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Encore une petite bêtise ----------------------- Et enfin le voilà! Enfin le voilà mon cher Michel, plus de deux heures que nous l'espérions, deux heures quarante exactement Oui Jean-Luc, le moment que nous attendions tant, et vous aussi chers téléspectateurs, ce palpitant direct, ce grand évènement suivi par toutes les télévisions du monde, il culmine à cet instant, encore quelques secondes avant que le scène ne s'anime. Oui Michel, c'est l'évènement tant attendu, la compétition sportive la plus célébrée au monde, le plus prestigieux trophée du plus prestigieux des sports, et je parle bien entendu du Bodybuilding, Voici enfin le début du spectacle ! Oui cher Jean-Luc, cela va enfin pouvoir commencer, l'élection du MOST EXTREMELY MUSCULAR SUPERHUMAN ULTRAGIGAWEIGHT SUPREME BODYBUILDER OF THE UNIVERSE V. Et oui déjà la cinquième année de cette compétition, ce qui est à la fois peu et beaucoup considérant le statut légendaire qu'elle a si rapidement acquise. Et à juste titre. La foule est en délire alors que sur la scène les pans du décor s'écartent, dans un tumulte de fumée, de lumière et de clameurs Cette année encore on a droit à du grand spectacle, l'organisation n'a pas reculé devant les moyens ! Et voici Frank Lefort qui entre en scène, Ô mon Dieu il est plus spectaculaire que jamais ! Et ce n'est rien de le dire! Le stade tout entier est estomaqué. Et pour l'instant nous n'apercevons que sa silhouette ! Oui le jeu de lumières est très habile, nous tenant en haleine tout en laissant deviner la fabuleuse énormité du physique de ce géant de deux mètres quarante sept ! Mais voici qu'il avance un pied dans la lumière ! Les écrans géants montre ce pied en gros plan, il faut bien dire que les immenses pieds de Frank Lefort, parfaitement bardés de muscles, sont adorés par ses fans. Fans qui sont bien évidemment en nombre ce soir ! Absolument cher Michel, et ils le font savoir, ils l'acclament si fort que je vous entends à peine dans mon casque ! Et cela dure, Jean-Luc, cela dure... Manifestement notre Frank Lefort national attend qu'un peu de calme revienne pour révéler son physique. Ah il faut dire qu'il sait ménager ses effets - enfin dans la mesure du possible ! Mais il semblerait qu'il... BORDEL DE MERDE ! ... Oui pardon Michel, et je m'excuse auprès de nos auditeurs, mais... Oh Jean-Luc je crois que vous avez plus ou moins reflété l'opinion générale, même si votre verbe n'était pas trop chatié, ha ha. Pour ma part je suis resté sans voix. Et pour cause ! Oui, un moment historique, tout bonnement incroyable. Quand la lumière a progressivement révélé ces deux gigantesques pectoraux, je veux dire, il nous avait habitué à l'exceptionnel depuis bien longtemps, mais là, les deux montgolfières de muscle jaillissant de son poitrail ont atteint une taille ahurissante. Tout à fait Michel, Frank Lefort nous présente des pectoraux d'une épaisseur, d'un volume si délirant, qu'ils pendent quasiment jusqu'à sa taille. Sa sangle abdominale toute entière est dissimulée par cette avalanche de muscle mammaire. Mais attendez, oui... Ah mais oui, il fait entrer en bandaison ses deux gros seins, non mais regardez-moi cette folie, on dirait qu'il va décoller, et cette débauche de striations, on peut voir apparaître chaque fibre musculaire Encore et toujours Michel, notre Frank parvient à faire rimer quantité et qualité. Mais c'est sa tête qui disparaît par contre ! Mais oui Jean-Luc, effectivement, l'érection de ses pectoraux est si puissante, que leur volume les fait dépasser la hauteur de son crâne. C'est impensable. Il faut le voir pour le croire. D'autant qu'il n'a pas adopté de pose particulière, il fait ça comme s'il faisait juste rouler ses pectorauoooOOH! Il fait danser ses pectoraux désormais ! La foule est en délire. Des centaines de kilos de muscles qui bondissent et jaillissent de son torse selon son bon vouloir, un phénomène absolument stupéfiant. Attendez Michel, il bloque ses pectoraux en contraction à nouveau. Que... Mais regardez ses abdominaux ! Quelle maîtrise, Il joue se chaque muscle abdominal avec une précision sidérante. Et regardez comme ils sont volumineux, définis et parfaitement symétriques, tous les 10. Mais que faites-vous Michel... Oh il s'est levé pour applaudir, je vais en faire autant Voilà nous reprenons l'antenne, Jean-Luc et moi sommes en nage, pétris d'émotion, Frank Lefort vient de mettre fin à cette "symphonie abdominale", à laquelle ses obliques se sont joint sur la fin, maintenant il a fait retomber ses lourds pectoraux, et reprend sa respiration, comme vous l'entendez le public l'applaudit à tout rompre. Et le spectacle ne fait que commencer. Frank reprend son souffle, en position de détente toujours, son sourire éclatant balayant l'auditoire, ton torse ruisselant de sueur. Vous l'entendez, la foule scande son nom, et... ça devait arriver, le chant des supporters, "Frankie, tu es fort, tu es maître, tu es Dieu, nous t'aimons..." Ca va durer un moment cette affaire. Oui Jean-Luc, l'occasion de commenter sur le choix vestimentaire de M. Lefort, qui n'est pas innocent, cette année il a opté pour un maillot aux couleurs de l'arc-en-ciel, ce qui ne saute pas aux yeux car c'est tout au mieux un cache-sexe, contenant autant que faire se peut son imposant appareil génital. L'athlète nous a habitué à ses maillots de "posing" les plus minuscules possibles, mais aujourd'hui son choix semble inhabituellement politique, certainement une prise de position contre la féroce oppression subie par les homosexuels dans certains pays du Moyen-Orient actuellement ; possiblement aussi, un clin d'oeil à ses innombrables fans dans la communauté gay, envers qui il a toujours manifesté une affection particulière. Attendez Michel, regardez il lève lentement ses bras de part et d'autre, on sait ce qui arrive, oh le stade est en feu. Ses bras atteignent l'horizontale, c'est fou comme il a le sens du spectacle, il fait vraiment vivre des émotions en montagne russes à tous ces gens, et à nous aussi, et à vous aussi sans doute chez vous... Il ferme lentement ses poings... Oh Jean-Luc cette fois-ci c'est mon tour PUTAIN DE BORDEL DE MERDE ! Wow Michel, je crois que... Mais taisez-vous, regardez-moi ça ! Regardez ces planètes ! Regardez ces miracles ! C'est... C'est... Oui clairement, Frank Lefort vient de bander ses biceps, un double biceps, et... le résultat est tout bonnement... pharamineux, devant nous... C'est... C'est... Comment dire, au moment où il a contracté ses bras, Frank Lefort a matérialisé deux entités gigantesques, ses biceps, déjà colossalement énormes au repos, se sont transformés en monticules de muscle d'une taille improbable, dont je serais bien incapable d'estimer les dimensions... C'est... C'est.... ... et, et... qui s'étend non seulement haut vers le ciel, mais également sur les côtés, de toutes parts, des protubérances qui... il règne un silence implacable dans le stade, on peut juste entendre... Je ne sais pas si vous l'entendez, mais Frank Lefort hurle furieusement de joie en contemplant tour à tour ses biceps qu'il bande frénétiquement, comme s'il voulait voir leurs veines exploser, je vois beaucoup de gens qui s'évanouissent dans l'auditoire, et moi-même... C'est... C'est... Je pense que Michel et moi ne sommes plus en état de commenter les images pour le moment, nous vous prions de nous en excuser, mais je pense que le les images qui vont suivre se passeront de tout commentaire, (...) Nous... avons passé une soirée intense. Vous pouvez le dire Jean-Luc. Nous espérons que vous nous pardonnerez le manque de professionnalisme dont nous avons fait preuve ce soir, comme vous le voyez Frank Lefort est à nouveau couronné du titre suprême, encore cette année il était seul compétiteur. Comme chaque année depuis la création de ce concours. Effectivement.

So sorry for the long wait between "VIALS" I had a very busy almost two weeks... Enjoy all my pups, cubs, and muscle brothers! {VIAL 3} I woke up the next day for school and got out another vial from the side of my night stand drawer. I got my things together and thought to myself, maybe I should try out this vial a bit earlier in the day instead of waiting until lunch or after school. I went down the stairs after my backpack was filled with the day’s books for my classes, where I headed to the kitchen. My biological father had already left for work again, so thank god I didn't have to run into him. On days where he had off of work, I would be ridiculed for being a pain in his side and then he’d make me do all the household chores and told me if I didn't he would use all the social security money he received from the state in order to buy himself more booze and other luxuries that didn't benefit my young child needs for nourishment and growth. I went to the kitchen and made my way to the fridge to see if I had anything I could mix the powder into this time. Luckily there was some orange juice. I found an empty water bottle on the counter, which I popped the top off and poured the 3rd vial of powder into it and stuffed the empty bottle into my pocket, followed by me filling up the rest of the bottle with orange juice. I shook the contents up, making sure the entire bottle was mixed before I put the remaining orange juice back into the fridge and I headed out the door. As I closed the door, Andrew startled me by already standing on the porch. “Hi Seth!” his voice cracked a bit as he spoke. “I thought I would meet you here instead of having to just run into you on our usual walk to school.” I was a bit giddy with excitement. “Thanks, bud. Well I already have the drink prepared for you.” We started to make our way to school as we walked down the sidewalk. “I think I want you to drink it before class starts Seth. What do you say about that?” Seth beamed up at me with his happy go lucky smile. “Well sure that sounds like a good idea. However do you think it’s wise? Each one has caused something in me that was pretty noticeable. Who knows what each vial will do.” He had a point. I remembered the empty vial I had stuffed in my pants pocket and pulled it out to see if at least any of the words or letters were readable, since the last vial was pretty much illegible. Sure enough the words on this bottle were entirely intact. I smiled, very relieved. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” I handed over the empty vial and the bottle of orange juice and powder to my smaller friend. He read it and then looked at me a bit nervous. “Seth, you do realize that once I drink this, it is going to change a huge dynamic in our relationship.” I stopped walking for a minute, placing a hand on his shoulder. He stopped and looked up at me as well. “I know it will, Andrew. But this is something that I have actually always wanted in a person that I know.” He unscrewed the top of the bottle giving me a huge grin. “Well, I guess its bottoms up!” He put the bottle to his lips and chugged it down as if it was liquid courage. Well, if you guys really want to know what it was he just drank, it pretty much was courage in a bottle. Andrew made sure not to leave a single drop of it left We continued to walk our way to school and I swear, the kid stood taller, prouder then I have ever seen anyone stand before. As we got to the gates, Andrew turned to me and put his hand on my shoulder, something I don’t remember him ever doing before. “Meet me behind the gym. Let’s eat our lunch quick and maybe try to squeeze in a workout, Seth.” I gulped. “Um sure…” “Awesome! I know football season is almost practically over right now and how you have always wanted to try out for the sport. So maybe if the two of us work out together, we can motivate you to join the team next year.” “A-Alright Andrew,” my heart almost jumped out of my chest from his words. Andrew actually is trying to push me like an adult role-model should do. He released my shoulder, giving me a wink, before running up the steps of the school. Classes went by faster than normal today as I couldn't wait for the bell to ring for lunch. When it finally did I practically ran to our usual lunch meeting spot. Andrew was standing against the wall with his backpack strap around one shoulder. He looked really damn cool. “Hey Seth! I already ate lunch during my last period. Hurry up and eat, I want to show you a few things to help you in your workouts.” I didn't know what to say so I just nodded and pulled out my lunch, quickly tearing into my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Andrew laughed a bit, “don’t eat so fast, bud! It’s not healthy for you to do that.” So I slowed down a bit and finished my lunch normally. I’m already starting to see a huge change in our dynamic. Before this morning it was me who was the one to make decisions and give advice. Andrew grabbed the door at the back of the gym and pulled it open, holding it for me to enter first. I walked inside with him following right behind me, and then he started to quicken his pace as he walked over to a weight bench loaded with 20 lbs on each side. Something told me that he was in here a bit before the lunch period started. Andrew walked to the back of the weights and grabbed a pair of lifting gloves from the floor and tossed them to me. “Put those on and have a seat.” I did as I was told and slipped the gloves onto each hand and adjusted the strap before I sat down on the bench and then laid under the bar. He bent down, put his hands on my upper arms, and guided my hands gently to the bar. I gripped the bar tightly. “Now before you lift, you want to make sure each of your arms and hands are straight. Also make sure they are at a good distance apart. If you lift incorrectly you can injure yourself.” As he guided me with his voice, he also guided me with his hands, as the bar slowly lifted and went down to my chest. “Remember to Inhale when you lower the bar to your chest, and exhale when you push the bar up.” I did as he told me and I began to learn how to weightlift for the first time in my life. The rush of testosterone and adrenaline filled me, as this was new and exciting! We did this until the end of our lunch, when the bell rang. “I’ll see you after school, Seth! I’m going to do my homework and then I will meet up with you at your house later tonight.” “Sounds awesome, Andrew!” We both parted ways again as we went to our own classes. After school I went right home, where I found myself greeted with the loud noise of auto-racing on the television. My Father was home. “Hi…” I walked past the living room heading for the stairs. Hoping he wouldn’t respond to me. “Home from school, faggot?” He blurted out, belching from the beer and chips he consumed. I cringed at that word. “Yeah, I’m going to go do my homework.” “Nah you’re not. Go grab me another beer and then I want you to clean the kitchen and the garage. They are a fucking mess.” “OK, sir.” I walked over to the fridge and pulled a beer out bringing it over to him. I placed the beer on the table and began to walk away when he stuck his foot out and tripped me. As I fell, I knocked over his bowl of chips, spilling them all over the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you dumb fuck?!” He chuckled. “Clean this shit up too now!” “Sorry, sir!” I stooped down and began to pick the chips up off the floor when the doorbell rang. “Go answer that, if people are selling candy, use your allowance and buy me some!” I got up and made my way to the front door. I opened it to be greeted by Andrew. “How’s it going, Seth!” He smiled up at me. “It’s not a good time, Andrew.” I tried to close the door of fear of what my father might do, but Andrew pushed his way inside. “Hi Mr. Davis!” He said walking into the house. My father looked at Andrew with disgust before turning at me with a snarl, “Tell your girlfriend to go home, faggot!” “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Davis,” I never heard anyone go up against my father before. “I’m here to help Seth get his work done. And then my family and I are going on a little trip this weekend, and I’m here to invite Seth along.” My father was a bit shocked from this little challenge set forth by my small friend “Whatever, as long as you two little shits are out of my hair for the weekend its fine.” “I have a name, sir.” Andrew spoke up again. “It’s Andrew. And your son has one as well.” My father started to laugh again. “Whatever! Seth, get your little fag friend out of here before I put a boot in his ass myself!” I grabbed Andrew by the arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Andrew. And then we can go on this family campout.” As we were now out of earshot from my father, Andrew grinned up at me. “Sure thing. Remember to pack a bottle for the morning. And one last thing. The family “Trip,” it’s going to be just some Dad and Son bonding time. He gave me his big smile and a soft pat on the back before I watched him walk back across the lawn and into his house. NEXT UP - VIAL 4 VIAL 1 – HYPER-TEST – Initiate Puberty / Hyper-Testosterone Booster VIAL 2 – 400 INTELIGENT QUOTIENT – 400 IQ / Hyper-Intelligence VIAL 3 – HYPER-CONFIDENCE VIAL 4 - ??? VIAL 5 - ??? VIAL 6 - ??? VIAL 7 - ???

