact with him. “The varsity football players have a food horde in the locker room. They hooked me up,” he said, seemingly unaware or uncaring of my tone. “You have to stop eating like that,” I said, somewhat desperately. He stopped chewing for a moment and raised his eyebrows. “Would you in my situation?” he said as he put another piece of jerky in his mouth and washed it down with a third of the jug, the muscles in his jaw flares with every bite. God, he had muscles everywhere. Ultimately, I couldn’t say I would act any differently so we went to lunch like nothing was wrong. While in line, Casey received second glances from everyone who passed by. He didn’t even act like he noticed, but I saw his eyes briefly make contact with some of the onlookers. He knew, and was loving every minute of it. We sat down at what would be called the “cool kids” table if this were 1987. Casey and all his size sat in the place of honor in the middle. His tray looked like my plate did on Thanksgiving: so loaded up with food that you couldn’t even see the porcelain underneath. Apparently the lunch ladies knew he was a hungry boy and were delighted to help quench his stomach. He was flanked by my friends Jeremy and Amelia while I sat on the opposite site of the table from him. Both friends were making seemingly accidental contact with him too often for it to be as it appeared, and both didn’t seem to fathom what they were touching. Then Casey really set the table off: halfway through lunch, he took off his jacket and lay in on his lap. “Can’t hardly breathe,” he told me when my eyes grew wide. “Jesus Christ,” Chandler Roberts exclaimed with alarm from the end of the table. And that was the least of the comments which erupted from the table, not to mention from other people in the cafeteria. Carla, the girl sitting to my right, reacted by actually spitting her iced tea all over Jeremy’s face. To say Casey was bigger than this morning was an understatement. The No Fear shirt was an errant flex away from tearing apart. How big did one have to be to stretch an XL shirt by that much? His lats bulged and his shoulders looked like pumpkins, ridges and all. His chest was pressing against the shirt comically and bounced involuntarily with every movement of his arm. The veins and striations in his arms bulged through the t-shirt as if the fabric were merely paind. His back must have been equally impressive, for it garnered as much attention from the crowd seated behind him as his front received from us. “How on earth did you get all those muscles?” Colton, a friend of mine sitting next to me, also a bit of a gym rat, asked. “Hard work,” he said simply as he chugged his third carton of milk. His unflexed, but boulder-looking arm looked to be at least 20” around. Carla, who was still emotionally recovering from giving Jeremy’s face a bath, gawked openly. The rest of the lunch period, of course, revolved around Casey. And to be honest, I loved it. A couple of minutes after Jeremy finished drying his face, a particularly huge senior walked by and ducked his head next to Casey’s ear. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re sitting with the freshman, but I would kill to train with you, bro.” Casey grinned and at that precise moment, the fabric over his right shoulder split down the seam and ran itself all the way up to his neck, allowing the fabric on either side to fall back and reveal a smooth and gargantuan trap. I swear I didn’t see him flex or anything, but the timing was too perfect to not speculate intent. The big senior’s head snapped back and he dropped his lunch tray to the ground while his mouth hung open like a fish out of water. Casey turned around and I heard another stitch pop somewhere but didn’t know where. “I don’t know if you could handle my routine,” he said before turning back around. The senior walked away, leaving his trey on the ground and his gaze on Casey’s bare shoulder. The rest of the table was silent. By the time we were getting up from lunch, Casey sounded like an old ship at sea, every stitch of clothing creaked as they were pulled tighter and tighter or snapping all-together. Each bulge of his abs were clearly visible and protruded from below his shirt like a super-hero from a comic book. His quads bounced and boiled enough to show off their deep cuts even through the thick denim of his jeans. He seemed to realize that it would be a good idea to put the jacket back on but even it was looking comically tight by this point. “I don’t know what to say,” I whispered to him. And it was true. “Say it’s awesome,” he said with a laugh. I turned towards him, not surprised to see that I was eye level with the lower part of his chest now. Looking down, the bottom of his shredded calves could now be seen below the bottom cuff of his…my…jeans. I guessed he was 6’6, and maybe 260 lbs. Hell, maybe 300. Maybe more. It was hard to tell at this point. The lines of his biceps and triceps bulged through the polymer fabric of the jacket. It camouflaged nothing now. He might as well be walking around shirtless. My jeans groaned with each step he took. “I think you should stop eating until we get you out of here,” I said on our way to English, which we happened to both share. As if to answer, he pulled out yet another bag of beef jerky and started eating it one shredded leaf at a time. I sighed, but my stomach was fluttering. He was right. This was awesome. There were two more periods that day and I was counting down every second until that final bell. English was a lesson in patience. Casey sat next to me, concentrating only on what he was putting in his mouth. It seemed like every bite of food Casey swallowed resulted in the sound of another stitch popping somewhere on his body. The jacket now looked painted on him and, by the end of the period, I knew that the popping stitches were now coming from the jacket. The shirt underneath was probably just rags at this point. We split up for the final class and as I watched him go, standing head-and-shoulders above anyone else in the hallway and half again as wide. A trail opened up for him and not an eye was drawn to him as he passed by. I could only guess what he would look like by the final bell; a mere hour away. CHAPTER 6 I was standing in front of school after the final bell, allowing the milling masses of students to walk around me as I waited for Casey to meet me for our walk home. My last period was rife with whispered rumors about what happened with my swelling friend during our lunch period and the claims grew wilder as the minutes rolled by. “He picked Rick Barnes up by the neck and threw him across the lunch room,” I heard one guy say. I supposed Rick Barnes was the football player who asked to work out with him. The general consensus had Casey at well over seven feet tall and having to duck and turn sideways to get through a doorway. I chuckled internally at the exaggeration stated as fact yet had to question how far from the truth it actually was. As I eavesdropped on the conversations in the hallway and outside in the causeway, I realized the rumors were intensifying even further. “Some muscle guy burst clean out of his shirt and pants,” a girl said. “Guess they don’t make clothes big enough for a stud like that.” “They had to usher him out of the class,” I heard another person say. “Apparently he had to hold his backpack in front of his dick because his underwear came off too.” “I saw him in the hallway while I was heading to the bathroom, dude,” I heard from another. “Mr. Robertson was escorting him and had to reach up just to hold on to his arm. Fuck man, his hand didn’t even make it a third way around his bicep. The guy must have weighed…” His voice faded into the din of the passing crowd. No one who heard these tales believed them entirely yet passed them on as truth nonetheless. I didn’t believe completely either until a girl I actually knew hit too close to reality with her rendition. “He was eating like a starving animal and drinking his jug one water as if addicted,” Amber Reynolds said to a friend of hers as she walked by. “It was like he didn’t even hear the stitches on his clothes popping like fireworks.” I grabbed her arm before she could walk by and she pitched an annoyed look before she realized it was me. “Where you actually there?” I asked quickly. “What happened?” Amber’s dreamy smile returned. “I was there,” she said almost breathlessly. “It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.” I thought of Casey’s overstuffed backpack and jug of water. He refilled that gallon jug three times during lunch alone and who knows how much food was in that pack. If muscle is 85% water, then Casey had an infinite supply of growth readily available. “Go on,” I said impatiently. “It was the craziest thing,” Amber Reynolds said, her eyes wide with excitement. “He just kept eating and drinking, eating and drinking until those little pops turned into the sound of paper ripping. I looked back and saw that his jeans had ripped along the thigh and was growing down his leg and up to his waste. His legs just erupted from the tear like they couldn’t wait to escape and…” she swallowed and took a breath. “I can’t tell you what they looked like. It was like…like a tree trunk covered in skin. They were so huge.” She held her slightly curved hands in front of her about two feet apart, as if mimicking how big his thighs actually were. “Then it went really crazy,” she continued. “He just…flinched. Or shrugged, or something.” She paused, her eyes glassy and somewhat…lustful. “And his clothes just fell away.” “Fell away?” I repeated, confused. “Fell away,” she said again. “Like he was shrugging off a blanket. Suddenly he was naked save for the clothes he was sitting on and a few tattered rags sitting on his bare legs. Oh god, what a sight.” “What happened to him, Amber?” I asked loud enough to break her from her stupor. She still looked at me a moment before answering. “I guess they took him to the principal’s office,” she said. Then she turned to the friend she had originally been speaking to. “I’d say I was sorry to see him go but at least I had the chance to see those gigantic legs move. Oh, and Sandy,” she said, returning her attention back to her friend. “His ASS. It was like two pumpkins trying to eat each other.” I raised my eyebrow at her strange description but let it and the two of them go as I raced back into the school to the principal. Making my way down the hall, I bolted right past the “Students must be escorted to enter” sign and into the faculty area. “Hold it right there, young man,” a woman said to my back as I raced by her and into Mr. Stone’s office. The principal, himself, was on the phone when I barged in and he immediately looked none too pleased to see me. “Hold on one moment, ma’am,” he said to the phone under a furrowed brow. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked me with a mix of anger and surprise as he pressed the mute button on the console. “Sorry, sir,” I said truthfully. “My friend Casey apparently had an…incident today.” The principal’s stone gaze softened and was replaced by a sort of dreamy terror. “Casey Valencort?” “Yes,” I said simply. The principal looked like he’d just flashed back to a memory he’d successfully tried to forget. He even started mumbling to himself as his eyes shot to a corner of the room behind me. I followed his eyes and saw the ruined remains of a wooden chair which must have originally rested where I now stood. God, I thought with surprise. How much weight would it take to crush it like that? I looked back at the principal, who was still blank faced and incoherent. “What happened?” I demanded angrily, shaking him out of his own mind. The fact he wasn’t upset with my tone was testament enough to his shock. “Coach Rodriguez took custody of him, took him to find some clothes,” he said blandly. I nodded and started to leave the office. “Wait,” the principal said, the gusto in his voice returning. I turned back, waiting for the rest. His fortitude was short-lived as his eyes had already glazed over a bit and the strength in his voice was gone. “What’s wrong with you kids these days?” I didn’t even answer. I was out the door and racing towards the gym. A minute later I burst through the doors to the school gym. Normally full of jocks pumping iron at this point (Monday was an exception as it was technically closed during the first day of the semester), it now held only two people: Coach Rod and the biggest human I’d ever seen in my life. Coach, all 250 pounds of him, was obviously dwarfed by my friend. Casey was shirtless and I’m not sure a shirt of any standard size would have fit him. However, Coach had found what looked to be XXXL shorts for him and it was so baggy at the waste that it rested on the stone shelf of his glutes yet still looked glued to what must have been 40” thighs. Casey himself was doing barbell curls, with four plates on either side. The kid was curling over four hundred pounds. And easily. His arms were crisscrossed with veins were pumped to nearly thirty inches around. Each different muscle in his arm stood out in bold relief. Coach Rod was sitting there, looking like a dwarf, eyes glistening in amazement. Based on the size difference, I’d put Casey at nearly seven feet tall and easily over 300 pounds, probably closer to 350. Both stopped what they were doing when I ran in. Casey was a site to behold, and for the first time today he didn’t have food in his mouth. His backpack was open and empty. He still had the jug with him, and took gulps often. Even at this size, his muscles were long and lacked that bloated look of a normal person who attained such mass. The entirety of his body was growing (if to a smaller extent than the muscle) and that included his bones, probably his organs, and (thank God) his skin. He was becoming a giant in every sense of the word. A giant made of corrugated steel covered in skin. He was also still growing, I assume, because he was continuously stretching and shifting as if to make room for new mass. I wondered how much “muscle reserves” he still had left in his stomach. He lifted his arms over his head in a just-out-of-bed stretch that made him look like a titan breaking out of a mountain. His lats flared like wings the size of a whole ham and pulled his iron mid-section of deeply etched ab blocks the size of mason bricks tight. He smiled at me between upper arms that dwarfed my head. Even after such an eventful day, I saw no fear in his eyes. There was only determination and an obvious enjoyment. “What up buddy?” he asked. Had his voice always been that deep? “I guess I should ask you that,” I said as I reach the two of them. As always, being this close magnified everything. Coach Rod’s own huge size somewhat compensated for Casey’s unnatural proportions at a distance but up close, there was no denying how big my buddy had become. He was as tall sitting as I was standing. There