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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.

Read what precedes this chapter if need be: Muscle Buddies 1.0 & 1.1: https://muscle-growt...orkout-session/ Muscle Buddies 1.2: https://muscle-growt...eping-a-secret/ Muscle Buddies 1.3: https://muscle-growt...now-who-we-are/ Muscle Buddies 2.0 & 2.1: https://muscle-growt...ng-the-admirer/ Chapter 2.2: Let's Assume That We Can Get Along Spending time with Omar over the summer before his senior year of high school has been incredibly satisfying for Jeff, especially after the recommendation from his assistant football coach Colton Goodwin. His relationship with Dustin has stayed fairly strong despite both of the teenagers urges to let off some steam with various friends of theirs. Jeff’s decision to focus solely on his rugby training is surprising considering that coach Goodwin expected him to work towards football rather than the other sport. This could have played into the decision of why Colton has started spending more time with Dustin and ending up falling for the amateur bodybuilder. Jeff’s unusual relationship with Omar has never really been a problem for Dustin since he has always known that they have fooled around with each other. What he doesn’t know however is that they are doing it far more frequently than before. The sessions they have are more about just showing off how strong each of them is with the other. Jeff’s ability to lift Omar above his head now in his senior year compared to where he started at the beginning of the summer is beyond compare. Omar has grown weak for this kind of horseplay and Jeff is fully aware of it. After nearly every practice for rugby, they train together and wait until the rest of their team leaves before they move on to more important matters. Jeff’s fellow teammate West, who has spent some very personal time with Dustin as well, has had his theories about Jeff and Omar’s relationship. He has known his fellow classmate long enough to know when he is being fairly secretive. His curiosity finally gets the better of him one night after all of the other guys leave. Acting as if he is going to go shower after a training session, he walks down the corridor to the locker rooms and stops before sneaking around a corner to watch the two thick seniors as they start to horse around with each other on the Smith machine. They both are wearing tank tops that hug their beefy chests as well as tight pants that are nice and snug on their bloated legs and asses. West himself wears similar clothing and wastes no time before he pulls his tank and pants off to stand directly in the path of the two brutes. His cock is already dribbling a pool of precum on the ground in front of him just beyond the gym floor. He never once touches it with his hands as it throbs and bounces its way up and down. Jeff and Omar laugh as they strip down to where they are wearing nothing before they pounce on each other. In the beginning of this scene, it is Omar that is the aggressive one but quickly changes to where it is Jeff who takes full advantage of him with his size and strength. Jeff’s power turns Omar on greatly as he moans in his deep voice. West has never seen this side of his good friend before, the rough and rowdy beastly man who wants to be the one in control. Both bulky teens are already soaked and glisten with sweat as their muscles strain and tense with each movement they make. West moans to himself as he runs his hands up and down his ripped muscular chest and tweaks his hard nips making his cock jump each time. He makes thrusting motions in the air like he is fucking someone. He won’t hold out long because he was already horned up from the intense workout he just finished a few minutes previously. He grunts and seconds later sprays several jets of cum all over the ground as it coats the light colored wood. His voice manages to carry its way far enough over to get the attention of both Jeff and Omar which embarrasses him immensely. Before he can turn the other way to escape to the lockers, he hears Jeff’s voice calling for him to come over and join them. He stops moving in his tracks to think about his decision before he walks toward them. Both of the beefy teens grin as they get up off the floor and grab him by the legs to pick him up to put him on their shoulders. Jeff never really thought about West much beforehand, but after seeing his teammate get turned on so much by what him and Omar are doing, he is willing to include the smaller stud in the fun. Both Jeff and Omar take turns using West as a barbell as they deadlift him over and over again. It starts off with some light teasing and quickly moves into full-blown worship as the smaller teen can’t help but to massage both of the stud’s thick chests with his mouth and tongue. It isn’t long before West moves down to find their meaty cocks and works them over slowly and methodically making the big boys grunt each time he deep throats them. Jeff and Omar take turns punching at each other’s stomachs while West gets lost in massaging their immense rods. The taste of their precum sets him on fire as he feels another load building up in his own balls. West stops sucking them occasionally to look up at them to see what they are doing to each other. Jeff will flex his massive guns every time he notices West looking and smiles down at him before telling him to go back to servicing his cock. After several minutes of gulping on both poles, the smaller teen can feel them getting closer to bursting. He stops sucking finally to stroke them both in unison. Their hips thrust in sync with each other as West moans loudly feeling his body thrusting along with them. In a remarkable turn of events, both Jeff and Omar explode at the same time and hit West in the face as giant rivers of cum go splashing down his chest and onto his cock. The instant the white flood hits West’s rod, he shoots another big load all over the gym floor. Once he finishes, he gets up and hugs both men tightly. Jeff and Omar continue to smack each other around this time moving up to their pecs and grunting a few times. West asks them to kiss each other, but they decline. Instead, Jeff picks him up and wraps his thick arms around the fit teen’s waist and pulls him in to kiss his lips. West moans deeply as he puts his hands on Jeff’s head and leans into him. Omar smiles and asks if they need to be alone which prompts Jeff to immediately stop kissing the thinner teen. He asks the strongman if he would want a kiss from his friend since he is pretty good at it. Omar resists at first but then grabs the teen to turn him around. West peers into the big man’s brown eyes and swoons a little. They smile at each other before West leans in to lock lips with the burly powerlifter. To Omar’s surprise, he actually likes the way the fit teen kisses him and holds him tightly against his barrel chest. After a few minutes of light kissing, Omar puts West back down on the floor. Both Jeff and the big strongman rub their admirer’s head to show their affection for him before they grab their stuff to go to the locker room. West sits down in the same spot for a minute or two to take in what just happened. He finally gets up and follows behind them to go wash up from the amazing encounter he just had.

The other parts of Chapter 1 are here: 1.0 and 1.1: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/2085-muscle-buddies-the-powerlifter-the-bodybuilder-chapter-1-a-workout-session-chapter-11/ 1.2: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/4106-muscle-buddies-keeping-a-secret-chapter-12/ Jeff and Dustin’s junior year is now winding down after the two teenagers both have decided to accelerate their training programs. To prepare for the upcoming football season, Jeff is already starting to up his reps on all of his workouts to get stronger. Dustin is in the midst of a bulking phase that he was talked into trying by more than one person. One of the people in particular that talked Dustin into getting a bit ‘thicker’ is Jeff’s assistant football coach Colton. After that amazing night last winter with both teens, the muscular coach has been spending more time with both of them on an individual basis. He ended up introducing Jeff to one of his former training partner’s and has gotten him started on a program with the powerlifter to get prepared for the upcoming season. With all of these additional workouts, Jeff is away from Dustin more often than not leaving the door open for Colton to spend quite a bit of time with Dustin to help get him through his bulking phase. Colton has gotten more interested in Dustin lately not only because of his dedication to bodybuilding, but also due to some of the conversations they have been having. The coach doesn’t see the two young men the same way he used to after that one night in the locker room. After getting to know them more personally, he has developed separate feelings for both, but is gravitating towards Dustin far more than he has ever for Jeff. Spending time with both young men is becoming quite risky and requires a lot of planning so nobody suspects that there is more going on than what meets the eye. The hunky coach has taken it upon himself to personally train Dustin after school hours and to help him develop his diet for at least the interim until he learns how to do things on his own. Convincing him to get bigger through intense training is something Dustin is not used to, but since he is developing a strong bond with the buff coach, he is willing to give it a try. When the well-muscled teenager first started training with him weeks before the school year ended, he was apprehensive since the coach had an area set up just outside his office located inside the school’s weight room. At first, it seemed really strange to Dustin that he would go to such lengths to do this, but the coach always had explanations that he would give to everyone that ever asked him about it. He even has several members of the football team using the equipment in this area to show that he has a purpose for it. Colton’s main position during school hours is as the physical education teacher for the freshman and sophomores that go there. He doesn’t allow them to use the equipment though unless they are part of the football program. As for the intense training and changes in Dustin’s diet, they are yielding immediate results that surprise both the coach and Dustin. His strength has nearly doubled in just a few short weeks and his body has swelled from a reasonable 165 to close to 200 pounds. The growth of course makes Colton a bit horny at times as he makes it an objective to have the growing teen come into his office to give him personal massages after every other workout. He always tells him that they are needed to keep his muscles loosened up and ready for the next workout. This always makes the young stud laugh since he knows that he is turning the coach on. It isn’t unusual for the muscular coach to strip down to his boxers while he gives Dustin these long massages. Some of these sessions can get quite heated especially if Dustin’s muscles are incredibly pumped up from an intense workout. Colton always makes a move on him during those days which gets the young stud to let his inhibitions roam free. It can sometimes involve a lot of muscle worship on both men and doesn’t always include just their hands either. At this point in their relationship, both of them are willing to go quite far to pleasure each other. The first couple of times this happened, there was some sucking and rimming which generally concluded with a thick creamy finish down Dustin’s throat. From that one night they spent together with Jeff, the young muscleman has thoroughly enjoyed taking the coach’s loads and vice versa for Colton as well. As the weeks have progressed through the summer, Colton’s attraction to his growing student have led to more advanced sex sessions which include Dustin penetrating him with his thick cock and pounding him to the point that he starts grunting like a rhino. The favor is not returned though as the young bloated bodybuilder doesn’t want Jeff to suspect that he is fucking his coach. In other words, he doesn’t want Jeff to see that he has been fucked in the ass. At this point in Dustin’s training, he is now an incredibly bloated 220, an astounding 60 pounds heavier from when he started just eight weeks before. Colton no longer sees Dustin as just a smart muscular teenager he can fool around with. Instead he sees a man with the body of someone that is quite mature for their age. He knows that he must break away from Dustin now or risk being found out by not just Jeff, but also by other people because he is having a harder time keeping it secret anymore. Their last sessions together in the later part of the summer involves a lot of hugs, squeezes, and even some intense kissing. Colton has in fact fallen in love with Dustin and knows that this needs to stop before it goes any farther. The day before summer drills for football began was when the hunky coach told Dustin that he didn’t need to train him any longer since he pretty much knew how to do everything himself. The young stud knew the real reason why he was cutting him loose though and told him that he understood completely. The upcoming senior year is just weeks away and everyone’s priorities are starting to take shape. Remarkably, Jeff never once has suspected that Dustin was seeing his football coach for anything other than training purposes. The same cannot be said for Dustin, who has suspected that the powerlifter trainer that Jeff was referred to by Colton was fooling around with him as well. With such busy schedules however, the last thing that Dustin wanted to do was to jeopardize not only Jeff’s progress for his future in sports but also their relationship with each other. This part of the story can now lead into the next chapter. Here is the next chapter: 2.0 and 2.1: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/2102-muscle-buddies-the-offseason-chapter-2-the-admirer-chapter-3/

Check out Parts 1 & 1.1 first to keep track: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/2085-muscle-buddies-chapters-1-15/ After making the playoffs at the end of the football season, Jeff wants to come out to the rest of the guys on the team, but Dustin keeps telling him that it isn’t going to help him if he does. After celebrating their last home game with the team, Jeff spends a little bit of time in the locker room having a ‘conversation’ with Dustin. The two studly teens laugh as they horse around near the lockers rolling on the floor and playfully punching each other. Without realizing it, they can hear a deep voice rumbling above them like they are trying to clear their throat. The two young men stop moving and look up at them. The man has a look on his face that makes them wonder if he is mad or not as they stand there with their arms in a dominant stance. The rest of the team has already showered and is leaving the dressing area to go home to prepare for the next game at this point. Dustin jumps to his feet and starts to move away from Jeff but not before the man grabs him by the arm. The man turns to look at him and points to the nearby bench. Dustin goes to sit down immediately afterwards. It turns out that the man is the coach that saw the two teenagers having sex before the football season began. He is also the assistant coach of the football team. The man is incredibly muscled, much larger than he was back when he caught them together. He turns back around and reaches down to pull Jeff up to his feet. The stunned teen is shirtless since he hasn’t yet showered from the game. The coach walks up to him and looks him straight in the eyes before pressing his immense body up against Jeff’s. He knows that the teen has tried to avoid him for weeks because of what happened that night. He grabs Jeff’s hands and puts them on his huge ass which is hugging his tight jeans. Dustin watches intently and even lets out a few moans. The coach grunts a few times before wrapping his arms around Jeff and picking him up. He starts using the muscled teen like a dumbbell curling him and lifting him up and down above his head and directly in front of his face. The man’s groomed beard brushes up against Jeff’s crotch each time to make him react. The coach eventually stops lifting him to watch the young man’s crotch pulse inside his football pants. He leans in to smell Jeff’s musk before running his tongue along the crotch. Dustin knows he should do something, but he finds the whole situation too hot. Jeff isn’t exactly trying to stop the man either since he has had his eye on the coach for as long as the season has gone on. Feeling his own cock stirring in his pants, Dustin gets up to go over and join the other two. He puts his hands around the front of the coach’s chest and pulls on the polo shirt he is wearing, ripping it open down the front which immediately makes the man drop Jeff onto the ground. He turns and yells at Dustin making his huge hairy chest flex as his pecs and abs swell. The force behind the pump makes the sleeves on his shirt shred as his bicep peaks appear through the fabric. Dustin doesn’t get far before he is tackled on the ground by the man. The man tells him to punch him in the chest which Dustin does without a second thought. He laughs and tells him to do it again as it pleases him greatly. He rips the rest of his shirt off and grins as he flexes his upper body again. He forces Dustin to rub his muscles and orders him to say how much he wants his body. Jeff is now scooting behind the coach and rubbing his crotch up against the older man’s ass. The man turns and orders him to take his pants off so he can see how much of a man he is becoming. Without much coaxing, Jeff pulls his pants and jock off to show his engorged cock which has been leaking precum for quite some time. The coach moans as he leans down to swallow the thick pole down his throat. Jeff yells in delight feeling his cock tickling the man’s throat. Dustin reaches underneath and up to unzip the man’s pants to pull them down. The coach’s huge bubble butt stares him in the face as the man’s nine-inch pole dangles towards Dustin’s legs. He pulls the coach down on to his face and shoves his tongue inside the man’s hole making the hugely muscled daddy moan as he continues to work Jeff’s cock over. Knowing that the muscled teen can’t hold out too long, he starts jerking Jeff rapidly as he pulls his cock out and looks up at the teen’s face smiling the whole time. He commands Dustin to keep rimming him as he playfully punches Jeff’s powerful chest with his free hand. Feeling the teen’s balls swelling to twice their size, he runs his tongue along Jeff’s slit hoping to summon the giant load from inside. Jeff can sense the flood moving into his cock and shoves his rod down the coach’s throat which surprises the huge man. He grips the huge teen as Jeff unloads down his throat making the coach moan deeply feeling it fill his insides. Dustin runs his hands along the man’s balls and cock feeling it tense like it is about to explode itself. He stops rimming the coach and slides his body down in time to feel a giant river of cum hitting his face and head. The coach flexes his massive legs and lowers his huge rod down onto Dustin’s mouth trying to get him to open it. He pulls Jeff’s cock out to tell him to do it or he will force him to take it up his ass. After resisting a few seconds, he gulps the hairy muscleman’s cock down and swallows what is left flowing from it. The coach grunts in satisfaction after finally doing what he has fantasized about all this time. He pulls his cock out of Dustin’s mouth and gets up. He pulls up the jeans he was wearing and grabs his shredded shirt before going into the shower area. The two muscled teens stare at each other and wonder what the hell just happened. They both smile before getting up from the locker room floor. Jeff walks over and sits beside Dustin. He leans in to lick the coach’s cum off the teen’s face and moans tasting the spunk before kissing his lover’s lips and holding him in his arms. They both think that their secret is safe with the coach, but they may have to do this again to make sure he keeps it hidden. If you enjoyed this, then read the next two chapters as well: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/2102-muscle-buddies-chapters-2-3/

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

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.

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?"

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.

