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Hey dudes, here is part 4 of the story. If you haven't read the previous chapter, here is the link. Have fun. A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Wednesday Leg day: Part 4 I walk into the gym with Troy, both of us with our pre-workout bottles in hand. I can tell that Troy is pumped. He shaking a little and I can’t tell if it’s from the pre-workout or the idea of working out again. “I fucking love leg day, bro,” he says. Yeah, definitely pumped about working out. I love this go get em attitude. “Let’s do this man!” I say. We walk past the front desk and into the weight room. Zeus and Kris are missing so I won’t have any partners today. This day is already starting to suck. Damn. “Von!” Russ yells from across the room. “Kris and Zeus are sick so I’m partnering you with Troy today.” “Sweet!” Troy exclaims as he begins to softly punch me in the abs. I smile and shrug him off. “Alright bro, let’s go!” Russ tells us that our first exercise will be back squats, so we walk over to the bar. “You should go first. I have a feeling I’ll need to add more to what you’ll put on,” Troy says. I laugh. “You cocky bastard!” “Hey man,” he shrugs his shoulders and puts up his hands in surrender. “I’m just being honest.” I agree and load the 45 pound bar with a 45 pound plate on each side. Troy stands behind me in case I’ll need help and I begin my reps. After 10 reps I stop squatting and put the bar back. My ass is already feeling the burn, but it’s a good burn. “Alright bro, let me show you how it’s done” Troy says. He makes his way over to the plates and adds an extra 35 pounds to each side. That’s 205 pounds on his first set! That’s way more than my bitch weight of 135 pounds. “Fuck man!” I say. “Are you serious?” “Watch and see.” He begins his squats and I am in awe. He slides up in down with ease and each time he comes up a power burst of air blows from his mouth. All I can stare at from behind is his ass; it looks so powerful. Each jacked globe poking through his tight joggers. The grey joggers strain as his ass grows beneath them. If only he didn’t have them on. That way I could see the full power of those muscles and view them with pleasure. He finishes his set and sets the weight back down. “Your turn.” I walk to the bar. I’m intimidated by him now. I want to try the weight he just did, but I don’t know if I have it in me. I don’t want to take any weight off the bar because I’d feel like a little bitch. I can feel his eyes burning into my back as I make my hard decision. “I think I’ll try 8 reps with this weight,” I say. “Oh really now?” he says. “Guess my heavy set got your competitive juices going, huh bro?” He claps me on the back. Oh yeah. Game on. “Something like that,” “Alright, show me what you got. I’ll stand close to be sure you don’t fall.” I immediately put the bar on my shoulders and start the set. The weight is heavy and I can already feel it hurting my back. “Shit,” I mutter. “Don’t worry bro, I got you.” Troy comes up behind me and puts both hands on my waist as support. I feel jolts of electricity shooting through where his fingers are making contact. Must be the pre-workout. I squat down and the weight is insane. My legs tremble but I keep pushing. He’s still there for me and supports me through it all. By the 8th rep I am beat, but I feel accomplished. When I put the bar back Troy looks at me with impressed eyes. “Way to go man!” he says. He goes for another ab punch. I let him get me once and then I block his next punch. He’s such a bro. “Alright,” I say. “Your next set.” We blast through our workout. After squats we go to leg presses, leg curls and leg extensions. I try my best to keep up with troy, but the man is a beast. He powers through it all like a train and by then end of it all I am beat. Class is over and I check my phone; it’s 3:40 and my wrestling buddy Ethan has texted me. Ethan: You, me, Jason. On the mats. Today. 4:00. Bring your singlet. Good? It seems that Ethan wants to practice a little today. Back in high school I wrestled a little, but I never joined the team. It wasn’t until I came to college that I found myself liking more and more wrestling. Ethan, Jason and I all joined the team our freshman year, but college gets busy and we never had time for matches so we would just put singlets on once a week and beat each other down when we could. I reply that it sounds like a good plan and walk with Troy to the locker room. Once inside he immediately begins to strip down and is once again standing naked in front of me. Thankfully I am used to it after our last jerk off session. His cock flops between his muscled thighs still swollen from the workout, and I try to avoid looking at his thick meat. “Ready to shower bro?” he asks. “Nah man, I can’t today. I gotta get changed into my singlet for a little wrestling.” I walk to my locker and pull out a blue singlet and begin to change my clothes. I feel him watching me as I pull off my shirt. “Wrestling?” he says as he begins to scratch his twitching cock. “I didn’t know you wrestled.” “Yeah man, actually, I wanted to ask if you were interested in a little wrestling yourself.” My shirt is off and I pull down my pants and boxers, now completely nude. I can still feel him watching me and decide to toy with him. “Like what you see?” I say. His eyes widen and he is completely taken off guard. I stand there nude, dick out and he still doesn’t look away. “I’m just seeing that you are getting stronger. That’s all, bro,” he says and laughs. “Thanks for noticing.” His dick is starting to get hard and his hand is doing a terrible job at covering it. I decide to put the singlet on before he blows. At least I think I’m the reason he is getting hard? With Troy, I actually don’t know. “I’m gonna go shower man. Maybe I’ll wrestle another day.” I’m a little disappointed…Ok I am very disappointed. Guess I’ll have to figure out another way to get to him. “Alright man, I’ll see ya.” I now have my blue singlet on and he continues to stare. My bulge is clearly seen and each outline of my defined abs poke through the shirt. My pecs stand out like shelves. I look great and I know it and so does Troy. After a few moments of staring he quickly turns around and runs to the shower, hand on cock. I have a good idea of what he is about to do. In fact, I think I already hear moaning. Hahaha. I walk out of the locker room and make my way to the mats with a smile on my face. I kind of wish I took Troy up on his offer, but I can’t leave Ethan and Jason waiting. It’s 3:50 now and they are already out there waiting for me. “Sup bro!” Ethan exclaims. He daps me up and throws me into a strong bro hug. After he lets go Jason comes by and fist bumps me. “You ready bro?” Jason asks. “Hell yeah man. Who am I gonna destroy first?” I say. “You mean who are YOU going to be destroyed by!” Ethan says. “That will be me!” Ethan is about an inch taller than me. He has pale white skin, long black hair around his ears and has a similar physique to me. The only difference would be our biceps and our chests. His bicep are jacked as fuck. I’ve measured my biceps and they are barely 13 inches un-flexed and I know just by looking at Ethan that his chiseled arms are at least 16 or 17 inches around. My chest, however, is thicker than his and although he beats me in curls I am a stronger bencher. Jason is dark-skinned like me, but a little lighter than I am. He is a little smaller than me. He weighs about 140 pounds compared to my 150 bulk and I can honestly say I am going to love dominating him. They are both wearing black singlets and are ready to get the fight for power started. Ethan and I get in our positions on the mat and so it begins. Ethan’s arms are powerful so I am at a little bit at a disadvantage, but I somehow manage to take him down by ducking under his arms and grabbing him around his waist. I slam him to the floor and he lets out a puff of air. “Fuck man, you’ve gotten stronger. I flip over and pin him down with all of my strength. We are both sweating now and I’m pumped as hell. I can feel a twitch in my cock. I’ve needed this for a while. I’ve needed to dominate. Ethan looks vascular as fuck. The veins covering his arms and stretching to his pecs pop out of his skin. He is tired and decides to give up so I move on to Jason. As Ethan walks off the mat I noticed that his dick is standing tall, poking through his tight singlet. “Having fun there?” I say. He looks down at his dick and turns a little red. “Don’t worry about it,” he says and laughs. I take on Jason easily. I am fully hard now and I don’t care. If Ethan can be aroused, I won’t be ashamed. I flip Jason over and end up on his back. My dick is in his crack and he grunts and struggles beneath me. This just makes me feel even more powerful. I’m so turned on that I could burst at any moment. I also have this strange feeling that I am being watched, but I ignore it. We continue to wrestle for the next 30 minutes. I’m on my last match with Ethan and I still have this nagging feeling that I am being watched, but I continue to dominate my two contestants. When we are finished wrestling, it is agreed that I am stronger, but next time Ethan knows he can beat me. Afterwards, Ethan, Jason and I are all sitting on the mats dripping sweat. My dick is still hard as a rock and I look down and see than Ethan’s dick is still proud as ever. All three of us are pumped. “Looks like someone needs a good cum,” Jason says. He swings his hand down and smacks my clearly visible dick. “Shut up,” I reply and I begin to laugh. “Ethan’s dick is just as hard as mine.” “Probably harder,” Ethan says and winks at me. We all break out into laughter at this comment. I look up and I see Troy, watching with his eyes wide open in a mix of admiration and shock. I knew that nagging feeling wasn’t just in my head. I wish I had known he was watching us earlier. I’m still hard and I have a little pre-cum showing through my singlet which I really don’t want him to see. I’m freaking out so I pretend I didn’t notice him. “We should get changed and head to class,” I say. “Right!” they both agree. They grab their gym bags and we rush back to the locker room to change out of our singlets. I follow closely behind them and I almost make it to the door when Troy is suddenly standing in front of me. They go in without me and I’m startled as fuck. I thought he would have left by now. "Hey, dude!” I say. “Did you just get here?" “Yeah dude. I just finished showering and saw you on your way into the locker room.” Strange….he lied to me. I know he was watching me wrestle. Why wouldn’t he admit he saw me? Then again, why did I pretend I just saw him? He is wearing jeans and a polo while I stand here baring all in my singlet. All I can think about is what he thinks of my body. He seems confused. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he doesn’t quite know what to say. "So it looks like you guys were wrestling?” he says as he lets out a small chuckle. He smiles humorously pointing at our singlets. "Yea!" I say and laugh. "How did that go?" Troy responds. "Oh, we were just sparring and getting a decent workout at the same time." Troy nods his head in dull agreement. It looks like there is so much more he wants to say, but it seems that he doesn’t know how to express himself. "So who won?" he asks. I feel like being super modest so I won’t come off as a douche. I know he saw that I wiped the floor with my bros, but I lie anyway. "I mean, we just kinda wrestled each other and tried different moves to pin each other and see if we could escape the moves or reverse them. It wasn't really an official match, haha." Holy shit. Why am I rambling? "Cool," he says with a hint of underlying excitement. This entire time I’ve been standing with both hands covering my still bulging crotch. I’m still sweaty and a bit exhausted and just about ready to change. "We were heading back to change now,” I say. "No one really wants to walk around in these suits. It’s a bit embarrassing." I don’t want to feel like I’m rushing the conversation, but standing here is making me insane so I slowly start walking towards the locker room door to hint to him that I need to change. Surprisingly, he starts to follow me. "Nah man, don’t be embarrassed,” he says behind me. “You look like a beast in that!” “You don’t say?” I reply in the cockiest voice possible. “It shows off your pecs better than anything!” He gives a full happy smile but turns his face sideways to avoid eye contact. "Thanks man," I say smiling. "It’s always cool when you encourage me. I…I like being your friend." Troy takes a deep breath in as he searches for what to say next, but his face goes into a trance so I speak again. "Well lemme go change. I smell horrible.. I'll see you in Western Civ later, dude." “Yeah, no doubt.” I make my way into the locker room and as the door closes behind me I think to myself. What the fuck was that?!?!? My phone starts to buzz and I check and see that it’s a text from Troy. Troy: Hey man! We should definitely go running tomorrow morning and work on our back and biceps after. I’ve been thinking and I want to take you up on your wrestling offer. Let spar tomorrow after dinner! Take it easy on me bro. You’re a tough dude. Flex at ya later

Hey guys here is part three of A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains. Here is the link to part two. https://muscle-growth.org/topic/8710-a-college-weight-room-story-the-path-to-gains%C2%A0/#comment-89862 Enjoy! A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Part 3 Outside. Tuesday Morning. Cardio and Abs Day: I wake up to my phones alarm at 8:45. I grab it from underneath my pillow and turn the alarm off. There’s a text from Troy. Troy: Morning bro. I’ll be at your front door a couple minutes before 9. Be prepared. It’s a nice day out. I jump out of bed and take off my clothes; my roommate has left for his early class so I have the freedom to walk around my room naked. I go into my bottom dresser drawer where I keep all of my gym gear and throw on a pair of black compression pants and a blue stringer tank top. Then I grab some black gym shorts and drag them over the compression pants. It would feel weird running in just the compression pants themselves. I can’t have the imprint of my dick visible for the whole campus to see. Before I leave my room, I look into the mirror. Perfect, the stringer hangs low enough to keep my pecs visible. The juicy round globes burst through the stringer and I’m not even pumped. Next, I grab a small bag and fill it with spare clothes and put it on my back, then I go downstairs and head for the front door. I check my phone as I open the door and I see Troy has texted me again. He’s already outside. I go out and he’s standing in my driveway wearing a fitted grey shirt and a pair of fitted bright yellow compression shorts that show a clear imprint of his heavy cock and balls. What… how… why is he wearing that outside? I can’t believe my eyes. He wears the shorts as if showing off his junk is a normal part of his day and I try not to look down at his cock. I gather my thoughts and try to behave normally. “You got here fast,” I say. “I woke up early and I was so pumped that I had to get here!” “Let’s do this then!” I reply excitedly. I really want him to turn around so my eyes stop wandering to forbidden places. “Yeah, let’s go!” he says and immediately turns around and breaks into a run. I start running and follow closely behind. Oh shit, now I have his tight ass to look at. Squats have really been doing him justice. I can see each ripple of his chiseled glutes through the yellow shorts. I try to focus on something else and I raise my eyes to his back. I can see his mountainous traps poking through the tight grey shirt, riding their way up his thick neck and I crave traps of that size. I need to have traps that huge. I notice darker spots appearing on his shirt and he begins to slow down to an eventual stop. “That’s one mile down,” he says. “One more to go.” He then strips off his shirt, revealing his solid abs and finely haired chest. He has a little happy trail that doesn’t take away from the marvel, but increases it. It makes him seem manlier. He turns and run again. I try to focus on other things as we run: the science buildings, the freshman dorms, the trees, the nice 70 degree weather, but his recent shirtlessness has all of my attention. I stare at every inch of his back as we run. His entire back seems to be flexed as he runs and I wish I could stand and punch it repeatedly to feel the power I know it holds. We stop in front of my house again after two miles and I am beat. “Alright,” I say between breaths. “That wasn’t so bad. Now I need to go to the gym and work on abs.” “Abs?” he asks. “I actually need to work my abs, bro. Can I come with?” “Hell yeah, bro! Why not?” We walk to the gym from my house. Troy puts his grey shirt back on and a little bit of my anxiety shrinks. I was starting to lose it from seeing him shirtless. It’s a short walk; takes less than 2 minutes. We show the desk worker our ID’s and head into the weight room. “So what do you usually do for abs?” Troy asks. “I start off with weighted ab crunches,” I say as I walk over to the weight rack and grab a 45 pound plate. “Ready, bro?” “Wow man, that’s a lot of weight. How many reps do you do?” “40.” “Jeeze.” He looks nervously at me. “I’ll try.” My world suddenly stops for 2.5 seconds. Did he just say he will try? I think I may have just found his weakness…Abs. He grabs a 45 pound plate and we make our way over to the floor mats. We both lay on a mat and begin doing crunches. Troy seems fine in the beginning, but he begins to slow down. He stops at around 26 reps, but I keep pushing. He looks over at me as he lies on his back with eyes that subtly hint at jealousy. “Damn Von, your abs are stronger than mine!” I push to 40 and then lay back, breathing heavily. “I know you have 3 more sets in you,” I say. His eyes basically pop out of his face when I say this. I smile cockily at him. I seem to have a lot of control in this situation and I have to keep myself from laughing. “Um...Maybe you have 3 more sets of 40. I’ll go for 20.” “Haha ok man.” I am awestruck that I finally found something I am better at. We finish our sets and move on to doing ball crunches, then hanging leg raises, then Russian twists. Our abs are burnt out so we head to the locker room, grabbing towels from the front desk on our way over. He walks into the restroom first and I take a leak. Troy takes his shirt back off and begins to flex his abs in the mirror. I finish peeing and walk over to the mirror. I take off my shirt and start flexing my abs too. Troy can't be the only one to put on a show. “Your abs are getting solid, bro,” he says. “Thanks man, you aren’t too bad yourself.” His abs are red and twitching beneath his skin. My hands are twitching to punch those muscles, to feel the solid impact, but I’m too nervous to ask. “Alright, I need to get clean. It’s shower time!” he says. He walks into the locker room and I follow behind him. He goes to a locker and removes his clothes for the day. I set my little bag down on a bench and take off my shorts, leaving on the compression pants. I look up and my body stalls. Troy is standing with his back towards me with his hard, chiseled ass out in the open. His ass is as white as the moon and his huge round cheeks look strong enough to crush bricks between them. I stand there with my compression shorts still on and he turns around. “Aren’t you gonna shower?” he asks. Troy is standing in front of me completely nude with just a hand covering his cock. “Yeah… I’m just… I’ve never seen anyone get naked in here before.” “What?! That’s what locker rooms are for!” he replies, both hand waving in the air, revealing his flaccid 5 inch meat. “The locker room is a safe place to be naked and enjoy it and the best part is that people can admire your body and you can admire theirs without any consequences.” He starts flexing both biceps as if he is being watched by anyone other than me; his cock is swinging between his legs mercilessly. He turns around and does a double bicep back pose, extending one of his legs and revealing his heavy balls between the cracks of his thighs. He turns around and I look back at him awkwardly. I notice that his cock is starting to get a little hard and he knows it too, his hand makes his way down and he starts to stroke it. “Let me help you, bro,” he says.” He walks forward, still semi-hard, gets down on one knee and grabs the band of my compression pants, ripping them down and revealing my 4 inch, flaccid, black cock and ass for anyone to walk in and see. His head is extremely close to my cock and I am paralyzed with fear. He looks down at my dick as if it was a normal part of his day and gets back up, turns around and walks to the shower. “Let’s go, man.” I follow behind him and he stops at the first shower. I go to the second, but barely make it past him before he slaps me on the ass. HARD! The sound resonates in the shower area and I jump a little. “Damn, bro. Those squats are doing you justice.” “Thanks,” I say and chuckle nervously. “Same to you man.” “You haven’t felt these beauties man. Give them a good squeeze.” He turns his back to me, his ass waiting to be worshipped. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I grab both of his ass cheeks and give them a hard squeeze. They feel like rocks in my hands. “Fuck,” I say. He begins to clench his cheeks and I feel so much power in my hands. It is getting harder for me to breath and I start to get hard from his clenching, so I let go. “Alright,” I say. “Shower time.” I walk into my shower and he goes into his. I hear his curtain close and his water turn on through the thin shower wall and I start to relax. I turn on my water and I make it extra hot. That was close. I feel the water rush over me and I start to breathe normally again. I desperately need to cum but I will save it for later. After two minutes, I hear something from Troy’s shower that sounds an awful lot like moaning. “Troy, you ok over there?” Uhh…I’m gonna be honest with you because you’re my bro. It’s been a while since I had sex with my girlfriend.” “So that means you’re— “Spanking the monkey, chocking the chicken, beating my meat, yup!” I can’t believe it. I’m in total shock. “Oh…” “Hey man, there’s nothing better than a good orgasm after a workout. Get hard and try it out!” He didn’t have to tell me twice, I was already hard and hearing him moan through the thin shower wall turned me on. “I always like feeling my pecs and nips when I jerk it. It makes my cock drip so much,” he says over the rush of the water. I begin to stroke my cock and then I hear his moaning. I begin to go faster and he gets louder. I start to moan and he hears. “There you go bro! That’s good shit right there. Fucking bust your nuts all over these walls.” I completely lose it at his words and blow all over the place. I moan in complete ecstasy and I hear him huffing and grunting as his wad shoots from his unseen hard cock. “Ugh..fuck!” he say. “I really needed that,” “Me too” “Well it was nice to do it in your company man.” We both finish showering and walk out of the showers, still naked but not awkward anymore. We walk to our clothes and as we get dressed, I see that his cock is still red and semi-hard from the tugging. “We should shower next to each other more often. It’s way more fun!” Troy says. I’m a little thrown off by what he says but I keep it together. “Haha yeah. Sure man.” “So see ya for leg day tomorrow?” “Yeah, for sure.” We are fully dressed by this point and walk out of the gym. Troy and I leave the gym and he fist-bumps me before we go our separate ways. There are so many questions in my mind. I know Troy is straight. He has never shown any sign of curiosity. He has a girlfriend, but why aren’t they having sex? I’m turned on by Troy, but only because he’s a strong alpha and I admire that. I admire how competitive he is and how he pushes me to be stronger. I know that I’m not feeling love for him, but today was strange. He’s never been this close to me before. He literally stripped me down today. Something is changing in Troy and I think I’ll start pushing him a bit to see what will happen. I know just how to push too… Wrestling.

Hey Guy! Here is part 2 of College Locker room heat! Here is part 1 if you have not read it A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Gym Class. Monday Afternoon: Chest day Part 2 We walked into the weight room. Troy, still behind me, comments on how stoked he is that the gym is almost completely empty. He is walking beside me now and I can see that he is pumped. As we walk into the weight room I notice that his fists are clenched and the veins in his arms are pronounced from his tight grip. His biceps and forearms are swelling from the force of his grip and I admire the power in his arms. “Like what you see, man?” he asks. I’m startled. I did not expect him to acknowledge I was checking out his gains, but of course he did. He’s Troy. He would want me to look at his chiseled body. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m 150 pounds of thick pulsating muscle. My pecs press through my shirt like balloons and my legs are thick enough to crush trash cans between them, but I still stare in awe at my gym buddy’s body. “Your arms are vascular as fuck,” I say. This makes him smile in the cockiest way. “I’ve been working on my biceps a lot too,” he says. “They’ve gotten to the point where they constantly looked full when they aren’t even being flexed. Touch them and see.” I reach for his bicep and I am not disappointed. He was right. They felt like rocks and he wasn’t even flexing. I can feel his veins pumping the blood through his rock hard biceps. Each pulse making my heart beat faster. I look up at his face and he has this smug look. Such a cocky alpha. I need to be as strong as him. His 170 pounds made me feel weak in comparison. We continue into the class and make our way to the racks and benches. Our class consists of 8 students and our instructor, Russ. When one usually thinks of a gym teacher, they may imagine a lazy, averaged height, fat, balding man who sits and watches his class put in work. Russ is not this kind of teacher. He is 6ft tall with biceps as thick as his thighs, sick ass traps, and a barrel chest that would make (and probably does make) any man his age jealous. His forearms are amazing and look almost as big as his arms themselves. He is about 60 years old and his age can be seen by his thinning hair that reveals the lightly tanned skinned beneath, but he has not let his age slow him down. “Alright class,” Russ says. “You already know what today is so let’s split up into groups.” Troy and I are split into different groups. I with my 2 fraternity brothers, Zeus and Kris, and he with his two buddies. Zeus and Kris are both heavy dudes. Zeus about 250 pounds and Kris about 200 pounds. Both have body fat percentages about 25% or higher but they are both strong. Zeus could easily out lift me any day with his gorilla chest and tree trunk thighs. Kris has also slowly been getting stronger. His strength nearing my own. Each group is assigned a station. Mine is assigned decline bench press and Troy’s is assigned dumbbell bench press. Zeus begins his set by loading 45 pound plates to each side of the bar. Kris decides to spot him so I am left standing and looking around the room. I look over to Troy’s group. Fuck! The first thing Troy does is grab 2 of the 75 pound dumbbells to chest press. I am in complete awe. He is so fucking strong. I can see his pecs protruding through his white sleeveless shirt. Each muscle is his arms begin to shift as he pushed harder and harder. His face turns red and sweat begins to glisten on it. He pumps out 10 reps and throws the weight to the floor in a fit of power. I can see his juicy fucking pecs twitching beneath his shirt, fuller from being pumped. He stands up and starts stretching his chest out, his triceps flexing out with full force. I’m starting to lose it. “Vonny?” I turn around. Kris is looking at me and I’m embarrassed. “It’s your turn,” he says. I look down at the declined bench and immediately add 20 more pounds to the bar, making the weight total 155 pound. I know I have this. I lay down and start pushing, it’s heavy, but so damn satisfying in my hands. There’s no better feeling than the pump you get from pushing yourself. It’s like having a near death experience. The fucking thrill from it blows your mind and completely electrifies your body. I pump out 6 reps easy and notice that Russ is standing aside watching me. Being viewed by the instructor pushes me to go harder and I pump out 4 more reps. With every rep comes a satisfying grunt from my throat and I can feel the sweat building up between the peaks of my pecs. I finish and when I get up from the bench Russ immediately pats me on the back. “Damn Von!” Russ says. “You used to be so small and now you are so damn strong!” Everyone in the class is looking at me with congratulating eyes. I see troy too, but his facial expression is strange. It’s a mix between two things, admiration and a hint of jealousy. He walks over to the rack and grabs two 85 pound dumbbells. Holy fuck! With a loud grunt he lies on his back and forces the weights above his head, pumping hard and fast. He reaches 6 reps and begins to make animalistic snarls through his teeth. He pumps out another 4 reps and tosses the weights to the ground. His buddies are ecstatic. The skinner of the two, Marv, is especially excited by what he just saw. He can barely get 45 pounds over his head and Troy is a beast to him. He’s a beast to me. Troy stretches out his chest and tell Marv to give it a good punch. I watch as Marv’s fist connects with Troy’s meaty chest repeatedly. Troy has no reaction to the punches, a smile still on his face. So powerful. “Time to move on the barbell bench press,” says Zeus. Class moves by in a rush and I eventually make my way back to the locker room. Troy in already there. He is shirtless and his back is turned towards me. I can see every ripple and bend of his powerful lats and bulging traps. He shifts to grab his shirt from the bench and I see the muscles beneath his skin move. They shift like pebbles beneath a slow moving stream. Smooth… but hard and firm. He hears the door open as I come in and he stops and turns around. His pecs are completely swollen! There are red spots between the peaks and a little bit of hot sweat dripping down the swollen meaty cavern towards his abs. “I don’t know about you, but I got a good pump today!” he says. “Hell yeah man. I feel strong as fuck,” I say. “You look strong,” he says. “Thanks bro.” “Can you grab stuff with your pecs?” he asks. “Huh?” I have no clue what he means. I walk farther into the room towards the bench. “Give me your hand, man,” I hold out my hand. He grabs it and places it between his pecs and with flexes them. “Holy fucking shit!” I say. I can’t help the response. His pecs clamp down on my hands and I can feel the hard muscled grip. I’ve never felt pecs as powerful as these before. He looks at me with the cocky smile he always gives and then asks me to try doing the same to him. I rip off my shirt quickly and let him place his hands between my pecs. I grip his fingers but it isn’t as strong. “You are getting there bro,” he says. He removes his hand and walks back to his clothes. I’m a little disappointed by his response. I want him to see me as I see him. An aesthetic god. “So dude, we are for sure going running tomorrow morning. I need to get my cardio in. 9 am sharp?” “Yeah, how about we meet at my frat house?” I reply. “Good plan man. Good plan” He and I get dressed and leave the locker room. I can’t wait for tomorrow! Cardio day with Troy is going to rock!