wasn’t a soft spot on his body, each muscle stood out boldly as if flexed. I could put both my outstretched hands, side-by-side, and not cross a single pec. Each shoulder was as big as my head. In short, he could break me like a twig with no effort if he had such a motive and there was nothing I could do about it. “Your friend has had quite a day,” Coach Rod said surprisingly casually. “An amazing day.” “Yeah,” I replied brilliantly. “He won’t tell me what’s going on but I suppose that’s his business anyway,” Coach continued. “What’s my business is making sure you two boys are okay.” “I’ve never been better,” Casey said as if for the tenth time. Coach Rod nodded impatiently, as if he’d heard it for the tenth time. “Just promise me you won’t end up giving half the high school a peep show again, young man.” Casey responded by bouncing his pecs, forcing those two fifty pound heaps flesh to jump like rabbits. “But it’s so much fun,” he said, every bit the fifteen year old he was. I saw a fistful of fury cross Coach’s eyes but was quickly replaced with a sparkle. To my surprise, he smiled. “How did it feel walking through those halls with a bookbag barely covering your junk for all to see?” “I ruled the world,” Casey said with a grin. “Hah!” Coach barked and slapped Casey on the arm, hard. The boy didn’t even move. Shit, his arm didn’t even dent. “I bet it did.” “CASEY!” a voice called from the door I just entered through. The three of us turned our head to see Casey’s mom standing in the doorway. Her face was a mask of worry and mascara stained streaks ran down her eyes. “Mom,” he said as he got up and walking by me. I was wrong, we was over seven feet. And over 350 pounds. He thundered over to his mom and bent over to embrace her, almost making her disappear in his arms. “Are you okay?” she asked, doing her best to take in the giant in front of her. The top of her head barely reached the bottom of his chest and he was easily twice her width. “Never better,” he said yet again. “But-“ She reached up and covered his mouth with her finger. “Shh. We have a lot to talk about, I know. On the way home.” And it was as simple as that. With a gracious nod to both Coach and me, she ushered the giant out of the room. Both of us exhaled breaths we didn’t know were being held. After an awkward silence, I smiled and did what I do. “Think you can make me that big?” I asked. Coach laughed a nervous laugh. “Can’t say it’s not possible,” he said and looked at the now vacant doorway. “Apparently nothing is these days.” “See you tomorrow afternoon?” I asked. He looked at me and nodded. I got up and left, leaving Coach on the bench staring at the wall. I could only guess what was going through his mind. I ignored the half believed rumors of a giant walking to a Camry and having to bundle himself into a ball to get in. Apparently he’d been so heavy that the passenger side of the car nearly dragged on the asphalt as it drove away. I walked home, expecting a call from my friend that never came. I let him be. My parents must have known something was up; they never asked about the suddenly empty kitchen. I went to bed early, dreaming about what it must be like to be any size you wanted. Casey wasn’t at school the next day but the rumors continued. He went back to the military lab he’d come from. He was playing football for a college team. One guy swore he was in the porn industry now. No one seemed to remember that I was the one who brought him here, and I was ok with that. I pounded another grueling workout with Coach Rod and tried to call Casey on the way home. No answer. After he didn’t show up the next day, I dropped by his house. His mother answered the door. “Hey there,” she said, her smile only semi-believable. “I was just wondering if Casey was home,” I said, sounding like a ten year old. “I’m sorry, hun, Casey won’t be back,” she said, sending a knife through my heart. “But I can tell you it’s for the best. He said so. It was wrong of me to keep him in a bottle I suppose.” She looked like she was only half convinced. “Will I see him again?” I asked. She smiled again, her eyes distant. “I don’t know. But you two have something special I suppose. That may bring you together.” I nodded but my heart was sinking. “Well, thanks,” I said and turned away. “Wait,” I heard at my back. “I almost forgot.” I turned back towards the door and saw her walking down the foyer and into the adjoining living room that was still serving as a receptacle for what remained unpacked from their move. She pulled a taped up box about twice the size of a standard shoe box and came back to the door. “He said you might want this,” she said as she handed the box over. “Said it’s some stuff from when you were kids.” I was somewhat taken aback, wondering if I should feel hurt and if he was closing himself out of my life after reintroducing himself into it so briefly. It tested it in my hands, ready to be gone. I bid her goodbye again, still perplexed by her strange mixture of sadness and…relief? The walk home was short and the box couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds. It was slightly damp on the bottom and quietly rattled with each step, as if filled with beans. Ten minutes later it was on the desk in my room and I was cutting along the taped seam with my house key. Opening it revealed a sealed envelope sitting on top of some packing peanuts. My name was written on it, the letters large and somewhat unwieldy. It made me wonder how big Casey was when he penned it. How big do you need to be before using standard pens becomes a delicate chore? The letter inside was written in the same oversized and clumsy script. I heard somewhere that Vikings used to slice open their palms and shake hands with their closest friends, forming a bond that enemies could never break. As Blood Brothers, they gained each other’s strength and would meet each other in the afterlife if slain. I’m not sure what’s going to happen to me; maybe an afterlife in its own rite. There’s a lot more to this story than I ever knew and am still digesting it. I could use a Blood Brother along the way. The choice is yours, of course. Your friend, Casey I put down the letter and brushed aside the packing peanuts. Inside was a bunch of those pills he was taking before he came back. I was confused, and pretty sure we determined those to be poison. I took a few of the bottles out and noticed another, smaller box resting underneath. It was sitting on two ice packs that had melted back to mush. The smaller box was metal and looked pretty official. I opened it and my heart skipped a beat. Inside was a sealed hypodermic needle and next to it was a small vial filled with a thick red liquid so dark it was nearly blue. The words in the letter came crashing home, and what Casey wanted me to do. Blood brothers indeed. Blood Brothers 2 (Chapter 7) I rolled the vial of Casey’s blood in my palm, my mind trying to sort out a dozen different scenarios at the same time. From the din which crowded my senses came only one question, travelling only at a whisper yet as powerful as a typhoon. Would it make me like him? I didn’t know how to use a syringe; I’d never done any drug other than smoking a cigarette in eighth grade. And I’d hated it. I mean, it’s not like Casey had AIDS. What’s the worst that could happen? Before I could consider an answer, I involuntarily started focusing the BEST that could happen and doing so made my mind wander as if in a dream. I mentally felt my body, one that had felt so top of its class a few days earlier. I had a six pack, sure, but it was mostly due to me being lean. It’s not like it could take a punch. I told my meathead buddies that I had 14” arms but that required a full pump and a pretty solid rounding up. I suddenly felt like a man dying of thirst staring at a river of water, fresh and clean…and would keep him from ever being thirsty again. I took off my shirt and stared at the mirror on my wall. A weak voice in my head told me I was no slouch and an even quieter one said it was silly to compare my development at fifteen to a model on a magazine cover, a bodybuilder football coach, or a freak teenage boy. A louder one mentioned the dozens of same age guys at my school with better bodies than me. Why couldn’t I be the genetic freak? “Who listens to the quiet voice anyway?” I whispered to myself as I emptied the vial into the syringe and drained it in my butt cheek. It hurt like hell. Deed done, I dropped the empty syringe and looked back at the mirror. I looked the same, of course, only now my mind saw the reflected image as a cocoon from which a specimen rarely seen on this earth would soon break free. Looking back, that was probably the most powerful I’d ever felt. What had the current great muscle gurus of the world seen in the mirror when they were fifteen? Did they know what they would become? I thought I did, and couldn’t wait. On impulse, I dropped down and did as many pushups as I could before my chest gave out, which wasn’t many considering the intense regimen Coach Rod put me through earlier that afternoon. Standing, I was disappointed to see only a moderate pump, if one I’d be otherwise proud of. For the first time I felt doubt that this would work. My mind flashed to a couple days before, when I’d taken the pills, so sure they’d make me buff. I’d felt the same then as I did now; would the pending disappointment feel the same too? Life went on after that night. I ate dinner with my parents, kitchen fully restocked. My parents talked to me about the complete devouring of a family’s foodstuffs; I said Casey and I were on a heavy calorie diet and we feasted that night. They didn’t comment much. For all I knew they heard the truth about Casey already. Parents can be so…willfully blind at times. Regardless, I ate like a horse, hoping it would affect me the same as it did Casey. It didn’t. I went to bed that night stuffed to the point of pain. I woke up the next morning, which happened to be Friday, and ran to the mirror. Same body. I walked to the bathroom, weighing myself and was surprised that I saw 154 on the scale. I normally weighed 150. Then I realized I had to use the restroom. To spare the details, five minutes later I wasn’t 154 anymore…I was 151. The disappointment was the same, it turned out. I went to school as if everything was normal. Any, quite honestly, it was. Casey’s fifteen minutes of fame were still whispered about in corners among the meatheads and muscle-lovers, but that was about it. Although not depressed, I still wandered through the day lethargically. That lasted right up until my appointment with Coach Rod… “What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?” Coach screamed in my ear, the veins in his sweaty neck standing out like electric cabling. I had just finished benching 155 five times. I’d done eight reps four days earlier; not good. We were not alone. The high school gym was filled with perhaps a dozen or so lettered athletes, most juniors and seniors and every one of them bigger than me. They all stared at the two of us but with a gaze that said most had been yelled at by the behemoth coach on many occasions as well. “Give me those ever-effeminate hands of your,” he ordered as he forcefully took them and pulled me to the pull-up bar that stood in front of full-wall mirror. After forcing the person already using the contraption away with a glare, he somehow made a tube of duct tape appear out of nowhere and ordered me to grab the bar. I jumped up and hung from it, watching my tiny lats flair like flattened footballs. My curiosity was replaced with a morbid realization when Coach wrapped my hands in duct tape until they were nothing but grey balls connecting my wrists to the bar. I couldn’t move my fingers a hair’s width. “Now you’re going to hang there until I get one hundred decent pull-ups from you,” Coach said simply, then sat down and stared. I got to work but only got to eight before I gave up. “Fuck you, squint,” he said to my reflection in the mirror. I pulled again, arms, shoulders, and back burning. After hanging for a few seconds, I was able to do another. “Ten,” he said, not even looking. He looked like he was losing his patience. Over the next few minutes, I did five more before calling uncle. “I can’t,” I moaned, hanging from the balls of tape with my toes six inches off the ground. Suddenly Coach’s evil eyes were an inch from mine. The bulges of his traps and thickness of his neck absorbed the periphery of my vision. “If I hear ‘can’t’ one more time from you, ever, I will never train you again. You understand me?” I could only nod and did another rep. “Good,” he said, eyes still on fire. Then Coach surprised me by taking his shirt off and leaping next to me on the bar as if to perform pull-ups himself. I looked at our reflections in the mirror before up. Me, the puny fifteen year old, and my new mentor, all 250 pounds of shredded muscle, hanging next to me with his lats flaring like wings beneath his bulging arms. “You want to look like me one day?” he asked as he performed a perfect pullup. “You gotta work like me.” Then he did another and another. Then he looked at me and said something which changed everything. “You…are…not…Casey.” Something snapped in my brain. I had been looking for the easy way out. I was looking for a body in a day, like Casey. But that didn’t happen except in two-day-long dreams. This was how you built muscle. I performed another pull-up; Coach did the same. His arms and lats were flushed with blood and bulged as they pulled his weight. I want that, I thought. I did another pull-up; he did too. I don’t know how long it took me to get to one hundred but that time was filled with more screams and pain than I knew myself capable of bearing. Coach performed every pull-up with me, and did it with much less strain and noise. Exhausted, sweating, and ragged. I hung nearly lifeless from the bar, head down and body on fire. I felt a solid pat and squeeze on my lats. “Nice pump, boy,” Coach said as he put a foot stool beneath my feet and began unwrapping my hands. I looked at the mirror and was happy to see that my lats actually looked big, as did my arms…even if both felt as useless as a wet sponge. I also noticed that the rest of the eyes on the gym were on me. Coach did too. “If you assholes have nothing to do but gawk, get the fuck out of my gym,” he screamed, all the more intimidating without a shirt on. Some actually did; the rest turned away and didn’t make eye contact the rest of the hour. Coach turned to me, looking as scary as ever but speaking softly. “Ninety-nine percent of everyone who touches a weight will never reach their potential because they let their body tell them when to stop. The second you do that, you fail.” His face was a few inches from my own, and his angry eyes and gorged body filled my vision. He tapped my forehead with his index finger. “This tells you when to stop.” Coach grabbed his shirt from the floor. “Never in your life will you have a body more malleable than the 15 year old sack of skin you now wear. You feel like wasting that time by doing a few pushups then playing video games the rest of the day, you do it on your own time.” He paused, looked at my body hanging in front of him, then a gleam entered his eyes and his lips curled into a smile so small I almost believed it wasn’t there. “See you Monday.” Then he walked out of the room. I got the hint; I spent the next hour working my ass off in that gym. Well, that is, after one of the other guys in the room was kind enough to remove the tape from my hands. When I finally left, I felt completely destroyed but my heart raced with excitement and my mind was on fire. I felt amazing; I practically skipped home. That night, after eating three meals in four hours, I hit the bed at eight that night and barely took a breath before I was out cold. The next morning I weighed myself. 