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

Gym Story By Mdlftr {I've been enjoying the stories here for a while. The variety on this site is inspiring, as are the pix at the "Relaxed" site (among others!) Recently, I was inspired to try my hand at a short story...if only real life was like this! Enjoy!) Mdlftr Hi. I've noticed that you've been watching me, so I thought I'd come over and introduce myself. Name's Scott. Whoah! You almost dropped that? Need a spot? Here, let me help you rack that bar. O.k., that's good. You sure you're all right? You look all pale and sweaty. You say you're fine, never better? O.k. if you say so. Good to meet you, too. What's that? You noticed how much weight I was pushing? Shit, that's nothing…only about 250 or so. A warm up set. How much can I bench? Hmm, that's a tough one. I don't usually focus on the weight, more the feeling that I get, ya know? Uh, I'd guess my normal working weight is about 380, give or take a few pounds. That's easy to remember: an Olympic bar ,that's 45 #, as if you didn't know! Three 45-pound plates on each side, followed by a 25, a 10 and a 5. Yeah, that's exactly 380#. On good days I `ve gotten up to 400#, and on a couple of Great days I've made 410#. My squat is around 720#. (He huffs out a breathe, his massive chest rising and swelling within his tight tank top. You stop breathing, watching) Yeah, it IS a great feeling. I only weigh about 225#, and at a height of 5'10", that's not too bad. I eventually want to get up to around 240 to 250. That's enough to make your muscles look big and full, without being too heavy. (You exhale loudly) My waist? Right now it's about 32 and a half. I'm getting it back down to 31#, starting next week, once I step up the cardio again. I pulled back on the cardio so's I'd have some energy to grow while I'm lifting heavy. My chest? Hmm…(takes his right, square, calloused paw and puts it under his tank top, and rubs his left pec with it while he ponders the question. You gurgle something unintelligible.) Less'see…I last measured about two months ago, and I was 195 pounds with a 48" chest, standing relaxed. I've gained about 15 to 20 pounds since then, and I've been real good about going heavy with good form on my bench, so I think it's come up a bit. Say, oh, I don't know, maybe 50 inches, relaxed? My goal is 54 " cold, 56 inches flexed, so I've got a ways to go. (Rubs both pecs hard, then flexes the big mounds hard, as he looks down at his cleavage. Your gurgle erupts into a sputter, which you hastily choke back as he looks up at you.) Looks good, though, don't it? (Looks up and catches your eye, smiling.) Hey, you wanta see? I always appreciate some good feed back. Here! (He whips off his white tank top in one swift motion, and stands before you, sweat glistening on his thick pectoral mounds. Hairless and smooth as a baby's butt, they project off his chest like a meaty shelf, broad and full, with sharply defined lower edges and deep cleavage. The nipples balance right on the edge, like a surfer on the crest of a Big wave, about to take a plunge over the side. His thick arms hang heavily at his sides, while his full rounded deltoids lead your eye up to his bulging traps and thick neck. You are speechless.) So, whatdya think? Getting big? Check this out! (He flexes really hard, and the mounds swell even bigger, if possible, while the nipples run under the side of the pectoral shelf and perk up to stiff points. (You make a sound half way between a gasp and a gurgle.) He stops his flexing, concern creasing his brow. He bends over closer to you, as you sit there on the weight bench, inspecting you. Your eyes remain glued to his massive muscle mounds, your gaze like a trance. He speaks.) Hey, dude, you there? He grins and waves one paw in front of your face, a friendly smile on his face, showing straight, gleaming white teeth. You blink a few times and look away from his massive chest, embarrassed at being caught so obviously distracted. He notices your flushed face and averted gaze. Hey, dude, it's o.k.! I get that all the time. I'm talking to a guy about lifting and he starts spacing out. I know it's not the most interesting subject in the world. Didn't mean to bore ya! Oh, what's that, you're not bored. Oh, o.k.. Now, where were we? My arms? You want to know about my arms? Well, tbey're about 18 and a half inches, hanging, 19 and a quarter inches, pumped. I'm shooting for 21-22 inches cold. (He lifts his great guns out to his sides, the cobra-like spread of the lats emphasizing the ridiculously small waist. His large hands easily curl into fists as he hits a double biceps shot. The mountains of power bulge up from his thick arms, like Himalayas to most men's foothills. Your eyes goggle at the sight. Your pants are getting uncomfortably tight.) I've got pretty good peaks, but I need more size, especially my triceps. (At this last comment, he drops his arms, then abruptly goes into a side tricep shot, left arm held straight at his side, held by his right, with the huge horseshoe of his triceps bulging out. You gasp at the sight Your pants go from really tight to warmly wet, in an instant.) Hey buddy, you alright? You look like you're gonna be sick or something? Can I give you a lift home? O.k., we can leave now. Lemme get my stuff. (He turns around and strides across the gym, showing a great ass and massively muscled legs and back. As he turns to collect his gym bag, you cast your eyes upward and silently mouth a "THANK YOU GOD!") •

27/4/14 Hey followers sorry its been two weeks since my last diary update, i have just been to engrossed in watching my body grow and grow and my strength rocket up. Over these 2 weeks i have amassed a staggering 300lb of soild muscle and added 30" to my muscles. So if your maths is all correct i currently weigh 440lb and have 57" biceps!!! If you have been reading my other blogs you would know that i was only meant to take 1 pill a day but i scrapped that and started taking 2 to 3 a day!!! Here are the results: Me from last blog: http://ectomorphworkout.org/wp-content/uploads/Ectomorph-Workout-Home.jpg Me Now!!!!: http://radiokida.deviantart.com/art/Gym-Muscle-266622872 As you can see guys there is a colossal difference over those two weeks and boy has it been noticed sadly for not all the right reasons!! Since my last blog my group of friends including buff dave have disowned me, they said they want nothing more to do with me as i have become a freak, they thought that i was just gonna grow a little and not become a monster like alex! i asked them what it had to do with them what i did with my own body, things got a little nasty i ended up knocking dave out, i hardly touched him too, shows what strength and power i have now, i didnt want to hurt anyone but rage was building inside me and it just happened. So now my only friend is the beast that is alex, who has grown even more since the last pic, here he is now!!! http://radiokida.deviantart.com/art/Buff-Muscle-Extreme-2-277080517 he's making me look skinny again with his new size. his biceps are over 90" now, siiiiick!!! As i put on my last blog,alex wants me to start a muscle domination duo with him, considering both our sizes its gonna be fun, were starting it next week, i will reveal details on my next blog. i told alex about my little fracas with dave and my old friends, he told me i was a god amongst insects and if anyone told me different i should destroy them!!! bit drastic don't you think lol, thankfully he only meant it in figure of speech terms but he did say to use my power if need be!!! In my last blog i had mentioned that Jack had gone away with his club for warm weather training, he returned yesterday, he got back while i was at the gym(more of which soon!!!), so he didnt see me until i got back in, and as you can imagine there was stunned silence and lots of WTF!!!!! Questions were asked about steroids, i told him i hadnt taken any, i confessed to him about the pills and wanting to get freaky huge, i couldn't lie to my cute as fuck older brother even though i was a good 240lb heavier than him and biceps bigger than his head!! He told me he was a disappointed that i had taken this road but i was his brother and he would support me in what ever i choose to do. Now the gym!!! Due to my super growth and strength, the weights at jacks club gym were now pathetically light, so i am now at a proper bodybuilding gym, im benching crazy weight like 500kg, curling 250, squatting 650!!! ive had to specifically order super heavy weight plates for me to use as i'll shortly be to strong for the weights the gym has. I have also jotted down a target size for me to achieve, all im saying is 440lb and 57" will be small compared to what i want!! Thats all for now folks.

Baring Bones: A Halloween Story - Chapter 3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4 (and Bestiary Notes) ------------------------- I gradually regained some sense of self, feeling suspended in darkness. It was like being under water, except it lacked the joy I’ve always experienced swimming in pools or riding the waves in the ocean. Instead of that buoyancy, the weightlessness I was experiencing felt heavy, immobilizing me instead of enabling me to move in three dimensions. Nothing was visible except my own body, drifting helplessly. A sudden fear struck me. “Am I… dead?” Instantly the darkness boomed with a strangely familiar voice… the deepest and richest of the voices from the chorus earlier. “NO, CHILD, YOU ARE NOT DEAD… THOUGH NOT FOR LACK OF TRYING. YOUR BLOODLINE’S FIRST ATTEMPT AT JOINING THE CHOIR SINCE BEFORE THE DAWN OF HISTORY, AND YOU TRY TO REVERSE… WELL, ME? I KNOW THAT YOU HAVE BEEN TAUGHT NOTHING OF YOUR GIFTS, AND ARE ONLY LEARNING IN RESPONSE TO THE IMMEDIATE THREAT OF THE SPECTRE, BUT TRYING TO UNDO DEATH IS A LAST RESORT. LITERALLY.” My head pounded, both from the thunderous voice and my own condition. “So, you’re death, but I’m not dead? Is Claudia ok? Is Kellan?” “I AM… COMPLICATED. MY KIND DO NOT HAVE NAMES, ONLY TITLES. YOU MAY CALL ME THE HELPFUL ONE. YOU HAVE ASKED FOR HELP, AND IT HAS BEEN GRANTED. PART OF THAT ASSISTANCE IS THAT I WILL HELP RETURN YOU TO THE WAKING WORLD… BUT DO NOT RISK YOURSELF SO GREATLY IN THE FUTURE. CLAUDIA WILLIS IS ALIVE THANKS TO OUR INTERVENTION, BUT I WOULD NOT SAY SHE IS WELL. KELLAN IS CURRENTLY FREE OF THE SPECTRE’S CONTROL, BUT HE IS STILL A TARGET… AND THE LOST SOUL IS VERY CLOSE TO ACHIEVING HIS GOALS. YOU MUST LOCATE THE SPECTRE’S PHYSICAL REMAINS AND USE THEM TO SEPARATE HIM FROM HIS STOLEN POWER, AND SUMMON ME THROUGH THE CHORUS.” I was about to ask more questions, like “where are his physical remains” and “will this restore the drained partiers” and “what’ll happen to Kellan’s new muscles,” but suddenly the darkness lit, and I saw what I was talking to, and the sight was impossible, horrific, and strangely eye-catching! Hovering before me in the formerly lightless void was an enormous monster, whose body was made of billions of… eyes and tongues! Behind it, thousands of wings whirled as swiftly as a hummingbird’s, but I could somehow see all of them if I focused, making out every detail of red, green and silver feathers. An ancient-looking tome floated in front of it, and even as I watched, new words blazed onto the pages, as if being burned there by some unseen magnifying glass. Instead of a head, the monster had four faces, like floating masks. One was that of a child of indeterminate gender with faintly Asian or Native American features. The second was elderly and Caucasian, but so wrinkled with age that, again, I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. The third looked like an African or mixed heritage woman, with long hair that was braided on one side and cascaded loose on the other. The final face was my own, with a knowing smirk spread across his (my?) lips. All four faces opened their mouths, and the powerful voice spoke yet again, despite seeming to boom around me and not emerge from any of the lips. “TIME GROWS SHORT. YOU CANNOT REMAIN IN THIS STATE BETWEEN DEATH AND LIFE ANY LONGER WITHOUT PASSING ON PERMANENTLY, AND THERE ARE OTHER PLANS IN STORE FOR YOU. YOU WILL NEED THIS.” It began to sing, the music washing over me, and I found that I was wearing my costume wings, undamaged by the fishhooks, and that they spread, bearing me aloft on the river of sound, leaving the creature far behind. The next moment, I found myself in darkness again, but feeling something warm and hard cushioning and supporting me. I finally worked my eyes open, and found myself being held, bride-style, and nuzzled, by the new and improved Kellan, who was sitting in the passenger seat of his car. I twisted my head around and saw Claudia dozing on the back seat, but smiling, a healthy blush spread across her cheeks. Kellan shifted, and murmured as he came awake. “Heeyyyy… you’re awake. Feel ok?” He mumbled in my ear, making the hairs on the back of my neck raise in excitement. I couldn’t speak, but blushed and nodded. “Good.” He breathed in deeply, his beautiful face an inch from mine. “Thank you for saving Claudia and helping me yet again. I was out of control. But… you can’t hurt yourself. Whatever you just did, it nearly killed you… you weren’t breathing and didn’t have a heartbeat. I had to use CPR and rescue breathing on you until your chest started rising again. I brought us here to take a breather. But don’t you dare put yourself at risk like that again. What the hell happened? I thought I heard you humming and then you seemed to go into a trance. Then Claudia was healed and you came back for a moment before toppling over. Don’t do that to me again, man! I only just met you, and I want to keep you around for a looooong time.” I gulped at that last statement, but managed to nod in agreement. I then filled Kellan in on the out-of-body experience, the overwhelmingly beautiful chorus, and the insanity-inducing monster that helped me return Claudia to the world… and then did the same to me. At that point Kellan frowned. “Huh… I dozed off for a bit here in the car, and just woke up when you started stirring, so I didn’t notice it ‘til now… but your wings WERE tattered when I carried you here… and now they aren’t.” I froze at that revelation. “Really?” Kellan nodded, making the dark, wavy layers of his rock-star hair flop back and forth over his blue eyes. He reached out with his newly-muscled arm and pulled the door open, letting me slide out of his arms and stand (shakily) on my own two feet. The way he’d cradled my 6’2” frame in his football player’s arms was a bit weird, as I wasn’t used to being the shorter guy, much less being held by someone. However, as he stepped out of the car after me, I found myself looking up at a 7’1” hunk. He stretched, his biceps bulging in his torn black sleeves, his huge pecs warping the image of his costume’s ribcage, his nipples visibly erect through the fabric in the cool November air, and his shirt riding up to reveal his sculpted abs and a dark treasure trail showcased between his iliac furrow by his marble-pale skin. Once he finished stretching, he bent over, showing me the square shape of his muscle butt, while reaching into the car to retrieve my wings… good as new! “Weird,” I commented, running my fingers over the undamaged fabric of the black wings. “Just one more strange thing to add to an already bizarre evening.” Kellan nodded. “For sure. But hey man, it’s getting kinda chilly. I don’t think I’m feeling it as much as I should now that I’m supercharged with ghost lightning or whatever, but I bet you could use some more warmth. Lemme just get Claudia comfortable.” With that, he popped the trunk and grabbed some extra blankets, and quickly wrapped them around his girlfriend, making her shift and wake up, smile at him, and murmur something I couldn’t hear, before snuggling into the blankets as he closed the car to keep the cold air out. Kellan and I then headed up towards the bonfire. As we trudged uphill, I tilted my head and frowned, before asking, “You didn’t feel any drain, and Claudia was fine in the car? She didn’t get… sucked dry… like the other partiers?” Kellan shook his head back and forth, affirming that the instant-lifelessness effect I’d spotted earlier hadn’t occurred. “No… I didn’t feel anything, and Claudia’s fine. You didn’t see anything, did you?” After I confirmed that everything seemed fine when we were at the car, he relaxed. “I admit I was more focused on you and Claudia, so I wasn’t really looking around at anyone else… but now that you mention it, I didn’t hear any engines start or see any car lights. Maybe it’s just the fact that I was the one who opened the car, not Claudia, and this ghost thing needs me? Or maybe you burned it out back at the dance floor?” I shrugged, but then grimaced. “I wish… but you said you didn’t notice anyone leaving… I’d think that if the white flames had gotten rid of the ghost for good, they’d be back to normal. Besides… the big eyes-tongues-wings-faces creature said the ghost was still a threat.” As we approached the campfire, I could see the filaments of otherworldly light moving about … and somehow, I could hear them, like the hiss of the devil’s fiddle strings as he challenged Johnny for his soul. “And the threads of light are here, too… whatever’s going on, it’s not over,” I concluded. Kellan’s impressive shoulders slumped and he groaned in frustration. “Right. So, what’s the next step, besides getting toasty by the fire?” I blushed at the suggestion of “getting toasty” with the big guy, but tried to ignore it, hoping the darkness hid my reaction. “I’m not sure… the journal I found includes some descriptions about various supernatural effects and creatures, but aside from ghosts, I’m not really sure what to look for, and it’s not like this thing was written as an encyclopedia. Having to search through it… in Latin… is going to be time-consuming.” The bonfire’s warmth soaked into my skin, though the tinny noise of the glowing strings sent chills down my spine. Getting this close to the cords and knowing that I was the only one able to notice them was even more frightening than their deadliness. Kellan glanced in my direction, and he frowned, slinging a muscular arm over my shoulder, letting me lean back and rest my head on the curve of his bicep. “Hey, Angelo,” he asked in his richer, more resonant voice “Are you ok? If you’re still out of it from singing for Claudia or whatever it was you did, we could go to the main house instead and get you a couch to lie down on or something.” “Thanks,” I replied. “But I’m ok… it’s just creepy to see what I’m seeing, with the strings and all. I’m ok… just uneasy.” Kellan nodded, and squeezed my shoulder. “Ok… we can work with that.” He then shot an oddly mischievous look at me, and grinned. “Wanna hear what making out with Claudia felt like?” Assuming that non-sequitur was Kellan’s somewhat hearty, boyish way of distracting me with a change of subject, I shrugged and nodded. He seemed to take an almost puppylike glee in his new body and increased sexuality, and that excited energy seemed odd coming from a guy as big as a horse. I wondered just how greatly his personality and attitudes and even language had changed over the events of this evening. They way he was currently acting was a far cry from the terse, unwelcoming indie guy earlier. If we couldn’t figure out what was going on, how much more would he change? If we did solve the mystery, would he even want to go back? Before I could ponder these questions further, he began to speak, and I focused on his deep voice. “It was WILD, man,” the big guy enthused, his pale cheeks becoming slightly flushed, his eyes fluttering shut as he sank into the memory of his powerful body pressed against his girlfriend. “They were playing our song… ‘Beyond’ by Butterfly Three-Way. It was booming from the speakers and the air was hot as people danced around us. Claudia leaned against me and tossed her hair back, and my hands slid down her shoulders, feeling how fragile and tiny they seemed under my big hands. She smelled soooo good… shampoo with violets and cherries, perfume with I don’t know what in it, and all that.” As if being drawn back to that moment, he breathed deeply, his huge boxer’s chest inflating, the black fabric with painted-on ribcage stretching to try and accommodate the bulging muscles as they expanded. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that his muscles weren’t the only things expanding. In the glow of the bonfire, the black lycra of his pants shifted, and his already visible bulge started to grow larger and thicker as it stretched towards his right thigh. His voice, now sounding huskier than before, picked up again. “She pressed against my body, man, and she cooed… she actually cooed… when she felt how hard I was… I am. She said that she wanted to drive me over the edge right then and there… purred it into my ear, and then she raised her arms as if she wanted to be picked up. I could never do that before, but now, it just seemed right, like I’d always been able to do it… and like I’d done it a hundred times. I reached down, felt how light she was in my arms, and lifted her up to my chest. Feeling her body clinging to mine… it was soooo fucking hot, dude! Almost literally… I felt like I was on fire, or in a desert, or something, and every nerve was alive! It was freakin’ intense!” Now his stance had widened, and his package (still barely wrapped) was straining away from his body. Some of the girls (dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow, Edward Scissorhands, Mad Hatter, Sweeney Todd, and Willy Wonka) seemed to have noticed, and were gossiping behind their hands and occasionally pointing at him, while others were fanning their faces and blushing, or looking longingly at it. Kellan took no notice, though his breathing was heavier, his face was flushed, and a trickle of sweat was running down his forehead. I also noticed that, despite the heat of the bonfire, his nipples were erect, and clearly visible as they pressed against the fabric of his costume. He reached up a big hand seemed to almost caress his pecs for a moment, before sliding his long, thick fingers down over his abs, brushing them over the fur of his treasure trail. Then, his hand froze and he went still. Kellan took a deep breath, then another, and then a third, before he was able to speak. “I… I think that’s when the thing… the mist, ghost thing… I think that’s when it struck. I just found myself unable to stop. It’s like nothing else mattered except feeling good and getting off… as hard as I could. I think I forgot Claudia even existed, except as a fuck toy or something. I’m… I’m not like that… I’m not!” Then he paused, before asking, “… am I?” Taking a deep breath to bring myself back from watching Kellan actually turn himself on, I collected my thoughts before speaking. “No… I don’t think you are someone who treats others as… uh… fuck toys. I think that, while you do like yourself this way, mostly, and you do like growing… that the ghost is trying to use you somehow… and its selfishness is overwhelming your normal personality while it tries to remake you. I think that if we can get rid of the ghost, you’ll be no more of a danger to society than… well, anyone else.” Kellan’s face broke out into a gentle grin. “Thanks Angelo… just hearing you think things through makes the whole situation a lot better. I’m glad I’ve got you watching my back.” He pulled me into a lingering, if one-armed, hug, and then leaned back. “So, what should we do first? Any other spots on the property you want to check out that might be haunted?” Just then, one of the guys by the fire, well into his cups and dressed like Super Mario, pushed his friend (dressed like Wayne from Wayne’s World), who pitched forward dramatically, almost knocking into me and spilling unidentifiable alcohol everywhere. I saw “Wayne” coming towards me, drops of liquid from his cup moving through the air in what seemed like slow motion before falling into the bonfire and making it blaze upward in a sudden burst of flames. At that moment, though I was off balance and leaning precariously towards the fire, I felt powerless… there was no music, no altered consciousness, no change in the sinister ribbons of light… just me, a mere mortal. However, if I was a mere mortal, that couldn’t be said for Kellan. His powerful arms slid down me and gripped my hips, lifting me up in the air and back from the flames… and a good two feet off the ground… without raising a sweat, before placing me on his shoulder. His skin was flushed, but not with exertion… he was angry! “WHAT THE HELL,” he roared at the drunk guys, so loudly that I thought for a second that the flames cringed and blew in the opposite direction, as if from a strong wind. “YOU’RE PLAYING AROUND A BONFIRE? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MINDS? MY FRIEND COULD’VE BEEN BURNED!” The guys visibly quailed before the force of Kellan’s ire, but tried to drunkenly bluff their way through it. “C’mon mannn… we were jus’ havin’ fun. No harm meant,” slurred the one who’d done the initial pushing. His friend, however, wasn’t quite so smart. Filled with liquid courage, “Wayne” retorted, “’Sides, you may be big, but if you’re an ass bandit, you should get out of the way of a real man, fucker.” The conversation and laughs and exclamations of shock around the bonfire went silent. The “Mario” went white and tugged on his homophobic pal’s shoulder, trying to pull him back. But it was too late. Kellan took in a deep breath, the only sound besides the cackling of the flame to pierce the leaden silence. When he spoke, his words were measured but echoing, as if it was taking all of his musician’s eloquence and impressive restraint to speak calmly and not simply punch the guy… which, given the fact that he’d cracked a wall when he was less built, would be a very bad thing. “One. Gay people are real men and women. Two. They do not have to get out of the way of anyone, just because he thinks he’s hot stuff. Three. I’m not just big… I’m stronger than five of your drunken asses. Four. I’m not gay, but I have responsible, sober friends, including my pal here, who are. My friends are important to me. Five. If I see or hear of you mistreating anyone else at this party, it’ll go badly for you. Very badly.” “Wayne” clearly didn’t have a clue (or had pickled his brain cells) because he actually dared to retort, “Oh yeah? This’ a free country, you freak. What’re you gonna do about it? You lay a finger on me and I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re throwing your weight around.” From my perch on Kellan’s brawny shoulder, I could actually see his handsome face stretch into a smile that could’ve come from the same grave as his costume. “I don’t have to touch you, asshole. I’m stronger than that.” I felt his sinewy frame shift under me, and looking down, realized that he was raising his foot, almost in a bizarrely muscular parody of Captain Morgan… and then he slammed it down! Resting on his broad shoulder, I felt only a momentary shift of hard muscle beneath me, and Kellan had been braced for the force by his own power. Everything around us fared much worse, as a shockwave appeared to spread out from Kellan’s thunderous footstep, causing the logs of the bonfire to collapse in on themselves, sending sparks blazing high into the night sky and knocking Wayne, Mario, the assorted female Johnny Depps, and the other people around the fire to the ground. Squeals and shouts of shock and outrage, spilled drinks, and a cloud of dirt fill the air, though not high enough to reach me, perched on top of Kellan’s 7 foot body. “Now,” boomed Kellan’s voice. “Apologize. Or. Get. The. Hell. Away. From. US!” The drunken jerk from earlier scrambled, almost crab-walking, to back away from my new friend as if the hounds of hell were after him, and his friend split as well. The conversation picked up again as Kellan reached up and gently lowered me to the ground, and looked me over, as if examining me for any damage. “Hey, sorry about that, Angelo…” he murmured, leaning down to bring his face closer to mine. “I’m sure you could’ve handled that punk, but he got on my nerves. Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you when I picked you up or something, did I?” I finally got my tongue to work, and stammered, “ Uh... n-no, b-but, GEEZ! When did you figure out you could do that with one stomp of your foot?” My “hero” frowned, looking throughtful. “Huh… I don’t know… I mean, obviously I’m way stronger than I should be, even with these muscles,” he continued as he flexed one of his biceps, showing off the veins snaking across the muscle. “But I just suddenly knew I could do that... creepy!” The sight of the hunk shuddering at his uncanny knowledge of his abilities broke the image of the furious Hercules from a few moments ago, and I had to smile even as I thought about the possibilities. “Huh… the monster I encountered said that the ghost had goals involving you, and that’s why it keeps going after you… maybe it’s trying to prepare you for something it wants you to do? So it’s giving you these abilities and the knowledge … muscle memory, maybe… to use them? Can you think of anything else that you can do with your strength?” Kellan closed his eyes and seemed to take a moment of thought, before shaking his head. “No… I don’t think I even knew I could do that foot-stomp thing until I was angry enough to do it. If I can do other stunts like that, I don’t think I’ll know about it until they come up somehow.” Then we were interrupted, as one of the ladies (dressed as Victor from the Corpse Bride) came forward, blushing through her pale makeup, and said, “That was pretty awesome, the way you stood up to that jerk. He’s been hitting on my friends and I all night, and it’s cool that your friend has someone like you to look out for him.” Kellan smiled down at her, and chuckled. “Nah, you got it all wrong… this guy’s my guardian angel… he looks out for me. I just try to return the favor when I can.” He then nodded to me, “Hey, Angelo, do the wing thing!” Always willing to show off my costume, I tugged the strings that caused my dark wings to unfold and fan the air, and the girl clapped enthusiastically. “That’s incredible! Can you guys take a picture with my friends and I?” Kellan laughed this time. “Sure… though I gotta warn you, I’ve got a girlfriend, and my pal here appreciates the, uh, less-fine sex, as you might’ve overheard.” There was a lot of booing and teasing and pouty faces (seeing Captain Sparrow pout through fake facial hair was somewhat unnerving), but we all lined up and the girls roped a passing witch into taking pictures of the whole group, facing the fire. The light hurt my eyes a bit, and I had to force myself to keep from squinting, holding my face in a wide, fragile-seeming smile. Surrounded by the enthusiasm of the girls, with Kellan by my side, I felt glad that I’d come to the party, even if it’d been one weird event after another, and began to relax… a moment too soon. As the girls dispersed, the fire abruptly blazed green, and from their depths emerged a spindly, wraithlike figure of emerald luminescence. With long, wickedly taloned fingers and skeletal features, it reached out towards me… or towards Kellan. Its claws poured jade fire towards my new friend, and I tried to deflect them, only to see the streams separate and slide around my outstretched arm, like a river moving around a stone! I looked around, hoping that the ghost’s public actions would attract some attention from the others, but the Johnny Depp Girls had all gone inside to get new drinks, and the new people standing around the bonfire didn’t seem to notice anything awry, going about their business and joking, drinking, and huddling by the unnatural flames as if this happened all the time. Kellan moaned throatily as the flames poured into him, so deeply it was almost like the rumbling growl of a lion. “Oh yeah… feels… so fucking gooood!” As I turned towards him, I could see his skin crawling as the muscles underneath swelled and shifted, faster than before! Slices of his black shirt began to tear, showing glimpses of pale skin underneath that became more and more striated with muscle. “C’mon Kellan, last time I couldn’t free you because you were into it… don’t lose me here. I need you to resist it if we’re going to stop it,” I murmured, trying to build up my rage and direct it at the green energy. Kellan just shook his head and looked down at me as he began to grow taller. “Angelo, I don’t want to stop it. God, this feels fan-TAS-tic! Look at me. LOOK AT ME,” he crowed as his muscles rippled. He now stood about two feet taller than most of the other party guests, and was about twice as thick as any of them, with huge muscles that resembled those of a massive football player, with some elements of powerlifter from the sheer size of his muscles thrown in as well. Looking down, I saw that his crotch was noticeably growing erect… and Kellan was now massively hung, if the imprint of his cock as it strained against the costume’s fabric was anything to go by. As my poor brain tried to wrap around the concept that my new friend was turning himself on as his body grew, Kellan seemed to come to a decision, heralded by another shuddering groan. “That’s it. I can’t stand this. I need to act on my horniness… and I’ve been wanting to do this for awhile!” His hands were larger than they’d been when he’d lifted me out of the way earlier, but they were at least as fast. I found myself lifted off my feet again, clasped against the biggest, tallest, most muscular guy I’d ever seen or heard of, and felt his lips press against mine. I swear I saw fireworks. His strength was tremendous, and his muscles were hard, but his lips were… teasing, gentle, playful, sweet, exploring, caressing, warm, soft, and inviting. His entire body as he moaned with satisfaction, almost purring as he deepened the kiss. He was supporting my weight with one hand clasped over my butt, clutching my black jeans between the folds of my wingtips, while the other hand stroked through my curls, cradling my skull. The kiss was powerful and unasked for… but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome, just unexpected. It was clearly driven by his changing hormones, but it was an act that was filled with emotion and intimacy as well as hunger. I began to kiss back… and surrendering my higher thoughts to make way for my increasing attraction to Kellan finally broke through the block keeping me from converting the ghost’s energies. Instead of wrath, I drew on the passion, the lust, the connection between the two of us, and I could hear a higher, flutelike music trickling from the Choir’s realm as I felt the white flames blaze through our embrace, while the ghost’s howls (sounding faintly like “What continues to thwart my efforts to possess this host?!) faded away around us. Kellan slowly lowered me away from his lips, his eyes still shut. His breathing was heavy, but he didn’t seem to be as crazed as before. I placed my hand over his huge chest, and felt his heart pounding. “Kellan,” I murmured. “Are you ok?” He nodded, then murmured. “I’m sorry, Angelo. That was… it was… I…” He stopped and gathered his breath, his huge lungs inflating and his sculpted chest rising in response. “Ok… let me try that again. I could tell you were interested in me from the moment you complimented my costume. It’s just a skeleton suit… nothing special except that it’s skintight. You have moving wings. You complimenting me is like a bonfire complimenting a candle flame. The only appeal was my body. And yeah, it was a bit creepy of you, but you were cool about it. But before this spook started messing with my body, I hadn’t really been attracted to guys… or at least, not enough to ever want to act on it. Then… I started growing, and you were always there. My senses are stronger now… more vivid, I guess, and I can always tell where you are anywhere on this property. Now I’m the creepy guy, because this whole situation is creepy, and you’re there for me, and god, do I ever need to get off badly… you look and smell sooo good, and your voice makes my heart speed up when you talk, even if you’re getting all cerebral or goofy. I’m still just as into Claudia… god I want to fuck her… but I’ve reached the point where I’m so horny I’m, looking at guys and going ‘Why not? He’d be a good lay’ … and I’m sure you’d blow my mind. And when those girls were around us, I wanted to get naked with them as well… and you… I just wanted all of us to go off somewhere, strip out of our costumes and go crazy! Heck, I was even curious about getting with those drunken jerks earlier, even when I was yelling at them.” As he trailed off, I wondered about those ideas. “Hey, do you think your personality and mind is changing? You seem to be more interested in me, like you mentioned, but how about your memories and other interests? Claudia seemed to have her memories of what you looked like when she first met you altered. Claudia said you met in Econ class, you still remember your band and the songs you play, the chords and all that?” He frowned and closed his eyes in concentration, before nodding. “Yeah… I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my memory, though I’ll need a bigger, more resilient guitar if I’m going to play with the band anymore. I can still picture where my fingers need to be, play the songs in my head, etc. And we did meet in Econ, but I wasn’t built at all, despite what she said. But as for my personality… yeah, maybe. I always figured myself for a one-woman guy, but now… I guess I’m bisexual, and I’m not sure I’d be satisfied sticking with just one person… at least, not for sex. I feel like I still want to spend the rest of my life with someone, but maybe it should be more than one someone.” He took that moment to meet my eyes. “I should be embarrassed by showing off all this skin, and wearing clothes this tight and tattered, but I’m proud of it… I want to show off. I barely want to wear clothes at all.” In the echoing silence from Kellan’s last statement, I realized that it was weirdly quiet. “Uh… is everyone staring at you holding me in the air,” I asked tentatively. He tore his gaze from my face and went still, his eyes wide. “Uh, no… it’s worse.” He lowered me to the ground and I turned around… and saw that everyone around the campfire was slumped over on the ground, drained of their lives. I felt like I was going to be sick, and the ripples of red light centered on the flames continued to dance menacingly across my vision. “Oh Angelo,” Kellan murmured, his powerful voice throaty and wobbling from shock and regret. “I-I did this? I hurt everyone here just so that I could grow bigger and get hornier?” “No,” I insisted. “This isn’t your doing or your fault. You’re just as much a victim as they are… and it’s time to stop being victimized and get proactive about saving them! It sounds like there’s music going on inside, and I can see people dancing by the windows, so not everyone’s gone… and look, the hayride’s coming around, so obviously it’s still being piloted by someone and still has living passengers. I think that means we still have time. We need to find the body of this jerk ghost and send him to the monster, and hopefully he’ll be able to help us return everyone to normal… ok?” Kellan nodded, still looking shaky, but with increased determination in his eyes. “Can… can we check on Claudia first? I need to know if she’s still alive. I know my new… urges… make me not the best boyfriend ever, but I still love her.” Geez, the guy had to be going through a rough time, what with all of this going on. Who’d have thought that having a superhuman body would come with so many awful strings attached? I nodded, saying, “Sure, let’s go. She probably shouldn’t be left in the car for so long, even if she was sleeping.” We didn’t have to go far, however… Claudia met us halfway. “Oh, there you guys are,” she said, yet again seeming to not notice Kellan’s new growth spurt. “Thanks for letting me get some rest… I needed it. How’s the party so far? Everything I’ve seen seems like it’s quieting down.” Kellan and I exchanged a glance, and then I said, “About that… there’s something you should know.” Before I could spill the beans, however, the hayride pulled up, letting off its (thankfully mobile) passengers and looking for others to get on. “Ooooh, hold that thought, Alfredo,” Claudia said, holding up one skeleton-painted nail on her index finger while I ground my teeth at her inability to remember my name. “Kel, can we do the hayride? It’s been too crowded all night, and I wanted to try it out… it’s finally thinned out… looks like we’re the only ones who want to do it now.” I was going to interject by describing how the hayride was really just a boring ride around the edges of the property which had some Halloween decorations hanging from trees… no monsters or chainsaw murderers jumping out at you, no cool displays, just a ride in a tractor-pulled wagon. However, with an apologetic look at me and a shrug of his huge shoulders, Kellan said, “Sure, babe. Angelo, you want to come with? We can fill her in on the weird stuff going on during the ride.” Claudia was shooting a death glare at me (I did feel like a bit of a jerk for making out with her boyfriend a few minutes ago) and switching it to a pout when Kellan turned to look at her, but this nightmare was really more important than giving her time to get busy with and possibly drive my new friend to put her in a coma again, so I nodded my assent, and we all climbed onboard. The hayride had wooden planks as a floor, with a metal frame around it. Bales of hay lined the middle, but the sides of the hayride had some pews taken from the chapel. The top of the metal frame was lined with interconnecting black ropes, designed to look like a spider’s web, and spiders, bats, and pumpkins of various sizes were hanging from the railings or the web. As the engine started and the hayride took off, rumbling down the dirt path, towards the road, past the cars draped with drained bodies, a sense of foreboding began to fall over me. I was missing something… but I wasn’t going to leave Kellan (and Claudia) alone to figure it out. Kellan was filling Claudia in on all the supernatural events, but it was slow going. It seemed like the ghost had really messed with her head. “So…” Kellan was saying. “Do you remember the day we met?” Claudia smiled. “How could I forget? I went to the gym with my friends and there you were, pumping away. I spilled my water bottle all over myself just staring at you, and you were so nice and offered me your towel to dry off… along with your number. When I found out that you were a musician as well, it just made you seem even more amazing!” Kellan and I gaped at Claudia as she blithely related all this stuff about them that apparently had never happened, while the hayride rumbled past the fields and towards the tree line. Then a searing flash of red light struck the front of the tractor, and the hayride rumbled off the front of the path straight towards the trees! Claudia screamed, I gripped the railing to brace myself, and Kellan… suddenly wasn’t there. With a speed that defied the eye, he leapt from the hay bale, tore off the spider web ceiling, somersaulted out of the wagon and over the tractor, and took the entire machine straight into his prodigious pecs. The entire ride rocked, and I just managed to grab hold of Claudia before we hit. “GUYS,” Kellan roared, his voice booming. “I’VE GOT THIS, BUT CAN YOU COME AND SHUT IT OFF? I CAN’T BE IN TWO PLACES AT ONCE!” Making sure Claudia was unhurt, I climbed out and clambered up into the tractor wagon, fiddling around with the switches and levers (hey, I’ve never driven a tractor… I’m a suburb kid) while I tried not to be distracted by the sight of Kellan’s muscles flexing and throbbing beneath the tattered remnants of his costume, which now barely covered his crotch and upper chest. The sleeves had ripped off, letting his thickly muscled arms bulge as they held back an entire tractor, and his enormous height made him almost eye level as I was sitting in the tractor seat. Finally, I managed to shut it off, and my huge friend released the tractor, while we all paused to catch our breaths. “What happened,” he finally asked. “I saw a red light, like back at the manor, lash out here,” I replied. “But I have no idea where the driver’s body is.” “Back there,” came the strained, frightened voice of Claudia from behind us. We turned and saw her, shivering and rubbing her arms nervously. “He was all gray and dead-looking… I… I think he rolled out of the tractor when he died.” She then ran into Kellan’s arms, and he lifted her into a comforting embrace. I noticed more of the red lights, rippling in the darkness. “Guys, I think there’s something over here causing the red light… stay back… we don’t need you growing out here, Kellan, and Claudia, it could target you next. If anything comes for you, call out, and I’ll be there ASAP.” Before they could object, I stumbled through the underbrush, eventually emerging in a clearing filled with rocks. In the moonlight, the rocks seemed oddly shaped and oddly white. I leaned forward for a better look and gasped, scrambling backwards until I collided with something warm. I looked up and saw Kellan there, steadying me. “What’s wrong, Angelo?” I mutely waved at the clearing. “It’s bones… it’s full of bones!” He looked up and stepped forward. “I’ve never seen this stuff here, and I used to explore these woods with my cousins all the time,” he said. I looked around and asked, “Could the recent storms have washed away the soil?” He shrugged, then crouched down, showing off his v-shaped back and his perfect muscle butt, but his words stopped me from salivating too much. “I don’t think these are human bones… or not exactly.” He waved me over, and, taking a closer look, I could tell what he was getting at. One of the skulls had short horns. What I’d taken for hands appeared to be oddly-shaped claws. I saw some structures that resembled the wings of bats, and others that looked like elongated horse or canine skulls, or long snakelike tails. The skin and organs were all long gone, and they’d clearly been there longer than I’d been alive, but they also seemed oddly well-preserved, like some sort of elephant’s graveyard for supernatural creatures. Then it clicked for me. “The journal… it said that this place, the church camp that used to be here, was actually some sort of witch hunting inquisition thing. The author, Quincy Gosser, claimed to have killed all kinds of monsters… maybe this is where he buried them?” Kellan shuddered. “I kinda wish he was still around. I bet he’d be able to handle the ghost.” Then he caught sight of an extremely large humanlike skeleton. “Or maybe I’m personally better off with him in the grave.” Then the cold became bitter, as if the heat was sucked out of us. I saw the red lights begin to dance around us, and heard footsteps. Kellan and I turned to see Claudia walking towards us, smiling… with glowing green eyes. “’Tis funny that you shoulde say that,” she said with a weirdly dual voice, both her own, and one that sounded male and older and old-fashioned. “Because I am sore tired of the grave, lad, and your body will be my ticket out of it.” With that, dark green flames poured from her body and washed over Kellan. They seemed to burn endlessly, and I couldn’t get close… until the flames left Claudia, lying in a gray-skinned, lifeless heap, and pulsed across Kellan’s body. His eyes took on that green glow, and he turned to me, a wicked smile spreading across his face even as his muscles began to swell again. “There you are… finally, I have human flesh again, and actually perceive you, Abomination. I am sure that your sacrifice will give me the power to extend my abilities across the world, just as the lives of every drunken fool on this property have enabled me to possess one of my descendents and remake his form. Let the world welcome back the great Quincy Gosser!” This post has been promoted to an article

