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All comments and critiques are welcomed here and on my Google Docs(https://drive.google.com/open?id=1fWR-rfdhN_UycbGeWAlGpvy-jsMu8pgkb8-dx5GR7XM) For other chapters, I will post them on here later. But you can find the archives on my FA and Tumblr with pics included. FA: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/ecchimultiverse/ Tumblr: http://ecchimultiverse.tumblr.com/ First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Chapter 9: Celestial Meteor It was half an hour later that the two gathered their supplies, and Marvelous Man flew to the location. Gene Lightfoot was in his rabbit form; cradled in Marvelous Man’s brawny arms and nestled against the bulging pectorals. During the flight over, Marvelous Man could feel Gene emitting the emotions of frustration. As Marvelous Man began his descent to a street corner across the abandoned Ridgemont subway station, he observed his surroundings. The Ridgemont subway station appeared to be located in a desolate ghetto with decaying structures and broken windows. The area itself was tucked far away at the edge of Skyway City by the decrepit factories that shut down a long time ago and no longer billowed smoke from its tall chimney stacks that could blanket the sky. As for the subway station’s entrance, it was partially bordered up on its top half. The lower half showed marks of being plied off; definitely evidence that somebody was still residing in the abandoned subway. Nearing the ground, Gene leapt from Marvelous Man’s embrace and shifted back into his humanoid form. He stood up straight and closed his eyes. His white bunny ears twitched in different directions as if he were trying to detect any sound like a sonar. Marvelous Man placed a hand on a patch that was freshly ironed onto the shoulder of his black jacket. The decorative patch was the D.A.B. logo; fonted in white and outlined in cobalt blue. While it advertised Marvelous Man’s association, it was enchanted to act as a telepathic communicator with his own teammates and anybody else able to receive the psychic signal. He projected his thoughts, “Faraiza, we got to subway station. We’re in front of it right now.” It felt weird for Marvelous Man to use his thoughts to call out to someone. Like screaming into a void, but the screamer cannot hear the sounds they emit. It was best to not think about how thoughts sound in one’s own head. Regardless of how he felt, Faraiza explained that it was the only way to use his new communicator. “Yes, I have visual of it now. Gene, do you detect anybody?” replied Faraiza. Gene paused, “...No. I do not sense the presence of anyone at all. This is most suspicious.” Marvelous Man could hear the voices of his teammates echo in his head. There was no direction of where the noise originated from. It was all around him and inside himself. He shivered at this first experience of telepathy. “Should we head inside?” he asked. Faraiza answered, “Not yet. I’m not detecting any traps, but I think you should stay put and survey the entrance. I’ll do some quick research to see if there’s another way in. If Gene’s not sensing anybody, you two could be walking in a trap. Either that or the homeless community moved before the Skeleton Lord arrived.” “Roger,” nodded Gene. Gene turned to a dilapidated building on his right and appeared to be analyzing its structure. Its door removed some time ago, and any of its windows that were not already shattered had a layers of grime filmed over it. The bunny demigod pointed, “Let us take shelter in there for now. Their windows on the second floor have a vantage point for observing the subway entrance.” “Alright,” complied Marvelous Man. The two heroes went inside the building without saying a word. From what was left of the interior, Marvelous Man surmised the structure used to be a bakery or cafe on the first floor. The second floor seemed to be an office and an apartment. As the duo wordlessly settled in front of grimy windows, Marvelous Man felt it was the best time to break the ice. There was a certain tension about Gene, but he was not sure if it was due to the mission they were currently handling. He took a cloth he found on the floor and wiped the dirty layer off of a window pane, as he carefully chose his next words. Marvelous Man hesitated, “Hey, Gene...are you okay?” “Yes, I am well. I have no physical condition that will hinder our progress,” replied Gene. Marvelous Man swallowed, “Yeah, I know. But...That’s not what I meant. Are you emotionally okay? You seem tense. Is it because of the seriousness of our mission or what the Skeleton Lord did…” The emotions in Gene’s eyes seem to withdraw for a moment before coming back. The rabbit demigod began broadcasting the emotions of uneasiness. “It...It is not what he did to me that leaves you to perceive that I am having the shaken...It is what he said,” hesitated Gene. He continued, “That...thing said that it was responsible for the death of my people. That he is the reason why my race is a multitude of tribes scattered and hidden across the earth. I had never conceived that my tribe was once united with all the other tribes, but I have also never heard of it happening before. If what he said is true, should not there be history records of this Skeleton Lord?” Marvelous Man looked out the window to keep watch over the subway entrance. He did not know that Gene was part of an actual race. But it did make sense when the Skeleton Lord kept calling Gene Lightfoot that name. It just did not occur to him until the bunny demigod brought it up. There was also something he remembered in the debriefing. “There should’ve. I mean, your people should’ve known if there was a maniac like that. But not even the magical researchers know about