Beach Slumming by Gideon Kalve Jarvis A Commission for the Seigneur de M. http://www.furaffinity.net/user/lechevalier/ *** Disclaimer: This is a furry story featuring anthromorphic characters. Vic the rat is one of my most favorite characters, a gruff, roughed and heavily muscled rat who is - in my eyes - best depicted by the characters of Oscar Martinez (Solo). He seems to be a wanderer, as he appears in many settings, and has no sexual preferences except being dominant. I hope you will like him as I do, and you dont might fantasy characters. *** She should be happy, Margot realized. Her life was one that others would kill to obtain, and yet it was one that she had been almost handed on a silver platter, with a silver spoon for her mouth. A gorgeous husband, a fabulous body, and money on both sides of their marriage. More than enough for them to spend their lives in carefree idleness, savoring the sweetness that life has to offer. And yet, something was missing. Something raw and real that Margot knew she had never before experienced, and if things continued as they were, never would. The sleek-muscled, peach-furred feline rolled onto her stomach on the beach blanket, resting her chin on her folded arms, her eyes covered by large dark glasses, her head by a sun hat, her body more-or-less covered by a thong bikini. It wasn‟t much use for keeping sand out of the crease between her firm buns, but it certainly made the males gawk. Lounging there on the beach in the hot Florida sun, Margot felt an itch start to steadily grow between her legs, thinking of the males she‟d seduced in the past, wearing outfits similar to this one, or sometimes even more scandalous. She and Andre, her husband, were hardly closed in their relationship. Of course they felt it only polite to let each other know when they were going to bring in somebody else to satisfy one of their many wealthy whims, but so long as they each abode by that single rule, Andre and Margot were free to take lovers as they wished, of either sex. It served to keep the fire in their relationship, preserving the two felines from settling into a boredom that would surely have spelled the beginning of the end for their relationship. This day, however, Margot‟s eyes moved casually over the beach, sighing in disappointment. The men, the women, they were all beautiful, sculpted, their bodies like those of the gods of Olympus. All her life she and Andre had been among such people, the privileged ones, the ones that were beautiful because it was their right to be so, born of the best genes and the greatest fortune, their lives often planned out long before their births. What she wanted was a taste of reality, raw and harsh. It was as these dark, forbidden thoughts that were filling Margot‟s mind as her eyes fell on the Rat. She had half-risen from her repose at a sound from somewhere behind her, lowering her dark glasses from her bright blue eyes, giving her long blonde hair a toss to get stray locks from her eyes, before she spotted the source of the disturbance. At the gates to the walled-off beach, the exclusive resort of the Hotel Marseilles at Miami Beach, arguing loudly with the guard stationed there, was a creature from a world as far removed from Margot‟s as Heaven was from Hell. He was shorter than her husband by a good head and shoulders, shorter than her by a full head, but his shoulders and chest were a great deal broader. In truth, his entire body was massive in ways that Margot had never thought were possible, an obscene mass of muscle bulging beneath the tight red-and-white-striped shirt and blue jeans he was wearing. She could see everything about him, could imagine what she couldn‟t see. At the sight of this ugly creature, this devil among the angels, this slum-dwelling rodent with his prize-fighter‟s hardened face, Margot felt her mouth grow suddenly dry. Almost against her will, she rose from where she‟d been lying and walked towards the gate. “You talk to Trey,” the Rat said in a harsh, deep voice that spoke of his French birth, though the accent was almost lost in what must have been long years spent in the midst of a rich global polyglot. “He cleared me to go in there. Besides, what‟s it matter? I just want to use the gym. Not gonna bother any of these high rollers on the beach.” That voice! It was everything that her husband‟s was not: rough, uncouth, a savage snarl like broken glass on asphalt. Margot felt her legs wobble, growing weak, the wetness between her legs increasing exponentially. This beast was an untamed remnant of more primitive times, and his raw savagery spoke to her darkest, most primal desires, parts of her that she‟d never even known existed in her perfect life. She couldn‟t speak, could hardly even more closer, but couldn‟t stop herself from continuing her walk forward despite all of her common sense screaming out that it was a mistake. “Look, Vic, we don‟t allow anybody who‟s not staying at the hotel in here,” said the guard, shaking his head as he stood to bar entry, the German Shepherd‟s expression firm, dutiful. “Even if Mister Trey did vouch for you, he certainly didn‟t clear it with me. If I let you in here, I could get in a whole lot of trouble.” “That dirty so-and-so!” snapped the Rat, Margot‟s mind mentally editing out the word he actually used with automatic precision. “Look, it‟s just a workout, mister. Can‟t we figure out some sort of an arrangement…?” “It‟s all right, Mark,” said Margot before she could stop herself, stepping forward to lightly brush her fingers over the shoulder of the tall canine. “This man, Vic, is with me.” The way she‟d said his name, „Vic,‟ had been a gentle rolling of the word over her tongue, as though tasting its flavor. And if a name could have a flavor, this one would be bitter, the same sort of bitter from the lime and salt of a margarita, a bite with a kick that went straight to your head. Mark, the guard, tipped his hat to the sleek peach-furred feline with raised eyebrows. “Um, well,” he looked back to the obscenely-muscled black rat, and then back to Margot. “I guess that‟ll be all right, Miss Margot,” he said finally, shrugging. “But he‟ll need to stay with you, all right?” “Of course, Mark,” said Margot, offering her hand to the hugely-muscled rat, feeling tiny in comparison to him despite her greater height. “We‟ll be just fine.” Vic hesitated for a moment, looking first at Mark suspiciously, as though expecting a trap. Seeing no deception from the stalwart, trustworthy guard, those same suspicious eyes fell on Margot. His hard brown-eyed gaze met her flashing green eyes with confusion as he seemed to be trying to puzzle her out, to discern her true motives behind such sudden and unexpected charity. This wasn‟t a person who was used to being given free help. This was somebody who was used to being used. The thought just made Margot smile a little wider: he would be used, all right. Just not in any way he might be afraid of. “Yeah,” the Rat said finally, his huge hand dwarfing the cat‟s as he closed it around her fingers in a grip that Margot sensed instantly could have crushed her like eggshells, but stopped at a commanding firmness instead, enough so that she couldn‟t have pulled away if she‟d wanted to. “Just fine.” Margot let the rat lead the way. It was obvious he‟d been into the private gym of the Hotel Marseilles, that hallowed shrine of the gods of beauty, wealth and leisure, many times before. She never went into the free weights room, of course, but that was exactly where the massive beast of a rat went, gripping her hand tightly enough that she couldn‟t get away easily, but not so much that he hurt her. This was a male that knew his own strength, knew his own body with the deepest intimacy. As they entered through the frosted glass doors of the gym, Margot glanced around, smiling as she saw how deserted it was at that time. Andre had carefully timed their visit to Miami so that they would hit good weather while avoiding the majority of the tourist crowd. He was always so skilled in his planning, the same skills that would have made him a good hunter in a more primitive time, and made him such a captain of business now. Such a good businessman was the handsome leopard, unfortunately, that he often left his poor, needy wife alone for far too long a time. Margot had deep desires and strong passions, and if they were not so open in their relationship their marriage would surely have shattered under the strain of her desperate needs… “You look like you‟re more used to aerobics and swimming than weights,” said Vic, interrupting Margot‟s thoughts as he walked towards a rack of weights and pulled several of the more massive circles of hard steel from their places. “You just like watching guys get hot and sweaty?” “Mmm,” replied Margot, biting her littlest finger as she broke contact with the obscenely muscled rat, and then walking forward, stroking her soft fingers over his powerful arm as he locked his choice of weights into place on a nearby suspended barbell. “I much prefer to get my exercise in more exciting ways. But having a strong male get hot and sweaty for me,” she licked her lips with lusty eagerness, “yes, that pleases me quite a bit.” “Hope I can help you there,” the rat answered with a smirk, before he hefted the metal bar onto his shoulders, a long row of heavy metal cylinders on each side, so many that the bar began to bend a little under their weight. Margot watched, dry mouthed, as Vic lowered himself almost to the floor with his first squat, and then rose back up. As the muscular male slid into the zone of working out, his eyes starting to grow fiery, tense, seeing things outside of what was right before him, the peach-furred feline slowly circled Vic, her eyes playing over his body, savoring the look of every curve, every angle, every hard bump and lump and part of this gorgeous grotesquerie. On his sixth squat, Margot couldn‟t contain herself as the scent of musky male his her nostrils, tickling the more primitive parts of her brain, and she stepped up behind Vic, her hands stroking around his chest, teasing the hard nipples beneath his tightly-stretched shirt, feeling them hard in the light chill of the aid-conditioned weight room. “So hard,” she murmured in his ear as Vic slowly bent for his seventh squat, the weight wavering slightly as his focus began to slip. “Mmm, and here as well.” Those hands teased over the front of Vic‟s pants, and he gave a deep grunt of surprise and exertion combined as he used that moment of energy to thrust himself straight up, and racked the weights with a clang. “Blood is what makes muscles grow strong, Margot,” he said as he turned, one massive hand gripping the slim cat‟s waist, pulling her against him as he grinned up at her. “But you are making my blood flow into other places.” Margot‟s mouth was dry, her eyes wide, as Vic pressed forward, pulling her against his body like a gorilla hefting a baby. She couldn‟t help but whimper softly as her almost naked back was pressed against the cool surface of the wall-width mirror weight lifters used to check their form, her legs splayed on either side of the aggressive, brutish male‟s hips as he forced himself against her, the heavy weight of his manhood rubbing against the clearly-visible cameltoe at the front of her achingly moist bikini thong. His huge hands slid down, gripping her firm buns, and her toes and back arched with her moan of desperate, needy pleasure. Was she in heat? She couldn‟t tell any more, and didn‟t care. She was so horny right then she felt like she was about to burst into flames at any moment. No time for foreplay, no desire for it. Margot needed this male. Needed him now! Her hands slipped into the little purse that she‟d carried over one shoulder, her only article of clothing aside from her now-discarded hat and shades, and still worn swimsuit. A condom! She needed to get a condom on this male before… “Merde,” she exclaimed as her hands peeled open the front of Vic‟s tented trousers, the rat helping her with one hand, easily holding her up with the other. He wasn‟t that long, really – not nearly as long as her husband‟s perfect penis. But he was thick, his shaft as heavily-muscled, it seemed, as the rest of the brutish body. This was the sort of club Margot could imagine being used by cavemen to subdue their brides. It was an ugly thing, hideous, covered in veins, grotesquely swollen. It would surely split her in half. She had to have it! Her hands were trembling so badly, Margot could barely managed to roll the condom down Vic‟s shaft. It fit, of course: it was one of her husband‟s, his greater length allowing for their differences in thickness. Or so Margot hoped, at least; the condom was badly stretched, looking like an overstuffed sausage casing around that obscene piece of male flesh. As she guided the monstrous head to her quivering, soaked little cunny, knowing she was far too small and tight for such a penis, she watched, wide-eyed, as the filmy sheath of latex bulged a bit more as the rat grew even more aroused, his musky, masculine scent intoxicating her, overwhelming her reason, even with the risk of pregnancy should that flimsy condom of her husband‟s not be able to take the pressure. Vic didn‟t wait any more, didn‟t give Margot another chance for second thoughts. He rested one hand on the mirror to support himself, gripping her hip firmly with the other, supporting her entire weight as he stood there in the midst of the heavy metal all around them, before his hips lunged forward, his meaty length skewering the tight-pussied feline as she barely had time to brush her bikini bottoms aside. Otherwise he would surely have ripped right through the fabric in his eagerness! Yowling like a banshee, Margot‟s claws raked Vic‟s back, shredding his shirt and leaving thin lines of blood on the naked fur beneath. Her legs thrashed on either side of the rat‟s hips as he began to pound her without mercy, heavy thumps filling the room as he rutted her savagely, like the brutish animal he was. The snap of the condom bursting inside of her was a mere footnote to Margot‟s pleasures, the knowledge that she was now taking this male bareback in an adulterous tryst only adding additional spice to the sensations that had blasted all her sanity, the latex ring at its base serving to add additional stimulation as Vic made sure to give her his full shaft on each long thrust. She felt his balls, so swollen, so huge, slap against her well-groomed rumpfur with each heavy jerk of his hips, and reached around, stroking and fondling their deliciously full weight in her hands. They felt so bloated, probably stuffed to the brim with the sperm that would make her cheating on her husband complete. Sealed with half-breed kittens. “Slutty pussycat,” Vic growled in his deep, dominant voice, his thick neck‟s veins standing out as he hunched himself against the squirming peach-furred feline, now holding her with both hands to ensure that all her squirming and thrashing wouldn‟t make her pop off his cock by accident. “Say it,” he commanded her, burying himself to the hilt in her once more, looking into her pleasure-dazed eyes, the pupils dilated as though she were high on drugs instead of sex. “Admit you‟re a slut.” “I‟m a slut,” Margot got out, shuddering with mighty spasms of her entire body. How long had she been cumming? She‟d lost track. Perhaps ever since Vic had first speared her on that magnificent cock of his… “I‟m a filthy, dirty, needy slut, and I need your cock so badly, Vic! Please, fill me with your cum!” She would have gone on, but Vic‟s lips pressed against her own, muffling the high-pitched wail that escaped her throat as his hips started to truly pound away, moving like a piston, like the rattling of a machine gun. He was like a machine, and engine of raw, primal lust! Margot couldn‟t resist him, didn‟t even try, as he claimed her, ravished her, used her up like she was nothing but his personal whore. And she loved every moment. And when the cat in heat felt the gush of Vic‟s cum spurting straight up into her unprotected pussy, her own pleasures peaked out beyond her endurance, her eyes rolling back into her head as she blacked out. Vaguely, Margot was aware of Vic carrying her, asking her for her hotel cardkey, taking it from her purse. She felt him drying them both off with a huge towel from the locker room, doing little to take off his musky scent, which covered both of them like a blanket of unabashed animal lust. She squirmed, whimpering with need as he wedged a thick finger into the cameltoe on the front of her bikini bottoms (now back in place, though only just barely), grinding it against her aching clitoris as he carried her to an elevator, and rode it all the way up. The pleasure-dazed feline was just coming back to herself as Vic nudged the door to her huge suite open with his knee, stepping inside and dropping her on the bed. It was the feeling of bouncing on the bed after being dropped that finally revived Margot to full consciousness, and with her awakening came a full rush of realizations. She‟d cheated on her husband, violating the one rule for all such illicit, extramarital encounters that they‟d set for each other: to let the other partner of the marriage know first. She‟d allowed this male to cum inside of her without even a condom to block the full gush of his virile sperm. And what a male she‟d chosen! Her eyes watched as the burly rodent took a swig of the champagne bottle she and Andre hadn‟t finished the night before, drinking it straight from the bottle. He was an uncouth lout, a brute, a thing of the lowest, most degraded orders! And yet, as he wiped his muzzle and looked at her with eyes that looked straight into her darkest, most hidden yearnings, she knew that she didn‟t regret what she‟d done, not really. And when he peeled off his claw-tattered shirt, then shoved his jeans unceremoniously to the floor, kicking then aside before striding towards the bed, his penis jutting forward like the prow of a battleship, Margot knew that she would let him do it again, as many times as he wanted. She was his slut now, just like she‟d said, nothing but a plaything to this primal beast, an instrument for his pleasure. He grabbed her just as Margot had started to sit up on the edge of the bed, and easily tore off her bikini top, making Margot squeal in surprise at this sudden brutality. Her side-tied bikini bottoms soon followed, and she squirmed as he grabbed one of her ankles, hoisting her leg into the air before his hips lanced forward, cock spearing her once more. This time she didn‟t even bother with the illusion of a condom; her womb was his to claim as he pleased, just like all of her body. How many times had he taken her? How many times could this rat cum? It had been hours at least, maybe days for all that Margot could tell. She still had the taste of his cum and her own juices on her lips after he‟d taken her muzzle, moaning in deep, masculine pleasure as he‟d rutted her mouth, watching her beautiful eyes looking up at him in adoration. The feline goddess was the slave of the rodent demon, and she served him willingly. And now she was clutching one of the pillows to her chest, screaming in a rough mixture of agony and ecstasy, her bottom hiked into the air as Vic shafted her too-tight tailhole, the tiny pink rosette of her rear passage now so widely stretched, Margot was certain she‟d burst at any moment. It was obscene, perverse, twisted…magnificent! She yowled again, even louder this time, as Vic‟s bloated balls slapped her gushing quim with each passionate thrust, the orgasm that claimed her then making her feel dirty, used, and yet craving still more of it. This brute was an addiction, and Margot was utterly hooked. So powerful was her passion and pleasure, in fact, that she didn‟t notice her husband standing there in the doorway of the bathroom, his towel and jaw dropped to the floor as he watched his wife being claimed so wickedly by another man. Beauty and the beast. That was the first thought that had come into Andre‟s mind as he watched his wife greedily take as much of that bloated length of cum-slick ratcock into her delicate muzzle. He‟d been taking a shower to wash off the worst of the smell of his own tryst earlier in the day, being sure that Margot knew where he‟d be, and for how long like the dutiful husband that he tried to be, despite their odd and open relationship. Its openness, in truth, was mostly for her benefit, for barring this vacation, Andre found himself far from living the life of the idle rich. He was gone too often, and his wife was in need of far more attentions than he could provide under such circumstances. His only rule was that he be informed of any liaisons that his wife might have, and he extended her the same courtesy. She had bedded many of his business partners, and several of the more handsome servants around their house, while he in turn had been free to enjoy the company of secretaries and coworkers, some of them other males, just as Margot occasionally indulged herself in the company of other females. But always, up until this point, they had remained true to that one rule, and kept each other informed, if only by a quick text message or simple call left on an answering machine. Now, however, Margot was cheating on Andre for the very first time, in full view of him as he‟d stepped out of the bathroom. He‟d watched her head bobbing on the obscenely bloated length of male flesh this brutish male sported, fury at first clouding everything into a haze of red. This passed quickly, however, after a single step into the room, as the full, obscene size of the black-furred monstrosity pummeling his wife‟s chin with his weighty balls came over Andre, sending a bolt of chill fear that sank into his guts, knowing that this creature, this rat, could likely break him over one knee without pausing in his thrusting motions. But then he‟d controlled his breathing, the tall, handsome leopard never one to lose control of his emotions. His self-control was why he had succeeded so well in business, and he pushed himself away from the murder that had flashed in his mind with an effort of will. However Andre hadn‟t counted on the danger that arose as he pushed fury away: lust could so easily take its place. That is exactly what happened, as Andre continued to stand there, watching the seemingly oblivious pair, letting his towel fall, forgotten to the plush carpet as the well-endowed rat‟s cock began to gush in his wife‟s muzzle, while she desperately tried to gulp it all down, her cheeks flushed, whiskers fanned wide in the height of her desperate lust. Andre felt his shaft rising to full attention, taking an involuntary step forward as Margot gave a short squeal as the rat seized her like a rag doll around her shoulders, and easily tossed her onto the bed. He was shorter than her, Andre realized, and quite a bit shorter than himself, and yet the obscenely-sized male had to be at least twice of Andre‟s leanly-muscled, sleek mass. Then, as Andre saw the brutish male pause only long enough to pour a dollop of suntan lotion onto his wife‟s rump and his hard shaft before plowing into her, claiming her anally with more vigor and primal savagery than Andre had ever felt in his life, the tall leopard felt himself forgiving his wife. This primal creature in their room, buried to the hilt in his wife, was like Hephaestus to Aphrodite, the grotesque god of the forge bound by passion to the incomparable goddess of love. She couldn‟t have resisted the lure of opposites, of raw, primal realism, any more than those gods of yore. “How is he?” Andre asked, walking to the side of the bed to get a better view, his pink tongue flicking out as he wetted his lips, his eyes wide as he observed the savage tryst taking place. “Andre!” exclaimed Margot, starting to rise up, her eyes wide in panic…only to be roughly shoved back into place by one of the rat‟s huge hands. “Vic, please…it‟s my husband,” she pleaded with the rat. But Vic only ignored her, giving a grunt to acknowledge her words, before his hips started to speed up, his nostrils flaring as he started to climb the final peak of his orgasm. The sleek leopard stepped up onto the bed behind his thrashing wife, her shock at realizing she was being watched by the very person she was cuckolding having unloosed her ability to stave off her passions any longer, leaving her writhing and yowling on the bed like a feral feline from the alleys. She was a raw, passionate creature herself now, stripped of all her veils of seduction and romance and beauty. Now she was composed of sex at its most basic, elemental form. All else was beyond her comprehension. Kneeling behind Vic, Andre rested his chin on the rat‟s shoulder, his hands reaching around, stroking over the broad, bare chest of the brutish creature. He was solidly formed, and Andre couldn‟t help but wet his lips again as his fingertips closed on the rat‟s hard, masculine nipples, squeezing them firmly. This was the last straw, and Vic cried out, his voice deep, powerful like the bellow of a bull as he began to gush even more cum into Margot‟s quivering body, his seed spurting out as it overflowed her anal depths, dripping down her rump and legs as she slumped forward, whimpering softly at the lovely ache left behind in her rump and well-stretched cunny. It was impossible for him to help himself! As Vic pulled back, his heavy, meaty length popping free of Margot with a gush of his cum, Andre ran his tongue over the neck of the other male, tasting his full-bodied, musky essence. The leopard wanted this male, and wanted him now. “It‟s only fair,” Andre said softly in Vic‟s ear, seductively, the same tone he used on that fresh-faced gazelle intern the week before he‟d gone on vacation with his wife, his hard shaft grinding against the hip of the rat, its long, beautiful pink shaft stroking through the bristly fur there. “You‟ve had my wife, after all. Now I should have you.” “Fair enough,” Vic answered, turning as he grinned right in Andre‟s face. “Hope you enjoy what you get.” Andre was just starting to grin, the toothy, triumphant grin of a predator that is about to finish off his prey, before, suddenly, Vic‟s huge arm lifted, wrapping around Andre‟s upper body, pulling him forward. His face was squeezed up against the musclebound side of the rat, his senses reeling at the thick, heady male musk. “S-stop,” the sleek-furred leopard gasped out, his eyes growing heavy-lidded. “Please, this isn‟t…” “You want this,” said Vic in response, his other hand guiding Andre‟s for a short while, before, in a daze, Andre began to stroke the rat‟s body, exploring every ridge and curve with his fingertips. “That‟s right. Touch me everywhere. No shame in admiring what I‟ve got to show. I‟ve worked hard on it so people can enjoy it.” Margot was just starting to crawl forward then, gradually coming around. She rose up, her eyes fluttering open just as she saw her husband rasping his pink tongue along the underside of the rat‟s armpit, his expression one of pure, sultry bliss, before his attentions slowly moved down the rat‟s arm, to his bicep. The peach-furred feline couldn‟t resist a smile at this display