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Chapter one is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13085-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake/ Chapter two is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13095-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake-chapter-two/ Professor Schnackenburg's mistake Chapter Three Lucien waited inside the entrance of The Dungeon at the far end of the gay street. He was dressed in a black rubber shirt with yellow stripes, in a cut which emulated a polo shirt, and he was wearing very tight black, shiny rubber trousers. Football socks on his feet, inside white-laced boots with high bootnecks. He couldn't decide his own state of mind. Not Chad! Eagerness, lust and resentment battled about his mind, the latter already slightly tipsy because of the vodka shots. Not Chad! * * * Back in primary school and secondary school, Chad had made life a hell to Lucien. They couldn't have been more different. Lucien's parents worked with 'something in City', and Lucien took piano lessons. Chad's divorced mother worked in the plastics industry, and Chad – who was a fan of David Beckham and Wayne Rooney – played football. In primary school, the bullying mainly happened outdoors, in the schoolyard. Lucien could remember trousers wet of melting snow, wounds in his palms caused by falling on rubble, and streams of verbal insults. In secondary school, it either happened on his way home or during lunch break. The worst lunch break ever, happened when they were about 14, or so. Chad had dragged him inside one of the loos, dipped his head in the toilet, took his dong out and pissed at Lucien, shouting about 'poofters who don't deserve to live'. Lucien had no idea of why or how things changed after that, but Chad left Lucien alone and more or less avoided him. A few years later, shortly before leaving secondary school for sixth form, they actually had a reasonably good conversation in the school cafeteria. Chad had sat down at Luciens table and apologised for his past behaviour (well, the words didn't fall exactly like that, but that was the content of the message). Chad had hit puberty, then. His pudgy belly had disappeared, but his pug nose was still there. Chad had switched from football to the gym, and achievements were beginning to be noticeable. That didn't change Lucien's resentment, much. When puberty hit him, Lucien could spend late nights fapping at the thought of taking revenge on Chad. At some – undefined – point in the future, Lucien should dare to buy a membership at a gym, and Lucien should grow into a confident muscle monster, which would beat the shit out of Chad and smirk at the weaker Chad lying there in front of him... The undefined point in the future didn't happen. Lucien remained on the slim side, and didn't grow tall. He was still uncomfortable with the thought of weight training, but began to swim at his leisure time. He was now somewhere between the age of 25 and 30, and was writing a PhD in musicology. He spent lot of time in the gay street, and wasn't aware of the other guests, when he entered his usual café – The Chocolate Cave. A rainbow flag hang outside the entrance. He ordered the usual: A café au lait, some petit choux and an apple tart with custard. Most of the customers weren't much of a surprise, he even recognised the faces of some of them: Several pairs and groups of twinks, a bearded activist in flannel from an earlier generation (whom he vaguely knew from committee-work for LGBTQ rights years ago), a group of football dykes, and a very young punk rocker reading a paperback by Judith Butler. He couldn't believe his eyes, when he was looking for a table and heard a voice he hadn't wished to hear: "Oi! Lucien! Over here, mate!" A man his own age waved at him from one of the tables. His broad (and tattooed) shoulders and mighty chest were revealed by the elastic black tank top (with the white print TOP in army letters), and his jeans were faded. The man's head was entirely shaved, and his ears were adorned with several sorts of piercings. Lucien wouldn't have recognised the man, if it wasn't for the voice and the pug nose. It was Chad. Hesitatingly, Lucien sat down at Chad's table. "Haven't seen you for years! What are you doing nowadays?" Chad had to drag the words out of Lucien's mouth, but Lucien told him about musicology and swimming. He didn't say anything about LGBTQ rights, but his thoughts were running in all directions inside his mind: Chad gay? But why did he behave like he did in the past? And why so friendly now? We all grow up. He had began to improve already at age 16, remember? Sexy Chad! "They can research anything, nowadays, can't they? Mu-si-co-logy. Never heard about it before. To me, research is about space rockets and medicine and atoms and stuff, not stuffy old musicians, but if it's up your alley, I don't complain. You like it, I suppose?" Chad emitted the scent of some anti-perspirant and soap. A big black nylon bag – with the letters GASP – laid on the floor close to Chad's adidas-clad feet. Lucien's string of thoughts continued to race: Can't find the old monster sexy! Not a monster any longer. Mature now. Those muscles! The entirely changed appearance! Not a pudgy little bully anymore. Neither a tiny twink of the type he usually dated. THAT'S a man. Can't... Can't... like him. Those eyes... Can't. "And another thing. So sorry about schooldays. I was really, really an idiot. A dickhead actually. So stupid. I'm so sorry. No, I really mean it. So sorry. Why would I have to be afraid of you, when I was, actually, myself, you know..." They continued to talk. For Lucien it was an invasion of his private sphere. An intruder sat in his comforting and familiar café, but what an intruder! When they had finished their coffee, Chad rose and bought them a bottle of low-alcoholic beer, each. "They don't sell anything stronger here. Regulations. I want to buy you something stronger some day. What do you say about a night out, together?" Lucien fell silent for a few seconds. "Don't take my 'yes' as I'm willing to date you, Chad. But yes, a night out couldn't harm. Any ideas?" "I'm not sure, if you have ever attended The Dungeon?" "That's not my usual fare, no. I'm more of a patron of The Rainbow Unicorn in the opposite end of the street. Opposite in two ways, actually." "I went there, once. Not my style. Lot of the stuff, which kept me doubting my sexuality for so long. The Dungeon is more my sort of place. I work there, actually." "Work there?" Lucien couldn't believe his ears. "As a bouncer. They have trouble with people sometimes. Sometimes new customers, who don't know the difference between The Rainbow Unicorn and The Dungeon. Those types I turn down politely, even with some advice how to dress at next attempt. About 50% return, dressed correctly this time. Then there are the anti-gay nutcases, who believe that it will be an easy match to break in, party-crash and beat up a few nellies. They expect nellies – then they encounter me at the entrance. The policemen don't mind if I give the nutcases a thrashing before I turn them over to the police." A familiar smirk at Chad's face. Lucien felt disturbed, but he felt excited, too. Chad with his TOP tanktop, defending twinks from gaybashers... "I haven't been there. How do I dress?" Chad rattled off some instructions, and, at the sound of it, he had done it before: "The club has a dress code. It is open for men who have sex with men, but also to their friends. Not necessary to put labels like 'gay' or 'bi' or such on the place: I don't know how many 'straight-bicurious' I have met there. It isn't a S&M place as such: Lots of members are not into S&M, but some are. Members may like to dress up in gear for several different reasons: For some it is a kink, for some it is a fetish, for some it is just fun, and not far from their everyday style – and they like the type of men who attend the place. Leather is the oldest style in the dress code. Lots of people are vaguely aware of the style... Do you know Tom of Finland?" "I've seen a few pics, but i am not familiar..." Chad's smirk returned. "You ought to be. Google it." Chad's grin became wider. White shining teeth. "That code was invented by queer bikers in the 1950s. Long before gay rights. Think Marlon Brando in The wild one. Old film. Lots of time since then, and the style has changed in many directions. There exist uniform shirts in leather now, for instance. Don't get me started about the jokes about Crisco. Well. Anyhow. Leather is the oldest code now, but there is army style... Anything army-inspired goes, well, not anything, but lots of choices there. Then, there's skinhead style, since at least the 1990s – some would say for longer. More recently guys following the chav or scally dresscode are allowed in... You get the picture, look as butch as possible, like you can take it like a real man, not like the patrons of the Rainbow Unicorn. Sorry. No offence. Well. You get the idea. Guys from the council flats mostly go for the chav or skinhead style, since that is cheaper. Full high-quality leather gear suppose a good salary. And then there's the rubber lads, of course." "Rubber lads?" Chad explained, and noticed with some glee how the older bearded gentleman in flannel at the corner table looked uncomfortable. "Money is not an issue, Chad. I will give you a phone call, when I have bought some appropriate gear." "I will buy you a membership, Lucien. It is the least I can do for you. Call me." * * * That had been two weeks ago. Lucien had unpacked the gear, and arrived to the club wearing it under a trenchcoat. A pre-payed membership awaited him at the entrance desk, which was manned by a mid-30s man with a jarhead cut, dressed in camo pants and an army jersey. The man at the counter forwarded a message: Chad was working until the middle of the night, but had promised to meet Lucien when the other bouncer began his shift. Absent-mindedly, Lucien heard a noice of a road accident from outside, but didn't peek out. A while later, he noticed a strange green light coming out from the windows of the gym across the road, but he didn't give it much of a thought. He couldn't decide his own state of mind. Not Chad! Eagerness, lust and resentment battled about his mind, his mind already slightly tipsy because of the vodka shots. Not Chad! But he couldn't deny that he was falling deeper and deeper in love with his old bully. Chad had changed. Chad was like himself. Chad was defending patrons of The Dungeon against gay-bashers. Lucien eagerly waited for Chad's shift to end, and they were going to explore The Dungeon together. Chapter Four is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13116-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake-chapter-four/

Hello everyone. I'm really sorry, I've been busy the last couple of weeks and didn't really know how I wanted this story to continue. But I have an idea of where I want this story to go, don't worry. If anyone has any suggestions, then please let me know as I love hearing your ideas . Thanks again for waiting and I truly hope you enjoy! Part I Part VI Part II Part VII Part III Part VIII Part IV Part IX Part V Part X Changing my Life Part XI We explained everything to the doc. from the incident that happened at the party, to the growth that happened in the shower. The doc listened to every detail. Afterwards he told us that he was shocked to hear about Max taking all the pills. He also warned us that there was no way we could end his growth now. He wanted to see Max for himself. He made us an appointment for the next morning. After our conversation, Max and I went to bed. After the shower incident, I had no problem falling asleep. Neither did Max. That night I dreamed about Max and me, lying on the sofa in the living room. I was lying on top of Max’s thick legs. We were both looking at the television when all of a sudden, I heard him moan. I looked up to see his face. He was biting his lips and closing his eyes. Looking down, I saw his shirt tightening and I felt my head tilting higher and higher. Was he growing? I asked myself when I heard an all too familiar sound… Riiiiiiiip! His bulging pecs pushed the fabric to its limits and exploded out of them. His head was rising up and up, whilst his muscles expanded in every direction. His veins were visible again and they too grew thicker. His moaning increased and he started sweating and panting at this point. I sat up to see his beautiful growing body. I could hear the sofa creaking underneath his growing form. “I can’t take it anymore!” he said when he ripped of his tight shorts off. It didn’t take long before he started working on his growing dick. It seemed to be three times the size of my own. And I was already big down there. His balls expanded and started swelling, making room for gallons of cum to eventually erupt out of a mammoth sized dick. His head was now pushing against the ceiling and with a loud crack the sofa broke. Max’s giant arse was now digging into the floor whilst his head was breaking the ceiling. I still sat on a broken sofa, looking up at a magnificent beast. There wasn’t much I could do then to stare in awe and work on my own growing member. Somehow, I didn’t feel as scared as I used to be. It felt like this was something that I wanted to happen just as much as he did. I got my dick out and started stroking it. It was already painfully hard and leaking pre. Then I heard a loud crash in front of me. Max’s feet tore down the walls to make room for a still growing body. Max’s head eventually broke the ceiling and grew bigger and bigger! “I need some help here babe!” he said in a deeper voice in-between moans. I got up and climbed on top of his bulging legs. Finally, I was in front of the most beautiful dick in the world. I didn’t hesitate and ran up to it. My tongue was worshipping his giant meat. “Oh god, I love you so much!” he screamed looking at me. I got so horny looking at his gorgeous face mounted on to a hot bodybuilders body. He got his giant hand up flexed for me. “You like that babe?” he said whilst winking at me. I came looking at his giant biceps. My cum looked like a little drop compared to his huge drops of pre. It didn’t take long before I heard him scream one last time before a hose of cum hit the ceiling and landed on top of me. He didn’t show any sign of stopping and the floor became a white, hot pool of cum. His legs disappeared and shortly after, I found myself swimming. I looked behind me to see that his giant dick was still erupting cum. Then I was just centimetres away from the ceiling. I held my breath before the cum completely filled the room. I jumped up in bed when I awoke from my arousing dream. I first looked next to me to find Max, still at the same height as before (well you know, still the big version). I looked the opposite side to look at the window. The sun was rising. Beams of light hit my face. My phone buzzed as I saw a notification, reminding me that we had our appointment within 3 hours. I tossed my blanket and wanted to stand up only to find out that my underpants were drenched in cum. I smiled at the sight and walked across the bed, where Max was sleeping. I kneeled in front of him and gave him a kiss on his forehead. “Good morning, sunshine.” I said smiling at him. He awoke with his gorgeous smile on his face and said in his manly deep voice “Morning beautiful.” He tossed the blankets aside only to show me his wonderful body. Glistering with sweat, his bulging pecs were bigger than ever, his abs were even deeper and broader, his titanic sized arms were bigger than I remembered, veins popping up all over his body! He slowly sat up straight on the bed. The wooden frame creaking under his enormous weight. Placing his feet on the ground, I noticed just how big they were. One leg was almost as big as both of mine together (I think I mentioned that before but still)! Not to mention his big dick… it was as long as my forearm! And it wasn’t even hard yet! As he stretched his giant frame, he stood up… and up… and up. I couldn’t get my eyes off of him. He was so big and handsome. To think that this gorgeous figure was my boyfriend, MY lover, it was beyond my beliefs. Still mesmerised at his body I couldn’t speak; “I erm…. I g… got a noti…” before I could finish my sentence, he added; “Yeah I know, I heard your phone too.” Then he walked towards me and tossed his meaty arm around me and squeezed my ass before giving me the most passionate kiss. I could just feel how much more dominant he has gotten in the last couple of weeks. I don’t mind it though. The thought of him being bigger and stronger but still being so gentle and kind, turned me on so much. After the kiss he looked me in my eyes and said “Do you know how happy I am to have you in my life?” I just melted when he said it, my feet were like jelly. He grabbed me, lifted me up and carried me downstairs. I made him a very big meal, starting with 3 eggs, bacon, some sandwiches, sausages, yoghurt and a glass of milk. He ate all of it and afterwards grabbed some leftovers from the fridge. More and more I was feeling pleased with him growing. Seeing him devour so much food was so delightful to watch. When we were finished, we went back upstairs to freshen up and get dressed for our appointment. Max, however, had trouble containing his strength. He broke the doorframe when entering the bathroom, he broke his toothbrush and comb, knocked the light fixture to the ground and broke the handle from the wardrobe. It was exciting but scary at the same time. Being unaware of his strength even made him a bit frightened. In the wardrobe, I helped Max dressing up. The clothes I bought for him that were once loose enough for him, now seemed just big enough or skin-tight. His socks were stretched out and his briefs didn’t hide anything. His dickhead was poking out of them whilst his derrière ripped them off every time he sat down. His trousers were fine, the buttons were hard to close but it worked once we put on his belt. Shirts weren’t an option. The buttons flew off like his pecs were firing them right at me. So we tried just a regular T-shirt. It fitted him nicely. Finally we added some Nike shoes and his look was completed. I backed up for a second to see his entire body with his clothes on. He looked good but you could definitely see that he was no ordinary man. You could easily mistake him for an athlete or a bodybuilder. I must have been staring to long because Max said; “Is my personal shopper pleased with his choice of clothing?” I laughed and replied “You look good Max, you really do.” He walked up to me and kissed me once more. “Thanks to you babe.” I blushed and smiled at his gorgeous face. We packed our stuff and were on our way to the doc. In the car we listened to some of our favourite music. Max and I had different tastes in music. He liked listening to rock whilst I enjoyed pop music. Though we both enjoyed some Michael Jackson, Meghan Trainor and Britney Spears. Singing along was one of the things I enjoyed doing in the car. It made the trip more enjoyable. Max, however, had to put on a show. Singing ‘Hit me baby one more time’, he raised his voice to mimic Britney’s. But due to his much deeper voice, it made for a laughable performance. These were the moments I looked into his eyes and realised that, even though he’s still growing, he’s still that sweet childish boy I fell in love with. Soon we entered Mr. Petrov’s house. Not much has changed since the last time we were here. I knocked on the door and heard from the other end a familiar voice, “I’m coming!” The doc. said. He opened the front door and let us enter. When we entered, I could hear the wooden floor creaking under Max’s weight. I knew that the house was old so I was somewhat worried that Max might break something. However we didn’t spend much time in the doc.’s living area. He directed us back towards his lab. When we entered his lab, there was a chair in the middle of the room with some cables above it. I saw Max’s face. He seemed frightened and sad at the same time. I tried to comfort him by resting my hand on his massive shoulder. He looked back at me and smiled once again. we walked up close to the chair. The doc. asked him to remove his clothes except his briefs. Afterwards he Max looked at the doc. for further instructions. “Max, please take a seat.” The doc. ordered. Max did what he was told and the doc attached the wires to his body. Placing them on his head, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, back, … “What is going to happen to me?” Max asked in a sad tone. “I’ll have to take some samples and check your body in order to know what is going to happen with you Max.” The doc said in a serious tone. We exchanged looks and shortly after he asked me to go into the room behind me. I looked around to find a small door with a mirror besides it. “Max, Jake and I will be in that room over there checking your condition. You’ll feel a few shocks but don’t worry it’ll only hurt for a second okay?” the doc. said. Max nodded and looked back at me again. I walked up to him and caressed his cheek. “You’ll be fine babe, I know you will.” I said before giving him a long kiss. I was guided to the small control room where the doc closed the door and turned his head towards me. “Listen Jake, after you told me all about what had happened, I had to bring the both of you here.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “The Max that you know and love, won’t be the same after this treatment.” He said sitting down on the chair opposite the window. “Why! What is going on doc.?!” I was getting really mad and confused now. The doc. sighted and continued; “The encounter you had in the shower with Max, those will only become more aggressive and they’ll happen more frequent. It’s one of the side effects that can occur during this procedure. He would have been able to control this urge by only taking one pill. But since he took all of them, he probably won’t be able to in the future.” He said looking down at his notes. I had to sit down and think about what he just said. I was speechless and sad. Tears began to form in my eyes. “Can’t he learn to control this urge… or can’t you give him some medication to calm him down when it happens?” I started asking, trying to find a solution for his problem. “Listen Jake. He’ll only become stronger and bigger. There’s little we can do about it now.” He said starting his computer and connecting it with this machine in front of us. “Let’s check his body first.” He said. I looked in up to see that the mirror actually was window from the other side. I could see Max all wired up and anxious. I felt like I could scream. If it were true that the Max I know would turn into a beast or a lover that could kill me, was just devastating. I could hear a ding sound and looked down to see a body image on the doc’s computer. It was already recognizing Max’s body and it showed where the cables were connected. I don’t know a lot about technology but it was quite impressive to see. In the left corner of the screen, I could see his blood pressure and his heartbeat along with his weight and height. “I’m going to give him shocks on the places you see here on the screen. I’ll be able to make a rough sketch on how big Max will grow. If you don’t want to look, I understand.” The doc said looking at me. I was a bit confused as to why I didn’t want to see Max but shortly after my answer was given. The doc. selected the dot on the shoulder and it automatically gave Max a shock. I saw him scream and closing his eyes whilst his body was fighting against the pain. Tears started rolling down my cheeks as I saw my boyfriend being tortured. I wanted it to end and walked towards the door but was stopped by the doc. “You can’t leave Jake, I know that this must be killing you inside but try to understand that I only want to help you guys.” He said holding my hand really tight in order for me to stay put. I hesitated but eventually nodded and walked back to my place. However I couldn’t watch Max. It was too painful to see him in this state. After the doc. finished, the computer was loading some kind of a chart along with some percentages. I didn’t have time to find out what it said as the doc. placed the computer on his table and took out a syringe. “Is he afraid of syringes?” he asked before walking out. “A little but I’ll calm him down.” I said wiping away my tears and exiting the chamber. As I walked towards Max, it was so hard to see him. He looked exhausted. “Max are you okay?” I asked trying to hold my tears back. “Yeah, I’m okay now.” He said positioning his big frame in a more comfortable position whilst the doc. detached the wires. He looked at me and I looked back at Max. I knew what was coming next. “Okay babe, the doc has to take some blood to run some tests okay. Can you be brave for me?” I asked. I knew he was brave enough already but I also knew how much he hated syringes. He took my hand and squeezed it whilst the doc took his blood. He squeezed my hand so much I had to get down from the pain. “Ah! Max please you’re hurting me!” I screamed. Max looked shocked and released my flimsy hand. When the doc. had the sample he told us that the results would be completed once he gave the machine Max’s blood (or something like that I don’t know exactly what he said). He went back into the chamber and gave us a moment alone. Max tried standing up but he was so tired that even that was hard for him to do. So instead I sat down on top of him and hugged him. “I’m so sorry.” He said and started crying “I never should’ve taken all those pills at once.” I couldn’t hold back and started crying too. “It’s okay babe. I understand why you did it. But we have to be strong now.” I said in between sobs. Then it was silent. We were both so comfortable in each other’s arms that we didn’t need to talk. We were there for each other. That was the most important right now. The doc. returned shortly after and looked surprisingly happy. He approached us with some papers and started talking to us. Max’s body seemed to be growing steadily and would probably reach a height of four to six meters! This was a bit hard to take in. However his body also seemed to have very healthy blood cells. Every time they found a virus or an illness they eliminate them… he believed it had something to do with a self-healing process. “Max, I had my doubts but I think it’s safe to say that you are going to be fine.” He said smiling at the both of us. I never felt this happy in my life. My boyfriend would be okay! I hugged him and kissed him. We started crying again but this time they were tears of happiness. “However, I still want to warn you!” The doc. said in a more serious tone again. “You have to learn to control your strength. If you don’t, you might end up hurting the ones you love.” He said looking at me. I knew exactly what he meant but before I could say anything, Max started talking. “I will doc. I don’t want to hurt anybody. Especially not this little one.” He said playfully squeezing my ass. “Good, now I will keep in contact with you and will require a weekly check-up.” He said leading us back to the front door. I thanked him and told him we would update him on Max’s transformation this time. He thanked us and told us that if we needed anything or needed any help, we could always contact him.