Baring Bones: A Halloween Story - Chapter 2 Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 (and Bestiary Notes) ----------------- “I’m just a guy who wants to make a name for his band, date his girlfriend, and pay off my college loans. I’ve never gone to a gym in my life. I’ve never been a big guy and always thought they were seriously uncool. But I feel… I feel great!” Kellan had been venting his conflicting emotions into the cold, dark night, his new voice just as strong as the rest of his new physique, but thankfully everyone else had either shifted inside or were riding the hayride on the other side of the Higgins property. The formerly 5’10.5” indie guy now looked like he’d spent years making sure his 6’3” body was as strong and flexible as it could be, when he’d started the night as a slim, almost delicate looking young man. Everything about him, from his broad chest to his thickly muscled arms, his washboard abs to his protruding package, screamed Alpha Male. He was, however, not a happy one. “Now I can’t even piss in peace! I keep going into trances and I’m growing out of my clothes! There are hundreds of people around and none of them realize anything’s going on and my girlfriend’s memories are changed! I’m thinking all these weird thoughts and getting turned on all the time and… I just wanted to come to this party and relax!” He swung his hand back and, before I could stop him, punched the brick wall of the Manor. Then, instead of yelping in pain as I expected, he looked confused. We both stared, astonished, as he pulled his fist away… completely unharmed, with only a bit of dirt on the knuckles. The wall was not so fortunate. A small crater of cracked brick remained where Kellan had slammed his fist into the wall. I stared at it, and at his hand, and my eyes revealed a brief green glow emerging from his fingers before fading away. Uncertain of what that meant, I turned my attention back to his face, in time to catch his expression: wonder. That look was swiftly replaced by one of exhaustion. “Whoa man… I feel beat!” He leaned against the wall and took deep breaths, while I pondered this new development. I was standing next to a guy who could potentially count as a superhero, with some amount of super strength and invulnerability… but using that power wore him out… and maybe used up some of the green energy that had inundated his body moments ago. My thoughts were interrupted when Kellan stood up straight, dusted off his hand, looked at me and said, “Look, Angelo, thanks for coming to get me back there. I appreciate it… even if you did track me to the toilet.” Before I could protest that I had actually not expected him to be there, he held up a hand to stop me and continued. “I’m going to try and act normal, though… my friends didn’t notice anything different the last time, so I’m going to try and go with the act. Hopefully, if anything else weird does happen, I’ll be able to resist it now that I’m so strong. Have a good night, and nice to meet you.” With that, he stomped off, leaving me alone and unsure what to do. “Well, so much for my short career as a green-glowing-light slayer,” I complained to the night as the hayride pulled around and let out its passengers, who dispersed to other sections of the party. I stepped aside as a drunken ghostbuster lurched into the restroom, and then froze. I was staring at the restroom’s entrance and could now see the red ripples head-on, but they hadn’t been there a moment ago. Whatever it was, it seemed to be centered on the men’s room… or was it? I squinted in the dark, and could somehow tell that the weird red glow was pooling around the general spot of the wall between the men’s room and the ladies’ room. I turned and saw another ripple centering on the bonfire… and I remembered seeing others in the dance room and the main entrance/drinking room. Was there one in the chapel? I turned around again and, yes, I could make out the same rippling effect emerging from the stained glass windows. I stepped back to get a better look at the full manor, but whatever my new ESP involved, it apparently didn’t count as X-ray vision. Just my luck. Still, if there were any more of those… rippling vortices in the building, I couldn’t tell from out there. When the ghostbuster guy came out again (walking slightly better and not any more muscular than before, I noted), I tried to focus my vision on him. The effect was clear. Ghostbuster seemed to give off a natural illumination… could I be seeing his aura? Whatever it was, the closer he got to either the men’s room or the bonfire, the more of the lights turned red and drift away towards those places. Nor was he the only one, I realized. Everyone around the bonfire was leaking energy into it, and when the Manor’s door’s opened, and partiers spilled out, I saw that they too seeped red light that either drifted back inside or glided over to the fire. I looked down at my body, squinted, widened my eyes, even tried going cross-eyed, but try though I might, I didn’t see any sort of light, red or not, around me. I moved towards the bonfire and watched. The red light drained from everyone standing in front of and next to me did pass through me like a wave… but nothing of me was caught up in that tide. It was like I wasn’t even there, as far as the ripples were concerned. Was I the strange one, not Kellan? The green electricity flowing through him had turned white and made me feel sugar-high-ish when I touched him, and the wisp/shadow had seemed upset by that, but the shadow hadn’t even noticed me when I first walked into the restroom. I’d felt the unearthly chill from the wisp before I’d been zapped, though, and after the first time I’d been able to see the red ripples out of the corner of my eye AND I’d not fallen under the “guys growing muscles is perfectly normal, he’s always been this way, nothing to see here, these are not the droids you’re looking for” spell that had affected Claudia and Kellan’s other friends and relatives. Experimentally, I tried to concentrate on a fallen twig, willing it to float, skitter across the ground, twitch, anything. No such luck. “Sure, the hot straight guy gets all the useful powers. I see living people. Ooooh, spooky,” I grumbled as I turned to head back to the party. Inside, I could tell that the red ripple effect was definitely centered on the drinks. “But that doesn’t make sense,” I mumbled under my breath. “Those drinks came from many different people… how could someone spike or enchant them all as a whole?” I spotted Kellan and Claudia and their friends sipping from glasses, and realized that while Kellan did have that natural aura, his seemed to be shot through with green sparks. The red glow wasn’t draining him… was it? I watched a wave of red pass through him… and then not continue on to the rest of the drinks. Somehow, these ripples were collecting life energy from the guests at the most common places for the people to congregate at the party (the restrooms, chapel, bar, dance floor, bonfire, etc), and depositing it in Kellan! All he needed was the green light to let him use it… or for something to use him. Just then, the clock turned to midnight. Costumed partiers started cheering, toasting, and generally kicking things up a notch. Having people making out drunkenly all around me sent my spirits plummeting again, reinforcing that I’d arrived alone and would be leaving alone (probably fairly soon). I moved to say my goodbyes (and was unable to find anyone I knew besides Kellan), and headed out the door, down the steps, and towards the grassy field being used as a parking lot. I was surprised to find that there weren’t any ripples there… but what I did discover was much worse. I got to my car, and was about to shrug out of my costume wings, when I noticed someone sitting in the driver’s seat… someone with pale skin that didn’t come from any makeup or mask. Someone who was sitting very still. The guy didn’t seem to be breathing. I was about to call for help, when I noticed that the next car had a young woman in a goth witch outfit leaning against her car’s passenger door… and not moving. Getting closer to her revealed that her skin was similarly discolored and she had neither breath nor a heartbeat nor any warmth to her skin. Over by the driver’s side, her friend (or possibly girlfriend) was actually in a similar state, lying on the ground in a playboy bunny outfit. I started to run, but all around me, the scene was the same… people were dead… but strangely so, as if they’d just stopped being alive the moment they reached their cars. My eyes revealed that they all lacked any sort of aura. I finally spotted a pair of guys (dressed as Na’vi from Avatar, since their costumes were largely blue body paint, they looked extremely chilly) headed to their car, reaching for the handle. “No, STOP,” I shouted, just in time to see them both turn gray and slump over. A moment later, their auras reappeared, like shining, multicolored ghosts hovering next to their bodies, looking confused. Then, from the borders of the property, a red thread of light snapped towards us. It passed through me harmlessly, but the aura-ghosts stuck to it, spinning and wrapping around it like someone was rolling them up, their glow turning red as they formed a ripple and slithered back towards the Manor, like some deadly aurora. After a moment of sheer gut-wrenching terror, I was able to get a grip. I was somehow immune (undetectable? untouchable?) to the ripples. They couldn’t hurt me… for now. Then I got angry. Someone or something was behind this… hurting people and stealing their very essences without even a warning, for no reason, and it was using Kellan for something as well. Well, it wasn’t getting away with it. I was going to get rid of the thing, make it stop messing with Skeletal Boy, and hopefully, find some way to return all those people’s auras to them. Heaven help anything that got in my way. I’m not sure if it was my wrath or my growing ability to sense supernatural forces, but I felt the ghost about to make its move early this time… like a faint shiver instead of the chill of the void. I left the drained bodies of the partiers at their cars and sprinted up the hill to the Manor, my costume wings smacking my shoulders with each step. I dodged the hayride, gasping for breath, and made my way through the lurking guests to the door, opening it to the increasing otherworldly cold, and the sight of Kellan doing a solo keg stand to the applause and cheers of his friends! His arms were groups of bulges encased in tight black lycra, his shoulders were flexed, and his legs stretched out to either side to help him balance. His pants only stretched down to his muscular calves, and his sneakers looked small on him. A little farther down, his thighs strained against the fabric, and… oh geez… he was rock hard, his erection stretching halfway down his left thigh (and the girls certainly noticed THAT, if their raucous squeals were anything to go by). His chest was flexing impressively as his gymnast’s build supported his body, and it astounded me that his costume hadn’t torn. But while the sight was definitely worth charging uphill to get back here, and it was cold as the grave, I couldn’t see a single spark of green lightning. Where was the thing? I deliberately thought back to my determination by the cars, and my temper started to flare at the memory of the helpless, lifeless guests. The angrier I got, the brighter and clearer those vile red vortices around the drinks became, as if my rage gave me greater visual clarity. There! The red ripples sped up and become more jagged, shifting to their complementary color: green. Arcs of neon green flew towards Kellan… no… towards the keg! As I tried to slide through the crowd, the green lightning flowed from the keg up to Kellan’s “kiss me” lips, across his smooth cheeks, coiling in his eyes which immediately took on a dazed look, and down his wide neck, his adam’s apple bobbing as he continued to suck beer (and lightning) thirstily. The green glow continued to whip across his shoulders, down his powerful arms to his hands, with each finger glittering brightly, before the energy surged up his chest, outlining each of his abs, temptingly revealed since his shirt had rolled down. It danced up, appeared to stroke his bulge, and slithered up his long legs. This time, though, it wasn’t getting away unscathed. I didn’t even have to touch Kellan. Instead, with the lightning blazed around him, I simply approached and thought of the playboy bunny, the goth witch, the na’vi guys and everyone else out there with the cars, and somehow willed the lightning to morph into white fireworks, cascading down into the keg. An agonizing, echoing scream emerged from the metal barrel, but only I noticed it. My white flames fanned out from the keg, driving out what looked like a disembodied, bearded head formed entirely of green smoke, looking about in anger and bewilderment, but somehow never seeming to turn in my direction. I stared it down, and the white radiance bent to my will, scorching the… ghost… and it disappeared in a puff of sickly emerald smoke. As the flames died, I felt a rush of triumph, but sensed that the thing wasn’t done yet. As evidence, Kellan was growing again. Still suspended upside-down, Kellan went from gymnast to pumped-up mixed martial artist. I could tell that his body was getting taller because his feet inched higher into the air. His legs throbbed, and I watched as his calves swelled, pushing his black lycra pants farther from his feet and closer to his knees, while his thighs grew steadily larger and more powerful. The waistband of his pants started to slide down, showing off more of his treasure trail, pulled by the growing erection straining to be free. I tore my gaze from his groin and almost whimpered at the sight of his torso. Kellan’s abs protruded more, while retaining (even enhancing) their impossible definition. I barely resisted the urge to push my face into his abs and lick down to his belly button while it was suspended in front of me. His chest also grew, each pec now cushion-sized and capped by large, visible nipples, which looked strange against the stretched fabric with the wide painted-on skeletal ribcage. The neck of his shirt dipped low as the pecs pushed out, and more of Kellan’s goth-thug style script tattoo was visible, but still not enough to read. His shoulders looked broader, and he had to shift his grip on the keg with his thickening arms before executing a perfect flip to his feet (showing off his sculpted ass… I noticed a girl dressed as a bumblebee actually swooned out of the corner of my eye). He turned around, caught my gaze, and sent me a smile that went straight to my balls. Ignoring his friends, he wrapped his huge arm over my shoulder (carefully not bending my wings). He murmured directly into my ears, with a voice like an avalanche of caramel, “When I felt it coming over me, I couldn’t resist… but I didn’t try… I knew even if I’d acted like a jerk, my guardian angel’d be there to help me out. Thanks buddy… sorry for earlier.” I’d stopped breathing, and my cheeks were burning. Was this amazingly hunky straight guy actually flirting with me, and calling me his buddy AND apologizing? I finally managed to gather my wits, and asked “How are you feeling? Sorry it took so long to figure out how he was getting to you.” Kellan grinned at me. “No worries… you’ve got my back… even if my back is bigger than it used to be.” Meanwhile, his friends were drunkenly shouting “Get a room, you two” among other, less friendly statements. “Don’t mind if we do,” retorted Kellan with a shit-eating grin before tugging me out the door into the chill night air. “Um, not that I object to being tugged along,” I said, “… but where are we going?” He stopped, seemed to think, and then shrugged. “Honestly? I just wanted to get away. I mean, I’ve known those guys forever, and I could tell you everything about them, but at the moment, I feel like four things matter to me. The first’s figuring out what’s happening to me tonight, because ignoring it wasn’t working. The second thing’s Claudia. God, I just can’t stop thinking about her tonight. It’s like my libido’s pumped up along with everything else about me. The third’s you… somehow, things are less crazy and more deal-able when you’re around, and I don’t miss Claudia so much, either.” At this point, he inhaled deeply and audibly, and his eyelids fluttered shut in delight. “MMMMmmm… you smell good, too. Hold still.” Enforcing that command (though I’m sure he meant it as a request… didn’t he?), Kellan reached out, placing his large, warm hands on my arms and holding me still as he leaned forward and breathed in, almost nuzzling me. The November night’s cold was driven away by the heat of his body and his warm breath on my neck, though goosebumps of a different kind spread across my skin in anticipation. Was Kellan… attracted to me? How? What sort of ghost would make a straight guy into my ideal gay man? It didn’t make any sense! Then, before I could be paralyzed by thoughts, I asked, “And the fourth thing?” His cyan eyes met mine, and he pursed his lips. “The fourth thing is that I’m… having fun looking like this, GROWING like this. I want to explore it… I want to stay this way… or maybe even feel my muscles grow again. I don’t want to ignore it anymore. When I was hanging out with Claudia, and she was paying attention to me like she hasn’t since we first started dating, I realized that I feel better than I did when I was skinny. My skin’s strong but so sensitive. My senses are stronger... I can taste shades of flavors and age and intensity in my beer now that I never noticed before. I can tell you the natural hair color of everyone on the hayride all the way over in the woods, in the dark. I can hear conversations through the music back in the dance room. And I can smell… well, lots of stuff,” he finished with a surprisingly bashful smile. “And did you see me back there with the keg stand? I could never have balanced myself like that before, but now I could probably lift the keg one-handed when it was full. And the people’s reactions… Claudia’s, her friends, the guys, you… it’s a rush. I want to see how this goes.” I took a deep breath. “There’s a problem with that, Kellan. You see, people can’t leave the party… alive.” That was enough to shock him out of his building love of his new body, and cause his rapturous expression to shift into an angry frown. “Huh? What do you mean? Someone died? And people are still partying back there? What’s wrong with those sick fucks?” I held up a hand to interrupt. “I’ve been seeing these weird ripples of light in different parts of the manor. They seem to be sucking up the stray… uh… life force of people who get near them. It doesn’t seem to do them harm, and if I had to guess, I’d say they’d probably be shedding that same energy partying as hardy as they are anyway. But if they go to leave, and get near the cars, they go unconscious, turn gray, stop breathing, and lose a heartbeat… and those ripples pull out their whole… souls, I guess.” Kellan looked horrified. “Dude, that’s terrible! You think this has something to do with my muscles?” I nodded and continued, “There’s ripples in the restroom, the chapel, and by the bar, along with some other places. I think that the green entity is some kind of ghost, and that every time it makes you grow, it’s hooking you up to those stolen life energies. That’s how you’re so big so fast, and maybe why your emotions are going so wild… you’re plugged into the life of everyone here.” Kellan shuddered. “Ugh… I thought this was awesome, but now I feel… dirty. I’ve got people inside me? Is there a way we can give it all back to them? And how can you see all this stuff?” I filled him in about my own abilities, and how they got stronger each time he did. “Huh… wonder why? You don’t look or act any different than you did before… except maybe a bit less shy and nervous.” I wasn’t sure how to take that, so I shrugged, before chiming in. “I know that the garage, behind the dance room, has all kinds of stuff in it… there might be scales or something we can use to measure how you’ve changed. And hopefully they’ll have a flashlight there or something… your cousin, Mack, mentioned that there were some old books and stuff upstairs... I thought that we might find something about this ghost, maybe.” Kellan beamed his rock star smile at me. “Measuring my muscles AND finding out what’s going on? I like the way you think… why didn’t we meet ages ago?” We exchanged high school and college details (I was a catholic school boy all the way until college, when I went to a Big 10 university, he went to public school his whole life and stayed at one of the local colleges) until we reached the garage. The music from the DJ’s speakers one room over boomed and covered the sounds of the two of us rummaging around (and Kellan hadn’t quite gotten used to his new mass, and would accidentally knock something over with his more bulky muscles every so often), but eventually we found the flashlights and a scale. Kellan wasted no time kicking off his shoes (which seemed to have grown with him, somehow, but only partially, and were getting tighter even though they now read size 12.5, when he claimed to have been a 10 earlier) and climbing on top of it. “Holy fuck! Angelo, it says 256 lbs! I weighed only 137 this morning,” Kellan exclaimed, with something like shock and something like glee spreading over his face. “I’m nearly double my original weight… this is crazy!” We next located a tape measure. “Man, the Higginses keep everything in this place,” I murmur before sliding one end under his foot and raising it to check the tape. “Wow… 6’7”! You’re huge!” Kellan flexed and posed at the praise, making his skeleton costume ride up (and down) in a few places. “Aren’t you cold in that thing,” I ask him, nodding to the flimsy costume. “Heh… earlier I either stayed inside or near the bonfire, dude… but now? I don’t even feel the cold… it’s like I’m built to withstand worse, so this chill doesn’t even register.” That immediately killed the mood, as we both remembered it hadn’t been Kellan who was building his body, and he was right, the chill I felt in the presence of the ghost was much worse than anything November could throw at me. Suddenly the light flicked on. “Hey hon,” said Claudia as she leaned against the garage door, hips and legs displayed provocatively despite being decorated with fabric bones. “What are you guys up to back here?” I turned to see Kellan looking at Claudia and her curves like dog hungry for a… well, bone, so I chimed in. “Um, Kellan mentioned wondering how big he’d gotten, and I recalled there being a scale and tape measure back here, we were going to see if there was anything else upstairs, though…” I trailed off, realizing neither of them were listening to my handy (and nearly truthful) explanation. Claudia looked at Kellan like she really wanted to help him the rest of the way out of his costume, and if Kellan looked at Claudia any harder, he’d probably burst out of his pants, at least. Claudia finally gathered herself together and said, “Mr. Higgins, would you like to join me on the dance floor for our song?” Kellan nodded eagerly, then visibly remembered my presence. I mimicked a smile and waved them off. “Go on, you crazy kids, I’m going to do a bit more exploring… I shouldn’t be far and I’ll let you know if I find anything.” Claudia wrapped her hands around Kellan’s bicep-laden arm and blew me a kiss. “Thanks Andrew, you’re a dear,” she cooed as the two of them headed to the dance floor. I took a deep breath, counted to ten and resisted the urge to growl, “It’s Angelo, you twit.” I then grabbed a flashlight and started the long trudge up the road to the second floor. The manor’s odd construction made it so that there was a dirt road around the back, sliding up the hill and opening into a large entrance on the second floor, presumably for the church camp to store supplies. When I got there, I saw that it was left open, as always, and I carefully walked in, searching the piles of dusty junk for something that looked helpful. I made it into the third room before I came across some books with what looked like solomonic symbols on their weathered leather covers. I flipped one open, and tried to make out the flowing inked script in the light of the flashlight. “Of course the guy who can see in the dark is downstairs dancing… I’m only in luck if this book is written in invisible ink…” I paused, realizing the script wasn’t in English, and grinned, “… or if it is LATIN… thank you, private school education!” I tried to remember how to conjugate the verbs, but for the most part, it came surprisingly easily to me. The book turned out to be a journal and guide written by one Quincy Gosser, Witch Hunter, one of the founders of the “Church Camp” that used to be held on the grounds. Mr. Gosser’s writing initially gave the impression that he considered temptations of the flesh a mere distraction from his work of riding the world of “witches, monsteres and other abominations against God.” Following that were a number of descriptions of various monsters and spells and how to ward against them. Towards the end, though, the writing got scratchier and talked about how the people in the predominantly Quaker-populated region were unimpressed by witch hunts that had gripped the states farther North, and were more accepting of things Quincy considered “uncanny.” “Soone we shouldst be surrounded by beasties and witches and thinges most terrible, women shouldst wear the foul raiment of the grave and men shouldst lie with men and the spawn of the Whore of Babylon and the Fallen shouldst walk amongst man unknown,” was perhaps the most understandable passage in the final letter, thankfully written in English (or close to it). Finding nothing else in the room, I picked up Gosser’s journal, and began to stand up, when I felt that eerie cold emanating from the floor beneath me… the dancing room! I struggled to run out, but my wings got caught on a group of old fishing poles. I struggled to get free, feeling the cold increase, and finally hearing my fabric wings rip apart, leaving tattered black folds hanging from the plastic frame. I tore down the hill as quickly as I could, burst through the main door, and ran to the dance room, only to be lost in the shrouded darkness and dizzying lights. People milled and sifted around me, still dancing, while I tried to use my second sight. I could tell that the ripples here were active and that the ghost was nearby, but with the disco ball, rainbow flashing lights, and various patterns and darkness in the rest of the room, I couldn’t distinguish the electrical lights from the supernatural ones. Finally, I spotted them, back against the wall in the darkened corner, behind one of the fake monster displays. Out of the darkness loomed the body of huge man, the illustrated bones of his costume catching the black lights, and what looked like a storm of green lightning clashed around him. Kellan and Claudia were making out savagely, even as the Ghost whirled around them like a jade vapor with the suggestion of that same bearded face from before, only larger, reconstructing Kellan’s body while they ground together. Claudia’s legs were wrapped around Kellan’s hips as he lifted her off the ground, thrusting in time with the music, shaking her entire body, and their heavy breathing seemed to be sucking in the green vapor of the ghost. Kellan’s physique was now more like that of a boxer and a wrestler combined than a gymnast, but he had to be at least 7 feet tall, and his sleeves had begun tearing along the seams as his arms grew too powerful to contain. His pants rode low on his hips, rolled downwards as he grew taller and broader, but he obviously was past caring. So was I, for that matter. I tried to draw on that power and anger from before, but even though I managed a few white flames, it was like trying to put out a wildfire with a water bottle. The green lights were resisting the conversion… probably because Kellan was going wild with lust for both his girlfriend and his own muscles. I realized that as strong as he was now, there’d be no chance he’d even feel it if I toppled the nearby wolfman mannequin on him, much less tapped his shoulder. He was moving faster, grinding harder and harder against Claudia… and then he went too far. With a loud moan, he slammed her against the wall, and dust and chips of stone visibly dislodged over the couple as her breathless gasps cut off abruptly. Immediately I felt Kellan’s panic, and somehow he instinctively mimicked the rippling effect, sending out ripples that searched for me… and were able to find me, this time. I felt the white flames billow from me, wash over him and burn away the green lightning, while the ghostly mist howled in rage. I vaguely heard a scratchy voice whisper “jussssst a litttttllle bitttt morrrreeeeeeee…” before the ghost retreated from the white light that flared around Kellan. The light then abruptly spilled back to me, and leaving the big guy cradling Claudia, his shoulders shaking and whimpers of sorrow emerging from his throat. I got closer, saw the blood on his fingers as he held the back of her head, her aura gone, and immediately felt like a heel for ever thinking an angry thought about Claudia and coveting her gorgeous guy. I placed my hand on Kellan’s shoulder (and had to reach up a bit more than before to do so) and he turned to me, tears in his reddening blue eyes. “I-I’m so sorry… it felt so good, and I wanted more, and she… she did t-too, and… and… PLEASE! Angelo… you… you’ve saved me every time that thing messed with me in this whole, fucking terrible night, and… please… can you do anything for… for her?” I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders… in a physical sense. It felt like everything slowed down, and my helpless reply of “No” was ground to a halt before I could even utter it. In that moment I wondered… could I? How did I know I couldn’t? Keeping one hand on Kellan’s shoulder, I reach out and lift my fingers just over Claudia’s heart, close my eyes, and concentrate on whatever the opposite of the red ripples would be… something to fill her with life. Sweat formed on my brow, and I concentrated on Claudia as I’d seen her earlier in the evening, vivacious, flirtatious, full of life and eager to experience more of it with her friends and lover. That’s when I heard… a new sort of music, not the dj’s piped and played-with pop tunes, but something pure and sweet and elusive, deep and lofty at once. All other sounds and sensations died away, and I felt strangely adrift, as if borne aloft by the melody. My lips parted and I felt my voice, initially soft, spill out with a resonant baritone, joining in with the music. There were other voices, ones I could just barely make out, and they seemed to intertwine with mine, welcoming me somehow. I could easily lose myself in the song until my throat gave out, but I felt something propel me with dizzying speed through the chorus, hearing voices come and go until I reached one that was deeper and richer than any of the others I’d heard before, and so heart-stoppingly beautiful that I was entranced. My song felt like baby’s wails in comparison, though the song itself reminded me of a dirge, full of loss and acceptance. Then our two voices blended together, and the song seemed somehow more… optimistic. I felt lifted up and moved with more of that incredible velocity, the deeper voice accompanying me past the rest of the chorus until they faded into the distance, and the faint sounds of the dj’s booth were audible again, growing louder as we got closer. The song crescendoed and then ended, rapidly drowned out by a popular rap song remixed to death. Abruptly, I found myself back in my body, my eyes open… and seeing Claudia’s chest rising again, hearing Kellan’s sobs of relief as he hauled me into a crushing one-armed hug, my face pressed against his pecs as he held his unconscious girlfriend with the other. And that’s when everything blacked out. This post has been promoted to an article

