Wild At Heart

[nightbird112]

Hey everyone, I‘m kinda feeling a bit of writer‘s block concerning my other series „Dear Diary“, so I decided to churn out this one-shot here. I was inspired by this quote:

 

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.” ― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods

 

As always, comments, criticisms, and suggestions are welcome. I would especially like to know if I‘m smearing on the prose a bit too thick, and also if the proportions and descriptions sound realistic.

 

Enjoy!

 

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Wild At Heart

 

The sunlight filtered through the trees, the green and yellow hues of the leaves glowing like the stained-glass windows at the local church.

 

I inhaled deeply, taking in the odor of earth moistened by a dawn drizzle, its rich, musty scent filling my lungs, my bare feet glorying in the contact with the soil. And that was when I saw him.

 

He was a young man, about college age or perhaps a bit younger. He was jogging along the forest path. It was obviously not something he did regularly; he was huffing and puffing, looking like he could barely reach the cusp of the road which sloped upward at a gentle incline. Furthermore, his body looked like that of a man unused to strenuous physical activity, or any physical activity for that matter; his waist was paunchy, probably from hours sitting at his computer drinking beer and eating cheetos. His face had a baby-faced look to it and his jawline was hidden underneath a layer of fat. But he had potential; his face, while rather pudgy, looked handsome enough, and it would improve as it shed its fat. His body, while pear-shaped, had a strong base to it, with wide shoulders and a thickness to his chest and arms which was not due solely to fat. It was clear that this was a young man who had grown tired of his body’s appearance and wanted to improve himself. It was most admirable how he had taken the first step on a long road, the road to manhood.

 

I decided to help him out along the way.

 

Why, you might ask? And how? Well, the second question might be easier to answer. You see, I am what you might call a wizard or a sorcerer. Different cultures have called me by several names throughout the centuries. Call me what you will. What is important is that I possess the ability to mold reality to a certain extent via magic, and that includes giving a certain young man a helping hand up the ladder.

 

And now to the big question… why? The simple fact of the matter is, I don‘t know.

 

Perhaps it had something to do with the setting; the sun, the breeze, the dew on the leaves. Or perhaps it had something to do with how beautiful I found the young man, so young and full of promise. I loved him. Not romantically, mind you, but the way a sculptor loves a block of clay, or a painter a blank canvas. They love it for its potential, what it could be.

 

Perhaps it was for one of those those reasons, all of them, or even none of them. Decide for yourself, I don‘t really care… what matters most is the boy, and the man he became.

 

Using my abilities, I took a peek inside his mind. A sculptor must know his clay well if he is to shape it, after all. I saw his self-loathing, his frustration, and most importantly his vision. I saw the man he wanted to become.

 

And I was going to help him do so.

 

Focusing, I willed his clothes to disappear. Even though it had rained recently, he wouldn‘t feel cold. In fact, things were about to get hot soon. Both figuratively and literally.

 

So there he was, naked, his fat jiggling as he ran. Of course, he didn‘t realize that he was running naked, nor would he view his changes as anything out of the ordinary, I had made sure of that. Plus, there was no-one around for miles. Can‘t have my masterpiece be arrested for indecent exposure. Or after I‘m through with him, inciting sex riots.

 

As he kept running, the first thing to change was his torso. His belly fat began melting off, leaving his stomach flat as a board. His arms lost their flabbiness, and his chest and shoulders began emerging from their prison of lard. His spine cracked as his posture and running technique improved.

 

He was still missing something though. He looked very attractive, don‘t get me wrong, especially, with his body glistening with sweat. But he was still unfinished.

 

His bare feet, pounding a steady rhythm on the hard earth, began to grow larger. He stumbled as the bones in his feet cracked and lengthened. He found his footing once more, but with substantially larger feet. They looked to be at least a foot long, if not more.

 

Next, his hands began changing as they pumped up and down like a piston in a car engine, growing to large mits that could palm a basketball with ease. His body began to grow to match them, his legs and torso lengthening. He began having to duck to avoid branches as he sprouted several inches taller. He sort of looked like a stork, his thin, toned arms pumping as he ran faster due to his longer stride.

 

His shoulders began pulsing as they grew, his lats thrusting themselves out, pushing his back into a broad v-shape. His pecs developed into deliciously sexy mounds of muscle, each topped with a silver-dollar sized nipple that looked perfect for nibbling on.

 

His legs thickened into tree trunk-like pillars of strength that propelled him at ever-increasing speeds, the sound of his footfalls now a heavy thud due to all that extra muscle. They matched his large feet perfectly.

 

And with that my work was done. I examined my handiwork as he stopped to drink some water.

 

He was absolutely magnificent. He had become the very man he had envisioned becoming. He was tall, standing at least a head taller than most men. Sweat ran in cleavage between massive, dinner-plate sized pecs like a stream in a valley between two mountains. His shoulders were broad and thick like those of an ox. They looked made to plow a field from sunup to sundown. And speaking of plowing, his cock, half-erect, hung halfway down his upper thigh, and his balls were the size of chicken eggs.

 

Every inch of his body from his short black hair matted with sweat to his large feet was built for power. This was no roided-out parody of masculinity. This was the platonic ideal thereof. With one final flourish, I clothed him in shorts and a white t-shirt and sneakers. Seeing the shirt tight around his shoulders and loose against his eight-pack abs, his shorts trying to contain the muscular glory of his legs, was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful.

 

I watched as he started jogging again. He moved now with the wild grace of a predator, his confident stride combining the primal power of a caveman with the sensual aesthetic of Michelangelo‘s David. His face now looked to be sculpted from the finest marble, with high cheekbones and a square jawline and clefted chin. I ached to kiss his lips, to lose myself in his brown eyes.

 

Pleased, I made the appropriate changes to the man’s memories to account for the changes, and I went on my way.

 

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A/N: Sorry if the ending felt a bit abrupt there. I wasn’t sure how I should end it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[stefanogr]

Vera funny, i remember a movie , it begins like your story: interstate 60.  Black hearth, red spade.

[convolution]

Clean and simple ...

Nicely done