him. Like he never existed,” agreed Marvelous Man. Gene’s rabbit ears twitched, “Or maybe nobody wanted to remember he existed. The Skeleton Lord seemed surprised that we did not fear him or even know of his name.” The white rabbit ears on Gene’s head began to droop. Marvelous Man then felt an all too familiar emotion wash over him. Loneliness. “But my people were not just united,” said Gene, “He said we were many. We populated everywhere with the humans. And all of my ancestors had the rabbit ears. All of them. To not only be able to explore the world but also be chosen...I cannot help but envy that such a thing might have happened at one point.” “But..aren’t you doing that right now?” questioned Marvelous Man. Gene shook his head, “It is not the same. Not many know of the ways of my people, and not many have the curiosity for discovering it. You see, all of our Totochtin tribes have only one person in every generation to be blessed by our rabbit god. The choosing happens after a tournament is held to find one who is victorious over their other brothers with their own strength and skill.” “When one is chosen to receive the rabbit ears and have their potential to be unlocked, they must go on a sacred pilgrimage. They must scour a region and find other male warriors to challenge them to combat. If one is able to best our chosen, he gifts the warrior with the best sexual experience he will never find anywhere else. This is an exchange to reap the victor’s seed, so it can be used to birth a new generation for our tribe. The chosen one will continue the process until he has completed exploring the region. And thus, our tribe becomes stronger with every descendant, and the cycle begins anew,” explained Gene. Marvelous Man willed his face with all his might to not express bewilderment. With no mirror around, he was not sure if his body betrayed him or not. He wondered if being baffled was also an emotion and hoped Gene could not detect. He saw Gene give a small smile as if he knew or was aware of how his culture was perceived by outsiders. Marvelous Man cleared his throat, “So...I guess your time here in North America is limited, huh?” “Yes, but also no. I was not assigned to this region,” twitched Gene, “I am sorry, but my story will have to be shared for another time. Someone has arrived, and they are curious.” Staring out the window, Marvelous Man spotted a woman in a red female kung fu uniform with visor sunglasses over her eyes. He immediately recognized her. “Octomentist?” he said to himself. Gene glanced, “You know of her?” “I met her yesterday. We teamed up to fight the PB&J Gang,” answered Marvelous Man. Octomentist looked about as if she were searching for someone. She looked up where Marvelous Man and Gene were stationed at for a few seconds before resuming her exploration. Gene inquired, “Is she from the Arkos Division?” “Yeah, how’d you know?” said Marvelous Man. Gene replied, “Most members from a superhero company dress themselves according to the colors their companies favor. It is much like how I dress with the blue to proclaim my association with the D.A.B. Though some people do the compromise by carrying a colored accessory in relation to their employer yet wearing whatever colors they please. Just like you.” “Oh,” spoke Marvelous Man, “So should we go down there to talk to her?” Gene crossed his arms, “There is no need. I believe she has found us, because she is now amused.” His rabbit ears twitched. “She is now within the building,” said the bunny demigod. Hearing the stairs creak, Marvelous Man turned his attention to the doorway. The echo of footsteps slowly drew closer. Seconds later, Octomentist appeared in the hallway right outside of the room’s entrance. Octomentist smiled, “Hey there, Naked Justice. Didn’t think I’d see you so soon. How’s my sidekick doin?” “Umm, doin alright. What’re you doing here?” asked Marvelous Man. Octomentist answered, “Saw you passing by. Thought I’d track you down, since I didn’t have anything better to do. Saw you upstairs with my visor’s thermal vision. Though I didn’t think you’d end up here in the ghetto. Congratulations on getting picked up by the D.A.B., by the way.” Marvelous Man was confused by Octomentist’s remark. He was not sure how she already knew. A second went by until his mind finally comprehended that his communicator patch gave away a context clue. “Oh. Thanks. Uh, this is Gene. And we were trying to find a guy that’s hiding out in that abandoned subway down there,” pointed Marvelous Man. Gene cutted in, “I believe this is one of the situations that we must exercise discretion, Marvelous Man. It would not be wise to divulge any more information regarding the mission.” “It’s cool. I think I’ll just tag along anyways. Or I could just charge right down there while screaming my head off. I’m sure he won’t notice me,” grinned Octomentist. Faraiza’s voice ringed in Gene Lightfoot and Marvelous Man’s head before they could say anything. She stated, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find any other alternate entrances inside. You’re going to have to proceed through the front. But before you go, there’s something else I need to ask of you two. I’m sending a picture to your scrolls.” “Marvelous Man could you open your scroll?” asked Gene. Marvelous Man nodded, “Sure.” Reaching into his pocket, Marvelous Man retrieved his electronic scroll and silver-rimmed visor glasses that looked exactly like the Director’s. However, the electronic scroll Faraiza gave him was completely different from Director Skye’s scroll. Instead of resembling an extravagant Torah, its features were more like an oval-shaped object. “You don’t need the glasses. This information isn’t private. Besides, it’d be good to let your third party know about this. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody about her involvement,” echoed Faraiza. After nodding and placing the glasses back into his bottomless pockets, Marvelous Man proceeded with opening his scroll. He pressed the button on the top side of his oval scroll to unlock its features with a small click. Gently pulling at its sides, the scroll’s outer shell broke apart to reveal a transparent plastic sheet. It glowed with a hushed light of blue and white. Octomentist grinned, “Oh, hey! Those are the mobile alpha prototypes the Arkos Division sent out to the other hero organizations to try out before it’s released for retail. Glad to see it being put to use.” Marvelous Man ignored Octomentist’s statement and continued. Flipping open the panels on the scroll’s sides, he pressed the buttons hidden underneath to move the scroll’s digital cursor. He then selected the messages icon and found his first new message. Opening it, he found a headshot picture of a caucasian man with messy brown hair. Marvelous Man then heard Faraiza’s voice echo in his head. “That’s Martin Whalsh. He’s supposedly the leader of that community. Try to save him first. If you do, he can really help us out for future investigations or make it easier to move the homeless somewhere else,” said Faraiza. Gene replied back telepathically, “We will do our best, Faraiza.” “Why are you guys just staring at the screen? And who’s that?” spoke Octomentist. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The three heroes stood steps away from the subway entrance. A gust of wind blew from within; moaning to forbode them from entering. The sunlight that was able to poke through the opening revealed stairs that paved downward into unknown darkness. Gene stated, “I will go forth and do the ‘inside sweep’. Faraiza and I will alert you on whether it is safe to proceed or if something is amiss.” His form began to shrink, as he shapeshifted into a snow-white rabbit. The bunny demigod’s animal shape twitched its nose for a moment before bounding into the entrance and hopping down the stairs' descend into the black abyss. “Huh, the files weren’t kidding. He really can shapeshift into a bunny,” remarked Octomentist, “By the way, it sucks that you got a Rank D. A little bit of downtime with this company, and you’ll get C Rank in no time.” “Thanks,” nodded Marvelous Man. A bloodcurdling scream ringed in Marvelous Man’s head. It sounded similar to Gene Lightfoot’s but as if he were in unimaginable pain. Faraiza’s voice interrupted the telepathic transmission. She spoke urgently, “Marvelous Man, you need to get down there! Something has traumatized Gene, but I’m not sure what!” Marvelous Man turned to Octomentist with wide eyes. “Something went wrong,” he said. Placing his hand on Octomentist’s shoulders, Marvelous Man commanded the light within him to illuminate himself and his friend. The two charged forth with Marvelous Man in the lead. As they entered, Marvelous Man punched the boarded planks on the top half of the subway’s entrance; splintering it in half and leaving enough room for the shining hero to dash through without ducking. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Faraizah guided the pair as to where Gene was located. After treading down the steps and crossing over the train tracks in the pitch blackness, they found a large clearing with blanket tents and houses made of cardboard and tin sheets built against the walls. They spotted Gene in his humanoid form; laying in the center in a fetal position. Marvelous Man shouted, “Gene!” He ran towards the fallen hero and placed a hand on his back. Marvelous Man’s light analyzed Lightfoot’s body but found no physical wounds to heal. Marvelous Man crouched down to get a better look at Gene and noticed a small puddle of vomit next to the bunny demigod. “There is so much pain here. So much horror. Fear. Despair. All of those people...gone,” murmured Gene. The bunny demigod looked up at Marvelous Man. His face was wet with tears, and his eyes were nearly clouded with catatonia. Marvelous Man could feel Gene emitting his own feelings of sorrow. He then realized if the broadcasting of Gene’s emotions were to continue, it could affect the team’s ability to fight. They were in no place to take their time to talk about their feelings. Marvelous Man needed to temporarily override the bunny demigod’s feelings and quickly asked himself what he could do. He could hit Gene with a slap or light punch. That always seemed to work in movies and anime. But that did not feel like the right approach for Marvelous Man to do, and Gene could react with even more negativity. If he were an empath like Gene, he could have injected positivity into Gene to balance him out...but he actually could do that in theory. As Marvelous Man closed his eyes and reached into his black jacket’s pocket, Octomentist walked past the two kneeling heroes. An object sparkling from Marvelous Man’s light sat on the ground by its lonesome. She scooped it up, while Marvelous Man pulled out his golden harmonica, Duskbell, and started playing it. Octomentist turned to music playing with her mouth pursed to exclaim. Her shouting came to an abrupt halt, as she saw Marvelous Man. Marvelous Man blew his golden harmonica with minstrel skill and jammed to an upbeat tempo. His light fed on the music and became supercharged. It obeyed Marvelous Man’s commands and began to extend itself. Bursting from the floor Marvelous Man was kneeling on, it enveloped Gene Lightfoot and dispersed to the rest of the ground. Upon sensing Gene’s sorrow to quell, Marvelous Man ceased the playing of Duskbell. He opened his eyes and spotted Octomentist; holding one of Gene’s silver spheres. He asked, “Where did you find that?” “Right here,” said Octomentist. She