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Found 25 results

  1. radiokida

    Black Hulk

    This is my first complete story. Some of you have been reading this in the Unfinished section of this forum. It's now finished, so I'm posting it here. Thank you to those people who have already given me positive comments on this story. They will undoubtedly encourage me to write more stories. The story has six chapters. Some of them have gay themes, others straight themes, and others bi. I have made some very slight edits to the original six parts that were posted originally, to hopefully improve the story slightly, when it comes to grammar and continuity. Hope you enjoy my story! ------------ BLACK HULK Chapter 1: Kris meets Black Hulk Everyone gasped when he entered. He swaggered slowly to a deckchair, with his belongings, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. This was not odd, since we were in the hotel indoor pool, me and around six or seven strangers. What made everyone gasp was the sheer amount of muscular development this man's body was presenting to our senses. To me, those muscles were instantly recognizable. They belonged to Henk Kuria, or, as everyone in the porn industry called him, Black Hulk. Winner of the past three Mr. Olympias and a long string of other bodybuilding contests, Black Hulk stormed into the bodybuilding scene in 2020 as a 6'4, 380lbs unknown 20-year-old from Kenya. That year, he not only easily defeated, and humiliated, the then Mr. O. Phil Heath, but has won every bodybuilding contest he entered. The incredible thing is that, according to the latest news from the IFBB, Black Hulk weighed an astonishing 420lbs in last year's Mr. O., with a barely comprehensible 4% bodyfat. How do I know this? Well, I've jacked off at least once everyday as soon as my eyes feasted on this giant monument of musculature back then in 2020. So much, so that this year I decided to travel all the way to Las Vegas to witness this guy live. I truly am a huge fan of his. Not just for his giant muscles, but also for his lifestyle. A few months after he won his first Olympia, Black Hulk came out as bisexual. At first, there were rumors that the IFBB would retract his title, but soon common sense prevailed. At that time, Black Hulk started to feature in a lot of porno movies, some straight, some gay, and some bi. The astonishing thing is that, as time went by, not only did his incredibly huge muscles became bigger and bigger, but also, visibly, his cock and balls grew in unison. In his first porno, fucking Lela Star, he had a very respectable 8 inch cock. In his last, not only did he grew 40lbs of muscle since that first porn flick, but also 2 inches of cock; moreover, his dick is visibly much thicker. This last porno was a reverse gangbang, where Black Hulk fucked 20 women in 2 hours. One after the other, every woman roared in an earth shattering orgasm, begging him to stop. Then, in the end, he climaxed on all of them at once, in a cumblast that lasted a full minute. Needless to say, this porno flick proved very popular. The gay porn community have now asked him to film a gay-themed similar flick, with 20 men. Anyway, Black Hulk is here, a few feet away from me. Apparently, he decided to use the services of the same hotel I was in, during his stay in Las Vegas to undoubtedly conquer Mr. Olympia for a fourth time. My cock instantly grew rock hard in my swimtrunks; luckily I was in the pool, so nobody noticed. What also helped somewhat was the fact that every other person that, up till that point, were with me in the pool decided to pack their things and leave. Maybe they were disgusted by his muscles, or by his well-known overly sexualized lifestyle, who knows. Fact is, I was the only one to witness him casually removing his towel from his overly-muscular waist, revealing a swimsuit that was clearly struggling to contain the massive cock and balls inside it. Then he proceeded to jump in the pool, with a grace that beguiled his enormous frame. This was too good an opportunity to miss. I had to talk to him! But... I completely froze! "Hey man, nice traps" a heavily-accented voice said. It took me a while to realize that Black Hulk has just spoken, and, further, that he was referring to... me! "Uh... fuck. I mean... uh... thanks" I stammered. "I'm... I'm Kris... I'm... uh... sorry, I... big fan... I... I..." "No need to be shy around me, Kris" he grinned, his teeth's sparkling whiteness contrasting sharply with his dark black supermuscular body. "You must work out? I like your traps a lot." Black Hulk is complementing ME? Wow, this must be a dream. "Uh, thanks, uh, yes, I do..." That was all my brain could muster. "You've got a nice package down there too", he continued, grinning even wider. Instinctively, I turned beet red, and tried to cover my erect genitals. Damn, I must be so erect that he could notice from above the water. "You are indeed a big fan." he continued. "Am I responsible for some of your orgasms?" "ALL of them" I blurted out loud. "Since your first Mr. Olympia win, I haven't orgasmed to any human being except you." That was the brutally honest truth. "Good. I like sexy fans like you. You here to see me win another Olympia, right?" "Yes... yes I am. Nobody comes close to your hypermuscular body." "Indeed, nobody does." He climbed out of the water. "Come here. Feel my body. I don't bite." Suddenly, like a wild animal overcame with lust, I jumped out of the pool and started squeezing all of his bodyparts. Those traps, that seemed to go all the way level to his ears. That barrell neck, thicker than the circumference of his head. Those huge shoulders, so monumentally massive and defined. Those impossible biceps, that, even relaxed, seemed like somebody had stuffed a melon inside them. Those triceps, that protuded so far out of his arms that they almost looked like biceps. Those forearms, so incredibly thick, thicker than a normal man's legs. Those pectorals, incomprehensibly thick and full shelves of muscular power. Those abdominals, looking and feeling like eight slabs of diamond-hard bricks on his tapered down waist. Those lats, popping out so ridiculously wide of his back that they seemed like almost having a life of their own. That unbelievable back, so thick and defined and wide and massive. Those quads, impossibly muscular and immense, so massively muscled that I couldn't even hug one. Those calves, scarcely comprehensible slabs of meat, each bigger than my own pecs. Those glutes, protruding out of his hips even more than his monstrous back muscles. Every single bodypart of this incredible human specimen required your constant attention and worship. I found myself squeezing, feeling, massaging, sometimes even licking each and every one of his bodyparts. "Mmm, you really like my body, don't you Kris? This year, I weigh 440lbs, 4% bodyfat. That's another 20lbs more than last year's Mr. O." He moaned contentedly. I was slowly turning him on. "How do you do it, Black Hulk?" I asked him I licked one of his nipples, then continued "I mean, I'm proud of my 5'9, 190lbs body, but I have to work really hard to stay in shape. You look godlike all the time. I'm squeezing as hard as I can and it feels like squeezing a marble statue." "Man, you want my body so bad. Your lust for me is actually turning me on" moaned the superbodybuilder. "Let's go to my room. It's more private." He dried off, and re-wrapped his towel around his waist. Even like this, the towel was slightly tented... his cock was indeed half-hard. "You sure? I mean... yes, YES" I almost shouted. I hurriedly dried off and wrapped my own towel around my waist, concealing my own totally erect cock that had been straining my swimtrunks for the past half an hour. As we were leaving, a family entered the pool premises. The mother and the father were shocked by the dimensions of my idol, and they were relieved that we were leaving. Their son, who couldn't have been older than 7 years old, pointed at him and said "Look, Mommy, it's the Hulk!" We exited the pool amid the voices of the mother and father trying to explain to their kid that my idol wasn't the Hulk because his skin wasn't green. It took us around five minutes to reach his room at the twenty-first floor. During those five minutes, a million thoughts raced through my head. Are we going to have sex? Will this be just a worship session? Am I dreaming? Whatever it was, I thought how blessed I was to be with the man of my dreams, even if this was, indeed, a dream. We entered his room, and I closed the door. The room was huge, almost like an apartment. I was marveling at the beauty and size of the room, when I felt him hugging me from my back. Then he whispered, in that sexy accent of his, "Let me give you a pre-show." He allowed me to turn around. His cock and balls were now visibly straining his swimtrunks more than before. He started to practice his posing routine in front of me. Now I already described to you his incredibly huge muscles, how massively thick, huge, hard, and bulging they were. That was when he was relaxed. When flexing them, his muscles really came alive. When he did a crab pose, his already enormous and thick pecs inflated outwards like balloons, except that they were even harder than before. I found myself getting so hard that I had to take off my swimtrunks, because they were hurting. He slightly gasped when he saw my erect cock, probably because it was leaking precum. He did a back pose, copying Ronnie Coleman's signature pose, where he would spread his lats more and more, until he reaches their maximum spread. Except this man's back was infinitely thicker and infinitely wider, to the point where, in his final lat spread pose, his fists couldn't even reach his relatively small waist. I moaned slightly in response, as my precum was forming a small puddle below me. He then turned sideways, and here his absurd thickness was made clear. My eyes traced through his neck and traps, going outwards through his immense back muscles and monstrous pecs, to then narrow down to his waist and well-muscled abs, to then stretch out absurdly by his impossibly thick glutes and monumental quads. He started doing his signature pose, where he slowly flexed his right bicep, making it turn from a melon, to a bowling ball, to a watermelon. As my eyes bugged out, witnessing the incredible flexing of his bicep, I was absolutely sure that bicep couldn't grow any bigger, but then he grinned and effortlessly flexed it further, making it probably as big as a basketball. I lost it; I started to cum powerfully all over myself, at the sight of this incredible display of musculature, all without ever touching my dick. So powerful was my orgasm that most of my cum hit his forearm, bicep and right quad, even though I was a good two feet away from him. My cock was an erupting volcano that was being kept in check for far too long, resulting in a more massive eruption than usual. My orgasm took about seven seconds to complete. It was, easily, my most satisfying orgasm ever. "God, that's so hot" he murmured, as he scrambled to remove his own swimtrunk, which only succeeded in tearing it off his hulking body. His own cock was now rock hard. "I made you cum just by flexing my muscles... that's the hottest thing I've ever witnessed." he moaned. His cock was covering his navel and his midsection, probably around a foot long and as thick as my wrist... no, probably even thicker. His balls hung low, and looked as big as the rest of him. I came closer to him, rubbing my own cum along his quads, then my left hand cupped his balls. They must have easily been five times bigger than mine, maybe even six. My right hand managed to just encompass the huge girth of his erect cock. Then I started to stroke it, caress it, marveling at its incredible size. "Harder, Kris. Use your full strength with me! Do not hold back!" the massive superbodybuilder implored. "Yes, yes, certainly, I apologize, Black Hulk." "Do not apologize. I like you a lot, Kris. Nobody has ever turned me on as much as you have done today." I started to nibble on his left nipple, which was almost the size of a small penis, while I simultaneously pinched his right nipple and jerked his amazing cock with my hands. He moaned in delight. "Ohh yes, you're good at this" Black Hulk moaned. I'm GOOD at this? This is my very first sexual encounter with anyone, and fate wanted that my very first sex session was to be with the biggest, most muscular bodybuilder on the planet. "Please, don't stop" he continued. I rubbed my hands against his abs, with all my might, in the meantime licking and biting them. I tasted his savoury sweat and a bit of my own cum. His huge cock became even bigger, as it almost hit my head. "FUCK, that's it, I HAVE to fuck you," he roared. He lifted me up like I was a rag doll. He let me face his gigantic upper body while pointing his giant dickhead towards my ass. "Hold on, hold on, Black Hulk! Please... please... be gentle... this is my first time." I felt his massive dickhead penetrating me. Surprisingly, it didn't feel as uncomfortable as I thought. Using just a fraction of his hulk-like strength, he pushed inside me, using his own precum as lubricant, until most of his cock was in. "Relax," he whispered in my ear. "Let go of me, balance on my cock alone, feel how even my cock is super powerful." I did as he told me, and indeed, his cock managed to support my entire weight. I also felt some liquid squirting inside my ass. "Are you... cumming?" I asked him. "That's my precum, Kris. It squirts as far as most people's cumshots. It will help with keeping your insides nice and moist for my cock to slide easily." "Wow, you're amazing, Black Hulk!" I hadn't finished saying this completely... he grabbed my ass and pushed his cock partially out of my hole and pushed it back in, slowly. "Did that hurt?" he asked. "No, no." "Good. Enjoy the ride. Cling to wherever of my body you like!" I grabbed his giant pecs as he started fucking me, first slowly, then faster and faster. At some points, he was almost hitting my prostate. My dick went rock hard again, as I realized that I was completely at this monstrous hulk's mercy. Soon, he started to moan louder, and his body started to glisten with sweat. His glistening muscles flexed several times as he edged closer to orgasm. Then he hit my prostate, sending me into an instinctive orgasm, and... "Oh GOD, Kris, I'm CUMMING... OH... OOOHHHOOHHH... Fuck YEAH!" My butt was blasted repeatedly with this incredible man's cum, in an orgasm that must have taken a full minute. Then, slowly, it abated, and his breathing became more normal. "Ohh... phew, that felt really good Kris." He disengaged his cock off my ass. Surprisingly, none of his cum rolled out of my butthole, and I did not feel bloated or anything. "Uh... where did your cum go?" I asked him. "Is this normal?" "I honestly have no idea" he told me, concerned. Then it hit me. A massive spasm all over my abdomen. Then all over me. Then it went as quickly as it came. Perhaps it took two seconds, tops. "Fuck, what was that?" we asked, together. ---------------- Chapter 2: Mysterious Bodily Reactions We looked at each other, stunned. "Did... did it hurt?" the overly-muscular black bodybuilder asked, after a protruded silence. "No, no. It felt... weird, though. Like there was something inside me stretching my body parts. But now, I feel fine." "You sure?" the muscle monster mused. "Really, Henk, I do." It was the first time I called him by his real name. The hulking muscleman smiled faintly, in approval. "Look, today has been unbelievable getting to... know you better, Henk. You fulfilled my utmost dreams, and more. I'll never forget this day, ever. But now, I'm sure you need to prepare for tomorrow's prejudging and Saturday's contest." "Yes, I do, Kris. But I have an offer for you. Would you want to be backstage tomorrow and Sunday, with me?" "You're kidding? I'd really, REALLY love to! But, I'm not, uh, very well-acquainted with... being back-stage." "I just need you to apply oil on my body. You know, to make my muscles show more. I'm sure you'll do very well in that regard, after how you worshipped me earlier." The huge muscleman winked and grinned. "The rest, leave it up to me. You in?" Rubbing Black Hulk's giant muscles with oil? Who in their right mind would refuse such an offer? "Of COURSE I'm in! I'm just afraid that I'll be turned on all the time by your..." "Good. That's exactly what I want." Black Hulk grinned again. His grin is so hot, I thought: pure white teeth atop a sea of bulging black muscles. "What do you mean?" "You'll see tomorrow." I wanted to ask him why such a successful bodybuilder does not have a team of trainers, nutritionists, sponsors and spokespersons, but I decided not to raise this issue. Still, this IS a little weird. He seems to be all alone in this hotel, after all. The other Mr. Olympia contestants are probably answering questions in press conferences, whereas Black Hulk is in a hotel fucking a stranger... "Oh, and another thing. You're free to come to my room any time while you're staying in this hotel," continued the multiple Mr. O. winner. "Likewise, Henk. Listen, I'm starving. Shall we get something to eat?" "Yes, there's a buffet going on. It started while we were... swimming", the massive black bodybuilder winked. "Let me shower first. I still stink of your cum." He laughed. "Okay, I guess I'll go shower in my room and come back," I said. "No you won't," the immense muscle mountain quipped. He lifted me up with one arm. "You'll shower with me. Why waste water? Besides, you can lather my back much better than I can." "Oh, I can lather every INCH of you, not just your back" I moaned, getting horny again at the prospect of showering with the man of my dreams. He carried me to the shower, and opened the water. We lathered each other. He was right: his upper body was so wide that he couldn't ever lather himself at various places. I paid extra attention to each of his bodyparts, rubbing them with shower gel repeatedly. Even though I had orgasmed twice in the past half an hour, I found myself getting hopelessly horny again. He showed me his massive biceps again, flexing them for me, making them basketballs of power. "Fuck, man, those biceps, they make me rock hard every time. They're so FUCKING immense," I moaned. He placed my cock between his super thick left forearm and his giant left bicep, and flexed the bicep around my cock. Needless to say, this had a very quick effect: my cock blasted another copious amount of cum all over him. He smiled. "It's my turn now" I told him, as I recovered from my third orgasm in thirty five minutes. I grabbed his cock and gave him a good handjob. The cock rose to its barely-believable length and girth. Then I took his cockhead in my mouth; it was as big as a fucking apple. I sucked him as hard as I could, while simultaneously jerking it off with all my might and fondling his oversized balls. He started to moan louder and louder, until finally I was rewarded with a mighty roar, accompanied by a large stream of cum blasting out of his cock, hitting the sides of the shower with impressive force. His orgasm took about half a minute to abate, which was incredibly amazing, considering that only half an hour before he was spraying cum for an entire minute. We finally headed off the shower. I dried off and wrapped my towel around myself, when I noticed something. "Hey look, that's weird... I don't have any hair anymore! Like, no hair on my chest, my forearms, my legs, my armpits... I don't even have pubic hair!" I touched my head and face. My hair and stubble were still there, thankfully. "Hmm... that IS strange..." the black muscleman mused. "You're... you're kinda like me, now, with no hair below your neck at all." "That's different - you probably waxed it for the contest. Right?" "Uh, actually I didn't. I don't have any hair on my body. Below my head, that is. Maybe... that's what your spasms did to you earlier... still, why would your bodyhair disappear so quickly?" The overly-sized muscleman was deep in thought. "Don't worry about it. I'll get used to it. And, maybe it'll grow again. I'll pop out to my room to wear something. We'll meet near the elevator," I said. A few minutes later. I was next to the elevator, wearing shirt and trousers. I saw him coming, and was stunned again. He was wearing a white T-shirt with the words 'BLACK HULK' embroidered in black, and blue shorts. However, they were so tight on his bulging mountains of muscle that all of his muscle beneath the fabric could easily be traced, including not only his immense pecs, but also his abdominals and his nipples. His shorts expanded ridiculously around his superhuge quads and glutes, each overinflated muscle group threatening to rip it off at any moment. "Jesus, Henk, your clothes leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, don't they?" I murmured. "They don't. I had made these to order when I was 410lbs, a year and a half ago. Now that I'm 440lbs, they are juuuust a little bit tight," he teased. We entered the restaurant and took a plateful of the buffet food. People actually stopped and stared at the huge muscleman. Some murmured something to themselves, others turned to their friends and nudged them to take a look at Henk. I felt proud that I was next to him. Nobody in the whole world has an amorous partner as hot as mine. I was really starving, so I visited the buffet several times, like four or five times. The massive bodybuilder did likewise. I noticed that he was not much choosy with his food; he was eating carbs, protein, fibre, milk products... he was enjoying everything. That's weird, I thought: this guy is going to be in the world's biggest bodybuilding contest tomorrow, and he's not even trying to eat well for it. What I soon found weirder was how my appetite was not satiated, even after eating 7 platefuls of food. Even Henk said he was full after taking seven plates of delicious food. On the other hand, my stomach felt like I barely even started. "Man, you eat even more than I do... that's impressive," the black muscle mountain mused. "I'm surprising even myself... I usually just take three plates, tops, including dessert," I said. "What's happening to me? I'm still starving!" "I honestly have no idea... good thing we have this buffet going on... you can keep eating without paying extra!" Black Hulk said, glancing towards another table. Looking in the direction he was glancing at, there was a young woman sitting down, eyeing both of us, but especially staring at my idol. "You know her?" I whispered. "I don't think I do," confessed the huge bodybuilder. "She wants me badly, though, judging by how she's looking at me. I know that look. Bet her panties are soaking wet!" He laughed faintly at his own joke. "I'll go get another plate of food," I said. "Cool. I'm good. I'll wait for you." As I filled my plate for the eighth time, I actually felt a little bit jealous. But then I remembered that his superhuman musclegod is a well-known pornstar... it is to be expected that he's not into one stable sex partner. Just then, I noticed the top button of my shirt had popped off. That's strange... even my sleeves are filled more than before. It seems like my body is getting bigger. Well, of course it is... I must have eaten close to 8000 calories in the past hour or so. But, my waist was still as trim as ever... it's like the extra weight has gone to my... pecs and arms? I went back to my restaurant seat, noticing that, in the meantime, Black Hulk was in the company of the girl that was eyeing him earlier. "Uh, excuse me, I'll go to the bathroom quick," I quipped, then immediately raced to the bathroom close by. * * * Everyone gasped when he entered. He swaggered slowly to a restaurant seat, accompanied by a man who must have been in his mid-twenties. This was not odd, since we were in the restaurant buffet room, me and around six or seven strangers. What made everyone gasp was the sheer amount of muscular development the former man's body was presenting to our senses. To me, those muscles were instantly recognizable. They belonged to Henk Kuria, or, as everyone in the porn industry called him, Black Hulk. This guy was, in a word, freaky. I've always secretly loved professional bodybuilders. My female friends somehow always found them 'gross' or 'disgusting', and, in front of them, I agreed. But, secretly, I get wet whenever an overly muscular man flashes past my eyes. And Black Hulk wasn't just overly muscular. He was, like, twice as big as the biggest pros. This guy's muscles were astonishingly huge... really, there was no comparison. It was like his muscles had muscles of their own. And he was BLACK. I LOOOVE black men. They look so virile. His skin was really, really dark, too; he was one of the blackest men I had ever witnessed. That made him even hotter, in my books. I had searched for his name ever since I stumbled upon the first porno I watched that featured him. He fucked Lela Star senseless in that porn flick, and the poor girl with the comically enhanced butt just didn't know what hit her. She must have felt like she was being fucked by a bulldozer. And then, his orgasm, showering all over her body... his cumshot was easily that of 10 men combined. After that flick, Lela Star actually took a six month break from porn, citing 'personal issues'. But the stage was set. Black Hulk had stolen her limelight, and that light is still shining brightly. Indeed, he not only shot several other porn flicks, with men, women, or both at once, but he became even bigger, and his orgasms even longer and more powerful. Some people started to question how real his orgasms were, although most did not care. The porn industry made sure to mention that none of what they're filming was staged or faked. And, in most nights, I end up shoving a cucumber in my pussy, fucking myself furiously, wishing that cucumber was Black Hulk fucking me into oblivion as I watch him on my phone in my bed. Anyway, Black Hulk is here, a few feet away from me. For some reason, he happens to be in the same hotel I'm in. Maybe for a new porno shoot? Who knows. I was staring at him. He was wearing a white T-shirt, with the words 'BLACK' and 'HULK'. The word 'BLACK' was stretched all around the top of his enormous pectorals, while the word 'HULK' was below it, in the middle, with his two nipples on either side of the word. Fuck, his T-shirt was so tight that even his nipples were visible; that's insane. His pectorals must be much bigger than my own breasts. That's really saying something, as I wear a 34M cup size. I'm a chubby 5'7, 175lbs woman with a 48-32-40 figure. You either love or hate my body. Some guys find me disgustingly fat, while others just adore my voluptuous body. I've had a few one-night stands with men from the latter category, and they have honestly given me much-needed self-confidence about my body. This made me accept what God has given me, and now I flaunt what I have, rather than try to hide it. Which is what this incredible male specimen a few feet from me certainly does; that T-shirt he's wearing just makes him flaunt the godlike upper body he has. Fuck, he's even hotter up close than in the pornos. My juices were flowing. Just then, the guy he was with him stood up to take another plate. I decided to show slightly more cleavage, to see if the giant black bodybuilder noticed. He did, and smiled. I smiled back, then stood up and came next to him. "Hi, I'm Chloe, nice to meet you, Black Hulk." I extended my hand. He took it and kissed it. "Likewise, Chloe. I'm Henk. You've got a very naturally beautiful body, miss." He smiled. "Thank you. Nowhere near close to your magnificence, though," I said, my heart racing. He likes me. Helikesmehelikesmehelikesmehelikesmeeee... "You're a fan, Chloe?" asked the god, known to us mortals as Black Hulk. "Yes. Big fan of your, uh... movies. Big fan of your huge muscles. You're the best!" I enthused. "Thanks, dear. On holiday?" "No, business trip. I'm a journalist, working for the website CoolnHot.com. I'm assigned to write an article about the gambling and entertainment industry here in Vegas, by witnessing them first-hand. I return home tomorrow morning. You?" "I'm here to win the Mr. Olympia contest for the fourth time." I stared at him blankly. I never heard of a Mr. Olympia contest before. "What's that... a pornstar award?" I asked, innocently. Black Hulk laughed. "No, no. It's the biggest bodybuilding contest in the world. I've won it three times already. I'm here to win it for the fourth time. It starts tomorrow and ends Saturday." Just then, Black Hulk's friend returned, and told us he was going to the bathroom. He left the plate on the table and rushed away to the lavatory. "Who is he?" I asked, curious. "He's Kris. A REALLY good friend. He's responsible for making me look good during the contest while I'm backstage. Mostly by rubbing oil on my body." Wow, I'd love to do that, I thought. "You'd like to do that, don't you?" the massive muscleman asked, grinning. "Uh... yeah... admittedly, I'd love to." How did he know what I was thinking? Am I really that easy to read? "Then come to my room... I will let you do that, and more." He winked at me and smiled again, flashing those pure white, sparking teeth. "That's if you've finished eating, of course," he added. "No, no... I'm finished. But... what about your good friend... Kris?" "I'll just leave a note on the table that I had to leave suddenly. Come on, I'll pay for your meal." Just then, he stood up. "Oh, uh, you don't..." I stopped midway through speaking, as I witnessed his 6'4, 440lbs supermuscular frame towering over me. "I mean, uh, thanks," I corrected myself. The black god endowed with the most immense muscles I had ever seen went to the counter and paid for three meals. He then scribbled a note and left it on the table. I was actually impressed that his thick, muscular fingers could still hold a pen relatively easily. "Let's go, my room is in the twenty-first floor," Black Hulk cooed. People stared at us as they walked out of the restaurant and into the elevator. My panties were practically soaked now. I was worried that some wet spot would be visible down my dress, especially since there was another couple with us in the elevator. Their eyes bugged out when they saw the mountain of muscle that was with me. I felt proud of my catch tonight... I was sure this one-night stand will be my best one ever. We arrived at his room. I guess it was some kind of executive suite, because it was much larger and spacious than my room. I closed the door behind me, and immediately sneaked in his bathroom, removing all my clothes. I was never so wet and horny in my life. I tiptoed out, and, before he had even turned around from placing the door key on the desk, I rubbed his massive back, and whispered: "Ready when you are, Black Hulk." ---------------- Chapter 3: Chloe Sex and Muscle Growth He turned around, surprised at my directness. His deep brown eyes scanned my naked body from top to bottom. They approved of what they saw. "I'm always ready, Chloe. You have a very curvy, beautiful body. It reminds me of the beautiful women from my home country. Except your white skin, which I find very appealing," the muscular pornstar said. He put his well-muscled arms around my nude lower back, inviting me to draw myself even closer to his titanic body. I gladly accepted the invitation, and began to grind my entire body, especially my ample breasts, against his hulking, bulging muscles. My head could only reach his monstrous pectorals, so I cradled it between them. He moved his hands towards my round butt, and squeezed them. Being so close to him, I felt his cock starting to stir. "You like my ass, huh?" I cooed as I lifted his T-shirt, willing him to remove it. This exposed his fantastically muscled eight-pack abdominals. I started to squeeze them, but they felt like hard bricks. They were so thick that I could insert my entire index finger in the space between each of the brick-like abdominals. "Holy cow, you're a fucking muscle brick shit-house. Your muscles are even bigger than they look in your pornos," I continued, in absolute amazement. He said nothing; he only grinned at me. Then, his right hand moved towards his T-shirt. Tugging it from the bottom, he tore it off his ridiculously overdeveloped upper body like he had been tearing off toilet paper. His entire upper body was now exposed, and I almost fainted. From the position I was, I could see two enormous orbs of pectoral muscles, each as big as a gravel sack. I rubbed them slowly. They were dense, thick slabs of power; no wonder he could rip off this oversized, yet barely-fitting T-shirt so incredibly easily. The minimal effort he produced to tear off his T-shirt off his body made his arm visibly bounce... it looked as big as one of my buckets I use when I wash my apartment's floor. It was my turn to get speechless. I felt my vaginal fluids roll down the inside of my thighs - I was THAT turned on. My breathing grew heavier. He then gently lifted me up, so that my eyes were level with his. His grin was confident, cocky. He was definitely my first one-night stand that could lift me up so easily, as if my curvy, 175lbs body was as heavy as a book, to him. He lowered his head and sucked my right nipple, which I felt was as big as one of my lipstick bullets. Instinctively, I lowered my head back in ecstasy, as I felt his lips leave my right nipple to plant themselves on my left. I started moaning loudly, wishing him to ravage my pussy with that huge cock of his, that 10 inch monster I always fantasized would, one day, be sliding inside MY pussy instead of the pussy of some random plastic-surgery-filled pornstar. He placed me back on the floor. My eyes were transfixed on the ridiculous bulge between his massive thighs. He removed his shorts, freeing his massive cock from its confines. It immediately sprang upwards, hitting my abdomen in the process, then started to lengthen and thicken further. He had no pants beneath the shorts. Finally, the magnificent dick eased its growth. It pointed directly to my face; I imagined it telling me that, since I was responsible for waking it up, it was going to fuck me really hard. It looked bigger than 10 inches, and thicker than the cucumber I practise with when watching his porn flicks. My sexual arousal has never been this high. My mind was completely blown away by this god. I felt my juices trickle down my thigh and reaching my knees. "You told me 'ready when you are' earlier. Well, I'm definitely ready NOW," Black Hulk announced. He lifted me with one arm and placed me on his bed in a doggy position, with my ample butt facing him. I then waited for him to insert his giant black fuckstick inside my waiting pussy. I felt him do precisely that a moment later. His cock felt really hard and filled up my vaginal walls completely, but I was so well lubricated that there was no pain at all, just ecstasy. "Oh God, you're so big, you fill me up so much. Fuck me, fuck me HARD!" I shouted in delirium. He didn't need my compliance. I felt his hands grab my ass, then he started to fuck me senseless. Each push of his cock inside me felt like a mini-orgasm. I started shouting obscenities, strings of dirty vulgarities that my mind was stringing up there and then. I was nearing an earth-shattering orgasm, so my slurs were becoming more and more high-pitched. In response, he fucked me faster. That was it: my eyes rolled backwards and my mouth made an exaggerated 'OOOOOOOHHHHHH' shape as I climaxed powerfully, my vocal chords trying to keep up with the intensity of my orgasm. He slowed down, waiting for my orgasm to subside, then picked up the pace once again. I felt his cock throbbing even bigger inside me, probably triggered by my insane climax. "Fuck, fuck, fuuuckk, FFFUUUUUCCKKKKK OOOOOHOHOHHHHOHOHHH GODDDDDDDD FUUUUUUUUUUCK YEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!" I shouted as another orgasm hit my senses. He slowed down again, then restarted his relentless pussy drilling with that insane cock he has. I've seen him do it several times in his porn movies; how he'd fuck a girl repeatedly, sending her into countless orgasms, until she literally couldn't take any more, and then, and only then, he ejaculates. I used to think that a lot of editing was involved for that to truly happen. It turns out no editing was required; this man, or should I say, god, knew how to please a woman in a complete, entire way. "Fuck... fuck... Hulk... HULK... BLACK HULK... PLEASE... no more... oh god... you're so good... but please... no more... that's more than enough... fuck... so much cock..." I finally told him after my latest mind-blowing orgasm. I must have orgasmed eight, nine, ten times, I don't remember. He slowed down, then proceeded to slide his cock off my pussy. "No, Black Hulk, what are you doing? I want you to fill my pussy up with your seed." "You sure?" "Yes, I am. I'm on the pill, and I've had my period six days ago. It's safe. Please fill me up with your seed. I beg you. It would make me complete." Black Hulk obliged. He inserted his still rock hard, massive cock inside my vagina. He started to fuck me yet again, but this time, his technique was subtly different. This time, he was doing this to pleasure himself, not myself. Soon I heard him moan louder and louder. I figured he was getting close to orgasm, as his fucks became quicker and more powerful. Finally, I felt him insert his cock completely inside me, almost together with half of his balls, and he roared loudly. I felt my pussy being blasted by an incomprehensible amount of cum. His orgasm lingered on for what seemed like a full minute. During this time, his cock was spewing cum non-stop. I felt my belly actually expand a little bit as my internal organs tried to accommodate this insane amount of cum that was being introduced to them. Finally, his orgasm abated, and he sighed contently. My belly went back to its usual form, and he disengaged his gigantic organ off my vagina. I turned round slowly on the bed to face him. He was covered in sweat, which I found really hot. I opened my legs to allow some of his cum flow out of my vagina, but, surprisingly, none did. "Hey, what the hell? Where did all that cum go?" "I... I have no idea," Black Hulk said. He looked concerned. Then, I suddenly felt it. A massive spasm all over my abdomen. Then another one all over me. Then several spasms, one after the other, shaking my entire body. I continued spasming like this, for what seemed like an eternity. During all this time, I couldn't speak, nor move, nor do anything except spasming, although I was completely conscious. Then, finally, as I was expecting another spasm hitting me, it did not come. I waited and waited, but nothing happened. I must have spasmed for, like, an entire minute. Black Hulk looked at me, and uttered "Oh my god!" * * * I went back to my restaurant seat, noticing that, in the meantime, Black Hulk was in the company of the girl that was eyeing him earlier. "Uh, excuse me, I'll go to the bathroom quick," I quipped, then immediately raced to the bathroom close by. I looked in the mirror. My pecs were definitely bigger. I felt them, and confirmed my suspicion: they were not only bigger, but firmer, denser. Removing the remaining buttons of my shirt, my eyes analysed my abdominals. They looked more defined. My arms looked like they were tighter around my half-sleeve, too, and, although I wasn't feeling uncomfortable yet, my trousers looked tighter around my quads. I smiled. I redid the buttons of my shirt - well, all of them except the top one, which popped earlier - and went back to the restaurant. Strangely, my massive bodybuilding friend was nowhere to be seen. When I went back to our table, there was a note: "Something came up. I paid for your meal. See you tomorrow. BLACK HULK." Something came up, huh? He's probably fondling that bitch's huge boobs right now. Oh well, he's a pornstar, after all... I wolfed down the plate that I had filled up earlier, the one I had left on the table. I was still hungry. Like, REALLY hungry. I revisited the buffet table many other times. Each time, I devoured the food like I had not eaten for weeks. After five more plates, another button popped off my shirt. I decided to undo all the buttons at this point. People were leaving the restaurant, it was getting late. I continued to relentlessly gulp down plateful after plateful of food, amid occasional tears of fabric from my short sleeves or trousers. Finally, after eating about 30 plates of food, I was satiated. Mind you, it felt like I've just eaten a salad, but, at least, I wasn't hungry anymore. I stood up to leave, when the kitchen staff manager stopped me. "Sir, you have to pay." "Uh, my friend paid for my meal already." "Yes, he did," he explained, glancing at my upper body, partly concealed by my tattered shirt, then at my face again. "But, uh, you ate much, much more food than I had ever seen in my twelve years of being head of this restaurant. So we thought that, uh, you'd pay again? It would still be a bargain for you, you know." He sounded sheepish, which was something I never got from other people before. It was as if he was afraid talking to me. "Uh, sure, I understand. Here, I'll pay twice as much as the price bill. You deserve it, the food was delicious." My hands reached out for my wallet. In doing so, my right bicep involuntarily flexed, causing my right sleeve to rip completely. The restaurant manager gulped. "No, no, no... uh, you know what, we're fine. We're glad our service was to your satisfaction. We're good. You may leave." "Take this as a tip," I insisted, handing him seventy dollars. "And I'll be sure to recommend your restaurant to my friends." "Thank you, sir. Much appreciated." He took the money and hurried back to the kitchen, relieved. I proceeded to go back to my room. People stared at me as I walked. Part of my shirt and trousers were in tatters, so I thought that's why people were staring. I arrived at my room, removed my clothes, and looked at the bathroom mirror. The reflection depicted on the mirror shocked me. I looked like a professional bodybuilder. My muscles, even relaxed, were round and hard. Nowhere close in size as those of Black Hulk, but easily as big as those of the bodybuilders from the noughties era. I looked like Jay Cutler in his prime. No wonder people were staring at me, and no wonder that restaurant manager was stuttering. I started flexing, and my muscles responded beautifully. My biceps were particularly huge, perfect peaks of muscle flesh. My pectorals were thick and heavy. My abdominals were massive and well-defined. My quads were twice as big as before, and even my cock looked bigger. I felt it grow and harden as my eyes feasted on my own, hot, muscular body. I marveled at its size... easily two inches bigger than before, both in length and in circumference, and completely hairless - like the rest of me. My balls felt fuller and bigger, too. I then noticed a bathroom scale tucked away in the corner of the hotel room. I reached out for it, and stepped on it. My eyes couldn't believe it when the needle stopped at... 260lbs. My brain was trying to comprehend my new mass. Even if I assumed that the scales were not calibrated correctly, it still meant that I had somehow gained 70lbs of mass in a few hours. Even weirder, from what I saw in the mirror, all of this mass was added to my muscles and cock, and none of it went in my body as fat. "Wow," I finally gasped. "I look incredible." But, what caused this? My mind started to recall the earlier events of the day. Then I remembered. The spasms. The cum somehow magically disappearing inside me. Black Hulk! His cum must have done this to me. I didn't mind this at all, of course. In fact, I was grateful for this gift that he gave me. But, I had to go back to his room to have some answers. Problem was, I did not know what I was going to wear. Nothing fit me. I then decided to wear the swimpants I was wearing in the pool earlier. It was still wet, so I wrapped a towel round my waist. People won't ask too many questions, seeing me like this. It would look like I was going for a late pool dip. I arrived at his room. As I was going to knock on his door, I heard muffled voices speaking inside. One of them was of a lady, and she sounded upset about something. Then I heard Black Hulk's voice, seemingly trying to calm her down and reassure her. In the next few minutes, her voice took a different tone, and she seemed much more amiable. I heard them approach the door. "My clothes still fit me," I thought I heard the lady say. "I look really hot!" "You were hot before, too," I heard Black Hulk's voice say, "only now you're even hotter." "I'm ready. Let's go," she said. I decided to knock on the door, otherwise I'd be accused of overhearing their conversation. "It's me, Kris. Am I disturbing?" The door opened. Black Hulk was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, identical to those he wore with me at the restaurants, but, this time, the colours were inverted: the T-shirt was blue and the shorts were white. Then a lady appeared, who I recognized as the woman we met at the restaurant. She looked slightly different, but I couldn't put a finger into how. "Uh, hi Kris. This is Chloe. We were just... OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?" ---------------- Chapter 4: Chloe's Transformation "I grew." I flexed a bicep. With little effort, it became as big as a grapefruit. "I grew a LOT," I continued. "And I wanted to ask YOU, man, what happened to ME, because YOU caused this." "Don't waste time, sexy," the girl who Black Hulk introduced as Chloe mused, "I have already asked him how he did THIS to ME, but he claims he does not know." With that, she lifted her dress, and I gasped. Her breasts were still really big, but now her belly was gone. Instead of it, she had a flat stomach, with visible, but faint, abdominals. Her arms looked narrower and more toned, as did her legs. "He transformed me into a fitness model," she continued, "just by, uh, having sex with me. I started to spasm uncontrollably, and when that was over, my body fat had melted, except for the fat in my breasts and butt." Wow, I thought to myself. What the fuck? "Listen, I already told you that I don't know what's happening. It's the truth," the immensely musclebound, black musclegod said. "And you - and I -love your new look, anyway." "That's besides the point. I look too hot, now, to work in any normal job. Do you think I can continue to be a journalist with a body like this?" she said. "I told you already, you can be my spokesperson. And you agreed, didn't you?" Black Hulk replied. "Yes, I did. And I'm looking forward to it. It gives me an amazing opportunity to be close to you. Although," turning to me, "Your friend Kris here is HOTTT too. Wow, look at that body!" "Thanks, Chloe, but if you're trying to seduce me, it's not working. That's not how I swing. Sorry to disappoint," I smiled. Honestly, however, she did look incredible. Perhaps I could make an exception with her... "Pity," she uttered. Then she changed the subject. "I'm starving to death here. Let's go eat something. Isn't that why we were leaving?", she said, as she lowered her dress again. "Hold on a minute," I said. "What did you say? You're hungry?" "Awfully so. I feel like I haven't eaten for an entire month," she answered. "Well, the same thing happened to me. I don't know if this super muscle god," - referring to Black Hulk - "told you, but we had steamy hot sex earlier today." I stopped, reminiscing those incredible, orgasming moments. "Anyway, my body also spasmed a bit, though only for a couple of seconds. Also, all of my body hair disappeared. Then, I started feeling REALLY hungry. I've just finished eating, actually. More than thirty platefuls of buffet food. And I could eat more, if I wanted to... after all that food, I feel like I've eaten a salad. That is how I got all these muscles." "Wait, so... if I eat, I'll grow muscles?" she mused. "Probably. Judging from what happened to me, anyway." Turning to the massive bodybuilder, I said, "that's why I came to your room, Henk, to demand an explanation." "And I don't have any," Black Hulk said. "I'll repeat what I said to Chloe. I'm as puzzled by what happened to each of you as you are. Honest to God." "So, let me get this straight. If I eat, I'll become big and muscular?" Chloe repeated. "This fitness body is hot, and I can certainly live with it. But, me being huge and buff, like both of you... I don't know if I can handle that. But... I'm SOOOO hungry, dammit!" "Look, uh, maybe it doesn't work the same way for women as it does for men" said the black, musclebound god, to try to calm down the situation. "Come on, let's go. I know of a place close by that offers huge servings; if you eat it all, you get it for free. You need to eat first, Chloe, then worry about what you look like later." "So THAT's how you solve this problem, huh?" snapped the lady. "I eat first, then worry about how I look like later?" "Have you got a better idea?" the insanely muscular hulking man answered, quietly. Then he continued, "Look, if it helps, I did not want to be this big, either. But I did become this big, and I learned to embrace my body." "What do you mean?" I interjected. "You started going to the gym to get bigger, right?" Black Hulk paused. Both my pair of eyes and Chloe's were on his. For once, we were not looking at his outrageously muscular body stretching his T-shirt and shorts to their absolute limits. Then, he broke the silence. "Would you believe me if I told you that I never set foot in any gym in my entire life?" "WHAT???" me and Chloe shouted simultaneously. "Look, man, that's simply not possible," I continued. "Nobody grows a body as huge, dense, and bulging with muscles as the one you possess without lifting stuff. Then again..." I paused, then continued, "nobody grows 70lbs of muscle in a couple of hours, either. So many weird things happened today that what you've just said could also be true!" Black Hulk nodded. "Is that how much you grew?" asked Chloe, still shaken by the events that have unravelled in the past few hours. "Yes. That's how much I grew." I answered. "I weighed 190lbs this morning. Now I weigh 260lbs." "Wow... then I will REALLY become buff, if that happens to me as well," Chloe mused. "Say, I wonder how much I weigh right now." She stepped on the scales, which, unlike those in my room, were actually easily accessible in this one. "Wow, I only weigh 145lbs. I lost 30lbs!" "Really? Then maybe that's what the spasms were doing... they were melting away your fat," I suggested. "Maybe that's why I did not spasm as much as you did, too." She was probably going to retaliate my last suggestion that she was fatter than I was with a tirade of verbal abuse, but then she felt her tight stomach rumble. "Hey, can we continue discussing this later? I kinda need food URGENTLY." "Sure. You're coming with us, Kris?" Black Hulk asked me. "I'd love to, but nothing fits me. Can I lend some clothes?" I asked. "I could, but I'm 6'4 and I outweigh you by almost 200lbs. You're only, like 5'9." "I don't mind. I can still wear something." Black Hulk rummaged in his luggage. "Here, try these," he told me after extracting a yellow, full-sleeved, shirt and black shorts. "I was going to give them to a lucky fan next Sunday. They're from my first ever Mr. O. win, when I was 380lbs. Sorry, that's the smallest item of clothing I've got." I went to his bathroom, and tried them on. They were definitely too big for me, even though I was a veritable bodybuilding specimen myself. But there was nothing better to wear. I adjusted the sleeves to fit on my body as well as possible, and came out of the bathroom. "This will have to do. Let's go." We hurried to the restaurant, which turned out to be a pizza place. The decor contained a few pictures of past Mr. Olympias. In the middle, there was a picture of Black Hulk from last year's contest, triumphantly flexing his left arm, a barely comprehensible basketball of power, and clutching the trophy with his right. Some of the other clients greeted the arrival of the man, who seemed so revered in this restaurant. The owner greeted us, too, and shook Black Hulk's hand. "Good to see you, Paul," the musclegod said to the owner. "This is Kris, and she is Chloe." "Nice to meet you all. Hope you enjoy my food! Today I've got the Black Hulk pizza. We usually serve it to a group of 6 to 8 people. If somebody of you eats it alone, he... or she... gets it for free!" "I accept the challenge," said Chloe promptly. "My, my, lady, you have a huge appetite," smiled Paul the restaurant owner. "Mind you, if you lose the challenge, you'll have to pay for the pizza. It's worth $80, but, since you're a friend of Black Hulk, I'll give you a discount." "She won't lose," said Black Hulk the person, grinning. "Me and Kris here will split another Black Hulk pizza. What do you say, Kris?" "That's fine by me," I said. "I guess we can manage that." "Cool. Two Black Hulks then! One of my servers will be right back in a moment with your pizzas!" He hurried to the kitchen. "Look, Chloe, bill's on me, so don't stress if you lose the challenge," the supermuscular hulk told Chloe, softly. "But, I'm rooting for you!" "I WILL win the challenge! I've never been so hungry! I swear if I don't have food in front of me in fifteen minutes, then I'll eat both of you alive!" She laughed at her own joke. She looked happy, and raring to go. I smiled at her joke. I was happy too. Today's events made me happy. I was grateful for today. In the space of a few hours, Black Hulk turned from a distant idol to a close friend, who gave me an incredible gift; the gift of massive muscle size. Actually, he gave me another gift: the gift of friendship. I looked at him, at that body, and smiled. Shit, looking at his magnificent, supermuscular, bulging body never gets old. My cock stirred in my pants. The pizzas soon arrive. They were indeed HUGE. They couldn't fit together on our table, so one of the servers combined another table close by to ours. The server bringing the pizzas was a girl. She gave one to Chloe and split the other one. "I'm Amanda, your server" said the girl. "I'll be making sure that none of you boys will be helping the lady with her challenge. Especially you, Black Hulk. Pleased to meet you, by the way. You are even bigger than the pictures suggest." "That's what everyone tells me. Pleased to meet you too, Amanda. I'll be a good boy; I won't help Chloe here in any way!" Black Hulk answered, winking at the girl. The moment her pizza was served in front of her, Chloe began wolfing it down. It was a bit hilarious, in a way, seeing this 145lbs, 5'7 woman eating such a huge pizza. Not only was the pizza huge, but it was also topped with lots of ingredients: pepperoni, minced meat, artichoke hearts, tomato, peas, onion, green pepper, olives, and, of course, cheese. Me and my impossibly-muscular friend started to eat ours. The pizza was, indeed, delicious. Chloe was on a mission, eating a quarter of the pizza before we had even eaten our first slice. She didn't say anything, just ate and ate and ate. Amanda, for her part, had her eyes transfixed on Black Hulk. His upper body bounced and flexed involuntarily as he ate the pizza. She saw the bulging pecs and arms, and swallowed hard. She went in a dream-like state, as if she was thinking about a raunchy situation - indeed, her face turned slightly red. "Amanda, you should keep your focus on Chloe here, you know..." the monumental musclegod told her, grinning. "Uh, yes, sure, sure, I'm completely focused on what she's doing," the girl stammered. But she really wasn't, of course. She was mesmerized by Black Hulk, the supermuscular god of male bodybuilding perfection. Chloe was already on the sixth slice of the 16-slice pizza. She had already eaten more than two person's worth of food. By contrast, I was on my third slice, and Black Hulk was on his second. I watched, fascinated. It looked like her dress was slightly tighter around her bosom and shoulders. While eating her eighth slice, there was the sound of tearing fabric. Chloe seemed not to notice, and continued eating. Glancing at her, I noticed that her dress had ripped slightly from her back. She continued to eat and eat, amid more tearing sounds of her clothes. Black Hulk only ate two slices, then said he ate enough. I managed to eat six slices; not bad, considering I had eaten so much only an hour before. Now, however, I was really full. We could only stare at Chloe eating her pizza and, seemingly unbeknownst to her, growing out of her clothes. Meanwhile, the server girl, Amanda, was barely noticing what was happening to Chloe either. She was still apparently daydreaming about Black Hulk's gigantic slabs of muscle being proudly displaying through his overstretched clothing. She couldn't stop staring at him. I saw her grinding her feet together. Wow, Black Hulk's effect on some people is so strong. But, really, I understand Amanda's reaction to him; after all, I had a similar reaction to him, and probably so did Chloe. Chloe was now two slices away from eating an entire Black Hulk pizza. Her eating rate was steady; she never once took a break. I understood better than anyone how she was doing it, since I went through the same thing a few hours before. People were now approaching our table to witness this busty 5'7 woman manage the feat set by the pizza owner. I noticed her arms were now not just toned, but there were clear biceps, and even triceps, where none were before. She was much wider, too, which was part of the reason why her dress was ripping from her back. Finally, she did it. The last morsel of the pizza was consumed. Everyone cheered. Hearing these sudden cheers, Amanda snapped to her senses, and congratulated Chloe. Sensing that her job was done, she hurried back to help with the other tables. "That's amazing, Chloe. You ate a pizza made for 8 people!" I enthused. "I... I'm still hungry. Can I eat what's left of your pizza?" she meekly uttered. I gasped. "Uh... sure, sure. That's okay with you too, right, Henk?" "Yeah, go ahead. Better not let it go to waste. I'll go to the bathroom in the meantime," said the immensely muscular man after which the pizza was named. Just then, Amanda came out with a tray of drinks for some other table, and noticed the enormous bodybuilder walking to the bathroom. She quickly served the table, then hurried to meet Black Hulk before he entered the restroom. He somehow was not surprised by her; he looked like he was actually waiting for her to meet him there. She entered a staff-only room and invited the huge musclehulk in. After a while, I decided to investigate. "What's taking Black Hulk so long? I'll go see if everything is okay," I told Chloe. Of course, I knew what was happening. I went outside the door marked 'Staff Only', and immediately I could hear moaning and heavy breathing, and an 'oh my god, you're fucking huge!'