of submission, and crept forward on all-fours towards the two, reaching out her delicate hands to wrap them around the hard shafts of the two males kneeling on the bed near her, beginning to stroke them at a steady pace. Andre‟s familiar, beautiful penis was a weight she knew well, and enjoyed still, even after the feeling of Vic‟s bludgeon inside of her. The fingers of the hand stroking Vic, however, couldn‟t reach all the way around that meaty shaft. It was just too thick! She leaned forward, and kissed Vic‟s pectoral, flicking her tongue over his hard male nipple, visible through his dark fur as a point of smooth blackness, making the rat jerk slightly in mounting pleasure. Andre‟s tongue moved to follow suit, and soon Vic was leaning back on the bed, his hips thrust out as he panted, his eyes wide as he watched the two felines stroke and lick and nibble their way down his body, until their lips finally met at the tip of his full, throbbing cock, kissing each other with his plum-shaped glans right between their lips. This tongues flicked out, French kissing with passionate, desperate need, all the while lashing and lathering his cock with their affection for each other. His heavy hands reached down, gripping the firm, tight bottoms of the two felines, his fingers teasing against wet female slit and tightly-clenched male anal ring, squeezing firmly as he bucked his hips, giving a short, barbaric cry as he came once more, with those eager mouths, husband and wife, servicing his needy shaft. Andre had certainly fellated several males in his time. He‟d also enjoyed anal sex on several occasions. But only as the one on top, never as the one receiving. But at this moment, even with a thick finger penetrating his clenching, virginal tailhole, he hardly noticed, he was so caught up in the moment of shared, shivering pleasure as Vic climaxed, his seed jetting over the faces of Margot and Andre like the spray of a fountain. Then, suddenly, Andre came to himself, and started to rise, giving his head a startled shake, trying to pull away from Vic‟s invading fingers, especially as he was trying to add a second! But the rat simply reached out, his cock still hard even after his recent orgasms, and grabbed both of Andre‟s wrists in one mighty hand as the sleek leopard tried to get away. “You‟ll love this too,” Vic said with a laugh, before he twisted Andre around, pinning him to the bed with his firm, spotty rump thrust into the air – an easy target! “No…” Andre almost whimpered, struggling feebly in the grip of the more powerful male, knowing already that it was a hopeless struggle. “Please, I‟ve never…ah!” Vic had then reached over with his other hand, and pressed Margot‟s head down, her muzzle up against Andre‟s tailhole. She knew what was wanted, her pink tongue extending, teasing over her husband‟s tailhole, making the handsome leopard squirm and moan in pleasure as he was rimmed with such expert skill. His wife had never done this for him before, and yet she did so with the experience of someone who had practiced the art. It was another facet of his wife that Andre had never before suspected, and one that he felt now that he would have to explore further when the opportunity presented itself. As Margot‟s tongue moved down, rasping over Andre‟s white-furred balls, the leopardman suddenly tensed up as he felt the huge, swollen tip of that massive ratcock squeezed firmly against his virgin pucker. Despite himself, despite knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop this, and that he was probably going to love it, whether he wanted to or not, Andre couldn‟t suppress that whimper of fear. The rat was so huge, Andre was almost certain that it would kill him, splitting him open as it went in. “Your wife took it, and she‟s half your size back there,” sneered Vic, nudging his hips forward, the pressure steadily increasing against Andre‟s snug tailhole, slowly spreading him open. “Take it like a man.” The leopard started to open his mouth, so say something – anything! – to the bad black rat, but all that came out was a kittenish mewl as, suddenly, his tailhole gave way in its resistance, and Vic‟s massive cockhead popped inside. This soon turned into a slow, long, drawn-out yowl that began almost as a whisper, and gradually increased in volume until it was a banshee‟s wail as Vic‟s cock bumped past Andre‟s prostate, making the leopard‟s whole world start to spin in raw, naked pleasure. He‟d just been deflowered by this vile beast, his last virginity robbed from him by this untamed lump of gutter trash…and it felt good. It felt wonderful! Andre‟s shaft was rock-hard, great drops of precum forming at the tip to drop onto the soft sheets beneath him, and he hadn‟t even touched it. “That‟s it, slut,” Vic growled in Andre‟s ear. “But don‟t worry: it‟s only gay if our balls tou-whups.” He chuckled deeply as his hips pressed against Andre‟s spotty rump, his massive testicles clapping gently against those of the other male. Vic began to move his hips then, starting slowly at first, but soon starting to build up his pace. With his hands pinned behind his back, Vic using them as a handle to aid in his thrusting, Andre was completely at the mercy of the brutish caveman-like rat that was now starting to nail his pristine backside with full gusto. Each hard thrust slapped against Andre‟s rump lustily, making the leopard‟s cock bounce to smack against his taut belly, and the leopard knew he couldn‟t last long like this. An eager female moan caught Andre‟s ears, and he turned his head as Vic was starting to thrust in short, jabbing motions, his tempo speeding up a lot. The leopard gasped as he saw his wife riding the arm of the rat, who held it outstretched, flexing his oversized bicep up right into Margot‟s trembling, gushing cunny like a living, hot-blooded Sybian. She was grinding against the rat‟s muscular arm, pinching her nipples, twisting them in her fingers as she neared yet another orgasm, or perhaps was already in the midst of one, Andre couldn‟t tell anymore. Too much. It was too much! Screaming like a jungle cat, Andre gave in at last to the raw, savage feeling of the rat‟s pounding hips, his thrusting cock, that sense of being overwhelmed, dominated. He couldn‟t resist it any more, couldn‟t fight off the pleasure. His head slumping to the bed, cheek grinding against the sheets, Andre started to come, his cock pulsing over and over again as Vic began to pound almost straight down into the leopard‟s orgasm-clenching tailhole, his tail wrapped around the rat‟s waist like the belt of a victorious gladiator. He was vaguely aware of his wife collapsing, face first, onto the bed by his side, only just barely able to see her sated, smiling face as she drifted off into a deeply pleasured slumber. He wasn‟t far behind her. * Margot and Andre came to themselves eventually, finding their naked bodies pressed together on the tangled sheets of the huge hotel bed. There was a sizable indentation between them, one that was still warm, indicating where a massive rodent‟s body had just been, dispelling the impression that what might have happened could just have been a dream. Both felines turned as they realized that the shower was running, and then looked back at each other, before they leaned closer together and kissed, their lips meeting with a passion that they had both almost forgotten they had for each other. When Vic stepped out of the bathroom a short time later, he was treated to the sight of two shapely feline rumps presented towards him, Andre and Margot both crouched on all-fours on the bed, presenting themselves, wiggling their long tails and lovely hineys with eager arousal. The sweet spice of horny cat hit the black rat‟s nose, making his whiskers vibrate, and he stepped forward eagerly, one massive hand gripping each of the pair of presented bottoms. “I think you two are gonna enjoy the rest of your vacation,” Vic chuckled.

“THE ANATOMY LESSON” by LuvsMusl “Brian?” He was surprised to hear Coach Porter calling him from the other end of the locker room. Brian had taken to putting in extra sessions in the weight room after practice. The school’s compact but well equipped gym was usually packed with other kids, football players and wrestlers, mostly, until six o’clock or so. He would take a half hour break after football practice, gulp a mix of high energy carbs and BCAA’s, and then grab an hour or so in the gym by himself, lifting intensely without any distractions. Lifting was his passion, his obsession. He had no particular plans to seriously pursue bodybuilding or any other sport. He just loved the feel of the iron, and seeing himself get stronger week by week, and watching his muscles grow steadily bigger and harder. He looked up and smiled as Porter strolled toward him. “You’re here pretty late, Coach. Prepping for Friday night?” A jayvee game was being played the following evening. “No, just catching up on lesson plans and stuff. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Brian shrugged slightly, pantomiming ‘what do you mean?’ “I’m about to do Anatomy with my senior Men’s Health class. Our class, I should say, since you’re in it.” “Okay…” “I was watching you in the weight room earlier…” Brian reddened a little, somewhat disconcerted at the thought that Coach had been secretly spying on him while he trained. “…And I was thinking. What if instead of just using those dumb charts, like every year, I get an actual guy, one of my athletes, to stand in front of the class and model the different joints and muscle groups as I point them out?” “Y’ mean –“ Porter chuckled at the anxious look on Brian’s face. “Yeah, dummy, I mean you. Just look at how well-defined your muscles are. It’ll be much clearer to people what I’m talking about than if I just point at flat diagrams on a chart. Am I right?” Brian went into his own head for a moment. He wasn’t much of an exhibitionist. Of course, it always made him feel good when girls, or other guys, made comments about how great his body looked. But now he pictured himself standing naked, or almost naked, in front of a room full of his classmates and teammates, being made to pose and flex. He couldn’t quite decide whether he hated the idea… or if… Porter decided for him. “Let’s just spend half an hour and see if we can plan it out. Grab a quick shower and then come on back to my office. Just your briefs. We can do a Speedo or something on Monday.” Without giving Brian a chance to answer, the coach turned and strode back toward his office. In the shower Brian thought more about the idea as he soaped himself up and started rinsing off. He was suddenly more focused than normal on his hard-earned eight pack, his thick pecs, his muscled arms and legs… all the while imagining the other guys in class staring at him in astonishment. In envy. Fuck, he suddenly thought. Why am I hard? A little disturbed that the image of himself preening and flexing in front of the twenty other men in his health class turned him on so much, he got to work furiously stroking his meaty cock (“My best body part,” he would joke whenever a girlfriend saw his thick 9.5 inches for the first time.) The giant boner was refusing to cooperate. He had to turn off the shower head and keep grabbing more palmfuls of pink liquid soap. Coach is waiting, he thought. How long have I been in here? Finally, to get the job done, Brian turned his mind back to the image of him flexing his massive physique in front of a roomful of admiring, lesser men. This got him a little closer. To cross the finish line he had to flex his pumped-up left bicep, and stare hard at the thick vein that crossed the deep, perfect separation between the muscle’s two heads. At the same time cranking his swollen tool with the other hand until finally, thankfully, he came, in a series of five emphatic spurts. Red-faced and breathless, he turned on the cold water to rinse his river of cum off the shower tiles, and off where it had splattered back onto his thighs. Porter sat at his desk, nervously laying out his anatomy notes. What’s taking him? “Coach?” He looked up and saw Brian, a little shy in skimpy red briefs, filling his office doorway. Filling was the right word. Dirty blond hair still wet from the shower, the kid, without gym shorts or a tank top interrupting the flow of his physique, looked like a young god. Porter felt something stirring downtown, and reflexively averted his eyes, glancing, for a moment, at the framed photo of his wife and two kids on the desk. “I’m, uh… ready when you are,” Brian mumbled, the hesitation in his voice suggesting otherwise. “Good. Good. We’ll get started in a sec.” Porter stood up, not sure how to begin. He found it literally impossible to avoid staring at the kid’s beautifully symmetrical, exquisitely sculpted body. He’d seen Brian in clothes, or in his football uniform, a thousand times. But seeing him now, like this, he realized that the boy’s perfect proportions disguised the reality of how big and full his muscles actually were. “My God, Brian, you really do have an amazing physique. What are you weighing right now?” “One ninety-seven, Coach,” Brian offered proudly. “My goal is to hit two ten by the end of the school year. Without sacrificing this…” He ran his palm over his flat, shredded midsection. Coach smiled. “A hard two ten, huh? And you’re what? Five eleven?” “Five nine.” Porter let out an impressed whistle. “That’ll be quite an accomplishment. Especially for a 17 year-old.” “I’m 18, actually. I missed a lot of school the year my family moved here, so I repeated fourth grade.” Porter felt himself blushing bright red and it terrified him, sickened him even, that his heart had leapt when he heard that Brian was over 18. What was he thinking? Brian noticed it, too. Was Coach turned on by him? Could Jack Porter, the school’s famously tough, macho, hard ass football coach possibly be aroused by the sight of his shirtless body? Were his muscles that impressive? He had no conscious intention to test this. But, apparently, there was an unconscious urge, because without any thought Brian tensed his pecs and they jumped for a second, ever so subtly, briefly revealing the nice separation between his upper and lower chest, and the deep indentations where the side of his pectoral muscles flowed into his delts. The look that flashed momentarily in Porter’s eyes told Brian everything. Oddly, instead of feeling uncomfortable he found himself growing more relaxed. Fully on purpose this time he lifted his arms and clasped his hands casually behind his head, knowing full well that this would accentuate the V-taper of his torso, bring his obliques into high relief, and flex his biceps into perfect, solid globes beside his head. “Let’s do this,” he said, suddenly sounding like the man in charge. Porter cleared his throat, knowing that if he didn’t his voice would break. “Um… I usually start with the midsection.” Brian moved to lower his hands, but the coach stopped him. “No, keep ‘em like they were, that’s perfect.” Brian interlaced his fingers behind his head again, this time tensing his body so that everything popped. “Yes, yes, that’s good,” Porter said, his words colored with way more excitement than he’d intended to convey. “I won’t do my whole spiel. But I’ll start by talking about your... your… uh… rectus abdominus… upper obliques… serratus anterior…” As he listed the muscles Porter’s hands moved over Brian’s body, gently at first, outlining each muscle as he named it, then pointing out all the individual examples of that type. “Very impressive, Brian,” he said, unable to stop himself from commenting. “Looks like every muscle in your body is perfectly developed.” “Thanks, I work hard at it.” Throughout the process Brian had kept watching the coach’s face, his eyes, enjoying the extreme reaction his physique was causing in the older man. It wasn’t clear whether Porter noticed his own breathing getting heavier, or his fingers spending more and more time on each of the muscles he enumerated… stroking and feeling its density, its elegant shape, its meaty perfection. But Brian noticed, and it thrilled him to his core. I fucking own this guy, he thought. I bet I could get him to do anything. As if sensing Brian’s thoughts the coach’s voice got a little soft and dreamy as he continued his exploration: “External intercostals. Beautiful.” He forgot to talk for the next minute or so as his hands continued wandering, tracing the transversus abdominus -- the muscular V that framed Brian’s lower abs -- and finally rested, once again, in the middle of the boy’s phenomenal, marble sculpture of a stomach. “Punch me,” Brian said. “What?” “Hit me, Coach, with your closed fist, as hard as you can.” Porter chuckled nervously. “I boxed in college, Brian. I had twenty-two amateur fights, I won most of them. Trust me, you don’t want me to hit you.” “If you want to touch any more of my muscles you’ll do it. And not a love tap, either. I want you to pull back and slam me with 100% of your full strength.” The coach was incredibly aroused by Brian’s confidence. And he craved seeing just how strong, how rock solid the kid’s magnificent eight pack was. He set his stance for maximum leverage, pulled his big fist back, and torqued his entire, solid 230 pounds toward Brian’s midsection. The 18 year-old didn’t budge, not a centimeter, didn’t register the blow at all, as Porter’s fist connected with the cinder-block wall that was his midsection. “Fuck!” Coach shouted in pain and pulled his arm back, moving his fingers to see whether any of the bones in his hand had cracked or even broken. Brian laughed, reveling more and more in his newfound power. “Pretty fucking hard, right? Tell the truth. You’ve never anyone with a body like this, let alone a kid.” He put his hands on his 28 inch waist and flared his lats, creating a mind-blowing V in a move that also showcased his spectacular, pumped-up delts, biceps, triceps, pecs… and of course that stone wall of a stomach. The coach was momentarily speechless. “N… No, Sir.” The ‘Sir’ surprised Brian. But no less than it shocked Porter, who had no idea why it had come out of his mouth. Well, he had some idea. Emboldened, Brian bent his right arm under his chin and flexed it, causing a diamond hard, perfectly shaped bicep peak to rise like a steely half moon above his brachialis. “Hey, Coach,” he teased. “Feel that shit. You know you want to.” Coach put his still-aching hand on the boy’s bicep and squeezed it, flushing with delight at how insanely hard and ungiving it was. He might as well have been squeezing a cue ball or a trailer hitch. “Go ahead, kiss it if you want. Put it in your mouth.” Porter met the boy’s gleaming eyes, which showed just how much Brian was getting off on teasing and dominating him. He leaned forward and kissed the stunningly perfect bicep as Brian flexed it again, making it even harder. Porter put his mouth around the granite sphere and sucked it as if it were a thick, juicy cock, slurping and moaning in delight. He would have gone on forever if Brian hadn’t finally stopped him, pushing the coach’s head away, disappointment and frustration darkening the older man’s face. “You like that, don’t you,” Brian teased, now “popping” the beautiful peak, making it jump, over and over, from flaccid to granite hard, a perfectly shaped beef balloon bouncing and swelling. “Boom! Boom! Boom!” “I like it very much, Sir.” “I’m a thousand times the man you’ll ever be. You know that, don’t you? And I’m still in fucking high school.” Brian was on auto-pilot now, improvising, riding his muscle bronco for all it was worth. “Yes, Brian. I mean, yes, Sir. It’s true.” “Fucking right it’s true. You’re hardly a man at all, compared to me. More like a worm. An insect. Next to this you’re nothing.“ He hit a tight most-muscular pose and his 18 year-old body congealed into an edifice of powerful, carved-up beef, veins like quarter-inch pipes throbbing in his thick neck, his brutal shoulders, his ungodly muscular arms. As the boy held the pose, twisting slightly left and right to deliver the full measure of his intimidating virility, Porter couldn’t keep himself from reaching down and stroking the excited thing that was growing inside his gym shorts. Seeing this, Brian stopped flexing, pushed the coach’s hand aside and grabbed hold of the man’s hard cock through his pants. “Is that what my big muscles do to you?” He squeezed Porter’s dick a little harder. “Yes, Sir. I love your big muscles. I live for your muscles.” Brian grinned, still not letting go. “Does it ever get this hard for Mrs. Porter?” He tightened his grip even more, staring into the coach’s eyes, grinning with amused contempt, a bald challenge. A surge of fury formed in the older man’s gut and rose to his throat, an instinctive reaction to his pupil’s brazen disrespect. But before Coach could act on this Brian lifted his callused palm to the coach’s cheek and gave it a patronizing pat. “It’s okay, Jack. My body has reduced better men than you to complete submission. Much better men.” Porter’s anger instantly shrank to a tiny pebble, washed away in the tidal wave of the muscleboy’s cockiness, his effortless dominance. A wet spot of pre-cum had started growing on the front of the coach’s pants. “Okay, let’s finish the lesson. I’ll flex my big teenage muscles and you tell my homies what they’re looking at.” Brian turned his back on Porter and unpacked a masterful rear biceps shot, a sweeping landscape of sculpted flesh that caused the coach to grab his desk for support. The boy reached his hands up and pulled his back into a tighter version of the pose, forcing even deeper valleys in the mountain range of thick muscle: “I’m waiting.” “Sorry, Sir. I’m sorry…” He had to catch his breath before he could start. “Well, um… those are your… your...” “Yeah, yeah, my fucking traps. My fucking lats. My beautiful fucking rhomboids. You’re boring me.” “But –“ “Shut up, worm. What about my glutes? …Are we going to talk about my glutes, Coach?” Without turning back around Brian pulled his briefs down and kicked them out of the way. Porter found himself staring at the most staggeringly beautiful 18 year-old muscle ass in the history of human asses. His knees buckled and he was on the floor, reduced to servitude by the sheer force of youthful male perfection that loomed in front of him. Brian clenched his curvaceous onion and it consolidated into a rock hard matrix of gluteal magnificence – deep grooves and solid ridges striping his shapely butt like the protective armor of some prehistoric creature. Coach made a little noise, from deep in his throat, like the cry of a dying loon. And then he lunged forward, propelling his face toward the tawny curve, the shadowy crescent that promised the fulfillment of his darkest, most joyful and secret dreams. But before Porter’s tongue could find its target Brian pivoted around and whacked Coach in the jaw with his massive billy club of an erect cock. When the older man recovered Brian grinned and wagged his big piece in Coach’s face, making it bounce with pure muscle control, which left his hands free to stroke his abs seductively. “It’s quite a bit bigger than yours, Jack. I guess that’s no surprise.” “No, Sir.” “Maybe if you’re a good boy I’ll let you suck this muscle cock.” “I’ll be a good boy, Sir. I promise.” “Who owns you, little man?” “You do, Sir.” Coach jerked a little, he was starting to cum in spite of himself. “Who’s your muscle master?” “You are!” “Who?” “You, Sir! Brian! Brian Hansen!” Brian laughed and shoved his battering ram of a tool into Coach’s mouth. He grabbed the back of Porter’s head and slammed it repeatedly against his own hard abs, rhythmically fucking the older man’s face as Porter gagged and choked in delirious ecstasy… holding on for dear life to the teen muscleman’s flaring vastus lateralis. With each hard thrust Brian yelled out a command: “Take that teenage cock! Eat that nasty dick muscle! Brian Hansen is God! Brian’s muscles rule your worthless life.” Coach gargled a worshipful assent, somehow forcing it past the wide pillar of cock that filled his throat. Suddenly Brian pulled out, stepping back and stroking his swollen red erection, which was still slick with the coach’s saliva. “You want some of this hot muscleboy cum?” “Yes, Sir!” “How bad do you want it?” “More than anything! A million times more than anything I’ve ever wanted!” “Then work for it. Talk about my muscles.” Brian continued massaging his engorged cock, no longer looking at Coach but instead giving full attention to his raging boner as Porter clamored to gather his thoughts and began talking: “You’re the king of muscle. You’re a boy with the body of a god. Your biceps are giant mountains of male power. Your body is the Master of all men. Every time you flex your giant muscles it’s like you’re fucking my brain, my heart, my soul. Fuck me, Muscle God! Fuck me with your big, powerful, fucking muscles!” Brian was getting closer. “Don’t stop! Grab hold of my balls.” The coach happily did what he was told. “I want your muscles, Brian. I love your muscles. Your muscles own me. I’m a lowly slave to your giant teenage muscles.” Brian was now really close. “Whose teenage muscles?” “Your teen age muscles! Muscle God Brian’s fucking powerful, godlike teenage muscles!” About to cum, Brian shoved the coach aside and continued the chant himself, crying out triumphantly with each stroke of his truly magnificent cock: “My muscles!... My muscles!... “Brian’s!... “Fucking!...Powerful!”... “Godlike!”….”MUSCLES!” And with that he shot, his 18 year-old firehose spewing thick muscleboy cum on the coach’s face, in his cum-hungry mouth, on his shirt, across the desk, drowning the anatomy notes in a huge pool of hot, creamy spooj. For a long moment they just sat there, man and boy (though it’s not entirely clear which was which), physically and emotionally spent. After a while Porter grabbed a gym towel and wiped the cum off his face. He smiled, shyly. “Thank you, Brian. I really mean it.” Brian shrugged. “No worries.” He stood up and noticed that his dick, still semi-erect, was continuing to drip cum on the coach’s carpet. Porter saw it, also. “Don’t bother about that. I’ll have the cleaning crew come in and spruce this place up on Saturday. Or maybe I’ll have the jayvee squad do it.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I guess I better go shower.” Porter looked up at the kid, who was more pumped and shredded than ever after the intense flexing session. Mother of Christ, he thought. That boy truly is a god. “Oh, Coach, one more thing. Could you maybe write me a pass to get out of fifth period on Monday? That way I can come here and pump up before Health class.” Porter grabbed his pad and scrawled out the note. He presented it to Brian, noticing the way the kid’s triceps flared into a huge, striated horseshoe as he leaned on the desk to take it from his hand.” “Thanks.” He flashed Porter a dazzling, toothy grin. “I can’t wait for Monday.” “Neither can I.” “And don’t worry, Coach. I won’t tell anyone you’re a fag.” He winked playfully and swaggered out of the office. His dimpled glutes seemed to mock Porter as they bounced and flexed into the darknesss of the locker room.