Oh boy, it has been quite a while since I 've worked on this story. This update comes in two parts. This one is the plot-heavy one. Feel free to skip through at your leisure if that is not your jam. Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V -- The Well We have lingered in the chambers of sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown. - T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" The clouds were painted flat and grey against the sky, leaving a muddy warmth in their wake. The pale morning light that made it through lent a calm air to the morning, the blue-hued rays filtering through the needles of trees. It was a day like any other. I waited outside Charlie’s house for him to leave for class. I had no plan. Short of makeshift handcuffs, I was out of ideas. He could probably knock me out at any time, and I had no idea how he did it. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask nicely. He opened the door wearing a white wife beater that was just tight enough to show his abs through the fabric. When his verdant eyes turned to face me he looked amused. “You look different, little man,” he said. I stared at him blankly. I wasn’t sure what to do. He chuckled. “What is it you want from me anyways? You made your wish and it has nothing to do with mine.” He said. “What are you talking about?” I inquired bluntly. “I never made any wish. Frankly I have no idea what’s going on…although I’m not complaining, I guess,” I stated, rubbing my thick hands across the deep, shredded crevices of my abs. God, what was happening to me. “Sorry, that’s become a force of habit lately,” I mumbled. “You’ve never been to the well?” Charlie asked. “No. What well?” I asked impatiently. “Then what happened to you?” He seemed genuinely interested, the amusement on his face giving way to curiosity. And he clearly knew a lot more than I did. It couldn’t hurt to share. I described the metal bug, the insatiable desire to lift, the ravenous hunger, the euphoric growth, the second bite, and the dream. Well, the relevant parts of the dream. I also left out the parts about Delilah. He gazed at me intently before breaking into a smile. Then he took a deep breath. “Well, so much for class today. We’re going on a field trip.” Charlie said, dropping his backpack inside the door and then shutting it for good. He stretched and I could see the soft shadows of his triceps that I had felt in my dream. I was bewildered. Apparently my ignorance was enough to warrant his help. “Get ready for a bit of a hike. It’s not too far, but more than a quick walk.” After that he started ahead off without me, and I jogged to catch up. I followed him quietly as he led me through the neighborhood to a trail into the forest. It was a path I had run a few times before. Tall evergreens surrounded us, soft and inviting in the pale morning light. I spoke up once and he looked at me stolidly, telling me to “Just wait until we get there.” The rest of our trek was conducted in the relative silence of the forest. Only the frogs made sounds as they fell asleep for the day. I tried to focus on our surroundings instead of gaping awkwardly at his chiseled backside. I worried he would catch me staring and knock me out. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Squirrels ran through the leaf litter and up the trees, eying us cautiously as we made our way up the path. After about forty minutes we came to a unique collection of ovoid rocks that were stacked against one another, and he led us off the path to wade through the remnants of a trail overrun with forest scrub. I was forced to watch him as he guided us through, and I found that the longer I focused on him the less I was able to focus on anything else. There was a certain magnetism about the way he moved, confident and alluring. My eyes ate up his every motion hungrily. Everything about him was perfect. His back sculpted like the smoothest stone, his walnut colored hair reflecting beautifully in the sunlight, the beefy heads of his calves separating every time he took a stop, the sweat rolling off his caramel tanned skin, his clothes hugging his tight body with every motion. Amongst all the beauty of the forest, including my own, he outshined us all, a guiding light in the darkness. His radiance enraptured me, made me feel whole. A branch swept across my face, forcing my attention away from Charlie. The trance was lifted, and the rest of the world came rushing back into view. I felt on my face where I had been struck but could not find a cut or any pain. Another part of the transformation, I guessed. I wondered silently if anything could hurt me. When I looked back up at Charlie he seemed like an ordinary person again. Still just as attractive, but I was no longer transfixed by him. I found that if I stared for too long, however, I started to lose clarity again. It was best to focus elsewhere and follow the sound of him moving through the scrub. The last of the wildflowers were wilting in the mild summer heat. Another half an hour of trekking found us in a small clearing that was mostly shaded save for a few sharp slivers of sunlight that pierced through. Charlie stopped and took a long, deep breath. Leaf litter from the surrounding trees covered the ground, but few plants grew here. The ones that did had long, thin leaves almost like needles and vibrant red flowers that let their stamens out towards the ground. In the center of the clearing stood a stone structure resembling a well. The clean cut stones were a deep, mottled grey that I did not recognize. The well overflowed with water, and it spilled into a shallow pool of the same stone that encircled the structure. The water that flowed out seemed unnaturally dark, like it refused to let any light leave its shallow prison. A wooden covering was held by thin posts ornately carved with various animal and plant designs. It looked like it had been built long after the primary structure by someone other than the original architect. A small wooden bucket hung from the roof as well, although it did not seem to serve much purpose. “Welcome to the wishing well,” Charlie said with false ceremony. “I…don’t get it, honestly. Why are we here?” I said, perplexed. “Just go up to it. You’ll have to take your shoes off and put your feet into the water to look inside. Then you’ll see.” I agreed reluctantly. The whole structure, although simple enough, gave me an ominous feeling. Light and sound seemed to move oddly through the clearing because of it, sometimes enhanced and sometimes subdued but never what was expected. The well itself had a certain Lovecraftian alienness about it, as though whoever built it had tried to create something familiar but had failed in the details and instead made something entirely foreign. I steeled myself for whatever fate awaited me, taking my shoes off before the water. What the hell, I thought, rubbing my cheek where the branch had hit me. I am practically invincible now, anyways. The inky water was smooth and cool on my feet. The flow from the well gave me the impression of wading through the tide rather than standing in a pool, and I noticed that the water drained into holes along the pool’s stone edges. The closer I came to the well the more everything around it seemed to go dark in my vision. Soon the only thing I could see was the stone and the water, and my feet moving through it. The rest of the world had faded into a giant expanse, endless, vast, and humming with a vibrancy of life despite its emptiness. I rested my hands on the well, feeling the cool rush of dark water flow over them, and looked inside. Images swirled and began to take shape and form against the darkness. Soon I was a part of them, as though I was in a dream. I could not tell at first if the visions I saw were scenes from the future or memories. At times they felt like both. Each one was a snapshot from my life, not always in order but generally progressing forward. They came slowly at first, then faster and faster until they began to blur together. Important moments and small moments rubbed up against one another in a ceaseless barrage: graduation from university, a gentle kiss from a stranger, my election to head of an engineering firm, the desert view from atop a tall rock, my sister’s funeral. In every image I was the same age, and as time sped past I was oblivious to its effects. I traveled the world and experienced more than most do in a lifetime, summiting mountains and skyscrapers, exploring though canyons and across highways until I felt there was no more to see. I met others, many of them, from all walks of life. I talked with them, laughed with them, loved them, fucked them. I grew from each of them, and I cherished every one of them. In the midst of my travels, in a dark city alley lined with high adobe walls, I found a mirror. The humid air and sandy floor of the alley faded as I gazed into it. The reflection was my own, but I had grown to titanic proportions. At least twice my current size, and all muscle. The shelf of my pecs eclipsed the sun for those who stood under me, and the strength a single arm was enough to topple buildings. I was invincible, the epitome of eroticism and power. In the mirror’s visions, I filled my time with prodigious displays of my boundless strength, lifting ships with the flick of my wrist, stopping bullets and tanks that would stand in my way, eating and drinking and fucking whomever I pleased. I was indomitable in the world of men, a god for others to worship. I looked away from the mirror and continued on my own path. But the visions from the mirror stuck with me, haunting me. Time continued its march and I moved with it effortlessly, but the others did not. I watched my friends and loved ones die, and new ones sprang up to take their place. The stars continued to turn overhead, but I stopped counting the revolutions of the earth and the numbers of days that passed. Time was just an excuse for everything not to happen all at once. I watched the world change as my body refused to age. The seas rose and dried up, technologies advanced beyond what I thought possible, the natural world around us dwindled and was restructured in our image, countries rose and fell in what felt like minutes, and soon we left the earth behind. Eventually I jumped across stars with the rest of our species through the grandness of the cosmos, watching patiently what became of us as we traipsed from galaxy to galaxy. And just when I felt myself start to slip into a boundless infinity a hand pulled me out from the well. I inhaled sharply, as though I had just been rescued from the bottom of a pool. “What did you see?” he asked calmly. “I was immortal. I saw everything.” Charlie regarded me cautiously. “That’s a new one. Must have been why you were out for so long. “Look, just be careful. The well shows you the wish you want, but it doesn’t always grant it. Mostly it works out, but sometimes it fails and things get tricky. That’s probably where your bugs came from, too. Whoever made that wish may not have even been bitten.” I paused, considering what monstrous incarnation of eternity would spring forth from the well to grant my own wish. Finally I regained the courage to speak. “What did you wish for?” I asked. “I haven’t. I’m like you. The product of someone else’s wish.” I stared at him blankly. “When my mom was young she found this well by accident. Just like you and everyone who comes across it, it showed her what she wanted most, although she didn’t know it at the time. She says she saw the most beautiful woman in the world, one that no man could resist. When she asked the well to make it real, a branch grew from the water and offered her a fruit. “She got her wish. Not only was she beautiful, but men became obsessed with her. She drove them mad. And when she spoke, she could ask them to do anything she wanted.” “Like what you did with me?” I asked. He nodded. She had asked to become Helen but had become a Siren instead. And apparently it was heritable. “The way her wish was granted, she never knew if men loved her or were just lost in a trance. But she managed to fall in love with my dad, somehow, and they lived together long enough to have me. “Then one day while he was working on his car he cut his arm pretty deep, and when he looked at her she was a stranger. It took him a long time just to remember who she was, and after he couldn’t even look at her. They split after that. That’s the short version anyhow.” “What happened to her?” I asked. “She still lives here with me. She rarely goes out now. Too many eyes watching. Now she only talks with the others who have been to the well. Most of them online. They tend to scatter.” “What about you, then? Have you ever looked in the water?” “No, I haven’t. Too risky. I don’t have it even a quarter as bad as she does,” he said, gesturing down to his body, “And you can barely even look at me for more than five minutes.” I blushed. I wasn’t sure if he had noticed. “I have my whole life to think about what my wish will be. There’s no rush.” “So I could wish for everything to go back to normal?” “I don’t know. Whoever or whatever built this well doesn’t seem to need it anymore, so we can’t ask questions. We only know what we know from the wishes we’ve made. “Look, I only brought you here so you could understand what’s happening to you. It probably would have drawn you here anyways, even if I hadn’t shown you. That’s what happened to me, sort of like your dream. I can’t stop you from making your wish, but you should know it doesn’t always go according to plan.” I thought to argue, but it was useless. He had made up his mind. And so we left the clearing and headed home in silence once more. The siren’s son led me from the water, safe to dry land. -- The night was dark from thick cloud cover and an absent moon. I had spent all day packing, throwing away most of my clothes that wouldn’t fit anymore. I was already a day and a half late, and I tried to rush but I found it hard to focus. My mind was preoccupied with the well. My head buzzed with the wish that I would make, what, if anything, I would tell Delilah, and the behemoth that had stared back at me in the mirror. If I wanted to, I could ask for it. But that was someone else’s wish, I had to remind myself. Although, even still… I loved the way the downcast lighting reflected off of my body, the way every single crevice formed by my impressive musculature made a deep shadow. I thought about how I could make men cum just by letting them worship me, how even my fingers had the strength to bend metal with ease, and how the hard flesh under my skin was now akin to the metal that I lifted. Pre leaked ceaselessly from my hard cock as I subtly flexed and explored what my body had become. -- My flashlight barely lit the forest path as I made my way out to the well. I got lost a few times, having to turn back before I found the rock formation I was looking for. I stumbled my way through the trail, freshly beaten by our steps from this morning, and found my way to the clearing. The red flowers glowed with a soft phosphorescence in the darkness of the night. Only a few scarce stars were visible overhead. I took a deep breath, removed my shoes and placed my feet into the water. The temperature had not changed, and against the cool night air it was warm on my feet. The infinite expanse opened up to me again, my surroundings even darker than the night I came from. I saw the same visions pass before my eyes, including the mirror. And when it was done I stood silently for a few moments, the weight of eternity on my shoulders. Then I made my wish.

