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A Chance Meeting On The D L R


goremeridian

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Experimenting with narrative voice. Hope it's not too odd or off-putting!  First muscle growth story. Enjoy - and be nice!

 

A Chance Meeting on the DLR

 

This is a story about two men who were made for each other. There’s a right person out there for everyone. Only some of us are lucky enough to find them.

 

Let's start with Paul. Well, Paul liked massive bodybuilders. You know the type. Waking hours spent masturbating to freakishly morphed pictures of huge, muscled studs. Feverishly jerking his ample cock, he would imagine what it would be like to meet, and – as the train of his libido-fuelled imagination picked up speed – worship every inch of hard-packed, swollen muscle on a morph’s monstrous physique.

 

Then there's Kevin. Now, Kevin was a massive bodybuilder. Again, I'm not straying far from the stereotype: his waking hours were spent heaving insane amounts of iron in the local gym, straining to pump his muscular physique even bigger. Feeling the burn tearing through every one of his sinews, he would imagine what it would be like to pass 300lbs and – as the fires of his testosterone-fuelled daydream whipped up into an inferno – dwarf, in terms of sheer flexed mass, every super heavyweight Olympian musclegod he idolised.

 

But dreamstuff isn’t hard currency, and both men were pretty much shortchanged by reality.

 

Kevin could never seem to get past 270 lbs, and Paul never met any bodybuilders with muscles even close to his morphs.

 

And the dreams would have stayed just that, insubstantial as whispers, if not for a chance meeting on the DLR. Kevin was returning from the gym, Paul from one of his wanders around London in an ineffectual attempt to stave off his libido. A mass exodus at Canary Wharf had left the two of them alone in the train carriage, sitting opposite one another.

 

Was it fate? Hell if I know. I might sound like am omniscient narrator, but really I'm just a twat with a soft spot for romance and muscle growth. What the hell do you want to know my POV for? 

 

Back to the boys. Well, Kevin - he's probably the more interesting of the two right now, right? What was he doing? Well, pretty much just fidgeting in his seat. You see, he could never get comfortable in train seats. It wasn’t just the scorching sun coming in through the windows. He had read somewhere that they made the windows of the DLR trains out of the same glass that they used in magnifying lenses. The evidence seemed to bear this out – after all, didn’t evil children use magnifying glasses to cook ants? He felt half-baked beneath his tan skin. In addition, his dense weight always bore him down through the comfy foam seat cover so he could feel the metal springs poking painfully into his hard glutes – which themselves lacked any fatty protection. He was wondering whether it would look weird if he employed his gym bag as extra cushioning beneath his rump, or whether he should ride out his next three stops standing up (though he had worked legs today extra hard and was grateful for even this torture device of a seat) when he noticed the man opposite him staring at him. He wasn’t unused to getting looks, but this guy was eyeballing him with an intensity that bordered on the creepy.

 

“Can I help you?” He hadn’t said it in an aggressive way, but pretty much any rhetorical question backed by the straining, steel-hard muscles of a 270 pound bodybuilder comes across a tad threatening.

 

Suppose we should give some screen time to Paul now. Bear with me. He's not a massive bodybuilder but believe me, he's pretty integral to the story.

 

Well Paul, as you might imagine, was jerked from his reverie. He had been committing the musclestud’s physique to memory in his mental wankbank so he could conjure his image forth from his id later, when he was back at home with his cock in his hand. Of course, somewhere in the process the 270 lbs would be cranked up closer to 500 in his mind’s eye.

 

Like I said, bit of a macrophile stereotype.

 

“Uh,” he replied, feeling the heat of embarrassment scald his face. “N-no, sorry.” Then, his self-consciousness clouded by lust and his brain pickled by the hot sun straining in through the windows of the train carriage, he found himself adding, “You’re just…so big!”

 

Kevin’s mouth curled up in a cocky smile. The same chemical reaction – heat and libido – must have been bubbling in his grey cells as he, somewhat out of character, replied, “Yeah, but not big enough.” He flexed a 20 inch bicep, offering the striated mountain as somewhat contradictory evidence of his pathetic nature.

 

He had actually been flexing throughout this little story, feeling - and enjoying - the strain of his swollen muscles against the skin, like most muscle dudes do on their way home from the gym, but I figured it was time to throw you guys a bone (or should I say a boner?) and actually detail one of them. Just to keep the story (and your horniness) going.

 

So anyway, Kevin flexed a f*cking massive bicep.

 

This, and the faint, cock-stirring aroma of man-sweat from the bulked bodybuilder’s armpit, merely acted as a catalyst to Paul’s fevered mind. “Yeah,” he muttered (though later he would ask himself where he got the balls to speak like this), “nowhere near big enough.”

A brief silence settled between the two men. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Both were simply wondering why now, of all times, they had chosen to spill their hidden, innermost thoughts to complete strangers. And wondering too why it didn’t seem wrong.

 

This would be a good place to insert one of those "Was it fate?" questions again, but I figure I've already dealt with this in my own suitably sardonic fashion. Just keep reading.

 

Kevin broke the lull. “I’m Kevin, by the way,” he said, extending a hand.

 

“Paul,” said Paul, reaching for it.