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

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

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

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

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After NG "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. To start back at the beginning with Chapter One, click on the link below: "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped October 22nd, 2017 After the bout between Casey and Abdul, the musclemen retired to their separate corners of the compound. The vanquished Abdul, rivulets of dried cum caked to his physique, dragged Pedro along with him back to quarters. “Service me,” he growled. He threw open the door to his room and tossed Pedro onto the floor. Five minutes later, after a satisfying dump and a quick infusion of P21, Abdul was in the center of his room, working out on a speed punching bag hanging from the ceiling. His red, raw fists pummeled the stained leather furiously while Pedro gingerly danced around him, carefully washing the cum off his physique with a wet towel. Occasionally he leaned in and gingerly pressed a warm tongue against the muscle giant’s body, licking the cum-covered muscles respectfully, hoping not to get swatted away. It didn’t happen. Emboldened, he finished cleaning off his god. He took a deep breath, and grabbed ahold of Abdul's musclebutt. "Permission to worship?" he asked hopefully. Abdul grunted, and nodded slightly. Pedro deeply buried his face in the muscleman’s rock hard pillow glutes, feeling the heaviness of iron-like musclebutt cheeks violently knocking his head right and left as Abdul rhythmically punched the bag. This was what his god wanted. He knew this. Abdul said nothing, but slightly arched his back, to better extend his ass and receive the comfort of Pedro’s tongue up his butthole. They lasted like this long into the night, Abdul punching the bag with fury, Pedro probing his tongue deeply into his gyrating asshole, until Abdul reached back, grabbed Pedro by the back of the head, brought him violently around, threw him into the air and forced his massive penis into the teen’s small, hard butt. He fucked the boy mercilessly for about ten minutes, Pedro screaming happily with insane delight, his cries echoing down the corridor, as the giant member pleasurably pounded his butthole into raw meat. When he was near to climax, he pulled out and came about a quart all over Pedro’s writhing, grateful little bottom, grunting deeply as he shot, a bear in the woods. UNGH UNGH UGNH YEAH A moment later he push-kicked Pedro’s butt away. Pedro went sprawling, his hard little bottom covered with cum. “Get out of here,” he snarled, but with something like warmth, or so Pedro thought. “Yes, sir!” Pedro squeaked, and ran for the door. Abdul was asleep in 2 minutes. He dreamed only of revenge. Pedro scampered back to his room, where he masturbated gleefully for the next hour, envisioning a world of musclemen as he worked his pretty little cock into repeated starbursts of cum frenzy. He finally drifted into a woozy, muscle-filled sleep about 3 AM, knowing he’d have to be up by 6 to start breakfast with the compound chefs for the 19 musclemen. It was heaven. He was living in heaven. Lang and Alvarez drifted back to Alvarez’s room, where they posed-and-approved for about 45 minutes before falling asleep on the dais, Alvarez’s cock languidly filling Lang’s mouth, their ripped posers discarded and on the floor. Schumacher, Jin, Washington, Obatu and LeFevre carried the knocked-out Blankenship to his room. Fortunately, P-21 strengthened bones, too, and Blankenship’s black and blue jaw was okay – otherwise, it might well have been shattered by the force of Abdul’s powerful punch. They retired separately to their rooms and reflected on what they’d seen tonight. This Rockland kid was a threat. In their separate quarters all five men jerked off, and thought. And thought. And jerked off. Hearing Pedro’s echoing, ecstatic cries as he was being masterfully buttfucked by Adbul, each man shot muscle cum up and out into the dark, splashing onto their abs, the floor, the ceiling, everywhere. Blankenship, of course, was out for the night. Deep in his knocked cold sleep, he dreamt vaguely of doing endless sets of curls. And squats. Especially squats. He smiled in his sleep, two teeth missing. Tiffany, smug and satisfied and unaware his life was about to drastically change, drifted off. He remembered Casey from the world outside, but it was clear the big dumb muscleboy didn’t remember him. Yet. Eli Meyer, quietly determined to get off on real muscle, and not just fantasy, followed Hension back to his room. He knocked on the door, and Hension, startled, opened up. Meyer smiled. He went in. For the next hour the two men took turns with some heavy butt fucking. In turns, each muscleboy’s big dick met the other’s hard glutes and sweetly receiving butthole as they fucked each other silently in the dark. Finally Hension spoke, even as Meyer ploughed him. “Stinkface me,” he said, emphasizing the words, turning his head back and to the side so that the deaf Meyer could read his lips. It was all he said. It was all he had to say. Meyer nodded agreement, pulled his thick cock out of Hension’s butthole, got up and squatted down onto Hension’s handsome face, burying him in striated, iron glutes. He rotated and jerked his big dick. A few minutes later both men came, cum splashing sloppily onto Hension’s ripped abs, pooling in the deep valleys of muscle. And five minutes after that, both were curled up and asleep on the floor, wrapped deeply into each other’s muscles. In their separate quarters, McIntyre and Duncan, ever quiet and reflective, sat up awhile and listened to the compound’s nocturnal moans and gasps, punctuated by the sounds of the speed bag, and then the butt fucking drifting down the corridors. Finally each man reached into his pouch and jerked off again before hitting the hay. Gunst headed right to the gym. He tooled himself through a punishing biceps workout, doing curls long into the night, then flexing and inspecting. Gotta get these guns bigger, he grumbled to himself. Eventually he crawled off to quarters and to bed, and without jerking off. The others – Chad, Bogarde, and Waring – stood in a darkened corner of the hallway leading from the wrestling room, hungrily sucking one another’s cocks and taking turns butt fucking for an hour or so, before turning in for the night. And in the backs of the minds of all the men on campus were visions of the perhaps-perfect newest member of the club, the young bodybuilder whose gigantic, ripped and raw physique they had gotten their first taste of this evening. Moster, in his quarters, was satisfied. He slept without dreaming. He had to pick up Casey in the cadet dorms mid morning, and bring him back up the hill to his new muscle life. Unaware of the muscle sex going on in the compound behind him, and unaware of how his muscles started it all, a shuttle bus took sole passenger Casey back down the hill the two miles to the cadet dorm near the front gates, where he had been living and training the last two years. ************* Early the next morning, after his usual early morning workout and a breakfast of two steaks, 6 eggs, unbuttered toast, a quart of yogurt and 3 cups of black coffee, Casey went back to his room and packed his few possessions in preparation for his move up the hill to the main compound. His black eye still stung from the night before, but it also looked – well – incredibly hot. Or so Casey thought, inspecting it closely in his mirror. There were six other cadets in the dorm. Five of them gathered to quietly watch him pack up his few belongings, giving him congratulations and good luck and a sad little goodbye party. It was just a few protein bars, a colorful do-rag, a new gym bag (which they all chipped in on) and five slightly torn oversized XXXL-sized jockstraps. Casey knew they went to some trouble to get everything together. He was deeply grateful. But he didn’t know what to say. In truth, Casey hadn’t really gotten to know any of his fellow cadets in the two years he had been in residence in the cadet dorm. It was not from any snobbery, but from shyness and his natural reticence against intimacy in dormitory settings. All the same, apart from Miles Donovan and Ramon Ramon, Casey counted them as among his few friends in the world. “I’m gonna miss you guys,” he said. He sniffed a little. These guys were like him. Lonely, nice boys who had nowhere to go except the gym, and nothing to do but pound their bodies every day, growing big muscles. Over 1450 pounds of burgeoning, testosterone-fueled teen muscle gathered in 10 x 16 square foot room. And there was a lot of emotion in the air. Casey was their hero, and at 310 pounds, and at just 18 years of age, he was already far and away the biggest of all of them. Something had to happen. “You been ready a long time for those dudes,” said Cadet Tommy Rowenstein, a tousled blond middleweight Jewish Tom Sawyer of muscleboy who liked to work on his pecs. “Surprised they didn’t ask you long ago.” “Guess they know best when I’m ready.” “That how you got the shiner, Case?” “Shut up, dick wad.” “Can we come up the hill visit you?” asked Alan Owenbee, a sweet-faced young cadet with a friendly face and a slightly sub par physique that all knew would never develop much further. “Naw, we can’t go up there,” said Cadet Brent Ogden. “You know the rules. Plebes only by invitation. And they never invite us.” He sounded forlorn. “Sure,” said Casey. “You can come. I’ll ask. I’ll get permission. You can all come. We can all train together up there in the big gym.” “Gee, you think? Really??” “Shit, thanks, Case!” “Yeah, thanks!” The boys couldn’t believe the possible good news, and were now almost bouncing with excitement. “I’m gonna work on my guns with ya!” shouted Ogden. The others glanced at Ogden and grinned. An angel-faced kid with red hair, he had nice big muscles for a 15-year old, and surprisingly ripped abs, already weighing in at 185 pounds. He also had a complete inability to filter his speech. They all suspected he was a little slow. “At last, someone even dumber than me, “ Casey thought. No one knew whether or not he had any family; like Casey, Ogden was a foundling. Casey tousled his hair affectionately and zipped up his duffel. “I’ll always work on my guns with you, Brent.” Ogden grinned from ear to ear, his life made. He grew beet red with embarrassment and pleasure and spent the next few minutes inspecting his own biceps, flexing and unflexing them thoughtfully. Another cadet with more promise, and lot more self confidence, Brian Banks, a handsome black-haired extra lean 1950s greaser type turned bodybuilder, watched Casey from the corner, perched on the window seat, his deep-lidded dark eyes half closed. “So, Case, what happened last night?” “I’m not sure yet.” He turned and looked helplessly at all of them. They were waiting for some kind of an answer. “Yeah, Case, what happened?” He knew all the cadets admired and respected him. Overall, they were a pretty good bunch of guys, even if for the most part they had no muscle future. But he could use some friends, if last night’s wrestling match had been any indication of where this was all headed. And he was still thinking about last night. Those bodybuilders up the hill were a wild and crazy bunch. Huge, every one of them, the biggest musclemen Casey had ever seen, or even imagined. And even the younger guys, like that pretty-faced dude Hension, the mute Eli Meyer, and the wide-eyed Lang, seemed to have agenda of their own. And then there was that big mean bull, the Turkish guy, Karim Abdul. And Schumacher, who had growled at him and threatened him. Scary dudes. But hot. The wrestling was fun, though, when he thought about it. Casey had surprised at himself, at how skilled he was, how strong and fast. But then he had learned a lot from Ramon Ramon at Miles Donovan’s, and though Ramon was 3 times his age and far smaller, Ramon could always beat him. So he learned from the best. And – true – a few times when Casey shot his load on the wrestling mat after a bout, Ramon Ramon had joined him. There was something fun, something special about the tough, grizzled old daddy Latin wrestler happily pounding his hairy big meat, lying there next to Casey on a slick, sweat-drenched, stinky wrestling mat. And Casey knew Ramon was straight. No sissy, he. Straight straight straight, with a hot, mean, pretty little wife he fucked hard every night, or so he said. Casey had no reason to doubt him. I wonder how Abdul would do wrestling with Ramon? Casey wondered. And then, after all, all the bodybuilders had shot their loads all over the two of them last night at the end of the wrestling match, all over him and Abdul. He hadn’t expected that. Was it an insult? Or an honor? Casey was still having trouble taking it all in. And what about that punch that Abdul threw at Blankenship? It was awesome. Abdul’s fist shot out like a cannon, catching the handsome, smirking bodybuilder Blankenship right on the point of the chin. Probably broke his jaw. The guy’s feet never touched the ground. He just flew into the air and landed about 20 feet away. And then there was afterwards, with Moster closely inspecting his dick and that little ginger muscledude Tiffany sucking it just to find out how big it really was. Measuring dick size by mouth. It was all pretty weird. And he never even did get to do even a basic posing routine. He wanted to show these guys how much he liked to pose. Maybe he could pose for them later today? Casey really liked to pose. He did it for hours, alone in his room, peering into his crummy full-length mirror, looking for any improvements, and weaknesses, any new veins, any new striations, any sign of lingering babyfat. He wasn’t used to an audience. Casey had never known many people, and he certainly had never competed onstage, even though Miles Donovan had encouraged him to consider it. And now that he had trained hard, lived for training and diet and posing for so many years, now with the Home behind him and all the bullies, he was ready for others to see how big his muscles were. He was ready to pose for admirers. For a crowd. He hadn’t done that yet. So maybe these guys would accept him more if he posed for them? The babyfat was long gone, after all. And he was sure he could learn a few things, too. Maybe get some pointers from that dude Alvarez. He heard that Alvarez and Lang were always practicing their posing. But in any event, Casey now knew, after last night, that just having big muscle wasn’t enough. A big cock was pretty important, too. For the first time he was beginning to feel relieved, even joyful about his huge member. He had always been so embarrassed about it, he could never hide it, it was always prominent in his jeans, in whatever he wore. People could always see it flopping around in his pants, pushing out his fly in an obscene bulge. And he hadn’t found posing trunks that he really fit in yet. Not trunks, at least, that he wasn’t always popping out of, or worse, ripping the fabrics to shreds with his first big hardon. And posing usually gave him a hardon, which he’d have to stop and take care of. He'd shoot pints of milky thick cum against his mirror, and then he'd have to stop and get a roll of paper towels to clean it al up before he could start again. Or else he wouldn't have been able to see his reflection. And the sight of his muscles was what made him cum so ferociously. It would certainly be a challenge onstage, if he ever decided to compete. He had bought a few posers from online, trying them out, checking for the right colors. But so far, everything he had bought was just so….well….ridiculously inadequate. He hadn’t even begun to think about colors. Even if he managed to get the posers up his treetrunk quads, there was no way the simple kiddie-type pouches were able to cover his hefty manfruit. To say nothing of containing his coconut-sized balls. Still. Even so. “Good thing I got this big meat after all. I guess.” He muttered to himself as he walked, bowlegged as always with his bodybuilder waddle, over to the mirror. The cadets watched him as he walked across the small dorm room. “Hunh?” “What’s that, Casey? About your meat?” Ogden looked up, still inspecting his biceps, but suddenly alert to what was going on in the room. Casey looked back at them and pointed down to the sagging bulge that loomed out of the front of his baggies. “I said, it’s a good thing I got this super big meat. All the guys up there are hung huge. It’s important to them. Sergeant Moster showed me.” He thought for a moment. Maybe those dudes knew where to get posers that actually fit? Or maybe they had them made privately? Probably they did. They had to. And certainly from the layout of the place and the size of the gym and the wrestling room, they could afford a few extra yards of reinforced spandex to hold in a few giant cocks. Banks was studiedly casual. He inspected Casey’s black eye a little more closely and nodded, as if a question was answered. “Unh hunh. Bet he did. I heard about Sergeant Rod Moster. Seems he was there too. He give you that black eye?” “Yeah, he’s the dude in charge. He was there. And no, he didn’t give this to me.” Casey turned back and gazed at his package in the mirror. He repeated. “I had to fight one of them.” “Who?” asked Owenbee, breathless and getting hard now. “Abdul. Karim Abdul.” He paused. “You should see him this morning.” “He got a big package, too?” Casey colored, embarrassed. “Yeah, he does. I mean, I didn’t see it. Well, I didn’t see it well. I mean, I didn’t see it close up….” He stopped, confused. The guys were looking at him. “Well, one thing, these are the biggest goddam dudes I ever saw in my life.” “Lookin’ good?” “Fucking awesome. All of them. Moster’s like 7’ tall. No bodyfat. Biceps the size of my head. And…” “Big package?” “Yeah. He has the biggest dick. They say it’s the biggest dick on earth.” Casey turned back and began to flex for himself feverishly in the mirror. He had to get bigger. Banks liked Casey well enough and would miss him in the dorms. Even if the young muscle giant was a little dopey and innocent. Okay, Casey was stupid. Everyone knew it. Dumb as a bag of hammers. But a sweet guy, if you didn’t get on his wrong side. And besides, he’d also long had eyes for Casey’s astonishingly rounded, rock hard glutes, never mind the cock, and now knew he probably wasn’t gonna dip his stick inside the promised land of Casey’s musclebutt for a long time to come. If ever. Or even suck his dick. Maybe some day. Oh, well. Still, he wished Casey well. He was a good dude. He’d stand up for him any time. Now he stood behind him, watching his superwide batwing lats as he posed in the mirror, watching his perfect big round rolling glutes quivering a little in the seat of his stretched-tight pants. “I hear there’s a lot of sex in the main compound,” he said slyly. “Yeah, I guess there is.” Casey slowed down posing, caught Banks’ eye in the mirror, was a little circumspect. Not that he knew what the word meant, but that is what he was at that moment. “No chicks, though?” “No, I guess there ain’t. I didn’t see any last night.” Casey blew out a blast of air, followed by a honk of laughter. The tension eased. He grabbed his duffel and turned around towards the boys. “No chicks!” “Good!” said Ogden, still inspecting his biceps. “Guess I’m big enough. Thanks for the party, guys,” he added. “And the, um….” He gestured to his duffel bag. “….the extra jockstraps…..I can always use them.” “Actually, two of them were already yours. We just re-retrieved them from….somebody…” said Rowenstein. Owenbee turned crimson with shame and embarrassment. “Hey. Thanks. Alan, you were always a good friend. Here. Wait a moment.” Casey put his duffel down, lifted his heavy sweatshirt and kicked out of his baggies, stepping out of them fast and surprisingly easily over his big feet. “I have to get these off fast sometimes, so I cut out the, you know, drawstrings around the pants legs, to make it easier to fit over my shoes. Sometimes I don’t have a lot of time before…..” His voice trailed off. “You know.” Banks nodded, feigning seriousness. “We know.” All the cadets knew that sometimes during workouts Casey suddenly had to shoot a load, and to avoid coating his baggies with splotches of his unusually heavy, copious cumspurts, he ripped off his sweatpants and shot into a bucket that he kept on the side of the gym floor. By the end of the workout, the bucket was often half full. A few of the boys would often sneak away with it afterwards, loving the scent, loving the taste, drinking it all down, hoping it would make them grow into a muscle monster like Casey. “Yeah. We all know,” said Ogden. Owenbee and Rowenstein both nodded seriously. “Yeah, you got a problem, dude.” Rowenstein couldn’t help chuckling a little. “Big problem.” Then they both grinned, their smooth boyish faces lighting up. “I know.” Casey smiled. “So why is it, by the way, all this time I been here, that so many of my jocks go missing?” Shuffling of feet. Heads down. “Aw, Case…..” said Ogden. He stood before them in his sagging, bulging jock. “This one is new, I just got it.” All knew he had to order his jocks and posers online. Standard sizes just didn’t fit, and then the posers just didn’t last. “Here.” He curled his thumbs around the reinforced jock straps on his loins and tugged. His cock popped out and hung free, 10 solid inches of soft thick swaying girth. “Jesus,” breathed Owenbee. Banks was impressed. Ogden just panted. He pulled his new jockstrap down over his massive quads and stepped out of it carefully, lifting each big, smooth foot slowly, and then handing it to Owenbee. “You always been a good friend to me.” Casey teared up a little, but wasn’t so sentimental that he didn’t playfully waggle his penis’ full 10 inch soft, flaccid weight, then whipping it heavily from side to side. Smack! Smack! For a moment he slapped it heavily from quad to quad, and then looked up at Owenbee and Ogden and smiled sweetly. “It’s too big for most jocks,” he explained. “Yes, we’ve noticed,” said Banks, very serious. Owenbee took the jock gratefully, raised it to his nose and took a deep whiff. In his jeans his young teen cock throbbed to life. “Gee, thanks, Casey!” “Don’t mention it.” Casey pulled his baggies back up, covering his cock. “Going commando, Case?” asked Banks. Casey looked at him blankly. “I don’t know what that means.” “You will.” Casey shrugged, and sat down to lace his shoes. “Guess I better be going. Say goodbye to Danny Taylor. Where’s he this morning?” “His mama called. She wanted him back in Santa Barbara. He’ll be back tonight. He said to say goodbye.” He eyed the heavy sagging bulge in Casey’s lap. His cock was aching to get back out again, taste the air, straining the crotch of his sweatpants, pointing downward but twitching, threatening to rise, bulging in the fabric every which way. Banks sniffed a little, seemingly unconcerned, but Casey knew Banks probably missed his buddy Danny, the only cadet in the squad who actually came from a family and a good home. A blond surfer-dude turned bodybuilder, Danny and Brian were always pumping together and then going out looking for girls and to get laid. And unlike The Nineteen up the hill, the young cadets, still not indoctrinated into the squad, could come and go as they pleased. Not that these young muscleboys had anywhere to go….other than the gym and the bars in nearby San Jose, or maybe further up the coast to San Francisco. “Well…..goodbye then. Come and see me.” “Hey, dude. Before you go….give us one last flex?” asked Ogden shyly. “Yeah, dude. Pose for us one more time,” said Owenbee. “Like you used to do before you got so serious.” “Yeah, Case. Go ahead. Let’s see what you got.” That from Banks. Casey looked closely at Banks. “Sure, guys. Yeah. Be glad to.” He stepped back into the room and ripped off his sweatshirt. The muscle cadets crowded around him eagerly. He stood shirtless, his huge muscles gleaming in the morning light. “Here goes. Pow,” said Casey. He flexed a huge right arm bicep and moved his left hand back to the back of his head, ‘doin’ hair’ like the young Tom Platz from 40 years ago. “Wow!” “Jeez, Case, yer bigger than ever!” “Fuckin huge, man!” “That’s “doin’ hair,” dudes. Platz. ‘Doin’ hair,’ ” he repeated. “Can I feel it?” ‘My hair?” “No, dude….” “He wants to feel your muscles, Casey,” Banks explained, with exaggerated patience. “Oh. Sure.” Casey thought a moment. “Yeah! Sure! Come on!” Owenbee stepped forward eagerly and grabbed Casey’s biceps. His fingers ran over the vascular triple-heads. “Sure is nice!” he yelled. “How big?” He tapped the hardness of the peaks with his fingers, which bounced back. Impenetrably hard. “I don’t know. 25 inches? 27? I don’t know. Here come some big pecs.” He gave them a side chest, popping his pecs, his pouty brown nipples pointing down to the carpet. “Boom,” said Casey. “Wow! Frigging huge!” “You’re swole, man!” “Yeah, I got big pecs,” said Casey modestly, turning his head back, inspecting his two huge pectoral globes in the mirror. He bounced them up and down thoughtfully. “May I lick your nipples, Casey?” squealed Ogden. Casey was confused a moment. He stopped and turned and looked quizzically at Ogden. For a moment the two muscleboys were afraid, afraid that Casey would start handing out a roomful of black eyes and broken noses, powerful punches that were sure and methodical and swift and punishing. But Banks wasn’t afraid. “You like this, dontcha Case?” It didn’t happen. “Sure, I guess. Yeah. I like it. Come on up and lick ‘em. I never got licked and touched when I posed before. Let alone watched.” He thought some more. “Guess I do like it! Can you reach? Here’s another. Bam,” he said, swinging into a front lats pose. “Bam and double bam.” Ogden scampered up, reached wide, grabbed Casey by both lats and began eagely to lick his nipples. “You got awesome pecs, dude!” “You’re strong, too,” said Banks calmly. “Those dudes up there on the hill as strong as you?” “Yeah, I think they are.” Casey was inspecting his front lats pose in the mirror. “You’re in my way,” he said to Ogden. “I can’t see.” “Sorry, Case!” “Just move to the side a little so I can check myself out.” Ogden quickly stepped aside and leaned in, licking one nipple. “Okay, that’s enough. Reach around if you have too.” “How thick is your neck, Case?” “About 25 inches I think.” “How about your quads?” “Sure.” Casey pumped and rotated his thighs, still covered up in the baggies. “Oh, I forgot. Guess you can’t see.” He rolled them down to his ankles and stood in the center of the room, his pants down, flexing for his buddies. His penis loomed heavily over mountains of muscle and veins as he pensively rotated his quads for all the muscleboys to see. The muscleboys licked their lips. “No, I mean, how big are they?” “I dunno. 33 inches? Never measured.” He rotated a huge quad slowly, staring intently at it. “Got some new veins popping in here. Look at that diamond shape. Hard.” He slapped his quads, both of them. “They’re hard, man! See how hard I am? You guys see it?” Banks eased his nicely rounded butt off the window seat, where he’d been perched, watching the proceedings. He strolled over to Casey, thumbs hooked in his tight jeans, his black spandex t-shirt rippling with extra lean, hairy muscle. His own appreciable bulge flopped lazily from side to side in his fly as he walked slowly towards Casey. “Dude, I think you like to get worshipped.” “Hunh?” Casey turned to him and whipped up a pair of double bi’s. “Check out these gunsssss……” “I see ‘em.” Banks patted them firmly. Yeah. Solid. Cannonballs. Triple-headers. Laced with thick veins. He kneaded solid muscle between calloused thumb and finger. He pulled. Paper-thin skin. “These are biceps…. “ said Casey, breathing heavy, loving every second of it. “Nice. They are. Big biceps. Very nice indeed. But my tastes run to….something……darker……” He knew all about Moster. That was the dude he wanted. Banks turned to Ogden, absorbed in licking Casey’s big brown nipples. “Whyn’t you lick his biceps too, dude? He said he likes to get licked.” He turned to Casey. “Dontcha, Case?” “I’m gonna pop you right in the eye,” Casey said, but he smiled. He flexed mightily. “C’mon, lick ‘em.” His steely fists strained red. Suddenly he longed to punch Banks in the eye. Give him a big black eye. No, two black eyes. He wasn’t mad. He just wanted to punch him. “Yeah, lick his biceps, dude. And kiss ‘em for us, Case.” “Hunh??” “Kiss your biceps, bro! G’wan, kiss ‘em!” “Why do I want to do that?” “Try it and see. See how it feels.” Casey shrugged. His traps bounced up a little and bumped Owenbee’s head, who was trying to lean in to get a closer feel on Casey’s bi’s. “Oh. Sorry.” Meanwhile Ogden was now licking his right biceps, so Casey turned to the left and, leaning in while raising an elbow, began to softly lick and kiss his bulging cannonball bi’s. Casey forgot all about wanting to punch Banks and continued flexing. Hmmm. The licking felt good. “This feels good,” he announced. He kissed himself again, and turned, grinning cockily to Banks. “Guess I won’t bust you in the eye right now.” Banks smiled. He understood. “It’s okay, Casey. I’m your friend. You can trust me. And the boys.” “But I still wanna slug you.” “You just want to slug somebody. Not me.” “Guess you’re right. But sometime soon I’m gonna start some slugging.” He flexed. “Look at these big gunnnnssss….” he repeated. By now the other four cadets were grouped around Casey, touching, feeling, pawing, stroking, kissing and licking every muscle they could reach, climbing over him, feeling him, all while remaining respectfully distant from the heavily looming cock. Owenbee got on his knees and knelt before Casey’s massive, exposed rear, began caressing the twin globes of Casey’s monster round, hard butt, feeling where the gluteus muscles rolled in, where they bulged out, where they lead down to mammoth obtruding hamstrings and up to the small of his back. He wanted to bury his young, smooth face into the deep buttcrack, but knew he’d better not. He wanted to lick it, too. But he knew that might not be a good idea, either. Not yet, anyway. So he contented himself just to do deep tissue massage on the two giant round butt orbs before him, following their rolling movements as Casey posed above him. It was like kneading iron. But he loved it. “How do you feel, Case?” Banks was stroking Casey’s broad upper pec shelf with a connoisseur’s appreciation. “Good. I feel very good. I like flexing for you guys.” “Good. And we like when you flex for us. Nice pecs.” Banks flicked one of Casey’s nipples with a thumb and forefinger. Casey responded, immediately ballooning his pecs hugely, digging his fists into solid rippled obliques and expanding chest muscles high to the skies, so it seemed, to the ceiling and beyond. “This is called worship, by the way,” Banks added. “The way the guys are touching you now. The way I am touching you.” He ran a smooth hand across his pecs and looked him deeply in the eyes. “Admiring you. Admiring your muscles. Getting off on your muscles. That’s worship.” “You’re huge, Case,” said Ogden. “Big fucking muscleman,” said Owenbee. “Awesome muscles, dude,” said Rowenstein. “Tell us what you’re thinking, Case,” said Banks. Casey didn’t know what he was thinking. Was he even thinking? He was just flexing. No, he was thinking. He was seeing….something. Something distant. Pure and good. He breathed out, let out a massive block of air, crunched up, sucked in, intake, breath, blew it out, then more blooming muscle. Expanding everywhere, blowing up, hard and solid and good. He was… …..where was he?.... “Tell us, Case,” repeated Banks softly. “Where are you?” “On the moon, I guess.” He sucked in, expanded his pecs again, turned, inadvertently pushing the boys to the floor, looked in the mirror. The room was quiet. The muscle cadets scrambled away a little, but still touching, still feeling muscle. Tension increased in the room. It was silent except for the sounds of heavy breathing. Casey began to move. He swung from pose to pose. His cock swayed heavily as he moved, slapping his quads. Front biceps. Side chest, front lat spread. Most muscular, the famous crab shot, his veins exploding everywhere, his enormous fists clenched, held steadily before him. “Hold that one,” said Banks. “I think we all want to see this one.” Casey held still. His face grew red, then redder, then beet-red. The veins on his thick neck popped out like huge pylons. And even his massive cock began to retreat a little up into his loins as his blood was needed elsewhere. “Guys? Let’s check out these veins. Okay, Case?” “…yeah…..okay…” “You can breathe, though.” “Okay, thanks.” He breathed in and out. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for flaws, admiring rivers of vascularity, popping iron muscles. “Just don’t relax. Keep flexing. Keep that pose. Keep crunching.” “Can I take your picture, Case?” asked Rowenstein, begging a little. “My picture….?” Casey blew out air. He could barely think. He was just dreaming now. It was a wall, a planet, a universe of his muscle. “Keep crunching. Keep it swole,” said Banks quietly. He touched an iron biceps. “Yeah, okay.” Casey seemed befuddled, but it was because of the most muscular pose, and ….well…because he was still dreaming, now on that distant planet somewhere, where it was all about……muscle. His muscle, to be specific. Where he was posing high on a mountain, still visible to all, to thousands below, thousands of admiring men in the valley beneath him, all calling his name, all playing with their giant tools, their cum spurting and flying, the sun behind him, sweat in his eyes - “A picture. My cellphone? For, um, ….later?” “Later?” Casey barely heard him. “Yeah, later. To admire you later…..whenever I want to…..” The dream was broken for a moment and there was Rowenstein, shrugging and smiling, red-faced, embarrassed. Crab shots were his thing. He loved the solid billboard of muscle and veins. Exploding muscle and veins. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sure.” Casey saw Rowenstein’s cock was now poling forward in his khakis. “Made you hard, man?” “Yeah, you did. You do.” Rowenstein grinned toothily and admitted it happily. He pulled out his mobile and began snapping. Relieved, the muscle cadets groped in their pants pockets, next to their now-bulging flies, pulled out cellphones, and, never relaxing, never letting up even a finger on Casey’s massive musculature, began taking pictures. Casey went back to his mountain on his planet. He flexed. He was a god. He knew it. He wanted the universe to see him, to touch him, to admire him, to kneel before him, to reach up to him, to admire his strength, to touch his muscles, to stroke his chest, lick his nipples….. ….to worship him….. ….to suck his dick. Yes, that is what he wanted. He wanted the world to suck his cock. He nodded. That’s what he wanted. Like that hot mean little muscle dude Tiffany did last night. No one had done that before. Now he knew. Yes, and now he knew. Was this why he did it? Why he lifted? Why he had built his physique into the huge muscle sculpture it was now? No, of course not. Not entirely. He wanted to be the biggest and strongest man in the world. That’s what he wanted. But getting his dick sucked at the same time would be a nice perk. Again, he blew up his pecs to their fullest. Twin globes of pure muscle. Boom! Boom! He felt his buddies’ hands all over him. He was dizzy with lust and young muscle. He wanted to flex for everyone, his dick to throb and spurt and explode inside vanquished mouth after vanquished mouth, his long thick shaft gliding between adoring lips, plunging down dozens of supplicant throats, gagging them all with his cock girth and his cum, gagging the world with his giant man meat as he flexed mountainous biceps. He wanted to cover the faces of hundreds of men with his cum. Coating them all. Then fucking butt. Fucking hundreds of butts while he flexed. This was his planet. That is what he wanted. He never realized it before. But he did now. The muscle cadets were all over him, stroking him, rubbing him, feeling his muscles, inspecting his veins. Check out these striations, he heard one of them say. Yeah, these veins are thick as pencils. No, thicker. His skin is so thin. Check out these abs, they’re like cinder blocks. No, harder. This okay, Casey? Yeah, it’s okay. Feel me. Touch me. Check out my muscles. Suck my dick. He started to say it. The cadets seemed to anticipate it. The breathing in the room grew heavier. And heavier. And suddenly one of the muscleboys moaned. Ayyyy Ugnnnhhhh…. And then another. Casey closed his eyes and flexed…. Oh Yeah LOOK AT MY MUSCLES DUDES And then another low cry Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! And then he felt it himself. He felt the liquid start…..it was happening… YEAH YEAH YEAH No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t happening. The room was suddenly sharply quiet. He opened his eyes. It had all stopped. The boys had stepped back. No one was touching him. The worship had stopped. “You ready to go, Casey?” Casey was shocked out of his dream. He turned and stood, staring. His massive cock brushed the mirror as he turned. Rod Moster was at the open door, smiling. He wore his sweats, but even they didn’t conceal his 7’- 0” frame, his nearly 400 pounds of super wide muscle. His veiny relaxed biceps rolled out of his sleeves with nearly 25 inches of unflexed power, 30 when flexed. His quad veins were so thick the boys could see them through his sweatpants. And that wasn’t all they could see. The outline of his flaccid cock bulged lazily down his right leg, extending almost to his knees. The boys stared. “Who is that??” “He’s like a fucking god,” said Owenbee. Banks stepped forward, his eyes now half closed, a small smile on his face. “Sergeant Moster,” said Banks politely. “Greetings.” He saluted crisply, smiled. The muscle cadets stared at the giant, handsome black bodybuilder. “Shit,” said Ogden, “no one is that big.” “He is,” said Rowenstein. “Thank you, Cadet. You’re Banks?” “Yes, sir. Aye, aye, sir.” “Am I interrupting something?” “We’re just saying goodbye, sir,” said Banks, relaxed, crisp and smooth and confident. Casey smiled weakly. “Yeah.” “Put some clothes on, Casey.” Silence in the room. Casey looked down and realized he was naked and that his huge member was poling straight out and up what seemed to be 2 feet or more, as if ready to shoot. Precum was dribbling down the long, thick shaft and onto the floor. And he looked around his room, and saw all the tented, bulging flies of all the teen muscle cadets, their pants increasing with stain, their cocks now receding. Every one of them. Except Banks. His cock still poled out straight ahead in his pants, but his fly was dry, bulging with unleashed power. He'd been able to control himself. And Banks was not embarrassed. Moster took note silently. Hmmm. “Bye, Casey. Maybe we’ll see you at the compound? If Sergeant Moster will allow us in?” Owenbee was hopeful. Moster frowned. “We’ll see,” he said, non-committal. “Um. Yeah. Okay. Bye, guys.” Casey bent and grabbed his clothes, beet red, mortified. Was this the way to show himself on the most important morning of his life? Naked and flexing and about to shoot and filled with fantasies and dreams? And, it might be added – late??? Late for a military CO? He wasn’t even IN the military, and he felt completely humiliated. He struggled for his baggies, reached for his shoes, looked around in vain for at least one of his oversized jocks. And he hadn’t even packed up his laptop or his prized personal collection of vintage muscle magazines yet. “I’m really sorry, sir,” he blurted, moving clumsily around the room as the teens scrambled to step clear of the confused young bull. “I guess I’m not ready to go.” “You do want to move up the mountain to the main compound?” “Oh, yes, sir!” “Well, then, get yourself ready to go. I won’t wait for you long. I’ll be downstairs in the van. Take a few minutes, and get yourself together. I'll wait five minutes. After that, if you want to move up the mountain, you're going to have to walk.” He smiled, suddenly surprisingly kind. He looked around the room of awestruck boys, and smiled. “And if all you cadets keep training hard, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you all up at the compound sometime soon.” He looked pointedly at Banks. “Especially you.” “Turn around.” Banks complied, turning around. Moster gazed, eyes half-lidded, at Banks’ impressively shaped glutes, nicely packed inside tight pants. “Yes. Keep doing those squats, boy. Good flanks.” His fingers twitched a little. There would be a nice session of spanking this smart-mouthed handsome muscle boy’s hard little muscle bottom sometime in the very near future. He'd wake him up. Banks’ eyes twinkled. He knew what Moster was thinking about. It was okay with him. "I'll look forward to meeting you again, sir." They shared a quick look of understanding. Moster smiled slightly, an eyebrow cocked. Then he nodded briefly to the others. “At ease, men.” And then he was gone. The boys were still a moment, listening to Moster’s steps retreating down the corridor. The distant outer door opened and closed. A moment of awed silence. Then the boys scrambled back to life. “Jesus!” “He’s HUGE.” “Guys! I gotta bounce!” Boytown muscle chaos as the cadets dove around the room, gathering Casey’s bags and toiletries and clothes and laptop, throwing everything in a heap. “Get my muscle magazines!” “Where are they?” Rowenstein asked, looking a little frantic. “The closet. There’s a box. Four boxes. I need them!” The boys scoured the room, gathering their hero’s possessions. “We got your back, Case,” said Banks, smiling. Casey stopped a moment and looked into Banks’ eyes. Then he smiled. “I know you do, dude. I know.” ****** NEXT CHAPTER: "The Twenty" Chapter 15 - Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster

Yeah, I know. Two chapters in one week. What the what!?!? Hahah. I had fun writing this one. Have fun guys! Jealousy and Rage: Part 13 “Troy! Get off of me!” I scream into his face. He looks directly into my eyes with hatred as he crushes me with his weight. He’s so strong. I feel weak. I hate feeling weak. This makes me angry and from this anger I draw strength. With grunt I manage to raise my arms that are trapped beneath his. The force behind me lifting pushes him off balance and I flip him onto his back and wrap my arms around his back. We’re pressed, my bare chest to his clothed one, on the ground and he shakes and groans beneath me. “Get the fuck off of me!” he says. I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Have you been drinking?” I say. “What do you fucking think!?” he says and head butts me. I yelp in pain and the impact causes me to go blind for a second as I roll over onto my back. I grab my forehead and feel around for damage. None. Thank god. I quickly roll over onto all fours, feeling the damp grass beneath my fingers, and try to get up, but I immediately feel his weight on my back. “Where do you think you’re going, ass hole?” he says, wrapping his arms around my stomach and arms and putting me in a full body lock. “Me!? You’re an asshole! Why are you doing this?” I can’t move. He is still wrapped on top of me. My face is in the grass and I can barely breath because he is holding on so tightly. “I can’t believe you! I hate you so much! How could you do this to me!?” “Do what!?” I scream into the ground. “Ethan! That stuff with Ethan! I saw you two. The way you look at each other. The way he shows off for you… That’s… That’s…” “That’s what!?” “Shut the fuck up!” he says, squeezing me harder and making breathing almost impossible. It was at this point that I started to fear for my life. I need to find a way out of this before he kills me. “Troy please. Stop. Don’t hurt me anymore,” I say. My voice is cracking and I want to punch myself for being such a bitch. “I’ve barely hurt you,” he breathlessly says into my ear. “What are you going to do to me?” I say, the words barely escaping my mouth as I try to breath. He stops at the question. I don’t know what he came here to do. Maybe beat the shit out of me for betraying him or hurt me in another way… No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he? His being drunk could take away some of his humanity and the result could leave me emotionally scarred for life. “I… I came here to talk to you…” he says, his grip on me loosening. I suck in a hard gasp of air and immediately start coughing. He let me go and I roll onto my back, grasping onto my stomach as I cough and suck in air. There are tears in my eyes and I tightly close them. I’m so embarrassed. I should be angry, but I’m not. I feel like a pussy. I feel his hand lightly touch my shoulder and I flinch immediately. I quickly open my eyes and look at him. He’s siting in the grass hovering above me. I see the stars shining above his head and I wonder if I’m hallucinating from the lack of air. I decide to break the silence “You want to talk?” I say. “Yes… Please,” he replies. “I really need to talk to you. “Let’s go inside.” He stands up and reaches out a hand to me. I slowly reach up to him and my body stiffens as he lifts me off of the ground. I’m still shirtless and there’s grass all over my stomach and back. He takes both of his hands and begins to brush the grass off my pecs. He slowly wipes the sweat and grime off and he is taking his time. He doesn’t look me in the eye but I watch him as he looks deeply into my pecs. I feel him stick his finger between the crack of my thick chest. His finger trails down to my abs and he trickles his fingers down them. Once he’s done with my front he walks around me and does the same to my back. I feel relaxed now. I’m not scared anymore. “Thanks,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry,” he says. I nod at him and turn to go into my house. He follows me and I type in the code to unlock the door. Once open I see no one is inside. No brother could save me if he gets aggressive again. Hopefully I won’t need saving. “Let’s go to my room,” I say as we walk up the stairs. We make our way into my room and as I sit on my bed he closes the door behind him. I immediately stiffen up and he notices. “Don’t worry, man. I just want to talk about something private.” He stands still by the door. “Ok, well talk,” I say. The sooner that door is open, the better my odds of escape are. “I don’t exactly understand it, but I’ll try. It’s a lot though,” he says. I don’t know where to start.” “Start with what you said outside. Start with Ethan.” I see a flash of anger as soon as I mention Ethan’s name. “Ok. Well I saw you guys swimming earlier today. I saw him flexing for you and the look in your eyes…” he says. His fists are clenched. “The way you looked at him… I just… I got so fucking mad, man. I’ve never been that angry before. I don’t know what happened! I just ran away and I was back on campus halfway done with a bottle of tequila. It didn’t even make me feel better, but I needed something to fight what I was feeling…” “What were you feeling?” “I felt… jealous. I felt so jealous. We used to have that, you know? Now it’s gone!” he says walking close to me. I keep my ground and sit still on my bed. “You have a girlfriend Troy!” “I know, but we had something! Now it’s gone! The things we used to do! The different ways we would worship each other! It’s all fucking gone and I miss it! I… I need it!” He stumbles over to the bed and I lean back. Suddenly he is cradling me. His ass is on my crotch and each arm on either side of my head. “Drunk on a Wednesday,” he says as he looks down on me. “How pathetic am I?” I don’t answer. “I miss being your bud. I miss flexing for you. Watching you flex. I miss feeling your body.” He slowly reaches down and drags his fingers over my chest and abs. His hands begin to move lower and he eventually dips his fingers into my shorts. “Troy—“ “No… I want this… and I know you do too.” He continues and pulls down my shorts. My flaccid dick flops out and he immediately grabs hold of it. “I missed this so much,” he says as he jerks me off. My dick grows in his hand and I begin to moan. “I love feeling your gains. I love your chocolate muscles so much.” He bends down and starts sucking my nipples. I gasp. I can’t believe how good I feel. “I’m getting – ugh.” He begins to stroke harder and lick his way down my abs. I’m gonna come soon. I can feel it. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says and then he wraps his pinks lips around my cock. He sucks on my dick like he was starved. Honestly, he probably is starved… starved of dick. He lifts his head and says “You’re so fucking salty!” Then continues to suck. My body is starting to buck and I can feel my climax coming soon. “Fuck Troy! I can’t hold it anymore!” I say. As soon as I do, my dick explodes into his mouth. He swallows every drop and he seems to love every moment of it. He continues to suck even after I’m done coming, but I have to push his hungry mouth away. “Please, no more,” I say. “But I want more” he says, his eyes blinking a little more slowly. I can tell that he is tired. He slowly crawls his way up to me and lies beside me on the bed. I turn on my side and look at him. “Thank you,” he says. “For?” “My first time having a guy inside me.” “I wasn’t really inside you ya know.” “I know,” he says with a yawn. “This was something new to me though. Something good.” He closes his eyes and within seconds he is snoring. I find it amazing how quickly drunk people fall asleep. I don’t know if I should wake him and tell him to go home, but I know I don’t want to, so I don’t wake him. I feel myself getting tired and I get to turn off the light. I walk over to the light switch and look over at my bed. I watch him breath slowly in his sleep. How lucky am I to have this beautiful, alpha hunk in my bed. Even if it is only for one night. I will always remember it. I flick off the light…

