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Muscuthropy

By IJrges

 

Documented here are the initial observations about the quickly spreading curse named Muscuthropy. The writer’s observations are so far anecdotal, and he seeks any further observations or corrections.

 

The Name

Muscuthropy is a latin mashup of the words for muscle and man. The name refers in part back to the to the curse’s progenitor, Lycanthropy, which is the proper term for wolf man or better known as werewolf. Like the werewolf legend, a muscuthrope is a man condemned to transform every full moon, but instead of a wolf man, it’s an overly muscular, hormone-raging human that is often quite larger than an average male in most every respect. Their mentality is still in part predator, like a werewolf, but lack the animalistic rage components that often cause werewolves to kill. Instead the hormone addled males tend to prefer other forms of physical interaction, most often sexual in nature. This tendency is unfortunately extremely effective in spreading the curse, which is why this particular affliction is spreading so quickly  

 

The Curse

The nature of the affliction is a mutated werewolf curse. It started when a man encountered a werewolf while doing some remote hiking. The man, desperate, bargained with the werewolf, trading sexual favors for hopefully being spared. The resulting transmission was different than other lycanthropic transfers, and the curse changed due to the nature of this transmission. The curse still is transmitted through body fluids, like saliva or blood, which werewolves typically inflict with bites and sometimes scratches, but the feral animal aspect that inspires biting and clawing was lost in that peculiar transmission. This means transmission is now rarely caused by wounding but almost purely activities that stimulate the transfer of fluids. In other words, this new curse is spread primarily by desire not animosity.

What makes this more problematic is that the curse incites behaviors in the afflicted that make passing the curse highly likely. This is in part because the curse transforms the body and floods it with hormones that induce more primitive urges. Additionally, aspects of the werewolf creature still exist in the muscuthrope, like predatory desires, territorialism and competition, probably because those instinct also exist prevalently in humans. While the bloodlust and final animalistic form didn’t transfer, the resulting beast is still a hunter and highly motivated to seek out prey. The resulting muscuthrope is far less dangerous than the progenitor lycanthrope, but no less predatory. The cursed are instead mostly left with a very virile body and lots of intense desires to seek out worthy prey. The prey are competitive males that a werewolves would normally try to kill. The muscuthrope, lacking that kill instinct, instead engage in the other instincts that come naturally when hormonally roused, mating. This activity very quickly passes fluids to the prey, who will soon become a predator themselves.

It should be cautioned that aspects of lycanthropy do exist in the muscuthrope. For instance, the muscuthrope can become indistinguishable from a lycanthrope if incited to strong enough degrees of anger. They will transform sharper teeth, more hair and even eventually pointed ears and a muzzle if engaged in an extended fight. It is extremely rare and only occurs between muscuthropes jealous of a mate or vying for pack dominance. It is unknown if a feral muscuthrope might pass true lycanthrope to a human while in this state, because muscuthropes often become sexually permissive in the presence of potential mates and lose their feral aspects quickly. One should be cautious, though, that circumstances may exist that make muscuthropes potentially fiercely dangerous.

 

The Scent

The name muscuthrope does not only allude to the transformative muscle growth, but also to the musk scent the afflicted give off. As mentioned, their body is augmented immensely, which floods them with strength and hormones. This not only induces the transformative growth, but also a pungent scented sweat. That sheen of sweat and hormones causes the body to produce a heavy odor familiar to most men. It’s been described like the smell one gets while abandoned to sexual desires for extended periods of time. A male exposed to this semi-common scent will recognize its meaning and feel a certain yearning for that kind of abandon themselves. What makes the muscuthropic scent unique is its additional mix of feral pheromones thanks in part to the curse’s animalistic progenitor, the werewolf. This potent musk, overloaded with pheromones and sexual signals, smells primarily masculine, secondarily sexual and furtively transmits hormonal signals to entice the subject to breed. Once exposed to the scent, a person will become increasingly aroused and susceptible to desires. A whiff of a beast will likely cause a man to want to masturbate, but not so strongly to override civil behavior. However, each breath of the beast’s scent will increasingly dope the brain and drive it towards irrational behavior. This effect is so strong that even just several full breaths near the pits or groin can cause a subject to lose all social inhibition and give in to any desires.

This doping effect has a secondary feature. If enough is taken in, it induces an altered brain state in which memories will form in ways only accessible when the subject is in a similar state of mind. This means the person will black out the memories made while under the influence of the scent, and they will often be unable to remember encounters with these beasts unless similarly aroused. The saturation of the brain does not need to be particularly high to cause memories to become hazy. Essentially, if a subject gets enough smell to become aroused, those memories will be at least hard to recount. Those afflicted with the curse are especially dominated by this effect and rarely remember any of their transformations. There are some exceptions, like permissible males and some curse-aware afflicted that can manage memory loss. This will be further described in behaviors.

There is a final aspect of the scent. It affects some types more than others. It seems counterintuitive at first, but the scent actually affects repressed males the most, sexually liberal males less, barely affects receptive females, and is repugnant to unreceptive females. The scent mostly has an effect on males because the pheromones involved are male ones, and the male brain is built to receive and processes the testosterone like effects efficiently. Females process the scent information differently and are more likely to be offput by the circumstance long before any irrational desire effects manifest. If prolonged exposure were to occur with a female, she would eventually succumb, but even if the female desires to be around the stinky male muscuthrope, the curse tends to compel muscuthropes to seek other males. This means females are rarely exposed long enough to be afflicted. Moving on to liberal males, they are affected by the scent as any other male would be, but those males have often been receptive to exploring hyper sexualized states before, and thereby have some familiarity and ability to navigate it. This means an experienced sexually liberal male recognizes the desire and can resist being controlled by it. Finally, this leaves the repressed male. These individuals have the right receptors to process the scent, but they lack experience to control the effects. This is why they are the most likely to fall victim to desires.

 

Behavior

The actions of a muscuthrope are often conflicted and unintentionally devious.

Muscuthropy is oddly most commonly spread between straight males. Their repressive nature makes them often incapable of processing their deviant urges, which puts up blinders against noticing changes and creating strategies to manage the curse. This is in part understandable. Due to the memory loss, many new muscuthropes do not know they’re muscuthropes. Less understandable is that they do often perceive at first pleasant and then increasingly unexplainable changes in their body as the initial months pass. While this should warn someone to quarantine themselves, most often they discard the evidence to pretend they’re like every other male still. Lacking recollection of the cause, they instead blame it on a change of lifestyle, like eating better and getting more exercise, which is a common side effect of the hunger and energy the curse imbues in people. However, this increasingly difficult to maintain denial fuels a nervous anxiousness, especially as their sexual voracity and capacity grows. Most, rather than assessing their circumstance and realizing they’re changing, seek time with friends to alleviate that anxiousness caused by the changes. While they’re simultaneously scared of what’s happening to them, they put their changing selves in constant contact with people they pose the most threat to, and also likely would not want to hurt. As their nervous energy increases, the time they want to spend with friends also increases, and that energy gets especially high near the moon. It is no wonder that so many newly cursed muscuthropes often afflict their close friends within months. The one gracefully mitigating circumstance of the spread of this curse is that many new muscuthropes will pair up early with those friends and keep each other busy until the mentality of the afflicted conciliates with the curse and they learn to manage it.  

