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  1. Hey MEN, So, I finished it. I put all three parts here for you. I enjoy having all parts in one place when I read a story so I don’t have to spend time hunting around for everything. I hope that works well for you. Like so many others of you in the past couple of weeks, this is my first story and because of that, I am hungry for your feedback (like 2 hours after an intense leg workout sort of hungry). Ravenous really. So please comment and let me know what you liked, didn’t like, anything that resonated with you…so I can improve and move to the next project. A couple of you had mentioned a part in the story that seemed a little rough. I went back and fixed some things so it should flow more smoothly. Thanks for that suggestion. I am no longer a Muscle-Growth.org story virgin and it feel so right. :-) Sit back, relax, grab that bottle of lube, and enjoy. ========================================================== Part I The summer heat hung thick in the air. It was a few days before classes started at the University of Washington. Seattle isn’t known for its heat, but when it does get warm, it gets humid. So much water around. So many trees. August can be unpleasant. Cliff was carrying boxes to his new room for the year. He was a senior and finally going to graduate with his degree in psychology in May. He was the kind of guy that everyone liked. He wasn’t what the magazines and media would call “hot” but he was handsome, kind of like a movie star from the golden age of Hollywood. Many people said that if Cary Grant and Rock Hudson had a baby, he would look like Cliff. With dark wavy hair that he kept well trimmed, warm brown skin from his tan, and his large hazel eyes, he could see what they meant, but he never considered himself necessarily good-looking. He was built like a rugby player. Almost 6 feet tall, he carried a good bit of muscle under his clothes. His wide shoulders looked like they could put up some serious weight and his thick legs and round high ass made him appear shorter than he actually was. People were always surprised at how tall he was when he stood next to them. He wasn’t tight and ripped like many of his friends. He always seemed to carry around a little extra weight, especially around his waist, to his great chagrin. Even so, he had a beautiful masculine body that could do real work. And his smile. His smile was his moneymaker. He could melt just about anyone with his smile. Unpacking his car had been quite a chore today. As a senior, he was able to apply for a Resident Assistant at one of the dorms on campus. He had lived in the dorms his first year, but had moved out afterward for a couple of years and had experienced freedom from the tiny rooms and a roommate in the same cramped space. As an RA, he would have his own room in the corner of the floor complete with a kitchenette and en-suite bathroom. His friend, Rich, had talked him into applying and they had been assigned to the same building with Rich working on the floor just underneath Cliff. The two friends had been close since the first week of classes when they were freshmen. But they couldn’t be more different. Where Cliff was classically handsome and warm with a beefy body, Rich had an angular model-like face with sandy blonde short hair and piercing blue eyes. He was ripped. His broad shoulders supported athletic pecs and well-defined arms. His waist was tiny and he often found it hard to find clothes that would fit right. His glutes were tight and his legs were long but muscular. His skin was golden brown and he looked much more like a surfer-turned-fitness model than anyone in Seattle that Cliff had ever seen. He was beautiful and devastating. He knew it too. Cliff got along with everyone whereas Rich could be a real asshole. Mean and acidic comments often came out of his mouth and he was as catty as any of the Real Housewives, but Cliff (as is his personality) just shrugged and thought, “That’s just the way he is.” Cliff marched up the stairs with the last box. It was only four floors up, but with the heat and all of the other boxes he had already packed around, he was feeling it in his thighs and healthy backside. He opened the door, set the box down and started to unpack. It was going to be so nice to be in a room by himself this year. A knock at the door interrupted him. “Come in!” “Hey Cliff.” Standing in the doorway was Jesse. Jesse looked like a stereotypical science nerd. Thick black-rimmed glasses, thin almost skinny body, and a big beak-like nose screamed “chemistry or physics” as his major. He was also the head RA for the building and therefore, Cliff’s boss. They had also been friends since their first year. Jesse had been in Cliff’s English 100 course- and they both hated it. They sat next to each other passing notes and giggling like schoolgirls for most of the quarter. Jesse liked Cliff and had a lot of respect for Cliff’s social capital, something that Jesse didn’t have. Cliff liked Jesse of course. He was just that kind of guy. Cliff didn’t have enemies. Most people wondered if he had a mean bone in his body. Jesse, with his beak-nose, looked straight into Cliff’s eyes and shook his head a little. “Dude. I’m so sorry.” Cliff looked up from the box he was unpacking. “Why are you sorry? Did you fill the rooms on my floor with crazy problem freshmen?” Jesse just shook his head and looked down at the single sheet of paper in his hand. “Worse, man.” “Come on, Jesse. What? You look like you just licked a lemon. “ “Cliff, sorry buddy, but you are going to have to have a roommate for at least the first quarter of the year. We assigned this transfer kid to the building and we overbooked by one spot. You have one of the only single rooms and I can’t stick him with Rich. He’d probably make the kid cry every day just for making his life a little more inconvenient. I don’t know much about him except he is a junior and did his first two years somewhere in Montana.” “Oh man! You’re not serious! That’s messed up, Jesse! I even just moved the two beds together so I could have a king-size.” Cliff shook his head, annoyed. “One more thing, Cliff. He’s here. Now. Downstairs.” “Man, you are killing me. People aren’t supposed to start moving in for a couple of days still. I was going to get all set up and have some peace and quiet. Maybe jerk off a bit more than normal.” Cliff flashed Jesse that big smile and winked. He had always thought Jesse was gay or maybe bi if anything. He caught him looking at his meaty ass more than once. He didn’t mind though. Jesse was harmless. “Ya. Well, he emailed us at the end of last year when we made the assignments and asked if he could move in early. Some sort of sob story about not having a place to live right before school, or some shit like that. We responded that he could if he paid for the extra time. Sorry man. I know this sucks.” Cliff shook his head and went into the small bedroom and moved the beds apart again. He took a big long piss in the bathroom and started moving some things around so the new guy would have equal space. No reason punishing the new guy for the mix up. Cliff just thought that way about things. He was easy going as well. Nothing ruffled his feathers too much. “It was a nice dream while it lasted.” A few minutes later, he heard some shuffling in the hallway and a light knock at the door. “Come in!” he said maybe a little bit louder than he needed too. As easygoing as he was, he was still just a little annoyed at the situation. He had been really looking forward to some alone time with his cock. Being home for the summer hadn’t allowed him very much privacy and he was horny. The door slowly opened and it looked like whoever was going to come it was having trouble with their bag. He heard a little grunt and the door pushed open slightly. His new roommate walked in hesitantly. His eyes darted around the room and the first thing Cliff thought was that he looked like a scared animal. “Hi there. I guess we are going to be roommates this quarter.” Cliff stuck out his hand to greet his new roommate and walked quickly over to him. He flashed his smile and the annoyance was gone. He couldn’t hold a grudge against this guy. It wasn’t his fault. “My name’s Cliff. Sorry there are so many boxes and shit all over. I didn’t know I was going to have a roommate…so soon.” He added that last bit so the new guy wouldn’t feel so bad. He was sure that Jesse had told him downstairs about the situation. “I’m Shane.” Shane didn’t look Cliff in the eyes and barely stuck his hand out to shake Cliff’s big meaty mitt. The kid looked scared. Cliff looked more closely at him. He was looked of average height Cliff thought. Maybe 5 foot 8 or 9. He was thin though not skinny. He wasn’t an ugly kid, but he wasn’t anything special. He looked a bit pale and like he was exhausted. Maybe he hadn’t eaten in a while. His cheeks did look a little sunken in and his face a bit gaunt, but that could just be the paleness. Something made Cliff think the guy was very nervous. He still didn’t look Cliff in the eye. “Here, let me grab that for you.” Cliff stretched his arm out to grab the duffle bag that Shane had let drop to the floor. Shane held on to the duffle and pulled away a little bit and his cheeks flushed a little. Cliff looked out in the hallway for anything else. That’s all that he had with him. “Do you need help bringing anything else up from downstairs?” “No, I just have this and one box I left in the office with Jesse. I’ll run down and get it now.” Shane set his duffle bag on the floor next to the wall, well out of the way of Cliff’s full boxes. He turned around and walked into the hallway without saying anything else. “That was a little awkward,” Cliff whispered to himself when he knew he was alone. Why had Shane seemed so nervous? He went back to work moving his items to one side of the room, moving food to one half of the cupboard and organizing the refrigerator in a way that would give Shane half of the space. A few minutes later, he heard the footsteps return and Shane walked in with his box. He set the box carefully on the kitchen table and looked over at Cliff who had his backside sticking out of the fridge, still moving things around. Shane stared at Cliff’s athletic bubbled ass and his thick legs and looked away just as Cliff wheeled around with that warm smile again. “Shane, give me just a minute to move some things around in here and then you can start putting anything you want in your space. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like the bed next to the window in the other room. Is that ok?” He walked across the kitchen and entered the bedroom where he had put one bed against the window and the other against the opposite wall. There was only about 4 feet between the beds, but it was a dorm after all. Shane just nodded. “Hey Shane. I’m going to leave here in a few minutes to go meet up with some friends I haven’t seen since the beginning of summer. You are more than welcome to come if you want,” Cliff said warmly, looking at Shane. Finally Shane looked at him and quietly said, “No, I’m ok. Thanks for inviting me though.” “Ya, no problem. Anytime. I’m going to shower and get ready but make yourself at home.” Cliff turned on his heels and walked into the bedroom where he began to undress. As he was walking into the room, he pulled his shirt off and Shane stared at his back. Cliff was so at ease with himself. He didn’t have a perfect body, but he looked like he was well worked out. His back was broad and thick; his shoulders round with pendulous triceps. He was shirtless with only his form fitting brown dungarees on. He could see a strip of bright red briefs wrapping around Cliff’s waist just peeking out above his pants. And that ass. It didn’t look like it was made of stone, but it was thick and muscular. It looked like the rest of Cliff, comfortable and powerful. Cliff peeled his pants off so that he was just wearing his red briefs and still had his back to Shane. Shane blushed and felt himself getting turned on. Just then, Cliff turned around and grabbed the towel that was hanging off the door and walked into the bathroom. He just barely caught Shane staring at him and noticed the bulge in his pants. He shot him that warm smile and walked into the bathroom. As he shut the door behind him he chuckled to himself, “Looks like Shane is gay.” Shane stood there, mortified. He knew Cliff saw him staring. And he knew that his shorts couldn’t cover up his boner. He shook his head, disgusted with himself, and opened up his duffle and box to unpack his few belongings. “You doing alright in there?” Cliff called out from the bedroom as he was changing. “If you need anything, just use mine. We’re roommates now, so what’s mine is yours.” “Thanks,” Shane said quietly from the kitchen, “but I’m ok.” “Do you have something to eat for dinner? You don’t look like you brought much.” Shane was in the kitchen still. He hadn’t sat down or taken anything into the bedroom. Cliff walked out of the room just as Shane was pulling out a 36 pack of Top Ramen opening up one package and placing it into a small pan of water. “That stuff will kill you!” Cliff barked and started to laugh. “I can’t eat that shit. It makes me sick.” He said it in good fun and what Cliff didn’t know is that Shane knew this. He could tell what people were feeling. It was more than observation, it was empathic. Still, the comment somehow hurt him and he felt that he had to respond. “Ya, I know but I don’t have any money until next week when my financial aid comes in, so this will do for now.” He looked mortified and crestfallen. He was obviously embarrassed, but he already knew that Cliff wouldn’t mock him. “No fucking way, Shane. Ok, well eat that, but hold on.” Cliff walked over to the fridge and took out a rotisserie chicken he had bought earlier that day, some veggies, and herbs. In a total of two minutes, he had put some cubed chicken and the veggies in the pot with the ramen noodles. “It might taste like shit, but it will be better for you with some protein and fresh things.” Shane looked at Cliff straight in the eye for only the second time. He started to tear up a little bit and bit down on his lip. “Thank you, Cliff. I won’t forget how kind you were to me today.” Cliff looked at him puzzled, but Shane seemed sweet and innocent so he just let it go. What did he mean by that? Just then a loud bang on the door startled them both. “Get out here you big fuck,” bellowed another voice. It was Rich. “We have to get going. I’m hungry as fuck. Are you ready you big queer?” Cliff opened the door and Rich barged in. “Too bad you have some idiot loser as a roommate,” Rich spouted looking at his friend. “I heard about it. Jesse told me he looks like some homeless piece of shit.” Rich looked at Cliff who just shook his head quickly and glanced over at Shane who was staring straight at Rich. Cliff knew that Rich was an ass. He could get away with it… usually. He was a stud with a perfect body. Vascular arms with well built and rounded muscles that oozed confidence, a tight waist with abs visible through the tight shirts he wore for the ladies, and long muscular thighs atop athletic lower leg muscles. He new he was hot and he didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. “Rich! Shut the fuck up.” Cliff looked visibly pissed off. He looked at Shane sitting at the table getting ready to take his first bite of dinner and he could see his eyes getting glassy. “God, you are such an ass sometimes,” Cliff barked at his friend. “Shane, this is my idiot friend, Rich. Rich, this is my new roommate Shane.” Rich smirked and walked over and stuck out his hand to shake Shane’s. Shane felt something very mean about Rich. He could feel it like a white hot iron. Rich was cruel and arrogant. He was not to be trusted. Shane didn’t look him in the eye, but stretched his hand out to shake the other’s hand. He just stared at his dinner bowl. “Fuck man. Lets get out of here,” Rich said as he headed for the door. Cliff put his hands up as if to say, “Hang on a sec.” “Shane,” he could sense the emotions building up on Shane’s face; he looked like he was trapped. But when Cliff said his name, he seemed to relax a bit. “Shane, look at me bro. “ Cliff crouched down next to Shane at the table so that his eyes were slightly lower. “Don’t listen to anything that Rich says. He can be a real piece of work. He just opens his mouth without thinking and it hurts sometimes. He’s made me fighting mad so many times, but he’s my friend and he’s a good guy… usually.” Shane looked at Cliff again. Cliff felt as if Shane was reading deeply into his eyes. Like he was sizing Cliff up on some subconscious level. “Please eat and unpack and I wont be long. I want to get back to I can get to know you a bit more, ok?” The quiet one nodded his head and again looking into Cliff’s eyes and whispered, ‘Thanks Cliff. Thank you for being so nice to me.” With that, Cliff got up and turned around to join Rich in the hallway. He shut the door and Shane heard Rich start laughing, “Your roommate is a freak man. Holy shit. You are screwed.” “Fuck off, Rich.” And he heard a thud. Cliff punched Rich hard in the shoulder. Shane could sense that Cliff meant it when he punched Rich and he smiled and started to eat. A couple of hours later, Cliff returned from his dinner with friends. He walked in and closed the front door slowly. Shane was sitting on the couch. His box and duffle were in the corner, empty. There was nothing new on the shelves in the kitchen and he could see that there was a blanket spread out on Shane’s bed in the next room. Shane looked over at Cliff as he put the leftovers from dinner in the fridge. Shane hadn’t put anything into the fridge either. “I guess he is going to try to live on Top Ramen,” Cliff thought to himself. “Did you get all settled in?” he asked. “Ya. I don’t have much. I wanted to say thanks for sticking up for me with your friend, Rich. You didn’t have to do that.” “Rich gets what he deserves. Well, not usually, but he deserved to get a good punch for what he said about you. You are my roommate now and I’ve got your back. I don’t like talking shit about people like Rich does. I’m an optimist.” Cliff walked over to Shane and sat down next to him on the couch. “So let’s get acquainted.” He sat cross-legged on the couch facing his new roommate. Shane opened himself up in that way that only he could, probing the emotions and sentiments of the people he is around. He could sense that Cliff really did want to know about him; to understand him. He could tell he was good. He felt a certain valiance about Cliff. He was emotionally strong, stable, and substantive-much like his physical body. Shane could feel the concern and worry that Cliff had for him, although they had just met. Cliff wasn’t wary. He wasn’t afraid. He wanted to know why his roommate wouldn’t look him in they eye, why he flinched when Cliff tried to grab his bag to help him, and why he didn’t own anything. He could feel that Cliff had questions as he looked into his roommate’s eyes. There was something else there as well, but he couldn’t identify it. “Well? Shane, you can tell me anything. I have heard a lot from my friends about their lives. Nothing that you say will bother me.” Somehow, Cliff felt that Shane was much more of a risk to himself than to anyone else. He also had an intuition about people that he had learned to trust. He didn’t realize that Shane had a much more developed sense, but Cliff was good at reading people. The young man that was only a year younger than him had cowered all day like a puppy that had peed on the carpet. It was concerning but not scary. He knew from the look in Shane’s eyes earlier at the dinner table that Rich’s comments had really gotten to him. Sometimes he just wanted to punch Rich’s teeth in for being such a fucking jerk. He didn’t notice, but when he thought this, Shane lifted the corners of his mouth in a subtle smile. “Ya Cliff. I wish you would have punched him in the face and knocked that smug look right off of it!” Shane thought to himself. But back to the moment… “Cliff, I don’t really like to talk about myself much. Could you tell me something about you? Something about your family or…?” “Oh, sure! I love my family. We are so close. I am the oldest of four – two boys and two girls. Boy, girl, boy, girl. My parents live about 3 hours from here in a little farm town. I grew up there. My parents are my best friends and my siblings are all married and have kids. Seriously, it’s like a fucking Disney movie. “ He laughed and smiled that devastating smile as he related to Shane more about his background. Shane could feel his good mood and energy and was eagerly lapping it up. He had never felt this sort of positive energy. Cliff stopped his story. He could tell Shane was lost in it. Shane’s eyes were glazed over and he was smiling a little. “Shane, how about you?” Shane’s expression changed dramatically. The smile went away. The warmth on his face was gone. Shane teared up again. He knew he could be honest. He knew, instinctually, that Cliff wouldn’t laugh at him or his wreck of a life. “I have a very different story. I don’t know who my parents are. I don’t know where I come from. I know that I am alone.” He was visibly shaken. His voice was trembling and Cliff wanted to just reach out and hug him and make him feel better – that was his way. But he hesitated and felt that it would violate some boundary. Shane was delicate right now and was exposing himself in a way that Cliff felt very careful of. “I have lived in over fifty foster homes in my life. Until I fell out of the system when I was 18, I had never lived in the same place for more than a year. It was easier when I was younger, but when I hit puberty, things were different. I wouldn’t spend more than a couple of months in a house at a time” Cliff nodded at him, urging him to go on. “I have never really had friends. My foster families would always think I was too socially awkward or ashamed of me to let me get to know anyone very well. In every single place I was placed, I would scare them I guess. No one has ever treated me like you have been treated every day of your life. I have no stories of birthdays or happy holidays or friends to go to dinner with.” He sounded more and more upset and angry as he continued. “No one has ever treated me with any respect or any compassion. I have always been on my own…alone. Some people chose that road, but not me. It was forced on me. I don’t want my past to ruin the rest of my life, but I don’t know what to do about it. I think I am a monster. Every one of my foster parents said as much eventually…before they asked for me to be relocated.” A knot rose up in Cliff’s throat. This guy was just laying it all out there – he thought so anyway. “Cliff, what you did tonight – offering me your food and hospitality and kindness – no one has every been that kind to me. Especially when they get to know me better…know things about me. I don’t want you to be like them and I can tell that you are not.” He looked Cliff right in the eyes and Cliff just wanted to hold him and wrap his big beefy arms around this little guy. “I don’t really want to say anything else right now but I want you to know that I haven’t met anyone like you before. You make me feel safe.” He cut the last word off as he said it. Almost as if he knew that it had gone too far, for him anyway. He didn’t want to scare Cliff away or make things uncomfortable-or come out of the closet. Shane could feel Cliff’s emotions welling up within him. He could exquisitely sense his big roommate’s desire to comfort him. Cliff went to reach out to put his arm around him and Shane pulled away. “Thank you again, Cliff. I think I need to go to bed soon and I’d like to be alone here for a minute.” “Shane, you can tell me anything. Whenever you are ready to talk, you can tell me anything. I can take it. I’m not going anywhere.” Cliff was the emotional one now. His roommate had never felt love in his life. He didn’t know what it was to really hug someone; to hug his mom or dad or brother or sisters. He didn’t know what it was to have friends. He stood up and walked to the bedroom leaving Shane on the couch. Shane watched as Cliff’s big beefy back and legs walked away. He let out a little whimper. He wanted so bad to just reach out and touch Cliff, but that could get dangerous. He had learned that the hard way. Cliff whipped around and caught Shane looking at his ass. He just smiled. “Shane, you’ll be safe here. Now, shower and go to bed. Let’s hang out tomorrow, ok?” Shane nodded. He knew that he would do whatever Cliff asked. He surrendered to his roommate’s will and desires because for the first time, he knew that someone would protect him. Cliff was the one truly decent human being that he had ever met and the only one he wanted to make happy. He smiled a genuine smile for the first time in a long while and got into the shower just as Cliff had asked him to. He washed himself off and towel dried. He knew that this body was just a shell of the man that he could be, but he was still ashamed. Twenty-two years of hiding who he was would not go away in the span of one brief evening. Somehow, he knew that Cliff wouldn’t care if he were different. He also knew that he would do whatever Cliff asked – he was strong where Shane was not. Shane smiled as he realized that the opposite was also true. After showering, Shane quietly went into the bedroom. The corners of his mouth turned up to smile as he heard Cliff breathing heavily and snoring lightly—more like a purr than a snore. He climbed into bed and relived the last few hours of his life. Something had changed. Maybe it was hope. Whatever it was, he was horny and he couldn’t help but touch himself. Cautiously, he looked over at his big, strong, handsome, kind roommate and started to rub the head of his cock. It was too warm in the room to go under his covers and have more privacy so he decided to stay on top of them. He spit into his hand and rubbed the swelling knob with his palm. Working his way down slowly toward the base, he felt the veins along the shaft start coming to the surface. He could feel them individually. Shane knew that he had extra senses and when he was sexually aroused, his senses were even more acute. He could feel the throbbing of his cock begin in earnest. He could not take his eyes off of Cliff’s body laying just a few feet away. Cliff slept on his side and he was looking at the most beautiful man he had ever seen sleeping soundly just at a little over an arm’s length. He pumped his cock more and more. It steadily grew until it reached a limit with the body he had forced upon himself. He thought that a thick 10” cock would be a perfect maximum for his 5’ 9” edition. Shane eyed Cliff up and down. Cliff had not crawled under the covers either. It was too warm. Seattle is not known for its need for air-conditioning. Instead, he had stripped to his boxers. His chest was thick and hard without effort. It lacked the striations and veins that Shane knew existed under his own body, but Cliff was undeniably one of the most masculine men that Shane had met. He exuded strength. He also knew that Cliff wanted to be ripped and huge like his fucking goon-friend Rich. The thought of Rich made Shane’s blood boil. But never mind that now. Shane kept pumping his cock. His hand was getting warm. Spit is not the best lubricant. His forearm was getting tired with the action that it had gotten tonight. But this was the body that he had forced upon himself. He would have to deal with the weaknesses for the time being. Just then, Cliff’s eyes shot open. Shane yelped and tried to flip around to avoid Cliff’s stare. “Shane, are you awake?” Silence. “Shane, I know you are awake. I have been for the past few minutes. It’s ok.” Shane was terrified. He could tell that Cliff was being honest – he could ALWAYS tell if someone was being honest. “Shane. It’s ok. I’m gay too. It’s ok, Shane.” Shane froze. He didn’t move a single muscle. He willed his heart to stop beating and it did. He willed every fiber in his body to stop moving. No electrical impulses were being fired outside of his central nervous system. He was a dead ship in the water, utterly still. “Shane, please. It’s ok. Please, talk to me.” Cliff knew that his new friend was delicate and the most timid person he had met. He needed to handle this delicately. On the other side of the room, Shane heard one thing that Cliff said and it resonated with him. He had, after all, told himself that he had surrendered to Cliff, entirely and completely. The only thing he cared about in the moment was Cliff’s request, “Please, talk to me.” “Cliff, I’m afraid.” “Why? Shane, it’s ok. Whatever you say, I can handle.” “Cliff, I’m gay. I’m gay! I’ve never said that before or out loud to anyone. Please don’t kick me out of your room. I don’t know what I’d do.” There was a certain desperate quality in his voice. “Hey man. I’m gay too, remember? I think I said that a few seconds ago.” Shane was so caught up in the emotion of the moment and the fact that he had willed his body to stop its normal functions; he had barely heard Cliff say that. “Shane, come over here. I’m not going to hurt you.” Shane allowed his heart to start beating and the rest of his body to start working again. He got out of his bed, naked, and stood up next to Cliff who was still lying on top of his bed on his side. “You don’t have to worry about me.” Cliff reached his big arm out and touched Shane’s left thigh. He just left his hand there. Shane could feel something amazing happening but he didn’t know what it was. He had never felt what he felt now. One thing he knew – Cliff was communicating with him on a different level. Cliff was starting to get hard too. “Shane, please move your bed next to mine. I think tonight we should cuddle.” Shane heard the directive and pushed the bed closer to his Master’s bed. The frames bumped up against each other. Shane crawled on top of his bed and lay in the middle, not knowing what to do. His heart was racing and his mind was on fire. Nothing like this had ever happened to him in his 22 years. He felt Cliff’s emotions rolling off of his body. He felt love and lust and compassion and caring. He felt that Cliff wanted him. He had NEVER felt wanted. His body and mind told him that he was irrevocably tied to this man. Anything, ANYTHING Cliff asked for would be granted to him. Shane almost (almost) felt normal, like any other guy. “Shane, get on top of your bed and then move towards my body…please.” “Cliff, don’t say the word ‘please’ to me. I will do you whatever you ask without question and without thought to consequence. You are different from anyone that I have ever met. I trust you… and I have never trusted anyone before.” Shane crawled slowly on top of the king sized bed that Cliff had commanded to be made. Cliff reached out his arm toward Shane and grabbed his shoulder, drawing him in. Shane’s tenuous resolve almost broke. He was trying to maintain control. Cliff pulled Shane closer. “I know this is scary for you. If you would like to, just back up into me and we can spoon. I’ll be the big spoon and you can be the little spoon.” “I don’t know what you mean. Spoon?” ‘Yes. I will cup your body into mine. It feels good.” “Cliff, don’t say things like ‘if you would like to.’ Anything you ask me to do, I will do. Anything.” Shane felt a pulse of energy coming from Cliff. Cliff desired him. He really truly desired him. Shane nestled into the larger man’s embrace. Shane was hard. All ten inches. Cliff wasn’t too far behind with a solid nine, and thick. Cliff put his arm around his new friend and just held him close. Cliff put a top-sheet over them both and thought how lucky he was to be able to care for his new roommate. There was something about Shane that drew him in. He hadn’t felt this kind of love in a long time. Shane, on the other hand, was attempting to control every muscle in his body. “FUCK!” he kept repeating inside of his head. “I have to slow down. I have to calm myself. I can’t lose the one person in my existence that really cares about me. I don’t want him to think that I am a monster.” Cliff brought Shane in closer. Shane could feel Cliff’s ample cock against his back. He noticed things about Cliff in this moment that he had not noticed before. He noticed how his chest had a light dusting of fur. He noticed his happy trail that erupted next to his navel and marched down to his crotch. He noticed that Cliff’s pecs were much harder than they looked from a casual glance. His nipples were beautiful and perfect quarter sized – well, maybe a bit bigger. He noticed Cliff’s breath on his own neck. It was warm and soft and eager. Shane could sense everything. He was losing control of himself…of the monster that was inside of him. And then it happened. He felt himself start to cum. He didn’t know that it could happen like this. His cock grew and lengthened. But something else happened too. His entire body shook. The barriers that he had made with other people in his life vanished in a moment. Shane embraced Cliff…embraced him in a way that made them one person. He could see Cliff in a way that Cliff couldn’t see himself. Shane surrendered. Shane knew he could get bigger and more powerful, but he didn’t know what that would mean for Cliff, so he tempered the effect and decided to re-set up barriers until he knew how Cliff would respond. Cliff—on the other hand—felt Shane change. He was emitting an energy that Cliff had never felt and somehow, it felt right and good – and extension of himself. Cliff gasped. He was feeling Shane’s body one second, warm and giving. The next second, Shane’s body was hard as steel. He couldn’t see with his eyes what was happening since it was dark in the room, but it felt powerful and like nothing he had experienced in his short 23-year life. Cliff didn’t know what was happening, but he did know one thing—Shane had opened himself up and Cliff wanted to give Shane the love and tenderness that he deserved and something that he had never felt. He continued to rub Shane’s shoulders and back and the petrification of Shane’s body commenced in earnest. Slowly and deliberately, Shane allowed himself to adapt into the being that he had feared. He grew harder. Everything on his body grew harder. Cliff said aloud, “Shane, I don’t know what’s happening, but I want to see it. I know there is something…something that you aren’t telling me, but that I can feel. I need, want, and must see it.” Shane simply responded, “Yes, Master. I know that you need to see this.” Shane lifted his index finder the smallest of degrees, coaxing the light switch to turn on from a dozen feet away. The room lit up with a warm incandescent light. Shane crawled off the bed and Cliff was lying supine staring at his new roommate. “What would you like to see, Cliff?” Cliff looked at the previous weakling that he had been talking with just a short while before and saw a GOD of muscle and strength. “Shane, please tell me what is happening. I can feel it, but my mind doesn’t know how this is possible.” “Cliff, Master. Should I call you Cliff or Master?” “Cliff. ‘Master sounds so weird.” “Cliff, this is the reason that I have never been loved. When growing up in foster care, I would start changing when I felt my foster family began to like me. I felt that their emotions were powering my body. I know that is foolish now.” Cliff began to understand what Shane had gone through. “I felt strong and invincible. But when my body began to change going through puberty, I couldn’t control it as much. I didn’t know I needed to. No one gave me guidance. No one loved me. “ “Shane, I am so sorry.” The waves of compassion that Cliff felt rippled through Shane and he began to grow again. It was more intense. Shane was responding to Cliff’s warmth. It was something so natural to them both. With the lights on now, Cliff could see what was happening. “Master Cliff?” Cliff winced. He didn’t like being called Master. “Yes Shane.” Shane’s body trembled as Cliff said his name. He was becoming hypersensitive to what Cliff wanted, needed, desired, or demanded. “Yes, Shane?” He repeated. Shane’s cock began expanding again at the sound of his name on the lips of the only man in his life that meant shit to him. Just the sound of Cliff saying his name made him raging hard. “Master Cliff…hmmmm… I mean Cliff… Sorry. I know you aren’t ready to be called Master quite yet. I am nervous about something. I am not as good as you are. I am not kind and pure and gentle. I don’t have positive regard for everyone like you do. If I am honest, I would like to kick Rich’s ass for making me feel embarrassed in front of you, Cliff. I want all of those foster parents to know how they made me feel. I want the guys that beat the shit out of me growing up to know that they fucked with the wrong kid. If I had developed to my potential then, I would have destroyed them all and I probably would have laughed about it. There is darkness in me that I am afraid of. I need you to help me Cliff. It scares me. I wish I was more like you.” Cliff watched Shane flex his slowly expanding muscles involuntarily, like he was just feeling them out, wanting to know that they were there. Cliff put his lips close to Shane’s ear and whispered. “Shane.” Shane let out a deep-throated moan at the utterance of his name by his owner. He looked almost crazed. The only thing he wanted was to please Cliff. It was arousing him and feeding him power that he had only begun to feel. Cliff’s mouth curled in a smile at the effect he was having on Shane. He wanted to fuck him but he wasn’t sure Shane was ready for that yet. “I will always be here for you, Shane. It is ok. Just like you jerking off watching me sleep, this is ok too. I don’t judge you for your past. I don’t blame you for wanting to mess up Rich and his pretty face, or the other people that have let you down. But I will never let you down. I care about you already and I know you know that.” Cliff leaned in and kissed Shane on his forehead. The veins in Shane’s body rose to the surface. Snaking around invisible boundaries and shields, thousands of vessels sprung up all over Shane’s body. On his shoulders, on his arms, on his abs, and face. Around his skull and down his traps where they nestled in his pecs. Angry finger-width vessels hugged his arms like a newborn to its mother. His legs were a veritable 3D puzzle of hard-as-stone muscle and sausage-width veins demanded attention. They were feeding something that was on the verge of being born. They were anxious and angry and pleased when Cliff commanded, “Show me what you are!” In the matter of a second, Cliff’s pulsing cock exploded a bounty of cum onto Shane’s chest. Shane looked like a rabid animal, snarling and gnashing his teeth in the air. “Yes! I will show you what I am!!!!” Shane howled with his head thrust back and pressing his chest toward the sky. The snakes that slithered all over Shane’s body pulsed with his heartbeat. They grew more thick and menacing. Cliff reached out to touch one and as he got close, the vein seemed to reach out for his touch. It seemed to respond to him. He pushed down and the snake that slithered across Shane’s upper pec bowed down to him and disappeared under the marble surface. Shane growled and emitted a sound somewhere between an orgasmic moan and the collapse of a mountain or eruption of a volcano. He looked at Shane’s face then down to his body. He touched the muscles that had been fed by the still-present snakes of vasculature. The muscle felt like stone, but instead of cold harshness, it felt warm and inviting. He knew that Shane was inviting him to enjoy this feeling and the compliance of his body to Cliff’s will. The solid chord of chest muscle leaping out of Shane’s pecs were delineated by a deep chasm – deeper than the individual bundles of muscle that rippled across Shane’s chest. Shane’s delts looked as if they were about to be over taken by a fleet of encroaching threads, but the threads were not threatening… they were muscle fibers willed into existence by Cliff’s request. Distinct. Hot. Pulsing. “Bigger!” Cliff thought and without saying anything aloud, Shanes delts exploded in every direction, every thread, sinew, and bundle fighting for real estate. He reached out to touch the newly formed monolith and as he touched the skin, he could feel electricity arcing out toward his fingers. Little sparks were being generated between himself and the muscle he commanded to grow in Shane’s shoulders. Cliff saw Shane’s neck and almost blacked out. The entire surface was covered with wriggling serpents under the skin. He looked at Shane’s chest. Giant slithering blood vessels moved freely just under the surface. He looked at Shane’s abs. Angry pythons engorged themselves upon Shane’s stomach with smaller tributaries branching off of the larger vessels. He looked at Shane’s arms. The monstrous veins were feeding something that lied beneath. He didn’t know how, but he knew that the veins weren’t the parasites; the veins were nourishing whatever was growing. Somehow, in the depths of his being, Cliff knew that this monstrous beast was being fed by the vasculature that he had just witnessed and he, Cliff, was in control of it. He was its Master. Finally he felt himself overcome by what he saw and felt. “Shane! Shane!” He reached out and grabbed Shane’s arm. The touch of his fingers against Shane’s skin caused the formerly quiet and cautious Shane to howl and begin convulsing. He shook and trembled. Cliff looked down into Shane’s eyes. They were open now but entirely black. Black as India Ink or the darkest of nights. Even without the pupils of normal eyes, Cliff knew that Shane was looking directly at him. Shane smiled wickedly and said, “Master, I will not make further requests of you, but I would ask for you to test the boundaries of my power. I do not know what I am capable of. Cliff, you make me feel safe and protected.” Cliff couldn’t believe that the thing that Shane was slowly becoming would need safety and protection from a mere mortal, but somehow, he understood that it was true. Shane needed love and caring. He needed to feel protected and safe. That is what he desired above all else. Then it became clear to Cliff. The muscle beast Shane was on the verge of becoming, the monster his arteries were now feeding, was only concerned with those basic needs. It didn’t matter how powerful Shane became. He would first need to feel the acceptance and unconditional positive regard that Cliff could give him. Cliff was that kind of guy. He could feel Shane’s power and strength growing without even touching him. “Are you afraid, Shane?” Shane once again convulsed at the mention of his name. It echoed in his mind. Cliff’s loving voice was ricocheting inside of his head and it made him need more. He composed himself for a moment. “I am afraid that you will cast me aside if I become something that you detest or find grotesque.” “Don’t you worry about that. I love muscle. “ Cliff grabbed a hold of Shane’s developing quads, picked out one of the muscles wrestling on the surface and applied pressure. It was hard, but it gave way to Cliff’s touch. “See that there? “ motioning to Shane’s growing quads. “We need more of that.” Cliff’s smiled and put his hand on the side of Shane’s cheek. “You want to test your boundaries? Let’s take you out for a spin.” Shane, with his marble hard body and expanding vasculature, looked into Cliff’s eyes and felt more love than has been known to man. The last thing that Cliff heard before his passed out was a loud crack and the sound of a mountain growing, moaning, and rumbling. =================================================================================== =================================================================================== Part II He heard rain hitting the windowpane. Everything was warm. And then he heard a soft whimper. Where was he? He didn’t remember why he was laying in bed. “Oh, shit!” Cliff thought to himself. “Cliff, I am so sorry. I was worried you would be afraid of me.” He glanced over at Shane’s bed. He wasn’t on it. “I…I…” He heard what sounded like a muffled sob and then silence. Cliff moved his eyes to the corner of the room and saw something shaking in the dark. The lights were back off. “Shane? Shane is that you over there? It’s dark and I can’t see. I think I hit my head on something and it knocked me out for a second.” “I tried to catch you but…but…but it all happened so fast. I can pack up and leave tonight Cliff. Jesse is downstairs working on the move-in papers for the guys moving in tomorrow. I’m sure he would let me sleep in the common room on the couch. I am so sorry.” “Shane, listen to me. You could tell how I felt and what I was feeling earlier, right?” “Yes.” “Tell me how I am feeling. What kind of emotion am I feeling?” “Worry. Fear. Mostly worry though… and some sadness.” “Why would I be worried Shane? Why would I be sad? I saw something a few minutes ago that I don’t understand and now I can’t see you and I’m lying in bed with a huge headache and a roommate that I really liked shaking in the corner. And now he says he’s leaving. And I don’t know why. Of course I’m worried and sad and a little fearful. Wouldn’t that be normal? What are you feeling, Shane? Not me. You.” Cliff could hear Shane adjusting himself in the corner. He was big but it was so dark, he couldn’t see him. Somehow he knew that this conversation had to happen on Shane’s time and playing by Shane’s rules. Turning on the light or demanding that Shane come closer to the bed would make things worse. “I feel destroyed. I feel terrified of you and of myself. I feel sorry. And most of all, I feel ashamed of so many things. Why didn’t I catch you before you collapsed on the floor? That is what I am feeling.” Cliff noticed for the first time that it was Shane’s voice, but it was different in a way. It had a quality that was silky smooth and deeper – less adolescent and more adult. Deep and resounding, yet he was speaking so quietly. Cliff thought very carefully about the next few sentences he would speak. He didn’t know what was in the corner – of course he was afraid. He knew that it wasn’t the Shane that walked into the apartment a few hours earlier. “Hey, listen. I want you to think of earlier today. I want you to think of how much I enjoyed talking to you. Sitting out there on the couch, making that chicken and veggie ramen,” he smiled thinking of how bad that must have tasted to Shane. Cliff was not a good cook, “and how good it felt when you cuddled up next to me just 10 minutes ago. Think of that. And now think of how I reacted when I knew you were different, when you started changing. Shane, what did I do? Did I freak out? Did I panic? Answer me that question.” Shane felt compelled to answer. He had surrendered to Cliff and that was a powerful bond. “You seemed to like it, at least in the moment. You touched me and I could feel that you wanted me and you wanted me to keep changing.” “Shane, listen. I am not asking you to come out of that corner until you are ready. I will stay here, laying on the bed until you are ready to talk to me. But as God as my witness, I will not leave this room, and neither will you, until you are ready to look at me and talk about this. And just to be clear, I see you pushed your bed away from mine. That is ok, but you are sleeping here in this room tonight…That isn’t up for discussion.” He added that last part in hopes that somehow it would resonate with the submissive side that Shane was showing to him earlier. He did really love Shane, although he didn’t know how that was possible in such a short amount of time. He thought, originally that it was just pity or his typical way of rooting for the underdog, but it wasn’t. He liked Shane in a way that ran deeper than friend, roommate, or even family. It was a very unique feeling. Above all, he wanted to keep Shane safe and protected. The poor guy had been through enough and obviously hated himself There was silence in the room for a few minutes. All either of them could hear was rain. Cliff glanced quickly at the clock on his nightstand. It was only 10:30. So much had already happened tonight. “Ok. I will talk to you face to face Cliff. Please promise me that whatever you see…no, I wont ask you to make any promises.” Cliff looked toward the corner of the room but continued lying on top of his bed. He wanted Shane to do this his way. He heard a couple of footsteps on the floor that sounded much more solid than would come from a thin barefoot kid. He looked toward the sound and saw something hulking. It sat on Shane’s bed and he turned his head toward Shane. “Cliff, can we talk now? Cliff looked at the ceiling quickly, swung his legs around and sat upright on top of his bed. He had his eyes closed. “Yes, let’s talk.” He opened his eyes and let out a gasp. In front of him sat every wet dream that he had ever had wrapped into one. He looked at Shane’s eyes. They appeared to be black pearls. Where anyone else would have white, his looked like deepest night. For some reason, he thought they were beautiful. He started looking over the rest of Shane. His face had widened and become more defined. He had developed a square jaw and his lips were thick and pursed – perfectly kissable. His neck was corded with long thick muscle like a football linebacker’s neck, but infinitely more powerful and defined. He could see blood vessels encasing the ropes traveling from his jaw and down to his collarbone. Networks of them were cast just under what appeared to be milky-white skin. He followed the curve of Shane’s traps. They started at his ear level and went straight out an inch or so and then bulged up like a bicep. He could see striations and knots moving under the skin, wriggling like tiny snakes trying to escape the shrink-wrapped infinitesimally thin covering that kept them from bound to his body. Cliff kept going, tracing his eyes along the top of Shane’s right trap over to where his delts inserted. He had a flashback of a few moments before when he had thought “Grow!” when he had been looking at them before. He remembered how they exploded out of Shane’s body at his command and how much definition was in them. He couldn’t make that out now, sitting in the dark, but he could still see massive pencil thick veins spread over them like a web and hundreds of tiny capillaries adding their precious cargo back into them. He looked down and saw that Shane had his arms to his side. His enormous shoulder was a foot and a half across. It sloped sharply down and in, toward Shane’s body where the thousands of swollen fibers smashed into the thing that was Shane’s arm. Arm didn’t seem like the right word. This beastly thing reminded Cliff of a rubgy ball that had been expanded to the point of rupture. It was the same size and shape. Two major veins forced themselves down over the top and secondary feeder veins criss-crossed the entire surface. Cliff could see them pulsing ever so slightly. He had the distinct impression that they were just waiting for something else…just waiting. Like everything else Cliff saw, the muscle was sequestered into so many divisions and subdivisions, down to the finest of detail. Individual fibers could be easily distinguished from others. Even in the dark. He looked back into Shane’s liquid black eyes. He thought that Shane must have been holding his breath. He was so still. Shane hadn’t taken his stare off of Cliff even for a millisecond. He was waiting on him to take it all in. Their eyes met and Cliff noticed his heart racing. He was breathing heavily and could feel himself getting warm and flushed still staring into those black pools of Shane’s eyes. Shane was waiting. Motionless. “Shane. I am not afraid. In fact, I have a boner, bud. Is that weird?” He nervously chuckled to himself. The mountain stayed motionless but somehow his expression changed…warmed. Cliff decided that he had to do something more to convince Shane. His emotion detector seemed to be off-line for the moment. He didn’t know why, but he knew that Shane had, over the course of the past few minutes, erected powerful and impenetrable barriers against Cliff and he understood why. He started moving his right hand toward Shane. He leaned forward and never broke eye contact. As his hand got a few inches away from Shane, he saw the veins once again rise, as if to meet him. The muscle fibers that he could see a bit better now began to tense and bunch in the direction of Cliff’s hand, like they were reaching out to touch him, straining against the skin. Shane’s eyes never moved. He didn’t look like he was breathing, still. “I am going to touch you now, Shane. I am going to put my arm on your shoulder, ok?” Shane stared into Cliff’s eyes with those singularities of darkness. Cliff stopped. He wouldn’t do this without Shane’s say-so. Not now. “Cliff…” He stopped and for the first time, Cliff noticed what seemed to be tear tracks going down his cheeks. Not new tears, but only minutes old. “You don’t think I am a monster? You want to touch me?” “Fuck, Shane. I think you are beautiful. I cant even really see you and I think you are beautiful. It’s so damned dark in here.” Shane looked at Cliff in the same way he had earlier when Cliff had been cutting up chicken and vegetables to add to Shane’s ramen. It was adoration and complete devotion. He took began to breath and ripped the emotional walls down in an instant. He smiled and looked up at the light. It came on instantly. Shane rose to his feet slowly. Cliff watched in awe as his full appreciation of the being formerly known as Shane rose and expanded outward in every direction, slowly gaining his full height. He was tall now. Maybe 7 feet, Cliff guessed. The ceiling couldn’t take too much more height, as it was only 8 feet. His shoulders framed enormous traps, larger now that there was light to put things in perspective. The thick neck that he had noted before positively bulged with tendons, muscle and stretched skin. He finally was able to look at Shane’s chest. He followed down the crevasse that signified the borders between the two continents. The insertion points of the muscle fibers of Shane’s chest made a deep slot down the middle of the chest. Both sides looked as if they were fighting for territory and the battle would take place right in the middle. From there, Shane’s chest expanded outward gaining elevation away from the plane of his body for several inches. Horizontal ridges formed huge gashes separating the major muscle groups of Shane’s earth crushing pecs. Smaller chords formed bundles stretching across and gathering again in a bunch leading up to the insertion point where the thick bundle dove under Shane’s delts and into his armpit. Cliff’s eyes travelled down to the mini-boulders that were stacked so symmetrically on Shane’s abdomen. Deep cuts an inch deep surrounded each individual muscle. Each appeared to be an island pressing up against the others with that ever-present net of veins covering the surface. Just then, Cliff realized that Shane was still naked. How could he have not registered that before? Shane’s dick looked like it had been molded from the best porn star in the world. It was thick and long. Cliff guessed 10” soft. Then he saw the huge set of bull balls hanging low. Damn those things could make gallons of cum in a day. He still had his arm out to touch Shane and Shane was still staring at him but now with a genuinely beautiful smile. Cliff was naked too, and completely hard. He had no fear now and Shane could tell. Cliff moved his hand toward Shane’s chest. Just before he touched Shane’s skin, a short burst of electricity arced out to meet him. Just a small spark of piercing blue light, but he saw it and felt it. Shane offered a small deep groan. Cliff placed his hand palm down on the surface of the round mound of muscle teaming with pulsing veins. With Shane’s alabaster skin, he could really see the blue vessels crawling underneath, feeding the power that no doubt resided in them. His skin was unblemished and silky. It was warm, like an oven after baking is done. He looked up at Shane and Shane’s head was thrown back. The muscles tensed under Cliffs palm, a wave of activity pulsed through the pecs and it looked like a caged animal was trying to get out. “What is that Shane? What is under there? It looks like there’s a raccoon in your pec trying to claw its way out.” He curled his lips again in a smile. Shane lifted his head back up, looking wildly at Cliff. “I don’t know, Master Cliff. I have never been this big before or let myself grow this much. I can tell that I am far away from reaching my potential, but I don’t understand any of this myself. You will be able to get me there.” Cliff soothed the writhing mass under Shane’s chest, almost petting it and it slowly calmed down. He looked up at Shane and was overtaken by the man’s beauty. A shot of lightning raced across the sky outside. The thunder struck and it was still raining. Cliff’s mind was racing. He didn’t want to push his ripped friend too far. He knew that inside that beautiful hard and shredded body, Shane was still a scared foster kid, just a bit more grown up now. He was so turned on by the man he could barely keep focused. He wanted to run his hands all over Shane’s enormous and muscular body. He placed his other hand in one of Shane’s hands and held it for a moment. Then let go and worked his way up to Shane’s forearms. “Holy fuck, Shane!” Shane looked down quickly, terrified that something was wrong. Cliff had let go of Shane’s chest and both hands were running and rubbing Shane’s massive forearm. Cliff’s breath was racing and it was his turn to have wild eyes. He couldn’t take them off of Shane’s arm. The chords of muscle were insanely shredded. Cliff thought that just this one forearm looked as big as an Easter ham but with individual muscle fibers straining to escape the shrink-wrapped casing that they found themselves trapped by. And those thick, throbbing, angry vessels jockeying for space kept rising up to meet Cliff’s fingers as he caressed the largest forearm Cliff had ever seen. “Holy shit,” Cliff said out loud. Forearms had always been his favorite body part after chest. A man with ripped huge forearms was not to be messed with. Shane just smiled and looked at Cliff with his liquid black eyes. “I have never been happier in my life. I cannot believe that the one person that loved me before he saw me this way is not frightened by me now. Cliff, I have never felt this way about myself. I have never felt this way about anyone else.” Cliff looked into Shane’s eyes and rested his hands on Shane’s enormous bicep muscles. He could feel them pulsing, waiting, writhing underneath the surface. And then Cliff moaned. His balls constricted and he began to pump his seed all over Shane’s legs. Rivers of cum worked their way down the canyons and ravines that were Shane’s quads. How had Cliff missed Shane’s legs… his fucking huge legs. Cliff had always considered legs to be the most telling sign of male strength. Huge legs said a lot about a man’s power and Shane had power in spades. Mammoth slabs of striated and elongated muscle raced down to Shane’s knees from his waist--his impossibly narrow waist. Cliff thought that 28 inches around would be generous. From there down, the man exploded into striations and long mounds of pure strength, all the while maintaining some sense of aesthetics. Cliff’s cum was coursing down Shane’s quads like runoff on land that has seen too much rain. He noticed but couldn’t concentrate. He was too much in pure bliss. His eyes locked on Shane’s – those deep black pools that he wanted to be lost in, completely. Shane grabbed ahold of Cliff underneath his shoulders and lifted him up to eye level like he was a pet cat…he didn’t even struggle to lift Cliff’s meaty body. “How strong is this guy!? Cliff thought to himself. He was a ragdoll to Shane. “Cliff, I want to kiss you. I have never wanted anything so much in my life.” Cliff reached his arm around the neck of the man he loved—his huge striated thick neck—and leaned in to kiss Shane. Their lips touched and a burst of energy passed between them. Cliff felt a spark, it hurt, but it felt good. Shane’s body shook. The muscles tensed and became engorged with the blood that had been waiting in the vessels surrounding them. That blood was being pumped into them now and Shane’s monstrous muscles expanded. Individual fibers that were visible before now looked like their own cords. His chest expanded and his traps flexed like an overworked bicep, balling up and quivering. And then it was Shane’s turn to cum. His massive cock pulled back like a canon ready to fire. As if on command, volleys of thick white liquid shot out and met Cliff’s body, soaking his chest, groin, and legs with Shane’s essence. It was hot and sticky and smelled like pure testosterone. The moans emanating from Shane sounded more like wild lions fighting than anything human. He continued to empty quarts of thick juice onto Cliff’s elevated body and then he let go. He pulled back from Cliff and grabbed ahold of his cock with both hands. He looked at Cliff suspended in the air and kept pumping cum on him. Cliff felt that the softest velvet gloves were holding him up or suspended in a warm hot tub. He looked into Shane’s eyes looking back at his. He had never been happier. “What the fuck is going on in there Cliff!???!” He heard banging on the front door. “Cliff, are you ok? Is your fucking crazy roommate trying to kill you or what? OPEN THE DOOR, one of you or I will kick it in! Cliff? CLIFF!” They could hear the frenzy in Rich’s voice. He must have heard noise from his apartment below. “Shit, Shane. Rich will be through that door in a second. He’s strong as an ox and he probably thinks we are in some sort of fight. Shit.” “It’s ok Cliff.” Shane looked radiant. Shane slowly lowered Cliff from his careful suspension. As soon as he touched the ground, he moved quickly toward the front door to prevent a forced break-in, quietly closing the bedroom door behind him. Cliff grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around his waist. He pulled the front door open and glared at Rich. “What the hell man? You should have called my phone or something. You didn’t have to come barging up here!” “It sounded like there was an animal dying up here man. And I could hear the bed move, and then it got even louder, like some rhino in heat or something man. Don’t get pissed that I’m watching out for you. That fucking weirdo roommate, man. I thought he was trying to kill you! You smell like cum, dude. What the…? Are you fucking that weirdo?” “Shut up, Rich. You don’t know what you are talking about. If you want to get your face punched, you’ll keep talking. Otherwise, shut up!” Rich stormed into the apartment. He was only wearing his boxer briefs and his muscles were all visible. He must have run up from his bed. The rooms and halls were empty anyway until the dorms started filling up the next day. “Where is that little fucker? I have a few things I need to say to him! Shane, Sean, whatever the hell your name is…Get out here. We’re gonna talk.” Cliff hadn’t seen Rich this angry for a long time. What was his problem? Just then, the bedroom door opened and out came Shane looking terrified as he had before. Cliff’s eyes bugged out. Shane came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist as well. He looked thin and the same as when he arrived earlier that day. He locked eyes with Rich and then swung his glance over to Cliff. “Hey Rich. What’s up?” “I’ll tell you what’s up you little freak! You think you can just move in here all creepy and shit. Take off your clothes and play your victim role and Cliff falls for it. Then you crawl into bed with him and you trick him into fucking you. You make me sick! I’m going to beat the shit out of you, I swear to God.” “Rich! Stop it!” Cliff was moving toward him with his fists clenched. “If you have a problem with Shane, you have a bigger problem with me. Leave him alone!” The rage in Cliff’s voice was startling to everyone in the room, especially Rich who winced and stared at his friend. He had never heard that tone come from gentle kind Cliff’s throat. “What has he done to you Cliff? What has this little, ugly…” Cliff’s meaty fist connected with Rich’s jaw solidly. “Get out Rich.” Shane was standing with his mouth open staring at Rich’s face. Rich’s eyes were bugging out and his mouth was moving but no sound came out. A look of complete confusion spread across his face. He looked at Cliff and more than anger or rage, he looked at Cliff with hurt and confusion. He had never seen this side of Cliff in years. Cliff was his best friend. “Rich, I’m sorry, but you’d better go.” Rich grabbed ahold of his jaw and looked at Shane with an almost pleading look in his eyes then back at Cliff with the same look. Just as Rich had never seen Cliff with the look of complete rage in his eyes, Cliff had never seen Rich so submissive and confused. He walked to the door and quietly shut it behind him. Shane stood where he was staring at Cliff whose hand was still balled in a fist. There was concern mixed with confusion on his face. “Cliff, why did you do that?” Shane pleaded. “Why did you hit him?” “No one will talk to you like that when I am around. Someone finally needed to put him in his place. I will not allow someone to disrespect you like that. “ Shane walked over quickly to Cliff, dropping the towel around his waist as he did. He put his arms around Cliff and stretched up to kiss him. “Thank you for standing up for me. But don’t let me get in the way of you and your best friend.” He looked at Shane in the eyes again and saw them turning black, like swirls of ink in a whirlpool. “Cliff, you will need him on your side sooner than you think. I don’t know why, but I know this is true. You will need him. I will need him. Please go talk to him. He is down in his room. I can feel him. He is hurt from what you did as much as I have ever been in my life.” Cliff looked at Shane’s face. After all of the abuse he had faced in his life, physical and emotional, he was pleading with Cliff to go fix this. He really believed that Rich was important somehow and from what he had seen tonight, he was not about to question Shane. Cliff grabbed Shane’s hand and walked into the bedroom. “Get some clothes on Shane. You are coming with me.” Shane looked at Cliff and felt that Cliff was devastated from what he had done. “Ok Cliff.” He couldn’t deny Cliff a direct request and he knew that Cliff new best. They found themselves standing outside of Rich’s door a few minutes later waiting for him to answer. Cliff was holding Shane’s hand softly, carefully. He knew that Shane didn’t want to be here. He was trembling. He knew when there was a potential hostile situation. Rich opened the door in his underwear. He looked at Cliff directly in the eyes. His built muscular body, well-tanned from the summer, was slightly slumped. He looked defeated. “What do you want.” He didn’t even acknowledge Shane’s presence. “What Cliff? What do you want?” he repeated. His voice became more forceful and strained. The confusion that he had felt upstairs was starting to turn to rage. “Rich, we should talk.” “Fuck you, Cliff. And fuck this loser you’re with.” Cliff held onto Shane’s hand more tightly, squeezing it harder. “You know Cliff, I am going to kick your ass for that. YOU KNOW THAT, RIGHT!!?” Rich was yelling now. His hands clenching. Cliff stepped through the door with Shane in tow. “Rich, please. We need to talk.” “You are in MY house now! I don’t have to do as you say!” Rich roared. Cliff turned to close the door behind him, looking away from Rich to do so, his hand still holding onto Shane. Suddenly, Shane’s hand sparked. He could feel that same electricity that he felt when Shane was huge and muscular. The next thing that Cliff felt was Shane letting go of his hand. He heard the sound of meat on meat. The deep thud of tissue connecting with tissue. He looked up and Shane’s hand was cupped around Rich’s fist only an inch away from Cliff’s face. Rich had tried to crack Cliff in the head when he was closing the door. Shane had stopped him in his tracks. The look in Shane’s eyes was deadly. He couldn’t feel Shane’s emotions like Shane could sense his, but he knew that Rich was in a very very dangerous position. Shane’s eyes were swirling and Rich could see it too. “Don’t you touch him again,” Shane whispered. But it wasn’t an ordinary whisper. It sounded like a thousand thinly veiled threats covered with the finest silk. Deadly, powerful, and true. “What the hell?” Rich was staring at Shane’s eyes. He looked frightened. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. “Shane. Let go of Rich’s fist.” Shane looked over at Cliff. Their faces were close. It was a simple request. “Yes, Master.” Rich’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He looked apoplectic. He called Cliff “master?” Shane released Rich’s fist. It hurt. How tightly had that little guy been grasping his hand? It felt like it had almost been crushed. “We need to talk, Rich. There are some things that need to be said…First of all, Shane is with me now. You will never talk to him like you did earlier. You will have me to deal with and I will not stop with one punch next time. And I might just give Shane here permission to teach you a lesson. You got that?” “Holy shit, Cliff. What is going on here?” Rich still couldn’t believe the change in his friend. He had never seen Cliff angry like this. “You got that, Rich???” “Yes. But, what is happening.” He looked at Shane “Dude, you are strong! And what’s with those freaky eyes?” It wasn’t said with any spite… that’s just how Rich talks to everyone. Shane’s eyes had continued to swirl into blackness. Now he was staring at Rich like a snake does before striking. He was sizing him up. Cliff reached down and took Shane’s hand. “Rich, can we sit down?” “Fuck. Yes, I’m so confused and scared right now. Is Shane going to hurt me? He looks like he wants to.” Shane just kept staring at Rich, expressionless. “Shane, what do you feel from Rich?” “He is scared. You hurt him more than he wants to admit out loud. He is afraid of me but he doesn’t know why. More than anything, he is confused.” “Is he a threat?” “No, Master. He loves you very much and he will now tolerate me, I think.” “Who is this guy? ‘I love you very much?’ What does that mean?” Rich asked. “Shane can tell what you’re emotions are, Rich. He doesn’t lie.” They all sat down on the two couches facing each other in the small living area; Rich on one couch and Shane and Cliff on the other. It was Rich’s turn to feel like a caged animal. His beautiful tan surfer’s body was slumped over, hands on his knees looking at the two across from him. Cliff decided to speak first. “Hey man. We’ve been friends for a long time. Four years is a long time. You can be an asshole and you know it.” Rich nodded in agreement. “You need to let this one go. Don’t fight me on this Rich. Shane and I are together and that will not change. I need you to be ok with that. I know you just want to protect me since you don’t think I could know this guy. I mean, I did just meet him today, right?’ Rich nodded and started to say something. “Shane, show Rich a little of what you showed me earlier. You decide what that is, but he needs to know at least a little.” Shane didn’t question Cliff. He knew Cliff would know best in this situation. He stretched out is arm and raised his wrist up toward his shoulder with his hand pressed out in a fist. He looked quickly at Cliff and then back to his forearm. It exploded with writhing muscle and thick snakes coursing under the skin. His forearm grew and grew until it was the size of a gallon jug of milk but deeply divided. It looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to the muscles underneath. They looked inhuman and full of power unlike even what Cliff had seen earlier. No other muscles on Shane’s little body were experiencing the same growth. No others were expanding and pulsating with power. Shane was controlling the growth completely. Cliff reached over to stroke the cords that knotted up under the skin. Once again the veins seemed to reach out for Cliff’s touch. When he got close enough, there was that blue spark again and the muscles tensed and convulsed. He lay his open hand on the monstrous writhing beast of Shane’s arms and petted it slowly and softly, almost making a shush sound as he did so. The convulsive craze of his forearms calmed down, not all the way, but more than the frenetic first moments of Cliff’s touch. Rich’s mouth had dropped to the floor and there was a large wet spot on his underwear and a puddle on the ground. He couldn’t peel his eyes off of what he was seeing. Shane looked at Cliff. Their eyes were only inches away. Cliff was still stroking Shane’s forearm, settling the muscle contractions down. Cliff quickly glanced over to the couch across the small room to see Rich completely dumbfounded and staring at Shane’s one huge forearm. The wheels of his mind were working overtime attempting to process what was occurring. He looked at a complete loss. And Cliff noticed, he had pissed himself. He thought about making some cruel joke, but then thought better of it. How would he feel under the same circumstances? Cliff turned back to Shane who had never taken his eyes off of him. He was just waiting for Cliff’s command. An overwhelming feeling of well-being washed over Cliff. “How are you feeling, Shane? What are you thinking?” “I am thinking that I want to give you the world, and that I could do it, if you let me.” That comment surprised Cliff. He thought at first that it was just figurative speech, but immediately afterward, he wasn’t so sure. What was Shane capable of? What was his limit? Shane kept staring at him with those black eyes. He wasn’t smiling. He was contemplating how he would be able to give the world to Cliff. Cliff’s mind wandered and looked at Shane’s body with more lust than he had ever felt. He was horny, definitely. But what he had seen before, up in his bedroom, he wanted to see again. He glanced at the tight t-shirt Shane had put on to go downstairs to Rich’s apartment and all he thought was “Damn, I’d love to see you bust out of that shirt.” Immediately, Shane’s muscles exploded. Every single one of them instantly expanded, like a kernel of popcorn. Shane’s shirt ripped in 20 places in a matter of a second. Cliff moaned and reached out for Shane’s enormous body. He hadn’t gotten taller, but looked like he had gained 50 pounds of muscle. Shane reached up to touch Cliff’s face and just that action caused hundreds of waves of visible muscle fibers to stretch and flex. Rich let out a soft groan. He was the straightest man that had ever walked the campus—at least he liked to think so. But this moment was the hottest he had ever seen. Shane had blown up like a Mr. Olympia contestant in the middle weight class, but he was shredded so much further than he had ever seen any other human. And his vascularity was sick. Rich could almost see every muscle cell individually. They were so responsive to Shane’s movements that they seemed to be visibly waiting for their next orders. It was as if there was a hierarchy in the room. The one definitely in control was Cliff. Whatever Shane was, he was hanging on Cliff’s every word. Rich was immediately thankful that their personal fight seemed to be over. The young Adonis on the couch next to Rich’s best friend placed his hand on Cliff’s thigh and said simply, “I love you, Cliff.” And then expanded again. Every muscle was straining to fit under the skin of this muscle god. He still hadn’t grown in height, but another enormous amount of weight had been added to his frame. Rich could see Shane’s lats expanding beyond the confines of his shoulders and arms. Had he ever seen anyone’s lats push out far past the arm boundary? Now he had. Shane broke his stare with Cliff and looked now at Rich. His countenance turned dark and a touch menacing. “Do you want to fuck with me now, Rich? Do you? “ Shane had never felt like this. His body was electrified and he felt an inconceivable amount of power and strength flooding his body. He stood up and at under 6 feet tall, still looked like a mountain. He glanced at Cliff, almost apologetically. “Sorry, Master. I know you do not want me to harm your friend.” He looked back to Rich, “Rich, get me a knife.” Cliff looked at Shane incredulously. His monstrously muscular liege just said, “It’s ok, I want to show you something.” Rich was just standing there. He couldn’t move. Shane looked over to the kitchen and suddenly, every knife in Rich’s kitchen arose and flew toward Shane. Every one of them hitting his body with extreme force and speed. Cliff had just barely uttered a yelp when the blades were flying toward Shane’s exposed chest. They all hit at the same time and shattered when they contacted his skin. Shane picked up a piece of the blade edge of one of the broken knives and handed it to Cliff. “Have Rich try to cut me with this blade.” “No Shane. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. You’ve seen enough of that in your life.” “Let me do it, Cliff.” Rich said. Rich reached out and took the blade from Shane’s hand. He put the sharp edge against Shane’s skin right above his wrist and pressed in and dragged it across the surface. The knife did not penetrate a millimeter. “Now Cliff, you try. You need to see this” Cliff picked up a small shard and placed it against Shane’s skin. He applied a small amount of pressure and immediately, Shane started to bleed. “Cliff, you have complete control of my body and my mind. I want you to understand that. Whatever you desire, I can give it to you. You have complete control.” They heard lightening outside again. “Rich, we need to leave. Shane and I have some things to discuss. I wanted you to understand the situation, and I think that you do. You are my best friend and you will be. Shane, let’s go.” “Shane, I hope to get to know you better. I will try not to be an asshole to you and I am sure that if I am, you will let me know.” Rich was trying to smile, but he was scared shitless of the fireplug of hard writhing meat in front of him. In the hallway, Cliff said to Shane, “Let’s go to the weight room. My RA card can get us in. I want to see how strong you are.” They walked down the hall and out of the building, Shane with his bulging muscles exposed. The sports complex sits directly north of the football stadium. Cliff and Shane walked quickly from their dorm building on the hill overlooking lush grass fields of lower-campus and turned south on the path that would take them to the weight floor of the complex. They held hands the entire way – one beefy senior hand in hand with a slightly shorter but enormous junior. Those out jogging in the storm were caught off guard when they encountered the thick couple making their way down the path. Shane hadn’t had time to put on a shirt and he was beginning to get cold. Cliff attempted to put his arm around Shane’s massive shoulders to keep him warm. They hardly said a word to each other the whole walk down, but Cliff had a determined look on his face. Shane, in his muscular body, looked proud – not of himself, but of his closeness and relationship to Cliff. Everyone loved Cliff and Shane couldn’t believe that he was a part of such an amazing guy’s life. Even in just the short distance from the dorms to the fitness center, they encountered several people that wanted to stop and talk to Cliff. Everyone seemed to know him and wanted to say hi. Everyone who passed smiled at Cliff and stared wide-eyed at the shirtless mammoth that he had his arm around. Looking at his eyes, several of them let out a yelp and quickly walked away. When others stopped to see how his summer had been, he was polite and kind, but deftly handled the interactions with grace, all the while excusing himself and Shane from a more lengthy discussion. Thank goodness for the rain. They arrived at the fitness center. Cliff’s arm was still around Shane’s massive and stout shoulders. He had always thought of himself as a protector and in that role, he had become even more fiercely protective about Shane. He was even trying to keep him from getting a chill in the rain. He swiped the key card and his credentials popped the door open. They walked inside and walked to the right toward the dark, empty, weight area. Cliff walked over to the bench press. He really wanted to see what Shane’s ripped legs and perfectly round ass could do, but decided to start with the chest. He grabbed a plate and put it on the bar. Shane, who had never been in a gym before, watched inquisitively. He let Cliff load up the bar with 4 plates on each side of the bar. That would add up to good weight and considering Shane’s muscular development, it seemed a high but appropriate amount. Cliff asked Shane to lay down on the bench and coached him on his positioning. Shane grabbed ahold of the bar as instructed and lifted the bar up. Shane didn’t appear to be straining at all. Cliff stood at the head of the bench and helped guide the bar into starting position. “Now, lower the bar toward your chest to your nipples, let it touch lightly, and push up with your chest. Go slowly but steadily and focus on the muscles you are trying to isolate. Breath in while lowering, and exhale when raising the bar. Try to move smoothly and deliberately. I will help you out if you cannot move the weight or you begin to tire. That’s what a spotter does.” Shane lay down on the bench, bare chested and massive. His lats spilled over the side of the bench, and his traps and other back muscles prevented his head from laying flat. He was looking at a slight angle backward and when he opened his eyes, he was staring up at Cliff’s ample package protruding slightly from his shorts. He could see the outline of Cliff’s flaccid cock and the slight ring mark that signified the head of his penis. Shane felt waves of care, love, and lust flowing from Cliff toward him. He smiled. Although he wasn’t sure if he could lift the weight as carefully and fluidly as Cliff wanted, he knew that he could do it: Cliff knew he could do it so he had no question. He would do anything Cliff asked him to and he didn’t feel that there was a limit. Shane slowly lowered the weight. It was surprisingly light, almost like lowering a can of soup in both arms. He touched the bar to his chest. Cliff had his hands an inch or two under the bar and was squatting slightly to offer assistance if Shane needed help. In that position, Shane smelled a wave of testosterone-laden clean and fresh musk emanating from Cliff’s groin. He smelled like man, and fresh cut hay, earthy, and something naughty. Shane breathed in the smell of Cliff’s crotch and groaned softly. He felt a wave of pleasure beginning to swell in his chest and radiate down his abs and settle in his cock and he started to get hard. He loved Cliff’s man-smell almost as much as he loved everything else about him He held the weight at his nipples—which were now hard and standing up. And began to push expecting it to be difficult. Cliff did say that he would be lifting over 400 pounds. The bar just felt like a small amount of resistance. He lifted it up easily. Cliff shuddered and he started getting hard as well. Looking down at Shane’s smiling face and down toward his bulging pecs, he noticed that the muscle fibers looked like thousands of tiny strings being pulled taught just under the skin. The veins that honeycombed Shane’s skin over his chest were writhing but it was obvious that Shane felt no strain. If he could push this much weight up without any effort at all, what was he capable of? Shane pumped out 20 more reps, quickly. He was almost giddy with excitement at Cliff’s astonishment and pleasure. He racked the bar and sat up beaming and spun around on the bench to meet Cliff’s eyes. Cliff looked so pleased. “Did I do a good job, Cliff? I thought that looked like a lot, but I didn’t even feel it!” “You did great, Shane.” Cliff now had a fully erect cock trying to get out of his shorts. Shane looked down and smiled again. “I am so happy that I can make you happy. I’m glad that you like this size. I know that I can get so much bigger and stronger. I can tell that you would like that too.” “Shane, I like you how ever you are. But I told you that I love muscles, and I love yours especially. You are so beautiful. And fuck! You are strong… like freaky strong, I can tell. I don’t want you to be afraid of losing me as you grow bigger and more powerful. I don’t want to hold you back.” It suddenly donned on Cliff that he had only met Shane earlier that day. His whole life was different now and would be forever. Shane stared into Cliff’s eyes with those big pools of blackness. “Master, everything I do from this day forward in my life will be for you. I am completely at your mercy and only exist to fulfill your wishes and desires. You are not holding me back. You are giving me the only reason that I have ever had to exist in this world. No matter what happens to me as I continue to grow and become stronger, it will all be for you and because of you. Please don’t think that you are holding me back or giving me anything less than exactly what I need.” Shane stepped over to Cliff, stuck his big meaty hand down Cliff’s shorts and grabbed ahold of his cock. “I can tell you want this, Master. I will make you feel better than you have ever felt before, just standing here.” Shane applied the slightest pressure to his grip and Cliff moaned deeply. The veins on Shane’s arms leapt up toward the surface and suddenly Cliff felt a deep pulse of pleasure coursing through Shane’s hand and into his erectness. “Holy shit. What is that?” Cliff could feel something like electricity, but it was silky and smooth, and pure sex. He looked down and saw those little blue sparks swarming between Shane’s hand and his own tumescent member. Shane looked at him and simply responded, “I don’t know. This is new for me too.” Cliff bit his lip and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He had never felt a feeling like this before. It was as if his entire body was feeling the pulsing of an epic orgasm, but the wave just kept coming, the pulse kept going and becoming more and more intense. He grabbed ahold of the hulking biceps that were irresistibly within reach. Those pulses of energy and lust ripping through him in waves, starting with Shane’s hand on his cock and radiating out from there. Shane looked like he was enjoying himself as well. He was getting lost in the moment staring at his master. He was moaning and started to quiver with waves of hot energy. Deep groans began emanating from his throat. Cliff pulled out of his stupor and thought “Shane. Fuck Shane, this is amazing. Show me how strong you are.” He looked directly into Shane’s dark eyes. Shane took his hand off of Cliff’s cock and grabbed a 45# plate from the rack. The thing was solid iron. He placed his hands around the edge in a 9 and 3 o’clock position and applied downward pressure. The muscles in his arms and chest exploded out as he increased the pressure slightly. He wasn’t even straining yet. With a slight grunt, he pushed down harder. Cliff reached his hand over and softly placed it in the deep valley that formed between his tricep and delt. He could feel the muscles were under unrelenting tension and were hard beyond anything that he had felt before. As hard as the iron plate, but warm with soft skin. He looked again at Shane, his hand on Shane’s body and said with authority, “Bend it, Shane!” A wild look jumped into the beasts eyes and once again a wave of growth began in earnest all over Shane’s body. While it wasn’t as impressive as had happened in Rich’s room only a half-hour ago, it was still noticeable. Deepening chasms spread along muscle fault lines, the deep canyon between Shane’s angry pecs became deeper as the muscles bloomed out even more. The double head of his biceps swelled and the separation of the bicep bellies became even more pronounced. Shane’s neck thickened and the serpentine veins flowing over its surface pulsed with liquid godhood. His traps rose and crowded into the side of his head up to the level of his ears. It looked like he didn’t have a neck anymore. His legs ballooned out and the long cords of muscle expanded in width and definition until Cliff started to wonder if his anatomy had changed. His legs were so defined and huge it began to look as if single muscles began to develop muscle groups of their own. That was how ripped Shane was becoming. The ubiquitous watershed of veins were so distinct all across the surface of his body, their entire circumference appeared to wander over the top of the surface of the muscle with only the thinnest skin holding them against his body. Following some of them with his finger tip, Cliff noticed areas where the vessels ran across the surface and then plunged into the hard surface, feeding what was below with Shane’s beast blood. God, he was so turned on. Cliff could feel his cock pressing against the skin of his shaft. The meat of his dick wanted to escape the confines of its skin cage. He had never felt this turned on before. He wanted to be inside Shane. He wanted Shane to smother him and become part of him. He wanted to become one with the monster Shane was becoming. Fucking wouldn’t be enough. He desired Shane with such great intensity; he felt that he would rather give up air or water as long as he could keep him close. Shane looked straight ahead, crazed. Cliff kept his hand on Shane’s ever-more-muscular body. “Bend it, Shane.” He whispered again, softly, sexually. A burst of electricity seemed to erupt all over Shane’s body, following the course of the serpentine vessels. An intensely blue/white network of stable lightning seemed to hover just over Shane’s skin. The arcs ran right up to Cliffs hand that still rested on Shane’s upper arm. He took his other hand and placed it on his lover’s cheek and the energy currents parted to allow his hand access to Shane’s skin. Shane looked at Cliff and gasped. His eyes were still as black as ink, but inside of them looked to be a lightening storm. Jagged mini-bolts of blue flashed in the darkest recesses of Shane’s eyes. He looked completely calm now and waited for the electricity to dance across every inch of his skin for a moment longer. He appeared to be growing slightly taller, a good aesthetic look considering the musculature Shane had developed over the past few seconds. He blinked at Cliff, smiled, and simply said, “I will.” The blue currents appeared to soak into his skin. He applied the lightest pressure to the iron plate held in his hand and it bent and then shattered. Shane and Cliff both groaned. Cliff pulled down Shane’s shorts and then his own right before both of them shot their thick hot cum all over each other. They stood there, arms wrapped around one another, Shane having grown a few inches in the last spurt was now over 6 feet tall and just taller than Cliff. He wrapped his arms around his roommate and sent waves of his emotions into the man. Love, belonging, protection, and lust flooded into both of their bodies, each contributing his own part of the equation. Cliff had his arms around Shane’s abdomen and buried his face into the enormous striated half-globes that erupted outward from Shane’s chest. They looked as if they had been painstakingly etched from solid metal, but as Cliff placed his head on them, they conformed to his face as if they, themselves--Shane’s enormous razor sharp defined pecs—were giving him a hug. Cliff stroked Shane’s cobra-like back and just held him. After a few moments, Cliff pulled his head away from Shane’s stone pillow chest and looked directly in his eyes. “What the hell was that?” and gave him the widest smile he could. “I don’t know, but I have a feeling I am just getting started. I am so glad that I have you now to guide me and protect me. Master Cliff, I love you so much. You are perfect.” All Cliff could do was hug his god-sized friend closer. Reaching up and giving his a kiss on the lips, he grabbed Shane’s big paw and said, “Let’s go.” They began walking across the sports fields hand in hand, not saying a word. Lightening was dancing in the sky overhead. Cliff could feel Shane’s emotions coming through his touch. He was reliving his life before he met Cliff that morning. He could sense that he was still that hurt, sad, unappreciated boy that he had always been growing up. He could feel that Shane believed that Cliff was far too good for him and that he deserved to be with someone of his quality. For as powerful and beautiful as he was physically at the moment, he was still that scared kid inside. “Cliff, I don’t think I can live without you now. What has happened over the past few hours has cemented our lives together. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but it is all because you were kind to me and love me. You are making me the man that I am becoming.” Cliff just looked over at him and squeezed his hand a bit harder. The only feeling he had now was pure joy. He stopped walking and leaned up again to his now-taller roommate and kissed him again. Softly, delicately. Shane let out a guttural roar that Cliff was not expecting. His body quivered again and began seizing. “Shane! Shane!” Cliff cried desperately not knowing what was happening. “Oh my god! Shane, what’s wrong.” Just then, Cliff noticed that the rain had stopped. He looked up in the sky to see the lightening from the surrounding clouds was beginning to shoot toward a center point directly over their heads. It appeared as if a lake of white hot plasma was forming a couple of thousand feet in the sky fed by increasingly strong lightning bolts ripping clouds apart as they struggled to reach this singularity. Shane was still shaking. Cliff was terrified, not because of the strange event in the sky, but because he felt that his heart would die if Shane didn’t come out of this alive. He had never felt that sort of fear for losing something. He struggled to hold Shane upright. Shane was so strong and he was twitching and writhing out of control. “Stop Shane! Stop!” he was getting frantic. The convulsions stopped immediately and Shane stood there, looking ahead, but with no expression on his face. Suddenly, the lightening in the sky stopped for a brief moment and an enormous bold shot directly out of the pool of white-hot plasma down to the ground and smashed into Shane’s body. Cliff was blown thrown up in the air and away. Shane shot a look at Cliff as he was being tossed from the pressure of the bolt connecting. He extended his arm before Cliff hit the ground. Although Cliff was a good twenty feet away from Shane, he could feel Shane willing Cliff not to smash into the ground. Instead, he looked back to see Shane’s outstretched arm pointed toward him and a warm solid feeling of being supported in the air and being drawn back toward the epicenter of the strike—Shane. The bolt suddenly disappeared and left the two of them standing again together as the rain started pouring down again. “Shane. Are you ok? Can you hear me?” Cliff reached out to steady Shane. He had a blank look on his face and Cliff thought that he might be about to pass out or fall down. “Can we go home please, Cliff?” “Yes. But are you ok?” He looked at his master and smiled. “Yes. I am more than ok.” They started walking back toward the forested hill and the path that would lead back to the dorms. They didn’t speak. Whatever had happened back there to Shane, Cliff wanted it to be on Shane’s terms what and when he decided to share what he had experienced. Cliff grabbed Shane’s hand again. He was still huge and massive. He could give a heavily armored tank a challenge, Cliff thought. “Is there anything you would like me to do, Master?” Shane asked. His voice seemed deeper and more masculine. It almost sounded like a landslide and a freight train took human form--both unstoppable and immutable. It was a simple question. He was thinking all sorts of nasty and depraved thoughts about what he wanted to do to Shane. The man was a distillation of every dream imaginable that Cliff had ever had. All the hundreds of times he had jerked-off, he had never dreamed of someone like Shane. Shane was more than all of those dreams combined – and he was real. Cliff looked over at the thick beast walking next to him. He giggled a second and flippantly said, “Yes, I want you to demolish that tree” pointing to a large cedar a hundred feet tall clinging to the hill just off the path. Shane nodded in agreement. Cliff was only kidding, but Shane was dead set on giving it a try. The tree was enormous. If joining hands, three people Cliff’ size could not wrap all the way around the tree. It was immense. Shane walked to the base and put his arms around it, not coming close to the size he would need. Suddenly, he began to grow ever so slightly. He moaned and threw his head back with his eyes closed. Standing before Cliff was an 8-foot tower of the thickest muscle. Ever fiber of Shane’s expanding body exploded. Shane had his back to Cliff and Cliff could see ridges of muscle expanding along Shane’s spine. Mountainous lumps of pure power moved and stretched across his back forming what Cliff thought to look like a cobra, but infinitely thicker and more powerful. Shane’s calves exploded in size and definition looking much like angular vascularized car tires. They were huge. Suddenly, Shane’s size permitted his hands to touch on the other side of the tree. He encircled the trunk with his huge fucking arms and Cliff saw a wave of power spread across Shane’s back and through his arms in what looked like an intense bear hug. The base of the tree exploded in thousands of pieces. It began to lean and Shane pulled another section of the tree into his embrace and once again, upon pressure, another 20 feet of the tree shattered. He continued to do this process until the tree was reduced to small shards in a pile all around Shane’s massive body. He turned around. His shorts had long-since ripped away from his body. He stood there, naked, huge and a dozen feet tall, with a massive erection. “Is that ok, Master?” he sheepishly asked. He looked as if he was worried that he had done it wrong. “Shane, come over here.” Cliff reached out to gather Shane in his arms. He realized that Shane’s hard manhood was close to face level with him now, but he wrapped his arms around Shane’s legs, his hands connecting directly under the most ripped and beautiful set of glutes Cliff dared imagine. “You did it perfectly. Now come back down to a more manageable size for me and lets get home.” Shane slowly decreased in size until he became the small, thin version of himself that he had been when they first met. Cliff was suddenly aware of the unfathomable power, strength, and beauty that was bound up in the body standing next to him. Cliff bent over and picked up the ripped shorts that lay on the ground and said, “Can you fix these so you have something to wear for the rest of the walk?” Shane took the shorts in his hands and drew his finger along the ripped seams. Blue sparks flew out and heated the polyester fibers into a new seam. He pulled the shorts on and they began to walk back. “Shane, what do you want? Is there anything you want right now? You asked me just a few minutes ago, and now there is one less tree in the world,” Cliff chuckled. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Shane looked sheepishly at Cliff. He had the power of innumerable men and the ability to grow into a monstrous muscle beast and yet he was so concerned about what Cliff would think of him. “I don’t want to say.” “Shane, tell me what you want.” “Ok, Cliff. I can’t resist a command from you.” He had the look of an unpopular high school kid who was about to ask the hottest girl in school to the prom. “I want you to fuck me, Cliff. And then I want to fall asleep in your arms.” Cliff’s face broke in half with a huge smile- the smile that he was so well known for. “I think we can take care of that.” They hurried back to their dorm room. Entering the bedroom, small Shane pushed the beds together and jumped into the shower for a quick minute to wash off the mud and wood dust from the cedar tree. Cliff opened the door to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, naked, with his lover. They kissed and Cliff asked Shane to grow a little, to fill out, and add some of that sexy muscle. Shane of course complied. They toweled each other off and walked hand-in-hand to the bedroom. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab a couple of glasses of water. I’m parched.” Cliff wheeled around and walked into the kitchen. “It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it Shane?” he yelled from the other room. “Ya. Oh, weird. One of the panes on the window has a big hole in it.” “Well, with all of the new guys moving into the dorms tomorrow, it’ll probably be a while before maintenance can come and fix it. I’ll put it on the work order sheet,” Cliff said as he walked into the room. He noticed Shane had returned to his small size again. He held out a glass for Shane. “Thank you, Cliff.” “You shrunk down again.” Cliff said quizzically. “I think it would be nice to start out at this size and then I can add size and muscle as you want me to. It can be like a game. I think that would be fun.” His face flushed. “I mean, I can get huge now again if you want me to though. Whatever you want, Cliff.” “No. You are right. I think it will be so fucking hot to watch you grow as we have sex. Damn! That’s such a brilliant idea. Now come over here.” Cliff felt a little breeze come through the hole in the window. He looked over at it. “Weird. It looks almost like a perfect circle. Hmmm.” He leaned in to give Shane a deep wet passionate kiss – like Shane had never experienced before. He touched his lips to Shane’s and opened up his mouth. At that moment, he heard a whooshing sound and a small thud. Shane pulled away. He stared into Cliff’s eyes with pure fear. Cliff looked back and then noticed a small hypodermic needle sticking out the side of Shane’s neck. Someone had shot it through the hole in the window. “No, no, no, no, no…” Cliff kept mumbling to himself, as Shane looked more and more afraid. Shane tried to speak but couldn’t form the words. His eyelids were beginning to flutter. He collapsed. “Oh my god! Who did this?! No, no, no, no.” Cliff knelt down next to Shane and kissed him on the lips pulling the syringe out of his neck. “I love you Shane. I love you!” He started to cry just as a canister flew through the window and began releasing a mist. “What the fuck? Shane. Shane!” The last thing he heard was the room of the dorm getting kicked in, wood splintering. Then for the second time in one night, his world went dark. ================================================================================= ================================================================================= Part III “God, this hurts,” Cliff thought to himself. The room was completely black. He couldn’t tell where he was or what was around him. The air smelled musty and a bit like dirt. A certain odor was in the air—an odor he could not place, but resonated with his past somehow. “Where am I?” He heard a rustle to his left. It didn’t sound like much, but it seemed like something or someone was close, breathing shallowly. Then he heard a very slight groan. It was almost imperceptible. “Hello…” He asked the darkness to respond. “Who’s there?” Silence. He then became aware of his position. A sharp pain started radiating from his wrists. It felt as though shackles were holding his arms above his head; the sharp edges digging into his skin. His shoulders hurt. He tasted the warm metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. He could sense that his feet were touching the ground, but only barely. “Uhhhhhhgh.” The darkness spoke again. The breathing and sounds were coming from only a few feet away. He heard another rustle of slight movement. “Hello? Shane? Is that you? Shane, are you ok? What is going on?” Silence. The metal bands clasping his wrists together were hurting more and more. They were almost suspending him in air. If he thrust his heels into the ground, the shackles dug in further. He was given just enough length of chain to stay alive, but could not move. He realized that now. “Cliff?” The voice was garbled. It sounded like someone speaking underwater or with a mouthful of food. He heard his name, but couldn’t tell who it had come from. “Cliff?” the voice questioned again. He knew in that instant that the voice did not belong to Shane. Panic ripped through his soul. “WHERE IS SHANE?” he desperately replayed any events that he was aware in his mind. The last thing he remembered was that Shane had been struck by a hypodermic needle that had been delivered to his neck through the hole in the window. He remembered collapsing and seeing a mist erupt from a canister that had also found its way into the bedroom. And then the sound of cracking wood as the door had been broken down. “Hello? Who are you? Where is Shane?” The panic of Shane’s absence was swelling inside of Cliff. He felt wave after wave of fear and worry. Someone had kidnapped him and done God-knows-what to the man that had become his second half in only a day. He began thrashing against the shackles that bound his wrists, his meaty body trying to break free without even knowing his surroundings. “Cliff…” The voice whispered. It sounded like it was in pain. He could hear wincing and gurgling. Whoever it was that was next to him, he was in worse shape than Cliff. “Yes. It’s Cliff. Who is it?” He repeated. “How do you know my name? Where are we?” “Help me, Cliff. It’s Rich. I think I am bleeding.” Cliff then heard a muffled cry. “Rich? How the hell did you get here?” “I have no idea. The last thing I remember…um, I was in my apartment about to fall asleep…I heard a huge crash upstairs in what sounded like your place. It didn’t sound like those sex noises from before…” Rich went silent. Cliff realized that the strange gurgling sound he could hear was probably blood in Rich’s mouth. The air hung heavy with the sweet and sickly smell of iron. “Rich? Are you ok?” “Yes. Sorry. It hurts so badly….So, I went upstairs to see what the loud crack was. I came around the corner and thought your door was open but when I got closer, I realized that the door had been ripped off its hinges. Then I saw men dragging Shane out…then you. That’s the last thing I remember.” He spoke slowly and deliberately. Rich was in pain. “I am so sorry I got you into this, Rich.” “Into what?” “I have no idea. But for whatever reason you are here, it is because of me, or Shane…or me and Shane. I am so sorry.” “Fuck man. Don’t be sorry. We need to find out what is going on though. I think I’m hurt pretty badly.” Just then, they both heard the opening and slamming of a door, the flick of a light switch, and then saw the warm yellow of halogen lights. They were inside of a giant shed. It looked like so many of those that Cliff had worked in as a kid out on the farm. Most stored potatoes or other root crops from the harvest. They had a particular earthy smell. That is what he was remembering. “Hello, gentlemen. I hope you are not too uncomfortable.” The voice was deep and masculine, but also melodic and animated. Cliff turned his head over towards Rich. He could feel the soreness in his neck. Rich was suspended, much like he felt he was, with his arms raised up and clasped together by iron shackles dangling down from the ceiling. His face was bloody and swollen. There was dried matted blood in his hair. His eyes were swollen closed and bright red and purple. It looked like he had been in a boxing match with a world-class competitor and had done so without any protection or training. He looked positively ghastly. “Who the fuck are you, asshole?” Rich attempted to sound tough but there was debilitating pain in his voice. The man who had walked in was inspecting the two friends. He was looking at them with dark brown eyes that looked sinister and terrifying. Not a tall man, he was thin but sinewy and much more physically adept than he appeared. “You…” he pointed to Rich. “You just got in the way. Now, shut your fucking face!” The man, standing close to Rich, cocked back his arm and proceeded to punch Rich in the gut. There was a deep thud. Cliff heard Rich moan. “Bring in the subject!” the man shouted to the empty air. A large door opened on the other side of the massive cellar. The door was about the size of four normal home garage doors. The sun streamed through the open doorway about 100 feet away. A small group of men walked in pushing a young man in his early twenties toward Cliff and Rich. He thought for a moment that it was Shane in his reduced form, but it wasn’t. He could tell by the way this one walked. The group got closer to the two dangling men and the asshole in-charge. “Jack, come here!” The asshole said to the group. The young man—who looked very confused and out of place—approached carefully and slowly. He looked terrified. “Jack, come closer to Cliff here. You two will become good friends, I have no doubt.” The thin awkward young man got even closer. He looked at Cliff in a terrifying way. He looked so afraid. Cliff thought he recognized him…from some distant memory. They were about the same age he thought, but Jack was much more frail. “Jack…reach out and touch Cliff. It doesn’t matter where. Just touch his skin.” Jack hesitated. He didn’t know what was happening. He then slowly started to extend his hand out. When it got just a few inches away from Cliff’s exposed chest, Jack moaned. Cliff could see veins racing to the surface of Jack’s skin. And Jack began to grow. Not much, but it was noticeable. His shirt slowly filled out more and mounds of muscle began to show themselves against his small shirt. Cliff spat on the ground. Jack looked directly at him with a face of complete surrender and awe. Beginning to rub his expanded pecs, Jack smiled slightly at Cliff and Rich. He knew something. The smile was genuine and was meant for only them to see. When he turned to the man, he went stone-faced again and simply asked, “What was that?” He still looked terrified. One of the men from the group that had escorted Jack into the giant cellar walked up to him, placed his hands on Jack’s shoulder and turned him away and started walking again toward the giant open hangar door. “Who was that?” Cliff questioned under his breath. “We have been waiting a long time to meet you, Cliff. We have been watching your friend, Shane for years. You see, he has a…condition.” The mention of Shane’s name from this sinister man made Cliff’s blood boil instantly. He glanced over at Rich with arms suspended in the air. Rich looked more worried than Cliff had even felt. Rich glanced over at Cliff with those horribly swollen eyes. He looked angry. Where Rich felt concerned, Cliff looked like he could set the place on fire with his anger. Rich had always been a hothead, but in this moment, the rolls were clearly reversed. “Shane started to really change when he moved in with you. It only took a few hours with you for him to evolve into something that we did not expect. We were able and willing to sit back and watch his development until last night when he did something quite remarkable. He absorbed the energy from an entire thunderstorm. For all that we have seen leading up to yesterday, we had never seen anything like that. He is exceeding our expectations.” Cliff’s mind was reeling. “Who is this ‘we’ that has been observing Shane? Why had they brought that scared little guy in and had him touch Cliff? Why had Jack expanded with muscle when they touched? And why had he smiled afterward – a smile that was only meant for Rich and Cliff to see?” Cliff had a million questions and as many theories attacking his brain at once. “Why is my buddy here? He doesn’t know anything,” Cliff motioned with his head toward Rich. “You are right. He doesn’t, but I felt that he could be used as collateral…as protection for my investment. You fuck me over, and I will end him. How does that sound?” The boss looked quite proud of himself. He didn’t look too much older than Cliff, maybe late twenties. Cliff felt something well up inside of him. “Where is Shane?” his voice thundered. He was starting to get frantic. “That’s enough for now.” The man walked over to the suspended prisoners, cocked back his arm and delivered a bone-cracking blow to Cliff, right across the left cheek. “Load them into the truck!” he bellowed. Rich and Cliff heard boots approach behind them and then bags were placed over their heads. They were lowered to the ground and told to walk forward. The escorts placed their hands on the prisoners’ shoulders and guided them for several minutes. Cliff knew that they had arrived outside. The smell of damp earth evaporated and he could feel the warmth of the sun. “There are steps in front of you. Climb up and get into the back of the truck!” barked a man with a deep thunderous voice. Cliff knew that it was the man who had been guiding him outside – the voice was just beside his ear. They sat down in the bed of the truck, blindfolded and fettered. “They could hear the two escorts climbing into the cab of the truck and Cliff assumed that they were now alone. “Rich, we have to find Shane. We have to figure out how to get free and find him,” Cliff said in a hushed tone. “No shit.” “I think I can help with that,” a voice said from a couple of feet away. “Who the hell are you?” Rich growled. The bags were still over their heads. “It’s Jack. What the fuck did you do to me? I touched you and I put on like 10 pounds of muscle immediately. And I can tell I am fucking STRONG! I can feel it. I don’t know how, but I know that I could rip those chains right off your wrists. Fuck. What did you do to me? Who are you?” Cliff paused. His wheels were turning. They were in a very dangerous situation and he needed to assure their safety as well as figure out where Shane was and how to free him. “Well, tell him something!” barked Rich. “Jack, my name is Cliff. I don’t know why my touch can do that to you, but I have a friend. Well, he’s more than a friend. The same thing happened to him when I touched him-but to an infinitely greater degree. Jack, are your hands free?” “Yes. I might have gained 10 pounds, but I am still a scrawny guy. They don’t see me as a threat I guess. But I am now. I can feel it. I feel like I have electricity raging through my muscles. They fucked with the wrong guy. They kidnapped me yesterday and I have no idea where I am. Its my mom’s birthday and I am pissed I am missing the party.” Cliff rolled his eyes underneath his head covering. Jack had absolutely no idea what was happening. He was mad that he was missing a party. Seriously? “Jack please listen very carefully to me. I want you to touch me again. I hope that my theory is true and that you will get significantly stronger when you do.” “No fucking way. Are you serious? That would be amazing. “ “Cliff, are you sure you know what you are doing? We don’t know anything about this guy. He could get blow up huge like Shane did and knock our fucking heads off with a single shot. I don’t know, man. Seems like a big risk.” Jack just looked at Cliff. Cliff could sense him probing his emotions, just as Shane did when they first met. “Hey Jack. One question. Are you adopted?” Cliff didn’t know why he asked. It was just a thought that came into his mind. “Ya. I don’t know my biological parents. I know nothing about them. I was sent around to really shitty foster homes for most of my life. Its like I couldn’t catch a break. But the family I was placed with when I was 16 turned out to be amazing. That’s why I want to be at my mom’s birthday today. I promised her I would never miss one. I don’t intend on missing this one. A promise is a promise.” Cliff probed Jack’s voice for any sign of wavering. “Cliff, I can tell you are worried about me and about the risk you are taking. I can also tell that whoever this Shane guy is, he is one fucking lucky guy. I have never in my life sensed so much worry and love and fear coming from someone. You seem like you are about to explode from the inside out, Cliff. “ Every word that Jack said resonated with Cliff to the core of his being. He didn’t know what the connection was, but he knew he could trust Jack. He knew that they had somehow been connected in the past. He couldn’t explain it though. “I am about to lose my mind. I am so worried about Shane.” Cliff’s voice cracked. He was glad that there was a covering over his face. Tears were beginning to well up in his eyes and he didn’t want to seem weak in front of Jack. He could give a fuck about Rich. Rich seemed to understand how much Cliff and Shane loved each other. “Rich, Jack. If we do this, we have only one shot. Rich, I trust him. I trust him completely. Somehow, I just know.” Rich nodded his head, but Cliff couldn’t see it. “So, I think I have an idea.” He paused a moment. “I hope you understand that we must find Shane. That is the most important thing.” His voice cracked. The worry was beginning to build now that he wasn’t hanging from those chains. He could focus less on the pain he had been in and more on what was needed to escape. He had no idea what he was dealing with, except that whoever had kidnapped them all was terribly organized and methodical. They had all obviously been watched and followed for some time. “Jack, I am going to have you touch me. I don’t know what will happen, but I hope you get stronger and bigger. We are going to need that. Then, I want you to rip the cuffs off of Rich, but not me.” “What? Fuck that, Cliff,” Rich spat. He wasn’t going to let that happen. “Listen. You and Jack here are going to jump out of this truck and head back to where we came from before we get too far away. I didn’t want to say anything, because I couldn’t be sure since I was in so much pain, but I know that Shane is back there. I could feel him. He is in pain and he is scared. You have to get back and get him out. Figure out a way.” “What about you, Cliff?” Jack had a concerned tone in his voice. They had just met, but Jack and Cliff had a connection since Jack had approached him in the massive shed. “They want me. That asshole back there mentioned that they just took Rich to keep a bargaining chip with me. If they have me still when we arrive wherever we are headed, they may give you just enough time to get Shane out. If I am gone, they will freak the fuck out. Then who knows. Shane and I are the primary hostages here. I need to believe that it will give you enough time to find him.” “Then what?” Rich sounded apprehensive. Cliff was clearly not thinking. “Come and find me. I have a feeling that if you can get Shane out of there, and you have Jack as well, you wont have a problem getting me out of whatever shit storm I am in. Just try to hurry. I don’t think they will like the two of you escaping. OK?” “Ya, whatever. Just don’t get yourself killed,” Rich sounded nervous. “Jack, reach out and touch me. You may feel strange. It’s ok.” Jack extended his finger tips and could barely reach Cliffs shackled arms. He felt a jolt of energy passing between them and then he looked down at his own arm. He saw cords of muscle rising out of his skin. They were stretching toward Cliff. He felt a burst of energy so strong; he thought he was going to crawl out of his own skin. He uttered a stifled moan. What had just happened? He felt so strong—stronger than before. He knew he could pry the metal bands off of Rich’s wrists easily, without even exerting any pressure. Fuck, he felt amazing. He felt another wave of emotion crash into him. This wasn’t about his power and strength. This was about Cliff. He knew at that moment, that he would do anything that Cliff asked of him. It wasn’t submission; it was respect. He had never felt this type of devotion before. He didn’t question it. It was just the natural order of things. There was something about Cliff. He would fight to the death for this man that he had just met. “Jack, how do you feel? Do you think you can break the cuffs on Rich’s wrists?” “Holy shit. Yes. I don’t think it will even require any effort. Are you sure you don’t want me to just release you too?” Jack felt an overwhelming responsibility to Cliff now. He was intensely worried that Cliff would be hurt somehow and maybe even killed. “Yes. If they discover I am gone, they will get on the radio and do god-knows-what to Shane. Maybe kill him. That can’t happen. Just find him soon. Jack, do you understand?” “I understand, Cliff. I will do whatever you ask me to...” Jack slowed and paused and then whispered, “..Master.” “What is it with these guys and calling you master? It’s fucking weird, man.” Rich was making his opinion known. Cliff couldn’t agree more, but he understood it on some level and felt comfortable with it now. He had changed a lot in the past day. “Now go. Jack, keep Rich safe. Rich, I am counting on you. You are my best friend and you are devious and manipulative enough to pull this off if you have any luck.” He could hear Jack shuffling over to the other side of the truck bed. He heard a loud cry from the iron being pulled apart. “Fuck, that is amazing. I could rip this entire truck apart without breaking a sweat. Damn! You can see my fingerprints in the metal!” Rich’s hands were free and he pulled the bag from his head. He looked at Jack. “Shit Jack, you must have put on 30 pounds in the past 20 minutes. Hey Cliff, what are you doing to these guys? Do you want me to take your mask off?” “No. Leave it on. I don’t want them to be unduly threatened by me or think I know where I am. Everything I am doing will hopefully buy you a few extra minutes to find Shane.” “Ok man. We will come back for you though. I don’t want to leave you!” Rich started to sound panicked. “Go Rich. Jump out of the truck. Go find Shane and get him to safety. Jack you do the same.” “Yes, Master.” Rich looked over to Jack and nodded. Jack curled his mouth into a smile and Rich saw dark clouds of black beginning to swirl in his eyes. “Jack, watch out for this guy. He has a way of getting into trouble.” Jack grabbed Rich by the nape of his neck, lifted him easily and dove out of the back of the truck. He wrapped his thin, but amazingly strong body around Rich’s as they tumbled to the ground. He would not allow anything to happen to Rich. He knew Cliff wouldn’t like that very much, and he didn’t think he would like anything to happen to Rich either. He liked the way Rich’s muscular body felt and how his tight narrow waist accentuated his round athletic ass. “Stop thinking like that, Jack!” he yelled in his mind. Rich wondered why Jack hadn’t blown up like Shane when he came into contact with Cliff again, but regardless, he was beastly strong, and had definition in his wiry muscles. “Damn. If Shane was around, all blown up like a fucking muscle monster, he could take on an army and not even worry about it!” Jack just though, “Who is this Shane guy?” He felt the slightest touch of jealousy. They were lying in the dust in the middle of fields as far as the eye could see. Jack still held Rich in a protective embrace as they had just stopped rolling after the jump. “Jack. There is something I want to say. I know you have this connection to Cliff now. I don’t understand it but I know it is there. You need to understand though, that I would die rather than let anything happen to Cliff. So as strong and powerful as your body has become in the past few minutes, there is no way that you can beat me in the motivation department. I just want to be clear. Don’t fuck this up.” Rich looked directly into Jack’s eyes that were now almost entirely black. Rich thought that they looked…beautiful. He forced the thought from his head. Rich had always forced those thoughts from his head. If he thought that a guy was cute or handsome (cute in this case), he drove it far out of his mind. Jack held Rich at arms length. They were sitting down in the dirt. “I have no doubt about that, Rich. You will need to prove that before this is over. And I can feel that you would back up your claim. Now, lets go get this Shane guy. I have my orders from Cliff. That’s all that matters now.” Jack put his arm around Rich’s shoulders and it felt as if warm cast iron lifted him to his feet. Jack just stared at Rich for a minute, not speaking. Rich let him stare. Somehow, it felt good and right. They started running down the dirt road they were on back toward the place where they had come from. They could see large semicircular mounds of metal rising out of the sky in the distance. Those were the storage sheds that they had just been in. Jack looked around as they were running. “That’s weird. I think I have been here before. I recognize the mountains off in the distance. Strange.” Something was resonating in Jack’s mind. He had been here. He knew it. They kept running. The sheds were getting closer. Those things were huge. It was so quiet. It didn’t look like anyone was around, but they both knew differently. Somewhere in this long row of enormous semicircular cellars was their prize. The wind picked up a bit and the dust started to blow. It was so hot. “Hey, lets just go systematically one to another and check things out. This place gives me the creeps.” Rich never appreciated surprises and he wasn’t happy sleuthing about what seemed to be some crazy-assed hidden research facility. He was not excited. Jack on the other hand seemed positively giddy. He could feel the strength of 100 men in one of his arms. It was addicting, like he imagined cocaine would be like – a pure rush. =============================================================================== The truck finally came to a stop. Cliff was so nervous, but he was more angry…much more angry. It was strange. In the quiet, alone by himself in the back of that truck, he could sense Shane and now Jack off toward the west. He could tell them apart. Jack was excited, almost thrilled. Shane was in immense pain and yet seemed very dull…he felt that Shane was slipping into sleep or something…he was “foggy.” It was a very small sense, but yes, they were both alive and they were both close to each other. His heart started racing. Rich and Jack would find Shane soon. He knew it. But now, he had to deal with god-knows-what when these guys found out he was alone in the transport truck. He heard one of the doors to the cab open and a heavy pair of boots hit the ground. He heard the stomp, stomp, stomp of the boots getting closer and then turn the corner. The asshole’s eyes bugged out of his head when he saw that the back gate of the transport truck had been torn off of the frame. How did that happen without him knowing!? His eyes glazed over and he turned blood red. Veins popped out on his neck and face. He was so angry; he looked like he was going to explode. “What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO???” He roared, spitting venom out of his mouth. His fists clenched and he was radiating pure anger and outrage. “You are going to get it now you little piece of shit. I…AM…GOING TO END YOU!” The angry man stomped around back to the cab. He heard some yelling and Cliff assumed he was yelling at the driver. The truck started moving again slowly. He thought he heard it pass through a gate and pause. He heard mumbling and then the truck continued on, slowly. It came to a stop after a few minutes of driving. Cliff knew he was in deep shit. He started to fear for his life…he knew it might end at any moment. Then he was overcome with another thought. Shane. He had failed his lover. He had failed the person that walked into his life only a day before, and that he could not live without. His heart was breaking and his soul was shattered. All he could do was picture Shane in his mind, in all of his iterations. Shane when he arrived in the apartment, thin and scared. Shane when he caught his new roommate jacking off in the bed next to him. Shane’s massive road network of veins snaking under his shrink wrapped skin. Shane’s boiling muscles ripping out of every mold that he had ever considered to be normal for human anatomy. Shane completely obliterating the towering cedar tree with only the slightest of efforts. The look in Shane’s black ebony eyes after receiving a lightning bolt strike that fed something inside of him, like mother’s milk. All of these images flashed through his mind in a second. He threw back his head and howled, “SHANE, I LOVE YOU!!!!... I AM SORRY!” His voice sounded like a gigantic wounded animal. He heard someone climbing into the back of the truck, grabbing him by the arm of his shirt and tossing him out onto the ground. His shoulder hit first and he could feel something snap inside. A shot of intense sharp pain shot around his shoulder and into his neck. Then the steel-toed boots started wailing against his back, somehow finding a kidney on their first shot. Massive fists connected with his face and he could feel warm blood leaving his body. His mouth was warm with that metallic taste. “Shane, I am sorry,” he whimpered to himself again. He had failed his beautiful boyfriend. He could feel the boots kicking him indiscriminately. He knew that they would not stop his beating. Kicking. Punching. He knew that he was being reduced to a piece of hamburger. So, he let go of the pain and he let go of the worry. He just pictured Shane’s innocent face and found contentment in knowing that he was still alive only a few miles to the west. That is all that mattered. The others would find Shane and those three would be ok. He could let go. He felt himself losing consciousness. It didn’t hurt anymore as the fists and boots kept kicking him. He curled his lips in a slight smile and felt a tear form in the corner of his eye at the thought of never seeing Shane again. Shane looked so beautiful in his mind. He felt his other half’s love flowing through him. He began floating into Shane’s crystal black eyes. He was drowning in their love and devotion. And then he felt…PEACE. ==================================================================================== “How did you fucking do that, you freak?” Shane could almost hear the hate and fear in the man’s voice. A large muscular man was pacing next to a stainless steel table in a large sterile looking room. It looked like one of those tables that autopsies are performed on. There was blinding white light, white walls, white cupboards with glass panes so the lab equipment stored in them could be easily seen. There were medical instruments on movable carts. The room was cold and crisp, like an Arctic evening. It was silent and still except for the pacing man. “I am getting tired of asking you. HOW DID YOU DO THAT? The lightening! What the fuck was that!!!? The man bellowed in the large sterile room. His voice echoed on the hard walls. Shane laid motionless facedown on the table. An IV was placed in his right forearm and he was hooked up to a monitor. He could see it was a heart monitor on the screen. Everything was blurry and felt fuzzy. He could tell that he was drooling out of the corner of his mouth but when he tried to move, he couldn’t. His muscles felt like wet noodles and he felt resistance. He was in four-point restraints. He mumbled something and the man heard him trying to say something. “What was that you said, you little fuck? The man put his ear next to Shane’s small body and watched his lips. “WHAT did you SAY?” The man tried hard to listen. Shane was using every ounce of energy to say one word. He lifted his head slightly. His eyes were watering and he could feel that drool pooling next to his mouth. “Cliff.” He got the word out and his head fell back down, the table smashing against his cheek. “Oh, ya, your fag boyfriend. Well, don’t worry about him. It’s all about you now. You’d better start talking or things are going to look bad for you and your buddies. The man walked over to a drawer and took out a long needle. He pulled out a vial and flipped open the lid. He drew a liquid into the syringe and flicked the body of the syringe to dislodge the air bubble that clung to the inside. He walked over to Shane’s limp small body, grabbed ahold of the back of his arm and shoved the needle in. In a few minutes, Shane could feel his mind clearing a bit. “What did you give me?” he drawled slowly. “Narcan. It reverses opiate anesthesia. You’ll be feeling more chatty any moment.” Shane stared at the man with his black eyes. “What am I?” The man stopped pacing and looked at Shane lying prone on the table, helpless, and hopeless. “We honestly don’t know. Have you heard of the tests that the government carried out in the western United States in the early and mid 20th century?” Shane didn’t move. “No? Well, one of those tests was carried out here in Eastern Washington. The government, in their infinite wisdom, sent out shipments of corn flake cereal that had been dosed with high levels of radiation. How benevolent of them.” Shane was able to feel himself more now. He didn’t feel that he was in a dream state anymore. This was real. “So, some kids exhibited some pretty strange mutations in their development. Babies were being born with deformities, or other things. Some didn’t show any signs of change. Radiation fucks with your genetic material, right? You know that, right you stupid piece of shit?” The man was inches from Shane’s face and his puddle of drool. “You know who really got the treatment? Ya, you guessed it: The kids in orphanages or foster care. No one was keeping tabs on those little trilobites. They got DOSED!” The man smirked. Every word he said sounded like hate. “We were tracking the mutations as they were reported and most of the crazy shit was taking place in a few towns right in the middle of the state. Moses Lake, Othello, and Ritzville. All of them hick towns. But there they were…cases were popping up over and over. Most of them horrid birth defects, but then there were a handful of very strange occurrences. A few of you seemed to have another mutation…a defect…an abomination.” The poisonous tone of his words dripped out of his mouth. “You could manipulate your bodies somehow. It was so fucked up to see. We decided to watch you through puberty and beyond to see what developed from your freakiness. We made sure that you and the other kid that developed these particular mutations stayed in foster care and in particularly shitty placements. We didn’t want the families knowing we were watching or even giving you more of those tasty fucked up cornflakes. We were sure you spent your time with people who didn’t give a shit about you. Hell, it made our lives so much easier. Some shit head at the office lost track of the other kid in a foster home transfer and what do you know…he actually got a good fucking family. But the damage was done. He was a little freak anyway. And then there was you. We fed you so much of that poisonous shit, you may as well have started deep -throating a spent plutonium fuel rod. We couldn’t believe you survived the radiation we were giving you. But somehow you took it. It was like you liked all that decaying energy. You are such a fucking freak.” The man hated Shane. “And then one day, we noticed that you and that other kid exhibited some strange growth patterns. We had biosensors monitoring you. Of course they were rudimentary ten years ago, but we saw some crazy shit. You guys could expand your musculature and cardiovascular system easily, fluidly. We didn’t know how and we still don’t. But only in the last day did your readings get off the charts.” The man bent down and put his face an inch away from Shane’s. “And then we found someone else. Your lover boy. Your fag roommate. What are the fucking chances that you two would be put together at the university?” the man offered a mock laugh. He wasn’t laughing. He was disgusted. “Your buddy Cliff comes from that area. He’s a good strong corn-fed farmboy, isn’t he?! Ya, a real gem.” The man sounded sarcastic and almost snake-like. “We don’t know what his story is, but you seemed to respond to him like nothing we have seen before. It was like you walked into his room and you drank a 55 gallon barrel of Miracle-Grow. “ “Cliff...” Shane whispered. He was so overwrought with emotion. “Where was Cliff? Was he ok?” Shane thought to himself. A panic started to set into Shane’s being as he became more aware. “Ya, so your buddy Cliff is toast. We are going to take a shit-load of blood and tissue samples from him soon. I don’t think we’ll leave any blood in him. I told them to drain the fucker.” The man smirked. Shane started trying to wriggle around. He thought of expanding. He willed the beastly monstrous muscles right under his skin to follow his will. Cliff was in eminent danger and he had to get to him. Nothing. “Oh, and don’t try to hulk out on us. We have your muscles on a heavy-duty relaxant. Its usually used on horses and elephants, but we are using it on you. So go fuck yourself.” ====================================================================================== Jack and Rich were sneaking around outside of the compound. Jack had wanted to just go start punching his battle-ram fists through the walls of the sheds. Rich, as impulsive as he was, knew that would be disastrous. He wanted to take a few more minutes and observe. They had no idea what they would be walking into. He felt a firm touch on the small of his back. It scared him to death, practically. Jack was breathing heavy. “I can’t believe that I just touched this handsome jock god,” he thought to himself. He could feel the bulging cords of muscle running up the side of Rich’s spine. He could feel the small dimples on Rich’s lower back right above the space where his hard billowing glutes shoved off of his frame into a world-class ass. Jack felt himself getting aroused. This was neither the time nor the place. Lives were on the line…but he had never seen anyone more devastatingly handsome. Rich was amazing and he wanted to touch him. Rich on the other hand didn’t pull away, or even feel strange about it. It almost felt “natural” for a man’s hand to be there. And Jack’s hand was stronger than dozens of gym rats. The power oozing out of Jack and onto Rich was palpable and it felt good. Rich felt his bulging cock begin to wake up from its fear-induced slumber. “God, Rich, not now. Fuck!” he yelled inside of his head. Rich turned around slowly and looked Jack in those big black eyes of his and smiled. “We will continue this later,” he said matter-of-factly. He shot Jack a smile with his Colgate teeth and winked. “Now let’s get this done. I know you have your own reasons for “obeying” Cliff, but he’s my best friend and I will do this for him. I love the poor bastard. “ Jack nodded his head and turned to walk away to resume the search. Rich moved his pendulous arm over slightly and gave Jack a small pat on the ass. “That’s mine after this.” He couldn’t believe that he said that aloud. He wasn’t even gay…at least he hadn’t thought so. Just then a plume of dust was rising above one of the sheds. A black sedan was pulling up. A man got out. “Oh, shit.” Rich said under his breath. It was the jerk from a little while ago…the one in the transport truck that they had jumped out of. The man looked positively apoplectic and enraged at the same time. “God, I hope Cliff is ok,” Rich said quietly to himself. Jack was wishing the same thing. He knew that Cliff was Good. He would follow him into the deepest battle without question. “Well, I guess that’s where they’re at. Let’s go.” Rich looked over at Jack and nodded toward the car. The moved quickly and silently toward the vehicle scanning the open spaces between them and the door they needed to get into. Nothing. No one was around. Maybe this wasn’t a huge government or private corporation project. They made it to the door. Rich put his ear to it and heard some muffled yelling. Jack motioned his head sideways as if to tell Rich to move to the side. He pressed his finger tips to the steel door and his hand started moving through it like a knife through warm butter. He reached through the door and opened the handle then pulled his hand quickly out. There was a fist-sized hole there now. “Damn, you guys can do some weird shit.” Rich was getting another erection. The walked in quietly and hid in the shadows. They could see light coming from around the corner and more yelling. “Have you learned anything? Goddamnit! Has he said anything.” Jack peaked around the corner and saw the man from the truck with his hand around a skinny guy’s neck. Skinny guy was laying facedown on a metal table. There was another man standing a few feet away. He was a big guy. 6’4” or so and built. The smaller man was looking at the tall on with a crazed look in his eye. “WHAT HAS HE SAID?” “Nothing. He just keeps saying the word ‘Cliff’ over and over again. He started crying a minute ago. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Maybe the radiation finally fried his pathetic brain.” “Take care of it. We need to know something! The group is almost here. We didn’t know all of this was going to happen so quickly and they have been flying in from all over. Their caravan left Seattle a couple of hours ago. We have to give them something, you idiot, or we are dead.” The short man walked away angrily toward another door at the back of the cellar. It was just the tall one and Shane now. Rich didn’t say anything before he walked swiftly to where the man was standing over Shane and cracked him in the back of the neck with his fist. The man’s head crashed down onto the steel table. He just slid off, passed out crumpled on the ground. Rich looked into Shane’s eyes. He looked so cold and small. He couldn’t believe that just a few hours ago, he saw this little weak-looking guy explode with the power of an exploding sun. All those muscles. All those veins. The power was dripping off of him when he had been in Rich’s apartment. He was a god. But god was trapped in a feeble body now. “Shane, what did they do to you?” Rich started unstrapping Shane’s restraints. Jack looked down at Shane and his heart lept. He felt something like he had found a secret. He knew that this was his brother. “Brother?” he questioned himself. He couldn’t describe it. He just knew. A feeling of rage welled up inside of Jack. His brother, one he didn’t even know existed, was lying naked and cold on a table. He extended his index finger and in one quick motion cut right through the last restraint. They had to get out of there. He would plan the family reunion for another time. “Rich, take this IV out of me. It’s keeping me small. I am weak. I don’t think I can walk.” Rich quickly ripped the IV out of Shane’s arm. He was no nurse, and they had to leave…now! The IV site started to bleed but no one cared. Jack looked sideways at Shane. “Look at those eyes. They are as dark as night.” Just then, Rich bent over and picked up Shane from the table. He started walking toward the door with Shane cradled like a giant baby. Jack was still reeling from the realization that he had a brother and his name was Shane. He felt the truth of it ringing through his body. Jack walked over and took hold of Shane’s wrists and wrapped them around Rich’s neck so he looked more comfortable. “Thank you.” It was Rich who had a tear forming in his eye now. “What is happening to me? I’m bisexual--maybe even gay--for this Jack guy…and now I’m gonna start getting all girly about Shane? Fuck my life,” he said to himself. But he liked Shane really. There was something so innocent and lovely about him. Maybe it was his resilience, or maybe it was this sense that he had been shit on his whole life and he had finally found someone to treat him like a king: Cliff. He was starting to feel the same way about Shane—he suddenly saw the limp young man in his arms as good and vulnerable. He wanted to keep him safe too. A feeling of shame shot through him as he thought about his brazen hurtful attitude when they met in Cliff’s apartment. He was going to make it up to Shane. Shane just looked into his eyes and whispered, “It’s OK, Rich. I forgive you.” He offered Rich a true smile. Maybe they could be friends after all. Jack was following just a couple of steps behind. They got to the door and walked outside just in time to see a long caravan of military grade hummers moving toward the cellars. There had to be 50 of them stretched out down the road as far as any of them could see. “Give him to me, Rich. I am a lot stronger and we can move faster if I have him.” Rich handed his new friend off to the man who he would soon be drilling in the ass; that is, if they survived the day. “Fuck, I want his ass,” Rich thought to himself while looking at Jack’s tight butt. Just then Shane looked up into Jack’s eyes. “I can feel you. Who are you? You have my black eyes.” He smiled weakly. “Hi Shane. I’m Jack. We can talk more about this later, but I am certain that I am your brother and you are mine.” He held Shane closer. There was no more precious cargo in the world. “If anyone gets within 20 feet of Shane, so help me, I will destroy them,” he thought to himself. Jack was surprised by his ferocity. He had always been quite docile. “Where is Cliff?” Shane’s eyes got big and worried. Jack could feel Shane’s frantic awareness. “Rich, where is Cliff?” “We were being taken together someplace just east of here. He had a plan to get you out that involved him staying behind as a prisoner. “ “And you LISTENED to him? Why didn’t you stay with him? One of you at least?” Jack looked panicked. “Because, dear brother, he commanded it. I couldn’t argue. And Rich wasn’t going to either. He was determined.” “Ok, well let’s please head east. I need him. I need to see that he is safe.” That was about all Shane could say. He was so debilitated and weak. His muscles just lay there paralyzed under his skin. They turned around just in time to see the first of the long line of transporters arriving, a huge cloud of dust kicked up all along the dirt road. And then they saw the short boss man run out of the building flailing his arms and yelling obscenities. They were only 20 yards away, but were shielded by some abandoned implements and giant rusted metal farm tools. They started running along the dirt road that headed east. They couldn’t see any building on the horizon but they knew that wherever Cliff had been taken, it couldn’t be that far. They heard yelling behind them but kept running. They had to find Cliff. Shane needed him. Cliff would know what else to do too. His mind was sharp and he could figure out the most complex situations. They all needed Cliff to get out of this alive together. It sounded like the whole fucking National Guard was coming down that road in the distance. Shit, it even sounded like there was a helicopter back there somewhere. Who were these people if not the government? They had been running at full speed down the road for twenty minutes. Shane was still near fully paralyzed, and Rich was starting to lose speed. He could run much longer than 20 minutes, of course, but he was dehydrated and it was hot. He was slowing down and just couldn’t seem to push it any further. Jack noticed. He could sense Rich, almost like he could sense his brother, Shane. There was something about Rich. “Rich, are you ok.” Jack yelled back. “Can we slow down for a minute? I just need to recoup a little bit.” “I know you are going to hate me for this…” Jack came to a stop and waited for Rich to catch up. “Jump on my back, like piggy-back style.” Rich surprised himself and actually did. Jack looked down at Shane’s gentle questioning face and into his midnight eyes and simply said, “Cliff made me strong too.” That was enough for Shane. He understood. Jack would never get tired running toward Cliff, and he could probably carry an aircraft carrier if Cliff asked him to do so. “Ok, here we go.” And off Jack ran. He was actually moving faster than before since he didn’t have to pace himself for Rich’s sake. Up ahead Rich pointed out something shining. I looked like a small building of some sort. Maybe it was a reflection off of glass? “Hey, Shane, I think I see a building up there, man. Cliff has to be there.” Shane just started to smile. He still couldn’t move, but he could at least feel his skin. The drugs must be starting to wear off. At this speed though, he wouldn’t be walking until tomorrow. It didn’t matter. He would be with Cliff. That feeling came back again… He couldn’t live without Cliff. He needed him like the air he was breathing. And he was close. They would figure out a way to rescue him, even if he couldn’t super-size himself. Jack was obviously very strong too. He realized that Jack had only a fraction of his own strength, but he would take whatever help he could get to break Cliff out of that building. He was starting to feel safe and secure again. Cliff provided that stability. He imagined Cliff’s face, ruggedly handsome, and his beautiful masculine body heavy with solid real muscle and that little layer of softness that made him the perfect cuddle companion. He was going to cuddle Cliff hard tonight. They were getting close to the building. They could see a large metal fence and a small guardhouse about a mile in the distance. The sagebrush was growing denser and the rocks were becoming more frequent. They were on the edge of arable land. Rich turned around, back towards where they had come from and saw a giant plume of dust rising between them and the cellars. “Shit. They’re coming. And there’s that goddamned helicopter. Fuck!” He turned back around and was about to tell Jack to speed it up. “What’s that up there on the road?” Rich pointed to something about 200 years away. It looked like a garbage bag from where they were. But they got closer and saw that it was a pile of clothes. As Jack was about to run by the mound of dirty mud caked clothes, Shane let out a yelp. His eyes were closed and they shot open. His eyes became like large black dinner plates. It looked as if he had been shocked. “STOP!!!” He bellowed from a depth that the devil himself wouldn’t be able to achieve. Jack immediately stopped. He felt a feeling that he had never sensed before…He didn’t know what it was but it was scaring him and it was coming from the man in his arms. Shane just looked up at Jack’s eyes, then at Rich’s. He could tell that Rich was confused as was his brother. “What is that?” His voice was like a volcanic eruption seconds from exploding. He motioned his head toward the pile of rubbish on the side of the road. He started to breath faster and more desperately. “WHAT IS THAT?” The question sounded like a low growling cry. Rich jumped off of Jack’s back and walked over and bent down. Every drop of blood drained from his face and he gasped. A low guttural moan came from his mouth and he started rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He wrapped his arms around his knees and stayed in the crouched position. Shane could sense that Rich had been shell-shocked. He could see Rich was beginning to tremble, his body shaking as if he had been locked outside without a coat on a cold winter’s night. Jack instinctually walked over to the Rich with his brother still resting in his arms. “Rich, tell me what it is.” Shane’s voice sounded like dark molasses: deep, bitter, and thick. Rich couldn’t even form words… he just rocked back and forth. It was only a couple of seconds, but seemed like forever. He reached down to the muddied mound and pulled off the black hood covering Cliff’s face. It didn’t look human. The thing was broken. Black, blue, and rusty red. His face was so swollen; Rich couldn’t even see where his nose was. It looked like a face from the scariest Halloween costume store. Shane stared down at Cliff’s battered face. Dried blood was smeared all over it but underneath, there was no flesh color. It was all angry purple. Shane was silent but Jack could feel him starting to shake. “Rich.” Shane was using every fiber of his will to control the next words to come out of his mouth. “Is he alive?” It was a clear, emotionless question. No feeling. Rich carefully started unwrapping Cliff’s body so he could feel for his heart beat There was no way he would be able to get a pulse from the swollen neck of his best friend. He offered a silent prayer, even though he did not consider himself to be a religious person. “If he is dead, this world will end tonight.” Rich heard the statement and doubled his praying. He half-believed Shane’s threat. Shane was beginning to tremble now. He couldn’t take his eyes off of his boyfriend, lover, partner, and master. Every cell of his body belonged to that man. He had a million images flash through his head of Cliff. They had known each other for no time at all, really. He saw Cliff’s smile the first time he saw his face. That smile! He saw Cliff reaching into the fridge, bent over, ass out and he remembered how that made him feel. He saw Cliff’s body, naked in the shower, clutching Shane’s shoulders and kissing his nipples. He saw Cliff giddy with excitement to see what feats of strength Shane could do in the gym. He saw Cliff’s concerned eyes when he told Cliff the story of his background in foster care. He saw Cliff’s love and acceptance of him in the bedroom after he had changed for the first time. He could feel Cliff reaching out to touch Shane’s monstrous shoulder that first time…Shane was naked, and grotesquely muscular, and Cliff loved it. He wanted Shane to explode with muscle and power, yet he would wait for Shane to feel comfortable with that before asking. Shane knew that. Cliff was unselfish. He was too good for this world, and look at what they had done to him. “Shane.” Rich’s voice was trembling. “Shane, he has a heartbeat. Not much of one… but it’s there.” Shane had just noticed that to get under the layers of cloth around Cliff’s body, he had to unwrap him a little. Shane could see from his vantage point that his arms had been broken in many places. His forearm and shoulders were sticking out at unnatural angles. His spine looked bent backwards slightly and his legs were also arranged in an awkward way that could only be achieved if the joints had been broken and bone’s cracked. There were angry puncture marks and strips of flesh cut from him. Shane remembered the man in the sterile room saying that they were going to drain him and take tissue samples. He felt fear grip his soul. It was enough for Shane to know that he was still alive. He could feel something welling up inside of him, but they had to have priorities here. They had to get Cliff help and NOW. He fought to suppress his emotions, the ones that were beginning to rage in his belly. “Jack, lower me down to my lover. I will lay with him for a moment. I need him.” He said it in the kindest and gentlest manner but it was not a suggestion. He demanded it with authority. His eyes were welling up with tears. His lips were shaking. His breaths were unsteady. He was barely able to maintain his composure. His entire world was beginning to shatter. He loved this man, bent, broken and laying in the ground. He didn’t know why, but he knew that he needed to feel his skin-they seemed to be able to communicate on a deep level just by touching. He needed that connection because he didn’t know what to do. Most of all, he needed Cliff to know that he was there. He knew Cliff would know that the love of his life was next to him, no matter the outcome. He didn’t want Cliff to die not knowing that. Maybe it would give him small comfort. Jack gently lay Shane down next to Cliff, facing him. “Rich, please take my hand and place it on Shane’s cheek.” He still couldn’t feel any control returning to his muscles yet. He was relying on his two new friends to do for him what he could not do for himself. Rich gently took Shane’s hand and placed it softly on Cliff’s cheek…so softly. It was as if Shane were trying to touch morning mist. Gentle, loving, almost transcendent. Shane heard a gurgling sound coming from Cliff’s throat. Cliff knew Shane was there. That’s all that Shane needed Cliff to know. “Shane. I am so sorry.” Rich’s voice cracked. Deep sobs were on the edge of welling up through his throat. Rich still had ahold of Shane’s hand, holding it steady on Cliff’s cheek. Rich and Shane understood each other perfectly and with clarity in that moment. Rich loved Cliff, he always had, but he knew that Cliff would never have him. He had been jealous of Shane, but not anymore. Not after this. Rich knew that Shane was Cliff’s man, forever. And he was ok with it. “Thank you, Rich.” Shane looked into Rich’s eyes with the deepest love and compassion he could muster. “Shane, what is wrong with your arm?” Jack had blended into the background in the past 30 seconds. He was watching the procession of trucks moving their way. He also was devastated by Cliff’s state, but saw that Rich, Cliff, and Shane needed to have a moment that would bind them together. “Seriously, Shane. What going on with your arm, man?” They all looked at the arm that Shane had extended to Cliff’s cheek. It was pulsing wildly underneath the skin. Those veins that normally had stretched out to reach for Cliff’s touch were tugging outward toward him. Not gently, but violently. They were squirming and angry. It looked like they were going to erupt. Shane looked shocked too. Feeling was quickly returning to his limbs. It’s as if whatever was happening was purifying his system. Somehow, he knew that Cliff had commanded Shane’s body to clear the drugs from his system. When Cliff was around, Cliff was in control. That is the way it was. Cliff was his master. Cliff always knew what to do. Shane tried to stand up, but fell back to the ground. Feeling was returning quickly, but not quite 100%. Rich caught him under the armpit and steadied him, raising him up to stand. He looked back down at the man who he loved. Cliff had become his protector against the outside world and he still was protecting him, somehow. Looking down on his broken destroyed body, Shane had the realization that it was his turn. He swore that he would never let anything happen to Cliff, but he had not been able to fulfill that promise, and he knew Cliff did not blame him for that. He, himself, didn’t blame this on his inability to protect Cliff. That thing that had been building up inside of him over the course of the past few minutes was beginning to bubble to the surface. Shane was getting angry. He looked at Rich, who was still partially supporting him, with a knowing look and a smile that faded and became cold. Rich felt in that moment that he saw the face of Destruction. “Rich. Jack. Stay close to me.” It was a command. Once again, he was not making a suggestion. Shane stood fully tall, straight backed and placed his legs over his beautiful kind boyfriend lying in the dirt. That small patch of dry earth was now sacred ground to the three of them. Whatever was going to happen in the next few minutes, Cliff would neither be touched nor disturbed. Something happened then that Shane didn’t expect. He heard that gurgling sound coming from his Master and looked down again.. Rage was building inside of him. The world was going dark and he was beginning to lose control of himself. When he heard the noise from Cliff, he snapped back to reality and leaned down. Cliff moved his arm ever so slightly and tried to extend his finger. Shane saw this and gently, carefully reached out touched Cliff’s finger much like the painting of God and Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. The world ended in that moment for Shane. Tsunamis of power raged through him. Shockwaves of pure distilled energy shot through his body. He gazed at the sky and dry lightening began shooting toward Shane forming that ball of plasma that he had seen the previous night. This was different though. This was clearly Cliff commanding Shane to access energy and power this way. He didn’t need to speak. He knew his Love so intimately that he commanded Shane without speaking. The anger and rage disappeared as Cliff’s touch pushed back those dark emotions and replaced them with blinding adoration and passion. Shane started to convulse. Waves of strength pounded into his body. The energy in the sky pooled and swirled and kept building and building. Shane looked at Cliff’s body with such devotion and compassion; those emotions began to feed the indignation that continued to build inside of Shane’s body. Then it started. Rich noticed it first. He was looking at Shane’s face. He was so close – only a couple of feet. He saw the black eyes he had come to know and expect were beginning to clear. He stared and watched intently. A look of complete control passed across Shane’s face. He was managing this flood of power with the help of his master. Shane’s eyes turned the clearest of blues--the color of the ocean at Cozumel. They looked as though they were made of electricity – positively glowing in mid daylight. Shane let out a bellow. Thick veins popped up all over his body. He had not grown or expanded past his small state, but veins the size of garden hoses were running down his arm, webbing across his legs, following fault lines on his chest and even his back. They were pulsing, rhythmically staking out their territory. He could feel with every pulse, thousands of times more power that he had felt the night before flooding into his muscles. His body was priming itself. He looked down again at Cliff. He saw his face battered and his body broken. He was acutely aware of how Cliff was feeling. He was in pain. Extreme pain. The pain that shouldn’t be felt by any human, or animal. The pain that causes your body to pass out and collapse. Pain that the brain cannot handle. That is what Cliff felt. The people who did this to him would pay. He felt one more pulse of the veins and then his body went silent. He smiled and looked up at the swirly plasma in the sky above. He started to laugh and grabbed Jack’s hand and Rich’s shoulder. He gave them the look of a mad man and then the lightening descended. The stream of energy plowed into Shane’s body. A constant river of the most pure power in the world was pushing itself into Shane’s fragile small frame. It kept pouring in second after second, power beyond measure. The lightening feeder bolt stopped for a moment. Then Shane’s body exploded. So much strength had built up in Shane’s muscles with the help of those thick as fuck veins. So much energy. He was primed beyond comprehension. Massive nautical ropes of steel raced down his forearms. Expanding. Bulging, Expanding in waves. His fucking forearms looked to be the size of Smart cars made of muscle. He closed his eyes and shook his body. Hundreds of pounds of muscle just appeared from every insertion and attachment point when he shook. It was almost as if a dog had been washed and instead of water being shaken off, it was thick, hard, massive muscle just appearing. He shook himself several times. Like a peacock unfurling his iridescent tail, Shane just blew up in every single direction. Where a moment ago there had been a thin man, now stood a beast wider than he was tall with colossal dimensions of every muscle. Shane looked quickly down on Cliff’s body. He could feel so much love flowing through Cliff to him, it stopped him for a moment and he caught his breath. He smiled and made a deep moan. And then his chest blew up again. He knew Cliff liked big-as-fuck chests and he wanted to give Cliff what he desired. The attachment points along the sternum heaved and a chasm appeared between the pec shelves . The canyon that developed between his monumental pectorals were two feet deep and the actual pectoral shelf expanded wildly from there forming a hulking mass jutting away from Shane’s body. Delineations between fibers were visible. Rich reached up to touch Shane’s expanding chest. It looked like it had been cut with a million strokes of a razor blade. The skin was so thin that the tiniest of capillaries were visibly pulsing on top of their hard companions. Micro ridges of muscle fibers eked out their real estate and fought for exposure to the surface. Jake and Rich couldn’t help themselves. They both placed their hands on opposite pecs and attempted to grab a hard handful of Shane muscle. Instead, they were met with a substance that was impenetrable to anything made by man. Two car hoods next to each other may begin to give an idea of the size of Shanes’ muscle tits. Shane threw his head back and groaned. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. More! MORE CLIFF!!!!! I WILL AVENGE YOU! MOOOOOOORE!” A soft voice entered Shane’s mind telling him, “I do not need to be avenged yet, but you must get yourself, Rich, and Jake out of here. Do you understand?” Shane just nodded. The lust and affection that Cliff was sending out to Shane was unstoppable. Shane was picking up on it and turning it into growth. He was becoming the muscle god that Cliff wanted him to be. “Grow for me, Shane. Grow for me! Protect our friends. GROW,” the voice in his mind coming from his love was rich and thick with longing and pain. He felt like Cliff was entering the deepest recesses of his soul and fucking him somehow. Fucking every part of him. Every cell was being rammed by Cliff’s mind. Another pause and then Shane’s lats spread out like the cobra’s hood of the night before, but twice as wide and three times as thick. Rich looked at Shane’s back and it looked more like a two massive bulls wresting than it did anything resembling a human. Bulges erupted revealing their fruits of power and the lat wings extended feet away from his mammoth shoulders. Jack took a few steps away and looked at his brother in awe. He felt terrified of the power coursing through this beast and at the same time he felt perfectly protected. Shane was exploding because of his love for Cliff not because of a hate and fear. He felt it coming from both of them. They were making wild passionate earth-shattering love inside of their two minds. He was not a part of it, but he could tell what was happening. They were connecting and fucking each other senseless. Cliff’s swollen eyes were fluttering and low groans were coming from his mouth. Shane was looking down at him and growling like a wild savannah beast being fucked by its mate. It was beautiful. The terrifying power passing between the two of them ripped into Jack and Rich’s soul as well. They were not part of it, but could not help but feel those crashing waves of pure euphoria. Shane was becoming everything that would turn Cliff on. They were completely focused on each other in that sacred space where Cliff’s body lay broken. Shane’s calves erupted and demolished the concept of mountainous. They were veritable planetoids. Extending up from the meaty huge feet that had developed, and leading from the ankles, thick sinew and tendon billowed out from his Achilles heel. Shane’s calves appeared to be pregnant muscle melons; striated, veiny, and sharp edged. The classic diamond shape of bodybuilder calves were insignificant to what they were now beholding. Deep ravines began running around, down, and through the structures that became Shane’s legs. Small animals could get lost in the ravines and hillocks of Shane’s massive quads. So many striations were visible; it appeared that every muscle had been modeled after a feather, with their innumerable micro ridges but infinitely harder and more frightening in their strength. Python veins raced across the surface, erupting in one area, plunging into the musculature resurfacing after giving their precious elixir to the hard meat below. Shane stopped to breath for a moment. His hulking body had grown to about 7 feet. Before them was a god. His eyes were still electric blue – literally. His big meaty paws had fingers the size of a thick sausage. He looked like he weighed a thousand pounds with no exaggeration in that number. Rich and Jack had needed to move away as Shane’s vast frame expanded. They stared at his body completely slack-jawed. Shane was in a state of complete bliss. His head was thrown back. He was being mind-fucked by the love of his life. He almost couldn’t contain the desire he had to develop even more muscle for Cliff to enjoy, but Cliff held Shane’s desire to grow in check. He was setting Shane’s boundaries, and Shane loved the control Cliff had over him. In Cliff’s overwhelming stability and authority, Shane felt free. His dominion over Shane was absolute and complete. Shane’s body and soul were being pounded by Cliff’s enormous raging mind-cock. His entire body felt like it was a thousand pounds of fuck stick waiting for its next touch. He always thought it was silly when people used the word “ecstasy.” Now he understood, but no one else would ever feel what he was feeling now. Cliff’s energy was pulsing through his body. His love was causing every engorged cell in Shane’s body to feel like a teenage boy’s first masturbation, the moment he discovers his manhood. Cliff was masterfully stroking Shane’s being on a level that transcended the physical. Cliff was Shane’s god and he was awaiting his commandments. Suddenly, the bliss stopped and Shane was whipped back into the physical world. He turned his head that sat atop his neck bulging with long bags of muscle and veins. He looked at Rich who was standing there with a large spot of precum soaking through his pants. Shane spoke and it sounded as gentle as an April morning and as terrifying as a hurricane, “How is he, Rich? How is my Love?” He could tell that Cliff had started drifting in and out of consciousness. There was a loud screech of metal on metal. The convoy had arrived to meet their Destroyer. Rich put his fingers on Cliff’s battered body and whispered, “He’s diminishing. We have to get him out of here. Shane, please! We have to get him out of here now. Please do something. It’s up to you now.” A man jumped out of the front truck and walked hurriedly toward the small group of Shane, Jack, Rich, and Cliff. He put his hands in the air as he saw Shane’s body flexing with each breath, ripples of striations and fibers leaping out like freshly caught fish at the slightest movement. Rich yelled out, “You’d better stop, man. Don’t come any closer.” He had a warning tone in his voice. Rich didn’t know what Shane could do really, but he could feel it. He was oozing pure unadulterated force. The man kept walking toward them. Jack tried this time. “Seriously, don’t take another step.” He yelled. Shane’s eyes were wild with a mixture of rage, love, and lust. It was a powerful, and dangerous combination. The man kept walking. “YOU WILL NOT COME NEAR HIM!!!!” The voice of a thousand angels combined with the sound from the rumble of a landslide. “IF YOU COME CLOSER, IT WILL BE TO YOUR PERIL. DO NOT COME CLOSER TO HIM.” There was a power and a promise to those words that made even Rich and Jack tremble. There was no doubt about who the “Him” was. For all of Shane’s gigantic muscles and thickness, he was protecting the fragile damaged life between his legs with the greatest of care. The man took another step, hands in the air. Shane looked at him quizzically as if sizing up a bug on the sidewalk. He flicked his wrist as if shooing a fly and the man sored through the air landing in a heap 50 yards away. Suddenly guns were drawn from all over the convoy. Large machine-guns, smaller rifles, everything drawn on the muscle monster. Shane spoke clearly and loudly, but not shouting. The power in his veins was amplifying his every action. “You have made a grave mistake. You have disrespected and possibly killed the only thing in this world that matters to me. You will pay the price. It will not be as high if you get him to a hospital…NOW. If you do not comply, I will do to you what you did to him. I promise you that.” The silence lasted for a minute. A woman in a black business suite started toward the hulking monster and his treasure. Her hands went up in the air. “We just want to talk to you.” Her voice was like steel wrapped in silk. Rich yelled out to the woman, “Ma’am, I think that if you take one more step, my friend here will be likely to fulfill his promise to wipe all of you shit-eaters off of the face of this earth. And I wouldn’t blame him. Come closer and you will reap the consequences of your actions.” Rich paused, choking up, “You do not know who you left for dead on the road today.” He was surprised at how eloquently that came out. The small band of young men was beginning to get nervous. They had to get Cliff to safety and medical treatment, and soon. He wouldn’t last much longer. “Do you surrender to my terms? Shane asked the question with deep sincerity. While the power-fueled part of him wanted to just destroy every last hummer and even that fuckin helicopter, he knew that it was time to make a move to get Cliff to help. The woman kept walking toward the small group. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She replied. She sounded like a fucking liar. She wanted her profit margin or stock prices or whatever the fuck she was working on to increase. This was a calculated risk on her part. “If you come ONE step closer to HIM, I will put a fear into your heart that you will not recover from.” The woman stopped and then took one more step. Shane looked at both of us quickly and we knew what he was asking of us. He was leaving hallowed ground and the object of his affection to handle this problem. He was entrusting Cliff’s care to Rich and Jack. His giant body ran toward the convoy. He grabbed the woman and tucked her under his massive ripped arms and threw her, not lightly, into a caravan hummer. He grabbed that same vehicle and picked it up like a deck of cards and threw it a few hundred feet back onto another convoy vehicle. When the truck hit the other, Shane looked over at the wreckage. People were scrambling and trying to get out of the wrecked vehicles. As soon as they got free, he focused for the briefest moment and the two vehicles compacted into a cube the size of a lunchbox. He heard gasps and cries. They beat up the wrong guy today. “If you desire to live, you will take Him to the hospital. SOMEONE do this NOW or there won’t be a single one of you left to walk away from this. You did this to HIM now you take care of it or I will personally take care of you.” It was a simple statement of fact. The silence fell on the group again. The tense minute passed. The hulking beast that was Shane stood there ready to take on a well-equipped army complete with air power, but he wasn’t worried. These people were gnats to him, or maybe less than that. He heard the sound of someone on the radio…his ears were able to hear exquisitely and although he couldn’t make out what was being said, he felt a détente of the tension in the convoy. A man stepped out of the third Hummer in line. He stared directly into Cliff’s electric eyes. It was the man from the cellar. The one that was pacing. The one that berated Shane while he was paralyzed on the table. It was the man who told him who he was and what they were doing. It was the man who had kept him in shitty abusive foster families so it would be easier to dose him with radiation. It was the man who hated Shane. Surprisingly, Shane didn’t care about any of that. His one focus was to get Cliff to medical help. The man approached. Jack yelled from their position twenty feet away, “Dude, you’d better stop right there or my massive brother is likely to become your worse nightmare and the rest of us wont…” Shane held up his hand to stop Jack from continuing. Shane ponderous muscles bulged with granite waves as he motioned to the man to come closer. “Will you comply with my terms?” Shane asked flatly. “We are willing to assist you in transport of your…friend, if you are willing to…” “This is not a negotiation! You will do this or you will suffer the consequences!” Shane screamed the words at the man. Only the wall that Cliff had built in his mind, the one that was imparting him with self-control, was tempering his rage. The man stared at the behemoth in front of him. He was in awe. Only 20 feet away was a young man who reeked of pure power. It was intoxicating to the man. He wanted the power that Shane possessed in just one of his fingers. Shane sensed his power lust. “You will evacuate us now. NOW!” Shane’s demands were clear and unquestionable. The man shook like a child who had stolen one too many cookies from the cookie jar. The man turned his back and started walking toward his Hummer. He didn’t want Shane to see that he had pissed himself. The man turned around when he got to the truck. “OK. The helicopter will take him.” He got on the radio and made the request. The helicopter stopped circling and approached the group. Shane walked the few steps over to Cliff’s diminished body. He could feel in his bones how weak Cliff was getting. He was beginning to panic. He kneeled down his massive mountainous form next to Cliff’s body. He dug his colossal quads into the ground at the knees, bent over the top of Cliff and put his elbows out. His head rested on the ground on the other side of Cliff’s chest. He flared his lats out to encase Cliff in a cocoon of muscle as the helicopter approached. Rich and Jack shielded their eyes from the dust being kicked up and hunkered down next to the goliath. The helicopter set down. A man dressed in dark camo approached the small group. “Let’s go! The closest hospital is still 20 minutes away by air.” Shane put his enormous pylon arms underneath Cliff’s mangled body and lifted. He thought of just picking him up with his mind, as he had done before, but he could be gentle and he could tell that Cliff desired his touch. He raised him up with surgical deftness and with the softness of a cloud walked him to the waiting chopper. He held Cliff’s body next to his massive chest and nestled him into the giant cleavage between his monumental planet sized pectorals. He held him there, securely. Cliff was in and out of consciousness, but he felt warm and secure. He could tell Shane was exercising intense care, but it still hurt excruciatingly. He fought to stay conscious and with Shane’s help, he did a fairly good job. He could be held between those massive harder-than-steel slabs forever and never be happier. The four friends were on board the chopper and it was lifting off the ground in seconds. Shane had found it necessarily to reduce his size in order for all four of them to fit, but he had maintained the size of his pecs. He knew Cliff liked them and he could tell that they felt good to Cliff. They arrived at the hospital 15 minutes later, much faster than they had thought. Rich thought it was because the pilot was scared shitless of Shane, but it was in face Jack who had wrapped his powerful hand around the pilots arm and told him to go faster, applying just enough pressure to convince the pilot that Jack would destroy him if he didn’t comply. Cliff was fading quickly and Shane was beginning to sense his loss of consciousness was becoming deeper. Shane could sense his weakened heartbeat as was growing more irregular. He was struggling to breath. A shock of fear rushed through Shane the moment they hit the landing pad. He jumped out of the door and ran at full speed into the hospital, still clutching Cliff to his enormous pec cleavage. ‘Help me!” he bellowed. “He needs help, please!” The intense agony in the monster’s voice was palpable. A young doctor turned the corner and almost ran right into Shane’s enormous planet sized shoulder. Shane looked at the doctor with a wildness that can only come from true fear and grief. “He is dying! Help Him!” The doctor looked at the muscle beast in front of him. His veins coursing across every inch of his body. Muscles rippling like waves on a pond. Even with complete physical power and the energy of 100 suns encased in his body, Shane looked helpless. His eyes pleaded with the man. “Come this way, and hurry. He looks bad.” The doctor hurried to an empty hospital bed. “Lay him down here.” Shane hesitated to give him up. But he had to. The doctor pulled the phone out of his pocket and pushed a speed-dialed number. “I need to get into O.R. 1 immediately. I need three nurses, a tech, radiology, and anesthesia….Yes, right now!” Shane had laid Cliff onto the bed and he was cradling Cliff’s broken skull and swollen face in his enormous meaty palms. The doctor reached out gently and placed his hand on the beast’s forearm. “I need to take it from here.” “Can I go with him, Doctor?” His voice cracked with emotion. “Can I hold his hand?” “I’m sorry. But I can have you stand outside of the surgical suit. Can you wait there?” The young handsome doctor felt that the muscle monster was torn apart by the crumpled heap of humanity that he had brought in. Rich and Jack came running up. They hadn’t been quite as fast off the chopper. “You can help me push him if you’d like.” The doctor still had his hand on Shane’s massive forearm. He hadn’t seen so much fear on a person’s face in a long time. “Right this way.” The doctor lead the way down the hallway with Rich, Jack, Shane, and Cliff in tow. They got to a set of large swinging doors. The doctor looked up at Shane. “You can come into this hallway, but need to stay in outside of the operating room. OK?” Shane looked at the doctor with his white-blue eyes and nodded. He stood guard over that room for more than 10 hours. Countless couriers ran in and out of the room bringing in bag after bag of blood and blood products. Nurses and surgeons entered to offer their expertise and assistance as the hours went on. Shane just stood there, watching through the small window in the door, standing guard over his priceless treasure that lay inside. At one point, the friendly doctor came out for a few minutes. He took his mask off to look at Shane in the eye. “He is going to make it I think. There is a long way to go and he will not be able to move or get out of bed for a long time. But I truly believe that he will live at this point. We aren’t out of the woods, but things are looking better.” He stretched his hand out to grab Shane’s. Shane just grabbed him in a huge hug. The doctor was crushed as the air was pushed out of his lungs. “Loosen up, Big Guy.” The doctor walked into the scrub room again and started lathering up, scrubbing his hands, replacing his gown, and mask and prepared to go back into the room clean. A few hours later, Shane sat in Cliff’s hospital room. Rich and Jack were holding hands on the couch next to the window. Of course, Shane sat in a chair right next to the bed with his hand covering one of Cliff’s. The veins in Shane’s hand were pulsing and wrestling to touch Cliff, as they always had done. The doctor said Cliff would be waking up soon and the guys were all going to be there for that moment. Just then, Cliff’s eyes fluttered open. Shane saw it. He had been staring at Cliff’s face since they had left the O.R. “Cliff. Don’t try to speak. I am here. Rich is here and so is Jack. We are all here.” Shane’s eyes started to water again as he looked into Cliff’s beautiful eyes. His face was still mangled but the doctor told them that the swelling would go down over time. He would have to have more surgeries to fix some other damage as well, but none of that mattered now. Cliff and Shane stared at each other for a long while. It was silent in the room. No one wanted to change the mood or interrupt the moment. There was another conversation happening between the two, through their touch and through their gaze. It was soft and calm and pregnant with tenderness. After ten minutes or so, Shane stood up and bent over Cliff’s still body. His eyes were watering. He was so grateful for Cliff’s survival. He bent over to kiss Cliff on the forehead. A tear from those electric blue eyes fell onto Cliff’s skin and Shane’s lips touched Cliff’s forehead. His hand was still covering Cliff’s. He then simply asked the question that echoed the one he had after demolishing the cedar tree on their walk back from the weight room on campus. “Did I do well, Cliff? Did I do what was right?” They looked into each other’s eyes again. The answer was clear. Suddenly, one of the small vessels on the top of Shane’s hand burst as it struggled against Shane’s skin to touch Cliff. A thick heavy drop of blood rolled off of his hand and onto Cliff’s skin. Shane went to wipe it off and saw that it had been absorbed immediately into Cliff. The monitors started alarming in the room. Cliff’s blood pressure was spiking. He started to convulse. Rich and Jack ran over to the side of the bed and Shane looked terrified again. Then he went still. The energy had changed in the room. It was thick and electric. Shane felt a surge inside of him. Something was ripping through him like a razor sharp knife, searing him to his core. Cliff lay there, entirely still but Shane felt those waves of emotion flowing off of him again. They kept building and building. Pounding waves of pure emotion. He felt like he was drowning in Cliff and it felt like he would suffocate…but it felt so good. Distilled passion and sex washed over him. Waves of affection coursed through his being. The energy in the room kept building. It felt like he was in a pressure cooker. The world went quiet. Then a sound like a clap of thunder shook the room. Cliff’s body sent out an electromagnetic pulse. The wave spread out quickly, knocking out the electronics in the room (and they would come to find out, the entire town). “What was that?” Rich was staring at Cliff’s body. Then Shane’s eyes got wide. He started trembling like a leaf. He started to whimper and looked like he was about to orgasm. The giant cock snake in his pants leaped to attention, tearing through his pants and slapped into his hard ripped stomach. Thick veins erupted over Cliff’s exposed arm creating a powerful chain reaction across his skin. The cords were writhing and moving around like they were alive themselves. Veins started erupting from every inch of Cliff’s body. The discolorations of his bruises were fading and the swelling in his face was going down, and quickly. Entire river systems and road maps of vessels swarmed over his skin. They even made Shane’s vasculature look pathetic. The vessels grew in thickness and density until every inch of Cliff’s skin was buried under layers of bulging, angry, writhing veins. Cliff let out a thunderous moan. There are no words to describe the depth and power in that moan. The room shook, the windows exploded outward. Jack and Rich shot enormous loads of cum into their pants spontaneously. Thunderheads of power were rolling off of Cliff’s body. They could see visible disturbances in the air around him. Shane pulled back his hand and took a step back. He could feel what was coming. His eyes were wild with excitement and with a healthy dose of astonishment. He wasn’t afraid. He knew that Cliff’s immense strength was about to become housed in a more resilient body. His lover was about to become something that he could not fully understand. Cliff’s mind was stroking Shane again. “I love you, Shane. You are mine forever, and I am yours forever.” The words only existed inside of Shane’s head, but they sounded like thunderclaps, echoing around inside of his skull. Cliff fell to his knees, “Yes, Master. I am.” He barely got the words out of his mouth. Cliff screamed with the intensity of a crazed man, if the crazed man had a microphone set up at a rock concert. The sound penetrated all of them to their core. It was earthshattering in its intensity and strength. Cliff’s eyes were beginning to glow a hot white. His head was darting around, searching for something…Shane. “Shane?” the man said with the power of a thousand rivers. It wracked their bodies with its force. Shane stood back up and approached Cliff, who was pulsating with the layers of veins coursing over his body. Shane looked at Cliff with awe in his eyes. His body began to shrink down to his smaller size in deference to whatever was happening to Cliff. He grabbed Cliff’s hand again and a jolt coursed through him. His whole body tensed and his teeth clenched together. Jack jumped up immediately from where he was sitting with Rich to pull Shane away. He wouldn’t let anything happen to his newfound brother, even though he knew to his core that Cliff would never do anything purposeful to hurt any of them in that room. But, Shane looked like he was about to start convulsing. “It is OK, Jack. He will be OK.” Cliff’s voice roared, but somehow quietly. Jack backed away slowly, like he had interrupted something sacred. Then, Cliff’s muscles detonated into a being that the world could not comprehend. Without warning, Cliff let out another tremor inducing cry. This came from the depths of his being. Shane stood there holding his hand and instantaneously he dwarfed everything in the room. Lying down on the hospital bed still, his enormous body expanded slightly in length, but inconceivably in mass. His shoulders jutted out over the side of the bed. His traps erupted until they served as a hood above his head. In two seconds, Cliff’s arms had become as thick as a ponderosa pine, and twice as hard. Cliff’s hospital gown had just enough material to cover a part of Cliff’s bulging breadloaf-sized abs. Even they had an intricate web of veins running in a honeycomb pattern over them. Cliff’s legs had fallen to the sides of the bed, not because they had grown slightly in length, but because they had pushed themselves over the sides from pure size. The quads expanded like a parachute’s ripcord had been pulled. Billowing stone columns of shredded meat pulsed with power and strength that made Shane’s body earlier in the day pale in comparison. His glutes had balled up into two spheres big enough to jut his crotch into the air and his lats had expanded enough to be sagging off the table and formed hard muscle shelves for the tank-like arms to rest on. Speaking of Cliff’s crotch: The well-endowed 9 inches that he appreciated before was long gone. In its place stood a tower to manhood. Balls the size of grapefruits hung loosely in his enormous sack. Shane walked up to the bed and looked into Cliff’s eyes. They looked calm and he had a soft smile on his face. His face looked the same, if not slightly more handsome. He looked at Shane with those white-hot eyes, smiled his devastating smile, and simply said, “YES, you may do it.” Shane put his small hands, one on top of the other, around Cliff’s enormous cock and started to jerk his muscle god off. At this point, Rich and Jack were standing close to the bed as well. Cliff looked at them with his white eyes and chuckled a deep god-like chuckle and kept smiling. It was still Cliff in that huge, monolithic body. Nothing about his mind had changed; he was just monumental in size. That smile was the same and that gave great comfort to Rich and Jack. “Looks like you two will get along well. Now get back on the couch and make out or something. Shane and I need to take care of some business.” Jack took this as a command from his master, and Rich wasn’t about to contradict his newly titan sized best friend. They backed away and into the corner to get to know each other better. “Shane, that feels so good. I have been waiting for this since we got back from the gym when you broke that 45 pound plate in half. That seems like a lifetime ago, but it has only been a couple of days.” Shane was busy pleasuring Cliff’s cock, but he looked at his master and simply smiled. He was raging hard himself, in his small form. Cliff looked at him and Shane could feel some fear and apprehension in the man he loved. “What is it, my Love? Why are you feeling that way?” Shane looked to his lover with concern. “Shane, what happened to me? Why did I turn into this thing that would make the Hulk look small? Do you still think I am handsome?” “Cliff, you are the most beautiful person in the world…and if you are like me, you will be able to adjust your size, remember? But for now, please just let me take care of you. Focus on how you feel with me stroking your huge cock. I want to make you feel better than you ever have felt before, Master.” A few minutes later, Cliff reached climax. Pints of thick creamy spunk flew to the ceiling and coated much of the room. That is only after Shane took his fill. Cliff had never felt that way before. Sure he had cum plenty of times, but this was different. This was with his lover, partner, best friend, and the man who had now saved his life. He finally stood up. Over 8 feet of the solidest, hardest, vein-riddled, muscle stood in that room naked. Being 6 feet across at the shoulders made him look unstoppable and truly like a god. He looked down at the pecs that jutted out horizontally to the floor for several feet. He massaged them and motioned Shane over to suck and bite on his nipples. He felt so good. He loved Shane so much. Those waves of love had not stopped between them. In fact, they increased in their power. Cliff loved his brick-house built body, but longed for Shane’s close embrace and he could tell that Shane was preferential to staying in his smaller size at the moment. Maybe it was because he had been massive for so much of the day. Cliff thought, “He probably enjoys me being the big one for a change.” Shane grabbed his hand and looked up at his with his beautiful eyes and said simply, “I do like it.” Shane looked lovingly at the grotesquely glorious thing that Cliff had become. Cliff looked down and willed himself back to his normal meaty college boy size and grabbed Shane’s hands. Then let go and wrapped his warm arms around him and whispered in his ear, “This is going to be a good year.” “I love you Cliff,” was Shane’s only reply. “Before we head home, I think we need to take care of the people who did this to us. And they have those samples of my blood and tissue. I don’t know what they could do with them, but I think it wouldn’t be a good thing. Rich, Jack, you guys stay here. This is something that the two of us need to do together. Answer any questions that doctor has, but be discreet. He is a good man, but I don’t know if he’d believe the real story. Shane and I need to go take care of some business.” Jack and Rich both nodded. Cliff and Shane grabbed some hospital scrubs out of the cupboard in the room, put them on their normal sized bodies and walked out of the hospital. A couple of moments later, Rich looked out where the window used to be before bind blasted out, and across the vast fields of Eastern Washington and saw two huge muscle beasts running toward the west, one a bit larger than the other, holding hands. “When they get back, I’m sure it will be a good story,” he thought to himself. Jack sank back to the couch and put his incredibly strong arm around Rich and looked him in the eyes with his orbs of blackness. “Before they left, Cliff and I had a mental conversation, and he let me know that even though he is my master, he is loaning me to you. What would you like me to do for you, Master Rich?” Rich planted a deep kiss on his new boyfriend and just smiled.
  2. Guest