Partly inspired by true events : P Part I Part II Part III – All The Way It was hard to consolidate beauty as I knew it before with the erotic sensations that were now constant and overwhelming. The sun shot red rays across the sky in protest of the coming night, and the trees watched silently, their leaves soaking up the last of the usually sporadic sunlight. I felt the pump in my arms, fibers straining against the weight. Normally I would take solace in the calmness of the twilight, in the gentle passage of time between phases of the day. But fuck, I was huge. It was hard to focus on anything else. The tree branch began to bend as I lifted myself up towards the sky. It wasn’t iron, but it would have to do. It was easy. With just a simple flex my will was transformed into action. Nothing could stop me. I rested my chin on the bending branch. The sun set. I had grown twice since last night. I didn’t have the desire for anything else. I worked out upon waking up and then again after I ate and rested. I bought new clothes in the interim too. The others fit me way too tightly, making it almost uncomfortable to breathe. Every motion was exaggerated by the fabric stretching against my hardened stature. Although by now I didn’t really care. I was out here without a shirt on. People could look at me if they wanted to. I was going to be gone soon, and they would not recognize me except for my hair. I lifted my chin from the branch and started to let myself down slowly. My bare feet descended to the grass, toes touching first and then heels falling softly. I couldn’t help but flex each of my swollen muscles, starting with my calves. The impressive cliff they formed created a shadow even in the fading light. Next it was quads. Big, bloated, and cut to the nines, they strained my already exasperated shorts. And I didn’t even have to flex them very hard. It didn’t help that my glutes stole most of the fabric, forming firm, round globes that eclipsed my lower legs. I ran my hands up and across my abs, each brick bringing my erection to greater attention, and finished with a double bi pose. That one was my favorite. It put the power that lay just beneath those titanic arms on display so effortlessly. My dick now rose to full mast, my shorts struggling to hold together. It felt good to be a man. I went back inside to the guy I had just fucked. He was tight, wiry, but nothing like me. He was face down, ass up. The smell of the candle I had left burning mixed with the smell of his skin as I ran my tongue down his back and up to his neck. I turned him around to face me and folded my legs on each side of him so that I sat comfortably on his abs. I let my body linger there, imposing, towering over his. My pecs hung heavy in the bottom frame of my vision. I bounced them, just because I could. I looked straight into his eyes, almond-colored, framed by long, dark, curly hair. I loved the way he tried to move but could not make much of an impression. He blushed a little bit. He almost reminded me of myself a few days ago. What a different life that was. I moved closer and kissed him, gently. I could feel his body tense with pleasure under me. “Where’s your shirt?” I asked. “On the side of the bed,” he said. I casually reached for it and felt how light and small it was in my hands. “Do you mind if I try it on?” I said. He nodded, trying to maintain his composure and pretend this was a normal request. He was doing a subpar job of it. Who could blame him? I knew I had picked a good one. A muscle junkie through and through. And here I was to provide the fix. I lifted it over my head and from the very start I could feel how little of my body was going to squeeze into this tiny polo. By the time my arm reached the sleeve I got stuck. I fumbled awkwardly for a minute, wrestling this puny piece of fabric over my muscular frame. He giggled, and I allowed it. Finally I was pulling it down over my abs. The fabric wrapped up each ab individually, like they had been covered in cellophane. I ran my hand over it just to feel how tight I stretched the fabric. I noticed as I looked down that the buttons sat undone and my upper chest was popping through. I motioned to button them up, but there was obviously no way that they were going to come together. I smiled down at him. “You’ve gotta catch up, dude. I can’t even button up your shirt.” Throb, pulse. I lifted up my arms almost in auto-pilot. I heard a tear. Fuck, if I wasn’t hard already. His dick responded too, jolting on the crevice of my ass. I felt around to know what part of the shirt had torn. It was the underside of the seam where the sleeve meets the body. “I’ll lend you one of mine,” I said, unapologetically. I left out that most of my shirts had succumb to a similar fate when I had tried to find just one that fit my massive frame. I tried as hard as I could to split the shirt around the bicep. I wasn’t quite big enough yet. But I would be. It was only a matter of time. Damn stretchy fabric. But fuck if I didn’t look good filling them up. Every last inch of it. Approaching eighteen, last I had counted. With that, the show was over. I lifted the shirt off, this time with care to avoid the clumsy nature of its donning. More tears, here and there. I didn’t bother to avoid making them, it didn’t matter anymore. I got off of him and lifted him up, putting my arms under his knees and grabbing his torso. His arms clasped about my neck, hands reaching down my back. His hands were soft, and I could feel them navigate over the muscles in my back, exploring every bulge, solid, strong. I sat on the edge of the bed, my arms the only thing preventing him falling from the ground. I kissed him, in reassurance that I was not going to drop him. His cock pressed against the tight, warm flesh of my abs, and his hands migrated over to my pecs, circling my nipples with his fingers. That sensation was more erogenous than I expected, and I almost let him slip. His body falling away from mine startled me, and I pulled him close again. I took my cock, throbbing and begging for release, and pressed it right up against his hole. Pre smeared across it, and I started stroking up and down. I wanted release. I grabbed him tighter and began to lift his ass up and down across my cock, my arms getting tired and swollen and all the more pumped as I kept using him like he was a fleshjack. Before I knew it I was already about to cum. I lifted him a little bit higher and brought my cock between us, cum spurting onto my chest and up to his chin. “Now it’s your…” I touched his dick and within a few seconds he was gone. His cum only managed to splash up against my abs, but it was appreciated nonetheless. I couldn’t help but grin as his face was lost in the ecstasy of orgasm. I stood up, holding him, and walked over to my dresser. I set him on top and pulled out a shirt, handing it to him with a towel. “That’s for you.” I gave one of those cheesy jock-like winks, and turned around to head to the bathroom. I could feel his glare as my solid, round cheeks fell up and down with my stride. I gave them a good flex (and threw in some calves too) before I left his view. It was time for a run. -- An hour later I was outside. The night air brushed against my skin, my entire torso free and exposed. Darkness was my only company for most of the path until I reached the more suburban part of town. I was alone even though my path was now lit. Hardly anyone roamed about at this hour, and they wouldn’t have recognized me. But I wanted them to see anyways. To recognize me for what I had become. My footsteps fell heavy on the ground and made echoes on the still houses, but I was hardly any slower than before. It wasn’t long before I made it to Charlie’s place. I stopped under a streetlamp, the light reflecting the prodigious results of my transformation. He was in his garage, working on some old beat up truck that looked like it was from the 1950s. No one else seemed to be home. Despite the noisy footfall, he failed to notice me. I watched him for a moment. His skin was dark under the fluorescent bulb hanging over him, his back solid and clinging tightly to his wife beater. Every motion showed a muscle working, displayed the effortlessness that he carried himself with. He pulled what must have been the oil dipstick out of its place, and the various muscles in his arms flexed to form dark shadows beneath them. I felt a flush of embarrassment that I did not think I would ever feel again. “Hey,” I barked clumsily. He paused for a moment and wiped his hands before he turned around. He stared directly at me for a moment, the radiant jade of his eyes investigating my presence. His brow folded in the slightest confusion, as if he were trying to decipher someone’s face in an old photograph. And then he smiled. Teeth white as an ivory tomb. “Sup, little man.” Shit, he beat me to it. Did he recognize me? Or did he say that to everyone who passed by? Now that his initial confusion had passed, there was no hint of alarm or concern on his face. I started walking towards him, trying not to let my confidence falter as I stepped out of the streetlamp’s light. I tried to convince myself there was no reason to let my conviction falter. By now I must have been bigger than he was. Stronger. Nonetheless, he didn’t flinch. Neither his stance nor his expression wavered at my approach. And then we were face to face. He leaned on the grill of his car, relaxed. “What brings you around here?” he said casually. I didn’t really know. “Just out for a run,” was what came out of my mouth. “You seem to have been through a lot in the past few days,” he said. He lifted his arm, and without thinking I grabbed it. He did not seem to mind; if anything, he was amused. I held my hand still too, at first. His calm demeanor startled me. I just needed to break his confidence; I had to make him know just how much stronger I was. I pushed, and he gave just a little. The thick bellies of my triceps knotted and I could see his forearm tighten up and strain against the force of my powerful arm, the thick calluses on my hands rubbing rough against his soft skin. Still, forcing his arm back was more difficult than I anticipated. I was winning, but just barely. Meanwhile I could feel the blood rush to my cock even though I was using all of my strength. “Say uncle,” I said. I wanted him to admit it. Without changing his expression, he opened his mouth and his face leaned in towards mine. I almost expected a kiss. Instead I heard music. Even though it must have come from him, it sounded rich and deep as though it were another person’s voice. It resonated all around me like a bell, sonorous and pure despite its depth. Between long notes, the melody rang with strange sounds that were akin to words that I did not recognize. All of my anxiety and rivalry faded as the strange tune resounded in my ears. My vision started to become hazy. His golden arms blurred into the fluorescent lit background, his soft lips disappearing as everything began to go dark. I felt my head fall on his chest. It hummed with the bell’s tune. I could not stay awake any longer. -- I awoke as the sun was rising. My head was still foggy, but not unpleasantly so, as I lifted out of my near comatose state. My body was similarly sluggish and numb. I felt clumsy as I attempted to orchestrate my way off the ground, feet stumbling in the grass. I also discovered a ringing in my ears, but low and distant-sounding. It faded slowly as clarity came back to me, my body regaining its composure. Beams of sunlight loftily fell through the morning fog and landed on my silken skin. I had not changed. I gave my pecs a quick bounce just to be sure. Still massive. Memories came back from last night slowly and sporadically, like mud through a sieve. The details were mostly unclear, but my awakening here on the ground meant that I had lost. Despite all of the changes I had gone through, Charlie was still stronger than me. My heart fell into my chest, full of anguish. I could not even remember how he managed to subdue me. But I had an idea on how to fix that. I reached into my pocket to find my car keys. There was a note inside. It said: “Next time, make a better wish.” Whatever that meant. I was fortunate enough to see Delilah’s car leave as I turned the corner on her street. I didn’t know how to explain to her what had happened or my plan, and I wasn’t about to be talked out of it. I parked at the end of the block and walked as casually as I could feign up to her doorstep. The tacky porcelain frog that stood out harshly from the otherwise bare porch revealed her spare keys. Luckily, they held one that opened her basement. I threw it into the grass, not taking the time to remark how light it was for me now. The basement was even more cluttered than the last time I had been inside. Old musty books full of pseudoscientific literature and what looked like very serious scholarly articles littered the tables and floor. Clearly Delilah had devoted most of her free time to discovering what they were and how to make sure they didn’t kick the bucket in her care. However she did it, it was working; they seemed just as irreverent and indignant as ever. My arrival only seemed to encourage their frenzied buzzing. Inside the dull plastic box, she had left a small bag of blood as their only company. An iron meal for an iron bug. I paused for a moment. No, this was what I wanted. The risks were irrelevant. I needed to get bigger. Bigger than him. Bigger than anyone. That was all that mattered. I cautiously opened the container and slid my hand quickly over the opening as I removed the lid. It was almost instant, the sting. My hand clenched; fuck, it hurt. But unlike our first encounter, it remained stuck in my skin. I could feel it. A warm, almost hot sensation emanated from the sting. Like a hot summer day running through my blood, up my beefy arms and into the rest of my formidable body. It flowed through me, saturating me with whatever chemical or enzyme or magic flowed from its metallic proboscis. It felt as though I was going through the most intense workout I ever had while standing completely still. It was completing me. I was strong, alive, vibrant, unstoppable. Eventually the iron bug dropped from my hand, satiated. It scuttled away lazily, finally ending its fervent rampage against its impregnable prison. It seemed to shine crimson beneath its metallic sheen. I slid the lid back on, careful not to let out the other bug that was still madly trying to escape. Attempting to head towards the exit, I found myself dizzy with euphoria and my body was somewhat difficult to move. My flesh felt hard to the touch, like an insane pump from a non-existent workout. My blood was still warm, marked by a pleasant tingling. I don’t really remember getting back to my house. I only remember putting the keys back under the frog and somehow finding myself lying under the sheets in my bed, wrapped up like a cocoon. My blood was still warm, and the muscles beneath my skin were unbelievably tense, pumped, and changing into something even harder. My cock matched them in turgor, fighting for attention. But I was too busy wrapped up in the novel sensations to pay it any attention. Soon the heat began to make me dizzy, and I started to drift off. My eyes shut. I smiled. It worked. I couldn’t wait to find out what I had done. Part IV

This happened Sunday night, or I suppose early Monday morning. I wanted to capture what happened and what went through my mind. Feedback appreciated ----- As we were working on each other’s cocks with frenzied pawing, my boyfriend came before me. He took control of his own shaft, coaxing out every last little ounce of pleasure and semen, while I turned toward him and chewed on his left nipple. His chest tightened and gathered into a flex as the pleasure of his release overcame him. (Nice. I love it when I feel him flex, even if it’s unintentional) His abs fired, and his upper body lurched up an inch or two. He groaned with the teasing pangs of his orgasm. I hadn’t come yet, since we had sucked each other off that morning and it had been a long, tiring day. At this point it was really late, and after a moment of blissful drowsiness he asked if he could go clean up. I said sure. So he stood up, his still heavy cock bobbing in front of him. The body hair on his relaxed belly and just below his chest was weighted down with his cum. He leant down and grabbed a moistened wipe from the tub in his bedside table. I continued to stroke myself as he loomed over me, the light from the lamp on my side of the bed played over the peaks and valleys of his trim, athletic body. He brought the wipe down and swabbed his swollen member, and as he did, a low sigh of pleasure escaped him and his eyes closed. I don’t think he intended to put on a show for me, but it was turning out that way. He was facing squarely toward me and the light behind my head. I found myself wanting to demand that he turn 90 degrees to the right so I could see his still engorged penis in profile, the same time as his fine cyclist ass dimpled as it flexed a bit, keeping him upright while he handled the task of cleaning the saliva, lotion and trickle of semen off his dick. But this was a great angle too. He moved the wipe upwards and carefully gathered the thick and musky cum off his nicely furred belly. He looked down and shifted, pushing his belly out a bit so he could see what he was doing. As his large woodworking hands moved inward, the motion drew his chest forward and it peaked nicely. I congratulated myself for getting him interested in some weight training, because his already shapely form was showing a bit of the iron he’s been lifting lately. Of course, we had a lot of potential to build him up further. As this thought crossed my mind, I felt my dick pulse. Not quite ready to cum, but really digging the idea of hulking up my man. He had finished cleaning the cum off his belly and grabbed another moistened wipe to swab under his balls. Then he noticed my laser-eyed focus on him. By his expression I imagined he was a little self-conscious, but a little exhibitionistic as well. He knew that I could rocket out an orgasm while staring at him. But I didn’t know if this fact emboldened him or not. Then I understood why he hesitated. He brought the wipe back and around to his ass, and fanned his butt out so he could clean the drool and lube off his pucker and taint. This meant that his upper body bloomed before me, his chest and shoulders pushed forward and out in order to balance his ass and lower body leaning back. He braced his other hand on his thigh. It was beautiful to watch, though I understood why he felt awkward: who wanted to be stared at while wiping their ass? I was transfixed, even as the color rose a bit in his face. It was over all too quickly, and he returned to his normal stance, dropping the finished wipe into the trash. His eyes met mine, and the question on his face was clear: Did I want him to continue standing there and tease me with his body while I rubbed one out? But it was late, so I said, “go ahead,” knowing that he wanted to head into the bathroom and finish cleaning up. I didn’t mind continuing to wank after he left the bedroom. As he turned to leave, I was gifted the exquisite view of his shapely ass, just below his gently muscled kayaker back and crowning his thick cyclist legs. (I could write an ode to the gods of weekend athleticism while massaging all the meat and flesh of his back and lower body, and hearing him groan into the pillow in relaxed pleasure. Please, go far and push hard if it brings you home with sweat slicking down the fur on your flushed skin, and if it means you’ll want a rubdown later that night). As the mounds of his ass disappeared out the bedroom door, I clamped my eyes shut and replayed our recent exploration of each other’s bodies. Foremost in my mind was the thick and meaty shape of his cock. That flared head. That protruding channel of swollen flesh on the underside. The way he thrust his hips into my tight grip. The way his heavy balls drew in and up as he got closer and closer. The pulsing thick feel of his taint, as I fingered between his ass hole and his tightly drawn in scrotum. His hot gasping breath and ravenous kisses on my neck and throat. I worked on myself, imagining that thick cock pushing into my ass. Remembering the feeling of many previous times where he gently but firmly loosened my resistance with progressively deeper thrusts until he eventually ground his pelvis against my tailbone. It was definitely gay, as our balls definitely slapped against each other while he rutted me. I started to pant and go faster as I imagined his body, as hot as it was now, with another 10, 20, 30 pounds of muscle erupting from his neck, shoulders, back, arms and, oh god, his chest. His bright blue eyes, his thick and groomed beard, his nicely symmetrical body hair, and the fruits of his labor lifting weights based on my instructions and eating the healthy and muscle growing food I made for him. But instantly, right now, bursting from within, ramming his heavy cock into my ass and crying out in orgasm as his body flared into a creation that unified the heft of his upper body with the heavy meaty size of his legs and ass, which have always been large thanks to his lifelong cycling habit. My vigorous pumping of my cock went into overdrive as my mind struggled to imagine this beautiful man I love throwing his head back and moaning as he shot hot cum into my ass and somehow gaining 2 shirt sizes over 10 seconds. The sweat glistening on his gorgeous lightly furred skin, now rippling with taut muscle that I have ached to gift him with my imagination. I want him, this variation on my dreams grafted upon the very real man in my life. What if, just imagine, if he came walking back in from the bathroom, ready for bed, standing where he was previously cleaning himself up, and struck a pose that made his already respectable lats grow and grow. Popeye arms filling out without the spinach, hulk pecs bursting without the green rage. This last mental image set my heart thudding as my legs, butt and abs clenched and I came hard. I lay there, catching my breath and dozing into half sleep. I knew he’d back in a minute or two, and he’d look the way I remembered him: gorgeous and trim like an otter with a bit of a tummy, rather than my imagined otter-bull hybrid. I resolved to take the long way, coaching him into gaining that upper body heft, and asking for his support getting into the muscle bear shape I want for myself. He’d be game for both, and I love that about him.

I know its been a while but just been busy with life. Let me know what you think. If you missed the first three here they are... Part 1 & 2 - https://muscle-growth.org/topic/9162-jeff-the-college-roommate/?do=findComment&comment=96313 Part 3 - https://muscle-growth.org/topic/9409-jeff-part-3/?do=findComment&comment=100640 JEFF THE COLLEGE ROOMATE PART 4 “Billy what is your opinion of homosexuals?” Jeff asked half timid; half afraid of the question and my answer. “Jeff, if you don’t know already, I’m gay and I don’t think there should be any special treatment either way.” As I continue to massage his traps and delts. Each group I squeeze seems tighter than the muscle before, but over time he is not so tense. “I thought so by the way you kept touching me during our first encounter. But I didn’t want to say anything to upset you. I don’t really care either way as I have gone to school with gay students that are an absolute blast to be around. But with you it’s so much better cause you don’t mind me lifting you and playing with you. Billy, don’t mean to shock you but I’m gay too. As for working out all my muscles, in one week I ensure that all my muscle get some kind of work out. I work out my grip and feet and everything. Why do you ask, Billy?” “Well, it’s just, um, do you mind if I feel or massage everywhere? I mean, Jeff, can I worship your muscles?” Jeff laughs and peels off his shirt and shorts so that he is only wearing a pair of old stretched boxers, “Sure little buddy feel away.” I laugh with him at his answer and slide off the bed and come around and straddle his thighs. I start feeling his pecs and try to put my hands around his neck, squeezing the best I can but not having much success on inflicting any kind of serious grip. I move down to his abs and start pressing them, then start light punching them. I look up at his face and he’s just smiling as I play. “Jeff, let’s test your legs?” As I slide down his right leg so that my crotch is snuggled against the top of his foot. “Leg lift, big guy. Let’s see those thighs in action.” Jeff smiles seeing how much fun I’m having and lifts his right leg high in the air and as always I go along for the incredible ride. As Jeff lifts his leg for reps, I feel his thigh. SO hard. So massive. No strain for my whopping buck 20. After about 50 reps, Jeff sets his leg down and I climb to his left leg and Jeff repeats the process. During the last set I notice Jeff’s cock has worked its way out of the briefs and is just lying there and I look at Jeff’s face. Huge grin as he watches my every move, enjoying my reaction as his cock becomes unwrapped from its bondage. I watch his cock slowly come alive and as it starts to rise, I grab a hold with both hands. Even flaccid it is about 8” long and a good 6” around. I look between Jeff’s face which has a huge grin and the cock as it grows and starts to lengthen and slowly becomes erect. The great thing that I notice, as I hold on for deer-life, is that my body is slowly being pulled up Jeff’s leg moving closer to his crotch. His cock is sliding me and Jeff just smiles bigger and bigger. Finally, it is sticking straight up and down and it has pulled me a good three feet. We just look at each other not breaking eye contact and both of us smiling then start laughing. Jeff reaches down and grabs me under the pits and slowly slides me up and plants a big kiss on me and we stay there for what seemed like heavenly forever. As we were lip locked he slid me a little higher up his abs and then slowly slid me back down. When we broke the kiss, he slowly maneuvered his legs to stand and he rose up to full height. This is when I went into full fantasy overload. Jeff let go of me and his arms where at his side; his body was at full height; and me? Well my feet where almost two feet off the ground and I turned my head to see that I was being held in the air only by the power of his cock. I was wedged very snug between his abs and his cock and not moving at all. Jeff started laughing as he saw me come to realization that his cock was strong enough to hold me with ease. “Oh my goodness; no way; it’s not possible! Is it?” I stammered. “Not tight enough for you?” Jeff asked. I felt his cock tighten and push me tighter against his body. I put my hands on his abs and tried to push back but I didn’t move. “Jeff you lifted me with just your cock. Are you telling me that your cock muscles are that strong too?” Jeff nods his head and laughs at the same time as he lets me sit there to come to grips of his power. I push one more time just to tests its strength and I don’t move. “How about I show you some more of my tricks?” Jeff asks smiling “What? I suppose you’re going to tell me or show me that it can actually do reps too?” I laugh not believing what I was saying. Jeff pulls me up out of my perch and sets me down on the floor. He kneels down and wedges the head of his cock under the waist strap. He smiles and winks, “You ready for a true Hercules feat of strength?” Without even waiting for me to hold on or get ready, he stands up and I am swaying back and forth on the head of his cock. It is pointing straight out from his body. I grab his waist to steady myself. Then I feel my body going up, I check his arms and see his hands on his hips in a superman stance. His cock is lifting me, “no way!” I mutter as his cock lifts me to its full erectness. Jeff just laughing at my reaction. Then I feel my body going back down, then back up, down and up, rep after rep by his monster muscle cock. I hear Jeff counting of the reps, 5…10…15…20 and I stop at the top of the last rep. “How’s that for a feat of strength?” Jeff grabs me under the arms again and pulls me off his head and sets me down in front of him. I just stare at his cock not really believing what just happened. His cock is still erect in the up position. I grab it and try to pull it down, but it doesn’t move. I pull with all I have and it’s not moving. I am trying to arm wrestle this monster cock not having any success with moving it at all. “Jeff, I know what you just did with me but I just can’t believe how strong your cock is. Hell there is nothing on you that I can overpower at all. This is blowing my mind. You are a muscle god and you’re my roommate.” He continues to stand there, hands on hips, chest jutting out and naked as a new born baby. At this point, I figure it’s best if I follow his actions, so I remove my harness, shirt, and pants, so that I am naked as he is and we just look at each other with huge grins. “Would you care for another ride? Have you ever had anything this big in you before?” He asks. “Not that big but what the hell let’s try.” I say scared of how it may tear me up but thrilled to try. Jeff sits on the bed and I straddle his thighs again. He starts off with strong kissing using his tongue to invade my mouth and overpower my tongue. He kisses my neck and pulls me up so he’s not bending over. We continue to kiss and fondle each other. “Let me loosen you up a little.” Jeff lifts me up sliding my cock over his abs and then he nestles it between his pecs and starts to flex them, not too hard, but hard enough to let me know I’m not in control. He relaxes and slides me up to his mouth. He takes my tool in his mouth in one swallow and start sucking like I’m a lollipop. His tongue playing or should I say wrestling with my cock and making me so freaking hard. With a popping sound he pulls me out and lift me even higher then slowly lets my hole down onto his face and his tongues invades me and plays with hole like an expert loosening me up. After about 3 minutes of his tongue play, he lifts me up and slides me down the front of him. As I get closer to his lap I feel the head of his cock at my opening. His head enters with some pain but I just grab his forearms and squeeze knowing I won’t hurt him. Deeper and deeper he goes. Five inches in and he stops letting me come to grip with the pain. He bounces me up and down a few times sliding his head almost out but then back down. On the last rep he pulls me farther down the shaft. Jeff whispers, “Almost half way in, how ya doing?” “Fine” I grunt Inch by inch he enters me, being very careful not to hurt me too bad. Before I know it, he says, “there all in, how that feel?” “Full” I say exhausted just from him entering me. His cock feels like a steel pole deep inside me. “Ok now let me show you something else.” Jeff calmly says. “What you going all the way in wasn’t what you wanted to show me?” I say slowly able to catch my breathe. So there I am, parallel with Jeff, his hands back on his hips, my feet a good two feet off the ground, my body just hanging on his cock, my hands and legs just dangling from my body. Jeff smiles and I feel my body going away from his, down, down, down I go until I am horizontal to the floor and I stop moving. I can’t believe this; I am just dumbfounded. Up, up, and up I go back to facing his pecs. “One” he says. “Oh shit” I say as the motion starts all over again. 2, 3, 4, 5, 10, 12, 15, 18, and 20 reps with a buck 20. His strength is phenomenal but mine isn’t; as he reaches the 20th rep I blow all over his abs. “My turn,” he says as he grabs me with just his right hand at my waist and starts sliding me up his cock then back down. “What do you think I am your flesh light?” I ask as the motion continues and intensifies. But that is exactly what I am to this mountain of pure power. Up and down over and over, I feel his cock getting harder if that’s even possible. Then I slow down but the pumps are fiercer and impactful. Jeff throws his head back like a wild animal and roars as I feel his hot jizz filling my insides. Jet after jet pounds inside of me like a spurting fire hose. Everything goes into slow motion as his spurts subside. Jeff flops down on his bed and lays down with me still secure on his cock. Both of us breathing hard after our wonderful session. I awake and am still impaled but his cock is soft. I slide up trying not to wake the gentle giant and his cock pops out, sounding like a suction hose. I slide down off of Jeff and run to the bathroom.

