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PREFACE Nothing original here, and almost no plot. I just wanted to see if it's possible to leave it open whom is growing. Perhaps it is you? Or are you Sir? Sir prefer his lads to be big Perhaps it was the testosterone levels, or perhaps it was the impact of the radionic stimuli, but something caused that tingling feeling, and something caused the muscles to look firmer. To BE firmer. Any cause to doubt the efficiency of the experiment began to fade, and any reluctance also began to fade – fade and begin to give way to the feeling. The feeling of growth. The feeling of pride over the subject to enhancement. That male feeling of a shared bond between the subject inside and Sir, who caused the Chamber to do his bidding. The heat inside the Chamber. Perspirating sweat, trickling sweat, evaporating sweat, sweat condensing on the pane of thick lead glass and slowly trickling down the misted pane. And WHY was sweat perspirating, why trickling, why evaporating, why condensing into mist on the pane? Why was the Chamber humming? Why was the interior of the Chamber buzzing? Why was the body tingling? Why was a crackling sound slowly increasing? Male sweat was perspirating and trickling, evaporating and filling the chamber with the scent of masculinity, condensing and slowly trickling down the misted pane. It was all happening, for the same reason the Chamber was humming, the interior of the Chamber buzzing, the body tingling and the the the crackling sound increasing: It was because an ordinary man, an average man, was slowly becoming more than ordinary, more than average. It was because the male subject was becoming a being beyond formerly known limits. Sir prefer his lads to be big. Sir and his lad share this urge: Sir's lads ought to be BIG. Familiar means have been used at the preparatory stage: Lifting steel properly; Eating properly; Sleeping properly; Go from average to dedicated; The forbidden substances, but, up until now, forbidden substances known by any gym rat. Not the unknown formula. Not before today. Today, when Sir's unknown formula is circulating. Circulating within the subject. Saturating the muscle tissues of the subject. Affecting the mind of the subject. Causing the subject to become, in mind and body, something else: A masculine being beyond formerly known limits. Because Sir prefer his lads to be BIG. It must be exciting for Sir to watch, just as it must be exciting to be the GROWING subject – the subject, which is becoming what Sir desire him to become. Excited to grow. Excited to grow the subject. Excited be grown. Perhaps it is the testosterone levels, or perhaps it is the impact of the radionic stimuli, but something cause that tingling feeling, and something cause the muscles to look bigger. To BE bigger. The exciting and overwhelming feeling of SWOLENESS. Swoleness emerging. Swoleness spreading. Swoleness filling and taking over. Becoming Sir's swole lad. Sir's swole masculine lad shuddering delightfully at the impact of the humming. At the buzzing. At the tingling. At the crackling. The humming that shape the field of the ideal ultra-masculine body. The buzzing that shape the mind into the mind of Sir's ultra-masculine swole big lad. The tingling of growth. YES! Of growth! The crackling of power that FORCE change and FORCE becoming upon any man inside. YES! To force change and force becoming ... ... while the ultra-masculine musky scent of the sweat fill the Chamber, fill the subject, causing overwhelming delightful change of mind and body ... Swoleness spreading. Swoleness filling and taking over. Becoming Sir's ultra-masculine swole lad, and evolving into ... ... evolving into an ultra-masculine being beyond formerly known limits. YES! The Mutation! Beyond! Beyond imagination! Beyond every limit! BECOMING! So heavy now. So WIDE. The powerful strength. More than ... Oh fuck! More than a man. Becoming the wide and swole massiveness that howl in ultra-masculine ecstasy as the sheer imposing physical presence and the indomitable mental assertiveness fuse into the incomprehensible and indescribable experience of MUTATION beyond former limits, beyond former potential, into Sir's flexing, roaring mountain of bouncing bulging beef, into Sir's testosterone-addled and steel-hard Bruiser Beast, the powerful physique throbbing of unimaginable muscular strength beyond ... Uh! Beyond EVERYTHING! BEYOND EVERYTHING! Because ... uh! ... because Sir prefer his lads to be BIG.

Sugar Rush Marty sat alone on the teacher’s desk, watching the vermillion sun gleam through the trees and into the classroom. Outside, the cicadas were singing, welcoming the evening. His last class ended anticlimactically, a relief for his weary heart. Senior high kids were a menace; at least today Marty only needed one painkiller. As he was finishing up grading the last of the week’s test papers, he heard the sound of whistling coming from down the hall. And he held his breath, his eyes glued to the door, waiting for him to appear at the window. His name was Eric O’Ronell―he was a freshly turned 18-year-old high school jock, but everyone who knew him referred to him as THE jock, THE baseball star. Infamous for being the go-to guy for between-class “favors” in the genderless washrooms with one or two others. He was 5’11”, fit enough that his tight muscles outlined through his white and khaki uniform, thickly cologne with an air of narcissism. An all-American boy. With a 9-inch cock. Marty heard his footsteps approach the classroom. Then there he was. He smiled through the door window and entered, locking it behind him. “Hey there, sir,” he said, with a raised chin. “You’re early.” Eric strutted over and rested his hand on the desk. “Did you want me later? I could come back in a bit. That glee club sounded like they needed some help with their pipes. Something about an unclogging in their throats.” “You know I don’t want you in general, Eric.” He walked around and stood next to Marty. “Yeah, you need me.” He unbuttoned his white shirt from his collar down to his abs, revealing his thickly muscled torso. In a second, the shirt was inside-out, hanging off his waist where it stayed tucked in his pants, showing off his tightly packed briefs in front. “Alright,” he said. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.” He pulled down his briefs, allowing his full, throbbing 9-incher to fly freely. Marty looked up at the big kid, who then thrusted his pelvis, egging Marty to take the meat in his mouth. There was inevitable resistance; Marty was supposed to be a teacher almost twice Eric’s age ― but this wasn’t about him. Eric laughed at the disgust on Marty’s face. And he began thrusting forward and side to side, slapping the littler man’s face with his swelling member. Marty had had it. He took the schlong by the hand and squeezed it tightly before shoving it in his mouth. Eric wasn’t leaving without his cock slobbered in saliva. Eric rejoiced silently at the submission and pounded it down Marty’s mouth, bruising the back of his throat. Despite Marty’s pained groans of protest, Eric continued to face-fuck him. By the end of it, Marty’s mouth was filled with cum. The bleach-like smell of it made him gag a bit, but he swallowed. They always swallowed. Eric, satisfied, pulled out and suited back up. “A’ight, thanks for that,” he said. “I’ll be back again tomorrow.” As Marty rested his head on the table, Eric dug around the desk drawers. He pulled out a rogue piece of candy Marty didn’t remember having and pocketed it with a smile. “Oh, shit, yeah. I love candy,” he said. “Thanks for this, sir. Really appreciate the tip.” He winked. The door closed behind Eric as he left, leaving a fatigued Marty alone in the room once again, with a mouth full of cum, his quiet alone time no longer quite as peaceful. § § § An hour later, two students chilling on a bench along an empty corridor caught the unmistakeable scent of nocturnal emissions emanating from the genderless washroom by the staircase. The first kid, taller and with prominent Spanish features, spotted a bodacious senior cheerleader exiting the washroom first, a limp in her gait, a wobble in her jaw. Who followed was a jock, a big guy, someone he never caught the name of. He was new to the school, so he didn’t know all the athletes just yet. “What do you think happened there?” the first kid asked. “Is that a usual thing at this school?” The second kid ― smaller, weaker, and far more breakable ― chuckled. “Oh, right, you don’t know Eric. Why don’t you go talk to him? I think you’d like him.” The first kid, Spain, gave Tiny a puzzled look. “What makes you think I’d like him?” “I dunno. You both have massive egos. You could talk about the gym or something.” Spain scoffed. “I don’t go to the gym, man.” And out of nowhere, he found the urge to relieve his bladder. “Anyway, I’ll be right back. Just gotta go empty the tank.” “No rush,” Tiny replied. As Spain walked into the washroom, he found Eric rinsing his face. They made eye contact and simultaneously looked away. As Spain stood at a urinal, Eric finished up and stood next to him ― along a row of empty urinals. Eric looked over at the underclassman constantly as if it were a competition, looking down at him from his height of 5’11”. Both boys took out their cocks and began to piss. Eric did his best to be discreet in checking out what his competition was packing. He didn’t hold out very long. “You’re pretty big down there for a kid, ain’t ya?” Eric remarked. “You too,” Spain said. “I guess.” Eric raised a brow. “How many inches?” “7 and a half last time I checked,” Spain said. “I’m a 9-inch man. It’s pretty big, right?” “Yeah. Sure.” Both guys finished pissing and zipped back up. They glanced at each other with cattish eyes before Eric disappeared out the washroom as Spain washed his hands. When he later left, Eric was nowhere to be found, just Tiny still sitting on the bench. They were alone again. All the other kids had gone home or were off studying elsewhere, leaving only the odd faculty behind. “So, what was up with Eric?” Spain asked. “Oh,” Tiny said. “He’s shown you his dick, right?” “Yeah, yeah.” “The thing is that most of the students at the school are virgins, so they started flocking to him to teach them what the sex stuff is all about since he’s older. When it started, he was just telling us to play and tease around his dick, but it kinda became full-on blowjobs. The girls and gays love sucking him off.” “Wild,” Spain said. When they were ready to head home, Spain and Tiny caught Eric passing by, still in his uniform. He was storing his books and gym equipment in his locker when he spotted the boys. “Shit,” Tiny said. “He’s back.” Eric walked up to them and leaned against the wall. “So, what are you kids still doing here?” he asked. “We were just about to leave, don’t worry,” Spain said. Eric took out the candy from his pocket and unwrapped it as he walked up. “Good. If you stayed any longer…” He threw the candy in his mouth. “I’d have to—” He began to choke, falling to his knees as he struggled. His eyes filled with tears. Spain and Tiny watched him choke and began to frantically think of what to do. “You’re kidding,” Spain said. Spain pulled out the 1L bottle of water from his bag and forced Eric to swallow the candy down with water. Tiny could only watch, frozen in place, as Spain shoved his water bottle down Eric’s throat, postured to drown the big jock. Eric eventually swallowed the candy and gasped for air. He snatched the bottle from Spain’s hand and got up to his feet. Sweat was pouring down his face like a waterfall. “Fuck,” he said, “that was way too big to be a candy.” Spain and Tiny got up and tried getting Eric to sit, but he refused. “Don’t baby me! Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean you get to act like the bigger person.” Spain was about to speak when they noticed something happening to Eric: his face flushed red, and he started panting. Eric tumbled forward and grabbed onto Spain’s shoulders for support. Spain wrapped his hands around Eric’s torso to support him, surprised by an intense warmth boiling underneath his skin. “Wha— what’s happening? Why— why am I getting hard? It’s so fucking hot…” Spain looked down and saw a massive erection throbbing inside Eric’s khakis. He could feel Eric’s grip on his shoulders begin to strengthen, to harden. The longer he waited for Eric’s grip to relax, the stronger and stronger it became. “Hey, ouch! Get off of me!” Spain cried. Ignoring Spain, Eric reached over and grabbed the half-finished bottle of water from the bench. He chugged it down, not taking a break to breathe. Spain and Tiny watched in awe at what was happening to Eric. He was beginning to inch slowly taller, as if he were inflating. With every gulp, Eric’s already one-size-too-small uniform pulled and stretched along his growing body. His muscles were thickening even faster than he was rising in height. The uniform didn’t stretch, either. The big senior was at least 6’1” now. Two inches taller than he just was. Spain noticed his muscles were also beginning to inflate much quicker. The ensuing growth was most obvious in the arm holding up the bottle of water. As he chugged, the bicep grew bigger and pushed out the sleeve. It strained his arm, struggling to hold it in. Eric grew wider, thicker, and stronger. He was oblivious to the shrinking world around him. Spain’s head only reached Eric’s chin now. He had to be at least 6’4”. The uniform began to undo itself as Eric’s pecs pushed outwards, demanding more and more space. As Eric continued to chug, he grew even faster. Eric spread out his legs to even out the weight as he began growing even faster. Spain only reached Eric’s mid-chest, and Tiny was facing Eric straight in the abs. He had to be 6’7” now. The uniform began tearing around his shoulders. The sleeves no longer fit around his growing arms. Each arm was thicker than Tiny’s own legs. The pants tore down his legs as well. He was covered in tattered fabric as his growth continued limitlessly. By the time his growth seemed to slow, he was at least 6’11” and built like an obscene bodybuilder. Spain was a big kid, but Eric had become twice as wide as he was. His cock was as big as Tiny’s upper arm. It erected freely in the air, hitting Tiny in the face due to its sheer size. His already gigantic feature had grown the biggest. It was by far the fastest growing thing on him. Spain had to crane his neck to look at Eric, being hidden under the massive expanse of his pecs. His head barely hit the top of Eric’s abs, and Tiny was staring face-to-face with his python of a cock. Eric crushed the bottle in his hand and threw it on the ground. Each bicep was easily bigger than either of the kids’ heads. He was a giant. He looked down, all the way down, at Spain and Tiny and laughed. “More! I need more!” he yelled. He ran to the drinking fountain and began drinking. Spain and Tiny watched in horror as his growth continued, surging back to life. His wide back continued to grow bigger, wider, thicker, covering up more and more of the fountain. It wasn’t long before he outgrew the steel fountain and crushed it under his weight. The water sprayed everywhere. Eric staggered up to his new height and realized just how small everything had become. He had grown to be 7’5” and more muscular than any living man at that height. He turned around and saw how small Spain looked compared to him. “Fuck! What the hell happened?!” Eric hollered. “You’re so fucking tiny! I’m a fucking giant!” He picked up Spain in his gigantic arms and held him up against the wall. “Hey, let me go!” Spain said. Eric snickered. “So this is what’s like to hold someone up against a wall.” His massive penis pressed against Spain’s abdomen, making it difficult to breathe. Eric dropped him on the ground and stepped back. He peeled away whatever rags were left straggling on his body. Tiny rushed over and helped up Spain. He was afraid of Eric now. He watched the new giant walk up to the glass windows and begin flexing in his reflection. He was mesmerized by his own humongous form. “I’ve got some business to attend to, kids,” Eric said. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.” Spain and Tiny watched as the massive man walked down the hallway. Every step caused the ground to tremble until he was out of sight. The drinking fountain continued spraying water everywhere, causing a massive puddle to form. “What the fuck just happened?” Spain asked. “I don’t know,” Tiny said. Spain looked around on the pile of remains and found what looked like the candy wrapper. He pocketed it and walked Tiny home with him. § § § Reed headed home for the night, passing by empty streets with poorly lit street lights. The wind blew through the trees, and dead leaves fell onto Reed’s head. He shook them off when he began to feel tremors coming from the ground coming from down the street. Clutching his bag, he made a mad dash towards the main road. There, he was face to face with a nightmare. It was a giant—muscled-up beyond belief and taller than any man or woman in the streets. He shoved man and woman aside as he walked, not minding the puny, lesser things in his way. Being naked, every muscle swayed and bounced to the wind and step. His massive cock stood out far in front of him. People began to panic as he walked up to them. He could have easily crushed everyone and pulped them with ease if he felt like it. Reed ran up to him and recognized him to be Eric, a senior from his high school. Reed barely hit the bottom of Eric’s massive pecs, jutting out several inches from his ribcage. He was a wall of thick, solid muscle. “Eric! Eric!” he said. Eric stopped and stepped back. He looked down and saw the high school uniform calling out for him. “What the hell do you want, kid? I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” “How did you get so big? Did you eat something that looked like a candy?! In a peppermint wrapper?” Eric’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, why? You got more?!” “If you help me, yes. I know you might want to get even bigger! Don’t you, big guy?!” Eric raised his arms up to a gigantic double bi and laughed. “You know I do, baby! I want to grow even bigger!” “I’ll help you get as big as you want to! Just do what I tell you and—” Eric kicked Reed away, easily knocking him several feet back. “Fuck, no! You don’t order someone this big around!” He walked up to Reed and picked him, raising him several feet in the air. “You WILL make me bigger. Got it?” “Yes, yes, okay. Please don’t hurt me.” Eric dropped Reed and gave him his address. “Wait for me here. I have business to attend to.” Reed watched the gigantic man walk further down the road until he disappeared from sight. § § § “Make room, you little shits.” The other prisoners in the cell pressed themselves against the walls and corners. They had to give the new detainee a lot of space to spread his legs and flex his massive arms like nobody's business. He demanded their respect. Being the only one without clothes, he tore off everyone else’s. He forced them to be completely naked in the presence of this muscle giant. No man came close to his size, and he loved it. The ceilings were only 6’7” tall, forcing him to crouch. He began stroking his massive cock, causing it to engorge and rise up to full mast in seconds. His face turned red with pleasure with every stroke of his cock’s head. His moans echoed throughout the cell and down the hall, alerting the others. “One of you suck this thing. It’s too big.” Some of the detainees crawled up to his huge form and began stroking his dick without hesitation. It was impossible to fit even the head in their mouths. There were at least three servicing him. “Yeah, fucking worship me!” He tilted his head back from the sheer feeling. The others were no longer paralyzed in fear. They crawled up to his humongous body and began worshiping him out of instinct. They had no control over themselves. They wanted to feel him, feel his strength. He flexed his arms in a double bi, allowing the weaklings to bury their faces in his underarms. Each pec was triple the size of the biggest of their heads. One of the worshipers got on his knees after sucking on his nipple. “Um, sir, could I ask you a question?” he asked. “Call me Eric.” “Okay, Eric. How'd you get arrested?” He laughed. “Some janitor caught me fucking up the uni’s baseball equipment. I used to be a baseball kid too, but now look at me. I can’t believe I used to be so fucking small.” He flexed his bicep. “But why did you do it?” Eric’s tone shifted. He was completely serious. “Because those assholes ruined my life. The next time I get out, they’re not gonna get away.” “Why don’t you just break out? You look big enough.” Eric’s eyes lit up. “You’ve got a good fucking point, midget,” he said. “All you get off!” He shook his body, sending the other prisoners slamming into the walls. The smaller worshipers helped him get up, allowing him to crouch in the small cell. His torso alone took up half the headroom. Everyone else had to squat just to avoid getting hit by his pecs or arms. “Move!” The prisoners all moved to the side as he turned to face the brick wall behind him. He wound up a single punch. That was all it took. He sent his fist flying into the wall, and almost like paper, it blasted open. He kicked open a bigger hole, sending more bricks flying. “You all worship me now, is that understood? I’ll show you just how good of a giant I can be when I grow even bigger! You all want me to grow even bigger, don’t you?!” Everyone yelled, feeding Eric’s ego. They all followed him through the massive hole, back into the city. § § § The thugs led Eric down a series of dark alleys, cold and untouched by the sun. It was difficult for him to manoeuvre. Because of his gargantuan form, he knocked down pillars and lamp posts like toys. Any time the gutters stained his skin, the thugs would bend over and wipe him clean. “Where are you guys taking me again?” Eric asked. “You’ll see.” They arrived at an underground bar in the next few minutes. The thugs got through the staircase with ease. Eric struggled. He destroyed walls and foundation with ease as he squeezed and contorted himself to fit. The staircase was made to fit one person—Eric was three. He squeezed through the door and found himself surrounded by men. It seemed to be an abandoned bar, but there didn’t seem to be anything functioning. It was a cold, lifeless space now. Everyone’s eyes were on him, watching his head scrape the ceiling as he walked. Everyone was barely eye level with his heaving pecs. The thugs brought him to the center of the abandoned bar. “Wait here.” They disappeared into the back room. Eric waited, wondering what the other ex-prisoners were so eager to show him. Everyone around him murmured. Eric could only assume they were talking about his body and sudden appearance. The thugs later emerged with the largest among them, dressed in only a wife-beater and boxers. He was only a child compared to Eric, being a few months younger. Yet, he was the second biggest in the room. He had the face of an 18 year old, fresh and clean, but the body of a bodybuilder. Eric guessed he was around 6’3”. Eric was over a whole foot taller. “The fuck is going on here?” the large boy asked. “Who’s this shit?” He gestured at Eric. Eric became annoyed. “Hey, who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, you puny fuck? Did you want me to beat the shit out of you?” The boy stormed over and stood in front of Eric, tiptoeing to try and seem as big as he could. He puffed out his chest, but Eric did the same and knocked him backward. The boy wobbled, almost losing his balance. The large boy grunted. “You wanna fucking go?!” Eric cracked his knuckles, creating an echo in the silent room. “Try me, kid.” The large boy wound up a fist, but before he could do anything, the other thugs came and separated them. They pushed them aside and made sure they couldn’t escape... or hurt each other. The boy was no struggle, but Eric needed some extra hands. “Hey, let me go! You're supposed to respect me!” the large boy said. The thugs began yelling in reply. “Not anymore, Dom! We’re tired of your shit.” “Yeah, we want a new leader!” “There's someone way bigger than you right here!” Dom’s face grew red with anger. “What?! You can’t fucking replace me! Why do you think you’re all here?” “What’s going on?” Eric asked on deaf ears. Everyone yelled again. “We don’t give a shit about you anymore! I’m tired of getting ordered around and beaten! You’re not even that big!” The thugs began dragging Dom out of the bar by his arms, needing at least five men to make sure he didn’t escape. They locked the door behind them and fortified it with furniture. Dom was gone. Dom banged on the door. Eric noticed everyone ignored his complaints and focused on his body instead. All the thugs gathered around Eric and eyed him with great desire. “You’re our leader now,” they said. “What? What the fuck is going on?” Eric said. "Who the fuck are you people?" “We're all from this forum where we worship muscle,” one said. “We found Dom lurking with us and decided to dedicate meetings to worship him. But he just got too violent. And you’re the biggest guy any of us have ever seen.” “What, so you people just worship anyone with muscle?” Eric took a glance at the onlookers and saw that they all seemed to be drooling at the mouth from impatience. All their thirsty eyes were glued on his massive body. They almost didn’t seem human. The head man stuttered. “Is that a problem?” A smug grin grew on Eric’s face. “I guess not!” he said, throwing his arms in the air. “Now fucking worship me, you midgets!" Everyone sprinted towards Eric. They threw themselves onto his humongous body, knocking him onto the floor. A loud thud echoed throughout the bar. The worshipers explored every part of his body with their hands and tongues, not giving him a break to think. His face turned red with erotic pleasure. The sheer force of ecstasy flowing through his entire body made it hard for him to even think up a proper sentence. He flexed his every muscle, juggling around the smaller people with his weight. “Fuck, this feels so fucking good!” he yelled, biting his lip. No one replied. Then an idea came to him. “Hey—fuck—you tiny shits want me to get even bigger, right?” They paused and stared him in the eyes. “Okay, okay, don’t stop! We’ll talk more when you guys—mmpf—get me off!” § § § “Eric, are you sure we’re not gonna get caught?” “Relax. I know my way around. Just follow me quietly,” Eric said. He led his followers through the unlit hallways of the high school. The halls and rooms were all completely abandoned and unguarded. Plus, the school had to cut nighttime guards because of the budget. Normally, it would be Eric handling the school, armed with nothing but a mop and his spirit. Now, he had a body that would make the hulk look weak, and strength Goliath could only dream of. He couldn’t even wear clothes anymore, having to walk around naked. His cock swung about like a heaving pendulum between his stone thighs. “Oh, man. Look at this.” They passed by the water fountain Eric destroyed before he transformed. In its place was an empty space where a water fountain should have been. “Did you really destroy this, Eric?” “Yeah, I barely leaned on it and it broke apart like nothing.” As they entered the classroom hallways, it was difficult for Eric to manoeuvre because of his size. The ceilings were only 6’9”, made for high schoolers. Eric was 7’5” and almost took up the entire width of the hallway. His arms were colliding with the lockers as they snuck. “We’re here. Two of you come with me.” They arrived at one classroom where Eric grabbed onto the doorknob. He ripped it off and went inside, remembering the scene with Marty vividly in his head. “Start looking. I need a red sack full of candy,” Eric said. “The wrapper looks like a peppermint and looks homemade.” In one pull, he tore off the shelves of the desk and ransacked its contents. He threw everything out and left everything he didn’t want on the floor. The two men who accompanied him inside searched the lockers and desks. They spent most of the night scouring for it. Eric brought in the rest of the men to help look, but still, they could not find any red sacks. Or so they thought. While Eric and the others weren’t paying attention, one man found two. They matched Eric’s description. He pocketed them and made sure not to let anyone know about it. After about an hour, the same man approached Eric. “Eric, we’ve searched everywhere! The red sack isn’t here anymore.” “Shit, you’re kidding? He must’ve taken it home.” The man pulled out one of the two candies in his pocket and showed it to Eric. "I did find one of these though." Eric’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. He snatched it from his hand and held it close to his eyes, watching the moonlight glimmer on the plastic. He clutched it in his grip and ordered his followers to move out. “We’re heading for the buffet!” § § § Eric knew he couldn’t just be strolling around the city at night wearing nothing. He ordered his men to find him some clothes immediately. In a second, they came back with a large white blanket that they draped around Eric’s body. He resembled a Greek god in his toga. However, it covered absolutely nothing. The cloth only reached his delts and cut off before reaching Eric’s wide shoulders and his mid-thigh. This allowed his enormous cock to hang down his thigh, slapping his knee. It looked more like a short dress than anything. His pecs stuck out so far that they had to wrap two belts around his waist so he wouldn't look like an old woman in a duster. The belts pulled up the fabric even further, leaving his cock even more exposed. “This is fine, don’t worry,” Eric said. “In a few hours, I won’t even fit in any blanket you could ever find… unless you went to India or something. They’ve got those huge carpets and shit.” As Eric and his men strolled down the busy street, all eyes were on the 7’5” tall muscle man. No one came close to reaching his chest. Some tall men did reach his pecs, but they were all skinny and looked stretched out. Eric’s men entered the buffet restaurant first. Behind them, Eric took up almost the entire entrance with his hulking body. His head was even covered by the doorway. He strolled in as a Greek god would, head held high—or crouching, considering his height—and chest puffed out. Even here, everyone couldn’t help but stop and look at him. He was larger than life… and larger than all of them. “Look at all this attention,” Eric said. “It’s good to be big.” He sat down at a round booth that should have been enough for at least eight people. With Eric on it, it only fit five people, not including him. The table was just high enough that his knees didn’t get jammed underneath. His upper back was completely exposed to the audiences at the other side of the small booths behind them. He was like a makeshift wall of swollen muscle that loomed over them as they ate. They couldn't leave out of fear. Every man standing began food to the table. The lucky five who sat next to the behemoth were going to feed him and help Eric devour the food as fast as possible. Eric clapped his hands. “Come on, guys, move a little faster!” he said. “Your lord hungers!” He eyed the candy in his hands and felt his heartbeat intensify. “Won’t be long now,” he whispered. The food voyeurs ran as fast as they could. They had massive plates fully-loaded with everything on the buffet. All of it at once on the table looked ridiculous. There was barely any table left to be seen under the mountains of food. The chefs watched in anticipation and fear of the behemoth about to partake in a feast fit for a king—a god. As Eric unwrapped the candy, the five men around him picked up serving plates and got ready to start feeding him. Eric held the translucent candy in his hand, eyeing it in the light while it still fit between his fingers. The men waited in anticipation, sweating up a storm in their clothes and underwear. The wait was unbearable. “Here we go,” Eric said. He placed the candy in his mouth and crunched it, swallowing the fragments in one gulp. His arms raised up and rested themselves on the divider. He threw back his head and opened his mouth to its fullest. “Go!” The five men began stuffing his mouth with food: pizza, cake, fish, steaks, milk, soda, everything. Eric kept up with his chewing. His mouth never closed to take a break. Food flew everywhere as he gnawed and swallowed everything whole, barely chewing. It took a while. As they continued feeding Eric, they felt an intense heat emanating from his muscles. “Yes, I can feel it! Give me more!” Eric spread out his legs and raised his arms to a double bi. He laughed as every single bulging muscle on his body began to inflate. Food spilled out from his mouth and landed on his pecs and cock. He swallowed every mouthful with an intense vigor. His cock, already massive, surged even longer. It slammed against the table, pushing it upwards. Eric’s elbows smacked into the two men at his sides as he grew. The growth was faster than any of them could have anticipated. He was inching upwards and outwards every other second. The toga barely held together, tearing apart. His waist spread outwards so fast that the belts holding the cloth snapped. He had outgrown the toga. He was completely naked. His pecs were bloating outwards and his lats flared, rising above everyone. The men on either side were separated by the growing wall of mass—and he only continued growing. His head rose closer and closer to the ceiling as he grew. The table was already being lifted by Eric’s knees, nearly knocking all the food off as it rose off the ground. The men had to get off to make room for Eric’s growth. Even seated, Eric’s pecs loomed dangerously high above them like massive balloons. “Oh, fuck, I’m getting so big!” he yelled with a mouthful. “Keep making me bigger! Give me more food!” His gigantic feet peered out from underneath the table as they stretched outwards. Eric’s humongous arms hovered above the entire booth, already bigger than anyone’s legs. The people eating behind Eric fled in fear. His back broke through the backrest, spilling over into their booth. Seated, not even the father’s head was anywhere near Eric’s own rising shoulders. Eric had to be at least three heads taller than him now. Only to the onlookers’ horror, his growth wasn’t stopping. Eric’s massive legs locked the men into the booth with him. They had to climb him like a mountain just to get the food in his mouth. He fell on his back, crashing into the booth behind them. His cock, nearly as thick as his own arm, flung the table of food forward, spilling the food all over the floor. “Bigger! MAKE ME BIGGER!” All the men began grabbing food and ran up to the still-growing Eric. They began overloading him with food. One of the men tried wrapping the full expanse of his arms around even just one of Eric’s pecs and couldn’t get it around. His head worshipper crawled onto the behemoth’s abs and dumped a pot of warm meat stew onto him. The other worshippers followed and began eating food off of Eric’s gigantic body. “Yeah, eat that shit off my fucking body, you puny shits! It tastes good, doesn’t it?!” Even while lying down, Eric’s abs were used as a table with how big his body was. His pecs were huge domes resting on his wide chest. From the kitchen, the waiters brought out the head chef who saw what was happening. The head chef ran up to the massive giant and struggled to the find the words. He was speechless. “S-sir! I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to ask you to leave please! You’ve destroyed my restaurant and eaten almost all the food!” Eric raised his head in anger, swallowing all the food in his mouth in one loud gulp. He slowly got up, dropping the food all over his obelisk of a cock. His head nearly hit the ceiling. “What did you just say, little dude?” Eric asked. He stood up to his full height, breaking through the roof with a single punch. Nothing could be seen above his nipples. His chest and head were hidden above the ceiling. No one even reached up to his abs. The tallest among them was only face-to-face with Eric’s pelvis. Each of his legs were already as big as most people. His cock was gargantuan, tapping against the ceiling with balls as big as basketballs. “You’re gonna tell someone this big what to do?” Eric asked, stepping on him, pressing down on him under his foot. “Bad idea, little man.” “Wait! Wait! I’m sorry! Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t crush me! I’ll do whatever you want!” the chef said. “Anything?” Eric asked. “You sure you can handle the demands of a giant?” “Yes, please!” “Fine then!” Eric said. “Men, we’re taking him with us! He’ll be cooking us food until he dies.” Everyone cheered in celebration, welcoming the chef into their ranks. “What? But where will I get the food—” “What happened to ‘anything’? Did you want me to crush you?” “No, I’m sorry! I’ll handle it, sir.” “Good.” Eric crawled back into the restaurant. He accidentally slammed his pecs into his men, knocking them over. He laid himself back on the ground. His men began crawling onto his body and licking up the food on his body—swollen beyond belief. His cock tapped the ceiling as it stood at full mast. “What did I say?! Didn’t I say I’d get bigger? Is this big enough for you lot?!” Tens of tongues and little fingers explored every single nook and cranny of Eric’s body. Not a single part of him was left untouched. His balls were aching for release. He finally came, blasting a geyser into the ceiling, coating everyone in his thick, white gunk. He laughed again. “FUCK! Yeah,” he said. “Time for us to give the baseball team a visit, boys!”

