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  1. EcchiMultiverse

    Marvelous Man - Chapter 6

    All comments and critiques are welcomed here and on my Google Docs(https://drive.google.com/open?id=17l528VwpFEInuBuZ1Al9vFvQXxVFwa_BbZBLVxbRQ1k) For other chapters, I will post them on here later. But you can find the archives on my FA and Tumblr with pics included. FA: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/ecchimultiverse/ Tumblr: http://ecchimultiverse.tumblr.com/ First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Chapter 6: IT COMES Sugar Skull turned around as he heard the popping sound, and his eyes grew wide. Immediately, he then swiveled his body back to Gene Lightfoot and grabbed the rabbit demigod’s wrist. “RUN!” he shouted. Pulling Gene with him, the ghoul dashed as fast as he could to the exit. Marvelous Man realized something dangerous was about to happen and backed out mausoleum while bumping the back of his head on the marble doorframe by accident. Marvelous Man stifled his yelp of pain and ran into the darkness. He remembered a tree not too far from the marble structure and made his way towards it. Not sure if he was about to run into the tree at any second, he commanded his light to flick on at a glow dim enough to see where he was going. Upon spotting the wide tree, Marvelous Man ducked behind it. He peered out and spotted his new acquaintances chasing after him. Reaching the glowing hero, the two huddled up behind Marvelous Man and stared at the mausoleum. Seconds passed by as nothing happened, except for the glowing hero’s wood softening. Marvelous Man remarked, “Isn’t it supposed to explode?” “Maybe? I didn’t want to take any chances,” shrugged Sugar Skull. The marble building exploded as bone, smoke, and blood ejected from within. The organic shrapnel and smoke that escaped began to withdraw back to the site of explosion and form a dome slightly bigger than the mausoleum that was just there. Seconds crept by as the dome’s area began to shrink. Shrinking and shrinking until it reached the average height adult human height. The dome then dispersed like wind blowing away sand to reveal what was underneath. Amidst the dissipation stood a figure wearing a hooded cloak that encased his entire body. The cloaked person did not move, while the three metahumans stared on from behind the tree. Marvelous Man whispered, “He’s not moving. Should we...see if he’s alright?” “I am not sensing any emotions from that person. He may not even yet be awake,” spoke Gene. Sugar Skull whispered back, “No choice. Let’s check it.” Walking around Marvelous Man, Sugar Slow slowly approached the hooded figure. The other two followed suit after the ghoul; nearly tiptoeing as a means of not accidentally causing the hooded figure to violently lash out. Sugar Skull held out his arm to signal to the superheroes behind him to go no further. He then pointed down; revealing with Marvelous Man’s dim light that there appeared to be a wide ring surrounding the hooded figure with a whisping black smoke fallout. The liquid-like smoke curdled with solid chunks of darkness strewn amidst the smoky pool. Marvelous Man and Gene Lightfoot walked up next to Sugar Skull and stood at the edge of the fallout ring; with the light at close range, the bits of darkness at the edge dissolved from the dim illumination. “...Excuse me,” weakly called out Marvelous Man. Marvelous Man coughed and thumped his muscular chest a few times. His compatriots stared at him. Marvelous Man projected his voice, “Excuse me, sir...or madam. Are you alright?” The hooded figure said nothing and kept standing there. Seconds later, it slowly turned to the three investigators and casually baby stepped towards them. “Ah…” he said in a deep, old raspy voice, “I have visitors. How rude of me. Come, come.” The hooded man raised his arm. A bony, wrinkled white hand motioned the trio with the gesture of welcoming one into their own home. The pool of smoky darkness in front of the three parted to form an aisle leading to the mysterious being. Marvelous Man began to take a step forward when Sugar Skull grabbed his arm with a tight grip. Marvelous Man looked at Sugar Skull; about to question why he was stopped. Sugar Skull’s flower eyes transformed into a set bear trap before immediately snapping shut. The trap shifted back into the cartoon flower eyes as Sugar Skull turned his attention to the hooded man. “We’re fine here,” said Sugar Skull. The man chuckled, “You ghouls. Always so cautious. Oh, how things never change. I wonder how many centuries have passed since I was sealed? Perhaps even a millennium?” “Just who is it that you are?” questioned Gene. As the hooded man approached closer, Marvelous Man’s dim light revealed the cloak to have the color of dried blood. There was something bulky underneath the hood, but the three could not identify as to what it was. “Who? Who am I, that you ask? Oh...I’ve been gone so long that I’ve been forgotten. Not even the limbo-ling is terrified of me. Have you not been told, little Totochtin,” pitied the man. He proclaimed, “I. AM. THE SKELETON LORD.” “And you want to take over the world?” said Sugar Skull. The Skeleton Lord hummed, “Something like that-.” A booming clap like thunder ringed in the air next to Marvelous Man. The hooded man crumbled to the ground as Marvelous Man and Gene reeled in pain from the ringing in their ears. Sugar Skull held a smoking pistol; aimed at where the Skeleton Lord was standing a second ago. Marvelous Man moaned, “What the fuck!” Standing back up, he could feel the earsplitting noise dissipate in his ears. “Sorry, I didn’t warn you. But I had to kill him when he said he wanted to do world domination. Bad guys sealed away for centuries are put away for a good reason,” apologized Sugar Skull. Marvelous Man looked down at the groaning bunny boy. Crouching down, he placed his hands over Gene’s that was covering their human ears. He spoke calmly to Gene, “Here, let me help you.” Commanding the light from within, Marvelous Man’s hands glowed with light as bright as a soft candlelight. The light stretched onto Lightfoot’s human ears and then extended its envelopment on the white rabbit ears. Marvelous Man fed the light with the happy memory in his teens of painting a portrait of his dad, Apollo, who was very proud of it. The light diagnosed temporary noise-induced hearing loss; painful, but no permanent damage. Gene’s ears shimmered brighter as the tiny ruptures and active nerve endings were soothed and healed. Marvelous Man released his gentle grasp, causing Gene to look up at him as the major discomfort in Gene’s ears evaporated. “Feel better?” smiled Marvelous Man. Gene grinned, “Very much so. Thank you.” The heart rate beating within Marvelous Man’s chest began to accelerate as did the organ in his bikini. His mind began drawing a blank on what to do next. “Your thunder arrow managed to pierce my steed’s skull. Bravo,” said the fallen Skeleton Lord. Marvelous Man and Gene stood up to face of the shot villain. As if being pulled by strings, the Skeleton Lord’s body calmly levitated off the ground. The body rotated in the air until it was held in a bipedal pose. The Skeleton Lord continued, “That would have killed me. It really would. However, I traded my flesh for immortality. What you struck was...well, let’s just say it was a dried-up puppet” As Sugar Skull aimed his black glock to fire again, the Skeleton Lord flicked his bony hand like he was commanding one to rise. A sharpened bone the size of a pillar torpedoed out of the whispy smoke close to Sugar Skull; shooting towards the ghoul. The bone pillar punctured into Sugar Skull’s chest; staking all the way through and lifting his body into the air. Crimson blood spurted from the impact and splattered on the side of Marvelous Man’s face and jacket. Marvelous Man slowly wiped the liquid off his skin and brought it in front of his eyes. Time seemed to come to a crawl as it dawned on him as to what red dampness was. He slowly turned his head to see his ghoulish fellow speared off the ground by the pointed end of a cracked, yellowish spike. The black void in Sugar Skull’s sockets were no longer animated with flower petals, but was filled with the snow of TV static. Sugar Skull looked down at Marvelous Man and shakily rose his arm to give a bloodied thumbs up. “...I’mma k…” he coughed. Marvelous Man could feel a lump in his throat forming; making it hard to swallow. His mind could only focus on the gored ghoul, that he could barely register a liquid trailing down his muscular thighs. There was nothing heroic about this situation. Marvelous Man was caught in the very battle his parents feared. The Skeleton Lord chuckled, “Well, now. A ghoul that does not vanish after being killed. How very interesting.” Dashing through the smoke, Gene moved at such a blurring speed that the smoke parted in his wake. The bunny demigod leapt; twisting his waist to the left as his right leg whirled upwards into the air. Lightfoot’s swinging kick connected with the bulky, hooded head and sent the Skeleton briefly launched into the air. Something underneath the hood loosened and detached; flying into the air and leaving the hood to be bulky no more. The Skeleton Lord crumbled to the ground once again with the bulky object falling down next to him as a horse skull with a bullet hole in the forehead. Gene twirled in midair, changing his direction to face the Skeleton Lord with a second strike. He hit the smoky ground with such velocity, that the rabbit man landed huddled close to the ground with his hands and feet clawing into the ground. As his body slowed down, Gene arched his back to charge right back at the Skeleton Lord; his blue spandex pants strained against his tight, muscled buttocks. The black smoke on the ground reacted by twisting its matter around the bunny demigod’s limbs to prevent any further movements. Lightfoot struggled at the ensnaring darkness as it anchored his body with his posterior wiggling in the air. The Skeleton Lord’s figure repeated the levitation and rotation process until he was presented with himself standing upright. “My...what a kick. When did Totochtin become this powerful? It would definitely have made it more of a fun challenge to slay your kind back then,” mused the Skeleton Lord. Gene’s eyes widened, “...What?!” The Skeleton Lord bent down to pick up the horse skull and softly dusted it with the side of his pale hand. With his back turned to Marvelous Man’s light and unhooded, the Skeleton Lord’s face remained obscured by the night and shadows as he walked to Gene Lightfoot. He then placed the equine skull back on his head while continuing his approach. “Yes, they were but a lecherous bunch, they were. Most of them did not even know how to fight. Your gods wasted their gifts and gave every one of your kind those ears you sport. But I was well aware of the dangerous potential your race had. A pity though. It seems I failed at snuffing out your elders, and now your gods finally understood how fearsome you could become,” he sighed. Gene gritted his teeth, “You are a mon-” Solid blackness launched out of smoky ground; taking the shape of a phallic form, it shot into Gene’s mouth and gagged any other words the bunny demigod was about to say. Within touching distance, the Skeleton Lord petted Gene’s head as the phallic dark matter slowly thrusted back and forth in the rabbit man’s orifice. “Now, now. I can’t have you mad. I still have use for you before I absorb your body and soul. It’s the lowest form of spiritual energy, but I feel like having fun after feeling my loins burn with your arrival,” he said. The smoking darkness pinning down Gene began to erect upwards like a pole. As it rose, Gene’s crouched form slowly splayed in a spread eagle pose. The black tube in Gene’s mouth separated from the shadowy ground and split the severed ends into straps. The dark straps wrapped around Lightfoot’s head and connected with each other upon reaching the back of the cranium. Even amidst all the action, the humping black cylinder never lost pace sliding up and down Gene’s throat. The Skeleton Lord’s bony hand reached out to touch. His pale fingertips graced against underneath Gene’s naval. Eyes closed, Gene shuddered as if he were lightly touched with something cold. The Skeleton Lord traced his fingers upward; over the naval, across the muscled abdomen, and then reached Lightfoot’s chiseled chest. A soft moan escaped the bunny demigod’s gagged lips, as his body meekly wiggled from sexual stimulation. The Skeleton Lord glided his hand over Gene’s left nipple and playfully tweaked it. The robed being licked his lips, “Mmm, before I sip on your lust energy, I just have one more thing to give my attention to.” The Skeleton Lord turned his direction to face the shocked Marvelous Man and the impaled Sugar Skull. “Marvelous...Man...break...it,” gurgled Sugar Skull. Hearing Sugar Skull call out to him, Marvelous Man broke out of his stupor. He looked at the goring bone that speared the ghoul into the air. The shining demigod knew he needed to get Sugar Skull down without sending the impaled being flying and being injured even more. An idea came to Marvelous Man. Floating up to the penetrating bone, Marvelous Man angled himself and wrapped his wide, powerful thighs around the yellow spearing column. His thunderous legs flexed; tightening its muscular cords like a boa constrictor squeezing its prey to death. The bone pillar cracked for a moment before immediately splintering in half from the deadly crushing force of Marvelous Man’s quadriceps. Sugar Skull fell to the ground with a thud; the impaled half of the bone still lodged into his torso. Marvelous Man instantly knew that he did not think things completely through. Marvelous Man apologized, “Ohmygosh, I’m so sorry!” As Marvelous Man descended back to the ground as Sugar Skull struggled to pull out the yellow splintered bone out of his chest. “It’s fine. I’ll be ok in a few minutes. I just need to get this out of me,” said the ghoul. Marvelous Man spoke, “Oh. Sure.” Lightly applying his foot on Sugar Skull’s ribs, Marvelous Man yanked the broken bone pillar out of the ghoul’s torso as it made a squelchy plop sound. “Thanks,” grunted Sugar Skull. As he lied on the ground, he noticed the ring of smoky darkness extending whisps of itself in an attempted to ensnare Marvelous Man. Marvelous Man was ignorant of the blackness due to his back being turned for attending his fallen comrade. There was not enough time for Sugar Skull to gather the energy to shout a warning to the illuminated hero. The shadowy ropes shot through the air, but then dissolved the moment it became fully illuminated by the light encasing Marvelous Man’s hulking body. More tangling darkness ejected out, yet the result was the same. The Skeleton Lord observed from afar of the effect and quickly flicked his pale hand to command another bone spear pillar to appear. As Marvelous Man was about to assist in healing, a yellowish bone column sprung from the ring of darkness. The impaling bone rammed Marvelous Man in the back and thrusted him into the air. With Marvelous Man knocked away, only pale moonlight lit the graveyard. The Skeleton Lord frowned, “Hmmm, not what I intended, but it will do.” He turned his attention back to the erected Gene Lightfoot; binded and molested by solid shadows. Darkness encased the bunny demigod’s spandex-layered godhood and began to vibrate. Black tendrils extended from the dark binds and playfully pulled at Gene’s cocoa nipples. Lightfoot could only helplessly wiggle and moan as his mouth was being raped by the shadow phallus. The Skeleton Lord grazed his hands against Gene’s smooth body; gradually sliding all over the place and even dipping underneath the waistband. As he did so, a purple smoke seeped from Gene’s body that trailed behind the Skeleton Lord’s hands. The purple smoke that appeared from all the touching started to flow towards the Skeleton Lord’s face as if he were drinking it in. Meanwhile, Marvelous Man tried to regain his senses after being flung high into the air. Marvelous Man activated his flight power; steadying himself as he inhaled oxygen to recoup the breath that was knocked out of him. His thoughts were snapping back together and then he realized how high up he was. Everybody looked like large ants beneath him. Perhaps this time, he should try a stealthier approach. He commanded the light to retreat back inside of him, as Marvelous Man quietly descended to the ground. Marvelous Man levitated as low as he could without touching the earth beneath him. Clenching his arms and legs as close as his bulky muscles could allow him to, he flew as fast as possible towards Sugar Skull. Upon reaching the ghoul, Marvelous Man came to a halt above Sugar Skull and quickly analyzed the wound. The hole in Sugar Skull’s torso was beginning to close a third of the way. And while the speed of the healing factor was amazing, it wasn’t fast enough. Sugar Skull wheezed, “Don’t worry about me. Help Gene.” “We’ll get him, but I need to heal you first. I hope this doesn’t feel too weird for you,” said Marvelous Man. Placing his hands on Sugar Skull’s shoulders, Marvelous Man commanded the light within himself to flow into Sugar Skull and heal the hole to a close. Marvelous Man knew he needed to hurry, so they can save Gene. The floating hero then began to hum a tune in order to supercharge the light. The light greedily fed on the humming song and illuminated Sugar Skull’s whole body. Tissues of bone and flesh grew at an explosive rate and sealed the gaping hole in Sugar Skull’s chest within seconds. Sugar Skull trembled with renewed energy and lightly patted around his freshly healed torso. The TV static in his eyes transformed into the usual cartoon flower shape. However, each of the individual petals were shifting into different rainbow colors and the flowers themselves were spinning at an alarming rate. His purple teeth chattered, “Oh my God! I feel like I got a caffeinated happiness injection! Why do I feel like practicing my guitar and the need to work out?! Why am I glowing like a rave stick?!” “Probably a side effect of supercharging my healing powers. It should wear off, I think,” said Marvelous Man. Levitating higher up, Marvelous Man held out his hand for Sugar Skull. The glowing ghoul accepted the hand and was helped up. During the handholding, Marvelous Man tried to command the light to dissipate from Sugar Skull, but it was no use. Whatever stealth plan Marvelous Man was developing was now rendered null. Sugar Skull was illuminated too brightly and could be instantly spotted by the Skeleton Lord. Sugar Skull looked at Marvelous Man’s face and noticed his blood splattered on the hero’s face. He quickly pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve and wiped the blood off in one stroke. Marvelous Man gave him a quizzical look as the ghoul said nothing. Sugar Skull pointed at the Skeleton Lord’s pool of shadows, “The Skeleton Lord’s darkness can’t handle light. And I think all his bone attacks come from that darkness. If we can shine bright enough, his attacks won’t touch us.” “...What’s he doing to Gene?” squinted Marvelous Man. Sugar Skull chattered, “Something. And we need to stop it right now.” Marvelous Man commanded the light within himself to envelop his body and glow as bright as it could. Sugar Skull dashed forward, as he bent forward to sweep up his gun. The ghoul then stuffed his black glock inside his sleeve; disappearing without any stretches or outlines it. The whisping blackness dissolved in Sugar Skull’s path, as he made his way to the Skeleton Lord. The circumference of the light he expelled was expanded even further with Marvelous Man hovering above him; shining like daylight. As they drew closer, Marvelous Man could see the Skeleton Lord draining some sort of purple smoke from Gene Lightfoot. He then grabbed his golden wreath from his head and commanded his light to imbue it with the shining element. Once he could feel it glow, Marvelous Man threw his wreath forward. The golden athletic wreath obeyed Marvelous Man’s intentions and sailed through the air. Right when it reached close to the oblivious Skeleton Lord, it curved around the supervillain. The wreath then turned sideways and attacked the Skeleton Lord’s wrists; buzzsawing through them with a quick whiz. The Skeleton Lord could only hold up and stare at his amputated forearms as his hands fell into the smoky darkness. “CURSED WRETCH!!!” screamed the Skeleton Lord. Turning around, the disarmed villain spotted the two shining metahumans charging towards him as the golden wreath returned to Marvelous Man. The Skeleton Lord shouted again, “Cursed wretch!” Arrows of bones launched from the surrounding blackness that was not disintegrated by the light. The bone arrows bounced off of Marvelous Man’s overly muscular body without leaving a mark. Sugar Skull was pierced with shallow wounds, but the effect was reversed almost immediately with the wounds already closing and pushing out the arrows. “Throw me!” shouted Sugar Skull, “Throw me at him!” Without question, Marvelous Man picked up the ghoul as he spun in a counter clockwise motion to increase the velocity of his throw. Upon completing his twirl, the muscled hero flung Sugar Skull at the Skeleton Lord. Sugar Skull cackled with his flower eyes furiously spinning with its petals warping into different spectrums of the rainbow. The Skeleton Lord stood there for a moment in fury before a thrown Sugar Skull collided into his chest and abdomen. The robed being was swept off his feet by the attack and fell to the ground with a hollow thud and tumble. Sugar Skull immediately rolled back onto his feet and stood up. Reaching into his sleeve, he pulls out a folded butterfly knife. The ghoul playfully pivoted the twirling handles as he casually walked to the fallen Skeleton Lord. When he was within striking distance, Sugar Skull completely unsheathed the blade. During this event, Marvelous Man flew to Gene; bounded by dark binds and stretched into spread eagle. The black tentacles still played with the bunny demigod’s body, but there was no purple smoke emanating from him at the moment. Marvelous Man took notice that even though his body fully illuminated the shadowy binds, it would not dissipate. Marvelous Man floated up to Gene’s face, “I’ll get you out in a second!” Gene could only glance with his eyes barely opened as the phallic darkness kept thrusting itself into his mouth. Marvelous Man had to admit that the display in front of him was very erotic. He could feel his heroic meatus fill with his justice essence as the familiar oppressive erogenous emotion weigh down on him. Marvelous Man shook his head and focused on his need to be a hero at that moment. With his mind clearing, Marvelous Man figured that perhaps he needed more light. He placed his hands underneath Lightfoot’s armpits and commanded his light to spread onto Gene. The light obeyed, and it spread from his hands to encasing the entire body with shining brightness. The vibrating black binds slowly disintegrated like paper devoured by fire. With Gene in his grasp, Marvelous Man slowly descended as he could feel the rabbit man’s lucky third limb poke with hard aggression at his diamond-cut abdomen. Marvelous Man drew close to the ground and allowed Gene to gently land on their feet. “You okay?” asked Marvelous Man. Gene cracked both sides of his neck, “I am alright. Though I would have liked to have been left to cum before the rescue, I still have gratitude for what you did. I have, as your country puts it, the blue balls and need to work out my frustration.” Other than the oppressive sexual energy putting pressure on him, Marvelous Man could also feel some anger pressing on his emotional state. But he resisted. Marvelous Man searched about for a few seconds before spotting Sugar Skull approaching the fallen Skeleton Lord. “There they are!” he pointed. An animated horse skeleton emerged from underneath the Skeleton Lord; spraying a light layer of dirt as it rose. The skeleton equine neighed as it stood on its hind legs for a moment. Sugar Skull, caught in the small dirt explosion, stumbled back as he tried to clear earth from his eye sockets and mouth. The Skeleton Lord sat up straight on his steed; his hood no longer bulked by the skull that was now attached to the horse. Black smoke connected to his severed arms and seemed to be channeling something. The Skeleton Lord jeered, “It appears that in my most weakest, even a Totochtin, a ghoul, and a star child can best me.” The twirling darkness attached to the Skeleton Lord’s stumps began to narrow as it revealed to be connected to something it was pulling. It pulled from the shadowy pool the Skeleton Lord’s hands that Marvelous Man severed. Like a fishing rod, the connected blackness reeled in the dismembered extremities with haste until the limbs were connected. The dark reel then oozed outside the wound like pus before being absorbed into the skin and sealing up the cleaved area. As it did so, the wound Marvelous Man inflicted appeared to have vanish; showing off bony, pale wrists with no scars. “But I must thank you, Totochtin. When I was unsealed, my strength was that of a morning dewdrop on a leaf. And with what I was able to drink from you, before I was oh so interrupted, is now able to fill a small tin cup,” boasted the Skeleton Lord. Raising his white hand into the air, he snapped his fingers. The pool of smoky blackness expanded far across the graveyard’s expanse; beyond what the three fighters could see with their illuminated bodies and the light of the full moon. The ground beneath began to vibrate. The Skeleton Lord proclaimed, “A gift to you. For the generosity and entertainment.” The skeleton horse neighed and took off; galloping away with the Skeleton Lord’s blood red cloak fluttering in the wind. Gene reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a silver sphere the size of a large marble ball. The shining, bunny demigod threw the silver ball at the Skeleton Lord. It whistled through the air for a brief second before piercing into the Skeleton Lord’s side. The Skeleton Lord lurched forward but showed no other sign of being in lots of pain. With the dirt finally dusted out of himself, Sugar Skull ran back to the two superheroes. Gene’s ears twitched as Sugar Skull rejoined them; lining their backs to each other. “There is too many of them. I cannot keep the count,” said Gene, “All of them are underneath us.” Marvelous Man exclaimed, “What, zombies?!” “They have arrived!” shouted Gene. Bones of skeleton corpses breached through the smoky pool of darkness. Skeletal beings clawed and clamored their way through, as the whisping blackness began to intertwine with the skeletals’ structures. The smoke on the animated skeletons solidified itself into swords, axes, and even black medieval armor that covered parts of the skeleton. Sugar Skull pulled out his handgun from his sleeve. With the two heroes having their backs turned on the ghoul, Sugar Skull took the butterfly knife in his hand and briefly stabbed himself on his side before quickly pulling out. He winced a bit, as he took up a fighting stance with his black glock resting on the wrist with the bloodied blade. One hand aimed at the boney creatures, while having the other ready to stab. Already, his self-inflicted wound began to heal. He spoke, “I really hope this army of the damned is the slow moving kind.” “Hush those words unless you wish to inflict the jinx upon us,” said Gene. Marvelous Man held up his fists; ready to fight as his sexual tool finally went limp. The armored skeletons charged forward with their weapons raised. Sugar Skull fired his handgun; piercing the craniums of the raised dead in front of him. Marvelous Man threw his golden wreath and decapitate a few before returning. Gene reached into his pouch and hurled a silver ball; boring through helmets and pulverizing skulls into boney bits. The skeletons who weren’t caught in the retaliation stopped to gaze upon their fallen brethren. The armor-mimicking darkness on the damaged skeletons dispersed into smoke before being immediately absorbed into the bones. It restructured and mended together all of the broken pieces as the inking blackness pulled the recovering boney creature to stand up straight. The pool of whisping darkness beneath them intertwined once again to form weapons and armor. Sugar Skull shouted, “Switch to close combat! Our light should stop them from recovering if we stick close to them!” The three stood their ground; ready to embrace the onslaught. Sugar Skull fired at the skeletons’ kneecaps to cripple those that drew in close to him. He then stabbed and slashed at the exposed bone parts with his bloodied butterfly knife. The boned creatures painted with only a dab of Sugar Skull’s blood shivered for a second before disintegrating into a pile of dust. After each attack, the ghoul would have to duck and twirl about to avoid the swings and stabs of the skeletal beings. Gene Lightfoot ducked and weaved through the skeletons’ strikes; getting as close as he can before corkscrew punching through their craniums. He would follow up his punches with a roundhouse kick and swing his toned legs at any armored skeleton that would try to ambush his turned back. At any moment Lightfoot was about to be over encumbered by the attacking numbers, he shapeshifted into a small white rabbit and hopped away to a better offensive position. This would leave his opponents slashing at the air and befuddled with confusion. Marvelous Man parried away the skeletons’ weapons with his golden bracelets before lunging forward to grapple the black armor. Quickly whirling about, he would slam the armored skeleton he grabbed into the attacking fray; smashing the other bony creatures into pieces. After creating a small clearing, Marvelous Man would then toss the skeletal being high into the air and let gravity take care of the rest. The trio kept repeating their actions, but the numbers never seemed to diminish. Every time they moved away to dodge or fight more armored skeletons, their light drifted away from shining upon the remains. And every time it happened, the pool of darkness would seep into the bones; restoring them back to fighting condition and gifting them with armor and weapons. “There does not seem to be any end to these skeletons,” noted Gene. Sugar Skull stabbed another armored skeleton; causing it to atomize into dust. He shouted, “We need more light! Marvelous Man!” “I’ll see what I can do, but you guys need to cover me,” said Marvelous Man. He brought his right leg up high into the air before slamming it down; axe kicking an attacking skeleton into many splinters. Sugar Skull answered back, “That’s fine. But you need to get us somewhere else. Too many to fight!” Activating his flight powers, Marvelous Man flew above the reach of the skeletal creatures before diving towards his temporary teammates. He scooped up each one with an arm wrapped around their torso. Marvelous Man then increased his altitude in the hopes of finding a fitting spot to defend and unleash a mass illumination. “Go over there!” pointed Sugar Skull. Marvelous looked to where Sugar Skull indicated. It was another mausoleum located a distance away; appearing newer than the one that housed the Skeleton Lord’s coffin. None of the bony creatures were there, and it would take some time for the damned to reach them. If things did not go as planned, the three could climb up to the top of the mausoleum to defend their point or escape. He complied and landed in front of the marbled structure as he released his grasp on the two beings he carried. Emptying the magazine from the black glock, Sugar Skull pulled a pistol ammo magazine from out of his sleeves and reloaded it into his handgun. He cocked his gun, “We will try to buy you some time. Try to clear away all this darkness. It’s empowering them with armors and weapons and restoring them. If you can do that, me and the bunny boy can clean out this bony mess with ease...Wow, I feel very articulated speaking English now. All the words just come to me so easily. Like juxtaposition and-” “Please focus,” interrupted Gene, “We must let him concentrate, and we must defend him from the dark spawns.” Sugar Skull sheepishly grinned, “Sorry.” As Gene fished in his belt pouch for more silver balls, Marvelous Man tried to think. He could try to make himself brighter, but he needed to completely dissipate the dark pool of whisping shadows that covered the whole graveyard. So if increasing the intensity of the glow from his hulking body would not be enough to get rid of all the Skeleton Lord’s darkness, he needed to administer his light a different way. Marvelous Man looked at the grass and dirt beneath his feet that his bodily illumination exposed from dispelling the blackness around him. An idea came to him. He commanded his light to extend from his feet and irradiate the ground with brightness. Sunlight shined from the earth and shot into the sky like a piercing spotlight. Marvelous Man frowned as the light could only expand far enough to create a pillar of daylight that encircled only Marvelous Man. The light needed more energy. Gunshots rang from Sugar Skull’s gun as the horde of armored skeletons charged towards the three fighters. Gene barraged the unit with his silver balls; breaking down lines of skeletons into little bits. Scores of skeletal beings would fall from the cover fire, but they would keep getting back up with the help of shadowy pool to piece them back together in only seconds. The army was slowly gaining territory. Marvelous Man knew he had to supercharge his light, but he felt he would have to do more than humming in order to imbue the graveyard grounds with light. He would have to sing. Putting his hand in his pockets, Marvelous Man cleared his throat. “When the night has come, And the land is dark, And the moon is the only light we’ll see,” sang Marvelous Man. His light fed on his song and began to grow; expanding at a quickening rate and encircling his compatriots. Marvelous Man wished he had an instrument to go with his solo act. “No, I won’t be afraid, Just as long as you stand, stand by me,” continued Marvelous Man. He could feel a cold, metal rectangle dance at his fingertips. Marvelous Man quickly pulled it out to reveal a golden harmonica. There was a name etched on the plate: Duskbell. Most likely, a gift from his dad, Apollo. It was better than nothing. Marvelous Man shrugged and began to play the chorus. The muscle memory from practicing this pocket instrument back in his artificial world came flooding back into his fingers. He cupped the golden harmonica and blew into the holes. His body swayed with the somber notes that cried for his darlings to stand by him. The light engorging on his songs and his emotions became supercharged even further; expanding at an explosive pace. Plants and insects began to burst out of the ground and thrived on the healing brightness. The spread of the imbued daylight had completed its encompass of the graveyard within seconds. Any residue of the Skeleton Lord’s smoky pool of darkness had completely vanished as well as the skeleton army’s weapons and armor. The whole graveyard property looked as if it were plucked from a sunny day and thrown into a setting that was in the middle of the night. Everybody but Marvelous Man stopped what they were doing to stare at the new scenery. Sugar Skull muttered, “Holy shit...” The ghoul and the bunny demigod looked at the musical hero before turning their attention back to the mass of naked skeletons. “Victory is within our reach!” cried Gene. The two charged into the shocked fray as Sugar Skull stabbed himself in his side to give his blade a new layer of blood. Gene motioned his right hand as if he were picking up something. A yellow rune symbol glowed on the back of his fingerless black gloves. The silver balls Gene previously threw, with exception to the one lodged into the Skeleton Lord’s back, rose from the ground and floated at Lightfoot’s waist height. Gene shapeshifted into a white rabbit and bounded towards the floating spheres. Upon reaching a sphere, Lightfoot would transform back into his human form and uppercut the nearby skeleton into pieces during the process. He would then whip his legs and arms about; roundhouse kicking and hook punching at the bony beings close to him in order to create a small clearing riddled with skeleton parts. After that, the bunny demigod would grab his sphere and hurl it at the crowd of skeletal creatures. The skeletons reacted to the punctures by exploding into trails of bony fragments immediately after the ball exited them. Shapeshifting back into a white rabbit, Gene would move on to the next floating silver ball. As that went on, Sugar Skull shot any skeletons a small distance away from him and slashed indiscriminately with his bloodied butterfly knife at close proximity. The bony beings he attacked would shatter from gunshots or disintegrate into piles of dust from the slashing. He cackled maniacally as his purple teeth chattered. The attacks from the two carried on without ever stopping. The skeleton army shrunk with bone fragments littering the graveyard as Marvelous Man continued his song. Upon reaching the end of his song, Marvelous Man looked up to see the two fighters lightly panting and walking back to him. Gene stretched his arms as Sugar Skull pulled out a handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe the blood off his blade. Marvelous Man cheered, “Great work, you guys! That was a close one!” “Actually, I should say that to you. Without you, we’d have to retreat. And that would have been pretty bad if that army of damned got out,” remarked Sugar Skull. Gene nodded, “Agreed. But I was wondering, your musical device increases your power, yes?” “Well, kinda. My light power feeds on positive things like emotions, memories. And when I do something artsy like singing or playing an instrument, it kinda supercharges it to heal or light more stuff up more. I don’t really know all the side effects, to be honest.” explained Marvelous Man. Sugar Skull snapped his fingers, “Aha! So that’s why you were singing when you healed me.” “Pretty much. We were in a pinch, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to heal fast enough,” remembered Marvelous Man, “Oh, right! Here, let me take care of that.” Placing his hand on Gene’s shoulder, Marvelous Man commanded the light embracing Lightfoot’s body to fade away. Gene eyed Marvelous Man’s hand and saw his bodily illumination beginning to dim and then vanishing altogether. Gene smiled, “Much gratitude for that action. Will you be taking away the light surrounding him as well?” Marvelous Man looked from Gene’s gesture to the shining Sugar Skull with rainbow flower eyes. Sugar Skull’s purple teeth chattered uncontrollably. “Uhhh, I can’t really control any light I supercharge. It’s one of the side effects. It should go away soon...I think,” he said. Sugar Skull gave a thumbs up, “It’s fine. But this supercharge is giving me a weird high. Like, a high where I feel really good and confident about myself and that I should do something productive. Yes! Loving this fluent articulation with big English words!” Gene cocked his head at Sugar Skull in fascination. After being amazed, he turned his attention back to Marvelous Man and started fishing his hand into his pants’ pocket. The bunny demigod pulled out a business card, “I see. I will have to collect my projectiles and report this event to my superiors. I would find it most appreciative if you were to visit the D.A.B. headquarters and give the supporting statement to my superiors as well. The address is on the back of the card I am about to give you.” Taking the business card, Marvelous Man observed it. It was a cobalt blue card with the organization’s name spelt vertically in order to create a horizontal acronym. The first and last words were colored in white, the middle word’s color was in navy blue. Reading it vertically, it spelled: Demon Authority Bureau. Marvelous Man briefly wondered who had the idea to name their organization after the word “dab”. “Oh, sure! I’ll drop by to help out,” grinned Marvelous Man. Gene smiled back, “Wonderful news. Before I return to what is abbreviated as the HQ, perhaps you would like to join me in a victory threesome?” Marvelous Man’s eyes went wide. He would love to engage in intercourse with this handsome man. But he felt too emotionally exhausted to feel excited, and yet he felt another emotion rising within him. Shyness. “Wh-what?!...I mean...Here? I mean, uh, I-I have some things to take care of. Important things! Maybe later, or something,” stammered Marvelous Man, “OKAYBYE!” Taking off, Marvelous Man flew to his home. It only took minutes from the graveyard to reach the roof of his penthouse apartment. Staring at the installed pool and Jacuzzi while landing, he questioned for a short moment about who is responsible for maintaining the water’s hygiene. He entered the rooftop door and made his way down the steps to his apartment interior. It was dark inside. “Hello?” called Marvelous Man. Nobody answered. Commanding his light within to shine, his body radiated with enough illumination to light up the room and part of the hallway it was connected to. He looked around for a few seconds before spotting the light switch and went to flick it on. Marvelous Man stood there for a moment before his nose detected a rancid stench. It smelled like a poorly-maintained bathroom. Realizing something, he cupped his bikini-clad crotch. He sighed as his shoulders hung in embarrassment. Next Chapter
  2. EcchiMultiverse

    Marvelous Man - Chapter 2

    All comments and critiques are welcomed here and on my Google Docs(https://drive.google.com/open?id=1eM-QYOab19bheMRu-kyTHwi1COJztr7GpwvYsnXH6rQ) For other chapters, I will post them on here later. But you can find the archives on my FA and Tumblr with pics included. FA: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/ecchimultiverse/ Tumblr: http://ecchimultiverse.tumblr.com/ First Chapter | Next Chapter Chapter 2: Stars & Stripes What started as an angry stomp out of the house escalated into a full on sprint. Justice ran down the sidewalk with the wind grazing over his swole, naked body, and his heavy pecs bouncing in the air. He kept sprinting without slowing down for even a moment as he passed over crossings and bridges. Justice's anger-fueled charge finally came to a stop when the sidewalk ended at a forked road in front of the artificial town's mall. Even though sweat collected on his chocolate skin with liquid trails glistening down his diamond cut six-pack, Justice breathed as if he had taken a brisk walk. Taking a moment to observe the choices in front of him, he decided to enter the mall. It was a habit of his to go to the arcade's rhythm platform game and dance his frustrations away. Inside, Justice felt the cool tiles absorbing the heat on his soles, and the other mall citizens staring at him. It didn't matter to Justice, because the people weren't real. They were androids built without any social interaction programming. He knew all they could do was stare and follow whatever their programming purposed them to do. So instead of doing his enraged naked walk to his room or some other part of the house as usual, he would go dance at the mall's arcade to vent his frustration and anger even faster. Justice strided into the arcade; blinking lights and players scattered all over with the scent of pizza grease wafting in the air for some reason. As he approached the back of the arcade, he spotted Doki Doki Beat; the dancing rhythm machine that never moved during his whole life in this fake world. Picking up a few game tokens from a stack sitting next to the selection buttons, he inserted the tokens in the slot and pressed the Player One start button. It was always weird how after Justice told his parents what his favorite arcade machine was, there was always a stack of tokens on that machine that he alone used whenever he visited. Now he knew why. Justice stepped onto the game's platform and tapped the selection buttons a few times before choosing a hyperactive J-pop song on Cardiac Arrest difficulty. The screen faded for a moment before appearing back with empty outlined directional arrows and a background filled with nauseating bright colors and smiley-faced hearts. Right when the song started, the screen was immediately assaulted with rainbow color changing directional arrows rising from the bottom at blinding speeds. Justice instantly reacted by stepping on directional arrow buttons built into the platforms. He danced and stepped in sync with all the arrows on the screen; never missing one. His body was so attuned to the game's music and rhythm, even his rhythm pole and sac bobbed and swerved with the beat. >>>>>>>>>>>>> After exhausting all the available game tokens, Justice exited the arcade. He noticed his mother, Goddess Aphrodite, sitting at a food court table across from him; sipping through a straw on a milkshake. It seemed no matter what she did, it always made Aphrodite's curvy body look beautiful. Even if all she wore right now was just simple jeans, plain black sandals, and a yellow shirt with the radioactive logo. Justice sighed and decided to go visit her. Aphrodite smiled as Justice sat across from her, "Hey there, sugarplum. Feeling a bit better?" "A bit..." nodded Justice, "...I don't hate you or my dads, mom...but I am angry at what you all did." Justice's mom stopped drinking her milkshake, "...I know. I'm sorry what we did, honey. But you have to know that we didn't put you in here just to make you into a superhero. It was to make sure you didn't hurt anybody while we were raising you." "Because I wouldn't be able to control my superpowers? Wait, do I have any?" questioned Justice. His mother gestured her empty hand with a maybe. Aphrodite spoke, "You should. We all gave you a sliver of our essence. At the very least, you have very superior genetics. Normal people don't get big like that from doing a hundred pushups every day without a needle's assistance." Justice's mother pulled out her phone and texted for a few seconds before standing up. "Can you come with me, sweetie? I want to explain more about why we did what we did in a more comfortable area for me. My limo is outside." requested Aphrodite. Justice's frown slowly creased into a small smile, "Okay, mom." Justice was more than happy to leave the mall. The seats were styled with a grid of holes along the back and bottom. And when he stood up, his bubble butt and the back of his tree-trunk thighs were indented with polka dots all over. As the two walked back to the entrance, Aphrodite remarked, "You know I really do love you, right?" "Well of course you have to say that. You're the goddess of love. You have to love everybody," giggled Justice. His mother hugged his muscular arm that was wider than her head. She smiled, "Yes, but I love you on a greater level than everybody else. A mother's love is powerful, and you will always be my baby." When the two exited the mall, they were greeted by a white limo and its chauffeur parked in front of the mall's entrance. The chauffeur simply bowed without a word and opened the door for Justice and his mother. After letting his mother enter first, he struggled to get in; angling his body in order to allow his bulky to get inside the limo. "You know, I think I already know what my weakness is," joked Justice, "It's doorways. Ever since I hit fifteen, I've had to keep ducking whenever I went into another room, and now I also have to enter in sideways as well. I'm too tall and too thick." His mother smiled, "You are perfect as you are, honey." After chauffeur closed the door behind them and drove the limo back onto the streets, Justice's mother opened a cooler and pulled out a milkshake cup. "I got you a blueberry pie milkshake," said Aphrodite as she handed the cup to Justice. Justice grinned, "Awesome! Thanks, mom!" Justice's mother smiled. Even though he towered over her and looked like he could bench-press a truck, he still looked like a child; hunched over while sipping through the straw of his milkshake with both hands. "You're welcome," said Aphrodite, "So back to what I was saying earlier about protecting you from harming others...The thing is...Even though we gave you a sliver of our essence, getting it from one god is the limit for any being to handle. If a mortal were to receive from two gods, there's a good chance they could become violently insane, die at an early age, or both. And from three...well...your chances did not look good, but we took those chances anyways." Justice connected the dots, "And that's why you put me here. To make sure I didn't hurt anybody if I went crazy...Why did you take such a risk then?" "...Your fathers and I wanted to relive the glory days so badly. Having our demigod children going on adventures, fighting bad people, and winning in our honor. But the bad people had evolved. Some of them had grown powerful enough to make us flinch. We did not want to send our child out to that world to simply die before drawing their sword. So we did something very drastic and made you." answered his mother. She continued, "We were lucky to spend all these years raising you into a fine man. And now, you can unlock the rest of your powers and become a fine superhero...But if this isn't what you want, I understand. It was very selfish what we did, and I love you more than my glory days." Justice looked down at his milkshake and continued to sip. "I guess...I could give it a try. It'd be cool to have some superpowers. Besides, you all kept me so busy, I didn't have enough time to try out college," said Justice. His mother smiled as the limo slowed down to a stop and parked. After the chauffeur opened the door, Aphrodite exited the limo first before Justice struggled to follow suit. Right when Justice finally got out, he noticed the limo transported them to the town's beach. His mother spoke up, "I agreed to meet your fathers here. They have a gift for you that will turn you into a real superhero. We were supposed to give it to you after the cake, but your fathers' loose lips sent you into your nude rage." "Sorry," blushed Justice. Aphrodite sighed, "It's not your fault, honey. Your whole world got turned upside down before you could even have cake. It's understandable. Come on, let's go meet up with your fathers." >>>>>>>>> "I'm glad you're not angry anymore. I kinda expected you to go on a murder spree across the whole town. We honestly thought you finally cracked, cause of all the power in you," admitted Papa Ares. Justice looked down, "Yeah. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. The robots aren't bad and didn't really do anything bad to me...that wouldn't be right." Apollo stepped in next to Justice; holding a present-wrapped box. "Good to hear then! Water under the bridge! Love prevails and family is important. Yada yada yada. Time to open your birthday present!" interrupted Apollo. As usual, his dad, Apollo, likes to act like a diva and does not like being unincluded from a conversation or event. Even his clothes screamed for attention of how fashion-forward he was; a sky blue buttoned shirt with a red ribbon tie, light khaki pants and shiny brown loafers. His papa, Ares, on the on the other hand unintentionally calls attention to himself by wearing what he feels is "casual". This entails him mainly wearing a wifebeater with a necklace made out of construction chain links, a black utilikilt, and black army boots. Justice turned to his dad, "Oh, right. Thanks, Dad." Apollo held out the gift; a velvet black box wrapped with a white ribbon bow. Justice gently picked up the gift from Apollo's hands and undid the ribbon. He then opened the box, which opened like a jewelry box. Inside, two large wrist-sized golden bracelets shimmered on top of black pillows. "So this is the gift that'll turn me into a real superhero?" asked Justice. Apollo nodded, "That it is. They're magical bracelets that we got your Uncle Hephaestus to make. It will activate your powers and transform you into the outfit we designed for you." Justice looked up for a moment. The last time they made something together, they created Justice from a multitude of earthy materials they each liked rather than agreeing on one kind of earthy substance. "What? Don't you want to try it on?" said his dad. Justice stared back down at the shiny gold bracelets and exhaled a small sigh. It couldn't be that bad. After all, he turned out fine, and maybe this outfit will look great. "Sure, I'll try it on," answered Justice as he set down the box. Squatting down he picked up one of bracelets; grazing his fingertips against the cool, smooth gold as his other meaty tip grazed against the sand. The bracelet was very thin and felt very light like cheap plastic jewelry. Justice noticed that this bracelet was not the type one sticks their hand through, but the kind that clamps around one's wrist. Justice opened the large bracelet and closed it around his wrist as it made a light clink. He then picked up the other gold bracelet and repeated the process. Hearing the other bracelet clink together securely, Justice took a moment to stare at his bracelets. Oddly enough, the golden bracelets clung to his wrists like a second skin. His body could barely even feel the shiny jewelry. Justice then looked at the rest of his body. Nope. Still naked. Maybe the outfit was only showing under his pecs? After all, his pectoral muscles stuck out long enough to form a shelf and block a small portion of his vision. Justice groped underneath his pecs. Still nothing. Justice stood up, "I don't think it's working. I'm still naked." "Oh, right!" Papa remembered, "We forgot to mention that it activates after saying the catchphrase. Each of us chose a word for the catchphrase and you have to finish it by saying a word that you feel would unlock your outfit and powers." "And you have to say it all while having your bracelets touching each other," chimed Apollo. Justice sighed, "So what's the catchphrase then?" In order, Aphrodite, Ares, and Apollo smiled and exclaimed their chosen word for the catchphrase: "Marvelous!" "Muscle!" "Magic!" Justice stared at his parents with an apathetic glare, "...Okay." Raising his arms above his head, Justice placed one wrist on top of another. "Marvelous Muscle Magic..." Justice paused, "Metamorph." The space around Justice vanished into vacuum of blending bright lights and stars as he felt his body fall and fly at the same time. Justice realized that his whole body became paralyzed and could not even move his pinkie. He could then feel ribbon-like tentacles reach out and wrap around his torso, feet, ass, and groin. The ribbons squeezed as it began to spread up his body. The ribbons that binded to his feet and torso were black. The ones binding to his feet began to take the form of black buckled boots. The other one wrapping around his torso enveloped over his arms and began to divide over his abs and bulbous pecs into an unzipped black jacket. The ribbons that cupped his male package and only able to squeeze a portion of his large round ass were blue and started to form a swimming bikini. However, the hugging ribbon's color began to change and mimic the pattern of the United States of America's flag. The portion that groped his package turned into white and red stripes, and the rest remained blue with white stars scattered about. Justice then felt something warm wrap around his head. A bright, tube-shaped light encircled his head for a few seconds before it exploded and took the form of something more narrow; a golden wreath that Greek champion athletes used to wear. The empty space that held Justice in zero gravity collapsed, and he landed on his feet back into reality. He stood there for a few minutes, shocked by what transpired in reality as a second but felt like forever in that spaceless pocket. His body, garbed with his new heroic uniform, glowed with a soft aura. Justice stammered, "WH-WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK?!" "Language, sweetie," said his mother. Justice spoke back, "Wha-what was that?! I-I-I was floating in an aurora and attacked by tentacles! I feel so violated!" "You'll get used to that...eventually. Besides, that was your outfit being fitted on you. There's no monster in your transformation void, so you're perfectly safe," said his dad. Papa tried to change the subject, "Um, hey, why don't I just zip this up for you. I bet you'd like your new look when you find a mirror, son." "Oh, that reminds me. MIRROR GIRLS!!!" screamed Apollo. Two girls in unremarkable clothing ran up to Apollo; carrying a mirror. They were Apollo's personal androids that followed him around while carrying a body-length mirror for Apollo to gaze into at any moment. In the past, Justice figured they were miserable assistants that were paid well enough to serve his dad's vanity. Now it is clearly obvious they are soulless androids. Apollo commanded, "My son needs mirror time." The girls turned to Justice and set the mirror in front of him. At that time, Justice was paying attention to his Papa approaching him and grabbing his jacket's zippers. Ares paired the zippers together and began to zip up. The jacket slowly closed over Justice's diamond-cut abs until it reached up to Justice's mammoth pecs. Ares pulled up at the zipper, but it wouldn't budge. "Ummm, I guess you should've skipped chest day a few times, son. Hehe..." joked Papa. Apollo commented, "Don't worry about it. I figured this would happen. The last time I measured you was when you were eighteen. On the bright side, I made sure to leave enough space for your arms, and you'll look more appealing if you show your abs. Bitches love abs. But if you want to work with a boob window, then I salute you." "I'll just keep it unzipped. Papa, can you take a step back? I want to look," said Justice. Papa stepped back while Justice unzipped his jacket. Justice looked up and saw his reflection. He was in awe as he twisted his body about and posed to see all the visible angles of his new outfit. Justice smiled, "Wow, I look really good in this. Thanks, you guys. So what are my powers?" "Oh, riiight. The powers. So here's the thing...we don't know. I can diagnose you, but I want to be surprised by what you can do," answered Apollo. Justice nodded, "Okay. I think I want to try..." He looked up at the sky and smiled. "Flying," said Justice. His mother tried to speak up, "Sweetie, I don't-" Apollo placed his hand on Aphrodite's shoulder. "Let's just see what happens. I highly doubt he'll be able to fly. And if he doesn't, at least I'll get a good laugh out of this," hushed Apollo. Justice took off sprinting at a speed faster than any modern drug-enhanced olympian; causing giant boot-print dents in the sand while kicking up a flurry of sand into the air. After feeling that he picked up enough speed, Justice jumped forward with his right arm fisting straight up. Gravity did not take hold, and his body kept climbing in heights. Justice cackled, "OH MY GOSH!!! I'm seriously flying!" He stopped flying and turned around to look down on his parents. The jaws of the three gods dropped. "Stars above...He really is flying! Can any of you fly?!," said Apollo. Aphrodite shook her head, "Sorry, no." "Neither can I. But I thought you could fly, Apollo," spoke Ares. Apollo sighed, "Not really. I have to use my chariot if I ever want to get off ground. As far as I know, only Hermes can fly." "Gold star for you, Justice. Now come on down, so we can test your other powers," shouted Apollo. Justice shouted back down, "Okay." Justice's body gently floated back down to where his parents were. As he arrived towards the ground, the tips of his feet lightly nestled against the sand before the rest of the appendage rolled onto the ground; barely shifting the sand itself. "So what's next?" asked Justice. Papa coughed, "You're not gonna like this, but I need you to hold out your hand." "Ummm, okay?" said Justice. As Ares walked up to Justice, his son held out his hand. Ares instantly grabbed Justice's wrist and pulled out a switchblade from his pocket. Activating the knife's spring to eject the blade, he slashed at his son's exposed palm before Justice had time to react. Justice flinched back right when Papa released his hand. He screamed, "What the heck, Papa?!" His father looked at him with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, but you would've said no if I told you what I really was gonna do," apologized Papa, "Are you bleeding?" Justice shouted back, "Of course I'm-!" He looked at his hand and saw no blood. Not even a scratch shown on his black palms. "I knew it! Invulnerable skin! Lots of superheroes have to have it nowadays. Looks like your survival rate just skyrocketed. No need to test your strength, by the way. We figured you're already plenty strong," smiled Apollo. Justice kept staring at his hand, "Huh..." "Oh, what wonderful news! My baby will be just fine. That just leaves one final test," said his mother. Aphrodite waved at her limo, "Daisington, be a dear and bring out the chicken." Justice looked up. "Chicken?" said Justice. The chauffeur exited the limo with a cage in his hands. He carried it over to where Aphrodite stood and froze in place in front of her. Aphrodite gestured to the cage, "If you please, Apollo." "Of course," said Apollo. Opening the latch, Apollo pulled out a black chicken. His hands gave a dark glow for only a second, but it was obscured underneath the feathers for Justice to see. His dad then handed it over to Papa Ares while the chicken calmly balked. "We want to see if you can heal this chicken," explained Apollo. Before Justice could say anything, Ares grabbed the chicken's wing and applied pressure with his fingertips. The bone in the chicken's wing snapped with a piece poking out of the skin. The chicken wailed in pain and struggled in the war god's grasp. "Friggety hell, papa!" screamed Justice. Ares handed the chicken to Justice, "Try to heal it, my son. Whether it dies in pain or not is up to you." Tears started to form in Justice's eyes as he cradled the chicken. "...But...how?!" said Justice. "If there is light within you, you need to let it shine," explained Apollo, "Let that light envelop those you care about and give it the intention to heal. Close all wounds; undo mistakes. Just like with flying, you'll know if you can do it." Justice looked down at the crazed chicken and sympathized its pain. He spoke softly, "It's alright. Everything will be okay." As Justice place his hand on the broken wing, he hummed a tune. He wished with all his might that the wing would feel. And then he felt it. His dad was right. He could feel a light inside of him. It felt small, but it also felt like it was feeding on his happy thoughts and memories. The light he felt within himself grew like a hungry flame. Justice compelled the light to shine out of his hand and heal the chicken. The light within him obeyed, and his hand began to glow with a golden hue. It exposed the poultry’s problems to Justice's mind, and he realized it suffered more than just a broken wing. Poison was seeping through the chicken's body, and Justice knew it would not have mattered if the wing was actually fixed. The light he was giving off is able to fix the wing, but would not be able to stop the dark poison in time from reaching the egg-layer's heart. He called on the light within him to shine brighter, but it was already at its limit. The chicken's wing glowed with golden light that spread to the rest of its body, but the light did not have enough power to go within the poultry to target the poison. To focus on more than one issue, it needed more positive energy to feed on. Justice realized this and allowed the light to envelop him and take anything else it needed to grow more powerful. And when the light fed on his humming, it became supercharged. Justice began to glow and then pulsed a ray of blinding ray of light. As the light from Justice faded, the glowing chicken in his arms calmly cooed. It vomited a black ink, which steamed and fizzled upon hitting the ground. "Marvelous. Simply marvelous," said his dad. Apollo approached Justice and placed his hand on the flightless bird. His hand glowed with the same golden shine Justice gave off. Apollo guffawed, "Not only did you heal the wing, but you cured the poison in it too! And...you can give objects a light attribute." Justice's eyebrow rose. "What do you mean by that?" asked Justice. His dad answered back, "Basically, you can imbue anything with the element of light for a certain amount of time. So you can make anything glow in the dark, including yourself, and even make it bright enough to light up a whole room. It can also be used to fight against anything with a weakness to light. So if you want to make some vampires sparkle, get ready for fireworks." Justice stood there shocked with the glowing poultry in his arms. "Wait, vampires are real too?!" exclaimed Justice. His dad nodded, "You bet your quarter-bouncing hiney they are. And put down the chicken, we don't need it anymore." Justice released the chicken, and it flapped its wings as it hit the ground. It pecked at the sand a few times before wandering off. "That wasn't a nice thing you two did," said Justice. Apollo shrugged, "It was either that or a real person. And you can't heal something that's already dead or not alive. Odds are, you would've been less scarred if you healed an animal." Justice said nothing and pawed at the sand with his foot. "Nevermind him, sweetie," spoke his mother, "We only did it with the best intentions. And now you know what your powers are. Aren't they cool?" Justice mumbled, "I guess so..." They really were cool. "So before we send you out there to be a hero, I think it's time for you to choose your hero name," said Aphrodite. Justice's eyes lit up, "Really?!" Papa picked at his scars. "Well...sure. You are the superhero after all. It's not like we wanted to pick a name for you. That would be selfish," spoke Ares. Justice thought for a moment. There was so many things about his new powers that was amazing. But like his dad, Apollo, there was not really a specific word that could encompass everything about Justice's skills. Rather, it was the ones with broader strokes of definitions like: super, awesome, or fantastic. But there was one word his parents said that stuck out and ringed with his feelings. Justice smiled, "I want to be called, Marvelous Man" His dad clicked his teeth. "Eh, let's just put a pin on that for now," said Apollo. Aphrodite leaned towards Ares and whispered, "So what did you want to call him?" Papa had stars in his eyes when he whispered back. "The Shining Fist!" he said. Next Chapter
  3. ABSQRST

    Liquid Manhood- Chapter Five

    Should of been up for Christmas, but the holidays was crazy busy. Hopefully shouldn't be as long a wait till Part Six. Thanks for reading. Read Part One HERE Read Part Two HERE Read Part Three HERE Read Part Four HERE Liquid Manhood Chapter Five Sean normally enjoyed Christmas, but this year he nervously dreaded it. The second he stepped off the train at his hometown’s small country station his parents were amazed by his transformation. His father who was only 5’8 beamed with pride at his now 6’3 son. Sean’s mother joked about having to return some Christmas presents. The next day Sean saw her carrying a bag of already wrapped gifts out to her car, so she wasn't joking. Things got worse for Sean when his uncles, aunts, and cousins turned up. To start, Sean was as horny as ever and not being able to jerk off several times a day was really affecting him. He was washing his own sheets once every couple days just to hide the evidence and the smell. Those nighttime cum explosions were a terrible mess to clean up. He, at over 6ft and with a lean muscled body, didn't fit the Doherty family frame. Sean was a head and shoulders taller than most of them, and was probably the only one who could see his feet without sucking in his gut. The surprise and admiration at his body caused him to spend most of the winter break with a constant blush. A blush which at times could of had him losing consciousness with all the blood that rushed to his face. Like when a cousin walked into him in the night after he’d gotten up to use the bathroom. Sean was shirtless and his cousin almost screamed out in excitement at the ridges of his abs. Sean’s face went as crimson as his hair. Christmas Day revealed the new outfits his mother had chosen for him, and no doubt expected to see him wear. Two pairs of jeans and a sweater were actually something Sean wanted. A number of plain t-shirts, colourful button up shirts, and even some workout gear wasn't what he wanted or even expected. He’d spun a lie about working out to explain his new physique, so he should have expected workout gear. The other clothes weren't his normal style of dress. They were missing the puns, funny images or nerdy logos every other piece of clothing he owned had plastered over them. Though those pieces didn't fit him anymore. Sean told his parents he loved all his gifts anyway. He was very happy that they’d got him the games he asked for, but he didn't have the heart to tell them that in the days that followed he returned about half the clothes they’d brought for him. He kept the workout gear just in case. Sean even dropped to the floor and did some sit ups or push ups when his parents came knocking on his door. He wanted to avoid the awkward questions about his sudden change, questions which he himself didn't have answers for. ——————————————————————————————————————————— “My parents really like you,” Lance said to Zack as he stared into his eyes while they lay in bed together. Zack sat up slightly, pushing his meaty torso upwards with his thickly muscled arms. The two boys, now boyfriends, were spending Christmas together. This gave Zack a chance to see San Diego and Lance a chance to reveal he was gay to a very surprised family and friends. Though a number of them understood Lance’s attraction to Zack once the olive toned stud started wearing clothes more fitting of California. Right now Zack’s pecs and abs glistened with a light sheen of sweat above Lance, who bit his lip in appreciation. “Seriously… you’re gonna mention your parents while I’m balls deep in you?” Zack asked, laughing with a hint of annoyance in his voice. Lance whimpered slightly as Zack flexed his oversized cock, the thickening girth pushing against Lance’s tight hole. “Sorry,” Lance quickly replied, his eyes closed as pleasure rocketed through him. “Good, now shut up,” Zack ordered, returning to his fierce thrusting “This bed is already way too loud” Lance’s parents were downstairs, trying to ignore the sound of their darling boy being power fucked by his boyfriend, the sound of the bed’s wooden frame hitting the wall echoing through the house in time with each of Zack’s titanic thrusts. ——————————————————————————————————————————— A few days had passed since A.J. had arrived home and Barrett was hating every second of it. He could deal with the sympathy and concern from his family. He could deal with how his relationship with A.J. had moved from athletic manly rivalry and into one of just pity towards him. But Barrett couldn't deal with A.J. being his normal half naked over confident self all the time. A.J. was over 6’5 tall and stacked with well toned muscle. Unlike a lot of linebackers he was pure muscle, his six pack abs have been several stories high on a billboard in Times Square only last summer. With Barrett’s new found attraction to muscle he was struggling to control himself around A.J. He knew it was going to be hard the second A.J. arrived home, his big brother pulled off his coat to reveal a skin tight tank top. Barrett’s eyes followed his brothers pecs as they rose with each breath, the tank straining against them. Barrett then found his face pressed between them as A.J. pulled his sick little brother into a hug. There had been other incidents and they all could have been avoided if Barrett hadn't tried to be like his old self. He was forcing himself to be more confident, like the old Barrett, so he was finally leaving his room which just put him in line for running into A.J. The amount of times he’d be walking down a hallway, his eyes staring at the ground, and then he walk straight into A.J. ripped sweaty abs. A.J. never saw him coming, his big brother was always looking right over tiny Barrett’s head. Barrett was woken at 6am one morning by A.J. who just burst into his bedroom. Barrett sat bolt upright, his eyes level with the overstuffed Calvin Klein briefs that A.J. had gotten for free after a modelling shoot. “Hey bro, sorry about waking you” A.J. boomed rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bicep bulging just as much as his briefs “I’m heading out for a jog and I haven't packed anything with support” To show what he meant A.J. gave his bulge a little heft, it bounced and pushed the fat soft head of dick up against the fabric. “Ok” Barrett said simply, crossing his skinny legs under his covers Even though his erection was unnoticeable beneath the heavy sheets, he wasn't taking any chances. The smell of his room still set him off, but he thought what if now instead of imaging his old self when he inhaled his old musk he began picturing the underwear clad muscle giant in front of him. To make things worse as A.J. breathed his abs tightened and he bounced a pec impatiently. “Sooooo” he asked elongating the word This knocked Barrett’s attention from his big brothers brick sized stomach muscles and back up to his chiselled face. “So what” Barrett asked, trying not to focus his attention to his brothers jaw line A.J. sighed and dropped his meaty ass, which was barely covered by his briefs, onto the bed. The mattress sagged and Barrett rolled towards his brothers vast toned back. “You got a jock, or some compression shorts” A.J. questioned “You know, I could knock myself off running without support…. like you used to be able too” A.J. continued like he hadn't just rubbed salt on to Barrett’s still bloody wound. “I know you got rid of most of your old clothes, but are you sure you don’t have anything for me you could….. well it would be a hand me up, wouldn't it” A.J. chuckled at his own joke Barrett shook his head, but his eyes fell on his old jockstrap. It sat on his desk, next to his console controller. He’d been sniffing it only last night, thinking about the difference between his brothers and the housekeeper’s son Andre’s pecs. A.J. spotted where Barrett was looking. He pulled himself off Barrett’s bed and the floorboards creaked beneath his oversized feet. He quickly scooped up the jock and stretched it out in his hands. “It’s a bit small for me” A.J. boasted “But thanks bro” A.J. crammed his legendary equipment into the jockstrap and left the room for his jog. Barrett just signed, he slightly wanted to go watch his brother change, but he killed that thought quickly. He was going to return to sleep, but his phone buzzed as a new email arrived. It was from his college, their newsletter. Barrett wouldn't have ever read it before his change, but now he read every email he got, which wasn't many since his social life had collapsed. His eyes widened as he opened it. The email was fronted with a family crest, one he recognised from the few times he’d journeyed into the campus library. He’d only ever been there to pick up chicks, from his experience nerdy girls were always crazy in bed. It was the crest of the Haber family. Barrett was sure he’d heard that name a few times and not just from the library, he thought he heard his father mention it once or twice. The email’s title was interesting. “Lincoln University- From Salem to Campus” “A history of myth, legend and witchcraft” ——————————————————————————————————————————— Sean returned to campus sooner than he’d wanted too, he just couldn't deal with his family anymore. He’d always been close to them, but now that he was different they were clinging to him all the time. His father was adamant that Sean should try out for some sport, preferably football. Sean just couldn't handle all the attention. So he wasted money on a new train ticket, ignoring the one he had for next week and jumped on the train. His dingy dorm room was a welcome sight. He could have sworn the odd cactus’ flower even opened and oozed its strange sap like it was it happy to see him. Sean opened up his bag and eagerly set up his PlayStation, but as it turned on it started to update. The dorms horrible internet connection meant the update was going to take over three hours. Sean just sighed and started to unpack his clothes, he’d thrown out all the clothes he’d brought home and only had the new clothes he’d received for Christmas. He was currently wearing snug jeans and a chest hugging sweater. It was one of the only outfits he felt normal in, nothing like the naked feeling he had when he wore the skin tight workout gear he’d been gifted with. Sean smirked when he spotted the Captain America shirt. He’d forgotten he’d dumped it on his bed before he left. Though he thought it had been blue beforehand, now it was an odd shade of green. The blue and red shield on its front was stained green and the sky blue colouring had turned a lime colour. He sniffed the shirt gingerly, it reeked of his room. A nice familiar smell, a mix of the musky air and the slightly floral stench of the cactus sap. Maybe the colours had just run in the wash. Sean remembered a faded pair of green socks he’d tossed before Christmas, must be wear the green dye had come from. Above Sean a vein of elixir pulled itself back to the edge of the ceiling safely out of view of Sean. Sean draped the shirt over his desk chair and pulled off the warm sweater. He quickly checked himself out in his dorm rooms mirror. He couldn't help but smile at his abs, he even tried to bounce his chest, but there wasn't any movement, they just tightened. He lifted the shirt off his chair and gave it another sniff, his PS4 only on 4% download. His jaw was stained green as he pulled the shirt away from his hair. Red hairs had already started to sprout over his jaw. Sean quickly pulled the shirt over his head, it was a little tight. The shirt reached his waist, but clung to his chest and arms. He pulled at the collar, trying to loosen the high neckline. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his socks off, they were sweaty from the long train ride. Sean undid the buttons of his jeans while scratching at his jaw, he was surprised he needed to shave already. His jeans struggled to get past his thighs and then his calves, they’d been tight, but hadn't been so clingy. He pulled at his briefs, trying to get the fabric off his packed in balls. Sean sighed at the thought that he’d have to go out and buy a larger pair of jeans so soon after getting this pair. He really needed to get his head around how to wash clothes, he kept shrinking them or ruining the colour like his Captain America shirt. He checked his PS4, now it was up to 19%. Sean’s vision went fuzzy for a moment then returned with increases clarity, he blinked a few times in response to the weird change in vision. He couldn't see himself, but Sean’s eyes are brightened into deep emeralds. Sean rubbed his eyes, thinking he was just tired. He didn't noticed the light green staining fading away on his hand that he’d just scratched his chest with, nor did he notice that the hand was also slightly larger than the other. Sean almost fell over as his chest tightened, pain pulling his pec muscles and admirals inwards. He collapsed onto one knee, one hand gripping his bed and the other clutching his chest. The Captain America shirt was splitting done his back, his neck fighting against the skin tight collar. Sean pushed himself back to his feet, his legs throbbing as they magically thickened. The leg holes of his briefs strained against the muscles, and pushed against his ass as it rounded out into a boulder of muscle. Sean was knocked onto his back as the shirt burst apart. The thud of his growing mass echoed throughout his room and down the dormitory corridor. His pecs had exploded outwards in size, going from tight pecs into a shelf that you could balance a drink on. Small slithers of blue cotton fluttered in the air, the tattered remains of Captain America’s shield rested in the grooves of Sean’s brick like abs and the crevice between his slab like pecs. The green stain was gone, having been drained to fuel Sean’s growth. Sean’s mitt like hands grabbed at the carpet, his teeth gritted as pain rocketed through him. His bones creaking as they stretched longer and thicker. The remains of the shirt slipped beneath his widening back as his bowling ball shoulders popped the seams of his sleeves and finally destroyed the too small shirt. His biceps bloated by several inches, flexing even through Sean’s arms were held straight out. Hair grew down between his abs and joined up with the rich pubes that spread out from his now too small briefs. His bulge, which was already a hearty endowment looked obscene now. His growth was not focusing on that area, the imprint of his fattening balls rolled around in the overstuffed pouch. His briefs were tented upwards by an ever growing trunk of sexmeat. The pain that rocked Sean’s body died and he signed with relief, his voice husky and deep, as his briefs burst. His horse like equipment swung around splattering the surrounding area with thick pre cum. Sean took a few deep breaths, his pecs rising and falling, the light of his PS4 glittering off his sweaty chest hair. Then with fury in his eyes Sean started to jack his fat bull cock with his dinner plate hands, his grunts and groans roaring out into the dormitory and through his dorm rooms thin walls. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Chris returned to college with a reinforced wariness of the elixir. It wasn’t some simple muscle potion like he’d feared, the changes it caused appeared to not measure up to what was promised by his ancient spell book. But he wouldn't give up on it, he just needed a few more tests so he could work out the rules. Magic always had rules, ways in which it operated which could ruin everything if you didn't understand its nature. He already had a plan ready before his family’s private jet took off from the tarmac in Europe to take him back to America. Chris dosed three water bottles with the elixir, bottles which Chris had stolen from the college gym during workouts there last semester. They had the college logo on and would blend in with the untainted bottles the gym offered to refresh its users. He took the bottles to the college gym and mixed the dossed bottles in with gym’s normal water bottles. The gym was a lot quieter now thanks to the draining of the football team, so Chris was able to record who went in and out over the course of one day. This was grunt work that Melvin should of done, but the blond nerd wasn't even back yet, so Chris had to wait around an entire day. Chris recorded 17 different people enter and leave the college gym, half of them left with water bottles in their hands. Chris would find them over the next couple days. He had his fingers crossed that Yuri didn't get dossed, he didn't want that cocky Russian to end up huge. Though there were a few people he didn't really recognise, he had to do some snooping of the gym’s membership files to find out who they were, which while illegal was a perk of being the son of college’s largest donor. One scrawny black kid turned out be a 20 year old who was the football teams equipment manager, Thaddeus Stern, which was a name that didn't fit the guy at all. Chris thought the guy had gotten drained when he cleaned up the teams jockstraps when they’d first been dosed with the powder. A quick check of Thaddeus’ Facebook found that he had always been short and scrawny. Plus the jockstraps could only drain the first person to touch them or their relatives. When Chris returned to his dorm room after a long day spying his nose wrinkled at the musky smell wafting out from the room next door. A TV inside sounded out loudly, Chris vaguely remembered the guy who lived there, he was tallish, a slim build, red hair, he was kinda cute. He must of gotten back and forgot to clean up the mess he’d left last semester. Chris should have just knocked and mentioned it to the redhead, but the chance to use his family’s power was too good an opportunity to waste. So he wrote an email to the Dean’s office about the smell, he knew the Dean would get it sorted out within days. The red headed idiot had most likely left some filthy clothes out or some half eaten food had been left out to rot. Though Chris had a nagging feeling that he recognised the musky, overpowering smell. But before Chris could consider it more his phone buzzed and Melvin’s name appeared on the screen. He nearly jumped at it, eager to explain his ideas to his absent roommate. “Melvin” he called down the phone, he was already passing the room. “Where the hell have you been? I thought you were coming back days ago… but never mind that.” He took a breath and started to explain. “I dosed a few of water bottles at the athletic department’s gym, I have a list of who uses the gym, they would have access to the water bottles,” he breathed and then started again “So I can see how it affects them, because I have a theory, I think the elixir doesn’t do what we think it does, I tested it out over Christmas and the result was horrific…” He paused, Melvin was silent on the other end. He must be angry that Chris had broken the promise not to use the elixir. “I know, I broke my promise, sue me,” he continued. “But I think these water bottles will prove my idea. I think the elixir has rules on how it changes people. I just need some more test subjects to prove it.” Chris stopped and waited, a few seconds passed before Melvin replied. “Chris… we need to talk,” a voice that didn't sound like Melvin replied, it was deep, rumbling and very masculine.
  4. garrix