Hola. Que tal. Esta es la primera vez que hago una historia, espero que les guste. (La hago en español porque me es más fácil así, además de que es difícil encontrar historias en este idioma y me gustaría aportar) 1 ------------------------------------------------- Benjamín caminaba tranquilamente por la calle mientras silbaba distraído. Miraba como el Sol comenzaba a irse para dar paso a la noche. Venía exhausto de la escuela de su último día de colegio y estaba feliz de por fin tener vacaciones. Ben era un chico de 19 años, bajo (de 1.64 metros) rubio, de tez blanca, de rostro atractivo, sonrisa perfecta y de complexión delgada y débil. Su cuerpo lo hacía parecer mucho más joven y algo torpe, pero su bello rostro lo compensaba un poco. Tenía una pequeña barriga ya que no hacia mucho ejercicio y detestaba los deportes y su brazos parecían dos palillos. -¡Ben! -gritó alguien detrás de él. Benjamín identifico la voz y no pudo evitar pararse en seco, ponerse nervioso y girar la cabeza hacia atrás. Corriendo detrás de él estaba uno de sus compañeros de escuela. Pero no uno cualquiera. Era el chico más atractivo y al que más le gustaba a Ben. Danny. Danny era un año mayor que Ben, pero parecía que fuera mucho más grande. Danny era alto (aproximadamente 1.82), tenía un bonito cabello castaño y estaba perfectamente bronceado. Pero lo que más le atraía a Ben de Danny era su cuerpo. Danny se ejercitaba bastante y tenía un cuerpo musculoso y fuerte. Danny llevaba puesta una camiseta roja ajustada sin mangas y unos shorts deportivos que le quedaban muy cortos (seguramente a propósito) y unos tenis para correr. Su fuerte pecho parecía que iba a explotar debajo de la tela de la camiseta y, debido a que estaba sudado, sus perfectos abdominales sobresalían perfectamente. Sus brazos morenos y con venas se marcaban con cada movimiento, especialmente los bíceps y sus antebrazos, como si estuvieran hechos de roca. Su cadera era delgada, pero tenía unas piernas velludas gruesas y marcadas que parecían ser capaces de romper el suelo de un pisotón. Su cuello era ancho y su espalda aún más, lo que le daba un aspecto de ser aún más grande de lo que era. -¿Vas a tu casa? -dijo Danny mientras se secaba el sudor de la frente y su bícep se levantaba y marcaba con solo subir el brazo. Se notaba que había estado corriendo por su respiración agitada y por todo el sudor. Ben trago saliva y tardo unos segundos en responder. -S-sí -balbuceó nervioso. Danny sonrió y miro la pesada mochila que Ben llevaba en la espalda. -¿Quieres que te ayude con eso? -preguntó señalando la mochila con la barbilla. -Creo que... creo que yo puedo -murmuró Ben- G-gracias. -¡Oh, vamos! -exclamó Danny- Pareciera que se te va a romper la espalda con tanto peso. Deja que te ayudo. -Yo... -Además, esa mochila no es nada de peso para estos -dijo mientras levantaba ambos brazos, flexionando sus bíceps mientras soltaba un gruñido exagerado mostrando los dientes. Los músculos de sus brazos se tensaron y dos bíceps del tamaño de una pelota de béisbol aparecieron. Ben rió nervioso y resistió el impulso de tocarlos. -De... de acuerdo -dijo Ben y con mucho esfuerzo dejo la pesada mochila en el piso. Danny le guiñó un ojo y levantó la mochila con un solo brazo y después se la colocó en la espalda. -Bien, vamos. ------------------------------------------------- Llegaron a la casa de Ben después de unos minutos. Durante todo el camino el chico no podría evitar voltear a ver a Danny discretamente. Admiraba como sus piernas se marcaban con cada paso, sus fuertes brazos y como su poderosa espalda cargaba la mochila sin problema alguno. En más una ocasión a Ben le pareció que Danny se daba cuenta que lo miraba. Pero el musculoso chico solo se limitaba a sonreírle o a tensar un brazo como si no se fijara en lo que hacía. Sinceramente a Ben le molestaba un poco esos actos de superioridad. Tal vez celos. Ben siempre había querido ser grande como Danny y otros chicos, y a veces se imaginaba como sería cambiar posiciones y él ser el fuerte, al que todos admiraran y quisieran. Ben entró en su casa y estrió la mano para pedirle a Danny su mochila. -Gracias por ayudarme -dijo y Danny le dió la mochila. -No hay problema -contestó el chico. Ben se giró para entrar pero Danny lo tomó de un hombro. Ben sintió como la fuerte mano lo hacía girarse sin esfuerzo alguno y se sintió como un debilucho. De pronto quiso haberse girado SOLO cuando ÉL quería, no cuando un grandulón lo jalara. -Lo siento, a veces no mido mi fuerza -dijo Danny retirando su mano- Escucha... Realmente no tengo nada que hacer y si voy a mi casa mis padres me estarán fastidiando todo el día. ¿Podría quedarme contigo un rato? A Ben se le aceleró el corazón. Nunca antes había tenido éxito con un chico, mucho menos como ese. Danny lo miraba con una sonrisa cautivadora y su musculoso pecho subía y bajaba con su respiración. -Eeeh... ¡Sí! Sí, pasá -respondió Ben rápidamente al darse cuenta que se había quedado mudo unos segundos. -Gracias, pasaremos un buen rato, ya verás. ------------------------------------------------- 2------------------------------------------------- Ben se dedicaba la mayor parte de su tiempo a jugar videojuegos, ver películas, masturbarce y dormir. Realmente no sabía que podría hacer con Danny. Pero parecía que él ya tenía controlada la situación. En cuanto entraron en su habitación Danny observó sus películas y le menciono que le gustaban muchas de ellas, hasta que encontró una y le dijo que si la podrían ver. Ben aceptó alegre de no tener que pensar en algo con que entretenerlo y puso la película. Ben se recostó en su cama y se puso tenso cuando Danny se recostó junto a él, demasiado pegado. Estuvieron viendo la película un rato así, pegados uno al otro y en silencio, hasta que Ben desvió su mirada sin darse cuenta hacia la entrepierna de Danny. Vio sus fuertes muslos, duros y anchos, y luego su mirada pasó a donde debía estar su pene. Ben parpadeó incrédulo cuando vio el enorme bulto que sobresalía de los shorts. "¿Alguien lo puede tener tan grande?" pensó Ben entre fascinación y envidia. Se sobresaltó cuando se percató de que Danny lo miraba. Ben pensó que se incomodaría y se iría, o al menos que le pegara o hiciera una broma, pero se sorprendió cuando dijo: -¿Es grande, cierto? Ben sonrió tímidamente y asintió con la cabeza. -Sí, me gusta que todo en mí este grande -dijo Danny como si nada- A veces me excita el solo verme en el espejo -flexiono su pecho derecho y luego el izquierdo repetidamente, mientras sonreía fascinado de su musculatura. -¿También estas tan duro como pareces? -dijo Ben armándose de valor. -Compruébalo tu mismo -le susurró en el oído Danny y flexiono uno de sus brazos frente a su cara. Ben estiró su mano y rodeó sus músculos acariciándolos y apretándolos. Sin poder evitarlo empezó a sentir una erección y llevo su otra mano ahí, masajeando su bulto. Danny se dio cuenta de esto y en un segundo se abalanzó sobre Ben y lo beso apasionadamente. Ben rodeó su cintura con su brazos y apretó las nalgas de Danny, sintiéndolas duras y firmes. Luego acarició su espalda mientras Danny hacía subir y bajar su cadera, presionando su bulto contra el estómago de Ben. Pronto ambos tenían una erección, pero Ben se dió cuenta que el pene de Danny era tan largo, gruero y grande que se había salido un poco por un lado de su short deportivo. "Yo debería tener ese pene" se dijo Ben, incómodo por el pequeño tamaño de su pene "Yo debería estar arriba, yo debería tener ese cuerpo" De pronto sonó el timbre de la casa y ambos muchachos se sobresaltaron. -Ahorita vuelvo -murmuró Ben con intención de ir a abrir pero no pudo con la fuerza de Danny, que no se había movido de encima y le sonreía engreídamente. -Intenta moverme -dijo Danny haciendo lagartijas sobre Ben y besándole el rostro cada vez que bajaba. Ben puso sus manos en su fuerte pecho e intentó empujarlo, pero Danny se tensaba y hacía las lagartijas más rápido, haciendo que Ben no pudiera empujarlo efectivamente. A pesar de que Ben estaba muy excitado se enfado y se escabulló por un lado. -Dije... ahorita vuelvo -dijo Ben algo molesto. Danny se puso de pie y Ben pudo apreciar su pene salir de su short aún más. Era enorme. A Ben le aumento la erección y se le quedó mirando, pero decidió que dejaría eso para cuando atendiera la puerta. -Aquí te estaré esperando -dijo Danny- Es más, me prepararé para que lo disfrutes mejor. Danny se dirigió a un pequeño sofá que Ben tenía en su habitación, lo levantó y comenzó ha hacer pesas y sentadillas con él. Ben bufó como si le pareciera un engreído, pero en el fondo él quería mover también ese sofá. Le costaba incluso arrastrarlo. Salió de la habitación y dejo que Danny disfrutara de su sensualidad.

I had a day off and decided to make this happen. Not sure if this is part one or just a one-shot. Comments and suggestions are appreciated as always, especially on if I should continue. *Zap* The bright beam from the sky attenuated rapidly. And then only a man remained, stark naked in the middle of the desert. But what a man he was. His pecs were the first thing to flex. Slowly at first, those globes of muscle rising, becoming fuller and rounder by the second. He stood there casually, pecs unapologetically standing at full mast, for a solid minute. After what felt like an eternity, he let one drop and proceeded to bounce them. The rest of his body was still except for the massive balloons heaving up and down on his chest. He looked as though he was enjoying himself. With pecs still bouncing (it almost looked automatic now), he pushed his elbows in and let his triceps stand in relief. Like sand dunes carved into his arms, immense and sharp. But they didn’t stay for long. He brought his arms up into a classic double bi pose. Like Everest, mountainous peaks piercing the heavens. The belly of each muscle was so fat and engorged that it seemed to spill over the edges of his arm, barely contained by his skin. He followed with an unbelievable most muscular pose. A dimple formed in his pecs where the major met the minor, while his forearms and biceps formed a thick, pulsing frame for his cobblestone abs. His dick was long, full, hard, throbbing. The head bobbed up and down menacingly, threatening to release. He came without as much as a wince. The cum shot right through his arms still held in the most muscular pose. 2 points. Wallace was not inclined to believe in fantasy or science fiction, but the evidence stood there proudly, cumming into the sunbaked dirt. He had just been out categorizing local species of lizards when the giant laser shot down from space and dropped off, of all things, a naked man. The Adonis from the sky. And he had Jason’s face. It had been a while since they had last hung out in high school, but Wallace was pretty confident that this extraterrestrial hunk used to be Jason. His hard on was leaking pre in his denim jeans. The desert sun shone on his olive skin, the bushy cactus he was hiding behind providing no shade. A second cylinder of light left some clothes on the ground nearby before fading away. They were garments for giants. Jason reluctantly put them on, obviously still wanting to explore his newfound prowess. The white tee shirt fit tightly around his arms and his shelf of a chest made a tent where the fabric draped over it. The mesh shorts, while equally as oversized, did not do much to hide his mind-bendingly massive quads or his apparently constant erection. As he moved to a double bi pose again, the fabric seemed to be barely holding together. -- It felt good to flex. It was somehow right in this body, natural. The constant arousal in his dick felt good, too, but it was almost annoying. His cock was permanently hard and he felt like he was going to cum every second. It was hard to focus, especially when he flexed. Which was almost impossible to resist. Should probably get that adjusted. On that note, they could’ve dropped him off closer to his house, too. Even though they gave him clothes (that barely fit, honestly), he was a spectacle. It hadn’t mattered much in the wilderness when no one was around, but as he walked around the oasis of a suburb he called home he received more than a few stares. He was probably going to have to get used to that. It took him a while to get inside once he reached his place. His hands were just so much bigger now. He thought for a second that he might just bust the door in, but he figured his landlords probably wouldn’t like that… Success. He got inside without breaking anything. But the house he was renting felt a little different somehow. He picked up an old framed picture of himself and his parents from high school. An average looking dude stared at him out of the photograph, maybe a little scrawny. Dark messy hair fell over his tan brown skin and framed his sly smile. He absentmindedly tossed it towards his bed. It flew into the wall and shattered. Well, so much for not breaking anything. It didn’t really matter, anyways. That was the old him. He picked up the photo, dusting off shards of glass and wondering if they could even hurt him anymore. Or if anything could hurt him anymore. He shoved the photo in an old travel guide. He was about to set it down when a thought crossed his mind. He grabbed each end with just his finger and thumb and tore it right in half. Like it was a napkin. The pieces dropped to floor with a thud, utterly defeated. The torn photo spilled out of the pages and onto the floor. Then he grabbed a phone book and tore that apart too. It was nothing. He reached for a pan and was about to crush it, but then he thought better of destroying all his worldly possessions. Clearly he could if he wanted to. Might as well not use them up all at once. As he looked for somewhere to rest, he finally noticed his room was much smaller than it was before. He couldn’t even lift his arms without hitting the ceiling, and he had to turn sideways just to get through some doors. He felt the strain in the boards and the concavity he created when he sat on his bed. It creaked and moaned. His cock was entirely ambivalent about all of this, meanwhile, and it had been silent for far too long. Jason’s balls had been churning non-stop and it was about time they get release. He tried to resist, but it was pointless. So he accepted it, tensing every muscle in his body as the ejaculate forced its way through his cock and drenched his shorts. Shit. That was his only pair. He took them off and started to look for new clothes. -- His hard on had not died down since he began following Jason. Which had posed a real problem, since he was basically sprinting from one hiding spot to the next trying to keep up with this Goliath. Wallace was unaccustomed to stalking. It made him feel a little uneasy. But this was not something you saw every day. He could even convince himself it was journalism if he didn’t think too hard. Which was easy, considering he kept leaking pre like a broken faucet. There was not a lot of time for fixing rationalizations between spurts. In spite of his uncomfortable erection, he found Jason rather easy to follow. It might have had something to do with the fact that he was approaching King Kong status or that he seemed to be blissfully unaware of his surroundings, but Wallace never lost sight of Jason. He wondered how many people had followed him in a similar manner. Though let’s be honest, it probably wasn’t that many. He pushed up his coke bottle glasses and unbuttoned the first button of his plaid shirt. The running joke was that he had raided Urkel’s closet but left his brains behind. Coworkers can be so kind. He pulled out the binoculars that were fortuitously located in his backpack. He never imagined that lizard hunting could prove to be so…lucrative. Yeah, that was the word. And boy was it fucking lucrative. By the time he had adjusted to a position where he could see most of the room Jason was in, the hulking monster had left his Gap for Giants clothes on the bed and began to rummage through his wardrobe. He pulled out a blue tee shirt with a video game character on it that looked like it was sized for toddlers in his gorilla hands. And then he tried to put it on. It was almost comical. Emphasis on almost. Wallace’s cock clearly had a different opinion. The shirt started to rip before Jason could even get his arm through one of the sleeves. By the time the other arm made it through, the shirt had already been transformed into a tank top. A lousy one, too; it barely even reached his abs. Meanwhile his pecs were practically suffocating with the tightness of the fabric. He laughed. And as he laughed he came all over the floor. Fucking ridiculous. Although Wallace wasn’t really in position to be critical right now. He wasn’t quite sure of when he came. He only felt it in his pants sometimes afterwards. Journalism at its finest. Jason’s laughter halted abruptly and was replaced with a stuporous state. Wallace could have sworn that a blue glow came over his eyes. After a few moments of drool-laden daydreaming, Jason grabbed his game boy and a Gatorade and ran out the door. Wallace was forced to follow, pants drenched in cum, binoculars swinging on his thin shoulders. -- Jason had hoped to spend a little more time on his own before they called him back. But it sounded pretty important. He hoped he wasn’t going to explode or grow extra limbs anywhere. They would probably laugh at him for saying shit like that. Jason realized half way down the street that he had forgotten his clothes. He had honestly only noticed when his stiff cock met the breeze. A few minutes later he was back on track, fully clothed, spunk drying on his shorts as he briskly trekked back to the pick up spot. A fierce battle between his Venasaur and a Charizard kept his mind occupied while he made his long journey back out to the desert (though really, it was only a mile). He had meant to bring Pokemon Yellow instead of Pokemon Red, but it would have to do. By the time he left his neighborhood, he had grown tired of his clothes. It was approaching 100 degrees anyhow. How could you blame him? So he ripped them off with one hand, never letting go of the Gameboy with the other. They would give him new ones, probably. -- Wallace started getting hard again approximately the same time that Jason’s clothes hit the ground. His glutes bounced as Wallace watched, and their metronomic, perfectly controlled motion was almost hypnotic. Wallace would have stayed captivated by their mesmerizing rhythm if Jason’s calves had not stolen his attention. Bellies like diamonds, it was hard to imagine he was not moving the earth every time he took a step. And if that wasn’t enough, the broad curvature of his lats swayed back and forth, accentuating their impossible size while each little back muscle flexed individually to highlight the definition. Wallace could have stared for hours, but Jason stopped rather suddenly in the middle of nowhere. Wallace couldn’t see any conspicuous landmarks, but Jason turned off his Gameboy and was clearly ready to ascend back to wherever he came from. And so Wallace ran. He ran faster than he ever had in his life, leaving his backpack and binoculars behind. His little lungs and legs burned in the desert heat, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to give up. By the time Jason turned around, Wallace was already on him, clinging his relatively tiny waist. Jason was amused. He grabbed Wallace by the back of his collar and lifted him up. It was kind of like picking up a cat by its scruff. Jason couldn’t say that he didn’t enjoy it, just a little. Watching the little man squirm in his grasp, knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do. And then the beam came down, and off they went. *Zap* And within a few seconds it was like they’d never been there.