THE OGRE - Part One After I close my mailbox, I turn to look at the house in front of me. Across the street from where I have lived most of my childhood is a small run-down house. There is a man who owns it who is rarely seen - I've only probably seen him once - which is hard to imagine after living across the street from him for the last 13 years. Kids used to tell stories that in that small house was a giant ogre who would trap you, eat you, and grind your bones to make paint to repaint the sun-worn white siding of his lair. The house surely is in need of repair, so I guess no kids have met an unfortunate fate after stepping on his overgrown lawn. If anyone had been brave or stupid enough to take the perpetual dare to go and ring his doorbell, I'm now sure they wouldn't have been eaten, but something about that house sends a chill down my spine that I can only read as a sign warning me to stop staring, take the mail, turn around and go home. Once inside, I quickly look through the mail, tossing the advertisements and newspaper on the kitchen table. I rarely get mail and I had my “big mail week” last week because of my 22nd birthday, but as a habit, perhaps out of hope, I look through the mail – bill, bill, catalogue, and then I stop. In my hand is an envelope: an envelope addressed to the ogre. My curiosity rises as I now had a name – the name of the mythic ogre. I drop the rest of the mail and beeline to my laptop. I google: “Michael McMann”. Naively, I think an answer about the giant ogre would just be right there at the top of the search results, but it isn’t. The thought of now having to give this envelope to the ogre rings over me. To get to his mailbox I’d have to walk directly up to his door, past the gate – he might see me, or worse, prove the legend true and capture me. I think about how I could escape and then feel extremely foolish as I remember that our mail carrier puts mail in his box almost every day and she obviously hasn’t been eaten. I take a breath and decide to go now so that I wouldn’t have to go when it was dark. In front of the gate leading to the house, I pause with the envelope in hand. “Here goes nothing.” I sigh, “nothing’s gonna happen.” I lift the gate’s latch and jump at the creaking noise the rusted hinges made. “Shit! He’ll hear me.” I think. My steps quicken as I approach. With the tarnished copper letter box in sight, I don’t know what came over me, but I ring the doorbell. Immediately, I feel a drop of sweat roll down my back tracing the curve of my spine. “What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I really just do that?” Before I can think of what to do next, I hear what I can only think of as the ogre approach the door. The sound of the peephole cover sliding open should have sent me running back to my house, but I froze. As the door swings open, I look at the shadowed figure before me. There is a sense of relief for this is no ogre. I see man. The largest man I have ever seen. I couldn’t help but stare at the comic-bookeque figure before me. My eyes stare at his chestnut shaggy hair, furrowed brow, and meet his piercing grey eyes. He looks at me waiting for me to speak. I am mesmerized, following the scruff of his unshaven neck to swirl of his chest hair. His chest! I have never seen pecs that big. Their square shape discernible under the tight wife-beater he's wearing. When he moves his arm to wave at me like people do when you zone out, I am fascinated by the ebb and flow of his tricep, the spit peak of his obscene bicep, and the rivers of veins leading down the meat of his forearm. I feel my cock stirring to life. He is beautiful. “Umm…are you - hello? Can I help you?” he chimes. Startled by his voice, instead of responding like a normal human, I thrust the envelope out and when he takes it, I hurry away embarrassed at my behavior. That entire night I am enraptured replaying the movie in my mind – stuck on all of the curves, the hair; wondering how strong he must be, how he built such an incredible physique, wanting to feel what his body felt like, wishing that I could know how great it felt to have a body like that. When I wake that next morning, I find a box outside my door. I rip open the box and inside was a card and a small cake. I pull out the unsealed card. “Thanks -Mike ps: hope you like it” "The ogre baked me a cake!" --- to be continued.

Part 01 -The Plan- “That stupid fucking old man,” Victoria said, practically yelling as she entered the main office on the top floor of the main office of BUCK ENT. She walked in quickly, heels clicking loud as she made her way towards the desk located towards the back end of the room. She slams the metal case down and clears her throat, beginning to talk in a more sexy tone. “I got what you wanted, sir.” “Excellent work Ms. Evans. Your reward will be great.” Mr. Buck sat in his office chair, his back facing the beautiful red headed vixen. “Now, did it work?” He spun around to face her. Now Mr. Buck is a well to do good looking man. Well, man would not be the right words to use here. His father died when he was only 16, allowing him to take over the enterprise at a very young age. Now only 7 years later, Buck is a 23 year-old young stud, according to Victoria. It wasn’t the height that really made him who he was; Buck being only 5’6” in stature, he was shorter then his own sexy assistant. But he made up for it everywhere else. The man hated his height, so he started to work out at a very young age, so he had a body of an athlete, not too big but big enough to make the competitors back down at auctions. Currently Buck weighed a hefty weight of 175lbs of muscle, for a guy of this size that is quite impressive. His looks were another added benefit; Buck was a smooth guy, literally. Not one hair on his body, except for the usual genital region and underarms that most men have to begin with. Buck hated that too. He wanted to look more manly, masculinity defined. The chicks dug it, but he just felt left out with his peers because of his smaller height and less physical developments from puberty. Buck’s other features includes his big, squared jaw, hypnotic blue eyes, jet black spiked hair (the kid in him still shows), and his napoleon attitude, which we will get to a little later. Anyways, where was I (sorry for the interruptions, you all will no me soon, but for the time being, I felt you all should no how I actually became involved in this mess). Victoria, the slut that she is, was already leaning on his desk, her bust almost falling out of her too tight top. “Of course it worked, sir. Well, for Osborne, it didn't work as well as he thought it would have.” “So, then I assume that he is no more.” Mr. Buck sat back in his chair, arms sitting on the armrests; a wide, sly grin on his face. “That is correct sir. Now, do you want me to help you with anything else,” she said, winking at him. “Not at the moment; in due time we shall have our fun. But for now, I think it is time to set our small plan into motion.” “Oh, I can’t wait until then.” “Now, Victoria, tell me how this all happened…” ********************************************************** Time passed and Victoria recapped over all the events that happened with Osborne only a few minutes ago. When she was finished, Buck sat staring at the metallic case. He then began to laugh maniacally out of the blue. “Are you ok, sir?” Victoria asked, a bit confused from this sudden outburst of laughter. “Of course; actually I have never felt better. That stupid fool, thinking he could handle something so powerful.” He looked back up at Victoria. “And you do have more of the Ability Serum, correct?” Victoria giggled, reaching into her blouse, pulling out 3 vials, each a different in color. “Pick your poison.” Three different serums, each unlocks something different in a person’s body. Let’s do a quick review over these three super serums. So far only three different types have been made, each a different color so the user knows which serum does which effect to the body. As you all know, the red one has already been used. The Crimson Ability Serum centers on the person gaining the personality and the physical traits of the species the drug is used with (No wonder Osborne became so huge and aggressive). The second serum, the Emerald (green) Ability Serum, focuses solely on the person only gaining the personality traits of the “beast.” The last serum, the Golden Ability Serum, is for the user to gain the physical traits only. More then one species and serum can be used, which can create some super hybrid beings of power, but I am sure you have already all figured that one out as well. Buck looked at the three vials held between Victoria’s fingers, hypnotized by their brilliance in color. To get his attention back to the question, Victoria snapper her other hand’s fingers in front of him. Mr. Buck flinched back into reality, “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that; I want fast results now,” he reaches out, pulling the bright red vial away from his assistant. Victoria sat up on his desk, crossing one long leg over the other. “Mmm, I can’t wait sir. To think how much more of a stud you will be.” Buck pulled her backwards, to the opposite side of his desk, embracing her long and hard. “No worries Victoria. With this new power we hold in our hands, BUCK ENT will become the major monopoly for all health products. Plus, once I use this, the company will have a strong bodied person to lead us to global domination.” Victoria pulled away from him, sliding off the desk and unlatching the metal box. She swung the lid open and pulled out a syringe, sliding it across the table. The syringe went straight to the palm of Buck’s hand. He looked at her, raising a brow, “What’s this?” “Just a little something to release that big beast in you, sir.” Buck picked up the syringe from the table. He opens up his desk drawer and pulls out another syringe. With the empty syringe he sucks up the fluid of the Crimson Ability Serum. He uncaps the DNA syringe, moves it to a vein in his arm, jabs it in, and empties the foreign sample into himself. He begins to move the second syringe closer to the vein, his heart pounding hard in his chest. Thoughts flooded his mind, ‘is this the right thing to do? Messing with Mother Nature, what will it lead too?’ His hand starts to shake as it drawls ever so closer. He looks up; Victoria is gone from her previous spot. His eyes moving around the room, from one corner to the next, but there is no sign of his female assistant. Then, a flash of pain hits him; the chair spins around. There in front of him, one hand and mouth on his face and lips, the other emptying the contents of the needle into his arm. Buck stares straight forward in horror, not knowing what to expect from the sample Victoria pulled from the case. Victoria and Buck end there lip lock; “Grow for me, stud."

So I have been getting a lot of great feedback from this series so far. So I decided to whip out the next part. There is a bit of development in this chapter, but nothing as hugely noticeable as the previous chapter. I hope you enjoy this addition to the series. I probably won't be posting the next part till next week as I will be going on a mini-vacation. Please continue leaving comments! Either here or if you are not one to leave posts on the forum, feel free to message me through PM. I love hearing what everyone thinks and I do answer all messages! Anyways, Enjoy... {Vial 2} Last night, the craziest thing I have ever seen happened in my life. I guess you can say one thing I learned since I hit puberty is if you play with yourself for a while, it causes a feeling of euphoria that fills your entire body; a surge of pleasure from your head to your toes and then back to the center of your body when suddenly, BAM! Fireworks… The first vial caused something in my young friend Andrew. I am not sure if it was going to be the most dramatic change these vials will do to his body, but all I can say is I have been going through body changes myself for the past year, and I haven’t even ejaculated that much in my entire year of my natural puberty. Whatever is in these vials is more than magic; it’s some pretty potent scientific stuff! It took me about two hours just to clean up the mess Andrew left in the bathroom, after he immediately left, covered in a slick coat of sweat across his entire body and the strongest musk I have ever smelled on any human being in my short 14 years of living. Not even the seniors had that kind of stench after they were done with gym class. After I was done cleaning up the mess, I went into the fridge and found a bottle of water. Taking it out I moved to the kitchen counter where I pulled out a jar of Kool-Aid mix, put two generous scoops into the bottle, and shook it up until it was completely diluted. Might as well give Andrew something else to drink besides Milk. I took the bottle up to my room. Sitting on my bed, I opened the drawer on my nightstand and pulled out the vial marked #2. I popped the top, dumping the entire thing into the Kool-Aid, and shook it till it was also diluted. I put the bottle in my backpack for tomorrow. I began to get curious on what my friend will be greeted with next, so I peered through the bottle to look at the back of the label. I couldn't make out the whole label, but what I could read was “4__ IN_____G___ _UO__E_T.” The rest of the letters looked to be erased or too hard to decipher. I decided to get some sleep, tomorrow was sure to be another strange day… That night I slept like a log, and as if right on cue, I woke up and it was morning. I took a quick shower, got ready for school, and headed out the door, not even bothering on grabbing breakfast. On my way down the street, Andrew popped up alongside of me. “Hey Seth!” He squeaked, smiling up at me. “Dude, what’s wrong with your voice?” I had to laugh a bit. “And,” I bent down to sniff his neck. “Are you wearing cologne?” He blushed, a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, when I got home my dad seen how I looked and smelled. He said I started puberty, I guess, and got a bit excited over it. So he gave me some of his cologne to wear till I get out of school later to the store so I can get deodorant.” His voice continued to change in pitch with each word he said. “By the way Seth, I think that stuff worked. NO KIDDING! I said to myself. “Yeah, it appears so. If you don’t want any more, you don’t need to take the next vial.” “Are you kidding, Seth? I feel amazing!” I pulled him in for a friendly, brotherly hug. “Alright, well I brought the next vial. It’s in my backpack. Since you’re going out with your dad after school today, maybe you want to take it during lunch.” He looked at me a bit nervous as we approached the campus gates. “Do you think it’s going to be safe? I mean I pretty much destroyed your entire bathroom last night.” “I don’t think there is a lot to worry about. I already mixed it and it’s just waiting to be drank by you.” I honestly don’t know what this is going to do to this kid, but during school will be the only chance for him today to get the next step in this seven part adventure. “Alright!” He beamed up at me with his boyish face. “I’ll see you at lunch, Seth!” We both parted ways yet again and I had to wait a long four hours before I got to meet back up with my friend. We met at our usual spot, behind the school gym, where no one would disturb us. I bought lunch today since I forgot mine in the rush out the door, but Andrew came prepared with two tuna sandwiches. Each sandwich looked to be filled with probably an entire can of tuna meat. I gave him a weird look as he devoured both of them in front of me. “Geeze dude, slow down!” I laughed. “WHA MM HONGRY” He tried to say with his mouth stuffed with food. He swallowed the rest, washing it down with a soda. “Sorry Seth! I just have been so hungry all day today!” “It’s cool Andrew.” I pulled my backpack off my shoulders opening it and pulling out the bottle of Kool-Aid with the powder mixed into it. “Here it is.” I extended my hand with the bottle out to him. He took the bottle from my hand, smiling, and then unscrewed the cap. He put it to his lips, taking a small taste. “It’s really good today!” “Yeah, I used Kool-Aid, not milk this time.” I watched as he began to drink more. This time however he didn’t down it, but drank it at a normal pace. I kept staring at him, wondering what was going to change this time. Then it started, or at least I thought it was beginning to start. Andrew’s eyes got really wide, his mouth dropped open, and then he just leaned back against the gym wall. Closing his mouth around the bottle, and drinking the rest of the liquid, before placing it empty on the floor next to him. He gave me a smile and a look I had never seen before. “Are you ok?” I asked. “Yeah, Seth. You got nothing to worry about anymore.” He got up off of the floor and held out a hand to me to help me up. I accepted and was pulled up to my feet. Andrew looked a bit taller. “Did you grow?” I ask. “Not that I know of. I’m just standing straighter. I guess you can say if you stand up straighter, people look up to you a bit more, and have a bit more respect for you.” I honestly didn't know where he was getting this information from. “And like I said Seth, there is no need to worry about me. Everyone goes through puberty at different times in their teenage lives and they all develop in different stages. Yes, you did start a bit later than most boys do, but there is nothing to worry about. You will develop just like everyone else does.” Did Andrew just lecture me on what Puberty consists of? How the hell did he know this? When I initially told him my woes that my father didn't actually explain stuff to me, Andrew didn't have this kind of knowledge. He looked down at his watch, before picking the empty bottle up off the floor and putting it into a recycle bin. “We better get to class,” finally seeing the smile I knew return to his face, but one that looked a bit wiser. “If you have any more things you don’t understand Seth, just ask. I will do my best to help you understand anything I can help you with.” He rubbed my back, before lifting my backpack up to me. If I didn't know any better, this vial seems to have increased his intelligence, but just how smart did it make him. I swung my backpack over my shoulder, as I walked behind him. Andrew walked with his head raised high and a straight, perfect posture. NEXT UP - VIAL 3 VIAL 1 – HYPER-TEST – Initiate Puberty / Hyper-Testosterone Booster VIAL 2 – 400 INTELLIGENT QUOTIENT – 400 IQ / Hyper-Intelligence VIAL 3 - ??? VIAL 4 - ??? VIAL 5 - ??? VIAL 6 - ??? VIAL 7 - ???