Daniel: aka Dan The Man, from Texas. 40 year old Scientist who formerly was an college athlete and parlayed a Kinesiology degree into science work. Theo: Nova Scotian. Brown hair, shaved sides, has a little goat patch. 26, Technician. 140 pounds, 5’6. Micah: Albertan. Ginger nerd. 6 feet tall, 120 pounds, 32 year old Biologist. Dressed in loose nerd t-shirts and baggy clothes. At Altas Station, three scientists are studying a pocket of blue energy. They've been there studying it for 6 months to determine what exactly it is. Daniel stepped into the study, and put his hands on the door and locked it. He slowly peeled off his jacket and put it on a hook, giving out a sigh before turning to Theo and Micah, who were playing a card game. “So, you remember that change of colour I discovered in the energy cloud? Well, it’s been a week, and after running a colour pass filter, I was right. I wasn’t imagining it. Its R colour rating has increased by 6. And its volume by… 2%.” “Does it matter?” Micah looked up from his cards for a moment, and domed them. “it’s nearly impossible to get a good volumetric reading on a pulsing cloud. This kind of energy is already pretty flexible…” “That’s what I thought of too. So, I went over the old footage before we got here. And months and months ago? Same colour.” Daniel advanced on the pair, as Micah flipped over several new cards, looking back and forth between Theo and Dan. “When I checked out the door logs, I saw that you’ve been accessing the energy chamber outside your shift.” “C’mon guys, let’s just play cards…” Theo grumbled and slumped forward with a sigh, rocking back in his chair. “Just say what you want to say.” Micah didn’t even look up from his cards. “Micah, you’re behind the change in energy, aren’t you?” Micah folded his cards into his hand and splayed them down on the table, stood up and apologetically raised his hands “You got me.” “Don’t you know how dangerous that is? If we’re right, and this really is Male Energy, then it’s connected to everyone on the planet, US most of all! We don’t even know what that means! There is no telling what changing this could do!” “It’s fine Daniel. You just don’t understand.” “What gives you that right?!? And how? Nothing we’ve used has had any effect on it. Theo, open up the pantry, we can hold him in there until this all gets sorted out.” “I’m not sure if…” Theo slid his chair back on the ground away from the two. “C’mon, Danny, it’s Micah.” Daniel strided over to Micah, and grabbed him by the wrist, and pointed at the pantry. “Go on, get IN.” “I’m not going anywhere with you.” With a grunt, Daniel put his arm on Micah’s shoulder and started pressing towards the pantry. This time however, Micah didn’t give an inch. Daniel leaned into it with a huff, his bare forearm bulging as he pressed in, thumb resting on his collarbone, but still, Micah didn’t budge. “C’mon, get moving!” Micah reached up and covered Daniel’s hand with his own, picking off the fingers, and tugged off Daniel’s hand completely. Daniel tried to pull his hand back, but Micah held it snuggly in his hand. “How are you…?” Each pull merely rocked Micah, but he was going absolutely nowhere. This wasn’t the 120 pound fun but nerdy guy that collapsed carrying a duffle bag anymore. “You’re going to try to stop me, no matter what, aren’t you?” “Of course!” “That’s a real shame.” Micah released the hand. Daniel rubbed it, trying to get blood into it again. As Daniel resuscitated his hand, Micah stepped to the fingerprint scanner by the door. With a Zzzt, the panel denied him. “It’s my time in there. Privacy mode. Won’t open for anyone else for 2 hours. Until then, let’s go call Head Office.” “Open this door, please Daniel. I don’t want to make you.” “Make me? Make me? I gotta have 60 pounds on you. Even with that ninja stuff you’re doing there…” Theo stepped between the two, and pointed a hand out to each of them, trying to keep them separated. “Guys, calm down. Micah can stop the modifications… we can talk this through, it’s just a little colour!” “No! It’s Micah playing with forces he doesn’t even understand! He could change everything about us!” Daniel rolled his shoulders open, bouncing on his feet to warm up. “We’ve been here for almost half a year, and you’re my friend! But I gotta stop you.” Raising his fists in a guard, he passed by Theo who futilely tried to stop him, and towards Micah at the door, his right fist leading, testing Micah’s front. “After you wake up, you can apologize, and I’ll see if we can keep your job.” “Stop talking, and let’s get this over with.” Micah calmly stood by the fingerprint scanner, reaching up to pull off his glasses. Wasting no time, Daniel approached and reared back for a haymaker, but Micah didn’t move. “I’m serious! Move Micah!” “You’re going to have to make me.” After pulling back several times, Daniel resolved to it fully, his 190 pound frame raring back for his fist, putting his entire weight onto his front leg and swinging at Micah’s head with all his strength. Deltoids twisting, biceps furled, the perfect brawler’s haymaker. Finally, Micah moved, planting his feet, and caught his friend’s fist. Daniel swore under his breath, as Micah slid his other hand to Daniel’s forearm, grasped it, and swung Daniel like a bat into the door. It didn’t budge. Crumbling to the ground, Daniel heaved on the ground, the air knocked clean out of him, leaving his head ringing. Clutching his wrist, Micah raised Daniel’s hand to the scanner and calmly pressed Daniel’s finger into it, freed the hand, only to bring his foot brutally down on the scanner, and leaving through the now open door. Theo rolled Daniel onto his back, while he struggled and gasped, finally getting air into his lungs. “When did he get so… ugh… we gotta stop him…” “Don’t move too quick Danny. He could have really hurt you! Nothing seems broken, just stay still a bit, and I’ll try to get the door open.” Theo looked up at the fingerprint scanner. “Caved in and busted. No use. But the panel under it? With some time…” Theo started to undo the screws. “It’s pretty fried. I can bypass it but it’s going to take a minute.” “Can you get Coms to the Energy Chamber?” “Oh yeah, that’s easy.” Theo opened up the Energy Chamber feed. Micah was already steps away from the Energy Cloud, his hands dipping into the energy. A roiling blue vortex of pulsing energy coiled around in self in an ever shifting cloud. But it was stable. A brilliant blue core centered the vortex, with darker blue energy drifting from it, clouding the outside as it shifted into a deep blue, filling the room with a calm blue light. Already his clothes began to burn away, elbow deep into the blue energy, slowly moving to the center to it. “That energy has melted anything we’ve put into it, but… he’s immune?” The once wiry and angular frame they had seen when they arrived at Atlas Station, had become substantial. Lean and powerful muscles, as if defined by years of training, popped on his form. The once 120 pound scientist had to be nearing 180. There was clear definition in each muscle, and while not massive in size, was shaped and tapered and powerful. Something popped inside the energy cloud with a pulse that blew through the room, as the energy crackled for a moment and started to relax. The mostly blue energy flowed over his skin, and flowed into him like an ocean into a teacup. The same energy flared in his eyes as his work continued. It had shifted redder again. “Micah, you have to stop doing this. We don’t even fully understand this energy! You have no right! This affects us all!” “I thought the same thing once, Daniel. Remember when I almost fell in and you caught me? Well, I didn’t almost. My hand touched it and I knew what it was. Anyone would. But I could feel something was wrong with it. Someone must have came here, probably years ago and did something to it. They changed it. And if THAT was done without our permission, then I have every right to change it back.” “We don’t know what will happen! Or even if you’re right! You could have told us!” “Why are men more likely to be colourblind? Why are we more likely to lose control and hurt people? …why are we more likely to commit suicide? I don’t believe that’s part of being a man… and if this energy is connected to us all? While I still have access, I’m going to fix all that.” “You don’t know that you can make those changes! You can’t make this decision by yourself! You’ll be affecting everyone everywhere!” “...” Daniel smashed a fire extinguisher onto the panel causing the screen to crack, the monitor going black, and peeled back the metal front, stepping aside to let Theo unscrewed the edges, dipping into the wires and pulling them free with a spark. Suddenly, and the door unlocked with a massive CRUNK, sliding barely open enough for a child to slip through. Theo and Daniel leaned against the door together, straining as they pushed it open, and then entered the chamber. There it was in front of them. The Energy Cloud. Male energy. But now, flecks of red had joined the blue core, turning the clouds around it from the darkest shade of amethyst. Micah was massive. Amethyst energy pulsed under his skin like veins. It had been nearly 30 minutes, the once athletic looking Micah now looked like a bodybuilder. Massive trunk legs supported his thick core. Three rounded deltoids supported one of the biggest arms Daniel had ever seen in person. Micah huffed, sweat dripping off his wide triangular back puddling on the floor as he continued to manipulate the energy. He was struggling. “You gotta stop!” Daniel pleaded. “I’m… almost… done…” Micah tipped forward, his broad heavy shoulders pulling him inward into the energy, his eyes closing. Theo charged forward, grabbing Micah’s massive leg and pulling him back. Micah’s eyes shot open again, getting his weight back on the ground. “*UMNH* Damn you’re goddamn heavy… but I won’t let you go…!” Up to to his shoulder in the energy, Theo grabbed through it, holding onto the slumping Micah. Theo’s quickly leaving strength were the only things stopping Micah from fully falling into the energy. The energy was getting closer as Theo struggled. The amethyst energy drew over Micah’s front, and slipped closer, and closer, coming beside Theo’s head. But Theo wouldn’t let go. With his back against the energy, Theo pressed into Micah’s stomach, his legs straining as he dead pressed Micah’s weight outwards away from the energy, managing to get Micah out up to his chest. He didn’t have the strength to keep it up much longer. Suddenly, Theo felt arms reach around his, opposite him. Daniel grappled Micah’s midsection, heavily groaned as he pulled with all his weight backward. Together, it was just enough to pull Micah free, a wave of purple energy pulsing through the room as they lay on the stone floor panting. Micah huffed heavily, muscles bulging with every breath, pulling himself off his back and onto his knees. Micah’s whisper of a frame was no more. Thick quads held a huge triangular trunkish core. Instead of a flat rib chest, a pair of massive pectorals as big as his massive hands rested under his chest. Thick traps bordered his new bullish neck. Even broader than before, Micah resembled a powerlifter, almost as wide as he was tall. Grooves lined every muscle as they fought for space on his body. He laughed, and weezingly pumped a fist in the air, even weakly beating his chest as Daniel covered him with a lab coat. Theo sat up slowly, raised his arms and rubbed the back of his head. “Whoa…” Brown hair now lined his knuckles and his forearm, and his left shoulder was noticeably larger than his right. Pumped and thick, it looked like it belonged to a seasoned blacksmith. The muscles of Theo’s left shoulder were angular and powerful, and even the back of his lat rested further down his back. Having burned away the clothes around his shoulder, Theo adjusted the sides of his shirt and beige binder that now struggled having difficulty continuing to hold his with the new mass, especially missing a strap. “We don’t know what you’ve done…” Daniel put his arm around Micah and helped him stand. Theo looked over Micah. That energy that flowed through him once was now back in the chamber. “Maybe we don’t have to tell Head Office quite yet.”