    A Big Cheater

    Hey everyone, I've long sort of wanted to create a forced growth story that involved these kind of themes, but never had time to do it before. I thought about breaking it up into chapters, but I decided to go with one long story since this is a one-off anyway. I hope you guys enjoy! _______________________________________________________________________ My boyfriend Aaron cheated on me. I found out the night before our one-year anniversary. I mean, I understand why he did it. He’s been complaining about my new size and my “excessive” body hair, for months. You see, Aaron wants a male model, and I am no longer anything like that. I am “grotesquely” muscular now (I mean, is 250 lbs of muscle on a 6’ guy that huge? I don’t think so) But for Aaron, that’s way too big. I’m way too big for him. He likes men smaller, more submissive. Aaron is a smart man. He’s extremely sharp, witty, funny. He works in corporate giving and has been able to climb a steep career later quickly. All these things drew me to him when we first started dating. The fact that he wasn’t exactly my type didn’t bother me much. He’s very handsome, naturally tanned thanks to his half Mexican ancestry, and after a day or two without a razor, he gets this nice thick designer stubble. The guy totally grabbed my attention when we first started dating. It wasn’t until later I realized how controlling he really was. Aaron likes those Anglo-looking smooth chested Abercrombie model types. He would practically show disdain for other Latino gay guys. He must have had some sort of complex involving his Mexican family. Personally, I don’t understand why. Maria, his mother, is an incredibly loving and caring woman, but he always seemed to act embarrassed by her. For a time, I almost fit the bill for the kind of white boys Aaron fawned over. I used to be pretty thin, 180 or so pounds. I didn’t know this about Aaron at first, but his attempts to control my appearance, to keep me and mold me into his type, became more and more apparent the longer we dated. I’d always been pretty hairy, so I had often been described as an “otter”, which didn’t bother me any. There are some hot guys that identify as otters, but Aaron wanted me to stay shaved and smooth. So I shaved for him. What dope I was. So back to me- I like all kinds of guys. I like big hairy bearish men or thinner handsome guys like Aaron from all kinds of backgrounds, but the type I’ve always really liked the most are those huge weightlifters. Even as a kid I’d lust over those super heavyweight bodybuilders in the muscle mags. Especially the offseason type guys- Big hairy, beefy, powerfully built men, and muscle bears. But who doesn’t like a big muscle bear? Obviously, these kinds of guys are pretty rare in the gay community and they’re thankfully not the only kind of men I am into. I had never actually even dated a big lifter (and I do like them really big). Everyone I’d been with up till then was pretty normal, generally athletic. Roughly same age. In fact, I never really expected to date some bodybuilder either. But eventually, with the ability to make changes in my physique becoming easier, with the certain, shall we say, abilities that I had been blessed with and practiced (as limited as they actually are) I decided to start making changes. The little tricks I could pull, the levitation of small objects or changing the color of cloth, I billed as a magic trick and it made me pretty popular at parties. I enjoyed my reputation as an occasional magician (even though the powers of the council frowned on it). But Aaron never found out about the real spells I could weave into my life, to him it was just parlor tricks. Which is just as well. I had recently began learning and expanding my repertoire, and with much excitement I was getting to the level where I could make the kinds of changes I really desired. Actual changes in the matter and size of an object, and then, of a person. I was starting to learn the spells that for so long had eluded me. I was gaining the technical ability that was going to allow me the body I had always wanted. The kind of body I had always lusted after. First I started to change my appearance with the simple things. Non magical things. I grew out my beard, which I liked a lot, and Aaron didn’t seem to mind at first, but he kept telling me “it’s getting long, you should trim it”. Then, like I mentioned, I let my body hair grow out. Aaron didn’t like this. He said I should shave it or “at least keep it trimmed”. Good lord could he be an asshole. He was so charming most of the time it was easy to forget how obsessed with appearances he could be. His constant preening in front of the mirror should have been my first clue. “you’re getting prickly” he would complain. Once my body hair really started getting thicker after a few weeks I started getting real complaints from Aaron. I told him I was tired of shaving and trimming for him and I liked it and it was my natural appearance and he would get used to it. He didn’t take too kindly to my comments. He thought it was “gross” and needed to be trimmed. Well screw that. Then a month later I began the most serious of grievances. I started my big bulk. With my aforementioned abilities, I’m now able to make physical modifications that can be… rather dramatic. I’d done smaller transformation spells periodically. I’d changed hair color, even dabbled in minor spells that changed weight before. But all that was preparation for bigger things to come. This was going to be the most intense spell I had ever tried to cast, and really stretched me to try something I never thought I’d be able to do. Under the power of my body modification spell my physique began to slowly change. Each day after the spell had been cast I could see my muscles grow fuller, thicker. The gains I made were just slow enough that it might possibly be viewed as steroid induced, but fast enough to provide me with the results I eagerly waited for. Aaron certainly accused me of doing a cycle, which I didn’t mind. Watching my muscles inflated rounder, fuller, thicker day by day turned me on. It was such a rush, and I was getting so much stronger in the gym. In less than three months I grew from 180 to 225. I outweighed Aaron by 30 lbs, and was definitely outlifting him. It bothered Aaron a lot. It’s definitely a power thing, as a top he didn’t care for me becoming bigger and stronger than him. “You’re getting too big” he complained. I got big fast and it freaked Aaron out. He quickly went from being the bigger man to being smaller than me, less muscular and weaker than me. That really upset him, though he tried to hide it. At first he was competitive with me in the gym, but after I started out benching him and out lifting him, he lost interest in working out together and started going in the mornings instead. I know that was because he was embarrassed by how much stronger I was than him. Part of me was sympathetic. Aaron is a control freak and he must have felt like he could control his boyfriend before I started growing. I thought for a time of turning the spell on him and have him grow, but then I figured…He probably wouldn’t want to get that big. It wouldn’t be ethical to change someone without their permission, right? We stopped having sex. I know it’s because I had gotten too big for his taste. I grew to 240 and then some. I loved it. I was benching 275 with ease and with all my chest hair I was looking like a big muscle bear. My muscles budged in all my shirts. My arms were 19” inches around. I began to notice that I was (and am still) getting attention from a totally different set of people, and boy was I getting a lot of attention. The attention was also starting to come from kind of people who I also favored. Other big gay lifters. I had to buy a whole new wardrobe to fit my new size, but I was happy. I couldn’t keep all of my gains totally lean, so my midsection thickened a bit. My face filled out some too, but not too much. I just sort of bulked up into a big guy everywhere. My arms, my chest, shoulders, back, butt, thighs grew beefy and strong. I looked like the offseason bodybuilder, the kind I always wanted. I didn’t care if my abs were defined. My stomach was so hairy I couldn’t really see them anyway. Though, to be honest, I really only feel that big when I see a picture of myself. That’s the only time I really realize how large I am now. And that reminds me of when, a month before our anniversary, Aaron decided he didn’t want me in a facebook photo with him. He said with a half-joking smile “No one is going to recognize you anyway, now that you’re a roided out Sasquatch”. He told me I was “turning into a muscle freak” and that I “needed to stop juicing” so I could look normal in pictures again. I guess part of me knows I should have dropped him right then, or he should have dropped me, but part of me still had this attachment to his charms, which are numerous. And again, he’s also really handsome. For all of his apparent self-hate, I think it’s his mixed ancestry that provided him such stunningly good looks. So then Aaron cheated on me. Apparently he had been cheating on me since I had started bulking up. He was cheating on me before I even really got big! And then, a day after we broke it off, that asshole had the nerve to flaunt his new blond boy-toy in front of everyone on facebook. He didn’t give a shit about me. Now he could bring Elliott out in the open and show him off. The picture he posted of the two of them, with Elliott grinning like an idiot was the last straw. That dumb blonde twink and my idiot ex had really poked the bear, so to speak. He was going to get it. What it was, I wasn’t sure. So I was angry, feverishly thinking about what I could do. I could turn his stupid twink boyfriend into a toad (the council would never let me do that if they found out about it) or maybe I could make Elliot fat, or I could shrink his dick… (again, the council would notice) In actuality, I really couldn’t do any of those things. For one I didn’t know how to and for another, the council monitors the use of spells and especially, especially the use of curses. I think, to be honest, the regular spells don’t receive any attention, but using anything that can qualify as an actual curse lights up their screens like a Christmas tree. It would be seen. And I could get into big, big trouble. So what could I do, then? Something to fuck with Elliott and Aaron, but nothing damaging or hurtful. If I got audited, it would have to be something I could spin as a blessing, as harmless. It also had to be something I knew how to actually do. Something I had experience with. Muscles and hair, naturally. That's what got him to dump me, and well, everyone likes muscle, right? The council could overlook me giving some stupid gay man gigantic muscles, right? What if I made Elliot so big Aaron would be disgusted by him? What if I made Elliot so hairy you couldn’t even see skin on his chest? Or so huge he could barely move? Well , that is exactly what I decided to do. I will be honest, I sort of stalked Aaron and Elliot that week. By the time I cast the spell I had been observing them from afar for several days. I felt like I had to do this to perfect the spell. The greatest thing about my spell, if I do say so myself, is how layered it is. I really did my homework on this one, because Elliott would be oblivious. He wouldn’t notice a hair of his out of place, so to speak. Now that was my masterpiece. That took a hell of a lot of preparation too. Part of me was sure it wasn’t going to work. But sure enough it did. Elliot Zimmerman was soon going to turn into a gigantically overblown muscular furball. ____________________________________ Elliott and Aaron had gone to Palm Springs the weekend the spell took hold. As Aaron drove that Friday evening the first changes began. Dark hair began sprouting underneath Elliott’s shirt. His thin blonde treasure trail began to grow wider, darker and thicker. Oblivious to any changes, Elliott just scratched mindlessly as a fan of short, dark hair began to spread and first over his stomach, then over his chest. Aaron, concentrating on the road, didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The sun was setting, it was getting dark in the car anyway. Elliott’s beard began to sprout, growing high up on his cheeks where no hair had grown before. It came in thicker and darker than ever, contrasting with the light hair on his head. In the dark car, Aaron didn’t even see his boyfriend’s new stubble. The same dark hair began to spread over his forearms and on the top of his hands. Elliott’s body hair spread rapidly and grew long, soon completely covering Elliot’s thin torso. It rapidly formed a forest on his chest and stomach, all the way to the base of his neck. Black hairs began to poke out from under his collar. The growing fur began wrapping around to his back, spreading out into a striking pattern. It continued to lengthen and thicken until his entire back was covered in the same thick carpet of hair as his front. His chest hair had grown so bushy and dense that it began to poof out his shirt ever so subtly. Soon there was unbroken thick coverage from his beard all the way down to his toes.. Elliott had in the course of about an hour gone from a fairly hairless guy into an exceptionally hairy young man. At the same time, Elliott’s shirt started to get ever so slightly tighter around his lean frame. By the time he stepped out of the car in Palm Springs, Elliot was nearly 10 lbs heavier. He didn’t know that was the amount at the time, but it was apparent on his thin body that his muscles had grown. Aaron, upon stepping out of the car and seeing his boyfriend, suddenly became aware of the changes. First and most obvious was the thick stubble, which Elliott never had had before. Secondly, his arms were completely covered in thick black swirls of hair and his collar showed a thicket of long chest hair. “What the fuck is this?” Aaron exclaimed poking at the hair at the base of Elliot’s neck. “And when did you start growing a beard?” Elliot just shrugged. Nothing really seemed different to him, he didn’t feel any different. “I dunno” he replied This seemed to infuriate Aaron even more. “What do you mean you don’t know? You didn’t look like this when we left LA! Is this some kind of prank? Did someone put you up to this?” With his long fingers, Aaron grabbed some of the long hairs at the base of Elliot’s neck with his hand and pulled hard. “OW!” Elliot cried. “That hurt!” Aaron looked at the almost two inch long chest hairs he had pulled out that were now between his fingers. “Disgusting!” he exclaimed. “What kind of prank is this? Did you glue this on? Where’d you get this hair? This is disgusting Elliott, this is really gross.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about babe. Let's get inside the hotel.” Elliott replied calmly. The two made their way inside and into the hotel room. Aaron kept looking over his boyfriend, shocked to see his bushy forearms, covered in thick black hair. The hair continued up his arms and on the other side of his collar, he saw a thick fan of hair extending down his neck towards his back. Aaron could only guess what hairy mess lay underneath that snug tee shirt. And was it his imagination or did Elliott look bigger too? He couldn’t be sure. When they got into the room, Elliott, not keen on revisiting the strange behavior Aaron was displaying, just calmly set his stuff down and started the shower. Aaron looked on in horror as Elliot stripped of his shirt, unveiling what had to be the hairiest torso he had ever seen. Completely covered in swirling masses of black hair, from his stomach up over his chest and shoulders to his back. Everything was covered in a nearly equally thick distribution. Not only that, but the short beard he sported was looking longer, growing farther down his neck and totally merging with his chest. Aaron was beside himself. “Jesus christ, you’re like a fucking monkey! What the hell has happened to you? This can't be, this isn’t real!” Elliott just looked at him puzzled as he continued to prep himself for the shower, pulling off his socks and taking his braclets off. “I mean, this has to be glued on” He continued. Aaron walked up close, reaching out and touching the thick hair with his hand. It felt real, it looked real, but all that was impossible. How could a blonde guy have sprouted a total rug of black hair all over his body in the span of a few hours? Aaron looked up, in the light Elliott’s hair appeared brown, not blonde. “What is going on?! Is this like hidden camera or something?” Aaron continued. “It’s super gross. You’ve got to take this off.” “OK, I’m jumping into the shower now” Elliott said, ignoring the hysterics of his boyfriend. Aaron watched his boyfriend, now the hairiest man he had ever seen, turned his furry back to him and walked nude to the shower. “I think I’m going to hurl!” Aaron yelled back, full of hyperbole. Aaron started poking around the room, looking for a camera or some sort of indication that this was a prank. He tried to figure out if he was on something, maybe he was high? Maybe they were both high and he was hallucinating. Aaron splashed water on his face and then went to bed. He tried not to think about whatever was happening too much. He dozed off only to woken up a half hour later by the feeling of a beard rubbing up against his neck. Elliott was cuddling with him. Aaron could feel all this hair, pressing up against him as his boyfriend snuggled up close. “Off!” He protested “Off of me until you either take that nasty costume off or shave it off” He protested. Elliott again just shrugged his hairy shoulders and turned to face the other way, cuddling with a pillow instead. The next morning Aaron woke up, having nearly forgotten about the night before. Until he looked over and saw the large, dark haired, heavily bearded furball next to him. The man still had the face of Elliott, but his beard looked to be three inches long. Every inch of his muscular body was covered in a carpet or black hair. Even though he was still laying down, there was no mistaking that Elliott was bigger. “Jesus, Elliott, what has happened to you?” Aaron asked loudly. Elliott’s eyes flickered open and he stretched his long, powerful arms “Wha?” the man groaned in response. “Elliott, wake up. I know this can't all be real. Take this disgusting costume off, stop trying to pretend… “ As Aaron said this he pushed his hands into the powerful hairy expanse of Elliott’s newly muscular back, feeling the rippling cordes of solid muscle. There was no mistaking the feeling of pushing into muscle like that. Aaron moved his hands around to Elliott’s larger shoulders. this wasn’t fake, this wasn’t a costume. This was real hair and real muscle. Aaron’s eyes grew wide as he realized that the man he was in bed with was indeed Elliott Zimmerman. Overnight 40 lbs had piled onto Elliott’s frame. The man had rapidly grown from a twink to a superhairy musclebear. Aaron felt like he must have been losing his mind. He had to be dreaming. His boyfriend looked like he was just inflating with muscle. The man half asleep next to him was over 220 lbs of sculpted, hairy, muscular beef. Elliott groaned again: “I’m starving. Can you get me something to eat?” Aaron decided he’d probably need some fresh air. “I’ll get something.” Aaron said, throwing on a shirt and heading out. He tried to clear his mind, figure out a rational explanation for everything. He tried to reason with himself, figure out why he might be hallucinating or dreaming. By the time Aaron return with some coffee and a bagel, Elliot was up out of bed, a shirtless hulking beast hunched over the table in their hotel suite. He was busy cramming food into his mouth. The man looked absolutely massive now. “Goddamn, what has happened to you?!” Aaron exclaimed again Elliott looked up doe eyed. With food in his mouth. “Huh?” He muttered. “Oh, sorry, I got hungry and you took so long… I ran downstairs and got some stuff.” Elliott had now surpassed 250 lbs and was growing just a little larger with each bite. Aaron stood there, mouth agape. He was watching his now dark haired boyfriend grow beefier by the second. With eat bite there would be a slight swell of his rounded shoulders, or a flex of his thickening traps, or a little twinge on his meaty forearms. Aaron stood there silently, able to see his boyfriend blowing up into a furry behemoth right in front of him. Elliott didn’t seem to mind the changes . He seemed actually to not really be aware of them, except for in the sort of most vague terms. He knew his shirts didn’t fit him anymore, but he didn’t really seem to know why. Even when he looked in the mirror, which now reflected gigantic bodybuilder with enormously broad, bowling ball shoulders and massively meaty, extremely hairy pecs, Elliott didn’t seem to process it. Elliott continued to stuff his mouth full of the pastries, sandwiches and snacks he had found downstairs. He had virtually stockpiled food in the hour that Aaron had been away. And soon he was pushing past 270 lbs of offseason fur-covered muscular beef. Something about his heavily bearded face also made him look different. He looked even darker. “There’s a taqueria next door we should go to!” he said with a near perfect accent. “Stop it! Stop it!” Aaron exclaimed. “You’re turning yourself into a monster! Stop eating!” Elliot stopped, but he just stood there, puzzled. Neither of them really knew what they could do next. As the day wore on the growth continued, it slowed down, but it continued throughout the rest of their Palm springs vacation. Aaron was shaking though, the changes put him on edge. Nothing seemed right. Even Elliot’s face was becoming harder to recognize. His hair was black, his skin was tan. His nose, something about his nose looked different. He sounded the same, he was the same height, but everything else was so totally transformed that Aaron hardly couldn’t believe it was real. Much to his own disgust Aaron had to track down a big and tall shop in town to find clothes for Elliott to wear. At his new size, nothing he owed would even come close to fitting. “Gracias mi amor” Elliott said when Aaron returned with his new clothes. “Te quiero muchísimo”. Aaron just sat there puzzled by his flawless Mexican accent. Elliot didn’t ever speak to him in spanish. Part of Aaron wondered what it would be like to parade around with a huge 300 lbs slab of muscle freak on his arm. It might come with a certain cache to be seen with a giant gay muscle freak who could be seen as “his” boy. At the same time, Aaron was still disgusted by how overly hairy and large he was. In his mind, it was beyond disfiguring. Complete excess.Totally gross. He has never been with a man so big, but at least Elliot seemed as placid and under control. Maybe he could turn out to be a giant muscle slave of his afterall. Watching Elliott walk now would almost be comical if he wasn’t so baffled and shocked by the transformation. The huge man now sauntered with his legs apart, thighs bulging so thick that they inevitably rubbed against each other, his back so broad that it forced his hefty arms up from his sides. Later that day Elliott wanted to go to the pool, but no longer owned swim trunks that would even get past his bulging calves, so regardless of the rules, Elliott went skinny dipping behind Aaron’s back. Staying at a gay establishment proved beneficial for the enormous muscle man. They were quite tolerant of his rule breaking. Elliott attracted a huge amount of attention from the gays around him. Aaron was beyond embarrassed. To him, Elliott looked totally deformed from too much muscle. A body warped into a ridiculously unattractive size, covered in so much hair that he looked more animal than human. Elliott’s beard was wild and untamed, growing down to the top of his overgrown chest. Nonetheless, somehow this huge hulk was attracting choruses of “woofs” from the older men around the pool, all of whom were impressed. “Is that your boyfriend?” one older bearish man asked Aaron poolside. Aaron nodded sheepishly. “Man, you latin boys sure can grow nice and big. What are you feeding him!?” Aaron didn’t even know how to respond. Latin? Was Elliott latin now? Sure enough, the dark tan he had developed, the excessive black hair, the strong prominent nose...long gone was that blond waspy look. Elliott could definitely pass for latino now. As he stood there, disapprovingly watching the whole scene unfold, he heard Elliott use the kind of slang his gay cousin would say. “Aye, papi...” he said to one of the 40 something bearish men flirting with him in the pool. What had happened to his boyfriend? Aaron cursed himself internally. He now had an overblown latino gorilla as a boyfriend. Had Aaron been with this freak the whole time? Had the small twink he had envisioned actually been some massively overgrown hairy cholo? Whatever was happening, this wasn’t for him. How was he going to get out of this? Aaron had enough of the gawking and attention from the rather rambunctious older gay crowd. They wanted a piece of his now enormous boyfriend. Elliott liked the attention, flexing his now 25” inch arms and getting a chorus of ooos and awws. Aaron stormed off, something Elliott didn’t fail to notice even in the crowd of his adoring fans. Elliott went out with his new “friends” from the pool, eating and drinking that evening. Even some fooling around. By the time Elliott returned to their room at midnight, he was shirtless, bigger than ever, and drunk. How 350 lbs man could get that drunk was a mystery. They left palm springs the next morning. Aaron didn’t say a word to the overblown muscle bear next to him on the car ride home. He was passed out anyway. There was hardly room to move in that car, with Elliott's shoulders pushing right over the seat into Aaron. It made for a cramped driving experience. Aaron kept looking over with disgust at the overgrown freak next to him. At least he had trimmed his beard back. He was still so gross though, his muscles so bloated, so covered in sweaty, nasty body hair. And his face- he wasn’t even handsome anymore, with that big nose, huge black eyebrows and beard. Aaron said to himself. A disgusting, ratty mess of hair everywhere. And all that enormous disfiguring muscle. He looked totally deformed to him now. How could any man find this pile of meat attractive? Some guys must be into the missing-link look, he reasoned. Aaron heard his soon-to-be ex mutter something in spanish in his sleep. ‘And now he’s Mexican, of course’ Aaron thought to himself. He had the face of some nasty gay cholo like his cousin and his friends. He cringed at the idea of dating one of them. _______________________________ 10 days after I had laid the spell down on Elliott, I gasped at the beautiful,freakishly large muscle hulk my work had created. He was walking in WeHo, crushing the sidewalk and getting stares from every passerby. His thighs rolled around each other, fighting for space. His shirt and shorts were barely containing all his hairy mass. Dark hair, dark eyes and the biggest muscular build I’d ever seen. Every inch of him bulged with extreme mass. I really didn’t even recognize him. He was like a dream. Gone was that twink I hated, here was a overgrown, hirsute latin mass monster I had created. He really did look latin too. Extremely handsome. I was quite proud of my work. The sheer freaky size and furriness factor was the only way I could be sure I was looking at Elliott. 400 lbs superhairy muscle freaks don’t exactly come along every day. And he was far inconspicuous everyone was staring at him as he sauntered along, his huge mass flexing and bouncing with each step.. And clueless Elliott knew no different. It was as if he had always looked this way. He imagined being 400 lbs of rippling muscle was just as natural for him as having black hair and a furry chest. Although now he found himself single again. After Palm Springs Aaron had stopped talking to him all together. He wasn’t even responding to his texts, even the little love notes he had sent in spanish. Elliott was truly a sight to seen. Every muscle bulged and flexed with just the slightest movement. His traps, his massive rounded delts, his huge furry chest and thick, hair-covered cobblestone abs. The man’s massive back was even covered in a carpet of hair. There just were no bodybuilders who compared to him in size now. XXXL shirts were struggling to hold together on his massive frame. His arms were pushed out far to his sides because of the sheer size of his lats. God, he just exuded testosterone. He just exuded a hyper-masculine, overblown sexiness. So much muscle. So much to flex. And Elliott was totally clueless about why he was so special. Our eyes met on the street. Fuck, I wanted him so badly. I wanted that gorgeous, huge muscle beast. And damn it, I was going to have him. ____________________________________________________________ Aaron was still shaken by the weekend with Elliott. How could anyone transform like that over a few hours? He kept looking at pictures in his phone of the smaller blond man he had dated before Palm Springs. A total opposite of the mexican muscle freak he had left with. He wasn’t crazy, he couldn’t be. There was something going on that caused Elliot and even his previous boyfriend, Kevin, to grow into huge bodybuilders. He couldn’t say how, but it must have connected back to Kevin. Aaron had a new man that weekend. Some hookup from Grindr named Spencer. A cute, shorter recent grad from UC Irvine. Spencer had the lithe little build of the white guys he usually went for. It was in such dramatic contrast to the monster he had just parted ways with, not hairy, not dark, not overgrown. The two jumped in bed together the first chance they could. As Aaron lifted Spencer’s legs up in the bed and began pounding his ass, something strange started happening. The few hairs on Spencer’s chest started spreading, growing a little thicker and fuller. With each thrust Spencer’s body inflated ever so slightly larger, growing more muscular, more defined. Aaron looked down after a moment to see a now hairy chested, athletic looking man who was starting to visibly grow in front of him. He stopped pounding him immediately, freaked out by the noticeable developments. “Ay, No terindas!” Spencer said in effortless spanish. Aaron’s blood ran cold. “Fuck!” was all Aaron could mutter as he watched his Grindr hookup’s dark chest hair grew visibly thicker, spreading over his shoulders. At the same time, Spencer’s muscles started to balloon, becoming heavier, thicker and larger right in front of him. This time, the whole thing was happening even faster.
  5. CrisKane