Baring Bones: A Halloween Story - Chapter 1 By Martin J. Manco Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 (And Bestiary Notes) ---------------------------------------------------- Nobody really believed that the old Higgins Manor was haunted. Calling the place a manor was actually a stretch, since, though it had two floors with high ceilings, columns in front, and was very wide, it had maybe 10 rooms. One of those had been reconstructed into a chapel when the building was used as a church camp (whatever that involved) years ago. The building sat on what is now a small farm, used for growing pumpkins, christmas trees, and the like for various seasonal events. The Higgins family was very business oriented and hardworking, though their serious nature concealed a great enjoyment of fun as well. For that reason, they decided to use the "manor" not just for their annual Halloween party, but to put on a children's Halloween show and “Haunted House and Hayride” for the entire month of October. I had been part of the kids’ act (a magician, puppeteer, and comedian, often switching costumes and watching the kids), which gave me something to do while I looked for a job that was more lucrative. At 27 years of age, with a Liberal Arts degree and a few grad school courses under my belt, I was a bit at a loss for direction in life. No job really spoke to me. Finding the seasonal position for Halloween was a fun way to earn a bit of extra money on the side while I dealt with the tedious work at an office store during the week. When November rolled around and that job ended, I was invited to a celebratory late Halloween Party in the Manor. I’ve always loved dressing up in costume, especially for Halloween. With dark brown curly hair, brown eyes, Mediterranean complexion, rapidly-growing stubble, and a height of 6’2,” but no fashion sense to speak of, and a lanky, gangly build, costumes gave me the chance to have some style, for once. Taking advantage of the day after Halloween sales, I found a bunch of props for a really cool fallen angel costume, including dark wings that looked like a mix of bat (with the little claw on the top) and bird (with painted and fabric feathers), a pair of dark feathered wings that slid into place behind my ears, a necklace with a cross and wings dangling from a silvery chain, black denim pants, and a t-shirt with images of a swarm of warring angels taking flight. I looked pretty awesome... especially since the wings were rigged so that by pulling two wires that dangled from the back, I could make them unfold and flap. I arrived at the party a bit late, and realized I might've made a mistake in coming. Most of my coworkers from the show had families, and had left earlier, and the place mainly held the Higgins family members and a ton of their children's college classmates and friends. If you hadn’t guessed from my costume and job, I’m pretty nerdy, and while not antisocial, I tend to be shy around new people. I sifted through the crowd, being careful not to hit anyone with my wings or get tangled in fake spiderwebs, until I reached the perfect wallflower’s vantage point against the wall, next to a life-size model of Grandpa Munster. That’s when I saw him. In a sea of vampires, fairies, ninja turtles (a surprising number of whom were ladies, some of whom had some pretty creative “half-shells”), and stranger costumes, was a cute, lanky guy. He had black hair, blue eyes, fair skin with a hint or two of freckles, and a sparkling white smile, dressed in a black skintight outfit with a white bone design, making him appear like a very sexy indie skeleton. His slim body, while not particularly powerful or muscular, was long and graceful and strong-looking… and his pants pushed forward enticingly at the groin, just enough to hint at more if only he had been erect, while not being actually obscene in his current state. Sadly, he also had a skeletal girlfriend (although I’ve never seen a skeleton show so much cleavage before, it was a fairly stylish Halloween costume for her). I like straight guys, and am friends with several of them (and their girlfriends or wives). I really wasn’t expecting to meet anyone at this party who would last more than that night (like the couple who kept insisting that I flap my wings for them every time we crossed paths… at most recent count, it was about 8 times so far, and I’d only been there for an hour or so). Finding out that this cute skinny guy was taken and probably wouldn’t be interested in starting a conversation with me was a little disheartening. I walked up to him and said “Nice costume,” and got a “Thanks,” and a nod in response as he turned back to his friends and girlfriend. After that, I decided to wander around. The place was set up with a bonfire in the front, a food/BYOB entrance room, the chapel (which was mostly left alone except for people to cross through it to get to the rest rooms) and a dimly-lit strobe light- filled dance room with a DJ, so I decided to dance and sway to the music for awhile, flapping my wings occasionally just for the fun of it (and to the applause of onlookers). Then I felt an odd chill… like someone walking on my grave. I wandered away from the dance floor, rubbing my hands against my shoulders in an effort to warm myself, only to find that the chill emanated from a particular direction… the chapel. Though that room was stone, it also had very little in the way of doors or windows, so there shouldn’t be any drafts. Stepping past the mannequins decorated like vampires and Frankenstein monsters, I entered the room, feeling the eerie chill seep into my bones. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lights of the room, I spotted an odd green glow coming from the door on the far side, behind the altar. “I don’t remember any lights or special effects in that room,” I murmured, wondering if the Higgins family had put on some special display for the party. “No, that’s not likely… I’m the only one back here, after all,” I said, moving forward and opening the door with a long creak… only to be proven wrong. I wasn’t the only one back there. Skeletal Boy, in all his lithe, black-and-white, skintight glory was standing there, with his back to me (I promise, I only peeked at his butt briefly… just long enough to notice he had one, which is kinda unusual for skinny guys), facing what looked like a floating electrical tennis ball. Whatever it was, the thing was neon green, round, only a few inches in circumference, and seemed to be made of lightning. The chills that ran down my spine earlier were back with a vengeance, and I realized that THIS was the thing that was causing them. The object appeared to bounce and roll about in thin air, dancing and swaying back and forth, and I was shocked to realize Skeletal Boy’s head was turning to follow it… almost as if he was mesmerized! I moved forward, shouting “Look out!” as the strange orb flared and what looked like a green lightning bolt launched itself straight at Skeletal Boy, sinking into his forehead. Skeletal Boy moaned throatily and the orb of light began moving closer to him, his arms stretching out and his stance widening as if he were somehow enjoying the invasion of his mind and body. Electricity danced from his dark wavy hair, down his lanky body, sparking at the joints and the crotch, and then snaking down his legs to his toes. With his costume, I was reminded of the old cartoons where electrified people’s skeletons were visible. My previous momentum carried me forward and I slammed into Skeletal Boy’s lanky (and now electrical) body, sending us both crashing to the ground. The ghostly charge running through him also spread into me, but the electrical flames immediately blazed white instead of green as soon as they touched me, and I felt oddly satisfied, as if I’d just gobbled down a whole bowl of hot fudge sundae. An otherworldly howl of pain resonated through the room, coming not from Skeletal Boy or me, but from the glowing orb, which shrank in on itself and fled, sinking into the wall. Skeletal Boy groaned this time, with a sense of soreness or pain, and I realized that the green flames had vanished along with the orb. “Are you OK,” I asked him, gently shaking his shoulder. He rolled over onto his back, before his blue eyes finally flicked open and he stared up at me. Gulping for a moment, he finally stammered, “I-I th-think so.” Then he winced and stretched, moaning. I looked him over, using my past experience as a lifeguard (another short-lived, not very well-paying job of mine) to examine him for injury. My efforts were short lived, though, as I started to gape at the sight of what I’d initially believed were convulsions. Instead, they turned out to be shuddering flexes of muscles… muscles that began to grow. The entire process was mesmerizing. The skinny college garage band guy began to swell with newfound muscle. His arms became thicker, stretching the black sleeves of his costume, his legs grew longer as his calves and thighs throbbed. His neck appeared slightly thicker and his shoulders visibly broadened, gaining that sloping curve of trapezius muscle that I’d always coveted on athletes. This reshaping of his body caused the neck of his shirt to dip down, revealing the indentation between a growing pair of pecs, as well as a tattoo, in elaborate gothic cursive, with words that I couldn’t make out without lifting his shirt further. His skeleton costume now looked… sexier. The athletic muscles hidden under the sleek black fabric now resembled those of some of the soccer players who lived in my dorm in college. And… was it just my imagination, or was he TALLER as well? I could’ve sworn he was only about 5’10” before, but he now looked closer to six feet. Looking down, I could tell that his muscles and height weren’t the only thing that had grown. His formerly enticing suggestion of a bulge was now… um… more emphatic. MUCH more emphatic. Finally, the growth stopped, and Skeletal Boy stopped moaning, his eyes flickering open. His eyes were faintly glazed, but then cleared and he blinked, looking up at me, around the room, and down at himself… stopping to stare at his new physique. Gulping and clearing his throat (or possibly coughing) he finally stammered, in a voice that was slightly deeper than it had been earlier, “Whuh-whuh-what happened?” Wondering what state his brain was in after what was obviously a bizarre and possibly traumatic (or even hypnotic) event, I decided to answer a question with a question. “What do you remember?” He frowned, thinking, and groaned. “Ugh, I feel like I had way more to drink than I did. I think… I was dancing with Claudia… uh, that’s my girlfriend… when I had to uh, use the head… but I don’t think I ever got there.” He looked confused for a moment, and then his features relaxed oddly, and his voice came out more reverent. “Then I felt… like I needed to go to the light. No one else seemed to notice it, but it was there in the middle of the room, bobbing up and down. When I walked towards it, it drifted back, and I followed. I think I bumped into a guy dressed as a panda, but I can’t remember. I just found myself feeling cold, but knowing the light would make me warmer. It did, and it felt… man, it felt sooooo good. Then it suddenly hurt and then it was gone, and you were there, and then… now… I look like this?” The dreamy sound and expression of his voice cracked and he snapped out of it. “What the hell?!?” Ok, so he knew everything that happened to him, basically, except the why and how. That was a relief. Dealing with someone suffering from trauma would be more than I could handle, particularly if there was some sort of danger around here. I reached out, offering him a hand up, which he took, his grip strong and his forearms flexing and I pulled him to his feet. As he brushed the dust and dirt off his costume, I filled him in with my side of the story. “I was dancing as well… though I didn’t see you guys in the dark. I might’ve gotten distracted by the strobe lights,” I explained with a shrug. “Then I felt something, like a chill. But with everyone dancing in there, it was actually pretty steamy on the dance floor, so I looked around, and felt something cold coming from this direction. I followed it through the other rooms until I came in and saw you looking, uh, mesmerized by this glowing ball of green electricity, like a will-o-wisp… you know, from fairy tales or, um, ghost stories? Little spirits that look like balls of light, which lure people into swamps or off cliffs?” He looked at me like I was crazy, which, admittedly, is what I’d have sounded like if he hadn’t just had a bolt of green lightning through his skull that left him with a totally different body. “Anyway, that’s what it looked like. It then spat a blast of lightning at you, and you, uh, seemed to enjoy it, but I was already moving towards you to try and break you out of it, and I knocked into you. It looked like it was going to electrocute the both of us, when the light changed color and the thing was scared off. It disappeared… I think it sank into the walls of the chapel. Has anything like this ever happened to you before?” He shook his head, dark, tousled hair waving, and replied. “No man… this is some freaky shit going down here.” He then frowned. “You’re the winged guy who liked my costume earlier, but what’s your name? How do you know the hosts?” He then realized that he hadn’t told me his name yet, and stammered, “Um, I’m Kellan. Sorry, ‘bout that.” I smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Angelo. I thought that my costume was appropriate, sorta.” I said with a casual shake of my shoulders and a flap of my wings. His eyes widened and he grinned. “Yeah man, they are pretty cool. I think you’re the only one with a costume with moving parts here tonight.” I then explained about my job, and he nodded. “Sounds cool. I’m a cousin of the main Higgins family,” he explained. “Sooo… what do we do? How do we explain this to, well, everyone? Claudia, the family, etc? And what does growing like this do to by physiology? Are my organs all kinds of messed up now? And… is it going to happen again?” I shrugged helplessly. “At the moment, you know as much as more than I do, dude. I have to wonder though, if maybe I interrupted what the wisp was trying to do to you, and if it’ll be back to try and finish the job.” He shuddered at the thought of that possibility, making his newly-defined muscles flex unintentionally. “I don’t know what to tell you about your girlfriend,” I continued. “But everyone else here shouldn’t notice too much… you’re bigger all over, yeah,” I said, being careful to keep my eyes from lingering. “But you’re just more built than usual… athletic instead of lithe. You should be safe from casual observation, and everyone should take it in size… err, I mean, stride.” I wanted to smack my forehead at my Freudian slip, but Kellan just nodded. “I guess, dude. I’d better go see. Uh…” he looked at me, before continuing, blushing slightly. “Mind coming with me? I could use some moral support, or someone to confirm what happened so they don’t think I’m crazy.” I agreed, but as we exited, nobody appeared to be looking at Kellan as if they were surprised by his size. There were some girls checking him out (and to be fair, his butt was way more seductive now that it was more muscular and, um, springy), though I didn’t notice any guys doing the same (to my dismay… hanging out with a straight taken hunk and still having no idea if there were any guys who swung my way at this party was increasingly frustrating), but no one seemed shocked at his new musculature or height. Everyone was wrapped up in their individual party activities. When we got to the bonfire outside, where his girlfriend was waiting, she turned around, in her pretty, revealing skeleton outfit and smiled. “Kel’ there you are! When you left me on the dance floor I was wondering if you fell in.” Her eyes then moved to me and her pretty lips turned into a frown. “Is something wrong? Who’s this?” Kellan gulped, but seemed just as confused as I was. “Uh, this is Angelo,” he replied, hesitantly “… but don’t you notice anything… weird about me?” She looked at him like he was joking. “No… I don’t. Should I? If this is a joke to make up for leaving me at the dance floor it isn’t a very funny one.” Kellan shot me a confused and worried look, and I shrugged and suggested, “Maybe ask your other friends or family here,” before Claudia took Kellan’s arm and asked “Are you feeling ok?” Kellan stammered, “Uh, babe, I thought you’d noticed… I saw something spooky… like a glowing light, and it did something to me… something that made me, uh, grow bigger… and buffer.” At this, Claudia only smiled, tossed her blond hair, and said, “What are you talking about silly,” as she placed her hands on his chest, right over his pecs, and slid them down his printed on rib cage to his sleek athlete’s abs, caressing him in front of everyone at the bonfire, and making his eyes flutter and his head tilt back in pleasure. She then leaned in for a kiss, being careful to keep her white and black skeleton face paint from smearing, but seeming to do a good job of arousing Kellan. “You’re the same sexy guy I was interested in since we took that ECON class together. Now come on, I just realized some more of my friends were here, and I want to introduce them to you. What’s the point of being in a couple’s costume if I’m not part of a couple to show it off?” She led him away, looking over her shoulder to smile at me. “Nice to meet you, Angelo… hope you’re having fun at the party!” I was flummoxed… what was going on? Had the other party guests’ minds been tampered with to make them think Kellan looked normal? And if so, why? What purpose would it serve the wisp? For that matter, what purpose would making a guy grow more muscular, other to hammer home how painfully single I was? And why wasn’t I affected? Why had I been able to interrupt the lightning attack, and why had the thing fled from me? “I need more information,” I murmured to myself, before going to look for the Higgins family members I knew. Mr. and Mrs. Higgins, a slightly stiff gray-haired businessman who thought he was funny and his more relaxed, if very practiced housewife, had both been dressed as vampires earlier, but I couldn’t spot either one of them. Maybe they had gone to bed already? It was nearing midnight, after all. I did spot their youngest son, a blond, scruffy guy named Mack, dressed as a hula girl with a coconut bra, but when I approached him to try and ask him questions about ghosts and hauntings and Kellan, he was less than helpful and obviously drunk off his ass. The best I got from him was “I think there’s some old books upstairs,” before he bounced off after an equally inebriated young lady dressed as a sexy nurse. As the upstairs section was dusty, unused, and roped off for the guests, I decided instead to examine the scenes of the crime, so to speak. The dance floor was still dark, lit only occasionally by the flashes of light from the DJ’s booth and these odd, stray glows and flashes of rippling illumination, and sparsely populated, most of the earlier crowds having shifted to some other part of the property as such dancers were wont to do. Heading to the main room of the party, I saw that most of the people, including an embarrassed-looking Kellan and Claudia and her friends (who were a lot more “hands-on” than I’d prefer if I was the one dating Kellan, and who were obviously the source of his embarrassment) were standing around, drinking from red plastic cups or getting refills from the rows of half-full bottles of various alcoholic beverages. It might’ve been an afterimage, but I couldn’t sworn I saw the same rippling lights from the dance floor, centered now around the drinks. I squinted, trying to make out the weird lights, but it seemed like I could only catch them, crimson, snaking, glowing streamers, rippling together, out of the corner of my eye. Deciding to get out of sight of Kellan and his ladies, I followed the flow of the crowd outside. The bonfire was still going strong, and the hayride had just pulled up, depositing partiers and picking up new ones who wanted to ride through the woods. Opting to stay nearby (I’d already ridden the hayride as part of the job) I instead moved closer to the bonfire, basking in the heat on the chilly November evening. Gazing into the flames, I was shocked to find that that weird rippling red light was emerging… or convening… on the bonfire as well! I tried to move around my field of vision a bit, but focusing on looking out of the corner of your eyes for an extended period of time is more difficult than you’d think. It seemed almost like the glow was moving through the other people around the fire, though. I peered around at the other party guests (three guys dressed as Mario kart characters with a trio of balloons attached to their belts probably won the most original costume in my mind), but nobody was unusually athletic. Had the wisp focused on Kellan for a reason? Why? There were more attractive guys here (or at least, more attractive than his original skinny shape… his new athletic frame gave him an edge). I stopped my train of thought. Why was I so concerned about this? For all I knew, this muscle growth was Kellan’s (and Claudia’s, if she actually remembered it) dream come true. If they were happy with it, who was I to stand in the way of a straight guy I didn’t even know from having unusual growth spurts? If a green muscle fairy light wanted to supercharge all the guys here, well, I could only benefit from that (if only in eye candy). I was feeling pretty confident about my “don’t worry about it” plan, when I remembered that cold feeling that had led me to interrupt Kellan’s… connection… with the green light. That sensation was like the grave, and it felt unpleasant and unnatural. Kellan had seemed to enjoy it, but he’d been hypnotized at the time, and Claudia and the other guests had clearly had their memories messed with. Even if I wasn’t exactly the heroic type, off to save the party guests from mind control, I certainly didn’t want something meddling with my thoughts and memories. It was just practical and self-centered, but it teamed up with my curiosity. If something was going on, I not only wanted to know all about it, I wanted to make sure it was something benevolent. Convinced I was in the right to keep searching, I decided to check out the other parts of the Higgins Manor. I snuck over to the garage behind the dance floor room, feeling the pulse of the loud music. Though full of all manner of odds and ends, some of which I’d never think to keep in a garage, I didn’t encounter anything supernatural, and no red or green lights appeared. The most recent hayride had taken off, and the upstairs level was still roped off. I checked out the chapel, and while there were more of those red ripples, they seemed fainter and less frequent, somehow, and I couldn’t tell where they were really coming from. I passed the couple of drunken wing fans, dutifully flapping my costume wings for them for the 12th, 13th, and 14th times, and remembered Kellan saying that he’d had to go to the bathroom before he got sidetracked. Like most of the rooms in the Manor, the restrooms were pretty outdated and poor quality. For some reason, the ladies’ room had an entrance from the main hall, but the men’s room could only be entered from the outside, near the bonfire (which made it cold). Both of them had spider-webs (the real variety, not the decorative kind) and dust inside, and the men’s room was (of course) dirtier… and that had been during the daytime when I was working. At a party for hundreds of drunken college kids, it was now likely much, much worse. I slipped outside, approached the bathroom and took a deep breath, hoping I’d be able to hold it the entire time I was investigating. Then I shivered… but not from the natural cold. The original foreboding chill that had led me to the wisp and Kellan the first time was back… and it seeped from the restroom, with a green glow appearing under the door. “Of course that’s where this thing’d go,” I groaned, steeling myself and taking another deep breath before I pushed the door open. I stopped in my tracks, as I saw what looked not like a ball of electricity, but a weirdly green “shadow” slipping around on the floor. It looked vaguely human, but there was no one there… or at least no one where the “shadow” lay. It wasn’t really dark, and had the same green glow from earlier, but it seemed somehow thicker and gloomier than before. I watched as it slid into the only locked stall like some sort of snake, and saw a pair of familiar, muscular calves in black skintight fabric. Mentally kicking myself for getting into this situation, I knocked. “Kellan… are you in there? Is everything alright?” An answering groan, deep and rich and definitely his voice, but thick with arousal that I was pretty sure wasn’t in response to me, even if it did turn every single one of my hormones into fireworks, confirmed my guess. The jade glow intensified, and I figured that I’d best find a way to get inside. The old restroom stall door was old-fashioned, not so flimsy as modern ones, and I’d be unlikely to bust the door down, even with a well-placed kick. I began desperately shaking the handle, and mercifully, the old lock was loose enough to pop open. Kellan’s back was to me, so I was treated to a view of his muscular ass in all its glory, round hardened glutes designed for running, lifting, and thrusting. It would’ve been nice to see it A) anywhere except a really disgusting restroom, if he was gay and interested in me, and C) not arching with green energy. The entity that did it to him no longer appeared as a wisp of light, but as that weirdly “glowing shadow”, now more human-looking, which moved from the floor to the wall, where it was emitting the green lightning directly into Kellan’s eyes. Kellan seemed out of it (or into it, rather), but his body was already warping as that weird light flooded through his muscles. His butt was literally glowing as it flexed and swelled, pushing enticingly towards me. His legs were thickening as muscles appeared to coil into place. His back, now a perfect V, was arched as the eldritch power filled him, his shoulders broader than before and thick with muscle. His arms bulged, powerful biceps and triceps grinding against each other as he flexed in the restroom stall. His neck was thicker as well, stretching to attach to the muscles of his shoulders and back, and his black costume was stretching and riding up on his growing (and glowing) body. I realized with a shock that he was a bit taller than me now. His moans of arousal continued, deep and resonant and obviously stemming from his increasing pleasure. Sparing a moment of regret that I couldn’t see him from the front, and unable to get through to him verbally, I wrapped my arms around his gymnast’s body, and tried pulling him back. Kellan resisted, already much further gone than he had been the last time, his lustful groans replaced by exclamations of disappointment and growls of frustration. The lightning continued to blaze through him (and now me), and this time I felt pain and loss and disorientation before the light changed from poison green to a vivid white brilliance accompanied by the same feeling of accomplishment from the last time. The illumination drove off the weird shadow, forcing it to slink away, and Kellan went slack in my arms. He was now much heavier than earlier, and I had to bend my knees and hold my back against the heavy wood of the stall walls, but in the end, I managed to keep us both from toppling over. When his breathing evened out I took a deep breath, confident that even though Kellan had been changed again, he was safe at the moment. His impressive pecs made his costumed rib cage rise and fall, and the lower part of his shirt raised to reveal several perfectly carved abdominal muscles. Between his chiseled adonis’ belt, a tempting trail of black hair descended from his belly button to his groin, framing a softening uncut dick that had to be at least nine inches hard. I also took in the sight of his substantial balls, and wondered if he’d be able to fit all of his junk back in those tight black pants. After I’d been able to look my fill, his beautiful eyelashes started to flutter. I murmured “Kellan, are you in there?” He groaned and his eyes opened, seeming confused. “Huh? Ange…lo. What’s goin’ on? I was draining the snake when everything went… weird.” He looked down, his eyes widened at the sight of his (mostly soft, but still six inch) shaft. “That’s… not mine,” he stammered, his eyes wide. Hoping to prevent a panic, I interrupted. “Dude, it’s ok, deep breaths. C’mon.” Once he obeyed, I explained what’d happened. “Then you kinda collapsed on me, and you’re a bit heavier than before… think you can stand up? I’m kinda worried about how we’ll explain this pose if someone walks in on us.” He nodded in agreement, still looking confused and unsettled, but with a surprisingly graceful ease, he lifted himself up off of me, using mostly his leg muscles, though his whole body seemed to flex beneath the tight costume, now stretched across a muscular hunk’s frame. I gulped and blushed, and this time he reached out a hand and pulled me up with ease, leaving me facing him. I thought I saw his pale cheeks blush as well, before looking away… and noticing that his cock was hardening again! Forcing my gaze upwards, I managed to say “Thanks… and uh, can you pull your pants up?” This time he definitely blushed and hurried to do that, but his cock was clearly hard and stretching the fabric. “Um… I’ll be outside… call if you see anything weird,” I said, hurriedly, as I duck out of the restroom. Out in the cold November air, I am able to cool down… at least until I hear the sounds of more deliberate moaning and the distinct clapping sound of a guy jerking off, and cursed the old building’s construction yet again. When he finally pushed himself over the brink, it was almost a howl of satisfied lust, and I had to adjust myself and thank heaven I’d opted for heavier black jeans that showed far less than Kellan’s flimsier costume. He eventually came out, wiping his washed hands, and looked at me with an expression like a lost little boy. “Why is this happening to me? What is happening to me? And… why does it feel so good?” This post has been promoted to an article

Here is a story I've been working on for some time. If you like it I can continue it. Ok, I removed the text file and posted the story below in a more formatted scheme. Check it out by scrolling down. Sorry it is so long, I kept writing and changing until I was more happy with it.

Tristan Part 3 Going down an escalator, Tristan stares from one shop to another, trying to familiarize himself with all the stores while also looking for a help wanted sign. "So Tristan, did you find anything you like?" "Yeah, I found a couple of shirts and a pair of shorts." "That's good." Looking around, Tristan notices that it's noon, on an early July day, but the mall isn't even moderately crowded. Just a few groups of high-schoolers, some parents with their kids, and a dozen or so senior citizens spread about. Most stores are empty or at least seemingly empty, and a few are actually closed. "Hey Drew, why is it so empty? Back where I'm from the malls are insanely crowded during the summers." "Well almost two thirds of the town’s population leaves during the summer, so everything gets real empty around here. Two, three weeks before the semester starts everybody floods back here and this place becomes a mess. Thousands of freshmen free from their parents running around buying all kinds of unnecessary things. Worse when they have their parents, fussing and encouraging them to buy something advertised by some morning news show. The whole mall becomes a disaster." "Yeah?" "Yeah. So how's the job hunt?" "No luck. Every place that's open is fully staffed, and apparently the owners give jobs back to the returning students before hiring any new faces." "Tends to happen, but you'll find something eventually." "I hope so, not doing anything all day is staring to drive me nuts." "Well I see you have been hitting the gym. You're arms look bigger than when we first met. Oh hey there's Afano and Blake." Afano sits in the middle of a bench meant for three people; his shoulders make it impossible for somebody to sit next to him. Blake sits adjacent to Afano, on another bench, and is first to spot Drew and Tristan walking over. "You guys ready to go?" asks Blake. "I am" "Me too." "Alright let's go." "I was telling Tristan how his arms look bigger, compared to when we first met him," starts Drew as the group begins walking toward an exit. "It's hard to tell, with his height gain," says Afano, "that's why I keep telling him to hit the gym. He's surprisingly strong, I mean you look strong, but you definitely are lifting out of your weight class," he continues as he looks at Tristan. "I used to work at a metal recycling center, so I'm used to lifting heavy things.." "So is that the kind of job you're looking for?" asks Drew. "Not really. I mean the money was great, but I'd rather not spend all day lugging around metal scrapes under the hot sun." "That's how you got shredded, by lugging metal?" "That and eating healthy." The group passes by a tall mirror, positioned right between two bathrooms. Afano takes a moment to admire himself. The Samoan giant is literally spilling out of his stringer tank top. His immense pecs are so large the fabric can't reach over to fully cover his exposed nibbles. Afano smiles to his reflection and begins running his hands over his abs. Blake takes notices that Afano's gargantuan arms and pecs are missing from his peripheral vision. He turns around to spot the giant flexing in front of the mirror. "Guys wait up, we got a bit of self-worshiping going on," says Blake to Drew and Tristan. "There's nothing wrong with admiring your body. God I spend so many hours in the gym, I should be allowed to walk around shirtless anywhere I want," decrees the giant as he removes his tank top and continues flexing. After striking several poses, Afano leaves his reflection and walks back to the group. However, instead of taking his position next to Blake, he walks right up to Tristan. He close to three inches taller than the new comer, but significantly wider. Much wider, so much wider, any person standing behind the giant wouldn't know there was a young man facing opposite the giant. "Is something wrong?" "No not really. Walking over here, I noticed that you look 'small.'” He pauses for a moment to take a look around, “Mostly everyone here is wearing some sort of tank top and shorts, except you. At and around the apartment you go shirtless sometimes, and you're unbelievably shredded and you have mass. But every time we go out, you always wear a t-shirt and jeans, to hide your muscles and make yourself look small." "Okay, where is this going?" "You have an insane physique, the kind most guys would kill to have, and most girls would do anything to fuck. So how come you hide it?" "I wear what I find comfortable, which is mostly t-shirts and jeans. If my physique is hidden it's because the clothing is loose, not because I'm consciously hiding anything. Besides, why does any of this matter to you?" Afano thinks over the question for a moment, still shirtless. Some of the few mall goers stare at his immense body; some turned on, others repulsed by the bulging oversized muscles. Opposite the giant, mall goers either see Blake or Drew; they pay little if any attention to Tristan. Blake breaks the silence, "You look weird." Before Afano can add to the conversation, Drew begins talking, "Let me explain. When we first interviewed you for the spare room, you didn't strike us as anything really all that notable. No tattoos, no piercings, no strange mannerisms, honestly neither your personality nor physical appearance were noteworthy, or at least at first. When we started narrowing down the candidates, you sort of popped up. That guy with brown eyes, black hair, over six feet; we called you up again and arranged another meeting during your next college visit. Then we agreed to offer up the room." "I'm gonna be honest. The second time you showed up, I thought, 'this guy is pretty cute,'" adds Afano, "During your second visit, I couldn't help but notice how your facial features just popped out, or that you were relatively tall and looked solid. Then actually living with you, pretty cute became really handsome, and solid became shredded as fuck." "Tons of people have said that to me. I still don't get the point." "I'm just saying you should show off a little. Add a little swagger to your walk, wear tighter clothes, do something," urges Afano, oddly full of passion. "Yeah, if he didn't pester you to go to the gym, you probably won't have left the apartment at all, I mean except to look for a job. You're 18 and on your own, and the first thing you do is look for a job. Seriously?" adds Blake. "Of course I'm going to search for a job, I need to support myself." "You have plenty of money saved up," counters Afano. "Hey, some friends of mine are throwing are throwing a big birthday party at the end of the month, and we're taking you. No objections," "Okay." "Alright so it's settled, we are going to get you shit-faced. Also you're going to the gym with Blake and me." "Alright, alright, just so long was we can leave; we've been standing here forever." The next day, Tristan spends mid-morning and all afternoon searching for a possible job in another town, but turns up empty handed. He drives to the apartment to switch clothes and then drives toward the university gym. The gym is incredibly large, and well stocked, but most surprisingly it's open 24/7. Once through the doors he immediately spots Afano, Blake and even Drew, who usually works out during the mornings. "Alright so I'm ready to do something." The next day. "Should my legs have a pulse?" "That's normalish, especially for such an intense work out. Here drink this and take these," says Drew as he gives Tristan a glass of water and various pills. Tristan takes the pills and swallows them, along with several gulps of water before asking, "What do they do?" "Most people ask and then sallow. There's protein in the water, the pills are to help promote muscle repair and growth. You are going to need a ton of these." "Does any of that stuff actually work? I mean there are tons of vitamins that don't do a damn, other than led to really expensive urine." "Trust me these work. The month after I started taking all this stuff, I gained some pretty serious mass, and I increased all my lifts. Believe me; you'll want these to maximize your results." Tristan looks down at his calves; no longer red or swollen. They look exactly the same as they did yesterday; however, the muscle tissues have been completely destroyed. Every time his brain sends a signal to his calves, they angrily respond by bursting into pain. "I feel like dying. You people are monsters." Afano walks into the kitchen to find Tristan, legs spread out wide in a V. "You're the monster. Fuck, for a novice, you squatted weights that experienced lifters would be proud of," smiles Afano. "I get the impression I shouldn't have done that." "Maybe not for your first time, but you need to push yourself to get real results," says Drew. Tristan stares at Drew and Afano, both wearing just boxers and sandals. Drew has a solid V shaped torso, though Tristan's attention immediately goes to his bulky arms and pecs. Those specific body parts look like they belong on somebody who weighs a good twenty pounds more. Still, Drew doesn't seem to be out of proportion, in fact his confidence and natural charisma seem to flow into his muscles. He likes his large upper body and works hard to build and maintain it, and he can somehow look impressive even while standing next to Afano. The college senior outweighs Drew by close to a hundred pounds and is four inches taller; his body screams power and strength. Afano's muscles aren't as toned as Drew's, which isn't to say they are soft or flabby, but are instead just plain bulky. His waist is probably 40 something inches, though it looks significantly smaller do to his immense shoulders. His legs and arms look like a grocer stuffed several melons into long plastic brown bags. His bulbous body occupies an absurd amount of space, every time he moves the kitchen seems to get smaller. "Tristan, you still in there?" "W...what?" "We were asking about your old job. Didn't you ever get sore?" "Sometimes, but I was never expected to move almost double my body weight, using just my legs." "Well the more you do it, the less it'll hurt." "I doubt that." Tristan gets up to walk away. Upon standing his legs buckle, almost turning to jelly. He takes a step toward his bathroom, immediately his legs respond by shouting, "Fuck you," with every step. Right, "fuck." Left, "you." After a short eternity of searing pain, Tristan sits in his bathtub running a warm bath. He stretches out his tall body, out along the tub and tries to relaxing, before falling asleep for two hours. For the next three weeks Tristan continues going to the gym with his roommates, to avoid their nagging to, "do something." Initially the workouts are hellish, but gradually his body begins to adapt to the harsh one or two hour sessions. The soreness following a day's work out becomes less severe, and his recovery time decreases. Tristan puts on a shirt from back home. After two months, a little over an inch in height, and several pounds of muscle, the shirt is snug. It shows off his chest and arms nicely, but still hides his abs. His shorts reveal a pair of matching brownish calves covered with sinewy muscle, and covered with a dusting of hair. Glancing over his reflection, on his bathroom mirror, Tristan walks out to find Blake standing outside his bedroom door. "The guys wanted to check if you were ready." "Just need my wallet." Blake watches as Tristan bends his arm to pick up his wallet. A month ago his bicep would have sort-of-mostly filled the sleeve, but now it actually stretches the sleeve. He notes how Tristan's shirt hugs his pecs and upper arms, yet is incredibly loose around his waist. 'He needs to tailor his shirts,' thinks Blake as he and Tristan head out the door. As Tristan walks to Blake's truck, Afano and Drew take notice of his newly improved physique. They have been monitoring his developments, but today he really shines. In the rear view mirror, Afano is treated to a full view of Tristan climbing into the truck. He notices how round and tight Tristan's ass looks in those shorts greenish brown shorts. The shorts themselves are positively hideous, but a fine ass can make even the ugliest of shorts or paints stunning. Blake begins driving toward a house located near the end of the county line. A lone house, two stories tall and surrounded by trees and hills. No a single neighbor in any direction for almost an entire mile. Already the music is blaring and there are people running around with red cups in hand. "So little buddy, welcome to your first of many parties."

Well by much demand I've decided to post for you guys the "Home From College" series on the new forum. It's definitely one of my favorite stories (you know how I can't get enough muscle dads). Here's the first part with a few minor adjustments on his size. Hope you guys enjoy *********************** PART 1 Ever since I was a little kid, my dad loved to show off. It didn’t matter if it was a new car, new gadget, or even a new pair of clothes. Dad just had to boast about everything. So I guess it's no surprise that he would show off this too. The picture popped up on my phone a couple weeks ago, a close up shot of his arm flexing. It wasn’t by any standards huge, but I had to admit, it was a little shocking. My dad, a forty two year old man buffing up? It’s a little out of the ordinary, and it’s got me more than curious, considering it’s now Thanksgiving break. I walked through the airport, searching around for his face. I could already imagine him standing there in his classic navy blue shirt and coffee stained jeans, the keys to his Mazda dangling in his hand. I had to admit, I really did miss my dad. It was always just him and I growing up, so we were more then close. “Hey sport!” I smiled and turned around, seeing a chest full of muscle come towards me. I barely had a chance to even think before these two massive arms wrapped around me, pulling my face into a mountain of traps. I almost couldn’t believe what was happening. I knew it was my dad, I could smell his aftershave. The muscles that squeezed against my chest though, were far from what I left a few months ago. “Missed you bud” Dad said with a deep breath, inflating these two massive pecs against my ribcage. The size of them was unbelievable, feeling like huge melons, not a mans pecs. His strong arms hugged me in even tighter, practically lifting me off the ground. I could feel my dads beer belly had turned into a solid valley of abs, squeezing painfully against my somewhat flabby stomach. I finally wrapped my own small arms around his huge torso, feeling the sheer size and strength of his back. Dad just chuckled a little, probably noticing how shocked I seemed. “What do you think?” “..Wow, dad!” “Started working out a little..” My dad raised his arm, flexing his bicep right there in my face, right in the airport. The mound of muscle made my eyes bulge out of their sockets, looking twice as big as it did before, stretching at least 21, 22 inches of solid muscle. His poor sleeve cracked and squeezed up to his cannonball shoulder as he pumped the muscle with such pride. God he looked like a pro-bodybuilder, a total gym bunny. I took a huge gulp, trying to close my open mouth. “Pretty cool isn’t it?” “it..It’s unbelievable!” “Haha, come on let’s get back to the house, I got a surprise for you” Surprise? What could be bigger than this? He turned around and started walking, letting me feast upon his equally impressive backside. To think that these were the same clothes he had been wearing for years. That navy blue shirt, it always hung off of him like it was a size too large. Now his wide stretched shoulders and enormous lats filled the thing so tight, it looked two sizes too small. All while down below, his coffee stained jeans were filled to the brim with his massive thighs and epicly pumped muscle ass. He turned back and grinned at me, like he knew I was checking out his body. I couldn’t really say that I was embarrassed, he was my dad after all, but it felt more then weird. He stopped for a second and then wrapped one of his huge arms around my neck as we walked. Half the airport began checking us out, like he was my hot sugar daddy or something. I guess I couldn’t really blame people. I looked down at his huge hairy forearm, feeling the weight of it, gawking over the size of it. Dad was always a little bigger then me, being in construction and all. Comparing us now though would almost be comical. My arm was nothing more then a twig compared to his new alpha status. “It’s so good having you home. I brought the old girl with me” My dad rubbed my hair with his huge hand, unwrapping his arm from my weak shoulders. My dad’s little Mazda Miata was his pride and joy. I could already see its bright candy red color as we left through the airport doors. It was honestly a wonder he could even fit in the thing any more. “I can take that” He grabbed my suitcase and popped open the trunk. As if I thought he couldn’t look any bigger, his entire torso suddenly swelled in size as he lifted the luggage into the air. His small shirt went skyrocketing passed his waistline, giving me a view of his incredibly ripped apollo's belt and hairy set of abs. The poor car bounced up and down violently as he stuffed everything into the trunk. The power behind his muscles must have been huge. He slammed the trunk closed and opened the driver door, slowly making his way into the small seat. I watched in absolute horror as his skin tight jeans began ballooning even bigger, squeezing against his massive thighs so hard I could see the seams start to split. My jaw was practically on the ground as he grunted into place, struggling to even put on his seatbelt. I had never seen a man look so obscene in his own clothing. Even his crotch sat there bulging between his legs, pushing the zipper out into huge spherical mound of cock and balls. “You going to hop in?” He fired up the car and smiled up at me, now I was embarrassed. I was just staring at my dad’s crotch, cruising on him like I would a guy at the bar. I quickly got in the car, looking down at his massive legs one more time. My dad sped off in his normal fashion, looking over at my obviously distraught face. “Can’t stop staring huh?” “Yea, sorry..” I turned to look at him again “You’ve just gotten so big” “Haha yea, it’s pretty incredible isn’t it. I have a feeling I’m going to have to buy bigger clothes soon. These jeans are starting to hurt.” My dad adjusted his crotch “Seriously.. What made you start working out?” “That’s the surprise, I started dating someone” “Oh?” “Her name is Denise, you're going to love her. She’s the reason why I started getting big, she sure does love a man with muscle..” My dad bounced his pecs with a chuckle. It must have been one hell of a girl to turn my dad into this. From the look of it, he gained at least 40 pounds of muscle, something I didn’t think was even possible in three months. To think all the last girlfriend did was just make him cook more. If someone would have came along like this a few years ago, my dad probably would have been a giant by now. “Home sweet home” We pulled up to the house, at least it looked the same. I got out of the car to go get my luggage, struggling to pull out my suitcase. My dad slammed his door and came up behind me with a chuckle. I could suddenly feel his huge thighs and hefty manhood press against the back of my small legs. It was almost frightening how big he felt, knowing he could probably overpower me without even blinking. “Here I can grab that” He leaned even more against my backside, reaching his burly arms around me and pulling my luggage out. I cringed as his crotch practically dug into my ass, feeling all that incredible muscle against my tiny back side. My own cock shamefully throbbed in my jeans, making my forehead bead with sweat. I was openly gay with my dad, but he never knew muscle was one of my biggest turn ons. “You ok?” Dad shut the trunk “Yea” “Hey listen, I know I got all this muscle, but I’m still your dad” He grabbed my shoulder, giving me that reassuring smile. I wanted to take in what he said, I really did. Watching him walk off though, the spinning image of my perfect wet dream, I knew it was going to take more than a few words to get me through this weekend. “Babe you here? Come say hi to Scott” Dad held open the door as I rolled my suitcase in. Everything looked the same so far, but I knew it wouldn’t last. This twenty something year old blond bombshell came out of the kitchen, looking like one of the girls in a Victoria Secret ad. I could see why my dad was getting big for her. She was tan and athletic, wearing a matching pink tank top and low riding shorts. Hell if I were straight, I’d probably get big for her too. “This is Denise” My dad smiled and grabbed her waist, pulling her next to his body with a quick kiss. She had to have been at least 10 years younger then him, closer to my age. I casually waved my hand and smiled back. “It’s good to finally meet you Scott” “Denise is a personal trainer” My dad boasted “Oh..” “Scott’s still shocked at how big his old dad has gotten” “He can barely put down those weights anymore. He’s even competing soon” She looked up at him with a smile “Really?” “Yup, just a local one. The Santa Series. You know how much I love to show off” He flexed his arm with a grin “You should come and help me pick out some stuff for the competition tomorrow” “I thought I was going to help you” Denise whined “Don’t worry babe, you can do the shaving..” My dad grinned and licked his lips, pulling her in for this deep sloppy kiss. I never thought I would be envious watching my dad kiss someone, but I most certainly was of this chic. The man looked like such a hunk next to her, fondling her backside with his big burly arms. It was like I was watching a porno, a vintage muscle porno with the way my dad looked. My dad just kept lowering his hands more and more, forcing his huge tongue down her tiny mouth. She practically whimpered as he pulled her waist into his giant inflating manhood. I wanted to look away, but instead I watched like some total dog. My dad glanced over at my gawking face, snickering under his kiss. “Easy there babe, haha, sorry son. Denise and I can get a little wild” My dad chuckled. I smiled back as best as I could, trying not to stare down at his half erect cock. You would never think I would miss that small dorm room back east, but at this moment, I most definitely did. The amount of lust I had for the man standing there was more than uncomfortable. I felt my dick bulge and knees ache over his awesome figure. This wasn’t my dad, this man was a total fucking stud. “Why don’t you go upstairs and pack. Dinner’s going to be soon” I grabbed my suitcase and slowly walked upstairs, hearing them start to make out again. The fact that I wanted to turn around and watch again made me cringe. How was I going to survive an entire weekend with him? Or more importantly, what am I going to do, if my dad gets even bigger..

12/4/13 Right first things first picture update so...... Me Yesterday http://www.purelifts.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/How-to-build-muscle-naturally-for-skinny-guys1.jpg Me Today http://ectomorphworkout.org/wp-content/uploads/Ectomorph-Workout-Home.jpg I have to confess guys i took 2 pills last night seeing what the effect would be and as you can see its had a great affect! NON of my clothes fit me now which was difficult for college this morning let me tell you, i struggled to put my t-shirt and when i eventually got it on the sleeves were up to my shoulders, and the bottom rose halfway up my abs, my trousers were just about clinging to my thighs for dear life any wrong movement and they would rip to shreds. Its safe to say when i arrived at college this morning, it wasnt only alex that was getting the stares, girls and guys were staring at me as though i was an alien, a few of the guys were fiddling with there packages! I caught up with buff dave and my mates i wasnt up to daves size yet but tomorrow i would definitely surpass it, like the rest of the school there faces were a picture, they asked me what the hell i had taken, even dave was purplexed by my new size, i just told them i had found these pills online to go with my supplements, obv i didn't give them the true story!!! Dave asked if i would like a bicep comparison, in my new state of confidence and physique i agreed, dave went first, he rolled up his sleeve, his arm looked bigger than before even before he flexed it,he flexed it and it swelled into a huge mound of muscle on his arm, he smiled and informed me it had reached 20", i told him i had no chance of beating that size, but i wanted to see what my new bigger arm looked like, it took me ages to roll my sleeve up as it was skin tight against my new size arms, i flexed my arm and a moderate sized lump appeared no were near the size of daves but it was way bigger than he had imagined, dave was impressed with my peak, he said it looked at least 16-17", i told him i would measure it when i got home and let him know tomorrow. I was walking down the corridor to leave to come home when i felt a huge hand clasp itself on my shoulder, the power of hand instantly stopped me in my tracks, it was obvious that is was the muscle freak that was alex, his huge hand swung me round and i was face to his obscenely gargantuan chest, for the first time since it first happened with jack i felt my bulge grow ever harder. Alex was suprised at my superfast growth and questioned what i had taken,i wasn't about to lie to this behemoth so i told him about the pills and what there effect was. Alex commented that i looked good and urged me to "unleash my inner beast". i told him i was a bit sceptical about taken the full lot, what he told me next defied belief. He told me that if i took the full lot or got to his size i should move in with him and start a muscle domination company!!!! A feeling inside me was one of do i really want to do this, but another feeling was one of who the hell would cross us or disobey us. I thought about it for a min and told..... ok!! As of yet i have not decided how big to get!!........... oh and i measured my bi's 17" hehehe Till the next time.