    Steroids? Please...

    I paced impatiently outside my local gym, bag in hand, checking my phone every couple of minutes. I was waiting for my workout partner, Brian, to turn up and he was really late. I’d been waiting over an hour, dropping him the odd text to ask him where he was but he hadn’t replied. It was really starting to annoy me now. He had been missing for the last two weeks and when he had finally gotten in touch with me, he agreed to come to the gym with me today. I decided that I would give him another ten minutes and then I would start my workout without him. I’d met Brian a little over a year ago at this very gym. We had both joined at the same time and taken the same induction class. He was in his early thirties and I in my early twenties, both trying to get fitter and we had bonded over our lack of experience in the gym and quickly began to work out together. Brian wanted to build muscle, a dream of his since he was a kid, whereas I just wanted to be healthier and trimmer, get more guys to notice me. We bonded outside the gym, wing manning for each other at bars and hanging out at weekends; we became really good, close friends. But two weeks ago, as I had just gotten in from a business trip and raring to go the gym, he texted me that he wasn’t feeling well. After nagging and nagging him by text (he wouldn’t answer my calls at all) to see if he was better, he finally agreed to meet me at the gym. His ten minutes were up and I huffed my way inside to change. I was pissed off that he couldn’t have even said he couldn’t make it and made a note to go to his apartment after my workout. As I was putting my gym bag in a locker, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there was this huge bodybuilder staring down at me. I was by no means short at 5’11 but this guy was huge. At least 7’ tall and body so packed with muscle that I was surprised he could even move, his skin so tight over his humongous muscles that every vein on his body was pressing out like a den of snakes. I hated that look, personally. I couldn’t see the appeal; I liked guys with a little muscle but skinny. “Uh… can I help you?” I asked, shutting my locker. “Hey Si, it’s me,” he said in an incredibly deep voice. “Do I know you?” I asked, confused. “Yeah you do; it’s me, Brian.” I had to do a double take. I looked at the face and I could just about see Brian’s features there. Though they were different. Bolder, angular, rich with masculinity; I couldn’t believe this giant was Brian. Brian was only 5’9” and his voice had never been deep like that. “This is a joke, right?” I asked, nervously. “He’s playing a game or something.” He lifted up his tank top, exposing his powerful washboard abs to reveal a tattoo across his stomach, distorted by his bulging muscles. “Kerry”, it said, just under his navel. I knew that tattoo well, Brian had told me he’d gotten in in memory of a girlfriend who had died in a car crash when he was in college. The same lettering, same coloured ink; there was no mistaking it. I gasp, putting my hand over my mouth. “Brian!?” I gaped. “W-what happened to you?” “Don’t know what you mean, Si,” said Brian, dropping his tank. “Just been working out, you know how it is.” “B-but you… you’re… How?” I spluttered, unable to pull on of the thousands of questions running through my head cohesively to my mouth. “Look, Si, I came here to let you know I won’t be working out with you anymore,” said Brian, putting two huge hands on my tiny in comparison shoulders. “I think we’re on different levels and… Fuck, I hate saying this… but you’ll only hold me back man. I gotta really put my all into it and I can’t just sit around while you do your cardio shit. To be honest, I don’t think we can see each other either. I’m spending all my time either working or lifting, I just don’t have time.” I blinked back tears. “I don’t understand… You’re different! What did you do?” “I know it’s a hard thing to swallow,” he said, ignoring my question. “But I’m sure you’ll find someone else to workout with.” The locker room door opened and a head popped in, locking eyes at me and Brian. I recognised them instantly, it was Andrej Wozniak, the biggest meathead in the gym. He was 7’, blond haired, blue eyed, with a thick German accent who loved showing off and strutting around like he owned the place. “Hey, Bri!” Andrej called. “The guys are waitin’. Leave the loser and get your ass out here.” “Bri?” I asked, indignantly. “You hate being called Bri. How do you know him?” “He my friend, Si,” said Brian. “He’s really helped me with my gains. Sorry dude, I catch you later.” Brian turned and left the locker room, having to turn slightly to get through the door because of his wide shoulders. My mind was awash with confusion and anger. Brian hadn’t even been a fraction of the size a couple of weeks ago, and he’d somehow grown taller as well. Brian was hiding something and Andrej was involved, I knew it. Andrej had a posse of similarly sized meathead, all tall and built like a fortress and Brian had joined their ranks. As I did my workout, I kept staring and them, glaring deeply. They were laughing and lifting heavy amounts of weight, dropping the barbells down with an almighty thud that would make everyone jump. Brian was even acting differently around them, no longer shy and quiet. He was bold, rude and loud, a total transformation. When I was done I went up to the Rick in the manager’s office. Rick owned the gym and was a fair man, very patient with new guys and knew everyone by name. He was once a bodybuilder though he never made it to pro level, but he kept in great shape still. “Hey, Simon, how can I help you?” asked Rick, leaning back in his chair. “Not cancelling your membership I hope?” “No, I actually wanted to ask you something,” I said. “What do you know about Andrej?” “Ah, Andrej…” sighed Rick. “Listen, Simon; it’s best not to get involved with him. I know he’s an ass but he pays well in membership and as long as he doesn’t cause trouble, I don’t bother him.” “I think he’s doing roids or something…” I said. “I mean, look at him! And his little group. There must be something going on there.” “If he is, it’s not under this roof I can assure you,” said Rick, sternly. “Believe me, I’ve had cops rooting in here, warrants and all, searching his stuff but they never found anything. I know a guy down at the precinct and he said Andrej has had his apartment searched, his car, everything and nothing turned up. He’s even had every drug test under the sun done on him and he’s clean. Whatever he’s doing, ain’t no one who knows what it is.” “But he’s got Brian on whatever it is,” I protested. “You have to be able to do something.” “That new guy with him is Brian?” asked Rick in amazement, leaning his head to look out the door. “Look, Simon, just forget it. Whatever he’s doing, I don’t care. As long as they pay their fees and stay out of trouble, there ain’t nothing I can do to kick him out unless I want a lawsuit. And I hate lawyers so just let it be.” I sighed and nodded, crestfallen. I went home and I tried to get it out of my mind, Brian and Andrej, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I flipped open my laptop and Googled Andrej. It brought up a bunch of websites about an artist with a slightly different name so I tried refining my search. I couldn’t find any pictures, records or even mentions of this guy anywhere; it was like he didn’t exist. And knowing the internet, if I couldn’t find someone like Andrej wasn’t anywhere online then it was because he didn’t want to be found. The next night I sat in my car outside the gym, waiting. I’d decided to confront Andrej, demand to know how he’d changed Brian. I could only think it was unwillingly as Brian had never shown any kind of fondness for the man. It got later and later until it was almost midnight when the gym was closing when he finally came out, covered in sweat. I got out my car and walked towards him as Andrej headed to his big red Hummer. “Excuse me,” I said as I got near him. “I wanna talk to you!” “Well, if it isn’t little Simon,” chuckled Andrej. “What do you want?” “What the hell did you do to Brian?” I demanded, staring him right in the eyes. I had to crane my neck up as Andrej stood at 6’11, a foot taller than me. “What drugs did you put him on?” “Drugs!?” Andrej guffawed. “I don’t do drugs, dude. What makes you think I had anything to do with Brian getting big anyway?” “Well he sure as hell wouldn’t have approached you,” I snapped. “There is no way Brian would have done anything willing like that.” “Aww, this is adorable,” laughed Andrej, crossing his huge arms across his thick chest. “Brain said you had a crush on him. Are you jealous he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore?” “What?” I exclaimed. “I’ve never had a crush on Brian. I’ve known he’s straight since we first met. And anyway, stop changing the subject! What have you given him? I know the police are after you from selling roids so what did you give him?” “You really don’t get it do you,” Andrej sneered. “I didn’t give him any drugs. In fact, Brian came to me asking for some help and I helped him. He’s living his dream and he is happy. And he is happy without you slowing him down and getting in the way. Now piss off.” “No!” I shouted. “I will find out what you did to him if it’s the last thing I do!” Andrej suddenly grabbed me by the shirt and effortless pulled me up off my feet and powerfully slammed me down onto the hood of his Hummer. I cried out in pain and he leant right up in my face. “Now you listen here, little man,” Andrej snarled. “If you come near me again, I will beat your puny little body into dust. If you even speak to me again I will break your fucking legs AND if I find out you’ve been following me, asking questions about me or if you even look at me the wrong way, I will make your life fucking hell. Is that clear?” Before I could respond he pulled me off his Hummer and I landed on a heap on the ground. He spat on me before getting in and driving away. I grunted in pain as I got up, hobbling to my car. The next morning, my body ached like I had been put through a trash compactor. I took a couple of days off work to recover, faking that I had gotten the flu, while my bruises healed. Andrej had really done one on me but I didn’t spend my time in bed licking my wounds. So what if Andrej had threatened me, I had to know the truth about what was going on. I called on my old college roommate who was adept at hacking his way into most things. I told him I was looking for information on Andrej and to be very discreet. Within a day, the only records he found was a mailing address, drivers license, car registration and a bank account. I looked through the bank details thoroughly. Money was regularly coming in at amounts that wouldn’t cause suspicion to the casual eye but then massive amounts would be withdrawn in person. Andrej had quite a lot on savings but the records only went back a couple of years so I couldn’t get really deep. I asked my friend to search for police records and he said he hadn’t been able to find any. I found that strange as Rick had said Andrej was being investigated, so there had to have been some kind of record. My friend tried again, trying everywhere he could think of but he still couldn’t bring anything up. I scowled in frustration; Andrej was definitely good at hiding. I assumed he must be paying off someone at the police department to remove any digital records at least, probably paper ones too. A week had gone by since I’d confronted Andrej and I only had a mailing address to go on. I drove to the address but it lead me to an abandoned warehouse in the old docks and the gate was locked with a chain, barbed wire lining the top so there was no way I was getting in. I was determined to find something so that night, I dressed in all black and parked down the street from the gym. I waited until Andrej came out and got into his Hummer, waiting until he had driven down the street before I began tailing him. I knew I was acting crazy but I just had to know what had happened to Brian, what Andrej had gotten him involved in. I had to stop him. Andrej drove through the city, stopping at a drugstore briefly before he hit the road again. He wasn’t driving anywhere near to the warehouse in his name and instead came up to an apartment building. He got out and pushed the door buzzer. A woman poked her head out of one of the windows and grinned when she saw Andrej. She was a total bimbo; fake blonde hair, clearly fake breasts and a terribly bright orange tan. When she came downstairs, she was wearing nothing but dental floss that passed for a bra and panties and Andrej pulled her in his arms, forcefully kissing her. They went upstairs and I waited for him to come back down, but when it hit 2am I knew to call it a night and headed home. I spent another week trying to find something, anything about Andrej but all my leads went cold. Even my hacker friend told me to just give up and forget about it. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t let it go. I decided to take a little break to clear my head, rethink everything. I bought a bottle of wine and cooked myself a good meal to just chill. It was a Friday so I thought I may as well enjoy myself for one night. I was surprised by a knock on the door at almost 10pm. My apartment building had been hit with a series of break-ins over the past year so I always kept the chain on and had a peephole installed. Through the peephole I could see Brian waiting outside. I opened the door on the chain. “Yes?” I asked. “What do you want?” “Look, Simon, I came over to apologise,” said Brian. “Can I come in?” I unlocked the door and Brian walked in, turning his body so his shoulders would fit. I put the chain back on and walked over to the kitchen. “Look, I’m really sorry for the way I’ve been acting lately,” said Brian apologetically. “I’ve been a total ass to you and it wasn’t fair. You know that’s not me and I just hope we can still be friends?” I sighed, folding my arms. “Will you tell me everything that’s happened to you if I say yes?” I asked. “I promise, just please tell me you accept my apology,” begged Brian. He walked towards me, putting his hands on my shoulders, gently squeezing. “I’ll do anything, I mean it. I don’t wanna lose you. You’re my best friend.” He looked so incredibly sincere, it was cute. Big muscles or not, he was putting on the puppy dog eyes and I couldn’t help but shake my head. “Of course I forgive you,” I said. “I’m glad you came to me, I really missed hanging out with you. But you have tell me everything you know about Andrej. I think he’s running some kind of illegal steroid ring and he somehow managed to get you hooked. What did he do to you?” “It’s kinda fuzzy, but I’ll tell you what I remember,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hey, you don’t have any bottled water do you? I left mine in my car and I’m still a little parched. Cardio day.” I nodded in understanding and turned round to open the fridge. As I was reaching for a bottled water, I felt Brian’s thick arm wrap around my chest tightly to hold me down and a rag get pressed against my mouth. I tried to fight but Brian was so strong and my arms were pressed to my sides. I tried to scream but they were muffled by the rag. I could smell something strong, chemically, on the rag and my head was starting to grow light. My breathing slowed, eyes drooping, body growing limp and the world around me faded to black. I wasn’t sure how long I was out for but a sudden wave of cold snapped me awake, gasping as ice cold water dripped down my body. My eyes opened and Andrej was standing in front of me, dropping a bucket to the floor. He smirked, folding his arms over his chest, his pecs pulling at the straps of his tank top. My wrists and ankles were tied to the arms of a wide, steel chair that seemed to engulf me due to its size. I was wearing the clothes I’d had on back at my apartment but they were now soaked. “Rise and shine, little man,” sneered Andrej. I struggled against my restraints but they wouldn’t budge, shivering from the cold water. I had no clue where I was, the only light source was above me and the rest of the room was in darkness. It had to be big room as our voices echoed slightly like in a hall. Or a warehouse. “There’s no use, you’re too weak to break free,” said Andrej. “I told you I would make your life hell if you didn’t stop coming after me, little man.” “You can’t just kidnap someone!” I shouted. “Let me go!” “Oh yes, I’ll let you go so you can run to the authorities?” retorted Andrej. “Do I look stupid to you?” “Yeah,” I growled. I doubled over as Andrej punched my gut with the force of a jackhammer. I screamed in pain, seeing stars, the wind knocked out of me. Andrej spat on my face and grinned down at me. “You think because a man has big muscles, it mean’s he’s stupid, eh?” asked Andrej. “You think men like me are just mindless hulks huh? If that is the case, then you’re the stupid one. Did you not think I knew you were following me? Trying to find out information on me? Tammy saw you sat in your car watching me when I went over to fuck her the other night. I watched you out her window, waiting for me. So I check CCTV for my warehouse and there you were, poking your nose in where it didn’t belong. I had friends hack your computer and I found out about your little hacker friend. I had him taken care of, he shouldn’t be walking anytime soon.” “What did you do to him!?” I screeched, stomach throbbing. “Oh nothing really, just broke all his things and then my guys broke him,” chuckled Andrej. “So, I had Bri bring you here tonight because you needed to be dealt with.” I gulped, fear finally setting in. “D-deal with me?” I stuttered. “Yes, little man,” said Andrej. “I do not like people snooping. Snoopers only lead to problems. I would know, when I was growing up there were a lot of them. “You see, my family came from the Soviet Union but I was born in East Germany during the Cold War. My father was a chemical engineer and he used to develop the steroids they gave to children at sports academies to build supermenschen; the biggest, strongest athletes. The steroids they had been using caused many ill-effects so my father was tasked with creating the ultimate steroid. He never got to complete his work however as the Berlin Wall fell and the Eastern regime crumbled. I was ten years old when some of his former subjects came and executed him, but before he died he managed to hide his research. “When I grew up, I managed to find his research encoded in some of his old medical journals purely by chance. I finished his formulas and created the compound. I must say, the results were profound.” Andrej flexed his huge bicep, thick veins throbbing over his mountainous peak. “So… you are dealing steroids,” I said. “That’s what you gave Brian, wasn’t it?” Andrej laughed and ripped off his tank top, exposing his muscular upper body; his wide shoulders, wing-like lats, jutting pecs, perfect 8-pack abs and tight waist without an ounce of fat anywhere, just vascular perfection. “Steroids?” retorted Andrej. “Please… What my father and I developed is no steroid. It’s not even remotely similar. What we created is the nectar of gods. Increased mass, strength, speed, durability, hormone production; undetectable and permanent. The perfect combination of chemical compounds, vitamins, minerals, nutrients, super concentrated proteins, testosterone, collagen and various other hormones. Only a few have ever been able to taste what that feels like. Like Bri.” “So you forced him to take it?” I asked. “Oh no, he asked for it,” said Andrej. “You were gone and he was in the gym, lifting. He comes up to me and asks how I got so big, telling me that no matter what he did he couldn’t gain mass, that it was his dream to be huge like me and he envied me. I told him I could help for a fee and he paid up, now he is perfect.” “I wouldn’t call that perfection,” I sneered. “You all look like freaks.” Andrej smiled and it freaked me out. He walked into the darkness and the lights came on, a machine whirring loudly nearby. I could see what looked like a water pump which had five clear plastic pipes that went into five sealed 55-gallon oil drums. There was another longer pipe attached to the pump that was hanging on the wall with a black rubber fitting on the end with elastic straps. Andrej grabbed this and walked back over to me, still smiling. “It’s funny that you call me a freak now,” said Andrej. “But just you wait little man. Now, open wide.” Andrej forced my mouth open with one hand. He was too strong for me to stop him, no matter how much I tried to bite down. He inserted the black rubber end of the pipe into my throat and I felt it go deep down my throat, forcing me to breath through my nose, a thick flap preventing me from swallowing it further. Andrej placed the straps over my head and slapped my cheek lightly, before walking over to the pump. “We’ll see who is the freak now, eh?” he smirked. Andrej flipped a switch on the pump and a beige-coloured liquid started to get drawn from the barrels. I desperately fought against my restraints, panic rising as the liquid travelled further up the clear pipe. I screamed as it was nearing me, futilely trying anything to make this stop. I felt the liquid start to pour from the hose into my stomach. It was warm and runny like milk though I couldn’t taste it. My stomach started to feel bloated and very full quickly. I looked down and I could see my belly starting to look swollen as it was filling to capacity. I hoped Andrej would shut the pump off but he didn’t and I watched in horror as my stomach started growing bigger and bigger. I could hear it churn and gurgle loudly as it couldn’t process the liquid quick enough, completely overloaded. My clothes were growing tighter on my body as I expanded and I could feel my belt start to dig in painfully. The leather grew tighter and tighter until it snapped clean off, the button flying off my jeans. With my stomach so full, I could feel the liquid start to compact throughout my body. My arms and legs grew flabby and fuller, chest sagging, face getting heavy. I looked like I was growing fat but it was just the liquid trying to find space in my body. I felt soft but so heavy and pain shot across my skin as stretch marks began to form. My clothes were being torn off by my growing size until I was naked and my body began to sweat profusely. The pumping just wouldn’t stop and nor was my body. 275 gallons of this liquid would be pumped inside me. I would either keep going until it was all inside me or I would die. My bones ached at the pressure of the immense weight on my frame. Soon the last drops of the beige liquid were forced into me and Andrej pulled the hose from my mouth. I let out a series of loud burps which made Andrej laugh. I felt so heavy, there was so much soft mass on my face I couldn’t close my mouth or move my head, neck engulfed in pudginess. My body looked so big I probably could have won the world record for fattest man alive. I was breathing so laboriously, my throat choked and lungs having to draw more air in to keep my heart beating. “What… have you… done… to me?” I huffed. Andrej undid my hands and my arms fell to my sides, making my body jiggle. I tried to raise them but I just couldn’t. They were so heavy and full of liquid that my bones and muscles were no match. “I’ve given you a choice,” said Andrej, grabbing one of my man tits and squeezing it like it was silly putty. “Either you swear not to tell anyone about me and to pay me all your money for the rest of your life to get the enzyme that breaks down the compound inside you; or you refuse and eventually you’ll die. I’ve never pumped so much into someone but by the looks of you, either your liver or kidneys will give out if your heart doesn’t first. I don’t expect you’ll be still living in the next hour, unless a miracle happens and you manage to metabolise all of it.” I gulped, my heavy breathing getting faster. Andrej had turned me into a time bomb ready to blow and I couldn’t think. I tried to stand but there was no strength in my legs to force me up, I was immobile. I had no way out except to submit to Andrej or die. “So, what will it be?” asked Andrej. I hung my head and sighed in defeat. “You win…” I said. “I won’t tell anyone about you. You can have my money, whatever you want. Please… I don’t want to die.” Andrej sneered, triumphant. “You’re mine now,” he said. “You’ll do what I tell you, when I tell you. Everything you own is now mine.” He pulled a clipboard from a nearby table and put a pen in my swollen hand. It was a contract. I only got the briefest glance but it was an agreement that he would control all my assets or else I would have to submit to a penalty. I dreaded to think what that could be but I managed to move my hand enough to sign my name on the dotted line. Andrej reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial with a green liquid inside. He forced my head back and poured it down my throat. I hungrily drank every drop, my only chance of living. Within an instant the mass began to shrink, like my skin was squeezing it all down to a vacuum. I moaned as the liquid began to bubble heavy beneath my skin, making it jiggle and shake. I let out a loud belch and my body began deflating back to its old size, thankfully with no excess, saggy skin. I noticed my body still felt very heavy like my body was no longer flesh but stone. My crotch started to throb and my cock started getting hard. I looked down and with every throb that emanated from deep in my balls and up my shaft, it grew to its full state. And then kept going. I was used to seeing my cock at its normal six-inch state but it started getting longer and thicker. Seven, eight, nine, ten inches and still growing, still getting thicker, thick droplets of precum leaking down the length. It felt so good, I had never felt so aroused in my entire life and it was infectious, warmth spreading through my body. My cock finally stopped growing and it was a monster. Fifteen and a half inches long, ten inches in circumference, thick veins along the shaft to the throbbing, glistening head. I went to touch it but another strong wave of arousal hit me as my balls began to churn and swell, forcing my legs wide. When they stopped swelling, my balls were the size of oranges hanging low and proud between my legs, their weight and size pulling my sac tight. I could barely speak, let alone breathe. My mind was lost in the powerful sensations emanating through me. My arousal was so strong, it overwhelmed the pain wracking my body at that moment as I started to grow taller. The bones in my legs broke and reformed loudly as they grew longer, spine elongating, shoulders widening to accommodate my lengthening arms. My hands and feet became bigger to match, big bony paws and elongated feet to support my new height. My ribcage expanded as my internal organs were scaled up to match my size. I finally topped off at seven foot three with size eighteen feet, muscles so small on my frame that I looked anorexic, bones and veins visible under my smooth skin. I felt my face begin to contort as my skull changed shape. Cheekbones getting higher, fuller, stronger; my jaw squaring out with a prominent, strong chin. The skin smoothed out, all wrinkles and blemishes fading away, no longer greasy or dry but a perfect balance. My hair went floof as my curls became wavy and then perfectly straight, the light brown growing darker until it was blacker than night, eyebrows perfectly shaped and thick. My throat bulged and my Adams apple grew bigger, my moans growing deeper, bassier, huskier; I could feel my larynx vibrate harder in my throat. “Oh man,” I said, voice much, much deeper. “Feels so good…” “The best is yet to come,” said Andrej. I felt a swelling all over my, bringing more heat to my arousal, as my muscles began their work, popping out huge from my stick-like body. Calves exploding out into huge cannonballs, quads and hams quickly engulfing the room between my legs until they became powerful buttresses of muscle, forcing my leg spread wider and my balls upward. I pulled at the metal restrains on my thin ankles and pulled them clean off, allowing me to comfortably spread my powerful legs out. Each leg was thicker than my waist at forty two inches a piece. My glutes were next, exploding into two powerful globes of solid muscle, jutting so far that if I stood, you could rest a pint on each one without them falling off. My waist grew a little bigger but only to support my body, growing from twenty eight to thirty six inches. But compared to my bony shoulders, it still looked tiny. My obliques swelled up from my crotch serving to highlight my cock more. My abs popped into ten powerful bulges with deep separations. It was no roid guy either, it was a solid diamond wall of muscle. My serratus muscles grew over my rib cage, thick cords of muscle only helping to highlight my abs. My lats spread outward as they grew into broad, powerful wings; the beginnings of the bodybuilder’s cobra head and forming a wide v-taper for my expanding body. They forced my arms out, even with my broad shoulders, demanding so much room. My back expanded to support my growing upper body forming a deep curve of my spine. No longer flat lands, my back was a bulging range of mountainous muscle, helping to make me even wider. My pecs exploded from my chest as they went from flat to thick and juicy slaps of muscle. Their size was phenomenal, a gap so deep that my old hand could have fit in their deep canyon. My pecs had such a weight to them as if two halves of a rock had been inserted under my skin, raw power bulging profusely. My nipples were well below their horizon, obscuring my view below, but I grabbed them in my fingers. They were bigger, pointed down and outward with juicy nubs that felt good to play with. My forearms swelled into big clubs of meat, every thick cord of twitching muscle visible with snake-like veins wrapped over them from my huge hands. My biceps blew up like two cannonballs, huge veins hugging along the ridges of their high, split peaks. So big that, even when resting, the huge balls of solid muscle looked flexed. My triceps blew outwards like giant horseshoes any stallions would be envious of. My arms were two cannons of pure muscle and strength; I could feel their power from the tips of my fingers right up to my shoulders, every flex and bulge from the tiniest movement just showed their raw power off. My deltoids expanded like two basketballs, finishing off my insane width. The huge heads of my delts bulged profusely, each one demanding room on my shoulder. My traps began to rise up my thickening neck, consuming it, reaching almost up to my ears. My traps were now two bulging, throbbing masses that just completed my new muscular size. And finally, my skin began to tighten even more over my huge muscles. Every fibre, every cut and separation, every thick veins became even more pronounced over my body. Not a single hair remained on my body, I was now completely smooth and vascular; my body fat had to be 1%, almost none. My skin darkened into a perfect tan, which only highlighted my muscles better, perfectly complimenting my darker hair. I felt my growth began to level out and I stretched my new body out, feeling the new muscles bulge for the first time. I felt them, cock throbbing and completely slicked up with precum, moaning at how hard and powerful they felt. “Feels good, right?” asked Andrej. “I feel so… strong,” I said. “You are man now, real man,” chuckled Andrej. “You stink like one too. Sweat, musk, cum. That is how a real man smells.” “Fuck yeah!” I shout. I stand up to my full 7’3” and flex, taking in my stink. “So fucking big,” I muttered. “So fucking strong.” I look over at Andrej and smirk. He’s smaller than me, both in height and muscle, and I know he is beneath me. I grab the chair I was restrained in, made from pure steel and ripped it from the ground, throwing it across the warehouse. Andrej didn’t flinch for a second, he just laughed. “I think we need to renegotiate my contract,” I said. “I think you should be serving me, little man.” Andrej shook his head and pulled his phone out from his sweatpants pocket. He tapped the screen and I doubled over as pain exploded from all over my body. It only lasted one second but I was on all fours at his feet, shaking heavily and my stomach felt like it was about to heave. Andrej crouched down in front of me and slapped me hard on the back. “You are stupider than you look, Si,” said Andrej. “You don’t think I planned for this? You don’t think I anticipated your arrogance? In the enzyme that activated the nectar contained a number of nanobots that are clustered in your nervous system. I can make you yield from anywhere in the world and unless you want to tear your body apart, there’s nothing you can do to remove them. Plus, without me, the nectar will eventually wear off. Unless you drink my renewal protein mix everyday, you’ll waste away into nothing.” “S-so that’s why you guys were always drinking protein shakes,” I hissed, the aftereffects of the pain dissipating. “You are mine, Si,” reiterated Andrej. “Just accept it and you’ll be happy.” “What are you going to do with me now then?” I asked. “I’ve signed your fucking contract, you changed me permanently, I’ll die without you; what’s your endgame?” “Now you go about your normal life,” said Andrej. “But you can’t go back to your old job, it’ll be too suspicious. I have a job all lined up for you, you will interview and get it. I’ve done my research on you, it’ll well within your abilities and soon you’ll be fast-tracking promotions, making me more money. Your body is pumping out pheromones like no tomorrow, people will find you attractive; they’ll want to do anything for you. Aside from that, you and my men will compete globally for bodybuilding titles. That will bring you fame, sponsorships, more money and I’ll will manage this work until the world is begging for your secret. Then I can make more supermenschen, men desperate to be big, strong and powerful. Every single one under my control.” “So that’s all this is about, money?” I scowled. “Why don’t you just rob a bank?” “And be a criminal!?” retorted Andrej. “No, no, no. Even the best criminals eventually get brought to justice. No, it must be done legitimately. Then no one can stop me.” I sighed, getting up off the floor. My cock was still rock hard and leaking, desperate for release. I grabbed it in my hand and jerked. Andre chuckled at the sight. “You’ll notice you’ll feel horny almost all the time,” said Andrej. “You’ll learn to control it, to channel it. Your appetite will increase too but eat as much as you want, your metabolism is so powerful that it will digest everything completely, leaving very little waste and fuel it back into your body without getting fat. Your body is now the ultimate machine, pure power.” I flexed my muscles, watching them bulge and swell, completely under my control. Rock-fucking-solid. I could feel the strength emanating from deep inside, throbbing and pulsing within every sinew. “Big man now, huh Si?” said a familiar voice. I looked up and saw Brian was standing next to Andrej and he was looking bigger than ever, his workout gear covered in sweat. Fuck he looked so hot, my cock ached just looking at him. “You have the power, take what you want,” said Andrej. I smirked. I took one heavy step after another towards Brian, my cock bobbing with each step and slapping against my abs. I grabbed Brian’s tank and ripped it off like paper, exposing his powerful chest. He was big, but I was bigger. Brian just stood there speechless as I tore off his sweats and jockstrap. His cock was soft but big. But I was bigger. “I’m gonna fuck you,” I said, pressing my chest against Brian, staring down at him. “I don’t give a shit if you’re not gay. Your ass is mine.” “Yes, Si,” said Brian. Within seconds I had Brian facedown on the floor, balls deep in his ass, slamming fifteen huge inches deep in his ass. Brian was growling and moaning under me, wriggling and struggling hard but I was stronger. He was no damn match for me and I had to show him who was the strongest. I slammed in so hard that the concrete floor cracked beneath us. “That’s it,” said Andrej approvingly. “My big boys. Make me proud.” I never felt so invigorated in my life. For hours I fucked Bri’s tight muscle ass, unloading my seed one after the other, huge cupful’s of cum with each orgasm. Bri’s cock more than kept up, shooting a heavy load with mine. We were lying in a pool of our cum that had leaked out his ass and shot from his cock, our muscles covered in our sticky juices. I pulled out and Bri slumped, exhausted; but I was still hard, throbbing, craving. I walked up to Andrej who had watch us fuck, a big smile on his face. “More?” he asked. “More!” I growled. Andrej sent a message on his phone and through the door came his whole posse. I grinned, my cock squirting precum up my chest as the band of muscled men walked towards me. “That’s more like it.” -- Hope you enjoyed Comments appreciated as always!
  3. (An entry into something long term. I hope people enjoy. I'll read over later for grammar. This was a late night writing jam on my part.) Chapter 1 <--- Chapter 2 Chapter 3 ------------ Decisions catch up with us in unexpected ways. Alex was in the gym, working on his arms at the moment. He was impressive to say the very least, being about 5'11" and 200 lbs of sculpted muscle that you'd expect on an aspiring bodybuilder. He was focused at the moment on his current routine, oblivious to the fact that something or someone might be observing him and plotting a fate far out of his own control. The pale man observing him went unnoticed despite his own powerful build and the grace he moved with that spoke of a predator more than anything else. "Alex! You got a minute?" Called out Vince, the gym's manager, as he walks over to the bodybuilder now with a grin. Vince was in his 40s but kept up a strong build thanks to the perks of being in his position. He was tanned with a bald head, favoring t-shirt and slacks when not using the facilities himself or training others. "Yeah, what's up?" He looks over at the big man with a grin as he sets down his dumbbells for the moment. He was wearing a underarmor shirt that hugged his strong frame well along with some black workout shorts also hugging his strong quads. Alex wasn't someone to ignore in the looks department, but it perhaps helped he was a bit narcissistic about his appearance. "So, I've got a guy looking for a trainer, but he's got night shift work. You think you'd be up for it? He's wanting weekly sessions and is willing to pay the fees for that level of attention to his routines and needs," Vince said with an assured grin to show he thought he was doing his friend a favor. Alex found it a little odd how Vince seemed a bit more glassy eyed as he spoke, even if with his regular enthusiasm but blamed it on the guy being tired. "Seriously? I mean I suppose though you know I've caught some heat for deals like that before. I couldn't help that some things came up," Alex said dismissively of those previous events though. "So yeah, if he's got the cash, I'd want it up front like usual. If he can do that, he's got himself a personal trainer." "Great, I'll let him know. When do you want to have him do his first session?" Vince asked more so with a stressed smile as if something were bothering him. Alex frowns a bit at that but Vince said nothing else as he awaited his response. This was a little odd on the jovial owner's end but he again put it down to work strain. "Oh, um I can manage tonight if he likes. How about that?" Alex looks around the gym some now, noticing the rather muscular pale man looking on at him with a odd mixture of desire and.. anger? The fuck was with that guy? He looks back over at Vince who seems relieved at the response now as he heads on over to the pale man. Alex frowns more so now, not sure what the hell a guy that jacked wanted with him. He had to easily have 50 lbs on Alex in sheer muscle mass stacked onto a 6'3" frame with blond hair and icy blue eyes even though he swore they seemed red for a moment. "Alex, this is Thomas, he's your new client," Vince said as he lead the powerfully built pallid stranger over. His skin upon closer inspection seems more like marble with how truly pale he was as he offers his hand to Alex who felt an odd compulsion to take it despite some small voice in the back of his head screaming warning. Thomas's hand was almost frigid to the touch as he looks into Alex's eyes with a cold satisfaction. "Hello, Alex. I hear your going to train me?" His voice was oddly familiar despite the man's chiseled, towering appearance not really reminding him of anyone save his face though memory fixated on someone far less fit. "Yeah though why would you need a trainer? Looking at you, I'd say you already know what your doing," Alex said with a chuckle some as he watches Thomas give a dismissive gesture towards Vince. The owner obeys without a word and heads off towards his office before moving around the gym to tell the other patrons they were closing early today. People were slowly filing out while Alex frowns and looks back at the smiling pale stranger. "You would think that, Alex, but I'm going to be honest that a lot of this is from some life changes I've gone through," Thomas said as he chuckles some, flashing his nearly perfect teeth. They would be perfect if not for his canines being oddly more pronounced. "Trust me, after tonight you'll understand." Alex shrugs that off as he starts to lead the big man through lifting. Oddly enough he did seem to be less that well trained in lifting though he also knew some movements as well as if someone had perhaps did a poor job teaching him. That had to be one hell of a shitty trainer and this guy had to have crazy genetics to get this far on just dumb luck in his lifting. The issue was the guy seemed to know a few custom lifting techniques he taught which most lifters wouldn't normally have used. "Have we met before, Thomas?" Alex asked with confusion some after Thomas did a set of reps like he would have told him too... only Alex never said a thing. "Oh Alex, you have no idea who I am anymore, do you? Guess fucking over so many clients in the past years makes it hard recalling them," Thomas sneers as he lets the weights drop and his eyes go blood red. Alex stiffens as he looks at the pale man as he thinks about backing away but finds himself unable to move. "That's alright, we're going to have a long time to get to know one another." Thomas chuckles as he walks over and offers Alex a protein shake container. The mix was ready as if prepared recently as Alex notices Vince has left and locked the doors behind him. It was only the pair in the gym now thanks to Alex owning a key for his late lifting sessions. Thomas coaxes him to drink and Alex finds his arm obeying as he brings the shake up to his lips, downing it reluctantly until the taste reaches his tongue. Alex shudders and downs the rest of the shake hungrily as he looses control to an odd new desire, his feelings towards Thomas becoming conflicted as a deep sensation of desire emerges within him. "Wha...what was in that? Did you fucking drug me?" Alex demands as his muscles bunch, veins popping out along his body. He blinks more as his clothes seem to feel tighter like he'd just gotten a massive pump. He looks down at himself and gasps as he was indeed easily pumped up like one hard workout. "The fuck is happening to me?!?" "A bit of a gift to bind you in service to me. Did you know the blood of a vampire has some very impressive effects on the human body?" Thomas asks as he walks around Alex, resting his hands on those pumped shoulders. Alex wanted to throw them off but at the same time wanted to savor the feeling, to please this pale stranger who'd walked into his life in the night. "You and I are going to have a blast together, Alex." Thomas said, his mouth close to Alex's ear as he reaches around him to grip one of his pecs. Alex flexes in response to his touch and strains, his pecs bulging out thicker and heavier than before. Starting to strain and flex the rest of his frame as he starts to swell larger in his outfit, feeling the compulsion to show off to Thomas. "That's the spirit. You see what you can achieve with me as your one true sponsor?" "Fuck you, this is so messed up... but... I could be a major pro with this..." Alex said as his own ego started to fight him on resisting. Thomas had some secret to making him bigger and better, perhaps he could play along for a while and reap the benefits before dumping this beefy pale god...god? What was happening to him? It was like Thomas was worming his way into his psyche without even speaking a word on the matter. "You could and you will be. You are my Familiar. Now, flex," Thomas orders as he laughs. Alex obeys hungrily as he poses more, grunting as he balloons larger, easily having gained ten pounds packed onto his frame. "This is just a taste. It won't last, but you'll have some gains from it. Shall we begin the real lesson?" Thomas dark glee sounded in his voice as he flashes his canines again as Alex passes out, overwhelmed by everything.
  4. Guest

    Symbiotic Bonding - Part 03

    Sorry for the LONG delay. I have been busy. Real life gets in the way some times. And I am also trying to change my health/lifestyle by becoming something like the characters and the big muscle men of this forum (Have a progress thread in the Watch Me Grow section if anyone has not seen that, not the hottest guy yet, but working on it), so please forgive me for the delay... I now present you with the next part of this epic series... Part 03 Gym Time Andrew headed upstairs to take a shower after Matt decided to head out to the gym in a rush. His body was covered with sweat and his muscles and bones ached for some reason, almost like he worked out all day, which he never worked out a day in his life. The weirdest thing though was the stench lingering in the air surrounding him. It wasn’t a strong smell, but it was something that Andrew also was not used to, musk. Maybe it was just Matt’s sweat and odor rubbing onto him from the encounter they just shared in the kitchen. As Andrew finished up in the shower he headed to the room he shared with his brother. He made his way to his closet and grabbed a shirt out of it, pulling it off the hanger. As he pulled it over his head there was a tightness around his chest and arms. “Weird,” he pulled off the shirt and grabbed another one, and it was the same tightness. He kept trying on shirts. Over and over he pulled them off till there were a pile of them littered on the floor around him. “What the fuck?!” Andrew drops the last shirt he tried on to the floor, looking down at himself. He finally notices the changes he went through. Abs he never had pushing out from under his skin, not much yet, but there was a definite view of a four pack as he rubbed his fingers across each stepping stone of flesh. His pecs were firming up as he moved his hands to them next, which he then finally noticed a ball of muscle popping out from under his upper arm where a bicep would normally be on a man that had muscle, which Andrew clearly now possessed. Andrew’s cock began to harden. He moved to his dresser and grabbed his swim shorts. “Might as well go for a swim with a body like this,” he pulled them on and headed out to the pool. **** Matt finished up his daily morning classes. All throughout his lecture though he kept thinking back to the morning he just had with his brother. That blow job was intense, nothing like he had ever experienced before. His cock kept getting hard thinking about it, actually popping out of his jock and traveling down the leg of his pants. He had to make several shifts in his seat just to make sure his mighty cock was not seen by his other classmates. Class had ended though and he was at the gym, eager to start his workout and get his mind off of his brother. Matt quickly made his way to the locker room and changed out of his regular casual attire, pulling on a tank top and a gym shirt. They were a bit awkward on his large frame, almost as if they were a bit loose, especially the tank top. Maybe he stretched it out over the few weeks he wore it to the point it was at this loose fitting. Matt headed out to the workout area, eager to finish up before lunch. He threw himself on a weight bench, starting his usual reps but he seems a bit off. Getting up he lowers the weight and manages to do a few before getting tired rather quickly. “Need some help, runt?” Matt’s buddy Dan almost appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the bar right in the center. “Come on, Matt. I’ll give you a spot. You look like you might need a little help today.” Dan was always a bit shorter and a bit less built, standing at 6’4” and weighing 285lbs. Today though, Matt seems to see Dan as a bit bigger than normal, almost as if they are close to the same size. Matt shakes off his delusions and continues his workout as he decides to take Dan’s help for the remainder of his session; spotting one another on their sets, but Matt tires out on each of his sets as the weight is a bit too heavy for him now. Dan wraps his arm around Matt’s shoulder as they finished up their workout. “Bad days happen, Bud. I’m sure you’ll kill it tomorrow.” Matt nods at Dan, a bit annoyed as they make their way into the locker and strip down for their shower. Dan moves under a shower head right next to Matt and turns the handle to start up his shower head. He begins to soap up his hairy, beefy chest with the soap provided by the gym. Matt watches on as the water sprays down on himself, his cock still hasn’t gone down all day from his earlier sexual encounter with Andrew. Matt begins to stroke his cock to try and relieve himself, the steam of the hot water making it hard to see what was going on with the two of them. Dan begins moving the soap down to his abs, when the bar manages to slip and slide across the floor. “Fuck…” Dan bends down trying to feel for the bar with all the rising steam and heat rising to the ceiling around him As Matt continues stroking, he notices Dan’s form on the floor; his beautifully sculpted muscular ass on on fours right in front of him. His ass cheeks parted slightly with a dusting of dark hairs pushing out of his cracks. As he manages to reach it, it slips out of his hands a bit farther across the floor. “Mother Fucker!” As he moves and bends forward, his ass flexing and cheeks opening up a little more and exposing his hairy puckered, spasming hole. Matt and Dan had fucked around before. What once started as bros in the gym quickly became into several sexual encounters, both drunk on their own masculinity and testosterone. Never had the thought crossed Matt’s mind though to do anything in the gym. But that ass, right in front of him, begging to be fucked. Matt’s dick was rock hard and raging with lust, there was only one clear course of action. Matt took a step forward, grabbed Dan’s hips, and slowly pushed his cock into his friend. “NGH, WHAT THE FUCK, BRO?!” Dan started breathing heavy, surprised at this quick action from his friend. He straightens up immediately, gasping in shock, his ass muscles clenching tightly around Matt’s throbbing dick. Matt pushes his cock deeper into Dan, wrapping his powerful arms around him, pulling his friend against him in a crushing grip. “You trying to drive me nuts, dude?” Matt growled in pure bliss. “You, bending over like that? Shoving that ass in my face while I’m hard as a fucking rock and trying to beat off in peace?” Dan snarls in protest. “FUCK YOU, BRO! I DIDN’T…” Matt slams his hips forward violently, driving his cock all the way into Dan with one brutal thrust. Dan gasps, his words dying in his throat. Matt pushes Dan up against the wall and starts pumping his dick into him hard; Dan’s own stiffening member slamming into the tile wall each time Matt crashes right back into him. A low groan of lust escapes Dan’s lips as he begins to enjoy it. “That’s it,” Matt purrs into Dan’s ear. “I knew you’d love this…” he begins pumping his dick faster into him, brutally fucking him against the shower wall, the hot spray of the water falling on them both as they grunt and groan in animalistic passion. Dan’s ass begins to clench tighter around Matt’s cock as a moan finally escapes his lips. Matt’s arms reach around, under him, and lock against his abs. Dan begins to push backwards, pushing his ass onto Matt’s cock as he begins to enjoy as he begins to really enjoy this sexual experience that started with Matt forcing himself onto him. Matt’s thrusts are vicious, like a jackhammer pummeling pavement as he extracts his cock to the opening of Dan’s hole before slamming it right back in like a piston. Each time, they meet each other half way; Matt pushes in, Dan pushes back. Matt’s balls slapping Dan’s cheeks with such force, it causes a slap so loud it can be heard across the entire shower room. “Uhn…FUCK… I… I…” Within seconds, Matt practically snarling and grunting in triumph, begins to fire his hot seed into Dan, driving his dick all the way in to the hilt as his cock literally begins to spasm and go wild, pumping a surprisingly large load of cum into him. Dan begins to tense all over, every muscle flexing as he growls and grunts along with Matt. As Matt holds onto Dan, his powerful arms wrapped around his torso, he begins to slowly feel his arms getting pushed apart. Matt looks down at Dan’s back in confusion; Dan’s traps are flexed hard, throbbing, and slowly growing bigger as they rise into mountains of muscle. Matt’s eyes widen as he watches not only them rise, but the section of his back begins to move upward as well. Not only is Dan gaining more muscle mass, he’s growing taller as well. Matt’s grip around Dan’s torso breaks, his hands sliding farther and farther apart as he lifts his arms up trying to hold onto him. He rakes his fingernails across Dan’s chest, noticing that it fels thicker, fuller. Even Dan’s ass around Matt’s cock feels different, the glutes getting bigger, stronger, the target zone of his ass rising further and further off the ground with each passing second. Dan finally unclenches his glutes around Matt’s cock, making Matt stagger back, pulling out of his friend with a loud pop. Dan stands still for a moment, slowly turning around to face his friend. “How?” He looks himself over. “Did you?” Matt’s jaw drops. Dan is easily three inches taller than he was before, maybe four. Well over 300 pounds of pure masculine beef, possibly 330 pounds, or even more. He smirks at Matt, the hot water of the shower washing over his massive muscles. Dan reaches down for Matt’s body, but Matt shakes out of his daze and rolls out of the way. Dan is much bigger now then Matt, but he is not used to the new size and weight of his body making him a bit clumsy. “Where you going Matt? HAHAHA…” His laugh echoing off the walls. Matt get up onto his feet, backing towards the door to the locker room, not taking his eyes off of his enormous friend. “Ah come on, Matt! Can I fuck you now?” Dan grins from ear to ear, feeling much more confident. He takes a step toward Matt. Matt grabs his towel from the partition wall and holds it against his waist, making it into the locker room as quickly as possible, now filled with more people changing. Matt makes it to his locker, grabbing his clothes and quickly throwing them on as Dan enters into the locker room, scoping out the area for his prey. Dan’s so confident of his new body he doesn’t even care to cover himself. Matt manages to get one last glimpse of Dan now in clear focus; he’s a fucking monster. Cock close to 12 inches long and bouncing like a compass as it sways from side to side as he continues to scout out the room looking. “Anyone seen Matthew?!” People just stare in awe, no one saying a word as Matt manages to slip out the door into the main gym area, fully clothed, as he makes his way to the exit to head home. *** Matt makes it back home, not sure what just really happened back at the gym with his friend Dan. Part of him wanted to believe it was all some hallucination on his part, but he knew better. He did not just see him grow, he had FELT him grow; right under him as he fucked him. The moment after he came into him, he just started to get bigger, and not just a tiny bit, but a lot bigger. Matt began to shudder as he remembered how Dan wanted to fuck him with that huge dick. Dan had never been so large before but now… he tries to put it out of his mind as he gazes out the window to the back yard, noticing Andrew in the swimming pool, his twin’s arms cutting the water with clean strokes. Matt goes outside to get a closer look. He pauses for a second on the grass, noting Andrew’s shoulders, how they looked a bit more defined, a bit more muscular. The wetness of his brother’s skin showing the definition a bit better as the sun reflected off of him. Matt walks over to the pool, setting down his gym bag. “Hey Andrew,” Matt watches as his brother reaches the edge of the pool. “You been swimming much lately? Looks like it’s doing you good.” Although part of Matt was wondering if it might have been something else that was changing his brother. “Nah, Matt. I just felt like going for a swim.” Andrew looks up at Matt from the water, smiling at his bro, placing his arms over the side of the pool. Matt notices the bulges in his brothers arms and shoulders as the water slides off of his brother’s body. “What’s wrong with you though, Matt? You look like you saw a ghost or something.” Andrew propels himself off the wall, swimming towards the other side on his back. Matt notices the definition in his brothers chest and the feint appearance of what looks like the beginning of a set of abs. Blond hair sprouting across his brothers arms and legs. Matt sits down on a chair near the pool, watching Andrew do laps. Noting the new muscle definition, the way the muscles move under Andrew’s skin with each stroke. He remembers that morning, Andrew drinking down his cum, and then thinks about what just happened to Dan at the gym. Clearly there’s a connection, and it seems like that connection might be connected to his cum. Matt stands up and heads inside, taking his gym bag with him and tossing it into the corner of the living room. He walks up to the second floor bathroom, stripping completely, stepping onto the scale. 285lbs… Matt nearly chokes. He was 300lbs yesterday. No one loses 15lbs instantly. Not water weight. Not muscle weight. And not fat. It makes absolutely no sense. Matt put his clothes back on and headed back to the living room. He takes a seat on the couch, staring at the TV, not bothering to even turn it on. Andrew finally finishes swimming and goes back inside, drying himself off as he takes a seat next to his bro on the couch. “Are you ok man? You aren’t acting like your normal self.” Andrew playfully punches Matt on the shoulder. “You came home from the gym, looked at me weird, and then just jetted back inside. If it is something I did, you can tell me. We are brothers.” Andrew places his hand on Matt’s shoulder, moving his other hand to Matt’s fuzzy, bearded cheek, turning his face to look at him. There was sadness in his eyes. “Hey, bro… We were born together. We have a connection unlike other bros unless they were twins like the two of us. Whatever is going on with you, I am here for you, and will always be. Matt looks down at Andrew, smiling softly. “It’s nothing, Andrew. I just had a lousy workout, that’s all. Wasn’t up to my usual weight and reps on anything. So I’m just a bit bummed.” Andrew doesn’t quite know how to take that response. It sounds truthful, yet it also seems like his brother might be holding something back. Matt wraps a powerful arm around his shoulder, pulling Andrew in closer. “Only thing you did was give me a great BJ this morning, okay? So don’t worry about it. I’m cool.” He rubs the back of Andrew’s head affectionately. Andrew leans into Matt’s larger mass, breathing in the musk and cleanliness of the shower he took at the gym. Andrew’s cock begins to stir again, now that he is so close to his twin. “Damn, Matt. What I would do if we were identical twins. I wish I was as big as you. As manly as you… even your scent bro.” Andrew turns his head slightly to get a whiff of the scent of his brother’s armpit. “You really comfort me.” Matt blushes a little, but obligingly lifts his muscular arm a bit, letting Andrew have some access to nuzzle his furry pit. Even though he showered just a bit ago, his manly musk was already coming back, due to how quickly he had to rush out of the gym and also his natural pheromone musk. “If we were identical, I suspect that we’d never get anything done. We’d be busy fucking each other’s big muscle butts all the time!” Matt began to laugh, bringing his arm down across Andrew’s shoulders again. “Since that isn’t the case, we’ll just have to make do, I guess.” Andrew leans into Matt a bit more. His eyes growing heavy from the comforting smell and embrace of his twin as he dozes off to sleep. Andrew content, and happy to know that his brother who he thought he had lost from when they were kids is slowly proving to him that they still are connected. Matt just sits there, listening to the slow breaths of his brother; sleeping in his warm arms, his head snuggling against his inner pec muscle with his large arm wrapped around him… To Be Continued... Coming Soon: Part 04 – Want Me, Want You
  5. Guest