    Acting Out

    Damon was up against a hard deadline at work when he felt the vibration in his pocket. The brochure design was due by the end of the day, so he really didn't have a spare moment to chat on the phone. Still, he should at least check to see who was calling. Slipping the iPhone from his pocket, he saw the name "Quinn Brooks" and Quinn's excruciatingly handsome face. Damon didn't often get calls from Quinn -- Damon was usually the one reaching out to "bother" Quinn -- so he figured it must be urgent. He raised the phone to his ear while continuing to work one-handed. "What's up, Quinn?" "I need your help. I've got an audition for a soap tomorrow and I'm really freaking out about it. You're the only person I could think of to call." Quinn did indeed sound stressed, which was unusual. Quinn tended to be the most easygoing person that Damon knew. "Calm down. I'm in the middle of a project here, but I should be done by six. Where can I meet you?" "Just come to my apartment. Really appreciate it, man." Quinn hung up. Damon went back to work, but his work on the brochure was decidedly half-assed as he wondered what could be bothering Quinn so much. At 5:59, Damon saved his file, emailed it to his boss and headed out the door. As the sluggish rush-hour traffic betwen Brentwood and Hollywood redefined the word "rush", Damon couldn't stop thinking about Quinn. They had met in college working on a production of "A Streetcar Named Desire". Damon, a senior studying graphic design, worked behind the scenes, helping with the sets and costumes and also creating the poster for the show, while Quinn, a junior theater major, played the Brando role of Stanley Kowalski. Quinn definitely had the magnetism and physicality for the role, gifted as he was with a hard-edged masculine face and a naturally muscular body that required little upkeep at the gym. But as Damon observed the early rehearsals, he wasn't sure Quinn would cut it. Quinn was so good-natured, friendly and low-key, it seemed impossible that he could find within himself the anger and menace it took to bring Stanley to life. Only when Quinn started trying on costumes did he start to find his performance. When he was just Quinn Brooks, big man on campus, standing on that stage in a polo shirt, chinos and Nikes, he was just a lackluster guy reading lines. But once he put on vintage tweed slacks with suspenders and a too-snug tank top, things began to click. Some Oxford shoes that his grandfather had worn which he found in the attic back home made him feel more grounded. Switching from wearing his usual briefs to period-appropriate boxer shorts made him feel more authentically like Stanley. Whoever said "clothes make the man" was dead right in this case, while lack of clothes brought out the animal. The director was aiming for a look close to Brando's in the film version, with Quinn wearing a soiled and torn tank top during the famous "Stella!!!" scene, but Quinn discovered in rehearsal that he could better tap into the character if he tore the shirt off completely. It was a wardrobe choice which was thoroughly appreciated by most of the women and many of the men involved in the production, including Damon who was still deeply closeted at the time. The fact that Quinn wasn't a gym rat meant he didn't have the deeply cut abs that were commonplace on campus, but even that made him look more authentic to the period setting. Damon was impressed: even Quinn's body was part of the costume. For the final touch, he dyed his blond hair black and trimmed it short, until Quinn essentially disappeared. He had become Stanley Kowalski. Audiences were floored by Quinn's performance, in which he tapped into a side of himself he hadn't previously known he had. At the party after opening night, Quinn was back to his usual amiable self, surrounded with well-wishers gushing praise over his performance. With the help of several glasses of red wine, Damon worked up the courage to speak to Quinn and tell him how impressed he was. Quinn could not have been more gracious or more generous with his time, complimenting Damon on the great work he'd done on the sets and costumes and poster. Damon couldn't fathom that Quinn actually knew who he was. Damon felt that his shyness served like personality camouflage, preventing others from noticing he was even in the room with them. Damon mentioned that he was planning to move to Los Angeles after his graduation in the spring. Quinn said he was debating whether it would be better to move to New York or Hollywood to pursue a career when he graduated. "Well, if you move to L.A., be sure to look me up!", Damon said. "You can count on it," replied Quinn with a wide grin. Damon backed away awkwardly, straight into a table with bottles of booze and a streetcar-shaped sheet cake. Catching himself, his right hand landed directly in the thick frosting of the cake. He offered his goop-covered hand in friendship, which Quinn good-naturedly shook, and they both had a good laugh as they went into the kitchen to wash their hands clean. They saw each other from time to time around campus after that, although they didn't run in the same social circles, mainly because Quinn had social circles and Damon didn't. Only after Damon moved to Los Angeles and knew that he absolutely wouldn't be encountering anyone he already knew did he begin to explore his sexuality anywhere but online. But when he went out to clubs, he still seemed to be wearing that camouflage of anonymity that had cloaked him in college. He was thin and youthful, but not thin and youthful enough to attract the twink aficionados. He joined a gym and began to work out for the first time in his life, putting on a thin layer of muscle, but not enough to draw much attention amid a crowd of West Hollywood beefcake. He got an entry-level position designing pamphlets and web pages for a non-profit, found a studio apartment in WeHo that ate up the bulk of his salary, and spent most of his weekend afternoons browsing through obscure shops around town, looking for cheap eclectic items to furnish his tiny room. After a year in L.A., Damon was absolutely shocked to get a call from Quinn, saying he was moving to Hollywood to pursue his craft. Damon could not believe that Quinn was following up on a half-drunken pledge he'd made at a party well over a year earlier. It made him admire Quinn even more. Damon asked where Quinn was planning to live, and Quinn replied that he was hoping to get some advice on that from Damon, since he didn't know anyone else who lived in Los Angeles. Damon felt a little less special after hearing that, convinced that if Quinn knew even one other person in town, they would have received this call and Damon would have been forgotten. But screw that, Quinn did call him, so he boldly suggested that Quinn camp out in his apartment while he looked for a place of his own. "I couldn't impose on you like that, man." "Not a problem at all," Damon insisted as he looked around the cramped apartment that already made him claustrophobic as its sole resident. Quinn arrived in town several days later, his possessions narrowed down to a pile of clothes on hangers laid across the back seat of his convertible, his shaggy blond hair tossed by the breeze en route. When Quinn saw the size of Damon's place, he knew he would get in Damon's way and offered to go find himself a motel, but Damon refused to hear it. "When you start getting on my nerves, I'll let you know." Moving Quinn's belongings into the tiny apartment took a grand total of three minutes, after which they went to grab a bite at Hamburger Mary's on Santa Monica Boulevard. Damon noticed some stiffness in Quinn's body language as he realized how many of the pedestrians and the patrons of the restaurant were pretty clearly gay. Damon had never sensed a whiff of homophobia on Quinn's part at college, but it was a fairly small college in a relatively conservative state. Quinn wasn't so much unnerved as overwhelmed, as if he had cracked open the door of his black-and-white house and was taking his first step into a Technicolor Oz. "So, is this like the gay part of town, or is all of L.A. like this?", Quinn asked with genuine curiosity as he wolfed down his Barbra-Q Bacon Burger (which he had attempted to order by just pointing to the menu, until the waiter forced him to say it out loud). "We're pretty close to Gay Central Station here." "And you like living right in the thick of it?" Damon's stomach quivered and his pulse went into arrythmia for a second as he mulled what to say. He had yet to come out to his family or to anyone he knew prior to moving to L.A., but if this was who he really was, he had to live it. He thought of saying something earnest or defiant, but he figured a lighter approach would work better. "The thicker the better," he smirked and raised his eyebrows, watching Quinn closely for a reaction. Quinn took a long swig of beer and fixed his sparkling blue eyes on Damon. He lowered the bottle with a nod. "Yeah, I kinda had you figured for that." "You don't have a problem with that, do you?" Quinn laughed. "I just got a theater degree and I want to be an actor. If gays freaked me out, I picked the wrong fuckin' job." That night, Damon pushed his luck and dragged Quinn to Rage, a gay nightclub. If Damon thought he was wearing camouflage before, entering a gay club with Quinn Brooks by your side was like wearing an invisibility cloak. Quinn definitely got an ego boost from all the guys coming over to ask him to dance (or more), but he bet he set the world record for saying the words "straight" and "girlfriend" in twenty minutes. Meanwhile, Damon nursed a Seven and Seven and contented himself with hovering anonymously near so many horny, sweaty hunks and vicariously wishing all their come-ons were coming his way. Eventually Quinn turned to Damon and shouted "Let's get outta here" over the pounding disco music. On the sidewalk, it felt twenty degrees cooler. Quinn's eyes were wide, like he'd just narrowly escaped being gored at the Running of the Bulls. "Is that what it's like all the time?", he asked Damon. "Yeah, that's pretty much a normal night for me." Damon offered his house guest the futon, but Quinn wouldn't hear of it, using his sleeping bag instead. Quinn went to pains to make sure he wasn't interfering with Damon's routine, although seeing a shirtless Quinn shaving every morning was a disruption Damon didn't complain about. Within a week, Quinn had landed a job as a waiter. Within ten days, he had found an apartment which was bigger and cost less than Damon's. They saw each other occasionally, usually when Damon thought there was a play or movie or band that Quinn might appreciate, but Quinn was usually waiting tables in the evening and had to pass. The last time Damon had received a call from Quinn was two months ago, inviting Damon and a guest to come to opening night of a play Quinn was doing in North Hollywood. Damon couldn't find a date -- or even a beard -- and ended up giving the spare ticket to a young woman in the standby line. She was pleasant but monosyllabic waiting for the opening curtain, but when Damon mentioned at intermission that he was friends with the guy playing the lead role, the woman became chatty as all get-out, peppering him with questions about Quinn which only ended when the curtain opened for act two. The woman, whose name was Renee, came along with Damon to the after-party and was hanging on Quinn's arm by the end of the night. Two weeks later, Quinn had dumped his girlfriend back home and Renee was spending her nights at Quinn's place. As far as Damon knew, they were still dating, but perhaps they had broken up. Maybe that's why Quinn had called today, reaching out to an old friend -- okay, marginal acquaintance -- for counsel as he nursed a broken heart. But even if Quinn hadn't managed to make other friends in his short time in L.A., surely any stranger he grabbed randomly off the street could offer more wisdom on romantic matters than Damon could. Damon pulled onto Quinn's shady street and checked the myriad of parking regulation signs, trying to figure out if it was legal for him to park in this neighborhood. Convinced that he could, he ran to Quinn's apartment and knocked on the door. "Co-ome i-in," sang an off-key attempt at a soprano voice from within. Damon swung open the unlocked door and was surprised to discover Quinn pacing in the living room, covered in flop-sweat and wearing a bizarre mixture of clothing. His hair was haphazardly bobby-pinned into something that in no way resembled an actual hairdo. He wore a linen sportscoat with a Chicago Bulls jersey underneath, checkerboard-pattern bicycle shorts and a pair of muddy workboots. Quinn was flushed with relief at seeing Damon. "Thank god you're here. I gotta be gay! You gotta help me!" He clomped over and hugged Damon, transferring a substantial amount of his sweat onto Damon's gray silk shirt. "What to you mean you've gotta be gay?", asked Damon. Quinn picked up a script from his futon and handed it to Damon. "This audition tomorrow. It's for a recurring role in a soap, which'd be huge for me, but the character they want me to play is gay and I don't know how to play it." "Play it like a normal person." Quinn shook his head. "You don't understand. I gotta feel like I'm seeing through this guy's eyes. I don't know how to look at another guy from a gay guy's perspective." "Sure you do," said Damon calmly. "Just look at the guy the same way you look at Renee." Quinn wasn't being persuaded. He looked distraught as he checked out his reflection in the mirror. "I was thinking if I could just find the right look, the character would come to me, but..." Damon shook his head as he looked at what Quinn was wearing. "You have met gay people before, right? You know we don't dress like we escaped from a mental ward." "I know, I know. I was just trying anything. I woulda tried on some of Renee's dresses, but I'm way too big for 'em." Damon stopped cold and leveled a glare at Quinn. "You also know we don't all wear dresses, right?" "YES!", Quinn insisted. "What you're seeing is the result of two extra hours of desperation because you couldn't get here right away!" "Sue me, I work for a living! Why couldn't Renee help you?" "She's shooting a commercial in Baja. She'll be gone for four days." "Okay, just calm down. We'll get through this." Damon began to remove the bobby-pins from Quinn's hair and asked, "So, describe this character to me so I can get a sense of what he should wear." Quinn grabbed the script and scanned the highlighted stage directions. "His name's Alexander and he's the black sheep of the family who was ostrich-ized..." Damon corrected, "Ostracized." "Ostracized...when his father discovered he was gay. Actually, he was apparently...ostracized...from the show 'cause he thought he deserved a raise. But now they want to bring his character back." "And there are no actual gay actors in Hollywood they could hire?" "My agent says I look a lot like the guy who played him the first time, so he thinks I got a real good chance at it." "So? There's your answer. Dress like the other guy did." "I tried that, but that guy used to just wear regular business suits, and putting on my own suits just felt like...like me wearing a suit. Plus, apparently they're writing him a lot more flamboyant now and I don't have a clue how to be flamboyant. That's why I called you." Damon glanced down at his gray shirt and charcoal pants. "Oh, yeah, you're talking to the male Lady Gaga right here. Go put on some normal clothes and we'll go shopping." Quinn nodded eagerly and walked into the bathroom to change. He leaned out, asking, "Sir Gaga?" "What?" "Wouldn't the male Lady Gaga be Sir Gaga?" Damon waved a get-a-move-on gesture and tried not to stare too blatantly at Quinn as he stripped down. * * * As Quinn drove frantically toward Melrose Boulevard, Damon sat in the passenger seat, scanning through Quinn's script. "This writing is terrible. None of it rings true. This guy Alexander is swishy one minute and butch the next. No wonder you were dressed like you just grabbed random items from the clothes dryer." "I just need to get a fix on who I think Alexander is. If I can nail the audition, then I'll worry about getting them to write the character better." Damon pointed to a parking spot in front of a quirky clothing store he liked to browse. Quinn screeched into the spot, pissing off another driver who was getting ready to back into the same space. Quinn shouted at the other driver, "Sorry! Sorry! Acting crisis!" Quinn looked berserk, the wind having buffeted his hair into a crazed mess as the convertible sped here. Damon led Quinn into the musty smelling shop. They were the only customers, and the older woman managing the register looked surprised to have any visitors at all. Quinn searched frantically through the racks of clothes in his size, trying on one vintage jacket after another, displeased with them all. "Not gay enough." Damon shook his head, amused but increasingly irritated. He was generally so fond of Quinn but couldn't believe how narrow his views were, as if there were only one kind of gay personality or fashion. He watched as Quinn pulled off his t-shirt, revealing pumped pecs and shallow but distinct ab muscles. Clearly Quinn's carefree attitude toward exercise had changed, and Damon couldn't say he disapproved. Trying not to seem TOO interested, Damon casually asked, "You been working out?" "Yeah, agent said I looked too doughy. Apparently, if they can't count your ab muscles on two hands these days, nobody's gonna cast you." Quinn pulled a multicolored vest over his bare torso and evaluated the look. He cringed. "Too gay." Damon felt like he was watching Quinn perform a one-man show of "Goldilocks", where everything was "too gay" or "too straight", but nothing was "just right". (They'd have to go back to cruising Rage later to find three bears.) After Quinn rejected a few of Damon's suggestions, Damon turned in light-hearted frustration to the old woman at the back of the shop. "Do you have a 'gay' section for my friend here? Maybe something in a size Gay?" Quinn swatted Damon's shoulder. "This probably seems silly to you, but it's my process, okay?" The woman behind the counter gestured for the men to approach. The old woman's eyes were drawn to Quinn, but Damon had finally quit fretting about his non-entity status in Quinn's presence. That Quinn was now shirtless and more built than ever only made Damon fade further into the background. "This might sound stupid, but I need something that'll make me feel...gay," Quinn told the old woman. She smiled wistfully. "When I was a girl, a nice new hat used to make me feel gay." Oh god, Damon thought, this was a terrible idea. Now we're about to be treated to this woman's history of how word meanings changed throughout the twentieth century. But instead, she reached under the counter and pulled out a wooden jewelry box. She opened it to display a collection of various rings. She studied them, then selected one with a silver band and a single black stone. She handed it to Quinn, saying "I think this will help you get what you desire." Damon seemed unsure that this simple ring screamed "gay", but Quinn shrugged his recently renovated shoulders and said, "You never know what'll give you the key to your character." He studied it and a flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes. "This isn't one of those mood rings, is it? My dad told me he had one back in the Seventies. The color of the stone changed to show what your mood was." "Very similar principle," the old woman nodded. "Go ahead, put it on." Quinn slid it onto his left ring finger. He liked how it felt. The metal weight in an unfamiliar place gave him an immediate sense of otherness, like he wasn't just wearing a piece of jewelry but was wearing part of a different person, a new character. He looked closely at the stone and could detect a slight swirling in the darkness which settled into a deep, dark blue. "Huh, what do you know? It turned blue a little. What does that mean?" He placed his hand on the counter so the shopkeeper could examine the stone. She peered through squinted eyes, then glanced over her bifocals at Quinn and said, "That means you're a little gay." Quinn laughed uneasily, which made Damon cackle hysterically. He kidded Quinn, "Don't worry, sweetie, everyone's a little gay." But truthfully, as long as you set aside the fact that Quinn was an actor, Damon had never met anyone as comfortable in his heterosexuality as Quinn, and the straight women in the theater department always appreciated that Quinn was the one exception to the "all the good ones are gay" rule. Hearing Damon speak, the woman turned to him, almost as if she had just realized he was there. "Are you two a couple?" Quinn shook his head and waved his hands, saying, "No, no, no, no, no." Damon felt a little insulted. "Five no's? Could you be a little more emphatic there, buddy?" Quinn started to apologize when the woman pulled an identical ring from the jewelry box and handed it to Damon. "You try." Curious but a little scared, Damon slipped the ring onto his left ring finger. If Quinn's ring said he was "a little gay", Damon's ring would probably start shooting out rainbows and sparkles and unicorns while blasting "It's Raining Men". But after letting the mysterious liquid inside the stone swirl and settle, Damon's ring turned only a slightly brighter shade of blue than Quinn's. He held it out for the woman to evaluate. "This can't be right." "Oh, no, it's right," she assured him. "It's always right." Damon stared at the blue gem curiously, while Quinn flexed his hand repeatedly, getting a feel for the ring's weight. He told the woman, "It kind of grows on you." She nodded sagely. "I'll take it," Quinn said, pulling out his wallet. Damon was starting to pull off his ring, but Quinn stopped him. "Keep it, man. It looks good on you." Damon felt funny about it. "Won't it be kinda weird, you and me wearing matching rings?" "I'm only wearing mine for the audition. I'm serious, let me buy that for you. It matches your eyes." Damon was surprised and even a little turned on that Quinn had noticed the color of his eyes. Then again, actors were good at studying other people. Damon shook it off. Quinn got his change and thanked the woman behind the counter for her help. "Do you need anything else?", she asked. Pulling his t-shirt back on, Quinn glanced around the store and said, "No, I think I'm good." He stepped outside, with a puzzled Damon at his heels. "That's it? You buy one ring and you've got the character?" "No, but I don't think I need more clothes to do it." Quinn leapt energetically into the driver's seat and noticed the flyaway mess that his hair had become. "But I gotta fix this hair. Alexander wouldn't have this haircut. Where's there a good hair stylist?" Damon had never gone anywhere more stylish than Fantastic Sams, but he had a feeling Quinn needed something a bit more specialized. Damon searched on his iPhone for nearby salons while Quinn drove. Damon found one place on Santa Monica Boulevard that was still open, so he gave Quinn driving directions. Quinn was driving with his left arm propped in his open window, showing off the definition of his biceps and triceps as they emerged from his t-shirt sleeve. Quinn could swear he was noticing a lot more guys staring at him, and Quinn was someone who was used to being stared at. He even waved at a few as he passed. Seemed like what Alexander would do. When they arrived at the salon, the guy behind the counter with a shaved head, a septum ring and gauged earlobes looked too exhausted to deal with another customer, but when he looked up to see Quinn's smiling, hopeful face, he began to change his mind. Quinn explained that he desperately needed his hair styled for an audition in the morning. He even put his hand atop the counterman's pale slender hand which was splayed on the counter. Wow, thought Damon, he's really laying on the charm. And it worked. Soon Quinn was seated in a chair and getting his hair shampooed. The stylist glanced across the room at Damon, who was slumped in a chair, flipping idly through Frontiers magazine. "You gonna want a cut too?", asked the stylist. "No, I'm fine," said Damon. The stylist disagreed with that assessment of Damon's pedestrian haircut, with an indistinct part and uneven strands of lackluster brown hair straggling over his ears, but he said nothing and turned back to scrubbing Quinn's lush mane. Once it was washed, Quinn moved back to a barber's chair and stared at his reflection, his long hair wet and stringy, falling past his eyes. The stylist asked what Quinn was looking for. "I need something bold. Something that'll grab your attention, but won't look too radical for a guy in a business suit. What's that one where it's all kinda scrunched up in the middle?" "A fauxhawk?", replied the stylist. "Yeah, I want one of those." Damon looked up from his magazine, surprised. Quinn had been so casual, so lacking in vanity about his appearance in college. Quinn was plenty hot without bothering with fancy technology like, ya know, a comb. Still, Damon could imagine how sexy Quinn would look with a fauxhawk. It was even giving him a chubby. He had a bad habit of being attracted to straight boys, and Quinn had always been his kryptonite. He knew that it was futile and self-sabotaging to allow himself to muse about relationships that could never happen. Yet he found himself lost in Quinn's reflection in the mirror as the stylist set to work. Quinn was also getting aroused as chunks of his long hair were snipped away. It was like the stylist was sculpting the disorganized wad of yarn glued his head into something sleek and beautiful. Yes, yes, he was feeling the character more and more, getting a better fix on who he should be playing. He could practically see himself becoming the character in his reflection. With a flourish, the stylist removed the apron from Quinn, who was staring lustily at his newly gelled and peaked hairdo. Quinn spun in his chair to get Damon's opinion, but Damon was already standing, pointing to a photo in a book of sample hairdos and showing it to the stylist. "I want a fade." The stylist's shoulders sank, as he thought he was done for the day, but Quinn gave him a quick wink and he agreed. As the stylist buzzed the sides over Damon's ears down to bare skin, Damon started to wonder how he'd look with a different hair color, but he knew he'd be pushing his luck to ask the stylist to start a major project like that at this late hour. But as his new style took shape, Damon began to grin. It wasn't a radical change, but it also wasn't the same old boring haircut that had stared back at him since high school. He glanced behind him, where Quinn seemed to be studying an issue of Playgirl. Damon blinked his eyes, thinking there must be hair in them. "What you reading there, Q?" "Interesting article," Quinn said deadpan. Damon figured Quinn must be doing research into what he thought a gay guy would read. When the two men stepped back into the cool evening air, they both felt pounds heavier as their scalps felt the breeze. Quinn looked down at his shorter friend and smiled. "Da-amn, boy, you do look cute." Damon looked at Quinn skeptically, thinking back to Quinn's gradual metamorphosis into Stanley Kowalski back in college. Maybe this was just his process. "Just so I'm clear, you're just trying to get into character, right?" Quinn wrapped a strong arm around Damon's slender shoulders. "Aw, my little Damie, never could take a compliment." Quinn leaned down o kiss Damon lightly on the forehead. If this was Quinn's process, he was certainly disappearing into the role already. Damon checked his phone for the time. "Maybe we should head back to your place and I can help you memorize your script." "Fuck the lines," said Quinn, with a ferocity strange for someone who could usually beat Jack Johnson in a mellow-off. Quinn spotted the Rage nightclub up the street and started to drag Damon in that direction. "Let's go dancing!" "I thought you hated Rage." "I did. But I don't think Alexander does." Inside the packed club, Quinn was much chattier than he had been on his first night in town. In fact, he seemed downright comfortable, chatting and laughing with everyone who approached him. Damon hovered close enough to hear Quinn introducing himself to people as Alexander. Quinn pulled Damon over and started introducing him as "my boy Damon". Damon had done some role-playing games online and always felt too self-conscious about it, but he was getting off on playing this role. Even pretending to be Quinn's -- or Alexander's -- boy was a thrill, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. Quinn had already shed his t-shirt and was flexing in time with the music. Damon unbuttoned his silk shirt down to the base of his sternum. Any further exposure of his pale pasty skin would risk causing blindness to anyone who looked at it, and he'd never found his clumps of unsightly body hair to be aesthetically pleasing. Basically, Damon believed that the more of his body someone saw, the less likely they were to desire him. Ideally, to avoid turning off potential lovers, he would need to walk the streets in an Iron Man uniform. Quinn was getting sucked further away into the swirl of bodies, but Damon noticed that Quinn was constantly looking back to check on him. Eventually, Quinn squeezed his way back and they spent the remainder of the night dancing as a couple. When the pace slowed slightly, Quinn wrapped his arms around Damon's butt and hoisted him until Damon was looking down at Quinn. Quinn planted his lips on Damon's and kissed him hard. Damon closed his eyes, ecstatic, letting himself believe for a moment that what he was feeling from Quinn was real and not research. Fueled by Red Bulls and vodka, Quinn and Damon stayed until closing time. Damon was sure he would have a hangover at work tomorrow, but at the moment he was carefree and full of energy, literally skipping along the boulevard. Quinn strolled behind him, swinging his meaty arms loosely. "Okay, now we'll go home and do lines." Damon looked hopefully. "Cocaine?" Quinn rubbed his knuckles through Damon's new hairdo. "No, you knucklehead. Lines in the script." Damon giggled as they climbed into the convertible and headed back to Quinn's place. As Damon picked up the script from the floor of the car, he noticed the glow of his ring. The color had lightened since he first put it on. It now sparkled like a sapphire. He glanced over at Quinn, but couldn't see his ring, as Quinn was hanging his left forearm down along the outside of the car and pounding on the door in time with the music cranked on the car stereo. When they got back to the apartment, Quinn grabbed a couple of bottles of beer from the refrigerator and told Damon to make himself comfortable on the futon in the living room. Damon took a seat, sipped his beer and opened the script to the proper page, only to gasp as Damon returned to the living room wearing nothing but a pair of amply stuffed black briefs. "Aw, Damie, I told you to get comfortable. You're my expert on all this. I need you to tell me what I should be doing." Damon quickly flipped through the script. "Isn't it just a dialogue scene? I didn't see any sex scenes in the script." Quinn grabbed the script and flung it across the room. It slammed into the wall, snapping the fasteners and sending the pages fluttering to the floor. "Fuck the script. I need to know what it feels like to be inside you." Quinn pulled down his briefs and his rigid cock began to rise and grow. He worked the scrap of black cloth down both of his bulging thighs, then down the shins. He reached one big toe up to pull the briefs the rest of the way off. Then, holding the shorts between his toes, he tossed them directly into Damon's face. Damon closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, amazed to have this chance to inhale Quinn's musky scent. He pulled the briefs above his eyes and left them resting atop his new haircut. He giggled playfully and stared lustily at the golden-haired tower of muscle looming over him, standing with legs spread and a nine-inch cock pointing straight up, slapping flat against his abs and seemingly as wide as Damon's wrist. Jesus, Damon thought, he's staring at me. Right at my pathetic little body. And he's got a hard-on that could shatter glass. Fuck, thought Damon, this guy is a good actor. Damon tore open his gray shirt, losing a few buttons in the process. He unbuckled his pants but struggled to get them down before Quinn leapt upon him. Quinn shredded Damon's trousers and ripped off his boxers to discover Damon's slim, six-incher, fully erect. Quinn grunted and smiled, then eased his own cock gently into Quinn's asshole. "How's that?" Damon whimpered, never having had something that large inside him before. Quinn brushed Damon's cheek and kissed him. "You tell me if I'm hurting you, Damie. I just want to make you happy." Quinn took it slowly, gradually inserting more and more of his engorged cock into Damon. Damon was getting short of breath. He glanced down and saw Quinn's massive left hand wrapped around Damon's cock, stroking it in rhythm with the thrusts of his hips. Damon noticed the glint of Quinn's ring on the hand. The jewel was now sapphire blue, just like Damon's had been in the car. Curious, he glanced at his own ring and it had now lightened to a dazzling cyan. He felt all his inhibitions slipping away and surrendered to the power of Quinn. Or Alexander. Or whoever. Who cares? Damon screamed out, "Just fuckin' fuck me!" * * * Quinn slept deeply through the night, but his dreams were vivid. Amazingly, he had already reached a state that usually only came after weeks of rehearsal: he was dreaming in character. He knew he was ready to play a part when he had so deeply inhabited them that he no longer dreamt as himself, but as Stanley Kowalski, or George in "Virginia Woolf", or Estragon in "Waiting for Godot". (Man, if you think your dreams are hard to follow, try having some "Godot" dreams.) Somehow, with this Alexander character, he had gone from panic to serenity in a single night. He felt the power of Alexander's suddenly unleashed sexuality, the newfound sense of freedom that gave him, the strength he sought to exert over others, yet the tenderness he could exhibit to those he loved, like his boy Damie. That last part caused a slight glitch in the dream, as Quinn suddenly realized he was in a dream and tried to remember whether Damie was a character in the script or... No, Damie was his friend from college. Little Damon. How had he never noticed what a cutie Damie was all these years? Damie was always so shy. He must have been waiting for years for Alexander to make the first move. Fuck, no, that's not right. Alexander is the character. I'm Quinn. That's right, right? It was all intermingled, and suffused with a sense of well-being that seemed to have calmed his spirit. Yeah, now he remembered. He was in a panic all day about...something or other...and his little Damie came and made it all better. And they fucked until they collapsed. A familiar xylophone melody began to repeat and repeat in Quinn's brain, gradually rousing him from his slumber. He snuggled against the bare skin of Damon's back as they spooned on the futon. Damon remained blissfully asleep in Quinn's arms while the fog lifted from Quinn's brain. That music...it was the alarm on Damon's iPhone. What time was it? Quinn squinted until he finally spotted something with a clock: his microwave. 7:45. Fuck! The audition! When was the audition again? Quinn gently slid his arm out from underneath Damon, stood up and switched off the alarm. Morning wood slapping against his thigh, he wandered the living room naked in search of the title page of the script on which he had scribbled the time and place of his audition. Finally locating it, he discovered that he had a couple of hours of breathing room, although he still needed to memorize the lines. He wasn't worried though, because he already had the character. Quinn leaned down and kissed Damon on the cheek. "Morning, sexy. Time to get up." Damon grumpily opened his eyes and was rewarded with a view of Quinn's hard cock. He giggled sleepily and said in a lilting voice, "Mmm, is that for me?" "Not right now. Gotta get ready for my audition." "Can I help you?" "Not right now. I need to take a shower." Damon crawled across the futon with a smile, waggling his bouncy ass. "Can I help you?" Quinn felt tempted, but knew he had to get in and out fast so he could study his lines. He kissed Damon's forehead, then walked to the bathroom. Damon got hard just watching Quinn's broad back and dimpled butt cheeks as he left the room. That vision carried him to a speedy orgasm, spurting across the thatches of hair on his meagerly developed torso. He fell back into a giddy slumber, rubbing his fingers lazily through his own cum. Damon woke again when a shadow fell over his face. He looked up to see Quinn fully dressed in a gray business suit, the sunlight hitting the peaks of his freshly gelled fauxhawk. Quinn's cock rubbed softly against the material of his pants, as he'd decided that Alexander would go commando. Better to demonstrate his dominance over his rivals. Quinn nervously fiddled with a ring on his left hand, its jewel an entrancing bright shade of blue. "Gotta go, Damie. See you when I get back?" Smiling coyly, Damon sat up, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around his hairy legs. "I'll be here. Kiss for luck?" Quinn leaned down and planted his succulent lips on Damon's. They both closed their eyes to fully enjoy the sensation. Neither noticed the blue glow of their rings brightening further. After Quinn left for his audition, Damon made his way to the bathroom where he took a long hot shower. The gushing water kept him from hearing his phone ringing, as his office called to find out why he wasn't at work yet. Damon stepped from the shower and wiped the fog from the mirror. He had to admit, he really did look cute with his new haircut, but he grimaced the further he looked down. Those clumps of hair on his chest and the wet, clingy hair on his legs did not look cute at all. He grabbed Quinn's can of Barbasol and lathered up his chest and legs. It took him two of Quinn's razorblades to shave his chest and legs clean and, after he saw how that looked, another blade plus the rest of the Barbasol to take care of his pubes. As he lay his sleek new body back down upon the futon, Damie wondered how Q's audition was going. * * * Quinn's confidence that he would be cast in the soap opera peaked in the millisecond before he opened the door to the casting office. Once inside, he discovered several other strapping young men much like himself. VERY much like himself. Clearly the call had gone out for any actor who looked sufficiently similar to the one who had originated the role of Alexander, and the results of that quest were seated in this room. Blond, handsome, tall but not too tall. Their minor physical differences were outweighed by their striking similarities. Quinn had gotten used to being the go-to lead actor back in college, but he was now facing the reality of being a tiny fish trying to navigate the biggest sea in the acting world. Quinn checked in at the front desk and took his seat among the other prospective Alexanders, who were checking him out, both to evaluate him as their acting competition and, for many of them, just to check him out. At least his fears about playing a gay character had been erased by last night's events. As soon he had found that ring in the shop where Damon took him, something clicked in his mind. Never before had a single item of wardrobe given him such a strong sense of a character. He had been immersed in characters before, but last night, he felt positively possessed, seeing the world through Alexander's eyes, doing things he had never done before -- things he would never have considered doing before. But as the night went on, he realized he wasn't simply acting out of curiosity as research for a role; he was responding to irresistible physical urges...and he had to admit to himself that it felt tremendous. He only hoped that Damon didn't feel used and exploited, although from Quinn's semi-drunken memories of the night, it seemed like Damon had a gay old time. He had never seen Damon so loose, so happy, so free. * * * Back at Quinn's apartment, Damon was restless. He had checked his voicemail and discovered several messages from his workplace, asking where he was. He finally called back, explaining that he had misread some parking signs and his car had been towed. He promised to get to work as soon as possible, but he had no such intention. He wanted to be waiting here when Quinn returned triumphantly from his audition, so he could leap into Quinn's arms, smother him in kisses...and then fuck, fuck, fuck the night away. Although Damon had known he was gay since before he even knew it was a thing to be, he'd never felt as obsessed with sex as he did this morning. Sure, he had thought about the subject plenty, more in abstract terms than in genuine practice, but his mind had never before been whipped into such an orgy of nonstop salacious thoughts. It still seemed like some impossible dream that he had actually had sex with Quinn Brooks...and multiple times at that. But uncharacteristically, Damon wasn't dwelling on why Quinn suddenly found him attractive (or at least fuckworthy) and wasn't making mental wagers about how soon Quinn would inevitably turn his attentions elsewhere and leave Damon in misery. All that percolated through Damon's mind this bright morning was looking his best for his man ("his MAN"!!!) when he got back home. The drab clothes Damon had worn last night were no longer an option, as Quinn had shredded Damon's slacks and underwear when he tore them off Damon's body. Damon's gray shirt was slightly salvageable, since it had only lost a few buttons. Damon slipped it on, rolling up the sleeves and knotting the tails of the shirt in the front to expose his smooth, hairless tummy. Not terrible, Damon thought, but pretty blah. Surely he could find something with more pizzazz. He peeked through Quinn's drawers for some shorts, but anything big enough to accomodate Quinn was ridiculously huge on Damon's slim firame. None of Quinn's clothes hanging in his closet were appropriate either, but Damon did notice that Quinn's girlfriend Renee had left a few changes of clothes hanging there as well. Not only was her body closer to Quinn's size, but he admired her fashion sense. He felt a forbidden thrill as he slipped a spangly blue-and-white-striped top off its hanger, held it in front of himself and studied his reflection in the mirror. He pulled his gray button down over his head and slipped on Renee's top, its neck so wide that it exposed the slope of Damon's shoulder. A smile slowly grew on his lips. Yesterday, he would have felt embarrassed to wear anything so shiny or so feminine, but today it gave him a kick. He squeezed his way into a pair of her black leggings and was glad that the bottom of the shirt concealed the growing boner trapped within them. He would have to wash the leggings before Renee returned to town, so she wouldn't wonder why there was a stain of dried pre-cum in them. At least his own shoes still fit, although they were a ludicrous contrast to the outfit above them. Clearly he would need to run out and buy some new clothes if he was going to look good for Quinn, and this mismatched outfit would allow him to go into public. With his paltry savings, he couldn't suddenly become an au courant fashionista...but, hey, he thought with a giggle, that's why God invented credit cards! Damon stepped out of the apartment, realizing too late that the door was locking behind him. A day ago, Damon would have been frantic about getting locked out and mortified to be seen in public the way he was currently dressed. But instead, he shrugged it off and sashayed (there was really no better word for it) his little kiester down the sidewalk to where he thought he had parked his beat-up piece-of-shit Mazda. He looked up and down the street with a sinking feeling. Well, what do you know? That lie about his car having been towed because he didn't read the parking signs? It wasn't a lie after all. But again, instead of freaking out, Damon calmly pulled out his iPhone. * * * Quinn leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed as he went over Alexander's lines in his head for the millionth time in twenty minutes. He felt a vibration in his pants. He didn't want to be disturbed while he was so immersed in character. Still, what if it was important? What if it was a message from his agent? Or from Damon? He had to look. He slid the phone from his pocket and noticed that it was a text from Renee. He pushed the phone back in his pocket without reading the message. He couldn't lose his focus now. Besides, he had no clue what to tell her about last night. He probably shouldn't say anything. What if it was just a one-night fling, a dalliance fueled by an actor's need for new experiences to inform his performance? He still loved Renee, didn't he? Well, he liked her at least. After all, she was pretty and smart and understanding and... "Quinn Brooks?" Huh? What? Quinn heard someone calling his name. "Quinn Brooks?" The woman said it again, more impatiently. Quinn shook off his stupor and raised his hand. "Present!", he called, as if the woman were taking roll call. She gestured for him to proceed to the inner office. Quinn offered a hasty "Good luck" to his fellow actors in the waiting room and stepped inside. Three people seated behind a table stared at Quinn, impressed on first sight by his close resemblance to his predecessor in the role. They each informed Quinn who they were, but Quinn's mind was so scattered that all he heard was "words words name name words". Dammit, why had he looked at that text message? He was totally losing his focus. He brushed his left hand nervously through his fauxhawk, disheveling his carefully groomed look. The stone in his ring was darkening back toward a deep blue, verging on black. He gazed across the room at the three people evaluating him, as well as the bored guy manning a video camera behind them. Quinn found himself making friendly chit-chat. Dammit, that wasn't his plan! All morning, he had been in the zone. He had planned that, from the moment he walked into the audition room, he was going to take command of the situation and BE sly, conniving Alexander. But here he was, in front of the people who were going to decide his fate, and he heard his mouth on autopilot, lapsing back into friendly old Quinn, blathering about traffic and asking politely about getting his parking validated. Focus, man, focus! From somewhere, a voice asked Quinn to begin. He took a big breath and opened his mouth, but the words he had down stone cold just minutes ago were eluding him. It was the classic actor's nightmare of going dry. At least he wasn't naked too, although that would have given them something to focus on besides the lack of words coming from his mouth. Cringing, he put a shaky hand into the breast pocket of his suit coat and pulled out his script pages, hoping they would kick him back into gear. But he discovered they were in the wrong order and facing different directions. As he searched desperately for the first page, he could sense interest plummeting across the room. At last, he found the first line, which seemed dimly familiar. He cleared his throat and realized how parched he was. His tongue was practically cemented to the roof of his mouth. He grabbed a bottle of water that had been placed nearby for him. The cap was surprisingly tight and, when he finally loosened it, he was squeezing the plastic bottle so tight that a gusher of water shot out, dousing the crotch of his pants. Quinn stared at the dark wet blotch and wondered, where is cyanide when you need it? Quinn drained half of what remained in the bottle, then set it aside, glanced at the pages and began to recite his lines. Once he got rolling, the words were mostly there, so he only needed to consult the pages twice more for cues, but the character's voice, the one he had such a grip on all morning, was gone. It wasn't devious Alexander speaking his mind, it was just charming Quinn Brady lifelessly reciting some shit he had memorized. He may as well have been in a third-grade Earth Day pageant dressed as an oak tree for all the emotion he was investing in his performance. Once he finished, he was out the door in shame somewhere between when the casting director said "thank" and when she said "you". Quinn stormed through the outer office and into the parking lot, royally pissed at himself. He yanked off his necktie, wadded it up and hurled it into the backseat of his convertible. A voice in his head asked, "Is that really the best you can do?" Quinn told himself "no" as he struggled out of his coat. "I thought you were serious about this," said the voice. I am, Quinn insisted to himself. I love acting. "Well, then, show it, goddamn it!", urged the voice. I can't, I blew my shot, it's over, Quinn lamented as he stripped off his dress shirt. But the voice was screaming at him now, "Nothing is ever over unless you let it be over. You don't give up on what you need, you fight for it! Do you seriously think that I would just walk away?" Finally, Quinn realized the pep talk wasn't really from himself. It was the voice of Alexander, roaring back to life and asserting itself. The energy and intensity which had fueled Quinn last night were back, maybe even stronger than before. He marched back toward the casting office, still shirtless and with something to prove, flinging open the front door, crossing the lobby and barging into the inner room. An assistant chased after him, yelling that he couldn't go in there, but Alexander would not be stopped. Quinn pushed aside the startled blond guy who was in the middle of his audition and ignored the shouts from the folks behind the desk that this was unacceptable. "No, what's unacceptable is what I did before," said Quinn with fury. "I wasn't showing you who I truly was, what I had the potential to be. I had to get out of here and clear my head before I could see myself for who I am and realize I had unfinished business back here. I deserve to be here. Nothing is ever over unless you let it be over. You don't give up on what you need, you fight for it! Do you seriously think I would just walk away?" The words ran out. He had nothing more to say. His broad chest rose and fell with each deep breath, Quinn stared down the people behind the table, who looked like they had just witnessed a car bomb exploding. The bored camera guy was now alert and zooming in for a close-up of Quinn's face. The auditioner whom Quinn had interrupted felt compelled to applaud Quinn softly, realizing he could never have delivered a performance like that. Only as his adrenaline subsided did Quinn realize that everything he had said was actually from Alexander's lines in the script. But not only did they ring true for Alexander, they said what Quinn had needed to say. The folks behind the table consulted with each other in murmurs before the soap opera's director, a distinguished man with graying hair, a British accent and an approving smile, leaned forward and told Quinn, "Well, this is the part of the audition where we would usually ask you to take off your shirt, but you seem to have jumped the gun on that, dear boy." Quinn's piercing blue eyes gazed right back at the man. He radiated immense confidence, knowing that he had nailed it. He brushed his left hand slowly down his sweat-soaked chest and abs, unaware that the gemstone on his new ring had shifted back from a deep onyx to a blue lapis lazuli. * * * At first, the stylist did not recognize the waifish man getting out of the cab in front of the salon in the striped shirt, leggings and black Oxford shoes. But the stylist tended to have a good memory for his own work and, once the customer entered, he realized from the conservative brown fade that this was the meek pal of the gorgeous blond who had entered with such urgency the night before. The man walked gracefully to the counter and grinned conspiratorially at the stylist. "Remember me?" "Yeah, sure," said the stylist. "You were in here with that other dude last night." Damon liked being remembered for once, even if only as an afterthought to "that other dude". Actually, being remembered as having been "WITH that other dude" gave Damon quite a thrill. "I want to go further. Try something really radical." Damon described the look he was thinking of, then asked, "Do you do piercings here too?" Damon was surprised how long the process took to achieve what he wanted, but he knew it would be worth it, if only to see Quinn's reaction. As he waited for the process to complete, he decided he might as well get a mani/pedi while he was waiting. The cute boy tending to Damon's nails suggested a facial to clean out Damon's pores, so that was added to the credit card too. When Damon finally stepped outside, it was after noon. He checked his phone but hadn't received a call or text from Quinn. He hoped that was a good sign, but didn't want to jinx it by calling Q and asking. Catching his reflection in the salon window, Damon could hardly believe he was looking at himself, but these hand-me-down rags from Renee were not cutting it. He knew just where to go, so he phoned for another cab. The white-haired old woman was behind the counter at his favorite funky clothes shop again. In fact, he never remembered seeing anyone else working the register in all the times he'd shopped here. Well, browsed. He loved looking at the clothing, and had enjoyed trying on some of the milder outfits in the dressing room, but he never dreamt of wearing any of it out of here. Today, though, he wanted to buy everything he tried on, no matter how outlandish. All that held him back was a nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him that his credit card did have a limit. He brought a pile of items to the counter. As he pulled out his wallet, the woman behind the register noticed a familiar ring on his left hand, silver with a shiny turquoise stone. She studied Damon's face and was amazed. She knew the effects her jewelry could have, but had never seen such a radical change in a customer in such a short time. "Oh, it's you! I take it you are pleased with the ring." Damon held up the back of his hand and looked at the stone, mesmerized by its color. "I absolutely love it." "And your friend?" "Oh, yeah, it was exactly what he needed!" The woman was relieved. Although she had known immediately that the man before her was gay, albeit very introverted, she was a bit worried when the friend's ring had turned only slightly blue. She bought all of her jewelry from an old hippie living in an abandoned filling station near Ojai who had hyped his products by saying they had magical powers which would help the wearer become "self-actualized" and "live their life to its greatest potential". He ascribed different miraculous abilities to his various rings and necklaces and bracelets. The shopkeeper had been in the business long enough to have lived through the fads of crystals and pyramid-power, to have gone to EST seminars and had herself tested with an e-meter, so she figured this guy was just trafficking in another new line of bullshit, but she liked his designs, so she bought a few samples. The rings she had sold to the men last night were part of what he called his XY line. The jewelry maker claimed that they could detect the wearer's position on the sexuality spectrum. If the stone was pitch black, the wearer was uncontrovertibly heterosexual. The bluer the stone became, the more the wearer embraced their homosexuality. The storekeeper initially assumed the jeweler was just trying to unload crates of unsold mood rings from the Seventies with a modern angle that might make them appealing to gay couples getting married. (He also offered an XX line for lesbians, which accounted for the hot pink stone on the saleswoman's ring finger.) But the jewelry maker assured her that what made the rings mystical was their power to nudge the wearer along that sliding scale until they reached the point where they felt most comfortable in their own skin. At first, that seemed like an extravagant claim, but the saleslady had seen the jeweler's promises borne out hundreds of times now and, from the evidence before her, Damon had become far more comfortable with his gayness since last night. After she finished ringing up Damon's items on the antique cash register, the saleslady asked if Damon needed anything else. "Or perhaps a gift for you friend?" Damon would love to surprise Q with a gift, but he hesitated, informing the saleslady, "I don't want to buy him any clothes, because they might be too small for him. If he gets this new job today, they're probably going to want him to pack on a lot more muscle." She heard the magic word and brought out her jewelry box, selecting a pair of wide bracelets made from leather and silver. They had a very rough-hewn macho look, like something a gladiator or Thor would wear, and Damon thought Quinn would look fierce in them. "I'll take them!", he shouted without even asking the price. The saleslady rang it up and noticed that Damon was still studying the jewelry box in search of something else. "I don't suppose you sell...another kind of ring." "What kind of ring?" Damon blushed, his freshly-cleansed pale skin serving as a flesh-and-blood mood ring, turning practically scarlet. Although no one else was in the store, Damon still felt embarrassed to ask, so he whispered his request in the saleslady's ear. She nodded and gestured for him to follow her into the back of the shop. * * * Quinn was pumped! After Quinn's cloudburst of an audition, the director asked him to remain in the area for a while until they finished seeing the other actors. So, for a couple of hours, Quinn wandered the parking lot, picked up a protein shake from the Jamba Juice at the mall across the street, then returned to his car to wait until the director needed him again. God, he loved it here. Back home, the leaves would be falling soon and the air would be turning crisp already, while he could sit in his convertible with the seat leaned back and his shirt off, working on his tan. An assistant finally came out to tell Quinn they were ready for him. When he started to put his shirt back on, the assistant told him, "That won't be necessary." Quinn returned to the audition room, expecting to do a full audition, since he'd only said about ten sentences during his earlier tirade, but the director informed him they had heard enough. Quinn felt dejected, like he was being held after school to get a scolding on the way real professionals behave. Instead, the director informed Quinn that he had the role. Inside his head, Quinn felt like leaping ten feet high, but he retained his reserved Alexander-ish demeanor and simply stated, "You won't be sorry." Once he was on the studio lot, Quinn would have a personal trainer in the show's private fitness center, but since Quinn's first episode wouldn't shoot for a couple of weeks, they wanted him to hit the gym heavily in the meantime. His body was well on its way to perfection, but for maximum tittilation value, the soap writers set a high proportion of the show's scenes in bedrooms, bathrooms, locker rooms, saunas, massage parlors, laundry rooms -- anyplace that the male actors could conceivably display a lot of skin. For a story arc about an academic cheating scandal, the writers had even bandied about the notion of a clothing-optional library. Wags in the press had long ago dubbed the show "Topless Hospital" and "The Hung and the Shirtless". "As a gay character," the director said to Quinn, "it would seem unlikely that your physique would be less spectacular than the straight characters, wouldn't you say? You do feel comfortable playing a gay character, don't you?" "Absolutely," said Quinn as his ring became a touch more brilliant. Quinn wanted to share the good news with Damon immediately, but he didn't want to do it over the phone. He wanted to see Damon's face. He leapt into the convertible without even opening the door and sped back to his apartment. Climbing out, he slipped on a ribbed purple tank top from his gym bag, slung his dress shirt, suit coat and tie over his arm and walked toward his front door. A veritable bunker of shopping bags was piled by his front door, and extending from behind them were two alluringly slim, smooth legs, feet in blue flip-flops with blue painted toenails. Had Renee already returned from her commercial shoot in Baja? Shit, she did send him that damn text message this morning and he never even looked at it. But why was she sitting outside, when she had Quinn's spare key? "I'm sorry, baby. You been waiting long?", said Quinn as he rounded the corner. "I don't mind," said the soft-voiced man seated on Quinn's welcome mat. Quinn leapt back, startled by the stranger, then became even more startled when he realized this was no a stranger. It was Damon, but he was virtually unrecognizable from the sexual dynamo he'd left on his futon this morning, let alone the shy and awkward man he had he known since college. "I didn't see your car out front," said Quinn, as if that was the reason for the look of shock on his face. "Fascist cops towed it away. I must have parked where I shouldn't have. Far as I'm concerned, they can keep it. I can't be seen in a monstrosity like that." Damon struggled to his feet and pointed to some of the shopping bags surrounding him. "Can you help me with these, babe?" Quinn grabbed two bags and unlocked the door. Damon preceded him into the living room, and Quinn was hypnotized by the waggle of Damon's ass in white short-shorts that ran out of fabric before his glutes ran out of curves. A baby-blue fishnet tank top covered Damon's now hairless torso, and silver studs now adorned both of his earlobes. His fingernails were coated with the same navy-blue nail polish as his toenails, and his face had a refreshed appearance that made him appear even more boyish than usual. But it was Damon's hair that commanded the most attention. Although it had been buzzed to the scalp on the sides last night, the top had been left fairly thick and messy. Now, the hair on top was dyed a rich shade of blue that matched his eyes and stood in dozens of gelled spikes. Damon couldn't help admiring himself in the reflection on the microwave door. "Maybe I read too much anime as a kid and had too many crushes on cartoon Asian boys with blue hair, but I fuckin' love it. Don't you fuckin' love it?" He could never have imagined it, but Quinn had to admit that it did work with the rest of Damon's new look. "I do, but it's so...different." "Different is what I want. I've had 23 years to be the same." Damon sat his little butt on the edge of the futon and leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees as he looked up expectantly at Quinn. "So...how did the audition go?" Quinn wanted to draw out the suspense, but he was so eager to share the news, he was about to burst. He spoke softly with as blank an expression as he could manage. "I got it." Damon's high-pitched squeal triggered a frenzy of barking from the dogs next door. Just as he had envisioned, Damon leapt into the air, wrapping his slender arms around Quinn's neck and his bare legs around Quinn's waist. Quinn gave Damon a soulful French kiss and inhaled deeply. "What have you been drinking? You taste like Kool-Aid", he asked when he pulled his mouth away from Damon's. "Oh, I'm wearing fruit-punch-flavored lipstick," Damon explained. "Just a little. Also a little eyeliner. And some mascara. You like?" "As the actor in this relationship, I thought I'd be the one wearing the makeup." He smiled, then noticed Damon's expression suddenly turning serious. "What's the matter?" Damon seemed ready to sob. "You just called this a relationship." He grinned as a tear formed in the corner of his eye and, for the first time in his life, Damon had to worry about runny mascara. Quinn hugged Damon's thin ribcage tightly, fearing he could snap the poor little guy if he squeezed any harder. "Oh, I got you a gift," Damon declared, motioning for Quinn to lower him to the floor. "To congratulate you for getting the part." "But you didn't know I'd gotten the part." "Positive thinking!", Damon shouted as he rummaged through his shopping bags. Quinn thought Damon was nearly broke, but he had clearly gone on a massive shopping spree. Damon flung bright pastel shirts and gold lame vests and sequined socks onto the floor. Quinn even thought he spotted Renee's striped shirt and black leggings among the pile, but he was sure he was mistaken. Finally, Damon found what he was looking for and handed the two leather and silver cuffs to Quinn. "For my macho macho man," Damon said. Quinn looked at them, impressed with the craftsmanship but unsure if they were exactly him. "Thank you so much, Damie, but you really shouldn't have." "I should have and I did. Try them on!" Quinn unbuckled them and strapped them onto each wrist. Just like when he tried on the ring last night, he felt a comforting warmth in his body as soon as the cuffs were in place. Maybe they weren't Quinn's type of accessory, but he could certainly see Alexander wearing them. They felt like battle armor, like something Alexander the Great might have worn leading his troops. Maybe Alexander in the soap sees himself as a modern-day Alexander the Great, Quinn thought. Not that Quinn knew much about Alexander the Great, aside from that stupid movie his girlfriend at the time made him watch where Colin Farrell and Jared Leto had the hots for each other. "Mmmm, Colin and Jared," thought Quinn. "Maybe that movie was better than I gave it credit for." A slight buzz and heaviness spread through his muscles, as if he had just finished a heavy workout -- which reminded him... "I gotta go work out. They said I'm gonna have a lot of shirtless scenes, so the show wants me to get more ripped." Damon grinned. "My heavens, I am gonna watch this show on a constant loop." "You wanna come work out with me? Then afterwards, we can have a celebratory dinner." Damon, for whom working out had always been a slog, clapped excitedly, then searched his bags for his new workout clothes. When they arrived at the gym, for once it was Damon drawing the curious eyes. Not that Quinn was completely ignored, but here he was but one of hundreds of muscleheads. As far as Quinn could tell, Damon was the only blue-haired pixie in a Madonna "True Blue" t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, old-fashioned scrotum-length running shorts and electric-blue Chuck Taylors. As Quinn headed toward the free weights, Damon hung back by the treadmills. "Aren't you coming over to lift with me?", Quinn asked. "I'm gonna work on my calves. You go play with the lummoxes. But I'll have my eye on you, Q, so don't get too friendly with any of them." "Promise," Quinn said, rushing back for a kiss and another dose of Damon's fruity lipstick, which he would continue to taste throughout his workout. Quinn was practically delirious. He was prone to falling into relationships quickly, with his swift courtship of Renee being the most recent example, but he'd never felt quite so smitten with anyone as he was with Damon. Then again, it's not like they rushed into this. They had been acquainted for several years already, but until yesterday Quinn hadn't even acknowledged certain tendencies in himself. He always was a little slow to catch on. Quinn worked his way in with the muscle beasts whose inflated bodies made him feel puny. He never wanted to look that absurd, and would draw the line if the show suggested that he take steroids or any other drugs. He wanted any muscle growth to be natural -- unaware that, as soon as he began to lift wearing the new cuffs that Damon had given him, they would start to work their own mysterious magic on his muscle tone. It started slowly, as he noticed that the usual weights he could curl and bench felt surprisingly easy today. He attributed that to his great mood and the adrenaline rush of landing the part on the soap. But when he moved up to the next heaviest weight, that too was a breeze. He had to go up a full fifty pounds before he started feeling any strain at all. With each set of curls, his arms were swelling massively, his biceps veins snaking in sharp relief on top of them. By the end of his workout, he was handling as much weight as the WWE wannabes surrounding him, and his bulging muscles were testing the limits of the seams on his tank top. Sprinting on the treadmill, Damon watched with fascination, turned on by the sight of Quinn's expanding lats within his purple tank. When the two men hit the showers together, Damon didn't even attempt to hide the erection he was getting. Quinn had never been one to check out other guys' dicks in the locker room, but he figured Damon was fair game now. He was amazed to see that Damon's cock was several inches longer than it had been last night -- bigger than Quinn's now! -- and was that...a cock ring? Yup, the silver beauty that Damon had been afraid to ask for out loud was now working its own form of magic on Damon. Back in the locker room, Quinn attempted to pull on his plaid flannel shirt, but it was tight on his arms in a way it never had been before. When he tried to pull the buttons toward the buttonholes, he heard loud ripping sounds as the sleeves separated at the shoulder and his lats tore a slit straight down the back. He was maintaining an incredible post-workout pump, with a deep crevice between his pecs and sharper definition in his abs. His briefs were a tighter squeeze than usual. He had to lie down on a bench and pull like hell to get his pants over his quads, and there was no way his zipper was going all the way to the top. His sneakers were the only things that fit remotely well. He lay on the bench, defeated and barely clothed. "I'd say our Q needs to go shopping again," said Damon, hovering over him, amused. Quinn looked up and witnessed the latest incarnation of Damon. He had washed out the gel, so his blue hair now hung across his forehead in choppy bangs that grazed his eyebrows. He wore a silver button-down shirt with the short sleeves rolled up to display his modest biceps, a vintage hand-painted necktie, tight tweed slacks turned up at the cuffs, baby-blue socks and black-and-white wingtips. Quinn suddenly felt like a schlub. "I'll only go shopping if you pick out what I buy." Quinn entered Damon's favorite shop wearing sweatpants and no shirt. The same saleslady was at her usual post, and she noticed the cuffs on Quinn's wrists and the dramatic renovations they had already performed on his body. Quinn wasn't nearly as fussy as he had been last night. With the ring and now the leather cuffs, he felt he'd truly found his center as Alexander...and he felt pretty secure as Quinn too. The selection of clothes that fit Quinn's new size was limited, but when he tried on a blue sharkskin suit, Damon swooned. Quinn didn't want to invest in more clothes right now, not knowing if today's growth spurt was a one-time event, but this ought to do for tonight. They found a romantic French restaurant where they only had to wait two hours for a table, giving time for the men to have their longest sustained conversation ever. Damon's memories of his own past seemed to be receding like a bad dream, with only the past 24 hours feeling real to him, so they mostly talked about their hopes for the future. After an extraordinary candlelit dinner fueled by much wine, Damon asked if he could drive the convertible home. Quinn asked, "Can you drive a stick?" Damon cupped a hand under the newly hefty bulge in his pants and assured Quinn that he could. Damon tooled down Wilshire Boulevard, frequently glancing over at the sharp-dressed hunk in the passenger seat and smiling. When he passed the usual turn-off, Quinn asked, "Wasn't that my street?" Damon just smirked and kept driving toward the setting sun. When they arrived at the coast, a jazz band was playing a free concert on the Santa Monica Pier. Damon parked the car and led Quinn toward the music. They hung on the edge of the crowd, Quinn with his arms around Damon, taking in the sights and sounds of the band and the sky and the ocean and the carnival rides, while remaining in their own little world. As a slow song began to play, Quinn asked if Damon would like to dance. "I thought you would never ask," said Damon. "Literally." Having been performing in musicals since he was in seventh grade, Quinn was by far the superior dancer, but he took it easy on his partner, just swaying back and forth as Damon rested his blue hair against Quinn's chest. Quinn stared at the darkening sky and wondered how it was possible for his life to have changed so radically in a single day. He had no idea that Damon was thinking the same thing. When the concert ended, they returned to the convertible. This time Quinn drove, with Damon reclining so his head rested in Quinn's lap. He offered to blow Quinn as he drove, but Quinn did not want to end this perfect day by plowing into a freeway overpass while cumming on his windshield. Damon agreed to wait until they got home, contenting himself with nuzzling the hardening bulge under Quinn's shiny pants. Once they reached Quinn's place, they had almost completely undressed each other in the short distance between the car and the front door. They stumbled inside and fell immediately onto the futon. Damon's cock grew stiff and rigid as he kneaded Quinn's impressive new muscles. He pushed Quinn down and straddled him, guiding the head of his cock toward Quinn's ass. Quinn flinched. "What're you doing down there, young man?" "I'm taking my new pink Cadillac for a test drive," Damon grinned. "First you drive my convertible, now this? When did you get so aggressive?" "Since I realized what I wanted." Damon eased the head of his cock into the virgin territory of Quinn's tight hole. Quinn shouted, his arms spread wide to grip the sides of the futon, his ring now a bright turquoise, just like Damon's. Damon bent down and kissed Quinn's chest, whispering, "It's okay, baby, it's okay." As Damon's cock pressed deeper inside of him, the agony shifted to pleasure for Quinn, as he experienced a feeling he never knew he could crave. He spread his powerful hands over Damon's ass cheeks and helped provide thrust for Damon. When Damon came inside Quinn, they both moaned with satisfaction. After cuddling for a while, Damon offered to let Quinn fuck him, but Quinn took a rain check, already having had more excitement today than he could have possibly expected. "In that case," said Damon, "I need to take a leak." He leapt from the futon and scurried naked into the bathroom. Quinn lay spread-eagled, toying with his semi-hard cock and suddenly feeling envious of Damon's endowment. Moonlight filtered through the venetian blinds, illuminating the floor which was scattered with their discarded clothes and Damon's purchases from earlier in the day. Quinn noticed a shadow moving past the blinds, but thought nothing of it until he heard a key sliding into the lock. He scrambled to find something to wear as the door swung open and Renee switched on the lights. She was lugging two suitcases and looked haggard, her usually stylish hair now a straggly mess. Quinn had only managed to get one leg of his sharkskin pants up to his knee. "Renee! You're here!", shouted Quinn, trying to make up in volume what he lacked in enthusiasm. She rubbed her eyes with exhaustion. "The shoot was canceled because a hurricane was heading for Baja. Didn't you get my text?" Oh fuck, Quinn thought, I never did read that fucking text. "Yeah, of course I did. I just didn't expect you back so soon." Renee glanced at the shambles of the room and said, "No, apparently not. What the hell happened here?" "I, uh, just went on a shopping spree to celebrate. I wanted to wait to tell you when you got back. I got the part on that soap!" "You did? That's great, honey." She walked over to hug Quinn, who gave her a friendly hug back. Renee was amazed by Quinn's size. "My god, how did you get so huge?" "What do you mean? Just good diet and exercise." Renee cast a skeptical eye. "I've only been away for two days. Nobody balloons like this in two days." She looked at the slim-fitting clothes strewn about the floor. "I'll tell you one thing, you're never going to fit into any of these baby clothes you bought. Didn't you try any of them on before you bought them?" Just then, Renee noticed her own striped shirt and leggings among the other clothes. She picked them up and showed them to Quinn. "What are these doing out?" "I don't know. Honestly." And he WAS being honest. About that. Renee heard a flush in the bathroom and her eyes turned accusingly toward Quinn. "Do you have another woman here?" "What? No. NO. Absolutely not. Listen, why don't you go back to your place and get a good night's sleep and we can talk about all this in the morning when we've got clearer heads?" He tried maneuvering her toward the front door, but she outflanked him and dashed toward the bathroom door. She was about to knock when some naked twink with blue hair and a silver cock ring swung the door open. He smiled with surprise upon seeing Renee. "Oh, hi!", he said, grinning. But as Renee reeled, looking back and forth from Quinn to Damon and trying to piece together what was going on, Damon put a hand to his lips and said, with concern, "Oh." Renee felt like she had stepped into an alternate universe. The last thing she expected when she returned to L.A. was to discover her boyfriend Quinn's body had suddenly become so jacked. No, that's not true. The last thing she expected was to discover a blue-haired boytoy hiding naked in Quinn's bathroom. Scratch that. The last thing she expected was to discover that the blue boy in question was that sweet mild-mannered guy Damon who had first introduced Renee to Quinn. She was now seated at Quinn's kitchen table across from Quinn and Damon. As soon as Damon emerged from the bathroom, Renee demanded an explanation. Quinn said she was owed that, but asked if they could at least get dressed first. Quinn pulled on the pants of the sharkskin suit he had bought earlier in the evening but he remained distractingly shirtless. Damon poked through the piles of his new clothes that were scattered around the living room floor, his pale white butt pointing up as he bent down. Renee turned away, embarrassed...after first taking an astonished look at Damon's surprisingly hefty penis. She would never have suspected he was so gifted down there, proving that you can't judge a cock by its cover. Damon finally slipped into a bowling shirt and a pair of fashionably pre-torn blue jeans and walked over to the table, handing Renee a blue-and-white striped shirt and some black leggings. "These are actually yours." "Yes, I know." Renee tossed them aside. "Do you have anything else that's actually mine?" Damon shook his head silently. Damon took a seat beside Quinn at the table. He wanted so much to lean against Quinn's powerful shoulder for support, but that wouldn't be helpful in this situation. Instead, he brought his left foot onto his chair, placed both hands upon his hairless knee where it poked through a hole in his jeans, then rested his chin upon his hands. Quinn sat upright with his hands folded on the tabletop. Arms crossed, Renee took a deep breath and tried to speak as calmly as possible. "So, can you tell me what exactly I walked into here?" Quinn and Damon looked at each other with puzzled expressions. Neither was quite positive how to describe what had happened in the past day and a half. Damon deferred to Quinn, who took his best shot. "Well, you know I was having trouble getting a fix on this character I auditioned for." "The gay guy," said Renee. "Right, the gay guy. I just wasn't feeling like I had a grasp of who he was, what he would look like, how his mind worked, what his needs were. So I asked Damie...Damon to come over and give me his advice." "I see. And where did he give his advice first? In your mouth or in your ass?" Both Damon and Quinn were outraged by this remark and shouted loudly. Renee immediately regretted it, and she motioned for the guys to quiet down. "I'm sorry. That was rude. But I think you can understand that this all has me a little...shaken up." Quinn reached over and held her right hand in his left. "I do understand. These past couple of days have been a whirlwind for us too." Renee looked down at Quinn's comforting hand and noticed the unfamiliar turquoise ring on his finger. Confused, she glanced over at Damon and saw an identical piece of jewelry on his hand. She let go of Quinn's hand. "Are you guys wearing matching rings?" Quinn pulled his hand back, and Damon covered his ring with his chin. Quinn insisted, "It's not what you think. It's not like we're a couple or anything." Damon glanced at Quinn, miffed. It may have been a whirlwind, but Damon had indeed begun thinking of them as a couple. "Oh, so you're not a couple," said Renee. "You just happen to have bought each other identical rings." "We didn't buy them for each other. I bought them both," said Quinn, not exactly helping. Renee looked at the clock on the microwave. It was 2:17am and she felt ready to collapse. "Can you just tell me if you two have been...doing this since we started dating?" Before Quinn could reply, Damon reached across the table and took Renee's hand. "No, Renee. I would never in a million years try to break up a couple." Renee stared at Damon's painted nails, then looked him in the eyes. "Isn't that precisely what you've done?" She then turned to Quinn and said, "I guess I can't be totally surprised. I've dated enough actors to know...that I should stop dating actors. But you're such a regular dude. I have a hard time picturing you being happy with..." She tried to come up with an apt description of the blue-haired waif across the table. "With some refugee from a rave." She stood, taking her shirt and leggings in her arms. She crossed the room, opened the front door, grabbed her suitcases and said, "I'll come back tomorrow and pick up the rest of my things. Let me know when you two won't be here. I wouldn't want to interrupt anything." She walked outside and the door closed behind her. Quinn stared at the door, feeling sad for Renee without feeling any remorse for what he and Damon had done. Damon also felt bad for Renee but had no regrets. He and Quinn had merely been carried away by irresistible, repressed longing for each other, right? Right? Quinn had run out of words for the day. He walked over to the futon and fell onto it face-first. Within a minute, he was snoring. Damon walked over, sat beside Quinn on the bed and slid his hand gently across Quinn's broad, well-muscled back. Damon glanced at his clothes scattered about the floor and began to put them back in his shopping bags. He slipped on his flip-flops, quietly carried his bags outside and gently shut the door behind him. On his iPhone, he looked up the address for the city impound lot, then called a taxi to take him there to get his car. * * * In the morning, Damon woke up alone and naked on his own futon, back in his own crummy apartment. He looked at the pile of shopping bags heaped by the front door and knew he had to go back to work today to start building up the money to pay off his credit cards. He walked into the bathroom and took a look in the mirror. He had looked so different the last time he was at work, a mere two days ago. He was bound to be the talk of the office today, walking in with blue hair and pierced ears. He could minimize the impact by removing the blue nail polish and wearing some of his lackluster old clothes, but he'd be slipping right back into the old camouflage that had kept people from noticing him for so long. He didn't plan to hide himself any more. Let them talk. Damon could handle it. The arrival of the new version of Damon in the office was almost a non-event. Partly it was because Damon had chickened out a bit and worn the least showy of the various outfits he had bought yesterday, even if a coral polo, white cargos and leather sandals were nothing like the nondescript clothes he typically wore. Partly it was because they were in L.A., where it seemed that most of the population lived their lives in a constant quest to be noticed, discovered and given their own reality show. But mostly it was because no one was really surprised that Damon was gay, no matter how meek and restrained his behavior had been. The blue hair was a surprising choice, but perhaps he had needed to make a bold, definitive statement. Most of his co-workers just felt relieved that they could stop using neutral pronouns when asking Damon if he had a "significant other" of if he had any plans to do anything with "anyone" on a holiday weekend. * * * Quinn's dreams were stressful all night. When he woke up, he felt like he'd just spent six hours watching Renee, Damon and Alexander have one non-stop argument. That's odd, thought Quinn. Why was Alexander in the fight and not me? But Alexander had been more forceful in defending his position than Quinn had been when he was trying to explain things to Renee. Alexander was unapologetic. If he wanted something -- or someone -- he found a way to get it, and felt no regrets for anyone who got hurt in the process. Much better than wishy-washy Quinn who might put on a tough act but, as soon as the performance ended, went right back to trying to be everyone's friend. Right now, Alexander's viewpoint had greater clarity, and seemed to be more defensible. Quinn noticed the time and would have to hustle to get to the studio for his first meeting with the cast and crew. No time for a shower, and as he reached for his deodorant, he realized he felt no need to cover up his natural scent. Checking himself in the mirror, he could swear he looked even more pumped this morning. His serratus anterior were much more clearly defined over his ribs, and the V leading into his shorts was more prominent. The stay-at-home moms of America -- as well as the gay guys with DVRs -- were going to enjoy seeing Alexander back on their favorite soap. He pulled on the white Oxford shirt he had worn last night, rolling up the cuffs to expose the bracelets that Damon had given him. His chest must have expanded overnight too, as the top three buttons of the shirt couldn't reach their buttonholes. He tucked the shirt tails into his sharkskin pants, the only pants he owned that would fit him any more. Quinn felt his ego swell as he gave his name at the gate and was waved onto the lot. Sure, it was only a soap opera, but he could tell you a dozen great actors who served their time in soaps on their way to the Oscars. All he needed was a platform where people could notice him and he would be on his way. A staffer from the show met him and guided him to the soundstage, where he spotted Lionel, the British director he had met yesterday at the audition. He was reintroduced to the show's producer and head writer, Betsy, who had also been there. She complimented him on his performance. "I've never seen anyone rebound from catastrophe to triumph quite so spectacularly. That's just what we want to see in Alexander." Lionel breezed over and asked Betsy a quick question before the next take. He was delighted to see Quinn. "Why if it isn't our Alexander! Good to see you again, my boy. And aren't you fliing out that shirt nicely today. Don't get too used to that. You know our motto here: It's either 'no shirts' or 'no show'." Betsy led Quinn on a quick tour of the set and introduced him to more people than he could ever hope to remember, including the cameramen, makeup people, even the other writers. When they got to wardrobe, two costumers sized up the new arrival. "It'll be a pleasure to dress you," said a slender young man, while his older female counterpart remarked, "Before the writers figure out how to undress you." "Yeah, I've heard that clothing isn't a big chunk of the budget here," said Quinn. Betsy asked Quinn to take off his shirt. "Maybe it'll give our designers here some ideas." Quinn did as he was asked, although he figured the male costumer was already getting ideas before Quinn disrobed. Betsy was surprised to see how pumped Quinn looked today. "That's funny. We were a little worried that you weren't buff enough yesterday, but I can't imagine why we thought that." "Ooh," said the young designer, "I really like those leather cuffs. You'll have to tell me where you got them. And what an interesting ring. Is that sapphire?" "Honestly, I don't know what it is. But I was hoping I could actually wear these things on the show. They seem like the sort of stuff that Alexander would wear, and they really helped me find the character." Betsy nodded and said they would consider it. As the designers took initial measurements for Alexander's wardrobe. Quinn idly fiddled with his ring. His fingers had grown beefier, like the rest of his body. They might be forced to let him wear the ring as part of his costume, because it didn't seem like it was going to budge. He heard a knock on the door and saw three very fit and handsome young men hanging in the doorway. "We heard there was new meat," said the swarthy one in the front. "Welcome to Topless Hospital, Alexander." * * * At the end of the workday, several of Damon's co-workers asked if he wanted to join them at happy hour to celebrate the end of the week. Damon was surprised and attributed their friendliness to his new look and attitude. If he thought back, he would have recalled that they were all very friendly to him when he started on the job, frequently inviting him to go drinking or to come to someone's party, but after Damon consistently turned them down out of shyness and insecurity, they stopped asking. Damon still turned them down tonight, but at least he had a genuine excuse to offer for once. "I think I'll be doing something with my fr...my BOYfriend," he smiled, shutting down his computer. He felt light on his feet as he strolled to the parking garage and called Quinn. Damn. Voicemail. "Hi, babe, it's Damon. Damie. Hope everything was extra special on your first day! I was thinking we could go out for sushi and then I saw online there's a big dance at Arena which we might want to do after." Maybe he was being too bossy. Didn't want to spoil things by pushing too hard. "Unless you've got other ideas. Whatever. Anyway, give me a call and let me know, okay? Okay, byeeee." He hung up and considered texting too, but he didn't want to seem too needy. Quinn was probably still busy at the studio. Damon was sure he would call back when he got the chance. * * * "More tequila!", shouted Enrico, who played a brooding but sexy doctor on the soap. He was seated at the innermost side of the round booth at the Mexican restaurant, with each arm hanging over the shoulders of a large-breasted young woman. "And more chips!", shouted Terry, who played a streetwise but sexy doctor on the soap and whose entire left hand was currently inserted below the waistline of the tight jeans worn by the buxom young woman who was currently nibbling his ear in the booth. "And more salsa!", shouted Chad, who played a naive but sexy doctor on the soap and was currently "Lady and the Tramp"-ing a nacho chip clenched in his teeth, crunching his way toward the giggly young woman attempting to keep the other end of the chip between her front teeth. "And more tequila!", shouted Quinn, who had just spent his first day getting to know his future co-stars and was now getting a first-hand glimpse of the kind of raucousness one could drum up on a Friday night with the benefit of minor televised fame and a secure paying gig. Not that outgoing, handsome guys like these would have had trouble making friends at any bar they entered, but they became even more popular when they told these girls that they were footing the bill. Terry leaned over to Quinn and whispered, "We know you're not on salary yet. We'll cover you too. Just have fun!" At the moment, Quinn was having fun with the petite young woman sitting on his knee who was rubbing her hand across the smooth skin of Quinn's chest through the gap in his open shirt. She couldn't stop telling him how much she loved men with big muscles. Someone else at the table must have felt the same way, as Quinn felt bare toes sliding their way under the cuff of his pants and along his shin. At first, he suspected "Lady", but she was sitting fully on the bench of the booth with her feet tucked underneath her butt. No, the mystery footsie player was "the Tramp". Chad may be playfully eating chips for the rest of the world to see, but his tootsies were privately making moves on Quinn. The woman on Quinn's knee took Quinn's sudden erection as a compliment and gave him a big kiss, but Quinn kept his eyes fixed on Chad. When the four actors finally staggered out of the cantina, Quinn had ditched the petite woman and was having trouble finding where to insert the key into the lock of his car -- even thought it was an unlocked convertible with the top and windows down. Chad wandered over, asking if Quinn needed any help. Quinn informed him, "I'm fine." "You sure are," Chad whispered in Quinn's ear, discreetly sliding his palm across Quinn's crotch. Quinn turned instinctively to kiss him, but Chad pulled back. "Not here. Come with me, I've got a beach house." Chad yelled to Enrico and Terry, "Looks like the newbie's a lightweight. I'm gonna make sure he gets home. See you guys on Monday!" Quinn followed Chad to his car, which turned out to be a red Corvette. It took all of Quinn's remaining self-control not to ejaculate then and there. He climbed into the passenger seat and placed his hand lovingly on the stick shift. Chad shut his door, put his hand on top of Quinn's and planted a kiss on Quinn's lips. Quinn felt like his body was liquefying. As the Corvette roared away toward the coast, a faint buzz was emerging from the trunk of Quinn's convertible back in the parking lot. When Quinn had gone to pump some iron with the other guys at the show's full-service exercise room, Quinn had tossed his cell phone into his gym bag. Where it still sat. In Quinn's trunk. * * * Damon hung up, frustrated that Quinn wasn't calling him back. Maybe he'd "come to his senses" and gone back to Renee. Damon started to beat himself up for becoming so attached so quickly to Quinn, when Quinn obviously could have pretty much anyone he wanted...of any gender. But before he could sink into depression, Damon rallied his spirits. While draining the last of a bottle of white wine he had bought on the way home, a bottle he had hoped he would be sharing with Quinn, Damon was modeling for himself in the bathroom mirror, trying on various items of his new wardrobe. He wrapped his arms around his smooth body, pursed his lips and waggled his semi-hard cock which hung loose through his fly. "Suck my dick, Quinn Brooks," he shouted defiantly. He stuffed his phone and wallet into a kicky little man-purse, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door and into the night. Damon found a parking spot on the street a mere six blocks away from the club. He had gelled his blue hair so it jutted straight forward, hanging off his head like an extended cliff in a Road Runner cartoon. He wore a sheer short-sleeved shirt, Levi cut-offs so short that the bottom of the pockets were hanging out, and a pair of navy-blue Keds. If he was at all hesitant about his first solo excursion into gay bars since his big transformation, it wasn't evident in his purposeful stride and steel-eyed glare. Tonight, he was definitely on the prowl. After 45 minutes waiting in line, Damon was reconsidering the wisdom of a sheer shirt and shorts on a chilly September night. By the time he got in, he was sure his skin was now color-coordinated with his hair, but it felt good to finally be indoors and surrounded by hundreds of male bodies which were both hot and warm. His energy level was high, he was making flirty eye contact, he was taking the initiative to start unintelligible shouted conversations as the beat pounded relentlessly and the floor periodically filled with fog. On the surface, he was having a good time, but it wasn't the same without Quinn nearby. Damon headed to the bar for another glass of wine and pulled his phone from his bag. Still no messages. Even when Quinn used to blow off all of Damon's invitations to go out and do something, he had been unfailingly polite in promptly getting back to Damon. This wasn't like him. At least it wasn't like the old him. Damon shoved his phone back into his bag and pulled out a wallet to pay for his drink. He heard a husky voice behind him say, "I got this one, cutie." Damon turned around and discovered an enormous bear of a man looming behind him. His long dark hair in a ponytail, the man wore a leather vest, pants and boots, and heavy silver chains around his neck. His chunky arms and chest were heavily tattooed, but it was hard to make out any of them due to his heavy body hair. Damon was pretty sure that was a mermaid on the guy's forearm, but the hair made her look more like a werewolf. "You look cold, little buddy," the man said as he paid for Damon's drink and ordered a Miller Lite for himself. "Maybe you could warm me up," said Damon, leaning against the bar and sticking out his ass provocatively. Damon didn't think this guy was really his type. Then again, he was barely out of the closet. How could he be so sure what his type was? He clinked his wine glass with the man's beer can and smiled, wishing Quinn would return his calls. * * * The Corvette reached Chad's oceanside home astonishingly quickly, or maybe Quinn just hadn't been paying attention to the time or the traffic. Through the entire drive, his eyes had been fixed on Chad, his collar-length strawberry-blond curls, his slightly pug nose, his plump lips, the whisps of facial hair, the freckles on his suntanned skin, his toned biceps and triceps which flexed every time he turned the steering wheel, his strong hands wrapped in leather driving gloves. Quinn had never felt free to ogle another man blatantly like this and he was enjoying the sensation. Sure, he had been checking out Damon's body over the past couple of days, and he appreciated Damon's loyalty and friendship. Maybe he even loved the little guy. But Alexander would never let a prime cut of meat like Chad go undevoured. And could Quinn really give an authentic performance as the sexually omnivorous Alexander if the only gay sex he'd ever had was with one twink? Chad kept the lights low as they entered his cozy beach house. The sound of the waves, crashing then receding, provided a constant pulse that echoed through the building. As he followed Chad, he couldn't help but notice how many framed photos of Chad lined the walls and were propped on the furniture. No photos of Chad with anyone, just solo shots of him fishing or surfing, plus plenty of publicity headshots. Most of the living room had been made into a home gym, with windows offering an amazing view of the ocean to the west and floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining the south wall. "Want anything?", Chad asked from the kitchen. The refrigerator door was open, stocked with healthy foods and protein shakes on the lower shelves but an entire shelf of various beers at the top. Quinn also noticed that Chad had casually shed all of his clothes on the way to the kitchen, and the refrigerator light was now illuminating Chad's impressive musculature and outlining the shape of his substantial cock. Quinn stripped off his shirt and strode confidently into the kitchen, tilting Chad's head back and wrapping his lips around Chad's. Chad loosened Quinn's belt and tried to nudge Quinn's pants down, but Quinn's muscles had grown again today and the pants would not slip easily around Quinn's now massive glutes. Quinn grabbed one side of his open fly in each hand, pulling apart and shredding the fabric enough that he could step out of his pants. Chad tried to say something, but Quinn's tongue in his mouth made him unintelligible. He pulled back and breathlessly instructed Quinn, "The bench, the bench," pointing across the room to the home gym. The two impressive physical specimens made their way across the living room without ever letting each other go. Quinn sat down on an exercise bench and lowered Chad's ass onto his now erect penis. Quinn was rock-hard and was really getting off on Chad's body. Chad was also getting off on Chad's body. Chad moaned with pleasure as he gazed at his ecstatic expression in the mirror. He reached up and grabbed the lat pulldown bar on the exercise machine, both to steady himself and to study how beautifully the refrigerator light outlined his exquisite deltoids and biceps. He pulled down the bar to give himself a little extra pump to admire. After Quinn came the first time, they switched over to the inclined press bench. After that, the sofa. Then, the carpet. Eventually, the beach. Occasionally, Quinn would try to ask a question, but Chad shushed him quickly each time, not wanting to be distracted from his own sensations. By the time the sun rose, Quinn felt he knew every inch of Chad's body and barely anything about Chad's brain. Inside his own brain, Quinn could hear Alexander asking, "Isn't that enough?" * * * Before he even opened his eyes, Damon knew something was wrong. The sounds around him were unfamiliar, for one thing. The din of freeway traffic was so deafening that he felt like he must be lying on an exit ramp. The mattress beneath him was so lumpy and uncomfortable, he thought it must be stuffed with bowling balls, and he could feel an errant spring poking through the fitted sheet and scratching against his stomach. His asshole felt raw, his stomach queasy, his mouth parched. As his tongue explored his mouth, it detected notes of alcohol, tobacco and rubber. His whole head felt funny, beyond a typical hangover. He felt drained of energy and lacking in confidence. In that respect, Damon felt just like...old Damon. He finally risked opening his eyes, which weren't ready for the blast of sunlight shining freely through the room's nearly transparent curtains. Damon was in a shabby motel room, with unexplainable splotches staining the stucco ceiling, decades of cigarette residue coating the wallpaper and god knows what mixture of bodily fluids clinging to the matted strands of green shag carpeting. He was lying naked on a double bed with grimy sheets and several used condoms. Careful where he stepped, Damon stood up and peeked through the drapes. No wonder the traffic sounded so loud -- the freeway couldn't have been more than forty feet away. Damon walked gingerly to the bathroom, where soggy towels covered the floor. He leaned against the sink and checked himself in the mirror for any damage, but his face and body were still smooth and pale, except for the thin pink scratch mark across his tummy from the bedspring. He had major blue bedhead and had lost the stud from his left ear somewhere, but his cock ring was still in place. He couldn't put a finger on what was missing until he noticed his finger. His left ring finger. His ring was gone! He tried to remember who he might have been here with. He knew it wasn't Quinn, although he wished it had been. The last thing he could remember was drinking far too much wine at the club with...some big hairy guy. A big hairy guy who was paying a lot of attention to Damon, pawing his skinny arms and his perky butt. Could he possibly have come here with that guy? He sucked on something caught in his front teeth and pulled out a short, curly, black hair. Not exactly DNA proof, but that pretty well confirmed his suspicions. He wondered how long ago the guy had left, and whether he would be returning. As Damon looked around the room, he couldn't find his clothes. He checked under the bed. No clothes, but he saw a few other items there which were currently in the midst of decaying. Nothing in any of the dresser drawers except for a bible, from which someone at some point had torn out the entire Old Testament. The people who used this room probably didn't consult the Ten Commandments all that often anyway. No clothes in the bathroom, no clothes behind the TV, no clothes hanging on the lampshade. Damon even poked his head out the door, but saw no clothes outside. Shit, did the big guy ditch him here and take all of his clothes as well as his ring? Why would anyone do that? Unless... Damon suddenly got a sinking feeling. He hadn't noticed his man-purse anywhere in the room either. Where he kept his iPhone. And his keys. And his wallet. With his credit cards. And his driver's license. That showed his home address. Which the big guy could be ransacking at this very moment. Wrapping a soggy bath towel around his skinny waist. Damon ran to the motel office and spoke to the woman working behind two sheets of bulletproof glass. He shouted through the slot at the bottom of the window, "Were you working last night when I checked in?" The woman droned, "Yes, sir." She couldn't say she spent much time studying the faces of the motel's guests, but she was fairly confident that only one scrawny blue-haired white boy had registered last night. "Do you remember who was with me? Maybe a big hairy guy? Leather vest?" She shook her head. "I don't recall anyone with you, sir." Damon banged his head against the window, rattling the bulletproof glass. He leaned down again and called weakly through the gap, "Thank you for your help." The woman said, mechanically, "You have a nice day, sir." Damon's bare feet slapped against the cement as he made his way back to the room. When he tried the knob, he realized that the door had locked behind him. But there hadn't been a key inside the room anyway. Besides, he had no belongings left in there to retrieve. Tying a tighter knot in the towel around his waist, Damon took a seat at the side of the motel's drained pool, dangling his feet into the air at the deep end. Sure, he felt ripped off and dejected, but there was something more bothering him. Those feelings of pride, confidence and self-worth which had elevated his mood in the past few days were totally gone and he had reverted back to the same old meek, self-doubting Damon. He had felt so great dancing with Quinn on the pier. No, the good feeling came earlier, when they were at the French restaurant. No, it was definitely earlier than that. When they were fucking, Damon thought, starting to wonder if he could really have been that lucky to go to bed with Quinn Brooks. But, no, he was feeling positive about himself even before the fucking. Way back in the old lady's shop when Quinn bought him... ...the ring! * * * Quinn woke to something hard beneath him and something sticky on his face. As he felt around, he realized he was flat on his chest on Chad's redwood balcony, his naked buns baking in the mid-morning sun. He reached up to his forehead, where a Post-It note had been attached. Quinn peeled it off and tried to read Chad's nearly illegible printing. "OUT 4 A GUN BRITE BUCK"? With a little more study, Quinn deciphered it as "OUT 4 A RUN. B RITE BACK." Quinn stood up, giving the neighbors brunching on their deck next door a clear view of Quinn Junior. Quinn just smiled and waved. "Morning!" Quinn slid open the balcony door and stepped into Chad's living room. He couldn't resist checking out his reflection in the wall of mirrors. Damn, you just keep getting better, he thought with a wicked smile, grabbing his cock in one hand while he reached for a banana with the other. He peeled the banana and devoured it quickly, then scoured the kitchen for more food. His metabolism must be going nuts with his body's sudden growth, as he was famished. He whipped up a protein smoothie, and then another, before he felt even slightly satisfied. The idea of a run along the beach sounded nice. Maybe he would catch up to Chad. He searched the house for running gear that would fit him. He located some Speedo Jammer shorts that he could just barely squeeze into and hit the beach barefoot. He was still getting used to carrying so much extra muscle, but his endurance seemed to have increased along with it, and he found himself racing along faster than he had ever run in his life. He spotted another runner sprinting ahead of him, his lean muscles clearly visible. If it were possible, this guy might have