paused for a moment, as she looked about her surroundings. Octomentist hesitated, “Is that...blood?” It was Marvelous Man’s turn to observe the area. Before illuminating the area, the light shining off of him and Octomentist lit their line of sight only steps ahead in the vast darkness. This caused tunnel vision upon spotting the emotionally disturbed Gene. Now that everything around them was revealed and nothing to distract Marvelous Man, he could see everything. Blood. The dark red liquid splattered everywhere; from the walls to the makeshift homes and even the ground. It were as if a giant blood-filled balloon exploded everywhere or some sort of horror film setting. The scent of iron flooded Marvelous Man’s senses, and despair filled his stomach. With no visual contact of the homeless community, the blood, and the silver ball, a connection was made. Marvelous Man immediately placed his hand on the D.A.B. jacket patch. “Faraiza, I think we’ve been set up!” he telepathically exclaimed. Faraiza choked, “I see it. Oh my gosh...there’s so much blood. If Gene’s ball is here, then where’s the Skeleton Lord? Did he know we were tracking him?” Gene slowly began to stand up. His posture no longer exhibited that of a deterred person. The bunny demigod joined the telepathic conversation. “I am sorry, Faraiza. I sense that they are all dead,” he said. Octomentist muttered, “This is all kinds of fucked up.” A soft patter echoed in the opening behind Octomentist. However, everyone was too engrossed in the gore decor to notice. “So this is how you all survived my onslaught of the undead. The star child’s odd ocarina can enchant the field with daylight, as well as yourselves,” noted the Skeleton Lord’s voice. Octomentist turned around to face the Skeleton Lord, as she took a step away from him. The Skeleton Lord, garbed in his red cloak and the equine skull resting on his head, continued to proceed forward. Gene Lightfoot slid his hand into his utility belt’s pouch of silver spheres. The Skeleton Lord calmly spoke, “I had a feeling that silver marble had a tracking spell on it. It appears I was correct. If I were wrong, well, then I would have enough time to absorb the fleshes of this gypsy caravan. Sadly, I was only able to absorb their fear and blood. But I must admit, it became a bit messy on that last part.” The Skeleton Lord’s red cloak billowed as the insides rustled. His arms extended from the curtain with an object in its grasp. It was the decapitated head of Martin Whalsh; the leader of the subway homeless community. “And killing this fellow first made the fear flow right out of them. I assume it was because he is their chief and also because I killed him,” he said on a tangent. Octomentist leapt forward. Pivoting her waist to pronounce a stronger strike, she whips her golden arm towards the Skeleton Lord. Her golden left arm changed its shape; transforming into a golden machete. Four skeleton arms bursted from within his red cloak. Their white, bony hands caught the golden blade above the Skeleton Lord’s shoulder; right before the weapon could reach the neck. The golden machete shook from Octomentist trying to muscle through the gentle, skeletal grasps. Without even flinching from the murderous attempt, the Skeleton Lord slowly turned his attention to the blade for a moment. The Skeleton Lord changed his gaze to Octomentist, “Hm, a monk with killing intent. Or perhaps you are one of those mystic knights?” Octomentist did not answer but immediately reacted. Two of her right chrome arms placed their inner sides on top of one another. Palms flexing out, the chrome arms were tucked close to her side and aimed at the Skeleton Lord. A stream of water as powerful as a fireman’s hose jetted out of the palms. It sparkled with a layer of electricity coursing through. The electrified aqua punctured through the Skeleton Lord’s abdomen; soaking and billowing the back of his red cloak. The Skeleton Lord convulsed from the electrical currents spreading throughout his entire body. His hands lost their grip on the decapitated head and causing it to land with a soft plop. As the Skeleton Lord began to teeter towards the ground, Gene withdrew a silver ball from his pouch and threw it faster than a professional baseball pitcher. It whistled through the air, as it was aimed towards the stunned Skeleton Lord. The adrenaline pumping throughout Marvelous Man allowed time to slow down for just a moment to see the sphere about to bore into the Skeleton Lord’s hooded forehead with only a pen’s length between the two. A tendril of bone shot out from beneath the Skeleton Lord’s cloak. As it stabbed into the ground, it caused the Skeleton Lord to rocket into the air. Gene’s silver sphere completely missed piercing the Skeleton Lord’s head before the sudden velocity. The Skeleton Lord’s body hung limply high above the other heroes with the bone tendril continuing to extend and thicken from under the red cloak. Three more bone tendrils stretched out from behind the red clothing; rooting into the ceiling to stabilize the first tendril’s balance. The Skeleton Lord looked as if it were a daddy-long-leg spider that was short of four bony legs. “Lightning enchanted water? Well, that is a first,” remarked the Skeleton Lord. Grabbing his golden wreath, Marvelous Man threw his projectile. It whizzed like a buzzsaw; flying up towards the Skeleton Lord. The spider-like bone legs pulled the Skeleton Lord higher up towards the ceiling, as the golden wreath was about to reach the Skeleton Lord and saw through. Missing its target, the wreath returned to Marvelous Man, while the bone legs began to shift. The spider bone legs crawled across the ceiling with the Skeleton Lord gently swaying beneath. His bony appendages made its way to the other side of the