. Yeah, as I suspected, the black musclegod was making out with the waitress. I went back to my seat. Chloe was almost finished with her pizza. "You okay, Chloe?" I asked her. "Yes, Kris. I'm starting to be full. After eating this last pizza slice, I should be satiated" she said, happily. "You know that you grew, right?" I asked her, softly. "Yes, I know. I actually liked it. How my body was making my dress small. How it couldn't contain it. It felt so good. In fact, I WANTED to grow muscles." I was taken aback by this confession. Just then, Black Hulk came back, looking sprightly as usual. Amanda was close behind him, slightly red-faced, but smiling widely. I went next to my massively muscled friend. "Hey, I know what you did back there," I whispered in his ear. "Yeah, she wanted to see me without my T-shirt. I obliged. Then she grinded her pussy against my right quad until she orgasmed loudly. That's it," Black Hulk whispered back. "After what happened to you two, I'm more careful now," he continued. "Okay, I'm satisfied now!" said Chloe suddenly, chewing the last morsel of our pizza. "Thank you, Black Hulk, for the free pizza, it was delicious!" "Sure, Chloe. I guess it's time for us to go back to the hotel, then. Let's pay and leave," Black Hulk said. He winked at Amanda. She came quickly. He gave her a hundred dollar bill. Paul the restaurant owner came by, to make sure we were satisfied by the food. After assuring him that we indeed were, we left. It was late, almost midnight. Chloe's dress was barely managing to hold her visibly wider frame. I still had a million questions to ask Black Hulk. How did all of this happen? Was it true that he never went to the gym? How did he get so huge, then? Was he somehow affected by someone's cum, the way his cum affected me and Chloe? As I was pondering these things, Chloe suddenly turned to me and said, "Hey, Kris, uh, you have already gone through what I'm going through. Would you mind if you sleep in my room tonight? My room has a double bed, because they couldn't find me a room with a single bed. I... I just want to make sure that nothing happens to me, you know?" "Uh, sure, sure Chloe," I answered. Then, referring to the black, tall, musclebound bodybuilder, I continued "Good night, Black Hulk. And thank you. Today was the best day of my life." "You're welcome, buddy. See you tomorrow at 8. We have breakfast together, okay? And see you too, Chloe. I'll extend your stay a couple more nights, from my own money." And we parted ways. Chloe and I entered her room. It was almost identical to mine, except it had a double bed, as she said. Almost immediately, she removed her dress, shamelessly in front of me, and went in front of the mirror. She gasped at her new, muscular body. Actually, so did I. I'm gay, but this woman was packing so much muscle that this was actually turning me on. Then came a huge surprise. She turned round, removed her bra and her panties, and cooed, in a really sexy voice, "You've feasted your eyes on MY body. Now let me feast my eyes on that sexy bod of yours, Kris." ---------------- Chapter 5: Kris and Chloe Make Out I was taken aback. "Uh, Chloe... you know I'm gay, right?" "Tell that to the bulge between your legs, honey," she replied, pointing to my crotch. "Besides, I only wanted to see your body, not to fuck me." "Fair's fair," I said. And, with that, I removed my oversized shirt, and my shorts. These clothes had made me forget how massively muscular I had become. "Jesus, Kris, you're fucking massive." Chloe's jaws dropped. "You look even bigger than before." "Yes, that could be the case, since I ate almost half a pizza, rememb..." "Oh, shut up. I don't care. All I care about is being in this sea of bulging, sexy, thick, hard muscle." With that, she started feeling my traps, my shoulders, my pectorals. On every bodypart she felt, she moaned appreciatively. "Shit, you're built like a brick shithouse. You're so hot. You're making me so fucking horny," she murmured. This was an absolute first for me. Usually, I'm the person who says these kind of things to another man. This role reversal was unexpected. However, I felt horny, too. Really horny. This woman was turning me on so bad. Her hands traversed my abdominals, a six pack of ripped musculature, then my butt, composed of incredible, striated glutes. I slowly removed my pants. I had to. She smiled. "For a gayboy, you're really turned on right now," she laughed. "Shut up." I admit, I was hurt by her comment. "Good, I hurt your pride. That's what a real man..." she started, but I stopped her. I shoved my half-hard cock in her mouth, and forced her to suck it. Even though she was considerably strong, she was no match for my much bigger strength. "Mmmmmphmphmmphmmphmmppphh!" she complained. The more she struggled, the more turned on I got. Her eyes bugged out as my cock expanded in her mouth. Suddenly I was apprehensive, and let her go. She lashed out at me. "What the FUCK, Kris?" "I... I'm sorry, Chloe. I don't know what hit me. I swear..." "Shut up, silly. I actually LIKED that. A lot. I like it when you're rough. Hey, I can take a beating!" she smiled, as she flexed her biceps, turning them into considerable mountains of female musculature. "In fact," she continued, as she went down on her knees, "let me show you how much I liked that." She took my now hard cock in her mouth, and started to suck it, while her hands tugged at it with all her might. "God, oh GOD, yes, that's good, baby... so, so GOOD. Fuck, you're so good," I was murmuring non-stop. She disengaged her mouth. I was rock hard. My cock felt really huge and thick. Bigger than ever. Probably because it was. "Let's get to bed, honey," she cooed. We did. The double-bed creaked as it took the mass of our considerably developed bodies. I put a finger in her pussy. It was soaking wet. Chloe moaned, and bit her lower lip. "Let me be on top," Chloe whispered. "Let me ride you. I know, this must be strange for you. Sorry about earlier, calling you a gayboy. You're an incredibly handsome man with unreal muscles. You turn me on so bad. I say silly things when I'm turned on. Let me make it up to you." She plunged her soaking wet vagina on my superhard cock. It felt great. My cock felt like it was being sucked by a thousand tiny mouths. So this is what a pussy feels like, huh? I thought. Hmm, that doesn't feel half-bad. In fact, it feels fantastic. Chloe started to ride me. Her ample breasts bounced with each of her thrusts. I was never enamoured with female breasts at all, but now, they suddenly looked really hot. In fact, Chloe looked fucking hot, from head to toe. And not because she was a muscle beast. She was hot because she was a really, really sexy human being, like Black Hulk is, only in a very different way. Her moans got quicker and higher-pitched, as she neared orgasm. Wow, I thought, a woman is going to orgasm because of me? That's so hot. I saw her eyes roll backwards, then her mouth let out a really loud moan. She was in orgasmic bliss. She orgasmed hard. Her body shook all over. Her orgasm was long. It took, like, more than half a minute. All the while, she was convulsing in sexual delirium, and moaning, almost shouting, in delight. Now I'm not obviously an expert in fucking females, but I thought that this wasn't normal. Seeing her climaxing for so long because of me turned me on SOOO much, though. I couldn't believe it. My body, my power, my muscles, must have done this to her. What happened to me? Why am I fucking a woman? Why am I enjoying it so much? Before a few hours ago, my sexual fantasies always involved being with a huge, muscular guy fucking me from behind. Well, I still find that fucking hot. But now, my fantasies are also including people worshipping my muscles and sucking my long, thick, hard cock, which then fucks them hard until they orgasm uncontrollably. Yes, I want to fuck this super sexy, hot woman HARD. "Oh fuck, that orgasm was so intense... your cock is so good! God, that orgasm continued to roll and roll, like a wave... I never felt anything like it!" she enthused, when her orgasm finally subsided. "Now it's my turn, sexy!" I told her. I sat up and grabbed her from her ample back, making her huge breasts squish against my upper body. She was very muscular, but I was stronger, and could easily lift her entire body in this way if I wanted to. Then I started to fuck her, pushing my cock inside her moist pussy. She appeared to like this; her eyes closed and her mouth went slightly wide. I continue fucking her, upping my pace little by little. Soon I felt my orgasm nearing, and I started moaning, first slowly, then more frequently. She sensed my climax was near. "Shoot inside me, honey, gimme your sperm!" I did. And how. "Oh, fuck, FUCKKKK, OHHHHH I'm CUMMINGGG! OHH YESS, OHHH, OHHHHH... it's still going... OOOHHHHOOHHHOHHH SHIIITTT! Ohh god, GOD here it COMESS AGAIN HOLY SHITTT... OHH FUCKK IT'S NOT STOPPINGG! OH MY GODDDD! OHHHH GOD YESS!" I came buckets. My orgasm must have taken way more than half a minute, perhaps even a full minute. It felt so intense, so amazing, so pleasurable, so powerful. That was, undoubtedly, my most satisfying orgasm of my entire life, easily topping my three powerful orgasms I had with Black Hulk a few hours ago. "Holy fuck, that felt REALLY good! I also felt it, the orgasm coming in waves of sexual pleasure." I was almost laughing with pleasure. Chloe was also grinning widely. She disengaged my cock off her pussy. A pool of my hot, white cum poured out of her vagina. "You know, Kris, I thought 'here we go again' when you cummed inside me. Your orgasm felt very similar to Black Hulk's, both in duration and in intensity. But no, your cum was not absorbed inside me, like his did. That's... that's a relief, I guess." "It is," I confirmed. "I never came so much in my life, though. Not even close. Black Hulk must have given us more than one gift. It's not normal for your orgasms to take that long, right?" "No, it's not. It left me completely satisfied, though. It felt better than 10 of my usual multi-orgasms." Then, she looked at my body, again. "God, you're so hot. Your muscles are so thick, so bulging with power. You fucked me there like I weighed nothing to you. Even though I feel very strong myself, and weigh considerably more than an average woman." With that, she climbed out of the bed, and lifted the end of the bed, with myself on it, supporting the bed on only its two front legs. "Wow, girl. You ARE strong. I'm sure many men are incapable of doing that," I enthused. Chloe placed the bed back in its original position. "You know, that surprised even myself," she admitted. "Is there a scale here? I want to find my weight." "If this room is like mine, there should be one stowed away behind the corner of the room, near the door," I said. "Ah yes, there it is. Here goes nothing." She stepped on the scales. "180lbs. Wow, I gained 35lbs. Probably more, since this is my naked weight. Holy shit." "You know, Chloe, your body is not biologically possible," I suddenly said. "What do you mean?" "Your breasts are beautiful and large. So is your butt. On the other hand," I continued, "the rest of your body is completely devoid of fat. This is clear from how apparent are your muscles. Now, that's impossible, because, when females gain or lose fat..." "... they gain or lose it in their breasts, first," Chloe continued. "Precisely. In fact, many female bodybuilders look like men for exactly this reason. To make their muscles visible, they need to lose fat, and they end up literally without breasts. That's why some of them resort to plastic surgery to augment their breasts back. But you... your breasts are enormous, and are mostly fat, and your hips are still very female-like. That's... biologically impossible." "Another gift from Black Hulk?" "Probably. Man, I have so many questions to ask him tomorrow." I then climbed on the scales myself. "Hmm... 270lbs. I gained 10lbs from the pizza restaurant." "You know, I think I'm ready for another round of powerful sex," teased Chloe, as she rubbed my back, feeling its rippling, muscular power. And we spent the rest of the night fucking, fucking and then fucking some more. * * * My phone woke me up. It was 7:30am. Yesterday was a great day. I met two incredibly beautiful persons. I fucked them hard. The sex felt incredible, way better than the sex I perform in my porn movies. They grew after I fucked them. That's weird; that never happened with any of the porn actors. Maybe because I never orgasm inside porn actors - that's strictly prohibited in my contract. Let's hope they don't ask too many questions about that. I stretched my monstrous, black arms and climbed out of the bed. I hope Chloe and Kris wake up in time. You see, I asked the receptionist to extend Chloe's stay for two more nights before I slept yesterday, from my own money. The receptionist rejected the offer, because her room was already booked for today by somebody else. However, he arranged that Chloe switch to my room, so that it becomes a two-person room from a one-person room. I accepted this change - after all, it's cheaper too. So, after asking the receptionist for her room number, I went to tell her the news. However, I heard moans of sexual pleasure when I arrived at her door. She was probably having sex with Kris. So I decided to tell her the news when we meet for breakfast tomorrow. Suddenly, my cellphone rang. "Hello?" "Hi, is this Mr. Henk Kuria?" "Yes, speaking." "Good morning, Mr. Kuria. I'm Tony Halep from the IFBB. You have been chosen for a random doping test ahead of your participation in the Mr. Olympia contest this weekend." "Uh, okay, and what does that... entail, exactly?" I asked. "We'll need you to provide a urine sample by noon today." Shit. That's bad news. Like, really, really terrible news. "Hello? Mr. Kuria? Are you still there?" "Yes, yes, uh, Mr. ... Halep." "We can collect the sample from backstage, don't worry. The prejudging starts at 7pm, as you know, but I'm sure you were going to be here earlier... unless you do a no-show like you did yesterday for the press conference." "Uh, yes, Mr. Halep... I'll be there... at noon," I stammered. "Good. See you then, Mr. Kuria." "Uh, see you." And the line went dead. "Shit, I'm in trouble. Better wake up the others." I said to myself. I dressed quickly, feeling my monstrous, black, hyper muscles stretch the T-shirt and shorts to their limits. I paused... shit, the clothes hugging my huge muscles always feels so good. Then I hurried to Chloe's room, and knocked on her door. "Chloe, Kris, wake up. It's me, Henk." No response. I knocked harder. "Chloe! Kris! It's 8 in the morning. We need to have breakfast together, remember?" Still no response. "Come on, Kris! Chloe! Anyone! Wake up!" as I banged on the door, hoping for someone to wake up. Well, I must have hit on the door a bit too powerfully, because it suddenly gave way, and it fell into their room with a loud bang! The sound was deafening, but, strangely, whoever was inside did not budge. I decided to enter. "Kris? Chloe?" But there was no one there. Then I looked at the door, flat on the ground. There was a number written on it: 427. "Shit, I'm on the wrong floor, I should be on the fifth!" And, with that, I ran the stairs to the fifth floor, and double-checked that I was in front of the right room. 527. Good. I knocked on the door. "Chloe! Kris! Wake up! It's me, Henk." No response. "Come on, Kris, Chloe, please." Then I heard Chloe. "Uuuhhhh... can't we sleep a little more... we're tired." "It's 8 in the morning. Come on. We need to have breakfast soon." The door opened. Chloe was still naked. Her body was perfectly muscular and curvy. She was, simply, a goddess. I never saw another woman as muscular as her, not even among the female pros. At the same time, her figure was sexier than any female pornstar I fucked. She was stunningly hot and massively muscular at the same time. I entered, and closed the door quickly. A massive stink greeted me... the stink of dry cum. "Fuck... did you... holy shit, you both stink of cum." "We do. But we're gonna shower quickly," said Kris, as he woke up. He, too, was naked. He looked gloriously handsome and muscular. Certainly the second biggest muscleman in the world, second only to me. His cock rivalled mine in terms of size. "Good to see you, Black Hulk." "Wow, Kris. And I swore you were gay." "I was. But have you seen Chloe? I mean, holy shit. She's, like, perfection incarnate." "She is. And, so are you, you know." I said. "All thanks to you, man. You still haven't told us how you did it." "I'll tell you today. But first, can you shower quickly? And no more sex, for now, please. Although, admittedly, you do look like a sex god and a sex goddess." "Yeah, let's shower. But we need to buy some clothes that fit us," said Chloe, as she entered the shower. Kris followed her, and they showered and rubbed each other's bodies with soap. This, of course, turned them on considerably. They started to touch each other's sexual organs. But then they decided enough was enough for that day. They turned off the shower and stepped outside, drying in the towels. "Guys, I have a problem." I confessed. "Long story short, I need to provide a urine sample by noon." "Yeah, so? We have ample time to have breakfast, go shopping for clothes, and then go to the contest by noon," said Kris while drying off his huge muscles. "You don't understand... I cannot give a urine sample!" I told them. "Uh... why not? You didn't take... drugs, didn't you?" Chloe said, as she dried her ample breasts. "So THAT's what you didn't want to tell us, huh?" "No, no, of course I didn't," I said. "You took a diuretic this morning. Right? Is that it? Honestly, these diuretics rules are bullshit," Kris mused. "It's not that, either." "Then, what is it?" they asked, together. "Because... because I haven't urinated for the past three and a half years." ---------------- Chapter 6: The Origin of Black Hulk (Three and a half years ago.) I met Chitundu a few weeks ago. He was tall and handsome, with a nice, ripped body. I was actually slightly taller, at 6'4, but I was skinny, and weighed only 155lbs. But he liked me. We were a gay couple, in a country, Kenya, where being gay is punished harshly. I've heard of a friend going to 10 years imprisonment because they caught him having sex with another man. Another gay couple were beaten to death. Indeed, that gay couple was us. We were enjoying ourselves, in a barn. After rubbing each other's bodies and turning each other on, Chitundu penetrated my ass. It felt great, being fucked by my soulmate. But then, suddenly, the barn door burst open, and four men, armed with sticks and tree branches, started beating us left right and centre. They insulted us, calling us things like 'filthy pigs', 'homos', and 'nasty animals' as we succumbed to their beatings. Soon, I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was still in the barn, covered in blood. I tried to move, but it ached horribly. They must have broken a few of my bones. I tried to see if Chitundu was there with me. Somehow, I managed to spot him. He was motionless. "Chitundu! Chitundu!" I called him, weakly. But he didn't respond. "Help! Help us! Please! We were assaulted! Help!" I tried shouting, but my voice was feeble. I was trying hard to stay conscious, but I drifted away again. When I woke up, I found myself on a bed, in a make-shift clinic. I was alone. Somebody must have found us, and took us to some kind of hospital. I had bandages all over. "Hello? Hello?" I called. Soon, a white man dressed in white overalls came in. "Oh, you're up, thank God," he said, in an American accent. "What's your name?" "Henk. I'm Henk." I answered. "Do you have family?" "No, I don't. My parents were both from Kenya, although my Dad had Dutch ancestors. My family died in the polio plague, though, a few years ago. I live with Chitundu, the other guy. Who are you?" "You're in very bad shape," he said, ignoring my question. "You've got a broken arm, a broken leg, and at least three broken ribs. You also have countless bruises and cuts, some of which are infected, and others starting to get infected. Unfortunately, I don't have the necessary tools and equipment here to mend you adequately." "Where am I? Where's Chitundu? And who are you?" I asked him. "That's not important right now. What's important is that you're safe here, for the time being. I'll soon try an experimental cure on you. It's the only way you can heal completely, but it's never been tested on anyone." "Wait, I don't want an experimental cure!" I cried. "It's either this, or you die by the end of the week," the white guy in white overalls said firmly. "Okay, okay then. Please, I don't want to die. I've only just turned 20." "If you believe in my methods, you won't die, Henk. Trust me," the white man said, smiling faintly. "Now, I'll soon administer a rectal suppository." "What's that?" "It's medicine that is administered through your rectum... your... butthole," the mysterious white man said. "This is very modern, cutting-edge technology. I travelled from America to Kenya because my studies show that Kenyans' DNA should accept this medicine better than the DNA of any other person coming from a different country." He paused, then told me, "I need you to help me turn you over." With a lot of pain and suffering, I managed to do a quarter-turn. "That's enough. Thank you, Henk," as he produced a bullet-sized device. He quickly literally shoved it in my butt. My butt muscles accepted the device, and it was inside me. Suddenly, I started spasming uncontrollably. Each spasm was really painful, due to my broken ribs. I started shouting frantically in pain. But, after a while, the pain started to subside. Eventually, after about ten minutes of spasming, the pain had disappeared completely, and the spasms soon stopped. "How do you feel now, Henk?" the white man asked. I turned around to face him. "Much better. The pain is gone completely. In fact, I think I've never felt better." "Good, Henk, I'm glad. The experimental medicine was a success. It should have mended all your broken bones, and healed you completely." I started touching my arm, my leg, my torso. No pain at all. "Wow, it must have! It just works... just like that?" "Yes, just like that. That's the miracle of science," he said, smiling. "I'll need to keep you here for some more tests, but the initial impressions look very encouraging." I suddenly remembered my friend. "Where's Chitundu?" I asked again. The man in the white overalls sighed. "I'm sorry, Henk. He's... gone." I started crying. I lost the only acquaintance I had. "I'm really sorry," the white man tried to console me. "I couldn't do anything for him. He was already dead when I found both of you." Then I felt it. A big stomach rumble. I clutched my stomach. "Do you have something to eat... uh... Doctor?" I asked, amid tears still rolling down my eyes. "I'm hungry." "Sure. In fact, I have something better," the man in the white overalls said. "I predicted that you should feel really hungry after the medicine has performed its... uhm... magic. So I'm going to give you food through a pipe from your nose to your stomach. I'll be monitoring you, don't worry." The man motioned to a large tank, which, apparently, contained food in liquid form, and drew a thin pipe out of it. I winced slightly as the pipe got through my nose, but it wasn't that bad. The man in the white overalls switched on the tank, and that was that. "I'll be in the next room. Please, for your own safety and well-being, do not leave the room. Even more importantly, under no circumstances should you remove the pipe from your nose," the mysterious man said. "Thanks, doc, for saving my life," I told him. He smiled faintly, and left. I tried to be motionless, but soon I was getting bored. Even though I was still naked, I was, at least, covered by a white bedsheet. I started feeling a bit awkward in certain positions, so I tried to shift my body to be more comfortable. After a little while longer, I was feeling... more built? My arms were not twigs anymore, but were getting a bit more manly. My pectorals weren't practically non-existent anymore, but were filling up nicely. My stomach, which was a washboard, was now getting slight hints of abdominal muscle. I was growing muscle, at a steady pace. This wasn't stopping, either. I was getting bigger and bigger. I shifted my legs a bit further away, because they were thicker and were hitting my balls. This felt really good. My arms were now quite thick, and my biceps were now much more prominent. My pectorals were big and strong. At this point, I thought I was as big as Chitundu. But my growth did not stop. Even my bedsheets now took a different shape, due to my bulging muscles beneath them. "This feels so good," I said to myself. I felt my cock getting bigger. I was getting turned on. I started to slowly stroke it, under the bedsheets. I was surprised how huge it felt. I moaned softly to myself, as my strokes became faster. All the while, my muscles were still getting bigger and bigger; I was as big as a fitness trainer now. "God, I'm gonna cum!" I murmured to myself, so turned on by my own expanding body. And cum I did. An orgasm that soaked up my bedsheets completely, that lasted at least half a minute. I must have been moaning really loudly, because, mid-way through my orgasm, the man in the white labcoat returned, alarmed. "Oh, my, you're masturbating!" he said. "That's a relief... I thought you were moaning in pain. Oh my, that's an astonishing amount of semen... I've never seen anything like that in my life. Wow." The white man's jaw dropped. Then, when my climax had finished, he said, "Let me change your bedsheets." I had, indeed, finally done blasting cum, but I was still growing muscles. I sat up on the bedside, naked, with my increasingly muscular body now plainly visible. The man in white was shocked. "What is happening here? This is an unexpected side-effect," he said, more to himself than to myself. He hurried to change my bedsheets, and I covered myself again. "Sorry I masturbated. But, my growing muscles... feel so good," I said. "Tell me, Henk, are you still hungry?" the white man asked me. "Yes. Still hungry." "Okay. Try not to masturbate until the machine finishes its job, okay?" "Okay, doc," I sheepishly said. "By the way, my name is James, and I'm actually a molecular biologist." And, he left. I was getting turned on again. But, I resisted the urge of touching my dick. My muscles were still getting bigger. My biceps now looked as big as volleyballs. Touching them, they felt amazingly powerful and hard. My pecs were like two sacks of gravel. It was like somebody was pumping them up, inflating them like balloons. Except they were hard as diamonds, not soft and squishy. My abdominals were like six... no, eight, perfectly-placed, hard bricks. My thighs were like monstrous barrels. I was wider, too, to the point that my shoulders and biceps couldn't fit under the bedsheet anymore. Finally, my hunger was abating. James, the molecular biologist, or so he claimed to be, returned. "Hello, Henk. Everything alright?" "More than alright. I feel like a god," I truthfully answered. He switched off the machine, and removed the pipe off my nose. Almost all the liquid food inside the machine was gone. I had somehow absorbed all of that food inside me, during the past hour or so. "That's it, then. Good as new. Literally," James said. "I wish I'd keep you a little more while I do a few tests on you, to see exactly what caused this... muscular side-effect, and if other side-effects manifest themselves in due time." "Sure. I don't have anywhere to go now. Might as well stay here. And I don't have any clothes, either, so it's useless to leave," I said, matter-of-factly. James not only did a few tests on me, but treated me like a son. He bought me clothes and brought me meals. Another side-effect he noticed was that I never urinated or defecated anymore. It seemed like any food and drink intake was being completely used to sustain my body, to grow bigger muscles and to produce sperm - a lot of sperm, for that matter. He also noticed that I did not have a single hair below my neck. Looking at my skin under a microscope, he noticed that I had no hair follicles at all, from my neck downwards. His medicine must be completely focused on improving my body all the time, and it had no reasons to produce by-products like body hair and feces, he theorized. Once he was finished with his experiments, he proposed that I fly to America with him. Since I had no family in Kenya, I gladly accepted. My passport and visa took a little while to be issued, but, finally, me and James were in America. I started working in construction. My workmates were astonished by my strength and muscles. I could lift stuff with one arm that required the strength of two men. One of my workmates, Steve, was gay. He once literally threw himself on my body while I was showering. I fucked him and came all over his body. That was the first time I was the one doing the fucking, rather than being on the receiving end of a fuck. It felt so good. Steve loved it, too; he told me he was never so turned on in his life. This 'love affair' continued for a little while. After earning a bit of money, I could afford living in an apartment alone. It was hard leaving James, after what he has done to me. James understood, but asked to keep in touch. I agreed. People stared at me wherever I went. Once, a lady stopped me while walking outside my apartment, and asked me where I worked out. I told her that I didn't. "Jesus, you've got crazy genetics, honey. You should become a pro bodybuilder!" she suggested. "Bodybuilder? What's that?" I asked, curiously. The lady was surprised. Then she told me, "Google it, honey. You'll know." A minute later, she was inside my apartment, and I was fucking her senseless. She orgasmed several times, and I erupted my dick's contents all over her naked, curvy body. It was at this point that I realized that I was not necessarily gay, but that women turned me on, too. Especially women who literally drooled over my incredible, mountainous, enormously muscular black body. I did follow her suggestion. Pictures of men and women with huge muscles emerged off Google. But none had muscles bigger than mine. I dwarfed even the biggest, most muscular bodybuilder. I learnt that there were contests for bodybuilders. The most prestigious one was called 'Mr. Olympia'. I decided to take part. The IFBB were shocked by my size, so they decided to throw me in as a wildcard. Guess what: I won the contest, beating 9-time Mr. Olympia Phil Heath comprehensively, coming literally from nowhere. People started calling me 'Black Hulk', and it stuck. I became an overnight sensation. I did magazine photo shoots, interviews, documentaries... the list goes on and on. I even starred in a movie cameo. People couldn't get enough of my size. They couldn't believe that I was a 6'4, 380lbs supermuscular man with only 4% bodyfat. Men and women, young and old; everyone wanted to know about me, or drool over my hypermuscular body, or both. The photo shoots exposed something else about me: my dick, apparently, was much bigger than average. This prompted some porn houses to call me, asking if I would consider being a pornstar. I told them I'd do it, for the right price. And so my first porn movie was born, where I fucked this woman with an outrageously big, but fake, ass, called Lela Star. The camerapersons were astonished at my stamina, and how my cock stayed hard throughout the whole shoot, without me needing to take breaks or taking substances to keep my penis hard. Lela Star later confessed with me that it was the first time that she orgasmed for real, on set. I took that as a big compliment. Two hours after the porn flick shoot, I was fucking her again, in her house. My sexual stamina was insatiable; I could perform amazing sex after only half an hour of having my cum erupting from my huge dick. After the success of my first porn movie, more and more porn producers asked for my services, including gay companies. I accepted the gay porn acts too, automatically revealing to the world that I was bisexual. The IFBB called me after this, telling me that my bisexual lifestyle was 'damaging their reputation'. I told them, with contempt and disgust, that, apparently, the fact that Mr. Olympia is a pornstar does not damage the IFBB's reputation, but the fact that Mr. Olympia fucks other men does. Year after year, I continued to grow bigger muscles, albeit at a slower pace. On average, I was gaining 20lbs of muscle every year. And in 2023, as a 6'4, 440lbs ultramuscular bodybuilder, I walked in this hotel to participate in my fourth Mr. Olympia contest. * * * I ended up withdrawing from the contest, and resigning from the IFBB as a professional bodybuilder with immediate effect. That was the first thing that Chloe had to do as my spokesperson: announcing that I was not going to produce a urine sample and withdrawing from the contest, citing lack of transparency in doping tests. As a former journalist, she knew what kind of questions journalists ask, and she handled the press brilliantly. I was enormously proud of her. Although maybe, some of the journalists could have also been a little intimidated by this muscular spokeswoman... An uproar ensued, with people furious about having bought tickets for the Mr. O. to see me in action, only to see me announce my withdrawal. Most of them blamed the IFBB for their hypocritical way in which they do doping tests. In order to calm down the situation, I suggested that I could do a free posing routine after all the contestants do theirs, a routine which did not have anything to do with the contest; it was just a bit of entertainment for the public. The IFBB liked this idea, and, after negotiating the right price, I agreed to do it. I got Kris with me, backstage, of course, to 'rub oil' on my massive, bulging, huge muscles. Kris wasn't out of place among these contestants at all; he was easily as big as the biggest Mr. O. contestant there. Mamdouh Elssbiay, who most people called 'Big Ramy', came over and expressed sadness at what happened to me. He also congratulated Kris on his physique. I sincerely wished him all the best during the contest. "You know," he told me, "thanks to your withdrawal, I'm really in with a shot this year. But I'm not sure if I'll win it next year, if Kris here decides to participate." Long story short, Big Ramy did end up winning that Mr. Olympia contest for the first time. In so doing, the Mr. Olympia trophy was transferred from an African man to another African. But the plaudits went for me. The audience erupted in applause when I set foot on stage, and shouted 'Black Hulk, Black Hulk' repeatedly in support. Chloe suggested to wear my posing pants a little lower than usual, to reveal juuuuust a little cock, to spite the IFBB. After all, I was doing this just for fun, not to compete. The audience loved it. I wowed them with my physique as much as I could. As I was leaving the stage, the audience erupted and wanted more. I got back to the stage and did my customary bicep pose where my bicep inflates bigger and bigger and BIGGER. Some of the audience audibly gasped at the impossible size of my flexed bicep. Then I left the stage, this time for good. When I returned to the hotel, I was informed that the security cameras on the fourth floor detected a person of my size ripping off the door of room number 427... ---------------- Epilogue It's been four years since that Mr. Olympia contest; since Kris and Chloe received 'the gift', as we started calling it. I grew even bigger since then. Still at 6'4, I now weigh 500lbs of solid, massive, freaky, black muscle beef. I settled down with Chloe and Kris, and we three live together in my apartment. They are both incredible human specimens in their own right, not just physically, but also emotionally and, why not, sexually too. So I thought, why not? My job is now full time as a porn actor, sometimes even shooting 'amateur' footage with Kris, Chloe, or both. Life is good. Kris is now a superhuman god of muscle development. Incredibly, even though he's only 5'9, which is more than half a foot less than I'm tall, he weighs a scale-crushing 510lbs of incomprehensible slabs of immense muscle - 10lbs MORE than I do. His secret? Well, he still eats well and goes to the gym regularly - unlike me. His muscle development is really insane. The Internet calls him 'Blond Hulk', and I find it quite appropriate. Due to how much shorter Blond Hulk is than I am, his muscles appear much, much bigger than mine. Of course, sex with him is as insanely hot as his muscles, if not more. Recently, he fucked me, rather than vice-versa, and then I fucked him back. It's good to finally have someone with the necessary muscle to fuck Black Hulk; I kinda missed the feeling of being fucked from behind. Kris never competed as a professional bodybuilder, partly because the IFBB dissolved itself a year ago. More on that later. Chloe is also an incredible muscle specimen. She now weighs 225lbs, which, on her 5'7 frame, is really quite a sight to behold. Her muscles are really dense - probably denser than mine or Kris'. She's still got two magnificent orbs of breastflesh jutting out of her pecs, and her biologically impossible hourglass figure is still definitely eye-turning. She's still my spokesperson - now for my porn endeavours, though. People call her 'Curvy She-Hulk' online... I kinda like it! Of course, our lives does not revolve solely into having just us three as sex partners, fucking each other. Part of why we're in this porn business is our extremely sexual lifestyle. We cannot do otherwise; 'the gift' forces us to have frequent sex, or, at the very least, masturbate often. When Kris, Chloe or I go out to eat alone, or go to buy some new clothes, or whatever, it's not unusual that one of us picks some hot guy or girl and give him or her a bit of sexual bliss. If we really like the person, Kris or I ensure that we orgasm inside their pussy, or butthole, thus giving that person 'the gift', slowly turning them into a veritable god or goddess - just like I did to Kris and Chloe four years ago. Interestingly, we recently discovered that Chloe can also give 'the gift' to her sexual partners. It turns out that her ample breasts ooze out a liquid when she's sexually excited, which, when drunk by a person in the right amounts, gives 'the gift' to that person. This allows Chloe, like us, to give 'the gift' to both sexes. We three are, of course, all bisexual. Indeed, that's one other side-effect of 'the gift', we learned - it turns that person bisexual, no matter what sexual orientation he or she leaned to prior to receiving 'it'. Slowly, 'the gift' started to become more widespread. People receiving 'the gift' - which we started calling 'gifters' - of course, fucked other people, due to their heightened sexual desires, spreading 'the gift' like wildfire. Many people, males and females, started becoming hugely muscular humans literally overnight. The professional bodybuilders training night and day in the gym simply couldn't compete anymore. This prompted the IFBB to dissolve bodybuilding as a sport for good. Moreover, the ideal female body perceived by the world at large slowly started shifting to the one that Chloe, and all female 'gifters', possessed. And James? We did decide to meet James, to ask him to study the process of how 'the gift' works. While doing so, James became totally obsessed with Chloe's incredible beauty, and - long story short - he received 'the gift' himself from her. One aspect of 'the gift' that was puzzling James was pregnancy - or lack of. The amount of semen produced by male 'gifters' was about 10 times as much as normal males did, and female 'gifters' had the perfect, ideal vaginal shape to accommodate these males. Moreover, the sperm count of male 'gifters' was astonishingly high, at around 800 to 1000 million sperms per millilitre, with close to 100% rapid progressive sperm motility. Female 'gifters', on the other hand, ovulated more frequently than non-'gifters', and did not have periods. In spite of all this, it seemed like male 'gifters' were incapable of impregnating female 'gifters' at all. After studying this anomaly for long, James finally managed to crack this mystery too. Incredibly, male 'gifters' couldn't impregnate female 'gifters' alone; there needed to be the semen of TWO different male 'gifters' in the vagina of a female 'gifter' for pregnancy to happen. This was confirmed to be true when me and Kris impregnated Chloe the same night that James made this discovery. Our family is expecting our first child; the first child in the entire world that will have two Dads and one Mum. Will we tell the story of our child, and of our future children, in the future? Who knows... time will tell. THE END
  2. Chapter One: As the sun rose over the glorious city of London, the capital of the United Kingdom ruled over by Her Majesty Queen Victoria, Defender of the Faith and Empress of India, it revealed a city with the first mists of autumn mingled with the smoke of the industrial heartland of the East End. Alongside the Thames that flowed through the city, the Westminster Clock Tower, standing tall over the mother of Parliaments, announced to the world via “Big Ben” the bell in the heart of the tower, that eight o’clock had arrived on October 2nd 1872. A fact that Police Constable Thompson, who had been up since six o’clock that morning, was aware of. He oversaw turning off the gas lamps in the district of the City of London and as he turned off the gaslamp outside number seven Saville Row, he looked up and smiled. Even since he had found out that Sheridan, the famous poet of the eighteenth century, had lived in the house until his death in 1814, he felt a sense of pride that he was looking after the street where he once lived and having done his duty carried on down the street. Inside number seven, the owner slowly opened his eyes, yawned and stretched. Taking a clock from his bedside table he listened to the chimes of “Big Ben” and nodded his approval that his bedside clock was keeping perfect time. Placing the clock back, he picked a small bell and rang it expecting his manservant, Forster, to come dashing in and help his master get dressed. However, no sooner had he rang the bell, than he said, “Oh, yes, I fired him, yesterday didn’t I?” and with that replaced the bell. As the owner got out of bed and made his bed, he remembered the unhappy event that had led to him sacking Forster. It happened when the unlucky manservant handed the owner his shaving water and as the owner took out the thermometer to measure the temperature his eyes opened wide and he bellowed “EIGHTY-FOUR DEGREES? ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME CATCH A COLD?”. Forster only had a second to stammer “But, master, it was eighty-six when I left the kitchen” before a “YOU’RE FIRED!” resounded through the house. As the owner examined the clocks on the mantelpiece in his bedroom, chiding one for being a full minute out, he proceeded to perform his morning constitutionals. First he marched up and down the bedroom, raising his hands and feet in alternate steps, waggled his hips from side to side, touched his toes several times and then taking out two kettlebells from the cupboard placed them on the bedside table. As he did he took off the blue dressing gown he was wearing and then the pyjamas and stood there completely naked in the cool morning air. Grabbing the kettlebells in both hands, he took a deep breath, held it and then raised the weights into the air and then stared at his reflection in the mirror opposite. People said that he resembled Byron, the great English poet of the last century, at least that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without growing old and his body reflected this. It was well conditioned, thanks in part to the course that the owner subscribed to written, which seeing as he obtained the copies direct from the author he could attest to, Donald Dinnie, a man that many people had compared to the heroes of Ancient Greece and while the owner was nothing like as strong as he puffed out his chest and sucked in his stomach he looked as much of a Greek hero as any of them. As he stood there, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He liked the sensation and closed his eyes as he continued to hold his breath. He imagined himself standing on a stage next to Mr. Dinnie, the two men showing off their strength and as they did, the owner’s physique had one more surprise as just below his waist, an organ of the body that most people ignored started to stir. Slowly at first, it lengthened and as it did it thickened at the same time and in his imagination, the owner was soon thrusting it into Donald’s body with the strongman unable to resist. As the sensation grew, the owner opened his eyes and nodded at the sight of the organ bobbing in time with his heart. He knew what was going to happen and dropped the weights and started to rub it, still holding his breath. It wasn’t long before the owner’s face had turned bright red and his organ the deepest purple possible but the owner was determined to push himself to his limits and lay back on the bed, his face scrunched up in a combination of agony and ecstasy. Eventually the torture became too much and with a mighty “RULE BRITANNIA!” the owner roared and was soon covered with the essence of man on his naked body which he rubbed into it with moans of pleasure as his chest heaved, filling his lungs with oxygen. As he started to relax, he chuckled and said “Well done Phileas, next time, ten minutes!” So, who was this Phileas, who has just pushed his physical body to the limits of human endurance? He was an Englishman, certainly, but was he a Londoner? That was a question for the ages however. He was never seen on the floor of the Stock Exchange, nor at the Bank of England or the other smaller banks in the capital, nor in the counting-rooms in the square mile, the financial heart of England nor did any ships ever came into London docks of which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln’s Inn, or Gray’s Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen’s Bench, or the Ecclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he a merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London Institution, the Artisan’s Association, or the Institution of Arts and Sciences. He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the English capital, from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly for abolishing pernicious insects bar one. He was a member of the Reform Club, the Club that was home to every great Liberal that England had produced and that was all. Was Phileas rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg, as he was more commonly referred to, was the last person to whom to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short, the least communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open to observation; but whatever he did was so the same thing that he had always done before, that the wits of the curious were puzzled. Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of travelers, pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions. He must have travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit and yet, from the little that people knew of him, it was evident that he had not left the capital for at least fifteen years maybe longer. Those who were honoured by a better acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes were reading the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game, which, as a silent one, harmonized with his nature; but his winnings never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless, unwearyingly struggle, congenial to his tastes. He was unmarried and didn’t have any children, and whilst you dear reader may have an idea why this was the case, to the residents of London this was something that could happen to the most honest of people and so nothing was thought of it, however as he didn’t have any relatives or indeed dear friends, that was certainly rather strange but living alone in his house with only a manservant suited him to the ground. However on this day, that element was lacking, and so after pouring himself a fresh pot of coffee, to which he added precisely one fifth of a pint of milk to, he downed it in less than a minute and dressed himself so that by eleven o’clock that morning he was sitting in the hallway of his home, his feet now covered by a pair of shoes so bright and shiny that he could see his reflection in them, a pair of brown trousers, a white shirt, with a thick red cravat and a jacket the same colour as his trousers waiting for the new manservant to present himself. However, as the clock in the hallway chimed the hour synchronized to the bell in the Westminster tower, the smile that had been on his face since he woke up disappeared and was replaced first with a frown and then a scowl. “This will never do!” he declared in a huff, “I can’t hire a manservant who isn’t on time!”