Oh boy, it has been quite a while since I 've worked on this story. This update comes in two parts. This one is the sexy one. A short summary of previous parts will be posted below. Part I Part II Part III Part VI -- Metamorphosis As soon as I closed my eyes I found myself drifting in a vast darkness. Everything was black and empty except for a dull, growing warmth inside me, like I was on the cusp of a fever. Time was hard to gauge here. I passed what could have been minutes or hours through the emptiness before the pulse in my veins began to rise. Slowly at first, but then stronger and stronger until it was near bounding. At the same time my muscles swelled and tightened to their own rhythm, every fiber burgeoning with more power from each flexion. The pleasure of each muscle filling out to its rightful proportion was exhilarating, almost orgasmic. Pre leaked out of me in streams and floated aside me through the abyss. I was lost in a tranquil euphoria, becoming something greater. More immeasurable time passed before the transformation slowed to a halt, and I realized that I was still dreaming. The darkness faded into a blue sky, my body falling gently into a field of tall grass. I opened my eyes slowly. The sun shone radiantly, casting its bright light over my body and a few crimson flowers that each rose like its own little sun from between the long blades. The warmth of the grass pressed against my now cool skin, the bristles soft against my hard flesh. I laid there calmly, basking in the afterglow of my metamorphosis. When I lifted my head and sat up, Charlie stared down at me. His expression was almost mischievous, like a little kid caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t. His feet dragged through the tall blades as he stepped towards me, pushing me back down with his foot as his body towered over mine. Even when he lifted his foot his confident gaze was enough to hold me in place. Something about him was spellbinding, commanding. My titanic strength was useless before it. He kneeled down on top of me and I felt the softness of the grass on my back mirror the smoothness of his skin on mine. Every muscle on his body was solid, smooth, and flawlessly proportioned. Running my hands across his triceps I felt each curvature as they flexed with the simplest motion. His eyes shone marvelously and effortlessly. Our lips touched. The physical separation between us faded as we continued to explore each other. I guided my hands along his burly arms while our lips played with each other’s, and then he ran his nose thorough the deep crevice of my solid abs, his fingers gently toying with my erect nipples until he brought his tongue back up to meet them. In an instant I rolled us over and pressed him down, forcing my tongue into his mouth. I was stronger, and it thrilled me. I pinned his arms on the ground and held his legs down with my massive quads, rubbing my dick slowly on top of his. Our abs slid across each other as my dick throbbed in anticipation of my load. Suddenly his lips left mine and he gazed into my eyes with a sort of smug expression. He guided me gently with his hands, and I could not help but yield to his touch. He flipped us back over. He stared at me again with that overwhelming confidence, and then started to kiss his way down to my cock. I leaned my back onto the stone well that had appeared behind us, as objects sometimes do in a dream. Just as he started to reach past my apollo’s belt, I let out a deep groan… -- I awoke to rain pounding on the roof. It was heavy and full and warm with summer. I stared at the fine grains of the wood of the ceiling for a long, hard minute before I was convinced that I wasn’t dreaming anymore. My heavy breathing and the drops on the windowpanes were the only sounds that filled the room. The paltry, muggy light of dusk gave me just enough light to see the vague outlines of the walls. Apparently I had slept for a long time. The blankets had tangled from my tossing and turning, and I carefully unraveled my cocoon of sheets to find freedom. A sharp inhale filled my lungs, my chest expanding outward proudly to let the air rush in. Even without seeing it, I felt thicker, stronger, more powerful. My muscles moved like steel under my skin. When I flexed them I felt as though I had the strength to lift buildings and move mountains. The sheets tore as I gripped them in anticipation. Fuck. I flipped the light switch on to guide my way to the bathroom, swelling with the suspense of my image in the mirror. To my horror, I found my body hadn’t changed at all. My heart fell out of my chest. All of my work had been for nothing. My cock head begged to differ, however, flaring larger than any I had ever seen and standing atop a dick that was one and a half times its original size. I had gone from just above average to well endowed, with thickness to match. When I touched it lightning ran through my body. But I held on, stroking gently. Watching myself jack off in the mirror was still something to behold. I lifted my 18 inch arms and watched each belly stand out in relief, chiseled, rock solid, perfection. My abs crunched down and formed a cobblestone eight pack. Fuck, I was starting to get weak in the knees. I grabbed onto the shower certain rod for support. Instead the metal bent in my hand, removing the rod from its holds. I fell on my butt and the rod clanged on the floor. Without getting up, I picked up the warped metal and gave it a quick bend with just my right hand. My left stayed dedicated to stroking off as I twisted the metal into whatever shape I pleased, watching the muscles on my forearms danced as I contorted it like it was nothing more than a piece of paper. It was exhilarating, knowing the strength I had in just my fingers. My cum reached the ceiling from the floor as I came. Good thing I was just tall enough to reach up there now. I kept playing with the rod as my cock finished its final spurts. A note for the iron bug manual: a full bite grants you Priapus’ cock and Hercules’ strength. Good to know. And then I had an idea. -- Two hours later I found myself in a big city, noticing the streetlights' reflection off of my old beat up truck and a few scattered puddles on the ground. The apartment building I was looking for seemed to rise up stoically out of the cement, featureless and foreboding for its onlookers. I felt the cool, fresh night air run across my hard flesh as I walked inside. The lights in the lobby flickered fluorescent and bright, in stark contrast to the melancholy world I had just left. A shell of safety and warmth. I took the elevator to the third floor and walked the long, sparsely decorated hallway down to room 304. When he opened the door he smiled at me. I’m sure he was surprised at what he found, since I had used pictures from two transformation cycles ago to find him. “Come on in,” he said, his deep voice complementing the hypermasculine stature that stood proudly before me. Head shaved, white skin, shirt that looked tailored to show off the size of his chest and the slimness of his waist. I guessed he was between 32 and 35, his face showing the subtle signs of aging that were combated by a life dedicated to lifting and fitness. He turned around and left the door open. I liked the way he walked. It was a mixture of that arrogant jock sort of saunter and the stilted, muscle-bound waddle of bodybuilders. His confidence was exuberant. That was going to be fun to break. He was just finishing dinner. In a large red cast iron pan, some inedible-looking green paste was still frying. He offered some to me. I looked at him and gave him a sly smile. “I don’t really watch what I eat,” I said, my expression falling back to the cold, elusive demeanor that I had adopted since the metamorphosis. He started to coach me on the impacts of diet on fitness and health and my attention drifted. I noticed his chest bounce every time he made a gesture. I could tell that he liked the way it stretched the fabric. Every movement was proud, calculated. I got up and moved towards him, him still going on about the lean muscle he had gained on his current diet. I took his wrist in my hand. It was solid, doubtlessly from years of lifting and perfecting his body. I wanted him to resist me, to give him a hint of how this night was going to go, but his hand moved with mine. I lifted my shirt and placed his rough fingers along my abs. “Does it feel like I need to go on a diet?” I said. He whistled, and a horny grin followed. “Okay, fair point,” he said. “Let’s head to the bedroom,” I said. He didn’t hesitate any further. “Wait, I need to use the bathroom first,” I lied. “Sure. It’s just around the corner there,” he said, pointing behind me. I watched him practically skip his way down the hall. He had a nice ass, perky and firm. Hi torso twisted to get through the doorframe. Meanwhile I took a quick detour to the garage. I got lucky. It was full of weights. I took a few minutes making preparations for the night. When I came back I found him with his shirt off, trying to look casual but clearly giddy with anticipation. I had to admit, his body was even more impressive without clothes on. Slightly marred by age, he still had a tight six pack and his lats stuck out noticeably from his sides, making his waist seem more trim. I could even see some of the striations in his pecs. He could compete as a lightweight bodybuilder if he wanted to, and maybe he had. “You like?” he said, lifting up his bicep. Probably over 18 inches. Bigger than mine. I smirked at him. “Sure, it’s alright.” He must have thought I was being sarcastic. “Where do you wanna start, big guy?” I said, playing to his pride. Having waited long enough, he pressed his lips into mine, softly. His lips were practiced, and his tongue moved skillfully in and out of my mouth. He led me over to the bed, but before he could lay on top of me I flipped us around and pushed him down onto it. He scrambled to take off his shorts and underwear and I took off my shirt slowly, letting him savor every moment of the reveal. I may not have gained much in size, but there was something of an unspeakable strength and dignity to my body. Every part of me was like iron, the flesh just barely containing the strength that lay under it. I stood over him for a few silent seconds before I revealed the metal bar I had kept hidden in my waistband. Normally it would be twice as long and more suited to hold weights, but I had torn it in half for what I had in mind. His expression was a mixture of confusion and curiosity. I bent the bar into a U shape right in front of him. It was like wire. I barely even felt the resistance. Without warning him I grabbed his wrists with my hands. He was in shock for the first few moments, but then he remembered that he should struggle. It was kind of cute. He thought he was strong, that I couldn’t possible keep him in my grip. It turned out the power in my fingers was more than he had in his entire upper body. I took the bar and put it around his burly wrists, clamping the metal shut with just one hand. The horror on his face was juxtaposed with his throbbing erection. Even if he didn’t understand what was happening he sure liked it. “How do you feel?” I asked, crushing off the loose ends of the bar and tightening down the space between his hands to form makeshift handcuffs. “What are you?” he responded, exasperated. “I honestly don’t know,” I replied. “Does it really matter?” I noticed that with his hands stuck together it made his chest stick out. Even while he was indisposed, the fullness and definition in his pecs were still admirable. My dick hardened at the thought that I had incapacitated him with so little effort. I reached down for his cock that was sticking out of his boxers. He was leaky. Hell, I would be too in a situation like this. There wasn’t a single part of my body that wasn’t worthy of salivating over. I threw him a few poses while I had him as my captive audience. Then I drew his throbbing member from its cotton sheath and whistled at what I found. At least eight inches, hard as stone, head throbbing with anticipation. Gaining momentum, I lifted him up off the bed and hefted him over my shoulder. Then I pressed him up with one hand. The metal dragged along my back as I lifted him, and I could feel the indentations my fingers had left. He stared at me with an expression of wonder and lust. I smiled at him and brought him back down towards me, allowing our lips to meet. Then I worked my tongue down his neck, past his nipples, across his abs until they met the head of his cock. I was pleasantly surprised that he lasted for more than a few minutes with my tongue wrapped around his head. I took my time, never letting him drop an inch even as he started to leak. When I felt him getting close I held him with both hands around his waist and started rubbing his cock against my chest. The idea must have really riled him up, because he came almost immediately. I laughed as his rather prodigious volume splashed up against my chin. Some of it found its way to my lips. It was sweet. I tossed him on the bed to marinate in his own juices while I went to wash off. But before I got in his shower, I spread the substantial volume of semen that I had earned across my chest. I liked the “oiled” look, the way the lighting made every fiber in my already awesome chest stand out even more. Turning the water on, I took turns bouncing them up and down as I washed them. I went slowly, admiring the absolute control I had over every muscle in my body. Soon I was touching myself all over… My cum stained his ceiling. I was sure he wouldn’t mind. When I got back to the room he lifted his bound hands towards me and begged: “Please, officer?” I obliged, twisting the metal off of his wrists without a drop of sweat. “Can I see you again?” he asked, almost pleading. I frowned. “Sadly, I’m moving tomorrow. I was supposed to leave yesterday, actually, but some business came up. If I’m ever back in town, you’ll be the first person I call.” I left him on the bed, still soaked in his own cum, dazed from what I had done to him. I felt sated. It was time to get some answers. Part V

Part One Roger Dixon was a stud! It was almost as if he only had to step onto a bodybuilding stage and the world just caved into him. He won every single class he entered be it his local contest, the statewide contest, a regional contest, a national contest, a continent contest or even the day he was crowned Mr. Universe in his class, indeed that day he really let them know what he was packing. He stood up to his maximum height and brought the house down, showing off every sinew of his proportionate 266lb mass. His proportionate 53 inch chest, with his proportionate 2½ inch long nipples just oozed mascunlinity and when coupled with a proportionate 27 inch waist his proportionate eight pack was a thing of wonder to behold. His proportionate 22 inch guns, with veins streaking along them, were unmissable, his proportionate 28 inch quads glistened under the lights, his proportionate 23 inch calves and his proportionate 22 inch thick neck ensured that he won the best poser class as well and was even brought out to pose against the overall winner. But that was all in the past. It was his own desire that was his undoing. First, when at a photoshoot he attempted a 300lb bench much more than he could actually manage to show off his power and tore both his pecs and then the real trouble came when he was caught in a media sting operation and outed. He had always been gay, he loved the attention of people drooling over his muscles, his cock a proportionate 9 inch monster when hard was his pride and joy, no one had complained when photos showing his bulge on stage flooded the magazines but as soon as he was outed, he was dropped faster than you could say "One Hit Wonder". Even now, twenty years after last stepping on stage, he still looked after himself but knew that standing just a mere five foot two tall, weighing 146lbs though still as lean as anything, his 42½ inch chest, 32 inch waist, 14½ inch biceps, 22½ inch quads and 15 inch calves would never cut the mustard against the modern stars of the stage. Even the people in his grand master classes were bigger than he was and as he watched the recording of the last show he had streamed, he traced the buldging pecs of Mr. Grand Master Colorado 2015, a man aged as the same as Roger, 65, yet so muscular Roger wanted to wrap his arms about him and pummel him into submission. But Roger now happy living at his home in Fort Collins, Colorado where he spent most of his days on online forums discussing bodybuilding history and reading stories about the most powerful men ever to exist on the face of the planet had his dreams and would regularly wake up, covered with a thick layer of cum having read stories, both real and fan made, of Hercules lifting an entire cliff face, He-Man wrestling a clone of himself, Milos of Croton splitting a tree apart with his bare hands and his personal favourite, the final act of that Titan, Porthos, holding up a cave to allow his friend to escape. Whenever he read that story, his dreams were always the same. He would rescue that man, take him to his own personal gym where people could train in the nude, and work that man until he begged for mercy, then ram him until he screamed for mercy and then, torture him with high voltage until he caved in and panted "I submit" and allow him and Roger to swap bodies so that Roger could experience the power of the Titan for himself. This interest in the Titan of old eventually developed into an interest in Renn Faires and it wasn't long before Roger, dressed as the Titan himself, was a regular feature and made sure that his body was the centre of attention as demonstrated just the previous week when, whilst holding a talk on the strength of heroes, and deadlifting two hundred pounds for the whole talk, a Spartan came up, grabbed hold of his biceps and squeezed them saying "Arms, that would defy Hercules in their strength" It was after a Renn Faire, where having been a member for a decade the organisers presented him with a leather bound copy of all of the tales of the Musketeers, that Roger found himself in a unique position. He'd been reading another one of Porthos's feats of strength and as per usual was getting very excited about it. “This group was superintended by the man whom D'Artagnan had already remarked, and who appeared to be the engineer-in-chief. A plan was lying open before him upon a large stone forming a table, and at some paces from him a crane was in action. This engineer, who by his evident importance first attracted the attention of D'Artagnan, wore a justaucorps, which, from its sumptuousness, was scarcely in harmony with the work he was employed in, that rather necessitated the costume of a master-mason than of a noble. He was a man of immense stature and great square shoulders, and wore a hat covered with feathers. He gesticulated in the most majestic manner, and appeared, for D'Artagnan only saw his back, to be scolding the workmen for their idleness and want of strength” “Oh, yeah” moaned Roger, “I think I know where this is headed” and with that started to rub his cock in anticipation. “D'Artagnan continued to draw nearer. At that moment, the man with the feathers ceased to gesticulate, and, with his hands placed upon his knees, was following, half-bent, the effort of six workmen to raise a block of hewn stone to the top of a piece of timber destined to support that stone, so that the cord of the crane might be passed under it. The six men, all on one side of the stone, united their efforts to raise it to eight or ten inches from the ground, sweating and blowing, whilst a seventh got ready for when there should be daylight enough beneath it to slide in the roller that was to support it. But the stone had already twice escaped from their hands before gaining a sufficient height for the roller to be introduced. There can be no doubt that every time the stone escaped them, they bounded quickly backwards, to keep their feet from being crushed by the refalling stone. Every time, the stone, abandoned by them, sunk deeper into the damp earth, which rendered the operation more and more difficult. A third effort was followed by no better success, but with progressive discouragement. And yet, when the six men were bent towards the stone, the man with the feathers had himself, with a powerful voice, given the word of command, "Ferme!" which regulates maneuvers of strength. Then he drew himself up” “Yeah” moaned Roger, the rubbing becoming faster making his cock longer, harder and redder , “You show them, Porthos” “The workmen, as commanded by the engineer, drew back with their ears down, and shaking their heads, except for the one who held the plank, who prepared to perform the office” “Oh, fuck” Roger moaned, as his hips started to buck and he could feel himself getting even more aroused “The man with the feathers went up to the stone, stooped, slipped his hands under the face lying upon the ground, stiffened his Herculean muscles, and without a strain, with a slow motion, like that of a machine, lifted the end of the rock a foot from the ground” “Yeah” he moaned again, “show them pure muscle!” “The workman who held the plank profited by the space thus given him, and slipped the roller under the stone. "That's the way," said the giant, not letting the rock fall again, but placing it upon its support” “YEAH!” roared Roger, “SHOW THEM ALL WHAT IT MEANS TO BE PORTHOS” and with that he came so violently that in combination with the long day and the orgasm that followed, Roger started to fall asleep and dropped the book to the ground moaning “Oh, Porthos, I wish I could meet you one day!” and with that slipped into sleep, his cock spurting cum as he did so. This will be a very long story (but I cannot say how many parts it will be). I know from experience how boring that long a story can be so therefore I would like members to help liven it up with their artistic skills be it people like @powerbeats illustrating the sheer effort needed to perform a feat of near superhuman strength, people like @leogrando showing how big people are, or even @darkluster4 showing what happens later on when Roger experiences the full force of the Titan. Therefore I am giving every single illustrator carte blanche to draw what they like when they like