Not sure if I had it all saved. Didn't think I had to worry about the old forum going down. What I managed to salvage if anyone would like a read. 09:30 “Why am I here?” Duncan’s mum just ignored him; he stood beside her at the reception while his dad was checking in. Arms crossed, his dagger stared panned across the open atrium of the spa. A long weekend wasted away in this place. He should have chained himself in his room or just packed a bag to stay somewhere else, before they could drag him away. “Your dad bought me this for a present and you’re not going to ruin it” “Your present, why did he buy three? And why do I have to come along to this dump?!” he shot back, again she just ignored him, frustrated at how badly the family weekend away had started off. “You’re being a brat, don’t ruin this for me” His jaw dropped, ‘ruin this for me?’ he bit his tongue at the hypocrisy. The open chamber was a sickly flood of beige and dim lighting. The best summer’s day outside in months, and all blocked away from sight by towering walls of tack. “I’m sorry sir but we’re fully booked, we can’t make any room changes” the receptionist said, Duncan’s dad had been arguing with her for the past fifteen minutes but like a parrot she only had one thing to say. “Our booking system takes customer demographics in account to assure the idea services are provided.” “What’s wrong?” his mum asked marching over at the sound of their raised voices. “Our rooms” he said to his wife “are on this side of the site but Duncans is all the way on the other!” overhearing Duncan felt himself loosen, far away from them could be the only plus side. “They won’t swap his room around with anyone near us.” It came somewhat comical and from a distance Duncan watched as both parents tore into an unflinching receptionist. “Leave it Tony, this isn’t good for your blood pressure” they resigned to defeat, handing Duncan his key card he swung his bag over his shoulders and hastily fled in the opposite direction. 09:47 The place began taking on a different look, from the pretty and pink highlights of the plain reception the corridor on the way to his room was taking on an earthly red and dessert look. The inside of the corridor was stippled with a clay-like maroon buildings while beyond the windows were made from massive sand orange bricks the. Reading the numbered doors to his left, he wondered pasted S23 and S25, and S24 to his right. The key card read S32, thankfully ‘any meat head could find their way around’ he thought. Swiping the card at S32 he walked into the sparse cabin like room, same maroon colour on the side he noted as he walked around. A double bed, not enough room to swing a cat, no wardrobe, but the bathroom was almost as big as the bedroom itself, most of the space taken up by an open mosaic tiled shower, no curtain or panel, just a plate sized shower head built in the ceiling. Tossing his bag against one of the walls, Duncan laid back on the bed, reaching for the remote; he fumbled with the buttons for a channel flicking session to last the next three days. Before he could even turn it on, his peace was broken with heavy thuds on the door. First he thought someone was about to hammer through, until the thuds came again in a knocking rhythm. “Who is it?!” Duncan yelled from across the room. “Spa Coordinator” a deep voice boomed back. Opening the door Duncan invite the boy in, although calling him a boy was a stretch. The broad shoulders of his six foot teenager almost brushed against the side of the door frames. The white tee on the hulking figure, stretched out over thick rippling muscles, massive pecs pushing forward as the sleeves strained over the defined and vascular arms. Ashamed Duncan stood straight, flexing pecs forth as his crossed his arms, pushing his biceps close against his body to lay them flat and wider. “Yo,” he replied lowering his voice. “My name is Ben Thorpe,” he said extending his hand “I’m here to provide you with your induction,” shaking his hand Duncan squeezed as hard as he could to match Ben’s grip but the boy hadn’t clenched hard enough to crush the new guest. Opening the brochure he had in the other hand, Ben unfolding the large glossy paper, as he stretched it out, the tee began to groan and ride up his waist revealing a ripped core with clear veins reaching up either side of the lower abs, “You’ve checked into one of two wings, based on your application. This is the Spartan wing.” “The other is the Athens wing which caters to… well,” he paused, as his eyes gazing upon Duncan’s sleek pecs, “not to guys like us.” Folding the brochure back in on itself he began to focus on it page by page. “We have a 250+ weight stations for the gym,” flipping to the next slide, “two pools, one indoor one outdoor, double the standard Olympic length, we had to extend the length again, our guests prefer something more of an endurance challenge,” “Cool, I’m a swimmer too,” “Nice, you’ll like our lengths then, definitely a struggle for experienced guys,” He turned to the last pages, after viewing various other additions, like the climbing wall, circuit studios and gymnastics equipment, “and after a hard day we offer saunas, sports massages to help recovery and our bars and restaurants have a specialist menu for athletes.” “Sounds more like a training resort than anything” Duncan replied finally feeling excited about his stay. “It’s what we aim for here.” Ben replied smiling as his moved his long black hair off his face, “where would you like me to take you?” 10:07 The walk from Duncan’s room to the gym wasn’t as long as he’d imagine. From where he was, he heard none of the music and clamour of the workouts. The massive steel grey chamber was literally soundproof, once the doors were closed you’d have no idea what was happening behind them. The size of the room was mind blowing. Maybe it was the constant reflections that made it look like it went on forever or perhaps it was a studio of countless machines and weights. Quickly glancing at the gym, Duncan checked out his 18 year old tour guide, then looked back the gym, then back at Ben. He was beginning to realise how the boy was so big; there was nothing lighter than 20 kg plates and there were at least 50 plate, all of them stacked up on the racks against the wall, pairs of dumbbells going up to 120 kg, no less than ten machines just to workout one muscle group?! Duncan had no idea all the ways to do a bicep curl but Ben’s arms and the gym proved otherwise. “Jake!” Ben yelled over the music and racket, from behind the main desk flicking through a supply catalogue emerged a hulking mass. Duncan was one of the hottest sportsmen in his college but today he’s never felt so inferior. The gym instructor moved closer, appearing more monstrous as he closed in. At 6’6’’ there wasn’t much Duncan could do about his pose to even appear comparable to Jake. Every part of his body was covered in mountainous muscle, lean and thick, so heavy he felt the ground tremble as he walked over. “Whatup” he said, almost a deep growl as he grinned down to the two who entered. “This is Mr Michales,” “Duncan” he interjected, Jake nodded in reply “Duncan’s just having the tour.” “Started with the best then” he said winking to Ben, the boy went slightly red with his own smirk, “Ready to get started,” he asked Duncan. Ben turned to the guest, “I can come back later if you wanna get started?” “I’ll probably pop back here,” Duncan lied, feeling his confidence wilt in the shadow of two giants, “I’ll need to get changed.” “Don’t worry about that,” replied Jake, “as long as you’re not going commando you can dump your clothes behind the desk.” “Anyway,” Ben added, “layers gets in the way, fewer you have, less restriction.” He turned to Jake, “Ok to take over” Ben made a swift exit, getting to whatever job he had next, leaving the waning teen with his new personal trainer. Obeying the deep booming orders; Duncan undressed, first tossing his black tee aside. “You can leave the jeans on, if you want” he said, “we’ll do lower body stuff later.” When Jake quizzed and questioned Duncan, he began to realise how far behind his little guest was. From his answers, Duncan’s stamina and endurance, was alright, but he wasn’t as confident when asked about benching hundred kilogram. Laying him down, Duncan’s back rested against the cold plastic of the bench. “The bar is 20kg,” he said walking around gathering plates, “start off with a 12 rep warm up.” Perhaps the only instruction from him that wasn’t barked as an order to be obeyed. Grabbing onto the cold bar Duncan did as instructed, although he wouldn’t have called it a warm up; his pecs and shoulders were already beginning to burn. Suddenly maxing out at 40 kilogram dumbbells for a bench press wasn’t as impressive to these guys as it was to the others at the college gym. Soon enough as he was done, the plates were being loaded, Duncan did his 80 kilogram max, Jake’s towering body hovered over him casting a large shadow over his guest. Another set of plates was loaded, 100 kg. “I’m not sure-“ “You’ll be fine I’ll spot you.” The first rep burned, second third and fourth were the same. On the fifth the bar felt like it was about to come crashing down. Duncan gritted his teeth as he pushed against it, but Jake placed on hand under the ball to aid. “You’re doing fine,” he encouraged. With those words Duncan felt a surge of energy, mustering his strength he pushed again and the bar flowed up and down. On the eighth, Jake grabbed it again and placed the bar in the rest. “Didn’t think I’d do it,” Duncan panted as he sat up. Jake walked around again with more plates, “What are ya -?” “Come on, let’s get the beast out.” Plates loaded up to 160 kg, Duncan looked in disbelief; this must have been the point where the alpha male asserts himself over the newbies. “Go on,” he said, “I’ve got you covered,” Jake leant down holding onto the bar; he made lowering it look like an effortless bicep curl. Grabbing on Duncan pushed, it didn’t move in the slightest. He held his breath, flexing every muscle and firing through every ounce of energy he had. Jake lightened, only slightly, but to Duncan’s surprised he benched the rest of it. The second rep flowed was quickly, third he felt his pecs burn alive with power and the rest of the set was effortless. 180 kg was a breeze. It felt like he was pushing air and throughout 210 he left a euphoric surge of feral energy. At 220 kg he failed at five reps. “Fucking beast!” Jake roared, Duncan following as he flexed his chest. “How’da feel?” “How the fuck did I do that?” he growled, smiling from ear to ear. The session was one new limit after another. Proving himself on the wide grip chin up, Jake doubled Duncan’s body weight with another 160 pounds of plates hanging from a belt. Struggling at first, but much like before he achieved jaw dropping feats. He stopped caring about what people thought when he tossed his jeans to the side for the squats. He wondered through the gym in tight navy boxers, which were starting to pinch around the thighs. Using weights on the smith bar got boring. “Sit on the bar,” Duncan joked. He expected a laugh and banter, but instead Jake obliged, setting the challenge for the new guy. Jake grabbed the bar and hoisted himself up; all 320 lbs balanced perfectly; bodybuilder mass with a gymnast’s skill. “I didn’t really mean-“ “Just do it” As ordered he rotated the bar on the smith machine, he felt the crushing weight of 250 lbs of plates on top of Jakes body weight. The metal bar dug into Duncan’s thick traps. His legs and lower back, ready to snap like twigs as his thighs barely managed to lock themselves still. “Com’on, where’s the beast?” Teeth clenched he squeezed harder, pushing against the floor, slowly feeling the bar rise and rise. “Roar!” Jake ordered, Duncan didn’t respond, just concentrated on lifting the gargantuan weight, Jake barked the order again and on cue Duncan’s roar echoed throughout the gym. His legs swelled and burned as he lifted the bar, legs pushing out and straight, thighs thickening and on fire. A tear split up the side of his boxers as he finished the one rep, and lowered for the next. Pushing out three more, Jake jumped letting the boy collapse on the floor as his lower body was reduced to jelly. His swelling member was hanging out of the torn boxers, which were barely holding on around his narrow waist. Jake reached down grabbing the new guest by the thick forearms and hoisted him back onto his feet. “That’s better” he said grinning from ear to ear, “Think two hours is enough” “Two hours?!” “Yea, got carried away?” Duncan checked the time, he wasn’t wrong; his PT session with Jake had flown by. Catching his breath he watched the other gymmers to make sure they weren’t looking his way before he adjusted his tattered boxers over his manhood. “Tired?” Jake asked as he walked Duncan back to the main desk, breathlessly he just nodded and grunted a ‘yea’ from behind “go chat to Toby at the café, it’s just outside the door, and worth finding Ben again, you’re going to be feeling sore.” “What will Ben do?” Duncan asked, leaning against the desk, puzzled as to how it was lower than before he came in. “Sports physio, he’ll get you unknotted ready for tomorrow” pulling out a new file from the draws, Jake scribbled away, getting all of Duncan’s progress and stats down on paper. Browsing around the room, the boy caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his own horrified face looked back at him as his viewed his body up and down. “How the fu...” he walked closer to the mirror seeing his new self, two hours later and he was twice the size. His pecs were two heaving slabs of muscles, ripped and taut from shoulder to boulderous shoulder. Stacked upon eight brick like abs tapering down to a narrow waist from flared lats, steel cords twisted around his legs as his freshly pumped thighs glistened under the light and sculpted calves swelled out below. Maybe it was a just the pump, maybe he was light headed and not seeing right...his tee, his t-shirt, it wasn’t a snug fit but had had some room when he came in. Reaching over to the bundle of clothes that lay on the floor he picked up the dark blue top to feel the fit, but to his horror he couldn’t even squeeze his massive forearms into the sleeve let alone the cannon ball wide biceps which could follow. “FUCK!” “What?” Jake asked looking over “What happened to me?!” “Don’t worry, happens to everyone” he replied casually as he flicked though Duncan’s file, “Post-gym pump, you look good.” “But..” Jake rested his hand on Duncan’s shoulders “Go get some protein down ya,” “Bu...” he said as Jake led him to the door “Get a rub down. “Bu..” he tried, shocked, awed, horrified or a mixture of all. With only a small cloth over his groin, Duncan stood bare in the hallway outside the gym. “Bu..” “And I’ll see you tomorrow.” [5’9’’, 205 lbs, 14%, 6.5’’] 12:25 He stood near naked in the hallway, fumbling with the shrunken cloths bundled against his pecs. Taking one piece, he held it against his body. This must have been some joke, he thought, there too small to be the clothes he wore that morning, to the point of comical and stage. He wondered if they have been switched with extra-smalls during the workout, but now wasn’t the time...naked in a hall way. He dropped everything to the floor and rummaged for his jean. As hard as he tried to force it, he couldn’t fit them around his calves. Tugging at the denim, he heard it strain and tear as he pulled and pulled, trying to at least bring it close to his knees. Glancing up and down the corridor it was surprisingly quiet. Seem as the day went there were fewer and fewer other guys about. Reaching for the tee, he easily pulled it over his head but that is as far as it would go, the dark blue top, now looked like a scarf, against his massive traps, a mountain of muscle which swallowed his neck, the tee couldn’t even stretch far enough to roll over his cannonball delts. Pulling it off, Duncan tried arm first, but like the calved, the forearms were struck in the sleeve, the narrow rim of fabric was chocked only inched past the wrist. He was ready to give up trying to get dressed, maybe the torn boxers were enough to hide, and the tee was a lost cause. Maybe if he tore the legs off the jeans they could fit as a short, but then again if they couldn’t fit around his calves they stood no chance in hell squeezing around his quads. Clothes in hand, Duncan wondered down, following the signs to the café. Down the sun bleached corridors he came to a side of the spa where the light shone blindly though the glass panel wall. In the centre of the large room was a wide square counter, seats around the edge and more stools and high raised tables were scattered around. There were a few other men there, like Duncan, down to small trunks or Speedos. In the centre counter was an impromptu kitchen, small fridges and ovens, hobs and boxes of food, with counters surrounding it in a square, while the massive chef, down to his trunks and a wide apron tied to his tapered waist, chopped away at fruit. Even hunched over the chopping the board he was over six feet tall with extractor fans and hanging pots places especially high above his head. The other men stopped talking every so often to get a glace of Duncan, watching and wondering why the new boy slowly crept. As they were down to Speedos and jocks they thought nothing of the tattered loin cloth Duncan dangling to pairs of massive thighs. He stepped behind a seat across the counter from the chef, the place reminded him of some sushi bar, must have had the same idea. “Take a seat” the chef said, deep voice almost sounded like the earth rumbling as he his head was still looking down, chin pursed against two massive solid pecs, “Name please?” he asked reaching to the far side of the counter but not needing to take a step closer to reach the clipboard. “Erm...Duncan Michales,” “Full board, all food is covered,” replied the chef as he read off the board, “I’m Toby. What can I get ya?” “Erm,” Duncan stammered as he looked around “is there like a menu?” “Not here, where did you just come from?” Toby asked. Duncan just stared at him, the chiselled jaw and black stuble, a young looking guy but must have been working out since before puberty, like Jake, to be the massive behemoth he is. “The gy-“ “Jake sent ya?” he interjected “Err, yea he did,” “Got ya,” he took the fruit he was cutting and threw them in the blender, “not allergic to anything are ya?” “Shellfish,” he replied sheepishly. Turning around, the restaurant hand almost emptied, all the swimwear models had left bar the two Duncan had walked past on the way in. Closer now, he could see them clearly, they were more muscular than he had first noticed them from the corner of his eye, their bodies, every limb and fibre was fuller. Might have been the glare from the windows, he dismissed, it’s wasn’t like they had ballooned out in the short walk from the hallway to the table. “That’s cool I don’t serve any here.” Add four scoops of powder and another four of ice cream, before throwing the lid on for a quick blitz. From under the counter he pulled out a tall glass, must have held more than a pint and was the same the other guys were drinking from. Pouring it out, the thick pale cream mixer went to the top, a small drop slowly dripped down as Toby failed to empty the jug. “Post workout shake, you’re going to need that after a session with Jake” “Thanks, is this stuff safe, I mean no roids or anything?” the chasm echoed as Toby laughed. “Nah you got a mixture of whey and isolate protein powder, fruit for something natural and some antioxidants and the ice cream is made here, virtually fat free to cool you off.” Listening to it Duncan gorged on the drink, uncontrollably he had noticed he finished it by the time Toby finished describing it. “Oh” he said disappointedly, looking back at his empty glass, but more of the pale cream was poured in. Toby blitz together another jug and left it on the table. “Need some lunch too?” the chef asked picking up a grill pan from off the hob, Duncan with a mouthful of the protein shake nodded hungrily. Three greaseless and grilled chicken breasts were tossed out of the pan and onto a chopping board, sliced up, with salad and sauce, served in the biggest wrap Duncan had seen, he looked at the huge brick of protein and ravenously bit into it. He could barely get his hands around the wrap, or his mouth around his thickness, hungrily he gnawed away at it. Looking around the restaurant the two guys he spotted early had left, in their place were another two guys, larger and rounder, massive muscles in comparisons to the two sleek men before, abs jutting out as far as their pecs...but their faces looked similar and they were wearing the same trunks, standing, talking in the same spot, as they both downed their smoothies. “Good first session then?” Toby asked grilling a steak, Duncan just nodded with a mouthful of the smoothie, Duncan hadn’t realised he had finished his third glass of protein shake as Toby kept pouring from the jug. He felt energy return to his limb, first trickling down his throat and ending as it flowed through his veins, soaking in the muscles. He reached for a napkin to wipe the cold cream which dribbled down his chin onto his swollen pecs. “Full body session,” Duncan finally managed to reply, he turned back to his chicken wrap to find he had reduced it to crumbs. He didn’t recognise his own hands as he had tried to reach for the phantom wrap, huge things with thick vascular forearms, he blinked again, it was surreal how much bigger he was after one workout, but twice now, after one meal. He clenched his fists, slowly moving his fingers, and watching his ripped forearms flex and burst out against the bone. Toby pulled the plate away and replaced it with steak and roasted vegetables before Duncan could blink. A fourth jug was emptied in his glass. He was finding it harder to move, arms feeling heavy and weighing him down, the affects of the workout. His body started to feel sore but swollen, looking down at himself having finished devouring the next three steaks; his body had ballooned out again. Massive orbs of muscles around his shoulders, pecs reaching out jutting forward after the bench presses, beyond his nipples he could see his gut, a round stomach full of food being eight solid blocks of abs. The space between him and the table felt tighter as his body grew, rising up against his chair, his quads felt trapped wedged against the table. “Roasted salmon” Toby announced, placing another plate of food in front of Duncan, he licked his lips, giving back into insatiable and uncontrollable hunger, the freakishly long two foot fish was skinned boned and gutted, nothing left but the blight red flesh. Ravenously he stabbed it with the fork and raised the whole piece to bite into. Exhausted and feeling heavy, just hunched forward as he devoured his meal like a beast before a bowl. Toby poured another glass of the strawberry smoothie, “why don’t you go see Ben, you must feeling pretty knotted after the workout.” Duncan was about to reply with some non-committal as he focused on feeding himself but as he turned back to his fork was licked cleaned. [5’9’’, 244 lbs, 22%, 6.5’’] 13:05 “Next,” Ben called out as he quickly whipped his head around the door, but outside no one was sat waiting. Which wasn’t all too surprising, most of the resort guests prefer a rub down in the evenings. Gazing down the corridor, he spotted a hulking mass shuffling towards him; Duncan, huddling his clothes over his groin as he slowly ambled in the directions of the sign. “Hi,” Ben greeted gleefully, stepping out of the room as Duncan approached, “How’s your morning been?” he asked with his hands in his pockets, as he rocked back onto his heels the massive vascular arms flex in the tight white tee, the sleeves strained and cutting in under the delts, so close to ripping apart under the strength of the spa boy. “It’s been...” he paused fumbling for words as he tried to explain the bizarre events of the day, and wondered; what do I say without sounding crazy? “Something else isn’t it?” Ben added, with a wicked smile, Duncan just shook his head, eyes wide laughing, Ben wasn’t wrong there, 2 hours at the spa and he was 100 lbs bigger than when he woke up his morning. “Come on in,” Ben invited, disappearing into the dark room. As Duncan followed the light slowly came on in the treatment room, rustic orange, same as the rest of the spa, with a cream bench in the centre. “So what I can do for ya?” Ben asked, rubbing his hands with oil from one of the bottles. As soon as the top came off it Duncan got a scent of it, he couldn’t guess the smell; it was musky but oddly relaxing. Something that reminded him about camping, laying back in the tents, exhausted and glad that you’re head is on the pillow. Duncan stammered, remembering the question, looking around; he was ordered to physiotherapy by Toby, but no idea what for, “Er, what do you do?” “Anything you like, from relaxing massage to injury treatment, can help loosen any knots and get you back out there, or make sure you get a good night’s sleep of growth.” Another long pause from the new boy, Duncan still looked a little lost, “Why don’t you just strip off,” Ben said ushering him towards the bench, “lay on your front, we’ll start with by loosening up your shoulders?” Hesitantly Duncan placed the clothes that hid his shame on the chair by the desk. Pulling down at the tattered boxers, they were stuck around his thick thighs; normally he could wiggle out but now he had to drag them down, and over his massive quads they had snapped at last. They fell, a single strip of fabric circling around his feet. From one of the cabinets Ben pulled out a towel, unfolding it, he readied, waiting for Duncan lay down. The boy still unsure of what was going on and the way his day was unravelling, stumbled over to the bench and just did as instructed, his mind otherwise occupied. He lay on his front, towel lowered over his hip. His massive pecs pressed against the cushioned bench, the rest for his head was raised especially for a boy built as big as he was. Quads were the same, the massive mounds of muscle meant his knees barely touched the surface. Oil rubbing between his hands, Ben stood beside Duncan, his fingers rubbed across the neck swallowing traps, as thick and hard as those muscles were, Ben’s hands were stronger; he kneaded the tense fibre to putty effortlessly. Duncan moaned, a low bellowing echoed off the floor as his body began to unwind, with that one squeeze of his neck Duncan felt his whole spine drop, and his limbs drop onto the surface of the bench. “How does that feel?” he asked quietly as he effortlessly went to loosening and unknotting every muscle made tense by the workouts. Duncan’s reply was a mumble which approvingly sounded like ‘soooooo good’. As the traps loosened up, Duncan felt his head drop and stretch further, nestling into the round rest more comfortably. The pain at the base of the neck, which was poking at his headaches, was fading. Ben’s hands moved down the boys back, clenching his fist, he ran his knuckles along Duncan’s wide lats, pushing deep into the muscle and spreading it out, the solid fibres, would feel like rock to most men, was tenderised under the spa boy’s brutally strong hands. From the spine he pushed outwards and across the wide wings of his lats. The hard body that Duncan had built that morning was melting to a puddle of muscles and limbs on the bench. His body loosened and he relaxed, feeling all the tension fade, he lay easily as Ben’s strong hands moved all over, rubbing down his skin with the silky oils. His skin was alive with sensation, blood flooding all over, cheeks red and groin swelling, comfortably full, pressing against the cushioned surface. The soft tip of Ben’s fingers skating along the surface and stimulating every nerve that wanted to be touched, crushed every spot of pent up tension and twisted knot. Bens loosened the traps, lats and delts, he walked down the bottom of the bench. “This one might hurt” both thumbs pushed against the back Duncan’s calf and dug in deep, cracking the tension locked up in there from the squats and lunges. Duncan’s back arch as he felt the sharp pain, a deep moan as his chest lifting off the bench, taking a sharp breath in. Ben’s soft hands moved up the hamstrings, fingers running on the outside of his thighs as they moved up his leg. Duncan jolt for the second, surprised and unnerved when the thumbs that run up the middle, poked his glutes. An electric shudder ripped through his skin as Ben’s fingers brushed against his arse, a mixture of worry and arousal. His hips stirred as the swelling member grew, never before when another boy had touched him “Sorry about that” Ben said, moving around the bench to work the other thigh. Just as before is heart raced faster and faster as the hands brushed up Duncan’s thighs. Whatever he was feeling when Ben hands were in places, he ignored them, ‘can’t be, that’ he dismissed, but revelled in the pleasure anyway. “Do you wanna turn over?” Duncan held on to the small towel that barely stretch to cover his two massive glutes, as his rolled over he noticed his swollen meat, blood rushed down the long shaft, he kept staring at his cock wonder, whether it was, like the rest of his body, bigger than when he walked through the door that morning. He paid it too much attention, he stared at it for a few seconds, that Ben awkwardly stood there watching and waiting for him to lay back, but instead found Duncan oddly fixated on his own cock. “Sorry” Duncan said sheepishly, laying back down the towel was barely touched either side of his hips as his swelling cock lifted it. Ben’s palms kneaded at the crevasse between his pecs, moving from the centre, out. The strong hand pressed down again the two huge slabs of thick muscles, the mass of fibres crushed by Ben’s hands, Duncan saw the boy’s triceps bulge against the tight sleeve of his white t-shirt, cannon ball sized delts ready to explode out. Watching is magnificently sculpted arms, that strange feeling flood Duncan’s mind and body again, stronger now as the spa boy lips were slow much closer to his. Again he ignored it, hell he was dating a girl on his team, ‘what the fuck is wrong with me!?’ Moving out Ben’s hands loosened up his shoulders, working down the arm and massaging the massive biceps which were soft as dough in his grip. Feeling his fingers press into the bicep, Duncan suppressed the urge to flex the muscle as warm hand rub over the skin, his whole body flexed as Ben handled. Being touched, the urge to show off his new mass was overwhelming Opening his eye Duncan saw Ben attentively work his arms, failing to contain the moans of the sensual therapy. His eyes peer over the hulking boy, muscles barely contained in his clothes. His own the same; his massive pecs had blocked the view of his whole body apart from nothing he had only just noticed. As Ben rubbed his body more and more, the small towel over his groin rose higher, and had been since Duncan lay on his back. Bens hand moved back to the pecs, “your chest is really tense,” he said quietly, attentively going back to massage it. His hands moved quickly, and his thumb brushed over the nipple. Duncan’s body jolted on the bench, his cock now painful as it rose to full mast. “Sorry about that,” said Ben, clueless to the beast the stirring. He moved down the cobbled brick abs, hard as granite against his fingers, his hands flat against the stone wall gut, sent another ripple of electricity through Duncan’s body, he moaned as his back arched. Ben’s hands moved down the flank, all this to test the tension and the work needed but as he brushed against the glutes again, Duncan’s body jerked harder. “AAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhh” came the thunderous roar, a geyser of hot white cum erupt from his cock, his swollen balls emptied their load over his abs, splatter of the cream spread across his pecs, running down to the deep valley between. “Oh god!” he exclaimed, euphorically at first, a moment to catch his breath as the last few loads emptied on to his eight pack and he shot back up on to his feet. “Oh god!” this time less euphoric and more horrified, “I’m really sorry,” he lent forward, thick arm wrapping around his torso as he tried to hide the white puddles. “Can’t say that’s happened before,” said Ben, moving towards the cupboard, whether sincere or sarcastic, Duncan, couldn’t tell. He still held the towel against his still hard cock. Trying to wipe him clean, the load was too much and to thick for the small patch of fabric he had. “Damn, sorry dude, I’m out of towels,” “Do you have a shower I could-“ “No, nearest are...” he paused trying to remember, “The pool, down the left, just try to avoid Owen and Lewis-“ the rest of the sentence was cut off as the door slammed shut. Duncan sped out as fast as he could, with only the towel in his hand to cover himself up. [5’9’’, 244 lbs, 20%, 11.5’] 13:45 Rushing down the hallway, Duncan hid his new massive cock with the tiny towel that had covered it during the massage. He wiped the cum that dripped from the thick head, and the towel was soaked. He didn’t see much point in using it any further, even with his abs and pecs coated in his thick hot white cream. The smell of chlorine was becoming stronger and he was hit by a wall of warm muggy air. The corridors and rooms, floor and walls, were now lined with tiles, warmer than the carpet against his bare feet. He felt he was moving in the right direction for the pool and the showers they had there. He followed the signs “please shower before using the pool”, passing changing room and lockers. Pretty standard for every pool he’s been too. The changing areas were void of anyone else but the echoes of splashing water nearby. He guessed there must have been at least ten others sprinting relentlessly up and down the lanes from the thunderous noise. Towels were stacked on small trolleys, parked on every other corner next to a laundry bin of new ones. The towels were stacked in a pyramid, smaller hand towels at the top with the larger beach size down at the base. Duncan quickly slipped in to one of the bathrooms. For a brief second he stood and listened to the silence. Happy he was in there alone he threw the towel into the sink and let the tap runs, soaking the towel and wiping down his pecs and cobbled eight pack, hoping to wash away any traces of his shame and embarrassment. With most of it gone, he snuck back outside, throwing the evidence into the wash and grabbing a fresh towel. He reached for the ones at the very bottom, pulling loose without toppling over the rest. But as he wrapped it around his narrow waist it barely met in the middle because of his massive muscular thighs. Tugging and pulling harder, it only just stretched to cover his quads but a semi hard snake could still be seen hanging between his legs. He bunched up the towel to hide his throbbing cock, like he struggled to with the one Ben handed him, and move wondered in search of showers. As much as he was dreaded the idea, he had to move towards the sound of other people. Naked and barely concealed, he checked everywhere for showers, other than the direction the sound of swimming and conversation was coming from. There were no walls between the changing areas and the pool, just regular spaces for lockers and cubicles. Getting to the pool was a case of weaving around them left then right, then left, and right, until you reached the large glass chamber. The showers were built into the pillars that the held up a tier of seats above the changing area, seven by seven feet chamber with the opening facing into the pool. The pool itself was everything Duncan could have wanted, and as Ben had described; twice the length of an Olympic standard, a new level in endurance training. Still the problem was present; a naked boy wondering into a shower in full view of the public. He wondered closer to it. Other than the guys in the pool, there weren’t any others around, maybe he could get in rinse off and get out without being spotted. He peered around the corner for a while, Ben had mentioned something, two names, guys to watch out for but other than the swimmers there were no lifeguards patrolling the perimeter of the pool. Next thing was to watch the swimmers; he saw their arms slice through the water, the heads bob up and down and legs kick widely as everyone opted for free style, but no breaks, so stops, no coming above water to catch their breaths, they just didn’t stop. Drill laps without the switches and the breaks. Time to bite the bullet, he thought, since no one was coming up for air, now was a good a time as any; he lightly hopped up from the changing area and swung around the pillar, keeping to the wall and eyes out on the open. He reached and flung the taps on. Hot water jetted down from the ceiling, there was no quieter setting between monsoon and off. Duncan tossed the small towel aside, now soaked in hot water, he turned the temperature as high as his skin could handle and then let steam build up and fog peoples’ view of his naked form. His hands run up and down his body, the first time he’s actually taken to drink in his new form. Up and down the cum soaked abs his hands felt more than just the flat stomach he was used to. The massive mounds of muscles were now staked between his semi hard cock and his pecs, eight clear and lean blocks. He dared not left his hand wonder further down; he only just made it to shower to clear off the last mistake he made, giving into uncontrollable urges. But heading further up wasn’t any better. Two titanic mounds of pectorals were hard a steel, as he massaged and caressed them they didn’t yield, they weren’t supple under his touch. His nipples perk even in the heat were insanely sensitive to touch, his fingers lightly glided over them and his entire body quaked in pleasure. “What are you doing?!” spinning around his heavy body, Duncan turned to face the voice. A man as clothed as Duncan was entered the cubicle, wet from the pool water he walked in, head just missing the roof of the shower, and went to the neighbouring controls and joined the boy. “Showers are only for swimmers.” He said washing his sleek muscular body. Duncan stood there, frozen. His heart was racing, pounding against the chest wall so hard he could hear it over the rushing water. The other man used the soap dispenser and started lathering up his body, his hand ran up and down his arm, a sleeve of tattoos up the right, obscured with jutting pecs. “So?” he asked. Duncan stood again silent and frozen to naked to naked with the lifeguard. “Are you swimming?” “Oh” the synapses in Duncan’s brain started firing again, the shock and daze faded slight but his heart was still drumming against the chest wall. “I…er…don’t have any,” “See Lewis at the deep end,” he replied cutting in, if the other guy was Lewis, this had to make this guy Owen. “He has some speedos or trunks, they can be charged to your room…unless you’re hiding a wallet on you somewhere” Duncan slowly turned around shying his butt away from the other man, but a 9’ semi was peeking out from under the foam. “I’m Duncan,” he introduced himself, veering the conversation elsewhere “Duncan? Why does that sound…you checked in this morning, got the free Spartan upgrade,” “Yea,” “I’m Owen,” confirmed. “What do you think so far, something else huh?” Duncan hadn’t noticed his head nodding at that comment, “Anyway, get to it, deep end.” “But” Duncan started hands covering his manhood “Now.” Popping his head out from the veil of steam, Duncan took another look around. He spotted one other guy at the far end, ducking down to get to the showers, but other than that everyone else was blazing up and down the lanes of the pool. He turned to the other end; clearing marked on the far wall as ‘DEEP’ and spotted the dark silhouette who’s body stretched as high as the wall. He walked down, long strides, freely moving, the meekness seemed to have been washed away as he proudly walked naked, to the far end. He took time to feel himself, not with his hands but with his body, feeling every muscle contract, flex and stretch out, the quads and calves thick and steel like, while the muscles his pecs and broadened shoulders rolled as he swung his heavy arms. At the desk his was presence was felt under his weighty steps. The boy at the other end, contending in size and mass with Duncan, was crouched down in red trunks by a box of googles. He turned around to stare at Duncan. “Hey there,” Duncan spun his head around to look back at the showers, and back at the lifeguard “H-how did you get down here before me?” The lifeguard looked confused for a second until it twigged. “I’m Lewis,” for Duncan he was still missing that revelation, looking again over his shoulder an identical lifeguard walked down, in grey and blue trunks. Owen walked around the back of the desk to join his twin brother. Owen and Lewis started rummaging through the low shelves. “You’ve been to see Ben then?” “Obviously, what are you a 34 waist?” “Gonna need to go a few sizes up to fit everything.” “It’ll stretch” “How far in advance did you have to book that?” “He means the appointment with Ben,” At this point with the trunks hidden behind the desk, Duncan had lost track of which of the brothers were talking, “I didn’t” “What?” “He must have just rocked up there whenever” “Lucky timing” “We’ve been trying to get in there since we started working here” “No luck though, Benny boy is popular” “You can guess” “Good results” They both stood out, tearing open a new pack of swimming trunks, this pair in a black, almost dark blue in the light. Red took the pair of trunks, walked before Duncan and got down on his knees before the naked boy, while Blue slowly moved around to stand behind the teen giant. “Lift your foot” Red said, before Duncan could insist he could dress himself, the twins had already taken on the job with great satisfaction. Red and Blue helped pull it up, it just about managed to move up past the diamond cut calves without getting caught. But as they approached the massive quads Duncan had built that morning, they tugged and pulled, stretching the fabric over the wide and vascular muscles. The trunks seemingly indestructible, made it past and up to Duncan’s junk. “Mind tucking it in,” asked Blue as he stood up beside the boy, “unless you need a hand?” Nervously Duncan shook his head, grabbing his swelling cock and balls he pushed it down into the trunks; the front had a pouch, a little extra give for the insanely endowed. Two fingers pulled either side and the waistband snapped, both boys enjoying the snug fitting. “They’ll have to do,” said Lewis/Blue “We don’t have anything bigger than that,” “Anyway we’ll charge that to your room,” “You can hit the lanes.” Without further encouragement Duncan sheepishly gave his thanks to the twins before making haste to the edge of the pool. He hopped in, sending a wide wave of water out in every direction. The other swimmers were too far away at this point to feel the goliath shift in the flow and current. Kicking off the wall, he felt the ceramic crumble between his toes, as he jetted forward. His massive bulk cut through the lane as every muscle tensed and pulled his body through the water. All working at once, stretching and flexing, he felt his entire body, huge thick and powerful, working as one and getting him to the far end of the pool in a half the strokes it would have done in the weak sleek form he wanted walked into the resort with. He spun and kicked away, again feeling the stone yield under the strength of his quads. He worked harder now he knew and felt what his new body could do, his muscles relaxed and went tort as he stretched further and further for a greater stroke. His hands reached out further ahead and legs kicked away wildly. Lap after lap, he swam ceaselessly, a body made for speed and power. He lost counts of the lap, but knew he did more now than he ever could have done. As the glass dome began to dim the afternoon moved into evening, he paused for air, the first time perhaps in the few hours he spent in the pool. The area was empty, other than the two twins watching and applauding from the stand, now that Duncan’s head rose above the water to hear. Pulling his body out, he struggled to stand, dazed and little dizzy, not from exhaustionA but from a lost sense of himself. Strength and balance perhaps? No, he saw the ground beneath him further away than it had been before. Looking down, even as thick pecs blocked the view of his throbbing meat and his own feet, he saw the black tiles were now smaller. As he ambled towards the shower, blinking, hoping his vision would become normal, he noticed the top of the doorways which were once feet above him, now come down to his pecs. The second he left the shower he gave into the feeling on his new sense size and strength. Forgetting until the next reminder, that something was happening to him. [8’5’’, 262 lbs, 8%, 11.5’’]