Links to other chapters: Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 Chapter 21: Sam and Casey February 10th, 2022 2035 Hours Right after the presentation, Moster briefly convened the men in the corridor around the corner from the lab. “Okay, what just happened?” asked Alvarez. “Didn’t you see? The Army creamed in their pants at the sight of us,” answered Chad. Hension, as always, stood by, pensively flexing his muscles and dreaming. Chad clapped him on the back of the head. “Ow! What’d I do?” “Pay attention.” “Head back to your quarters, men. Await further instruction. Visitation tonight strictly prohibited.” Moster was specific. He’d turned his broad back and strode away, but all saw as he turned he was grinning. “Strictly prohibited?” asked Alvarez. Moster glanced back at them briefly. “Just keep the volume down.” And he was gone down the corridor towards his suite. “My room, 10 minutes,” Alvarez said to Lang. “Yeah, baby!” They were gone. Hension looked after them, and followed a moment later. Casey was thinking of Sam. He could think of nothing else – the way the handsome young ensign had stared at him. He’d caught his name on the way out. Sam. Sam Victor. Schumacher glanced briefly at Tiffany, who was, as usual, smiling and opaque. “I’m gonna go train,” grumbled Washington. “Me, too,” said LeFevre. Tiffany walked away without a word. Schumacher watched his butt as he went, and turned and walked back to his room, seething as usual. “I’ll join you,” said Waring, looking after Schumacher. “Me, too,” said Jin. “Wait for us,” said Reed. “You in?” he asked Blankenship. “Sure.” He clamped his hand around the back of Eli Meyer’s head and gestured, train? Eli shook his head no, mimed he was going to go to bed and jerk off. Blankenship laughed. “Maybe I’ll join you instead.” Meyer nodded and off they went together, Reed following. “Not gonna train?” Washington called after him. “Changed my mind.” He threw his arms around Meyer and Reed and walked away with them. “Showers after?” asked Obatu. “Whaddya you think?” asked Blankenship. “Wait for me,” said Chad. He turned to Bogarde, who was headed to his room. “Not you?” “Yeah, I’m coming. Wanna get my nipple clamps first.” “Gonna work pecs?” “Yeah.” “I’ll bind your tit clamps if you spot my curls,” said Gunst. “Tonight I’m gonna blast these big guns to the limit.” Abdul said nothing. He went on his way alone, looking for Pedro. His dick was twitching. Casey ran back to his room and quickly brushed his teeth and combed his hair. He reeled off 300 pushups, which took him less than 3 minutes. Then he ran out the door in search of Sam. After a moment he came back, climbed up on a steel chair he kept in the corner, reached high, and carefully adjusted one of the lights on his posing dais. Nice and easy. "That's better," he said to himself. Then he went out again, in search of Sam. October 21st, 2021 1843 Hours The men gathered around Casey, now kneeling on the hard concrete floor before Abdul, who stood before him, cock out, ready to plunge in. Unexpectedly, before he started, Casey spoke. “Tell them to pull up their pants. I want to see their dick outlines in their pants.” A pause. “Pull ‘em up, gentlemen,” commanded Moster. “And when I say so – and not before – they can pull them down again. At my command. Or I stop this.” The White Caps seemed to be working. Moster suppressed a smile as the men in line looked at one another, bent, pulled up their jeans, and fastened them – with some difficulty, as each man was now sporting 10 – 15 inches of wood. The bulges were….dizzying. Casey leaned in closer to Abdul, the Arab’s 15 inch cock now bobbing two inches from his face. “Yeah,” he said. “I like that. I like the view. They can flex, too. Tell them to flex.” “Gentlemen, front double biceps, please.” “Yours too, Sergeant Moster.” Moster raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. Biceps slowly rose, like the rising of 36 suns over distant mountains, hitting the ceiling, filling the room with flexed muscle. “Dr. Lang?” The video cam whirred to life. “Okay. Here goes.” And Casey opened his mouth, and for the first time in his life, took a male organ inside. Abdul, above him, spread his legs wide, and began slowly pumping his hips into Casey’s face. February 10th, 2022 2050 Hours At the same time that Alvarez and Lang were just getting under way with Pose and Approve, Casey was standing in front of Sam in the corridor outside the men’s room. Even now, months after he first arrived in the main building, Casey had gotten lost four times. He worried that Sam may have left the building. And that he’d lost his opportunity. But no, for there he suddenly was 40 feet down the main corridor, coming out of the men’s room. His heart filled with joy as he ran up to him. Sam stopped short, surprised. The 6’-7”, 330 pound bodybuilder muscle giant Casey Rockland was suddenly just there, standing shyly before him, legs spread awkwardly wide, his hands held meekly at his side. He was breathing deeply as if he had just been running. “Hi!” he said, a little desperate sounding. “Well, hello,” answered Sam. Casey was still wearing the white VALHALLA LABS t-shirt he’d worn before he stripped down for the presentation to the brass, bulging with barely sheathed muscle, the gigantic arms pouring out of straining sleeves, the tight white jeans, bursting at the quads and calves, and the black army boots. A light coat of sweat gleamed in the corridor light. Sam tried to meet his eyes at first, but in spite of all his control his vision wandered as he began to take in the staggering proportions of the handsome young behemoth standing before him. The dude was perfect. Fucking perfect. Casey radiated golden-tanned muscle, his taut skin gleaming a natural sheen of rich, deep brown-gold. The sleeves of his t-shirt strained to half-cover the bulging, hard, veiny, cannonball masses of his unreal, sick biceps. His firm round pecs were held hugely high, and Sam could easily make out the shape and slight coloring of the man’s large red-brown nipples. His square jaw was alluring, with a movie star’s cleft chin and a day-old scruff. His eyes shone a deep violet blue. The crew cut was of thick burnished gold. The hands? Each the size of both of his, held together. Below, the outline of an 8-pack of deep, firmly ridged abs pounded through the t-shirt, hillocks of muscle deeply sloping to ridges of darkest ab lines, all tapering to an improbable – no, unbelievable – 30 inch waistline. The boy’s broad lats spread horizontally behind, like eagle wings, the traps above the pecs boulders of pure power, his deltoids powerful triple-headed mountains of strength. And then Sam’s gaze went a little lower – and held there. O My God. There it was again. And now only five feet away. “I was afraid you’d left.” “No, I’m still here.” “Yeah! Um. I see….good!” The fly of Casey’s white jeans wasn’t merely bulging. It loomed with the weight of the heavy member firmly curled, tucked away and packed inside. It was if he was carrying a long, thick, heavy snake in his pants. A boa constrictor. No less than that. Clearly, the boa was currently at rest. The barely-restraining fly was fully revealed by the fly flaps, forced back by the tautness of the fabric. The zipper appeared to be industrial grade. No doubt made of some sort of reinforced steel. Sam stared openly at the ungodly bulge. Then he heard a voice, and he shifted his eyes back up. “So…you’re…you’re Ensign Victor. Is that your name? And, um, your rank?” Casey was fumbling to think of something, anything to say. He stumbled forward, hand extended to shake. “Does that mean you’re in the Navy?” So Casey wasn’t the brightest bulb in the billboard, was he? All the better. “Call me Sam.” He smiled, offering his hand and Casey shook it with firm eagerness. He nearly crushed Sam’s fingers in his vice-like grip, but Sam never blinked. He smiled sweetly. “Nice to meet you,” Sam said. Casey glowed. Sam turned slowly, smiling, and resumed his walk toward the main hall. Casey trotted up alongside. “Where you going?” “I’m under orders to find about more about you men.” “I can tell you more!” “All right, then. Shall we talk? Before I meet with the others?” “Yeah! I mean, you don’t have to talk to them. I’ll tell you everything you wanna know!” “Everything…?” “Welll…..” Casey looked around. “Enough.” “Fine, then. Where shall we go?” “My quarters! How about my…quarters…? Okay?....” “Lead the way.” October 21st, 2021 1845 Hours In the first moments, Casey didn’t think he’d much like sucking Abdul’s cock. The huge Moroccan pushed his hard cock into his mouth without any ceremony. As new to this as Casey was, shouldn’t there be something like…he didn’t know, maybe some foreplay? He knew Abdul was not about to kiss him or anything – geez – but still, as his enormous penis came, hard as iron, enshrouded with thick veins, like a freight train, slow and big and hard and powerful and unyielding, the corona and the shaft pushing resolutely past his lips and teeth and deeply into his mouth and down his throat, Casey wondered, just a nanosecond, ‘Shouldn’t there be a little – something more?’ But, no. Guess not. For there it was, huge and throbbing and hot, crammed down his throat, deep and firm, in one thrust. And no nothing else. Just cock. Not even any flexing. No challenge, no demand to feel his muscles. It was just cock. Big and hard and throbbing and hot and unyielding. At first, Casey was stunned. His eyes went wide and he looked up, his mouth full of cock, even fuller than he’d ever imagined, his lips enveloping the thick shaft of a man’s penis for the first time in his life. Okay, so he had to get used to this. He was beginning to realize they did a lot of this here at the top of the mountain. And he did want bigger muscles, so….. So. It didn’t take him long. February 10th, 2022 2055 Hours Casey practically skipped ahead down the corridor, talking excitedly to San over his shoulder as he went. “I heard about you. The men…the other guys…..you know, in the lab…. They said you were coming tonight. I wanted to meet you before they did.” “Who said I was coming? Who knows me here?” Sam asked calmly. “Oh. Oh, they all do. All of them. They’ve talked about you. Um.” He stepped ahead of Sam and gestured hopefully down the corridor. “I was hoping to …. um….talk to you first. So you want to know more about us?” Sam stopped, turned, and smiled serenely with plain honesty. So the others talked about him. How did they know him? Still, the thought pleased him. “Yes. But principally, I want to know more about you. Personally. And we’d all want to hear more about the project. We’d like to learn more about all of you. Who you all are, where you’re all from.” Sam paused. “But I’d like to hear a little more about you in particular.” Casey’s eyes grew wide with joy. “I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Sam continued breezily, “if I might. You sure you have the time for me?” “YEAH!” Casey said, almost shouting, and then glanced around in quick alert spasms to ensure no one had heard him. Tiffany could appear at any point and stop the fun. Of late, Tiffany had been stalking him….and Casey didn’t like it. Not to play, but to keep Casey under personal wraps. “I mean, yes, sure, I have time,” Casey said again, more quietly. “Let’s go.” “It’s late. Sure you don’t mind?” “Naw. Tomorrow’s a rest day anyway. We trained hard tonight. Got all pumped up for you guys.” He paused, and then added. “I’m really pumped up.” “Are you?” “Yeah! REALLY pumped. Very big. Um…” He was getting ahead of himself. He stopped, shyly, confused, and then continued. “Down here. I think. Yeah, I’m right. I get lost sometimes. This way.” He walked ahead fast, heading down the corridor, looking either way, watching for spies. “Down here.” Sam picked it up and hustled a little behind. He was in complete control of himself. His eyes were half-lidded and studiedly casual. He watched the muscleboy’s dancing butt as he ran ahead of him down the corridor. He sure is happy about something, Sam thought. I'm gonna pose for this dude for hours," Casey was thinking happily. October 21st, 2021 1846 Hours Casey closed his mouth around the hugeness of Abdul’s cock with an eagerness that surprised him. His lips held firm. Hey, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it felt right. In fact, it felt great. He glanced up, and then bent his head down and went to work. He started to suck. Lotta veins here. Nice. He pulled back, managed to get his tongue out to wet his lips. In a moment his mouth was wet and milky with thick gobs of spit. He leaned in an resumed. Wow, this was cocksucking? He really liked it. Abdul began to pump his face, first slowly, then fiercely. His big penis started to glide powerfully, in and out of Casey’s mouth. “Mmmmm,” Casey moaned. “Uh hunh,” Abdul moaned. “Fucking your mouth, boy.” The men stepped closer. “Wow,” breathed Hension, and this time, no one smacked him. So, all in all, and pretty fast, it got fun. February 10th, 2022 2056 Hours Sam could hear some moans and groans drifting from various rooms. “What’s going on?” he asked Casey. “Oh, they’re probably all fucking and sucking dick by now." Casey had stopped in front of a door. "Here’s my room. These are my quarters. You wanna come in?” He unlocked it, opened up and went in. Sam was pleasantly startled. “Yes, of course.” Fucking and sucking dick by now? So much for the claim by Zaftig that the muscle giants didn’t have sex. The truth would seem to be otherwise. He followed the giant in. Casey was waiting on the other side of the door, closing it behind Sam as he entered. “Welcome to my room,” he said. October 21st, 2021 1837 Hours “Breathe through your nose,” instructed Moster. “Yeah, we all have to do it that way or we’d suffocate,” said Lang helpfully. Casey looked up. Abdul nodded. “Do it,” he said gruffly. Casey, on his knees, gazed a little up at Abdul’s black eye. It made him hotter, remembering he was still sporting a nice big shiner himself. “Okay.” He’d never sucked a cock before. But of course his masturbation fantasies had included it since he was 8. His bed sheets at the Home had been stiff and sticky with boy cream produced from midnight fantasies of just such a scene. Him, on his knees, servicing the huge penis of a muscle god. And Abdul’s penis was satisfyingly huge, yes, a full, warm, salty dark log of beef gliding forcefully between Casey’s lips and sluicing powerfully, relentlessly down his throat. It plundered deeper into his larynx than he would have thought possible. Casey would have been startled, if he’d thought of it, at how easily his throat opened up, taking it all, without resistance or gagging, swallowing the hugeness of it. The man’s penis was uncut and slightly cheesy to the taste, and the foreskin proved something interesting to nibble on. It filled his mouth – and Casey had a big mouth – and lay at intervals resting with heavy satisfaction atop his tongue. It grew even larger when inside, too, taking on the warmth and liquid of Casey’s mouth. It expanded and began to throb and play and jump, scraping against his teeth. He couldn’t help but bite, just a little, but Abdul, above him, his eyes closed and his face to the ceiling, didn’t seem to notice, mind, or care. The cockhead should have choked him, or gagged him, or something, but rather immediately, Casey had no problem taking it in, 14 inches of girth capped by a huge mushroom corona. Precum must have been dribbling from the piss slit, because right away Casey could taste cum oozing down his throat, coating his tongue. He knew the taste well. He always ate his own, every time he jerked off, 5 to 6 times a day. Abdul was moaning loudly now and was probably unaware of it. “He any good?” asked Blankenship. “Kid knows how to suck dick,” said Abdul between moans. Casey was licking now, playing with the enormous cockhead with light tongue taps. “Oh, God. This kid is good. Really good. Get ready.” “Look, he don’t even gag,” breathed Lang. The other men nodded sagely. “Pants Stay UP!” Casey suddenly yelled. General groans. All were playing with their tools in their trousers, getting big, hard and ready. Hension was flexing for himself, as usual. Gunst was rubbing his 8 pack, while Jin and Schumacher were unconsciously pawing each other’s packaged schlongs. And Tiffany was there, too. Smiling. Always smiling, his fat big organ poling straight ahead in his pants. Casey guessed he’d have to suck his cock, too, but as beautiful as it was, he wasn’t looking forward to it. He was about 8th down the line. Okay, so that would be later. “No gag reflex on this boy,” said Moster from the back. “That’s a good thing. You can suck cock all night, right, Cadet? And not get tired? And keep breathing? Your jaw hurt?” Casey nodded, then shook his head, confused as how to answer. He pulled back. “I like it, sir” he answered. “My jaw don’t hurt.” “Don’t stop,”said Abdul, his voice now had a note of pleading in it. Wow. Casey smiled. “Okay,” he said, and bent down, his mouth full, going back to the business at hand, his throat crammed, sucking a big cock, as all the bodybuilders in the room watched. The tension in the room added a thick layer of electricity, covering them all. And there in the corner, there was Dr. Irving, as always, shooting video. Casey reached down began to steadily work his own gigantic tool, completely popped out of his baggy sweatpants. “Shit, look at his junk,” muttered Chad. “Big as Moster’s,” said Waring. “Close.” Moster looked up critically. And – he had to admit it. Casey’s cock was indeed close to his own in girth, weight, thickness, and circumference. Hmmmm. February 10th, 2022 2058 Hours Casey’s quarters were an efficiency studio with kitchenette and bathroom. The room was large as befitted a huge muscleboy, but somehow with the lighting and the sofas and the pillows – and the posing dais with all the mirrors, and lighting just so– it was still cozy. It was all concrete, everywhere, true but Casey had tried to enliven it with an LED TV, a computer, some stuffed animals and a few plants. There were dozens of books in a study bookshelf. A small private terrace just beyond double glass sliding doors and dark with night gave a beautiful view of the bright stars above. The terrace walls were high and covered with ivy. No one would be able to see Casey sunbathing naked in the late afternoon sun. Sam could envision him spread out on the extra-durable steel chaise longue, his 12” soft cock languidly lying atop a ripped quad. Sam could see Casey watering his few little plants, desperately trying to keep them alive. A lonely boy’s room. It was sweet and sad. Lonely and alone. No muscleman this beautiful should ever be alone. “Want some coffee? Water? A beer? Juice?” he asked eagerly. Sam wondered if he ever had any visitors at all. Sam nodded. “Sure, that would be great.” Casey headed towards the darkened kitchenette and snapped the light on. Sam’s eyes followed his round, rock-hard tightly jeaned ass swaying as he went with its own inner rhythm. It was like dancing steel. “You have coffee?” Casey nodded, pulled an instant coffee jar from a cabinet, and filled a cup with hot water from the sink. “Yeah. Got it. Milk? Sugar?” “Just black. I see you have beer? I thought caffeine and alcohol were supposed to be bad for you.” “Naw. We can eat and drink anything. It won’t show up.” He stirred the coffee. “Come on in here,” he gestured. “Get it while it’s hot.” It sure as shit is, thought Sam. He came into the kitchenette. “Yeah, we can eat or drink anything. We just train it out. We’re gonna look like this for years. Except maybe we’ll get bigger.” He handed the cup to Sam. “Have a seat,” he offered, and Sam sat down at a small round table in the kitchenette. He looked back at the books in the shelf. “Looks like you work hard.” “I have to. I’m not as smart as the others. I’m pretty dumb, really. I don’t understand half of what’s in them books.” He corrected himself. “Those books. Coffee okay?” Sam sipped, nodded. “Fine.” It tasted terrible. Casey sat down at the little table with Sam. His heavy shoulders and pecs loomed over the table surface. He folded his big hands together and leaned in slightly, shy but – determined – about – what? Sam noticed there were slight tears in the tight sleeves of the t-shirt, still straining to cover the massive biceps. Casey followed Sam’s gaze. “Those guns are pretty impressive,” Sam said. Casey nodded, solemnly, without smiling. “They’re big. Not the biggest in the barracks, but close. They’ve always been big. 26 inches. Moster’s are bigger. Gunst’s too, I think, but I’m getting close to him. I think mine are harder than his, though.” “Impressive.” There was a long pause. “Would it be okay if I flexed for you?” Casey asked shyly. Sam sipped his coffee. “Sure, let’s see what you got.” October 21st, 2021 1843 Hours As he sucked, licked and played with the Arab dick, Casey became intrigued with the latticework of heavy veins that lined Abdul’s lower abs. Hmmm, he thought. Rough. Masculine. Ripped. He thought for a moment of Ramon Ramon, and then Miles Donovan. Maybe he could take a trip back to Raw Weight Gym sometime soon. Suck their dicks, too. In fact, there was also Banks, and Taylor, and the other cadets who wanted to touch and worship him. In fact, there was a whole world of cock waiting for him now. And who was going to say No to a kid as big and muscular and good looking as he was? Casey was, in fact, still discovering his own power. Looking down the line of men waiting, all of them hard and hot, he could see Gunst was next. Looking up, he saw that Abdul was now posing for him, doing a front lat spread, his fists buried in solid obliques. “Yeah, pose for me, big man,” muttered Casey, who continued to suck. “You pose for me, and then I’ll pose for you, and you’ll suck MY dick.” “Fuck you,” said Abdul. “Yeah, and I’ll do that, too,” replied Casey. February 10th, 2022 2058 Hours Casey didn’t need for Sam to prompt him further. He was ready to flex. Joyfully, he stood, towering over Sam. He slowly brought up his right arm, extended it, made a fist, and flexed. “Ka-boom!” he shouted. He flexed it again. “Wham! Bam!” The powerful peaks rose to the ceiling, pumping with sheathed veins. The tear in the shirt sleeve cloth widened a little more, the threads straining to cover the cannonball peak. Then he brought up the left arm, cocked the fist, and flexed it as well. Then he flexed both together, in a massive front double biceps display. “Pow Pow Pow Pow,” he added, whispering now, his gaze never leaving Sam’s face. “Look at my biceps. Check out these huge mother fucking guns.” He was whispering low, his face a foot away from Sam's. Sam gazed. In truth, he had never seen such muscle before. But still he seemed calm. The tendons of Casey’s forearms spasmed as if charged with electricity, and veins seemed to audibly pop as the heads of each biceps peaked. Casey clenched his fists powerfully and grinned, showing teeth. Then he grew shy again. A pause. “What do you think of me?” he asked timidly, still flexing mammoth biceps. “I think you’re fucking unreal.” Casey nodded seriously. “Yeah, I am.” He turned and inspected his flexed arm muscles closely. “26 inches. I have dense muscle fibers,” he reported. “And, um, good bones.” There was silence for a moment. Sam sat still, watching the unwavering young muscleman flexing his biceps. After a minute, Casey looked up, and brought his right arm closer to Sam. “You can touch it,” Casey said eagerly. “Feel how hard it is.” “Okay,” Sam said calmly. He rose to his feet, brought his hand up and touched the enormous biceps head with his fingers. It was impossibly hard and hot. He looked into Casey’s blue eyes, and smiled. Then he clapped the mountainous biceps full with his palm. He stroked, softly and more thoughtfully. In spite of himself his eyes grew wide for a moment. He had never felt any part of any man to be so hard to the touch. It was as if he was stroking hot, smooth iron. Casey looked at Sam a moment, then turned away, lowering his arm. He pulled a 5-gallon aluminum thermos from the refrigerator, unscrewed the top, and drank heavily. Sam watched him. He drank about a gallon, water running down his beautiful scruffy chin, then stopped, and held out the bottle for him. “Distilled water. Want some?” “I’m good.” “Okay.” He drank the another 2 gallons while Sam watched. “Sit down,” said Sam. “Thanks,” said Casey, as if he were the guest. He sat. Both men sat at the table. Casey wiped his mouth. “Hang on a minute,” Casey suddenly said. He reached into the kitchen table drawer and brought out a little vial. He shook out three capsules, grabbed his water bottle and swallowed them down, drinking the last gallon. Sam smiled. “Drugs?” Casey smiled back. “Just some P21.” He paused again. “Wait a minute while I get an orange.” He got up and walked across the room to a bowl of fruit. He grabbed an orange and chowed it down whole, without bothering to peel it. Then he smiled. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said. October 21st, 2021 1845 Hours “Pay attention. Lick it,” Abdul commanded, and Casey licked Abdul’s lengthy shaft from base to tip, as he would an ice cream cone. “Balls,” Abdul added, and Casey leaned in and turned his head up into the man’s perineum, the massive log now lying hard and lazy on his face, extending from jaw to hairline, gobbling at the leathery scrotum sacs that hung and swayed, slapping against Abdul’s iron muscled quads. Lolling the cock around in his mouth, Casey glanced up. The men were gathered around him now. Waiting, their pants still buckled, their flies up, bulging, waiting their turn. Waiting. 17 more cocks, all huge, bobbing, erect, ready to be tasted, probed, learned. His head was reeling now. The P21 was zinging about in his system. It was, after all, an aphrodisiac (although in truth, Casey wouldn’t have known the word). Wow, thought Casey. I like this. I really, really like this. No, 18 cocks. For there he was, in line, at the end, waiting. The monster cock. Sergeant Moster. Moster’s monster. “Moster has a monster….” Casey began to giggle. “Get serious and keep sucking,” commanded Abdul. “Yes, sir,” said Casey. The P21 was still kicking in. Even as Abdul pulled out, shooting thick rivers of white Arab cream, his blasting cum covering Casey’s face, and Blankenship stepped up for his turn, his own monster machine pushing through Casey’s lips, Casey knew he wanted it, too. “AUUUGHHHHNNN GGGHHH!!” cried Abdul, his mammoth pole shooting ropes of semen onto Casey’s face. Casey received the facial calmly. It felt warm and wonderful. He didn’t bother to wipe it off. Cum streamed down his face. Badge of honor. He wanted them all to line up to suck his cock. Now. It was as if Moster was reading his mind. “You’ll have to wait your turn, boy. Before you get your cock sucked in this squad, first you have to suck all of ours.” Casey shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and a moment later, his mouth was full of Blankenship’s ploughing, plundering machine. And on either side of him, Chad and LeFevre were now rubbing their protruding trouser bulges on his traps, impatiently awaiting their turns. He could also barely make out between Blankenship’s hip plunges that Lang was on his knees now, feverishly servicing Alvarez. Obviously Lang couldn’t wait. Okay. It was fine with him. It was all good. He looked up. Blankenship was closest to him, flexing biceps now. Wow, Casey thought. But mine are bigger. Wait till he sucks my cock. Behind Blankenship stood Gunst, eagerly awaiting his turn. Gunst’s cock was one he was looking forward to. He rapidly finished up on Blankenship, bringing him to climax, and then pushing him out of the way, grabbed for Gunst, who, surprised, came forward awkwardly. “Give me your dick, big man,” said Casey. “And let me see those big guns of yours.” Gunst began to flex huge biceps, as Casey took the giant cock in his mouth and began to chow down on it. Wow. Even bigger than Abdul’s. February 10th, 2022 2100 Hours Casey had oiled his arms up just before he met Sam in the corridor. He knew he wanted to show his biceps to the handsome young officer. It was as if he knew Sam would be coming. An instinct. From across the lab earlier that evening he’d seen the gleam in Sam’s eye, saw the once-over that was a little different, saw the stare Sam couldn’t cover at his large package. He knew there would be deep-throating going on before the evening was over. He could hardly wait. But first, he had oiled his biceps. “Play with then. G’wan. Feel my biceps. Have some fun with them. You know you want to.” Casey raised his fists higher and took a step closer. Sam could feel his breath. Sam brought up both his hands, and ran them along the flexed biceps of both Casey’s arms. He clapped the hard peaks, smacked the left forearm, and ran his fingers along a network of thick veins. Casey moved a little closer still. He brought his left arm right up under Sam’s nose. “…….why don’t you lick it…..?” he murmured. Sam gazed into Casey’s eyes. His gaze was mild, unthreatening, encouraging, hopeful, but firm. He wanted his biceps licked. Sam slowly leaned in, his eyes never leaving Casey’s and lightly flicked the biceps head with his tongue. Casey’s eyes closed and he inhaled gallons of air, heavily heaving forward. Then…… R-r-r-i-i-i-i-p-p-p! That was all it took – the touch of Sam’s tongue. Each of the straining sleeves of his t-shirt gave way, and tore open wide. Casey’s biceps burst free of their final confine, both gleaming with power. Sam licked the peaks, ran his tongue firmly up and down mountains of muscle, tasting dusky mineral oil. A droplet of moisture streamed slowly down the left peak. Sam licked it up. “Your shirt’s going,” he said quietly. “Fuck it,” said Casey. The fabric stretched to its maximum length, and split again in six different places, drifting gently down his torso and hanging at his belt. Casey tore off the remnants of the shredded t-shirt and blasted into a front lat spread. “It’s gone. I go through a lotta shirts this way.” "I'm sure of it." “I wanna keep posing for you.” “Go for it.” “Stand back then.” Casey started reeling off poses. First, he showed off his 60” chest in six different ways - front lat spread, most muscular, side chest left and right, crab shots, and slow pec dancing. "Boom Boom Boom Boom," he yelled out proudly as his pecs leaped and danced. His nipples were taut and high and hard. He wriggled and slapped his quads, still encased in the skintight white jeans. He turned full around and went into a lat spread, hands on his hips. “Watch this,” he commanded. His lats flared wider than seemed humanly possible. He arched his butt towards the ceiling and threw his head back, and every tendon of his back leaped out. Veins criss-crossed the canvas of his physique. Sam resisted a momentary impulse to fall to his knees and bury his face in his glorious butt. Somehow he restrained himself. Casey turned back front. “Doin’ hair now,” he said, cocking one biceps up and palming the back of his head with the other arm. Sam laughed. “You’re too young to remember Tom Platz.” Aha. In an instant, Casey got it. This dude knows who Tom Platz is. The dude likes muscle. Casey covered well. “I know who he was! He was awesome! "BAM!” Casey flexed his biceps. “You’ve never seen guns like this!” His enormous muscles danced, gleaming brilliantly in the bright kitchen light. Sam saw the look in Casey’s eye, and knew in a flash that he’d blown his cover. He was a muscle worshipper, too. Shit. Still, he covered well. “How about a little more oil there?” “Sure!” Casey said eagerly, secretly overjoyed. A worshipper! WOW. He whipped open a cabinet door and produced a large bottle of mineral oil. “Pour it on me, baby!” Sam stood and smiling, slowly unscrewed the bottle cap. He poured a generous amount of oil into his palm, and began to apply to Casey’s pecs. Casey brought his hands back to his hips and expanded his chest to its fullest size. Sam smoothed the oil onto the muscle boy. Beneath his hand he could feel Casey’s heart beating, the blood pulsing, the unyielding hardness of warm muscle. He rubbed the oil in. Casey’s pecs glistened, and droplets of sweat beaded into the mixture. Sam poured more oil and layered it onto to his rocky washboard abs. He smoothed the liquid evenly, then rubbed his hands together and took hold of the flaring lats, running his hands down Casey’s obliques. Sam glanced down at Casey’s jeans. The looming fly was beginning to bulge even larger. The men’s eyes met. Casey’s face colored a little. He was embarrassed. “Sorry, man,” he said. “Getting oiled always works me up.” He reached down to his crotch, squatted a little, pushing his big butt out, and adjusted himself. His face was bright red now. He explained. “These pants are too tight. Zaftig made us wear them tonight. Usually we’re just in jocks. Or posers. They’re made specially just for us. So we can fit everything in them.” He was breathing heavily, now, and though he felt slightly humiliated that his priapic eagerness was showing so clearly. All the same he was happy and satisfied that things were going so well. He had gotten to show Sam his muscles up close before the other guys did, and without getting caught. He flexed again his biceps and stood back. “I like doing that,” he said. “Go right ahead.” “Okay!” He flexed a few moments more, and then stopped. “So what do you want to know?” he asked happily. He looked down. “Sorry about the hard on.” There was no hiding it now. “It’s okay. You’re young. It’s bound to happen. Not a problem. Pull your pants down.” “Yeah?” asked Casey happily. “Yeah. I know you big bodybuilders love to pull your pants down, keep them over your ankles, waddle around with your pants over your big feet, showing off your quads…” “Okay!” Casey was practically singing with joy at the prospect of showing this handsome new guy, a guy he’s just met and already was swooning for, his huge muscles. “And my hams, wait until you see my hams…..” he crooned as he pulled his pants down to his ankles. October 21st, 2021 1900 Hours Casey looked down the row of waiting musclemen, shifting nervously, eagerly from foot to foot, and saw that Moster would come last – that implacable huge mountain of a member would be the last of the evening to maraud his throat. He closed his eyes and dreamed as Gunst let loose with a cascade of gism down his throat. Casey swallowed every drop. And was on to the next, who, it happened, was Chad. Followed by LeFevre. Together the two men plunged their cocks down Casey’s throat at the same time. He’d been sucking cock twenty minutes now, on his knees, his face thick with cum deposits, now and then flexing his own huge biceps while he sucked, now and then switching back and forth to Schumacher and Waring. The men watched intently. Casey pulled back and called out to Moster. “Tell them all to pull their pants down. Now. Around their ankles. Keep them down. I want to see their quads. And their hams.” He licked his lips, then wiped his hands on his cheeks and lapped up the cum. He grinned. It was even in his eyes. He didn’t care. “You heard him, men,” called out Moster from the back of the line. He unzipped and plunged his pants down to his ankles. All unzipped. Pants around ankles. Huge quads blazing with veins. And thick cocks, erect, lining up, down the row, one after another. Even Tiffany’s. And even Tiffany’s was huge. And beautiful. “Yeah, lookin’ good,” Casey mumbled, licking his Chad’s cock now. “Take ‘em both, boy,” Chad growled, his good humor vanished. “Yes, sir,” said Casey, sucking obediently. His knees were beginning to hurt. He reached down to rub them, and in an instant, the sweet-hearted Eli Meyer, from the back of the line, was suddenly there at his side with a pillow, which he got from God knew where, fluffing and arranging. He tapped the top of Casey’s quads and, one knee at a time, and never breaking his suck rhythm, Casey lifting each leg and allowed the pillow to be slid under his aching, bruised knees. Eli rose and Casey saw his bobbing cock, eye to eye. “Wanna thank you,” he muttered. He reached up and tousled his hair. He could see Eli was hoping for service. Casey pushed Chad and LeFevre roughly away and grabbed Eli by the hips, pulling him close. “Unzip,” he commanded, forming the words clearly so that Eli could read his lips. He unzipped and his eager, big young muscleboy penis spilled out. Casey’s mouth enveloping his now-at-attention rigid cock. Chad and LeFevre grumbled angrily but backed off, impressed by Casey’s determination. He was done with them. “Maybe we should have gotten him the pillow?” “It’s okay,” said LeFevre as he knelt before Chad and finished the job, grabbing Chad’s cock and enveloping it with his lips. He pumped himself to release as Chad shot in his mouth. “AUUUGHHHGGGHHH FUCCCKKK!!” Casey paid no attention. He worked Eli to a frenzied climax in no time. Thick spurts of cum travelled down his throat. An instant later, there was Obatu’s big black rod, marauding his mouth. “Keep those pants down around your ankles,” Casey commanded. “I wanna see quads. And bulges.” “Yes, sir,” answered one of the men. Probably Lang. “You heard the boy. Pants down. Around the ankles. Keep those cocks covered till he’s ready for you,” ordered Moster. “It’s what the boy likes,” he added. All the while, Dr. Irving’s video cam continued to whirr. Dr. Shaft will pay major bucks for this tape, thought Moster with some satisfaction. Thousands. Casey finished with Obatu, cumming in his mouth, sperm dribbling down Casey’s chin into big pools on the pillow beneath his knees. “AUUUGHHHGGGHHH shittttt!!” "Glad you enjoyed it," said Casey. "Next?" The line moved forward one more man. Moster’s turn was coming up soon. February 10th, 2022 2115 Hours Sam stood back and smiled, still breathing hard himself from the posing routine he had just witnessed. The kid was charming. Was it an act? Had to be. No matter. Casey was right. His hamstrings were sick. Back-blooming with thick roiling mounds of sheer striated muscle, in line with his rock hard butt, sweeping past the back of his head, thick and solid and bursting. But everything about the swole, beautiful young muscle beast was sick. And swole. Sam caught his breath. Casey was sweating now, standing before him in only his bulging posers, his pants still around his ankles. Sam decided to play it calm. “So. How long have you lived here?” “Three years.” Casey was breathing heavily, trying to seem casual, but with his swelling penis smoothing out the few folds that were in his posers, poling ever outward, it was increasingly impossible. “I think give or take, 3 years. Um. I don’t remember. Seems like forever. I got here when I was 17. But I only moved up the hill here a few months ago. When they thought I was big enough.” “When they thought you were big enough.” “Yeah.” “I see.” “Had a really tough workout tonight before the showing. Let’s see. Got here three years ago. I think.” He put the bottle down and started counting on his fingers, thinking hard. “Zaftig first spotted me when I was 15. I just got thrown out of school. I had nowhere to go. He told me to start training heavier, and he got me a little apartment. He paid me to train, said he wanted to see where I would be in two years.” He ticked off a finger. “I trained hard on my own for two years. When I was17, um, yeah, when I was 17, I finally met Zaftig. And that’s when he moved me here to the mountain.” “Why were you thrown out of school?” “Fighting.” He picked up the bottle and drank again. “I put about 12 guys in the hospital one night.” “I see.” “They were laughing at my dick.” “Uh hunh.” Casey changed the subject. “Zaftig thought I had real potential. But there were a few guys ahead of me. One or two dropped out of the program. A few got promoted into ranks. Once I got here, I started really training, training hard. Day and night. Had to follow a strict regimen.” “Sounds tough.” “Naw. I like it. I mean, what else can I do? Not much. I’m dumb.” Casey chugged the last of the 5 gallons. Sam watched him silently. He put the empty bottle down and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I mean, yeah, it’s tough, but not so much when you love lifting like I do.” “Tell me about it. Tell me more about you.” “Hunh? Really? You want to know about me?” “Sure.” October 21st, 2021 1940 Hours Tiffany’s session had come and gone as fast as Casey could get the mean little muscleboy to cum. In his mouth, as it happened. Now Moster stood in front of Casey. It was finally his turn. All the men leaned in to watch. “Men, dismissed,” Moster said calmly. “Casey, to the showers.” The men looked at each other, stunned and perplexed. Abdul grumbled and walked quietly out of the room. He would head for the heavy bag room first and once he’d worked up a sweat, then find Pedro again. “Let’s go pose,” said Lang to Alvarez after a moment. “Yeah. Let’s go.” The two left the room. All filed out, a little perplexed. “Ain’t he even gonna spank him?” Hension asked plaintively as they left the gym floor. “How many times do you have to be told, don’t say ‘ain’t’,” barked Obatu, clapping him on the back of the head. “Ouch!” “Hit him in the face and he’s yours forever,” said Chad. Casey heard the men roaring as they headed down the hall. He wiped some of the cum off his face. Damn, every time he met with these guys he walked away coated with cum. Stlll, it tasted good. Damn good. He wiped his cheek and licked his fingers. “That was fun!” Already Casey recognized Blankenship’s voice. The laughing subsided as the men moved away down the hall. Yeah, Casey thought, it was. He had to agree. “Casey? The showers.” “Yes, sir.” He got up and turned to go, wiping his face and mouth with a towel. Eli scrambled to get the cum-covered pillow, which he threw at Dr. Irving, getting cum all over his lab coat before scampering out of the room, grabbing his clothes. Moster watched as the harried Irving packed up the camera and the lights and left the room, wiping his coat and muttering angrily as he left. What came next Casey couldn’t quite believe. “I’ll join you in the shower in 10 minutes. Get ready for me.” Casey turned back and stared. Moster had crossed to his desk and reached into a drawer for a small vial. He was taking a handful of white caps. He smiled up at Casey. “My guess is that you need a little more intro into what we do here. To relax. Go ahead, Casey. Showers.” “The showers……” Casey repeated dumbly. “Yes. Hit the showers. I’ll join you. I think I need one, too.” Moster stretched, raised his arms behind his back, rotated his massive torso. In his trousers his huge organ shifted lazily. Casey gaped a moment at Moster. “You need a …..?” “A shower. Yes.” “With…..just me?” “I think so. Few things I want to talk about. Privately. Got it?” “Uh….” “Go on then." “Yes, sir!” Casey backed out the door, turned, and and ran down the corridor. Towards the showers. This time, he knew exactly where he was going. February 10th, 2022 2125 Hours Casey was thrilled that an officer as handsome as Ensign Victor was interested in his story. He sat down on the stool opposite Sam and spread his arms out wide. But he paused, perplexed. “What d’ya wanna know?” “Well, do you ever get out?” “Away from here? Sometimes. We’re told to stay away from town, but some of the guys go sometimes. At night. And sometimes we head down to LA.” “LA? Why?” “Some of the men who fund us live there. We show up and demonstrate our progress.” “I see. In a group? All of you at once?” “Occasionally. Usually we, you know, split up. Into smaller groups. And we’re allowed, if we’re discreet, to make private appointments, and we can keep the all money, too.” He stopped, proud. “I’ve made about $30,000. Just in the last six months. They’re keeping it for me.” Sam tried to keep a straight face. “$30,000?” He coughed. “Okay. So ….you hustle?” Casey colored, looked down, and seemed a little mortified. “No, not really. Is it? I guess it is. But some men like to see our muscles in private sessions, and ask us to do….um, things…to them…to show off our strength.” “I can imagine. And they pay you?” “Well, they contribute. And if they want to, um, suck our cocks, or fuck us, or have fuck them, or kiss our buttholes or something, then they have to contribute more.” “Isn’t that hustling?” “Okay, I guess it is. You see, I hadn’t had much experience before then.” “Experience? You mean you’d never had sex with a man before?” “No. Never. Not with anyone. Not until I got here. I still haven’t fucked a girl. They won’t let me. I want to, I guess. I mean, if she likes muscles, I mean, why not? But no, no sex. Not before I got here. But …then…after that – WOW. Like, every day! And I like sucking cock, I guess. And fucking. And I really like fucking tight bubblebutts. And I go nuts when I get worshipped. When littler guys, like you, tell me how big I am. How strong. How muscular. When guys….” He stopped, suddenly mortified. The words had come out in a rush. Maybe he was revealing too much. But Sam was calm. “Go on.” He plunged back in. “I just go crazy. You see…” he paused, now completely beet red with embarrasment, “getting my cock sucked while guys talk about my muscles takes me to……another planet, I guess. I lose all control.” “How?” Sam’s tone was warm, understanding. “I……I guess I get mean. Happy. Nasty. Mean. I mean, I like it. No, that’s not right. I crave it. I crave getting my cock sucked. And I like to show them how strong I am. You know, throw them around a bit. Pick them up. Carry them around, throw them down on the floor, step on them, sit on them. Sit on their faces. It’s easy. And they pay more, too.” Sam leaned in, his voice sympathetic. “You sit on them?” “Yeah….” Casey’s voice was low. “Tell me all about it,” he said. “Okay,” said Casey. He thought back. “It started when they made me start to suck cock. To see if I liked it. And….I did. I do.” And he remembered back to that first night – when he’d first sucked cock. When he’d first sucked all of their cocks, as it happened. He leaned in, and began to talk. How exciting it all was at first…but then how he longed for something more. He knew he could trust Ensign Victor. Sam was, after all, a muscle worshipper. And Casey was close to the best there was. Casey had long dreamed of his very own muscle worshipper. The legend that bodybuilders are aloof and don’t want to be worshipped? Bullshit. Bodybuilders wanted their very own private worshippers just as much as muscle schmoes wanted bodybuilders. If Casey knew anything at all, he knew that. He’d learned it in LA. And now he was going to tell Sam all about it. And then tell Sam that he knew just exactly what he was. And Sam, of course, was all ears, all solicitation and comfort. Even as he felt his own excitement growing. He felt his cock, too, burgeoning in his trousers, until he didn’t think he could stand it much more. But of course, he’d have to stand it. At least until Casey was finished talking. And so, Sam listened. Patiently, as it happened. And Casey talked and talked. As Sam’s cock got stiffer and stiffer.