However, some afflicted individuals are less lucky. Some will subconsciously overcompensate for their growing male centered predatory feelings, and, once lunar homsexual encounters begin, they’ll subconsciously become extremely defensive and aggressively disassociate with anything that seems “gay.” These repressive muscuthropes tend to put up masculine fronts and act averse to any homosexual behavior, especially friends that become too close. Since close bonds are the one thing that can stem further transmissions of a muscuthrope in denial, these cursed are especially dangerous. They sense an increasing allure towards male contact, but their repressive mentality makes them struggle to act “straight.” They become a caricature of male behavior sometimes and extrovert towards especially male establishments. They’ll then overcompensate by engaging in chauvinistic behavior, which often attracts the sort of homophobic man’s man that are most susceptible to the musk during the lunar cycle. The curse often passes, and since that man’s man is also likely to aggressively repress, the cycle repeats. That man will overcompensate for his changes, seek out people that reaffirm his “straight” identity, and, when he transforms, pass it to them. It’s why homophobic communities are quickly becoming the highest populations of cursed in the states. Especially bad are the truck stop cultures which have become a vector for the curse to spread across all of North America.

While the behavior of dormant muscuthropes are often conflicted, the behavior of the muscuthrope in full transformation are oddly just as bad. Their instincts are a muddle of predator’s aggression and competition but then utterly deviated by mating desires. The muscuthrope seeks out male’s that cross into their territory as a form of territorialism, but once they engage a male, rather than fighting like a lycanthrope would, its desires become overriding. Some muscuthropes have been observed snarling its way into a confrontation, going so far as to knock down their prey, and then going utterly submissive until its victim succumbs to the scent and dominates them. This mix of aggression and mating instinct most often ends in sexual consummation, rather than evisceration, which is why muscuthropy spreads much faster than lycanthropy.

This isn’t to say there isn’t hope to stem the spread. There are growing numbers of muscuthropes that are aware of their affliction. It seems that a male afflicted tends to recognize they’ve changed somewhere between three to twelve months after being cursed. Some unrepressed males, like homosexuals, never succumb to the memory loss at all and are aware of the affliction immediately. These aware individuals, depending on their level of repression, do eventually learn to accept their curse and their burgeoning bisexual or homosexual tendencies. Once they do this, they meld the two sides of their personality, becoming a bit more bestial in their daily lives but then rarely, if ever, losing control when they shift full moon nights. The term for this among this burgeoning community is Betas. As a taxonomy misnomer, the largest and most dominant muscuthrope in an area is often called the Alpha. Alphas and Betas will often seek out Gammas, unaware new muscuthropes, and Omegas, the overcompensating repressed muscuthropes, to guide and control their behaviors away from out of control spread. It seems there may be some holdover from the lycanthropic roots of the curse that wants to create a pack like structure, and this structure disinclines uncontrolled spread.

 

Transmission and Transformation

The progenitor curse, lycanthrope, was an affliction that laid dormant in the blood. While inactive the curse was undetectable and untransmissible. It laid in this dormant state passively moving through the veins, and seeping into the spit, digestive tracts and reproductive organs through normal bodily function. The closer to the full moon the nights got, the more active this dormant curse would become. Any contact during the time leading to, during, or soon after the full moon, especially at night, carried higher risk of transmission. Only the blood would be strong enough most of the time, but on the full moon most any fluid in the body, if it were to make it into another’s body, would cause the curse to be passed. Werewolves would normally transmit this curse through saliva in the bite, if the victim survived. Occasionally a scratch with a claw could carry the disease, if the werewolf wiped his mouth getting spit on the claws or touched one of his fighting wounds with his claws before slashing a victim. Due to the overall veracity of werewolf attacks, however, this transmission was often stopped short due to lethal force. The curse could not be passed onto a corpse. Very few werewolves exist due to this.

Muscuthrope is different in that it was first passed through sexual activity. It was created by passing the lycanthropic curse sexually, which is exceptionally rare. Werewolves tend to be hermits hiding far from society to manage their curse. One usually must go far from civilization to encounter one, and usually at these distances a violent encounter with a werewolf would mean certain death, as medical assistance would never reach a survivor fast enough. What was unique about the muscuthrope creation was the victim’s strategy, which had very fateful outcomes. A young adult male was hiking in a werewolf infested valley when he was approached by the territory’s lycanthrope. While the beast assessed its prey, the young adult noticed the creature’s maleness, and, in desperation, made a sexually receptive gesture. The werewolf, being a beast of instinct, became aroused by the suggestion. Seeing the opportunity, the desperate male took the swelling signal as acceptance and fellated the beast. The curse was then released through the beast’s aroused precumming and eventually ejaculation. The curse entered the man through gums and throat and took hold. Possibly due to where the cursed material had resided, in the seminal fluids, or perhaps the supernatural aspect of curses being sensitive to context, it became the muscuthrope curse.

The time for the curse to fully change the man’s body would take months of successive transformations to attune to the growths, but certain changes started almost immediately. The desire grew quickly, as the mind is one of the more adaptable organs. The on rush of hormones caused certain physiological shifts. His muscles became tensed. His body began to sweat and heat up. His erection became painfully hard. With the mental shift came overriding desire, which made him more aggressive and more resistant to pain. This made the man more sexually adventurous, taking the beast deeper by mouth and then becoming eager to take the beast in other ways. This increased the intake of the curse orally at first and then deeply from behind soon after. Once the curse reached a saturation point, it manifested as a powerful increased heart rate that pressured a sudden intense swelling throughout the body, seeming to transform. The increasing curse pushed blood coursing through his body, engorging it and fueling it to grow. As the night proceeded, the man’s pumped body fueled lasting growth, and he became much denser with muscle and thicker cocked. By night’s end the man appeared to have put on almost twenty pounds of muscle and several inches of phallic length. When the sun rose, his heart rate decreased, the muscles deflated, and he appeared to shrink back almost to his normal self. The next time he transformed a month later he’d appeared to be fifty pounds heavier due to constant hidden growth during the preceding month. The transformation after that he’d appeared one hundred and twenty pounds heavier. The time after that, in his near mature state, he’d appeared one hundred and eighty pounds heavier. The next transformation showed slowed growth, evening out to near two hundred pounds, and each set of full moons after had yielded another pound of growth, or twelve pounds a year. Being five years from the encounter, the subject is now four hundred and ten pounds.

This is how the transmission and transformation tends to go for the muscuthrope afflicted. They intake the curse. It moves quickly and changes first the mentality of the afflicted, making them accept and start to act cursed. The curse then builds inside their body until they have a physical reaction. Their bodies engorge, seeming to transform but not nearly as hugely as the more mature muscuthropes. Once this happens they can pass on the curse, but have much weaker traits, like musk and size, until their body has months to develop them. They then begin to actually transform, growing quickly for the remainder of the night. During months that follow their bodies aggressively desire sustenance, fueling densening of muscle, thickening cartilage, expanding the blood reserves, increasing vascularity, growing the heart and many more externally almost unnoticeable adjustments. They’ll gain inches of height, seemingly unjustified dozens of pounds of weight and an increasingly virile health. A muscuthrope starting their first month will look like a normal man, but a muscuthrope going into his fourth month will look like a well hung athlete. The body then hits a structural limit and no longer grows as aggressively. Then, rather than growing bulk skeletal muscle as before, the male will become denser and stronger over years by refining and reinforcing his physique. The longer a male is a muscuthrope the more Alpha they become.