Hey guys! Hope everyone has been enjoying the new forum like I have. If you haven't already bookmarked my brand new website, I posted this story earlier today. It's been a long time since I've written a macro story, and while it still mostly focuses on muscle, I'm sure there is going to be something for everyone in this story. Enjoy! ******************************** It was strange to say that someone would want to outgrow their own home, but high school senior Zachary Parker wanted exactly that. He stood there naked in the bathroom, a giant of nothing but muscle and young teen sweat, eyeing his shower like it was the competition. He knew today just had to be the day. The young teen was teetering on 400 pounds of solid muscle after this mornings workout. His body felt so incredibly pumped, so unstoppably huge. He knew immediately as he put one foot into the shower that things were definitely different. The small growths that he had been experiencing were nothing compared to the explosion of muscle that had happened earlier. There was no telling how huge he had grown this morning (with a smashed scale now sitting in his bedroom). All he knew was that the shower began to make this horrific cracking noise, the pipes inside the walls strained, and even the tiles began shattering like glass. “It’s finally happening...” Zach snickered. It was actually almost hard for the muscle teen not to get aroused at this point. He had been fantasizing about this moment for so long, he almost didn’t even know where to start. He figured he would do something that would typically be innocent, washing his body for example. There was almost that sinister chuckle as he popped of the cap. There was no way the shower going to hold, just no fucking way. As he began lathering up his mountainous hairy pectorals, the first bolt blew off the wall, bouncing off his 70 inch muscle chest. Zach just laughed and continued casually washing his chest, hearing the strain of the metal framework, the impending destruction of the all the grout and plaster holding everything together. With a flinch of his giant hairy legs, a flex his mountainous arms and barndoor-wide back, he triggered another small growth. It was almost frightful how comical the young god thought the whole thing was. There was such an overwhelming amount of joy he felt feeling his body squeeze and fill the tiny space, just like when he had outgrown the houses small door frames. With barely any effort, and what felt like pounds of muscle packing onto his frame, his shoulders and legs become wedged and almost stuck between the showers bending frame... STRRRAIIINN CRACK Zach watched in amazement. The cheap walls around him collapsed to the floor like they were nothing to him; childrens architecture in the face of a real god. With his body now totally unleashed, completely exposed, there was almost a part of Zach that wanted to just keep growing until the he filled the entire bathroom. A fun thought, bringing him a small chuckle. He figured though he should probably wait, he wanted to enjoy every minute of this. He arrogantly stepped on the broken shower door and crushed the plastic frame beneath his feet. After the shower it was onto the clothes, his third favorite part of the morning. Everything he wore was a size XXL and up, yet it still seemed to be no match for his hulking muscle boy body. The once super sized varsity football tank barely even reached the upper part of the teens hairy brick plated abs. It was all caught between the teens boulder sized hairy pecs which seemed to almost stretch over a foot off his breast cage, nipples the size of fucking pancakes, the most immense canyon of hair and muscle. Next came his fully tailored briefs, white just the way he liked them. The pouch was specifically designed for the teens heavy nut suck and enormously large foot long cock. Truth be told though, as crazy as it sounded, his manhood was almost starting to look comically average when compared to the size of his gigantic muscle body, small even. Even though Zach was a little disappointed that it had seemed to stop growing like it once did, there was a small satisfaction knowing that he managed to make MELON sized testicles look small. By the time Zach got downstairs for breakfast, he was the definition of obscenity. After his briefs, the giant teen had somehow manage to squeeze himself into his last remaining pair of custom 46X38 jeans. His dad nearly choked on his coffee watching the morning news. Even though he lived with the giant muscle teen twenty four seven, nothing could have prepared him for the way that Zach looked this morning. “You see something you like old man?” Zach taunted, flexing one his gigantic arms. He knew what his dad was looking at, it was the same thing he was always looking out. While his father was mostly straight, he recently learned that the man was a total fag for big muscle arms, and now that his monster teen biceps were a record breaking 28 inches in size, chiseled like some hairy fucking mountain of muscle, engorged in the most disgusting display of vascularity, he knew there was no way his dad would stand a chance. Zach just arrogantly whiffed his own pitts, watching his father's crotch bulge between his jeans. It really was only a matter of time before the old man would crack. Eighteen years old and he was already among some of the biggest muscle studs in the world. He was literally a factory of testosterone, dripping with power, effortlessly packing on more muscle and hair then most bodybuilders could ever dream of. "How b-big are they now s-son...?" His dad could barely ask the question. Zach menacingly thumped a little closer. It must have been his undersized white tank and swollen blue jeans that was making his dad really whimper today. He knew it really was the perfect choice of outfit to show off his unstoppable growing teenage physique. He never understood why so many muscle men hid beneath their baggy gym clothes all day when they could look like this. The clothes were so tight, so painted onto his super roided out muscle-boy body that you could even see detail in his rock hard nipples and firehose sized cock. After all It was because of this his own old man was literally sitting there in his recliner with a full on erection beneath his jeans; no remorse, no hiding, he had totally lost it over his big muscle boy. The drool just wept from his dad’s lips like an endless river, I mean school girls had more control than this. That’s not to say there wasn’t a small part of Zach that was totally getting off on this moment. After all what son doesn't look forward to totally dwarfing their dad when they grow up. “Why don't you take a guess" Zach finally decided to start, raising one of his meaty muscle boy arm. His triceps hung there like huge hairy slabs of meat, while his bicep, it was like looking at a mountain of muscle, swelling bigger with every passing second. The young teen smirked as his unmatchable and magnificent muscle peak went flexing past his own eye level, swelled beyond his own head, squeezed into his own face. It was long until the freaky mammoth peak reach it's full and daunting size of 28 inches. “O-oh my g-god, LOOK at it!!” His father stuttered pathetically "Ooooh yeah that's right, biceps bigger than your fucking waist!” Zach squeezed his bicep that much bigger. It was then he looked down with a sneer and watched it happen like clock work. His fathers cock, like every other man’s, began throbbing faster and faster between his legs; the size of his young muscles, the enormity of his pits, the sheer stench of his musk, even the straightest of men couldn’t handle it. His dad just shamefully began blowing what had to have been the biggest load of his adult life, right in between his own jeans. He clenched the sides of his armchair as he continued to look up, struggling to hold back his cries of pleasure. "You know I'm going to outgrow this entire house right dad?" “Breakfast!" His mom shouted "Yes!!" Zach said with excitement. The teen rested his giant arm, leaving his now humiliated father to soak in his own shame. The entire house now made that daunting thump as he took each hulking step towards the completely loaded breakfast table. His mother like most mornings had prepared a meal large enough for a whole feast; pancakes, sausage, eggs, bacon, potatoes, all piled up like endless rolling hills, enough for ten people at least. Zach felt his large cock bloat between his monster legs like it always did before a feast. The notion that every bit of this food would soon turn into raw muscle was such a get off. He couldn’t wait to get in there and stuff his face so he could grow even more. “Thanks for breakfast mom” Zach gently kissed her on the forehead "w-wow just look at you this morning" Just like his father, his mom seemed to have an extreme attraction for certain parts of the male physique. For years he had been catching her stare down at his monster muscle thighs and epic bubble butt, but just like his dad, this morning she couldn’t resist from full on “deer in headlights” mode. She was especially glancing at his hefty horse-sized teenage package. Zach smirked having to admit his lower half was ridiculously gigantic, in fact it was almost becoming a struggle to walk. He figured, in the same unorthodox fashion as earlier, that he would give his mother an equally as impressive show. “You like these legs mom?” Zach widened his stand, slowly beginning to flex his guerilla sized thighs. It was only a matter of seconds before the blue denim began to snap and tear along what was probably the most muscular legs in the human race. Zach eagerly watched her awestruck face as the first tear had formed along his right leg. The denim fabric was practically painted onto his skin at this point. You could see everything, absolutely every freaky detail of his monstrously out of control thighs. There wasn't a single doubt that they had to 38 inches of bone crushing hairy muscle, yet there they were growing bigger, beefier! SNAP “Ooooh yeah…” SNAP “Get a load of this mom!!” Zach chuckled like a kid at Christmas. Both seams had blown open, relieving only momentary pressure. Lucky for him though, it was far from over. As the arrogant stud flexed even further, It wasn’t long before the rest of the blue denim threads began snapping away off his jeans like power-lines in a thunderstorm. His mom squealed and covered her mouth as the most monstrous hairy thighs began squeezing out of his large denim jeans. Zach had to keep adjusting his stance wider and wider to accommodate the irregular amount of size his ultimate leg flex was taking on. They already had to be a freaky 39, maybe even 40 inches of solid muscle, biggest on the planet! Within his own two feet spread almost further apart than he could bare, the large bulging zipper that contained his jaw breaking cock BURST open. THUMP His mom fainted. “Is she ok!?” His little brother spoke up, watching the whole spectacle from the large breakfast table. When Zach finally turned around, his little brother could see why there mother fainted. Between his barely held together jeans was the teens giant manhood stretching his white briefs between the gaping zipper hole. The poor kid couldn’t even grasp how anyones cock could ever achieve such size. The enormous and freaky cock head looked bigger than his own fist, a piss slit so huge you could stick your tongue down it. “You know I’m starting to think my clothes aren’t going to last through the day...” That’s all Zach said. He knew his giant cock was tenting his briefs through his jeans, exposed for his little brother to lay his scrawny virgin eyes on, but he didn’t care. He looked back down at the opulent breakfast feast and felt his stomach rumble with immense hunger. He began walking forward, feeling the house truly thump this time. Dishes in the cupboards rattles, the floorboards beneath his giant feet almost bent. He knew colossal thighs must have been approaching near the immobile territory. There was such strain and heft to his footsteps, enough even to make Zach wonder just how much bigger he could grow. As he pulled out one of the chairs, even attempting to sit down almost seemed to be struggle. His thighs were just swollen against one another. He widened his stance once more, wrapped his legs around the specially reinforced seat. You could hear his remaining clothes crack and strain. It was always the sound people heard before the teen would burst through his own clothes, before thousands of more dollars would be spent trying to keep him looking somewhat normal and decent. "How much you want to bet I could eat this whole thing Jeremy?" He said with a cocky grin, watching his little brother poke away at small plate of food. With one of his huge burly hands he lifted one of the serving plates up to his face. His monstrous cock just bulged even bigger underneath his briefs as he gazed his hunger upon 24 deliciously scrambled eggs. With one of the now seemingly small forks on the table he began wolfing them down his throat. Only a few minutes later he moved onto the meats, the potatoes, and finally finished off with the pancakes. Of course with all this new fuel being added to his body, Zach started to slowly grow once more. As he consumed what must have been over 20 pounds of food, what remained of his jeans began tearing away hopelessly. He didn’t even have to flex this time, even move, he was just getting bigger! RIIIIIIIIPPPPPP "Fuck yeah, look me grow little bro!" Zach was so unapologetic. He continued to eat like a beast, packing on muscle faster and faster, scarfing down every last bit of food on the table. He even grabbed his brother left overs and lifted the plate to his mouth, dumping the food into his mouth like some dump trunk, finishing it all off with one loud gulp. SNAP The chair collapsed. With his now unimaginable weight, it sounded as if a bomb went off as he went crashing to the floor. His little brother just squealed as the hardwoods beneath his global butt exploded upward, the dust and plaster from the ceiling went falling to the ground, and the walls and windows surrounding the kitchen cracked; It felt as if a fucking 6.0 earthquake had just hit the house, yet It was really just one teens accidental destruction. Zach just laughed arrogantly, slowly picking himself back up. His tank had ripped free during the incident, and what little denim remained on his legs soon began to rip free as he stood up. Standing there now in just his barley strapped on briefs, Zach looked around realizing he must have now stood almost 7’5”! “I think I’m going to have to start thinking of a new goal with the way this house is shrinking so fast...” Zach laughed deeply. The excitement of his impending demolition of his childhood home was getting him so rock hard he couldn’t bare to stop. Jeremy nearly pissed his pants as his own gigantic brother raised both of his large arms in the air. So powerful they seemed, yet you could tell there was significantly more of a struggle to move then there was before. Zach knew within an instant that extreme immobility was beginning to take place. There was no longer a space reserved for the him to wash his hair or even scratch his neck. It was just muscle swelling into muscle. Zach teased though anyways, playfully trying to demonstrate a simple crab pose from his onlooking kid-brother. He barely got half way before his biceps squeezed into his face, his elbows bumped into the ceiling above. His biceps had to to be well over 34 inches at this point, so big in fact they threatened to crush his own face like a grapefruit. Unlike most men though who would cower in fear over this situation, Zach just snickered, and reached his tongue out for one massive worshipping lick. "You know I think I can guess what muscles you like most..." Zach sneered down at his brother “... you like my pecs don’t you?” Zach thumped closer, towering over two feet taller than the barely adolescent teenager. With one of his big hairy knuckled hands he relentlessly squeezed one of his boulder sized furry pecs like some crazed muscle worship video. He almost felt bad taunting him like this, the kid was always so nice, so supporting of his insatiable desires. The fact was though, even a boy of his age wanted to see something like this. “You know I can barely see below them...” Zach chuckled “That’s not to say I don’t want them bigger though” Zach gripped his fist together in front of him, purposely ballooning his mountainous pectorals almost two feet off his breast cage. With the small whimper his brother seemed to release, he knew this was his muscle of choice. It was only a few seconds of growth before Zach literally couldn’t see below them. He grinned with a freaky satisfaction knowing that he would no longer be able to see his own two feet, suck on his own cock, do anything remotely normal. He just proudly kept on growing them until they became so enormous, so astronomically huge, that even his own chin helplessly started to be pushed up. “Are these big enough for you yet little bro!?!” Jeremy whimpered. He had always admired the superheroes in movies with a nice thick set of pecs, but this was taking things to a whole new level. Massive rolling hills of hairy muscle, bigger then fucking tires, now hung from his macro-addicted big brother’s chest. He wanted to lick and worship every inch of this chest, suck on those rock hard freaky sized nipples. As he thought about this though, he heard the strain of something below. He gulped and slowly looked down, not wanting to almost see what he knew had been growing... “Ooooh yea, DIG IT little brother” SNAP Zach’s briefs went exploding onto Jeremy’s head. The poor kid whimpered as the most horrendously musky and pre-cum soaked fabric covered his face. The smell that crept into his young nose was intoxicating, so musky and yet sweet he almost didn’t want to stop smelling. After what must have been finally a few minutes, Jeremy reached up pulled down the yellow cum stained fabric, witnessing the tremendous thump of his brothers head hitting the ceiling. Zach casually reached up and pushed his hands against the ceiling. There was that extra moment you could tell he thought about it, what he was really doing. It was short lived, because only a few seconds later, that thought turned into delightful chuckle. “It’s time the world witnesses a new god...” And with that, Zachary, outgrew his house.

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

* hey guys sorry for wait again, FYI the pics will not be of the same guy, just pulled random pics based on current and future physiques* 11/4/13 OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!!! I can't explain how i look and feel right now, those pills god damn work, here's me last night: http://www.fitnessandpower.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/skinny1.jpg And me now: http://www.purelifts.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/How-to-build-muscle-naturally-for-skinny-guys1.jpg As you can see there has been a major change overnight and that was just 1 pill, imagine if i took 2 or 3 a night, hmmmmm. Anyway jack left for his training camp this morning, so i ended up going to the gym on my own, the workout clothes i had worn in previous weeks still fit but they were really tight on my new body, i had pecs now so they pressed tight against the t-shirt, the t-shirt also hugged my abs quite nicely, my bi's n tri's caressed the arms of the t-shirt without it being tight against them, my legs have gained some mass and definition, the joggers i have still fit properly but but slightly hugged my thighs and butt. I arrived at the gym and was greeted not by looks of total astonishment but looks of slight shock by seemingly rapid weight and muscle gain since yesterday. I went onto the gym floor with a slight air of confidence about myself knowing that i would be able to lift heavier than i had yesterday, now im not going to go through all the exercises that i did because there is other things i need you all to see but here is what i lifted today compared to first day: Bench - 1st day 5kg - Today 55kg Squat - 1st day 10kg - Today 60kg Deadlift - 1st day just bar - Today 60kg Pullups - 1st day not one - today 10 Dips - 1st day non - Today 15 Bicep Curls - 1st day 8kg - today 18kg As you can see guys there has been a major shift in strength just imagine wot i can lift in a few days!!! i went back into the locker room and looked in the mirror, wow oh wow, i had a epic pump going on, i couldn't resist flexing my bi's, my god they formed a decent size lump which stretched my sleeve to the limit, i didn't have a tape with me to measure but i measured them when i got in and they measured 15" when i first started i was lucky if they broke 7" so im fucking buzzing at mo. Im off college today but i feel as though i should share these next two pics with you, i got a text earlier from buff dave, it read TAKE A LOOK AT THESE, DAVE. The first pic is dave taking a topless selfie and my god he is buff n getting ripped. The second is the gargantuan Alex who according to dave kindly supplied him with a pic all im saying is HUUUUUUGE. http://sv6.postjung.com/picpost/data/254/254826-52becde0acf23.jpg http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ey6zXv2ObK8/UG0gPJuprqI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/OB9DDttEgUs/s640/394201_360658400674888_104173225_n.jpg As you can see there both pretty damn built in there own right!!! Day off gym tomorrow as at college all day, i intend to ask how dave was given a pic of alex so kindly supplied by him. Anyway i will update tomorrrow if i can if not it will be the next day