  3. Thanks again for all the great feedback everyone! Once again this was mostly written on my phone, so please excuse the errors. Hope you enjoy the next installment. - PART 1 - PART 2 ************************* DWARFED BY DAD PART 3/4 “Oh-NO… Dad, not my NEW pants!” I barely even made it through the front door of his house, suddenly overshadowed by his colossal bodybuilding figure, hearing the all too familiar sound of his gigantic arm muscles beginning to work and move, simply flex, the tortuous ear filling commanding power, the old man's twenty-nine inch bicep, raising towards my face. His horrendous forest of silver armpit hair exploded against my nose, smothering me in his rank grandpa-aged musk, causing my dick to bloat, bone up humiliatingly. Then I felt the warm marbled layering of muscle striations build against my whimpering lips, this entire mountain of inhuman strength stack, so high, the peak reached the outstretch of his hand, erupted dangerously into his own face. It was as if someone had stuffed this enormous jack o'lantern under his skin, the biggest arm muscle the world would ever see. Within a few seconds, a few simple pumps of this gigantic daddy spectacle, I started shooting streams of jizz, pathetically, right into my own pants. “HAHA!” Dad voice thundered above me. “Measured them at THIRTY-inches this morning!” He pumped his arm once more, once again suffocating me in his arm muscles, the now thirty-inch monster of old man power. My brand new khaki pants were literally destroyed, soaked, sopping wet with the humiliating incestuous juice of my own boy-sized dick, right through the front of my zipper. I cringed embarrassingly. You think I would have been used this by now. After all, this was now at least a twice-daily occurrence, the rules and regulations of being a slave to a growing muscle-god. “Should I get my mask on, sir?” I still timidly asked “Nope!” Dad grinned looking down at me, barely visible through the outstretch of his own titanic male pecs. “I got something SPECIAL planned for you today…” Now usually the old man would make me wear this demeaning monkey-mask, an old costume from childhood, ever since that first day in the shower, a mere two weeks ago. He never wanted to participate in anything “queer”, the whole “ignorance is bliss” thing, even though he was letting another man, his own son for that matter, worship his gigantic naked physique, most of the time until he would shoot, shower me with his creamy thick gallon-sized load. But today, just as he said, he had something “special”, a new level of mockery that I was inevitably going hopelessly eat up. As he placed his hands around his waistband, as the floor and walls began quaking with every monstrous step, as he slowly turned around, bulging out of these sweaty skin tight gym-shorts, I knew, what was grossly in store for me. “W-Wait, d-dad, p-please…” “I always did enjoy the feeling of women's TONGUE up my ass.” Dad snickered. “And now you're going to CLEAN me with yours!” The old man menacingly laughed, beginning the long and lengthy process to pull off his own shorts, wiggle and squeeze down the swampy grey fabric, so much musk wafting his obscene child-gobbling asscrack, I honestly thought I was going to pass out, let alone even make it to the licking part. I held my nose together as the elasticity in his waistband began to crackle and pop, watching his tire-sized hairy muscle-glutes heave outward towards me, blimp almost dangerously large, breaking any known barrier of bubblebutt size. “I can't imagine how BAD I smell…” Dad continued his bantering. “After a SIX-hour workout, I must be RIPE!” The old man laughably struggled, barely able to pull his own shorts down even halfway his ass. There wasn't so much the problem of his swampy bubbled butthole, or his equally growing large male appendage in the front, but more so with his insanely monstrous and inhuman massive forty-two inch bloated hairy daddy-thighs, eighty-four inches in diameter combined! Even a pair of XXL shorts found complete struggle, fabric fraying and stretching to unbelievable transparency. I honestly didn't think they were going to make it... *RIIIIPPPPPPP* “Fucking UNREAL!” Dad roared proudly, as his shorts ripped and blew apart to the floor. “Won't be long before I'm squatting entire NAVY-ships!!!” He grunted jokingly, taking and rubbing one of his colossal hands along the lining of his gigantic hairy stink-hole, the seemingly endlessly muscle canyon of his asscrack. That was just a taste of how the old man had been talking lately, by the way, his insatiably unrealistic dreams of growing, leaving me always speechless, stammering in dumbfounded fear. Last week he actually tried lifting his Honda right in the driveway, right in front of all the onlooking neighbors, the jaw-dropped kids in the street. He grabbed it by the tail end and growled furiously, his muscles surging bigger than ever, as they always did, but thankfully, the car didn't budge. I know a vehicle is nowhere near being some ship on the sea, but I don't know, just the fact that he was even trying, still endlessly growing, gave me worry that these ridiculous dreams of his, would soon become my nightmare of a reality. “WELL?” Dad boomed questionably. “You going to get CLEANING or what!?” “...yes sir.” I responded with a gulp, but what choice did have? That's not to say, I wasn't completely drooling over the once in a lifetime opportunity, monkey-mask free, to get my actual face up against those two mighty and stage-crushing monster muscle glutes. It was still just so humiliating to me, especially with the way dad would treat me, about the “comical” rate he outgrew me, how he was excited to “double me”, he would often remark. I guess he was getting close, weighing in at a shocking 383-pounds of bone crushing grandpa-aged silver hairy man muscle. But you know, it was just three weeks ago I was some proud bodybuilder, and now... “FUCK-yeah!” Dad deeply groaned. “Get your tongue WAY up there…” He grabbed the back of my hair, smothering my face into all his sweat and left over shit before forcibly squeezing my head, an insignificant grape between his buttcheeks, further up into dark depths of his swampy asscrack. Who knew the old man would like this much assplay, or that I ever would ever turn out to be such a fag for muscle freaks. I'll admit though, there was something kind of comforting about digging and licking my way up his suffocating muscle hole, that familiar fatherly musk I had known since birth. The whole scene ended with the old man groaning like a pig and bent over, his foot long horse cock draped on the floor like a Python, splooging a river of cum, out of this totally tongue-sized piss hole. Then he made me lick up the whole thing up. “Now I really do feel like a KING…” Dad remarked, relishing on the whole humiliating view in the reflection of the living room mirror, as he relentlessly posed. Those words were the beginning of the end, destiny veering it's ugly head. A few days later, the old man demanded I moved in with him, needing his “slave” to be around whenever he commanded. He still fucked woman regularly, daily almost, “pussy splitting” them with his grotesquely veiny old man cock. I still didn't get how he was doing it, how he was growing all over, like some testosterone dripping teenager during a growth spurt. His height had reached a daunting six-foot-four, his feet to a shoe-popping size sixteen, clothing dimensions you wouldn't believe. “Hand me another one, SQUIRT!” Dad boomed above me. “Y-You want M-MORE?” I stammered in disbelief. It was about a week later at the grocery store, aisle seven, the frozen meat department. Dad had finally surpassed his eagerly awaited 400-pound mark, 423-pounds to be precise, so much muscle bulging into muscle, it wasn’t just freaky, it was downright terrifying. Yet he still wanted more, guzzling back four protein shakes already as we wandered up and down the aisles, a man dying of thirst, only it was his muscles, and you wouldn’t believe how much they needed to feed. His brand new XXL-sized clothes looked on the verge of bursting, especially around his grotesquely bloated muscle-gut, the nearly painted on and tortured light blue denim, splitting obscenely around the seams of his legs and groin. I reached down into the shopping cart regardless, never wanting to disobey my master, handing him another bottle of Muscle Milk, only two left now out of the original six-pack. The old man swiped it fiercely from my hands, blowing off the cap with a single thumb, raising the spout to his lips. “God-DAMN, feels like my shirt is gonna BURST!” Dad winked looking down at me, another devilish grin on his face. “OH-Well!” He was so unapologetic, so arrogant in his actions. He didn’t even stop to think about the mounding spectacle of people forming, women and men alike, staring at the over 400-pound muscle god with three full shopping carts. There was this pregnant wife with two children, some little cheerleader with all her friends, even another father with his son after baseball practice, then came the smartphones. With all that protein building up, filling him with a nearly boundless amount of fuel, I knew, it was only a matter of time before there would be another incident, another explosion of muscle growth, just like that day at the gym, captured on the endless amount of cameras surrounding us. “MMPF, SO-good!” Dad grunted under his gulping breaths. “D-Dad, y-your clothes…” I cringed, whimpering devastatingly, as his nearly transparent shirt, the already painted on and skintight ripplings of his freaky muscle striations, began ballooning even bigger. You could already hear the whispers and squeals of the crowd, the baseball boy roar in amazement, as if he had just seen the Hulk, a real life superhero. The various artificial sounds of camera shutters echoed throughout the store, just as I could hear the first small tear, somewhere underneath his armpits, then a second around the underside his two overshadowing inflated blimps of hairy mammoth pecs. *SNAP, POP* “SORRY folks!” Dad chuckled carelessly with a belch. “I was just SO hungry!” *BURRPPPP* *RIIPPPPPPPPPP* As he let out another thunderous belch, before I could even blink, nearly every thread in his shirt suddenly unraveled across the insane rumbling muscle dimensions of his chest into a million tiny pieces, blowing around his beachball-sized arms, detonating around his barn door wide lats, absoluting exploding around his gorilla-sized neck. The crowd variously gasped as every inch of his shirt helplessly fell to the floor, revealing to all them, even the now drooling store employees, the worlds most disgustingly powerful, the most musclebound hairy old man chest, the biggest daddy to walk the planet! “OOPS...” Dad smirked, hearing the various pathetic remarks, the words of disbelief and terror. He started posing anyway, with that wild grin on his face, flexing nearly every muscle he could, starting with his arms first, his burly and gigantic thirty-three inch beasts, nearly crushing his own skull as the two mountainous peaks collided with his stubbled silver face. Then he pleasurably began to bounce and quake his gigantic chest, the blimping hairy chest cleavage, the two overshadowing airships of power, feeling as if the aisle was actually beginning to shake. A few of the women's awes turned into sweet tiny moans, as they publically grabbed grabbed their sopping wet groins, finger-damming there uncontrollable gushing pussys. Even some of the men began bulging in there pants, throbbing pervertedly, continuously adjusting themselves. “JUST started working out a few MONTHS ago!” Dad arrogantly stated, the big crowd pleaser, making everyone chuckle, as if it was a joke. He looked down at me right afterwards with that smirk again, like they had no idea what was to come, as he powerfully turned his stance and showed off his absolutely door-crushing backside. You could tell that he was aching for more, more muscle, occasionally glancing down at the two remaining bottles of Muscle Milk with his piercing blue eyes. I thought he was going to do it, but then, out of nowhere, embarrassingly enough, the old man let out this gigantic grandpa fart. *RIIIPPPPPPPP* “OH-fuck!” Dad devilishly laughed, turning his neck and attempting to look down towards his ass. “Was that my PANTS!?” The crowd gasped once more, I couldn't believe it, covering my mouth and staring like everyone else. His two bulbous and obscene muscle glutes, the pornographic airbag sized butt cheeks, just from a simple fart, had rumbled and quaked to such a severity, that the light blue denim fabric had actually torn apart, right down the shockingly deep muscle valley of his asscrack. Luckily, for the all children's sake, the now dozens of families watching, his swampy grey briefs were still strongly held together. But you could still hear the sound of fabric crackling, slowly snapping apart, as if the old man wasn't done growing yet, as if this whole show was just beginning. “He’s G-GROWING!!!” This woman suddenly shrieked. “You FOLKS want to see some REAL MUSCLE!?” Dad roared, the old man was fucking eating it up. I don't know if he was growing on purpose, or if he just couldn't stop, but he did forcefully and ultimately playfully pump and flex his legs, blowing the remaining seams around his tremendous muscle thighs and groin in an instant. Still mostly held together, however, the now tattered and tortured blue jeans, he let out this deep sinister laugh as the growth took place, as the skin of silver monster muscle legs began effortlessly squeezing through the gaping holes of the fabric, torrentially swelling bigger. It was shocking to say, that his nearly basketball-sized calves were the first to completely blow through the bottom of his pants. *RIIIPPPPPPP* “I make ARNOLD look like an ANT!” The old man mocked, towering above us looking six-foot-seven, posing like the champion he was, the total reigning supreme bodybuilding god of the world. After his calves, his shoes completely blew apart, tearing around the front first from these gigantic hairy toes, then around the laces due to his widening feet, brand new Nike’s, completely destroyed. The crowd continued to gasp, most family's ran. It was just in time as his over fifty-inch muscle thighs blasted through the rest of his denim, the teeth of his pant-zipper erupted with this firehose-bulge of musky underwear fabric. The whole thing ended with those planetary muscle-glutes, those two car-crushing swampy butt cheeks, snapping what was left of the destroyed fabric clinging to his legs. “Better SHIELD your EYES!!!” That was dad’s favorite part, as he boomed the words with laughter, as he shattered the aisle with a most muscular pose. We watched the video what must have been a dozen times, one of many recordings posted online, along with hundreds of shocking photos, the old man's new ego-exploding treasure trove. He couldn't even operate the computer his hands were so big, crushing his desktop keyboard at first, making us revert to my tiny eleven-inch laptop. “They're calling me a GOD!” Dad chuckled delightfully, slowly standing up from his broken chair. “I think it's time you WORSHIP your GOD…” I'll just let you know, that he was completely naked, and he was pointing to his size-twenty feet. It felt just like that first time in the shower. I didn't even ask if I should wear my monkey-mask. My tongue started slowly with those gigantic-toes, kissing and working my way up to those cock-boning disgustingly freaky bowling-ball calves, then I made my way up his gigantic monstrous silver thighs. It was absolutely terrifying, being next to these legs nearly triple the size of my own body. But I kept on worshiping, despite his questionable movements, the occasional thump from a single tiny motion, shaking the entire house, nearly snuffing me out. It was then I looked up, terrified, just knowing what was going to happen next. “GOD-damn, just look at those pretty little LIPS!” Dad suddenly grabbed me by the cheeks, stuffing his gigantic thumb down my throat. “I think it's time you SUCK your DADDY’S cock!” I always knew I was a little gay... **************************** Comments are appreciated
  4. Hey guys, thanks for the awesome feedback on the first chapter. Here's the second, once again, it was written on my phone, so please excuse the errors. Enjoy! READ PART 1 HERE DWARFED BY DAD PART 2/4 When he grabbed the same weights as me, the same 80-pound dumbbells off the rack, I knew, just like the old man said over breakfast, that he was going to totally outgrow me. But it wasn't going to happen in a week, or even a few days, it was going to happen in a matter of hours. Almost as if he was literally growing bigger by the minute, the second, a growth experiment gone wrong, only it was my father, and there was seemingly no end to his new found muscle lust... “You know what?” Dad suddenly chuckled under his breath. “I think these weights are to LIGHT!” My jaw dropped to the floor, watching him move his way up the rack, right to the bodybuilding coveted 100-dumbbells. As he picked each one up, his sleeveless and huge chiseled grandpa-looking arms suddenly surged in size, definitely bigger than my own, looking like some real bodybuilder, not just an amateur, but some professional title baring bodybuilding hunk, a definition of physical perfection I could only dream of achieving. “OH-fuck, does that feel GOOD!” Dad groaned out loud, all while the whole gym stared, shocked, as he somehow began picking up the pace. He wasn't slowing down like he should have, gritting his teeth, grossly snarling, as the veins in his musclebound and hairy grandpa-looking arms suddenly exploded to grotesque size. Then his biceps, the fat steak sized meat packed triceps, began to rumble, quake beneath his already tight translucent skin, like some ready to erupt volcano. Soon his arms didn't just look twenty-inches, but twenty-one inches, then twenty-two inches. The already obscenely tight sleeveless shirt squeezed tighter, then out of nowhere, impossibly, his indecently painted on gym shorts ballooned even bigger, strained around his bloated old man thighs, his groin, even the back his disgustingly swampy and global muscle man butt. “AW-Yeah, look at this PUMP I'm getting!” Dad roared, continuing his relentless pumping, rep after rep. “I'm looking HUGE!” *RIIIPPP* *RRIIIPPPPPP* “D-Dad, y-your shirt…” I whimpered in concern, in total dumbfounded disbelief, but of course, the old man couldn't have cared less. He stared at himself in the gym mirrors proudly, arrogantly, looking like his ego had exploded ten-fold, the pride of a young testosterone dripping teenager, marveling over the display of hulking muscle bulging destruction, happening right underneath one of his heaving hairy daddy-pecs. There was a small snicker, as he just kept on lifting, unapologetically even, staring right back at me, swinging the two massive weights around like it was a warm up, not stopping until the other side of his shirt unequivocally matched. *RIIPPPPPP* *RIIIIPPPPPPPPP* “HAHA, OH-God damn, would you just check out this PUMP!” *THUD, THUD* Dad set the two weights down on the ground, standing fully up, looking horrendously bigger, a lot bigger! We used to be pretty much eye level, but now, somehow, we weren't even close! The top of his burly bearded face and piercing blue grey eyes soared a couple inches over my own. And then there was the all that muscle, all those rippling layers of bulging new bodybuilder power. He turned to me almost immediately, with a giant smirk on his face, flexing one of his colossal and nearly sixty-year old arms, an absolutely monstrous and musky twenty-three inch hairy arm muscle, this peaking sweaty mountain of bicep, right in my jaw dropped face. “J-JESUS, d-dad!” I whimpered in humility. “I can BARELY breathe!” “GOD-damn, BOY!” Dad chuckled mockingly. “Your old man's BICEP is as big as your whole FACE!” “P-PLease… D-Dad…” I found struggle in my own words, to even breathe, burning red in the face from humiliation, as my dad just continually publically tortured me, feeling as if this eclipsing mountainous muscle stuffed against my face, would be my inevitable doom. But my father luckily pulled away, moving onto the display of his own meaty male muscle cleavage, his own massive hairy pectorals, the cinematic destruction of his workout shirt. You'd think the embarrassing spectacle would have been over, but it wasn't, far from it actually. “HAHA, never thought that I would have TITS bigger than most woman…” Dad joked looked down, relishing on the insane rolling view of his blimping silver chest. With the now insane measurements of his own chest, he nearly effortlessly, not even having to muster up half his strength, that mind-blowing muscle cleavage, to explode through the rest of his upper shirt fabric, huge pec after pec, fat nipple after nipple, suddenly unleashed. *SNAP, SNAP* *RIIIPPPPPPP* “OH-fuck yeah!” Dad bellowed. “W-WHOA, BRO!” Some random college jock approached my father. “You're like the HULK with those giant pecs!” “The HULK, huh!?” Dad responded with a grunt, a gigantic smirk, looking down at the marveling and significantly younger gym jock, having another lightbulb, a deliciously devilish idea, go off in his twisted head. He suddenly turned his stance, the strain of his clothes loudly audible as he walked, cracking and popping all the fabric like branches in a storm. The college aged stud gulped, trembled a bit, with his mouth dangling open, his eyes bulging out of his own sockets, as he came into sweaty view of my father's mammoth and ready to explode backside. It didn't take much more than simple movement, flaring out his grotesquely muscle engorged veiny arms to the side of his godly stance, placing his hands on his waist, right before everyone heard the first dramatic tear. *RIIIPPP* My dad couldn't help but chuckle once more, snicker even, his voice sounding even deeper then before, manlier, powerful. With one sudden and swift flex, the back of his sweaty bulging gym shirt was detonated, exploding all the pieces of sweaty grandpa-pungent fabric, right onto the jocks whimpering awestruck face. *POP, SNAP* *RIIIPPPPPPPPP* “H-HOLY-shit, bro!!!” The jock wailed in amazement, removing the destroyed fabric from off his dumbfounded face, the inside of his dangling mouth. “How's THAT for the HULK!?” Dad roared with arrogance, tilting his now bull-sized neck to the side, staring into the large gym floor mirrors reflection, seeing that tiny college jock stand behind him pathetically, like a little school girl, whimpering. Soon after, his two other jock-friends joined him shortly, absolutely losing themselves, as well, over the incredible live muscle devastation. One of the onlooking guys even had this pudgy boner, a pea-sized wet spot, tenting against his light gray gym shorts, totally fagging out. My dad couldn't have cared less, so power drunk off all the attention, he actually fed back into the three men’s queerness, rubbing one of his iron blistered hands right down the middle of his humongous muscular bodybuilding butthole. . “H-HEY man, I'm n-not GAY…” The main college stud whimpered, looking frantically around at his equally jaw-dropped friends, but of course, they all couldn't stop themselves from continuing to stare, drool for that matter. Dad, with an enormous grin plastered on his face, began slowly flexing his lower half, causing his totally titanic swampy old man muscle butt, those unbelievably pumped mammoth muscle thighs, to swell even bigger, just by just a single blink of his commanding power. The ready to blow gym shorts began splitting obscenely around the seams, first around his legs, then right down the center of his gigantic ballooning bodybuilder butthole. *RIIIPPPP* *RIIIPPPPPPP* “O-OH M-MY God!” The three jocks wailed. “FUCK-yeah!” Dad roared. “Just check out the size of those GLUTES, BOYS!” The old man confidentially roared, right as his shorts fell to the ground, leaving him almost completely naked, just his pair of shoes and the most rank sweaty briefs you had ever laid eyes on, so much grandpa-looking pubic hair spilling out the front of his briefs it was grotesque. But my dad continued to flex anyway, enjoying the whole mind boggling spectacle from his own reflection, maneuvering his nearly naked gigantic muscle man butt, even closer to the three whimpering and comparatively puny college jocks, bending over like it was some muscle porn show. “OH-man, he's S-SO fucking H-HUGE!” Another jock wailed like a girl, just as my dad’s tattered white slightly shit-stained grandpa-briefs began squeezing up between the enormous canyon of his own swampy ass crack, helplessly gobbled up, inch by inch, as if his ass was actually eating, leaving nothing more than an inch or two to cover himself from behind, barely anything in the front! “HAHA, looks like ALL my CLOTHES are about to go!” Dad roared with laughter, leaving those gym jocks speechless, in there own puddle of drool, two of them now, boning humiliatingly, stammering to strap their throbbing cock-shafts into the waistband of their gym shorts. As I looked around, out of the bubble of my disbelief, there was a whole crowd of people with their smartphones out, taking pictures, taking videos. Eventually we were asked to leave by the manager, but once again, my dad couldn't have cared less. He strut his huge and nearly naked, grotesquely hairy, old man physique, right out into the parking lot, right out into broad public daylight. He didn't even care about the clothes he left in the locker room, knowing, laughably, that they would no longer fit. “UN-fucking-believable!” Dad roared, adjusting his entirely horse-sized manhood beneath the wheel. “Did you SEE their faces!?” He continued boasting to me in the car, on the drive back to his place. As if things couldn't get any worse, when we got to a red light, about five minutes later driving, dad, besides continually fixing his out of control aroused musky-old man cock, began playfully flexing his now mammoth and hairy musclebound thighs, thirty-four inches each from the looks of it, right against the underside of the steering wheel, wondering if it was going to “POP OFF”, he kept on repeatedly joking. “D-DAD, don't break the car!” I whined worryingly. “Why NOT, son?” Dad chucked, no doubt mustering up another joke. “It'll just turn into good scrap-metal for me to LIFT!” He roared with laughter, raising, more like hauling, his colossal silver muscle arm over my comparatively small little head, still being at a red light, he began twisting and squeezing his power striations against the thin metal roof of his old Honda Civic. I watched looking up, with my mouth once again hanging wide open, seeing the metal actually warp and make the most god-awful groaning sound. *CRRREAKKKKKK* Dad just kept it though, even after the light turned green, flexing his huge skull-sized peaking hairy bicep relentlessly against of the ceiling of the car, almost like he was trying to blow the whole roof off. He giggled after about a minute, like some innocent little boy, playing with his new toy, three or four cars honking behind us, as he no doubt fantasized about another muscle destructing scenario. “HAHA, guess I better invest in a convertible…” Dad joked, smirking right at me, winking. He looked so stuffed into that tiny car already, it would have actually made sense. To think, when we had left the house this morning, he looked like a mere average bodybuilder, an old one, but now he was this total stage- ready competition-crushing muscle hunk, insatiable for more size, a desire to grow endlessly. The next two days were our off days, Saturday and Sunday. The whole situation had me absolutely biting my nails, sick to my stomach even, especially about the growing part. Even when I watch the videos online that people posted, “Huge Grandpa Growing”, over and over again, I just didn't understand how he was doing it, how this whole thing was even possible. Luckily, dad, wasn't to savvy with computers. “Morning, DAD!” I showed up to his house Monday morning, for our usual pre-workout breakfast. Usually the old man would be already cooking in the kitchen, but this morning, there was only these loud beastly grunts, emanating from the bathroom down the hall, the running shower. I know it was wrong of me, it was so wrong of me to even think it, but with an enormous gulp, I began, feeling intoxicated by the prospect, making my way down the long dark hallway, seeing the light at the end, the open bathroom doorway, a view of his naked figure after a long weekend. He was without a doubt jacking-off, the old-pervert still had it in him. As I turned the corner, even I had to cover my mouth from the loud escaping gasp about to be released, but it was tragically too late. “Is that YOU, son?” Dad’s voice bellowed. He was huge, monstrous, godly, a voice so deep, it vibrated my ear drums. The shadowed outline of his physique, this totally door-wide gigantic muscular backside, even through all the steam, I could tell, his shoulder width must have easily stretched up to four feet wide. Sitting below, two watermelon-sized glutes slammed against the steamed glass, the silhouette of these two tree-trunk sized legs, with nowhere to go, bloated and stuffed so largely together with muscle, it was a wonder how he could even move, how he even got into the shower in the first place. I knew I had to say something... “Y-Yeah…” I stuttered nervously, shaking, creeping out from behind the corner. “S-Should I start making us b-breakfast, Dad?” “SO glad you're here, squirt.” Dad blatantly ignored my question. “I need help WASHING my backside. There’s just TOO much muscle for me to move, HAHA!” My eyes bulged as he laughed, right out of my sockets, wanting to cover my ears from his tremendously deep voice, the loud thumping of the shower with each small movement of his no doubt gigantic feet. I couldn't believe what he was asking, what I was still seeing. We had seen each other naked tons of times, even when I was growing up as a kid, but this was different, this felt GAY! “U-Uh…” I stuttered, looking down at my bulging cock. “OH-come on, son! Don't be a QUEER about this.” Dad bellowed demeaningly. “Your DAD needs help.” He made it sound so serious, but I could hear that undertone, that snicker. I undressed anyway, knowing what was about to happen, whimpering at my misfortune. There was no going back from this... ******************************************** READ PART 3 HERE Comments are appreciated !
  5. Chapter one is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13085-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake/ Chapter two is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13095-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake-chapter-two/ Professor Schnackenburg's mistake Chapter Three Lucien waited inside the entrance of The Dungeon at the far end of the gay street. He was dressed in a black rubber shirt with yellow stripes, in a cut which emulated a polo shirt, and he was wearing very tight black, shiny rubber trousers. Football socks on his feet, inside white-laced boots with high bootnecks. He couldn't decide his own state of mind. Not Chad! Eagerness, lust and resentment battled about his mind, the latter already slightly tipsy because of the vodka shots. Not Chad! * * * Back in primary school and secondary school, Chad had made life a hell to Lucien. They couldn't have been more different. Lucien's parents worked with 'something in City', and Lucien took piano lessons. Chad's divorced mother worked in the plastics industry, and Chad – who was a fan of David Beckham and Wayne Rooney – played football. In primary school, the bullying mainly happened outdoors, in the schoolyard. Lucien could remember trousers wet of melting snow, wounds in his palms caused by falling on rubble, and streams of verbal insults. In secondary school, it either happened on his way home or during lunch break. The worst lunch break ever, happened when they were about 14, or so. Chad had dragged him inside one of the loos, dipped his head in the toilet, took his dong out and pissed at Lucien, shouting about 'poofters who don't deserve to live'. Lucien had no idea of why or how things changed after that, but Chad left Lucien alone and more or less avoided him. A few years later, shortly before leaving secondary school for sixth form, they actually had a reasonably good conversation in the school cafeteria. Chad had sat down at Luciens table and apologised for his past behaviour (well, the words didn't fall exactly like that, but that was the content of the message). Chad had hit puberty, then. His pudgy belly had disappeared, but his pug nose was still there. Chad had switched from football to the gym, and achievements were beginning to be noticeable. That didn't change Lucien's resentment, much. When puberty hit him, Lucien could spend late nights fapping at the thought of taking revenge on Chad. At some – undefined – point in the future, Lucien should dare to buy a membership at a gym, and Lucien should grow into a confident muscle monster, which would beat the shit out of Chad and smirk at the weaker Chad lying there in front of him... The undefined point in the future didn't happen. Lucien remained on the slim side, and didn't grow tall. He was still uncomfortable with the thought of weight training, but began to swim at his leisure time. He was now somewhere between the age of 25 and 30, and was writing a PhD in musicology. He spent lot of time in the gay street, and wasn't aware of the other guests, when he entered his usual café – The Chocolate Cave. A rainbow flag hang outside the entrance. He ordered the usual: A café au lait, some petit choux and an apple tart with custard. Most of the customers weren't much of a surprise, he even recognised the faces of some of them: Several pairs and groups of twinks, a bearded activist in flannel from an earlier generation (whom he vaguely knew from committee-work for LGBTQ rights years ago), a group of football dykes, and a very young punk rocker reading a paperback by Judith Butler. He couldn't believe his eyes, when he was looking for a table and heard a voice he hadn't wished to hear: "Oi! Lucien! Over here, mate!" A man his own age waved at him from one of the tables. His broad (and tattooed) shoulders and mighty chest were revealed by the elastic black tank top (with the white print TOP in army letters), and his jeans were faded. The man's head was entirely shaved, and his ears were adorned with several sorts of piercings. Lucien wouldn't have recognised the man, if it wasn't for the voice and the pug nose. It was Chad. Hesitatingly, Lucien sat down at Chad's table. "Haven't seen you for years! What are you doing nowadays?" Chad had to drag the words out of Lucien's mouth, but Lucien told him about musicology and swimming. He didn't say anything about LGBTQ rights, but his thoughts were running in all directions inside his mind: Chad gay? But why did he behave like he did in the past? And why so friendly now? We all grow up. He had began to improve already at age 16, remember? Sexy Chad! "They can research anything, nowadays, can't they? Mu-si-co-logy. Never heard about it before. To me, research is about space rockets and medicine and atoms and stuff, not stuffy old musicians, but if it's up your alley, I don't complain. You like it, I suppose?" Chad emitted the scent of some anti-perspirant and soap. A big black nylon bag – with the letters GASP – laid on the floor close to Chad's adidas-clad feet. Lucien's string of thoughts continued to race: Can't find the old monster sexy! Not a monster any longer. Mature now. Those muscles! The entirely changed appearance! Not a pudgy little bully anymore. Neither a tiny twink of the type he usually dated. THAT'S a man. Can't... Can't... like him. Those eyes... Can't. "And another thing. So sorry about schooldays. I was really, really an idiot. A dickhead actually. So stupid. I'm so sorry. No, I really mean it. So sorry. Why would I have to be afraid of you, when I was, actually, myself, you know..." They continued to talk. For Lucien it was an invasion of his private sphere. An intruder sat in his comforting and familiar café, but what an intruder! When they had finished their coffee, Chad rose and bought them a bottle of low-alcoholic beer, each. "They don't sell anything stronger here. Regulations. I want to buy you something stronger some day. What do you say about a night out, together?" Lucien fell silent for a few seconds. "Don't take my 'yes' as I'm willing to date you, Chad. But yes, a night out couldn't harm. Any ideas?" "I'm not sure, if you have ever attended The Dungeon?" "That's not my usual fare, no. I'm more of a patron of The Rainbow Unicorn in the opposite end of the street. Opposite in two ways, actually." "I went there, once. Not my style. Lot of the stuff, which kept me doubting my sexuality for so long. The Dungeon is more my sort of place. I work there, actually." "Work there?" Lucien couldn't believe his ears. "As a bouncer. They have trouble with people sometimes. Sometimes new customers, who don't know the difference between The Rainbow Unicorn and The Dungeon. Those types I turn down politely, even with some advice how to dress at next attempt. About 50% return, dressed correctly this time. Then there are the anti-gay nutcases, who believe that it will be an easy match to break in, party-crash and beat up a few nellies. They expect nellies – then they encounter me at the entrance. The policemen don't mind if I give the nutcases a thrashing before I turn them over to the police." A familiar smirk at Chad's face. Lucien felt disturbed, but he felt excited, too. Chad with his TOP tanktop, defending twinks from gaybashers... "I haven't been there. How do I dress?" Chad rattled off some instructions, and, at the sound of it, he had done it before: "The club has a dress code. It is open for men who have sex with men, but also to their friends. Not necessary to put labels like 'gay' or 'bi' or such on the place: I don't know how many 'straight-bicurious' I have met there. It isn't a S&M place as such: Lots of members are not into S&M, but some are. Members may like to dress up in gear for several different reasons: For some it is a kink, for some it is a fetish, for some it is just fun, and not far from their everyday style – and they like the type of men who attend the place. Leather is the oldest style in the dress code. Lots of people are vaguely aware of the style... Do you know Tom of Finland?" "I've seen a few pics, but i am not familiar..." Chad's smirk returned. "You ought to be. Google it." Chad's grin became wider. White shining teeth. "That code was invented by queer bikers in the 1950s. Long before gay rights. Think Marlon Brando in The wild one. Old film. Lots of time since then, and the style has changed in many directions. There exist uniform shirts in leather now, for instance. Don't get me started about the jokes about Crisco. Well. Anyhow. Leather is the oldest code now, but there is army style... Anything army-inspired goes, well, not anything, but lots of choices there. Then, there's skinhead style, since at least the 1990s – some would say for longer. More recently guys following the chav or scally dresscode are allowed in... You get the picture, look as butch as possible, like you can take it like a real man, not like the patrons of the Rainbow Unicorn. Sorry. No offence. Well. You get the idea. Guys from the council flats mostly go for the chav or skinhead style, since that is cheaper. Full high-quality leather gear suppose a good salary. And then there's the rubber lads, of course." "Rubber lads?" Chad explained, and noticed with some glee how the older bearded gentleman in flannel at the corner table looked uncomfortable. "Money is not an issue, Chad. I will give you a phone call, when I have bought some appropriate gear." "I will buy you a membership, Lucien. It is the least I can do for you. Call me." * * * That had been two weeks ago. Lucien had unpacked the gear, and arrived to the club wearing it under a trenchcoat. A pre-payed membership awaited him at the entrance desk, which was manned by a mid-30s man with a jarhead cut, dressed in camo pants and an army jersey. The man at the counter forwarded a message: Chad was working until the middle of the night, but had promised to meet Lucien when the other bouncer began his shift. Absent-mindedly, Lucien heard a noice of a road accident from outside, but didn't peek out. A while later, he noticed a strange green light coming out from the windows of the gym across the road, but he didn't give it much of a thought. He couldn't decide his own state of mind. Not Chad! Eagerness, lust and resentment battled about his mind, his mind already slightly tipsy because of the vodka shots. Not Chad! But he couldn't deny that he was falling deeper and deeper in love with his old bully. Chad had changed. Chad was like himself. Chad was defending patrons of The Dungeon against gay-bashers. Lucien eagerly waited for Chad's shift to end, and they were going to explore The Dungeon together. Chapter Four is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13116-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake-chapter-four/
  6. Chapter one is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13085-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake/ Professor Schnackenburg's mistake: Chapter Two Cody was the biggest bro at campus, and he knew it. He was tired of the weakling sissies at the college gym, who wanted to 'get some muscle tone' but 'not become too big'. Cody very much disagreed: There was no 'too much'. There was no 'big enough'. Never too much! Never big enough! He had joined The Steel Factory gym outside campus, since it had got the heaviest free weights in town. As he had spread the reputation of The Steel Factory, some of the other students had also began to work out there: Jess, Jill, Jack. And Magnussen. And Tim. He pushed the heavy barbell in a focused and disciplined bench press, and he could feel his blood run to his chest, giving him a bloody awesome pump. Some strange greenish phosphorescent light shone in from the windows, and seemed to lit up the night outside the windows. And thunderclaps. Was it thunder? or northern lights? Or something. He returned to his workout schedule. Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. It was rather close to some of the buildings belonging to Arts and Humanities: The archeology students, the literature students, the historians... The only drawback with the location of The Steel Factory was, that the gay street began around the corner, and one gay bar faced the entrance to The Steel Factory. Cody liked to draw attention, but he didn't like to draw attention of gays. He preferred to draw the attention of female students like Jess and Jill. Jess. He became angry again. Jess. She had been his girlfriend for six months. He remembered the scent of her blonde hair, and her enthusiastic screams when he pounded her. Shit. He got a boner inside his training shorts. Well, if anyone commented, they knew he would hit them. He didn't expect anyone to comment. He felt insulted, when he saw Magnussen – the reasonably brawny Danish exchange student – work out with Jess across the room, over at the rowing machines. One day, he would tell Magnussen his mind. One day, he would give Magnussen a real thrashing, and prove who's the Alpha on campus. Jill, the brunette studying pharmacology, was sexy in a shy way, and when she was drunk at a party, she had confessed, that she was turned on by muscle, and she had worshipped him behind a sofa. He wanted to go further with Jill. Or conquer Jess and leave Magnussen in a pathetic little heap of shit, but he had to admit, that Magnussen had a good constitution when he arrived in the beginning of the academic year, and he had to admit, that Magnussen had got some real gains, as the term had went on. Or, he fantasised, he could persuade Jess and Jill into a threesome with him, and leave Magnussen destroyed. Yeah, like a real Alpha. Four boobs on him. Four hands exploring his quads and pecs. Two pussies eager for his Alpha cock. It sounded like a road accident outside the gym. Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. Jack, on the other side, was a true friend. A real bro. Someone to rely on and trust. Fucking awesome stud, even if he hadn't got the same gains as Cody and Magnussen. If he and Jack had been gay, Cody had been willing to give head to Jack, but since they both now were straight as an arrow, that would never happen. Jill had called Jack and Cody 'a bromance' a couple of times, what that was supposed to mean. Everyone seemed to like Jack. Cody watched Jack help Tim over at the old fashioned pec-dec machine. Tiny Tim. Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. Cody couldn't understand why Jack had to drag that little runt to the gym. Tim's presence just delayed their training schedule. Even if he was beginning to get the knack of how the machines worked, Tim hadn't used the free weights much, and he didn't achieve any gains to speak of. Subcutaneous fat was not the problem: Tiny Tim's abs were already visible when Jack brought him to the gym the first time, but it seemed like the shy kid couldn't pack on any brawn. Fuck! The little shrimp was, what was it, 20? But he looked like a scrawny 16 year old. Tiny Tim was dragging Jack and Cody down at the gym, but Cody hadn't been able to persuade Jack to leave Tim at the dorm. Fuck the little bugger. Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. Jack went to fetch a glass of water, and left tiny Tim in the pec-dec machine close to Cody. He could hear commotion and kerfuffle downstairs and in the next room. A weird sound like a high-voltage electric current. It almost sounded like the women downstairs came. And men with deep voices having fun. Weird. Ought he to check out what was happening? The attention of everyone else turned to the entrance. Cody had a schedule to follow: Bench press. Barbell. Heavy. Pump. Gains. He returned the barbell to the rack. In the doorway into this room stood a man... a being... ...who would normally have seemed displaced, since he looked like something out of a sword-and-sorcery film. Normally, a muscular dude wearing a leather harness, a leather jockstrap, furs and boots would look camp and cheesy. Normally. The towering being that gazed at the gym members in the room was beyond normality and beyond everyday life: It exuded power – unlimited physical and supernatural power, and it knew it, as it watched the now shocked gym members. The short hair on its head was a sort of golden blond. Its steel-hard muscle mass bulged in all directions, arrogantly exposing its naked, sun-tanned flesh. It was surrounded by an overwhelming nimbus of martial virtue, masculinity beyond all limitations and an expectation to be obeyed by everyone. Its eyes were ice blue and commanding. Cody's mind began a silent insane ramble: YES! THAT was what he would like to achieve. He had aimed at the impossible: Though he was impressed by bodybuilders from the past, like Schwarzenegger who made all these cool old action films with bad special effects, and though he was impressed by modern mass monsters like Jay Cutler, Justin Compton and Dallas McCarver, he dreamed about going far beyond the results of these men, but he had never been able to visualise his ideal goals in any clear way. Now, the man... the Being... which stood in the doorway, looked like the embodiment of his innermost yearnings and most secret imagination. Cody shivered. Slowly, rational thought crawled through the throbbing, feverish and aroused revelry, which was his inner monologue: What was this man, this Being, this man-god doing at the gym? What was it doing here? How was this in any sense possible? Naked, sun-tanned flesh. Masculinity beyond all limitations. Unlimited physical and supernatural power. Cody moaned. He could hear Jack letting out a yelp. Even tiny Tim moaned. The Being did a side-chest. The eyes of all present persons widened. The Being faced Jess and Jill. It made a suggestive thrust of its hips, and the sound similar to high-voltage electricity, that Cody had heard earlier, was repeated. Two currents of unknown and unholy energies emitted from the Being's crotch, zapped Jill and Jess between their legs, and the girls sank down on their training benches, their eyes rolled up in the skull, their bodies spasmodically twitching, and their mouths emitting feminine noises of excitement. The lights in the ceiling went out, but the dim light from outdoor street lamps fell in from the windows. The room became illuminated by a greenish, sort of, phosphorescent light. Cody felt hurt. He, not the Being, was the one who would take Jess and Jill to formerly unknown heights of pleasure. But at the same he was impressed. He wanted to be like the Being, to take part in its power, to share its essence. The Being waved its hand, and the gym disappeared. It felt like a dream. He was outdoors. It looked like a vast natural reserve, the sea not far away. Brooks running through the landscape with fish. Forests, but not very thick forests. Tall powerful men from the past in armed combat. Men like him, or, rather, men like he wanted to be. Loyal friends, protecting each other in battle. Hunters... Oh fuck! Hunters defeating large predators with large teeth with their bare hands... Alpha's of today looked insignificant to these men from the past. And then the sound of waves. Waves rolling in. A wave of water. A... that sort of... a wall of water, what's it called? A tsunami. He was back at the gym. By the look of their faces, his male friends all had seen the vision. Their female friends were still spasming on the training benches. "Men of the younger world." It was the first time the god-man Being spoke since its arrival to the gym. Its voice suited the way it looked: Deep, very deep, resonant. A battle cry and the promise of male voluptiousness. "Men of the younger world. I have shown you the glory, that once was Anghra-Lemur, but which is now The Sunken Hundred. I have returned over the gulfs of time and space. The powers of Anghra-Lemur are rising, and they will leaven the present world, and throw it away. I am the present embodiment of Kortoth-Gnaah, war god of Anghra-Lemur. I embody the power of thousand thunder gods. I embody the power of thousand sun heroes. Mine is the war frenzy. Mine is the battle cry. I fill brave men with duty. I fill the humble fighters with courage. I wipe the cowards and the evildoers away. I will allow Anghra-Lemur to rise again, because the time is at hand. But I need the raw material for the new men of Anghra-Lemur. I need those willing and those suitable, to become like the warriors of the forgotten time. My strength will permeate the chosen. My power will pervade the willing. My thew will saturate the suitable, and I will bestow upon them the divine powers of the forgotten god-heroes. I am Kortoth-Gnaah. I am willing to bestow all this." It seemed like all of the men were held under a spell, making it impossible to talk, only to think. The Being turned around, watching all of them. Cody's heart raced. YES! To hell with the bloody modern world. Some sort of Conan-world came crashing in. He couldn't comprehend how or why or what, but he knew one thing: He wanted to be in. Kortoth-Gnaah, wargod of Anghra-Lemur, watched Jack a few seconds. Then he stretched out his big hands in the direction of Jack. A green glow intensified around his hands, and then a powerful beam emitted and engulfed Jack in a sea of green, translucent, crackling power. Jack regained his ability to speak. "FUCK! So good! Can't believe it! Fuck! Look at me! My size! Growing! Can't believe it! Pump! Power! Pleasure! These biceps! Fuck! My traps, my back, my...! Oh! So good! Empower me, Master! Imbue me with... Nnnn. Fucking... Can't... Master... Growing..." Jack's rambling words turned into yelps, moans and grunts as he became taller, heavier and more muscled. Jack tensed, flexed, grew, his eyes staring in disbelief, and clothes from The Sunken Hundred materialising around him." Cody's heart was a sledge-hammer. Fuck, yes. Best friend. Jack. Bro. Becoming like a fucking Conan, a fucking He-Man... No! Far, far beyond those imaginary characters! Bro, becoming... Cody couldn't find words. And soon, Cody thought, it was his turn to receive the same blessing. He shivered. His cock throbbed. He was still pumped from the workout, and his antecipation was growing. Soon. Like Jack. Or The Being. Like Kortoth-Gnaah. Big. Big beyond measure. Jack was still growing beside the water vending, when Korgoth-Gnaah turned his attention to other parts of the room. Cody looked in disbelief, when Kortoth-Gnaah faced Magnussen. No? It couldn't be possible? Not the man who stole Jess from him. The green glow around Kortoth-Gnaah's big hands grew again, and a beam struck Magnussen, who began to grow in the same manner as Jack had done. Magnussen reverted to his native language, which sounded as a string of guttural sounds, which probably fitted the situation quite well. Fuck. He hadn't connected Danes and vikings before, but Magnussen was turning into – perhaps not what vikings actually looked like – but into the popular imagination about them. It wasn't fair. Not Magnussen! Not the one who distract Jess. Jess... She was returning to consciousness, and saw what happened to Magnussen. When the transformation reached climax, she ran to Magnussen, put her arms around his waist, pressed herself close to him, and shouted: "Fill me with your little viking babies!" He would have his revenge. Soon, very soon, their Master would turn his attention in Cody's direction, and he would have the same brutal power, the same strength, or even more of it, and he would show Magnussen who's the Alpha among the Master's housecarls. Soon. Kortoth-Gnaah turned around. He looked in the direction of Cody. Cody smirked. He braced himself. He couldn't imagine how it would feel, but he knew it would be better than anything he could imagine, if the behaviour of Jack and Magnussen was anything to go for. Soon. Naked, sun-tanned flesh. Soon. Steel-hard muscle mass bulging in all directions. Soon. He could see the green shimmer building up around Kortoth-Gnaah's big hands again, as he watched Cody. YES! MASTER! ME! SOON! Masculinity beyond all limitations. Soon! The green flames intensifying. Cody closed his eyes and smiled. Soon. Unlimited physical and supernatural power. Soon. Cody swallowed, and braced himself for the incoming impact of the transforming, empowering rush of supernatural force. Soon. Nothing happened, but he could hear the familiar crackling sound of unnameable and unholy power in the air close to his bench. He opened his eyes. NO! Not tiny Tim! Not the shrimp. Not the scrawny hardgainer. Not the little runt. The little runt wasn't a little runt, anymore. A broad-shouldered behemoth bellowed in the pec-dec machine with his legs broad apart. Things didn't go as Cody had expected, and he fell into dark despair: An icy cold awareness arose that he wasn't one of The Master's chosen. Chapter Three is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13105-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake-chapter-three/
  7. Preface Dear muscledrain, You wanted a magic switch of brains and brawn. I could have chosen to make the protagonist a black-metal kid called Moonsorrow Bloodpain, who invoked Cthulhu,* or something similar, to facilitate the magic, but then both himself and his recently muscular friend would eventually have been eaten by unnamable and eldritch primordial spacegods* of the elder days, and – as I understood your story idea – you expected something slightly more feelgood than that. But which sort of magic would be feelgood? Classical gods from Greece and Rome transforming mortal men is a story idea already used several times over at Metabods (Dionysus and Mars, if I remember correctly), so that idea was already taken. It then struck me, that some people out there IRL believe in a sort of magic Moonsorrow Bloodpain definitely would shun: Hoodoo – which is a mix of native Congolese religion, Protestantism, Dutch folklore, Catholicism (since the 1960’s) and slight traces of renaissance esotericism. It would probably be feelgood enough. But then another dilemma emerged: Which red-blooded, sports obsessed young male in a predominantly Agnostic environment would get the idea to even ask an eccentric and mysterious hoodoo lady for help? I then realised that bodybuilding and martial arts are very popular among young Syriac men, and that they – however laddish they are indeed – often have an honest respect for the saints. I have also observed that a lot of MMA fighters like to wear rosaries. Some of my former neighbours are Syriacs – very nice and friendly people with a flair for making good food. This is the way one of the protagonists was invented. I want to thank sithspawn, CardiMuscleman, mrk78, yourself, and some others for very valuable linguistic and stylistic advice. To write in a foreign language is full of potential errors. Any remaining errors are my own fault. Just as Northern Americans (and I don’t mean Canadians and Bahamians at the moment) let their Muscle Growth Stories take place in the US (or in a fictitious country identical to the US when it comes to educational system and cultural patterns, such as sports scholarships, pompoms, American football and resident colleges), I will, as a Swede, let the following story occur in a fictitious country with an educational system and cultural patterns indistinguishable from the Swedish ones: an academic year consisting of two semesters (not three terms), no school uniforms, pupils/students living at home with their parents at least until the age of 19, mixed social backgrounds at many (but not all) schools, and Agnostics observing Christian holidays. The difference between working class and middle class is probably more subtle and fluid over here than in other parts of the world – at least that was my impression on vacation in UK and Italy. The city in the story is, however, a city that never was. It will be futile, if any other Scandinavians reading this will try to figure out exactly where the story takes place: Everywhere and nowhere. The spelling of surnames have been anglicised. That wasn’t, however, necessary with the first names, which could pass for many nationalities just as they are. Comics readers: Look out for the easter egg. I hope you will have fun! Addenda * Long after writing this introduction, I actually wrote a horror story about Lovecraftesque forgotten eldritch primordial spacegods, called Professor Schnackenburg's mistake. With a little help from magic Chapter One The cold wind pushed the red and yellow leaves over the schoolyard with a rustling sound. The sky was steel-grey and unforgiving. Inside the brick-building housing the sixth-form school, lockers were clattering, and the sound of many voices blended into a tiresome murmur. Feet swiftly hurried to lecture rooms. John had put his rucksack in his locker, and was taking his chemistry book out, when he heard a disturbingly familiar voice behind him: ’Isn’t it Swotter? Oi! Swotter, I’m speaking to you!’ The eighteen-year-old closed the locker, and tried to look in another direction. Sometimes it worked. ’Look at me, when I’m talking to you!’ A hand on his shoulder. A foot behind his heel. Suddenly, John found himself on the floor and the chemistry book a few metres to the left, between another row of lockers. It was Peter and his friends. As usual. Peter and his little crowd of followers had made primary school, secondary school and the initial two years of sixth form a living hell for John, and there was no sign that anything would change, until John left for university in another city and Peter’s gang left school, most likely in order to face unemployment. Peter put his black cowboy boot on John’s chest. Like his chums, Peter had enthusiastically embraced the 50’s revival when it became fashionable, and they all tried really hard to look like exaggerated stereotypes of 50’s rockers. Most of them wore black leather jackets, unbleached denim jeans, and white T-shirts or plaid shirts, and they had put some gunk in their hair and combed it in a 1950’s style. Unlike some of his friends, Peter hadn’t been able to afford a leather jacket, so he wore a cheap denim jacket instead, and had sewn a Confederate flag on it, in the belief that ’that was very rock’n’roll’. ’Is that an army jersey, Swotter? Considering joining the forces?’ John felt embarrassed. If he kept silent, it would just go on. If he answered, the result would be identical. ’It is a hunter’s jersey.’ ’We didn’t know you were hunting! Did we, lads?’ ’I don’t, but I take photographs of rare birds. The jersey protects from cold weather.’ ’Scared of blood, I see. It wouldn’t be a good idea to join the army then? Would it, Swotter?’ ’I said it isn’t an army jersey. Ouch!’ Peter had moved his boot to John’s Adam’s apple. ’Listen very carefully. If I were you, I wouldn’t insult our brave boys in green by wearing that jersey, whatever you call it. Now take it off!’ ’But… Ouch!’ Peter increased the pressure on John’s Adam’s apple, then removed his foot, and came closer to John, sitting in a squatting position. Peter grabbed John’s jersey, and minuscule stains of spit rained on John’s face when Peter shouted. ’Now, you little pansy, you take that jersey off – either putting it in the cafeteria dust-bin or giving it to Anderson here. He deserves it better than you. Isn’t that right Anderson?’ Anderson, a blond football player, about the same height as John, but considerably more athletic, had been a henchman of Peter for years. He had a smug grin on his face. ’And what do you think you are doing, you friggin’ racist?’ Peter and his friends had to turn around. John rose from the floor, dusted away spots of sand from his clothes, and looked for his chemistry book. The newcomer who had spoken was Simon, the tall leftie intellectual from the other science class. Peter leered at him. It seemed that he had met Simon before. ’Don’t meddle, Simon. This isn’t your concern.’ ’Sure it is. Yesterday, you and your gang bullied Aram’s little brother and neighbour. But after what I can see today, you like to bully anyone, regardless of origin. Ridiculous greasers!’ John adjusted his eyeglasses, and now saw that Simon wasn’t alone. He had brought Aram, the brawny Syriac hockey guy, and Carl, the anti-racist skinhead, with him. Although Peter and his friends outnumbered Simon and his friends with five to three, Peter sized up his opponents a few seconds. Although not very muscular (but rather on the slim side), Simon was tall, and it was well-known at the school that he had practiced kung-fu, before his deep commitment in the Anarchist Student Society, Amnesty International, the local melocore club (and a handful of other associations) had limited the time available on exercise. Two years ago, Simon and John had served together in the Student Council, and John had appreciated Simon’s wit. Carl was shorter than Simon, but taller than Aram. He spent some time at the gym, but not as strictly and devotedly as Aram obviously did. His shaved head gave him an aggressive demeanour, and that impression was enhanced by the gauge in his earlobe, his snug fitting maroon polo shirt, the blue braces that contrasted well against the maroon background, the bleached jeans, and the extremely well-polished, heavy and steel-capped boots on his feet. His black Alpha bomber jacket was covered with patches and pins: ’Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice’, ’The Oppressed’, ’The Burial’, ’Operation Ivy’, ’FC St. Pauli’. He oozed of angry adolescent masculinity. Aram was of average height, but more broad-shouldered than any of the young men. He had an innately muscular constitution, and had been in good shape already during his time in the hockey team. When he left secondary school, and began his sixth form education, he had left the hockey team in order to take up martial arts of some sort, and also joined a gym. He now looked like a bodybuilder without any body fat, and moved like a tiger: A very broad shouldered tiger. During their entire time at school, Aram had always been so absorbed by exercise, that he never noticed if bullying occurred somewhere around him. If Aram had begun to spend time with a decent guy like Simon, it was probably a step in the right direction. After eyeing his opponents, Peter ordered his crowd to leave. ’Everything alright now?’, Simon asked. ’Yes. Thank you for helping me.’ ’To be honest, it was just a coincidence, but I am glad that we could be of assistance. Aram here is beginning to develop a social conscience by hanging with me and Carl, aren’t you?’ Aram mumbled something, and looked down into the floor. ’I’m late to the student newspaper meeting. Later.’ Simon disappeared around a corner. Carl had to leave his bomber jacket in his locker, and was on his way to a math lesson, but Aram was scheduled for the same chemistry class as John. They were late. ’You both know that late arrival will affect your grades. It will perhaps not concern you very much, John, but in your case, Aram, I would be worried.’ It was Mr. Gustavson, the chemistry teacher, known for his sardonic personality, and secretly nicknamed ’Snape’ among the students. ’As I said before you arrived, you have to team up in pairs and study how a primitive form of plastic is produced. It is a very simple example of how polymers behave.’ ’It seems like we have to lab together, today’, John said shyly. Aram didn’t speak very much while he assisted John, but, despite their late arrival, they were the first among the students to achieve a nice cylinder of plastic in a test tube in the end of the lesson. That gave Aram an idea. * * * It had been a few days earlier, during the Sunday church lunch at the Orthodox church of St. James’. ’Ameen. Moryo nqabel qurbonokh, wlan n’adar bashlawothokh.’ The last prayer in the extremely ancient Aramaic-speaking Christian liturgy ended, and the congregation left the room, kissing the Gospel Book at the entrance, and receiving pieces of non-consecrated bread. There were old ladies in mantillas, old men in their three-piece Sunday best, lots of parents with children, a dark-eyed and doe-eyed girl’s choir in choir dress, and a bunch of young men slightly younger or older than Aram. The last group was the most noisy one, and the lads were joking and playing with each other. Most of them wore jeans, expensive jerseys and shirts, but a few of the oldest ones wore suits, and some of the younger ones were dressed in tracksuit pants and hoodies. Most of them were dark haired and wore a lot of hair gel, but some were buzzcut, and two of them were redheaded. Many of them wore sturdy golden chains around their necks, from which crucifixes or the Syriac nationalist symbol of a feathered archer hang. Some of the attendees immediately left the parking lot, but most stayed inside for the Sunday church lunch. A buffet was prepared: Bulgur mixed with roasted noodles, tabbouleh – a salad of parsley, couscous, tomatoes, onions, garlic, mint leaves, lemon and olive oil – and several smaller bowls filled with falafel, dolma, chickpea sauce and eggplant sauce. Aram sat down with his mother, his uncle and his aunt. His mother was putting her folded mantilla in her purse, now when she no longer stood inside the consecrated room. ’Listen Aram’, uncle Benjamin began, ’there is a thing your mother and I have been talking about.’ Uh, uh. Now it comes again. Aram felt tired of this. His uncle meant well, but it felt like he was picking on him. ’Before your father died, I promised him, that I would help you become a doctor, just like your father and your grandfather. We have talked about this before: You have to achieve better grades, otherwise you will not be able to study medicine.’ A steel grey lady in her sixties approached the table. Mother and aunt Layla rose, gathered around her, and began to discuss with her in the old language. Aram wasn’t good at the old language. He was born in the new country, and spoke its language without any accent. ’Your mother and I are worried about you. The medical trade is a family tradition, but your grades have not been good the last years.’ ’But you are not a doctor. You own a grocery shop.’ ’This discussion is not about me, young man, but about you. If you begin medical studies, I promise to help you financially, but if you don’t, you can’t expect any money from me for university.’ * * * It was a day later. Aram and his girlfriend Emma entered the room for the history lesson. ’Hi, Emelie!’, Emma shouted, and claimed a chair close to her friend Emelie. Emma and Emelie didn’t at all have the same preferences when it came to style, but were friends anyhow. Emma was a blonde young woman with black high rise slim fit jeans and a yellow top which revealed some of her cleavage. Her shoes were yellow Converse. Emelie, on the other side, had dyed her hair black, and wore a black dress with a lot of lace. Around Emelie’s neck hang several pendants of different sorts: A cross, a star of David and a pentagram. She didn’t discriminate between religions, but it was also possible that she didn’t care very much for what the symbols signified to other people. Aram looked around, and when he found that the chair close to John was empty, he sat down beside John. ’Hello again. Do you mind if i sit here?’ They both unpacked their laptops, and had to end their chat, since their history teacher, Mr. Johanson, had begun to talk. Mr. Johanson was one of the oldest teachers at the school, and didn’t have many years left until retirement. He always wore black jeans, a sleeveless pullover and a tweed jacket. Unlike the younger male teachers, who dressed less strictly, he always had a tie knit around his neck. His hair was white and slightly receding. ’The world events of the 20th century, would probably had been very different, if World War One hadn’t occurred. The stern conditions of the peace treaty of 1919, caused many Germans and Austrians to feel disproportionally and unjustly punished, and that prepared the way for Hitler and the Second World War. For the British Empire, the end of the war initiated the slow devolvement of the empire: The Irish Free State was declared in 1922, and in 1931 dominions – such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Newfoundland, South Africa and the Irish Free State – were defined as ’completely self-governing’. Some sorts of constitutional reforms would probably have occurred in Russia anyhow, but not necessarily in the revolutionary Bolshevik way it now did: Don’t forget that the February Revolution in 1917 was about limiting the power of the Czar constitutionally, and preparing the way for free elections, general suffrage and civil liberties. The Bolsheviks didn’t grab the political power until October, and would probably not have reached the necessary level of initial popular support, if the Russian people hadn’t been exhausted by three years of warfare. The war also caused USA to change the way it behaved in international politics. During the 19th century the Monroe doctrine had isolated the US from international politics, but – with the exception of the Philippine-American War about a decade before World War One – the US had until then avoided entanglement in any conflict far beyond its own borders. From a certain point of view, the Philippine-American War and World War One, became templates for what later happened in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. The history of the 20th century is impossible to understand without World War One as the background. When we now begin to look closer…’ John felt good sitting so close to the big and warm lump of muscles. John hadn’t thought much about it before, but became now aware of the warm brown colour of Aram’s eyes, like brown gemstones reflecting a golden light. Aram emitted a nice scent of some sort of anti-perspirant, but probably not an expensive one. The presence of Aram made him feel comforted and protected. Aram had never or seldom preferred to sit beside John before, so this was something new. The lesson had ended. ’John, you are really smart. Would you possibly help me with homework? I want to get better test results, and who better than you?’ ’We could have begun this years ago, if you just had asked. Which day would be best for you? I often go by bus to Willow Lake in Thursdays. Wildlife photography, you know. And I suppose you exercise very often. Which day would be best for you?’ They agreed to keep Tuesdays open for study together. Emma approached them. ’You must hear this, Aram! Emelie has found such a cute shop with books and magic candles and stuff, and I could probably have my horoscope done. Isn’t it amazing? You must follow me and Emelie to that shop after school!’ * * * The following afternoon, Emelie, Emma and Aram got on the tram, and went to a picturesque part of the city Aram seldom visited. They left the tram at a stop just outside a Neo-gothic church building called Holy Trinity, and then followed a narrow and meandering, cobblestone paved alley on their way to the shop Emelie had mentioned. The houses were small and old here, but some of them seemed to have been restored recently, as an effect of ongoing gentrification. Withered roses and dark green ivy covered some of the exteriors. They passed by a tailor’s shop, a vegetarian restaurant, a dentist’s clinic and a former – now closed – bicycle workshop. A few of the buildings seemed to have been turned into homes very recently – which was easily recognised through the fresh plaster in yellow, lavender or dove blue colours, but other buildings were still shabby, some of them derelict. ’Here it is.’, Emelie announced. Aram got a first impression of the shop. He had definitely not seen it before. Grey stairs of stone led downwards to a door under street level. Two rather small shop-windows before his knees announced: Madame Cremorna. Books. Herbs. Readings. It felt a little bit spooky, but Emelie enthusiastically led them downstairs, and opened the door. A bell tinkled. The first thing that he noticed was the scent. The fragrance of many sorts of herbs and incenses mixed with each other. He felt awkward again. This wasn’t the sort of place a masculine guy like himself was expected to frequent. Wasn’t there something slightly feminine or gay about this scent? He considered to leave immediately, but that could make Emma mad at him. He didn’t want that. The second thing he noticed was the broad mix of things in the room. This was not just a book shop. The books were there, for sure – he saw a rotating stand with them: How To Earn Money By Positive Thinking. The Dolphins Speak: Telepathic Messages From Our Cousins In The Sea. The New Age Of The Flying Saucers. It could have been an ordinary New Age shop, but he could also see tin boxes with herbs, packets of soap or dry foodstuff with Spanish labels, shelves with incense sticks and small jars with the sort of incense grains he was able to recognise from church. His association to church was increased, when he found shelves carrying a large number of glass encased novena candles with stickers depicting saints. Some of them he could recognise, but, with his family background, he was more familiar with Eastern saints than Western, and the identity of some Western saints on the candles were undecipherable. The cash register stood upon a glass desk. Inside the desk he could see decks of cards in many shapes. He hadn’t seen any cards like these before. ’How do you play poker with these?’, he asked Emelie. ’They are not for poker, stupid.’, she answered, ’They are divination decks, for reading the future’. ’I am not sure I believe in that.’, Aram replied. Just now he wasn’t sure exactly what he believed. There was an eerie feeling in the shop. He wanted to get out. ’You are free to believe in anything you want. We are all responsible for how we use our freedom, and it is unwise to go against your own conscience.’ The alto voice vibrated with a rich timbre. It belonged to a woman in her early sixties. She had probably looked good during her younger days, and she obviously still cared about her appearance. Her hair was black, without any traces of silver in it yet, and she was dressed in a rust-coloured dress and a dark grey vest of wool. Around her neck hang a tin pendant depicting a very complicated geometrical pattern. In her younger days, she could have been a hippie. ’I’m sorry lady, but I can’t believe in telepathic dolphins and flying saucers.’ Aram waved in the direction of the rotating book stand. ’To be honest, I am not at all impressed by these books myself, but some of my customers ask for them, so I sell them. It pays the rent.’ There was a slight, possibly American-English, accent when she spoke, but very faint. ’So you don’t believe in the supernatural, yourself?’ ’Oh. I do! But that depends on what you call supernatural. If you mean telepathic dolphins, saucers, physical trolls or god-kings inside a hollow Earth, I do not believe in the supernatural.’ Emelie was studying the card decks inside the glass desk, but Emma stood by Aram’s side, hugging his arm. ’You are into sports, I suppose?’, the shop keeper asked him. ’Aram was a hockey player for many years.’, Emma answered proudly. ’And now I work out and practice martial arts.’, Aram continued. ’Then the psychology of sport can’t be unknown for you.’, Madame Cremorna said, ’And you surely must have experienced, how your own mind affects your physical achievements?’ ’Well. Yes. But that’s not supernatural.’ ’It is anyhow a part of scientific reality which borders to the supernatural – that is, supernatural in the sense I use the word.’ Aram was on his way to answer, but the shop keeper continued: ’And you belong perhaps to the Assyrian Church?’ Aram smiled: ’Close enough, but you were wrong there: I belong to the Syriac Orthodox Church. The Assyrians are our cousins.’ ’And you believe in God? And in angels? And in saints?’ ’Well. Yes, I do.’ ’The supernatural I believe in is about God, about angels, about saints, but also about sports psychology. It is admittedly not a complete description of what I do – far from it – but it seems like we are able to agree about a major part of it, anyhow.’ She was silent a few seconds. ’And what are you looking for? Books? Devotionals? Cards? A horoscope? Or do you want me to use magic for some purpose?’ ’We are just looking. Emelie told us about your shop, and it is just adorable’, Emma answered, ’but it looks much more Catholic than the other New Age shop on the other side the canal.’ Madame Cremorna smiled. ’It’s perhaps because it is not a New Age shop. Not in the general sense. It is inspired by botanicas of the sort common in Florida, where I grew up. We had a lot of Cubans and Puertoricans there.’ ’Have you lived in this part of the world for a long time?’ ’Quite a long time. Yes. My former boyfriend thought it was a good idea to move to Northern Europe a few years before the end of the Vietnam War.’ Emma continued to chat with the shop keeper for several minutes. Emelie still looked at the decks. Aram began to wander around in the shop. A square diagram with twenty-three arcane symbols hang on a wall. Bookshelves contained titles such as Three Books on Occult Philosophy, The Enchiridion, Selected prayers by Allan Kardec, and The Long-Lost Friend. A burgundy-coloured curtain covered door opening to an inner room. Curiously, Aram peeked inside. Several small tables were pushed up against the walls, covered with cloths in different colours. Candles were lit, scented in several different ways. The air was sweet and heavy. ’Uh oh. The inner sanctum is only open for some customers.’, Madame Cremorna said, where she stood behind his back. Aram blushed. ’I didn’t mean to do something wrong. Sorry, lady.’ When they left the shop, Emelie brought a recently bought tarot deck, and Emma carried a folder with her personal horoscope. * * * It was two days later. The bell tinkled in the usual way, when the door to the shop opened and closed. ’And what do you want, young man?’, she asked. ’I haven’t done well in my exams. I want to be sure my grades are good when I finish Sixth Form.’, Aram said. ’And when is that? If I hadn’t first met you with that young gothic girl and her friend, I would have guessed that you were older than a Sixth Form student.’ She eyed him knowingly. ’The last semester ends in June next year.’ Her face expressed mixed emotions: Pity, astonishment and a slight amount of aunt-like cunningness. ’Magic works normally through natural means, and natural means works slowly. A lesser working could have been enough, if you had asked me a year ago, and backed the magic up with real effort in class. But now, with just eight months…’ She didn’t end her sentence. There was a sad expression in Aram’s eyes, reminiscent of a very large, but very young and sad, puppy. The element of pity in Madame Cremorna’s eyes became more prominent. ’Let us discuss natural means first. You would probably learn more, if you do homework together with someone in your class, who’s got a talent for study.’ ’I already do.’ Aram told Madame Cremorna all about John. ’You have got a good new friend in him. Be nice to him.’, Madame Cremorna said. ’Homework with John helps, but not enough, and not fast enough. And I wish I could make mother and my uncle proud. But if you can’t help me…’ ’If something of what I do works, it is not because I have helped you, but because God has answered the prayers of several beings. Some call it magic, but ultimately all things and events comes from The Supreme Being anyhow. The ways and the means and the chains of events may vary, however. Or so is the way I see it.’ ’But you said, that I should have asked a year ago?’ ’I said, that a lesser working could have been enough then. With only eight months until graduation, I have to do a greater working, but only if you are ready to pay the price.’ ’I don’t own very much, but…’ ’I don’t talk about money. I talk about the willingness to choose talent for study before anything else. Wait. Don’t say anything yet. I will give you a reading.’ ’A reading?’ ’Just relax.’ She opened a purple bag of velvet, laid a pack of cards on the table, and mumbled a prayer. Aram couldn’t hear the words. She let him shuffle the cards, and then put three cards on the table cloth. The first card depicted a knight in armour, sitting on a horse. The second card depicted an old man with a beard, clothed in some sort of mediaeval brown gown, holding a staff with a snake – similar to the symbol sometimes used by hospitals and chemists – and holding a lantern in the other hand. By his feet lay a scythe and a hourglass. Far away, the presence of an owl could be distantly hinted at. The third card depicted a young man in renaissance clothes, carrying a round plate, smaller than a shield, but larger than a coin. From his bag a scroll and a quill pen peeked out. ’Hmm…’ Madame Cremorna didn’t say much for a while. Suddenly, she gathered all the cards into the deck again, and began shuffling. She laid the deck on the cloth, and pushed it over the table. ’Here. Shuffle, and think intensely about your friend John.’ Aram did what he was told to do, and gave her the deck again. ’That was all for today. Come back tomorrow afternoon, and I will tell you if I have found a way to help you.’ Aram felt a little bit disappointed. It had been stupid of him to come here, to begin with. He shrugged and left. When he had left, Madame Cremorna again lay three cards on the table. She was rather surprised to find the knight and the squire from the last reading come up again, but this time with reversed places: The squire with the plate to the left, and the knight with a sword to the right. The card in the middle was not the same. Where the card with the old bearded man had laid a few minutes ago, now lay a card depicting a half naked and extremely muscular man clothed in the skin rug of a lion. He had left his heavy club on the ground, and was breaking a stone pillar in two halves. Madame Cremorna remained almost expressionless, but one of her eyebrows twitched. She had got an idea. When Aram returned the next afternoon, he expected bad news. The shop keeper seemed, however, to be in a good mood, although perhaps mixed with an amount of harshness. She put two class encased candles on the desk. ’You are young. I will not let you pay the full price I charge an adult with full time salary. But you must be aware of the consequences of your request. Are you willing to let your friend become less talented, while you increase your own study results?’ ’Isn’t that black magic?’ Aram felt a chill on his back. He would probably not have asked for this, to begin with. ’I never accept black workings. I accept grey ones, however. Most human wishes rests in the grey area. The born-again nonconformist who prays to God for promotion at work, the churchman praying for a happy marriage, the white light Neo-pagan sending away a spell for fair weather at the picnic – all their wishes are tainted by a certain amount of selfishness. And so is yours. All of them are mixed with good intentions. And so is yours.’ ’But I can’t rob John of his intelligence. It is not fair.’ ’That depends. A greater working will affect reality on a deeper plane. In a sense, you will have switched – or better, mixed – destinies with each other. I have tried to conjure good destines over both of you, but you will still have to pay the price of tampering with destinies.’ ’Not my soul?’, Aram asked bleakly. ’Then I refuse.’ ’No, not your soul. I do not dabble in diabolism. Actually, I have fought against the minions of darkness on several occasions. But a greater working, affecting the threads of destiny, will take its toll from the one who ordered it, quite soon after the commencement. We are all responsible for our actions. Do you really want a talent for study?’ The question hung in the air for a moment. It cannot have been for a longer time than a second or two, but for Aram it felt like time stood still, like if a gigantic pendulum in an ancient clockwork was swinging over his head. It was still time to thank her for her willingness to help, but refuse to go further. ’Yes. I really want it. Just be sure that John will be happy.’ ’No-one can be one hundred percent sure, but I have reason to believe that he will enjoy the turn of events that will unfold, as well.’ ’Ooo-key? Well, then I suppose there will be no problem? What are the candles for?’ She pointed at one of the candles. It had a card on it, depicting a man in a bishop’s mitre, writing on parchment with a quill. He was surrounded by bookshelves. ’This is St. Isidore of Seville. You will take this home, and burn it nine consecutive Wednesdays until it is all burned away. St. Isidore wrote one of the first encyclopaedias in the world, and was recently designated the patron saint of internet.’ She pointed at the other candle. The card on it depicted a broad shouldered and bearded giant carrying the infant Jesus on his shoulder. ’This is St. Christopher. In the legend he was a giant who converted to Christianity. In reality, we don’t know very much about him, but the moral of the legend is edifying anyhow.’ ’What am I supposed to do with that candle?’ ’Give it to your friend John. If he don’t want to burn it every day or night, let him burn it whenever he likes. Tuesdays would be good, however.’ * * * It was Tuesday again. According to their new habit, John was helping Aram to study. ’And what am I supposed to do with this?’, John asked, curiously holding the glass encased prayer candle. ’You know that I am an Agnostic, don’t you?’ ’Some people burn it because they like how it looks or because they like the scent. It is just one month left until Advent, isn’t it?’ Shall I tell him about it? Aram thought intensely, and felt divided. To tell him the truth. But if he became angry and refused to help anymore at study time together? John was helpful. It would be awful if something terrible happened to him. But Madame Cremorna had said that he would enjoy what was happening, whatever that was. ’But isn’t it a little bit girlish, don’t you think?’ ’Not among my relatives. It is quite common that lads wear saint pendants, for instance.’ ’Yes. Now when you mention it, I have seen some of your martial art friends wearing rosaries, and I can’t accuse them for being girlish.’ The tension disappeared when Aram began to laugh. ’No, you can’t. At least not if you don’t take into account the time they spend in the bathroom, but so do I.’ ’Well, just as a sign of my gratitude for your gesture…’ John lit the candle, and then changed the subject. ’I have been thinking’, John said, ’about exercise.’ Aram was relieved that the subject had changed: ’What about exercise? You may be good at integral calculus and derivate – I have problem understanding what the bloody words mean – but I know a lot about exercise. Ask whatever you wish.’ ’To be honest: I think it is rather – ehrm.’ John’s cheeks and ears became more red than usual. ’I mean, I think it is cool to have muscles, even if it is hard to admit.’ ’It is not something to be shy about, little buddy. Many men like to be beefy. I guess most men would like to be built, even if not everyone like to admit it. Could you imagine Snape lifting weights?’ It was not only Aram’s joke about the acerbic chemistry teacher, but also his facial expression, which helped John to explode with laughter. It also shattered John’s embarrassment. ’Could you teach me how to work out at the gym, if I help you with homework?’ ’Fair enough. I sometimes feel stupid with you. At the gym I will be the teacher.’ Aram proudly flexed his right biceps, and felt cocky when he saw how John’s eyes involuntarily became wider. ’You like what you see?’ John suddenly looked shy again. Aram felt protective. John was so short and thin. ’Want to feel that bicep? Don’t be afraid. I’m not teasing you. It is fun for me to show my results.’ Shyly, John laid his palm over Aram’s biceps, and pressed carefully. ’Harder!’, Aram encouraged. John pressed harder. Aram’s biceps was of the size and density of a croquet-ball, and it rested on a really big triceps. John felt awkward again. His dick was growing and hardening. He sat down on the bed, and hoped that Aram hadn’t noticed. ’Which gym would be good for me?’ ’Why don’t you follow me to the one I workout at?’ ’Aren’t there a lot of big guys there? And doesn’t Peter and his crew hang out there?’ ’Peter is lazy at the gym, and I haven’t seen any of his friends there. Anderson is preoccupied with football, and the others spend their time with driving lessons, booze and grass. They aren’t very healthy, if you ask me. And I will be with you there. If Peter mess with you, I will have a serious conversation with him. He better stay away. The big guys at the gym are alright. Some of them like to give advice. Carl would probably join us at some times.’ * * * John stood before the desk at the gym, and felt shy. A very fit, but not gigantic, trainer manned the desk, dressed in a snug red T-shirt with the gym’s logotype on its chest. ’I’m waiting for a friend.’, John explained apologetically. He peeked into a folder about prices, and found a one-year membership mandatory. In September next year, he would most probably study at university in another city, and the last two months of a one-year membership would be wasted. Aram came in through the door, and began discussing membership and prices with the trainer and John, and, as a result, John got a deal, which meant, that he only had to pay for ten months. They entered the locker room, changed clothes, and Aram began to introduce John to the machines and weightroom. ’For anyone experienced, free weights are more important than machines. For a beginner, machines may have a purpose, especially for avoiding injuries. Look, for instance, on this one…’ One and a half hour later, John laid on the floor in the locker room. He had Aram’s towel under his head, and rested his legs on a bench, in order to let blood return to his head. He dripped of sweat, and felt nauseous. Aram returned from the loo with a paper towel dipped in cold water, and laid it on John’s forehead. ’I am sorry little buddy. I didn’t know where your limits were. I didn’t mean to exhaust you that much the first time.’ ’It’s not your fault. How could you know?’ * * * John and Aram had developed a habit of visiting Carl’s family on Sunday afternoons and evenings. Carl often spent Fridays and Saturdays with a bunch of SHARPs from the other side of the city, but Sundays were an opportunity for them to meet outside the gym and watch films together in Carl’s room. They all sat on Carl’s bed, with their backs against the wall. They had watched ’Captain America’ and ’Elysium’, and were now halfway into the Dwayne Johnson version of ’Hercules’. ’Look at all that muscle!’, Carl exclaimed impressed, for the third time during the evening. Aram poked him with his elbow: ’Do you know how gay you sound, Carl?’ ’Who you calling gay?’, Carl answered, and threw himself over Aram, playfully and boisterously tickling him. John bounced up in the air before landing back on the bedspread, but Aram and Carl fell to the floor, laughing and wrestling. It ended with Aram sitting on Carl’s back, holding his arm at an uncomfortable angle. * * * ’Grandmother arrives tomorrow. Will you eat dinner with the entire family?’, John’s mother – who worked with care of aged people – asked him the day before Halloween. ’I will stay home on All Saints, but Emelie has invited me to a Halloween party tomorrow night.’, John answered. ’I’m glad that you leave home more often, nowadays. But you know what grandmother will say.’ ’That borrowings of ghosts and pumpkins from the Americans will commercialise and destroy any decorous celebration of All Saints.’ John and his mother looked silently at each other with giddy looks, and both said in unison: ’What would grandfather say, if he had been alive?’ They laughed. John’s grandmother was not a particularly religious person, and, just as most of their relatives, she unreflectedly mixed Agnosticism with Lutheran Christianity, but she was fond of family traditions, and decorated her home zealously at Advent, Christmas, Easter, May Day and Midsummer, just as she had done as a young Mum in the 1960’s, and she enthusiastically invited friends and relatives to annual crayfish-parties and fermented-herring-dinners when summer turned into autumn. The recent introduction of masquerades at Halloween hadn’t found any approval from the old lady, since she thought that such merriment would distract from the solemn commemoration of the departed. She had decorated her own parents’ tomb today, before travelling to her only daughter and her family. Unlike most persons of her grandchildrens’ generation, his grandmother celebrated her nameday, and since her name was Inga-Birgitta, she celebrated both the seventh and the twenty-fifth of October. While Aram, Carl and John lived in council flats in grey five-storied concrete buildings built in the 1970’s (and Peter lived in a council flat from the late 1950s), Simon, Emma and Emelie lived in a residential garden suburb nearby, where hedges and fences kept one-family houses of mixed age (some of them as old as the 1920’s) apart. A very busy road marked the border between the two areas, but narrow asphalt-coated paths, for bicycles and pedestrians, run in graffiti-painted tunnels under the road at two different points, connecting these two areas. John met Aram and Carl close to the nearby tunnel. John was dressed in a black suit he had bought half a year ago, when he attended the Confirmation of a cousin. John had put white theatre grease-paint in his face, and fastened vampire teeth on his eye-teeth. ’Greetings, children of the night!’ Aram and Carl smiled. Carl was dressed in camo trousers, but wore the same boots as usual. He was dressed in a black NATO jersey and some sort of combat harness. ’What is that supposed to mean, besides a soldier in general?’ ’Don’t you see? I’m G.I. Joe!’ ’I didn’t watch that film.’ ’You didn’t? It’s awesome! Let’s watch it on Sunday!’ Aram was green painted in his face, and dressed in a thick woolen overcoat. ’And you? That isn’t obvious… unless…’ Aram opened his coat. He didn’t wear any shirt, despite the cold autumnal weather. His entire torso was painted in bright green, and his trousers were purple. ’That’s hilarious! The Hulk! And it is convincing, too.’ ’You are much better than me with words, but I thank you for the compliments.’ ’Than I am’, John absentmindedly corrected Aram. The night was cold and filled with mist, but they found Emelie’s house without any problems. The house was full of very young adults, and it turned out that Emelie’s parents attended a dinner somewhere else that evening. The night went on rather well. The punchbowl probably contained something persons of their age weren’t officially supposed to drink for another two years, but, since the girls in Emelie’s circle of friends were well-behaved, and since most of the boys didn’t want to spoil the hard earned results of their physical exercise, utterly few of them drank too much. Emelie wasn’t known for having patience with fools, and had planned her guest list carefully, weeding out known drunkards. Parties with her classmates and parallel classes were otherwise known to be rather wet. Emelie had succeeded in her attempt to look like Morticia Adams. Emma was clothed in a furry pink rabbit suit, and only her face was visible. Several of the girls were dressed for an ordinary party, and qualified for a masquerade just by wearing pointy witches’ hats. John wasn’t the only vampire among the young men. A few of the guest looked like characters from animes or computer games. Emma seemed disappointed of Emelie’s choice of music: ’Emelie! Now we have listened to Fields of the Nephilim for half an hour. Don’t you have any tunes by Justin Bieber or One Direction?’ ’Are you kidding? Personally, I think it would spoil the Halloween mood, but if you wish to log into your own Spotify account, you are welcome to do so. You know where the computer is, but don’t expect me to tolerate your unbearable music for very long.’ On his way home, John felt awkward and slightly flattered. One of the lightbulbs had broken, and Emelie suffered from dizziness. She had asked John for help. When he stood at a chair, changing the lightbulb, his shirt had left the inside of his trousers and revealed his belly. Emelie had began to giggle nervously, and called after Emma. John didn’t understand why, and felt insulted. ’Please, John. Show us your abs again.’ ’My abs? What are you talking about? You know that I don’t…’ Giggling, Emelie had pinched the shirt fabric and revealed his abs again. His abs? He didn’t… He DID? ’Cool’, Emma said. ’Exercise suits you.’ * * * An Advent wreath stood on the kitchen table, burning with two lit candles and two unlit ones. It was dark outside the window, and, since the first snow had melted away, there was nothing to lighten the winter night up. John stood at a kitchen desk, taking notes of how much various foodstuffs weighed. That would simplify the composition of gym friendly recipes in the future. His mother entered the kitchen, and began to heat a small amount of mulled wine on the electric stove. ’I received phone calls from your chemistry teacher and your biology teacher today. Your physics teacher called yesterday.’ ’Yes?’ ’They are worried about you. Since you started two and a half year ago, they have regarded you as very talented in natural science, but recently your results have deteriorated. They wanted me to talk to you about it.’ ’Nothing is wrong. I just performed unusually bad in a couple of tests the last weeks.’ The mulled wine had reached a desired temperature. She poured some of the content in a mug. ’Do you want some? It is the soft drink version, so you don’t have to worry. It’s cold outside, so I needed something to drive away the chill in my bones.’ ’No, thanks. I avoid sugar as well.’ ’John, I don’t disapprove that you exercise. It seems to be healthy for you, and I am happy that you have a lot more friends now than you had before. But don’t you think you take it a little too far? Why don’t you play floorball or badminton, or jog or swim, or any other more normal sport? It can’t be good for you, to be so obsessed with what you eat. Are you going to eat like that way during Christmas as well? What will grandmother say?’ ’What would grandfather say, if he had been alive?’ ’This is not something to joke about. I’m afraid that your exercise will affect your school results. And I have read about body dysmorphia and eating disorders in the newspapers. Don’t you understand that I am worried about you? What will happen to your plans to become a physician, a biochemist or a physicist, if you let exercise distract you from studies?’ ’YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING!’, John shouted, left the kitchen, took his training bag and closed the door with a bang. His teenage anger went rampant through his mind and body: Thoughts going in a loop, his emotions boiling, his blood pressure pounding, his body temperature steaming. He loosened the wooly scarf and opened the closed zipper of his large jacket. The staff had left the gym, and the doors were closed, but members were given a key tag that unlocked the door at night. The scent of steel corroding under the influence of sweat. The scent of rubber mats. Furiously, he worked out in the almost empty gym: Only two or three other members exercised this late. It felt much better afterwards. The machines, the barbells, the dumbbells: They had helped him to release his irritation, and he now felt calm, content and harmonious. Freshly showered. Meanwhile he had been indoors at the gym, the temperature had dropped, and it had began to snow. The chill had some bite. On his way home, he unexpectedly met Carl, who was on his way home from something else: It had something to do with music. They talked. About parents and other things. Carl. Reliable Carl: Hard as nails, incredibly funny, and a kind friend to his friends. ’Ah. Come here, mate. It will be better tomorrow.’ They exchanged a hug. A brotherly hug. A rather long brotherly hug. Carl’s polo shirt was warm of his body heat. Carl’s glistening, black synthetic bomber jacket was cold of the winter temperatures. The scents from their different anti-perspirants mixed in the cool night air. A brotherly hug. Carl patted John at the back. ’It will probably be better tomorrow.’ * * * Emma sat in her sofa. Aram sat in the same armchair he had sat so many times before. A lit Advent star hung in the window, and spread a soft glow in the living room. From windows on the other side the street other electric Advent stars shone back. Emma was finishing her explanation: ’It isn’t you, it is me. I am not able to appreciate what you speak about. I miss the old Aram from when we first met: My teddy bear. My kind puppy with hockey butt. I am not interested in nuclear science, new medicines or what’s going on in parts of the world I don’t even know where they are. We have nothing in common anymore, if we ever had. I’m sorry. I like you as a friend, but …’ Her lip began to tremble. Aram hug her sadly, carefully and more softly than usual. ’I’m sorry, but I suppose that I understand…’ * * * Madame Cremorna had closed her shop at 7 p.m. as usual. Since the supermarkets kept open until 9 or 10 p.m. she had lots of time to buy the food and Christmas decorations necessary. She returned to her shop, in order to do some work. Supernatural work. She lived in an old-fashioned flat upstairs, which she had bought several years ago, before the prices had begun to rise ridiculously. Her phone rang. ’Madame Cremorna. … O hello Stephen! How is life in New York? I don’t even know what time it is in your time zone. … It is? … Aha. … A disturbance? … Oh, yes, I am up to a major working, but it is far from world-shattering, you know. Professional secrecy, so I can’t say anything, but I can assure you that it is just about the private life of two persons and their surroundings. It is not like I am about to open a gate for Dormammu or Nergal, if you know my drift. … Not funny? I see. … You are? London? Why? … But what brings you and John to this corner of the world? … No? You are kidding? … Yes, of course. Do you have any dietary restrictions before that working? … No. … No, it is no problem at all: I have a lot of vegetarian Christmas dishes. … Pardon? … No, it doesn’t surprise me that John isn’t picky. If he would like it, I could probably find a christmas pudding and a turkey for him God knows where, but you have to know that the locals prefer ham, meatballs, cabbage and vanilla rice pudding at this time of the year. And herring. Lots of herring. Remind me to put an ash tray in my living room while you stay. … Oh yes. … No, no problem at all. Take care, and give me a call when you think you will stop by.’ She hang up and washed her hands, first in running water and a non-perfumed soap, then in Florida Water. She sprinkled herself with holy water, went before her private shrine and lit both the altar candles and the incense. The air in the room felt thicker now, and the room felt connected to the rest of the world and to the unseen aspects of reality. Her highly trained senses could feel the presence of God, of spirits of many sorts, and of unseen subtle influences stretching themselves out from the room as a cobweb of spiritual light. ’Almighty and everlasting God, who harkened to the prayers of Moses in the wilderness, when he, assisted of Aaron and Hur, prayed for victory against the Amalekites, hear me…’ After a long prayer she stretched her hands out over fragments of candle wax she had removed from a candle, in order to fill it with scented oil. ’O God of my fathers, and Lord of Mercy, who hast made all things with thy word, and ordained man through thy wisdom, that he should have dominion over the creatures which thou hast made, and order the world according to equity and righteousness, and execute judgment with an upright heart: Give me wisdom, that sitteth by thy throne; and reject me not from among thy children…’ Then she did the same to fragments from another candle: ’It is God, that girdeth me with strength of war: and maketh my way perfect. He maketh my feet like harts’ feet: and setteth me up on high. He teacheth mine hands to fight: and mine arms shall break even a bow of steel…’ She had repeated this for weeks now. Divine Spirit was answering. The wheels of the invisible and incomprehensible world machinery turned, and unseen chains of causes and effects slowly turned the former reality into something slightly, slightly different. * * * Chapter two is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7140-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-two/
  8. I want to thank muscledrain, who suggested the theme and general outline of this story, and Gunshotuk, who friendly assisted with proofreading. I added these links, by editing my original post. Chapter one is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7118-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-one/ Chapter two is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7140-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-two/?hl=magic With a little help from magic Chapter Three A few weeks earlier, it had been completely dark at the hour when the students arrived for the first lesson, but now rose-tinted clouds and an icy blue sky sleepily floated over the brick building, although the sun itself hadn’t reached above the roofs of the neighbouring buildings. The snow-ploughs had left high snow-drifts against the surrounding walls. The outdoors temperature had dropped to minus twenty Centigrades, and the breath of the students formed clouds of visible vapour in the air. One of the bus lines was at a standstill, due to the icy cover on one of the steepest roads in the city, and this had caused a late arrival of some students. Aram was irritated. With no bus, he had been late, and got on a later tram departure than usual. The situation had affected many students from the same parts of the city, and he wasn’t entirely alone in the corridors, although most of the students already sat in their lecture rooms. He put his jacket and his training bag in his locker, and grabbed his biology book. ’Oi Swotter!’, shouted the too familiar voice of Anderson. Aram sighed. Here we go again. The angry faces were there as usual, shouting things as usual, with one minor divergence: Peter wasn’t there. Slowly, a hunch began to emerge, but Aram wasn’t given the time to finish his thought. Anderson was there, wrestled Aram quickly, until he lay on the floor, getting salt stains on his clothes. Anderson shouting things about going back to his own country. ’You know that I was born here, don’t you?’, Aram asked. The scent of Anderson’s leather jacket. The scent of a cheap cologne and adolescent sweat. The scent of Anderson’s bad breath: Probably a yoghurt breakfast. The scents which could have been perfectly neutral, or even the scents of friendship, but now, since several years, the scents of humiliation. Anderson’s football scarf dangling in Aram’s face. Shouting. Spittle. Something about Arabs. ’And no. I’m not Arab either. My ancestors lived in Syria, Turkey and Iraq long before the Arabs.’ Anderson’s hand around Aram’s Adam’s apple. It was useless to resist: The footballer who dabbled at the gym was significantly stronger and heavier than Aram. Anderson’s bodyweight disappeared. At first, Aram was too dizzy to register what had happened, but, when he composed himself, he could watch Anderson in a knuckle fight with Peter. The other members of Anderson’s little crew standing passively, not knowing what to do. Aram adjusted his eyeglasses and his tie, quickly remembering how he had suffered from myopia since primary school, and how John had not. ’What are you doing, fatso? We are mates, aren’t we?’, Anderson tried to convince Peter. ’I’m tired of you Anderson. I’m tired of being the fatso. I’m tired of being your excuse for this. I thought that I was the leader of our gang, and then I realized, that I have been your puppet all the time. Always blame the fatso. Always nagging about how I was dismissed from the hockey team!’ ’But you were dismissed from the hockey team, fatso. You didn’t have what it takes. You realize that, huh? I remained in the football team because Coach saw my qualities. But why do you defend the little Prof? Have you become an Arab lover all of a sudden?’ Peter was over Anderson in a second. He must have left all self-control, and punched on the leaner rocker uncontrollably, using his weight to his advantage. But Anderson was faster, and used that to snake himself out of Peter’s grip and range. The three other rockers froze from their disbelief and hesitation, and surrounded Peter. ’Fatso! Fatso! Fatso!’ ’Frigging bloody wanker. Now I have a blood stain on my new plaid shirt. You will pay for this! What is it? Don’t want to be reminded of what a bad hockey player you are? A failure! A loser! And you were never a real rocker either! Couldn't afford a real jacket? Couldn’t afford a second hand car? Letting others pay for your beer and hot dogs on the motor festivals? Do you think I’m scared of you?’ The last sentence wasn’t delivered convincingly. Peter stared Anderson in his eyes. The small hesitation was all Peter needed. He pulled himself free. Neither Anderson, nor Peter, saw what happened next, but Aram saw it. John and Carl arrived. Both were of course taller than any of the young men, but Carl probably wasn’t in much better shape than Anderson, and considerably more light-weight than Peter. John, on the other side, towered over the group, his escalating results on the gym progressing almost visibly each day. It was probably the bad weather that had caused Carl to wear army cargotrousers instead of his favourite bleacherjeans, but, unlike John’s city camo, Carls trousers followed the greenish colour scheme for forests. The bulky and glossy bomber jackets enhanced their size, one black and one metallic blue. The military origin of two of their garments, was contrasted by the stylish details of others: Carl’s favourite maroon polo, his blue braces and blue shoe laces. John had shaved his braided ’Vikings’ hairdo off, and Aram noticed a black and yellow-striped polo shirt and thin, black braces, that John hadn’t worn before. Had he joined the SHARPs? Yes he had: Aram could see a new embrodiered patch on John’s jacket. Anderson’s followers looked at the two skinheads for a second, and left the place. Anderson became aware of Carl and John, and lit up. ’Oi fellas! He is all yours. Now he even attacks friends, not to mention poor Prof over there.’ It was Carl who answered. ’Don’t try to fast talk out of this. We heard before we saw. Get out of my way if you don’t want any more thrashing.’ Anderson was silent when he left the lockers. * * * Grumblingly, Carl had accepted that Peter followed them to the gym. ’What I can't understand, is that you have the patience to have him around you. If I had been you, I had wanted to punch his face in.’ Aram didn't know exactly what to say. Nor did John. Remembering two versions of reality gave you perspectives on things that could have been, but Carl wouldn’t believe them if they tried to tell him, and it was probably best a guarded secret. Carl wiped his boots with a wet napkin, in order to remove salt stains. ’You ought to wipe your boots too, John. Salt damages the leather terribly.’ Peter arrived into the locker room, and they changed the subject. * * * John and Carl were on their way home from a concert in another city. They had gone with two of Carl’s old friends, one of whom owned a car. The concert had been fantastic: Some of the song texts about injustice in society, some song texts about football or loyalty to your neighbourhood. Stirring refrains. Many in the audience sang along in the the refrains. John surrounded by friends, with Carl at his side. Sturdy Carl. Good Carl. John had never seen so many skins at the same place at the same time: Short, tall, some in their 60’s, some in the same age as John, and every age between. Some, going for a more old-fashioned take on the style, wore lambskin jackets of a sort that had been popular among skins in the early 1970’s, and not a few, coming from the southern parts, wore crombie coats (although they had bitterly found out that, up here, crombies better had to wait until spring arrived). Bearing in mind the outdoors temperature, it wasn’t strange that most of them wore bomber jackets: black, blue, green or burgundy. In the middle of the concert, John had a short vision of individuality blurring, and his consciousness floating in an atmosphere of affinity, belonging, and joy. John and Carl now shared the back seat of the car, while their friend in the front seat tried to keep the driver awake by talking to him. Loud music played in the car, something by Rancid, John thought. The wintery landscape passed by in the night, swiftly illuminated by the headlights, and then, as swiftly, left behind in the winter night’s darkness. Snow on spruces. Snow on firs. Snow. A road sign, warning for elks. Snow. A small village with a petrol station, street lamps illuminating the back seat for a few seconds, and then winter forest again. Darkness. Snow. He removed the hockey scarf from his neck. It was hot enough inside the car. Carl fell asleep shortly after they left the concert, resting his head against John’s shoulder. While awake, Carl was always so assertive, so confident. When he was asleep, his face looked different: Relaxed, innocent. During the journey he had slid, and his head now rested against John’s side. John had protectively laid his arm around Carl’s shoulders, feeling the silky but synthetic surface of Carl’s jacket. Suddenly, John became aware of, that Carl’s hand, which had rested against John’s trousers, had moved to touch John’s crotch through the fabric of the camo trousers. John hadn’t thought about it, but his tool was hard by being so close to his best friend, if that word was enough to describe his feelings. In his sleep, Carl began to clench John’s dick through the fabric. Clenched. And relaxed. Clenched. And relaxed. John tried to wake Carl up. Carl would be terrified if he had known what he did. John didn’t want to catch the attention from the guys in the front seat: They would tease Carl for weeks, if they knew. Clenched. And relaxed. ’Carl, wake up. Wake up.’, John whispered, and shook him carefully. ’Wake…’ The clenching felt good. Carl had cupped his hand over John’s dickhead. Carl didn’t awake, in spite of Johns silent attempts to wake him. Clenched. And relaxed. They passed by another village. Street lamps revealed a smile on Carl’s face, the blond stubble on his hair glistening like gold in the electric light. And then the car rushed into the night again. A pleasant darkness. Clenched. And relaxed. John’s bloodstream was filled with warm honey, running slowly and exquisitely through his system. Clenched. And relaxed. His dick felt like steel now. Clenched. The warm presence of Carl so close to him. Silky but synthetic. And camo. And relaxed. Reliable. Tough. Kind. Clenched. Loyal and masculine. And relaxed. His invincible friend. Doing this. Clenched. And relaxed. A mist of dark red pleasure floated inside his eyes. Floated. Slowly and exquisitely. Mist. Of a thundercloud. Rushing. Through him. Through his muscles. Feeling big. Hard. Best friend. Thunderbolt. Mist. Rushing. Through him. Smile. Stubble. Close. Thunderbolt mist. Rushing. Now – pure pleasure. It wasn’t aware of it’s existence now. It was. Only. The. Pleasure. Only. The. Pleasure. Only. The. Only. Only. Only. Onl… Clenched. * * * Carl and John had had their ’little chat’ with Peter a few days before, Carl hesitatingly, and John well aware of what Aram and himself had agreed upon. If reality could change, persons could too. Carl had probably been a little bit too harsh, but John had focussed on reason: A few years after arrival, refugees pays tax. Financial argument against refugee policy are therefore without foundation. Freedom of religion is something good: Would you like to be forced to practice something against your will, yourself? No? Then don’t do it to anyone else. Food? Is it really a good idea to decide what anyone else would eat? Do you really like fermented herring yourself? No? You hate the stench? So do I. Why would you then like to dictate that anyone else’s dinner tables should be stuck in the 1890’s or 1920’s? Only upper class eating sushi? I wouldn’t call my cousin upper class: She assists elderly people in their homes. Do you eat pizza? Yes? You know that pizza isn’t indigenous food in Northern Europe, eh? Want to retain a good system of social security? But why then argue for a right wing party? You know that they side with the big companies against workers’ rights, don’t you? Not a commie bastard? If you don’t like the bunch of people Carl hang around with, it’s fine, though they are not exactly commies either. Make up your own mind. There are more answers to these things than two. There are a lot of political parties in the centre, if you prefer that. Most of them are in favour of a well-functioning social security. Your grandfather vote Labour? Then I suggest that you have a chat with your grandfather about this. Wouldn’t that be a good idea? Thought so. Peter looked tired after the conversation. Carl and John had seen smugness or angry sullenness before, but the present sad expression on Peter’s face had none of them seen, and there was something puppy-like about his eyes. Carl handed him a low-carb soda. Peter and his mother lived in a flat consisting of three rooms, all of them considerably smaller than what Carl and John were used to in the younger and recently renovated part of the area. Old-fashioned containers for salt, sugar, meal and oats hung under the dressers, and John noticed to his surprise that the flat lacked a dishwasher. Although cigarette-smoking was falling out of fashion, it was obvious that Peter’s absent Mum was a smoker, which was a pity, since the living room with the old TV could have been quite nice otherwise, with an old fashioned parquet floor and shelves with framed photographs of relatives. Unlike Carl, Peter didn’t have a TV in his bedroom. It didn’t take too long to convince Peter that some of his former views were wrong, although some of the changes probably didn’t go more than skin deep, initially. He had proved that he was able to take sides with Aram, and he was childishly enthusiastic about being instructed by John at the gym. Carl had sadistically ripped away the Confederate flag from Peter’s denim jacket, and the rectangular spot didn’t look impressive, but the weather forced Peter too wear a warmer (rather humdrum) jacket anyhow. The temperature outdoors was burning cold, and it hurt in their cheeks when they returned indoors. * * * Aram arrived late to the gym. ’Sorry. I had to spend some time with Emelie. She was upset. Did you see Emma’s bruise earlier today? No? Anderson had beat her yesterday, and Emelie tried to persuade Emma to leave him, but Emma is stubborn. What a nasty piece of work Anderson is: Disagreeable and nefarious!’ Peter looked on the floor, already dressed for workout, but in cheaper equipment than John and Carl. ’You are much better than me with words’, John said, froze, and stared at Aram silently. Aram stared back. ’Than I am’, Aram answered with some hesitation. ’What is it?’, asked Carl, but John and Aram changed subject. Fifteen minutes later, they stood at the cable stand. ’You have probably seen people train their pecs with cable handles up here, but if you lower these, your chest will actually have to work much harder to press the handles together, especially if you don’t bend your arms.’ ’Yes… Uh. Nrrrgh. Definitely much more resistance…’, Aram noticed, red in his face. ’Seven. Eight. Nine. Uh.’ ’But it doesn't feel like usual. I miss something.’, Carl remarked a minute later. ’The idea is’, John explained, ’to let this part work harder.’ John pressed his fingers on the insides of Carls now very hardworking pecs. He then put his fingers in Carl’s armpits, and nodded in the direction of the dumbbell press. ’These parts of the muscles will get their share of the workout in the next exercise over there.’ Carl shouted, and dropped the cable handles with a noise. ’I am ticklish. Never do that again’, Carl said, and disappeared towards the locker room. * * * The winter night shrouded the slopes and the flats in darkness, but the crusty snow on the lawns reflected the light from the street lamps and the moon. The caretakers had obviously spread another amount of salt during the preceding day, since the ice had melted on the pathway, and the moist asphalt surface peeked out from the surrounding snow, like a snake with black scales. Peter had left them in the older corner of the area as usual, and the other two had left Aram by the stairs to his family’s flat. Aram watched the white clouds of his own breath, watched the sky, noticed the upcoming conjunction between two planets he had read about in a scientific magazine, and went indoors, the bag on his shoulder. His mother was not at home: Probably giving an introductory language course to newly arrived Syrian refugees. His sister probably visited friends. He warmed some chicken in the oven and some lentils in the microwave oven, and ate absentmindedly in the kitchen, before returning to his room. He had just opened the computer file of a composition about mithocondriae, when something strange struck him. He felt dizzy and exhilarated. It felt like reality circled around him for a second, he felt a rush of information streaming inside his head, and he found himself in a state of analytical clarity beyond what he had longed for. He was sure he hadn’t understood all these mathematical proofs just a minute ago, but he could also remember how he gradually had achieved this insight for several years. He looked at the candle from Madame Cremorna’s. Burnt out and empty of wax since several weeks. He sat silent for a long time, trying to regain composure, went out to the kitchen for some tea. Holding the warm jug of tea between his hands, he took an educated guess about what probably had happened. It was probably a good idea to wait a few minutes before calling John on the phone. * * * ’Carl. There is something I want to talk to you about, but we haven’t had a good chance until now.’ They sat in John’s room. John sat on his adjustable chair. Carl sat on John’s bed. It was the sort of week when John’s mother worked night at the home for the aged, and John’s father was away playing floorball with workmates after work. ’Sure. Something political? Something about music?’ ’No. No, nothing like that. Eh. Uhm. Something strange happened when we were on our way home from that concert.’ ’Nothing I noticed. I slept all the way home. Didn’t wake up until the car stopped on the parking lot.’ ’You didn’t dream something strange?’ ’Can’t say that I did. Not something I remember anyway.’ John fell silent. Then he took the matchbox, and lit the novena candle in the window. It was Tuesday, after all. Within a minute the scent from the oil mixed with the candlewax was noticeable in the room. ’I want to tell you a secret. Aram bought that candle to me last autumn. You know: The church his family belongs to is into saints and things. The idea is that it will bring… Bring good luck, in a way.’ ’You know that I am as agnostic as you are. There is no way to prove the supernatural, neither a way to disprove it. It’s just meaningless. I’m not like the hardcore Atheists, ranting about sky fairies and spaghetti monsters, but whatever may or may not exist – if something supernatural exist, it will be so complicated that no human book would be able to describe that something, so I prefer to relax and not spend time on the subject. There’s a world out there to make better. I'm not a bloody hippie.’ John picked a book from his thinly populated bookshelf. He waved with it before Carl: Bodybuilding: A Handbook. ’May I discuss some of today’s exercises?’ ’Sure. Why not?’ John sat down beside Carl at the bed, and began to explain. He was probably ten minutes into the discussion, when he felt a strange heat inside. He rose and opened the window. ’What are you doing? It’s bloody cold outside. Don’t let that cold air inside.’ John closed the window again. The flame of the candle flickered. John could see that there wasn’t much candlewax left. He returned to the bed. ’I feel funny. Don’t you feel the heat?’ ’Heat? The windows’ got good insulation, and the radiators are working, but you can’t call this heat. What’s the matter? Do you feel ill?’ A worried expression John hadn’t seen before spread over Carl’s face. John reclined on the bed, with Carl sitting close to his knees. ’It feels better now. But it still feels funny. In a good way.’ A pleasant feeling filled his back, and continued to spread. ’Mmm. In a really good way.’ The feeling filled his traps, and continued to his pecs. ’Are you okey?’ ’Mmm. Oh. Umm. Yes, I’m okey. It…’ The feeling changed into a burning feeling in his abs, and he felt how a strange but pleasant feeling of hardness filled his shoulders and his quads. ’Oh. Carl. Do you see it, or is it just my imagination?’ ’See what?’ It now filled him entirely, from the stubble on his head to his fingers and toes. It was different from the subtle changes at the other times, it was… ’John. I can’t believe this. It looks like you are growing.’ John moaned, and then arched with a short scream. He tensed his biceps, and felt how he tensed his pecs. The fabric of his t-shirt couldn’t take the strain anymore. With a ripping sound, Johns growing biceps split the short sleeves of the shirt apart, while his growing shoulders and neck tore asunder the rest of the shirt. ’It’s bloody unbelievable, John. It’s like a frigging dream. Do you feel alright?’ ’So good… So good… Yes. Yes. It’s happening.’ The flame of the candle flickered, consumed the last remains of the oily wax, and went out with a silent puff. ’IT’S HAPPENING!!!’ John felt how his body convulsed in a pleasant way. ’Uhnnn. Uhnnn. Oh yes… Uhnnn. More!’ Carl was rigid with fear. And something else. Then, he reached out his hand towards John’s chest, and touched John’s growing left pec. With a sigh and a smile, John’s growing right arm grabbed Carl around his waist, and let Carl fall with his face on John’s pecs. A few seconds he struggled, and then relaxed. John could feel a kiss on his left pec. John let his left hand caress the stubble on the backside of Carl’s head. John could hear Carl mumble: ’I’m fucking dreaming. This is unreal.’ ’If it is a dream, you are free to do whatever you would like to do in a dream’, John answered, but whatever he had tried to say was abruptly cut off by another wave of growth. He moaned and groaned of pleasure. ’Oh, yeah. Grow for me mate. My best friend becoming a bruiser… Oh. This is so good. These mountains of power…’ Carl sat on John’s groin, touching John’s biceps with his hands. ’Oooh.’ Carl leaned forward and kissed John’s right bicep, and then licked it. ’Oooh. It’s still growing. You are still… Oh. This is so good.’ John felt how he became hard down there too. Carl must have noticed. He slide from the bed, removed his shirt and trousers, and then began to remove John’s trousers, but they were stuck on John’s large and still growing calves. ’Oooh. Uhn. Mmmm. Yes.’, John deliriously exclaimed. Carl gave up his attempt to remove John’s trousers, and directed his concentration on John’s shoulders, grabbing one with each hand, whimpering lustfully at the touch. ’Oh. My buddy, the warrior. My mate, the hero. My friend, the… the war god. This is so bloody good. So fucking unreal. So, ummm.’ John’s mobile phone rang, but they were both too excited to notice. Carl’s steel hard rod, although still decked by pants, had touched John’s bulging and steel hard abs, and he shivered at the sensation. Another lustful whimpering escaped his mouth. John could feel Carl rubbing his groin against John’s abs, and it felt good. He was able to drive his friend crazy of admiration. Another wave filled him. He bellowed, and distantly felt how his calves split the seams of his trousers, releasing him from any restraining clothes. His dick found its way between Carl’s thighs. Carl moaned. John looked up on Carl, smiled and tensed both his biceps. Carl held his breath, and something began to pulsate wildly inside Carl’s pants. Again. And again. And again. The last stages of John’s transformation were still going on, when Carl regained the similitude of awareness of his surroundings. Veins began to cover John’s chest, legs and biceps, and all muscles protruded well-defined in a manner suitable for the best junior bodybuilders. A blissful smile was upon John’s face, his eyes closed. He breathed quickly. Carl readjusted his position, and sat between John’s knees, grabbed John’s rod with his right hand, and pulled it a few times. It didn’t need much encouragement, until it ecstatically exploded in his grip, and pulsated in a powerful ultra-masculine way between his fingers and his palm. In a voice, deeper than before, John asked Carl: ’Why didn’t you tell me before?’ * * * Chapter Four is here, but doesn't contain any growth: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13032-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-four/
  9. Hey guys! I know it has been a while since I last wrote. The story is pretty much still unfinished but I realized that having all the chapters spread out wasn't helping either. My plan now is to post all the chapters here, edited of course, this being so if you reread you will get a little extra fun from it. I'll also be posting progress pics within the story of the character,Vonny, who is based off of me and has very similar muscle progress. This way you can imagine how the character is growing a little better along with reading. I will also be posting pics from the web of what other characters look like and some scenery in order for you all to fully experience everything. Thanks for being patient and I hope you all will enjoy. Leave a comment if you have and questions or ideas!