There won't be growth really for a few chapters from now. This chapter does have a kind of transformation. Please stick with this though. It's just going to continue to get better! {VIAL 1} So todays the day that I finally test these “Magic Vials” out on someone that I “Trust.” I threw the bed sheets off of my body, took a quick shower, and headed out the door to walk to school. I made sure not to forget “Vial #1” which it was labeled as. On the way I ran into Andrew and we walked together as I explained to him all the crazy stuff that happened yesterday on the way home from school. He just always has this happy grin when I talk with him and it just makes anyone like him even more, almost toxic. I don’t know if its cause of his younger age or just his admiration that he has an older friend who actually notices him and will pretty much tell him everything. I really don’t care though, as he has always been there to listen to my problems and even tries to help me as best as he can with the little bit of knowledge he has on my teenage problems. “You should never stop believing in magic,” he responded when I told him about the kooky old woman. “I mean, there are miracles that happen. It’s kind of like magic Seth!” I chuckled a bit, patting him on his back as I noticed that finally managed to make it to the school gates. “I don’t know, Andrew. Maybe there is and maybe there isn’t.” The school bell begins to chime letting us know that classes are about to start up soon. “I’ll catch you at lunch, little buddy.” “Sure thing! I brought lunch for the both of us today too!” Andrew ran past me, turning back to wave. “See you in a couple of hours, Seth!” I waved him off as I began to think, maybe its Andrew that I should try this out on. The kid has been here for me since I first met him. I totally trust him, he listens to all of my problems and tries to give helpful advice even though most of the time he doesn’t really know much of what I am talking about, and he is pretty much my best friend. If this stuff really is magic and it will help me somehow, as well as benefit the one person I really can call family, then I must find a way to give it to him. I went to my classes and could not get the thought out of my head the whole day. What is this stuff going to do? Will it hurt him? Will it still be the same Andrew that I know? The last bell rang for lunch and everyone filed out of class and headed off to their usual hangout spots. For me and Andrew, it was behind the school gym. We always hung out here because no one would bother us when we talked. I was a bit nervous not knowing what I should do, so I kept quiet while eating my lunch. The silence was finally broken when Andrew tapped me on the shoulder. He looked up at me grinning “What’s up Seth? You’re never this quiet!” I looked at him smiling back. “I just got a lot of stuff on my mind.” “Is it still about last night?” he looked a bit confused. “You can tell me Seth, I like when you talk with me and tell me stuff!” I looked up into the sky, taking a big breath of air, before looking back at Andrew. “I want to try the first vial out. Would you be interested?” I was a bit scared of what this kid might say to me. Fearing he might say no and I’d have to find someone else, but he really is the only one I truly trust. “Sure Seth!” He was literally beaming. “I’ll take it! Maybe it will start to let you believe in Magic again!” I was filled with relief from his answer. “Alright, we can meet up after school. Come right over to my place, my father won’t be home tonight. He’s out with some girl again.” “Sounds like a plan!” Lunch ended and the day began to drag out longer then before lunch. I felt like the last 3 hours of school would never come, as I really wanted to see what the vials would do. The final bell rang and I literally jumped out of my seat and ran out the classroom door. On the way I swung by the cafeteria and grabbed a carton of lunch milk before I headed out the school gates and ran home. Andrew usually gets home first, as his dad picks him up from school. So as I got back to my house I went inside and headed to the kitchen. I pulled out the vial from my backpack and opened the milk carton, pouring the powder into it. I shook it to make sure everything was mixed up really well, before I put it back into the fridge. I looked at the empty vial and behind the label, I could see words. “HYPER-TEST.” Not sure what it meant I shrugged it off and slipped the empty vial into my pocket. A few seconds later the doorbell rang, “It’s open Andrew!” I yelled from the kitchen table. Andrew walked in, wearing a tank top and some basketball shorts. “Hi Seth! Are we ready to make you a believer of magic again?” I began to laugh, he was so damn cute with his words. “Yeah, Andrew. There’s a carton of milk in the fridge. It has the Vial in it. It’s all yours, bud.” Andrew walked to the fridge and pulled the door open, grabbing out the carton of milk. He closed the door and walked over to the table where he sat down opposite of me. I was literally sweating. I didn’t know what this was going to do. But he just sat there calm, smiling. “Well, bottoms up!” he put the carton to his lips and began to chug the entire carton. Soon as it was empty he put it down on the table and grinned with his milk mustache. Licking it off his lips, he let out a belch followed by laughter. “That wasn’t s-“ he stopped mid-sentence and the only thing I heard were groans and moans coming from his mouth. His hands immediately went to his crotch as he covered it. “Ohhhhh It feels so good!” I didn’t know what was going on at all as he quickly got off the chair and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. All I heard was moaning, and not just typical moaning. This sounded like someone really enjoying himself. It lasted about ten minutes, before the sounds began to fade and die down. I heard the lock on the door click and then Andrew walked out. His shirt was completely soaked with sweat, as well as his face and arms. He lifted a hand to his forehead to wipe a bit off when I noticed a few strands of hair sticking out from his armpit, and a musk so deep and manly permeated from it. There was also a small wet patch on the crotch of his shorts. “I think I’m going to go home, Seth.” He grinned at me. “Yeah, sure…” I walked Andrew to the door, letting him out. I watched him walk till he disappeared into his house. Not knowing what actually happened, I headed to where Andrew spent the majority of his visit, the bathroom. I pushed the door opened and what I saw and smelled was completely amazing and intoxicating. Semen dripping down the walls, mirror, and ceiling… and a stench so strong, I don’t even think Bleach would remove it. I finally realized, there really is magic. Now I need to see if Andrew will take the rest of the vials. But first, I better clean the bathroom up before my father comes home and really kills me for this mess! NEXT UP – VIAL 2 VIAL 1 – HYPER-TEST – Initiate Puberty / Hyper-Testosterone Booster VIAL 2 - ??? VIAL 3 - ??? VIAL 4 - ??? VIAL 5 - ??? VIAL 6 - ??? VIAL 7 - ???

This is just the set up. So feel free to skip it if you're a horrible person. SO HORRIBLE OMG!!! No but srsly it's OK if you skip it. I'll be posting the next part by tomorrow. I just gotta finish it up and maybe reread it if I'm not lazy. The Fighting Spirit - Part 1 Being born into a family with heavy expectations can sometimes make one wish they were never born. Expectations usually rely on dedication, love of whatever the expectation is, and sometimes even their genes. The Grants make up an extensive line of fighters that were all described as masculinity at its finest; their names all beginning with the letter G as per tradition. So of course, the newest addition to the family should follow suit, right? His father, a robust MMA fighter named Gary, didn't worry about the boy's future. He knew his son would be just as strong, if not stronger, than he was. The only thing left to do was name him, so he named his son Gunnar Lee Grant. He thought it was way cooler than the name his mother wanted to give him, which was Gary Jr. He even thought his own name was lackluster for someone who should be a man's man. Gary made sure his son wouldn't have to deal with such a name. He couldn't wait to see his son dominate on school wrestling teams or wreck a martial art's tournament. He just kept thinking of how awesome it'd be to hear "Gunnar Grant is the winner of this round!" The boy had a deep love for what every Grant man did before him, so Gary was quite pleased with his little boy's fight-loving spirit. Gary loved his son as much as a father could. He'd have fun fake-fighting with his son, teaching him moves, and watching whatever fighting-related sport was on the TV. Gunnar's genes, however, thought it was an awful idea for Gunnar to continue the gruff 'n' tough Grant tradition – no matter how much he and his father wanted it to be so. He may have had a fighter's reflexes, technical knowledge and spirit, but he did not have the power to back it all up. He tried his best to appease his father by joining any physical activity. Capoeira, skateboarding, and even swimming; none of them considered to be worthy in his father's eyes. Gunnar's dream of fitting into his own family slowly died, and he drifted aimlessly. "Lee, get down here!" Gunnar's father beckoned him. Just hearing the name Lee made Gunnar feel as if he were worthless. His father often said middle names are forgotten and useless, us Grants don't really use them when Gunnar was little. Gunnar sighed and organized his homework before setting it down on his end table. Dinner with his father was never a pleasant experience. He could just say he's not hungry, but that would just lead to a verbal beat down followed by a guilt trip. Gunnar hung his head as he left the room and slowly shuffled through his home to the kitchen. Not only was he dreading the dinner; he was worn out from college work along with his daily routines. Upon entering, his father immediately had something to say. "Boy, you're not moving towards the ground, eyes forward!" "Sorry dad, I'm just tired is all." Gunnar wearily responded as he got a plate for him and his father. "That's no damn excuse, boy. All you do is that girly dance stuff, roll around, and then college stuff. And put those away, you took so long I already got plates and the food's out there." Gary's voice was harsh. He just couldn't stand having a weakling for a son. "Get out there now. I shouldn't have to make dinner, serve you, and then wait for you too." Gunner nodded and walked out to the dining room. Dinner went smoothly until Gunner was halfway done. He was trying his best to shove down the food just so he could leave the table. "You know, my MMA days are almost done, right? It doesn't help that you're not involved in anything like us real Grant men." "Yes dad." Gunner knew some soul crushing words were going to follow. He had participated in capoeira and the urge to correct his father was rising in him. Yet he pushed it back down, knowing his father would just call it dancing and not a real fight. "This is the first time a Grant won't be a fighter or soldier. With my brothers all gone, this is the end. It's a shame you're all that's left of the Grants after me. We all trained hard and started fighting just for the sake of fighting. We Grants are large men, even the name Grant means large! We have so many trophies and awards from the Grant family that we need a room dedicated to them. We're made to be strong and we're made to win at all things demanding. . . Except you." "Dad, I tried. . . I'm just not made to be big and strong. That's why I'm 5'8" and not a giant like you. . . So I picked Capoeira, it uses momentum so I can use what muscle I do have to really hur-" "Dancing is not fighting or worthy of Grant recognition. You're just not dedicated enough. You never worked your muscles like I did. You never ate like I did. You're not like a real Grant at all. If you were fully dedicated you'd probably be over 6 feet tall like all the other Grants. Instead you'd rather read useless books, go to dance class, or play with your stupid skateboard. You're just a puny punk who's never going to be a man, let alone a man worthy of being called a Grant. Do you know how embarrassing it is to even mention you during an interview? It's awful." Gunnar held back the tears and stood up. His stomach was telling him he was still hungry, but every other part just told him to leave. "OK then. Well, I'm done dinner, g'night dad." "You didn't even finish it. Maybe that's why you're so weak. If you can't even finish your damn dinner then maybe I should just start cooking for myself." -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Gunnar took a shower to get the failure off of him. His father's words were harsher than usual, and Gunnar knew it was not his fault that things are like this. Any logical person would have left a person like Gary behind long ago. Yet Gunnar stayed and endured the abuse. He was secretly hoping one day his father would snap back to normal. . . But in the mean time, Gunnar tried his best to stand firm and endure all the things that were out of his control; no matter how horrible it made him feel. ". . . It's not fair." Gunanr muttered as he rinsed his hair. He let his hair fall down over his eyes and nose, almost reaching his mouth. It's almost as if he were trying to hide himself away from the world. Heavy banging on the bathroom door pulled him away from his depression before it caused him to sob uncontrollably. "Water costs money, boy! Hurry up! I just got done actually working out, so I need a shower way more than you do!" Gunnar turned off the water instead of replying. He stepped out, grabbed a towel, and dried off his hair and body as quickly as possible. He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door to see his father standing there. His father was massive, 6'4" with powerful muscle. He had a muscle gut and some padding, but that came with the territory of being a heavyweight MMA fighter. He was quite sweaty and wearing only boxer briefs, which showed Gunnar something he'd rather not see or smell. Gary pushed his son aside "Move." As Gunnar walked away he could hear his father's heavy footsteps resonate through the hallway. Something Gunnar's small frame could not manage to do. Gunnar entered his room, locked the door, and went to his dresser. He was digging through his underwear and found his most expensive pair. He'd wear them and imagine he was a real muscle jock; something his dad could be proud of. Then he'd stand in front of the mirror and flex. It was a pathetic routine, but for a split second he could feel like how he wanted to deep down inside. "I'm not so bad, I guess." Gunnar tried smiling, but his only expression available was a neutral face. Gunnar stood at 5'8" and weighed about 160 pounds. His body was small, flexible, and surprisingly ripped. All those years of trying to be a man worthy of the Grant name earned him his toned muscles, but they never grew to possess Grant-worthy strength. He attempted to spread his lats to see a V shape, only to see their poor attempt at making a U. His chest was tight and seemed to have two slabs of meat on them, modest slabs, but it was better than nothing. His abs were probably the most symmetrical of all Grants, a perfect 6 pack was easy to see – but his abdominals weren't thick and powerful like his father's abs (not that they were easy to see to compare, anyway). He rolled his neck, then his shoulders, before flexing his biceps. There was a noticeable bump, probably a bit bigger than an average male of his height. To him, they were still far from impressive. His taut skin made veins apparent on his forearms, but they were hardly worth looking at due to his tight and small musculature. His legs were fairly powerful and they carried him far; those in his capoeira class feared those legs of his. Then he patted the front bulge of his boxer briefs, "I'm still pretty strong in my own way, I guess. Stronger than an average guy my size. . . Right? And this right here is pretty hefty too. . . Maybe I should just start. . . Hmph." Gunnar tried accepting himself, but he didn't want to accept himself looking the way he did. He knew he did not take after the Grant men; his one desire. His father was a muscle bull, everything about him was intimidating; from obvious signs like his bulging muscles down to the subtler ones like his snaking veins or piercing stare. Gary had a thick stubble-coated face that could take many punches and kicks. It also looked like it took many punches and kicks over the years, too. Gary's eyes were brown and seemed almost black, adding to his overall dark tone. His head was short and shaved down, appearing to be a very dark brown color. To top off his hairy and testosterone-laden appearance was a fierce baritone voice. His voice seemingly shook the house whenever he yelled, or heck, even when he grunted while working out. Gary was a dim and cocky braggart, often putting down other men by verbal or physical means. All the Grants before him were just the same because greatness seemingly ran in the family. On TV he smiled and was eye candy from the neck down, which helped deter others from noticing his unsavory intensity and hardened face. He wasn't ugly per se, but one look at him would make someone assume Gary's face was one big callous. He was hungry to show off his muscles and was surprisingly charismatic despite his dark, gruff, and tough look. So even when his MMA days are done, he'd surely have many commercial deals to get gym rats pumped up. Gunnar's personality was far from anything resembling any Grant. He was meek and quite sweet, but he still had a fighter's spirit deep down inside; which showed when he trained or fought. When it came to capoeira he was fierce and in the zone; people hated going up against him. The Grant mentality didn't sit well with his peers, so that didn't help him make any friends there either. Off the battlefield, so to speak, a cloud of persistent shyness followed him wherever he went. He often wore a zip-up hoodie, using the hood to hide himself away from the world as he tucked his hands into the front pockets. He would just skateboard around the city or college campus and just marvel about how invisible he was. Gunnar knew he must've taken from his mother's side. His voice was far from powerful and was more androgynous. His face could be described as delicate. He had golden blond hair that was soft and mostly straight. It was medium length and usually covered part of his eyes and draped down over his ears. His eyes were vividly blue, similar in color to a crystal clear tropical ocean. . . Not that anybody could tell with his hair in the way. His body was pathetically hairless except for a few parts; he even shaved his underarms and pubic hair because of how awkward it looked on his smooth body. He couldn't even grow facial hair; he felt like an 8 year old whenever he thought about it. He wish he had some hair, but figured it was for the best considering he was invested in capoeira. Gunnar tried adapting to the work what you've got mentality with some success over the years. Not that it made him any happier with himself. "I should just throw these away. . . I'll never be huge enough to do them any justice. . ." Gunnar wiped a tear away from his eye and slowly moved his hands down to the waistband. It felt like he was going to throw away all his hopes and dreams, but keeping them would just remind him of how he should look. "But maybe if I try really hard I can convince my dad that. . . I'm worthy of being a Grant in my own way." "Aw, but I think they make your butt look soooo cute!" A female's voice called out. The voice startled Gunnar for many reasons, though the main dialogue running through his head was quite silly. They were along the lines of, a woman wouldn't even talk to me, let alone come to my room and a woman seen me in these, oh no I bet I look so pathetic. Nothing reasonable, such as I locked the door and window followed by she shouldn't be able to get in my room. Gunnar whipped around to see a woman sitting on top of his dresser. She appeared to be professional and stylish, like a cover model meant for Librarian's Monthly. Gunnar's face burned so brightly red that even his neck and shoulders were glowing red too. His lip quivered and he backed away as he felt the front of his boxer briefs tighten. His lips parted briefly to let out a combination of an amusingly high pitched squeal and a deep gasp. He hunched over and covered the front of his boxer briefs and looked at the lady from a side-glance. He couldn't tell if he should be aroused or terrified. "Hah-hah. . . Ha-how. . ." "Aw it's OK, use your words. I assume you know way more words than big papa bear out there. I would've been here sooner, but I thought I should just take a peek in that shower. You know, for research. I sure do appreciate perfect specimens of mass-virility; guys who are the complete package of masculinity. Speaking of packages. Like, woooow. How does he not have more kids or a few illegitimate children? And back to speaking about packages, it's kind of sad that his son is not a complete package of manliness." She adjusted her glasses and casted her gaze in Gunnar's direction. It heightened his arousal and fear at the same time, causing him to back up until he bumped into the mirror and fell over. "Truly pathetic." Gunnar quickly shuffled back to his feet and picked his mirror up off the ground, choosing to hide behind it. His head peaked out from the side and managed to let out a few coherent squeaks. "How did you get here?" "I'm just good at appearing wherever I want at any time. It's quite literally magic. Sort of. Maybe. I don't know." "Are you a. . . A librarian ghost?" He gasped, "Are you here to haunt me for purposely not returning that bodybuilder encyclopedia back in the 8th grade?!" "No. What." It wasn't even a question. She was just flabbergasted by the fact that was his first guess. "Actually, I guess you could call me a librarian. However, I only like being referred to as END. As in, if you don't call me END I will violate your nostrils with pencils to no end. Extremely sharp pencils if they're available." She waved her hand and a pencil appeared. "Oh wait, they're alwaaaays available." "So what are you doing here?" Gunnar tightened his grip on the side of the mirror as his face switched back to a less flamboyant color. "I spin my little rotating card catalogs and let them pick a name." END waved her hand to make a book appear. A card was sticking out of it, like a makeshift book mark. She pulled it out and read the card's contents in a monotone voice. "Gunnar Lee Grant, male, 7667 days old, book identification number 100310419017910150002510113601 under section G.G." Gunnar had moved out from behind the mirror and progressively moved closer and closer to END as she slowly read the card. He still couldn't muster up the courage to look directly at her. "What's that even mean. . .?" "According to your thoughts, you have had some concerns about your story so far." She raised the book and patted the cover. She held out the book for Gunnar to take it. "It's my duty to look into any problems to make sure they coincide with the author's vision he or she wanted. And by duty I mean a way to deal with boredom." Gunnar cautiously shuffled closer towards END to take the book. He quickly drew backwards as his hands wrapped around the binding, quickly examining the cover. It had his name on the front, and on the spine was a long set of numbers. He scanned through a couple of pages and saw key parts of information. Precisely how old he was right down to the very millisecond – with the counter quickly moving as time flew by. He opened to a random page and saw blobs of text that told short stories of good times he and his father once shared. Gunnar slammed the book shut and a depressing silence followed. Not for too long, thankfully. "So basically, anything can be altered by using that book as a hub. I put edits in it, and if the edit affects other people's books, those get changed too. I'm thinking revenge is probably better right about now. Like shrink your dad into a sad and miniature version of himself and you can be the big guy. Or whatever you'd like. It's your story." "How can you do that?" Gunner sniffed and wiped tears from his eyes. For the first time he looked END in the eyes. And for once in a long time, a shimmer of hope glowed in his. "I'm the editor-in-chief. That's how." >>CLICK HERE FOR PART 2<<