Here is a story I posted on the old forum. I'm re posting it here in preparation for posting a multi-part continuation I started called "Containment", which I don't think I ever got around to posting on the old forum. I'm having issues with formatting (took forever to whip this post into shape) so when I finish fixing the continuation, I'll post it too. Part 1 Bruce Banner watched cautiously from concealment. He was just inside a thickly wooded, dark forest that appeared to border a public park. Minutes earlier, he had awakened nearby on the forest floor. Now, he was trying to figure out where the Hulk's latest rampage had landed him, once the beast's rage had spent itself enough to allow the unstoppable green powerhouse to transform back into the trim, sensitive physicist. The park was nearly deserted. Still, the half-naked man was reluctant to show himself. The army's Hulk-Buster unit was probably combing the country-side in search of his alter ego and drawing attention to himself before he was able to find some suitable clothing was not a good idea. He hunkered down lower into the undergrowth as someone came running toward him. At first he was afraid he'd been spotted, but the young man approaching at a run, veered slightly and entered the tree-line along a trail that led deeper into the woods. The kid appeared to Banner to be twenty-years old at the oldest. He had close-cropped coppery, red hair and a light dusting of freckles on his arms. He was even skinnier than Banner, but appeared to be close to the same height. Which made the fact that he was clutching a duffel-bag of the type one might use to carry a change of clothing very interesting to Banner. Bruce decided to trail the kid and see if he might leave that duffel unattended at some point, long enough for the desperate scientist to make off with it. The kid slowed once he was well into the woods. He was wearing baggy, athletic shorts and a tank-top that had "Middleton Maulers" printed across the chest in red letters. Banner refined his estimate or the young man's age to somewhere in the range of a high-school upperclassman. The totally lost physicist tried to mentally place a city or town called Middleton in order to glean some insight into his whereabouts. Unfortunately, he wasn't familiar with any such locality. The kid came to a stop in a small clearing. He stood for a moment, breathing heavily, then moved to take a seat on a large rock, tossing his duffel to the ground beside him. ***** Christopher Sean O'Malley took a seat in the small clearing in the woods by Greendale park. It was a place he often came to when he needed a little solitude. A senior this year at Middleton High School, he had just washed out at the tryouts for the school's football team for the fourth and final time. Even though Chris had always been the oldest kid in his class (he'd be nineteen in three months), he had always been a late bloomer. Kids two years his junior often out-performed him in sports and all his pubescent growth, which had FINALLY begun to manifest itself, was coming in the form of added height. Not that his current five foot, ten inches was really all that tall, but at least he was no longer so noticeably shorter than his classmates. Still, this was small consolation for having just been so totally humiliated by no less than three sophomores and even one freshman in the football tryouts. The other boys seemed to progress effortlessly in their physical training endeavors. Ironically, Chris had become infatuated with the sport of bodybuilding at a very young age, and decided, in the way the young kids do, that he was going to be one when he grew up. For years, Chris exhausting himself regularly with a pretty intense weight-training program, yet no amount of lifting seemed to have the slightest impact on his stick-like limbs. Frustratingly, it seemed that all around him, kids years younger were proudly tearing the sleeves from their old team workout shirts to showcase growing muscles to both approving coaches and admiring girls. Being denied the latter never really seemed to bother Chris, a fact that he subconsciously avoided considering, but the fact that none of the school's coaches ever had any reason to notice him was a constant source of frustration. On top of all this, Chris's comparative frailty made him a natural target for every belligerent miscreant in three grade-levels. As a result, he kept mostly to himself and had come to grudgingly accept a position as something of an outcast. Sometimes Chris wanted nothing more than to be able to overpower those bullies and maybe, just once, humiliate his other classmates who were, to the last guy, so physically superior to him. Realizing that he would never have what it took to succeed in bodybuilding, he dreamed of excelling at some manner of sport. Unfortunately, the only thing he came close to lacking more than physical prowess was any kind of athletic coordination. Chris contented himself with reading for amusement and studying. He wasn't a stellar student, but he did okay. He loved the sciences, but tried to keep that passion under wraps. There was no bigger tell that screamed "total geek" than being a science nerd, and he had enough working against him in that department. As if the odds weren't stacked against him enough to keep him from blending in with his classmates as an equal. He had recently discovered himself to be a mutant. Something that, if it became known to anyone else, was sure to make him even more of a pariah. Being a ‘mutie', as people like him were disparagingly referred to, was not only isolating, but dangerous. Especially since the mutant ability he manifested seemed about the most useless ‘power' imaginable. Chris stood and picked up a fragment of a decaying tree-limb from the ground. He thought he heard movement in the undergrowth nearby and stood motionless, listening until he was convinced no one was around. Holding up the limb, he concentrated and an aura of ghostly-white light formed around the limb. The aura quickly spread up his arm and soon engulfed his entire body as well as the tree-limb. Rearing back his arm, Chris hurled the limb away into the woods. But the white-aura remained around the limb, it stretched into a kind of tether that connected him to the branch. The tether stretched thinner until it slowed, then stopped the limb in mid-flight. Then with a strange elasticity, the ethereal tether snapped the limb back toward Chris, who deftly caught it in the same hand he'd used to hurl it away. Chris examined the limb then smirked. "Couldn't have been the ability to fly or shoot lasers from my eyes." He said, derisively. "No, I get the ability to turn anything I want into some kind of weird yo-yo." Chris shook his head. "Just my luck. For this, I get to be an even bigger freak than I was before." "Us freaks need to stick together." A voice said from behind Chris, causing him to jump and turn around. Banner had decided that this discouraged youth might be as much in need of a friend as he himself currently was, and that direct engagement was probably the way to go. He emerged from his hiding place and approached. "You...you were spying on me?" Chris asked disbelievingly. Then, more angrily. "You know? You know about me!" Banner held up his hands, trying to calm the boy. "It's okay, I wouldn't tell anyone, I promise." The thought of being exposed as a mutant by this interloper, as well as the lingering humiliation of being beaten yet again by younger guys in the football tryouts combined to fan the anger Chris felt at being spied on into a fiery rage. When he charged Banner, throwing a punch at the older man's exposed midsection it took Banner completely by surprise. Bruce felt the boy's punch land home, but instead of the wrenching pain he expected to accompany the gut-punch, he barely felt the hit at all. Banner was so used to being thoroughly trounced in any sort of physical confrontation that it took him a moment to realize that this kid was far weaker than even the slender scientist. Years of pent up rage boiled to the surface inside Chris and he hurled himself at Banner, his arms a flurry of ineffectual punches. "Look, kid..." Bruce began, but trailed off, momentarily amazed at how easily he was withstanding the young man's continued pummeling of his abdomen. "...I know what it's like to be different." Bruce abandoned his attempt to communicate and fell silent. The kid was so lost in channeling his anguish into his assault that Banner didn't think a rational discussion was possible. He decided to just let the young man vent. Also, it felt odd to be so much more powerful than someone else. It was strangely gratifying to shrug off such an intense assault with such ease. He felt his brutish other half stir somewhere in a dark corner of his mind. The feeling of relative strength Banner was experiencing must have resonated strongly with his powerful alternate persona. Chris's punches slowed. He stared in frustration at the strange man's lean and surprisingly strong abs, then to the look of concern on the man's face. There was no sign of discomfort at all. The younger man gulped as he gave up on his attack. He wondered with dread if their was going to be a counter attack from the slight, but obviously more powerful man. "Feel better?" Banner asked. He smiled, concentrating on not letting that smile slip into a smirk of superiority. Chris was suddenly very glad that he'd never taken his father's advice to punch out the next bully that picked on him. His father was constantly giving him pointers on how to throw a punch effectively and urging him to take the fight to aggressive bullies. But If this guy could withstand such an all out effort on his part, then his only hope for surviving an attack on some of the powerfully built jocks that tormented him in school would have been for them to collapse from laughter before they broke him in half. Chris stumbled back from the other man. He looked like he was about to flee the raggedly dressed stranger. Again Banner held up his hands and tried to calm Chris. "It's alright. I'm not angry and I'm not going to tell anyone your secret. But I would like to ask you if you have some clothes that I might....borrow." Bruce gestured toward the duffel nearby on the ground. "It's not like I could stop you from taking them." Chris managed with resignation. Banner's smile widened. "Don't feel too bad." He said rubbing his abs, casually. One of the benefits of being fairly scrawny was that it could really make a guy's abs stand out. "There are times when guys a hundred times as strong as you couldn't do any better." Chris just stared at Bruce with confusion. "Uhm...that power you were using earlier..." Bruce said, trying to distract the boy from his last comment, as well as gain the boy's confidence. "...might be that there's more to it. Sometimes mutant abilities can take a while to develop fully. My name's Bruce, by the way." Chris was slowly starting to accept the man's claim that he meant the boy no harm. If the guy had wanted to, the boy reasoned, he could have clocked him and then took what he wanted by now. As Chris's mind calmed, questions about the older man began to form in his head. "What happened to your clothes?" The man wore only the tattered remains of a reserved pair of khaki pants. Incongruously, Chris could see what appeared to be a racy, bright purple pair of underwear through the shredded material of the pants. "It's a long story." Bruce said then pointed at Chris's duffel. "May I?" Chris shrugged. "Sure." "Thanks." Bruce said, sounding relieved. He scooped up Chris's duffel and started pulling out the clothing inside. After briefly survey the removed contents of the bag, he stripped away the remainder of his khakis, revealing the completely undamaged purple underwear beneath. Chris watched the man pull on the pair of jeans and the t-shirt he found inside. The clothes fit the wiry stranger snugly, Chris noticed grudgingly. The same clothes hung loosely on him even though the two men were close to the same height. For Banner's part, he wasn't used to this sort of trendy clothing. The low-riding jeans and the vintage t-shirt fit him perfectly. It was a revelation to him that he might actually be able wear something like this well. He was approaching his mid-thirties, which wasn't that old, he reasoned. But it would have never occurred to him under normal circumstances to try on such clothing and he was surprised at how well it suited him. He was by no means a muscle-head, but the fitted nature of the outfit seemed to enhance his lean body to maximal effect. "What did you mean earlier? When you said us freaks have to stick together?" Chris asked, taking a seat once again on the large rock. Banner took a moment to consider his response. He had what he needed from the boy, so he didn't see any reason to involve him further in his plight. "Well, it's hardly normal to be lost and barely dressed in the middle of the woods now is it?" Chris looked disappointed. "So you're not a...a..." "Mutant?" Banner offered. "No, not exactly." "What? Were you kidnapped or something?" Chris asked. Banner grinned, ruefully. "Something like that, yeah." Banner changed the subject. "What's your name?" "Chris." The young man replied, reluctant to divulge his full name to this odd stranger. "Chris." Banner said with a nod. "Can you tell me where the nearest city is?" "Chicago is about 75 miles north of here." Chris offered. "Great." Banner sighed. He was several states from his base of operations in New Mexico. Clothed, but still barefoot, Banner started to head out of the woods then remembered how Chris had helped him out. He stopped and turned back to the kid. "Umm, Chris. Thanks a lot for the clothes." Banner patted the pockets of the jeans he now wore. "Do you have anything to write with?" Chris pulled a scrap of paper and a pencil from a side pocket on his duffel-bag and handed them to Banner, who proceeded to scribble down some information. "Contact this address and I'll see to it that you are reimbursed for your clothes." Banner handed the paper and pencil back to the boy. "If you're interested, I can put you in contact with some people who'd be able to help you to deal with your mutant ability." Banner offered cautiously, wondering if his passing acquaintance with Professor Charles Xavier might be enough to justify steering the boy in the educator's direction. Chris's eyes widened with fear. "NO! You said you wouldn't tell anyone." Banner put a calming hand on the boy's narrow shoulder. "And I won't." He assured him. "It's totally your call." Banner wasn't sure what else he could do for the boy, particularly if he wasn't ready to accept help. "I've got to go, but remember that if you ever change your mind...." Chris shook his head emphatically to indicate that he wouldn't. "...alright then." Bruce relented. One more bit of guidance occurred to him that he might offer the boy. "If you're determined to go it alone, you need to work to make sure you understand the scope and nature of you mutant ability." Chris looked confused. Banner tried to explain what he had in mind. "There are some pretty useful meditative techniques that I've used in the past to...umm, to manage anger." Chris couldn't imagine that this gentle-seeming man would have much of a problem with his temper Bruce continued. "They basically just involved learning to clear your mind and focus on the nature of whatever it is that troubles you. The technique is also helpful in allowing you to control and explore certain things - like your mutant ability." "I don't think I understand." Chris replied, looking lost. "Maybe a demonstration would be better, here." Banner motioned for Chris to follow him to a nearby grassy area. "Just lay here and relax." After Chris hesitantly did so, Banner knelt by the boy and continued. "Clear everything from your mind, don't try and force this to happen, just imagine your thoughts all falling away. Concentrate on one thing - like the sound of your breathing - until it's all there is." Chris lay still and silent. He seemed to become more relaxed by the second. After several minutes Banner broke the silence. "Looks like you're a natural at this." Banner said softly. Chris opened his eyes and blinked. He almost seemed surprised that Banner was there at all. Banner continued his coaching. "Now try the technique again, but this time, instead of concentrating on your breathing, concentrate on your mutant ability. When you're totally focused on it, use it...explore it." Again, Chris closed his eyes. The random thoughts in the back of his mind all dropped away. For a moment, Chris wondered how to concentrate on something as abstract as his mutant ability. He decided to imagine his power as a perfects sphere. He visualized that sphere, then concentrated on it. He willed his power to activate and in his imagination the sphere began to glow. Banner watched as the glimmering glow he'd observed Chris generate earlier returned to Chris's hands, then spread to the rest of his body. Bruce smiled slightly and softly whispered "Thaaaat's right. Good man." Chris scrutinized the sphere in his mind's eye. At first it was perfectly round and continued to glow with luminescence like a soap-bubble. Subtle, swirling detail in the sphere's surface showed that it was spinning slowly. Then it began to wobble slightly. Chris noticed a second, much smaller sphere had appeared out of nowhere. It was adhered to the larger one. Unlike the larger sphere which had begun to glow when the boy had switched his mutant ability on, this new sphere remained dim. Chris focused his attention more onto the smaller orb and it began to grow. The non-glowing sphere was soon nearly equal in size to the other and it was growing faster and faster. The analogy of soap bubbles again seemed the best way to describe how the two spheres stuck to each other. The growing sphere quickly dwarfed the first one and swelled larger and larger. Soon the rapidly expanding dark orb seemed to blot out the horizons of Chris's imaginary space. It loomed over him like a great alien moon. Chris's heart-rate quickened as he tried to understand what was happening. He reached out with his mind to try to will the massive and expanding sphere to stop. Instead the sphere lit up like the first one had, only the light from the growing sphere was blindingly bright - to the point of being painful. Banner watched with growing alarm as Chris's tranquil expression became more and more troubled-looking. He had just decided to rouse the boy when the eerie glow surrounding him vanished and Chris sat bolt upright with a loud gasp. "Chris? What's wrong?" Bruce asked, wondering how the relaxation technique could have ended up distressing the kid instead. Chris clambered to his feet, breathing heavily. "I - I don't know." The boy looked very upset. "I think you'd better leave." There was something almost threatening in the boys tone. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong." Banner demanded firmly. Chris tried to push past Banner and leave himself, But Banner grabbed the boy by the shoulders. "Oh no you don't" Banner admonished as he held the struggling boy in place. He was concerned for the kid, but he also had to admit that his ego welcomed the opportunity to further test his strength against the young man. He found that he was easily able to overpower him. Chris struggled, but Banner held him easily. "Look, you wanted me to explore my mutant abilities and I did." Chris replied angrily. "I didn't want the first power and now, thanks to you I find out that I have another one!" Chris struggled more frantically. Banner shook him slightly to better get his attention. "What do you mean? What kind of other ability do you think you have?" "I don't KNOW!" Chris shouted. "Knowing my luck I can probably smell like a skunk cabbage on demand...just...let me GO!" With a surge of effort Chris slipped free of Banner's grip and stomped off. Bruce didn't want to leave Chris alone in such a state...and he found himself oddly miffed that the kid had broken free from his grip. Bruce sprinted after Chris and caught him by one arm. Spinning the thinner man around he bear-hugged him, pinning his arms, then lifted him bodily into the air and carried him back to the clearing. "You need to talk about this!" Bruce urged the boy firmly. "Let...ufff...let me go!" Chris squirmed futilely as he protested. "Struggling is going to get you nowhere." Bruce explained confidently. He squeezed until Chris let out a groan that trailed off into a whimper. "Awright...awright." He pleaded in surrender. "I give." Bruce was getting so caught up in the heady feeling of power he was getting from humbling the younger man that he was almost sorry Chris had given up. "Promise?" Bruce asked, prolonging the demonstration of his superior strength a bit longer. Chris's face went red as he ran out of breath. But Bruce could feel him nodding his head vigorously. That's when Banner felt something odd. Chris's soft, almost spongy feeling arms and torso went rigid inside his bear-hug. It was as though the boy transformed from helpless foam-rubber dummy into a writhing bundle of coiling sinew. Bruce released the boy even as he felt him seem to find this strange, inner reserve of energy. He reluctantly let him drop to the ground. Banner found himself relishing the idea that the boy might be able to offer more of a challenge to him. Bruce was surprised to see Chris almost immediately double over in pain. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you there, Chris." Bruce said, a hint of haughtiness creeping into the his concerned tone. Chris clutched at his stomach as he felt waves of strange and intense pressure course through his body. Even as his hands pressed into his middle in an instinctive attempt to somehow alleviate the unpleasant sensations, he felt his soft gut tighten and grow firm. He could feel ridges of muscle coalesce beneath his hands as if by magic. As he grew accustomed to the strange sensations running rampant throughout his body, he ran a hand along his upper arm. He stared at his arm in shock. It didn't look much different, but it definitely felt different The boy smirked. "I think I know what my other mutant power is." He straightened up and stared challengingly at Banner. "Well, good" Banner said as Chris approached closer to him. "You know what they say; Knowledge is power." Bruce slapped Chris on the back in an outwardly friendly manner, but put a lot more force behind it than was strictly necessary, as a way to remind the boy who was physically in control of this encounter. The scientist didn't like the defiant look the kid was suddenly sporting since picking himself up off the ground. Seemingly unaffected, Chris spread his arms and faced Banner directly. Those arms didn't seem quite as thin as before. Chris felt his anger return at Bruce's not so subtle attempts at physically cowing him. "Thanks for everything Bruce." Before Banner could react, Chris had enfolded the other man in an apparent embrace of gratitude. "Maybe I can give you some insight into what power is in return." With a small grunt, Chris actually lifted Banner off the ground. Again Banner decided to put the kid in his place and returned the embrace. Again he squeezed Chris hard in order to take the wind out of his sails. But this time, it felt like trying to squeeze a fence post. The boy laughed and inhaled deeply. His torso expanded to what felt like an impossible degree, forcing Banner’s arms open wider and then Chris gave Banner a squeeze of his own. "Arrrgh, Chris..." Banner grunted. He tried to free himself but it was no use. "Chris that hurts!" Chris continued laughing as he released Bruce, shoving him backward slightly. "And how about this? Does this hurt now?" Chris fired off a surprise punch into Banner's abs, but unlike the dozens of punches Bruce had easily absorbed from the boy earlier, this one slammed into Bruce's stomach with authority and knocked the wind out of him. "Unnnnfffff! H-how did you..." Bruce stammered as he struggled to remain upright against the pain in his abdomen. Bruce felt himself become angry at what he considered to be such an unfair surprise attack. He threw a reprisal punch of his own at Chris's stomach. His fist was stopped dead as though it had encountered the side of a house. Banner drew back his hand and rubbed his fist, which felt a little numb. Still smiling, Chris hoisted his shirt at the hem, revealing actual visible abdominal muscle where before he had only ever had a flat, but featureless stomach. "Looks like I'm finally going to be able to keep up with my classmates." Chris raised one arm right in front of Banner's face. "I wonder how many of them will be able to keep up with me now." Chris flexed his biceps and his formerly stick-like arm jumped into muscular relief. He looked like a well-trained member of a high-school swim team now. Moving swiftly, Chris placed the stunned Banner into a headlock and squeezed. Banner gripped Chris's forearms with one hand, his the boy's lead-pipe biceps with the other and strained in futility to free himself. Banner felt his face turn red from the pressure...and from his alarmingly increasing anger levels. "Chris....Chris. You have to stop." Banner gasped for the breath to continue. "...you're putting yourself...in danger." Banner tried to explain. Chris just laughed at Banner's perceived threat. He released the older man and shoved him once again, sending him stumbling. The boy was even more intoxicated with his newfound relative strength than Bruce had been. He advanced on Banner again and, slapping a hand on the other man's chest, he clutched a handful of the borrowed t-shirt. "I'm not sure why you think I'm the one in danger." With that and a growl of effort, Chris hoisted Banner off his feet with one arm. Bruce wriggled helplessly, suspended in mid air. He flailed for something to grab onto, finding only Chris's suddenly very sinewy arm. That arm trembled only slightly with the effort of holding Banner aloft. Otherwise, it was as though Bruce had grabbed onto an oak yardarm. "Now THIS is what I call a mutant ability." Chris chuckled with approval as he shook Banner slightly to reinforce his obvious, newfound physical superiority. "And I think I'm still getting stronger." Chris performed a biceps pose with his free arm. Instead of a champion swimmer, that arm now looked like it might belong to a fairly powerful quarterback. Just then, Banner began to scream as if in excruciating pain. This shocked Chris enough that he dropped the man back to his feet, whereupon Banner immediately crumpled to the ground. He curled into a virtual fetal position and began to make strange gurgling and growling noises. Chris recovered a little from his shock. "C'mon, you're not that fragile." Chris advanced and hauled Banner to his feet. He was further surprised to find that Banner was now a good foot taller than he was. The older man's face had taken on a more chiseled, primitive aspect and he was ever so slightly beginning to turn...greenish. "What!" Chris gaped. "What the hell are you?" Chris released the ever more hulking man and sprang back from him as Banner reared taller and became more intensely green in color. Chris watched as the cuffs of the jeans he had loaned Banner earlier rode up on the man's lengthening legs, then split open against calves that were the size of bowling balls and still getting bigger. The t-shirt was splitting along dozens of different tears and in moments it shredded to ragged strips against Banner's rippling, swelling torso. In a matter of seconds, the slim, lost man Chris had just met had transformed into a seven-foot tall mass of bulging green muscle. As the beast leaned back in a ground trembling roar of fury at the sky, Chris realized who...or what, he was now confronted with. "You...You're the Hulk?!" Chris exclaimed hoarsely, his throat constricting with fear. The boy finally overcame his shock and turned and fled at top speed. Part 2 The Hulk's post-transformational bellowing wound down and the brute stood looking around his new environment. The form of a fleeing human caught his eye as it disappeared into the thick woods that surrounded him. The Hulk absently swiped away a small shred of the t-shirt Banner had been wearing where it had managed to remain draped across one of his trapezius muscles, which was roughly the size and hue of a ripe watermelon. The Hulk vaguely recognized the retreating human by the shock of red hair on his head. Banner's desire to help the youth was all that had survived of the man's consciousness inside the Hulk's brutish mind. "Hulk help Chris." The Hulk muttered and then leapt into the sky above the trees, headed in the direction of the fleeing boy. Chris ran headlong through the woods. He nearly careened into several trees in his fright. It was hard to judge distance as he seemed able to run far more swiftly than he had ever been able to before. Up ahead, through the trees, he noticed one of the trails that criss-crossed the woods. He quickly tried to alter course so that he would intersect the path and follow it out of the forest. Then he did clip a sapling of about the thickness of a street lamp with his shoulder. He spun out of control and sprawled on the ground. He sat up blinking and looked around. He was near one of the many sculptures the city had contracted local artists to create and place throughout the park. A few of the sculptures had been placed along the wooded trails. This one looked like a set of free-floating, shipless sails. For having endured such a violent impact, he felt almost nothing. His gaze fell on the small tree he had collided with. Or rather, its remaining stump. It had splintered near the ground and been hurled several meters away by the impact of his body. Chris absently rubbed the shoulder that had felled the small tree. There was no pain at all. It didn't feel like his shoulder. It felt more like that of one of those tank-like kids he'd been utterly unable to compete with in one of his typically unsuccessful tryouts for the wrestling team. Remembering that the Hulk was nearby, Chris slowed his breathing to near silence and listened intently for any sign of the monstrous being. Chris's heart nearly stopped when the silence was suddenly shattered by the Hulk as he came crashing down from the sky, shearing off tree branches several times the size of the tree Chris had brought down. The beast landed effortlessly, batting away falling, telephone-pole thick branches. He strode toward Chris through a small blizzard of falling leaves and other arboreal debris. Chris felt adrenaline flood his body. He scramble to recover his footing and was about to sprint away as fast as he could when a hand, larger and thicker than a catcher's mitt, closed on his shoulder. "Why does muscle-boy run away?" The Hulk asked in a slightly annoyed voice that was like rolling thunder. It seemed an odd question from such an intimidating pursuer. Chris wondered if it was supposed to be a taunt of some kind. Then it dawned on him that the Incredible Hulk had just referred to him as "muscle-boy". He reflexively grabbed the Hulk's hand and tried to free himself, but it was like trying to pry open a vise. The Hulk scooped Chris up in one motion and attempted to tuck the boy under one arm. Chris managed to plant one hand against the Hulk's side, with the other he continued to pry at the Hulk's grip on him. For a moment he managed to frustrate the Hulk's effort at securing him, but the Hulk exerted more strength and easily overcame Chris's resistance. "Muscle-boy is stronger than other puny humans." The Hulk noted absently as he stomped off with Chris trapped and held immobile under one ridiculously muscular green arm. As Chris was carried along, his torso wedged between the insanely large biceps and triceps of the Hulk's upper arm and the brute's rippling mosaic of cobble-like obliques, he had quickly realized the futility of struggling. He relaxed and tried to calm himself in order to take advantage of any opportunity for escape that might present itself. Chris could feel the pressure of the Hulk's hold steadily increase. There was, so far, no accompanying pain or discomfort, but he wondered why the Hulk kept squeezing him harder when it was clear that he was already well and truly trapped. The Hulk grunted with irritation and readjusted his hold on Chris. "Muscle-boy can't get away. Stop fighting Hulk." The brute admonished. That's when Chris realized that the Hulk's grip wasn't tightening because the beast was squeezing harder, it was tightening because Chris was still getting bigger. He craned his neck to examine his right arm where it wrapped around the Hulk's own much larger right forearm as Chris held on. The boy's eyes widened with surprise. The Hulk's arm might be much, much larger than his, but he could definitely see why the Hulk was calling him ‘muscle-boy'. The biggest, toughest linebacker on his high school's football team would have killed to have an arm like that. Chris knew he wasn't in the Hulk's league, but he was beginning to wonder if he might be able to free himself with a surprise, strategically timed, all-out burst of effort He slowly began to exhale. He tried to precisely counter the effect of his growing musculature so that the Hulk would think that he had totally given up and was resigned to being held captive. Soon he thought he could detect a small relaxation of the Hulk's grip. He continued this for as long as he could and right before he was completely out of air - his lungs screaming at him to take a breath - he twisted as hard as he could in the Hulk's grip and shoved away with both arms with all the strength he could muster. To his surprise he felt himself slip the Hulk's hold. He landed on his feet just behind the Hulk and was able to quickly steady himself. "Huh!?" Then Hulk grunted with surprise. He stopped and whirled around, glaring at Chris in irritation. He couldn't understand why the boy was resisting his efforts to protect him from...what ever it was he needed protection from. The Hulk's simple mind was being driven only by the dimly remembered concern Banner had regarding Chris's well-being. Chris stood trying to catch his breath from the long period in which he had interrupted his normal breathing. He found himself momentarily distracted by unusual movement in his field of vision. He glanced down, realizing that the heaving motion of his breathing was causing his pecs to rise higher into view than they used to. Heck, he'd never even really HAD discernable pecs before. He ran a hand across his chest and was amazed at how the much thicker muscles there felt. His breathing under his rippling pecs felt like the slow revving of some immensely powerful engine. Chris was stirred from his infatuation with his burgeoning muscles by the sound of the low growl emanating from the Hulk as he moved in on him once more. The Hulk's child-like mental focus was beginning to drift from protecting Chris to being annoyed at being defied by this less-puny-than-usual, but still puny human. Chris's eyes widened and he froze in place, not sure which way to run. The Hulk stooped and arms more powerful than the mightiest earth moving machinery encircled Chris, who felt himself pulled against massive, slab-like, green pectoral muscles that seemed to stretch away on either side of his head for miles. "Muscle-boy will stop trying to fight Hulk." The Hulk demanded and then squeezed Chris to demonstrate his displeasure with the boy. Chris went white with fear. The Hulk's biceps seemed to advance like opposing bulldozers on either side of him, while the Hulks pecs bulged like a swelling liquid steel tide. Chris closed his eyes tight and tensed up, expecting to hear the sickening crack of his ribs giving out just before the Hulk crushed him. Instead, that earlier feeling of power he'd experience when concentrating on his own pecs returned, only it felt even stronger now. Wondering how much time he had before the Hulk overwhelmed him, Chris struggled to free his arms, but the Hulk had them pinned too solidly. The Hulk felt Chris's effort to move his limbs. "Muscle-boy will make Hulk hurt him." The Hulk warned with anger this time instead of mere irritation. The Hulk increased the power of his squeeze by what felt like a factor of ten. Not seeing how he could free himself from the now even more solid hold the Hulk had him in and fearing the Hulk might totally squeeze the breath out of him, Chris inhaled as deeply as he could. His chest expanded hugely, even against the Hulks ever thickening pecs. Chris flexed down hard with his own pecs to try and resist the Hulk's onslaught for as long as he could. Grimacing with effort, his eyes squeezed shut, Chris waited for the inevitable. He was suddenly aware of the irony of his situation. Just as he'd finally been miraculously granted the ability to avenge himself on all those guys who'd kicked him around all through school, fate had sent the strongest creature ever to take over the job of bullying him. The Hulk growled with increasing anger as he felt Chris flex against him. "Muscle-boy is strong." The Hulk grunted. Chris's eyes flew open. Was that a grunt of effort?! "But Hulk is STRONGER!" The Hulk bellowed. Chris's head whipped back and forth as he examined what was happening. Veins as thick as garden hoses surged in each of the Hulk's straining biceps and waves of undulating striations rolled along the surface of the Hulk's expansive chest as the brute brought more power to bear on the boy. The pressure on Chris's torso must have been beyond belief. But the boy's powerfully flexing pecs did not yield. "Uh...Am I actually standing up to the Hulk?" Chris wondered to himself in disbelief. He looked up, curious to see the Hulk's face so that he might gauge the amount of effort the best was putting forth, but the great green arc of the brutes massive pecs obscured the view. The Hulk roared and ramped up the power of his bear-hug. Chris felt himself fairly disappear, he was almost completely engulfed in the bulging green muscles surrounding him as the Hulk’s arms and chest swelled with the increased power being channeled into them. Chris exerted himself more, in an attempt to counter...and found the strength to keep up with the Hulk's surge was there, on-tap, within his own bulging muscles. "Does Muscle-boy give up?" The Hulk growled smug confidence. Chris wondered how much of the Hulk's strength he was capable of coping with, but his curiosity was eclipsed by his desire to escape. The Hulk's question seemed like the opportunity he needed to free himself. "Umm - sure, Hulk." Chris answered from where he was pinned between the Hulk's massive, straining muscles. "You're uh...You're just too much for me." Chris added, then rolled his eyes at how unconvincing he sounded. He held his breath, hoping the Hulk would buy it. The Hulk's oak-tree arms swung open like the gates of a mighty fortress. Chris felt himself fall away from the twin armored hemispheres of the Hulk's bulging chest, his feet hit the ground and the boy stood on his own once more. Even though the Hulk still loomed menacingly over Chris, he found himself more concerned with checking out the state of his own body. His fear of the Hulk was momentarily displaced by what he saw when he held out his arms and looked down over his now even more powerful looking frame. Chris's previously skinny arms had filled in even more with hanging slabs of triceps that underlay powerful-looking biceps, both of which peaked slightly even with his arms outstretched. His pectoral muscles protruded outward like the stout prow of a tug-boat, obscuring his view of anything below them behind the expanse of lightly freckled skin that was stretched tight over those broad, incredibly thick, rippling muscles and the line where it bordered with the tightly stretched material of his shirt.. Chris swung his arms behind him, causing those pecs to flatten against his ribs as much as was possible. Tilting his head forward, he was now able to see his stomach, where a rippling mass of riotous muscularity ran rampant across his abdomen. His previously featureless middle now looked like something that should have a couple of rock-climbers scaling it. It was then that he felt the first leg-band of his briefs give way, followed quickly by the tearing sound of the other leg-band slowly succumbing to the swelling muscles of his leg. The overly baggy shorts he'd been wearing were still intact, but they were less and less baggy all the time. The over-sized arm-holes of his Middleton Maulers tank-tee were beginning to snug up around the boys lats, trapezius muscles and the sides of his chest. The collar stretched tight as well, around those same traps as well as along a tight circle that skimmed his upper pecs. Chris crooked his right arm, grabbed the biceps with his left hand and gave the muscle a probing squeeze as he flexed it. His jaw nearly hit the leaf-littered ground. It felt like an iron cannonball. "Hulk must go back home." The gravely voice of the Hulk drew Chris's attention from checking out his bod. The Green behemoth was looking up, scanning the sky through the trees. After seeming to fix his position somehow, the Hulk turned his attention back to Chris. "Muscle-boy will come with Hulk." The Hulk declared in a manner that proclaimed that Chris simply had no other option. "W-where's home?" Chris asked, stalling for time as his mind raced. "In big desert." The Hulk answered as he took a step closer to Chris. Chris pack-peddled keeping his distance from the advancing brute. "Hulk not leave muscle-boy alone here." The Hulk said, his voice rising with annoyance once more as Chris tried to avoid him. "Umm, c-can I go get by gym-bag first" Chris requested. He pointed back toward the clearing. The Hulk eyed him suspiciously. "Hulk will take you to bag. Then Hulk will take muscle-boy back to big desert." The Hulk effortlessly swept Chris off the forest floor and held him with one big arm behind the boys knees while the other arm cradled Chris's torso. In a rush of acceleration that took Chris's breath away with the power and unexpectedness of it, the Hulk launched them both into the sky with a single leap. Chris felt himself go quickly from the initial heavy sensation brought on by the Hulk's mighty leap to an exact opposite feeling of weightlessness as they came to the peak of the jump's trajectory and began falling back to earth. They landed with a jarring thud as the Hulk's legs - larger, more thickly muscled and more powerful than those of a bull elephant - absorbed most of the energy of the impact. For a moment the Hulk stood, holding Chris as he surveyed the clearing for signs of anyone else. Chris found himself comparing the Hulk's deeply muscled chest to the brawn of his own newly acquired muscles as he waited for the brute so set him down. The boy's chest was side by side with the Hulk's and though the Hulk was clearly bigger, Chris couldn't help but noticed that his pecs were now spanning a width that was almost in the same league. The Hulk released Chris's legs, letting them swing to the ground then set the boy on his feet. "Now muscle-boy can get bag and come with Hulk." The Hulk said, sounding impatient. Chris moved to retrieve his duffel-bag as slowly as he thought he could get away with. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to escape. The Hulk didn't seem like the brightest guy around. Chris supposed that when you were built like the Hulk you didn't have to be. But he wondered if he might be able to convince the Hulk to give up on the idea of taking him along. Chris turned away from the where the duffel lay on the ground to face the waiting Hulk. "Uh, look, Hulk. I really don't think I want to go with you." The Hulk's brutish brow furrowed. "But Hulk has to protect muscle-boy." Chris wondered where the Hulk got the idea that he needed protection and from whom, but the line of reasoning gave him an idea. "Yeah, well um - thanks for the offer, Hulk. But you said it yourself," Chris straightened to his full height and squared his new, better-than-Olympia-class shoulders. "Muscle-boy is strong, right? I can protect myself." Chris squeezed his right hand into a fist with nervous anxiety as he waited for the Hulk's reply. The movement peripherally caused the boy's right pec to bunch up in a sympathetic reflex. His Maulers tank top could no longer accommodate such a size increase. The collar seam popped and the shirt tore down the middle revealing the young man's broad and deeply muscled torso. The already confused expression on the Hulk's face intensified and he cocked his massive head to one side and stared at the bulging muscles of Chris's now almost fully exposed body. Chris grinned and tore away the remnants of his shirt. "See what I mean." Chris felt so incredibly powerful now. "Heck, I feel like I could take on every one of those guys at the football tryouts at once now, or take out an entire army or...or..." ‘Take on the Hulk?' Chris choked off that last example before saying it aloud. He trailed off, intrigued by the irony of how that example had just randomly come to him. Chris sized up the green behemoth before him. The legendarily powerful brute was still a good two feet taller than Chris, as the boy didn't seem to be growing in height at all. It was true that Chris felt and looked superhumanly powerful now, but what he was contemplating seemed insane - that he might actually pose a challenge to the Hulk!? Apart from massive muscles, the Hulk looked to have a skeleton that was just as inhumanly thick and dense. One of the Hulk's wrists alone was almost half as thick as Chris's waist, which was the only other thing besides the boys height that had remained nearly unchanged. The Hulk was simply massive - The living equivalent of an Abrams tank. But then, of course,the Hulk could crush such a tank like a tin can. Chris quickly put any thought of tackling the Hulk out of his mind. "I-I guess what I mean is..." Chris continued and begin to slowly, cautiously back away from the Hulk along the trail that ran through the clearing. "...I'll be fine on my own...really." The Hulk began to growl again as Chris backed away more quickly. When the giant started to stride after him, the boy turned and ran. Chris's arms and legs pumped powerfully, accelerating him to an exhilarating speed. He was near the opposite side of the wooded area in no time and beginning to think he'd finally shaken the Hulk. But he wasn't so lucky. Again, the Hulk crashed to the ground from another of his spectacular leaps, this time, directly in Chris's path. Having almost no time to react, the boy collided with the Hulk full tilt. Chris felt himself slam into the Hulk. It brought him to an instant, teeth-rattling halt. He saw stars and the breath was knocked out of him. Chris took a couple of staggering steps backward and then simply sat down hard on his backside in an attempt to keep from actually falling down from the dizziness imposed by the collision. He shook his head then looked around, waiting for his vision to refocus. After a few moments, he could see more or less clearly again. There was no sign of the Hulk. Chris clambered to his feet looking all around for his huge green pursuer. Had the Hulk decided he wasn't worth it after all or had he maybe finally taken Chris at his word and decided that the boy didn't need the Hulk's protection? Then Chris noticed a large mature oak tree further along the path in front of him. On one side of the trees ancient, enormous trunk, a huge chunk the size of a Volkswagen had been blasted out of the living wood. The tree was groaning slightly as if its weight was still in the process of being redistributed along its compromised trunk. Looking beyond the massive oak, Chris noticed several other trees were missing branches or were otherwise damaged. The trail of destruction led deeper into the woods off a curve in the trail. Chris advanced a few meters into the trees and stopped dead, his mouth gaped open in awe. The Incredible Hulk lay flat on his back at the end of a shallow gouge in the soft earth of the forest floor. His head was propped against the base of a steep cliff, which apparently had finally halted the huge creatures motion. An expression that was a mixture of pain and disorientation was frozen on the coarse, chiseled features of his face. His thick chin rested on his slowly heaving pecs. The Hulk was out cold. Chris lurched backward in amazement, he stumbled a bit then turned around and moved unsteadily back to the trail. His mind reeled as he struggled to process what had just happened. Chris halted in his tracks as a strange sensation surged through him. It was hard to describe the feeling. It was as though a huge freight train had reached its destination and coasted to a stop. Instinctively, the boy knew the mutation that was imbuing his body with exceptional size and strength had fully manifested itself and he had just stopped growing. A few meters away on the path, another of those sculptures loomed to one side. This one was an obvious homage to the Monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. However, instead of being uniformly black, this great metallic rectangle was finished in highly polished chrome. It had a near-perfectly reflective surface. Chris moved slowly to stand before it. What it showed him boggled his already overwhelmed brain. He was monstrous. He was beautiful. His image was at once terrifyingly powerful and mesmerizingly attractive. Even the muscles in his youthful face were powerfully developed, rendering him brutally, masculinely handsome. He struggled to imagine how someone else might perceive him now. He turned his head slightly from side to side as he examined the strong features of his face. He stood tall and scowled experimentally and was sure that anyone who was the subject of such a look from him would have fled at the sight. He smiled broadly and was equally sure that the sight of it would have set hearts fluttering and knees wobbling. He stepped back a couple of paces to more fully take in his body's reflection. His mind struggled to make sense of what he saw. If he considered just his biceps or say, one of his bulging calves that jutted out on either side of his shin like halves of a great lopsided pumpkin, his mind balked; too big. Too big to be human. But when he considered those individual muscles in relation to his new body as a whole, the thought that came to mind was; perfect...just right. Unlike the Hulk, whose thick, squat overall physique conveyed one thing: unstoppable, brute strength. Chris's massively muscled frame had a symmetry and a flow that manifested a perfection of form...as well as projecting matchless power. Chris moved a hand to explore the undulating ridges along his stomach. As he did so he noticed that his chest responded to the motion by bunching up thicker and higher on his torso. The motion was intriguing to him. He relaxed his arms and concentrated. With some trial and error, he was soon able to cause his thick, heavy pecs to move independently. Soon he'd figured out how to tighten and bounce his powerful chest just like those bodybuilders he'd used to idolize. It was strange and so different from the bony collection of visible ribs that used to comprise his torso. It was almost like having a whole other set of appendages to learn how to control. Chris stuck one of his legs out before him so that he could both check out his reflection and look down and observe it directly. His thigh had the girth of an oak barrel and massive quadriceps and hamstrings simultaneously interlocked in tight, powerful cooperation and separated sharply as though they didn't want to touch each other or even share the same leg. His calves were round and full as large caliber cannon shot or tightly angular and diamond shaped, depending on how much he flexed his foot at the ankle. His phenomenally massive muscles displayed surprisingly little vascularity. Everything; his pecs, his biceps, delts, quads, lats - were full, round, huge and smooth. His skin glowed as it tightly covered his muscular body, The overall effect invited comparisons to unyielding metals like polished steel or unblemished forged iron. Even his gleaming hair had the look of burnished copper. Chris tore his attention from his reflection and glanced in the direction of the Hulk. Could it be true? In the space of half an hour, could he have gone from being helplessly manhandled by what he thought was a scrawny, homeless guy to having the muscle to not only survive an impact with the Incredible Hulk, but to leave the Hulk sprawled insensate on the ground afterward. It didn't seem possible to Chris. Until he returned his attention to his reflection once more. He tentatively raised his right arm, he swallowed nervously, then flexed his biceps. His arm instantly expanded in a way that was reminiscent of the kind of flaring mushroom-cloud that followed a nuclear detonation, and seemed to pulse with as much power. "Yeah!" The boy whooped, nodding with approval. "Seems possible now!" The Hulk had nothing on Chris. Even though he was two feet shorter than the emerald giant, his muscles were easily as impressive. Chris smiled. "I look like nothing in the world could stop me." Once again he turned back toward the direction of the fallen Hulk. "Well, there's one way to find out." He said, still a little nervous about the course of action taking shape in his mind. Part 3 Chris took a step in the unconscious Hulk's direction then stopped. An adventurous smile settled on his face and he scanned the sky overhead. "If it's good enough for the Hulk..." He said. Keeping his eyes on the sky and swinging his arms forward, Chris squatted and with one leap, his massive legs propelled him through the air. He landed next to the Hulk, the immense weight of his powerfully muscled body shaking the ground when he landed. Chris stood up straight from his landing like an Olympic gymnast who had just nailed a dismount. A cocky grin briefly graced his face as he noted the precision with which he had hit his desired landing point. He moved to stand over the Hulk and he could hear the beast groaning as his eyelids began to flutter. He seemed to have been jarred awake by the force of Chris's landing. Again, a pang of doubt welled up momentarily beneath Chris's powerful chest. He wondered if he might be wasting his one opportunity to get away from the Hulk. What if he wasn't even close to being as strong as the Hulk. If he ticked the brute off, the Hulk might well injure him badly...or worse. Then again, the Hulk was the one that had his clock cleaned the most by their collision. "I've gotta know." Chris said to himself, steadying his resolve. Chris was gawking at the Hulk's huge torso when the brute's emerald abs flexed powerfully into action, effortlessly powering the Hulks massive torso into a sitting position. The Hulk looked around rapidly as he struggled to his feet. He didn't seem to pay any particular attention to Chris. Once upright, the giant swayed unsteadily for a moment and Chris resisted the impulse to reach out and steady him. The Hulk rubbed the back of his head, wincing slightly. "What...What happen to Hulk?" The Hulk managed with confusion. Chris breathed a sigh of relief. The Hulk literally didn't seem to know what had hit him. Which was fine by Chris. "Umm, a-are you okay, Hulk?" Chris asked. "Yes!" The Hulk answered instantly as though the question was an insult. "Hulk not hurt!" He added a little too insistently as he focused on Chris. The Hulk looked down from his seven foot height at this shorter, but tank-like boy, his head just below the Hulk's chin. The Hulk clamped a big green hand on the boy's powerful looking shoulder. "Chris ... must come with Hulk." The Hulk asserted. He grabbed Chris by the upper arm with his other meat-hook of a hand. Only that hand didn't look quite so thick or quite so powerful as it failed to fully close around Chris's phenomenally large biceps. "No!" Chris answered assertively. ‘Talk about a one track mind' he thought to himself. The Hulk was like a dog with a bone. Shrugging the Hulk's hand away with enough force to stagger the giant, Chris worked up the courage to challenge the Hulk. "Listen Hulk, I'm not going with you, so deal with it." The Hulk was surprised by Chris's strength, he hadn't expected the boy to be able to resist. The Hulk reached down and grabbed one of Chris's wrists, this time, avoiding the boy's massive biceps, which made for a more unwieldy handle. The Hulk tried to drag Chris into him, reaching to secure a grip with his other massive hand. The boy didn't budge. "Muscle-boy is stupid to fight Hulk." The Hulk closed in on Chris and grabbed his other arm. The two juggernauts struggled against each other. The Hulk's brutish brain struggled as much with the concept that Chris was able to resist him as Chris's mind wrestled with how effectively he was holding his own against the Incredible Hulk...and he wasn't even really trying that hard. Chris looked directly ahead, seeing the Hulk's massive round pecs, rippling and surging as they jousted. The Hulk's strained face looked down on him from nearly two feet above. He saw the Hulk's flexed and struggling arms. He felt supremely powerful holding this beast at bay. A surge of cocky confidence welled up inside Chris as he easily compensated for the Hulk's escalating efforts at overpowering him. When the boy demanded more strength from his unstoppable new body, it responded instantly. His strength seemed to just keep surging as he exerted himself. The Hulk roared and with a tremendous burst of effort, he forced their arms down. The Hulk closed in on Chris and flexed his powerful emerald chest in front of his face, as if to drive home this perceived victory to his opponent as he half growled - half roared in the boy's face. The beast was almost always able to instinctively gain a psychological advantage over his opponents just by displaying his intimidating muscles. Chris smiled. He wasn't feeling at all intimidated. In fact, he was feeling ready to try a little intimidation of his own as that new feeling of strange supreme confidence flooded over him. He stepped in even closer to the Hulk. "You sure do like to flex, huh, Hulk." Chris observed. Suddenly, as though the most powerful being on the planet wasn’t struggling to hold his arms in place, Chris powered his hands to a position behind his back. The Hulk's eyes widened. He thought he had finally overpowered the boy and was holding his arms immobile. But the motion of Chris's arms dragged the Hulk's hands along until the brute's own rippling green arms were encircling the shorter kid. The Hulk growled with confusion as maintaining his grip on Chris's wrists forced the taller brute to stoop down until he was face to face with the young man. The Hulk's lower jaw thumped to rest against the top of Chris's protruding pecs. Still, the Hulk stubbornly refused to let go, just as Chris had hoped. Chris wanted to force the Hulk to release him, but in a way that would demonstrate his power to the utmost. "Maybe I should try it - flexing, I mean - just to see what the big deal is." Chris said. As he spoke, he ever so slightly bounced his massive pecs a couple of times, buffeting the Hulks head and causing it to snap backward with each bounce. Smiling at the way he was rapidly getting the hang of controlling his massive new muscles, the boy then began slowly tensing his mighty chest in earnest. It expanded so much that the Hulk's upper torso was soon pressed tight against a vast expanse of bulging pec-muscle. Chris leveled off his exertion and looked the Hulk right in the eyes, their faces inches apart. "Feels a little different than last time huh, Hulk." Chris taunted, referring to the earlier episode in which the two had been physically pitted against one another chest to chest - when the Hulk had trapped the boy in a bear-hug as a means of subduing him. Even then, Chris now suspected that his chest had been at least equal to the Hulk's in power, if not size. But now! Chris grinned. "Ask me again if I give up." The Hulk snarled and released Chris's wrists and clamped his hands together behind the young man’s back, fully securing his second bear-hug around that deeply muscled torso. "Puny muscle-boy thinks he is stronger than Hulk, but Hulk will show him. Muscle-boy will give up." The Hulk pulled upward and inward with his incomprehensibly powerful arms, pressing Chris against the thick muscular plates of his over-muscled green pecs, which the brute simultaneously flexed into even thicker granite-like slabs. Their powerful chests bulldozed into each other - emerald green struggling against lightly freckled alabaster. In response to having his wrists released, Chris started to wrap his now unencumbered arms around the Hulk in a retaliatory bearhug of his own, but then he just smirked and casually clasped his hands behind his head, instead. He glanced proudly from one massive lulling biceps to the other where, even totally relaxed, they bulged like oversized cannonballs at each side of his head. "Don't think I'll be needing you guys for this." He said, playfully addressing his mighty arms. He turned his attention back to the Hulk. "Is that it Hulk? I mean, is that all ya got or are ya just getting started or...?" Chris was asking with polite curiosity when he suddenly began to breath in deeply and opened his mouth in an exaggerated fashion. "Whew...Sorry Hulk...please excuse me." Chris apologized through a pretty convincing yawn as he moved one hand to cover his mouth. "You know how it is when you're feeling bored." The Hulk roared at being mocked and squeezed down on Chris's stubbornly expanding pecs even harder. But it was no use. Continuing his faux yawn, Chris, with only the flexing of those unrelenting pecs of his, forced the Hulks straining pectorals to flatten and yield against the boy’s more powerful muscles - even though the Hulk's arms were working in concert with his overmatched chest. The Hulk's straining frighteningly muscled arms trembled and then they too lost ground against the power exerted by the expansion of the boy's all-powerful pecs. Then with a casual, lightening quick increase of his flex, Chris almost effortlessly broke the Hulk's grip. The Hulk stumbled backward a few steps, and gaped at Chris with stunned confusion as he rubbed his sore, over-strained, and thoroughly out-muscled pecs. Chris laughed. "What's wrong Hulk? Why'd you let go?" He asked stepping right back up to the Hulk, making sure the taller muscle-beast had a close-up view of the burgeoning muscular chest that had just staggered the giant. "I wasn't ready to give up yet." Chris said with totally insincere confusion. The boy then dropped his massive arms and laughed as he reached up to place one of them on the Hulk's shoulder in a false show of camaraderie. He chuckled haughtily. "It's Ok, big guy. Couldn't quite hang on, huh? That's too bad." Chris said with mocking sympathy. The young man then disengaged and turned to stand directly in front of the utterly dazed Hulk. Chris clapped his hands a couple of times and cheered, "Good effort though Hulk." He then squatted slightly and, performing a congratulatory ritual he'd observed jock's use after successfully completing some athletic feat or another, Chris threw his arms back and jumped a couple of feet straight up into the air, angling slightly toward the Hulk. In the split second that he bumped the befuddled Hulk - chest to chest - he gave those massive pecs of his another quick, pulse of a flex. The boy's insanely broad, thick chest bulged explosively into granite mountains of rippling, striated power. Their expansion slammed into the Hulk, blitzing the overmatched brute's already pummeled pecs as Chris chest-bumped the taller muscle-beast flat on his back again, this time by the power of the mere flexing of the boy's dominating muscles. Chris thumped back down to the ground, shaking the woods around them again. "Oopsie. Sorry Hulkster." Chris said as he brushed imaginary dust from his pecs. "Guess these guys don't know their own strength, huh?" The Hulk lifted his head and stared uncomprehendingly at Chris, who chuckled. "Looks like you don't like flexing so much when somebody else does it." Chris laughed. "Somebody with some real muscle." Chris kept the taunts coming. "Somebody stronger than you." The Hulk scramble to his feet, enraged. "Hulk is STRONGEST one there is!" The Hulk proclaimed savagely. He lifted his massive green arms into a crude and inhumanly awesome double-biceps pose. "Hulk will show muscle-boy who is stronger!" Again Chris moved in on the Hulk, totally unimpressed. "Well, it's usually the guy with the biggest muscles." He pointed out, and casually matched the Hulk's pose; Matched it, and exceeded it. "And it looks like ‘muscle-boy' has got ya beat in that department, Hulkie." Chris announced as the Hulk's freakishly huge biceps were eclipsed in size by the arms of the much shorter young man. "Bah!" The Hulk spat and squeezed his huge green muscles harder, causing them to swell even larger. The Hulk's white teeth stood out against his green gums as his lips pulled back in a grimace of effort. He was actually able to pump his biceps several inches and match Chris's size. "Wow!" Chris said. "We've got some pretty huge guns, don't we Hulk." Chris chuckled, "Let's really pump 'em up." Chris grinned, and straightened his arms out. Then he slowly resumed his flex. As the boy's arms bent back into a double biceps pose, his biceps heaved and pulsated with power. A barely visible vein appeared along the tight curving surfaces of both of Chris's previously completely smooth arm muscles. Chris's biceps were now easily twice as big as the Hulk's. The Hulk dropped his own arms to his side where they hung limply. The brutes eyes bulged and his jaw dropped open. "Something wrong, Hulk?" Chris asked, pretending to be concerned when he saw the Hulk give up trying to match him. The young man once again straightened those Hulk-humbling arms. He flexed again, with the same casual ease and his biceps towered even higher into the air. Multiple, branching veins like lightening bolts now crisscrossed his arms and his bi's bulged up into twin volcanic peaks that erupted with impossible size and power. Now Chris's biceps were easily three times the size of the Hulk's comparatively puny lookingarms. "What's a matter, Hulk? Can't keep up with muscle-boy?" Chris finished with a smirk as he stepped even closer to the Hulk, trying to intimidate the beast even more. Sneering, Chris dropped his arms. "You look like you've had enough Hulk But you know what?" The kid gave one of his now relaxed biceps an affectionate, meaty slap. "These babies were just getting started." The Hulk snarled and tried to push Chris back. Chris was so strong that he didn't even have to try to resist the Hulk, the brute couldn't even budge him. Chris looked down at where the Hulk had planted a big green hand in the middle of the boys chest and was shoving ineffectively against the powerful high school student. Chris was a little miffed that the Hulk would actually dare to touch the muscles he'd been using to humble the beast with such ease. A wicked grin settled on Chris's face as he thought of something new to try. Obviously the Hulk was a slow learner. He'd have to reinforce the lesson. Chris glanced down at the Hulk's hand and clucked his tongue. "Ya gotta learn to respect the pecs, Hulkster." He looked back into the Hulk's eyes and added, resignedly. "It's for your own good." Chris struck a quick most-muscular pose, again calling on the overwhelming size and power of his over-muscled chest. The Hulks massive hand looked momentarily child-like where it splayed against Chris's growing granite muscle and then, with the merest forward shrug of Chris's shoulders, that thick hand was swallowed up, disappearing from view in the deep crevice between the boys rapidly thickening pecs. Now instead of pushing on the boy, the Hulk was tugging, trying to free himself from the vise of solid muscle; But the Incredible Hulk wasn't strong enough to free his hand. "This pose is called a crab, or a most-muscular." Chris narrated. "In my case I think ‘most-muscular' might be literally true." The boy beamed proudly. "Let Hulk go or Hulk will SMASH!" Warned the Hulk as he continued to struggle to free himself. Chris merely gave a short derisive laugh. He cupped a hand to one ear making his biceps swell bigger than ever. "Did you say 'smash'?" He asked mockingly. With that, Chris sneered and flexed his chest hard and huge. The Hulk's eyes flew open wide and the brute opened his mouth in a silent scream. The bones of his massive, green mitt felt like they were being ground to powder between Chris's rippling pecs. The boy’s muscles seemed to just thicken and thicken and thicken. Soon the Hulk felt his wrist and forearm start to deform as they too were being engulfed by the steadily expanding mountains of striated hyper-muscular power. "gnnhh...no..." The Hulk managed to protest weakly. "Oh, but YES!" Chris growled back smugly and kept flexing his chest harder and more huge with each passing second.. For several panicky moments the Hulk roared and growled in frantic desperation, his arm racked with intense pain. Then the brute seemed to become exhausted. "M-muscle-boy....too....s- strong." The Hulk whimpered. His massive body went limp as he surrendered and stopped struggling. It was just no use. The boy's strength was totally overwhelming. "Muscle- boy...hurts Hulk's hand..." Chris sighed, as though once again bored with his opponent. "Yep, pretty much." He taunted mercilessly as he continued flexing his chest even more. Making a show of ignoring the Hulk, Chris struck another double biceps pose, muscle flexing on top of muscle. His powerful heart pumped blood with the force of a raging river through the throbbing veins covering those arms, each beat momentarily compressing the Hulk's trapped hand with that much more pain. Chris's biceps were bigger than ever, he seemed to be slowly exploring the limits of their size as they peaked above his head with what seemed like very little effort on his part. Chris scrutinized his biceps, turning his head from one to the other. "Whadday think Hulkie? Four? Maybe five times the size of yours? Wonder how they'd look if I got a decent pump and really put some effort into it." The Hulk covered his eyes with his free hand and threw his head back. "ARRrrrgggh...l-let Hulk go." The Hulk pleaded as he dropped to his knees. Chris stared at the Hulk, kneeling before him. "Oooh!" Chris said with mock sympathy and disappointment, as though the Hulk had given the wrong answer on a game-show quiz. "You didn't use the magic word." The Hulk heard nothing Chris said, His world consisted only of pain. By some lucky cosmic coincidence, the next words out of the brutalized behemoth's mouth rescued him. "Please...muscle-boy...s-stop." The Hulk pleaded in a barely audible whimper. Chris dropped his arms and focused on the Hulk again. "Manners, Hulk." He sighed. "My mom always says people respond to manners." Chris put his hands on his hips and made a show of considering the Hulk's request. He smiled and relented. He relaxed his pecs, not enough to allow the Hulk to free his hand, but enough to ease the pain. The Hulk moaned with relief as he emerged from his world of agony. The Hulk tugged tentatively so see if he could completely extract his had. He still couldn't. The brute didn't know what to do, he wanted to free himself, but he didn't want to do anything that might provoke the terrifying power in the mutant muscles that held him trapped and send them crushing in on his hand once more. "What...what does muscle boy want?" They Hulk asked with grudging submissiveness. The question brought the cocky teen-ager up short. "Hmm." Chris replied. He clasped his hands behind his back and rose up on the balls of his feet a couple of times as he thought about it. The Hulk was bounced up and down with humiliating ease by the motion. "That's a very good question, Hulk." Chris added as he continued to considered the Hulk's beleaguered query. He'd tested himself against the Hulk and found the brute to be not much of a challenge. No challenge at all, really. Now instead of testing his own strength he found that he was more interested in demonstrating that strength. He'd beaten the Hulk with his pecs, he'd humbled the beast with his biceps...how else might he reveal the extent of his power using this being, whom the rest of the world regarded as the most powerful creature on the planet. An idea began to form in Chris's mind. "Hey Hulk, is it true that the madder you get, the stronger you get?" Chris asked, as much to himself as to the Hulk. The Hulk just stared at Chris blankly, but the boy was nodding to himself. He rubbed his chin as if dredging up a vaguely remembered lesson from school. "Yeah, I think I remember reading that somewhere." Relieved of most of the pain in his hand, the Hulk was starting to get restless with being held immobile. "Get up Hulk." Chris ordered rubbing his hands together gingerly in anticipation of what was coming. The Hulk's glare intensified as his dim mind wrestled with the impulse to once again attack the muscular boy who was humiliating him. "Awww, what's wrong?" Chris teased. "Don't tell me the Strongest One There Is is afraid of puny muscle-boy?" A low growl began to emanate from the Hulk's throat. At having his words mockingly hurled back at him. "I said get up." Chris warned casually and tensed his pecs just enough to remind the Hulk of the pain he was capable of causing the beast. The Hulk growled louder and struggled to his feet. "I'm going to give you a chance to fight back here Hulk." Chris explained, charitably. The boy clasped his hands behind his back again. His repeated use of this posture seemed to be the equivalent of boasting: "Look ma, no hands." as he manhandled the Hulk. Chris smiled a bit when he saw the Hulk's free right hand clench into a fist. "I'm gonna let you hit me as hard as you can, as many times as you want." Chris explained with condescending benevolence. He slid his hand down to his muscular abdomen and gave it a couple firm slaps. "The Incredible Hulk should be strong enough to take on the tummy of a pasty little high-school football reject, right?" Chris laughed at the Hulk's uncertainty. "C'mon big guy, don't be a wimp. Take your best shot." The Hulk's growl was rising in volume and he was beginning to show his teeth in an angry sneer. In a flash the Hulk launched a thundering punch to Chris's abs. Chris's only reaction was to look frustrated. "Aw now, don't hold back Hulk." Chris pressed his mouth into a tight line of consternation and huffed an impatient breath out his nose. Then he explained slowly to the Hulk: "If you don't start hitting me hard enough to make me feel it, I'm gonna hafta turn this loose on ya again." Demonstrating what he meant, Chris briefly tensed the muscles of his chest around the Hulk's trapped left hand again. The angry look on the Hulks face diluted briefly with panic and he started hammering away at Chris's abs with his free hand. Chris watched, unimpressed and considered ways to humiliate and anger the Hulk, hoping that his anger would make him more of a challenge. "I could take punches like this all day Hulk." The boy mocked. "C'mon. Hit me harder!" The Hulk raged at Chris's goading and struggled to hit Chris harder. The boys steely abdominals rose and fell slightly as he breathed casually amid the Hulk's onslaught. So far, Chris's plan wasn't working. Chris closed his eyes and smirked. "Hmm, let's see...is that the Hulk hitting my belly or a five year old girl?" He said, ridiculing the Hulk's effort. The Hulk roared and started pulling himself bodily toward Chris with each hit, using his trapped hand for leverage to add to the power of his punches. Despite the powerful tugging and pounding, Chris didn't budge, but the ground began to shake around them. "Shut up! Muscle-boy had better shut-up!" The Hulk bellowed as he pounded harder and harder on Chris's unyielding body. "Why?" Chris laughed derisively. "It's not like the Hulk can shut me up. You'd have to do way better than this. You may as well face it big guy, " Chris's eyes twinkled with glee as he finished the taunt. "compared to me, The big bad Hulk is as weaker than a puny human." The Hulk bellowed with inarticulate rage, but he couldn't even affect Chris's voice as the boy taunted the taller muscle beast. "Yeah, keep ‘em comin', that's it." Chris chuckled at the Hulk's frantic efforts. "C'mon, harder big guy!" After letting the Hulk pound away a while longer, getting more and more frustrated and angry all the while. Chris sensed that the Hulk had reached the height of his strength. Still, the boy easily withstood the Hulk's power. Eventually, despite his anger, the Hulk began to tire. "Muscle-boy’s muscles...too hard." The Hulk bleated with pure frustration between desperate gasps. "...too strong....for Hulk to smash". Chris, though disappointed with the Hulk's increased but still inadequate strength, smirked with satisfaction at the admission, which did seem to enrage the Hulk a bit more at having made it. The burst of anger helped the Hulk continue his assault a while longer. "This is going nowhere". Chris said with a disappointed sigh. "Time to end it." "NO! Hulk will find a way to BEAT you!" The Hulk cried out desperately as he began to catch a second wind. Chris rolled his eyes and sighed "I guess I did say you could punch me for as long as you wanted, didn't I." The boy said, as though now regretting that promise. Then he grinned wickedly. "Guess I'll just have to make you want to stop." The Hulk was savagely pounding away as Chris spoke. The boy's patronizing tone was causing the beast's anger to spike once more. "Hulk will SMASH." The Hulk roared with desperate rage as he hammered completely unaffected abs that looked like something off the cover of ‘Mutant Muscle and Fitness." "Yeah, right." Chris laughed. "Smash this." The boy mocked and for the first time crunched down, actually flexing his abs. Every bone in the Hulks right hand shattered on impact with Chris's abs, which became impossibly even more ripped and defined as he flexed them. The Hulk wailed in pain and once again dropped to his knees, Where he stared with fear and disbelief at the wall of chiseled stomach muscle in front of his face. There wasn't even any skeletal support directly behind those abs and still the muscles were so powerful and hard that the Hulk had shattered his hand against them like a bundle of dry twigs. The Hulk just stared, unsure what to do. He couldn't run, the muscle-boy still held his hand trapped in yet another set of overwhelmingly powerful muscles. Chris examined his impervious rippling belly approvingly. "Sweet!" He said with a laugh. Then he noticed a small red smear just above his navel. The Hulk noticed it too and held up his ham-sized fist to display a trickle of blood oozing from around a couple of his knuckles. The Hulk grimaced and shook out his meaty paw a moment, then pressed the bleeding knuckles to his mouth. "Look's like you've made a little mess Hulkster." An idea occurred to Chris as he watched the Hulk tend to his wound. He grinned with delight. He stepped closer to the Hulk, bringing his rippling stomach almost in contact with the Hulk's face. "Lick it off." the boy commanded, pointing to a couple more smudges of the Hulk's blood that marred the pale skin of his matchless, muscular mid-section. The Hulk refused. "That wasn't a request." Chris pointed out and with the merest twitching of one pectoral muscle, the boy snapped two of the fingers of the Hulk's hand where he held it imbedded within the muscular vise of his chest. Chris felt the bones in the Hulk's hand give way. He loved this feeling of power. With a cry of pain, the Hulk complied - he began licking the boys abs, he reluctantly lapped away the traces of his blood from the very muscles that had just bloodied his poor hand with their unyielding muscle-tone. "Awright, Awright." Chris squirmed a bit and pulled away, causing the Hulk to pitch forward painfully onto his not yet healed hand.. "That tickles." The peerless mutant powerhouse said through an incongruous giggle. He rubbed his tummy absently and pulled his hand away, inspecting the slight moisture there. "And it's kind of gross", he said and wiped his hand on the straining material of his shorts where they stretched tight across his round, powerfully muscled backside. Those extra-baggy shorts had shredded and ridden up his barrel sized thighs so that they now fit him like a pair of very brief, square-cut swimming trunks. His hand still held fast, the Hulk slowly climbed to a standing position, struggling to minimize physical contact with Chris's intimidating body as he did so. In the meantime, Chris was rather comically exploring his butt after feeling how different it felt when he'd wiped his hand on his shorts. He had both hands planted on his behind and was exploring his steely-hard, rounded glutes - testing their resilience and shape. He noticed the Hulk glaring at him and grinned. "Hey, this is all new to me, okay?" He removed his hands and planted them on his hips and let out a little satisfied breath as if to say: "Ok, what next." He noticed that the Hulk was shuffling his feet like a restless child and making little frustrated grunting noises as he looked around anxiously, everywhere but directly at Chris. "What's up with you?" Chris asked, amused. The Hulk scowled and seemed reluctant to respond but finally blurted out. "Hulk's hand." The brute grumbled and gestured sheepishly toward his trapped hand with his nearly healed one. Chris peeked over the top of his Hulk-conquering pecs and noted the brutes fist was still trapped past the wrist. "Oh, yeah." Chris snickered. "Um...I stopped flexing ages ago." The Hulk gave his hand a solid tug. It didn't budge. His brow furrowed and he looked from the boy's unyielding chest muscles back up at Chris's face. Chris grinned proudly. "Yeah, my muscle tone's a bitch huh, Hulk." The Hulk grabbed his stuck fist with his still-sore right hand, planted his feet and heaved. He strained for several seconds to no avail. "Well, huh," Chris said looking slightly puzzled. He rapped his knuckles probingly against one meaty pec. It made a deep bass "thump-thump" that the Hulk could feel in his hand. "Guess I might have a bit of a pump going. Maybe kicking your butt was more of a workout than it felt like." The boy then laughed dismissing the idea with a wave. "Nah, It's gotta be just good old fashioned muscle tone. Put some muscle into it Hulk." The Hulk continued straining to free his hand for another few seconds before Chris finally rolled his eyes at the Hulk's pathetic effort and pulled his elbows around behind his rib-cage, which cause his deep pecs to press together somewhat less firmly. The Hulk broke free and stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance. By this time, all their jostling about had brought them near to the cliff face that had earlier halted the Hulk's motion when he'd ricocheted off Chris's more powerful body. That had been the first incident in which the Hulk had been so totally overpowered by someone since Emil Blonsky had initially been transformed into the creature known as the Abomination. But even the ease with which Blonsky had swatted the Hulk in that encounter paled in comparison to the degree to which Chris surpassed the Hulk in raw muscle. Now free, the Hulk steadied himself as unfamiliar impulses warred in his dim mind. The deepest most primitive part of his brain raged and demanded an immediate and unceasing attack on the opponent before him. But his higher cognitive mind, atrophied as it was, had done the math: The Hulk was seriously out-muscled here After having helped the Hulk free himself, Chris brought his shoulders forward once more, squaring them with a proud little bounce. He couldn't get over his new self. He bent at the waist to once again examine himself. It was still hard for him to accept that the Hulk's onslaughts had left him completely unmarred. Chris then noticed something for the first time. His brow knitted with curiosity. "Wait a minute." The boy said aloud to himself. "I didn't know that was muscle." He said as he hooked a thumb inside the front of the waistband of his shorts and pulled the tightly stretched material away from the mosaic of muscle at his waist and peered down inside. His eyes widened, he was obviously impressed with what he saw there. "Or those either for that matter." He added. Letting the waistband snap he grinned at the Hulk. "This day just gets better and better." "Now," Chris began more seriously. "What to do with you." The young man crossed his massive arms across an equally huge chest and considered the Hulk for a moment. "I'm not real keen on anyone finding out I'm a mutant." Chris said, apparently thinking aloud and not really attempting to dialog with the Hulk. "Right now, Bruce Banner is the only person who knows about me." Chris focused intently on the Hulk. The beast became uneasy under that glare and began to inch backward, away from the boy. "I could make my debut as the most powerful hero on this planet now - claim I'm a space-alien or maybe some kind of super-soldier here to defend the world against powerful and dangerous threats." The boy took a step toward the Hulk. "Threats like you Hulkie." Chris nodded. He was really starting to like this idea. "And I could do it all without anyone ever having to find out that I'm really a mutant. All I'd have to do is make sure Banner never squeals." Chris began to crack his knuckles the sound was like rifle-shots. The motion caused his biceps and triceps to work against each other like surging ocean swells. "I'll bet I could make sure of that right now." He added, staring the Hulk down coldly. Chris moved in on the Hulk, who bumped into the cliff that was now at his back. The Hulk saw the boy coming and felt something that this young man was causing him to become more and more familiar with: Fear. The Hulk moved a few steps laterally to clear the cliff then squatted low to the ground, his great green leg muscles coiled, ready to launch the massive beast far away in an escape leap. The Hulk shot upward explosively, desperately trying to get away from Chris. But a fraction of an instant after he left the ground, he felt tremendous pressure clamp down around one of his ankles and he was brought to a complete, jarring halt. Chris had grabbed the Hulk by his right ankle, cancelling the force of his leap with one mighty arm. As the Hulk was violently jerked back to the ground, Chris caught the beast in a bear-hug, their two thick torso's thumping into each other. The Hulk placed both meaty palms against Chris's chin and pushed. He may as well been a toddler trying to push over a fire-hydrant. "Don't try that again Hulk." Chris warned. "Remember what I did to your hand?" The boy caused a thick wave of striated sinew to roll up his pecs. The Hulk felt his own broad chest compress painfully under the movement. "I'm pretty sure I could do that to your whole body...If I wanted to." The Hulk struggled to reclaim the breath that had just been knocked out of him by the impact with the far more densely muscled boy. "No. No. Let...Hulk...go." The Hulk protested in a near total panic. "Don't get yer purple panties in a wad Hulkster". Chris smirked. "I'm through with you for now. I need to talk to Banner." At the mention of that name, the Hulk's face contorted with rage and hatred. "Puny Banner..." The Hulk began, but Chris merely glared at the Hulk and shook his head as though admonishing an unruly child. The boy gave the Hulk a little squeeze. The Hulk's defiant look vanished instantly to be replace by the fearful look of a trapped animal. "That's better." Chris smiled. "Now, I'm betting that you and Banner have at least a subconscious awareness of each other." Chris explained as he tightened his hold further. The Hulk struggled but couldn't even begin to free himself. The green brute tightened every gargantuan muscle in his torso in attempt to counter Chris's bear-hug. "At least...for your sake I hope so." Chris finished. "Banner!" Chris called aloud. "In about thirty seconds, there's going to be exactly enough space between my forearms and my big bad bod for one scrawny little physicist." Chris explained. "If your big green buddy is still here, well..." Chris grinned confidently up into the Hulk's face. "He'll be so much guacamole." Chris continued more softly, addressing the Hulk. "If you can, I'd cooperate with puny Banner if I were you." The boy advised. The Hulk screamed in rage, then agony. His arms alternately flailed helplessly then pounded on Chris's mountain-range of a back. His mighty gamma-spawned muscles trembled as Chris's rock-solid arms and chest began to mash them flat. Then the Hulk went limp in utter surrender. His arms draped down the conquering boy's back where they hung limply. "Banner..." the Hulk croaked in a hoarse whisper. "Banner...come back. Hulk not like...muscle-boy." Retreating against such unquestionably superior power, the Hulk's immense green musculature seemed to melt away more and more with each passing second. Soon Chris stood victorious. He'd humbled and vanquished the Hulk in a way that was unprecedented. Banner stared at the boy from his prison of teen sinew, the physicist had never retained so much detailed memory from one of his transformation's into the Hulk. He guessed that this was because his Hulk persona had never willing relinquished control over their shared physiology. For the first time in memory since the day he was caught in the New Mexico desert gamma- bomb blast that had unleashed the Hulk on the world, Bruce could not sense his other personality lurking in that dark corner of his mind, so thorough was the Hulk's cowing at Chris's hands. "How much do you remember, Doc?" Chris asked. "Enough to know that you are probably about to kill me." Banner replied." He didn't sound at all frightened, in fact if this phenomenal boy intended to kill him, part of Banner welcomed the idea of peaceful oblivion. Chris looked momentarily confused. "Kill you?" Then the boy grinned. "Not unless I have to. Besides, you think I couldn't have offed you just as easily while you were tall, green and stupid?" Banner gulped. "Then, uh..." He tried squirming a bit, but he couldn't move in Chris's grip. "What are you going to do with me?" "Make a deal, of course." Chris replied. "He loosened his grip enough so that Banner slid to the ground. Banner stumbled back grateful for some distance between himself and that much raw, Hulk-pounding power. "A deal?" "You've got a secret I want kept." Chris explained. "And I've got the means to keep your little alter-ego in check if he ever gets out of hand, again." Chris demonstrated those "means" by sending the two most powerful biceps in existence towering above Banner in a double biceps pose. Chris beamed with pride. "I think it's more than a fair agreement." The boy's features darkened ominously. "The alternative..." He said trailing off and stepping into Banner, bumping the much, much smaller man back several steps. "Is far less pleasant." Banner, thought it over for a moment. He didn't know if finally having the means to keep the Hulk in check was a balanced trade-off for having helped unleash Chris on the world, but he also didn't see that he had much of a choice. With a reluctant nod, he accepted Chris's terms. Again, Chris beamed. "Oh, and one more thing." Chris added. "I want to make a big entrance on the hero scene." Banner didn't see where he had any say in this matter one way or the other. "Um, Ok, but..." "We'll have to work on your ability to change into the Hulk, wouldn't want to have to smack you around every time I want him to come out and play. Then I'm thinking maybe I'll round up the Abomination and maybe Juggernaut and unleash you all on...I don't know, maybe the next Super-bowl crowd - No, wait...the World Cup...then, in front of the whole world I'll save the day by pounding on all three of ya. Whaddya think? No, wait. I gotta better idea..." Chris placed an irresistible hand on Bruce's shoulder and shoved him along as he continued to chatter on excitedly. Banner could only sigh and struggle to come to terms with his new world order as he was ushered along.