room behind Marvelous Man and Gene. As he was lowered to the ground in front of entrance, the Skeleton Lord clapped. The Skeleton Lord cackled, “Well, go on then. Entertain me! Show me things the warriors of the past have not already done!” Surging forward, Marvelous Man bounded towards the Skeleton Lord with Gene following behind him in rabbit form. The shining hero activated his flight power and twisted himself in a counterclockwise motion. He completed two rotations before aiming a slamming right elbow at the Skeleton Lord’s face. A skeletal arm extended from underneath the Skeleton Lord’s cloak. It caught the powerful elbow without even wincing. The sudden stop of the muscular man’s deadly gymnastics cause the wind trailing with his huge body to billow the Skeleton Lord’s red cloak. As Marvelous Man was held in place, the white rabbit bounded underneath his musclebound frame. Gene arrived at the feet of the Skeleton Lord and transformed. As he shapeshifted back into his humanoid form, Gene Lightfoot rose up into the air while executing a spinning uppercut. His fist connected with the underside of the Skeleton Lord’s pale, white jaw. The brittle sound of bone popping and cracking emanated from the blow to the Skeleton Lord. As Gene continued ascending above, the Skeleton Lord’s head flung back from the blow. His body nearly recoiled, but his spider bone legs dug into the floor and walls to stabilize himself. The skeleton arm released its grasp on Marvelous Man’s elbow before immediately clasping onto the bunny demigod’s left shoulder. Three more skeletal arms lashed out from beneath the red cloak. Clamping underneath Gene’s right shoulder and legs, they held the bunny demigod steadfast in midair with the limbs pulled into a spread eagle position. The Skeleton Lord reached out with his own pale-skinned hand and groped Gene’s crotch that dangled like plump blue fruit. His jaw shifted itself back into place with the sound of bone snapping itself together. “I have to say, lust energy has far more power in it than absorbing one’s fear. Still, it is quite difficult to...milk lust energy if one is not a Totochtin. But I have learned many ways to milk fear,” smiled the Skeleton Lord. Upon his elbow being released, Marvelous Man swiveled his brawny body in midair towards the Skeleton Lord’s left side in a clockwise motion. He launched his right fist in an overhand punch upon arriving next to the villain. Another skeleton arm rose from behind the Skeleton Lord’s red cloak. It appeared to be a right appendage that began to wave in a counterclockwise motion. As the top of its wrist briefly touched the golden encased underside of Marvelous Man’s, it reflexed immediately. The skeletal hand grabbed Marvelous Man’s jewelry-covered wrist and yanked it forward. At that moment, the trajectory of Marvelous Man’s punch was now under the control of the bony hand. Marvelous Man’s fist was guided downwards in front of the Skeleton Lord’s neck. The shining hero could see his fist completely missing the molesting villain that did not bother to even look in his direction. He had no time to move away in the instance he was pulled closer to the Skeleton Lord. Two more skeleton arms thrusted out from the cloak. Both had their bony hands curled into hard fists as they aimed at different areas of Marvelous Man’s body. The first struck the right side of the hero’s face. With the skeletal hand holding onto his wrist, he could not be flung back. He had no choice but to take the brunt of the punch as it twisted into his cheek. Marvelous Man felt his vision and hearing blur at the powerful blow. Though Marvelous Man had bulletproof skin, blunt and hard attacks could still hurt him without ever having to break the epidermis. The hero himself had discovered firsthand that the fist was both of those things. At the same time, the second bony fist pounded into Marvelous Man’s right side of his torso. The aim of this strike targeted below his ribs and impacted with a twist against Marvelous Man’s kidney. Pain instantly seared throughout his body at the same moment his face got pummeled. The skeletal fist that punched the hero’s face then snaked over Marvelous Man’s muscular punching arm. It cupped Marvelous Man’s armpit and lifted with a small amount of force, while the hand holding the bracelet-covered wrist pulled it in towards the Skeleton Lord. This action locked the extended arm in place, as it caused hyperextension to counter any resistance from Marvelous Man. Were it not for the pulverizing strikes to his face and kidney, he would have screamed at feeling his arm reaching the point of breaking in his elbow. Seeing her teammates already subdued by the Skeleton Lord as Octomentist sprinted towards them, she pressed one of her right chrome hands on her chest. It began to emit a dark aura and manipulate her gravity to weightlessness. Octomentist dove forward before the antigravity took complete effect over her body. Upon complete hovering with no force to ground her, Octomentist aimed another cybernetic right arm behind her. The arm’s ability activated a burst of air pressure steaming out of her palm and increasing her flight speed. The multi-armed heroine positioned her arm to keep herself low enough to be close to the ground without any accidental contact. Octomentist maneuvered herself to zip past the Skeleton Lord on his right side while shapeshifting her golden arm into a pickaxe. The Skeleton Lord took no action to what appeared to be some sort of confused retreat, as she flew through the entrance the heroes came through. Once past, she immediately swung her golden pickaxe arm into the cemented ground; piercing into it with ease. The stem of the pickaxe began to extend itself, as it thinned from increasing length like a rubber