Henry was shocked and amazed at what was happening to his body. Sure he'd been working out a lot more lately, but this was incredible. He could still taste Pete's load on and was just realizing how much of his muscle juice he swallowed. "Am I growing right now?!" Asked Henry with worry and excitement in his voice. "Yes, yes your are", replied Pete in an excited, matter of fact tone. Henry already experienced his chest filling out and tightening his tshirt around his newly improved pecs. A few seconds later Henry felt the rest of his body surge with ecstasy. It wasn't an organism sensation, but more an endorphin rush after an exhausting workout. He filled out his shorts to the point where his quads were skin tight and the outline of his still-hard cock was extremely evident. "Holy fuck", Henry whispered to himself as he checked out his toned body. "Take your shirt off beast, let's see what we've created" Pete chimed in. Henry peeled off his shirt and was pleasantly surprised with his defined physique. He took off his pants and gave his legs a shake, memsemrized at his calves and quads. "Is this because I ate your load, how is that even possible?", Henry asked. Pete ignored Henry's question. He was enamoured with the idea that he was able to make Henry evolve into a more muscular beast than he was 10 minutes earlier. That turned Pete on like never before - the ability to share his muscle growth with a hot stud and make him grow into a freaky beast. Henry approached Pete standing on the other side of the room. Both men naked and still hard despite already blowing their load. Henry was still awe struck at this muscular god feeding him his muscle juice. "I want more", Henry stated, "I don't care how this is happening, and I want to grow bigger and I want you to make it happen". Pete grinned, "Then let's hit the free weights and push through some more reps." Henry grinned back and locked lips with Pete. Moving his tongue around the muscle studs mouth while he felt up his body. Pete did the same to Henry feeling the muscle he provided. "Fuck my muscle hole", Henry whispered into Pete's ear. Pete grabbed Henry and slammed him against the empty desk in the room. He loosened up Henry's newly thickened ass with his tongue. "Fuck me deep", Henry demanded, "I want to feel all of your muscle cock inside me. Cum inside me. Make me grow bigger." Pete already intended to do both. He slid his powerful cock slowly into Henry's tight muscle hole while Henry squirmed a little and moaned. "Yes, yes, this is amazing" Henry yelled out, "fuck me deep you muscle beast, turn me into a beast like you". Pete obliged and started pounding Henry, flexing his entire body with each thrust. Pete was so turned on, it didn't take him long to cum deep inside Henry. "Fuuuuck yes you beast, take my roided muscle juice". Henry came as soon as he felt Pete unleashed his seed inside him. Pete flipped him over off the desk and aggressively sucked on his juicy lips. He then noticed Henry's massive creamy load all over the desk, and couldn't help himself. He leaned down and licked it up. "Can't waste quality muscle seed" Pete said as he flexed for Henry. "Do you feel any different?" Pete asked Henry, hoping for more muscle growth. "Well my ass if killing me", Henry replied and they both laughed. Then Henry's eyes expressed the same shock and ecstasy he felt before but much stronger. "Woah, I fucking feel it Pete, it's happening again", Henry exclaimed. His defined physique slowly transformed into an inflated jacked junior bodybuilder. "Holy fuck this feels incredible, look at my fucking arms" Henry said as he flexed for Pete. Pete wanted in on the action and started groping Henry softly as Henry continued to transform and grow. Henry stood in front of Pete a full 30lbs heavier, made of pure muscle. The hair alone that sprouted all over Henry's body was enough to make Pete want to cum again. It was in that moment, Pete realized he was growing. "What the hell!" Pete said as he felt his body growing thicker. "Henry, its gotta be because I licked up your seed. Fuck this is amazing. Look at my pecs, look at how thick I am!!", Pete let out a slow intense groan and he flexed to show off his newly earned gains. Cum started dripping from his muscled cock and Henry ran his ring get along Pete's shaft and licked the roided seed so he could grow with his muscle beast. The room was rank with sweaty muscle man musk after their growing and worship session. Both men put on their skin tight underwear since nothing else fit, and made their way across the gym to the locker room. "Look at my abs and chest and traps and arms and fucking tree trunk thighs'" Henry exclaimed as he flexed for himself in the bathroom full length mirror while Pete stood behind him admiring the muscle beast's growth. "You're definitely getting there stud", Pete admitted as he flexed in the mirror. Henry could smell Pete's sweaty pits as he flexed and the taste of Pete's body lingered in his mouth. "Hey Pete, you have to tell me how the hell this is happening, and when we're doing this again!", Henry inquired, hoping his gym crush turned growth accomplice would still want to fuck and workout. "We're working out together every fucking day now", Pete said and laughed, "we just made each other grow and that was the best sex of my life". "If you want to know why this is happening, I'll have to introduce you to Bill", said Pete. "Bill, who is that?" Asked Henry as he continued to flex for himself and smell his own sweaty musk.

Here's Part 1: ------------- Henry - The Beast Within 2 The gym was slowly becoming Henry's second home. It helped that he had Pete as motivation. After their first friendly encounter, their paths didn't cross quite as much as Henry hoped. He still saw Pete almost every morning, but there wasn't an opportunity casual enough for them to talk. Henry constantly daydreamed about the perfect ice breaker but never had the confidence to go in for the kill, and Pete was also too focused on his clients. Finally one morning when the gym was oddly quiet, the distance between them was on course for a head on collision. Pete was putting in an extra workout because his 8am was a no-show. After Henry came out of the change room getting ready for a solid back and bicep workout, his eyes zoomed in on his secret crush in the free weights section, doing some intense curls with weights Henry only wished he could lift. This was it, he knew he had to make a move, or at the very least walk in the general direction of Pete's bulging biceps. He picked up 35lbs dumbbells and headed to a bench two down from Pete. Not too close and not too far. With only about 8 other people in the gym, Henry hoped some sort of interaction would happen. He could hear Pete's focused and controlled breaths between each rep. Wanting to show off a bit and not look like a complete amateur, Henry mimicked Pete and started focusing on his own moderately sized biceps while he pushed his body to its limit. On his final rep of his last set, he heard a faint holler on top of his blaring earbuds. Pete was waving, smiling, and trying to get his attention. "Good form man, and solid breathing. For a rookie you're not doing so bad", said Pete. Henry was freaking out! He was waiting weeks for this casual/well orchestrated conversation to happen. "Thanks man, just trying to get big like you" said Henry. Ugh, thought Henry, what the hell kind of line was that?! "Haha, thanks, but I'm not that big", said Pete as he gave Henry a slow double bicep flex. Henry's jaw dropped and he couldn't help but stare at Pete's thick biceps and massively sweaty pits on his cutoff shirt. Pete noticed the reaction and loved the attention, all of the attention, even Henry's tent popping up in his gym shorts. Henry didn't notice but Pete decided he would have a little fun. He got up from his bench, walked over to Henry, "Mind if I give you a few pointers?". Henry was in shock. Not only was he fully engaged in conversation with this complete muscle stud, he could smell the ripe musk rolling off Pete's muscled body and sweaty clothes. "Uh, sure of course you can", said Henry. Pete then instructed Henry on proper form for a curl and got right up close beside Henry, rubbing his drenched clothes against Henry's face. After showing Henry a few different variations, and clearly seeing that Henry was also drenched in sweat now and exhausted, he suggested they both finish up with a quick ab workout. Then headed to one of the studios. Pete chose the one he knew had most privacy. Despite the glass walls, there wouldn't be much foot traffic this morning anyways. "So what kind of ab workouts do you usually do?", asked Pete. Henry shrugged, "usually just some crunches." Pete gave Henry a playful look and lifted his shirt partly, "you don't get these from just doing crunches'" Pete said as he pointed to his abs and flexed. Henry laughed, "ok then boss, show me how to get ripped like you." "Are you sure you want this?", Pete joked back. "Yes I absolutely do," said Henry. Pete raised an eyebrow and told Henry to get on his back. Knees up and feet on the floor. Pete squatted at Henry's feet and then instructed Henry to start doing sit ups. Each incline, Henry would see Pete smiling back, pushing him to do more. Henry kept pushing and Pete kept yelling, more, more. By the final rep, Henry was competely spent. He collapsed on the ground. Pete was still at his feet, and Henry's thick hard cock was fully throbbing and tented in his shorts. "You always get a chub when you do sit-ups?" Pete teased. Henry was so embarrassed, but then looked at Pete who was now standing up and showing off his hard cock that tented his gym shorts. Henry smiled at Pete, and Pete winked back. "You serious about muscle growth, stud?" Pete asked. "More than you know. Well, I guess you can see that I am", Henry said as he glanced at his own shorts that were now leaking precum. Pete took Henry's hand and led him to a small office near the back corner of the gym. "Get in here" Pete ordered, as he closed the door behind them. It was a rarely used health exam room for newbie gym members to asses their physical level. Pete knew it wouldn't be used today. Henry could smell the rank muscle scent from Pete as they stood in the small poorly ventilated room. "I've been watching you for weeks" Pete confessed. Henry blushed, "and I've been watching you!". Both men laughed. "You're hot as fuck" admitted Henry. Pete smiled and gave Henry another double bicep pose. Henry stared transfixed on his size and girth. "Go ahead and touch them", Pete said. Henry slowly reached out and caresses his arms. "No, like really fucking touch them, give them a squeeze" Pete said as he flexed harder. "I can tell you have the potential to become massive, you just need to unleash the beast within, and I can help you do that," Pete said. "Yes, so much yes" Henry pleaded as he continued to grope Pete. Henry caught himself still touching this muscle stud standing in front of him, and quickly removed his hands. Pete laughed, and grabbed Henry's right hand and placed it on his muscled cock that was throbbing through his tight trainer gym shorts. Henry looked directly into Pete's eyes and without either of them saying a word, Pete took off his shirt and his shorts. Standing in front of Henry was a total muscle beast, offering to transform him into a beast. Henry came immediately. Warm creamy cum oozed down the side of his leg. He wasn't even embarrassed. Pete placed his hand on the top of Henry's head and slowly guided him down to his sweaty muscle cock. Henry could feel the heat and dampness of his muscle cock as he wrapped his lips around it and started sucking him off. The precum on the tip of Pete's cock tasted sweet like nectar. It didn't take long for Pete to cum. He held Henry's head tight against his cock and balls while his thrusted himself into the aspiring muscle beast's face. Henry didn't even attempt to pull away, as Pete warm load shot hard down Henry's throat. "Mmmm ya take my muscle juice" Pete groaned as he unloaded his seed into Henry. Henry licked up every last drop and collapsed backwards on the floor. Pete held out his hand and lifted Henry up. With a big smirk on his face, Pete kissed Henry. "Just wanna see how my muscle juice tastes on your lips" Pete said. Henry smiled and leaned in to kiss Pete more. A few seconds later, Henry stopped and stepped back. His nipples felt sensitive rubbing up against Petes naked body. "You okay beast?" Pete asked, still with the smirk on his face. Henry started to slowly rub his chest. "I feel weird", said Henry, "not bad, just weird". His pecs started to feel thicker, and then the fabric on his tshirt seemed to feel tight. "Are you seeing this?" asked Henry. "Seeing it and loving it", said Pete, "and I hope you're ready for more because we're just getting started."

Hey guys! I know it has been a while since I last wrote. The story is pretty much still unfinished but I realized that having all the chapters spread out wasn't helping either. My plan now is to post all the chapters here, edited of course, this being so if you reread you will get a little extra fun from it. I'll also be posting progress pics within the story of the character,Vonny, who is based off of me and has very similar muscle progress. This way you can imagine how the character is growing a little better along with reading. I will also be posting pics from the web of what other characters look like and some scenery in order for you all to fully experience everything. Thanks for being patient and I hope you all will enjoy. Leave a comment if you have and questions or ideas!