    Symbiotic Bonding - Part 02

    Here's part 02... I hope I did this justice. A tiny bit of changes in this chapter. If you read the transcript, I am pretty sure you all know what's coming next! If not, enjoy this chapter for the first time and enjoy this amazing ride! Part 02 First Meal Matt woke up the next morning a bit later then his usual time. The sheets of the bed, twisted around his massive body. With a loud yawn, he sits up; he feels strange, not like his typical energetic self. As he rubs over his eyes with his hand, his large arms brush against his lats and massive pecs, pushing them together. As he pulls the twisted sheets off of his body, grunting in annoyance at how they are wrapped tightly around his thick tree trunk legs, Matt rolls out of bed and staggers over to his closet and dresser, completely naked. His massive cock swinging back and forth with every movement, semi-erect, and quite a bit harder then he’s normally used to. The one thing however that is truly discomforting for him though is his balls. They ache. Like someone hit him hard right between them the other day. It’s a lingering pain that he quickly remembered to the night before, wondering if what happened with Andrew truly did happen. Matt digs through his underwear drawer grabbing a fresh jockstrap and puts his legs through the leg openings and slides it up towards his hips, adjusting the massive bulge in its pouch. Andrew has been downstairs it seems for a good while though. The smell of bacon and sausage being fried in a pan travels up to their bedroom on the second floor. Matt stifles a moan as it’s his favorite type of meats to eat. Its candy to his senses. While Matt finishes, Andrew preps everything for them to have a nice hearty breakfast, it’s a typical morning for the boys as Andrew always makes sure his bigger twin has the right breakfast before hitting up his gym. Matt finds a pair of gym shorts and puts them on as well, enjoying the way they hug his tight, beefy glutes. Not bothering with a shirt, Matt decided just to head downstairs, swinging his huge arms back and forth, stretching them out before his breakfast of champions his bro is preparing him for his typical morning. His nose twitching as he enters the kitchen, doing a couple more stretches. “Cooking already, bro? I like it!” Sniffing the air again, Matt says amiably. He walks over to the coffee pot and pours himself a large cup of Dark Roast brew, adding a bit of cream into it. Next he heads over to his supplement drawer and starts to get out his various vitamins and boosters, gulping them down with his fresh cup of coffee, before sitting down at the table. Andrew grabs a large plate from the cabinet, plating a large amount of Eggs and Bacon, with a side of potatoes. Matt doesn’t like a lot of carbs so he makes sure to give him less potatoes and more proteins to help his bro grow even larger with his workouts. He brings the plate over to Matt before grabbing himself a cup and pouring some juice in it for himself, sitting down opposite of Matt. “I’m sorry about your new supplements from last night…” Andrew looks down at his food, feeling a bit bad at what had happened. “They probably cost you a fortune from what you told me they were.” Matt listened to his twin, but he still couldn’t let what happened to him cause him not to keep his body maintained and get even bigger. He quickly ate his food, making sure not to leave a single scrap behind on his plate. “Well, I’m bummed that they got broken like that, but I didn’t pay for them, so I guess I’m not out much of anything. Although it would have been nice to try them out this morning.” Matt tries to think of last night, but his mind is a bit fuzzy. All he remembers is something gray, skittering around his bedroom, as it traveled up his leg, latching on to his huge cock, before plunging right into his piss slit and filling his balls?! No, that can’t be right. He thought to himself, before another memory starts to plague his mind. Did I fucking blow my brother too?! Matt shook his head. Thinking it must have been a weird dream. It can’t have happened. Whatever he saw last night, the gray and black tentacle things, they couldn’t be real. It had to be a nightmare for sure. Matt looks down at his empty plate, trying to make everything make sense in his head. “I’m bummed, but I’ll just see if my guy can get me some more. You never know, maybe he has another batch.” Andrew reaches his hand across the table, placing it over Matt’s larger paw. Matt looks up at him, confused, but at the same time he feels comforted. “Can we do that stuff again like last night, bro?” Andrew smiles up at his twin, a deep intensity in his eyes. “I miss those moments. It was like we were kids again. I felt like I had my old bro back…” Matt blushes and looks away, “Well, um, I’m not sure. I uh… I kinda thought that was a weird dream, you know?” Matt clutches Andrew’s smaller hand in his larger one, holding it gently. “I, uh, well I don’ quite know…” he stammers, returning his gaze back to his twin, seeing the look of hope and affection that Andrew has for him. Matt’s cock was throbbing from this moment; raging hard in his jockstrap, all ten inches. He chuckles, giving Andrew’s had an affectionate squeeze. “Well, if my cock is any indication, then I’ll probably be saying yes. Fuck I’m horny!” Matt releases Andrew’s hand and stands up, taking his empty plate to the sink. His shorts are tented to the extreme, making his predicament obvious to anyone who would see him at that moment. “Man, I’m going to have to wear different underwear today,” He looks down to the protruding bulge. “I’ve got class, and then gym at 10. But I’ll be here tonight, Andrew. And we will see how things are going then.” Andrew clears his plate, bringing it to the sink. As he puts it into the sink, the fork laying on it falls freely to the floor, clattering between both him and Matt’s feet. They both bend down at the same time to pick it up, but due to Andrew’s smaller height, he reaches the fork first and as he comes back up, his head hits hard into Matt’s chin. Andrew clutching his head in pain as he falls back onto his knees. “Fuck, Matt. You got a thick skull!” He sits on the floor rubbing the pain, with his back against the kitchen sink, his legs apart. Matt rubs his own jaw from the impact several times before realizing he is fine. He bends over and picks Andrew up off the floor and helps his brother to a chair. “Easy there, Andrew. Are you feeling okay?” He holds him steady; his large, meaty hand on one of Andrew’s shoulders. As Matt watches his brother, concerned, the fork in Andrew’s hand clatters back onto the floor again. “Damn Andrew, you’re worrying me…” Matt lets go of Andrew as he bends down and looks for the fork. He has to bend down farther and look under the chair and table and still can’t see where the fork has gone to. Matt decides to crawl under the table to see if he can find it, his massive body making it look a bit funny as he tries to maneuver himself under it. He finally sees it, crawling forward, reaching out and clutching it in his large hand. As Matt backs his way out from under the table, he notices the lower half of Andrew’s body, seated in the chair. Andrew’s legs spread wide. As Matt’s gaze goes up to hand Andrew the fork, his eyes catch a glimpse of something in his twin’s shorts. He pauses, looking up the pant leg, and sees Andrew’s cockhead, pushing out just a little; a little drop of pre cum is bubbling off the tip, and Matt’s horniness begins to return, but this time at an alarming, skyrocketing rate. Andrew watches his bro, reaches down, and scratches at his bulge through his shorts. The mesh of the shorts rubbing against the droplet of pre causing it to create a string of his emission from his piss slit to the bottom portion of his short opening. “You okay, Matt? You’ve been down there for a while.” Andrew asks worried about what his brother was possibly doing under the table, with his other hand still rubbing the emerging bump on his forehead from their little accident. Andrew scoots his chair out a bit from the table, the light from the ceiling fan illuminating his crotch a bit more from where it was originally pushed under the table. “Yeah, I’m good,” Matt responded, his voice distant and unfocused. As if he were in a trance, he inches forward, moving between Andrew’s legs. Matt rubs his scruffy jawline against Andrew’s inner thigh. His head emerging from under the table as it moves towards his brother’s crotch. Andrew can feel the warm breath of Matt touch the tip of his cock as his brother moves more towards it. The fork clatters again to the floor, forgotten, as Matt brings is strong hands up and rubs them up along Andrew’s thighs, his hands going from his twins knees to his hips. Matt reaches under Andrew’s shorts and pushes back the hem until Andrew’s leaking cockhead comes into plain view. Matt moves his head forward, obscuring Andrew the view of his own tool. All Andrew can feel is Matt’s lips press against his cockhead, kissing it gently. He lets out a soft moan, not knowing what else to do, as he slowly moves his smaller hands to the back of Matt’s head, rubbing his fingers through his brother’s hair. Matt stops for a second, looking up towards Andrew; a snail trail of Andrew’s precum connecting from Andrew’s cock to Matts lips as he looks up at Andrew for some sort of approval. The string of precum disconnecting from Andrew’s cock as it swings across Matt’s bearded face and neck; and in an instance, there is not a single trace of it. Andrew looks on a bit confused himself now. Cum doesn’t just disappear. But that isn’t the only concern; the hair on Matt’s face isn’t as thick as it was before. Andrew places his hand under Matt’s chin and leans down. Matt comes up and meets him as their lips touch and they begin a long kiss. Matt rises up more, his back pushing the table away from them as he reaches around his brother, his thick arms wrapping around Andrew’s body. He lifts Andrew off of his chair and stands up straight, pushing Andrew up against the wall behind him. Matt returns a much stronger kiss; it’s deep, passionate, hungry, as he rams his tongue into Andrew’s mouth, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. Matt pulls away, breathing deeply, looking at Andrew with unfocused eyes. His vision begins to sharpen and return as he looks on at Andrew in his arms. “Why… do I want this so bad?” Andrew’s back still firmly pressed against the wall, his cock harder than ever. “I want this too, Matt. It’s not just you… Want me, like I want you bro…” Andrew pushes his face back towards Matt, placing his lips back on his brother, rubbing his back of his brother’s head as he is held off the ground, his arms around Matt’s thick neck, resting on his mountainous traps. Andrew pulls back, looking Matt right in the eyes. “Please Matt! Want me, like when we were teens.” Andrew feels Matt’s cock pulse under him uncontrollably in his jockstrap. It wants to break free. Andrew pushes his own shorts down around his thighs as his 4 inch cock comes free and pulses. He reaches a hand down to it, giving it a hard stroke, getting some of his precum on his finger and brings it up to his lips to taste his own seed. Matt watches as his brother tastes himself, making him even hornier, wanting his brother even more. There’s a fire in Matt’s eyes, one Andrew has only seen when Matt works hard and gets a serious pump going. One that he only gets while he’s on the field or rolling around a wrestling mat. When Matt gets that look in his eyes, nothing will stop him from getting what he wants, and he makes sure to get the greatest reward possible. “Fuck!” Andrew moans as he too is getting excited from his brother’s determination manifesting. It’s the way he has been wanting to be looked at for a long time again by his giant sized twin. Matt’s arrogant, jock alpha beast mode was about to be released. Matt pulls Andrew up against him, bringing his brother’s face up against his huge chest. He flexes the massive shelf slowly against his twin, making sure Andrew can feel the thick muscle roll as it tenses. Then he gently guides his brother’s head down his abs, down to his massive cock. Matt grabs the root of the thick beast, guiding it up. The big helmet head brushing against Andrew’s lips. Andrew can smell the musk washing off the cock, the bit of pre gushing out of his piss slit, slick against Andrew’s lips. “So boned, bro… Like, fuck, Andrew. I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but I fucking want you bad.” Matt’s head is spinning, more precum emerging from his slit. Part of him wants to reach down and force his brother’s mouth over his cock, fucking his twin’s face until he cums. But another part, an unfamiliar part of him, wants Andrew to do the exact same thing to him. Matt reaches forward, his large fingers running through Andrew’s hair. Andrew looks up into his brothers eyes, licking his lips. He gets down on his knees, Matt’s hand never leaving the back of his head as he continues to massage Andrew’s scalp. Andrew reaches his arm up and wraps his hand around the monstrous shaft. It’s the first time he has seen it this big and this close in so long. Andrew closes his eyes and opens his mouth as he moves his head closer to the giant python sticking right out of his brother’s groin. He pushes his tongue out, it’s the first thing that makes contact with Matt’s cock as he tastes the saltiness of his twin’s precum coming off of the tip. Pushing even more forward, trusting his larger brother with his hand still on his head, the head begins to enter his mouth, followed by the thick shaft, making Andrew open his mouth wider. As the head hits the back of Andrew’s throat, he closes his lips around the shaft and begins use his tongue and inner cheek and sucking skills to pleasure his much larger brother as best as possible. Moving his head back up to the head before going right back down the length, getting into a steady rhythm. Matt moans out in pleasure. The hands on the back of Andrew’s head pulls him all the way as far down his shaft as possible. He can feel his cock hit the back of Andrew’s throat again as he holds him there. Andrew gags once… twice… three times, as he feels his brother’s throat finally open for him as his cock begins to push even deeper. “Oh Fuck!” six inches going down his twin’s throat, then 8 as more and more of his man cock fills his brother’s mouth and esophagus. A Matt begins to start bucking his hips, going back and forth, pumping his huge dick in Andrew’s mouth. Andrew’s lips are stretched around it, and his brother’s teeth grate against the skin of his rod. Matt’s so turned on it just makes him even hornier. Each time Andrew gags, his throat squeezing around his large cockhead, little precum spurts push out of his cock. “Fuck yeah, Andrew! Mmmm… Ffffffuck!... Take that big man cock bro…” his huge chest heaving as he breathes heavily, driving his dick more and more into his brother’s mouth, a trickle of sweat running off of his brow. Matt begins to let out a groan of pleasure as he finally begins to release a load down Andrew’s throat. His shaft going nuts inside his twin’s mouth, spasming violently as he continues to send cum rocketing down his brother’s throat. As his orgasm begins to subside, he pants heavily, feeling Andrew suck the cum right out of his dick. “Oh fuck, that was good bro…” Andrew swallowed it all and his own balls begin to churn. His cock trembles, a pleasant warmth spreads throughout his body, traveling through his bones before settling in his muscles. Andrew feels something going on within him, but isn’t sure what. Little known to him, his height has increased slightly; from 5’5 to now 5’6”. His muscles tense all over his body and quiver for a moment under his skin as ten pounds of muscle was added to his body. Andrew feels strange, but good. Very good. A little bit stronger. A bit more confidence. A bit more capable. Andrew wipes his mouth as he stands up to his full height. His cock has expanded slightly as well, but not by much, as his balls churn from this little scenario they just experienced. Andrew moans, his own shorts still dropped and his cock hanging free and hard. Looking right up at Matt, Andrew’s balls pull up in their sack. His balls begin to fire, large, fast shots. The first one hits Matt right across his abs… the second, his bobbing cock… the third and fourth go right across Matt’s thick thighs and large feet. Andrew pulls away, ducking under Matt’s large arm as his last shot sprays a trail right across the kitchen floor. Andrew turns around for a split second, looking back at Matt. Matt looks a bit less proud, not standing as straight as he usually does. His brother’s traps a bit sunken down. What Andrew thinks is Matt is a bit embarrassed of what just happened, but what really is happening is something completely different. Matt’s body is slowly losing mass as he drops an inch in height within seconds, losing his imposing 6’5” stature that he was so proud to have as he crumbles away to 6’4”. Matt’s massive cock, still hard, but not the hardness that it typically is even after he blows a massive load. Matt doesn’t have his after orgasm hard on anymore. Matt staggers backwards, confused at why he suddenly feels so light-headed. But the moment passes and he slowly recovers. “Fuck Andrew, that was an incredible blow job… you’ve totally blown my mind, bro!” Matt chuckles and reaches down to wipe off the cum that was shot all over him by his brother. But just like before, there was nothing to clean up. Matt shakes his head, pulling up his jock and stuffing his semi-hard cock back into it. His shorts follow a moment later as he looks over at Andrew, noticing that his twin looks a little less thin than he used to and a bit more toned. Matt turns, heading back up the stairs to their bedroom for his books and the rest of his clothes. As Matt leaves, Andrew too notices the changes. His shirt doesn’t quite feel so loose on his shoulders; it doesn’t hang as loose off his thin torso. It’s an odd thought, and one that doesn’t really make much sense yet; Shirt’s don’t just shrink while a person wears them, after all. To Be Continued… Coming Soon: Part 03 – Gym Time
  6. CrisKane

    No Shirt, No Service

    Staring out the front window of the art gallery, Simon Blake noticed the two studs as soon as they emerged from the surf. It was hard not to notice them, with their nearly identical gym-rat physiques and their swimwear color-coordinated with their hair. The one with slicked-back black hair was perhaps an inch taller than his companion and wore square-cut black trunks, while his pal with abundant red curls sported a red Speedo. Both had now slipped on their flip-flops and were toweling themselves dry as they walked across the sand. When he had his job interview, Simon had found the location of this fine-art gallery peculiar. Although the beach certainly attracted its share of upscale visitors, Simon thought the shop would be far more successful if it were located slightly inland, among the other prestige boutiques which were frequented by the moneyed classes, rather than along the boardwalk with its t-shirt stores, hot-dog carts and Sno-Kone stands. Even so, Simon didn't think it was his place to question the gallery owner's business sense, and it certainly seemed unlikely that such second-guessing of his prospective boss's wisdom would be helpful in getting him hired. Once he started working at the gallery, Simon discovered just how right his instincts were. The place got almost no foot traffic. Tourists in tank tops and baggy shorts occasionally peeked through the windows or, on rare occasions, swung open the front door and glanced around before quickly realizing that this wasn't their kind of place. Simon could go hours or even days between serious customers. Frankly, Simon had come to appreciate the peace and solitude of the job. Inside the store's undisturbed cocoon, he could munch on his packed lunch of fruits and veggies and listen to Mozart all day, drowning out the moronic hip-hop which was as ubiquitous in the air outside as the salt in the ocean's breezes. As a former art history major, Simon was relieved that the less sophisticated passersby didn't bother coming inside, as it meant fewer times he would have to educate the yokels on why some of the artwork on the walls merited a five-figure price tag. Since Simon was paid a salary and didn't work on commission, he really didn't care that the gallery might go a week without a sale. How to keep the doors open on such little income was the owner's problem. If the owner hadn't found some sucker with no life like Simon to waste his days here, the place would likely have gone belly-up months ago. But having so few customers sure made the time drag. Simon spent most of his days gazing out the floor-to-ceiling front windows at the passing parade of humanity. It was like watching a never-ending episode of "Baywatch" on the world's largest hi-def TV screen. He once tried to estimate how many square feet of exposed skin he saw on the average day. Unfortunately, the most out-of-shape tourists often chose to conceal their bodies the least. A decent share of those walking past were attractive young women in bikinis, but their assets were wasted on Simon. The two buddies strolling off the beach were much more Simon's type...aesthetically, if not intellectually. Simon operated under the assumption that anyone who spent that much time perfecting their body was not spending it developing their mind. On the few times he had dared to try chatting up a particularly well-built hunk, they proved to be dumb and/or straight, seemingly dooming Simon to a life of being attracted only to men he didn't want and/or men he couldn't have. Simon just wanted to find one hot guy with whom he shared one crucial common interest -- that being an interest in getting Simon laid. If he was trying to figure out the reasons for his near-constant celibacy, a quick look in any mirror should have given Simon a hint. His work uniform of a blue dress shirt, khakis and brown shoes didn't differ much from his usual wardrobe. On the job, he was required to wear a necktie, but he seemed incapable of making the skinny end shorter than the fat end. He typically rolled the sleeves of his shirt above his elbows, exposed thin, bone-pale forearms which could scarcely be termed an asset. He completed his nerd/preppy look with a pair of gold-framed glasses and a haircut so tidy and unmoving, it resembled the plastic hair you might stick on a Mr. Potato-Head. As Simon's eyes lingered on the two studs' muscles shifting and bulging as they walked across the sand, he assumed they would eventually veer off to buy smoothies or something, but they continued on their course straight for the gallery's front door. When Simon finally realized that the one with the red curls was gripping the door handle, he rushed toward the entrance with the sad realization that he would need to turn them away. As the door swung open, Simon's nasal voice informed the men, "Sorry, guys. Can't let you in without shirts." He pointed to a small sign posted in the window, reading "All customers must wear proper attire." The gallery owner didn't want nearly-naked riff-raff wandering around the shop, undercutting his efforts to create a high-class environment, even if no other customers were present. And based on what little these two guys were wearing, Simon didn't think they could accurately be considered customers, as they clearly had no place in those swimsuits to carry any money...unless those were actually rolls of silver dollars those guys were packing down there. The black-haired one smiled winningly at Simon, creating swoon-worthy dimples in his smooth, tan cheeks. "How do you know we're not allergic to shirts? 'Cause then keeping us out would qualify as discrimination." "Nice try, but no," Simon replied. The red-haired dude chimed in, "Come on, buddy. We just want to look around." "Sorry," Simon shrugged. "Store policy. If it was up to me..." Mr. Red-hair locked his bright green eyes on Simon's undistinguished brown eyes. "But it IS up to you, isn't it?" Simon felt a strange wave of serenity pass through his body, as his anxiety about letting these men into his store vanished. What harm could it do? He certainly wouldn't mind watching these two strut around the gallery for a while, and the odds were highly unlikely that his boss would choose this precise time to arrive for one of his rare visits. Simon whispered conspiratorially. "Okay. But if my boss shows up, you'll have to run out the back door fast." The black-haired guy nudged his companion's shoulder. "Hear that, Red? We might be getting some back-door action." Red shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You are so mature, Evan. Sooo mature." The young men eased their way past Simon, whose head involuntarily swiveled to follow them. Until now, he had only seen them from the front, but their rear views were equally impressive, with broad lats, ripe glutes and elegantly sculpted calves. Simon realized they were easily the two finest works of art currently in the gallery. His thin voice broke a little as he spoke. "Wha-A-at are you fellows looking for today?" Red shrugged his bulging, freckle-spotted shoulders. "Not sure. But I usually know what I want when I see it." He glanced back at Simon inscrutably. Suddenly, Simon's thoughts were scattered. Ever since these two entered, he felt dazed, as if they had cast a spell over him. "Get back in the game, Blake," Simon thought to himself. "These guys are messing with your head." Red strode over and placed his large hands upon Simon's anemic shoulders, crouched slightly to look straight into Simon's eyes and spoke in a relaxed tone. "Are we making you uncomfortable?" Simon felt another soothing rush of energy, even stronger than the first one. He felt like he could tell Red anything, and that Red could sense things about him without anything being said. It was like that thing...what was that thing his old nerdy friends used to talk about? The Jedi Mind Meld? Yeah, like that, but very pleasant. "No, I feel very comfortable," said Simon, a rare smile coming to his thin lips. "That's good," cooed Red. "What's your name?" "Simon Blake," he said without hesitation. Evan, who was leaning against the wall behind Red and watching with fascination, chimed in. "Blake. That might be a hot name for him." Red shushed Evan without breaking his eye contact with Simon. "I want to help you, Simon Blake. When I was way out on the beach, even when I was in the water, I could feel that there was a troubled soul nearby. That sensation only got stronger the closer I got to you, and right now it's overwhelming." Simon looked confused. "What do you mean, troubled? I'm fine." "Are you? Are you really?", Red asked as his fingers began to massage Simon's shoulders. "Because I feel a lot of tension in you. A lot of unhappiness. Are you unhappy?" Simon hesitated, but had to be honest. He nodded solemnly. Simply acknowledging his unhappiness seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders, although Red's caressing fingertips may have had something to do with it too. "You may not believe it, but I have a gift, Simon Blake. I'm able to make people happy. Happier than they have ever felt. Would you like to feel happy?" From his growing stupor, Simon wondered curiously. "What do you mean, exactly? You want to fuck me?" Evan slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a guffaw. Red's tone and demeanor remained unflapped as his lip curled slightly. "Possibly later. But you're skipping ahead a few steps." Another relaxing surge spread through Simon's body. His eyes closed and his body began to tingle as he surrendered himself to the power radiating from Red's fingertips. Suddenly, he wobbled on his feet as if the floor had gone out from under him. "Was that an earthquake?" "No," Red reassured him, "although this will definitely shake up your world. You'll feel a few more jolts like that as things progress, but I'm sure you'll be happy with the end result." Simon leaned his head back, his Adam's apple jutting dramatically from his scrawny neck. "I'm still not sure what you mean." "As I said, it's a gift. I'm giving my gift to you. Not so long ago, I gave the same gift to my friend Evan here. Now, doesn't he look happy to you?" Simon lowered his head and peered over at the dark-haired muscleman standing behind Red with his powerful arms crossed. Inhibitions lowered to nonexistence, Simon purred, "He looks yummy." When Evan held back another laugh, Red muttered to him out the side of his mouth, "You're breaking his concentration. You're never going to learn how to do this yourself if you don't treat the process with dignity and respect." "Sorry, Red," whispered Evan, sincerely. "I just never been called 'yummy' before." Red focused his energy on Simon. "Just trust me, Simon Blake, and you'll be even yummier than Evan." That brought an elated smile to Simon's face, while Evan grumbled. "How come he gets to be yummier than me?" Red spoke curtly. "Maybe because he doesn't keep interrupting me." Evan backed off, realizing that pissing off someone with Red's powers was probably a foolish idea. Red moved his hands gently down Simon's bony arms. "I think we should go outside in the fresh air. Wouldn't that be nice?" Despite his contentment, a flicker of anxiety struck Simon. "But I gotta watch the store." "Evan can watch the store for you. I get the feeling that you don't get many customers." Simon's instinct was to oppose that idea, but his body was telling him everything would be fine. "Okay, let's go." As Red led Simon outside, he glanced back, tilting his head to indicate that Evan should take a position behind the counter. Evan shuffled his he-man body across the room like a petulant teenager. Stepping outside, Simon was assaulted by the sights, sounds and smells of the boardwalk that he usually made such a point to avoid. But now, Red had him in such a state of bliss that they commingled in a symphony that was delighting all of his senses. "There, isn't that better than being trapped in an air-conditioned box all day? Feeling the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair?" "Mmmm. Yessss." Simon closed his eyes and raised his face to the sun. Red led Simon down a side street where pedestrians wouldn't notice them. "Okay, like I said, you'll probably feel a few tremors, but they're nothing to worry about. It's just the world adjusting to the new you." "The new me..." Simon's voice trickled off pleasantly. Red gathered his strength, then pressed both of his hands onto Simon's shoulders. A shudder rocked Simon violently, but the more his body shook, the less agitated his mind felt. Red had never lost his excitement for watching a transformation occur, partly because it still remained mysterious to him. He knew that it was guided in part by his supernatural gift and in part by the secret desires of the one being altered. He was always curious to see how people would reshape themselves when given the chance. A seismic wallop flowed through Red's body into Simon's and the changes began in earnest. Simon's glasses skittered down the bridge of his nose as his facial features rearranged themselves. His pinched and narrow nose broadened, his lips grew plumper and his eyebrows thickened. His neatly groomed hair began to sprout ragged offshoots, growing wild in mere seconds, like time-lapse photography. His pallor was also disappearing rapidly, the skin on his face and arms taking on a surfer's hue. Another spasm ricocheted through Red and into Simon, who could feel something churning under his skin, as if his body were simultaneously becoming softer and harder. Red watched approvingly as sizable lumps began to grow under Simon's slim-cut shirt and narrow khakis. The fabric of Simon's shirt was strained to its limit as his expanding shoulders and chest tugged in opposite directions against the buttons and buttonholes. Simon's rolled-up sleeves inched upward as his biceps gained heft. His neck thickened impressively, reducing the prominence of his Adam's apple and popping the top button from his shirt. As testosterone surged through him, Simon's breathing became labored, his pulse accelerated, and he felt a pleasant new heaviness in both his brain and his balls. His cock was hanging lower, as if it were growing in length without even getting hard. As the body alterations were winding down, Red braced for the final blast of energy which he knew would complete the process. This final surge was the whopper, as it would make over not only Simon's wardrobe but his very personality, reshaping not only who he is but, retroactively, who he had always been. Red found this last step the most intriguing and revealing psychologically, as the traits which the person had most disliked in himself were eradicated and replaced. "Hang on, here it comes," Red warned Simon, as if they were nearing the last and longest dip of a roller coaster. He gripped Simon's now meaty deltoids, and Simon clenched his fists with a dim awareness of how much more powerful they felt. This was just one of the many incredible sensations currently swamping his body. Red and Simon shook as one, then were flung apart as an invisible pulse radiated from them and spread outward, sending a shockwave rippling throughout existence as the Simon Blake who had existed until that moment vanished from history. Red had been knocked on his ass, his head smacking into the outer wall of the art gallery. He rubbed his hand through his red curls and felt a sizeable bump from the collision. Evan rushed toward him and knelt down, asking if Red was alright. "I told you to stay in the art gallery," Red said, perturbed. "Art gallery? Oh, you mean this place? It's out of business. Why, was that where he worked?" Red nodded and Evan felt a chill. He'd witnessed plenty of these transformations, but he still hadn't gotten used to witnessing the unexpected changes that always resulted from them. As Red's partner, he was the only other person on earth aware of how their actions had altered the world around them. Red looked around, wondering where Simon had gone. He noticed some movement in a brushy area and saw a tall figure rising from behind a grassy knoll. Evan's jaw dropped as the new Simon revealed himself, standing uncertainly and clutching his head. The nerdy salesperson who couldn't have been more than five-foot-seven was now easily six-two. His shirt had been blasted off his body in a flurry of individual strings, fully revealing the tanned and toned flesh of his smooth torso and jacked arm muscles. His necktie had shriveled and reformed itself into a leather necklace, his wristwatch morphed into a leather bracelet. His neatly pressed Dockers were now cut off raggedly at the knee, showing off his athletic and hairy legs as well as an inch of his baby-blue boxers. Even his choice in footwear had been altered in the reality-quake, with his sleek brown dress shoes swapped in favor of navy Converse All-Stars. When Simon lowered his hand to reveal his boyish refashioned face, all Evan could think was "yummy." Red and Evan walked over to help Simon climb over the grassy hump, but Simon leapt it gracefully with no assistance. "Yo guys, what's up?", he asked in a rich masculine timbre which sounded deeper to Red and Evan but perfectly normal to Simon. "Nothing much," Red replied. "How are you?" "Never better." Simon grinned goofily while he ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "I feel like grabbing a slice. Wanna come?" Red and Evan followed slightly behind as the new Simon loped casually toward the boardwalk, full of youth and vitality. Simon was delighted by the swirl of activity around him. Red noted a slight flicker of confusion on Simon's face as he passed the art gallery, its windows now whitewashed and bearing "For Lease" signs, but clearly nothing major registered in Simon's mind about his former workplace. Simon ducked into a pizza joint and asked the man behind the counter if it was okay for them to come in dressed like this. "Or undressed like this." The proprietor gestured to the rest of the establishment, where shirtless guys and bikini-clad girls predominated, so Simon relaxed. He ordered two slices of sausage and pepperoni and a beer. The guy behind the counter asked to see Simon's ID, which he pulled out of the wallet in the pocket of his cut-offs. The proprietor checked over the driver's license and handed it back, saying, "Thank you, Blake. Anything for your friends?" Red and Evan shook their heads. Evan said, "We don't have any money." "Fuck that. My treat. C'mon, whattaya want?" Evan ordered a slice with everything, while Red still passed. He did, however, ask if he could take a look at Simon's driver's license. The former Simon handed it over and Red smiled as he inspected it. Evan's casual suggestion that Blake would be a hot name had wormed its way into Simon Blake's subconscious. The transformed driver's license now bore the name Blake Simon, as well as a photo of the handsome stud now waiting for his order. The threesome took an outside table, where they had a good view of a beach volleyball game in progress. A stray ball flew toward them, rolling toward Blake who stopped it with his sneaker. He picked up the ball and bopped it back to the game effortlessly, with an athleticism that seemed inborn. As he sat back down and took a swig of beer, he heard a song by Kanye West begin on the pizza parlor's sound system. He shouted behind the counter, "Whoooo! Turn it up, yo!" He chewed in rhythm and bobbed his head frenetically. Red and Evan just smiled and shook their heads. Seeing such changes never got old. Another volleyball whizzed past one of the players and bounced toward Blake, who nabbed it one-handed before it could slam into his face. A cute blond guy with a short but muscular body ran over apologetically. "I'm sorry about that, man. I suck. You wanna take my spot?" In some dim recess deep inside his mind, Blake knew he was having a strange day. But the way this kid was smiling at him, Blake knew it was a good kind of strange. He turned to Red and Evan and asked, "You mind if I...?" They both gestured for him to go ahead. Red said, "Enjoy your life. We'll check back with you soon." Blake hopped to his feet, palming the volleyball in his left hand while extending his right to the blond. "I'm Blake." "Chip," the blond grinned, trying to keep up with Blake's longer strides. "So what do you mean you suck? You look like you're in awesome shape, bro." "Gymnastics," Chip said proudly. "But volleyball, football, baseball, basketball...anything with balls, I suck." Chip winced, embarrassed at how that came out, but Blake, exuding cool, simply smiled and said, "I dunno, I kinda like the sound of that." Blake joined the game, amiably greeting the other players before putting his fierce new body into action. With Blake as their new weapon, his team quickly creamed the opposition. He was a natural, even if he hadn't come by that naturalness naturally. Red and Evan watched from their table, satisfied with the transformation. "Another successful day's work," proclaimed Red. "Now the world has one less tight-ass." "I thought you liked a tight ass," said Evan, smirking. "Only yours, Evan. Only yours," Red said as he let his body relax. He tried to zone out the distractions of the boardwalk in hopes of honing in on someone else who could benefit from his gift.
  7. CrisKane

    Cris Kane Stories

    New here, but I have a large number of transformation stories at GaySpiralStories.com that might interest you: https://gayspiralstories.com/newAuthor/show/2256 Rather than reposting all of them here, I'll post a few so you can get a feel for my style and share links to some of the others. If you like what you see, I can post more of the stories here. (I try to do a mix of transformations, including some twinkifications, but I'd say the bulk of my stories involve some kind of muscle growth.) The "X-Dream Makeover" series: https://gayspiralstories.com/newSeries/show/7876 "The Six Pack" https://gayspiralstories.com/newSeries/show/46452 "A Few Minor Adjustments" https://gayspiralstories.com/newStory/show/2388 "Acting Out" https://gayspiralstories.com/newSeries/show/7884 "Orientation" https://gayspiralstories.com/newSeries/show/7870 "The Boost" https://gayspiralstories.com/newSeries/show/8094 "The Perfect Guy Goes Viral" https://gayspiralstories.com/newStory/show/2561 I've also been doing a lot of transformation photo-comics lately over at DeviantArt (http://criskane.deviantart.com/). Again, it's not exclusively muscle-growth. I've done a lot of M2F and F2M TG transformations and some age progression/regression, but there's a good bit of muscle growth too, including my latest, "Life Lift" (http://criskane.deviantart.com/art/Life-Lift-Muscle-Growth-a-13-page-photo-comic-648882788). Hope you'll check out my stuff! CK
  8. CrisKane

    A Few Minor Adjustments

    Hello. My name is Ryan and I am a geek. Honestly, I've tried to make myself look cooler with pierced ears, tattoos, and bling, but I'm afraid all of that only emphasizes how desperately I'm trying not to look like the short, skinny white boy I am. In high school, I did have a few girls who liked me and told me I was cute, but it's not like they were ever gonna date me. No, they wanted to date the jocks, then call me on the phone afterwards and dish, weeping about what a jerk the jock had been. To them, I was the "gay best friend" that every romantic comedy and sitcom told them they needed as an accessory. Never mind that I wasn't actually gay. I suppose I couldn't blame them for making the assumption. It's not like I was doing anything that would prove them wrong. Like, say, having sex with a girl. I'm only five-seven and I've always had, like, zero muscle-mass. My folks knew how much it bugged me to be so puny, so Dad bought me a set of weights, but sweating and straining just to curl a fifteen-pound dumbbell was not my idea of a fun time. Besides, all that exertion never seemed to add an ounce to my lanky-ass body. The weights sat in a corner of my bedroom, growing cobwebbier by the day. I started college with the naive hope that it would be a less superficial environment than goddamn high school and people would put more value on intelligence than appearance. As my parents were wishing me goodbye, Mom couldn't stop crying and calling me "my baby", right there in my dorm room, right in front of my dick of a roommate, who was barely stifling his laughter. I just knew he would be mocking me and calling me "Baby" from then on. Fortunately, Dad didn't cause that kind of embarrassing scene, but he did slip me a parting gift as we walked back to the car. It was a new digital camera that they were working on at the tech company where he works. "It's a prototype, kid, so be extremely careful with it. Don't leave it lying around and, for god's sake, don't let anybody else use it." I assured him I wouldn't, and he smiled back, "I know you won't, son. Hey, snap a selfie once in a while and send it to me, so your sad old parents can see how you're adjusting to your new life." I got a lump in the pit of my gut. I thought I would be happy to finally be off on my own, but I think it was just as hard for me to watch my folks drive away as it was for them to leave me behind. Dad rolled down the window as he drove past and said, seemingly as an afterthought, "There's some pretty sweet software on that camera. You should fiddle around with it." Then he winked. My dad was a brilliant scientist, but he could be kind of a doofus. (Like father, like son, right?) I had never seen him fuckin' wink in my life. Glad my roommate wasn't around to see that. As the car disappeared in the distance, I heard my roommate yelling at me. "Hey, Baby, we're gonna go eat at the commons. You wanna come with us, Baby?" I looked over and saw him give me an exaggerated wink. He was surrounded by a group of similar bros, all testosterone and stupidity in their muscle shirts and backwards baseball caps. The other dudes followed my roommate's lead, cracking up and calling me "Baby" without even knowing why. What a barrel full of douchebags. I already hated college. The actual school part was fine, but all the social skills I never learned in high school might have come in handy here. By the first Saturday night, while everyone else in the dorm was out getting shit-faced, laid or both, I was sitting in my room, alone and depressed. On my desk, I noticed the camera Dad had given me and decided I ought to let the 'rents see how their son was coping...or wasn't. I stood in front of the mirror in my small-size t-shirt and my skinny jeans and attempted to smile, but a smile would have been false advertising. Better to show how I was actually feeling. With a frown on my lips and sadness in my eyes, I snapped the shutter and the photo filled the digital screen on the back of the camera. Christ, I looked about twelve. No wonder I didn't fit in here. I touched the screen with my thumb, intending to delete this grim photo, when a menu of options popped onto the screen. Great, just what I needed, fuckin' Instagram. The only thing that could make me look more pathetic would be looking pathetic in sepia tones. But I noticed that the options extended beyond the usual filters, color, brightness, contrast and cropping. Like, for interest, "BACKGROUND". I could edit the background? When I clicked on that, a circle popped up onscreen with the word "DORM" at the top. Damn, photo recognition software is getting advanced if it can tell just from the picture that I'm in a dorm. I figured it must use GPS or something to figure that out. I grazed my thumb over the circle and, like the click-wheel on my dad's ancient iPod, it allowed me to cycle through other options. The first one I stopped on was "CHURCH". Amazingly, the software immediately replaced the postered walls behind me in the photo with a massive stained-glass window. I had never seen any design software that could so swiftly and seamlessly alter an element of a photo like that. It would have taken me ten minutes of clipping and erasing in Photoshop to accomplish what the camera had done in an instant. As I scrolled through other options, there was my sorry ass standing in a restaurant, on a beach, on a boat, in front of the Eiffel Tower. When I landed on "LOCKER ROOM" -- just a blue-green wall and some kind of door -- I must have accidentally clicked the "ACCEPT" button in the middle of the circle, because an hourglass appeared and animated sand fell through it as the background rendered in high resolution. From out of nowhere, I started to feel very claustrophobic. The air around me seemed to be thickening, like an invisible layer of warm Jell-O wrapping itself around my body. I couldn't move as this sensation enveloped me. And then, BOOM, it was over. It felt like I had passed through a gooey membrane and come out clean on the other side. I dropped to my knees, gasping for air, happy to still be alive. A voice echoed from above me, "You okay, little dude?" I looked up and discovered I was no longer in my dorm room but in a locker room. I was sprawled on the hard tile floor, and a massively pumped weightlifter was looming over me. "I didn't even see you come in," he said, extending a hand, which I gratefully accepted. He practically dislocated my arm as he yanked me to my feet. I thanked him and he patted me on the back with his beefy palm, knocking the wind out of me again. As he walked out, I could hear the heavy clanging of weights in the next room. I stared in the mirror and saw the same old me with a new background. The turquoise walls perfectly matched the photo. I looked back at the camera, still clutched in my palm, and wondered what other astonishing alterations it could make. "CLOTHING" was the next option. The first click-wheel offered general categories ("SHIRT", "PANTS", etc.), which opened into sub-categories once you clicked them. When I chose "SHIRT", the display correctly identified that I was wearing a "T-SHIRT" in the photo. I then scrolled through the menu as my purple tee morphed onscreen into everything from an "ANGORA SWEATER" to a "ZEBRA-SKIN VEST". On the more revealing selections, the camera accurately recreated parts of my body, like my bony shoulders and my sunken chest, which you couldn't even see in the original photo. This whole experience was simultaneously creeping me out and making me hard. When I selected "TANK TOP", it allowed me to choose from a huge array of colors, patterns, and logos. A Gold's Gym shirt seemed the most incongruous on my weakling's body, so I went the ironic route and hit "ACCEPT". I braced myself for the Jell-O feeling again, but it didn't strangulate my whole body this time, just my torso. My chest and arms felt shrink-wrapped as my purple shirt shifted through the color spectrum through blue and green before stopping at yellow, and the arm and neck holes grew wider and wider until an authentic Gold's Gym tank was draped limply over my gaunt frame. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I searched frantically for what other unexpected gifts might be waiting inside the camera. "BODY TYPE" seemed too good to be true. As before, the dial had automatically set the baseline to correspond to my current state: in this case, "ECTOMORPH". One click to the left landed me on "ENDOMORPH" and I watched on the screen as my body ballooned to a level of obesity that looked comically implausible and dangerous for my health. I spun the dial in the other direction, which showed how I would look as a "MESOMORPH". I'll be honest, I nearly came in my pants when I saw my head on the body of a well-built jock, with solid pecs that seemed ready to burst the straps of my tank top and bulging shoulders and biceps that looked ready to burst through my skin. I could have happily chosen "ACCEPT" immediately, but was curious what other options were available. "BEAST" amped the muscle enlargement further to that of a competition weightlifter, while "BEHEMOTH" pushed the limits of plausibility past the biggest steroid abuser alive into the realm of comic-book superheroes. I knew I would be more than satisfied as a simple toned mesomorph, but I bumped myself just slightly into don't-fuckin'-fuck-with-me "BEAST" mode. My thumb pressed "ACCEPT" and I waited for the constricting feeling again, but this change went the opposite direction, as if my body was exploding from the inside. The cells under my skin were churning, multiplying, creating lumps of muscle on my weak arms and narrow chest, veins surging and surfacing with each heartbeat, inflating me into a slab of prime beef. My bones were aching, stretching, thickening, turning my fragile limbs into sturdy weapons. By the time the evolution stopped, I was closing in on six feet and over two hundred pounds. Adding some final touches, I swapped out my ripped Levi's for shiny workout pants and chose a simple baseball cap from the "HEADWEAR" menu. I couldn't resist turning it backwards. Since I already looked like such a bro now, I might as well commit all the fuckin' way. When in Bro-land, do as the Bro-men do. Satisfied with my makeover, I hit "SAVE" and slid the camera into the pocket of my shorts. I stepped out of the locker room and discovered I was in the weight facility used by the college's varsity athletes. I couldn't imagine a more alien environment, but as I checked my reflection against the other jocks around me, I now fit in perfectly. I walked straight toward the free weights to see just how much this body could do. I grabbed two sixty-pound dumbbells off the rack, lifting them as if they were nothing. The massive guy who had found me on the locker-room floor walked over to give me friendly tips on my form, giving no indication that he recognized me as the "little dude" from our earlier meeting. I wondered how long he had worked to become so ripped. I bet it was longer than the ten minutes it had taken me. I couldn't believe how cool it felt to be accepted by my fellow lifters, guys who would have looked at me with pity an hour ago. They didn't seem to get my geeky jokes, but I found that was easily fixed. I just opened up the camera, selected "IQ" and slid the dial down about twenty points. I immediately felt a whole lot more relaxed and shit. I figure when exam time comes, I'll just take another selfie and boost the old IQ back up again. Sure hope I remember to do that. I also couldn't stop staring at the other guys' rock-solid arms and wide backs and firm asses. I hoped no one noticed that I was getting a major chubby that was tenting my workout pants. I clicked open the camera to see what options it offered for "ORIENTATION" and discovered that the dial had already set itself to indicate that I was "BISEXUAL". Well, shit. Maybe those chicks back in high school were half-right after all. I'm always the last to know anything. Returning to my dorm room, I stripped off my shirt and admired my bitchin' new body in the mirror, exploring the crevices of my six pack with my fingertips. I was sure of at least one thing: my lame-ass roomie wouldn't be calling me "Baby" any more. Not unless he wanted to get his ass kicked. Or unless I wanted him to suck my dick. I decided to text the photo to Dad, who would undoubtedly be curious to see what his gizmo had accomplished. I messaged him: "Played around with the camera tonight. Thought you'd be impressed with how quickly I've adjusted. I think you're gonna sell a lot of these cameras. Thanx, Dad!!!" I followed up with an afterthought: "Please send money for new clothes. xo" After I texted my dad the photo showing how much his camera had changed me, I zonked out pretty fast. Growing six inches and eighty pounds in one night will do that to a guy. Not sure whether it was the sound or the smell of the fart that woke me up, but the combination of the two was lethal. I rubbed my eyes and held my breath as I heard the low chuckling of my dumbshit roommate Cole. The fucker was plastered, and his idea of subtle humor was to wake up his roommate at 3am and fart in his face. "Hey, baby, can I borrow a diaper from you?", he said in a demented whisper, hardly able to contain his laughter. Even his dimwit buddies hanging in the doorway were telling him he was being immature and should leave me alone. I just reached up and gripped his wrist, then twisted his arm around his back, amazed by my strength. He sure wasn't expecting that from his wimpy roommate. "Ow, ow ow!," he yelped. He whispered to his pals by the door, "Fuck, I'm in the wrong room!" His loyal friends freaked out and ran away. "No, you're in the right place," I whispered. "You just fucked with the wrong guy." I climbed out of bed while maintaining hold of his arm. I flipped on the light over my bed and could see clearly on his face just how much pain he was in, so I let go. His arm fell slack at his side. He rubbed his shoulder and turned around. I got a real kick out of watching his eyes as they caught their first glimpse of my broad chest and my giant arms, then moved up and up until he saw me grinning down at him. I now had a good couple inches on him and, except for the part covered by my exercise pants, all of my new muscle was on prominent display. He stared stupefied at my face, which basically hadn't changed but looked a shitload more bad-ass on this body. If he hadn't been so drunk, his brain probably would have exploded at seeing the stud his "baby" roommate had become. Instead, he was just really, really confused. He poked his index finger into my firm pecs, like he was trying to make sure they were real. "Didn't you used to be a little pussy?", he asked. "Yeah, but the campus food plan is awesome. Lotsa protein," I said, continuing to mess with him. "This is only after one week. By next week, I won't fit through the door." Cole stood dazed in the middle of the room, his eyes glazed over like he had passed out standing up. Just like he had been doing to me, I touched his chest with a finger. He toppled right over and was snoring on the floor within a minute. I couldn't leave the idiot just lying there, so I lifted him up and carried him to his bed. He felt surprisingly light in my bulging arms. I scooted a trash can next to his bed, just in case he needed to hurl during the night. On my way back to bed, I noticed I had gotten some texts while I was asleep. Dad had written back after seeing the photo of my new body: "WHOA, buddy. I guess the camera DID work. You might want to scale it back and take things more gradually. Massive changes like that can be hard to adjust to." That was followed by: "Oh, and you won't need to buy new clothes. Just use the camera to adjust your old ones into whatever you like. Have fun, son, but don't go overboard. Call me if you need advice." Despite what Dad thought, I felt like I was handling the changes pretty well, especially since he gave me the thing with no instructions. He always liked to do that, bring home some project from work and ask his geeky little kid if he could figure out what it did. It was a fun father-son bonding type of thing. I'm pretty slick with computers and shit, so it was never much of a challenge, but he'd never given me anything nearly as amazing as this before. I carried the camera back to bed and stared at the picture of the new me. I didn't even realize at first that I was stroking my cock, queering off to my own picture. When I looked at my dick, it seemed really small in the grip of my new sinewy hand. Seemed like I ought to be able to do something to change that. I aimed the lens at my semi-hard cock and focused. I'd never taken a dick pic in my life. No one ever wanted to see my dick in the flesh, so who would want a picture of it? I clicked and the rear screen displayed my little friend. I brought up the menu and had to scroll pretty deep through the options before I reached the controls for "GENITALS". The options were "MALE", "FEMALE", "BOTH", "NEITHER" and "NON-HUMAN". Guess those scientists at Dad's company didn't want to leave out any potential customers. I stuck with "MALE" and discovered the options for "LENGTH - SOFT" and "LENGTH - HARD". I only bumped up the soft length a little, figuring I didn't want fitting my dick into a pair of underwear to become more of a challenge than solving a Rubik's Cube. I can solve a Rubik's Cube in under a minute, by the way. Not bragging, just the truth -- although these big new hands and this lowered intelligence might slow down my speed a little. Then again, considering how long I was making my "LENGTH - HARD", I didn't figure I'd be having too many more Saturday nights sitting alone with nothing to do but fondle my Rubik's Cube. I clicked "ACCEPT", then "SAVE", and flipped off the light. I was amazed how far my hand had to travel up and down the shaft of my cock as it grew to its new full length, and my fingertips didn't even meet my thumb on the other side when I gripped the fucker. Once I finally fired, I coated my chest and abs with more cum than I thought I had in me. Guess everything about me was bigger now. * * * In the morning, I woke up full of energy for the first time in my goddamn life. I actually felt like going for a run. On purpose. Not even because it would be good for my body, because obviously I could adjust this body however I wanted without a lick of exercise. No, I just wanted to go for a run because I thought it would be fun. I pulled on my clothes from the night before, then snapped a selfie in the full length mirror on the back of our door. I musta spent half an hour going through the menus to decide what shirt and shorts and sneakers I wanted the camera to give me. I knew I could get sucked into a video game so deep that ten hours would pass and I wouldn't even get up to take a leak, but I never thought I could be just as addicted to picking out clothes. Once I chose a white tank top and some red running shorts that looked snug around my package, I checked myself out in the mirror and decided I would look even hotter with curly blond hair. So there went another ten minutes, as I figured out the exact shade and length I wanted. I settled on a nice rich honey color and adjusted my cap so it would fit (backwards, naturally) over my new halo of curls. I looked righteous. I clicked "SAVE" and the changes were locked in. Cole snorted loudly, still lying on top of his rumpled bedspread, tongue hanging flaccid from his mouth and basically looking like shit. One hand was lazily scratching his belly underneath his beer-stained sleeveless tee and the other was stuffed down his cargo shorts. A naughty thought passed through my head. I snapped a quick photo of him, then tucked the camera in a pocket of my shorts and headed out for a nice long run. The campus was beautiful that morning, with just a taste of fall chill sneaking into the morning sunshine. I'd never noticed how many people exercised in the morning, maybe because I was usually still in bed at this time. When I looked down, my arms and legs were swinging so fast and powerfully that my shadow was basically just a dark smudge speeding across the sidewalk. As my big feet pounded the pavement in my new Air Jordans, I smiled at all the chicks and guys who were running or walking or riding bikes or doing yoga, and nearly everybody smiled back. And why wouldn't they? They weren't looking at geeky Ryan Bradford any more, with his pencil-thin arms and legs. They were checking out Ryan Bradford, campus stud, whose muscles barely fit in normal clothing. I didn't even feel like the same person any more. A dude like me oughta have a nickname. What would my drinking buddies call me, if I had drinking buddies? Or any buddies? How about Ry? "Hey, I'm Ry," I muttered to myself as I ran. I liked the sound of it. "Yo, this is Ry." I chuckled my deep new chuckle. It was a thrill to see how many girls were staring at me, but the looks I was getting from guys were kinda freaking me out. Before last night, I found it hard to believe that any girl would be charitable enough to go to bed with me, but I never even considered that a guy might want to do it. I just wrote off all my fantasies about big hunky jocks as envy, not lust. Now, I felt like I could walk into any room on campus and seduce anyone in it. Male, female, both, neither or non-human. (Just kidding about the non-human thing. Gross.) By the time I reached the lakeside pier, I must have run ten miles but I still wasn't breathing hard. My shirt was soaked with sweat, so I pulled it off, the sunlight glistening on my wet torso. I stretched out my legs on a bench. They seemed to go on forever, like they were longer than my whole body used to be. The lake and the trees looked so scenic, I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture. I checked the editing options, but wasn't given anything unusual. Guess Dad's company hadn't figured out how to make the camera turn a sunrise into a sunset, or a tree into a polar bear. Yet. I deleted the scenic photo, and the last photo I had taken showed up onscreen: Cole, sprawled in bed. I amused myself thinking about what modifications I would make to the jerk if I could. What was I thinking "if"? I could! Too bad the options wouldn't let me change him from a prick into a decent guy. I could turn him into a GQ model and he'd still think it was hilarious to fart in my face. Then again, if I changed his body enough, maybe it'd change his behavior too. I was definitely acting differently as Ry than I had as Ryan. Maybe Cole could stand to be a little less like Ry and a little more like Ryan. I brought up the "BODY TYPE" menu, where Cole was a obviously categorized as a "MESOMORPH". I nudged the wheel toward "ECTOMORPH" and watched his muscles wither away until he was practically skeletal, even worse than I had been. Not sure even Cole deserved that big a punishment. I slid the wheel back toward "MESOMORPH" and got so aroused as his muscles grew back that my boner started to strain my shorts. My finger wavered on the dial until I hit a sweet spot where he was just muscly enough to turn me on but still puny enough to have an inferiority complex. His clothes now looked baggy on him, and he looked a couple inches shorter. I clicked "ACCEPT" and chuckled, wondering what must be going through Cole's mind at that moment as the changes took place. "What's so funny?" It was a chick's voice. I looked around and saw a girl on the bench across the pier, looking right at me. She was just the kind of girl who always wanted to be my friend in high school. They weren't total space cadets, because they appreciated my less obvious qualities enough to hang out with me, but they were definitely more interested in the football team than the chess club. This one had her red hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore glasses that screamed "I listen to NPR", but her legs were tanned and toned enough that you knew she hadn't spent the entire summer in her attic writing poetry. She was trying not to look like it, but I could tell she was scoping me out. "Oh, just a picture of my roommate," I said, still surprised every time I heard my new voice. I knew I had knocked down my IQ last night, but I sounded dumber than I felt. "Dumbass passed out drunk last night, so I..." I realized I shouldn't explain any more. "Just did something funny to him is all." "Ah," she said, smiling mildly and going back to her reading, not interested in hearing some sophomoric "dude" story. I hated that I was still so terrible at conversation, no matter how I looked. I noticed that she was reading a book I had also read over the summer. I could've struck up a conversation about that, but I suddenly realized I couldn't remember what the book was about any more. I didn't want to look too vain in front of her, so I decided to wait until I got back to my room to take another selfie and bump my IQ back up. I stood up slowly, making sure the chick could get a real eyeful of my body as I stretched. I had no idea if I was stretching right, and based on the way she was smirking, I probably wasn't. I walked over and extended my sweaty hand. "Name's Ry. Hope to see you around." She declined the handshake, smiled back mildly and said, "Kay," which I assumed was her name but could've been her just saying "'kay" to get rid of me. Still, I'd made first contact. I jogged back to the dorm, feeling even more energized than before. I felt incredibly horned up from changing Cole's picture and talking to Kay and just the general friction of my shorts against my hard-on. I was ready to take a good long shower and a have a good long wank session when I got back, but when I got to the room, Cole was curled up in his bed, looking ready to shit his pants. His thin but still muscly arms were wrapped around his thin but still muscly legs, and his face had gotten skinnier too. He looked more like a sophomore in high school than a sophomore in college. With a shaky voice that sounded like it had barely escaped puberty, he said, "I think I caught the same thing that you did, only backwards. Look how little I am!" I played dumb, even dumber than I was feeling. "Holy shit!" I sat down on the bed beside him and furrowed my brow. "I wonder what's causing this." "I never heard of nothing like this. I tried looking it up on the Internet, but I didn't even know where to start looking. Maybe it's God's revenge for me having so much sex." I looked down at my body. "So is this my reward for never having any?" Cole actually laughed, and not in a mean way. I didn't know he could do anything that wasn't in a mean way. He looked so scared and vulnerable. "I wanna go see a doctor." "I'm sure there's no need for that," I said reassuringly. "I bet you'll be back to normal by tomorrow." He looked back at me, doubtful. "My buddy Trent dropped by, but all he did was laugh at how I looked and my squeaky-ass voice. You'll help me, won't you?" His big eyes were pleading. "Sure thing, Cole." He leaned over and wrapped his lithe arms around me. When I hugged back, I could feel my erection lengthening. If Cole held me any closer, he was sure to feel it too. "There, there," I said, trying to pull away from him, but he was clinging to me desperately, making my cock grow even longer. As I squirmed to avoid intimate contact, I noticed the camera sliding out of my pocket and landing on the bedspread, with the adjusted photo of Cole still lit up on the screen. If he saw that, I'd be fucked, and not in the good way. I snatched up the camera and held it behind his back. I rested my chin on his shoulder and patted his back. I could feel his teardrops mixing with the sweat from my run. Let me say up front that I'm not proud of what I did next. I could blame it on the massive changes my body had gone through, which Dad had said took time to get used to. I could blame it on not having as much brain power as usual. I could blame it on having more testosterone in my system than Lance Armstrong on a bender, reliving old times. I could blame it on feeling Cole's tight little body pressed so close against me. But the truth was, I just desperately needed to get off. So I looked at the photo of Cole and quickly found the menu for "ORIENTATION". Cole's initial setting was, not surprisingly, rock-solid "HETEROSEXUAL" Since my giant cock needed a blow job right fuckin' now, he had to be into it one-hundred percent, so I swung him all the way to "HOMOSEXUAL". I wasn't dicking around. I clicked "ACCEPT", promising to myself that I would switch him back to "HETERO" as soon as I was done. The change in Cole's behavior was subtle, definitely not as dramatic as if I had made the switch right in the middle of him farting in my face last night. He was already hugging me, but feeling Cole's soft lips kissing my neck was strange. Fantastic, but something I could never have imagined would happen in a million years. He leaned back, his eyes looking a bit mystified, as if they weren't yet as fully with the program as the rest of his body. Then he pushed me back on the bed and climbed out of his oversized shirt, revealing that he still had decent muscle tone and the hints of a six-pack. Instead of the burly bruiser he had been this morning, he now looked like a scrappy high-school wrestler, and he was looking down at me with pure lust. He yanked down on my shorts and we were both amazed to watch my cock rise to a rigid ninety-degree angle. I didn't have a ruler handy, but we were probably looking at ten inches. I had set my max for twelve, so amazingly I still had some room to grow. Cole looked at it hungrily and bent down, burying his head in my pubic hair, which must have been pretty rank after my long run. "Mmm," he moaned. "Oh, yeah, baby." For the first time, I didn't mind him calling me "baby". Cole licked his way up my shaft before working the head and as much of the shaft as possible between his lips. Maybe the camera had implanted some techniques, but he sure seemed to know what he was doing down there. He stuck one hand into his loose cargos and started to stroke himself. He worked my balls and shaft with his other palm while tending to my head orally. I grabbed the foot of his bed with my hands and braced my feet against the headboard as his attack became more intense. I was getting so big down there that I worried he couldn't handle it, but between his teeth, his lips and his tongue, he kept working me into a frenzy. I tried to keep my moaning down, but the guys in the rooms next to us must have heard the banging of the bed. They'd probably assume it was just Cole and some chick. A chick with a really deep moan. My arms and legs tightened as I braced myself for an orgasm that could be measured on the Richter Scale. Jizz blasted into Cole's mouth and down his throat until the little guy had to pull away or else he would choke to death. He leaned against his headboard as my cock continued to blast his face and chest with hot cream. The pumping gradually slowed until my limp-ish cock flopped onto my abs and we both sagged lifelessly on the bed. Cole looked shell-shocked. "Sorry, man. Something just came over me." "Yeah, that was me." I smiled, looking at the glistening puddles on his skin. He laughed, pushing me playfully with his bare foot, then wriggled out of his shorts, giving me a good look at his erect cock. It was damn impressive, especially on his compact new body. Proportionately, it was probably bigger than mine. He seemed perfectly happy stroking it himself, but I figured I owed the guy now, so I crawled my way toward him. I knew basically what I was supposed to do, although I'm sure my technique was amateurish even for a first-timer. Fortunately, Cole was gentle and helpful. He ran his hands through my curly hair and told me how hot it looked. Then he guided my head onto his cock and talked me through what he wanted each step of the way. He gushed sooner than I expected, sending most of his cum onto my chin and chest, but he looked very satisfied. As I lay down with my head beside his, I felt something hard beneath me and heard the faint click of the camera. Cole curled up next to me and traced his finger along the contours of my muscles and into my belly button. "That was so 'not me', man. But I dunno, for some reason, it felt so right. Did you like it? Were you satisfied?" "Yeah, Cole, I had a great time." It was downright cute how vulnerable and considerate Cole had become. "I know people 'experiment' with sex in college, but I never thought I would," he said. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's just temporary. Maybe it'll blow over by tomorrow." "I'm sure that's it," I told him. With any luck, when I made him straight again, he'd retain some of this kinder attitude and wouldn't be such a giant ass any more. "So," he said in a sing-song voice, grinning at me, "you wanna fuck my ass?" He seemed very eager, but my conscience was weighing on me already for turning him temporarily gay. I didn't want to take any more advantage of him than I already had. It was almost like I'd slipped him a technological roofie. I told Cole I was going to take a shower. Between the cum and the sweat, I had never reeked so badly in my life. My running clothes stank nearly as bad. Once I was cleaned up, I knew I would have to conjure up some fresh clothes with the camera. I stood up, carefully palming the camera in my hand so Cole wouldn't see it, then slipping it into my underwear drawer. I took a long hot shower, kneading the shampoo into my plentiful curls and realizing I had no idea how to care for a hairdo like this. Then again, maybe once I altered the photo, my hair would just stay like that until I took another photo and changed it again. Sure would've helped if Dad had given me some helpful hints. I wasn't just tinkering with some ordinary product from his company like a virtual-reality system or a 3D printer. Well, actually, in a weird way, this was sort of the ultimate 3D printer. And I definitely felt like I was in a different reality. With a towel wrapped around my waist, and envious glances directed my way from my neighbors, I strutted back down the hall to my room. When I got there, Cole was gone. I hadn't seen him in the shower room or the bathroom. His oversized clothes were still lying on the bed and the floor where they had landed during our fuck session. Hard to imagine he was running around naked. As I looked in my own closet for something that even approximately fit me, I noticed that a few items were missing. Nothing special, just a small black tee, some skinny black jeans and purple high-tops, but they all would have easily fit Cole at his new size. Still in my towel, I ran back into the hall and looked for him. I asked around whether anyone had seen Cole. Nobody had. Nobody seemed to have any clue who I was either. I ran back into our room and looked out the window, to see whether Cole was wandering around outside the dorm, but I couldn't spot him. Fortunately, we had exchanged phone numbers on the first day, before I realized what a tool he was, so I grabbed my cell phone and called him. After the first ring, I noticed Cole's cargos inching slightly across the floor. Another ring, they moved again. I reached down and pulled his phone from the pocket of his discarded shorts. I figured I'd better undo the camera's effects before he got into a situation he didn't expect. I opened my underwear drawer and was relieved to still find the camera there. If he had discovered it and taken it with him, who knows what could have happened? I sat down on my bed naked and opened the revised photo of Cole. The word "SAVED" appeared at the bottom. I hadn't remembered saving the image...unless that was the click when I accidentally sat on the camera. I tried to re-open the photo and make further adjustments, but none of the menus would open. Come to think of it, I had never gone back to make additional changes after hitting "SAVE". Finally, a new message came on the display: "TAKE NEW PHOTO TO MAKE MORE CHANGES". Shit. So I would have to take another picture of Cole before I could change him back? That meant his horny little gay ass was wandering around out there, and it was all my fault. I tried to fit into some of my old clothes, but everything was far too tight. So, since Cole had borrowed some of my stuff, I figured I could wear some of his. God, he had terrible taste, though. The nicest shirts he had were either football jerseys or camouflage jackets. It took me a minute to remember that it really didn't matter what the clothes looked like to begin with. I could just change them to whatever I wanted. With that, I pulled on a sweatshirt, orange hunting pants, and muddy cowboy boots and took a picture of myself reflected in the mirror. I didn't have time to dawdle getting my wardrobe perfect, so I quickly converted my outfit into a short-sleeved blue button-down, gray wool trousers and black penny loafers. Instead of drying my long curly hair, I just shrank it into a blond buzz cut. And I had the presence of mind to bump my IQ back up. While I was at it, I even gave myself an extra twenty points. I was going to need all the brain power I could get my hands on. I clicked "SAVE". Now, I asked myself, where would Cole go if he were gay? I had no inkling where to start my search for my roommate Cole, having selfishly turned him from an abusive nincompoop into a frisky cocksucker just to satisfy my own sexual needs. Despite having boosted my intelligence substantially with the astonishing camera which my father had given me, I had little clue where my transformed roommate might have gone. Cole's cell phone, which I had retrieved from the pocket of the cargo shorts he left behind, began to vibrate. The screen displayed the name "SHILOH" with an accompanying photo of one of Cole's posse extending his middle finger. Those gentlemen were all class. I answered the call, stating, "Cole's phone." The person at the other end laughed. "Uh, yeah, hi, Cole's phone. Is Cole there?" "No. You're Shiloh, I take it?" "Yeah, this is Shy. Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck do you have Cole's phone?" With irritation, I replied, "I the fuck am...a friend of Cole's, and I the fuck have Cole's telephone because he left it behind." "Where'd he go? Trent said Cole looked mad sick and would probably be in bed all day. I was just checking to see if he's okay." "He's far from okay. Do you have any ideas about where he might have gone?" "Shit, I dunno. Let me call the other guys and see if any of them have heard from him. I'll give you a call back." "Thank you. I'll await your call." I hung up, wondering why I sounded so uptight. Was it because I had raised my IQ that that I was talking like I had a stick lodged up my rectum? "Rectum"? What was with my vocabulary suddenly? For the first time in my life I looked cool and sexy, yet I sounded like an insufferable pedant. It was time for another readjustment. I raised the miraculous camera to take another photo of myself in the full-length mirror. I was becoming ever more proficient at operating the variety of menus and submenus, which I used to nudge my IQ back down to its usual level. Fortunately, my standard level of intelligence was still well above average, just not obnoxiously so. I somewhat reluctantly bade farewell to my heightened intellect with a simple tap of my finger... ...and a rush of relief spread through my body. Being smarter had literally made my brain ache. It felt unnatural. I was glad to feel normal again. Well, at least as normal as I could in my new studly body. I took a seat, drumming my fingertips on my desktop and waiting for Shiloh to call back. I studied the camera, wondering how it operated. It looked like an ordinary digital camera, but its power to edit not just the photograph but the person in the photograph was phenomenal. It could definitely be misused in the wrong hands, and I wondered if "the wrong hands" included my own, seeing what I had done to Cole. Maybe that was why Dad had given me the camera without any instructions. Maybe he wanted to see what errors in judgment might be made even by someone who he trusted. If I couldn't handle the responsibility of using the camera, imagine the havoc that would be caused by someone with less impulse control, like Cole. The phone rang, displaying Shiloh's name again. I picked it up. "Shiloh. Any luck?" It was a relief to let words just fall from my lips again without my brain obsessing over proper sentence structure. "None of the guys have heard from him since Trent dropped by this morning. But I wouldn't worry too much about it. I'm sure he's fine." "I'm not so sure about that." "Why not? I mean, who are you anyway?" "I'm...just a worried friend. Just like you. Can you help me search for him?" "Sure, I guess, if you're that concerned." "Where should we meet?" Shiloh thought for a second. "How 'bout the pier? He might be there, doggin' on chicks." Given how he was behaving before he left, I doubted that Cole would be "doggin' on chicks", but it was as good a place as any to start. We described what we were wearing so we would recognize each other at the pier. Shiloh said he was wearing a white "wife-beater", blue jeans and a purple baseball cap. Turned backwards, undoubtedly. It was like Cole and his buddies had been issued a bro uniform when they enrolled. I hurried to the pier as fast as I could, although it had been much easier running there in athletic shoes that morning than in the penny loafers I was wearing now. It was late afternoon and the place was crawling with minimally-dressed students, soaking in what might be the last warm day before autumn took hold. I felt way overdressed and considered sneaking off somewhere to zap myself into something more comfortable, but the truth was I thought I looked damn good. Just because I now had massive guns didn't mean I had to be flashing them constantly. I saw plenty of guys in white tanks and jeans hanging around, but only one in a purple cap...backwards, as expected. I dimly recognized Shiloh as one of Cole's crew, but he was clearly the runt of the litter. Although he was obviously trying to fit in with his fellow dudes, his efforts were almost too blatant -- not unlike the ways I had tried to make my weedy little body look cooler with tattoos and jewelry. It was hardly surprising that I had almost totally overlooked Shiloh, compared to Cole and his bulkier, hulkier comrades. Shiloh was short and skinny with pale skin, sloping shoulders and wispy chest hair poking out above his tank top. He had a pugnacious but fairly average face, with caterpillar eyebrows, dark eyes, a broad nose, thin lips and a rounded chin covered with scruff. I walked over with a friendly smile and said, "Shiloh, right?" "Uh, yeah. The guys call me Shy," he said, sizing me up. Clearly my bulky body was not what he pictured from our phone conversation. "I'm...uh, my friends call me Ry." Yes, all of my vast circle of non-existent friends. I extended my hand and shook his, realizing too late how hard I was squeezing his thin fingers. "You spotted Cole yet?" "Nah, I just got here," he said. "Trent said Cole looked really skinny this morning." "That's right. He might look shorter than usual too." Shiloh stared at me skeptically. "What the fuck? How does a guy get shorter overnight?" I just shrugged, playing dumb. As we prowled the pier, I hung a few steps behind Shiloh and couldn't help but fixate on how tightly his jeans fit, with no wallet in his back pockets to interrupt the smooth curve of his butt. I wondered if Dad had known that his camera would make me so sex-obsessed. Was that part of what the beta test was designed to explore? It was starting to feel more like an alpha test. My attention shifted from Shiloh's ass to a familiar pair of tan legs on a familiar bench. Kay, the girl from that morning, was lying on the same bench, only barefoot now, still reading the new Malcolm Gladwell with his latest theories on how everything works. Shit, I could finally remember the book and what it was about! She and I could have had a genuine conversation about it, if only I weren't in the middle of searching for Cole. "Hey, it's Kay, right?", I said, looming over her. She peered up, shielding her eyes and slightly confused. "I'm Ry. We talked this morning." It wasn't much of a conversation, but we HAD talked. "Oh, right," she said as the light of recognition went on. "I see you're wearing clothes now. You got a haircut too!" "That's right. I did." I brushed my palm across the bristles of my buzz cut. "You like it?" "I kinda liked the curls," she said with an inscrutable smirk. I felt like I had disappointed her. "I can always grow them back." I had zeroed in on Kay so much, I'd almost forgotten Shiloh was beside me, but Shiloh seemed used to being overlooked. "Oh, this is Shiloh. We're looking for a friend of ours we thought might have come to the pier. Since you've been here all day, maybe you noticed him. About yea tall," I said, raising my hand up to my chin level. "Dark wavy hair. Black t-shirt. Black jeans. Purple sneakers." Kay shook her head. "Sorry, I've been reading. You're probably the only person I noticed all day. Your friend sounds cute, though. Hope you find him." She raised her eyebrows and smiled. I grinned back and thanked her. I could swear she was flirting, but then everyone I saw today seemed to be turning me on. I might have to go into the camera settings and pick either totally straight or totally gay, just so my libido could ignore half of the world. As Shiloh and I walked away, I realized I didn't know exactly what to talk about with one of Cole's buddies. Wasn't their conversation mostly about sports and chicks? "That chick was pretty cute, don't you think?", I offered. Shiloh didn't seem all that impressed. "I suppose. If you're into that type." We swung by the campus clinic to see if Cole had come by to get checked out, but the receptionist didn't remember anyone of his description. We didn't find Cole in any of his other usual hangouts either, and it seemed increasingly unlikely that we would simply run into him by wandering the sprawling campus randomly. My big-ass body was starving, so we stopped in a Mexican restaurant and strategized. As I watched Shiloh stuffing a burrito into his mouth, for some reason it reminded me of Cole giving me a blowjob this morning. I realized I had to level with Shiloh about how much his buddy had changed. "I think you should know. What happened to Cole, I don't think it just changed him physically." "What do you mean?", Shiloh asked, chomping down another bite. "I think he's behaving differently too. Last time I saw him, he was acting...pretty damn gay." Shiloh burst into a laugh that sprayed rice and beans into my face. He looked embarrassed, reaching over with a napkin to wipe me clean. "Sorry about that. I just find it hard to believe that Cole would be gay." "Maybe he's been in denial." Or maybe a magical camera turned him gay. Nah, too crazy. "Is there, like, a gay part of town where he might have gone?" "Over on Sixteenth Street. Some people call it Sixty-Nine Street." He added, "So I hear." "Maybe we should head over there and look around." Shiloh looked dubious. "You and me walking Sixty-Nine? People will think we're a couple." Would that be so terrible, even if he was a bit puny for my tastes? Funny how I'd suddenly developed standards and thought I could afford to be choosy. "Cole might not come with me," I said, "but he might listen to you. You're his friend." "Aren't you his friend too?" Let's see. Cole had abused me from the moment we became roommates. Then this morning I turned him into a little gay boy without his permission. "I'd say we're more like acquaintances." Shiloh was skeptical of my theory but agreed to continue the search. Judging from the rainbow flags and other obvious signs, it appeared that the core of 69 Street was barely a block long. Shiloh seemed nervous to be around the neighborhood, but I was enjoying the sensation of guys ogling me with no hesitation. I unbuttoned a couple extra buttons on my shirt to display my pumped pecs. Despite the aura of cool I was hoping to project, I was pretty embarrassed when we went into one sex-toy shop, and Cole was blushing so hard, his skin almost matched the purple of his cap. The place still had those coin-operated porno viewing booths that I had heard about -- I guess for the last remaining pervs on earth without internet access. I wasn't about to knock on the doors to find out if Cole was using one of them. On the off chance that he was, I decided I wouldn't be asking for my purple sneakers back. Not seeing Cole prowling the aisles, we got out of there fast. As we stepped outside, Shiloh literally collided with a pedestrian, sending them both reeling in opposite directions across the sidewalk. "Watch your step, honey," the pedestrian said with annoyance. I instantly recognized the voice from this morning. Shiloh stared with fascination at the other guy. "Cole? Is that really you?" Shiloh's confusion was justifiable. With its turned-up nose and pillowy lips, Cole's face had already been changed by the transformation, but Cole had been a busy boy refining his look since then. He was still wearing my purple shoes but at some point he had ditched my black tee and jeans and was now wearing a white fishnet tee that exposed his abs and low-slung lime-green shorts. He had obviously spent some time in a salon too, as his nails were now black and his hair sported a magenta streak that matched his eye shadow. I may have turned Cole gay, but I took no responsibility for his fashion sense. Cole rushed over and hugged Shiloh. "Shy, baby! I'm so happy to see you!" Shiloh patted Cole's back, his eyes registering amazement, while Cole showed now hesitation as he groped Shiloh's cute butt. When they parted, Cole's attention shifted to me. His eyes roved my body and a smirk crossed his lips. "Oooh, and I remember you, big boy." He slinked over to me and pressed his lips on mine. I couldn't resist kissing back, and the intensity of Cole's passion was possibly even greater than it had been earlier in the day. Our public display of affection was so public that I could hear guys on the street whistling or clapping or yelling "Get a room." When we parted, I noticed Shiloh's dumbstruck stare. I looked back, doing my best non-verbal "I told you so." "What are you boys doing in this neighborhood?", Cole asked. "We came to take you home," Shiloh said. "Why would I go home? I'm having a blast, honey. I've never felt so happy." "But this isn't you!", Shiloh insisted. "I know. It's better, baby. You should try it sometime." Cole winked at me before his eyes drifted to a large hairy biker dude in leather pants walking past. Cole's head pivoted to keep an eye on the big guy and, as he set off in pursuit, he called back, "See you later, boys." Shiloh watched as Cole chased after the brutish guy and struck up a conversation. Shiloh turned to me and said, "I think you better tell me what's really going on here...baby." I froze, knowing that I'd been found out. "You are Cole's little roommate Ryan, right, Ry? The one he teased so much and called 'Baby'?" I nodded. Shiloh studied me. "Unbelievable. You look...totally different. So whatever changed Cole is probably the same thing that changed you, right? What is it you're not telling me?" I was pretty sure I was going to need Shiloh on my side to wrangle Cole if I had any chance of converting him back, so I pulled Shiloh in between two buildings where we wouldn't be overheard. "What I'm gonna tell you will sound nuts, but it's true. Can I trust you to keep a secret?" Shiloh nodded. As I looked in his eyes, he seemed to have an inherent honesty and integrity, which made me wonder again why he ever hung out with Cole and his buds. Still, I felt I could trust him. Without divulging any more details than were absolutely necessary, I showed him the camera and described how it could be used to essentially Photoshop someone so that their body changed in real life. "How does it work?", he asked. "I have no fucking clue," I said with complete honesty. I figured a demonstration would be the best proof I could offer, so I pulled up the last photo I had taken of myself and showed him the various menus. Since I had never saved the photo, it was still editable, so I decided to alter my clothing, looking around to make sure no one was watching. I quickly chose a wardrobe that might be more appropriate for this neighborhood. Shiloh watched in amazement as, one by one, I "tried on" new clothes on the camera screen which then appeared on my actual body with a simple click of the "ACCEPT" button. Within a minute, I went from my conservative outfit to an orange sleeveless tee, a pair of ripped-knee jeans and rhinestone-studded All-Stars. While I was at it, I decided to give myself a new tattoo, opting for a Maori design for my chest and upper arm. I felt a concentrated barrage of needle pricks as the pattern emerged across my skin. I even selected "JEWELRY" and added seven silver hoops to the upper edge of my right ear, gritting my teeth as the pain of seven piercings was condensed simultaneously into the space of five seconds, then quickly fading away. When the transformation was complete, I extended my arms to my sides and said, "Ta-da!" Shiloh gaped in awe. "Satisfied? Now let's go get Cole and turn him back." As I turned back toward the sidewalk, I heard Shiloh behind me. "Do me." I looked back, knowing that I should resist, knowing that I didn't need this situation to get any more complicated than it already was. "Do me. Please?" I could see a familiar longing in his eyes, the same desperation to be noticed that I'd carried within me for so long. Silently apologizing to my dad, I walked back between the buildings and asked Cole to pose against the wall. I snapped a shot. I studied his photo, my mind racing at the possibilities. "So what do you want me to change?" "Anything. Everything. Just make me look cool. Like you." The idea of me being the epitome of cool was absurd, but I dove eagerly into the task of reshaping wanna-be bro Shiloh into a hottie. "This first one's gonna hurt, but you'll thank me." I slid him from "ECTOMORPH" to "MESOMORPH" to put some meat on his scrawny bones. As I hit "ACCEPT", the changes began. He seemed remarkably unperturbed by the pain I knew he must be experiencing, but he seemed utterly distracted by the awesome sight of his muscles and skeletal system growing at lightning speed. I frantically bumped up the size of his clothes before his muscles had a chance to burst through them. Since he had left the aesthetic choices to me, I tanned his pale skin and whisked away the thatch of hair on his chest. Shiloh would be a metrosexual if I had anything to do with it, and I actually had everything to do with it. Flexing his reshaped right arm while rubbing his left hand across his newly smooth pecs, Shiloh looked over at me and smiled, our eyes now at the same height. "More" was all he said. His eyes looked dark and impenetrable, so I adjusted them to a lighter shade, giving them a seductive sparkle. I knew the next thing that had to go was that stupid baseball cap, but rather than simply asking him to remove it, I chose "HEADGEAR", then "NONE". The best way to de-bro him was to take away his options. I clicked "ACCEPT" and the cap vanished from Shiloh's head, dematerializing until it revealed Shiloh's greasy mop of stringy brown hair. I decided he would look much better as a blond with highlighted streaks. "Ow, it's vibrating," Shiloh said, clutching at his hair as a month of growth was crammed into under a minute and his dark locks lightened as if he had spent all summer at the beach. My options seemed endless. I thinned his eyebrows and streamlined his nose. I pumped up his lips and gave him a more pointed, manly chin. Unlike Cole, who I had modified with revenge in mind, I realized I was reworking Shiloh with the secret goal of turning him into the hottest eye candy I could imagine. Now, as the final pieces shifted into place, the growing feeling in my heart -- and my jeans -- told me that I had succeeded. I had created my ideal man. Too bad he was straight. But, wait, how did I know he was? He acted straight, but... While Shiloh was occupied checking out his new body, pulling up his white tank to examine his new abs, I surreptitiously pulled up the "ORIENTATION" menu. Just as it had told me I was bisexual and Cole was initially straight, the camera had determined that Shiloh was most definitely "HOMOSEXUAL". How the hell could a machine figure that out, just by taking a picture, when I couldn't tell from spending time with the guy? It was one of about eight-million questions I would be asking my dad once this whole adventure was over. At the moment, I was just psyched to realize that I had a chance with this golden hottie. It'd be my cosmic bad luck if I had the power to whip up my dream man only to discover that he had no interest in me. "What do you think?" I gestured to his new body. "It's a miracle," he said, grasping at his throat when he heard the resonance his voice had gained in the transformation. "Just so you know, I didn't do anything to cause this, but the camera indicates that...you're gay?" He hesitated before nodding. "Do Cole and the other guys know?" He shook his head. "Those guys? You can imagine how they'd have reacted." "Then why did you hang out with them?" "I dunno. It was better than being alone. Maybe I hoped a little of their macho would rub off on me. Plus...I think I had a little crush on Cole." My jaw fell. "Do you still?" Shiloh smiled. "Not so much after what you did to him. I like my guys..." He looked me up and down. "...big." He smiled and walked back to the sidewalk. We entered a clothing store so Shiloh could inspect himself thoroughly in a mirror. "Oh my god," he said with a hushed voice. "That's really me?" As if still in disbelief, he raised his arm to flex his biceps and was amazed to see his reflection doing the same. He smiled into the mirror, revealing a set of perfect teeth that made me swoon. He turned to me with moist eyes, then wrapped me in his powerful arms and kissed me. Mmm, the camera had done a great job on his lips. God, I loved technology. Shiloh walked out of the store with supreme confidence, his arm wrapped around my waist. We looked up and down the street for Cole until Shiloh finally spotted him. "Cole just went into the Manhole!" "He fell down a manhole?" "No, the Manhole. The club over there. He was still with the big hairy guy." Shiloh pointed down the street. "Great. We'll wait outside until they throw him out and then grab him." "Why would they throw him out?" "Because he's not 21. In fact, right now he looks about fourteen." "The Manhole is eighteen-plus most nights. If you want to drink, you have to wear a wristband." "You sure seem to know a lot about this place," I said teasingly. Embarrassed, Shiloh said, "I thought about going there a lot last year, but I always chickened out before I got to the door." "You think you're ready now?" He grinned back, cocky as shit, and said, "The question is, is it ready for me?" As he marched down the street, I held myself back a few steps, pleased with how breathtakingly his new ass filled out his bigger jeans. I could follow that butt anywhere. When we reached the bouncer at the Manhole, I showed my ID, relieved that I hadn't changed my face much. He must have wondered how I grew so much from the height and weight listed on the driver's license, if he bothered to check that at all, but he waved me along. Shiloh, who now looked nothing like he had ten minutes ago, just said that he'd forgotten his ID. Before the bouncer could deny him entry, a firm voice emerged from inside the front door, saying, "You are NOT turning away a boy who looks that fine." The bouncer stepped aside and let Shiloh enter. The owner of that mystery voice was a slim young guy with either a very wide mohawk or a very severe sidewall. He asked for ten dollars each. "I guess that's the Manhole cover," I joked. From his expression, I was not the first person ever to make that joke. The muffled booms of bass speakers vibrated the walls as we headed to the dance floor. It was tremendously loud inside the club. Amid the swirling, colored lights were probably two hundred guys, some coupled up, others playing the field. I followed Shiloh, noticing how many guys were leering at him or copping casual feels and wondering if I had done too good a job. If I wanted to keep him for myself, I might have to go back in and ugly him up a little. Shiloh looked exhilarated and overwhelmed to be in the middle of the crowd. I no longer needed a high-tech gizmo to determine this boy's orientation. I could tell from the delighted expression on his face. I ran my palms across Shiloh's sturdy shoulder muscles and down his arms, my thumbs following the lines of his biceps veins and over his forearms. We began to move in sync with the music, and I was pleased to see him devoting his full attention to me, despite the massive attention he was getting from others. As I pressed myself against him, I could tell from the lump in his jeans that I wouldn't be needing to make any alterations down there. Our eyes met and the next move was obvious. I took his hand and led him into the men's room where we found an empty stall. We must have looked absurd, two total studs who were utterly clueless about what to do next. All I knew was I needed him and he looked like he wanted me. I unbuttoned my 501s and pulled out my foot-long cock, which Shiloh studied with amazement. He knelt down, ready to latch his lips around it, but I needed more than a blowjob this time. I spun him around and positioned his hands against the tile wall, then reached around to slide his skintight pants down his legs. Man, did he have a magnificent ass. As I gently probed my way inside, Shiloh started to moan. I rested my chin on his shoulder as my hips gyrated, pushing further into him while my left hand stroked his growing cock. Even in here, the din of the club nearly drowned out our voices, although I doubt anyone would complain if they heard what we were doing. I went faster and faster, pressing my face against his back, my nose buried between his shoulder blades as his tank became soaked with his sweat. He reached his sinewy arms behind his shoulders and pulled off the tank top. I licked his salty skin and felt euphoric as my cock spurted inside his tight ass. Shiloh pounded his mighty fist against the wall while screaming with pleasure as his cock surged in my hand. He joined in the stroking until he began to spurt onto the wall. When we had both settled down, Shiloh turned to kiss me and I got my first clear look at his sculpted chest and abs. I must say, we looked pretty damn good for a couple of wimps. Someone knocked urgently on the door of the stall. "How long you gonna be in there?" Not wanting to hold up someone in desperate need, we quickly pulled up our pants and opened the door. The guy rushed in, followed momentarily by a friend. Shiloh stuffed his tank into the back pocket of his jeans, returning to the dance floor topless. I took his hand and we resumed dancing. Somehow, amid the mob of faces and gyrating bodies, obscured by dry-ice fog and epilepsy-triggering strobes, I finally spotted Cole on the balcony, going into overtime playing tonsil-hockey with the big hairy guy. Shiloh and I squeezed through the crowd and worked our way up to the balcony. Shiloh tapped on the hairy man's shoulder. "I need to talk to my friend." The hairy guy must have had a hundred pounds on Shiloh. "Fuck off," he demanded, pushing a finger firmly into Shiloh's sculpted chest, but Shiloh stood firm. Shiloh turned to Cole and asked, "Cole, is this guy bothering you?" Cole was staring at Shiloh, puzzled. "Do I know you?" "It's me, Shiloh." Cole's eyes widened. "Shy?" He literally drooled at the sight of his buddy's new body. "That's right," Shiloh said. "And this time, we're not asking, we're telling. We're taking you home." Cole looked conflicted, but the large man blocked the path between Shiloh and Cole. "I think you're wrong, pal. I'M taking him home." Shiloh tried to push the big guy aside to grab Cole, but the hairy guy punched Shiloh hard in the face. Shiloh fell to the floor, clutching his nose. When I stepped forward, the hairy guy turned his attention to me. "You gonna be as stupid as your friend there?" Big as I was, I couldn't envision winning a fight with this guy, so I backed off. The hairy guy wrapped his huge mitt around Cole's fragile wrist and started dragging Cole toward the exit. Cole looked back at us with fear in his eyes. I knelt down to check on Shiloh. "You okay?" He pulled his hand away and discovered his palm covered with blood from his nose. But he was undeterred. "Can that camera make us big enough to beat that motherfucker?" We ran into the bathroom, the only place in the club well lit enough to take a decent photo of the two of us. Then we ran out the front door, catching a glimpse of Cole being dragged around the corner by his new "friend". Shiloh and I ran down the sidewalk as fast as we could, while I simultaneously attempted to navigate the menus on the camera and change us before we lost track of Cole. With each pounding step on the pavement, the camera was jostled in my hand. I knew we were going to need bulk if we had any shot at wresting Cole away from his captor, so I chose the "BODY TYPE" menu and slid the dial way past "MESOMORPH" into "BEAST" and then "BEHEMOTH" mode. Feeling it would give us our best chance, I chose "BEHEMOTH", then "ACCEPT". An incredible rush of power swept through my body. My muscles grew two, maybe three times their already impressive size. My powerful legs slammed so heavily against the sidewalk, I could swear the cement was cracking under my weight. I looked ahead of me and realized Shiloh was undergoing the same transformation. It hadn't occurred to me, when taking one photo that included both of us, that any changes I made to the photo would affect Shiloh and me identically. I quickly changed our pants to black bicycle shorts, so they would stretch as our bodies enlarged. With a massive change like this, the rest of our clothes were goners, shredding on the fly and leaving a trail of tattered fabric behind us. I lagged behind Shiloh and could see his back and shoulders widening to inhuman size and his blond hair streaming like a mane behind him. Up ahead, the hairy guy had heard and undoubtedly felt our approaching footsteps. He now had Cole slung over his shoulder and was running toward a battered pickup truck. He flung Cole hard into the bed of the truck, seemingly unconcerned for the safety of his prey but determined to keep him away from us. He climbed into the driver's seat and revved his engine. Shiloh reached the truck before I did, grabbed the driver's side door and tore it completely off its hinges. Shiloh yanked the big guy out of the truck and tossed him into the street. Shiloh was reaching for Cole's hand when I noticed something that had escaped Shiloh's attention. "He's got a gun!" The driver had dragged a shotgun out of the cab of the truck with him, which he was loading quickly. Shiloh turned back to him with fury, chasing him down the street. He took the hairy guy's shoulder in one mighty paw while snatching away the shotgun with the other. Shiloh smashed the gun over his enormous knee and flung the remains over a nearby chain-link fence. The skinny kid I had only met hours before was now an unstoppable fighting machine. Even with similar size, I was nowhere near as fearless as Shiloh. Shiloh held the squirming man in his grip, then raised his humongous fist overhead, prepared to strike. I feared that a single blow from Shiloh could kill the man, so I screamed, "Stop!" I ran up and instructed Shiloh to make the big hairy guy stand in the glare of the headlights so I could take his photo. Shiloh smiled, seeing what I was up to, and tossed the hairy guy into the road where the lights illuminated him. Within moments, I had reduced our opponent to a five-foot-three ectomorph with a smooth hairless body. He stared with panic at the whittled-down specimen he had suddenly become. "I'll get you motherfuckers," he squeaked, running to the passenger side of his truck, leaping his skinny body through the open window and climbing into the driver's seat. He squealed down the road, with Cole hanging on desperately as he was flung around the truck bed. Shiloh chased after the truck on foot, until the truck spun a U-turn mid-block and came racing directly toward him. I ran onto the sidewalk and braced myself, but the truck remained in pursuit of Shiloh, who narrowly escaped by ducking between two parked cars. The truck smashed into the cars, shattering its windshield. I could see Cole attempting to jump free but he fell back into the truck bed as the driver shifted into reverse and sped off. Shiloh gingerly lowered his bulk to the sidewalk beside me, his long blond hair falling in a sweat-drenched curtain past his eyes. We were both exhausted. In the middle of everything, we barely had a moment to appreciate just how radically our bodies had changed. We must be hovering near seven feet now and well over 400 pounds, most of it muscle. "When I said I liked guys who were big, I never meant this big," said Shiloh in a voice so deep, I could hear it rattling nearby windows. "Sorry, man," I said, my voice even deeper than his. "I didn't have time for subtlety." "What do you say we change back and let the police handle it from here?", Shiloh asked. "Sounds like a plan," I said. I pushed myself to my feet, then extended my brawny arm to help my fellow hulk stand. The commotion had naturally drawn crowds out of the clubs of 69 Street to see what was happening, and our huge musclebound bodies were naturally attracting a lot of attention. I suddenly had the realization that I was no longer holding the camera in my hand. "Shit, I don't have the camera!" "Did you drop it somewhere?", Shiloh asked. I shrugged my massive shoulders and stepped as gingerly as possible into the street. Shiloh joined me in my quest. "I sure hope that asshole didn't run over it with his truck," Shiloh said. "I would not want to be stuck like..." I heard a crunch and closed my eyes. When I opened them, Shiloh was looking scared. He lifted up a gigantic foot, revealing the crushed remains of the miracle camera embedded in the asphalt. In unison, we said, "Oh, fuck." Shiloh and I stood in the dimly lit street, our astounding bodies each seven feet tall and bursting with more muscle than I'd ever seen on a human being -- if that's even what we were any more. Our shoulders and biceps were bigger than beach balls and solid as steel. Our lats flared out so dramatically that neither of us could lower our arms fully to our sides. A street light behind us showed off our musculature in sharp relief and cast long brutish shadows along the pavement. I was glad I'd had the presence of mind to switch us into stretch pants when our bodies became so gargantuan, so at least we weren't naked. Guys had run outside the Manhole and the other gay establishments of 69 Street once people heard the sounds of our frenetic battle with the guy who had taken Cole away with him. Everyone was keeping their distance from the two silhouetted giants in the middle of the road, but every-goddamn-body had a camera on their cell phone and was taking pictures and videos of us like two sasquatches who had just landed in the gay-borhood. Ironically, Shiloh and I were the only ones who didn't have a camera, and we were the ones who really could have used one, since it was my magical camera that had gotten us into this mess. Too bad Shiloh had accidentally stepped on it, his enormous weight grinding it into irreparable bits. I was surprised that I had maintained my composure and most of my wits. Shiloh was more riled up, having been in the heat of the battle with Cole's abductor, smashing the guy's shotgun and tearing the driver's side door off his pick-up truck. Shiloh was still wired with adrenaline and ran angrily toward the crowd with a menacing roar that echoed off the buildings. Everyone scurried back in fear, and I clamped one of my meaty paws on Shiloh's traps, dragging him back toward me. I spoke as softly as I could, even though it felt like everything I said in this new body was being bellowed through a megaphone. "Chill, Hulk. You don't have to 'smash'." Shiloh, still glaring furiously at the mob armed with their smartphones, asked, "Well, what do you suggest we do?" "We maybe got a minute before the cops show. I say we run as fast as these big-ass legs will carry us." "Where to?" "Someplace we won't be noticed." "Oh, that oughta be easy to find", Shiloh snorted sarcastically and it came out like a lion's roar. That gave me an idea. "Follow me." I spun on my heel and began to run away from the crowd. I could hear from the pounding at my heels that Shiloh was right behind me and that some of the crowd were attempting to keep up. Fat chance of that. Despite my bulk, I felt just as agile as I had earlier in the day when I weighed half as much. I'd never felt so exhilarated as I bounded at ten feet per stride, my muscles like coiled springs. I tried to keep us in dimly lit areas, under railroad bridges, in industrial areas where no one was working at this time of night, but I'm sure that the pounding of our feet alone made our presence obvious to anyone within several blocks. Maybe one sprinting muscle beast could slip by unnoticed, but two would definitely catch your attention. One unlucky driver must have gotten the scare of his life as he turned down the street toward us. He slammed on his brakes as fast as he could, and I miraculously hurdled his car. Shiloh leapt over the car too, but his heel clipped the rear bumper, knocking it clean off. Shiloh paused to look back, but I yelled for him to keep going. The sooner we vanished, the less likely the driver was to know what hit him. I did take one short cut over a parked car where I left a giant foot-shaped dent in the hood of the trunk. If you parked anywhere in the neighborhood of Sixteenth Street that night, I sincerely apologize. When we finally reached our destination, we had to scale a fifteen-foot concrete wall with barbed wire at the top. Leaping to the top was simple with our new muscles, and the barbed wire left little more than surface scratches on our thick hides. After being such a little dweeb all my life, it was extraordinary to experience life as an almost purely physical being. I felt practically indestructible. We slid down the other side of the wall and landed in a scummy, stagnant water pool. We had become so animalistic in our behavior by that point that we felt refreshed, splashing ourselves and each other playfully, joyfully. We even cupped water in our hands to slurp it up and rehydrate after our marathon run. At that point, we both came to our senses and spat out the putrid stuff. Shiloh looked around. "What is this, a zoo?" I grunted affirmatively. "So we're in a cage with wild animals?" He scanned his surroundings with fear, moonlight catching in his eyeballs. "There are no animals. It closed down a couple years ago. My folks used to bring me here when I was little. Never thought I'd be on this side of the cage." I lay down on the cement where apes used to prowl, feeling my gigantic ribcage expanding and contracting as I caught my breath. Shiloh prowled our new habitat, on alert for anyone or anything approaching. He began to swing swiftly on a rusted old set of bars that had been installed for the apes to play on. Part of me was already making plans for what Shiloh and I could do with bodies like these. Obviously, we would be the center of attention wherever we went. We could probably go into football, pro wrestling, acting, modeling. I didn't think they'd let us into bodybuilding with the head start Dad's camera had provided. Then again, once Dad's camera went on the market, body building the old way would probably become obsolete. As would dieting. And plastic surgery. And shopping for clothes. And visiting the barber. This one little gadget might drive half the companies in America out of business. Dad and his colleagues were in line to become the richest people on earth, or the most hated, or most likely both. As I rested a hand on my thigh, I noticed something tiny and hard caught in my skintight pants. My cell phone! Even when I transformed our pants into running shorts, eliminating pockets, the phone in my front pocket had survived the change and was pressed firmly against my flesh. I gently pulled down the shorts and carefully extracted the phone, which now felt so tiny in my oversized palm that I was afraid I would crush it. If I'd had to dial individual digits with the bratwursts my fingers had become, I'd have been shit out of luck, but fortunately the person I needed was on speed dial. As the phone began to ring, I raised it to my ear. "Hey, big guy, what's shaking?" came the comforting voice of my dad on the other end of the line. "Why, what have you heard?" was my response, coming out in my laughably low new voice. "Holy cow, Ryan, is that you?" "Yeah, Dad. I need your help." Sternly, Dad asked, "Have you been using the camera some more?" "A little." I could probably lift a semi with my bare hands right then, but Dad's disappointed tone instantly transformed me mentally into an eight-year-old afraid to admit that he had knocked a baseball through the neighbor's window. "I warned you to take it easy with that thing. But don't worry, if you've pushed yourself too far, there's a quick fix that'll reset you right back to normal. You got the camera with you?" "Ummm...that's part of the problem. The camera got kinda...crushed." A long pause from Dad's end. "How 'kinda' crushed?" "Like oblivion crushed." Dad let out a world-record sigh. I waited for him to say something, anything. "You still there, Dad?" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just trying to get a fix on your coordinates. Looks like you're at the old zoo, right?" "Right. How'd you know that?" "When the camera transformed you, it put radioactive tracers in your body. I'm seeing another big blip. Is someone else with you?" "Yeah, my friend, Shiloh." My delight at being able to tell my dad that I had made a friend at college was tempered by the knowledge of what I had turned that friend into. He was currently atop the monkey bars, pounding his chest like Tarzan and yowling at the moon. I shushed him, not wanting to draw any attention to our hideout. "Okay, hang on, buddy. I'll be right there," Dad said. "Thanks, Dad. Hurry." I could hear distant sirens and couldn't imagine that Dad could drive here before we'd be discovered by the cops. I was walking toward Shiloh to give him the good news that Dad was on his way when I saw a weird glow over the water pool. The air above the ground seemed to be thickening and pulsating, reminding me of my initial transformation when the camera sucked me through space to another location via some gelatinous portal. Sure enough, I saw the outlines of Dad's shape emerging inside the glow. As he stepped his way through the ethereal goo, he became aware that he had beamed in at ground level, while the ground beneath him was actually several feet lower. He plunged into the stagnant water of the apes' drinking hole. I rushed over to grab him as he scrambled out of the water, carefully holding his camera aloft so it would not get wet. I reached out and wrapped my fingers completely around his forearm. He seemed unprepared for just how monumental I had become. "Oh my, Ryan. What have you done to yourself?" "I just wanted to put on some muscle. Things got out of hand." "Nice understatement, son. I know how sensitive you are about your size. I thought you'd use the camera to give yourself a few minor adjustments so you'd fit in better with the other college kids. But this, son, this is not fitting in." "I know I screwed up, Dad, jeez. Why do you think I called you?" I must have been the whiniest gigantic muscleman in the history of gigantic musclemen. Dad dropped the lecturing tone. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm glad you called me." He noticed Shiloh, who was hanging on the monkey bars. "And you must be Shiloh. I'm Ryan's dad. Nice to meet you." Shiloh dropped down and ran toward us, slumping forward and practically running on all fours. Dad looked around the spooky old zoo. "Well, one thing in our favor. At least you came to a nice isolated place to experiment where no one could see you." The silence from Shiloh and me must have been pretty obvious, as were the sirens in the distance which were growing louder. Dad looked up at me wearily. "People saw you, didn't they?" Shiloh and I nodded like bad little boys. I had to tell Dad, "We're probably on YouTube by now." "Fuck!", Dad yelled. I think I'd only heard him drop the F-bomb twice before in my life and never with such well-deserved ferocity. "If my company learns that I gave my son an untested prototype and that he turned himself and his buddy into monsters..." "We are not monsters!", Shiloh shouted, his words bouncing off the concrete walls as he shook a cinder-block-sized fist at Dad. I ran behind Shiloh and grabbed his arms to keep him from attacking Dad. "Well, you won't be in a minute," Dad said, raising his camera. It looked slightly different from the one I'd been given, bulkier with extra modifications, like a newer model that had been jerry-rigged in the lab. Dad quickly took a flash photo of Shiloh and me and started to manipulate the menus. I hovered over his shoulder -- high above his shoulder -- and watched how masterfully he worked the controls. I thought I had been getting the hang of it, but Dad had clearly been fiddling with this device for months or maybe even years. "If you have a picture of two people, the command affects both of them," I told Dad, offering one of my hard-learned lessons as if he might not already been aware of it, even though he was probably the person who had designed it to work that way. "That's right, son, but there's an easy override for that. What I'm trying to do is trickier. I want to set you both back to the way you started, which would be MUCH easier if I was working from the camera that made the changes in the first place." Nice way to rub it in, Dad. I already apologized for that. "Do you have to change us back?", Shiloh asked. "I feel kinda awesome like this." He flexed an arm and admired his massive biceps pump. "You're caught up in the endorphin rush, but it'll fade soon. You've expanded your body parts to inhuman proportions, way beyond the size at which they were designed to function. Your heart, your lungs, your brain, they're all straining to support what you've become. If you stay like this, you'll be dead in two days." "Okay, you can change us back," Shiloh said, all menace and bravado immediately gone from his voice. "Ah, there it is!", Dad screamed. "I connected back to the lab. All your settings were stored back there every time you used the camera, so I can revert you to your original states. You better brace yourselves. It's going to be quite a shock to be yourselves again." Shiloh and I walked over to the monkey bars and gripped them tightly. Dad gave us no warning that the process was already in motion. It felt like I was being crushed by a black hole, becoming smaller and denser at such a speed that I worried it might keep going until I was reduced to nothingness. The metal bar in my hand seemed to be getting bigger when it was really my hands growing smaller around it. It was a relief when my extreme hyper-inflated muscles were gone, but I genuinely felt comfortable when I had reached the size of the miniature weightlifter of my initial transformation. I felt like yelling to Dad to stop the shrinkage right there, but I was going all the way back to my frail "baby" weight. I felt so distanced from that version of me after all that had occurred, it was hard to believe that I had only been Big Ry for the past twenty-four hours. When I could feel the process coming to an end, my hands slipped from the metal bars, my knees buckled and I fell to the concrete, whacking my head and discovering that pain was once again a factor in my life. I looked blearily across the way and saw Shiloh coming to grips with being ordinary again too. All the "improvements" which I had made to him were gone. Shiloh was no longer the blond sex god of my dreams. He was just a regular guy trying to look tougher than he was. We were each wearing the jeans that had worn before our first transformations, but the rest of our clothes were missing, since whatever they had been changed into by the camera was shredded when we grew to behemoths. Interestingly, Shiloh's backwards baseball cap had returned from the oblivion where I sent it, having been stored in memory back at the lab. My ears had been ringing throughout the shrinking process, but I could now distinctly hear the sirens closing in. In another minute, we would be discovered trespassing at the zoo and we'd have a lot of fast talking to do. Dad hustled over and gathered Shiloh and me close together, holding out his arm to snap a selfie of the three of us. As soon as the flash went off, we could hear voices outside the wall as cops noticed the burst of light. "I've never transported three people at once, but it SHOULD work," Dad informed us. "We would have overwhelmed the system's capacity if you were still the size of human tanks, but we shouldn't have much trouble with you kids." Shit, I was back to being a kid. I can't speak for Shiloh, but my heart was racing with fear that we were going to get caught. Dad seemed unworried and unhurried. He pulled up the "BACKGROUND" menu -- something I'd forgotten about since last night -- and input very specific latitude, longitude and elevation coordinates, an option that hadn't been included on the model Dad had given me. The screen previewed the three of us against a plain white wall instead of the murky background of the zoo. Dad pressed "ACCEPT" and wrapped his arms around Shiloh and me. I realized too late that I'd better warn Shiloh what he was in for. "Shiloh, it's gonna feel like..." By the time I could say, "...squeezing through Jell-O," we had already made the freaky transit through space and were standing in an all-white room that I recognized as one of the labs at Dad's company. Shiloh was reeling. He braced himself against a counter top to keep from falling and turned to Dad, wide-eyed. Of all the shit he had seen and experienced today, this teleportation had blown his mind the most. "How did you do that?" "Simple. The hydrogen componolizer interacted with the dichlorium atoms in your duodenum, generating a paradoxical flux which reverberated against the polonium-synchronized geographical wave spectro-analyzer and creating a temporal parahelion dispersion of point-two-seven." Shiloh stared at Dad, in awe. I laughed and said, "That was just a bunch of nonsense, Dad." Dad smiled. "Yeah, but if I'd said, 'It's magic,' you wouldn't have believed me." And with that, he walked purposefully toward a computer work station, where several other working models of the camera were charging. Shiloh and I stared at each other. In the course of one day, we had been hunks together and hulks together, but now we were face to face as our real selves. Two skinny guys, same height, same weight, with more in common than we would have assumed that morning. "Almost forgot what you looked like," Shiloh said. "I dunno why Cole made so much fun of you. You're a cute guy." Even in the dim light of the lab, I'm sure it was obvious that I was blushing. The way Shiloh was examining my emaciated frame, I got goosebumps. "I thought you liked your guys big." "I do." Shiloh's slim lips curled up. "But size isn't everything." Across the room, Dad cleared his throat loudly and started humming some unrecognizable tune, which is what he always did when he heard something he felt uncomfortable hearing. Shiloh and I walked over behind him to see what he was checking on his computer. He was cycling through all of our vital statistics which the camera had recorded. "Looks like you two guys are safely back to normal, so that's a relief. I can survive any shit I'm going to get from the company, but if I had done anything to harm you..." "I know, Dad," I said, wrapping my skinny arm around his shoulders. I could feel his body tense up, and he leaned forward to look at something on his computer. "What is it?" "I'm seeing two more blips," pointing to two bright spots on a map of the city, not far from Sixteenth Street. Dad turned to me, looking like he might be willing to harm me after all. "Care to enlighten me?" Shiloh scooted his body between Dad's and mine, trying to explain. "I did them!" Dad glanced at Shiloh, then angrily back at me. "You let someone else use the camera?" I was in the middle of shaking my head when Shiloh blurted out, "Ry didn't know. I snuck it away from him and did it totally on my own. Please, it's not his fault." Dad glared at Shiloh. "So are you telling me there are two more monsters on the loose out there?" "No! I made them both skinny! Skinnier than we are now! That shouldn't be dangerous, right? I mean, not as dangerous as super-sizing at least." Dad thought it over, still unhappy. "Well, no, in our tests, we've found that making the body smaller and leaner is actually healthier, within reason." Dad sat down, his temper cooling. His eyes darted between Shiloh and me as he decided whether or not to believe Shiloh's story. "Can you keep tabs on these other two? And if you notice ANY adverse changes in them, you'll bring them to me immediately for testing?" Shiloh and I said, "Yes" at the same time. I added "Dad". Shiloh added "Sir". Dad took blood samples from both of us and ran tests on them. While we waited for results, I checked YouTube on Dad's computer. Sure enough, a dozen or more grainy videos had already been posted of two mysterious figures prowling the streets of the city. Fortunately, nobody got a good shot of our faces -- not that either of us resembled those two gorillas any more. The company had a TV in the break room and we watched the late news with Dad. The monster rampage was naturally the lead story on all the channels, but the police seemed baffled. They thought they had the beasts cornered at the old zoo, but a thorough search turned up nothing. They did say that police were seeking a man who drove off in a pickup truck at a high rate of speed and they showed his mug shot from a previous arrest. Shiloh and I immediately recognized him as the big hairy guy who had taken off with Cole. He looked even scarier in the mug shot than he had in real life, with scowling features and steroidal muscles. "That's one of the guys, sir," Shiloh told Dad. Dad studied the screen. "And you say he's smaller than you boys now? I think you did the world a favor." Dad smiled and went to check on the blood tests. Left alone together in the lab, Shiloh and I stared at each other nervously. "So, what are we gonna do now?" "Life will go back to normal, I guess. I'll be my old wimpy self and you'll hang out with the rest of Cole's posse of douchebags." "I don't think I can, after this." "I know what you mean." "And what about...us?", Shiloh asked warily. "I dunno. I mean, I really loved what we did together, but I still like girls too." I looked down at my once-again anemic body. "But they probably won't like me. Story of my life." "Any girl, or guy, would be lucky to have you," Shiloh said, walking over and kissing me on the mouth. His lips weren't as luscious as the ones I'd specifically chosen for him, but they had the benefit of authenticity. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation. Anyone would be lucky to be kissed by Shiloh. I heard Dad clear his throat and begin to hum again in the hallway. Shiloh and I parted quickly as Dad reentered the room, pointedly looking down at a computer printout. "Good news, guys. I'm not seeing anything scary in the blood tests. You probably weren't at enormous size long enough to cause any permanent damage to your organs, but you let me know if you notice anything unusual in the next few days. Fatigue, migraines, shortness of breath, pain in your joints, pain in your...loins." Shiloh and I nodded. Dad got out his cell phone and called two cabs to pick us up. "I assume you two don't mind going back to campus the old fashioned way?" "Fine, Dad," I said. "I think I've been sucked through Jell-O enough for one lifetime." "Absolutely," said Shiloh. "You positive we didn't screw up anything for you?" "I'm sure I'll be asked a few stern questions in the morning," Dad said. "But your little unauthorized field test gave us tons of data to study. And quite a few more ethical questions to debate." When the cabs arrived, Dad shook Shiloh's hand, then gave me a warm hug. I heard him whisper in my ear, "Have fun at college, son. Make me proud." I was happy that, after all of this, it was obvious that he still loved me. I got in the cab and, as we drove away, I felt something hard in the back pocket of my skinny jeans. I wriggled in my seat and extracted it. Shiloh and I were amazed to discover that Dad had slipped another camera in my pocket, with a Post-It attached. In the passing street lights, I was able to read the note: "Ryan, This camera's options are limited. Yours are not. Love, Dad" "What do you think that means?", Shiloh asked. "I dunno." When we reached my dorm, I invited Shiloh to come up so we could check out the camera. Dad had deactivated most of the menus, but I discovered two presets, one with my name and one with Shiloh's. I snapped my picture in the full-length mirror, then applied my preset. My image on the screen now looked exactly like the musclebound stud I had first changed myself into the previous night. I clicked "ACCEPT" and braced for the standard painful contortions, although they felt like nothing compared to being enlarged to "BEHEMOTH" size. As the metamorphosis occurred, I realized that my mind hadn't dulled. Dad must not have lowered my IQ the way I had during my original transformation. I couldn't blame him. He wasn't spending good money to send a dope to college. Shiloh watched enviously as I evolved back into Ry before his eyes. As I grinned down at him, I could have predicted his next words. "Do me." He stood against the wall, still in his dumbass baseball cap. I eagerly applied the preset "SHILOH" modifications and pressed "ACCEPT". Shiloh was wracked with pain as his slim body was once again wrapped in lean muscle and sun-kissed skin, and his face regained the features I had given him, the sleek nose, the powerful cleft chin, the ultra-kissable lips. His purple hat evaporated and his hair turned from brown to golden. I reached both hands toward him and lifted him to his feet. We stood in the middle of my room, thick arms wrapped around each other's torsos, studying each other closely. If he had any imperfections, I couldn't see them, but I hoped to inspect him very, very closely, very, very frequently. We stripped off our clothes and tumbled onto my bed, our combined weight testing the limits of the springs. Since I had taken the lead back at the Manhole, I let Shiloh assume control now. Our powerful bodies slid across each other, working up a quick sweat. Long strands of Shiloh's blond hair dangled into my eyes as he explored my mouth with his tongue. My hands slid down along his ribs until I reached up and squeezed his ass cheeks. I felt his cock pressing against my abs and starting to ooze precum, so I wriggled underneath him until I was face down. He slid his erection gently but firmly inside of me and I yowled with a mix of pleasure and pain, clawing at my pillow and tensing my legs. Shiloh's strong hands were pressed against my back for support as the pace of his humping accelerated. When Shiloh came inside me, it may have been the best feeling I'd had all day, and after a day like this, that was saying something. But my cock was still rigid, so I flipped over and wrapped my hands around Shiloh's neck, pulling him down toward my erection. As he lovingly applied his tongue and lips to my shaft, slowly and lovingly bringing me to orgasm, the "best feeling of the day" competition had a new winner. Shiloh lay beside me, brushing his bristly chin against my cheek and rubbing his hand up and down my chest. He whispered in my ear, "Thank your dad for me." I laughed. I probably wouldn't mention this specifically to Dad, but I was glad he had been so cool about everything. I'm sure I had changed many of his perceptions of me that day. Shiloh slept over with me. Cole never did come back to the room that night, and in the morning we decided it was more important to track him down than to go to our classes. We knew basically where the blips had shown up on Dad's computer screen and hoped that Cole might still be near there. Sixty-Nine Street wasn't as active in the daytime, and city crews were still busy cleaning up the damage from last night's fracas. Shiloh and I attracted our share of attention as we walked down the sidewalk, but we had no fear that anyone would imagine that two studly gentlemen like ourselves were in any way connected with the massive creatures who had terrorized the town the night before. As we walked further down the street, I noticed something and grabbed Shiloh by the elbow, pulling him backwards. We had just walked past a pickup truck. One that was missing its driver's side door. Jackpot! Now all we had to do was figure out where... "Hey, boys!" We turned and were amazed to see Cole -- at least the slender twinky version of Cole I had created -- leaning against a wall. "Cole!", Shiloh shouted, looking relieved that his former crush was still alive and seemingly unharmed. Cole was wearing a sheer black tank that was way too big for him and a black Speedo that seemed to fit just fine. He still had on my purple sneakers. Even in this part of town, it was an unconventional look for street clothes in broad daylight, but he was pulling it off. It was a bit annoying that I had made my tormentor look so fucking cute. "Thank god, you escaped from that lunatic!", Shiloh said. "What lunatic? You mean Jerry? Oh, he's such a sweetheart. I'm waiting for him so we can go get matching tats." Shiloh and I couldn't believe what we were hearing. "You're still hanging out with the guy?", I asked. "Uh-huh. He's inside buying some new clothes right now. He woke up this morning and couldn't find a thing that fit. Fortunately his ex had left behind some clothes that were just right for me. You like?" "It's definitely a different look for you" was as much as Shiloh would commit. "So when you coming back to school?", I asked. Cole shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno if I will. Jerry wants me to go to a motorcycle rally in Reno with him. He's got a Harley and I can ride on the seat behind him!" The prospect seemed to excite him, if you could judge by his Speedo. Not that I really wanted old Cole back in the world, but my conscience was killing me. "Are you really sure about this? I found out there's a way to cure what you've got so you'll like chicks again." I had checked overnight, and the camera still would allow me to alter a person's sexual orientation. "Chicks? No thank you!" He flapped his hands dismissively. "No chick ever appreciated me the way Jerry does. Oh, and here comes my baby now." Even though I knew I had reduced him to an ectomorph in the middle of last night's craziness, Shiloh and I were unprepared for the shock of seeing the new Jerry. He was walking down the sidewalk toward us, zipping up his new leather jacket, his skinny legs encased in tight leather pants. Unlike the thuggish lout who had nearly run over Shiloh with his truck last night, he now looked like a boy-band dreamboat trying to look like a tough guy, with a slightly shaggy pile of light brown hair over a baby face that had never felt the touch of a razor. "Mmm, check out my sexy little boy-toy," Cole said. "Doesn't he look fantastic? Jerry, these are my dear friends Shiloh and Ryan." "Uh, yeah, we met last night," I said cautiously. I had been worried about running into last night's hothead again, but I felt pretty sure Shiloh and I could handle Jerry now. Jerry peered his bright blue eyes through the fringe of his bangs. "Oh, hey, how you guys doing today?" If he was still mad at us, it sure didn't show. He was positively meek as he wrapped a leather-clad arm around Cole's body, palming an ass cheek. Cole kissed Jerry on the forehead. Cole may be a shadow of his former self, but the camera had made Jerry even tinier, several inches shorter than Cole. "Awesome outfit, Jerry," Shiloh said. "Cole says you guys might be going to Reno?" "Yeah, if he'll let me buy his sweet ass some leathers. Somewhere around the Continental Divide, he'll realize he needs more than a tank top and Speedos." "We've got time, baby. Lots and lots of time." Cole gave Jerry a long French kiss, then smiled back at us. "So good to see you boys again." He blew us kisses, then they got into Jerry's truck and drove off. Shiloh and I watched the truck disappear around the corner. We were shell-shocked. "Holy shit," I said. "I guess your posse really is breaking up." "Good riddance. So...does that mean you have an opening for a new roommate, Ry?", Shiloh asked with a sly grin. I smiled back and teased, "Only if he looks as good in leather as Jerry." Shiloh's eyebrows leapt at the idea. He practically raced into the leather shop. As Shiloh began trying on jackets, I pulled out my camera and reopened my photo from last night. I hadn't pressed "SAVE", so it was still editable. I pulled up the "ORIENTATION" menu. My finger hovered over the screen as I thought about Kay from the pier and all of the girls in high school who had been content to be my friend but nothing more. And I thought about what Cole had said about Jerry. No "chick" had ever appreciated me the way Shiloh did. I slid the dial from "BISEXUAL" to "HOMOSEXUAL". I clicked "ACCEPT". I didn't feel much change, actually. Only a sense of calm and clarity as I watched Shiloh sliding his bare brawny arms through the holes of a leather vest. Goddamn, he looked hot. I might need to buy one of those too. I clicked "SAVE".
  9. 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?"
  10. CrisKane