negative body fat. Quinn shifted into overdrive to catch up with the guy, then eased back to stay even. The runner clearly felt challenged, so he kicked it up and pulled away, but Quinn wasn't going to let him get away. For the next mile, the lead seesawed until Quinn finally hit the wall and collapsed on the sand. The other runner laughed, victorious, then jogged back toward Quinn, still moving to avoid cramping up. "You move pretty fast for such a big guy," the runner told him. Quinn would have responded, but he was still panting too heavily. "You got that much endurance at everything?" Quinn stared at the runner's shock of red hair, his gaunt but handsome face, his fit body and the bulge under his fluorescent yellow running shorts. Five minutes later, Quinn was underneath a pier, leaning against a support column with his hands clutching the runner's shoulder muscles. The runner's red hair bobbed back and forth as he worked his tongue along Quinn's arching shaft. Quinn brushed a thumb gently along the runner's cheek. When did I become such a slut?, Quinn wondered, but at that moment, he shot his load, dislodging any deeper thoughts for the time being. * * * It's amazing what people throw away, if you just go looking for it. Damon knew he wasn't going to make it all the way back to West Hollywood barefoot and wearing nothing but a towel. His car hadn't been in the motel's parking lot, meaning either the hairy guy had stolen it or they had driven here in the hairy guy's vehicle, reducing Damon's current options to walking or hitchhiking. He checked in dumpsters and trash cans as he walked along and, one by one, found discarded bits of clothing which more or less fit him. He ignored the stains and the stench that coated the sparkly stretch pants and the One Direction t-shirt. He spotted several pairs of sneakers hanging from their laces across telephone lines, but couldn't figure out a way to retrieve them. Eventually, he located a bamboo sandal for his right foot and a zebra-striped Vans slip-on for the left. Frankly, he had worn sillier outfits in the past few days. By the time he reached Melrose Avenue, he must have walked ten miles. He desperately needed water, he was developing blisters on his right foot, and his pale skin was guaranteed to be lobster-colored and painful by tomorrow morning. But it was worth it. He had finally made it to the old lady's store. He could get an answer to why both he and Quinn had experienced such radical changes, and why Damon had suddenly lost his mojo this morning. He reached the door and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. He noticed a little sign on the inside of the door bearing the face of a clock, declaring "WE'LL BE BACK" with the hands set to 2pm. Damon slumped to the sidewalk, exhausted. Enough pedestrians took pity on this pathetic-looking guy and tossed him spare change that he was able to buy himself a bottle of water at a convenience store across the street. Walking out of the store, he saw the old lady unlocking the door. Seeing a disheveled crazy man bolting through traffic mid-block and heading straight toward her, the shopkeeper hurriedly got inside and slammed the door in his face. Damon screamed through the front window, "You gotta tell me what's going on! Look, remember me?" He pointed to his blue hair. She finally realized who it was. "Someone stole my ring. I need your help!" The storekeeper unlocked the door and let him inside, reeling from his pungent aroma. When he moved toward a rack of delicate vintage clothes, she said, "Please don't stand by those. I'd never get the stench out." He looked too weak to stand, so she led him to her stool behind the counter. Damon finished off his bottle of water and took a minute to catch his breath before speaking softly. "I need you to tell me about those rings you sold us. What do they actually do?" She composed her thoughts. "Well, to put it simply, they help you become the person you want to be. They free you of your inhibitions and let you explore your options." "So the ring didn't make me dye my hair and everything else? It just gave me the balls to do it?" "The ring may have given your balls a little...nudge. The color of the ring showed where you were on the scale from black being totally straight to bright blue being totally gay. Only you can say where on that scale you feel the most genuinely yourself." Damon thought back. Before he put on the ring, he was barely acknowledging his sexuality, let alone embracing it. After the ring, he felt like he could be wild and try anything, no matter how outrageous. Maybe he had gone a little overboard, probably overcompensating for years of self-repression, but somewhere in the turquoise range, Damon felt like he was in a comfort zone, living his life the way he had always wished he could. "So if I want to feel that way again, I guess I need to buy another ring?" The woman took Damon's hand and assured him, "If the ring taught you who the real you is, then just be the real you. You don't need a ring for that." Damon considered that. Maybe the ring had helped him realize that he did have the strength to be himself. "But what about the ring you sold my friend?" "He asked for something that would make him feel gay. Didn't it work?" "It worked great. But he wanted to ACT gay! For a role! On TV! He didn't want to BE gay in real life!" "Are you sure about that?" Damon still wasn't, entirely. Quinn definitely embraced his changes once they started happening, but Damon was never sure if that was just research for his character. "So once he takes off the ring, I guess he'll go back to acting the way he did before?" "Maybe. Unless he decides he likes his new self better." Damon shook his head. If he hadn't seen and experienced these changes personally, he would never have thought them possible. "You really should've explained all this up front." "Ah, but life is all about unexpected discoveries. Think of all the fun you would have missed." Damon looked down at the hodgepodge of stinky clothing he was wearing and didn't feel very fun right now. "How about the other stuff you sold us? Like that cock ring? Did that read my mind too and adjust my cock to the length I liked best?" "No, that just made your penis bigger," she said, matter-of-fact. Damon shoulders sagged. "Could I borrow your phone, please?" She pointed Damon to a rotary phone on the wall in the back room, then had to talk him through how to use it. He wanted to call Quinn and check up on him, but he had no clue what Quinn's number was or really what anyone's number was. They were all stored in memory on Damon's stolen iPhone. Instead, he got the number for a cab company that could take him the rest of the way home. He borrowed money from the shopkeeper to pay for the taxi. When he reached his apartment, all he wanted to do was walk inside and collapse on his futon. But he got a bad feeling when he saw the key stuck in the front door. Damon turned the knob, swung the door open and discovered that the big hairy guy had indeed come by and stolen most of his belongings, including the futon. All of Damon's new clothes were gone, leaving behind only the dullest or most unsightly relics from his past. He really would be starting from scratch, but at least he now had a sense of where he wanted to end up. He wasn't likely to be as flamboyant as he had gotten in the past few days, but he would never go back to being Mr. Camouflage. * * * After his blowjob under the pier, Quinn kept strolling toward Venice Beach. When he reached the outdoor weightlifting area known as Muscle Beach, he stopped to watch the bodybuilders working out for the enjoyment of the spectators passing by. Quinn's own muscles had grown huge enough that he could fit right in, and he found himself itching to get in there and lift. He felt a gigantic palm on his chest as he tried to enter and a towering muscleman asked Quinn if he was a member. Quinn explained that he was just passing by and didn't have any money on him. A short but powerfully built man nearby shouted, "Tramon, let him in. I'll pay his fee for the day." Tramon let Quinn onto the hallowed ground, and Quinn approached his benefactor. "Thanks, man. You didn't have to do that." "Call me curious. I wanted to see if all those muscles were just for show." He extended his hand, told Quinn his name was Dwayne, and offered to spot Quinn on the clean-and-jerk. Half an hour later, Quinn and Dwayne were back at Dwayne's condo, smoking pot and jerking each other off. After a while, Quinn asked to borrow some clothes from Dwayne, then continued on his walking tour of the coast. He found himself locking eyes with every cute guy he walked past. Most of them looked away in disgust and embraced their girlfriends as proof of their lack of interest, but he did end up making out with three of them (two as a couple) before the sun went down. His needs were growing insatiable. He fell asleep on a bench and spent most of Sunday wandering up and down the beach, trying to remember where Chad lived. Eventually it occurred to him to call the office of the soap opera and ask if they could give him the address. When he finally convinced the operator that he was really a cast member on the show who had just started on Friday, he was patched through to a frantic production assistant, who immediately connected him to Betsy. "Where have you been? We've been trying to track you down all weekend!" "I dunno," said Quinn, "just kickin' back." "Everyone was so excited after meeting you that we've decided to introduce your character sooner, in the episode we shoot tomorrow. I've already emailed you the script pages." "Actually, I'm not at home and don't have access to a computer right now. Is there any way I can get a hard copy?" "Of course. Where are you?" Quinn looked around for a landmark. "I'm by the ocean." "Could you narrow that down a bit? At least tell me it's the Pacific." Quinn walked to the nearest streetcorner and gave her an address. A production assistant arrived within half an hour, and he asked the PA to drive him to the Mexican restaurant where his car was still parked. He went inside and ate a few burritos while he studied his script, then sat in the convertible for a few more hours, reading and rereading his lines. By the time he arrived at the studio in the morning, Quinn was locked in the zone, thinking like Alexander, being Alexander. Betsy was relieved to see Quinn and led him toward his dressing room, where she proudly pointed out the star bearing the name "Quinn Brooks". "What do you think?", she asked. Quinn seemed ambivalent, which surprised her. "You look unhappy. It's usually a pretty big moment when an actor gets his own dressing room for the first time." "No, it's great," Quinn said in a tone that conveyed it wasn't great. "Is there any way you could put Alexander's name on the door instead? It might help me to stay in character." "Maybe you won't want to stay in character. Alexander is kind of a dick." Betsy laughed lightheartedly, but Quinn took it personally. "I don't know. I think he's got a lot of admirable qualities. He's a bit all over the place in the script, but I have some notes on how we can make him more consistent." Betsy smiled stiffly. Was Quinn unaware that she was not only his boss but also the person who had written that "all over the place" script? "I look forward to that," she lied, and led him to wardrobe. Quinn took off his shirt and the male costumer gasped as he saw how much bigger Quinn had become over the weekend. As Quinn tried on his first outfit, he couldn't even get his arms through the sleeves. The female costumer sighed and informed Betsy it was going to take them a while to alter Quinn's wardrobe. Betsy nodded, then placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "I know I said we wanted you buff, but maybe you should lay off the exercise for a bit. We wanted a hunk, not the Hulk." Betsy was called away, but the male costumer whispered to Quinn, "Can you tell me what you're taking? I've never seen results like this." Quinn looked indifferent, so the costumer returned his attention to measuring Quinn's inseam. Lionel, the director, walked past wardrobe and noticed Quinn. "Oh, there's our dear boy. Big first day, eh, Quinn?" Quinn glanced away from the mirror where he was admiring his physique to address Lionel. "I'd prefer if you would call me Alexander." Lionel chuckled until Quinn's expression convinced him the request was serious. "Oh, by all means, Alexander. We shall await you on the set. Verily." "I'll be there whenever these two are done," pointing toward the costumers. Lionel nodded and left. When he encountered Betsy on the soundstage, he informed her, "Mr. Daniel Day-Lewis would prefer that we call him Alexander for the duration." Betsy rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. I'm trying to cut the kid a break. Maybe it's just first day jitters." The production was running an hour late by the time Quinn reached the floor, the costumers still making some last-minute alterations. Chad approached Quinn and asked quietly, "Where did you take off to the other day? I was worried sick about you all weekend." Quinn waved a hand at him dismissively. "Please, I'm trying to focus." Chad fumed, thinking several words which he would not be allowed to say on the show. Lionel began to block the first scene, but as soon as they reached the first line, Quinn -- ahem, ALEXANDER -- loudly voiced his concerns about some of the dialogue. "Does any of this seem far-fetched to the rest of you? I realize it is only a soap opera, but come on. Can we get the writers in here to punch this up a bit?" Lionel pulled Quinn aside and whispered, "I don't disagree that you might have some valid points. Unfortunately, we're already behind schedule, Quinn." "Alexander", said Quinn. "Yes. Quite." Betsy walked over, asking what the problem was. "The problem," said Quinn, "is the words and the fact that I have to say them." Betsy bristled, trying desperately to control her temper. "I'm afraid there's no time for rewrites right now, so if you can just deliver the lines as written, maybe we can talk about future scripts when we have a bit more time to think." "Yeah, but this is the first time that people are going to see me and they'll think that I'm the one who's bad because I'll be the one saying these shitty fucking lines." Betsy was seething. Although she was a foot shorter than Quinn, she brought all of her anger and passion to bear and told him in a low but firm whisper. "I am going to let you go home and rest, because you are clearly not in the right frame of mind to work today. And while you are there, I would like you to think long and hard about whether you want to stay there, or whether you would prefer to come back here and do your job. You can call my assistant when you've decided." She spun on her heel and exited the silent soundstage. Lionel nervously called for an early lunch. * * * Quinn drove home in a fury. If he encountered any red lights along the way, he certainly didn't notice or obey them. He screeched his convertible into its parking space and stormed into his apartment. He had blown it. He'd submerged so deeply into his character that sensible, fun-loving Quinn wasn't even on that soundstage today. Just Alexander the arrogant prick. Quinn looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and was sickened by what he saw. Everything about him seemed phony, like he was looking at someone he no longer recognized. He ripped off Alexander's shirt and pants and stuffed them in the garbage. He yanked the leather and silver cuffs off his wrists and flung them across the room. Immediately, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. Exhausted, he flopped face first onto his futon, his arms hanging limply over the side. He sobbed into a pillow and breathed heavily as he found himself relaxing, unaware that his body was deflating like a popped Macy's parade balloon. The giant muscles that had exploded on his frame since last week gradually receded, their sculpted definition softening, his former leanness returning to his frame. When he reached the size he had been when this all began, the ring on his left hand was pulled downward by gravity and fell onto the floor. Quinn let out a deep exhale and fell asleep. Hours later, after the sun had set, he was awakened by a tapping on his door. He stretched his arms and shouted, "Who is it?" "Damon." Quinn smiled. He needed a friend right now. He walked to the door and opened it. Damon stood on the welcome mat with a look of concern. His hair was still blue, but without any gel and combed straight back, looking about as conservative as blue hair can look. His skin, by contrast, was sunburnt red. He still had a stud in his right earlobe, but wore no eye makeup. His skinny unadorned arms hung slack from the sleeves of a white v-neck t-shirt, tucked into tight black jeans. His nails still had blue polish, with his toes wriggling in flip-flops from the discount bin at CVS. The first thing Damon noticed about Quinn was that his old body was back and that the cuffs were off his wrists. He was happy to see that, since he never had any complaints with the way Quinn looked to begin with. He also saw that Quinn was no longer wearing the ring. "Hey," said Damon, optimistically. "Hey," said Quinn, exhaustedly. "Just hadn't seen you in a few days. Wanted to make sure you were okay." "That's nice. You're probably the only person in L.A. who gives a shit." "Oh, come on, there's..." Damon thought. "I'm sure there's lots of people. How are things going on the soap?" "I was a complete jackass today, so they sent me home." Quinn fell heavily onto his futon. "Sent you home? Did they fire you?" "Not exactly. They told me to think about if I wanted to come back." "And you're gonna tell them yes, right? You can't just blow off an opportunity like this." Damon risked sitting on the futon beside Quinn, but didn't make any physical contact. He had no idea how much of the past few days Quinn even remembered, or if he'd be embarrassed or ashamed about how intimate the two of them had gotten. "I don't know. I'm not sure I want to be that Alexander guy." "I know this isn't my specialty, but do you really have to BE him? Can't you just, like, ACT?" Quinn laughed for the first time all day. He reached up and slapped Damon on the shoulder, giving his body a friendly shake. "I can always count on you to put me in my place, Damie." Damie? Quinn had never called Damon that until he started wearing the ring. Quinn repositioned himself so he was kneeling on the futon. He put his arms around Damon's shoulders and kissed his neck. Damon got goosebumps, but knew that he had to tell Quinn everything he had heard from the shopkeeper about the magic ring. After hearing Damon's explanation, Quinn leaned back on his elbows and stared at the ceiling to process this new information. "So everything I did while I was wearing the ring was just me exploring my sexuality so I could learn what felt the most honest and real?" "Yeah, basically." "Kind of the way I figure out how to play a character. I keep doing the wrong things until I finally stumble into what feels right." "If that's how it works. You're the actor here." "Oh, I am? Does that mean I can be the one who wears the makeup again?" Damon turned with a smile. "I'm still wearing the fruit-punch lipstick." "Really?", Quinn asked. He leaned in and gave Damon a quick kiss on the lips. "Mmm. Still as good as I remembered." Damon didn't want to set himself up for getting hurt. He looked Quinn in the eyes and said, "All those feelings you've had over the last few days, you know they might just have been you trying to figure out how to be Alexander. They might have nothing to do with what the real you wants." "Yeah, but the real me is here right now, and he finally knows what he wants." "Seriously?" Quinn grinned. "That woman at the store was right. I've always been a little gay. I just refused to acknowledge it. But for the right guy, I think I can be a lot gay." He pushed Damon back onto the futon and kissed him. Damon yelped a bit as he pulled the v-neck over his head, as the fabric brushed against his sunburn. Quinn helped him wriggle out of his jeans, but they had only been making out for a couple of minutes when Quinn stopped. "Second thoughts?", Damon asked, his worst fears confirmed. "No, I just realized I've really got to act tomorrow. I need you to help me memorize my lines. But first, I'm taking you out to dinner. Just give me a minute to shower up." Quinn hopped to his feet, kissed the top of Damon's head and went into the bathroom. Damon's heart was skipping. He looked down from the edge of the futon and saw Quinn's ring lying on the floor. Damon picked up the little troublemaker and examined it. Hard to believe something so small could cause such huge changes. Damon clutched it in his hand, stood up and walked to the front door. Standing naked in the doorway, he hurled the ring as hard as he could, with no clue where it landed. He was just glad to get rid of it. As he walked back in, he noticed the leather-and-silver cuffs on the floor and pondered what to do with them. Quinn jumped out of the shower, wiped off the mirror and smiled, happy to see himself looking back again. He felt tremendously calm and, for the first time in his life, certain about himself. "Q?", Damon called from the living room, a hint of worry in his voice. "What, D?", asked Quinn as he swung open the door. Damon stood in the middle of the living room, wearing the cuffs on his wrists. In the brief time since he had tried them on, the cuffs had already enlarged the skinny young man's muscles so he resembled a competitive diver. His arms actually had distinct bulges, his pecs and abs had the beginnings of true definition, and his legs, already his best feature, gained significant size and tone. Damon smiled at Quinn and asked, "Can you help me pick out some clothes?"
  6. He was beautiful. That was the first thing anyone who had better than 1000/20 vision noticed about Britton Waverley. He had always been beautiful, from the crib when his eyes took up about half of his cherubic face, but now that he was in college, Britton Waverley was approaching otherworldly status. He was so handsome that he never had to ask twice for anything. His irises were like sapphires inlaid beneath his eyelids, and when he smiled and they sparkled, Britton got his way. A face as gorgeous as Britton’s only had full effect if the body attached was suitable, and Britton’s certainly was. Long hours in the gym had carved the muscles on his 6'3" frame into chiseled perfection. His pecs pushed out in a square shelf, his shoulders were broad and rippling, and his arms were constantly testing the limits of his shirt sleeves. Britton loved clothes, and he was still deciding whether he would allow himself to bloom into a full-fledged bodybuilder. 22-inch arms wouldn’t fit in his crisp shirts and expensive blazers. And yet, he kind of wanted 22-inch arms. His present 18-inchers were nice and got him plenty of action, but oh, to be bigger… Britton was a genuine prep, and came by it honestly. He’d been educated in exclusive, high-priced schools and had spent his summers at his family’s beach house on the East Coast. He knew how to ride horses, play lacrosse and tie a bow tie. His father, Ambassador Waverley, wasn't crazy about the muscles, saying they made Britton look intimidating and unapproachable, but also too much like a common laborer. Then again, the ambassador always was a bit old-world in his thinking. When it came time for him to enter college, Britton Waverley had quickly been snapped up by the oldest and most prestigious fraternity on campus: Alpha Alpha Alpha. Officially the Tri-Alphas, but of course everyone just called them ‘The Alphas.’ It was a nickname that fit. There wasn’t a guy in the brotherhood who stood under six feet tall, and there wasn’t a shirt in the house smaller than a snug size large. The body standards were whispered about on campus, but never officially confirmed, because no Alpha man would talk about it. They could occasionally be seen going on shirtless runs – pecs bouncing, abs glistening with sweat – to the campus recreation center, where starry-eyed lifters would follow them around and try to copy their routines. Even among this pack of top dogs, Britton stood out as a natural leader, but perhaps because he had always found himself to be the automatic object of immediate adoration, he also felt no need to feed his ego and grab the spotlight. This generosity of spirit, combined with an intuitive instinct of charity toward those less fortunate than himself, made him seem just as perfect on the inside as he clearly was on the outside. Upon his initiation to the Alphas, Britton had learned of the fraternity's mystery-shrouded legacy, one which was never to be revealed to outsiders. Unlike the other frats on campus which existed primarily as social bonding groups committed to discovering the best way to consume fermented hops, the Alphas took their Greek roots seriously. As it was told to Britton and the other pledges waiting to be inducted, the Alphas could literally be traced back to the ancient Gods of Greece and were the keepers of the Gods' most incredible secrets. Chief among them was possession of (pause for dramatic effect) the nectar of the Gods! Britton found this all a bit silly, but figured a bit of overwrought showmanship could be expected with any initiation ceremony and was ultimately harmless. In the basement of the frat house, Britton and his fellow newbies were asked to strip naked and kneel in a circle. Britton felt the urge to chuckle at the absurdly solemn rite, but he knew how seriously the frat took its sacred ceremonies and contained his amusement. He glanced around the circle at the other recruits to see if anyone else was daring to crack a smile, but no one dared. It struck Britton just how handsome and well-built all of these young men were. Clearly the Alphas had exceptionally high standards and only recruited those who measured up. From the looks of it, those criteria included a certain required penis length. Inwardly, Britton took a bit of satisfaction in the realization that, even in that category, he was top of his class. Two high-ranking officers of the fraternity stepped to the center of the circle wearing red robes with hoods over their heads and sandals on their feet. One carried a crystal bowl filled with a golden goo the consistency and color of honey. The other dipped a glass ladle into the viscous liquid and brought it to the lips of the new pledges one at a time. In turn, everyone who was given a taste closed their eyes in ecstasy and began to rub their bodies slowly and sensually. Britton was impressed by how willing everyone was to play along with the heightened nature of the ritual. He vowed not to get so carried away, but when his own name was spoken in grandiose tones and the ladle was lifted to his lips, the scent alone was enough to knock him for a loop. The nectar may have looked like honey but it had an intoxicating floral scent that matched no flower he had ever come across. The thick ooze passed through his lips and onto his tongue, where the tingling of his taste buds seemed to trigger a simultaneous flash of fireworks across the back of his eyelids. He discovered immediately that his compatriots had not been faking their joy for the sake of any charade. A comfortable burn shot rapidly through his nervous system, invigorating his entire body, sending waves of energy pulsing through every muscle. Britton groped himself unashamedly before collapsing backwards on the floor. Britton had no idea how long he was out before he became aware of the excited buzz of chatter throughout the room. His eyes opened slowly and he looked around to discover that he was one of the final few pledges who were still lying on the floor. Most of the rest were standing around, still naked, casually drinking beers and having jovial conversations with the upperclassmen. Britton also noticed that the new initiates were unable to go more than a few seconds without checking out their bodies, which had each gained a solid twenty pounds of muscle. Britton pushed himself onto his knees to do a quick self-inspection and discovered that his body too had been morphed by the nectar into something even more spectacular than good genes and hard work had produced. He rose to his feet and joined his fellow Greek gods for a brewski in the buff. -------- The Alphas were even more insular than your typical frat, rarely associating with any other Greeks on campus, let alone the common rabble. The nectar and its effects had given them a special bond which most of the Alphas felt elevated them above the other students. Britton was one of the few who retained a strong connection to the rest of the campus, becoming involved in student government, dining frequently at the student union rather than the frat, working as a math tutor, and volunteering three hours a week at the campus free clinic. He met so many students who were intelligent and good spirited but hadn't gotten the lucky breaks and genetic head-start that he and the other Alphas had, not to mention the mystical boost that had elevated Britton and his fellow frat brothers into almost superhero status. When Britton was unanimously chosen to lead the search committee for prospective new recruits, he was determined to open the process to guys who didn't look like they had stepped off an Abercrombie and Fitch bag. This proposal was met with deep skepticism when he suggested it to the Alpha president, Kip Koenig, whose strong preference was to keep the Alphas as they had always been. But Britton argued that, once a suitable new recruit had been located and given a sufficient dose of the nectar, he ought to fit right in. Despite Kip's serious misgivings, he came onboard with Britton's experiment with one condition. He could only bring in one prospect who didn't match the frat's traditional physical qualifications. If that worked, he might agree to less stringent criteria in the future. With that, Britton was dispatched to find the student most deserving of an Alpha upgrade. He already had someone in mind. -------- It was a tightrope walk. Britton didn’t want someone who was going to become a raging, vindictive asshole as soon as they were given the opportunity to walk the world in a more attractive shell. He thought he had found his guinea pig in Jared, a rotund guy in one of his pre-med courses. Jared got high marks in class, was always on time, asked thoughtful questions and seemed astute and eloquent. But when Britton accepted Jared’s Facebook request and looked through Jared’s page, he found lots of rambling posts filled with crass, sexist jokes and complaints about life. That would not do – an Alpha man carried himself with dignity and fixed his own problems instead of complaining about them. So Jared was out. A little nectar wasn’t going to change a sense of entitlement or a victim complex. At least, Britton was pretty sure it wouldn’t. He and his fellow pledges had slightly different personalities now than before they had joined, but the changes were so minute that it was impossible to tell if they were because of the nectar, or simply due to maturity. Once Jared was eliminated from contention, Britton honed his requirements a little. He didn’t want someone with a woe-is-me attitude. His search became like a fun game for him, although once, when he caught himself tailing a particularly unfortunate-looking guy hoping to somehow suss out his name, he thought he might be crossing the line from recruiting to stalking. After that, Britton resolved to give himself a day or two in hopes that the perfect prospect might just fall into his lap. It happened within hours. Britton was killing time at the Academic Achievement Center, absently flexing his chest to watch the button over it strain, then relax, strain, relax. His last two shifts had yielded no math students. Today, he hoped, would be different. “Britton?” “Yeah?” Caught in mid-flex with his chest puffed out, Britton swiveled his chair around to face his coordinator. “I have Alex here for you.” “Cool, thanks.” Britton stood up, smoothed out his uniform Oxford shirt, and watched as a short, frail-looking boy came around the corner. “Alex?” “Alex Carmichael, yeah,” the smaller guy said, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, man, I’m Britton Waverley.” “Britton?” “Like the country. Have a seat, have a seat.” Britton extended his palm to the open chair across his desk, and Alex plopped down. Britton sized him up, which didn’t take long. He was a small man, probably 5’5” or around there, and couldn’t be more than 140 pounds. His face was hairless and free from blemishes, but bore some acne scarring. Alex’s facial structure was the polar opposite to his new tutor’s, which was so pronounced, it looked like he had extra bones which weren't allotted to normal folks. Britton’s jawline was a perfect diamond-sharp square; Alex’s was a smooth, round sag of flesh that had no angle to hold up the skin. It gave Alex a vague double-chin, even though he had next to no body fat. Alex’s shoulders weren’t even wide enough to fill his shirt, and the sleeves hung down too low because of this absence. Although only one grade apart, Britton looked almost ten years older than Alex. “Let me just pull up your academic file here,” Britton said in his cheerful baritone, as his muscular fingers clattered against the keyboard. His brow furrowed. “I’m not finding you. You said Carmichael, right? Is that with a ‘C’?” “It’s probably under Cooper,” Alex said as he pulled a large three-ring binder out of his backpack. “Alexander Cooper?” “No, uh, Cooper is my first name. Alex is my middle.” Alex missed Britton’s eyes flashing excitedly. “Your name is Cooper Carmichael? That’s a cool name, bro. Why don’t you go by it?” Alex shrugged. “I dunno, I’ve always just been Alex. Cooper doesn’t really fit me. My mom named me it because she wanted people to think I was rich,” he said with a laugh, and Britton returned a smile. “I’ve just always felt like an Alex. You look more like a Cooper Carmichael than I do.” Britton had to stop himself from smiling like the Grinch. “Now why do you say that?” “I dunno,” Alex said with another shrug, a gesture Britton could tell Alex made often. Clearly, Alex actually did know, but just didn’t want to verbalize it. “I’m just a regular dude, and Alex is a regular dude name.” “Cooooper Alexanderrrr,” Britton said, putting on a haughty accent he’d heard on his father’s associates, “is not a regular dude name. Trust me, I would know. My parents named me after the country I was conceived in.” Alex chuckled. “Well, maybe I’ll live up to it someday. I dunno.” Shrug. “It’s very Vineyard Vines.” Alex quickly looked at Britton’s shirt to make sure it wasn’t the brand he had just insulted. “No offense or anything.” “None taken. I’m more of a Ralph Lauren man. It says here your major is undecided?” “Yeah, I'm not quite sure what I want to do with my life yet. I have time.” “True,” Britton nodded. “Ever play any sports?” Alex smiled wryly. He didn’t look down, though, and Britton liked that. “No.” He didn’t make any excuses. Britton liked that, too. Britton could press that issue later. “Alright, Alex,” he said, leaning forward, pecs resting on top of his desk. “What do you need help with today?” -------- “Dude, we’re playing football in the quad, you wanna come?” Britton turned around and looked at Kip in his maroon tank and Alpha running shorts. Kip, Britton always thought. Couldn’t have a frattier name if he tried. “No, man, I’m doing some research on my big pledge.” “Are yoouuu?” Kip whispered, grinning. “Well, I look forward to hearing your briefing.” “I look forward to giving it.” Britton swiveled to face his laptop screen. He was going through Alex’s Facebook profile pictures – the public ones – and Googling him. There wasn’t a lot about Alex in his hometown paper. Most searches just pulled up the usual honor roll placements, which were high. Britton found an article about the Boys & Girls Club in which Alex was quoted. “It’s really nice to have a place to go,” Alex had said in seventh grade, “because my mom works a lot and isn’t home.” There was never any mention of a dad, not even in the high school graduation announcement. “C. Alex Carmichael, son of Lori Williams, 3.98 GPA.” Britton leaned back in his chair and rested the back of his head in his palms as he stared up at the ceiling. “I think I’m gonna call him Coop,” he smiled. -------- At Starbucks, Alex ordered his usual latte from the cute brunette behind the counter, then shuffled away to pick up his drink. He felt oddly nervous as he took a seat at a small table and waited for Britton to arrive. It would be an understatement to say that Alex was shocked to get a phone call from his math tutor Britton, asking if they could meet for coffee. Besides his mom, Alex never got phone calls from anyone. He was so self-conscious about the fact that he was going to be seen in public with one of the biggest men on campus (by reputation and by muscle mass) that he even put on a dress shirt and the only tie he owned. Alex immediately felt laughably overdressed when Britton casually strolled into the shop in a white polo with three Alpha symbols on the left breast, olive drab shorts and leather sandals. Britton deposited himself in the chair opposite Alex and quickly put him at ease with a friendly smile. After a volley of polite "heys", Britton wasted no time getting to his pitch. He spoke in hushed tones. "How would you like to become an Alpha?" Alex laughed reflexively, spewing latte foam across the tabletop. "Sorry about that, but I don't think I'm quite Alpha material." "Well, I'm in charge of recruitment and I think you are." "I've seen you guys around campus and I am not an Alpha. What is it, you need a token nerd to meet some diversity quota or something?" Britton leaned forward on the table and spoke softly so he wouldn't be overheard. "The Alphas stand for excellence. I've reviewed your records. You're a hard worker and, aside from a little shakiness in calculus that your tutor is helping you with, a high achiever. I think you could only benefit from what the Alphas could provide you, and we would all be richer from having you join us." The thought of joining a frat had never even entered Alex's mind, but Britton was so earnest, he agreed that he would at least drop by the frat for a tour someday. Britton said, "Let's go there now." -------- For Alex, setting foot in the Alpha House was a bit like Gulliver arriving in Brobdingnag, the home of giants. Every guy here was at least eight inches taller than him and built like they had been doing bench presses since kindergarten. Alex felt like he belonged to a different species than these exemplars of physical perfection. They certainly didn't conform to all of his worst preconceptions. Alex had anticipated a ramshackle old building full of booze-soaked fratboys up to zany shenanigans, but throughout the stately building with its dark wood walls and well-maintained fireplaces, the Alphas were either studying, preparing the evening meal or working out in the fully equipped gym. Alex looked at one Alpha curled up on a couch, reading his textbook and taking notes. He looked earnest, with a pair of black glasses perched on his nose. This, Alex assumed, was what the Alphas thought a nerd was. A guy who wore glasses. It didn’t matter that this “nerd” had a bicep about five times thicker than his generously-sized textbook, or that radiant grass-green eyes stared through his lenses. Sure, his glass frames were on his nose, but they also had to rest on cliff-like cheekbones. On the second floor, Britton rapped on the door of the Alphas' president, Kip, who opened the door wearing only sweatpants and deck shoes. Kip extended his hand, which enveloped Alex's slender hand and shook it vigorously. "Nice to meet you. Come on in. Britton can't shut up about you." Behind Alex's back, Kip shot a glance at Britton which eloquently conveyed the sentiment, "This guy? You gotta be fucking kidding me." Britton merely smiled back with confidence. Alex took a seat on a wooden chair and Kip sat with perfect posture in a leather chair opposite him, somehow seeming formal and businesslike despite his almost non-existent wardrobe. Alex followed his example, sitting straight up and adjusting his tie. "Britton has filled me in on your background, your GPA, your extra-curriculars. It's all very impressive. But there's more to life than school, and the Alphas are, as much as anything, a social organization. How well do you think you would fit in with the other guys?" Alex's shoulders slumped in his roomy Oxford shirt. "Honestly? Like a platypus in a cage full of saber-toothed tigers." Kip laughed. He could already tell why Britton liked the kid, but he still didn't see Alpha potential. His eyes roved across Alex's unremarkable face and flimsy body. Finally, more out of scientific curiosity than anything else, Kip looked to Britton. "Why don't you get our friend here a drink?" Britton was surprised to get the request so quickly. Alex shifted uneasily in his chair and cringed. "Actually, I don't drink booze. It gives me migraines." "Oh, this isn't booze," Britton said reassuringly as he poured the elixir from a crystal pitcher. "It's a special concoction, exclusive to the Alphas. I think you'll like it." Kip added, "You should especially like the hangover." Britton handed Alex a goblet full of a thick amber substance. Alex sniffed it to make sure they weren't trying to haze him by making him drink rubber cement, but discovered that the scent was actually very pleasant. His dick hardened in his pants, and his heart began to race. “What is this stuff?” “Take a sip and see.” “I’m not sure if I should…” Alex hadn’t expected to have to make a choice this quickly, and he began to visibly tremble. His leg bobbed nervously and he tried to keep still. “Alex,” Kip said, “this is a gentleman’s fraternity. We’re not going to serve you anything repulsive. You’re our guest. We want you to join us, remember?” “That’s true,” Alex conceded. He took an experimental sip and nearly came in his pants. “Oh my god…” "Go ahead, chug it," Kip encouraged him, leaning forward with intense curiosity about what the nectar would do when administered to such an undeveloped specimen. As Alex took another sip, Britton leaned down and whispered into Kip's ear, "Shouldn't we get him to undress? He's going to ruin his clothes." Kip muttered back, "If this works like you're hoping, those clothes won't fit him any more anyway. How much did you give him?” “One regular serving as an experiment. We’ll see how far it takes him, then he can decide for himself.” Alex was already becoming calmer as the nectar slid across his tongue and down his throat. The feeling was intoxicating. The more he drank, the more he wanted to drink. His skin began to feel like a warm cocoon, perspiration gushing from every pore. His muscles were beginning to feel like...well, like muscles, growing and shifting upon his rickety frame. He loosened his necktie to keep it from choking him. A gloomy fog was lifting from Alex's brain, replaced by a feeling of clarity, as if he was suddenly seeing the world as full of opportunities instead of obstacles. His leg stopped bouncing and he sat calmly, feeling content and satisfied with his beverage, and yet still uneasy with the situation. From Kip and Britton’s perspective, Alex’s changes were subtle, but numerous. His hair gained a new luster and began to shine in the light beaming through the window. His jaw looked a little more square and a lot firmer, and a bump on the right side of his nose straightened itself out with a soft crunch. Slowly, his shoulders rose up and squared off, filling in his shirt like they were supposed to. Soon, the garment was a little snug on him. New, small biceps pushed against the sleeves and pulled up his cuffs too high. He yanked off his tie completely and began to unbutton the sweat-drenched shirt clinging to his widening chest. He struggled to extricate himself from his constricting shirtsleeves, finally tearing them to shreds as the pressure became unbearable. “Britton?!” Alex squeaked out as he stared down at his expanding body. “What have you done to me?!” Kip and Britton didn’t answer, but Alex heard Kip whisper, “How much do you think he’s gained?” Britton whispered back, “I’d estimate forty.” The goblet clattered on the floor as Alex launched to his feet, inspecting all his changes. It took him a few moments to gather himself and realize that the throbbing in his body had stopped and he was done changing. He hadn’t grown in height, but his muscles and facial features were more masculine now, as if he’d been working out and taking testosterone supplements for the last year. He was not nearly spectacular enough to be a true Alpha, not yet, but the change was already dramatic. “What did you guys...” Alex’s voice hadn’t dropped in pitch, but had gained a rich timbre that had been absent before. He clutched his thicker neck as he continued speaking. “What did you guys do to me?!” “That was the nectar of the Gods, Alex,” Kip said, completely serious. “The nectar of the…” Alex sat back down and put his head in his hands. His fingers rested in his hair, and the light hit it just right to reveal that he had blond roots poking out of his scalp. “I don’t understand what’s going on.” “You just took the first step on a journey,” Britton said, in an effort to reassure Alex. “We all drink the nectar in our initiation ritual. It’s the agent that bonds us and helps make us who we are. Think of this as a booster shot to help you on your way, since you didn’t have all of the benefits that men like Kip had growing up.” “What the hell,” Alex breathed, looking at his chest, which his shirt hugged tightly. He’d never even had a chest before – nothing more than a flat board. Britton said. “I’m giving you 24 hours to decide if you want to complete your initiation. If you do, your life as you know it will completely change. Your body will transform. You may even develop new tastes, new interests and new personality traits. We’ve never given more than one dose of nectar before.” “Oh great, I’m a guinea pig,” Alex said. “What if it kills me?” “It won’t kill you,” Kip said reassuringly, although he honestly had no clue what giving more nectar would do to a non-Alpha. “We can't be sure how dramatically you'll change. The nectar can be mercurial. However, your resilience to this first dose is impressive.” Britton said encouragingly. Kip smiled wryly. “Britton blacked out when he drank his dose, you know.” Alex’s wide eyes had flecks of blue that hadn’t been there when he walked into the building. “I’m going to think about it. Can I talk to my mom about it?” “No. And if you attempt to, the nectar will mute you and garble your words," Kip said in an ominous tone. "Be back here at the same time tomorrow with your decision. But fair warning, the ritual is not for the faint of heart," Britton said. Alex gulped. “Can I at least get a change of clothes to walk back to my dorm? Please?” “Of course,” Britton said, gesturing. “Follow me.” ------- Alex wasn't sure what was making him more aroused: the startling changes to his body or the fact that he was wearing some of the Alphas' fashionable hand-me-downs. The purple polo with the popped collar was a size or two too large, and they needed to punch a new hole in his belt to hold up the baggy chinos he'd been given. Even so, he had never looked so stylish. He couldn't resist checking his reflection in every window he passed. Compared to the Alphas, he was still a skinny runt, but compared to who he was when he woke up this morning, he was the friggin' Hulk. When he entered his dorm, Alex figured his changes would draw immediate attention, but since his dorm mates had never noticed him much in the first place, they weren't likely to realize how much he had changed. He snaked his way toward his room, keeping his head down as always, trying not to interfere with the Nerf football game that seemed to be in progress 24/7 in the hallway. He unlocked his room and discovered his roommate Roach on his bed, his arms wrapped tight around his girlfriend Rachel and his hands firmly gripping a bong. Roach's real name was Rich, but he'd earned his nickname honestly due to his prodigious consumption of marijuana. Roach stared through bleary pink eyes as his roommate crossed to his own bed. "Hey, you get a haircut or something?" Alex turned to Roach and said, "Or something, yeah." Roach nodded and his attention drifted. That was the typical length of any conversation with Roach. Rachel kept staring at Alex and smiled. "It looks cute." "Thanks," said Alex, blushing immediately. It may have been the first compliment he'd ever received from a female who was not his mother. As Roach and Rachel returned their attention to each other and their pipe, Alex grabbed a bathrobe, toothbrush and toothpaste and walked down to the community bathroom. There, he got his first chance to do a complete inspection of all the ways he had changed. His face seemed largely the same, only refined, as if a talented sculptor had chiseled away the less flattering features. Unless the fluorescent lights in here were playing tricks on him, his hair seemed to have taken on a golden glow and his hazel eyes had a slight blue tinge. Even the scars from his zits seemed to have smoothed out somewhat. Pulling the borrowed polo over his head, he marveled at the muscles that now gave his body some actual heft. He was still slim, along the lines of a long-distance runner, but a far cry from his former skeletal self. He couldn't help but wonder what was really in that so-called "nectar" and whether he should be worried about imbibing something that could generate such immediate changes to his body. He decided to go to the free clinic tomorrow and get his blood tested, to make sure he hadn't been slipped something toxic. Alex returned to his room, where Roach and Rachel had dozed off. Alex removed the bong from Roach's hand to prevent the pungent water from spilling onto the carpet. Alex slipped into bed, wearing only boxers and a white tee that Britton and Kip had given him. Alex chuckled at the notion that he even knew people whose names were "Britton" and "Kip". Then again, he had a roommate named "Roach", so having friends with preppy names would definitely be a step up. And that elegant Alpha House sure was a far more appealing place to live than the cinder-block prison cells of his uninspiring dormitory. Too bad he couldn't imagine ever living up to the demanding standards of the Alphas. He drifted to sleep, absent-mindedly pushing up the bottom of his t-shirt and brushing his fingertips across the faint beginnings of ab muscles. All night he dreamt of being in ancient Greece, watching the Olympics and listening to orations by some of the great names of history. Plato, Aristotle...and was there a Kip? -------- Alex woke in the morning, energized and clear-headed. His first glance in the mirror took him by surprise, as the events at Alpha House seemed like they had been part of his odd Greek dreams. His hair looked even blonder as beams of sunlight caught it through the window, and his cheeks were coated with a slight amount of stubble which his baby face had never previously been able to grow. He quickly pulled on his borrowed clothes and rushed to Starbucks. While waiting, he saw a tall, handsome jock enter and edge his way subtly into the front of the line with his buddies rather than taking his proper place at the end of the queue. "End of the line's back here," Alex heard someone say in a firm confident voice, becoming aware as the words rolled out that they were actually coming from his own mouth. He could feel the rest of the line collectively inhale as the jock pivoted slowly. Alex's eyes darted about, as if he too were looking for the dimwit who unwisely said those words. The jock zeroed in on Alex and walked toward him. His eyes glared down darkly from their perch a foot above Alex's. "You got something to say to me, shorty?" Alex felt an instinct to cower and cringe, but a comfortable feeling spread through his body as he realized he was in the right, goddammit. "You got a problem with taking your turn like the rest of us ordinary humans? Or are you just an entitled prick?" Alex honestly didn't know where this was coming from, but he was warming to it. He stood to his full height, such as it was, and squared his meager shoulders in defiance. The tall guy looked at him disdainfully, but then noticed other eyes in the shop glancing at him to see what he would do next. If he continued to argue or raised a hand in anger to this little guy, he knew that he WOULD look like an entitled prick, and a bully on top of it. He decided to laugh it off and swaggered to the end of the line as if he had won something. When Alex reached the front of the line and ordered his latte, the cute brunette barista refused to take his money. She whispered with a grin, "That a-hole Devin comes in here every day and does that. You're the first person who was ever brave enough to tell him off." Alex shrugged sheepishly, noticing the name "Jennifer" on her nametag, then looked up and got sucked in by her deep brown eyes. He had no idea what to say to her. Jennifer noticed the restlessness of the waiting customers and whispered to Alex, smiling sweetly, "You better step aside, you entitled prick." Alex moved along and got his coffee, with his name and a heart written on the side, and another heart shape formed in the foam. As he walked to the exit, he raised his cup victoriously at the jock, who was still steaming at the rear of the line. Alex didn't notice the front door swinging toward his face, but his reflexes kicked in at the last second and he managed not to spill a drop. Throughout the day, Alex felt a growing sense of well-being and self-worth. Problems that had previously baffled him in calculus class were now easier to work through. He felt much more fluent in first-semester French and actually raised his hand twice to offer opinions in his American Literature class. On top of that, he could swear that women were looking at him more than ever, although maybe he just noticed them because he was actually holding his head up more confidently today, rather than slumping and staring at his notebook. On his way out of Lit, Alex felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned around to discover Jennifer, the cute barista from that morning, grinning down at him, making both of them acutely aware that she was a good three inches taller than him. "Hey, you. I never noticed you were in my Lit class," she said, playfully punching him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm not surprised. There's not much to notice," Alex said, more to his shoes than to her face. He peered up at her through hanging bangs, realizing she was more pretty than cute. "I thought what you said in there about 'The Great Gatsby' was really insightful. You must be a big reader." Alex shrugged. "No bigger than most. I guess I just felt inspired today." Jennifer shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, waiting for Alex to say something. When he didn't, she said, "Maybe we could study together sometime." Alex found this suggestion astounding. "Uh, yeah, sure. Or maybe we could get together and grab a..." "Please don't say coffee," she laughed. "I used to love coffee until I got that job. Now I can't stand the smell of it." "Okay, no coffee." Alex felt his face rising, his eyes connecting with hers. He might have to upgrade his categorization of her to "beautiful". She asked for his number, which she typed into her phone. "And your name is... Alex, right?" Her lopsided grin made Alex's chest feel tight. "Yeah, wow, I'm amazed you remembered." "Well, it helps that you say the same name every day." "I suppose. And you," Alex said with certainty, "are Jennifer. I noticed it on your..." He attempted to point to where she usually wore her nametag and accidentally poked a finger into her left breast. Alex turned crimson with embarrassment and lowered his head, but Jennifer merely stifled a chuckle. Still too flustered to look Jennifer in the eye, Alex felt a vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and discovered a text from Jennifer. It read: "I like your eyes, Alex." He looked up and saw her smiling brightly. Jennifer noticed the time. "Oh, crap, I gotta get back to work for my afternoon shift. Promise you'll text me, okay?" With a grin, she turned and dashed down the hall. Alex's eyes stayed riveted to her long tan legs until she disappeared around the corner. No way would a girl like that want to date a shrimp like me, thought Alex. Today was just getting weirder and weirder. Crossing the campus, Alex heard someone bellow, "Hey, you little asshole!" Without even looking, he knew it was Devin, his nemesis from the coffee shop. Alex kept walking, eyes straight ahead, acting as if he hadn't heard a thing. He felt the pounding of sneaker-clad feet on the cement behind him, which slowed as an absurdly long shadow stretched down the sidewalk beside him. A monumental hand tapped on his shoulder, then wrapped around Alex's still spindly forearm and yanked him between two brick buildings. Alex noticed that the jock was now wearing sweatpants and what looked like an official basketball jersey. Could this dick actually be on the varsity basketball team? Devin bent down, nose-to-nose with Alex, his spittle flying from his lips as he spoke. "Listen, you little shit. I don't ever want to look like an idiot again." Once again, words emerged unexpectedly from Alex's mouth. "That's kinda up to you, isn't it? I can't really be blamed for your idiocy." Alex tried to take the edge off with a belated "just kidding" grin, but Devin had already placed a strong hand on Alex's right shoulder to hold him in place. He pulled his right arm back and pounded it into Alex's left temple. Alex was dazed, but began to thrash at his assailant erratically, his stumpy arms flailing in the air, unable to make contact. Devin dismissively shoved Alex backwards into a thorny hedge and sauntered away, satisfied that he had gotten his revenge. When Alex straggled into the campus free clinic, the bump around his left eye was already inflating and deepening to purple. His face and arms were scratched and bloody from the hedge, with many snags in his borrowed polo shirt. As he walked to check in, he felt yet another tap on his shoulder and turned around warily, unsure what to expect this time. There stood Britton, on one of his three hours of weekly volunteer work at the clinic. "Jesus, man, what happened to you?" Britton asked. "Some giant prick punched me out, and it's all your fault." Britton pulled Alex over to a plastic chair and sat beside him, speaking softly. "How is this my fault?" "That shit you gave me last night," Alex whispered. "I want to get a blood test to find out what it's doing to me. It made me act all weird today." "Weird how?" "Like weird...ly confident." Britton smiled. "Don't you like feeling confident?" "Not as much as I dislike getting my ass whooped." Britton pulled some strings to get Alex seen next. His black eye was bandaged, his scratches daubed, his blood sample taken. Enough of the Alphas were on the football team and underwent regular drug testing that Britton was confident the nectar would not show up as a foreign substance in Alex's blood test. Britton waited beside Alex while the blood sample was evaluated. As they waited in silence, Alex's phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw that Jennifer had sent him a photo. She had drawn a revolver on a Starbucks cup and was holding it next to her head with a "please kill me" expression on her face, her tongue hanging dopily out of her mouth. Alex chuckled and Britton glanced down to check out the picture. "She's cute," Britton said. "Your girlfriend?" Alex snorted. "Yeah, right." Despite the changes he had undergone last night, he still acutely felt the difference between himself and the Platonic ideal of manliness seated beside him. Jennifer deserved better than Alex. She deserved an Alpha. She deserved a Cooper. A doctor emerged from the lab with the results of Alex's blood test. Alex waited nervously, but was relieved to hear that everything looked fine. "Better than fine, I'd say," the doctor said. "Ideal." -------- When Britton's shift ended, he and Alex walked out of the clinic. "You wanna go get a pizza or something?" he asked Alex. "Actually," said Alex, "you got any more of that nectar?" Britton raised an eyebrow and looked at his watch. “You’ve got a few more hours, buckaroo.” “No one under the age of seventy uses that word,” Alex snarked. Britton stopped dead in his tracks. “How did you know?” Alex turned around, suddenly nervous. “Know what?” “How did you know I’m ninety-two years old? Shit, did ‘buckaroo’ really give it away?” Alex looked for a hint of sarcasm, but Britton’s expression was completely genuine. “Alex, I haven’t told you everything. That nectar is more powerful than you could possibly imagine. I’ve been an Alpha for more than seventy years.” Alex took two steps backward. The blood drained from his face, and even his black eye looked paler. “Wha-what?” Britton’s voice was an eerie whisper. “And I’m the youngest Alpha. Kip is more than two hundred years old. Hell, we have one guy who fought in the Civil War. For the Union, don’t worry.” “Jesus Christ…” Alex had a far-away look as he contemplated this stunning new information. Britton stood still for a moment, then exploded with laughter. “Your face! You shoulda seen your FACE!” He doubled over and put his hands on his knees, laughing to the point of tears. “Oh MAN, that was good. I totally had you!” “Asshole!” Alex stomped his foot petulantly. “C’mon, man, today’s already been confusing enough for me! With everything you’ve thrown at me already, immortality didn’t seem that weird.” Britton was still wiping tears from his eyes. “Whooo, I should do that more often.” Alex eyed the gleaming timepiece on Britton’s wrist. “How much did that watch cost, ya jerk?” “An Alpha would never ask such a question, it’s unbecoming,” Britton scolded, half-sincere. “But to be honest, I actually don’t know. It was a gift from my parents for high school graduation.” “Your parents got you a Rolex for your high school graduation?”, Alex grumbled. “My mom took me to Applebee’s.” “Hey.” Britton took a large step and put himself in Alex’s path, stopping them both. Britton’s jaw locked and he squared his shoulders. It emphasized how much bigger than Alex he was. “I don’t want to hear any more of that, you understand?” “What?” Alex leaned back, surprised. “Jealousy. Jealousy is bullshit. It fucks with your head and ruins friendships. I’ve dealt with it before, from both sides, and it’s painful, and it’s sad. Don’t let it in. Don’t let it mess with you.” “I’m sorry,” said Alex, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “I was just kidding.” “I know you were, but I saw a seed of something, and I’m stamping it out right now. Once we go inside that house, you’re going to change. You’re going to change a lot. Not even I know how radical it’s going to be. And if all parts of you get magnified, that’s one thing that shouldn’t be.” Alex felt embarrassed, and he didn’t like being scolded by a person he now considered a friend and, he hoped, a peer. But he did understand Britton’s point. “Thank you,” he said. “I…I appreciate that.” “You’re welcome, buddy.” Britton moved back next to Alex and they started walking again. “The Alphas have to keep each other in check. I expect you to do the same for me one day. That’s what brotherhood is all about.” “I never had a brother.” “Well, looks like you’re stuck with one now.” They walked a block and took a right. It was only when they rounded the corner that Alex realized they were en route to the Alpha house. His heart began to race. It was really happening. “So,” said Britton, “what made your mind up?” “I don’t think it was one thing. It was a lot of things,” Alex mused. “I just felt like if I say 'no' now, I'd go the rest of my life wondering "what if?", while I watched you become a Senator or win a Nobel Prize or whatever.” He sighed. “I know it’s not something to take lightly, but I think this is really the only choice. A man should do his best to be a success in all things, and now that I have this option…why would I turn it down?” Britton nodded. “I thought you were going to say because of the Starbucks hottie on your phone.” “Her too,” Alex smiled boyishly. “A girl like that has never given me the time of day before.” “Isn’t that funny?” Britton said. “You don’t even look THAT different yet. It must just have been the way you carried yourself that made her take notice of you.” “You’re super inspiring today, man. You’re a preppy male Oprah.” “Thanks, I try.” They walked into the yard of the Alpha house and up the steps. “Are you nervous?” “Yes.” Just the question made Alex even more twitchy. He could hear the implication in Britton’s question: you should be nervous. They opened the front door and walked in. Britton checked his hair in a mirror on the wall. “I’m going to go get Kip. You can just hang out here for a little bit.” He bounded up the stairs two at a time and went around the corner. Alex heard him knock on Kip’s door, but after that, silence. Alex looked at the grand front hall of the Alpha house. It was painstakingly maintained, with ornate carvings in the wood and a beautiful chandelier. This place was pure opulence, like something out of a movie. Alex tried to keep himself calm, but he was growing more scared by the moment. Scared of what he was doing, scared of what he could become, scared of the unknown. He thought about sprinting through the door and never coming back. Part of him said running away would be a good idea, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He looked at pictures of Alpha classes throughout the years. Each year’s portrait was like a model convention. All the brothers had perfect faces, smiles, hair, bodies. Broad shoulders lined up in rows, clad in the clothes of the era. Alex was amazed that the Alpha men of the 1920s looked just as handsome and buff as the brothers now. The men in the more recent photos were huge and handsome, but at least bodybuilding wasn't uncommon these days. A hundred years ago, though, the Alphas must have been seen as genuine freaks of nature. A brother walked through the main hallway, wearing nothing but Alpha-emblazoned sweat shorts that clung to his thighs. Alex reached out to get his attention. “’Scuse me?” The guy looked up. He looked like a GQ model. “Yeah?” Alex was tongue-tied. “Uh, I, uh…where’s the bathroom?” “There’s one down that hall,” the guy motioned, flicking his head to move a lock of glossy hair off his forehead. “Thanks.” Alex tried to lock the guy’s face in his mind. They were going to be frat brothers. He couldn’t believe it. Alex’s stomach was in knots. It was a single bathroom, no stall, so he locked the door and looked at the toilet. Then he lurched forward, fell onto his knees and vomited into it. His hands gripped the toilet seat and made it shake. He barely got his mouth wiped before he heard a rap on the door. “Alex?” Britton said through the door. “That you in there?” Alex gulped so he could talk. “Uh-huh.” “Are you throwing up?” Too long of a pause. “No.” “Yes, you are, man, I heard you. Let me in.” Alex shuffled over to the door and sheepishly unlocked it. On the other side stood Britton, and behind him, Kip, in a beautiful shirt and tie. “I’m fine,” Alex maintained. “Really? ‘Cause you have vomit on your face.” Alex quickly walked to the sink and washed his mouth. “I’m fine,” he said once more. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this today,” Kip said. His lip curled when he looked at Alex and saw the black eye and scratches. “What the hell happened to you? Britton, he looks like hell.” “No, please, I want to do it. I want to do it now. I’m just scared, okay? I’m really scared, but I know it’s what I want to do.” Britton and Kip exchanged looks, and everything was quiet for a moment. “You’re the president,” Britton finally said to Kip. Kip stood still, then nodded and tightened his lips together. “Alright, then, it’s time.” Alex exhaled and followed the two bigger men down the steps to the basement. He expected it to be unfinished with a concrete floor, but it was far from it – even more outrageously opulent than the front hall, in fact. The walls were red, the floor was marble, and everything was covered in gold leafing. “I feel like I’m in a Kanye West video. Are you guys Illuminati?” Neither Britton nor Kip answered, and Alex knew that was his cue to cut the snark. He didn’t say another word. They arrived at a large gold circle in the floor and Kip pointed for Alex to stay where he was. “Disrobe.” “Wh-what?” “Take your clothes off.” “All of them?” Britton nodded. “Underwear too.” Alex pulled his shirt over his head, because that was the easy one. Being shirtless wasn’t weird. It was like going to the beach. But when he unbuttoned his pants, he wanted to throw up again. He tried to imagine he was back in the locker room after gym class. He hated gym class. Alex shut his eyes and pushed his underwear down, and his dick bobbed out for the world to see. After he tossed all his clothes into a pile nearby, he cupped his hands over his genitals and looked up. Britton and Kip weren’t there. Alex kneeled down, assuming that was what he was supposed to do. He wished he had other recruits around him to make him feel less alone. Having an initiation by oneself was a painfully conspicuous position to be in. Britton and Kip walked back into view – at least, Alex assumed it was Britton and Kip. They were wearing red robes that hid their faces, and they’d both either rolled up their pants or taken them off, because all Alex could see was bare ankles and sandals below the hem of their robes. One of them – Alex assumed it was Kip - was holding a crystal bowl filled with the sacred nectar. As soon as he locked eyes on it, Alex couldn’t look away. He was shaking like a leaf, but his mouth was watering. The other red robe, presumably Britton, had a glass ladle that he dipped into the bowl and brought carefully over to Alex, who was pale with fear and excitement. No one in the room missed his erection. He felt shame that he was probably the least-hung male to ever set foot in these hallowed chambers. The ladle was lifted to Alex’s mouth and the scent of the nectar twirled up and around inside his nostrils, nearly knocking him out with its thorny beauty. His lips trembled violently and he had the full-body shivers. The ladle hooked inside his upper lip and and pulled up, forcing Alex to tip his head back. His mouth dropped open and the nectar poured down his throat. Two droplets spilled down the sides of his mouth, and he quickly got them with his thumb, which he stuck into his mouth and sucked. He didn’t want to miss a single drop. Alex had told himself pre-drink that he just needed to remember to breathe and it would all be fine. But suddenly, he didn’t have any breath at all. It felt like something punched him in the lungs and pushed out every ounce of breath. His teeth smashed together so tightly that he was lucky his tongue wasn’t in the way of them. He doubled over and fell onto his hands with a loud cry, body convulsing until he had rolled up into a ball on the floor, with two tears coming out of each eye. “It hurts! Oh, JESUS.” He felt like he was on a medieval rack and it was stretching him. He could hear his spine popping and his joints cracking as they were reset. It hurt like hell. He heard a soft “Alex?” and looked up to see Britton lowering his hood, looking terribly concerned. He’d gotten them mixed up – Britton had been holding the bowl, and Kip had administered the ladle. Kip took his hood off too and he and Britton both knelt next to Alex, laying a comforting hand on him. It was definitely a deviation from the standard ritual, but Kip didn’t want someone to die unattended in the basement under his watch either. Fearing that the nectar may have proved too much for Alex to handle, Britton pulled out his cell phone and dialed "9-1", holding his breath and watching closely. If he saw the agony becoming too great for Alex to bear, Britton was prepared to dial the final "1" and get the paramedics over here. He knew that would risk exposing the Alphas' rites to public scrutiny, but he felt responsible for Alex's safety above all else. Alex rolled onto his back and threw his hands over his head, which allowed his rib cage to open up wider so that he could suck in some air. His eyes were buggy and his mouth went as wide as it could go, and with a desperate, guttural noise, he inhaled as much oxygen as he could. He clutched his temples as the nectar seemed to be rewiring his brain, giving him a new sense of clarity. His head rolled back until it pushed him off the floor in a neck bridge, and two small pecs burst out of the front of his frame. Alex’s eyes darted down and looked at them as they swelled a little bigger. His whole face lit up in a huge smile and he looked at Britton, who smiled back. Alex’s head was snapped back as a halo of golden curls exploded out from his scalp, growing down messily to his shoulders. He rolled back onto his stomach and curled up as he hit another growth spurt. Accompanied by a crunch like the shattering of a lobster shell, Alex's torso and legs elongated, pushing him over six feet tall. His hands and feet were stretching out to fit his frame, and his back got broader, bigger. Shoulder blades shifted out and his skeleton altered to the mesomorphic ideal that all Alphas had. The painful-sounding noises of the transformation slowly faded out until the basement was silent again, save for Alex’s loud wheezing. He coughed and sputtered, then found the strength to push himself up off the floor, where Britton and Kip were standing to greet him. The first thing Alex noticed was how much further away the floor appeared. He teetered forward, losing his equilibrium, and Britton grabbed him. “Easy there, buddy. You’re a baby giraffe right now.” Britton steadied Alex, who broadened his stance and gradually acclimated to his new center of gravity. Alex flipped his long hair out of his face and looked at Britton, then over at Kip. Both the Alphas started laughing in silence, looking at each other, then back at Alex, then back at each other, their laughter growing louder until their muscular bodies shook. “Holy shit,” Britton finally said. Alex's face had been reconfigured into a sharp and symmetrical arrangement of angles. The shiner he'd sported had been almost healed completely, except for a small patch of purple below his perfectly shaped eyebrow. His cheekbones had moved closer to his eyes and grown out like cliffs, aristocratic and elegant. The same could be said for his nose, now a perfect angle with a square tip. His chin even had a small cleft in it now. “You need a haircut,” Kip said. “I need clothes,” Alex stammered, then clutched his throat. “My voice!” His voice had dropped an octave to a smoky baritone which was a better match for the brawny beast standing naked before Britton and Kip. His muscles were still less pumped than theirs, giving him a leaner and less intimidating look. “How tall am I?” Britton stepped forward and looked eye-to-eye with Alex. "Well, I'm six-three." He glanced at the profusion of Alex's curly blond locks and placed his hand atop Alex's head, pushing downward until he felt Alex's skull. "I'd say we're the same height. You just look taller because of your new 'fro." Alex looked at his shadow which the overhead lights cast on the marble floor and could clearly see how much his hair had blossomed during the transformation. "Hey, look, I got an Alph-ro," he wisecracked and looked back at Britton and Kip, expecting a chuckle at least. He was met with stony stares. Kip spoke solemnly. "Britton, haven't you impressed upon our new friend the dignity and honor we expect of an Alpha? How his words and actions from now on will reflect not just on his own character, but that of all Alphas? How we have gone against years of tradition in order to bring him into our circle?" Britton nodded. "Yes, I have, Mr. President." Placing his hands on Alex's shoulders and staring into the bright blue pools which his eyes had become, Britton said, "The nectar wouldn't have affected you as it has if you were not deserving. Remember, you must always be respectful of and appreciative for the blessings you have been bestowed and behave accordingly. And if you stumble, know that your Alpha brothers will always be there for you to help ensure that you live your life to its fullest potential." Alex stood at his full height, shoulders back, chest forward. "I understand. I promise I won't let you down." Kip nodded back. "Excellent. Now put some clothes on before your boner puts somebody's eye out." Alex looked down, embarrassed to discover that the incredible rush of the transformation had given him an erection -- and stunned by the size of the thing. Of all the radical changes he had undergone, his penis clearly had the greatest growth proportionally. Britton cocked an eyebrow, then clapped Alex on the shoulder. "Well. Apparently the nectar REALLY likes you," he said with a grin. "Let me go grab you some clothes." Britton dashed upstairs, leaving Alex and Kip alone together for the first time. They stood in silence, with Alex painfully aware that Kip was sizing him up skeptically. He figured Kip must still be unsure of Alex's suitability for the Alphas, so he knew he would need to work extra hard to prove his worth. "When do I meet the rest of the guys?", Alex asked. "Tomorrow night, when we bring in all the new pledges. Eight o'clock. Don't be late. The nectar doesn't like to be disappointed." Kip held up the bowl and ladle with the dregs of the nectar, then carried it into an antechamber. Alex stood alone in the room, still in disbelief whenever he saw any part of what was now his body. The room had no mirrors, so checking himself out thoroughly would have to wait. He heard heavy footsteps bounding down the stairs and saw Britton returning with a stack of clothes. "This ought to be enough to get you through the next couple of days. I'll help you shop for a new wardrobe once you've reached your final size." Alex froze. "Final size? THIS isn't my final size?" "Right now, you've reached the level that the rest of the pledges are naturally. You'll meet them tomorrow night at the initiation. We found a good crop this year. You'll fit in nicely." Alex's mind reeled at the thought of growing even larger. Alex pulled on a sleeveless workout shirt, sweatpants and size 14 Pumas for the walk home, with extra clothes in a Hollister bag. He felt like testing out his new muscles and began to jog, which his powerful legs quickly turned into a sprint. He had never felt so exhilarated, with his heart pumping fast and his long blond curls streaming behind him in the breeze. He reached his dorm in no time and wasn't even panting. Stepping off the elevator on his floor, he towered above a group of freshman guys playing hacky-sack in the hallway. Needing to get past them, Alex rumbled, "Excuse me, fellas," in his commanding new voice. The hacky-sackers stepped aside as if responding to a direct order and watched this unfamiliar jock stride down the hall. Alex unlocked his room and peeked around the door, relieved that Roach had already dozed off in bed. Alex did his best not to make noise as he closed the door, but the slight click of the lock was enough to awaken Roach, who screamed at the mammoth shadow looming in the middle of the room. "Who the hell are you???" Alex gestured with his hands, trying to calm down Roach, but wasn't sure how to convince a paranoid stoner that he was actually his meek little roommate who had been transformed into a strapping stud by a secret ancient potion. Actually, thought Alex, a stoner might be the only person who WOULD think that made sense. "Chill, Roach. It's just me, Alex." "Who the fuck is Alex?" asked Roach, his brain a permanent fog. Alex figured this was pointless. "I'm just gonna take a few things with me, okay?" "Shit, dude, grab whatever you want. Just don't hurt me, man!" Alex took a pillow, blanket, toothbrush and toothpaste, then headed into the bathroom. He paused a moment to compose himself before rounding the corner and gazing into the bathroom's full-length mirror, but he still wasn't fully prepared for what he saw. The man staring back at him was astoundingly handsome and powerfully built. He stripped off the sleeveless shirt and admired his physique, nearly forgetting the short-lived but excruciating pain it had taken to achieve these impressive gains. Alex took a step closer to examine the details of his new face. Although he could see no resemblance to who he used to be, it nevertheless felt oddly familiar, as if this were the way he always imagined he SHOULD. His blue eyes were piercing, yet sympathetic. As his fingers explored the sharp new contours of his bone structure, they stroked across abundant bristles on his cheeks that he knew would need to be shaved every day. He tossed his head and laughed at the way his shoulder-length blond hair rearranged itself. He could see why Kip felt he needed a haircut, as he looked more like the singer of an '80s metal band than the preppy ideal of the Alphas, but he thought it made him look dangerous and sexy, two words that had never before been associated with Alex Carmichael. Hearing the door swinging open, Alex quickly abandoned his self-inspection and stepped over to a urinal, uncoiling his new cock from inside his sweatpants. Despite the bathroom being empty, the newcomer walked up to the urinal immediately next to Alex's. Alex glanced down and recognized the kid, another freshman whose height and weight were about what Alex's had been before the nectar came into his life. "How's it goin'?" Alex asked, his resonant new voice echoing off the ceramic tiles. The kid muttered something unintelligible and Alex noticed that the kid's eyes had gravitated over to check out Alex's enormous dick. Grinning mischievously, Alex backed away from the wall several inches in order to give the kid a better look. The kid was overcome with sudden pee-shyness, flushed his urinal and exited the bathroom swiftly. This made Alex feel bad – and gave him a glimpse of just how fearless he was becoming. Not even the thought of strutting across campus stark naked made him nervous. The idea of his beauty being celebrated was so foreign that it felt like a dirty turn-on, a fetish. Alex strolled to the common area by the elevators and pushed two couches together to create a bed for the night. They were uncomfortable and too short for his expanded frame, with his stockinged feet dangling off the end, but it didn't really matter. There was no way Alex could fall asleep tonight. His adrenaline was too high, and his mind was abuzz with thoughts of officially joining the Alphas and moving into their elegant mansion. He kept wondering how he would explain to his mom how her "little Hobbit" had grown so massive. Most of all, he kept feeling his muscles, just making sure they hadn't gone away. -------- At dawn, Alex returned to his room for his backpack and a change of clothes, relieved that Roach was snoring soundly. In the bathroom, he pulled on the new outfit Britton had given him last night and watched himself transform into a preppy, one item of clothing at a time: a crisp white shirt, a striped tie, a cardigan, a pair of white slacks. (Alex doubted he had ever thought of pants as "slacks" until that very moment. He was already thinking like an Alpha.) Slipping his bare feet into tasseled loafers completed the ensemble, with his rock-star locks now looking wildly inappropriate. He brushed the longer strands behind his ears as best as possible. He decided to leave his stubble unshaven for now. After years of lamenting that he couldn't manage even a decent mustache, it felt wrong to chop down this forest of fresh growth. Despite his sleepless night, Alex was refreshed and alert. Still, he knew he'd better get his morning jolt of caffeine or he would be suffering later. It felt strange to be entering the familiar Starbucks in such an altered form, like he was there as an undercover spy. His flesh tingled as he saw Jennifer working the counter. He waited until she looked his direction and waved at her. She nodded, slightly confused, and only then did it hit Alex that she wouldn't have a clue who he was. As he took his place at the back of the line, Devin ducked in. He spotted his friends near the front of the line and was about to join them when he started checking out the other customers cautiously. Alex was amused to realize that Devin was actually scared that the little twerp from yesterday might call him out again for line-cutting. Seeing no twerp in sight, Devin wormed his way in with his friends. Alex had hoped that another customer might be inspired by his behavior from yesterday, but no one spoke up. Alex guessed he would have to handle it himself again. But instead of shouting and calling him names, today Alex felt there must be a subtler, classier way to deal with the interloper. Alex left the end of the line and walked calmly over to Devin, amazed to discover that they were now roughly the same height with approximately the same build. Alex tapped Devin gently on the shoulder and murmured, "Not cool, dude." Devin spun around, ready to say "Fuck off," but when he saw that he was facing someone of impressive stature, he became less confrontational. Shifting into a conspiratorial whisper, he told Alex, "I'm running late, man. I just want to get my coffee and go." Alex wasn't letting him off the hook, speaking softly and continuing to grip Devin's shoulder. "You don't think any of these other people are running late? Why should they let you ahead of them? What makes you so special?" Devin clearly thought he WAS special, but when confronted with Alex's unblinking blue eyes, the guy turned into a two-bit weasel from a black-and-white film, all shifty eyes and shoulder shrugs. How could this happen to him two days in a row? Unfortunately, it wouldn't be so easy to inflict revenge on this big prep. Better to concede defeat. Devin left his friends and walked to the back of the line with Alex, who generously gestured for the jock to go ahead of him. "Please. I know you're running late," Alex said with a smile. Devin nodded his thanks and noticed the faint traces of a bruise around Alex's left eye. "How'd you get the shiner?" "Some asshole punched me," said Alex. "But I know how to deal with him now." Eventually they reached the front of the line, where Jennifer forced a fake smile when she saw Devin's face. She took his order, scrawling his name on a cup. To Alex's surprise, Devin turned to him and asked, "What can I get you?" "Seriously?" "Yeah. My treat. To make up for being such a dick before." Part of Alex wanted to turn him down out of spite, but he didn't want to discourage an act of generosity. Alex smiled at Jennifer and ordered a latte. She barked, "Name?" In the millisecond before "Alex" was about to tumble through his lips, Alex stopped himself. How would he ever explain to Jennifer that he was the same guy she took a liking to yesterday without revealing the secrets of the Alphas? Noticing her impatience, he blurted out "Cooper". And for the first time in his life, he felt like the name fit him. Jennifer wrote something vaguely resembling "Cooper" on the cup and slid it along, then looked at the line and smiled to the next customer. Alex, or rather Cooper, moved toward the "pick-up" location, sad that he had been unable to make a connection with Jennifer. When Devin got his drink, he slapped Cooper on the back and said, "See ya 'round, dude," then ambled out the door and joined his buddies, clearly in no rush despite his claims that he was running late. All morning, Cooper did his best not to draw attention to himself in his classes, sitting in the rear of the classrooms, slumping in his seat, not offering any input. Better to give his teachers a buffer period in which they could totally forget the utterly forgettable Alex Carmichael before acquainting them with the remarkable Cooper A. Carmichael. His plan only worked to a minor degree, as he could feel himself being checked out by the hungry eyes of students (of both genders) and professors (ditto). The only class he was eagerly anticipating was American Lit, as it would offer him a chance to speak to Jennifer. He entered the lecture hall and noticed her immediately. She was checking her makeup in a mirror and was wearing a white silk blouse and a short plaid skirt that showed off her gorgeous legs. It was obvious she had put some effort into looking this good. Oh my god, Cooper thought, did she actually dress up like this...FOR ALEX? If she was that taken with his old wimpy self, she was going to go apeshit for Cooper. Cooper edged his way down Jennifer's row, leaving a gap of two empty seats between them. He leaned back, feigning casualness, relishing the feeling of his powerful arms as they stretched out behind him. With a confidence he could only have dreamt of two days earlier, he glanced over and, as casually as possible, said, "Hey, you're the girl from Starbucks. Jennifer, right?" Jennifer heard the booming voice and glanced over. She responded with a quick nod and said, "Yeah, hi," before turning back to her cell phone. Cooper stared blankly. She didn't seem intimidated by him. She just seemed totally uninterested. He puzzled over what to say next, desperately hoping that tonight's final dose of nectar would improve the part of the brain that regulates small talk. "Hey, how about that 'Great Gatsby', huh?" Jennifer paused her typing, and glanced over. "Yeah, it's a good book," she said flatly, then scanned the rest of the room as more students filtered in. Cooper's brow furrowed. Before he could say anything more, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw he had received a text. From Jennifer. He held the phone so she wouldn't notice it, although she wasn't looking his direction anyway. The message read: ALEX HOPE UR OK. U DIDNT GET COFFEE THIS AM & NOW I DONT SEE U IN CLASS. WISH U WERE HERE TO RESCUE ME. SOME PREPPIE DOUCHEBAG IS HITTING ON ME. HOPE 2 CU SOON. <3<3<3 Cooper lowered the phone, stunned. Why does she think I'm a douchebag?, he wondered. He thought she would be bowled over to attract the interest of someone as spectacular as he was now. He had to find out, but how? Then he realized the answer was right in the palm of his hand. He scrambled to text Jennifer before class began, unaccustomed to typing with his new meaty fingers: SORRY J. BEEN CRAZY BUSY. WHAT MAKES THIS GUY A DOUCHEBAG? Cooper realized it was something of a non-sequitur for Alex to exhibit such curiosity about a stranger's douchebagginess, but he had to know. He saw Jennifer's phone skitter across her desktop as it vibrated. She picked it up and smiled with relief to see that Alex had replied. Her fingers whizzed across the screen. Cooper watched his phone and saw her response pop up: HES BEST BUDS WITH THAT AHOLE DEVIN THAT U TOLD OFF YESTERDAY. WHEN CAN I SEE U? Wow, so just because Devin had bought him a coffee, she assumed he was Devin's friend. Cooper could understand the confusion. He was trying to think of a way for Alex to break it to Jennifer that she would never see him again when the professor entered the room. Cooper barely paid attention to the discussion as he wrestled with how to resolve this romantic triangle in which he was two of the sides. He fidgeted a lot, discovering that the lecture hall's seats were even more uncomfortable for a 6'3" stud than they had been for a 5'7" shrimp. In an awkward seated dance, he shirked off his cardigan, giving Jen an unimpeded view of his bicep coiled up in his tight, thin shirtsleeve. When she didn’t even look over, he brushed his hair back, loosened his tie and popped open his collar, knowing that he must look rakishly gorgeous. When class ended, Cooper trailed after Jennifer, but could only get out the word, "Hey," before she spun around and confronted him. "What is with you?" she demanded. "I saw you looking over at me all through class. Not used to someone not being into you, pretty boy?" Inside his head, Cooper was screaming: SHE THINKS I’M PRETTY! Outwardly, he tried to remain cool. "I just...I like you. You seem really cool. I thought maybe we could go out for...not a coffee sometime." Her knees buckled slightly as he unleashed a toothy grin, but she stood her ground. "That's very flattering, but I'll pass. Okay?" "Is it because of Devin?" he blurted out. She found it a little spooky that he had read her mind like that. Cooper scrambled to make that seem like less of a logical leap. "'Cause I know you saw me with him this morning, but seriously, we are not friends. At all. Today was the second time we’d ever talked. Honestly..." He dropped his voice into a confidential whisper. "He's kind of a d-bag." Jennifer was flustered, feeling more unsettled the longer she talked to this fusion of a Disney Prince and Thor and gazed up at his beautiful blue eyes and his cleft chin and his neck muscles and his perfect... She shook her head, bringing herself back to her senses. "I need to be going." Cooper watched her walk away, mesmerized by the swaying of her hips in that short skirt. Crossing the quad, lost in his thoughts, Cooper heard someone yell, "Hey, Coop! Think fast!" Before he could think anything, a football slammed into his left temple, exactly where he had been punched by Devin the day before. Cooper fell to the ground, the back of his head thwacking the sidewalk. As he lay there dazed, two blurry faces merged into a single image of Devin looking down with concern. "Sorry, bud. I thought you heard me." He offered his hands and helped pull Cooper to his feet. "You alright?" Rather than running to the free clinic in a panic, Cooper discovered how resilient he had become. He shook it off, realizing he felt fine. "Yeah, no problem." "Wanna play? Our team is one short." Cooper attempted to beg off. "I'm not really much of a football guy." "Please? We're getting slaughtered. We need a big guy like you." Cooper found it crazy to be called a "big guy", but he looked at the guys assembled on the quad and realized that he was now the physical equal of -- if not superior to -- all of them. Curious to see whether his body had gained any athletic prowess along with the other changes, Cooper set down his backpack and joined the game. To his delight, he quickly discovered how agile he had become. For someone who had never been known for hand-eye coordination, he was suddenly throwing and catching the football like he had been doing it for years. His brain was even thinking strategically, processing the movements of a dozen bodies at once. With the impromptu game tied, Devin flung the ball to Cooper, who powered his way to the designated end zone with no pursuers even close to him. Devin rushed over and leapt up, wrapping his arms around Cooper's neck and his legs around Cooper's waist. "Not a football guy, my ass!", shouted Devin victoriously. As they fell to the grass, Cooper heard a woman yelling from the distance. "What's this? The Douche Bowl?" Cooper turned his head and saw Jennifer watching from across the quad, her hands cupped around her mouth for amplification. She shook her head and walked the other direction. As Cooper tried to untangle himself from Devin so he could chase after her, Devin noticed Cooper's desperation. "Is that the stuck-up bitch from Starbucks? Don't tell me you're into her." “Uh…” Cooper didn't know what to say. He expected this transformation to change his life, but he hadn't envisioned that he would end up charming Devin and repulsing Jennifer. Devin slapped Cooper’s back. A week ago, this friendly gesture would have knocked Alex down. Today, it didn’t even rattle Cooper. His bulging back muscles absorbed all the impact. “You’re really good. Are you on the team?” “I…I’ve never…” Cooper’s tongue fumbled with the words. He had no idea what to say. He’d always wanted to play football, but he’d never had enough strength to even be the waterboy. “I gotta go.” He grabbed his backpack and headed to Starbucks, ignoring Devin’s “Did I say something wrong?” Cooper had hoped Jennifer would be back for an afternoon shift, but she wasn't working today. He sat at a table, typing and retyping various texts to her from Alex, but nothing seemed right. He composed one that said: JEN I JUST MET THIS AWESOME GUY COOPER. HE'S THE COOLEST GUY EVER. He laughed at how absurd that would be and backspaced it into oblivion. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Coop,” he muttered to himself. Instead, he typed up a text to his mom, trying to lay the groundwork for her acceptance of the new person he was becoming. He told her that he had been befriended by a bunch of cool guys who asked him to join their frat and that they already had him working out and eating healthier. "NEXT TIME YOU SEE ME YOU PROBABLY WON'T RECOGNIZE ME HA HA," he typed, hoping that she’d be ignorant enough about working out to accept that her son had gained about a hundred pounds. And ten inches. And blue eyes. And a new face. When the sky began to darken, he realized he needed to get to Alpha house for the initiation. He dashed across campus, still marveling at the effortless grace of his new body. Running kept him distracted from his growing fear. In truth, he was even more afraid than he’d been the day before. -------- He knocked on the door of Alpha Alpha Alpha and could hear commotion inside. He assumed a kegger was in progress, but when he dared to open the door, he found harried Alphas roaming the house, most on their cell phones in urgent need of information. He ventured past the entry hall and found the other pledges already seated on antique furniture in the den, stripped down to their undershorts and wearing blindfolds and noise-cancelling headphones. It looked like some sort of brainwashing ritual, but they were clearly not listening to anything, because if body language was an indicator, the pledges were bored out of their minds. Britton hadn't been kidding about how Cooper would fit in: you could cast "Magic Mike 2" from this bunch, and none of them had taken a single drop of nectar. Cooper marveled at the flawlessness of their physiques. How did he have peers who looked like this naturally? He was glad he’d been allowed to cheat a little. Make that "a lot". Cooper snagged the arm of one of the Alphas, who he realized was the same devastatingly handsome model-in-the-making he'd spoken to last night. "Is Britton around?" The other guy looked up at Cooper and pointed toward the staircase while continuing his phone conversation. "Okay, well, if you do see him, tell him to call Alpha house immediately." Cooper walked up the stairs, baffled. He noticed that the door to Kip's room was ajar and rapped on it. "Hello?" An eye poked through the open gap. "Oh, cool, it's you," said Britton, swinging the door wide and dragging Cooper inside. He closed and locked the door. Quite obviously, someone had been rifling through all of Kip's belongings. Like the other Alphas, Britton looked uncharacteristically frazzled. "What the hell's going on?" Cooper asked. Britton stared into Cooper's eyes. "Kip is missing. No one has seen him since last night." "What? It's not eight yet, I'm sure he'll show." "He's in charge of the initiation ceremony. We've needed him here all day. Nothing’s ready because there are certain things only our president can do. It's completely unlike him to flake like this.” Britton pulled Cooper close and spoke in a hushed tone. "You're the only one I can tell about this. After you left last night, I think Kip drank the rest of the nectar." Cooper looked concerned. "Why would he need to take more? What would it do to him?" Britton shook his head and shrugged. The expression on his face was grave. He rubbed his temples. “Wait…he drank all of it?” Cooper’s eyes went wide. His first emotion was sympathy for Kip. “That must have hurt so badly. I think you guys would have heard something. He would’ve screamed his head off.” “That fuckin’ prick,” Britton seethed, gritting his teeth together. “Fuckin’ piece of shit prick.” “So what happens if there’s no more nect-“ “I don’t KNOW, okay?!” Britton snapped before regaining his senses. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Listen. I don’t know much about the nectar, but there are a few things I’ve heard. For one thing, it can regenerate. It's not like we have thousands of gallons in a tank underground or anything. It’s just a barrel in the basement and it has never ever run out...until now. We probably – hopefully – aren’t out forever, but I don’t know how long it takes for it to come back. It kind of has a mind of its own.” “The nectar? Has a mind of its own?” Britton nodded, his face betraying his concern. “It definitely has sentient properties. It seems to have its own rules and whims. I don't think even Kip understands what all it can do.” Cooper examined Britton's face, desperately hoping for any indication that this was yet another gag, like the one where Cooper had said Kip was really 200 years old, but Britton's anguish was too real. “Listen, I don’t want to overstep my boundaries,” Cooper said, “but I’d like to help get everyone involved in finding him. Even the pledges. They’ll just think it’s part of initiation anyway.” “You’re talking about them like you’re not one,” Britton grinned. “Kip would kill me if he knew that you weren’t down there blindfolded right now.” “What do you think happened to him?” “I don’t know,” Britton shuddered. “I’m scared to think about it. We’ve searched every inch of the basement and he’s not down there. The cellar door was smashed to bits, so it looks like he broke out. But where he is now...?” His head slumped. “What a fuckin’ dumbass. He ruined everything. I can’t even think straight right now, I’m so mad.” He pounded a fist into Kip’s mattress. “FUCK!” Cooper loomed over Britton. "Get yourself together, man. You think Kip would want to see you losing your shit like this?" Britton shook his head, chastised. A plan flashed through Cooper’s mind, and he stood up. “Do you have a printer?” “In my room," Britton said listlessly. Cooper stood up and talked down to Britton, not even thinking twice about assuming a leader’s stance. “Alright. On the school’s freshman orientation website on the main homepage, there’s a map that divides the campus into a bunch of different sections. We can use that to assign search areas to groups of guys so we get an even spread across campus. Print me out forty copies. I’m going to get everyone to huddle up and tell them the plan.” “Wait!” Cooper was already halfway into the hall when Britton pulled him back. “I’ll talk to the brothers. They won’t know who you are. You deal with your fellow pledges.” “Can’t I talk to everyone?” “When did you turn into a Kennedy? No, that would alienate you from the group. They’d think you were just an uppity pledge.” Cooper’s broad shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Fine.” He couldn’t believe it was now a letdown to not get to do a little public speaking. “Did you call campus police already?” “Yeah, they’re on the lookout for him, but I described him as he normally looks. He could look completely different right now. I don’t know.” Britton addressed the brothers from over the balcony, while Cooper spoke with the pledges in the living room and pretended that he was just as clueless as they were. Brothers paired up or took a pledge with them. Cooper, of course, went with Britton. They assigned themselves the area between the Alpha house and the football stadium, which contained two streets and a long, grassy hill. None of the Alphas seemed to have any hope as they left the house armed with flashlights and cell phones. The pledges, assuming this was a planned part of initiation in which they were being tested, were like puppies following behind the brothers. The assumption was that there would be some prize for finding this mysterious “Kip.” Cooper yanked off his tie and wrapped it around his hand as he walked next to Britton, who was still visibly angry. “Hey man,” Cooper said, as their eyes scanned sidewalks and trees. “I just want to say that, even if there’s no more nectar, I’m really grateful for what you did for me. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever or will ever do for me in my life, I know that.” They walked on a few more yards and Cooper said with an emotional quiver in his voice, “I’m grateful for you. Ugh, that sounds dumb when I say it out loud.” Britton managed a smile. “We’re going to find Kip, and we’re going to turn you into an Alpha.” “That’s not what this is about. I’m not trying to find him because I want to get bigger. I’m trying to find him because he’s my brother now. As far as I'm concerned, I’ve already HAD my initiation. I already am an Alpha. I might not be a super-mega-deluxe Alpha, but I’ll have a great life like this. AND I’ll get a lot of ass.” For the first time this evening, Britton laughed out loud. "Fuckin'-a right you will." He hung a brotherly arm around Cooper's neck. Just then, they both heard a rustle from a nearby bush. They stopped in their tracks. Cooper crept slowly toward the bush, with Britton lurking close behind him. Cooper flipped on the flashlight of his cell phone. Its beam was reflected in two beady eyes which stared back from near ground level. A raccoon was nibbling on a piece of white bread it had pulled from a nearby trashcan. It scampered away with its bread. "Well, unless the nectar reincarnated Kip as a raccoon, I think we need to keep searching," Britton said. As Britton began to walk away, Cooper heard a strange noise from behind the garbage cans. He reached over and grabbed Britton's arm. "Did you hear that?" Britton listened but could only hear autumn leaves rustling. Then they both heard it. A guttural groan, like nothing either of them had ever encountered. It sounded like a strangled animal caught in a trap and begging for help. As Britton and Cooper glanced at each other in the darkness, they heard it again, more distinctly. "Breeeunnh." Cooper took a cautious step toward the trash cans. Britton remained on the sidewalk, watching nervously as whatever it was moaned eerily again with greater urgency, "Breeee-uuuuunnnnh." Cooper rounded the corner and yelped in surprise. Britton rushed over to see what had happened. Cooper was frozen in position, staring at something lurking behind the garbage cans. Britton followed Cooper's gaze but was unprepared for what he saw. Squatting on the ground was something vaguely human, or at least some kind of primate, yet Britton had never seen anything resembling this in his biology classes. It was huge, with muscles upon muscles upon muscles, freakier than even the most hard-core steroid-abusing bodybuilder. Greasy black hair straggled across its bulging brow and down past its gargantuan shoulders, with matted hair coating its face, chest and legs. Its grotesquely huge jaw hung slack as it breathed heavily through its mouth. "We better call animal control," Britton whispered into Cooper's ear. "That's no animal," said Cooper as he flipped on his cell phone light again. The creature flinched and howled at the bright light, lifting its enormous filthy hands to shield its dull, tear-filled eyes. Something shiny glinted in the light from Cooper's phone, something metallic squeezing tightly on one of the monster's bloated fingers. It took a moment before Britton recognized the item. It was very familiar, since Britton was wearing one too. It was an official Alpha Alpha Alpha ring. "Briiiii-tuuuuun," cried the creature desperately, stretching one mighty mutant arm toward Britton and Cooper, who both jumped back in fear. "Holy fucking shit," Cooper whispered, his eyes wide and mouth agape. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”, Britton shouted at the beast which Kip had become. Kip unleashed a horrible cry and hid his face as he rocked back and forth. He was shaking twice as badly as Alex had the day before. Britton marched over toward him, furious. “What were you thinking, you STUPID FUCKING IDI-” Cooper reached forward and yanked Britton backwards as Kip's arm swung out angrily. "You're the stupid fucking idiot!", he barked in a squelched voice at Britton. "You want him to tear your head off? Can't you see that he's terrified?" Cooper pressed a hand against Britton's chest and pushed him a safe distance away, feeling Britton's heart pounding violently. Cooper then stepped calmly toward Kip, his voice oozing confidence and betraying no fear, taking control of the situation. "Hey there, Kip," he greeted the monstrosity in as offhand a tone as he could muster. "I'm so glad we found you. Everyone was worried sick about where you had gone." The mountain of flesh made an abrupt noise which, to Cooper's ear, sounded like Kip was scoffing, but he couldn't be sure if Kip was even comprehending a word he said. "No, really, I mean it. Can you come with us?" Kip grunted something vaguely resembling "Nnnnooooo" and cowered in fear as Cooper extended a hand to him. Britton watched, amazed at how bravely Cooper was dealing with this. "Don't worry. We're not gonna hurt you." Britton leaned forward and whispered into Cooper's ear. "Where the hell we gonna take him, the zoo?" Cooper shot Britton a quick glance and whispered back, firmly, "He's still our brother, brother." Cooper stepped forward with both arms out. "Please, Kip. Let us help you. That's what Alphas do for each other." Kip's dark eyes widened, his rubbery lips attempting to smile. He placed one of his mighty paws into Cooper's hand and stood awkwardly. Britton and Cooper watched in amazement as Kip rose higher and higher, his immense body looming over them by at least a foot. Not surprisingly, not a stitch of clothing remained on the towering figure. "Make sure the coast is clear," Cooper commanded Britton. Britton nodded, then asked, "Wait, where are we taking him?" "Do you have a key to the clinic?" They were fortunate there was no moon, which helped them skulk across campus with a naked seven-foot titan in tow. They stuck to back alleys and shied away from street lights en route to the clinic. When they got there, Britton unlocked the back door, switched on the lights and led Cooper and Kip to an examining room. Kip was barely able to squeeze through the door, and snarled and shielded his eyes as the fluorescents flickered to life. The lights also gave Cooper and Britton their first well-illuminated glimpse of just how grotesque Kip had become. Britton directed Kip to have a seat on an examining table. Kip eased himself down, seemingly worried that he would crush it. "I'm just gonna take a few vitals. Is that okay?", Britton asked in a loud stress-filled voice as if addressing an 800-pound child. Kip nodded suspiciously. Britton tried to wrap a blood-pressure cuff around Kip's massive biceps, but the strap was too short to stretch all the way. He placed a stethoscope to Kip's immense hairy pecs. "Looks like we're gonna have to schedule you for a wax," Britton quipped, trying to lighten the mood. Kip chortled, a deep phlegmatic noise churning upward through his chest. Britton listened, then spoke to Cooper. "Considering his size, his pulse doesn't seem out of whack. It's hard to know what would be normal for him now." Behind Kip's back, Britton prepared a hypodermic and moved stealthily to give him a shot of sedative, but as he attempted to inject Kip, the needle broke off, unable to penetrate Kip's thick hide. Kip noticed this and took an angry swat at Britton, knocking him to the floor. Britton lifted himself back to his feet and was ready to charge at Kip, but Cooper got in the way, using his considerable strength to hold Britton back. "Chill out! Are you really stupid enough to want to fight...THAT?" He jerked his head to indicate Kip, who was now standing and seething, the top of his head grazing the ceiling. Cooper turned to Kip with a soothing smile and asked, "Can you sit back down? I just want to talk." The fury in Kip's eyes abated as he looked into Cooper's cool blue eyes. Kip fell back onto the examining table with a crunch. Cooper scooted a chair over, took Kip's hands and stared deeply into the hulking figure's haunted eyes, hoping he could connect with the old Kip, assuming he was still in there somewhere. "Are you able to talk at all? Can you tell us what happened?" Kip's heavy brows lowered and his eyelids narrowed. He cleared his throat, sounding like a garbage disposal, and Cooper caught a whiff of his ghastly breath. Noticing the filth and slime clinging to Kip's fingers and rubbery lips, Cooper deduced that Kip must have been scrounging food out of trash cans to keep this gigantic body fueled all day. It took Kip enormous effort to speak, but through a combination of words and gestures, he tried to convey his story. He pointed to Cooper and said, "Big." Pointed to himself and said, "Bigger. More bigger." He lifted his hand to his mouth, suggesting drinking the nectar. Then he made a loud explosion noise, flung his arms wide and gestured to his new musculature. Cooper nodded calmly. "Uh-huh. So you wanted to get...more bigger." Britton chimed in with the subtlety of a chainsaw. "Mission fucking accomplished, bro." Cooper kept his eyes locked on Kip. "But why? You were already so amazing. Why did you need to be more bigger?" Kip pounded his hairy chest with his fist. "Alpha." He then gestured dismissively at Cooper with one hand while holding his nose with two fingers of the other. Cooper's heart sank as he discovered how Kip really felt about him. As Cooper leaned back to sulk, Britton stepped forward, furious. "You fucking egomaniac. You've had every advantage your whole life, and you still weren't half the man Alex is." Cooper could see that he wasn't going to be able to stop Britton this time. He also made a mental note to tell Britton later that he'd like to be called Cooper from now on. Britton kept on ranting, getting closer and closer to Kip. "You didn't realize how good you had it. None of the Alphas do. We all think we were born to be the strongest, the handsomest, the most successful, like it was fucking ordained. And we think that the nectar proves our greatness because it makes us stronger and handsomer and more successful. But you just couldn't handle that a dweeby little nobody like Alex had just as much inherent virtue and strength of character as any of us, and that the nectar could enhance him so he was just as good as any Alpha. Maybe even better, because he could appreciate the benefits it gave him, instead of just taking it for granted as what he deserved." Kip was slumping in the face of Britton's tirade. Britton had no idea if his precise words were sinking in, but he could tell that his message was getting across. "So you were so jealous and so threatened that some 'mere mortal' might become as good as you that you selfishly drank all the rest of the nectar? Did you think it would make you more perfect? Did you think it would make you a god? Well, how'd that work out for you?" Kip looked down at his massive hairy arms. The big brute looked sad and dissatisfied. "Meanwhile, Alex here was the most concerned of anybody about your well being. He organized the search parties. He was cool under pressure. He forced me to get my act together when I was losing it. You know why? Because he's your brother. And he cared about you as a brother. He's an Alpha. He was an Alpha before he had a drop of that fucking nectar." Britton's chest was rising and falling rapidly and his forehead was covered in sweat, but he was satisfied that he had said his piece. He retreated to a neutral corner and tried to regain his composure. Kip's head was lowered, his heavy jaw resting on his gorilla-like chest muscles. When he raised his eyes, they were flooded with tears. He dropped to his knees, shaking the building. Groveling before Cooper, he looked up and cried, struggling to speak. "Sssssssss...." His body quaked as he sobbed. "Ssssss...orrrrreeeeee." Cooper stared at the brute as he blubbered, his massive shoulders heaving with grief. Kip looked at Cooper again, pounded a heavy index finger against Cooper's sternum and strained to say, "Aaaalllll-phaaaaa b-b-bruuuu-ther." Kip collapsed forward, his head falling into Cooper's lap. Cooper was unsure how to react, then gently brushed a hand through Kip's slimy, matted hair. In a soft tone at odds with the depth of his new voice, Cooper whispered, "Thank you.” Britton watched this peculiar scene with tears in his eyes. Kip's sobbing seemed to increase dramatically, as his muscles shook violently. Then Kip raised his head with a look of terror on his face. He wasn't crying now and, from the look in his eyes, he knew something was happening to his body, some extraordinary force was buffeting it. Britton had seen this plenty of times, but even Cooper's limited experience was enough to tell him that the nectar was gearing up for yet another metamorphosis. All three men braced themselves, fearful of how much bigger and more hideous Kip might become. “Nuh!” Kip shook his head in terror. “Nuh! NUH!” Britton felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Whatever was about to happen, he hoped he wouldn’t have to make a call to Kip’s parents when it ended. As Kip's body vibrated, his face looked sickly and his hands trembled. He opened his mouth wide as if he had something urgent to say. Cooper leaned closer, hoping to catch it...and a gusher of viscous goo shot out of Kip's mouth like water from a firehose, drenching Cooper. Cooper scooted back, his chair skidding through the nectar-laden puke that now coated the floor. Britton reached over frantically and grabbed Cooper's hand. "Don’t open your mouth! Don’t breathe! Don’t breathe don’t breathe don’t breathe. We gotta wash that shit off you. The last thing we need is another Kip." He dragged Cooper into another room which had a shower and shoved him in, fully clothed, blasting him with hot water. To his relief, the slime was washing off quickly and sliding down the drain with no evidence that it was affecting Cooper. Once his face was completely washed clean, Cooper inhaled desperately, having held his breath for more than a minute. Britton shut off the water and slumped to the floor, exhausted. Cooper looked down at his soaking-wet white shirt and pants which were clinging to every sinewy curve of his body. He looked down at Britton wearily and sighed. "Is every day this dramatic for the Alphas? Don't you ever just, like, sit around and drink too much beer?" Britton let out a cathartic laugh. "Tomorrow night. I promise." A loud moan emerged from the next room. Cooper and Britton looked at each other with dread. They crept to the door, then peeked into the examination room, expecting it to be filled to bursting with Kip. To their relief, he had not grown. In fact, he was shrinking, his super-steroidal muscles deflating back to more conceivably human dimensions. He remained as hairy as he had been in his expanded size, with the hair on his head dangling down to his nipples and a mangy growth of beard on his cheeks. He was struggling to stand, his bare feet slipping in the gallons of sticky vomit he had unleashed. Cooper and Britton stepped apprehensively through the puddles, having trouble keeping their footing. Kip draped one arm around each of their shoulders and they carried him gingerly into the clinic's waiting room. Cooper and Britton deposited him in a chair, then collapsed onto the floor. All any of them wanted to do for several minutes was breathe. Kip was the one to finally break the silence. His frail voice sounded awed and haunted, like someone who had emerged from a near-death experience. "It spoke to me." "What did?", Britton asked. "The nectar. After I took it last night. I could hear this voice. It was in Greek but I knew what it was saying.' Cooper leaned up on one elbow and looked at Kip. "And what was that?" "It said I would learn a lesson. Maybe now it's decided that I have." He slumped in his chair and lowered his arms to his sides. His ring dropped from his finger, making a sharp clang on the tile floor. Britton, Cooper and Kip all stared at the ring as it rolled across the floor, wondering if it was an omen. Kip looked down at his body, flexing his muscles and inspecting his dick. All in all, a very impressive specimen, but Kip realized something. "I'm too thin for the ring. This is my old body. From before I became an Alpha." "Bullshit," Cooper said. "You've always been an Alpha." Kip grinned back and said, "You too, brother." Then his face twisted up like he was about to cry. Kip hated crying. His lips knotted and his eyes welled up with what looked to be a gallon of water, but no tears fell. “I was so scared. I couldn’t talk! I was so, s-s-so scared…” “You just had a trauma.” Cooper reached out to put an arm around Kip, but Kip took the gesture further and yanked a surprised Cooper up into a big bear hug. Britton smiled at the reconciliation, then had an abrupt realization. "Shit, we need to call off the APB so everyone can stop searching for you!" Britton pulled out his cell phone to dial campus police. Cooper pulled his own phone from the pocket of his wet slacks and realized the phone had gotten soaked and was inoperable. Britton told him not to worry about it. He'd take care of the phone calls. He directed Cooper and Kip to the staff locker room where naked Kip and soggy Cooper could slip into some scrubs. When they returned to Alpha house for a triumphant welcome, Kip stood before the Alphas and the pledges, looking hairier and more disheveled than anyone had ever seen him. Kip related the story of his mugging and amnesia which had landed him in the hospital -- a tale he had cooked up with Britton and Cooper on the walk back from the clinic to explain his abrupt disappearance. He promised to reschedule the induction ceremony and thanked everyone for their concern. After the pledges had departed, Britton and Kip decided they needed to check on the status of the nectar barrel in the basement. As they started downstairs, Cooper heard someone say, "Pssst!" He turned and saw Kip motioning him over and whispering, "Aren't you coming?" Cooper smiled, delighted at being included. They reached the claustrophobic antechamber where the ancient barrel sat in a golden frame. They all braced themselves as Kip gently pried open the lid and peeked inside. He looked up and grinned. "It's flowing again." Britton and Cooper leaned over and discovered that the barrel was about one-tenth full of golden nectar. Every few seconds, the surface would ripple as if a new drop had fallen into it, yet those new drops didn't seem to be falling FROM anywhere. They were just...appearing. Cooper asked Kip and Britton, "How is that possible? Where does it come from?" Kip spoke sagely. "The Gods work in mysterious ways. Believe me, I know." Cooper was exhausted and asked if he could just crash somewhere in the frat for tonight. Britton let him sleep in his room, as long as he left early enough in the morning that no one else would see him. The other brothers would see it as a major breach of protocol if a mere pledge had been allowed to stay at the frat before induction. Since some of the Alphas rowed crew and had to get up before dawn, that meant Cooper was up and out of the frat by 4am. Britton loaned him another outfit even preppier than the one he had worn the day before, with a white cable-knit V-neck sweater over a gray Oxford shirt, coral shorts and deck shoes. He pulled his long blond hair into a ponytail and stared with awe at the short blond beard he was now sporting. He kept catching himself sticking his tongue out to run it over the whiskers around his mouth. He just couldn’t believe that they were there. Starbucks was not open yet, so Cooper killed time outside, wondering how he might convince Jennifer to give him a chance. His phone was now fucked up, so he couldn't send her a text. He decided to pull out a pen and sheet of paper, then pondered what to write. When Starbucks opened, Jennifer was at the counter and Cooper was the first in line, but he graciously allowed others to go ahead of him. He wanted to catch Jennifer when she had a breather between customers. When he finally reached the counter, Jennifer looked up and put on an obligatory forced smile. "Can I take your order?" Cooper leaned down, elbows on the counter, so that his eyes were even with hers. "Good morning. A friend of mine gave me a note for you." She looked at him suspiciously, expecting it to be some lame coerced apology from Devin. Cooper handed her the paper, which she unfolded. She looked at the bottom first, and her heart lifted when she saw that it was from Alex. Her delight was short-lived. "Dear Jennifer, I wanted to let you know that you won't be seeing me around anymore. It's too complicated to explain, but I've experienced some very big life changes in the past few days. Before I go, I asked my good friend Cooper if he would give you this note." Jennifer glanced over, surprised to discover that Cooper would be a good friend of Alex. She looked back at the note. "Although we barely met, I will always remember how you immediately could see the real me and didn't judge me by my outward appearance. That's a rare gift, and I hope you will continue to extend the benefit of the doubt to anyone you meet. People can really surprise you if you get to know them. Don't worry about me. I expect to have a great life. I hope you will too. Your friend, Alex" Jennifer lowered the letter and saw Cooper staring back. She didn't see the cockiness he had exhibited yesterday. She saw a friend. "Are you really friends with Alex?", she asked. "We couldn't be closer." She pursed her lips and looked him over. Maybe he was worth giving the benefit of the doubt. A line was beginning to form again, so she shifted back to business with a genuine smile. "Okay, Cooper, what can I get you?" Just as Cooper ordered his latte, Jennifer noticed Devin arriving. He wasn't in a hurry for once and immediately went to the rear of the line to wait his turn like a civilized person. Cooper spotted him too, pleased that Devin had changed his selfish ways. Devin grinned when he saw Cooper and gave him a friendly wave. Cooper leaned back to Jennifer and said, "I swear he's not my friend. I just keep running into him. Turns out he's not as bad as I thought at first." Jennifer nodded, thinking it over, then looked back at Cooper. "Yeah, I hear that can happen." As Cooper waited for his drink, Devin called over to him. "'Sup, Coop. How's it going?" "Had a rough night last night, but things are good today. So far." "Awesome, dude. Hey, listen, I hope you don't mind, but I told my basketball coach about how good you were at football, and he said he would talk to the football staff about getting you a tryout." Cooper thought this was absurd. Yesterday was the first time he had ever played football with this new body. It had felt good, natural, but he found it unfathomable that he might be able to play at college level. Then again, he'd seen a lot of unfathomable things these past few days. "I can't imagine I'm good enough." "Don't sell yourself short, buddy. You're awesome." Gradually, Cooper was starting to accept that he might actually be awesome. "Thanks, man." "Sure thing, bro." Cooper had a light schedule that morning and found himself unable to concentrate in the couple of classes that he did bother attending. He blew off his afternoon classes entirely, stripping off his shirt and sweater and lying on the grass in the quad to catch some rays. His mind drifted over the events of recent days, marveling over how his thoughts about life in general and his own life in particular had changed so drastically. He was drifting off into a pleasant dream when he heard someone bark, "Hey, you! Get a haircut!" Cooper's eyes popped open and he saw Kip looking down at him, still with straggly black hair and a moth-eaten beard. He extended an arm to lift Cooper to his feet. They headed to a male-focused hair salon with old-fashioned barber chairs and men in gleaming white uniforms. Kip had made appointments for them ahead of time. The place smelled like peppermint and musk. It was a whole new world to Cooper. Kip asked his stylist for "the usual" and instructed Cooper's barber to give him the same cut. Their chairs were reclined so they could each get their beards shaved off with straight razors, which freaked Cooper out because he’d never had one before. He had to admit, it felt amazing. The barber was a master at navigating the jutting bones that composed Cooper’s chiseled face. Hot towels were placed on their faces and their chairs raised upright for the unveiling. Cooper stared at the clean-cut, clean-shaven preppy poster child in the mirror. His shiny golden hair was clipped short on the sides and an artistically-gelled tangle on the top, identical to Kip's in everything but color. Without the distraction of his long hair, Cooper's knife's-edge cheekbones and chin cleft were even more eye-grabbing. He stared for a long time at himself, watching his big chest rise and fall under the smock. He looked over to Kip, who gave an approving thumbs-up. Then Cooper looked back at the mirror, eyes wide in complete amazement. Cooper ran his hands through the perfect wave of blond hair. “Wow,” he whispered. “You okay?” Kip reached over and laid a hand on Cooper’s shoulder. “I’m great. I’m just getting used to him. Uh, to me. That reflection.” “I can’t imagine how strange that must be.” Kip paused. “Well, actually, I can kind of imagine, now.” Kip needed a body wax to remove all traces of the were-Kip from last night, but Cooper declined to join him, even when Kip offered to pay. "Okay, man, see you tonight at eight," Kip said. Cooper was surprised. "Oh, so it's on?" "Yeah. We'd been trying to call you but your phone is still fucked." "Is there, you know, is there enough…" Cooper coughed a little. “Did you buy enough BEER? We wouldn’t want to have a party if we don’t have any BEER,” Cooper asked, not wanting to mention the nectar where non-Alphas could hear them. Catching the code, Kip grinned and spoke confidentially. "I checked this morning and we’re fully stocked. The barrel is full of beer. Good thing beer is forgiving even when I don’t deserve to be forgiven, huh?” “You deserved to be forgiven. Sometimes when you drink too much, the hangover is a monster.” That night, all the pledges including Cooper were gathered in the basement of the frat, kneeling naked in a circle. He was positioned all the way to the right at the end of the semi-circle, so that he would be the last to drink. Every other pledge was flaccid with anxiety, but Cooper’s long dick stuck straight up in front of him. He was the only one who knew what was coming. Cooper knew this ceremony would seal his membership, but he already felt like he belonged. Two men in red robes and sandals entered with the crystal bowl of nectar and brought it to the lips of the pledges, who as usual were overwhelmed with the powerful sensations that spread through their bodies. Some of them passed right out, others masturbated themselves into a coma, so when it came to be Cooper’s turn, he was the only conscious pledge. When the ladle was brought to his lips, he heard Britton intoning his name solemnly: "Cooper Alexander Carmichael. Alpha name: Coop." Britton enunciated the ‘p’ with a loud pop of his lips. Cooper glanced up and could just make out Britton's features in the murky darkness of his hood. He could swear that Britton gave him a wink. As the ladle reached his mouth, Cooper eagerly cupped his hands around it and guided its contents down his throat. A dribble rolled out of the corner of his lips, and this time it was a robed man – Kip – who caught it with his thumb, which Cooper wrapped his mouth around sucked off. “UNGH!” If a punch in the stomach could feel good, that was what Cooper got. Hot pleasure shot through his nerves and he splattered a load of cum right onto the bottom of Britton’s robe. Cooper fell forward onto his hands, spraying his seed underneath him. He moaned loudly. Britton stumbled back to avoid getting doused again, managing to avoid laughing. The two robed men carried the nectar into the back room, with Britton whispering to Kip. "You sure you don't want a little?" Kip told him, "No, I'm good." Even handling the nectar made him nervous now. He played with the Alpha ring on his finger, which he had gotten resized to fit on his slimmer finger. Cooper could tell he would normally be feeling terrible, but his tolerance for pain had increased so radically in his new form that he felt almost nothing. This final dose wasn't nearly as shocking to Cooper's system as either of the prior two, more like a Ben-Gay body rub than the bone-wracking agony he had experienced before. But he could still sense that something was changing. While the rest of the pledges had been shrieking and groaning and passing out, Cooper mostly had a sensation of the room growing ever so slightly smaller. He could feel the sinews in his chest vibrating. Heat rushed through his arms up to the tip of his fingers. Thicker and bigger he grew. His butt swelled out, his thighs pulsed with growth. The shapes of his muscles grew more improbable with each throb of his body, as his physique reshaped into something Herculean, with proportions most professional bodybuilders could only dream of. It was chiseled beauty blown into its biggest human form. Cooper’s shape could never be achieved with chemical concoctions. It was just something you had or you didn’t. And if you weren’t Cooper, you didn’t have it. He felt the angles of his jaw shifting again, the bottom of his face a collection of 45- and 90- degree angles that no surgeon could replicate. His beard blasted back through his skin as his hormones surged. A sweet, masculine aroma wafted out from him, filling the basement with his manly scent. Britton and Kip noticed Cooper's changes immediately upon their return, and both could do nothing but gasp. Cooper's muscles were filling out beautifully, exquisite in every contour, and his already stunning face achieved perfect symmetry – almost inhuman to behold, as if he were the next stage of man. As the other inductees rose from their blackouts, they naturally inspected themselves first, but their eyes were all quickly drawn to Cooper's magnificence. He had become the Alpha-est Alpha of all. He stood, arms out in angles at his sides, his hips naturally cocked, his dick standing straight up and oozing cum. He pulled his biceps up into a pose and moved to kiss them. But his shoulder had grown so broad, his neck so thick, that he couldn’t stretch to his bicep. Instead, he pulled his arm over to his face and Frenched the muscle, as more cum spurted onto his 10-pack. When he felt the sticky moisture, he looked down and grinned from ear to ear as his cock smiled back up at its master. He wrapped one hand around his shaft and cupped his balls with the other, dropping to his knees and playing with himself until he finally fainted. -------- He woke up in the basement, his demigod body glazed by his own sperm. Britton was sitting nearby, playing with his phone. “God, I thought you’d never wake up.” “Why am I still down here?” His voice had changed again. It was a pleasant bass now, booming out of him like a shout. He had to consciously work to scale back the volume. With his massive chest, there was just so much space to project from. “It took three of us to pick you up instead of the usual two, and we couldn’t fit all three of us and you in the stairwell.” “Awesome,” Cooper grinned, laying on his back and tapping his abs like they were piano keys. “Shit, I feel huge just here on the floor.” “You got…really big. You’re the biggest I’ve ever seen.” Britton stood up and clapped his hands together, flinging a pair of XXL Tri-Alpha shorts at him to wear for now. “First thing tomorrow, we’re getting you clothes.” After shaving again – he cut himself twice because he wasn’t used to the angles of his face - Cooper was taken shopping the next day by Britton and Kip. Alex had never been much of a shopper, but Cooper was discovering that he loved it. The only problems were finding fashionable clothes big enough for his jacked 6'6" frame and deciding what to buy, since he now looked good in practically anything -- although he looked best wearing nothing at all. He really liked dress shirts now, but he couldn’t close the collars. Britton, as a welcome gift, ordered Cooper three custom shirts so that he’d be able to wear a tie with them. They picked out a lot of sweaters, because sweaters stretched. They were still skintight, with cable knit warping over his arms and chest, but Cooper sort of dug that look. They had to buy his pants huge so that his thighs would fit inside of them, and Kip called in a favor with a girl he knew at Tri-Delt who could resize the waists to fit Coop. Shoes were a big problem too – Cooper had to wear flip-flops for four days before his online shoe order arrived. No physical stores had his size. Luckily, other Alphas had had the same problem, and had a list of places for him to look on the Internet. Cooper needed to retrieve some final items from his dorm room before moving into the frat. The threesome had to walk single-file down the hallway, their broad shoulders nearly scraping the opposite walls. Roach was not in the room when they got there, so the guys quickly gathered Alex's belongings, boxing up his old clothes to donate to charity. Cooper, Britton and Kip were just about to leave when the door opened and Roach entered with his girlfriend Rachel. Rachel's eyes nearly exploded from her head at this triptych of male pulchritude, while Roach skittered to the corner of the room. "Shit, now there's three of them. I told you the other night, just take what you want and leave." Cooper smiled ingratiatingly. "Just letting you know, Roach, that Alex is moving out." Roach stammered in confusion, "Who's Alex?" Rachel took an annoyed swat at Roach. "He's your roommate, you dope." She turned back to the three guys, grinning. "So is one of you moving in to replace him?" "No," replied Cooper. "We're Alpha men." The three hunks left the room and headed toward the elevators. Rachel followed into the hall to watch them walk away. Roach sidled up to her, annoyed. "Whatta they got that I don't?" Rachel turned to her boyfriend with annoyance. "Are you fucking high?" To thank Britton and Kip for their help, Cooper offered to treat them to something at Starbucks. Jennifer was working the counter and was startled when she looked up and saw the men. Her peripheral vision could grasp that the two guys bookending him on either side were remarkably beautiful, but she couldn't take her eyes off Cooper in the middle. He had cleaned up nicely, losing the long hair and the scruff, and his blue eyes were even more mesmerizing than she remembered. She had never seen a face structured like his. He looked like a painting in motion. He was wearing a V-neck t-shirt that barely held in his chest. She attempted to ask if she could take their order, but only a few random dusty syllables tumbled from her mouth. "Hello, Jennifer," Cooper said, his deep voice enchantingly musical. He clapped a hand on the shoulder of each of his companions. "These are my friends, Britton and Kip." The guys said hello, and Jennifer grinned back, stupefied. Imbued with pure confidence, Cooper looked at Jennifer and said, "We're having a party at the Alpha Alpha Alpha house tonight, and I would like you to accompany me." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a request, it was a statement of fact. She finally got a word out. "Definitely." -------- When senior year began, Cooper started his term as president of the Alphas, succeeding Britton who would still drop by periodically when not swamped by med school. Cooper didn't have much free time either, between classes, the demands of the frat, and the grueling schedule of the football team for which he was now starting quarterback. In a way, he was happy so much of his time was taken up with these other activities, so he could cede all planning of their upcoming wedding to Jennifer. All he insisted on was that his groomsmen have tailored tuxes, nothing baggy. Off-the-rack didn’t work for Alphas -- not even for Kip, who would be proudly displaying the thirty pounds of muscle he’d finally gained back through rigorous training. As frat president, Cooper did have one important task to carry out which he could not delegate. After the success of what became known in hushed tones as "the Alex experiment", the Alphas established a tradition of scouring the campus each fall for one unlikely looking but thoroughly deserving freshman to receive the nectar. This was a closely-kept secret, known only to the president, his second-in-command and, obviously, the previously nerdy recipients of this gift. It was important that the other frat brothers remain unaware of the procedure, so that they wouldn't think any less of the new recruit who hadn't arrived at college with their natural physical advantages -- and so that none of the brothers would get the crazy idea of taking extra nectar to improve themselves further. After an exhaustive search, Cooper had targeted Milo, an overweight physics student with wispy red hair and a fondness for classical music. Cooper had been as vague as possible in his previous discussions with Milo, so that if he backed out, he wouldn't know enough to expose the Alphas' secrets. But now that Milo was in the basement of Alpha house, eager to receive his first dose of the sweet nectar that would forever alter his life, Cooper spoke with foreboding from beneath his red hood. “Milo Hayes Reynolds, this nectar is more powerful than you could possibly imagine. One of our members is more than two hundred years old. Another fought in the Civil War. But for the Union, don’t worry.” In the shadows of his cloak, Cooper grinned mischievously, revealing his absolutely perfect teeth.
  7. Mr. Lee had become adept at guessing what his customers wanted before they asked for it, but the man who had just stepped through the front door of his shop was a puzzler. He cut an imposing figure: a muscular six-two, arms crossed, hands tucked under rock-solid biceps. From Mr. Lee's vantage point, the man was a study in blackness, with deep ebony skin, a shaved head, impenetrably dark sunglasses, matching black polo shirt (with no logo of any sort to break up the uniformity), sharply creased dress pants, and thick-soled black boots. Even under normal circumstances, little light filtered through the shop's intentionally grimy windows, but with this man standing between Mr. Lee and the glass, it was like Mr. Lee was caught in the shadow of a solar eclipse. "May I help you?", asked Mr. Lee curiously. "I understand you fulfill unusual requests," said the man in a low, clipped, all-business tone. "How unusual?" "I hear that you can change the human body in ways that most people would consider impossible." "I may have a different definition of impossible than most people." "Let's say, for example, that someone, on short notice, wished to appear older. Or more muscular." To Mr. Lee, the man appeared to be in his early-to-mid-thirties and was extraordinarily fit for a man of any age -- not the sort of customer who would typically ask Mr. Lee for either of these transformations. He added, "I'm asking for a friend." Mr. Lee nodded. Usually someone "asking for a friend" was merely too embarrassed to say they wanted the changes for themselves, but in this case it was plausible -- in fact, more understandable -- than that the man would want such modifications for himself. "Yes, I can do what you ask." The man let down his guard slightly, stepping closer to Mr. Lee and removing his sunglasses -- the whites of his eyes finally providing a contrast from the man's all-black color scheme, although his irises were such a dark brown that they might as well have been black too. His speech patterns retained the staccato rhythms of a military man or police officer, and his tone continued to suggest that the matters they were discussing were of world-shattering importance. "Can you be trusted to maintain the utmost secrecy?" "Of course," said Mr. Lee firmly. "What happens within these walls is private. I never reveal anything about my customers. Even to the police." The man in black allowed himself the slightest of grins, appreciating how Mr. Lee slyly fished for a hint of whether he was being visited by a police officer. The man reached behind him and unclipped a walkie-talkie (black, of course) from the waistline of his pants. "Send in King Joffrey." A black SUV with tinted windows screeched to a halt in front of the shop. The man inside Mr. Lee's shop swiftly swung open the door. A slight figure bounded nimbly from the vehicle, a black hoodie shielding his entire head from view. As soon as the newcomer was inside, his advance man closed the door and the SUV sped off. The man who had been speaking with Mr. Lee looked with concern at the dirt-covered windows which allowed in some light, and could allow outsiders to peer in. "You got any shades on those windows? I don't want any bypassers to see my friend here." Mr. Lee merely raised his hands in the air and the opacity of the windows changed to 100%, leaving the three figures in the shop illuminated solely by a single spotlight shining on the slender figure in the hoodie. "That's awesome," he said in a boyish tenor. "We should work an effect like that into the stage show!" He lowered his hoodie to reveal a youthful man with an enormous, carefully shaped cascade of blond hair. "You gotta tell me the trick." "No trick. Magic. You are a magician, maybe?" "I ain't no magician," the young man scoffed and looked up into the eyes of his protector, who towered over him by a solid six inches. "Dude doesn't even know who I am?" The large man turned to Mr. Lee. "I'm sorry, I should have done the introductions. Mister...Lee, is it? This is Billy Farrow. Perhaps you've heard of him?" "Pleased to meet you, young Mr. Barrow." Mr. Lee preferred to feign ignorance in such cases. If he was thought to be merely an ignorant, out-of-touch old Chinese man, people tended to be more willing to trust his vow of secrecy. But Mr. Lee had grand-daughters, and anyone in America within earshot of a girl between the ages of 9 and 13 was aware of Billy Farrow. He had first gained notice as a precocious 12-year-old by posting Vine videos: a new six-second song every day. This led to his major break the following year as a contestant on the music competition show, "America Wants S'more", in which viewers voted whether to let the singers continue performing or to drop them into a vat of liquid marshmallow. Billy Farrow survived to be the only contestant not "creamed" during his season, and the cult of Billy exploded. His fans were almost exclusively tween girls (who called themselves "Farrow-noids" and whose frenetic outbursts at concerts had been dubbed "Farrow-moans") and twink-loving gay men. Both groups loved him for one simple reason, and it wasn't his music: Billy Farrow was beautiful. In those first crude videos, he was unquestionably cute, but it was the fragile baby-fat cuteness which the horrors of puberty could potentially mangle into something truly unsightly. But by the "AMS" finale, it was obvious that this kid was developing into a fine-featured stunner. His trademark was the Farrow Flop, a swoop of sunkissed blond hair that hung over his right eye all the way down to his elegant cheekbone. Rumors abounded on the internet that he did not actually HAVE a right eye, which merely intensified fans' curiosity. Since it would be such a letdown to reveal that his hidden eye was simply an ordinary eye (albeit one sparkling purple in color, like the other), his manager had decided to maintain the mystery until such time as Billy's fortunes began to wane and he needed to do something dramatic to attract publicity. For a while, Billy tried to come up a signature gesture he could do whenever taking a picture on a red carpet. One such concept consisted of pointing both index fingers at the camera and winking his left eye...but since his right eye was hidden by the Flop, it just looked like his eyes were closed. Billy had recently turned 18 but was retaining his androgynous beauty remarkably well. Hormones had lowered his voice a bit, although he could still hit the high notes of his earliest hits. His fans still adored him and enough were continuing to buy his music rather than steal it that he had become a phenomenally wealthy teenager. His hard-nosed manager, Alan Wiseman, who had leapt aboard the Billy bandwagon after hearing just six seconds of his music, was insistent that Billy would not become another Justin Bieber or Lindsay Lohan or...god, the length of the list he could compile was truly depressing. Therefore, Billy's public image remained unsullied, if a bit whitebread. He spoke of loving his family and steering clear of alcohol and drugs and saving himself until he finds the right person because his life these days was "like bonkers cray-zee with traveling and recording and stuff". Yes, he said "stuff". That's how squeaky clean his public image was. He had been allowed to get his ears pierced, because tween girls thought that was "hot", but tattoos were vetoed after a focus group deemed them "gross" and "too street". But Wiseman was mindful that Billy was now officially an adult and was starting to chafe at some of the restrictions which had helped make both of them very wealthy. That's why, before Billy's frustrated desires had a chance to erupt into some grotesque and embarrassing spectacle that would be all over TMZ, Billy's chief bodyguard, the monumental Reese Boudreaux, had brought Billy to a whispered-about shop near Chinatown while they had a night off between gigs in San Francisco. If the rumors were true, perhaps Billy could have his own equivalent of the Amish tradition of rumspringa and get some of the rebelliousness out of his system. Reese informed Mr. Lee that Billy was a well-known celebrity who had trouble going out in public without being recognized. Fans had managed to see through previous attempts at disguises and mobbed him wherever he went. Mr. Lee nodded. "So you are not looking for a permanent transformation?" "You can do that?", asked Billy, eager to hear more. Reese poured cold water on Billy's enthusiasm. "Yes, sir, just a temporary change. But one that's foolproof enough that no one will realize that it is really Mr. Farrow." Mr. Lee walked behind his counter and opened a cabinet which seemed to be filled with junk jewelry, neatly organized by color. "For a temporary change, I use these bracelets. They allow you to try out a change to see if you like it before you commit to it for good. So, what would you like to change about yourself, Mr. Darrow?" Billy's success had spoiled him, so that he usually was able to get whatever he wanted, but it was beyond his imagination that he would ever be able to make radical changes to his own body as his whims dictated. His first wish came to mind immediately. "I wanna be taller. Like...six foot...two?" His voice went up, as if he was asking for something impossible with his very first request. Mr. Lee was unfazed. As he sorted through his collection, he instructed Billy, "Please remove all of your other jewelry and take off your clothes." Billy shot Reese a leery look, which Reese translated to Mr. Lee. "Why exactly does he need to get undressed?" "He is about to gain six inches of height. I assume he does not want to ruin his nice clothing." Billy didn't need to hear another word. He took several bracelets from his arms, rings from his fingers, and silver hoops from both earlobes, handing them to Reese, who pocketed them for safe-keeping. He then pulled his hoodie and a designer t-shirt over his head, kicked off his Nikes and slithered out of his skinny jeans. He was about to pull down his red silk bikini briefs when Mr. Lee raised a hand. "You can leave those on for now." Billy seemed relieved that he could maintain a slight amount of modesty. He stood in the spotlight in the center of the store, feeling a little chilly. He glanced at himself in a full-length mirror across the room. Despite the best efforts of a full-time personal trainer who toured with him, Billy's 18-year-old body remained scrawny with only the barest hints of muscle tone. At least the full-body tan he'd gotten during his last vacation in the Virgin Islands hadn't entirely faded. Thanks to a private rooftop suite, he managed not to get a tan line, although a sunburn on his penis had led to a jerking-off hiatus of several excruciating days. Mr. Lee handed a slim metallic red bracelet across the counter to Billy. "Please put this on your left wrist and close the clasp." Billy excitedly slid the bracelet up his slender forearm and clasped it together. As the two sides of the bracelet connected, it triggered a surge of energy to shoot through Billy's body like nothing he had ever experienced. Reese looked concerned as Billy cringed in pain, but Mr. Lee assured him, "The pain is very brief, followed immediately by euphoria." Sure enough, Billy smirked, then grinned, then beamed his famed toothpaste-ad-worthy smile as a warm sensation flooded through him. Although his bones were still holding his body erect, he had the sensation that they had turned into gelatin and were morphing into longer shapes. The change was gradual but dramatic as his body grew upward like a vine. His arms dangled loosely from his shoulders and his spindly legs wobbled a bit at the knees before the calcium resolidified and he once again felt sturdy. Billy opened his eyes and laughed like a kid when he discovered he was now staring eye-to-eye with his stoic bodyguard. "Check it out, Reese! I'm as tall as you now!" "Yeah, yeah, very nice, spaghetti boy." He pointed toward the mirror and Billy spun to admire himself, only to be horrified by the sight. If he felt skinny before, he was now basically a skeleton wrapped in skin, with only a thin band of red silk wrapped around the middle. It was like looking in a carnival funhouse mirror at a gawky, emaciated version of himself, but there was nothing wrong with the mirror. Billy spun toward Mr. Lee and made his next request frantically. "Muscles. I gotta have some muscles." Mr. Lee nodded. "How much muscle? On a scale of zero to ten, where ten is your friend Mr. Reese here, and zero is...you." Billy pondered the choice carefully. He didn't need to be a human tank like Reese, but the idea of suddenly becoming as buff as he wanted was making him greedy. "Eight. Wait, no, six." Mr. Lee went to grab the proper bracelet when Billy blurted out, "Seven. We'll go with seven." Mr. Lee's intuition had already led him to grab an orange bracelet. "Seven it is." Billy put on the new bracelet and again, as soon as he closed the loop around his wrist, a jolt of agony was followed by a soothing sensation in his muscle tissue. He kept his eyes open this time and watched the transformation in the mirror. What no amount of time in the gym had been able to accomplish was suddenly happening spontaneously throughout his body. It was as if someone had hooked his body to a bicycle pump and was inflating him. His neck widened to match his broadening shoulders. In the mirror, he was admiring the swell in his pecs when his eyes fell upon his suddenly visible abs and the deepening V below. Extruding from the bottom of his tautly-stretched silk shorts were now bulging quads and calves that would be the envy of anyone on the Tour de France. The little shop seemed even smaller to Billy now and he was delighted to discover that he could extend his long muscular arms and touch the ceiling with his fingertips. He felt incredible, but this he-man still had the smooth face that was known around the world. "You gotta do something about my face." "But your face is so pretty," Mr. Lee smiled. Billy could wretch. "I'm sick of having a 'pretty' face. I wanna be rugged. I wanna be dangerous. I wanna be a MAN." Mr. Lee understood. "How old this man?" Billy thought a moment. "Young enough not to have wrinkles. Old enough not to get carded." Mr. Lee raised his finger, muttering, "I have just the thing." He handed a yellow bracelet to Billy to put on. He braced himself, now fully prepared for that first jolt, then watched his reflection as his facial features contorted themselves beneath his skinn. He nodded approvingly as his bones gained heft, disrupting the soft contours and smooth jawline that his fans loved and turning him into a brooding hunk with thick eyebrows, a sharply angled jawline and a five-o'clock shadow. He rubbed his immense hand across the bristles on his cheek and fingered the depth of his new chin cleft. He smiled, delighted, and noticed that this new face had killer dimples on top of it all. Billy got goosebumps. He knew what had to come next. He ran his hands through the golden avalanche of hair atop his head. "We gotta get rid of this stupid hair." Mr. Lee frowned. "I have only limited hair to choose from. Maybe you go to a barber and ask for exactly what you want?" Billy was thrilled by the thought of a barber giving the chop to the famous Farrow Flop, but Reese intervened. "No, I'm under specific instructions that he has to emerge with his hair intact." Billy had a concert tomorrow night, and there was no way that Wiseman was going to let his star go onstage without his signature coif. Mr. Lee rummaged around before coming up with a green bracelet. "You try this one." Billy snatched the bracelet from Mr. Lee's hand and snapped it on his wrist immediately. It was hypnotic to watch his carefully fashioned hairdo as it seemed to be absorbed back into his scalp. When only a few millimeters of hair remained above the surface of Billy's scalp, the hair suddenly darkened into a black buzz cut. Without the distraction of the Flop, the stunning masculinity of his new face was even more apparent. Billy's excitement at seeing himself modified was escalating. He needed more, and fast. "Body hair!", he snapped, and Mr. Lee forked over a blue bracelet. In moments, Billy had a lush new layer of wall-to-wall carpeting on his arms, chest, abs and legs. Curious, he looked inside his silk undies and was pleased by the dark bush of pubic hair he found there. But it was obvious that one part of his old body had stubbornly resisted any change so far. "I just gotta have a bigger cock." Reese covered his eyes and shook his head. He could never have envisioned a moment like this when he signed onto the security detail for Billy Farrow three years ago. Mr. Lee kept any obvious reaction hidden, but he had expected this moment to come. Seemingly every man who entered his shop walked out with a larger penis. Even if they had other perceived imperfections that they wanted to fix first, they always seemed to tack on "bigger penis" at the end of their requests, as if they were making an impulse buy at the checkout stand of a convenience store. "Yeah, I need a pack of Marlboros, a fifth of Ketel One and...while you're at it, can you toss in a huge fuckin' dong?" And their size demands often demonstrated a lack of basic knowledge of the dimensions of the orifices into which they would be sticking these penises or the limits of haberdashery to properly accommodate such an enormous member. Nevertheless, Mr. Lee always did his best to give his customers what they wanted. "Bigger length or bigger circumference?", asked Mr. Lee. Billy mulled it for a second, then said hopefully, "Both?" It was always both. Mr. Lee handed an indigo bracelet to Billy, who waved it at Reese. "Hey, Reese, look at the size of my cock ring!" His wrist was now getting crowded with all of these narrow bracelets, but he made room for the new one. The intensity of the rush he got from this one startled Billy, as a flood of testosterone swelled his penis and balls to such a massive size that his silk underwear burst into tatters which fell to the floor...and he wasn't even hard. Even Reese was impressed by what Billy was now packing. Reese turned appreciatively toward Mr. Lee. "I think that covers everything. You happy, Billy?" Billy was so entranced as he stared at his new meat dangling halfway down his thigh that he was only able to nod. "You forget one thing," said Mr. Lee. "His voice." Billy and Reese were amazed they hadn't thought of it. Billy's tenor voice was immediately recognizable to his fans, and it also seemed incongrous emerging from the strapping nude man now fondling himself in the middle of the store. Mr. Lee offered a violet bracelet which Reese snapped onto Billy's forearm. "Thanks, man," Billy grunted in a baritone rumble. His eyes widened and he looked up. "Did that come outta me?" He tested his singing abilities with the first line of his biggest hit, "Baby, You're My Baby". He seemed to have retained all of his vocal skills, just in a lower register. He looked at the rainbow of metal rings on his arm and shook his head in amazement. He felt like a new man. Hell, he WAS a new man. Reese leaned on the counter and pulled out his wallet, asking Mr. Lee, "So, how much do we owe you?" "Free trial. When you decide if you want to make any permanent changes, you come back here and return the bracelets, okay?" "How do you know someone won't just run off with the bracelets and never come back?" "You asked if you could trust me. Now I am trusting you. It is a matter of honor." Reese smiled. He liked people who stood by their promises. The towering stud at the center of the room reached across the counter and gave Mr. Lee a firm handshake. "This is a miracle, Mr. Lee. Thank you so much." Mr. Lee nodded humbly. "Don't mention it." Reese shot back with a grin, "Don't you mention it either, Mr. Lee." Billy started walking toward the front door when both Mr. Lee and Reese shouted simultaneously, "Stop!" Billy looked puzzled until Reese gestured toward Billy's body. "If the goal here is not to be noticed, going outside like that is a bad way to start." Billy was so comfortable in his new skin, he had completely forgotten that he was totally naked. * * * In the back room of Mr. Lee's shop, Billy grabbed some clothes that fit his new body, but the selection of hand-me-downs from Mr. Lee's previous clients was less than spectacular. He chose an apparently authentic Lakers jersey bearing the name "RODMAN", camouflage khakis and a pair of size-14 work boots just so he could get out the door, but once they got into the van, Billy told Reese the name of a trendy clothing store he wanted to visit. Their driver took them to the store and Billy waited for Reese to open the SUV's door for him. Out of habit, Reese stepped out and slid the door open. Billy peeked out cautiously, then out of habit, rushed toward the store to avoid being mobbed. Reese laughed and yelled, "Hey, slow down, big guy!" Billy stopped on the sidewalk and turned back to Reese, who whispered loudly enough to be heard over the traffic, "Nobody recognizes you." Billy took a moment to let this sink in. After living his life for years with the knowledge that fans or paparazzi could pop up at any moment, he hadn't truly realized how liberating it would feel to be ignored. Reese motioned for the SUV driver to find a place to park, then strode over to the sidewalk, planning to enter the store with Billy, who always delegated the actual dirty work of spending money to Reese, Wiseman or someone else in his entourage. Noticing Reese side-by-side and shoulder-to-shoulder with him, Billy stopped. "Let me go in by myself, okay?" Reese nodded. Giving Billy a break from the routine was the whole point of this experiment. He didn't need Reese tagging along to look after him. "You're gonna need some money." Reese pulled out his wallet and gave Billy a couple thousand bucks. "Can I have more?" Reese figured $2,000 should be enough to buy some new clothes, but then the stores Billy Farrow shopped in were a bit pricier than the ones that clothed Reese Boudreaux. He removed the rest of the cash from his wallet and handed it to Billy, with the instructions, "Call me on your cell phone if you need anything." "Okay, Dad." Billy winked his left eye at Reese and shot him two upraised middle fingers. The whole world seemed different to Billy now, like he was suddenly looking at it in 3D. He then realized that after years of having that damn Farrow Flop blocking his right eye, he actually HADN'T been seeing the world in 3D since he was thirteen. That alone made this transformation, however temporary, worthwhile. Reese stood on the sidewalk, feeling like he was watching Billy take his first steps as a man. It warmed his heart almost as much as when he had seen his own daughters take their first steps many years ago. They were now twelve and nine, firmly in the Billy Farrow demographic, so Reese was like a god to them. Well, actually, Billy was like a god to them, but their dad got to work for god, and that earned him major brownie points. It almost made up for the ribbing he took from his former colleagues when he took the gig "babysitting" Billy. Reese used to be a cop with the San Francisco Police Department, but he had to resign when the nagging knee injury he got playing college football began to cause him major grief and hamper his effectiveness on the force. Fortunately, the position on the Billy Farrow security detail came along. At first, he took the gig because it seemed cushy and the pay was good enough to cover his child-support and, until his ex remarried, alimony payments. But as the years progressed, he had truly come to like Billy and tolerate his music. Frankly, given the circumstances, it was a miracle that Billy hadn't turned into an industrial-strength douche. Reese tried to imagine what it would be like to have been famous since the age of twelve, to constantly be fawned over, to have every whim catered to, to never hear the word "no". Even Reese and the rest of the security team were guilty of coddling him, taking it easy when Billy would challenge them to play basketball. They let him believe he was kicking their asses when they actually could have creamed him if they weren't worried that he could have them all fired. Not that Billy would do that. Despite the code name of "King Joffrey" that security had given him, Billy was generous and friendly to everyone he worked with. So when Reese heard rumors from his old buddies on the police force that there was a mysterious shop near Chinatown that performed miraculous transformations, Reese was the one who pitched Alan Wiseman on giving Billy a day of anonymity as his reward for years of hard work, dedication and toeing the line. Reese paced on the sidewalk outside the clothing store for close to an hour. He knew how particular Billy was with his clothing, so he must be having a great time playing dress-up with a brand new body. Even so, Billy had never needed to fend for himself in the real world, having been under the wing of Wiseman for almost a third of his life. Perhaps Billy could use Reese's assistance but was too proud to ask for it. Reese wandered in, pretending to look at the clothes, even though one shirt from this store would probably cost a month of Reese's pay. A salesman swooped over to ask Reese if he needed any help. Not spotting Billy anywhere in the store, he asked, "I'm looking for a friend. Little white guy. Well, actually, he's about my height...now." The salesman's eyes lit up. He most certainly did remember that gentleman. "Yes, I think he took several outfits to the back to try on." Reese smiled appreciatively and made his way to the dressing rooms. Reese startled a sad-eyed middle-aged man who was trying on a leather thong, but most of the other dressing rooms were empty. The final one had a locked door. Reese knocked and whispered Billy's name, but got no answer, so he knelt down, wincing as he put pressure on his bum knee. Stared through the gap below the door, he couldn't see any legs, but he did see the clothes Billy had worn from Mr. Lee's shop strewn about the floor. Reese asked if the salesman could unlock that dressing room for him. "Official business," said Reese with enough authority that the salesman was too afraid to ask what kind of official Reese was. The salesman fumbled for the right key. Finally, the door swung open and the dressing room was empty. On a chair, Reese found Billy's wallet with an I.D. and credit cards, a stack of cash (with a note to the store attached that said "Thanks for the outfit"), and Billy's cell phone. On the screen of the phone was an unsent text message: "Hey Reese, Smell ya later, BF." Reese asked the salesman, "You got a back door?" The salesman pointed and Reese ran outside, limping on his aching knee. Billy was nowhere in sight. * * * "He escaped?" Alan Wiseman was apoplectic even in the best of times. Right now, you could take his pulse simply by looking at the veins trying to leap out of his sunburnt forehead. Alan was completely bald, just like Reese, although in Reese's case it was a style choice, not a genetic inevitability. Reese hobbled along the sidewalk, furious at himself but more furious at Billy. He had to hold the phone several inches away from his head to prevent Wiseman's screaming on the other end from bursting his eardrums. Across town, Wiseman paced in a frenzy around his hotel room. "I knew this crazy idea of yours was a risk, but I thought you were gonna keep tabs on him." "I was just trying to give the kid some space. How can he relax if he's got a bodyguard breathing down his neck the whole time?" Wiseman countered, "Well, how can I relax knowing that the kid whose career I fucking built, who pays all of our fucking salaries, and who has a concert tomorrow fucking night is wandering around this city in some unrecognizable fucking body?" "I thought I had taken appropriate measures," Reese explained. "I put a GPS tracker on his cell phone, but he left the phone behind in the dressing room at the clothing store. Plus I had another GPS tracker sewn into his underwear." "He left that in the dressing room too?" "Uh...no, sir. The underwear actually...burst into pieces." "How does underwear burst into fucking pieces?" "Sir, that happened when, uh...when his cock...roughly tripled in size." Wiseman beat his head against the window, looking down at the city. "Fuckin' San Francisco. Okay, get back here to the hotel. You and I are going to scour his room for clues as to where he might have gone. But as far as anyone else knows, everything is normal. Billy is just down with a twenty-four hour bug and is staying in bed all day." "Yes, sir. I'm on my way," said Reese, hanging up his phone. The SUV pulled over to pick him up. Reese ordered the driver to take him back to the hotel. "We gonna pick up Billy?" Reese turned to the driver excitedly. "You know where Billy is?" The driver looked puzzled. "I thought we left him back at that shop in Chinatown." Reese sagged, then tried to cover. "Ah, right. No, he took a taxi back to the hotel already. He wasn't feeling himself today." "Aw, poor kid," said the driver. "What about that guy we dropped off here?" "Wha...? Oh. No, he's gone too." "That's too bad," the driver said, pulling into traffic. "He was fuckin' hot." When he arrived at the hotel, Reese went straight to Billy's room. He tapped lightly on the door and Wiseman let him in. "Find anything?", he asked Wiseman. Wiseman yelled, "I don't even know what I'm fucking looking for." Reese shushed him. "Stop panicking. Everything will be fine. At least until a mysterious body is found floating in the bay." Wiseman was in no mood for jokes. "Don't even kid about that." At five-six and two-fifty, Wiseman was a heart attack waiting to happen, so Reese should have known not to raise his ire further. But sometimes it was a fun game to poke Wiseman with a stick just to see how outraged he could become. Reese risked getting down on his bad knee again to look under Billy's bed. There, he found a baggie containing a small amount of pot and some ecstasy, which Reese was frankly surprised Billy hadn't taken with him. Even further under the bed was a laptop. That was strange, thought Reese, since Billy already had a laptop lying above the sheets of his unmade bed. This second laptop was just within reach of Reese's fingertips. He snagged a corner and dragged it out, then carried it over to a desk where he booted it up and began to search through the files. Wiseman hovered over his shoulder and asked, "Finding anything?" Reese wasn't a computer whiz, but he did have some training from his days on the force. "Most of the files look encrypted to me. We'd have to bring in someone who knows what they're doing to crack those, and I'm not sure you want to bring in any outsiders on this. Looks like there are some video files in this folder. Let me click on one." Suddenly the screen was filled with amateur-shot footage of two men in a bed. The larger, beefier man was wearing leather and pounding the bejesus out of the ass of a younger, slimmer man. Wiseman cringed and looked away, until he had a thought that made his temples throb. "Please tell me that kid's not Billy." Reese squinted at the grainy footage. The young man being rammed sure didn't look like Billy, although he definitely qualified as a pretty young thing. Reese clicked on another file, which was a different video with the same basic subject matter and lack of plot. The younger man in that footage also did not look familiar. Just to be sure, he checked a few more of the files. "Doesn't seem to be Billy in any of these. But I guess we know what Billy's been watching all those nights when we thought he was playing 'Grand Theft Auto'." * * * Billy felt a little guilty about running away from Reese like that, since Reese was such a stand-up guy. But as soon as he heard the crazy idea of giving him some free time in another body, Billy had been making plans for what he would do in the unlikely case that this bizarre transformation actually worked. Once he turned 18, Billy had been using his secret second laptop to set up bank accounts under other names around the world, accounts that only he had access to and which Wiseman knew nothing about. He slipped some of the debit cards from those accounts into his wallet this morning, then took them with him when he escaped from the clothing store. Those, combined with the cash he'd gotten off Reese, ought to get him through the evening's adventures. Now he was sitting in a sidewalk cafe, running up a tab on a card bearing the name "Liam Fortune", and truly relaxing for the first time in months...maybe years. Just knowing that Wiseman had to be freaking out somewhere and that, for once, Billy didn't need to hear it, was almost a vacation in itself. He was determined to take advantage of the amazing opportunity he had been given. He leaned back with his feet propped on another chair, wriggling his toes in the flip-flops he'd picked up at the clothing store, luxuriating in the feeling of stretching his long and powerful legs. The shiny, neon-colored outfits that Billy characteristically wore would have looked bizarre on the sturdy and studly Liam Fortune, not to mention too attention-getting, so he went casual. He wore a black silk vest with no shirt underneath, allowing him to display enticing hints of the newly acquired pelt of body hair on his newly acquired broad chest. Relaxed black jeans covered his legs and his massive junk, which was riding commando down his right pantleg. Billy had never cared for the taste of beer before, but right now it tasted like freedom. And it really showed off the rock-hard peak of his biceps whenever he tilted back the bottle for another swig. He had been checking out the redhead two tables over for the past ten minutes, and felt no need to be subtle about it. For years, he'd never managed more than subtle glances and coy smiles that led nowhere, as his whole career might be in jeopardy with even the slightest hint to his mobs of tweenage admirers that not only did they not have a chance with their dream boy, but that no one with their type of genitals did. Finally, the redhead rose from his table and headed directly toward Billy's table. Billy's heart raced and he thought about standing up and asking the boy if he was interested in hooking up, but he felt like Liam was more the type to kick back and let the ginger beg for the opportunity -- hell, the honor -- of betting fucked. Billy/Liam took a healthy mouthful of beer just as the redheaded boy walked past. Under his breath, he blurted out, "I did see you looking at me, and I'm very flattered, but I'm afraid you're too old for me." Liam burst into a laugh, spewing his beer explosively across his chest. He sat up, dabbing away the beer and foam from his chest hair and his vest with a napkin. The redhead was easily five years older than Billy in reality, but "Liam" must look to him like an ancient man...of 27 or 28. Billy was starting to make a distinction between his brain, which still felt like Billy, and his new body, which seemed more like a Liam, although even that dividing line was becoming less clear the more he drank. Liam was definitely the one craving more beer, so he signaled the waitress to bring another as his eyes began to roam again. A seriously cute bike messenger in a white tank and royal blue bicycle shorts was waiting for the light to change and scoping out Liam's body approvingly. Liam's cock began to stiffen in his pants as he studied the curve of the bicyclist's ass. He pointed both index fingers at the messenger and gave him his standard wink. The biker snorted a chuckle at the corny move and weaved back into traffic. Billy was puzzled. He was so used to everyone who he encountered being awestruck just to be in his presence. Even with all the obvious merits of this designer body, it seemed like Billy would have to work harder to get Liam laid. At the moment, though, Liam was starting to get hungry. Although he had passed through San Francisco on tour several times, Billy had always been driven wherever he needed to go and usually got his meals from room service or backstage at the concert. He paid for his beers and set out on foot to explore the city and search for a restaurant. He quickly discovered that flip-flops weren't the wisest choice for tromping up and down the city's hills, so he handed them to a homeless man and entered the Nike Town store barefoot. One of the staff stopped him at the door. "You can't come in here without shoes, sir." Billy chuckled at being called "sir", then told the employee that he was here to buy shoes. "The fact that I don't have shoes is exactly why I need to buy shoes." Billy was accustomed to dressing however he wanted, wherever he wanted. The last time he had shopped here, they had opened the store for him after hours by special request and he came in wearing nothing but sweat pants. When the employee stood firm and threatened to call her manager, Billy went outside and asked the homeless man if he could have his flip-flops back. The man clutched them in his arms and refused to hand them over, so Billy offered to buy them. Reaching into his pocket, he discovered that he had nothing but hundred-dollar bills. It was unlikely that the homeless guy would have any change, so he gave him a Benjamin for the flip-flops, then returned to Nike Town and bought a pair of Air Jordans...and a second pair that he gave to the homeless guy on his way out. Billy usually demanded nothing more than the junkiest of junk food, but Liam seemed to be craving a thick, rare steak. He spotted an upscale steak house and headed inside, only to be halted at the door again. The place had a dress code, and a silk vest, jeans and basketball shoes was not one of the approved ensembles. Instead of arguing, Billy decided to stick with what he knew and found the nearest McDonald's, where he wolfed down three Big Macs, two large fries and two large shakes before Liam was sated. The tables near him were occupied by young girls who probably had Billy Farrow posters on their bedroom walls, but they didn't waste a second glance on Liam. Give them a few years and they would appreciate the assets Liam had on display, but for now they were only obsessed with things that were cute. Their nonstop jabber about cute boys and cute clothes and cute backpacks while they shot cute selfies was giving Billy acute nausea. He was tempted to ask the girls what they thought of Billy Farrow, but didn't want to seem like some kind of perv. Little did they know how safe they were from his advances. Billy returned to the street, slapping his tight abs with satisfaction after his meal. He knew what his next destination would be, but had no clue how to get there. He asked a passing police officer how to get to the Castro. The friendly cop offered detailed directions, and even suggested a couple of clubs he might check out. Billy could have hailed a cab if he had known how to do it. Instead, he followed the stranger's directions and ran there. His old body had great stamina for cardio, which undoubtedly kept him so skinny and helped him through a heavily choreographed ninety-minute concert several nights a week. But Liam's powerful muscles gave him a true runner's high as he pounded the pavement in a three-mile sprint to the neighborhood where he hoped to pick up the pace of this evening's events. Pumped and musky from the run, yet amazingly not short of breath, Billy unbuttoned his vest and walked into the first gay bar he found. His stomach churned with excitement and half-digested Mickey D's at the thrill of entering forbidden territory for the first time, but unlike at the stores he visited, no one here stopped Liam from entering because of the way he was dressed. For the first time since the changes, he started to feel the familiar sensation of attracting the immediate attention of strangers just by walking into a room. They may not have known who he really was, but the clientele of this establishment were definitely fans of the man who he was tonight. Billy was so used to strangers approaching him that he discovered he was surprisingly inept in the art of initiating a conversation. Also, he knew the type of guy who turned him on, and none of the other drinkers here seemed to fit that template. The closest match was the bartender, a clean-cut athletic type with no shirt and Greek Letters tattooed on his left pec. After a shot of Jagermeister (possibly a mistake, Billy thought) and another beer, Liam's tongue became looser. He pointed to the bartender's chest. "So, are you from Greece?" The jock laughed and said they were the letters of his frat. Billy hit his forehead with his fist, annoyed with his stupidity. He informed the bartender that he had played Greece recently. "You played Greece? Like, in what, soccer?" Billy realized that Liam needed to be less accurate in his descriptions. Unlikely as it might be in this body, he didn't want to tip anyone off to the fact that they were really talking to Billy Farrow. "I mean I traveled there. I traveled all over Europe." "Cool. Were you studying abroad?" "If I wanted to study a broad, would I be in a bar like this?" The bartender groaned. "Walked right into that one, didn't I?" Liam's lips curled into a seductive grin as he continued to survey the bartender's well-toned body. After a bit more chit-chat, he gestured for the bartender to lean in closer, lowered his voice and asked, trying to be clever, "When do you get off? Work, I mean." The bartender had dealt with this situation countless times and knew just how to dash a customer's hopes gently. First, he assured Liam that he took it as a compliment, and he understood that he was probably sending mixed messages by standing shirtless in a gay bar, but he was in fact straight with a great fiancee. "But I can't imagine a guy like you has any trouble finding new friends in your travels." "More trouble than you'd think." That was definitely Billy talking, as he drained his beer. This adventure was going south fast. "Well, don't make any sudden moves, but if you like the way I look, there's a guy who came in about five minutes ago who's been doing nothing but staring at you since he walked in. Look casually at eight o'clock." Billy was getting drunker and his thoughts sillier. "Eight o'clock? Can't I look sooner?" The bartender groaned and told Liam to check over his left shoulder. Liam swiveled his stool to the left and tried not to be too obvious, but it was clear who the bartender meant. Sitting alone on a stool at a tall table was an adorable guy with lightly tanned skin, wearing a white muscle shirt, jean shorts and cowboy boots. His shaggy brown hair with highlights hung in bangs across his forehead. Looking extremely bored, he hopped down from his stool and crossed the room to the jukebox, allowing Liam to admire the grace with which his lithe body moved. Like a gymnast. Or one of the many sexy backup dancers who Billy never risked getting to know better. Or one of the taut-muscled bottoms in the dom/sub videos he secretly liked to watch at night on his private laptop. Liam was still hesitating, so the bartender handed him another shot of Jager. "This one's on me. To apologize if I led you on." Liam slammed the shot, placed the glass upside down on the bar, and summoned the courage to walk over to the jukebox. He liked the way this boy's firm tight ass filled out those shorts and the shape of his legs approached perfection. One of his cowboy boots was crossed behind the other, calling attention to his sculpted calves as he leaned on the jukebox and pondered his selections. Liam moved closer and pretended to look at the song titles as well, but he was furtively checking out the young man, who was having trouble concealing a smirk. "See anything you like?" Liam answered with a drawn-out "mmm-hmmm" which left no doubt that he wasn't thinking about what songs were on the jukebox. The kid (who technically had to be older than the real Billy just to get in the door here legally) pressed a couple of buttons and waited for his selection to play. Billy expected to hear something by Lady Gaga or Kesha or, based on the young man's footwear, some country song, but the jukebox began to blast Ray Charles's "Unchain My Heart". The agile young man stepped away from the jukebox and began to gyrate to the upbeat music. Billy watched him admiringly. The guy was clearly not a professional dancer, but he had good intuitive moves. The young dancer cast his pale blue eyes on Liam's violet eyes. "You gonna join me, or are you just gonna watch, big man?" Liam was definitely getting bigger the longer he watched. He scooted across the floor in his basketball shoes. All the drinks he'd been consuming had added sloppiness to his dance moves, but his new dance partner nodded approvingly. He shouted over the music, "What's your name?" The name "Billy" was just about to cross his lips when something made him realize the mistake he was about to make. Instead, he said "Liam". When the word came out, it just felt right. This was going to be Liam's night. Billy was just along for the ride. "Hey, Liam. I'm Todd. My friends call me Todd the Rod. Or Todd the Wad. Or Todd the Bod. Or Todd the Odd." "And which do you prefer?" "Todd the God," he smirked. "I agree," Liam shouted over the music. They danced without further conversation. Liam enjoyed being so close to Todd and was ogling him without shame or hesitation. Todd's shirt clung tight to his skin, so Liam could make out his general contours, but he was sure he'd appreciate the additional details that would be visible once the shirt came off. The song faded out and Todd eyed Liam. "What next?" Liam's mind was swimming with possibilities, which Todd dashed with a grin. "What SONG do you want to hear next?" Todd waggled his hips exaggeratedly as he crossed back to the jukebox. Liam followed like he was on a leash. Wait, wasn't he supposed to be the one in control tonight? He leaned his hands on the jukebox, surveying his options. "Holy shit!", he thought as he noticed that "Forever Girl", one of his own hits, was on the jukebox. He selected it and, as the opening notes kicked in, launched into a sloppy version of the introductory dance step he performed to open the song during every concert. Todd watched Liam's moves and shook his head. "What, you don't like my choreography?" Todd shrugged. "Guess I'm not a huge Billy Farrow fan." Liam stopped in his tracks and became a little agitated. "Why? What's the matter with him?" Todd leaned back against the jukebox, surprised by Liam's intensity. "Chill out. What, are you the president of his fan club or something?" Liam realized he needed to take down his attitude a notch, and not take it so personally. "I just think he's really talented. For a kid." "He's definitely cute, if that's what you're into. And he can sing, no question. But that hair of his is a joke. And his songs..." Todd stopped before he got too wrapped up in his tirade. "No, tell me, what about his songs?", asked Liam in more measured tones, his curiosity growing. "They're just so antiseptic. It's all a bunch of generic bubble-gum nonsense. Ray Charles, you could hear in his voice that the man had lived. You get the feeling Billy Farrow's never had a real emotion in his life." Liam leapt vehemently to Billy Farrow's defense. "He's got emotions..." Whoa, a little strong there, buddy. Back off. "...I'm sure." That's better. "Maybe he's just so isolated from the real world that he's not as experienced as he'd like to be. But look at all he's accomplished. He sold twenty million albums before he turned eighteen. What had Ray Charles done by that age?" "Went blind, for one," Todd said calmly. Liam had to laugh, realizing that he may have gotten too worked up over the subject, and that Billy Farrow, talented as he was, was no Ray Charles. Certainly not yet. "You got me." "Is that a promise?" Todd moved closer to Liam with a grin on his face, hips swaying to the beat of the song. Maybe he was more into this Billy Farrow song than he was letting on. He took Liam's hands and guided them toward Todd's hips. Liam had a four-inch height advantage on Todd, but they didn't seem like an odd pair. Todd pointed to the nine bracelets around Liam's left forearm. "Those are nice." "Thanks, I just got them today. Actually, I got all of this today," he said with a gesture that he meant for Todd to understand as "this entire wardrobe", although lurking in the back of his brain, Billy secretly meant "this entire body". As Billy Farrow's recorded voice faded out, Liam strode over to the jukebox to make another selection, but Todd took his hand. "If you really feel like dancing, there are better places than this dump. Come on." Even after admiring the definition of Todd's compact muscles, he was surprised how strong the shorter man was. He nearly dislocated Liam's arm yanking him toward the door. Soon Todd had led him to a building up the street which looked unimpressive from the outside. The youthful-looking Todd was asked for an I.D., but Todd whispered something to the bouncer, who nodded and let him pass. Liam was just waved through, as if his age was obvious. The vast space inside the building was filled with fog and spotlights and thumping noise and men and sweat. Billy had performed in plenty of venues this size early in his career, but the dominant noise was high-pitched screaming and the crowds were much younger and monolithically female. Billy might have been overwhelmed (and swamped by admirers) if he had wandered in here, but Liam seemed prepared to handle it. Todd had worked his way to the bar and brought back two beers. He handed one to Liam and proposed a toast. "To new and interesting experiences." They clinked bottles and drank. "Follow me," said Todd, dragging Liam behind him as he maneuvered across the tightly packed dance floor to the DJ booth. Todd climbed up and had a shouted conversation with the DJ that Liam couldn't make out over the pounding music. The DJ shook his head at Todd's request, and Todd returned to Liam dissappointed. "What's the matter?," Liam asked. "I wanted to surprise you and get up on one of the dance poles, but he said they're for the professional dancers only. Insurance reasons or something." Liam would certainly be interested in seeing what contortions Todd's limber body could do on a stripper pole. He decided to test his dominance by walking over to the DJ and making his own argument...in the form of cash. Liam returned to Todd victoriously. "Apparently, for a thousand dollars, insurance reasons can go fuck themselves." The DJ gestured for Todd to come up onstage as the current song faded and made an announcement. "We've got a special treat for all you sexy, sexy boys tonight. Stepping up to shake his gorgeous ass on the silver pole, we have..." Off-mic, he asked the dancer for his name again. The DJ misheard and announced, "Todd the Cod!" Todd smirked at Liam and shrugged a "Whatchagonnadoaboutit?" He peeled his sweaty shirt off his torso, to the approving roar of the crowd -- the deep bellow from Liam being the loudest and most enthusiastic of all. Todd tauntingly unbuttoned his shorts, but left them on, as well as his cowboy boots. He took hold of the pole and waited for the music to begin. The music sounded extremely familiar to Liam, yet he couldn't immediately place it. The hook kicked in and he realized it was a remix he'd never heard before of "I'm Your Boy", the first single by a very young and very high-pitched Billy Farrow. The DJ got a few catcalls, but most of the crowd was delighted or at least amused for nostalgic reasons. Liam couldn't help but wonder how many of the men in this room had first realized they were gay when they saw pretty little Billy Farrow on "America Wants S'more". Todd leapt in the air and suspended himself with one knee wrapped tightly around the pole as his arms swung free. Damn that skinny boy could move. The crowd was enjoying his performance tremendously, and Liam (actually, in this case, more Billy than Liam) felt left out. That was HIS song being played. Much as he was enjoying watching Todd gyrate, he craved some attention too. He stepped over to the DJ and asked to borrow his mic. Liam's cash supply was getting perilously low, but another hundred persuaded the DJ to surrender the mic. While everyone's eyes were still focused on Todd's acrobatics, Liam's deep sexy croon came over the speakers in a perfectly harmonized duet with squeaky little Billy Farrow. One of the spotlights found Liam in the darkness at the edge of the stage, where he started to move. Between the alcohol in his system and the bulkiness of his new body, Liam's moves weren't nearly as slick as Billy Farrow's would be, but he was still an impressive hoofer. As the crowd egged him on, Liam pulled his vest slowly off one shoulder, then off the other and flung it into the crowd. He reached the chorus and bellowed "I'm Your Boy" directly at Todd, who was currently suspended upside down on the pole, his face at Liam's eye level. Liam walked over and kissed Todd's upside-down lips, and the crowd went berserk. Billy Farrow's anthem of puppy love suddenly took on a whole new meaning, especially for Billy Farrow himself. When the song ended, the crowd cheered boisterously. Liam carried Todd offstage in his strong arms, stopping at the booth to ask the DJ where he'd gotten that version of the song. The DJ said it was his own remix, and Liam complimented him on how great it sounded. Liam stepped down from the stage, remarking on how light Todd felt in his arms. Todd giggled and seemed to be contemplating the wisdom of his next move before committing to giving Liam another kiss. Their tongues connected between their parted lips and the kiss continued far longer than either of them had expected. When they finally separated, Todd asked, "What do you want to do next?" Liam knew what he REALLY wanted to do next, but he was having such a good time, he hated to leave the club so soon. The two stuck around for another hour, dancing in the middle of the crowd as one man after another made their way over to praise both Liam and Todd for their performances. Todd's face seemed to be blushing permanently, while Liam's heart was warmed by the praise. Billy Farrow had never gotten good reviews from critics, and he had reached the point where he never knew if he could trust the opinions of his fans or his entourage, because everyone seemed to have a reason to suck up to him. Even factoring in that a few of these people could be bullshitting in hopes of getting into Liam's pants, most of these compliments seemed entirely genuine. Eventually, Liam and Todd left the club, both bare from the waist up. Liam wrapped his meaty arms around his smaller companion to keep him warm. "What now?", Todd asked. Liam's booze-soaked brain came up with what seemed like a great idea. "Let's steal a cable car!" "Calm down there, big guy. Why don't we go to Coit Tower and look at the city lights?" "Mmm, that sounds romantic. How do we get there?" "If you don't mind riding behind me, we could take my motorcycle." "Holy shit, you got a motorcycle?" Billy's youthful excitement had momentarily overwhelmed Liam's reserve. Wiseman had absolutely refused to let Billy get a motorcycle for fear of that Billy might get in an accident, doing irreparable harm to his career...and to Wiseman's bank account, Billy always added mentally. Rounding a corner near the bar where they met, Liam saw a late model Harley-Davidson parked on the street and resisted the temptation to drool. "I've only got the one helmet," said Todd. "So, if you ride with me, we'd technically be breaking the law. I don't know if we should risk it." Liam gave his answer by straddling the bike's seat. "Get on, babe. I'll handle any cops." Amused, Todd wriggled his way onto the seat in front of Liam, his compact butt fitting snugly between Liam's spread legs. Todd tightened the strap on his helmet and roared the engine. Todd could feel Liam's giant cock pressing hard against his right ass cheek. He steered the bike into traffic and set them on a course for Coit Tower. Halfway there, he leaned back and shouted, "You steer. I'll tell you where to turn." Liam removed his arms from around Todd's waist and placed his hands upon the handlebars. Despite all his fame and all the celebrities he had met, Billy Farrow had never felt as full of life as he did right now. They reached the top of Telegraph Hill and sat together on the grass in Pioneer Park. After thirty seconds of marveling at the panoramic view, Liam rolled Todd back on the grass and they began to make out. Liam's erection seemed to have been in a constant state of getting harder and bigger since the first moment he met Todd, and he knew he needed release soon. As he began to kiss Todd, he became short of breath and light-headed as his backlog of cum urgently pumped its way into his pants. Liam slid his bare chest across Todd's as he rocked back and forth in coordination with his ejaculations. When the surging finally stopped after emptying what seemed like a liter of jizz, Liam collapsed like dead weight atop Todd. Todd was more amused than upset. Having flashbacks to the movie "Weekend at Bernie's", Todd managed to lug Liam to the motorcycle and prop him up on the seat. With Liam's furry chest pressed onto Todd's bare back, the motorcycle slowly wound through the city streets. Todd found a cheap hotel and got a room, dragging Liam to bed and undressing him before collapsing with fatigue himself. * * * Billy woke up to the faint sound of something vibrating. At first, the noise seemed to be inside his head, which felt like it had been stuffed with cotton during the night. As he cracked open his eyelids and saw the naked hairy body stretched out on the bed before him, the events of the previous night began to filter into his head. A smile crept across his lips as he looked at the jumbo cock laying heavily atop his granite abs. He could get used to the sight of "Liam's" body first thing every morning. But how had he gotten here? And where was that cute guy from last night? The buzzing sound hadn't stopped, and Billy realized it must be his second phone vibrating in the jeans that were folded neatly on a chair. He wasn't as hungover as he might have expected given everything he drank last night, but it was still a struggle for him to slide off the bed and extract the phone from his pants pocket. He looked at the screen, which indicated that the caller was blocked. But who could even have this number? No one knew this phone existed. Billy thought of ignoring the call, but his curiosity was too strong. He answered it. "Yeah?" Oh, that's right, he remembered upon hearing his husky new voice again. "Good morning. Is this the fugitive?" It was Reese. "How did you get this phone number?", Billy asked, peeking through the drapes to see if anyone was spying on him from outside. "I have connections. Don't forget, I used to be a cop here. So, you had your fun. Are you ready to come back to reality?" Billy stared admiringly at the reflection of his body in a mirror on the wall, rubbing the heavy stubble on his cheeks, then letting his hand slide down his hairy torso and finally onto his cock. "You know what? Tell Wiseman I'm not sure I'm coming back. Ever." Reese sighed. "Then we're gonna have a situation. If you don't come back soon, people are gonna start to wonder what happened to Billy Farrow." "Tell the world that Billy died. In a fiery motorcyle wreck. He could only be IDed by his hairdo." Billy brushed his hand across his bristly buzz cut, loving that he could climb out of bed and not need to spend 45 minutes gelling "the Flop" into shape. "I've got money stashed away. I've got enough money for a normal person to live on the rest of his life." "You're kidding yourself, Billy. In a week, you'll be begging to get your old life back. You knew going in that this was a one-night deal, only you didn't hold up your end. You know how much Wiseman reamed me out for letting you escape?" "I never meant to get you in trouble, Reese. You've always been super-nice to me. But I can't give up this body. I'm enjoying it too much" "You have a concert to perform in twelve hours. You have obligations. Trust me, we will find you, the same way I found this phone number." Billy realized that Reese was probably right. Wiseman was not going to let Billy simply walk away from his lucrative career. Billy suddenly had a brainstorm. "I know, tell Wiseman he can manage the new me. I've still got my voice, only it's a lot sexier now. And every once in a while, I can take off the bracelet that lowered my voice and record a 'lost' Billy Farrow album that Wiseman can release posthumously!" There were several seconds of silence from Reese's end. "Get serious, Billy. Tell me where I can find you and we'll go back to Mr. Lee's store and put everything back in order." Billy thought it over. He simply was not ready to surrender his new freedom. "No deal, Reese." Billy hung up, opened a window and flung his phone into the street, where a car promptly ran over it, grinding it to bits. Billy felt liberated. He also desperately needed to take a leak. He stepped into the bathroom and sighed with almost orgasmic pleasure as he pissed. When he heard the door to the hotel room opening, his piss stopped flowing. Could that be Reese? He felt completely vulnerable, standing naked, so he grabbed a bath towel and wrapped it around his waist. If he needed to, he would fight Reese for his freedom. Reese might be a tower of muscle, but Liam's body gave Billy at least a fighting chance. A lyrical tenor voice called out, "Liam? Are you here?" Billy peeked through the gap between the bathroom door and the jamb and saw his friend from last night's adventures, Todd, with two paper cups of coffee and a bag of croissants. He seemed to be alone. Billy exhaled with relief and walked out of the bathroom. "Boy, am I glad to see you. I thought you ditched me." "Nobody gets away from me that easily," said Todd, still wearing his shorts and boots from last night, with the addition of a touristy San Francisco t-shirt which Todd filled out nicely. "I had to buy a shirt in the gift shop. For some stupid reason, most places require you to be dressed when you enter." "So I've learned." Todd set down the breakfast items and stood on tiptoe to kiss Liam, who hung his arms over Todd's shoulders. Billy felt Liam taking command of the situation as Liam's towel tented in the front. "Listen, my memories are kinda sketchy from last night. Did we...?" Todd shook his head with a wistful grin. "You conked out before we could." "That's what I thought." Liam's powerful hands gripped the back collar of Todd's t-shirt and pulled hard in opposite directions, shredding the shirt and yanking it off his body. Todd looked shocked. "Don't worry, I'll buy you a new shirt. I'll buy you ten if you want. Now drop those shorts." Todd suddenly became shy and hesitant. "Do I have to rip those too?" Todd shook his head. Liam flung his towel to the floor and leapt onto the bed. He leaned against the headboard, hands clasped behind his head as his cock rose majestically to a right angle. He watched Todd unbutton his cut-offs and pull them down his sleek legs slowly. He stepped out of them, then pulled off his black thong in a similar manner. Todd's cock was fully hard, maxing out at five inches, but it looked proportional with his compact body. Todd jumped onto the bed and straddled Liam. "Aren't you gonna take off your cowboy boots?", Liam asked. Todd shook his head. "Never." Liam didn't mind. He sat up and pushed Todd's body backwards, then flipped him face down, ass up. He stroked his hardened cock and maneuvered it toward the depression between Todd's sweet ass cheeks. He pounded his way in, causing Todd to yelp loudly in an equal mix of pain and pleasure. Todd's hands gripped tightly onto the bed's footboard, his knuckles turning white. Liam felt incredible. The strength of this new body and the sensitivity of his new dick were overwhelming him. He leaned forward, pressing down on Todd's well-built shoulders for leverage as he worked to get as much of his mighty cock as possible into Todd's hole. The metal bracelets on his left arm slid and clanked against each other with each heavy thrust of his body. Todd's wails became higher pitched as both men drew closer to climax. Liam finally shot his wad inside Todd, while pulses of thick creamy cum flowed onto the bedsheets from Todd's cock. Liam lay his heavy body atop Todd, blissfully spent. After a couple of minutes, Liam rolled off and spread his arms, one palm resting cozily atop Todd's ass and giving a squeeze. Todd leaned over to kiss him and asked if he was satisfied. Liam nodded weakly. Todd smirked and said, "Well, I'm not. Sit up, I want to try something." With effort, Liam rose into a seated position. Todd directed him to turn around and lean against the headboard. Intrigued, Liam followed orders. Todd hopped off the bed, his boot heels clopping on the floor as he walked toward a bag that Liam hadn't noticed before. Todd must have gone shopping for more than breakfast while he was out. Todd bent down to look in the bag, flaunting his bubble butt in Liam's direction. He pulled out something which he kept hidden behind his back until he reached the bed. "Put your hands up by the railing," Todd instructed. Liam complied, and Todd revealed a pair of handcuffs which he promptly latched around Liam's right wrist. It was harder to find room on the left arm, with all those bracelets, but he finally managed. Liam was now securely fastened to the headboard and smiled in anticipation of Todd's next kinky surprise. Todd stared at the multi-colored bracelets on Liam's arm and said, "I think I'd like you better without the bracelets." Liam panicked. "No, don't touch them!" "Why not?" "They're just...I never take them off. Kinda like you and your boots." "Let me just take off one." Liam wriggled ferociously, but he was firmly shackled to the heavy wooden headboard. Todd unlocked the violet bracelet and placed it on the bedside table. Liam shuddered, then plead to Todd, "Please stop." He was startled to hear Billy's voice once again emerging from this body. "Wow, listen to that. You sound like a whole different person. Wonder what would happen if I removed the next one." Todd sprung the latch on the indigo bracelet, and Liam whimpered as he saw his cock shrink back to Billy's usual size, which was a little smaller than what Todd was packing. Liam was practically screeching now. "Who sent you here? Was it Reese?" Todd spoke calmly as he continued to remove Liam's bracelets one by one. "That wasn't a nice thing you did to Reese. You know, giving you this makeover was his idea in the first place. He sympathized with your predicament. He wasn't going to be a buzzkill. He had to tail you, but he planned to do it from a discreet distance. He wanted to give you your space to explore. But you had to run off on your own. You must have known that someone had to keep an eye on you, to make sure you didn't put yourself in too much danger. You're too valuable an asset not to have some protection. Reese even gave you one last chance to come back voluntarily this morning, but you refused." Liam's head was abuzz. How did Todd know about Reese's phone call? Liam felt his impressive muscles sagging and disappearing. His bones creaked as they contracted and his body hair retreated into its follicles. He was practically weeping as he watched the change. "So what happened? Wiseman hired you to tail me?" "Wiseman doesn't know about me," Todd smiled. "Reese used his connections with the police force to keep an eye out for a man with your description. Your new description. When they found you, they called Reese with the location. And then you met me." Todd looked down at the lovely young man on the bed, who had surrendered to his fate and was no longer squirming. "My god, you're Billy Farrow! Oh, wait, not quite. One bracelet left." Todd removed the green bracelet, and the dark buzz cut regrew into the Farrow Flop in its full glory. Liam -- no, wait, he was without question Billy now -- sagged his slight shoulders in defeat. "Just tell me who you are. Some male prostitute that Reese hired?" "Let's just say that all those videos on your computer gave Reese a pretty good idea of your 'type'. Since you'd changed yourself into a dominant type body, that must be who you fantasized being when you were watching those videos. So you were probably on the hunt for a submissive. Based on your preferred videos, that meant probably a slender guy with a pretty face who looked younger than his years. In other words, someone who looked a lot like Billy Farrow. You literally wanted to go fuck yourself." Todd kicked off his cowboy boots. Clasped around his left ankle were a number of colored bracelets, just like the ones that Billy had been wearing, although wider to accommodate the size of leg bones. Todd bent over and began unsnapping them. Immediately, his body grew inches taller, his muscles bulkier and his cock longer and thicker. Billy had never seen a cock so big, certainly not in person but not even on the internet. As Todd continued, his face grew more menacing, his hair receded fully into his head, his eyes turned deep brown and his skin darkened to a rich black. Finally, he removed a violet ring and his voice shifted from Todd's high tenor to the familiar low Ving-Rhames-y tones that Billy had just heard on the phone earlier this morning. "Surprise." "Fuck me," said Billy. "Can't now. You've got a show to get ready for," said Reese, all business as always. "While I was out getting breakfast -- and handcuffs -- I picked up some clothes for you. Some for me too. I can't guarantee they're fashionable, but they'll fit well enough that we won't have to leave the hotel naked." Billy hung from the headboard, limp and shellshocked, his pathetic arms still held loosely in the air by the handcuffs. He noticed there was still one metal band left on Reese's leg. "So that last bracelet, is that the one that made you act all gay?" "Who says I needed a bracelet to be gay?" Billy was floored by this revelation, then grinned. "Holy shit, Reese. I just fucked you in the ass." "No, man, you fucked me in the ass yesterday when you ran away. This morning was my reward for putting up with your shit. I don't think Wiseman needs to know about anything you and I did together. Do you?" Billy unleashed the radiant smile that adorned so many little girls' bedroom walls. "You and me? We didn't do a damn thing. But Liam and Todd had a blast." Reese's face betrayed the hint of a smile as he removed the cuffs from Billy's wrists and handed him his new clothes. * * * Reese stood across the counter from Mr. Lee, who was examining the bracelets that Reese had just returned. "One missing," said Mr. Lee. "Oh, yeah, I wanted to keep the one you gave me for my bad knee. It feels brand new. You can't imagine the things I was able to do with two good knees." "I try not to imagine," Mr. Lee said with the merest smirk. "What do I owe you for it?" Reese pulled out his wallet. Mr. Lee waved him off. "You kept your promise to bring back the bracelets. Consider this my thank-you for your honorable behavior." "Come on, man. You got no idea how much money I've paid doctors to fix this knee, and they never did jack. You fixed it with one little bracelet." "If you insist on paying me, I only barter for what I need for my transformations." Mr. Lee gestured to the glass jars full of unusual substances on the shelves behind him. "What do you have that you could spare? Some of your muscles, perhaps?" "No, man, I'm a bodyguard. I gotta stay strong." He thought, then thought of something. He spoke in a whisper, even though no one else was in the shop to hear him. "It's a little embarrassing, but I've gotten some complaints over the years that my dick is...too big. Maybe you could make it smaller." Mr. Lee's eyebrows rose slightly. "Smaller length or smaller circumference?" Reese cleared his throat and said, "Both? I know, I know, stereotypes and all that, but seriously, it's gotten in the way of me finding a good steady relationship. It's too much for most people to handle. Literally." Mr. Lee asked, "May I see?" Reese extracted his cock from his pants. Mr. Lee was usually an expert at hiding his thoughts and feelings from the customers, but his jaw dropped. He extended his hand and said, "It's a deal." Outside, the SUV was idling with Wiseman in the front passenger seat and Billy sprawled in a custom swivel chair at the back, with stereo speakers embedded in the headrest and videogame controls in each armrest. Billy was surfing the web and discovered that someone had posted a shaky video of Liam's "I'm Your Boy" performance from the night before. Billy looked wistful, watching Liam and Todd having so much fun. Billy passed his iPad to Wiseman and said, "I want to do this arrangement of 'I'm Your Boy' tonight." It was a bit harder-edged than anything in Billy's usual set, but Wiseman liked it and thought the fans would enjoy it too. Just as long as Billy's delivery wasn't as raunchy as this anonymous shirtless guy in the video. Wiseman agreed to find the DJ who had done the remix and make sure he was properly compensated. Billy sat in his comfy throne at the back of the SUV and told Wiseman, "I also think it's time for me to get rid of the Flop." Wiseman turned around, livid. "You can't. It's your signature." "It's a joke. I look absurd. What we'll do is I'll get my hair cut off and donate it to one of those cancer charities for the kids who lose their hair getting chemo. We'll give 'em a big check too. Lots of positive publicity!" Wiseman pondered the notion. Maybe it was time for the Flop to go. Despite running away yesterday, Billy was acting more mature today. Maybe his image should mature too. The side door slid open and Reese hopped into the SUV, showing more agility than he had since college. "Everything copacetic?", Wiseman asked. "Yup, we're all clear. I want to put the shopkeeper and his grand-daughters on the list for backstage passes at tonight's show. And, here, I got something for you." He passed a thin green bracelet to WIseman, who looked at it skeptically. "Uh, thanks, I guess. I'm not big into jewelry, ya know." "I know, but I wanted to get you a thank-you present for not firing me. I think you'll like it. Put it on your left wrist." Curious, Billy leaned forward, resting his chin on Reese's shoulder as Wiseman slapped the bracelet onto his forearm. He yowled from a strange jolt shooting through his body, then calmed down as a cooling rush spread through his body and localized in his head. Although Wiseman hadn't realized it yet, Liam's buzz cut had now taken root on Wiseman's previously naked scalp. Reese looked amused and Billy cackled, but they both thought it actually looked pretty good on him. Wiseman looked back at them with annoyance. "What's so funny?", Wiseman asked as he gestured for the driver to pull away from Mr. Lee's little store.
  8. arbotimus