Hey guys! A big thanks once again for all the support on the story. I love you all, have a great Sunday and I’ll (maybe) see you all next week. Part I Part VI Part II Part VII Part III Part VIII Part IV Part IX Part V Changing my Life Part X Max tried on all the clothes that I bought him. Most of which fitted him perfectly, whilst some of them were a tight fit or ripped apart. After he tested all his new clothes, it was time to empty the wardrobe. In order for us to see what fitted and what not, Max had to wear all his clothes. This gave us an idea of how much he would eventually need. We tossed all his now too small clothes away and made space for his new ones. Most of his old shirts, trousers, socks and so one were thrown away. Max seemed to like ripping his own clothes. Looking at his throbbing bulge, maybe a bit too much. After our big cleanout, we had 5 full rubbish bags, all with Max’s tiny clothes. I was exhausted. My shirt was drenched and had little to no energy left. Max however seemed to be wide awake and fit. “I think I’m going to take a shower and go for an early rest.” I said making my way to the hallway. “Care to join?” I asked playfully. “I’ll be right there with you. I’m going to bring these bags downstairs first.” He said lifting all bags at the same time. I made my way to the bathroom and grabbed a washing cloth and a towel. Running the water of the shower I heard Max stumping down. I undressed myself only to smell my own sweat coming from my shirt. That shirt was ready for laundry. I tossed all my clothes into the laundry basket and stepped into the shower. The water was so warm and comforting. I closed my eyes and enjoyed every second of it. I must’ve enjoyed it to much as I was greeted with a cold hand, resting on my shoulder. Max had entered the shower and, once again, I was in awe as I saw him. His body glistering with water, towering above me. I could feel his throbbing member alongside my thigh. He kneeled down and started kissing my neck. I moaned in pleasure and in no time, we were kissing passionately. He felt more dominating and much more lustful. He broke the kiss and turned me around. He grabbed a bottle of lube which was on one of the shelves just above me. As I looked behind me, I saw just how wide his frame was becoming. I swore he looked bigger every second. He noticed me staring and gave me a smirk and a wink. When he got the lube, he put some on his hand and rubbed it over his thick shaft. He grabbed my head and turned it around. Biting my ear, I felt like I was in heaven. Max was never as dominant as that night. I felt his head pushing against my hole. It was so big. I was moaning louder and louder. I could hear him growl between my moans. Max slowly entered me with his dick and I could feel that it was bigger… Slow and steady didn’t seem to cross his mind anymore as his thrusting became quicker and more violent. With each thrust, it felt like his dick was growing. Out of pain, I looked down to see my feet and Max’. When looking at them again, I couldn’t believe what I saw. He was… growing. His feet stretched across the tiled floor and his calves widened and thickened. I couldn’t believe it. Then I felt the thrusting again and looked around to find him in some sort of trance. His eyes were closed and he was grinding his teeth. His frame widened and his eight-pack bulged out even more. His chest pushed forward and his nips pointed downwards. Biceps boomed up and triceps boomed down. His legs bulging outwards. As I witnessed his enormous growth, I realized that when I thought he looked and felt bigger, I was right. His dick now pushed against my prostate and didn’t seem to show any signs of slowing down its growth. His balls grew to the size of tomatoes whilst his dick seemed to be as big as a courgette. “Max, please stop! You’re hurting me!” I yelled in pain, trying to awake him from his trance. “MUST GROW MORE!” he growled in-between thrusts. He grabbed a hold on the shower grip. The metal started bending whilst Max kept on growling and moaning. Eventually, not able to fight Max’ strength, the handle gave up and broke off. Max however boosted upwards, towards the showerhead. The water stopped running over me as Max’ head now pushed against it. His neck thickened and pushed his head further up. With one loud roar escaping Max’ mouth, the showerhead bended and twisted, making room for a new Max. I felt his dick thrusting deeper and deeper. I couldn’t stop moaning. It hurt, but at the same time, it felt amazing. However, my moaning wasn’t anything compared to Max’s. His growling and moaning shook the perfume bottles on top of the shelves, made the mirror shake and gave me goose bumps. Not able to contain myself, I shot my load all over the tiled shower wall. Max started panting and slammed his fist into the tiled wall. I didn’t know if I had to be frightened or aroused at the sight. “HERE IT COMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!” Max yelled in pleasure as his fluids entered my body. Pulling out his dick, it shot its second load against the ceiling. Then there was a third one hitting the now cracked, tiled wall, and then a fourth one and a fifth one, it didn’t seem to end. Then silence returned. The only sound that filled the steamy bathroom was the running water of the shower. I heard Max gasping for air after the biggest load I’d ever seen. I sank to the ground, not able to keep myself up and faced my now hulking boyfriend. Max sat down, against the wall, still with his eyes closed and feet pushing against the glass door. He looked like a beast. Drenched with water and sweat. Veins popping up all over his hulking body. His growth seemed to have ended. I was still somewhat scared that the Max I knew was lost to the pill lurking inside of him. I slowly (and painfully) crouched my way over to the giant and stroked his massive legs making my way up to his cheek. He slowly awoke and looked all around. “What the hell happened? Why are you so tiny? Why is there cum all over the walls and ceiling?” Max said panicking. “You.. you don’t remember? I asked still a bit scared. “No… I remember placing the bags in the garage… walking up the stairs… and feeling really horny when I saw you in the shower…” he said looking at me. I noticed his voice had deepened and sounded more mature and masculine. “You did all of this. This is the mess you’ve made. I think we need to talk to the doc before you take that second pill.” I said trying to stand up. “Wait let me carry you.” Max said lifting me up easily and turning of the shower. He placed me on top of the ottoman that also seemed to have some spots of cum splattered on it. He towelled me down like a real gentlemen and handed me my bathrobe. After he cleaned up his jizz (and a telling me a billion times that he was sorry), he picked me up and we made our way downstairs, into the kitchen. “Could you give me the number of the doc?” I asked picking up the phone, ready to dial, when all of a sudden, Max starts crying… “I’m sorry…” he said between sobs “It’s all my fault…” “No it isn’t. You didn’t know that that pill would have such an effect on you.” I said rubbing his back. “This isn’t because of one pill…” he said looking away. “What do you mean?” I asked confused as to what he was saying. Max stood up to his full height, only centimetres away from the ceiling. He walked towards the kitchen and opened the cabinet that had the jar in it. Reaching for the jar, I sensed a look of fear on his face. Max seemed to hesitate whether or not to take the jar. He managed to take it and slowly walked back to the table where I sat. Max placed the jar on the table and shoved it towards me. I looked at him questioned and opened the lid… “It’s empty…” I said slowly, realizing that all 5 pills were gone. “I’m sorry!” Max said once again. “You mean you took all of them at the same time?!” I asked raising my voice. “Would you please calm down and listen to me for just a moment?” he asked, kneeling in front of me. I nodded and Max started talking: “So when we received the pills, I couldn’t wait to start with the experiment. When we arrived home I took my first pill…” “That being the one I saw?” I interrupted “Exactly. But as days went on, I didn’t see any changes. So I was tempted to take a second one, which I eventually did. Then it showed some result and so I took the third one. Then the accident happened at that party so I thought I was doing it right. And that’s when I took all of the remaining pills…” He said cringing and realizing his mistakes. For a few minutes, I couldn’t say a word. I was on one hand scared of the things that could potentially go wrong, and on the other hand, I was mad… no furious that, during this entire week, he was lying to me. But I didn’t want to shout at him. One reason being that he didn’t do it on purpose. The second reason being… while he may look big, Max is somewhat of a child hidden inside a now colossal beast so if he would start running away… I mean how would you react if a hulking figure would run across your yard at night? But I needed to know what the consequences were and what caused his animalistic behaviour in the shower. So I tried to think of something to say… “Max what you did, was wrong… but I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” I said calmly. Max turned his head and nodded in agreement. “There is erm… one more thing I haven’t told you yet…” he said looking at the ground. “Remember when you went shopping and told me that I had to inform the doc about my progress?” “Yes…” I answered anxiously. “I didn’t really send him anything. I actually didn’t want to because I was afraid I had to stop the experiment if he knew what I did.” He said looking back at me. Max sat back down. The chair underneath him was creaking due to his new weight. If I wasn’t mad at him before, now I was definitely mad because of his lies. However, I couldn’t blame him. Even though I was against it in the first place, I actually started to like all this growing. I wrapped my head around it and came with an offer: “Listen Max. I don’t like the fact that you lied to me. But I understand your fear of quiting the experiment. I don’t want to stop this experiment either. I like the way you look and love how happy you are. But I don’t know the consequences from taking all those pills at ones. I mean, you saw what happened upstairs right? What do you say if we take measurements now, send it to the doc and see what he thinks?” Max was silence for a bit, but eventually said yes. He ran upstairs, quaking the house, to get the measuring tape. I still had some difficulty trying to stand up, but the pain in my bum was bearable. Then the shaking returned and shortly after, Max’s was towering beside be. We also took a blank sheet of paper and a pen to write all our measurements down. As we began with the measuring I realised that this time, I had to use a chair to measure his full height. After 10 more minutes, I wrote down all Max’s stats and this was the end result: Neck: 45 cm (18 inch.) Arms: 60 cm (24 inch.) Waist: 88 cm (35 inch.) Chest: 142 cm (56 inch.) Legs: 83 cm (33 inch.) Calves: 60 cm (24 inch.) Height: 2.15 m (7ft) Weight: 145 kg (320 lbs) It was the first time that Max and I were both shocked at the result. Some of these results, we thought, were inhuman. After we gathered this information, it was time to inform the doc. I got my phone out and max handed me his number. I took a deep breath and dialled the number. Putting it on speaker, I heard a familiar voice answering the phone. “Doctor Petrov, what can I do for you?"

Sorry for the long delay, I had some trouble writhing this part. However I do have some ideas for the upcoming parts… but you’ll have to wait and see when they come out… Anyway I hope you’ll enjoy and as always thank you for the support and lovely messages. Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Changing my Life Part IX Standing before me was Mr Jones. I hadn’t seen him since the incident that happened at the party. I was practically frozen but knew that I couldn’t tell him what was going on. I changed my shocked face into a smile and greeted him. “How’s Max doing? Is he feeling a bit better?” “Max… erm yeah… he’s uh… he’s doing great!” I said mumbling. “Great to hear. I honestly felt a bit disappointed that you left. It was your party too, you know.” “I know sir, but I couldn’t keep Max from going home and taking care of him.” “I understand…” he said looking down and back up to see the boot of my car. Checking all the bags filled with oversized clothing, he looked back at me. “Those aren’t for you I may hope.” He said laughing. “No sir, they’re for Max.” I said. Mr Jones stopped laughing. Stunned he looked back at the boot. “Max?! He doesn’t need those, does he?” he asked. “He takes bodybuilding serious lately.” I said trying to find another excuse. “Oh, well then… I’ll see you around?” he said turning back to exit the car park. “Sure…” I said closing the boot. He wandered off, sometimes looking quizzed back at my car until he finally reached the exit of the car park. Relieved that the conversation ended, I started the engine and drove back home. Arriving home and stopping the car, I unloaded the boot and placed all the bags into the garage. As I closed the boot, I could smell the sweet sense of scrambled eggs. Feeling my tummy rumble I opened the door which led to the laundry. The door to the kitchen was opened and the smell of the delicious food overtook me. “Oh it smells lovely in here.” I said entering the kitchen. The kitchen was empty but the table was already set. Then I heard the stomping of heavy feet and noticed the glasses on the kitchen counter shaking. Water was vibrating as the stomping came closer. Two large feet entered the kitchen followed by 2 massive pecs and a body which made my body shiver and my cock spring to life. Ducking down Max’s massive body entered the room “I thought you’d like it.” He said looking down at me. I still wasn’t used to his hulking body and was in awe when I saw him in his full nakedness. I noticed that the only thing that came out of my open mouth was drool. My daydream quickly ended when Max started speaking again. “Did you find me some new clothes?” He asked walking towards the garage. “Y.. yeah, but err… I don’t know if it’ll fit.” I said following him to where I put the bags. Max started looking through the bags and grabbing some of the items. He turned around and pulled a tank top over his massive body. As he pulled it down, we both saw that it didn’t fully cover up his abs. It hardly reached his bellybutton. “It’ll do for now.” He said winking at me. He turned around and grabbed a pair of briefs and some trousers and laid them on top of my car. First he (tried) putting the briefs on. They stretched over his massive quads and tightened on his massive bulge and bum. There was no point in putting them on, they didn’t cover anything. Next were his trousers. They fitted perfectly. Even though he had a bit of a problem with closing the zipper, they were a nice fit. Seeing him smile made me swoon. He walked over to me and picked me up as if I was a feather. Kissing me passionately, he hugged me and held me for a few minutes. “Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have gotten a better boyfriend than you.” He whispered in my ear. Afterwards we walked back to the kitchen and dug into our food. I told max about how difficult it was to find clothes for him and about my encounter with Mr Jones. He laughed and didn’t seem to stop eating. He ate twice as much as I did. “Hey, did you receive an e-mail form the doc yet?” I asked almost forgetting. “Erm yeah, he said that the transformation is going according to plan and that I could take the second pill.” Max said between mouthfuls. “Well then, what are we waiting for?” I said standing up and walking towards the jar. “JAKE! STOP IT RIGHT THERE!” Max yelled, stopping me in my tracks. Frightened I looked back at him and saw him standing upright. “I.. I mean… I don’t want it yet…” he said sitting back down and looking at his empty plate. Questioned I walked back to the table and sat back down. “What do you mean? This is what you want, isn’t it?” I asked looking him into his eyes. “Yeah, but I’ll take it tonight, okay?” He said looking a bit down. “Hey, are you alright?” I asked placing my tiny hand on his oversized forearm. “I’m fine. It’s all just a bit much, you know. I still have to get used to this size.” He said looking for a bit of comfort. “I hear ya.” I said kissing him on the cheek. “Why don’t you have a look at the clothes and see if you like and fit in them all, whilst I wash the dishes.” Max looked up and embraced me. Smiling again, he walked back to the garage. I cleaned of the table and started washing up when I heard the first rips coming from the garage...