Hey guys, I accidentally posted this is the wrong place, but I 'm leaving it here now. So I got a decent amount of good responses from my last real life muscle experience called College Locker Room Heat. Here’s the link to it if you haven’t read it. https://muscle-growth.org/topic/8409-college-locker-room-heat/#comment-85672 A few little things have happened since then, but since things have died down (not many muscle interactions lately), I will begin to dip into fantasy and create a few stories involving more interactions with myself and my gym buddy. Who knows, maybe they will come true one day. Here’s the first new story. Btw I didn’t put my gym buddies name but let’s call him Troy. Also, just so you know; Troy is White about 5 ft 8, brown hair, weights about 170. The narrator is Black 5 ft 5 and 150 pds. More Growth is to come. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gym Class. Monday Afternoon: Chest day Part 1 I walk into the gym after 2 and a half hours of classes. I’m pumped! I downed 2 shots of pre-workout on the walk over and I’m already feeling it. My hands and arms are already tingling as I make my way past the basketball court. I turn left and go into the locker room. As soon as I walk in my heart skips a beat. Troy, he’s here again. He immediately sees me as I walk in. “Hey bud,” he says. He looks at me with wide eyes and a warm smile. “Hey man,” I say. He’s fully clothed but his shorts and gym shirts are sitting in a pile on the bench in front of him. I walk up to the bench and take off my backpack, setting it down on the floor by the bench. “So when are we going for that run, man?” he says this as I reach into my bag. I take out a tank and a pair of joggers. “Oh yeah,” I say. I hadn’t forgotten, but I didn’t think he was being serious when he asked the first time. “How about tomorrow–morning?” He begins to take off his shirt and my breath catches a little as it slips up. His abs are a little more pronounced than before. His shirt slips completely off revealing his pecs and massive traps. He’s gotten a little bigger since our last gym sesh. “That sounds good, man. I’ll definitely text you and remind you around 9 tomorrow.” “Sounds good to me,” I say. He starts to take of his pants and I strip my shirt to change into my tank. His eyes flicker to my pecs and I notice. A sense of pride swells up inside me and I have to stop myself from smiling. I had gotten a lot stronger this month. My bench had gone up from 145 pounds to 155 in the past month and I knew he noticed. I doubted he would say anything though. “Man! You’re looking huge. Your chest is really growing.” He walks a little closer to check me out and my pride swells even more. He’s still shirtless and in his boxers. His pecs and thick shoulder muscles look even better up close. I look down at his massive pecs. There are little hairs around his nips and I imagine what the stocky muscle underneath feels like. I can’t believe he’s mirin me when he looks so huge. “Dude!” I say. “You are way bigger than I am. I know you weigh like 170 and I just hit 150 pounds!” “Nah man, you are catching up. I mean look at these arms!” he says this and grabs my bicep. “Flex for me bro.” What the hell is happening? I think this but I decide to flex anyway. I can’t believe he is touching me. I flex my arm and my relaxed biceps turn into hard rocks. He gives them a good squeeze and says, “Yeah man, that’s strength right there. Your arms are almost as huge as mine and I need to bulk up before you’re as strong as me.” Troy’s unsubtle hint at a competition got me way more pumped. The pre-workout was flowing through my veins now. I’m ready to workout and get this chest pumped! He looks down at my watch and sees the time. “2 o’clock. Shit, it’s time for class, bro.” He lets go of my arm and gives my traps one last slap. “Damn. Man! Getting big!” he says. He walks back over to his clothes and slip them on. I finish getting dressed and we make our way to the locker room door. He slaps me on the back. “Nice back gains, bro.” I smile. He’s mirin me so hard. I can’t wait until we start lifting. He’s gonna love my pump… To be continued.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 TROY Phew, Maggot, I’m glad it’s you who answered your door. I didn’t know what I was going to say to your parents. Oh, they’re at work… and Joey’s at school. So, you’re home alone. Yeah, I brought them. When I got your text, “I need weights. I need to lift,” I knew exactly how you felt. So, I grabbed everything I could But I gotta say, you don’t look so good. Well, you’re all red in the face and sweaty, and your eyes are open wide like saucers… and why are you all covered up in a blanket are you sick or something? Come in and close the door? Sure. Why? You’re dropping your blanket…. Whoa… Jeeeeeeeeesuuuus! Look at you! You’re a fucking tank! Look at your fucking arms! There as big as mine! Your shoulders…. Fuck! They’re huge! And you’ve got fucking monster pecs on you. You can see every freaky striation! And you abs… they’re a freaking brick wall! Your quads are massive! …and all cut up! You can see each and every muscle division! You’re not standing up straight are you? Whoa… you’re as tall as me now! Damn! All this from that blue shit? And it’s still happening? You’re still fucking growing? No fucking way! Yeah, I got some weights in the car. Come on out and help me bring them in. What? You’re afraid someone will see you? You don’t want anyone to see you until you’re done growing? Fuck that! I’m not bringing in all that shit by myself. Throw on a shirt and come out and help me. No one will probably even realize it’s you; you’re so much fucking bigger now! They took your Troy’s Maggot shirts and now you don’t have a shirt that fits? Fuck! I’ve got a spare shirt in the car. You can use that. Hang on, I’ll get it. There. Damn. It fits you like a glove. Holy fuck! I never thought I’d see the day. Did you, Maggot? Did you think you’d see the day when your pecs would be pushing out the front of one of my shirts, when your rock-hard, veiny biceps would be filling my fucking sleeves? It wasn’t so long ago you were just a shriveled up stick! Haha. Fuck, I can’t wait til Hunter and Jack get a load of the muscles on you! What? The weights? Oh yeah. Well, come help me Maggot. What are you doing just standing there? Where are we taking this shit? Oh, you got a spot cleared out in the basement? No one ever goes down there, hunh? Ok sounds like a good spot to set up. Wait a minute, Maggot, don’t take all those fucking plates by yourself… Damn, look at you! Look at you lifting all that goddamn weight by yourself! Holy fuck, you’re getting strong! Can I lift as much? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, Maggot? Watch this! There…! Even one plate more than you took! It’ll be a cold day in hell before you out muscle me, Maggot! Brian’s Journal – Day 67 A cold day in hell before I out muscle him? Ha! All I can say is I hope the devil has a scarf because he’s going to need it before the sun sets today! I’m fucking growing. I’ve been fucking growing non-stop since yesterday, and I’m going to continue fucking growing. I can fucking feel it! I kept waking up all last night. And every time I did, I went to the mirror and I was fucking bigger. I’d go back to bed, wake up again in an hour or so, and I’d be even bigger. Fuck, it felt awesome, looking at those bulging biceps, that big chest, my wide back, and knowing next time I woke up, they’d all be fucking bigger, thicker, and wider with powerful, heaving muscle! Fuck yeah! My parents poked their heads into my room before they left for the day. I lay in my bed, all covered up. Little did my dad know I had grown two huge, veiny, muscled-out arms, just one of which could fucking break him in two. Haha. But I kept all that bulging, rippling muscle covered up under blankets and just grunted when they told me to be good. I’d be fucking good, all right! Fuck, even my grunt was deeper. It wasn’t long after I got out of bed that I began to feel a kind of burn in my heaving muscular body. I needed to lift. Fuck, did I need to lift! My parents didn’t own a weight set do I did the only thing I could, I texted Troy. I texted Troy and he came. Even more important, he brought weights! And my body was fucking burning for them! We set them up in our basement and I was loading the bar almost before we finished putting the bench together. Troy couldn’t believe how big I’d gotten. He knew I was as big as him. Haha. He was in for a fucking surprise. I could feel I was on the express train to massiveness. And the way I was growing, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was bigger than him, way bigger. Fuck, I was going to be bigger than Troy. I felt myself getting hard at the thought. Bring it on! I hopped on the bench, but all notions about how much I could lift went out the window. I’d been benching about 275 prior to today, but I didn’t waste my time with that. I went right to 6 plates, 315. That was Troy’s bench. I thought it would satisfy my body’s hunger for a lift, but it didn’t, not even close. I pounded out a set of 10 with ease. It was way too easy. I needed more of a challenge. I needed more weight, a lot more weight! I hoped off the bench and almost without thinking about it added another two plates to each side. I slid onto the bench and under the barbell. “Maggot,” said Troy. “That’s a 495 pound bench. That’s crazy. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” “Fuck that,” I said. I was in a kind of growth craze. Growing, getting bigger, that’s all that mattered. I was blindly obeying the demands of my body. “Lift this for me,” it seemed to be saying. “Lift this and we’ll get fucking massive!” “I’m going to fucking bench this,” I said to Troy. “Either fucking help me or get out of the way!” “Ok,” Troy said, shaking his head, “I’ll try and spot you, but at 495, I don’t know how much good I’m going to do.” “Spot me?” I laughed. “Just fucking stand back!” I grabbed the bar with fierce determination, and lifted. At first, it wouldn’t budge. I tried harder, as hard as I could. I could feel that this was what my body wanted, what it hungered for. I continued to give it everything I had. I felt the blood rushing to my head, my face turning red, the veins popping out of my neck. And finally I managed to get it off the support. Fuck, I felt my arms exploding with muscle and as I lifted the bar, I could feel big triceps swell out and form deep, thick horseshoes. Fuck, I could actually feel the hard muscles swelling up on my arms… like they were going to blast right out of my skin, like an incredibly intense instant pump! “What the fuck, Maggot,” gasped Troy. “What the fuck is going on?” Troy was in the spotter’s position. I looked up at him with his eyes wide open and his mouth agape. I just looked up at him and smirked. “What do you think’s going on, Troy Boy?” And then, my arms shaking under the weight, I slowly lowered it down to my chest. It was excruciating and exhilarating, all at the same time. I could feel my pecs, two solid mounds of shredded muscle strained to their limit. And Troy’s t-shirt, the way it wrapped around me so tightly, I could feel every hard, bulging muscle on my torso… and they were growing! My fucking shoulders; they were like expanding rocks, I could feel them swelling with size. I could feel my abs, six blocks of steel-like muscle pushing out from my stomach. And my arms, damn, I could feel they were passing big and were heading for huge. I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening to me, but I found it so fucking hot I was really getting stiff. But now I needed to lift the bar back up. I could feel my body demanding it. My face was so pumped with blood, that if any more blood rushed up there, I felt it would explode. And then it started happening; unbelievably, my pumped up arms began to respond to my will and I started pushing the barbell back up. “FUCK!” I yelled while my whole body started shaking. Oh my God! My muscles… the were growing… more and more… so fucking intense! I began hearing popping threads and tearing seams as my iron body started erupting with size and ripping its way out of Troy’s shirt. Jesus, I could feel my entire frame was getting wider, longer, thicker and heavier. “HOLY FUCK, MAGGOT!” shouted Troy. “ARRRRRRRGH!” I yelled as I felt the sleeves around my powerful delts explode, destroyed by shoulders were blossoming into massive, ripped and segmented boulders. And my arms, fuck, I turned my head and watched my arms blast into massiveness right in front of my eyes. I could see the sinew weaving together making those fucking horseshoes thicker, and those biceps bulkier. “Whatever you’re doing Maggot, you gotta stop. You gotta stop right now!” bellowed Troy. “Fuck that, Troy!” I yelled as I felt the shirt get tighter and tighter. “This is your fucking shirt, Troy! Watch what my fucking body is going to do your fucking shirt!” There was more tearing around my torso and a second later, my mammoth pecs just erupted out of Troy’s shirt. They were huge ripped mountains of muscle, sandwiched between my giant arms and engorged with blood as I strained with all my might to push that weight up. RIIIIP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, POP! My expanding iron-like lats, bulging traps and thickening neck, burst out of the remaining pieces of Troy’s shirt, completely reducing it to shredded rags. And then BAM it was up. It was all the way up! I had benched 495 pounds. Damn. “Oh yeah!” I shouted, as I felt a shit eating grin burst out across my face. “Fuck yeah! Let’s see you bench fucking 495, Troy boy!” Then I did another rep only this time it felt easy. “Nice,” I said, laughing. Then I quickly pounded out another five reps before I racked the weight. I leapt up off the bench check myself out in the mirror we’d set up. Holy fuck, I was gigantic! About 6’ 5” and ridiculously wide and bulging! I tore off the shredded remains of Troy’s t-shirt and hoooooly fuck, I was a monster, a fucking muscle monster! I weighed at least 400 lbs. and I was all muscle, every freaking, bulging, vein covered inch of me. My pecs were like round hard melons, my shoulders and back were as wide as doors. My upper arms were at least the size of my head, with thick angry veins leading up to bowling ball delts. My workout shorts had fit okay when Troy arrived, but now my mammoth quads and hams were squeezed so snugly into the legs I was sure the slightest flex would destroy them completely. Of course my shorts were completely safe from my monstrous diamond-hard calves. And my package… I could see the front of my shorts pushed out as far as it could go in a giant bulge, and practically breaking under the strain. “How do you like your maggot now, Troy?” I said, strutting over to him and looking down at his wide-eyed, open mouthed expression. Fuck, look how much bigger I was than him! I was bigger than Troy! I was way fucking bigger than Troy! I was truly enormous, a fucking god! Each and every one of my muscles, from my telephone pole neck to my monster calves, were hard, gigantic, veiny masses! And Troy’s… Troy’s were just big. “Look at me!” I said flexing my massive arms and leering down at him. “I’m pretty fucking big now, aren’t I?” I loved understatement. I was fucking colossal! I hit a double bi, admiring the huge, twin granite peaks as they erupted from my arms. “Think we’ll win the bet now?” But Troy just stood there, apparently unable to speak. And me, I was getting distracted by my shorts. They were so fucking tight, they were really starting to hurt. And there was a recently enlarged caged beast down there that seriously wanted out. I reached down to pull off my shorts. But it didn’t quite work that way. I started to try to peel my shorts off of my enormous muscle encased legs, but I was having serious trouble. So, I slipped my meaty hands under the waist band and, with a heart stopping RIIIIIP, just tore the shorts right off my body, underwear and all. Fuck. I stood there, completely naked, staring at myself in the mirror. And I have to say I was stunned by what I saw. Damn, I was masculine perfection. Besides my killer upper body, I had the legs of a total beast. Each of my huge thighs was every bit as big around as my waist and carved with rolling, rippling sinew. My balls were like two tangerines and my cock hung over them almost to my knees, thick and heavy as a fire hose. “This is too fucking freaky,” said Troy, and then he turned and ran. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going Troy Boy!” I hollered and raced after him. “Don’t run away like a little bitch!” Troy tore out of the house, jumped into his car, and started the engine. No way was Troy going anywhere. He helped me do this! Fuck, he practically made me in to this muscle beast! No way was he leaving now. I fucking wanted him here. That’s right he wasn’t leaving because I fucking wanted him here! But could I stop a car? Fuck yeah, I could! I ran up behind his car, squatted down, dug my legs in and grabbed it below the chassis. Troy put the car in gear and started to pull away. But I pulled back! But could I stop it? I heaved and heaved. I felt every huge, powerful muscle strain in my huge, powerful body. Fuck, it felt like I might burst something. And then I felt it. I was growing again! My arms were bulging out bigger. My monster legs were getting even thicker! And then I was doing it! I was holding back his car! He gunned the accelerator. I could hear the wheels spinning. But he wasn’t going anywhere! Suddenly it sunk in! Holy fuck, I had a hold of Troy’s car and was keeping it back, using nothing but pure muscle! And I could feel it. All that physical power made manifest in pound after pound of steel-like, vein ridden beef exploding out of every inch of my body! FUUUUCCCCK YEAHHHH! “Come back here, Troy,” I bellowed. “Stop being a little bitch!” But Troy hit the accelerator and just kept pouring gas into the engine. I heard it rev up loud and strong. “Okay, fine!” I shouted. “If that’s the way you want to play it, go ahead! See what happens!” I looked down at my huge pecs and started grinning, I felt them getting bigger. The striations were getting thicker, the huge muscle globes were pushing out further, bulging up fuller. And fuck I was rising up, as if I was on some kind of a lift. Holy fuck! I was getting bigger and taller. Just like with the weights, straining my muscles on Troy’s car was helping me get even more colossal. “FUCK! YEAH!” Troy must have guessed what was happening because he killed the engine, jumped out of the car and hid around the other side. “Now you’re hiding? You are such a fucking pussy!” I yelled! Then I got an idea, A FUCKING FANTASTIC IDEA! I grabbed the car again only this time I lifted. Groaning and grunting, I felt every massive muscle in my body bulge and throb. And slowly, I began to make it move. I looked down as my feet, as they shuffled back and forth adjusting for the weight. Holy crap, look at my feet! They were huge and they seemed to be growing even bigger, becoming more solid with heavier bones, throbbing veins, and widening toes! Oh fuck yeah, bigger, I want to get bigger! As I continued to lift as I felt my two calves become rock hard with the pump and rapidly blow up to the size of soccer balls, flaring out larger and flexing behind my giant thickening shin bones. And my knees almost appeared to be shrinking as they were being completely overwhelmed by my massive expanding thighs. Oh my God, my upper legs were evolving into huge undulating, tightly woven masses of powerful sinew, throbbing under my skin, each one trying to bulge bigger than it’s humongous, shredded brother. And as massively wide as they got, they also seemed to be stretching longer, making my already impossibly colossal body even taller. And my balls… They were the size of two large oranges hanging below my monster cock which was about 15 inches long, as thick as a beer can, and only semi-hard. As I lifted the impossible weight of the car higher, I could feel my abs clench. Fuck, they were thrusting out of my stomach, growing, widening into eight deeply carved, solid bricks of muscle that violently heaved in and out with every monster breath I took. Fuck, I checked out my arms, as they gripped the chassis. My forearms were evolving into enormous bulging and swelling masses of ripped cords and tendons just popping with power. My biceps were massive globes of vein covered sinew with peaks alone that put Troy’s entire bicep to shame. My pecs erupted to the size of boulders, huge and ribbed with thick muscle fibers and I could feel my gargantuan lats spread out behind me, like a kind of thick muscle cape. Slowly my ridiculously gigantic arms straightened as I completed a military press with Troy’s car. Oh man, the fucking size of me… I was so fucking massive. So much fucking muscle over every bulging inch of me, now I had become an unstoppable giant, made solely of massive, heaving muscles. Troy looked terrified. I bet he never saw this coming! His maggot was now a seven and a half foot tall muscle giant, more than five feet wide at the shoulders, with huge thick mountainous traps dwarfing his barrel neck. I had grown gigantic, satiated wrecking ball delts supporting enormous, veined wrapped upper arms that resembled giant muscle globes bulging out impossibly huge and hard. My forearms had evolved into a huge conglomeration of thick woven cords, big around as Troy’s torso. My chest had blossomed into two massive orbs of sinew, hard, solid and ripped. My abs had become eight concrete slabs of muscle leading down to my fire hose cock and my grapefruit balls. And my legs… Crap, my thighs had grown so big around, they made the nearby tree trunks look skinny, and I could feel each and every gigantic, powerful leg muscle bulge and ripple under my skin as I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “How ‘bout now, Troy?” I boomed, while still holding his car above my head. “How do you like your maggot now?” He couldn’t say anything, not a thing. “I feel amazing,” I cried, “so fucking strong. I bet I could… Is your car fully insured?” Troy nodded rapidly. I got this giant grin on my face and suddenly I began to squeeze Troy’s car. I began to hear creaking metal followed by a loud pop from the car and then another. A bolt dropped out of it and bounced off the ground. “FUCK YEAH!” I cried as the car frame started to warp. Jesus, I was crushing the car! With my massive bare hands, I was crushing Troy’s car. Then bolts and rivets and engine parts started cascading down in a metallic rain as laughing, I continued to destroy the car with just the raw power in my megalithic arms. “Look at me, Troy boy!” I called. “Look at what your maggot can do!” I threw down Troy’s car with a tremendous crash of metal. Troy turned and ran. “Don’t run from me, Tiny Troy!” I called taking off after him. “Don’t run from your maggot!” I was amazed at how fast my long, hugely powerful legs caught up with him. I grabbed him with one massive, meaty hand, and effortlessly picked him up with my impossibly gigantic muscled-up arms and held him dangling in the air. “Don’t do this to me,” he said. “Please, not out here where everyone can see!” Just what exactly did he think I was going to do to him? “Remember Tiny Troy?” I said. “Remember when we first started and you did this to me…?” Then I noticed it. His reaction was exactly the same as mine had been. He was supporting a gigantic boner. Damn. That’s what he didn’t want out in the open where everyone could see. Tucking him under my muscle pylon of an arm, I hurried him inside and back down to the basement. I set him down and got my first good look at my ridiculously massive body in the mirror. My pecs were two gigantic globes of flesh, sticking out about two feet in front of me overshadowing a range of eight massive muscle plateaus rising out of my stomach and rippling in and out with every breath I took. My back spread out behind me wider than a barn door and about five times as thick. And my legs were two monstrous pillars, as thick around as an oil drum, with all the massive muscle groups visibly writhing and twisting with the slightest move. And every vein, every striation of every muscle group was clearly defined beneath my bronzed skin. My impossibly thick neck was now bent slightly over because I was too tall for the basement’s low ceiling and I was so wide with heaving, bulging, massive muscles, I almost filled all the available space. And as I stood staring open-mouthed at this vision, I felt my giant cock start to lengthen and grow stiff. Bigger and thicker it got, as I stared at my massively muscled, flawlessly proportioned, gigantic, heaving, marble-like muscle body in the mirror. Bigger, thicker and harder it got, as waves of mind searing pleasure began to emanate from it. I flexed and watched the muscle mountains explode out of my arms, then I felt the hardness of my giant pecs and ran my hand over the stone-like ridges of my abs. My new giant cock grew as hard as steel! Oh fuck, I’d never felt anything thing like this before. I mean, I’d been hard before, gotten off before, lots of times, but this… My entire hugely powerful body was practically shaking with the sensation. I felt like I was about to blow! And all this from just staring at myself. And then Troy was there, taking me into his mouth, sucking, licking. I never took him for a cock sucker, but then I guess there’d never been a cock quite like mine, attached to a gigantically muscled, heaving frame like mine. My hands found the top of his head and I started messaging his short, spikey haired scalp while he worked on my impossibly huge and engorged member. I was in that state where you desperately want to release, but you know as soon as you do it will be over, so you hold back. I kept staring in the mirror at my gigantic body, periodically flexing my massively muscled arms, my bowling ball pecs, and running my hands over Troy’s wide rippling back, all while feeling my member throb and pulse with impossibly intense waves of pleasure, building and building and building until I just couldn’t hold back any longer. “AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH FUCK!” I shouted as I came with the force of a freight train, knocking Troy to the floor, and overloading my own pleasure centers nearly to the point of losing consciousness. I don’t know how long I stood there, lingering in the throbbing, pulsing, post orgasmic sensation, before it faded to the point where coherent thought became possible. Troy was picking himself up, and wiping himself off with the towel we’d brought down for the workout. “Please don’t tell anyone about that,” he said looking up at me, nervously. “Tell them about what?” I said, winking at him. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m starving,” I said. “How about you?” “I could eat,” he said, and the two of us thundered up the stairs to the kitchen. Troy stayed with me most of the day, but he left before my parents got home. He figured I’d have enough to explain without him being there and he was right. Did they freak? You betcha! But in the end they accepted me. What else could they do? They took me to see a doctor who looked over my chart as he looked me over and over and over. At one point the nurse brought in a step ladder so he could look in my ears. When he was done he said in a sagely tone, “I see from the school nurse you’ve been on steroids. You should stay away from them. They’re not good for you.” Then he prescribed post cycle therapy. And that was that. When I returned to school the next week, there was something of a commotion as you might guess. But, I figured they’d get used to me in time. The best part was Ralphie. I was 2 feet taller than him now and weighed 6 or 7 times as much, all of it raging, bulging, rippling muscle. Ha! My fucking right arm was bigger than his entire body. My gigantic, veiny bicep was bigger around than his puny torso! “So Ralphie,” I boomed, grinning evilly. “Want to talk about whose bigger now?” Guess what? He didn’t. Graduation came and Troy won his bet. Of course he did, I was way bigger than Ralphie, Simon and all three jocks put together! One dollar. That’s right, this whole thing had been about one dollar. Fuck. I saw a lot of Troy that summer. We did a lot of… experimenting. In between, he taught me a thing or two about wresting. Troy really seemed impressed with my size and power. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t get some of the blue shit for himself. But since I kind of liked being the gigantic one, I never really suggested it to him. And in the autumn, we went our separate ways to separate schools at separate ends of the country. I fully expected to never see him again. Thanks to his training and my ridiculous size, I got on the collage wresting team. But they had trouble matching me with opponents. Finally they lined up a match for me. I couldn’t wait to meet this other behemoth. I showed up at the gym was looking around when suddenly I felt this huge hand on my massive shoulder. I turned around and there stood a man every bit as gigantic and bulging with massive muscles as I was. That monstrous body was a stranger to me, but not the face that sat on top of it. “How ya doin’, Maggot,” said Troy. “I hope you brought your A game.” THE END

NAKED Part One “Whoa.” “Hi!” “Hello.” I stood in my new dorm room doorway with my heavy backpack strapped to my shoulders and a duffle in each hand. “You’re….” “Naked.” The dude in front of me smiled broadly, and proudly. He was undeniably, completely… “Naked.” “Yeah!” “So….” “Why am I naked?” That was, indeed, the second question that came to my head when I rounded the corner and found the naked man in my room. The first question was actually, ‘How did I get so lucky?’ but instead I answered, “Yeah.” Then naked dude shrugged and smiled. “You’ll get used to it. Everybody does.” “Everybody does?” “Uh huh!” The dude simply stood there in his birthday suit, watching me. His eyes (were they green, or blue, or both?) danced up and down my clothed body before resting again on my face. I blinked and wrinkled my brow. The naked man in my room was, easily, the most beautiful human being I had ever seen, either in real life, in pictures, in fantasies or in drawings. He looked…fake. “You’re always…?” “Naked?” “Yeah.” “Yeah!” The naked dude narrowed his eyes as he lowered them, his smile quirking sideways. “You horny?” he asked me suddenly. “What?” He raised his arm (his well-muscled, golden-tanned, thick and powerful arm) and motioned towards my uncomfortable crotch. “Your dick is getting hard.” I probably blushed. “No, it’s…” “Yeah, it is,” he insisted. “It’s getting really hard. Nice and hard and huge. Anyone could see that.” He looked back up and the smile returned. It increased his unusual beauty ten-fold. “Thanks!” “You’re…welcome?” “It happens a lot,” he explained, folding his meaty arms across his massive chest as he settled his butt on the desk facing the window. Did the guy spend all his time lifting weights or something? “Almost every time I meet someone new. Well, I mean, a new guy. Since, you know….” One eyebrow arched and he jerked his chin forward with a cocky grin. I could feel my cock pressing urgently and uncomfortably against my tight jeans. “Chicks don’t get erections,” I concluded. “Right,” he shrugged, then he lowered his arms and placed his hands on the edge of the desk behind him. The thick and powerful muscles lining his arms flexed into definition. “But they get horny too, only I can tell in different ways.” I looked down because the naked dude’s dick was also starting to swell and ripen in a most obvious fashion. It twisted and lengthened, swelling with mass and growing shiny as the skin stretched to encompass its growth. The naked man looked down, too. “Yeah, I’m constantly horny, only I can control it usually. Except when someone else is horny, and then I figure, like, what the fuck, y’know?” “Sure,” I agreed. That seemed logical. I could not take my eyes off the naked dude’s dick. It was…enormous. Or, to be more accurate, it had started out at enormous and was quickly approaching gargantuan. “You wanna fuck?” my roommate asked. His other eyebrow arched to join its companion. His cocky grin widened into a toothy smile. A rush of blood heated my whole body. “What?” “You wanna fuck?” he repeated. He stated the question simply and openly, not with a whisper or any shame at all. His dick was at a ninety-degree angle, now, throbbing hard and constant like a beating heart and pointing is fat helmet directly at me. “Or I could suck your dick. Or you could suck mine.” He reached forward and grabbed himself. His grip barely fit around his hard-on. “Only sucking mine takes a bit of practice.” He looked down, watching himself swell. “I can take most of it now, but at first I pretty much always gagged on it.” “On your own cock.” He nodded. “When I suck it.” “When you suck your own cock.” “Yeah!” He said it as if everyone could do it, and he shrugged again. It looked like a mountain range moving. His grip tightened on the fat shaft. It made the head swell and redden. “Like I said, I’m always horny and there’s not always someone else around to, like, help me out.” The pad of his thumb was now rubbing at the fleshy tip of his dick, spreading its tiny mouth open. His cock had started to rise up, and seemed still to be growing larger. “So you just….” “Suck my own cock,” he concluded. He pulled his cock upright and let a long, thick string of spit flow from his beautiful pursed lips to drizzle on his thick cock. It mingled with a spill of something shiny and thick, like honey, that was now drooling steadily from the mouth of his serpent. It was clearly evident as the head of his cock climbed up his muscled frame that he was still growing as he slowly, leisurely, and unashamedly stroked his meat. “Of course, if I fuck you that’s probably gonna hurt at first, too.” “Probably,” I agreed, watching the naked dude’s prick continue to swell and lengthen. It had now surpasses gargantuan and was aiming for monstrous. The naked man nodded as he looked down at his swelling monster. “Guys are always scared at first, but kind of anxious as well. Girls, too. I mean, I’m pretty huge, so I can see how someone could have doubts that we’re gonna be able to fit.” He squeezed himself again, this time failing to even dent the rock-hard meat that continued swelling larger and larger. “Yeah,” I had to agree. “How big…?” My roommate looked up and grinned. “I’m at about ten inches now.” “Now?” His grin widened into a toothy smile. “I’m not there, yet.” “Not there….yet?” “Got some more to go,” he said. It wasn’t a boast, it was merely a fact he was providing. “But it’s weird.” “Weird?” “I mean, I guess it hurts at first, but then a few seconds later they feel better than they’ve ever felt before. Which I think is pretty cool.” “I guess so.” “Yeah, at first they’re all like, kind of, clenched up but then I start to fuck them, moving in and out,” he thrust his hips as he said this, “pumping out some more pre cause I’m horned up, lubing up your chute, and something happens and you’ll just…love it.” “When you….” “When I fuck you.” The naked guy tilted his handsome head on his muscular neck. “So…which one?” A thick drop of pre swelled at the mouth of his huge hard-on and drooled to the carpet. I watched it fall, leaving a long string like honey that snapped all at once and wrapped itself around his thick shaft. “Which one, what?” “You wanna fuck or you wanna suck?” “I…uh….” “You want me to choose?” “I’m not sure….” “How about I start by sucking on your dick and we see what happens from there?” He lifted his handsome bulk from the desk and strode towards me suddenly and I realized how much bigger the naked dude was than me. How much taller, how much wider, how much thicker and more muscular. How much more powerful. The naked dude set his strong hands to my pants and because pulling them open after unbuckling his belt. “I’m Lance, by the way.” “Lance?” “Yeah.” He leaned his face down to mine and pressed his lips against my slightly parted mouth, kissing me passionately. “Fuck, Dave, you have me horned up like a fucking stud rhino. Feels like I could fuck a hole through concrete.” I could feel Lance’s cock pressing against my belly. It was hard as steel and hot as lava. Easily a foot long, at least. My heart flipped over at the thought of Lance pushing himself inside my untrained ass. Lance had my pants open and he looked down. “Fuck dude,” he said, happily. He grabbed my hard-on and pulled it free of my underwear, stroking and squeezing me with no pretense at embarrassment or shyness. Then Lance dropped to his knee, bent forward, opened his mouth and swallowed me down. My eyes rolled up in their sockets as my naked roommate began to suck earnestly on my swollen dick. Lance was groaning with obvious pleasure as he sucked, licked, stroked, and suctioned onto my slick, red, hard-on like a starving man. Lance paused in his labors and looked up. “Fuck dude, you are so fucking hot.” I gasped and Lance smiled, moving his hand up under my shirt to caress my belly. “That’s okay, dude. No need to speak. I got this.” Lance reached around and grabbed onto the flesh of my butt, kneading and caressing me roughly. His long fingers reached between my ass cheeks and rubbed against my quivering hole. Then Lance bent his head back down and started to go to town on my raging hard-on, and whether it was from my roommate’s talented mouth, my roommate’s beautiful body, my roommate’s unabashed eagerness and sexiness, or my roommate’s open willingness to go down on me only moments after meeting, I felt the unavoidable and inevitable tingle of the delivery of a gushing pump of cum from my balls start to throb in my cock. Lance squeezed me hard, and took his mouth from my prick. “Not yet, dude,” he advised, “I got some more work to do.” He squeezed harder and my toes curled. I watched veins popping up on Lance’s meaty forearms and his naked biceps and triceps bulged with sudden power. “You hold on there, buddy. Hold on for a few more minutes and I’m gonna give you a blowjob like you’ve never had in your life. Can you do that for me?” “I think….” “Good boy,” Lance answered, and then he was back at the job at hand. He pushed two fingers into my ass and wiggled them with talented precision. “This is gonna be great for us both, bro. This is gonna feel amazing to you, and this is gonna make me get fucking huge.” The shining tense sensation of approaching orgasm didn’t abate at all. I was held dangling there at the very edge of the explosion as my need to cum kept building. I had never experienced anything like this before, and my body began to shake and sweat with the strain. My balls felt like lead weights and my dick was white hot. The sounds of happy groans and satisfied slurping continued. It felt like there were three or four mouths applying their tongues to my cock. Four or five hands were stroking me. There was a tongue on my butt hole, lapping at my tenderness and licking my taint. My balls were inside the wet warmth of another mouth, and I closed my eyes tightly and balled my hands into fists attempting to hold myself back. I heard Lance’s voice then, even though none of the sensations that were being applied to my cock and balls and ass stopped for one second. “Get ready, buddy,” Lance said. “Get your balls ready to explode. Get ready to give me everything you’ve got.” Something wet and wonderful surrounded my entire cock and I gasped again as some trigger was pulled and I emptied my balls in one, long, non-stop, extended orgasmic explosion. I didn’t just pump the shots of cream from my balls, they were squeezed dry and I came in one, long, fat rope that I realized Lance was swallowing as quickly as I could deliver it. I looked down and my eyes widened as I watched my naked roommate’s shoulders begin to swell. I watched the individual muscle rise and the indentation between each lobe deepen. I watched Lance’s chest swelling forward as my roommate gulped and guzzled my load down. Lance was growing bigger. I could see it happening. At first I doubted my own eyes, some trick of the light, some dazzlement resulting from this super orgasm I was experiencing. But as my delivery of cream went on, there was no doubt in my mind. No doubt at all. Lance was getting bigger. My balls emptied themselves at last and Lance licked every drop from the tip of my still-raging hard-on. Then Lance sat back, his ass on his heels, and closed his eyes and licked his lips. “Fuck dude,” he said softly. “That was fucking awesome.” “What. The. Fuck?” Lance opened his eyes and smiled at me. His neck was thick and muscular and his shoulders and chest were shredded. “Yeah,” he said.

Chapter 1 James didn’t have much going for him. He wasn’t large. He wasn’t small. He wasn’t even ugly. He was alright looking by most accounts; he just didn’t really stand out. It worked all right in high school since he could slink into the crowd and avoid bullies, but back there he had had all his old friends. His relative anonymity was getting to be tiresome now that he was in a new city and a new school. He had been so looking forward to college because he had heard about all the great parties that he could go to, but having gone to a few already, he could safely say they weren’t any better than the ones back in high school. He spent the entire time with his back to the wall and a red solo cup in one hand. James let out a sigh as he trudged into his last class of the day. It wasn’t even a real class; it was just a TA session. Every Wednesday night, his physics class had an extra hour long session tacked onto his already tedious schedule. The only plus side was that the nerdy grad student who instructed the class during this period was hella cute. The black haired guy was a little on the chubby side, but he carried his weight well. His small, round, thin, gold rimmed glasses gave him an endearingly goofy look like something out of a children’s fantasy novel. Even the guy’s name was cute. When James had seen the name “Mathis” on his syllable he had expected some dour old geezer or some Axe’d up dudebro. He was very pleasantly surprised when the cuddly looking grad student had shown up and insisted they all refer to him by his first name, Donnel. James threw his book bag under one of the desks and gave a nod of recognition to the dude seated two seats down. This was the closest thing he had to a friend this early into his new school life. With any luck, by midterms they would even know each other’s names. James whipped out his smart phone and began flipping through his various apps. An errant porn gif crossed his dash which caused him to hastily turn off the screen. The last thing he needed was one of the other students to catch him staring at big, floppy, dongs in the middle of class. He took a quick glance around to be sure no one had seen him; he seemed to be in the clear. He let out a sigh, and waited for his dick to decide to forget what he had seen. His own respectable cock was refusing to obey and steadily chubbing in his loose cargo shorts. James could do nothing but slump back into his chair and wait. He might not have much going for him, but what he did have was an overactive imagination. His mind was still replaying that pixelized cock bobbing and flopping in rhythm with the deep thrusts that the dude was receiving from behind. James stared into the blank screen of his phone. He was too afraid to turn it back on for fear of someone catching sight of the gif that was most assuredly still playing on his dash. All he could do until the TA decided to show up was stare at his own reflection in the black screen. The college student staring back at him looked just as skittish as he felt. The thin, face was covered in freckles, mostly clustered along his cheekbones. The tussled mop of light, reddish brown hair looked like something from the Beatle’s early career. He wasn’t particularly fond of the Beatle’s or their hairstyles, but he had been too broke to get a haircut and too lazy to touch a brush in months. The lean student absentmindedly twirled the phone in one hand as he watched the second hand tick away on the old and busted little wall clock that had probably been mounted on that same wall since the physics building had been christened in 1973. Eventually, the cute, chubby grad student staggered into the classroom, huffing slightly as he struggled for breath. “Alright class… Get your books out… we’re going to review for your first exam.” Donnel rattled on between gasps for breath. It was obvious that he had been running to get there. A slight layer of sweat had soaked into his shirt causing it to cling to his skin. It wasn’t the first time Donnel had shown up to class slightly late and even more out of breath. Apparently he had one of his graduate level classes all the way across campus that let out immediately before the class he was scheduled to teach. It was no doubt a serious inconvenience, but James couldn’t help but wonder if the chubby guy had lost a few pounds over the last few weeks. James was sure he could see a little definition showing through the TA’s clinging shirt. James never really had trouble in physics. He could memorize formulas and laws and theories really easily. At this rate this class was going to be ridiculously boring for him. Sure enough, his mind began to wander within the first five minutes of their review. His mind always wandered in this class, but he never got called out on it. His eyes were glued to the cute TA the whole time. He was sure that Donnel had lost a little weight in the past few weeks. James couldn’t help but think how much better the guy was looking now. James mind began to drift farther and farther. Donnel was cute now, sure, but he’d be frickin' hot with a bit of beef on him. James’s mind drifted to thoughts of the chubby instructor filling out his green and white plaid button up shirt with brawn instead of pudge. James could actually see that dude’s shirt fit him snugger as his flabby little moobs gave way to thick slabs of brawn. As the teacher’s shirt got tighter and tighter, the ripples of his toned, beefy abs began to show through the front of the fabric. The grad student’s chest got wider and thicker as his pecs and lats grew and spread. The TA’s now huge muscles pressed against his shirt on all sides causing the fabric to pull away down the center. Large gaps could be seen up and down the front of his shirt as the buttons struggled in vain to bring to two halves of clothing together, and still the TA kept swelling. The buttons eventually gave up the ghost and began to burst free at mach speeds. The miniature projectiles ricocheted off of desks and walls, but no one in the class seemed to notice. The TA’s shirt sleeves ripped loudly as his huge, muscular arms got to be simply too much for them to handle James was actually a little startled by the noise, but it alerted him to all the growth going on in other areas as well. He could see now that it was not just the cute teacher’s chest that had been beefing up, but the rest of him as well. The seams of the TA’s tight jeans were already showing signs of popping and snapping. It was obvious that his thick, brawny quads were going to overpower the tight denim at any second. James’s eyes focuses on the cute guy’s pants as he waited with bated breath for those to follow his shirts example. As James eyed the teacher’s lower half he became aware of the pronounced bulge in the front of the guy’s jeans. James had to silently give his subconscious a mental high five for thinking about that too. It was only fitting that such a massive, burly stud of a man have a cock to match. James couldn’t wait for the beast to burst free of its cruel captivity. Something that great deserved to be seen by all. The lanky student bit his lower lip as he stared at the lewd sight before him. He wanted to rub one out so bad, but he dared not do so in the middle of class. There was no telling just how much of his actions would be visible in the real world. He might find that he would be beating off in the dream and also in front of the actual teacher. With an audible shred, the teacher’s jeans burst into ribbons, leaving him completely nude except for a skin tight pair of grey boxer briefs. The briefs did absolutely nothing to disguise the magnitude of the TA’s cock. It was thicker around than James’ skinny arm and well over a foot long. The thing had to be closing in on two feet. It was impossible to tell for sure due to the way it bunched and folded in the confines of the teacher’s way too tiny undies. James’s jaw dropped. That thing was that huge and still soft! The massive dick was accompanied by two equally massive, cantaloupe sized nuts. It was a miracle that the immense package was still contained within the thin layer of fabric. “Not for long.” James thought to himself with a smirk. This dream was too good to stop now. He was going to go for the Full Monty. The TA had another surge of growth, but still no one except for James seemed to notice. The last vestiges of the guy’s clothing broke away, leaving the now towering wall of toned beef completely nude. His huge, nude TA still paced and spoke confidently as he rattled on about gravity and inertia and friction and wind resistance, but James couldn’t care less about that shit. The TA’s cock was so huge that the head of it grazed the ground as he walked. The shaft was as thick around as James’s lean waist. The two enormous nuts were now the size of jumbo beach party beach balls. His broad chest was almost three times as wide as James’s shoulders. Either individual massive pec was easily the size of James’s Torso. James could curl up like a cat and nap on that broad, burly chest of he wanted to, and he really wanted to. James was so entranced by that fantastic brawn that he just had to get up and get close to that. He had to feel those glorious muscles against his flesh. He wanted to rub his tongue against that colossal dick. James smirked as he noticed the steady chubbing of the teacher’s cock. The gigantic schlong steadily hardened and lifted itself up and up. James couldn’t have peeled his eyes away if he wanted to. He couldn’t be sure, but it was almost as if the giant dick was reacting to his thoughts. James shrugged and rolled with it. This was his dream after all. He began imagining even more lurid acts he would do if he ever got the chance. He wanted to straddle that giant cock like a roadhouse mechanical bull and ride it as it bucked and lurched. He would latch his arms and legs across it and rub his tongue along every inch that was available to him. The TA’s giant cock was already oozing pre and shuddering in response to James’s imagined touches. James wanted all the cum that was contained in those massive, heavy nuts all over him. He was just about to hop up from his seat and begin attending to Donnel’s amazing, growing, dream cock, but the teacher seemed to be one step ahead of him. Donnel set down his text book and went about pacing around the room while absentmindedly stroking his colossal dong. James’s eyes followed him intently as did the eyes of most everyone in the class. James couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else was part of his dream. All eyes seemed intently glued to the now beefy instructor and his massive, oozing cock. Quite a few students had a pink tinge of arousal visible on their faces. James could even catch sight of a few boners pressing against the fronts of some of the guy’s pants. One or two of the braver ones even had a hand down the front of their pants shamelessly stroking their hard-on. He quickly dismissed the idea. If anyone else could see this, surely they would have freaked out by now. James shoved his doubts and inhibitions aside and slowly walked up to the TA. No words were exchanged, but the look of sheer, unadulterated lust in James’s warm brown eyes made it absolutely clear what he wanted. He stood in front of the massive, muscular dude and began to stroke and lick the enormous cock. James dug his own respectable bulge against the soft underbelly of the massive cock and began to grind passionately. He was so overcome by the sheer magnitude of the cute young teacher that he forgot everything else. The thick, veiny cock pulsed and shuddered against his face and chest. James knew it was only a matter of moments before it blew. Seconds later, James was knocked to his feet by a surge of jizz from the monstrous cock. The spooge was so warm and thick that it was like being bathed in tar, but it smelled and tasted so wonderful that James didn’t mind at all. The thick, goopy spunk soaked his clothes and clung to his lightly tanned skin, and yet more and more kept flooding from the TA’s immense nuts. By the time the torrent of spooge had tapered off, James was so coated that his own load was completely lost in the giant tidal wave of spunk from the teacher. James could do nothing by lie in the giant puddle of spooge that now covered the entire front of the classroom. “Oh! I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know what came over me!” Donnel sputtered in shock. James chuckled silently to himself; he knew exactly what just came over him. The huge, brawny guy slowly reached a hand down to help up his jizz soaked student. James reached up and accepted the teacher’s help. James was feeling so great from the intensity of his own climax that he was only vaguely aware of how sticky his skin was now. His gut felt pretty heavy too. There was no telling how much of the salty spooge he had guzzled in his erotic trance. James’s eyes slowly scanned the classroom. All eyes were on him now. The other students looked at him with a look of awe, shock, and even some jealousy. As the afterglow slowly began to fade, James was snapped out of his trance by a loud, rattling ring from the bell. He nearly jumped from the shock. He came crashing back to reality. He suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed. All the other students were gathering their books and packing their bags, barely paying attention to him, but one or two would occasionally glance his way. Something just seemed off. He was sure he had woken up from his dream, but he was still coated in spunk. A firm hand on his shoulder brought his attention back to the cute guy. James looked up to see that same cute face looking down on him, although the face had noticeably trimmed down since the beginning of class. No surprise there, considering the TA no longer had an ounce of fat on his. He was now a huge, hulking muscle god with a four foot cock. “Again, terribly sorry about the mess… You know how it is with guys like me… Sometimes we just can’t help it.” Donnel said apologetically. “Although… Given the lengths you went to to get me off, I suppose I can’t really take all the blame.” He added with a sly wink. James was dumbfounded. He could no longer tell the difference between his dream and reality. Just how much of what he had dreamt had he really done? Had he really transformed the cute, portly grad student into that massive, nude wall of brawn and balls? The real question was could he do it again if he wanted to? A devious smile crept across his jizz-coated lips. This was going to be an interesting semester after all.