    The Suit

    Not exactly my wheelhouse, but wrote this at the request of a furry friend. He is probably going to post it elsewhere too, in case you happen to come across a similar story. “Hey Chad.” Chad rolled over languidly on the couch to face Andy. Summer had just begun, and Chad wore only boxers as he woke up from his mid-day nap. His prodigious girth bulged through the thin fabric unapologetically, his head starting to peak through the rim. Chad had been unable to work out for the past year due to his herniated disc, but his body still reflected his formerly jockish stature. While he had lost a fair amount of mass, he still had above average musculature and tone. His chest stuck out proudly above where his abs had been, and his arms, though softer than before, still filled the sleeves of his shirts nicely. Chad was unsatisfied with this, but there was not much he could do about it in his condition. His cock, in the meantime, was unaffected and made this fact known at every opportunity. He grinned mischievously. Andy had been upstairs working on a “secret project” for the last few hours, and Chad had already started throbbing in anticipation. As Andy strolled down the stairs and into the living room, Chad admired his lithe body and smooth, young features. His deep jade eyes held a playful expression. “What have you got there?” Chad said, eyes intently focused on what Andy was holding behind his back. Andy grinned in kind, revealing his red panda suit. “Put this on, for starters. I made some changes I think you’ll like. I’ll go grab the head.” Chad hurriedly started donning the suit, careful to avoid aggravating his injury, and had just finished when Andy returned. So far he hadn’t noticed anything obviously different. Eager to find out what Andy had devised, he placed the red panda head over his own while Andy finished strapping up the last of the Velcro. “Okay, now don’t freak out. The spell I bound to the suit is going to start when I say the trigger word, and it might be kind of intense,” Andy said. “What? Why would I…?” Chad started to say. “Zanzibar,” Andy whispered. In spite of Andy’s warning, Chad started to freak out just a little. The suit tightened around his body when Andy had released the spell. While the fabric wasn’t constricting him, it started to conform perfectly to the outline of his body. “What did you do?” he said, a note of panic in his voice. Andy just smirked and watched as the transformation began. Chad first felt a warmth in his groin that slowly radiated outwards across the rest of his flesh. As it spread, his muscles tensed and relaxed rhythmically beneath the fabric, growing slowly with every flexion. The suit continued to alter its shape to accommodate the changes. It expanded where his swelling biceps and burgeoning triceps fought for space on his arms, while it shrank in the waist as his abs tightened into thick cords of muscle. It failed to keep up around his torso, however, momentarily constricting his breathing. His chest pushed relentlessly outward, growing rounder and fuller by the second, and his back pulled the fabric in the opposite direction giving a nobility to his stature. Ultimately it caught up, providing the contour for his heavy set of pecs and fitting perfectly taut along the jutting lats. It seemed to fare better with his quads and calves, even though they were ballooning at an equally dizzying rate. His legs rubbed together as he finally stood again and took a few steps towards Andy. “What the hell just happened?” Chad asked, still in shock. “What, you don’t like it?” Andy said. Andy couldn’t help but appreciate the results of his work. He guided his hands across the powerful chest and down the row of abdominals leading to thick, meaty quads. He kind of regretted not making the fur softer than it already was; some of the changes were hidden behind the thickness of it. Even still, he realized he had overcorrected (perhaps on purpose), and Chad was a little larger and better defined than he had been before his injury. Chad attempted to answer the question, but before he got his first word out the second part of the spell had started to take effect. The warmth that began in his groin intensified to a sensation near orgasm, his head flaring and pre leaking from his slit. His eyes, though not visible to Andy, began to roll back in his head and he fell to his knees from the overwhelming pleasure. It was a few minutes before Chad came back to his senses. Andy was not really in a rush to help him, either. Watching this indomitable stud he had created fall to his knees as the result of his work had him more than a little hard. Chad then lifted his head and gave Andy that lusty look that the costume had been designed for. Andy froze in anticipation. They held eye contact for what seemed like minutes before Chad rushed in on Andy and immediately began to disrobe him between grinding sessions. “How does your back feel?” Andy asked. Chad didn’t have time for questions like that. He was too busy running his claws across Andy’s back and humping him vigorously. The spell had given him some prehensile control over his tail, and he used it to wrap around Andy’s waist and rub it along his crotch. He then threw Andy down on the couch, noticing for the first time the newfound strength that had been missing for so long. And he relished in it. Andy was now his plaything, a vessel to shove his cock into anytime he wanted. The look on Andy’s face was still a little smug, though, as far as Chad was concerned. That wouldn’t do. Chad picked him up from under his legs, shoving him into the wall by the fireplace. They hadn’t done this position since the injury, and now Andy felt like a feather in his burly arms. He started to frot against Andy through the suit, the firmness of his cock apparent to Andy’s bare skin even through the fabric. After he couldn’t take it any longer, Chad slipped his dick through the opening in the crotch. His head pressed gently against Andy’s hole as it begged for release from the confines of the suit. “You’re going to cum soon if you keep going at this rate,” Andy advised. Chad didn’t seem to be paying much attention. “Alright then, you asked for it. Heel, boy.” Chad felt something like a rope slide around his wrists, shoulders, legs, and ankles, lightly at first and then just shy of painful. He couldn’t see anything physically binding him, but he guessed that Andy had constricted the suit at those points to allow control over Chad’s motions. Andy descended to the floor as Chad’s wrists drew closer to his ankles, and by the time his feet hit the ground Chad was already hogtied with his knees on the floor. “Let’s just take this nice and slow, okay?” Chad stared intently at Andy already knowing full well he could not disagree. He was using the full strength of his new body to pull against the binds to no avail. The more he flexed the tighter the binds became, and it was only making him harder. “I added that command in as a precaution in case you got a little too frisky, but I think I like you better this way. It reminds you who’s really in control here…” Andy trailed off. Chad’s cock still stuck out of his suit, full mast and dripping with pre. Andy knelt down gently and worked the tip of his tongue across his slit, slowly lapping up the sweet fluid that flowed steadily down his shaft. He carefully brought his lips down to meet the head as his tongue slid further down the shaft until his entire head was held inside Andy’s mouth. His tongue explored fluted edges of the expanding head, which always grew dramatically as he approached orgasm. Chad still held every muscle in tense opposition to the binds, starting to moan involuntarily as Andy held him constantly on edge. It might have been a byproduct of the spell, the fact that he was bound, or just from the absence of the pain that had plagued him, but the motion of Andy’s tongue incited more erogenous sensation than he could recall ever experiencing. All of his conscious thoughts were absorbed in the ecstasy of that moment. Andy pulled his mouth off of Chad’s dick, making a popping sound as his lips slid over the edges of the head. Now that Andy had released him from his blissful stupor, Chad slid slowly back into reality. He managed to angle his head so that he could look down at his cock, still pulsing, and noticed that it had not grown to match the rest of him. With some clarity finally returning to his thoughts, he managed to blurt out his burning question. “Andy, why didn’t you make me any bigger down there?” “Christ, aren’t you big enough?” Andy replied. Chad started to whimper in protest. What good was this body if it didn’t have the cock to match? Andy couldn’t help but smile at the behemoth who knelt entangled before him, begging him for more. “Hold on,” Andy said, flicking Chad’s cock hard with his middle finger on his way to emphasize his helplessness. Andy returned a few minutes later with a large, leather-bound book, leafing through the pages. Chad was still in binds, fully erect, and as far as Andy could tell still growing. Andy flipped through the pages of his tome looking for the addition to the spell that he needed, meanwhile allowing Chad to stand briefly before binding him again to a nearby chair. Ergonomics were important, after all. Once he found the incantation he was looking for, he studied it momentarily and began to recite it softly in the direction of the suit. The musical tones that escaped his lips were low and guttural, like a toad attempting a song in bass. The hair on the suit stood up as Andy made the changes to his previous spell. Within the first few notes, Chad’s dick started to throb with greater fervor than he thought possible. Each pulse left his dick just a little bit harder, thicker, longer, larger. The massive inflation of his already gigantic cock was almost painful, but Chad watched in ignorance of this as his dick grew larger by the second. “Happy?” Andy inquired after Chad’s cock had stopped growing. If Andy had to guess, it had gained about a third of its original size. Chad just stared at Andy through his lusty panda eyes. The renewed pre flowing exuberantly down his shaft like a small stream answered his question for him. Andy grabbed Chad by his joystick and started again where he had left off, realizing that his fingers barely fit around the shaft. Andy could feel Chad’s urethra pumping in his hands as the pre continued to flow. A few precursory strokes were followed with an attempt at fitting the massive rod in his mouth, but Andy was having some difficulty even fitting the head in. He had probably made Chad a little too large, even if Chad was too lost in ecstasy to recognize it. Andy made a mental note of things to change for the next time around. Without warning, Chad exploded into Andy’s mouth. While Andy did his best to swallow all of it, the force of his spray was augmented by the spell and the greater part of Chad’s cum spilled out through his lips, leaking back down onto Chad’s cock and groin. After gently removing his mouth from Chad’s head, Andy licked his lips. Slowly Chad’s convulsions died down and the semen stopped flowing. Andy and took a minute to clean himself up while he admired his handiwork. Chad’s body seemed as though it had not entirely finished growing, and even though he was still snugly bound Andy enjoyed watching his muscles tense as he resisted in futility. Meanwhile Chad had not quite finished his ejaculation, and shot a few extra spurts across Andy’s face. Andy chuckled a bit. The cum he was wiping off his nose and chin was nothing compared to the volume that ran down Chad’s shaft and soaked his groin. Andy took a few seconds to take in the whole scene, and then decided it was time to come to a close. “Kookaburra,” he whispered softly into Chad’s ear, citing the trigger word to inactivate the spell. Chad was perhaps too incapacitated to notice the changes, but Andy watched as he returned to his previous size, his cock the only feature that remained hard and proud as it returned to its former stature. His arms deflated, his chest sank, and his back shrank as the magic that had sustained his gargantuan body returned to the suit. Chad came back to his senses right around the end of the transformation. He removed the panda head, still reeling from the orgasm. Andy kissed him gently, the taste of Chad’s cum still fresh on his lips. “When can we do that again?” he asked. “Any time you like, big guy,” Andy said.
  9. Guest

    The muscle frat (3)

    Three Fear filled Tristan's widened eyes as he was slowly span around to face Brock. He tried resisting and fighting back but his 124 pound body was totally overpowered by his brother's 241 pound buddy. His more-than-half-hard cock slapped against his skinny left leg while he was turned around. He quickly held his hands in front of it and looked up into the 5'8 man's eyes. "Just relax, man", Brock said as he looked down in the 5'5 little guy's dark brown eyes, "Don'tcha think it's time we had a real talk? Things can't go on like this. Yar bro and I are trying to help ya out". A pleasant warmth began flowing through Tristan as he listened to Brock's deep baritone voice. He felt his 5 incher harden fully beneath his hands as he was mere inches away from the amateur bodybuilder physique he'd admired for several years. Brock noticed the fear disappearing from the small boy's eyes and a hint of what seemed like a smile forming on his frail lips. A shiver travelled down his spine and his sight went dark for a second while he felt a tingling sensation between his meaty paws and the skin of the skinny guy's bony shoulders. He blinked his eyes to refocus his gaze. Tristan perceived pearls of sweat forming on the huge athlete's forehead. A faint moan escaped his mouth as the warmth increased exponentially throughout his frail body. He closed his eyes in pleasure. Brock looked down at the guy in front of him while the last black dots disappeared from his sight. His sight still was a bit foggy as if the steam in the shower zone kept him from seeing clearly. He noted the small, flat pecs and wondered why Tristan always wore baggy clothes: he looked decent enough like someone that had started working out a few months earlier. The tingling sensation made him look at his own paws and noticed the frail, yet squarish looking shoulders beneath them. He looked further down to discover the thin yet strong looking biceps with a prominent blue vein. The small guy had the typical surfer look with his nice tan. Brock looked back at the small boy's chest. He would have sworn the flat pecs looked bigger than a couple of minutes earlier. Tristan let out a second, louder moan as the warmth seemed to slip inside his bones and muscles. He reopened his eyes and stared at the meaty rack of hard muscle atop Brock's chest. The thought that the protruding pecs seemed less impressive than he'd imagined, flew through his mind. His cock felt harder than ever before and it throbbed behind his hands. Brock stared at the growing boy in his grasp in disbelief and blinked his eyes again, but the foggy ring at the edge of his gaze only got more intense and prevented him from seeing anything else than the frail boy in front of him. "Ya're getting bigger, T.", he said as he noticed the hardening four-pack. He looked up and saw the now even thicker pecs swelling with every breath the small boy took. He felt the bony shoulder beneath his paws hardening and thickening. Brad's little brother now looked like a surfer who had spent too much time in the gym. The tingling sensation between his meaty fingers and the swelling shoulders increased some more. Tristan heard the huge man's remark and looked down at his body. A disbelieved gasp escaped his mouth as he stared at his muscular and still growing physique. He'd gained a good 40 pounds and it showed clearly: every muscle on his body was bigger, it was like he was going through puberty once more right there. His hands fell away from his cock and a throbbing hard, 6 incher stood up straight in front of him. He looked up at the man holding him and noticed that Brock no longer looked like an amateur bodybuilder but more like an overbuild fitness model. Brock's gaze was glued to the growing guy's rock-hard cock and a jolt went through his own dick. "Fuck. Ya're getting big like yar bro", he said in a slightly higher voice. The tingling sensation expanded through his body and seemed to invade every one of his meaty muscles. A hint of fatigue made a tremor course through his thick quads, but he was too busy admiring the hardening physique in front of him to notice it. Tristan noted the much less rich baritone and looked at his brother's huge friend's face. He gasped when he saw Brock's face: his prominent jaw line was getting softer and made his squared masculine face beginning to look rectangular. He also realized he was looking straight into Brock's eyes. His mind quickly processed this realization and he suddenly knew where his new size was coming from: the prophecy he'd read in the frat house library was right. He was now just as tall as the guy that once towered 5 inches above him. Their bodies now weighed exactly the same, but looked clearly different: Tristan's was bulging with pure, ripped muscle and growing where Brock's was shaggy and somewhat blobby looking and obviously shrinking. Brock couldn't believe his eyes: the wimpy, frail boy before him was now looking like a contest ready physique competitor. The shoulder beneath his hands were broadening and thickening and began pushing open his fingers; the once flat pecs were now a nicely protruding rack of striated muscle atop a deeply grooved six-pack; the stick-like arms were replaced by strong looking, muscle-filled pipes that had to be around 18 inches. A throbbing motion made him look down and he saw the thick, rock-hard 8 inch cock protruding proudly from Tristan's body. The thick fog at the edge of his sight began dissipating and as he looked down he noticed his own chest. "No", he mumbled in a hig-pitched tenor voice, "where did my muscles go?". "Here", Tristan said in a now way deeper voice than Brock. His thickly muscled arms reached forward and he grabbed hold of his brother's friend's armpits. Instantly, more warmth rushed through his ever growing body. The tingling sensation from Brock's hands also appeared where Tristan's hands made contact with his body. A wave of exhaustion and weakness seemed to come over him as he felt his muscles being siphoned into the other man. "Let me… go", Brock said in a breaking voice and tried squirming free. He fought with every ounce of strength left in his weakening body and manage to loosen the grasp around his ribs. Tristan felt his brother's friend breaking his hold but quickly replaced his hands in his armpits and applied more pressure. His growing body got stronger with every passing second while Brock's diminishing one only got weaker. "Feed me your size!", he boomed in his deepening baritone voice and let the energy and mass flow into him. Brock tried freeing his hands from the swelling shoulders but they were fused to the now boulder-sized orbs of muscle. His eyes widened as he felt his feet leave the floor: the guy he'd outsized by nearly 120 pound just minutes earlier now held him effortlessly in the air. "Put me down, T.", Brock pleaded desperately as his body now sank below 160 pounds. He fought and squirmed but the grasp around his torso got stronger and stronger. "Ya still have more left to give", Tristan replied as he enjoyed the feeling of being all-powerful and dominating the huge stud he'd luster after ever since he'd first seen him. Brock just stared at the ever-growing beast that held him, tears flowing from his eyes: Brad's little brother was quickly closing in on his own old size and showed no signs of stopping. His heavy, striated protruding pecs heaved bigger with every breath and each time maintained their new size, the tanned skin was stretched tight across the inflating mounds of meat and stretch marks began appearing at the top and sides of the massive rack as the quickly growing muscles pushed the paper-thin skin to its limits; the arms that held him up were perfectly round and bulged with muscle and snaking veins as they now clearly surpassed the 23 inches he once had; the six-pack had evolved into an impossibly deeply edged eight-pack; his once stick-like legs now were pillars of strength that easily supported his growing body and his rock-hard cock was closing in on a double-digit-length and the girth of a coke can. "Please, give my muscles back", he pleaded in a girly voice. Tristan looked into the tear-filled eyes of his brother's best friend. A smirk formed on his lips as he realized how easily he held the once huge athlete up: the once huge Brock felt like a feather in his swelling 25 inch arms. Brock's intimidating, masculinity-oozing body had shriveled down to the same pathetic size he'd been minutes earlier and kept getting weaker in his grasp. His own, now huge body felt energized and strong as warmth and mass kept flowing into him and fed his growing muscles. "Fuck. This feels so good", he said in his rich, deep voice. Brock noticed the hungry look in Tristan's dark brown eyes and he realized the guy wasn't going to give his muscles back. His own eyes widened as he marveled at the guy's body: the wimpy boy he'd always known now surpassed his size at his prime. The muscles bulging all over the man's growing body kept amassing more mass. The man holding him up wasn't simply huge, he was growing beastly: shoulders now twice the size his had been and perfectly round, gave him an impossibly intimidating v-taper. Fatigue began overwhelming his own diminishing body as he sank below 100 pounds. Tristan felt his growth coming to an end and summoned the last ounces of strength from the weak body in his grasp. "FUCK YEEAH!", he boomed in a deep bass that echoed against the tilled walls and rattled the wimpy frame in his grasp. He tossed the now 80 pound Brock aside and looked down at his own 284 pound body. He looked like an ultra-heavy weight bodybuilder ready to compete: every muscle on his 6'1 frame was pumped, hard and ripped and rippled beneath his paper-thin tanned skin. His 12 inch cock exploded against the tilled walls, flooding the shower zone with his sticky man juices. He abandoned the wimpy Brock and swaggered out of the shower zone, his heavy footsteps echoing through the frat house. Brock lay down on the cold, wet tilled floor and waited for the sound of the heavy footsteps to fade. He got up slowly, his skinny legs quaking with fatigue: he felt like he'd just gone through a grueling workout. He avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror, put on his shirt and sighed: the once skintight tank top now hung like a tent around his 80 pound body. He wandered over to his room and stumbled backward as he saw the huge Tristan coming out of it with some of his clothes tossed over his bowling ball-sized left shoulder. He waited a few seconds and went into his room. All his clothes were tossed around the place. He picked the now way too big shirts and pants up, put them back in the closet and heard his phone vibrating. He went for it and noticed a text from his buddy Brad. Got my bro's text. Seems like ya guys having a great time. Will be spending the night at Emilys. Have fun. B. Brock put his phone aside, got in bed and cried himself to sleep. The next morning Brad came back to the frat house with a smile on his face. He'd spent a very good night with Emily, like they always did. "Just in time for my morning workout with Brock", he said as he entered their mutual room. "Who are you?", he said as he saw a small guy standing in the center of the room. Brock jumped up at the sound of his best friend's voice. He turned around and had to look up to look at Brad's face, his best friend was now a full head taller than him. "It's me", he said, his weak voice breaking as he began crying. "Brock?", Brad asked incredulously as he recognized the patheticly skinny boy, "What happened to ya?". "Your brother… in the shower… my muscles…", Brock muttered in between sighs and sobs. Brad closed the distance between them and put his hands around his best friend. "It's okay, man. I'm here for ya", he said as he gently patted the frail back. Brock let his best friend comfort him. For the first time since he'd lost all his muscles, he actually felt safe. His now 100 pound heavier friend's embrace filled his weak body with warmth. "So, my brother did this to ya?", Brad asked, "but how?". "Don't know", Brock peeped in his girly voice, "my muscles just flowed into him when we were in the shower last night." "I'll go talk to him. He has to give yar muscles back. I'll make him do it!", Brad said. "He won't listen to you", Brock replied. "Don't underestimate me, buddy", Brad said and flexed his 17 inch right arm, "Come on, let's go talk to him!". "You don't get it: he's huge now. Way bigger than you are", Brock stated as he looked at his buddy's flexed arm with envy. Brad noticed Brock staring at his arm and quickly relaxed his pose. "No worry, buddy. I'm his big bro. He has to listen", he said as he gently ruffled his best friend's hair and went to the door. He stepped through the frat house to the part where his brother was staying, his buddy Brock following close behind him. He slammed open the door of the first room and stormed in, Brock right behind him. Someone had pulled the mattresses from the two beds and placed them together in the center of the room. But otherwise the room was deserted. "What are ya runts doing here?". The deep, thundering bass rumbled against the walls, rattled the windows and resonated in Brad's and Brock's bodies. They spun around and saw Tristan entering the room. The small Brock retreated behind his bigger buddy as the beastly teen came in. Brad looked in awe at his younger brother: every huge muscle on his body seemed ready to jump through the skintight hoodie he was wearing; the prominent vein snaking along his upper arms was clearly visible through the fabric. Not wanting to show his intimidation, he stepped up to his brother to confront him. He gulped as he had to look up slightly to stare him in the eye and he noticed that his brother's insanely wide shoulders were more than twice as broad as his own. "You took Brock's muscles?", he asked as deeply as possible. "Yep", Tristan replied matter-of-factly", I also took his hoodie". "Give them back", Brad stated, ignoring how his brother's deep bass drowned his own voice. "Or else what?", Tristan replied and put his hands on his hips and flared his lats, making his body double in width. The stretched hoodie protested with a tearing sound as it split open under the pressure of the beastly teen's wide back. Brad couldn't help it and took a step back instinctively. "Just give them back, bro", he said. "Ya're gonna make me?", Tristan asked coldly and inhaled deeply to make his huge chest expand. More tearing sounds came from the hoodie and the zipper at the front was pushed down by the massive mounds of striated muscle. "I… ehm", Brad began but words died in his throat as he laid eyes on the deep cleavage between his huge brother's thick pecs. More intimidation flowed through him and he had to summon all his willpower not to take another step back. Tristan saw the look of doubt in his older brother's eyes and a smirk formed on his lips. "Well?", he said. Before his brother could react, he shoved him in the chest. Brad didn't know what hit him. One moment he was standing in front of his now massive brother, the next he flew through the room and crashed down on the mattresses. He coughed as he got up to his knees. A huge paw grabbed hold of his shirt and lifted him up. He stared in disbelief at his younger brother as the beastly teen held his 185 pound body effortlessly up with his right arm. "Ya're in no position to tell me what to do, bro. Got it?", Tristan boomed angrily. Brad clutched at his brother's massive arm, trying to break free. "Guess I'm no longer 'little T.' like ya called me. Seems like 'little B.' is just a bug in my grasp", Tristan said as he shook his brother back and forth, "I'm calling the shots now. Got it, little bro?". Brad nodded, knowing full well he was no match for his beastly brother. He'd never felt more scared. "Now get lost!", Tristan boomed and tossed his brother into the corridor. Brock sprinted toward his best friend and the two of them quickly got away.
  10. Guest

    The muscle frat (1)

    One "Come on. One more, buddy!" Brad grunted from the effort, his face beet red as he curled the 100 pound barbell up. "10", he groaned between his teeth as he completed his rep. "Nice job, man", Brock said as he helped his buddy lower the barbell back down and place it on the floor. Both aged 21, the two had been friends ever since their first day in kindergarten and had always been in the same class up until university. Even then, they had both chosen Orchid University. After setting their first steps in the gym at age 15, they had continued working out together on a daily base and joined their high school's football team. Now they we're both among the star players of the university football team. Brad controlled his fast breathing and looked down at his former roommate grabbing the 120 pound bar from the rack. "Come on, final set!", he said to his buddy as he sat down on a bench, exhausted from their workout and took a sip from his shake. "Fuck yeah!", Brock growled as he began curling the barbell with perfect control. "Grow", he said to his arms, his big biceps swelling with every rep as more blood flowed into them. "8, agh, 9, agh, ten…", he groaned, "gimme a spot, man!". Brad got up from the bench and stood in front of his roommate. He placed his fingers underneath the middle of the barbell and assisted the movement. "Come on, one more!", he said to encourage Brock. "Eleuhven…", Brock grunted. His body trembled as he lowered the barbell back down. "Tweuhlve". Brad's eyes widened as his roommate went on to complete twenty reps before he helped him put the barbell down. While Brock grabbed his towel from the nearby bench, Brad looked at his own reflection in the mirror. He grinned and raised his right arm in a flex. The pumped bicep hardened atop his meaty arm, blue veins snaking along the muscle. "How big are those guns?", Brock asked as he emptied his shake and looked up at his buddy. "Just under 18 inches pumped", Brad replied and hardened his flex some more. Brock moved next to his friend and raised his right arm to copy his pose. His bicep, pumped and red from the workout, mounded upward as he brought in his lower arm. The peak pushed against his skin and a web of blue, thick veins fed the steely orb. "Nice man", Brad said while he stared at the obviously bigger arm. "22,5 inches all pumped", Brock stated with pride. "Let's hit the shower, man", he said as he relaxed his arm and strutted toward the exit. "Yeah", Brad answered. "So, any other news?", he asked as he caught up with his buddy. "I told ya a million times, man: I'm not the president of the frat. Just be patient", Brock said and patted his buddy on the back. "I've been waiting for an invite ever since we've got here three years ago. You got in during the second semester of our freshman year. This year is my last shot", Brad went on. Ever since Brock had been allowed into the Dexameni-frat, the most exclusive frat on campus that housed most of the top athletes, he'd been jealous. He'd been checking his locker for an invite every day since his best buddy had gotten in. Brock turned to face Brad, grabbed his shoulders and made him look in his eyes. "Your chance will come, buddy. Be patient!", he said in a loud tone to cut off Brad. He released his friend and continued his way to the locker room. Brad sighed, knowing his friend was right and followed him inside. The locker room was completely deserted. They took off their sweaty workout gear in silence. Brad was down to his boxers and reached for his locker when he noticed the little black envelope. "No way", he mumbled and took it. His hands trembled as he ripped it open and read the piece of paper inside. You've proven worthy to join the ranks of the Dexameni-frat. Report to the frat house this Friday at 1900h "Good news?", Brock asked, keeping his back to Brad as he stripped completely. "I'm in!", Brad blurted out. "Told ya to be patient, buddy. I'm glad for ya", Brock replied and strutted toward the shower zone. He turned on the shower and let the hot water cascade down on his muscular body. He looked aside to Brad standing under the shower to his right. "Did ya bulk up during summer?", he asked, "Ya look bigger than last year". "Yeah", Brad answered, "I'm up to 182. I'm catching up, buddy". Brock smiled at the reaction. Even though Brad was a tad taller, 5'9 to his own 5'8, their bodies looked different. Brad had the muscular physique of a ripped fitness model, while he had the heavily muscled look of a bulky amateur bodybuilder. "Still some work ahead, buddy. I've gained some mass too: up to 229,3 pounds." Brad turned to his side and faced his buddy. Every muscle on Brock's body looked fuller than his defined ones. "Ready to burst through the 230 mark, he big guy. We'd better change your nickname from B-rock to B-wall", he said. "My abs look better though." He caressed the grooves of his ripped six-pack. A smug grin appeared on Brock's face when his friend used his nickname. He'd always liked being called b-rock; it made him feel even bigger than he was. "Ya know what they say", he said playfully, "abs on a skinny guy don't count". He flexed his abs in response, making his somewhat protruding muscle gut harden. "You're lucky we're friends. I should have kicked your ass for that remark", Brad stated with a smile. They always fooled around but he knew his buddy always had his back. "Kick my ass? You and what army?", Brock answered in an amused tone. He turned to his right and faced his friend. Brad's defined muscles gave him an athletic look. His own muscles were clearly fuller and rounder, his shoulder's half again as wide than his buddy's. "Think ya could challenge the b-rock?", he asked as he threw a most muscular. Brad stared at his 229 pound friend flexing right in front of him. The bulky muscles hardened all over his broad frame: his thick arms digging into the rack of pecs atop his muscle gut, his meaty quads pushing against each other. "At least, I'm taller", he said with a smirk and stood tall to stretch out his 5'9 frame. "Ya have to have something to attract some female attention", Brock replied playfully, " otherwise no one would notice ya next to me." He relaxed his pose and gently punched his friend in the shoulder. "Na. You're lucky to have your big muscles. Your ugly face scares off anyone", Brad answered. "Thanks for helping me get in the frat. I really appreciate it, man", he said and thankfully patted his buddy's broad back. "I'm happy I could help. See ya on Friday for the initiation", Brock said as he turned off the shower and strutted away from the shower zone, water sliding along the crevices of his bulky muscles. Two days later, Brad made his way over to the Dexameni-frat house. His legs quivered slightly with every step he took and his stomach clenched together: it felt like his first day of school again. He looked up at the façade of the mansion he'd passed nearly daily since he's been on campus. Two flexed, muscular arms were painted on the wide door and the name of the frat of his dreams sat atop it: DEXAMENI. Brad inhaled deeply to calm his nerves and stepped up toward the entrance. He knocked three times and waited. What seemed like an eternity passed before the heavy wooden doors opened squeakingly. A muscular, bare-chested figure appeared in the dark corridor. "Come in!", a deep baritone boomed. Brad sighed, he had recognized Brock's deep voice and eagerly entered the frat house. "I'm glad it's you, Brock", he said, "I'm…". "Silence!", Brock rumbled, "you only speak when spoken too! Follow me!". Brad jumped up as the heavy doors closed behind him and by the harsh tone of his best friend. He nodded and followed the big guy through the long, dark corridor. Brock opened a door on his right and entered, his smaller buddy following right behind. "Strip down to your boxers", he said and folded his meaty arms in front of his protruding pecs. Brad obeyed and stripped off his clothes until he was standing in his American flag boxers in front of his friend. "So what's next?", he asked. "SILENCE!", Brock roared. Brad shivered, his friend's deep baritone rumbling inside his stomach. Brock led his friend into another room and made him wait by the door while he stepped up to the center of the room. He stopped at the base of a wooden staircase that led to an altar with a throne behind it. "O great leader", he said as he looked up to the figure in the throne, "I bring you a new recruit that wishes to join the ranks of our noble frat." "Bring him before me", the leader replied. Brock walked back to the door where Brad was standing and brought him to the center of the room. Brad's heart pounded nervously but the feeling of his buddy standing behind him, comforted him. "Step forward, brothers", he figure on the throne said. The other frat members appeared from the shadows and formed a circle around Brad and Brock. All of them were bare-chested like Brock and looked at Brad. Brad looked around and recognized Orchid University's star athletes. Their muscular torsos glistened as if they had been oiled up. He saw two of his teammates from the football team, the three top wrestlers and some other athlete's he didn't know which sport they played. He looked up at the figure on the throne and recognized him as the captain of the swim team. He wondered why the clearly smallest guy in the room was the leader of the frat. Keith, the frat leader, stepped from his throne and looked down at Brad. "Everyone that wishes to join the noble DEXAMENI-frat needs the advocacy of a senior member. Step forward he that backs this recruits acceptance!". Brad looked around nervously, but none of the frat members moved an inch. He felt his heartbeat going up, seeing his long awaited dream shattering before his eyes. "I support his candidacy!" Brad inhaled in relief as he heard Brock's voice and felt his buddy's paw atop his shoulder. "Very well", Keith said, "You have the support you need, recruit. Now let's see if you're truly worthy of joining the noble DEXAMENI-frat!". Before Brad could react, his boxers were yanked down and he stood fully exposed amidst his fellow athletes. He felt the blood race to his face and his cheeks started reddening. He moved his hands to cover his cock but two frat members moved in and tightly held his arms at his sides. He felt Brock's left paw grab his side and steady him. He inhaled deeply as his best friend's right paw grabbed his soft cock and began stroking it. He felt his cock harden and swell inside the strong paw that clenched around his inflating shaft. Within seconds he was rock hard. He looked down and saw that his fully hard 8 incher was completely engulfed by Brock's meaty paw. He noticed the tension on the corded muscles atop his friend's lower arm as the paw kept clutching his cock. His breathing fastened more and more as he felt on the verge of orgasm. "UGHN", he groaned as Brock gave his rock hard 8 incher a final, very hard squeeze and his balls spewed out their load. Six heavy blasts shot from his cock in an arch through the air before splattering down several feet further. He felt his muscles relax but the strong grasp of the two frat members that were holding his arms, kept him upright. He sighed in relief as Brock released his softening cock and grabbed his sides with both hands to steady him. "Seven feet and nine inches far", Keith said, "He's worthy of joining our noble DEXAMENI-frat!". The other frat members cheered as their leader grabbed the chalice from the altar and moved in front of Brad. He nodded at Brock. Brad felt his buddy release his right flank and grab his half-hard cock again. "Ughn", he grunted as his cock was stroked back to hardness. His drained balls stabbed in protest as a second orgasm was milked out of them only minutes after the first. His entire body went rigid as the warm, meaty paw grabbed his balls and clenched them together. Three watery loads leaked from his nearly fully hard cock into the chalice Keith held at its end. He would have collapsed as Brock hadn't grabbed his left armpit so secure him. He looked down and saw his buddy pull up his boxers before the warm right paw grabbed his other armpit. A feeling of relief went through his exhausted body. Keith shook the chalice, held it above his head for all the frat members to see it and placed it back on the altar. He turned around and looked back at Brad. "Welcome to our ranks, Brad!", he said, "now, let's party!". The frat members howled loudly and left the chamber. Bard followed them, not caring he was in his boxers. The feeling of finally being part of the frat filled him with joy.
  11. ABSQRST

    Liquid Manhood- Chapter Four

    Sorry for the wait, back at school and its kicking my ass. Here's part four. It was gonna be one large part covering all of Christmas break, but I came up with too many ideas for Christmas, so its gonna be two parts. Thanks for reading. Read Part One HERE Read Part Two HERE Read Part Three HERE Liquid Manhood Chapter Four The Christmas Break had come, Thanksgiving had passed with Melvin leaving Chris alone with the elixir. Surprisingly Chris hadn't used it, and it appeared that the large jar was filling a lot slower now. The size draining jockstraps were either not being used anymore or had drained all they could. Melvin hadn’t seen any of the jocks running around, or he didn't recognise them anymore. Chris had vanished off one night, having locked up the jar with a padlock, so that Melvin couldn’t get at the elixir. He’d made them both promise not to take any of the elixir and use Christmas break to think out a plan. Melvin though was too curious about the elixir, so he’d learnt how to pick the lock It took him two nights, but he was able to get the padlock off the jar. He turned the faucet and filled up a sample cup of green liquid. He made sure he replaced the padlock. He even remade Chris’ bed after he’d messed it up by standing on it to get at the magical filled jars. Before Melvin left he searched the room for the leather bound magic book, he hadn't seen it in over two weeks. Chris must of hidden it, he knew he hadn't taken it, Melvin had pretty much packed Chris’ bags for him. He found a lockbox under Chris’ bed, he gave it a shot with the lock pick, but his parents turned up to collect him before he could get it open. Melvin returned the box and wrapped the sample cup in some clothes before gently packing it away in his bag. He locked up the dorm room and headed down to meet his parents, eager to get away from the dorms and out of Chris’ shadow so he could get a good look at the magic liquid in his bag. ——————————————————————————————————————————— He’d watered the strange cactus that sat erect and proud on his desk, he’d turned all his electronics off and even cleaned his room. Two bulging bags of empty bottles and candy wrappers were carried out to the trash only this morning. Sean’s PS4 was packed away. He wished he could bring his TV, but it would have to wait for him here in his dorm room. His one piece of luggage for the train ride home was more videos games than clothes. Mostly because very few of his clothes fit him anymore, Sean’s growth spurt was still continuing and didn't show any sign of stopping. He was already 6’3 and his body had leaned out, all the extra fat gone from his frame. His stomach was flat and he’d spent nights jerking off while feeling the light ridges of his now visible ab muscles. His hair was now permanently styled, even in the mornings he looked like he’d just had a stylist go through it with all manner of products. Sean’s skin was still pale, but like marble and completely clear of spots or blemishes. Sean was now getting a lot of looks, he knew whatever was happening, a second puberty or something, it had changed his face more than anything else so far. His lips were pouty and his jaw had squared slightly. The loss of his fat had allowed cheekbones, that Sean never knew even existed, to strengthen the bone structure of his face. In class he’d found girls giving him longing stares, he’d just smile nervously and they’d melt. He was getting a lot of people asking for tutoring, which wasn’t a surprise to him, as he was top of his class, just now he caught girls popping a button on their shirts before they came to ask him. The guys were a bit different in their reactions to him, he was getting invited to more parties and even a few of the sporty frats were making enquires if he wanted to consider joining. He’d attempted to play frisbee with a few guys after class once, entirely because of one boy with big eyes and ass that bounced when he walked. He was very nervous, but found himself catching the frisbee every time, even running to catch it. Sean had never exercised in his life, or even played a sport, but he was good at frisbee. He’d never played it since then, his sudden skill and athletic ability had scared him. Sean was spending all his time in his room, even though he now looked like the guys he jerked off over he was unwilling to try his new looks out. Sean zipped up his luggage, tossing a shirt with Captain America's shield plastered across it that wouldn't fit inside his bag onto his bed. He checked that he had his train ticket, it was in the back pocket of his jeans. Which were being pushed out by Sean’s ass having gone from a fat mess to a tight rounded perky butt. He gave his room one last look over, the green tinge that everything seemed to have was so familiar to him, he didn't even know that no other room in the dorm building looked like his. Sean left, locking his door behind him. A slow drip started the second the door clicked closed, a green stain started to spread across the light blue fabric of the shirt Sean tossed onto his bed. ————————————————————————————————————————— The house was emptying, the fraternity has already lost a few members, not because they had returned home for Christmas, but because they’d left the university all together. Danny had been the first, he’d lost over a foot of height and could barely run without losing his breath. It had been horrible to see him shrink, going from a guy who could run miles without breaking a sweat to wheezing after walking up some stairs. The college reacted pretty quickly, calling in many doctors. A viral disease that caused genetic damage, primarily bone contraction, hormone deficiency and muscle wastage was the official reason for the sudden collapse of the Lincoln football team. They’d even had the Center for Disease Control turn up, taking blood samples and running tests. They’d concluded it was something in the athletic department, so the entire place had been closed for nearly a month as it was deep cleaned and tested for anything and everything, but the damage had already been done. Coach Peters had suspended the football team and more or less abandoned all of them as he tried to rebuild from the slim pickings left on campus. Big Ben, or just Ben as he was being called now was probably taking the changes the best. He peeked out of his window down at his frat brothers being collected by their parents. The unaffected towering above a few dozen tiny slim boys. Guys of their size used to get Ben rock hard, but now his monster cock was tiny. He could jack it with two fingers when he used to need two hands. His tastes had changed along with his stature. Ben found himself getting rock hard around his still big frat brothers, he’d also spend every jerk off session of his with his face buried in his old jock strap. Sniffing in the musk of his old horse cock. Speaking of his new tastes, Yuri was on his bed. Shirtless, his toned swimmer's torso glistening with sweat. The taste of Yuri’s cum still lingering in Ben’s mouth. Ben had dropped straight facade and found that no one gave a shit that he was gay. Yuri was becoming a regular in Ben’s room nowadays, he was adamant he wasn't gay, but he sure loved to fuck Ben’s tight throat. Ben was holding out for the chance to ride Yuri’s Russian meat stick, but Yuri was the cum and go kind of guy. “What you looking at” Yuri asked, checking the time on his phone Ben turned and walked back to the bed, perching his slender ass on the edge. “Just watching the guys leave” He replied, his voice no longer a rumble It was almost musical, but only a few days ago it was jumping octaves, like his voice was breaking all over again. “You not gonna be lonely in this big house all by yourself” Yuri asked, poking Ben with a foot playfully Ben chuckled “I’ll be ok, got all those chores to keep me busy, Mr President” Yuri had taken over as Frat President, Barrett had quit last week. Ben was sure the diminishing quarterback wasn't going to come back to college after Christmas. Yuri though was very happy with the new arrangement, and seeing as Ben was the only one remaining over the holiday he’d given a long list of chores for Ben to do. Since around half the frat had almost halved in size the odd jobs had gone from being a ‘everyone pull your weight’ thing to a ‘do what I say shorty’ affair. Ben was sure that was a major part to why a lot of the football team had left college, they just couldn't deal with the sudden change in their social standing, Ben though was used to it. He had three brothers, all big like he'd been. He was used to being at the bottom of the ladder, though just not as far down the ladder as he was now. Yuri laughed loudly, sitting up and ruffling Ben's hair “Good boy” Ben blushed, his cock stiffened a little in the gym shorts he borrowed from Danny before he quit college. He still had to pull the drawstring as tight as possible to make them fit. “I’ve still got an hour before I have to leave for my flight” Yuri said, his cock rising up Ben licked his lips, his eyes running over the length of the seven inch dick in front of him. He remembered when he was nearly that big soft. “You want to suck a couple loads out before I go” Yuri asked already pulling Ben’s head down into his lap Ben didn't even have a chance to reply before his mouth was full of cock. —————————————————————————————————————————— Chris was spending Christmas on the Haber family’s personal yacht. The Gold Standard, a pure white ocean going monstrosity with gold highlighting. It was a triumph of affluence and gaudy taste in decoration. He was alone with just the crew and a gaggle of tag along ‘friends’ as company. His mother was in Milan with her Italian lover that she didn't think anyone knew about and his father was probably running the universe from his office in the Haber building on Wall Street. He was sailing along the French Riviera and had already lost what most people would make in a year at one of casinos in Monaco. Like Melvin he’d broken the promise not to use the elixir. He’d filled himself a few sample cups and was continuing his tests, still uneasy and unsure about the nature of the green liquid. Chris had already dosed one of his ‘friends’, a picture perfect European boy of noble birth for a title that didn't exist anymore. His family ran an arms company or something. He was Swiss, or maybe French, Chris didn't know, only that he claimed to be in line for the French crown. Jean was slim, short, but with a head of rich brown curls and bright silvery grey eyes. Chris couldn't deny an attraction, and if the boy was more interesting he’d might of made a move. Instead Jean became a target, but it had been the luck of the draw. Chris had dosed a glass of champagne on the first night he’d arrived in Europe, and it was Jean who took it from him. The changes took a few hours to take hold, firstly Jean appeared to be develop a fever. He was sweating buckets as the party started on the yacht’s deck. Then the exhaustion set in. Chris had even helped Jean to his cabin, the crew almost in shock at seeing Chris help another human being. Chris would pop into Jean’s room throughout the night, trying to keep suspicions low by still appearing at his own party. Each time Jean was different, he hadn’t gotten any taller, but he’d bloated with beefy muscle. Becoming a fireplug of a man, his chest and arms thickening with muscle. His curls got longer, becoming a mane, though they lost their rich glossy colour. Darkening to a dull simple brown. His noble features, chiselled from years of selective breeding were hardening. Jean’s forehead jutted out, his jaw widening into a solid square. Hair was sprouting over his jaw and a tuff popped out from the collar of Jean’s shirt, which was struggling to hold back his enlarged pec and shoulder muscles. Chris could tell that hair was growing over Jean’s shoulders and down his stomach, he could see the mattered imprint appearing through Jean’s shirt. Chris even had to pull Jean’s shoes off, the changing boy looked in pain as his feet grew. Chris less worried about Jean’s wellbeing and more concerned with Jean waking up due to the discomfort. Jean’s feet now free of their shoes had already burst through his socks. The tattered remains clinging to his ankles. The feet though were hairy and massively oversized for possibly even a 7ft basketball player let alone a man of Jean’s small stature. Chris had Jean removed from the yacht, telling the crew that some gate crasher had got too drunk. He blocked Jean from his phone and had the boat moved to a new mooring, ignoring the complaints of guests who were now a fair distance away from their hotels and cars. Chris hadn’t expected the elixir to cause changes so uneven. Jean had grew massive muscles, but had stayed short. His features had hardened but there was no grace or manly beauty to them, just brutish shape. Chris would have to run some more tests, maybe he’d made a mistake with this elixir. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Barrett’s world had fallen apart, his friends were gone, his future in athletics were gone, and his family were treating him like a leper. When he returned home last week Barrett saw his father’s heart break, his dreams of creating a sporting dynasty were mostly dead. His mother was avoiding contact with him, which was easy to do when you lived in a mansion and Barrett never left his room. She did though leave food she, not the housekeeper, had cooked at his door. Barrett knew she cared, she probably just didn't know how to deal with everything. Barrett was barely 5’5 now. His entire body was now slender, near skeletal in some places. The muscle wasting disease had burned through Barrett’s body, nothing was left of the young stallion he’d been. He didn't even recognise himself in the mirror anymore, not only had the disease shrunk his bones it had cut away at Barrett’s chiselled bone structure. Barrett’s jaw was nearly nonexistent, his cheekbones were getting less pronounced by the day, like someone was smoothing them out while he slept. His bright eyes were darker now, his hair having taken on the texture of straw. He knew some guys had it worse, he had no idea what Big Ben must be going through, but then he hadn’t spoken to anyone from college since he left. He just lay in bed most of the time, though he’d taken to his old game console. He’d never really played it before, but it sure helped pass the time between sleeps. Barrett had even had a gaming headset and some new games delivered, he had an old picture of himself as his profile, so he could still pretend online he was a hunk. Apart from maintaining a sexy online persona Barrett had removed every other trace of his old self from his room. All the pictures were hidden away, his old sport trophies and framed high school quarterback jersey were packed away in the attic. His mother had brought him a load of new clothes, all sized for his tiny new body. His old wardrobe was either burnt to ashes or donated to goodwill, he had no idea what his dad had done with all the expensive designer gear. Barrett’s room looked alien to him now, look big and with a lot of empty space now that old Barrett was erased. He sunk into the imprint that his old self had left in the mattress, a new bed was the next thing Barrett wanted changed, and maybe new carpet. Barrett was sure his old smell was lingering in the carpet and it was messing with Barrett’s mind. It was the reason he kept getting rock hard at random times, his shrunken peanut cock getting turned on by his old self. He knew it was more that he was attracted to guys who were like he’d been. He liked muscle now, or at least athletic guys. Which made things weird when the housekeeper’s son came to see if he was ok. It was just him being nice to his mother’s boss's son, but it had screwed Barrett up a little. His name was Andre and Barrett knew he’d just left high school, he’d even gotten a full scholarship, which Barrett’s dad had helped him get. What was bad was the shape of Andre’s pecs against his shirt as he talked down to Barrett, who didn’t remember ever thinking of Andre as tall. Barrett had spent the rest of the day watching Andre from his window as the guy helped the elderly gardener rake leaves. This sudden attraction, or maybe it was an odd sadness at his own loss of manhood, must be why he kept his old jockstrap. He liked the smell, the stretched out pouch. He’d give it a sniff sometimes, or press his face into the cotton before remembering he used to be as straight as an arrow, banging multiple chicks at a time. Then his NFL player brother A.J arrived and things got worse.
  12. ABSQRST

    Liquid Manhood- Chapter Three

    Thanks for all the comments, part four should be up by the weekend at the earliest. Read Part One HERE Read Part Two HERE Liquid Manhood Chapter Three “You are in very good health Mr Wington” the doctor finally said after poking and checking Barrett out for nearly an hour The doctor had seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in having Barrett strip, the older man’s hands running along the ridges of Barrett’s stomach and chest. Ridges that to most people would of been considered amazing to possess, but Barrett knew they weren’t as cut as they had been last week. “We’ll have to wait for the test results to come back in a few days, but from what I can tell you are a fit healthy man in his early 20s” the doctor added, flicking through a chart Barrett looked the doctor in his almost-orange-with-fake-tan face, annoyance plastered over Barrett’s handsome, but exhausted features. “Nearly two months back when you gave me my start of the year physical you said I was the most healthy person you’d ever saw” Barrett explained Even back then the doctor has spent more time than he needed to feel out Barrett’s body. He remembered the doctor fingering each solid brick of Barrett’s abs. Shaking off the memory of the obvious groping he heaved himself off the examination table, pulling at the bottom of his shirt to hide his still amazingly ripped abs. He’d been doing it more and more recently, he just had this thought in the back of his head that he was on display, like he was suddenly all self conscious. He even dug out an old long sleeved shirt from his closet to hide the thick toned pillars he called arms. The Barrett Wington who had always tried to not wear a shirt suddenly didn't want anyone to look at him. “Yes…well Mr Wington, that was last month” the doctor replied “You still are in very good shape, and very good health” There it was, ’very good’, not ‘amazing’ or ‘incredible’. Barrett was used to being perfect, ‘very good’ was a demotion. “Like I said when you arrived and when you called last week” the doctor continued “You might just have a bug, happens a lot in the first few months of the academic year” Barrett just nodded, the doctor was most likely right. A virus or infection was the only explanation for how Barrett felt, and how it seemed the entire football team were feeling the same. The doctor handed Barrett a small box of pills. “Takes these twice a day” the doctor said “Should give your immune system a little boost” Barrett just nodded again, finding it harder to find his voice, like he was getting nervous around people. As he left the doctor called back “Come back in a few days, we’ll have your results then, but remember to take it easy.” Barrett ignored him and slowly walked back to the frat house, scratching at his crotch the entire way. His jock strap was still itchy, even though he’d had it washed everyday since the itching started. He probably shouldn't wear it anymore, but he just couldn't get comfy in other underwear. It was like he’d gotten used to the itchy jock. Going to the local clinic felt like a waste of time, he’d felt like shit all week. It had messed with his workouts, even football practice had been terrible. Coach Peters nearly burst a vein bellowing at the failing athletes, and at Barrett especially. But Barrett had a horrible thought in the back of his mind, a virus could cause every symptom he had. It would cause the soreness, the exhaustion, the failure to be an active jock, but even with Barrett’s basic knowledge of biology he knew that nothing could make your feet a size smaller. He stared at his feet as he walked, both out of a want not to make eye contact with others and to also examine his feet. Barrett’s size 15 sneakers were feeling loose. Maybe it was time Barrett pulled out his old size 14s. Barrett’s next step ended up with his shoe being left behind. His eyes widened and Barrett quickly slipped his foot back into the too big sneaker. His pace quickened and he crossed his meaty arms over his still impressive chest defensively, on second thought he’d borrow a frat bro’s size 13s. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Chris and Melvin sat in the greasy pizzeria just outside of campus, huddled in a booth a back. The red leather seats fraying and the table still stained from the meals of the last few dozen diners. The dingy restaurant was Paulie’s Pizza, a place famous on campus as the go to place for a cheap meal, just as long as you liked pizza. Paulie, if that was his name was a Persian who clothes were always stained with pizza grease, he was as Italian as Super Mario. But Melvin had to admit he did make a good pizza. The nerdy student was chowing down on a large slice of pepperoni. Chris just stared over his expensive sunglasses at the other students in the restaurant, tightly held in his hand was a specimen cup of emerald green liquid, it was the elixir. A week had passed since they'd started collecting the liquid by draining the football team and Chris had finally decided to test the elixir out on a human. Melvin’s roommate had been very encouraged by the change to Burt the cactus, and even more encouraged by the change in the football team. Everyday Chris would describe all the small changes he’d seen in the athletes, he barely breathed as he hurried out the sighting of Barrett Wington’s shoe falling off his foot yesterday. Melvin was sure that Chris has jerked off that night thinking about Barrett’s feet shrinking. “See anyone yet” Melvin said between bites of pizza Chris nodded with a small smirk on his lips. “Stefan, that German student who's staying for a semester” Chris said in a quiet voice Melvin craned his head around to look for Stefan, he wasn't being subtle. Stefan was sitting at one of the tables in the middle of the restaurant, he was alone and clicking on his phone. He was fair skinned and very blonde. How Melvin imagined all Germans to look, he was lean, but probable had a very average body under his loose hoody. “Why him” Melvin asked returning his gaze to Chris Chris shook his head at Melvin, angry at Melvin’s obvious stares. He explained slowly and with fierce patronisation in his voice “Stefan is the best candidate because he’ll be returning to Germany in a month” Melvin nodded, his voice a little shaken by Chris’ mild anger “So his change won’t attract much attention” Chris nodded and then pulled himself out of the booth. Melvin watched Chris slip past the tables and other patrons, he passed the counter where plates of food waited for the waiters to delivery them to their tables. As he passed Chris poured the sample cup of elixir over one of the plates. Chris quickly vanished into restaurant restroom, always trying not to draw suspicion. Melvin again with his eyes obviously pointed at Stefan watched the short dark haired waiter with a name tag reading ‘Zack’ place a plate of elixir soaked pineapple pizza at Stefan’s table. Chris returned, maybe walking a little too fast. He slapped Melvin on the shoulder to get him to stop staring at Stefan. Melvin looked down at his half eaten pizza slice, picking at the stringy cheese. He heard Chris swear under his breath. “What” Melvin asked without looking “He fucking left” Chris muttered, slapping the table, no one looked towards the bang in the loud restaurant Melvin looked over to Stefan’s table, and it was empty. The pizza hadn't been touched. “Looks like he got a text, and he just left” Chris explained “The idiot paid for the pizza and everything” “So…another target” Melvin asked Chris nodded “Yea….I’ll do some more searching and find someone to dose” The two roommates got up and left, Chris muttering about how stupid people were and how they never did what they should do. Chris not even letting Melvin finish his pizza. Neither of them noticing Zack the waiter with the greasy olive toned skin return to clean the table, or how Zack even though he hated pineapple eagerly ate the abandoned elixir soaked pizza on his way back to the kitchen as Paulie didn't let his waiters have a lunch break. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Sean kept pulling at his shirt, but not because it was tight or because it was riding up his belly. He was pulling at it because it was loose, it hung around his neck and stomach. For the first time in years he was standing in front of and checking himself out in a mirror. The sink below it was flushed lime green, Sean had just washed his mouth out with Mountain Dew. He’d noticed the bottle was a darker green than normal, and the taste was a little different. More savory, almost salty, maybe he’d just picked up a soon to be out of date bottle. The strange tasting beverage wasn’t taking up much of Sean’s attention though, the sight in the mirror was more interesting. Even though he looked just like he always remembered, ginger, chubby and below average, there was something different. He wasn't as plump as before, his face and neck were thinner. There was even the hint of some bone structure peaking through. Nearly every piece of clothing he owned felt looser, except for his shoes. He looked leaner, healthier, like he’d been eating right. Which was wrong, the take out boxes in the trash can a few feet away saw to that. Sean had always thought he could do with losing some weight, and the mirror was proving him right. He just didn't have the mind and will to do it. But he liked the new him looking back from the mirror. Slimmer, eyes a little brighter and not a spot in sight on his pale skin. He even seemed to be holding himself taller. He turned from the mirror and swung his shoulder bag on, it was stuffed with books, but Sean could hardly feel the weight. With a smile on his face, and without his usual setup of headphones blasting music to repel any social interaction he headed out of his room for the campus library. Sean made sure his door was locked and walked straight into a raven haired boy. It was Chris from next-door, close behind him was a quiet blond nerdy boy. Sean didn't know his name, but had seen him enough times to know he was Chris’ roommate. Chris stepped back from Sean, quickly scanning who it was who’d bumped into him. Sean smiled politely at both boys, the blond with the crooked nose smiled back. Chris though stepped forward so he was inches away from Sean, staring him down. Sean surprised himself and almost laughed at the lithe boy’s attempt at intimidation. “What do you think you’re doing” Chris sneered down at Sean The taller boy stared down at him from behind expensive designer glasses. Sean had guessed that Chris was about 6ft tall when he first saw him moving in a few weeks back, but now Sean was maybe an inch shorter then him. This revelation caused a shot of excitement to drop right into Sean’s balls, he’d gotten taller. He’d never in his wildest dreams thought he’d reach 6ft, and he was now a hair’s length away. “I’m heading to the library” Sean explained knocking himself out of his thoughts, and surprising himself with how confident he sounded. Suddenly Chris’ slightly angular face softened “Oh, you mean the Haber Library” Sean nodded, knowing this was leading somewhere. Chris just smiled with perfectly straight pearly whites. The blond boy sighed in relief, Chris must get angry at the drop of a hat. “My last name is Haber you know” Chris stated grandly Sean just shook his head at the arrogant dark haired boy. Chris was attractive by anyone’s standards, but the speed at which he could switch from mild anger to lording something over someone else turned Sean off the high cheekboned student. Chris flicked his glossy black fringe “Yes, we’re an old family, been going to this college since its founding” Sean again just nodded, adding an ‘oh really’ for good measure. He could feel his cock hardening as he stared at Chris’ pretty face, his libibo had been sky high the last few days. He felt dirty getting hard over such an arrogant jerk. “We Habers were here long before the Wingtons” Chris continued rolling his eyes at the dorm room corridor “This shit hole is all they can throw together” Sean remembered the dorm room was named Wington Dormitory, he also remembered that some guy on the football team was called Wington. He then thought ‘It’s a shit hole you live in Chris’ but he stopped himself. Chris gave Sean a friendly slap on the shoulder, it didn't jiggly like it would of a week ago. “Have a good one” Chris smiled widely, seemingly having forgotten the earlier insult Sean watched Chris and the blond vanish into their dorm room. He chuckled to himself and head out, even whistling a little tune. As he left the main doors of the dormitory his nostrils flared and his cock throbbed. There was something rich and musky in the air. He followed it. The thick stench led to the trash cans, they were piled high with trash, having not been emptied this week. Perched on a slant between two black trash bags was a cactus. A large green cactus with a dark red flower atop it. Sean liberated the plant from the trash and inhaled deeply. He only got the small whiff putrid trash, the rest of his sinuses were filled with the musk rising off the cactus. Sean hid the potted cactus behind the trash cans, he’d return for it after he’d finished in the library. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Zack Buffone, like a lot of wait staff was a drama major, and like a lot of drama majors he never imagined he’d be a waiter. But he needed the money, college didn't pay for itself, especially when you had a father disappointed at your life choices. His dorm room in the Wington Building was like most other dorm rooms, two beds, a shared desk and with the simple decorations that each of the roommates had placed around to make it feel like home. Zack had placed a few posters on the wall above his bed, all of them for Broadway musicals. Rent, Wicked and Les Miserables to be specific. His roommate Lance, a golden blonde beach boy had two posters one an idolised version of his native San Diego and the other of some band that Zack was sure he only had up because it was the ‘in’ thing to do. Zack and Lance were different people, Lance naturally athletic, he’d even taken to lacrosse at the start of the year like he was born for it. While Zack was creative, and desperately trying to make a name for himself in the college drama department. They rarely talked, but they had talked it had always been civil, mostly about how to log onto the college computer system, or about their neighbour and his noisy arguments with his girlfriend. But right now their shared room looked like a tornado had torn through it. A neatly kept pile of Lance’s business books had been strewn across the desk. The desk chair had been knocked over and Lance’s mattress had been partly pulled off of the bed’s base. On Zack’s bed lay the tattered remains of his Paulie’s Pizzeria workshirt, like something had burst out of it. Sweat had drenched the sheets and the mattress appeared to be permanently imprinted by the sudden weight of a much too large occupant. The air was thick with the ripe smell of fresh cum and the sound of flesh slapping flesh bounced off the walls. A layer of musk was descending over the dorm room, the odour of sweat and muscle. Zack was standing at the small sink and mirror that all dorm rooms in the Wington building had. This wasn’t the Zack who’d waited tables the day before, the Zack who’d come home in a sweat and collapsed exhausted onto his bed, the Zack who was already feeling the effects of the cup of elixir he’d been accidentally dosed with. A cocky smirk lined his newly chiseled face, his right arm up and flexing. He wasn’t skinny anymore, his arm was thick with muscle. The rounded bicep bulging with the slightest movement. The rest of his body was just as big as his arm. His hand every now and then would grope at the meaty pecs he now owned, his entire body shining with a hearty olive tone. His black hair was glossy and now ran over his boulder like shoulders. Zack now towered above his dorm room, having grew over half a foot. He guessed he had to be at least 6’5 now, and with over a 100lbs of extra mass. Since nothing of his would fit him he’d steal something from Lance’s closet. He doubted anything of Lance’s would be anything but skintight. He was excited, barely thinking about what could've caused his growth. He was too busy stretching out his new muscles. Zack had tried out a number of poses, learning how to get his new muscles to listen to his commands. Lance though was having a completely different experience. Between Zack's newly thickened muscle thighs and with his head painfully banging against the sink was Lance. His hazel eyes bloodshot and teary, his jaw sore and Zack’s monstrous horsedick stretching out and down his throat. Zack’s rounded bare ass flexed with each thrust as he fucked his roommates struggling mouth. Lance had given up punching at Zack’s thighs and ass after the second load of cum had been shot down his gullet. Zack left hand was gripping tightly to Lance’s golden locks, “Fuck…….” Zack said for maybe the dozenth time His voice was deeper, richer and oozed confidence. An almost natural authority, it was how he’d got Lance onto his knees after their brief struggle. The smaller blonde boy didn't know how to pick a fight. He’d punched Zack in his steel hard abs, probably thinking Zack had broken into the room. He remembered asking what Lance wanted, the blondes eyes on Zack's bulge. The newly grown muscle man cupped his crotch, the blonde's eyes only widened. Then something just clicked into place in Zack’s head and he grabbed Lance by the throat and tossed him onto the floor. He cock slapped Lance’s beach tanned face a few times, then went to force open Lance's mouth, only to find it already opened wide. That was nearly two hours ago. Zack looked down his thick smooth pecs at Lance’s spit and cum covered face, he smirked. “You enjoying that” he asked He loosened his grip on Lance’s hair, his thrusting slowed. Lance’s head moved as much as it could, he didn’t need Zack to fuck his throat, he appeared more then happy to impale himself on Zack’s meat rod. A few drops of fresh sweat fell onto Lance’s hungry eyes, the cock tight in his throat, but Lance kept sucking. Zack just boomed out a laugh “I fucking knew it, weird that I’d wanted you to fuck me when we met” His speed returning to his thrusts “Never thought seeing you choke on my dick would of been the better option” With that he pulled out, Lance gasping for air. Zack’s fat cock swung for a second before rising up to slap at his six pack. Lacne’s hands were still holding onto Zack’s huge thighs. Zack pulled him to his feet. Happy to have Lance at chest level, he bounced his pecs in quick succession. Zack caught the growing bulge in Lance’s boxer shorts and smiled. He pushed Lance towards the beds, and gave his perky ass a slap that probably stung. “Pick a bed, I want to dump this load in your ass” he ordered.
  13. ABSQRST

    Liquid Manhood- Chapter Two

    Read Part One HERE Liquid Manhood Chapter Two The bed shook, the headboard banging against the wall. Big Ben liked having his fraternity brothers know when he was beating the monster. His battleship-sized feet hung off the end, his 50 inch TV blaring out the moans of some porn he’d stolen from another brother. But in Big Ben’s huge meaty hand was his phone, a blond twink choking down a fat cock drawing all of the giant linebacker’s attention. His other hand was furiously pounding at this swollen meat stick; his hearty bull nuts bouncing against the sweaty sheets. A load of cum was already drying on his heaving pecs. Big Ben was so grateful he wasn’t hairy. The flood of cum he shot every time he jacked off would’ve been hell to clean up. The look of his pecs having rich brown hair on would be sexy, and it only made Big Ben jack off harder. The room reeked of him, he was still covered in the gunk and sweat from practice the night before. He’d shower after he had come. After that he would wipe down his pecs, wishing he could get some guy to do it for him. He’d returned from practice and slept the rest of the day, more exhausted than usual. He could hear his brothers starting to wake, it was nearly time. Big Ben always timed his pre-shower strut so that he caught a couple of his brothers waking up. His heavy footfalls getting their attention as they wiped sleep from their eyes. They always laughed, though Big Ben could see some fear in their eyes as he thudded down the hall. Comments like, “Thank fuck my girlfriend isn't here” or “Taking the beast for a walk huh” would be uttered. Big Ben would just grunt or make some comment about the guy’s girlfriend. Then he’d get into the shower and as silently as possible he’d cover the tiles with cum thinking about doing the same to his fraternity brothers faces. Big Ben bit his lip as he shot. Cum splattering over the cold load from before, his balls unleashing an epic load. But Big Ben sat bolt upright, his hand looked odd on his cock, his fingers were wrapped around his fat cock, still rock hard and waiting to go for two or three more times. His fingers though were touching they hadn’t touched since he was 15. The floor shook as he got to his feet, wiping the cum off his thick chest with his blanket. He looked down as his now soft cock, the shock having killed his boner. It looked slimmer, not as salami fat as it used to. Even though he was near to grazing his head on the ceiling and making the oak floor struggle under his weight, he, Big Ben, the hulking linebacker, felt small. He grabbed his jockstrap from the floor and gave it a sniff, holding the reeking pouch against his face. The musk, his musk calmed him, the cotton tickling his stubbled jaw. He pulled it on, heading to the shower as quick as he could, for the first time in his life not wanting to be seen. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Melvin woke not to the sound of Chris’ alarm waking him hours before he needed to be woken, but to a horrific painful smell in his nose. He coughed and spluttered as he breathed in, it tasted like a locker-room. Reminding him of the smell of his fingers after handling Big Ben’s jock strap. “Good you’re awake” Chris said, he was already dressed and looked like he was heading out. Melvin let out some sort of sound that was meant to be words, but he was still too tired. “I’m going to check in on the jocks, I’ve got an hour or so spare.” He grinned, “Oh and check out Bert.” Melvin blinked a few times trying to get his eyes used to the bright light, Chris had opened the curtains and Melvin was blinded. He watched as Chris left, slamming the door. Melvin climbed out of bed, his baggy pajamas hiding his frumpy shape. He popped open a window. Must be the elixir making that smell. As he pulled back from leaning over the best he felt a strip of wetness spread down his shirt. It was Bert, or a cactus that must be Bert. Gone was the small little cactus, now a thick almost throbbing green foot of plant sat in the pot, two bulbous bulbs at its base. A large bright red flower had erupted at the tip, oozing ripe sap. Melvin sniffed the wet sap on his shirt, it smelt like the funk he’d woke up choking on. The door suddenly opened, Chris was back. “Bert…” Melvin started “He….” Chris butted in, “Looks like a penis. Yeah, I noticed” “So the stuff works,” Melvin asked excited. Chris nodded and stepped over to the desk picking up Bert’s pot, trying not to get reeking sap on himself. “What are you doing” Melvin asked following Chris as he headed to the door “I’m throwing Bert out, not having our room smell like a jockstrap,” Chris said and he turned, poking a finger into Melvin’s chest. “Don’t touch the elixir. We know what it does to a plant, but not what it does to humans.” Melvin nodded, “But can you buy me a new Bert?” Chris smiled sweetly, “Sure.” And he left, taking Bert with him, Melvin knew he’d never get a new one. ——————————————————————————————————————————— “19, 20, 21,” Barrett counted out loud as he continued his morning exercise routine,clad in only pajama shorts with the straps of his jockstrap peeking out from the waist line. His body dipped down and up with each push up, he was already sweaty, and feeling tired. He’d woken up refreshed, but oddly stiff, like he’d overworked himself at practice. But he hadn’t. He’d barely pushed himself. “25……..26...” he started, but his arms gave way half way through the last push up. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, the sounds of his frat brothers waking up echoing through the house. A second ago he’d heard the unmistakable sounds of Big Ben’s monstrous frame thudding past his room. He wondered if Big Ben was feeling just as odd as he was. It seemed that everyone at practice was off, and it wasn’t just because of the over partying on the weekend before. His room was massive, it had been his older brother’s when he was a member of the fraternity. A floor to ceiling mirror decorated one wall, hiding a closet. Barrett always hid how often he’d stare at himself in the mirror, flexing a bicep, arrogantly smirking at himself. But today as he sat up he looked at himself with concern. Even though he’d slept longer than normal he still looked tired. Greyish bags hung heavily under his eyes. Barrett stood up and stepped close to the mirror, flexing his bicep. It looked odd. It felt stiff, but looked softer. The skin wasn’t as taut over the muscle as it had been. He scratched at his balls with his free hand. “Gotta be sick,” he said to himself. He popped open the bedside table, ignoring the half full box of condoms he grabbed an assortment of pills. Throwing back his head he swallowed them down, covering all the bases: flu, allergies, headaches, he wasn’t letting this illness get any further. Barrett went to leave his room, time for breakfast, he stopped though and looked down at his ripped bare chest. He sighed, and like all the other footballers he grabbed something to cover himself up, unsure about his own perfection. He flexed his arm one last time, the sleeve of his shirt not near to bursting as his muscle bulged. He jogged down the stairs, whistling, putting on his cocky demeanour. The kitchen was alive with big beefy jocks grabbing their breakfast, barely any bare chests. Only the best built non-football players were shirtless. Barrett grabbed a piece of toast another brother had cooked for himself, the guy wouldn’t complain, at least not to Barrett’s face. He leaned against a kitchen counter, watching the group. His fraternity was a house of beasts, all the main guys from the football team in one place, and most of the other star players of other sports, with Barrett as the top dog. The rest of the football team’s massive roster were in lesser frats or lived off campus, Barrett couldn’t think of any freshmen still living in dorms, maybe one or two of the new guys hadn’t been sucked up by the fraternities yet. He scratched at his balls while he ate, his fellow football players looked just as tired as he was. Bags under their eyes, paler than normal. All with hunched shoulders and dim looks on their faces. “Gotta talk to Peters,” Barrett muttered Maybe they needed a break, whatever illness Barrett had looked to be spreading around the frat. He’d have a word with Coach Peters about an easier practice schedule. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Next door to Chris and Melvin, their rarely seen neighbour was still sleeping as the clocks passed noon. His name was Sean and he’d worked all summer so he could afford to pay for a single room. He didn’t want to share his personal space with anyone. His single room was dark with only the dull glow of his PS4 on standby lighting the room. The curtains were pulled tight and were dusty, never having been opened since he moved in. A plush gaming armchair sat in front of the rooms desk facing a large top of the line TV Sean had got from his parents for winning the scholarship to Lincoln University. An indent of Sean’s fat rounded ass was visible on the seat’s cushion, the fabric tainted with Dorito dust. Sean was a nerd, a massive gamer, and an avid reader of comic books. He was a stereotype. He was also a loner. He only left his dorm to use the bathroom, for classes and food shopping. He was greasy, spotty, and rounded with limp plump fat, but he was a nice guy. Always helping classmates in class, even though he hated public speaking. If he was a little more sociable he'd have a lot of friends, he’d already been invited to join a couple of fraternities and his professor wanted him to run for the student council, but Sean just wanted to be alone and play games with people on the other side of the world he’d never have to talk to. He was snoring loudly, the weight of his fatty chest causing the choke sounding rumblings as he lay on his back in bed. His greasy bright red hair plastered to his spotty forehead. Only his head was visible from behind the covers. He was only 5’6. Even the dorm room’s small single bed was too big for him. Drip, Drip, Drip. Drops of green liquid fell onto Sean’s blankets, above Sean a line of green was spreading over the ceiling. Rising up from a crack in the wall, a patchwork of vein like green stains were stretching out from behind a set of shelves cluttered with books and PS4 games. With an almost sentient intent the green liquid grew out over the ceiling, it drips moving further up Sean’s blankets till the drops started to land in Sean’s gaping maw. The drips increased in intensity, and size, soon it was like a steady stream trickling from the ceiling down Sean’s throat. He didn’t splutter or gag, the liquid quickly vanishing into the walls of his mouth and throat. But the taste was horrid, a foul salty taste. Like drinking cool sweat. Sean’s eyes fluttered behind his eyelids and the dripping stopped. In the dark though the green stains on the ceiling and the wall wasn’t noticeable, even with a bright light it would be hard to notice against the darkly painted room. Sean made a moaning sound and sat up slowly. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, a hand then wiping green liquid from his lips and onto his pajama shirt, thinking it was just drool. The chubby nerd climbed out of bed, his hand reaching for a cola bottle on the small snack table next to his gaming chair. He took a long swig from it and then dropped his fat ass onto his armchair. His console controller already in hand he flicked the PS4 on and started to play, he had a couple hours spare before class. With Sean’s attention on his gaming the green liquid snaked its way over the ceiling. A fat raindrop of the elixir fell, landing in the open cola bottle, just as Sean reached over to pick it up to take another sip. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Barrett was on the treadmill in the college’s expansive gym, he’d just gotten the shit verbally kicked out of him by the Coach. How dare he ask to lighten the load, the Coach had bellowed at him. He was even threatened with losing his captaincy, and again compared to his older brother. How his older brother would never have asked for something so stupid, especially when there was so much competition this year from other teams. He was being punished, half an hour on the treadmill. It was meant to be easy for Barrett, more a punishment that would screw up his schedule, but Barrett was struggling. It was like all his stamina was gone, he was sweating and panting. His balls were so itchy, the cotton of his jock rubbing his hefty balls and was making them beg for a scratch. He’d almost fallen over whenever he went to itch them, and it was messing with his mind. It was like when he was doing laps at practice, he just felt drained. He’d have to get an appointment with a doctor. He was sick. With still 10 minutes left Barrett slowed down the treadmill, now walking he coughed out and spluttered. He gripped his chest, under his toned pec muscles his heart was racing. He’d never been his unfit, he’d never struggled like this. His free hand scratched at his balls, they were overheating like the rest of him. Slick with sweat and so itchy, he’d have to wash his jock. His face was bright red as he dragged his worn out legs to a water fountain. His arms screamed as he braced himself against the fountain to take a dozen or so mouthfuls of cooling water. “Barrett” a voice asked Barrett stopped drinking and sighed, it was Yuri the captain of the college swim team. He was a frat brother. Barrett pulled himself up, standing tall to look down at his frat brother and rival. It was an unspoken rivalry, but Yuri had wanted to head the frat, but Barrett beat him to it. He was sure that Yuri hadn’t let it go. “Yuri” Barrett smiled “How you doing” He was trying to be cocky, trying to be Barrett, but he was still red faced and sweating through his shirt. “You ok” Yuri asked, the ripped half Russian looking amazing in his workout gear “You look sick” “Yea… I think I’m coming down with something” Barrett said dropping his attitude Yuri held out his full water bottle and Barrett took it. “I have a spare, drink this on the walk back” Yuri said with a smile Barrett knew it was sign of submission, he was showing weakness to someone he was fighting with, even if the fight was all in Barrett’s head. Yuri turned and headed further into the gym, Barrett watched him leave. He felt deflated, but he took a long swig from the water bottle. He took a few deep breaths, feeling his energy coming back. Barrett left the gym, his footfalls slow and laboured. His shirt felt a little loose, maybe it was just cause it was being weighed down by all the sweat. He scratched his balls, he had two things to do today get a doctors appointment and wash this itchy jock. First though he needed to sleep. He hadn’t planned on getting this worn out today, but if he had it wouldn't be on a twenty minute jog. He yawned as he stepped out of the gym and his shoulder thudded into a shorter very well dressed guy. “Sorry” Barrett muttered as he hurried pass The first time he’d apologised for such an action, usually he’d berate the other guy. Instead he continued back to the frat, swigging from the water bottle. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Chris stared as Barrett walked away from him. He rubbed his shoulder, Barrett was still solid, but the reaction was a change. He’d seen Barrett explode in anger after someone just looked at him wrong. But he apologised, the powder was working, not only draining Barrett’s size and strength, but taking more. It was sapping away at Barrett’s ego, his confidence, and it had only been a day. The powder worked fast, Chris could only imagine what would happen in a week or so. He sent a text to Melvin, saw Barrett the guy looks sick, it read. He was being careful, Chris didn't know where the magic book had came from. For all he knew there was an entire magical world which wouldn't look to kindly on him playing in their world. So he was being as normal as possible and he’d warned Melvin about doing the same. No mention of the stones or the plan on any computers or phones. Only the notes he’d written down in the magic book. He took a quick lap of the gym, only seeing Yuri the swim team captain on a rowing machine. Chris wondered whether he should move his sights onto the other sports team after the football team were drained. But then what would he do with all the elixir, it wasn’t like he and Melvin would need very much to get the bodies they deserved. That was if Chris even let Melvin have any elixir.
  14. ABSQRST