Hey guys! I'm back, posting my Dylan stories again. I'm changing the stories slightly so thay Dylan is 18 now rather than 17; this shouldn't really impact the story too much but hopefuly readers who may not enjoy underage stories will be able to more fully enjoy this one. ------ Dylan's Photo Shoot The first thought that came to Kyle's mind when he saw the kid was "Goddamn." Huge. Ripped. Young. Sexy. Dylan was all that and more. The big muscleboy smiled at the photographer as he walked in, his handsome lips so full and beautiful that Kyle wanted to walk up and have sex with him right there. "I'm here for the interview." The steamy hot stud said, his voice resonating with undeniable confidence and masculinity, "This is the place, right?" "Yes it is," Kyle responded, standing up to shake the muscleboy's hand. The kid grabbed Kyle's hand and shook it. Kyle winced slightly at the unexpected strength of the jock's grip, though he could tell that the boy hadn't put his full power into it. "So that makes you Dylan Tadeo." The jock grinned, a deep and powerful "Yep" escaping his mouth. Kyle offered the stud a chair as they both sat down. Taking this time to check out the boy's frame, he was definitely impressed. The kid's face was young and graceful, almost beautiful, with baby-smooth skin, dazzling brown eyes, and midnight black hair. He had a heartwarming smile that appeared both innocent and yet naughty, heavenly and yet seductive. The boy wore a skintight black short-sleeved running shirt and black-and-red shorts that highlighted his muscular thighs. Kyle recognized these as the colors of Dylan's high school, and guessed that the young muscle stud was probably an athlete. "I've got to say Dylan, you're pretty built." "Thanks," the muscleboy chuckled, "I work out a bit for school. You look pretty fit yourself, Mr. Parks." Kyle blushed at the flattery. It was true, though. Kyle's friends in the gay community often complimented him for his muscled six-foot-tall, 180lbs body, and more than one person was envious of his handsome face and golden-blond hair. For a man in his mid-forties, Kyle was shockingly attractive. But Kyle liked to keep business and sex separate, and he definitely wasn't going to be exchanging compliments with a high school teen. Even one as gorgeous as Dylan Tadeo. "Flattery will get you anywhere, kiddo. Just call me Kyle. Anyways, you said you work out for school. What's that all about?" Dylan lazily stretched his hulking arms as he reclined in his chair and spread his beefy legs. Such lack of decorum would have been a turn-off to Kyle normally, but Dylan made bad etiquette look sexy. "You know, football, wrestling, swimming, basketball, baseball. I do a lot of sports. Track too, except that the track coach says I should try and cut down on my weight since he thinks it's slowing me down. Of course, he can't really complain too much when I'm the state's number one sprinter. And swimmer. And wrestler. And pretty much everything else, too." 'So this kid isn't just a sexy musclegod, but a star athlete as well?' Kyle mused, 'Dayumn!' "Out of sheer curiosity, just how heavy are you? Don't worry, this won't affect your chances of landing the job. I just want to know." Dylan grinned, flexing his biceps. "Two-hundred-and-ninety-eight pounds, if you really must know." Kyle was stunned. "Uh, that is certainly very impressive. You must be really dedicated." "That's an understatement. The gym is my second home. In fact, that's where I got the idea to sign up for this job. One of my coaches was watching me work out the other day and said that I had a really good-looking body. He said that if I wanted, I could probably get a job modeling or something. So then the next day I saw this ad in the paper and here I am." "I should thank your coach then, because I really think you're going to be my next model. Want to start right now?" The teen's beautiful lips spread wider, and he seductively drawled, "Why not?" Dylan was a bomb on camera. Kyle took shots of the young musclegod in various poses, his beefy muscles barely concealed by his body-hugging clothing. Dylan flexed his biceps, tensed his calves, tightened his abs, flaunting his attractive muscles with a poised swagger that only heightened his attractiveness. The pictures were perfect. Usually at a photo shoot Kyle had to delete a few awkward photos and hire a photo editor to buff up the model and get rid of any small skin defects. Not this time. Dylan was such a natural that each and every pose was flawless, irresistible, and erotic. His body was already perfect, charged with lean muscle mass and unblemished skin that would make Hollywood stars green with envy. The photos were perhaps the best Kyle had ever seen. And this was only the interview. --- Kyle didn't see Dylan until a week later. In that time, the blond photographer had called up his business partner, Mai Song, and had scheduled a meeting with her on Monday. Mai was a woman of dark hair and small size, and most people would have assumed that she was as young and innocent as her face suggested. Not Kyle. He knew her as the sharp, clever entrepreneur who she really was. The two were longtime friends, and when Kyle started his business as a photographer, he knew Mai was the woman to help. "So what's the big catch?" Mai asked, "You haven't been this excited with a photo for years." Kyle reached inside a brown pouch and pulled out a series of photos. He offered them to Mai, and she looked at each of them, marveling at how well-made they were. There were about a dozen in all, and each and every one of them caught the lighting, the posture, and the shadows just right. "These are really good, Kyle. The kid looks really beautiful in all these pictures. His muscles are accentuated amazingly in that shirt, and his skin is absolutely impeccable. Who was the editor?" The photographer shook his head. "There was no editor. These are the original pictures." Mai's jaw dropped open. "You're shitting me, Kyle." "Nope." The businesswoman gazed at the photos for a few seconds before looking back up. "I can see how much I can get out of these pics. I might not be able to sell them for a lot right now but if I play my cards right one of the big companies might be willing to shell out quite a bit of cash. How many days do we have before the kid comes back?" Kyle looked at his cell phone "I'm seeing him next Friday… so about five days." Mai smiled. "That's perfect. I'll get back to you before then." --- "Hey Kyle, what's up?" The photographer quickly turned around and smacked into an enormous set of pecs. "Ow… hey, Dylan. I didn't see you there." The huge muscleboy grinned down at Kyle, "Seems like you were distracted. What's that?" Kyle had been studying the photos of several models before Dylan interrupted him. These pictures had been sent by the company Mai had negotiated with as examples of what kind of shots they were looking for. They features young men, probably in their early twenties, dressed in tight tee shirts with bodybuilding slogans and jeans that clung to their muscled frame. Dylan was younger than any of these guys were, but he was a lot more buff, so making these clothes look good on the huge jock would be easy. "Nothing important," Kyle replied. "Today, I was planning on having you model some pieces of clothing. You can try on whatever you like. I've got the clothes over there." Kyle pointed over to a small changing room filled with various costumes from the company, mostly the same kind of shirts and pants that were in their photos. Dylan walked in and looked around. "There's not much diversity in here. Are you sure this is all ya' got?" Kyle sighed. "We've got a few clothes our sponsors want you to model in. I'm sure you'll look great in them." Dylan shrugged his muscular shoulders and closed the door. A minute later, he came out. "Well, do I look good?" Good was an understatement. The sexy adolescent was wearing a pair of ass-hugging black jeans and a bright blue 3XL shirt. "I DON'T TAKE STEROIDS, BUT THANKS FOR ASKING" was printed in bold black font across the chest, where Dylan's beefy pecs pushed the fabric out with their massive size. Kyle remembered laughing at the shirt when it came in the delivery, and tossing the shirt into the dressing room without a second thought. But he had obviously made a mistake. Dylan raised his arms behind his head and flexed his biceps, letting them expand like bread in an oven and fill up his sleeves until they looked like they were about to explode. Then he straightened out his arms and flexed his triceps, the huge horshoe-shaped muscle bulging against the material dangerously. Before his mighty arms popped the sleeves, Dylan shifted into a side pose, bringing his arms behind his back and extending his leg behind him. He flexed his glutes and calves, straining the tight black jeans even more. All this time, Dylan stared straight at the camera, a naughty smile on his drop-dead gorgeous face. Dylan's pecs and arms were constantly threatening to burst out of his shirt like water breaking through a dam, and his butt seemed practically spray-painted black as the form-fitting material sensually slid over his powerful thighs. Kyle took shot after shot of the irresistible stud, his mouth practically watering as Dylan moved from one sexy pose to another. "Whoa there, superman," Kyle interrupted, "That's enough for now!" The musclegod stopped posing and crossed his hefty arms in front of his chest. "What, something you don't like?" The photographer shook his head, "No, not at all! You did an amazing job, even better than last time. But we need pics of you modeling in several different clothes, so why don't you go back there and find something else you like?" Dylan beamed and headed into the dressing room. Kyle waited, excited but patient. --- It was the second meeting between Kyle and Mai since he started seeing Dylan. This time, Kyle brought about fifty photos of the muscleboy, each in which he was flexing his arms, legs, and/or glutes while wearing a rainbow of t-shirts with slogans such as "I'M NOT COCKY, I'M JUST STRONGER THAN YOU," "I MURDER FAT FOR A LIVING," and "YOUR WORKOUT IS MY WARMUP". "Sheee-it," Mai breathed as she examined the photos, "This bad boy makes the other models look like twigs! He must be a real chick magnet, huh?" Kyle shrugged. "The kid is apparently really good at basketball and football, and with a face like that, I'd be surprised if he wasn't getting laid every week. Not that it's any of our business." "Of course!" Mai objected, "That's not what I'm implying at all. I'm just saying that a stud like this could get us some serious cash in the long run if we rear him. How old is he, anyways?" "Only 18, or so he says. Kind of hard to believe since the boy is as big as a pro bodybuilder, but when he's got a face that attractive, who cares?" Mai flipped through the images, admiring Dylan's charming brown eyes and flirtatious grin. She noticed Dylan never broke eye-contact. That was a good thing. The boy had beautiful eyes, the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, and they seemed to seduce her just by looking at them. Mai shivered, and looked back at Kyle. "I should have told you earlier, but I actually already have a sponsor for the kid's next session. They're willing to pay more than the other company was." Kyle was taken by surprise. "Really? What kind of shots do they want?" The businesswoman smiled slyly -- a sign that Kyle knew meant she was thrilled with whatever it was that she was going to say next. "They were hoping you would send them a few shirtless pics."

Looking at the tags, my story so far is kind of boring, but the growth will start in the next chapter so bear with me. Tristan Part 2 With A.P. exams and finals over, Tristan finds himself without much of a reason for staying with his father and siblings; he wants to get away. The morning after taking his economics final, Tristan says his good byes to the family and begins a cross country road trip. Stopping only for gas, food, and sleep, he arrives at a large apartment complex, two days after his departure. Slightly nervous at the prospect of living with complete strangers for a year, he takes up the elevator and walks to his soon to be apartment, and firmly knocks on the door. A large shirtless Samoan man of immense height and mass opens the door; even by Samoan standards the man is big. His shoulders nearly occupy the entire length of the doorway, before tapering down to a thick waist. His abs are incredibly thick and round, like brown soda cans. His pecs are square shaped and so large, his nipples appear to almost point straight down. "Tristan, you're here," loudly exclaims the large man with a smile. "Hey Afano, I decided to come up here a day early. I hope it's not a problem." "Dude it's fine, Josh already packed his stuff and left. The room's all yours," Afano says while stepping aside, "come in I'll show you his room." The living is room is exactly how Tristan remembers it, a sofa with some tables and laps. The entire apartment has hard wood floors and the walls are painted an eggshell color, or maybe they just need to be cleaned. Afano leads his new roommate to a room on the far right of the apartment. "So this is it, pretty basic room you got yourself a desk, a bed, and two dressers. It's decent and cheap, a lot better than some of the other places around here. No cracks, no peeling paint, no splinters, it's actually a pretty good deal. Dude, you need any help with your stuff?" Tristan looks at Afano, and notices that he is only wearing a towel. A tiny little thing wrapped around his expansive quads. The muscles fill out in all directions before collapsing at the knees and again expanding around his shins. Right in the center of the towel is a rather sizable bulge. Without warning, Afano's lower body begins bulging. "Do you like what you see?" says Afano with a smirk. "I didn't mean to stare." Afano's face softens and he lets out a deep jolly laugh. His large round muscles begin jiggling, especially his pecs. As Afano inhales deeply, his pecs push out forward making his chest cleavage more pronounced. After exhaling, he takes a good look at Tristan and says, "Dude relax, I'm just messing with you," while bouncing his large pecs. “Okay.” Tristan looks away and wonders down stairs to his car, with Afano following. As he starts unloading boxes of clothes from the truck of the car, he can’t help but wonder whether it’s lawful for Afano to be outside. “Should you be outside like that?” “Like what?” innocently asks Afano. “Nude, save for a towel.” “Dude it’s fine. Like three fourths of the apartments are empty, and it’s like three in the afternoon. Besides, who’s going to complain about this?” He once again begins bouncing abnormally large pecs, however instead of just moving up and down, they actually move outward. Striations leap out from his arm pits and travel across the formerly smooth beef. Afano smiles and winks at Tristan, then motions at him to look around. Not a single person is in view. There is one window with the blinds partially raised, but the moment Tristan takes notice, the blinds close. “See, nobody has any complains,” smiles Afano while striking a few more poses. Tristan feels a little irritated. He left home to get away from his father’s showboating, but now he has to deal with a giant three hundred and something pound Samoan with exhibitionist tendencies. Still, the other two roommates seemed normal enough, the rent was fairly cheap, and besides it was too early to complain or start regretting the decision. The two men make three trips up and down the stairs, carrying various boxes. Afano goes through some house rules or housemate agreements that may need updating. Tristan was already well aware of most topics, but he wanted to address the bills. “Right so the electricity in this place is fucking pricy, so we make do without air conditioning during the day and only turn it on during the night. Water and gas are fairly cheap. We don’t have cable, because I have Amazon prime and Drew has Netflix. You can talk to the building manager about getting cable, but you’d have to pay for it yourself. I personally think it’s a waste of money, just let me know if you want to watch something and I’ll let you use my account. Drew is the same way, if you prefer something else.” Afano goes into detail about bringing girls and guys over for studying or sex. Then starts talking about food and refrigerator space, which is empty except for some beer and a box of baking soda. He and another roommate, Blake, both have trucks, but they typically carpool to save money. For about thirty minutes Afano goes on in surprisingly deep details about various living arrangements, all while still only wearing the towel. Tristan can’t help but notice that it doesn’t even look wet. “Hey Afano, we’re back,” comes a shout from the living room. “Alright,” he shouts back, “hey come to Josh’s room.” Several seconds later two guys wonder into Tristan’s new bedroom. Drew is roughly Tristan’s height, but with a thicker build, broader shoulders and arms that completely fill out the sleeves of his flannel shirt. The shirt is open, revealing thick pecs covered by a tight white t-shirt. Dark stubble is evenly spread over his broad jawline. Dark eyebrows frame his eyes, which are more green than blue. His hair is blonde, and cropped closely around the sides, but somewhat long on the top. Blake walks in behind Drew. He is the shortest guy in the room, standing at about 5’10, and looks fairly wiry, like a runner. His exposed forearms are covered with various veins that disappear into the sleeves of his shirt, which is also tight. He has long dirty blonde locks and is clean shaven. His face is very angular, with full lips, and grey eyes. “Hey roomy, good to see you,” says Drew while extending his hand. Tristan accepts and firmly shakes hands with Drew, then Blake. “Afano you couldn’t bother to put on some clothes? Seriously he just got here and you are already parading around here in your towel,” says Blake. “What he didn’t complain. Hell I think he likes it,” says the Afano with a smile, while striking a pose. “Sorry about him, he likes showing off,” apologies Drew. “It’s fine,” Tristan pauses, “kind of.” Drew and Blake spend several minutes further briefing Tristan on the living arrangement and ask if he would like accommodations. They offer to help unpack, but Tristan declines. “Hey, you’re not too tired are you?”asks Drew. “No,” replies Tristan. “After you’re done, we’ll take you out for some food, on us,” smiles Drew. “Okay.” “Great just let us know when you’re ready to go.” Drew, Blake, and Afano walk out of the room to let Tristan unpack in peace. He didn’t pack many things besides clothes, books, a hand held gaming device along with the appropriate games, a laptop, and a mattress cover. Still it takes him around an hour to unpack everything. The room looks a little barren, but livable. He wonders in to the living room to find Drew and Black on their phones and Afano actually wearing clothes. The giant is wearing either a 3XL or 4XL grey shirt, that is tight around his pecs and upper arms, and some red shorts that hug his quads. “Hey guys I finished unpacking,” says Tristan. “Finally. Come on, we’ll go in my truck,” says Afano while thundering to the door. Drew and Blake follow, but Drew stands by the door waiting for Tristan. As he walks out the door, Drew places his hand on Tristan’s shoulder and inquires, “Did you get taller?” “I don’t think so.” “No you’re definitely taller. I remember last month we were eye level, now mine are slightly lower. Let’s compare.” Drew calls out to Blake and then stands right next to Tristan, shoulder to shoulder. “Tristan is a little taller, like half an inch maybe more,” confirms Blake. “Well aren’t you lucky, 18 and still going,” smiles Drew.