Parts 1-3 Parts 4-6 Parts 7-9 One month saw Dan a transformed man. Puberty had struck, hard. Dan’s last growth spurt had left him five inches taller, but thin and gangly. This time, spurred by his superhuman levels of testosterone and fuckton calorie intake, he had just exploded. He was 5’9”, 135 lbs to start. He was now 6’1” and 220 lbs, up eighty-five pounds and bigger than Gordon. His hair had grown back a little, rough and bristly but still short, tapering to a point on his forehead and bleached light brown by the summer sun. His face had squared out, losing some baby fat and his jawline had been reinforced with heavy stubble which now extended the line of his sideburns down his cheeks, jaw and chin and connected with a light moustache upon his lip. He was trying to grow a beard like his father’s, who he idolized in every way. Every day he took his measurements, comparing them to Bruce’s and desperately praying that he’d catch up. Even in this past month, Bruce had continued his progress and his stats dwarfed Dan’s: twenty-four inch arms to nineteen, 300 pounds even to 220. When Bruce had reached 300 pounds he had cut himself loose, talking up every woman in the street who dared turned her head, seducing them and one by one fucking their brains out until they were shivering, squealing heaps on the ground. Still unsatisfied and restless, he had knocked on Mr. Connor’s door and they had spent hours wrestling, pressing the vast surfaces of their muscles together and providing each other the exertion that no one else in town could properly offer them. Naked in front of the mirror, Dan inspected the changes to his body, his previous life as Samuel a distant dream overrun by the constant rush of aggression that eternally infused every cell in his brain. He had a proud chest, the upper and lower pectorals split by a strict line of definition, protruding enough that he derived pleasure from rubbing them against surfaces without any of the rest of his body touching. His neck, traps and shoulders had filled out the massive gaps that had been there before, which along with his squaring jaw gave a sense of intimidating denseness to his silhouette. He was twice as broad as he was a month ago, his rounded shoulders and bulging arms pushed out by the spread of his corded lateral muscles. His wrists spoke of massive bone growth, having grown to a thick eight inches from six before. He ran his hand down his washboard abs, feeling his fingers patter along the mounds until they were stopped by his erect cock. He drummed his fingers down his member, as if casting a spell that would cause it to grow further than it already had. Seven inches wasn’t big enough for him, but he was confident that the growth hadn’t ended. After all, his feet had dramatically expanded, from size 10 to size 16, and he knew the saying about big in the shoes. There was a knock at the door. Dan put on some pants and opened. Outside, blocking nearly the entirety of the frame of the door, was Mr. Connors. Mr. Connors ran his rough hands down Dan’s sides, his thumbs tracing the bottom of his pecs. He took a hand and pressed on Dan’s shoulder, feeling the padding, and then slid down, feeling the rock hard muscles of his arms. He huffed in approval . “Time to learn some football?” “Yes, sir.” Dan followed him out the door and just behind him, was Gordon. A rush of memories came back momentarily, but Dan’s confidence in his new body was unshakeable. He held his head up and strode out proudly. “Who’s this, dad?” Gordon asked, “He ain’t from around here.” “A new teammate, now no more questions, boy.” Dan walked right up close to Gordon and they sized each other up, face to face. Dan realized that Gordon had been doing some growing of his own. In the past month, Gordon had grown two inches, which Dan noted with satisfaction meant that he was now two inches taller. But the jock had grown laterally into his frame, looking less now like the proportionate hunk he was before but rather starting to look more juiced up and massive like his father. He had put on perhaps fifteen pounds, mostly in his upper body, making him thicker than before, and with all that extra weight spread on a shorter frame, he looked hulking in comparison to Dan. Dan had thought he had surpassed his once-tormentor, but now he realized furiously that he was still smaller and he was filled with a bitter, driving dissatisfaction. He felt the craving rising up within him, the hunger for more, the drive to be bigger, better. “Alright, Dan, time to learn how to tackle.” Dan had known that Gordon was the star quarterback on the team, but what he hadn’t realized before was that Gordon was known particularly for his unstoppable rushing. His throwing arm was real good, but using his big frame and power, Gordon would smash through the enemy’s defense and it would take several guys to take him down. This is the man Dan would have to practice tackling. For hours they drilled on end, with Gordon, ball in arm, charging straight forward and Dan trying to block him, Mr. Connors shouting advice from the side and sometimes demonstrated what to do, but Gordon was unstoppable. Dan knew what the problem was. He wasn’t big enough. Even just ten pounds lighter, he felt puny compared to Gordon, and he wouldn’t be able to stop him until he was the one dwarfing him. He tensed his arms, as he lowered into the partial squat ready position, feeling what power he had. It wasn’t enough. He would get better at tackling and running along with his progress on the iron. Seeing the fiery ambition in the eyes of his new recruit, Mr. Connors smiled in satisfaction. He had a new linebacker. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Late August arrived, along with football tryouts. A fierce pleasure erupted in Dan as he realized that he was the biggest guy there. He had outpaced Gordon in every way since they had started working out together, growing three inches taller and packing on forty pounds of muscle onto his frame to Gordon’s one inch and ten extra pounds. They were buddies now, a friendship forged by rivalry, by ramming into one another over and over like bulls. Dan though, was emerging as the clear winner. He could now stop Gordon, easily. Dan had become overwhelming strong, fueled by the determination to beat each and every one of Gordon’s personal records. Bench press: 405 lbs (to Gordon’s 385) Rows: 375 lbs (to 335) Overhead press: 245 lbs (to 215) Squat: 535 lbs (to 405) Deadlift: 705 lbs (to 465) Pull-ups: 15 (3 plates added) As Dan stepped on the field, he heard whispers all around him, rumours of where the monstrous Dan Davidson had come from. Some said he was a twenty-two year old undercover cop. Some said he was the pinnacle result of seventy years of secret Soviet eugenics. Dan paid them no attention. He was here to dominate each and every one of them on the field. He finished tryouts leaving several of the football team’s seniors lying flat on the ground wondering what had happened. He went over to Gordon, who was standing next to a similar pile. No one save Dan had come close to stopping a rush from Gordon, and Dan could hold three guys on the line by himself, laughing mad at his strength all the while. By the end of the week Dan had earned the nickname “The Great Wall,” cementing his spot as the starting linebacker on the team. The team worshipped the ground he walked on, and his power and size had become the goal of every guy on the team. Those who hadn’t been juicing had taken it up eagerly, already seeing some results and loving it. To everyone, every day was now gym day. For junior year, Dan and Gordon had unleashed an unprecedentedly large and aggressive jock population upon their high school. When school started, Dan roamed the hallways like a lion. He took what he wanted, fucking girls, guys, teachers, even the principal, who soon divorced her pathetic beta of a husband and dedicated herself as a slave to Dan’s every whim. As a result, his will in school was law, and he was judge, jury and enforcer. He would grab puny little geeks by the collar and whisper into their ear, “You like the feeling of power?” He would then rub them over his muscles, wrapping their whole bodies around his bulging, monstrous pecs and feeling for their dicks to inevitably rise. Then he’d roar in a thunderous bass, “Little fuckin’ faggot! This is fuckin’ power! Get a little bigger and maybe I’ll let you suck my cock,” and then slam them whimpering on the ground. A surprising number of them could later be found in the weight room, obsessively trying to push what little weight they could. Four months later, with Dan and Mr. Connors in charge, everything about the school had changed. With Gordon obliterating all defenses, Dan destroying any semblance of offense, and growing, hungry monsters filling every other position, the football team was now unmatched and crushed school after school. The team was central to the whole school and every single boy, desperate to join, worked out and juiced in the school’s gym, which now covered a third of the school grounds. Male students were now required to attend school shirtless, a policy eagerly taken to by all. Surrounded by something resembling peers, Dan thrived, growing bigger than ever. 6’5” and 305 pounds, his twenty-four inch arms pulsed with power, threatening to throttle anyone who dared challenge him. Bruce had grown extraordinarily rich, The Naked Butcher now serving as a front for the biggest steroids supplier in the United States, protected by hundreds of enormous, young, aggressive gang members willing to kill to secure their supply. A young thug sauntered into the shop, declaring he had news for Bruce. Bruce listened, dismissed him, and left, barking out instructions to scores of lackeys to cover for his absence. He then took off in his Hummer, heading over to the hospital. The desk clerk bowed to him in deference, before taking him to the ward where Lisa lay. Mr. Connors was already there. He held a baby boy, fourteen pounds, with a keen expression in his face. “This kid’ll grow up with no fuckin’ weakling bullshit. No prissy beta men tellin’ him he oughta be nice and serve others and be a general fuckin’ pussy. None of that holdin’ him back. We raise this kid as a man.” The baby reached out, grasped Bruce’s beard, and pulled with all its strength. A strange light filled Bruce’s eyes. He thought of the dozens, hundreds of women he and his son had filled with their potent seed. An army whose sole purpose was to grow strong and to acquire power. He felt the last vestige of the Bruce he once was, the gentle, kind, respectful soul, finally fade away to black. Power is Everything. “Fuck yeah.”

Parts 4-6 Parts 7-9 Parts 10-11 Hey y'all. I'm a long time lurker here but the kind of stories I like can be few and far in between so I decided I better write some of my own. I finished this story before posting so it's all done but I think there's more impact if it's split into parts. I'm gonna be posting 3-4 at a time, for a total of 11 parts. Hope y'all enjoy. The bell rang and Samuel shuffled out the door with the purposeful scurry of a practiced avoider. It was incredible to him how every geek in every high school there ever was had the same tactics for bully avoidance. It was even more incredible how resoundingly unsuccessful these tactics had been. He could feel Gordon’s eyes burning into the back of his head, his lowered head that marked him as the vulnerable, skinny geek he was. Samuel glanced back furtively. He had broken one of the cardinal rules of bully avoidance, but he couldn’t help himself. Both Gordon and he were the same height, 5’9”, and both were sophomores, but that was where the similarities stopped. Gordon had a full eighty pounds on him and was one of those teenagers who somehow looked like he was in his mid-twenties. A perfect golden dusting of stubble framed his broad jaw and mouth, and he had short and wavy locks of that same wheat gold hue that fell casually around in his head. He had an easy confidence to his movements rather than the awkwardness that had followed so many teenagers into puberty. And he knew how to dress to show it off. When we wasn’t in his jersey, Gordon always wore a short-sleeved polo that was just tight enough to stretch just a tiny bit every time he moved his arm. Even in the winter, he was fond of showing off how even the cold couldn’t kill the pump of his round, full biceps. Samuel felt himself freeze. An onlooker might have registered his non-motion as fear, but he was transfixed. Part of him loved being hurt, roughed-up, manhandled by Gordon. He secretly loved watching the big almost-man asserting his dominance, and if it happened to him, well, that was just front-row tickets. But it hurt. And it hurt as he was lifted by his collar and slammed against the wall. He had been bruised enough to be able to anticipate the aching he’d feel all morning the next day, and he hated himself for how powerless he himself was. So weak and puny compared to the brash, bold, muscular specimen pinning him up. Gordon smirked. “Hey dweeb. Your mom’s a whore.” Whore? That was a new one, amazingly. It was odd that it hadn’t come up before but Samuel could hardly finish his- “She just loves the dick. BAM! BAM! Oh, oh, oooohhhhh! Take me! Take me!” God. Gordon wrinkled his brow mockingly but all it accomplished was further furrowing it into a look of aggression and power. Before he could finish that thought Samuel was thrown to the ground and Gordon sauntered off followed by his two beefy lapdogs, two fellow jocks who knew staying in his wake would provide them with amusement and ways of asserting their own dominance. “I guess I should go get myself checked out,” Samuel thought as he picked himself up and dragged himself to the nurse’s office. He was a regular there. Often he was fine, but he felt it was wise to make sure each time. This time however the school nurse was busy with a freshman who looked like he had badly burned himself. “Not today, Samuel,” she said with a sigh. Without even looking at him, she reached a hand down into a drawer, drew out a slip of paper, signed it and gave it to him. “Whatever it is, just go home and deal with it. I’ve got three boys who decided it’d be smart to play chicken with a Bunsen burner.” The excuse to skip class was not lost on Samuel, and within five minutes the slip was in the hands of the school office secretary and he was out on the street riding his bike home. As he pulled up to his front yard though, something was off. In the window of his parents’ room, he saw his mom’s hand pressing on the glass. It quivered, and then stretched out and pressed itself a little bit higher. He decided that he wasn’t going to announce his presence on arrival. He held the front doorknob tightly as he put in his key and muffled the sound as he turned the lock. With the tiniest click, it opened and he gingerly slipped in, making sure to keep the doorknob turned and slowly release it back into its latch. He stood still for a moment. There was movement upstairs, he could feel it. He tiptoed up the stairs and to the closed door of his parents’ room and placed his ear. To his horror, Gordon’s rendition of his mother was painfully accurate. “Take me! Take – OH!” He mentally calculated. His dad was a meat shop owner (not a butcher, he always insisted) and today was Wednesday. He wasn’t going to be home until eight at the earliest. “OOOOHHHH!!!” Samuel cringed. He heard a long deep moan of a man and realized what this meant. It meant that he most definitely certainly couldn’t be found just outside the door and that this particular door was going to be opening soon – very soon. He scattered backward, almost falling but managing to catch himself lightly with his fingertips before very quickly but very quietly sprinting down the stairs. He opened the door, thanking his stars that he hadn’t locked it when he had entered, slipped out, closed it, picked up the bike, and brought it behind the fence where no one could see him. It wasn’t long before he heard the front door open, and slam shut again. Heavy footsteps rang out on the pavement and Samuel hurriedly slung his leg over his bike to look as if he had just arrived. Out of the fence appeared a very large, very mustachioed wheat blonde man. Samuel recognized him right away, and was filled with a jumbled blend of fear and disgust. It was Mr. Connors, the football coach and Gordon’s father. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mr. Connors had played football in college. He was an offensive lineman and looked every inch the part. 6’1”, 305 pounds, with a thick solid midsection but an enormous barrel chest and thick trunk legs that had earned him the nickname “The Immovable.” His normally sleeked back hair was clearly roughed up and there was no mistaking the cause. Samuel shrunk back a little but Mr. Connors noticed out of the corner of his eye and soon Samuel had a mass of football coach bearing down upon him. “Boy. Why aren’t you in school?” “I- I-,” Samuel knew telling the whole truth wouldn’t end well for him. Mr. Connors was notoriously protective of the football team and especially his son. Any accusations slung their way would certainly come back to bite Samuel, “I wasn’t feeling well and the nurse sent me home.” Mr. Connors huffed disapprovingly, twitching his golden walrus mustache. “I had a note, I gave it to the office,” Samuel added weakly. Not gracing him with a reply, Mr. Connors walked past Samuel, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder as he passed by, the casual blow practically toppling him over. Samuel watched for a long time as he walked away, the ridges on his back rippling the fabric of his tight fitted suit. Dejected, he slouched back over to his house, bringing in his bike and this time making no furtive movements. He could hear the patter of the shower upstairs. Samuel thought back. The signs had all been there. A new Armani handbag here, some new Prada shoes there. And his mother had seemed so satisfied lately. He realized that there had been a difference to her. She took more care to look good, spent over an hour in the morning applying makeup. Of course… She came down the stairs and he noticed just how radiant she was. Red headed with long wavy hair, curvy and healthy, but with an athletic trim. People often wondered aloud how his dad had bagged her. She was indeed a real catch. And it all made sense now, at least in a perverse sort of way. But still, Gordon Connors had been right, his mother was a wh- Samuel couldn’t bring himself to say the word. How should he say it? She was… unfaithful. Right then and there, Samuel decided he had to tell his dad. His dad was his role model, who he had aspired to be all his life. Mild-mannered, with a gentle face hidden behind a pair of neatly placed glasses. His dad, Bruce Davidson, was handsome, but subservient. He was tall, at 6’2”, but wiry and thin and flat just the way Samuel was, maybe 170 pounds at the most. He kept his chestnut brown hair parted and he was always clean shaven, without a speck of hair on his face. At the meat shop he took great care, practically bending over backwards serving his clients, presenting himself formally in a tie and vest even underneath his apron. His hands were quick and skilled, and he proved time and time again that he could use technique and well-cared for tools to cut through even thick bone. In everything he taught Samuel that strength wasn’t needed. It had seemed to Samuel that his dad’s success had proven this but still, somehow, that hadn’t satisfied his mother. He pushed his way out the door, grabbed his bike and started pedalling to the meat shop. The bell jingled as Samuel stepped in the door. “Bruce Davidson’s Fine Cuts.” His dad glanced his way quickly and smiled at Samuel, appreciating his presence before holding up his hand to show him he was dealing with customers. It took nearly fifteen minutes but finally they were face to face and Samuel relayed everything that had happened since he had first seen the hand in the window. Bruce’s face fell slowly with each passing minute, but he was quiet the whole time. He only had one question at the end. “Mr. Connors. What is he like?” “Big dad. Real big. He’s not super tall but just so much size on him. He has Gordon’s hair colour and a walrus mustache and this real intimidating look to him that just bears you down. And his arms are just so thick and his back strains his jacket so that…” He trailed off, realizing he’d outed himself, but Bruce was no longer paying attention, instead lost in thought. He looked like he had come to an understanding. “Go home, Samuel. Let your mother know I’ll be home at 8 as usual.” All seemed normal for the rest of the evening, if awkward on Samuel’s part. He wanted to scream “How has nothing changed!?” but everyone was so calm. He couldn’t believe his dad. Maybe his dad was weak. Maybe his mother was taking advantage of a meek man who was destined only to be a provider. He was able to keep a stony face, however, and it wasn’t until he was in his bedsheets that he screamed silently into his pillow and fumed. He tossed and turned, but couldn’t get to sleep. Soon enough, elevated voices rose from downstairs and he snuck over to the stairs to hear what was going on. His dad’s normally soothing baritone was raised for the first time in years. “That’s who you want Lisa? You want someone powerful, someone strong? Is that what it takes to satisfy you!? You swore I was enough, that you were happy with me! We laughed at all the jocks, back then, don’t you remember? In college!” “I needed it, Bruce, I need him. He’s just so strong, so powerful, so BIG! When he took me, I realized that was what I was missing all my life. Yeah, he took me. You want honest communication Bruce? Here it is. I’m pregnant, Bruce, and it’s not your child. Our boy is a weakling. He’s mild and gets bullied and doesn’t even bother defending himself. It’s clear where he gets it from. I want my child, my new child to grow into a big strong man like Rolf. He just takes what he wants. He doesn’t live his life to serve others and that’s the man this child will be.” Stomping, and then the slam of the door. And there was nothing for Samuel to do but cry into his pillow. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Samuel was woken up by the slam of the door. He could hear the beeping of a backing up truck outside and then the voices of men working. There was clattering downstairs he groggily he wondered if his house was being demolished, and if so, couldn’t it wait until Monday. A splash of water to the face made him more alert and he tiptoed down the stairs to see what was going on. There was Bruce, looking dishevelled for the first time in his life. He was still in the same clothes he had worn the previous day and his hair’s part had fallen apart, restoring his hair’s natural tousle. For the first time, Samuel could make out a faint five-o’-clock shadow around his father’s jaw and cheeks. He and several other men were carrying a power rack, straining with the weight and ruddy-faced. They made for the stairs leading to the basement carelessly crashing into objects around the house along the way, and slowly but surely carried it all the way down the stairs. A crash downstairs, and then soon afterwards, they came again for an Olympic weight set. Set on trees were more plates than Samuel had ever seen, even in the school gym where the jocks practically lived. “Samuel? What’s happening?” Samuel jumped. Behind him was Lisa, his mother, yawning in her midnight blue cashmere housecoat. “What’s with all this racket? It’s 6 AM,” she added, annoyed, so loud her son jumped. Bruce came up the stairs, finished with his work and motioning for the men to leave. He stared for a long time into Lisa’s eyes, his face fierce with some kind of resolution. He then checked his watch. “Samuel, fetch me my comb, please. It’s time for me to go to work.” Samuel did as he was told, and Bruce, quickly combed his hair into a rough part, not quite as neatly as before, and staring the whole while into his wife’s eyes. The tension was palpable but for all his determination he broke first, dropping his comb onto the table by the TV, grabbing his apron and heading out the door. Lisa yawned again and went back upstairs. Having woken so early on a Saturday morning, Samuel let his curiosity get the better of him and looked into the basement. Down there, all of the junk had been pushed and stacked to the wall and in the clear space left was a magnificent powerlifting gym. There was several large bars, trees covered in plates from the tiny 2.5 pound ones up to 45s, red rubber plates and black steel plates. There was a power rack, a bench, flooring, and dumbbells up to 120 pounds lined up neatly in rows. Samuel tried to pick up a 45 pound plate and nearly dropped it. Gingerly he put it back and picked up the bar. He remembered watching the jocks do the bench press and he tried it. The bar felt heavy as he tried to push it up, but he made it, his arms shaking violently as he did. He was too scared to try any more though. This really wasn’t his thing. He jumped up to the bar of the power rack and tried to pull himself up. He heaved and kicked his legs but struggle as he might he couldn’t pull off a single one. He let go, landing lightly but hating himself for it. He had always been such a quiet little wimp. Not even all of this gear could change that, and he was certain it wouldn’t change his dad either. His mother was right, compared to Gordon and Mr. Connors, both of them were worthless. He couldn’t spend the whole day feeling sorry for himself, however. Having missed some classes there was a lot of make-up homework to do, and so Samuel lost himself in his studies while the day passed. Evening came with a slam of the door. He swiftly ran down, curious to see the state of his dad. He seemed to have cleaned up a little while he was at work. His hair was back in the neat part it was before, and his clothes seemed to have been smoothed over several times. Over the course of the day however, his scruff had grown out even more, outlining his features handsomely. He seemed out of sorts, but it was different from his expression that morning somehow. Noticing Samuel, he called out. “That lady with the long black hair, Vena. She couldn’t keep her hands off of my face! And making advances on me. As if I’d stoop to that level. Samuel, you’ve got to stay loyal to your loved ones. We men need to have a code, to have principles. Always remember that.” Samuel nodded vigorously and Bruce stepped past him making his way down into the basement. For a moment Samuel was reminded of the way Mr. Connors had pushed him by and walked away the day before, but he shook his head and rid his mind of it. His dad was nothing like that. Not long after, he heard grunting below. He snuck down, taking a peek at what was happening, and he was surprised at what he saw. Bruce’s face was a mask of fury, and he pulled every rep with what was practically a roar. It was anger, all rage, channelled into moving the bar up and down. He had stripped off his vest and button-up, having tossed them aside into an uncharacteristically messy heap while he worked out in only his undershirt and pants. Samuel had a small gasp of anticipation. Sweat shined from Bruce’s furrowed brow as he forcefully shifted the weights, roaring with effort. He carefully counted the plates on each of the exercises his dad did: Bench press: 135 lbs Rows: 115 lbs Overhead press: 85 lbs Squat: 155 lbs Deadlift: 175 lbs Pull-ups: 6 He made a mental note to check out what the jocks at school did. One last long growl as his dad pulled the bar from the ground one last time and dropped it. That was Samuel’s cue. He tiptoed up the stairs and pulled out the notebook he had been holding for school. He noted the weights of the lifts he had just seen, hoping his parents would think he was just doing some homework. “Hey there, hard at work?” Samuel snapped his book shut. There was Bruce, dripping with sweat, running from his now-messy hair down the side of his face and dripping from the scruff on his chin. He had work clothes in his arms. Samuel opened his mouth, thinking fast about what to reply, but there was no need. Bruce was already making his way upstairs and soon enough there were the sounds of the shower. Dinner came soon enough and Bruce was again clean-shaven and back to his impeccable self. A few words were exchanged about school and whatnot but Samuel had no intention of bringing up any of the uncomfortable events that had recently occurred, and it seemed the same for his mom, who continued with her meal in the same bored fashion she had spent the rest of her day. He finished his meal as he was always taught to do but then noticed that his dad’s plate was full. Hadn’t he been eating? He sat in silence watching Bruce finish one plate, and another. Lisa always made enough food to keep for leftovers in case anyone was hungry later, usually herself when she didn’t feel like cooking lunch. At the end there was nothing left, and to Samuel’s surprise, Bruce got up and went rummaging in the fridge. He eventually settled on the carton of milk, and poured himself two glasses to top off his large meal. “Thanks kindly for the meal, Lisa,” he remarked cheerfully, as he started doing the dishes. That evening, instead of sitting down on his reclining chair to read as usual, Bruce went to the computer and started browsing the internet. When it got late and Samuel headed up to bed he was still at it, intently looking at whatever it was he was looking at.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Troy Morning Maggot. Yeah, I know I look a little down. Actually, I’m a lot down. What’s the matter? You know how sometimes everything is going great and all of a sudden it all falls apart? You do? Well, that’s how I am this morning. I almost want to skip our morning run. That’s how bad this is. What happened? Well, for starters, Cindy and I broke up last night. You know, she never got the whole maggot thing. She just never got me. Oh she thought she did. She thought she had me all figured out. She thought I was like some little kid and the muscle building thing was some stupid pointless kid’s game, like a bunch of 8-year-olds playing King of the Mountain, or something. And who knows, maybe that’s how it begins. But it’s way bigger than just a game. The desire for muscle and strength is a part of us, of all dudes, weather we know it or not. It’s part of who we are right down to our chromosomes. I mean think about where humans were thousands of years ago. It was all about survival then. The bigger and stronger you were, the better chance you had to survive. Humans were like that for tens of thousands of years. And you know what? Genetically, were still the same species we were then - I saw a National Geographic special on it. Our need to be bigger and stronger—it’s still hard wired into us. It’s part of being a man on its most basic level. It’s built into our bodies, our psyche, into our fucking souls! And it’s also a big part of what attracts the bitches to us. I mean, Cindy’s the hottest girl in school. Do you think she would have been dating me if I didn’t have guns like these? Boom. Boom. Yup, lefty and righty, bigger, harder and veinier than ever! 18 ¼ now. I want them to be 19 by the time I’m 19, and I’ll fucking do it, too! But she couldn’t understand that. But you do, Maggot, you understand. You get me because, since I got hold of you, you’ve woken up. You’ve felt it too. You’ve seen how muscle adds to you, like an important piece you never knew was missing. And then it becomes such a part of who you are and what you are, you can’t imagine life without it. You’ve felt that, haven’t you? You know what I’m talking about. I see you nodding. It’s beyond fucking liking it, you fucking need it, like you need food, like you need to fuck! That’s why it took me so long to figure it out. Figure what out? Why you started skipping meals to slow your growth and why you started giving your gear to Ralphie. Good, I’m glad you’re not denying it. When I first figured it out, I felt betrayed, betrayed by my own maggot! I was fucking pissed. I mean for weeks I had to look at Hunter smirking at me as his maggot just got bigger and bigger and bigger! Huge veiny biceps stretching out his sleeves. His shirt pulling tight around bulging, striated pecs and his ever widening slab-like lats. Legs blossoming into fucking pillars. “What the fuck was he on?” I found myself thinking. I knew all Hunter could get is that street shit. And then it hit me: the only place he could be getting that kind of gear is from you. Then it all started falling into place. Why didn’t I just come right over here and pound the shit out of you? Because I figured out why you were doing it. Yeah, that’s right. Here’s that blue bottle you’re always asking me about. You want this so fucking bad, don’t you? Of course you do. It’s built into your DNA. I get it. I get you. And that’s why I’m going to give you the shot. So, now you’re gonna eat like a fucking horse and you’re gonna stop giving Hunter’s Maggot your gear. Am I clear? Good. Brian’s Journal – Day 66 I don’t know if today was the best day of my life, or the worst. I almost freaked when Troy figured out I’d been juicing Ralphie. I never thought he’d understand, but he did and he gave me the shot. Fuck, it felt like liquid fire running into my body and all throughout my veins. The feeling faded a little but it never went away. It didn’t feel anything like the gear. And there was only the one shot. Troy said it was all there was and it’d be all I’d need. I wonder what it’s doing. I wonder when I’ll notice. When we got back from our run, I had to ask Troy a favor for my mother. Today they were taking our class photo for the yearbook and she didn’t want me wearing the Troy’s Maggot shirt in it. She wanted me to wear one of my button downs. Troy looked at me and cracked a smile like I’d just told him a funny joke. I thought he was going to say no, but instead he just chuckled and said, “Sure, Maggot, go ahead. Show me the one.” I went to my closet and pulled out a light blue button down. To my surprise it looked like there might be a little dust on the shoulders. Had it really been that long? “Nice shirt,” said Troy, obviously trying to stifle a laugh. “Go ahead; put it on.” I sincerely didn’t get what was so funny until I stuck my big, muscled-up arm into the sleeve. It was like stuffing a sausage. I had to really squeeze it in there and once I did, the sleeve was hugging my arm so tight, you could clearly see every hard bulge of every muscle on it. Fuck. I looked huge in this shirt! Not necessarily a bad thing… I could see taking a class picture with my muscles literally bulging out under my shirt. “Go ahead,” said Troy, finally releasing the laugh that had been pent up inside him “Try the other arm. I tried to reach my arm around my back to pull the other sleeve on. But fuck, I could feel my steel-like back getting in the way. It was way wider than it used to be. And my biceps and forearms were too thick with muscle to bend as much as they once did. It was a struggle, but finally I got my other arm in the sleeve and shoved it through. I could feel the stone like muscles rebelling against the tight cloth covering. Fuck, it was like wearing two tourniquets on my arms. I think the blood flow had been shut off. And I could feel the thing stretching ridiculously tight across my hard, broad lats. Troy was really laughing now. “Go ahead, Maggot, button it up. Hahahah!” So, I tried, but I couldn’t pull the thing closed around my bulging pecs. Fuck. I had to get it closed. I couldn’t take a photo like this. I pulled and pulled and RIIIIIP! A huge tear opened up right down the center of my thick, muscular back. Fuck! I took a look at myself in the mirror. Big arm muscles were bulging up under the sleeves, and the front was hanging open showcasing my large, hard, striated pecs and my washboard stomach. Hit with a sudden urge I pulled a most muscular pose. Instantly, my big iron biceps and forearms tore their way right out of the sleeves. I suddenly looked like the fucking hulk. Fuck yeah! But… All my button down shirts were pretty much the same size. “What am I going to wear now?” Troy just about completely lost it, laughing. “What did you think would happen, Maggot?” he said. “Since you last wore that shirt you’ve put on 50 pounds of muscle and grown at least 2 inches taller. You’ve almost reached beasthood; how did you think that bulging muscular man’s physique would treat the shirt of a pathetic stick boy? It would utterly destroy it, of course! Hahahaha! Go ahead and wear your Troy’s Maggot shirt, the tank top. It’ll be a much better way to remember your senior year anyway.” And so I did. I didn’t really have any other choice. As the day went on, I felt the burning in my veins become more and more prominent. It was starting to make me feel irritable and hot. I broke out sweating a couple of times for no reason. When I came down to lunch that day, Troy called me over to the jock’s table. When I got there he gestured me to lean in closely, then he said in a soft voice, “Maggot, you’re getting pretty big, now, but your attitude needs adjustment.” “What?” I said. “You’re body says, “Beast,” but the way you carry yourself still pretty much says, “Dork.” “I don’t understand,” I said. “Ok, let me show you,” said Troy. “Look over there on the right. You see Suarez sitting at that table with his girlfriend?” “Yeah,” I said. “He used to fuck with you, right?” asked Troy. “When he was bigger than you?” “Used to” was right. They guy hadn’t come near me in months. “Ok, you’re bigger than him, now,” said Troy. “Fuck with him. Go take his table.” “I can’t take the man’s table,” I said. “See, this is where your attitude needs adjustment,” said Troy. “It’s not his table. It’s your table. In fact, every table in here is your table. The only reason anyone is sitting at one of your tables is because you let them. Are you following me?” “I think so,” I said. “You don’t like Suarez, do you?” asked Troy. “No,” I said. “He’s a douche.” “Then why are you letting him sit at one of your tables?” asked Troy. “Good question,” I thought. Then I turned to take care of the problem, but I felt Troy’s hand on my shoulder. “Oh, and tell his girlfriend she can stay,” he said. “Because sometimes they do,” he grinned. So, I sauntered over swinging my thick, muscular arms and looked down over my bulging chest at Edgar Suarez, and said, “Hey, Suarez, you’re sitting at my table.” Suarez looked up at me. His eyes went wide and I’d swear he got a shade paler. “It’s… ah… not…not your table,” he said. “Yeah, it is,” I answered, “and I don’t like you sitting at it, so get the fuck up!” I leaned over, letting my larger, more powerful, muscular body dwarf his smaller, flabby one. For a second, he looked panicked, like a dear caught in headlights. Then he picked up his trey and started to move to another table. I had to struggle not to look surprised. I didn’t know he’d cave that easily. I sat down at the table and crossed my big, bare arms as his girlfriend rose from the table. “Not you,” I said. “You can stay… if you want.” Smiling shyly, she sat back down. I looked over at the jock table and saw money changing hands. Another bet; I should have guessed. Her name was Maria, and we had a very chill lunch talking video games. My appetite was enormous, though. I mean I usually have a big appetite these days, but today it was way over the top. I ate the food mom packed for me and still went up to the lunch line three times. As the day progressed the burning in my body increased, making it hard to concentrate on anything. By the time my workout with Troy came at the end of the day, it had progressed into a constant hot throbbing. I wasn’t sure if I was running a fever. I thought I might be. Didn’t seem to affect my lifts, though. If anything, they were better than ever. After the workout, I ran into Ralphie in the locker room. He was just coming in for his workout with Hunter. I had to admit, Raphie was looking pretty swole. His pecs were looking round and full in front of him. His abs had deep crevices separating them. His shoulders had gotten broader. Traps had started to rise out of his back behind his thickening neck. And his arms, even in their relaxed state were looking thick with muscle. And believe it or not, I also saw Ross, the guy we used to eat lunch with every day until this whole maggot thing started. He was there after school because of a make-up gym class. Fuck, I couldn’t believe how small he looked. Holy crap, he was just skin and bones, and so very short. He didn’t have arms, he had thin tubes with joints about half way down. He had the shadow of a chest and no sign at all of the V our backs had developed. His t-shirt hung loose on his frame, baggy and wrinkled, almost as if there wasn’t anything beneath it to give it shape. Damn, his legs were tube-like too. It looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over and half way across the room. How could he stand to be like that? And Fuck, I used to be just like him. “Hey Ross,” I said. “Hey Maggot,” he replied. That was the first time anyone but Troy had called me Maggot and I wasn’t sure I liked it. “Hey look, it’s little Ross,” cried Ralphie, striding over. Ralphie was having a bit more fun with his new size than I was. “Ross,” said Ralphie, “Maybe you could settle a little bet between Brian and me.” I was confused for a second. We didn’t have any bet. “Who do you think has the biggest arms?” asked Ralphie, and he flexed his big, veiny nearly 16 inch bicep for Ross. This was actually a little thing he’d been doing lately. Ralphie had blown-the-fuck-up since I started juicing him about 3 weeks ago. And since I’d been skipping meals, he was starting to catch up. Of course, this had been my plan, but I didn’t count on Ralphie’s attitude. He kept insisting his arms were as big as mine when they so definitely weren’t. My arms were 16 ½ inches easily the last time I measured them and by now were well on their way to 17. Tapes don’t lie, but he kept insisting they were the same, or else his were a little bigger. I don’t know why this annoyed the crap out of me so much, but it did. Just as annoyed as I could be, I flexed my big guy right next to Ralphie’s. Mine was bigger, way bigger. You’d have to be blind not to see it. And it was starting to develop a nice little peak. But nevertheless, I anxiously awaited Ross’ verdict. “Are you serious?” said Ross. “I know,” I said. “I’m way bigger, right?” “No,” said Ross. “That’s not what I mean. Do you remember when you guys used to be freaking normal? You used to watch TV and play video games and scope out the ladies… When was the last time you looked at a fucking girl? Don’t you see what’s happening to you?” I looked over at Ralphie and he looked just as confused as I was. “What the fuck are you talking about, Ross?” I asked. “Yeah,” said Ralphie. “Come on, now, who’s bigger?” “I give up,” said Ross, and he threw up his hands and walked away. “That settles it; I’m bigger,” said Ralphie. “What?” I said. “How the fuck did you get that? He didn’t say one way or the other!” “Sure he did,” said Ralphie. “You asked him if you were bigger and he said, “No.”” “That’s not what he was saying,” I said. “Sure it was,” said Ralphie. “You just don’t like it ’cause now I’m bigger than you.” “You are not fucking bigger than me!” “Yeah, I am. And I don’t know why you’re being such a pussy about it. It’s all because of you giving me the good shit.” “Oh yeah, about that,” I said. “That’s gonna have to stop. Troy found out so now I can’t give you any more.” Suddenly Ralphie turned red, and red just kept getting darker and darker. “THAT’S BULLSHIT,” he bellowed. “You’re just pussying out because I got bigger than you!” “You are not FUCKING BIGGER THAN ME!” Then Ralphie jumped on me, trying to knock me to the floor. I threw him off and he went slamming into a bank of lockers denting it pretty badly. He picked himself up and came at me swinging. But neither of us were boxers. In fact I don’t think either of us had ever been in a fight before. I was able to block his punches pretty easily and he blocked mine. Finally he just grabbed me again and tried to grapple with me. He slammed me into a locker bank and then I slammed him into another one. The lockers were getting pretty banged up and dented as our muscular bodies collided with them. I slammed Ralphie into one locker bank that just toppled over causing a domino effect on the locker banks behind it. BAM! BAM! BAM, they all went down. And then we were grappling on the floor. Rolling over and over. Both of us trying to wrap our hands around the other’s hard muscular body. I was so pissed and balls out trying to damage Ralphie, that I barely noticed when a couple of the gym teachers were pulling us apart. Then suddenly we were in the office and we both knew we were in deep, deep shit. Our parents were called. Someone suggested the possibility of steroids to them. The fridge in my bedroom was searched, and then all hell broke loose. They called in Troy. I told them it was all me, and that Troy had nothing to do with it. Troy let me take the fall for him. I don’t blame him. I wanted him to. I was fucked no matter what. But he’s a nationally ranked athlete. If he got caught with steroids, that’s be the end of his athletic career. They couldn’t really trace the shit to him because he’d pulled all the labels off just in case something like this should happen. They’re giving him a blood test, but it won’t show anything because Troy never juiced. He should pull through this free and clear. Me, on the other hand… Ralphie told them I supplied him with his gear. That’s ok, I didn’t mind. It helped me look like the bad guy, so they wouldn’t look too closely at Troy. Criminal charges were discussed, but they decided not to go that route and Ralphie and I just wound up with a week-long suspension for fighting. Maggot shirts were banned and my parents forbid me to have anything to do with Troy. But that’s ok; I didn’t mind any of it. You see all during this bullshit, I was sitting in my chair feeling that hot pulsing racing through my system. I felt my chest gradually swelling up bigger and harder and I felt my back slowly expanding, stretching out the Troy’s Maggot tank top. In my pants I could feel my legs thickening with iron-like flesh. I couldn't understand how on one else had noticed. When I stood up, I noticed my pant cuffs were up above my ankles. And mere moments after I got home, my sneakers split apart releasing my growing feet from their suddenly undersized prisons. So, ban Troy, take away all my gear and send me to my room for a week. None of it mattered. That blue bottle was doing its stuff. I could feel it welling up inside me. Pretty soon I was going to explode into a fucking monster! And, hahaha, there was nothing any of them could do about it. Next Part