The transformation of a matured muscuthrope can be quite dramatic. If you saw a matured but dormant muscuthrope you may think he’s a wrestler or a power lifter. You’d note a general bulk about the body. One of about six foot height would likely look to weigh a little over two hundred pounds. In actuality he’d weigh about three hundred and fifty. That muscuthrope, when exposed to the rising full moon, would grow in most every conceivable sense. Internally the beast has vast reserves of red blood cells and extra fluid in its fats that mobilize upon transformation. It’s massive heart then takes those mobilizing fluids and floods the tissues. When his heart rate increases, as with a moon rise, that blood gets pushed into the dense muscles. Musculature doubles, sometimes triples, in volume. Joints become padded with engorged tissues causing lengthening of the body, sometimes feet taller. Extremities weight with blood flow, making nicely hung parts become obscenely long and thick. The gut seems to narrow, as the body stretches, and, while all the blood moves from modified fatty tissues into the musculature, the body gains engraved like muscle definition. All this exertion fuels the heat that creates the scent, and you would then behold a fully transformed muscuthrope. He would be an eight foot, broadly muscled beast appearing five hundred pounds heavy with somewhere between one to two feet of cock and likely coated in scraps of shredded clothes. Quite dramatic compared to the six foot lifter like body that would have existed minutes before.

 

Continued Study

For the purposes of further observation we are seeking stories of individuals, first hand or second hand, that have encountered, or are afflicted with, muscuthropy. I’ll supplement with the stories I have collected, but please reply with your own stories. Also, please include where you’ve noticed the spread.

 

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With permission, I would like to pass on details of a patient of mine who believes may actually be a victim of this condition. Naturally, patient confidentiality means that I cannot mention his name, so for the purposes will call him Wilfred. Wilfred is, sadly, a hypochondriac, and only has to hear something mentioned on the internet or in the media about an illness and he comes to be begging me to isolate him (for instance when the Ebola virus was being reported 24/7 back in 2014, he came to me said "I know it, I've caught Ebola" when in fact all he had was a very bad cold. As a result he is in terrible shape. He stands about 5ft 5 tall (although that's only an estimate because he is always hunched over), and weighs 100lbs (which produces a BMI index calculation of 16.6 which as I keep on telling him means he is underweight). Anyway, a few days ago he came to me, and admitted that he'd been raped by, well, in his words "a living god of muscle" and that ever since he'd been feeling very strange. As a member of the group that pioneered reporting sexual crimes to the police, I made a note of his allegations and was about to examine him to prove this when he suddenly grabbed my hand with strength that seemed quite unlike him and said simply "I'm feeling a tad strange!" and started to change his appearance right in front of me. His back straightened (to such a degree I could hear the vertebrae snapping as they adjusted) and he started to grow taller as he did his hair, a mousey brown, started to turn blond almost like the sun but what really scared me was the roar. It was a roar that seemed to be a combination of physical anguish and raw power. He suddenly grabbed hold of his head and screamed "Doc, help me!" before he collapsed to the ground but when he looked up next, his face (which had been rather ridden with acne) looked straight out of a fashion magazine. He then suddenly stood upright, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling meaning that he now stood a little under seven feet tall, gave a mighty "OH YEAH!" and flexed his left arm (which I estimated was now at least 21 inches in circumference) and split the shirt he was wearing and then, as if to confirm that this was a new person in front of me, shot me a smile that showed off thirty two perfectly white teeth (when he only had twenty and they were in very poor condition)

As you can imagine I just stared in disbelief at what I had seen and perhaps sensing my confusion Wilfred said "So, doc, what you do think?" and with that ripped off his shirt to reveal a body that had to weigh at least 300lbs with hardly any fat on it. When I questioned him about what had happened he said, in a broad American accent, which considering he came from the South Wales valleys was just as odd, "I believe I am a muscuthrope" and added with that smile, "See, I told you I was ill!"

It was only by sheer luck I decided to search the internet for that term and found your description and having read it, have phoned Wilfred asking him to report to my office every night from now until the next full moon (due on October 16th) to see if indeed he is. Therefore could I ask IJrge if he has any additional information (particularly on what effect, if any, the new moon may cause on October 1st?)

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CardiMuscleman,

It sounds like you have found a muscuthrope, and I'm afraid I should probably inform you of a likely consequence. During the coming days please note your own weight and any change in appetite and activity, for unfortunately there are several signals in your correspondence that makes me believe you may have become afflicted as well.

First, as outlined, cursed individuals will often seek support due to unease. Wilfred's hypochondria likely put the two of you in common correspondence, and that he came to you after infection likely means he thought of you as that sort of support. It is also likely his predatory instincts were subconsciously gauging you. Tellingly, of his support circle, his instincts drove him to you on the full moon.

The second signal is that he, Wilfred, recalled aspects of his previous encounter with a muscuthrope. This is very rare, and means Wilfred, regardless of his external demeanor, was unrepressed enough to recount things that occurred while under the influence of the musk. The ability to recount would suggest that he knew to some extent what was going to happen, and that he was unrepressed enough to not block out the experience suggests he likely is more permissible to idea of muscuthropy, meaning homosexual transmission and bonding through the effects of the curse.  This then begs a telling question. Why would he near another human knowing the potential outcome? The answer is a rather classic psychological phenomenon, attraction to a caregiver. Wilfred came to you probably, at least subconsciously, hoping you might succumb to his musk influence and mate. His showing off by tearing off his shirt, flexing muscles, and acting in flirty charming ways indicates at least some interest.

And this leads me to the final signal. Your recount stops soon after the transformation. You recall his change, some details (with seeming interest, likely connoting some affectation caused by his scent), but then your next account is the following day. Wilfred's transformation would have released his musk, and that scent would have not only made your memory hazy, but made you susceptible to his newly virile charm. As I said, he likely has an attraction for you, so the likeliest outcome, with you becoming susceptible and his apparent interest, would have been transmission. That you don't recount any further activity for the rest of the night suggests that he never left your side, or at least you had begun producing your own musk and couldn't recount past its influence.

I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. The only consolation, which I can attest by unfortunately my own experience, is that the muscuthrope affliction isn't as bad a curse as lycanthrope. Afflicted individuals that are aware and manage it can live normal lives. Once managed, the side effects are, I'm a little ashamed to admit, quite pleasant. So please measure your activity and intake, and if it does indicate you're cursed, do not panic. Don't blame Wilfred too hard either. As you may learn, the instincts are pretty hard to resist. I'd even recommend still seeing Wilfred regularly at nights, as companionship is often the best way to contain unhealthy behaviors. You will also get to see Wilfred becoming more handsome as the curse continues to improve his body in the next few months. New Gammas couples can often enjoy quite vigorous exploration of those changes, if you catch my meaning.

As for the remainder of your note, any observations would be appreciated. Little is known about how lunar cycles affect the cursed. My personal experience is that interests recede with the waning of the moon and surge with its waxing. However, my observations do not account for harvest moons, or other celestial phenomenon. As to why lunar cycles cause the transformation is still a mystery, so whose to say a new moon near the fall equinox couldn't have some odd effect. If you can record the event, as memory sometimes fails due to the nature of the curse, I'd love to read transcripts of whatever transpires (I realize sharing the tape itself would compromise identity). As for a final note, I've never heard of the curse causing one's accent to change, though I have heard of that occurring due to altered states, like some case studies of unique adverse reactions to substance abuse. It could be something about Wilfred's expectations that caused him to adopt the american accent. Fascinating either way.

But anyways, I wish you the best of luck. Hopefully I'm wrong about your circumstance, but be vigilant in case I'm not.