    Liquid Manhood- Chapter One

    New story, been in the works and then forgotten about for a while. Came about after chatting to another member of the forum about how muscle-lost or muscle-theft wasn't getting much screen time here, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Got three parts written and got three more parts planned, tell me what you think Liquid Manhood Chapter One “Hold this” Chris ordered and stuffed the flimsy plastic bag into Melvin’s hands Melvin held the bag away from him, slightly wary of its contents. His hands like Chris’ were gloved not just to mask fingerprints but to stop any contact with the grey powder inside the bag. He was still unsure of the plan, but Chris had talked him into it. Melvin didn’t even think it would work, how could a powder do what Chris promised. “It’s gonna work” Chris said like he’d read Melvin’s mind “I’m sure it will” Melvin said his voice crackly like it had never fully broke during puberty “You saw what happened when I carved the symbols onto the stones” Chris stated turning back to look at his smaller roommate Chris stared down at Melvin, some menace in his dark eyes. He was trying to sense doubt, but Melvin won him over. Chris smiled and Melvin sighed internally. Chris could be intense at times. Melvin followed his roommate down the winding corridors of their university’s athletic department with the bag held an arm’s length ahead of him. The memory of the stones that the two had crushed into easy to transport powder was fresh in Melvin’s mind. They were just normal pebbles taken from the college green. But when Chris flicked out a pen knife and scraped strange runic symbols into the greyish surface of each pebble they changed. One blue, one red, one yellow and pink. Their hard grey surface flushed with their new colouring, and then how Chris had carefully crushed them with the but of his penknife. They reached the doors leading into their college’s locker rooms, a roaring cartoon lion had been painted on the doors. The Lincoln Lions, the 8 time championship winning football team. Chris hated them, and Melvin didn’t like them any better. Chris held out a lean hand and muttered something, there was a crack and the locked doors swung open. “The book hasn't failed me yet” Chris grinned and stepped into the dimly lit locker room. Melvin just nodded, the book scared him. Chris was obsessed with it, a massive, ancient, leather bound tome. He would spend hours reading it, translating vast passages into English, testing countless times the various spells and incantations, half of which barely worked. But this time it turned out the ‘lock pick’ spell worked just as it said it would. Maybe these ‘drain’ stones would work as the book claimed. “You’re more confident now aren't you” Chris said, and Melvin could hear the smile in his voice Chris strode confidently through the lockers. He knew what he was after. He must have staked out the place, Melvin thought. “Here we go” Chris said gleefully He pulled a wheeled laundry basket out from a small alcove between two rows of lockers and gently pushed it towards Melvin. “Hand me the bag” Chris ordered and Melvin passed it back “You search the laundry” Melvin nodded and watched as Chris tore the bag open. The grey powder pooled in the centre of the ripped plastic and Chris looked around for something to scoop the powder up with. Melvin started to look through the laundry for their desired prize and he grimaced. “Here, will this work as a scooper” He tossed a large sweaty athletic cup to Chris Chris frowned and let the cup drop to the floor before picking it up and scooping a cupful of powder out of the pile with it. “Ready,” he said as Melvin searched deeper pass the large jerseys and padded pants Wordlessly he tossed a jock strap over his shoulder, he’d rather bathe in the magical powder then touch the cock sweat soaked cotton. Chris grabbed at the jock eagerly and emptied the powder filled cup into the pouch. The powder glittered as it fell and then slowly seeped into the cotton as it made contact. Melvin watched... it was really working. “How….” He started. Chris anticipating his question started before he could finish speaking. “It’s the sweat, it’s why we needed to catch the laundry before it had been washed” Chris explained filling the cup again “The powder fuses with the fabric only if its been in contact with biological matter” “So the player's cock and balls,” Melvin said, tossing another jock over his shoulder “You got it,.” Chris smirked, tainting another strap with the powder Melvin knew he needed to find 83 different jockstraps to get the entire roster of players. Even then some might slip through the net. Their chances of getting them all had only been boosted because Coach Peters had ordered a full team practice in full uniform, the first one since the freshman year had started. Melvin knew that Chris had been ready to do this from the first day of the year, but he was waiting, waiting to get them all. He remembered when Chris had explained the plan to him, it was after he’d got drenched by a water balloon tossed by Barrett Wington, the golden blond captain of the football team and alpha frat boy of Lincoln University. Melvin knew Chris was manipulating him, getting him more and more angry at Barrett and the other jocks. Almost getting Melvin to beg for a way of getting revenge. He hadn’t expected such a massive plan, such a damaging plan, but at least he was getting back at Barrett and in turn every bigger man who had fucked with little shy Melvin during high school. “How many is that” Melvin asked, tossing another jock into the tainted pile. He’d already found another laundry trolley after emptying the last one of all the jock straps. “82,” Chris said. “Maybe one didn’t come,” he shrugged. Melvin gave the trolley one last look. “Nope… here it is.” He pulled the jock out from the laundry and hooked his fingers under the straps. It was a monster, a basket of cotton, and it reeked. “Who the fuck do you think packs himself into this,” he asked. “Damn,” Chris laughed. “Gotta be Big Ben.” Big Ben was a 6’10 linebacker, a walking wall. “You’d hope, cause no one else has the size to warrant a cock this big,” Melvin sniggered, tossing the tent over to Chris. It almost parachuted down into Chris’ hands, and, with a moment of thought, Chris poured what was left into the jock. “Big guy is gonna need a little more to bring him down,” He explained With the dirty jocks glittering slightly the two gloved freshmen tossed the jocks back into the laundry trolleys. They covered their tracks by pushing the trolleys back to their original places. “No evidence,” Chris said, washing the ripped plastic bag under a shower head before tossing it in the trash. Melvin nodded and traced his steps back, finding nothing to hint at their presence. The two left the locker room and, with a soft thud, the locks popped back into place as Chris pulled the door closed. “When will we know if it has worked,” Melvin asked when they returned under the cover of darkness to their shared room. “When the jars start to fill,” Chris said pulling off his gloves. The jars were four large glass cylinders with taps at the bottom. They sat on a high shelf on Chris’ side of the room. Each with a sticker with the different symbols of the stones they represented. Chris had explained that each symbol had a colour for what it would drain. Blue for Fortitude, or strength and agility. Red for Dominance, or attitude and power. Yellow for Stature, or size and grace. Pink for Virility, or looks and charm. These stones, when combined, would drain everything that makes a man a man. The inside of the jars had what Chris called a ‘condenser’ stone glued to the top. Chris had spent hours explaining the magic to Melvin since the start of the year. The ‘condenser’ would receive the stolen essence from the tainted jocks, and, in turn, the essence would drip down into the jars. When the jars were filling the taps would turn on and slowly empty the essence down the pipes into a larger jar on the shelf below. This jar was the ‘Master Jar’ as Chris kept calling it. The stolen essences from the four stones would combine into a complete manhood elixir. Chris would always end this explanation looking like he was about to cum. He was obsessed by it, but Melvin too was beginning to obsess over it too. “Should happen on Monday,” Chris explained. “There is a practice then, so it should start draining the first of the jocks then.” Chris dropped onto his bed and flicked off the light, leaving Melvin to find his own bed in the darkness. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Barrett swaggered down the corridor, his size 15 sneakers stomping across the floor. People stepped aside when he came towards them. It was almost enough to get his swinging cock hard. He was the big man on campus, a god, and part of a proud dynasty. Barrett Wington was only the latest Wington to come to Lincoln, but it was his older brother who’d left the biggest mark. Andrew Jackson Wington, or A.J. to most, was the captain who’d taken a terrible football team and made them champions. He’d started the team’s 8 year winning streak, which had continued under Barrett. He brushed a hand through his thick blond hair and then slapped his older brother’s football helmet which sat in a shrine outside the athletic department. It was a tradition, before every game and practice the helmet got slapped. But the shrine’s oversized picture of A.J in his Dallas Cowboys uniform made Barrett feel like he was a 10 year old again, only downside of being a Wington in Lincoln was that A.J would always be looking down at you somewhere. The guy was a hero, even though he’d only won two championships, while Barrett had won three. Then again, the added weight of three super-bowls really made A.J. a legacy to compete with. Barrett rolled his shoulders as he passed into the locker room, most of the guys were already there and changing. He stopped at his locker, his entire uniform was freshly washed and waiting for him. He smiled and started to strip. He decided to go shirtless today, the cheer team would be practicing on the other side of the field, he wanted to impress. Shirtless and with his tanned abs glistening under the locker room lights. He dropped his basketball shorts, his soft cock swung a little as he slipped his big wide feet through the straps of his jock and pulled it up. A chill ran down his spine, what the fuck were they washing these jocks in he wondered. He rearranged his packed pouch. “Better” he muttered in a smooth voice He led the team out onto the field and they started some stretches. His 6’4” frame appeared more bendy than many expected. Giving anyone watching a good view of his athletic ass as he stretched out his legs. The guys though seemed unfocused today, probably the hangover running through from the party on Saturday. “Light weights,” he muttered. A shadow fell over him. “What was that, boss,” Big Ben asked down to him. “Oh shit,” Barrett chuckled, spinning round. “How the fuck can you sneak up on someone?” Big Ben just laughed deeply and gave his crotch a tug. A grimace on his square face. “You ok,” Barrett asked then poked Big Ben in his solid stomach. “You feed that thing today?” Big Ben didn’t laugh. “Yea, I’m cool,” and he stomped over to do his warmups, the ground shaking with each massive step. Coach Peters appeared, a cigar in his mouth and a baggy sweat suit pulled over his flabby frame. “Boys…..” he bellowed and the team gathered Barrett gave his cock a scratch through his shorts as he jogged over. Big Ben looked like the monster was trying to escape with how rough he was rearranging himself. “It was a tough practice last week. No one let me down,” Peters continued chewing on the end of the cigar. “Today we are gonna be a little lighter, some cardio, then hit the gym.” Barrett smirked. “Some cardio” was code for “as many laps as you can do before you fall down and then five more.” Peters was a slave driver, a hard ass, but he was the best. Barrett led the pack of built, hulking athletes, his thighs flexing with each long stride around the field. He’d quicken his pace when he passed the cheerleaders though, get some distance between him and the other guys, make it look like he was always miles ahead. The entire time though he had this scratch at the base of his balls that he just couldn’t shake. No matter how many times he palmed his swollen nuts it was still there. “Man, I can’t go on,” Danny one of the players said as he caught up to Barrett. “Fucking off my game, I’ll see you in the gym.” Barrett slowed and watched Danny walk off the field.Others were joining Danny. “WHAT THE FLYING FUCK,” Coach Peters screamed at Danny. “My mother can run more laps and she’s been dead for decades!” Barrett winced. Peters could reach a high pitch when he was pissed. “Weird, isn’t it,” Big Ben said as he thudded to a stop next to Barrett. “Danny usually is the last to stop running.” “Fucking prides himself on it,” Barrett added. Both jocks scratched at their ample manhoods. “Something is up,” Barrett said and they looked curiously at each other. “No more parties,” Big Ben offered. “Damn right, can’t start getting sloppy,” Barrett answered and the two headed into the gym their hands deep in their sweaty jock pouches. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Melvin was crooked nose deep in a fantasy novel when Chris burst into the room. Chris was tall, about 6ft and very wealthy, dressed in all designer clothes he looked like he’d come off a runway usually. But today he was sweating, excited and red faced. “It’s happening,” he exclaimed and knelt on his bed and looked to the jars on the shelves. “What,” Melvin questioned, gently placing the book back on his own shelves above his bed. “I saw the football team in the gym. We should be getting some essence,” Chris said in a rushed voice. Melvin looked to the jars. They were filling, blue, red, yellow and pink liquid dripped from the stones at the top of the jars. About an inch of colourful liquid was filling each jars. “Shit,” Melvin said, awestruck. “I knew you doubted me,” Chris grinned as he checked out the master jar and its pipes. He pulled the jar back and then pushed it back further onto the shelf. He didn't want it falling off. A hairline crack appeared on the underside as it gently hit the wall, but neither Chris or Melvin noticed. With great excitement Chris turned the taps on each jar and the two roommates watched as the liquids slowly flowed down into the master jar. “Green,” Melvin said as the colours mixed and a rich emerald green colour emerged. “Never thought green would be the colour of manhood,” Chris chuckled lightly. Chris jumped past Melvin and grabbed Melvin’s potted cactus, “Bert”, from their shared desk. “What are you doing,” Melvin asked, trying to get Bert out of Chris’ hands. “Testing the elixir, we can’t just swallow it down, can we,” Chris explained. He held the pot under the master jar’s tap and turned on the flow, a couple drops oozed out and soaked into Burt’s surrounding dirt. Chris turned off the flow and handed Burt back to Melvin. “Give it till tomorrow morning,” Chris said and he just sat and watched the liquids mix. Melvin placed Bert back on the desk, next to “Ernie” his fellow potted cactus. “If Burt dies you’re buying me a new one,” Melvin sighed. Chris didn't respond.
  15. CardiMuscleman

    The Titan's Gift

    Part One "Hail the conquering hero" smiled Henri as Porthos trotted into Musketeer Headquarters adding "So, are you the strongest man in Europe?" Porthos simply smiled as he dismounted and as he did, flexed his arm for the cadet who he considered a brother. As Henri wrapped his hands around the bulging arm, he nodded and at the same time sighed saying "I know it's pure wishful thinking, but, I hope one day I shall be able to do the same!" Porthos rubbed the cadet's head with his hand saying "You will, my lad, it just takes time!" and with that Henri led Porthos's horse back to the stables. As Porthos watched his friend, he knew that Henri was a good lad. He's joined the corps as a cadet six months previously, on a secret mission from the Duke of Buckingham, to establish how much of the Duke's dalliances with the Queen were public knowledge in France, but in those six months his honour, his bravery and his swordplay were never in doubt. What was in doubt was Henri's sense that he would never be more than a tiny cog in the wheel that was the corps, and yet on numerous occasions Porthos could see just a glimmer, especially when Henri got angry, of what the lad was capable of. That's why he had entered the competition because he knew that the winner would receive a prize greater than any number of livres, a prize that was whispered by everyone who took part, the fabled Amulet of Athelstan. The amulet, forged in the time of dark magic, was crafted for the ancient King of the Britons in an attempt to prevent the Vikings from constantly invading his nation. Whoever was in possession of it would, on the word of command, drain the strength and power from the most powerful person within fifty yards of the owner. And now, he was in the possession of it. But Porthos wasn't going to use it for himself, no, he was going to be the victim of it, and as he imagined the pain of his strength and power surging out of him, he started to moan. All that was needed was the right recipient of that power and that recipient completely unware of the Titan's designs on him. "So, Sandy" smiled Henri as he took the saddle of Porthos's horse, "did you have a nice time in Bavaria then?" The horse, named for it's colour, nodded and neighed as Henri brushed him down. Of all of the cadets, Henri was the most in tune with the horses of the corps and on several occasions, it was almost as if Henri could understand every sound they made. As he continued to brush the horse, the two seemed engaged in a conversation and seemed to be recounting Porthos's triumph in the contest to find the strongest man in Europe. Giving Sandy a final brush down, Henri smiled "There, fit for when the Titan rides again!" and turned around to find Porthos standing next to him with a smile on his face. "Ah" smiled Henri, picking up the saddle, "are you to ride again?" and was about to place it on Sandy when he knocked out cold by a right hook that seemed to come from nowhere. As Porthos caught the cadet in his arms and picked him up, he started to moan. Moans that became more amplified as he entered the headquarters and started to make his way down into the dungeons and by the time he reached the deepest and darkest dungeons the moans were now easily heard. "Oh, Henri" Porthos moaned, "you are going to love this!"
  16. GrowrillaCub

    Gaston and the Beast

    So I was reading through some old forums and came across one that was talking about Disney Princes and fantasies relating to that. One member brought up Gaston from Beauty and the Beast, but many people condemned him (as he's not a prince). But it got me thinking. I was always infatuated with Gaston and must have rewinded the VHS so many times to watch him flex and show off. Might have been the start of my little fetish haha. Well anyway, felt like writing a story about, felt cheesy writing about a Disney character but I couldn't help myself. Let me know what you guys think. Gaston and the Beast As Gaston pushed kicked open the last door in the hallway, he knew he had entered the Beast’s domain. He scanned the large dark bedroom, the smell of wet dog and man musk filled his nostrils. His muscles in his strong arms contracted as he pulled his bow taut. Gaston knew the Beast was near, he could feel it. His heart quickened as the thrill of the hunt took over. Gaston loved that feeling. He was a natural born predator and nothing got him as excited as overpowering something... or someone. For the first time, he felt as though he was hunting something truly worth his time. It was an intoxicating feeling to him, so much so Gaston could feel his pants tightening as his cock began to swell. It was a very familiar feeling to him. Gaston was almost hard. But this was an all new rush to him. He had never been so turned on by the hunt. All he could think about was dominating this Beast and being the one true Alpha Hunter. He looked in the mirror as he passed it. Gaston always had to pause and admire himself in any reflection he passed. It was the main reason he was always hard. He was the biggest and strongest man in all of France. No one in any of the surrounding villages even came close to his brut size and incomparable strength. His eyes traced the outline of his huge horse shoe tricep in the mirror. His massive arms and shoulders bulging out of his shirt as he kept his bow ready to shoot. He loved the way his long dark hair was wet and framed his square jaw perfectly. He loved how the top of his hairy pecs were pushing the top of his shirt open as they tried to burst through his the fabric. That’s when he noticed a faint glow behind him. As he turned, he saw a floating rose, almost wilted away covered by a glass dome. Gaston was mesmerized by the small flower. As he walked toward it, the ambient temperature in the room began to go up. He had no idea why he was so drawn to it. He could feel the magic radiating off it in waves. He walked closer and closer, being bathed in its light. He forgot why he was there, it was as though the magic was calling to him, reaching out to him. Gaston felt the warmth of the rose's power washing over him like waves at the ocean. He wanted to get closer... No he needed to get closer. He needed the magic for himself. As he reached the table, he lifted the glass dome off the rose. Gaston stared at its beauty. Even in its withered and dying state, it was a beautiful sight to behold. It was so pure. The magic pulsed faster and faster at him. It was like a siren's song, completely captivating. He let his bow drop to the ground as he reached out for the rose, slowly closing the gap between him and the plant. He stroked the petals with his finger and admired how soft they were. He hand traveled down the stem as a thorn cut through his calloused finger. Gaston barely noticed the blood dripping out of his finger as he wrapped his big brute hand around it. The rose sent a wave of energy surged through him as though they were connected. He felt a warmth start to travel up his arm and rush into his chest. Gaston had never felt anything this incredible before. The power surged through him, following his veins down his other arm, down his body, flowing through his legs, into his toes. He could feel every vein in his body engorging themselves on the power of the rose, open wide and expanding. He felt drunk, almost euphoric on the warmth that was engulfing him. The magic began to seep into his muscles. He could feel the power rushing into them. Just as Gaston felt he was reaching the apex of what the rose was doing to him, a gigantic hairy hand grasped around his fore arm. It brought Gaston out of the bliss he was feeling. He looked up to see the Beast staring down at him, his hulking frame looming over him. He was twice as wide as Gaston and had at least 5 feet on Gaston’s nearly 7 foot frame. “DO NOT TOUCH THAT,” the Beast growled at him as he began to tighten his grip on Gaston’s arm, ready to crush it if his demands are not met. “Unhand me... you... beast!” Gaston snarled back, trying to break the Beasts grip. The Beast tightened his grip as his other hand shot up and gripped Gaston's thick neck. “LET GO OF THE ROSE BEFORE I SNAP YOUR NECK, INTRUDER,” the Beast snarled. Gaston was impressed. No one had ever been strong enough to contain him like this. He had never been over powered before. “I need to be stronger,” he thought to himself, “I will not let this beast over power me!” Gaston felt the rose growing hotter in his hand. The heat pulsed through his veins, surging into his muscles. He struggled against the Beast. He kicked his powerful leg right into the Beast’s chest. The animal’s grip faltered and Gaston pushed off him, flipping his body around and landing a few feet away, the rose still in his hand. He looked down at the rose and it was glowing brighter than it had before. The warmth in his hand started to travel up his arm. It was an overwhelming feeling. The Beast charged him, but as the monster clashed against him, Gaston did not move. It was as though the Beast had hit a wall. The power of the rose was seeping into Gaston. Gaston back handed the Beast, sending him flying across the room. “The power of this rose! You have squandered it. You’ve just left it sitting on a table for years! Ignoring the gift it had given you!” Gaston whispered. The Beast stared in astonishment as the glow crept up Gaston’s arm and across his entire body. “Not I. I embrace your magic. Make me bigger and stronger than this Beast! Let me show him what real power is!” Gaston boomed out. His voice was lower than before. He let out a laugh as the power spread. He looked over in the mirror to stare at his perfect body now glowing with the power of the rose. His shirt was growing tighter across his already massive chest. He flexed his arms, watching his bicep peak grow bigger and bigger with each movement. The fabric of this shirt being stretched to its limit. It ripped first down his lats as his back expanded and his shoulders groaned as he became wider and wider. The v neck of his shirt was next. It ripped down his chest as the mounds of his pecs became mountains of hairy muscular beef. Gaston looked down as they grew out from his body, inch after inch. Two gigantic pectorals he couldn't see past. His nipples were hard and thick. He looked in the mirror as he bounced his chest. He watch in amazement as the striation of the muscles showed deep through his curly chest hair. He reached up and rubbed his growing muscles, feeling the deep crevice forming between his pecs. His shoulders ballooned to the size of boulders as his deltoids raised further up his thickening neck. “I’m fucking GLORIOUS,” he said out loud as the magic took a deeper root in him. His shirt was now shreds hanging from his growing gargantuan muscle body. His abs were massive with deep gorges separating them. His waist barely growing in size yet his belt felt tighter. His pants were the next to rip as his thighs quickly filled the fabric. His quads exploded out of the pants. He could see every muscle in his leg as he flexed. He rubbed his hairy tear drop thigh as he looked down. Gaston was so mesmerized with his muscle that he didn’t realize his boots had met their limits. His toes shot out of them as his massive calves ripped them to shreds. He looked down at the Beast who was not sitting on the floor staring up at him in astonishment. “Look as me now Beast,” Gaston mocked as he rubbed his chest and and flexed his arms. “I am a muscle God!” he reached down and grabbed the Beast by the neck, lifting him off the ground. He struggled against Gaston’s iron grip to no avail. “You are nothing.” Gaston whispered to him. Light began to emanate from the Beasts body. Gaston’s eyes filled with lust. “Give me the magic you have wasted! Make me even more powerful Beast!” The light rose off the Beast body as it flowed into Gaston. He was transforming back into his human self. Gaston dropped him to the ground and stared back at the mirror. He was so intoxicated by himself. His cock was growing so hard in what was left of his pants. He watched as it grew thicker and longer in his pants, a giant wet stop appearing in the fabric. Gaston looked down to see the Beast was now completely human. “So this is Prince Adam,” he said in his booming bass voice. The man had long light brown hair. His body was naked. Gaston could see he was in very good shape. He looked up at the muscle God with deep blue eyes. Prince Adam stood up as stared at the muscle God before him. He was the most perfect muscular specimen he had ever seen. He was intoxicated by the heat that was radiating from his body. Adam reached up, his hand shaking, and touched Gaston’s massive hairy pecs. Gaston grabbed Adam’s head and pulled it to his nipple. It almost filled Adam’s mouth and he had to stand on his tip toes to reach it. Gaston’s man musk filled Adam’s nose. He had never smelled anything like it. He was enthralled. He slowly began to lick the massive nipple, rubbing his hands through the fur on the gargantuan pectoral in front of him. The feeling of his tongue on his nipple sent electricity through Gaston’s new massive body. “Fuck yes Adam, WORSHIP YOUR GOD,” Gaston demanded.
  17. js44

    The Jocks Rule II

    Tagline: A jock finds an ancient artifact to gain the godly powers of a race long extinct. Author's Note: A sequel to my old story from 2012 (now in the archive). This is the third of my bad boy corrupted stories, where guys get corrupted by supernatural powers and things of that sort. I have a bad habit of writing too many of these stories, but I tried my best to vary this one up a little bit, and I left it open for another chapter. Let me know criticism or even ideas for other stories like this. I like the whole muscle growth superpower story and don't see a ton of them around anymore, so hopefully it is fun for some of you guys reading. If it is a bad story, let me know that, too always trying to improve what little I do write these days. The Jocks Rule II Marcello thought he was going on a hike with his sporting buddies. He thought they were going to do a little hunting, a little swimming, a little camping for the weekend, something to celebrate their senior year's spring break. He never knew that his buddy Daniel had worked another plan in, and that Marcello would become a key part of it. When he hopped into Daniel's old VW Golf, he nodded to Larry already in the coupe's old back seat. “What's up, man?” Larry asked. School had been keeping Marcello busy and he was busy trying to get his academic requirements in order before college next year. “Ugh, just busy, dude,” Marcello said. “I'm lookin forward to spending a weekend with you guys. I had to miss track practice last week so I could get these college interviews in. Whatever.” Daniel and Larry exchanged glances with each other. “What?” Marcello asked. “Larry, did you bring your rifle and clay pigeons?” Larry cleared his throat before explaining to Marcello their plan, “Okay man, we're not exactly going to just hike and shoot and stuff. Last weekend, while you were out of town, Daniel and I found this sick cave under Lake Sereno. It's fuckin nuts man, but there's some cool shit in there but since you're the smartest and all that, we gotta show it to you, you might be able to understand what some of the shit on the walls and artifacts say. I don't want to say too much because you probably will think we're crazy, but just bear with us.” Daniel stepped on the gas as they pulled onto the highway out of town, Daniel was more excited to get there than Marcello realized. “Where is it?” Marcello asked. “We've gone fishing at that lake for years I've never seen anything like that.” “It's underwater,” Daniel answered, calmly. “Maybe a half mile out from the Forest Deck Pier. I think for a long time it had been covered by a rock or a sandtrap, but I accidentally anchored over it and it caused the dirt to cave in, that's when we discovered the cave.” “Hang on, hang on,” Marcello answered. Marcello was a critical thinker and a smart guy, and none of this made sense to him. “First, how could you get into the cave if it's underwater, you don't have any scuba tanks. And second do you really think you're the first person to discover something like this? Don't you think if you found something with valuable shit inside it it would have already been discovered?” Daniel simply nodded his head. “Nope.” He said. “The underwater portion is small, it only takes about 10 seconds to swim through and you're above the water line again, it's not flooded. And I don't know or care if anyone else has discovered anything there before, it's fuckin cool and there's shit in there that I want you to see.” Marcello just nodded his head. “Alright. But I didn't bring anything to swim in.” “We didn't either,” Larry said, “doesn't matter, we all know each other well enough.” Daniel pulled his car into the parking lot. “It'll be a quicker access if we walk to the other side of the lake, there will be less people to see us too, it's way more remote over there.” Daniel and Larry led Marcello through a familiar trail of thick, evergreen trees and shrubs on their way to the pointe at the lake. Marcello liked his friends well enough, but he and his buddies knew that, for a jock, Marcello was the smart, sophisticated, calm, less impulsive of the group. He must have gotten those traits from his mom, because his dad was always a redneck, impulsive, jock loving athlete who had conditioned Marcello to play and condition at every sport he could. Marcello enjoyed the competition too, but he knew he was always a little different from his friends and fellow athletes. Now in his senior year, Marcello was looking forward to finishing the year strong in his track and field sport—Daniel and Larry meanwhile wanted to slow down time and hopefully never end their high school careers. On the walk out Marcello's buddies continually talked about their meet the next day, the schools they'd be competing against, and who would have the biggest muscular mass to show off during the meet. Marcello finished his senior year strong, all honors classes, a good university acceptance, he played Football in the fall, Wrestling in the winter, and now track and field. He enjoyed track the most, it was easy and running as well as pole vaulting allowed him to work more automatically. Larry and Daniel led the way out to the shore before taking their shoes and socks off, undressing for the swim out to the cave entrance. Marcello knew these guys since his freshman year, they were always more into being athletic and building tough bodies, something Marcello happily took part in but never gave as much attention to it as his buds. They were also way more assertive and often acted like the class bullies in PE and with non-athletic outsiders. “Outsiders,” they called them, Marcello thought, nodding his head “no.” “Do you guys mind getting naked today? I have a towel in my trunk but I don't want your underwear soaking through my car,” Daniel requested. “If we get naked we can dry off once we get back and our clothes will already be dry. Obviously.” Larry chuckled as he dropped his gym shorts. “Dude, your car is a piece of junk! Who cares?” Marcello tossed his own t-shirt to the side as he sat on the soft, moist dirt to untie his tennis shoes and pull off his socks. “We've seen each other naked every day for nearly 4 years, I think we'll be fine,” he said. Larry just nodded his head in a appreciative “yes.” “Yeah we do know how to get naked,” Larry responded. Marcello looked up at his friend. Larry was a gymnast since his youth and continued to condition himself that way. He had a thick layer of muscle on his body though he was a shorter guy at only around 5'8”. “Have you been shaving yourself?” Marcello asked as he stood himself back up. Marcello towered over Larry with his own 6'3” frame. Marcello looked down at his own bare chest to see a decent amount of dark, curly hair branching from his breastbone out toward his thinly defined pecks, a treasure trail going down to his waistline. Larry nodded his head, “yeah man, the chest hair is bugging me. I don't mind it on my legs, but not on my uppers,” he said. Marcello could see the pores where Larry's hair used to be, but his masculinity showed itself below his waist, with his shaped quads and shins covered in blonde hair. Marcello's own body was nearly the opposite of Larry. Marcello hit both a second wave of height spurt as well as a hair growth a year or two ago. He now stood fairly tall but the resulting growth made him fairly lanky. Marcello's own muscle definition was there, but was much less defined than Larry or even Daniel's own. As Daniel stripped down to his own boxer briefs, Marcello briefly brought his attention to his other friend. What Daniel lacked in muscle definition he had in more noticeable masculine traits. His black hair covered his legs and chest in full force. The guy was a hairy fiend. Unlike Marcello and Larry, who tended to wear boxers, Daniel always wore dark, spotted boxer briefs, and he wasn't afraid to show its key defining part: his obnoxiously large package. “What?!” Daniel would always say as onlookers brought their attention to his stuffed balls and dick. He liked the attention his dick brought him, and he wasn't afraid to show it to girls or guys. Marcello had only been with a girl a couple of times, his on-and-off again girlfriend Cheri, but Daniel seemed to get laid all the time. And for the dudes? He used his packing authority to intimidate and ridicule, sometimes to Marcello's own amusement. Larry was the first to strip naked and tug on his flaccid dick. Marcello followed and Daniel soon followed after him, his large package flopping out as he pulled his briefs down to his ankles and rolled them into a ball. “I'll hide the clothes under this rock, here, guys,” Daniel said, motioning for his naked friends to toss them their own underwear. Marcello stretched himself and looked out to the shimmering lake to his right. Larry stepped into his view and carefully walked over the sticks and washed up rocks before wading into the lake, his hard, square ass rocking with his bulked quads. “Nice n' warm, dudes!” he said before taking the last step off the shore and into the deeper water. Marcello followed him turned to see Daniel closely behind him, holding his hand over his eyes to keep the sun's reflection from shining out his view. Marcello took a long dive into the deep water and dove under, enjoying the refreshing feeling of the water against his naked body. He could hear Daniel doing the same. Larry grabbed Marcello's shoulders and quickly shoved him under, horsing around as quickly as he could. Daniel soon followed suit and the three guys got into a combo splashing and free water wrestling match. Marcello couldn't easily be pulled under because his height enabled him to quickly evade his would-be captors, but Larry easily got hold of Daniel and held him under for a second before Daniel punched him in the abs, forcing him to let go. “Shh!” Marcello said, sinking his head close to the surface of water. “There's some fishermen out on the other side of the lake.” Daniel didn't seem to mind, “No biggie man,” he said, continuing to whisper. “here, let's wade over this way, I'll show you what we found.” The guys quietly kicked over to the center of the lake, carefully evading the fishermen off the shoreline. Marcello would have never known to look in this area of the lake for anything, his buddies very well may have found something special. “Alright, we have to dive under, you'll see the hole it's about 3 feet wide, swim into it and as soon as it makes a U-shaped turn back up, you'll notice it turns from sand to smooth stone, like a cave wall, you'll be able to get there in 10 seconds or less.” Marcello interrupted. “Wait,” he said. “let's go one at a time so if we can't find it we can turn back around again to breathe. Count to 15 before going next.” “Good idea,” Daniel said. “I'll go first,” and with that he dove under. Larry gave Marcello another playful splash. He looked at his friend and couldn't help but think this entire activity was silly, from looking for lost caves to swimming naked in the middle of the afternoon. But Marcello seemed to be able to do silly stuff and come out of the situation better off, so he figured, what the hell. Larry dove under and worked his way toward the cave. Marcello looked around and noticed the fisherman were gone, they must not have noticed three naked men in the lake. If he or his buddies got lost or drowned, it would take days for people to find them. Finally, Marcello dove and despite the murky water, he was able to find this 3 foot wide hole and he worked his way inside, quickly turning back up toward the surface and surprising himself into an open and clean smelling cave. He took a breath and saw his buddies ahead of him, dripping water down their naked bodies as Daniel had his arms crossed and Larry had them at his side. Larry turned around and offered Marcello his hand as he lifted him up from the entrance pool. “Damn, you guys were right,” Marcello said. He walked silently around the open cave. It was huge. And brilliant. Light shined in from a translucent glass ceiling on the corner of the cave, flooding the room with sunlight. The area where he entered was mostly empty, but Marcello saw as he approached the other side a lot of bizarre and interesting items: carved benches, odd shaped weapons, swords, shields, and magnificent and old paintings scattered around the floors and the walls. “You guys already saw all this, right?” Marcello asked, shaking himself dry as he carefully inspected each item. “Yeah,” Daniel answered, following him, “I'm sure there's more around here, but we saw a lot of stuff, we didn't take anything though, we couldn't understand the script that was written next to each item, and everytime we tried to take something...” Marcello found out as he picked up a sword on the ground and electric shock burned into his hand and he let go, snapping the weapon back into its held position against the wall. “What the fuck?” he asked. Daniel continued, “...yeah, that happened.” “Alright,” Marcello said, thinking critically, “let's see if we can read some of this.” Writing was scattered everywhere, but it was in a script that seemed to be a mix of Greek and some strange, hieroglyphic-like symbols. Marcello didn't really study either language so he wasn't familiar but toward the back of the cave stood a strange, rounded-shaped relic, and on the floor were foot marks where someone had stood, apparently long enough to erode the very rock beneath the floor. Marcello examined the footprints and carefully placed his two bare feet into each, Daniel and Larry carefully looking behind him. “We didn't go back this far earlier,” Larry said. The imprints shifted and molded against Marcello's feet and he felt a strange sensation within his own head, as if someone was reading it. Suddenly, the wall's language began to shift, the lettering and symbols moving and morphing into a new script. Latin script. Something Marcello could understand! His eyes opened wide at the paranormal occurrence happening before him. He couldn't believe it. As the lettering slowed, the rock moved one again away from his feet and Marcello stepped toward the wall and carefully read what had been translated, he assumed, for him. A Human. Here. After so many years. Welcome. We are the Zets, we have placed our lifeforce here for your kind to one day find. Some have discovered this place before but none were worthy. Until you. When our race was conquered by the Ledomites, we were forced to flee our home planet, and deposited our artifacts across your planet waiting for the perfect species to merge with. You will be our first. We were warriors once, ultimate immortals, and we need the same strength and character to carry on our purpose. An athlete. A man who is capable of athletic pride and competition, who has the character of a warrior and the shamelessness of his body. You are the first to walk to our presence in your One True form. Because of this, You shall gain our gifts of power. Marcello couldn't believe what he was reading. It was absolutely ludicrous. As Larry and Daniel approached more words began to appear under the script. Two more men of honor arrive with their True Form ready. Once the First of You merges with our power, the other two will have the ability to earn our gifts. Take these and only these. After you have merged with us you can come back to this place, your new sanctuary. The rock bench shifted in front of Marcello and his friends and like an earthquake three distinct cracks formed and three previously hidden artifacts emerged from the bench. “Holy shit,” Marcello whispered, “Guys, what the fuck is happening.” Out of the bench three green, rocky half cylinders morphed and dropped in front of Marcello. They were small, rounded half shaped cups, almost like a cup put into an athletic supporter. Once again the writing shifted. These are our first artifacts. Each of you take them. The first of you must wear it first in front of a human victim, any male form with which to power yourself. Then the second must repeat, and finally the third. You must do this in your True Form, and your victim must be in his own True Form. You must make a pact to do this within the next 3 moon cycles, lest you forfeit our powers and our gifts. Marcello was in a daze, partially brought on by the writing in front him, partially brought on by this situation in the first place. What was this place? Daniel took a step closer and nodded his head. “Yes, of course,” he said in a daze. “What are you talking about?” Marcello asked, pushing his friend back. “I don't know what the fuck this is, but you saw what's happening here, there's fucking powers built into this place, and into these jock cups, they are made for us. Young men who are jocks and happy to be naked. Of course we're going to take them, of course we're going to use them. “And what the fuck is this talk about human victims?” Larry asked, joining the whispers. “I don't know yet,” Daniel said, “but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to join this society of, uhh, Zets. Short of killing someone, I don't think anything bad will happen, I think we need to put these things on our dicks in front of some other naked dudes, we use some of their lifeforce to gain the Zets powers.” “Are you FUCKING NUTS?!” Marcello asked, looking around to see if anyone had followed them in. “We are standing NAKED in a cave with magical words morphing in front of us, and it's says we need to steal someone's LIFE to gain the powers!” “No, it didn't, it just said 'victim',” Daniel said. “And anyway, we can figure that out later, let's take these things then we'll figure out what to do next.” Daniel reached out to grab the rock and bone-encrusted cup but when he grabbed it he immediately grabbed his arm and doubled over. “Oww!” he said. Looking down at his arm, Marcello noticed a roman numeral “II” tattoo grow onto his skin, and another one onto his waist near his pubic hair. Daniel moved his hand and touched his waist. “I'm number II,” Daniel said. “You've gotta be I Marcello, and that makes you III, Larry.” Marcello breathed a sign of stress before reaching his own arm out and grabbing the cup, it too burned his hand but the cup easily lifted off of the bench and into his possession. When he did so, Marcello had a brief flash, like a dream, of a powerful and immortal soldier, someone who seemed to be able to do essentially anything. “Woah,” Marcello said, stepping back. The fantasy grew inside him, it was orgasmic. Feeling more enthusiastic about his own potential powers, Marcello smiled. “Okay guys, let's take these,” he said. Daniel lifted his arm back and grabbed his own cup, feeling the same fleeting fantasy as Marcello had. Larry followed third, and earned his mark as well as his own vision. “Oh fuck yeah,” Larry said, now more enthusiastic as was Marcello and Daniel. The three jocks smiled at each other but quickly their attention was brought back to the writing for one last time. As men of strength in your True Form, you must make your pact. Deposit your seed into our artifact and find your human victim within 3 moon cycles. The bench before them shifted once again and stretched into a mini altar, one each in front of Marcello and his friends. Marcello looked to the left and the right and saw a strange, claw like table form, a hand directly in front of each of their crotches, perfectly positioned to hold the cups each of them had in their hands. “What is it saying, exactly, Marcello?” Larry asked. Daniel answered for him, “it wants us to swear an oath to ourselves and to the Zets that we will do this within 3...moon cycles...” “Full moon cycles,” Marcello said, staring at his alter. “That's 3 months or so, plenty of time,” in a daze, Marcello continued. “We need to promise to ourselves and also to the Zets. And we need to jizz into the cups now so that they become a permanent part of our being.” The guys looked at their own cups before setting each of them down onto the claw-like altar pedestals. The hands closed on the cups and held them in place. “Holy shit,” Marcello said. Daniel ran his hands from his shoulders down his chest and toward his package, closing his eyes and dreaming of the powers he could soon gain. “Guys, this isn't going to take me long, I hadn't wacked in a few days because I thought I was gonna get laid tonight, but, this is way more important.” Marcello had masturbated in front of his friends exactly one time before and it was a drunken, limp biscuit-style prank they were playing on the non-jocks to see who could jizz the fastest. This was completely different, but Daniel was already growing a stiffy and positioning himself. Marcello turned back to Larry who was dazzlingly tugging at his own member. “We gotta, dude,” he said. The vision had of Marcello's powers were making him horny, and his friends own erections were adding to his enthusiasm. Marcello set both of his hands on his waist and rubbed the sides of his butt before moving his hands toward his package, lifting his flaccid dick and feeling his balls, tenderly touching them as his dick started moving outward and higher. His balls pulled against his body and a shudder of pleasure went through Marcello. His breathing increased as he started pumping his dick, rubbing his left hand against his balls as he started jerking himself faster and faster. “Okay,” Daniel said between breaths, his eyes shut, “I'm almost ready, I want the power, the power!” he said louder. “Just a second,” Marcello said, his own breathing increasing, “I'm almost there,” “Make sure you're, hmm, umm, aiming,” Larry added, opening his eyes. The three jocks moved their feet and positioned their cocks in front of the waiting cups. “Fuck yeah!” Daniel whispered as his cock chocked and spewed his semen onto the cup, his body quaking in orgasm. The sight trigger's Marcello's own orgasm as he followed suit, Larry to the right of him following right behind. Marcello kept his attention on the cup as his dark yellow and clear liquid fell onto the cup, the cup soaking it in as it began to glimmer. Daniel wiped his dick into the cup and Marcello and Larry soon followed, getting the last of their seed onto the artifact. The altars snaked back into the wall, dropping the cups onto the floor. Marcello picked his up and noticed the same roman numeral I inscribed on the inside of the cup. Its shape changed somewhat, shrinking just slightly in size to match his flaccid package. Marcello was tempted to wear it immediately but Daniel stopped him. “Wait dude!” he said. “We need to do this outside of the sanctuary, and in front of another naked male. We can find some guys to try this on tomorrow after PE, but not now. Marcello looked down at the cup before looking at his naked buddies examining their own, each with their own personalized numerals. “Okay then,” Marcello said, agreeing, “I'll try it first tomorrow, then you guys can follow. But who do I try it on?” The three of them began to smile in union: “Evan,” they said together. Evan was a short man syndrome, crazy, hyper active non-jock who was in their PE class. The guy was short, skinny and vastly underdeveloped, but he didn't let that stop him from being intrusive, rude, petty, mean and selfish. He beat up on everyone even when he couldn't actually hurt anyone and always started fights. He was particularly mean to Larry but had picked more than a few fights with Marcello and Daniel. Marcello never picked fights with anyone and only saw Evan as a mild annoyance, but perhaps it was time for Marcello to show the dweeb who was boss. Marcello led the way back through the cave entrance and to the shoreline. Their clothes safely sat near the shoreline as the jocks toweled off. “Okay,” Daniel said, planning their time tomorrow, “we're all getting naked in the showers tomorrow. Hide your cups in your towels and once we corner Evan, Larry, throw Marcello his cup. Once Marcello changes I don't think we'll have a problem finding another victim for me or you.” “You take PJ, I'll take Charlie,” Larry added, “they should be easy targets.” “If I gain these powers right after putting this thing on,” Marcello added, “we'll have everyone's solemn attention, it's going to be a complete hypnotic show.” Marcello's dick started rising again with the thought of merging with the Zets powers. He didn't know who they were or where they came from, but that vision was real enough for him to try this. – PE class did a round of ultimate Frisbee in the muddy, rainy afternoon, so it was easy for the class to take time to shower after class. As the guys and girls separated, Marcello, Daniel and Larry gave themselves long glances as they rethought their plan from earlier. Larry would carry in all three artifacts under his towel and the three guys would be the last to walk in. No one ever took the shower-head next to Evan because he immediately started fighting with them, so Marcello knew it would be the perfect time to corner him. Daniel and him would take the shower head next to Evan and when he started fidgeting Daniel would corner him, giving him room for Marcello to place the artifact on his crown jewels. The guys lined onto their lockers and stripped of their PE uniforms. Marcello asked Daniel, “this might be the last time we're clothed,” as he pulled off his compression shorts. “The Zets were naked warriors, you remember what we saw yesterday?” Daniel nodded peeling down his own compressions and removing his t-shirt, “I love being naked, that's why we were chosen. That's why were the men in 'True Form' heheh.” Larry unfolded his towel and the three naked jocks set their artifacts into the towel, larry closing it. The three of them walked toward the shower corridor, hearing already Evan taunt and bother everyone near him. He was singing his song “You're a piece of shit...” something he made up while he flung soap onto every guy bypassing him. He would get shoves from the bigger guys around him, but nothing to really stop him from his menacing behavior. Daniel took the showerhead to the right of Evan as Marcello parked himself next to Daniel. Evan turned around to look at the two jocks and smiled, “Clean up, bitches!” he shouted, throwing his soap bar onto Daniel's forehead. His face quit smiling, however, when Daniel approached him. Daniel shoved the smaller Evan into the corner as Evan kneed him in the naked dick. “Ah, shit!” Daniel said between breaths, “you're...gonna, fuckin pay for that!” Larry unrolled the cup from his towel outside the gang shower and tossed it like a frisby toward Marcello, catching it easily with one hand. “What the fuck are we doing here, guys? Maybe we should let Evan alone, he's just a little twerp.” Marcello said. Larry shook his head no as he joined Daniel in holding the little guy in the corner of the shower with one hand. “Stay put you, we have a purpose for you,” he said before turning his attention back to Marcello. “Dude, we made a pact last night, this thing is centuries old and the ceremony requires it to be this way. You were the chosen one. Just try it on.” Marcello's surroundings drifted away as he stared into the intoxicating void within the cup. It seemed to encircle his mind with its power, its neverending attractiveness. “Okay,” He said looking back ath the jocks. Turning around he noticed the guys around him starting to look over Marcello's shoulder. Wondering what he had in his hands and what he was doing with hit to Evan. Marcello had reached the point of no return, if this didn't work he would be screwed, probably expelled, if it did work all of their lives were going to change forever. He lowered the cup toward his package. “You're the man!” Daniel shouted, “put it on and show Evan who's the boss.” Evan couldn't stop from taunting the lanky tall guy in front of him. “You're fucking idiot, Marcello.” he said, “when that thing makes you look like a dork I'll be the one tackling you to the ground.” Marcello's heart started racing as he pushed the cup closer to his dick, he could hear a voice begging him too, promising to reward him of powers he had never before imagined. He turned toward Daniel with a smile on his face. “You gotta look at Evan. You're tall enough to corner him don't look at me, dude!” Daniel said, remembering the instructions carefully, and carefully trying not to get himself hurt. “Point your artifact toward him!” Marcello turned back to the naked Evan, preoccupied with trying to fight Larry off of him. “As soon as it goes on, I'm backing away, look right at Evan,” Larry added, ignoring the little guy fidgeting with his arm. Marcello took a step closer to him, the two men, though both naked, couldn't have been more different. Evan was a feisty, underdeveloped, loud, menacing looking kid who pushed what little weight he had around to disturb and annoy as many people as possible—common short man syndrome traits; while Marcello was tall, skinny, hairy, quiet and had a secret and quiet strength to him, his muscles just barely defined underneath his dark, bronze skin. “Just stay still for me, Evan, this will be over in a minute,” Marcello said, chucking, his legs switching, his body asking him to put on the powerful artifact. As expected, the cup suctioned onto his dick and peeled itself onto his balls as soon is laid against his body “Woah!” Marcello shouted as it began folding over his package, the wooden and bone artifact liquifying itself into a putty-like mass as it spread over his balls and deep into his crevices between his legs. Marcello started feeling it around on his balls; his first reaction was to pull it off, the substance was menacing, disturbingly scary even, but he remembered what he heard last night, what the ceremony required, what he needed to continue to do. The cup stretched around his dick and up his pubes and started cracking like dry sticks, pieces of wood quickly liquifying into a puddle of soft energy, the power finally breaking free from its mold. The energy was surging his body with new thoughts, dark thoughts that he had never before even dreamed of; thoughts of evil, of dominance, of being a master of all things. The thoughts flooded his mind incomprehensibly, but he was surprised to find he could somehow make sense of it, though he could also feel his humanity leaving him, emotions and empathy falling away into purpose and control. He didn't mind at all, it was making him happier than he had ever been before. He was the Man! He was the hottest shit around, he told himself. He had a newly-formed purpose and an ability formerly inconceivable before now. Marcello loved the act of getting naked with his buddies, but this somehow felt different. He felt as if being naked and putting on this artifact of an all-powerful race was perfectly meant for him. And the energy filling him seemed to agree as well. Marcello watched the mass fold outward toward his legs and between them to his ass crack. The liquid energy pushed like puddy out to his waist and began branching around his skinny butt, stretching over it like a pair of briefs. Or a loincloth. Marcello was happy to witness it, he felt great, he loved being naked and loved having the attention of his friends right on him. The ceremony had a purpose and the purpose was to push the naked powers of the Zets into Marcello himself. Marcello let his hands go from the cup and enthusiastically allowed it to envelop him. As the artifact started cracking and liquifying, a dark green light started flashing like a spotlight at a stage, a bright, directional light. He could feel its purpose exactly. “Evan, of course!” Marcello told himself. His victim! His sacrifice. He directed his dick toward Evan and let out a scream of pleasure, a foreign and frightening sound, a mix between a shrieking horse and a deep, low rumble of thunder. Marcello's back twisted in the direction of Evan and his foot automatically stepped toward his victim, Marcello moving automatically, the power itself now directing him. His hips rocked forward as the putty thined around his ass, connecting on his backside. Marcello's dick was now clearly visible behind the thin powerful substance, and electric green light flashing right onto Evan. Evan, for the first time, had a flash of horror cross his mind. Up until this point he thought he had a silly prank he could play on the naked jocks. But for the first time, a strike of fear hit him as the green light felt like an oven wave of heat flash across his own naked stomach and waist. “What?! Oh my god, get me out of here!” he shouted. The dark green light crossed his bare chest and focused on his waist, lighting it and his small dick with a dark, mossy color. Evan's eyes opened wide with fear and pain. He couldn't look away. Larry and Daniel found themselves in shock and horror as well. Their friend's calm and stable demeanor was quickly turning into pure ferociousness. Marcello took another step toward Evan as the light brightened against Evan. “Oh God!! ARGH!” Evan shouted in pain, tears flowing from his eyes. “What's happening to me!!” Evan looked down at his hands as Marcello's friends and the other PE guys surrounded the scene unfolding before them. Evan's skin was turning gray and pale, he seemed to be aging quickly. Drying out. His skin loosened and dried, cracking like wood. His eyes glassed over as his muscular frame flattened into a skinny, dry twig. Evan's small dick started folding up and into his body as his hair folded back into his skin. His teeth receded as his body stiffened like an old board leaning against the side of a building. His breathing stopped as he froze into place. “Oh my god, it's actually working. Back up, guys, back up!” Daniel shouted. The guys tried backing away but couldn't look away at the horrific scene unfolding. The body that was Evan mummified into a decaying, skeletal corpse as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hair receded, the flashing green light now completely encompassing the decaying body, hardening into dust. Daniel turned his attention to Marcello as his friend's body started gaining height. His loincloth powered friend walking, in a trance, closer to Evan. “You're mine, human, come to me!” Marcello groaned under his deepening voice. Evan's body started dissolving into a dark green dust as is swept and surrounded Marcello, wrapping over his body like a tornado, folding into the cup as the cup itself wrapped over and wound tightly onto Marcello's loins. “Heh, heh, HAHAHAH!” Marcello started cackling. “Yes, I am complete, the powers, yes THE POWERS!” Marcello's back started cracking and growing as the tornado swept him into a fierce firestorm of power. As it did, Evan's lifeforce entered into his body causing it to explode with power and muscle. His cackling got louder as his body expanded with muscle, sinew wrapping down his tall, dark back and exploding his shoulders and pecs, lengthening his spine and thickening his neck. As he extended his arms his biceps pumped with a thick contours of sinew building a hard rock over his arm and pushing his veins out to his skin. His hands cracked and grew as he turned himself around in his powerful glory to look at his friends. The cup was electricifying over his dick . Marcello's chest pushed out as his nipples grew in size, the light fuzz of chest hair over him growing now growing further, thick and manly down to his quickly deepening abs. Marcello's thin and tight body was pushing out with hard muscle, six well-defined abs separating from each other topped at his pecs and down to his waist, just in time for his quads to tighten and push out, creating football-sized muscles on his upper legs. Marcello started twisting his body more quickly as his hair filled out over his pubes and down to his quads and shins, his lower legs quickly lengthening and growing in size, pushing the jock to 6'6” height. “Oh fuck yes! MORE! MOOORE!” he shouted as his dick started twitching. It lengthened and dropped low as his balls followed suit, the cup stretching with his massive package, his virility growing with his body as his testicles gained weight and mass. Marcello couldn't help but touch it and as he did he felt his circumcised head quickly folded behind his new godly foreskin, regrowing over his dick. Hair grew between his quads and back to his ass as it filled with muscle, matching the power of his thick legs. The material of the cup snapped into tendrils of power as the electricity engulfed Marcello's loins, feeding their way into his body by way of his ass and pecker. Now free to touch, Marcello grabbed his erected dick with force and pulled, each stroke of his hand vibrating his body with surges of masculine pleasure. He couldn't help it nor did he care that he was masturbating in front of his friends, the pleasure was too much. Every pump afforded him a shudder of pure orgasmic pleasure, each pump heightening his sensations and opening his mind to the powers his body was gaining. With every pump Marcello left the confines of human thinking—his formerly stable, mature and sensitive self was giving way to the cup of the Zets, a powerful and corrupted race, Marcello now realized. Marcello all too eager to gain it. But his friends were unfamiliar with the corruption wrecking their former friend. The naked beast started generating a blue electric glow around him and quickly a burst of electric light flashed out of Marcello's crotch as he began to crest, hitting Daniel in the chest, throwing the jock to the other side of the open shower room. Daniel landed on the floor, holding his head. “What the fuck?” he said, trying to get up, dizzied by the burst of power that pushed him. Larry started backing away from Marcello as the transforming god realigned himself toward Larry, throwing another burst of power-laden light onto him, slamming him into the shower wall. “Ugh, fuck,” Larry said, dazed out. The other jocks began to flee the shower corridor, running as quickly as they could away from the transforming god. One jock, Jonathan, couldn't get out of the corridor before the masturbating Marcello grabbed him with his arm, throwing him onto the shower floor. Jonathan's naked butt slammed onto the floor and slid back toward Larry, still trying to lift himself from his own knocked out daze. They stared up at Marcello as his eyes formed now a glowing red. Marcello, or the corrupted god Marcello was becoming, made a menacing smile as the jock's muscular legs began to buckle at the orgasm of his own pleasure. As his quads quivered and knees shaked, Marcello's left hand moved ever faster over his erected dick, droplets of precum starting to drip from his massive head. “What the fuck?!” Larry shouted as he grabbed Jonathan and slid him across the floor. They reached the back of the shower but to his dismay Larry found the rear fenced door shut. He had to remove the padlock, but his hand wouldn't fit through the gate to turn the combo. “Oh shit, we gotta get out of here! HELP HELP US!!” he shouted, Jonathan trying to lift himself up. As soon as he turned around, however, he grabbed Larry's shoulders, “FUCK DUDE!” Jonathan shouted, “he's right behind us!” But to their surprise, Marcello stopped of any further violence. The blue streaks of electric surrounded him completely as he continued to jack off, the human growing further and further in size and strength. Marcello could feel the Zets immortal powers sink into his body, and he was completely content with his new corrupted state. He let out a low groan as his dick began spewing onto the tile floor, volleys of cum landing on the shower floor, “MMM YESS!” he shouted, lost in his own masculine pleasure. The blue streaks of electric power sapped back into its master's body as Marcello let go of his erected dick. Taking the time to examine his new form in all its naked, godly glory. Larry couldn't help but stare, the warrior was perfect, his hair covering his legs and ass, the treasure trail perfectly snaking up to his curly chest, deep adonis belt pointing directly down to his massive package. He was the definition of a masculine immortal. Marcello stretched and smiled in his newfound powers before smiling at Larry and Jonathan at the end of the hall. “Oh Daniel,” he shouted, “it's your turn...” Larry had calmed from the calamity that was happening moments before, but he was afraid to continue onward. Daniel's corruption would be 10x as worse as Marcello's with his enthusiasm for the power already in full force. When coach walked into the shower room to respond to the fear and telling of Marcello's classmates, he sensed the panic and disorder running through the Coach's mind. Marcello reached his arm up and knocked him out, putting him into a tranced sleep so they could continue undisturbed. Daniel walked beside his power-ridden friend, holding his own cup and ready to go. He tossed Larry his III cup. Larry cleanly caught it and stood staring at the artifact, waiting now for his turn, entranced by the powers it held within. “Jonathan,” Daniel said, “you're the only naked one around and I really want these powers.” “What the fuck?” Jonathan asked. “Daniel, wait,” Larry said, “we can find someone else. Jonathan is your friend.” Marcello stopped Daniel. “I locked the doors in the back of the locker room. Everyone is trapped. Go find PJ or Charlie. Jonathan is a naked jock, we will have join join our ranks shortly.” Jonathan felt relieved as he looked into Marcello's eyes, he could feel the powers that Marcello meant to give him. He wanted it more than anything. Marcello forced open the rear gate to the corridor and Daniel stepped casually through to find a victim for himself. Marcello pulled Jonathan toward him and slapped his ass. “You can become a god too, you have the body and the personality.” Marcello realized his new mission, to transform as many humans into Zets as possible, and to spread his new race's powers. He could sense one other man from far away already transformed, and as soon as his two friends met with their powers, they would join up and determine a plan to conquer the humans. Larry watched as Daniel walked the corridor to the lockers and cornered CJ. He lifted the cup toward his now-erected dick, ready to try the powers on for himself. In an automatic motion, Larry grabbed his own cup and followed, ready to be the third.
  18. nightbird112

    Wild At Heart

    Hey everyone, I‘m kinda feeling a bit of writer‘s block concerning my other series „Dear Diary“, so I decided to churn out this one-shot here. I was inspired by this quote: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.” ― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods As always, comments, criticisms, and suggestions are welcome. I would especially like to know if I‘m smearing on the prose a bit too thick, and also if the proportions and descriptions sound realistic. Enjoy! Wild At Heart The sunlight filtered through the trees, the green and yellow hues of the leaves glowing like the stained-glass windows at the local church. I inhaled deeply, taking in the odor of earth moistened by a dawn drizzle, its rich, musty scent filling my lungs, my bare feet glorying in the contact with the soil. And that was when I saw him. He was a young man, about college age or perhaps a bit younger. He was jogging along the forest path. It was obviously not something he did regularly; he was huffing and puffing, looking like he could barely reach the cusp of the road which sloped upward at a gentle incline. Furthermore, his body looked like that of a man unused to strenuous physical activity, or any physical activity for that matter; his waist was paunchy, probably from hours sitting at his computer drinking beer and eating cheetos. His face had a baby-faced look to it and his jawline was hidden underneath a layer of fat. But he had potential; his face, while rather pudgy, looked handsome enough, and it would improve as it shed its fat. His body, while pear-shaped, had a strong base to it, with wide shoulders and a thickness to his chest and arms which was not due solely to fat. It was clear that this was a young man who had grown tired of his body’s appearance and wanted to improve himself. It was most admirable how he had taken the first step on a long road, the road to manhood. I decided to help him out along the way. Why, you might ask? And how? Well, the second question might be easier to answer. You see, I am what you might call a wizard or a sorcerer. Different cultures have called me by several names throughout the centuries. Call me what you will. What is important is that I possess the ability to mold reality to a certain extent via magic, and that includes giving a certain young man a helping hand up the ladder. And now to the big question… why? The simple fact of the matter is, I don‘t know. Perhaps it had something to do with the setting; the sun, the breeze, the dew on the leaves. Or perhaps it had something to do with how beautiful I found the young man, so young and full of promise. I loved him. Not romantically, mind you, but the way a sculptor loves a block of clay, or a painter a blank canvas. They love it for its potential, what it could be. Perhaps it was for one of those those reasons, all of them, or even none of them. Decide for yourself, I don‘t really care… what matters most is the boy, and the man he became. Using my abilities, I took a peek inside his mind. A sculptor must know his clay well if he is to shape it, after all. I saw his self-loathing, his frustration, and most importantly his vision. I saw the man he wanted to become. And I was going to help him do so. Focusing, I willed his clothes to disappear. Even though it had rained recently, he wouldn‘t feel cold. In fact, things were about to get hot soon. Both figuratively and literally. So there he was, naked, his fat jiggling as he ran. Of course, he didn‘t realize that he was running naked, nor would he view his changes as anything out of the ordinary, I had made sure of that. Plus, there was no-one around for miles. Can‘t have my masterpiece be arrested for indecent exposure. Or after I‘m through with him, inciting sex riots. As he kept running, the first thing to change was his torso. His belly fat began melting off, leaving his stomach flat as a board. His arms lost their flabbiness, and his chest and shoulders began emerging from their prison of lard. His spine cracked as his posture and running technique improved. He was still missing something though. He looked very attractive, don‘t get me wrong, especially, with his body glistening with sweat. But he was still unfinished. His bare feet, pounding a steady rhythm on the hard earth, began to grow larger. He stumbled as the bones in his feet cracked and lengthened. He found his footing once more, but with substantially larger feet. They looked to be at least a foot long, if not more. Next, his hands began changing as they pumped up and down like a piston in a car engine, growing to large mits that could palm a basketball with ease. His body began to grow to match them, his legs and torso lengthening. He began having to duck to avoid branches as he sprouted several inches taller. He sort of looked like a stork, his thin, toned arms pumping as he ran faster due to his longer stride. His shoulders began pulsing as they grew, his lats thrusting themselves out, pushing his back into a broad v-shape. His pecs developed into deliciously sexy mounds of muscle, each topped with a silver-dollar sized nipple that looked perfect for nibbling on. His legs thickened into tree trunk-like pillars of strength that propelled him at ever-increasing speeds, the sound of his footfalls now a heavy thud due to all that extra muscle. They matched his large feet perfectly. And with that my work was done. I examined my handiwork as he stopped to drink some water. He was absolutely magnificent. He had become the very man he had envisioned becoming. He was tall, standing at least a head taller than most men. Sweat ran in cleavage between massive, dinner-plate sized pecs like a stream in a valley between two mountains. His shoulders were broad and thick like those of an ox. They looked made to plow a field from sunup to sundown. And speaking of plowing, his cock, half-erect, hung halfway down his upper thigh, and his balls were the size of chicken eggs. Every inch of his body from his short black hair matted with sweat to his large feet was built for power. This was no roided-out parody of masculinity. This was the platonic ideal thereof. With one final flourish, I clothed him in shorts and a white t-shirt and sneakers. Seeing the shirt tight around his shoulders and loose against his eight-pack abs, his shorts trying to contain the muscular glory of his legs, was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. I watched as he started jogging again. He moved now with the wild grace of a predator, his confident stride combining the primal power of a caveman with the sensual aesthetic of Michelangelo‘s David. His face now looked to be sculpted from the finest marble, with high cheekbones and a square jawline and clefted chin. I ached to kiss his lips, to lose myself in his brown eyes. Pleased, I made the appropriate changes to the man’s memories to account for the changes, and I went on my way. A/N: Sorry if the ending felt a bit abrupt there. I wasn’t sure how I should end it.
  19. Muscleace