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 TROY One more curl, Maggot, just one more rep! Beautiful… Oh? You wanna do another? Then fucking do it, Maggot, do it! That’s it Maggot. You’re turning bright red there. I can see the fucking strain in your face. Your fucking neck is a mass of straining tendons! Damn, look at those rock-hard biceps of yours bulge! Look at those fucking veins pop out! It didn’t take long for those beasts to grow in, did it?! Don’t give up, Maggot, do it! That’s right, yell, fucking yell all you want! I love hearing you roar like a fucking maniac! And… BAM! Fuck, Maggot, that was awesome! You are a fucking beast today! That’s right, pause and take a good fucking look at the body in the mirror. Remember the first time I made you take off your shirt in the weight room. I thought you were gonnna die of shame. But now you like working out shirtless, casue you’re looking all swole, my Maggot, with that six pack and those bulging pecs of yours. I know you’d like to go around like that all the time but the school don’t allow it. Found out the hard way. Haha. But I’ve got a surprise for you, Maggot. Tomorrow is going to be a life changing day for you. Before now, you’ve been walking around in that loose shirt – which is getting a helluva lot less loose these days. Haha. But you’ve made such awesome progress, I went out and got you this. Yeah, it’s another blue Troy’s Maggot shirt, but look at it closely. That’s right. It’s a fucking tank top. It’s getting warmer and tomorrow you’re gonna wear that and give the whole school a fucking gun show! And dude, it will change your life forever. I guarantee it. And there are certain people we definitely want to show how fucking big you’re getting… Like Jack and Hunter! Haha! Ok, you can leave it off while we take your height and weight. 170! Damn, Maggot. We put 30 fucking pounds on you since you started on your…ah hem… supplements. And you can see it all throughout your core. It’s bigger, thicker, harder, with a musculature that’s way more defined and developed, with that ripped six pack, those pecs and those broad, bulging shoulders. Haha! And look at this! You’re 5’ fucking 9”! You’re an inch taller. That’ll be the GH at work. Why do you keep going on about that blue bottle? I told you to forget it. That was the lab dude’s pet project or something. Like I told you, the military took it away from him for human testing and he never heard any more about it. He just wants you to be his Guinea Pig. Anyway, look at that fucking rippling back of yours! The shit you’re on is getting you plenty big enough. Jack’s Maggot may be turning into a little tank – the thickness on that little dude is getting pretty freaky, but the way you’re growing, the best he could hope for is to be your mini-me. Haha. And Hunter’s Maggot may be putting on a little beef, but it’s nothing compared to the gains you’re making. Why mess with that experimental blue bottle shit when we’re going to win the bet without it? Why take the risk? Yeah, I still got the blue bottle. I’m keeping it locked away safe. So, just forget it, and think about tomorrow when you show up at school in that tank top. It’s gonna be a day you’ll never forget. I promise you. Brain’s Journal – Day 44 I feel like a fucking beast! Juicing is fucking legit! I’ve felt different almost from the day I started, more aggressive, more confident… and I’m a fucking animal in the gym! I’m so much stronger! I’ve just about doubled all my lifts! And my fucking muscles… It was only a few days before abs showed up on my flat stomach, like ripples on a fucking pond. I couldn’t fucking believe it! I had abs! Like those model guys on TV! And all the rest of my muscles… They’re growing all the fucking time! They’re popping up all over me, ALL FUCKING OVER ME! Every morning when I wake up, I’m fucking bigger! My arms are thicker, my chest is larger, and my shoulders are wider. FUCKIN AWESOME! And I can feel all that hard muscle moving around on my body under my shirt. FUCK, it feels good! I can’t believe what I was before, a worm, a fucking worm! And as big as I get, I know I’m still getting even bigger. And that thought just gets me fucking hard! The stack I’m on is legit, but I keep wondering what that little blue bottle would do. How big would that make me? Why does Troy keep it locked away? What is Troy really afraid of…? Maybe that I’ll get as big as him? That would be legit! Fuck, I’d love to be that big! And I’ll get there eventually, but I bet that blue bottle is the express route! But Troy’s not about to give that up. But he did give me that tank top, and holy crap, was he ever right about that! I had the strangest fucking day! First of all everyone was fucking staring at me all the time, especially the girls. One of them even stopped and asked me to flex so she could feel it. When I did she kind of grabbed at my rock-hard bi a little and then ran away giggling. Fuck, that made me hard. A lot was making me hard these days, but apparently, that was the stack. A couple of dudes even stopped me and asked how they could become maggots. No, wait, how did they put it? They wanted to know how to get into the Maggot Program – like there was a fucking program! I almost laughed my ass off. Then I told them you had to be chosen by one of the jocks. There was really no way to apply… Apply! hahahaha! I nearly lost my shit saying that! Then I saw Susie Nickerson, my crush, and I walk up to her all kinda suave like and I say, “Hi Susie,” giving the biceps an slight flex- not doin’ a pose or anything, just… you know… making ’em bulge a little while they’re hanging at my sides. As I say it, she looks up at me like she’s never seen me before and says, “Hi Brian, how’re you?” I say, “I’m fine,” and then ask her if she wants to grab a burger after school. She says, “Yes, but change your shirt first.” And I’m like, “Change my shirt? I can’t change my shirt. I’m Troy’s Maggot.” By this time the whole school knew about the bet. And she’s like “Troy’s Maggot? This jock is, like, laying claim to you, like he owns you. Don’t you find that degrading?” And I answer, “I guess I did when it first started, but now I’m proud of it. It’s kind of like a badge of honor. You know, I had two guys today ask me how they could become Maggots.” “Humph,” she said, “boys are pathetic. You know there’s more to being a man than having big muscles.” And I said, “Whoa, you must watch a lot of Family Channel, ‘’cause that shit’s straight off of there.” “Well, it’s true,” she said. “A couple of TV movies and suddenly you know all about what it’s like to be a dude. It may take more than big muscles to make a man, but having big muscles sure doesn’t disqualify you. In fact, from personal experience, I’d say you never really know what it is to be a man until you feel some real muscle on your frame, feel some power in your arms. It wakes up something inside you, something most dudes let sleep. But that’s something I don’t think a girl could ever understand.” “Then I guess you’re just another Neanderthal,” she said. “I guess I am. And one of these days, you’re gonna wanna try a little Neanderthal. And when you do, hit me up.” And then I just smiled at her, and she got real angry and stomped off. That didn’t go quite like I expected, but I was ok with how things turned out. It was lunch time and I made my way to the cafeteria. I still sat with Raphie, but I didn’t know how much longer that would last. Ralphie was buffing up, but I was noticeably bigger than him, noticeably bigger. And I could tell Ralphie didn’t like that. He was starting to get the muscle bug, just like me. Ross stopped eating with us after I called him puny. Well, next to Raphie and me he was staring to look kind of puny. I told him he otta start working out. He got mad, called us a couple of muscle heads and left. It was then I realized I was getting to the point where “muscle head” didn’t feel like an insult anymore. I kept seeing Simon around. He was wearing a tank top, too, these days. He was putting a lot of muscle on those arms of his. Problems is, because they were so short, they were starting to look a little stubby. He wasn't going to win the bet looking stubby. haha Guys had started calling him Little Tank, and it fit. Dude was almost half as wide as he was tall now. But he hated being called little in any context. He was always getting into fights. Been suspended twice for it already. I sometimes get fucking furious, but Troy is always there to talk me down. I guess he’s done it before for some of his jock buddies who have juiced. He’s pretty good at it. He always ends by telling me to save the anger for the gym, not to waste it on petty shit. And I do use it in the gym; it has helped me grow, get bigger, stronger. I know it has. Troy knows about growing. Troy sauntered over to our table, grinning. He gave Ralphie a sideways glance and then leaned over to me and said, “I tried to get another little bet going on an arm wrestling match between you and Ralphie-boy, here, but no one would bet against you, not even Hunter! We have so got this thing won!” Then he sauntered back to the jock’s table. I watched him go. Damn, those guys were big, way bigger than me. I wanted to be that big. Maybe that blue bottle could get me there, but Troy wasn’t going to use it. I know. I must have asked him 100 times. The only thing that might make Troy give it to me was if he thought he might lose the bet. I looked over at Ralphie. I knew Hunter was juicing him and he definitely was growing some big, veiny biceps and I could see his larger pecs starting to stretch his Hunter’s Maggot shirt. His back and shoulders were looking fuller and wider, too. But I think I must have grown twice as much as he has. And my tank top left no doubt I had way bigger arms than him. I was just on better stuff. Wait a minute… There was plenty of gear in the fridge in my room. And Troy never paid that much attention to how much was in there. If it looked like we might be running out, he just got some more. I could put Ralphie on the same shit I was on, maybe even a little more… And if it looked like Ralphie might be catching up to me, Troy would have no choice but to break out the blue bottle! “Ralphie,” I said. “Yeah?” he replied, “What are you doing after school today?” Next Part

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 TROY Yeah, Maggot, it’s me. See you picked up on the first ring. Haha. Guess you really want to know what’s going on, hunh? Hunter and me hit Jack up about his roided out Maggot. He denied it, of course. Said his boy just has superior genetics. That’s total bullshit and both Hunter and I know it. He’s been juicing his maggot for a while, probably since day one. No, it doesn’t disqualify him. It’s not against the rules, it just makes it less interesting. The whole idea of the thing was to test our Maggot’s genetic potential. Throw gear into the mix and all that goes down the fucking crapper. Hell no, we’re not giving up! First of all, I want you to know Jack’s Maggot isn’t nearly as big as he looks. He’s a small guy, and when you put a little muscle on a small guy, it looks like a lot of muscle. And he’s got tiny joints, that’s something else that can make a guy’s muscles look bigger than they are. Yeah, I think this was part of Jack’s plan all along. I get why he chose Philips as his maggot now. Jack must have thought he’d be easier to put muscle on. But I bet after the first day he figured out the dude had the genetic potential of a worm. That must be when he started juicing him. And you can bet your ass Hunter is going to start juicing Ralphie. And that means we’re going to have to do it too, and do it better than either of them! We got no choice. Jack’s gone and turned our little scientific experiment into fucking chemical warfare. And now we’re going to have to pull out the big guns to get you some big guns, and not just big guns, but the biggest fucking guns possible so we can win this thing! Don’t wimp out on me now, Maggot! This is your chance to join the big boys. No more, just getting you big; now we’re gonna get you fucking HUGE! You’ll be busting out with massive muscles, fucking everywhere! Imagine your shirt stretched across your massive pecs; tenting out and draping down to cover abs like a fucking brick wall while the sleeves are pulled tight by your boulder-like shoulders and giant, vein covered bugling arms that put most dude’s legs to shame! Doesn’t that get your blood pumping? I know you, Maggot, better than you think. I know you like what’s been happening to your body and I know you fucking want this! You want it so fucking bad, you’d sell your own mother for it! Am I right…? I thought so. And I’m gonna fucking do it for you Maggot. I’m going to make you into that fucking muscle beast! Jack and Hunter are fucking idiots. They forgot my dad practically runs a big-ass pharmaceutical company. That’s right, almost owns the place. And thanks to all the fucking dinner parties my parents give, I knew exactly the guy to go to for the best possible shit you can possibly get. He thinks it’s for me—like I need it—I told him it was for a team mate. So, he had this question. It’s going to sound kind of weird, but he wants to know if your mother kept her placenta, you know for the stem cells, in case you ever got leukemia or anything. She did. Awesome! Ok, you’re gonna have to work out on your own today. I’ve got shit to do. Do your back. You know exactly what to do. I’ll be at your place as usual for our morning run tomorrow and we’ll get this shit started. Oh man, I can’t wait to see you fucking explode! Brian’s Journal Day 23 My head’s in a fucking whirl. I can’t concentrate on anything. I keep seeing Simon’s hard bulging body and his cocky attitude as he forced Justin Tambor to his knees with nothing but raw muscle. Fuck. I think I got hard watching it. It was in the moments after lunch I realized I wanted that kind of power and I wanted it bad. I wanted big powerful muscles that other guys would fear and envy. I wanted to feel all that hard sinew bulging and sliding around under my clothes as I walked down the hall. I wanted to know that every guy I passed was just praying I wouldn’t fuck with him. That’s what I wanted, and I got hard just thinking about it. Then Troy’s phone call came and I have to admit I was a little scared. I mean steroids? You hear so much about them… Did I really want to do this? But then I heard the answer from way down deep inside. I wanted it. I wanted it like nothing else I’d ever wanted. I wanted huge fucking boulder-like muscles! I wanted to be a big, juiced-up, veiny, massive roid boy! oh fuck yeah, I did! Bring on the fucking magic juice! Make me a monster! That’s what was running through my head as I stepped into the weight room yesterday. It was weird not having Troy there. I mean it was almost as if he were part of the weight room and it was incomplete without him. But even though he wasn’t physically present, I could still hear him in my head as I did my Bent Over Rows. “Keep that ass out, and that back arched, Maggot!” he said, almost as if he were there. “Give me one more, one more! You can do it, Maggot!” And my whole workout was like that, pushing myself just as he would have pushed me; always one more, just one more… FUCK! And then it was done. I’d done it. And in my head Troy was clapping me on the back and leading me to the next exercise. When I got home that night, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Visons of muscles, huge, hard, bulging, vein covered fucking muscles, were throbbing in my head. I went to my room and tried to sleep. I kept having dreams about my body, swelling up, getting huge, with hard, granite blocks of muscle, and them my cock would explode and wake me up. I lay there panting for a minute or two before I drifted off again, and then I’d have another one. And one or two about Simon. Only in my dream, Simon didn’t yank off his shirt, he exploded out of it. Giant, hard, pulsing muscles just swelled up bigger and bigger on him, tearing their way free, as he shot up taller and taller, chest swelling out, biceps bursting into vieny boulders, legs thickening into muscular stocks. Then he’d start flexing his new massive muscles and roaring with pleasure at the sheer animal power he possessed. Then BAM, my cock would go off and I’d wake up. When Troy finally came, it was without any kind of warning. He just burst in through my door with a brown paper bag in his hand and a small refrigerator balanced on his huge, bulging shoulder. I was already awake, waiting for him. I had been for an hour. “I got the shit, Maggot,” he said, putting the fridge down and plugging it in. “We’re gonna keep it here and I’m gonna give you your injections every morning before our run. I told your mom it was supplements for you and we needed to keep them in your room so your little brother wouldn’t get into them.” “Here,” he said, opening the paper bag and pulling out one small glass bottle after another. “This is Test Propionate, this is Dianabol, this is GH, and this is a fucking cutting edge Myostatin inhibitor.” He said all this like it should mean something to me. But for all I knew, he could be speaking Greek. “And this is going to make me huge?” I asked. “Oh… fucking massive, Maggot, fucking massive,” he answered. “I’ve known a few guys who’ve juiced, but no one who’s taken a stack like this. You are gonna hulk the fuck out, Maggot! The only thing we gotta worry about is somebody noticing or asking the wrong questions about how you got so huge so fast.” I felt myself getting hard again. “When can we start?” “Right now,” said Troy, upending the bag on my bed. A package of hypodermic needles, some cotton balls and a bottle of alcohol tumbled out along with a small blue bottle. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the blue bottle. “Oh,” said Troy, “quickly picking up the blue bottle and placing it back in the bag. “We’re not going to fuck with that,” he said. “The guy at the lab made it special for you, but it sounded kind of sketch to me, like some kind of weird, science fictiony, comic booky thing. Better leave it alone. Anyway, we got more than enough stuff to turn you into a fucking beast! These two you’re getting twice a week, this one every day and this one three times a week. Ok, drop your drawers, Maggot. You’re gonna take these in the glut!” Next Part

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 TROY Come here, Maggot. I know we finished the workout for the day, but I want to show you something. Stand right here in the mirror. That’s good. Now, take off your shirt. What do you see? What do you mean, nothing? You’ve been training for 3 weeks now! What do you see?! You don’t know? Ok, let me show you. First, your paunch is almost completely gone! You think you’re getting fat? Haha. No, Maggot, you’re just getting a little bulking gut. A bulking gut is completely different than a paunch. A bulking gut is a nice rounded stomach that comes from putting on muscle, which usually comes with a little fat—not much you can do about that. And a paunch hangs low on your waste, goes all around your middle like a spare tire and comes from being a crap eating, video gaming, couch jockey! You see those two bumps just below your rib cage? They were never there before, were they? Those are your upper abs, Maggot. You’re starting to get fucking abs! Yeah go ahead and poke ’em. Solid, aren’t they? And check out your chest. No more flat nubs. They’re becoming rounded mounds now. You have to have noticed how they’ve started pushing out the front of your shirt. And those new little caps of muscle on your boney-ass shoulders. They make your body look broader up top. And flex those arms. Yeah, that’s it, flex. You got biceps, now Maggot! They’re not much more than bumps, but they’re a helluva lot more than you had when we started. And feel those legs! Yeah go on, feel ‘’em, just like this. They’re a lot thicker and harder than they were. That’s all the running and the squats you’ve been doing. Fuck, they’re like rocks! You... …Ahhh… Cindy? What’re you doing here? You came to see what I’ve been spending so much time on? So what if I’m standing here with a shirtless dude? This is a weight room. There are lots of shirtless dudes around. What do you mean I spend more time with my Maggot than I spend with you? He’s my Maggot. I told you about the bet. So what if I had my hand on his leg. Dudes feel each other’s muscles in the gym all the time, especially if one dude is training another dude. Is he blowing me? Cindy, if you were a dude, I’d knock you into next week for saying something like that! Ok, fine. Fucking ask him. See, he’s not blowing me. Are you fucking happy? Where are you going now? Geeze, fucking bitches! Problem is, she’s the hottest girl in school; buys her a lot. The bitches are gonna start looking at you soon, Maggot. Be fucking careful though; most of ’em are bat-shit crazy. So, don’t pay any attention to Cindy. I think you should be proud of yourself Maggot! I think you should enjoy the look and feel of your body as you change from a slug to a man! And I’ll tell you something else! I think you’re doing way better than your buddy Ralphie. From what I can see, you just got better genetics, like I’ve been saying all along! Simon Philips, though… I don’t know what’s going on with him. Those shirts Jack dresses him in are so big they hang on him like a tent. It’s hard to tell what’s going on underneath. But he’s such a tiny guy, I can’t believe he’s doing better than you. Yup, I think we got this bet won! Brian’s Journal Day 22 The shit seriously hit the fan today! I don’t know what’s going to happen now… Just when I was starting to get used to this whole fucking weird maggot-thing. I mean at first, it was pretty fucking rough. My body hurt so bad, I could barely move. But that went away after a couple of weeks. I still hurt, but nothing like I did. …And after the workout yesterday, fucking Troy, actually giving me a guided tour of my own body. As if I hadn’t noticed. Hell yeah, I’d noticed! It’s been staring out of the mirror at me every morning for days! At first it was me looking at these little lumps and bulges going, “Is that what I think it is?” A little prodding, a little poking and I was pretty sure. Fuck, they’re muscles. I was growing muscles! Then I found if I tried I could actually make them jerk a little. It was actually pretty cool—all those tiny bulges of twitching muscle. And my biceps… they started showing up about a week after the workouts began. I’ve been checking those out every day. And every day they get bigger. I mean they’re not huge or anything. In fact, I think most guys have bigger arms than me… But then again, every day they get bigger. I think it was the day after I first started noticing the changes that I found myself waking up in the morning before Troy actually got there. I’ll never forget the look on his face the first morning I was out of bed and waiting for him when he showed up. It was classic Troy. And then today at lunch… Fuck… Shit got real. It started out pretty normal. I was feeling pretty good about the changes I was going through, and I found myself looking across the lunch table at Ralphie and wondering what kind of changes he was going through. So, I said, “Hey dude, check this out.” And I pulled up my sleeve and flexed my budding bicep for him. He kinda smirked at me and went, “Oh yeah? Check this out.” Then he pulled up his sleeve and flexed his arm. Fuck, he had a bicep too! Was it as big as mine? Was it bigger? I just couldn’t tell. But I knew a way to find out. “Wanna arm wrestle?” I asked. “Seriously?” asked Ralphie. “Yeah,” I said. “Seriously.” It was about this point that the jock table noticed what we were doing. They all started elbowing and nudging each other and pointing over at us. Hunter and Troy were grinning and trash talking each other and I could tell bets were being placed. Before Ralphie and I knew what was happening, the whole jock table was crowded around us. For some reason Jack wasn’t there. I never really found out why. I think he may have been sick or something, but anyway… Our little arm wrestling match had become a main lunch time event. Talk about pressure, I think both of us were kind of regretting our decision. But it was far too late now. We took our positions, elbows on the table and arms extended. I could hear Troy cheering me on, “You can do it, Maggot! He’s nothing! Waste him!” Of course Hunter was saying pretty much the same thing to Ralphie. We clasped hands and stared each other in the eye. Damn, Ralphie looked determined. Well, I was just as fucking determined! One of the jock’s said, “Ok, on the count of 3. 1… 2… 3!” And it was on! I gave a mighty push! Fuck, I thought I might just have been able to quickly slam his arm to the table, but fuck no! He pushed back just as hard. We were both straining, hard as we could, against each other. The cheers and shouts of the jocks all around us. A lot of them were calling, “Go Maggot, go!” Of course it was hard to tell which maggot they were cheering for. I’m not even sure if they knew. I’m not even sure if they cared. I could see my new bicep bulging up hard. Fuck, at that moment it just didn’t look like much. But Ralphie’s didn’t either and after a few seconds he started to give. Slowly I began forcing his arm down. “That’s it, Maggot!” shouted Troy. “Destroy him!” I could see Ralphie was straining as hard as he could and I could see he looked worried. I found myself smirking over the table at him. I was winning. I was stronger. And it felt pretty damn good. With one final heave, giving it everything I had, I slammed him to the table. FUCK YEAH! Cheers went up amongst the jocks. Money changed hands. Troy was slapping me on the back. “Atta boy, Maggot, I knew you could do it!” Hunter looked kind of pissed, and he shouted over at Troy. “It ain’t over yet. We got til graduation! By then my maggot will be crushing yours into dust!” “Yeah,” answered Troy, “and then you woke up!” And then suddenly we all heard this ridiculously loud shout. It sounded like a pissed off kid who had just gone through puberty and gotten a voice that was way too deep for him to handle. “FUCK OFF, DOUCHE! Everybody turned. There in the lunch line was little Simon Phillips, resplendent in his tent-like, yellow Jack’s Maggot shirt. He was red faced and pissed and shouting at Justin Tambor, who was about a head taller than him, “YOU FUCKING CUT IN FRONT OF ME!” “Yeah?” said Justin. “So, what if I did? What are you going to do about it? You fucking jock-boy guardian angel ain’t here today! And you’re just a little fucking ant man without him.” “ANT MAN?” Simon turned so red I thought he might explode. Then suddenly he was yanking off his yellow shirt and… Holy fuck! He was completely yoked! He pulled a most muscular pose and, all at once, muscles were exploding out all over him. He had a fucking bulging chest, a chiseled six pack, a back writhing with ridges and slabs of muscle, tennis ball sized, striated shoulders and big, vein-covered bicpes that looked like they were starting to develop peaks! Simon let out a low growl and then, grinning savagely, he grabbed Justin by the arm, twisted it, and forced the wincing taller guy, to his knees. “WHOSE FUCKING ANT MAN NOW, DOUCHE?!” It was suddenly so quite in the cafeteria you would have thought school had ended and everyone had gone home. Simon turned to Ralphie and me and shouted. “And when the time comes, I’m going to do the same thing to you two losers, only by then I’ll be way fucking bigger!” Then smirking, he flexed his bulging biceps at us. “Unless you want some now?” Both Raphie and I were too shocked to move, let alone answer him. One of the lunch monitors came over and asked Simon to put his shirt back on which he begrudgingly did. It was then I noticed Simon had a bad breakout of acne across his chest and back. The lunch monitor led both Justin and Simon out of the cafeteria, presumably to the office. As if someone hit a switch, the cafeteria erupted into a sea of babble. Troy tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Stick to your phone. You’ll be hearing from me.” Then he turned to Hunter and said “Jack’s been juicing his maggot.” Hunter acknowledged Troy with a sagely nod, and the two of them walked away to confer. Ralphie was as stunned as me. Holy crap! What’s going to happen now? Next Part

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 TROY So you wanna fucking quit, do ya? Haha. I was wondering how long it would be before you tried this. Every fucking step you take’s gotta be fucking agony. Haha. But you know what that pain is? It’s your weakness leaving your pathetic, scrawny body. And your weakness ain’t gonna give up without a fight! But you know what? I’m not going to let you quit, Maggot. I’m not going to let your weakness claim you! You’re mine! I’m going to make you see this through and get big so I’ll win this bet –I’m going to do that for damn sure! I never make a bet unless I’m ready to do what I gotta do to win it. But this is also fucking good for you, Maggot. This is the best fucking thing that ever happened to you. You just don’t know it yet. But you will someday. Someday you’re gonna get down on your knees and thank me for the hell I’m about to put you through! You just don’t know it yet! Still want to quit, hunh? Nah, I not going to kick your ass. That would be too easy on you. You got a little brother, right? What’s his name? Joey? That’s right, little Joey, baby faced dude. What is he, 15? No, I’m not going to kick his ass; I’m going to train him! Imagine little Joey huge and swole. Imagine seeing him coming out of the bathroom every morning, a towel wrapped around his waist, getting more and more jacked as the days go by. Imagine seeing his back get wider and wider and denser and denser with rippling slabs of muscle. Picture abs evolving out of his boyishly narrow waist and gradually forming hard, chiseled bricks of sinew, see his pecs in your mind as they slowly expand fuller and fuller until they become striated boulders of pure, unadulterated muscle. And picture those boyish arms swelling bigger and bigger day by day until they’re erupting with vein covered, bulging biceps and imagine his legs bursting out into massive muscle pillars. That’s right, in 6 months I’ll put so much fucking muscle on that kid you won’t recognize your brother from the neck down. He’ll be a fucking titan! Imagine him muscled-up and smirking, busting in through your door, coming in here to fuck with you every day or every night or any fucking time he feels like it! Cause that’s what little brothers who get bigger than their big brothers do. Haha. My older brother doesn’t even come home for Christmas any more. Maybe I shouldn’t have made him drink all that toilet water… But never mind that. You won’t be able to stop little Joey from fucking with you with that pathetic, skinny body of yours. He’ll be able to do whatever he wants to you. And if you let him get bigger than you now, guaranteed he’ll be bigger than you for the rest of your life. Every fucking family gathering—he’ll never stop humiliating you. Is that what you want? Is it? I didn’t think so. Now get the fuck up and let’s go running. Brian’s Journal Day 4 Fuck!... Fuck! I can’t see any way out of this. A muscled-up Joey? After all the shit I’ve done to him… I’d never survive it! Troy’s fucking got me. He’s really fucking got me! Well, this morning’s run went better, anyway. I didn’t throw up, something Troy was very happy about. I don’t know, though; somehow I have a hard time seeing it as a victory. When I got into school, there was Edgar Suarez laughing at me again. Somehow he heard about what happened in the weight room yesterday and was ripping into me about being forced to strip down in public when suddenly I heard this roar from down the hallway. “SUAREZ!” yelled Troy, as he thundered over. His face was red. Veins were standing out on his thick, corded neck. His fists were clenched, making his wide forearms writhe and bulge. “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?! “Hunh?” said Suarez. “Can’t you read? Don’t you see what’s written on his shirt? It says Troy’s Maggot! That means this maggot’s mine! I’m the only one who gets to fuck with him. You fuck with him, you fuck with me. You wanna fuck with me, Suarez?” “N..no,” said Suarez. “Then stay away from my Maggot,” hollered Troy. “I catch you fucking with him again, I’ll put you in the goddam hospital!” Then Troy turned and stormed away. Suarez just kinda looked at me with a genuinely puzzled look on his face before he turned and slunk off. Everyone else was kinda staring at me, too, so I make a quick exit myself – still not sure what to make of the whole thing. I met Ralphie again for lunch. You know, I used to look forward to lunch, but not anymore. Both of us had ridiculously huge meals packed for us again and neither one of us was looking forward to eating all that food. But one look at Troy and Hunter, watching us from the jock’s table, and we knew we didn’t have a choice. We were about to dig in when we caught our first sight of Simon Philips wearing his bright yellow Jack’s Maggot shirt. Geeze, he really is a small guy, maybe 5’ 4” really tiny hands. I suddenly understood Troy. Why did Jack choose him? I mean Ralphie and I aren’t giants or anything, but Simon Philips almost makes us look like it. We tried to wave him over, but he just gave us a look like a scared rabbit, shook his head and hurried by our table. What was his problem? Next Part

Part 1, Part 2 TROY “Ok, Maggot, welcome to my favorite room in the school! Welcome to the weight room! Can’t you just smell the testosterone? That’s right, the equipment in this room has forged thousands of sniveling skinny boys into monstrously jacked-up men! And it’s going to do that to you, too! Ready? Yeah, that wasn’t really a question. Get on the scale, Maggot! I want to see what I starting with. First, strip off you clothes, right down to your tighty whities. Yes, right here! I know there are other people around, even a couple of girls. Take ’em off or I’ll take ’em off for you! There! What, are you fucking shaking? You’re sure as hell turning bright red! I want you to remember this. I want you to remember the shame you’re experiencing over your own skinny pathetic body. I’m going to make that go away. Now check this out. That’s right, Maggot, I stripping down, too. Check out the monster pecs, the brick-like abs, and the massive muscle pillars I call legs. Think I’m ashamed of my body? You’re damn right, no. I love my body! If I had my way, I’d go around like this all the time, all the fucking time! Now, up on the scale! Geeze, seriously? 140 pounds? And you’re 5’ 8”? Damn, I got a long fucking way to go! Now me. There, that’s a man’s measurments! 6’ 2” and 260 pounds! Fuck yeah! If I had tits and a pussy, I’d fuck myself! What are you saying, Maggot? You could never… what? Get like me. HAHAHAHAHA! No one fucking expects that! First of all, you’re only 5 fucking 8 and since you’re 18, I wouldn’t count on getting much taller. Second, I’ve been working out since I was 11 years old – Look at this bicep! Look how huge it is – like a fucking softball! Look at that perfect peak with that thick vein snaking right over the top! That’s 7 years of building and sculpting; 7 years of being forged by the iron. I don’t care how good your genetics are, in the few short months we have before graduation, you won’t even been in the same county as me, the same state, the same country! All you have to do is get bigger than your friend Ralphie and that wuss Philips, and I know you can do that! Now put your uniform back on and let’s get started. Yeah, I’m staying shirtless while I train you! I know it’s against the weight room rules, but who’s going to stop me? I told you I love my fucking body, every jacked up inch of it! Now get on the fucking bench; I’m going to show you how to do a bench press. What do you mean you know how to do a bench press? You don’t know shit! Ok, then, show me. Get on the fucking bench and show me a bench press. We’ll start with just the bar. I don’t want you hurting yourself; it’s way too early in the game for that. Was that it? Was that your bench press? Pathetic. For starters, you were too far forward on the bench, you were gripping the bar all wrong. You practically dropped it on your chest – there’s something called a negative rep, Maggot—and you lifted it up at a slant. It’s got to go up evenly. Get off the fucking bench! I’ll show you how it’s done. First I’m going to put a plate on either side of the bar. I don’t think I can do a set with just the bar. I’d feel like I was lifting fucking air. Yeah, you could be benching at least this much by graduation, probably more. Depends on you. This is just a fucking warm-up weight for me! Now look how I’m positioned on the bench – you gotta pay close attention because the bench is just a narrow little strip and it gets swallowed up under my fucking wide-ass, granite back—so you gotta look to see I’m positioned that when the bar comes down it will touch my massive upper chest. ‘course you’ve got a much smaller target so your position is going to be a little different. Look how I’m grabbing the bar, evenly on both sides. You can use these markings on the bar to guide your hands. What, did you think they were only for decoration? Now lift the bar out of the supports – I see you looking at the giant carved triceps exploding off the back of my arms, but this is a chest exercise, so I want you looking at my chest! Good! Now lower the bar slowly to your chest. Then slowly raise it back up. Now when you’re doing this, try and concentrate on your chest muscles, feel them working as they lift the weight. Now, your pecs are so small you might not be able to do this yet. So, for right now, just imagine it. Then when you get the bar back up, pause for a second and squeeze your pecs like this. See how my pecs bulge into mountains, see the striations surface? That’s how you can tell I’m squeezing them. It’s not going to be as easy to tell with the little nubs you have, but time will fix that. Now get on that bench and let’s see you try! Brian’s Journal Day 3 Fuck, I can hardly move. My legs barely made it up the stairs to my room without collapsing last night. I was wobbly and shaking all over! I fell into bed, didn’t undress or anything. And I woke up to Mount Troy ripping me out of my bed again, flexing those massive arms of his! And when he set me down… unimaginable pain across my entire body. He said I was just stiff and that all I needed was to stretch and go for a run. A run?!!! I didn’t even want to go for a crawl! Everything I had hurt. It didn’t matter to him. He dragged me down to the kitchen and poured another protein shake down my throat. Then he threw me outside and made me stretch – Fuck did that hurt! And then I had to jog. I made it a whole block, my body wracked with pain, before I threw up the protein shake. Troy just told me to shake it off and keep going. We made it another block and then I just started stumbling all the time. Finally, he said it was enough and we could walk back to the house. He asked me how the stiffness was and holy crap it was actually better. He grinned at that and told me he was giving me the day off from the weight room for recuperation. But he ordered me to eat everything my mother made for me and to get at least 8 hours of sleep. Then he forced me to drink another two protein shakes before he left. When I got into school one of the first people I saw was Susie Nickerson. I’ve always had a thing for her. I was going to ask her out this week, but as soon as she saw me in my Troy’s Maggot shirt, she busted out laughing. I wanted to run away, but even if I did, I was in so much pain the best I could have managed would have been a rapid stagger. That’s it! I’m done! I know he said he’d make my life hell if I didn’t go through with this, but I don’t know how it could get worse than this! Tomorrow when he shows up, I’m telling him. He can beat me into unconsciousness if he wants. I’m through with this shit! Next Part