MadMutter's Thicker than Water by Scarletic Table of Contents Chapter 1: Of Funerals and Vacations Chapter 2: Two Sides of a Coin Chapter 3: Night at the Museum Chapter 4A: It Came From... Chapter 4B: What Happens in the Dark Chapter 5: This Tall to Ride Chapter 6: Homecoming Kings Chapter 7: Max Occupancy Chapter 8: They Might Be Giants 1 Of Funerals and Vacations When Jolias’ grandmother passed away, he didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation to claim his inheritance. It was, after all, free money. Along with whatever fabulous goodies she’d set aside for him. Suddenly having enough rent for the next few months, especially when he needed two part-time jobs to make ends meet, was a no-brainer decision. Chicago wasn’t exactly the most affordable place to be living in, he’d realized. He wasn’t sure when he was — or if he was ever — going to return to Peru, but metaphorically looting his dead caregiver’s corpse wasn’t on his list of reasons why. The four years he’d been gone had done away with any memories of home. Names stuck, like his hometown of Copacabana at Lake Titicaca, but visuals and everyday details were gone, shelved away, and left to be forgotten. He’d even managed to scrape his tongue clean of the accent. Only the fear of meeting his parents again, of reliving the trauma they’d put him through, of remembering why it was he left Peru in the first place, haunted him. He wasn’t too fond of how he couldn’t have his new self-appointed name on his passport — Jolias Castor. Instead, it read like a tongue-twister, one that no one in the USA ever dared to attempt: Julias Castillo-Moreno. Next to it, his often-called “face of an angel,” with his rich coffee skin, button nose, and unkempt black hair. He preferred it messy. It distinguished him from the rest. The only person who’d ever gotten his name right (and on the first try) was his best friend. A fellow homosexual and expat from Germany, Maxwell Voigt was only two years older at 24 and working part-time as a café barista. They were close, met at the local pride parade, and kept in contact ever since. It was almost a match made in heaven. Almost. That was the important bit. Jolias couldn’t reciprocate Max’s attraction. Not when the latter was adamant about refusing to stick to the personalized workout routine Jolias had made for him. It was a struggle on both their parts, coming to terms with the other’s shortcomings. But it passed, as all things do. Jolias stuck to the gym where he worked part-time and built himself up to a nice 151 pounds at his humble 5-foot-6. Max, on the other hand, didn’t mind the extra bit of blubber on his 5-foot-11 frame, putting him at a not-as-solid 216 pounds. In his head, it made him look cuddlier, more touchable, something he wished Jolias wasn’t so averse to. Nevertheless, Max welcomed the chance to take a vacation to South America at Jolias’ behest. They both wanted company, each other’s specifically, even if it were for different reasons. The Economy section they’d been shoved in for seven hours wasn’t ideal, especially not when the crying children and obnoxious tourists seemed unable to shut their damn mouths. Jolias and Max rejoiced at the stop-over in Colombia, a momentary respite from their overpriced hell. Max wiped the sweat from his brow as he took in the spacious interior of the Jose Maria Cordova international airport. “I didn’t know it was already going to be so hot.” The cafeteria was packed with enough plant pots to outnumber their plane’s passengers, and the arched glass ceiling didn’t make the air any cooler. “Are you sure we didn’t book a trip to the desert?” “Sweating already?” Jolias sniggered as he whipped out his phone. 22°C. “It’s just a few degrees off Chicago’s usual. Probably just feels hotter because of the humidity.” Max let out a huff. “Or maybe it’s because you’re here.” “Ha-ha.” Jolias lifted both their carry-ons as they made their way out of the airport. Each bag was nearly the size of his whole torso, but he held them with an ease and grace Max knew he could never muster. “Just don’t make those same jokes when you meet my parents,” Jolias said. “You may be a cute boy-next-door, but they’re not going to be so nice when they know you’re gay too.” Max nodded, tugging and fanning himself with the now-wrinkled collar of his shirt. “I won’t. I told you.” “We’ll just be there for the celebration, then take the money, and then we head back before they even realize we’re gone.” As they breached through the glass doors and stepped onto the driveway, the inflamed white flare of the sun was an unwelcome heat lamp that stung on Max’s skin and burned through his glasses. “I wouldn’t mind if we headed back now, actually. You didn’t tell me it was going to be so hot,” Max said. “I don’t even think I packed my graded glasses with me.” “Get a grip, Germany. You’ve got that Übermensch legacy to live up to. We aren’t even in Peru yet. We are literally at the tip of the iceberg of South America.” Jolias stopped and spun on his heel, holding out Max’s overstuffed satchel in one hand. “Though if you carry your own bag the rest of the way, I won’t stop you from complaining.” Max let out a sigh and — with great apprehension — took his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. He may have been pudgy, but the broadness of his shoulders still stretched further than his love handles. “Fine. I just hope you know you’re missing out on a quality workout.” “Please. My bag is more than enough weight. I doubt your chips and extra clothes are going to be much of a challenge if you don’t start stuffing that thing with rocks.” Jolias quickened his pace, smiling to himself as he watched Max drag behind him. Max, already catching his breath, made a light sprint to catch up. “That depends on what kinds of rocks we’ll find. Where are we going again? This stop-over is only for a few hours, you know.” “It’s a place one of my clients recommended. Guatapé, I think. Said it’s full of lakes and rivers. Might be your kind of place since you used to be a swimmer.” Max groaned. “Key phrase is ‘used to be.’ Is there anything else I’m supposed to be excited for?” Jolias winked over his shoulder. “Stairs. I know you love ‘em. 740 steps’ worth.” “Oh, my god.” Lifting his head up, Max opened his mouth and faced the clear blue sky, eyes shut in defeat. “This trip is going to be the death of me.” “My grandmother’s, actually.” Jolias pressed Max’s jaw shut against his skull. “And close your mouth. You’re going to let the flies in.” ◊ ◊ ◊ Max had always known South Americans weren’t the tallest people around, but it was a tad unnerving to see so many eyes needing to look up to meet his gaze. It was always either the women or Jolias, never the men — especially not all of them at once. He found comfort in the few caucasian tourists who didn’t make him feel quite so large, so obtrusive. The track he and Jolias trekked on was a long, winding dirt path that twisted and cut into the hillside. They were surrounded by enough palm trees to make New York’s Central Park a flower garden in comparison. Blades of grass crunched under his boots as he followed Jolias to the mountainous rock a few kilometers away, tucked in the heart of a tourist village perched next to a crystalline lake of sapphire blue. If he hadn’t known what Germany looked like, he might’ve confused Guatapé for paradise — only several degrees hotter. Max ran his fingers through his mocha hair, twirling each dried-out strand in his fingers. He thought if he’d rubbed them hard enough, they’d ignite like tinder. “Hey, are you sure we have to climb up that thing?” he asked, pointing at the hill in the distance, decorated on one side with a devilish flight of stairs. “I don’t have an insurance plan.” Jolias, once again holding both carry-on bags (as Max handed it back at some point during the minibus ride), sniggered. “What did I say about complaining? You’ll be fine.” “Just because I’m German doesn’t mean I descended from Nordic gods. If I die, I die.” “Then I guess I get the full share of my inheritance. I’ll send your landlord my regards.” “Can’t I just stay down in that town where it’s safe?” Max fanned himself with a small banana leaf he’d picked up somewhere along the trail. “A swim in that lake sounds really good right now.” He scanned his gray shirt, now darkened with sweat on his chest and armpits. “Plus, I think I need to change into something a bit darker. I’m sweating like a priest at a schoolhouse.” Jolias lightly flicked him on the nose. “I warned you about the exercise. You’re either coming up there with me and taking my photos or losing your mortgage. Pick your poison.” The rocks rolled to the side as he kicked them aside with every step. “You are evil. Fine. But if I pass out halfway up, you better throw me in that lake.” Jolias looked back at his best friend and patted him on the shoulder, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight and his smile curved into a mischievous little wrinkle. “I can do that, yeah. I deadlift your weight for fun. I just hope you aren’t afraid of heights.” Max gulped, much to Jolias’ amusement. “Don’t worry. Once we get our photos, we’ll take a nice dip in the lagoon. We’ve still got a few more hours of sun to kill before we have to get back for our flight. Marco’s going to murder me if we aren’t at Lima by tonight.” Max’s face melted into worry, the smile he’d been propping up disappearing at the mention. Marco. ◊ ◊ ◊ In all the years he’d spent part-timing as an accountant and personal trainer in Chicago, Jolias never got around to appreciating Lake Michigan. It was clean. It was large. But there was always something about the concrete jungle that wrapped around it and blotted the horizon that didn’t sit too well with him; at first, he thought it was the color gray he didn’t like. Then, he figured it was the noise and smog of the city. In the back of his mind, it might have even been the people who died trying to swim in it. He refused to accept that he may have just missed the green of his homeland. Standing at the top of the rock (not quite a hill) that towered over Guatapé and taking in the magnificence of natural South America for the first time in years, Jolias found himself floating — the tropical scent of jungle mildew wafting in the breeze, the twinkle of the golden sun on the winding lakes. For a moment, albeit brief, he felt relief. From the stresses of monthly rent, of clients, of seeing his family again. If there was any silver lining, it was the chance to reconnect with nature. And, perhaps, his twin brother. “This is so much better than the city.” Jolias leaned against the railing overlooking the town and pristine lake below, letting the cool air brush through his hair. “Are you going to let me take your photo yet or what?” Max said, shivering. “These old people are pestering me.” Jolias’ face read almost absent, immersed in the serenity of nature, of his home. He turned and rested his back and elbows against the rusted blue fence, facing the glare of the sun head-on and smiling for Max. The way he stood caused his developed chest to protrude from his paper-thin dri-fit shirt, stirring his #1 admirer’s senses almost manipulatively well. “I hate it when you smile at me like that,” Max groaned. Jolias preened at the mention. “I can’t help it. God-given looks and all that.” Max took his photos of Jolias, and Jolias of Max. They’d barely been out of the USA for half a day, and, already, Max was beginning to roast from the heat, donning a light pink instead of his usual snow-white skin. “I really should’ve put on more sunblock.” Jolias tugged Max’s wrist and led him back down the 740-step staircase. “You could use the tan. Now come on. Let’s go for a dip. I’m itching to get wet.” Max, picking up his own carry-on from the ground (passed back at some point in the climb), sighed. His nether region was getting uncomfortably tight. His six-incher wasn’t exactly petite. “Way ahead of you there.” ◊ ◊ ◊ The two walked along the tourist-made path that shot through the forest-canopied expanse of lakes. Even without the bird’s eye view, it was a postcard-worthy hike. Max had never experienced nature to this extent before. He’d been born in the city, raised in it, and believed — though prematurely — that he would never get to see a forest in person, to live out his childhood fantasy of a log cabin in the woods. Pure isolation from the needless bustle of everyday life. Of living in a society he never chose, never belonged in. It was something he was reminded of whenever he was with Jolias. That same familiar longing. Being with him felt like that to Max: living in a log cabin. A place to call home. Someone whose fire kept him warm when the winter nights were coldest. Even as he lagged behind his fit friend’s impossibly athletic pace, he couldn’t help but admire the way he seemed to glow amid the rays of light that pierced through the trees. He moved as a nymph would, back where he belonged. “This is a lot more beautiful than my desktop wallpaper makes these types of places out to be,” Max said, picking a hot pink flower from a low tree branch. He loved the way it looked. And he loved the way Jolias looked. From behind, especially. “Wait! Slow down.” Jolias turned on his heel and lowered both their carry-ons. “What now? Are you going to offer to carry your bag again before giving it back?” He pushed his hair back and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Max caught up and stopped inches away from Jolias. “I wouldn’t think of it.” They could smell each other’s musk, the other man’s sweat, the perfume of their breath. They were both shirtless. With a gentle hand, Max took Jolias’ hair and tucked the flower on the valley of his ear. “Not when you look like an angel.” Blushing, Jolias covered his face with a vacant hand. “You’re so damn flirty.” Readjusting his shorts, he lifted both their bags and continued his trek. “Come on. That cave you saw is just around the corner here.” “Right behind you.” Max and Jolias turned the corner and stared at the perfectly circular maw of what looked like a chute built into the cliffside. The inside was damp and lined with gray clay. Water still fed into it from the river, but where it went, neither man could tell: the stream disappeared into the darkness of the earth, echoing despite its silence. It looked larger from where he’d seen it going down the stairs of that vantage rock, Max thought. Up close, the hole was going to be a tight squeeze for a man his size. He envied Jolias sometimes. Tight spaces weren’t exactly his comfort zone. Jolias ran a hand across its surface, letting the clear waters run through his fingers before they disappeared down the hole. “It’s nice and slippery.” He dug a finger into the clay and stared at the buildup that had collected on his nail. “Gross.” He looked down at where he’d scraped and discovered that he’d exposed the material underneath. It looked ivory. Not quite stone. Though not quite metal. “I wonder what this cave used to be.” “Are you going to go in there?” Max asked. “Hey, you found it, Columbus. Your prize awaits down the rabbit hole.” Max washed himself in the river before approaching Jolias. Standing next to someone with such chiseled musculature when he looked like a sack of pudding wasn’t very confidence-boosting. But, as he knew, Jolias was never the judgmental type. Not when he’d had his own fair share of men. While Max didn’t inspire awe, he was still Jolias’ favorite friend. But that’s all he ever was. “Do I look like a white rabbit to you? Jo-Alice in Wonderland.” Jolias rolled his eyes and gently moved his firm hand down Max’s soft back, urging him subtlely closer towards the hole. “I don’t know what you expect to find down there, but it’s no upelkuchen. A skeleton, maybe. But cake? Nah.” Before he could even question it, Max was already kneeling and squeezing his legs, prepping to slide down. “The only cakes I want are yours.” “You had your chance.” Max frowned. “But—“ Jolias slapped him on the back, sending him flying down the lubricated slide before he could even finish his sentence. MEANWHILE The German man’s yelling echoed like a death squelch for several seconds before it punctuated with a profound splash. It was impossible to tell how deep it went. Especially not when Max was so silent. The echoing had ceased, and Jolias couldn’t even hear a whisper of a sound coming from the hole. “Are you dead?” Jolias cried. “The water’s cold as fuck! But I think I see an exit. Get down here! And be careful with the bags!” Jolias squeezed himself into the hole, sitting in the same impression Max’s cheeks had left in the clay. He stared at the exposed material again and wondered what it was. Oddly, it reminded him of Peruvian cuisine. He was no stranger to chicken bones and beef bone marrow, and something told him it was no different to whatever it was he was about to send himself flying down. A giant bone? He thought. But that query could wait. “Jol’? Are you coming down here or what?” He snapped out of it. “Coming.” And sent himself into the void. Thankfully, he had prior experience jumping off cliffs and into the ocean. The protocols to avoid getting his balls crushed by the water were second nature to him. When the chute ended, it took him a second to realize he was free-falling. But he kept his posture, maintained his stance, kept one hand on his groin and one on his nose. The splash he made wasn’t as large — or as loud — as Max’s. He was as a needle piercing the calm fabric of the water’s surface. He opened his eyes in the freezing waters and found wisps of light poking through a crack in the ground above. They were in an underground cave, an aquifer, most likely. It didn’t seem like anyone had been down there in years. Decades. Instead of souls, he found boulders and stalagmites. But someone was missing. “Max?” Jolias asked, spinning in the water. He looked up. Down. Found nothing but rocks and shadows. Not even the floor below. A frozen hand latched onto his ankle before he could blink. In his panic, he kicked something that felt soft, felt breakable under the water. “What the fuck?!” Coming up for air, Max massaged his bleeding nose and released a handful of crimson into the spring water. It was difficult to see anything in the dark, but Jolias couldn’t ignore the red strips escaping from his friend’s face, not when his own eyes were wide with shock. “I can’t believe you kicked me id da face!” Max cried, nasally, splashing Jolias with a wave. “Oh, god, by dose.” “Jesus! I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you! I swear.” Jolias raised his hands in defense. Not from Max’s words, but the water. Another splash. “Who else vas it going to be? A nazi zo’bie? A Russian superbodel?” Max snorted out the last of the blood into the water and jostled it. “First the water shoots up my damn nose and crushes my balls, and then you kick me in the face. Lovely. If you plan on assaulting my dick next, I,”—Max’s face went somewhere pleasant—"actually—“ “Don’t finish that sentence.” “Fine.” Jolias slapped a hand on Max’s wet shoulder and hopped behind him, posturing himself for a piggy-back lift. “You’ll be fine. Now, go, princess.” Jolias lifted an arm, pointing at the exit atop a short climb. “Take us to the exit.” “Nuh-uh. Not yet!” Max gripped both Jolias’ calves and leapt backwards into the water, submerging them both. The two roughhoused for the better part of an hour. Neither ever wanting to leave the cave. Both their carry-ons had gotten ruined. But they didn’t notice. In fact, they wouldn’t’ve cared. Max and Jolias took turns plunging each other into the water, never quite enjoying a full breath of air before being thrown and wrestled and slam-dunked. They weren’t sure when the glowing wisp in the water’s reflection started to move on its own. “What is that?” Jolias pointed at something moving in-between them. Seafoam green, Jolias described it. To Max, it resembled something more akin to blue sperm. It wiggled and darted through the water like a bullet, passing around their limbs and gracing them with light contact. Jolias wasn’t expecting to find anything sentient when he slid down the hole. But there it was. Something so alien, so slime-like, slippery and malleable to the touch, yet impossible to hold. At some point, it disappeared from Max’s sight. “Shit. Where’d it go?” “You can’t find it?” Jolias swam over and showered Max’s dried hair in a handful of water. He shook his head, readying himself to dive. “I’ll see if I can find it. If I don’t come up in three minutes, feed Whiskers for me.” Max took a deep breath, puffing out his stomach and cheeks, and plunged himself beneath Jolias’ careless feet. Jolias wasn’t sure what Max was hoping to find, but the former hoped it wouldn’t’ve been another broken body part. Jolias hadn’t said a word in the time Max was gone. Instead, he swam to the nearby gravel shore where they’d tossed their bags and pair of glasses and dressed up. A dry exit had revealed itself in their brouhaha, and he couldn’t wait to leave. After two minutes, Max emerged from the water — head first — and trudged through the water towards Jolias on his tip-toes. “Couldn’t find it.” “At least I won’t have to dig up your body. Now come on. We have to go. Our flight’s coming up.” The water cascaded down Max’s body as he stepped onto the gravel, shaking his hair. “Wait. Not yet.” Jolias hopped to his feet and rolled his eyes. He was primed, ready to go. The yellow shirt he wore clung tightly to his torso; its orange sun distorted because of his chest and abs. “What is it now? I’m tired of playfighting.” Max stopped a foot away and let the rest of the water sink into the gravel. Standing still, he reached an absent hand down towards his crotch and grabbed a handful of his cock. Jolias knew Max’s body well enough to know that he was never quite so… endowed. His black shorts were jutting out from his waist almost unnaturally so. As if he’d stuffed it with socks. Several pairs of. “I think something’s wrong with my dick,” Max muttered. He was met with a snigger. “What’s new?” “No, I mean it! I think there’s something up with it.” Max pinched the two ends of his shorts and readied to pull them down and expose his nether. Jolias stopped him with a lightning-quick hand. The smaller Peruvian man had seen Max’s crotch before (they compared sizes at a party once), but they were intoxicated then. And not hundreds of feet deep in a prehistoric aquifer, surrounded by virgin spring water host to who-knows-how-many bacteria. Before Max could question Jolias’ hesitation, a blue glow appeared in both their eyes, and they looked down to find the source. Emanating from Max’s pouch. “You’re right. That— that isn’t normal.” MEANWHILE Letting out a whimper, Max shook his head and dropped his shorts to his ankles. They both stared at the very same glowing organism they’d encountered in the water. “What the fuck…” Max whispered. It was worm-like yet texture-free, smooth to the touch, wet and slimy and coiled tightly around his six-inch penis. He looked to Jolias with quivering eyes. “Get it off me…!” he whispered in a panic. His cheeks were already going red. “I’m not touching that thing! We need to get you to a doctor. It might pop your dick if it gets any tighter.” Max pouted. A flurry of sensual titillations washed over him in that moment. He felt his body heat start to rise. “No… I—I don’t think it’s…”—he moaned—“I don’t think it’s bad.” He coiled inwards, compressing his torso, reaching out to grab the blue-greenish snake but stopping, twitching. “This actually feels kind of good.” The organism strained momentarily, like a firm grip’s squeeze, and released, causing Max to release the stress built-up on his face. The blush went hot, even in the dark. With one eye open, Max gasped in pleasure. “Fuck… it feels like it’s giving me a handjob or something.” Jolias froze. He was only watching as his best friend’s hardening member was being serviced by something they’d never seen before. “Max?” But the taller man stayed silent. The contractions continued as the slime demanded Max’s blood rush into his penis, now a pillar that rose and protruded from his waist. The warmth rippling through his balls appeared intoxicatingly paralyzing. It was taking him all he had to keep himself upright, his eyes open as he stared at Jolias, whose hands quivered with hesitation. The mushroom head of Max’s cock looked ready to burst after a minute of lubed hands-free masturbation. “Holy fuck… It’s gonna make me—“ Max’s train of thought was cut off. Before he could unleash the load he’d built up, the entity unraveled itself and darted into the slit of his penis. There was a moment of concern as Max watched the slit of his cock be pried open. Yet, despite his initial assumption, there was no pain. Only the opposite: a gentle force that throbbed and bore the sensation of squeezing his cock from within. Even if he wanted to speak, there wasn’t much to say. Both he and Jolias only watched as the slime slithered up Max’s shaft, pulsating, and slipped into his mushroom head. It was almost torturous. The pleasure was overwhelming both the inside and outside of his penis, and his mind flashed white with surreal disbelief. Max’s eye twitched as he glanced at his best friend who’d taken a step back in fearful fascination. “Jol’…” The building, tightening pressure in his shaft as the slime continued to pour itself into it forced Max to wince. “Is this really happening?” Jolias asked, gawking mouth open. As more and more of the slime seemed to endlessly make its way into Max’s genitals, another sensation piled on top of his already overwhelming nerves. His eyes were on the ceiling, yet he felt the slime pulsate in his urethra, demanding more space, stretching out his six-inch cock like a balloon. Despite the abnormality, there was still no pain. It was as though the slime were incapable of it. Max shuddered second after second as it continued to throb and push against the outer limits of his penis, making enough room to accommodate all of it, its movements, its pulses, almost like a heartbeat. Before Max could even lower his head to examine what was happening, a jolt of energy akin to a caffeine shot jolted his system. He was overloaded with energy yet held prisoner by the growing ecstasy. As more and more of the slime disappeared into his genitals, he could feel each and every gram that compounded in his balls, making them heavier, thicker. And still, the tail end of the slime continued to squeeze him from within, egging him towards release, demanding it. His cock continued to swell inches larger and girthier and heavier. The slime sent a final wave of intoxicating power as it moved down from his shaft and settled in his balls, now engorged and loaded with cum and slime. He’d thrown his head back, lost to the ecstasy. The heat pulsating from his testicles was sending his adrenaline into overdrive. Jolias stared at the much larger penis in stupefied horror. Max had only ever seen a cock that size once before, and that was in a porno. The ivory-white tool had lengthened to over double Jolias’. And it was still fully erect. MEANWHILE “Max?! Are you okay? That thing just—“ But he wasn’t there — not mentally. His glazed eyes twitched, but Jolias could still see through the mirth, flashing a quick purple before returning to their absent state, nothing going on behind them. All he heard were heaving moans, guttural breaths, and the running of his fingers as he touched himself feet away from Jolias. Jolias wasn’t sure which to address first. The fact that his best friend’s fuckstick looked obscene? Or the way his balls looked big enough to rival baseballs? Or that a living glob of slime just slithered into Max’s shaft? He broke out into a cold sweat just thinking about it. When the convulsions seemed to stop, solidifying the newly grown state of Max’s pumped member, he let out a groaning moan. Max motioned as if to ejaculate. But there was nothing. Only hot air and the faintest drops of cum came sputtering out, dotting the gravel beneath them in white. “Jol’…” Jolias wiped the sweat off his brow and approached his friend, a peripheral eye keeping close watch of the softening cock. It didn’t seem to be losing any inches, staying the same size it’d been when it became a host. “Welcome back to reality. Are you alright?” Max sighed and walked over to his bag. “I just came. I think. I—“ He bent over and dug his face into his bag, scavenging for a dry shirt to wear but never settling. “Have you ever seen anything like that before?” “I don’t know. No? Nothing I can think of looked anything like that slimy worm thing.” Max scoffed, tossing a loose white shirt over his head and slipping it on. It didn’t hug him well. He didn’t care. “Great. I’ve got some new species of snake gurgling around in my balls. I’m gonna give the British Museum a run for their money. Do you think there’s a doctor on the plane I could ask?” The gray shorts he wore did nothing to compress his now-plus-sized cock and balls. Even with his boxers, it was a tight fit, poking out from his sweats. Jolias tossed his bag over his shoulder and stepped towards the incline headed towards the hole in the ceiling. “A doctor in philosophy, maybe. I mean, we could ask, but I doubt we’ll find anyone.” He sighed. “We’ll probably have more luck in Lima. Marco might know someone.” “Uh…” Max froze, a brief furrow appearing on his forehead at the mention. He stopped himself before the wrinkles settled. But Jolias already noticed. “You’re worrying about nothing. He won’t get in the way. I told you.” He dug his fingers into the cracks in the cave wall. And climbed. “Now, are you coming? Or are you going to stay here and sulk and be petty with that huge slime hotel of a dick of yours?” Max sighed, dropping his shoulders, dragging his sneakers across the gravel. One eye on Max, the other on the aquifer. There were no more unusual glowing organisms slithering around in the water. Just as there were no answers. But those could wait. “I’m coming.” Jolias paused and snickered. “You already did.” ◊ ◊ ◊ The security officer conducted a full-body check and held his breath the moment his hand cradled what he’d initially thought to be a grenade. One haphazardly shoved inside Max’s underwear. Everyone was watching, waiting, wondering what was holding up the line. Their flight had been called. All eyes were on Max. Jolias waited in the tunnel, ignoring the putrid gazes of impatient passengers who couldn’t wait a second longer. “You’re—“ the officer gulped, eyes shaking as he turned to the flight attendant holding the ticket, as his wandering gaze left an imprint in Max’s mind. “You’re good to go, sir.” With a firm nod, Max took his bag and followed Jolias through the tunnel. People rushed by, a display of passive-aggression, bumping and elbowing their way past the two. “Come on,” Jolias ushered. “Let’s get seated.” Max kept his head low, making every attempt to appear smaller, to disappear in the crowd, to be forgotten. The trek back to the airport had been hell. It had been a mistake to wear gray sweatshorts, especially when his genitals resembled smuggled fruits. Though, in a way, he technically was smuggling something. Something alive. And it wasn’t wasting any effort in making its presence known. People both native and foreign to Colombia glanced at him wherever he went — though not in his eyes. At his junk. Max had tried everything to keep himself under control. But it was impossible keeping his swollen python down, especially when it hardened whenever he so much as caught Jolias at the corner of his eyes. They got into their seats — Max enjoying the window, Jolias the center. He glued his face to the glass, refusing to acknowledge his current reality until he was back on solid ground. South America was a natural, picturesque haven. But he couldn’t enjoy it knowing something had tampered with the biology of his genitals. MEANWHILE Jolias didn’t know what to do. He’d invited his friend with the sole intention of offering him a vacation and a share of his inheritance. There was nothing in the agreement about this. He lifted the armrest separating them, but Max only grumbled in reply. “N— not right now, Jol’. It was hard enough sneaking this thing through security. I don’t want you making this,”—he slapped his semi-hard cock—“this thing any harder than it already is. It might tear a hole through my damn shorts. For fuck’s sake…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry this is happening. I promise, as soon as we land, we’ll get you to a doctor.” “In Lima? I’ll pass.” “What? Why? You’ve been complaining about that thing in your balls the entire walk back. Would you prefer to keep that thing inside you?” Max stayed silent. “I know it’s not exactly first world down here, but the people are still more than capable of helping.” Jolias settled back in his seat, lowering the armrest. “I already texted Marco,” he muttered. “He said there’s someone who could help. Just… give them a chance?” He patted Max’s shoulder, subconsciously drawing his face towards him. In that instant, Max’s heated expression softened back to its innocent state, replacing his barista-esque charm. A smile emerged, albeit weak. “Alright. Fine. I just hope whatever is in me…” he moaned, “stops swirling around in my fucking balls. People have been staring at me, you know. It’s not exactly easy hiding a hard ten-incher.” Jolias opened his mouth to speak, but the older American woman next to him cut him off. “Would you two stop?” she grumbled. “I don’t want to hear any more about your privates!” “Our bad.” Jolias replied, a sinister smirk propping a dimple. He turned to Max and bit his lip, lightly flicking the semi-hard head of Max’s cock, outlining through his sweatshorts. Max’s eyes grew wide — as his cheeks went red. “What are you doing?!” he whispered. “Didn’t you just hear what that lady said?” Jolias shrugged. “She only mentioned privates. Why not make it public? Not like it’s public nudity while it’s in your shorts, is it?” “Excuse me?” the woman spoke. Her eyes bounced from Jolias’ to Max’s snaking penis. “Could you please stop engaging in public sex? You are on a plane!” “Sex? I’ll have you know my friend here happens to be a virgin. We’re just having a bit of safe-for-work man-to-man action. No one’s stopping you from switching seats. Better yet, I’m sure the next flight would be more than willing to accommodate you.” Max placed a hand on Jolias’ toned wrist. “Hey… Jol’. Please. Don’t pick a fight. Things are hard enough as is.” And his hands rapped on his chocolate skin. “Though… “ he leaned in close to Jolias’ ear for a whisper. “We can get a closer look at my between-me-down-there when we get to our place. Just not here. That alright with you?” Jolias paused, looked Max in the eye, and shook himself clean. “God.” He took one last look at the woman, now raising a wrinkled eyebrow in irritation. “Fine, fine. But just an inspection.” Max sniffled, his cock bouncing in unison, as he caught Jolias in a gleeful trap. “Just an inspection.” ◊ ◊ ◊ Max woke up at two in the morning. His ears were first, emerging from the heavy silence of a dream come true and into a nightmare orchestrated by the hellish rumbling of the plane’s engine. All the lights were off, save for a few. The occasional insomniac, the jetlagged businessman, the stressed and anxious. They were scattered around, none near enough to provide ample light to any one spot. Max’s eyes were drawn to the blinking seatbelt light overhead, blasted by the cool wind from the AC. Outside the window was a sea of black and blue, the clouds more of a fog the plane penetrated with ease. Jolias was asleep next to him, resting his forehead against the seat in front. Max sniggered. The guy he’d had a crush on for years had never looked so unbelievably unsexy. Yet, after everything they’d been through, he couldn’t have wanted him more. They’d seen each other naked. Jolias’ eyes gleamed at the sight of Max’s enlarged crotch back in the cave — Max was never going to let him live that one down. For the longest time, he didn’t know what it was going to take to make the gym rat ogle him the same way he did every other guy at the gym. Being around all that hot sweat and those big men was never going to work for Max. The cold steel of the dumbbells didn’t feel natural in his hands. Artificial, not meant to be touched. But now he knew better. He knew what Jolias wanted, what he was always after. He tugged the garter of his sweatshorts and inspected the damage. His cock wasn’t the iron-strength beam it was hours ago, but even soft, it was still longer and thicker than he’d ever been hard. And his testicles put eggs to shame. He shook his waist a bit just to see if it — if he — were real, to watch it jiggle in between his legs. To feel it smack against his thighs. Despite the abnormality of the situation, Max found the sensation his new weight brought a pleasantly natural development. “What are you doing…?” Jolias whispered. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d wake up.” Jolias tossed his head and smiled sleepily at Max, one eye still closed and fast asleep. “I work two jobs, Max. No rest means more money.” “And yet, here we are, on the way to Peru to loot whatever rent money we can pry from your grandmother’s remains.” “Shut up.” Jolias lifted the armrest and nestled against Max’s shoulder. “You make it sound like a war crime.” The heat rushed into Max’s face before he could react. Jolias’ black hair was tickling the side of his neck, and his slowed breathing was crawling down Max’s bare arm. They’d never been so close before. Never so intimate. He could feel the stream of blood returning to his cock, the very same beast he’d spent the past few hours struggling to tame, now breaking free of its reigns. “H-hey, Jol’… do you think you could, uh… not use my shoulder as a pillow?” He lowered his head to whisper into Jolias’ ear. “You’re getting me hard again.” “Who cares? The old coon next to me is asleep, and I’m trying to get some well-deserved shuteye. We’ll deal with your horndog problems in the morning.” Max gulped. The mushroom head was crawling down his right leg, inching towards Jolias, pulling and shifting under the gray fabric of his sweatshorts. He tried escaping, shifting closer to the window. Jolias followed. The smaller man was refusing to rest his head on anything that wasn’t Max’s immediate shoulder. Heat was something of an issue to Max. It always got him hard. And being around Jolias wasn’t making things any easier. “I’m serious.” Max felt the flush of warmth course through his cheeks. He laid his eyes on the salami outlined through his shorts. It didn’t look real. But it was his. And he could make it jump at will. Jolias grumbled, lightly flicking the shaft staring at him. “God. Did it get bigger?” Max was confused. “What?” It never occurred to him that any changes, especially subtle as they were, would’ve been invisible to him. But was Jolias telling the truth? Or seeing what he wanted to see? “Don’t touch it.” Regardless, Jolias’ fingers playfully tapping Max’s cock made him twitch. The pleasure being wrought was disproportionate to Jolias’ teasing. Max struggled to maintain his composure. The sensation was writhing through his every nerve, tensing and straining. It was in his fingers, his toes, his neck. But they were in public. Most were asleep, but the few who weren’t could hear every micro-moan and gasp quivering from his lips. There was no way to halt Jolias’ advance. He was indomitable, unrelenting, and oh-so-damn fuckable. The AC turned lukewarm in minutes. Max couldn’t help it — he let out a moan. Though not of agony. Nor of pleasure. The latter was an understatement. It was ecstasy. Max was seeing red, and Jolias’ handsome face at the forefront of his imagination. His best friend’s toned, athletic body, that V-taper, those thick brown nipples protruding from his supple chest. Just from the way Jolias shuffled against Max, his strong shoulders poked and prodded Max’s own soft arm. Those copper eyes, pools of molten gold, shining like the sun. Though his crotch wasn’t as enormous as Max’s was, the ham-like thighs framing it were more than enough compensation. Max glanced at Jolias and regretted it immediately. A drop of precum escaped from his balls. He’d lost control for a moment. Only a second. His testicles hungered for release. They were pressing against his chair, cushioned and primed. But he held the urge down. Kept himself contained. They were still in public. And Max was two seats and several aisles away from reaching the closest toilet. Yet Jolias’ heat permeated his every pore, bathing him in his natural scent, the musk of a Peruvian model. Without a word or any action at all, Jolias was unwittingly holding him hostage along the edge. And he wanted to fall. Wanted nothing more than to let go. The heat was creeping up his swollen shaft, the point of no return. Max held his breath. And he looked, one last time, at Jolias’ heterochrome orange eyes, grinning at him. “Fuck.” He trailed off. A stream of pre-cum pooled in Max’s shorts, coating the fattened cock of his head. Max’s and Jolias’ noses were bombarded with the pungent scent of cum, and they both stared at the source, paused for breath, dumbfounded in curiosity. Max waited for it to end. His hope was short-lived as his balls inexplicably began churning and radiating a sensual heat as it pumped out dollop after dollop of potent sperm. He couldn’t believe the feeling, as if his body had a mind of its own, mercilessly pinching his erotic nerves. “Excuse me, steward, but… what’s that smell?” Max turned to the voice and found it coming from across the plane, opposite to his own seat. It was an old man, sniffling. A cold. He shouldn’t have been able to notice anything. Yet Max stared at the way he described the masculine perfume: raw, warm, chlorine- or bleach-like. Those weren’t the words he would’ve used to describe his cum, but hearing them from a total stranger made them all the more real. Jolias was salivating next to him, his eyes pointed at the couple a few seats ahead, sniffing around for the source. Max couldn’t believe what was happening. Yet the cum only seemed to continue seeping through his shorts, streaming down his leg. The ecstasy was intoxicating. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass. And he let go. The flood of cum gushed out of his balls as a geyser would. Some of it splattered on the carpet. Some on the seat in front, in the net basket, in the pages of the magazines. The cock had broken free of Max’s shorts, pulled the fabric back into his pelvis, and stood at a 45-degree angle. The head flared as if it were alive, roaring and unleashing the white splooge in bursts. Max threw his head back and shut his eyes. He heard Jolias’ voice call out, “Max?” And he wanted nothing more than to fuck it. To fuck him. He bucked in his seat, slowly, girating, picturing the sight of Jolias’ nude self positioned over him, manipulating the nerves in his oversized cock. Jolias had described them to Max before: the ways his ass and cock could take any and every man he slept with to heaven. Those side-comments were never lost on Max. He’d used them to ejaculate before. Just the words. And his voice. And this moment in time, frozen on the plane, was no different. “Max!” Jolias whispered, almost in a yell. There were others looking, glancing over, realizing where the smell was coming from. People were waking up. People were staring. Max shut himself up as he felt the blood in his face flush with heat, releasing the final glob of cum from his balls. It raced up his shaft and ejected, making an audible splat as it collided with the food tray. “Holy fuck,” Max mouthed. But the heat didn’t dissipate. Not yet. He was still far from satisfied. Jolias tugged Max’s shorts in a vain attempt at covering up his privates before the approaching stewardess laid her eyes on the biggest, wettest penis she would’ve ever laid eyes on. It was no good. The tool was too hard, too difficult. “Max, cover yourself up! Holy shit. Someone’s gonna see you.” Jolias got no reply. Max was well and truly out of it. His mind had gone blank-white with euphoria, even in the dimly lit cabin. The heat had taken over every bare inch of his skin, but it never showed. His fingers, resting on the windowsill and Jolias’ left leg, were twitching. Then it happened, the moment Max had been waiting for — the true grand finale. He felt it first in his stomach. With a struggling hand, he bent over and lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing his flawless baby fat paunch, hanging loosely over his shorts’ garter. Jolias tried to unclench Max’s grip and cease the exhibition. He failed. Max’s will surpassed Jolias’ physicality in power, though neither man knew when or how. But Max knew why. With one look, he directed Jolias’ attention to his exposed stomach. Before the latter could even utter a worded reaction, the unbelievable happened. The fat that had once wrapped around Max’s midsection began to dissipate, sinking back into his body, disappearing like a deflating balloon. Both their eyes grew wide as they watched. What was once a torso akin to a bubble was shrinking — no, molding — into marble. The skin tightened until love handles became abs, and, as was revealed by another lift of his shirt, gynecomastia became a pair of pecs. They were faint, flat, nothing like Jolias’. But they were tough. They were square. And they were his. Max didn’t notice the stewardess stop and turn to examine what was happening on seats 33 and 34. She spoke before looking, “Excuse me, sir—“ “Oh, my god.” Jolias reached out a hand to touch but hovered halfway. “Is this real? W-what happened?” Max panted. The heat was finally disappearing, leaving his body like invisible fumes. He turned to Jolias, to the stewardess, to the businessman across the plane. Nothing could have prepared him for what just happened. His hands were still holding up his shirt, exposing his newly-formed chest, swimmer’s abs, V-line, and most importantly his ivory monolith, which was taking its sweet time retracting into a more manageable size. He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think I need to clean up,” he told Jolias. Everyone watching was dumbfounded. Max turned to the stewardess, clutching her ID in shock. “You wouldn’t happen to have a box of tissues, would you?”