    The Perfect Guy Goes Viral

    I enter my darkened little one-bedroom apartment, lugging my briefcase and a McDonald's meal, having already devoured most of the fries during my commute. I felt like such a pig, wolfing down fries as my Hyundai idled in the chugging traffic, but everybody knows McDonald's fries have a half-life of about thirty seconds before they start to devolve from yummy treats into petrified wood. I know I'm not helping my fitness goals, but some nights you just feel like bagging on the gym and eating something horrible for you. Besides, one night isn't going to make a big difference, right? I take a seat at my Ikea desk (a BORGSJÖ, if I remember correctly from the assembly instructions) and power down my grilled chicken sandwich while I boot up my laptop to check my personal emails, the kind you don't dare open at work. Looks like the standard assortment of spam selling cheap boner pills, dubious-sounding dietary supplements, and entreaties begging me to take millions of dollars off some foreign stranger's hands. I'm about to delete another email from a sender whose name I don't recognize when the subject line catches my attention. "Re: The Perfect Guy" I figure it's probably a come-on from some gay dating service or maybe a link to a porn website, but it piques my interest enough to click it open. "To my new friend, Another night alone at home? Here's a game to amuse yourself. Have fun! I know I did! Your new friend." Okay, if this is from anyone who knows me, it was probably a safe guess that I'm going to be home alone. Things have been pretty slow for me lately, as I'm getting tired of the old grind and the old Grindr. That's probably why I've gotten into writing those fantasy stories that I've been posting online in the last few months. When you can't find the guy of your dreams, it's tempting just to dream him up. I'm fairly certain this message must have come from another of the contributors to my favorite site. If it's who I think it is, I figure I can trust any link he would send me, so I click the hyperlink. I'm taken to a stark website that looks like it was designed around 1998. Just basic black text in a non-descript font against a white background. It makes the Drudge Report look flashy. The home page instructs me to answer the questions as truthfully as possible and that, if I stop or don't answer, "something bad" will happen. I should just close the site immediately because I'll probably get a nasty virus or a cascade of undismissable pop-up ads, but my curiosity is already aroused. Following my dick instead of my brain, I click on the button that reads "Good luck!" and am taken to the next page, where a banner at the top reads, "If You Were The Perfect Guy... Questionnaire." That's unexpected. I figured I'd be specifying what kind of guy I'd like to fuck, not what kind of guy I'd like to be. This must be one of the earliest ancestors of those lame Buzzfeed quizzes where they make you answer a bunch of questions to determine where you should live (L.A. in my case), what would be your ideal job (mine, strangely, was pastry chef), or which "Buffy" character you're most like (supposedly Willow, for fuck's sake, both times I took the goddamn thing!). Oh well, might as well start. Could be fun. "Question 1: If you were the perfect guy... what would your handwriting be like?" Damn, this quiz really has been floating around for a while. There must be kids taking this who've spent their lives typing and don't even know what handwriting is. I've always liked my handwriting -- it has a distinctive artistic flair -- although the less and less I write anything by hand, the sloppier it has become. I could never hand one of my scrawled grocery lists to anyone else and expect them to decipher it. The screen provides a box into which I can enter my answer. I think it over and type: "My handwriting would basically be the same as always, but written with more care and legibility." Not sure handwriting is the first thing I think about when envisioning my perfect guy, but the question must tell the quiz designer something about me. I click a button reading "NEXT" and am taken to a new page. "Question 2: If you were the perfect guy… what kind of music would you listen to?" I hate that I'm starting to become one of those guys who isn't keeping up with the good new bands out there. In high school and college, I amassed a huge collection of music, but I'm afraid that's still mostly what I listen to. I also wish I had broader tastes, since I mostly limit myself to rock and pop. But since I'm hypothetically redesigning myself... "I would be up on the best new music in addition to my old favorites, and would stay aware enough of the top forty songs to know what is good and what is dreck. I would also have a deeper appreciation of jazz and classical and be able to talk about them knowledgeably with other aficionados." My finger hovers on my mouse, ready to click, when I decide to answer something that wasn't specifically asked. "I would also be a soulful singer and an excellent musician who can play piano, guitar and saxophone equally well. I would be able to compose melodies and lyrics, and both read and write sheet music." I've always envied great musicians and wished I had that kind of skill. Not only are they great artists, but their fans always seem eager to fuck them. Perfect Guy is gonna get so laid. Click! "Question 3: If you were the perfect guy… what would your favorite color be?" I don't think I've been asked that since grade school. I didn't think I had one, but as I look around my apartment, I realize that my sofa is blue, my gym bag is blue, and my Stratocaster is blue. Then again, would blue be my favorite color if I were the perfect guy? I'm probably overthinking this whole silly questionnaire, but I have to hope that Perfect Guy would be less conventional and more adventurous than me. At the very least, he wouldn't pick a goddamn primary color as his favorite. I type "Purple" before I can change my mind and hit "Next". "Question 4: If you were the perfect guy… would your hair be long or short?" Hmm. I can never decide what looks best on me. When I have short hair, I want to grow it out, but once it gets too long and shaggy, I'm tempted to get it buzzed to practically stubble, but I can't go too short because I have a cowlick. I usually end up somewhere in the mushy middle, which is another pretty boring choice for Perfect Guy to make. "I would have long hair that could be swept back from my forehead and groomed to look neat and businesslike or could hang down to my eyes and shoulders to make me look wild and animalistic...like when I'm onstage doing a particularly great guitar solo. BUT NO MULLET!" An emphatic click! "Question 5: If you were the perfect guy... what color would your hair be?" Now here is a question that demonstrates the difference between who I'd like to fuck and who I'd like to be. Without a doubt, I am more attracted, by and large, to guys with dark brown hair like my own, but I've always had a secret longing to be a blond. I've just never had the guts to walk into a salon and go through with it. It always feels like it would be too big a change and I'd have to worry immediately about my dark roots growing back in. But speaking ideally... "I would have naturally golden blond hair which would lighten even more in the summer." I submit my reply and go to the next page. "Question 6: If you were the perfect guy... what color would your eyes be?" As I look around the living room at my purple couch, my purple gym bag and my purple Strat, I'm tempted to color-coordinate and ask for purple eyes, but that seems too obvious. I really have to take a leak, so I walk into the bathroom and brush back my bangs from my forehead to study my blue eyes. Why mess with a classic combo like blond hair and blue eyes? It'd be nice if they were really spectacular, though, so they'd be noticed from across a room. I finish pissing and flush. This whole quiz thing is making me horny, so I strip off my blue Oxford shirt and beige dress pants and toss them in a heap on my bed, then return to the living room in just my Fruit of the Loom cotton briefs. I grab a banana from the kitchen counter and flop down on the sofa. I'm just about to reach for my remote to see if anything new has been released on Netflix when I notice a countdown timer on my computer screen and the warning, "YOU MUST FINISH THE QUESTIONNAIRE OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES." Consequences? Shit. My gut tells me to shut off the computer right now before this quiz thing installs any malware, but for all I know the program has already infected my computer. On the off chance that continuing to answer will prevent that kind of calamity, I figure I'd better keep going. Okay. Eyes. "Piercing blue, like Paul Walker or Paul Newman." I can't think of a third dead Paul to add to the list, so I move on. "Question 7: If you were the perfect guy… what would your complexion be like?" My ruddy skin is fine, or at least I'm used to it, but since I'm designing Perfect Me from scratch, I'd want to be flawless. And as much as I love to get a nice tan in the summer, I always feel like I'm inflicting long-term damage on myself, like I'm doing the equivalent of making my skin smoke a pack of unfiltered Camels a day. But imagine if I could swing it so there were no negative consequences. Then, I'd be "Smooth with an even moderate tan...with no tan lines. Permanently, with no chance of weathering, crinkling or skin cancer." Man, I'm getting greedy now. "Question 8: If you were the perfect guy… how much body hair would you have?" Glancing down at the short bristles poking out of my chest, I know my ideal would be not having to put up with shaving or waxing to have a sleek hairless torso. I do like the light coating of hair on my arms and legs, but a bare chest shows my silky tan in its best light. "Modest blond hair on my arms and legs, but no hair on my pecs and only a faint treasure trail on my abs." Not that my abs are anything to write home about, but I wouldn't want anything to obscure what little is visible. "Question 9: If you were the perfect guy… would you have any facial hair?" I've never been able to grow a decent beard -- too many gaps in the placement of the follicles. The few times I've tried, it took forever to grow in, felt unbearably scratchy and looked too seedy to keep. I'd hoped I would look rugged, but ended up looking like I'd just traveled to Californy to be a character in "The Grapes of Wrath". Still, Perfect Me should definitely have the option. "I would usually be clean-shaven or have a sexy one- or two-day growth, but I could grow a full thick beard if I wanted in a week." Perfect Me is sounding better all the time. The more I envision him, the harder my cock gets. "Question 10: If you were the perfect guy.. what would your voice be like?" Two words. "Jon Hamm." Next! "Question 11: If you were the perfect guy.... what would your body type be? Choose one: Ectomorph, endomorph, or mesomorph." I consciously have to stop my fingers from typing "Mesomorph" and moving on. Tempting as that seems to someone who has only recently beefed up from lifelong ectomorph status, I'm not sure I would want to be a pure musclehead. While visions of muscle twinks dance in my head, I type, "Somewhere between ectomorph and mesomorph. Somewhere between a wrestler's build and a swimmer's build. Strong but lean. Powerful but not intimidating." Fast but slow. Day but night. Wishy-washy much? I don't know why I'm taking this goofy quiz so seriously. It's not like my answers really mean anything. "Question 12: If you were the perfect guy… what kind of clothes would you wear?" As I rub my hand down my bronzed and sculpted abs and over the bulge in my briefs, I'm tempted to answer "None", but I'm not sure how well that would go over at the office. Actually, it might be okay with most of the women, and with Daryl in accounting. I've always cleaned up well when necessary, but have never had the budget to be a fashion-plate. I tend toward ultra-casual when I'm not at work -- comfort-fit jeans and pop-culture t-shirts -- but it'd be nice if I looked fantastic even when I was kicking back. "I would be able to pull off everything from a classic tux to a tank top and board shorts and look totally stylish. For my everyday wardrobe, I'd have an eye for finding clothes that gave me a sexy image without requiring a huge bank account, but I'd also occasionally splurge on some great designer clothes. I would fill out my jeans like they were custom-tailored for me, and I'd look awesome in leather." "Question 13: If you were the perfect guy… would you have any piercings?" I've always been a coward about piercings. Not the pain so much as the permanence. Heck, if I didn't come by my blond hair naturally, I'd probably even feel skittish about changing my hair color. But I can definitely envision myself with a couple simple hoop earrings or gemstones. "Yes, but no more than two holes in each earlobe, and no piercings anywhere else." "Question 14: If you were the perfect guy… would you have any tattoos?" Talk about permanence. I can't think of anything I desperately loved five years ago or even one year ago that I would still want branded on my flesh for the rest of my life. I type an emphatic "No". Besides, if I did have the whim to get a tattoo in the future, I could always change my mind. A window pops up in red letters. "PLEASE ANSWER TRUTHFULLY. ANSWERS CANNOT BE CHANGED AFTER THE QUIZ." Okay, that was spooky. Does the quiz actually know I'm wavering? If so, how? I leave my answer as "No" and click through. "Question 15: If you were the perfect guy… how big would your penis be?" Ah, here we go. I should have known. This whole thing is just a roundabout way to sell knock-off Viagra or penis-enlargement surgery. I shut the laptop, annoyed with myself for getting this far into it. As I finish off the protein smoothie I had brought home as my supper, I'm now regretting that I wasted my time on this quiz when I could have been at the gym. Maybe that cute trainer who looks like a taller, buffer version of a young Michael J. Fox would have been working tonight. One of these days I'll have to talk to him, but I'm sure he gets hit on all the time by hotter guys than me. I get so nervous around him, I've never even learned his name. I stalk around the apartment restlessly, wandering into the bedroom. Not sure why I feel so tongue-tied when I try to strike up conversations with guys like that. Not to be arrogant, but I'm looking in the mirror and I look damn good. I sweep a hand through my mane of blond hair and admire how pumped and cut my arms, legs and torso are. All that time at the gym hasn't been a waste. About the only thing that doesn't look big on me is the bulge in my underwear. No one has ever complained out loud to me, but I sometimes sense disappointment when someone finally sees my cock and doesn't feel it measures up to the rest of me. Of course, in a perfect world... It's crazy, but I suddenly feel compelled to tell the quiz my answer about penis size as if it's an urgent bulletin, as if the quiz is waiting impatiently for my response. I go back to the living room and open my laptop. Sure enough, the screen is flashing "YOU MUST FINISH THE QUESTIONNAIRE OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES." You want an answer that badly? Here's your answer. "Five inches soft. Eleven inches hard." There. Satisfied? I know I would be. I click emphatically and proceed to the next page. "Question 16: If you were the perfect guy… what kind of underwear would you wear?" Just pondering the question makes my dick stiffen. Boxers look too baggy on me. I like the look of boxer-briefs, but I've always felt too hemmed in when I actually wore them. My Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities are having trouble containing my jumbo hard-on just sitting here, so I probably shouldn't go too much smaller. "Briefs, jockstraps or, when I'm feeling in the right mood, a silk thong might be fun." Just imagining the feel of silk against my sensitive cock makes me wonder why I've never bought any silk undies. I'll have to put them on my shopping list. "Question 17: If you were the perfect guy… would you be into girls or other guys?" This ought to be a no-brainer, but the fact is I do still find myself attracted to women now and then. Not all women or most women, but then all or most guys don't turn me on either. The women are typically intelligent and confident, often a tad androgynous, and on more than one occasion lesbians, all of which should probably be telling me something. But why rule out getting intimately familiar with half of the population of earth on the technicality of one little chromosome? "I'd mostly be into guys, but would keep an open mind. Beauty comes in many forms, as does love." "Question 18: If you were the perfect guy… what would your sex life be like?" No hesitation on this one. "It would be romantic and, once I found someone I truly loved, faithfully monogamous." I'm already romantic, but still waiting for the true love thing to kick in. "Question 19: If you were the perfect guy... what would your intelligence be? One being stupid and ten being high enough to drive the class nerd up the wall." Luckily for me, I've always been pretty smart, although sometimes I think it has held me back socially. I tend to overanalyze and worry over things that most people don't seem to stress about so much. If I'm a nine now, maybe just knocking myself down a point will do the trick. Don't want to make myself too much of a dimbulb. "Eight, with less book-smarts and more world-wisdom than I currently have." I'm about to click, but move my mouse back to the front of the sentence and make it "Eight-point-five." Like I said, I tend to overanalyze. "Question 20: If you were the perfect guy… how old would you be, how tall would you be without shoes and what would you weigh without clothes?" Well, I definitely wouldn't want to go back to school. Once I started earning money at a job, I could never imagine going back to paying for the "privilege" of working as hard as I had in my college courses. But I'd still want to be young. And tall. And muscular, but not too bulky. "I would be 25 years old, six foot one, and 175 pounds." "Last Question: If you were the perfect guy… what would your name be?" Not that I dislike my name, but I always enjoy coming up with the names for the characters in the stories I write. I lean back, stretching my long legs and clasping my fingers together behind my head as I contemplate a new handle. Grant always struck me as a cool first name, and no one in history has been cooler than Cary Grant. Maybe my name should be Grant Carey? Nah, too many people would make Cary Grant jokes. Who else do I admire? Mentally riffling through my library, I hit upon Oscar Wilde. Grant Wilde? Grant Wilde. GRANT Wilde. Grant WILDE. Works for me. I type it into the box and with one final click, I'm done. I watch the screen, waiting for something to happen, but there are no offers for escort services, no special sex-toy coupons, no warnings from my anti-virus software. The window just seems to...evaporate...and my screen goes back to normal. Shit, I'm feeling exhausted all of a sudden. How did it get so late? It's already pitch dark outside. My mind's a blank about what I've been doing since I got home, and I haven't even been drinking! Weird. I put an Art Tatum LP on my turntable and stretch out on my black leather sofa to relax. I pick up the remote to open the drapes and enjoy the expansive view of the skyline out the windows of my spacious loft. My palm slides gently across the ruts of my six-pack and my fingers slip idly under the waistband of my Calvin Kleins... Nearly drowned out by the jazzy piano echoing from my stereo system, I hear the faint buzz of my vibrating cellphone. I hop up and pad barefoot across the hardwood floors toward my king-size bed where my artfully-destroyed 501s are lying. I pull the cellphone out of the pocket and a picture of my boyfriend Matt's grinning face is staring up at me from the screen. I answer the call. "Hello, McFly." It's my pet name for him, since he looks like Marty McFly after some heavy doses of HGH, with impressive hard-earned muscles all over his compact frame. He hasn't gotten sick of me calling him that yet, or at least hasn't said so. He's even come up with a nickname for me in response. "Hey, Doc." I can hear the smile in his voice. Thank god I don't resemble Christopher Lloyd in the way that Matt looks like Michael J. Fox. "I just saw on Facebook that it's '80s Night at Revolver," he tells me. "Wanna go 'Back In Time'?", he asks, singing the last three words. (I swear our conversations are not entirely composed of "Back To The Future" references.) "Sure, babe. Do I have to wear a costume or can I just come as a normal person?" "I don't know, Grant. CAN you come as a normal person?" "Har-de-har. I can come any way you like, McFly." "I'll test you on that later," Matt promises. "You want me to just meet you there, or...?" "Nah, I just got the Corvette back from the shop. I'll swing by and pick you up." "Okay. I'll be waiting." He makes a kissing sound over the phone. "See you in a bit, honey," I say as I hang up. My heart still flutters every time I hear his voice. That's a good sign, right? I notice I missed a few voicemails, so I check them. One is trying to sell me more cable services and gets deleted immediately. One is from the drummer for my jazz trio, reminding me of rehearsal tomorrow afternoon. The last one is from my modeling agent, telling me I'm booked for a fashion shoot on Friday in Cabo. Hopefully Matt can come along with me, if he doesn't have a shoot of his own booked this weekend. I walk to my closet which takes up nearly an entire wall of my loft and search for what to wear to the club. I can't resist my purple leather pants and matching vest, which are flatteringly and enjoyably snug on my bod. Through the form-fitting leather, you can totally tell how big and hard my cock is, but I don't give a shit who sees it. Let them stare. I know Matt is the only guy getting his hands -- and other parts -- on it tonight. I search my jewelry box and find an awesome silver necklace embedded with amethysts, which draws the eye to my broad, bare chest and goes well with the silver hoops in my right earlobe. I add an absurd number of silver and black rubber bracelets on both arms, plus black ankle boots with Cuban heels. I run my hands roughly through my hair to tousle it into a untamed mess. The overall effect turns me into a mashup of Prince, Madonna, George Michael and Bon Jovi. I look like the '80s condensed into a single person. I look...perfect. On my way toward my private elevator to the garage, I notice an instant message on my iPad from someone named Collan. He's asking if I just sent him some kind of online quiz. I quickly type back that I have no idea who he is or what he is talking about. He writes back to ask if I'm THE Grant Wilde, the supermodel. I ignore his message and leave the loft, wondering how some stranger even got my contact info. Another obsessed fan probably. Guess that's the price of fame. It can definitely get annoying at times. But, honestly, I wouldn't change a single thing about my life.
  11. CrisKane