Link to Part 1 TROY “Wake up Maggot! I said wake the fuck up! How did I get in here? Haha. You’re parents let me in. I know its 5 AM. Yeah, your parents are up already, Maggot, and so should you be! I told them I was your volunteer personal trainer from school, here to help you pass your fitness evaluation. Your mom thought it was a great idea and showed me right up. I caught her checking me out, too. Haha. So, get up Maggot! Why are you still in bed? Haha, look at your eyes bugging out of your head. That’s right, Maggot, I’m lifting you right out of your fucking bed with just one of my huge fucking arms. I wore this tank top just so you could get a good look at what a Man’s arms should be like. Just look at my bicep bulging up big and hard like a cannon ball as I rip you out of your fucking bed. Check out the pulsing veins in my massive forearms as I effortlessly hold you up. That’s right Maggot, you’re so puny it’s effortless! It’s not even a good workout for me. I’m going to put you on the floor now, so you better stand on those puny stick like legs of yours. Good. Oh, isn’t that cute; you sleep in your tighty whities. And you’ve got some serious morning wood going. Too bad, no time for that. Here put these on. What are they? There a pair of light blue gym shorts and a t-shirt. Go on, put ‘em on! Cover up a little of that milk-white, flabby pathetic body. Yeah, I know they’re big on you… for now. But they won’t be for long. Why are you asking me what it says on the front of the shirt? Can’t you read? Do you need glasses or something? It says, “Troy’s Maggot,” that’s what it says, because that’s what you are and you’re going to wear this t-shirt every day until you earn the right not to. Hell yeah, you’re going to wear it to school! That’s the whole point of the thing. Don’t worry; I got you two pairs. So, while you’re wearing one, the other one can be in the wash. See, I thought of everything! Now, put ‘em on! Look, Maggot, I’m dragging you downstairs in 30 seconds and if you’re not wearing your uniform, I’m going to drag you down there just like you are now, dressed in only your tightie whities. You think there’s anything you could do to stop me? Haha. That’s fucking right, Maggot. One look at my massive, bulging, sculpted torso, and you know you’re fucked. Haha! Accept your place on the food chain! Good, you got them on. Yeah, you look like crap, but again, that’s the point! Come on, Maggot, down the stairs you go. I’ll push you if I want to fucking push you! Yeah, your parents already left for the gym. I can’t believe your parents workout and you’re such a slug! Ok, this is what we call a protein shake. This is going to be your breakfast from now on. Yup, forget about your fucking frosted cookie-o’s cereal. I threw that shit out. You not only look like a 12-year-old boy, you eat like one, too. I gave your mother a whole new diet plan for you, full of lots of heathy meat and vegetables, and you’re going eat every bite of it or I’m going to come down here and shove it down your pencil necked throat! And you can start by finishing that protein shake. No, Maggot, you left half of it in the fucking glass. Drink it all! Ok, you asked for it. That’s right Maggot, I only need one of my giant, meaty hands to fit almost all the way around your puny stick-neck. That way I can use the other one to shove the glass into your mouth and tip it up. You better open up and swallow otherwise this shits going to run all down your front, and that’s how you’ll be going into school today, with spilled dried protein shake all down the front of your fucking shirt! That’s it. Now swallow! Swallow or you’ll choke on it! Good! I hope we won’t have to go through this every morning, but on the other hand, that was kind of fun! Now, we’re going to go for our morning jog! That’s right Maggot, a jog! Now out the door! Pick those feet up! Faster, Maggot faster! Do I know Rich Perkins? Yeah, I know who he is, why? Do I think he could put on some size? Yeah, probably—wait a minute! I know what you’re doing and I’ve got news for you. Hunter Jack and I went over every single looser in our school, every one of them! And out of the whole bunch, I chose you, you lucky son of a bitch, and that’s the end of it. So, keep jogging! How far? Until I fucking tell you to stop, that’s how far! Keep going! Pick it up, Maggot! Oh you better not throw up! Oh fuck! Maggot, that was good protein shake. I should make you lick that up off the ground. Never mind, you’ll just have to have 2 more when we get back! Now pick it up! Let’s go! Brian’s Journal Day 2. I am sooooo fucked! Ok, first Troy lifts me out of my bed with just one of his gargantuan arms. Holy fuck! His swole, vein wrapped, sculpted gargantu-muscle limb, just bulging out all over, is holding me suspended in midair like I’m a pillow or something. I mean, fuck! I boned right up, right there, dandling from his thick muscle fingers. Then he makes me wear this butt-ugly bright blue shirt that says Troy’s Maggot in giant letters across the front and then makes me run til I throw up. So then I have to drink another 2 of those gag-worthy protein shakes. It was all I could do to keep from throwing up again on the spot. Then he tells me I have to meet him after school at the gym. Fuck, man, I have a life, friends, homework and I just got Rage of the Dead 3 for my PS4! I don’t have time for this fucking workout shit! Then I get to school and everyone is staring at me in my bright blue Troy’s Maggot shirt. And fucking Edgar Suarez, who’s almost as big a douche as Troy, starts laughing at me every time he passes me in the hall. I feel like a total idiot. At lunch time I met up with Ralphie. We usually eat lunch together, along with our buddy, Ross. That was the first sight I got of Ralphie in his bright red Hunter’s Maggot shirt. Ralphie had apparently had a morning very similar to mine. It actually made me feel better that I wasn’t the only one going through this shit. When Ross showed up, we told him the whole story. He said he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Well, I knew what I wanted to do. When I opened my lunch bag, I found my mom had packed me a humongous lunch, two chicken breasts, broccoli, sweet potatoes – fuck! Who could eat all that? Ralphie also had a huge lunch. I ate half of one of the chicken breasts – that’s all I could handle, but then Troy came over to my table and stood over me until I ate the rest. Fuck! I though my stomach was going to explode. Ralphie managed to eat all his without Hunter coming by, but I could see the big jock watching him from across the room. Geeze, are we really going to have to do this until graduation? Link to Part 3

Here is Blue Pill Part 1 if you haven't had a chance to read it. **DISCLAIMER** All characters, unless stated otherwise, are assumed to be 18 years of age or older. If you do not like scenes of forced sex and some violence, then please leave now. You have been warned. Blue Pill Part 2 I don’t think anything in the world could have prepared me for the sight before my eyes. The man I had worshipped in my dreams was standing right before me fully exposed. Most people in that situation would have turned and ran for their life, but at that point I had no feeling left in my body. My brain had gone completely numb except for one thought. I can’t believe this is happening! “I’m so fucking horned up from that first half, and Stacy is nowhere to be found so I guess you’ll have to do. Not that you didn’t want me to fuck you anyways, hahaha.” Chris then picked me up, stripped me of my clothes by ripping them from my body and positioned me on the bench. There was no warning, just a sharp jolt of pain as I felt Chris’s mammoth cock entered my virgin hole. To describe what I felt was intense pain, but once I felt his balls hit my ass, my eyes had rolled back into my head from the pleasure I felt. “Yeah, you like that don’t you, you little faggot!” Chris’s baritone voice filled my ears as he continued to fuck me. All I could do was moan in approval and say “yes”. As I began to regain some of my senses, I realized who was fucking me. I also remembered that his cock wasn’t the only thing that was big on him. My eyes were first drawn to his pecs and how they bounced every time he plunged his thick dick into my ass. I reached my hand up to feel these massive melons that were hanging in front of me. His pecs were so thick and so full of muscle that his nipples were hard to find underneath all of his muscle cleavage. You could tell as soon as I had found them, because the expression on his face changed immediately. If I thought he was fucking me beforehand, then this was like overdrive. Something about grabbing onto his nipples put him over the edge and he began fucking like a mad man. It took all I had not to let go. As Chris was getting closer to the point of no return I saw the veins in his neck and arms bulge thicker. I swear I could see his pecs swelling larger too, but I assumed I was hallucinating from all of the pleasure I was feeling. “Oh FUUUUCCCCCKKKK!” I felt Chris’s cock expand inside of me and then I felt what all the excitement was over. Now, don’t get me wrong, I had cum a lot in the past, but this was a torrent of jizz flooding my insides. I could actually feel pressure from the amount of sperm that was being deposited inside me. I just so happened to look down and I could see my stomach expanding from all the sperm. BZZZZZZZZZZ “Thank you Fletcher Valley High Cheerleaders for that wonderful performance, now onto more football!” We heard the P.A. system screech through the locker room. “Well that’s my cue. Thanks for the release. Come to think of it, Stacy is busy after the game as well. Looks like you aren’t going anywhere.” Chris shoved me hard into the janitor’s closet and the last thing I saw before he closed the door was a super pumped Chris. As if he had just gotten through a grueling workout! “See ya later cum rag. I’ll be back to pump that ass some more after we win the game.” Then the door to the closet slammed shut and I heard a click as Chris locked it from the outside. With my jeans still around my ankles, I pulled them up and tried to clean myself up a little bit. As I went to zip up my jeans, I noticed that they were a little more snug than the last time I wore them and I was unable to button them. Then I noticed the problem, It was my cum bloated stomach from that massive dick that was just inside me. Even after gorging myself on food at thanksgiving I never looked this stuffed. One thing I did know was that I had to get out of here before the football game ended. Of course I wanted to experience that joyful bliss again, but I couldn’t be seen like this. Bloated to the max and my jeans covered in cum from when Chris pulled out. Before I could think of anything else, I felt a vibrating in my pants pocket. I reached in to find that Eric was trying to call me on my cell phone. I think I was more surprised that I was getting cell service in the school over the fact that I hadn’t dropped my phone in that sexcapade. I quickly flipped open the phone to hear Eric complaining about slow service at the pizza place and why I wasn’t there yet. “Dude, I have been waiting forever, not just for the pizza, but for you too! Get your butt down here!” I knew my friend wouldn’t judge in the state I was in. “Ummm, kind of in a pickle here Eric. Could you come down to the school and let me out of the janitor’s closet? I seemed to have been locked in.” “Yeah, sure. How did you lock yourself…? Never mind, it’s you were talking about. The same kid that somehow manages to lock himself out of his own car all the time. Yeah, I’m on my way” “Thank you so much Eric! I owe you one!” “No, you owe me like fifteen now. Hahaha….” *Click* Beep, beep, beep…. Enough of him gloating that he had to come to the rescue, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it once he gets here. After hanging up with Eric, I noticed a strange urge that seemed out of place, I felt really horny. I also noticed that my stomach didn’t seem to bulge out as much anymore. I felt extremely energetic as well, like I could run a hundred laps around the school or something. I hope Eric gets here soon or I just might explode from all of this energy. 10 minutes went by and still no Eric, so I figured I would find a way to pass the time and consume some of this unbound energy I was feeling. I began doing pushups. At first I figured I would go to twenty and see how I felt from there. Twenty turned into thirty, turned into fifty, and that’s how I am now at three hundred and I still feel wired. As I stood up and looked down I realized that my stomach was no longer bloated, because I couldn’t see it. My pecs were so full and pumped that I couldn’t see my feet when I looked down. What really caught my attention was the fact that my biceps each had a vein running down the middle of them. These are two things that I had never seen in all of my years of working out. So I quickly dropped to the floor and started repping out crunches. Before I knew it I was coming up to two hundred. So I stopped and stood up to see the damage. I leaned over my newly pumped pecs to see the faint outline of my six pack. I had never once been able to see my abs EVER! Then I noticed a mop in the corner of the closet. I set it across horizontally on the two shelves on each side of the room to form a pull up bar. I began pulling myself up doing as many chin ups as I could. Every time I came up after a full extension I could feel my lats pushing my arms further out. However that’s not what stopped me from doing pull ups. *CRACK* as the mop snapped in two. “HOLY SHIT DUDE!” I looked up to see Eric with his mouth wide open and his eyes bugging out as he looked over my sweaty body. “Looks like I have some explaining to do…”

I want to thank muscledrain, who suggested the theme and general outline of this story, and Gunshotuk, who friendly assisted with proofreading. I added these links, by editing my original post. Chapter one is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7118-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-one/ Chapter two is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7140-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-two/?hl=magic With a little help from magic Chapter Three A few weeks earlier, it had been completely dark at the hour when the students arrived for the first lesson, but now rose-tinted clouds and an icy blue sky sleepily floated over the brick building, although the sun itself hadn’t reached above the roofs of the neighbouring buildings. The snow-ploughs had left high snow-drifts against the surrounding walls. The outdoors temperature had dropped to minus twenty Centigrades, and the breath of the students formed clouds of visible vapour in the air. One of the bus lines was at a standstill, due to the icy cover on one of the steepest roads in the city, and this had caused a late arrival of some students. Aram was irritated. With no bus, he had been late, and got on a later tram departure than usual. The situation had affected many students from the same parts of the city, and he wasn’t entirely alone in the corridors, although most of the students already sat in their lecture rooms. He put his jacket and his training bag in his locker, and grabbed his biology book. ’Oi Swotter!’, shouted the too familiar voice of Anderson. Aram sighed. Here we go again. The angry faces were there as usual, shouting things as usual, with one minor divergence: Peter wasn’t there. Slowly, a hunch began to emerge, but Aram wasn’t given the time to finish his thought. Anderson was there, wrestled Aram quickly, until he lay on the floor, getting salt stains on his clothes. Anderson shouting things about going back to his own country. ’You know that I was born here, don’t you?’, Aram asked. The scent of Anderson’s leather jacket. The scent of a cheap cologne and adolescent sweat. The scent of Anderson’s bad breath: Probably a yoghurt breakfast. The scents which could have been perfectly neutral, or even the scents of a friend, but now, since several years, the scents of humiliation. Anderson’s football scarf dangling in Aram’s face. Shouting. Spittle. Something about Arabs. ’And no. I’m not Arab either. My ancestors lived in Syria, Turkey and Iraq long before the Arabs.’ Anderson’s hand around Aram’s Adam’s apple. It was useless to resist: The footballer who dabbled at the gym was significantly stronger and heavier than Aram. Anderson’s bodyweight disappeared. At first, Aram was too dizzy to register what had happened, but, when he composed himself, he could watch Anderson in a knuckle fight with Peter. The other members of Anderson’s little crew standing passively, not knowing what to do. Aram adjusted his eyeglasses and his tie, quickly remembering how he had suffered from myopia since primary school, and how John had not. ’What are you doing, fatso? We are mates, aren’t we?’, Anderson tried to convince Peter. ’I’m tired of you Anderson. I’m tired of being the fatso. I’m tired of being your excuse for this. I thought that I was the leader of our gang, and then I realized, that I have been your puppet all the time. Always blame the fatso. Always nagging about how I was dismissed from the hockey team!’ ’But you were dismissed from the hockey team, fatso. You didn’t have what it takes. You realize that, huh? I remained in the football team because Coach saw my qualities. But why do you defend the little Prof? Have you become an Arab lover all of a sudden?’ Peter was over Anderson in a second. He must have left all self-control, and punched on the leaner rocker uncontrollably, using his weight to his advantage. But Anderson was faster, and used that to snake himself out of Peter’s grip and range. The three other rockers froze from their disbelief and hesitation, and surrounded Peter. ’Fatso! Fatso! Fatso!’ ’Frigging bloody wanker. Now I have a blood stain on my new plaid shirt. You will pay for this! What is it? Don’t want to be reminded of what a bad hockey player you are? A failure! A loser! And you were never a real rocker either! Couldn't afford a real jacket? Couldn’t afford a second hand car? Letting others pay for your beer and hot dogs on the motor festivals? Do you think I’m scared of you?’ The last sentence wasn’t delivered convincingly. Peter stared Anderson in his eyes. The small hesitation was all Peter needed. He pulled himself free. Neither Anderson, nor Peter, saw what happened next, but Aram saw it. John and Carl arrived. Both were of course taller than any of the young men, but Carl probably wasn’t in much better shape than Anderson, and considerably more light-weight than Peter. John, on the other side, towered over the group, his escalating results on the gym progressing almost visibly each day. It was probably the bad weather that had caused Carl to wear army cargotrousers instead of his favourite bleacherjeans, but, unlike John’s city camo, Carls trousers followed the greenish colour scheme for forests. The bulky and glossy bomber jackets enhanced their size, one black and one metallic blue. The military origin of two of their garments, was contrasted by the stylish details of others: Carl’s favourite maroon polo, his blue braces and blue shoe laces. John had shaved his braided ’Vikings’ hairdo off, and Aram noticed a black and yellow-striped polo shirt and thin, black braces, that John hadn’t worn before. Had he joined the SHARPs? Yes he had: Aram could see a new embrodiered patch on John’s jacket. Anderson’s followers looked at the two skinheads for a second, and left the place. Anderson became aware of Carl and John, and lit up. ’Oi fellas! He is all yours. Now he even attacks friends, not to mention poor Prof over there.’ It was Carl who answered. ’Don’t try to fast talk out of this. We heard before we saw. Get out of my way if you don’t want any more thrashing.’ Anderson was silent when he left the lockers. * * * Grumblingly, Carl had accepted that Peter followed them to the gym. ’What I can't understand, is that you have the patience to have him around you. If I had been you, I had wanted to punch his face in.’ Aram didn't know exactly what to say. Nor did John. Remembering two versions of reality gave you perspectives on things that could have been, but Carl wouldn’t believe them if they tried to tell him, and it was probably best a guarded secret. Carl wiped his boots with a wet tissue, in order to remove salt stains. ’You ought to wipe your boots too, John. Salt damages the leather terribly.’ Peter arrived into the locker room, and they changed the subject. * * * John and Carl were on their way home from a concert in another city. They had gone with two of Carl’s old friends, one of whom owned a car. The concert had been fantastic: Some of the song texts about injustice in society, some song texts about football or loyalty to your neighbourhood. Stirring refrains. Many in the audience sang along in the the refrains. John surrounded by friends, with Carl at his side. Sturdy Carl. Good Carl. John had never seen so many skins at the same place at the same time: Short, tall, some in their 60’s, some in the same age as John, and every age between. Some, going for a more old-fashioned take on the style, wore lambskin jackets of a sort that had been popular among skins in the early 1970’s, and not a few, coming from the southern parts, wore crombie coats (although they had bitterly found out that, up here, crombies better had to wait until spring arrived). Bearing in mind the outdoors temperature, it wasn’t strange that most of them wore bomber jackets: black, blue, green or burgundy. In the middle of the concert, John had a short vision of individuality blurring, and his consciousness floating in an atmosphere of affinity, belonging, and joy. John and Carl now shared the back seat of the car, while their friend in the front seat tried to keep the driver awake by talking to him. Loud music played in the car, something by Rancid, John thought. The wintery landscape passed by in the night, swiftly illuminated by the headlights, and then, as swiftly, left behind in the winter night’s darkness. Snow on spruces. Snow on firs. Snow. A road sign, warning for elks. Snow. A small village with a petrol station, street lamps illuminating the back seat for a few seconds, and then winter forest again. Darkness. Snow. He removed the hockey scarf from his neck. It was hot enough inside the car. Carl fell asleep shortly after they left the concert, resting his head against John’s shoulder. While awake, Carl was always so assertive, so confident. When he was asleep, his face looked different: Relaxed, innocent. During the journey he had slid, and his head now rested against John’s side. John had protectively laid his arm around Carl’s shoulders, feeling the silky but synthetic surface of Carl’s jacket. Suddenly, John became aware of, that Carl’s hand, which had rested against John’s trousers, had moved to touch John’s crotch through the fabric of the camo trousers. John hadn’t thought about it, but his tool was hard by being so close to his best friend, if that word was enough to describe his feelings. In his sleep, Carl began to clench John’s dick through the fabric. Clenched. And relaxed. Clenched. And relaxed. John tried to wake Carl up. Carl would be terrified if he had known what he did. John didn’t want to catch the attention from the guys in the front seat: They would tease Carl for weeks, if they knew. Clenched. And relaxed. ’Carl, wake up. Wake up.’, John whispered, and shook him carefully. ’Wake…’ The clenching felt good. Carl had cupped his hand over John’s dickhead. Carl didn’t awake, in spite of Johns silent attempts to wake him. Clenched. And relaxed. They passed by another village. Street lamps revealed a smile on Carl’s face, the blond stubble on his hair glistening like gold in the electric light. And then the car rushed into the night again. A pleasant darkness. Clenched. And relaxed. John’s bloodstream was filled with warm honey, running slowly and exquisitely through his system. Clenched. And relaxed. His dick felt like steel now. Clenched. The warm presence of Carl so close to him. Silky but synthetic. And camo. And relaxed. Reliable. Tough. Kind. Clenched. Loyal and masculine. And relaxed. His invincible friend. Doing this. Clenched. And relaxed. A mist of dark red pleasure floated inside his eyes. Floated. Slowly and exquisitely. Mist. Of a thundercloud. Rushing. Through him. Through his muscles. Feeling big. Hard. Best friend. Thunderbolt. Mist. Rushing. Through him. Smile. Stubble. Close. Thunderbolt mist. Rushing. Now – pure pleasure. It wasn’t aware of it’s existence now. It was. Only. The. Pleasure. Only. The. Pleasure. Only. The. Only. Only. Only. Onl… Clenched. * * * Carl and John had had their ’little chat’ with Peter a few days before, Carl hesitatingly, and John well aware of what Aram and himself had agreed upon. If reality could change, persons could too. Carl had probably been a little bit too harsh, but John had focussed on reason: A few years after arrival, refugees pays tax. Financial argument against refugee policy are therefore without foundation. Freedom of religion is something good: Would you like to be forced to practice something against your will, yourself? No? Then don’t do it to anyone else. Food? Is it really a good idea to decide what anyone else would eat? Do you really like fermented herring yourself? No? You hate the stench? So do I. Why would you then like to dictate that anyone else’s dinner tables should be stuck in the 1890’s or 1920’s? Only upper class eating sushi? I wouldn’t call my cousin upper class: She assists elderly people in their homes. Do you eat pizza? Yes? You know that pizza isn’t indigenous food in Northern Europe, eh? Want to retain a good system of social security? But why then argue for a right wing party? You know that they side with the big companies against workers’ rights, don’t you? Not a commie bastard? If you don’t like the bunch of people Carl hang around with, it’s fine, though they are not exactly commies either. Make up your own mind. There are more answers to these things than two. There are a lot of political parties in the centre, if you prefer that. Most of them are in favour of a well-functioning social security. Your grandfather vote Labour? Then I suggest that you have a chat with your grandfather about this. Wouldn’t that be a good idea? Thought so. Peter looked tired after the conversation. Carl and John had seen smugness or angry sullenness before, but the present sad expression on Peter’s face had none of them seen, and there was something puppy-like about his eyes. Carl handed him a low-carb soda. Peter and his mother lived in a flat consisting of three rooms, all of them considerably smaller than what Carl and John were used to in the younger and recently renovated part of the area. Old-fashioned containers for salt, sugar, meal and oats hung under the dressers, and John noticed to his surprise that the flat lacked a dishwasher. Although cigarette-smoking was falling out of fashion, it was obvious that Peter’s absent Mum was a smoker, which was a pity, since the living room with the old TV could have been quite nice otherwise, with an old fashioned parquet floor and shelves with framed photographs of relatives. Unlike Carl, Peter didn’t have a TV in his bedroom. It didn’t take too long to convince Peter that some of his former views were wrong, although some of the changes probably didn’t go more than skin deep, initially. He had proved that he was able to take sides with Aram, and he was childishly enthusiastic about being instructed by John at the gym. Carl had sadistically ripped away the Confederate flag from Peter’s denim jacket, and the rectangular spot didn’t look impressive, but the weather forced Peter to wear a warmer (rather humdrum) jacket anyhow. The temperature outdoors was burning cold, and it hurt in their cheeks when they returned indoors. * * * Aram arrived late to the gym. ’Sorry. I had to spend some time with Emelie. She was upset. Did you see Emma’s bruise earlier today? No? Anderson had beat her yesterday, and Emelie tried to persuade Emma to leave him, but Emma is stubborn. What a nasty piece of work Anderson is: Disagreeable and nefarious!’ Peter looked on the floor, already dressed for workout, but in cheaper equipment than John and Carl. ’You are much better than me with words’, John said, froze, and stared at Aram silently. Aram stared back. ’Than I am’, Aram answered with some hesitation. ’What is it?’, asked Carl, but John and Aram changed subject. Fifteen minutes later, they stood at the cable stand. ’You have probably seen people train their pecs with cable handles up here, but if you lower these, your chest will actually have to work much harder to press the handles together, especially if you don’t bend your arms.’ ’Yes… Uh. Nrrrgh. Definitely much more resistance…’, Aram noticed, red in his face. ’Seven. Eight. Nine. Uh.’ ’But it doesn't feel like usual. I miss something.’, Carl remarked a minute later. ’The idea is’, John explained, ’to let this part work harder.’ John pressed his fingers on the insides of Carls now very hardworking pecs. He then put his fingers in Carl’s armpits, and nodded in the direction of the dumbbell press. ’These parts of the muscles will get their share of the workout in the next exercise over there.’ Carl shouted, and dropped the cable handles with a noise. ’I am ticklish. Never do that again’, Carl said, and disappeared towards the locker room. * * * The winter night shrouded the slopes and the flats in darkness, but the crusty snow on the lawns reflected the light from the street lamps and the moon. The caretakers had obviously spread another amount of salt during the preceding day, since the ice had melted on the pathway, and the moist asphalt surface peeked out from the surrounding snow, like a snake with black scales. Peter had left them in the older corner of the area as usual, and the other two had left Aram by the stairs to his family’s flat. Aram watched the white clouds of his own breath, watched the sky, noticed the upcoming conjunction between two planets he had read about in a scientific magazine, and went indoors, the bag on his shoulder. His mother was not at home: Probably giving an introductory language course to newly arrived Syrian refugees. His sister probably visited friends. He warmed some chicken in the oven and some lentils in the microwave oven, and ate absentmindedly in the kitchen, before returning to his room. He had just opened the computer file of a composition about mithocondriae, when something strange struck him. He felt dizzy and exhilarated. It felt like reality circled around him for a second, he felt a rush of information streaming inside his head, and he found himself in a state of analytical clarity beyond what he had longed for. He was sure he hadn’t understood all these mathematical proofs just a minute ago, but he could also remember how he gradually had achieved this insight for several years. He looked at the candle from Madame Cremorna’s. Burnt out and empty of wax since several weeks. He sat silent for a long time, trying to regain composure, went out to the kitchen for some tea. Holding the warm jug of tea between his hands, he took an educated guess about what probably had happened. It was probably a good idea to wait a few minutes before calling John on the phone. * * * ’Carl. There is something I want to talk to you about, but we haven’t had a good chance until now.’ They sat in John’s room. John sat on his adjustable chair. Carl sat on John’s bed. It was the sort of week when John’s mother worked night at the home for the aged, and John’s father was away playing floorball with workmates after work. ’Sure. Something political? Something about music?’ ’No. No, nothing like that. Eh. Uhm. Something strange happened when we were on our way home from that concert.’ ’Nothing I noticed. I slept all the way home. Didn’t wake up until the car stopped in the parking lot.’ ’You didn’t dream something strange?’ ’Can’t say that I did. Not something I remember anyway.’ John fell silent. Then he took the matchbox, and lit the novena candle in the window. It was Tuesday, after all. Within a minute the scent from the oil mixed with the candlewax was noticeable in the room. ’I want to tell you a secret. Aram bought that candle to me last autumn. You know: The church his family belongs to is into saints and things. The idea is that it will bring… Bring good luck, in a way.’ ’You know that I am as agnostic as you are. There is no way to prove the supernatural, neither a way to disprove it. It’s just meaningless. I’m not like the hardcore Atheists, ranting about sky fairies and spaghetti monsters, but whatever may or may not exist – if something supernatural exist, it will be so complicated that no human book would be able to describe that something, so I prefer to relax and not spend time on the subject. There’s a world out there to make better. I'm not a bloody hippie.’ John picked a book from his thinly populated bookshelf. He waved with it before Carl: Bodybuilding: A Handbook. ’May I discuss some of today’s exercises?’ ’Sure. Why not?’ John sat down beside Carl at the bed, and began to explain. He was probably ten minutes into the discussion, when he felt a strange heat inside. He rose and opened the window. ’What are you doing? It’s bloody cold outside. Don’t let that cold air inside.’ John closed the window again. The flame of the candle flickered. John could see that there wasn’t much candlewax left. He returned to the bed. ’I feel funny. Don’t you feel the heat?’ ’Heat? The windows’ got good insulation, and the radiators are working, but you can’t call this heat. What’s the matter? Do you feel ill?’ A worried expression John hadn’t seen before spread over Carl’s face. John reclined on the bed, with Carl sitting close to his knees. ’It feels better now. But it still feels funny. In a good way.’ A pleasant feeling filled his back, and continued to spread. ’Mmm. In a really good way.’ The feeling filled his traps, and continued to his pecs. ’Are you okey?’ ’Mmm. Oh. Umm. Yes, I’m okey. It…’ The feeling changed into a burning feeling in his abs, and he felt how a strange but pleasant feeling of hardness filled his shoulders and his quads. ’Oh. Carl. Do you see it, or is it just my imagination?’ ’See what?’ It now filled him entirely, from the stubble on his head to his fingers and toes. It was different from the subtle changes at the other times, it was… ’John. I can’t believe this. It looks like you are growing.’ John moaned, and then arched with a short scream. He tensed his biceps, and felt how he tensed his pecs. The fabric of his t-shirt couldn’t take the strain anymore. With a ripping sound, Johns growing biceps split the short sleeves of the shirt apart, while his growing shoulders and neck tore asunder the rest of the shirt. ’It’s bloody unbelievable, John. It’s like a frigging dream. Do you feel alright?’ ’So good… So good… Yes. Yes. It’s happening.’ The flame of the candle flickered, consumed the last remains of the oily wax, and went out with a silent puff. ’IT’S HAPPENING!!!’ John felt how his body convulsed in a pleasant way. ’Uhnnn. Uhnnn. Oh yes… Uhnnn. More!’ Carl was rigid with fear. And something else. Then, he reached out his hand towards John’s chest, and touched John’s growing left pec. With a sigh and a smile, John’s growing right arm grabbed Carl around his waist, and let Carl fall with his face on John’s pecs. A few seconds he struggled, and then relaxed. John could feel a kiss on his left pec. John let his left hand caress the stubble on the backside of Carl’s head. John could hear Carl mumble: ’I’m fucking dreaming. This is unreal.’ ’If it is a dream, you are free to do whatever you would like to do in a dream’, John answered, but whatever he had tried to say was abruptly cut off by another wave of growth. He moaned and groaned of pleasure. ’Oh, yeah. Grow for me mate. My best friend becoming a bruiser… Oh. This is so good. These mountains of power…’ Carl sat on John’s groin, touching John’s biceps with his hands. ’Oooh.’ Carl leaned forward and kissed John’s right bicep, and then licked it. ’Oooh. It’s still growing. You are still… Oh. This is so good.’ John felt how he became hard down there too. Carl must have noticed. He slide from the bed, removed his shirt and trousers, and then began to remove John’s trousers, but they were stuck on John’s large and still growing calves. ’Oooh. Uhn. Mmmm. Yes.’, John deliriously exclaimed. Carl gave up his attempt to remove John’s trousers, and directed his concentration on John’s shoulders, grabbing one with each hand, whimpering lustfully at the touch. ’Oh. My buddy, the warrior. My mate, the hero. My friend, the… the war god. This is so bloody good. So fucking unreal. So, ummm.’ John’s mobile phone rang, but they were both too excited to notice. Carl’s steel hard rod, although still decked by pants, had touched John’s bulging and steel hard abs, and he shivered at the sensation. Another lustful whimpering escaped his mouth. John could feel Carl rubbing his groin against John’s abs, and it felt good. He was able to drive his friend crazy of admiration. Another wave filled him. He bellowed, and distantly felt how his calves split the seams of his trousers, releasing him from any restraining clothes. His dick found its way between Carl’s thighs. Carl moaned. John looked up on Carl, smiled and tensed both his biceps. Carl held his breath, and something began to pulsate wildly inside Carl’s pants. Again. And again. And again. The last stages of John’s transformation were still going on, when Carl regained the similitude of awareness of his surroundings. Veins began to cover John’s chest, legs and biceps, and all muscles protruded well-defined in a manner suitable for the best junior bodybuilders. A blissful smile was upon John’s face, his eyes closed. He breathed quickly. Carl readjusted his position, and sat between John’s knees, grabbed John’s rod with his right hand, and pulled it a few times. It didn’t need much encouragement, until it ecstatically exploded in his grip, and pulsated in a powerful ultra-masculine way between his fingers and his palm. In a voice, deeper than before, John asked Carl: ’Why didn’t you tell me before?’ * * * Chapter Four is here, but doesn't contain any growth: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13032-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-four/

TROY “There you are, you fucking wimp!! Hey! Don’t try to run… Ok, fine, you want it the hard way. There, see? I told you not to run. I caught you pretty fast, didn’t I? Looking at these monster quads of mine, you might think they’d make me slow and awkward, but hell, no! They’re like fucking steel springs; so fucking powerful, I fucking fly across the ground! Not like those fucking sticks you walk around on. Put any fucking strain on those things, looks like they’d snap. Haha. “Hey, hey, don’t fucking struggle, you goddamn stick-boy, I don’t want to hurt you. Yeah, that’s right, for once I don’t want to hurt you… Besides, no way you could break my grip. See those wide-ass rippling forearms with those thick veins running up them and straight over my fucking huge, 18-inch, chiseled biceps - that’s one inch for every year I’ve been alive, haha– they’re way too much for your puny, soft, weakling body to fight against… But then you know that. I’ve shown you often enough, throwing you around like a fucking rag doll, before mashing your face against my stone-like abs. So, stop struggling cause if I want to fuck with you, there ain’t nothing you can do about it. “There, that’s better. I’m going to let go of you now. Don’t try running cause I’d just catch you again. You run like a fucking girl, you know that? There, that’s good. Now you just sit there and listen to what I have to say. “Hunter, Jack and I were sitting around talking about genetics… yeah, you know Hunter and Jack, don’t you? I can tell you’re scared of them, too. Haha. Well, we were talking about how all three of us had great genetics ’cause we’re all pretty fucking jacked for 18-year-olds. Haha. I see your eyes bugging out every time I flex this fucking 18-inch bad boy bi o’mine. He’s fucking awesome, isn’t he? Anyway, we’ve all got pretty fucking big arms and huge-ass legs, and pecs like cannon balls, backs like walls and stomachs like cement… anyway, we got to talkin about how some dudes probably have great genetics but never do anything with them. “That’s when you came up. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a total stick-boy. Jeeze, it’s embarrassing how skinny you are. But if you worked at it, and I mean hard, I think you got the potential to be a fucking beast. “Hunter didn’t agree with me. He thought Ralphie Bennet had the most potential. Yeah, Ralphie’s a friend of yours, isn’t he? I mean any dude can put on some muscle, but looking at the way you’re put together vs him, I think you could out class him easy. “Don’t fucking blush, wuss, I’m not gay for you or anything. I just think you’ve got better genetics than Ralphie Bennet. Jack picked Simon Philips, if you can believe it. Philips? There has never been a more natural born wimp! “So we all got into a kind of argument over it, and that kind of turned into a bet. So now we each have until graduation to put muscles on our dudes. Then we see whose boy gets the biggest. “Don’t shake your head at me, loser, this is the best thing that ever happened to you. I’ll make a man out of you! You’ll be able to walk down the street with your head held high in a fucking man’s body, not a fucking stick figure. And you’ll do it because while you do, you’ll be under my protection and no one will fucking mess with you. I can see you like that. And if you don’t do it, I’ll make your life hell every single day for the rest of high school. Is that understood? “Good, good. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s see what we’ve got to work with. Take off your shirt. Take it off, damn it! Listen, maggot, you have to do what I tell you, whatever I tell you, whenever I tell you to do it if we’re going to pull this off, understand? From now until graduation, I own you! Your ass is mine! So, take your fucking shirt off! I’m not going to tell you again! “Ok, you asked for it! “Yeah, I ripped your fucking shirt off! What are you going to fucking do about it? That’s what I thought. Next time I tell you to do something, do it or I’ll rip your fucking head off! Got it, Maggot? “Good! Now let’s see what we’ve got… Jeeze, you’re fucking pathetic. Stick-thin flabby arms, no fucking chest at all, and you have a fucking paunch. You’re 18 years old; how do you have a fucking paunch? Don’t shrug you’re skinny-ass shoulders at me, Maggot. I’m going to take off my shirt. Check this out! “Look at my fucking bulging striated pecs! Look at my cobblestone abs! Feel them, Maggot. Stick out your skinny little fingers and feel them. Feel how hard they are? Like fucking steel! Check out the V taper of my thickly muscled back! You’ve already seen the guns, but I’m going to give you another look. Bam! There they are, Righty and Lefty. Righty’s a bit bigger, but Lefty’s struggling to catch up. “You’ve got these same muscles buried deep somewhere in your skinny little carcass, and I’m going to bring them out, each and every fucking one of them! How does that make you feel, Maggot? Does it excite you? It should. I remember the first time I saw a big dude on TV when I was about 8. I knew I wanted to be just like him when I grew up, wanted to feel all that huge, thick, powerful muscle all over me, and now I do! Didn’t you ever fucking want that, Maggot? I don’t know how anyone can stand to be like you. You’ve got a body like a twelve-year-old boy. How can you fucking stand to be like that? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Soon you’ll be bigger, a lot fucking bigger. You’ll be a fucking muscle dork. You’ll be the biggest, strongest fucking muscle dork this school has ever seen. And if you’re not, I will fucking kill you. Brian’s Journal Day 1 Oh my god, what do I do now? Troy Watkins, the bane of my existence, wants to make me his… his monkey-boy. I guess that’s the best word for it. He wants to train me so he can win some stupid bet he made with his wrestling buddies. His trained monkey… I’d say fuck that, but I don’t really have any choice in the matter. Jesus, the arms on that dude. I’ve never seen anything like that; they’re like fucking grapefruits bulging out of his arms, vein covered, rock-hard grapefruits! I mean I always knew he had to be jacked, but shit… I didn’t know guys our age could get arms that big! And the rest of him… his muscles are monstrously huge! His body looks so fucking powerful… Jeeze, I’m starting to get hard. That’s weird… but his brick wall abs and his massive chest… He could squash me like a bug… damn… oh fuck… And that powerful stone wall of a stomach… heaving in and out as he breathed…I’m so fucking hard right now… brb… That’s better. Damn, guess my hormones are out of control or something. Anyway, Jack Colby is doing the same thing to Ralphie. I called him when I got home and sure enough, he got pretty much the same speech from Hunter that I got from Troy. We’re both kinda fucked. And I guess the same thing is happening to Simon Philips, although neither of us really knows him. We tried to think of a way to get out of it, but the only thing that either of us could think of, is to get these douches to choose someone else for their little contest. So we came up with a list of guys who aren’t jocks, but who look like they could be. And tomorrow, we’re going to drop a few of these names and see what happens. Wish me luck. I’m going to need it. Link to Part 2

"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

Chapter One "Class, please have your tablets ready for today's assignment" Everyone in Mr. Stuart's Information, Design, Technology and Internet class got out their tablets and synched them with the screen at the top of the classroom as Mr. Stuart continued "Now, as you know it's Hallowe'en at the end of the week and you assignment has been to design a Facebook profile page for the person that you will be dressing up as. Remember, you had absoloute carte blanche to choose anyone just so long as people know who they are. Right, Jake, let's start with you!" Jake, the star quarterback, swiped his tablet and a profile page appeared on the screen. "Real Name: Adam, Profile Name: He-Man, Lives in: The Castle, Eternia, From: The Castle, Eternia, Followed by: The Whole Universe and there's the profile pic" and with that he swiped down to reveal his costume causing several girls in the class to whistle with admiration "Yes, thank you" said Mr. Stuart, "we all know that Jake is the Prom King for this year. Very good indeed Jake, I must say that I like the work and education section. Next, how about you John?" John, who was the school's best baseball player, swiped his tablet and up popped: "Real Name: Kal-El, Profile Name: Superman, Lives: Fortress of Solitude, North Pole, From: Krypton, Followed by: Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen and here's my profile pic" and again several members of the class gave an appreciatetive "Woo! You're buff!" "Interesting choice" said Mr. Stuart, "and I see that you've given a very detailed life history. Now, as you know we have had an exchange student from England with us since the start of the semester, so Jeremy, would you care to go next?" As Jeremy's profile appeared the entire class with the exception of Jeremy and Mr. Stuart burst into laughter with Jake leading the catcalls. "Call that a Hallowe'en costume? That's only good for the kindergarteners!" "Now Jake" said Mr. Stuart, "remember that Jeremy comes from England. They have a different idea to Hallowe'en than us. Now, care to introduce us?" "Real Name: Isaac, Profile Name: Porthos, Lives: Paris, France, From: Pau, France, Followed by: Aramis, Athos, D'Artangan, Captain Treville and with the greatest of respect to Jake, he's more of a hero than your He-Man and your Superman. He really existed. He was a true titan and a gentleman to boot!" "Yeah, right" said Jake, dismissing the protest, "I mean look at him, he looks like he's about to collapse into an early grave. Face facts, he's fat, and I don't mean overweight like you I mean really fat! You need a costume with some real muscle if you're going to get any candy. That's why I'm going as He-Man" and with that he pulled up his sleeves and flexed his 18 inch biceps causing all the girls and a few of the boys to murmur appreciation. As the school bell rang and the class emptied, Jeremy put his tablet away sadly and got up from his desk. He was an outsider, he was English, perhaps too English to be an exchange student in America. "Jeremy, could you come here please?" said Mr. Stuart Jeremy nodded and sat on the desk nearest the teacher. "Jake's interruption didn't give me a chance to say, but I liked your choice. It's not often we get some of the classical literature works referenced for Hallowe'en here it's usually all superheroes and the like!" "To me, Porthos is a superhero" replied Jeremy, and related how once he found out that Porthos committed suicide to defeat the Cardinal's Guards at Locmaria but only after using his great strength to hold up the collapsing cave to save his friend Aramis "I've always wanted to become a Musketeer, to be a complete gentleman and honourable as well" and with that he let his head sink and muttered "Not that anyone here cares" and with that he stood up and walked out of the classroom, his heart saddened that no one in America seemed to realise the value of nobility and honour. As Mr. Stuart watched him go, a wry smile crossed his face. "Ah" he said under his breath, "but then again, not every school as a bonefide wizard in it's teaching staff!"