-IJrges

 

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I do apologise IJrge, that was my fault entirely. Whilst Wilfred was going through all that I was busy scribbling away notes. As I mentioned it was a few days ago and sadly, the person I hire as a cleaner tidied the vast majority of my notes away (as in put them in the shredder) so the summary I gave was from the notes I managed to rescue. Wilfred entered my surgery on September 18th 2016 at 8.20pm (and I have found from a online resource that was just seven minutes before moonrise two days after the full moon). As to your other concerns, I shouldn't worry too much, you see at the moment I have rather a bad cold (well, it is the start of the flu season) and I had taken my yearly flu shot on the 15th. As a result my nose is completely bunged up and I can't smell anything.

I did forget to mention one thing though, I found a letter from Wilfred on my desk this morning saying that he was thankful that I was going to help him. Perhaps it's because we are coming up to a new moon, as per your suggestion, but his letter seemed very apologetic as if he was apologising for things yet to happen.

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Summary of notes taken September 30th 2016

Wilfred arrived at my surgery at 6.11pm BST (seven hours before New Moon) and admitted that he had felt rotten all day (and proved it by sneezing violently). Based on my research I decided to ask him if he'd been feel lousy all week and he admitted that he was all right up until the end of last week but had been going downhill ever since. First hypothesis: The muscuthrope's physical condition is directly related to the amount of the moon visible. I therefore wrote him a prescription for a placebo to test my theory and said that I was sure that that would clear it up. I then decided to ask him how much he remembered of his last visit. He found this an odd question but admitted that he knew he entered my surgery and left it, but the actual visit he couldn't remember. Second hypothesis: When a muscuthrope becomes one, they become literally a different person. I told him that he had come to me asking my advice following a sexual assault and that I had taken some evidence from him to present to the police. He was very glad to hear this and said "Thank you, Doc, I knew that I had made the right choice". He left a few moments later having made an appointment to see me again on October 5th at 3.30pm. This is roughly halfway between the new moon and the first quarter. I took some physical data from him and found that his pulse was 57bpm and his blood pressure was 110 over 70

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Muscuthrope:

The First Cursed, pt1

By IJrges

 

This documentation is a mix of observation notes and video recording transcription that in total contain the account of likely the first muscuthrope regarding the origins of the curse, and how it began its spread. Identities have been obscured to protect the privacy of the afflicted. For the purposes of this document the name of the first muscuthrope will be Adam.

Due to length, the session has been broken into several parts. This first document is a recount of how Adam came into rather direct contact with the lycanthrope that gave him muscuthropy.

 

Documented September 16th, 4 pm

I asked, “For the record, could you describe what had brought you to the area where this incident occurred?”

“Uh, yeah. I was doing a Euro trip. Backpacking, you know?” Adam sat in a slumped and utterly relaxed, non-concerned display. His legs were spread apart, and he seemed to have no social compunction to conceal the prominent protuberance along his left thigh. Being so large, I couldn’t help but glance at it. Adam smiled cockily at me, knowing and enjoying that I looked at it. He commented, “Nice, isn’t it?”

I stuttered, “It’s. It’s quite impressive.”

His demeanor was one of confidently secure superiority. His height, 6’6, was belied by his well proportioned thick musculature. It was so well proportioned that one could be forgiven to think at a distance that this man is a stocky male of average height. At the distance I sat from the subject at this moment, several feet apart, it was impossible to not sense an almost presence of formidability. At that distance the illusion of well proportion failed and perspective imposed upon me his real size. His sheer breadth, height and overall volume was imposing. I suspected no one would ever challenge a subject like this, and they’d likely quickly regret it if they had. His demeanor of superiority reflects that, as in the relaxed slump and prominent display between his legs were indicative of someone utterly comfortable with themselves and unconcerned with the judgement of others. In short, his posture and presence reflect an almost undeniable coy dominance.

He chuckled lowly, “You think this is impressive? This is soft, and I’m still a grower.”

I clear my throat, and say, “Well, okay. I don’t need to know every detail.” I admit I may have felt a bit flustered by the display. I rationalized that while I am a straight married father, this man’s presence couldn’t help but inspire some awe. I struggled to steer the conversation back towards the encounter. “Back to the trip, where did this happen exactly?”

He rolled his eyes slightly, recognizing, but gracefully letting go, my uncomfortable subject change. “The Carpathian mountains. You know? Dracula country.”

“Why did you go there?”

“Thought it’d be cool. A story to make women get all excited. Couple days hike over a mountain, take some neat pictures, and end up in a city on the far side for drinks. I’d sleep out in the woods a night and hopefully see some stuff that’d make the story fun and,” he chuckled, “Titillating, so to speak.” He shrugged, “Plus I like nature, so..”  

“You weren’t concerned about what you might encounter?”

“No. Not at all. I figured maybe an animal, but never thought I’d be in any trouble.” He shrugs. “What can I say. I was a twenty-four year old lazy still-junior in college. I wasn’t exactly taking life serious at the time.”

“But you did encounter something.”

He sighed. “Yeah. No joke.”

“Please describe the encounter.”

“Probably started about 7 pm. I’d already set camp. I’d been settled down for a while playing on my phone. It had terrible reception, but some games were still playable. My battery had gone down to half, so I turned it off, and that’s when I realized the fire was almost dead. It wasn’t like I had a wood pile, so the thing was built out of branches maybe at most as thick as a few fingers, and those burn up fast. I knew I needed more wood, because I wasn’t going to sleep any time soon. Luckily, I had thought.” He smiled and shook his head. “Luckily the full moon was rising, so I had more than enough light to hunt down more fuel.”

“And that’s what caused you to come across the werewolf?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I built the fire up with what I could find, but it was all more small stuff. I wandered out maybe,” he shook his head side to side in contemplation. “Couple hundred feet looking for more. That’s when I saw him.”

“Him? Not it?”

“Yeah. He was still a he. He was just this man in a clearing. Big dude, though. Like I am now, which is a lot larger than I was back then. Oh, and buck naked. That got me a little curious. I may have been also a little impressed.” He paused and shrugged with mock demure. “What was really curious was the way that man was just standing there staring off at the rising moon, and his being naked. I shouldn’t discount that. He was built and naked. I thought I was straight, really trying to be, but even then I was like, damn.” Adam smirked. “I was downwind from him, and I was hunkered in some foliage. As far as I could tell there wasn’t a way he’d notice me, so I watched him for a bit.” A disappointed look comes over Adam’s face, “But then I got cocky and decided to get closer. I was shocked when he heard that tiny twig I snapped. Even more shocked how quickly he caught up to me.”

“Describe the man. What did he do? What was his demeanor?”

“Like I said, huge. But he was also hairy, like beard and neck scruff, chest fuzz, shoulder hair, gut hair, bush that tried to hide, and almost succeeded in hiding, his huge dick. I mean, unkempt as fuuuuck,” the man draws out the expletive for emphasis. “Smelled like an animal, and was damn near indistinguishable from an ape. He grabbed me by the shirt, like someone might grab a disobedient child. Picked me up like a paperweight.” Adam shifted in his seat to the other side and said, “As for Demeanor? Scared actually. Like terrified and bewildered. He stared at me like I just killed someone right in front of him.”

“Because in a sense you had, correct?”