Chapter One is found HERE Chapter Eight is found HERE Perfect Boyfriend Chapter Nine Floating. Mike was floating. Floating in the darkness. The darkness that wasn't a darkness, really. Because of the dim light. The dim light in the impossible shade. A darkness tinged with a golden purple shimmer. And Bob was there: Bob after the experiment. Bob's cheeky smile in that handsome chestnut coloured face. Bob's smug handsome hazelnut-coloured eyes. Bob's superhero body. Bob only wearing a metallic-purple posing trunk. And Doctor Nelson was there, wearing the He-Man costume from that commercial. Burly, blond, bronzed Dr. Nelson with his He-Man body: "I expect you to be reasonable, Mr. Jones. Safety before size. Your boyfriend ought to understand this. He will listen to you." One of his heroes spoke to him! Bob objected: "You can't imagine, Mike. This strength. 'Hancing me huge like this. The feeling of it. Don't delude yourself. You want it. You want THIS. You want the same extreme build Benjy is lusting for. To feel what it's like to be stronger than everyone else. Your might and your mass. And the road to this goal. To feel like Captain Space Marine." He-Man, that was Dr. Nelson, spoke again in that delightful voice: "It's possible to 'hance you all four with established safety precautions, but you have to undergo psychological evaluation. We can't have unstable 'hancers in the streets." "Don't listen to him, Mike. Why is he and his hubby more huge than any 'hancer leaving his clinic? Because he's afraid of competition. He's holding us back. We will transcend. We will reach muscle-godhood." Nelson's words made sense in his mind, but Bob's words entered his gut and his manhood, awakening something. Awakening his inner brawn monster. His throbbing and howling brawn monster, who wanted to become real. To manifest outwardly. To become flesh. To become muscle mass. To become powerful dominant brawn. His reason fell into the golden purple depths. His mind tumbled into the golden purple abyss of unspoken instincts and inarticulate urges. His objections drowning in a golden purple sea of masculine instincts. Bob's voice howling: "Yes! The muscle mass!" Benjy's voice joining them: "YES! MORE! I need more muscle!" And Mike hearing himself talking with the voice of Captain Space Marine: "Sir! Yes, Sir! More! Give me MORE!" He could feel his body change, growing, transforming. He could feel himself be Captain Space Marine and He-Man. He could hear Bob and Mike howl in masculine ecstasy and voices eager for MUSCLE-GODHOOD. He could hear the Nelson-He-Man add his voice to them now. Any remaining defences inside him broke down. He joined them, feeling his entire body – chest, abs, back, legs, arms and mind – throb and grow pumped full of GROWTH-POWER. Uh. Throb and grow pumped full of ... Fuck ... Yes ... and joined them ... SO HUGE NOW ... howling, all of them together: "Yes! I have what it takes to absorb the power of Greyskull. I HAVE THE POWER!" "Nice dream?", Benjy asked. Confused, Mike opened his eyes. He was resting in his hospital bed again, connected to a machine monitoring his heart rate and to a big bag of nutritional IV. So was Benjy, who sat by his bed holding a movable drip stand. And Benjy was ... Oh fuck! Benjy looked like a bodybuilder now. Not an Olympia bodybuilder, but bigger than an amateur. Something had happened to Benjy's chin and jaw, which were ... more powerful in some way. And Benjy had two strange devices in his ears, similar to hearing devices. "I expected YOU to sit by my bed when I woke up, not the other way round." Benjy grabbed his hand. "Are you ok?" "Uh?" Was he ok? Mike was returning to a conscious state. If he was ok? Absentmindedly he briefly touched the hearing devices in his ears, and then forgot about their presence. He felt ... He felt ... A pleasant wave of content and pleasure billowed through him. He had successfully went through Phase One. So had Benjy, it seemed. To 'hance. To realise his teenage fantasy. To ... uh ... to transcend into muscle-godhood ... He smiled and looked into Benjy's eyes: "Fuck, yeah. Never felt better. Feel so good. I want to grow with you." Benjy returned his smile: "Thought so. Will you become my big farmboy, Mike? Will you become my big, protective Polar Cub? Will you join me, when I transcend into muscle-godhood?" "I will." * * * To be continued.

Chapter One is found HERE Chapter Seven is found HERE Perfect Boyfriend Chapter Eight "Promise, that you will stay with me, Mike." "I will, Benjy." They hugged. Benjy was naked and shivering. Mike's emotions were conflicted, but his feelings for the smaller young man seemed real enough, but why didn't he remember all of it? Fragments of memories floating in his mind. They were standing in Dr. Korsakoff's laboratory. When Mike observed the cylindric glass tank, flashbacks erupted in his mind: Himself inside, growing from average and sturdy into his present shape. He bit his lip. It HAD been great, hadn't it. Like his teenage fantasies about becoming Captain Space Marine, but better. And real. Korsakoff had already given Benjy an injection, and it was important that Benjy entered the tank before the injection had its impact. Korsakoff and Benjy climbed the ladder to the platform at the top of the tank. Korsakoff opened the lid. A whiff of strange chemicals filled the room, and Gútierrez sneezed. Mike's nervousness increased. What if something bad happened? Something dangerous? Korsakoff's past with deformed or insane 'hancing clients? Korsakoff placed a breathing mask over Benjy's face, then a suction hose on his dick. Benjy climbed into the tank, and with a splash he tumbled inside, sinking a little bit, but then floating inside, his tiny shape looking pale in the green liquid. After closing the lid of the tank, Korsakoff returned to the console. Even Gútierrez' otherwise so calm and inscrutable face had a worried expression. The humming began. The humming sound caused Mike's flashbacks to return: No escape from his growth, but why would he want to escape? He was becoming a 'hancer; Thanks to Benjy he was realising a teenage dream. The sound of Benjy's moan returned Mike to the present. Mike approached Dr. Korsakoff: "Can I speak to him?" "There's a microphone in his mask, and he will receive communication from us through his earbuds. Go ahead, Mr. Jones." "Benjy, can you hear me?" "Mike? Oh! It's so good. You should have told me how good this is." "Are you ok?" "More than ok. Something nice is happening. The beginning of my journey together with you." Now, the green liquid bubbled, and small power emissions had begun to hit Benjy's body. "I have no idea, if you can see anything, if the change is visible yet, but it feel so good, Mike. The altered DNA, the myostatine inhibitors, the androgen hormone cocktail ... it ... it feel so good. I will become like you." Dr. Korsakoff was busy at his console, watching blinking numbers and Benjy's heart rate. Korsakoff increased something, Mike didn't know what, and Benjy immediately reacted: "YES! Something is happening! I enter Phase One! You are a genius, Doctor!" Something was happening. Despite the green solution inside the tank, even Mike was able to see Benjy's delicate body add weight, add muscle mass: His pecs, traps and arms were changing into a more athletic build at a visible pace. "What does he mean with 'Phase One', Dr. Korsakoff?" "This is an inopportune time to discuss such matters, Mr. Jones. I have to concentrate on the medical safety of my client." "I understand, but it is possible to give me a brief version?" "This is just the first step in the 'hancing of you two. Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes payed for quite an extreme three-tier 'hancing, but you must remember this, Mr. Jones? We had this discussion weeks ago, and both of you were quite eager, to say the least." "And if I've changed my mind? If I'm content with my present Phase One body?" "No, I'm sorry. The crucial DNA alteration has already happened, and there are certain nano-modules working on your body as we speak. There is no way to abort the process now. Both of you have to undergo all three phases." Time stood still. For a few seconds or minutes, Mike wasn't entirely aware of his surroundings. Then the heat of wrath overwhelmed his mind, he grabbed the lab coat of Korsakoff and lifted him from the floor: "I demand, that you abort any further changes of my body! I refuse you to expose Benjy to something dangerous. You ..." It wasn't clear what happened next. Gútierrez grabbed him, and dragged him away from the console. Mike was close to freeing himself from the grip, but, as a professional, Gútierrez had a better technique. Mike felt a sting. Dizziness billowed over him, and just before he blacked out, he could hear Benjy moan: "YES! MORE! I need more muscle!" * * * Chapter Nine is found HERE

Chapter One is found HERE Chapter Six is found HERE Perfect Boyfriend Chapter Seven "I hope, that you told Dr. Korsakoff to not take any unnecessary risks." "Calm down, Mike. Korsakoff researched early forms of 'hancing before we were born. Although the company he worked for used another set of methods for 'hancing, than Nelson's MEGAGROWTH or the old-fashioned PHYSICAL POTENTIAL FOUNDATION do, he's got dozens of years of experience. Since 'hancing is almost unregulated in the Siberian Federation, he's been able to develop 'hancing-methods with extreme results, and I mean extreme." Benjy paused and took a look at the plastic tube connecting his Port-a-cath with a large bag of nutritional drip solution before he continued: "Which reminds me ... I didn't finish my description of the island, if I remember correctly." "No, you didn't." Still half-reclining in his bed, with his shirt open, in order to allow the IV tube to connect, Benjy fumbled with the remote. The large screen awoke: "This man is the affluent Mr. Vanderwesthuisen. He owned this island, before he bestowed it upon a foundation led by his solicitor." The still was a photograph of a middle aged man who obviously enjoyed working out, with an artificially white smile and an artificially orange suntan. The suit he was wearing had been fashionable among the affluent in the Padanian-Appenine Republic, particularly Milan, about twenty years ago. "The reason why he bought this island is, that it's outside the jurisdiction of any sovereign nation. You will not break any law by experimenting on human beings here." This remark couldn't fail to raise unsettling feelings in Mike. Benjy pressed the remote control: "This is also Mr. Vanderwesthuisen." Mike's first reaction was some sort of shock. He had blurry recollections of the 'hancers they had met at 'HancerCon, but the man in the picture was ... To begin with, the man in the picture looked like he could have been Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's nineteen year old son, with some sort of boyish roundness to his cheeks. Next, the man was wearing the orange convict's dress used in prisons and some correction centres. The eyes of the young man were seemingly devoid of any intelligence, but there was some sort of smugness in them. The most blatant and obvious fact screaming at the observer was the sheer size of the man. His bone structure was built the same way The Machine's and Dr. Rob Nelson's are, but he had packed on even more muscle mass than them. He even overshadowed the size of real-life Hyper Marines. Mike's second reaction was horniness, his third embarrassment, and his fourth a struggle between conflicting emotions. "I like your blush, Mike. The unsavoury part of the story is, that after his ... his transformation ... his TRANSCENDENCE into this physical state, he spent several nights at bars in Guam confronting baseline muscular men, natty or on gear, and the last one of these knuckle fights caused a man's death. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen – or "Vin", as he insist to be called now – had a good legal defence in court and was imprisoned for manslaughter, not murder, which even might be true, because of the state of Vin's present mind and his lacking ability to control his own strength. According his own version, he had no intent to kill his victim, only to 'prove who's the Alpha', as his own words fell. I've met him, you see." "Benjy ... Benjy ... I don't know what to say." "You don't have to say anything, Mike. I'm just explaining the history of this island, that's all." "Thank God, that you didn't chose Vin's shape, when you selected your options. The shape I have now is satisfactory. I'm not much bigger than Gútierrez. I can have a normal life in this shape, and so will you, when you become like me." Benjy swallowed, and then a content smile spread over his face. "I look forward very much to become like you, Mike, but I have more things to tell you." "Just a few years after Vin's ... his conviction, a few countries softened their legislation on recreational 'hancing. There were several companies in the 'hancing business emerging at the same time, using slightly different toolboxes, and marketing themselves in different ways. In Cascadia, Canada and Australia, a company known as MEGAGROWTH branded themselves as 'the safe and responsible 'Hancing choice'." He repeated in a slightly bitter tone: "... safe and responsible ...", and pressed the remote control again. A new file. A video clip this time. A symphony orchestra. The music of horns and drums, resembling the film music from the remake of the remake of the remake of He-Man. Dawn and sunrise. A purple sky. The outline of a skull-shaped castle. "I wonder how much they had to pay Masbro-Hattel for the rights to use this?", Benjy remarked dryly. And then: Blinding light inside the doorway of the castle ... the impressive outlines of an impossibly powerful man standing there. The lighting changing to reveal the looks of the man who stepped forward. The background was an obvious greenscreen, but the man himself and the strange clothes he was wearing were undoubtly an unaltered and physical – and what a physical! – reality. A platinum blond man with the shorter hairstyle of the post-war version of He-Man and wearing a leather jockstrap from which several pieces of rabbit fur was dangling, but not enough to draw attention from the considerable bulge hidden inside the leather jockstrap. It was all there: A good replica of the harness, wristcuffs and boots of the post-war version of He-Man. If a smaller man had been wearing these minimal clothes he had looked ridiculous, but this man was able to carry the ensemble convincingly. His jockstrap wasn't the only thing bulging. The 8 feet tall man had impossibly wide clavicles and a narrow waist, similar to the picture of Vin, and from that bone structure mass upon mass of virile swole brawn bulged all over him, as if his muscles had got muscles of their own, but yet it didn't look disproportional. It all formed an alluring symmetry ... a monument of masculinity ... a heroic face ... icy blue eyes ... Mike remembered: That was a young Rob Nelson! In a fifteen year old famous (or infamous) commercial. The hero-giant pointed at the audience and asked: "Hey, buddy! Do you have what it takes, to absorb the power of Greyskull? If you have, call number MEG-AG-ROWTHNOW today!" Then he flexed his left biceps and pec, lifted his sword straight upwards as the animated thunderbolts hit him and the sword, and shouted: "I HAVE THE POWER!" They both fell silent, when the video clip ended. * * * Chapter Eight is found HERE

Chapter One is found HERE Chapter FIVE is found HERE Perfect Boyfriend Chapter Six Both of them were silent for a few seconds. "Dad served in the Space War. Regular army of course. I'm not the son of a Hyper Marine." "I know. You've mentioned it before." "I'm wet with pre-cum, Benjy. Slightly iffy to be that after those serious and patriotic after texts." "I thought you would be. Don't worry. I've told you about my own reaction to Sergeant Mulligan's transformation. "ABLE TO DEFEND!" Take another shower together?" Mike swallowed. Benjy knew him better, than he thought he would. What had happened during those months he didn't remember properly? "Let's continue to retrieve my memories, and I haven't finished my chicken, yet." "Do you remember, that I told you about watching wrestling and 'hancer-wrestling?" "Barely. I enjoyed it too." "I know. The first time we wanked together was watching The Machine fighting Space Marine." "What a pity, that I don't remember that." "Want to repeat it now?" Mike fell silent. "You are cute when you blush. Bob always said, that you need to relax and let go of those inhibations. But if you do, you wouldn't blush cutely." "Bob?" "You must remember Bob? Dr. Korsakoff's last experiment. Bob wished to grow. I needed someone for a trial treatment. It all turned out to everyone's satisfaction. It was your first threesome. You surely remember, don't you?" A tone of worry and irritation crept into Benjy's voice. Flashbacks. A big bed. A big muscular 'Hancer-lad of African descent and of his own age with a cocky expression. Couldn't remember exactly how big. Flashes of individual muscles and the face of the lad. Benjy, looking cheeky. The big lad flexing his bicepses, flexing his abs. Benjy licking the big lad's abs. Mike himself grabbing one of the big lad's bicepses, and a wave of overwhelming pleasure washing over him. "Fragments of it." "That was the night I realised how much I love you. Bob was a fling involved in the Shango Lads subculture, who wanted to go on with his own projects, but bonding with you while we muscle-worshipped Bob was such a profound experience. I love you, Mike. I love you so much." They both fell silent for a moment. Benjy sipped his drink. Benjy broke the silence: "Perhaps this will cheer you up?" He pressed the remote control. The screen woke up. A 'hancer wrestling match. "That's The Machine and Space Marine!" "I thought this would jog your mind. I watched WHC shows in order to infuriate old Papa. He considered it 'vulgar' and 'camp' and wondered why I didn't watch rugby or cricket like any normal kid." Two buzzcut incredibly tall, wide and massive men circled each other in a ring. One of them was wearing tight silvery shorts, metal wristcuffs and a metal shoulder pad. The other one was wearing shiny black army boots and military trousers inspired by the cartoon SPACE WAR. Then they collided and grabbed each other, struggling for supremacy. Mike broke the silence: "In boyhood I never realised the sexiness of it all. It was like watching cartoon characters or toys clashing, but then I hit puberty, and didn't realise why I got hard every time I watched a match." "The average ratio among 'hancers and 'hancer fans is 50% gay, 50% straight. That's not the ratio between gays and straight among the general population." "Average?" "Well, yes, in New Deseret, gay men do not have the right to 'hance. Nor do they in Russia. That's why they go to Cascadia or Siberia. Better than The Federated States – they ban 'hancing entirely, because it's just as ungodly as dinosaurs. In Texas and the Confederacy I believe the percentage of straight 'hancers is much higher than elsewhere, and the string of scandals surrounding 'Polar Cubs' began in the Confederacy. The Independent Republic of Greater California and the two United States follow the EU's stance, and ban 'hancing, because the authorities deem the procedure medically unsafe." Mike didn't listen properly. The match was drawing his attention, drawing him in. The Machine! And Space Marine! "This can't be right. The Machine was fighting already when I was a kid, and this can't be a re-run because Space Marine didn't join WHC until a few years ago, but here they are both looking like they are the same age." "Didn't you read? The Machine and his hubby rejuvenated a few months ago." "Perhaps I did read and forgot it. His husband, that's Rob Nelson, isn't it?" "Yes, the famous Dr. Nelson." A tone of bitterness crept into the voice of Benjy, but he continued: "We met them both signing autographs at 'HancerCon. They are 'hancer royalty more or less. The two first famous civilian 'hancers. Nelson goes on and on and on about 'responsibility'." The tone of bitterness returned. "Don't you like the guy? My memory is blurry, but if I remember correctly he's hot." There was a few seconds' delay, before Benjy answered. The match continued. Hulking man-creatures threw each other across the ring and flexed their bulging pecs in triumphant gestures. "I wouldn't have asked Dr. Korsakoff, if Dr. Nelson hadn't declined to 'hance me." What Benjy said, hit Mike like a blow. "'Hance YOU?" "The wish to 'hance had raged inside me since I was fifteen, or so. I was bullied at school, because I couldn't play rugby, and the only way to stop it was to behave like a twat. And then there was old Papa's expectations. I didn't enjoy being a legacy student. I didn't enjoy rugby. I didn't enjoy old Papa's air of superiority and the condescending way he talk about real people. Now when I think about it, a few of the upper class youth I met at school considered being condescending to be 'vulgar', so I didn't pick up this idea out of any fashionable leftovers from Pre-Crisis political debate, I'm afraid." "Yes, but 'hance you? I thought you wanted to 'hance me?" Benjy smiled and swallowed. His eyes shone by love, but perhaps they also shone by some sort of rising craziness. "Of course I wanted to 'hance you. To begin with, you were just one of the three lucky winners. Someone to be a beneficiary of my will to redeem myself. But then I realised how amazing you are. A real person. That farm boy earnestness. Your cute blush. Sharing the 'hancing urge with me, but more reliable than Bob ... more stable than Tim. Nothing of the sycophantic schmaltz I've usually been surrounded by. Someone to share my journey with. Of course I want to 'hance you, but I will also 'hance myself. Why do you think I'm drinking this solution of anabolic salts as we speak? It's my turn in the tank tonight." * * * Chapter Seven is found HERE

Chapter One is found HERE Chapter Four is found HERE Perfect Boyfriend Chapter Five The chain of events during the afternoon caused his doubts to return: Perhaps he might have misinterpreted the situation? After having hidden his a-Pad in a moderately safe place, he bumped into Gútierrez, Mr. FitzFforbes security officer. Before the experiment, Mike had been smaller than Gútierrez, or so he thought, but now Mike was only slightly taller than Gútierrez, and it was anybody's guess which one of them was heavier. He had a small chat with Gútierrez, hoping, that the latter wasn't looking for his a-Pad. Gútierrez seemed to be a decent bloke, and he had a sort of attractive commanding presence. Despite his newly attained shape, Mike felt inadequate again. By the end of their conversation, Gútierrez winked at him, and left. When Mike returned to the room with his hospital bed, he was surprised to find another hospital bed there, and Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes half-sitting in it, watching the big screen that covered much of the wall facing the beds. "I didn't expect to find you here." "We are supposed to eat lunch here, well you are. Dr. Korsakoff want me to drink lunch." Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes lifted a large glass of something that looked like yellow-tinted mineral water or some sort of fizzy pop. "The kitchen ask if you prefer chicken or an omelette." "Uh. Chicken, please." Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes lifted the receiver, pressed a few buttons, and told someone about Mike's lunch choice. Mike returned to his bed, adjusted it to a sitting position, and took a look at Mr. Narushkin-Fitzfforbes choice of entertainment. "I felt nostalgic. Do you remember that time we told each other how each of us realised our thing for Muscle Growth?" A CGI animated show for children, teens and young adults was running at the screen. Slowly it dawned ... yes .. he had watched this as a kid. It was ... "My memory is returning, I think. Did you like SPACE WAR: RISE OF THE HYPER MARINES and SPACE WAR: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, too?" Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes laughed. Mike liked the sound of that laughter. More memories were dawning in his mind, returning from the blur ... The laughter of a friend who turned into a boyfriend ... they had watched this together before ... Images flashed on the screen. Big men in space armour fought pseudo-crustaceans in space. Big men in space armour returned to base. Without space armour big men looked more built and huge than any bodybuilder in real life, having serious talks with each other or working out together. Mike became horny. "Did I like? I have to give Dr. Korsakoff a reprimand for not counteracting your memory loss. Of course I liked it, and we've had this discussion before. It was when we shared childhood memories we actually grew close. I was a SPACE WAR fan to an obsessive degree. Not to mention the spin-off series CAPTAIN HYPER MARINE." "Oh, yes, CAPTAIN HYPER MARINE! That was so cool. So fire." Mike restrained himself: "I'm not supposed to sound like a fourteen year old now when I'm twenty four." Mr. Narushkin ... no ... BENJY laughed. Laughed deliciously. "You can talk as much as you want about SPACE WAR fandom. I had my first orgasm watching the transformation scene in episode two. No touching." Mike blushed. Mike became hard under the blanket. That was the moment a woman from kitchen arrived with Mike's lunch. Mike thanked her politely, but he felt less uncomfortable when she closed the door and left. "Now when I think about it ...", Benjy said, and pressed the remote control. When the scene began, Mike recognised it instantly. He didn't remember the details yet, but his intuition told him that something remarkable was going to happen on the screen, and his body remembered better than his mind. His dick remembered, throbbing in anticipation for the story to be told. A handsome man in uniform and military haircut discussing with a superior officer and a scientist not dissimilar to Dr. Korsakoff. A wide and tall glass cylinder in the background filled with a bubbling green translucent liquid. A metal construction with a ramp and ladders. "I understand what I have to do, Sir. I'm aware of the danger, Sir, but we are at war, and I know my duty. If this experiment will lead to a tactical advantage, it is my duty to participate. I'm ready to die, but if I survive this, we will have an army of hyper marines. I'm ready to become The Prototype." The man began to take his uniform shirt off, and revealed a sort of fit swimmer's build. Dog tags dangled from his neck. He threw this shirt nonchalantly behind himself as he walked with some swag in the direction of the glass cylinder and climbed the steel ladder. Two men in hazmat suits put a breathing mask on his nose and mouth. The man saluted the men on the floor and entered the cylinder. The background music sounded like a military brass band playing something that perhaps was variations on the hymn 'Eternal Father strong to save', which also was weaved into the theme tune of the show. The attention turned to the scientist and the commanding officer. The former pressed buttons, the latter gave a silent nod with a grave facial expression. The attention returned to the glass cylinder and the martial man therein. The liquid began to bubble. The man spasmed. Green bolts of energy crackled through the cylinder and hit the man's body. He spasmed. He arched. He thrashed blindly with his arms. Closeup on his hands. His GROWING hands. Closeup on his abs. His GROWING sixpack abs. The superior officer speaking into a mic: "Report, Sergeant Mulligan. Shall we abort?" And the reply on a crackling line: "Negative, Sir. I'm ready for a higher dose. I know my duty." A silent nod. The equipment humming louder. The liquid bubbling more intensely. The energy bolts more intense now. A closeup at Sergeant Mulligan's eyes, widening. A roar. The scene enticingly slowly sliding to inspect each part of the growing Sergeant in a manner that could have been a sly wink to the gay segment of the audience. Enticingly. Slowly. Sliding. Biceps closeup. Traps and shoulders closeup. Back closeup, in all its detailed, powerful, SWELLING glory. Closeup at the growing, full, lush and plump pecs. Growing. Full. Lush. Plump. Pecs. "Sir! Yes, Sir! More! Give me MORE!" Swole muscle. Bulging muscle. Powerful muscle. Muscle hulking out, except for the Sergeant's shiny boots and camo-patterned trousers, for some unexplained reason. Frantic muscle growth. And yet another close up at the Sergeant's wide open eyes. The brass music reaching a crescendo. Mulligan reaching the final shape so many young boys are familiar with from their favourite toys. "YES! Able to protect, now! I AM THE PROTOPTYPE!" The military brass band music faded into the theme of the series while the after texts rolled, and then switched in turn into the Hyper Marine Hymn sung by the Canadian Navy's official choir: "Almighty ruler of the all Whose power extends to great and small, Who guides the stars with steadfast law, Whose least creation fills with awe - Oh grant Thy mercy and Thy grace To those who venture into space." IN MEMORY OF THE FALLEN : FAMILY, FRIENDS, THE FEW, EVERY REAL HYPER MARINE LEST WE FORGET Before the screen blacked out, there was an animated wreath of poppies. And then the screen blacked out. * * * Chapter Six is found HERE Readers unfamiliar with the tune mentioned in the story (yes, it do exist in real life) will find it HERE. I personally find it heart wrenching (in a good way) The Royal Navy, Royal Marines and many other military units and coast guards in the English-speaking world are fond of that hymn, also famous from the film Titanic. The additional strophe about space was written by Robert A. Heinlein (1907-1988)