Chapter one is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7118-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-one/ With a little help from magic Chapter Two Twelfth Night came and went. Spring semester began. Aram hadn’t seen John for a couple of weeks. During Christmas Break, Aram’s family had went to another city, to spend Christmas with relatives. In order to use the holidays for something useful, Aram had brought books from the public library with him, and he had spent Christmas reading a voluminous handbook on anatomy and a monograph on constitutional matters. The books went far beyond what he was expected to read, from his teachers point of view, but Aram wanted to quench his insatiable thirst for more knowledge, and it wouldn’t hurt his grades for sure. It had been a fascinating experience to follow John’s development during autumn and beginning of winter. It was rather common that beginners at the gym got initial results pretty quick, when their bodies adjusted to something entirely new and unfamiliar, but John’s results went far beyond what could be expected of that usual effect. At the Halloween party he had been lean and defined, but during November and December he had began to fill out and approaching a heavier build. One of the trainers had demanded John to hand in a urine sample, since the gym didn’t tolerate steroid abuse among its members, but it came back negative. Concerning exercise, Aram was slightly disappointed with himself. He hadn’t improved his results at all in October and November. In December he couldn’t any longer lift the weights he was used to. He had got a bad cold then, and guessed that it could have something to do with it, but there was also a nagging suspicion back in his head, that his decreased ability could have something to do with Madame Cremorna – that is, if what she did really worked. His scientifically-inclined mind was of two thoughts when it came to the highly eccentric lady in the shop. He missed Emma. They had been an item for years, and life was suddenly missing someone he had begun to take for granted. He missed her warm presence, the scent of her hair and the funny way she giggled. Just as he thought about her, she happened to coincidentally pass by, on the way to her locker. ’Hey, Emma! How was Christmas?’ She looked surprised. Unusually surprised. ’Aram? Nice of you to ask. It was good, but nothing special. And you?’ She looked at him differently than he was used to. The situation felt odd. ’The thing we talked about in the end of the semester. There is no way for you to reconsider?’ ’Talked about? Reconsider? I am not sure that I understand exactly what you are talking about?’ ’About…’ Then it struck him, that he could remember two different strings of events – two different pasts existing simultaneously, side by side. In one of the pasts he and Emma had never been a couple. He felt strange. ’Do you feel okey?’ ’Yes, just a little bit dizzy. Thank you. See you at math class.’ ’Don’t exercise too much. I think it is so sweet of John to teach you how to exercise at the gym, but you have to take it easy in the beginning.’ * * * John had been able to indulge in two workouts a day during Christmas holidays, and the gym had been unusually sparsely visited during these weeks. He had eaten traditional Christmas dishes for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but then returned to his highly well-planned eating plan. He had risen early the first day of the spring semester, and executed a cardio workout at the gym before school day. When he arrived to his locker he heard Peter’s voice on the other side the row of lockers: ’Oi! Swotter! I’m talking to you!’ ’Right. Now his gaze is penetrating lockers as well.’, John thought for himself, and braced himself for the upcoming troubles, but Peter went on, talking on the other side the row. What was going on? John followed the row, and peeked around the corner. Peter, Anderson and two of their friends stood in a semi-circle around Aram, tugging his laptop. ’What the hell are you doing?’, John shouted. Peter and his friends turned around. ’Oh, hello John. Don’t worry. We are just having some fun with Swotter here. Not your business.’ A feeling of unreality lowered itself over the scene. ’Not my business? After all the hell you have given me?’ ’What are you talking about? Only a fool would mess with you, meathead.’ ’Uh. That may be right, but it doesn’t change what you did just a few months ago, does it?’ ’What the hell are you talking about? We were friends in the hockey team once, if you don’t remember? Why would I roughhouse you?’ The feeling of unreality became more intense. John’s facial expression must have been weird, since Peter loosened his grip around Aram’s jacket, and nodded to his friends to leave, quickly following them. As they left the place, John could hear Anderson say: ’Did you see his face? I don’t know what he is on, but I hadn’t dared to stay in the case he got into roid rage, would you?’ * * * When John bought his winter jacket last winter, it had been considerably too large, but since he was still growing, he had expected it to fit better this winter, and anyhow it was useful to wear a jacket that would permit him to wear a warm jersey. December had been rather mild, and the snow that fell several times had melted away. After Twelfth night the weather had changed, a lot of snow had fallen, and it was now minus ten Centigrades. When he was on his way to the gym this morning, he had found that his jacket was too small, despite it had fit perfectly days before, and his jeans were too short. A lot of weird stuff was going on. His unkept hair had changed into a style with shaved sides and the remaining hair kept in thin braids covering the top of the head. Aram hadn’t believed his eyes when he saw John earlier in the day. It was the first time in his life – as he remembered the past – someone had tried to bully him, and he appreciated John’s help. John’s growth during autumn had been fast, but still within the limits of his physical constitution. It was different now. During the holidays John had grown at least a decimetre in height, and his bones must have restructured themselves. His chest and his shoulders were broader, and his hips and waist were narrower. Although Carl didn’t workout together with John and Aram every time, he had promised to accompany them at the gym today. Carl arrived with melting snow flakes on his black bomber jacket, and it took him some time to untie the shoestrings of his shiny black boots. He began to change into sportswear. John looked good in sportswear. The T-shirt was snug, but the drawstring cotton trousers were baggy enough to hide his obviously big legs somewhat. They all trained legs today, ending the workout with heavy weights in the calf rise machine. ’I feel a little bit strange, today.’, said Aram when they had returned to the locker room. ’Uhuh.’, answered John. ’I have felt strange, too.’, and tried to relieve himself from the sweatdrenched T-shirt. With a ripping sound he involuntarily happened to tear it into pieces instead. ’O shit!’, John exclaimed, distracted from the thought of any strangeness. ’It was the second time this week. I must buy larger training clothes.’ Aram stared at John. It was no surprise that John was muscular now, but the shape of John’s naked torso went far beyond what Aram had expected. Carl stared as well on the perfect traps and shoulders of John. On the perfect roundness of John’s pecs. On the valley between the pecs, continuing in a valley between his abs. Although Aram was the only one of them who knew the words for obliques, iliac furrow and serratus, Carl stared on them just as much as Aram, if not more. Carl sat down on a bench, but immediately changed his mind and left for the loo. When they were alone, Aram could manage to have a word with John. ’It must sound crazy, but it feels like reality is changing.’, said Aram. ’That’s exactly how I feel it. So it’s not only me?’, answered John. In low voices, so that Carl wouldn’t hear their discussion from the bathroom, they discussed their experiences. It turned out that they both remembered last semester – and actually their entire lives before that – in the same way: John had been short, shy, scrawny and interested in wildlife. Aram had been extremely fit, confident and brawny. John had been teaching Aram most of their schoolwork subjects during autumn. But both of them could also remember another, more dimly and vaguely recollected, past, in which John had always been built and interested in sports, Aram always had been thin and achieving good grades, and John had began to teach Aram about exercise. It seemed like the rest of the school only remembered the reality the two of them regarded as less real. They didn’t manage to continue this trail of thoughts. Carl returned from the loo, and interrupted. ’My jacket is suddenly too small. I have to buy a new one in a size that allows me to grow.’, John told them. ’Then I know the perfect store for you.’, answered Carl, and looked at his watch. ’If we hurry, we will get there in time before it close.’ They got on the tram. It was full of people on their way home from work, and the floor was wet of melting snow. John was freezing, since his jacket was too small, and he was only wearing a tight t-shirt, which felt too snug. Some people couldn’t avoid staring. John felt of two minds about this. It was a new experience. They left the tram. ’Is it far from here? I’m freezing.’ ’Who wouldn’t freeze in this weather? Although you have the look of a hard fucker who could endure anything. You know that?’ John felt flattered and embarrassed, but it didn’t change the outdoors temperature. They took left into a cobblestone-paved alley, and soon found the shop John had mentioned. It was still open. Posters for bands, mainly punk rock bands, covered the black painted walls. A clock on the wall looked like the symbol for the British Royal Air Force. From the ceiling hung the symbol of London Underground. When John viewed the room, several styles of clothes hung from rackets or were displayed on shelves, ranging from stylish overcoats and expensive lamb’s wool jerseys to the sort of provocative clothes Emelie used to wear. ’Just tell me if you need any help’, said the shop owner, who sat behind the counter with earphones plugged into his ears. ’It’s fine. I know where to look.’, answered Carl. And so he did. ’You said you need something wide, with room to let you grow. Why haven’t you considered an Alpha bomber jacket like mine?’ ’Oh. Eh. I don’t listen to your music.’ ’Lots of people use bombers nowadays, even the bloody hipsters. You have always dressed like you are shy of yourself, and I haven’t understood why. Which colour do you like?’ ’Uh. Blue.’ Carl handed him a bomber jacket in a metallic blue colour. John tried it on. It felt comfortable, and although it had lot of room for results from the gym, it didn’t look too large. John watched his own reflection in the mirror. The jacket suited him. ’It was perhaps not a bad idea after all. Do they have wide trousers as well?’ ’Most jeans are too skinny for your legs. I would suggest army style cargo trousers.’ ’Don’t you think that would look silly? Or angry? Or nazi?’ ’Last time I checked, a lot of my anti-racist friends wore cargo trousers. It’s not like the 90’s any more. Here, try this pair with city camo. But, of course, you need a pair of boots to match.’ Carl began to evaluate the shelves with boots. John found a pair of boots he liked. He observed himself in the mirror. Although covering his body, his new style accentuated his new physique, and he looked intimidating, in a way he never had before. It felt unreal and like he was doing something forbidden, but it also felt good. John payed for his new winter clothes, and they left the shop. It had began to snow again. His new jacket kept him warm. * * * Emelie sat in the school cafeteria steaming of anger. Her glass of water lay before her, its content running over the table. She tried to stop it with napkins. ’Emelie? What’s happening?’ It was Aram. Absentmindedly he used his two used napkins to stop the water from staining Emelies dress or the floor. ’Oh, sorry for the mess. I just talked to Emma.’ ’Emma? What has happened to her. She’s nice.’ Aram uncomfortably remembered Emma from another reality. Her scent. Her laugh. Sex with her. Her sense of humour. ’Emma has got a new boyfriend, and we quarrelled.’ Aram felt a short sting of jealousy, and quickly realised that he had no reason to – in this reality. ’A new boyfriend? Who?’ Emelie had the expression of an elderly aunt in an acerbic mood when she answered: ’Anderson.’ * * * It was his eating day, he tried to convince himself, when he was on his way home from an evening out with Carl and his friends. It had become a lot of comparatively cheap and unhealthy pub food and several pints of beer. The SHARPS were a friendly bunch, but had tested him initially with a rude sense of humour. John soon fell into the jargon. It was very unpretentious. The winter night was cold. Snow covered the grassy slopes, and frost glimmered from the stairs of stone up to the council-flat neighbourhood. ’It was good, Carl. I want to do it again.’ ’Workouts are good, and I admire your discipline with food – I could never manage to follow rules like that – but you got to have fun now and then, aren’t you?’ John followed Carl home. Carl’s parents had went to bed. Trying to be silent, but laughing loudly, the lads their boots and jackets in the passage, and then went to Carl’s room. ’And as I said before, there’s no hurry to become a skinhead even if you were interested. I hate poseurs just as much as the other lads.’ ’Poseurs?’ ’Yes. Idiots full of themselves, who one day decides to come in from nowhere and adopt the skinhead surface with no content. They usually care nothing about the music, and a few months later they go after another fad. They come in several flavours: There’s the racist idiots, who know nothing about skins before ’82 or about SHARP, and there’s the hipsters, and there’s the gays.’ ’The gays?’ John blushed somewhat, and tried to not blush. ’Believe it or not. Some gays think that we are hot, so they try to look like us.’ John expressed some noncommittal noises. ’Which is rather flattering in a sense, but I don’t want a fifty year old daddy panting me in my neck, if you know what I say. Understand me correct: I am all for LGB rights – I’m a leftie for God’s sake – and I am not against some skins happening to be gay. What people do in their beds is their own business. I just want people to enter the scene out of the right motives. If you hate ska or oi!, can’t take a punch, and lack a sense of style, you don’t belong. Any upper class twat can shave his head, but he will not get what skinhead is about. Nor will the idiots who only want a pretext to pick a fight. They are just poseurs, all of them. And the boneheads have no flair for style: Have you ever seen a bonehead wearing a crombie coat? And they prefer threadbare WP t-shirts before a perfect Ben Sherman.’ * * * ’You will never believe what happened during lunchtime today.’, John told Carl while they helped the melocore club moving the large loud-speakers. ’No? What happened?’, Carl asked. ’Peter asked me if he could join me training at the gym.’ ’You are kidding me. Peter is a racist wanker. I suppose you told him to go to hell.’ ’No. At first, I couldn’t believe it was happening, but he seemed to be honest about it, and it sounded like he didn’t want to hang around Anderson anymore.’ ’What if it is just a trick?’ ’I don’t know. Perhaps this could let us put some pressure on him to stop behaving like an idiot.’ ’It’s easy for you to say, John. You have never been bullied. I have seen what Peter is capable of, and it’s not pretty. For Aram’s sake, you should say no.’ The discussion was interrupted, when Simon entered the room. He gave some directions. The room was soon ready for a concert. ’I hope you stand by our agreement?’, Carl said to Simon. ’We help you with this, and your club will pay for an oi! and ska themed Saturday in two months.’ ’Yes. Yes, of course. That’s the deal. Why do you repeat yourself all the time?’, answered Simon. * * * Aram’s mother didn’t approve of his new look. He was slowly untying the green shoelaces of his boots, when she asked: ’John, you have always been a nice boy. Why, of a sudden, do you look like a nazi?’ ’Sorry Mrs A., but I don’t look like nazi.’ ’That jacket and those boots. I have heard about nazis who look like that.’ ’He’s right, mom’, Aram interrupted. ’There’s a lot of anti-racists who sport that look, nowadays.’ Mrs A. looked slightly confused. ’Back when I was in your age, only nazis looked like that.’ ’The nazis were probably the visible ones, back then. But the roots of skinhead culture goes further back, before the split between racists and anti-racists within the culture. It was originally about Jamaican music. Oi! music was added in the 70’s. The split between racist skins and anti-racist skins took place in 1982. The racist skins are seldom seen anymore, at least in this country. The far right guys went on to wear ties and suits or became rockers or were assimilated by the casuals. Actually, I don’t understand why the far right guys tried to nick a culture about Jamaican music to begin with. And by the way, I’m not a skinhead yet, anyhow. I’ve got hair.’ 'If you call that hair.' Aram’s mother still didn’t look like she knew what to believe, but began putting dishes on the table. ’I’m glad that you help Aram with exercise. He only read books before.’ ’Mum!’, Aram protested indignantly. John recognized the situation too well: What is it with parents who behave like you still are fourteen or something? John continued to chat politely with Aram’s mother, while they ate a salad of parsley and fried breadcrumbs, chicken, chickpea sauce, and olives. After the meal Aram and John went into Aram’s room. It looked different from what John could remember. The posters of hockey players had disappeared. A novena candle similar to John’s own stood in the window. Aram had two bookshelves from IKEA, filled with books about natural science, mostly about biology and medicine. John watched the books confused. He could remember how he once had been able to understand the content of books like these, but he also became acutely aware of that he wasn’t able to digest their content anymore. The world felt weird, like it changed around him. ’Aram, I need to talk to you.’, John said. ’Same here. Carl is always present when we meet at the gym, so I haven’t got any opportunity. Not since our homework Tuesdays ended.’ ’Homework Tuesdays? You do remember them? No one else seem to remember, and no one else seem to remember that you once were almost as big as I am now.’ ’So you remember, too? It sounded like you did at the gym a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure.’ ’You will probably not believe me, but it feels like I have lived in two different realities, and now only the better reality is left. It feel so good that the other reality has disappeared.’ ’You seem to like it?’ ’Do you remember the same other reality as I do?’ ’I believe so, but I am not sure. Why do you ask?’ ’There was not much to like in the other reality, so of course I prefer this one. You don’t have to be a genius to understand that.’ ’Oh.’ ’Oh, what?’ Aram’s eyes and eyebrows expressed several feelings, exactly what wasn’t easy to interpret. ’Oh… The thing I liked with the other reality, was my success at the gym and in martial arts.’ ’Yes. I admit that that detail must have been good for you. For you. For me that other reality was hell. Whatever is happening, it is for the better.’ ’I’m glad to hear that. Eh. Uh…’ ’What are you trying to say?’ ’John. I love science. I want to dedicate my life to science, but there seem to be some things that are beyond scientific explanations.’ ’Perhaps there are. I haven’t thought much about it, but generally people would call me a sceptic.’ ’But you can’t explain away what’s happening to us. You know that it is real?’ ’It could have been me becoming mentally ill, but not if the same thing happens to both of us independently.’ ’Precisely. I can’t expect you to believe me, but I think… Eh. Uh. Ehrm…’ Aram rose from the chair before his computer, and reached the window. ’This novena candle. And yours. I bought them from a crazy lady… No, she wasn’t crazy. She was very sane, but very odd. She claimed that you and I could have our highest wishes come true through these, but at a cost.’ ’A cost?’ ’It seems like I became a perfect science student, but losing my muscles, while you became a poorer science student, when you achieved all that muscle.’ John felt suddenly aroused. He had packed on a lot of beef. It felt good, so much better than being like he was before. But losing his skills in biology was the price to pay? To hell with biology. The feel of these… He put his right hand on his left pec and squeezed. It felt good. He rose from the bed, standing before Aram with his full height. ’Are you angry at me?’ John hugged him. Aram could feel the presence of John’s muscular physique pressed against him. Aram could also feel that John’s dick was stiff, which made him uncomfortable. ’Angry? Why should I be angry with you? You have given me a gift. You could have asked first, but then I could have refused it as a bad joke, so probably you couldn’t have asked before. I love how reality has turned out to be.’ Aram looked relieved. ’Oh, another thing. Peter want to join us at the gym, but I wanted to ask you first.’ * * * Chapter three is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7668-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-three/