152. Whatever, Rome wasn’t built in a day. The semester progressed and consisted of eating, lifting, school, sleep and an occasional bit of life. I decided not to play baseball that year and focused on Coach Rod’s training. Each session was brutal but seemed easier as the weeks went by. Each day I woke up feeling a little bigger, a little heavier. The feeling was verified by the tape measure and scale. By the end of the second week I was 155. By February, I could claim 14” arms without any guilt. I became more defined, my pretty boy abs grew deeper and harder and my chest started to bulge as my bench presses reach the 200’s. By mid-February, I started to notice lines in my quads and could actually see the muscle moving under the skin. I was at 160 at that point and had forgotten all about my failed experiment with Casey’s blood. I also felt I wouldn’t have a problem making 180 by next football season. People started noticing that my shirts were getting tighter and as the winter chill began to fade, so did the amount of clothes I wore. My abs were becoming famous and being asked to show them became almost a daily event. By March I told Coach Rod something I never thought would come out of my mouth. “You think the workouts are too easy?” he asked, his voice rising by an octave. The rest of the people in the gym came to a screeching halt. That freshman punk said what? was written all over their faces. “I was wondering if we could do this five days a week,” I said sheepishly. “I’m just not hurting the next day anymore.” A devilish smirk grew into an evil grin. “If you’re still saying that by tomorrow, you little prick,” he said coldly, “you’ll get your five days a week.” There was nothing hiding his belief that would not be happening. I puked twice, nearly passed out once, but that next afternoon I stood in front of his office and said I was ready for more. He was shocked. But the sparkle I saw in his eyes said he was also proud. By March, I “tipped” the scales at 165. I’d gained fifteen pounds in eight weeks! My arms were now a solid 15”, my six pack had become and eight pack, I was getting close to 5’9”, and my legs were beginning to look like a sprinter’s. Although the lightest guy in the gym other than me had to be 180, I looked bigger, and I was easily stronger. I was benching 225 for reps and could curl fifty pound dumbbells. By mid-March, I was 170 and had pretty much put any shirt with sleeves into cold storage. Although big for a freshman, 170 isn’t much to brag about in high school. One look at my hard and vascular arms would show just how much muscle 170 could hold. Spring break means nothing more than pools and days off for a freshman but I found a way to lose my virginity to a sophomore named Jenna Staples. That was when life took a little bump… The week after spring break, in the hallway between periods I was suddenly slammed against a locker and before I knew what was happening there was gigantic forearm pressed beneath my chin and pressing my neck against the metal behind me. “You fucked my girlfriend,” a pair of angry eyes said down at me. They belonged to Jesse Strand, a linebacker on the football team and one of the best wrestlers our school had ever seen. He was a junior and was probably the strongest person in the school. He was 6’1, over 210 pounds and, from what I heard, was one of those genetically gifted individuals who was far stronger than their size would imply…and his size was substantial. He wasn’t as ripped as me but at times like these that didn’t matter. “I didn’t…know,” I said with difficulty. I could see the bulbous shoulders and traps bulging under his shirt. His neck was as big around as some people’s thigh. “She didn’t…tell me.” He responded by pressing me harder against the locker. “Don’t speak, pretty boy, just listen. I… reminded Jenna why she chose me and we’re just fine now. You and I?” he said menacingly. “You and I got a problem.” He looked down at my sleeveless arms and sneered. “Those things you have may sway the ladies but these,” he said as he flexed his free 18 inch arm an inch from my face, “are for kicking ass.” A grunt from behind this overgrown asshole diverted both of our attentions from each other and to Mr. Reynolds, a science teacher, standing with a stern face over a pair of crossed arms. A moment later, Jesse turned to me again and whispered “this isn’t close to being over” before releasing me. I collapsed to my knees as he walked away. The whole episode probably took less than ten seconds but I still felt everyone’s eyes on me as they walked by. Although I my mind pooled with legitimate fear, rage and obsession covered it in an oily sheen. The feeling lasted until just after the final bell rang when I walked towards the gym at the back end of the school. I was in the covered walkway among a small trickle of students on their way to various after school activities when I suddenly found myself staring up at the aluminum overhead from the ground. Stars danced before my eyes. A second later, as I was forcefully pulled up by my neck, pain ballooned across the right side of my face and I felt blood pour from my nose. Jesse, now in a white sleeveless shirt that showed just how big his arms were, filled my view. I could hear the hoots and laughter of his friends behind him. “Let’s just say that love pat was the least you deserved.” Then he did something I had no idea would be as humiliating as it was: he spit in my face. My mind boiled in rage and before I could even think about it, I shot a bloody wad of spit right in his eye. My stomach dropped and panic took over while the spittle was still in the air. Blinking the return fire away, Jesse’s face turned a menacing scarlet and a dark vein started to pulse on his forehead. His friends stopped laughing, suddenly afraid of what might happen. He squeezed my neck, causing the tendons in his arm to bulge. My arms flailed in a vain effort to push him away. He grabbed them both by my wrists with his free hand. His grip was like a vice and the combined strength of both my arms couldn’t budge him an inch. Jesse looked around and I took the opening to do the same. Although no one was in our immediate vicinity other than his two lackeys, there were a couple lingerers in distant eye shot. Looking back at me, his bicep and deltoid bulged with power as he actually lifted me off the ground onto my tip toes to get my face right up to his. “That’s your second mistake.” He paused. “And you last. It’s going to take me a long time to do what I’m going to do to you,” he whispered in my ear. “Unfortunately, you look like a screamer. And we can’t be interrupted now can we?” He lowered me to my feet. “If I find you alone, you’re dead.” Dropping me, he walked away and didn’t look back as his buddies congratulated him for kicking the ass of a kid two years his junior. I wiped the blood from my nose, anger and fury boiling whatever fear and embarrassment I should have felt into nothing. I stormed into the gym, threw my backpack across the room, tore my shirt off, and practically demanded that Coach make this a day to remember. He did his best to comply, but within a few minutes couldn’t help but wonder if something was up. “What the hell’s wrong with you boy?” he asked sincerely as I wiped tears from my eyes after a particularly daunting set with the huge tire. I wasn’t crying, I told myself. The tears just came out with the strain of the last set. “Nothing,” I said mechanically. “What’s next?” That night, terrified and exhausted, I came home to find a letter on my bed. It was addressed to me with postage paid but there was no return address. Opening it, I pulled out a large folded sheet of paper that was about the size of a newspaper page when completely opened. On it was a colossal ink handprint, so big that my outstretched hand didn’t even cover the print’s palm. Below the print was a message, written in those familiar, clumsy letters. The message was simple and left me perplexed: Get ready. CHAPTER 8 I read the simple message a dozen times and my eyes kept wandering to that giant handprint. I remembered back to when my parents took me to a sports themed restaurant a couple years earlier. In front were about a dozen iron stands each with a ceramic basketball on its top. The balls each had a recessed imprint in it that replicated exactly the handprint of an NBA star. I remembered putting my hand in Shaquille O’Neal’s impression, amazed that a human could have that large a paw. All I could think at that moment was that this hand could engulf Shaq’s. I put the page down and looked at my reflection in the mirror. It was mid-March and I was now 173…and it was ALL muscle. My arms were over 16” and I was getting closer to 5’10” each day. I’d gained 20 pounds and two inches in height in only one semester. At this rate I’d be 210 and 6” by the beginning of sophomore year! Puberty was easily my favorite thing in the world…besides the feel of lifting heavy iron of course. I had actual pecs, not just bumps above my abs, and could bounce them like a real jock could. My abs were deep and veins were starting to show as they faded into my waist. They were also starting to appear on my arms and shoulders. I wasn’t huge, but I’d seen pictures of famous bodybuilders when they were my age and I could have held my own with any of them…well, most of them. Some of them. Anyway, I was easily the most built freshman in the school even if not the biggest. But there was a shadow over that celebration: Jesse was still bigger, and stronger, and was waiting for my guard to drop. Suddenly glum, I put the giant handprint away and grabbed my shirt to put it on. There were still a couple hours until dinner but I didn’t care. I was hungry. Good to hear from you, Casey, I thought as I shut the door behind me. * * * “Son, for god’s sake, slow down and leave some food for the rest of us.” That was my dad. He didn’t seem to like that I’d taken four steaks from the plate we were passing around. “Sorry,” I said, putting one back on the serving platter. My mom signed, but not in a negative way. “Guess we need to start cooking even more for you,” she said. My parents had grown accustomed to me eating three times what they ate in a given meal and prepared accordingly. My dad wasn’t as nonchalant about it as my mom. “I swear,” he said as he put the steak I just forfeited on his plate. “I remember eating a lot in high school but not this much.” “Oh come on Daryl,” my mom told him with a grin. “He’s exercising a lot. You didn’t touch a weight until college, and even then didn’t take it too seriously. We have a growing boy, so let him grow.” My dad just shrugged and started eating. I allowed myself to smile a little, relishing at how my upper arm was pushing against my sleeves. It was nice being the only child; I got their full attention and they didn’t like trekking into uncomfortable conversations. It wasn’t that I was starving, I just wanted food. Before dinner was over, I was able to convince each of my parents to give me half of their steak. 178, the scale said after dinner. I knew five pounds of that was in my digestive track but it was fun to imagine that I actually gained it in muscle. I took of my clothes, gave myself a quick pose in the mirror (laughing at the gut dinner had given me), then went to bed. It was only eight, but I was tired and there wasn’t anything left to eat. * * * I woke up to my alarm the next morning at 630, feeling as if I’d only slept an hour instead of the more than ten I’d actually clocked. I guess too much sleep isn’t such a good thing. I rolled out of bed and groggily made my way to the shower. I yawned at the mirror instead of giving it a good pose as I was accustomed to doing and turned the water on. The hot stream did a good job waking me up and by the time I started lathering I felt somewhat normal again. The cow I’d eaten the night before had apparently made its way from my stomach, for my abs were flat and hard again. I smiled at how weak they were a mere ten weeks earlier. These bulging discs could have stopped a truck. I toweled off and finished my morning routine which always concluded with a date on the scale. My jaw dropped. 