Chapter One is found HERE Chapter Three is found HERE Perfect Boyfriend Chapter Four He could have logged into his boyfriend's i-Tech account as a guest, but that would have allowed Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes to read his search history. His a-Tech account had the drawback, that it was rationed, but it had suited him as long as he lived at his parents' farm. Let's see. NARUSHKIN-FITZFFORBES ... A bald elderly man, still tall ... a sort of athletic build marked with the deteriorating flight of time ... a stubborn pitbull-like expression ... can't be right ... Ah. Mike's dad. The "Papa". Inherited gold and estate, tactically bought more land before The Crisis, both in Siberia, Canada and the Dakotas ... and then had tenants rent it ... But he was searching for BENJAMIN Next to nothing before age eighteen. Schoolmates revealing afterwards that BENJAMIN NARUSHKIN-FITZFFORBES fucked a pig's head at a wet student party with other upper class brats. Benjamin assaulting a news photographer ... A mindlessly drunk Benjamin leaving a gay club wearing the uniform of one of those illegal militias from The Crisis, before a crowd of photographers. Benjamin banned from entering Germany. Benjamin assaulting another photographer. The tabloid tellypods and websites asking: "Where is Narushkin-FitzFforbes now?" The contrast between his sweet and loving sex puppy and the public Benjamin seemed to be considerable. Where lies the truth? And ... Korsakoff ... Physician ... 'hancing ... Eh? Lots of hits in Cyrillic script, but he wasn't able to read that. Translate. A weird text, almost, but not entirely, lacking any resemblance of English popped up on his screen: "Shame Doctor Frankenstein been made depart Muscle Growth Distillery since young Hulks rape benefactors. General Practitioner Korsakov sued at law and expelled from work on Muscle Growth Distillery luxury in Siberian coast. Folkish scientist at "'hancing" as known as among fans expelled from work, however not just papers called "Hulk rape", but unsightly making have occurred deform muscle fans. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Folkish formerly between 'hancing underground Dr. Korsakov slicing front scientist at technology for magnifying men to purpose military or recreational use, went too far grotesque making clients on use of Muscle Growth Distillery have occurred extreme immobile making, not only "mind implants" intercalations causing the insanity and the "identity crisis" for patients. Stationary speaker of parliament distillery, Mr. Kirill Aksyonov, in pronouncement express concern and regret sacrifices to Dr. Korsakov many years hoped have. Dr. Korsakov is no where to be found. Siberian police ask assistance to be wished for folkishly in general." It was gibberish, but it was enough to give him the general picture. He wasn't a boyfriend. He was the lab animal of a spoiled brat and a mad scientist. * * * Chapter Five is found HERE

Chapter One is found HERE Chapter Two is found HERE Perfect Boyfriend Chapter Three Next morning, Mike was very hungry, but Dr. Korsakoff insisted to take a few blood samples before breakfast. Someone had put a new pair of Adidas bottoms, a jockstrap and socks on his chair, but, unlike yesterday, there was also a stretchy black vest in that new material based on maize and bamboo. Benjy – no ... Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes – entered his room, energetic like a happy puppy: "You look splendid in that vest, Mike. It shows all your muscle. You ... you are amazing, Mike!" Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes came closer and hugged Mike, but it didn't feel good like yesterday. It felt ... It felt superficial. Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes took a step backwards, held Mike's hands and stared up into his face with a worried expression: "What's wrong, handsome? Still shaken after yesterday?" Mike shrugged, retrieved his hands from Mr. Narushin-FitzFforbes' grip and answered hesitatingly: "Yes, probably something like that. Have you eaten?" The worried expression in Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes' face didn't disappear, but the latter answered: "No, I wanted to eat breakfast together with the most amazing man I know." "Hm. I'm ravenous." They shared the breakfast in oppressive silence, but when both had finished their meal, Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes suggested a guided tour: "If you don't remember how to find your way around the facility, I have to jog your memory. That might cheer you up. I haven't seen you this sombre for ages." On their way out of the building, Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes politely nodded in the direction of two men standing outside an office room, one of them a middle aged man in a white suit holding a panama hat, the other one a tall muscular thirty year old in a black short-sleeved uniform: "Mr. Copley. Mr. Gútierrez." Mike felt an impulse to ask when he had been this sombre last time, but he quenched that impulse, in order to not reveal the tiny fragments of information he knew. He walked in a different manner than before, and he hadn't got used to this new waddling gait, his shoulders swagging while he walked. They were outside one of the buildings, and walked along a paved path in the direction of what looked like a beach. Greenish blue waves washed against a white, sand covered beach, palm trees slowly waving in the breeze. "I promised you to refresh your memory about the island." "Mmmm." "The facility was built by a wealthy businessman after the early groundbreaking 'hancing experiments, and after the military use of 'hancing technology had become standard." "The Space War, wasn't it?" "Indeed. And suddenly, after the Space War, wealthy businessmen and hero-worshipping teenagers – gay or not – realized, that Space Marines walk amongst us ... All those Space War movies did their part to the hype, I guess ... and in several circles at once the idea rose to apply 'hancing tech for, ahum, recreational and cosmetic purposes." Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes laughed in that restrained manner again, before continuing: "You always complain about what you call my interest in 'hancing trivia." "My memory is blurry, but that sounds familiar. I just wanted to become big, not rattle off all the alternative means available." "Wanted?" "Yes, how so? I'm big now, if you haven't noticed. Thanks." Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes fell silent for a moment, and began to look like a worried Benjy again. "Nothing. What I wanted to tell you about the island was, that ..." "Sir? Sir! There is a call to the stationary pad. It's your father, Sir." Mr. Copley came running from the main building in their direction. Slowly, Mike recognized him as Benjy's secretary. A shadow clouded Benjy's face, and, without a word, he returned to the main building. Mike slowly strolled in the same direction. * * * Mike enjoyed the sunshine on his face and arms. Next time, he would probably wear shorts ... perhaps even skip the vest. His suspicions were nagging him. On his way back to his hospital bed, he passed by Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes' office. He was unable to hear the elder Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes' part of the conversation, but it was impossible to not overhear the younger one: "Hostile takeover? Who are you to speak, dear old Papa? It was your own arrangement, that I dispose my own money however I like, in order to avoid any quarrel with the Wicked Witch of the West." By the tone of his voice, it didn't sound like his boyfriend used the words "dear old" entirely literally. "No, I talk about her however I wish. When you married her, she was younger than I am now. You betrayed Mama, that's what you did." Mike oughtn't to pry. He had learned to not eavesdrop by his ... his sweet Mum. It was slowly coming back, now. The kind, hardworking tenant's wife ... His hardworking earnest Dad. The hens, the cow and the hydrogen harvester they shared with their neighbours. Farmland expanding further north, because of the improving weather ... well, improving in northern Canada, not elsewhere. When he returned to his bed, Dr. Korsakoff was there. Mike wouldn't have given it a thought, hadn't it been for the fact, that Dr. Korsakoff was holding Mike's a-Pad with a guilty expression in his face. "What are you doing with my a-Pad, Dr. Korsakoff?" Mike's powerful shape loomed and towered over Dr. Korsakoff, and hadn't he been so suspicious, he could have enjoyed the situation. "I was ... I was worried, that you risked to mislay your a-Pad, Mr. Jones." "Thank you for your concern, Dr. Korsakoff. May I have my a-Pad now." Mike extended his palm, waiting. With a nervous gesture, Dr Korsakoff gave the a-Pad back to Mike, and left the room. * * * Chapter Four is found HERE

Chapter one is found HERE Perfect Boyfriend Chapter Two It was when night fell, his suspicions originally began to arise. They had spent two hours in the shower exploring what his new body was able to do. Benjy had come four times, Mike twice. The first time Benjy came, it was enough, that Mike grabbed his dick and squeezed a little. They slowly raised the intensity while the hot water hit their naked bodies. Their final orgasms happened simultaneously after Mike had curled Benjy effortlessly beyond what any of them cared to count, rubbing Benjy's hardening dick against Mike's clenched washboard abs, Benjy uncontrollably shouting: "Fuck, yes! My tall protective boyfriend! MY TALL PROTECTIVE BOYF ... unf uh unf uh hn hn! hn! hn! uh!" To the disappointment of them both, Dr. Korsakoff didn't allow them to share their bedroom, yet. Mike's heart rate had to be monitored overnight, and Dr. Korsakoff was also interested in the air Mike exhaled when he was asleep. Mike decided to spend some time in his hospital bed with his private video diary. The icons of his older files in the folder didn't look like usual, and a message popped up: "Files damaged during system update. Files will be restored in next system update." Damn! Another one of those update disasters that damaged the reputation of a-Tech Inc. Benjy had tried to persuade him into switching to i-Tech, but old habits die slowly, and Mike felt uncomfortable with a platform considered to be "posh". He tried to click on one of the video logs. The file actually opened, but the sound and image were fragmented and incomprehensible until the third minute of the recording. He saw himself looking into the camera. His old self. Considerably smaller, but with some sort of sturdy farm boy build: "I can't believe what happened to poor Tim. I should have told Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes and the Doctor that they shouldn't do it, but they all went on with the experiment. It's grotesque. That will destroy the rest of Tim's life. Treated like some sort of lab animal. People shouldn't do such ...", but then the sound and image returned to an incomprehensible mess again. A lump of coldness emerged inside his belly. Another sort of lump formed in his throat. And the nagging suspicion that something wasn't right. Who was Tim? He couldn't remember. He clicked another file. And another one. Nothing happened. The error message popped up again. A fourth one ... Like the earlier one, the initial few minutes were fragmented beyond recognition and incomprehensible, but then he sat there again. Same boyish face with dimples and earnest blue gaze, but with a body showing signs of a more disciplined workout regimen. "-ter what happened Tim, but Bob seem to enjoy his gains. So far that's a relief, but I have to admit, that I felt envious when Benjamin and Bob disappeared into Benjamin's luxurious bedroom after the experiment. I had expected ..." And then the video file broke up in incomprehensible nonsense again. Mike didn't sleep well that night. * * * Chapter Three is found HERE

PREFACE The unfinished version of this story is still taking shape in the Unfinished section at the time I post this chapter, but I hope, that I have avoided any continuity errors enough to post the final version of Chapter One here. Perfect Boyfriend : Chapter One He woke up. The surroundings were unfamiliar, and, when his eyesight focused, he saw a young man watching him with a slightly worried expression. "Are you ok?" "Uh. Where ... am I?" "The facility I bought, remember?" "Sorry. I'm dizzy. I'm not sure ... Who are you?" The worried facial expression returned, and for a second or two the worried young man stared accusingly at the elderly man in the white lab coat, standing not far from the bed. "You said, that there would be no side effects!" "Give him some time to wake up. The anesthetics haven't worn off, yet." "It's me: Benjy! Remember?", the young man said in a pleading tone. Slowly, memories began to return. "Benjy! Yes, of course! My ... boyfriend?" "Perhaps you should give Mr. Jones another few minutes to wake up properly, Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes? I'm sure, his memories will return soon." Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes left the hospital bed with a disappointed grimace. The man in the white lab coat remained in the room. "Well, Mr. Jones, I will have to make a few tests. I took a blood sample before you woke up, but I will need a urine sample as soon as you feel ready, and in the meanwhile I will make a routine examination. Do you feel this?" A sting in his foot. He inhaled quickly. "Good. Do you think you can sit up?" He rose from the bed to a sitting position, and in the same moment he felt his triceps rub his lats in a delicious manner. His legs hung from the side of the bed. "I'm Dr. Korsakoff, by the way. I will just check your reflexes." Dr. Korsakoff hit his patient's knee lightly, and it reacted properly. "Fine. Fine. Do you think you could grab this ball and press it?" He grabbed a small ball looking like a toy, and pressed it like Dr. Korsakoff had said. He pressed it harder. The ball exploded in his palm. "Even better than expected. I'm sure that Mr. Narushkin-FitzFforbes will be happy with the results." "The results?" "Not remembering, yet? Your boyfriend is paying for your 'hancing." They began to return now. His memories. Benjy. And their shared dream of 'hancing. "Uh. Yes. I would like to see Benjy now. Leave the mug for urine samples on the shelf." "I will send him in. Welcome back, Mr. Jones." Jones was slowly returning to awareness of his surroundings. And of his body. His ... POWERFUL body. Something was unfamiliar, wasn't it? He clenched his left pec with his right hand ... and then he flexed his left pec. Felt good. That was the exact moment when Benjy returned. Benjy's lean and short shape entered the room with a sort of elegantly confident gait, his hair combed in a conservative manner, but he was only wearing Adidas bottoms and a white neutral t-shirt, and something felt off. Benjy's warm brown eyes betrayed a worried expression. "Do you feel better, Mike?" "Physically there can't be anything wrong with me ..." Benjy emitted a brief laugh, but controlled himself: "I wouldn't say there's anything wrong physically, no." There was an innuendo to his voice, but Mike wasn't entirely sure why. A frown formed between Mike's eyebrows. "Something feel off. Aren't you in a habit of wearing a suit and tie, Benjy?" Benjy wasn't good at controlling his facial expression. Now, he looked uncomfortable, rather than worried. "I was. I decided to change some things. At least as long as we stay here. A more casual style feel more relaxing. I have never been allowed to feel relaxed." "Where's here?" "I've told you the story about the island before, but I will repeat it all later. Do you think you can sit?" Mike waved his hand, refusing any assistance. He returned to a seated position, and then he left the bed. The floor felt slightly cool to his feet. Again, something felt off. "I feel strange." "If you feel dizzy, you ought to return to your bed, Mike. It's not many minutes since you woke up." "No. No. I'm fine. It's nothing like that. It's ..." Mike tried to understand what was off. Then he realized, that he was stark naked. He blushed, and put his right hand over his junk. "Sorry, Benjy. No offence." "I do have seen you naked before, remember.", Benjy remarked dryly. "Don't be shy. Staff put your new clothes on that chair over there." Mike chuckled and began to dress. Did he feel ... BIGGER? He looked down at his abs. He had always been proud of his abs, but they were bigger and more defined than he remembered. He observed his new underwear critically, and turned towards Benjy holding a camo-patterned jockstrap, tilting his head: "Really?" Benjy looked embarrassed: "I ... I thought that they would ... uhu ... suit you." Mike put his jockstrap on, and then his Adidas bottoms, similar to those Benjy was wearing. Then a pair of rough soccer socks, and a pair of fresh Adidas trainers. "This can't be right. I don't take 12 in shoes. Never had." He tried them on. They fit perfectly. Benjy came closer and put his arms around him, burrowing his face into Mike's chest: "Don't you remember the 'hancing project, Mike? You are bigger now. Taller, too. Dr. Korsakoff said, that we had to break it carefully, if you had forgotten. Some participants do forget initially." "That's what felt so off. Weren't we more ... equal in height before?" "I love this! I love it! I love it! My tall protective boyfriend ..." Mike could feel Benjy grow a hard bulge against his quad. They both took a deep breath, and then they stood quite some time embracing each other. None of them knew for how long. Then, Benjy cleared his throat: "If you don't feel dizzy any longer, I would like to take you to the posing room behind our private gym." "Yes. It's slowly coming back now. All your money and fancy houses." "What matters are us, not my parents' wealth. I don't want to talk about my parents now. I want this moment together with you. Only you." The corridor had an air of hospital over itself, but that mood changed when they entered the gym: Dumbbells in many sizes, bars and weight-plates, and a lot of very fancy exercise machines. There were no windows, but some sort of air conditioner kept the indoors air fresh and cool. Absent-mindedly, Mike noticed, that the AC was certified with that eco-logo. "The machines don't look like the ones they have at the gym in my town. Where are the magazines?" "These machines generate weight by electro magnets. They are designed for the use by 'hancers." "I didn't consider myself a 'hancer before I met you, Benjy." "You had the urge. I could tell the first time we discussed online. It's just that I knew more about it: The sub-culture, the 'hancing processes available, the companies ..." Mike swallowed. He knew next to nothing before he met Benjy. He had learned more by time, but Benjy was the aficionado – a 'hancer Fan. They had attended 'Hancer Con and watched all those giants – most of them friendly, all of them impressive – waddle around the convent area for a weekend. Mike hadn't been outside Saskatchewan before, and it had all felt unreal but exciting. He felt Benjy touch his arm again. "Mike. I believe you would enjoy the posing room." "Huh? I've only worked out to avoid injury at the farm, not to pack any muscle. I have no clue how to pose." "Take a look." The lights went on the moment they entered the posing room. The illumination was positioned to enhance shadows and the definitions of physiques inside. All walls were covered in mirrors. Mike could see two men enter: Benjy, wearing his t-shirt and Adidas bottoms. And then ... it took a second for his realization to dawn. Before that second he could see a tall, powerfully built young man wearing Adidas attire below his waist, but with a naked torso above his waist: Big abs separated by deep ridges, an adonis belt enticingly pointing towards his groin, a V-shape erupting upwards out of his black shiny tracksuit bottoms, widening into lush, full powerful pecs separated by a deep ravine, and the bulbous pecs caused a shadow to fall under the dark brown nipples. Wide shoulders consummated the V-shape, and a ridge of swole meat formed a trapezius. Intimidating upper arms hung wide apart, because of the flaring lats, and veins covered the steel cords forming the young man's forearms. When that second had passed, he realised, that the man staring back at him from the mirrors was himself. His blue eyes were wide in surprise, his blond hair was untidy. The memories of entering the tank in order to become his boyfriend's wet dream rushed into his mind, the exquisite memories of becoming BIGGER returned, he took his own visage in and felt blood swiftly and uncontrollably rush to his manhood. His many shapes in the mirrors flexed a double biceps. His boyfriend inhaled sharply in excitement. Mike's tanned cannonballs exploded in strength and size. Bulges grew in the tracksuit bottoms of both of them. He closed his eyes, and then he felt himself tenting with a steel rod inside his tracksuit bottoms. Benjy's hands were around his waist; Benjy's face burrowed into his powerful back and Benjy's hard bulge pressed against Mike's hamstring. Mike took the feeling of his own present strength in, and as it mixed with the ecstatic memories of what had happened in the growth tank hours earlier, his tenting steel rod exploded in masculine assertiveness and muscular pleasure. It all caused Benjy to come, too. His boyfriend's promises had been true. Or better. * * * Chapter Two is found HERE