Preface Dear muscledrain, You wanted a magic switch of brains and brawn. I could have chosen to make the protagonist a black-metal kid called Moonsorrow Bloodpain, who invoked Cthulhu,* or something similar, to facilitate the magic, but then both himself and his recently muscular friend would eventually have been eaten by unnamable and eldritch primordial spacegods* of the elder days, and – as I understood your story idea – you expected something slightly more feelgood than that. But which sort of magic would be feelgood? Classical gods from Greece and Rome transforming mortal men is a story idea already used several times over at Metabods (Dionysus and Mars, if I remember correctly), so that idea was already taken. It then struck me, that some people out there IRL believe in a sort of magic Moonsorrow Bloodpain definitely would shun: Hoodoo – which is a mix of native Congolese religion, Protestantism, Dutch folklore, Catholicism (since the 1960’s) and slight traces of renaissance esotericism. It would probably be feelgood enough. But then another dilemma emerged: Which red-blooded, sports obsessed young male in a predominantly Agnostic environment would get the idea to even ask an eccentric and mysterious hoodoo lady for help? I then realised that bodybuilding and martial arts are very popular among young Syriac men, and that they – however laddish they are indeed – often have an honest respect for the saints. I have also observed that a lot of MMA fighters like to wear rosaries. Some of my former neighbours are Syriacs – very nice and friendly people with a flair for making good food. This is the way one of the protagonists was invented. I want to thank sithspawn, CardiMuscleman, mrk78, yourself, and some others for very valuable linguistic and stylistic advice. To write in a foreign language is full of potential errors. Any remaining errors are my own fault. Just as Northern Americans (and I don’t mean Canadians and Bahamians at the moment) let their Muscle Growth Stories take place in the US (or in a fictitious country identical to the US when it comes to educational system and cultural patterns, such as sports scholarships, pompoms, American football and resident colleges), I will, as a Swede, let the following story occur in a fictitious country with an educational system and cultural patterns indistinguishable from the Swedish ones: an academic year consisting of two semesters (not three terms), no school uniforms, pupils/students living at home with their parents at least until the age of 19, mixed social backgrounds at many (but not all) schools, and Agnostics observing Christian holidays. The difference between working class and middle class is probably more subtle and fluid over here than in other parts of the world – at least that was my impression on vacation in UK and Italy. The city in the story is, however, a city that never was. It will be futile, if any other Scandinavians reading this will try to figure out exactly where the story takes place: Everywhere and nowhere. The spelling of surnames have been anglicised. That wasn’t, however, necessary with the first names, which could pass for many nationalities just as they are. Comics readers: Look out for the easter egg. I hope you will have fun! Addenda * Long after writing this introduction, I actually wrote a horror story about Lovecraftesque forgotten eldritch primordial spacegods, called Professor Schnackenburg's mistake. With a little help from magic Chapter One The cold wind pushed the red and yellow leaves over the schoolyard with a rustling sound. The sky was steel-grey and unforgiving. Inside the brick-building housing the sixth-form school, lockers were clattering, and the sound of many voices blended into a tiresome murmur. Feet swiftly hurried to lecture rooms. John had put his rucksack in his locker, and was taking his chemistry book out, when he heard a disturbingly familiar voice behind him: ’Isn’t it Swotter? Oi! Swotter, I’m speaking to you!’ The eighteen-year-old closed the locker, and tried to look in another direction. Sometimes it worked. ’Look at me, when I’m talking to you!’ A hand on his shoulder. A foot behind his heel. Suddenly, John found himself on the floor and the chemistry book a few metres to the left, between another row of lockers. It was Peter and his friends. As usual. Peter and his little crowd of followers had made primary school, secondary school and the initial two years of sixth form a living hell for John, and there was no sign that anything would change, until John left for university in another city and Peter’s gang left school, most likely in order to face unemployment. Peter put his black cowboy boot on John’s chest. Like his chums, Peter had enthusiastically embraced the 50’s revival when it became fashionable, and they all tried really hard to look like exaggerated stereotypes of 50’s rockers. Most of them wore black leather jackets, unbleached denim jeans, and white T-shirts or plaid shirts, and they had put some gunk in their hair and combed it in a 1950’s style. Unlike some of his friends, Peter hadn’t been able to afford a leather jacket, so he wore a cheap denim jacket instead, and had sewn a Confederate flag on it, in the belief that ’that was very rock’n’roll’. ’Is that an army jersey, Swotter? Considering joining the forces?’ John felt embarrassed. If he kept silent, it would just go on. If he answered, the result would be identical. ’It is a hunter’s jersey.’ ’We didn’t know you were hunting! Did we, lads?’ ’I don’t, but I take photographs of rare birds. The jersey protects from cold weather.’ ’Scared of blood, I see. It wouldn’t be a good idea to join the army then? Would it, Swotter?’ ’I said it isn’t an army jersey. Ouch!’ Peter had moved his boot to John’s Adam’s apple. ’Listen very carefully. If I were you, I wouldn’t insult our brave boys in green by wearing that jersey, whatever you call it. Now take it off!’ ’But… Ouch!’ Peter increased the pressure on John’s Adam’s apple, then removed his foot, and came closer to John, sitting in a squatting position. Peter grabbed John’s jersey, and minuscule stains of spit rained on John’s face when Peter shouted. ’Now, you little pansy, you take that jersey off – either putting it in the cafeteria dust-bin or giving it to Anderson here. He deserves it better than you. Isn’t that right Anderson?’ Anderson, a blond football player, about the same height as John, but considerably more athletic, had been a henchman of Peter for years. He had a smug grin on his face. ’And what do you think you are doing, you friggin’ racist?’ Peter and his friends had to turn around. John rose from the floor, dusted away spots of sand from his clothes, and looked for his chemistry book. The newcomer who had spoken was Simon, the tall leftie intellectual from the other science class. Peter leered at him. It seemed that he had met Simon before. ’Don’t meddle, Simon. This isn’t your concern.’ ’Sure it is. Yesterday, you and your gang bullied Aram’s little brother and neighbour. But after what I can see today, you like to bully anyone, regardless of origin. Ridiculous greasers!’ John adjusted his eyeglasses, and now saw that Simon wasn’t alone. He had brought Aram, the brawny Syriac hockey guy, and Carl, the anti-racist skinhead, with him. Although Peter and his friends outnumbered Simon and his friends with five to three, Peter sized up his opponents a few seconds. Although not very muscular (but rather on the slim side), Simon was tall, and it was well-known at the school that he had practiced kung-fu, before his deep commitment in the Anarchist Student Society, Amnesty International, the local melocore club (and a handful of other associations) had limited the time available on exercise. Two years ago, Simon and John had served together in the Student Council, and John had appreciated Simon’s wit. Carl was shorter than Simon, but taller than Aram. He spent some time at the gym, but not as strictly and devotedly as Aram obviously did. His shaved head gave him an aggressive demeanour, and that impression was enhanced by the gauge in his earlobe, his snug fitting maroon polo shirt, the blue braces that contrasted well against the maroon background, the bleached jeans, and the extremely well-polished, heavy and steel-capped boots on his feet. His black Alpha bomber jacket was covered with patches and pins: ’Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice’, ’The Oppressed’, ’The Burial’, ’Operation Ivy’, ’FC St. Pauli’. He oozed of angry adolescent masculinity. Aram was of average height, but more broad-shouldered than any of the young men. He had an innately muscular constitution, and had been in good shape already during his time in the hockey team. When he left secondary school, and began his sixth form education, he had left the hockey team in order to take up martial arts of some sort, and also joined a gym. He now looked like a bodybuilder without any body fat, and moved like a tiger: A very broad shouldered tiger. During their entire time at school, Aram had always been so absorbed by exercise, that he never noticed if bullying occurred somewhere around him. If Aram had begun to spend time with a decent guy like Simon, it was probably a step in the right direction. After eyeing his opponents, Peter ordered his crowd to leave. ’Everything alright now?’, Simon asked. ’Yes. Thank you for helping me.’ ’To be honest, it was just a coincidence, but I am glad that we could be of assistance. Aram here is beginning to develop a social conscience by hanging with me and Carl, aren’t you?’ Aram mumbled something, and looked down into the floor. ’I’m late to the student newspaper meeting. Later.’ Simon disappeared around a corner. Carl had to leave his bomber jacket in his locker, and was on his way to a math lesson, but Aram was scheduled for the same chemistry class as John. They were late. ’You both know that late arrival will affect your grades. It will perhaps not concern you very much, John, but in your case, Aram, I would be worried.’ It was Mr. Gustavson, the chemistry teacher, known for his sardonic personality, and secretly nicknamed ’Snape’ among the students. ’As I said before you arrived, you have to team up in pairs and study how a primitive form of plastic is produced. It is a very simple example of how polymers behave.’ ’It seems like we have to lab together, today’, John said shyly. Aram didn’t speak very much while he assisted John, but, despite their late arrival, they were the first among the students to achieve a nice cylinder of plastic in a test tube in the end of the lesson. That gave Aram an idea. * * * It had been a few days earlier, during the Sunday church lunch at the Orthodox church of St. James’. ’Ameen. Moryo nqabel qurbonokh, wlan n’adar bashlawothokh.’ The last prayer in the extremely ancient Aramaic-speaking Christian liturgy ended, and the congregation left the room, kissing the Gospel Book at the entrance, and receiving pieces of non-consecrated bread. There were old ladies in mantillas, old men in their three-piece Sunday best, lots of parents with children, a dark-eyed and doe-eyed girl’s choir in choir dress, and a bunch of young men slightly younger or older than Aram. The last group was the most noisy one, and the lads were joking and playing with each other. Most of them wore jeans, expensive jerseys and shirts, but a few of the oldest ones wore suits, and some of the younger ones were dressed in tracksuit pants and hoodies. Most of them were dark haired and wore a lot of hair gel, but some were buzzcut, and two of them were redheaded. Many of them wore sturdy golden chains around their necks, from which crucifixes or the Syriac nationalist symbol of a feathered archer hang. Some of the attendees immediately left the parking lot, but most stayed inside for the Sunday church lunch. A buffet was prepared: Bulgur mixed with roasted noodles, tabbouleh – a salad of parsley, couscous, tomatoes, onions, garlic, mint leaves, lemon and olive oil – and several smaller bowls filled with falafel, dolma, chickpea sauce and eggplant sauce. Aram sat down with his mother, his uncle and his aunt. His mother was putting her folded mantilla in her purse, now when she no longer stood inside the consecrated room. ’Listen Aram’, uncle Benjamin began, ’there is a thing your mother and I have been talking about.’ Uh, uh. Now it comes again. Aram felt tired of this. His uncle meant well, but it felt like he was picking on him. ’Before your father died, I promised him, that I would help you become a doctor, just like your father and your grandfather. We have talked about this before: You have to achieve better grades, otherwise you will not be able to study medicine.’ A steel grey lady in her sixties approached the table. Mother and aunt Layla rose, gathered around her, and began to discuss with her in the old language. Aram wasn’t good at the old language. He was born in the new country, and spoke its language without any accent. ’Your mother and I are worried about you. The medical trade is a family tradition, but your grades have not been good the last years.’ ’But you are not a doctor. You own a grocery shop.’ ’This discussion is not about me, young man, but about you. If you begin medical studies, I promise to help you financially, but if you don’t, you can’t expect any money from me for university.’ * * * It was a day later. Aram and his girlfriend Emma entered the room for the history lesson. ’Hi, Emelie!’, Emma shouted, and claimed a chair close to her friend Emelie. Emma and Emelie didn’t at all have the same preferences when it came to style, but were friends anyhow. Emma was a blonde young woman with black high rise slim fit jeans and a yellow top which revealed some of her cleavage. Her shoes were yellow Converse. Emelie, on the other side, had dyed her hair black, and wore a black dress with a lot of lace. Around Emelie’s neck hang several pendants of different sorts: A cross, a star of David and a pentagram. She didn’t discriminate between religions, but it was also possible that she didn’t care very much for what the symbols signified to other people. Aram looked around, and when he found that the chair close to John was empty, he sat down beside John. ’Hello again. Do you mind if i sit here?’ They both unpacked their laptops, and had to end their chat, since their history teacher, Mr. Johanson, had begun to talk. Mr. Johanson was one of the oldest teachers at the school, and didn’t have many years left until retirement. He always wore black jeans, a sleeveless pullover and a tweed jacket. Unlike the younger male teachers, who dressed less strictly, he always had a tie knit around his neck. His hair was white and slightly receding. ’The world events of the 20th century, would probably had been very different, if World War One hadn’t occurred. The stern conditions of the peace treaty of 1919, caused many Germans and Austrians to feel disproportionally and unjustly punished, and that prepared the way for Hitler and the Second World War. For the British Empire, the end of the war initiated the slow devolvement of the empire: The Irish Free State was declared in 1922, and in 1931 dominions – such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Newfoundland, South Africa and the Irish Free State – were defined as ’completely self-governing’. Some sorts of constitutional reforms would probably have occurred in Russia anyhow, but not necessarily in the revolutionary Bolshevik way it now did: Don’t forget that the February Revolution in 1917 was about limiting the power of the Czar constitutionally, and preparing the way for free elections, general suffrage and civil liberties. The Bolsheviks didn’t grab the political power until October, and would probably not have reached the necessary level of initial popular support, if the Russian people hadn’t been exhausted by three years of warfare. The war also caused USA to change the way it behaved in international politics. During the 19th century the Monroe doctrine had isolated the US from international politics, but – with the exception of the Philippine-American War about a decade before World War One – the US had until then avoided entanglement in any conflict far beyond its own borders. From a certain point of view, the Philippine-American War and World War One, became templates for what later happened in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. The history of the 20th century is impossible to understand without World War One as the background. When we now begin to look closer…’ John felt good sitting so close to the big and warm lump of muscles. John hadn’t thought much about it before, but became now aware of the warm brown colour of Aram’s eyes, like brown gemstones reflecting a golden light. Aram emitted a nice scent of some sort of anti-perspirant, but probably not an expensive one. The presence of Aram made him feel comforted and protected. Aram had never or seldom preferred to sit beside John before, so this was something new. The lesson had ended. ’John, you are really smart. Would you possibly help me with homework? I want to get better test results, and who better than you?’ ’We could have begun this years ago, if you just had asked. Which day would be best for you? I often go by bus to Willow Lake in Thursdays. Wildlife photography, you know. And I suppose you exercise very often. Which day would be best for you?’ They agreed to keep Tuesdays open for study together. Emma approached them. ’You must hear this, Aram! Emelie has found such a cute shop with books and magic candles and stuff, and I could probably have my horoscope done. Isn’t it amazing? You must follow me and Emelie to that shop after school!’ * * * The following afternoon, Emelie, Emma and Aram got on the tram, and went to a picturesque part of the city Aram seldom visited. They left the tram at a stop just outside a Neo-gothic church building called Holy Trinity, and then followed a narrow and meandering, cobblestone paved alley on their way to the shop Emelie had mentioned. The houses were small and old here, but some of them seemed to have been restored recently, as an effect of ongoing gentrification. Withered roses and dark green ivy covered some of the exteriors. They passed by a tailor’s shop, a vegetarian restaurant, a dentist’s clinic and a former – now closed – bicycle workshop. A few of the buildings seemed to have been turned into homes very recently – which was easily recognised through the fresh plaster in yellow, lavender or dove blue colours, but other buildings were still shabby, some of them derelict. ’Here it is.’, Emelie announced. Aram got a first impression of the shop. He had definitely not seen it before. Grey stairs of stone led downwards to a door under street level. Two rather small shop-windows before his knees announced: Madame Cremorna. Books. Herbs. Readings. It felt a little bit spooky, but Emelie enthusiastically led them downstairs, and opened the door. A bell tinkled. The first thing that he noticed was the scent. The fragrance of many sorts of herbs and incenses mixed with each other. He felt awkward again. This wasn’t the sort of place a masculine guy like himself was expected to frequent. Wasn’t there something slightly feminine or gay about this scent? He considered to leave immediately, but that could make Emma mad at him. He didn’t want that. The second thing he noticed was the broad mix of things in the room. This was not just a book shop. The books were there, for sure – he saw a rotating stand with them: How To Earn Money By Positive Thinking. The Dolphins Speak: Telepathic Messages From Our Cousins In The Sea. The New Age Of The Flying Saucers. It could have been an ordinary New Age shop, but he could also see tin boxes with herbs, packets of soap or dry foodstuff with Spanish labels, shelves with incense sticks and small jars with the sort of incense grains he was able to recognise from church. His association to church was increased, when he found shelves carrying a large number of glass encased novena candles with stickers depicting saints. Some of them he could recognise, but, with his family background, he was more familiar with Eastern saints than Western, and the identity of some Western saints on the candles were undecipherable. The cash register stood upon a glass desk. Inside the desk he could see decks of cards in many shapes. He hadn’t seen any cards like these before. ’How do you play poker with these?’, he asked Emelie. ’They are not for poker, stupid.’, she answered, ’They are divination decks, for reading the future’. ’I am not sure I believe in that.’, Aram replied. Just now he wasn’t sure exactly what he believed. There was an eerie feeling in the shop. He wanted to get out. ’You are free to believe in anything you want. We are all responsible for how we use our freedom, and it is unwise to go against your own conscience.’ The alto voice vibrated with a rich timbre. It belonged to a woman in her early sixties. She had probably looked good during her younger days, and she obviously still cared about her appearance. Her hair was black, without any traces of silver in it yet, and she was dressed in a rust-coloured dress and a dark grey vest of wool. Around her neck hang a tin pendant depicting a very complicated geometrical pattern. In her younger days, she could have been a hippie. ’I’m sorry lady, but I can’t believe in telepathic dolphins and flying saucers.’ Aram waved in the direction of the rotating book stand. ’To be honest, I am not at all impressed by these books myself, but some of my customers ask for them, so I sell them. It pays the rent.’ There was a slight, possibly American-English, accent when she spoke, but very faint. ’So you don’t believe in the supernatural, yourself?’ ’Oh. I do! But that depends on what you call supernatural. If you mean telepathic dolphins, saucers, physical trolls or god-kings inside a hollow Earth, I do not believe in the supernatural.’ Emelie was studying the card decks inside the glass desk, but Emma stood by Aram’s side, hugging his arm. ’You are into sports, I suppose?’, the shop keeper asked him. ’Aram was a hockey player for many years.’, Emma answered proudly. ’And now I work out and practice martial arts.’, Aram continued. ’Then the psychology of sport can’t be unknown for you.’, Madame Cremorna said, ’And you surely must have experienced, how your own mind affects your physical achievements?’ ’Well. Yes. But that’s not supernatural.’ ’It is anyhow a part of scientific reality which borders to the supernatural – that is, supernatural in the sense I use the word.’ Aram was on his way to answer, but the shop keeper continued: ’And you belong perhaps to the Assyrian Church?’ Aram smiled: ’Close enough, but you were wrong there: I belong to the Syriac Orthodox Church. The Assyrians are our cousins.’ ’And you believe in God? And in angels? And in saints?’ ’Well. Yes, I do.’ ’The supernatural I believe in is about God, about angels, about saints, but also about sports psychology. It is admittedly not a complete description of what I do – far from it – but it seems like we are able to agree about a major part of it, anyhow.’ She was silent a few seconds. ’And what are you looking for? Books? Devotionals? Cards? A horoscope? Or do you want me to use magic for some purpose?’ ’We are just looking. Emelie told us about your shop, and it is just adorable’, Emma answered, ’but it looks much more Catholic than the other New Age shop on the other side the canal.’ Madame Cremorna smiled. ’It’s perhaps because it is not a New Age shop. Not in the general sense. It is inspired by botanicas of the sort common in Florida, where I grew up. We had a lot of Cubans and Puertoricans there.’ ’Have you lived in this part of the world for a long time?’ ’Quite a long time. Yes. My former boyfriend thought it was a good idea to move to Northern Europe a few years before the end of the Vietnam War.’ Emma continued to chat with the shop keeper for several minutes. Emelie still looked at the decks. Aram began to wander around in the shop. A square diagram with twenty-three arcane symbols hang on a wall. Bookshelves contained titles such as Three Books on Occult Philosophy, The Enchiridion, Selected prayers by Allan Kardec, and The Long-Lost Friend. A burgundy-coloured curtain covered door opening to an inner room. Curiously, Aram peeked inside. Several small tables were pushed up against the walls, covered with cloths in different colours. Candles were lit, scented in several different ways. The air was sweet and heavy. ’Uh oh. The inner sanctum is only open for some customers.’, Madame Cremorna said, where she stood behind his back. Aram blushed. ’I didn’t mean to do something wrong. Sorry, lady.’ When they left the shop, Emelie brought a recently bought tarot deck, and Emma carried a folder with her personal horoscope. * * * It was two days later. The bell tinkled in the usual way, when the door to the shop opened and closed. ’And what do you want, young man?’, she asked. ’I haven’t done well in my exams. I want to be sure my grades are good when I finish Sixth Form.’, Aram said. ’And when is that? If I hadn’t first met you with that young gothic girl and her friend, I would have guessed that you were older than a Sixth Form student.’ She eyed him knowingly. ’The last semester ends in June next year.’ Her face expressed mixed emotions: Pity, astonishment and a slight amount of aunt-like cunningness. ’Magic works normally through natural means, and natural means works slowly. A lesser working could have been enough, if you had asked me a year ago, and backed the magic up with real effort in class. But now, with just eight months…’ She didn’t end her sentence. There was a sad expression in Aram’s eyes, reminiscent of a very large, but very young and sad, puppy. The element of pity in Madame Cremorna’s eyes became more prominent. ’Let us discuss natural means first. You would probably learn more, if you do homework together with someone in your class, who’s got a talent for study.’ ’I already do.’ Aram told Madame Cremorna all about John. ’You have got a good new friend in him. Be nice to him.’, Madame Cremorna said. ’Homework with John helps, but not enough, and not fast enough. And I wish I could make mother and my uncle proud. But if you can’t help me…’ ’If something of what I do works, it is not because I have helped you, but because God has answered the prayers of several beings. Some call it magic, but ultimately all things and events comes from The Supreme Being anyhow. The ways and the means and the chains of events may vary, however. Or so is the way I see it.’ ’But you said, that I should have asked a year ago?’ ’I said, that a lesser working could have been enough then. With only eight months until graduation, I have to do a greater working, but only if you are ready to pay the price.’ ’I don’t own very much, but…’ ’I don’t talk about money. I talk about the willingness to choose talent for study before anything else. Wait. Don’t say anything yet. I will give you a reading.’ ’A reading?’ ’Just relax.’ She opened a purple bag of velvet, laid a pack of cards on the table, and mumbled a prayer. Aram couldn’t hear the words. She let him shuffle the cards, and then put three cards on the table cloth. The first card depicted a knight in armour, sitting on a horse. The second card depicted an old man with a beard, clothed in some sort of mediaeval brown gown, holding a staff with a snake – similar to the symbol sometimes used by hospitals and chemists – and holding a lantern in the other hand. By his feet lay a scythe and a hourglass. Far away, the presence of an owl could be distantly hinted at. The third card depicted a young man in renaissance clothes, carrying a round plate, smaller than a shield, but larger than a coin. From his bag a scroll and a quill pen peeked out. ’Hmm…’ Madame Cremorna didn’t say much for a while. Suddenly, she gathered all the cards into the deck again, and began shuffling. She laid the deck on the cloth, and pushed it over the table. ’Here. Shuffle, and think intensely about your friend John.’ Aram did what he was told to do, and gave her the deck again. ’That was all for today. Come back tomorrow afternoon, and I will tell you if I have found a way to help you.’ Aram felt a little bit disappointed. It had been stupid of him to come here, to begin with. He shrugged and left. When he had left, Madame Cremorna again lay three cards on the table. She was rather surprised to find the knight and the squire from the last reading come up again, but this time with reversed places: The squire with the plate to the left, and the knight with a sword to the right. The card in the middle was not the same. Where the card with the old bearded man had laid a few minutes ago, now lay a card depicting a half naked and extremely muscular man clothed in the skin rug of a lion. He had left his heavy club on the ground, and was breaking a stone pillar in two halves. Madame Cremorna remained almost expressionless, but one of her eyebrows twitched. She had got an idea. When Aram returned the next afternoon, he expected bad news. The shop keeper seemed, however, to be in a good mood, although perhaps mixed with an amount of harshness. She put two class encased candles on the desk. ’You are young. I will not let you pay the full price I charge an adult with full time salary. But you must be aware of the consequences of your request. Are you willing to let your friend become less talented, while you increase your own study results?’ ’Isn’t that black magic?’ Aram felt a chill on his back. He would probably not have asked for this, to begin with. ’I never accept black workings. I accept grey ones, however. Most human wishes rests in the grey area. The born-again nonconformist who prays to God for promotion at work, the churchman praying for a happy marriage, the white light Neo-pagan sending away a spell for fair weather at the picnic – all their wishes are tainted by a certain amount of selfishness. And so is yours. All of them are mixed with good intentions. And so is yours.’ ’But I can’t rob John of his intelligence. It is not fair.’ ’That depends. A greater working will affect reality on a deeper plane. In a sense, you will have switched – or better, mixed – destinies with each other. I have tried to conjure good destines over both of you, but you will still have to pay the price of tampering with destinies.’ ’Not my soul?’, Aram asked bleakly. ’Then I refuse.’ ’No, not your soul. I do not dabble in diabolism. Actually, I have fought against the minions of darkness on several occasions. But a greater working, affecting the threads of destiny, will take its toll from the one who ordered it, quite soon after the commencement. We are all responsible for our actions. Do you really want a talent for study?’ The question hung in the air for a moment. It cannot have been for a longer time than a second or two, but for Aram it felt like time stood still, like if a gigantic pendulum in an ancient clockwork was swinging over his head. It was still time to thank her for her willingness to help, but refuse to go further. ’Yes. I really want it. Just be sure that John will be happy.’ ’No-one can be one hundred percent sure, but I have reason to believe that he will enjoy the turn of events that will unfold, as well.’ ’Ooo-key? Well, then I suppose there will be no problem? What are the candles for?’ She pointed at one of the candles. It had a card on it, depicting a man in a bishop’s mitre, writing on parchment with a quill. He was surrounded by bookshelves. ’This is St. Isidore of Seville. You will take this home, and burn it nine consecutive Wednesdays until it is all burned away. St. Isidore wrote one of the first encyclopaedias in the world, and was recently designated the patron saint of internet.’ She pointed at the other candle. The card on it depicted a broad shouldered and bearded giant carrying the infant Jesus on his shoulder. ’This is St. Christopher. In the legend he was a giant who converted to Christianity. In reality, we don’t know very much about him, but the moral of the legend is edifying anyhow.’ ’What am I supposed to do with that candle?’ ’Give it to your friend John. If he don’t want to burn it every day or night, let him burn it whenever he likes. Tuesdays would be good, however.’ * * * It was Tuesday again. According to their new habit, John was helping Aram to study. ’And what am I supposed to do with this?’, John asked, curiously holding the glass encased prayer candle. ’You know that I am an Agnostic, don’t you?’ ’Some people burn it because they like how it looks or because they like the scent. It is just one month left until Advent, isn’t it?’ Shall I tell him about it? Aram thought intensely, and felt divided. To tell him the truth. But if he became angry and refused to help anymore at study time together? John was helpful. It would be awful if something terrible happened to him. But Madame Cremorna had said that he would enjoy what was happening, whatever that was. ’But isn’t it a little bit girlish, don’t you think?’ ’Not among my relatives. It is quite common that lads wear saint pendants, for instance.’ ’Yes. Now when you mention it, I have seen some of your martial art friends wearing rosaries, and I can’t accuse them for being girlish.’ The tension disappeared when Aram began to laugh. ’No, you can’t. At least not if you don’t take into account the time they spend in the bathroom, but so do I.’ ’Well, just as a sign of my gratitude for your gesture…’ John lit the candle, and then changed the subject. ’I have been thinking’, John said, ’about exercise.’ Aram was relieved that the subject had changed: ’What about exercise? You may be good at integral calculus and derivate – I have problem understanding what the bloody words mean – but I know a lot about exercise. Ask whatever you wish.’ ’To be honest: I think it is rather – ehrm.’ John’s cheeks and ears became more red than usual. ’I mean, I think it is cool to have muscles, even if it is hard to admit.’ ’It is not something to be shy about, little buddy. Many men like to be beefy. I guess most men would like to be built, even if not everyone like to admit it. Could you imagine Snape lifting weights?’ It was not only Aram’s joke about the acerbic chemistry teacher, but also his facial expression, which helped John to explode with laughter. It also shattered John’s embarrassment. ’Could you teach me how to work out at the gym, if I help you with homework?’ ’Fair enough. I sometimes feel stupid with you. At the gym I will be the teacher.’ Aram proudly flexed his right biceps, and felt cocky when he saw how John’s eyes involuntarily became wider. ’You like what you see?’ John suddenly looked shy again. Aram felt protective. John was so short and thin. ’Want to feel that bicep? Don’t be afraid. I’m not teasing you. It is fun for me to show my results.’ Shyly, John laid his palm over Aram’s biceps, and pressed carefully. ’Harder!’, Aram encouraged. John pressed harder. Aram’s biceps was of the size and density of a croquet-ball, and it rested on a really big triceps. John felt awkward again. His dick was growing and hardening. He sat down on the bed, and hoped that Aram hadn’t noticed. ’Which gym would be good for me?’ ’Why don’t you follow me to the one I workout at?’ ’Aren’t there a lot of big guys there? And doesn’t Peter and his crew hang out there?’ ’Peter is lazy at the gym, and I haven’t seen any of his friends there. Anderson is preoccupied with football, and the others spend their time with driving lessons, booze and grass. They aren’t very healthy, if you ask me. And I will be with you there. If Peter mess with you, I will have a serious conversation with him. He better stay away. The big guys at the gym are alright. Some of them like to give advice. Carl would probably join us at some times.’ * * * John stood before the desk at the gym, and felt shy. A very fit, but not gigantic, trainer manned the desk, dressed in a snug red T-shirt with the gym’s logotype on its chest. ’I’m waiting for a friend.’, John explained apologetically. He peeked into a folder about prices, and found a one-year membership mandatory. In September next year, he would most probably study at university in another city, and the last two months of a one-year membership would be wasted. Aram came in through the door, and began discussing membership and prices with the trainer and John, and, as a result, John got a deal, which meant, that he only had to pay for ten months. They entered the locker room, changed clothes, and Aram began to introduce John to the machines and weightroom. ’For anyone experienced, free weights are more important than machines. For a beginner, machines may have a purpose, especially for avoiding injuries. Look, for instance, on this one…’ One and a half hour later, John laid on the floor in the locker room. He had Aram’s towel under his head, and rested his legs on a bench, in order to let blood return to his head. He dripped of sweat, and felt nauseous. Aram returned from the loo with a paper towel dipped in cold water, and laid it on John’s forehead. ’I am sorry little buddy. I didn’t know where your limits were. I didn’t mean to exhaust you that much the first time.’ ’It’s not your fault. How could you know?’ * * * John and Aram had developed a habit of visiting Carl’s family on Sunday afternoons and evenings. Carl often spent Fridays and Saturdays with a bunch of SHARPs from the other side of the city, but Sundays were an opportunity for them to meet outside the gym and watch films together in Carl’s room. They all sat on Carl’s bed, with their backs against the wall. They had watched ’Captain America’ and ’Elysium’, and were now halfway into the Dwayne Johnson version of ’Hercules’. ’Look at all that muscle!’, Carl exclaimed impressed, for the third time during the evening. Aram poked him with his elbow: ’Do you know how gay you sound, Carl?’ ’Who you calling gay?’, Carl answered, and threw himself over Aram, playfully and boisterously tickling him. John bounced up in the air before landing back on the bedspread, but Aram and Carl fell to the floor, laughing and wrestling. It ended with Aram sitting on Carl’s back, holding his arm at an uncomfortable angle. * * * ’Grandmother arrives tomorrow. Will you eat dinner with the entire family?’, John’s mother – who worked with care of aged people – asked him the day before Halloween. ’I will stay home on All Saints, but Emelie has invited me to a Halloween party tomorrow night.’, John answered. ’I’m glad that you leave home more often, nowadays. But you know what grandmother will say.’ ’That borrowings of ghosts and pumpkins from the Americans will commercialise and destroy any decorous celebration of All Saints.’ John and his mother looked silently at each other with giddy looks, and both said in unison: ’What would grandfather say, if he had been alive?’ They laughed. John’s grandmother was not a particularly religious person, and, just as most of their relatives, she unreflectedly mixed Agnosticism with Lutheran Christianity, but she was fond of family traditions, and decorated her home zealously at Advent, Christmas, Easter, May Day and Midsummer, just as she had done as a young Mum in the 1960’s, and she enthusiastically invited friends and relatives to annual crayfish-parties and fermented-herring-dinners when summer turned into autumn. The recent introduction of masquerades at Halloween hadn’t found any approval from the old lady, since she thought that such merriment would distract from the solemn commemoration of the departed. She had decorated her own parents’ tomb today, before travelling to her only daughter and her family. Unlike most persons of her grandchildrens’ generation, his grandmother celebrated her nameday, and since her name was Inga-Birgitta, she celebrated both the seventh and the twenty-fifth of October. While Aram, Carl and John lived in council flats in grey five-storied concrete buildings built in the 1970’s (and Peter lived in a council flat from the late 1950s), Simon, Emma and Emelie lived in a residential garden suburb nearby, where hedges and fences kept one-family houses of mixed age (some of them as old as the 1920’s) apart. A very busy road marked the border between the two areas, but narrow asphalt-coated paths, for bicycles and pedestrians, ran in graffiti-painted tunnels under the road at two different points, connecting these two areas. John met Aram and Carl close to the nearby tunnel. John was dressed in a black suit he had bought half a year ago, when he attended the Confirmation of a cousin. John had put white theatre grease-paint in his face, and fastened vampire teeth on his eye-teeth. ’Greetings, children of the night!’ Aram and Carl smiled. Carl was dressed in camo trousers, but wore the same boots as usual. He was dressed in a black NATO jersey and some sort of combat harness. ’What is that supposed to mean, besides a soldier in general?’ ’Don’t you see? I’m G.I. Joe!’ ’I didn’t watch that film.’ ’You didn’t? It’s awesome! Let’s watch it on Sunday!’ Aram was green painted in his face, and dressed in a thick woolen overcoat. ’And you? That isn’t obvious… unless…’ Aram opened his coat. He didn’t wear any shirt, despite the cold autumnal weather. His entire torso was painted in bright green, and his trousers were purple. ’That’s hilarious! The Hulk! And it is convincing, too.’ ’You are much better than me with words, but I thank you for the compliments.’ ’Than I am’, John absentmindedly corrected Aram. The night was cold and filled with mist, but they found Emelie’s house without any problems. The house was full of very young adults, and it turned out that Emelie’s parents attended a dinner somewhere else that evening. The night went on rather well. The punchbowl probably contained something persons of their age weren’t officially supposed to drink for another two years, but, since the girls in Emelie’s circle of friends were well-behaved, and since most of the boys didn’t want to spoil the hard earned results of their physical exercise, utterly few of them drank too much. Emelie wasn’t known for having patience with fools, and had planned her guest list carefully, weeding out known drunkards. Parties with her classmates and parallel classes were otherwise known to be rather wet. Emelie had succeeded in her attempt to look like Morticia Adams. Emma was clothed in a furry pink rabbit suit, and only her face was visible. Several of the girls were dressed for an ordinary party, and qualified for a masquerade just by wearing pointy witches’ hats. John wasn’t the only vampire among the young men. A few of the guest looked like characters from animes or computer games. Emma seemed disappointed of Emelie’s choice of music: ’Emelie! Now we have listened to Fields of the Nephilim for half an hour. Don’t you have any tunes by Justin Bieber or One Direction?’ ’Are you kidding? Personally, I think it would spoil the Halloween mood, but if you wish to log into your own Spotify account, you are welcome to do so. You know where the computer is, but don’t expect me to tolerate your unbearable music for very long.’ On his way home, John felt awkward and slightly flattered. One of the lightbulbs had broken, and Emelie suffered from dizziness. She had asked John for help. When he stood at a chair, changing the lightbulb, his shirt had left the inside of his trousers and revealed his belly. Emelie had began to giggle nervously, and called after Emma. John didn’t understand why, and felt insulted. ’Please, John. Show us your abs again.’ ’My abs? What are you talking about? You know that I don’t…’ Giggling, Emelie had pinched the shirt fabric and revealed his abs again. His abs? He didn’t… He DID? ’Cool’, Emma said. ’Exercise suits you.’ * * * An Advent wreath stood on the kitchen table, burning with two lit candles and two unlit ones. It was dark outside the window, and, since the first snow had melted away, there was nothing to lighten the winter night up. John stood at a kitchen desk, taking notes of how much various foodstuffs weighed. That would simplify the composition of gym friendly recipes in the future. His mother entered the kitchen, and began to heat a small amount of mulled wine on the electric stove. ’I received phone calls from your chemistry teacher and your biology teacher today. Your physics teacher called yesterday.’ ’Yes?’ ’They are worried about you. Since you started two and a half year ago, they have regarded you as very talented in natural science, but recently your results have deteriorated. They wanted me to talk to you about it.’ ’Nothing is wrong. I just performed unusually bad in a couple of tests the last weeks.’ The mulled wine had reached a desired temperature. She poured some of the content in a mug. ’Do you want some? It is the soft drink version, so you don’t have to worry. It’s cold outside, so I needed something to drive away the chill in my bones.’ ’No, thanks. I avoid sugar as well.’ ’John, I don’t disapprove that you exercise. It seems to be healthy for you, and I am happy that you have a lot more friends now than you had before. But don’t you think you take it a little too far? Why don’t you play floorball or badminton, or jog or swim, or any other more normal sport? It can’t be good for you, to be so obsessed with what you eat. Are you going to eat like that way during Christmas as well? What will grandmother say?’ ’What would grandfather say, if he had been alive?’ ’This is not something to joke about. I’m afraid that your exercise will affect your school results. And I have read about body dysmorphia and eating disorders in the newspapers. Don’t you understand that I am worried about you? What will happen to your plans to become a physician, a biochemist or a physicist, if you let exercise distract you from studies?’ ’YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING!’, John shouted, left the kitchen, took his training bag and closed the door with a bang. His teenage anger went rampant through his mind and body: Thoughts going in a loop, his emotions boiling, his blood pressure pounding, his body temperature steaming. He loosened the wooly scarf and opened the closed zipper of his large jacket. The staff had left the gym, and the doors were closed, but members were given a key tag that unlocked the door at night. The scent of steel corroding under the influence of sweat. The scent of rubber mats. Furiously, he worked out in the almost empty gym: Only two or three other members exercised this late. It felt much better afterwards. The machines, the barbells, the dumbbells: They had helped him to release his irritation, and he now felt calm, content and harmonious. Freshly showered. Meanwhile he had been indoors at the gym, the temperature had dropped, and it had began to snow. The chill had some bite. On his way home, he unexpectedly met Carl, who was on his way home from something else: It had something to do with music. They talked. About parents and other things. Carl. Reliable Carl: Hard as nails, incredibly funny, and a kind friend to his friends. ’Ah. Come here, mate. It will be better tomorrow.’ They exchanged a hug. A brotherly hug. A rather long brotherly hug. Carl’s polo shirt was warm of his body heat. Carl’s glistening, black synthetic bomber jacket was cold of the winter temperatures. The scents from their different anti-perspirants mixed in the cool night air. A brotherly hug. Carl patted John at the back. ’It will probably be better tomorrow.’ * * * Emma sat in her sofa. Aram sat in the same armchair he had sat so many times before. A lit Advent star hung in the window, and spread a soft glow in the living room. From windows on the other side the street other electric Advent stars shone back. Emma was finishing her explanation: ’It isn’t you, it is me. I am not able to appreciate what you speak about. I miss the old Aram from when we first met: My teddy bear. My kind puppy with hockey butt. I am not interested in nuclear science, new medicines or what’s going on in parts of the world I don’t even know where they are. We have nothing in common anymore, if we ever had. I’m sorry. I like you as a friend, but …’ Her lip began to tremble. Aram hug her sadly, carefully and more softly than usual. ’I’m sorry, but I suppose that I understand…’ * * * Madame Cremorna had closed her shop at 7 p.m. as usual. Since the supermarkets kept open until 9 or 10 p.m. she had lots of time to buy the food and Christmas decorations necessary. She returned to her shop, in order to do some work. Supernatural work. She lived in an old-fashioned flat upstairs, which she had bought several years ago, before the prices had begun to rise ridiculously. Her phone rang. ’Madame Cremorna. … O hello Stephen! How is life in New York? I don’t even know what time it is in your time zone. … It is? … Aha. … A disturbance? … Oh, yes, I am up to a major working, but it is far from world-shattering, you know. Professional secrecy, so I can’t say anything, but I can assure you that it is just about the private life of two persons and their surroundings. It is not like I am about to open a gate for Dormammu or Nergal, if you know my drift. … Not funny? I see. … You are? London? Why? … But what brings you and John to this corner of the world? … No? You are kidding? … Yes, of course. Do you have any dietary restrictions before that working? … No. … No, it is no problem at all: I have a lot of vegetarian Christmas dishes. … Pardon? … No, it doesn’t surprise me that John isn’t picky. If he would like it, I could probably find a christmas pudding and a turkey for him God knows where, but you have to know that the locals prefer ham, meatballs, cabbage and vanilla rice pudding at this time of the year. And herring. Lots of herring. Remind me to put an ash tray in my living room while you stay. … Oh yes. … No, no problem at all. Take care, and give me a call when you think you will stop by.’ She hang up and washed her hands, first in running water and a non-perfumed soap, then in Florida Water. She sprinkled herself with holy water, went before her private shrine and lit both the altar candles and the incense. The air in the room felt thicker now, and the room felt connected to the rest of the world and to the unseen aspects of reality. Her highly trained senses could feel the presence of God, of spirits of many sorts, and of unseen subtle influences stretching themselves out from the room as a cobweb of spiritual light. ’Almighty and everlasting God, who harkened to the prayers of Moses in the wilderness, when he, assisted of Aaron and Hur, prayed for victory against the Amalekites, hear me…’ After a long prayer she stretched her hands out over fragments of candle wax she had removed from a candle, in order to fill it with scented oil. ’O God of my fathers, and Lord of Mercy, who hast made all things with thy word, and ordained man through thy wisdom, that he should have dominion over the creatures which thou hast made, and order the world according to equity and righteousness, and execute judgment with an upright heart: Give me wisdom, that sitteth by thy throne; and reject me not from among thy children…’ Then she did the same to fragments from another candle: ’It is God, that girdeth me with strength of war: and maketh my way perfect. He maketh my feet like harts’ feet: and setteth me up on high. He teacheth mine hands to fight: and mine arms shall break even a bow of steel…’ She had repeated this for weeks now. Divine Spirit was answering. The wheels of the invisible and incomprehensible world machinery turned, and unseen chains of causes and effects slowly turned the former reality into something slightly, slightly different. * * * Chapter two is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7140-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-two/

The Cake, the Candles, and the Birthday Wish – A short story by Scriptboy Ethan Crews had a very special day coming up. He was about to turn 17 on July 17, 2017 and his mother was prepared to do anything to mark the event in a special way for her son who hasn’t celebrated his birthday in the last four years. Ethan was pretty geeky, to say the least. He was about 5-foot-6 inches tall, thin and he had no muscle to show for. He played soccer because he was too short to be on the basketball team and he was too small to make the football team. He loved to play video games and he dabbled in programming and web design in his free time. He also loved to play music online and act like a DJ for an online radio station on weekends and play his favorite tunes for his small group of regular listeners. Other than that, he was an introvert with only a small number of friends who kept to himself and liked to stay in his room and do stuff on his computer when he wasn’t studying or playing soccer. On the evening before his birthday, Helen, his mother, walked into his bedroom and kissed him on his cheek as he was typing up an essay for school. She had just come home from working at the department store in the mall and she had not seen her son all day. Ever since she had gotten divorced she had been working full-time as a manager at the store which meant she had to come home late every night. “Aww… Mom! I’m doing homework…” Ethan groaned as he was caught by surprise. “I’m in the middle of writing an essay for history class!” “Hey, Ethan! Tomorrow’s your big day, sweetheart!” she smiled as she looked at her teenage son. He looked great with his short, brown curly hair and his deep, brown eyes. “You’re gonna turn seventeen! Aren’t you excited?” “It’s just another day, mom! You know I don’t care for birthdays! I just wish I had more time to go to the gym or something with all this homework that I’ve been getting. I keep on running into Gerry and his football goons at school who keep on pushing me around at school. I’m such a great target since I’m a short, skinny nerd at school…” Ethan grumbled. “And having a nerdy name like ‘Ethan’ doesn’t help, either…” “Well, I have a surprise for you, sweetie…” Helen said softly as she ran her hand through his curly hair. “Aww mom…. I’m not throwing a party! Please!” Ethan said angrily. “Just go to Joe’s Bakery down the street and pick up the chocolate cake after school, okay? I’ll get off early from work so we can indulge tomorrow afternoon… Mother and son!” she replied. She kissed him on his forehead as she turned around and walked out. “Don’t forget! I already paid for the cake!” “I won’t forget, mom…. I’ll pick it up as soon as I get out of school tomorrow!” he sighed. Ever since his parents got divorced Ethan really didn’t feel like celebrating his birthday anymore. The family just wasn’t there. Birthdays and holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving just didn’t feel the same anymore without having his parents together. His father moved to the opposite side of the country and remarried so there was no chance of his parents getting back together. And then getting bullied for being a nerd in school wasn’t making life any easier, either. Ethan just got up like he normally would the following morning and showered and got dressed for school. Once he arrived at his high school, he got pushed around and shoved into the row of lockers by Gerry again, who sneered at him for forgetting to write a paper for him. Ethan was supposed to do an assignment for Gerry and he forgot all about it. After classes were over, Gerry cornered Ethan again, confronting him about the missed homework assignment. “Listen here you big lug! Do your own homework!” Ethan shouted. “I have to go to football practice! I don’t have time to do my homework! That’s what you’re here for, you nerd! So, now you gotta do my math homework as well! If you don’t then I’ll smash your face in!” Gerry roared. “I can’t… I’m… I’m celebrating my birthday with my mom this afternoon!” Ethan groaned. “Well… Happy Birthday!” Gerry scowled, before punching Ethan in the stomach and throwing him on the ground. “You’re a nerd and I’m a big muscle jock so it’s your job to do my homework!” Gerry walked off, laughing as Ethan cringed while lying on the floor. It took him a few minutes to recover, when he finally did, he got up, grabbed his backpack and stumbled out the door towards the bakery. Ethan walked in the bakery and handed the large man behind the counter a slip of paper which he had gotten from his mother the night before. “Oh… A birthday cake for Helen Crews? Oh yes… Got it right here! Along with seventeen candles!” the big man said as he placed a large white cardboard box on the counter. “It’s all paid for!” “Thanks…” Ethan said as he raised up the lid and glanced at the round, chocolate cake. “So… I guess this must be for you, huh?” the baker said. “Uhh… Yeah…” Ethan replied shyly. “Well, you’re getting seventeen candles! So, put them on the cake when you get home and light them up! Make a nice wish when you blow them out!” Joe the baker instructed. “I hope ALL your wishes will come true!” Ethan thought about that for a moment before he took the box in both hands and started to walk towards the door. Joe, of course, held the door open for him. “Thanks… I think I already know what I’m gonna wish for…” Ethan said as he crossed the street while carrying the cake in his hands. About five minutes later, Ethan reached the front door of the house and opened it. He walked in and set the cake on the kitchen table. Then, he took his cell phone and called Helen, letting her know that he had gotten home from school. She was on her way home already and would arrive shortly. Indeed, she got home within ten minutes, carrying a large bag of clothes from her own store. “I bought you some clothes from the store, sweetheart!” Helen said as she unpacked some shirts and set them on the table. “I know how much you like to wear nice clothes!” ‘Thanks, mom!” Ethan said as he kissed his mother on her cheek. “Now, let’s indulge, share we?” Helen grinned as she placed the candles on the cake and lit them with a lighter. “Come, Ethan! Come and blow out the candles!” Ethan walked up to the kitchen table and stood before the cake, staring at the cake and the seventeen candles. This was it. This was the moment to make his wish, today, on his seventeenth birthday, on July 17, 2017. Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I wish my muscles would just grow bigger and stronger every time I was threatened, bullied or in danger from this point forward… I also wish my muscles would grow bigger tonight, so I wake up big and strong tomorrow morning!” Ethan thought silently as he filled his lungs with air before opening his eyes and blowing out all the candles all at once. “Happy birthday, Ethan!” Helen cheered, as she cut off one slice and served it up on a small, round paper plate. “You get the first slice!” Ethan and his mother just enjoyed cake and punch that afternoon and evening while watching TV in the living room. “Mom? Umm… If these shirts don’t fit me for some reason then… You can take them back and exchange them for bigger ones, right?” he asked his mom. “Why, of course honey! I’ll get you others if these are too small…” she responded. “No problem!” “Oh…. Good… Just in case I, Uhh… Grow tonight…” Ethan chuckled. Ethan finally went to bed that evening, feeling happy but wondering if his wish would really come true. He walked into his room and crawled in bed, dozing off almost immediately. His concern was now how to face Gerry at school since he didn’t do his homework for him… again! The radio kicked on about 7 hours later, playing the usual pop, rock and EDM tunes that Ethan liked to hear in the morning. A large hand reached over and slammed the snooze button, knocking the radio off the stand with one mighty blow. “Aww… what the heck?” Ethan groaned as he slowly turned around. Did his bed seem smaller? Wasn’t his bed wider the night before? Did the bed shrink? Or…. Has he grown? Ethan raised up his hand again and noticed something. His hand was big. But so was his arm. He had biceps now… and they were BIG… Like bowling balls! “Hey…. What the heck?” Ethan felt bigger. He seemed heavier. He covered more space on the mattress. He was wider. He slowly slid off the bed and let his feet touch the ground with a thud. He wasn’t any taller but he surely felt like he had gained weight. Ethan stumbled over to the mirror on the wall and examined his reflection. He was only wearing his underwear so all his muscles were clearly visible. “Holy crap!” Thick arms joined in the middle at the torso where mighty pectorals were jutting out from his chest. Broad shoulders were staring back at him, followed by his round, beefy pecs, ending with ripped, washboard abdominal muscles covering his once flat stomach. “Whoa! My wish! My birthday wish…. It came true!” he exclaimed, while rubbing his hand over his hard abs. Looking down even further Ethan noticed his thick, wide quads, which were wider and thicker than before, followed by his bulging calves. The skinny nerd was now a very athletic and muscular jock in his own right! “Hah! Look who’s a jock NOW!” Ethan grinned. “Take that, Gerry!” Then Ethan realized that he had better get ready for school. But that was not going to be a problem. He remembered his wish. When faced with danger or when bullied, his muscles would grow and become even BIGGER! Things would only be better from now on! “Time to go to school!” Ethan grinned as he grabbed the largest shirt he could find. “Yup… Mom has to exchange some of these shirts for larger ones…” he grinned. But, that was a good thing! Ethan got dressed and walked to school, eager to see the reactions from his classmates when they saw the NEW, muscular version of him as he looked now….