    The Boost

    Jay's new year's resolution was to get in shape, but it was already late January and he hadn't made much progress. He had always been a spindly beanpole without much interest in sports or working out, and it had never really bothered him much. In fact, he enjoyed having a metabolism that allowed him to eat pretty much any crap he wanted without gaining an ounce. Despite his sunken chest and scrawny arms, his ex-girlfriend had always insisted that she liked "skinny boys". Then again, she always claimed to to like his reddish-brown hair and pale complexion, right up until the day she dumped him for a tall, blond, tanned surfer who looked like he had just stepped off an Abercrombie bag, only he was in color. Jay had discovered one problem with taking up exercise in his mid-twenties was that he had never built up much endurance. Even though he made a concerted effort to get up early each morning to come to the health club before work, he found that his energy waned quickly once he got there. He would plod along on the treadmill for a while before he grew winded and pooped out, sometimes venturing toward the weight machines in a futile attempt to beef up his twig-thin limbs but barely working up enough of a sweat to merit a shower. It didn't do his already low self-esteem much good to start off each day surrounded by the extremely buff dudes who populated the place. Seriously, every guy here looked so jacked, Jay wondered if there was something in the water or a radiation leak. One morning, after a particularly unproductive session, Jay was on his way toward the exit, fondly pondering the sausage and egg biscuit he planned to buy on his way to the office, when he heard the whiz of a blender echoing his direction from the gym's juice bar. Jay realized that he was not helping to reach his fitness goals by stuffing his face with a pile of grease every morning, so he spun around and headed back to grab himself a smoothie. He waited behind a wall of muscle who was practically busting out of his orange stringer tank. With a bleached-blond flat-top, the guy reminded Jay of that Russian boxer from that one "Rocky" movie, just not as oily. He was handed a jumbo styrofoam cup by the guy behind the counter, and pushed his way past Jay without even registering his presence. The counter guy was not as inhumanly built as ol' Flat-Top but annoyingly handsome, with dirty blond hair, riveting blue eyes, a model's cheekbones and a firm jaw upon which he kept a carefully maintained two-day growth of stubble. He crossed his arms, which only highlighted the pump of his biceps and thickness of his pecs. He let loose a gleaming white smile as he saw Jay approach. "Hey, what can I get you, buddy?" Jay jerked a thumb toward the departing steroid case and joked, "I'll have what he's having." The guy behind the counter squinted at Jay uncertainly. "Not sure you could handle what he ordered." Jay decided not to explain that he hadn't been serious and turned his focus to the menu on the chalkboard behind the counter, wondering why all of the drinks had such stupid names. Perhaps just to embarrass the customers when they ordered them? Jay opted for the least cringeworthy flavor. "Can I just get an Orange Delite?" "Sure thing," said the clerk, assembling the ingredients with a flair for showmanship, even tossing a scoop of frozen yogurt from behind his back and over his shoulder, then deftly catching it in the pitcher of the blender. Just before he was ready to mix the concoction together, he paused and glanced back at Jay. "Do you want a boost with that?" Jay shook his head. "Nah, that's okay. I don't think I need one." The guy gave Jay a long look. "Gotta say, you look pretty tired, my man. You could really use something to kick up your energy level a notch." He pointed toward a plastic canister heaped with deep red granules. "What are you talking about, like caffeine or something? I don't want to be jittery at work." The guy waved his hands dismissively. "Nah, this stuff is totally safe, completely natural. Just gives you a pleasant buzz that keeps you revved up all day." When he noticed that Jay was still wincing with uncertainty, the guy sweetened the deal. "Tell you what. I'll toss in a scoop for free today. You come back tomorrow and tell me how you liked it." Jay shrugged. "Well, I guess I can't argue with free!" Before he had even finished the sentence, the guy was dumping a scoop of the red powder into the blender and whipping up Jay's drink. He poured it out and handed it across the counter to Jay, who took a cautious sip. Not only was it delicious, but he felt a definite tingle across his taste buds, a bit like the explosive burst of a mouthful of Pop Rocks. Jay nodded approvingly and handed over the money for the drink. The guy rang up the transaction and placed the change in Jay's palm, grasping his new customer's hand in a firm shake in the process. "I'm Max. Nice to meetcha." Jay swallowed a mouthful of smoothie and gave his name in response. "All right, Jay. Look forward to getting your full report tomorrow!" Jay could feel the first effects of the boost kicking in by the time he reached his car. It was subtle but he definitely sensed an extra spring in his step. By the time he reached work, he was greedily sucking the last drops through his straw. He raced over from the parking lot to hold open the lobby door for Francine, the pretty young receptionist, who was arriving at the same time. Jay had long harbored a bit of a crush on Francine, but he knew she was dating a bearded outdoorsy type who sometimes showed up at the office reeking of Old Spice and B.O. Francine stepped into the elevator and held the door open for Jay, but Jay informed her that he would take the stairs today. In the two years he had worked here, Jay couldn't recall anyone ever mounting the seven flights between the lobby and the office except during a fire drill, but today Jay felt like he had energy to burn. He bounded into the stairwell, taking the steps two or three at a time. When Francine's elevator arrived on seven, Jay was already waiting outside the office suite with his arms folded, trying to look nonchalant and conceal his heavy breathing. Jay volunteered to start the coffee, usually one of Francine's tasks, although he had no need for any himself this morning. He was already sufficiently buzzed from the boost. He sat down at his cubicle and dug into his work, finishing all of his assignments for the day by eleven a.m. He would usually take advantage of a lull by surfing the internet or playing computer solitaire, but he was far too restless. Instead, he roamed the office, asking if anyone had anything he could help them with. Jay's middle-aged boss Henry overheard this and gestured Jay into his office, handing him a thick folder and saying he needed a summary of its contents written up by the end of the day. Jay eagerly grabbed the folder and said he would get right on it. He dove right in, his attention so riveted on the task at hand that he worked straight through lunch, not even taking a break for a snack or a leak. At three o'clock, he brought Henry the finished summary, still warm from the laser printer, then informed Henry of a (non-existent) dental appointment that he had forgotten to mention earlier. Henry was so astonished by Jay's sudden productiveness that he gladly let Jay take the rest of the afternoon off, promising to read through Jay's work overnight. Jay pulled off his necktie as he ran down the seven floors to the lobby. When he stepped outside, he inhaled deeply, relieved to have escaped the stuffy confines of the office. He was still so pumped that he considered heading back to the gym, but decided instead to go to his car and slip on his workout clothes for a quick jog in the nearby park. It was a cool day, but Jay found the brisk air invigorating as he chugged around the running path. He wasn't setting any records -- he barely outpaced an elderly woman out for a stroll with her walker -- but, for the first time in memory, he was honestly psyched to be exercising. He rewarded himself for his productive day by swinging into a sports bar, still sweaty in his black tank top and gray sweat pants, and filling up on Buffalo wings and a pitcher of beer. When he was done, he headed back to his apartment with the intention of catching up on the "Downton Abbey" episodes that were piling up on his DVR, but once he sat down on his sofa, his energy level plummeted. He was dozing in a matter of minutes, not waking until he heard his alarm sounding in the bedroom at 5:30 the following morning. Jay felt miserable, an unholy union of utter exhaustion and the worst hangover of his life. He could barely lift himself off the couch, and crawled his way into the bedroom to shut off the buzzing clock. He was tempted to blow off the gym, but he felt the need to complain to Max about how shitty he felt. At least he was still in his workout clothes and didn't have to expend any effort changing. He stuffed his work clothes into his gym bag and dragged himself out the door. Max spotted Jay the moment he entered the club, an eager smile plastered on his too-perky-for-six-a.m. face. When he noticed Jay's demeanor, Max's expression shifted abruptly to one of concern. "Dude, are you feeling okay?" "No, 'dude', I'm not," Jay said, his voice prickly. "You should have warned me that I'd crash like this." Max cringed. "Ooh, sorry, yeah, I forgot to tell you, the first day does take a lot out of you. But the good news is, the effects are cumulative. The more the boost builds up in your system, the less extreme the drop-off. But tell me about yesterday? Didn't it feel amazing?" Jay couldn't deny how jazzed he had felt throughout the day. "Yeah, it was awesome, just like you promised, but I don't think it's for me. I don't think it's good to be walking around on an artificial high." "Dude, I told you, this shit's a hundred percent natural. Here, let me give you another freebie. See if it peps you up through your workout." Jay began to object, but Max waved a finger his direction. "Uh uh uh, you listen to your old doctor Max here. This is just what you need." Soon, he had whipped up a frothy Orange Delite and was handing it to Jay, who felt it would be impolite to refuse. The moment he took a sip, he felt foolish for hesitating. The cloud of fatigue that had been wearing him down lifted almost immediately. Jay gave Max a thumbs-up, and Max shot back a "told you so" grin. Jay dumped his gym bag in the locker room and polished off the smoothie before heading to the treadmill, where he managed a full thirty-minute sprint without getting winded. He then made his way to the weight machines and found himself easily lifting weights that were overtaxing him the week before. They were still comparatively miniscule, and he felt embarrassed each time he stepped into rotation with some top-heavy lifter and had to reduce the stack by a full hundred pounds before he did his set, but by his own standards, he had made a remarkable improvement. He could honestly feel his muscles growing tight, and between sets, he focused his attention on the guys around him, studying their movements for tips on improving his form. Jay was so wrapped up in his workout that he didn't even notice the time until he glanced at a clock that read 7:45. He couldn't believe he had been exercising for close to two hours. Although he normally would have become frantic at the realization that he was now unavoidably late for work, Jay felt remarkably unperturbed. There was nothing he could do about it, he told himself, so why stress out over something he couldn't change? Instead, he took a luxurious shower, dressed himself slowly, and stopped by the smoothie bar on his way to the exit. "I think I'll try the Choco-Mocha Loco," he declared to Max. "With a boost." Max looked at him skeptically. "Another boost? On top of the one you already had." "I feel like I burnt off a lot of that in my workout. I wanna keep this feeling going." "Oh-kay. You're the boss." Max set about gathering the ingredients. "But no more freebies, okay? I insist on paying for this one. So, how much will it be?" "Large smoothie is $7.99. Boost is another ten. So, $17.99." Jay gulped, surprised to discover that he was about to pay eighteen bucks for a friggin' milkshake. Then again, ten dollars seemed like a bargain for the feeling the boost gave him. He gladly forked over a twenty, putting the change into Max's tip jar. Max smiled appreciatively and handed Jay his drink. With a second scoop of the powerful substance surging through his veins, Jay felt ecstatic. He took the stairs again, bursting with so much energy that he overshot the seventh floor by five flights before he realized his mistake. He strode into the office with absolute confidence, and rather than ducking the wrath of his boss, he walked straight into Henry's office and said, "Sorry for being late." "What?", said Henry, glancing up from his schmeared onion bagel, spitting particles of cream cheese onto his desk. "Oh, no problem. Listen, Jay, hell of a job on that summary. Really impressive." "Thank you, Henry," responded Jay with an uncharacteristically cocky grin. "I'm glad to see you showing some initiative." Henry studied his employee curiously. "What's different about you? You lose weight or something?" Jay barked a laugh. "With MY body? I sure hope not. But I have been working out every morning." "Oh. That must be it," Henry said with a nod. "The wife keeps telling me I should get in shape, but..." Henry shrugged and slapped his palm across his expansive belly. The resulting concussion echoed around the room. "Maybe you'll have to let me in on your secret." Jay just smiled and went to his cubicle, eager to dive into work. But unlike the previous day, Jay found it hard to stay focused on his tasks, as his thoughts kept drifting back to how good that morning's workout had felt. He squirmed in his chair, the words on his computer screen blurring into gobbledygook. His palms grew clammy, and drops of sweat beaded up on his forehead. He popped his top shirt button and loosened his necktie, feeling straitjacketed in his Oxford shirt and Dockers. He slogged through his assignments the best he could, but he found himself longing to get back outside. Maybe he could go for another run at lunchtime. He ducked out for lunch twenty minutes early, changed clothes in the car and hit the running path, vowing to take it easy but soon finding himself taking long strides and whizzing past other joggers. He wondered why he hadn't taken up running when he was in high school, as he was finding the adrenalin rush addictive. He loved the feel of his hair blowing in the breeze, the cool air rushing past his skin, the envious glares of the slowpokes he was passing. When he returned to his cubicle, munching on a power bar from the vending machines, he was drenched in sweat, still wearing his tank and sweats. He had hoped that the run would clear his mind, but he had even more trouble grasping what he was reading than he had in the morning. Besides that, he was distracted whenever he glanced down at his arms, which shone with perspiration and still retained their pump from that morning's workout. He kept flexing his arms, unable to get enough of the sight of stony biceps rising in rigid semicircles beneath his skin. He was in the middle of checking himself out when he noticed Henry out of the corner of his eye, hovering at the entrance of the cubicle. "Yeah, Henry, what can I do you for?" Henry looked uncomfortable as he whispered, "It's nothing personal. It's just that...some of the other employees are complaining." "What about?", asked Jay, swiveling back and forth. Henry leaned closer, but backed off, wincing. "It's just that you...you kinda stink." "Really?" Jay lowered his nose toward his armpit. He definitely detected a musky scent, but he kinda liked it. "Sorry, I went running over lunch." "Yeah, about that. I'm all for you getting fit and everything, but this really isn't proper office attire," he said, waving his hands toward Jay's tank, sweats and sneakers. "Well, I woulda showered if we had the facilities, but..." Jay shrugged his rounder-than-usual shoulders. "I couldn't exactly put on my office clothes and smell 'em up." "Yeah, I know. Look, don't worry about it for today, but how about from now on, you restrict your workouts to before and after work?" Jay wasn't sure he could endure a whole workday without breaking for exercise, but Henry had always been a decent guy and treated him well, so Jay agreed. For the rest of the afternoon, Jay continued to struggle with his work. He knew what he was doing was routine, the sort of stuff he could usually breeze through, but his heart just wasn't in it today. He handled what he could, but his attention drifted further as the day dragged on. When five o'clock hit, he left a few folders in his inbox so he could tackle them in the morning when his mind was fresh. On his way out, he couldn't help but notice that Felicia couldn't keep her eyes off him as he strode through the outer office, his bare arms swinging at his sides. He found himself winking at her, which felt odd. He'd never been a winking kind of guy, but it just felt right all of a sudden. It warmed his heart when she smiled back. Jay swung by Whole Foods on the way home, stocking up on groceries more appropriate for his new regimen. Once he got home, he whipped up some grilled chicken and settled in at his computer. After glancing at his emails and Facebook, his gaze drifted to the file which held the bookmarks for his favorite porn sites, but he found that nothing was holding his interest for long. Instead, all he could think about was getting back into the gym in the morning. He searched online for tips that would make his workouts more productive and grew envious of the shredded models on all of the fitness sites. He stripped off his tank and stared in the bathroom mirror, disappointed that the modest gains he had seen during the day had all but faded away. He chided himself. "What the fuck did you expect? You work out for one day and suddenly you're the Rock?" He switched off the computer and flopped into bed before eight o'clock, totally wiped out. When his hand slammed onto the buzzing alarm clock at 5:30, Jay felt weary but, just as Max promised, not quite as miserable as he had been the morning before. Today, however, he had no hesitations about heading into the gym. There was no way he could get through another day without a little boost. Or two. "Two?", Max asked. "You sure you can handle that much?" "I did two yesterday and I was fine," Jay told him, writing off his distractedness on the job as part of getting acclimated to his new routine. Jay consciously puffed out his chest so it better filled his crisp white tank, knowing he still had a lot of hard work ahead of him if he ever hoped to get as toned as Max, let alone the more shredded adonises parading around the gym. He was almost giddy as he slid twenty-eight dollars across the counter to cover his Razzleberry Extreme, slipping Max an extra five for a tip. He guzzled his drink so quickly that an ice-cream headache pierced his brain. As he waited for the cold-induced agony to subside, Jay reminded himself, "No pain, no gain." Jay didn't have to wait long for the rush of the boost to kick in, and soon his legs were flying on the treadmill. He pushed himself to forty-five minutes, unsure whether to attribute his euphoria to the boost or to the "runner's high" he'd heard so much about all these years but was experiencing for the first time. At any rate, he was thoroughly pumped when he finally stepped off the treadmill and, instead of using the weight machines, decided to wander over to the free weights, where the serious bodybuilders congregated. Jay held his shoulders back as he approached the dumbbells, attempting to hoist a pair of sixties before realizing they were far too heavy for him. He worked his way down the rack, testing each lower weight unsuccessfully until he finally managed to budge the thirty-pounders. As he strained to curl them, he heard a lumbering voice from behind him. "You're not doin' it right." Jay glanced in the mirror and saw the guy with the blond flat-top looming behind him, his absurdly jacked muscles fully visible in his black mesh tank. Flat-Top waddled closer on his bloated legs and gripped Jay's upper arms, adjusting their positions. "Try that. And do each rep slower. You'll feel the burn more." "Uh...thanks," Jay said. He raised his right arm gradually, immediately noticing the difference. He glanced into the mirror and nodded appreciatively. The big guy just smiled back and walked over to a 200-pound barbell, which he hoisted over his head with a scream and a grimace. Jay became completely engrossed in his workout, his attention focused intently on the effect each exercise was having on its targeted muscle group. Flat-Top would stroll past from time to time to check on him or offer advice on proper form. Two days ago, Jay couldn't have imagined ever talking to this guy, but now he felt, if not accepted, at least tolerated, despite the vast disparity between their physiques. On one such pass, Flat-Top leaned close to Jay and murmured conspiratorially into his ear, "So, you on the boost?" Jay was flustered, nearly letting the weights slip from his hands. How did the guy know? "Uh, yeah, maybe, a little," he said with an apologetic tone. "Ain't it awesome?", asked Flat-Top, flashing a gap-toothed grin that made the he-man look momentarily like a goofy kid expressing his excitement over a new Christmas toy. Jay nodded, then turned his attention back to his triceps, pausing mid-curl when he had a sudden realization. Flat-Top must be on the boost too! After all, the first time Jay had noticed Flat-Top, he was getting a smoothie from Max, one that Max had said was too much for Jay to handle. Holy shit, how much of the stuff must it take to get as ripped as Flat-Top? Just the thought that he might eventually grow to such a massive size was enough to stiffen Jay's cock in his sweats. He was relieved that they were too baggy for his hard-on to be noticeable. He found himself wondering if the boost had the same notorious shrinking effect on your junk as steroids. He was satisfied with the answer he got from glancing in the mirror at Flat-Top's reflection, as a zucchini-sized lump was clearly outlined by his body-hugging compression shorts. Jay shook his head to get the visual out of his mind, wondering how he had reached the point where he was checking out other guys' bulges. Jay thought it could be wishful thinking, but he could swear that his arms were looking heftier. His shoulders looked distinctly round, a marked change from their usual boniness, and that telltale weightlifter's vein was now faintly visible over the surface of each of his biceps. This only encouraged him to keep pushing himself, moving up to heavier weights with each set. Logically, he ought to be feeling fatigued, but surprisingly his stamina seemed to be growing the longer he worked out. He was so engrossed in lifting that, before he knew it, it was closing in on ten a.m. How was it possible that he had spent four hours at the gym? He knew he couldn't simply waltz into the office two hours late without facing repercussions. Plus, he really was not in the mood to spend the rest of his day imprisoned in that cubicle. Jay headed to the locker room and checked his cell phone, which had three missed messages from Henry. He didn't even bother to listen to the messages before he dialed his boss. Henry sounded exasperated when he picked up, demanding to know why Jay hadn't called him back sooner. Jay spoke hoarsely, his voice sounding even deeper than he had planned to make his ruse sound authentic. "I'm sorry, Henry. I woke up in the middle of the night with a terrible head cold, so I slammed some NyQuil and I musta shut off my ringer, 'cause I didn't hear any of your calls come in. I really don't think I can make it in today." Henry paused before reluctantly saying, "Okay. Take it easy and feel better. But from now on, you leave your phone on. A bunch of us here were worried about you." Jay smirked. Yeah, I bet "a bunch of you" were worried. He thought of the way Henry had asked about his weight and had seemed so nervous when Jay was wearing his tank in the office the day before. He wondered if Henry was checking him out. He knew Henry was married and all, but that didn't mean shit. Jay chuckled. As if he would be interested in some old, out-of-shape guy like Henry when he was surrounded by so many hotter, younger guys at the gym. Jay hung up, delighted that he now had the whole day ahead of him. He was tempted to go back on the floor and lift some more, but surely four hours was plenty for one day. A nice, long shower sounded tempting, so Jay stripped down, wrapped a towel around his waist and headed toward the shower room. Rounding the corner, he immediately collided with someone. "Oh, sorry, dude," said a familiar voice. Jay took a step back and realized it was Max, totally naked. As fit as Max looked fully clothed, it was nothing compared to seeing every facet of his finely-wrought musculature on display. His skin seemed to be shrink-wrapped around every curve of his well-defined muscles, without a trace of a tan line. Max took a long look at Jay and said, "Whoa, Jay-man, look at you! I guess you COULD handle two scoops!" As Jay looked down bashfully, he noticed just how pumped he had gotten from his long workout. His whole body seemed to have swollen, and a cleft had developed down the center of his abdomen, branching out to the sides in the beginnings of a six-pack. "Yeah, I guess so," Jay said, his voice still surprisingly raspy. He felt his erection rising, tenting his towel enough that Max must have noticed it. "Very impressive," Max said, placing his palm over Jay's shoulder and sliding it down until his thumb grazed the slope of his biceps and his fingers wrapped around Jay's triceps. Jay's first instinct was to pull his arm away from this unwanted contact, but for some reason he didn't mind Max's touch. He noticed Max's unencumbered cock growing plump and tilting slightly upwards. Jay's brain struggled to comprehend the possibility that a seemingly regular dude like Max might be turned on by guys or, even more unbelievably, might be turned on by Jay. "I gotta go," said Jay, unconvincingly, his voice cracking as if puberty were reasserting itself a decade late. He tried to step away, but Max maintained a firm grip on his arm. "Do you? Really?" Max flashed his winning smile and his blue eyes locked in on Jay. "'Cause I could swear I just heard you calling in sick." Max's hand grazed across Jay's pecs, then down his rudimentary abs until his fingers came to rest along the edge of Jay's towel. Jay's breath grew shallow, while his pulse raced. Goddamn, he realized, Max looked even more handsome at such close proximity. Although Jay was straight, he couldn't deny the attraction he was feeling for Max at that moment. It occurred to Jay that Max wasn't just a good-looking guy, he was objectively prettier than any of the women Jay had ever dated. While Jay couldn't really understand the strange feelings he was experiencing, they were strong and impossible to ignore. He stood frozen in place, unsure what to do next. Max handled the decision making, taking Jay by the hand and dragging him into the sauna. He shut the door behind them and posted a "closed for maintenance" sign to keep out intruders. The dry heat was making Jay lightheaded. His knees buckled, but Max kept a firm grip on Jay's hands to keep him from falling down. Max yanked the towel away from Jay's waist and smiled approvingly at the sight of Jay's bobbing erection. Although Max couldn't be sure how well-endowed Jay had been before starting the boost, he hadn't possessed the swagger and confidence one would normally expect from someone packing such a hefty slab of meat between his legs. Besides, Max had seen the boost's effects first-hand so many times that he could easily identify its exquisite handiwork. Jay's eyes were glazing over as Max leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Don't be afraid. This is all perfectly natural." At the sound of those words, the final shreds of Jay's resistance melted away and he surrendered to his physical desires. He cupped his hands around Max's bristly cheeks and planted a succulent kiss on Max's soft lips. Jay's cock indicated its approval by tilting toward the ceiling and oozing out a dollop of cum. Max cupped and fondled Jay's balls as his tongue migrated into Jay's mouth. Max guided Jay to one of the wooden benches along the side of the room, gently pushing him downward to a seated position so Jay was at eye level with Max's rigid cock. Jay began to salivate at the sight of it hovering right in his face. He gazed up, his eyes silently pleading for permission. Max just nodded, and Jay leaned forward, lips open as he slid the other man's rock-hard dick inside his mouth. Jay had never done this before but, to quote Max, it felt perfectly natural. Max stroked his hands through Jay's thick brown hair, clutching its strands and gently sliding Jay's head back and forth. He had known on first sight that Jay would be an excellent target for the boost. Anyone who radiated that much shyness and insecurity would be much more receptive to the radical changes brought about by the boost. Max knew that the powder's rapid results had an addictive allure which would quickly leave Jay craving more. He had also known that the boost's most notorious side effect would soon permanently alter Jay's deepest desires, just as it had for so many before him, such as Chuck, the behemoth who Jay thought of as "Flat-Top". Three weeks ago, Chuck had been even shorter and meeker and more frail than Jay had been. Now Chuck had undergone a total transformation into a ferocious muscle beast who, when he wasn't pumping iron, spent his days prowling the city, attempting to quench his insatiable desire for dick and discovering that someone as shredded as he had become didn't need to search for very long to find a willing partner. And then there was Max himself. Max had been a collegiate swimmer engaged to his high-school girlfriend when he was first exposed to the boost five years ago while seeking a safe, legal substance that would give him an edge in the pool. He quickly succumbed to its allure, exploding with two hundred pounds of solid muscle before plunging off the deep end into a lost weekend of cock-centric debauchery that lasted six months. When he finally bottomed out three years ago, turning tricks and committing petty thefts for the sole purpose of scrounging up the money for his next hit of the red stuff, he was befriended by a dashing young businessman who took Max into his home and nursed him back to health. His benefactor gradually cut back Max's intake of the boost to a maintenance level that sustained the trim, nicely-proportioned physique Max now sported and set Max up with a job behind the smoothie counter at a local gym that he owned. Max figured he owed the businessman his life and was willing to do anything for him, even if it meant luring new customers into using the boost, despite what Max knew personally of the consequences of excessive use. Easily half of the club's clientele had been turned onto the boost by Max, and they owed their hard bodies and ravenous sexual appetites to it. Max had long suspected that his mysterious guardian was also the manufacturer of the boost, since he could get his hands on unlimited quantities any time he wished, but Max felt powerless to say anything. If he didn't do as he was told, his supply could be cut off immediately and he would once again be back on the streets, doing whatever it took for his next boost. Jay, of course, knew none of this. He just knew that nothing had ever turned him on as much as feeling Max's mighty meat against his tongue. Jay wrapped a free hand around his own cock, stroking it furiously, the pre-cum euphoria already more dizzying than any full-blown orgasm he had experienced. He felt something warm and viscous squirt against the roof of his mouth, followed by a larger blast which shot straight down his throat. Jay nearly gagged, but kept sliding Max's shaft between his lips as it throbbed in rhythm, pumping out so much cum that it began to dribble out the corners of Jay's mouth and trickle down his chin. Jay's cock fired off a torrent of jizz which squirted upwards onto Max's taut abs and dripped downward, sizzling as it hit the sauna's hot wooden slats. Jay leaned back his head, spent but satisfied. His smiled blissfully, unaware that the boost was deadening any parts of his brain which didn't immediately involve what would become his new twin obsessions, working out and fucking guys. By now, Max knew how to spot all the signs of this final stage of the transformation. Tension evaporated from the body, leaving the user feeling completely chill, even in a sauna. This total relaxation relaxed the facial muscles, which not only made the user happier and feel more at ease but inevitably made them look more handsome too. Finally, the eyes intensified in the vibrancy of their color, while the light behind those eyes noticeably dimmed. Max still retained a faint memory of having been smarter once, but he never could recall exactly what kind of information used to clutter up his mind. Whatever it was, he never seemed to miss it. His interests may have narrowed, but the absence of intellectual distractions let him devote his full concentration to his body's more elemental cravings. Max looked down at Jay with a kindly grin. "Did you like that?" Jay tilted his head up, his lovely face beaming dopily. "For sure!", he replied. His brain felt pleasantly fuzzy, like his skull was filled with cotton candy. Noticing the trail of cum still trickling down Max's torso, Jay leaned forward and placed his tongue on Max's salty skin. He gradually rose to his feet, licking up the mixture of his own cum and Max's sweat as his tongue navigated over the bumps of Max's abs and the smooth crevasse between his pecs. When he reached his full height, Jay discovered that he was now eye-to-eye with Max and nearly as ripped. There was nothing better than being a big strong guy, thought Jay, aside from fucking a big strong guy. Max unlocked the sauna door and led Jay into the shower room, so they could clean off. Jay took particular delight in lathering Max's body and scrubbing him down. Returning to the locker room, Jay sat down beside his locker, struggling to remember his combination. When he finally managed to open it, he pulled out his work clothes, but the sleeves of his shirt were now far too narrow to accommodate his thickly-muscled arm. He managed to insert most of one forearm before the seam split loudly. "What are you doin', man?", Max asked. "Aren't you gonna work out today?" Jay puzzled over that, realizing Max was right. What was he thinking, coming to the gym and then forgetting to work out? Man, he sure was feeling dumb lately. He wriggled free from his ruined dress shirt and began to pull a white tank top over his head, but even that was too constraining for his broad chest. "Looks like you need some new clothes, my friend. Tell you what, I'll take you shopping after we're done working out." It just so happened that one of Max's benefactors' business was a big-and-tall menswear store, and Max had brought them dozens of loyal customers over the years. He tossed Jay an XXL shirt and roomy basketball shorts. "Here, you can wear these for now." Before working out, Jay insisted on getting a double-boost smoothie, indicating no memory that he had already had two boosts that morning. Jay ducked behind the counter at the juice bar and whipped up a Pina Cool-ada, handing the cup across the counter and saying to Jay, "That'll be fifty bucks." That seemed kinda pricey to Jay, but he couldn't honestly remember what he had paid before. All he knew was he desperately needed that boost in order to achieve the results he desired. He didn't have enough cash, so he put it on his debit card. As Max knew better than most, once you were hooked on the boost and chasing that rush, no price was too high. The key, his mentor had taught him, was to charge the maximum amount possible without drawing undue attention to your actions. There was a reason the boost wasn’t officially on the menu board and was never rung up on the register. Jay slammed down the drink in a single gulp, then roared, "Let's fuckin' do this, bro." He gave Max a fist bump, then he marched purposefully toward the free weights. Max followed behind, admiring the way Jay's new muscles rebalanced themselves in an intricate dance with each stride and the way his prominent glutes bounced inside his shorts. Jay and Flat-Top alternated sets, egging on each other to ever-increasing weights. Flat-Top was already impossibly shredded, and Jay seemed determined to catch up to him as fast as possible. Max hung back, sporadically doing a few light curls to keep himself toned but not overdoing it, knowing that moderation was the key to preventing him from relapsing. He was happy with his physique, although he could still appreciate the sight of others pushing themselves to the max. When Jay went into work the next morning, he brought with him a box full of free smoothies, compliments of the gym. He wore a white polo shirt which snugly hugged the contours of his torso and cargo shorts which showed off the sinewy bulges of his calves, eliciting stares of wonder and gasps of disbelief from his co-workers. They wouldn't be his co-workers for long, as Jay already planned to submit his resignation. He no longer had any interest in his job and, although he didn't realize it, had lost the intellectual capacity to do it effectively any more. No, he planned to spend his days at the gym from now on, hanging out with his new buddies and perfecting his bod. The other guys at the gym had been very cool and welcoming to him, even though he still had lots of work to do before he was quite in their league. Jay wasn't worried about no longer having a salary, because Max had said he would cover Jay's expenses, including the hundred dollars he owed for every boosted smoothie he drank. All Jay had to do in return was recruit new members into the gym and sing the praises of the boost. That shouldn't be a problem for someone as uninhibited and outgoing as Jay, who rarely talked about anything other than the gym. He was literally a walking, talking billboard for the results that could be achieved there, with a brand new tattoo of the gym's name arching across his traps. Jay walked into Henry's office and placed a large smoothie in the middle of his desk. "You wanted to know my secret? There it is!" Henry looked at the drink, then up at Jay, who had somehow grown phenomenally during his "sick day". The face was still recognizable, although somehow more handsome, perched atop his thickened neck and broad bodybuilder's physique. Henry's jaw hung slack, speechless. "Go ahead," Jay's voice boomed as he gestured toward the drink. "Trust me, you'll love it." Noticing Henry's hesitation, Jay said, "Don't worry, man. It's totally natural." Henry found it impossible to defy the commanding figure hovering on the other side of his desk. He took a cautious sip. It was definitely tasty. And it had an indefinable zing that sent a charge through his body the second it hit his tongue. He was impressed. "Mmm. I think I could get hooked on this." Jay grinned. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. He could already envision Henry's gut melting away, his double chin vanishing, his wrinkles fading, his comb-over filling in... Why, give Henry enough boost and he could be downright fuckable. Francine sidled up beside Jay, gently pressing her hand against his upper arm. "Think I could get one of those, Jay?", she asked with a slight purr in her voice. "Sorry," Jay said, looking down with mock regret. "I only brought enough for the guys." * * * Jay escorted his former boss Henry into the health club like a proud tour guide showing a foreign dignitary around the White House. Henry was awestruck -- not by the building, which was a bit run-down and grungy, at least compared to the slick and sanitary big-name chain gym his wife had bought him a membership to a few years ago (and which he visited a handful of times before deciding he was a lost cause). No, what caught Henry's eye was the clientele. He was practically getting whiplash noticing all of the stunningly well-muscled guys circulating around him. The place was hard-body heaven. Henry only had a single boosted smoothie the day before, a freebie that Jay had given him at the office, and his response was essentially the same as Jay's after his first one. Henry had become incredibly energetic and productive on the job, his instincts keener and reflexes sharper than he had ever experienced. Even colors and sounds seemed more vivid than usual. This was followed by a wave of overwhelming fatigue that set in with a vengeance around suppertime. All afternoon, the rejuvenated Henry had hoped to surprise his wife Diane with an uncharacteristically vigorous night in the sack, powered by his sudden surge of virility, but he was already snoring on the sofa before Vanna lit up a single letter on "Wheel Of Fortune". Diane dutifully dragged her near-comatose hubby into the bedroom and hooked him up to his sleep apnea machine, where he remained deep in slumber until dawn. So much for romance. When he awoke in the morning and stumbled bleary-eyed into the bathroom, seeing his reflection in the mirror was a crushing reality check. He may have felt like a dynamo the day before, but staring back at him in the mirror was his familiar 46-year-old self, with sagging jowls, an ample gut, and graying strands stretching desperately from one ear to the other in a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to create the illusion of a full head of hair. He may have felt like a million dollars yesterday, but this morning his body would be lucky to fetch twenty bucks on Craigslist. And that would only be for the chemicals. Henry's brain was about as functional as a six-pound wad of bubble gum, so when he first heard the doorbell, he had no clue who could possibly be paying him a visit at six a.m. In his bathrobe and slippers, Henry shuffled to the front door, where his former employee Jay stood in a blue tank top and ripped jeans, jacked arms arcing outward like steroid-fueled parentheses at his sides, bountiful bangs descending across his forehead. "Ready to get pumped?", Jay asked enthusiastically, reminding Henry that he had agreed to come to Jay's gym for a complimentary workout. Henry attempted to weasel out, claiming extreme exhaustion, but Jay insisted that Henry's attitude would change once he actually got there. What finally changed Henry's mind was the promise of another smoothie like the one he had so enjoyed yesterday. He hastily tossed a plain white t-shirt, sweatpants and his grass-stained lawn-mowing sneakers into a paper bag, kissed his dozing wife on the cheek, and followed Jay's car to the health club. Entering the club, Henry figured he must be the oldest man in the place by a wide margin. He knew he was twenty years older than young Jay, and Jay had grown even more youthful-looking since he had started coming here. Henry had been amazed by how swiftly Jay had transformed, with the meek and anemic non-entity from the office exploding practically overnight into the strapping, confident stud now preening beside him. He didn't expect those kind of results, but if there was even a chance that this place could help Henry lose a few pounds or look a smidgen younger, he wanted in on the secret. Jay led his new recruit to the juice bar, where Henry saw the dazzlingly rugged Max standing at his post, dipping as he leaned back against a shelf, sneaking in a few reps as he worked to keep his triceps in top condition. Jay was sure that Max would be pleased that his first recruit was such a potential gold mine. Thanks to an errant accounting document that was left in a copy machine and promptly circulated throughout the office, Jay knew Henry's exact income down to the penny. Given Henry's pedestrian wardrobe, ten-year-old compact car, and modest suburban home, Jay knew Henry must have socked most of that salary away in savings. Now that Henry's first taste of the boost had lit the flames of a desire to become hunkier, he could afford to pay handsomely to achieve handsomeness. Although Max had been excited when Jay texted him that he had "reeled in a big fish", Max was less enthusiastic now that he saw Henry in the sagging flesh. He wasn't a lost cause by any means. If you looked past the wear-and-tear of parenting and a half-century of a sedentary desk job, there were still traces which suggested that Henry was probably a decent-looking guy in his youth. But at middle age, Henry was, to put it charitably, a fixer-upper. Sort of like New Orleans, post-Katrina. For this kind of heavy lifting, Max knew that even the boost would need a boost. "Henry, this is my main man Max," Jay boomed proudly, gesturing toward the man who manned the blenders. "Just tell him what flavor you want and he'll mix you up another one of those incredible smoothies." Henry would definitely need something to perk him up if he was actually going to exercise at this godforsaken hour. He surveyed his options on the blackboard behind Max's head with the worried gaze of someone scanning the menu for something suitably bland and recognizable on their first visit to a Botswanan restaurant. "Is the Peach Perfection any good?" "What part of 'Perfection' don't you understand?", asked Max with a charming grin that put Henry at ease. Henry watched as the master tossed together a combination of peaches, frozen yogurt, skim milk, and a scoop of some kind of red powder. He excused himself to the back room and returned carrying a fistful of what looked a bit like cranberries, only they were a deep, inky black. "What are those?", asked Henry warily. Max just shrugged impishly and winked. "Mystery ingredient." With the press of a button, the berries were obliterated into tiny bits swirling through the frothy liquid. After thirty seconds, Max poured the results into a cup and handed it to Henry, who took a cautious sip. He definitely recognized the enticing tingle he had experienced from the previous day's sample, but also detected something extra, something intoxicating that seemed to go straight to his head. The mystery ingredient, no doubt, as he'd never gotten that kind of ecstatic rush from a peach before. Henry nodded his approval and pulled out his wallet. "Delicious! How much do I owe you?" "That'll be ten dollars today." Henry had no idea that the key word in that sentence was "today". Max's rates for his smoothies were notorious fluid, varying from customer to customer, but he knew to start out low with a newcomer. As their need for the stuff grew more urgent, prices had a curious tendency to skyrocket. Henry didn't flinch at the price, although his tightfisted nature showed itself with the twenty-five cent piece he dropped in Max's tip jar. Max just smiled politely and said, "Thank you," knowing that Henry would soon be coughing up the Benjamins once his craving for the boost became sufficiently desperate. Jay ordered a double-boosted Banana-Rama Ding-Dong, which Max happily put on Jay's account. Henry was relieved that the locker room was empty as he changed into his workout clothes. He tugged at the hem of his extra-large t-shirt, embarrassed that it failed to cover the entirety of his gut, and he hastily wiggled his pale, pudgy legs into his sweatpants. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Jay pulling on a newly-purchased, form-fitting sleeveless tee which left no question about how toned every inch of his upper body had become. Stripping off his jeans, Jay revealed a surprisingly hefty cock, flopping freely in the absence of underwear. He shimmied a pair of compression shorts over his thickly muscled thighs and stuffed his dong inside. Studying himself admiringly in the mirror, Jay twisted his body in an amateur's approximation of warm-up stretches. "Ready, Henry?", he asked with a sparkle in his eyes. Until this recent metamorphosis, Henry had always assumed that Jay was straight, but the young man was now sending off a barrage of signals that even the ordinarily gay-blind Henry could detect. Diane frequently teased Henry about his adorably naive shock whenever some "OB-viously" gay movie star would come out of the closet. Henry always figured he just wasn't hip enough to pick up the signs. Besides, as an overweight middle-aged office manager, he didn't figure he was in much danger of finding himself on the receiving end of unwanted advances from Doogie Howser any time soon. Henry and Jay began their workouts on side-by-side treadmills. "Just start off slow and find your pace. Don't worry about keeping up with me," Jay advised, the voice of several days' experience. "Not much chance of that," Henry chuckled with self-deprecation as he struggled to figure out the control panel. He hadn't seriously jogged since sometime in college, so he was anticipating nothing more than a leisurely stroll, but as he gradually picked up speed, so did the boost surging in his veins. As his feet thudded on the conveyor belt, his belly and man-boobs jiggled like cranberry sauce with each step. He watched enviously as Jay's long legs whipped back and forth, his blindingly-white Nikes making only brief contact with the treadmill during each stride. Henry focused his energies and chugged onward, mentally setting himself the seemingly impossible goal of someday being able to keep up with the kid. After a blistering thirty-minute dash during which he had become lost in the techno music flowing through his earbuds, Jay cooled down to a trot. He had glanced over periodically to check on Henry's progress, impressed that the old guy had stuck it out so long. Grimacing with determination, Henry was still lumbering along, his cheap t-shirt clinging to his skin, rendered nearly transparent by the sweat pumping from his pores. "Great job, Henry! You've definitely earned a shower." Henry panted and shook his head, splattering the treadmill console with a cloudburst of perspiration. "I'm gonna...keep going...some more," he blurted out between gasps for air. "You done plenty, man. You don't hafta prove anything to me," Jay said reassuringly. "It's...not...for...you," Henry panted, pointing his thumb toward his chest. Jay was impressed by Henry's commitment, and even more awestruck by the powerful properties of the boost that could be giving Henry such endurance. He strolled over to the juice bar to inform Max of Henry's stick-to-it-ive-ness. "Not surprised," Max said softly. "He's got a lot of youthful energy to keep him going." Jay wasn't as quick a thinker as he used to be, but he caught Max's implication. "What, you mean the berries? Why, what do they do?" Max just stared into the distance, with no intention of explaining further. Jay grew pissed. "You mean you got somethin' good and you're holdin' out on me? How come?" Max muttered so only Jay could hear him. "Because you don't need it. Your buddy Henry's got two decades of road miles on him that you don't. So unless you have a desperate urge to return to your glory days of being a five-year-old, you'll steer clear of the berries." That stern warning was enough to make Jay back off. He was too in love with his body and his life to mess with anything dangerous. Except for more of the boost, of course. Jay ordered a Strawberry Chia Forever with a single boost, just enough to recharge him up for a session of pumping iron in the free-weight pit. Jay swelled with pride as he watched his protruding veins snake across his buff arms while he did curls. Seeing his massive quads stretch the elasticity of his clinging shorts, he knew that his devotion to leg crunches was paying off. In the dim chronology of his boost-warped mind, he took it for granted that he'd been perfecting his body as a gym rat for years and would have howled with laughter if anyone had informed him that he had been thin as a twig just four days ago. Although not everyone at the gym was on the boost, those who were lived in a strictly A.B. world -- After Boost. It was as if their lives before encountering the miracle powder had never happened or were, at best, a faint memory from long ago, quite literally another life. They had quit their jobs, they had drifted away from family and loved ones, and they defined themselves not by who they had been but by what they had become. After an hour of heavy lifting alongside his ripped buddy Flat-Top, Jay grew curious about Henry. He couldn't believe that Henry would have left without at least swinging by to thank Jay. To Jay's surprise, Henry was still plowing forward on that same treadmill. He even seemed to have gained steam, moving more briskly than before, mopping his abundant sweat with a soaked towel. Jay brought over a fresh towel and a bottled water, which Henry took appreciatively without slowing his pace. "Jeez, man, take a break. It's not like you hafta get in shape TODAY!", Jay said, although that appeared to be exactly what was happening. Henry was still husky but had easily sweated off fifteen pounds, and his eyes burned with determination to keep the process going. He even looked a bit younger, although Jay figured that was just the natural result of dropping some weight. Still, seeing such marked and immediate improvements in Henry bolstered Jay's enthusiasm for going out and drumming up more customers for the gym. Jay suggested to Flat-Top that they hit the beach and search for potential new recruits. Flat-Top didn't need much convincing. When he wasn't perfecting his physique at the gym, Flat-Top loved nothing more than hitting the sand, catching some rays, strutting his stuff, and ogling some Speedos. Jay urged Henry to take it easy, then headed to the showers with Flat-Top. When Henry finally did tucker out, he wobbled to the juice bar, smiled victoriously at Max, and promptly passed out, crumpling into a heap on the floor. Max rushed from behind the counter and knelt down to check for a heartbeat, relieved to hear it kathumping along at a healthy rate. He roused Henry back to consciousness and gave him some water to sip. Max chided Henry for overexerting himself, even though Max knew full well that Henry would have been nearly powerless to resist the boost-and-berry-driven imperative to push himself further. Once he felt rejuvenated and rehydrated, Henry shuffled to the locker room and slowly peeled away his sopping t-shirt, revealing the magnitude of what his mini-marathon had accomplished. His gut had receded to more of a paunch, and his arms had lost some of their gelatinous qualities. He was a long way from being beefcake, but if this was what he could expect from a single workout, tomorrow could not arrive soon enough. He wished Jay still worked for him so he could give him a promotion just for introducing him to this place. He'd have to find some other way to show his appreciation. It was mid-morning, and Henry could not face the prospect of a boring day trapped at the office. He called in sick for the first time in years, liberated by a sudden sense of freedom. He headed home and busied himself with all of the repair jobs his wife had been urging to take care of for months or, in some cases, years. After a productive afternoon during which his energy remained sky high, Henry luxuriated in a long hot shower, invigorated by the droplets pelting his skin. His cock chubbed up as he lathered himself thoroughly, but he didn't want to squander a good erection. It would only be fair to save himself for Diane. He pulled on his favorite Hawaiian shirt, amazed by how loosely it hung on his frame, and was able to squeeze into a pair of Dockers he had outgrown three years earlier. Diane immediately knew something was strange when she pulled into the driveway and saw Henry's car, as he had not arrived home from work before her in at least a decade. As she entered, she was greeted by unexpected aromas from the kitchen, where Henry was busy preparing spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread, one of the few meals he had ever learned to cook on his own. She stood in the doorway, silent and wide-eyed, as her husband bounded excitedly around the room, boisterously singing "That's Amore", humming to fill in the gaps for the lyrics he couldn't remember (which was pretty much everything other than "That's Amore"). Finally noticing his wife's arrival, Henry dashed across the room to plant a tomato-and-basil-flavored kiss on her lips. "Hello, honey," he sang in place of "That's Amore", and danced back to the stove to resume stirring the sauce. Diane was so stunned by his uncharacteristic exuberance that his weight loss didn't even register. She just knew something was different. "What has gotten into you, Henry?", she asked, but Henry just smiled and kept on sing-humming. She walked over to help him, but he poured her a glass of Chianti and demanded that she take a load off and relax while he finished fixing dinner. During a leisurely meal, Diane told anecdotes of her taxing day and Henry vaguely described his, telling her little more than that he felt "marvelous" and "like a kid again". The more she looked at him across the table, she could swear it looked like he had lost weight, but she had been on enough diets over the years to know it was impossible to drop more than a handful of pounds of water weight in a day. She figured his fresh appearance must just a pleasant byproduct of his unaccountably chipper attitude. Whatever had caused this boost in Henry's mood, she wasn't about to complain. Uncorking a second bottle, Henry insisted that they leave the dirty dishes until the morning and maneuvered Diane to the sofa for some heavy petting. He was friskier than he had been the night before, and had no concerns about his energy plummeting, but as he nuzzled his wife's neck, something felt off. Much as he wanted to please Diane, his dick was staying soft. On top of that, unfamiliar thoughts began to assault Henry's mind. Images flashed and then vanished, at first so brief that he couldn't identify them, but they were distracting enough that Diane could sense his concentration waning. "What's the matter, honey?", she asked. "Nothing," Henry assured her, although he was not so certain. As he held Diane's face in his hands and closed his eyes to kiss her, a single image finally gelled in Henry's mind. It was Jay in all of his newly-buffed splendor. Standing completely naked in the locker room. With an eight-inch erection. Pointing straight in Henry's direction. Henry was shaken by this vision. He was even more unnerved by the realization that his penis, flaccid until that moment, had sprung to life, stiffening inside his boxers. "Oh, Henry!", Diane gasped as she felt his hardness press against her thigh. Early on, Max had insisted on being up front with his customers about the radical changes that the boost would impose on their brain and their hormones. It was never an issue with his gay clients, as the boost only intensified their pre-existing preferences and markedly heightened their erotic pleasure, but he had felt morally obliged to alert straight men that the boost would permanently reconfigure their sexual orientation. Max's boss had frowned upon this level of honesty, not wanting to cut off potentially lucrative sources of revenue. In the end, Max had realized that giving the warning was ultimately pointless. Even those who strenuously objected and put up some kind of struggle against their newfound desires would inevitably surrender, their overwhelming craving for the benefits of the boost proving far more powerful than even the most virulent homophobia. Max himself had been something of a bullying asshole toward two teammates on his college swim team whom he had learned were gay, although his attitude evolved quickly once they began to supply him with the red powder that they promised would do wonders for his performance. Now, all these years later, Max had only the faintest of memories of having once been attracted to women, while the teammates who had been the targets of his abuse were now two of his oldest and dearest friends. Max had no idea why the boost made its straight users gay and its gay users gayer, although he suspected the surge in testosterone that it caused was at least somewhat responsible. He did know that the triggering event for the irrevocable transition was invariably the same: one's first post-boost orgasm. Henry's mind mounted some resistance as his brain was flooded with more thoughts of Jay and Max and the other shredded specimens who had surrounded him at the gym, his visions fragmenting into isolated close-ups of straining biceps and striated quads and ripe ass-cheeks and upward-arching cocks. There was still a tangible allure to Diane's warm body pressed against his, still a nostalgic familiarity to the scent of White Diamonds perfume on her skin, and he knew he was still intellectually in love with this woman with whom he had shared the past quarter-century, but these intrusive thoughts had become too persistent -- and too arousing -- to ignore. Once he stopped fighting them, he ejaculated immediately, pumping dollop after dollop of thick, warm cream into his undershorts. The energy swiftly ebbed from Henry's body and he collapsed on top of Diane, the events of the day finally taking their toll. Diane squirmed out from under her bulky husband, sighing with disappointment at the speed with which their romantic evening had come to an end, although it was far from unprecedented. As Henry began to snore, Diane adjusted him on the couch so he would be more comfortable, tucking a comforter around him and bringing out his sleep apnea machine. The spark may have left their relationship long ago, but she still doted on the big lug. Meanwhile, as Henry slept, the boost set about reordering his priorities. * * * Jay moseyed into the gym around ten the next morning, mirrored sunglasses shielding his eyes from bright light. He and Flat-Top had spent a productive day of recruiting at the beach, their exposed physiques providing ample evidence of the gym's benefits. They had lured in over a dozen new prospects with the promise of a free workout and a sample smoothie. Jay knew at least two of them would be arriving in a short while, as soon as they and Flat-Top finished showering together back at Flat-Top's condo. Jay had been invited to join them, but he had already fucked himself raw the night before and was desperately in need of a boost. Jay had no idea how much alcohol he had consumed the night before. His improved metabolism meant that a great quantity of booze was required to achieve even a slight buzz, so he must have downed a couple bottles of tequila to end up as blotto as he had become. Dim memories of dim nightclubs filtered through his head. He could recall flashes of colored light and the cool sensation of dry-ice fog against his shirtless torso. He remembered feasting his eyes on a buffet of delectable dudes, and being the object of innumerable devouring stares and roaming hands. The two twinks who had accompanied them back to Flat-Top's place came back to him as little more than nimble blond and ginger blurs, but he knew the four of them had stayed busy most of the night as Flat-Top taught Jay the joys of versatility. Jay had awoken this morning wracked with unfamiliar aches, feeling as if every orifice had been stretched beyond its intended limits. Since he had started on the boost, Jay had never waited as late as ten o'clock to get his morning jolt, and its absence in his body was killing him. His colossal hangover was merely miserable icing on the agony cake. His energy had dwindled precipitously, his impressive bulk had softened noticeably, and his extremities were riddled with the pinprick sensations that preceded numbness. Desperate for his fix, Jay staggered the final twenty feet toward the juice bar before flopping onto the counter, spread-eagled as he begged Max, "Blueberry Bonanza. And make it a triple." Max felt a twinge of guilt as he saw Jay so strung out, but he also knew there was only one remedy that would satisfy him. Max chastised Jay, "As happy as I am to see you shed your inhibitions, we do have health codes around here." He shooed Jay off the counter and whipped up the drink in record time. Jay guzzled it down greedily, purple trickles leaking from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. Jay's spirits revived, he filled in Max on the previous day's recruiting successes, but he found his attention drifting toward the gym floor, where a dark-eyed young stud in a black tank top and knee-length black shorts was scoping out his surroundings. He had thickly muscled arms and a broad chest, but slimmed down to an enviably narrow waist and the lean, perfectly toned legs of a disciplined runner. His jaw and cheekbones were precision sculpted, and a wild, undisciplined thatch of chocolate-brown hair jutted over his forehead before curling back like a breaking wave off Malibu. Jay figured he had to be a newbie, because there was no way this guy could have escaped Jay's notice. Even before the boost had altered his predilections, Jay would have fixated on this guy out of pure envy. To Jay's amazement, the kid's face lit up the moment he spotted Jay. As he sauntered coolly toward the juice bar, all of the sexual confidence Jay had gained from the previous night's conquests faded into anxiety as he fretted over what he could possibly say to this adonis. "Jaaaaaay!", shouted the young man, beaming as he rushed over. He wrapped his python arms tight around Jay and easily hoisted the considerably heavier man off his feet. Jay shot a baffled glance at Max, who was stifling a chuckle. "I don't blame you, boy," crowed the young man. "I don't recognize me either!" The voice was instantly recognizable, but bubbling with an unfamiliar zest for life. The tan Jay had gained from his day at the beach blanched instantaneously as his brain grappled with the realization that the lanky hunk squeezing the breath out of him had emerged from the great white whale that was Henry. Even after witnessing Henry's treadmill endurance test, Jay could never have imagined that Henry's lump of coal could have been refined into such a diamond. Could such immaculate bone structure really have been lurking beneath Henry's jowls and wrinkles all along? How had the sparse shrubbery on Henry's head sprouted so spectacularly overnight? Jay's own boosted body seemed like a minor overhaul when compared to how Henry had been super-remodeled into a supermodel. Henry lowered Jay back down to the floor, then spun around so Jay could get a complete look at his wide v-shaped back, his buoyant butt, his firm, wrinkle-free skin. "Can you believe this shit?", he asked, yanking on his unwieldy mop of hair, giggling with delight when it remained attached to his scalp. "I feel like a kid again, but I never looked half this good when I was young. Isn't it a-fucking-mazing?" Words were eluding Jay. All that emerged from his mouth was one long "Uhhhhhh...", but it still managed to convey his approval. As Henry slept, his body had undergone extensive renovations. When he awoke to this phenomenal discovery, he made his way quietly out of the house, careful not to wake Diane, and drove directly to the gym. Max prepared him a smoothie with a double boost and two handfuls of berries, for the reasonable price of thirty dollars, which Henry paid without blinking an eye. Once the smoothie got into his system and he began to exercise, Henry's improvements had only become more and more refined. "I've been here since five a.m., and every time I check myself the mirror, I look better. It's like watching Michelangelo carving David out of an ugly chunk of marble. Only I was the ugly chunk of marble. And now, I'm David!" Jay's head was swimming, only in part because he no longer knew who Michelangelo was. "Hey, what do you think about David?", Henry asked excitedly, conducting a quick poll of Jay and Max. "Think about him for what?", Jay asked. "For a name. For me. I sure as shit don't feel like a Henry any more, and I sure as fuck don't look like one." "I dunno," Max chimed in. "You ever seen that Henry Cavill?" Max wolf-whistled and his eyebrows leapt. "Naaah, Henry's an old man name," Henry insisted with a dismissive wave of his hands. "I feel like a David now." Jay was still grappling with the whole situation. "So you're just gonna go into work looking like this, and tell 'em to start calling you David?" Henry burst out laughing, the picture of youthful rebellion. "Fuck that. I'm not going back to that shithole. If I spent one more second cooped up behind that desk, I think I'd fucking die. No, man, I'm following your example. THIS is my life now!" He spread out his arms, his mighty wingspan stretching wide to indicate the whole gym. His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm for his future. "All those years of slaving away, stashing away my money for a rainy day. Well, it's finally raining, honey, and..." He broke into song, "It's raining men! Hallelujah!" He spun Jay around in a few sloppily improvised dance moves, effectively disproving the cliche that homosexuality correlates directly with a knack for choreography. Jay backed away, feeling personally responsible for how radically Henry had changed. "So if you're not going to work, what ARE you gonna do now?" "Now? You mean, like right now? Well, I got at least one idea." With that, he stared seductively into Jay's eyes. Jay had never realized that Henry's eyes were so mesmerizing, so deep and dark, especially at the office where he kept them imprisoned behind glasses that, from all appearances, he no longer needed. Jay felt unable to look away. Without taking his eyes off Jay, Henry asked, "Hey, Max, can Jay and I use your back room for a bit?" Max expressed amused annoyance. "You want to have sex behind the juice bar? What is it that you guys don't grasp about health codes? Go find yourselves someplace more fuck-friendly." "Well, we could go get a room somewhere," David said with a grin. "I just wasn't sure Jay could wait that long." "Huh? What?", Jay said, suddenly aware that his rigid cock was straining inside his compression shorts, stretching so far down the right leg that the head was in danger of poking its way to freedom. When he looked back up, Jay's conflicting emotions over what had happened to Henry were swept away, replaced by a single crystal-clear thought. "Fuck me, David."
  12. CrisKane

    X-Dream Makeover: Mike

    Mike had become very worried. It had been two weeks since his ex-co-worker David had made his presence known anywhere on social media. What made this so worrisome was that social media was the only place that David actually WAS social. Extremely shy and lacking in self-confidence in person, David would only dare to offer his opinions online, whether griping on Facebook about the casting of the latest comic-book movie or posting on gamer message boards the latest video-game cheat codes he had figured out. David had been one of the earliest employees of DigiWarp, the software company for which Mike worked, while Mike had only been hired a year ago, straight out of college. He admired David, who was a brilliant coder, while Mike considered himself adequate at best. Mike's brains were never going to stumble upon a game-changing breakthrough the way David had a few years back. The best Mike could hope was that he'd be on a development team with people far brighter than he was and reap some of the benefits of their success simply through proximity. Mike didn't know if he had the right to call David his friend, but he might be the closest David had to one. Given David's seniority and Mike's lack of it, there were few reasons for the two men to cross paths at work. But at a lavish party for all of the company's employees at the CEO's mansion overlooking San Francisco Bay, Mike and David found themselves isolated from the rest of the crowd, standing nervously beside each other in a tight corner of the room. Neither man said anything for the first ten minutes. Mike tilted his head to read the spines of the books the host owned, realizing that not only had he never read any of them, he had never heard of most of them. David fixed his attention on his shoes, which he must have tied and retied eight times in those ten minutes, and kept running his fingers down the crease in his chinos, in a futile attempt to make it stay at a perfect 90-degree angle to the floor. They first bonded over their shared allergy to seafood, which they announced simultaneously to the waitress carrying a tray of crab puffs. This led to a twenty-minute discussion of various foods that disagreed with them, a conversation which, if you boiled away the awkward silences, would have amounted to about three minutes of actual conversation. To look at him, you wouldn't think any food disagreed with Mike. Although he and David were both about five-foot-eleven, Mike was easily 200 pounds heavier. Every part of his body weighed too much. His eyelids looked like they could lose a few pounds. His wide head seemed to melt directly into a wider neck. His torso was nearly spherical, and was largely unchanged since childhood when his classmates had dubbed him "Frosty" due to his snowman-like contours. His legs were bulbous and knock-kneed. In an attempt to outwit the male-pattern baldness that ran in his family, he had been shaving his head since college. He comforted himself by thinking of all the celebrities who managed to maintain their sexiness or even become hotter when they went full-cueball; unfortunately, the only celebrity Mike resembled was the Michelin Man. He was also apparently the only invitee to this party who had not noticed the request to dress fashionably. Even if he could afford to buy fashionable clothes, he had no idea what would make his body look in any way fashionable, so here he stood, not eating crab puffs, in a polo with wide red and white stripes providing lines of longitude across his surface area, and cargos which ended about an inch above his black plastic sandals. Aside from their similar heights, David's body was a contrast to Mike's in nearly every way. David was worryingly gaunt, all straight lines and sharp angles. He had a Zuckerbergian head of unruly red curls, which he never thought to get cut until someone pointed out that they could no longer see his eyes. A Wicked-Witch nose dominated his pale sunken face, with an Adam's apple that echoed the nose's shape and prominence. David had no more natural fashion sense than Mike, but he did have a high enough salary that he could walk into an expensive store and ask what he should buy. The only thing he liked about the experience was going home and devising a color-coded program which would tell him, based on the personal shopper's advice, what items should be worn with what other items, which is how he arrived looking positively preppy in his navy-blue sweater vest, pale-blue Oxford shirt, chinos and deck shoes. In a rare oversight, he had neglected to include socks in the program, which explained the green argyles covering his ankles. David always had problems knowing what to do with his large bony hands, which tended to flutter on uncharted courses when he spoke, so he mostly kept his hands buried deeply in his pants pockets. Standing beside each other, rotund Mike looked like a big zero and spindly David looked like a big one. Depending on one's era, this juxtaposition might call to mind Laurel and Hardy, Mutt and Jeff, Mama Michelle and Mama Cass, or Steve Martin and John Candy as the mismatched travelers in "Planes, Trains and Automobiles". But to a roomful of Silicon Valley techies, whose entire lives revolved around manipulations of ones and zeroes, they suggested only one thing. "Hey look," shouted one of their inebriated colleagues, "it's the Binary Brothers!" The initial comment got a few chuckles, but the hilarity grew as more and more partygoers passed along the remark and created a wave of laughter and pointing through the crowd. Mike attempted to join in the laughter, under the flawed theory that they can't be laughing at you if you're laughing with them. David stood uneasily, then decided his shoes needed to be retied. From that point onward, David and Mike found themselves hanging out with each other from time to time, eating together in the company cafeteria, occasionally getting together after work to play video games. Perhaps it was only the gravitational field of Mike's greater body mass pulling anemic David into his orbit. Mainly it was that, even within the hive of worker geeks where they worked, David and Mike were still the last two likely to be picked for a hypothetical game of dodgeball. They were the nerds who even embarrassed the nerds. In the Binary Brothers, Mike might be the zero, but David felt like a zero too. Mike sensed they had another shared interest, although the two men never discussed it. Even at that first party, when David seemed to be averting his eyes completely from the other guests, Mike noticed that David's head would swivel ever so slightly but involuntarily whenever one of the handsome waiters walked past. Mike hoped that his own sampling of the beefcake was more subtle, and he made exaggerated efforts to more blatantly ogle the waitresses, avoiding taunts by maintaining a facade of heterosexuality. The sad fact was that none of the other guests were paying enough attention to David and Mike to give a shit who they were mentally undressing. The pickings were slimmer at the office, where few had gotten ahead on their looks, but Mike did notice David leaving his corner cubicle more frequently when a copier repairman or the UPS guy dropped by. And when the two played video games, Mike noticed how muscular David's avatars always were. Then again, it wasn't like Mike was exactly opting to look like Jonah Hill onscreen. When David took the company buyout and put an absurd number of zeroes in his bank account, he did invite Mike over to his new house once to play games on his sweet seventy-inch HDTV and back him up and down the driveway in his new solar car. But the evening was uncomfortable for both of them. For Mike, he felt inadequate in the presence of such pricey playthings and could sense David's general malaise, which Mike took to be boredom from having to hang around with his sad, fat and broke former colleague. In fact, David disliked the feeling that he was flaunting his obscene wealth which he felt he didn't deserve, despite being the primary brain behind the software that led to the buyout, and he felt disillusioned that all of this money had failed to make him any less dissatisfied with his life. When Mike left the house that night, he vowed not to bother David, not wishing to seem like a pathetic hanger-on. But after two weeks with no trace of David online, Mike was concerned. Maybe David had decided to go on a cross-country drive, or take a cruise, or do something else totally unlike him. Maybe David had met someone. Guys might find him more attractive now that he had such girth in his wallet. Mike wondered whether David was the type to resort to suicide, but considered that unlikely, as it would require physical effort of some sort. He had left voicemail messages and texted David, but never heard back. Finally, he decided he would just go to David's house after work and drop in unexpectedly, in hopes of discovering a simple, logical reason for David's silence. They'd both have a laugh and maybe even get a little drunk on the couch together and, who knows... Mike shook off this scenario for a multitude of reasons, not least of which was that neither of them was likely to make the first move. Besides, it was hard to envision a comfortable way for the Binary Brothers' bodies to mesh sexually. It's not easy to make a one and a zero add up to sixty-nine. Mike trudged up the driveway to David's house with a copy of the latest "Call of Duty" and a sixer of Mike's Hard Lemonade. Despite dismissing his earlier fleeting fantasy, he discovered he was actually nervous about the prospect of meeting David tonight. He had already sweated thoroughly through his black Astro Boy t-shirt and baggy purple shorts, and his calves were chafing from rubbing against each other on the walk here. He noticed that David's solar car was still in the driveway, which he took as a good sign, although fallen leaves and dust were coating it. Mike leaned a beefy arm against the front door and rang the doorbell, but heard no noises from inside. He knocked, first timidly, then more loudly, but still got no response. Too winded to walk back downhill right away, he took a seat on the stone steps and cracked open a bottle to refresh himself. The bottle was half-empty when Mike felt he was seeing a vision. A heavily-muscled shirtless dreamboat jogged from the sidewalk up the driveway. His artistically-carved abs were heaving with each breath and his taut hairless torso was covered in a layer of glistening sweat which reflected the setting sun. His dark hair was trimmed close on the sides and hung in limp, curly, sweat-beaded strands on the top. He was more thickly muscled than the stereotypical runner, with his meaty quads and glutes threatening to widen the slit that went up the side of his skimpy royal-blue running shorts. His tanned calves bulged, forming powerful masses above his matching blue Reeboks. The man was clearly at the end of a lengthy run, while Mike had worked himself into a similar state of exhaustion and perspiration by walking the one block from his bus stop to David's door. Mike gulped a swig from his bottle of alcoholic lemonade as he drank in the runner's body. Mike's hard, indeed. The new arrival wiped a heavy forearm across his brows to shake the sweat from his eyes. His eyelids parted, revealing pale green pupils that seemed somehow familiar to Mike. The man was startled to see someone seated on the steps. "Can I help you, dude?", came a resonant voice that also vaguely rang a bell. Embarrassed, Mike hoisted himself to his feet, grappling with the video game and his drinks. "Sorry, maybe I'm in the wrong place," he said, feeling he must have screwed up somehow, even though he knew this was David's house, and David's solar car was RIGHT THERE in the driveway. Maybe this stud was some rentboy that David had hired with his new wealth...and who could blame him? "I was trying to find David Tanner." As Mike brushed past the hunky jock, pausing just slightly to take a deep whiff of his masculine musk, the runner said, "I'm Dave Tanner." Mike stopped dead in his tracks and turned around slowly. He studied the man before him. It couldn't be. Sure, this guy did have the same color eyes as David. And the voice did sound a lot like David's, only slightly slower and with all the anxiety drained away. And if you dyed David's hair black and trimmed it nicely, it could look like this guy's. And if you put a team of plastic surgeons to work for a couple of years, and piled on the protein shakes and steroids...maybe. But he'd only seen David two weeks ago. This was clearly impossible. Maybe David had a studly cousin named Dave who he'd never mentioned. Not impossible, since Mike and David's conversations never veered near personal topics. "David and I used to work together. Are you maybe a relative of David's?", Mike asked. "Nope, I'm me," the other man said, followed by a throaty chortle. "You okay, buddy? Looks like you're gonna barf." "My head's spinning a little. I think I just need to sit down." The alluring young man studied Mike's face curiously. "I could swear I seen you somewhere before. You work out at Gold's?" Now it was Mike's turn to chortle. He lifted up his bottles of alcohol and said, "This is the only six-pack I'm working on." Looking with confusion at Mike, the man entwined his arms behind his tilted head, his stony biceps seeming to stretching his skin to its limit. Unconsciously, he was alternately flexing his left and right biceps to make them pop, and Mike's eyes were automatically drawn from arm to arm as they peaked. The guy shook his head. "Now it's totally buggin' me. I KNOW I know you from somewhere." He reached into his shorts and extracted a house key. He opened the door and gestured for Mike to follow him. "Come in and cool off before you stroke out." Mike hauled himself up the steps, gripping the railing for support. The inside of the house was largely as Mike remembered it from his single previous visit. For the living room, David had not purchased much furniture beyond the jumbo television and a single gaming chair. When they had played games, David had graciously allowed Mike to use the chair as David sat cross-legged on the floor. To these items had been added a beanbag chair, a wooden dining tray and a couple of bar stools, suggesting that this mansion's interior designer was Pier One. The guy calling himself Dave kicked off his running shoes and peeled off his sweaty ankle socks, which he tossed onto the hardwood floor, joining previously discarded items of athletic clothing scattered around the room. He pointed toward the drinks Mike was holding and asked, "You mind?" Mike handed him the whole six-pack. The dude laughed and said, "I only need one." He uncapped it with his bare hands and slammed down the contents in a single uninterrupted chug. He ripped a belch that echoed on the house's hard surfaces and yelled, "Fuck, I needed that. Thanks!" He clapped a sweaty palm on Mike's shoulder, then flung himself into the beanbag chair, legs unapologetically spread wide, allowing Mike a clear view of the thin white lining of his running shorts and, beneath that, a jockstrap that was working overtime to hold in something major. Mike had to get to the meat of this (so to speak). "So you're sure we never worked together?" "Dude, I can't remember the last time I had a job. But I swear I'm motivated now. I'm trying to get in shape to take the fire department's entry exam." Mike gaped at the body sprawled in front of him. "YOU aren't in shape?" "I gotta work on my stamina. Bein' a fireman, there's no fuckin' around. Lives are on the line and shit. But I think my cardio's coming along pretty excellently. I only been at it for two weeks." Mike's legs got a bit wobbly. David had been missing for two weeks. "Two weeks? So, what were you doing before that?" The guy in the beanbag casually scratched his balls as he thought. Nothing was coming. "Fuck if I know, dude. Just livin', I guess." Mike took a seat in the video-game chair and tried to make sense of this. "Hey, I'm gonna grab a quick shower, but you're welcome to play a video game or whatever. I can trust you not to steal my shit, right?" Mike nodded as the guy called Dave leapt energetically from the beanbag chair, his big bare feet slapping hard against the wooden floor. Without a thought, he pulled his nylon running shorts down the full length of his legs and kicked the shorts through the door into his bedroom. He paused in the doorway to wriggle free from his jockstrap, which he dropped with a soggy flop onto the floor. Mike stared in awe at the exquisite symmetry of the ass cheeks across the room, and was tantalized by the glimpse of a cock head he could see in the narrow gap between Dave's brawny thighs. Once he heard the water running in the bathroom, Mike rose and began to search the house for any clues about what might have happened to David Tanner. He found no obvious hints in the living room. The kitchen was even more barren of furniture aside from appliances. A dietary chart was Scotch-taped to the wall, with fresh fruits and oatmeal containers on the counter top and a fridge full of steaks, chicken breasts, yogurt, eggs and veggies. Mike crept into the bedroom, careful to avoid being seen by Dave in the adjoining bathroom. Mike had only gotten a brief tour of the house on his previous visit, but from what he remembered, not much had changed. The king-size bed was unmade, which the anal David would never have allowed. More clothes were strewn about, along with the bags from the stores where they were purchased. Mike rifled through the empty bags and found receipts for the items purchased, all within the past two weeks. A cheap cellphone rested on the floor next to the bed. Mike checked it and saw it was not David's old number and that only a few calls had been made on it, also in the last two weeks, with no text messages. Then Mike noticed the one strange item that would differentiate this from any average sloppy bachelor's bedroom. Hanging on the door to the closet was a San Francisco fireman's uniform. It seemed bizarre to Mike that the fire department would give a uniform to someone who wasn't a member of the force. Maybe this Dave guy was fucking a fireman who had left his uniform behind. Mike tiptoed across the room, flinching when the floorboards squeaked under his weight. He reached the closet and began to rifle through the pockets with his stubby hands. Nothing in the jacket pockets, but in the pants pockets he felt something. He reached in and pulled out two items. One was a business card that he couldn't read in the unlit room, the other was another cell phone. Mike attempted to switch on the phone, but it was drained of juice. His eyes scanned the room until he saw a charging cord plugged in the wall behind the closet door. As he plugged the phone into the charger, he heard a voice behind him. "I toldja not to steal nothin'." Mike spun around, terrified at being caught, dropping the phone and stuffing the business card into the pocket of his shorts. He'd been so caught up in his snooping that he hadn't heard the shower stop. He attempted to look nonchalant, but was stunned to see Dave standing in silhouette in the bathroom doorway, towel draped casually around his shoulders, his skin slicked with water and backlit. "I'm sorry, I was just...my cell phone..." Dave laughed and waved an arm dismissively. "I'm just fuckin' with you, man. C'mon, you hungry?" He slapped his hand over his firm abs and motioned for Mike to follow him to the kitchen. Mike would have felt foolish to do anything other than what this dude requested. He walked several steps behind, admiring how Dave's bare ass shifted with each stride. Goddamn, this guy had absolutely no self-consciousness about his body. He was walking fully nude in front of some fat slob he only kind of thought he might know, and it didn't bother him a bit. This cat was cool. Dave set about making his supper, grilling a steak and whipping up a spinach salad. Despite repeated inquiries, Mike insisted that he wasn't hungry (not for food, at least). He pulled up a bar stool and downed more hard lemonade as he watched the naked chef go about his business. Dave stuffed a spinach leaf in his mouth. "So what's your name? Maybe that'll jog my...ya know..." "Mike. I work at DigiWarp." The word "DigiWarp" did seem to ignite a spark in Dave's eyes, but the spark dulled by the time it reached his brain. "You look so fuckin' familiar, dude. I feel like I should remember you from somewhere. I mean, you're a lot to forget." He gestured toward Mike's gut. Mike smiled weakly, as always trying not to be overly sensitive. Dave detected this and looked immediately apologetic. "Sorry, that was a real fucked-up thing to say. I didn't mean nothin'. You seem like a cool guy." No one had ever said THAT to Mike before. "Well, we can't all have a body like yours," Mike said, quickly plugging a bottle of booze in his mouth to prevent drooling. "All you need is a good diet and discipline, man. You think I always looked like this?" "I don't know," Mike said. "Did you?" Dave had to consider that. His memory was so shitty lately, like part of his brain was just plain gone. He sure hoped there wasn't gonna be a lot of math on the fire department exam. He dodged the question and pointed toward Mike's bottle. "Ya know, that shit fucks up your body. Lemme have another one, 'kay?" Mike playfully pulled the remaining bottles out of Dave's reach. "No. Maybe I don't want you fuck up your bod." Did he actually say "bod"? Was he seriously flirting with this man who was so far out of his league? Even if somehow that really was David inside that cocoon of beautiful muscle, he sure wasn't acting like it. Mike hardly felt like he belonged to the same species as the gorgeous specimen standing naked before him. Dave sauntered across the kitchen and stretched an arm around Mike to grab a bottle. "I just ran ten miles. I think I deserve a treat, don't you?" As Dave's cock grazed against Mike's arm, it jolted and rose slightly. Dave noticed as Mike's eyes dropped down to gaze at his dick. "Unless you can think of a better treat." Mike became short of breath again and looked at Dave to see if this was a gag, but Dave was staring back through half-closed eyes that radiated sincerity. "You serious?" "Serious as the heart attack you're having, dude." He grabbed Mike's pudgy hand and led him back to the living room. Dave flopped into the leather gaming chair, his damp, bare skin clinging to the upholstery. He leaned back and stroked himself lazily while waiting for Mike, who was frantically trying to pull himself free from his stupid, sopping-wet XXXL shirt. He clumsily lowered himself to the floor, kneeling before Dave in his leather throne, and wrapped his lips around the head of Dave's glorious cock. It was already semi-hard and leaking cum, but grew dramatically as soon as Mike's tongue made contact. Dave leaned his head back and let the sensation rush through his body. He didn't know why he'd been so sex-crazy lately. He didn't remember always being so willing to fuck any guy he met. Then again, he didn't remember NOT being that way either. This Mike guy might be a tub of goo, but he seemed harmless and it was obvious from the way he'd been staring that it would be a major "Dear Diary" moment in this guy's life if he could just polish Dave's knob once. Even though he had whacked off in the shower, Dave still needed more release after that long run. A mouth is a mouth, thought Dave, and this guy seems to be eager. Why wouldn't he be eager? Just fuckin' look at me! Mike was so thrilled by what was happening that he had already shot a load in his pants, but he didn't let on to Dave. He continued sucking and licking, trying to remember any move he'd seen in the videos he had watched in college while his roommates were out banging cheerleaders and poetry majors (of both genders). He had always thought himself so undesirable that he had never found himself in a situation that even offered him the opportunity for sex. To be deep-throating this stud, however strange the circumstances, was a chance he could not pass up. He started to wheeze as Dave's cock swelled to its full nine inches, but he refused to gag. Dave's cock fired, launching clots of thick cream so far down Mike's throat that, only as Dave pulled out, dragging his still pulsating head across Mike's tongue, did Mike get a full sense of the flavor of Dave's cum. Exhausted, Mike flopped shirtless onto the floor, smiling euphorically. Dave waited a respectful fifteen seconds before loping back into the kitchen. It was all over so quickly that his steak was still rare. * * * The next thing Mike heard was gunfire. It startled him awake and he lifted his bulky shoulders off the floor. Propped up on his elbows, he looked beside him and saw Dave seated in his gamer chair and lost in a ferocious gunfight on the massive video screen. Dave's empty plate, salad bowl, and three more empties of Mike's Hard rested by his bare feet. While Mike was dozing, Dave had gotten dressed...to an extent. He wore a black Under Armour sleeveless and skintight black compression leggings which clung so tightly to every contour of Dave's body that he may as well have been spray-painted black. Mike smiled up at Dave, who glanced down for a millisecond to smile back and inform Mike, "You fuckin' snore, dude." Mike rolled his substantial frame on its side and watched the action on the screen. Dave was slaughtering anyone who came in his path. His reflexes were astounding. His long-fingered hands masterfully worked the controls in a frenzy...just like David's had. "This game is great for hand-eye coordination. I am gonna fuckin' ace the firefighting exam." Mike turned back to Dave, smirking. "Just because you're good in a firefight doesn't mean you're good at firefighting. You do know that you don't actually fight fires with guns, right?" "Yes, I know. You think I'm an idiot or something?", Dave said, laughing and pushing a bare smelly foot into Mike's face. Mike squirmed away, yelling, "Gross," but he secretly loved it. His cock was semi-hard again. "I gotta take a leak." "Go ahead. Piss your heart out." Mike waddled through the bedroom and into the bathroom. He didn't want to break the awesome mood he was in, so tried to avoid catching a reflection of his flab in the mirror. But reality hit home when he needed to pull out his penis and, as usual, had to fumble around under his enormous overhanging gut to extract it from his shorts. He had come to think of his cock like a black hole: he couldn't actually see it, but based on the evidence, he was convinced that it must exist. He was tempted to jerk off, but his bladder was shouting more urgently to his brain, and maybe if he was lucky, he'd get Dave to jack him off or blow him or... "Stop it," yelled Mike's bladder, "I'll never get to piss if you keep thinking about things like that." Mike sighed with relief and unleashed perhaps the longest piss of his life. After a few final afterthought squirts, he pulled his baggy shorts up to what technically qualified as his waist. As he dragged the shorts up his thigh, he remembered there was something extra in his pocket. He dug in and pulled out the dog-eared business card he had found earlier. He examined it in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. It read, "MR. LEE, X-DREAM MAKEOVERS", followed by some Chinese symbols. "X-Dream Makeovers," Mike thought. Could this be the explanation for how shy, nerdy David had seemingly been transformed into the musclehead currently racking up kills in the living room? There was no address on either side of the card. Mike remembered the cell phone he had found along with the card and tiptoed into the bedroom. The phone was still recharging but had enough juice that Mike could boot it up. A quick look at the phone showed that the ringer had been turned to vibrate and that all of Mike's texts and voicemails had come through, but none seemed to have been read or listened to. As he scrolled around, he noticed that the last message received and read two weeks ago was from someone named Kenneth. It gave a street address that Mike knew was on the fringes of Chinatown, followed by "IT'LL BE THE BEST INVESTMENT OF YOUR LIFE. CALL ME AFTER. ;)" Could whatever had happened to David have been so dramatic that it wiped out his memory to the point that he didn't even remember where his phone was? Did he even remember to get back in touch with whoever sent him to get the makeover? Mike forwarded the text to his own phone, so he would have the address, and stuffed the business card back into his pocket. Returning to the living room, Mike held the cell phone in front of Dave's face. "Is this your cell?" Dave shoved the phone out of his face and continued with his game. "Could be. I couldn't find my phone, so I just bought a new one. You know what's nuts? Turns out I got like crazy amounts of money in the bank." Of course he does, thought Mike. He's David Tanner, tech wizard and multi-millionaire, only he's oblivious to those facts. Now he's Dave Tanner, Mike's dream boy, with nothing on his mind beyond getting in shape, becoming a fireman, and laying waste to whatever videogame character pops up around the next corner. Dave addressed Mike without ever turning his attention from the screen. "Listen, I gotta get to bed so I can hit the gym at five a.m. It was great to meet you and all. I hope you find that guy you were looking for." "Thanks. I think I did." Dave was already lost in the game again. Mike pulled his Astro Boy shirt back on and made his way to the front door. He sneaked back into the living room, grabbed one of Dave's used ankle socks from the floor, took a whiff and stuck it in his pocket. Whatever happened next, at least he would have a souvenir of tonight. * * * Mike went directly from Dave's house to the address in the text message, so jazzed by the evening's events that he walked a full three blocks before getting too tired and riding a bus the remainder of the way. When he reached the address, he was disappointed. It was a tiny shop with dingy windows. Mike attempted to look inside, but the streetlamps barely penetrated the grime on the glass and revealed almost nothing of the interior. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep or be able to focus on his job tomorrow morning, so he faked a convincingly scratchy throat and left a message on his supervisor's voicemail that he would not be in to work. Mike did indeed stay awake all night, surfing the web. He could find no references anywhere to "X-Dream Makeovers", which seemed impossible. If someone could indeed change David the dud into Dave the stud, how could that ever remain a secret? Why wouldn't everyone one earth be storming the place? Maybe they wiped David's memories to keep him from revealing the details of his transformation? But then who was this Kenneth who told David this would be "the best investment of his life" and that he should "call me after semicolon end-parenthesis"? So many questions, so many hours until daylight. Mike tried to pass the time by watching porn, but he kept closing his eyes and fantasizing about Dave instead. As dawn broke, Mike headed back towards the address he had found, wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt and cut-off sweat pants. The shop was not open and looked no more like a going concern than it had in the dead of night. Mike decided to grab breakfast across the street. He headed to a 7-Eleven but, rather than his typical Diet Coke Double Gulp and a couple of donuts, he decided to try yogurt and a banana this morning. If the day went as he hoped, he might be eating more healthy from now on. Regardless, the creamy texture of the yogurt and the long firm slope of the banana in his mouth brought back pleasant memories of last night. Mike hiked back to the shop, amazed by how much energy he had exerted in the past twelve hours. He still saw no lights or activity inside, but he finally decided to try the door. When he pushed the handle, the door swung open and an elderly Chinese man with a mustache was seated calmly behind a counter. He looked like he had been expecting Mike. Mike had no idea how well the man spoke English, so he pulled out the business card and pointed to it, asking, "This. You?" The man smiled serenely. "This, me. You may call me Mr. Lee." Mike took a few steps forward but realized he had left the door open. As he was turning back to close the door, Mr. Lee raised a hand and the door seemed to close on its own. The dim light which seeped through the dirty windows gave the room a feeling of foreboding. "Hi, Mr. Lee, my name is..." Mr. Lee raised a hand to stop him. "I do not need to know names." Besides, the gifted Mr. Lee already sensed that the man was named Mike and had discerned several other details about the new customer. "What can I do for you today?" "I think you helped a friend of mine a couple weeks ago. His name was... Well, his name doesn't matter. But maybe you remember him. He was a skinny quiet guy who designed brilliant software. Only now I went to his house last night and there's this big hunky guy living there who wants to be a fireman." Mr. Lee showed no outward sign of it, but he indeed remembered the one who left dressed as a fireman. He also remembered the fireman who had left behind the uniform in the first place. Mr. Lee remembered many things. "You are sure it is the same man. Perhaps the first man moved away and the fireman moved in." "No, no, no, they've got the same name. They've got the same eyes. They've got the same voice...sorta. I mean, that's about it, but I'm still sure it's the same guy." "So what is it you wish from me? You also wish to be a fireman?" Mike realized that he had not planned an answer for this question, even though it was the one he hoped he would be asked. "Well, I dunno. What exactly do you do here?" "You tell me what you want to change about yourself, and we agree on a price you are willing to pay for that change." "Oh, man. I don't have anything like the money Da...my friend has. No wonder you don't have lines around the block. You must charge like a billion dollars." "I do not charge money. I ask you to give me something of yours in exchange for what you wish. From this, I replenish my stock of ingredients." He gestured with a practiced flourish to indicate the multi-colored jars on the shelves behind him. "What do you wish to change about yourself?" Mike looked down at his body, then back at Mr. Lee. "Isn't it kinda obvious?" "I never assume. Unfortunately, to be blunt, I do not need more fat in my inventory. There is not much call for it, except the occasional gentleman who wishes to be...what is they call it...a grizzly?" "You mean a bear?", offered Mike. Mr. Lee nodded. "Yeah, I've been carting around this lard for years. I can understand why no one else would want it." Mike looked ready to give up. Compassion was Mr. Lee's greatest flaw. He couldn't bear to see a potential customer disappointed, even if it meant stockpiling ingredients that he would never use. How many times had he removed a customer's acne, knowing that no one would ever enter his shop and ask to have MORE zits? "I will not have much use for it, but better in my store room than on your body." Mike was getting seriously excited now. "You mean it? Great!" "But you have still not told me what you can give to me in exchange." Mike thought it over seriously. He felt he wasn't being falsely modest or brutally self-critical when he said, "I can't think of anything about me that's special that anyone else would want." As he heard those words out loud, Mike realized he had just stated his entire philosophy about romance. "Perhaps I could take some of your intelligence?" After all, that is what his friend had sacrificed for his new body. Mike laughed heartily. "I do not have a drop of intelligence to waste." "That is too bad. I can always use brains." Mr. Lee placed his fingertips together and hinted, "Surely a young man like yourself can think of something else." It took a moment for the suggestion to sink in. Young man? "You want...my age?" "To be accurate, what I want is your youth." In most cases, Mr. Lee discouraged people if they asked him to make them older. Those who ask for it usually regret the years they have skipped over and quickly ask for their youth back. But this young man seemed to be carrying so much weight, not just physically but emotionally, that he already seemed ready to be old. "I sense you have been worn down by life, despite your young age. You do not even have your hair." "Maybe you could give me some?", Mike said, raising his eyebrows hopefully. "I could. But only in exchange for something else." Mike had not anticipated this complication. What would he be willing to give up to gain what he wanted? It made him question the entire concept of who he was. If he was miraculously thin all of a sudden, how would that affect the way he acted and the way others acted toward him? If he showed up at work and was twenty years older, would he get newfound respect or would he be thrown out by security as a crazy person? "If I go through with this, will I still remember who I am?", Mike asked. "You should." Sometimes, when he drained off someone's intelligence, memories got lost in the process. Mr. Lee was sure that was what had happened to Mike's friend, David, but he had seemed so delighted in his new fireman's uniform, and all of the innate wisdom and common sense he would need as a firefighter were still intact. Mr. Lee never wanted there to be negative consequences from the changes he made. He didn't want to read in the newspaper one day that someone had died in a blaze because their fireman was an idiot. "And will other people still remember who I am?" "Depends on how much you change. Big change, more problems. How you explain is up to you. If you need new name, new driver's license, new Social Security, that up to you. I do not handle paperwork" Raising his voice for the first time since Mike entered, Mr. Lee thundered, "But the one thing you must NEVER do is tell anyone about this store!" "Oh, right, absolutely, my lips are sealed." Of course Mr. Lee depended on customers breaking this vow in order to bring in new business. But he figured it didn't hurt to spook them with a little threat, so they would only mention the store confidentially to those who could truly benefit most from Mr. Lee's services. Mike couldn't believe he was negotiating this. "How many years are we talking about?" "Depends on how skinny you want to be." "Let's say I lost 180 pounds." Mr. Lee pulled a wooden abacus from under the counter, slid the beads around in a way he had never learned to understand but gave his presentation a certain level of showmanship, and declared, "Eighteen years." "Whoa," said Mike, contemplating walking out of this store as a 40-year-old, albeit a skinny 40-year-old. "Can we make it fifteen?" Somehow the notion of being 37 was slightly easier to stomach. "We can make it whatever you want. It is your decision." "Would that mean I'll live fifteen years less? That I'll die sooner?" "You could live to 115. You could be hit by a truck tomorrow. The question: how do you want to live whatever time you have?" Mike looked down at his bulbous body. He definitely didn't want to be carrying around this load for the rest of his life. But wasn't he crazy to be considering something this weird and drastic? Maybe he should just grow some balls and join a gym. Oh, who was he kidding? That would never happen. Whereas what Mr. Lee was offering was immediate, and he'd already seen the results it had on David. Mr. Lee was already getting jars off his shelves, as if he knew that Mike had made his decision. Which, in fact, he had. "Okay, fifteen years." Mr. Lee raised his hands and the room became dark, except for a single spotlight shining on Mike. Showmanship again. "If you are ready, I will take your fifteen years from you." Mike braced himself, not knowing how you prepare to lose fifteen years of your life. He tensed up, closed his eyes and nodded. Mr. Lee opened a jar with a small amount of yellow powder at the bottom. It had been so long since he had persuaded anyone to sacrifice their youth that his supply was nearly gone. He watched as Mike's large body began to sag even more than usual. Light yellow particles, like clumps of pollen, began to seep out of Mike's pores and float across the room into the open jar. Mike's head remained bald, his eyebrows became flecked with gray, and the spotlight even caught the emergence of small hairs from his ears and nostrils. "Can I look yet?", asked Mike. It felt to him like his body was melting. "No, keep your eyes closed please." Mr. Lee didn't think Mike would like what he saw if he opened his eyes now. If he was unhappy with his hefty body as a 22-year-old, seeing that same body at 37 might be a devastating shock that could damage him permanently. To remove Mike's fat cells, Mr. Lee used a jerry-rigged device with ropes, a funnel and a hose. It looked like the sort of thing the Amish might use to perform liposuction. He pulled up Mike's sweatshirt to reveal his enormous belly and positioned the funnel at Mike's navel, tying it in place with ropes stretched around his back. The hose fed from the funnel into an underground tank where the fat was collected after removal. Mr. Lee always had such an excess of his customers' fat in the tank that he was forced to sell it, just to get it off his hands. He knew never to eat fried food from any of the restaurants who purchased it. Mr. Lee clapped his hands twice, which somehow activated this non-mechanical device. Immediately, Mike could feel the fat cells from throughout his body being drawn toward his belly button like iron filings toward a magnet. Clots of liquid lard began to ooze through the hose and under the floorboards. As the body fat shrank, Mike's skin began to tingle as it contracted. Untoned muscles which had been camouflaged for years by thick layers of obesity were revealed. The viscous stream from Mike's navel slowed and eventually stopped. Mr. Lee removed the device and declared, "Now you can look." Mike grimaced in the glare of the spotlight, then caught his reflection in a mirror on the wall. The man looking back at him was startlingly unrecognizable, but at the same time familiar, and Mike suddenly realized that it was like looking at a tweaked version of his own father. He stroked his newly slender fingers across his cheek, stunned to discover cheekbones and an elegant nose that had been lurking unseen on his face all these years. He found his chrome-dome look was considerably more bad-ass on this less bloated head. Crows' feet by his eyes and wrinkles on his forehead provided evidence of the years he had lost, but also suggested the wisdom of age. All Mike was missing was the actual wisdom. His cut-off sweats and boxer underwear had dropped to the floor once his waistline receded, revealing knobby but not unattractive legs. His sweatshirt now felt like a circus tent draped over his shoulders. He essentially climbed out of the shirt, tossing it aside so he could take in his fully naked body. No question, he looked middle-aged, but he now had the slim build of someone who was generally healthy but didn't exercise much. Maybe he could whip himself into better shape with a hand from Dave. Mike's mind toyed with the vision of Dave whipping him with his hands, and Mike's cock stirred to arousal. He was glad that he hadn't aged further, as his cock was still spry enough to spring into action after a single fleeting horny thought. Seeing his cock and balls on full display in the mirror, Mike realized they looked pretty much the way he'd remembered, but they looked bigger now that the body surrounding them was so much smaller. He hadn't turned into a traffic-stopper like Dave, but given how little he had to barter with, he was pleased with his new body overall. And somehow, with age, he felt less agitated and more serene, less self-doubting and more self-assured. It certainly didn't hurt his self image that he could finally see his toes again. "Are you pleased, Mr. Mike?", asked Mr. Lee. "I'm amazed," responded Mike, not realizing he had never told Mr. Lee his name. Mr. Lee pushed the mirror aside, revealing a room filled with clothes. "Please choose some clothing that suits the new you. I will give you some privacy." Mr. Lee went back behind his counter while Mike entered the room and evaluated his options. He felt like he'd wandered into a thrift shop, where clothes of different styles and even from different eras hung side by side. Mike had no idea what size clothes would even fit this new body, so he tried on several items, all of which he discovered were too roomy for him. He strolled down to the smaller sizes and spotted a gray hoodie and khaki shorts which looked very familiar. They were practically a uniform for David when he worked at DigiWarp, at least on the days when he didn't need to use his color-coordinated system to look more put together for visiting clients. Curious, Mike attempted to slip on the shorts, but even after all this weight loss, Mike was still heavier than the old stick-thin David had been. He did, however, discover something folded in one of the pockets of the shorts. He pulled it out and noticed that it was an envelope from a law office: "Mr. Kenneth Donnelly, Attorney At Law." Could this be the Kenneth who had directed David to Mr. Lee's store? He pulled out the letter, which was about provisions for David's post-buyout investments, not life-altering body changes. Still, Mike kept the letter, as it provided him with Kenneth's work address and phone number. Mike was still completely naked with no clue what he could wear when he spied a pin-striped black suit, white shirt and red tie. He tried the pants first and they fit his new measurements almost perfectly. The whole suit couldn't have been a better fit if it had been tailored. He rummaged around the piles on the floor until he found socks and shoes that matched, then emerged into the store, modeling his new look for Mr. Lee, who nodded approvingly. Mike admired himself in the mirror, amazed by the trim figure he cut. As the front of his slacks bent outward, he realized that he was becoming aroused by his reflection, another new phenomenon for Mike. As Mr. Lee was placing his magic substances back on the shelves, he dipped a tablespoon into the yellow powder of youth and swallowed it down. A small dose like that didn't produce any major changes, maybe a few darker hairs in his mustache. Mostly, it gave Mr. Lee the quick jolt of energy he sometimes needed in the morning ever since he had given up coffee. * * * "Mr. Donnelly, there's a gentleman here to see you," came the voice over the intercom. Kenneth Donnelly looked annoyed. He had taken off his jacket and was loosening his tie, preparing to take his midday exercise break. "I was just about to head out." The assistant's voice squawked again. "He says it's regarding David Tanner." Kenneth stopped suddenly, leaving one end of the tie dangling much further from his collar than the other. "Send him in please." The door opened and Mike strode in with a sense of confidence and purpose he had rarely felt, still wearing his new suit from Mr. Lee's store. He made a quick evaluation of Kenneth Donnelly. Based on his wavy graying hair, Mike would peg him in his early forties, although his blue eyes were bright, penetrating and youthful. At first, he appeared stocky, but on closer inspection, his dress shirt was simply loose to accommodate the impressive arms and torso underneath. Through the shirt, one could clearly see the outlines of a ribbed white tank tightly caressing Kenneth's curves. Donnelly was used to making quick judgments about people as well, and he was immediately curious to hear what the man in the pin-striped suit had to say. "You have information about David Tanner?" He gestured for the man to take a seat, but Mike remained standing. "I'm a friend of David's and I believe you have information about what happened to him two weeks ago." Donnelly looked alarmed. "What do you think 'happened' to him?" Mike thought Donnelly seemed genuinely concerned, but he could just be a lawyer who was good at feigning emotions when required. Mike pulled Mr. Lee's business card from his pocket and showed it to Donnelly. "Do you know anything about this?" Donnelly kept his hands in his pockets and studied Mike. "What do you know about it?" "Can you give me any answers that aren't in the form of a question?" Donnelly pondered what he should tell this stranger. "Can I at least know who I'm talking to?" "My name's Mike. I worked with David at DigiWarp. And I'm pretty sure you're the person who sent David to see Mr. Lee." Donnelly motioned for Mike to lower his voice and crossed the office to shut the door so they wouldn't be overheard. He gestured again for Mike to take a seat, but he found that he preferred to remain standing, eye to eye with Donnelly, alpha male to alpha male. Although they were roughly the same height, Donnelly seemed to shrink a bit under Mike's glare. "I knew I shouldn't be spreading the word about Mr. Lee. Are you telling me David actually went?" "Didn't you tell him to?" "I...mentioned it. He was such a mess when we were working on his buyout, so lacking in self-worth despite all his success. I thought it might be a good idea for him to see a shrink. When he shot that down, I told him about Mr. Lee. But I never heard another word from him, so I figured he had ignored my suggestion and was just sulking around in that new mansion of his. So..." Donnelly paused before asking, "How does he look?" Mike could tell from the glint in Donnelly's eye that the lawyer was very curious to hear a detailed description, with exact measurements if possible. "He looks amazing. Keeps saying he wants to be a fireman, but I get the feeling he'd settle for exotic dancer. Anything that involves sliding on poles." Donnelly grinned, tantalized. "So if you already knew about Mr. Lee and what he had done to David, why are you here?" Mike put his cards on the table. "Because he's dumb as a bag of hammers now. He's like this big, lovable, well-hung puppy dog." "And, what, you want me to take him back to Mr. Lee and make him smart again?" Mike hesitated. "No, I don't think I want that. I mean, I've never seen him so happy. It's probably good for him that he doesn't have a care in the world. I'm just worried that someone will come along and take advantage of his good nature and rob him blind." "Not a problem. I will personally look after all of his interests and will not let him sign anything that is against his interests." Mike nodded, but didn't say anything. Donnelly could sense what was bothering Mike. Donnelly ponted at Mike and said, "YOU want to be the one who makes sure he's taken care of." Mike nodded, feeling a bit foolish. Donnelly smiled more broadly. "You're in love with him." Mike took a long time before he was able to say a simple "Yeah." "Since when?" "If I'm honest, probably since I met him. He was such a special person, and not just because of his mind. And, now, I swear to god, it's not just because of his body. I think I always saw something sweet in him that nobody else did. Look at me. I'm just a nobody. I'm not special at anything and I'm never gonna be. But if I can be the person looking out for someone special, maybe that's special enough." Donnelly was not immune to sentiment. He knew the man before him was being genuine. "If David looks as good as you say he does, there will be a lot of people trying to get between you and him." Mike looked up with determination. "Let 'em try." Donnelly was impressed. He cast a lingering glance at Mike's body and asked, "So what did Mr. Lee do for you?" He'd never met Donnelly before. Donnelly had no idea how Mike had looked before this morning. "How do you know he did anything?" Donnelly smirked as he pointed to Mike's wardrobe. "Because that's my old suit." * * * Dave was doing crunches on a yoga mat when a faint pounding seeped through the earbuds that were cranking house music. He finished his set of one-hundred before popping out the earbuds. Yup, somebody was beating on his door. He shouted, "Who is it?" "It's Kenneth Donnelly, your lawyer." Dave tried to remember if he had a lawyer. And what exactly a lawyer was. He walked to the door and opened it without checking the peephole. Donnelly stood on the front stoop with his briefcase, dressed casually in his after-work wardrobe of a polo shirt and white slacks, the shirt's elastic cuffs riding high on his ripped biceps, exposing his Celtic tattoos. If anything, Mike had undersold his description of Dave, who was bathed in sweat and wearing only a pair of soaked olive-green boxer briefs. Donnelly would have loved to get a court order to poke through those briefs, but he firmly believed that the only time you should fuck your client is when you send them your bill. Donnelly set aside prurient thoughts and got to business. "I've got some papers I want you to look over, so I thought I'd swing by on my way home, rather than making you come into the office." "Cool," Dave said, waving the man inside. He had no clue what this was about, but the guy seemed to know what he was doing. Dave took the video game chair, leaving Donnelly the option of a sweaty yoga mat or a beanbag chair. He opted for squatting in the beanbag. "First, just for official identification purposes, can I ask what is your name?" "Sure you can." Dave waited for another question. Even Donnelly was surprised just how precipitously David's IQ had fallen. But Mike had been right, all traces of David's crippling anxiety and lack of confidence were absent in the dude seated across from him. "Okay. What is your name?" "Dave Tanner." "Good, Dave. Now you might not remember it, but you recently came into a lot of money. And you hired me to help safeguard it. But you have a friend who, if you agree to it, would like to help you on a more day-to-day basis. Does that sound good?" "You bet! Who's the friend?" "Do you have a friend named Mike?" Dave scratched his tangle of curly hair vigorously, as if he were trying to scratch all the way through to the brain. Finally, it hit him. "Oh, you mean the fat dude from last night?" Donnelly smirked and shouted through the still-open front door. "Hey, fat dude, come on in." Dave swiveled his chair around and watched as a man in his mid-to-late thirties stepped through the doorway. The bald head and slightly wrinkled face were recognizable from this morning's visit to Mr. Lee, but from the chin down, this was Mike 3.0. If the first transformation had changed Mike into the equivalent of a middle-aged accountant, he would now be more firmly typecast as a gay-bar bouncer or motorcycle-gang member. Much of his bulk was back, but in the form of enormous muscles. His traps strained the straps of his black stringer tank, which was stretched tight across his solid shelf of pecs. Veins leapt out in sharp relief against the mighty curves of his arm muscles. Black denim shorts hung down to his knees, exposing calves which were once again the size of piano legs, just more elegantly carved. He exuded confidence as he nodded, "Hey, Dave." Dave crossed the room to get a better look at Mike's body. If Dave had become an ideally sculpted David, Mike was now a crushingly powerful Goliath. "Dude, you gotta tell me what gym you go to!" Mike grinned. "Same place as you." After Mike's visit to Donnelly's office, they decided another trip to Mr. Lee's shop would be necessary if Mike were ever going to have a shot at competing for Dave's attention among the sea of well-built men surrounding them. Mr. Lee broke his primary rule by not giving Mike muscles in exchange for some other attribute. Instead, he agreed to accept free legal counsel from Donnelly for the next year. As careful and selective as Mr. Lee tried to be, there were always disgruntled customers threatening to sue, so having a powerful attorney -- legally and physically -- could come in handy. Donnelly was willing to make such a deal because he felt guilty that he hadn't accompanied David to Mr. Lee's shop to keep him from making any ill-advised choices, although seeing the joy on Dave's face right now, he wasn't sure that Dave hadn't gotten exactly the body and mind he wanted and needed. "So," Dave asked Mike, "how was your day?" Mike shot a glance at Donnelly. "Eventful." Donnelly left a sheaf of papers on one of the barstools. "I'll just leave these here for Mike to explain to you. They'll allow Mike to make routine purchasing and investment decisions for the two of you. If you agree to it, you two can just sign the documents where the flags are and get the originals back to my office. You can keep the second copies for yourselves." Donnelly may as well have been speaking to an empty room, as Mike and Dave were now kissing hungrily. Mike's meaty hand was palming Dave's firm ass, and Dave was frantically unbuckling Mike's belt. Donnelly had to squeeze his own substantial body past them to get to the door. "Okay, you two have a good night. I'm sure you will." Donnelly headed down the sidewalk, smiling with certainty that at least two of Mr. Lee's customers wouldn't be suing him in disappointment. As Donnelly reached his Tesla double-parked in the street, he realized he'd forgotten to remind Mike of something. He jogged back to the front door and said, "Mike, don't forget to call DigiWarp and tell them you quit." Mike and Dave were both now naked on the yoga mat, grunting and moaning, with Mike taking his new eleven-inch cock for a test piledrive up Dave's tight ass. Donnelly smirked. Mr. Lee had resisted throwing in that cock for free, but Donnelly talked him into it. "Tell them you got a better offer."
  13. 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.
  14. CrisKane