“Yeah. Just by being there that night, being the dumb shit I was, I had basically killed myself to this guy.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Oh yeah!” Adam nodded. “Tons of stuff, but I had no fricken clue what he was saying. He sounded angry, and then sad. He started to almost cry, and got real angry again. He then shook the shit out of me. Then he was real quiet. Solemn.” Adam looked downwards sorrily. “He just looked so defeated. I had no idea what was going on, but the way he looked at me, I felt terrible.” Adam smirked wistfully. “Then the guy looked over his shoulder at the moon, and he looked at me with such sincere apology that I didn’t need to speak his language to know what he said next was sorry.”

“Did it,” I started.

“Yeah. That’s when it happened. First he went real tense. Eyes clenching shut. His grip at my shirt tightened so hard I could hear his fingers stretching the cloth. His head threw back, and he sunk to his knees, hanging on me and not letting go. He then buried his face in my shirt and breathed heavy into my belly button. I didn’t have a clue what was going on. I didn’t know if I walked in on something really personal, or this man was thinking about blowing me. It was really awkward. I,” Adam’s face broke into a genuine laugh, and he gestured his hand a few times up an down. “I patted the guy on the back and was like, Don’t worry. Whatever it is, it will be okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was so odd. I mean.” He paused and turned his hands up to beg, “What would you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly.” He leaned forwards attentively. “So I’m consoling this guy, and not knowing at all what to do when I hear something. His breathing. The guy had a husky voice before, but this was different. Deeper. Definitely not right.” He lowered a hand and stopped it a couple feet off the ground, holding it there resting. “I put my hand on his shoulder, and I realized he’s hot. Burning even. I looked at the moon, then back at the man. I heard him getting all worked up like an animal. An uneasy feeling came over me, and I started to wonder, you know. I wasn’t superstitious at the time, but you know, this was too dead on.” Adam shook his hand, “I asked, Eh mister. You okay?” His eyes widened. “I feel something shift under my hand.”

I asked raptly, “He was starting to transform?”

Adam nodded. “I felt him hunch and gasp, pressing his face to my gut. Then there were some pops, like joints being stretched, and the man really started breathing fast. I shook him harder, trying to also push him off me. Eh mister, I said, getting scared. You okay?! He looked up at me, face red, eyes bloodshot, and his pupils were yeellowwwed.” He emphasized the eye color slowly. “The pity in those eyes were painful, but that color. They shined. I knew right then what was happening, and while I couldn’t believe it, you better believe I started pushing with everything I had to get him off me. He didn’t even budge. He held on and shuddered against me, hissing in air like he was pulling back something painful. I watched his back swell drawing in that long breath. Those lats flared. That’s when I realized I could see him getting wider. I thought it was him just holding that breath, but I could see it. The muscle thickening. When he did exhale, it was a cry. Not some man’s cry. A beast’s cry. Warped and deepened. Absolutely inhuman cry. And that’s when I saw his teeth, broad, white and pointed teeth. Not even teeth anymore. Fangs.”

I admit I shifted to the front of my seat in interest.

“Now I’m kicking and struggling to get him off. I land one good fist to his cheek, and instantly regretted it. The thing’s face turned slowly back at me. The pity was gone, and now it was snarling rage. His arm flung up so fast that I don’t remember if I even saw it. I just remember my throat getting grabbed, and suddenly all the wind getting knocked out of me when my back was thrown against the ground. Then I felt drool hitting my neck and chin. Opened my eyes, it’s growling near my throat. Those eyes were shining yellow. I didn’t see anything human there any more. Just furious glowing pupils. Luckily he, or it, groaned and shut those eyes in a spasm. It must had felt something changing and forgot about me, because otherwise I know he would have torn my throat out right then.”

“Wow,” I muttered in awe. Excited, my voice jumped loudly, “So what happened next?!” Embarrassed, I then moderated my tone, barely audible. “Can you describe the transformation?”

Adam snorted. “Hell. I can tell you almost exactly how it felt. He was laying on me when it happened.” He leaned back and gestures a weight on his chest. “The toothy bastard hunkered up against me and started snarling in my ear, not at me. I just happened to be under him while he did it, I guess. I could see down his nape while it happened. The thickening in his back. Hairs poking out in scraggly whiskers at first, then more and more till the whole surface turned dark brown and furred. I felt his ear lengthening up my cheek. His face lengthening down the side of my neck. Hot rank breath, coppery. Probably from his teeth pushing out. And the heat!” Adam rolled his eyes elaborately. “His body boiling over me, making me break into a sweat, and nothing was even happening to me. His breathing then went real steady and quick. In. Out. In. Out.” He breathed each word, but each breath he held in a bit more. He widened his shoulders for emphasis and then wheezed out, “Getting bigger.” He slumped back into his chair reclined, brung the hands back over himself, gestured the presence that had been there on top of him. His hands moved up from his chest and then over his eyes and away from his body. “Next I know he’s getting longer. We’d been chest to chest, but soon I was looking up at increasingly massive pecs. His arms were digging into the dirt each side of my shoulder, and they were lengthening and pushing his body further up and over me. I heard strange tawny sounds and chanced a look down. His feet we’re extending claws while his heels grew longer and longer to make an animal’s haunch. Droplets pattered onto me as it dripped sweat off the masses of flesh the thing now surrounded me with all around. All I could see is this monster’s physique dwarfing me in every direction. Everywhere muscle and hair.” Adam slumped, eyes dazed and looking at nothing in particular. “And then he was done. Only no longer a he. An it. A beast. I knew it, and I knew I was dead.”

“That must had been terrifying.”

“No shit,” he laughed. “I was besides myself and utterly shocked into silence. Lucky for me.”

“Lucky? Why?”

“Cause the next thing I heard was the slap of its balls against its inner thighs as he straightened and wobbled up onto his hind legs. Clear as day, and from my angle real hard to miss. Pat. Pat.” He smirks. “Big ol balls. Wasn’t just them, though. I could see he didn’t entirely dislike the changes, and was more than just a little hard. It wasn’t exactly human shaped any more, mostly hidden in an animal sheathe, but definitely attentive, so to speak.”

“So that’s when you?”

“No. God no. Not like I was hungry for dick and lunged for it. I was scared shitless. I just noticed it is all. No. At that moment I was more worried what it’d do next. It stood there for a while, sniffing slowly, stretching and shifting its weight. I guess feeling out its body or getting its bearing. But then he eventually started sniffing the air confused like, and I knew right away it smelled me. Only I guess it didn’t seem to remember I was right there under it, because it didn’t just look at me. It started searching. I think I was so close that it didn’t think to look down. It instead sniffed at the wind, cocked its ears and sniffed in another direction. It then fell down onto all fours and started sniffing the ground up past over my head in the wrong direction. It stepped over me and circled around, moving just outside of where I was each time and looking out towards one hill or another, but always out and away from me. Eventually utterly confused, it sat and stared off, ears twitching side to side.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Fricken lucky. But luck runs out, and sure as shit, when it decided to move on it stepped right on me. The thing’s paw, or hand I guess, landed right on my thigh, and I yelped. The damned thing jumped two feet back, ears up, eyes wide. It then hunkered low and snarled half heartedly, before confusedly sniffing its way back to me. When it’s nose landed on me, it skittered back a step, ears up and attentive. It’d been cute, like a dog scared of its toy, only I was the toy. When it realized what I was, the real snarl started, and it grabbed my leg and dragged me down to by his feet. He stared down at me, teeth baring ferociously. That’s when I ever so gently fondled him.”

I admit I smirked.