* FINALLY FINISHED * "Ah, so you're JP's big brother," Andrew realized, once he heard the caller's name. "It's good to meet you man: verbally at least." "It's good to meet you too Andrew," Ryan replied, fully aware that his former coach could hear them. He didn't give voice to his thoughts: I don't want to be known as JP's brother; I'm my own man! "Once Tyler told me all about you, I looked you up on that new YouTube site and saw all your videos. You're an awesome football player man, and you'll have no trouble getting a full ride to any school you want!" "Thanks man," Andrew said, pleased that Ryan had told him how he had found out all about him. "I'm glad to have one fan at least." "Much more than just one, considering all the views your videos got," Ryan assured him sincerely. "That's part of the reason my college coach wanted me to call Coach Palmer and arrange this phone call. My coach told me to tell you that he's going to arrange an Unofficial Recruiting Visit down here for you the next time you're in Virginia." "That's very flattering man; thank him for me," Andrew said. "I'll have to give you the contact information for my high school football coach back in Orillia. He can coordinate with your college football coach to arrange everything for the visit." "It wasn't just your online videos that put you on his radar Andrew," Ryan informed him. "He also took note of your impressive performance at the football camps you attended this spring." "Well I'm glad I wasn't easy to miss," Andrew said seriously. "After all, I was among dozens of other high school football players at those camps, and I think I was the only Canadian there." "You're impossible to miss Andrew," Ryan assured him . "My coach told me that when he saw you in March, you weighed 275 pounds and stood 6 foot 7 inches tall." "Those were my old stats," Andrew said with a cocky smirk. He noticed Coach Palmer edging away to give him some privacy and added, "I'm bigger now." "How much do you weigh now Andrew?" Ryan asked him, sounding a little nervous. "305 pounds of solid muscle," Andrew replied, having detected a hint of fear in Ryan's voice. "It was a great day when I reached the average weight of an NFL lineman." "That's awesome man; I'm really happy for you," Ryan said sincerely. "Coach Palmer's no longer in hearing range Ryan; tell me how you really feel," Andrew said, just to test him. "I have been man," Ryan said seriously, hearing the slight hint of menace in Andrew's voice. I'm going to have to watch myself with him, he thought to himself. He sounds like he's just as smart as my little brother! "My coach told me that your performance at the spring football camps led to you getting offers for Unofficial Recruiting Visits throughout the Midwest." "Starting with Ohio State tomorrow," Andrew said, deliberately dropping the name of JP's hopeful college. "When do I get to meet you in person Ryan?" "You'll have to wait until your Unofficial Recruiting Visit at Virginia Tech," Ryan replied. "My coach asked me if I would be willing to be your campus guide, and I'd be glad to do it." "Thanks man," Andrew said gratefully, getting the feeling that Ryan was a really great guy under his cocky jock exterior. "You know, I just thought of a way we can see each other face-to-face even if we're probably dozens of miles apart." "You're right man, I'm in Harrisonburg off I-81 right now," Ryan agreed. "How can we see each other face-to-face without being in the same room?" he asked. "On Skype man," Andrew replied. "I have it on my laptop. Do you have it on yours?" "Sure I do man," Ryan replied with a big grin, getting excited at the notion of seeing just how big and muscular Andrew truly was. "Do you want to talk later once you get back to your hotel room?" "That sounds like a great idea," Andrew replied, anxious to see what the famous Ryan Maloney looked like. "It's a much better way for two new friends to chat long distance than on Instant Messenger." He heard a long silence on the other end of the line and hastily added, "If you want to be friends, that is." "That's fine with me Andrew," Ryan agreed eagerly. "It would be great to get to know you better and find out how you got so big and strong. Coach told me that you can bench 700 pounds for reps!" "Yeah, that's only because I couldn't find enough weight plates in your home gym to get to my max of 800 pounds tonight," Andrew said cockily. "Hopefully the gym at Virginia Tech has enough weight plates to challenge me." "Wow!" Ryan shouted in astonishment after another long silence. "You're insanely strong man; I bet you can bust through any defensive line effortlessly!" "Yeah I can man, but I always help the other players up afterwards to be a good sport," Andrew said seriously. "No sense being a sore winner." "I've heard of sore losers, but what's a sore winner?" Ryan asked curiously. "A sore winner is someone who gloats about his victory, acting cocky and arrogant as he rubs his success in other people's faces," Andrew replied. He decided to be completely honest with Ryan about his younger brother and added, "Kind of like how JP was during his last workout with you this spring." "So he told you about that, did he?" Ryan asked angrily. "No, I kind of tricked it out of him," Andrew replied. "I'll tell you more when we chat on Skype tonight, but I'd better text you my contact information on Skype now." "Don't forget your cell phone number Andrew, and ask Coach Palmer for mine," Ryan reminded him. "Thanks man," Andrew said gratefully, pleased that he and Ryan could keep in touch. "You know, it might be hard for you to confirm you got the text while you're on the phone with me," he suddenly realized. "Do you have a notepad you can write on instead?" "Good idea man; yeah I do," Ryan replied. After a few seconds, he said, "Go ahead Big Guy, I'm ready." Andrew quickly gave him all the required information and then Ryan returned the favour, once Andrew pulled out his cell phone. "I've got all your contact information Ryan," Andrew said. "I'll text you when I get back to my hotel and then we can meet face-to-face on Skype." "I look forward to it Andrew," Ryan said sincerely. "Get Coach Palmer back on the phone. I want to thank him for arranging this cell phone call with you this evening." "That's a good idea Ryan," Andrew said, signalling Coach Palmer to come closer. Once Coach Palmer stepped up beside him, Andrew added, "It was great talking to you man; I'll see you on Skype later tonight." "Goodbye Andrew," Ryan said, before Andrew handed Coach Palmer's cell phone back to him. Andrew waited patiently while Ryan filled Coach Palmer in on all that he had discussed with Andrew. Once the call was over, Coach Palmer turned to Andrew and said, "Very good Andrew: now you have another Unofficial Recruiting Visit lined up for this summer, hosted by one of my best players no less! Ryan thinks a lot of you and he'll be very happy to host a big man like you on campus!" "Yeah, and I'll enjoy being hosted by the Big Man on Campus," Andrew said with a big grin. "Very funny Andrew, making a play on my words like that!" Coach Palmer chuckled. "Hey, I don't just have brawn, I actually have brains as well!" Andrew reminded him with a cocky smirk. "I know that now Andrew," Coach Palmer assured him with an indulgent smile. "But since we're standing on the football field, how about you show me just how skilled you are at using your brawn. I can see that you're already prepared, since you're holding your football." He noticed Andrew's cocky smirk morph into a confident grin and added, "I'll use my digital camera to capture your performance on the field and then I can send that video to Ryan's college coach." Andrew nodded in agreement and slowly took off his football jacket. "Would you mind putting my jacket on the fence behind you Coach? I don't want it to get dirty." "You just want to leave the back of your Varsity Jacket free for a Provincial Championship patch, don't you?" Coach Palmer realized with a big grin. When Andrew nodded, he added, "Then you'd better take off your t-shirt as well, then you won't get it dirty either." Andrew grinned with excitement at the prospect of showing off his huge muscles and slowly began to peel off his skin-tight t-shirt, disguising the effort to make it look like a show for the coach. Coach Palmer's eyes widened in astonishment and more than a little fear at Andrew's massive shoulders, huge pecs, enormous biceps and eight-pack abs. "Uhhh... that's great Andrew, now jog across the field to the other end zone so that I can throw you the ball," Coach Palmer stammered. "You can catch a hundred yard pass, can't you?" "If you can throw the ball that far Coach," Andrew teased him. "I certainly can Andrew; I just hope you can run that far," Palmer said, taking the Miami Football out of Andrew's hands. "Move it Mister: that's an order!" "Yes Sir!" Andrew shouted eagerly, running down the field with huge strong strides. Coach Palmer cocked his arm back, marshalled all his strength and threw the football as high and as far as he could. He followed the flight of the ball as it arced through the air and had to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun in the west. He finally saw Andrew catch the football at the opposite end zone and he realized at that moment that none of the videos he had seen of Andrew's performance on the football field had been exaggerated. ================================================================================================================================================= Meanwhile, in a hotel room in Harrisonburg, Virginia, off Interstate 81, a strikingly handsome jock with jet black hair and piercing green eyes stood up from the couch by the window and grinned. Perfect, Ryan Maloney thought to himself. I'll be able to learn from my new friend Andrew Pearson how to get really huge and strong. With any luck, he'll pick my school over Ohio State and then we can be right beside each other on the Offensive Line. Ryan frowned as he suddenly realized something. Once I get big enough that the coach lets me play, of course. But then he grinned again when he realized that he had found the perfect reason to give Andrew for why he wanted to get bigger and stronger. He'll never know that I just want to get big enough that my little dweeb brother can never get close to beating me in anything ever again! "Who were you talking to out here Ryan?" Luke asked, stepping out of the washroom after his shower. "One of my brother's friends man," Ryan replied, turning to face his smaller friend with a smug grin on his face. "Is he a dorky band geek like your brother?" Luke asked with a sneer. "No man, in fact he's big enough to make you look like a runt," Ryan replied with a slight glare. He maximized the YouTube Video he had been watching of Andrew before Coach Palmer had texted him. "See for yourself man; keep an eye on number 3: Andrew Pearson," he said, as he sat back down on the couch. Luke and Ryan watched the highlight video of the 2004 Provincial Championship game between Andrew's team, the ODCVI Blues from Orillia, and the Eastview Wildcats from Barrie. "Wow man!" Luke shouted in astonishment once the video had ended. "You've got to convince your coach at Tech to get Andrew down there for an Unofficial Recruiting Visit this summer." "Already done man, after Tyler told me all about him," Ryan said with a cocky smirk. "And guess who gets to host him for his visit!" "You mean, you're going to be the host?" Luke asked him in surprise. "Of course man, who else?" Ryan scoffed. "Who better to host an incoming freshman than a current freshman?" He left out the part where his Tech coach had reminded him that all Redshirt Freshmen had to act as student hosts for incoming freshman prospects. "Once I showed this video to Coach, he told me to call my high school coach and set up a phone call with Andrew. And thanks to Coach Palmer calling Coach Graves, who called my dad, JP ended up bringing Andrew over to Central High School this evening. Once he got Andrew alone, Coach Palmer texted me and I called him and got to speak to Andrew. He's a really great football player, as you could see from the highlight videos." "Hey maybe you and Andrew can become teammates on the Offensive Line next fall and win a college football championship," Luke suggested. "Yeah, and maybe Andrew can show me how to get as huge and ripped as he is!" Ryan shouted in excitement, flexing his massive biceps. "Then I can leave that little dweeb brother of mine in the dust once and for all!" "That would be awesome man!" Luke shouted in excitement. "Then when you go home for Christmas you can give that brother of yours the worst present he's ever had!" "Yeah, the present of my awesome presence!" Ryan shouted, proving that Andrew wasn't the only smart guy in the state. "How will you convince Andrew to help you get bigger without revealing the real reason?" Luke suddenly asked. "Easy, I'll just tell him the truth: my coach at Tech won't let me play until I'm a lot bigger and stronger," Ryan said smugly. "Andrew will never realize that I just want to get huge to dominate my little brother so completely that he'll shrivel up and rot just like a little raisin!" "Sounds like you've got it all figured out," Luke realized. "So, enough talk; you want to head out and see what kind of summer parties JMU has to offer?" "Sure man, and maybe I can find a hot chick who wants a piece of me," Ryan sneered with a suggestive smirk. "I'll keep my cell on vibrate so that when Andrew texts me, I can get back here and see him on Skype." "You want me to come back with you?" Luke asked, as they headed out the door. "Naw man, I want to see him alone," Ryan replied. "If he sees two of us, he might think something's up when I ask him if he'll help me get bigger like him." Luke nodded in agreement as they headed down the hall. Ryan breathed a silent sigh of relief, relieved that Luke hadn't figured out the true reason that Ryan wanted to speak to Andrew alone: so that no one could horn in on the new friendship that he was hoping to form with JP's new mentor. ================================================================================================================================================= Andrew had been showing off his football skills for ten minutes, so neither he nor Coach Palmer noticed JP coming out of the high school gym. Andrew threw his football from the far end of the field to Coach Palmer, but he threw it too far and it hit JP in the chest before he could catch it. "Are you okay JP?" Palmer asked as JP fell onto his back. But then he grinned as JP rolled through the fall and back to his feet. "I guess you are okay," he realized, noticing the cocky smirk on JP's face. "Sure I am Coach; it will take a lot more than a 120 yard pass to hurt me," JP assured him; relieved that his high pain tolerance had allowed him to withstand the impact of the football. "That's the furthest I've ever seen anyone throw a football though; even Clark Kent on Smallville last season restricted himself to 60 yard passes!" "Andrew outweighs Clark by at least 80 pounds of solid muscle," Palmer said, grinning at JP's huge friend as he jogged shirtless across the field towards them. His jaw dropped in astonishment as Andrew stopped in front of him and he could only stare in awe at the sweat glistening on the body of the hulking muscle god in front of him. "Uh, very good job Andrew: your football skills are very impressive," he managed to stammer out. He turned to JP, whose eyes were as wide as his own and asked, "What did you think of Andrew's performance on the field tonight?" "It was amazing Coach; I can see why you wanted to see him tonight," JP realized. He noticed the digital camera in Palmer's hands and added, "It looks like you got a lot of good footage of Andrew's football skills. Which school are you going to send it to?" Coach Palmer and Andrew looked at each other uncertainly, unsure how to answer JP's question without making him mad. "Are you going to tell him Coach, or should I?" Andrew finally asked Coach Palmer. "Tell me what?" JP snapped, guessing that there could only be one reason why they so reluctant to name the school. "It's Virginia Tech JP," Coach Palmer replied, gambling that his position as Head Football Coach would keep him safe from JP's wrath. He was right, because all JP did was narrow his eyes slightly in anger. "I'll let Andrew tell you all about it; I've got everything I need," he added, holding up his digital camera. "See you later JP and nice meeting you Andrew." With that, Coach Palmer beat a hasty retreat into the high school, leaving Andrew alone to face JP. Andrew looked over cautiously at JP, who was glaring at him with a look of fury on his face. "Go ahead JP; let me have it for talking to your brother and then I can explain how it happened," Andrew sighed. "I ought to punch you in the face for even talking to Ryan, knowing how much I hate him!" JP snapped. "Fine, do it if you think it 'll make you feel better!" Andrew snapped back. "It won't make any difference to me; I probably won't feel it anyway!" JP roared in fury and lunged at Andrew, his right fist leading the way. SMACK! JP punched Andrew in the face with all his strength. To make his smaller friend feel better, Andrew let his head snap around from the blow, even though he didn't feel a thing. Encouraged by thinking that he had actually hurt Andrew, JP kept punching Andrew in the face, making his big friend's head rock back and forth. Andrew didn't even stumble or flinch though, and eventually JP got tired. He stopped punching Andrew in the face and settled for kneeing him in the gut instead. Soon JP's hands began to ache from punching Andrew's tough jaw and his knees felt like they had impacted a concrete wall. JP ignored the pain for a couple more minutes and kept hitting Andrew in the abs until he finally tired out and he was no longer mad. "Feel better now JP?" Andrew asked, breathing a sigh of relief that JP had stopped attacking him. Hopefully he got some of the rage at his brother out of his system by attacking me! "You look tired." "Yeah I am Andrew," JP replied, smiling when he noticed Andrew rubbing his chin with one hand and his abs with the other. As he tried to catch his breath, he added, "I'm glad I was able to hurt you a bit; that means that I'll be able to wipe the floor with Ryan the next time I see him!" "Good JP, can we go now?" Andrew asked him impatiently. "Or did you want to throw my football around for a while on an actual football field?" "That would be great Andrew," JP said excitedly. "You always know what to say to make me feel better." "And apparently I know what to do as well, since letting you punch me several times calmed you down," Andrew realized with a gentle smile. "What do you mean by 'letting' me?" JP asked him in surprise. "I mean that I could have caught all your punches if I had wanted to," Andrew replied, crossing his massive arms with a smug grin. Then he noticed JP frowning, so he decided to cheer him up. "But I figured that it would make you feel better if I acted as your human punching bag. Anytime you want to let out your frustrations by doing it again, just let me know man. Or don't; it won't matter to me because I barely felt anything anyway." "Thanks a lot Andrew; now you've made me feel worse!" JP snapped at him. "Sorry about that man, but you punched me, not the other way around," Andrew reminded him with a cocky grin. "But you don't hear me complaining about it!" "That's because you just admitted that I barely hurt you!" JP snapped in fury. "That's because I'm almost twice your size JP," Andrew reminded him. When JP glared at him, Andrew sighed and added, "But if it makes you feel any better, you did hurt me a little bit." "Not enough Andrew!" JP yelled in fury. "How am I supposed to take Ryan down if I can't even make you wince when I punch you?" "I outweigh Ryan by almost a hundred pounds," Andrew reminded him, having to clench his fists to keep from snapping back at JP. JP grinned: suddenly feeling better and Andrew grinned back at him. "Now can I tell you how I ended up talking with Ryan over the phone?" "Yes Andrew," JP replied, suddenly realizing how lucky he was that he hadn't made his huge friend mad. Andrew told him the whole story and concluded by telling JP that he would show Ryan just how big he was on Skype later that night. Then he and JP finally got to throw the football around on the field for about an hour. Andrew showed JP some of the football drills he went through as an Offensive Lineman at ODCVI. JP smiled to himself, really happy that Andrew was playing football with him: something Ryan had never done. Once they were done, it was 10 pm and getting dark. The lights around the field came on and Andrew had an idea. He stood under the uprights near his car and said, "So this is what the Friday Night Lights look like." "It's Tuesday night Andrew," JP teased him with a smirk. "Funny man JP; it was a figure of speech and you know it!" Andrew laughed. "Speaking of figures, you certainly make an imposing one with the lights behind you," JP suddenly realized, a trace of fear showing up on his face. "Then take a picture of me with my game face on," Andrew ordered him, getting down into his three point stance with one hand holding his football. Andrew glared up at the camera as if he was about to take down his opponent and JP quickly took the picture, feeling very afraid of his huge friend at that moment. "Okay Andrew, how about we try one with you smiling?" JP suggested, trying unsuccessfully to keep the fear out of his voice. "Sorry about that JP; I didn't mean to scare you," Andrew apologized. He grinned up at JP, who took another picture, and then stood up to his full height of six feet and seven inches. "There now JP: we've played football, taken some pictures, met your wrestling coach and you've used me as a human punching bag. Are you ready to go home now?" "Yeah Andrew, and I'm really excited about tomorrow's recruiting visit to Ohio State," JP said with a big grin on his face. "The Ohio State JP," Andrew teased him, finally putting his t-shirt back on. He noticed JP mock-glaring at him and laughed. "Don't look at me like that man; you're the one who corrected me about that earlier today!" "You're right Andrew," JP realized, as they headed to Andrew's truck with their Varsity Jackets slung over their shoulders. As they reached Andrew's truck, he asked, "So what are you going to do when you get back to your hotel with Carrie and Mike?" "I'm going to call Ryan on-" Andrew began, before having to catch JP's fist in mid-punch. "Don't try that again JP: you've hit me enough for one night," Andrew growled in fury. He gave JP's fist a slight squeeze until JP winced in pain. "Do you get the point now man? I can catch your punches anytime I want to!" "Yes Andrew, I've got it!" JP gasped in pain. "Can you let me go now?" "Sure man; I've made my point," Andrew replied, releasing his iron grip on JP's fist. JP massaged his sore hand and Andrew said, "Why do you insist on asking questions that you don't want to hear the answer to?" "I don't know Andrew," JP replied, as they got into Andrew's truck. "I guess I'm just too curious for my own good." "Yeah, you seem to have forgotten that cautionary tale about the cat who was too curious," Andrew realized. "Don't even joke about that Andrew!" JP begged him. Andrew looked over and a look of concern came over his face when he saw how scared JP looked. "Aroused, your great physical strength could kill! And I only felt a tiny sample of it when you squeezed my fist!" "I'm sorry about that man, but you made me mad for a moment there," Andrew informed him. "I was in a really bad mood all last fall and the results weren't pretty." "Why was that Andrew?" JP asked, as Andrew started driving them back to JP's house. "My grandpa had a stroke last fall, just after I graduated Basic Reserves Training," Andrew replied. "I was really worried about him during football season, since he was confined to a wheelchair and could barely speak. Fortunately, my parents were able to bring him to every game, but then my nemesis David Harrington insulted him and I just lost it and punched him in the face, giving him a bloody nose. The next punch knocked him out. If Steve, Darrel and Mike hadn't pulled me away, I would have killed him with my bare hands!" JP just stared at Andrew in speechless terror as his big friend's face turned red with fury and his hands turned white on the steering wheel. Andrew looked over at JP, still furious from the bad memories, and saw the look of terror on his face. He started taking a few deep breaths to calm down and was relieved to see the normal look of confidence return to JP's face. JP wisely decided to wait until Andrew had calmed down completely before he asked, "What happened next Andrew?" "Coach Everson suspended me for two games and my parents chewed me out hard when we got back home," Andrew remembered, looking embarrassed. "I actually stayed in a hotel that weekend, not wanting to deal with anyone. Then when I got home from school on Monday evening, my dad informed me that my Grandpa (his dad, not my mom's) had suffered another massive stroke and was now confined to a hospital bed. I could see in his eyes that my dad blamed me for that, since Grandpa Pearson had attended the game where I took David out for insulting him. I felt really bad and I visited Grandpa every weekend after that, now that I had seen the damage my bad temper had caused." "It wasn't your fault Andrew," JP tried to assure his big friend. "It was probably just a coincidence that your grandpa had another stroke around the same time that you were punching David." "That's not true JP; he had the stroke at the game right after I attacked David!" Andrew shouted in frustration. "My rage stressed him out so badly that it caused his second stroke and put him in that hospital bed!" JP just stared at his big friend in sympathy, not having a clue what to say when he realized what an incredible burden of guilt Andrew had been carrying around for almost a year. Andrew sighed as a tear ran down his cheek and he and JP just drove in silence for a few minutes while he tried to compose himself. "What happened next Andrew?" JP asked his huge friend gently. "Coach Everson let me play in the Semi-Final and then the Provincial Championship Game," Andrew replied. "Unfortunately, the O-Line had learned some new plays under the back-up Center that I wasn't familiar with and we lost the Provincial Championship Game in the last second due to a missed field goal because David deflected it. I managed to control my temper about that but I broke down in my grandpa's hospital room as I told him a day later. He couldn't say a word, but he did reach over with his one good arm to grab my hand. I promised him that I would win the next Provincial Championship for him and he smiled. Then he fell asleep and I went home. We got the news the next morning that he had passed away during the night." "So you were the last person to see him and he went to heaven happy," JP guessed. "Yeah man," Andrew said with a gentle smile. "And now you know everything about last season and why I'm not really a cocky jock anymore." JP nodded in understanding. "You're the only one who knows everything I've told you, besides Carrie of course, and I want it to stay that way." JP nodded in understanding, realizing how much Andrew thought of him that he would reveal his innermost secrets. "Do you have anything else to tell me Andrew, or is that it?" JP asked. "That's it JP," Andrew replied, glancing over at his friend with a gentle smile. "I think we're even now, since you told me everything about you and Ryan earlier this evening." JP tried to keep the anger he felt at hearing the name of his big brother from showing on his face, because he remembered how easily Andrew had shut down his attempt to punch him earlier. I'd better be on my best behavior with Andrew; he could crush me with one hand tied behind his back! JP realized in sudden fear. Then he thought of something that made him smile. "Getting excited about the trip to the Ohio State tomorrow JP?" Andrew asked him. "Yeah Andrew," JP replied, not letting his huge friend know that he was actually thinking of how scared Ryan would be when he saw how big Andrew was. "I'm really grateful that you're taking me to see the school I hope to wrestle at in my college years." "No problem JP; Mark did it for me, so I'm returning the favour in a deflected manner," Andrew informed him. When JP looked at him with confusion, Andrew explained that his first protégé Mark Stevenson had invited Andrew along on his Official Recruiting Visits during the previous football season. "So in a way, Ohio State is already aware of me, because I went there with Mark on his Official Recruiting Visit almost one year ago," Andrew explained to JP. "Did you mentor him just so you could get early exposure to the NCAA?" JP teased him. Andrew glared over at him in mock fury, but a slight grin betrayed his true feelings. "Just joking Big Guy." "Hey, I told you before, you call me 'Huge Guy' JP!" Andrew roared, unable to keep a cocky grin from appearing on his face. JP laughed and the two of them continued joking around until they got back to JP's house. Once they got to JP's house, they parked in the driveway and Andrew turned to JP. "Thanks a lot for listening to everything I told you about last season without judgement JP," Andrew said gratefully. "You're a great friend." "Thanks Andrew; you are too," JP said, as his parents came out of the house. As he and Andrew got out of Andrew's truck, he said, "Coach Graves got in touch with all the wrestling coaches at each school we're going to, so I'll be having my own early Unofficial Recruiting Visits while you have yours." "Good job man; taking a page out of my book I see," Andrew said with a smug grin. He turned to his friends, who had come out of the house after JP's parents and asked them, "Did you guys have lots of fun with Matt and JP's parents while we were gone?" "Yeah man," Mike replied. "JP's parents were bragging about him while he was gone, showing us his wrestling photos, newspaper articles, trophies and his District Finalist Medal from last season." "I hope we can see a State Championship Medal from you next season JP," Mr. Maloney said with a frown. "You will Dad," JP assured him, trying to make his determination show on his face. "But in the meantime, I will have to show off my District Finalist Medal to the Ohio State Wrestling Coaches tomorrow." "Yeah, when I called Coach Graves and told him which schools Andrew was taking you to, he said that he would get in touch with the wrestling coaches at those schools," Mr. Maloney said proudly. "Yeah he showed me all the emails from them, in which they expressed their hope that I would talk to them while I'm on campus this week," JP said with a cocky smirk. "So I told Coach to say 'Yes, he'll be glad to meet you there' and he added my cell phone number to the email replies. Then the coaches can text me with the details." "And all this wouldn't have happened if Andrew hadn't offered to take you with him on his recruiting visits," Mrs. Maloney said, reaching up to put a hand on Andrew's massive shoulder. Andrew looked very embarrassed as JP's parents ushered Andrew inside to talk to him some more. "Where's your mom Matt?" JP asked, finally noticing that she was missing from the group. "She already went home, after leaving a packed suitcase here for me," Matt replied. "What did you and Andrew do at the high school?" JP ushered him into the house so that they could talk, leaving Mike and Carrie standing outside on the front walk. "Do you feel that we've been forgotten by Andrew over the last couple of days?" Mike asked Carrie. "No more than the past three years when Andrew spent a lot of time mentoring his current teammates," Carrie reminded him. "He didn't have to mentor you of course; your big brother Matt did a lot of that, as well as training Andrew for football before high school." "Yeah, Matt's mentoring of me and Andrew got us ready for high school football so that we played on the Varsity Team even during our Freshman Year," Mike remembered. "Of course, Coach Everson had Andrew be the back-up to Carl, the Centre, that year. Then Carl left for Miami and Andrew took over at Centre in Grade Ten." "Good thing too, because the college recruiting started just last year: Andrew's second season as Centre," Carrie reminded him. Mike grinned and nodded, and Carrie added, "I'm a little surprised that no college coaches have recruited me for Girl's Hockey yet." "Ask to meet the Girl's Hockey coaches at each school we visit and you'll find lots of recruiters visiting you this fall," Mike predicted. Carrie grinned at Mike: pleased that for all his big muscles, he hadn't lost any of the intelligence that had let him tutor Andrew and Phil in exchange for weight training years ago. Carrie and Mike chatted outside for a few more minutes and then went into the Maloney house, where they found almost everyone talking in the living room. As Carrie looked around, she noticed that Andrew and JP were not there. "Where are Andrew and JP?" she asked Mr. Maloney. "JP took Andrew up to his room to show off all his wrestling newspaper stories and trophies," Paul replied proudly. Carrie nodded in understanding: pleased that Andrew had found another protégé after not having one the previous year. Up in his bedroom, JP was proudly showing Andrew all the newspaper clippings and trophies from his high school wrestling career. "This is very impressive JP; you have really achieved great athletic success in only two years," Andrew congratulated him. "And you're a District Finalist as well." "Probably nothing compared to what you've achieved Andrew; you actually won the District Title." "Yeah, but this coming wrestling season, you'll win the State Title JP," Andrew predicted with an encouraging smile. JP smiled as Andrew had once again made him feel better. "What did you want to do now Andrew?" "Help you pack for the college road trip that starts next week, but perhaps I should see Ryan's room first." "What for Andrew?" JP asked with an angry look on his face. "I want an objective view of the kind of guy he is," Andrew replied. "A look in his room is the best glance I will get at his character since he probably decorated it himself." "Fine, let's get it over with so that we can plan our trip," JP agreed reluctantly. He led Andrew to Ryan's room and opened the door, revealing all the posters of scantily-clad women all over the walls. "Well, that certainly reveals Ryan's true character with one look," Andrew realized. "On my walls at home, I have football players banging heads on the field." "So now you see how different you and Ryan are, which explains why I think of you as my big brother instead of him," JP explained, closing Ryan's door again. Andrew nodded and followed JP back to his room to help him pack for the road trip. About an hour later, Andrew and his two friends said goodbye to JP and his family and headed back to their hotel. Once there, Andrew told Carrie that he wanted to talk to JP's brother on Skype. "Okay Andrew, I'll just go have a shower before bed," Carrie said. "Have fun talking to your new friend." Andrew had told her all about his talk with Ryan earlier that evening. "I will Carrie, and I'm going to wear my ODCVI football t-shirt so that he can see just how big and strong I am," Andrew said with a smirk. "Fine, have fun playing 'Who's the Alpha' with Ryan," Carrie laughed. "See you later Big Man," "That's 'Huge Man' to you 'Little Girl'," Andrew teased her with a mock glare. Carrie laughed and headed into the bathroom to have her shower. Andrew pulled out his Motorola Razor and texted Ryan. Then he activated Skype and waited. ================================================================================================================================================= Meanwhile, at a club in Harrisonburg, Virginia, Ryan's cell phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket with a frown. "Sorry babe, I've been expecting this text," he apologized to the hot girl he was in the middle of kissing. He read the text and grinned when he realized that Andrew was ready to start their Skype Chat. "I'm going to talk to my new friend, and he'll show me how to get even bigger and stronger for you next time," he promised her emptily. Ryan stepped back and quickly found Luke so that he could tell him where he was going. Then he headed out of the club, after promising to pick Luke up later, and drove back to their hotel to talk to Andrew. Perfect, Ryan thought to himself as he drove. Andrew will teach me how to become really big and strong so that I can give the girls more pleasure than they've ever dreamed of! And I'll be big enough to smash that dweeb brother of mine into pieces, as well as all opposing players in the games this season! Ryan was still grinning about his foolproof strategy to get Andrew's help when he pulled into the hotel parking lot. He stepped out of his car, put on his best arrogant jock face, and sauntered into the lobby, grinning like a cat at all the pretty girls he passed by. But this time, he didn't talk to any of them, he was too eager to see his new friend Andrew face-to-face. Once he got up to his hotel room, he went inside, opened up his laptop and activated Skype. As the image on the screen resolved into focus, Ryan's jaw dropped as he saw what was on the screen. ================================================================================================================================================ Andrew smirked as he saw the look of shock on the face of the black-haired, green-eyed jock on his laptop screen. "Ryan Maloney?" Andrew asked, just to make sure he was talking to the right person. The big guy on the screen nodded silently; still too shocked to speak. "I'm JP's new friend Andrew Pearson." He waited for almost a minute before Ryan got up his nerve to finally say something. "How are you man?" "Oh just fine; I had lots of fun on the Central High football field showing off my football skills for Coach Palmer," Andrew said with a cocky smirk. Part of him realized he probably shouldn't act so cocky, but then he realized that he had finally found someone who would approve of him acting like an arrogant jock. "I threw a pass that went the entire length of the field and knocked JP off his feet when he tried to catch it!" Ryan's look of shock intensified and then a fleeting look of concern appeared on his face. It was quickly erased by an arrogant smirk, however. "Did that little dweeb run home and cry to Mommy about it?" he sneered. "Be careful Ryan; that's my new protégé you're talking about," Andrew warned him, his protective instincts flaring up. "And he told me how he was once yours." "Yeah he was," Ryan said, remembering his last workout with JP less than fondly. "Sorry about that Andrew; my brother and I just don't get along anymore." "Did you want to talk about it Ryan?" Andrew asked. "It won't go any further than the two of us, since my girlfriend isn't in here with me." "Okay Andrew, and then we can talk about more exciting things: like your upcoming recruiting visit to Virginia Tech," Ryan agreed. "And I will email you the video that Coach Palmer emailed me of my exploits on the Central High School football field," Andrew offered. "Then you can forward it to your football coach at Tech." "Good thinking Andrew," Ryan agreed. He began telling Andrew about how his little brother JP had followed him around everywhere all his life and then started bugging him about working out when he got to high school. So Ryan began teaching him how to work out, but he never imagined JP would take to it so well and get close to surpassing him. So Ryan gradually removed himself from his brother's workouts, especially after the events of three months before, and their relationship was practically non-existent since then. "That sounds rough man," Andrew said sympathetically, realizing that JP felt the same way. "I went through something similar with one of my good friends about seven years ago." "Tell me about it Andrew; I can listen while I watch the video you sent me," Ryan said, opening up the email attachment. So Andrew told Ryan all about his failed friendship with Steve, basically repeating word-for-word the same things he had told JP the night before. Like JP before him, Ryan was amazed at how similar his experiences were to Andrew's. "So what do you think Ryan?" Andrew asked, once he had finished telling Ryan everything. "That's an amazing story Andrew, and I can see that we have a lot more in common than just being great football players," Ryan replied sincerely. All thoughts of acting like an arrogant jock in front of Andrew were gone, and he felt that he could finally be himself with his new friend, which was a great relief for him. "Your video is amazing as well, and my coach at Tech will be really excited to see it." "More excited than you are Ryan?" Andrew teased him, trying to lighten the mood. "Yeah man," Ryan replied with a big grin. "But I'm excited to meet you in person as well, and I'll talk to Coach and get an Unofficial Recruiting Visit set up for you at Tech later this summer." "Thanks man," Andrew said gratefully, sensing that their conversation was wrapping up. "Well, I look forward to it, but right now, I'm going to have a shower and go to bed. Do you want me to say hi to JP for you when I see him again tomorrow morning?" "No Andrew, I will when I see him again," Ryan replied seriously. "And do me a favour." "What's that Ryan?" Andrew asked him. "Don't talk about my brother anymore with me unless I ask you about him," Ryan said. "No problem Ryan," Andrew agreed. "Text me later if you want to have another Skype chat." "I will man; just email me your travel plans so I know where you'll be tomorrow night," Ryan said. "Sure thing man; talk to you later," Andrew said, preparing to sign off. "See you Andrew," Ryan said, just before he ended the conversation. Andrew sat back in his desk chair and stared at the blank screen for a moment: thinking hard. Hopefully one day I'll be there when Ryan and JP have fixed their relationship and then I won't have to choose which one to be friends with, he thought to himself. Then he heard Carrie calling him from the bathroom. "Andrew, I'm ready to have another shower: this time with you!" Andrew grinned, stood up, and headed into the bathroom, looking forward to having lots of fun with his girlfriend before they went to bed. * FINALLY FINISHED * COMING SOON: - The Road Trip to Ohio State - The Ohio State Recruiting Visit itself - JP gets a head start on his own college recruiting process thanks to Andrew My website page for this chapter: http://seanspictures.webs.com has a picture from Google of what I imagine Ryan would look like. Just click on the link for Chapter 5 and go halfway down to see it.