10/4/13 Today started with 2 knocks on my house door within a space of 10 mins, the first was the protein shakes, creatine and bcaa i had ordered the day before, the second was the one i had eagerly been waiting for for 3 days, the russian super quick growth pills, i stored the supplements away in my room but kept the pills out so i could inspect them. The bottle was plain black with a bright red sticker on it, the front of it had big white letters it read гигантский I googled the translation, it meant GARGANTUAN,a wry smile appeared on my face upon reading the translation, i translated the description of how to use them and i was surprised by what it said, here is the translation: There are 200 pills in this bottle, each pill will increase your weight by 10lb and add 2" to all your muscles! Enjoy your GARGANTUAN life. I had to read it again to make sure i was seeing right, i quickly did the math,if i took all the pills i would add 2000lb to my frame and 400" to my muscles, wow!!! That was just by using the pills, i've not even took into account my food and supplement consumption and my workouts, the question i asked myself was do i wanna take all the tablets!!! The label said to take it on a night time before bed. With all the excitement of the pills i had forgotten that i was meeting jack at the gym for our workout, i prepped my protein shake with added creatine powder and some bcaa tablets and headed off to meet him. Jack was waiting for me in the changing room, his shirt clinging to his tight ripped body, his thick thighs poking out of his shorts, even though all my thoughts were about me wanting to get freaky big i still had a soft spot for my bro, after all he got me started on the gym road, but seeing that freaky huge guy alex at college i only have thoughts for getting huge!!!! My gym routine was the same as day one, but over the week i have got my form sorted and lifting a little more weight, so at least i know im doing something right. At the end of the workout while in the locker room jack told me that he was going away for a week with his club for warm weather training but still encouraged me to use the gym in his absence, oh dont worry i will i said to myself. After i had showered i left the gym to go to college for my one lesson of the day, shitty numeracy, at least i had the pills and my looming growth to keep me from falling asleep, i didn't tell buff dave and my mates about the pills i want it to be a surprise hehe!!! Alex wasn't hard to spot with his massive size, i swear his arms must be at least 60" and his back is so wide he even struggles to get through double doors! Anyway i plucked up the courage to talk to him, i asked him how he got so big, he told me it was a long story but he was given some strange liquid by his brothers girlfriend, who was now his gf, i told him i'd love to be that size or bigger, and pigs might fly he told me, haha just you wait i thought. I caught up with buff dave, who i have to say is looking buffer, his clothes looking fucking skin tight now, he told me he had fallen more for the gym, he flexed his bicep, man it looked damn fine, he said it now measured 19". Seeing all this muscle was burning me up inside but i knew that the pills will make me so much bigger and stronger than him in a few days. Thats all i wanna say today, sorry for the shortness but im to excited about the pills and what i will look like tomorrow morning, im now off to pop my first pill, here goes!!!!!!

While going through my files for the chapters of my Nephilim story (which see in the Archives forum), I found this little piece I wrote for Michael Fitt's site, casting my favorite Internet flexer as a super-hero. Though I hadn't posted this on the old site, I figured some of the folks here might like it. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Michael Fitt was just finishing his cam show. As usual he was thanking and saying goodnight to Miami, Denver Dan, Rockhopper, SexyK and the rest of the regulars. His fans knew there was something special about Mike, but they didn't really know how special. Mike was not only a beautiful, sexy, incredibly built and strong man, he was actually the most powerful being on Earth: Super-Fitt. To say Super-Fitt had the proverbial powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men was quite an understatement. He managed to keep this part of his identity a secret, though a few of his fans did occasionally drop hints as to suspecting something. He let them. If anyone went a little too far in suggesting a connection in one of the cam shows, he would just stare into the camera with his big blue eyes and they would immediately stop. Super-hypnosis came in handy at times like this. No sooner had he turned off the camera than he heard a voice in his head: “Super-Fitt!” “Who are you?” he replied, using his telepathic powers. “We need you! Come to us!” Mike snapped his fingers, transmuting the Speedo he was wearing into his Super-Fitt costume: A black Speedo with a red S-F emblazoned on it and a black cape with a similar logo on the back. Using his super-mental powers, he pinpointed the source of the signal and immediately flew to the site in the Atlantic, within the Bermuda Triangle. A spaceship was hovering over the water. “How can I help you?” He asked telepathically. “We need you, Super-Fit! We need your powers!” “I'm always glad to help, what can I do?” “Come aboard!” A hatch opened up and the young hero flew in. Inside was a green-grey figure, about five feet tall, the classic alien. “Welcome. We need your powers to conquer the universe!” “What?” In his haste to come to the aliens' rescue, Super-Fitt had neglected to use his telepathic powers to learn that their motives were not pure. “I would never...” “No, you won't,” the alien responded. “We will find out the source of your powers and synthesize it. Soon we will have a super-army, all with your vast powers. We will be unstoppable!” “What makes you think I'd cooperate?” Super-Fitt asked, his eyes glowing with the power he was barely keeping in check. “Silly Earthling. You should know. If you don't agree, we will destroy the Earth!” “You'll have go through me!” Super-Fitt roared. He puffed out a breath and froze the alien in a solid block of ice. “Nice try, earthling” came an identical voice from behind him. “But there are many more of us where that one came from! The second alien fired a laser weapon at Super-Fitt, which was reflected harmlessly off his super-pecs. The alien made an adjustment to the weapon, apparently putting it on its highest setting and aimed it again at Super-Fitt. This time, instead of reflecting the weapon with his invulnerability, he used his power to absorb all the energy in the weapon. The alien tried in vain to shut it off, but the beam continued until Super-Fitt had drained its power cells, absorbing all the energy in his super-pecs. He pointed at the weapon and made it fly over to him using his telekinesis and then crushed it to dust in his mighty fist. “You really don't want to mess with me, buddy!” Super-Fitt bounced his super-pecs, causing a shockwave that knocked the alien off his feet. Super-Fitt gave his pecs a pat. “And that's only the beginning of what the boys here can do!” he smirked. Another identical voice came from another direction. “You are powerful, earthling, but there is only one of you. We will defeat you with sheer numbers! It's impossible to beat us!” With that hundreds of identical aliens started running in from nearly every angle. “Is that so?” Super-Fitt smiled. He bounced his pecs and then he was two. He bounced them again. There were four. Then eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four. Soon, there were 2048 Super-Fitts. “No, you won't defeat me!” the Super-Fitts cried in unison, “To me 'impossible' means nothing!” The aliens began to retreat. “Perhaps we cannot harm you, but our fleet will destroy all life on this useless planet!” Super-Fitt consolidated himself back into one body. Using his x-ray vision, he saw a hundred spaceships identical to the one he was in gathering above. With no time to lose, he teleported himself out of the ship and hovered just above the ocean below. “You really have messed with the wrong guy!” he shouted. “Your problems are about to get a whole lot bigger!” With that, he again bounced his super-pecs and began to make himself grow to giant size, doubling in size with each bounce. Soon his feet were on the ocean floor, but the water barely reached his knees. Using his super-breath, he drew the entire fleet into his now giant-sized mouth. Turning his head up, he then used his super-breath to propel the entire fleet into deep space, sending them careening so far and so fast that by the time they would be able to regain control of their ships, they would be billions of light-years away, in an uninhabited galaxy, unable to get back to Earth or anywhere else where they might do harm. “Well, that takes care of today's workout!” Super-Fitt quipped, as he restored himself to his usual proportions. He had saved the world and the entire universe from a threat greater than they would ever know. He flew home, knowing his dogs needed walking and his site needed updating. The mundane activities of life were now safe from alien invaders.

A Rainy Night It was a rainy night. Kyle was driving home when the freak storm happened and assaulted his car with a flurry of rain drops. He was not happy. The blond photographer had gotten a bit tipsy after hanging out at a local bar, and a police officer had fined him for breaking the speed limit. Fortunately, Kyle was able to fake being sober, but the fine was still pissing him off. Kyle noticed a large man wearing a soaking t-shirt that clung to his muscular torso. He was tall and extremely well-built, probably an athlete or bodybuilder. As Kyle passed by, he realized who it was: Dylan. Quickly, Kyle slammed the breaks. Dylan didn't seem to recognize Kyle until he rolled down the window and popped his head out of the car. "Shit, Dylan, what the hell are you doing out in weather like this? Get in my car, now!" The muscleboy practically jumped into the car, excited to escape the heavy rain. He shivered in the seat, small droplets of rain bouncing off his swollen muscles and landing all over the floor. "Thanks a lot, Kyle! I'm really sorry I'm getting your car all wet." "Don't worry about it," the blond said, "I can clean it up later. Right now we need to get you home." Dylan chuckled nervously, "Yeah, about that. I live almost an hour away from here. If it's okay with you, could I stay over at your place?" "Of course you can, stud. My place is pretty humble, but it's big enough for two. Though you'll have to explain to me what you're doing out here so far from home!" The musclekid stripped off his drenched t-shirt and placed it in his lap. Kyle practically had a heart attack when he looked in the rear-view mirror and saw three-hundred pounds of sexy barely-legal muscle staring at him. "Something wrong?" The muscleboy asked, his beautiful black hair dripping wet, "I thought I would make less of a mess if I took off my shirt. I can put it back on if I'm distracting you." "No!" Kyle yelped, "I mean, no, it's okay. I was just surprised, that's all." There was an awkward silence in the car for a few moments. Kyle noticed Dylan lazily bouncing his pecs in the mirror, the powerful muscle-pillows pounding to a rhythm in the boy's head. "So, what are you doing out here, Kyle?" Dylan asked, eager to break the silence. "Seems a bit late to be doing photography." Kyle sighed, "I had a shitty day, so I decided to go to a bar I sometimes hang out at. Ended up being a pretty uneventful evening, except that I drank more than I should have and got a damned speeding ticket. My funds aren't so great right now, so the last thing I need to be doing is splurging my cash on beer and tickets." The blond stopped, looking back at the enormous young jock. "You're lucky you're still young. You've got a big future ahead of you, kid. Don't be a moron like me." "No, I totally understand how you feel," Dylan objected, his deep, manly voice rumbling throughout the car, "Sometimes life is just kicking you down, but that doesn't mean you're a moron. I think you're a really cool guy, Kyle. You're nice, and you've got a great body too. You don't know how many people wish they looked like you." Dylan leaned back, allowing his huge, muscular torso to loosen and stretch out. The boy's pecs relaxed, though they still protruded massively, and his eight-pack abs seemed to soften only slightly. "I'm actually having a crappy time too. This hot chick who has a huge crush on me drove me to the mall nearby to show me off to her friends. She's about three years older than me but she was really stacked, so I decided to go out with her. While her dumb cheerleader buddies were all checking me out, this older punk with a buncha' tattoos comes out of nowhere and starts hitting on my girl. He was big but fat, so I punch him in the face and he goes down in two seconds flat. I could have beat him up more, except the hot chick starts crying all of a sudden. Turns out he was her boyfriend. She got pissed at me for making her man look like a pussy so she takes the car and drives home without me. How was I supposed to know that she was dating another guy? Women, I tell you." "Always getting in the way," Kyle laughed. "You should stay a bachelor, like me. It's so much easier without a lady in your life." "Yeah, I'd much rather have a variety to choose from than be stuck with just one." Kyle slyly glanced back at the young musclegod. The adolescent's eyes were closed, and his youthful face seemed to shine as the water evaporated from his flawless gold skin. "I'm guessing you get plenty of gals to choose from with a body like that, don't you?" Dylan smiled to himself. "You have no idea, dude. I can't even go outside without getting attacked by chicks. It has its upsides, like screwing really hot babes. And its downsides, like getting fucked by stupid asshole bitches." The photographer slowed the car down right as they approached the apartment. Like Kyle said, his pad was small, but he did have a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room, which is pretty much all he needed. "I'm surprised that you don't have any pictures decorating your walls. You know, you being a photographer and all." Kyle smirked, "C'mon, Dylan. I have a life outside of photography. I'm a really good cook, for example. You hungry?" The muscleboy devoured practically everything in the fridge, wolfing down meat, vegetables, and desert as if he hadn't eaten in a week. Kyle satisfied himself with a PB&J. After Dylan was finished, he let out a loud, deafening BUUURRRRRP that shook the plates on the table. "Whoops! Sorry, my momma' taught me better manners than that," the teenage giant patted his belly, which bulged out slightly from huge dinner. Dylan flexed his abs, compressing his stomach to its original size and accelerating his digestion. "You're still wet," Kyle observed, "I have a few modeling clothes that you can wear. Go take a shower while I look for them. The bathroom is down the hall, first door to the left. There's a dry towel on the rack." The huge muscleboy walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Kyle heard the sound of hot water spurting out of the shower head and splattering against hard, rippling muscle. He went to his closet and looked through the modeling clothes. When he came back, the boy was outside, his powerful, glistening muscles dry and his lower body wrapped under an undersized white towel that bulged around his globular ass. Kyle handed the giant athlete a neatly-folded stack of clothing, though he was secretly reluctant to let the musclegod be clothed at all. "Thanks a lot, Kyle!" Dylan smiled before heading back in the bathroom. While waiting, Kyle decided to flip through the photos of Dylan he had taken earlier. Kyle had taken the pictures to an editor, but they were so good that the editor claimed they had already been altered. When Kyle tried to explain that, yes, Dylan really did have a face that perfect and no, those biceps weren't fake, the editor kicked him out. The poor guy just could'nt believe that anyone could look that beautiful without Photoshop. Mai had told him that another company wanted to get a few shots of Dylan shirtless. They were a relatively new corporation, called "Get BIG n' BUFF", that specialized in workout equipment and athletic wear. According to Mai, they just wanted a few shots of the boy's bare torso to confirm that he was really as ripped and massive as he looked. If they really liked Dylan (which Kyle had no doubts about happening), then they would offer a much larger sum of cash and make the teenage hunk their mascot. Kyle's thoughts were interrupted by the ear-splitting noise of fabric ripping apart. He heard an angry "Fuck!" before the musclegiant stormed out of the bathroom. Dylan was wearing a pair of black basketball shorts and a pink t-shirt that was torn down the middle. On the front, the letters "X" and "L" were separated by Dylan's heaving pecs. The muscleboy twitched when he saw Kyle gaping at him, and the resultant flex of his triceps made the sleeves explode off of his arms, unable to contain the teen's powerful muscle. "Do you have anything bigger than this?" Dylan blushed, "All these shirts just too small. I need at least triple-extra-large. Anything less is just way too tiny for me." Kyle shook his head, "No, that's the biggest shirt I've got. I can get you something tomorrow, but right now it's too late to go shopping. Do you mind just being shirtless?" The boy shrugged, "Not really. It's really late, and I always sleep nude. If you don't mind, of course." That caught Kyle off-guard. "Uh, sure, I'm fine with that. You can sleep in my bed tonight, if you want. I'll be staying up a bit longer, so just ask me if you need anything." Dylan flashed a brilliant smile. "Thanks a lot, Kyle! You're a really nice guy!" After Kyle was sure Dylan was fast asleep, he went outside and flipped out his cell phone. Dialing up Mai's number, the photographer waited for her to pick up. "Hey, Mai. How's it going?" "What are you calling so late for?" the sleepy businesswoman groaned, "This better be important." "It is. You remember that hunk that I was showing you? He's in my house, right now." "Shit, Kyle! What are you doing? The kid's parents might accuse you of kidnapping!" "No, it's not like that. He was outside in the huge downpour about an hour ago and I offered to let him stay at my place for the night." "If that's the case, you might as well take advantage of it. You have your equipment, right?" "Well, yeah, but…" "Take a few photos of him before he leaves. Show me them next time we meet." "C'mon, I can't…" "You know what to do, Kyle. See you later." Mai cut the connection. Kyle sighed as he put away his phone. Going back into the bedroom, he saw Dylan lying peacefully on the bed, his colossal muscles relaxed, but firm. The blanket covered his crotch and legs, but his enormous chest and brawny arms were fully exposed, swollen and hulking even when they hung limp. The adolescent's eight-pack looked as tough as a brick wall, every bump of muscle jutting prominently from his stomach. Nervously, Kyle approached and lay his hand on the boy's abs. He gasped when he felt Dylan's rocksolid density, his hands unable to even dent the diamondhard muscle. Kyle stroked his hand over the kid's rippling abdominals, unable to fathom such powerful muscles. Dylan moaned, and Kyle quickly backed away, startled. But then he saw the reason for the boy's moan: a massive tent in the blanket that could have easily been confused for a third leg. The oversized limb rose higher and higher, lifting the blanket up with it. An intoxicating odor permeated the air as the blanket moistened with Dylan's pre. Kyle stared at the enormous appendage with lust, his own smaller penis hardening in his pants. That gigantic fuckweapon was calling to him, demanding him to bow down and suck its mighty cockhead. Before things could get worse, Kyle ran out of the room and shut himself in the bathroom. Whipping out his dick, the blond photographer masterbated furiously. He came all over himself, all over the sink, helplessly cumming for what seemed like an eternity until he finally ran out of spunk and his dick was raw and burning. It was the best orgasm he had ever had.