Six Sean awoke from a peaceful sleep. Keith had kept his promise and had arranged a new room for the two of them on the other side of campus. The administration hadn’t caused any problems since the coach had backed up Keith’s request to move into a quieter area. With the statement ‘the university’s top athletes deserve a top treatment’, their wrestling coach had cut off any objections. Keith had than moved all their stuff into the room and had waked all night next to Sean’s bed. “Morning, buddy. Had a good rest?”, Keith asked as he saw Sean opening his eyes. “Yeah, my body really needed a rest. Did you stay up all night?”, Sean replied as he looked into Keith’s eyes. “Yep. Told you I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”, Keith said, “Let’s get you some help.” Sean got up and got dressed. He followed Keith to his car and got in. “Where are we going?” “I’m gonna get you to the hospital to get you checked up”, Keith answered, “If those jerks drugged you with something, the doctors might have a cure.”. Half an hour later, Keith parked the car in front of the hospital and accompanied his friend to doctor Meier’s office. He explained that Sean was the university’s top wrestler and that he had strangely lost 50 pounds of muscle. Sean stripped down to his briefs as the doctor asked. “You seem perfectly fit to me”, doctor Meier said, “A bit chubby and not so ripped as other athletes, but nothing abnormal. The nurse will take some blood so we can see if there’s something strange in your body.”. The doctor left his office and a nurse came in a little later. She stared lustfully at Keith as she took blood from Sean. She sensually walked to the door, bumping against Keith as she left. Sean put on his clothes and sat down next to Keith as they waited for doctor Meier to return with the results. After about 50 minutes, the doctor returned with the results. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, Sean”, he said, “According to these tests you are in perfect health. There is no scientific explanation for your loss of mass. I can only suggest you to eat more to gain mass. Call me if you need advice!”. Disillusioned, Sean and Keith left doctor Meier’s office. Keith paid the nurse, ignoring her flirting and escorted Sean back to the car. “So there’s nothing I can do about it?”, Sean asked as tears filled his eyes. “Calm down, buddy”, Keith replied, “Didn’t all of this start after Tomas summoned that ghost? We could go see my uncle. He’s a priest.”. In his room, Tomas discovered that Sean had moved to another location on campus. He concentrated on Anton and seconds later his muscular sidekick entered his room. “Why didn’t you drag Keith in here as I ordered you?”, Tomas said angrily. “He’s gone. All of his clothes have disappeared too”, Anton replied. “So, both of them are missing”, Tomas said, “We’ll have to stop them.” “Who could mess with us?”, Anton said, “Before they can get to you, they have to get past me. And I’m bigger than those runts.” “You’re not big enough to fight both of them at once. And what if they send their teammates over?”, Tomas stated, “Find where they are hiding! By any means!”. Anton nodded, turned around and stormed out the room into the hallway. Meanwhile Keith parked his car in front of his uncle’s house. He and Sean got out, marched toward the front door and rang. His uncle opened the door smilingly. “If it isn’t my favorite nephew!”, the priest said as he hugged Keith, “And this must be your friend. Father Luke, nice to meet you. Come on in, boys!”. Sean and Keith followed Keith’s uncle to his study and installed themselves in front of the wooden desk in the middle of the room. “What can I do for you?”, Father Luke asked as he sat down behind the desk. Keith began to tell the story, answered his uncles questions and ended by describing the test results at the hospital. “Science won’t help here”, Father Luke said seriously, “Nothing of this world can help you, Sean. If it is indeed a demon we’re dealing with, only our holy mother, the Church can save you! It was a student that summoned this demon?” “Yes, Father”, Sean answered. “Most likely we’re dealing with a minor demon here, that can easily be chased away. I’ve received some information on exorcism during my training as a priest. I’ll accompany you to the university and expel that demon”, Father Luke said. “While I get my muscles back then?”, Sean asked. “Once the demon’s expelled, all of his magic is cancelled and everything will return to normal. So, yes, you will get your old body back. Let’s get to your university”, Father Luke said as he grabbed a black container. Sean smiled broadly at Keith as they got up and headed for Keith’s car, escorted by Father Luke. In the wrestle hall at Orchid University, two wrestlers were practicing their moves for the next round of the university’s championship. Suddenly, the door opened and a broad, muscular figure stormed in. Before one of them could react, the figure charged into them with his incredibly wide shoulders. One of the wrestlers was launched backwards and crashed on the mat several feet further. Dazzled, the other wrestler was lifted off the ground as two large paws grabbed him under his armpits. “Where are they hiding?”, Anton growled angrily. “Who?”, the wrestler said as he tried to wriggle free. “Sean and Keith”, Anton said. “Our champs? I don’t know.” “Wrong answer”, Anton growled and tightened his grip. “Auch”, the wrestler yelled out as he could feel his ribs reaching breaking point under the increased pressure, “Okay, okay. They moved to the other side of campus to get more rest and only train early or very late.” Anton tossed the wrestler aside and exited the wrestle hall, searching for his prey. Sean scanned the campus before he opened the car door. “I’m here, nothing will happen”, Keith said as he noticed the look on his buddy’s face. “You’re under the protection of God now. No evil presence can harm us”, Father Luke said, “Now show me where that cursed room is!”. Several students looked surprised as they saw two of the university’s top athletes escorting a priest through the hallways. “There it is”, Keith said as he pointed at the door in the middle of the dark hallway. “I can already feel the evil presence”, Father Luke said, “You boys stay here!”. “No, uncle”, Keith replied, “He’s way bigger than you. At least I have the strength to back you up”. “You don’t get, Keith”, Father Luke said, “He won’t be able to hurt me. I’m protected by God and my faith is strong. No lower demon can hurt a holy priest! You boys wait for me in your room. “But what if his companion is with him? You can’t fight both of them, uncle!”, Keith stated. “Ah, my big nephew. There won’t be a physical fight in there, but a spiritual one. I’m not trained to wrestle demons, no one is! My faith and the Holy Cross are my weapons. No get going!”, Father Luke said. Keith and Sean reluctantly left the hallway and headed for their room to wait for Father Luke. Tomas stepped out of the shower as he heard the door of his room open and close. There’s Anton with Sean and Keith, he thought, I’ll feast on their fear and grow huge. He quickly pulled on his boxers and stepped into the room. “Who the hell are you?”, he said as he looked at the priest standing in the middle of the room. “I’m Father Luke and I’ve come to expel you, you demonic beast!”, Father Luke stated as he looked up into Tomas’ dark eyes. “You and what army, old man?”, Tomas said laughingly, knowing that his muscular body would crush the priest. “God’s heavenly army and the holy Church”, Father Luke answered and he took a silver aspergillum from the black container. Tomas stared angrily at the priest in front of him. “Vade retro, Satanas!”, Father Luke yelled and he sprinkled holy water on Tomas with the aspergillum. A burning pain shot through Tomas’s body and his beefy muscles flexed wildly as the holy water landed on him. He sank to his knees in agony, holding his hands in front of him to protect his body from the holy water. “By the power of Christ, I compel thou! Leave, you infernal creature! Vade retro!” More pain-filled screams escaped Tomas’ mouth as more holy water landed on his body. “God the almighty, chase this demon back to hell and restore all of his evil deeds!”, Father Luke yelled. A faint rumbling sound began to fill the room. “Vade retro, Satanas! Leave! Leave!” The rumbling sound got louder and louder as more spasms shot through the beefy muscles on Tomas’ body. “I expel thou!”, Father Luke yelled and lifted the aspergillum in the air for a final sprinkling of holy water. The door of the room suddenly flew open and a large figure barged in. Father Luke turned around, but a large paw grabbed his throat and lifted him in the air. “You okay, T?”, Anton asked as he snapped the aspergillum with two fingers. ‘I uhm am uhm now uhm”, Tomas said weakly, “Toss uhm him out uhm the window uhm!”. Father Luke struggled with all his force, but he was no match for Anton’s superior strength. Anton opened the window and tossed out the priest without blinking.

Five “Three challenges, three victories. Looks like we’ve got a new and undisputed champ here”, Tomas said laughingly, “Well done, Anton. You’ve wiped the floor with the former champion.” Sean opened his mouth to give an answer, but the words died on his lips as Anton got up from the floor and turned his back to Sean as he faced Tomas. Anton rose to his feet, stretching his spectacular physique. Big, meaty traps capped his extremely broad shoulders. Being a swimmer, he had always had broad shoulders, but they had widened beyond a doorframe as his delts had exploded in mass. His upper back was simply massive and covered in hard, cut muscles; his muscular, yet relatively small lower back gave him an unbelievable v-tapper. Thick, meaty triceps bulged at the back of his arms. Sean’s already hardening cock jumped to its 9 inches as he gazed up at the incredible sight in front of him. “We still have one thing remaining: measuring the finalists!”, Tomas said and walked over to the bathroom to get the scale. “All right, who goes first?”, Tomas asked as he returned with the scale and put it in the middle of the room. “I’m the champ, I’ll go first”, Anton said as he ripped off his insanely tight sweat pants and stepped up the scale, wearing nothing but his briefs. “210!”, he boomed in his deep voice and stepped down. “You’re up, number 2”, Tomas said. Sean slowly got up from the floor and stepped toward the scale, nearly tripping over his too long pants. A meaty arm blocked his path. “You’ve got to be in the same condition as me. And I only wore my briefs”, Anton said as he grabbed Sean’s baggy pull, shirt and pants and effortlessly tore them off. Sean’s 9 incher stretched his boxers, but he didn’t react. He kept staring at the floor and stepped on the scale. It stopped at 165. “How much does it say, number 2?”, Tomas asked. Sean mumbled “165”. “How much and speak up”, Anton said loudly. “165 pounds”, Sean replied instantly as Anton’s deep voice vibrated down his body. “That’s why I’ve won easily”, Anton said, “I outweigh you by 45 pounds of pure muscle. Too bad I wasn’t here last year. I would have tossed your ass around the wrestle mat and claimed the title myself.” “Let’s check height next, guys”, Tomas said as he grabbed a tape from his desk. “Stand up against the wall, champ.” Sean ignored their remarks and kept looking at the floor as he fought back his tears. 165. I’m back at the weight I started out here at Orchid University, he thought. “Your turn, number 2!” Tomas’ remark made Sean return to the present and he positioned his back against the wall, avoiding Anton’s eyes. “5’7 against Anton’s 6’2”, Tomas said. “I’m not only bigger and more muscular then you, I’m also taller. In my country you would have never been a champion.”, Anton bragged. Sean nodded silently and kept staring at his feet. “Let’s measure the guns next. Flex an arm, champ”, Tomas said as he wrapped the tape across it. “Just over 19 inches! Now that’s an arm worth admiring”, Anton bellowed, “ Look up and see what a real champ looks like!” Sean slowly raised his head as he noticed the aggressive tone. His cock throbbed in his boxers and his mouth fell open as he stared at Anton. If his broad, muscular back was impressive, Anton’s front side was simply spectacular. Insanely ripped, meaty quads led to an eight-pack that seemed carved in stone; four rows of big, steely hard abs rippled with each breath Anton took and strong looking obliques completed the picture; vein-covered, beefy, orb-like pecs formed a muscular rack on his chest; a thick vein snaked from the top of his pecs over his incredibly broad, round and stony hard delts onto his arms; his football-sized arms seemed devoid of any fat: the vascular, hard balls of muscle bulged upward and outward. “Flex ‘em, number 2”, Tomas said. Sean reluctantly and very slowly flexed his right arm as Tomas wrapped the tape around it. He already knew that his once impressive 20 inch canons had melted away and lowered his head to hide his tear-filled eyes. “15.5”, Tomas stated and he released the tape. Anton stepped in again and flexed an arm in front of Sean’s face. The meaty arm hardening into a vein-crossed, 19 inch ball of steely muscle filled Sean’s sight and sent another jolt through his hard 9 incher. “Feel what a champ’s arm feels like!”, Anton bellowed. The deep voice vibrate through Sean’s body again and he slowly raised his hand to touch the arm. “Don’t be afraid. Grab it!”, Anton rumbled as he grabbed Sean’s hand and placed it on his impressive bicep. Sean’s cock throbbed in his boxers as his hand made contact with the hard, hot surface of Anton’s bicep. He traced along the thick veins on its surface and tried to dig his fingers in the solid mass. “Testing my strength?”, Anton said and flexed his arm harder. Sean’s eyes widened as the hard muscle bulged further and pried open his hand. His balls drew tight and his 9 incher exploded in his boxers. Four more big loads of cum followed as Anton kept relaxing and flexing his arm in Sean’s hand. Humiliated, Sean released the arm and lowered his head. “One final measurement to take”, Anton said and he ripped off his briefs and Sean’s cum-drenched boxers. Sean inhaled deeply as the warmth of his boxers made place for cold air around his slick, deflating cock. Shivers went through his body as Anton meaty paw grabbed his cock and stroked it to hardness again. Within seconds Sean’s cock was back to its 9 inches, even after his recent orgasm. “Such a dick on your weak body just isn’t right”, Anton said and he released Sean’s cock to stroke his own to hardness; he could only use two of his big fingers on his meager, pencil dick. In other circumstances Sean would have laughed at the sight: a big, muscular figure with a 5 inch dick. But he was just too afraid of the two, now clearly bigger men in the room. “Your little hands are better for this job”, Anton said as he grabbed Sean’s left hand and placed it around his hard 5 incher, “Whack the champ!”. Sean firmly gripped the champ’s cock and slowly stroked it. His eyes focused on the cock in his hand as he felt it swell in his grasp. The purple head was swelling bigger as the lengthening and thickening shaft pushed it out of his grasp. Sean felt his own cock thwack against is abs, but lower than before. “Now that’s more like it”, Anton said as he pushed Sean’s hand away and grabbed his growing cock with his meaty paw, “I’m bigger then you all over!”. Sean stared down and knew Anton was right. His own, once 9 incher, was hard again but stood clearly under 7 inches now; Anton’s had swollen beyond 7 inches and throbbed in front of his hard eight-pack. “Look up at the new champ!”, Tomas said as he savored Sean’s defeat. Sean slowly looked up and stared in Anton’s dark eyes staring down at him. His hand was stroking his diminished cock as he drank in the sight of Anton’s muscular body. “UNGH!” Anton let out a loud, deep moan and all his muscles flexed as his 7+ incher exploded. Four big loads of cum blasted from his throbbing cock onto Sean in front of him. Sean’s own cock squirted out two small loads as the big amount of Anton’s sticky cum splattered against his stomach, coating his diminished six-pack in a warm layer. Ashamed, he lowered his tear-filled eyes. “Looks like number two came just by seeing you get off, champ”, Tomas said mockingly. “Let’s get you some clothes that fit.” He handed some of Sean’s clothes to Anton, who put them on swiftly. “Still a bit big, but you can grow into them soon enough. Let’s leave number two so he can get cleaned up and go grab something to eat”, Sean said as he left the room with Anton. Keith was returning from class as he noticed the two large students coming his way. He had to push himself against the wall to give them room to pass. They look like the larger and more muscular version of my and Sean’s tiny roommates, he thought as he followed them with his gaze. Chasing this thought, Keith strutted to his room and was about to enter as he saw the opened door of Sean’s room. He could also hear sobbing coming from within. He opened the door and entered the room to find a pile of misery on the floor. The weak voice sounded familiar. “Sean is that you, buddy?,”, he asked incredulously. Sean turned his head toward the door and looked up at Keith with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “What the hell happened to you?”, Keith asked as he shut the door, stepped over to his friend and helped him stand up. Sean began to mutter a faint explanation, but more tears and sobbing cut off his words as he noticed how Keith now outsized him. Keith compassionately stared at his formerly bigger buddy and wrapped his arms around him to comfort him. “I’m here for you now, mate. Let’s get you cleaned up first. We’ll talk later.”, he said as he led Sean gently to the bathroom and stripped off his shirt, covered in cum after hugging Sean. Sean whimpered softly as he let his buddy take him to the bath room. He didn’t react as Keith stripped down, got in the shower with him and closed the shower curtain. Sean heaved a big sigh as the hot water chased the misery from his mind. Keith smiled at the sight of the relaxing Sean and grabbed the soap. He rubbed some of it over Sean’s stomach and began cleaning the cum of his buddy’s still firm six-pack. Sean closed his eyes as he felt his friend’s large hand tracing the grooves of his abs. He moaned softly, but suddenly opened his eyes. He quickly lowered his hands to cover his hardening cock and lowered his head in shame. “No need to be ashamed, buddy”, Keith said as he noticed Sean’s reaction, “I’m hard myself from feeling your body against mine. See for yourself.”. Sean turned around to find Keith’s rock-hard cock pointing straight at him. He shivered as his 6.5 incher brushed against Keith’s hot, 8.5 inch pole. “I’ve fantasized all summer about dominating you with my bulked up physique. And I noticed you got off on me rubbing your back, last week. But we won’t do anything now, buddy. Not after everything you went through. I want to know what happened to you first”, Keith said and looked down into Sean’s eyes. Every feeling of embarrassment left Sean. He wrapped his arms around Keith, pressing their hard cocks between their bodies and told what had happened earlier. Keith’s eyes filled with disbelief and his mouth fell open as he listened to Sean’s story. He would have never believed something as bizarre as his buddy was telling him. Losing his muscles in a physical challenge while his opponent gets bigger? Impossible, Keith thought, but here he stands, shrunken and way smaller than yesterday. Sean stared up at his silent friend as he ended his story. “Seems like the championship is yours, buddy.” “You don’t have to worry about that, mate. I’ll help you get big again. From now on your staying with me. We’ll ask a new room and seek some professional help for your problem. As long as your with me, no one will hurt you”, Keith answered as he wrapped his 17.5 inch arms around Sean in a shared embrace.