  10. Hey guys! This story was supposed to be only a singluar chapter, but the growth scene is getting longer then expected. As usual, I wrote this all on my phone, so please excuses the errors. Enjoy! THE BLACK STALLION PART 1/3 Marcus, took off his shirt in front of me, revealing his totally smooth, yet thickly carved, half-black muscle chest, handing me his smartphone and asking me, his own mother, to snap some pictures of his progress. We stood outside by the pool. I knew it was wrong of me, but I whimpered at nearly every shot. When did my baby boy get so handsome, I kept on thinking, as I bit down on my lips. “Hey, mom!” Now the the boy was even bigger. Standing outside his college dorms, filling up nearly every inch of his college branded hoodie, bloating almost obscenely his once loose basketball shorts. He looked so unbelievably masculine and huge, this big black stallion, I thought, as he stood outside and waited for me handsomely in the rain. “W-Wow!” I stuttered as I got out of the car. “Just look how big you’ve grown!” “Thanks, mom. Sorry about the rain!” “That's Seattle for you!” I tried humorously replying, trying to hold back my motherly whimper, just from receiving the smallest hug. His huge black male muscle cleavage nearly suffocated me, entrapping my tiny white womanly face, between the depths of his musky and incredibly iron carved breast, pungent, even through the outside of his sweater. I squeezed a little tighter, making him squeeze a little more back. I honestly could barely breathe at this point. The powerful wall of his abs, eight huge bricks, combined with his pecs, compacted against my tiny motherly frame, nearly crushing me, with ease, like I was nothing more than some insignificant human grape. “Mind if we go upstairs, for a second, mom?” Marcus shamefully scratched his neck. “I really have to use the restroom.” I figured the poor boy had to take one of his glorious protein dumps, watching him quickly publically scratch his butthole, remembering, with a smile, just how many shit’s he used to take back in high school. It was almost hard to comprehend, just how many he would possibly have to take now, to even sustain such a beastly and huge physique. FARRRTT “S-Sorry, mom!” Marcus stuttered embarrassingly. The smell was nearly unbearable, as I walked closely behind him, behind his monstrous and muscular swampy bubble butthole, up four flights of stairs, up to his dorm room. But that didn't stop me from moving my nostrils any closer. All that was missing was a swinging horse tail and some flies, I queerly joked in my head. That big black stallion ass. He probably could have crushed me up there, if he wanted to. “Here it is.” Marcus said opening the door. “It's pretty tiny.” The smell was even worse in his room, so much overpowering shit and body odor, that in fact, there really was a small swarm of flies in his tiny closet-sized on suite bathroom. Marcus didn't seem the slightest bit phased, opening a window to his room, yes, but only complaining that it was a little hot, and not because of the horrendous smell. “It's cute, sweetie.” “Thanks! My roommate, Carl, just moved out. I don't think he liked that I used the bathroom so much…” Marcus grabbed the base of his sweater. “Oo-OH, well that's a s-shame!” I whimpered frantically, as he suddenly exposed to me every inch of his totally monstrous and muscle bound, now completely hairy, chocolate brown bodybuilder chest. He had pulled up his sweater, accidentally lifting up his t-shirt. There wasn't a single part of my body that could move, so glad that that my little boys face was covered, as I grew so weak in the knees and my panties began sopping wet. “A little help here, mom?” Marcus struggled beneath his own sweater. His beautiful teenage arms had grown so colossally muscular, so overly developed with these obscene black chiseled boulders, that even his t-shirts sleeves became hopelessly caught, the verge of exploding, was more like it. I quickly tried to help, so overwhelmed by his rank manly odor, all the curly and practically afro-thick armpit hair, exploding out into my face. Even I found myself eventually struggling with a whimper, just to help get my baby’s own shirt off, almost afraid that I might slip, fall into the absolute cave of his dark smelly armpit, underneath the mountainous black peaks, twenty-four inches, of teenage bicep, coming down and snuffing me out. “Thanks, mom!” Marcus finally pulled off his sweater. “All my clothes have been getting real tight lately.” He said the words, snapping me out of my daydream, as he raised both arms for a quick flex, proudly and confidentially, high above my small little head. His huge grinning white smile stretched across his black stubbled face. I honestly couldn't hold back this time, as he demonstrated his awesome and titanic teenage muscle strength, to his own proud and watching mother. “OH-OH!” I squealed openly. “Look at the SIZE of my baby’s arms!” “You like these gains, mom?” Marcus flexed a little more. “I really want to get big.” He said the words as if he wasn't big enough, as if the two bowling ball, bigger than my face, skull popping black powerful biceps, weren't enough for my baby’s giant dreaming appetite. I reached up with a gulp, trying so desperately not to show, that at this point, I was on the verge of having some totally out of control, panty destroying, hands-free orgasm. My small white womanly hands, my tiny painted pink fingernails, got nearly lost in the immensity of each bulging muscle head, the sirloin-sized sweaty meat-packs of triceps, dangling from my son’s mammoth arms. They were the biggest arms I had ever felt. FARRTTTT “My goodness!” I yelped. “S-Sorry, mom!” Marcus squirmed, cupping his flatulating butthole. “I almost completely forgot about using the bathroom.” Marcus took a huge couple thumps, turning around and carefully stuffing himself into the tiny closet-sized bathroom. To think, it was just the start of the school year, I lustfully thought. I heard the horrific groan of sewage pipes beneath the walls, the old hardwood floors creak and bend beneath my feet, the walls bow and strain, as he undoubtedly, innocently sat down to go poop. I know it was wrong of me, the smell was so grotesque, but I pressed my ear lightly against the door, imagining the view of my big baby boy, that huge beastly physique, crammed between those small bathroom walls, those massive hairy black bloated muscle thighs, hauling down on that tiny porcelain throne. My baby, must have been pushing over 300-pounds of solid muscle, I delightfully thought, and he was only eighteen years old. What a fucking man! FARRTTTT FARRTTTTTTT Marcus groaned loudly, as the flies began swarming even more, the smell grew even worse. I knew the whole dorm hall, awkwardly, could hear every minute of it, the gigantic muscle man devastation, his huge bull-sized protein shit. Eventually the smell got so bad I had to stand by his bed, or I should say, the airy open window. It gave me a small chance to look around his dorm room. The brand new laptop, grandma, had purchased him, looked fairly untouched, dusty practically. Probably from being at the gym all the time, I gleefully thought. His old roommates empty bed area, was now a stash for all his gigantic tubs of protein powders, towering bottles of supplement pills, and hundreds of protein bars, most of them already eaten and unwrapped. “O-oh my.” I whimpered underneath my breath, fingering, palming, as I squeezed my thighs together, my now completely soaked groin area. “Doesn't my boy want to grow big…” Thankfully, Marcus, was still so preoccupied, as I practically teared from overjoyed pleasure. He would always tell his father, that he never, sadly, wanted to become an actual “bodybuilder”. But now, as I looked even closer between the seemingly endless stash of muscle growth products, I became filled with ecstasy, coming into view of an absolutely pornographic array of fitness and bodybuilder magazines. I always hoped that my little boy would desire more, more than what he actually told people. That he would just keep eating and growing, never stop wanting more, until he transformed, my big black stallion, into the biggest and hairiest muscle-god… “...to ever roam the entire PLANET!...” I moaned in ecstasy out loud, just as the toilet flushed. My motherly pussy was on a total orgasmic breakdown. The best part, as I composed myself with his desktop tissues, while he washed his hands, there was this little post-it note that read, “Ask mom for more food money. Get BIGGER”. I was visiting him up at Washington State University, for an entire weekend, visiting from San Diego, and within fifteen minutes, I was already torrenting an orgasm. “Wow, I feel so much better.” Marcus groaned happily, thumping and squeezing his huge shoulders and legs from out between the small-framed door. He quickly then closed the door behind him, still itching his big butthole, but it was because of that I noticed, that at the top of his own global ass, the top of his huge bulging black watermelon-sized muscle glutes, was this entirely gross, shockingly long, dangling piece of shit covered toilet paper, swaggering now behind his big bloated muscle legs and ass, just like a horse, with each thumping step. “Oo-oh, s-sweetie…” I tapped him gently on the ass, so embarrassed to even bring it up, clenching with ecstasy as I felt, just how overwhelmingly powerful, even just a corner, of one of his tremendous, earth-quaking, stallion-sized black buttcheeks were. “Wh-when did THAT get there!” Marcus yelped embarrassingly, making things stupendously worse, as he thumped and hoofed around, clumsily trying to reach the stuck toiletpaper for it himself. It wasn't long, my big little growing boy, soon came to the shocking realization that I soon came to marvel over, that his arms were just too pumped and swollen with muscle, to even attempt to reach the middle of his gloriously huge muscular stink hole. “OH-my-ga-gawd!” Marcus roared in humility. “S-sweetie, just let me help.” I reached around his thumping beast-sized black muscle legs, the beauty calming down the beast, I romantically thought. It smelled unbelievably bad being that close, right after having him taken a dump, but you wouldn't believe the view. His shorts could barely contain, in fact they couldn't, the tremendous size of his chocolate colored, teddy-bear hairy, child-gobbling bodybuilder butt. It was no wonder my baby was having so many growing problems. “WH-WHAT are you doing, mom!?” “Stop fidgeting, Marcus! It's just your own mother!” The words dropped out of my mouth like it was a sin, as I tugged and pulled down the back of his skin-tight red basketball shorts, unleashing, like two air-bags going off, the expanse of his enormous, horrendously musky and farm smelling, black muscle butt. It was even more glorious than I could have ever possibly imagined, the most gigantic, most freakishly muscular bodybuilder butt I had ever seen in my life. Not to mention the fact, that it was slightly smeared with shit. “Ooh, ga-gawd, M-Marky…” I whimpered in disgust. “I'm sorry, mom!” Marcus wiggled and stepped uncomfortably, his big swampy black bodybuilder butt. “The showers here, they're just so small. It's hard for me to clean myself!” It was the perfect opportunity, I gulped, perversely thinking to myself, to finally get some real close alone time with my little boy’s, this stallion-sized, black muscle man butt. I grabbed a washcloth, while he stood there, bending over so obediently, still humiliated, that his own mother was going to wash out, with a wet rag, his own ass, but what choice did he have. “I'm so s-sorry, m-mom…” Marcus groaned, faintly under his breath, stepping and pushing back, his huge shit covered muscle butt, bending over, deeper against my motherly cleaning hand, the large wipes of my warm rough wash cloth, taking tender care of his beast-sized ass. There was a moment where his humongously powerful glutes couldn't stop quivering, flexing, especially as I wiped deep against his tender, I'm sure, teenage virgin male prostate. The more mommy buried my hand, the more my baby tried to fight back his deep grunting moans. “W-W-Wait… M-Mom, stop!” RIIIIPPPPPPP Eventually he asked me to stop, but it wasn't because of my washing. I was confused at first by what had happened, the indefinite sound of fabric tearing, my huge black stallion, heavily whimpering with whispers of embarrassment. He was trying to cover something up, trying to hide something in the front, his massive carved arms flexing to keep it from my eyes. Was it really that big, I devilishly began to thought. I put down the washcloth and began making my way to the front, coming into view of his blown apart briefs... ************************************************************ READ PART 2 HERE ************************************************************ Comments are appreciated.
  11. Hey guys! Here is part two of my twisted little mommy tale. Please excuse the errors as this was written on my phone. Enjoy! READ PART 1 HERE THE BLACK STALLION PART 2/3 “P-Please, m-mom, don't look at me that way…” Marcus begged, but even I couldn't stop myself from looking, not this time. My big baby boy, my big black stallion, had been secretly somehow sporting the most disgustingly overgrown massive black cock, ten-inches in diameter at least, growing well over a foot long, throbbing beneath his hands, with still room to grow! What was even better, below it all, was the two most massive bull-sized testicles, two giant semen tanks, testosterone and muscle juice reservoirs, visually churning beneath his hairy dark sack, no doubt preparing for another disastrous load, an inevitably huge mess. One that mommy could clean up. “OOOooo, Marky!” I wailed in disbelief. My pussy was gushing. It was literally all I could say, squealing faint moans under my breath, approaching my erect baby boy, this gigantic black beast, regardless of all the incestuousness, as if in a trance, intoxicated, slowly placing both my small womanly hands against his dark naked and mammothly steel-carved ape-sized muscle thighs. His usual deep teen voice moaned, only for a moment, like a boy again. It was seconds of silence as I worshipped his colossal hairy manly legs, marveling at my own offsprings impressive muscle gains, thinking he could probably lift a car, a small truck, relishing as my tiny pink painted fingers fell between the spectacular divides of his dark meaty-muscles. Oh god I was about to cum again. “M-M-Mom, please stop...” Marcus continued his whimpering, with a few faint moans of continuing pleasure. “You have N-NO idea how BIG it is!” As he said the words, his monstrous black cock began unexpectedly gushing pre-cum, torrenting was more like it, right underneath his “hiding” hands, splurging thick white-goo, right between his black iron blistered fingers. My huge mommy tits got so rock hard from watching the spectacle, the top button of my blouse suddenly popped off, going completely unnoticed of course by my shy muscle giant, my big black stallion, who was cringing like some innocent child with his eyes closed. “P-PLease, mom, for the last time!” Marcus continued to whine. He was still so determined not to give up, to not stop “hiding” his erection from his own mother’s viewing eyes, yet he freely let me continue my slow worship. Rubbing my hands up and down his naked gigantic black legs, bending down and even moving past his knees, rubbing his bloated basket-ball sized calves, which were beyond freaky, the biggest I had ever seen. Finally I made my way back up, in one swift grazing motion, to those fully-loaded teenage cum-tanks, watching the continuing dribble of thick white bull-juice fall down his grotesquely large black veiny shaft. As I reached both my small womanly hands underneath, to cup, his large sensitive horse-sized balls, his gigantic manhood suddenly began to rumble to life. “I C-CANT H-HANDLE it anymore!” Marcus roared, throwing his huge mountain-sized neck back as he groaned, my own beastly son, my big black stallion, gushing a small amount of pre-cum onto a part of my face, right into my blonde hair. He finally released the pressurized cock-head from his powerful dark hands, his giant cum fountain, unleashing, what I could only imagine to be, the world's most gigantic cock, a black monster of its own, finally freed from its cage. My big baby boy groaned even more, thumping the floor as he adjusted his stance, those huge heavy black feet, even wider, making the floor groan, the room practically. That, or maybe it was just the sound of his blood filling every inch of that pussy splitting giant cock. I continued to watch, moaning with disbelief, as the shaft grew past what must have been fifteen-inches, sixteen-inches... “It's g-growing OUT of CONTROL!” Marcus looked down in humility, as his big cum gushing black mushroom head inched up past his fat dark pancake nipples, heaving and and nearly thundering halfway up between his titanic dark male muscle cleavage, literally inching up towards his own face humiliated face. It wasn't long before all that cum-gushing hit the bottom of dark stubbled neck, shot against his chin, splurged right into his whimpering lips. His cock must have measured EIGHTEEN-inches long. “OH-oh LOOK how big my baby boy is!" I moaned in motherly ecstasy, clutching my sopping wet pussy. "And he's making such a MESS!" “T-THIS is why everyone says I'm TOO BIG, mom!” Marcus wailed, uncontrollably shooting more cum right into face, his eyelids, his open whimpering mouth, no doubt oozing down his throat. “That I need to STOP!” “Mommy thinks you should grow even more…” I said continuing to grip my pussy, dig my fingers through the fabric. “WH-WHat!? You DO!?” Marcus blubbered in confusion, like some big little schoolboy, so red in the face from his indecent exposure, as I casually walked over to his roommates old bed, where he kept all those protein bars and shakes, grabbing an unhealthy handful, two handfuls actually, double-fisting about twelve-bars in all. But I knew he wanted it, wanted to eat, wanted to grow. I on the other hand, wanted to see him explode. “W-Wait, Mmpf!” Marcus became muffled, as I stuffed two bars into his mouth, watching him eagerly chew, like he had been rationing them. “M-MOM, these are so expensive!” “Oh don't even worry sweetie. Mommy will pay for ALL of them. Even MORE if you want…” I continued shoving more protein bars into his chomping face. “MMmpf” Marcus groaned happily, opening wider as I even shoved in THREE protein bars, my pretty white hands into his huge black mouth, all at once. “Y-You WILL!?” BURRRPPPP “In fact, you should probably just eat EVERYTHING right now!” “Oh god, you're GOING to make SO BIG mom, MMmpf!” Marcus continued to chomp, as I shoved the remaining bars down his beastly flexing throat. It wasn't much longer after that I began to realize something, something even more exciting than his gigantic cock, his muscles, something that my little baby boy must have been hiding from me for a long time. You see, he apparently wasn't just exaggerating when he said I was going to make him big. Because he was literally growing bigger right before my eyes. “OOOoOooo” My pussy gushed at the site, the view of his expanding black muscle chest. “M-Marky, you should have TOLD me!” “I'm SCARED, mom!” Marcus said timidly. “I just want to grow SO big, MMmpf!” He continued chewing. “MORE than anyone should!” BURRRPPPPP FAARRRTTTTT “And I'm already having so many PROBLEMS!” Marcus continued his excuses, all while his cock gushed torrentially, failing to hide his closeted excitement, to grow into this totally monstrously muscular beast, a REAL black stallion. His gigantic and marbled dark muscle physique continued to slowly grow, swell easily past 325-pounds, maybe even 350-pounds, all muscle! But mommy still wanted to see more. I still wanted to see SO much more. I felt all my womanly juices squirt down both my legs at just the curious thought, how big could I actually make my little boy grow? “W-What are you doing now, mom?” “Just mixing the ENTIRE protein tub…” My big muscle boys eyes bulged, but I knew he wanted it, he wanted it bad. I handed him the mixed up tub of protein, watching his whimpering lustful eyes, the turmoil. He began gulping regardless, drinking, feeding his muscles with all that endless protein. His huge muscle engorged gut, the bulbous twelve-pack of abs, began bloating even bigger like a balloon, swelling into this beastly large roid-gut. GULP GULP GULP FAARRRTTTTTT, BURRRRPPPPPPPP “OH-GAWD!” Marcus wailed while taking a breath. “What am I going to DO mom, I can barely use the toilet as is! MMmpf!” GULP GULP GULP FARRRTTTTTTTT “You don't even worry about that.” I walked around to the back of his physique. “I'll never get tired CLEANING this ASS!” “HOW can you stand the SMELL?!” Marcus squirmed with curiosity, like some big child who had to pee, thumping and hoofing around. “This one girl even SUFFOCATED up there…” My poor baby boy. Dealing with all those amateur woman, those girls. He was so sensitive up his enormous muscle butthole, that even the slightest touch of my hands between his dark hairy ass-crack, the middle of those two gigantic black watermelon muscle glutes, started quaking, quivering with anticipation. The entire room, admittedly, smelled like a barn house, and it was all emanating from this giant swampy cave of muscle and shit. The musk combined, however, was so overpowering. I couldn't stop from drooling, the urge to bury my face and get lost up this gigantic spectacle of godly devastation, suffocate if I have to, just like that girl. “Oooo, I want to LICK my baby's ass so bad!” “You want to LICK MY ASS!?” Marcus wailed in even more confusion. The poor kid must have thought no one would ever go up there again, or simply didn't understand why anyone would want to. I pushed both my small womanly hands, right in the center of his stinkhole, peeling back the huge black marbled flaps of his ass cheeks, using all my strength to open his butthole just a little, just as he let out another small rank fart, blowing my hair back. It was absolutely frightening, the power alone, but being his mother, I still felt confident in going for a little graze. “OH-GAWD!!!” Marcus groaned. “Mmm, SO GOOD!” I on the other hand was tearing in ecstasy, burying my tongue deeper, further. “W-WAIT, mom!” Marcus whimpered with ecstasy, trying his best, squirming, not to hoof around again in confusion, accidentally crush my tiny little face. “B-BE CAREFUL up there!” BURRRPPPP BURRRRPPPPPPP “OH GOD, please!” Marcus preyed. “I think I might be GROWING again!” Marcus continued his warnings. I already knew he was growing. As my small womanly white tongue licked the dark musky-cave walls of his black swampy muscle butthole, I could feel those entirely car crushing ass cheeks, those titanic and powerful muscle glutes, slowly inflate around my head, my own face, inflating nearly endlessly against skull, yet I still dug deeper. Using what little strength I had left, I desperately attempted to peel back those gigantic black ass cheeks even more. I continued pushing and stuffing my eager kissing lips, feeling the walls of his ass close in around me. “MOM, please get OUT of there!” Marcus wailed in fear. “Before it's TOO LATE!” He was being such a baby, but I had a feeling he was right. All the worshipping I had been doing, the digging, the rimming, was giving my big little boy so much pleasure, his gigantic black bodybuilder butthole was literally eating me, slurping up my tiny little womanly white body up, burying me between the huge uncontrollably flexing muscle glutes of my own only son. My pussy, of course, kept gushing orgasm after orgasm. But the truth was I was stuck, yet I still showed no signs of stopping. FARRRTTTTTT POP, THUMP Luckily, just as I was about to draw my last breath, Marcus, my big black stallion, unleashed another one of his explosive protein farts. The sheer force blew my head out, my body, shooting me out his ass like a cannonball to the ground. My face was totally smeared in his filth, his stench, but I proudly licked it up, at least what I could. What was even more staggering than the entire situation, was watching that huge protein tub suddenly fall to the ground, completely empty, and then looking up. “O-O-Ohh, m-my goodness...!" *************************************************** Commented are appreciated. Stay tuned for Part 3.
  12. PREVIOUS REFERENCE: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/4099-my-partner-moves-on/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/3760-my-twin-moves-on-chapters-1-12/ --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  13. Hello. My name is Ryan and I am a geek. Honestly, I've tried to make myself look cooler with pierced ears, tattoos, and bling, but I'm afraid all of that only emphasizes how desperately I'm trying not to look like the short, skinny white boy I am. In high school, I did have a few girls who liked me and told me I was cute, but it's not like they were ever gonna date me. No, they wanted to date the jocks, then call me on the phone afterwards and dish, weeping about what a jerk the jock had been. To them, I was the "gay best friend" that every romantic comedy and sitcom told them they needed as an accessory. Never mind that I wasn't actually gay. I suppose I couldn't blame them for making the assumption. It's not like I was doing anything that would prove them wrong. Like, say, having sex with a girl. I'm only five-seven and I've always had, like, zero muscle-mass. My folks knew how much it bugged me to be so puny, so Dad bought me a set of weights, but sweating and straining just to curl a fifteen-pound dumbbell was not my idea of a fun time. Besides, all that exertion never seemed to add an ounce to my lanky-ass body. The weights sat in a corner of my bedroom, growing cobwebbier by the day. I started college with the naive hope that it would be a less superficial environment than goddamn high school and people would put more value on intelligence than appearance. As my parents were wishing me goodbye, Mom couldn't stop crying and calling me "my baby", right there in my dorm room, right in front of my dick of a roommate, who was barely stifling his laughter. I just knew he would be mocking me and calling me "Baby" from then on. Fortunately, Dad didn't cause that kind of embarrassing scene, but he did slip me a parting gift as we walked back to the car. It was a new digital camera that they were working on at the tech company where he works. "It's a prototype, kid, so be extremely careful with it. Don't leave it lying around and, for god's sake, don't let anybody else use it." I assured him I wouldn't, and he smiled back, "I know you won't, son. Hey, snap a selfie once in a while and send it to me, so your sad old parents can see how you're adjusting to your new life." I got a lump in the pit of my gut. I thought I would be happy to finally be off on my own, but I think it was just as hard for me to watch my folks drive away as it was for them to leave me behind. Dad rolled down the window as he drove past and said, seemingly as an afterthought, "There's some pretty sweet software on that camera. You should fiddle around with it." Then he winked. My dad was a brilliant scientist, but he could be kind of a doofus. (Like father, like son, right?) I had never seen him fuckin' wink in my life. Glad my roommate wasn't around to see that. As the car disappeared in the distance, I heard my roommate yelling at me. "Hey, Baby, we're gonna go eat at the commons. You wanna come with us, Baby?" I looked over and saw him give me an exaggerated wink. He was surrounded by a group of similar bros, all testosterone and stupidity in their muscle shirts and backwards baseball caps. The other dudes followed my roommate's lead, cracking up and calling me "Baby" without even knowing why. What a barrel full of douchebags. I already hated college. The actual school part was fine, but all the social skills I never learned in high school might have come in handy here. By the first Saturday night, while everyone else in the dorm was out getting shit-faced, laid or both, I was sitting in my room, alone and depressed. On my desk, I noticed the camera Dad had given me and decided I ought to let the 'rents see how their son was coping...or wasn't. I stood in front of the mirror in my small-size t-shirt and my skinny jeans and attempted to smile, but a smile would have been false advertising. Better to show how I was actually feeling. With a frown on my lips and sadness in my eyes, I snapped the shutter and the photo filled the digital screen on the back of the camera. Christ, I looked about twelve. No wonder I didn't fit in here. I touched the screen with my thumb, intending to delete this grim photo, when a menu of options popped onto the screen. Great, just what I needed, fuckin' Instagram. The only thing that could make me look more pathetic would be looking pathetic in sepia tones. But I noticed that the options extended beyond the usual filters, color, brightness, contrast and cropping. Like, for interest, "BACKGROUND". I could edit the background? When I clicked on that, a circle popped up onscreen with the word "DORM" at the top. Damn, photo recognition software is getting advanced if it can tell just from the picture that I'm in a dorm. I figured it must use GPS or something to figure that out. I grazed my thumb over the circle and, like the click-wheel on my dad's ancient iPod, it allowed me to cycle through other options. The first one I stopped on was "CHURCH". Amazingly, the software immediately replaced the postered walls behind me in the photo with a massive stained-glass window. I had never seen any design software that could so swiftly and seamlessly alter an element of a photo like that. It would have taken me ten minutes of clipping and erasing in Photoshop to accomplish what the camera had done in an instant. As I scrolled through other options, there was my sorry ass standing in a restaurant, on a beach, on a boat, in front of the Eiffel Tower. When I landed on "LOCKER ROOM" -- just a blue-green wall and some kind of door -- I must have accidentally clicked the "ACCEPT" button in the middle of the circle, because an hourglass appeared and animated sand fell through it as the background rendered in high resolution. From out of nowhere, I started to feel very claustrophobic. The air around me seemed to be thickening, like an invisible layer of warm Jell-O wrapping itself around my body. I couldn't move as this sensation enveloped me. And then, BOOM, it was over. It felt like I had passed through a gooey membrane and come out clean on the other side. I dropped to my knees, gasping for air, happy to still be alive. A voice echoed from above me, "You okay, little dude?" I looked up and discovered I was no longer in my dorm room but in a locker room. I was sprawled on the hard tile floor, and a massively pumped weightlifter was looming over me. "I didn't even see you come in," he said, extending a hand, which I gratefully accepted. He practically dislocated my arm as he yanked me to my feet. I thanked him and he patted me on the back with his beefy palm, knocking the wind out of me again. As he walked out, I could hear the heavy clanging of weights in the next room. I stared in the mirror and saw the same old me with a new background. The turquoise walls perfectly matched the photo. I looked back at the camera, still clutched in my palm, and wondered what other astonishing alterations it could make. "CLOTHING" was the next option. The first click-wheel offered general categories ("SHIRT", "PANTS", etc.), which opened into sub-categories once you clicked them. When I chose "SHIRT", the display correctly identified that I was wearing a "T-SHIRT" in the photo. I then scrolled through the menu as my purple tee morphed onscreen into everything from an "ANGORA SWEATER" to a "ZEBRA-SKIN VEST". On the more revealing selections, the camera accurately recreated parts of my body, like my bony shoulders and my sunken chest, which you couldn't even see in the original photo. This whole experience was simultaneously creeping me out and making me hard. When I selected "TANK TOP", it allowed me to choose from a huge array of colors, patterns, and logos. A Gold's Gym shirt seemed the most incongruous on my weakling's body, so I went the ironic route and hit "ACCEPT". I braced myself for the Jell-O feeling again, but it didn't strangulate my whole body this time, just my torso. My chest and arms felt shrink-wrapped as my purple shirt shifted through the color spectrum through blue and green before stopping at yellow, and the arm and neck holes grew wider and wider until an authentic Gold's Gym tank was draped limply over my gaunt frame. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I searched frantically for what other unexpected gifts might be waiting inside the camera. "BODY TYPE" seemed too good to be true. As before, the dial had automatically set the baseline to correspond to my current state: in this case, "ECTOMORPH". One click to the left landed me on "ENDOMORPH" and I watched on the screen as my body ballooned to a level of obesity that looked comically implausible and dangerous for my health. I spun the dial in the other direction, which showed how I would look as a "MESOMORPH". I'll be honest, I nearly came in my pants when I saw my head on the body of a well-built jock, with solid pecs that seemed ready to burst the straps of my tank top and bulging shoulders and biceps that looked ready to burst through my skin. I could have happily chosen "ACCEPT" immediately, but was curious what other options were available. "BEAST" amped the muscle enlargement further to that of a competition weightlifter, while "BEHEMOTH" pushed the limits of plausibility past the biggest steroid abuser alive into the realm of comic-book superheroes. I knew I would be more than satisfied as a simple toned mesomorph, but I bumped myself just slightly into don't-fuckin'-fuck-with-me "BEAST" mode. My thumb pressed "ACCEPT" and I waited for the constricting feeling again, but this change went the opposite direction, as if my body was exploding from the inside. The cells under my skin were churning, multiplying, creating lumps of muscle on my weak arms and narrow chest, veins surging and surfacing with each heartbeat, inflating me into a slab of prime beef. My bones were aching, stretching, thickening, turning my fragile limbs into sturdy weapons. By the time the evolution stopped, I was closing in on six feet and over two hundred pounds. Adding some final touches, I swapped out my ripped Levi's for shiny workout pants and chose a simple baseball cap from the "HEADWEAR" menu. I couldn't resist turning it backwards. Since I already looked like such a bro now, I might as well commit all the fuckin' way. When in Bro-land, do as the Bro-men do. Satisfied with my makeover, I hit "SAVE" and slid the camera into the pocket of my shorts. I stepped out of the locker room and discovered I was in the weight facility used by the college's varsity athletes. I couldn't imagine a more alien environment, but as I checked my reflection against the other jocks around me, I now fit in perfectly. I walked straight toward the free weights to see just how much this body could do. I grabbed two sixty-pound dumbbells off the rack, lifting them as if they were nothing. The massive guy who had found me on the locker-room floor walked over to give me friendly tips on my form, giving no indication that he recognized me as the "little dude" from our earlier meeting. I wondered how long he had worked to become so ripped. I bet it was longer than the ten minutes it had taken me. I couldn't believe how cool it felt to be accepted by my fellow lifters, guys who would have looked at me with pity an hour ago. They didn't seem to get my geeky jokes, but I found that was easily fixed. I just opened up the camera, selected "IQ" and slid the dial down about twenty points. I immediately felt a whole lot more relaxed and shit. I figure when exam time comes, I'll just take another selfie and boost the old IQ back up again. Sure hope I remember to do that. I also couldn't stop staring at the other guys' rock-solid arms and wide backs and firm asses. I hoped no one noticed that I was getting a major chubby that was tenting my workout pants. I clicked open the camera to see what options it offered for "ORIENTATION" and discovered that the dial had already set itself to indicate that I was "BISEXUAL". Well, shit. Maybe those chicks back in high school were half-right after all. I'm always the last to know anything. Returning to my dorm room, I stripped off my shirt and admired my bitchin' new body in the mirror, exploring the crevices of my six pack with my fingertips. I was sure of at least one thing: my lame-ass roomie wouldn't be calling me "Baby" any more. Not unless he wanted to get his ass kicked. Or unless I wanted him to suck my dick. I decided to text the photo to Dad, who would undoubtedly be curious to see what his gizmo had accomplished. I messaged him: "Played around with the camera tonight. Thought you'd be impressed with how quickly I've adjusted. I think you're gonna sell a lot of these cameras. Thanx, Dad!!!" I followed up with an afterthought: "Please send money for new clothes. xo" After I texted my dad the photo showing how much his camera had changed me, I zonked out pretty fast. Growing six inches and eighty pounds in one night will do that to a guy. Not sure whether it was the sound or the smell of the fart that woke me up, but the combination of the two was lethal. I rubbed my eyes and held my breath as I heard the low chuckling of my dumbshit roommate Cole. The fucker was plastered, and his idea of subtle humor was to wake up his roommate at 3am and fart in his face. "Hey, baby, can I borrow a diaper from you?", he said in a demented whisper, hardly able to contain his laughter. Even his dimwit buddies hanging in the doorway were telling him he was being immature and should leave me alone. I just reached up and gripped his wrist, then twisted his arm around his back, amazed by my strength. He sure wasn't expecting that from his wimpy roommate. "Ow, ow ow!," he yelped. He whispered to his pals by the door, "Fuck, I'm in the wrong room!" His loyal friends freaked out and ran away. "No, you're in the right place," I whispered. "You just fucked with the wrong guy." I climbed out of bed while maintaining hold of his arm. I flipped on the light over my bed and could see clearly on his face just how much pain he was in, so I let go. His arm fell slack at his side. He rubbed his shoulder and turned around. I got a real kick out of watching his eyes as they caught their first glimpse of my broad chest and my giant arms, then moved up and up until he saw me grinning down at him. I now had a good couple inches on him and, except for the part covered by my exercise pants, all of my new muscle was on prominent display. He stared stupefied at my face, which basically hadn't changed but looked a shitload more bad-ass on this body. If he hadn't been so drunk, his brain probably would have exploded at seeing the stud his "baby" roommate had become. Instead, he was just really, really confused. He poked his index finger into my firm pecs, like he was trying to make sure they were real. "Didn't you used to be a little pussy?", he asked. "Yeah, but the campus food plan is awesome. Lotsa protein," I said, continuing to mess with him. "This is only after one week. By next week, I won't fit through the door." Cole stood dazed in the middle of the room, his eyes glazed over like he had passed out standing up. Just like he had been doing to me, I touched his chest with a finger. He toppled right over and was snoring on the floor within a minute. I couldn't leave the idiot just lying there, so I lifted him up and carried him to his bed. He felt surprisingly light in my bulging arms. I scooted a trash can next to his bed, just in case he needed to hurl during the night. On my way back to bed, I noticed I had gotten some texts while I was asleep. Dad had written back after seeing the photo of my new body: "WHOA, buddy. I guess the camera DID work. You might want to scale it back and take things more gradually. Massive changes like that can be hard to adjust to." That was followed by: "Oh, and you won't need to buy new clothes. Just use the camera to adjust your old ones into whatever you like. Have fun, son, but don't go overboard. Call me if you need advice." Despite what Dad thought, I felt like I was handling the changes pretty well, especially since he gave me the thing with no instructions. He always liked to do that, bring home some project from work and ask his geeky little kid if he could figure out what it did. It was a fun father-son bonding type of thing. I'm pretty slick with computers and shit, so it was never much of a challenge, but he'd never given me anything nearly as amazing as this before. I carried the camera back to bed and stared at the picture of the new me. I didn't even realize at first that I was stroking my cock, queering off to my own picture. When I looked at my dick, it seemed really small in the grip of my new sinewy hand. Seemed like I ought to be able to do something to change that. I aimed the lens at my semi-hard cock and focused. I'd never taken a dick pic in my life. No one ever wanted to see my dick in the flesh, so who would want a picture of it? I clicked and the rear screen displayed my little friend. I brought up the menu and had to scroll pretty deep through the options before I reached the controls for "GENITALS". The options were "MALE", "FEMALE", "BOTH", "NEITHER" and "NON-HUMAN". Guess those scientists at Dad's company didn't want to leave out any potential customers. I stuck with "MALE" and discovered the options for "LENGTH - SOFT" and "LENGTH - HARD". I only bumped up the soft length a little, figuring I didn't want fitting my dick into a pair of underwear to become more of a challenge than solving a Rubik's Cube. I can solve a Rubik's Cube in under a minute, by the way. Not bragging, just the truth -- although these big new hands and this lowered intelligence might slow down my speed a little. Then again, considering how long I was making my "LENGTH - HARD", I didn't figure I'd be having too many more Saturday nights sitting alone with nothing to do but fondle my Rubik's Cube. I clicked "ACCEPT", then "SAVE", and flipped off the light. I was amazed how far my hand had to travel up and down the shaft of my cock as it grew to its new full length, and my fingertips didn't even meet my thumb on the other side when I gripped the fucker. Once I finally fired, I coated my chest and abs with more cum than I thought I had in me. Guess everything about me was bigger now. * * * In the morning, I woke up full of energy for the first time in my goddamn life. I actually felt like going for a run. On purpose. Not even because it would be good for my body, because obviously I could adjust this body however I wanted without a lick of exercise. No, I just wanted to go for a run because I thought it would be fun. I pulled on my clothes from the night before, then snapped a selfie in the full length mirror on the back of our door. I musta spent half an hour going through the menus to decide what shirt and shorts and sneakers I wanted the camera to give me. I knew I could get sucked into a video game so deep that ten hours would pass and I wouldn't even get up to take a leak, but I never thought I could be just as addicted to picking out clothes. Once I chose a white tank top and some red running shorts that looked snug around my package, I checked myself out in the mirror and decided I would look even hotter with curly blond hair. So there went another ten minutes, as I figured out the exact shade and length I wanted. I settled on a nice rich honey color and adjusted my cap so it would fit (backwards, naturally) over my new halo of curls. I looked righteous. I clicked "SAVE" and the changes were locked in. Cole snorted loudly, still lying on top of his rumpled bedspread, tongue hanging flaccid from his mouth and basically looking like shit. One hand was lazily scratching his belly underneath his beer-stained sleeveless tee and the other was stuffed down his cargo shorts. A naughty thought passed through my head. I snapped a quick photo of him, then tucked the camera in a pocket of my shorts and headed out for a nice long run. The campus was beautiful that morning, with just a taste of fall chill sneaking into the morning sunshine. I'd never noticed how many people exercised in the morning, maybe because I was usually still in bed at this time. When I looked down, my arms and legs were swinging so fast and powerfully that my shadow was basically just a dark smudge speeding across the sidewalk. As my big feet pounded the pavement in my new Air Jordans, I smiled at all the chicks and guys who were running or walking or riding bikes or doing yoga, and nearly everybody smiled back. And why wouldn't they? They weren't looking at geeky Ryan Bradford any more, with his pencil-thin arms and legs. They were checking out Ryan Bradford, campus stud, whose muscles barely fit in normal clothing. I didn't even feel like the same person any more. A dude like me oughta have a nickname. What would my drinking buddies call me, if I had drinking buddies? Or any buddies? How about Ry? "Hey, I'm Ry," I muttered to myself as I ran. I liked the sound of it. "Yo, this is Ry." I chuckled my deep new chuckle. It was a thrill to see how many girls were staring at me, but the looks I was getting from guys were kinda freaking me out. Before last night, I found it hard to believe that any girl would be charitable enough to go to bed with me, but I never even considered that a guy might want to do it. I just wrote off all my fantasies about big hunky jocks as envy, not lust. Now, I felt like I could walk into any room on campus and seduce anyone in it. Male, female, both, neither or non-human. (Just kidding about the non-human thing. Gross.) By the time I reached the lakeside pier, I must have run ten miles but I still wasn't breathing hard. My shirt was soaked with sweat, so I pulled it off, the sunlight glistening on my wet torso. I stretched out my legs on a bench. They seemed to go on forever, like they were longer than my whole body used to be. The lake and the trees looked so scenic, I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture. I checked the editing options, but wasn't given anything unusual. Guess Dad's company hadn't figured out how to make the camera turn a sunrise into a sunset, or a tree into a polar bear. Yet. I deleted the scenic photo, and the last photo I had taken showed up onscreen: Cole, sprawled in bed. I amused myself thinking about what modifications I would make to the jerk if I could. What was I thinking "if"? I could! Too bad the options wouldn't let me change him from a prick into a decent guy. I could turn him into a GQ model and he'd still think it was hilarious to fart in my face. Then again, if I changed his body enough, maybe it'd change his behavior too. I was definitely acting differently as Ry than I had as Ryan. Maybe Cole could stand to be a little less like Ry and a little more like Ryan. I brought up the "BODY TYPE" menu, where Cole was a obviously categorized as a "MESOMORPH". I nudged the wheel toward "ECTOMORPH" and watched his muscles wither away until he was practically skeletal, even worse than I had been. Not sure even Cole deserved that big a punishment. I slid the wheel back toward "MESOMORPH" and got so aroused as his muscles grew back that my boner started to strain my shorts. My finger wavered on the dial until I hit a sweet spot where he was just muscly enough to turn me on but still puny enough to have an inferiority complex. His clothes now looked baggy on him, and he looked a couple inches shorter. I clicked "ACCEPT" and chuckled, wondering what must be going through Cole's mind at that moment as the changes took place. "What's so funny?" It was a chick's voice. I looked around and saw a girl on the bench across the pier, looking right at me. She was just the kind of girl who always wanted to be my friend in high school. They weren't total space cadets, because they appreciated my less obvious qualities enough to hang out with me, but they were definitely more interested in the football team than the chess club. This one had her red hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore glasses that screamed "I listen to NPR", but her legs were tanned and toned enough that you knew she hadn't spent the entire summer in her attic writing poetry. She was trying not to look like it, but I could tell she was scoping me out. "Oh, just a picture of my roommate," I said, still surprised every time I heard my new voice. I knew I had knocked down my IQ last night, but I sounded dumber than I felt. "Dumbass passed out drunk last night, so I..." I realized I shouldn't explain any more. "Just did something funny to him is all." "Ah," she said, smiling mildly and going back to her reading, not interested in hearing some sophomoric "dude" story. I hated that I was still so terrible at conversation, no matter how I looked. I noticed that she was reading a book I had also read over the summer. I could've struck up a conversation about that, but I suddenly realized I couldn't remember what the book was about any more. I didn't want to look too vain in front of her, so I decided to wait until I got back to my room to take another selfie and bump my IQ back up. I stood up slowly, making sure the chick could get a real eyeful of my body as I stretched. I had no idea if I was stretching right, and based on the way she was smirking, I probably wasn't. I walked over and extended my sweaty hand. "Name's Ry. Hope to see you around." She declined the handshake, smiled back mildly and said, "Kay," which I assumed was her name but could've been her just saying "'kay" to get rid of me. Still, I'd made first contact. I jogged back to the dorm, feeling even more energized than before. I felt incredibly horned up from changing Cole's picture and talking to Kay and just the general friction of my shorts against my hard-on. I was ready to take a good long shower and a have a good long wank session when I got back, but when I got to the room, Cole was curled up in his bed, looking ready to shit his pants. His thin but still muscly arms were wrapped around his thin but still muscly legs, and his face had gotten skinnier too. He looked more like a sophomore in high school than a sophomore in college. With a shaky voice that sounded like it had barely escaped puberty, he said, "I think I caught the same thing that you did, only backwards. Look how little I am!" I played dumb, even dumber than I was feeling. "Holy shit!" I sat down on the bed beside him and furrowed my brow. "I wonder what's causing this." "I never heard of nothing like this. I tried looking it up on the Internet, but I didn't even know where to start looking. Maybe it's God's revenge for me having so much sex." I looked down at my body. "So is this my reward for never having any?" Cole actually laughed, and not in a mean way. I didn't know he could do anything that wasn't in a mean way. He looked so scared and vulnerable. "I wanna go see a doctor." "I'm sure there's no need for that," I said reassuringly. "I bet you'll be back to normal by tomorrow." He looked back at me, doubtful. "My buddy Trent dropped by, but all he did was laugh at how I looked and my squeaky-ass voice. You'll help me, won't you?" His big eyes were pleading. "Sure thing, Cole." He leaned over and wrapped his lithe arms around me. When I hugged back, I could feel my erection lengthening. If Cole held me any closer, he was sure to feel it too. "There, there," I said, trying to pull away from him, but he was clinging to me desperately, making my cock grow even longer. As I squirmed to avoid intimate contact, I noticed the camera sliding out of my pocket and landing on the bedspread, with the adjusted photo of Cole still lit up on the screen. If he saw that, I'd be fucked, and not in the good way. I snatched up the camera and held it behind his back. I rested my chin on his shoulder and patted his back. I could feel his teardrops mixing with the sweat from my run. Let me say up front that I'm not proud of what I did next. I could blame it on the massive changes my body had gone through, which Dad had said took time to get used to. I could blame it on not having as much brain power as usual. I could blame it on having more testosterone in my system than Lance Armstrong on a bender, reliving old times. I could blame it on feeling Cole's tight little body pressed so close against me. But the truth was, I just desperately needed to get off. So I looked at the photo of Cole and quickly found the menu for "ORIENTATION". Cole's initial setting was, not surprisingly, rock-solid "HETEROSEXUAL" Since my giant cock needed a blow job right fuckin' now, he had to be into it one-hundred percent, so I swung him all the way to "HOMOSEXUAL". I wasn't dicking around. I clicked "ACCEPT", promising to myself that I would switch him back to "HETERO" as soon as I was done. The change in Cole's behavior was subtle, definitely not as dramatic as if I had made the switch right in the middle of him farting in my face last night. He was already hugging me, but feeling Cole's soft lips kissing my neck was strange. Fantastic, but something I could never have imagined would happen in a million years. He leaned back, his eyes looking a bit mystified, as if they weren't yet as fully with the program as the rest of his body. Then he pushed me back on the bed and climbed out of his oversized shirt, revealing that he still had decent muscle tone and the hints of a six-pack. Instead of the burly bruiser he had been this morning, he now looked like a scrappy high-school wrestler, and he was looking down at me with pure lust. He yanked down on my shorts and we were both amazed to watch my cock rise to a rigid ninety-degree angle. I didn't have a ruler handy, but we were probably looking at ten inches. I had set my max for twelve, so amazingly I still had some room to grow. Cole looked at it hungrily and bent down, burying his head in my pubic hair, which must have been pretty rank after my long run. "Mmm," he moaned. "Oh, yeah, baby." For the first time, I didn't mind him calling me "baby". Cole licked his way up my shaft before working the head and as much of the shaft as possible between his lips. Maybe the camera had implanted some techniques, but he sure seemed to know what he was doing down there. He stuck one hand into his loose cargos and started to stroke himself. He worked my balls and shaft with his other palm while tending to my head orally. I grabbed the foot of his bed with my hands and braced my feet against the headboard as his attack became more intense. I was getting so big down there that I worried he couldn't handle it, but between his teeth, his lips and his tongue, he kept working me into a frenzy. I tried to keep my moaning down, but the guys in the rooms next to us must have heard the banging of the bed. They'd probably assume it was just Cole and some chick. A chick with a really deep moan. My arms and legs tightened as I braced myself for an orgasm that could be measured on the Richter Scale. Jizz blasted into Cole's mouth and down his throat until the little guy had to pull away or else he would choke to death. He leaned against his headboard as my cock continued to blast his face and chest with hot cream. The pumping gradually slowed until my limp-ish cock flopped onto my abs and we both sagged lifelessly on the bed. Cole looked shell-shocked. "Sorry, man. Something just came over me." "Yeah, that was me." I smiled, looking at the glistening puddles on his skin. He laughed, pushing me playfully with his bare foot, then wriggled out of his shorts, giving me a good look at his erect cock. It was damn impressive, especially on his compact new body. Proportionately, it was probably bigger than mine. He seemed perfectly happy stroking it himself, but I figured I owed the guy now, so I crawled my way toward him. I knew basically what I was supposed to do, although I'm sure my technique was amateurish even for a first-timer. Fortunately, Cole was gentle and helpful. He ran his hands through my curly hair and told me how hot it looked. Then he guided my head onto his cock and talked me through what he wanted each step of the way. He gushed sooner than I expected, sending most of his cum onto my chin and chest, but he looked very satisfied. As I lay down with my head beside his, I felt something hard beneath me and heard the faint click of the camera. Cole curled up next to me and traced his finger along the contours of my muscles and into my belly button. "That was so 'not me', man. But I dunno, for some reason, it felt so right. Did you like it? Were you satisfied?" "Yeah, Cole, I had a great time." It was downright cute how vulnerable and considerate Cole had become. "I know people 'experiment' with sex in college, but I never thought I would," he said. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's just temporary. Maybe it'll blow over by tomorrow." "I'm sure that's it," I told him. With any luck, when I made him straight again, he'd retain some of this kinder attitude and wouldn't be such a giant ass any more. "So," he said in a sing-song voice, grinning at me, "you wanna fuck my ass?" He seemed very eager, but my conscience was weighing on me already for turning him temporarily gay. I didn't want to take any more advantage of him than I already had. It was almost like I'd slipped him a technological roofie. I told Cole I was going to take a shower. Between the cum and the sweat, I had never reeked so badly in my life. My running clothes stank nearly as bad. Once I was cleaned up, I knew I would have to conjure up some fresh clothes with the camera. I stood up, carefully palming the camera in my hand so Cole wouldn't see it, then slipping it into my underwear drawer. I took a long hot shower, kneading the shampoo into my plentiful curls and realizing I had no idea how to care for a hairdo like this. Then again, maybe once I altered the photo, my hair would just stay like that until I took another photo and changed it again. Sure would've helped if Dad had given me some helpful hints. I wasn't just tinkering with some ordinary product from his company like a virtual-reality system or a 3D printer. Well, actually, in a weird way, this was sort of the ultimate 3D printer. And I definitely felt like I was in a different reality. With a towel wrapped around my waist, and envious glances directed my way from my neighbors, I strutted back down the hall to my room. When I got there, Cole was gone. I hadn't seen him in the shower room or the bathroom. His oversized clothes were still lying on the bed and the floor where they had landed during our fuck session. Hard to imagine he was running around naked. As I looked in my own closet for something that even approximately fit me, I noticed that a few items were missing. Nothing special, just a small black tee, some skinny black jeans and purple high-tops, but they all would have easily fit Cole at his new size. Still in my towel, I ran back into the hall and looked for him. I asked around whether anyone had seen Cole. Nobody had. Nobody seemed to have any clue who I was either. I ran back into our room and looked out the window, to see whether Cole was wandering around outside the dorm, but I couldn't spot him. Fortunately, we had exchanged phone numbers on the first day, before I realized what a tool he was, so I grabbed my cell phone and called him. After the first ring, I noticed Cole's cargos inching slightly across the floor. Another ring, they moved again. I reached down and pulled his phone from the pocket of his discarded shorts. I figured I'd better undo the camera's effects before he got into a situation he didn't expect. I opened my underwear drawer and was relieved to still find the camera there. If he had discovered it and taken it with him, who knows what could have happened? I sat down on my bed naked and opened the revised photo of Cole. The word "SAVED" appeared at the bottom. I hadn't remembered saving the image...unless that was the click when I accidentally sat on the camera. I tried to re-open the photo and make further adjustments, but none of the menus would open. Come to think of it, I had never gone back to make additional changes after hitting "SAVE". Finally, a new message came on the display: "TAKE NEW PHOTO TO MAKE MORE CHANGES". Shit. So I would have to take another picture of Cole before I could change him back? That meant his horny little gay ass was wandering around out there, and it was all my fault. I tried to fit into some of my old clothes, but everything was far too tight. So, since Cole had borrowed some of my stuff, I figured I could wear some of his. God, he had terrible taste, though. The nicest shirts he had were either football jerseys or camouflage jackets. It took me a minute to remember that it really didn't matter what the clothes looked like to begin with. I could just change them to whatever I wanted. With that, I pulled on a sweatshirt, orange hunting pants, and muddy cowboy boots and took a picture of myself reflected in the mirror. I didn't have time to dawdle getting my wardrobe perfect, so I quickly converted my outfit into a short-sleeved blue button-down, gray wool trousers and black penny loafers. Instead of drying my long curly hair, I just shrank it into a blond buzz cut. And I had the presence of mind to bump my IQ back up. While I was at it, I even gave myself an extra twenty points. I was going to need all the brain power I could get my hands on. I clicked "SAVE". Now, I asked myself, where would Cole go if he were gay? I had no inkling where to start my search for my roommate Cole, having selfishly turned him from an abusive nincompoop into a frisky cocksucker just to satisfy my own sexual needs. Despite having boosted my intelligence substantially with the astonishing camera which my father had given me, I had little clue where my transformed roommate might have gone. Cole's cell phone, which I had retrieved from the pocket of the cargo shorts he left behind, began to vibrate. The screen displayed the name "SHILOH" with an accompanying photo of one of Cole's posse extending his middle finger. Those gentlemen were all class. I answered the call, stating, "Cole's phone." The person at the other end laughed. "Uh, yeah, hi, Cole's phone. Is Cole there?" "No. You're Shiloh, I take it?" "Yeah, this is Shy. Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck do you have Cole's phone?" With irritation, I replied, "I the fuck am...a friend of Cole's, and I the fuck have Cole's telephone because he left it behind." "Where'd he go? Trent said Cole looked mad sick and would probably be in bed all day. I was just checking to see if he's okay." "He's far from okay. Do you have any ideas about where he might have gone?" "Shit, I dunno. Let me call the other guys and see if any of them have heard from him. I'll give you a call back." "Thank you. I'll await your call." I hung up, wondering why I sounded so uptight. Was it because I had raised my IQ that that I was talking like I had a stick lodged up my rectum? "Rectum"? What was with my vocabulary suddenly? For the first time in my life I looked cool and sexy, yet I sounded like an insufferable pedant. It was time for another readjustment. I raised the miraculous camera to take another photo of myself in the full-length mirror. I was becoming ever more proficient at operating the variety of menus and submenus, which I used to nudge my IQ back down to its usual level. Fortunately, my standard level of intelligence was still well above average, just not obnoxiously so. I somewhat reluctantly bade farewell to my heightened intellect with a simple tap of my finger... ...and a rush of relief spread through my body. Being smarter had literally made my brain ache. It felt unnatural. I was glad to feel normal again. Well, at least as normal as I could in my new studly body. I took a seat, drumming my fingertips on my desktop and waiting for Shiloh to call back. I studied the camera, wondering how it operated. It looked like an ordinary digital camera, but its power to edit not just the photograph but the person in the photograph was phenomenal. It could definitely be misused in the wrong hands, and I wondered if "the wrong hands" included my own, seeing what I had done to Cole. Maybe that was why Dad had given me the camera without any instructions. Maybe he wanted to see what errors in judgment might be made even by someone who he trusted. If I couldn't handle the responsibility of using the camera, imagine the havoc that would be caused by someone with less impulse control, like Cole. The phone rang, displaying Shiloh's name again. I picked it up. "Shiloh. Any luck?" It was a relief to let words just fall from my lips again without my brain obsessing over proper sentence structure. "None of the guys have heard from him since Trent dropped by this morning. But I wouldn't worry too much about it. I'm sure he's fine." "I'm not so sure about that." "Why not? I mean, who are you anyway?" "I'm...just a worried friend. Just like you. Can you help me search for him?" "Sure, I guess, if you're that concerned." "Where should we meet?" Shiloh thought for a second. "How 'bout the pier? He might be there, doggin' on chicks." Given how he was behaving before he left, I doubted that Cole would be "doggin' on chicks", but it was as good a place as any to start. We described what we were wearing so we would recognize each other at the pier. Shiloh said he was wearing a white "wife-beater", blue jeans and a purple baseball cap. Turned backwards, undoubtedly. It was like Cole and his buddies had been issued a bro uniform when they enrolled. I hurried to the pier as fast as I could, although it had been much easier running there in athletic shoes that morning than in the penny loafers I was wearing now. It was late afternoon and the place was crawling with minimally-dressed students, soaking in what might be the last warm day before autumn took hold. I felt way overdressed and considered sneaking off somewhere to zap myself into something more comfortable, but the truth was I thought I looked damn good. Just because I now had massive guns didn't mean I had to be flashing them constantly. I saw plenty of guys in white tanks and jeans hanging around, but only one in a purple cap...backwards, as expected. I dimly recognized Shiloh as one of Cole's crew, but he was clearly the runt of the litter. Although he was obviously trying to fit in with his fellow dudes, his efforts were almost too blatant -- not unlike the ways I had tried to make my weedy little body look cooler with tattoos and jewelry. It was hardly surprising that I had almost totally overlooked Shiloh, compared to Cole and his bulkier, hulkier comrades. Shiloh was short and skinny with pale skin, sloping shoulders and wispy chest hair poking out above his tank top. He had a pugnacious but fairly average face, with caterpillar eyebrows, dark eyes, a broad nose, thin lips and a rounded chin covered with scruff. I walked over with a friendly smile and said, "Shiloh, right?" "Uh, yeah. The guys call me Shy," he said, sizing me up. Clearly my bulky body was not what he pictured from our phone conversation. "I'm...uh, my friends call me Ry." Yes, all of my vast circle of non-existent friends. I extended my hand and shook his, realizing too late how hard I was squeezing his thin fingers. "You spotted Cole yet?" "Nah, I just got here," he said. "Trent said Cole looked really skinny this morning." "That's right. He might look shorter than usual too." Shiloh stared at me skeptically. "What the fuck? How does a guy get shorter overnight?" I just shrugged, playing dumb. As we prowled the pier, I hung a few steps behind Shiloh and couldn't help but fixate on how tightly his jeans fit, with no wallet in his back pockets to interrupt the smooth curve of his butt. I wondered if Dad had known that his camera would make me so sex-obsessed. Was that part of what the beta test was designed to explore? It was starting to feel more like an alpha test. My attention shifted from Shiloh's ass to a familiar pair of tan legs on a familiar bench. Kay, the girl from that morning, was lying on the same bench, only barefoot now, still reading the new Malcolm Gladwell with his latest theories on how everything works. Shit, I could finally remember the book and what it was about! She and I could have had a genuine conversation about it, if only I weren't in the middle of searching for Cole. "Hey, it's Kay, right?", I said, looming over her. She peered up, shielding her eyes and slightly confused. "I'm Ry. We talked this morning." It wasn't much of a conversation, but we HAD talked. "Oh, right," she said as the light of recognition went on. "I see you're wearing clothes now. You got a haircut too!" "That's right. I did." I brushed my palm across the bristles of my buzz cut. "You like it?" "I kinda liked the curls," she said with an inscrutable smirk. I felt like I had disappointed her. "I can always grow them back." I had zeroed in on Kay so much, I'd almost forgotten Shiloh was beside me, but Shiloh seemed used to being overlooked. "Oh, this is Shiloh. We're looking for a friend of ours we thought might have come to the pier. Since you've been here all day, maybe you noticed him. About yea tall," I said, raising my hand up to my chin level. "Dark wavy hair. Black t-shirt. Black jeans. Purple sneakers." Kay shook her head. "Sorry, I've been reading. You're probably the only person I noticed all day. Your friend sounds cute, though. Hope you find him." She raised her eyebrows and smiled. I grinned back and thanked her. I could swear she was flirting, but then everyone I saw today seemed to be turning me on. I might have to go into the camera settings and pick either totally straight or totally gay, just so my libido could ignore half of the world. As Shiloh and I walked away, I realized I didn't know exactly what to talk about with one of Cole's buddies. Wasn't their conversation mostly about sports and chicks? "That chick was pretty cute, don't you think?", I offered. Shiloh didn't seem all that impressed. "I suppose. If you're into that type." We swung by the campus clinic to see if Cole had come by to get checked out, but the receptionist didn't remember anyone of his description. We didn't find Cole in any of his other usual hangouts either, and it seemed increasingly unlikely that we would simply run into him by wandering the sprawling campus randomly. My big-ass body was starving, so we stopped in a Mexican restaurant and strategized. As I watched Shiloh stuffing a burrito into his mouth, for some reason it reminded me of Cole giving me a blowjob this morning. I realized I had to level with Shiloh about how much his buddy had changed. "I think you should know. What happened to Cole, I don't think it just changed him physically." "What do you mean?", Shiloh asked, chomping down another bite. "I think he's behaving differently too. Last time I saw him, he was acting...pretty damn gay." Shiloh burst into a laugh that sprayed rice and beans into my face. He looked embarrassed, reaching over with a napkin to wipe me clean. "Sorry about that. I just find it hard to believe that Cole would be gay." "Maybe he's been in denial." Or maybe a magical camera turned him gay. Nah, too crazy. "Is there, like, a gay part of town where he might have gone?" "Over on Sixteenth Street. Some people call it Sixty-Nine Street." He added, "So I hear." "Maybe we should head over there and look around." Shiloh looked dubious. "You and me walking Sixty-Nine? People will think we're a couple." Would that be so terrible, even if he was a bit puny for my tastes? Funny how I'd suddenly developed standards and thought I could afford to be choosy. "Cole might not come with me," I said, "but he might listen to you. You're his friend." "Aren't you his friend too?" Let's see. Cole had abused me from the moment we became roommates. Then this morning I turned him into a little gay boy without his permission. "I'd say we're more like acquaintances." Shiloh was skeptical of my theory but agreed to continue the search. Judging from the rainbow flags and other obvious signs, it appeared that the core of 69 Street was barely a block long. Shiloh seemed nervous to be around the neighborhood, but I was enjoying the sensation of guys ogling me with no hesitation. I unbuttoned a couple extra buttons on my shirt to display my pumped pecs. Despite the aura of cool I was hoping to project, I was pretty embarrassed when we went into one sex-toy shop, and Cole was blushing so hard, his skin almost matched the purple of his cap. The place still had those coin-operated porno viewing booths that I had heard about -- I guess for the last remaining pervs on earth without internet access. I wasn't about to knock on the doors to find out if Cole was using one of them. On the off chance that he was, I decided I wouldn't be asking for my purple sneakers back. Not seeing Cole prowling the aisles, we got out of there fast. As we stepped outside, Shiloh literally collided with a pedestrian, sending them both reeling in opposite directions across the sidewalk. "Watch your step, honey," the pedestrian said with annoyance. I instantly recognized the voice from this morning. Shiloh stared with fascination at the other guy. "Cole? Is that really you?" Shiloh's confusion was justifiable. With its turned-up nose and pillowy lips, Cole's face had already been changed by the transformation, but Cole had been a busy boy refining his look since then. He was still wearing my purple shoes but at some point he had ditched my black tee and jeans and was now wearing a white fishnet tee that exposed his abs and low-slung lime-green shorts. He had obviously spent some time in a salon too, as his nails were now black and his hair sported a magenta streak that matched his eye shadow. I may have turned Cole gay, but I took no responsibility for his fashion sense. Cole rushed over and hugged Shiloh. "Shy, baby! I'm so happy to see you!" Shiloh patted Cole's back, his eyes registering amazement, while Cole showed now hesitation as he groped Shiloh's cute butt. When they parted, Cole's attention shifted to me. His eyes roved my body and a smirk crossed his lips. "Oooh, and I remember you, big boy." He slinked over to me and pressed his lips on mine. I couldn't resist kissing back, and the intensity of Cole's passion was possibly even greater than it had been earlier in the day. Our public display of affection was so public that I could hear guys on the street whistling or clapping or yelling "Get a room." When we parted, I noticed Shiloh's dumbstruck stare. I looked back, doing my best non-verbal "I told you so." "What are you boys doing in this neighborhood?", Cole asked. "We came to take you home," Shiloh said. "Why would I go home? I'm having a blast, honey. I've never felt so happy." "But this isn't you!", Shiloh insisted. "I know. It's better, baby. You should try it sometime." Cole winked at me before his eyes drifted to a large hairy biker dude in leather pants walking past. Cole's head pivoted to keep an eye on the big guy and, as he set off in pursuit, he called back, "See you later, boys." Shiloh watched as Cole chased after the brutish guy and struck up a conversation. Shiloh turned to me and said, "I think you better tell me what's really going on here...baby." I froze, knowing that I'd been found out. "You are Cole's little roommate Ryan, right, Ry? The one he teased so much and called 'Baby'?" I nodded. Shiloh studied me. "Unbelievable. You look...totally different. So whatever changed Cole is probably the same thing that changed you, right? What is it you're not telling me?" I was pretty sure I was going to need Shiloh on my side to wrangle Cole if I had any chance of converting him back, so I pulled Shiloh in between two buildings where we wouldn't be overheard. "What I'm gonna tell you will sound nuts, but it's true. Can I trust you to keep a secret?" Shiloh nodded. As I looked in his eyes, he seemed to have an inherent honesty and integrity, which made me wonder again why he ever hung out with Cole and his buds. Still, I felt I could trust him. Without divulging any more details than were absolutely necessary, I showed him the camera and described how it could be used to essentially Photoshop someone so that their body changed in real life. "How does it work?", he asked. "I have no fucking clue," I said with complete honesty. I figured a demonstration would be the best proof I could offer, so I pulled up the last photo I had taken of myself and showed him the various menus. Since I had never saved the photo, it was still editable, so I decided to alter my clothing, looking around to make sure no one was watching. I quickly chose a wardrobe that might be more appropriate for this neighborhood. Shiloh watched in amazement as, one by one, I "tried on" new clothes on the camera screen which then appeared on my actual body with a simple click of the "ACCEPT" button. Within a minute, I went from my conservative outfit to an orange sleeveless tee, a pair of ripped-knee jeans and rhinestone-studded All-Stars. While I was at it, I decided to give myself a new tattoo, opting for a Maori design for my chest and upper arm. I felt a concentrated barrage of needle pricks as the pattern emerged across my skin. I even selected "JEWELRY" and added seven silver hoops to the upper edge of my right ear, gritting my teeth as the pain of seven piercings was condensed simultaneously into the space of five seconds, then quickly fading away. When the transformation was complete, I extended my arms to my sides and said, "Ta-da!" Shiloh gaped in awe. "Satisfied? Now let's go get Cole and turn him back." As I turned back toward the sidewalk, I heard Shiloh behind me. "Do me." I looked back, knowing that I should resist, knowing that I didn't need this situation to get any more complicated than it already was. "Do me. Please?" I could see a familiar longing in his eyes, the same desperation to be noticed that I'd carried within me for so long. Silently apologizing to my dad, I walked back between the buildings and asked Cole to pose against the wall. I snapped a shot. I studied his photo, my mind racing at the possibilities. "So what do you want me to change?" "Anything. Everything. Just make me look cool. Like you." The idea of me being the epitome of cool was absurd, but I dove eagerly into the task of reshaping wanna-be bro Shiloh into a hottie. "This first one's gonna hurt, but you'll thank me." I slid him from "ECTOMORPH" to "MESOMORPH" to put some meat on his scrawny bones. As I hit "ACCEPT", the changes began. He seemed remarkably unperturbed by the pain I knew he must be experiencing, but he seemed utterly distracted by the awesome sight of his muscles and skeletal system growing at lightning speed. I frantically bumped up the size of his clothes before his muscles had a chance to burst through them. Since he had left the aesthetic choices to me, I tanned his pale skin and whisked away the thatch of hair on his chest. Shiloh would be a metrosexual if I had anything to do with it, and I actually had everything to do with it. Flexing his reshaped right arm while rubbing his left hand across his newly smooth pecs, Shiloh looked over at me and smiled, our eyes now at the same height. "More" was all he said. His eyes looked dark and impenetrable, so I adjusted them to a lighter shade, giving them a seductive sparkle. I knew the next thing that had to go was that stupid baseball cap, but rather than simply asking him to remove it, I chose "HEADGEAR", then "NONE". The best way to de-bro him was to take away his options. I clicked "ACCEPT" and the cap vanished from Shiloh's head, dematerializing until it revealed Shiloh's greasy mop of stringy brown hair. I decided he would look much better as a blond with highlighted streaks. "Ow, it's vibrating," Shiloh said, clutching at his hair as a month of growth was crammed into under a minute and his dark locks lightened as if he had spent all summer at the beach. My options seemed endless. I thinned his eyebrows and streamlined his nose. I pumped up his lips and gave him a more pointed, manly chin. Unlike Cole, who I had modified with revenge in mind, I realized I was reworking Shiloh with the secret goal of turning him into the hottest eye candy I could imagine. Now, as the final pieces shifted into place, the growing feeling in my heart -- and my jeans -- told me that I had succeeded. I had created my ideal man. Too bad he was straight. But, wait, how did I know he was? He acted straight, but... While Shiloh was occupied checking out his new body, pulling up his white tank to examine his new abs, I surreptitiously pulled up the "ORIENTATION" menu. Just as it had told me I was bisexual and Cole was initially straight, the camera had determined that Shiloh was most definitely "HOMOSEXUAL". How the hell could a machine figure that out, just by taking a picture, when I couldn't tell from spending time with the guy? It was one of about eight-million questions I would be asking my dad once this whole adventure was over. At the moment, I was just psyched to realize that I had a chance with this golden hottie. It'd be my cosmic bad luck if I had the power to whip up my dream man only to discover that he had no interest in me. "What do you think?" I gestured to his new body. "It's a miracle," he said, grasping at his throat when he heard the resonance his voice had gained in the transformation. "Just so you know, I didn't do anything to cause this, but the camera indicates that...you're gay?" He hesitated before nodding. "Do Cole and the other guys know?" He shook his head. "Those guys? You can imagine how they'd have reacted." "Then why did you hang out with them?" "I dunno. It was better than being alone. Maybe I hoped a little of their macho would rub off on me. Plus...I think I had a little crush on Cole." My jaw fell. "Do you still?" Shiloh smiled. "Not so much after what you did to him. I like my guys..." He looked me up and down. "...big." He smiled and walked back to the sidewalk. We entered a clothing store so Shiloh could inspect himself thoroughly in a mirror. "Oh my god," he said with a hushed voice. "That's really me?" As if still in disbelief, he raised his arm to flex his biceps and was amazed to see his reflection doing the same. He smiled into the mirror, revealing a set of perfect teeth that made me swoon. He turned to me with moist eyes, then wrapped me in his powerful arms and kissed me. Mmm, the camera had done a great job on his lips. God, I loved technology. Shiloh walked out of the store with supreme confidence, his arm wrapped around my waist. We looked up and down the street for Cole until Shiloh finally spotted him. "Cole just went into the Manhole!" "He fell down a manhole?" "No, the Manhole. The club over there. He was still with the big hairy guy." Shiloh pointed down the street. "Great. We'll wait outside until they throw him out and then grab him." "Why would they throw him out?" "Because he's not 21. In fact, right now he looks about fourteen." "The Manhole is eighteen-plus most nights. If you want to drink, you have to wear a wristband." "You sure seem to know a lot about this place," I said teasingly. Embarrassed, Shiloh said, "I thought about going there a lot last year, but I always chickened out before I got to the door." "You think you're ready now?" He grinned back, cocky as shit, and said, "The question is, is it ready for me?" As he marched down the street, I held myself back a few steps, pleased with how breathtakingly his new ass filled out his bigger jeans. I could follow that butt anywhere. When we reached the bouncer at the Manhole, I showed my ID, relieved that I hadn't changed my face much. He must have wondered how I grew so much from the height and weight listed on the driver's license, if he bothered to check that at all, but he waved me along. Shiloh, who now looked nothing like he had ten minutes ago, just said that he'd forgotten his ID. Before the bouncer could deny him entry, a firm voice emerged from inside the front door, saying, "You are NOT turning away a boy who looks that fine." The bouncer stepped aside and let Shiloh enter. The owner of that mystery voice was a slim young guy with either a very wide mohawk or a very severe sidewall. He asked for ten dollars each. "I guess that's the Manhole cover," I joked. From his expression, I was not the first person ever to make that joke. The muffled booms of bass speakers vibrated the walls as we headed to the dance floor. It was tremendously loud inside the club. Amid the swirling, colored lights were probably two hundred guys, some coupled up, others playing the field. I followed Shiloh, noticing how many guys were leering at him or copping casual feels and wondering if I had done too good a job. If I wanted to keep him for myself, I might have to go back in and ugly him up a little. Shiloh looked exhilarated and overwhelmed to be in the middle of the crowd. I no longer needed a high-tech gizmo to determine this boy's orientation. I could tell from the delighted expression on his face. I ran my palms across Shiloh's sturdy shoulder muscles and down his arms, my thumbs following the lines of his biceps veins and over his forearms. We began to move in sync with the music, and I was pleased to see him devoting his full attention to me, despite the massive attention he was getting from others. As I pressed myself against him, I could tell from the lump in his jeans that I wouldn't be needing to make any alterations down there. Our eyes met and the next move was obvious. I took his hand and led him into the men's room where we found an empty stall. We must have looked absurd, two total studs who were utterly clueless about what to do next. All I knew was I needed him and he looked like he wanted me. I unbuttoned my 501s and pulled out my foot-long cock, which Shiloh studied with amazement. He knelt down, ready to latch his lips around it, but I needed more than a blowjob this time. I spun him around and positioned his hands against the tile wall, then reached around to slide his skintight pants down his legs. Man, did he have a magnificent ass. As I gently probed my way inside, Shiloh started to moan. I rested my chin on his shoulder as my hips gyrated, pushing further into him while my left hand stroked his growing cock. Even in here, the din of the club nearly drowned out our voices, although I doubt anyone would complain if they heard what we were doing. I went faster and faster, pressing my face against his back, my nose buried between his shoulder blades as his tank became soaked with his sweat. He reached his sinewy arms behind his shoulders and pulled off the tank top. I licked his salty skin and felt euphoric as my cock spurted inside his tight ass. Shiloh pounded his mighty fist against the wall while screaming with pleasure as his cock surged in my hand. He joined in the stroking until he began to spurt onto the wall. When we had both settled down, Shiloh turned to kiss me and I got my first clear look at his sculpted chest and abs. I must say, we looked pretty damn good for a couple of wimps. Someone knocked urgently on the door of the stall. "How long you gonna be in there?" Not wanting to hold up someone in desperate need, we quickly pulled up our pants and opened the door. The guy rushed in, followed momentarily by a friend. Shiloh stuffed his tank into the back pocket of his jeans, returning to the dance floor topless. I took his hand and we resumed dancing. Somehow, amid the mob of faces and gyrating bodies, obscured by dry-ice fog and epilepsy-triggering strobes, I finally spotted Cole on the balcony, going into overtime playing tonsil-hockey with the big hairy guy. Shiloh and I squeezed through the crowd and worked our way up to the balcony. Shiloh tapped on the hairy man's shoulder. "I need to talk to my friend." The hairy guy must have had a hundred pounds on Shiloh. "Fuck off," he demanded, pushing a finger firmly into Shiloh's sculpted chest, but Shiloh stood firm. Shiloh turned to Cole and asked, "Cole, is this guy bothering you?" Cole was staring at Shiloh, puzzled. "Do I know you?" "It's me, Shiloh." Cole's eyes widened. "Shy?" He literally drooled at the sight of his buddy's new body. "That's right," Shiloh said. "And this time, we're not asking, we're telling. We're taking you home." Cole looked conflicted, but the large man blocked the path between Shiloh and Cole. "I think you're wrong, pal. I'M taking him home." Shiloh tried to push the big guy aside to grab Cole, but the hairy guy punched Shiloh hard in the face. Shiloh fell to the floor, clutching his nose. When I stepped forward, the hairy guy turned his attention to me. "You gonna be as stupid as your friend there?" Big as I was, I couldn't envision winning a fight with this guy, so I backed off. The hairy guy wrapped his huge mitt around Cole's fragile wrist and started dragging Cole toward the exit. Cole looked back at us with fear in his eyes. I knelt down to check on Shiloh. "You okay?" He pulled his hand away and discovered his palm covered with blood from his nose. But he was undeterred. "Can that camera make us big enough to beat that motherfucker?" We ran into the bathroom, the only place in the club well lit enough to take a decent photo of the two of us. Then we ran out the front door, catching a glimpse of Cole being dragged around the corner by his new "friend". Shiloh and I ran down the sidewalk as fast as we could, while I simultaneously attempted to navigate the menus on the camera and change us before we lost track of Cole. With each pounding step on the pavement, the camera was jostled in my hand. I knew we were going to need bulk if we had any shot at wresting Cole away from his captor, so I chose the "BODY TYPE" menu and slid the dial way past "MESOMORPH" into "BEAST" and then "BEHEMOTH" mode. Feeling it would give us our best chance, I chose "BEHEMOTH", then "ACCEPT". An incredible rush of power swept through my body. My muscles grew two, maybe three times their already impressive size. My powerful legs slammed so heavily against the sidewalk, I could swear the cement was cracking under my weight. I looked ahead of me and realized Shiloh was undergoing the same transformation. It hadn't occurred to me, when taking one photo that included both of us, that any changes I made to the photo would affect Shiloh and me identically. I quickly changed our pants to black bicycle shorts, so they would stretch as our bodies enlarged. With a massive change like this, the rest of our clothes were goners, shredding on the fly and leaving a trail of tattered fabric behind us. I lagged behind Shiloh and could see his back and shoulders widening to inhuman size and his blond hair streaming like a mane behind him. Up ahead, the hairy guy had heard and undoubtedly felt our approaching footsteps. He now had Cole slung over his shoulder and was running toward a battered pickup truck. He flung Cole hard into the bed of the truck, seemingly unconcerned for the safety of his prey but determined to keep him away from us. He climbed into the driver's seat and revved his engine. Shiloh reached the truck before I did, grabbed the driver's side door and tore it completely off its hinges. Shiloh yanked the big guy out of the truck and tossed him into the street. Shiloh was reaching for Cole's hand when I noticed something that had escaped Shiloh's attention. "He's got a gun!" The driver had dragged a shotgun out of the cab of the truck with him, which he was loading quickly. Shiloh turned back to him with fury, chasing him down the street. He took the hairy guy's shoulder in one mighty paw while snatching away the shotgun with the other. Shiloh smashed the gun over his enormous knee and flung the remains over a nearby chain-link fence. The skinny kid I had only met hours before was now an unstoppable fighting machine. Even with similar size, I was nowhere near as fearless as Shiloh. Shiloh held the squirming man in his grip, then raised his humongous fist overhead, prepared to strike. I feared that a single blow from Shiloh could kill the man, so I screamed, "Stop!" I ran up and instructed Shiloh to make the big hairy guy stand in the glare of the headlights so I could take his photo. Shiloh smiled, seeing what I was up to, and tossed the hairy guy into the road where the lights illuminated him. Within moments, I had reduced our opponent to a five-foot-three ectomorph with a smooth hairless body. He stared with panic at the whittled-down specimen he had suddenly become. "I'll get you motherfuckers," he squeaked, running to the passenger side of his truck, leaping his skinny body through the open window and climbing into the driver's seat. He squealed down the road, with Cole hanging on desperately as he was flung around the truck bed. Shiloh chased after the truck on foot, until the truck spun a U-turn mid-block and came racing directly toward him. I ran onto the sidewalk and braced myself, but the truck remained in pursuit of Shiloh, who narrowly escaped by ducking between two parked cars. The truck smashed into the cars, shattering its windshield. I could see Cole attempting to jump free but he fell back into the truck bed as the driver shifted into reverse and sped off. Shiloh gingerly lowered his bulk to the sidewalk beside me, his long blond hair falling in a sweat-drenched curtain past his eyes. We were both exhausted. In the middle of everything, we barely had a moment to appreciate just how radically our bodies had changed. We must be hovering near seven feet now and well over 400 pounds, most of it muscle. "When I said I liked guys who were big, I never meant this big," said Shiloh in a voice so deep, I could hear it rattling nearby windows. "Sorry, man," I said, my voice even deeper than his. "I didn't have time for subtlety." "What do you say we change back and let the police handle it from here?", Shiloh asked. "Sounds like a plan," I said. I pushed myself to my feet, then extended my brawny arm to help my fellow hulk stand. The commotion had naturally drawn crowds out of the clubs of 69 Street to see what was happening, and our huge musclebound bodies were naturally attracting a lot of attention. I suddenly had the realization that I was no longer holding the camera in my hand. "Shit, I don't have the camera!" "Did you drop it somewhere?", Shiloh asked. I shrugged my massive shoulders and stepped as gingerly as possible into the street. Shiloh joined me in my quest. "I sure hope that asshole didn't run over it with his truck," Shiloh said. "I would not want to be stuck like..." I heard a crunch and closed my eyes. When I opened them, Shiloh was looking scared. He lifted up a gigantic foot, revealing the crushed remains of the miracle camera embedded in the asphalt. In unison, we said, "Oh, fuck." Shiloh and I stood in the dimly lit street, our astounding bodies each seven feet tall and bursting with more muscle than I'd ever seen on a human being -- if that's even what we were any more. Our shoulders and biceps were bigger than beach balls and solid as steel. Our lats flared out so dramatically that neither of us could lower our arms fully to our sides. A street light behind us showed off our musculature in sharp relief and cast long brutish shadows along the pavement. I was glad I'd had the presence of mind to switch us into stretch pants when our bodies became so gargantuan, so at least we weren't naked. Guys had run outside the Manhole and the other gay establishments of 69 Street once people heard the sounds of our frenetic battle with the guy who had taken Cole away with him. Everyone was keeping their distance from the two silhouetted giants in the middle of the road, but every-goddamn-body had a camera on their cell phone and was taking pictures and videos of us like two sasquatches who had just landed in the gay-borhood. Ironically, Shiloh and I were the only ones who didn't have a camera, and we were the ones who really could have used one, since it was my magical camera that had gotten us into this mess. Too bad Shiloh had accidentally stepped on it, his enormous weight grinding it into irreparable bits. I was surprised that I had maintained my composure and most of my wits. Shiloh was more riled up, having been in the heat of the battle with Cole's abductor, smashing the guy's shotgun and tearing the driver's side door off his pick-up truck. Shiloh was still wired with adrenaline and ran angrily toward the crowd with a menacing roar that echoed off the buildings. Everyone scurried back in fear, and I clamped one of my meaty paws on Shiloh's traps, dragging him back toward me. I spoke as softly as I could, even though it felt like everything I said in this new body was being bellowed through a megaphone. "Chill, Hulk. You don't have to 'smash'." Shiloh, still glaring furiously at the mob armed with their smartphones, asked, "Well, what do you suggest we do?" "We maybe got a minute before the cops show. I say we run as fast as these big-ass legs will carry us." "Where to?" "Someplace we won't be noticed." "Oh, that oughta be easy to find", Shiloh snorted sarcastically and it came out like a lion's roar. That gave me an idea. "Follow me." I spun on my heel and began to run away from the crowd. I could hear from the pounding at my heels that Shiloh was right behind me and that some of the crowd were attempting to keep up. Fat chance of that. Despite my bulk, I felt just as agile as I had earlier in the day when I weighed half as much. I'd never felt so exhilarated as I bounded at ten feet per stride, my muscles like coiled springs. I tried to keep us in dimly lit areas, under railroad bridges, in industrial areas where no one was working at this time of night, but I'm sure that the pounding of our feet alone made our presence obvious to anyone within several blocks. Maybe one sprinting muscle beast could slip by unnoticed, but two would definitely catch your attention. One unlucky driver must have gotten the scare of his life as he turned down the street toward us. He slammed on his brakes as fast as he could, and I miraculously hurdled his car. Shiloh leapt over the car too, but his heel clipped the rear bumper, knocking it clean off. Shiloh paused to look back, but I yelled for him to keep going. The sooner we vanished, the less likely the driver was to know what hit him. I did take one short cut over a parked car where I left a giant foot-shaped dent in the hood of the trunk. If you parked anywhere in the neighborhood of Sixteenth Street that night, I sincerely apologize. When we finally reached our destination, we had to scale a fifteen-foot concrete wall with barbed wire at the top. Leaping to the top was simple with our new muscles, and the barbed wire left little more than surface scratches on our thick hides. After being such a little dweeb all my life, it was extraordinary to experience life as an almost purely physical being. I felt practically indestructible. We slid down the other side of the wall and landed in a scummy, stagnant water pool. We had become so animalistic in our behavior by that point that we felt refreshed, splashing ourselves and each other playfully, joyfully. We even cupped water in our hands to slurp it up and rehydrate after our marathon run. At that point, we both came to our senses and spat out the putrid stuff. Shiloh looked around. "What is this, a zoo?" I grunted affirmatively. "So we're in a cage with wild animals?" He scanned his surroundings with fear, moonlight catching in his eyeballs. "There are no animals. It closed down a couple years ago. My folks used to bring me here when I was little. Never thought I'd be on this side of the cage." I lay down on the cement where apes used to prowl, feeling my gigantic ribcage expanding and contracting as I caught my breath. Shiloh prowled our new habitat, on alert for anyone or anything approaching. He began to swing swiftly on a rusted old set of bars that had been installed for the apes to play on. Part of me was already making plans for what Shiloh and I could do with bodies like these. Obviously, we would be the center of attention wherever we went. We could probably go into football, pro wrestling, acting, modeling. I didn't think they'd let us into bodybuilding with the head start Dad's camera had provided. Then again, once Dad's camera went on the market, body building the old way would probably become obsolete. As would dieting. And plastic surgery. And shopping for clothes. And visiting the barber. This one little gadget might drive half the companies in America out of business. Dad and his colleagues were in line to become the richest people on earth, or the most hated, or most likely both. As I rested a hand on my thigh, I noticed something tiny and hard caught in my skintight pants. My cell phone! Even when I transformed our pants into running shorts, eliminating pockets, the phone in my front pocket had survived the change and was pressed firmly against my flesh. I gently pulled down the shorts and carefully extracted the phone, which now felt so tiny in my oversized palm that I was afraid I would crush it. If I'd had to dial individual digits with the bratwursts my fingers had become, I'd have been shit out of luck, but fortunately the person I needed was on speed dial. As the phone began to ring, I raised it to my ear. "Hey, big guy, what's shaking?" came the comforting voice of my dad on the other end of the line. "Why, what have you heard?" was my response, coming out in my laughably low new voice. "Holy cow, Ryan, is that you?" "Yeah, Dad. I need your help." Sternly, Dad asked, "Have you been using the camera some more?" "A little." I could probably lift a semi with my bare hands right then, but Dad's disappointed tone instantly transformed me mentally into an eight-year-old afraid to admit that he had knocked a baseball through the neighbor's window. "I warned you to take it easy with that thing. But don't worry, if you've pushed yourself too far, there's a quick fix that'll reset you right back to normal. You got the camera with you?" "Ummm...that's part of the problem. The camera got kinda...crushed." A long pause from Dad's end. "How 'kinda' crushed?" "Like oblivion crushed." Dad let out a world-record sigh. I waited for him to say something, anything. "You still there, Dad?" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just trying to get a fix on your coordinates. Looks like you're at the old zoo, right?" "Right. How'd you know that?" "When the camera transformed you, it put radioactive tracers in your body. I'm seeing another big blip. Is someone else with you?" "Yeah, my friend, Shiloh." My delight at being able to tell my dad that I had made a friend at college was tempered by the knowledge of what I had turned that friend into. He was currently atop the monkey bars, pounding his chest like Tarzan and yowling at the moon. I shushed him, not wanting to draw any attention to our hideout. "Okay, hang on, buddy. I'll be right there," Dad said. "Thanks, Dad. Hurry." I could hear distant sirens and couldn't imagine that Dad could drive here before we'd be discovered by the cops. I was walking toward Shiloh to give him the good news that Dad was on his way when I saw a weird glow over the water pool. The air above the ground seemed to be thickening and pulsating, reminding me of my initial transformation when the camera sucked me through space to another location via some gelatinous portal. Sure enough, I saw the outlines of Dad's shape emerging inside the glow. As he stepped his way through the ethereal goo, he became aware that he had beamed in at ground level, while the ground beneath him was actually several feet lower. He plunged into the stagnant water of the apes' drinking hole. I rushed over to grab him as he scrambled out of the water, carefully holding his camera aloft so it would not get wet. I reached out and wrapped my fingers completely around his forearm. He seemed unprepared for just how monumental I had become. "Oh my, Ryan. What have you done to yourself?" "I just wanted to put on some muscle. Things got out of hand." "Nice understatement, son. I know how sensitive you are about your size. I thought you'd use the camera to give yourself a few minor adjustments so you'd fit in better with the other college kids. But this, son, this is not fitting in." "I know I screwed up, Dad, jeez. Why do you think I called you?" I must have been the whiniest gigantic muscleman in the history of gigantic musclemen. Dad dropped the lecturing tone. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm glad you called me." He noticed Shiloh, who was hanging on the monkey bars. "And you must be Shiloh. I'm Ryan's dad. Nice to meet you." Shiloh dropped down and ran toward us, slumping forward and practically running on all fours. Dad looked around the spooky old zoo. "Well, one thing in our favor. At least you came to a nice isolated place to experiment where no one could see you." The silence from Shiloh and me must have been pretty obvious, as were the sirens in the distance which were growing louder. Dad looked up at me wearily. "People saw you, didn't they?" Shiloh and I nodded like bad little boys. I had to tell Dad, "We're probably on YouTube by now." "Fuck!", Dad yelled. I think I'd only heard him drop the F-bomb twice before in my life and never with such well-deserved ferocity. "If my company learns that I gave my son an untested prototype and that he turned himself and his buddy into monsters..." "We are not monsters!", Shiloh shouted, his words bouncing off the concrete walls as he shook a cinder-block-sized fist at Dad. I ran behind Shiloh and grabbed his arms to keep him from attacking Dad. "Well, you won't be in a minute," Dad said, raising his camera. It looked slightly different from the one I'd been given, bulkier with extra modifications, like a newer model that had been jerry-rigged in the lab. Dad quickly took a flash photo of Shiloh and me and started to manipulate the menus. I hovered over his shoulder -- high above his shoulder -- and watched how masterfully he worked the controls. I thought I had been getting the hang of it, but Dad had clearly been fiddling with this device for months or maybe even years. "If you have a picture of two people, the command affects both of them," I told Dad, offering one of my hard-learned lessons as if he might not already been aware of it, even though he was probably the person who had designed it to work that way. "That's right, son, but there's an easy override for that. What I'm trying to do is trickier. I want to set you both back to the way you started, which would be MUCH easier if I was working from the camera that made the changes in the first place." Nice way to rub it in, Dad. I already apologized for that. "Do you have to change us back?", Shiloh asked. "I feel kinda awesome like this." He flexed an arm and admired his massive biceps pump. "You're caught up in the endorphin rush, but it'll fade soon. You've expanded your body parts to inhuman proportions, way beyond the size at which they were designed to function. Your heart, your lungs, your brain, they're all straining to support what you've become. If you stay like this, you'll be dead in two days." "Okay, you can change us back," Shiloh said, all menace and bravado immediately gone from his voice. "Ah, there it is!", Dad screamed. "I connected back to the lab. All your settings were stored back there every time you used the camera, so I can revert you to your original states. You better brace yourselves. It's going to be quite a shock to be yourselves again." Shiloh and I walked over to the monkey bars and gripped them tightly. Dad gave us no warning that the process was already in motion. It felt like I was being crushed by a black hole, becoming smaller and denser at such a speed that I worried it might keep going until I was reduced to nothingness. The metal bar in my hand seemed to be getting bigger when it was really my hands growing smaller around it. It was a relief when my extreme hyper-inflated muscles were gone, but I genuinely felt comfortable when I had reached the size of the miniature weightlifter of my initial transformation. I felt like yelling to Dad to stop the shrinkage right there, but I was going all the way back to my frail "baby" weight. I felt so distanced from that version of me after all that had occurred, it was hard to believe that I had only been Big Ry for the past twenty-four hours. When I could feel the process coming to an end, my hands slipped from the metal bars, my knees buckled and I fell to the concrete, whacking my head and discovering that pain was once again a factor in my life. I looked blearily across the way and saw Shiloh coming to grips with being ordinary again too. All the "improvements" which I had made to him were gone. Shiloh was no longer the blond sex god of my dreams. He was just a regular guy trying to look tougher than he was. We were each wearing the jeans that had worn before our first transformations, but the rest of our clothes were missing, since whatever they had been changed into by the camera was shredded when we grew to behemoths. Interestingly, Shiloh's backwards baseball cap had returned from the oblivion where I sent it, having been stored in memory back at the lab. My ears had been ringing throughout the shrinking process, but I could now distinctly hear the sirens closing in. In another minute, we would be discovered trespassing at the zoo and we'd have a lot of fast talking to do. Dad hustled over and gathered Shiloh and me close together, holding out his arm to snap a selfie of the three of us. As soon as the flash went off, we could hear voices outside the wall as cops noticed the burst of light. "I've never transported three people at once, but it SHOULD work," Dad informed us. "We would have overwhelmed the system's capacity if you were still the size of human tanks, but we shouldn't have much trouble with you kids." Shit, I was back to being a kid. I can't speak for Shiloh, but my heart was racing with fear that we were going to get caught. Dad seemed unworried and unhurried. He pulled up the "BACKGROUND" menu -- something I'd forgotten about since last night -- and input very specific latitude, longitude and elevation coordinates, an option that hadn't been included on the model Dad had given me. The screen previewed the three of us against a plain white wall instead of the murky background of the zoo. Dad pressed "ACCEPT" and wrapped his arms around Shiloh and me. I realized too late that I'd better warn Shiloh what he was in for. "Shiloh, it's gonna feel like..." By the time I could say, "...squeezing through Jell-O," we had already made the freaky transit through space and were standing in an all-white room that I recognized as one of the labs at Dad's company. Shiloh was reeling. He braced himself against a counter top to keep from falling and turned to Dad, wide-eyed. Of all the shit he had seen and experienced today, this teleportation had blown his mind the most. "How did you do that?" "Simple. The hydrogen componolizer interacted with the dichlorium atoms in your duodenum, generating a paradoxical flux which reverberated against the polonium-synchronized geographical wave spectro-analyzer and creating a temporal parahelion dispersion of point-two-seven." Shiloh stared at Dad, in awe. I laughed and said, "That was just a bunch of nonsense, Dad." Dad smiled. "Yeah, but if I'd said, 'It's magic,' you wouldn't have believed me." And with that, he walked purposefully toward a computer work station, where several other working models of the camera were charging. Shiloh and I stared at each other. In the course of one day, we had been hunks together and hulks together, but now we were face to face as our real selves. Two skinny guys, same height, same weight, with more in common than we would have assumed that morning. "Almost forgot what you looked like," Shiloh said. "I dunno why Cole made so much fun of you. You're a cute guy." Even in the dim light of the lab, I'm sure it was obvious that I was blushing. The way Shiloh was examining my emaciated frame, I got goosebumps. "I thought you liked your guys big." "I do." Shiloh's slim lips curled up. "But size isn't everything." Across the room, Dad cleared his throat loudly and started humming some unrecognizable tune, which is what he always did when he heard something he felt uncomfortable hearing. Shiloh and I walked over behind him to see what he was checking on his computer. He was cycling through all of our vital statistics which the camera had recorded. "Looks like you two guys are safely back to normal, so that's a relief. I can survive any shit I'm going to get from the company, but if I had done anything to harm you..." "I know, Dad," I said, wrapping my skinny arm around his shoulders. I could feel his body tense up, and he leaned forward to look at something on his computer. "What is it?" "I'm seeing two more blips," pointing to two bright spots on a map of the city, not far from Sixteenth Street. Dad turned to me, looking like he might be willing to harm me after all. "Care to enlighten me?" Shiloh scooted his body between Dad's and mine, trying to explain. "I did them!" Dad glanced at Shiloh, then angrily back at me. "You let someone else use the camera?" I was in the middle of shaking my head when Shiloh blurted out, "Ry didn't know. I snuck it away from him and did it totally on my own. Please, it's not his fault." Dad glared at Shiloh. "So are you telling me there are two more monsters on the loose out there?" "No! I made them both skinny! Skinnier than we are now! That shouldn't be dangerous, right? I mean, not as dangerous as super-sizing at least." Dad thought it over, still unhappy. "Well, no, in our tests, we've found that making the body smaller and leaner is actually healthier, within reason." Dad sat down, his temper cooling. His eyes darted between Shiloh and me as he decided whether or not to believe Shiloh's story. "Can you keep tabs on these other two? And if you notice ANY adverse changes in them, you'll bring them to me immediately for testing?" Shiloh and I said, "Yes" at the same time. I added "Dad". Shiloh added "Sir". Dad took blood samples from both of us and ran tests on them. While we waited for results, I checked YouTube on Dad's computer. Sure enough, a dozen or more grainy videos had already been posted of two mysterious figures prowling the streets of the city. Fortunately, nobody got a good shot of our faces -- not that either of us resembled those two gorillas any more. The company had a TV in the break room and we watched the late news with Dad. The monster rampage was naturally the lead story on all the channels, but the police seemed baffled. They thought they had the beasts cornered at the old zoo, but a thorough search turned up nothing. They did say that police were seeking a man who drove off in a pickup truck at a high rate of speed and they showed his mug shot from a previous arrest. Shiloh and I immediately recognized him as the big hairy guy who had taken off with Cole. He looked even scarier in the mug shot than he had in real life, with scowling features and steroidal muscles. "That's one of the guys, sir," Shiloh told Dad. Dad studied the screen. "And you say he's smaller than you boys now? I think you did the world a favor." Dad smiled and went to check on the blood tests. Left alone together in the lab, Shiloh and I stared at each other nervously. "So, what are we gonna do now?" "Life will go back to normal, I guess. I'll be my old wimpy self and you'll hang out with the rest of Cole's posse of douchebags." "I don't think I can, after this." "I know what you mean." "And what about...us?", Shiloh asked warily. "I dunno. I mean, I really loved what we did together, but I still like girls too." I looked down at my once-again anemic body. "But they probably won't like me. Story of my life." "Any girl, or guy, would be lucky to have you," Shiloh said, walking over and kissing me on the mouth. His lips weren't as luscious as the ones I'd specifically chosen for him, but they had the benefit of authenticity. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation. Anyone would be lucky to be kissed by Shiloh. I heard Dad clear his throat and begin to hum again in the hallway. Shiloh and I parted quickly as Dad reentered the room, pointedly looking down at a computer printout. "Good news, guys. I'm not seeing anything scary in the blood tests. You probably weren't at enormous size long enough to cause any permanent damage to your organs, but you let me know if you notice anything unusual in the next few days. Fatigue, migraines, shortness of breath, pain in your joints, pain in your...loins." Shiloh and I nodded. Dad got out his cell phone and called two cabs to pick us up. "I assume you two don't mind going back to campus the old fashioned way?" "Fine, Dad," I said. "I think I've been sucked through Jell-O enough for one lifetime." "Absolutely," said Shiloh. "You positive we didn't screw up anything for you?" "I'm sure I'll be asked a few stern questions in the morning," Dad said. "But your little unauthorized field test gave us tons of data to study. And quite a few more ethical questions to debate." When the cabs arrived, Dad shook Shiloh's hand, then gave me a warm hug. I heard him whisper in my ear, "Have fun at college, son. Make me proud." I was happy that, after all of this, it was obvious that he still loved me. I got in the cab and, as we drove away, I felt something hard in the back pocket of my skinny jeans. I wriggled in my seat and extracted it. Shiloh and I were amazed to discover that Dad had slipped another camera in my pocket, with a Post-It attached. In the passing street lights, I was able to read the note: "Ryan, This camera's options are limited. Yours are not. Love, Dad" "What do you think that means?", Shiloh asked. "I dunno." When we reached my dorm, I invited Shiloh to come up so we could check out the camera. Dad had deactivated most of the menus, but I discovered two presets, one with my name and one with Shiloh's. I snapped my picture in the full-length mirror, then applied my preset. My image on the screen now looked exactly like the musclebound stud I had first changed myself into the previous night. I clicked "ACCEPT" and braced for the standard painful contortions, although they felt like nothing compared to being enlarged to "BEHEMOTH" size. As the metamorphosis occurred, I realized that my mind hadn't dulled. Dad must not have lowered my IQ the way I had during my original transformation. I couldn't blame him. He wasn't spending good money to send a dope to college. Shiloh watched enviously as I evolved back into Ry before his eyes. As I grinned down at him, I could have predicted his next words. "Do me." He stood against the wall, still in his dumbass baseball cap. I eagerly applied the preset "SHILOH" modifications and pressed "ACCEPT". Shiloh was wracked with pain as his slim body was once again wrapped in lean muscle and sun-kissed skin, and his face regained the features I had given him, the sleek nose, the powerful cleft chin, the ultra-kissable lips. His purple hat evaporated and his hair turned from brown to golden. I reached both hands toward him and lifted him to his feet. We stood in the middle of my room, thick arms wrapped around each other's torsos, studying each other closely. If he had any imperfections, I couldn't see them, but I hoped to inspect him very, very closely, very, very frequently. We stripped off our clothes and tumbled onto my bed, our combined weight testing the limits of the springs. Since I had taken the lead back at the Manhole, I let Shiloh assume control now. Our powerful bodies slid across each other, working up a quick sweat. Long strands of Shiloh's blond hair dangled into my eyes as he explored my mouth with his tongue. My hands slid down along his ribs until I reached up and squeezed his ass cheeks. I felt his cock pressing against my abs and starting to ooze precum, so I wriggled underneath him until I was face down. He slid his erection gently but firmly inside of me and I yowled with a mix of pleasure and pain, clawing at my pillow and tensing my legs. Shiloh's strong hands were pressed against my back for support as the pace of his humping accelerated. When Shiloh came inside me, it may have been the best feeling I'd had all day, and after a day like this, that was saying something. But my cock was still rigid, so I flipped over and wrapped my hands around Shiloh's neck, pulling him down toward my erection. As he lovingly applied his tongue and lips to my shaft, slowly and lovingly bringing me to orgasm, the "best feeling of the day" competition had a new winner. Shiloh lay beside me, brushing his bristly chin against my cheek and rubbing his hand up and down my chest. He whispered in my ear, "Thank your dad for me." I laughed. I probably wouldn't mention this specifically to Dad, but I was glad he had been so cool about everything. I'm sure I had changed many of his perceptions of me that day. Shiloh slept over with me. Cole never did come back to the room that night, and in the morning we decided it was more important to track him down than to go to our classes. We knew basically where the blips had shown up on Dad's computer screen and hoped that Cole might still be near there. Sixty-Nine Street wasn't as active in the daytime, and city crews were still busy cleaning up the damage from last night's fracas. Shiloh and I attracted our share of attention as we walked down the sidewalk, but we had no fear that anyone would imagine that two studly gentlemen like ourselves were in any way connected with the massive creatures who had terrorized the town the night before. As we walked further down the street, I noticed something and grabbed Shiloh by the elbow, pulling him backwards. We had just walked past a pickup truck. One that was missing its driver's side door. Jackpot! Now all we had to do was figure out where... "Hey, boys!" We turned and were amazed to see Cole -- at least the slender twinky version of Cole I had created -- leaning against a wall. "Cole!", Shiloh shouted, looking relieved that his former crush was still alive and seemingly unharmed. Cole was wearing a sheer black tank that was way too big for him and a black Speedo that seemed to fit just fine. He still had on my purple sneakers. Even in this part of town, it was an unconventional look for street clothes in broad daylight, but he was pulling it off. It was a bit annoying that I had made my tormentor look so fucking cute. "Thank god, you escaped from that lunatic!", Shiloh said. "What lunatic? You mean Jerry? Oh, he's such a sweetheart. I'm waiting for him so we can go get matching tats." Shiloh and I couldn't believe what we were hearing. "You're still hanging out with the guy?", I asked. "Uh-huh. He's inside buying some new clothes right now. He woke up this morning and couldn't find a thing that fit. Fortunately his ex had left behind some clothes that were just right for me. You like?" "It's definitely a different look for you" was as much as Shiloh would commit. "So when you coming back to school?", I asked. Cole shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno if I will. Jerry wants me to go to a motorcycle rally in Reno with him. He's got a Harley and I can ride on the seat behind him!" The prospect seemed to excite him, if you could judge by his Speedo. Not that I really wanted old Cole back in the world, but my conscience was killing me. "Are you really sure about this? I found out there's a way to cure what you've got so you'll like chicks again." I had checked overnight, and the camera still would allow me to alter a person's sexual orientation. "Chicks? No thank you!" He flapped his hands dismissively. "No chick ever appreciated me the way Jerry does. Oh, and here comes my baby now." Even though I knew I had reduced him to an ectomorph in the middle of last night's craziness, Shiloh and I were unprepared for the shock of seeing the new Jerry. He was walking down the sidewalk toward us, zipping up his new leather jacket, his skinny legs encased in tight leather pants. Unlike the thuggish lout who had nearly run over Shiloh with his truck last night, he now looked like a boy-band dreamboat trying to look like a tough guy, with a slightly shaggy pile of light brown hair over a baby face that had never felt the touch of a razor. "Mmm, check out my sexy little boy-toy," Cole said. "Doesn't he look fantastic? Jerry, these are my dear friends Shiloh and Ryan." "Uh, yeah, we met last night," I said cautiously. I had been worried about running into last night's hothead again, but I felt pretty sure Shiloh and I could handle Jerry now. Jerry peered his bright blue eyes through the fringe of his bangs. "Oh, hey, how you guys doing today?" If he was still mad at us, it sure didn't show. He was positively meek as he wrapped a leather-clad arm around Cole's body, palming an ass cheek. Cole kissed Jerry on the forehead. Cole may be a shadow of his former self, but the camera had made Jerry even tinier, several inches shorter than Cole. "Awesome outfit, Jerry," Shiloh said. "Cole says you guys might be going to Reno?" "Yeah, if he'll let me buy his sweet ass some leathers. Somewhere around the Continental Divide, he'll realize he needs more than a tank top and Speedos." "We've got time, baby. Lots and lots of time." Cole gave Jerry a long French kiss, then smiled back at us. "So good to see you boys again." He blew us kisses, then they got into Jerry's truck and drove off. Shiloh and I watched the truck disappear around the corner. We were shell-shocked. "Holy shit," I said. "I guess your posse really is breaking up." "Good riddance. So...does that mean you have an opening for a new roommate, Ry?", Shiloh asked with a sly grin. I smiled back and teased, "Only if he looks as good in leather as Jerry." Shiloh's eyebrows leapt at the idea. He practically raced into the leather shop. As Shiloh began trying on jackets, I pulled out my camera and reopened my photo from last night. I hadn't pressed "SAVE", so it was still editable. I pulled up the "ORIENTATION" menu. My finger hovered over the screen as I thought about Kay from the pier and all of the girls in high school who had been content to be my friend but nothing more. And I thought about what Cole had said about Jerry. No "chick" had ever appreciated me the way Shiloh did. I slid the dial from "BISEXUAL" to "HOMOSEXUAL". I clicked "ACCEPT". I didn't feel much change, actually. Only a sense of calm and clarity as I watched Shiloh sliding his bare brawny arms through the holes of a leather vest. Goddamn, he looked hot. I might need to buy one of those too. I clicked "SAVE".