Hello everyone, It is very nerve-wracking to post a story here. Sharing your work--a piece of yourself--is frightening. The person who opens your work can find something unexpected, connect with the thoughts and feelings expressed, or they can find it complete trash, toss it aside. The uncertainty is overwhelming. How will people react, if at all? But, I'm placing it here, among so many others. Constructive criticism is welcomed, but please be gentle. This story is a bit...different than what you're probably used to here, and a bit dark. Please keep an open mind. You can find Part I here: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/742-the-fire-suite/#entry3436 Without further ado, here's "The Fire Suite", Part II. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Fire Suite, Part II You push the door shut, pausing for the inevitable click. The hallway is dim, stagnant. A puff of hot air escapes from the bathroom, and you move towards that warmth. Once inside, you remove your clothing without a second thought. Nude under fluorescent light, you glance at yourself in the dirty mirrors. Your eyes trace the curve of musculature as you flex for nobody, do this pose or that. You can’t help but smile, maybe even grin at the bulk that you’ve obtained. Years of hard work there, no magic formula. That’s what got your boyfriend’s attention, what causes him to linger with you in bed, what makes him follow you around like an imprinted duckling. You stop abruptly, remembering that there’s somebody else showering. For a moment, you lose your cool, you relax your muscles. For a moment, you doubt yourself. You slip under the hot spray, let your hands scrub away at skin. What is there to fear? You are perfect, you are wanted by so many, you are loved. Yet what might be there in stalls is imposing. Judgment pours down behind the pale curtain, strikes in the clink of shower rings. It’s that moment when you step down from grace. Are you some demigod, or are you just mortal, flawed like everyone else? Silently, you psych yourself. You’re beautiful, you’re amazing, you’re the best man. You switch the water off and reach for your towel. The negativity passes, fades into steam. You put on fresh clothing, style your hair at the perfect angle, and another day begins. For once, walking through the campus, you notice the world around you. Blanketed in a dusting of snow, you feel as if you’re walking on some strange, distant world. Shivering, you realize how much better you’d feel with a large cup of coffee and perhaps an omelet. It isn’t that far to your destination, but at the same time, you feel lucky to be surrounded by the grandeur of your campus. At the cafeteria, there’s your familiar crowd, laughing, taunting, enjoying each other’s company. Thinking about nothing, that’s their talent. You can say whatever’s on your mind with them and they won’t care, unless it’s about a particular sports team or talking trash about another jock. ‘Bros before hos,’ states the motto. You grab your coffee and omelet and find an empty seat. “Hey man, where’ve you been?” one might say. “Sleeping, what else,” you’ll reply. The chatter continues as you eat. You hear about last night’s party, about who got trashed, about what girl’s the new slut. It’s always the same, these conversations. Between mouthfuls, you hear about how the team’s doing, what’s going to happen at practice, how far they’re going to go with the new players this year. You’ve learned to tune it out pretty easily if you want to eavesdrop on a better conversation, or ogle some eye candy. Unfortunately, beyond your friends, the cafeteria only contains a scatter of students here and there. Your eyes try to settle upon a target between nods and expected grunts. But as your group cheers over something unimportant, you notice that by the glass wall, there’s that strange kid and your giant RA, talking intently, looking out the window. You wonder what they’re talking about. Perhaps it’s more interesting than what you’re forced to listen to, but you’ve come to accept your group, your crowd. Or, perhaps they’d consider you as dull and dimwitted as your friends, thinking nothing beyond beer and plastic doll girlfriends. Part of you nonchalantly dismisses others’ perceptions, but maybe, just maybe, there’s a part that wishes to be accepted. There’s a part that wants to be known as more than a dumb jock, wants others to realize that your brain doesn’t hurt when you think about abstract concepts. You’re so much more than they give you credit for. But, then again, who would dare look down upon you, in all your glory? Finishing your breakfast, you nod off to your friends with the typical ‘bro’ vernacular, and you head off to class. It’s there, in another dry lecture, that those thoughts return. With your textbook propped open, you find yourself taking better notes, concentrating instead of slowly dozing off. You find yourself writing with fervor, understanding the professor’s concepts better than before. It may be a conscious decision, but you resolve to prove them all wrong, that you’re better than they think, that you’re more than what life offers. You’re not a walking stereotype, a cartoonish figure to be laughed at. Yet, among pencils scribbling and fingers tapping upon laptops, nobody’s laughing. * The room is quiet, too quiet for a weekday morning. Hushed light glows on a print by Degas, a clock slowly breathes. The RA ushers the young man to sit on a green couch, suggests he have a cup of tea from the water fountain. Waiting, he clutches his cup, shudders slightly. “Don’t worry,” the giant says quietly, “Nobody’s here to harm you. This isn’t a mental institution. No sedation necessary. I’ve been through it and I’m normal, right?” Normal. What does normal mean? Could a person seeking mental help be considered normal compared to the mass of the student population? A door opens slowly, and a thirty-something man emerges into the waiting room. Cropped blonde hair complements the empathetic blue of his eyes, the light upward curve of his lips before they open to say hello. Introductions are made as the counselor beckons the young man to his office down the hall. He looks back at the RA with concern. “I’m not going anywhere, friend. I’ll be here, waiting. But I don’t want to interrupt your first session.” First, as in a succession, a series. What was to come? He had no choice but to face the present, and quietly followed the counselor into the office. With the door closed again, he realizes how small the room is, with no place to hide in. One chair for the patient, plush, inviting, surrounded by inspirational photos, books piled on bookshelves, a festoon of Tibetan prayer flags. He sits down, and the counselor hands him some forms and a ballpoint pen. “Here, fill these out for me, please. It’s just preliminary paperwork just so we know who you are and what you’re here for, though your RA gave us an idea of the situation. The most important part is the confidentiality agreement. It basically says that anything we talk about here now or in the future will be strictly be between us; I won’t share anything you tell me to anybody else unless I feel that you’re in danger to yourself or others. So it’s like I’m keeping a secret for you. I will take some notes when you talk, but don’t let that intimidate you. It’s just in case I don’t see you in awhile I’ll have some idea of who you are and what we can work on, alright?” The young man nods his head, then slowly fills out the forms, thinking over each question. Finished, he hands the papers over to the counselor, who studies them carefully. “Let’s see…so you’re a sophomore, living on campus, studying English literature. You marked yourself down for depression, anxiety…all understandable by what your friend told us over the phone. But why don’t you tell me yourself. Why are you here? Or, why would your friend suggest you come here?” He looks at the floor, can’t bear to lift his eyes beyond the legs of a swivel desk chair. Slowly, the words are mouthed, then quietly spoken. “I…I have problems. Big problems…I didn’t know who to turn to…” The counselor nods, says nothing. The young man continues, recounts nebulous stories. He unfurls the red ribbon and the gauze pad once more. “This is the climax of my problems, right here,” he says quietly. The wound is slowly healing. When he finishes his monologue, the counselor puts down his pen, looking at the young man’s bowed head. “Well, I think you understand why you’re here. I hope your RA has explained that the counseling center’s here to guide you, not to judge you or your actions. This may be a private catholic college, but I’m not here to condemn you. Nobody has to know what you’ve done unless you want them to know. “I’d like to get to know you better and hopefully I can give you some advice or ideas to deal with your pain. And trust me, you’re not alone; humans aren’t immune to pain. Remember that. “So, would you like to meet again and talk some more? It’s completely up to you; nobody has to force you to come here.” A quiet voice whispers a “yes”, followed by a “thank you”. “Excellent! How about next week, same time?” A nod. “Well, then, I think this meeting has been a success. I look forward to getting to know you better. I’m sure you have to get off to classes now, so I’ll see you next week.” The counselor says no more, but opens the door, offers his hand. A bond forms, perhaps a loose one, as the young man shakes weakly. The opening of the door signals the RA to look up from a pamphlet and stand up. He exchanges some look with the counselor, as if speaking a common language, then looks down at his friend. “So, how’d it go?” “I have an appointment for next week. That is all.” “Well, it’s a start, right? You’re doing the right thing for you, buddy. I’ll support you one-hundred percent whatever you want to do; that’s what I’m here for, what we’re all here for, like a family.” They slowly walk away from the center and into the cold, into the real world. They take separate paths, have different agendas, but will reunite at night over tea and jazz music. Alone, he realizes that there is still time before classes. There is still time to think. He returns to his refuge, his sanctuary behind the library. Gnarled branches swoop down to the earth, creating a barrier from the outside world. He finds a pathway and climbs up it with ease. Looking down, he realizes how far removed he is from the world below. The thought dissipates, vanishes like the warm breath trailing from his mouth. He finds a perch and rests for a moment, lets his mind pause, grips the wooden knobs. His listens carefully to the rustle of the crisp brown leaves, the singing air. There is no security in this hidden place, despite his camouflage with the beech’s skin. His eyes dart, seeking the source of the fog rolling into the area. However, he knows that only one entity could instill such strange anxiety within him. A trail of black gracefully descends from above, shoes barely skimming branches. Slowly, the darkness morphs into a lithe, monochrome figure of a man. He looks away from the figure, tries to regulate his heartbeat, wipes the slight condensation on his forehead. His mouth struggles to open, lips pushing forward in a circle. “You,” he whispers. “What kind of greeting is that, after all this time?” The man reaches his target, resting cold hands upon shoulders. “You got a light for an old friend?” No response. He pulls the lighter from his jacket and flicks open the small flame. The man gingerly places the lit cigarette into his mouth, then slowly releases the smoke from his body. “I know you only carry around that lighter for me. You’re not a smoker; it’s not healthy for you. Have you been hoping for my return?” He doesn’t make eye contact. “You’re like the wind; you come and go as you please. I don’t control your activity. You only visit when you’re bored and need someone to torment.” “You’re no fun,” the man pouts. “I don’t torment you. I love you with all my heart.” “What heart?” The man laughs, takes another draw on his cigarette. “Such a joker, you. What has my little writer been up to in my absence? Don’t tell me you’re writing another melancholy number.” He places his free hand to his forehead, tilted back. “’Oh, woe is me! Nobody loves me! I am destined to be forever alone! Blah blah blah!’ Did I get the premise right? Add in a little magic and we’ve got another sensation. So droll.” “Why do you do this to me?” the boy asks. “I never asked for you.” “No, you’re right. You didn’t. But I’m here to help you. You couldn’t write without me. You wouldn’t be able to let the words out. Without me, you are nothing. Just another loser like all those people below. You feel and think on a higher plane now. You understand things that they don’t and maybe never will.” “The writer’s curse,” the boy mutters. “I think of it as a gift. Not everyone is that lucky. You think your RA would have picked you from the other guys in the hallway if you weren’t so enigmatic? You’ve turned into quite the puzzle.” He says nothing again. “And now you want to be solved, don’t you?” The man’s grey eyes sparkle in the filtered light. “I’ve been following you. I know what you’re up to, know where you’ve been. Don’t think of yourself as a handyman’s project. No person can fix you.” “I don’t want to be fixed. I want to change things. I want to undo it all. I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll—ˮ “You’ll what? You’ll ‘this’ again,” the man states, tugging on the ribbon peeping out of the boy’s sock. “You’re too big of a coward to repeat something so drastic. Let’s be realistic, hm? The cygnet turns into an ugly duck.” His body shudders as black cloth coils around him. He tries to keep a stiff face in the sudden silence. For a moment, they are stationary, in unison. The man rests his head on a shoulder, listens to steady breathing. “There, there. Don’t cry now. Your heart swells with love, I know it, but you have nobody to share that warmth with. I feel all your pain, boy. I will swallow it all.” His eyes paralyzed, he feels the weight upon his back increase, senses the arms wrapped around his torso build in strength, veins slithering across biceps and forearms. The slightness of the man swells with pressure, burgeons into that familiar vee. Legs push forward, sweep outward, entwine with his own. Face drained of all color, he is locked within a cocoon of flesh, so immensely his opposite. Unreal. A trail of words pierces the sanctuary. “Is this what you want?” He can only quiver in such an embrace. Air slides through his ear, drops into his core. “You poor fool. You cannot escape your fate. You will burn in the flames of eternal love.” The weight lifts off him, dark limbs drifting into the fog. A heaving, a whimpering. Doors clang open, students pour out of the library, and the world returns to its natural tones. For a while, he remains there, clinging to his branch as the fog dissipates. * In a break between classes, you take a stroll through the library, move from the commons down to the computer labs. It’s not as if you ever want to spend time there unless you’re forced to for some project. You can never remember the book call numbers, in some odd pattern of letters and numbers, but you remember where the last place they were, or some student worker can find them if you slather on your signature charm. Today, though, the library is a point of warmth between buildings, a convenient place to wait instead of wasting time outside. You eventually leave after looking some information up on a computer. You sling your backpack over broad shoulders, then follow the stream of students leaving for the next class. Emerging from the library, you see the students diverge to their various locations, steer around the behemoth tree by the full parking lot. Walking slowly, you hear the tree shudder, and you watch a squirrel leap from the stone wall to the closest available branch. It’s just a squirrel, dull gray like all the others, probably foraging for food. But it’s that moment, following the squirrel’s movement, that you notice that there’s something beyond squirrels or birds in that tree. It’s distant, but large, imposing, like a bear, though bears don’t hang out in trees. You carefully push a branch or two aside, the light weight of them swinging back behind you. In that moment, you look up at the tree’s majesty, fully realizing the ancient splendor of the trunk as it swerves towards the sky. In that moment, you catch the massive figure stationed on a high branch. “Holy shit,” you mutter. You hold your breath. The figure doesn’t move. You study it, study him. A surefire man, gazing into something beyond. You’ve never seen him beyond campus, he looks young enough to be a student. With such a huge build, muscles clearly bulging from the confines of his jacket, he’d have to be an athlete, a jock like you. But you were familiar with the various teams, and this guy would certainly be on the football or rugby team. Perhaps he was a bodybuilder, a professional, competing one, you think. But he seems off compared to others he knew, something melancholy rather than jovial, ethereal rather than concrete. These thoughts create a stirring within you. Your body warms, your hands tremor slightly. It’s unlike you to feel nervous by someone else. Or, is it an entirely new feeling, an unearthed sensation? Coughing politely, you stammer, “Um, hello? Excuse me, but are you new here?” The man’s stance breaks sharply. His gaze turns towards you, and he gasps. The branch shudders violently as he falls from above. With a heavy thud, he braces the cold earth. You rush over to help him, but among the oversized jacket, something about him is different. You place a hand on him, saying, “Are you alright, buddy? I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve just never seen you around here and wanted to—“ Familiar eyes pierce you beyond thick glasses. A thin arm sweeps your hand away as if it was a pesky insect. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” the young man cries out. He abruptly gets up, darts away from you, and escapes with surprising speed. Watching the young man head into the crowd of students, you’re left in wonder. “What the hell was that,” you mutter. You still feel the sting of his eyes upon you. Coming out of the temporary paralysis, you resume your walk to your next class.

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

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

The low hum and steady beep of the machine slowly brought David back to consciousness. He opened his eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the harsh florescent light that hung above him. He tried to move, but every nerve in his body seemed to scream in pain. He felt some motion to his left and slowly rotated his head to see his friend Jack sitting beside him. “What happened?” David asked, his voice dry and heaving. Coach Jack quickly shut his book and leaned closer to him, “Hey bud, you scared us there. From what your students said, you just collapsed during your lecture. The doc said you had a heart attack.” David closed his eyes and silently cursed. Jack continued, “Let me go find the doc. He said he needed to talk to you when you woke up.” Jack beamed David a brilliant smile before he got up and left the room. David, on the other hand was cursing his stupidity. His physician had told him for years now that if he didn’t shape up, something like this would happen. He knew he was a diabetic, had hypertension and was morbidly obese, but he didn’t try hard enough to change his habits. Just the simple fact that every school year he had to buy all new clothes to fit his expanding waist line should have been a clue, but being the stubborn, lazy guy he was didn’t do anything to change himself. And now, he was lying in a hospital. “Stupid, stupid,” he said quietly. He wanted to kick himself if he wasn’t feeling so weak. As he waited for Jack to get back, he started to get bored, so he tried to look around the room. He could see to his left and right, but in front of him was blocked by his bloated gut. He cringed slightly at the size of it, despairing at how out of control he allowed it. It was a huge ball of fat sitting on top of him, completely blocking his view. He wanted to blame it on all the late night eating and not exercising because of his teaching job, but he knew deep down that he could have fit in some exercise if he tried and his diet had no excuse for being junk food and fast food burgers. As he was wallowing in self-loathing, he heard a creak from his right. He turned his head to see Jack closely followed by a older man in a white coat. Jack smiled as he walked back around the bed but the doctor following behind him looked a lot more solemn. “So Doc, when can David here get back to teaching?” Jack asked with jovial tone. The doctor looked down at his chart before looking at David and Jack. “Mr. Dale, I see here that you were diagnosed with Type II diabetes around five years ago and hypertension about four years. What lifestyle changes did you make?” David winced slightly as he felt Jack looking at him. “Well, you see, I was meaning to start exercising more and eating,” he started before the doctor cut him off. “I see.” He walked towards the foot of the bed and pulled out a pen. “Tell me Mr. Dale, can you feel this?” David craned his neck to try and see what the doctor was doing, but his massive belly was in the way. “No, I don’t feel anything.” The doctor mumbled to himself before saying, “And how about this?” “No, still nothing.” The doctor put the pen back in his pocket before walking around the bed. “Move your arm please,” he asked. David, slightly worried, moved his arms upward as the doctor nodded. “That is good,” the doctor said as he scribbled something on his clipboard. “Well, what’s the verdict?” Jack asked.“Well Mr. Dale, I’m sorry to tell you that you had a stroke and a heart attack. And the combination of those two events seemed to have caused some paralysis in the lower half of your body. I’m sorry, but I would advise against going back into teaching until your risk factors have been lowered by a great deal. David’s heart shattered at the doctor’s words. Teaching was all he had in life and because of stupidity on his part, he had lost not just his legs but his reason for living. “I’ll leave you alone for a while. Just press the button if you need anything.” After the doctor left, Jack stood up. David turned away slightly so Jack couldn’t see how upset he was. “Anything I can get for you?” David shook his head no and Jack continued, “Ok. I’m going to go to the cafeteria real quick and make a few phone calls.” David simply said, “Ok” and closed his eyes. He knew Jack had to call the school to get a replacement teacher for him. He listened to the door close and sat in the quiet room, close to crying. He kept saying to himself, “How could I be so stupid? All I had to do was eat better or exercise or something and this would’ve never happened. Why did I let myself get like this?” He continued to berate himself until he fell asleep from exhaustion. While he fell into a deep pit of darkness, he saw a small pinprick of light. Not knowing what else to do, he floated towards down to it. As he moved closer to the light, it grew and grew until it engulfed his entire being. He stopped moving and just hovered in a warm, bright glow. For the first time since in years, he felt like everything was right. He smiled as he wrapped himself in the intangible threads of comfort that surrounded him. Then, he heard a voice whisper beside him, “Hello David.” For some reason, David wasn’t startled. The voice was so gentle and soothing, he felt no fear or anxiety as it spoke. “I’ve been watching you for a while and while you’ve made some mistakes in your life, you have always had the best interest of others in your mind, even before your own. I’ve decided that I will give you a very, very special gift. I want you to think about your past life, and I want you to focus on a single thing you wish you could change. One moment in time that you look back at and wish you could have made a different choice.” David started to let his mind wonder, and flashing in the emptiness before him appeared scenes from his life. Everything flew by rapidly, but they all seemed to converge on one moment in the past. Finally, the images slowed down and started to replay his first few weeks in middle school. Immediately, he knew what he wanted to change. “If I could change anything, I would have not given up so easily on the weight lifting sessions after school. I liked it, but for some reason I didn’t stick with it. I wish I had the drive and determination to lift and play football instead of being so shy and scared of what people would have thought,” he said aloud. Soon as he said that, the day in question started playing before him. David saw himself lifting on the bench. He could see the smile on his face as he felt his muscles working for the first time. Then he saw the look on his face as he looked around at the other kids in the weight room. He could see the fear that he felt then, knowing that he was getting aroused by the weights and the other kids lifting in the area. He could see the mental anguish he was feeling as he struggled to convince himself that he wasn’t gay. Finally, he could see the pain and defeat in his eyes as he put up the weights and went to leave. The scene stopped as soon as the door was opened. “Here is the point of choice. What would you change here?” the soft voice asked. Thinking carefully, David said loudly, “I would change my entire outlook right there. I would make it so he didn’t feel ashamed about the feelings he was having. I would let him know that getting aroused at the sight of muscle wasn’t a bad thing. And I would give him the focus to stick with it no matter what. I would let him know how much fun it is lifting weights and playing football, and how, even though it might not seem so right then, there were a lot of people in the world that felt the exact same way he did and eventually, he would discover an entire world of gay lifters and bodybuilders to fit in with.” “So shall it be.” The scene before him started playing and he continued out the door, but he was stopped by a large, muscular man. David couldn’t tell what was being said, but he could see the expression of awe and wonder on the his young face. As he talked, David could see his younger self begin to cry and fall forward into the bigger man’s embrace. It took a few moments, but eventually, the muscle man stopped talking and his younger self stood up, dried his eyes and smiled at the big man. The man pointed back inside and David returned to the weight room. The scene faded away and he heard the soft voice whisper, “You have been given a great chance David, remember always, be true to yourself and your life will be filled with joy and happiness.” As soon as the voice finished, the light started to fade. “Hey man! Wake up!” David’s eyes began to open slowly as some person shook him. He looked up to see Jack’s face again, but this time there was something different. Instead of a look of worry, there was simply a jovial smile on his face, coupled with a sense of bemusement. “Dude, I had no idea you were THAT afraid of needles.” “What are you talking about man?” “You mean you don’t remember? I mean, we come here to donate blood with the rest of the team, and the guys were laughing because their huge musclebound coach faints at the sight of a little needle.” “Who me?” “No, I’m talking about the queen of Sheba? How many other huge muscle bound coaches do you know?” David was about to reply, but suddenly his memories started changing. It started from his middle school experience when he chose to stick with weight lifting instead of giving it up. He didn’t even know why he was thinking about giving up lifting. It was such a great feeling in his muscles when he lifted. And who cares if he got hard every time he lifted. It was just the testosterone running through his system. That’s what the big man said. It was perfectly normal to pop boners like that. Even being gay was ok as long as he was happy with himself. The big man had told him so many things that made perfect sense and helped him get through that rough patch in his life. He remembered how rough it was to start, being an openly gay guy in the weight room, but just like the big man said, as long as he was truthful to himself, it would be ok. And it did turn out alright. The coaches saw him as a hard working and dedicated kid and his focus paid off. He grew a lot, his body responding well to all the working out. It seems that he had a lot of testosterone in his system and it went a long way to making him big. He remembered the years of playing football and wrestling, how he just kept growing and growing as he played. He remember the day he got the nickname “Dave the Dozer” from how he plowed through the line. He remembered raising the state championship trophy for football and for wrestling, and he remembered graduating school near the top of his class, and by far the biggest one there. Then, he remembered going to college, learning how to teach kids and coach, vowing that he would give back to his community. He also wrestled and played ball there, repeating the accomplishments of his younger years. David shook his head slightly, clearing out the cobwebs and said to his assistant coach, “Hey man, when you can bench 585 for fifteen reps, then you can give me shit about needles.” Jack erupted in laughter as David swung his legs off the bed. Something felt slightly weird as he moved, and he headed straight to the bathroom. When he closed the door, he was confronted by his reflection. He saw himself with fresh eyes. It started with his face. It was tight and masculine and rough from the years playing sports. He sported a goatee, but the rest of his head was bald. He always liked that look because it was so easy to maintain and since he usually wore his coach’s cap, he liked to maintain the image of the rough and strict coach, even though his jocks knew that he had a soft side. His eyes went down to his neck, thick and bulging with power. He could see the veins that trailed down the massive pillar that connected his head to his torso. Even though it was only visible for a few inches because of his traps, you still could see the power left over from when he wrestled. His shoulders and traps were massive, so wide they spilled off the mirror. He could remember the hours of doing shrugs and presses to get his shoulders to cap off with the thick layer of muscle that they had. His arms were amazingly huge and he was thankful for the genetics that gave him his massive pipes. The last time he had measured them, they were 25 inches flexed, with a pair of hairy forearms that looked like they belonged on Popeye. The polo shirt that he wore was a XXXL, but it still was stretched across his chest like it was Saran Wrap. The school’s mascot that sat on his left pec was just as equally stretched, letting onlookers imagine how massive his chest and back were. He hated how the shirt fit because while the chest was almost uncomfortably tight, the waist billowed in the wind if he didn’t tuck it into his shorts. He knew that underneath the shirt was a hair covered, mainly chest and torso, flat and hard as a rock from all the exercise that he did every day with his players. He looked at his legs, noticing the gym shorts he had on. He remembered that he was going to order some new clothes to try and fit his massive legs. He saw the thick quads and vascular hamstrings attached to his legs, thinking about how his legs were bigger than most people’s waists and chest. He flexed them a little in the mirror, thinking about how he and his team had to do squats today. Finally, he flexed his calves and saw the football sized muscle pop into sharp relief. He smiled to himself, “Yeah, going to have to hit those hard too.” He quickly washed his hands, shaking the last remenents of memory from his old life away before leaving the bathroom. Jack was standing there laughing still and David jabbed him in the shoulder. Jack laughed and rubbed his arm as David said, “Ok, ok. Let’s head on back. We’re going to need extra time for practice today because I swear, anyone that laughs is going to get extra laps.” The two of them started to laugh as they left the hospital room. As soon as they left the room, a figure materialized behind them. The white gowned woman floated towards the window and smiled. “See Kaos, you’re not the only one who can make massive muscled men.” This post has been promoted to an article

He was the second reason I went to the gym. The main reason I went of course was to get myself into a better shape. But he was the other reason I went to the gym. He happened to workout along the same time I did, and I was so glad he did. Every day I went into the gym, five days a week, he was either there or on his way. Today was chest day for me, and I knew he would be doing chest and arms. He was the type of man that could do a lot more sophisticated workouts than I could. And seeing him in action was more than an experience. Today, I had already finished my warm-up and was headed to the free weight area. I usually stuck to the machine area, but the beast of a man only went to a machine when there wasn't a way he could do what he wanted with barbells or dumbbells. I had just finished my first set of bench presses when he came in. I held my breath as he walked towards me. I could never get enough of seeing him. He was at least 6'1", a good four inches taller than me, and massive. I guess he was at least 280 lbs. But even being that huge, he still had more muscularity than I could dream of. I had heard he was training for a bodybuilding show for the next year. From what I could see, he was going to be massive. He dropped his bag three benches away from where I was and started to get ready to lift. He began by peeling off his t-shirt and I bit my tongue. Time seem to slow for me as I watched his thick hands, calloused from obvious years of lifting grip the bottom of his shirt. Then, casually, he started lifting it up, revealing his hard flat stomach followed by his thick pectorals. I sighed to myself as I enjoyed the show. His chest was smooth and shaved, but that wasn't my main concern. My eyes were glued to his chest as they flexed. He struggled a little as his t-shirt reached the top of his chest. His lats were flaring and the t-shirt simply was too tight around his massive chest and back. Finally, he got the shirt off and dragged his tank top back down. He bent over to put it into his bag, granting me a quick look at his squatter's butt and thick hamstrings before standing back up to his full height. He stretched and twisted a bit, loosening up his muscles. I watched intensely as his muscles worked. He raised his arms above his head and interlocked his fingers. It was simply beautiful to me. His lats flared outward from the string tank-top. I wanted to walk up to him and just try to wrap myself around them, but I wouldn't dare to. My gaze moved upward as my eyes traced the thick veins in his back. They led me to his massive arms. Unflexed, they had to be at least 20" around, lined with veins that pumped fiercely. They were connected to his forearms, which had even more veins that I could see perfectly, even from the distance I stood. He lowered his arm and picked up a five pound plate. I could feel my cock twitch in my shorts seeing how small it looked in his massive paw. With the weight in hand, he started to roll his shoulder and I watched as the boulder of a muscle moved and flexed. This man was simply amazing and I enjoyed every moment of watching him. He turned to me, smiled and nodded. I returned the gesture and turned slightly to the bench I was working on. He was a nice guy, always acknowledging me whenever we saw each other, but he always lifted alone. I admired, almost envied his focus and dedication for getting huge, but I couldn't spend my entire time at the gym drooling at this muscular beast. So, I continued my workout. I did some sets of flat bench, inclined bench and some dumbbell flyes. As I did this, I would occasionally glance back at him and be awed by the sheer amount of weight he was handling. He also moved a lot faster than I did, completely enthralled in his workout while I was occasionally distracted by the big lifter. Occasionally, he would move from one area to another or one bench to another, and watching him was both intriguing and arousing. He didn't simply walk, but stalked around the area. The free weight pit belong to him, everything in it simply a tool to help him get huge. While he wasn't intentionally being aggressive, he still possessed an aura of menace and intimidation. His sheer size and focus was almost stifling to the people that were there to socialize or pretend to lift, and they instinctively avoided him or got out of his way. He wasn't being mean to anyone, but the way he stalked the area, completely focused on his workout started to get me even more aroused. It was as if he was a wild muscle beast who's only driving force was to get even bigger. I had just started some incline dumbbell presses when he walked by me. I saw the sweat stained tank-top along with his glistening skin and could smell him as he headed to the heavier dumbbells. His scent was enthralling to me. It was befitting a man of his stature, a musk that wasn't overpowering, but strong and unique. I knew if I could bottle his smell, I would be rich. He went and moved an incline bench near where I was before going and picking up the 125 lb dumbbells. After he had them, he went and start to do the exact same exercise that I was doing. Most people would be either indifferent or intimidated by him, but not me. It not only awed me, but inspired me. Even though I was only lifting about one-third of what he was, just being near him made me feel like I could do more. He started a set of light presses with the 125 lb dumbbells before moving on to the 150 and 175 dumbbells. I could barely pick them up off the rack, but there was this specimen of a man lifting and maneuvering them with ease. I had to stop watching him out of fear of tenting my pants. I finished my meager set and went to replace my dumbbells when I bumped into him. I bounced off of him and almost fell to the ground. It felt amazing feeling his huge muscles for just a moment and again, I had to focus on not getting a hard on. He smiled at me and said, "Sup bro." I smiled back and said, "Nothing big man." He smiled and continued his workout. He returned the heavy dumbbells and went to grab the 60 lb ones while I replaced the 45's. I knew that he was about to start his arm workout, so I intentionally slowed my own. He stood in front of the mirror, dumbbells hanging at his sides, his chest pumped and heaving as he slowly breathed. I stood at the dumbbell rack, simply mesmerized. Because of the mirrored walls and corners, I could see all sides of his body. The beauty of his physique was breath taking for a guy who was enthralled with muscle as I was. Standing behind him, I could not see myself in the mirror because of his breadth. His waist was probably a few inches smaller than mine, but his upper body was huge in comparison. I looked in the mirrors at his side and could see both his sides and his front. While his chest was imposing normally, it was completely different after his workout. The pump that he had was awesome. His chest seemed to spill out of the tank top, bulging in all directions as he stood in a relaxed pose. The size of his pecs almost made me drool as I looked at them in the side mirror. I could see the veins pulse and even as I watched was feeding his superior muscles with nutrient-filled blood. He flexed them a couple of times, silently appraising them. He would flex one, watch it tense and bounce before scrutinizing the other one, flexing and relaxing it in the same way. I wasn't sure what he was examining, but my attention was firmly fixated on the striations that lined his upper pecs. They seemed to define and accentuate the already massive muscle in a way that I could only dream of. Finally, after a few long moments of self reflection, the beast started to work on his arms. He started with a set of twenty reps of standing dumbbell curls using the 60 lb weights he grabbed. I watched intently as he performed the exercise with machine-like precision. I could literally see the muscle slowly swell as he lifted the weight. After his warm up, he went and grabbed the 90 lb weights and did another set, followed by 100 lb and 105 lb curls. I knew I should have continued my workout, but those arms of his had me completely hypnotized. His completion of the set temporarily brought me out of my reprieve. The big man walked to the rack and as he replaced the dumbbells, looked up at the ceiling with a look of exasperation and irritation. He shook his head and started to walk to the front. My eyes followed him as he walked, glued to the mass of man that was now walking away. I couldn't help but watch as his muscled butt and legs moved in unison, propelling the huge man away. I tried to continue my workout but soon he returned to the pit area. As he walked, the music changed from modern pop to some nice rock and metal. He smiled as he walked and when passed me, he said, "Sounds so much better." I simply smiled and nodded in agreement as he continued towards the preacher machine. I picked up a 20 lb dumbbell and started doing my own curls, my eyes glued to him. I couldn't help but be amazed as I watched him. It started when he sat down and rested his arms on the pad. His biceps seem to expand as he worked into position and his triceps flexed as he reached for the handle. I couldn't tell what weight was on the machine, but it was at least three 45 lb plates. I held my breath as I watched his arms work. It was a thing of beauty, watching the ball of muscle slowly contract, bringing the weight up. The muscle went from a long head to a softball of hard beef. I saw the intense focus in his look as his gaze went from the mirror to his arms. Nothing else existed as he concentrated solely on working the muscle. I wanted to just walk up and feel the muscle work. After he finished, he dropped the weight and let his arms relax. It was just so enticing watching him. His beefy arms lay lazily downward along the pad and I just looked at them. Veins were popping out everywhere and the pump he had was unreal. His arm lying there unflexed was bigger than mine flexed. I looked around and even though there wasn't many people at the gym, no one seemed to notice. I couldn't believe how this force of nature was going unadmired. But, they could have been like me, just too shy to look. I kept watching him as he continued his workout. By this time, I had given up all pretense of working out, but instead focused on watching him while not being completely obvious. I would position myself on a machine near the free weights, making sure I had a good angle to see the big man. I watched him as he went through the rest of his workout. It was unbelievable how his arms were still getting pumped. Doing his hammer curls was particularly enjoyable as his forearms were getting a pump right along with his massive biceps. Enjoying the simple sight of him curling the 100 lb dumbbells was so arousing, I had to look away for a few moments. But I eventually looked back to see him continue, and I continued to enjoy the show of near inhuman strength. But sooner than I would've liked, his workout was done. He put back his dumbbells, then stood in front of the mirror. Again, he started to flex. He did a double bi in the mirror that almost made me cream my pants. Even from this distance, I could see the distinct separation between the huge bicep and the massive tricep that hung from his lower arm. Veins criss-crossed his arms in an almost artistic pattern, throbbing madly from the intense workout he went through. He put down one arm and focused on the other, flexing it harder. The muscle seemed to bulge even more, much to the pleasure of the big man, not to mention my own. He put both of his arms down and took a deep breath. Then, he suddenly crunched down into a beautiful most muscular pose. Suddenly, every vein and striation in his chest and arms were at attention, displaying the massive amount of power that was in his muscles. If he wasn't wearing the skimpy tank top, I would have expected the shirt to burst into shreds. I saw the intense look in his eyes as he examined his muscles. He flexed harder and it seemed that his muscles grew a little more in response. Finally, satisfied with his progress for the day, he grabbed his bag and headed to the locker room. I had to catch my breath after that show, not to mention let my throbbing erection subside. I looked around at the other guys and girls in the gym and saw that no one seemed to notice the stud that just left the area. I wondered to myself how no one could appreciate the mass of beef that was here. I shook my head in confusion, wondering what was wrong with them. After I calmed myself down, I picked up my stuff and headed to the counter. The guy behind the counter saw me coming and waited for me to order. I told him I wanted a chocolate and peanut butter shake. As I waited for him to finish my shake, he walked by me and said, "Later Colin." He then patted me on the shoulder and said, "Later bro," before continuing out the door. I looked out of the corner of my eye to see the beauty of the male form walk out the door, his chest and arms still pumped and still amazing. Maybe one day I'll have a chat with him, buy him a protein shake. Maybe tomorrow. This post has been promoted to an article

7/4/13 Ouuuuchhhhhhhh, man i ache today, shoulders,arms,chest, legs, back, all killing me, if this is what im gonna feel like after every workout im stopping, i can hardly crouch down properly, every time i go to sit down the back of my legs knack. When jack walked in to the kitchen and saw me he burst out laughing, he asked how i felt, i just glared at him!! He said i would be feeling it for a good few days as my muscles aren't used to being worked out, he also said the workout tomorrow would really test me as i would still be aching, thanks bro! While having breakfast, again consisting of oats, eggs and a protein shake, jack told me i should spend the day looking for my own protein supplements, bcaa, creatine etc as i had been using his for the past few days, he gave me a few websites for me to look at, i told him i would look when i got back from college. When i got to college there was a lot of chatter going round, more than usual it had to be said, i met up with my mates which included buff dave, gone was his baggy clothing, it was now replaced with tight tee's and joggers, they asked if i had heard the news, i told them i didn't as i'd just arrived, dave then told me that there was a new guy started today and he was freaky huge, i was like so?? you know we hate freaky big guys, but dave said that this guy was beyond huge it was a huge he'd never seen before, it was hard for him to describe him he told me i'd have to see for myself, that moment came about 5 mins later. We were sat on the field talking about my gym experience the day before, when dave interrupted me to tell me the new guy was over my shoulder, i turned round to look, OMFG he was gargantuan, he made huge look tiny, i like many others round me could not take my eyes of him, to put into some sort of context im a tooth pick, he was 4 bison put together, as ive said i have a disgust for huge guys, but this monster didn't have the same effect on me, in fact it had the opposite, i was finding myself attracted to his size, even more i was starting to tent in my jeans. I asked if anyone knew his name, dave said that he'd heard he was called Alex and moved here due to some troubles he had were he lived. From that second something inside me fired up, i was no longer wanting jacks body i wanted Alex's or pretty damn close to it, after college i got home as quick as i could to check these websites, jack had gave me. I've now been home for 2 hours and ive been searching the websites for super weight and muscle gain shakes, found some that offer 1300 cals per serving, but its hit home that alex would have needed some sort of super steroid or something like that to get the size he has not the normal weight gainers that are on offer, i was resounded to only getting like jack, which as i've said isnt a bad thing,but my heart was with alex's size, i wanted it badly, that was until i came across a website that my security program didnt have a green tick of authenticity next to it, it had a grey question mark which meant it wasn't sure if it was a safe website to visit. it stated in the google description that this product offered unmatched muscle growth in a short space of time, the websites domain ended in .ru so this product was from russia. I clicked on to it and was took to a page that had a grotesquely huge guy on it and a picture of the product and a tab saying BUY ME underneath, i clicked on it and it took me to a purchase page, there was no detailed description of what the product was, just the price, which was 15,000 russian roubles, which worked out at £250. My mind was obsessed with getting like alex so i clicked buy, the product will take around a 3-4 days to reach me. When jack came home i told him id had a change of goal and wanted to put some more size on, i didn't say how much or about alex, i wanted to keep it a secret and surprise him with my freaky growth, jack told me that was cool but i now needed to work twice as hard in the gym and eat lots, i said i would because i really wanted some size. Jack jokingly asked if his body wasn't good enough, i just laughed and said it was but seeing dave's buffness made me want a little more!! What a liar i am hehehe!!! Thats all for this entry.

Tristan Savage sits in the fourth seat of the second row of Mr. Blum's hot Calculus one class. The A.C is broken, and even with all the windows open, the classroom doesn't seem to cool down. Dark amber, almost brown, eyes along with his short pitch black hair give an almost boring description of the young man. In truth his face is an acquired taste, so to speak. The more one gazes upon him, the more his features begin to poke out. A prominent triangle shaped jaw line, a strong forehead, and a straight nose. His skin is clean and bright, long since devoid of any teenage acne. After really gazing at Tristan, one can't help but talk about him. Students comment on his strange form of attractiveness, and ponder various questions regarding his personality and appearance. Under his school uniform hides a lean body, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Year around his arms and legs are completely covered by long sleeved shirts and slacks, even in this warm weather despite the school allowing short sleeves and shorts. Many expect such a handsome and well-built young man to be lively and talkative. A youth entering the prime of his life should be energetic; he should ooze testosterone, and walk with swagger. Tristan Savage should be an alpha male, atop the high school food chain. Upon entering a room he should command respect and loudly greet his buddies. However, he hardly talks, rarely initiates an actual conversation, and spends most of his time alone. His personality is carried online, or rather isn't online. Tristan doesn't have an Instagram, Facebook, or twitter account; he never even had a Myspace. His disposition and lack of presence leads to various character interpretations. To some students, Tristan is a weird looking guy suffering from low self-esteem and no self-confidence. Others view him as painfully shy and lacking any social skills, or as an arrogant prick simply refusing to socialize with his fellow students. At first glance, these and many other descriptions can apply to the young man sitting on the uncomfortable plastic seat, half-heartily taking notes. From 7:25 a.m. to 1:25 p.m., he robotically writes down notes and practice problems for the upcoming AP tests. Once fifth period is over, he exits the calculus classroom and walks across the campus to the school gym, were sixty other students have already changed into their gym uniform and divided themselves into four classes. Tristan, along with five other seniors, waits to check in with Coach Johnson. As seniors they are given certain privileges, especially from Coach Anna Johnson. Coach Johnson is woman in her early thirties, has medium length brown hair, grey eyes, and a runner’s build. She and many other faculty members blatantly play favorites; she in particular favors the state championship winning football and baseball teams, as well as her track team. So long as they don’t get caught, she allows the seniors to skip class and for her dear and precious athletes she even comes up with excuses to get them out of school or reasons to have the school pay for large lunches and clothes. All the seniors waiting for her are members of at least two school teams, whether they be athletic or academic, except Tristan. She and many other faculty members have always held some level of distain for Tristan Savage, son of the legendary high school, college, and NFL athlete Robert Savage. Tristan Savages bears almost no apparent physical resemblance to his father, who at Tristan’s age measured 6’6 and weighted 250lbs. The man was a member of nearly every sports team and club the school offered. A natural born leader he inspired various teams to win many championships, and then moved on to repeat his actions in college, winning title after title. During his NFL career he won five Super Bowls, and used his fame and ruggedly handsome good looks to transition flawlessly into the world of corporate business. He now travels the world closing multibillion dollar deals and graces the covers of various magazines. Occasionally he visits the school where it all started; completely captivating all the students and faculty with his charisma and swagger. Coach Johnson stares at Tristan for a moment and feels disappointment; many other faculty member and students feel the same way. He is seemingly nothing like his father. The young man stands at about 6'2 and weighs somewhere between very lean 170lb and 180lbs. Besides his statistics, his personality is also disappointing. He appears to lack confidence and ambition; to them he is a lazy bum. The idea for this story popped up recently into my head, so I quickly wrote down the beginning and decided to post it. I plan to finish Byond Sexy before continue with this story. By the way the growth will happen in later parts, this part and the next part will be set up. Part 1 As Johnson marks Tristan’s attendance, a strong gust of wind suddenly picks up and hits Tristan's torso. The front of his shirt is pushed into the crevices between his abs, revealing a three by two matrix of round perfectly shaped abdominal muscles. Each set of abs becomes more pronounced as they lead up to his chest. Two large round mounds of muscle pop out a few inches from his body. Almost as if refusing to be out done, his obliques press against the soft piece of cloth. They look almost angry, like they want to tear to the fabric to shreds. Large veins are clearly visible through his shirt. They appear from his shoulders and run along his large biceps before seemly disappearing into his forearms. Broad round shoulders curve in to form a small valley between his large round biceps. Another valley is located between his biceps and upper forearms. Tristan doesn't take notice of the wind, but many students and coaches, especially Johnson do. Everyone seems to forget that hidden underneath the school uniform is the body of a dedicated fitness model; though it doesn’t belong there. They gaze in wonder as Tristan walks way; the air still hitting his body, now exposing an expansive network of iron cables running along his backside. He has no possible reason to possess such a body. Tristan doesn’t participate in any form of athletic events, whether they be school or privately sponsored. He isn’t the type to work out simply for the sake of looking good, after all he never even wears short-sleeved uniforms. None of the students or faculty members has a clue how he managed to grow into such in impressive physique. Over three-fourths the school's student body is enrolled in some sort of athletic team or club that requires strenuous physical activity whether it be football or dance, and none of them have bodies even resembling Tristan’s.