177. Naked, emptied, and hungry, I was 177. Four pounds more than before dinner the night before! My heart thumped in my chest and my stomach jumped. I looked in the mirror, wondering if I’d had the biggest case of water retention in history. But I was just as ripped as always, if not a little more so. A quick measurement proved I was just a little bigger all over. My waist was still 29,” but my arms were now a little over my usual 16” and my chest was now over 41” where it was normally just below that mark. I threw the tape measure down and barked a laugh. What’s normal anyway? I thought. My “normal” hadn’t lasted more than a week lately with the way I’d been growing. Why question a good thing? I put on my standard sleeveless shirt and a pair of shorts that just showed the bulge of my quads before disappearing under the hem. As I did every morning, I cracked six eggs in a skillet and put as many slices of bread in the toaster. Coming back to the eggs, I shrugged and threw the remaining six in as well. “We need more eggs!” I shouted to my parents upstairs, their response unintelligible but probably having something to do with saying they just bought some. While eating my morning feast, I began making lunch…sort of. Instead of my usual two sandwiches, I just threw the two pounds of bagged deli meat right into my cooler along with a few other random treats from the fridge. To my backpack I added an entire half loaf of bread, the whole box of protein bars instead of two, five bananas instead of one, and a pack of MuscleMilk I usually reserved for midnight hunger strikes. “Mom, we’re out of lunch food,” I said, throwing away the milk carton I’d just emptied. “Can I take a few dollars from your purse for lunch?” That wasn’t exactly the truth as I hadn’t really eaten anything yet, but it got the response I needed. After a distant approval from upstairs, I took a ten from my mom’s wallet and headed off to school, already eating one of the protein bars. That day had a familiar feel to it, although I couldn’t quite place why. It started off pretty normally with me joining my friends in front of the school. It wasn’t unusual to get one or two comments about my growing body and today was no different. “Fuck man,” my buddy Graham said as I approached while eating my forth protein bar and washed it down with the last swallow of water from the gallon jug I always walked around with. “You have GOT to get me into those training sessions Coach Roid is giving you.” He paused. “He’s not sharing his stash with you, is he?” he whispered. I was a little confused. Graham was a year older than me and was, if anything, the bigger of the two of us. I made a quick and, hopefully, subtle comparison of both our exposed arms and was pleasantly surprised to find out that mine was actually bigger. I grinned when I realized he’d noticed me looking and was flexing his hanging arm in a vain attempt to win this impromptu contest. I went ahead a flexed mine too, shooting my triceps up into a striated horseshow and making the veins on by bicep bulge. “Fuck,” he said under his breath. “He’s kept me clean,” I said as I walked by. “Maybe we can get you involved in the fall. I’ll be right back, I need to fill up my water bottle.” The day started without much to talk about, other than being scolded by Mrs. Krebs in first period for eating during class. I sighed and put my half eaten back of turkey away. Although I wasn’t necessarily hungry, I craved food. The other teachers, thankfully, weren’t as strict about eating in the class and before long I realized I really would need the ten dollars my mom had given me. As first period became second, I was starting to get a little curious at the increased level of attention I was getting. It was all passive, no one actually talking to me, and I went to the bathroom a couple times to make sure my hair wasn’t stuck up and face was free of food. As second period moved into third, I strangely felt like I’d just finished the most insane workout of my life; my muscles were so pumped. Raising food to my mouth made my forearms squeeze against my biceps in a way they hadn’t before. By lunch, the feeling was even more intense. “Wow, I can actually see your abs through your shirt,” Carla said as she sat down with her tray. I looked down, wondering what she was talking about. She was right, my stomach pressed against my shirt tightly enough to show the ridges of my abdominal muscles. I’d been eating a lot that day so it didn’t really surprise me. What surprised me was that my chest was pressing against the fabric enough to make my cotton shirt look like form-fitting Under Armor. The shirt was hardly oversized to begin with, being a medium, but I knew it took some serious bulk to stretch it like that. All I could do was shrug. “Guess I’m getting a little fat,” I said as I took a bite of the burger I just purchased. Carla snorted, as did the rest of my friends. It was a strangely quiet and awkward lunch. I didn’t think much of it at first, absorbed as I was in eating. However, as I finished my meal, I realized everyone was looking at me. “What?” I asked innocently. They all looked at each other uncomfortably, none speaking until Jeremy Durst finally broke the silence. “Dude, you’re fucking huge,” he said simply. Everyone else rushed to confirm his comment and began asking questions. “So how big are your arms now?” Amanda asked. “About sixteen inches,” I said as I flexed it for the group. Most at the table wouldn’t know a 16 inch arm from a 6, but the few who’d spent any time in the weight room were quick to correct. “If those are sixteen inches, then mind can’t be over twelve,” Chandler said. I looked at my flexed arm, legitimately surprised as I took it in. It looked like a bodybuilder’s arm. A real bodybuilder. It was covered in veins and striations as it bulged from my arm like a softball. Chandler was right; they looked more like 17 inchers, or even 18. I smiled, finally letting the little voice I liked to ignore speak. It happened like this last time, sitting at this very lunch table. My stomach leaped into my chest as a rush of energy cascaded across my body. This is what happened to Casey. My heart fluttered and I suddenly felt invincible. Finally concentrating on something other than food and how to get more, I looked down at myself. It was like I was looking at someone else’s body. I gathered the rest of my burgers and threw them in my backpack before getting up. “I gotta go,” I said simply and left the table. I raced down the walkway, relishing at the feeling of my strong legs pulsing against the ground. I was easily over 180 now. What must I weight now? 185? 190? I laughed as I entered the school gym, rushed past the empty weight room, and went into the locker room. I stared at the scale as if it were a trophy and imagined it wreathed in a golden aura with angels singing. It was absurd but I was in that kind of mood. I stepped on and began sliding the manual adjustors, the course adjust to 150, and the fine adjust past 177…this morning’s weight. I kept sliding the marker past 180 and the bar didn’t move. My stomach leaped again as I pushed it past 190 and still the bar didn’t budge. “Oh shit,” I said, suddenly a little worried. I’m over 190 pounds! I screamed to myself, heart pounding. The bar finally broke to the neutral position at 196 pounds. Shocked, I turned and looked at the mirror. The man staring back at me could have won a collegiate bodybuilding contest. Striated shoulders bulged from my sleeveless shirt like melons, falling into triangles as they morphed into a ripped set of biceps and triceps. My traps pressed against my now humorously tight shirt and my neck looked like an oak trunk, well over 18” around. I tore off my shirt, revealing a pair of gorged pecs and the best set of abs I’d ever seen…on anybody. Ever. They looked carved from granite even though they weren’t flexed. I turned and looked over my shoulder towards the mirror, shocked at the rippling back I now called my own. It was a dream come true. I heard a creak from the door I used to enter and turned towards it. My heart sank. There was Jesse Strand, always reliably there to squash my best moods. That little voice started talking again, though, just as Jesse himself started to speak. “Look like we’re finally alone, fucker,” he said as he closed the door and locked it. “Looks like we can finally settle the score,” he began as he turned to look at me. His eyes widened in shock. “WHAT THE FUCK?” I was on him in an instant. He had put on a little mass this semester and was maybe at 215. I was “only” 196 but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on me. I knew I was a long shot from winning a fight with a star wrestler and had to settle this fast. If he had a moment to think, he’d have me. I punched him in the sternum, taking his breath away, then slammed the back of his head against a locker. He crumpled, gasping for air. I bent over as I grabbed hair on the back of his head and got right in front of his red face and hate-filled eyes. “Don’t you ever even look at me again,” I said before standing back up. I grabbed my shirt and started putting it on as I left locker room. I didn’t worry about him getting back at me; by the time he had a chance for revenge, I would be big enough to fold him into a pretzel. CHAPTER 9 The rest of the day was a blur. I couldn’t wait to show up in front of Coach Rodriguez looking like a teen titan. I barely noticed the stares and compliments from my classmates. My teachers could have gotten on their desk and danced the robot and I wouldn’t have noticed. Now that I knew I was growing, my body was all I could focus on. I felt strong and hard but the real rush came from knowing that I had complete control. I could be as big as I wanted; whenever I wanted. If I so desired, I could be 300 pounds in a few weeks! Who could say that? Who had such power? Even though I stopped my constant eating binge, I continued to swell until my lunch finally digested. The difference in my size between lunch and the end of school that day was visually negligible, but I could feel my skin slowly tightening across my body. It was like the best pump I’d ever had times ten. Hidden under my internal joy, however, was a slowly growing concern. They took Casey away because of this. Of course, at the time he’d been about 7’ and 450 lbs at that point with no signs of slowing down. That hand print alone proved he was bigger now. What would happen to me? I shook my head to clear it. Truth was, I wasn’t 450 pounds, I was will under 200. There were other freshmen as big as me walking around...although a little voice chimed in that most 200 pound fifteen year olds were probably a bit on the chunky side and not a chiseled slab of marble. I smiled at that thought but my thoughts quickly turned again. What would my parents say? I had begun to suspect they knew the events surrounding Casey’s situation in better detail than I did. What would they do when they found out their son grew almost twenty pounds in a day? Twenty pounds. Damn it felt good to know that. I was living in perpetual excitement, like a kid on Christmas morning continuously discovering there were more and more presents under the tree to open. My spirit lifted. If things got out of control, I could take some of the pills Casey left behind. It was obvious to me now those pills were used to reign in his growth, not help it. The doctors didn’t want a muscle mutant running loose but apparently neglected to take into account the habits of a teenager. I put my hand under my shirt on my way to the gym, feeling my new body and amazed at how hard the human form could be. The thought of taking those pills instantly vaporized. I would be giving any of this up, I would just have to keep it slow. Too late for that, squirt, I heard Coach Rod’s voice say. I groaned a little bit. If anyone would question my new size, it would be him. And he would know. I had to think of something. Fast. * * * “Well congratulations, boy,” Coach Rod said as he looked down at me from over the bar. “You just broke your personal best.” He might as well have told me I had brown hair. There was no excitement in his voice. I’d just benched 265 pounds eight times. A day earlier I couldn’t have bench 250 more than once. We’d been working out for 15 minutes and I was breaking personal records left and right even while holding back. I thought Coach would be thrilled, yet he had no energy. In fact, he sounded disappointed. I was at a loss as to why. It couldn’t have been my unusual workout outfit could it? I’d shown up to the session dressed in an extra large PE shirt and basketball shorts. That was my master plan to keep my size gains secret. That, and hiding the full extent of my newfound strength. Normally I wore a more flimsy pair of gym shorts and, like the rest of the guys in the room, was topless more often than not. He had had commented on the fashion choice when we first started but there wasn’t this resentment in his voice when he did. “Pullups,” Coach said, eyes dark under his furrowed brow. No, he mustn’t be feeling well. I smiled. I’ll give him something to feel good about. I jumped up to the bar and started cranking out pull-ups. Although he’d kicked my ass on this bar numerous times over the last couple months, nothing compared to that first day he made me do one hundred of them in one set. Well, I’d show him how easy it was for me now. I finished a hundred pull-ups in less than five minutes before jumping back down. My lats and biceps were on fire and felt ready to burst from my skin. It felt amazing. That said, I was barely winded and felt like I could do a hundred more if pressed. I smiled at him, waiting for praise or at least a scathing remark or two. He only stared at me with those cold bombardier eyes. I couldn’t take it any longer. “What’s wrong, Coach?” I asked, almost whiningly. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What’s wrong?!” He threw his hands up as if begging the heavens for some lightning bolts to sling. “Where’s the fucking energy? Where’s the drive? You’re treating this session like a walk in the park.” He looked at me, eyes angry. “You’re not even fucking sweating. You…you’re wasting my fucking time.” My jaw dropped. This was not what I expected. Everyone’s eyes were on the two of us, his face red with anger, mine with confusion and shame. He was right, I had intentionally held back so he wouldn’t suspect something was up. It didn’t occur to me my results didn’t matter to him, only my effort. I felt my stomach sink. “Coach, I—“ I began before being cut off. “No excuses,” Coach said. “You come here to be worked and that’s final.” He put his hand on my shoulder in a rare moment of tenderness. “I mean I—“ he cut off sharply as he looked at the hand he just put on me. He squeezed it a moment, moved his hand to my arm, then squeezed that too. His eyebrows shot up and a cascade of wrinkles sprouted up his forehead and halfway around his shaved scalp. He looked around to the other gymrats in the room. “Alright ladies,” he bellowed loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “Gym’s closed for the day. Get out.” The crowd wasn’t happy about that but didn’t dally as they left. All the while coach held my arm tightly, erasing any idea that he meant for me to leave too. Once the door shut behind the last student, coach exhaled and let go of my arm as he turned to me. “Alright, take the fucking shirt off,” he said as he crossed his arms. Although part of me was frightened of the ramifications, a bigger part just wanted to show off. I pulled the oversized tee off and gave the coach an eye full. To call the coach a one-dimensional man would be a crass understatement. The man had two emotions: in-your-face angry and asleep…and I’d never seen him sleep. Apparently he had another state in his repertoire. I think it was shock but I couldn’t be sure. I looked at the mirror to see what Coach Rod saw. The reflection staring back at me was hardly inhuman, but to find my proportions on a fifteen year old was unheard of. “Oh shit,” Coach said. “You too?” I turned to him, trying to think of an excuse that would subdue his horror. However, when I looked at him, horror wasn’t even on the menu. Behind the surprise still so evident on his face was what could only be called excitement. His eyes literally twinkled with it. Any doubt the twinkle was something else was crushed when he smiled and said, “So how big are you going to get?” I was at a loss for words. All I could do was stutter. “Calm down, son,” Coach said as he backed away to get a better look at me. “I mean, hell, I thought you were bigger when you walked in the room. And taller for that matter. I’m just glad I’m not crazy. Your friends little…episode…a couple of months ago shook me up a little.” He turned me towards the mirror and we looked at our side-by-side reflections. Standing next to a 6’2 250 pound man didn’t make me look all that big by comparison but, with the overhead lighting setting a dark shadow over each crevice of my body, I was about as defined as a person could be. “Come on,” he said, genuinely excited. “Let’s see what your new body can really do. No holding back this time.” He walked over to the bench. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Afterwards, you can tell me what badass supplement you’re using to get that big.” Coach and I learned exactly what my new body could do. I ended up benching 420 pounds and squatted 500. As could be imagined, every lift resulted in a new personal best. “Fuck yeah!” I roared as I dropped the bar to the floor after a 400 pound deadlift. I threw my arms over my head, relishing the pump that covered my body. My skin was pulled taught over every inch of my body. It was always a shock catching glimpses of myself in the mirror, that body surely belonged to someone else. “Fifteen years old,” coach said, mostly to himself. He shook his head. “I have to check something,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. Something he said earlier had me curious. I started for the locker room, wondering at how the cool breeze of the fan felt on my bulging body. I walked over to the scale, removed my shoes, and took the height caliper up from the base. It was time to see how tall I really was. “5’11,” Coach said over my shoulder. He’d apparently found a measuring tape and didn’t give me a choice as he started measuring my body. My waist was an incredibly taught 31” and my swollen arms had ballooned up to 18”…albeit with the pump of a recent workout included. My chest came in at 45.” “How’d ya do it, boy?” Coach asked, eyes burning. I pushed down the panic. Truth was, I had no idea how I did it. The blood experiment had obviously failed. I searched my mind furiously for an answer. He saw something in my eyes and raised both his hands in a surrendering gesture. “All right, all right. It’s none of my business,” he said. I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I wasn’t going to be sent to a hospital or something. Still, there was something else in coach’s eyes that wasn’t anger or disappointment. I couldn’t quite place it. “Listen,” he said, giving my shirt back to me. “I haven’t been fifteen since before your parents probably were, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what it’s like. I know what’s going on in your head right now.” He looked at my reflection in the mirror. “I’m not made for long lectures, which is why I teach here instead of a classroom, but you be smart now, ya hear? I don’t want to have to escort another giant on a one way trip to some government hamster cage.” I put the shirt back on, trying to figure out what the coach was saying. Then my eyes widened. “You know where Casey is?” I said more than asked. Coach looked at me from the corner of his eye. “We both have our secrets, kid,” he said simply before turning away. “See you on Monday.” I took the long way home in part to avoid an incensed Jesse but also to get my thoughts straight. Why now? It had been eight weeks since I used Casey’s blood. Was this sudden growth because of something else? My mind wondered and was hit by a truck when it considered the night before. The handprint, I thought to myself. Casey laced the letter with something. The message even alluded to it. “Get Ready,” it had said. I started growing that very night. I smiled and closed my eyes with my face up towards the warm spring sun. Thank you, Casey, I thought. A second later, I had my shirt off and in hand as I walked the rest of the way home. The rays set off my body with shadow and light, showing off my form in extreme detail. This body was completely and wonderfully alien to the one I had less than 24 hour earlier. My arms were pushed out by and constantly brushed upon lats that swelled from my back. There was a noticeable weight to my chest, as if gravity were paying special attention to my pecs. I didn’t even need to touch my abs to know how hard they were; they felt like a sheet of armor even from the inside. They were tight and hard even while relaxed. Every movement of my body made a muscle squeeze, some I didn’t even know I’d had. It felt amazing. A car horn broke my concentration and the sound of screeching tires made me turn towards the street I was walking next to. A few seconds of investigation revealed that someone was trying to get a longer look at me and slowed down. The person behind him wanted to do the same…without slowing down. I smiled even wider. I was quite a distraction. I got home a couple hours before my parents as usual, and tried my best to find clothes that hid my size. It was hard to do, since every glance in the mirror resulted in me stripping down to take a look at myself. All the while I was trying to make a plan. I couldn’t keep eating my way to becoming a giant like Casey… although my mind wasn’t as adamant about that rule as I would have liked. The thought of growing huge exhilarated me but my rational mind said I had a whole life to see how big I could get. I didn’t need to grow all at once…right? One thing all the voices in my head agreed to was that I needed to be a match for Jesse Strand. I couldn’t count on a surprise attack every time he wanted to take me down. If I could put on another fifteen or twenty pounds, I wouldn’t be such easy prey. Truth be told, I thought as I looked as my reflection with clothes on, I’m really not that big. Oh, I was jacked all right. But muscle is denser than fat and I looked perfectly normal with a nice baggy shirt and shorts on. Well, normal if you ignored the fact that my neck looked like it belonged on a horse…and my forearms bulged like a seasoned bodybuilder’s…and my calves looked carved from granite. Other than that, though, perfectly normal. I considered the whole package Casey left me back in January. Aside from the blood, he left his entire supply of what I referred to as Wuss Pills. Putting a few of those in Jesse’s meals on a daily basis would solve my problem: a few weeks of that and he’d probably have lost 30 pounds. I immediately discarded that idea. For one, it’s not like I had access to his food or water on a regular basis. And two…I wanted a fucking reason to put on more size. So it was settled, I would shoot for 215 pounds in six weeks. That was about a half pound a day. If I overshot, I’d take a pill. Simple as that…although the mere thought of one of those pills made me want to gag. My first step was maintaining a normal rapport with my parents through the whole thing. This proved easier than I thought and I finally began to understand how parents of psychos could end up saying “I had no idea he was capable of that.” Both commented about how big I was getting but neither cared to entertain that something might be wrong with their baby boy. My dad looked a little suspicious at times but I didn’t ever give him a reason to say anything. Besides, what father didn’t want their son to become a stud? So my plan worked perfectly…for a while. It turns out I actually didn’t have to eat much to gain weight. It was like my body became a high efficiency engine. 3000 calories a day was enough to gain my half pound. I actually had to consume less than I was used to. It was the best few weeks of my life: every day my clothes were a little tighter, my body a little harder. It was too small for anyone to see day-to-day but I found out people had longer memory spans than the previous 24 hours. “What are those things measuring now?” Chandler said in front of school one day. “A little over eighteen,” I said shooting him a bicep flex that stretched the seam of my shirt. He snickered, jealousy flashing behind the eyes of a friend who once outweighed me by five pounds or so. “Weren’t they a little under eighteen only a week ago?” “What can I say?” I asked with a smile. “I’m a growing boy.” Those admittedly frustrating responses had the desired effect of redirecting their focus to admiration instead of questioning. My workouts with Coach Rodrigues continued as always, only now every day consisted of a personal best in one lift or another. The man acted as if everything was normal, but he still had that distant look in his eyes I couldn’t quite make sense of. Three weeks into “Project Mass” and I was 207 pounds of granite and steel. Life was bliss…then came a Friday morning in late May, almost six weeks after my initial run-in with Jesse strand. The morning started off like usual with me walking up the schools front lawn to hang out with my friends before first bell. I made sure I ignored the stares I got as I learned making eye contact with my fan base only made them uncomfortable. A couple minutes before class started, I noticed my friends suddenly stare worriedly over my shoulder right as a hand violently grabbed my neck from behind and threw me to the ground. I gasped at the jarring pain from my back as my backpack broke my fall. I didn’t have time to gather my bearings before two solid hands grabbed me by the collar and yanked me to my feet. Two familiar eyes burned a few inches from my face. “We meet again, you little fuck,” Jesse said to me, his voice surprisingly baritone. He had avoided me since I sucker punched him in the locker room. I’d only seen glimpses of him since between periods which was ok by me. Now up close, I gasped. Dressed in a skin tight wifebeater, the man in front of me was not the buff but meaty junior he was three weeks earlier. Apparently, he’d been hard at work during that month long hiatus. Jesse has always been big and no one would have ever called him fat. But there had been a beefiness to him common to teens focused on mass. It isn’t common for a high school kid to be both shredded and massive. That kind of combo usually wasn’t possible until college…unless you were me. Jesse apparently found a recipe. Although still about 220, his meaty arms were now ripped boulders covered with flaring veins crawling that exploded from his strained shirt sleeves. His neck was as vascular as mine, only more bulbous and with mountainous traps rising up to the base of his skull. His pecs and abs bulged from beneath the tight cotton shirt. I was no slouch being only fifteen or so pounds lighter, but Jesse was a fighter and had the edge in both size and skill. He pulled me close, as he seemed so keen on doing every time we had these little chit-chats. “We’re doing this old school,” he said with an evil grin loud enough for everyone to hear. “You and me, after the final bell, under the overpass. We’re settling this.” Then he dropped me. That I remained on my feet was only a slight victory. Jesse barely seemed to notice as he sneered before walking away. The lawn was as quiet as a graveyard as I straightened my ruffled shirt. “I’ll be there,” I said to his back. That sent all the mouths in the area ablaze with whispers. I’m sure everyone thought I was terrified, which I most certainly was. Jesse’s absence from my life these last weeks were a gift I didn’t question. I’d just assumed my locker room sucker punch convinced him I shouldn’t be messed with. Now I new better; guys like him didn’t cower, they hunkered down. He’d apparently spent the last weeks completely dedicated to bulking up. Who knows what kind of steroids that kid has to use to look like that? I allowed a smile to stretch my lips as the first bell rang and all the students and their gossip-riddled voices walked into the school. I stayed put for a moment, letting everyone disappear, then immediately walked off campus. * * * A few hours later I stood looking like a fool in a newly bought XXL long sleeve shirt and sweat pants at the door of a Chinese buffet, feeling somewhat guilty about the financial ruin I was about to submit on the proprietor. Eleven am hit, the door was unlocked, and I sauntered inside looking like a nursing home pimp. I was relieved that no one questioned why a kid my age was at a restaurant instead of school. That probably said something about American values but I didn’t dwell on it. I was there for one thing and two minutes later I was at my table with two plates piled high with food. I mentally felt my body, currently dwarfed in my tent of an outfit. A few weeks ago I would have considered myself visual perfect. Anyone of any age would have killed for the body I had. Yet I wanted more. I looked at the food and dove in; beginning what I figured would be the longest lunch of my life. I went through plate after plate after plate. After my second helping, my body started to feel flushed and an anxious feeling started to flow through me. It was as if I were drinking liquid excitement. The feeling intensified and I soon felt as if I could run a marathon in ten minutes. I almost tried; it was hard to contain myself. My energy levels soared and it took an effort not to jump out of my seat. I wanted to laugh in delight. Soon after, my body started to feel funny. It was as if my muscles were tight from sitting still too long. As I continued to eat, I did things like shrug my shoulders and stretch my calf by raising the front of my foot. It seemed to help so I kept at it, ignoring the looks I was getting from the other customers. They must have thought I was on something. In a way, I guess I was. I tensed my abs and arched my back, then pumped my chest and arms. Soon the excited feeling in my body began to feel strangely similar to an orgasm, only prolonged as if continuously on the verge. I flexed my calves; worked my leg up and down to cycle my thighs; twitched my arms and pecs; shrugged my shoulders again. Every time I flexed, it felt like my muscles relax a little before slowly tightening up again. That feeling of excitement didn’t go away though; neither did my desire to eat. I never got full. I got another helping. As I got up to collect my forth helping, I almost stumbled for no apparent reason. It was if I had to rebalance myself. I exaggerated my step, squeezing my glutes and flexing my quads and calves. It felt amazing. I felt something else too. The fabric of my sweats didn’t feel as baggy anymore. Bending my arm as I held my plate seemed to pull at the fabric on my back. I also felt my arm bulge against my inner arm in a way I hadn’t before. I smiled. There was no doubt about it, I was growing. CHAPTER 10 I sat calmly on a natural outcrop of stone under the overpass, waiting for my eventual showdown with Jesse. School was still technically in session but a trickle of students was already making its way from down the road. If I was lucky, this would all be over in time to train with Coach Rod. He might find my new developments…interesting. Although a hundred cars sped across the interstate overhead, the span beneath it was isolated, known only to the homeless, the addicted, and the