 

Their fingers touched, a spark of energy flashed between them…and Kevin started to grow.

 

He pulled his hand back as though he had been burned, and could barely get out a surprised “What the-” before the muscles over his torso began to twitch and swell. His pecs ballooned out from his chest, filling the once-loose tank top to the limit, the ironic witticism written on the front suddenly indecipherable as it was stretched and pulled around by the hard striations straining up against the material. His growing shoulders and delts yanked the struggling top up over his bellybutton, revealing a lower set of perfect, budding abs glistening with sweat, underlined sexily by an aesthetic v-line. His biceps and triceps looked like they were going to burst out of the skin as they fought for space on his upper arm. Like bars of writhing steel his wrists joined in the competition, straining Kevin’s tan flesh to breaking point so that every striation was clearly visible beneath the stretched-thin surface.

 

So absorbed was Paul in alternately frenziedly cataloguing and drooling over the immense changes in Kevin’s upper body mass that he nearly missed the teardrop thighs and twin hillocks of calf muscle that burst into beautiful, sweat-shimmering glory on Kevin’s lycra-short-clad legs as he stood.

 

Kevin was on his feet in seconds, noticing as he did so the full, pumped feeling in his glutes as they too tightened to perfect spheres of titanium perfection behind him.

 

Paul felt suddenly tiny, afraid. The heat in the carriage was enough to boil his blood and he felt himself go light headed as the now giant bodybuilder took a shaky step forward, unused to his shift in weight. How had this happened? What was going to happen how? And…was Kevin…smiling?

 

'Course he was smiling. You think I'm going to write a muscle growth story where the dude hates being big? You're on the wrong site. I hear whybeingsmallandweedyisbest.com is looking for readers, so go take your eyes there, microphile.

 

“Fuck YES!” The striated superman cast a look over his immensity. Every twitching sinew, every new inch he noted, every vein pushed to the surface of his straining body by the swollen muscle widened his smile further. “I’m HUGE! But how?” He looked down at Paul before him – fuck, he appeared so tiny now in comparison (the smile strained a little further still) – whose wide eyes, pallid expression and faint whimpering noises would not have been out of place on a trauma victim. “What did you do to me?”

 

It took Paul nearly half a minute to find the words, spluttering odd syllables into the testosterone-drenched haze of the carriage. He floundered about a bit to locate the right phonemes like a blind person bobbing for apples at Halloween, but eventually he regained enough reason to conjure some sense into his babble. “Ah…I think we – we both did it. You wanted to get bigger, and I wanted you bigger. And somehow it just worked.”

 

You're not going to get more of an explanation than that. Writer and muscle whore I am, scientist I am not. Here's what Kevin thought though, and maybe you should be content with that:

 

Kevin had read enough bodybuilding magazines to know the importance of willpower. Of envisioning yourself growing, as a compliment to your workouts. None, however, had mentioned combining that willpower with someone else.

 

Satisfied? Moving on:

 

“You mean, we could do it again? I could get even bigger?” Without mirrors or scales, it was difficult to know what size he was now. How much had he gained? Surely over 10 lbs of muscle? Maybe closer to 20? Or 30? My God, was he over 300lbs finally? The thought made him bone up. He felt his cock – Jesus, had that gotten bigger too? (his smile could stretch no more, though it did make a valiant effort to) – twitching as testosterone-rich blood filled it.

 

His wasn’t the only penis affected by the change. Though Paul’s head was spinning, feeling was –gradually – beginning to return to the rest of his body. And the first thing he felt was the tremendous pressure in his jeans. He had never been this hard in his life. Before once again losing the power of speech – God, was it even hotter in the carriage than it had been a few minutes ago? – he got the words out: “We should try again. My flat – it’s the next stop. Two minutes from the station.” He had once considered the Isle of Dogs a crappy place to live. Now he praised the day he had been suckered into buying property there.

 

Kevin grinned down at the little man, and flexed a bicep. The contrast with the fist-sized ball it had been before, and the head-sized peak now, was enough for him to start dripping pre. It didn’t seem to stop swelling – bigger and bigger it got, pulling all the excess skin on his arm (not that there was much, other than a teeny fleshy wrinkle around his armpit) with it as it rose, mountain-like, before the two of them. When it reached its full size, making Kevin’s handsome, well-shaped head actually look small in comparison, the skin was so stretched it was translucent. “Yeah. We’ve got to try it again as soon as possible!”

 

So anyway. Two guys, random meeting on a train. Possibly fate yadda yadda. Anyhoo. To the meat of the matter: want to see one of them get bigger? I mean, seriously, freakishly bigger? Look out for part two. The rest of you? Man, I should be on commission or something. Like I said, whybeingsmallandweedyisbest.com is only a click away.

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Nothing like "the  power of the will!"

 

The growth scenes and scents were stirring and uplifting!   ;)

 

The snarky narrator was an apt Dante through this "Inferno" of muscle growth!  I have no doubt they'll be in "Paradiso" when they get off the train!

 

Well done!

 

:P

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Why not have PAUL grow next, until he's as huge as Kevin--and then have them BOTH grow bigger--and BIGGER--and b-i-g-g-e-r--AND B-I-G-G-E-R . . .(wicked grin)

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