band. The torrent of air coming from her other chrome hand ceased, and Octomentist’s flight came to a slow with her golden arm acting as an anchor. She then lifted her gravity-manipulating arm from her chest; releasing her from weightless and gently rolling onto the ground. After a few tumbles and her golden arm shifting back into its original form, Octomentist stood up with urgency. The right chrome limbs that emitted water and electricity combined once again. Octomentist quickly took aim at the Skeleton Lord’s back and fired a streaming torrent of electrified water. The charged current splashed into the cloak’s wet spot where Octomentist’s first shot could not pierce through. The stream failed to break open the Skeleton Lord’s red cloak but managed to split into smaller electrified drops when penetrating the fabric. The villain convulsed, and his body became limp. The skeletal arms that held the other heroes in undignified poses released their grasps, as the spider-like bone legs started to crawl up the ceiling with the Skeleton Lord in tow. Octomentist ceased her attack the moment she saw the Skeleton Lord move upwards. The eight-armed hero ran to Gene Lightfoot and Marvelous Man in an attempt to assist them. “How annoying,” mused the Skeleton Lord, “Would you like to know how I wringed every last drop of fear out of those gypsies?” He continued, “You never torture the old in front of the others. They already know death is coming for them. No, you start with the young. Their terror increases the others’ maternal fears by tenfold. And a whole lot of children to torture creates so much fear for me to absorb. Unfortunately, this caravan only had a baby. Well...one makes do with what they have.” As the Skeleton Lord continued to chat and cackle, Marvelous Man gave his stretched arm a few shakes before squatting down like a sumo wrestler. He placed his fists on the ground and raised his hard, round glutes high into the air. Marvelous Man slowly inhaled through his nose as he concentrated his leg muscles to soak up as much kinetic force as it could provide before liftoff. He relaxed his arms and focused the direction he would be flying towards. With his legs to provide the lift, he would straighten his arms at the last second to adjust his angle. Marvelous Man felt his chest and stomach expand to its fullest with all the air it could take and knew it was time to unleash the collected potential within his powerful calves and thunderous thighs. His thighs and biceps flexed; veins and muscular cords bulged and outlined against his skin. The cement underneath his feet cracked. With the force within his arms and legs unleashed, Marvelous Man rocketed forward; leaving behind a shallow crater indented with his own footprints and fistprints. The glowing, musclebound body shot up like a shimmering firework before its timed explosion. Marvelous Man’s aim held true, as he soared towards the Skeleton Lord. Activating his flight power, the shining hero tucked himself into a ball as tight as he could and began to vertically rotate. Marvelous Man stuck his right leg straight out, while his spinning gained more speed. Becoming a buzzsaw-like blur like his own golden wreath, Marvelous Man continued to whirl closer to the Skeleton Lord. The villain saw the spinning hero for only a second before he zipped above the Skeleton Lord between rotations. Marvelous Man’s aim and timing held true; he was right where he wanted to be . The muscular hero completed his cycle and slammed his heel into the Skeleton Lord’s back. The force of the heel drop kick jerked the Skeleton Lord downward. His spider-like bone legs could not handle the sudden direction his body went and immediately snapped off. As the Skeleton Lord fell with great velocity, Marvelous Man’s homing attack propelled himself further up. Right when Marvelous Man successfully attacked the Skeleton Lord’s back, he straightened his body and twirled himself upside down. His black boots were to the first to land on the ceiling and absorb the powerful impact resulting from his super jump and kick. The concrete top chipped and rippled with cracks that traveled to the edge of the ceiling. From the ground perspective of where Gene and Octomentist stood, it looked as if Marvelous Man had sprouted stone angel wings. Marvelous Man’s muscular body crouched against the fissured ceiling, as he spotted the Skeleton Lord plummeting into the blood-stained floor. The ground shattered underneath the villain with a plume of dust and debris flying up from the hole. With the smoke now obfuscating the Skeleton Lord’s body, Marvelous Man decided to not take any chances. His thighs flexed with visible veins on the skin; fighting against the sudden kinetic force that would have pinned him there for a few seconds. He activated his flight powers again and pushed off the concrete dome. In midair, Marvelous Man performed a forward flip to readjust himself. He clasped his knees together as tight as he possibly could and directed them down at the hole the Skeleton Lord resided in. Through the crashing descend in the smoke, Marvelous Man looked like a bright meteor entering the Earth’s atmosphere. The brawny superhero blasted into Skeleton Lord’s crater; resulting in a thunderous boom. A small gust of wind and dust brushed against the other two superhero spectators as more smoke rose into the air. Seconds past after pebble-sized cement pieces finished scattering into the air and clattered back onto the floor. There was no sign of movement from the man-made hole. “Marvelous Man?” called Gene. Faraiza’s voice echoed in Lightfoot’s head, “He’s alright, Gene. I can see him slowly getting up, but he’s a bit too shaky to keep himself steady.” “Much gratitude, Faraiza,” said Gene. The bunny demigod ran to the deep