kids from the local high school…not a place any of our parents would approve of. Everyone congregating at the base of my castle did their best to leave me alone as I sat stoically in my long sleeve hoodie and sweatpants. A dead man didn’t like to be disturbed. I smiled at this but remained at a distance; no need to ruin the surprise. I was still taking it in myself. The me of eight hours ago would have worshiped the person I’d become. I felt heavy; I felt powerful. I half believed I could rip the ten foot high granite mound I was sitting on out of the ground with my bare hands. My new muscles yearned to be used and it was a demand I found extremely hard not to obey. This must be what a tiger felt like waiting to pounce on his prey…only my prey wasn’t here yet. I was accompanied only by my thoughts, which were scattering across my mind like swarming ants. I found myself wondering if this was a dream. I flexed my arm, watching it fill my baggy sleeve like a balloon. I could see every crevice and striation through the fabric, even the cable-like vein which ran down the face of my bicep. But it wasn’t the sight that thrilled me, it was the feel. The feeling of that bulging ball of muscle squeezing against itself was like having sex; it was impossible to describe the chemical rush that it created. This couldn’t be real. But it was. And it was amazing. But those ants that raced through my mind were calling out in terrified little voices. They’d started to scream their warnings while I was at the restaurant and hadn’t died down. Something wasn’t right. I shook my head, what could be wrong? I had to outweigh Jesse by 40 pounds now and I was strangely positive that I was even stronger than I looked. I worked my hand, balling them into fists then opening them and spreading my fingers wide. They wanted to hit something so bad. I’d give them their wish by allowing them to break Jesse like a twig…again. But that worry remained, unfocused yet intensifying. Meanwhile, a small crowd had assembled at the base of the stone, forming an impromptu circle in the middle. Situations like this were probably among the most primitive displays of humanity, right up there with public executions and anyone who’s last name was Kardashian. But just as with those latter examples, people flocked like lemmings to witness this happen. I noticed my friend Chandler walking up the crag towards me, his face lined with worry. He wore a tight green t-shirt, showing off what most would have considered a nice body for a sophomore. It was lean and ripped in the style so popular these days. I could curl him with one arm, I thought with a smile. “Dude,” Chandler said as he reached me and turned to look at the crowd. “Everyone noticed you weren’t at school today. There were rumors you were going to puss out.” I chuckled and remained seated with my arms resting on my kneecaps and hands dangling between them. My friend was barely six feet away; would he notice I was bigger? “I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Chandler said as he looked back at me. “I’d have shit my pants twice already. Anyway, Jesse wasn’t at school today either. He left soon after first period. Maybe he was looking for you to make sure you didn’t try to run away.” I shrugged but something in what he’d said sent mind boiling all the more. What made you grow? my brain suddenly asked me. I began to reply that the letter with the handprint had been laced with something but, suddenly, I wasn’t so sure. Chandler apparently took my silence as a request to keep talking, which he did. “You may have bulked up enough to convince the freshman class you’re some kind of god but but Jesse’s easily the strongest guy in school and that was before he started looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger.” He coughed in his hand and wiped whatever came out of his mouth on his pant leg. “Fuck me, I’ve been fighting this cold for weeks now.” I raised my head, heart racing. “What did you say?” I asked, slightly shocked at the new baritone of my voice. I wasn’t the only one caught off guard; Chandler was looking at me like I had two heads. “You all right?” Chandler asked. “You sound like you have a cold too.” I started to say something I hoped would put my friend at ease but the competing and overlapping little voices suddenly found a unified message and the floodgates opened. I did catch a cold, I thought feverishly. It just took a while to show all the symptoms. That’s how colds work. They gestate, then attack. I grunted in frustration and again flexed my arm, allowing it to swell and pull my sleeves tight. How had it not crossed my mind earlier? There was no chemical laced hand print. The mere thought of that seeming logical was absurd. “Holy fuck,” I heard Chandler say but ignored him. I wasn’t doing a good job hiding my size at the moment and didn’t care. It wasn’t the handprint; it was Casey’s blood after all. It just took a few weeks to take effect. Puzzle pieces I’d subconsciously kept separated until now finally locked into place. Casey had a disease and they fixed it with another disease. Now I had that disease…so the disease was contagious. “We gotta go,” Chandler said, his voice shaking. “You have to GO!” I stayed put but looked up. The crowd at the base of the hill was looking up at me and slowly backing up, their faces a sea of surprise. Did they suddenly notice how much bigger I’d gotten too? You have a contagious disease! my mind screamed, pulling my concentration inward again. I had a disease that took weeks to show all of its symptoms. I put my hands on my head, trying to force my brain to just spit it out. So what? I thought. No one injected my blood into their ass cheek. Suddenly a terrible thought came to mind that made my whole body tense. I heard a tearing sound, barely noticing that my bicep had ripped through the sleeve. I looked up at Chandler, who I realized had raced down the hill to join the others in their retreat. Why were they running? It didn’t matter; nothing mattered now. The terrible thought had turned into a terrible memory… Jesse, now in a white sleeveless shirt that showed just how big his arms were, filled my view. I could hear the hoots and laughter of his friends behind him. “Let’s just say that love pat was the least you deserved.” Then he did something I had no idea would be as humiliating as it was: he spit in my face. My mind churned with rage and before I could even think about it, I shot a bloody wad of spit right in his eye. …By body ran cold and I felt myself shake. He didn’t need to inject himself; I’d given it to him for free all those weeks ago. I knew the transfer of some strange disease through a bloody wad of spit was highly unlikely, but in my heart I knew it had happened. It explained how he’d turned into such a jacked teen in only a few weeks. More puzzle pieces fell into place. He knew what he was suddenly capable of, I thought. That’s why he wanted to do this after school. He needed time. Time to do the same thing I had done. Only he took everything to the extreme. I have to get out of here, I thought frantically. Now! I looked up at the crowd, all of whom were either running away or still looking up and slowly backing away. It had only been a couple seconds since Chandler’s innocent cough triggered this rush of enlightenment but many in the crowd were already gone. “What the—“ I started to say out loud before the second dreaded realization slammed home. The dispersing crowd wasn’t looking up at me. Their eyes were too high. They were looking behind me. I stood up cursing, stumbling as I tried to turn at the same time. The effort resulted in me falling back against the rock. I looked up and finally saw what had forced Chandler and everyone else to scatter. Jesse, clad in nothing but skin, had made his way up the back of the stone heap, and he made my last image of Casey look like a wimp. I didn’t know what the giant in front of me weighed? How much does a bus weigh? The new Jesse had to be a head above seven feet tall. His face was void of any youth he once had, the baby fat now replaced by hard muscular lines. His neck, as big around as some people’s waist, was a bundle of writhing snakes of muscle and sat upon traps that started at the base of his skull and bulged like watermelons to striated shoulders the size of pumpkins. His arms, which looked over 30” around, flared to the side to make room for a set of traps that could double as wings. Pecs as thick as my head bulged from his body and sat atop a cascade of abdominals that could have been mistaken for masonry bricks. A dick the size of my forearm swung between a set of thighs I wasn’t sure I could wrap my arms around. They tensed and relaxed as Jesse took his final menacing steps up the crag, each one capable of kicking a hole in a brick wall. “Miss me?” he asked, his deep voice booming across the under pass. He reached down before I could react and grabbed me by the neck. His shoulders and arms bulged with all the more power as he lifted me effortlessly up to his eye level. Just like Casey’s before, Jesse’s body wasn’t grossly asymmetric or bubbly like you’d expect from someone so massive. Instead, he was a giant with normal proportions. Whatever this disease was didn’t discriminate by growing only major muscles. The small muscles people couldn’t isolate in weightlifting grew too. He looked like a superhero. Jesse’s eyes inspected me and he barked a laugh as he tore my shirt off with his free hand, revealing my own Olympian body. “Looks like you tried to come prepared,” he snarled as he flexed an arm that was bigger than my head. “But I always beat the other guy when it comes to conditioning.” He drew me close. “I suppose I should thank you for sleeping with my ex-girlfriend. I seemed to have picked up whatever you got…and took it to a place you could only dream of.” If my windpipe weren’t gasping for air, I would have groaned in frustration for forgetting such an obvious form of infection. Was Jenna, the girl in question, also a muscle goddess now? Now was probably not the time to ask that question. Jesse made sure of it. The two of us were alone, the other students scattered now to the wind, Chandler included. I couldn’t blame him. Jesse radiated with power that could crush me without thought. What would such a mentally unstable person do to a much smaller innocent bystander? I found myself wondering how he’s gained so much mass in only eight hours. I’d eaten pretty much non-stop for four before the owners of the Chinese restaurant ushered me out. It didn’t matter. The only question that matters was whether I’d live through the afternoon. I did what any cornered animal does, I kicked and screamed and punched without thought. Every time I made contact with Jesse’s body, I winced in pain. It was like punching a brick wall covered in skin. Jesse grunted in slight discomfort but that wasn’t much of a victory. He responded by squeezing my neck, choking off what little air I had. He laughed as my vision began to blur and head throb. “I can’t have you catching up to me anytime soon,” he said as he took my arm with his free hand and started to bend it awkwardly as if to break it. Pain flared from my elbow and shoulder but seemed distant and diluted as I slowly lost my grip on consciousness. I distantly wondered if his laugh would be the last thing I heard when a series of alien sounds came pouring from the surroundings. I heard Jesse curse and suddenly I was on the ground, performing a strange combo of deep gulps and throaty coughs. My senses were still dull as the world exploded around me. I could make out people coming from random directions, some monsters themselves. I saw Jesse run naked down the same side of the crag he’d just ascended. Apparently these newcomers were big enough or numerous enough to scare him. I got to my knees, still without a full idea of what was happening around me. My head pounded as I ran in the opposite direction from Jesse, not caring if anyone followed as long as I could get away from the monster that nearly killed me. But I must not have been important enough. The sounds slowly faded behind me but I didn’t look back to make sure I was alone until a couple of miles later, when I fell to the ground gasping for breath. “What the fuck?” I said aloud as I got to my knees. Fear still clouded my thoughts but at least I had control of my senses again. My vision had only just recently returned to normal. I had absolutely no idea what just happened and was still scared out of my mind. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my parents. I didn’t care that I knew I was acting like a kid. I was a fucking kid. I turned and made my way home; ignoring the stares and honks I received from passersby. Who were those other people? I didn’t get a good look at them but they may have been as big as Jesse, certainly bigger than me. I looked down at my body, surprised something so amazing could still seem small to me. But it was. I was bigger than Coach Rod now, but that seemed like nothing. I stewed the afternoon’s events as I made my way home, growing gradually calmer but no closer to finding answers. Half an hour later, I was walking up my driveway, only slightly surprised to see my parents’ cars in the driveway. It was only a quarter to five. I didn’t care. There was no hiding what I was now. They’d have to see me sooner or later. I opened the door and walked in, still dressed only in shoes and sweatpants. I instantly saw my mom, sitting on the couch and eyes rimmed with red. She’d been crying. She looked up at me, eyes dull and uncaring at first but growing wide as they dawned with recognition. She moaned. “Mom, I—“ I started but suddenly noticed movement in the room. A man in a tie and slacks stood up from where he was seated next to my mom. Another dressed in a plain black suit and tie with white dress shirt stood in the far corner of the room, seemingly trying to take in the whole room with one look. I stepped back, heart suddenly slamming against my ribcage. What was this? “Jordan Baer?” the man getting up from the couch asked sternly as he started to pull something from his pocket. I nodded, confirming my identity. He nodded back. “I’m Dr. Thornton.” I remembered the name from a conversation with Casey; he was one of the doctors responsible for his miracle cure. “Please sit,” the doctor said calmly as he sat next to my blank faced mother. “We have much to discuss.” THE END
  12. Can confirm its Blood Brothers. The legacy site version is a pain to read because I didn't properly upload it. I'll see if I can find the original file and upload it to the archive section
  13. Sounds a lot like my story "The Chest." It's the first one I ever wrote (maybe 12 years ago). I dug up the first four chapters and posted them here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/9350-the-chest/. The rest are somewhere on the legacy site and I'll post if I can ever find them.