Hey everyone. This is my first story for the site as I finally plucked up the courage to write it. I've had this idea for a while. I apologise that it takes a little bit to get into the good stuff but I like to at least have some kind of set up for characters and scenarios for anything I write. I have some ideas where I want the stories to go but I'm not certain, so any ideas for what you think would work, or any sex scenes you'd like to see happen just put in the comments and i'll happily oblige. Chapter 1 – The Test Batch Jack awoke as the sun shone through the gap in his curtains, creating a streak of sunlight on his bed and annoyingly, right on his eyes. He lifted himself out of his bed groggily, trudging over to his window to pull the curtains rather violently back together before flopping back down onto his mattress and wrapping himself in his warm, comfy duvet. “Jack!” he heard his brother, Steven yell “Jack get up! You’ve got school today haven’t you?” Jack mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, pulling the duvet over himself tighter. But when the alarm clock blared to life, he gave up his fight to catch a few more minutes of sleep, slapping the alarm clock to shut it up before standing up and stretching properly. He walked onto the landing and bumped into Steven, who stumbled backwards startled. “Oops, sorry bud,” he smiled pleasantly “I was just coming to make sure you were awake.” Jack looked at his brother, stood shirtless in just his pyjama bottoms. Why did he have to have a hot stud brother? Steven and Jack were practically opposites and had little in common so it was always a wonder how they got on so well. Steven was 21, 6’2”, sporty, active and a gym rat, complete with a ripped body and admittedly gorgeous toned muscles to compliment his sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked like a model, to be frank. Jack on the other hand was 18, 5’7”, nerdy and slim, played video games, watched anime and sung. A lot. In fact he studied musical theatre in college. Far from the sporting icon that his brother had been as college, Jack was an average theatre geek. Granted he luckily had his brother’s deep blue eyes which they’d both inherited from their mum, but had his dad’s brown hair, which he kept medium length and messy, the typical ‘twink’ hairstyle. And yes, he was gay. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just jumping in the shower so if you need the toilet, I’d go now,” Jack responded to Steven. “No bother, just be quick. Mum said I have to drive you to college today and I don’t want to miss my Monday workout.” “Ok, I’ll be quick,” Jack sighed before walking into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door before he stripped off his boxers and sleeping t-shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, sighed and proceeded to step into the shower. He wasn’t unattractive per se. Some people would like him being the twink he was, but it wasn’t what he wanted to be. He wanted more than just average. His mental health wasn’t exactly helping either. Having being diagnosed with anxiety and depression, Jack didn’t look upon himself too highly. Just as he thought this he came to soaping up and lathering his junk, which in all honestly was rather beyond average. At 9 inches hard, Jack would go so far to say that he had the biggest dick in his year, at least as far as he knew. It was one of the only things he assumed he’d inherited from his Dad and he wasn’t complaining. After he finished playing with himself a little, he washed and conditioned his hair, taking care to really rub the product into his scalp. Finally he rinsed off and stepped out, towelling himself down the dry. “Hurry up Jack!” Steven shouted, much to the irritation of Jack. Choosing to ignore his brother, Jack went to his room to dry his hair and get dressed at a leisurely pace, just to annoy Steven. Finally, he knocked back his anti-depressant pill with some water before he headed downstairs. Lunchtime at college. After three boringly long lessons (mathematics and Computing respectively), Jack was looking forward to his theatre lesson after dinner, however dreading the gym lesson he had afterwards. “Hey, Jack,” the athletic looking boy next to him spoke “are you ok? You look a bit lost in thought.” “Oh, I’m fine,” he replied, still not looking at his friend as he spoke “just not looking forward to gym later. “How come?” the boy asked inquisitively. “I just don’t enjoy it,” Jack sighed “I’m no good at it, and I’m stuck in a class with you and all the other jocks and athletes, just because my brother was THE star athlete a few years ago. I get too nervous and terrified to do anything.” “You need to control that anxiety mate,” he advised “besides I’m always there to help. Just partner up with me like you always do.” “Thanks Caleb,” Jack smiled reluctantly. Jack knew he was only as close with Caleb as he was, was because their brothers were best friends. If that were not the case, Jack doubted he’d have given Caleb the time of day. He’d had too many bad experiences with athletes. “Hey, you say you struggle with gym and you tire out too easily, try this!” Caleb suggested, offering Jack what appeared to be an energy bar, still wrapped and untouched. “Huh? What is this? Why are you giving it to me?” “It’s a new energy bar. Olympia they call it. It’s a new product that my dad bought a trial box of for us to have during workouts, but they contain nuts which I’m allergic to.” “Erm, ok. I guess it can’t harm me.” Jack accepted the gift with a smile. He looked Caleb up and down discreetly. He never could quite understand what Caleb liked about him, but he wasn’t complaining. He was a great best friend regardless, and it wasn’t bad that he was easy on the eye too. Bordering on twinky and athletic, Caleb wasn’t that buff but very well-toned, which complimented his modern quiff styled black hard and green eyes perfectly. He was often the subject of Jack’s late night masturbation sessions, along with Mr Malone his theatre professor. “Jack? Jack!” Caleb shouted, clicking his fingers in front of Jack’s face and drawing far too much attention to the pair of them for Jack’s liking “you zoned out again bud. What’s wrong with you today?” “I’m fine,” Jack responded “seriously. I should probably head down to the theatre though so I’ll see you in gym!” And with that, Jack up and left the cafeteria. “C’mon Jack! I know you can hit that note!” Mr Malone said, clearly disappointed but trying to be encouraging. “You seem so lost in thought today, what’s wrong?” “Trust me sir, you’re not the only person to have said that to me today,” Jack chuckled lightly, jumping down off of the stage. “Can I have a word with you?” his professor asked kindly, picking up what looked like one of the same energy bars that Caleb had given him earlier. “Sure sir,” Jack smiled. “Everybody, please work on the factory scene, I’ll just be a few minutes,” Mr Malone told the rest of the class before he walked Jack outside of the door. “You know you can talk to me if something’s troubling you Jack. If there is then please do, I can’t have you being distracted. You’re playing one of our lead roles, and if you can’t hit the notes I’m going to have to re-cast Marius.” “I know sir, I’m sorry. I’m just going through a lot,” Jack said calmly, looking at his teacher in the eyes. He didn’t want to say exactly what it was, but he hoped that the tone in his voice and look in his eye got his point across just as well. Mr Malone breathed lightly, letting silence fall over the pair before he unwrapped his Olympia Bar and took a bite. “Oh damn…” he moaned as he chewed “that’s tasty!” “Where did you get that?” “Oh it’s a new product! I ordered a trial box as I get too tired at this place. I’m here ridiculous hours during the weekdays, and I’m marking all weekend so I need all the energy I can get!” “Oh, it’s just Caleb gave me one just like it earlier, I’d never heard of it until then.” Finally Gym class had arrived, and Jack was halfway through this week’s set workout routine, the coach barking orders at individual students and typically barking insults at Jack for being so ‘pathetic’ and ‘unworthy of sharing his brother’s name,” which of course did wonders to his self-confidence. “God…this is…nngh…heavy!” Jack grunted, sweat coating his brow and forehead as he struggled to complete 10 reps on the bench press with a disappointingly ‘light-weight’ in comparison to the weights some of the other students were lifting. "Oh hey guys, look at the wimp trying to be like us!" a rather large, intimidating boy sneered teasingly, flexing his impressive teen muscles to show off. “Leave him alone Damien!" Caleb snapped "oh c’mon, you’ve got this Jack,” Caleb encouraged him while he spotted his friend, worried he was going to have to grab the bar just to save Jack from dropping it and choking himself. “Urgh…no I haven’t!” Jack exhaled as he put the bar back on the rack in defeat, huffing as he stood up to head to his locker. “Where are you going?” Caleb called after him, concerned. “There’s no point in me being here,” he yelled back, fighting back tears. Jack sat underneath his locker on one of the uncomfortable benches and held his head in his hands. He was knackered, drenched in sweat and none the fitter for it, broken if anything. Fed up, Jack took the Olympia Bar Caleb had given him earlier for an energy boost so he could make the walk home without feeling like he’d collapse at any moment. “Hey,” Caleb spoke softly as he walked into the room, Jack halfway through eating the bar “it’s ok. So you’re not a gym rat, but you’re great in the theatre! You know you are.” “I don’t know,” Jack replied after a moment’s silence, swallowing the last of the bar before he dabbed his brow with a towel, picked up his bag and headed for the door to walk home. Jack collapsed onto his bed, a welcome feeling after the stressful and strenuous say he’d had. To top the day off, he was feeling a little funny in his stomach too. Just what he needed, an illness. Granted it was probably just his anxiety playing up again, he often suffered stomach pains in times of constant worry. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Steven opened Jack’s door slowly, popping his head into the room almost comically as he checked on his younger brother. “Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” he asked comfortingly, walking towards Jack’s bed and taking a seat next to him. “I…” jack tried to say through sniffles and tears “I’m a failure.” “No you’re not,” Steven patted his shoulder in a loving way only a brother can “you’re just having a bad day. You’re going through a lot, but we’re all here for you. Have you taken your tablet today?” “Yeah, I have.” “Oh, ok. I have no idea how to help make you better then,” Steven answered honestly “but I’m here if you need me.” “Thank you,” Jack muttered quietly before he felt a deep burning spreading throughout his body. “What the?!...” He jumped out of bed as a sudden burst of energy shot through him and he keeled over, his stomach searing in pain. The energy he felt turned into something stronger…power almost. Then the impossible happened. Jack felt his body growing. His pecs popped out and pressed against his shirt as his arms swelled in size, biceps balling and growing into large lumps of solid muscle, striations cutting through to define the bicep and tricep. His back burst out and tore the back of his shirt due to his pecs already bulging, the increased mass making the shirt ride up to show his stomach which had become a rock solid, cut six-pack in moments. His legs flexed and grew, his skinny jeans standing no chance of surviving the sudden increase in size. With legs cut like diamonds and strong to match, all that remained was his already large crotch. Jack groaned in pleasure as the feeling entered his cock, which was already rock hard, and lengthening slowly. Balls swelling to the size of snooker balls and dropping even lower, cum swirling and pumping inside them, an excess amount ready to launch from Jack’s growing dick, now at least a foot long and as thick as his wrist, veins bulging and pumping blood into the engorged member. Suddenly, as the growth ended, Jack roared out as he came, shooting an enormous load all across the bed and his own brother. As Jack came down the intense feelings he’d just experienced, Steven looked on in shock, after wiping his brother’s cum off of his face. “What the…what just happened?! Jack are you ok?” “Oh…fuck Steven. Better than ever!” Jack growled lustfully, stroking his new abs with one hand and the other arm flexing to show off his engorged biceps. “Jack, you just turned into an amateur bodybuilder, right in front of me. And you’re hung like a horse. And you just exploded your load all over me. What the fuck?! How did this happen?!” Steven shouted, taking off his cum-drenched shirt to reveal his own ripped torso. “I…I don’t know! But I don’t care, I’m bigger than you!” “I know! But how?!” “As I said Steven, I don’t know and I don’t care. Fuck I’m horny…” Jack grabbed his still rock hard 12 inch cock, jerking slowly before looking at his brother. “Care to help?” “What the fuck?! NO!” Steven snapped before he stormed out of the room, slamming the door. Shrugging as if nothing had happened, Jack slumped onto his bed which creaked at his new weight. Cock in hand, he slowly jerked his newly grown python as he searched up some hot bodybuilder gay porn, moaning as he watched two big muscle studs kissing passionately as one pounded the other’s hole. However his porn was interrupted when he received a phone call. Checking the caller ID, Jack was surprised to see that it was Mr Malone. “Sir? What’s wrong?” Jack asked “it’s 8pm why are you calling me at this time?” “Jack, did you eat the Olympia Bar Caleb gave you?” Mr Malone’s raspy, panting voice responded over the phone. “Erm yes why…” suddenly it clicked in Jack’s mind. “Sir, have you by any chance experienced some kind of…erm… changes?” “Yes, and from you asking that question I assume you have too,” his professor explained, his voice obviously slightly deeper than it had been before. “Can you come to my place?” “I guess, I’ll head out now!” Jack was barely fitting in the clothes he’d put on. He’d sighed when he realised he was going to have to buy basically an entirely new wardrobe, but it was a small negative to a huge positive, and he meant huge. As he approached Mr Malone’s place he could hear the grunts and groans already, and what sounded like tearing clothing. His cock instantly rock hard, he ran up his professor’s driveway and knocked on the door, impatient to see what his professor looked like now. “It’s open!” a surprisingly deep voice growled. Jack stepped inside and looked into the living room only to nearly cum there and then. Mr Malone was still growing, nearly 7 feet tall where he’d been 5’11” before, and was a wall of bulging muscle and veins. Brick like abs and enormous pecs visible as he reared back and flexed, shredding his shirt completely, jeans and underwear tearing too as a monstrous 19 inch cock flopped out and sprung up past his abs. “Fuck sir…” Jack stated, eyes glazed over with lust as his arousal took over. Before he had a chance to do anything, Mr Malone picked him up by his neck in one, ridiculously strong arm and slammed him into the wall. “Thank god you’re here Jack,” Mr Malone grinned before planting his lips on Jack’s a deep, passionate, manly kiss as his 19 inch monster and Jack’s huge 12 incher grinded against each other. “We’re going to have a wild night,” his professor promised as he broke the kiss, rubbing his leaking cock head all over Jack’s ripped torso before dropping him onto the floor. “Go upstairs…” ___________________________________________________________________________________ Well i hope you liked it guys. Feel free to leave comments, feedback and suggestions on what you'd like to see in future chapters, and i can't wait to continue this story. Thanks for reading studs.

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As always, thank you for all the support and reputation . I would like to mention that I’m having some problems at work so I’ll only upload on Sundays. Thanks for understanding and have a great Sunday! Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Changing my Life Part VIII “Rise and shine” I heard Max’s deeper voice say when I awoke the next morning. I sat up straight and looked at him. Before me, stood a tall, wide and hot muscle god with a small tray in his hands. He was wearing a tiny little speedo which, to be honest, didn’t cover up anything from his mammoth prick and a red bow tie around his neck. “Here you go.” He said handing me a breakfast tray. The tray contained 2 slices of bread, some sandwich filling, a glass of orange juice, yoghurt and a red rose in a vase. “Oh that’s so sweet. To what do I owe this?” I asked smiling at the most heart-warming breakfast I’ve ever received. “Just because you kept believing in me and helping me get through with it.” He said blushing and scratching the back of his neck as he told me how grateful he was. “This bow tie is getting a little bit too tight.” He said struggling to get the bow off of him. He sat down on my side of the bed. With one quick rip, the bow was off. Admiring the view was the only thing I could do. Max had grown so much since he started the experiment. I was pleased at how well it had been working the last couple of days and was getting excited at how much he would grow, but I wasn’t the only one that was excited. Whilst admiring my gorgeous boyfriend I saw, in the corner of my eye, that his little boy was waking up too. I quickly looked back as I didn’t want to be staring at it like a pervert. Max noticed it too and placed his big hands on it to keep it from ripping his favourite speedo. “Sorry this happens a lot since I took that pill. I just can’t stop looking at myself and enjoying what I see.” “I get it.” I said knobbing in agreement. I knew he enjoyed it as much as I did. “Hey uh, could you do me a favour?” he said rubbing his hands together. “Sure. What can I do for ya?” I asked placing the tray next to me. “It’s just that I need some new clothes and I can’t go out looking like this.” “What do you mean. You can still wear my clothes.” Max didn’t answer. He just looked at me, smiling, and turned red. “I think I grew a little overnight.” He said laughing. Max stood up from the bed and told me he would get his new stats as he measured himself that morning when he made my breakfast. As he reached the bedroom door, I immediately saw that he grew. He had to duck his head to get through the door and went sideways too. “I’ve got them!” he said entering the bedroom again. “So… how tall do you think I am?” Max asked holding the papers with both hands and pressing them into his chest in hopes that I wouldn’t see the answer to his question. “Uh I don’t know, like, 2.00 meters?” “NOPE!” he shouted with excitement “I’m now at 2.05 meters. Isn’t it great! However I do still weigh somewhat the same.” I leaned back, my head lying on my pillow. he grew over night! This can't be right. “That’s lovely, but uh…” I stumbled over my words as I was searching for the right words to tell him how I felt without him getting angry or thinking that I wouldn’t support him anymore. “What is it?” he said approaching me. “Don’t you think you’ve grown enough. I mean, this all happened with just one pill.” Max looked at me, not knowing how to react. He sat down next to me and looked down. “I thought you’d be happy for me.” he added. “I am, I’m just worried that you’ll grow too big. I still have to keep up with ya.” I said punching him on his shoulder and smiling at him, trying not to make him feel guilty; “Maybe you’re right, but I like the feeling of being the bigger one.” He said looking back at me. “You know what, why don’t we make a deal. You can grow a bit more, but when I feel like you’ve grown enough, you stop.” I said sticking my small hand out, ready to shake Max’s big, meaty hand. “Deal!” he said smiling and looking excited. Then he stopped smiling for a moment and added “Err, there’s something else I need you to do for me…” “What is it?” I asked curious. “You know how I ripped out of most of my clothes?” he said looking at some of the shirts and trousers that were still covering the bedroom floor. “Yes” I said raising my eyebrow. “Well… could you… maybe… get me some new ones?” he asked. “Sure!” I said happily. “I’ll get some new ones right after my appointment of this afternoon. But you’ll have to give me your stats so that I know what to pick.” He jumped off of the bed and walked up to me, giving me a big kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best, I love you!” After our little talk, Max gave me a piece of paper and some measuring tape and we started writing down all his stats. Once we were finished, I took my documents with me for my appointment and told Max that he should contact the doc. to inform him about his progress as I forgot to do so. He told me he’d write an e-mail and would add some pics to also show him the results. I told him that’d be fine and I left. I went to our local shopping centre which was just a fifteen minute drive. Walking around, I saw a lot of shops with XXL sizes. However, they weren’t the cheapest clothes. I got a few hoodies, shirts, T-shirts, trousers, pants, socks, jackets and so on. I even got him some new shoes because I knew that the ones he got would be destroyed by the time he’d be done. Back at the car park, I was loading the boot when I heard someone sneak up behind me, grabbing my shoulder and saying “Great to see you again.” I panicked when I turned around.

Once again, thank you for all the support on the story. I don’t really know how the story will continue next as I’m still figuring it out. However, if you have any requests or ideas, I’d love to hear them. Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Changing my Life Part VII That night I awoke to several strange sounds coming from the kitchen. Looking at my phone I saw that it was 4.55 AM. I turned around, trying to wake Max up. But as I shook the blankets, I discovered that Max was nowhere near me. His side of the bed was empty. I tossed the duvet off of me and got out of bed. Slowly making my way down the noises kept getting louder and louder. Tiptoeing into the living room, I found a shadow of, what seemed like a hung beast, forming on the ground. The light came from the refrigerator. I glanced around the corner not knowing who, or what, I was going to find. I heard the beast gulping and munching on the contents that were stacked in our fridge. Once I glanced into the kitchen I saw a beast feasting on every piece of food he could get. “Max? Is that you?” I asked entering the kitchen step by step. The hung beast turned his head and looked right at me. I looked in its eyes and saw that it was indeed Max. But he didn’t look the same as he used to be a few hours ago. His already broad shoulders were as wide as the fridge, his 6 pack had been transformed into an 8 pack, his legs were bigger than my 2 arms put together and his bulge was as big as my head, stretching the tiny waistband of his underpants to its limits. And then there was his height. He seemed to have grown over night. Max stopped eating and turned his entire body towards me. “Are.. are you okay?” I asked as he stood there, intimidating me by his sheer size and muscles. I was trembling at the thought that he could crush me with just his bare hands. But that thought quickly faded as Max started to talk. “Sorry for waking you baby, I don’t know why but I’m just so HUNGRY!” he said raising his arms and doing a double bicep pose. He enjoyed himself probably a bit too much as his member started to stretch the waistband even more. “OH, this feels so good.” Max said biting his lips and closing his eyes again. With a loud rip, the waistband gave up and his big meaty prick nocked some empty bottles over, smashing them to the ground. “That wasn’t meant to happen.” He said looking at me with a worried look on his face. “Don’t worry about it.” I said reassuring him “Are you feeling alright?” I asked. I was still a bit frightened seeing him so hungry and powerful. “I, I think so. I’m not as hungry as before.” He said feeling his 8 pack. I felt myself shivering and getting goose bumps. Looking at his hands moving around his stomach, I kept reminding myself that he could crush me with his bare hands. Max raised his head and saw my fearful expression. “Oh baby, don’t worry. I know it’s all a bit scary but I’ll never hurt you. I love you.” He said stumping his big feet towards me. He reached under my arms and picked me up easily. He held me at the same height as his head and slowly came forward. We started to kiss and I could feel just how big his tongue was inside of my mouth. It filled up most of my mouth. I wasn’t complaining though. I was happy that he finally had the body he always dreamed of. My fear and anxiety got replaced by the feeling of protection and lust. Max turned me around and placed me on the marble countertop of our kitchen island and slowly worked his way down my body. It felt amazing. He licked my abs and twisted my nips along the way. I moaned wanting him to worship me more with his fantastic new body. Making his way down he pulled my underwear down and started sucking my throbbing member. Max had always been a good bottom but now. It seemed the more he grew, the better he got at sex. He stopped for a moment and grabbed my legs. Pulling them apart, he lifted me up and placed me on my back. Spitting on my small crack, he pushed his big index finger deep inside of me. I couldn’t contain myself and started moaning louder. “You like that?” he asked. I knobbed and Max pushed a second one inside. I grabbed the ends of the countertop as tightly as I could. It felt so good but at the same time it hurt so much. Max looked up and into my eyes. “May I?” he asked looking at his throbbing beast. I knobbed again. He didn’t waste any time. Pushing his big beast inside of my tight hole. I screamed as he kept thrusting in like a maniac. I felt like my hole was about to explode. He kept on going deeper and deeper inside as his orange sized balls constantly hit my ass. “RRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!” He screamed and released his entire load. Max pulled out and gallons of cum followed, flooding the countertop and the floor. He grabbed my dick and stroked it as fast as he could, making me cum and hitting him in his face. He placed his head on my newly formed belly and closed his eyes as we both were panting and sweating like pigs. “I love you.” He said kissing me. “I love you too.” I said. Max got up and looked at the mess we made. He glanced back at my hole which was still releasing his manly fluids along with some blood. “OH! I’M SO SORRY! DID I HURT YOU?!” he asked panicking. “Yes you did. But this is totally normal.” “But this doesn’t happen to me when you do it.” “That’s because I loosen you up first. I couldn’t fit inside of you either when we first did it.” He knobbed in agreement and told me a billion times that he felt sorry for hurting me. I told him he didn’t have to say sorry as he’s just learning how to work with his growing body. However we agreed to use a safe word to avoid hurting one another in the future. We both cleaned the kitchen and took a steamy shower to clean ourselves. Afterwards we climbed in bed and slept for the remaining hours.