  14. Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5 Part6 Part7 Part8 Part9 Part10 I'm only a little late haha. Enjoy guys! This is a long one. Check out the previous chapters if you haven't already! Comment and like too. I love your input. Wednesday: You Mirin’, Brah? Part 11 I awake to the sound of my alarm. It’s the beginning of April. School ends in May and this means I need to put my plan into action. I want to see if Ethan enjoys worship as much as I do. Being able to flex for each other and admire one another’s gains would honestly make my day. I know he won’t be like Troy. He won’t corner me in the shower or be comfortable being around me stark naked, but I don’t want that from him. For some reason I feel like that would complicate our friendship and be awkward for us. Ethan does not behave like Troy and that’s okay. I do want us to be closer friends though and I want him to know about some of the things that went down with Troy. I need his advice and I have definitely come up with a way of testing him… in my own weird way. I roll out of bed. As usual, I slept naked and with my phone in hand I make my way into the bathroom outside my bedroom door. Living in a frat house is pretty chill; none of my other bros give a damn if they see my ass as I walk the short distance down the hall into the bathroom. It has actually been a while since I’ve showered in my house, because I usually shower in the gym locker room. I walk into the bathroom and hear the water running. I also here someone singing. “—Look at my body. Look at my body. Look at my body. Don’t I look sexy?! sings the voice in the bathroom. “Jason! Is that you dude?” The voice stops singing. “That you Von?” “Yea, man.” “Asuh dude!” “Asuh!” There are three shower stalls in the bathroom. Jason is in the middle so I walk into the one on the right. I look down and check my phone. I see a message from Angelica and read it as Jason continues to sing. Angelica: Hey! Lakeside Restaurant and swimming today at 12:00. I’ll pick you and Jason up from your house. Don’t forget to bring your appetite. See ya I set my phone on the floor, close the shower curtain, and turn on the water. “Yo, Jason, you ready to chow down later?” “Yeah man!” he says. “I haven’t had real food since I moved to this campus.” We both laugh at this because our campus’ dining hall serves food about as horrible as food can get. I quickly soap up and I am done in 5 minutes. I don’t usually take long showers. I step out and look around for my towel as Jason is getting out of his shower. “Agh!” he says in surprise. “There you go flashing that sweet ass of yours again haha.” He lets out of chuckle. Like I said before, my brothers are used to it. “I forgot to bring a towel, so technically this sweet ass exposure is an accident.” I say with a wink. I look Jason up and down. He joined the fraternity a few months ago but we never got the chance to hang out because of how “occupied” I was. This boy has really grown into a man since we last wrestled, which was way before he joined the frat. He’s 18 years old, around 5 ft 10, and is much bigger than the 140 pound boy I remember. He must be 170 pounds at least by now. His thick legs are wrapped in a blue towel but it struggles to hide the big black anaconda behind it. My eyes trail up his washboard abs and to his bulbous, thick pecs. Fuck! They look to be a couple pounds each! “Dude!” I say “When did you get so damn huge?” “The weight lifting class has really helped, man. I haven’t seen you there in a while? Matter of fact, I haven’t seen Troy in a while either…” “I started working out outside of class. I needed that class time for… homework.” The truth was that the class just felt empty without Troy, but I won’t tell him that. “Well guess you have some catching up to do,” he says with a wink and walks around me to the bathroom door. “See you in a couple of hours!” I walk back to my room, still naked and wet. I find a towel, quickly dry of, and put on a pair of tight, blue, athletic briefs. I look over at the mirror on my closet door and flex my quads in the mirror. I fucking love the way they show off my thick bulge and ass. Smiling, I make my way back to my bed and I lay back to stare at the ceiling. I decided to skip my 9 am class so I have nothing to do until we go eat. I’m not feeling hungry so I just decide to stay in bed and think. My conversation with Jason made me realize how much I let my friendship drift with him. I definitely need to learn how to handle having multiple friends better. I think back on the interactions I’ve had with Jason in the past. I remember how close we were before I met Troy. Freshman and sophomore year were great. We were both little shrimps back then. I barely weighed 120 pounds. I guess we have both become big strong men. I close my eyes and let my mind drift. I start to think of crabs, fish, and clams… Oh no. I’m gonna starve to death. Damn it! I open my eyes and look across the room at my jug of Whey protein and blender bottle. My body definitely needs some fuel for growth. I jump up and grab the bottle, scoop some protein in and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. I mix the water into the bottle and begin to shake it furiously. I start gulping the protein down and I look at the time again. It’s 10 am. I really need something to occupy myself with…But what? I sit down on my bed and look across the room into my mirror again. I look over every inch of my body. My thick meaty chest hovers over my 6 pack. Each rock hard mountain of abs protrude from the valleys of my gut. I look over at my biceps, now measuring about 16 inches and my eyes make their way down to my powerful biceps. “Look at you,” I say to myself into the mirror. “You’re a thick, strong, alpha male now. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.” My cock twitches at what I say. I stand up and walk to the mirror. I watch my powerful legs move beneath me and my quads rippling beneath my skin. I love my body, more than I am able to describe. My right hand naturally makes its way up to my left pec and I squeeze it hard, rubbing the nipples with my fingers. “This body deserves a little worshipping,” I say quietly. I have been really horny lately. It’s a bit insatiable honestly. I quickly walk to my door and close it. As soon as the door is shut, I strip off my briefs and look at myself in the mirror. My hardening dick slowly rises up, pointing straight into the air. I flex both biceps in front of the mirror and my dick involuntarily twitches again. It begins to leak precum onto the floor. I can tell that I am already there. I flex my pecs and watch them bounce in the mirror. That alone is enough to send me over the edge. I grab my cock and slowly begin to stroke. The heavy meat throbs in my hand. I look and see the veins bulging from every inch of my manhood. A few more strokes and I’ll blow all over this mirror. I stroke once, then twice, then a third time, and I already feel my body melting as a jet of cum blast out of my cock onto the mirror. 3 more jets shoot out onto the mirror and then down onto the floor. I let out a huge gasp of air and I feel so relieved. “Boy I needed that.” I clean myself and the mirror and before I know it, it’s 12 and I’m in the back seat of Angelica’s Purple Jeep Wrangler. I am in the back with Jason who is sitting behind Zeus. The radio is blaring some random pop hit and we’re all having a wonderful time. The sun is shining just perfectly and there is not one cloud in the sky. “Me so hungry!!” Zeus screams. For those of you that may have forgotten, Zeus is a 250 pound gorilla man and food should not be denied to him. “Don’t worry Z, we’re almost there,” Angelica says as she makes a left turn. We had been driving in the city for about 10 minutes and are now nearing the edge. Soon we will be in a little section of the city the residents call Heaven. No joke. Heaven includes a few nice restaurants, the lake, and a couple docks for fishing and swimming. The reason it is called Heaven is because of the seclusion. The entire area is surrounded by trees. The little area covers a few dozen miles and is like a peninsula to the outside world. It’s almost impossible to make your way in or out without taking the one road that leads in and out of it; it’s the road we happened to be on. We drive deeper into the green of the forest and the light inside and around the car begins to glow in a beautiful shade of lime. Angelica turns off the radio and we all go silent as we soak in the quietness of the forest. All that can be heard is the engine of the jeep. “I freakin love this place,” Jason says. “I bet they call it Heaven because of how peaceful it is.” “Or the heavenly sex that goes on by the lake,” Zeus says. “Not that YOU would know about that,” Angelica retorts. “Dayum!”I say, bursting into laughter and this leads the rest of the car into hysterical laughter. Even Zeus can’t help from laughing. We finally reach our destination after a few minutes. The Lakeside Restaurant is a small but welcoming place, with the best seafood in our area. From the outside it looks like your typical diner with a few tables out front, but we know better. We all hop out of the car and quickly make our way inside. A beautiful blonde hostess is standing by the front door. She smiles graciously at us and Zeus turns a little red. I smirk at him. “Would you like to dine inside or outside?” says the hostess. “Outside please!” we all say at once. “Have a seat anywhere you want and someone will be there to treat you soon.” We go outside and have a seat at a homely picnic table. The sun shines it’s beautifully canopied green glow onto the table. It’s perfect! I sit beside Angelica across from Zeus and Jason. “Any appetizer ideas?” I say as I pick up a menu from the table. “Dude, sriracha shrimp or nothing!” Jason says with wide hungry eyes. “Anything for you big guy,” I say with a laugh. “Hey, that’s Mr. Big Guy to you.” My phone vibrates and I peak at it. It’s Ethan. He wants to go for a quick run today. I hastily text back and say that I’m with friends, but I’d happily join him later. "Who ya talking to?" Angelica says nosily. “You remember Ethan?” I say. She looks baffled. Jason's eyes flicker to mine. He knows Ethan from back when we wrestled. "Our high schools wrestled each other way back when and then we suddenly ended up at the same college together." “Oh yeah yeah yeah! I don’t talk to him much, but he was pretty hot—cool… Uh hotly cool…" she responds blushing. “What's he saying?" she asks curiously. "He’s just seeing what's up with me. We’re pretty close. He wants to go running later." “Is he your new best friend?" Zeus says. “Ehh, I don't really like to use that expression," I say. “So many people go around calling others their best friends. It has no meaning anymore. I look over Zeus’ head and see a waiter walking towards the table and holy fucking shit… It’s Troy. What are the fucking odds!! I try to maintain my posture and keep my eyes from bulging out of my head from the shock of seeing him here. Zeus looks at my face and chuckles. "What's up with your face, man?” “Oh nothing I’m just—“ “Vonny!” Troy says. My heart pauses for a second. Breath, just fucking breath you fool! “Hey man, what’s up?” I say with a weak smile. He’s wearing a tight black polo that shows off his still thick biceps and I am still amazed at how much size he has maintained. “Working. I’ve had a lot of free time so I got a job. As you probably already know, I will be the waiter for you all today,” he says this and gives us all a sweet smile. “Can I start you guys off with a drink and an appetizer?” Troy says. “Yes! Sriracha shrimp please!!!” Jason yells. “And water for all of us broke college students.” Everyone one of us, even Troy, laughs at this. We all know the struggle. Troy quickly takes our order and leaves. I feel the life quickly drain back into me. “So what is Ethan up to these days?" Jason says. “Well he’s double majoring shit and trying to get a nursing degree and a bachelors in 3D modeling/animation,” I say. “Other than that he enjoys working out, basketball and wrestling. Wrestling was actually the first thing we did when we started hanging out” Jason smiles at this because he was at our wrestling reunion. “You guys haven't seen each other in ages and the first thing you wanted to do was wrestle!?" Angelica says. "That sounds sweaty and disgusting." I laugh at this. Typical of a girl to be disgusted of something so awesome. If they only knew the rush US men got from taking each other on. I look over her shoulder to see if Troy is returning yet. I’m starving. I don’t see him but I catch a glimpse of the slow flowing lake. I can’t wait to get in the water. I wish Troy could chill and enjoy his time here like me, with me. I'll admit that. But being here with my friends is good enough for me and one day we'll rekindle our bond. I look down at my phone again and I got another message. Ethan: Where you eating brah? Me: Lakeside restaurant. Going swimming after. Ethan: Cool, let me come through! Me: Sounds good to me! “So Ethan is coming,” I say. I've never hung out with Ethan outside of the gym or wrestle mats except for eating in the dining hall. This day was getting more exciting. After a workout we usually go our separate ways. I wonder why he wants to come today. It could be that he loves the food, or that he's tight with Jason. I believe it is safe to assume that they hang out sometimes. Either way, I was curious as to what is going to happen. “Ah there he is!” Zeus exclaims as he sees Troy walking back with our water and shrimp. I keep it together this time. “Thank you, Troy,” I say. “No prob, bro. You guys ready to order? “Hell yeah we are!” Angelica screams. An hour and a half later we are all finished eating and in our bathing suits by the lake. We had our fill of crab legs and shrimp and we felt amazing. Sadly, Ethan never showed up. Jason and I race each other to the water, swimming laps around Zeus and Angelica. The evening goes by in a flash and after a while we are all out of the lake and lying in the grass nearby. “Sorry Von, it’s time to go and Ethan still isn’t here,” Angelica says. This does suck, but she’s right. “Ok, let’s go,” I say. I get up from the grass and begin looking for my clothes when a silver car pulls up into the small gravel parking lot behind us and beeps its horn. The door flies open and Ethan steps out. “Dude! Where have you been!?” I say as I walk towards him. “Sorry man! Traffic!” he says. “You guys aren’t leaving are you?” “As a matter of fact, we were,” Angelica says. “Sorry bub.” Bub? “I’m willing to stay with you for an hour, “I say. “Jason, Zeus, what about you two?” “We both have a test to study for,” Zeus says. “Hey I don’t need to study,” Jason says, “Yeah you kind of do,” Zeus says with a roll of his eyes. “Definitely next time, Von. “Okay” I say. It sucks that they all have to leave but… actually this is perfect. I can set my plan into action! They quickly put their clothes on and are driving off within 5 minutes. Ethan and I are alone then. “Got your trunks, bro?” I say. “Trunks!? You mean my speedo,” Ethan says with a smirk. I gotta show of these legs brah!” He takes off his shirt, shoes, and pants to reveal a tight blue speedo. I try to avoid gazing at his huge bulge. That is not a part of the plan. We are both standing in the grass by the lake. I’m still a little wet and in my black swimming trunks. Seeing Ethan in a speedo kind of reminds me of bodybuilding posers and with this though I put my plan into action. “You like showing off right?” I say carefully. “Depends. What do you mean?” he says. “Well, you’re basically wearing a poser. You might as well flex a bit, bro? Show off what you’ve worked so hard for.” I look at his face as I talk to him and I can see the thoughts going through his mind. “Ok,” he says suddenly. “What should do? A back flex?” He turns around and every muscle in is back fills with blood as he flexes both biceps. I see each lump of muscle along his thick traps and it only gets better when he lowers his arms and flexes his lats. The lats spread beneath him like wings and my mind is blown. “I didn’t know your back was that big man!” I say. “That ain’t all that’s big,” he says and turns around. He flexes his pecs at me. The thick balloons bounce and I can see the vascular tubes pushing fresh blood into his working muscles. “Damn!” I say. I know that if he is this comfortable showing off, he will have no problem with me opening up to him about Troy. He then flexes his right bicep and the rock of muscle is engorged. How lucky am I to have such a jacked buddy?! I look over his shoulder and I see someone looking at us. I panic a little and then I panic a lot. It’s Troy and he does not look happy! I stare deep into his eyes. He stands behind the cars in the mini parking lot and all I see is jealousy and rage out of him. But worst of all, he looks like he has been betrayed. I can basically feel it from the lake and he is 40 feet away. He suddenly turns around and leaves. “Vonny?” Ethan says. “Ready to go for a swim?”
  15. Yeah, I know. Two chapters in one week. What the what!?!? Hahah. I had fun writing this one. Have fun guys! Jealousy and Rage: Part 13 “Troy! Get off of me!” I scream into his face. He looks directly into my eyes with hatred as he crushes me with his weight. He’s so strong. I feel weak. I hate feeling weak. This makes me angry and from this anger I draw strength. With grunt I manage to raise my arms that are trapped beneath his. The force behind me lifting pushes him off balance and I flip him onto his back and wrap my arms around his back. We’re pressed, my bare chest to his clothed one, on the ground and he shakes and groans beneath me. “Get the fuck off of me!” he says. I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Have you been drinking?” I say. “What do you fucking think!?” he says and head butts me. I yelp in pain and the impact causes me to go blind for a second as I roll over onto my back. I grab my forehead and feel around for damage. None. Thank god. I quickly roll over onto all fours, feeling the damp grass beneath my fingers, and try to get up, but I immediately feel his weight on my back. “Where do you think you’re going, ass hole?” he says, wrapping his arms around my stomach and arms and putting me in a full body lock. “Me!? You’re an asshole! Why are you doing this?” I can’t move. He is still wrapped on top of me. My face is in the grass and I can barely breath because he is holding on so tightly. “I can’t believe you! I hate you so much! How could you do this to me!?” “Do what!?” I scream into the ground. “Ethan! That stuff with Ethan! I saw you two. The way you look at each other. The way he shows off for you… That’s… That’s…” “That’s what!?” “Shut the fuck up!” he says, squeezing me harder and making breathing almost impossible. It was at this point that I started to fear for my life. I need to find a way out of this before he kills me. “Troy please. Stop. Don’t hurt me anymore,” I say. My voice is cracking and I want to punch myself for being such a bitch. “I’ve barely hurt you,” he breathlessly says into my ear. “What are you going to do to me?” I say, the words barely escaping my mouth as I try to breath. He stops at the question. I don’t know what he came here to do. Maybe beat the shit out of me for betraying him or hurt me in another way… No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he? His being drunk could take away some of his humanity and the result could leave me emotionally scarred for life. “I… I came here to talk to you…” he says, his grip on me loosening. I suck in a hard gasp of air and immediately start coughing. He let me go and I roll onto my back, grasping onto my stomach as I cough and suck in air. There are tears in my eyes and I tightly close them. I’m so embarrassed. I should be angry, but I’m not. I feel like a pussy. I feel his hand lightly touch my shoulder and I flinch immediately. I quickly open my eyes and look at him. He’s siting in the grass hovering above me. I see the stars shining above his head and I wonder if I’m hallucinating from the lack of air. I decide to break the silence “You want to talk?” I say. “Yes… Please,” he replies. “I really need to talk to you. “Let’s go inside.” He stands up and reaches out a hand to me. I slowly reach up to him and my body stiffens as he lifts me off of the ground. I’m still shirtless and there’s grass all over my stomach and back. He takes both of his hands and begins to brush the grass off my pecs. He slowly wipes the sweat and grime off and he is taking his time. He doesn’t look me in the eye but I watch him as he looks deeply into my pecs. I feel him stick his finger between the crack of my thick chest. His finger trails down to my abs and he trickles his fingers down them. Once he’s done with my front he walks around me and does the same to my back. I feel relaxed now. I’m not scared anymore. “Thanks,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry,” he says. I nod at him and turn to go into my house. He follows me and I type in the code to unlock the door. Once open I see no one is inside. No brother could save me if he gets aggressive again. Hopefully I won’t need saving. “Let’s go to my room,” I say as we walk up the stairs. We make our way into my room and as I sit on my bed he closes the door behind him. I immediately stiffen up and he notices. “Don’t worry, man. I just want to talk about something private.” He stands still by the door. “Ok, well talk,” I say. The sooner that door is open, the better my odds of escape are. “I don’t exactly understand it, but I’ll try. It’s a lot though,” he says. I don’t know where to start.” “Start with what you said outside. Start with Ethan.” I see a flash of anger as soon as I mention Ethan’s name. “Ok. Well I saw you guys swimming earlier today. I saw him flexing for you and the look in your eyes…” he says. His fists are clenched. “The way you looked at him… I just… I got so fucking mad, man. I’ve never been that angry before. I don’t know what happened! I just ran away and I was back on campus halfway done with a bottle of tequila. It didn’t even make me feel better, but I needed something to fight what I was feeling…” “What were you feeling?” “I felt… jealous. I felt so jealous. We used to have that, you know? Now it’s gone!” he says walking close to me. I keep my ground and sit still on my bed. “You have a girlfriend Troy!” “I know, but we had something! Now it’s gone! The things we used to do! The different ways we would worship each other! It’s all fucking gone and I miss it! I… I need it!” He stumbles over to the bed and I lean back. Suddenly he is cradling me. His ass is on my crotch and each arm on either side of my head. “Drunk on a Wednesday,” he says as he looks down on me. “How pathetic am I?” I don’t answer. “I miss being your bud. I miss flexing for you. Watching you flex. I miss feeling your body.” He slowly reaches down and drags his fingers over my chest and abs. His hands begin to move lower and he eventually dips his fingers into my shorts. “Troy—“ “No… I want this… and I know you do too.” He continues and pulls down my shorts. My flaccid dick flops out and he immediately grabs hold of it. “I missed this so much,” he says as he jerks me off. My dick grows in his hand and I begin to moan. “I love feeling your gains. I love your chocolate muscles so much.” He bends down and starts sucking my nipples. I gasp. I can’t believe how good I feel. “I’m getting – ugh.” He begins to stroke harder and lick his way down my abs. I’m gonna come soon. I can feel it. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says and then he wraps his pinks lips around my cock. He sucks on my dick like he was starved. Honestly, he probably is starved… starved of dick. He lifts his head and says “You’re so fucking salty!” Then continues to suck. My body is starting to buck and I can feel my climax coming soon. “Fuck Troy! I can’t hold it anymore!” I say. As soon as I do, my dick explodes into his mouth. He swallows every drop and he seems to love every moment of it. He continues to suck even after I’m done coming, but I have to push his hungry mouth away. “Please, no more,” I say. “But I want more” he says, his eyes blinking a little more slowly. I can tell that he is tired. He slowly crawls his way up to me and lies beside me on the bed. I turn on my side and look at him. “Thank you,” he says. “For?” “My first time having a guy inside me.” “I wasn’t really inside you ya know.” “I know,” he says with a yawn. “This was something new to me though. Something good.” He closes his eyes and within seconds he is snoring. I find it amazing how quickly drunk people fall asleep. I don’t know if I should wake him and tell him to go home, but I know I don’t want to, so I don’t wake him. I feel myself getting tired and I get to turn off the light. I walk over to the light switch and look over at my bed. I watch him breath slowly in his sleep. How lucky am I to have this beautiful, alpha hunk in my bed. Even if it is only for one night. I will always remember it. I flick off the light…
  16. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Hiya! I'm back. I just finished writing this so I will add the links to the previous chapters later. I need to get in bed so I can go to the gym in the morning haha. I hope you guys enjoy it. I will be posting again this week. I need to get this ball rolling!! Please feel free to comment, question, or anything else you could do. Thanks! Wednesday: Revelations Part 12 “Vonny?” Ethan says. “Ready to go for a swim?” I turn around and look at Ethan. The water flows smoothly behind him as we stand in the grass. I want to go swimming but I cannot clear my mind of what just happened with Troy. The look of betrayal on his face stains my mind. I’ve never seen that look on him before and definitely not directed at me. The look is his eyes was like wine on a white dress. Something that was once beautiful and now completely soiled. I’ve seen him angry and depressed, but not hurt, and he’s hurt because of me. This doesn’t feel real. “Bro. You ok?” Ethan says. I had been thinking in silence for a while. My eyes stared blankly into Ethan, but I didn’t see him. I only saw Troy. “We need to talk,” I say. “Ok, about what?” He smiles kindly at me. I have high hopes for his understanding, but a little bit of hesitations also. I just can’t keep this to myself anymore. “It’s about Troy?” “Yeah.” “I don’t really know how to say it all really. I just… I’ll start from the beginning I guess.” “You seem nervous, man. Just relax and tell me.” “It’s a little weird…Like sexually weird… Not exactly hetero if you know what I mean.” “Oh… Ok, I’m fine with that,” he says with a smile. I release a long held breath and my body relaxes. “Alright, let’s swim while we talk.” “Awesome!” We both make our way into the water and I begin my story. I tell Ethan about how my friendship with Troy grew over the weightlifting class and how Troy seemed to be sexually charged towards me although he had a girlfriend. I told him about how we jerked off in the shower and how Troy was so eager for physical contact or nudity but somehow made it seem normal. Well not normal, but right. It felt so right. He listened eagerly and he didn’t say a word. He looked at me understandingly the entire time and I could feel tons of weight lifting off my chest. I finish the story by telling him what he already knows. He knows Troy’s girlfriend doesn’t want Troy to lift and now that he knows about our “encounters” he can help me. By the time I am finished, an hour has passed and we are out of the water and sitting in the grass. “Wow! So this is what has been bothering you all of this time. I mean I suspected something, but this was totally unexpected!” “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy, man,” I say. “So what should I do?” “Well…It seems like Troy may be in denial. I’m sure from what you told me that he’s possibly bisexual and hasn’t experienced much with another bro before.” “I’ve figured that much, but what can I do about it?” “Well I don’t want to say confront him, because he could flip shit and deny everything. I think you should wait everything out,” Ethan says. Do you like him?” “Uh…I… I don’t know,” I say. “It’s like he’s powerful and I enjoy how he pushes me.” “Don’t I do the same for you?” “Yeah, but I don’t get surges of sexual energy when I see you.” “Well if you aren’t crushing on him, I’m assuming you both have a very strong mutual appreciation of each other’s gains or some type of muscle fetish. It’s not strictly you liking him. It’s more of a bro thing I guess. You two were just a lot closer than I imagined.” “That’s a decent way to explain it. I still feel terrible though. I feel like hanging out with you is hurting him. He saw you flexing for me and I know he’s upset. I saw it.” “But dude, I’m not like him. We’re bros and yeah we may show off for one another, but I am not trying to get in his way.” “But what does he want exactly?” “I don’t know. We need to wait for him to figure that mess out, bro. But for now let’s just do what we do. Workout. Eat. Flex. Grow. Repeat.” I smile at this. I love the idea of just eating, lifting , and growing. I’d love a life where I’d only have to focus on my bod without the trouble of life’s problems. “Sounds good to me,” I say. “You still down for that run later?” “Yeah man. I’m still down!” I look down at my phone. Wednesday April 27th 4:30 pm. School ends May 20th. That gives Troy a little over 20 days to figure himself out and hopefully come to me…with a solution that is. “Let’s get back to campus.” We get up and head over to his car. It’s funny how after all of this we still have exercise on our minds. We quickly get back to campus and head over to the gym locker room. We are both extremely chill right now. I feel like Ethan is a lot closer of a friend and I know he feels it too. The burden of secrets has been lifted. We both walk into the locker room, go into our lockers and pull out our running shorts. It’s hot outside so there’s no need for shirts and honestly what fun would wearing those be? I suddenly feel a lot more comfortable around Ethan and get the balls to pull off all of my clothes in front of him. I stand in front of my locker with my dick, balls and ass hanging out. I look over at Ethan and he does the same. I’ve never seen his cock before but fuck was I surprised. Ethan was gifted with a thick veiny cock that hung flaccid at about 7 inches. Damn! If it’s that long soft I can’t even imagine it hard. I take a hard look at his round ass and the tight hamstrings leading up to it. I know him being nude in front of me is rare so I take in as much as I can. How lucky am I to have such a hunk for a friend? I pull up my shorts and put on my running shoes and he does the same. “Let’s go, man!” Ethan says. We head outside and I immediately break into a sprint. “Whoa, man! Wait for me!” The fresh air breathes life to my already sweaty skin. The sun beams down on me with intensity and I feel the skin on my back burning. I notice Ethan’s masculine figure catching up to me in the corner of my eye. Eventually we are keeping the same pace and we continue to run on the sidewalk past the freshman dorms. My thick, meaty pecs dancing as I run. Makes me wonder if they make bras for dudes with muscled tits. I look over at Ethan and see his pecs jump with each move of his body. “You’re fast!” Ethan says. “Oh, I know,” I say cockily and with a blast of energy I push myself faster. We run past the dining hall and the smell of food fills the air. Dinner should be ready soon. We pass a couple of cheerleaders on their way out of the dining hall door and they all squeal when they see us. I love it when people react to my body. Girl or not, it is amazing being admired. After about 40 minutes we have ran a little over 3 miles and we are beat. I check my watch and it’s getting close to 6 o’clock. “Wanna get dinner?” Ethan says. “Yeah. Let’s go to The Grill.” The grill is a fast food joint on our campus. It’s located inside our campus center and they have everything from hotdogs to chicken quesadillas. “When do you want to meet up?” “Meet up? I was gonna go now.” “Now! We don’t have shirts!” “Not gonna stop me.” I say. “Oh boy. Alright. Let us sweaty, sticky men go to a public space haha,” he says. “Perfect!” I reply. We walk over to the grill. It’s an old building. It was built in the 60’s and was still pretty decent looking. The red bricks have faded and there were a few dents here and there, but we weren’t here to look at the architecture. We push our way through the revolving doors and walk inside. There’s a food counter, similar to what you see in any fast food establishment, with tv screens above it displaying all of the food choices to the left. To the right there are about 20 black round tables with 4 chairs. Each seat at each table is filled with a person and every eye is on us. “Oh fuck,” Ethan mutters. “Stay calm” I whisper as we walk over to the food counter. There is a slim, Hispanic boy working the register. He’s wearing a bright red shirt and a red hat with our mascot, Buff the Bulldog on it. He visibly swallows when he sees me and begins to fidget his fingers on the screen of his register. He looks extremely young and is most likely a freshman. He’s pretty cute too. I’d probably destroy him in bed if I hadn’t had my heart somewhere else. Did I really just think that? “How…” he swallows. “How may I help you?” he says to my pecs. He is extremely nervous and his eyes are deeply focused on my chest. He even licked his lips a little and I can’t help but smile at this. I look behind him and there’s a thick black girl in the same outfit standing behind him. Her hand is over her mouth and her eyes are wide. She is obviously enamored. I decide to have a little fun. “I’d like…” I say, flexing my pecs with every word and earning a gasp from the girl behind him. “I’d like 2 chicken wraps” flex “a small” flex “fry,” flex “and a chocolate” flex “milkshake.” He stalls. His mouth is hanging open and he doesn’t respond. The girl behind him moves forward, her eyes never leaving my body, and speaks. “I am so sorry about him,” she says as she moves him out of the way and types my order into the register. The Hispanic kid continues to stare at my chest and I chuckle. “What will your friend be having?” I turn around and look at Ethan. His face is red and I understand why. I take a peek behind him and see loads of people still looking at us. “Ethan?” I say. “Uh, I’ll have the same,” he replies his face ever reddening. “Right away!” says the Hispanic kid. His mind finally working and he and the girl rush through a door to the back to prepare the food. I turn around and look at Ethan. “You cool?” I say. “Uh… Not exactly. I feel all of the eyes on me…” “That’s good, man. They’re just ‘mirin you.” “Yeah, I haven’t been looked at like this before though,” he says softly. “I mean I have, but only by you and a couple other guys. Never 50 people.” “Well there’s 100 eyes on you and they are loving every inch of your body. Own that shit man.” Ethan smiles at this and is about to speak when the girl comes back with our food. “Here you go guys,” she says with a huge smile as she hands us white paper bags filled with food. “Thanks for coming!” I feel that she actually meant that. It’s rare that cashier actually care. I thank her with a wink and she basically falls back onto the door. We both walk out and I hear her whisper “OHMAHGAWD!” as we leave. “That was pretty amazing,” Ethan says as we finish up our food. We had been sitting outside for about 2 hours. Talking about life, the future, and how amazing it was being admired by so many people at once. “My heart beats faster just thinking about it,” he continues. “I want to do it again!” “What’s stopping us?” I say. “Nothing I guess,” he says with a laugh. We get up and throw our bags of leftover trash away. It’s a little past 8 o’clock. “See you later, bro.” I raise my fist to his and we bump them together. I’m so glad he’s my bro. I slowly make my way over to my frat house and stop when I see a dark figure standing outside the door. Could it be a brother? It can’t be. A brother would know the code to the house. Each frat has a keypad and each brother knows the code. The figure knocks on the door repeatedly and I begin to realize this person could be threatening. Its body is sagging and drooping against the door. I slowly make my way to the door through my lawn, hoping it is just Jason or anyone else who could have forgotten the code. Sadly I was wrong. As soon as my feet touch the first step the figure turns around and lunges at me, I am suddenly on my back and the weight of the figure is crushing me. My arms and legs are pinned and I look it in the eyes. “Troy?” I say, startled.
  17. rienzope

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  18. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Hi there. It's Wednesday again! As promised, after posting early last week, here is the next chapter. This one is a little short. It has to be because there is a lot to come in the following chapters and this is the beginning of it all. Like and comment anything you may be feeling or any questions you may have. I'm open to conversation. As usual the links to the previous parts are above and enjoy. Tuesday: Meaningful Distractions "I wish Clarence didn't go away for the summer... I really miss him and his jokes,” Angelica said, although oblivious to me. My mind is elsewhere. We are in the auditorium listening to a lecture for our Biology class. We both despise the class but the school requires its students to take two science courses before they graduate and we have no choice. The professor, a slender blond woman with class, drones on about cellular respiration and I haven’t listened to one single word. Angelica was talking about all the fun times we had last semester. Clarence was a friend that transferred to a new school. This college was getting too expensive for him. “Von?" Angelica says. “Yeah…he was…hilarious in Bio,” I say. As cool as Angelica is, I am struggling to find what to say to her. It was hard for me focus on her without thinking about Troy and his girlfriend. I wish Ethan were here. He seems very insightful about these things. I mean… we can’t really talk about any of the private things Troy and I did in the locker room and shower, but he definitely understands that I may be losing my friend. "Is something on your mind? You look kinda down." "What? Oh no. It’s just after the spring session, it looks like so many of us are going our separate ways. And I like what we all had. And I don't even know how I could possibly stay in touch with everyone..." In a way I had just told her my feelings towards my friendship with Troy, but she didn’t know that. It’s April and school will be ending in May. Soon school will be over and we will have the entire summer to lose touch. His internship will be in the Fall so that means I will have an entire semester without him if I don’t also get accepted into the program. An entire summer is 3 months and then the fall semester lasts 4 months. He will return for spring classes, but that’s still 7 months to lose touch and then we will be graduating. Sucks to suck right? “Hey! Don’t worry!” Angelica says. “Jason, Zeus and I will always be your friends. But remember, a relationship is two sided and you have to put forth an effort to see us too. I haven’t seen you outside of class in weeks and it sucks.” “I’ve been a little preoccupied.” “Well get unoccupied and come see us! We miss you.” Now I feel bad. I had been neglecting my friends…people I have known since freshman year for Troy, a guy I had met in gym class. Even Ethan and I were a little distanced before Troy was out of the picture and I had known Ethan since high school. There's no way I can tell Angelica all of this. She'll think I have feelings for Troy or that I want to fuck him, but it’s much more complicated than that. I honestly don’t know what I want yet and if rumors spread because of her, everything will be ruined. “What could I do to keep our friendship alive?” I say. “I’m glad you asked. I’m going to The Lakeside Restaurant tomorrow evening with Zeus and Jason. We’re going swimming afterwards. Please come!” She flutters her pretty blue eyes at me and it’s not like I was going to say no so I just give into it. “Only if you give me a ride.” I say. “Deal! Ok, let’s try to listen to the last hour of this damn lecture.” Now that she stopped talking I had my thoughts to myself again. I have been thinking about telling Ethan the secret stuff that went down between Troy and I. It would definitely help with expressing how I feel and I am sure he would be smart enough to help me figure things out. The problem is that he’s not exactly homoerotic with me nor does he seem bisexual. The only hint at him being sexually deviant in anyway is that he gets boners while wrestling but that could be blamed on the rush of testosterone from exertion. I hope he would understand and not freak out on me. I know Ethan hasn’t shown as much interest in muscles as Troy has. He is nowhere near that level. Then again, I haven't even thought about flexing with or for Ethan. I mean I have but I have never thought of doing it for real. Maybe if I push Ethan's limits and find out if he has any homoerotic elements, then I can open up to him about Troy! Hmm… I think I have a plan.