    The Recruit

    "So, is it true? Ya know, about the formula?", Casey asked eagerly, kneeling on the bed of the San Diego motel room, his lithe body dressed in nothing but his camouflage-patterned briefs. "What formula?", said Andre, the incredibly muscular young man wearing nothing at all. Andre stood by the window, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks as the morning light seeping through the blinds cast flattering shadows across the impressive contours of his body. "You are such a bad liar!", Casey giggled, rolling onto his back. "You do that scratching your face thing every time you fib. You must be terrible at poker." "When have I told a lie?" "Let's see," mused Casey, stretching his right leg toward the ceiling. "For starters, last night at Rich's, you told me you were a mailman." "I could be a mailman." "Riiiight. Like, only the most awesomely jacked mailman in postal service history. Plus you told me your name was Sam Adams, which you only said after staring at the label on your beer bottle." Andre hung his head in exaggerated shame. "You got me." "Indeed I did," Casey said with a grin, his eyebrows jolting victoriously upwards. "It's a good thing you're not a spy. I could figure out all your secrets." "How do you know I'm not a spy?", Andre teased. "I do some of my best work undercover." Casey groaned, hurling a pillow toward the windows, which Andre deftly dodged. Casey extended his slender arm toward Andre and wiggled his fingers beckoningly. Andre wrapped his beefy fingers around Casey's hand and, when Casey gave the slightest tug, Andre tumbled onto the bed as if yanked by an irresistible force. Casey rested his chin on Andre's meaty shoulder and brushed his fingertips over Andre's massive torso, skipping lightly over the bumps of his ribs and tracing figure-eights in the grooves of Andre's well-defined abs. Casey had been certain Andre was a marine from the moment he spotted him walking tentatively into Rich's nightclub alongside a couple of similarly buff buddies. The theme that night was "Active Duty", when marines from nearby Camp Pendleton were allowed in with no cover charge. Casey observed that most of the military guys had gone out of their way to dress as "civilian" as possible, getting more than their share of playing soldier in real life, while the other boys on the dance floor took advantage of the theme as an excuse to get dressed up in some sort of uniform. Andre's Hawaiian shirt, baggy cargos and leather flip-flops didn't fool Casey. With his rigid posture and severe buzz cut, Andre simply screamed "marine", and if Casey had his way, he would have that marine screaming by the end of the night. The "Semper Fi" tattoo poking out from under Andre's sleeve only confirmed Casey's assumptions. Casey, who had assembled his own outfit at a surplus store in El Cajon, was dressed in a garrison cap, floppy black boots, camo underpants and white shorts. A corporal's khaki shirt was draped like a tent on his lanky frame, its tails knotted loosely over his bare tummy. With his minimal muscle tone, boyish face and gelled hair with frosted tips, Casey was unlikely to pass as a real serviceman no matter what he wore. Casey had a lifelong obsession with the military. His father and two of his brothers had served, and Casey had grown up assuming that he would follow their path. But he had never sprouted to a formidable size like his brawny brothers and was prone to asthma attacks, which had cemented in place an inferiority complex which he had never overcome. He also realized at a young age that he really, really, really liked boys, which he initially figured would be an automatic disqualifier, although the exquisite hunk of man on the bed beside him proved him wrong on that count. He knew he was cute and fun and could turn on the flirtatious charm when necessary, but he was still amazed that he had lured Andre away from the club when there were so many more studly specimens on display. Maybe Andre just had a thing for twinks, or maybe Casey simply pestered him so much that he surrendered to the inevitable. Either way, Casey had achieved his goal and, as the dull ache inside of Casey reminded him, if Andre had any complaints about Casey's body, they sure hadn't stopped him from fucking Casey all night. "So you're not gonna answer me, huh?", Casey persisted. "About what?" "The formula," Casey said with a brisk playful slap against Andre's eight-pack. "It's all anyone has been talking about lately in the clubs and at the gym, how much more ripped you boys from Camp Pendleton have been getting all of a sudden. Rumor has it that you're using something based on that super-soldier serum from World War Two." Andre glanced sideways at Casey and chuckled. "You mean like Captain America? You are aware that's a comic book, right? Do you think we're all getting bitten by radioactive spiders too?" "I wouldn't put it past them. I'm just saying, I study you boys...very closely. And I gotta say, I've never seen anyone make these kind of gains." "Maybe we're just trying harder," said Andre stone-faced, purposely rubbing his whiskers to taunt Casey. "Now you're just being a dick," Casey sneered, followed immediately by a grin. The two men grabbed a quick breakfast before heading out for a brisk hike. Andre pulled a change of clothes from the trunk of his car, hitting the trails in a tight olive-drab tank, cut-off jeans and a rugged pair of Timberlands, while Casey still wore the half-assed uniform he had worn to the club. "You know, you really shouldn't be walking around in public like that," Andre warned. "People will think you're trying to impersonate a marine." Casey tapped a finger against the sternum of his flat chest, exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. "If someone sees the two of us, you're honestly saying they'll think I'M the marine?" Casey cackled and ran ahead of Andre on the dirt trail. Andre stayed in place, giving Casey a head start and allowing himself a few moments to admire Casey's firm little ass. But once Casey tauntingly berated Andre for being a "wuss", Andre could not let that stand. He pounded his way up the trail, quickly breezing past Casey, who was already chugging along and looking winded. "Ha, look at you! Who's the wuss now?" Andre's laughter boomed across the hillside as he jogged ahead of Casey, facing backwards. He continued to chuckle as Casey staggered and clutched a hand to his chest, but the severity of Casey's wheezing and the purple hue of his face made Andre stop in his tracks. When Casey turned his ankle and dropped to one knee, Andre rushed back and guided him to the side of the trail, where Casey sat down and rested his back against a tree. "Shit, man, are you gonna be okay?" Casey nodded as his coughing fit subsided. "It'll pass," he said, extracting an inhaler from his pants pocket and sucking in a much-needed puff. He shot a glance at Andre squatting beside him, his powerful quads practically bursting out of his shorts. "It's not fucking fair. I bet you were already totally built before you even entered the service, and every day you just get fitter and sexier. Me, I can't run fifty feet without collapsing like a ninety-year-old who had his walker stolen. I'd give anything to be like you." Andre placed a comforting hand on the soft slope of Casey's shoulder and leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. As the kiss lingered, Casey's body shook as if stifling a chuckle. Andre pulled back and asked, "What's the matter?" "It's just funny," Casey said, flashing a wide grin. "Here I am suffocating, and you're taking my breath away." Andre stood up, holding Casey's hand. "You think you can walk with me?" Casey nodded and rose on wobbly coltish legs, and the pair resumed their hike, slowly strolling side by side and hand in hand. After a sunset dinner at the Chart House, Andre drove Casey back to his apartment. "I wish you didn't have to go," Casey said. Andre shrugged his shoulders. "Me too, but I gotta report back..." "To your mail route, I know." He kissed Andre, then asked, "Am I ever gonna see you again?" "Absolutely. You know the mailman's code." He pointed to the "Semper Fi" tat which spanned his right biceps. "Always faithful." Casey smirked. "Fuckin' A." He turned and gimped his way toward his apartment. As Andre watched, he made a silent resolution to himself. After two weeks without a word, Casey had given up hope of seeing Andre again. When he did eventually spot Andre strolling into Rich's on a Saturday night, in a body-hugging white tee and obscenely tight jeans, Casey was simultaneously thrilled and angry. Wearing only silver hot pants with matching high-tops and liberally sprinkled with sparkling confetti, he marched across the dance floor, skinny arms swinging furiously, hands balled into unintimidating fists. "Whatever happened to 'Semper Fi', asshole?", he demanded. Andre was taken aback by Casey's fury. "Uh, hi to you too, Casey. I love what you're not wearing." "Where the fuck have you been? You never heard of texting?" "I'm sorry, man. I was away on training exercises," Andre shouted over the music. "But you're right, I am an asshole. I should have taken a second to drop you a message. If it makes any difference, I was thinking about you the whole time." "Riiight. Easy to say," Casey said, crossing his scrawny arms in defiance, on the verge of hyperventilating. "Let me make it up to you. I'll buy you a drink. What do you want?" A drink hardly seemed like sufficient penance, but at least it was something. "Kamikaze. No ice." "You got it. Be right back." As Andre marched toward the bar, Casey watched as dozens of heads swiveled to take in Andre's sculpted body. Casey sulked, mired in the feelings of depression and rejection that had dogged him in the two weeks of silence since he had last seen Andre. Sure, he might have been able to smile seductively and waggle his pert ass enough to capture Andre's attention for one fun weekend, but what chance did Casey have of holding onto a guy like Andre who could clearly have his pick of any man in the club? He gyrated half-heartedly on the dance floor as he awaited Andre's return. "Here is your kamikaze," Andre said, handing the glass to Casey, then clinking it with his own bottle of Samuel Adams. Casey took a gulp of his drink and gagged. The vodka and lime juice were strong, but they couldn't entirely mask the taste of some foreign ingredient. "What the fuck? Did you slip something into my drink?" "What? No!", Andre insisted, unaware that he was rubbing his hand across his five-o'clock shadow. "You better not be Cosby-ing me," Casey said, bracing himself before taking another slug of the drink. There was definitely something extra in there, although he had no complaints about the unfamiliar sensations which were starting to flood through his body. Casey's skin flushed and his cock began to expand inside his shorts as a pleasant heaviness fogged his mind. His dark eyes widened as he looked fondly toward Andre, but before he could say a word, his knees buckled and he tumbled forward. Andre reached his hands under Casey's armpits to prevent him from collapsing. The empty kamikaze glass slipped from Casey's limp fingers and shattered on the floor. When Casey's eyes opened, he was back in his apartment, tucked cozily under the comforter of his bed. A sliver of light emerged through a crack in the door leading to the living room. Casey drowsily swung his legs out from under the covers and placed his bare feet on the hardwood floor. He shuffled toward the light wearing only his silver-lame shorts, noticing that his silver high-tops had been placed neatly in his closet. Andre was seated on the sofa, staring at a muted TV displaying nothing but snow. "Why the hell do you have so many fucking remotes? I just wanted to watch SportsCenter and it's more complicated than launching a missile." Casey rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Did I pass out?" Andre cringed apologetically. "Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't realize it would hit you so fast. I should have taken into consideration your size." Casey barked, "Didn't realize what would hit me so fast? How dare you sneak something into my drink without my permission!" "I'm sorry! Jeez! The way you kept asking about it, I thought you'd be excited." "Kept asking about what?", Casey demanded. Andre glanced around, as if worried that he would be overheard, then whispered, "The formula." Casey rolled his eyes and flopped down into an upholstered chair. "Ha, ha, very funny. Make fun of the idiot." "Hey, I'm not kidding," Andre continued, keeping his voice low. "You know how tough it was to sneak that stuff off the base? Maybe you should be a little more appreciative." Casey leaned forward, studying Andre for a tell, but he wasn't scratching his face and his eyes were burning with sincerity. Casey slowly settled back into the chair as an amazing realization sunk in. "When I saw how miserable you were on that hiking trail, it just seemed wrong that you weren't allowed access to something that I knew would help you. You were right, I was already in good shape before I joined up. I was probably the last person who needed that kind of boost. I gave you the same size dose they gave me, but I've got no idea how it will work on a shrimp like you." Casey jokingly flipped Andre the finger. "Okay, I guess I deserved that. But, just think, that's the last time anyone will ever be able to call you a shrimp! I'm just glad you woke up before the changes started kicking in. You wouldn't want to miss them." "Huh? Uh, no, I sure wouldn't." Casey was shaking with anticipation, his stomach churning, his still-bony fingers drumming anxiously on the armrest. It had only been a minute since he learned what was going to happen to him, yet the waiting had already become excruciating. What was the hold-up? Why couldn't it just start alread...? Just then, Casey's body jerked violently, like a head-to-toe charley horse. He shrieked in agony and wrapped his arms around each other as his legs seized up. He tumbled out of the chair and curled up in a fetal position on the floor. Andre leapt off the couch and positioned himself behind Casey, rubbing a comforting hand along Casey's narrow back. "Don't worry, the pain will go away soon." "You never said anything about pain!", Casey bellowed. But, just as Andre promised, the misery quickly eased, replaced by a comforting tranquility as his body was suffused with a feeling of great power. He stretched out, leaning his back against the sofa as he felt energy spreading throughout his body. Andre was huddled beside him, watching closely for the metamorphosis to begin. The first changes Casey noticed were to his arms which were pulsating in rhythm with his heartbeat, swelling larger with each pulse. His biceps arced outward, hardening into solid masses. Thick veins emerged under his skin, bisecting his biceps and thickening across the back of his hands as they pumped more of the mysterious formula through his growing forearms. His anemic chest began to puff out with each breath, his pecs thickening into sinewy slabs. He could feel his back and shoulders broadening while his waistline remained trim. The skin was sucked tight across his stomach as his abdominal muscles tensed, surfacing like islands emerging from beneath the ocean. Beyond that, he watched as his thighs and calves ballooned into fleshy trunks that would be the envy of an Olympic bicyclist. He felt himself rising slightly from the floor as his glutes firmed up and bulged out. He also felt his cock hardening and elongating, its head snaking toward the suddenly inadequate elastic waistband of his silver shorts. Casey was unaware of the ecstatic smile on his face, which retained its boyishness while losing some of its baby fat. He beamed at Andre, awestruck by the extraordinary gift he had been given. The two men kissed, and Casey's erection shredded the strained fabric of his shorts, springing upright like a turgid ten-inch flagpole. Casey broke away from the kiss to stare in disbelief, then looked back into Andre's eyes. "So the formula is real! The rumors were all true!" Casey gasped at the maturity in his new resonant voice, a confident, commanding voice, the voice of a leader. "You didn't hear that from me," Andre grinned slyly. Casey wrapped his fingers around the base of his towering cock and gave in to the irresistible compulsion to stroke it. "You don't need to tell me. I've got the evidence first-hand!" "Well, can I be the second hand?", Andre asked, curling his own palm around Casey's hard-on. The two hands coaxed the erection to further heights, nearing a foot by Casey's astonished estimation. When pre-cum began to sputter out, Andre shifted himself until he was straddling Casey's legs, then lowered his lips onto the bright red mushroom of Casey's head. Casey's neck fell slack and he braced his arms against Andre's shoulders as Andre's tongue masterfully nursed Casey's cock until it gushed, pumping thick gobs of cum down Andre's throat. Casey slid away from the couch until he was fully prone beside Andre, post-orgasm drowsiness combining with the literal heaviness of his enhanced body. Andre rested his cheek on Casey's firm belly as Casey rubbed his palm across the bristles of the marine's buzz cut. "You're not gonna get in trouble for this, are you?" Andre shook his head. "I was extremely careful. Besides, the way I look at it, all I'm doing is bringing them an amazing new recruit." Casey chortled. "Yeah, right. Me as a marine." But the more he thought about it, he realized he now unquestionably had a marine's body, as the formula had made him as big as Andre, if not bigger in some particular areas. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. "Holy shit. I'm not winded at all. Do you think it could possibly have cured my asthma too?" "I dunno. You think Captain America has to carry around an inhaler?" Casey smiled dreamily as he pondered where this new body might take him. "Semper fi," he declared. Andre closed his eyes and murmured, "Fuckin' A."
  15. CrisKane

    Nu-You: The Convention

    I was dreading this tech expo. Another out-of-town trip to another interchangeable hotel, with the same old overpriced mini-fridge and the same old hotel-TV porn. Eating at the same old breakfast buffets where you would run into the same old reps who were at the last convention, all hoping to find some new product that truly excited them. It was the first full day of the conference and I was already bored stiff -- or, more accurately, bored flaccid. Nothing aroused my interest as I wandered from booth to booth in the vast convention hall, hearing pitches from either droning geeky techheads with few presentation skills or perky actors and actresses who could memorize their spiels but had no clue what to say if you asked a follow-up question. I was already lugging around two plastic bags stretched to their limits with pamphlets and presentations and souvenir t-shirts and drink koozies. I had taken them all, just to be polite, but I planned to chuck most of them in the trash rather than bothering to tote them back to my room. I was feeling like a nap and was just about to exit the ballroom when I noticed a lantern-jawed young man seated at a booth getting little attention at the moment. The guy had a movie-star face but an appropriately casual, approachable attitude, and his strawberry-blond hair was short enough to suggest serious business but shaggy enough to convey a rebellious streak. (After all these years, I now found myself more fascinated by all the subtle ways that companies tried to manipulate you into checking out their products than by the products themselves.) His company polo shirt was stressed impressively by his shoulders and pecs, while tapering to a narrow waist that tucked into khaki cargos. His hands were pressed against a stool behind him and he was slowly raising and lowering himself, working in some exercise for his stand-out triceps while he waited for people to drop by the booth. He had earned my attention, so I walked over to chat. As I approached, he stood up and grinned, creating two deep dimples on his cheeks. I pointed to the banner behind him which contained nothing but the letters "NU". "What's NU?", I asked. "I dunno, what's new with you?", he replied a bit stiffly, with the weariness of someone who has been making the same lame joke all day. "Actually, it's Nu-You. The N is the Greek letter nu," the guy explained, gesturing to the single demo model which sat on the table in front of him. No wonder the guy wasn't getting much traffic. All he had on display was one little black rectangular product which looked like just another iPhone knockoff. Still, I wasn't about to end the conversation so quickly. Nobody who looked as stunning as this guy would ordinarily have any reason to speak to me in reality, but now for a few minutes in this artificial setting, his job required it. "Okay, I'm game, give me your sales pitch," I told him. "You just need to try it. The product sells itself," the guy assured me. I had heard that before, but it usually preceded a long-winded pitch. Here, this guy let the statement speak for itself. "All right then, who is it for?", I asked. "Anyone." "And how much does it cost?" "Each unit is two-point-three million dollars." I stared at him blankly. "But we're hoping to get that under two million once we are fully operational." A laugh percolated through my body, starting with a subtle vibration in my chest until it built to a chuckle and finally to a cackle that sliced through the loud murmur that constantly filled the hall. I picked up the sample unit, which was attached to the tabletop with a reinforced cable. "So it's for anyone...as long as they have two million dollars." The guy just grinned knowingly and asked, "Would you like to take a demo with you tonight?" He reached underneath the table and unlocked a safe from which he brought out a black box identical to the one on display. He handed it to me, saying, "Take it to your room and try it. Bring it back to me in the morning. Tell me what you thought." "You're giving me a two-million-dollar demo?" "Two-point-three. Yes." "How do you know I won't just wander off with it? Or take it back to my company and reverse-engineer it?" "You'll be back." He seemed awfully sure of himself and his product. He had certainly created an aura of mystery that piqued my interest, even if I still had no real clue what it did." I walked away from the booth with a skeptical smile, stuffing the Nu-You Whatever-It-Was into one of my bags. I thought of grabbing some food, but by this point I was too curious. I needed to investigate the mystery doohickey right away. I headed straight to my room, kicked off my shoes and rested my back against the bed's headboard. I switched on the device and saw the "NU" logo pop up, followed by a screen asking me to select my gender. I clicked on "Male" and a new screen appeared, asking me to select the gender of the person I was looking for. This was the guy's revolutionary product? Hooking people up? Had he never heard of Tinder and Grindr? I almost tossed the gadget aside then and there, but maybe he had come up with some novel twist. Still, one that was worth two million a unit? I had to find out what that might be. I clicked that I was interested in finding a male. I glanced across the room at a mirror above the desk. I definitely was going to need some kind of miracle technology to find a date the way I looked these days. It was a wonder I'd ever gotten laid at all. My thinning blond hair hung at random angles across my forehead. I'm not sure why I still kept my mustache, since it was so close in color to my skin tone as to be nearly invisible. I had a rare combination of a heavy brow, a bulbous nose and a weak chin which made my head look top-heavy, as if my forehead were several feet closer to you than my chin. The drab clothes hanging unflatteringly over my gaunt frame were a study in shades of tan and had been chosen not for fashion but for how wrinkle-free they stayed with all of the packing and unpacking I needed to do in my travels. In short, I was a real boner-killer. If I hadn't already felt hopeless, the next screen offered more discouragement. Under the banner "Choose Your Model", the screen showed a dozen thumbnails of men who ranged from handsome to extremely handsome to painfully handsome. I scrolled down to discover dozens more thumbnails, some of which were grayed out with the words "IN USE" superimposed over them in red. Curious, I clicked on one which caught my eye, and the photo enlarged to full-screen. Staring seriously back at me was a young man, maybe college age, maybe still in high school, his black hair thick and neat, black eyebrows resting heavily over deep, probing eyes. His long straight nose led to slim lips with just a touch of a cocky smile, and his chin was firm but still boyish. He wore a crop-top mesh workout shirt exposing part of his eight-pack before it disappeared again into his bulging silver Lycra shorts. Powerful arms hung out from each sleeve, both fists clenched with determination. Below this photo were two buttons: "Choose" and "Back". I chose "Back", but instead of taking me to the previous screen, it showed me the back of this same young stud. Damn, those shorts looked spectacular pulled tight across his muscular ass, and I scrolled down to inspect his well-defined cyclist's calves. The pressure in my pants was growing painful, so I unzipped and let my five-inch hard-on breathe. These photos were already bringing me so close to the brink of orgasm that I might not need to hook up with anyone, but a device that can show you photos to jerk off to was not worth two million bucks. Nearly everyone in America was already carrying such a device. I stripped off my pants and unbuttoned my shirt. I was down to my boxers when I noticed a red countdown flashing over the photo onscreen. It was at five and ticked down once a second. I picked up the device and stared at it as the count reached zero and displayed the message, "Model Chosen". A red line appeared onscreen and panned down, emitting a red laser-like glow which crossed from my head to my toes, as if my entire body were being dragged across a supermarket checkout scanner. Another message appeared: "Alteration Commencing". A sharp electrical jolt from the device zapped me. I fell back on the bed, woozy, and it felt like tiny ants were invading under my skin. I wondered if these were those nanobots which I'd been hearing about at conventions for years but which never seemed to emerge in any marketable technology. I swore I could even see whatever they were marching from my hand and up my arm before spreading slowly through the rest of my body. There was something undeniably creepy about what I was seeing, yet my mind simultaneously experienced a rush of endorphins that gave me a feeling of unfathomable bliss. I leaned against the headboard again as the sensation washed over me. Through fluttering eyelids, I could see the mirror on the wall and began to notice changes happening to my body. My sunken chest seemed to be inflating itself like an airbag, and my belly button was soon surrounded by ab muscles that appeared to be surfacing from underneath my skin. My shoulder muscles thickened into meaty curves and my biceps became like stone. My hair and eyebrows darkened from dishwater blond to middling brown to coal black in a matter of seconds. My potato of a nose grew sleek and slender and my pathetic chin shifted down and forward, baby cheeks speckled by a hint of stubble. From across the room, my eyes looked dark but with a fascinating sparkle. I was now staring at the young man from the device, only he was me. Or I was him. Or something. When I had gone to the "Choose Your Model" page, I thought I was choosing someone to meet, not someone to BECOME. I swung my legs off the bed, making contact with the floor sooner than expected. My legs hadn't just packed on muscle, they had grown longer. As I stood to my full height, I realized my whole body was taller and perfectly proportioned. With a swagger that came naturally to this new shape, I crossed the room and inspected myself in the mirror. I looked like a wholesome All-American jock, but the thoughts racing through my head were anything but wholesome. I lowered my Jockeys and unleashed a nine-inch cobra which whapped hard against my deeply-etched abs and deposited a sticky dollop of pre-cum above my navel. I wrapped my right hand around my cock. It was a boy's hand, soft and smooth, unlike my usual veiny and rough mitts. Aside from a light crop of hair on my forearms and a thick bush of black pubes around my dick, this new body was hairless, creating no distractions from the sharply defined muscles on display. I began to stroke myself vigorously, while my left hand explored this fresh terrain, eventually finding its way into my tender -- and reborn virgin -- ass. Ooh, that was going to need attention soon. My eyes lingered on the face in the mirror, its youthful cuteness caught in mid-evolution to chiseled beauty. That was the trigger to launch my cum spurting skyward, coating my hand, my chest, my bare toes, the carpet beneath me, the unused ice bucket, and the flat-screen TV. I fell back onto the bed, arms spread, brain tingling, dick still pumping. I must have laid there for ten minutes, reveling in what I had just experienced. Eventually, the jism on my torso began to harden and I felt the need to clean it off. I loped to the bathroom and took the longest and best shower of my life, scrubbing every new curve thoroughly until my focus returned to my cock, which had regained its rigidity. I couldn't resist stroking it and was soon on my way to another earth-shattering, wall-splattering orgasm. As I watched the thick white cream blasting forth and being washed down the drain, I had no idea my body could store so much sperm. Then again, this was not really my body. Or was it? I wiped the condensation off the bathroom mirror and looked closely into -- his? my? -- deep blue eyes. I could see no trace of myself in the person looking back, but I knew I was in full control. Realizing I had not yet spoken, I said "Hi there" to my reflection, and a youthful tenor ricocheted off the bathroom tiles, completely unlike my own raspy, cigarette-ravaged baritone. I enjoyed my stroll back to the main room, my long cock slapping against my damp leg with each step. I pulled open the drapes, shoulders flung back to display my muscles at their best in case anyone in the apartments across the street wanted a cheap thrill. I lay on my stomach across the bed's white comforter, feet crossed and hanging off the edge of the mattress. I picked up the Nu-You device and saw the notification "Alteration Complete". The photo of the stud I had become was now grayed out with "IN USE" over his face. A button labeled "Find Partner" blinked at the bottom of the screen. When I clicked it, all of the faces which were previously grayed out as "IN USE" became full-color, while the other images were marked "UNAVAILABLE". For a product that wasn't on the market, there sure were a lot of people using it. "Duh!", I realized. Obviously I wasn't the only one with a demo of the product. The guy in the booth must have given sample devices to everyone he met at the convention, and now they were all trying it out. My cock grew hard again simply at the thought of so many people simultaneously going through the same sort of metamorphosis as I just had. Unconsciously, my hips began surging forward and back against the comforter, nursing along my latest erection as I scrolled through the faces of all the men who were available. It was like browsing the world's sexiest smorgasbord, and I wanted to eat everything I saw. I first focused on a shirtless surfer dude with killer abs and sun-bleached hair, but his picture faded out and became "UNAVAILABLE" before I could choose it. My attention then shifted to a deeply-tanned weightlifter in a fluorescent orange tank top. I touched his photo on the screen and was alerted that he was in my hotel. Another click sent him "my" photo and an inquiry whether he wanted to meet up. I waited and waited, starting to feel rejected despite it not actually being MY body he was rejecting, but a message eventually popped up, indicating that he did want to hook up. A box appeared asking if I wanted to send him a text, but before I could type a character, I received a message from him: "U WANT ME??" I typed my reply: "Yeah. Do you want to come to me or should I come to you?" I waited for nearly a minute before I got this message: "U BETTER CUM HEAR. DONT THINK MY CLOSE FIT ANYMOR! :)" That was an interesting quandary I hadn't anticipated. I had a lot more muscle and had grown a few inches, so my normal clothes would no longer fit. This body deserved better than my sad wash-and-wear wardrobe, but I had few options. Eventually, I pulled on some gray sweatpants and rubber flip-flops from my suitcase and an XXL t-shirt I'd been given as a freebie at the convention. Not exactly Armani, but at least I was presentable enough to walk the hallways and ride the elevators. I knocked on the door of his room and heard heavy footfalls from inside. The door cracked open and I had to look up to see his brown eye peeking through. "God damn," he said with a low rumbling chuckle, then swung open the door just enough for me to enter. The room was dark, with the shades pulled and only the light of the muted TV casting shadows on our bodies, but he was indeed an amazing specimen in person. My boyish soccer-player's muscles appeared anemic beside this naked, shaven-headed giant who looked ready to become the next Mr. Universe. His massive arms swung wide as he waddled toward me, sporting a long curving dick that made my impressive cock also seem puny. "You ever done this before?", he asked me with innocence and genuine curiosity. "I don't think it's ever been technologically possible before." "No, I mean...had sex...with a guy?" This mountain of a man seemed positively skittish. I smiled and nodded. "Oh, that. Yeah, here and there." He said, "Then maybe you should take charge." I walked over and knelt before him, inserting the head of his cock into mouth, tongue circling it masterfully. I got the immediate sense that the young man I was currently inhabiting had a lot more experience in this department than I did. I had to assume that this was not the first time this body was "IN USE". The man I was blowing put his hands on my shoulders and began a monologue interrupted by frequent gasps as my tongue-bath became more intense. "I'm not a big -- ooh -- technical guy. I'm more of a -- aaah -- salesman. So when -- oh! -- I started playing around with that -- oh my god -- thingamajig, I didn't realize what I was doing. I hit the wrong button and -- owww -- before I could -- oh, fuck, you're good -- before I could stop it, my body looked like this and my brain was -- oh, Jesus! -- was full of all these images of naked guys. Ho-o-o-ly shit!" I hadn't expected him to come so quickly, but those images of naked guys must have gotten him well-primed before I even entered the room. A lot of spunk surged down my throat before he pulled his cock from my mouth. He dropped to his knees and stared with fascination at his mighty organ as its output slowed and it shrank to a mere seven inches. We took a breather, cuddling on the bed, after which I gave him some quick pointers on how he could satisfy me. He seemed at war between his usual self, which thought that what I described sounded awfully painful for me, and the impulses that came pre-installed with his new body, which were already launching his cock into another upward trajectory. Horniness won out, as it usually does, and although he was awkward at first, by the third time he was finding new twists I'd never even thought of. We ordered from room service. I had to pull on my clothes and answer the door to keep out the delivery boy. I overtipped him so he would go away quickly. As I glanced down the hall, I noticed a number of semi-clad men and a few nearly-nude women knocking impatiently on different doors. My companion didn't want to give me his name, and I never mentioned mine either. We spent the night together, chowing down on room service and watching a movie -- a normal one, because we couldn't imagine any porno living up to what we had just done in real life, if you could even describe what was happening that night as "real life". After a couple of beers, he tentatively asked if I would mind fucking him in the ass, so he could know what that felt like. I led him gently through the experience and, although he seemed to be enjoying himself, I doubted he would be going back to it on a regular basis once he returned to his own body. But who knows? Stranger things have happened. Like this entire night, for instance. Suddenly I wondered, what if he didn't return to his own body? What if we never changed back to our original selves? The device itself offered no instructions and came with no explanatory booklet. I booted up his laptop, but Nu-You had no corporate website, no online presence at all. I figured I would just have to wait and ask Mr. Nu-You at his booth tomorrow, but I got my answer sooner than that. We had fallen asleep in each other's arms, but I awoke around dawn to find myself entwined with a stranger. Interestingly, the man I had shared last night with turned out to be young and blond and quite a looker with a slim but very fit body. I could feel myself growing hard as I checked him out. Without any changes at all, he'd have been a nice match for the dark-haired hunk I had been last night. I was glad I woke up first, because I could sneak away without him ever getting a look at the letdown that would be the real me. Then an idea hit me. Maybe I could switch myself back to last night's body and fuck blondie this morning. Sure, he had said he was really straight, but after last night, he had to be reconsidering his options. Sadly, as I checked my device, I found an alert in red letters: "TRIAL PERIOD OVER -- RETURN DEVICE TO NU-YOU", followed by fine print detailing dire penalties for failure to return the device. I imagined that, if you didn't bring it back in a timely manner, it would self-destruct, "Mission: Impossible"-style. Two million dollars, up in smoke. Two-point-three. I slipped on my now baggy t-shirt and sweats and made my way back to my room, letting my mind drift. I already felt a bit sad, marooned back in my real body, and saw how using Nu-You could become incredibly addictive. You could really spice up a relationship if, every so often, one or both of you swapped into another body. Or imagine installing Nu-You suites in every hotel in the country. Business travelers could become a different person every night and fuck other people who also weren't themselves. You could mentally detach and rationalize to yourself that you weren't REALLY cheating on your boyfriend, your girlfriend, your husband, your wife. It was just those sexy avatars who did it. In-room porn rentals would plummet. But how could you control the technology? How could you be sure that someone wouldn't use it to disguise themselves to rob banks or commit murder? The exorbitant price would tamp down demand somewhat, limiting the market to the very wealthy, but that would also make those elite owners prime targets for thieves who wanted to get their hands on a Nu-You for their own purposes. The liability costs alone would be enough of a nightmare to make any sensible investor leery. I got dressed, putting my drab old clothes on my drab old self, and wandered back to the exhibition hall to return my Nu-You device. Looked like I was going to have to wait a while, though. Mr. Nu-You was besieged at his booth, surrounded by dozens of potential investors, some barely dressed, begging to get in on the ground floor -- and, more importantly, desperate to sell their cars, mortgage their houses, or liquidate their 401Ks to reactivate their devices immediately. And no one was more frantic than one young blond looker with a slim but very fit body. Finally, a convention with a little excitement.
  16. 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.
  17. Astromuscle

    A Catalyst

    Astromuscle: Not to sound like every other writer here but I have never done anything like this before but I have had this idea in my head for awhile and I wanted everyone else to be able to enjoy it. There is a bit of set up first, but I promise a lot of growth in the later chapters. As a skeptic, I never believed that 2 people were destined for each other. But you know what people say, hindsight is 20-20. My entire life I looked on people at a distance. Muscles were always a turn on for me (the bigger the better naturally) but I was always self conscious about what I looked like. At 5' 9" most people were taller than me, and my body was nothing to be desired, fat but not even fat enough to satisfy a fetish. Nothing about me was sexually desirable, so off to the side I stood, looking on at the muscle bulls who come and go in my life. One day I finally worked up the nerve to go to a gay bar. Far out of my element, I would have been pissing myself nervous, if it weren't for the distraction sitting at the bar. And what a distraction he was. I couldn't tell exactly how tall he was but damn he sat head and shoulders above the rest... while sitting. His shoulders were covered by a sweater but even through there you could see great mounds that made volleyballs to shame. My eyes started to move down, but I was disappointed that my view was blocked by a swarm of people all trying to talk to this man. In fact, now out of my stupor he did look rather overwhelmed. Wide eyed and looking from person to person he couldn't keep up with the onslaught of people who were becoming less and less subtle in their interest and more and more touchy. I couldn't tell you if it was the kindness of seeing someone struggling, or jealousy at how forward these guys (who I couldn't help but notice were all more attractive than me... FML) but I decided I needed to take action. I made a beeline for the door to the kitchen, as I did so I unbuttoned my nicer shirt, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath. Looking now, I might have been able to see my nipples through it, it wasn't noticeable though so I moved on. It was a Friday night so the bartenders didn't even notice me slip into the back. Inside the door was a hallway, with a cordless phone mounted on the wall. Moving cautiously forward I saw the kitchen with cooks preparing appetizers. Just in front of me in the entrance to the kitchen a dirty apron hung on a hook. Before I overstayed my welcome I swiped the apron, tied it around my waist and grabbed the phone on my way out. As I came out I walked up to one of the less daring men who got pushed out of the mosh-pit that formed around the mystery muscle man. "hey man, what is that guy's name?" It took a sec for the man to tear his eyes away and notice me. In a entranced, yet slightly annoyed voice he whispered, "Damian." I walked away then before he could ask me anything from there on. I walked behind the bar, around a bartender, bumping him and quickly got to in front of Damian. "Are you Damian?", I said from the only direction not swarming with gay men... well except for me know I guess... He didn't seem to hear me among the swarm so I shouted at the top of my lungs "PHONE CALL FOR DAMIAN!" That got his attention. He reached for the phone with an arm with a forearm bigger than his already large hands. I managed to focus for long enough to pull the phone away and point to the kitchen door. "IT WILL BE QUIETER THERE!" At this point my plan payed off, for in that moment the behemoth had relief in his eyes as he stood up and excused himself from the sea of men. As he stood I could finally get a bead on his height. Where sitting people came up to his shoulders, now they only came up to his mid pec. My eyes were about level with where I would have to imagine his nips were, why did he have to where that sweater? Why did he have to wear anything?... Once we were both in the back we stood in the hallway between the kitchen and the bar, I handed him the phone which he put up to his ear and tried to talk into for a solid 5 seconds before he looked at it for another couple seconds, and then weighed me in his mind. Before he could form his own conclusion for better or for worse I interjected, "You looked as if you were having difficulty out there, thought you might like a bit of relief." With that I took a snapshot in my mind (that was going to come in handy later tonight in my room) and turned to go. I didn't realize how dwarfed I would be, I didn't deserve to be in his presence, so it was time for me to make my exit. Before I could leave though, a paw of a hand held half of my body in place. SERIOUSLY, thumb on my upper back and fingers extending over my chest, was this guy for real?! "Thank you" a guttural voice said. My mind could only come up with the analogy of Morgan Freeman's Voice, if his balls dropped one or two more times. I might have been able to respond or appreciate the sentiment if every ounce of my being wasn't focused on trying not to go hard. The hand holding me came off and I turned around. Looking shyly away Damian looked like he had more to say but the words weren't coming out... Could he be nervous? Do muscle beasts like him get nervous? I so wanted to hear what he had to say, unfortunately that was the point we were interrupted by the bartender I had bumped. "Excuse me but you both need to leave. You don't even work here!" And with that we found both of ourselves out on the curb. I offered to buy the man a cab because it was my fault he got kicked out, but he insisted on doing the reverse, it turned out he didn't want to be there in the first place, he just really wanted to meet some people "and I think I did" he said. With that he asked for my number and I gave it to him. Is that all it takes? I had literally never been in this situation! And with this man to end all men. I was so excited I didn't even notice both our cabs roll up. I was in wonderland. He told me he would call me up sometime for a date and hopped into his cab, with some difficulty... God he was huge. Finally once the spell wore off, assisted by the honking horn of the cab driver, I climbed into my own cab and went home. The cab ride was quieter than usual and it wasn't until I got out that I realized that I had a raging boner the whole time. There was no need to put it to waste though, so I went inside and had myself an amazing night.
  18. dhalden

    Charlie

    Hey, guys. It's been a long while, but I'm finally making good on my promise and rebooting my story from the previous site, "Charlie". Things have slowed down in my life, I've got a new creative fire, and I'm ready to jump back into this story. You might notice some differences from the original and you'd be right; I'm re-editing as I go. Changing some things around plot-wise, etc. Boring writer stuff. Just enjoy! * * * Friday night and my only company was the cold beer sweating beside my open laptop and a stack of my students’ essays, ripe for grading. Such was the life of the English major who had decided to return to his hometown to teach high school instead of moving on to bigger and better things. If you think that reading the half-assed efforts of students trying to argue that Holden Caulfield was anything more than an egocentric little shit was my preferred way of entering the weekend, you’re wrong. Yes, even I, Andrew Donovan, Senior English teacher of West Cape High, wished his life different. I would never have guessed that that little wish would begin to be fulfilled in the form of an email, but as I slashed across yet another essay with my trusty red marker, I heard the gentle ping on my laptop signaling that a new message had just dropped into my inbox. Sighing, I capped the marker and tossed it aside. Another late assignment, I thought. Number three of the night. Can you say ten points off? Which wasn’t exactly fair, considering I’d promised to return them two days before, but that was one of the small joys of being a teacher: minor omnipotence. It was the subject heading that caught my attention first: “Long Time, No See!” When I’d begun teaching, I had gone into it envisioning that I would be one of those few educational greats who ends up getting a Lifetime movie made about them. As part of that image, I had taken to giving out my personal email address to my students because it made me “seem more relatable”. In the end that proved fruitless because they used it only to turn in late assignments or ask for the reading they had been too lazy to copy down. I clicked open the email and, well…have you ever had your stomach plummet and your heart skip a beat at the same time? It’s not a pleasant feeling, let me tell you, but such was the sensation that gripped me as I read the first sentence of that fateful email. So I must have started this email about thirty times in thirty different ways and I can’t think of what to say, so I’ll just say—hey, its Charlie Greene! I’m in town for business. Are you free for lunch tomorrow? I’d love to catch up. Let me know! I stared flabbergasted at the screen. When I finally realized that my mouth was literally hanging open, I reached for my beer and downed the rest of it. And then I went for a second. When I finally began to feel the alcohol permeate, I flexed my fingers and let them drop to the keyboard. I must have tried a dozen variations of the same reply before I settled on the briefest. Before I could stop myself I hit the return key, irrevocably sending my reply out into the digital abyss. I sighed and sat back in my chair…and realized I was rock hard. All eight inches of my cock throbbed in my boxers, begging for attention. I swiftly reached for my pulsing shaft and gasped at the sensation. It was incredibly sensitive to the touch and twitched eagerly as I wrapped my around it. I haven’t been this hard in years, I thought. Slowly, I eased my hand down my rigid dick and instantly felt my balls tighten and draw close to my body. It’s like I’m teenager again or something. This isn’t going to last long. And it didn’t. As the first shot of cum splattered across my chest, I lost my breath and jerked in my chair, my toes curling into the carpet as the second, third, and fourth spurts followed. “Holy shit,” I panted when I’d finally finished. “Holy shit…” I couldn’t remember that last time I had had such a fulfilling jerkoff session. At thirty-five, I usually only gave my cock a quick jerk and tug, rolled over, and fell asleep. But as I sat there panting, I stared down at my cock: it was still half-hard and it instantly responded to a second round of my coaxing, lengthening to its full potential. Every rigid vein pulsated as I jerked my cock and I could feel my balls swelling for a second load. A minute later three three long ropes of cum splattering onto my already covered chest. “Oh, fuck…” I groaned, collapsing backwards in my chair. Dazed, I plucked some Kleenex from the box beside my printer and started cleaning cum off my chest. I haven’t shot back-to-back like this since I can’t remember when. I wonder if I could go for a third time? “I don’t think so,” I answered to no one in particular. As fantastic as the orgasms had been, the usual exhaustion that followed them was already settling in. I had just wiped off the last of jizz from my right nipple when my laptop pinged again. I hurriedly tossed the cum-soaked tissue into the garbage and opened my inbox. His simple reply read: Awesome. See you Saturday! * * * For you to understand the whole wonderful chaos of what would end up happening, you have to understand the complicated history that Charlie and I shared. The obligatory backstory, if you will. The short version sounds something like: we were nineteen when we met in the latter half of our freshmen year at college. I was an English major from California, he was a business/communications double-major from Indiana. We met when we were assigned as partners in a shared Bio lab and such was the not-so-glamorous joining of our two lives. By sophomore year we were roommates. That’s the short, clean, “boy meets boy” part of the story. The “boy loses boy” part comes later. The morning I was supposed to meet Charlie—the man who would become a veritable legend and forever change my life along the way—I went up to my attic and rifled through some boxes. “Here it is,” I grumbled as I heaved a marked COLLEGE SHIT from a dusty corner. Carrying it into the middle of the floor, I began pulling out its contents: old essays and portfolios, a foam finger from some long-forgotten sporting event, my diploma, and an assortment of other once-valued memorabilia that I could just as easily do without. Beneath it all, however, was a stack of photographs held together by a rubber band. From the top photograph, Charlie’s beaming face stared back at me. The same disarming grin that had sent butterflies frantically buzzing through my stomach nearly sixteen years ago had not lost its effect. If anything, it was more potent and infectious. I felt a grin of my own spread across my lips as I plucked the photograph from the pile and examined it closer: his clear green eyes, and short, sun-kissed blond hair...and that beautiful fucking smile. It was a politician’s smile, fake as all hell, but undeniably handsome. It would throw you on your metaphorical ass if you weren’t prepared for it and I hardly ever was. I flicked through the rest of the photographs. Charlie and I (looking pathetically sub-par beside him in my oversized leather jacket that I had once inexplicably thought made me look suave) standing in front of our dorm. Charlie in his soccer uniform, sweaty and grass-stained. Charlie with his arm around me at one of the countless house parties he had dragged me to some weekend. Nearly every photograph was either of Charlie or Charlie and myself somewhere on campus. Surely there are photos of other things? Other people, right? As I reached for the box again, I glanced out the dusty window. The sun was already high in the sky, easily nearing noon. Nearing lunchtime. “Shit!” I hissed. Only an hour until I was supposed to meet Charlie and I still needed to shower. Mentally kicking myself, I scrambled downstairs and hurried into the bathroom for a shower. Suds still not entirely rinsed from my hair, I reached for a towel and began drying off when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Where in the hell did that guy come from? Sure, I hadn’t actively worked out in a few months (okay, at least a year), but the slight paunch of fat around my middle seemed a little unfair. And my chest, when had that happened? I’d never sported an enormous chest, but it had at least been defined. But now…now my pecs were just downright sad. Starting to droop even. “Real impressive, Andrew,” I said flatly. Despite the fact that it was easily eighty degrees outside, I donned a jacket in hopes of hiding my softening torso and tried to at least find comfort in the fact that I was not yet balding. In my reply, I had suggested Applebees, an old favorite of mine, but as I stepped through the door that fateful day, I began to regret it. In a town like West Cape, there aren’t many places to socialize and Applebees was one of the most common amongst my students. I fretted at the thought of seeing them there and did a quick scan. With no familiar faces in sight, I followed the hostess to a table and quickly dropped into a seat. The table wouldn’t hide much in the way of my inescapably middle-aged body, but it would tuck my enormous erection out of sight. The anticipation of seeing Charlie again after so long had made me hard again. I desperately wanted to duck into the bathroom and jerk off until I couldn’t move, but that didn’t exactly seem a feasible option. “I’ll have a Coke,” I told the hostess nervously. “And the second party? Do you know what they’d like?” she asked. “Water, I guess,” I said, perhaps a little too pathetically. The hostess’ grin faltered as she slipped away to fetch out drinks. I trained my eyes on the door. I wonder what he looks like now. Why the hell don’t I have a Facebook? I could have just looked him up. Idiot. He’s probably even more handsome. Better with age. Like a fine wine. God, I should’ve ordered something stronger… Every time the door opened, I straightened in my seat, but each time it was an elderly couple, some housewife and her friend, or a pair of students that I vaguely recognized. It isn’t like wasn’t common knowledge throughout West Cape that I was gay (news like that travels fast in a small town), but it was nonetheless awkward to see them out and about when I was on a date. This isn’t a date though, Romeo. It’s a lunch. Keep that line of thinking at bay. It got you into major trouble last time, remember? Last time. How could I forget? The door opened again, but I was hardly paying attention. I had slipped lost into one of the most mortifying memories of my life. A cool spring night my senior year of college, standing in front of a frat house, some 90’s indie rock song blasting from a stereo through an open window, empty beer cans and Solo cups littering the front lawn… “Andy?” “Hmm?” I said, expecting the waitress. I turned...and my mouth fell open. To say my heart skipped a beat would be an understatement. Leaped would be a more accurate description. Jumped. Dove. Take your pick. They’re all relatively inadequate. I believe my heart may have altogether stopped, if only for the briefest second, which technically means I died for a second. “Charlie,” I breathed. The first thing I noticed was that grin. That impossibly fucking brilliant grin. Dazzlingly white and wide, his smile was perfectly blinding. It was spread across the face that time had ostensibly forgotten. Whereas the first of middle age’s wrinkles had already begun to form at the corner of my eyes, there wasn’t the slightest hint of one on that flawless face. Not that anyone would have cared if there were. The rest of him absolutely demanded further examination. Although I wouldn’t have thought it possible, my eyes were torn from that grin and drawn to the rest of him…starting with his shoulders. Where had the slim, wiry soccer star that I known gone? The shoulders of the man standing before me were wider than I had ever seen them. They weren’t massive, but they were large and sculpted enough to force his red polo shirt to fit him snugly as a glove. They firmly capped a pair of arms that were easily doubly thick around as my calves and which strained the sleeves of his shirt in a way that made my already hard cock impossibly harder. I could not help but note the veins that snaked their way around his forearms, feint though they might have been. “It is you,” he said, dropping into his chair. “I thought so. I couldn’t tell at first. You look different!” “You…you too,” I said breathlessly. “H-How you been?” He grinned. “I’m great! Sorry I’m late. I got a little lost. Did you already order?” I must have answered, but I don’t remember. I watched in a daze as he scanned the menu, his thick arms swelling larger and straining his sleeves further as he bent them to pick up the menu. They had to have been at least eighteen inches, probably larger. I wouldn’t know; I had only ever dreamt of arms that large. I kept envisioning how they’d feel beneath my fingers. “I think I’ll get the steak. What’re you getting?” he wondered aloud. “I, uh, steak, yeah,” I stammered. “Great!” he said, folding up the menu, and flashing that grin again. My cock grew painfully stiffer. I was visibly stunned by him and kept glancing out the window so as not to appear too obviously awed, but our waitress was less coy. I heard a soft gasp escape her lips at the sight of Charlie as she approached. “So that’ll be two steaks, medium?” she said after he had ordered, never taking her eyes off him. “Sounds right to me,” he said and winked at her. Girl, I feel sorry for your ovaries. They must be on fire, I thought instantly. I know I am. I reached for my water and began sipping it ferociously. “So you’re probably wondering what’s up with me, right?” he said, placing his hands on the table. They were so much thicker than the last time I had seen them, the hands of a man who had labored long hours in the gym. Cords of muscle stood out in his forearms. Not at all the hands a soccer player. I wondered what sort of strength such hands possessed and wanted to know, good or bad, for myself. “Yes,” I said. Drop the monosyllabics, you sound like a cave man. “Yes, I am wondering what you are up to, yes.” “Well,” he started to say, and paused dramatically. It was nice to see that not quite everything had changed about him, though the obvious transformations certainly weren’t unwelcome. “I’m moving to West Cape! Well, West Cape-adjacent. I got a transferred last month and now I have to relocate, man. Can you believe that?” I reminded myself not to give a one word answer. “I can’t, no. W-What do you do?” I couldn’t have cared less what he did, honestly. I just wanted to hear him speak. In addition to the underwear model’s physique he had developed since we had graduated, his voice had dropped half an octave. It probably wasn’t obvious to everyone, but I could still vividly remember the long nights we had stayed up talking about everything under the sun and, to me, it was definitely deeper. Did that come with the territory of packing on forty or fifty pounds of muscle? Did the weight of those clearly ample pecs beneath his shirt weigh on his ribcage? Even as I watched, one of them twitched, sending a tiny ripple of movement across his shirt. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Client relations, mostly. I won’t bother you with the gory details. So you’re an English teacher now?” I wondered fleetingly for a moment how he knew. I didn’t realize it then, but that necessarily meant that he had done some digital digging for my contact information. My being listed on West Cape High’s faculty page wasn’t the sort of thing that popped up on the first page of Google results, if you catch my drift. Nevertheless, I blathered on for a while about my teaching duties, before asking, “So where’re you living? The east side of town?” The smile dropped from his face and the light behind those green eyes dimmed. He turned and stared out the window, biting his lip. It would have been sexy as hell (okay, it was sexy as hell) if anxiety didn’t look so unnatural on his face. He turned back to me. “I actually don’t have a place yet,” he said. “I’m still looking, you know?” And before I could stop myself, before I could fully formulate the thought in my mind and factor in the countless possibilities and repercussions that could and ultimately would result from such a simple, stupid and unguarded statement, I said, “You could stay with me.”
  19. (So, this is my little Halloween tale. It gets pretty spooky on campus where I am, so this was a bit of inspiration for the story) ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ I don’t know how to say this without sounding fucking dumb but I think I need to tell someone before the worst happens… so I’m going to say it anyway: I’m afraid of going to the bathroom here in my dorm. I’m well aware of how stupid that sounds but if anyone finds this I want some kind of clue for whoever finds this log. What I hate the most is that this nightmare that I know is coming for me hides in the most unremarkable setting and there’s no way anyone will understand. I should’ve listened to my friends enrolling last fall and stayed out of this damn building. I really should have. My name is Lenny. If I was cooler like the rest of the guys on this floor I’m sure everyone would call me ‘Leo’, but I’m just a lanky freshman who can’t manage to make enough friends here at school. You know, they told me it would get better while I was picking up my textbooks off the floor a few days before graduation, but I still think about the assholes who used to bully me even as a high-school senior. I got good grades and managed to get myself a good scholarship to come here and study fine arts (I want to be an illustrator someday). Fuck it all, though, because when I came here I enrolled with assholes from their respective hometowns around the state. Oh, and I was so excited to be moving into the Arts & Design community building on campus. I was assigned to live with artists, writers, and graphic design students from the entire university. As my luck would have it the building flooded in my wing and due to the massive influx of new students I had to move into a new location… They gave me three choices then. I could pay an extra few thousand dollars to move into the newest dormitory on campus (Crowne, which I don’t have the money for), hope for the best in the freshmen ‘Discovery’ dormitory (Laurel- it was already packed and would place me on the eight floor with no elevator), or move into Helena… Helena was the second dorm ever made on campus and was still in commission. At first I thought all three of my options sucked but the school actually offered to waive my room expense so I would only pay for my meal plan on campus. They told me my scholarship covered this and Laurel would receive the same bonus. After I learned Helena’s dining hall was an up-scale buffet (well, at least for a college campus) and the rooms were a third bigger than anywhere else on campus, I took it. I ended up having to room with someone else but I didn’t care too much at the time. Kyle’s a really nice guy, actually, but that’s not the problem. I remember telling my few friends from high school I was moving into the building and most of them expressed joy- the building was rather pretty for a dormitory and you even got a sink in your room. The lobby looked like it belonged in an old Jane Austen film- the molding covered everything and they had an antique grand piano donated by some big-shot in the 50s. There were only three floors and only one of them was designated for guys (the first floor was for students 21 and over and the top floor was for girls). I was rather excited until Tanesha told me about the spooks in the halls. Everyone knew about the few weird stories around campus and how our school was known for strange occurrences and even paranormal activity. I don’t believe in any of that stuff… or I hadn’t, so I told her to not worry. We’d already sneaked into the library at night hoping to see the frosty janitor from 87’ on the roof and nothing had ever happened then. Nothing had happened these few nights after moving in. Nothing would ever happen at all. I was an idiot. And at this point, I wish I was dealing with a ghost. Or a monster. I don’t know. Something tangible! Something I could maybe fight off, or fight back. God, I’m so fucking scared. I know it’s going to happen soon if I don’t move out of this building. I don’t want to disappear… The first time I had the dream was about a week after moving in. Kyle (my roommate) may be a football player but he’s a nice guy and if anything I worried I might be taking advantage of his southern hospitality. He introduced me to his girlfriend and everything. The other guys aren’t too awful on this floor, either, albeit to a lesser extent. A lot of them are older and belong to fraternities from all around campus. They tend to be loud and annoying. A few of them are genuine shit-holes and they remind me of high school the most. They haven’t done anything terrible to me but they talk shit about women and pour ramen juice down the drinking fountains. I fucking hate that. The dream is always the same. I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes if I’m lucky- that way I don’t get to the worst part. At first I didn’t get very far in the dream, either. I just got a sense of dread from the beginning of the pattern. I would always wander the long hallways of the building in the dream before entering the poorly-lit bathroom. I have been losing sleep because of it, at this point. I always wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. For some reason, Kyle’s out of the room. He tends to sleep over at his girl’s so I stress even more when I know he’ll be gone the following night. I stumble out of bed, dry like a bone and needing to use the bathroom. Bear with me, I know this sounds rather normal… I get up and open the door, the lights in the hall flickering on and off… on and off… I’m usually in a graphic t-shirt with my favorite anime characters splattered on- that and basketball shorts so I don’t have to worry about being indecent in front of anyone. The dream is so real, I usually just wear the same thing. Most of the time I wouldn’t want my RA to talk to me (she’s really loud) but when I’m normally awake I pray she’ll stop me from going further down the corridor. She’s never doing her rounds in my dream. I simply drag my feet to the bathroom and go on about my business. Then it happens. I finish and I decide to sit down. I’m half-asleep anyway, but I try to stay awake and hold myself up by placing my hands on the stall’s plastic walls. I can definitely feel my head tilt back and forth as if I’ve gone into a trance or something... that’s when I start to change. I breathe in a long, heavy gasp and let out an even longer sigh of relief. It feels like coming out of a pool, as if I’ve never breathed before. My head then tilts backward so I can face the buzzing lamp above my stall, but my eyes close. I can feel the slight tingle run through the veins of my feet and upward. My hands slide up the walls slightly, feeling the coldness of the outside winds whisk through the frigid bathroom. The tingle makes my toes wiggle as I spread my legs apart a bit more. At first it feels like my blood is pumping faster. I breathe a little heavier when the tingle runs through my groin… I hate how much I enjoy the sensation as it vibrates through my spindly legs. With a slight jerk my knees twitch and the tendons around them make me jitter for a quick second. I can’t explain it really well, but it’s like taking a deep breathe that you don’t let go of without choking. I breathe out just fine, but I do sense something else. The feeling pervades within me and I finally recognize that I’m… well…. that I’m getting bigger. The pulse continues running up my root and I can’t help but moan. Nobody’s in the bathroom, I just moan softly enough to sense my cock twitching in my shorts. It starts running up my back, like warm water at this point massaging my under my skin. My stomach heats up along as I tilt my head to the side, my body slouching almost off of the toilet. The warmth starts becoming even hotter as I sense my head plunging into the sensation, my shoulders rolling back a bit to enjoy it too. The moment I feel it twitching through my arms I can tell my veins are pumping with warmth to my fingers. At this point you must be thinking I enjoy this. I ultimately don’t… At least not when I’m awake. I don’t know why it feels so good when I’m in the dream. It just does. At first I wondered why I was so scared of getting to the bathroom if all I would do is wake up with a pair of sticky boxers in the morning. Kyle didn’t seem to notice so at least I wasn’t making noises in my sleep. Everything continued as normal and he even invited me to join the inter-mural volleyball team for our dorm. Due to my lack of coordination I had to decline. There was just something inherently wrong with the dream, though. I knew that. It was as if I was being forced to experience such pleasure and that’s what really got to me. After I figured that out during my chemistry class I became determined to figure out the dream. I actually researched it and found that repetitive dreams often had to do with stress. I may be uncomfortable with myself and other people, but I didn’t think I was too stressed at the time so I went back to wondering what to do. Things continued as normal and I only had the dream every once in a while. I had the dream barely at all. It was towards the end of September that I started having the dream every few days. I thought about going to the counseling center to talk to someone about it but I didn’t want to waste a professional’s time on something as silly as a wet-dream… especially if they might think it was stupid. In the end the dream continued to develop and I continued to feel the sensations more and more, to the point that I could sense more specific details and remember them in the waking hours of school. There was a point where I knew that the shadowy bathroom wasn’t just cold; a little bit of frost was blowing in from the open window. My dream was taking place in the upcoming months, and even though at first I didn’t realize it was warning me. It was coming for me. I was starting to lose more and more sleep. I don’t consider myself very strong but I’ve always done will in class so I avoided worrying about grades as the bags under my eyes got worse. My roommate started worrying, but I passed midterms fine and I think he must’ve talked to the dorm’s staff to check on me. They eventually had someone come to see if I needed help. I told them I wasn’t on drugs and that ultimately, I was fine. The nightmare kept developing, though. My mind can’t help but remember it vividly. I would be in that bathroom stall, my head filling with some sort of energy… like water filling a pitcher I just felt myself becoming more and more full of it. That was when things started changing… I would feel the sensation of being full of this strange energy and it seemed to need expansion. And that was another thing I just didn’t understand. Slowly, I’d feel my feet start to ache. My bones feel like they’re irritated and sore and I start feeling unable to breathe but instead, I just swallow more air. I in fact feel my blood pumping… rushing through me as my heart palpitates like an furnace full of too much kindling. Shit, that’s exactly what it feels like- I start sweating from how hot and fast my heart is going. It feels like it’s only getting bigger, too. Like all of me is getting bigger… The sensation of my feet being aching spreads through me, and I stagger forward on my seat. I grunt and almost moan, as if I know what’s going to happen and as if I truly want it… I open my eyes to see my veins are thick and pulsing through my skin. Am I dying? Why does it continue? But I don’t ask these damn questions in my dream. I just welcome it. I feel my whole body tense up, like a giant cramp and I growl as my skin turns red with this strange… pump. I’d been avoiding the bathroom on my floor for a while now, even when in daylight. I would have continued if the men’s bathroom downstairs wouldn’t have flooded a few weeks ago. I asked so many questions about the repairs and all I got was that they’d have to fix it the upcoming semester. The groans of the guys on floor 1 pissed me off only because their problems weren’t as big as mine. Fuck, I hate that word. ‘Big’. I’m avoiding it, too. It’s a word that keeps creeping up on me. Not like a snake or a ghost, mind you. It’s definitely a hulking creature stalking me like its prey. I finally knew something was really wrong when I listened in on some of the bros as they got back from the gym. “Yeah, I feel really great after today. Look at this pump!” the first one said, wearing a tank he had cut out himself from a t-shirt he got at the beginning of the semester. “Damn, your arms look bigger already. No homo, hahah.” the other one commented in a chuckle. I thought it was all homo. “Well they say that when you get a real, honest-to-god pump you’re actually looking into the future. You know, because your muscles are so full of blood or whatever.” Said the first. “That shit’s kind of gross.” Laughed the second. As if I needed this information (I suppose I did, but hopefully from a better source that would disprove my insanity), I recognized the feeling. It was the feeling of getting a ‘pump’. The only difference, however, was that in my dream it was continuing and I didn’t know what exactly would happen at the end of the ordeal. I was determined to find out. I started researching dreams and finally contacted a private counselor via phone. It’s a nice service, I guess, and I could talk to her anonymously. She asked me how I felt about masculinity and other weird questions like my sexual orientation. I answered honestly when I told her I never really cared about being ‘masculine’ or muscular- I figured that’s what she was getting at. I just cared about my schooling and I didn’t really care to date anyone, man or woman. She eventually told me that maybe I had some kind of repressed sexual feelings, and that I could try exploring it a bit in a calm fashion. I start squeezing my hands, feeling my fingers tighten as this pump fills me. I relish it, my head rolling forward as my back becomes heavier than I can handle. The pulsing sensation doesn’t diminish. It only makes me change. It feels so fucking good changing. I grunt and even moan when I feel my legs finally getting thicker. In the daylight I’m thin and my legs look like pale sticks of flesh. I don’t know why I love the sensation of them growing. I see shapes I’ve never really noticed on a body (mine, or others) as my legs get thicker… and thicker… and stronger… And the sensation only moves upward. I just… it just keeps going. I feel my stomach tightening up and loosening, but only a little less than the wave that preceded it. I grunt as I feel my abdomen define itself, little bricks popping up through my burning-hot skin. I’m dripping in sweat as if I had any fat to lose to begin with and it hurts. Somehow I want it, I want the pain of this… growth? I just enjoy it so much as I feel my wrists shake and my hands clench up too tight. That’s when my pectorals start ballooning out. I usually buy shirts a size too big and I find myself quickly filling it in during this dream… Nightmare. It’s a nightmare. I can’t let it be a good dream. I won’t. I lost track when I hallucinated. I was walking down the normal street all students do here, and all while classes were ending. People go in all directions (we actually have a large record here on our campus for having the most busy pedestrian light in the state or whatever) and there’s no way you can get through on a bike. It was rather cold now, and I had already began dreading the first snow. I just remember walking through the crowds and hearing someone call my name. It sounded rather distant and I pretended not to hear just so I could get home faster. I’d just blame the distance to whoever would text me after the event. Heading home, however, is a bit of a walk for those who live in Helena. It’s on the farthest corner of campus and nowhere near the rest of the halls. At night it’s completely isolated. The crowds disappeared at some point and I recognized someone was close by on the same path. I just kept going and payed no mind, but it wasn’t until I got to a main road that I turned to see things had already gone awry minutes ago. There they stood- a hulking figure who had called out my name earlier. I recognized that they were staying about a block behind and they had been following me since I left class. I swallowed my breath and tried not to make eye-contact as I sped up my pace through traffic. They didn’t seem afraid, either. They were just eyeing me up, like a meal. I never took the time to see the features of this man in a black hood and hoped he wasn’t a hired thug. I almost ran into my building when I saw that he’d already disappeared. I jacked off after the nightmare a few days ago. Kyle was out at his girl’s and even though my anxiety was killing me, I stayed here. Nowhere to go during the weekdays. I got to the point where I start growing… and fast. I woke up with a hard-on and my balls ached so badly. It felt like I’d not jacked off in weeks, seems like. God, I was so embarrassed. I still am. But, just. Growing. It feels so good in my nightmare. I don’t know what to do when my cock is just throbbing inside my shorts and I need a moment of calm… Fuck. I just keep getting thicker. I finally understand why I groan in pain from the bone-aches. I think I hear a few bones pop, as if breaking and disjointing a bit. Maybe they’re just reframing so I can be taller. I can tell my feet are bigger simply by the cold surface of the tiled floor, meaning I’ve grown taller too. I’m already pretty tall, so god only knows how much taller I’m getting in this damn dream. I know that whoever leaves that bathroom isn’t me. That’s what frightens me the most. He’s bigger. Cooler. Much stronger than me. But he isn’t me. What if he’s an asshole? Fuck. He’s really big, though. I’ve never cared about these things before. Why is this happening to me, of all people? What did I do to have this become my eldritch horror? I don’t want to disappear! And yet, feeling my hands get thicker, calloused from deadlifting so damn much turns me on so bad now. Feeling my sweat drip off of my nose as I get water after a workout- something about it excites me. I’ve never cared about sports or eating extremely healthy. And fuck, somehow still it’s coming for me. What if I stop studying art? I got a letter with information on the business program here- of all fucking degrees, can you imagine?! This is his doing, I can tell! I’m going insane and it’s all HIS fault because he wants me to be bigger and muscular and I don’t know why! It doesn’t matter. I haven’t gone to classes all week. I’m doing well enough that this won’t do anything for me, except get the board on my ass for skipping so much. I’ve told my teachers I’ll send the work in, I just can’t make it. I haven’t slept. It’s so cold. Everyone plans on going somewhere for the weekend and I’m stuck alone in this fucking place and- And the dream finished, in full. Last night. I woke up and walked to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and pissed, then pulled up my pants. I looked up and closed my eyes as the weirdness filled me. Then I began to grow. Damn, every time it feels even more real. I feel my arms getting… thicker. Biceps that look like baseballs, and proceed to swell even bigger. Fuck- forearms that look like tree-branches from all the striations as I spread my legs. My cock actually grows, filling my tight underwear as I moan. I can feel my balls actually churning cum because I’m just that virile now… and damn, these basketball shorts just fill up with mass as I get thicker. I can’t think straight anymore, my quads just flex as I cross my clenched hands. Feeling my back pop and spread to the sides excites me so bad! I just gasp when I hear the first sounds of my shirt tearing down the middle! I don’t hesitate, either. I just reach down to tug my shorts off- tearing them like paper, as I look down at my huge cock. It bobs up and down, looking like I pumped it full of air and left a cock-ring on it for days. I feel myself up, my fingers going through every ridge of muscle. Every little bump that forms around my abdomens makes me feel even wider. My waist must be tiny because I can’t really feel it at the side of my arms. My cock dribbles so much just tugging on my stretched out nips, too… I just keep slamming down onto my huge cock, dripping pre onto the floor and moaning like some kind of beast in the wild. I roar, claiming my new body as I flex my left arm up. The pleasure alone makes me feel more powerful than anything in the world could. I haven’t’ slept. I don’t know if anyone will notice me disappearing, either. I keep having issues getting on social media, contacting people. I’m so isolated. I could’ve sworn I saw HIM walking the halls. He wants to take over my life. He wants me to be bigger. Be a different man. Keeps dangling it in front of me… Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe I’ll transfer into a cool business program. The guys there might not even be assholes. And we can fuck, too. No, wait. That’s not…. What I want. I need to sleep a little in the day and then not worry so much about night-time… It doesn’t matter anymore. I was finally able to log in to my social media. I don’t exist anymore. All my profiles. All my pictures online. Even the ones just on my phone- they’re all of somebody else. Yeah, they look like me. He looks a lot like me. His jaw is just squarer… He’s almost as tall as a basketball player… I’ve grown thick hair all around my neck and keep it long on my head so it makes me look rugged… And I wear tight clothing so my pecs almost pop off my buttons… I look… really good. It’s time to down a glass of water, maybe, and wait for me to head to the bathroom. I think I see him… me… out in the courtyard waiting for me to give in. My window is open so I don’t fall asleep, but I think it’s time I closed it. It’s starting to snow. The sensations I feel when I burst out of my clothes and walk over to the mirror are unmatched. I kind of want to see him staring back at me. We can flex together. I can flex hard. Who knows, maybe this is a really good dream have, after all.
  20. cropsey23