I am reposting another one of the stories LORUS wrote many years ago. In fact, this may be the first muscle-growth story he ever wrote if my memory can be trusted. It was deleted from the old forum long ago, but I had it saved on my hard drive and LORUS gave me permission to post it. It's fairly long, with ten chapters total. I will post a couple of chapters on this same thread every few days. Enjoy! Growth Beyond Reason by LORUS Part 1 Mark Stone hated two things in life more than any other. He hated working at his uncle’s convenience store because he felt that if his life didn’t change for the better, and soon, he’d be selling winos cheap liquor in paper bags until he was old and grey. He needed to start planning big, thinking big. He’d dropped out of college after his first year because he wasn’t motivated enough to exceed the standards expected of him. Motivation was a big problem for him. The sheer lack of it was to blame for the second thing he hated in life more than any other: his skinny, unattractive body. Okay, so maybe he was being hard on himself. He was quite cute. He had mousy brown hair that he wore just long enough so that he could re-work it with styling gum into all manner of configurations. He had attractive brown eyes, not too big, not too small - just right. His face was pretty to look at but recently he’d had flu and was just getting over it. His cheeks were a little sunken and he’d lost weight during his two-week illness. Normally he weighed in at 135, standing just five feet ten inches in height. He was pretty scrawny, but at least not pathetically so. This morning, as he got ready for work, he used the scales in the bathroom to check his weight once again. It wasn’t something he normally did; it was his mother’s scale. His mother, a devout Oprah-ite, was always trying out the latest fad diet, be it in book or in pill form. Mark never took after his mother’s side of the family, the side where weight could be a problem, but in fat terms. His father’s genetics likened him to the scrawny side of the gene-pool. This morning the readout on the scale said 133 lbs. Mark chewed his lip from a mixture of despair and nervousness. “I wish I were big,” he lamented as he finished dressing so that his mother could start cleaning the bathroom. Breakfast consisted of a pop-tart and a swig of milk from the carton. Then he was on his way, biking the three blocks downtown to Al’s Convenience Store. Wow, Mark thought, my uncle must have been up all night trying to crap on the john thinking of that one. It was a warm summer’s morning. Mark loved it when it was sunny, with so many audacious jock types going around shirtless, with their cobblestone stomachs and beautifully swollen chest muscles. So much eye candy - so much to look at but never to touch. Mark had never had a boyfriend. He put it down to being shy and never feeling confident enough about his body. He’d come close to asking a boy out once at high school. His name was Trey, and he was the school’s star quarterback and Mister Popularity, despite that he was completely open about his gay sexuality, bold and confident about everything in his life. Mark was smitten with him. And although he hadn’t seen Trey Waters in almost four years (he heard that he landed a football scholarship to a prestigious college up North), he often fantasized about him and wondered how he might look today. Obviously, football had not been his game in the end; otherwise, he might have become a big noise in sports circles. Trey Waters’ beautiful face and body had yet to adorn the cover of Men’s Fitness. But since Mark worked in a convenience store that stocked fitness and bodybuilding magazines, he was never short of good jizz-material when his uncle wasn’t keeping an eye on him. Something was different this morning. He chained his bike in its usual place and stood outside the store, about to open. Something was going on across the street. Lots of people were standing around and shaking their heads in disbelief. A building had apparently appeared overnight. It was so strange. The day before, the lot directly across from the convenience store had been empty, nothing more than idle asphalt surrounded by wooden fencing. It had once been a movie theatre but had been demolished some time ago. His curiosity piqued, Mark walked over to a man who stood, like many others, talking speculatively about the Shapeshifters Gym that now filled every inch of that once vacant lot. “How did that get here?” Mark’s question was obvious. The man responded without looking at him. “Norm Winterborn said it came in sections, on four massive trucks. And they just latched it together in a trice. Just like that,” the man snapped his fingers for emphasis. Wow, a gym right across from the store, Mark thought excitedly. There was only one gym in town already, but it was nothing like this. For one, it was across town and two, it catered mostly for overweight people trying to get into shape. His mother was a member. This Shapeshifters, as the sign displayed, was a hardcore bodybuilding Mecca. Mark knew that for there were bodybuilders already on-site, obviously from the construction team that ‘lashed’ the gym together in just a few hours, and during the night at that. One other man commented on the size of the men, suggesting that they might have put the pieces together with their bare hands. Mark had yet to get a decent look at the four Adonises, for he was not close enough, and besides he had to get the store open, or Al would tan his hide. He had the shop set up and ready for business within minutes. He had to go through the papers and sort them out along with the magazines. The new Men’s Fitness was in this morning. He took time to flick through it, picking out the pictures he would masturbate to later, in the staffroom in the back, where he ate his lunch usually. As usual, no “Trey Waters: football stud” adorned the front page. Trey’s life had obviously gone in a different direction after he left high school. Maybe he’d followed in his father’s footsteps and become a lawyer, a career in sports and fitness now just a memory to him. Oh well, I will always have my fantasies, Mark thought to himself as he took a copy of Muscle and Fitness to his chair behind the counter so he could flick through it while on the job. It wasn’t a busy morning. Al was away on a trip to try out a new brand of beer that wasn’t yet on the market, any excuse for the old fart to get free booze. Mark was able to serve the regular customers easily enough and without getting too stressed. Once the morning coffee and newspaper rush was over, he could relax a little. His shift would end at five pm, and then Rick, the fat night-guy would take over until closing time at eleven sharp. Mark hated Rick. He was obese and obnoxious and had a body odor problem. Enough said. At approximately ten minutes to eleven that morning, Mark’s life was about to change, and for the better. It began when a large shadow suddenly fell over him. He was lost in an article in Muscle and Fitness about nutrition and had his head down, his long fringe creating a temporary curtain to draw his attention away from this most unforgettable of customers. “Where are your bodybuilding magazines?” the shadow-casting customer inquired somewhat gruffly. Mark froze before looking up, doing a quick recap in his head about the unusual circumstances of the past morning. Okay, so a gym built in sections by just four huge men had happened that morning. And now someone was in asking for bodybuilding magazines. There was a gay bar on the same block. It was probably another homosexual man in to get his jizz-fix. A real hardcore bodybuilder had never been into the store before. That just changed. No wonder the shadow that he cast was large. Mark looked up just as the man was walking towards the magazine rack that he only just spotted. Instantly Mark’s jeans tented out in the crotch. This man wasn’t just a bodybuilder; he was bodyBUILT!!!! “Uhh, they’re on the middle shelf, tuh-to the luh-left,” Mark said, trying not to stammer and give away his nervousness. He was in the presence of a muscle god, an absolute behemoth. He could only see him from behind as the giant muscleman began to scan through the magazines. As he did, he grabbed a couple of chocolate frosted donuts from their display cabinet to his right and wolfed them down whole. “I’ll pay for those when I get my magazine,” he explained, still with a manly huskiness to his voice. It reminded Mark of the way Christian Bale spoke as Batman in The Dark Knight, kind of overstressed at times, but irresistibly masculine. Wow, Mark thought, he’s so big that he can eat anything. He’s probably going into his off-season. Mark couldn’t believe how huge this man was. He took him in from head to toe, safe in the knowledge that this uber-Adonis hadn’t got eyes in the back of his head. His hair was blonde and tight, crew-cut like in the military or something. His bullish neck had to be almost a foot in width, and it connected with the rhomboid major muscles that swept down and into a delta-wedge back that was simply majestic. His shoulders were huge and rounded, making Mark guess that he had to have been six feet wide at the shoulders. Despite that his lats were huge to the extent they forced his arms out on either side (that classic bodybuilder stance times ten), his back tapered down to a contrastingly diminutive waist which was impossible to guess the size of. Thirty-one maybe? But what did that make his chest? At a guess it must be at least three times that number. His balloon-ball butt was huge, the glutes massively developed, and the denim cut-offs he wore only accentuated the shape even more. The shorts had button-flap pockets and the curvature of the ass was so great that the pocket flaps were lying almost horizontally. Mark reckoned that were the guy to squeeze hard enough, he’d pop the buttons right off like cannon-fire. His thighs were like pillars, bloated and beautifully shaped, tapering down to where his legs bent at their middles, only to balloon outward into enormous geometrically precise diamond calves. Each calf was the size of a football. The guy seemed to be enjoying whatever magazine had caught his interest. Without looking up from his reading, he cleared another couple of donuts out of the cabinet and killed them quickly. Mark was mesmerized. He loved the way the huge fellah wore his second-skin red shirt as a cut-off, strategically cut about mid-way down, making it seem as if he was outgrowing his clothes and obviously to maximize on his incredible size and shape. “I’ll pay for those too,” the man said, referring to the third and fourth donut. Mark couldn’t help himself. He was getting this on his camera phone to preserve for all eternity. This would be better than any jizz-mag, watching this massive guy on his PC for years to come. Pity it would only be from the back, for he would have to kill the phone before the guy caught him filming him. Then Mark remembered the surveillance cameras in the store. There were four of them, set to pick up everything. Oh God, Mark thought worriedly, did I forget to change the tape this morning? If it turned out that the cameras were taking in the bodybuilder from four different angles, Mark would have jizz material for years to come. All of this took about three minutes. Finally, the guy picked an issue of FLEX and a bunch of bananas and muscle-strutted to the counter to pay for them. Mark took one look at him now that he could see his face. He was beautiful. Blue eyes, chiseled jawline punctuated perfectly by that “I know I’m fucking hot!” expression of smugness that huge bodybuilders often displayed as their preferred facial expression. This guy was huge enough to be super smug. He flared his lats a little and bounced his pecs twice as he laid his purchases on the counter to be rung up. Mark couldn’t believe his eyes. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t shy and unimposing little Mark Stone. Long time no see, Stony,” the bodybuilder said, raising his arms and pumping himself up to his most huge. His pecs lifted several inches above his super-developed stomach, causing the fabric of his cut-off shirt to strain so that the buttons struggled to stay put. Trey Waters had come back to his hometown. And he was the biggest hulking bodybuilder on the face of the Earth. Part 2 Mark was completely stunned at the sight of his greatest fantasy made flesh before him. He had forgotten that he was holding up his camera phone, the protective cover clearly pushed away from the lens that drank in the vision of Trey Waters: the massively muscled stud almost as much as Mark did with his eyes. Trey acknowledged that and smirked with a mixture of delight and conceit. He raised his hands up to nipple height and made two fists. Immediately thick networks of dark, gorged veins rose from his ham-shank forearms and Mark thought he could actually hear the sound of Trey’s wafer-thin skin groaning against the pressure caused by the power-ravenous tissues beneath. “I’m suh-sorry, Trey...it just happened to be on...and I just...” Mark’s excuse was lame. Why would he have his camera phone set to record just because an exceptional item of interest had entered the most mundane place on Earth? Still smirking, by now Trey was giving off pheromones like wildfire: an invisible miasma of sweat mixed with testosterone and musk. It was intoxicating. Mark began to sway on his feet and had to sit back on the seat next to the till. “Can’t let you keep this, Stony,” said Trey, without a hint of regret for what he was about to do. A huge hand grabbed the camera phone out of a transfixed Mark’s feeble grasp, and what happened next caused his erection to become even more pronounced inside his jeans. Trey placed the phone between pec cleavage deeper than any woman’s or even any super-heavyweight bodybuilder’s. It stayed put quite easily, for the mounds of his heart-muscles were dense and thick, swollen with blood and almost crackling with glycogen. His smirk broadened considerably as he flexed into a most-muscular pose. His trapezius muscles bulged tall, almost seeming to push his collar bones down as they demanded space to grow. Between them, on either side of his throat, the cord-like omohyoid/sternohyoid structures thickened and substantiated beyond what nature had ever intended of them. His deltoids dwelled into a triple-head configuration as his triceps blasted outward almost as far as his biceps bulged inwards, helping to unite his pecs closer as the muscles of his upper body fought against each other for the right to exist. Every muscle was sharply, shockingly defined beyond what a sane mind could comprehend. Between Trey’s enormous, thickly striated pectorals, Mark’s phone was crushed to tiny bits. Not only that, something else was happening - something more extraordinary than the sheer presence demonstrated by Trey’s size. He was growing; this phenomenal spurt of sumptuous expansion was punctuated perfectly not only by the crushed phone, but by a blatantly audible tearing noise, like lightning striking the sail of a ship, rending it apart with an ear-splitting crack. The red cut-off shirt was destroyed at the back as Trey’s lats gorged on blood and pushed outward, beyond the ability for the shirt’s fibers to resist. “Oh yeah, better than yesterday’s reaction...damn hot!? Trey flexed even more, and the short sleeves of his shirt lost their battle against his advancing biceps. As his biceps pushed further out in the opposite direction to his tris, the material of his already clinging shirt could take the strain no longer. It came apart, fibers separating to such a fine degree they floated on the air for a moment like mist, helping to secure this moment in time as something that felt close to timeless. Mark and Trey were separated only by the shop counter. He could have reached out to touch Trey’s flesh had his lust become so strong. But self-preservation kicked in, for there was no telling how Trey would react should Mark try something like that. “And now the money shot,” Trey barked, deciding to send the shirt to Shirt Heaven in a major show of muscle flexing. Before the shirt was destroyed completely at the front, Trey made a full lat-spread, his biggest ever, although Mark was not to know that. Delta wings flared out beneath each arm, so much so there was little room for his biceps to expand further, but expand they did, emphasized by the massive ropy veins that almost split each bicep in two. His pecs seethed with growth and power and buttons pinged in all directions as the heart muscles shredded the cloth and were exposed to the world. The greatest show-spectacle of all time had been revealed from behind a red curtain to a completely captivated audience. “I’m getting huuuuge!” Trey barked in triumph and sheer defiance of nature. In fact, it might be argued that the behemoth made man was laughing in the very face of Nature’s design. How could this be happening? Mark was overwhelmed by the spectacle and couldn’t form a coherent thought in his head. Man-lust had taken him over. But man-lust in the face a god in male form. How could Trey have gotten like this in just four years? It didn’t make sense. There wasn’t a drug known to science that could augment the male physique to such an exaggerated degree, was there? With the last of the shirt finally lying in a tattered mess at his feet, Trey Waters pressed his groin firmly against the side of the counter facing outward and flexed just two feet from Mark’s head, a head that was now dizzy from so much blood coursing through it. “How big do you think I am, Stony?” The quiz was meant to intimidate and stimulate all at once. Trey seemed to get off on showing his muscles to an inferiorly built male whilst simultaneously getting the spectator so boned up with lust. But what good was being served here? Who would get off the furthest and to what end? Trey made a side chest pose, his pecs heaving upwards and outwards, each globe forming a half dozen inch-deep striations (stacked about an inch to two inches apart) across their masses. As he flexed and shaped his shelf to utter magnificence, Mark could almost swear that the muscle between the striations was bulging outwards as Trey’s exhibition excited his heart more and more, forcing it - demanding - that it pump harder and faster to feed his muscles with the blood they needed to grow further still. “Answer my fucking question, midget!” The antagonism in Trey’s voice was apparent and threatening. He’d never been like this back in high school. Sure, he was a jock who loved to play football and lift weights. But back then he was a robust 200 pounds, standing six feet one inches in height. Ok, so maybe some kind of steroid was making his muscles grow, but how could that explain his increase in height? At a guess Mark reckoned Trey to be around four inches taller since his senior year. Then again, he needed to be tall to be able to carry so much amazing muscle. “Uh, thuh-three huh-hundred?” Mark couldn’t contain his stammer. He felt light-headed, far too warm, and the room started to spin. It was intoxicating. Trey’s musk inflamed his senses, and he could feel his balls about to give up their creme. “You fucking ass,” Trey interjected sharply, not giving Mark a chance to finish. He pushed against the counter, causing candy bars to go soaring. The counter moved in by about a foot and a half, slamming Mark on his swivel chair into a shelf of liquor bottles behind him. A few fell and smashed as Mark’s heart missed more than one beat. Trey made another most muscular and inches were immediately added to his shoulders, arms, and chest. The watch on his left wrist fell away as the strap was split apart. Then more tearing of cloth was heard with whip-cracking force as Trey’s denim cut-offs failed to contain the additional augmentation occurring below his waist. “I’m way heavier than three hundred. Try five hundred and six pounds, you infant.” And then with a smirk and an afterthought he added, “...but not for much longer!” Something smashed through the front facing of the counter, blasting through the wood. Denim continued to be destroyed and metal buttons from the flies shot in all directions. One brought down a stack of pet food cans near the main door. Another hit the ultra-violet fly-zapper over the cold meats counter. Where the others went was a mystery. “Unnngh, that feels so fucking good, to let the wee man go free,” Trey exclaimed, arching his upper body away from the counter and leaning his head back as he momentarily gazed upward. His neck flexed thicker than ever. How many inches it was in diameter was a mystery, but Mark guessed it was at least thirty. Wow, he thought as his stupor of lust continued to hold him hostage, my own waist is only twenty-eight. Trey’s neck is thicker than my goddamn waist. This is beyond reason. With his head thrown back and upper body leaning away from the counter, Trey’s mountainous pecs heaved upwards some more, so engorged were they that for a moment he appeared headless. The pecs blocked his neck and head from view. Mark was immediately drawn to the giant’s nipples, each one as big as the tip of his thumb and set in brown areolas the size of silver dollars. The nipples, like everything else on the behemoth, seemed like they were growing still further. Trey's torso was completely hairless, and his body glistened with the sweat brought on by his incredible increase in physical mass. Within two minutes he had swelled to at least twice the size he had been when he entered. He was enormous. But something inside Mark, some primal, innate instinct geared up on lust and his necessity to cum, something that maybe was tripped in him by Trey’s increasing size, told him that the muscle giant's growth was far from finished. But then the growth seemed to slow down and eventually stop. It was only then that Mark suddenly snapped out of his reverie and took stock of his situation. The slide-door to the storage compartment beneath the counter was split apart and the contents within pushed out onto the floor (just a couple of pricing guns, spare sticker cartridges and some rolls for the Visa machine). What had done the pushing out became evident to Mark as he slipped into a sitting position on his side of the counter and struggled to make sense of what he could see sticking through from the customer side. It was Trey’s monster cock, an organ of immense proportions, and strong, too, judging by the force of its expansion and how it made mincemeat of the counter wall. Time seemed inconsistent with reality now. Dust motes on the air seemed to hang with an almost eerie calm. The sounds of life beyond the walls of the store seemed muffled and more distant than usual. There were no sounds or movement coming from Trey. He was still connected with the counter, his back arched backwards and his arms akimbo, the muscles incredibly flexed and gluttonous with blood that seemed no longer to pulse beneath the veined super-highway across most of Trey’s massive frame. “Trey...you...okay?” Terror engulfed Mark, replacing the lust previously besieging him. For the sake of his own safety, he made it to his feet after crawling from behind the counter but in a way that put him a safe distance from Trey and closer to the main door, his only route of escape. It was there that he noticed the customer, frozen in time as she attempted to enter the store. What in hell was going on? Mark felt panicky, gorge rising in his gut. The woman was Mrs. Ching, a regular of the establishment, who always came in on weekday mornings around the same time to buy some bread rolls. If she were to catch sight of a naked muscle hulk apparently making love to the counter, like the one here now, there was no telling what it would do to her sixty-year-old heart. But the woman seemed frozen in time, just like Trey. “Time stands still when Trey flexed to maximum,” Mark said aloud as he gently eased Mrs. Ching out the front door so that he could securely lock it and pull down the blind to create some privacy. “Wait a sec, what am I doing?” This was a personal state of emergency. There was no telling how strong Trey was, or what he could do to Mark should his muscle-lust become unhinged. Now was Mark’s chance to get away. But something caused him to stay put. His cock continued to twitch inside his pants. Mark removed his apron to give himself some freedom, stimulating his genitals by massaging them vigorously. He moaned in delight as bliss replaced his fear. If Trey was as frozen as the rest of the world due to an inexplicable phenomenon, then Mark would have his play. And there was nothing Trey would be able to do about it. Mark found himself moving closer to the frozen god, now within touching distance. The remains of the denim cut-offs lay in disarray around Trey’s size sixteen feet. A big man needed big feet, after all. He was completely naked now, having worn his cut-offs commando style. Nice, Mark thought. Trey’s thighs were enormous, way bigger than they had been just minutes before. “If only I had a tape measure,” he said in annoyance. He knew his uncle kept one somewhere, but he wasn’t about to go fetch it now. He just wanted to touch every inch of Trey’s mega-muscular body, to trace the contours of every striation, every point of one muscle separating from another. He wanted to know those nipples with his tongue, and especially experience what Trey’s monster cock was like fully erect, if he were away from the smashed counter. “Does this mean I’m in control now, free to do with Trey as I please? Did he stop time or did I, somehow, in some fluke act of desperation?” Mark couldn’t answer these questions. He didn’t know how long this effect would last, but should it be temporary, he was determined to make the most of it. He moved around to the frozen Trey’s rear, gasping at the sight of the biggest, bubbliest butt he had ever seen. The glute muscles were beyond exaggeration, if such a term were accurate. How in contrast the butt appeared, next to the graceful taper of a waist upon which such a massive upper body was perched, like a great wedge of rock standing freely on its tiniest point, yet strong and unyielding. Mark touched the striated muscle there and could not believe how hard and dense it felt. His hands roamed freely over the topography of the massive delta that was Trey’s back. His fingers played with every contour like charcoal to the parchment of a brass rubbing. The muscle was hard as granite or steel, his flesh so soft against it. It was a delicious union formed by a contrast that worked with perfection in mind. Mark hastened to get naked behind the frozen Trey so that he could explore him internally as well. His cock was one of his better features. Not porn-star huge by any means, but a good seven and three-quarter inches when fully erect. Mark jerked himself off for a few seconds and lathered up his cock with spit before he guided it less than expertly into the deep cleft of Trey’s rectum. And there he dwelled for a time, pumping smoothly and rhythmically, moaning with nothing short of ecstasy, but wishing Trey could reciprocate in some way. Gradually, as Mark’s pleasure rose to fever-pitch, to a point where he could contain himself no longer, he shot his cream into Trey, holding on to his waist for balance. He looked upwards, seeing the back of Trey’s head as frozen as the rest of him, and wished he could kiss his beautiful lips. Instead, he tongued and kissed the wide expanse of his back, with no shortage of flesh to further enflame his senses. The orgasm was all too brief, and Mark felt the mood passing without the time upon which it had formed. How he could be immune to this phenomenon defied explanation, but he decided suddenly that should time start over once again, it would do him no good to greet it in the buff. He dressed hastily, splashed some cold bottled water on his face and set about getting himself organized. Something had to be done about Trey, locked out of time. But what had become of the rest of the world? “Time manipulation? Trey has to be part of it. He must be from the gym across the street. If these guys can make time bend to their will, that would explain how the gym managed to appear seemingly overnight. Hmmm.” Mark always had a liking for science-fiction. Hopefully, as he investigated this, such a penchant for the weird and the wonderful would serve him well (his mind shifted to being inside Trey once more, shooting his load upward and into the deepest recesses of the muscle-god). It was time to leave the store and venture outside. Whatever was going on, maybe the answers would be found at Shapeshifters across the street. To be continued . . .

Part one is found HERE * * * The Himbotrone Part Two When the door to the hallway opened, the way SIR had planned the lights to be placed caused the powerful outline of HIM to be seen, light and shadows enhancing the sight of the beefy pecs of HIM, but leaving the face of HIM in shadow. SIR had let the position of each light to be planned masterfully. It looked like an imposing superhuman being stood in the doorway for a few seconds, but then HIM entered, stepped into regular light and came closer. The dimple in the powerful chin of HIM ... the mohawk that enhanced the virile aura of HIM ... the waddling gait of a bodybuilder ... Over the last two years, step by step, their test subject had come closer and closer to a sort of unattainable male ideal, and the smirk in his face revealed, that he was fully aware of his effect, both on SIR and on the lab assistant. So close now, so that the lab assistant could feel the body heat of HIM, transgressing SIR's rules. "Remember SIR's rules." Effortlessly, the big muscles of HIM helped HIM to lift the lab assistant, and carry him out of his room. Body heat closer now. Surrounded by the scent of HIM. Bodybuilder heat. Jock scent. Veiny swole arm behind his back. One big powerful hand grabbing his left shoulder, and one big bodybuilder hand where hamstring meet glutes. His cheek resting against the protruding firm chest of HIM. "SIR changed the rules earlier. I'm following SIR's orders." A walk through the hallways down the stairs. After a pause, HIM added: "And it feel good to be allowed to carry you, Tiny." "It feel good to be carried by you, Test Subject." "We are not in the lab now. You are not allowed to call me that outside the lab." "Do you like it?" "Hell yeah! Test Subject! Or when SIR call me The Specimen in that particular voice and take my stats. I'm not for fancy words, but you've got your Specimen. Best Specimen you could find. The worst rule the last three weeks has been the Nofap rule. I feel like on fire here. Blueballs." "You too?" "What do you mean?" "He put me on Nofap rule three weeks ago, too." "Obedience of the week, eh? What's good for The Specimen is good for Tiny, because both are Good Boys." They entered the gym. The clock on the wall told them, that it was nine o'clock in the evening. SIR was nowhere to be seen. Tiny didn't know it, but he would face the most painful and exhausting workout of his life. * * * To be continued.

The Himbotrone Part one "Conflicted" was just the beginning of how to describe how he felt about it all. A wave of uncharacteristic anger welled up inside him. To hell with it then! To hell with them both! If SIR didn't want him around anymore, this was the end of this chapter of his life, but on the other hand ... "Devastated" ... What would he do now? After these twenty-four months together with SIR and HIM it felt difficult to reorient his entire life: Move somewhere else; Find another job; Be around other people ... Never see neither SIR nor HIM anymore. "Rejected?" Yes, "rejected" was probably one of the feelings. Though he had come second to HIM when it came to SIR's appreciation of physical accomplishment, despite SIR's thing for dominance, SIR had acknowledged his intelligence and talent for their illegal field of medical research. Together they had refined the supplements they fed HIM with ... protecting the heart and liver of HIM from any side effects ... stimulating and increasing the production of certain hormones within the body of HIM. He suspected, that SIR took some of the supplements himself, in order to maintain the level of muscle mass SIR had been able to develop by earlier versions of the workout schedules and perhaps even low level treatment from earlier versions of the prototypes. It had been an honour to be around SIR's mature but powerful presence and obey SIR's orders in the laboratory, and on rare occasion elsewhere. And it had been an honour – he shivered at the thought – to be around their test subject – HIM – and see HIM go from aimless college reject with a sort of football build to become ... He shivered again. And swallowed. Despite the protests from his rational mind, his instincts were unstoppable. If anything, his sexual urge felt more intense than usual. It felt a little bit like it had done immediately after puberty ... a little bit ... but more. More intense. Thinking about his fellow Good Boy. Their strange relationship. Two scientists and their test subject, but one SIR and two Good Boys. He and SIR kept the test subject out of the lab most of the time, because the test subject had to know it's place. He swallowed again. SIR allowed him to assist in domination of the test subject in the lab. The ... big ... test subject. HIM. But SIR didn't allow his research assistant to use the gym quite as often as SIR did, and not quite as often as HIM, the test subject. Never more than thrice a week, unless SIR was unusually gracious and HIM allowed it, because inside the gym, HIM assisted SIR in dominating the lab assistant. He swallowed again. Angry. Devastated. Rejected. Horny. Conflicted. He also felt hungry. It had come so out of the sudden. He had mentioned his concerns about the prototype. His concerns about side effects, at least at higher levels of exposure. About the slowly decreasing intelligence. About the risk of personality changes due to several factors, not only the peaking androgens and exposure to anabolic power. He had feared some repercussions, because SIR could be stern sometimes, and improving the prototype had been their shared pet project over the last two years, but there was no immediate punishment. It seemed like SIR had listened to his worry over possible side effects. SIR and HIM had even allowed him to use the gym atypically often in the following days, and he had felt some sort of uncharacteristic strange urge to lift more, curious about a greater number of new exercises ... His muscles felt sore after all these extra workouts. When SIR broke the news in the evening, it came out of the sudden, and the news made him feel numb: "... not need you anymore in your capacity as research assistant. From midnight, you are relieved from your duties." He wasn't able to listen with attention. Rejected. Devastated. Angry and horny again. Hadn't he been a Good Boy? Someone knocked on his door, but entered without waiting for a reply. He turned his head and looked in the direction of the door. It was HIM. The time HIM spent outdoors gardening and the time HIM spent in the sunbed gave him a perpetual tan, that could have looked ridiculous on quite a few persons, but if someone was built like HIM it looked ... congenial ... looked like ... a walking fever dream about masculinity ... The only piece of clothing worn by HIM tonight was denim cutoffs and low-necked boots. The big hands of HIM were holding a tray with food. So they cared about him anyway, somehow? "You need to eat. I was sent here." Something flickered in the eyes of HIM. Smugness. He was sexy and he knew it. But also something else. A glint of concern. And a glint of ... expectation? "Looks like your sugar free high-protein pudding and your extra glass of "mineral" water, not like the food I'm allowed." "You are allowed tonight", came the answer from HIM. "SIR expect you to empty every plate, bowl and glass." The bronzed six-pack of HIM was at his eye level, as he sat on his bed and HIM standing before him. SIR's characteristic glee sometimes allowed HIM to tease SIR's lab assistant, but forbade anything untoward, because both of them were SIR's Good Boys. "I'll fetch your tray later." He saw HIM leave his room. The room felt emptier than usual, a whiff of the scent of HIM, but he became aware of how he was starving, and followed SIR's order. When HIM returned, every plate, bowl and glass was empty, even the odd and unfamiliar ones. What a strange way to say farewell? * * * Part Two is found HERE

The Prologue is found HERE The preceding chapter is found HERE The Orgone Accumulator : Part Seven John was a city boy, and wasn't familiar with anything wilder, than inner-city well-kept parks. Now, he felt panic rising inside him. *** It was a few nights later, and hours earlier he had entered one of the small buses from downtown San Francisco, which would bring them to their destination. For some reason, they had been able to chose between different times of departure. The bus wasn't big enough to allow him to avoid contact. Three of the other participants of the course were whitebread middle class men in their early thirties like himself, but the other four in the bus didn't look like they had much in common: Someone who looked like an elderly accountant, an African-American guy about his own age, who looked like he listened to rap music, a sullen 25 year old dressed in training gear and very worn sneakers, and a man presumably in his early 60s dressed like some sort of folk music singer, wearing denim jeans, a rawhide vest, a cowboy hat and Neo-pagan pendants around his neck. Another identical mini-bus was already parked in the parking lot by the entrance to some woodland preserve. They were told to leave their luggage in the bus, and walked for about 20 minutes until they arrived at a space with an open fire. It was already dark. Simon, the therapist John had met a few days earlier, sat alone by the fire, still wearing the polo shirt with The Foundation's logo on the chest, and there were no traces of the other participants, which caused suspicions to stir inside John. There were logs around the fire, to sit on. The reddish-yellow light of the fire flickered, and shadows moved over the faces on the other side of the fire. Simon began to tell a story in a slightly sing-song sort of voice: "Hundreds and hundreds of thousand of years, our ancestors climbed down from the trees and began to catch fish in the rivers. They strode the savannah, searching for game, but remained close to the forest where wild fruits and vegetables satisfied their hunger. The forest was never far away in their life. And as their descendants, hundreds and hundreds of thousand of years later, explored far away lands, far, far away, although they began to build villages, the forest wasn't far away. And as their descendants found plains with wild grains, they built cities in the plains, to cultivate the grains, and they began to become strangers to the forest, and they feared the forest and the beasts therein." The bus driver, wearing an identical Foundation polo, chimed in, in a similar voice, repeating some of Simon's words, with a hypnotic effect: "Hundreds and hundreds." "The forest, the forest." "Far, far away." "Plains. Grains." "The forest, the forest." "But even the farmers in the plain, cultivating grain, were dependent on the earth and the sun and the moon, and aware of the earth and the sun and the moon, when they cultivated grain in the plain, for hundreds and hundreds of years, and life in the plains was so far similar to life close to the forest. But cities grew, and farmers left their farms and became urban dwellers, and they became strangers to the forest, who feared the forest, strangers to the plain with grain, far, far away from the forest and the plains with the grains, strangers to the earth and the sun and the moon, and strangers to themselves. "Who are you? Who are you outside your work or study? Who are you outside your family? Who are you outside your hobbies? Who are you outside other people's expectations? Who are you outside your own expectations?" The bus driver whispered something to the man, who looked like an accountant, and the latter left the circle around the camp fire, and disappeared out in the dark. The flickering light from the fire and the hypnotic sound of the tale about humankind's history caused John to loose his concept of time, but one after one, the participants left the fire, and were sent out in the darkness. John was the fifth to leave the circle. The bus driver whispered: "You will find your own way to the place where the other participants are gathered. Follow that footpath. Leave the footpath were the torch is lit, find the brook, and follow it downstream." It took some time for his eyes to adapt to darkness without any electric light and no campfire, but the moonlight actually allowed him to discern the footpath. It might have been ten minutes later, when he found the lit torch and an unwritten wooden sign pointing away from the footpath – pointing out in the unbeaten woods. John left the path, as instructed, stumbling over fallen tree trunks, thin branches hitting him in his face, and underbrush whipping his legs. It was so silent here. None of the sounds ever present in a city. None of the small noises of a house. None of the music usually present in the background. Just the silence of the night, and unknown darkness surrounding him. It was somewhere at this point of his journey he began to doubt his ability to find his way in the forest at dark, began to doubt his decision to participate in the course at all, and began to doubt himself. He was a city boy, and wasn't familiar with anything wilder, than inner-city well-kept parks. Now, he felt panic rising inside him. For a moment, he imagined a newspaper headline: "Freelance journalist found dead in Californian forest!" Were there dangerous animals in Californian forests? He hadn't spent any time on that thought before. Thin branches hit him in his face, and the underbrush whipped his leg. An explosion of black light in his mind caused his entire body to feel electric. The hair on his head, his arms and his leg bristled. He could hear his own heartbeat in his temples and his ears, and his pulse felt tangible in his chest. His saliva tasted more saltier than normal. The darkness played tricks with his retina, and he could see trees and his own arms and hands flash in incomprehensible colours. His panic was a wave now: A powerful, violent wave threatening to take his mind with it and drown his sanity. He experienced the grandeur of the forest at night, and the insignificance of man, the insignificance of himself. Drowning wave of black light. Electrocuted. His hair bristling. Heart pounding. His breathing was different. He became aware of his breathing, and took control of it. He stopped walking aimlessly. He straightened his posture. He experienced the grandeur of the forest at night, and the insignificance of man, the insignificance of himself. This time, he took it in, and relished in the awe. He took a deep breath. He adjusted his stance: Stood with his legs wider apart. Felt like a part of the forest now. A part of Nature. He took that feeling in. Whatever beasts that might prowl this forest, there is at least one beast in this forest: Himself – Man, the hunter. Man, the pathfinder. His breath was normal now, but his hair still bristled in the cool air of the night, and this time it felt delightful, encouraging. He and the forest. Wild. He was wild. He enjoyed feeling wild. Untamed. One with the forest. Moonlight seeped down between the trees. He remembered the position of the Moon when he left the footpath, and he remembered the direction of the roadsign in relation to the Moon. He followed that angle. If he walked carefully, moonlight would allow him to avoid running into trees or stumbling upon fallen trunks. He lurked in the darkness, and took that feeling in. It was intoxicating. He walked among dry leaves of last year, and then he could hear the sound of running water, presumably the brook he had been told to expect. A minute or two later, he was following the brook. He wasn't aware of for how long he had followed the brook, until a burning torch called for his attention, and he could discern the light from a second campfire above the slope. He climbed the slope, and there they were: The four participants who had been sent out before him, eight participants presumably from the mini-bus, that had departed earlier than his own, and then there was a big, broad man with a trimmed white beard and shaved head, wearing the polo of The Foundation and black leather trousers. The firelight flickered, and his facial features were hard to discern, but it couldn't be someone else, than the same man in those artful black-and-white photographs from the 80s: At last, he had found Stud of Dakota. Or Stud of Dakota had found him. * * * To be continued.