  19. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Yo, I finished up this next chapter early so I'm posting it . I planning on writing the next one and posting it on Wednesday too. This section was really fun to write. I gets pretty intense in some places and I know you guys will love it. So here it is. A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Monday: Resurgence Part 9 I’m standing in the locker room. I’m completely nude, but I don’t care. For the first time I don’t care if anyone walks in and sees me naked. My body looks great so why should I care? My pecs bulge out of my chest so much that my nipples point down. My lats are so swollen that they get in the way of my biceps. My biceps are rock hard with vascular veins pumping their way down my arms. My abs are rock hard, my ass is thick and my legs are as huge as tree trunks. I look down at my erect cock and smile; who wouldn’t want this cock? The locker room door suddenly opens and I look up to see Ethan walking in. His eyes bulge out of his head as soon as he sees. I give him a cocky smile, almost laughing at the bewildered look in his eyes. He stands frozen by the door. “Uh…What’s up man?” he says. He looks a bit embarrassed. His face is turning red, but he shouldn’t be. He’s not the one without any clothing. “Just getting changed into my compression shorts,” I say as I point to the bright red shorts on the bench. I turn towards him and continue to speak. My erect dick points in his direction and I know he is trying his best not to stare. “You gotten really big, man. Way bigger than when we first met. It’s amazing.” He slowly walks into to the bench beside me and takes his bag off his back. He starts removing clothes from it, not taking his eyes off of me once. “Like what you see?” I ask. His face turns red. I feel amazing. I love having this effect on people and when it’s a bro like Ethan, it’s even more amazing. “I…I…I want to see what your muscles looked like flexed…” “Really now?” I say with a smirk. “Yes…Could you flex for me? “I’m glad you asked.” I make my way closer to him and flex my pecs. They bounce up and down and I notice his breath hitch. “Have a feel,” I say. Within a second his hand is on my hard pec. He squeezes and I flex beneath his hand. I can feel my dick getting harder. I lift my right arm and flex my bicep. His hand makes its way to my biceps and he slowly caresses his hand across it. “You’re like a rock,” he says. “It’s not the only thing that’s a rock right now,” I say. We both look down at my dick. “Yeah, I can see.” BAM!! Ethan and I both jump. The bathroom door burst open with such force that the noise echoes through the entire locker room. We both look to see who it is. It’s Troy… and he is angry. He rushes over to us, his shoulders hunched up, grabs Ethan by the arms, and tosses him across the room. “Troy!” I scream. VRRRRRRRTTT…VRRRRRRRT…VRRRRRRTT… My eyes burst open and I see the ceiling. The sun’s morning glow caresses every surface of my bedroom. My phone is ringing. It’s what woke me up. I immediately grab my phone and answer the call. “Hello?” “Yo dude, what’s up?” “Ethan? It’s like...” I check the time on my phone. “9 am.” “Yeah, well I texted you and didn’t get an answer. I saw Troy after my 8am class this morning and he says today is a good day for a little wrestling.” “Really? What time?” “He’s only free at 10:30. He has a class at 12:30 and he wants to shower and get lunch before.” “That’s a little over an hour from now! I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet, Ethan!” “Well let’s go eat ASAP and meet him at the gym.” “Okay,” I say. I feel a sharp pain in my groin and look down at my swelling cock. I’m rock hard from my dream. I can’t ignore it either. “Give me 20 minutes to get there.” “Aight, cool. See ya man.” “See ya.” I hang up the phone and my hand is immediately on my dick. I usually sleep nude so it was easily accessible. Tossing the blanket to the side, I hastily begin tugging at my ever swelling meat. My body is craving the satisfaction of a good cum and I can already feel the energy building up in my body. I feel the energy flow from my cock up into my chest and my breathing gets heavier as this familiar spark of energy rushes through my veins. My hand continues to stroke even faster. Precum begins to leak from my cock onto my lower abs. The veins in my dick protrude as my blood pumps harder. I’m getting close. I’m moaning now. I can’t control myself because of how good I feel. The pressure in my nuts rises, the tension getting stronger and stronger and suddenly I burst. I suck in a large gasp of air as streams of cum begin to shoot out of my dick. My back arches as one jet, then two, and then another three jets of cum shoot out of my dick. The first shoots over my head onto my pillow, the second onto my shoulder and the last three onto my chest. My arm drops and I start to relax. “Fuck,” I say breathlessly. It’s been a while since I came this much. My breathing is slowed and more relaxed now so I grab the shirt I took off last night to clean the splattered cum off my chest. Thoughts of my dream start to come back to me. I imagine Troy throwing Ethan again and my chest aches. I could never see those two hating each other. Why was Troy angry and what does it mean? I have a bad feeling…a feeling like something horrible could happen, but I don’t know what could cause it to happen or why it would happen it all. Whatever may happen, I’m sure it has something to do with an altercation between Ethan and Troy. I look at the time on my phone. I have 10 minutes left to get dressed and then go meet Ethan. I go to my closet, put on some jeans and a T-shirt, and pack my backpack with my singlet. Then I’m out of my room and out of my frat house in a flash. “Bro, what’s on your mind?” Ethan says. We had been eating for about 10 minutes and our conversations had been shortened by periodic silences caused by me being lost in thought. He jerks me out of my thoughts and I look at him startled. “Nothing man. I’m just thinking of a dream I had.” “What was it about?” “Uhh… Just school stuff. I dreamt that I failed a test in my criminology class and then I had to drop out of school because I couldn’t finish my Criminal Studies major and then I died…” “Whoa, man! It was just a dream! None of that will actually happen.” Whew! He fell for it. There is absolutely no way I am telling him about the violent part of the dream. Maybe one day I’ll tell him about the worshiping. I love muscle worship, but I don’t know if Ethan does. Not yet. “I know. I’ll get over it. So how was your night?” I say as I scoop scrambled eggs into my mouth. I want the conversation to change. “Well after basketball yesterday I showered, ate dinner, and just chilled in my room. It was a pretty laxed evening. Not to be too personal, but every time I exercise I get a rush of testosterone so you can figure out what happened when I got alone in my room.” I laugh at him not so subtly admitting that he masturbated. “Bro, trust me,” I say. “I totally understand. This morning was pretty hard for me… wait I didn’t mean that! Shit!” Ethan spits out the milk he is drinking and we both burst into laughter. Ethan even ends up coughing a little. “Dude, I’m sure you said what you meant. I bet you were pretty hard,” Ethan says with a wink. This just puts me in another uncontrollable fit of laughter. It’s moments like these that I believe Ethan wouldn’t mind at all if I asked him to flex for me or vise-versa. Before we know it, it’s time to go wrestle and Ethan and I make our way over to the gym from the dining hall. We head over to the locker room as soon as we enter the gym and I begin to remember my dream again. I shrug off the thoughts. There’s no way that will happen. I open the locker room door to see one single person in the room, Troy, and he’s standing completely naked. He still has the round, full ass that I remember. His back is turned to us Ethan and I as he rummages through his locker. I look over to Ethan who seems pretty chill. Nothing unusual about a naked guy in the locker room right? He turns around and sees us. “Vonny!” he says. He gives me a huge smile and begins to walk over to me, still nude. His dick flops around as he comes near and I freeze up. He brings me into a tight bear hug and all I can think of is how strange this must look to Ethan, but this is typical Troy. He still feels as firm and strong as he did before. I guess muscle regression takes a little longer for him. “How have you been, bro?” I say as he lets go. “Hanging in there?” He looks over to Ethan. “What’s up, Ethan?” He walks over to Ethan, still naked, and gives him a handshake. “Nothing much, man,” Ethan says nervously. “I’m ready to kick both of your asses though!” I guess that nervousness was temporary. “Oh, really?” Troy and I both say. “Then let’s put our singlets on and wrestle!” I say to Ethan. We quickly change. Troy puts on his tightest grey compression shorts and a tight grey compression shirt. Ethan sports a dark blue singlet and I a black one. Once we are dressed we make our way over to the mats. “And so the fun begins,” says Troy. “Ethan, you and I go first. Winner takes on Von.” He moves his way to the mat and Ethan takes his position in front of him. I watch as the two beasts go at each other. Troy seems to have the upper hand. He’s about 30 pounds heavier than Ethan. I remember him saying he was 170 pounds in the past, but I have no clue how much mass he has lost since then. He is still strong though. He flips Ethan onto his back and slams him on the floor. I hear the breath leave Ethan’s body, but he doesn’t give up. He slips from beneath Troy and latches onto his back. Troy struggles beneath Ethan’s weight and lets out a deep grunt, his face turning red from the pressure. I watch in amazement as these two monsters go at each other and I feel the familiar surge of energy in my groin. “You can’t beat me, bro!” Troy says. He flips onto his back with Ethan on it. Ethan lets out a loud puff of air and he lets go. “Damn!” he says. Within a second Troy pins Ethan down again. I watch him struggle beneath him, the sweat dripping down his face. It’s nice to know that Troy still has his strength. After a few more rounds, Troy comes out as victor and it’s my turn to go up against him. “I thought you were top dog, Ethan!” I say to taunt him. “Guess today just isn’t my day, man,” he says. I look down and see a hard bulge protruding through his tight singlet. I smirk at it. “Alright,” Troy says pointing at me. “Your turn!” He looks at me with such determination. It has been so long since I’ve seen his eyes this bright. “Let’s go! Bring it” I say, edging him on. I move to the mat and suddenly he is on top of me. His thick pecs connect with mine and I feel his arms wrap around my back. His grip is strong and there is nothing I can do to break out. I miss how powerful he was and it seems that his strength hasn’t wavered at all. He is too strong, even for me and my body is repeatedly slammed and pinned to the ground. I’m amazed and in no way upset by his display of power. After a few rounds I am sweaty and tired, but Troy seems even more pumped. I can tell he misses this. He must miss exerting himself and feeling powerful like he is now. I feel a little sad for him. After he is finishes whooping me, we towel off. “That was the most fun I have had in a while,” Troy says to me and Ethan. “You’re telling me,” I say. “This is great!” I finally have my bro back. I feel that Ethan, Troy and I could be bros for life. “So Von, you wanna go for a workout? “says Ethan. “It’s only 12:00 and I don’t have class for a couple hours.” “That sounds great man,” I say. “You heading to lunch Troy?” “Yup, I’ll see you guys around.” He fists bumps us both and we separate. Ethan and I walk into the weight room and Troy out the gym door. We make our way over to a weight bench by the window. “So Ethan, I noticed you were a little happy down there earlier?” I say teasing. “Bro!” he says embarrassed. “You know how things get in the heat of the moment. Popping a boner is—“ He suddenly stops speaking. He is staring out of the window. I look in the direction he is looking and see what he sees. Troy is outside of the gym and he is yelling loudly at a girl in front of him. His back is turned to us and I can see the girl’s face. She has curly strawberry blond hair, freckles and glasses. It’s his girlfriend, Terri, and she is beyond pissed. They don’t notice us through the window, but I can hear their every word. “I told you never to go here again! You know I don’t want you looking like a fucking freak, Troy!” Terri says and begins to storm off. “I wasn’t working out, babe!” Troy cries. “I was wrestling with my friends!” He begins to follow her and their voices begin to fade as they walk away from the gym. “Wrestling!? Who wrestles!? I know that’s a lie. I know you are covering up and you were really in the weight room.” “But I fucking wasn’t!” “Don’t lie to me! Why can’t you do this one thing for me Troy!?” He speaks but he’s too far away to hear now. I stand beside Ethan in shock. I never imagined their relationship so…fiery. Ethan and I just look at them as they walk away. “What a bitch,” he says.
  20. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Guess what day it is?? Wednesday! and that means another chapter! I'll try to keep it up and post every Wednesday. It has been very convenient with my Summer schedule. I am estimating about 7ish more chapters in the future and then a possible spin off. Please enjoy and as usual, read the first parts if you haven't. A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Sunday: Recreational Sports Part 8 It’s 3:30 when Ethan messages me to meet him at the gym. I quickly change into a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top. It’s always nice to show off your bicep gains, especially after arm day. I walk from my house to the gym. The sun coats me in a blanket of heat. I immediately start to sweat and I can’t wait to make it to the gym. I see the building in front of me and I notice a head of black hair and a thick muscular back walking in the same direction towards it. “Yo Ethan!” I yell. “Wait up bro.” He stops in his tracks and quickly turns on his heels. A smile is already on his face. “Sup dude,” he says. “Ready for some b-ball?” I quickly catch up to him now that he has stopped walking. “Yup. I’m ready to kick your ass,” I say and laugh. “How was the Spring Festival?” “Hot as Hell and don’t think I have forgotten about your “ass kicking” comment. The festival was interesting. Plenty of great food. I ran into an old friend of yours too.” “Who?” I knew the answer before I had even asked. “Troy, and boy what a conversation we had!” “What? Tell me, man!” We made our way into the gym and are approaching the basketball court. “Okay, okay!” he says. We sit by the wall near the basketball court and he begins his story. “So, I was at this food stand that sold strawberries when I noticed he was standing beside me. He saw me too so he approached me…” Suddenly Ethan stopped talking and just stared at my face. “Dude, what happened?” “Haha, I’m just seeing if you are paying attention.” “Yes, I’m paying attention! Fuck!” “Okay ok lol,” he says this with a smile. I’ll add “love of torture” to his list of redeemable character traits. “So he says to me, ‘Oh you’re Vonny’s friend that wrestles right?’ and I can tell that he is checking me out as we talk, dude. I swear his eyes were rubbing me down.” “That does sound like Troy,” I say smiling. I miss the way his eyes used to admire me. If only he could see me after all these weeks. “I decided to be a bit nosy and prod so I asked him if he still trains with you.” “What!? You already know that his girlfriend banned him from working out!” “I know, but I wanted to see what his opinion on his situation was and if he would tell me anything at all.” Smart. When the hell did Ethan get so smart? “So what did he say?” “He told me he didn’t work out with you anymore because he was so busy with the last few weeks of school.” “That’s a huge lie,” I say. “I know,” Ethan says. “It really sucks that he feels that he needs to lie about it.” “He probably lied because he’s embarrassed. I would be.” “After that he asked me about what I had been up to since he last saw me wrestle you. So I told him I had been to the gym with you and man his eyes lit up so much!” “Really?” “Yeah, it was like a mix between excitement and jealously. Like maybe he didn’t really know what he was feeling.” “That’s also typical of Troy.” “So I go on prodding and I ask him if he wanted to play basketball or wrestle at the least.” “What did he say?” “He said yes. Sports technically don’t count as bodybuilding so he wants to give it a go, but under one condition.” “And that is?” I say. “He wants you to be there,” Ethan replies. “So that means—” “You get to hang out with your buddy again and while you won’t be getting pumped at the gym, you still haven’t lost your friend!” “Shit, Ethan, you’re amazing!” “Yeah I am. Now let’s play some basketball, man!” He jumps up to grab a basketball off of a rack and tosses it to me. I quickly catch the ball and he starts to strip off his shirt. Ethan’s thick pecs hover like a shelf above his eight pack abs. My eyes make my way down his muscled obliques and to his v line. He’s ripped and vascular opposed to my thick and stocky look. I haven’t stopped staring at him since he took off his shirt and he notices. He slowly walks towards me and we are standing a few inches apart. “Like what you see?” he says. I remember when Troy asked me that once. “Huh? Oh… Uh I’m just wondering how much you weight. You’re ripped, dude,” I say. I hope I saved myself. I don’t exactly know where Ethan stands sexually and I don’t want to ruin our friendship over something as dumb as me admiring his body. “I weigh 145 pounds, bro. What about you?” “I’m 155.” “What!? You don’t look like it!” I would say 140 at the least!” “You haven’t seen me bare all of my muscle,” I say. "So how would you know?” “True, true. Take off your shirt and show me then.” I freeze up. That was a bit unexpected. I just stand there and look at him. “Go ahead then,” he says. “Aright then.” I try to speak nonchalantly, but honestly I am a little excited to see what he thinks of my progress. I slowly begin to peel off my shirt as he watches. Once it is off I remember that I am standing in the middle of an indoor basketball court and I am immediately conscious of 2 other students playing basketball on the court parallel to ours. I nervously watch them as they play. “Damn, dude!” Ethan says. “You’re thicker than I thought!” He then reaches up and softly connects his fist with one of my pecs. His eyes widen as the firmness of it. I’m not gonna lie, I was flexing a bit. Probably because of the cold. I continue to watch the two students playing basketball. One of them, a thin Asian girl, has noticed that we both have our shirts off and stops playing. She points for her friend to look at us and I am even more self-conscious now. Ethan sees where I am looking and turns around. The two girls immediately look away embarrassed. “Looks like you have some admirers, bro.” He says this while he continues to stare at my body. “Nah, I think they are looking at the both of us,” I say nervously. “Oh I don’t know. They were looking at us until your shirt came off. I mean look at you. A thick, juicy piece of smooth alpha male chocolate. I bet they want a bite.” He says this and winks and me and I am beyond surprised. I don’t even know how to react, but I acknowledge that he described me as smooth chocolate. No one has ever described my skin that way before and it makes me laugh. “Smooth chocolate?” I say. “Really?” I can’t help myself from laughing. “Hey man! I’m just describing how good your muscles look in contrast to your skin.” “I know, I know. Thanks. I don’t really see myself as huge, but at the same time I want to be more lean. It’s confusing.” “Trust me I can see that you are huge. You are stocky and beefy looking. That’s hot, man. Now let’s play some ball!” Hot huh??? We start playing basketball and luckily we took off our shirts because we are already sweaty after 15 minutes playing. Ethan is really good at basketball. Well, at least he is so much better than I am that he seems really good. As we play Ethan begins to speak again. “Oh right so I just remembered something else Troy said.” He dribbles around me and goes for a shot. It bounces off the rim and I catch it. He immediately rushes in front of me in an attempt to block my shot. “What’s that?” I say. “He said he was preparing for an internship to Superset City. Bro, I was so confused when he told me this. If he can’t workout, why is he going to torture himself in the biggest fitness capital in the world?” I go for the shot. I make it and Ethan catches the ball. “I know about that internship. He asked me to sign up and see if I could be his roommate.” “Did you?” Yes, but they haven’t responded yet.” “Well if they respond,” he says as tries to rush past me. His sweaty chest bumps up against mine, the two slabs of thick meat make a wet smacking noise as they make contact and he slips around me. “What will you do?” “I know I will go and I guess we will be roommates.” Ethan makes the shot and catches the ball. “It would suck to not be able to lift every day with him though. I don’t understand why he is still going, but I don’t know if Troy wants to be my roommate anymore.” “Well, the best thing you could do is ask,” Ethan says. I guess so… but why Troy would go to a city that revolves around working out. Does his girlfriend know? Is he unwilling to give up such a great opportunity? I have so many questions. What exactly is going on with Troy?
  21. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Guess what? I'm back and I have plenty of twist and turns coming! Sorry for taking so long. I had to plan and I was pretty busy. Technically I still am but I will be posting once a week on Wednesdays. Have fun. A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Saturday: The Void Part 7 It has been over two weeks since Troy and I last spoke of him quitting working out. We never hung out outside of fitness related activities to begin with, so I found myself with a huge problem. Working out alone has been lame and I wanted him to be in the gym with me. Something he does not. I still want to be his friend too. He is my bro, but how do we maintain our relationship if the one thing we bonded over isn’t allowed anymore? How can I even speak to Troy if it isn’t about gains, protein, or a gym pump? How do I be his friend while trying to ignore the one thing we bonded over? “Von, are you listening?” Ethan says. “Sorry man. I’m just a little distracted,” I say. It’s 5:30 and we are in the dining hall getting out fill of baked chicken and pasta. You can never have enough protein and carbs. “You work out today?” “No.” I would go to the gym today eventually. I just had no motivation to go just yet. Going alone sucks and now I usually wait to go at night when the usual lonely people go. “Then maybe you should go and blow off some steam.” “That probably won’t work,” I say. “Well how about a little wrestling to take your mind off of things? He says this with a huge smile. Wrestling is his favorite past time. “That actually doesn’t sound too bad, but I still need to workout.” “Well you will be at the gym. Just workout afterwards, dude!” “What about you bro? Don’t you workout? I know you didn’t just wake up swelling like a beast!” “Of course I workout man!” he says and laughs. “I wouldn’t have much time to workout though. I have a night class.” “How about this? We figure out a time to wrestle and lift. I’m in a desperate need of a workout partner.” “And you want it to be me?” he says, eyes widening. “Dude, we could destroy the gym together,” I say laughing. “Alright then. Let’s do it, bro! My night class ends at 9pm every night.” “Let’s go then. You’ll need a pick me up afterwards I bet.” “Right!” he says this with his eyes flashing with joy. “This is great man. I always go to the gym alone but now I won’t have to. Don’t you go with someone already? What’s the kids name? Tony… Trae…” “Troy,” I say silently. My elated mood drops a bit and Ethan notices. “What’s up? Why are you down suddenly?” I’m surprised that he asked. Ethan and I usually don’t talk about feelings. Our conversations usually involve who is going to get beat down first on the wrestling mat. I look him straight in the eye and I see that he genuinely cares. No, bull shit either. Should I tell him? “Uhh… Troy is taking an extended break from the gym,” I say. “Extended as in…” “Extended as in his girlfriend has banned him from working out for the rest of his life and I lost one of my best bros.” Ethan pauses. I can see his mind calculating what he wants to say. His eye flicker in his head and eventually his eyebrows arch into two pointed angled. He is angry. “Well fuck that!” he says. “What jerk of a girlfriend takes something so great away. Working out is an amazing experience that everyone should enjoy!” “I know…” “Like… Damn it… Troy is huge as fuck. That dude is gifted and to throw it all away just so he could keep boning. That’s horrible!” “I know. Now I usually work out alone” “Don’t you take a gym class?” “Yes, but it’s only twice a week and honestly those guys will never be as swole as Troy. He was a bit special.” “Sounds like you had a bit of a crush on him.” “Naw man! It wasn’t that! It’s just. I really admired him.” I say. I’m fighting to find words. “I wanted to be like him and it sucks that he’s giving up.” “You really think I can replace such a beast?” “You are a beast, man!” “I don’t see it.” “Trust me man. You got what it takes.” He motions to open his mouth but stops. I can tell he is thinking. “Alright, let’s do this, bro.” he says and reaches across the table to give me a fist bump. I reach up, my fist connecting with his. “And so starts a new path to gains.” I say with a smile. “What are you up to tonight, bro?” “Nothing. I could actually go for a good workout tonight. Want to go at 6:30?” “That sounds like a good plan. I’ll head back to my frat house and change and I’ll see you there.” “Cool.” The clock soon strikes 6:30 and I find myself in the gym with Ethan. We decide to work biceps and shoulders and it is amazing. We start with preacher curls and I am mesmerized by the sheer size of Ethan’s biceps. He is wearing a tight blue compression shirt and his biceps bulge through the sleeves like boulders. I can see each dip and curve in his thick arms before he even begins doing curls and once he starts his biceps immediately begin to swell with the rush of blood. “Damn man!” I say. “Your arms are so fucking jacked.” He looks at me and turns a little red. He continues to curl the 70 pound bar with ease and I just watch in admiration. “Dude, your chest is the equivalent of my biceps. I wish I had those thick pecs, but you already know that man haha.” After we finish preacher curls we move on to hammer curls. I grab two 35 pound dumbbells and he grabs two 45s. “You going in strong man?” I ask. “Nope, this is just where I start.” Fuck. “Man, I need to be where you are.” “Give it a few weeks and you will be just as big as me.” We work our way through and everything moves so smoothly and naturally. It was a whole new and completely awesome experience. Ethan is just as strong as Troy and while he does not have the competitiveness within him that Troy had, he has his own thing going on. He’s a cool dude and I’m glad he decided to give this a shot. After we finish working shoulders we are sweaty and in desperate need of showers. We walk side by side out of the gym and I look at the locker room door. So many memories flash through my head. Memories of Troy walking around nude without a care in the world. Memories of me hearing him cum in the shower. Memories of him grabbing my cock. That’s definitely a complicated one… “Von!” “Huh. What’s going on?” “You zoned out there man.” “Sorry dude. I was thinking about some stuff.” We continue our walk out of the gym. Guess we won’t be having the locker room fun Troy and I had. It’s fine though. I did not expect it from him. “You want to meet tomorrow to wrestle or play basketball, bro?” “I’m down for that. What time?” “Tomorrow is the Spring festival so sometime after 3.” “Alright, I’ll see you then man.” We are outside now and I’m about turn to walk away when Ethan reaches up and grabs my bicep. He gives my right arm a nice hard squeeze and smiles. “I can already fell those stones growing, man. You may be able to dominate me physically one day.” “You mean how I already do in wrestling!” I say laughing. “Hey, you know I’m stronger than you when we wrestle!” “Yeah, but I’m faster.” “For now. I’ll make sure to thicken you up a bit,” he says this with a cocky smile on his face, turns away, and walks off to him room. Maybe he isn’t so different from Troy.
  22. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Hey guys, things are getting intense in this story. There are a couple ways it could go next and if you have any routes you would like it to take in particular, leave a comment! A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Thursday Night: Wrestling. Part 6 I’m lying on my back in my bedroom with my eyes closed. Many thoughts run through my mind as I lie there. “Troy broke up with his girlfriend,” I whisper to myself. “No,” I respond. “She broke up with him…” I honestly have no clue. Who did the breaking up and why? My bed begins to vibrate and I am jolted out of my thoughts. It’s my phone. I pick it up and read the message. Just another text from Joy. “Shit.” It is 6:30 and I planned to meet with Troy an hour after dinner. I ate dinner at 5:30 and I remember seeing him there. So technically we should be meeting now. “Maybe he’s just waiting for his food to digest,” I say to myself. “Or maybe he’s too upset to wrestle after his break up.” I hope that he wasn’t too upset. I really hoped we could wrestle today. I felt like he was finally...VRRRTT! VRRRTT! My phone vibrated again. It was a message from Troy! Troy: Hey man, I’m ready to wrestle! Meet me at 6:50. I quickly change into my singlet and in 5 minutes I am walking into the gym. I make it my biggest priority not to mention his break up. He is already in front of me, sitting on the mat, looking at the ceiling with blank eyes. Yeah, I definitely should not bring it up. I walk over to the mat and hearing my footsteps, he opens his eyes and smiles. “Hey, bro,” he says quietly. He lacks his usual energy and that bothers me a little. I try not to let it show. He is wearing an extremely tight black compression shirt and a pair of tight, blue running shorts. This makes me a little happy. He’s still wearing clothes that show off his bod. Good. “You ready for this man?” I say. He laughs. “Ready for what exactly?” “To get your ass kicked,” I say smiling. His eyes widen at what I say. “I will fight as strongly as I can, but I’ll be honest. I don’t mind being dominated by you at all.” I hesitate to speak. I was not expecting that. “Game on,” I say. We get on the mat and move into our positons in front of each other. I size him up and look into his eyes. They have this deeply serious look. Like a threatened animal he looks at me with so much intensity that I begin to feel afraid. We continue to look into each other’s eyes. There’s tension in the air and he is beginning to breathe heavily. His chest and shoulders begin to raise up and down. Then suddenly he lunges at me. He pins me to the floor, his chest directly on mine, and I immediately flip him on to his back. “You’re faster than me,” he says. “But I’m stronger.” “We’ll see” I say. He rolls onto his knees and lunges at me again. I quickly dodge him and I’m on his back in an instant. I pin him down and all he can do is grunt and whine beneath me. He tries his best to get out of my grip but it is no use and he eventually taps out. I let him go and in a flash he turns around and is on top on me with both hands clamped over my wrists. “Whoa!” I say. “This is cheating!” “Well I gotta do something to beat someone so experienced.” The word experienced slips off of his tongue as if it had some sort form of double meaning. I wonder what he meant. I can’t move and he continues to look into my eyes as he pins me down. My dick twitches a little from the position I am in. I need to move. “Fine,” I say. “You can cheat a little you big baby.” “Prepare to get owned” He lets me go and we go at it again. This time no rules. Troy plays dirty. On two occasion his hand made harsh contact with my cock and balls causing me intense pain and giving him an advantage. I knew he was doing it on purpose, but I didn’t want to seem like a bitch so I fought through it. He pins me down about three times before I begin to notice that he is a one trick pony. Each time he pinned me he had a handful of my cock and used it to his advantage, but now I was ready. I saw his hand coming down and dodging it, I grabbed for his arm and spun him onto his back. Then I did something risky. With one hand pinning down his left hand I used my other and put pressure onto his own dick, giving him a taste of his own medicine. “Oh fuck!” he says. His eyes close shut and his head tilts back in agony. I jump on his stomach and pin him down. He gives up easily. That was the beginning of the end. I pinned him 4 more times after that within seconds and he begins to get angry. “You’re going down, man!” he yells at me. Anger is in his eyes. We are both sweating. But Troy is soaked from how much effort he is putting into fighting me. He rips off his shirt, his hard pecks and abs in full view now and I’m caught off guard that I have no time to prepare myself when he tackles me. His sweaty pecs touch my face and I can feel the dense, hard muscle push against my teeth. My cock springs to life and I’m fucking embarrassed. Shit. “Look how the tables have turned,” he says. “Not so fast!” I say. I wiggle beneath him and be begins to laugh. Luckily I wiggle just enough to free my leg and I bend my right knee right into his crotch connected with his rock hard cock. “Ugh!” he yelps and rolls onto his side with both hands over his dick. He lays there for a second and suddenly he springs back to life and comes at me again. I have time to react and duck. He tumbles over my back, grabbing my spandex as he falls, and pulls me onto him. He lies on the floor on his back holding me in his arms, my back to him. I struggle but eventually break free and try to stand. He grabs at my legs and I fall back onto him. My face lands directly between his legs and I basically lose my shit. His shorts are so thin that I can feel his dick pressed against my cheek. I can smell the musk from his dick and I get harder than I was before. The awkward part is that my dick is also in Troy’s face and he doesn’t seem to give a fuck. I feel like this moment is frozen and I don’t move and suddenly I am flipped on to my back and I see Troy with hatred in his eyes. He jumps at me but I dodge him quickly and make I am quickly on top of him with both of his arms pins. “Shit!” he yells. He struggles beneath me like a wild animal. He seems crazy. Withering like a mental patient wearing a straitjacket. His breathing is heavy and his eyes and face are red. Then suddenly he calms down. His breathing slows and his eyes begin to glisten. Tears drip down his face, adding to the sweat on his face and he looks so pitiful that I let his arms go. I stand up and put my hand out to him. He slowly raises his hand and I help him up. “How are you doing, Troy?” I say. “Are you ok?” “No… but I think I will be.” “What’s going on?” “My girlfriend…She left because I didn’t want to give up bodybuilding, but I’ve been thinking a little. Maybe I should stop.” “But she was wrong for wanting to ruin your dreams of being bigger and stronger.” Troy turns away from me and continues to speak. “I don’t think I should let her go.” I get angry at this. There is no way I’m losing him to some bitch who can’t see something amazing in front of her. I grab his shoulder and turn him around to face me. “You are strong! Look at these arms, these legs, and those abs.” I lightly punch each body part as I describe it. I notice his cock violently twitching through his shorts as I do this and his hand quickly clamps down on it. “Don’t give up on gains, man. You can find someone else, maybe someone as into body building as you. Someone just as strong.” “Who then?” he says. “Uh… I don’t know man.” “Exactly.” Troy stands, picking up his shirt and putting it back on so he can leave. “What are you going to do, Troy?” “I think…I think I’m done with lifting. I quit bodybuilding!” His fists are clenched and are turning red. “I’m doing it for her…” he says and walks away, leaving me in the gym alone.
  23. Hey dudes, here is part 4 of the story. If you haven't read the previous chapter, here is the link. Have fun. A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Wednesday Leg day: Part 4 I walk into the gym with Troy, both of us with our pre-workout bottles in hand. I can tell that Troy is pumped. He shaking a little and I can’t tell if it’s from the pre-workout or the idea of working out again. “I fucking love leg day, bro,” he says. Yeah, definitely pumped about working out. I love this go get em attitude. “Let’s do this man!” I say. We walk past the front desk and into the weight room. Zeus and Kris are missing so I won’t have any partners today. This day is already starting to suck. Damn. “Von!” Russ yells from across the room. “Kris and Zeus are sick so I’m partnering you with Troy today.” “Sweet!” Troy exclaims as he begins to softly punch me in the abs. I smile and shrug him off. “Alright bro, let’s go!” Russ tells us that our first exercise will be back squats, so we walk over to the bar. “You should go first. I have a feeling I’ll need to add more to what you’ll put on,” Troy says. I laugh. “You cocky bastard!” “Hey man,” he shrugs his shoulders and puts up his hands in surrender. “I’m just being honest.” I agree and load the 45 pound bar with a 45 pound plate on each side. Troy stands behind me in case I’ll need help and I begin my reps. After 10 reps I stop squatting and put the bar back. My ass is already feeling the burn, but it’s a good burn. “Alright bro, let me show you how it’s done” Troy says. He makes his way over to the plates and adds an extra 35 pounds to each side. That’s 205 pounds on his first set! That’s way more than my bitch weight of 135 pounds. “Fuck man!” I say. “Are you serious?” “Watch and see.” He begins his squats and I am in awe. He slides up in down with ease and each time he comes up a power burst of air blows from his mouth. All I can stare at from behind is his ass; it looks so powerful. Each jacked globe poking through his tight joggers. The grey joggers strain as his ass grows beneath them. If only he didn’t have them on. That way I could see the full power of those muscles and view them with pleasure. He finishes his set and sets the weight back down. “Your turn.” I walk to the bar. I’m intimidated by him now. I want to try the weight he just did, but I don’t know if I have it in me. I don’t want to take any weight off the bar because I’d feel like a little bitch. I can feel his eyes burning into my back as I make my hard decision. “I think I’ll try 8 reps with this weight,” I say. “Oh really now?” he says. “Guess my heavy set got your competitive juices going, huh bro?” He claps me on the back. Oh yeah. Game on. “Something like that,” “Alright, show me what you got. I’ll stand close to be sure you don’t fall.” I immediately put the bar on my shoulders and start the set. The weight is heavy and I can already feel it hurting my back. “Shit,” I mutter. “Don’t worry bro, I got you.” Troy comes up behind me and puts both hands on my waist as support. I feel jolts of electricity shooting through where his fingers are making contact. Must be the pre-workout. I squat down and the weight is insane. My legs tremble but I keep pushing. He’s still there for me and supports me through it all. By the 8th rep I am beat, but I feel accomplished. When I put the bar back Troy looks at me with impressed eyes. “Way to go man!” he says. He goes for another ab punch. I let him get me once and then I block his next punch. He’s such a bro. “Alright,” I say. “Your next set.” We blast through our workout. After squats we go to leg presses, leg curls and leg extensions. I try my best to keep up with troy, but the man is a beast. He powers through it all like a train and by then end of it all I am beat. Class is over and I check my phone; it’s 3:40 and my wrestling buddy Ethan has texted me. Ethan: You, me, Jason. On the mats. Today. 4:00. Bring your singlet. Good? It seems that Ethan wants to practice a little today. Back in high school I wrestled a little, but I never joined the team. It wasn’t until I came to college that I found myself liking more and more wrestling. Ethan, Jason and I all joined the team our freshman year, but college gets busy and we never had time for matches so we would just put singlets on once a week and beat each other down when we could. I reply that it sounds like a good plan and walk with Troy to the locker room. Once inside he immediately begins to strip down and is once again standing naked in front of me. Thankfully I am used to it after our last jerk off session. His cock flops between his muscled thighs still swollen from the workout, and I try to avoid looking at his thick meat. “Ready to shower bro?” he asks. “Nah man, I can’t today. I gotta get changed into my singlet for a little wrestling.” I walk to my locker and pull out a blue singlet and begin to change my clothes. I feel him watching me as I pull off my shirt. “Wrestling?” he says as he begins to scratch his twitching cock. “I didn’t know you wrestled.” “Yeah man, actually, I wanted to ask if you were interested in a little wrestling yourself.” My shirt is off and I pull down my pants and boxers, now completely nude. I can still feel him watching me and decide to toy with him. “Like what you see?” I say. His eyes widen and he is completely taken off guard. I stand there nude, dick out and he still doesn’t look away. “I’m just seeing that you are getting stronger. That’s all, bro,” he says and laughs. “Thanks for noticing.” His dick is starting to get hard and his hand is doing a terrible job at covering it. I decide to put the singlet on before he blows. At least I think I’m the reason he is getting hard? With Troy, I actually don’t know. “I’m gonna go shower man. Maybe I’ll wrestle another day.” I’m a little disappointed…Ok I am very disappointed. Guess I’ll have to figure out another way to get to him. “Alright man, I’ll see ya.” I now have my blue singlet on and he continues to stare. My bulge is clearly seen and each outline of my defined abs poke through the shirt. My pecs stand out like shelves. I look great and I know it and so does Troy. After a few moments of staring he quickly turns around and runs to the shower, hand on cock. I have a good idea of what he is about to do. In fact, I think I already hear moaning. Hahaha. I walk out of the locker room and make my way to the mats with a smile on my face. I kind of wish I took Troy up on his offer, but I can’t leave Ethan and Jason waiting. It’s 3:50 now and they are already out there waiting for me. “Sup bro!” Ethan exclaims. He daps me up and throws me into a strong bro hug. After he lets go Jason comes by and fist bumps me. “You ready bro?” Jason asks. “Hell yeah man. Who am I gonna destroy first?” I say. “You mean who are YOU going to be destroyed by!” Ethan says. “That will be me!” Ethan is about an inch taller than me. He has pale white skin, long black hair around his ears and has a similar physique to me. The only difference would be our biceps and our chests. His bicep are jacked as fuck. I’ve measured my biceps and they are barely 13 inches un-flexed and I know just by looking at Ethan that his chiseled arms are at least 16 or 17 inches around. My chest, however, is thicker than his and although he beats me in curls I am a stronger bencher. Jason is dark-skinned like me, but a little lighter than I am. He is a little smaller than me. He weighs about 140 pounds compared to my 150 bulk and I can honestly say I am going to love dominating him. They are both wearing black singlets and are ready to get the fight for power started. Ethan and I get in our positions on the mat and so it begins. Ethan’s arms are powerful so I am at a little bit at a disadvantage, but I somehow manage to take him down by ducking under his arms and grabbing him around his waist. I slam him to the floor and he lets out a puff of air. “Fuck man, you’ve gotten stronger. I flip over and pin him down with all of my strength. We are both sweating now and I’m pumped as hell. I can feel a twitch in my cock. I’ve needed this for a while. I’ve needed to dominate. Ethan looks vascular as fuck. The veins covering his arms and stretching to his pecs pop out of his skin. He is tired and decides to give up so I move on to Jason. As Ethan walks off the mat I noticed that his dick is standing tall, poking through his tight singlet. “Having fun there?” I say. He looks down at his dick and turns a little red. “Don’t worry about it,” he says and laughs. I take on Jason easily. I am fully hard now and I don’t care. If Ethan can be aroused, I won’t be ashamed. I flip Jason over and end up on his back. My dick is in his crack and he grunts and struggles beneath me. This just makes me feel even more powerful. I’m so turned on that I could burst at any moment. I also have this strange feeling that I am being watched, but I ignore it. We continue to wrestle for the next 30 minutes. I’m on my last match with Ethan and I still have this nagging feeling that I am being watched, but I continue to dominate my two contestants. When we are finished wrestling, it is agreed that I am stronger, but next time Ethan knows he can beat me. Afterwards, Ethan, Jason and I are all sitting on the mats dripping sweat. My dick is still hard as a rock and I look down and see than Ethan’s dick is still proud as ever. All three of us are pumped. “Looks like someone needs a good cum,” Jason says. He swings his hand down and smacks my clearly visible dick. “Shut up,” I reply and I begin to laugh. “Ethan’s dick is just as hard as mine.” “Probably harder,” Ethan says and winks at me. We all break out into laughter at this comment. I look up and I see Troy, watching with his eyes wide open in a mix of admiration and shock. I knew that nagging feeling wasn’t just in my head. I wish I had known he was watching us earlier. I’m still hard and I have a little pre-cum showing through my singlet which I really don’t want him to see. I’m freaking out so I pretend I didn’t notice him. “We should get changed and head to class,” I say. “Right!” they both agree. They grab their gym bags and we rush back to the locker room to change out of our singlets. I follow closely behind them and I almost make it to the door when Troy is suddenly standing in front of me. They go in without me and I’m startled as fuck. I thought he would have left by now. "Hey, dude!” I say. “Did you just get here?" “Yeah dude. I just finished showering and saw you on your way into the locker room.” Strange….he lied to me. I know he was watching me wrestle. Why wouldn’t he admit he saw me? Then again, why did I pretend I just saw him? He is wearing jeans and a polo while I stand here baring all in my singlet. All I can think about is what he thinks of my body. He seems confused. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he doesn’t quite know what to say. "So it looks like you guys were wrestling?” he says as he lets out a small chuckle. He smiles humorously pointing at our singlets. "Yea!" I say and laugh. "How did that go?" Troy responds. "Oh, we were just sparring and getting a decent workout at the same time." Troy nods his head in dull agreement. It looks like there is so much more he wants to say, but it seems that he doesn’t know how to express himself. "So who won?" he asks. I feel like being super modest so I won’t come off as a douche. I know he saw that I wiped the floor with my bros, but I lie anyway. "I mean, we just kinda wrestled each other and tried different moves to pin each other and see if we could escape the moves or reverse them. It wasn't really an official match, haha." Holy shit. Why am I rambling? "Cool," he says with a hint of underlying excitement. This entire time I’ve been standing with both hands covering my still bulging crotch. I’m still sweaty and a bit exhausted and just about ready to change. "We were heading back to change now,” I say. "No one really wants to walk around in these suits. It’s a bit embarrassing." I don’t want to feel like I’m rushing the conversation, but standing here is making me insane so I slowly start walking towards the locker room door to hint to him that I need to change. Surprisingly, he starts to follow me. "Nah man, don’t be embarrassed,” he says behind me. “You look like a beast in that!” “You don’t say?” I reply in the cockiest voice possible. “It shows off your pecs better than anything!” He gives a full happy smile but turns his face sideways to avoid eye contact. "Thanks man," I say smiling. "It’s always cool when you encourage me. I…I like being your friend." Troy takes a deep breath in as he searches for what to say next, but his face goes into a trance so I speak again. "Well lemme go change. I smell horrible.. I'll see you in Western Civ later, dude." “Yeah, no doubt.” I make my way into the locker room and as the door closes behind me I think to myself. What the fuck was that?!?!? My phone starts to buzz and I check and see that it’s a text from Troy. Troy: Hey man! We should definitely go running tomorrow morning and work on our back and biceps after. I’ve been thinking and I want to take you up on your wrestling offer. Let spar tomorrow after dinner! Take it easy on me bro. You’re a tough dude. Flex at ya later
  24. Hey guys, I accidentally posted this is the wrong place, but I 'm leaving it here now. So I got a decent amount of good responses from my last real life muscle experience called College Locker Room Heat. Here’s the link to it if you haven’t read it. https://muscle-growth.org/topic/8409-college-locker-room-heat/#comment-85672 A few little things have happened since then, but since things have died down (not many muscle interactions lately), I will begin to dip into fantasy and create a few stories involving more interactions with myself and my gym buddy. Who knows, maybe they will come true one day. Here’s the first new story. Btw I didn’t put my gym buddies name but let’s call him Troy. Also, just so you know; Troy is White about 5 ft 8, brown hair, weights about 170. The narrator is Black 5 ft 5 and 150 pds. More Growth is to come. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gym Class. Monday Afternoon: Chest day Part 1 I walk into the gym after 2 and a half hours of classes. I’m pumped! I downed 2 shots of pre-workout on the walk over and I’m already feeling it. My hands and arms are already tingling as I make my way past the basketball court. I turn left and go into the locker room. As soon as I walk in my heart skips a beat. Troy, he’s here again. He immediately sees me as I walk in. “Hey bud,” he says. He looks at me with wide eyes and a warm smile. “Hey man,” I say. He’s fully clothed but his shorts and gym shirts are sitting in a pile on the bench in front of him. I walk up to the bench and take off my backpack, setting it down on the floor by the bench. “So when are we going for that run, man?” he says this as I reach into my bag. I take out a tank and a pair of joggers. “Oh yeah,” I say. I hadn’t forgotten, but I didn’t think he was being serious when he asked the first time. “How about tomorrow–morning?” He begins to take off his shirt and my breath catches a little as it slips up. His abs are a little more pronounced than before. His shirt slips completely off revealing his pecs and massive traps. He’s gotten a little bigger since our last gym sesh. “That sounds good, man. I’ll definitely text you and remind you around 9 tomorrow.” “Sounds good to me,” I say. He starts to take of his pants and I strip my shirt to change into my tank. His eyes flicker to my pecs and I notice. A sense of pride swells up inside me and I have to stop myself from smiling. I had gotten a lot stronger this month. My bench had gone up from 145 pounds to 155 in the past month and I knew he noticed. I doubted he would say anything though. “Man! You’re looking huge. Your chest is really growing.” He walks a little closer to check me out and my pride swells even more. He’s still shirtless and in his boxers. His pecs and thick shoulder muscles look even better up close. I look down at his massive pecs. There are little hairs around his nips and I imagine what the stocky muscle underneath feels like. I can’t believe he’s mirin me when he looks so huge. “Dude!” I say. “You are way bigger than I am. I know you weigh like 170 and I just hit 150 pounds!” “Nah man, you are catching up. I mean look at these arms!” he says this and grabs my bicep. “Flex for me bro.” What the hell is happening? I think this but I decide to flex anyway. I can’t believe he is touching me. I flex my arm and my relaxed biceps turn into hard rocks. He gives them a good squeeze and says, “Yeah man, that’s strength right there. Your arms are almost as huge as mine and I need to bulk up before you’re as strong as me.” Troy’s unsubtle hint at a competition got me way more pumped. The pre-workout was flowing through my veins now. I’m ready to workout and get this chest pumped! He looks down at my watch and sees the time. “2 o’clock. Shit, it’s time for class, bro.” He lets go of my arm and gives my traps one last slap. “Damn. Man! Getting big!” he says. He walks back over to his clothes and slip them on. I finish getting dressed and we make our way to the locker room door. He slaps me on the back. “Nice back gains, bro.” I smile. He’s mirin me so hard. I can’t wait until we start lifting. He’s gonna love my pump… To be continued.
  25. Please excuse the errors as this was written on my phone. Enjoy! DWARFED BY DAD PART 1/4 It was shortly after my dad’s second divorce that he would start joining me at the gym. I was a hobbiest bodybuilder, at best, standing at five-foot-eleven and weighing in at around 235-pounds. He was definitely eager to get in shape, “impress the ladies”, to quote him correctly. Things started at a little slow, especially those first couples months. I wasn’t really holding my breath though, given the fact that he was pushing sixty-years old. But one week as we rinsed off in the locker room showers, after a nearly three-hour workout, I noticed the remarkable faint rippling of muscle beneath his usual beefy silver haired abdomen. Then as he raised his hands to wash his hair, there was slight bulge beneath his upper arms, a simple curvature, a bicep. “Looks like you’re finally showing some results, dad!” I proudly complimented “About time!” Dad said giving his arms a couple quick pumps, holding back his excited smirk. “Just the beginning I hope…” The unexpected scenario made me wonder, not by any means worryingly, just how big the old man was planning to get. I was excited to see his motivation. Seeing actual visual results had my dad pushing harder then ever after that day, so hard in fact, it felt like having an actual workout buddy, rather than just my father tagging along. “You ready to see these gains, dad?” It was towards the end of this one week, about seven weeks later, I felt so mammothly pumped from this totally insane new workout plan I was on, I honestly couldn't wait to see the results. A couple weeks back, we had agreed to only start weighing ourselves once a week, just for kicks. So with my dad standing next to me, showing the slightest signs of muscle bulging beneath his old man skin, I might add, we both stood on the gyms identical digital scales. At the time, he weighed about fifty-pounds less than I did, or so I thought. “How did I LOSE weight?” I blurted the words out loud, feeling my smirk, my pride, fall out my gut and onto the gym floor. All the work I had put in these last couple weeks, all that time, just seeing the loss of eight-pounds, on the scales digital readout, had me absolutely nauseous. It had to be an error, I thought. But I stepped back on, seeing the same readout, “239-pounds”. I was so close to finally reaching my goal of 250-pounds last week, it didn't make any sense! “Looks like the opposite over here, champ.” My dad delightfully remarked, making me turn piercingly, cringe my teeth even. The old man really did mean the opposite, standing there proudly next to me, pumping on his old arms, creating this ridiculously meaty bulge against his arm, this defined bicep, with the scale blinking a readout of 194-pounds, a gain of exactly eight-pounds. I'll be honest with you, seeing the slightly smaller gap between us, had me slightly anxious. “W-Wow...” I still tried to play it cool, with an embarrassing stutter. “I never thought that you would actually start gaining muscle, dad.” I’m pretty sure that statement just added fuel to the fire, as my old man, with those piercing blue grey eyes, turned to me looking like some arrogant teenager, the glamour of a new challenge, twinkling behind his once bored now lustful eyes. The next day, he showed up strapped into proper gym clothes, bulging even bigger than yesterday, or so it looked. I figured it was just a different clothing size, but then, and I know this sounds crazy, it was almost becoming impossible, as the days went on, to even keep up. “Look at this, champ!” Dad raised his bulging silver muscle arm in front of my face. “Sleeves are getting tight…” He had gained ANOTHER eight-pounds since last week. The small curving mound of muscle had developed into a full blown peak, this enormous baseball, stuffed beneath his silver haired old man arms. Dad couldn’t help but love showing off his incredible developments, at the gym, at home, even at the grocery store. I'll admit though, they were incredible to look at, even though I was still bigger, it was just crazy to see that kind of muscle on a man old enough to be most people's grandpa. “Now my shorts are getting tight…” Another week past, and this time he gained TEN-POUNDS of muscle. I couldn't believe it. In fact, most days I wanted to be sick. With all that extra weight, he was now less than twenty-pounds away from outgrowing me, this huge bodybuilding grandpa, in just a matter of months, weighing in 212-pounds of muscle. Just like he said, his shorts, the brand new ones he had only too recently bought, were now bulging with insane dimensions of his veiny bloated silver old man muscle thighs, disgustingly cupping his groin area obscenely, especially when he would squat. “J-Jesus, dad, I’ve never seen anything like it…” I still tried to play it cool, liked the avid bodybuilding I am. “You’re telling me, kid” Dad lifted up his shirt, revealing this EIGHT-pack of abs. “I’m EXPLODING with muscle” I dropped my jaw, the whole gym did. What fucking sixty-year old has hairy deep cut chiseled abs! On top of that, he looked almost twice as ripped as yesterday, with this iron-plated-v jutting down into his sagging, yet horrendously overstuffed and bulging, neon gym shorts. That day, while we were in the shower, I honestly couldn't stop staring, gawking, and my dad just ate it all up. How was he growing so fast!? To make matters worse, as far as feeling emasculated, that is, I was born practically hairless, barely any hair on my body at all, “baby smooth”, my dad would often comment. “I look like a fucking KING!” Dad, however, as he spouted his arrogance, lavishly rubbed and soaped up his growing rippling display of hairy meaty male muscle cleavage, rubbing and pinching his flapjack-sized nipples, getting off on his prowess, all his newfound power, like some total king, just like he said, this unstoppable growing alpha man. RIIIPPPPPP RRIIIIIPPPPPPP “GOD-damn, would you look at that!” Two weeks later, dad finally grew to the point of bursting through his first article of clothing. He said the words so delightfully, looking unapologetically smug, like he expected this to happen, turning his gaze delightfully, raising his arm, to see the small gaping hole on the underside of sleeve, right in the middle of his huge sweaty hairy armpit. He was so playful and curious, some big kid at the breakfast table, fingering the small opening almost like it was pussy, even going as far as slightly tearing it, which seemed to gave him an idea. It was with a devilish chuckle, like a lightbulb going off in his head, he raised that same arm and gave it a mighty and monstrous flex. RIIIIPPPPPP “GUNS bigger than Superman's!” He roared as his bicep, this totally massive bowling ball of chiseled hairy perfection, suddenly exploded through his sleeve, an atomic-bomb going off, blowing the fabric apart into a million threaded pieces, a scene out usually only my comic books, my dreams, all while I was eating breakfast. Then, continuing his disgusting piggish muscle show, he held up and squeezed the huge chiseled peak of old man muscle, right into his face, with so much silver hair flaring out, it was if a forest had grown in this entirely monstrous muscle cave, but it was just armpit “Fuck, I smell like an APE!” Dad gave his armpit a big whiff, inexplicably wafting his horrendous sweaty odor into my face, so sultry it made my dick suddenly bulge underneath the table. I wasn't gay, but fuck, he was just so manly. With my mouth completely dropped open, the half-eaten bacon and eggs falling back to my plate, I knew it would be hard for dad to not keep demonstrating and showing off his superior growing muscle strength. RRIIIIPPPPP “FUCK, yeah!” It wasn't long before he quickly raised his other arm, in a detonating fashion, with an equally loud laugh, a pleasing roar, as his other bicep exploded through the fabric even faster than the first. With both arms free, he began taking turns flexing and posing each magnificent peak of hairy muscle, over twenty-inches now from the looks of it, nearly the same size as mine! He also tried to flex through the front of his shirt, inflating his chest, the enormous blimping grandpa male muscle cleavage, but thankfully he couldn't. That didn't stop him from whistling in delight, openly fantasizing about the prospect of getting even bigger. “Won't be much longer, kid. I expect I'll probably outgrow you by the end of the week…” “I didn't e-even realize you WANTED to grow so big…” I stuttered like a kid. “Are you kidding me? Now that I've got a taste, I don't think I EVER really want to stop growing…” Dad smirked wildly, as he continuously pumped his huge hairy meaty man arm, slowly walking away. I was speechless, dumbfounded, watching, as his big old man bubble butt gobbled and thundered the back of his skin tight gym shorts. I know it may sound kind of weird to note this, I swear, I'm completely straight. But I’m giving you all the details because, and I'm gulping just saying this, his sleeves, weren’t the only thing that he would destroy that day... ************************************************************ Comments are appreciated! ************************************************************ READ PART 2 HERE
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