“Hell. Laugh if you like. He stopped snarling. He looked at my hand and then at me. Back to the hand and then to his junk. His head turned sideways, and he looked at me again. Just utterly confused or conflicted. Taking this as a good sign, I eeeever so slowly sat up.” While Adam hung on the word ever, he rose up from his slump and stared up past his hand holding the recalled balls towards the remembered thing above it. He raised his other hand over his head and gestured grabbing a cylindrical object about a few inches across. He moved the hand up and down, and said, “So I gently grasp it’s wolf sheathe thing and slowly start working it. The werewolf’s ears gradually flipped backwards and flattened, but not angry. It was embarrassed or submissive like. I kept working the sheathe, waiting for something to go wrong, but his eyes rolled back a little, and he took a deep sighing breath after maybe a dozen strokes. I watched its tense body loosen up, it eventually widen its stance down lower to me, and I felt a throb starting in my palm. Prior to that moment I didn’t know a heart could soar and sink at the same time, but it can.”

“You’re ministrations worked?”

Adam snorted. “Ministrations makes it sound like I was about to play the violin, not the flesh flute, or in this case the flesh trombone, but yeah. It worked. That beast’s cock slid out.” Adam smirks and bobs his head downwards. “And out.” He bobs his head again and said, “And out.” When it touched my sternum I realized I may have chosen the more dangerous way to take on this beast.” His face cracked in a wide smile, and a hint of blush rose in his cheeks. He leaned forward, chuckling to himself and gesturing grabbing the thing with both hands. He stroked at it down towards his chest. “So I’m hoping I can just work this thing to a hand finish, and maybe get off easy” Adam laughs, “Get him off easy. The werewolf seems to be of a similar mindset, cause he doesn’t do anything. Just let’s me work him.”

Adam then went silent, letting the story tell itself by his gesturing. He smiled mischievously at my uncomfortable, but undeniably, rapt attention at the show. He’s swirled the imagined grip further and further down his front. It going down lower on his chest almost to his navel, I’d guess, was meant to show the beast hardening immensely. He leaned back and pretended to guide the thing over his shoulder, where he apparently had coaxed something roughly two feet long and four inches across. This display lasted for several minutes with various changing grips. He had put both hands together and worked at the base. He stroked quickly the tip several times. He often returned to two swirling grips moving up and down the length.

“Much like you, he was really enjoying this.”

I admit I jumped. I had become drawn into the mimicking of the act quite unexpectedly, and when he spoke, it was like a lion roar. When he brought attention to my behavior, I was quite shocked and ashamed. “Oh! Sorry!”

“No need to be embarrassed. We all have needs, doctor.”

“I’m sorry. Jeez.” I admit I was quite aroused. I grabbed some tissues and futilely tried to blot out some evidence of the preejaculate moistening my thigh. A worry overcame me, and I blurted an accusation. “Are you? Did you do this? Your musk?”

Adam rolled his eyes disappointedly. He looked at his watch and stated plainly. “Still several hours until that.”

“But you can produce it if aroused, right?” My voice betrayed a whine of desperation.

Adam rolled his eyes again. He undid his belt and brought down his zipper.

I stammered, “That’s unnecessary.”

He pulled out his dick and laid it out, dangling all the way to the seat, even with him now laying back in recline. He let it dangle there, for me to hesitantly inspect. He was mostly flaccid. “I’m a little worked up,” he said, “but not that worked up. If I was, the smell would be hitting you by now, and in a minute I’d have to hold you off it.” He tugged the thing back up and put it away.

I then said, fatefully, “But I can kind of smell it. There’s definitely a musk smell in the air.”

He said, and I should have caught his meaning at the time, “It’s not me, so.” He shrugged. I must had gotten a very confused look on my face, and his disappointed stare softened sadly. He sighed, “Look. I’m just trying to help you.” His voice emphasized you subtly. “If it’s making you uncomfortable, why don’t we call it for tonight.”

“No!” I hadn’t meant to shout. I forced myself into a calmer tone. “No. That’s alright. Let’s finish. I’ll just edit out this part of the video later.” In retrospect I decided to leave this, and many other details of my behavior, in, because it became apparent that my behavior was as informative as the subject’s. “Sorry to get so defensive, but if any of my colleagues were to learn of my response, it would taint the study as though I were undergoing it for some prurient reason.”

“You sure you want me to finish? You look ready to cream yourself.”

I blushed hotly at that, but shook my head and joked, “I keep extra sets of pants in this office just in case of spills. We’re good.”

He smiled warmly. “Now you’re just flirting.”

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Summary of notes taken October 6th 2016

Following the suggestion in response to my first report, I weighed myself before Wilfred arrived and noted that I was 170lbs, unchanged on before I met Wilfred. He arrived at my surgery at 3.35pm BST apologising for being late saying that "he had had the most excellent day" and it was clear just from looking at him that he was a different person, he wasn't quite so bent over compared to last time and he was actually smiling (Third hypothesis, a muscuthorpe knows that they are changing and get mentally ready for the change) . After a few moments of small talk, he asked me a very strange question namely "Did I mind treating him?" I replied that having taken the Hippocratic oath, I treated everyone whether they were black, white, straight, gay, bi or whatever they were to which he seemed to breath a sigh of relief and said "Thanks, that has taken a load off my mind". The rest of the consultation was fairly mundane (talking about the election in America and our weather) but it concluded with me giving him a flu shot, or at least trying to but everytime I did, the needle broke. Wilfred just chuckled as if he knew something, but I was able to take his blood pressure again (100 over 60) and his pulse (53 bpm) and arranged for another appointment on October 21st (as I shall be going on holiday to Scotland on a pre arranged symposium). Could I ask therefore if I may seek their opinions on Wilfred's condition and see if they have encountered anything similar?

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Hello CardiMuscleman,

Sorry for the slow correspondence, but I’ve been up to my neck in transcriptions and documentation. I’m glad to hear my suspicions were unfounded. I thought for sure the lapse in notes were related to the altered brain state phenomenon. That was my experience at least. I'd recommend keeping up with those observations just in case. I don't want to make you paranoid about treating your patient, but it's been my experience that new muscuthropes tend to be the most likely to spread it.

Of that subject, containing the spread, have you made any headway in tracking down Wilfred’s source? By the sounds of it you’re dealing with an omega, and those can be terrible vectors if left too long on their own. I could recommend means of seeking out betas in the area, if there are any. They may be able to shine some light on whether Wilfred’s source is being tracked, and what is being done about him.

By the way, have you thought about how you might contain Wilfred during the days of the full moon? You were astute to notice that the muscuthrope anticipates the change, but it’s not only subconscious. The cursed individual becomes more susceptible to transformation the fuller the moon is. Wilfred within the week will become increasingly likely to change. I’ve not heard of anyone transforming more than a few days before or after the moon, but I have heard of people losing control those nights nearest the moon. I’d even go so far as to say that the night before and after the moon are almost certainties to cause a transformation if any stimulus presents itself. You may want to warn Wilfred and take precautions.

As for sharing information about the curse, that is certainly fine. I would caution to bring thorough documentation. My experience so far has been upsetting amounts of skepticism by colleagues. I think when people hear lycanthropy and curse, the assumption is a level of madness to which they become more keen to study you than your materials. I wish you luck!

-IJrges

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Hey, I was reading about this Muscuthropy shit, and I was wondering, do they come in packs? Because I think there might be a pack at my college.