Links to other chapters: Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After NG "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 Chapter 18: Inside Zaftig’s Lab: The Musclemen Revealed February 10th, 2018 2020 Hours “Are we all here?” asked Zaftig. “Get on with it, man,” said Admiral Walrus testily. “We haven’t got all night.” “Of course. Dr. Irving, are the men ready? They are? Good. Then bring the subjects in.” Dr. Irving moved quickly to another set of double doors that were marked “To the Showers”. He opened the door, and a red light next to it began to signal. “Come in, gentlemen,” he called. A few moments passed. A few in the assembled ranks of waiting officers and adjutants shifted nervously from foot to foot. The sound of distant footsteps, growing closer. The Twenty entered the room in single file. Their audience gasped involuntarily. The Twenty were an awesome sight. All were dressed in tight white t-shirts with “Valhalla Labs” printed across the chest. All wore insanely tight white jeans, white socks and tightly laced black leather Army boots. The men marched across the room to the left in perfect cadence, snap-turned and faced the Officers at full attention. The sight was ungodly to behold. The men were of different nationalities and ages, and they varied in height. One or two were of average height, and one was unusually short. Three were as tall as Casey. The black man at the head of the line was the tallest and biggest of all, nearly 7’-0”. Four others were black, two Asian, the rest Latin or white. Each man was unusually handsome and clear eyed. All boasted extreme mass and astonishing muscularity. Their shoulders were broad and wide, their traps sloped down from thick necks, and their powerful chests rippled with power in their tight t-shirts. They all held their heavily sinewed arms at their sides, again with thick thumbs slightly crooked inward, as if pointing at the looming, floor-pointing bulges pouting behind the flies of their skin-tight white jeans. “Project Herculaneum reporting for inspection, Dr. Zaftig,” barked the tall black man. “Thank you, Sergeant Moster,” said Zaftig. “I think we’re all here. Private Rockland, will you step forward, please?” Sam looked down the line-up. There stood Casey in the flesh, the fifth man down. He looked over at Zaftig, and then shot a quick, questioning glance at Sergeant Moster. He seemed surprised and a touch uncertain to have been called out, looking slightly right and left at his fellow musclemen. No one else moved. He stepped forward. “Sir,” he said, quietly. “Come here, Private.” Casey started to cross the room when he caught sight of Sam, who was watching him evenly. His step never slowed, but eyes lingered a moment on Sam’s face. Sam was all attention. “Strip down for us, Casey.” “Yes, sir.” Unhesitatingly Casey stripped off his tight white Valhalla Labs t-shirt, which popped slightly and deflated with a rush of air when released from his mammoth shoulders. He turned away momentarily and bent over to unlace his boots. All were drawn to the mountainous glutes, the double pockets strained over rocks of muscle, the seam of his jeans sharply marking the likely deep butt crack beneath. Casey stood, turned back, and undid the top button of his jeans. He unzipped the looming zipper. With difficulty he pulled his pants down over his thick quads, looking up a little embarrassed at his clumsiness. “Casey has troubles undressing sometimes,” explained Zaftig with a paternal smile. “He needs clothes that vanish at the push of a button,” muttered General Needling. “Boots next, Private,” said Moster. “Yes, sir,” said Casey. Sam thrilled at the sound of his deep, resonant, mysteriously shy voice. Casey stepped out of the boots, pulled the jeans down the rest of the way, and kicked everything away. He was wearing the white Spandex poser, which fully revealed the top 6 inches of the shaft of his massive organ. His huge penis spilled forward a few inches before disappearing into the smooth synthetic mesh pouch. Now Sam could see that the fabric was translucent, and the shadows of heavy cock veins pressed outward. He wondered for a moment why Casey bothered to wear it at all, but conceded it was probably a pale gesture towards some feeble sense of modesty. Or perhaps more likely, his big baseball balls were just so damn heavy he could use the extra support. Wow, he thought to himself. “Show our guests some poses, Casey,” said Zaftig. Casey nodded, took a step away, and complied. Standing before the Officers, Casey opened his huge arms wide. He balled his hands into fists and angled them toward the group and held the pose a moment. Then he slowly stepped right, and spreading his mammoth legs wide apart, he slowly curled his arms up into a freaky double biceps pose. “Thank you. Hold that pose, please, Casey.” “Yes sir.” Casey stood motionless, his arms steady and upright, his biceps flexing mightily. He didn’t quiver. His eyes flicked back in Sam’s direction for an instant, and then he returned his gaze front. Jesus H. Christ, thought Sam. He’s flexing for me. He grinned lazily across the lab floor at Casey. Casey didn’t respond, but after a moment he pivoted ever so slightly towards Sam. He raised his square jaw just a mite. His massive biceps rippled a little, and grew even a little more, slowly gaining even more size, glowing more intensely, bulging all the more fiercely. Sam smiled. Casey turned his eyes away and resumed his gaze straight ahead, as a single creek bed of sweat appeared in the split head of the flexing left biceps, making its molasses-slow, thick journey down the front of the rocky peak. “Project Herculaneum has been entirely financed by a few private anonymous investors,” Zaftig was saying now. Sam roused himself back to attention. “No public moneys have been siphoned to create the magnificent specimen you see before you now. Casey – and indeed, all these other 19 men we have laboriously trained and developed here at Valhalla Labs – hasn’t cost the United States government so much as a thin nickel.” “I’m interested in his other dimensions,” came a comment, seemingly from nowhere. Sam looked around, wondering who would dare at this moment to refer to the obvious. The other aides froze with tension, but it wasn’t clear who spoke. “Who said that?” screamed Walrus. Two or three of the musclemen smiled a little, and one, an unusually short pretty boy, snorted. Sergeant Moster glared at them, and their smiles faded instantly. Zaftig beamed. Dr. Irving pushed his heavy glasses up his nose, and fumbled with his clipboard. Walrus turned back to Zaftig and then spluttered. “Damn it, no man should be this big! And why the hell are you showing him to us with no goddamn clothes on?” His aides twittered nervously. Emboldened by the ownerless comment, the room lit up with flashes from a few iPhone cameras. “Goddamn it!” roared Walrus, turning around. “This is supposed to be a secure meeting! Turn those damn phones off!” The phones promptly went dark. I should have made them check their phones at the door, Zaftig thought with a sardonic inner smile. He turned to his audience and smiled, all innocence. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice bubbling with feigned surprise and ill-concealed glee. It was all going just as he had hoped – that is, except for the question of Casey’s I.Q., a subject he fully wished to stonewall for the evening. “I apologize. I didn’t consider the fact that you might be offended. I wanted to personally display Casey for you in his full magnificence.” His eyes glinted towards Dr. Shaft, who was pulling nervously at his tie. “What do you think, Dr. Shaft?” he asked. “Impressive. Most impressive,” Shaft mumbled. Zaftig took a few steps around Casey, who towered over him. “Casey, front lat spread,” he ordered quietly, and Casey’s pose shifted, his fists tucked in his sides, his pecs raising up, and his impossible lats flaring wide. He still gazed straight ahead. “Side chest.” Casey pivoted sharply left on his heel and brought his left arm up behind him. He caught the wrist of his right arm at the small of his back and cocked the heel. His triceps ballooned as his pecs expanded. His cock had quivered a little with the turn, and it slowly swayed and came to rest. “Casey’s chest measures 68 inches. Let’s see your back, Private,” Zaftig went on. Casey pivoted again, and there they were – the huge glutes, huge, hard and full. He tucked his hands into his obliques and his blew his lats to their widest expanse. Next to Sam, Tyler was fumbling a little with his fly. Sam didn’t even bother now to arrange his package. His erection thumped in his slacks, poling outward. He glanced at the other aides. Growing bulges were appearing in all their trousers. “Thank you, Casey, you can turn back now. As Casey turned around, Zaftig paced casually. “I see you all may have noticed Casey’s unusually large, well-developed organ,” Zaftig said offhandedly. “Casey, and indeed, all of the men you see here tonight have been blessed in much the same way. Do you feel blessed, Casey?” Private Rockland, surprised to be spoken to again, snapped into attention. “Sir, yes, sir,” he said, his eyes straight ahead. Zaftig turned a little and winked at the group. “And you’re blessed for what reason, Casey?” Zaftig asked. “Sir, that I have a big penis, sir,” said Casey. Holy Shit, Batman, thought Sam. Next to him he could see Tyler staring at Casey as if hypnotized. Zaftig laughed. “An unusually big penis, Private Rockland. Sergeant Moster?” he boomed suddenly. From 1st place in the line up, the Prototypes leader, the huge black super heavyweight, who had entered the room first, stood at sudden attention. “Yes, Dr. Zaftig!” he barked. “Are you blessed, too, Sergeant?” “I am even more blessed than Private Casey, Sir!” “And why is that?” “I am more blessed because both my muscles and my penis are even bigger than Private Casey’s, Sir!” “How much more blessed are you than Private Casey?” “Much more blessed, Sir!” Moster shouted. “Splendid. Thank you, Sergeant Moster. Men?” “Yes, sir!” they shouted in unison. “Are you all blessed, soldiers?” “Yes, sir! We’re all blessed, sir!” This is too much, thought Sam. I’ve died and gone to heaven. He shot a look to Walrus. The old man can’t take much more of this, he thought. “Casey, please demonstrate with a full routine of mandatory poses. Start with front double biceps.” “Yes, sir!” Casey complied, silently reeling off pose after pose. “You should all be aware, gentlemen,” Zaftig went on, “that we have remanded Casey – and all of the men, in fact - from any sexual encounters of any kind.” Behind the posing Casey, the musclemen stared straight ahead, and made no move. No one even snickered. No sex? What was that? Hunh? Sam turned and stared at Casey. He hadn’t wavered, but again he turned his eyes full on Sam. His face was blank, his look impossible to read. Was it an invitation? A threat? Or nothing at all? Sam just didn’t know. He glanced down at the impressive cock filling out the tight spandex posers, and brought his eyes back up. Casey, now in a most muscular crab pose, shot a quick look at him, and glanced down at his own package shyly. His gaze returned, quizzical, wondering. “Sexual relationships are a distraction. Because the men all have needs, as do all humans, we have organized regularly scheduled periods of masturbation. Dr. Irving and Sergeant Moster lead these sessions, under the most extremely controlled laboratory settings. The necessary psychological stimulant material for each man varies, of course. The confidential information has been determined by Dr. Irving in collaboration with Sergeant Moster, and is applied to each subject through headphones and situational simulating helmets calibrated individually. These sessions are critical, as each man has an average ejaculation proponent of the equivalent of six quarts per week.” “Okay, now I know that’s goddamn impossible,” grumbled Walrus. Sam was dazzled. The rest of the group was too stunned to speak. Sweat was now pouring down Dr. Shaft’s face. Ensign Tyler turned beet red. Two or three aides were taking frantic notes. The others just stood and stared and tried to ignore their crotches. “The men you see before you all have Casey’s extreme gifts. In different proportions, different heights, weights, and ages perhaps, and at different bodyweights. But all have the same superbly developed physiques and physical skills. Men!” he said suddenly, turning to the group. “Strip down, please.” The men seemed to hesitate. All looked to Sergeant Moster. “You heard the man,” he growled. “Kick ‘em off!” He began to unbuckle his belt. At his command, all of the men remaining the line-up began to strip. The tight t-shirts popped as if in unison as they were released from the massive upper body of each man. The boots were unlaced and pushed away. 19 belts hit the floor, and 19 pairs of skin tight white jeans followed. Beneath, all wore the same barely restraining white Spandex posers. Cocks and balls bulged forth, each man spilling half a foot of visible cock into barely sheathed pouches. Sam felt a dribble of precum shooting in his pants. “Arms behind backs!” barked Moster, clearly now the leader of the group. He turned to the audience and became one with his men. The Twenty placed their hands behind their lower backs. “Spread legs!” All spread their legs wide, shooting their right legs out in choreographed unison. In front, Casey did the same. “Prepare!” Fists clenched, crammed in solid obliques. “Front double biceps!” All arms slowly rose. And 40 cannonballs of enormous power ball biceps snapped into ungodly peaks. The men faced straight ahead, all eyes high and level, as if gazing into infinity. “Jesus,” breathed Walrus. He fumbled with his watch a moment. The lineup of 20 men stood before the small group, all flexing with massive front double biceps power. “Sergeant Moster, step forward please,” said Zaftig. “Next to Casey. The rest of you, hold the biceps pose.” The black muscle god brought his arms down strode slowly across the room. As he moved, his half-covered organ swayed heavily from side to side in his posing pouch. Behind him, the lineup of men continued to flex without wavering. He stood next to Casey, and impossibly, appeared to tower over even him. Casey didn’t glance at Moster. He stood gazing straight ahead, his arms up and steadily holding biceps pose. “You’ll note that Moster is taller than Casey. He is, in fact, far and away the biggest man here – so he has become this squadron’s de facto leader. Moster is the old man of the group – how old are you, Moster?” “44, sir!” barked Moster. He stood beside Casey, flexing. His arms looked to top 29 inches in girth. Sam reacted with some surprise. Moster appeared to be no more than 27. “I have been working with Moster for more than a decade,” said Zaftig. “He weighs 390 pounds and is 7’ tall. When he first came to me a decade ago, in 2015, he was already an Olympian. It took us years to get the poison of those primitive muscle-enhancing drugs out of his system. But the results have enabled him to realize a depth of definition and a degree of strength unachieved as of yet in any of the other men. Moster,” he asked, turning to the sergeant, “let’s all see a little demonstration of your strength.” “Yes, sir!” Without hesitation, Moster brought his arms down and walked purposefully across the room to the doors marked ‘Showers’. He grabbed a single door and quite effortlessly ripped it from his hinges. Then he turned, door tucked under his right arm, and approached the group. Everyone backed away just a little. “This is circus stunt, Zaftig,” sneered a retreating Dr. Shaft. “Any circus strongman could do this. And how do we know the door was not prepared in advance?” Moster said nothing, but walked straight to Dr. Shaft. “Good evening, Dr. Shaft,” he said, winking. “Nice to see you again.” “Er – good evening, Rod – um, Sergeant. I didn’t mean anything personal…” “I’m sure of it,” said Moster. He flexed his left biceps for Shaft and smiled. Shaft stared at it and, not quite knowing what he was doing, licked his lips nervously. Moster rotated his fist back and forth and popped the biceps head a little. Then he brought his arm down, and offered the door. “Would you like to hold this, please?” He offered the door to Shaft. Shaft tried to take it, but the weight of it was too much for him. He dropped it to the floor, barely able to hold one corner. “How heavy would you estimate this door to be?” he asked politely. The others watched, slightly stunned. The musclemen remained serene. “I…I don’t know…. 80 pounds?” “This door, with hardware, weighs 108 pounds. How thick would you say the wood to be?” Moster’s questions were politely posed. “Two inches?” “The door is actually 2-7/8s inches thick.” Moster took it back from him as if taking a feather. He held it up before him with both hands. Zaftig suppressed a smile. He knew what Moster had planned. Sergeant Rod Moster began ripping the door in two, just as if he was tearing paper. The wood roared in protest. Rrr-ii—ii-pppp! In 10 seconds he was done, each thick hand holding a splintered shard of door. In what seemed a single move, he suddenly hurled each section of the door away from him – in opposite directions. Each door half flew 20 feet across the room and slammed into the floor with echoing clatters. It was too much for Zaftig’s audience. Ensign Tyler moaned, and Sam knew the jerk had just shot a load in his pants. He wasn’t alone. A few quiet cries rose from the group. Sam held back. He always did have great control. He grinned and winked at Tyler, who at least had the class to grin back and shrug. “Shit happens,” he murmured to Sam. Sam chuckled. “Not to me,” he said. The rest of the crowd was in something like mass hysteria. “Damn it, Zaftig,” shouted Walrus. “You’ve gone too far!” “Why?” asked Zaftig calmly. “After all, it was our door.” Behind him, the 19 other men did not move, frozen, legs spread wide, holding their mighty biceps pose. Sam knew they couldn’t have helped but realize that about 10 men watching them had just cum in their pants. The men in the audience looked miserably down at the cream spreading across their uniformed trousers. Tyler glanced helplessly at Sam. And still, Sam had not cum. He had more control. He grinned at Tyler. Tyler shrugged and smiled. Oh, well, he mouthed. Admiral Walrus was not one of them, either. In fact, he had had it. “Zaftig, I want to talk with you!” he screamed. “Now!! In your office. Gentlemen, you will accompany me.” He turned to the enlisted men. “Men, wait for us outside. And,” – he couldn’t help himself - “it would seem that a couple of you babies need to go clean yourselves up. Ensign Victor! You stay here.” “Relax, Men,” said Zaftig. All brought their arms to their sides. “Men, get dressed. Sergeant Moster, take the men back to their rooms. We’re done for this evening.” The shooters in the audience were humiliated but relieved at the same time, more than half of them looking around a little sheepishly. “The rest room is down the hall,” said Dr. Irving. Eight men, Dr. Shaft among them, headed to the door. "Shaft, you're going nowhere," barked Walrus. Dr. Shaft stopped in the door and waited, shifting from foot to foot, the cream from his shriveled little cock melting into his skinny thighs. “You heard the man,” ordered Moster. “Pick it up! Let’s get moving!” The musclemen relaxed, Bent and gathered their clothes. Adjusted huge cocks in posers. Casey turned slowly and walked back to his own pile of discarded clothing. As he went, he absent-mindedly scratched the back of his head. Sam watched him go. His glutes rolled his boulders as he paddled, bow-legged, across the floor. Sam watched his mammoth, perfect butt as he went. It’s all a little confusing, isn’t it, Casey boy? Sam thought to himself. Don’t you know what just happened? Is it all a little more than you can understand, son? Casey picked up his clothes and shambled back into line with the others. He glanced again at Sam, and for the first time Sam noted that Casey was just a little bit cross-eyed. “Why, you poor dumb baby,” Sam said softly to himself. “You’re just a kid, aren’t you?” The musclemen filed out of the lab through the splintered empty doorway. Walrus grabbed Sam’s sleeve and took him aside. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I sure as hell intend to find out,” he snarled, looking back at Zaftig, who was conferring with Dr. Irving. He turned to the Ensign. “Sam, you’re smart. I want you to slip away from the group and track down some of these guys. Start with that blond big boy. Find out his story. What the hell is he, a test tube baby? Zaftig’s lab rat? No grown man should be walking around this goddamn bunker wearing only a little white handkerchief with his fucking balls hanging out, flexing and posing for himself in the mirror.” “Yes, sir. I don’t see any mirrors, sir.” “Damn it, man, don’t take me so literally. That’s what this big bodybuilder guys do, just walk around all day long flexing their muscles for themselves in the mirror. It’s goddamn gay, that’s what it is. The military doesn’t need that –“ “Actually, sir –“ “Don’t interrupt me. Okay, it doesn’t matter if he’s gay or not, if you’re going to get all P.C. on me, but I want to know who the hell these men are and what Zaftig has them doing. These aren’t soldiers from any regular Army I know about. They’d be hopeless in the Navy.” “I believe Zaftig is also in talks with the SEALS.” “Is he now? Is he now? Fine, let it be their problem. But in the mean time I want to know what this so-called protocol is. It isn’t natural! It isn’t even human.” “They looked pretty human to me, sir.” “Project Herculaneum. My ass. Group discipline shot to hell. Go ahead, get moving. I want you to follow these men and find out something about them. Even if it isn’t taxpayer money, this facility ought to be shut down. Goddamn it!” Sam wondered for a moment why the old man was so enraged. Old man sure has a bug up his butt. Hmmm. What’s that about? He let it go for the moment, filing it away as back-story, to be continued. Zaftig approach. “Admiral Walrus. Shall we go to my office? I believe you want to discuss what you’ve just seen.” Behind him Dr. Irving was unlocking a drawer and pulling out files, checking them hurriedly. I wonder what he’s looking for, thought Sam. “You’re goddamn right I want to discuss it. Men, follow me.” Half his retinue had already left the room for the nearest men's room, to take care of cleaning up - and perhaps more business. “Goddamn it!” he swore again. He started to head back to the auditorium. "Shaft, you're coming with me!" "Yes, sir," said Dr. Shaft weakly. “Admiral Walrus?” said Zaftig with preternatural sweetness. “This way.” He started toward a far door. “My office is just through here.” He walked to the door without looking back. The others hesitated and glanced at Walrus, who stared for a moment, and then stomped after Zaftig. Drs. Shaft and Irving followed hurriedly behind. As Walrus went he turned back to Sam. “Get moving, Ensign.” “Yes, sir. With pleasure, sir.” "I mean now!" "I'm on my way, sir." And he went through the door down the long, white corridor, where only moments before, the twenty muscle giants had disappeared.