crater that was beginning to clear of smoky debris. He spotted Marvelous Man struggling to stand as his legs were wobbling like a newborn deer. Gene held his hand out, “Here, let me aid you.” “Thanks. I landed really hard on my legs. I’m kinda surprised they’re not broken” coughed Marvelous Man. Accepting the assistance, the white-eared hero pulled Marvelous Man out of the hole. Gene could see Marvelous Man was still having trouble standing up, as Marvelous Man’s bulging legs were still shaking. The bunny demigod scooped up his D.A.B. partner with gentle ease and held him in a bridal carry fashion. He carried his partner back to Octomentist without any trouble. Marvelous Man’s body weight was no match for Gene’s super strength. “Gotta say, that was a sick move you pulled there, Naked Justice,” remarked Octomentist Hey, wait! Can’t you fly?” Marvelous Man’s eyes widened, “Oh...right. Sorry, brain is a bit mushy from all that G-force.” Faraiza’s voice interrupted Gene and Marvelous Man’s thoughts. “I’m sorry for breaking up the good feelings and all, but just what were you all fighting? I couldn’t see the voice that was talking to you, and I have a visual of everything in this room. Something was damaging this room, but it was completely invisible to me,” she said. Gene projected his thoughts his D.A.B. teammates, “The emotions and aura of the Skeleton Lord are invisible to me as well. I fear this person has the ability or magic to mask his presence. Only the naked eye can perceive the Skeleton Lord.” The white rabbit ears on Gene’s head twitched. He turned his attention back to the Skeleton Lord’s hole while carrying Marvelous Man. “What’s wrong?” Marvelous Man asked aloud. Gene frowned, “If I were to give the guess, I would surmise that the Skeleton Lord is putting himself back together again.” “Oh my fucking gosh, when will this Humpty Dumpty son of a bitch stay broken?!” exclaimed Octomentist. The sound of bones shifting and cracking into place emanated from the small pit. It was a soft echo that began to increase in volume, as a shambling silhouette rose from the hole. Though dusty, it was undoubtedly the red robe of the Skeleton Lord with the hood being distended by the equine skull headgear. “Cursed wretch,” spoke the Skeleton Lord, “To arms, my guardians!” With his bone structure reformed, the villain stood straight up. Eight skeleton arms stretched from the red cloak; brandished with a weapon in each hand. The top two hands held a bow and arrow. The pair underneath the long-range weapon was a circular war shield welded with bumps and intricate designs, and a sword with a hook-shaped blade that Marvelous Man recognized as a scythe sword. Below the sword and shield wielders were short-handed axes, etched with runes, held in each hand. The last set of hands held a glaive polearm; its black blade decorated with silver white bell-shaped heather flowers that formed into a hook on the blade’s back. Marvelous Man activated his flight power and floated from Gene’s arms. He positioned himself standing straight and gave his legs a shake while hovering. While his legs felt like useless limbs filled with pins and needles, the rest of body felt twitchy and unstable. He would need a few minutes to recover and be at full strength after pushing his body to the limit twice with no intervals between those wall-cracking bursts. But Marvelous Man knew he had no time for breaks before round two with the Skeleton Lord began. “My body is too noodley to hit him hard like that again,” he frowned. Gene nodded, “That is fine. I request that you stay in the air. I will need your assistance with the air support. Please catch me and throw me back at the Skeleton Lord. The use of your wreath will also be appreciated. I will lead the attack. Octomentist, if you please, try to counter his attacks, to create the opportunity for me.” The bunny demigod pulled his right arm over his chest to stretch his shoulder muscle before switching to the other arm. He continued stretching his muscles as the other hero spoke to him. “Alright. But I’m out of water, so I can’t do the electrified water attack that’s been stunning him. And I’m running low on electricity with my Lightning Arm,” nodded Octomentist. Gene gently smiled, “We will manage with what we have. Marvelous Man, please begin the first attack.” Obeying Gene’s command, Marvelous Man threw his golden wreath at the Skeleton Lord. The bunny demigod dashed forward upon seeing the projectile with Octomentist and Marvelous Man following his lead. Gene placed a hand in the silver ball pouch on his utility belt. A rune glowed on his blue fingerless glove, as he swirled his index and middle finger within the pouch. The silver balls within the blue pouch reacted to Gene’s finger motions and the glowing rune. Right when a sphere was plucked by Gene’s fingers, another ball shapeshifted into a long, silver cord and linked itself to the chosen weapon. The cord then connected to two other orbs to form a bolas projectile. Gene pulled out the silver bolas from his pouch and began rotating the other two weights over his head. The bunny demigod kept his eyes targeted at the skeleton arms equipped with the bow and arrow. The archer arms had the arrow nocked on the white bowstring and its obsidian arrowhead aimed at Gene. As the arrow was being drawn back, Gene released his silver bolas. The projectile spun through the air and shimmered from Marvelous Man imbuing the ground with light. Accompanying in front of the silver bolas was Marvelous Man’s golden wreath; flying at a much lower angle that could decapitate the Skeleton Lord. The shield-wielding skeleton hand lowered its equipment in front of the Skeleton Lord’s face to block the incoming attacks. The golden wreath that aimed for the villain’s neck