I guess I should start by telling you about my roommate, Roderick. I don’t really know if that’s his real name or not. I mean who has a name like Roderick in a world filled with iPhones and fucking Twitter? Sounds like he should be out with Sherlock Holmes or some shit. But that’s the name he gave me so that’s what I call him.

Anyway he’s this Goth dude, skinny as a fucking rail when I met him last year. Died black hair, black eyeliner, all his clothes are black or really, really, really dark grey, you know the type? Wears like SPF 1000 sunblock all the time to keep himself good and pasty pale?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I got nothing against Goths. Whatever gets you through the day, that’s my motto. But this dude was a little creepy. He’s likes all those vampire and zombie shows. He’s got posters on the wall of graveyards and the undead. They kinda clash with my football stuff. Go Patriots! Tom Brady, #12, greatest quarterback ever! Can you believe that deflate gate shit? …ok, wait a minute, back on topic.

Roderick had these books on witchcraft and spells and curses, and I once asked him if he believed in all that shit. And he says, “Oh yeah, man, that’s where all the powerful people in the world get their power.” Then he goes on to tell me that people like Hillary Clinton and even Tom Brady are into this shit. He says mystic symbols are designed into the architecture of most public buildings and how there’s this huge conspiracy to turn the rest of us into slaves to do their bidding. I was like, “Riiiight… Nice talking to you,” and didn’t bring it up again.

Roderick had a bunch of Goths he hung out with. I thought it was kinda funny how all of them were just really skinny or really overweight, no normal built guys at all. Anyways, every once in a while they’d all get together and practice rites or some shit. One night he seemed really nervous about it.

“You ok, dude.” I asked him.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Tonight’s the night.”

“What night?” I asked.

“The night we actually see some real power.”

“Oh yes?” I said, unable to keep myself from cracking a smile.

“Yeah,” he said. Then he got all pissy and wouldn’t say anything else.

When his friends got there, they seemed just as worked up as he was. “You ready?” they asked him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do this!”

Then they left.

Then my friend Eric came over and we played Madden the rest of the night. I was the Patriots, of course, and I kicked his ass, also of course.

It wasn’t long after Eric left that Roderick came back.

He just sort of opened the door and fell into the room. He was all tore up. Bruised and bleeding, clothes ripped, he looked like he might pass out any second.

“You ok, dude?” I asked as I rushed to help him.

“I’m fine,” he said waiving me away and stumbling to his bed.

“Dude, you are many things, fine is not one of them,” I said. “We need to get you to Urgent Care.”

“No,” he said. “No doctors.”

Man, it looked like even the slightest movement was painful. He slumped off his torn jacket, and I blinked and then I had to look again. He always wore a shirt that was a size too small for him. The sleeves always rode a little high on his bone-thin arms and the hem only just reached the skinny-ass waist of his pants. I was pretty sure he did it because the next size up would have just hung on his thin torso like elephant skin. I mean the dude was literally skin and bones. With that and how pale he always was, I figured he was going for the living skeleton look.

But now his black t shirt sleeves were wrapped tight around his biceps. His biceps??? This dude didn’t have biceps! At least he sure as hell didn’t when he left this evening! But there they were, definite, solid biceps stretching out his sleeves. And his neck looked thicker too, and his shoulders… wider… What the fuck was going on?

“Dude, what the…?” I started.

“What are you looking at?” he snapped when he saw me staring. Then he got up and stumbled into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

I heard the shower running and a few minutes later he emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist. Holy crap, the dude had a slight six pack going on and actual pecs! When he turned around to look at himself in the mirror I could see he even had these slight muscle ridges protruding from his back. Roderick looked like he’d put on at least 20 pounds, all of it muscle.  I could tell from his expression he was pretty amazed by what he saw in the mirror. He flexed his arms and the two of us watched as both his biceps bulged into small, dense looking rocks. Suddenly he was all grins, flexing, feeling and prodding his new, bigger, harder frame all over. He seemed completely unconcerned that I was there watching all this… until the end.

The he turned to me and said, “If you tell anyone about this, they won’t believe you. So, just keep your mouth shut!” Then he grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom to get dressed.

I wasn’t going to tell anyone. He was right. They’d think I was crazy or some shit. But if I had known that night what was coming, I’d of run and run like hell!

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Something weird has been going on near my parent’s place. I guess this Muscuthropy thing is more widespread than I first thought. England is too small for this kind of thing to be contained forever, I guess. 

I didn’t think anything of what happened in the earlier stages until I read your observations. I don’t see my parents all that often, I moved away for a reason, y’know? But growing up I’d always had a thing for our neighbour’s kid.

I say kid, but he had a couple of years on me so he must be in his mid twenties by now. Still living at home, though he’s on his own there now. He always seemed nice enough, shy of six feet with messy black hair and a permanent smile on his face. I don’t think he was all that good at anything, but he was friendly enough and we got a Christmas card every year so… they don’t make neighbours like they used to, dad used to say.

His name’s Sam and, well, I don’t know the best way to put this without sounding kind of gay, but… I think he’s been getting real hot these last couple of visits.

I didn’t take any real notice of him last Christmas when I visited the ‘rents. I was getting the presents out the car when he was coming home from work or something, carrying a couple of bags of shopping. It was cold, that sort of cold where snow is just threatening to happen but not quite making it yet, and I couldn’t help noticing his tshirt. Mostly because he wasn’t wearing any more layers than just that. In December! He fiddled around with his keys a few minutes as I hauled my way up to my ‘rents place, and he must have seen me looking because he nodded his head and gave me that smile.

“Hey Liam,” he said. That was when I saw how his pecs were just a bit outlined in the shirt he had one, and his nipples were hard as rocks. I’m surprised they didn’t cut their way out. I’ve never seen him wear anything so fitting before, normally it’s all hoodies and jeans, so it was kind of weird to see in winter.

I played it cool, gave him a “’sup,” and headed on in. Presents ain’t cheap and they’re not light either. There’s 9 of us for Christmas dinner, that’s a lot of people to impress.

I saw him a few more times, usually when I was closing the curtains and he was in his house, just… walking around shirtless as you do. He had a pretty toned body, I’d never realised how his shoulders were at a great ratio with his waist, or how his abs were so neat and, er, I dunno, they were just there and I didn’t mean to keep looking, but each night I got into a habit of shutting my curtains and having a quick peek to see if he was strutting around shirtless.

Then I drove home for New Year’s and forgot about Sam most of the time, at least until I went back to see the family over Easter weekend. That was a good 4 months since I last visited, at that point my mum starts to give me the guilt trip speeches, ugh.

So I drove on down to see them and took all the easter eggs along too, made sure to get them inside before they melted. It was a pretty warm day, I remember it because the back door to the garden was wide open to let the dog come and go as he pleased.

“Finn is spending all day outside!” Mum tutted at me, like I’m some kind of dog whisperer. “He keeps prowling the yard and marking everything.”

“That’s what dogs do Mum,” I told her, rolling my eyes and grinning. “He’s getting kind of old anyway, let him enjoy himself.”

I went to the back door to see what Finn was up to and that was when I saw Sam again, and for a minute I had to remind myself I wasn’t asleep or drunk or something.