  14. Florida20

    growth Harvard Man

    I always get a rush when I notice a new Jaypat story is posted. You never disappoint.
  15. Writing these stories tend to throw my own workouts into overdrive and I need the inspiration a couple days ago. It’s a deviation from my usual multi-part “mini-novels” but was fun to write. It was inspired by a real flight I took to Europe a few months ago when I was surprised to find out what was hidden underneath my neighbor’s over-shirt. PASSENGER 44A The air already smelled of old coffee and stale bread as I made my way into the Boeing 777. I sighed as I turned down the narrow isle. I also quietly cursed my employers for being too cheap for business class tickets and let myself be herded back like a cow on its way to slaughter. At least I was on an exit row. International flights always put me in a grumpy state when I had to fly coach. It wasn’t the free drinks or more attractive flight attendants that I missed. It was the extra space. Being 6’4 and 250 pounds had its drawbacks and this had to be the biggest one. I finally found my row and took my seat in 44B, allowing myself a smile at the extra three inches of legroom. It was also nice looking forward to a wall instead of the back of someone else’s head. 44A was empty and 44C didn’t exist so maybe this wouldn’t be bad after all. I pulled out my laptop and tried to review a few briefs before takeoff. Meanwhile the herd continued its slow and short-strided march beside me. As the minutes wore on and the herd thinned, I allowed myself the luxurious thought of having a whole row to myself. I get both arm rests! I said to myself. But karma is a bitch. I mentally groaned when I saw a final passenger jump in just as the attendants were beginning to shut the cabin doors. I immediately knew this was my new row-mate. Sure enough, moments later he was reaching over me and struggling to put a huge green duffle bag in the overhead compartment. I stood up to help him squeeze it in. He was young, barely past being a kid. The short-cropped hair and simple olive green t-shirt screamed military. As did his baggy cargo shorts. He was skinny but what meat he did have was all muscle. Well, he did have a pretty substantial gut but it looked hard as if it were bloated instead of fat. I put him at 5’11 150. GI Joe took his seat next to me in 44A and buckled his seat belt. I tried to focus back on my work but found it difficult as the newcomer wouldn’t stop fidgeting. He had a habit of rubbing his palms on his shorts as if wiping away sweat. If he wasn’t looking nervously out the window or tapping his foot on the floor, he was looking over at the now closed cabin door. “Hey,” I whispered. “Flying is safer than the car ride you took to the airport. Relax.” GI Joe’s grin was nervous and awkward. “Ok” was all he said. He continued his panicky antics though. I finally gave up working when the safety announcement started. As the engine’s warmed up and the plane started moving, GI Joe did a weird thing: he actually started to relax. By the time we were in the air, he was actually smiling. “Not so bad, right?” I asked as I shifted my bulk. I wasn’t ashamed that I took both arm rests. He had room to spare in his seat. GI Joe nodded. “No sir,” he said as he exhaled a deep breath. “Name’s Jimmy,” I said as I extended my hand. “Chase,” he replied as he took it with a surprisingly large mitt of how own. His forearms were incredibly vascular and the muscle beneath boiled as he squeezed my hand. He may be lean, but he was hard. “Nice to meet you,” I replied. “What has you going to Germany?” “I am going to be stationed in Heidelberg,” he said. “Military?” I asked as if it wasn’t completely obvious. Chase nodded. “I just finished boot camp.” “Thank you for your service,” I said back. That would explain the physique. They practically starve you, keep you up 20 hours a day, and force you to burn 5000 calories a day in those environments. That said, Chase wasn’t as thin as I originally thought. The light from the open window portal set his lines in harsh contrast. He definitely had a nice pair of pecs peeking up through the fabric. His neck and forearms looked hard and dense. After he gets a chance to eat some food and get some sleep, he’s going to be something. “No problem, sir,” Chase said, his confidence bolstered a tad. “Hey, you some kind of bodybuilder or something?” He blushed as the asked the question. I inwardly beamed. “I used to be,” I replied. “Back in my college days.” I was so far from my prime physique it embarrassed me to even think about it. Although my frame was still wide and muscles hard, the rigors of work replaced my six pack with a gut and softened the angular lines of my former self. Chase was obviously interested. “Is it fun being that big?” he asked. “Well, airplanes suck,” I said with a laugh. “And you’re kind of limited on clothing. But there’s nothing like the feeling of lifting something truly heavy. And the attention isn’t bad either.” Chase had a dreamy look in his eyes and I let him be. I wasn’t much of a conversationalist on planes; instead preferring to relax, watch a few movies, and get what sleep I could. So I left Chase to his newly developed shit-eating grin and finished off my presentation. After an hour or so, the attendants came around with their glorified TV dinners. Chase wolfed through his like a starved orphan. “Ma’am, can I get another meal?” Chase asked a particularly attractive female attendant as she picked up our trash. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Only one meal per passenger. We’ll be serving breakfast in six hours though! We also have snack boxes available for--” “Excuse me,” I interrupted. “This young man just finished his basic training for the military and is on his way to spend years away from home to protect you and your family. The least you could do is hand him a few extra meals. Don’t tell me you reuse the ones people didn’t eat!” That caught the attendant off guard and left her momentarily speechless. “Umm. Let me see what I can do,” she said just before she walked off. I patted Chase on the shoulder, surprised at how solid he was beneath his shirt. Dinner taken care of, I started getting myself ready for a nap. By the time my stuff was put away, the flight attendant returned with three extra dinners. “Thank you ma’am,” Chase said, genuinely excited as he took the stack of trays. His triceps flared in front of me as he reached across my vision. This kid really did have some potential. “If you have any more, I’ll take those too.” The attendant was about to cut off that notion but melted when Chase smiled at her. “We’ll see,” she said with a grin. “We’ll be turning the lights out in a moment so you may want to put on the overhead light if you want to see.” “Thank you, ma’am,” Chase said, keeping his winning grin on his face. His blue eyes sparkled at her. Nice job, kid, I thought as I put the night mask on. The nervous flyer turned out to be quite a flirt. I let the sound of Chase eating drift me to sleep. * * * A bump woke me from my slumber. My arm had been knocked from the arm rest I “shared” with Chase. I opened my eyes and took off my mask. Looking over in the darkened cabin, I saw Chase sitting with his eyes closed and head back, a pair of headphones lodged in his ears. The cheap red blanket offered by the airline was draped over him. I would have thought him asleep but saw his hand running up and down his torso beneath the blanket. His breathing was rushed, if quiet. If I didn’t know better I would have thought he was playing with himself. “Oh,” I heard a voice say to my right. Looking over, I saw our flight attendant with three more boxes of food in her hand. “Um, I found a few more from the first class cabin.” Chase opened his eyes and looked over. “Thanks,” he croaked and let her reach over and place the boxes on his tray. What was wrong with his voice? He gave her another winning smile. “I’d be happy to take any others off your hands.” She practically giggled. “I’ll keep looking but you’ve eaten us bare.” I smirked and got up to take a piss and walk around a bit. By the time I returned, the carcasses of the extra dinners were stacked neatly on the tray and Chase was back in his partially passed out state. He must have wolfed those down. Poor guy must be having his first good meals in months. How many extra meals has he had while I was sleeping? I wondered. The attendant seemed to be diligently working on his behalf and first class meals were no joke and an obvious last resort. It was hard to tell in the darkness but Chase didn’t look as scrawny as I once thought. In fact, he had some of the best calves I’d ever seen. I guess they really make them run in boot camp. I squeezed back in my seat, suddenly feeling cramped. I let Chase keep the arm rest. I also found my leg pressing against his. He must have been being polite before because he was now sprawled out. Well it was nice while it lasted. I put the mask back on my face and tried to get a little more sleep. I soon found that impossible as my increasingly annoying neighbor couldn’t seem to stop nudging me. I was usually polite to a fault but found myself passive-aggressively sighing when he bumped me another time. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice strangely deep and distant. He kept his eyes closed and head back, his right hand continuing its winding search up and down his torso. I shrugged and leaned back. After an effort, I finally dozed off only to be woken up again by pressure against my left arm. I immediately sighed in frustration and ripped my mask off to find Chase leaning up against me. Just before I was about to say something, I noticed a strange sensation on my arm. I could feel Chase’s tricep rolling up and down my arm as he continued moving his hand across his torso. Impossible, I thought. He’s too small for his arm to do that. I leaned forward and looked more closely at him in the darkness. To my shock, he wasn’t leaning against me at all. His left side was taking just as much of the seat as his right. He…he was overflowing his entire seat. Without thinking, I reached over and grabbed his arm. A granite boulder lay just beneath the cheap microfiber blanket. Chase immediately reacted and sat up, eyes wide. I could only stare at my hand as it squeezed a bodybuilder sized arm. “Wh-what are you doing?” Chase asked timidly, although he didn’t pull his arm away. He looked…scared? His timidity made me all the bolder and I reached up and pulled the blanket away. Even in the darkness, my jaw dropped. His once loose green shirt was now plastered on a bulging physique. Huge meaty pecs stretched the fabric tight across his frame. Shoulders the size of small watermelons bulged above gigantic, vascular arms that pulled the once loose sleeves tight and high. Each brick of his abdominal wall rose prominently against the fabric. “What the fuck?” I whispered, doing my best not to make a scene in the sleep-filled cabin. “Please don’t tell anybody,” I heard him plea quietly. It was hard to talk but I found a way. “Tell anybody? Tell them what? That you grew 80 pounds in the first half of a trip over the Atlantic?” I was whispering but getting somewhat shrill. I heard a groan in the seat behind me and decided I needed to shut up before I got us both in trouble. But I couldn’t just sit here and ignore the fact I was being pushed out of my seat by a growing freak of nature. My gut was raw and my brain overflowing with questions. I had to talk to him. But where? “Come with me,” I said suddenly. GI Joe must have been used to taking orders. He obliged my request without comment, unbuckling his seatbelt and following me down the aisle. Before he could object, I opened a bathroom door and shoved him in only to follow him and squeeze the door shut behind me. The harsh florescent light turned on as I locked the door and I got to see this growing god in full detail. He was an Adonis. The medium shirt he wore was stretched to breaking across his bulging traps, shoulders and arms. The vascularity of his chest and delts flared through the fabric as if painted on. I couldn’t really take him in completely as the stall would have been small for either of us, let alone both. As it was, he found himself hunched over the toilet and unable to avoid pressing against me as I stood against the door. We were practically hugging each other. I could feel the hardness of his body as I pressed against him. It only made me realize how soft I’d become in the last decade. “Ok, what the fuck is going on?” I said, my face barely and inch from his. Chase was a 150 pound twig’s mind in a 225 pound stud’s body. His eyes were filled with fear and his demeanor belayed his substantial size. “I..,” he started. “I…I’m going to be in so much trouble.” Heat radiated from his body like a furnace. The walls creaked and groaned as we tried to make room for each other. “I’m a lawyer, kid,” I said, trying to be calm. “Maybe I can help you.” I wouldn’t have counted on that but I was willing to say anything to get him to talk. That seemed to calm him down. He plopped on the toilet and sighed, his wide frame beginning to push against the walls of the tiny stall. I knew immediately he’d been dying to tell this story to someone but hadn’t the courage until now. “I just left Parris Island,” he started. “That’s where the Marine Corps basic training is. My friend, Grant, and I started there just like any other eighteen year old recruit. I was always athletic and in decent shape. I knew I could do it. Grant was chubby and awkward. I didn’t think he’d make it past the first week. And he didn’t.” Chase chuckled and subconsciously started feeling his pec as it continued to strain against his shirt. “Instead of kicking him and the other NPQs out of the Corps, they sent them to a remediation program.” Chase looked at me. “No one had ever heard of it before, not even the drill instructors. Grant and the rest disappeared for a couple weeks. Then they came back.” Chase gulped. “And they were…different.” “Different like you?” I asked. Chase nodded then looked down at his body and laughed. “Well, not THIS different.” He raised his arms