I’m really sorry for not posting on Wednesday, but I had some trouble at work which I needed to take care off. Anyway, thanks once again for the wonderful support and I hope you are enjoying the story as much as I am. Also if you happen to have any requests for the story then please let me know. :3 Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Changing my Life Part VI Max waddled out of the cubicle, looking down embarrassed of the exposure of his body. His shirt had been split open, chest and new formed abs visible. His arms seemed ready to explode out of their tight tubes that were surrounding them. His trousers were skin tight and glued to him. The feet literally ripped through his shoes and his bulge was poking straight at me. Ready to bust a load. “What the hell happened to you?” I asked still quite shocked. “I don’t know. One moment I was eating and the next moment I felt a tingling sensation in my stomach so I ran out here and then, this happened.” Max said pointing at his body. He didn’t look any taller but he was definitely bigger. His muscles looked more defined and bulged out from all sides. “Okay listen, we can’t show you to anyone in this state. You look like the hulk just busted out of his clothes.” Max smiled and looked up at me because of my comment. “Really? You think I look like the Hulk?” POP! RRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! Max may’ve been a bit too excited at my comment. His grown dick ripped out of his tight trousers and started leaking pre on the tilled flooring. “Yep now we definitely have to make sure nobody sees you.” I said looking at his grown crotch. I had to find a way out so I told Max I was going to look for an exit, whilst he would hide in the cramped cubicle ‘til I returned. Walking out of the toilets, I first examined the entrance. But to my disappointment the entrance was filled with people smoking and talking. Walking across the corridor, I found an emergency exit. “That might work, but how am I going to get him out of here without anyone seeing him?” I said to myself looking around for a solution. -Sigh- There was nothing. I didn’t know what to do. I slowly made my way back to the entrance and saw Mr. Jones approaching the toilets. “Mr Jones!” I yelled trying to keep him away from the door. “Oh hello Jake, how is Max doing?” “He.. uh.. he didn’t feel good.. and if I were you, I wouldn’t enter. He’s a real mess” I said. The sweat was dripping off of my back from the nerves of Mr Jones finding out about Max. “Oh, would you mind me checking to see if he’s alright? I did study medical school you know.” “I appreciate it Sir, but he’s alright. If you don’t mind, I think it’s best for us to leave.” Mr Jones looked a bit disappointed. Probably due to the fact that we are very close with each other (business wise). “I understand Jake. I hope you enjoyed anyway.” Mr Jones said smiling at me and getting his hand off of the doorknob. As he entered the party I noticed a small wooden box hanging next to the door. I opened the small door and found the control panel of the electricity of the building. That gave me an idea. I walked back to the toilets to find max sitting on the toilet looking worried and ashamed. “Did you find a way out?” “Yes, but you’ll have to do exactly what I tell you to do.” I exited the toilets first, looking around to check if the coast was clear. Then I ran to the control panel to shut down all the lights in the building. It was dark outside so it was pitch-black inside. People started screaming and I heard stuff getting knocked over. Max exited the toilets and took my hand as I led him to the emergency exit. Entering the car park, we searched for my car. Once we found it we had to get Max inside of it. Due to his overgrown body, he wouldn’t fit properly. Eventually we managed to get him in. We started the car and drove off. The entire drive home was quiet. I didn’t know what to say or think and neither did Max. we knew that it was all part of the pill but why did it have to happen now? And why did it have such a strong effect at the party and not at home? I kept asking myself questions about all that had happened. Before I knew, we entered the driveway. I shut down the car and got out, walking around it to open the door for Max. I opened the door and Max got his bare feet out first. Then he started to stand up and up and up... Standing at his full naked height, I was face to face with his ballooning pecs! Luckily our house was located on a deserted street so we didn’t have any neighbours. But if we had the would’ve certainly called the police thinking bigfoot was on our property. Max, now coated with a little fur, looked down at me and grinned at what he saw. “I guess you’re already my little baby, aren’t ya?” he said rubbing through my hear. I smiled at him and walked to the front door, unlocking it. I felt a warm presents behind me and knew it had to be Max. remarkably it felt like a nice radiator which was pressed against me, but in reality, it was just Max’s hot body. We both entered the house and I sat down on the couch replaying the entire night in my head. I heard some loud thumping as Max entered the room. “Err, are you okay babe?” Max said concerned out how quiet I’ve been the entire time. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just.. I haven’t comprehended everything that has happened today.” I replied smiling at him. “Hey uhm, would you like to measure and weigh me, so we can inform the doc at my progress.” He said looking at me with his innocent face again. “Alright, you get the weighing machine and I get the tape measurer.” I said standing up walking to the kitchen drawer. Max ran upstairs heading to the bathroom to get the weighing machine. He quickly returned with the weighing machine in his hands and placing it on the floor. I grabbed a chair and the tape and measured him from head to toe. Confused when seeing the results, I measured him again. “You won’t believe this.” I said looking at the tape measurer. “apparently you are 1.95 meters tall.” I said shocked at the results. “WOW, cool, and all that just with one pill.” He said looking at the jar filled with four more. “Let’s weigh your heavy body now, shall we?” I said trying to keep his attention. Max got on the scale and the arrow slammed to the right. He passed the 100 kg mark and continued down until eventually stopping at 140 kg. “140 kg of pure muscle.” He replied flexing his arms. I, shockingly, didn’t know how to reply again. Anxious, I looked at the ground. Max saw my frightened face and walked over to me, raising his beefy hands, picked me up and hugged me. “Hey, don’t be like this. You should be happy for me.” He said hugging me tighter. “I know, I’m just… processing.” I said looking at his manly face. Max kept hugging me for a good two minutes. His arms started to tighten around my back, preventing me from breathing. “MAX!” I yelled in pain. “SORRY.” He said loosening his grip and putting me down. “I guess I have to get used to all this strength.” We wrote down Max’s weight and height and took a picture from all angles to later send it to the doc. I couldn’t be bothered to send it that night so Max and I got in our sleepwear (Max’s sleepwear consisted of just a pair of tight underwear as nothing fitted him anymore) and dozed off into a deep sleep.

Thanks again for all the support on the last part and I hope you’ll enjoy the following part too :3. I’ll also try to post new parts every Wednesday and Sunday. If you happen to have some ideas for this story, don’t hesitate and let me know. Part I Part II Part III Part IV Changing my Life Part V The following days flew by. Max and I did start to see some results. His muscles had started to show some more definition and his clothes became fuller. In addition, he also started eating more. I did contact Mr. Petrov to see if this was normal and he told me it was one of the side effects. I also learned that if Max would start itching himself more, it would be a sign that he’d grow. It was the night of Mr Jones’ celebration, Max and I were getting ready. We would both arrive in costume, I would be wearing a bow tie and Max a regular tie. “Jake can you please come and help me!” I heard Max shouting from the dressing room. Upon entering I noticed he had trouble getting his jacket on so I tried to help him. “Ugh! It won’t fit!” he said turning around facing me. “I don’t get it we bought this suit yesterday. How can it not fit you anymore?” I said looking back at the jacket. “Because I’m growing baby.” Max said flexing his biceps in front of me, making my boner grow in my trousers. He started raising his arms more and that’s when we heard a loud.. RRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPP! His shirt stretched to its limits and ripped right in the middle. Popping some buttons of, his upper body was fully exposed. “Whoa! That felt great. Can’t wait to do this more often.” Max said making me nervous about his comment. “What about my shirts, you’re still smaller than me.” I said picking a shirt that would math one of my other suits. “Hey!” Max yelled “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.” I said knowing that was bad of me to say. “It doesn’t really matter, soon you’ll be outgrowing me anyway.” I said tapping him on his shoulder, trying to make up for my horrible comment. “You really think so?” He said looking at me with those adorable puppy eyes. “Of course. You know I really thought that I’d lose you during this experiment. But now I realise, I shouldn’t have doubted you from the beginning because you were right. Those pills really do work.” Max smiled and his eyes started to water. He came up to me and gave me a kiss, followed by a big hug. “You really are the best boyfriend ever, you know that?” he said. “I know, now let’s get you dressed. We have a party to attend to.” Max wore one of my older suites to the party. It wasn’t really his size but it would do for now. After a long drive, we finally reached the office of Mr Jones. You could tell that he’d spend a small fortune on this night. There was a red carpet which lead to the entrance, small candle lanterns were placed alongside the carpet. At the party itself, there was this huge crystal chandelier, a live orchestra, a humongous chocolate fountain surrounded by plates filled with what looked like 5 star cuisine and then there was a projection on the wall showing the history of his company from the beginning ‘til now. “Ah there you are Jake.” I heard Mr Jones say as he approached us. I shook his hand and greeted his wife who accompanied him. “Good evening sir. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Max said greeting him politely. “Pleasure’s mine, young man. You must be Max than. Am I right?” Mr Jones asked. “Well yes I am.” He replied smiling. “Well than, gentlemen I sure hope you enjoy the party and try out some of the delicious snacks. But I have to go now, welcoming some other clients. Hope you don’t mind.” Mr Jones said winking at me. “Of course not sir.” I replied. Mr Jones went over to the other guests who just arrived as I looked over to where Max was standing. As I looked at Max’s face I realised that he wasn’t looking at me, but rather at all the dishes that were standing next to the chocolate fountain. “Hey you alright?” I asked. “Y.. yeah, yeah, I’m fine just hungry that’s all.” Max said scratching his arm. “Don’t be shy go on and get some.” I said patting him on his back. I looked over and saw some of my other clients, waving at me to come and say hi. “Tell you what, why don’t you get us some snacks and I’ll go and greet some of my clients. I’ll meet you at the fountain, okay?” I asked. “Sure thing.” he said walking straight to the table. I went on and greeted my old clients. “Was that your husband?” One of them said. “Boyfriend, actually.” I replied. “He’s kinda hot.” She said twisting her hair. “Hey he’s all mine.” I said jokingly. We all had a great laugh and shared some stories with each other. Some were sad and some were funny. “Hey, uh, Jake?” Mr Jones asked coming up behind me and turning me to face him. “Yes?” I asked looking at his concerned face. “What is wrong with your boyfriend?” he asked pointing at Max. As I followed his finger, I looked over to see Max standing at the table, bowing down holding his stomach. “I.. I don’t know.” I said looking at him with a questioning look. Max looked around and soon after took off, running back to the entrance. I turned around looking at my clients and Mr Jones who were all worried about Max. “Excuse me.” I said walking back to the entrance, worried that he felt sick or something. Walking through the entrance, I looked around searching for Max. I saw the door of the man’s toilets moving and there was no one around so it had to be Max. Or so I thought. Opening the door, I entered the man’s toilets. “Max? what’s going on? Is everything alright?” I heard some stomping coming out one of the cubicles and looked under to see if it were Max. I saw that it were his shoes so I knew it had to be him. But he was moaning and stomping his feet. “Jake! … ugh … I don’t know.. what’s happening to me… !” He said between grunts. I tried desperately to open the cubicle door but failed as he locked it. “Max, could you please open the door so I can see for myself what’s going on?” but there was no response. I could hear him grunting and moaning and then.. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPP! POP POP POP! RRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! Slowly the moans and grunts ended. The only sound that came out of his cubicle was him panting. “Max?” I asked not knowing what to do or say. SNAP! I heard the door unlock. Slowly the creaking door opened and I was faced with a colossal beast of a man. “Babe, I Think I need a new suit.” Max said scratching the back of his head.

Hey everyone and thanks again for all the support on the previous part. This part is a little bit shorter than the previous parts but it is the last part without any growth. In the next part the fun will begin… Part I Part II Part III Changing my Life Part IV The doc stood up and walked over to what seemed like a wooden panel mounted on the wall. He turned his back to us so we couldn't see what he was doing. “DOM!” With a loud noise, panel opened up. Max and I were kind of scared about what was to come. “Well come on in!” the doc said inviting us into the dark chamber. We slowly raised ourselves off of our chairs and approached the room. The doc turned on all the lights for us to find that this dark chamber was in fact a humongous laboratory. It was filled with a kinds of machines and screens with buttons, cabinets with bottles in all different colours and so on. He invited max to sit down on a large chair with chains and wires plugged in to it. Max sat down and the doc got a syringe out to take his blood. He gave Max a small stress ball to squeeze in and as he did, the blood was being drawn. After that he gave Max some juice and put the blood into a vile and put it in a machine. He then started asking max some questions regarding his health and physical performance but Max was healthy and in a good shape so there was nothing to clarify. “That is just fantastic.” The doc said as he pushed some buttons. We heard the machine rumble. “So what happens now?” I asked. “The machine will start making the pills based on Max’s blood. That’s all.” He said. “Are you sure you want to continue this?” I asked Max putting my hand on his shoulder and looking at him terrified. “There is no need to worry.” The doc said. He walked over to the other side of the room where another door was located. He unlocked it and asked us to come and take a look. In this room I was shocked to find a mouse, but not just a regular one, but one 10 times the size of a regular one. “This is Jerry, he is the latest test subject that I gave my latest pills. And you, my boy, will be getting the same pills as Jerry.” The doc said. The mouse was big. It had muscles all over its body even in its tale. Its paws where bigger than my hands and its head was wider than my chest. “How many pills did you gave him?” Max asked excited. “4 in total but the progress isn’t done yet. He still has a long way to go.” The doc said pointing to a small jar. The jar was filled with 6 more pills and me and Max knew exactly what they were for. “Ding” We heard from behind us. “Ah they are ready!” the doc said walking back into his laboratory. He walked over to some sort of microwave and opened the door to find a small jar filled with pills. He took the jar, closed the lid and gave them to Max. “Why do I only get 5 pills?” Max asked somewhat disappointed. “Because I didn’t know if 10 would be too much so we’ll start with 5.” The doc said. “Now I must warn you. There are some strict rules you must follow otherwise it will not work.” He said in a more serious tone. “What rules?” Max and I asked. “You must only take one, once a week, don’t ever take more as the results may be unpleasant, take them in with some water and then there is the most important part. Usually people think that they still have to work out, but that’s where their wrong. You see these pills get ‘confused’ when your body creates more proteins and growth hormones by itself.” The doc said in a dramatic tone so that it would stick in our head. “Here you might find that this is useful too.” He said ones again handing me a paper with some more information, along with the information he had just given us and his contact info. “Thanks doc!” Max said shaking the man’s hand. “Oh and if there happen to be any problems, just call me or send me an e-mail and I’ll reply as quickly as possible.” He said walking us out of the lab and into his living room. Before walking us out, he quickly said “And I’d like to see the results when they show. Send me some photo’s along with your stats so I know if it works.” We knobbed and walked out. The entire ride home Max was constantly talking about how happy he was, what might change in his life, how people might react … all the while, I was thinking about the negative things that these pills might contain. He could be dead by the end of next week. But thinking about that one mouse being that big, cooled me down a bit as it still looked normal. Only bigger and more muscular. Arriving back home Max immediately ran to the kitchen, ready to take his first pill. He poured himself a glass of water and gulped the pill down into his body. He ran back to the entrance to look into the mirror. Waiting for something to happen, but there was nothing. We both looked at each other “How is this possible? Nothing’s happening.” Max said looking at himself in the mirror. “Don’t worry, I’m sure that it just takes some time before you can see some results.” I said trying to make sense out of this situation. “Yeah you’re probably right.” Max said frowning. “Now that that’s out of the way, I wanted to ask you something.” I asked. “Okay shoot.” Max said curious. “Mr. Jones is hosting a celebration next week for his new addition and he asked me to join. So now I was wondering, would you like to come with me?” I asked. “Sure, anything for you babe.” He said grabbing me by my waist and pulling me closer to give me a kiss.