The Prelude is found HERE The preceding chapter is found HERE My Hulk-daddy is paying : Chapter Sixteen Jim and Max were watching the big screen on the wall in Jim's flat. "Do you watch Doctor Who?" "Can't say I do." "Probably better start from the episode The frightening dread, otherwise you wouldn't understand the plotline of Anxiety of a Time Lord and Knickers of the Daleks. My favourite is the twenty-first Doctor." "The twenty-first?" "I'll explain later." Jim pressed a button. * * * Nate stirred in his sleep. Rob lovingly glanced in the direction of his powerfully built husband, and exquisite sensations circulated in his rejuvenated body. Tenderly, Rob placed his huge palm on Nate's shoulder, and returned his attention to the morning news. "... escalating conflict between the Third French Empire and the Nigerian Realm, but the EU and the AU have formed a committee of diplomats in purpose of alleviation of this tension." "Yesterday, the European Court of Human Rights announced, that government officials of the Republic of the Two Sicilies will be tried for acts committed against migrants in the Mediterranean Sea, following the Libyan Famine a few years ago." "Spring has arrived unusually early in southern Spain, and wildfires are destroying the countryside, speeding up desertification." "Tomorrow, Poland and Hungary will celebrate the twentieth anniversary of The Plush Revolution, and officials from each country will visit the other." "Tension between the Third French Empire and Germany is now dissipating, after a diplomatic solution to the conflict. Saarland will become part of France, and Alsace-Lorraine will become part of Germany, all of them under the status of autonomous regions." "The Dutch government in exile, now residing in Vaduz, released a communiqué, stating that no efforts will be spared to re-build the collapsed barriers and dams. European Union bodies have promised EU project means for rebuilding. Similar means will be granted to Flanders." "Asked if the United Kingdom of Wessex, East Anglia and Midlands will join the EU, as the Kingdom of Scotland and the Grand Duchy of Kent have done, or perhaps follow the Kingdom of North England into the customs union and common market, the Prime Minister in Winchester answered, that the United Kingdom has no intention to join the unelected EU, concluding his speech: Thank God for the House of Lords, and God bless the King!" "Meanwhile, in the Independent Republic of California, the guest tenure of acclaimed Siberian anthropological scholar Kostoku Aksyonov, famous for his post-post-colonial theory, has been cancelled after student protests against Aksyonov's use of the word 'shaman'. In a written communiqué student representatives complained about Aksyonov's use of gendered language. Professor Aksyonov explained, that the word 'shaman' is of Evenki origin, and is linguistically unrelated to the English word 'man'. Voices have been raised, that the Californian government ought to put pressure on Siberian authorities to replace the word 'shaman' with a less cis-patriarchal-specieist-colonial-imperialistic word, but no consensus has been reached about which particular word will be the most suitable replacement. This happens against the backdrop of other sensitive issues of international and domestic language-politics, such as threatening French-speakers and Spanish-speakers into changing their grammar into something less oppressive. Just a few hours ago, two opposing student protests clashed violently in San Diego: One in favour of the word 'shaperson' and the other one in favour of the word 'shaperx'. A pacifist sit-in in favour of the choice 'shabeing' didn't attract much of attention, except from a small group of protesters, who claimed, that the use of the word 'shabeing' is assuming somex's ontological status, and thus an act of oppressive anti-Pyrrhonistic micro-aggression." "The mayor of Tallahassee and the governor of Florida both attended the opening ceremony of Tallahssee's new harbour. The harbour will create growth and opportunity for the people of Tallahassee, not least refugee families from Miami and Tampa." "In the United Federated States of America, the Congress voted for the Improved Godliness Act, which will allow prosecution of schools teaching evolution and will open up for capital punishment of persons proved to be witches. The amendment proscribing clothes mixing two different fibres didn't achieve enough votes, after lobbying from the apparel industry." "Swiss and Irish diplomats have been asked for, in order to negotiate between the two claimants to be the United States of America. After the event, that turned Washington DC and its surroundings into The Forbidden Zone, the Boston government and the Chicago government have refused to talk to each other for a decade, and minor skirmishes have been a recurring phenomenon in the Appalachians, but international observers express some hope for a breakthrough." "The Texan Congress voted for continued state-subsidies of heavier-than-air travel and the oil industry. The President of Texas comment: 'Nothing will be allowed to change our way of life.'" "And now, a documentary about the booming wine industry in British Columbia." Rob switched off the screen. A murmur came from Nate's pillow: "Do you really have to watch news this early? We're on vacation, eh?" Rob reclined, lay on his side and facing Nate's face and still closed eyes. Nate was lying his body prone, his right arm under his pillow, but his face turned in Rob's direction. His facial expression was entirely relaxed and without worry, and yesterday's experiment had removed all signs of aging from his face. In some ways, he now looked younger, than when Rob first met him, but there were also differences: The robust brow, the protruding upper jaw that gave him an arrogant expression in those promotion pics hadn't been there before the disastrous experiment that changed their lives so many years ago, and his dimpled chin, though comparatively powerful already before their first 'hancing, had become more so. The restored youth and his relaxed expression gave Nate an air of innocence. The feeling of warmth in Rob's heart region returned. His hand returned to Nate's shoulder. The other man smiled and let out an approving yelp. "Amazing night." "Mmmmm. You're such a stud. Smart stud." Rob chuckled. "You are such a gorilla. My big love-gorilla." Without moving his torso or legs, Nate reached out his left arm, fumbled blindly, and placed his paw on Rob's pec. His smile grew wider. "You look sexy in Badboy style." "I reckon. You look sexy in NuJock style." "We're quit." Nate was silent a few seconds and continued: "Why NuJock?" "I could ask the same. Why Bad Boy? You know what I think about 'Party like there's no tomorrow', but I admit, that it was fun to act the part yesterday." "You take everything so seriously. Look what it did to you. You need time for recreation. More of it. More often." Rob let out a non-committal: "Hum." "No, I mean it!" Nate opened his eyes, and the full impact of the golden brown gemstones, that were Nate's eyes, hit Rob's mind and heart. "The fancy words you use, when some of your clients seek 'hancing to overcome medical problems: Recuperate. Replenish. You need to listen to your own advice. You sound like a posh twat, sometimes, do you know that, Doctor Nelson?" Rob blushed. "You know, that I'm not posh." "I've heard all your 'I'm lower middle-class' before, but let's face it, not everyone get a degree in the Deluge Economy. Not after the Crisis. Not since farming became the default. I know, that it hurt your bleeding Centrist New Deal heart to admit it, but the life we share isn't average." "I'm not in the mood for politics, Nate." The serious expression on Nate's face faded, and a cheeky grin flashed against Rob: "Do you want to know, what I'm in the mood for, Robbie? You get three guesses. I'll give you a clue." Nate grabbed Rob's free hand, and moved it under the blanket. Something was like a throbbing hot steel-pipe under the blanket. Without saying anything, Rob let his lower arm slide under Nate's waist, and his upper paw firmly grabbed Nate's rock-hard glute. Heaving himself backwards, he forced Nate's heavy and powerful body to rest upon him, chest to chest, cheek by cheek, their rejuvenated manhoods throbbing excitedly against each other. They stared into each other's eyes, gazing tenderly, gazing in testosterone-fueled lust – brown gemstones and blue ice losing each other into the other. "Fuck, Robbie. I was horny in my teens, but nothing like this. I'm ... Uh ... I can't believe ... Yeah, I love your eager mitt grabbing ... Uh!" Two minutes later, the man known to the public as "The Machine" rode his husbands dick, flexing his gargantuan arms, while his husband admiringly caressed and groped his Apollo's belt, abs and pecs. "Tell me, that I'm your big little Hulk!" "You are my big little Hulk. Grow for me. You are the strongest there is." "That's right, my big little He-Man. You have the power, and I'm the strongest there is. Oh, fuck, yes ... Fill me, you big brutal Bad Boy!" * * * To be continued.

The Prelude is found HERE The preceding chapter is found HERE My Hulk-daddy is Paying Chapter Fifteen ”Did you know, that Northern Ireland has two Governor-Generals since the Maundy Thursday Agreement?”, Max asked Jim. Max was watching a documentary about history, and Jim was cooking. ”I’ve never understood if Northern Ireland is a part of UK or a part of Ireland.”, Jim answered. ”Neither. In reality it’s totally independent and sovereign, they say here, but the Maundy Thursday Agreement introduced The Andorra Solution, and there is still a legal fiction in place, keeping a notional tie to the UK, balanced with a few words about 'located in the north of the island of Ireland, the history of which it is a part'. Some of their politicians use the expression Canada plus plus” ”What’s The Andorra Solution?”, Jim shouted over the sound of chicken frying in a pan. ”It means, that Northern Ireland has two citizens who ’take precedence over all other persons in the State’: One of them, the King of Northern Ireland, coincide with the Monarch of the UK under another name, and the other one, the President of Northern Ireland, coincide with the President of Ireland under another name. None of the ’citizens who take precedence’ ever put their feet on Northern Irish soil, but appoints one Governor-General each instead.” ”What’s a Governor-General? Is that like a President? Oh, wait! Doesn’t Canada have a Governor-General?”, Jim shouted back. The scent of chicken began to spread through the flat. ”Not like the sort of President we have here in Cascadia. My impression from this documentary is, that Governor-Generals are mainly involved in cutting ribbons, and they say here, that they are not allowed to have any political opinions at all. All the cabinet-work is done by two Prime Ministers.” ”Two?” ”Yes, one of them from the one of the unionist parties which got the highest number of votes, which seem to be the Alliance Party these days, and the other one from the one of the republican parties which got the highest number of votes, but the documentary hasn’t got to the last decade yet, so I’m not sure which one that is.” ”Sounds complicated.” ”From what they say in this documentary, it’s a country with a very complicated history. Come here, Jim. Since I got those mind-implants I feel so incredibly dumb. Watch this, so you can explain it to me later! What the hell is a Dail?” Jim joined Max in the sofa. There were two history professors chuckling on the screen: "Stormont is obliged to have seven different flags on show outside, because the inhabitants weren't able to decide which one to chose. In order, to not offend anyone, they fly all seven 365 days a year. * * * Alpha titan. His mind felt weird. Weird but good. Rob and Nate had showered together after the 'hancing process, and had heard the faint noises of Bill cleaning the jacuzzi for next customer from the treatment room nearby. Bill had taken their new improved measures, and sent them to the waiting tailor, but then, Rob and Nate had been separated because of the theme party later in the night. They had grumblingly accepted to be separated, and Rob was now waiting in an adjacent room, only wearing a terrycloth bath robe and sipping mineral water and a protein shake. He felt strange. Dizzy. Weird but good. Bill had explained to them before the rejuvenation, that their hormone levels would return to the levels of their late teens, but Rob had never felt like he did right now. He clenched his fist and flexed his biceps. Stronger. Stronger than ever. This must be the hormone levels he would’ve had, if he had ’hanced in his teens. He had never felt like this before. It felt … The tailors had been prepared for the incoming order within the facility. Bill brought him a parcel wrapped in brown recycled paper. It was meant to be a surprise. Rob had put an X in the form deciding Nate’s clothes for the theme party, and Nate had decided what Rob had to wear, none of them supposed to tell the other beforehand. They had kept their promises. Let’s see what Nate wanted Rob to wear. He unwrapped the parcel. The rascal must be kidding. Mixed feelings welled up inside himself. Oh Nate … The sweetest man. The toughest man. Nate’s sense of humour … The iconic jacket gave it away. The large amount of surplus army blankets in the end of the Space War had caused the Armed Forces to use the blankets to produce bomber jackets out of blanket fabric, and the veterans had continued to use them after discharge, which in course … The Bad Boys. The particular style of jacket had become popular among younger brothers and neighbours of veterans in rough areas, and become a part of Bad Boy wardrobe that way. It was affordable. It was efficient. It was tough looking. All the things Bad Boys were aiming for. Well, the jacket had to wait. Each piece of clothing in order... Jockstraps had been more in Nate’s taste, than in Rob’s, but he dutifully put the jockstrap from the parcel on. There was a collar, two ribbed bands and a spray can. He sighed, conflicted, and asked Bill for assistance. Bill helped him put the spray-on polo on, and it looked – eh, sprayed on – which was flattering. Polo fabric clung to the two hemispheres of his beefy pec shelf, and snugly hugged his volleyball-sized and steel-hard shoulders. The scent of the leather trousers filled his nostrils. Except for that silly commercial many years ago, it wasn’t a fabric he usually preferred to wear. Since they were tight-fitting, it took him some time to put them on. Then he leaned down, and buttoned the buttons along the outside of his calves, and, since they were tailored for his exact measures, the trousers fit like a glove. He tied his boots. Bill helped him put his braces in place, and he tightened the leather belt. Before he put the jacket on, he noticed the embroidered patch on the back of the jacket: ”Party like there’s no tomorrow.” ”Nate, you cheeky bastard.” Rob inspected himself in the mirror, and his conflicting feelings returned. His face was youthful, but it wasn’t the face of his youth: His cheek was more powerful. The bones in his jaws were more prominent. There was something about how he held his head, that was different from his youth. His teenage bullies had looked like this, but no, they hadn’t. None of his teenage bullies had been built like this tall, wide, massive muscleman. A lump formed in his throat, and blood rushed to his dick, forming a nice bulge inside the leather trousers. His teenage bullies had run scared witless if they had faced his present self. He adjusted his stance again. The lump in his throat became more noticeable, the bulge in his trousers harder, and something fluttered deliciously in his lats, his chest and his gut. ”Nate, you cheeky bastard.” Then he remembered, which option he had chosen for Nate, and he couldn’t avoid cracking up in a smile, realising, that Nate probably went through similar mixed feelings at the same time. A nineteen-old Bad Boy with his own face stood in the mirror, and gazed back at him. He adjusted his stance again, adjusted his posture, cheek raised in an arrogant pose and made a double biceps. Three bulges throbbed: two bicepses hugged by ribbed bands and one, leather-clad, in his trousers. Perhaps not so bad, after all. He began to look forward to the theme party. * * * They gathered in separate room of the facility. Rob was fresh from the hairdresser, who had given him a mohawk buzzcut, the rest of his head entirely shaved. It felt unusual. Not his usual style. Air against the skin of his head. All men in the room were dressed in Bad Boy style. All the BIG men. ”Big” didn’t mean, that they were all of the same build. Some of them looked like participants in ’Men’s Physique’ competitions. Some were short and wide fireplugs. There were bodybuilder-shaped men and there were strongman-shaped men. And then there was Rob. It sunk in, that, even at a ’Hancing-facility, he was the biggest man in the room. His leather-clad bulge throbbed again. He hadn’t been competitive in the past. ’Hancing had not been about competitiveness to him, but about wellbeing and service to others, but the rejuvenation had awakened an unfamiliar side of himself inside. Biggest man in the room. Throbbed again. Admiring glances in his direction. Respect bordering to fear in some glances. Throbbed again. All dressed in Bad Boy style. No sign of Nate. Perhaps … An employee of Physical Potential Foundation cleared his voice, and began to speak: ”The theme of the surprise party is BAD BOYS GATECRASH THE FRAT PARTY. The other participants are kept in the belief, that the theme is BIG JOCKS’ FRAT PARTY. Before we all invade their party, have a welcome drink here, and get to know each other.” No sign of beer. Since hops farmers were struggling with parasites and the dwindling number of bees, beer was the posh drink these times: What you could expect among the affluent, not among working class Bad Boys. Despite their decent incomes, neither Rob nor Nate had consumed beer particularly often, only very seldom. ”You are a big fellow, mate.” A burly Bad Boy pressed a glass of vodka in Rob’s hand. Rob nodded, and the man continued: ”Are you a younger relative to that man in that MegaGrowth commercial? You know, the famous one: I HAVE THE POWER!” Rob cracked up in a smile again: ”That’s actually me. I just rejuvenated. I’m Rob.” He hesitated. Then he put his glass down, stroke a pose and shouted in the familiar way: "I HAVE THE POWER". His demonstration was appreciated. Time allowed him conversations with three men in the same tough-looking style. The room was increasingly filled with the scent of leather, cigar smoke, vodka, anti-perspirants and sweat. Then the employee interrupted: ”It’s time, blokes. Time to surprise the fratboys and crash their party.” Rob felt in good mood and excited. The mood in the room rose to even higher levels. Someone shouted: ”Party like there’s no tomorrow!” Oh, what he had hated that catchfrase in the past. Now, in this very moment, he allowed himself to become one with that catchfrase, and he bellowed: ”PARTY LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW!” It was met with cheer, and their crowd was set in motion towards the room where the jocks were. The facial expression of the men wearing NuJock-style clothes was an expression of total surprise. The rooms were styled to look like a frat-house, and the mix of clothes from the 1950s, 1980s and 2030s that had merged in NuJock was ever present in the rooms, not surprisingly, taking in regard how popular that style was among ’hancers. Rob looked for Nate. It wasn’t difficult to find him, since he was the biggest of the ”fratboys”, sitting in a sofa surrounded by two admirers and a third one at the floor between his legs. Nate was wearing a white t-shirt, a varsity jacket and unbleached denim jeans, and his hair was styled in 1980s fashion. The loud music in the speakers changed the same moment the Bad Boys entered the room, and Third Wave of British Donk was filling their ears. An admiring NuJock pressed a beer bottle in his hand. He answered with a bro nod, grabbed the bottle with his right hand, drank eagerly and grabbed the NuJock with his left hand. The yelp coming from the other man confirmed, that he enjoyed the gesture. He kissed the NuJock, simultaneously glancing in Nate’s direction. Nate was surrounded by three men’s attention, but Nate glanced back and winked. Rob winked back. The masculine energy in the room was way beyond 100%. Brawny ’hancers, many of them young-looking, but presumably in many different ages, kissed and groped each other, or sat relaxed talking to each other over a drink or two. The polos and t-shirts revealed the powerful build of them. Rob’s memories returned, mixed, blurred … The years immediately after their ’hancing, Rob and Nate had spent a lot of time clubbing, exploring the pleasure their powerful muscular bodies were able of, but they had been in their mid- to late twenties then, and this return to a teenage state … He was a horny giant with the testosterone of a titanic teenager now. Snogging Bad Boys and NuJocks were fun, but … Nate. His mind was eager for Nate. His body lusted for Nate. There was no one like his husband. Mildly squiffy, Rob waddled confidently through the crowd and loud donk-music, his leather-trousers squeeking as he moved, and he found himself standing before Nate’s sofa, erect, wide-shouldered and with his bootclad muscular legs wide apart. He registred how the other men’s eyes became wide in awe, but his main focus was at Nate, the biggest frat-jock in the room. Their eyes met. Time disappeared, and they silently lost themselves in each other's eyes: Rob’s icy blue and Nate’s gemstone brown. Rob’s bulge throbbed inside the glossy black leather. Nate’s bulge throbbed in unison inside the blue denim. Rob broke the silence: ”Sorry lads. This one belongs to me.” He lowered himself in a squatting position, grabbed Nate with his big hands, and then the titanic platinum-blond Bad Boy left the room firmly carrying the biggest NuJock in the room. Most eyes were turned in their diretion when they left, but the party went on. The bulge in Nate’s jeans confirmed, that Nate enjoyed his husband’s demontration of strength, and they soon reached their hotel room, where Rob threw Nate on the bed: ”More fun to come, fratboy!” ”Hell, yes, Bad Boy!” Then they laughed, and said in unison: ”Of all styles … This one?” The sound of their deep laughs reverberated inside their hotel room, again. * * * Next chapter may be found HERE

They both kept on seeing each other on Wednesdays, when they could, chatting through and through, and Jason wasn’t distracted from his doings, the guy was so good at multitasking! They chatted through, Nik made himself comfortable at the control panel, a place he shouldn’t be, but he had Jason’s trust. As he chatted, he analyzed the buttons, and something that was lurking his mind started taking shape. He looked at Jason, and looked at the surroundings, talking, analyzing, thinking. One Wednesday, as they chatted, Jason went to see something at the chamber. But Nik was still around, much to Jason’s delight. ”Now, you can keep on chatting, I am listening, nice to see you, Nik, always is” Jason went to the chamber and was just doing small maintenance, just doing what was procedure. A clicking noise, the door shut. He noticed when the chamber closing, encapsulating him. He noticed Nik seating at the control panel, thinking, and yet his hands at a black button. ”Now now, I can see the chamber closed by mistake, no problems, it will just be hard for me to listen to you! Could you press this button right there, to open the door? Or are tou expecting me to tear it off with my bare hands?” Silence between them. Jason chuckled, a bit nervous. “What are you doing, friend? Aren’t you going to help me?” “I will” said Nik, after a weird pause. “I will” Before Jason could notice, Nik clicked a button, but a big, red one, and it started. The chamber announced the beginning of the procedure number 002. It hummed, heated, was getting ready to go. The new transformation. ”What is going on? Nik! NIK! There is a failure on the system! You gotta stop this!” “I’m fulfilling your dream, Jason, you can thank me later, brother.” ”What?! No!! Forget what I said that day!! No!! Please, help me, please! Don’t let this happen! PLEASE, NIK!!” The chamber started to fill with a gooey warm liquid, and Jason was desperate trying to escape it, until it reached him, and he started to scream, in panic, his clothes getting soaked in that mush of hypertrophic solution. He could barely listen to the outside now, the chamber was preparing for the procedure. Humming louder. The sound louder and louder, suddenly, a voice, an eerie voice, telling to Jason to comply. Telling to Jason he was an obedient soldier. Telling him to be a good patriot. To fulfill his duty. The chamber was filled with that liquid, and Jason felt dizzy. He barely could move anymore, all of him was completely covered in the liquid, surrounded by it, floating in it. Then, syringes got close to him, and violently injected in him their infusion. It hit him. A tube was inserted in his nose, a special gas, the Altering DNA substance was infused in the liquid, he could barely scream. It started. Knowing something was wrong, very wrong, but unable to fight against it. As much as it hurt, he couldn’t fight against it. Jason started to react to the huge amount of chemicals he was infused in, he grew. slowly but surely, he could feel his bones slowly reassembling already. He could feel his heart beating at his chest deeper, and deeper. He felt a dumb pain, like someone was taking his spine off his body by force, but there was nothing to do. Fight, he was unable to fight against it, it began. He opened his arms, and they responded, they started to grow wider. In stature, and in musculature, more and more, he could feel his chest expanding, becoming harder, thicker, stronger, like a rock, like marble, like titanium, he could feel the fibers of his abs strengthening, coming to surface, he was growing, no turning back. His clothes were starting to feel tighter, his legs, growing apart, his penis opening space in his trousers. He was feeling an indescribable pain, but he couldn’t express it, being half paralised by the formula inside him. His clothes were ripping apart in slow motion, his body was being exposed further, that lab assistant was being transformed, slowly reassembling turning to something else. He could hear the messages of the chamber inside him. Duty. Honor. Fight. Assert. Defend. He in the beginning would mumble, with every inch of strength left in him “no, no, no” until he wasnt anymore. With his bare hands, crush the enemy. So strong. Getting Bigger now. Bigger. His body reached a new rhythm of growth, still in pain, he started to experience a weird pleasure, his face contorted, his spasms became deeper and intimidating. His abs, o his abs, first just a hint, but now getting so thick, so muscular, so veiny now! Bigger, yes, bigger! His legs were growing apart, his dick tearing his trousers, reducing them to shambles. His abs and pecs, reduced his shirt to nothing. And with his strong arms, thick, indescribable. He was entirely naked on the chamber, safe for what was left of his lab coat. He opened his eyes, at last. When he could move again, when he could feel again, he was angry, he was in lust, he felt pleasure, he could barely touch his own cock, but the testosterone made his whole body sensitive, he was leaking precum, that was mixing itself with the solution, he was with his now big veiny cock hard, he roared. he was reborn. And then, Nik, finally fully embracing what he did to his friend, went a step further. Adding something else to the formula, Jason grew further, with his chest so expanded now, so glorious, so big. His bones reassembled, horns came out of his head, his eyes were deeply changed, various lenses in it, like a mighty insect. His arms grew, and were reassembled, like so much in Jason. He was growing bigger, stronger, crossing the line, he was reborn a soldier indeed, with his growing scales in his body, replacing his skin, his golden carapace surrounding and replacing his skin, deeper and deeper changes, further and further. It was done, Jason was no more, Nik fulfilled the dreams of that previous lab assistant, turning him into a mighty Herculean demigod. Stepping outside the chamber, when it was done, finally, he roared. “My brother in arms. Look what you’ve done to me! Look at the glory in which I was reborn” “We were equals before, but now we are one” Strong words. Silence. They looked at each other awkwardly at first, but realizing, how much they would do for each other. Nik would crush mountains for Jason, and Jason would swim oceans for Nik. Brotherly love, and a growing, weirdly at first, but growing, a physical love, they were mend together by the metamorphosis, they were mates now. Nik came to him and they hugged for long minutes. “You are my brother in arms now, my equal, Jason. We are one” ”Look what you’ve done. I am a beast! Tremble o world, for you’ve witnessed my glorious transformation!” They roared, and again looked at each other, now in a confident way, and again Nik put his arms on Jason’s powerful shoulders. “Not bad” ”Nik...” ”In such a small space of time you have done so much to me, I want to give it back. I have given you my gift. Make full use of your strength.” And then, slowly, they kissed, crossing the line of friendship, becoming partners. They explored each others bodies, touching its metalic nips, touching its abs, caressing their cocks with tenderness, discovering each other, further and further in love. Jason then laid down with Nik, and both played with each other’s cocks, masturbating each other as a fulfillment of their love. Later that day, after the scientists had to admit there were many breaches in security to address, Jason and Nik were at each others arms, sleeping deeply, enjoying their new power, and their love and deep care for each other. Jason hugging Nik like he could crush him. Their dogtags touching each other. They were one. —————————————————— Completely Optional: If you’d like to see more on the transformation process of my stories (which is not 100% what Jason went through, but it follows the same pattern) the link for it is Here