and popped a double bicep. Two nineteen inch and vascular boulders bulged and a rip rose up his right shirt sleeve. He was still growing. “Go on,” I encouraged, trying to make him forget his situation for a moment. Chase thought for a moment. “Grant wasn’t fat any more. He was ripped in a way I hadn’t seen in person before. All the drops were” He looked at me again. “That’s what we call those who didn’t make it: the Drops. Anyway, they started to kick our ass at everything: running, pushups, pull-ups. You name it, they were better. People were talking but, I mean, its boot camp. You keep your mouth shut and head down. “But I’d always been a big brother to Grant. It was hard to suddenly change rolls with him. I found myself talking to him one night, whispering in our bunks while the rest of the battalion slept. It was difficult. ‘Lots of food, lots of exercise,’ he would tell me. I called bullshit. We both knew it was more than that. It’s not like he was huge but you don’t go from fat and clumsy to a jock in two weeks. “He looked down on me now. Saw me as, you know…normal. He never said that, but I saw it in his eyes. It took most of the night to get anything out of him. But finally he brought up the injection they received at the beginning. They weren’t told what it was but we’d received so many vaccines and shit by that point they didn’t think anything of it. “ ‘I think there was something in it that did this to me,’ he said. I came to realize the only reason he told me was because he wanted more. He wanted me to help him break into the medical office and find the stuff. He’d recognize the vials, he told me. He just needed my help to get in.” I immediately knew I wouldn’t be able to help him from a legal perspective if he was actually discovered. The military punished their own. I let him continue. It was obviously helping him to tell the story; I could see the fear leaving his demeanor, replaced by something else. Something stronger. “I saw him planning to himself each night. We waited until the day before graduation. Another remediation class was formed from a junior battalion and we snuck in the night before Grant knew they’d be giving the shots. It was surprisingly easy. Grant took the keys from a janitor’s stand earlier and we waltzed right in. He’d been planning this for weeks and I came to think he only needed me in case we were caught. He’d probably run away and leave me behind to take the fall. “It didn’t matter though. We got in without a problem.” Chase looked up at me from his seated position. “It makes me think the military doesn’t have its shit together. We found six vials. We,” he gulped. “We stole all of them. We couldn’t help ourselves.” I heard a stich pop but Chase ignored it. “We buried them in a plastic bag on the far side of base.” Chase smiled. “Good thing, too. The whole base went ape shit the next morning. Our graduation was delayed. They searched everyone’s bunk, cars. They even took everyone’s blood. From what I heard they searched the whole base. It didn’t matter if you were a general. People were pissed. The inspectors didn’t tell anyone what they were looking for or what was going on. But we knew. “It took two days before the lockdown was lifted. Again, they didn’t say anything. They just acted as if nothing had happened. The night before we left, Grant threw the bag of vials over the wall. Thank god he did. They performed a surprise search of everyone’s car or taxi as we left the base. I wanted to just forget the bag and go but Grant wouldn’t listen. He told the driver to divert down a road and wait while got it. Then we went straight to the airport. We injected ourselves in the bathroom before we went through security.” “All six vials?” I asked. Chase shook his head. “No. One each. I was fucking terrified. I was just waiting for MPs to burst through the door or for security to search our bags. I spent the whole time at the gate thinking I would puke. But I was starving. I ate a hundred bucks worth of shit from the food stand while the plane was boarding. When I landed in JFK I spent the entire layover eating more. That’s why I was so late boarding.” “Why were you so scared when you boarded?” I asked. “I mean, you guys obviously made it.” Chase shook his head again. “I texted Grant as I was boarding the plane out of South Carolina. His flight to Camp Lejeune was three hours after mine. I haven’t heard back from him.” I looked at him inquisitively. “He is ALWAYS looking at his phone.” Suddenly we both realized what little spare room there was in the bathroom was now gone. Chase was easily my size now and every bit of it was muscle. We were both hunched over and where we weren’t pressing against a wall, we were pressing against each other. It was like pressing against granite. Even in my prime, I’d never been as hard as he was now. The fearful ending of his story appeared lost on him as his demeanor now dripped with confidence and testosterone. His blue eyes flashed above his five o’clock shadow. The gaunt features of the boot camp graduate were now filled out and gave his face the angular grace of a model. His shirt screamed as he shifted around his continually growing size. I found myself resting a hand on his gorged pec. Chase locked eyes with mine. “Do it,” he said, almost moaning. I knew what he wanted. I grabbed a fistful of fabric and pulled his shirt off in a single motion. An Olympian body was revealed and it grew into me now that it was free. I felt a new pressure grow against my thigh, which was now jammed against Chase’s crotch. Chase moaned as he placed my hand on the concrete wall of his abs. He was now taller than me and looked down from the ceiling. My head was crammed into the recess between his trap and neck. His chest pressed against mine as he breathed. It was as if I was being buried alive and the feeling would have normally incited some sort of claustrophobic panic in me. Instead, I found myself pressing further into him. I felt his back, covered in a dense shield of muscle. His arms were easily twenty inches in circumference and he flexed them as he pushed against the wall. He moaned quietly and put his hand down the front of his pants and pulled out a nine inch long dick. “This feels incredible,” he whispered to himself. “I know,” I whispered back, letting his expending body press into me. He surrounded me. The walls of the cabin creaked around us as, somehow, I made my way to my knees. His hands rested on my own swollen traps as I undid his belt around his throbbing and growing tool. He gently stroked his own dick as I struggled to pull his shorts down around thighs I never could have dreamed of even at my peak size. They were thirty five inches of deep fissures and bulging mountains. I reached around and grabbed his bare glutes, which were boulders of striated stone and let his dick enter my mouth. A part of me asked what the hell I was doing. I’d never done this before with a man and I guessed neither had Chase. “Do it,” Chase ordered again. I squashed the voice and let myself ride along with the moment. Chase gasped as I went to work and I felt his glutes tighten and expand beneath my hands. He squeezed me with his hands, which seemed to engulf my entire trapezius. I moved my hand to his hamstring for support. He was solid stone. I could feel the muscle expand under the skin. His body shined in the overhead light as it stretched the skin taught over his ever expanding body. When he came, his quads flexed involuntarily, actually forcing me to move around them. I let him enter me, relishing the thought that I might receive a trickle of the power coursing through him. He groaned as he released a seemingly endless flow down my throat. I felt him continue to grow around me. I mouth strained to surround his increasingly giant girth. Satisfied, we finally let the situation wash over us. There we were: one naked, the other clothed, both crammed into a space barely big enough for one. Someone was knocking on the bathroom door. “Oh fuck,” I whispered. “Who cares,” Chase said arrogantly. “What are they going to do? Make us get off the flight when we land?” I looked up at the man standing over me. He was no longer the scared teenager. He had changed the same way his friend had. The knock came again. “We kindly ask you return to your seats,” a familiar voice said from the other side of the door. “One minute,” Chase said with a grin as he looked down at me. “It’s my girl,” he said. He moved to let me stand up. It took the better part of a minute to maneuver enough to get the door open and squeeze out. Well, I would actually describe it as popping out. I stretched as I looked at the young flight attendant who had just interrupted us. She was the same one who gave Chase all the food. And she didn’t even notice me. Instead, her eyes were locked on the naked behemoth in the bathroom, grinning that confident grin and motioning for her to come in. She obliged as if hypnotized. He looked at me as he closed the door behind her. “Get me some clothes,” he said then I was suddenly alone with a dozen sleepy eyes staring at me form their darkened seats. I mumbled an apology and shook at the gravity of what I’d just done. But like a good soldier I pulled a set of shorts and a t-shirt from my carryon and left them outside the door. Behind the panel, I heard the dull moans of the flight attendant as Chase did what he wanted with her. Twenty minutes later, Chase finally made his way back to the seat. My clothes fit him perfectly. While I was 6’4 and 250 pounds of dense but rounded meat. Chase was of similar size of nothing but muscle. He had the distant, smug smile of a man who’d just been laid twice. He had barely even acknowledged me when he sat down and we spent the next few moments in silence. Suddenly the lights came on and the cabin started to come alive. A few minutes later, our favorite flight attendant came by with breakfast, a normal plate for me and seven for our growing friend. “I’ll let you know if there are any extras, soldier,” she said with a grin. On the top container was a post-it with a phone number written on it. Chase gave her a cocky half-grin and nodded his head. That apparently was a good enough answer for the attendant as she blushed and continued serving. I wondered if she would still have a job after this flight was over. These events could not have gone unnoticed. As my neighbor wolfed down his meals, I was shocked to see him continue to grow. The cables in his neck and forearm grew larger and more powerful as his shoulders and chest grew into the already well-fitting shirt. I had given up my dominance of the arm rest long ago and was now losing ground in my own seat. I didn’t care; I found myself wanting to bury my face in his body again. Chase didn’t even acknowledge my presence as he wolfed down a constant stream of additional breakfasts for the remainder of the flight. I grew sick at the thought of eating so much airplane food but Chase’s body responded as if it were a shot of pure muscle. The scared boy I’d met nine hours earlier was gone. In his place was a monstrous, confident, and arrogant young man. “How many doses are in one of those vials you took?” I whispered as he chewed. He looked at me dangerously but ultimately shrugged. “I dunno, ten?” Even his whisper was a deep baritone. I just nodded and let the final minutes of the flight pass by. By the time we landed, Chase was 270 pounds of hugeness. “Willkommen in München,” the pilot said as the tires hit the ground. We got up and I tried to make conversation with Chase as he gathered his duffel bag. What had to be nearing fifty pounds of belongings he pawed as if it weighed five. His biceps flared and a pulsing vein bulged against the fabric of my shirt. Yet again, the incredible depth of his abs could be seen through the fabric of the shirt and his lats actually strained the seams of my XXL shirt. “Was der Teufel,” I heard a passenger say to Chase when he stood at his full height of 6’5. “You going to be ok?” I asked his back as he walked towards the exit. “Let them come,” he said. His lats and traps bulged against the shirt, every line visible. His shoulders barely fit in the aisle. I followed him and we both exited the plane. At no point in my life, even on stage against world-class competition, had I ever felt small. However, seeing five percent body fat a frame which outweighed mine by at least twenty pounds made me feel tiny. I gave one last look at the giant flaring horseshoes of his triceps as we exited the gate. “Private Chase Berringer?” I heard an American voice ask as we entered the terminal. I looked towards the source and found two young men in military fatigues standing off to the side. They each held a picture of what I assumed to be Chase’ before his recent growth. “That’s me,” Chase said. “Pl- Please come with us,” one said, his eyes wide. He obviously hadn’t expected the site he saw. “No problem,” he said with a smirk. They caught him, I thought. Any guilt or sadness I may have felt was stolen by the stealthy wink he gave me as he was ushered away. He was going to be fine. It stood there for a moment as Chase disappeared around a corner not meant for the public. Then I zombied my way through immigration and customs, hardly believing what had transpired over the last nine hours. I let the man with the sign bearing my name usher me to the black sedan which would whisk me back to the real world. I sat in the back seat, eyes distant and clutching my carryon backpack. Chase Berringer, I thought to myself. Remember that name. I opened my backpack to find a pen and pad but my hand felt something foreign in the pocket. Curious, I pulled out two cylindrical objects and a post-it with a phone number on it. It’s the same one the flight attendant gave Chase, I noticed. However, on the back of the paper, scrawled in messy handwriting, was a message. Doesn’t look like I’ll be needing these. They’d confiscate them anyway. Chase My stomach leapt as I turned my attention to the two vials in my other hand. They’d each taken three, but used only one. Now the other two were mine. What was I to do with them? THE END
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