It was definitely Sam, he was in his back yard mowing the grass, but it was like I’d walked into a porn parody or something. His hair had grown, he was wearing it in a ponytail that came to his shoulders, and boy were those shoulders meaty. I could see the sweat on them as Sam worked, pushing the lawnmower around like it weighed nothing. I thought, he looked like he had been seriously hitting the gym. Living there, even. As he turned I could see the overhang of his pecs, broad and meaty and all these weird things I’ve never thought about a man’s chest before. Damn, but it looked like I could use it as a bed. Those abs as well… they were a heaving 6 pack, rivets of sweat trickling down them to the waistband of the pair of shorts he was wearing. This is where it gets a bit weirder too, because I couldn’t help myself. I’m pretty straight and I know it, but as he mowed to the side I couldn’t help but see how these blue shorts were absolutely jam packed. At the back it was all ass and thighs, so meaty I could see why the shorts rode up as they did. And then at the front, Jesus Christ! I’d never checked Sam out before but he was hauling a healthy piece of meat there too. It was ponderous and heavy, shifting side to side as he walked and knocked it with his thighs. He put a big hand down to adjust himself a few times, and I guess I must have been there for a while because at some point he saw me.

“Liam,” he said, putting a hand up in a wave. His lats flared and his biceps bulged from that simple movement, and they were as intoxicating as his smile right then. Even his voice had this siren’s song quality to it, low and deep and smooth…

I’m totally not gay. I’m glad this is a Muscuthropy thing. I thought I was going crazy!

“Sam! Hey, looking, er, looking good!” I replied, not sure what else to say. Finn was prowling by the fence connected to his garden at this point, sniffing away, but then suddenly he wriggled through one of the larger holes to the other side! “Finn! Get back here!” I said as I hopped over the fence and into his garden. “Sorry Liam, I thought he was too fat to get through the fence.” Finn was sniffing around Sam’s feet and as I leaned down to pick him up, I got this overwhelming smell of what I can only describe as pure man. It was this masculine, dominating scent and it had to be from Sam. I straightened up with Finn in my arms and realised that holy shit, Sam was even taller than me too. Like, six foot three maybe? Everything about him was bigger. I swear I saw his shorts shift as something was going on down there, but I made myself stare up past his bulging pecs and rounded shoulders to his manly, handsome face.

“Don’t worry about it Liam, these things happen.” Sam put a heavy hand on my shoulder and I realised not only was I hard, but I was as hard as I had ever been, now. “Take care of Finn. And if you want to come over later, that would be good too. I bet there’s a lot to talk about.”

I can’t really remember what I said, but I was back home with Finn and the first thing I did minus the dog was run upstairs to the bathroom and tug one out. I didn’t care why I was so hard, I just knew I had to do something about it before I burst. It was like I was a teenager all over again, only that sensation was quadrupled. All because of Sam?

Reading what you wrote about Muscuthropy, it all fits! I wasn’t going crazy, turning gay for a growing beefcake! But at the time I thought I was going nuts! And although I was only there for the weekend, it was tough to not take Sam up on his invite. I wanted to go round but away from seeing him, I was more nervous than anything else. He was a big guy now, even my dad commented on it a few times, and what would happen if I went round to his actual house? I didn’t want to think about it. Only, I sorta did, and it was a daydream of mine for a while.

I was glad to get out of there, as well as disappointed. I put him out of my head and got back into my work. Met a girl called Macy, had a good time, confirmed that I’m definitely straight. It must have been because I was tired, or... not sleeping with enough women or something, I don't know. That's what I told myself at the time. The alternative was a bit too weird to think about so I just ignored it. Much easier that way, besides I didn't know then what I do now.  

It came round to early September, my Dad’s 50th birthday, and I couldn’t not visit for that. I wanted to stay away but I’d not been to visit all summer, told them it was work being busy, but I know Dad would have been disappointed. And honestly? I wanted to see what Sam was up to.

So I drove on over, got my things out the car and took them in. I went through the motions of being polite to my parents and actually, I noticed something a bit weird. My Dad was looking kind of, well, kind of good actually. I mean, this isn’t one of those stories, but I could see he’d been taking care of himself and he seemed a bit more confident too. It looked good on him. I was kind of impressed, but Dad just shrugged off my questions, nothing had changed, he wasn't going to the gym or anything like that. Maybe I just didn't pay enough attention to him. 

I tried not to think about Sam exclusively when I was there but all day he was on my mind. By the time I headed upstairs for bed, I was positively gagging to open the window and look for him. That’s exactly what I did too, I pushed it wide open and leaned on it, taking in Sam’s house. My upstairs window, his upstairs window. A private show, if he turned up. I almost fancied that I could smell him on the air and now, I think that maybe I did? The height of summer, a hot day, it lent itself towards it.

I made no show of hiding what I was up to. I didn’t want to. I sat there, watching and waiting, until the light came on over the way and a wall of muscle and fur ducked into the bedroom.

It was Sam. Sam times twelve. He looked like he not only lived in the gym, but ate every protein shake and weight supplement in there too. How tall was he now? He looked like he might be brushing the doorframe, is that normal for someone with muscuthropy? I didn’t care right then but damn, he was a tall glass of water.

He moved over to the window, steely eyes locked onto mine, and he pushed his own open. He said nothing, standing there for me, showing me what I wanted to see. His hair was longer, not tied back right then. It fell around him and past his shoulders, untamed and wild. He had heavy stubble, just the way I liked it is what I thought when I saw it. His chest was absolutely huge! It had a layer of dark hair over it that hadn’t been there before, but I could still see how massive he was. How did he even get through the door, looking like that? Those shoulders alone had to be as wide as a normal man, and his arms were freaking enormous too. Even from my window I could see the thick veins snaked across them, bulging muscles leading down to giant forearms and equally meaty hands that looked like they could palm a basketball.

The heavy six pack had a treasure trail leading down to his shorts, but it was at this point I took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. It hit me like a truck and when Sam gestured for me to go over, I didn’t even think twice. I just went for it. Down the stairs, out the door, hard as a fucking rod and ready to see Sam. I didn’t knock, I let myself in and went up the stairs of his house which was a mirror of my parent’s.

He was there in the bedroom still, and up close the smell of him was even more powerful. I wanted to stick my head under his armpit, trail my tongue along his sweat, so many things I’d never thought of doing with a man before. Because I’m straight. Damn. He turned to look at me with that killer smile, and I got to finish my assessment of his appearance. The shorts might have been the same ones he wore last time, it was hard to say, but regardless they were skin tight over his gigantic muscled thighs, pulled taut over his ass. The front was quickly fighting a losing battle to his baseball bat of a dick, which even as I stood there watching was growing bigger and thicker until Sam tugged the material down and let it stand up proudly. The thick, veiny shaft throbbed with each beat of his powerful heart, and two heaving balls hung low between those immense leg muscles, the size of grapefruits.

He was taller, definitely of a height with the door. It was impossible for a man to grow so much, to turn from an average guy to this hairy, muscled, massively hung beast of a man, but it had happened. Sam had changed since I last saw him and being in the same room as this specimen was incredible. Better than being with any woman. I knew something weird was going on with Sam, and also with me, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to climb Sam like a tree and do whatever the hell he wanted me to do.

And… I think that’s what happened next. To be honest, I don’t really remember. I wish I did because man, it must have been epic, but when I came to I was lying in my back yard, Finn was sniffing at my clothes, and I was sore all over. I was still hard but my dick felt raw as well, even my underwear hurt to rub against it. 

That was just last week and I'm still feeling weird about the whole thing even though I haven't seen Sam since. I can’t tell if anything was, er, catching. I hightailed it back to my place while I could think straight and now I’m straight up confused. What do I do now?

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