    Should have been Revenge

    I will post this to my tumblr when I find a good photo for it. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lloyd Banks strutted down the hallway. Each footstep pounded on the tiled floor of the biology building. His polo was pulled tight over his large torso. His pants were in a similar condition over the mass of his ass. His blonde hair was vaguely highlighted by the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. The lights even gave his pale skin a bit of a glow. The thudding continued down the hall. He chest puffed out with pride like he owned the school building. Each step caused his mass to wiggle and jiggle. The long walk across the building caused him to sweat. He was breathing a little harder once he reached the classroom for his one o’clock lecture. His frame nearly filled the doorway as he entered the room. Some people moved out of his way as he approached his target, Reed Harmon. Reed was the captain of the rowing team. His brown hair fell neatly over his dark blue eyes. It was offset by his well-maintained tan from spending so much time out in the sun. His body was a result of years of rowing since high school. Many biology students, mainly women, sought him out as a tutor as he seemed to be a great combination of brains and brawn. He wore a large, dark green t-shirt that fell over his lightly muscled frame and cargo shorts that fit him better than any pair of jeans would. Reed did not notice Lloyd heading toward him, but Ross was already glaring at the large college student. Ross Hart was Reed’s best friend and was on the rowing team too. He had a bit more mass on him than Reed, but that was mostly due to being five inches shorter than Reed’s 6’3” height. His surfer-ish blonde hair was matted down from the baseball cap he usually wore outdoors. His old t-shirt and ripped jeans covered his bulkier frame. He was just discussing with Reed about how hard a gainer he is with his chest. When Lloyd made his way over to the two, Ross patted his buddy’s shoulder and headed to his see. “Hey Reed. How’s it going?” Lloyd asked, feigning sincerity. Reed smiled kindly, “It’s going alright. How about you?” Lloyd smiled back. “It is also going well.” He paused for only a brief moment. “So I’ve been thinking about joining your rowing club. When do you guys meet to practice?” The rowing captain’s smile faded. “Well, um… Lloyd I really don’t know how to say this. I don’t think rowing would be a good fit for you. Rowing is really intense. You look like you got winded just walking here.” Reed shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable, “You are too big for the boats too. Sorry to say this, but you are too big. I’m sorry.” Lloyd seemed unfazed, “No, no, that’s ok buddy.” He walked towards his seat, the ends of his mouth twitching. Reed still looked uncomfortable as he took his seat. The rest of the class went by relatively boringly. In fact, it dragged on three minutes longer than it was supposed to, so when the professor finally released the class, everyone made a beeline for the door. On the other hand, Lloyd moved swiftly, for his size, towards Ross. He tapped the rower’s bulky shoulder, “Hey man, how much can I pay you to convince Reed to let me onto the team?” Ross scoffed and glared up at the portly man who was only two inches taller than him. His eyes narrowed, “More than your daddy could ever pay.” He pulled his shoulder away from Lloyd and headed out to catch up with Reed. The rich boy was left standing there, his pride bruised greatly. Money had always gotten everything that he ever wanted. He bribed his way into the schedule he wanted. People would hang around him and be his “friends” because he always got the coolest things. He enjoyed the power money afforded him. But now it couldn’t get him one thing he wanted, to get on the rowing team. The rest of the day he spent on the computer researching black magic. He always had a penchant for the occult. He would go to antique and curio stores to buy something that reminded him of it. Demons, mythology, curses, all of it interested him. Now he wanted to put it to use. Eventually he fell upon a page for summoning demons. He printed off the instructions and went back to his dorm room, skipping the rest of his classes. Once back in his single dorm room that he paid extra for, he began gathering the materials he would need to summon his wish-granting demon, Flauros. Pricking his finger, he drew the demon’s sigil inside a circle of holly ashes. He locked his door, turned off the lights, and began to chant in Latin. Ironically, he was silently praying in his head that demon summoning was not fiction. He shut his eyes and chanted louder, growing desperate after a few minutes. From the other side of the room, the curtains moved, but the window was closed. Suddenly, any light that was in the room disappeared. Lloyd began to feel exceedingly hot, soon sweating buckets through his shirt. A voice cut through the pompous man’s chanting. “A man’s pride is an unstable thing, no?” The disembodied voice boomed and shook Lloyd to the core, “Open your eyes mortal.” Lloyd tightened his eyelids then slowly let them come up. The owner of the voice’s body filled his vision. The rest of the room had gone completely black, save for the imposing figure illuminated in a deep, red glow. “I am Flauros, King of Desires. What have you summoned me for, mortal?” The demon’s powerful voice demanded an answer. “I… I w-w-want…” Llyod stuttered. The figure before him struck fear deep inside of him, but it also tantalized his wants. He had to look up at the hypermasculine, intimidating face of the demon. Contrary to what he found online, Flauros looked surprisingly human, if one could look past that he stood a foot and a half above the intimidated student. “Out with it.” The large demon looked down at his body. “Judging by the form I have taken, you want strength.” Flauros’s pecs shook with every word he spoke. The giant mounds of muscle twitched in anticipation of being used. They were supported by two mountainous shoulders that jutted off to each side. The demon’s pecs hung over eight painfully carved abs. The arms that laid by his sides could only be compared to cannons. His legs looked like they could kick down marble columns. Not to mention, the King of Desires was entirely nude. Flauros’s cock looked painfully erect. Veins bulged along its entire sixteen inch length. It had to be as thick as a can of coke, if not more. The red glow seemed especially intense around the underworlder’s fuckrod. Lloyd’s eyes were drawn to it, even if he wasn’t gay. After staring for a few moments, he tore his eyes away from the monstrous piece of meat to look up into the demon’s eyes. They were the eyes of a predator, piercing deep into his soul. The pupils were slits just like a panther’s would be. They were surround by a surreal, purple iris. They were unblinking and unmoving. Lloyd could barely hold his gaze. “N-no. Not e-exactly.” The portly student stuttered again. He took a deep breath and laid over his carefully planned wish. “I want you to take my mass and give it to the rowing team. I want them to be big. Then I’ll be able to fit in the boat and they can’t turn me away. I want them to deal with being bigger than normal. That’s what I want.” He nervously looked up at the smirking demon. The giant leaned forward so he was face-to-face with the summoner. “So be it.” Flauros opened his mouth and pressed it against Lloyd’s lips. A muscular tongue filled the mortal’s mouth, he couldn’t fight it back even if he tried. It thrashed around inside of his mouth. He was far too shocked to react. As it licked around the inside of Lloyd’s mouth, he began to feel weak. His sweat-soaked clothes began to hang on him more. The tightness of his pants that he had gotten used to was slowly fading. After a few minutes of the demon kiss, Flauros stepped away. Lloyd had to crane his neck more to see the smirking demon. “Now mortal you shall sleep and wake up to find your wish granted. You shall never see me again.” Lloyd’s eyes widened at the demon’s words, there was no going back. “Now sleep!” The demon commanded and Lloyd’s world went black. Reed was peacefully asleep in his bed. At the stroke of midnight, he broke into a sweat. He hands gripped at his sheets as he tossed his head from side to side. Soon enough his arms were doing the same and the rest of his body followed. He even grunted and groaned. Luckily, his roommate was a heavy sleeper. In his dream, he was being assaulted by a large man. An inhumanly large man. Reed was being held down by his iron grip. He tried to fight back, but couldn’t even budge. He feared he was going to be raped or murdered, but the man did something unexpected. He kissed Reed. Reed wanted to scream. Something seemed so wrong. Even his skin felt tight. Suddenly, he found the strength to push his attacker off of him. The man smirked as the world faded to black. That night, every member of the rowing team experienced a similar dream. All of them woke in a cold sweat, then fell back to sleep in the most restful slumber they had ever had. That morning, Lloyd woke from his fitful sleep. He tossed the covers off of his body and went to the sink to splash some water on his face, once he had so, he began to brush his teeth. Only two seconds into doing so, he dropped his toothbrush. Staring slack-jawed into the mirror, he ran a finger along the edge of his chin. His jawline was no longer hidden by a layer of fat. He smiled as his neck didn’t fold or crease anymore when he turned his head. His smile only grew wider as his eyes wandered down his transformed body. His pecs were now visible, they were no longer moobs. By no means were they built, but they looked like they belonged on someone who visits the gym to keep in shape. His abs were faint, but with a little work they would stand out. His legs had thinned out, looking like he had been running miles every day. Only when he turned towards the door had he realized there had been more changes. The frame of the door seemed higher to him. Grabbing a tape measure, he messily determined his height. He had shrunk two inches to a modest 5’10.” He wasn’t the only thing that had shrunk. When he pulled out his clothes, they were the same stylish, expensive duds he had before but two or three sizes smaller than the previous day. Even his shoes shrunk two sizes to fit his size 10 feet. As he left the door, a devilish grin crossed his face. He couldn’t wait to see what lardasses the rowing team had become. Today, Lloyd’s footsteps did not echo down the halls. His shirt and pants were pulled neatly over his body. His smile was beaming. He had to get used to a few changes because of his new body, but he welcomed them. He didn’t even worry about hitting the doorframe as he walked into the classroom, but he still stopped in his tracks once he did. Reed and Ross were standing and chatting with each other as they always would. But instead of the rower physique he was used to seeing, they both looked like physique models borderlining on the realm of bodybuilding. He dared to step closer. His eyes darted over their new bodies. By the way they acted, he guessed they didn’t know they weren’t like this yesterday. It was only when he was a few feet away that their size really had changed. Lloyd once stood taller than Ross, but now the tables had turned. Even Reed looked like he had grown in height as well. Both looked like Greek statues come to life and then they dedicated themselves to lives in the gym. They were both wearing clothes similar to what they had worn the day beforehand, but now they were pulled taut over their sinewy physiques. With the way their pecs pushed out their shirts, he had to guess if they had a six or eight pack. Their pants struggled to contain their thighs and their diamond-like calves were out in the open. Even their sandals looked to small as their toes slightly hung off the edge. He braved a few steps forward, hoping his plan would still work. “Ahem.” He interrupted their conversation. Ross glared at him just like he had before, but now he glared down at Lloyd. On the other hand, Reed still had some kindness in his eyes when he replied. “Can I help you?” Lloyd swallowed hard and with a look of determination in his eyes he asked, “When is practice for the rowing team? I would like to join.” He puffed out his chest, feeling accomplished. Reed sighed and looked uncomfortable, a bit comedic for a guy his size. “Well um… Lloyd I really don’t know how to say this. I don’t think rowing would be a good fit for you. Rowing is really intense. You don’t look like you have the constitution for it, even if you were to row as a lightweight.” He shuffled his size 16 feet. “You are too small for the boats. Even the lightweights are bigger than you. I’m sorry to say you are too small.” Lloyd’s face grew bright red, “But… but…” It was Ross’s turn, “No butts, little dick. He said no so leave.” “Ross…” Reed looked sympathetic to Lloyd. “Li-little dick!? Mine is seven inches long you prick!” Lloyd face was redder than a sunburnt tomato. Ross laughed, “Then mine must be a foot long then. Go get your eyesight checked moron.” “Ross! Don’t be so mean to him!” Reed chided his best friend. “Yeah yeah. Look at him go.” Ross pointed at Lloyd running out of the classroom. Lloyd dashed out of the classroom as the professor was just walking in. Had he ran into the professor yesterday, the poor intellectual would have been flattened. Now, Lloyd bounced back against the now burly professor and landed on his ass. “Watch where you are going Mr. Banks!” The former-rower of a professor called after Lloyd who had picked himself up and sprinted down the hall to the nearest bathroom. He locked himself in a stall on the verge of tears. He thrusted his hands onto his thighs and balled them into fist. “Please say he is wrong. Please say he is wrong.” He muttered repeatedly. He hadn’t looked at his manhood in the morning to see if it had been altered to fit his new physique due to the excitement over the rest of his body and the chance to make fun of the rowers who were supposed to be as big as he was. Carefully he pulled down his shorts to reveal his cock. He was happy to see it throbbing against his briefs, but his joy was short-lived. He pulled his briefs down and choked back a sob. His cock was raging hard, but he had to guess it was at most four inches. No more than that. What once was seven inches hard and soft had been reduced to something below average. “It’s not right,” he muttered, some tears escaping his clenched eyes. “This isn’t what was supposed to happen.” He slowly realized his mistake in the wish. He said he wanted his mass transferred to make the team bigger than normal. He didn’t say what mass or where the mass should come from. Flauros twisted his words. He took his fat, but gave them muscle equal in mass. He made him shorter by two inches, and they grew by the same. He could only guess that his cock shrinking by three inches made their grow that much more. He had a chance and blew it. His one chance to get revenge on his perceived humiliation only to get humiliated instead.
  20. nightbird112

    Dear Diary - Chapter 1

    Dear Diary – Chapter 1 I was 13 years old when I decided I hated my father. Sure, all children say that, at one point or another. All children experience disappointment or resent their parents at some time in their lives. But my resentment was different. Mine was born of years of living with, and under the thumb of, my father. My father was a hard man, you see, tough and gnarled as old tree roots. I don’t recall him ever smiling, or not giving me the rough side of his tongue, whether he was shouting or joking. Most men are rough with one another, a roughness that arises from a spirit of camaraderie and brotherhood, but his roughness was that of sandpaper. He never met anyone he didn’t rub the wrong way, and even when trying to be gentle, he would leave raw sores. Not that he beat us, mind you, at least not frequently. Though he had large and strong hands, he never raised them to either me or my mother. His favored weapon was his tongue,and that was sharp as a razor wire. While growing up, his tongue had bought me to tears more often than his fists ever did. He was a rather average man in most respects. Taller than average at 5’11, with a body that was a broad and muscular from a lifetime of construction work, covered with a layer of fat that had begun to sag with age, like all his bitterness pulled it down as it did everyone else around him. But enough about him. This story isn’t about him. At least, not entirely. As far as heroes in stories go, I wasn't anything special; tall than average at a hair under 6 feet, with a body that had never seen the inside of a gym, with the typical skinny fat physique of one who engages in little physical exertion. I didn’t life weights as much as lift books from shelves. I had nicely shaped features - nothing that would earn me a feature in some magazine, of course - but nice enough, albeit covered with a layer of fat that made me look younger than my actual 18 years. Nothing remarkable, nothing that would make the lads swoon. Yes, I am gay, but we will come to that later. All in all, I was far from the ideal of the gridiron high school BMOC, which my father always hated about me, and the fact that I was gay, well, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Hence why I’m sitting here, on a park bench in front of the Public Library, at 2 in the morning. Alone. Abandoned. Forgotten. You see, my father had tossed me out, literally. Banished me from my home. And all while my mother stood there, saying nothing. Doing nothing. And so here I am, with nothing to my name but the clothes on my back, my phone, a few dollars in cash, and my ID. With the sound of his shouting and swearing still ringing in my ears. The judgment and disgust I saw in my mother’s eyes as fresh as the ache in my heart. Where do I go? What will I do? How will I survive? Those questions and more tumbled around in my head. I honestly have no idea how long I just sat there; I must have fallen asleep at some point, because by the time I came to the sun was up and the library was open. I decided, on a whim, to go inside. Why the hell not, not like I had anything better to do. What books do you read after getting thrown out by your parents? Emancipation For Dummies? 101 Ways To Survive Adolescence On The Streets? I am Homeless, And So Can You!? I was browsing the stacks listlessly when I felt a thud on my foot. I looked down and I saw a little book had fallen down from shelf above. It was black, with a blue ribbon to be used as placeholder. It had no title, strangely enough, and it also had no library reference number or stamp. It seemed to have been forgotten here by someone. Upon opening and leafing though it, I saw that it was completely blank. very Strange. It must be a diary of some sort… Oh well, I was hardly in a position to turn up my nose at free stuff. Sitting at a table, I started to write; Dear Diary, today is the first day of my new gay life (shit it’s hard to do sarcasm while writing) I had come out to my parents yesterday and it went about as well as I expected. Honestly, what was I thinking? I should have waited till I was in college, or even afterwards... I wish I never told them… And barely 5 seconds after that, my phone started ringing. Looking down, I saw that it was… my mom? Holy shit, what could she want from me now? “Hello…?” “Mike, where'd you been? You dad and I have been worried sick about you. Come home now.” “But didn’t you kick me out?” “Kick you out? Why on earth would we do that? Are you drunk?” “No, no mom... I’m on my way.” holy shit! How did that happen! Could it be…. this book? Well, that’s easy enough to find out. I wish my feet were 2 sizes bigger. I felt this tingling sensation in my feet, and I could feel the bones in my feet shift as they lengthened, and my shoes started pinching me as I outgrew them. After barely 5 seconds, it stopped. I could see my toes bulging out of the tip of my sneakers. Slipping of my shoes, I checked. It was obvious that my feet had grown larger; my socks no longer fit properly, and my feet were obviously longer and wider, and I bet that if I were to get a ruler and measure them, they would be precisely two sizes larger. Flexing my new size 13 feet, I wandered… what else could I change?
  21. Guest

    (Un)even rivals (9)

    Nine Three days had gone since Jeremy had taken the beating from Ted. His heavily muscled, 265 pound body felt better with every passing hour; his recuperation working overtime to repair the damage. He actually felt capable of getting up from the mattress for the first time since his confrontation with the teen beast. A faint sound made him look aside and he saw his smaller former rival, now trainer awake. Chris opened his eyes and looked straight at the huge bodybuilder on the mattress next to his. A faint smile highlighted the muscle god's face and he asked: "How do you feel today, Jeremy?". "Way better, man. My body has nearly recovered", Jeremy replied and sat up. "Is it true that you stole my muscles?", Chris asked as he got up, walked over to the other mattress and sat down, facing the 100 pound heavier man. Jeremy stared down to avoid his former rival's gaze. "I… ehm…", he mumbled. "Is it?", Chris asked again as he put his hand under the muscle god's chin and gently lifted up his head to make eye contact. "Yes", Jeremy muttered ashamed. "Why?", Chris inquired. "I… I was tired of coming in second behind you. I mean, you're a year younger than me and still outclassed me during our competitions. I tried bulking up but lacked the vascularity to even face you in the final. Roids weren't an option. I found a website about voodoo, with a spell to realize my greatest desire: grow freaking huge. You were the only one that stood between me and dominating the sport…", Jeremy told. "And what about my cousin?", Chris interjected. "I needed some body fluid for the spell. Your cousin wanted to get back on you and needed a clean urine sample to get his gym membership. So we made a deal: he would get me a sweat drenched shirt of you and I would hand him one of my urine samples.", Jeremy continued. "That's why he wanted to arm wrestle. And why he stretched the struggle on purpose", Chris shouted in his higher pitched voice. Jeremy nodded. "You know what happened then: I used the spell and grew huge on your size. I even gain muscle more easily from my workouts now." "You probably stole my good genetics too", Chris added, "I always hated working out, but my muscles responded insanely fast. I only train twice a week and got this body. Well, not this one, but you know what I mean". "Can you forgive me, Chris?", Jeremy asked softly. "Off course, man. I no longer have to work out any more. And your body looks way better than mine ever did. Drives me mad just to look at you", Chris said and kissed the muscle god on his lips. The kiss surprised Jeremy, but he instinctively returned it, making his strong tongue snake into the smaller guy's mouth. He put his hands underneath his lover's ass to lift him up but felt the small guy shiver. "What's wrong? I'm not going to hurt you", he said as he broke the kiss. "I know", Chris replied, "It's my cousin. He's been raping my ass the past days. He made me chose between him beating you up every day or dominating me." "You let him rape you just to protect me? He's 200 pounds heavier than you. I'll protect you from now on", Jeremy said and took his smaller lover gently in his arms in a protective reflex. "Would you dare to take him on again?", Chris asked and let his frail hands roam the thick muscles of the wide torso he was pressed against. "I wouldn't stand a chance, but to protect you, yes", Jeremy said, enjoying the feeling of his muscles being groped. "And what if we would even the odds a bit?", Chris stated and wormed himself free from his bigger lover's hold. "How?", Jeremy asked and watched the smaller guy walk over to his own mattress. "My cousin left the papers with your voodoo stuff in here to make me see how you stole my muscles", Chris said as he took the papers from underneath his mattress, "but he forgot to take out the page with the spell on it. I've read and reread the entire text. As I get it, the spell is still active in me but apparently your current size is what you want to be". "I don't want to take any more muscle from you. Not after everything you did for me", Jeremy replied abruptly. "Not what's left of my muscle, I like my current size too. Not having to bother to go to the gym anymore", Chris stated, "But I could use the spell to take tom's muscle and pass them to you through me." "Why not your cousin's muscles? I'ld be freaking massive!", Jeremy asked. "He's too big to control him during the transfer. He would beat you up before you could match him. You're already bigger than Tom so you can easily dominate him. Then you'll be big enough to take on my cousin", Chris said. "Off to the gym", Ted boomed in his deep baritone voice. He roughly pulled Tom's head from his cock and shoved the 205 pound bodybuilder away. He got dressed and strutted out off the bathroom. Tom waited to get up from the tilled floor until he heard the door slam shut and the beastly teen's car race off. He wiped the sticky remnants of the teen beast's orgasm from his face and wrapped a towel around his muscular waist. He walked through the hallway on his way to grab some breakfast when the small Chris emerged from his room. "You have to see this, man", Chris said to the 40 pounds heavier bodybuilder and went back in his room. "What?", Tom asked and stepped inside. "ME!", Jeremy boomed and grabbed the bodybuilder's wrists. Tom struggled with all his might but his opponent outsized him by 60 pounds of pure muscle. He tried resisting but the bigger god head-butted him and he crashed down. "Put him on the bed", Chris said to his huge lover. Jeremy did as he was told and swiftly tossed the knocked out bodybuilder atop his mattress. "Now strip", Chris said. He pulled away Tom's towel and took off his own clothes. He looked at how the nude Tom eclipsed him completely. He looked up and stared at the naked, muscular perfection as Jeremy stood next to the bed and dwarfed the other bodybuilder. "Go stand at the end of the mattress", he said to Jeremy as he laid down and put his head against the naked Tom. Jeremy moved as instructed and looked down on the two smaller men lying on the mattress, his dick plump at the thought of growing even bigger. "What are you waiting for, big guy? Get your cock in me. I want to feel you grow massive", Chris said. Jeremy blinked at the remark but noticed the determined look in his smaller lover's eyes. He slowly sat down on his knees at the end of the mattress and pulled the smaller guy toward him. He gently eased his now fully hard 7 incher inside his lover without removing his gaze from the smaller guy's blue eyes. "Fuck ", Chris grunted in pleasure as he felt the huge bodybuilder's pubes brush against his ass. His back arched up in sheer bliss and he fell back down, his head touching the knocked out Tom's torso. "Ready to grow beastly?", he asked and looked into his already huge lover's eyes. Jeremy nodded, his lust as strong as his smaller lover's one. "Here we go", Chris said, " Gargak Profundis atque venerabilis, Ggrrtjzaku dzedzikoirku! Translatio vigoris mei et essentiae meae, Ggrrtjzaku dzedzikoirku!". A surge of power shot through his 159 pound body as a wave of hotness flowed from the knocked out bodybuilder into him. At the same time a coldish weakness formed in his stomach and a draining feeling formed in his ass. "Yeah", Jeremy grunted as he felt a jolt of hotness tingle along his rock-hard 7 incher and flow into him. The feeling spread across his 265 pound physique. He closed his eyes and threw back his head in pleasure. The mixed feelings of warmth and cold, strength and weakness whirled through Chris. His lust for turning his lover into beastly perfection intensified the spell and he felt the power flowing from his ass into the throbbing cock inside him. Jeremy's eyes were still closed in pleasure as he felt a warm pump flow from his rock-hard 7 incher into his stomach and spreading across his thickly muscled frame. "Mugh", he groaned as he felt his steely muscles harden all over his godly body. . His body surged with growth, powered by Tom's muscles and Chris' desire to make him colossal. Chris' eyes widened in lust and admiration as he stared at the unbelievably hot scene unfolding in front of him: his huge lover evolved into sheer, colossal muscular perfection. Veins exploded across the growing masses of hard, meaty muscles as the 265 pound bodybuilder swelled beyond huge. His already broad shoulders doubled in width as his delts turned into cannonballs; his meaty pecs tripled in size, forming half-watermelon-sized slabs of beef that made his nipples point straight down and formed a rack that obscured half of his developing six-pack; his six-pack evolved accordingly and his abs grew into cobblestone-sized, hard bricks and turned into an armor-hard eight-pack; his 22 inch arms ballooned to 35 inches in mere seconds, turning his thick arms into meaty hams hanging at his sides; his heavily muscled quads that were positioned beside Chris' torso, thickened into tree-sized pillars of muscle and pushed into the smaller guy's sides. Chris' legs, wrapped around his swelling lover's torso, were pushed open as the strong lower back broadened and overpowered them. His ass, stretched tight around the growing cock deep inside it, was pulled up as the huge bodybuilder also grew in height. The sight and feeling of his heavily muscled lover growing in front and inside of him was too much for Chris. His own throbbing 7 incher twitched and smacked against the corrugated landscape that was the beastly eight-pack. "Jeremy!", he yelled out in lust as he exploded against the cobblestone-sized abs, his meager load squirting into the deep ridges between the thick, hard muscles. Jeremy opened his eyes as he felt the liquid rub against his stomach and heard his former rival groan his name. He gazed down and noted how childishly small His lover looked next to him. A grin spread across his face as an idea crossed his mind. "Wrap your legs around me. tight", he rumbled in his deepened baritone. The muscle god's deep voice vibrated in Chris' body and made him blow another load against the steely eight-pack. Instinctively, he did as he was told and tightened his legs around the marble-like hard torso. Jeremy felt the legs tighten against his more-than-hard lower back. He then stood up in a swift motion, his tree-sized quads flexing in the process. With his ham-like arms hanging at his sides, he supported the small guy's weight with his rock-hard cock. The pleasure combined with the look of utter reverence in the small guy's eyes sent him over the edge. He grabbed hold of his lover with his right paw, covering half his torso as his cock exploded hard and violently inside the tight ass. He saw his lover's stomach bloat as load after load of his thick spunk blasted in him. After ten heavy shots, his orgasm cooled down and he slowly pulled the small guy from his cock. His eyes widened as inch after inch of thick, meaty cock appeared from the frail ass. "Like it? I thought your cock should match your colossal muscle. So I adapted the spell a bit", Chris said with a grin and let his hands roam the stony mass of the muscle god's 35 inch right arm. Jeremy simply stared at his now 15 incher that protruded proudly in front of his majestic body. "Yeah! Huge like Ted!", he boomed in his deepened voice and put his lover gently down on the mattress. "But way better looking. Your proportions are perfect. Seems like you grew taller to match your new size", Chris said in utter amazement. Unlike his bulky looking cousin, Jeremy still maintained his perfect symmetry, looking like a colossal, yet capable-of-swift-movements athlete. Jeremy simply looked contest ready: his paper-thin skin was wrapped tightly around his bulging muscles; striations were visible on every mound of hard beef even though he stood fully relaxed. Jeremy threw a few poses to showcase his new physique, his skin stretching to accommodate the new girth of his massive, vein-decorated muscles. "Fuck! Look at my bi's! Boulders of beef!, he said as he raised his arms in a double bicep pose, making the meaty mounds swell into their now 35 inches. He lowered his arms and bounced his pecs. The protruding rack of muscles danced atop his chest, striations and veins undulating across the half watermelons crammed under his stretched skin. He shook his tree-sized left leg, making the incredible mass of his quads role from left to right, and flexed it: deep canyons exploded aside the thick heads of muscle fed by veins snaking over them. His slowly deflating, still half-hard cock jolted and smacked against the steely hard leg. "Thanks man", he said as he relaxed his leg and looked down at his small lover on the mattress, "you made my bigger beyond my wildest dreams. Even after I stole your size. How can I ever repay you?". He gently grabbed hold of the smaller guy's armpits and lifted him off the mattress. "We'll figure something out, big guy", Chris said, enjoying the feeling of being hoisted up by the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. He wrapped his arm around the muscle god, or tried to. His huge lover's back was so wide that his arms didn't make it past the massive, cannonball-sized delts: his frail hands grabbed the meaty mass of the rear delt, unable to dent the hard surface. He leaned into the massive body, the protruding rack of pecs pleasurably pressing against his own weak chest, and kissed the muscle god's lips. Jeremy returned his smaller lover's kiss. He wrapped one anaconda-like arm gently around the 159 pound guy to support him, his free paw grabbed the back of the guy's head and pulled him in; at the same time, his tongue invaded his lover's mouth. Chris was overwhelmed with pleasure and his cock raced back to hardness between his own softened abs and the concrete-like eight-pack. Black dots began dancing before his eyes as the muscle god kept kissing him. He tapped the rear delts with all his might to make clear he was in need of air. Jeremy grumbled at the soft tickles of his small lover against his shoulders. He opened his eyes and noticed the dark red color of the guy's face, realizing he was suffocating. He broke the kiss. Chris inhaled deeply as he let his body rest against the hot, hard surface of the now colossal Jeremy. The sound of the back door slam shut signaled Ted's return. "Yo, Tom!", the beastly teen boomed as he tossed his gym bag on the floor. "Where ya hidding, ya runt?", he yelled as he took a gallon of milk from the fridge, mixed it with an insane amount of protein powder and gulped down the impossibly large drink in three long gulps. "My cousin's bony ass will have to do", he said to himself and strutted out off the kitchen. The sound of the heavy footsteps slowly climbing the stairs vibrated through the house as the teen beast went up. Chris jumped up on his mattress as the door of his room was ripped open violently. He instinctively crawled back against the wall as his massive cousin swaggered inside. A smug grin formed on Ted's lips at his weak cousin's reaction and at the look of fear in his eyes. He slowly walked toward the mattress against the furthest wall of the room. His cock twitched in anticipation inside his boxers. Despite having jerked three times in the shower after his workout, he was ready for another round. "STOP TIGHT THERE!" A deep, booming command filled the room, rolled against the walls and rattled the windows. Ted turned around in surprise. The grin disappeared from his face as a huge man worked his way through the door. "Who the fuck…?", he asked without taking his eyes off the colossal bodybuilder. "Don't you recognize me?", Jeremy asked and stood still just inside the room, "I did get a little bigger since our last meeting". He clenched his right fist, making his forearm ripple with strength as its corded muscles tensed and his upper arm harden in the process. Ted's eyes glistened as he recognized Jeremy. He scanned the massive muscles on the guy's bare torso and noticed he was wearing a pair of his sweatpants that were nicely filled out by his legs. "Let's ditch this", Jeremy said and moved toward the teen beast with one long stride. He grabbed the guy's shirt and tore if off his beastly body in a swift motion, exposing the other giant's torso. Standing 6 feet tall, Ted had to look up to look in the now massive Jeremy's eyes. He took an instinctive step backward. Chris stared at the two giant's. At 6'5, Jeremy towered above his cousin, but the beastly teen's muscles looked bigger on his more compact frame. Coming direct from the gym, his cousin's shoulders and arms were still pumped. "No longer the biggest stud", Jeremy said to Ted and bounced his pecs as he spoke, "Let's go and don't bother us ever again!". Ted looked at the half watermelons dance atop the other giant's chest. He closed his right paw in a fist, pulled back his massive arm and slammed it with all his might into the deeply grooved eight-pack in front of him. Jeremy blinked in surprise: the sledgehammer-like fist had hit his cobblestone-sized abs at full force with a loud smack but the punch had bounced off the steely hard surface without even denting it. "That all you got?", he asked mockingly and returned the favor. Ted couldn't believe that his devastating blow hadn't done any damage. Before he could react, the other giant slammed his own fist into his six-pack. He grunted faintly as he felt his strong abs give in slightly. He threw another punch against the eight-pack, but Jeremy clenched his abs just in time, making the punch bounce off once more. Jeremy saw the look of disbelieve on the beastly teen's face and hit the guy's six-pack a second time. This time his fist encountered a fully flexed brick-like wall, not giving in the slightest. Ted didn't give the huge bodybuilder any time to pull back his thick arm: he grabbed hold of the guy's massive shoulders and pulled him down. Chris saw the two giants slump down and continue their fight on the floor. It was a pile of heaving, sweaty muscle that rolled back and forth, paws locked into each other and straining as the two muscle gods fought for dominance. Ted somehow ended up on top and threw a hard punch in Jeremy's face, bruising his left cheek as the bodybuilder turned his head to avoid the punch. Ted grabbed hold of Jeremy's clawing arms and pushed them down to the floor behind the guy's head. "Not so tough after all", he grunted as he tried to bring down the massive arms completely. Jeremy fought back and managed to block the teen beast's advance. His tree-sized arms shook with effort against the inhumane strength of his opponent. He suddenly gave in and pulled with all his force, making the beastly teen lose his balance and fall forward over him. Ted rolled over the other giant and quickly jumped back on his feet. He turned around and saw Jeremy charge at him. He braced his 367 pound body for the impact but the momentum of the bodybuilder's 365 pound body threw him backward against the wall. The wall cracked with a loud sound and in a cloud of dust, the two giants knocked through it and crashed into the master bedroom. Ted blinked his eyes in mild pain: his back ached a bit from breaking through the wall. He looked around and a hard punch slammed into his six-pack. "Ugh", he grunted as some air was forced out of him and his abs dented in. "Get up!", Jeremy groaned as he withdrew his fist and took a step back. Ted stared up at his colossal opponent. He closed his paw around a thick, wooden beam between the debris from the wall. He sprang up and smacked the beam hard against the massive Jeremy's protruding chest, shattering it to shreds as it made contact with the slabs of muscle. "ugh", Jeremy grunted in surprise and pain at the impact. He stumbled back a bit, more in surprise than in pain. Ted moved in and punched the huge bodybuilder's lower back, hitting him in the kidneys. "Ugh", Jeremy groaned a bit louder and sank down on one knee as a second sucker punch hit him in the kidneys. He felt the beastly teen's hands pass underneath his armpits to take him in a full nelson. He leaned forward, pulling the teen beast off balance. Ted released his grip to regain his balance and his opponent was up in a flash. He reached for the massive Jeremy but the guy made the same move and their hands locked together. Chris didn't dare to move. He followed the fight by the sounds coming from the other room. He knew the two giants would crush him, even by accident, if he got in their way. Jeremy and Ted stood fighting to get the upper hand, their huge anaconda-sized arms straining and bulging from the effort and their hands moving back and forth. Ted threw everything he got into the fight, but the other muscle god did the same. Their faces were red from the effort, their chests heaving and their mounds of muscles pumped with blood. Ted felt his strength fading slightly: he'd worn out his muscles in the gym earlier. His legs started to shake slightly as he summoned more power to stand his ground. Jeremy noticed the hardening strain on the beastly teen's face and felt the faint quiver go through the guy's 35 inch arms. He suddenly stopped pushing. Ted was taken by surprise by the other muscle god's maneuver: he lost his balance and fell forward, smacking into the massive torso in front of him. Jeremy had anticipated this and unlocked his hands from the other bodybuilder's. He wrapped his arms around the beastly teen's torso and applied a bone crushing bear hug. Ted squirmed in the vice-like grasp. He clenched his fist to make his arms swell and harden. He summoned every ounce of strength and managed to loosen the hold. Jeremy felt his hands slide apart as the beastly teen squirmed and flexed in his grasp. The 367 pound guy's power couldn't be denied and he had to release his bear hug. Ted inhaled deeply to refill his lungs with oxygen. He didn't allow his opponent to recover: he quickly wrapped his own 35 inch arms around the bodybuilder's torso and pressed with all his remaining strength. "Ugh", Jeremy grunted more in surprise than pain. Despite the beastly teen's efforts, his own muscles withstood the attack. He could even feel the 367 pound guy's power wear off. "YEAH!", he roared deeply as he broke free from the hold and shoved the teen beast back hard. Ted was caught by surprise as he was overpowered for the first time in years. "No", he blurted in disbelief and fell backward. It felt like juvy all over again: for an instant he was once again the wimpy, skinny boy being picked on by the bigger guys. Jeremy moved in: het grabbed the beastly teen's sweatpants and lifted the 367 pound guy up. "Now leave us alone!", he roared and threw the teen beast through the door, sending him crashing into the bathroom. He felt all powerful after taking down his colossal opponent and began flexing his superb physique in the large mirrors against the furthest wall. Ted shook his head and blinked his eyes. He was lying in the middle of the bathroom along with the contents of the cupboard he'd knocked down when he flew in. He noticed a familiar, black, little box amidst the heap. He opened it with shaking hands and 6 doses of the new designer steroids he was on, rolled in his paw. He grabbed an empty syringe and filled it with three doses. He lowered his skintight sweatpants and overstuffed boxers and injected the thick fluid in his left testicle. He repeated the process for his right testicle. A rush of warmth, energy and adrenaline radiated from his balls into his body. He pulled his boxers and pants back up and got up. He turned around and saw the other colossal bodybuilder flexing in the lengthy mirror inside the master bedroom. Jeremy ogled his majestic physique in the mirror: he couldn't wait to get on stage and crush his puny competitors. He couldn't even call them 'rivals': he would outclass them in every way possible. He closed his eyes as feelings of dominance and victory filled his mind. A hard blow on his lower back made him come back to reality. A second one knocked the wind from him and made him slump down on one knee. In the mirror he saw Ted standing there. "Didn't have enough?", he asked as he got up. Two heavy punches on his upper back made him sink back down. Ted saw the look of pain on the massive Jeremy's face and stepped back, motioning him to get up. Jeremy got up and turned to face the beastly teen. He moved in and once more, their hands locked into each other to fight for dominance. His 35 inch arms bulged and shook as he pushed with all his might. His pumped muscles started to burn from the earlier fight. Ted 's equally meaty arms shivered also but he could feel the designer steroid doing its work: the massive dose injected into his balls was forcing them to produce testosterone beyond human levels. He felt his arms pulse with power as the tremendous amount of testosterone began releasing into his bloodstream. Jeremy felt fatigue and cramp spreading slowly across his bulging arms. He would swear that the beastly teen's resistance was stronger than before he'd beaten the guy and seemed to get stronger with every passing second. Ted saw the increased strain on his huge opponent's face and felt the mild, but now steady shiver go through the 365 pound bodybuilder's massive arms. More energy flowed into his own anaconda-like arms with every surge of testosterone his balls released into his bloodstream. He felt his own strength increasing and the resistance in his grasp grow weaker and weaker. Jeremy couldn't prevent the shaking of his mighty arms: fatigue and cramps tormented his bulging biceps and corded forearms. Sweat was rolling from his forehead over his cheeks from the effort. He flexed his tree-sized quads, his legs hardening into an impressive sight, to summon every bit of strength left inside him. Ted felt the increased power of his opponent against his grasp, but his freshly energized and continually fed arms repelled the attack. Jeremy's entire body was starting to tremble as he fought with everything he had against the beastly teen. He suddenly stopped pushing and pulled to throw the teen beast off balance. Ted's colossal body didn't budge an inch as the 365 pound bodybuilder tried pulling him in. Jeremy knew he was in trouble as his maneuver failed: spasms and cramps shot through his body as he felt his strength waning further and further. "My turn", Ted said in a somehow deeper voice and yanked at his opponent's hands. Jeremy instantly lost his balance and smacked against the rock-hard torso of the teen beast. His head shot back and he groaned in pain as the beastly teen's meaty arms closed around his own hyper-muscled torso. Ted didn't flex his arms or clench them together: he simply held the 365 pound bodybuilder in his steely grasp. By now, the testosterone was flowing rapidly into his muscles, making them swell and harden. Jeremy tried squirming free, but his fatigued muscles protested. He knew he had to let them recover and pretended he passed out to fool his opponent. He felt the steely grasp tighten and harden with every passing second. He inhaled deeply and made his move. He summoned every ounce of strength he could scrape together in his 365 pound body and squirmed with everything he had. Ted felt the massive Jeremy's resistance, but it was no use: it felt feeble and didn't budge his hardening arms a bit. The testosterone coursing through his body and now flooding his muscles had totally refreshed his energy levels. The time Jeremy had taken to make his own muscles recover, Ted had grown 20 pounds heavier. Jeremy opened his eyes and a look of pure horror filled his face: the beastly teen that held him tightly secured in his grasp was clearly growing. He tried resisting, but his own majestic body didn't move an inch inside the vice-like hold. An evil grin spread across Ted's lips at the look on the huge bodybuilder's face. It felt like the guy was getting lighter and lighter in his grasp, but he knew it was his own body that grew beastlier with every passing second. His once 35 inch arms were rounding the 40 inch mark as he felt his growth slowdown. His body now matched Jeremy's exactly in height, but he outsized the 365 pound muscle god by 50 pounds of pure, hard muscle. Jeremy howled in pain as the teen beast hardened his biceps and made the stony boulders dig into his own heavily muscled flanks. "Let's end this once and for all", Ted growled in an insanely deep baritone that rattled the windows and hardened his flex. Jeremy flexed with all his remaining might to withstand the crushing power but it was no use: he passed out as his ribs gave in with a sickening, cracking sound. "Yeah!", Ted boomed as he crushed the 365 pound bodybuilder's ribs. He pulled back his right arm, made a huge fist and smacked it hard into the muscle god's face. The stony fist sank deep into the once epitome of male beauty and now bloody mess that was Jeremy's face. "NO!" The weak cry made the beyond colossal Ted turn around. He saw his puny cousin standing in the opening of the shattered wall. He tossed the now lifeless Jeremy hard on the floor and moved toward his childish-looking cousin. "Ya're next!"… The end?
  22. Guest

    (Un)even rivals (7)

    Seven Chris shot up in his bed, his heart pounding in his heaving chest, his pajamas slick with sweat and his cock half-hard. He turned on the light and inhaled deeply in relief as he discovered his own hotel room. He scanned the room intently but didn't find any trace of Jeremy or his cousin. "Just a dream", he said to comfort himself and laid back down on the bed to try and get some more sleep. Hours later, he awoke from a deep. He put on his clothes and went down to get some breakfast. He entered the almost abandoned restaurant, quickly filled his plate with a tiny, half-sized serving and installed himself at a table in the furthest corner as far away as possible from the few other couples that had come in to eat. He absentmindedly played with the food on his plate as he tried to think back at what really happened a day earlier. After his dream, he was not sure if he had worked out with Jeremy or just dreamed that as well. "This seat taken?" The baritone voice pulled Chris back to reality and he looked up. Jeremy stared down at his diminished rival with a casual grin on his lips. He put two overly stuffed plates on the table and returned to the buffet to get some more food. Chris stared at the 265 pound athlete that walked back toward his table. The grey tank-top hung loose around the man's tight waist but clung tightly around the protruding rack of pecs that stretched the fabric and hugged his wide lats on his broad back. Jeremy put two more overly filled plates on the table and sat down. He dug in with great appetite, emptying the first plate quickly. "That all you eat?", he asked as he attacked his second serving and noticed the small amount of food of his fallen rival, "I wouldn't last half an hour on such a small breakfast". "No, not feeling too hungry today", Chris replied and stared at the big man's bulging arms that brought the food to his mouth. "You're not sick, are you? You left so soon in the gym yesterday too", Jeremy said as he continued wolfing down the food. "No, but…", Chris blurted out, "I ehm… I'm done. Going back to my room" He got up from his seat. Jeremy's paw grabbed hold of his forearm, encircling it completely. "Bring back two more plates for me. Got to fuel my body for my workout", Jeremy said and released his rival's arm. "Okay", Chris said but the big man had already returned his attention to his food. He wandered over to the buffet and randomly chose food he piled on two big plates. He returned to their table, glancing and marveling at the defined muscles bulging at the back of the huge guy's shoulders as he put the two servings on the table. "Thanks, man", Jeremy said as he shoved the empty third plate aside and attacked the fourth pile of food without looking up, "You're going to keep staring at my back or sit down?". Chris shook his head and sat down quickly, staring at the 265 pound bodybuilder in front of him. It struck him how good Jeremy looked: his chiseled, manly face oozed masculinity atop the muscle-filled frame. He had never noticed it before, not even when he had gone up against the guy. But his rival's face sure had evolved to match his beefed up body. Chris felt his dick inflate slowly in his pants. "I'm stuffed", Jeremy said as he put the sixth, empty plate aside and gently patted his strong six-pack. He turned his look on his diminished rival and noticed the small guy ogling his muscles. Enjoying the admiring look, he pretended not to notice and casually scratched the back of his head, intently making his 22 inch right arm bulge in the process. Chris just kept staring. His gaze followed the meaty arm as it was raised upward, his eyes widened at the pace the magnificent ball of muscle hardened and so did his dick in his baggy sweatpants. Jeremy continued looking the 100 pound smaller guy in the eye, his mind busy savoring the feelings the admiration of his former rival formed in his body. He could feel his cock starting to go plump. He simply raised his right arm in front of his protruding chest and flexed it. The 22 inch orb of steely power, crisscrossed with blue veins jumped up into a stony ball. "Wanna feel?", he asked as he saw the lusty look in the smaller guy's eyes. "I… ehm…", Chris said and looked around carefully. "It's fine. No one can see us in this corner. Go ahead", Jeremy stated and hardened his flex some more. His cock inflated further in his pants. Chris slowly extended his trembling hand. He felt the heat radiating from the hard ball of muscle as his fingers reached for it. "Was everything okay?" Chris looked at the waitress that appeared at their table straight in the eye, his hand frozen mere inches away from the flexed, bulging bicep. The girl stared back in the athletic guy's eyes. Her gaze dropped a bit and followed the 159 pounds man's arm that was reaching out over the table. Chris followed her gaze. Feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his face turned beat red, he pulled back his hand and stared down at the table. The girl instantly knew what was happening by Chris' reaction and the smug grin on the huge bodybuilder's face. "You guys, enjoy your day", she said as she grabbed the empty plates and disappeared into the kitchen. Chris looked back up, a hint of disappointment in his eyes as he noticed that the 265 pound bodybuilder had relaxed his arm. "Where you going?", he asked as his now huge rival got up slowly. He drank in the sight of the body stretching the tank top snugly across the strong, protruding pecs, the nice, perfectly round delts sticking out widely to support the hard-looking, arms with veins snaking along the solid masses bulging on his upper arms. He also noticed the outline of the huge man's plump cock in his workout shorts. "Time to hit the gym.", Jeremy replied and swaggered away without looking back. Chris' gaze followed his now 100 pound heavier rival who strutted proudly through the restaurant. Most of the few people that were still in there did the same; some of them commenting on how gross and apelike the guy looked, others simply shaking their head in disbelief. "I thought those freaks didn't exist anymore", a woman said to the man as Chris passed by their table. "Some insecure people never mature and overcompensate. To immature to handle the real world and seeks excuses in the gym. You should actually feel sorry for that weak boy in his grotesque body", the man replied. Chris shook his head slightly as he heard the remark, his mind still filled with the image of the veiny, rock-hard ball of muscle and his cock still half-hard hidden in his baggy sweatpants, not understanding how someone could not appreciate such a physique. He went up to his room to get his thoughts straight. Whatever he tried, his mind kept going back at the bulging body of his rival. After half an hour of futile efforts, rearranging the few clothes he'd brought several times, he gave in to his urges and headed for the gym. He carefully looked around when he reached the entrance and quietly entered the surprisingly silent hotel gym. Since the hotel was owned by one of the major sponsors of the LTB, the gym was equipped with the latest machines and lots of free weights. Chris cautiously walked through the totally deserted cardio area with two rows of vacant bikes and treadmills. He heard some faint grunts and the familiar clanging sound as he neared the adjacent room marked: "The pit". The habitual scent of sweaty musk filled his nose when he entered the land of iron he'd once ruled. Careful not to get seen, he slid against the wall toward the source of the sound. Hidden by the machines, he sat down silently on the floor opposite of where the only other living being in the room was training. "Yeah! One more!", Jeremy grunted between his teeth as he lowered the bar of the smith machine to his chest. He pushed the bar back up once more and racked it with a loud clang. Chris inhaled sharply as the huge man sat up: his bulky rival was working out shirtless, giving him a clear look of his heavily muscled torso. Striations exploded across the protruding rack of pumped pecs as Jeremy swung his arms back and forth to stretch the muscle. He stood up and grabbed two more plates to add to the bar, his vein-crossed arms hardening as he pulled up the weight and placed it on the bar. Chris drank in the sight, not believing how huge his formerly smaller rival had gotten. His mouth hung open in disbelief, respect and lust; his flaccid cock filling with blood as it swelled inside his baggy sweatpants. Jeremy got back under the bar and lowered the weight slowly to his pumped chest. He cranked out five perfect reps before his arms started shaking slightly. He puffed and grunted as he lowered the bar a sixth time. Chris saw the bodybuilder's face turn red and the struggle in his movements. He feared that the guy would get caught under the heavy bar and started to get up, even though he knew full well he could never budge the bar since his rival was benching more weight than he had done at his prime. He froze in his movement, his eyes widening in amazement as he saw the bar moving up. He slumped back down against the wall in awe, his dick slowly swelling past half-hardness. Jeremy pushed with all his might, his protruding, pumped pecs burning in stabbing pain and his thick triceps bulging at the back of his thick arms. "YEAH!", he growled as his mighty muscles pushed up the heavy bar. He racked it and rested atop the bench, his strong arms hanging relaxed at his sides and his pumped chest heaving up and down as he took in deep breaths. Chris simply stared at the sight, his hand slipping automatically in his sweatpants and grabbing his nearly completely hard cock. Driving by instinctive urges, he began stroking his still swelling cock. After about a minute, Jeremy's well-trained body had nearly recovered and the 265 pound man got up from the bench. He laid down on the floor and began doing pushups to complete his training. The masses of hard muscles on his torso bulged as he forced them to crank out perfect reps. Striations exploded across the surface of his wide chest, his six-pack formed a hard, deeply grooved armor and veins snaked along the muscles of his thick arms, even his traps bulged thickly aside his neck. Chris kept stroking his now fully hard 7 inch cock as he marveled at the scene. His heart skipped a beat and his hand froze in its movement as his huge rival suddenly stared directly in his eyes. Jeremy was focusing on his form but a faint sound made him look in front of him. A look of disbelief followed by a smug grin formed on his face as he made eye contact with his fallen rival. "Enjoying the show?", he asked in between breaths as he noticed the action the smaller guy was in. The thought of turning on the guy that had dominated him the last two years sent a jolt of energy through his body and he upped the pace of his pushups. He could also feel arousal pumping through him and hardening his already plump cock in his shorts. Chris jumped up and rushed out the gym, his hand still around his hard cock. He jumped inside his room, locked the door and laid down on his bed as he jerked off thinking about the majestic body of his rival pumping ironing. "Yeaughn, Jeremy!", he groaned as he came minutes later, a meager load of cum splattering from his 7 incher onto his shirt. Jeremy was strutting back to his suite, his chest pumped after his grueling workout. He had gotten up right after his small rival had rushed away, grabbed his tank top and left the gym bare-chested. He was walking by the door where Chris had bumped into him the other day when he heard the lust filled, orgasmic moan followed by his name. His own hard dick jolted in his shorts, tenting them obscenely, as the thought of making his former rival get off by his body hit him. He grabbed the tank top resting atop his wide, round delt, rubbed it under his armpit to get his scent on it and left it in the middle of the hallway. He knocked on the door of his rival's room and headed for his own suite without waiting. Inside, he stripped and stepped into the shower, enjoying how the hot water cascaded down on his pumped torso and stroking his throbbing 7 incher. His rock-hard cock exploded five thick loads against the tilled wall. A wicked smile formed on his lips as an idea crossed his mind. He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. The knock on the door made Chris jump up atop his bed. "Who's there?", he asked as he got up and tried to wipe the small cum stain off his shirt. The dark patch on the blue fabric only got wider and he quickly pulled the shirt off. "Who's there?", he asked once again as he pulled on another shirt and opened the door. He looked around but didn't see anyone but his eyes were drawn to a grey object in the middle of the corridor. It looked strangely familiar and he grabbed it. The scent of sweat and musk invaded his nose as he lifted it up. His flaccid dick jolted faintly in his pants as he realized he was holding his huge rival's tank top. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, taking in the manly stench. He went back into his room, carefully laying his new trophy on the chair. Another, louder knock on the door ended Chris' trail of thoughts. He opened the door and automatically shuffled backward a step as he saw his now huge rival standing there. "Hi man", Jeremy said, "you didn't see my tank top, did you? I lost it. Already looked in the gym but it isn't there. It's my favorite one, that fits just right." Chris didn't react. He was too busy taking in the sight of the 265 pound bodybuilder standing mere inches from him. His rival was only wearing a pair of black sweatpants, so he had front row tickets to the exposed, still pumped torso. "Well, did you see it?", Jeremy said and slightly bounced his pecs. "I… uhm", Chris muttered as the protruding chest danced a little and cut off his speak. "Oh, you found it", Jeremy said as he noticed his tank top nicely draped atop the chair. "Ehm… yes", Chris replied and reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the muscle-covered torso. He turned around and went to fetch the tank top. He jumped up as he heard his door shut. He turned around and saw his huge rival locking it. "What are you doing?", he asked as heard the clicking sound of the lock jumping into place. "You didn't really think I lost my shirt right in front of your room, did you?", Jeremy asked and folded his thick arms across his chest, making the muscles bulge into each other. "Ehm… What… what do you mean?", Chris mumbled as he felt his heartbeat going up. Fear and arousal were fighting in his mind. The object of his lust standing a few feet away but he knew he was no match for his rival if the guy would decide to beat him up. Jeremy saw the look in his former rival's eyes and put his hands on his hips as he spoke: "Yesterday during our workout you were more into staring at me in the mirror than into working out. This morning you didn't take your eyes off my body at breakfast. And then you sneaked into the gym to stare at my during my workout. Then you jerked off thinking off my body, didn't you?". Chris lowered his head as he muttered "yes" and put his hands up in a defensive reflex, knowing full well he didn't stand a chance against the 265 pound man. "Thought so", Jeremy replied, " You're damn right. My body's just so much better than yours. Bigger, broader, more muscular. That your victory tank top. The one you got when you became world champion?". "Yes", Chris mumbled weakly as his rival grabbed his customized red tank top from his bag. He lowered his arms and stared at the huge bodybuilder putting it on. "See how tiny it looks on me", Jeremy said. Chris nodded in response and took in the sight: the tank top only covered half of his rival's chest, the wide, protruding muscles spilling from it at both sides and even his hard, downward pointing nipples were exposed; his broad, round, cannonball-sized delts stuck out completely from the fabric that did hung loose around the bodybuilder's waist. Chris instinctively stepped a bit back as he realized just how massive his rival had become: the tank top that had fit him like a glove at his prime, looked ridiculous on his rival and made the guy appear even bigger. His flaccid cock pulsed slightly inside his baggy sweatpants as it swelled slowly with blood. His diminished libido prevented him from sporting wood right there after his recent jerk off. Jeremy looked back into his fallen rival's eyes and noticed the mixture of fear and pleasure had been replaced by a lust-filled look. He enjoyed the feeling of totally outsizing his once bigger rival. The way the smaller guy reacted on his own, upgraded body sent another jolt of pleasure through him. His own soft cock was already half-hard again in his snug fitting sweatpants and inflating further steadily. "This thing's too small", he said and pulled off the small tank top. He stepped out off his black sweatpants, tossed them aside and turned back to face his fallen rival, wearing nothing but a pair of dark briefs. "Well, what do you think?", he asked and looked his rival straight in the eyes. Chris scanned the sight in front of him: the huge body oozed masculinity. The stunning symmetry and perfect proportions of the striated, clearly outlined muscles simply looked divine. "You look way beyond me at my prime", he said in awe as he mentally compared his contest ready physique to the perfect man. Jeremy grinned smugly at the remark and put his hands together in front of his briefs, causally flexing his protruding chest and thick arms in the process. "Let's compare", he said and moved in to remove the smaller guy's clothes. Chris didn't resist. He knew he was no match for his now huge rival and was too busy admiring the sight of the mounds of muscle flexing and bulging on the big body as it moved to him. The big man gently took off his loose shirt and pulled down his baggy sweatpants. He let the big man strip him, enjoying the feeling of not being in control. Soon enough he was in the same state of the 265 pound bodybuilder, standing there in just his black and red boxers. Jeremy took a step back and grinned as he looked at the diminished body of the man that outsized just weeks earlier. "I look like a boy next to you", Chris said before the huge bodybuilder could speak, " We're still the same height but your shoulders are twice as wide as mine." "Nice cannonballs, aren't they?", Jeremy replied and shrugged his shoulders, making striations and veins explode across the round surface of his wide delts. "And your arms, man. Way bigger than mine ever were", Chris went on as he inspected his rival's physique in detail. "22 inchers. Real boulders!", Jeremy answered and went into a doubled bicep pose. Veins snaked over the round rocks as they swelled into hardness atop his arms. He felt his cock harden fully by the lust-filled remarks and appreciative looks of his former rival. It clearly tented his dark briefs. "Man, none of the others stand a chance against you. You'll dwarf them all!", Chris said and noted the tented briefs on the huge bodybuilder. His lust took over and he moved in. He squatted down in front of his divine looking rival, pulled down the strained briefs, grabbed the turgid 7 incher that smacked against the armor-hard six-pack and took it in his mouth. "Oh fuck", Jeremy groaned in surprise as his 100 pound lighter rival began sucking on his rock-hard cock. "Never thought you were a cocksucker", he moaned and caressed the pepper and salt colored hair of the small guy as he looked down on him. Chris licked and sucked the throbbing 7 incher in his mouth. He turned his eyes up and stared into squared face looking down on him past the protruding rack of pecs. A grin formed on Jeremy's lips as he noted the covetous look in the piercing blue eyes of his fallen rival and he realized the smaller guy was awaiting his approval. "Go on, little guy. Suck", he grunted and grabbed the back of his rival's head to push his 7 incher in completely. Chris gagged a little as the rock-hard entered his mouth totally, but the approval of the divine bodybuilder just intensified his actions. He placed his hands on the strong ass and sucked with all his force, his tongue licking and teasing the shaft in his mouth while his nose was pushed into the trimmed pubes. His own cock hard and oozing precum in his boxers. "YEAUGHN!", Jeremy bellowed as orgasm exploded through his 265 pound body and all of his mighty muscles flexed. Four thick blasts of his sticky cum geysered from his cock into his small rival. He released his head and let him slump down to the floor. He inhaled deeply, his protruding chest heaving in post-orgasmic bliss and noticed the wet stain on his rival's boxers. "Unexpected, but the best head I've ever had" he said as he sat down on the bed, his hyper-trained body recovering quickly from his second orgasm in half an hour. A smile of joy formed on Chris' lips at the bodybuilder's remark. He got up on his knees and crawled toward the big object of his lust. He positioned his own frailer body in between the beefy, deeply grooved quads, roaming the surface of the steely muscles with his hands. He stared up and smiled in reverence at the huge man. Jeremy looked down as his small rival installed himself between his tree-sized legs. He noticed the submissive look in the blue eyes and once again patted the still athletic looking guy's hair. His cock jumped back to full hardness in mere seconds as his mind assessed the new situation: not only did he totally dwarf and dominate his once bigger rival, the guy was lusting after him. "You don't mind being number two?", he asked as he gently groped the smaller athlete's shoulder, easily digging into the muscle that felt soft under his touch. Chris nodded 'no' without taking his eyes off the huge bodybuilder's masculine face. "We're rivals no more, man. I'm a boy next to you. No way I'm in your league anymore. I've always enjoyed how my muscular physique turned on others", he said, "but you look way better than I ever did. I bet I wouldn't look that good if I weighed the same you do now. You're so aesthetic, simply… perfect." Without saying anything else, he took the throbbing 7 incher in front of his face in his mouth and sucked it again with all his force. "Fuuuuuck", Jeremy moaned as his former rival went down on his dick again. He placed his hands to his sides on the bed, making his titanic triceps flared out at the back of his thick arms. "Doesn't get any better than this", he grunted as he realized he now dominated the fallen star of his sport both physically and sexually. Pleasure flooded his 265 pound body, his balls convulsed and blasted three sticky loads through his 7 incher into the eager mouth. His own mouth hanging open in a silent scream as a third, powerful orgasm flooded his senses. Chris gulped down the salty tasting spunk, enjoying the feeling of the bulky quads, quivering and flexing under his touch. The thought of pleasing this perfect looking muscle god filled him with pleasure and joy. His half-hard cock leaked a meager dribble in his boxers. Unlike with his beastly cousin, he felt secure in the presence of this huge man. He licked the last drops from the still hard 7 incher and slowly pulled back his mouth. Jeremy grabbed the smaller guy's armpits and effortlessly hoisted him up, his 22 inch arms bulging in the process. "You'll be my personal trainer from now. You'll take care of my needs", he said and laid the athletic 159 pound guy on the bed next to him. Chris smiled and nodded 'yes', eagerly accepting his new position at the side of the guy he once outsized but that now eclipsed him in every way. A week had gone by since the switch in role and Chris had never been happier. Even when Trisha had worshipped his own, once intimidating physique, he hadn't felt the same as he did now in the presence of Jeremy. The feelings the huge guy's godly body sent through him were way better than anything in the past. He even enjoyed not having to workout daily to maintain his muscular physique. He still went to the gym every day, but most of the time he just admired the meaty muscles of the stunning bodybuilder working hard during his grueling workout. The guy used his personal record weight as a warm up and the volume of sets and reps he cranked out, was simply unbelievable. Chris carried out everything he was asked, bringing water or protein shakes or even whipping the sweat of the pumped muscles. At the end of every training, Jeremy hit a few poses, radiating strength and masculinity and smiling at the smaller guy in the mirror as Chris gave him some pointers to make his godly physique stand out even more. Then, both of them would go back to the suite they now shared, where Chris worshipped the bodybuilder's pumped muscles under the shower. These sessions always ended with Chris sucking off the huge god once, twice or even three times in a row. Unlike his beastly cousin, the huge Jeremy never fucked him. The new bodybuilding season started and as expected, Jeremy strolled through it. His physique dwarfed anyone else's and simply flattened his competitors. Even standing several feet behind the others on stage, he still outsized them. He piled one victory on another, always coming back to the hotel where he let his trainer suck him off when he wore nothing but his gold medal. Jeremy felt on top of the world as he advanced to another final, his tenth in a row, where he would once again face Tom, the guy that had beaten him twice the last season but now always came in second after him. The final lasted a good ten minutes. Tom threw pose after pose, highlighting every ripped muscle on his 205 pound physique. Jeremy just stood next to him, his relaxed 265 pound body making his "rival" look flat. Then, Jeremy turned around and did a back double bicep pose, the signature move of Chris he had taken to a completely different level. the mounds of muscles bulged into each other on his broad back, his thick arms rising up and outward as they swelled into their 22 inches of power. Another victory was declared. He now had broken Chris' record of 9 consecutive victories and was eager to go celebrate. As he drove back to hotel and swiftly swaggered inside, he didn't notice the small car that had been following him since the contest…
  23. A quick little Valentine's themed story I put together to go along with [this pic done by anglekindle. ] --------------------------------------------------------- It was shaping up to be yet another dull Valentine’s Day for Patrick. Patrick was in one hell of a foul mood, and it didn’t help matters that everywhere he looked he saw lots of lovebirds cuddling and swooning all over each other. Even Patrick’s friends were making matters worse. They were all out yukking it up (with a capital F) with their significant others leaving Patrick alone to think about how annoying this holiday really was. Unbeknownst to Patrick but knownst to us, Eros’ newest apprentice was ready to begin his first day on the job. He was ready to do the Cupid name proud. All he needed to do was finish mixing up a batch of Eros Incorporated’s most famous draught of Love Potion 69. One drop of that sucker in your bloodstream would make a man immediately smitten with the next person they saw. It was the perfect method of matchmaking! “Let’s see… A sprig of rosemary. Some thyme extract. A scoop of avocado for flavor aaannndd….” Flynn narrated as he mixed the ingredients into the cauldron. “A drop of the good stuff!” He exclaimed as he tilted the bright pink bottle to drip in some virility serum into the mix. A large percentage of love at first sight came down to sexual attraction so in order to really make the love serum work, the Eros employees always made sure to spike their love potions with a healthy dose of aphrodisiac, and Flynn’s concoction was no different… or was it. “Hmm… If a drop makes them fall in love, I bet a bunch will make them REALLY fall in love.” Flynn mused out loud. He upended the bottle and poured every last drop of the virility draught right into the cauldron. The mellow purple potion quickly began to bubble and froth. The color steadily shifted to brighter and brighter shades of pink until the cauldron bubbled over with magenta foam. “Huh. That’s new.” Flynn mused out loud, but he didn’t think much of it. After all, one can never have too much love, and it wasn’t like he had enough time to make a new batch. The alarm was already blaring to indicate that it was his turn to take to the skies. Flynn doused his arrows in foamy pink potion, grabbed his bow, and hauled ass for the horizon. It didn’t take Flynn long to find his first target. He’d recognized that sour grimace anywhere. This was one sourpuss who was sorely in need of a little romance. Flynn floated down low, took aim, and let his arrow fly true. Flynn watched to see if his arrow found its mark, and find its mark it did! The heart shaped arrowhead planted itself right into the dude’s denim clad keister. “Jesus Christ!” Patrick shouted. He leapt into the air and grabbed his rear in pain. He quickly found the source of his pain. An arrow! A solid, wooden archery arrow planted right in his ass! “Help! I’ve been shot! Medic! Is there a doctor in the house!?” He cried. “Well… that’s new.” Flynn mused out loud. He floated down to the ground to check on his mark. Patrick was roaring and flailing and grabbing his ass and just all in all making quite a scene. He had attracted quite the crowd of onlookers who stared on and scratched their heads. As far as they could tell there was nothing physically wrong with the guy. “Ok. Just hold still. I’m gonna…” Flynn instructed as he reached down to grasp the shaft of the arrow. The guy didn’t seem to be listening though. He seemed more interested in grabbing his ass than he was in being cooperative, but that made sense. Normal people shouldn’t even be able to see or hear the agents of Eros let alone communicate with them. “Aaaannnnd. Out we go!” Flynn said as he yanked the arrow out from his target. Patrick shouted again and spun around to face his assailant. “You!? You shot me!” He yelped. “Uh. Yeah? It’s my job.” Flynn replied casually. He quickly began to wise up that something was wrong though. “Waaaait a second. You shouldn’t be able to see me.” He said. “Of course I can see you, and I’ll see you again in court!” Patrick shouted. “Woah, woah, woah. Slow your roll, Holmes. In court? It’s against company policy to do any courting on the clock. You’ll have to wait at least another six hours for that.” Flynn replied. “You… what? No! I meant I’m going to call the cops on you for shooting me!” Patrick snarled back. “Ok. First off, when you say I ‘shot you’ it sounds really bad. I hit you with an arrow. Totally not the same thing.” Flynn replied. “How is it different?” Patrick asked. “Well for starters there’s no harm done. Your booty is fine, and your clothes don’t even have a tear in them. You shouldn’t of even felt anything at all.” Flynn explained. “What do you mean? I was shot. I’ll show you-“ Patrick began to say. He turned around as best as he could to give Flynn a good look at his ass, but there was something strange. As Patrick stared over his shoulder at his own ass he realized that Flynn was right. There was no blood. There wasn’t even a tear. If anything his booty looked better than ever. Patrick never remembered his ass filling out his pants this well before. His booty looked downright beefy. “See? No harm done.” Flynn explained. “Um… huh…” Patrick mused out loud. He was more confused than anything, but he had to admit that Flynn was right, and there was something else too. Patrick was starting to feel pretty good. REALLY good actually. The blood was rushing to his cock, and his muscles felt kinda of sore and stiff as if he had just finished a tough set at the gym. Patrick had never been much of a gym goer because of the pain and effort that went into it, but this actually felt nice. He could get used to this feeling. “So. No hard feelings?” Flynn asked. That snapped Patrick from his reverie. Patrick turned to face the Eros employee and got a good look at him for the first time. The dude was pretty cute; curly blond hair; lean, toned, shredded bod; a small toga that barely covered his crotch and left half of his lithe chest on display; and an adorable pair of angel wings on his back. The dude looked just like a classical painting come to life. “Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” Patrick replied awkwardly. He blushed slightly and worked up the nerve to murmur a more in-depth apology. “It’s just been a hell of a day, and that was it was just kind of the final straw when you shot-“ “Hit you with an arrow” Flynn corrected. “Right. When you did the thing. Sorry again. That was uncalled for.” Patrick replied. “No hard feelings.” Flynn responded. He beamed a bright, toothy smile and held his hand out for a handshake. Patrick began to reach out to return the shake when something odd happened. Patrick’s sleeve shredded as his bicep flexed right through the fabric. This was extra surprising given that he had never really had a bicep before. He had always been kinda average in that regard. Patrick quickly began to realize that it wasn’t just his arms that were pressing against the fabric of his clothes. His entire outfit was feeling a little cramped. His chest pressed so hard against the front of his shirt that the top button threatened to pop clean off! His ass strained against the back of his slacks. His cock pressed hard – rock hard – against his fly. His quads bulged out and stretched the legs of his slacks to their limits. There was no doubt about it. Patrick was now jacked! He was so bulky that he looked like a full-time gym rat, and he could tell that he was still growing. “Oh. Now that’s new.” Flynn murmured as he watched Patrick steadily outgrow his clothes. The buttons popped off of Patrick’s shirt – first the top one, then the second one, all the way down to the fifth button which rested right below his now meaty pecs. The rest of the buttons of his shirt were holding, but not for long at the rate he was growing. His swelling abs were straining against the front and his growing Adonis belt pressed against the sides. Patrick’s slacks weren’t fairing much better. The seams along the sides of his slacks were popping and fraying as his thick, meaty quads grew too thick for the skinny little pant-legs to handle. The back of his pants burst open with a deafening “RRRIIIIIPPPP!” as his ass became simply too meaty for his slack to handle, but perhaps what was most shocking was the way the zipper on his fly pulled apart to make room for his rapidly swelling cock! Patrick watched in awe as his dick grew and grew. His rock hard erection rose steadily higher. The thick rigid shaft grew steadily thicker. Soon his throbbing boner stood so tall that it slapped against his belly button. The shaft was so thick that even with the fly all the way open the teeth of the zipper rubbed irritatingly against the sides of his dick. His nuts had grown so huge and pleasantly full of spunk that they were already the size of softballs and threatened to spill out of his slacks at any second. “Yeah. That’s new.” Flynn remarked as he watched Patrick grow larger and larger. Patrick was growing so huge so fast that his clothes had been reduced to tatters. The few remnants and ribbons that remains clunk awkwardly to Patrick’s swelling muscles. His pecs were the size of bed pillows. Each individual abdominal muscle was the size of a football. His quads were thick as oak trees. His traps bulged out like speedbumps in a parking lot. His biceps were the size of basketballs, and his lats flared out like wings that put Flynn’s cherubic flappers to shame. Patrick was simply massive, and yet all that muscular girth paled in comparison to the size of his enormous dong. Patrick’s cock was now taller than he was! His cock was far too huge and heavy to stand up straight. Instead the weight of it had caused it to jut straight out in front of him until it was so thick that the puffy ridge along the bottom now rested solidly on the ground. The spongy, pre-oozing head of his massive cock was as big as a VW Beetle. It was so thick that it even put Patrick’s muscular, meaty, barrel chest to shame. Thick veins the size of coaxial cables crisscrossed the length of his rigid boner, and his nuts were the size of sofas and now rested behind him leaving Patrick straddling his schlong like a jockey on a Clydesdale. “Ohhh. So maybe that’s why they call it ‘the hyper potion’.” Flynn mused out loud as he inspected the aftermath of his arrow. “Hey. So uh… I’m gonna flit back to base camp and get an antidote. Just uh, don’t go anywhere, ok?” Flynn uttered an awkward apology, but before he could dart off, Patrick had something to say to him. “Er… Actually, I’m ok with this.” Patrick replied. “Uh… Are you sure? I mean I can fly right back. It’ll just take a –“ Flynn tried to say. “I’m OK with this!” Patrick insisted. “Well… if you’re sure then…” Flynn muttered uncertainly as he began to slowly back away. “Wait!” Patrick called out suddenly. Flynn stopped dead in his tracks. He was sure that Patrick was going to ask for the antidote, but instead… “You… wouldn’t happen to have another arrow, would you?” Patrick asked impishly.
  24. This is the first part of a series of stories jointly written with Greggrth involving our two O/C's. Hope you like. Some of the scenes get a little a violent and gory, so be warned. A prologue was posted earlier and can be found here 0.0 - Prologue. "Two trays of chicken enchiladas, four turkey sandwiches, medium rare steak with roasted veg times three." "The steak right, not the veg?" Jacob asked making sure the portions were right. "Both," "Cool" "Side of ribs, an orange juice and a strawberry and banana protein smoothie." Ben loaded the plates on to the table, one after the other, slowly, and joyless. "A beef lasagna, lamb tagine, a six egg white frittata and bowl of rice." Jacob rubbed his hands together as order was starting to look a little more substantial. "And a....side salad?" "Gotta keep it balance" replied Jacob, he couldn't understand Ben's confusion. "Ah huh" he said back to the carnivore. Joyless. From having to slave away in the diner, in a rotting shell of a building run by a man who's presence alone would fail a health inspection. If it wasn't for Jacob coming, placing a mammoth orders and helping his sanity, he might have chased all the staff and customers away with the flambés torch. The ravenous werewolf got to work on his snack. Sat in his usual stop the 320lbs behemoth finally found a booth where the seat would hold together and the table was loose enough to be raised over this trunk like quads. It required a little discreet renovation on Ben's part. The manager was furious with Jacobs first few visits. The damage caused of the area and the business lost was docked out of Ben's pay. But after a while, after he saw Jacob's final bill, the greasy rat decided it was worth the cost. The rest of the customers looked on, wondering how one boy could eat that much while others wondered how anyone becomes a six foot six pillar of muscle. Ben stood attentively for the illusion of work. "Ya been alright?" He asked the werewolf with nothing but an affirmative grunt having taken a mouthful. Ben could feel the burning look of the manager 'Get back to work' it said. "Why are you here?" He asked finally coming up for air. "Don't start this again," Ben replied before walking away. Jacob had tried the hard sell for a life away from waiting on tables. The werewolf had seen Ben in action, the power and grace during the recent attacks. He didn't have to suffer like a penniless student he could be teaching at the university. The subject could be his choice, summoning, arcane artes, elemental mastery, void craft, alchemy, enchantments, spirit bending or transmutation. To Ben they were just words, from an institution would wants to add their stamp on approval on everything in some illusion of superiority or authority. Why exchange one oppressive regime for another? The afternoon progressed slowly, the days were getting darker. By half five the sun was already behind the city scape and the horizon glowed orange. Ben talked over to Jacobs table as he squeezed the jacket over this monstrously thick biceps. "Sorry about earlier" Ben apologised, he'd been ratty and short for weeks now with everyone about everything. "Still on for drinks later?" --- Later was always an issue at the diner. The manager had always assigned Ben to lock up duty. 'Why, where do you fags need to rush off to at night?' Would be the usual response to his objections. Oh how good it would feel to turn that man inside out. The waiting staff had clocked out for the day, and the cooks were done prepping for tomorrow and had all their areas cleared and cleaned. Ben finished moping and dragged the bucket on it's wheel back into the kitchen. The flights flickered on. Staring down at the bucket he was pulling behind him, keeping the mop upright with the other hand he noticed a dark figure in the corner of his eye. Before he could turn to look at it two arms reached out from behind to grapple with him. His arms bound Ben was dragged back by the second. "What the...left go of m-" Ben yelled out as he tried to wrestle himself free. He kicked with his feet throwing him body against the metal doors of the fridge. His body cushioned by the man trying to restrain him, although a head taller than Ben he still cried out in pain but his grip hadn't loosened. Two more sprinted out from the shadows. A man and a woman. The first man Ben caught in the corner of his eye hadn't moved. In the maroon robes he watched on. "Who are y-what do you want?!" A fifth appeared from the far door leading the alleyway and neither one said a word. They were organised and with purpose, and speaking wasn't necessary. Whatever they wanted they felt committed, and decided to test that commitment. Still propped up by 'number two' Ben lifted his legs and kicked the man running towards him, square in the gut, throwing his body back until the base of his spine met with the counter. The woman hesitated, looking back at her colleague who was on his knees, but he didn't stay down there long. Making another run, Ben turned to look at the fridge to his left. As his green eye grew more emerald and radiant, the fridge door flung open off the hinges and pivoting on the lock to smash 'running man' back down to the ground. The inside of the fridge didn't look right, there were no shelves, boxes or food in Tupperware. It was a dark abyss where black smoke seeped out and two red eyes shone near the floor. A black arm reached and the claws dug through the leg of the 'running man'. He screamed and the figure from the fridge chuckled, a deep and demonic noise as the bone broke and bled. The body was dragged back in to the fridge and the door slammed shut and flew off it's hinges, and in the brief second it was closed the scene of a demon shrouded in shadow switched to food chilling on the shelves. 'Number four' couldn't move, she tried to but was frozen, not from fear but from the telekinetic bars Ben has summoned while Mot was fishing for his human snack from the fridge. The dozen bars reflected the light, they looked like glass with no clear outline or shape but they just closed in around their victim. She tried to push against, screaming and crying to the other for help, but the 'first' stood their idle, observing his underlings and the 'fifth' from the alleyway collapses a green plague of bleeding blisters and boils travelled over his skin and choked the air from his as the lining of his lungs turned to rot. As soon as he breathed no more, the corpse rose from the ground to attack anyone in Ben's defence. The sound of him choking was baring audible over the women, who's bones cracked as the cage slowly closed in on her. Pressed know through the fine mesh, the softer parts of her human, the skin, flesh and offal, squeezed through and poured out of the bars as her bones were being ground. Before Ben could turn his attention to the 'observer' who the myriad of curses seemed to swim around and past, the red of a fire hydrant flew into the view over his eyes, and the world went black.
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