    Colin's Determination: Conclusion

    I was just coming out of a deep sleep when I heard his heavy footsteps walking up the hallway. He walked into my room without knocking on the door. “Bro,” I heard his say in a deep voice. “Get up, I need a ride to go lift.” And with that, I felt his big hand on my ankle, starting to turn me over. No matter how much I resisted, within a few seconds he managed to drag me to the end of the bed. “Okay, I’m getting up,” I said. My feet hit the floor and I looked at him, wearing ridiculously tight workout shorts and nothing else. His long, sandy brown hair hung in his eyes, and even though he had just shaved the night before, he head a heavy stubble across his face. His cheekbones looked liked they were carved from marble, and his jaw was perfectly square. His shoulders were wide and thick with muscle, even bigger than the day before. His massive chest heaved up and down slowly, and with each breath his cobblestone eight-pack of abs popped out even more impressively. Across the top of his left delt, the word DEAT was tattooed in block letters. Drop everything and train, had become his mantra, and that of the entire team. His huge arms hung at his sides, pushed out by his incredibly wide and powerful lats. I smiled at him, impressed with how determined he had been, and slowly stood up, still in my briefs. At 6’ 6” and 275lbs, I was just a hair taller than him. But he now outweighed me by 10lbs of pure grade-A muscle. The resolute look on his face said, DEAT. Standing at eye-level with him, I could feel his calm breath and knew it was time for our new morning ritual. It started a few weeks ago, as a way to test his strength. He held the car keys gripped in his hand, and extended his arm to me. “You can’t drive me if you don’t have the keys bro,” he said mockingly. He looked down at his arm as it slowly tensed up. First, the bicep formed into a huge softball. As he continued to focus, the power moved down to his forearm, which was thick with new muscle and several prominent veins. Looking down at his stomach, he crunched his eight-pack next, revealing phenomenal new definition. I reached over and gripped his enormous bicep. “Very impressive. 21 inches?” I asked. Looking right at me, he pumped up his bicep even more and said “Doesn’t that feel like 22 to you?” I laughed, and started to slide my hand, first down to his thick forearm. As I started to move down to his wrist, he opened his hand and dropped the keys on the floor, and wrapped it around my own formidable forearm. His grip felt incredibly powerful, and he applied some pressure, holding my arm in place. “Let’s not play this game anymore, we both know it’s been getting harder for you to overpower me,” he said. We stood face to face, our hands tightly gripping each other’s forearms, neither one of us willing to yield. 44 inches of bicep muscle between the two of us started to fire up. He smiled at me, and started to force my arm up. The movement was imperceptible at first, but then he really started to overpower me. Within a few seconds, he had my hand up in the air, almost in a victory pose. With his arm raised, I could see the muscled striations of his interior bicep. He was more stunned than I was. Even though he was clearly now much stronger, this was my victory. “Holy shit, you were right. Your training plans really worked,” he said. “Well, if you want to get to the gym, you’ll have to let me go now,” I said, and with that he released his iron grip. He bent over and grabbed the car keys, and tossed them to me. “Let’s go. DEAT!” Oh, in case you were wondering, this is Colin speaking. I know up until now you have heard this story from the perspective of my brother, Greg. But he’s been so busy lifting lately. So I’m going to catch you up on what’s happened in the last three months, as both Greg and Marcus found their own determination, and finally started to grow. As everyone else on the team was gaining muscle mass quickly, both Greg and Marcus seemed to be struggling. I paired them up in the hopes they would motivate each other, and that motivation came in the form of Marcus’ father, Dan Cunitz. Mr. Cunitz was one of the most successful and powerful real estate developers in the state, and I had convinced him to help fund the team: renovating the house, providing new gym equipment, even supplying the food and a kitchen staff. He had always taken an interest in the baseball team, and it was his clout that got Marcus onto the team, in spite of his small size and total lack of athletic skills. To Mr. Cunitz, his son was a total disappointment, and he made sure to tell Marcus every time he came to visit. “All the money that I donate to this school and they can’t put five pounds of muscle on you? Why can’t you be more like Jackson?” Mr Cunitz would say whenever he visited. It was a poorly kept secret that Mr. Cunitz was very fond of Jackson, who was the star player and the biggest guy on the team, at least until I arrived. Jackson was your typical dumb jock: shower him with some attention and gifts, and he was easily manipulated. Mr. Cunitz knew how to do this. He was very generous with Jackson, hiring personal trainers for him, buying him clothes and workout gear. Jackson responded by bulking up fast. Jackson loved the results, and was easily manipulated into performing some oral favors for Mr. Cunitz in order to keep the largesse coming. By the time I arrived on the team, Jackson stood 6’ 5” tall and weighed 275lbs. I knew that if I were going to rebuild this team, I would have to establish myself as the unassailable authority. Jackson responded to my authority, and I put an end to their special relationship immediately. Mr. Cunitz was not happy with that, but he seemed to enjoy interacting with me. He would call for updates on the team regularly, and I gladly complied, letting him treat me like another paid employee. But sometimes I would offer to chat with him on FaceTime, and he never turned down those requests. I would play dumb, sitting in front of the cam as we chatted. When I had a financial request to make, I would take off my shirt, so casually, and let him see the muscle god that I was. I wouldn’t pose for him – that would be too direct an approach with a Type A guy like him. Sometimes I would have Jackson in view behind me, shirtless as well. And little by little, I started to create a hunger in Mr. Cunitz that he never knew he had. I’d pretend to turn away from the camera, and that gave him an opportunity to stroke his fat dick. I never caught on that I knew, and that gave me the upper hand. I started to get more direct in our conversations, demanding large sums of money for the team. Once, he hesitated and questioned my request for $5,000 cash to buy new equipment. I stood up, with the cam right on my ripped eight-pack, and started to reach over to shut my laptop. “I guess this conversation is over, Dan.” But once he saw my thickly cobbled stomach up close, he relented. “Okay, okay! I’ll have it delivered tomorrow,” he said, with a bit of desperation in his voice. I leaned down in front of the cam, with no expression on my face, and said, “Make it $10,000, Dan.” The next day, a courier arrived, not with $10,000, but $15,000 in cash for me, the keys to a new Cadillac Escalade, and a profuse letter of apology from Dan. “So sorry about last night Colin. The Escalade is paid for and insured, for your private use. And use the extra cash as you see fit. Respectfully, Dan.” Colin laughed. Respectfully. Dan was hooked. The most powerful businessman in the state was dominated by an 18 year-old college freshman. And he had no idea. He was still an asshole though, especially when it came to Marcus. I allowed him to vent about this, to let him think he still had some authority left. “Can’t you do anything about that runt?” he said to me in one particularly angry chat we had. Marcus was in the room at the time, out of the cam’s view. But he overheard the entire angry conversation. I looked up at Marcus as his father ranted about him, saying things like “useless kid… got his mother’s shitty genetics… he’ll never amount to anything.” Mr. Cunitz ended by saying “I’d rather turn this company over to you, Colin.” Then he ended the call. I looked at Marcus. Instead of bursting into tears though, I could see the blood rising up in him. “So sorry you had to hear that Marcus. I’m refining a new training plan for both you and Greg,” I said. Marcus walked over to me, with a fire in him that I had never seen before. “Whatever it takes, Colin. MAKE ME HUGE.” I stood up from my chair, shirtless. The contrast between the two of us couldn’t be more remarkable: a 6’ 5” 275lb muscle jock, standing next to a 5’ 7”, doughy 140lb nerd. “Bigger than me, Marcus?” I asked. He didn’t hesitate to roar up at me, “YES.” And just like that, my new plan went into action. Marcus started training the next day with a new, inexhaustible intensity. Since Greg was his workout partner, his intensity increased as well. The two of them working out together was like an inferno. Within a few days, the rest of the team mobilized around them, knowing that something incredible was taking place. Brendan and Jeremy became thief full-time coaches. Jackson and James attended class on their behalf, taking notes and even exams in their place, so their grades didn’t suffer. And the results were remarkable. They both seemed to stop thinking about anything but lifting weights and training. The entire house revolved around them. Marcus shed his baby fat quickly, and even dropped a few pounds at first. His abs popped quickly, revealing a frame that was ready to add a massive amount of muscle. Greg, already in good shape, started adding muscle rapidly, anywhere from 5 to 8 pounds a week. At one point, I expected the growth to level out, but something even more remarkable happened: he got taller, slowly rising up from 6’ even, to just under 6’ 5”. This allowed him to add and carry even more muscle. Before long, he outgrew his clothes quickly and started to borrow mine. I managed to keep Mr. Cunitz off-campus during this intense growth phase. I wanted to keep harnessing Marcus’ anger to fuel the growth. But after three months of excuses, I needed to let him visit the team. I was running drills with the football team one afternoon. You remember how the football team begged me to annex them to the baseball team? Yea, I did that, and now they were the biggest and most feared team in the state. Anyway, I got a text from Dan. Will arrive in five minutes, it said. I kept looking out at the road for his car when I heard a helicopter overhead. I received another text: Clear the field, I’m landing. Well, I thought, he has paid enough money to this school. He should be allowed to land his helicopter. The chopper touched down, Dan got out of the pilot’s seat and ran over to me. At 6‘ 2” and a very solid 210lbs, Dan had managed to keep his jock physique into his early 40s. He was wearing tight jeans, and a snug polo shirt that showed off his impressive arms. He was a very handsome man, even more so with a bit of ginger stubble on his square jaw. “Sorry about landing the chopper right here Colin, my schedule is very tight this week.” I could see him measuring up the shirtless athletes, each one an Adonis in his own right. “Wow, I can see my money is being put to good use. I bet there’s not a one of you under 225lbs.” “240 is the minimum for this team Dan,” I said, correcting him. “I guess the runt isn’t in this crowd, huh?” he said, with disdain. “Marcus is at the gym,” I said, “but I texted and he’s on his way over. With Jackson and Greg,” I added. A few minutes later, the Escalade pulled up. Jackson got out of the driver’s seat in just his workout shorts. I could hear Dan gasp at the site of him. Dan thought Jackson was a fortress of muscle a few months ago, but after coaching by Colin he was now a mountain: he towered at 6’ 8” and 315lbs of pure, fat-free muscle. His shoulders were colossally wide, his pecs quite literally like plates of armor, and at his side hung 24-inch biceps. Dan’s eye’s drifted down to Jackson’s powerfully thick legs, which were barely contained in the nylon shorts. “Hey Jackson, you look amazing,” said Dan, not even trying to hide his lust for the young muscle god. “I’ve got to get that stud on his knees for me again,” Dan thought to himself. Dan reached over and grabbed Jackson’s enormous bicep and squeezed, but he couldn’t even make a dent. “Maybe you can show me around the training facility later, huh Jackson?” he said, in a desperate attempt to get some private time with the jock. Jackson just stared blankly and said “Ask Marcus first.” The fact that he didn’t fawn over Dan’s attentions, and financial largesse, just pissed off Dan even more. Then Greg got out of the car. He was now easily 6’ 6” tall, with 290lbs of muscle. He was wearing workout shorts, and bursting out of my old hoodie. Greg sauntered over and stood next to Jackson. I glanced over at Dan, but didn’t say a word. I wanted him to enjoy every minute of the muscle display that he had financed. I knew that after today, I would never have a problem getting money out of him again. Then the passenger’s side door creaked open, and the vehicle rose up as Marcus got out of the truck. Still partly obscured by the vehicle, Dan looked at me and said, “Is THAT my son?” Rounding the front of the truck, Marcus finally revealed himself to his hateful father: He stood at 7’ 2” tall, and carried 415lbs of solid muscle on his frame. His neck was the size of a small tree trunk, and his smooth, massive chest heaved slowly. He was wearing an open button-down shirt, revealing thick dark fur on his ripped 8-pack. He was, by far, the biggest guy on the field, and probably in the entire state university system. Despite his size, he walked over briskly to his father. “Hey Dad,” he said, in a deep voice, letting his father soak up every inch of him. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” They chatted for a few minutes. Dan was clearly rattled, and Marcus enjoyed toying with him. Colin could hear the tone of the conversation change as Dan raised his voice. Ah, thought Colin. Classic bully: put him in a situation he can’t control and he lashes out. “You could be more grateful Marcus, it’s my money that financed this whole team. And your transformation,” said Dan. “If I pulled the funding, you would revert to the loser you’ve always been.” Colin could hear the desperation in his voice, as Dan turned around and faced Jackson next: “You too. You would be a washed up college athlete if it wasn’t for me. You should both be more respectful to me.” When no one responded to his idle threats, Dan turned and walked towards the helicopter. He shouted to me: “You are all cut off. No more money from Mr. Cunitz. Let’s see how you losers do without me.” He got into the cockpit and slammed the door. Marcus walked over and calmly said, “Dad, open the door,” but Dan ignored him. “DAD, OPEN THE DOOR.” Mr. Cunitz glared at him, revved up the helicopter and started to lift off the ground slowly. Marcus reached over and grabbed the skids of the helicopter and gripped it tight. “PUT IT DOWN DAD, OR I’M TAKING YOU DOWN.” And without waiting, Marcus flexed his powerful lats and biceps and yanked on the helicopter, pulling it back down onto the ground with a thud. Mr. Cunitz, stunned at this display of superhuman strength, turned off the engine. Marcus reached for the door and yanked it right off the hinges. He reached in, grabbed his father and easily hauled him out of the copter. “RESPECT?” roared Marcus. “You WILL fund the team, whatever Colin asks for, from now on. No questions. Got it?” Mr. Cunitz whimpered, “Yes Marcus.” Marcus hauled him back up and carried him over to Jackson. “You’re so fond of Jackson, well now you belong to him. We need a need water boy on the team.” And just like that, my transformation of the team was completed. A group of mediocre athletes was now a team of unstoppable muscle gods already feared across the state. With the unlimited funding from Mr. Cunitz secured, I eventually annexed every other sports team in the university, and became the first student named as University Athletic Director. Now, onto my plans for national domination….
  21. MattvsCole

    The Real Life Game

    This is my first time making a story I hope you guys like it and give me some feedback. I hope you enjoy. The Real Life Game It was a stormy night at a small house in the country. There was two men inside. One was named John. The other was called Mark. They were a gay couple living on the country side of Georgia. John was a bodybuilder and a good looking one too. He won every competition. He is standing at a 7 foot and 3 inches. His biceps were 24 inches. His pecs were 74 inches. He had a 8 pack and very happy about it. His member under neath was at least 2 ft long. His lover, Mark, was a gamer. He mostly played sims or sex type games. He was a skinny, short type of guy. He was only 5 ft and 6 inches. He barely had muscle on him but he had Avery nice bubble butt. Mark was sitting on their couch playing a game,called The Real Life Game, he got at the local thrift store. The owner said that this game would change his life, but he didn't believe him. He uploaded the game to his Xbox and started playing. "What is your name and birthday" He put his name and birthday in the game. "Mark Watson, 11/25/80" The screen changed and asked, "How many people how many people are in your household?" "2" "What is the second person's name" "John King" "What size do you wish to be/ do want body hair " Mark wondered what would happen if he did it. Probably nothing. Right? "Height: 8ft 7inch, Pecs: 89inch, Biceps: 43inch, Abs: 10 pack, Triceps: 34inch, Quads: 23inch, Feet: 20inches, Balls: 23 inches Penis: 3ft 7inch, Body hair: Yes." As he click enter, he felt a little tingle go through his body. He started to see he was getting taller. His head touched the ceiling a with a massive boom in the house. Then his chest felt bigger and heavier. His pecs were ballooning up and stretching the fabric as the grew. One by one his buttons came off of his shirt. His shirt finally shredded off showing his massive pecs to the world. Next, his biceps grew with boost. His biceps grew to the double of the size of his partners dick. It was so big that it was like a bowling ball. Then he felt a striking pain in his stomach. Down below his massive pecs he couldn't see. Bumps started to appear in two lines, 5 on each side. Nextly, his legs felt powerful. His legs were booming with power and they were at least bigger than his partner. His pants were gone and nowhere to be seen except his underwear. His feet were at least smaller than 2 feet. Then he felt a massive pull. His dick and balls were getting huge. His underwear couldn't hold all the weight and released the beast. His dick was full of power. His balls were huge like a bowling ball and filled with his cum inside. Finally hairs started growing. He locked at his body in the mirror next to the TV and saw a new person. He looked like him in the face but the body was someone different then he looked at the TV and it said. "Transformation complete, would you like to change your other housemate?" Mark wondered if the owner was right, but he looked in the mirror and knew he was right. He sat thinking that their needed to be a change in his life and this was it, but what about John. He could make him bigger than him but make him into slave. He entered. "Yes" Part 2 Mark said yes he saw the screen flashing saying, "What does John King want for a body" Mark sat down on the couch with barely any room to fit his huge body. He sat wondering what he should give his boyfriend. Smaller version of him or an even bigger than Mark. He finally decided what to do. "Height: 12ft 8 inch, Pecs: 172 inches, Biceps 67 inch, Abs: 12 pack, Triceps: 56 inch, Quads: 45 inch, Feet: 34 inches, Balls 68 inches, Penis: 6ft 8inch, Body hair: Yes" He presses the "A" button on his controller. The screen went dark and the ground started shaking and rumbling with fear. Mark starts hearing moaning from his bedroom. He gets up and opens the door to see the biggest man in the world with a face like John King. He was huge and at least twice the size of Mark. He had is brown hair covering his massive pecs and a trail down to his penis. His dick was so massive that it was touching the ground. His legs were powerful. His width could be about the size of three king size mattress. He had a 5'o clock shadow covering his face. He was beautiful. John said, "Do you want to Fuck"
  22. NeverTooBig69

    Glazed PT1

    I've been working in the same stinking position at a major doughnut store for a year. "Its not uncommon to be promoted within the first six months." Yeah, OK, no. I haven’t even gotten a fucking raise!!! It's a good thing I've been applying elsewhere because the only thing keeping me here are the bodybuilding competitions a block away. Muscleheads love donuts, powerlifters and bodybuilders alike. “Now Josh, we have a new employee coming in today and I want you to show him how to use the register and drive-thru.” “Yes sir.” I'm against training a newbee today and stare daggers at my manager as he leaves me the store for awhile. I get out a mop and start cleaning the store in preparation for the morning rush. I see a vehicle pull up and can only assume it's the new guy. I'm amazed to see it's an older model Hummer, one where you could still tell it was an army surplus vehicle. I try not to scoff as the driver's door opens. “Yay, a guy with a tiny dick trying to compensate with horsepower. He won't even make enough for gas here with a truck like that.” I say to myself. I continue to mop until I see a tree trunk tumble out of the truck. What I assumed was a tree trunk ended up being the most massive leg I had ever seen. It was straining the jeans he was wearing to the breaking point. I could see veins where there shouldn't have been veins but he was not cut, just freakishly huge. His other leg and quads became visible and were over twice the size of his calves. Actually bulls were a better way to describe the monstrous amount of beef attached to his lower leg. His legs gave way to wings that could soar, a pec shelf that I could store milk jugs on, and shoulders that would destroy any doorway. As if that wasn't enough his traps were swallowing his neck and touching his ears. His face was the most dazzling part. Purely masculine with a squared jaw, stubble, and piercing green eyes that bore into my very soul if I dared to look. “This man has enough muscle to register in a tractor pull.” I thought, swallowing the gallons of saliva I'm generating. I'm still trying to figure out how he got his polo over so much muscle when he struts into the store, turning sideways to fit through the door. I think his nips hit the side of the door because he shudders a little as he passes through. I compose myself to not look like a drooling idiot but notice I was still going back and forth with a bone dry mop. I stow it away before he turns around to see me. "Hey little guy, my name's Cody." He has that cocky smile that lets you know he is bigger and stronger than you. Every time he takes a breath, his enormous pecs heave out towards my face, begging to be serviced. "Hi Cody, I'm Josh, I'll be showing you what to do around here. Its pretty easy."I started to feel my cock stir as he stared into my eyes, a look of curiosity on his beautiful face. "I’m not gonna have to wear one of those uniforms, am I?" I look down at the signature brown, orange, and pink uniform. Mine used to be a large, but now I needed an XL because I loved donuts almost as much as muscle. "Well, yeah." "Ok dude, show me whats gotta get done." Cody said as he seemed to be chuckling about the outfit. I go into the back and grab a 3xl from the storage closet. Cody just stares in amazement at it when I bring it back. "That's not gonna fit man, this is a 5xl, and look what this muscle can do to it." He gets that cocky grin, and suddenly does a double bi with such ferocity, I back away. His bis heave towards the sky, growing bigger, and bigger, his sleeves barely containing the mountain forming underneath them. It's then I notice his tri's pulling his sleeves closer and closer to the ground. "Oh yeah dude, this feels so fucking good!" Cody is so enamored with his muscles that he doesn’t notice he just said that out loud. I quickly readjusted my throbbing cock without him knowing. "Well Cody, you're going to have to try squeezing into this." I say with as much authority as I can muster. Cody stops flexing, but not before flexing a final explosive clench and blowing out his sleeves like so much tissue paper. "Ok boss, but I warned you." He struts to the Mens room to try on his uniform as tatters rain from his ruined sleeves to the floor. I run to the front and close the store. To hell if the manager comes back, its Sunday, I don't think he will, plus, this is so worth it. I rush back to the bathroom, hearing him grunt and groan through the door. "Hey Cody, you need help man?" "Yeah Josh, you can help me get into this." I open the door to a sight that is still in my mind now. Cody is trying to squeeze his monstrous torso into a shirt 3 sizes too small. I get behind him and tug the shirt, trying to fit it over his wide lats. "This isn't happening dude, can I wear my shirt?" "Yeah man, this won't work." We are both laughing as he stops struggling. I can just make out a grunt that sounds like “Does the manager care about these shirts?” “Not particularly, the company is replacing the color scheme next month.” Cody grunts in confirmation then I hear him start breathing in. After 10 seconds, I can't believe what I'm seeing. He is slowly expanding before my eyes. The small bathroom is getting smaller as the sounds of threads tearing starts to increase. After 30 seconds he stops and everything gets quiet except for the random snap of a thread here and there. I can just make out Cody's smirking mouth as he mouths the word “Boom.” Suddenly he seemed to double in size as the shirt disintegrated from his hulking form. He then turns around, and something smacks my thigh. I look down to a 12 in python rubbing up against my leg. I am now more thirsty than I have ever been. Cody looks down, sees what happened, then laughs. "Sorry Josh, it was just such a turn on, seeing all this muscle being way to big for the biggest shirt you got, think I could take care of it before I go out there?" I put my eyes back in my sockets, "Sure man, if you need anymore help, just ask." As I am turning to leave, I hear something that makes this the best day at work ever. "Well, could you help me out?" I turn around and see him flexing those meaty pecs, smirking, knowing what I am about to do. I walk to him, get down on my knees, and start sucking through the blue jeans he is wearing. I hear him grunt in pleasure as I feel his cock get harder beneath the denim. "God, this feels so good, let me help you out man." Cody grabs his jeans, and just rips them off, taking his jockstrap with them. I’m left with a 14 in piece of prime meat dripping right in front of my hot, waiting mouth. I attack the newly freed beast with a hunger I didn’t know I had. Cody meanwhile is groaning with ecstasy, digging his face in his deep pits, licking up all his jock juice. I grab onto his hanging quads, bigger than most trees, going to town, feeding on this monster, kneading the balls in my left hand. "OH fuck man, your good at this!!" Cody goes into a most muscular pose, and starts holding it. As he is flexing to the max, I could swear that new muscles were popping out, being pumped full of power. I can feel his cock getting bigger, reading for climax. His gargantuan balls almost visibly boiling, they are so full. Cody is still holding his pose, seeming to grow before my eyes. "This pump is great, I feel like I’m growing man, so much power, so much fucking..mmmmm" I look up to see what happened and I cum in my pants. His pecs had pumped so big, they had slammed his jaw shut, he could now only grunt and groan. I am so thirsty for his cum that I can't stand it. Remembering earlier, I reach up with both hands and squeeze his nips hard. "MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM" He screams, his cock exploding inside me. I can feel cups of cum gushing to my waiting belly and I swallow it all, growing a hard gut under my shirt. I get off it, trying to breath, only to get hosed with even more of his seed. "MMMMMMMMMM.MMMMMMMM.MMMMMM." His screams become groans as the deluge finally ends. Cody is still holding his pose. I can't even see his face from the shelf of his truly godlike pecs eclipsing my view. I hear him try to say something, but his pecs are holding his mouth shut. While he is immobile, I lick myself, and Cody clean. "Good thing we're in a doughnut shop, you just got glazed!", I look up to see Cody bent over so he could see me, his head bent all the way back so he could talk. We stare at each other, and then start laughing. This is going to be the best job ever!
  23. sidewaysart202

    Vengeance Demon

    I was out of it, my life had been a fucked up nightmare train with stops at chaos stations in every Shitville and I had no idea how to fix any of it. I couldn’t sleep, it had been a week since I’d been to the gym, my long-time partner and I broke up, and I was on the verge of losing my job. I was nearly pulling patches of hair out of my scalp with the stress of it all. My name is Henry, and the last few years of my life had formed what I hoped would be the start of me settling down, forming a successful lifelong career, building a family in my own home… as a person, I can’t really say too much about myself. My mother was half Spanish and my father was all German. Because of them, I had an exotic look some might say, but I still looked white enough to not get racially profiled in Arizona. My hair was a dark wavy brown, which fit well with my naturally tan looking complexion. My facial structure was strong, my cheekbones solid and high pairing well with a squared jaw and lightly dimpled chin. But, even though I had some confidence issues, I had known ever since I was a kid that my eyes were far and by my best feature. They were deep-set and cat shaped, lending my face a roguish expression naturally. They were a dazzling green, a true green made from a combination of a hazel and blue eyed couple. My second best feature was without much contest, was my body, at 27 years old, I had spent enough time in the gym to carve out a physique that most people’s mouths water with desire or jealousy. At six feet even and a lean 190 pounds, I certainly was no lightweight, but I wasn’t quite on the level of a bodybuilder. Each muscle stuck out from my body with clear definition. The steak slices that made up my pecs pushed firmly and squarely away from my torso. My solid biceps when flexed were easily the size of softballs. My upper body was equipped with a ripped back which tapered absurdly past my eight-pack abs into my full globular ass. I personally loved wearing knee length ‘man’-leggings in the gym which defined the high curve of the cheeks and the outward sweep of my thickened quads. Normally I loved working out. I could easily spend an hour to two hours a day in my gym. When I wasn’t at work I was either at the gym or playing video games. Speaking of, the way I’ve described my propensity for fitness mars my actual lifestyle’s appearance. In reality, I was quite a geek. My parents liked to move around a lot, all across Europe and then the U.S., this caused me to not really be able to make a lot of friends, forcing me to find my own devices of entertainment. So I learned about gaming and the art of getting lost in books at an early age. My first system was the Gameboy advance and from there my knowledge of “geek” and gaming culture grew exponentially. I did small FPS competitions here and there, and it was much easier to make friends online than in person, and much easier to keep them. My career was perfect too, I did computer, console, keyboard, T.V., and controller repair for a larger tech company. I also did in home troubleshooting and taught tech-care classes to kids interested in the field of electronics. I was on track to become a manager with a comfortable salary and some hefty stock options, until my performance began to fall and I was placed on work probation. The probation was sort of and sort of not my fault. For the past month, things in my relationship had become at best, messy. I had met my partner at a gaming convention just after my 25th birthday and we started hitting it off pretty strong, we were both nerds that also had a strong interest in fitness, and just like the snap of a finger it had been just over two years and a certain promotion that my partner had received in their work allowed us to move in together, we were both pretty sure that we would soon be married, and the first month or so of living together only strengthened that thought. But it was after that month that our magic began to fade. We started spending less time together, they stopped spending as much time in the gym and at home, and it was showing. Clothes that were once a little too roomy to wear on normal days were quickly becoming the norm for them, which I suppose I would have been fine with if they didn’t also grow more and more distant each week. They went out to more and more work outings at expensive restaurants and bars, coming home later, having missed dinner and too tired to do anything more than watch some Netflix and sleep. Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t just sit idle while watching the person I loved, the person that I wanted to start a family with leave me day by day, I tried setting up dates, planning romantic excursions, begging them to take some time off of their job or ask for their original position back. This went on for nearly three months before I couldn’t stand it, the pain of losing the person I fell in love with so slowly was physically harming me, I was weaker in my workouts and as I stated above, my job performance was waning. So I decided to end it… the tear filled battle ensued for two days before we both lay down our weapons, broken and lost. I don’t remember much, but they seemed to be under the impression that the main reason I was leaving was their body that they had let go, over using the question “It’s because I’m fat now isn’t it?” Eventually, the end of it all came and they finished their piece with a curse of sorts. They screamed “I wish that one day your body would match the size of your bloated ego!”, never having lost the idea that I left them solely because of their recent weight gain. Now there I was, lying awake, hours later than I should have been, in my bed at night, trying to force myself into the thrall of sleep to escape my ruined existence. Surely enough though, I felt my eyelids touch firmly together, signaling to my brain that it was time to dream, and I dreamt, I dreamt something so realistic it was practically tangible, I could even smell in the dream. I had never had a dream so real, it was almost as if I weren’t dreaming at all. All before me was a huge semi-circle table piled with foods of all kinds from all around the world, noodles, curries, breads, cheeses, meats, fruits, desserts, any food you could think of was there to be found. The aroma of it all was intoxicating, it didn’t necessarily come from the food itself, it was too singular in its depth. It was spicy, not the chili kind of spicy, but the kind where cinnamon, cumin, onion, and a dozen other flavors melted to make one single sweet yet thickly rich scent the seemed to double my appetite for the amazing spread of food. The dream would have been perfect were it not for the big sign hung awkwardly from the ceiling with bright read numbers the read 190 in alarm clock font and a mysterious, dark figure in a corner of the room, apparently watching over me. But that hardly bothered me, I approached the table and picked up a choice cut of steak, the fat marbled like artwork and the meat itself cooked perfectly to my tastes, still dripping juice and blood, and I dug in like a monster, the one pound cut of meat I easily inhaled, relishing each tender and juicy bite, the meat turning even more juicy and delicious with every bite. It was truly amazing, I’d never consumed something so amazing in flavor, forgetting almost instantly all qualms I possessed about the dream in the beginning. I had no need for utensils at this point, something ravenous inside of me had awoken, and it needed to be fed, I reached for a cake, just grabbing a chunk off with my bare hands. Shoving the fluffy confection into my mouth was as heavenly as the steak. It was the sweetest thickest cake I had ever eaten. I gobbled handful after handful of the stuff, and even when finished I hadn’t been satiated. I moved on to the fruits, the breads, and nibbling on everything else. I had reached approximately half of my stomach’s dream capacity when I noticed a cool feeling on my abs, I reached down in the middle of murdering a huge steak meat tomato to feel out the problem. I was shocked to feel my hand hit bare skin. Upon looking down I was even more shocked to see my skin tight shirt which hugged my chest and shoulders had ridden up my belly, just to my naval. I stopped chewing momentarily to admire and sort of fear this development, but only shortly as I was quickly recalled to my quest of stuffing my face until I could no longer physically do so. For what seemed like an hour I kept eating anything I could grab, loving the feeling of the food being forced quickly down my throat so I could swallow more. Finally, full I, sat down on the floor up against a wall, looking down at my comically bloated gut, my abs were still visible but grossly stretched over my gluttonous stomach. I started rubbing it, a euphoria spreading over my body as I did so, each muscle fiber in my body tingling begging me to continue. I did until I noticed something, my gut was going down, right in front of my eyes it was deflating, and there were two other things that I noticed the number on the big sign was slowly going up from 190 and the pants and shirt I was wearing were getting tighter. I could feel the shirt becoming tighter around my chest and arms, the fabric sucking to my skin. The pants I was wearing did the same. All the while as my clothes became tighter all around me, my shirt becoming skin tight around my bloating pecs and biceps. The pants I wore did the same, the fabric was clinging more and more with passing seconds. The fabric soon started to show a definite outline of the muscles implanted in my body. My muscles’ swelling slowed to halt quickly, though. But my belly hadn’t shrunk down all the way. I pulled my shirt up from my waist and looked on, it was soft. My whole body was without a doubt more blistered than ever before, my pecs and shoulders fighting their way forward through my shirt, my legs and ass threatening to tear the seams on my pants, and that didn’t stop with my stomach. All over I felt a little softer, squishier, fatter. I kept feeling around my stomach, trying to reveal my abs, which were barely there, they had been almost completely covered by a thicker layer of skin. My small sprouting tummy even had a small pout to it, sticking forward beyond my hips, not a huge amount, but noticeably none the less. I looked up to see the strange dark figure gone, and the sign showing a new number, it read 215, in my dreaming state I simply could not figure out what that meant, I just kept rubbing my full belly, because for some freakish reason, I liked it, I liked having more real estate down there, more to play with, it felt kind of good. That is, until another pair of hands joined in, going over every inch of my body. I stopped moving, scared and slightly aroused by the euphoriant experience, the figure behind me started whispering. I couldn’t make out anything other than “I can’t wait until next time.” Then I woke up. I threw my eyelids open, freaked out and amazed at my dream. It still felt like I could taste some of the food from it. I lied there for a few minutes, reminiscing about it all, the food, the rubbing, the smell, all of it. I slowly started to move when I noticed something, my arm was heavy, in fact, all of me was heavy, something was very wrong here. I ripped off my covers and dashed to the nearest bathroom. In it was a floor to ceiling mirror, great for checking yourself before you went out, or when you had hyper-realistic dreams about eating and growing. I ran to the mirror and my hand went straight to mouth, as if to stifle a scream that might have exited were I capable of making noises. I was huge, I was fucking bloated and massive, I appeared 30 pounds heavier than yesterday. My chest stuck out more, deepening the under-shelf, it has also begun to round slightly, both due to its growth and the evident fat gain I had undergone. All of my body was like that, every muscle more swollen and rounded than normal. I poked and prodded everything. Feeling my fingers sink into the grown muscles. I looked everywhere. My back was so much wider, I was looking like a cobra, my arms were thicker and stronger looking, starting to lend the appearance of a budding bodybuilder. My ass was huge. It was completely round and seemed to have blown up more than anything, every time I moved it bounced a little. The sweep of my legs was even more exaggerated now making my knees look knobby and shrunken. But most jarring of all was my stomach, for sure. I had for years, tight abs that naturally tucked in, but now all those years of work were gone as my stomach had puffed up to one that was certainly getting more than its fair share of food. I was too big, I looked so bulky and I had no idea of what to do, no idea who to go to. Who could I tell that I had just blown up nearly thirty pounds overnight and was starting to hulk out? Roughly three weeks had passed since then, I went on a crash, fat burning diet, and had lost about 15 pounds since that freak incident. I lost most of it after the first week and my abs were just as ripped as before, but I was decidedly bulkier, at least more than I wanted to be. At just over 200 pounds, I felt heavy, the change in my weight was noticeable not just by me in my normal day-to-day routine, but everyone I saw noticed too. I had to take a week off of work, which was certainly less than ideal in my current position. But, it wasn’t like I could waltz into my job with people that I saw daily, looking all bloated like a puffer fish. People would obviously ask questions that I would never have been able to answer. I had to get new clothes that week too. Not many though, most of my t-shirts still fit, albeit, a lot tighter around the chest and arms, but at least that was flattering, I’m talking business clothes, I tried putting on a dress shirt, and the fabric stretched away in the middle of my bigger pecs, making small gaps above and below the poor, straining buttons. Of course, there was no way I could get away with being gone from work for a week, having gained a significant amount of weight and then coming back as though nothing had happened. I was hounded with questions, mostly about where I had been, not much about my body, thankfully, the new shirts and pants really hid just how much I had changed. Everything, was fairly normal after that, I just told everyone that I’d had a pretty nasty allergic reaction to some medicine, they bought it. I also spent a bit of time trying to research what had happened to me, trying to find some other person’s story like mine, but all I found was inspiring transformation stories of skinny kids gaining some muscle and subsequently thinking they were hot shit. Besides the second week though, everything was seemingly getting better, I was sleeping more, I had more energy, I was doing better in work… the only thing that still nagged me was my ex, we hadn’t spoken since our break-up, but I guess it was for the best, we may as well at least grow a scab before we pick at old wounds. But, just like that night almost a month ago, I had extreme trouble falling asleep, a certain sense that someone could see me… but just as that night before, I forced myself asleep... I opened my eyes, annoyed this time. “I shouldn't be up now.” was all I thought. A certain smell crept into my nose, this wasn’t dreamy, this was disgusting, like the smell of meat left out, but not quite long enough to rot yet. I almost gagged, something was really not right, I could feel it deep down in my stomach, that kind of sick and burning feeling when you're in an old empty house, or a graveyard at night. It wasn’t just fear; it was an instinctual knowledge that some energy was there… that something very wrong was there. But it was all dark, I couldn’t see anything, I could only smell, and hear, I could hear so much, and yet so little. I could hear feet moving, shifting quietly around, just one set of them, but they were unnerving nonetheless. I could hear a faint gurgling, I could hear flies, and I could hear my heartbeat. I heard one more thing, a voice that could crack a spine, it said “You will feel the burden that you have caused. This is your punishment.” I almost peed myself, but then it started, a piece of raw tasting meat was shoved violently into my mouth, I was forced to clamp down on it and chew, I tried to spit it out, to vomit, anything, but to no avail. I couldn't even run, I was locked in place, forced to chew on this disgusting meat piece. Just as soon as I swallowed, another piece was quickly forced down my throat, leaving me coughing and sputtering, tearing up at the eyes. This happened with two more thick pieces of meat until it stopped for only a moment. A light popped on above, it showered me in a stinging glory, I looked down at my full feeling gut, seeing it puffed out and covered with drippings of blood and something else. I looked filled up. My strong pecs pressed forward considerably, but my belly even further. My legs were squeezed together by some invisible force, making the quads look like stuffed turkeys in my legs. I heard that voice again, “Aren’t you having a good time? You had so much fun the last time we did this.” I had no idea what they were talking about at first, but it came to me slowly, “They were there when I stuffed my face at the buffet in my dream, this was their doing, they were making this happen, that freak!” I would have killed them if I could have. But I sat in a chair, unable to move, “Oh, it doesn’t really matter anyway” They said, as they forced another piece of meat into my mouth, and then another, and then another. They kept forcing this gruel into my gut, and I could feel it, and see it. I felt so freaking full, like my skin was getting hot from being so stretched at my gut. My big belly kept rounding out, pushing forward ever so slowly, a creeping balloon ready to burst. I sat, tied like a hog gagging on rotten meat as the thing kept pressing it into my face. I started feeling pain down at my stomach, not just the pain from being full, but a cutting sensation at my skin, I looked down as they pressed more gruel into my gullet, and I saw pink lines ripping across all of my skin, at this point, my strangely large gut rivalled any 9-month pregnant mother. I’d have had difficulty reaching my arms around the thing, and yet the kept force feeding me. I started crying… I don’t know if it was the physical pain, or the sight of my perfect abs ruined and stretched and scarred by this monster. But I started weeping, a gross snotty kind of weep. This allowed me a second of piece, the freak stopped feeding me, but they started laughing, they laughed for an eternity, a horrible gum-itching cackle, I hated it. They spoke again “Oh, this is fun, this is a good time, you’ve only got 70 pounds left, you’re doing great you little pussy.” ‘Wait, 70 pounds?’ and then it started again, hours went by my belly continued to swell more and more, pushing further and further past my engorged pecs. It was starting to go numb, the nerves were being stretched so tightly across my gut. It was almost like I was a cartoon and someone has just hooked a hose to my mouth, causing gallons of water to flood my body, turning me into a human balloon. And yet, the freak continued stuffing me, fuller and fuller, forcing me to chomp on that disgusting meat. “Ooh this is exciting, we’re almost done!” They suddenly exclaimed “Oof, look at that big belly, so round and full. Hah, you look kind of like a bear; such big strong muscles and such a big round belly.” They continued to say as they forced more gruel into me. Some time passed, my jaws fully aching from all of the chewing, and the weird thing was, I didn’t feel sick, the only thing that hurt was my skin, and I had come to a realization, I wasn’t eating anymore, they weren't feeding me anything else. “We’re done. Let’s look at your big gut now.” They told me. I looked, and my breath got caught. I was huge, enormous, fucking bloated beyond anything possible. I my stomach was completely round, it stretched so far in front of me that I couldn’t see my knees. “Ooh, you did get big. You’re so huge now, look at you!” They started to rub my belly, it felt so good. I knew it was wrong, that I should fight it, but I just let it happen without saying anything. They rubbed my belly like a crystal ball, pushing their hands up and down all across my stretch marked belly. I could feel the weight of it too, on my legs, it hunched me over just a little bit with its pull. They removed their hands and said “Let’s see what a freak this turns you into… suddenly, my stomach started shrinking, ever so slowly. As it shrank I could feel everything else getting bigger. My chest started moving forward, taking up more of my view of my stomach. My arms started straining against the rope tying them together as the muscles in them started to grow too big to contain. My thickening legs were pressing together more and more as my stomach shrank back behind my knees. But, I noticed something else as I my muscles bloated, they were getting softer all over. I was losing definition, as I watched every appendage round out with fat and muscle. They cut the rope releasing my big arms, I still couldn't get up, but I could feel myself, I started pressing into my swelling body, amazed and scared by how my muscles moved against my fingers, pressing out more and more, until slowly, it stopped. I felt myself all over. I was huge. “Wow, look at you… you're like on off-season Lee Priest. I never thought you’d get this big. Well, this is your punishment. Someone in very deep pain wished this upon you for good reason, hopefully now you’ll remember to be more caring to others." Then I awoke. I stayed in bed, not wanting to get out, too scared to see what I might look like. But I could still feel myself under my sheets, my thick arms rubbing against my fat torso… I closed my eyes, and carefully made my way to my bathroom, terrified of what monster I would find. I noticed that both of my shoulders bumped the door frame on my way in. I made it to the mirror and opened my eyes, then dropped to the floor. I was a beast, a fat, huge muscle bloated beast. “What-what the hell?" I whispered. My arms were massive, as thick and rounded as my legs had been yesterday. They were pressing against my lats, sticking out at a stupid angle. My pecs were so broad and bloated, they bounced up and down when I lifted them. I could feel their heavy weight pulling down. It was as if someone filled them with synthol, they were so round and stuck out from my torso so much. My neck had become wide like a tree trunk, it fed into my double chin swelling out from under my softened jaw. My normally ripped and thin waist was grown, bloating out in all directions, pressing forward even more than my muscled tits, only slightly narrower than my much broader shoulders. “Oh my God-” This wasn’t me; it couldn’t be… My eyes started watering again “I’m a freak…” I turned around and looked at my bulging back and ass. My underwear was straining, pressing into my new love handles and stretching far across my massive bouncing butt. My face was wider and fatter, my cheeks lightly pressing up into my eyes, squinting them ever so slightly. I started crying and sat down on my bathroom floor. There was no way any of my clothes could fit me, I couldn’t go into work like this, I couldn’t hide how big I was now. I calmed down after a while, I thought about calling someone, but I was too embarrassed, I didn’t know who I could even call in the first place! I weighed myself, I shouldn’t have done that. I was tipping my scale at 302 pounds. I couldn’t even believe this, and it was my reality. I really did look like an off-season Lee Priest hugely muscular but incredibly fat. I was too big; I was a freak. My face was even rounded out. I was ugly, I started crying about my body, my freakish body, and then I heard I knock on the door...
  24. A friend suggested I try the female perspective. Also suggested that it be a continuation of my Modern Ultra Man story. Thus I attempted it, and present it now for you. I hope you enjoy it. The Modern Ultra Man Part II: Ōkibonajo That time of year had come again. Time to hold the Mr. Olympia contest, although truth be told if it wasn't being held, yet again, in the Kenyama convention center, auditorium, and stadium, the Olympia might not be held at all. For the past ten years the bishounen, now a bidanshi, beautiful man, Daikenmio Kenyama has won the competition, no contest. No wonder. At his first year competing and winning he came in as a giant 7' 8" tall weighing a bit over 500 pounds, but by the end of his posing routine, which he started growing during, he had become this massive mountain man of muscle that stood fifteen feet tall with a cock that jutted out twenty-two and a half feet long. There was so much muscularity and mass to him with such a handsome and pretty face that he gardnered movie contracts instantly to play the gentle but powerful giants on screen. It was easier and simpler to green screen his cock out of the picture than to replicate a creature his size in computer generated graphics; however, his bodybuilding career began to decline. Depite the organizers trying to even the playing field by throwing up images of the other competitors on screen at the same height as Daikenmio, he simply still out classed them all in muscle mass, size, muscularity, vascularity, striations, and definition. He was the total package. Although he was still turned on by his winning and defeating his fellow competitors, after that first win, it didn't have as much of an effect on him. When you walk away from your first competition and and it takes a man seven and a half feet tall to come up a fourth of the way up your thighs you kind of figure, "what's the point?" Still he did continue to grow though and a foot each year on stage and thus with in five years he had out grown any convention center or stage there was. When it seemed the Olympic committee was going to remove him from competition automatically due to his size and just make him a Mr. Olympia emeritus, he took his movies and personal appearance earnings and built a new, taller and more expansive convention center, stage, and stadium around a space that would also serve as his home. He had wanted to ensure he won the title. Won the title consecutively, or not, for at least nine years to break the Mr. Olympia record. Five years later now, he's beginning to wonder if he might not need to build again, or if the history of bodybuilding would end. Standing now at an incredible twenty-five feet tall, there is hardly anyone left in the bodybuilding world who desires to come out and compete against him. Indeed all the true competitors who have built up massive size, definition, and semmetry no longer put in bids to compete. The ranks of competitors who fill the stage and only haphazzard men with builds in between the amatuer and first time professional bodybuilders. They are here not to compete for the best body or against Daikenmio, but simply to make a quick and easy buck taking home the second, third, fourth, or fifth place finish. As such the crowds have become less and less over the years. They've seen Daikenmio and are no longer awed by him. They're not impressed with the smaller, amateur bodybuilders who aren't true competitors of the sport sneaking in only to steal away prize money. With less people attending, means less sponsors. Less sponsors plus less attendance means less money to give away as prizes or to rent out the halls, hotels, stages, set and stage technitians. The only reason they've been able to continue to host it is because the last few years have been held at Daiken's convention center for free. But this year.... this year would bring some vitality back to bodybuilding. It would be the year the histoic winning streak would end. All those not in attendance would weep they did not see it. All those in attendance weeped at the sheer beauty, awe, and power of it. The giant man mountain would be brought down, but not in the impossible, god like way everyone thought of. Daiken had finished his posing routine. His massive muscles fully pumped, veins throbbing and coursing over every peak and into every crevicing valley of his muscles which had been appropriately tanned and oiled up. He had grown, as figured, another foot in size, and his muscles threatened to pinch off his head, make him do an imitation of a plane for eternity, and show everyone a male could do side splits simply because his thighs were too big. The other contestants were all relaxing, drinking beers, sodas, and mixed drinks just waiting for the judges to make the decisions of second through fifth places. The audience had given the respected applause for Daiken, although it sounded more like a golf clap. A few flash cameras went off, but most turned to tables they had set up over empty chairs and focused on picnics and dinners they had sneaked in to nosh on while watching the show with the greatly expected outcome. It was the quietest Mr. Olympia competion and posing section one would probably ever hear. Then in came Yamayuir. In a loosely closed kimono with a haphazardly tied obo, a tall and stately figure strode commandingly towards the stage from the audience level. A flurry of Olympia officials were following behind it all stammering away and seeming as if they were trying to stop it but afraid to actually touch it. It's leg went up to ascend the stairs pulling up at the kimono and revealing a massive, but elegant foot ending with toes beautifully manicured and painted in such a way it look like scenes from exquisitely woven silk had been glued upon the nails. Those feet were standing upon a oddly carved set of okobo, tall wooden shoes worn by initiate Geishas that were similar in style of the Japanese geta. It's mane of head hair was piled high upon it's head in a beautifully arranged bun with decorative hair pieces stuck in. After reachign the top of the stage, one of the officials finally had worked up enough courage to step forward and sternly call out, "The stage is set for the Mr. Olympia, ma'am. You are not supposed to be up there and this is not your competition!" The figure turned just its torso and neck, snapping it's head to look back at the official with a glare the not only made him shut up, but made him cum and pee his pants at the same time, while also causing all of the audience to be come hushed in a still quiet and sitting up and on the edge of their seats in awe. This was Aimi Yamayuir, Japan's female answer to Daikenmio Kenyama. But she wasn't the exact answer.... no. Daiken was known as a bishounen, beautiful boy, now a bidanshi, beautiful male. A male with softer, striking, modelesque, feminine features of the face and body shape, although built more massively and strong than any one could imagine. The usual opposite of this is the bishoujo or beautiful girl. In English terms it would be a woman of equisite beauty in face and form and grace, almost girlish in appearance, coy, and cute. That, however, was not what Aimi Yamayuir was... .... .... No they had begun to call her a Hansamujo, or handsome girl. A female of great beauty but with slightly harder facial features of a male, the height of a male, the strength of a male. In short she was a woman who looked like a bishounen. Over the years she grew taller and taller towering over almost any and all males, as well as working out and pumping up and getting larger and larger, fuller, and stronger, until the nickname they gave her was, Ōkibonajo... ... ...massive girl. No one remembers what her original family name was. Yamayuir was one she had chosen herself; a name befitting her strength of muscle and size of frame, with the beauty of face and the grace of woman hood. Her last name meant, "mountain lily." After staring down the officials, she moved toward the center of the stage, staring down Daiken until he backed up and moved slightly off to the side. Then, with her back to the audience, she began to do a long series of back double-bi poses and each time she flexed, the obi's sleeves began to grow tighter and tighter, smaller and smaller, jumping up fuller and fuller with each flex. Each flex making a larger and plumper pump to her upper arms making them grow and grow until suddenly one rip... ... .... two rips were heard and both kimono sleeves suddenly burst open. She then faced the front and side alternating between the two performing side chest, most muscular, and lat spread poses over and over again, the kimono showing such a massive v as never seen upon the female body before, until suddenly just spread open pushing the side hems out and out and out further away from each other and her chest exposed for all to see. Oh she had a bit of a bosom, but everyone could clearly see her muscular chest development easily jutted out as thick as almost any male's, if not further. Turning her back to the audience again, she began to perform back and lat spreads, showing and impossibly wide back that easily caused her kimono to split down the back and even snap the collar in two. With the top part of her kimono destroyed, she nonchelantly untied her obi and then tossed her torn and ripped kimono into the crowd. The crowd responsed with gasps and cries of awe. They had seen this kind of body before. It was the same kind of body that Daiken brought to the stage ten years ago, only this time there was a bikini top to go with the posing trunks. Keeping her back to the audience she slowly began to tilt her feet more forward raising up to the tips of her toes. One could originally think she was simply resting upon the disign of the okobo shoe, but her calve muscles proved she was actively using the balls of her feet. Up and down.... up and down she went, the ball of her calves becoming a larger and harder diamond each time. The okobos looked as though they were a combination design of okobo and high heel shoe with laces that criss-crossed up the shin and then around and tied just under the knee. They didn't matter though. Within mere minutes the lacing looked as though it were cutting into Aimi's leg, causing parts of it to bulge in between the lacings and then suddenly Snap! Snap! ap ap ap ap ap ap ap ap ap ap.... The echo of the laces breaking reverberated throughout the entire aduitorium. Aimi then simply kicked off the shoes and proceeded to go into more regulatory bodybuilding poses. She continued to flex and rise up on her colossal calves, making them grow and grow from balls to hardened hearts to hard cut diamonds. After they became engorged and grew so large, she turned and faced the audience and began to shake and snap, shake and Snap, shake and SNAP! her thighs causing all three of large, bulbous tear drop snaps to form and grow and swell. Soon her thigh muscles were bigger round than most men's waist or chest sizes. The crowd began to cheer and go absolutely wild. Had there been more in attendance the sound would have been deafening. However, whether small or deafening it still had the same affect and the committee for overseeing the Mr. Olympia knew what the audeince and Aimi Yamayuir wanted and they decided to give it to both of them. Within minutes the cameras were focused on Aimi and then a screen lit up with her as tall as Daiken. Aimi hollered something and then moved in front of the screen as if to say she could taken on Daiken at her own size....but that wasn't quite true. As she began another round of posing and flexing her muscles pumping and plumping as large as any man, she began to grow....stand taller........spread broader......form fuller.....harder......denser......stronger! Just as much as Diaken had done on his first time, Aimi was growing, as well. Up and up and up she grew! Meanwhile, Daiken was lost in a state of confusion. He realized his position as Mr. Olympia was actually being challenged. He realized the challenger was a female. He realized this female was gorgeous. He realized this female was built like a brick shit house and as strong as all the gods of strength for every known pantheon put together. He tried to join in and match Aimi pose per pose but soon it was apparent, lust was taking over his mind. His cock, which was always twice as long as he was tall when erect, no proved to everyone all these years it hadn't ever been erect, well not fully erect at any rate. Slowly he began to stop posing. Then he just stood still. Suddenly his cock which normally hung straight out and slightly down lurched forward. "Auuuwuaaaaah!" Daiken instantly moaned with an expression that mixed fear and lust. Aimi continued to raise pose after pose and to swell taller and fuller, broader and stronger each time she flexed. She was growing at the same rate of his first Mr. Olympia contest! The more she flexed the tighter, tauter, fuller, and stronger she grew. The more she grew, the longer and fuller Daiken's cock grew out, up, and thick. But the longer Daiken's cock grew, the more it began to rise up from the level it used to hang at. Daiken began to moan and groan at the new weight and size of his cock and the amount it pulled and tugged at his groin. Soon Aimi began to notice this rising, throbbing, massive member and as it was pointing upward now, she latched onto it and clung to it like it was a gigantic pole for a dancer to use. Her muscles flexed and popped, bunched and scrunched as she wriggled and climbed up the pervasive penis, twisting and turning, clutching and grabbing with strong firm grasps, performing new poses such as fully extending her body out sideways from Daikens mighty member like she was a flag from a pole, or crossing her legs, holding on and leaning backwards and upside down while performing a double bi so all could see her mammoth arms larger than her head and abs and obliques that look like a brick wall that could crush cars crashed against it. And she continued to grow. Each time her body stretching out longer and fuller, broader and heavier. It would cause it to slip down the super shaft of Daiken as well as subtlely stroking it while growing up at the same time. Daiken was trying to keep up with each pose. He had started growing again even more impossibly thicker, broader, harder than he ever was, but with increase in size and slide Aimi's body had, his cock suddenly sprung up higher, lurched out longer, thudded ever thicker... ... ... and his balls were beginning to follow suit. Aimi suddenly just jumped off of the dominering dong of Daiken and landed with an earth shaking thud onto the stage. She began to stroke herself as her body swelled up and out more and more ever increasing in strength and size. Each muscle belly receiving more than it needed of oxygen and protein infusing blood, becoming fatter and swollen, denser, harder, strirated and defined. There was no way of telling if this was man or woman save for the bikini top which suddenly could take no more. Arching her back during one more growth spurt the straps of both her top and poser suddenly snapped and sling shotted her graments into the crowd. She stood there rubbing her body with one hand, flexing with the other, her body growing at a slightly faster rate than it had been. He massive chest displaying wonderful power and sexual appeal as both her portruding pecs and her bulbous boobs were free of confinement and able to bounce in movement or bounce on a commanded pec pop. " Hai! Hai! Hai! OH OH OH OH OH HAIIII HAIIIII HAIIII!" Screaming in so much pleasure, with each scream she rose several more inches, higher and higher. She finally turned and grabbing Diaken's massive member, pulled it down and began to cup and massage the head, tilting it down to hers and drinking freely of the precum. The affect of doing so was instant. Up and up and up at a furiously fast and frightening past she rose gaining in height and strength until she had grown to match and surpass the great and mighty Daiken. Within moments she had grown to twice maybe three times his size. She looked down at him with a body so full and massive, her arms hung parallel to the floor, her feet were planted shoulder with and then some apart, her chest blocked all view of her head and kept it lodged in place along with shoulders and back that made it impossible to see her lovely neck. Taking her hand and giving Daiken's cock a firm, commanding squeeze, she watched as Daiken wriggled and squirmed at the grip of his cock. Then was the moment we knew Daiken was broken. "Watashi wa anata no inkei o shoyū shite imasu. Ima... Watashi ni sore o ataemasu!" Upon that command, Daiken leaned back onto his hands and thrust his hips and cock into the air aiming for Aimi's front. He penetrated her and the moment he did so, Aimi took in more strength and began to rise higher and higher and higher. This would cause her to be large enough to slide down further upon Daiken's monstrous member and the sensation caused him to swell and grow, too. The burgeoning behemoths made the auditorium and soon the entire convention center and the whole complex look like it was made of origami paper. The Olympia committee soon called for an evacuation of the auditorium and then the main hall of the center, eventually the whole hotel as the pair grew large enough for just one of their feet to step on it and crush it like it was a miniature doll house. Aimi's breasts began leaking something...perhaps milk, and she leaned forward to allow Daiken to drink from it and the moment his mouth touched her nipple to drink he began to rapidly grow and grow to keep up pace with Aimi. Higher and higher they rose, looking like two mountains of immobile muscle from some Japanese anime cartoon where the hero grows into a towering giant whose genitals could be fully seen had they not grown so far taller than the clouds. The complex completely flattened. Several city blocks were destroyed, and just when it seemed only one of their feet could cover the entire metropolis their feet lifted up and off into the clouds and were never seen again. Radars, telescopes, and satellite photos and film told us what happened next. The jagurnaught duet had grown so huge, so large, so powerful they had simply stepped off of the Earth, and they still continued to grow. Aimi clutched and grabbed onto Daiken as his cock continued to penetrate and grow inside her. Using her muscular arms everytime she grew larger than Daiken she pulled her self once again down his protuding prick. When that would happen he would buck and shudder and he would grow slightly, but then her massive mammaries would be in his face and he would suckle the milk from her once again and his growth would increase at twice the rate. Their step off had given them slight propulsion out from the Earth and towards the outer end of our galaxy. Everyonce in a while blasts of milk from her breasts continued to propel them a bit further. They would have remained in place with the semi blasts of pre-cum from his cock, but Aimi had remained firmly clamped upon it, sliding her hot box up and down as much of the length as she could get down and in herself. After quite some time of them growing and swelling with massive, mountainous muscle peaks, valley like crevices, and extreme vascularity looking like massive tubed rivers criss-crossing a planet, Daiken finally shook and shuddered his last for this round. His head snapped back and his mouth popped open, as he thrust his hips into Aimi's groin one last time. The moan he made was heard all the way back on Earth sounding extremely loud and yet eerily long and hollow. Aimi then snapped her head back, moaning in ecstacy and pleasure at a factor of one million. Cum was gushing everywhere from her as Daiken's enormous testicles, which looked nearly like rideable bounching balls, began to deflate and pump a gyser's worth of cum up into Aimi. It was squirting out from the crack between Daiken's cock and her vagaina, it was leaking from her mouth, tear ducks, and nose. And as it filled her up she expanded and grew faster and farther, harder and longer, taller and broader, bunching and stretching up more and more and more. She was gaining so much in size and mass the computers back on Earth couldn't calculate it. All that was known was that in mere minutes the estiamte was she was so big, one of her nipples was larger around than Saturn was. Daiken by now was the size of a baby to her and she craddled him as such, humming to him. The last image that the camera's caught was of her pushing Daiken to her breasts as though feeding him and Daiken begining to grow as fast as she had done. Soon ready to be man enough, large enough to completely fill her and make her grow again. When estimates were finally worked out, it was determined within a month the pair would make love, fuck, and grow so that they were the size of at least three universes, causing such gravity pulls as to obliterate any planetary orbits that existed where they floated by. Bodybuilding has begun to make a comeback, although no one has ever seen the size that Daikenmio Kenyama and Aimi Yamayuir had. Their place has forever been etched into the history of Bodybuilding. No one will ever forget the most beautiful giant who reigned for ten years and the feminine mountain of muscle mass that toppled his reign, for there are his ten trophies he earned, and there is her trophy, given in abstentia, a monument to sheer power and size of a muscular body.
  25. Marquis

    Mutant

    (deleted by the author)
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