Before you guys dig in to the next part, I wanted to thank you for all the positive comments an reputations that you are giving me. It really motivates me and keeps me going. I wish you all a good weekend and I'll see you all next week. Part I Part II Changing my Life Part III “Wh.. What d.. do you mean I found someone?” I said in disbelief. “Well I ended up on the weird corner of the web and found a forum that was dedicated to people who would like to start their experiment and are seeking for guinea pigs. As I was scrolling down, I found someone who created pills which stimulate your growth hormones. He lives just 90 minutes from here and I already made my appointment for next weekend.” I watched in disbelieve and picked up the documents which were lying next to his laptop. “So what is this supposed to be?” I asked. “The guy who created the pills told me that they had some minor side effects and send me the list of the ones his animals got.” Reading the list, I noticed some weird ones but also some worrying ones. “Have you actually read this list?!” I said looking dazed at him. “Of course and you shouldn’t worry. He said that he’d check my body first before making the pills for me.” “Max I’m just reading the first ones and it’s disturbing; Anger issues, dried skin, loss of sight, kidney failing, death, … I mean do you really suspect me to believe that you will come back home alive?” Max noticed my voice changing from worried to anger. He put the pan with eggs back down and slowly approached me. “Hey don’t worry. I have a feeling that this is going to work.” He said kissing my cheek. “I’m not saying that it won’t work. I just don’t want to lose you because of a stupid pill.” “If it makes you feel better, why don’t you just join me on my trip to this guy’s laboratory?” he said smiling at me. “I’d love to but if anything goes wrong or if you don’t feel like continuing, please say so.” I said tapping him on his back as I was serious about all this. “I will. Now, what would you like?” “WHAT?” I asked. “Would you like sausages or bacon with your eggs?” After that morning, the rest of the weekend passed quickly and found myself sitting back at my office. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that my boyfriend, my short baby-faced heart-warming boyfriend, soon would possibly become a muscle head. Don’t get me wrong I loved the idea, but I was afraid of losing the Max I fell for. Ring, Ring I got out of my daydream as I heard the phone ring. “Wilson Realtors, how can I help you?” “Yes this is Thomas Jones speaking from the real estate business RealPoint Property.” “Ah good morning sir. What can I do for you?” “I heard the news about you being the new owner of the business and I was wondering if you’d like to celebrate. After all, our companies are both very close.” “Of course sir. I’d love to.” “Excellent I’ll be hosting our celebration on our new addition to the company. So I was wondering if you’d like to come join us for a drink.” “That sounds wonderful. When is this party supposed to take place?” “Friday, next week around 8:00 PM. Oh and of course, don’t forget to bring the lucky guy eh.” Mr. Jones started laughing as I knew what he meant by the lucky guy. He knew about Max and me and was totally okay with us being together. After all, he was an elderly Christian man so it was nice to hear a positive remark about us for a change. Plus Mr. Jones was a very well-known and wealthy man, so it was an honour to be invited to such an event. “Don’t worry sir, I’ll ask Max if he likes to join me. I’m pretty sure he likes to come.” “Excellent, I’ll see you next week then.” And he hang up. Next week. Maybe I won’t have Max by then. The week went by until the day arrived that Max would be going to the laboratory to find a cure that could possibly grow him. The night before, we talked about it and he became aware of what could possibly go wrong. But at the same time, I became aware of how much he liked to continue this process. That morning we packed our stuff and got into the car on our way to Mr. Petrov. That being the only name given to us. As we arrived at our destination, we saw no sign of life whatsoever. There was a forest at Max’s side and an open field at mine. “Did we miss something?” Max asked looking back at the papers which included the address. “Uhm… I don’t think so.” I said pointing at a mad scientist approaching our car. As the man knocked on my window, I looked at Max not knowing what to do as the man seemed pretty odd. Max didn’t hesitate and gave me a sign letting me know it would be safe to scroll down my window. “You must be Jake and Max, right?” the man asked scanning us both from head to toe. “Yeah!” Max replied excited. “This is Jake and I’m Max. Nice to meet ya.” Max stuck out his hand to give the man a handshake. “Nice to meet you Max I’m Mr. Petrov but you can just call me doc.” The man said shaking Max’s hand. “You can park your car here and follow me to my home. I’ll give you all the information and answer all your questions about the pills.” Mr. Petrov said. As we locked the car and followed the mysterious man back to his place, I took my chance to inspect his house. It wasn’t big but it definitely caught my attention. It was an old brick house with all kinds of different windows. Some big and square, others small and round. All in a variety of different colours. Then there was this big wooden box build beside the house. It was equipped with satellites, solar panels, cables and wires … “Sorry for the house. I don’t have much money and time to renovate it.” The doc said unlocking the door and inviting us in. He sat Max and me down and asked if we would like something to drink. “No thanks I’d like to learn a bit more about this pill.” I said cutting to the chase. “Ah yes my newest invention. Well it all started with an idea to develop muscles quicker. As you both may know it is pretty hard to achieve the body of your dreams if you don’t know how to train and diet properly.” Max and I looked at each other and knobbed as we both knew that what the old man said, was true. “So I found out that when you’re younger, your body starts to develop. This is called puberty. I started to do some calculations and testing on a variety of different animals and found out that if your body keeps thinking it’s still young and needs to develop, it will.” “But, if I may ask, what does this have to do with the pills?” I asked. “Well you see on its own, your body won’t change. So that is where the pills come in. You see they are all made with ingredients that give your body more proteins and growth hormones.” “So why haven’t you tested it on other people?” Max asked curious. “Usually when I give them the list of side effects, that my testing animals got, they freak out and end the program. But not you. You’re special.” He told Max. I noticed that he was getting excited about all of it as he got his big smile out. “So do you have any more questions?” the doc asked. “What will this procedure cost us?” I asked scared it might be too expensive. “It’s free as the pill is just in a developing phase and I need it to be properly tested first.” I was a bit more calm and started to think that it might not be so bad after all. "Any more questions that need answering?" Max raised himself off the chair and replied "When can we start?!"

Writing is going well so I thought why not post part 2 a little sooner. I really enjoy developing this story and I hope you like it as much as I do. I'd love to hear what you think about it and if you have any suggestions, please let me know. Part I Changing my Life Part II SLAM! I awoke to the sound of the front door slamming shut. Looking at the clock of my phone, I saw that it was 8:12 PM. “Max can’t be back already. He always returns around 9:00 PM.” I thought as I heard someone stomping up the stairs. “Max is that you.” Suddenly everything went quiet. Taking a towel and drying myself off I kept thinking why Max was back already. “Something must’ve happened.” There was no point in waiting so I took my bathrobe and opened the door. That is when I heard him sobbing. I glanced into our bedroom where I heard the sobbing from. Looking through I saw Max sitting at the end of his side of the bed, with his hands in front of his face, keeping himself from crying out loud. “Hey baby, what happened? Are you okay?” of course he’s not okay why did I say that. Max started to slowly release his hands from his tearing eyes and laid his head on my shoulder. “I… I went …to the gym…” he started saying whilst still sobbing. “and there was… there was this big guy who… he approached me… and.. and..” As the last words came out he couldn’t hold back anymore and started crying. I tried to comfort him by giving him a tight hug. Slowly the tears ended and Max sat himself straight. “Did he hurt you?” I asked trying to figure out what has happened. It was really hard for me to see him in this state. He’s always happy and cheerful. To see him sobbing, it broke my heart. “No… yes… kinda…” he started. “He came at me while I was doing my exercises. He took my place on the machine and said that shrimps don’t belong in a gym.” “Is that what bothered you?” I said. “No after that I just continued on one of the other machines. I tried to forget about it and went on.” He replied. Tears started to form again so I knew that something else happened to him. So what is the problem then?” I asked trying to get him to say what really bothered him. “After my workout, I went to the locker room and went for a shower. When I was almost finished he entered, started laughing and calling me names.” Max said sobbing again. “What kind of names?” “Stupid fag, short wimp, turmigayter and so on.” Max said losing control again and started crying. I held him and tried to calm him down because I knew what his problem was. Max is always positive because he surrounds himself with people he connects with. But as I noticed during my time dating him, I quickly realized that he’s never been bullied before. So if someone makes a comment about him, it hurts him twice as much than me for example. That and the fact that he has always hated the way how short he was. “I want to change Jake.” Max said quietly. “W… What do you mean?” I said. “I want to change myself, I want to find something or someone who can help me become the person that I always wanted to be.” He said standing up and walking to his laptop. He opened Chrome and started to type random things one Google. I bowed down to get eye to eye with him as I saw how raged he was trying to find a solution for his problem. “Listen baby, I know you would like to change but the things you ask for aren’t things that can be changed immediately.” Max turned his head away from the browser and looked at me with a disappointed look. “You don’t have to change I like you just the way you are. I’ll never be unsatisfied with the way you look. Heck some people even look at you and think ‘I wish I looked like him’.” “You… You think so?” “Yes so please stop worrying what other people think of you. You are perfect in every way possible.” Max started tearing up again but this time because of what I said. “Come on. Stop searching for your ‘solution’ and start working on your next workout.” I said pulling him out of his chair and making him sit on the bed. “What workout?” he said confused. “Me” I said undoing my robe. Max didn’t hesitate and stood up kissing my pecs. “I love you.” He said between licks. I undid his jacket and t-shirt and started sucking his neck. “Ugh” Max moaned as his favourite spot was being touched. Slowly Max started kneeling down ready to take my growing cock into his mouth. As he stared worshipping my meat he undid his belt and pulled down his trousers and pants for me to realize that someone was also awoken from its sleep. After some exquisite sucking, Max stood up, turned around and bended over the bed. “I’m ready.” He said with a horny voice. I stepped forward slowly pushing my cock inside of his hole. “God you’re so tight.” I yelled with delight. Max started moaning louder and louder “Yeah! Faster!” he commanded. And so I pushed every last inch inside of him and started pounding his sweet thigh ass. “Max… I’m gonna… I’m gon…” without warning I sprayed my hot juice inside of his hole. Max followed as soon as my last drop entered his cave. “That was so good.” He said panting. I gave him a kiss on his forehead and we both fell asleep in each other’s arms. The next morning I awoke by the sweet smell of eggs and bacon being prepared downstairs. Walking downstairs I saw Max sitting down at the table with his laptop and some papers. “Morning baby. Slept well?” he said walking back to the pans and turning of the cooker. “Yeah… Err what’s with the papers?” I asked confused. “Oh I couldn’t sleep last night so I started Googling for someone who could help me accomplish my dreams and guess what… I found someone.” My body froze, I was shocked.

This is a story I’ve been working on for a while now. I’d also like to point out that I have Dyslexia so there may be some faults in the story (so sorry in advance). It’s a story about a young gay couple (Jake and Max) just starting out in life. Jake and Max tend to go to the gym to stay in form but Max has always had the desire to grow bigger. Will he get what he wants? … Part II Changing my Life Part I The sun slowly started to set as I finally arrived home after a long day at work. I recently got the opportunity to take over a real estate business as the old boss of the company (the one that I was working for) decided that it was time for him to retire and enjoy his life. He asked me if I’d like to take over and I accepted. It was one of the best moments of my life, hearing that I’d soon have my own real estate agency. But after a few weeks I realized that it was a lot harder than I thought. Angry clients, incompetent staff and tons of documentation that I had to do got me down pretty quickly. Luckily I am very optimistic and have the best boyfriend ever who tells me that everything will be alright sooner rather than later. Before I unlocked the door, I was greeted with the smell of freshly cooked dinner. As I entered the house, Max came running down the hall with his arms spread open to give me a big ol’ hug. “Welcome home baby! How was your day?” He asked. “You know just a bit hectic with all the things that had to be done by tomorrow.” I said as I slowly loosened the hug and got my jacket off. “Oh well don’t be stressed out it’ll be fine. I know because you’re a perfectionist and like to get everything done before coming home.” He said trying to calm me down. “I guess so. What are you making, it smells delicious in here.” I said changing the subject. Max quickly changed his worried look into a happy smile as is said it. “I made your favorite dish. I’ve made spaghetti with my ‘famous’ meatballs you like so much!” He said happily as we walked to the kitchen. After dinner I helped Max clean the dishes as we talked about our day. Max, of course didn’t have much to say as he was unemployed and stayed at home cooking, cleaning and gaming. We argued in the past about me making money and he doing nothing but every time Max found a job, he’d always find something to get fired. And when we are looking for a job, he usually tends to stick to unrealistic jobs such as being an actor, gamer, professional bodybuilder, … “So are we going to the gym tonight?” Max asked after we were done. “Not today. I’m tired and need to do the laundry and get myself cleaned up.” “Hey you were the one that told me I couldn’t do the laundry.” He quickly replied. “That’s because every time you do it, the clothes change colour, get smaller or worse, the washing machine catches fire.” I replied. I didn’t bother though, it was kind of cute watching him experiment with the washing machine. But he never learned. So I decided that I would do the laundry and he would do the cleaning. “Would you mind me going. I found some interesting new exercises on YouTube that I’d like to try out.” He asked me with his puppy dog eyes. “Of course not, go ahead and grow some muscles.” I said knowing he liked to hear me saying that. Max got his bag and ran off. Before exiting, he turned around and said “You know, I have the best boyfriend of the world.” I smiled and started getting red. “No that would be me who has the best one.” I replied and Max closed the door, got in his car and drove off to the gym. Now that the house was empty, I turned the radio on for some good music during my time doing laundry. I really don’t like doing it but at least it’s the only thing I have to do as Max does the rest. After the washing machine was finally filled and turned on (hihi), it was time for a long, relaxing bath. As the bath was running, I changed out of my clothes and got a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror. I worked out almost all the time with Max and even if I didn’t do much at the gym, I noticed that I still managed to keep my 1.75 meter frame in a good and healthy shape. I didn’t have a lot of muscle that’s for sure but I was very athletic nevertheless. I turned around facing the mirror with my big bubble but and started thinking about Max and how he likes to fill it with his manliness. “I wish you were here to give me some pleasure.” I said to myself as I noticed that my little boy was starting to swell. Grabbing my shaft, moans started escaping my mouth. I closed my eyes and started jerking off thinking about my sweet lover who’d be pushing his body to the limits, trying to accomplish his dreams. Precum started dripping out as I started stroking faster and faster. Feeling I was close, my toes curled up and my head fell back as I shot my load all over myself. “Now it is definitely time for a bath.” I got my cum-soaked body in the tub as I slowly drifted away into a deep sleep.

Part One : The Eve of Christmas Eve "Please, I...I can't do any more!" "You said that you would, now, do it!" "I...Oh, please, if I do any more I'll explode and you know it, please..." "If I have heard that excuse a million times, why should I be moved by it now, eh? Now come on" "I...I....I..." "Quit bellyaching, now do it!" Roger, now almost quivering attempted a front lat spread, but as soon as he did, his eyes opened wide "I...I...I..." he stammered as his cock emerged from the posing shorts "Yes?" "Please, please, I beg you. I need to stop!" moaned Roger, the tip of his cock the deepest purple possible "You made a commitment, you promised to design ten posing routines each one different for ten different am bodybuilders by Christmas Eve" said the Ultimate Musketeer tapping his feet impatiently, "and then asked me to give them the once over. The fact that you've had to do them three times over is neither here nor there, now front double bicep to finish and made it a good one. I want to see every vein in your body bulge!" The agony that Roger was experiencing was writ large on his face. His heart was pounding faster than it ever had done before, he was taking in gulpfuls of air every second, he was covered in sweat and he felt sure he was going to cum. "Good" said the Ultimate Musketeer, "now, keep those arms level, remember you're flexing your biceps but everything else at the same time. That's it, now keep that pose for four seconds!" "I...I...I...OH FUCK!" Roger screamed as he came sending a jet of cum into the air which covered him from head to toe as he collapsed onto the posing room floor, his chest heaving and experiencing the tenth orgasm that day. As he moaned, the Ultimate Musketeer picked up him off the floor, ripped off the posing suit and swallowed his cock whole and as he sucked Roger, Roger's eyes started to close and within seconds he had blacked out. As the Ultimate Musketeer sucked the last of Roger's cum, he chuckled. "Excellent" he smiled, "I wondered how long it would take you to complete those fake posing routine requests I sent to your website" and with that he pulled Roger's cock out of his mouth and said "Roger, you are in for one heck of a Christmas!"

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".

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?"

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.

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.