Hello everyone, It is very nerve-wracking to post a story here. Sharing your work--a piece of yourself--is frightening. The person who opens your work can find something unexpected, connect with the thoughts and feelings expressed, or they can find it complete trash, toss it aside. The uncertainty is overwhelming. How will people react, if at all? But, I'm placing it here, among so many others. Constructive criticism is welcomed, but please be gentle. This story is a bit...different than what you're probably used to here, and a bit dark. Please keep an open mind. You can find Part II here: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/743-the-fire-suite-second-chapter/ With that, let me proceed with "The Fire Suite". ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Fire Suite: Part 1 Nothing. Then a square white glow emerges, undulates on the blue walls like movement underwater. A set of small hands move across a keyboard, like a pianist reciting a known melody. The light reveals hands connected to thin wrists and forearms. The tapping of the keys melds with muffled voices in the darkness. Wires string down from ears and uncombed hair into plugs. A pause, then a sigh, and the tapping continues. The screen changes colors, but the glow remains. The full image: a plain young man lies on a plain twin bed with a plain old life. But what does the screen depict? Images move into focus, then quickly erase. Twitter, facebook, tumblr. Eyes linger on an internet browser tab, the cursor hesitates. A click, and a video loads. The typical man appears, strutting, allowing desperate hands to cling on to his torso, his chest. Power, virility without grace. Bounce, flex, the worship goes on from muscle to muscle. Moaning, pumping, removal of clothing. “Oh, oh baby, yeah, ugh, harder, spank my ass, oh!” The pattern continues for minutes of fleeting passion, and then abruptly stops. No tapping, no voices, but the whimper of a lovelorn puppy. There is no lust in the dark. The young man clutches his pillow like a real body, nuzzles against the pale cloth flesh. The mind throbs. The heart crumbles. The glow dissipates, and blue becomes black. This is one facet of life. * You wouldn’t know him. You’d see him everywhere at once: in a street, in a crowd, on a bus, in a book, in a film, in yourself. He’d be the one in the back of the classroom fifteen minutes early, saying nothing. He would read, always reading. Duras, Murakami, Joyce. Without words, he could be what you expected: quiet, shy, clad in dark clothing and thick glasses. Short for a young man, tearing at his fingernails. Unimpressive, uninteresting, unenticing. Your eyes move to a more interesting target as the teacher drones on with another lecture. But he’s still there, writing with fervor. The details aren’t worth your time. The hours pass. You might see him in the dormitory, might accidentally brush against him in the hallway. “Sorry,” he mumbles, staring at the floor as he briskly walks away and out the door. You think for a moment whether he lived in the same building as you did, then think, ugh, he touched me, as if slime exuded on the shoulder of your shirt. The thought ends, and the day continues as if you never saw him. Yet he’s still there. They say college is a step above high school, but you find yourself with your clique, like a murder of crows, up to the same old tricks. Calculating eyes watch their prey, waiting for a vulnerable moment. He should have known better than to enter your territory. Your territory: a place where all the men look the same: athletic builds, sleeveless, name-brand clothing intentionally tight. The gym is an exhibition, a runway, an all-you-can-eat buffet packed with the finest delicacies. “Look at that lame fatty,” your friend says, pointing to the young man. “He looks like he’s never stepped foot in a gym in his entire life.” “One of these things is not like the others,” another sings, with a smirk on his face. “He’s lifting fifteen pound weights—like that’s going to help him. I’ve seen girls do more than that!” And on, and on. You might join in the fun, as if you were watching a really bad B-movie. But the young man doesn’t hear any of the taunts and continues his modest workout. He weaves around the machines, avoiding his reflection in the wall-sized mirrors. Maybe he instinctively knew that he didn’t belong, but it takes courage to even try, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t know what it’s like. And you never want to know. So go on laughing. * Why bother? The den of unspeakable evil: a college gym. It was a place he avoided throughout high school, favoring a cigarette-laden bathroom to change clothing. But now there was no choice, no relative option. Had it not been for his friend’s prodding, he wouldn’t have even tried. Good for your self-esteem, your health, just do it. It won’t hurt, like a doctor says with a gleaming syringe. A question pulses: “Do I dare disturb the universe?” Yet he was alone, in this world of sun and unforgiving steel. A wad of pages full of scribbles and stick figures performing movements was his only guide. The movement is awkward, so much like meeting a new person, stumbling to find the right words. “How do you do, Mr. Dumbbell?” The weight clanks angrily in response, unhappy with its partner. A quiet snicker in the background. From an angle, the large mirror reveals a loose gaggle of bodybuilders, resting between sets. Bored and looking to pass the time. Familiar with the jeers of bullies, he moves around the machines, tries to camouflage into a row of treadmills. Tries to not pay attention, and they’ll disappear. He’s miniscule, he’s not worth it. One more exercise, and it will be over. Breathe in, breathe out. But another quest: his coat remains in the locker room. The open doorway, around the corner reveals that musky odor. It’s too quiet, yet he’d know if somebody had followed him around the building. Clutching his jacket from the hanger, he glances up from the ground at the slight noise ahead of him. In a moment, there is the nude figure, as if he had peered at Apollo bathing in the wilderness. He only needed one moment to capture the haunting beauty of it all: trimmed hair drenched in amber hues, eyes lowered on a torso. Trace the neck, moving to the trapezius, to deltoids. Biceps, triceps, forearms full with cords of muscle and veins. Broad pectorals, pushing out in the warmth of the room, creating a slight shadow over a grid of abdominals. The latissimi flare outward, like a bird preparing for flight. The globe of his gluteus, like the fourteenth night of the moon, slides into a set of heavy quadriceps and impressive calves. The muscle finally finds its way to sizeable feet, and power seeps into the carpet. Unreal. He dared not look further; the scope was enough. Before the being could notice, the young man fled. Finding shelter outside by a tree, he sighed deeply. Just one moment, and the urge for self-destruction returned, as if a knife had been pushed into his body. Later, in the blue-black darkness, the vision would remain. And there, he wished he could end everything. * You watch as the young man scurries for the locker room. Your friends continue their chatter, but you remain silent, as if you actually feel something for the guy. You don’t know what that feeling’s exactly called, and it’s bothersome, heavy in the pit of your stomach. “Come on,” a friend says, nudging your bare shoulder. “He should’ve known better. Like he thinks that it’s going to be so easy. He’d be better taking some magic pill; he’s not going to make any progress with baby weights.” Easy. You had it easy. When you started going to the gym, back in high school, it was acceptable to start with small weights because everyone was, besides those that had been lifting since they were an infant. There was no competition; the field was leveled. Perhaps the young man was too afraid to try when he was in high school. You remember the type: shy, insecure, the kind that therapists and counselors drooled over. But that was his loss, and now the young man had to make up for it, if he could. It was so easy back then, so easy now. You seized the opportunity and built yourself up at the right time. So you didn’t have to worry about weakness, about insecurity. Sure, everybody wants to feel loved and fit in, but you were “normal”. Growing up in a suburban town, playing sports, whatever was in season: football, basketball, baseball, or soccer. It was fashionable, and as long as you did and said the right things, it was simple to be popular. Over those years, friends multiplied like flies. You even managed to have a girlfriend, though females never interested you. There was an image you had to uphold, though you were sure to drop her once you left for school. You could never understand the “others”—kids outside your orbit, your gravitational pull. What was it like to be alone—not just without anybody at the moment, but all the time? College really is like high school: the same cliques, although more of them, still form. Those first moments at orientation define your future, and while you were socializing with the other athletes, what about the others? What happens to those individuals left behind in the social dust? They’re doomed, and that’s their own fault. Why worry about other people’s problems? And yet, at the orientation cruise across the harbor, among the waves of dancing freshman and the percussion of silverware, perhaps you remember the young man, alone at a table, watching the ocean at dusk from a window. Perhaps he stared at you for a moment, finding your strengths and flaws, judging you. Perhaps you were just imagining things as you broke eye contact, fist bumping another student. Are you that transparent? Is he that transparent? At the gym, another friend knocks you again. “Hey, anybody in there? Wake up, bro—you said you were going to spot me at the bench press.” You nod in reply, wondering why in the world this freak was bothering you so much. Oh well. The workout continues in the dim-lit dorm: pulling up, pushing down, the sweat piles on with your partner. He reflects you: the same strong build, the same cocky attitude. But college isn’t so much about academics or romance than just having a good time. It wasn’t like you were planning on getting married with this guy, so what did it matter? You knew what you were getting into without being affectionate. No cuddling, but your partner, grinning, offers seconds in the dorm hall showers. There’s privacy in the early morning, when everyone’s trying to sleep off their hangovers and skip their next classes. In loose clothing, you make your way to the showers. Your partner eagerly tugs you down the hallway, until the creak of a door makes him lose his grip. A figure emerges from the RA’s room, moves swiftly to another doorway. The young man looks down, but makes sure not to bump you as you pass. But you’re not thinking, as you open the shower stall; let the hot water trail across your naked bodies. You’re not thinking, as hands massage your waist, rub lotion on sensitive areas. This pleasure, this is what life is about, not pain. * He remembers the friendly knock on the old door and the cringe that would follow. Those dark, cockroach days, hiding, surviving but unsure how. It was a resident assistant’s duty to nose in people’s business. He was just down the old hall, waiting. Every week, he would come. The giant at your doorstep, far too chipper for his own good. The intentions must be false. Eventually, he refused to take “no” as an acceptable response. And there he was, in the RA’s room: the worn, plush arm chair, the warm glow emanated from lampshades. Evening tea with cream, soft jazz music dripped from speakers. “So, tell me about yourself,” said a kind, deep voice. “I—“ That’s how a friendship, perhaps a first, starts. The young man hesitates, but slowly releases his tension. Breathing calmly, hands stop trembling over long nights. Quiet evenings shift into early mornings on duty, long conversations move with the shift of light. At once, the overzealous RA transforms into a musician, struggling to live, to love. Trust is a hard concept to swallow. Honesty unlocks all the passageways, creates a white vulnerability. “It’s OK. Do what makes you feel comfortable. You can tell me whatever you want,” the giant said one night. Dark eyes expressed concern. “I…did something awful.” A pause. Incapacity to verbalize. He pulls off his right shoe, removes a black sock, unfurls the ribbon, its color matching the stain of the gauze pad. The wound was raw, throbbing, but starting to heal. As the young man re-covers his foot, the giant stares, understands. “The Achilles tendon? But usually people go for—“ “As men, we are taught to be invincible.” Another pause. He remembers the pounding of the water, the steam rolling across flesh. He remembers the collapse, the thud onto tiles, the muffled sobbing. Unconscious. Desperate. Pink disposable razors, fillets of skin, red liquid swirling towards the drain. He remembers hobbling for bandages. This is one facet of life. A brother clairvoyant, the giant pulls the arrow out. “I know what you need…let me make a call in the morning. I’m here for you—I want to get you the help you deserve. You need your rest; tomorrow will bring a change.” Empathy: a foreign language. Another sip of tea, a firm handshake, then back to the hallway. He swerves around the two strong figures moving towards him. He can’t touch that, he won’t touch that. Bathed in moonlight, he sleeps. * You wake. Blankets rustle slightly as you move to check the outside world. A crack grows, and bleached light filters through the window. A pair of strong, calloused hands tugs at your ankle, pulls you back into bed. You look behind at the naked torso, the face transitioning between consciousness and sleep. He lets go and stretches his arms, almost flexing his biceps. “Mmm,” he moans, “Morning babe. Last night was so incredible.” “Incredible,” you might mumble, glancing back outside. Through the glass, you see the lawn two or three floors down. You see the scattered trees, bare but still swaying. And beyond the cliffs, you see the horizon, where the ocean meets the sky, so far away, yet so close. It’s nothing new, but for some reason, you can’t keep your eyes off that expanse of blue and black. “I wished every time we fucked it was that great. We need to do that more often. Weekends just don’t cut it for me, babe. It’s not like anybody’s going to interrupt us; we have this whole dorm room to ourselves. Can you believe that fucking RA thought that we were just friends? What a moron.” You release your eyes from the horizon, and you slide back into bed. Your partner moves closer, plays with the light hair on your chest. He lightly smiles. “Who cares about that guy, though. Mmm, I’m so glad I finally have you. I wonder when you’d figure out that I went to your games just to see you run around…and what a sight that was, in those tight pants…” He continues. You remain quiet. “What were you thinking about last night in the showers?” he asks. “Nothing, honestly,” you reply. “Well, it had to be something. I’ve never seen you get into me so much. Guess it wasn’t that fucking loser that lives down the hall though, huh? Wonder what he was doing up so late, seems like the kind of guy who’d go to bed early because he’s obviously not getting any. Seems like he’s not hibernating in his room anymore, he was at the gym the other day. What the hell was up with that? At least he left before he hurt himself. What a fucking weirdo. It’s almost like he’s stalking you…” You’re half-listening, the conversation isn’t too engaging. But… Stalking you. Could it be possible? You knew you were hot property; there was no doubting that, especially with another attractive individual groping you every moment he got. Perhaps it was mere coincidence that the young man seemed to be everywhere he went. You went to a smaller university compared to others in the area, but it wasn’t like there were that few students where one would keep standing out. And the young man was so average, so unremarkable. So why did he keep thinking about him? You interrupt your partner’s monologue. “Why does it bother you so much? Almost sounds like you have a crush on the guy.” His eyes widen, and he pretends to vomit. “That kid? Ugh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I just don’t want anybody to even think that they can take you from me, and if that I have to destroy that loser, I’ll do it. You’re mine, all mine,” he murmurs, two fingers slowly tracing your genitals. Not thinking, you say, “The water…” The fingers stop moving. “What water?” “Last night. You were wondering.” “Oh, OH. You think it was the hot water that did the trick, eh? Well, if that sets you all a-quiver, then I’ll make sure to get your hot ass in there with me more often.” More fingers move across your skin, squeezing your gluteus muscles. Shuddering, you pull back, get out from the blankets. “What’s wrong, babe?” he says. You want to look at him, but you face a wall. “I need to get ready for class, take a shower, you know. “ “Shower, huh? Want me to come with you?” “No, there might be too many people now. I don’t want to be late for class, and I want to grab breakfast, too.” You look at him carefully. Sarcastically, he frowns, pouting his lips. “Oh, alright. But I want to get breakfast with you. Some of the gang might be there, too—they say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially for growing boys.” “Yeah, I can tell something’s growing,” you mutter, eyeing the popped-up pyramid under the sheets. You fling on some loose clothing, grab your shower caddy, and give your man a light kiss. A release, then you head for the door, wondering what might happen today, if anything. * The morning continues. It is the middle of the morning, but the room is dim with muted light. Clothed, but wrapped in dark blankets, he types. He types slowly, methodically, each key is intentionally pushed. His eyes scroll with the screen, entranced. A knock pierces the air, the door shudders slightly from the weight of large knuckles. Hesitant, he looks up from the laptop at the door, stumbles to his feet. Turning the handle, a friendly smile emerges from the darkness. “Hey there, friend,” says the RA, looking down at bewildered face behind the door. “How are you feeling this morning?” “Fine, I guess…” “I’m glad to hear that. Mind if I come in for a moment?” “No.” Grabbing an empty chair, the giant makes himself comfortable. “Listen, I’ve got some great news. I made a call to the counseling services this morning—“ “Counseling?” “Yes, counseling. I don’t know how you felt about that, so I made an appointment for you to see a counselor there. He’s relatively new—just started last semester—but I know him and he’s a great guy. I think you’ll get along. What do you say, hm? I know you’ve got some time this morning.” Bewilderment flushes to terror. Was the young man that insane? But then again, what other solution was there? His right Achilles’ tendon tingled slightly. The giant smiled again. “I know you might be nervous, but I assure you that therapy isn’t just for nut jobs. I mean, hey, a normal guy, so you’ve just got to trust me on this. Do you?” If there was any trust he could grab onto, it was in this man. The young man nods. “Excellent! The appointment’s for 11 a.m., so we’ve got some time. Do you want to get breakfast at the cafeteria first? I’m starving.” “Breakfast? With you?” “Of course. Unless you don’t want to, or you’ve already eaten.” “No, I haven’t…so I guess…” “Then it’s settled! Get your jacket, it might be cold out.” The young man quietly placed his jacket over his shirt, slipped worn shoes over socks, and moved out of the door into the unknown. Though empty, the hallway contained traces of activity. The two moved across the narrow hallway and down a flight of stairs to the exit. Beyond his room, his warm cocoon, the outside air was cool, startling. It wasn’t far to the cafeteria; just a lawn and a couple streets to cross. The gravel of the sidewalk crunched underneath their feet, making up for the lack of conversation. With each footstep they took, it felt as if time was slowing for everyone but them. An outside force pressed a fast-forward button, the students’ stride hurrying faster between buildings, but their pace remained steady. At this hour, the cafeteria was emptying. A perfect atmosphere for conversation. The giant unzipped his coat and placed his coat on a chair by a window, nudging the young man to join him. The young man followed his friend from the table to the continental breakfast, picking up items here and there, and then returned to the table. He peered out the window, viewing the courtyard below. A wreath of evergreen encircled a walkway, leading to a patio scattered with leaves. He could see another dormitory and a building connected to it, but no people entered or exited its doors. “See that building over there?” said the giant, after munching on a bagel. “That’s where the counseling services are located. They used to be in this building, but after the university acquired that building, they moved there. More room to spread out. And with the student population rising, counseling really needed the space. You should’ve seen it in the basement…it was cramped, awful.” “I can imagine.” The attempt at conversation was broken momentarily by some hollering or shouting. Both men looked to the other side of the cafeteria, noticing a group of jocks who were obviously excited about something. Perhaps a game was won this morning, or somebody got a new girlfriend. Jocks. Them. “Pfft,” the giant muttered. “Typical ‘bro’ behavior over there. No respect for others. But what can you do? Guys like that will never change.” “…I’m surprised you’re not like that,” the young man says quietly. “What? Like one of those muscle heads? No, it’s not for me. Some of those guys live in our hallway, and I can get along with them, as it’s my job, but I’m far too out of shape to go beyond formalities with them. All they think about is partying and sex. That’s what they really come to college for: a good time. Meanwhile, others, like us, actually come to study, to grow as individuals.” “My RA last year…he was like that,” the young man replies. “I thought all RA were like that…he was awful. He lived next door, and his rap music was always blaring. The walls must have been made of paper.” “Oh, certainly not! We don’t all treat our jobs like free money; some of us actually perform our residential duties and not treat our floor like frat houses. Maybe I’m just more traditional and think the job should be taken seriously. Although the free room and board is a nice perk.” The young man said nothing. So, then, was the RA just doing his job to help him, or did he truly empathize and care for him, wanted him to get better? Once the question was formed, he erased. He knew the answer. “What are you thinking about?” The giant asks. “Nothing.” After a pause, he adds, “Nothing important.” The giant looks at the young man, focused in telepathy, but quickly gives up. “Alright, no worries, friend.” A smile. Nobody has ever smiled at him before, or not in a long time. Nobody has ever wanted to have breakfast with him before. He had become accustomed to coming to meals early to avoid crowds, hiding in the empty corner. The experience of sharing company with somebody was foreign, yet exciting. He attempted to smile back, forcing the edges of his lips to curve upward, but the result was unconvincing. “How do you eat grapefruits plain like that?” “Huh?” “Your grapefruit,” the giant says, pointing his knife at the young man’s bowl. “I can only eat them if I sprinkle sugar on the top. It’s too sour otherwise.” “You get used to it over time. And even grapefruit has its own tangy sweetness to it, if you give it a chance.” “You might be right.” The conversation continues, and the cafeteria slowly empties. They finish eating, return their trays to a soapy conveyer belt, and leave the room. The morning air blows, tugs gently on the tree branches. It is a short walk and flight of stairs to the counseling services. The young man approaches the manila door, but feels his fingers twitch for a pen. They long to write the word “RUN” over and over again. A large hand presses his shoulder. “Nervous? I know. Don’t worry, really. They’re here to help. I’m not leaving you alone. Trust me, please.” The young man nods. Trembling hands slowly pull the door handle open, into a new world.