The Prelude may be found HERE The preceding chapter may be found HERE * * * My Hulk-daddy is Paying Chapter Fourteen The tension in the bedroom was dissipating, and the mood improving. Nate and Rob sat at a grande bed for two in their hotel room, facing opposite directions. "Yes, vanity to some extent, at least. I just want it to be something more than vanity, and informing our clients about 'Hancer Chapters is a way to make it into something more. I just wish the decision had arisen of our own free will. It's a wonderful St. Valentine's gift, and I'm very grateful, but you must admit, that it is a gift arriving with a threat." "I'm sorry, too, for losing my temper on St Valentine's night. At the time, it felt like you used the flooding as a cheap excuse for avoiding the discussion. I'm glad, that you decided to accept my Valentine's gift – well, the Federation's Valentine's gift – at last." "Had been more useful in twenty year's time, than now, but if your career demands it ... Sometimes it feel like we are just puppets on strings. Sorry for Valentine's night, and sorry for earlier. And I could have some use for this sort of vacation. Been so tired. Been so exhausted. I'm willing to accept some fun. Are you?" Both rose in silence, walked around the corners of the grande bed, and hugged each other, which swiftly turned into a passionate kiss. "Love you. Principles and ideals and all that. The expression in your eyes when you talk about it." "Love you. Ability to be the strong and silent presence when you want, and that acting ability to pretend to be The Machine, when you want. You can be The Machine in bed tonight, if you want, and give me an attitude adjustment." "Reminds me too much about work. The idea was to be on our own now. And don't worry for Max. Jim keep an eye on him. You can trust Big Jim. Focus on us. Have fun.” * * * One of their hosts treated them like royalty: ”It’s an honour to have you here, Dr. Nelson and Mr. Nelson. You are legends in your fields, and you have both brought us a lot of customers through the years, even if you are perhaps not aware of that. If you had asked for this service in a private capacity, we had gladly given you a discount, for friendship’s sake, but I understand, that it is WHC which is paying for both of you?” ”To be honest, I would have appreciated their gift better in twenty or thirty years’ time, but who am I to be an ingrate. Don’t look a gift-horse in the mouth!”, Rob answered. ”Thank you for your words. Are you a fan?”, Nate continued. ”Not personally. My friends and my nephews are. Would it be too much if I asked for a few autographs?” ”Not at all. I love my fans.” ”One of our PTs, Bill, will help you through the ’hancing-procedure. I guess you are already familiar with room-service and the theme-park?” ”One of your colleagues showed me around years ago, when we went through the process of mutual certification. Irresponsible competitors were a rising problem even then.” ”I’ve only had a positive impression communicating with you at Megagrowth. We wanted to be sure, that your enhancement-procedures wouldn’t interact negatively with the ones we use. Rest assured, that you are not the only men ’hanced by Megagrowth, who go through a rejuvenation here at Physical Potential. Oh, here’s Bill. I’ll leave you then. Enjoy your stay!” Bill was a handsome and mildly ’hanced physiotherapist and assistant augendologist. Under normal circumstances he would probably behaved more confidently, but the presence of Rob and Nate shook his professionalism. ”Oh. I’m honoured to assist your further’hancing. I’m your assistant augendologist and morphogenetic operator. Dr. Nelson … The Machine … Wow. I’m a member of ’Hancer Chapter No. 74 here on the island. You – uh – inspire me … If you follow me, to the operative facility, I will talk you through the preparation. I suppose, you both had your nutritional IVs last night, only ingested water today and got your injections this morning? Yeah, I guessed that much. You know the drill, but I have to ask formally. Please leave your bathrobes in the locker, and then enter that door.” Bill disappeared through the door he had waved at. Rob shook his head. ”Is this happening to you all the time?” ”More or less. You get used to it. Sometimes I get tired of it, but sometimes it give me a rush. Unlike me, you only face it at ’HancerCon.” The two middle-aged giants entered the door, and faced the equipment. The equipment wasn’t entirely alien to Rob. He and some of his colleagues from Megagrowth had visited Physical Potential Foundation years ago. The heated and humid air, resembling a bath house, was the same as last time. The trace of ozone was the same, too. The emitters hang from the ceiling, connected to large cables familiar from his own company, but there were also dissimilarities: Instead of a closed Chamber of lead-glass there was a tiled room with something looking like a big jaccuzzi, enforced walls and a closable window to the control room. Metal stairs helped guests down into the jaccuzzi, and the emitters formed a vertically adjustable hemisphere. Bill returned from the control room. ”It’s now several hours since your injection, and the optimal time for exposure. When guests in a relation undergo the Procedure, they are welcome to do so simultaneously, and considering the nature of the ’hancing, we are used to leave the guests alone, if you know what I mean?” Nate entered the jaccuzzi, and reclined relaxedly. Rob followed him, their big shoulders touching each other. ”No gas, like last time?” ”No gas.” ”Just relax, fellows. Most customers love it.” Bill left them, closed the door and closed the window to the control room. The illumination in the ceiling was switched off, and dim lighting around the surrounding walls was switched on. The hemisphere lowered itself over the jacuzzi, shutting off the outer world. They sat, leaning against the tiled walls of the jacuzzi, their heads resting against folded towels and their burly physiques submerged in the invitingly warm hypertrophic solution. No return. No way to cop out in the last minute anymore. ”Worried?”, Rob asked his husband. ”No. Excited. Unlike last time, there are no worries for side effects. This time, we can take it all in, and … UH!” The emitters in the ceiling were switched on and warmed up. ”Uh! Can you feel it, Rob? I can feel it already!” Rob swallowed, and he felt some traces of bad conscience for enjoying it. ”Uhnnnn … Yes, I can feel it Nate. Already so good. I never thought, that I would become even bigger, but now when … UHNNNNNN!” Another humming began, accompanying the humming emitters above their heads, and, when the hypertrophic solution became a conductor for the anabolic power, they both started. Shoulder to shoulder. Big, even for ’hancers. But now. Rob put his hand in Nate’s. But now … Uh. The build-up. But now, they were going to become rejuvenated and even bigger, according to the Federation’s specifications. The build-up. Rob yelped. Their bodies spasmed in a pleasant way. Rob had flashbacks from years and years ago, when their insane employer had forced them to grow big. To grow big. The sound of Nate’s deep moan. The feeling of the build-up … pleasant, exciting, arousing … Rob felt how Nate playfully grabbed his growing dick. He returned the favour. … Experience this without the worries from last time. Only relax and take it in. Relax and BECOME HUGE. They already were titans, looming over ordinary man, but Nate’s Federation wanted them to … Uh! Wanted them to … The build-up! They both yelped. Yelped and moaned and felt how their muscles reacted in a way they couldn’t have imagined. A muscle-building process, designed to grow ordinary men into giants, was now used to … UH! His muscles! Nate’s muscles! The sensation of rapidly growing even more … The silly but alluring Hulk-fantasies he and Nate had confided to each other … Bathed in the rays, while the Anabolic power streamed into their already enhanced bodies, adapting Nate’s and his physique, increasing his muscle mass even more … Blood rushing to his growing muscles … his engorged muscle mass, and Nate’s engorged muscle mass … He couldn’t think clearly anymore … The build-up … The power streaming into him … YES! Feeding his strength! Feeding his power-muscles! Ultra-masculine sexual ecstacy! Two empowered titans with engorged muscles growing together inside the hemisphere! Even … Even more intense than last time! YES! Nate! We! We! Nate roared! He roared! He couldn’t resist his instincts anymore. Facing his husband, he could watch signs of years’ worry melt away from Nate’s face, and a more fresh and innocent face take form, resembling pics from Nate’s youth, and yet not resembling these pics: The Nate, that had existed more than twenty years ago had been a short and wiry little fellow, but the horny Being relishing in its own strength, the bulging muscles of which he now clenched and caressed, was a titan of a man, an impossible jock-giant, and the knowledge, that he was undergoing a similar transformation himself melted away all the principled mental reservations he had maintained all these months. Jock-giant! He pressed his delightfully spasming engorged jock-muscles againt Nate’s delightfully spasming engorged jock-muscles, and, while the hemisphere caused them to transform even more beyond normal human limitations, the two jock-titans rubbed their steel-hard manhoods against each other’s cartoonish Hulk-abs and kissed each other passionately. When the emitters and the anabolic power reached their maximum, the two behemoths roared in mindless ecstacy, and then, slowly, the power-levels slowly faded … faded. The two jock-titans nibbled each others’ ears. When his breathing had returned to something close to normal, Rob whispered in Nate’s ear: ”Let me be honest. It was worth it. Look at you!” * * * Next chapter is found HERE

The Teaser for this story may be found HERE The preceding chapter may be found HERE * * * Project Defender Chapter Five MONSTROUS. "Monstrous" was the word, that flashed through the mind of Jones the split second he registred the presence of the Being, which had entered the subterraneous gym area. It looked like its muscle mass had been allowed to overflow, like some unknown substance brimming over. Its shape was revolting, but it was anyhow an obscene and disturbing icon of terrifying strength and muscular power. It was difficult to take its sheer muscle mass in. Lieutenant Jones was bench-pressing a barbell at the time, and the time Jones needed to put the barbell back in place at the rack, was all the time the Being needed. Its large feet thumped against the concrete floor as it waddled clumsily but threateningly in his direction, and it reached the bench at the same moment, Jones had freed his hands and risen to an erect position. The first punch caused Jones to fall off the bench, and it made him dizzy. The Being threw itself over him, but the martial instincts programmed into his mind allowed him to swiftly roll away a few feet, enough to avoid being pinned under the Being. Afterwards, he couldn't remember what had happened the next few seconds. He found himself on his feet, the Being and himself circling each other. Those monstrously powerful vein-covered arms were certainly able to re-shape metal plates. From a tactical point of view, Jones had to stay away from their reach, but he had to defeat the enemy by some means. Incredulously, he asked: "What ARE you?" The mouth of the Being formed a triumphant smile, but the smile was replaced by a irritated grimace, when the Being struggled to use its voice. It struggled, but in a raspy voice, like blocks of rock scraping against each other, it finally formed words: "Don't you remember me, Britse? I'm the one you hindered from teaching the little Fag a lesson. I'm now stronger than any of you. I will be able to defeat the aliens on my own." "De Vries?" "Names do not matter any longer. I'm a god. I'm wrath. I'm punishment. I will crush you. I will crush the Fag. I will crush the midgets. I will crush EVERYTHING!" When the second blow hit him, Jones began to doubt, that he would survive this. He was stronger than any man outside the Project, but the Being was stronger. The blow had forced Jones backwards to one of the walls, close to a rack of dumbbells. Swiftly, he grabbed a 100 kilo gramme dumbbell and threw it at the Being with full force. His old self would have been very proud of juggling a 100 kilo weight like it had been a rugby ball, but his new self was programmed to focus on the present situation. The fight. The combat. De Vries had lost his mind entirely at last, but his incomprehensible weight and strength made him an immense enemy. The weight hit the Being on his abs. There was a slight wavering, but the hit didn't cause it to lose any breath or change its stance. There was smugness on its face. The raspy voice let out he words: "I'm superior in every way!" Jones volleyed three weights after each other rapidly in the direction of the Being. Two of them were of no use, but one of them hit the Being in the face. It would probably have broken the neck of an ordinary man. It forced the Being to bend its bull-neck backwards, and it slowed him down. It recovered at an unimaginable pace, and then it was over him, pinning him to the wall, its weight forcing itself on him – crushing him if the pressure continued long enough. There was hatred, glee and triumph in the face of the Being, and spittle rained on Jones' face. The Being's large hand ... no, PAW was probably a better description ... grabbed Jones' throat and began to press. Jones' powerful neck-muscles surprised the Being, and there was a glimpse of respect briefly flickering in the eyes of the Being, until the pressure intensified. Jones was increasingly aware of his own blood pressure ... the sound of his circulation in his ears ... dark red mist rising in his sight ... the feeling of not receiving enough air ... panic ... a wave of darkness rising ... Then, the grip disappeared. Slowly, the dark wave receded. Air filled his lungs and expanded his mighty chest. It took him a few moments until he became aware of his surroundings, and he didn't know with any certainty how long time had lapsed. His programming allowed him to expel those moments of confusion, and he made a tactical analysis. What was happening? With the speed of lightning, the now gigantic shape of Corporal Kowalski hit the Being in the face with his knee, and jumped away before the Being was able to grab him. And Taylor ... Oh, God! Lieutenant Taylor ... Jones hadn't expected any of the scientists to have any time to spare on the recruits and the Lab while Captain Melnyk and Major Murphy investigated what had happened last night, but obviously some of them had ... had transformed Taylor into one of the Defenders. Kowalski and Taylor were now of the same shape, the optimal shape of the enhanced Defenders: Wide, tall, heavy, sturdy, muscular, and with no impediment to their speed. Taylor threw 200 kilogramme weight-plates like they were frisbees, and when they repeatedly hit the Being in its face, it began to stumble. Kowalski circled the Being, and the clumsiness of the Being began to show. Kowalski's symmetrical and functional physique favourably compared to the Being's asymmetrical and dysfunctional amorphous shape of brutal muscle mass, as he attacked the Being and reposted before the Being was able to react and use its terrifying strength. Then, Kowalski grabbed a barbell loaded with heavy weights, and used it as a sledge-hammer. The speed added to the impact of the weights, and a terrifying blow sent the Being stumbling into one of the rock walls, hitting its head. It feel life-less to the floor. For a second, Kowalski stood over his fallen foe with the barbell in his hands resembling St. Michael standing over Lucifer. "Quick! Reinforcement, before it wake up!" Lieutenant Taylor stayed on guard close to the Being, while Corporal Kowalski ran to bring reinforcement. Something more alarming, than the investigation had happened. * * * To be continued.

The Prelude may be found HERE The preceding chapter may be found HERE * * * My Hulk-daddy is Paying Chapter Thirteen The bleak daylight of a clouded February morning fell into the room from the windows. Rain drummed against the windows. "Welcome home. Max.", the i-House said. "Oh. Sorry. You startled me.", Rob said. "I'm not used to be home during electricity-rationing, so at first I wondered if there was something wrong." "Are you ok? I became worried." "I'm fine." Rob was sitting in his pajama in the unlit kitchen. There were dark semi-circles under his eyes. There was an opened heart-shaped box of chocolate on the table, and it looked like the kitchen had been abandoned in a hurry two days earlier. "By the way you look, I would have guessed, that you need an appointment with another physician." "Thanks for your concern. I've called Megagrowth. They are willing to give me a one week vacation over Mardi Gras, which is probably what I need. Work and disaster-relief, trust-meetings, charity-fund, Chapter-meetings and the Aardvarks ... I've accepted too many responsibilities." "There's a time for fun, too." Rob smiled bleakly: "Using my own words against me. Are you and Jim ok? What happened up there when I had left?" "When the new load of sand bags arrived, it became easier to fend the water away from the less afflicted areas. I do believe, that we made a difference." "I'm sure you did. Sorry for that breakdown." "You fought valiantly with the rest of us." "I was impressed when you pulled that endangered car up from the water with your bare hands, and that elderly lady in the surrounded house looked like she wanted to adopt you when you carried her to safety." "I hope, that I was to some use. I'm beginning to understand how to realise the ideals we've been talking about." "Did you ever read comics?" "Why do you ask?" "With great power comes great responsibility." Both of them laughed. "I had a talk with the fire-brigade. They are more than willing to give me a job, so I don't have to live on your expenses." "Excellent. Do you feel ready for that step?" "Yes, I believe so. Sitting here while you and Nate are away at work isn't constructive either." "I imagine. However ..." Rob fell silent, and looked unusually tired. "I've been thinking about something else. Nate and I try to do what friends are for, and I hope, that you have had some use of your sessions with Dr. Silbermann ..." "Yes, yes of course." "But when you gave your pledge by the Bible, it caused me to consider ... I don't wan't to pry ... It's your personal business, but I wonder if you are Catholic?" "Not particularly observant for a while, but I went to church with Nan in my childhood. Then there's the LGB issue and the church ..." "Yes, yes, I understand. I'm Episcopalian myself, and it dawned to me ... I don't want to mention something you are not comfortable with, but I've found it very useful to go to confession twice a year, and you Catholics have confession, too, so I thought, that it could be worth considering. I believe the Redemptorists at Our Lady of the Perpetual Help downtown sided with Pope Francis II, when the split with Pope Leo XIV happened after the war, and I've heard from gay Catholic men, that they are good at councelling and confession. Sorry. Just wanted to mention the possibility." "You didn't do anything wrong, Rob. Sometimes you are just too tactful." "I don't appreciate when people try to ram a message down my throat, myself, so I didn't want to do the same. I become irritated when folk from the Apocalyptic Church of the Seventh Seal obstruct the pavement." "No offence taken. It might be a good idea. And it's soon Mardi Gras. Is Nate Episcopalian, too? I've never seen him leave home any Sunday." "Oh no. Nate's a secular humanist. He gave his pledge on the Constitution." "And you are married?" "Of course. Marriage is about loving each other, not sharing exactly the same opinions about everything. Human relations rest on the ability to agree to disagree. Society, too." * * * The following chapter is found HERE

The Prelude may be found HERE The preceding chapter may be found HERE * * * My Hulk-daddy is Paying Chapter Twelve It was night. The windows were placed close to the ceiling, and no one outside the building would have been able to see what took place indoors. Wooden panels covered the walls. A Cascadian flag was placed visibly in a corner, but what drew attention was a banner embroidered with the sentence: "Use strength to serve". Candles were lit. The big men, few of them older than forty, none of them younger than twenty, dressed casually rather than formal, sat on benches along the left and right walls. It was already half an hour into the Chapter meeting. Jim sat behind the chairman's desk, and rapped his gavel with a loud knock, that echoed through the dimly lit room: "As you now have heard the tenets and ideals, by which Brothers of 'Hancer Chapters will abide, will the pledges please step forward!" Four men rose. So did their four sponsors. "Name?" "Maximilian Brzęczyszczykiewicz." "Is this pledge's sponsor present?" Rob answered: "Present." "By what do this pledge find his obligation morally binding?" "By the Bible, Honourable Chairman." "As an oath or as a reply to questions?" "As a reply to questions, Honourable Chairman." "Will you then place your hand on the Bible, and answer these questions: Are you willing to enter 'Hancer Chapter No. 2, uphold the Constitution and by-laws of this Chapter, and strive to live by the ideals of this Chapter and use your strength to serve?" "I am." The ceremony was repeated with small differences. Some pledges took an oath, some answered questions. Bro. Smith gave his pledge with his right hand upon his heart. Bro. Jones gave his pledge with his hand on the Cascadian Constitution. Bro. Singh decided to bow before the Adi Granth wrapped in a cloth. "Will you now gather around the pedestal in the middle of the Chapter, join me, and place your right hands upon each other." A circle of big men stood around the pedestal, Jim's hand on the surface of the furniture, the others' hands on his. "Please, repeat my words in unison. To neighbours be a helping hand." "TO NEIGHBOURS BE A HELPING HAND." "A citizen mindful of his land." "A CITIZEN MINDFUL OF HIS LAND." "To do what's right and good and just." "TO DO WHAT'S RIGHT AND GOOD AND JUST." "To be a friend deserving trust." "TO BE A FRIEND DESERVING TRUST." "In days of strength, use strength to serve." "IN DAYS OF STRENGTH, USE STRENGTH TO SERVE." "In days of danger, never swerve." "IN DAYS OF DANGER, NEVER SWERVE." "In days of darkness, on friends rely." "IN DAYS OF DARKNESS, ON FRIENDS RELY." "Give their requests compassionate reply." "GIVE THEIR REQUESTS COMPASSIONATE REPLY." "Pledges. I hereby declare you Brothers of 'Hancer Chapter No. 2. Act in a manner deserving this honour." Jim rapped his gavel again. Ten minutes later, the formal part of the meeting was ended, and the new Brothers were welcomed with handshakes or hugs. Max was moved by the intensity of the experience, despite its simple means. * * * It was February. Max didn't want to disturb Rob and Nate on St. Valentine's day, so he went to the Chapter House. He expected it to be abandoned an evening like this, but it wasn't. He found Jim in the gym. They nodded to each other. Warmup. Chest day. Dumbbells. Cable. Barbell. He and the weights. Could let his thoughts and memories go, and just focus on the weights, their resistance and his muscles. The weights and his muscles. The physicality of it. Bodily present. Pull. Push. Press. His sweat. His effort. Forcing the weights to build him up. Controlling the weights. Dominating the weights. His strength. Blood rushing to his exhausted muscles. The feeling of pump. He shivered. The feeling of pump made him horny. Big Jim had finished his leg day and wandered over to Max, watching his efforts. Barbell press: 4400 lbs. FOUR THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED POUNDS! Six repetitions. He felt exhausted, but satisified. "I've never seen someone press that much weight, and this is a 'hancer gym." "Thanks. Your words mean at lot to me." "Aren't you preoccupied tonight? I would have thought so." They waddled to the showers. "No. Wanted to leave Nate and Rob to their own tonight, for obvious reasons, and I'm not seeing anyone." "Want to have dinner at my place? I'm not preoccupied either tonight." "I'm honoured. Don't want to cause you any trouble ..." "You don't cause any trouble, Max. Being alone at St. Valentine's can be disappointing to a single like me, and I would like to get to know you better." They showered. Max noticed, that Jim made an effort not to glance. Lathered. He felt so hard now. The pump. Veins like metal threads crawling all over him. Rinsed. Jim must be about his own age. He had heard, that Jim worked as a lab assistant at Megagrowth, the same company as Rob. They put their clothes on in the locker room. Max hadn't abandoned his Bad Boy style. He felt comfortable in it, and he had got to know two other Bad Boys in town, who shared his thoughts on watching the neighbourhood instead of making a nuisance of themselves. So he put his cargo trousers on, sprayed a spray-on polo over his chest and back, fastened the enamel buckle of his sturdy leather belt, tied his boots, put a bomber jacket on and then a black leather vest embroidered with the text: "Strength to serve." Jim nodded at the vest. "Nice touch. Much better than the usual 'Party like it's no tomorrow'." "I hope, you don't mind?" "Any means to spread the news would do. It's not your clothes or your preference for the third wave of British donk, that's a problem. It's some Bad Boy's violence. I'm well aware, that all sorts of political adherences are present within the Bad Boy scene, whatever some people in the news says. I'm also aware of the existence of gay Bad Boys." "Uh. Well. I never asked ..." They left the building together, out in the damp, cold and dark night, Jim wearing dark blue denim jeans, timberland boots, a sleeveless plaid shirt, a leather jacket and a watchcap. Jim smiled, his bearded face and smiling eyes lighting up. "I swing both ways. It honours Brother Rob and Brother Nate, that they haven't told you. We are not supposed to gossip." They took a public bus to Jim's place. "If I had known, that I would have a guest tonight, I would have prepared some meat or chicken, but I hope, that you eat beans and dairy?" "Yes. Thanks. No allergy." So they ate a bean casserole with a milk-based sauce and some fresh vegetables. The scent of the food filled the kitchen. Some vanilla-flavoured Hulkabolic for dessert. There were a few seconds of awkwardness, until they both took a seat in the Grande sofa and relaxed. "Did I tell you, that I've never seen a 'hancer your size?" "Well, no, but that's not strange, because I consulted another company than Megagrowth. It turned out, that they have other priorities than Megagrowth. Rob is helping me put my things in order." "That's nice of him. He's always been nice to me, and a good role model, but let us not talk about my employer tonight. Let's talk about you." They talked for an hour. Max left some thing out. Jim had eased himself closer to Max when they talked about exercise, and Max had invited Jim to squeeze his biceps. Their eyes tried to tell each other what their mouths were unable to. Now their beefy arms were over each other's bulging shoulders, and a warm billowing fog began to fill Max' mind as he allowed Big Jim rest his bearish head against Max' shoulder. Their faces approached each other, their lips meeting ... Then the silence was broken by a ringtone. Silently swearing, Jim pressed his smartwatch, answered, listened and ended the call. "There's a situation upstate. Flooding. The authorities have asked for volunteers from the Chapter." * * * The next chapter may be found HERE

The Prelude may be found HERE The preceding chapter may be found HERE * * * My Hulk-daddy is Paying Chapter Eleven "I'm so sorry. Feel so embarrassed. Didn't want to wake you up, but the bad memories returned, and ..." The imposing titan shivered in the grande sofa, tears ran silently down his seemingly youthful cheeks, and his facial expression was alarmingly full of guilt. Rob, sitting in the corner of the grande sofa, wearing a night gown, silently patted him on his back comfortingly. "I don't understand. I thought, I would be so masculine and confident now, and not cry like a baby. So embarrassing. Crying in front of you, of all people." "It doesn't work that way, Max.", Rob said in a low voice. "Don't call me Max. My old name hurts. 'Brad' hurts, too. I don't know who I am." He fell silent. "Thanks for your patience. Both you and Nate. For having me here. For you patience." Only a low energy diode was lit, in order to save energy, but moonlight fell in through the three-pane window and formed a square on the floor. Max continued: "Thought I would be invulnerable now. Like you. Like Nate." "I'm not invulnerable, big buddy. Sometimes, I imagine, that Nate is invulnerable, but I know, that he isn't. Muscles aren't like an armour against emotions. 'Hancing isn't about fleeing something, or it shouldn't be. If you had applied to 'hancing at Megagrowth, we hadn't allowed you to 'hance without spending time in councelling or some other therapy first. After a few tests, which backfired in the early days, we vet the unsuitable cases, and we send the immature ones to shrinks. Our infamous Texan, Siberian and Middle Eastern competitors don't, and the gigantic nutcases they let out give 'hancing a bad reputation. You are supposed to have emotions. They makes you human. You are also supposed to be an adult, who know how to control your emotions – not deny their existence: that's the road to mental unhealth – but control them. Not act in affect." Rob patted their long-term guest on his back again. What's wrong with Korsakoff? Turning a 30 year old into a Hulk with a 19 year old face, a 19 year old mind and a lot of harmful mind-implants? "Was the one who wanted it so much even me? I don't remember much before Bob and Vitaly gave me my first 'hancing. After that, all I wanted was GROWTH. Extreme growth. The most extreme growth in the world." "It was an efficient way to silence you anyway. Do you remember anything about your lost reportage?" "Nothing. It's a black hole up there. I don't feel like that Maximilian Brzęczyszczykiewicz, I'm supposed to be, but on the other hand, it feels like 'Brad Maxxx' is a lie built by Bob and Vitaly." He shivered again and was silent for some moments, until he spoke again: "Does it make me a bad person, that I liked it? That I was so eager to be that "big st00pid jockboi"? "I think that that answer your former question. Was the one who wanted it so much even you? Yes, I believe it was, at least to some extent. The night you spent with Nate and me at HanceCon let all the clues out: You said, that you were just a baseline 'hancerFan, but your voice and behaviour hinted at a suppressed wish to 'hance yourself." "Pity I don't remember that night. Sounds like something worth to remember." He reached a hand out to caress Rob's cheek, but Rob clenched his wrist and stopped it. "While you are recovering from your shock and trauma, it would be unprofessional of me or Nate to engage in any entanglement with you, even for some casual sex. You are not yourself at the moment. Let's wait and see what happens if or when you recover. We are here to help you, not take advantage of you when you are vulnerable." "I don't like to feel vulnerable." "It's a part of the human condition. It's a part of growing up to realise it and admit it." "But vulnerability isn't masculine." "Is it masculine to show an empty facade to the world, shut your intellect off and shut your emotions off? I've seen a few men walk down that road, and it led either to alcoholism, to very severe mid-life crises, or both. Do you admire physical strength? So do I. So do Nate. We wouldn't be involved in all this if we didn't, but exercise and 'hancing, feeling all those positive effects of physical exercise and the increase of well-being and confidence, they are not supposed to be an escape from the rest of human life. Muscles aren't an armour. I know, that you are a Bad Boy. I have no idea if that's your own idea, or if it is your former Hulk-daddy's mind-implants talking, and I admit, that the style looks hot, but the entire sub-culture's lack of responsibility isn't masculine in my book. Putting partying and mindless street violence over taking responsibility isn't masculinity in my eyes: It's prolonged teenage life. I know, that a few Bad Boys are involved in improvement of their neighbourhoods. They are the real men. Other Bad Boys flee responsibility, repeating that old tiresome slogan ''Party like it's no tomorrow, because we're doomed'. They are not real men. Your neighbourhood need what you can do. Your municipality need you to be a responsible citizen. I don't want to spoil fun. God knows that the last thing I am, is a puritan. Fun is a part of life, but it's not the only part of life, and real men are able to balance different aspects of life. During your weeks with me and Nate you must have heard me rattle off my mantra: 'Family. Work. Neighbourhood. Citizenship. Fun.' ... Sorry, didn't mean to rant again." "It doesn't matter. I enjoy listening. You begin to make sense, but I will need some time to get my things in order. Sorry for waking you up. Sorry for being such a crybaby." "Don't apologise. You've been through a lot. If you hadn't signed that non-disclosure document, we might have had a chance to sue that 'hancing company and your Hulk-daddy, but that's a lost opportunity now. I and Nate will do what we can to encourage your recovery. There are grants and stipends for less affluent men harmed by indiscriminate 'hancing. We are here for you, but you must be willing to do your part of your recovery." "You know, that I am. Thanks. Sleep well." * * * Next chapter may be found HERE