bounced off the shield and changed its course; boomeranging back to Marvelous Man. The shield ignored the silver bolas, as its trajectory would miss any harming intent towards the Skeleton Lord. Slinging over the shield, the bolas’ silver cords caught itself on the skeletal forearms of the archer arms. The spherical weights of the bolas wrapped around the forearms; tightening and tangling the cords to prevent any easy escape. The gap between the arm holding the bow and the other drawing the arrow was slammed shut. Smoke started to emanate from the binded bones as the arms exposed to the silver bubbled and sizzled. Gene dug his hand back into his silver sphere pouch and grasped a handful. With an underhand throw, the balls spread in different directions within a cone arc at the Skeleton Lord. The shield wielder held its ground; propped in front of the Skeleton Lord’s face. As for the other skeleton limbs that were not bound, they seemed to understand the poisonous touch of Gene’s silver and withdrew inside the villain’s red cloak. The silver balls pelted against the shield and cloak with the force of a shotgun blast. While the ones that pummeled against the cloak and rolled away after dealing internal damage, the rest that bombarded the shield lodged into it with large impact dents. As the distance between the charging Gene and the defending Skeleton Lord thinned for close combat, the bunny demigod lept. He planted his hands atop the dented shield’s rim and pulled himself up. Using it as gymnastic beam to leapfrog over, he split his legs open. Gene hoisted himself into the air with his spandex-covered crotch dangling in the wind. With quick reaction, the bunny demigod threw his arms up while sailing over the Skeleton Lord. Marvelous Man flew to Gene’s aid. Catching his partner’s hands, Marvelous Man carried him over to the other side of the room. The musclebound hero twirled upon approaching the wall. Halfway into his rotation, Marvelous Man’s bulky body graced his direction and tossed Gene in an underhanded motion. Gene’s nimble body gained brief altitude before gravity began pulling him down towards the Skeleton Lord. The villain turned to face Gene, as the rabbit hero notice movement billowing underneath the Skeleton Lord’s red cloak. A tip of a black blade peaked out from the robe. Seeing the ornamental glaive being speared towards him, Gene Lightfoot grinned. He shapeshifted into a snow-white rabbit right when the glaive was only a second away from impaling him. The black blade of the polearm completely missed Gene, as he gracefully landed on top of the blade’s flower bell-shaped hook. Continuing his motion, rabbit Gene hopped down to the pole part of the weapon. The white rabbit transformed back into Gene’s humanoid form. As his body landed on the pole, he hooked an arm and leg of his around it. The bunny demigod contorted his body; twisting down the glaive’s staff with the grace of a professional pole dancer. While completing his first revolution around the pole, Gene kicked underneath the shield. The defense-wielding arm flung back from the powerful attack; leaving the Skeleton Lord’s head unguarded. Upon Gene’s second revolution, he gripped the staff with both his hands and flung his legs open in a wide barrage. Both of his blue boots concussed the side of the Skeleton Lord’s head; causing the villain to become momentarily dizzy. As for the third revolution, Gene turned his body inwards towards the pole. He tucked in his legs before immediately ejecting them out and thrusting it into the Skeleton Lord’s solar plexus. The sudden propulsion inflicted upon the villain cause the skeletal hands to lose their grip on the glaive. A soft crack emanated from the binded skeleton archer hands. The shaking from the Skeleton Lord caused the weakened archer hands to snap at the point where the silver bolas tied and dissolved them. The Skeleton Lord stumbled back, while Gene landed on his feet with the decorative glaive in his hands. Four skeleton legs stretched beneath the villain’s robe; lifting their master to prevent his fall. Balance restored, the Skeleton Lord cursed. “Cursed wretch,” he muttered. Gene spear-chucked the glaive at the Skeleton Lord. As it sailed through the air, its staff end began to dissipate into black smoke. The shield wielder intervened and swatted at the glaive with its dented shield. The polearm weapon spun into the air, as it completely evaporated into black soot. The Skeleton Lord’s red cloak fluttered, as the pair of skeletal hands armed with short-handed axes presented themselves again. The two skeleton hands clanged their axes together as if signaling their own war cry. As the blades reverberated against each other, the runes etched on the handles began to glow a soft blue light. Electricity emanated from the runes and wildly coursed through the axes; zapping multiple, short bursts in every direction like a plasma lamp with lightning. The quadruped skeleton legs charged; pairing with each other to form their own synchronized left and right legs. As the Skeleton Lord stampeded towards the heroes, the axe-wielding hands twirled their weapons. With Gene in chopping distance, the left bony hand swung its axe in an overhand motion. The electricity from the axe crackled the air as it drew closer to Gene’s neck. Octomentist stepped in front of her teammate. She lifted one of her right chrome arms; her wrist limped and relaxed. The top of her chrome wrist made contact with the underside of the attacking skeletal arm’s wrist. All of the wild lightning that raged from the axe now harmlessly coursed into her Lightning Arm. At the same time, one of Octomentists left chrome arms vibrated with ferocity as she swung it upward in a karate chopping motion. The attacking arm sawed through the skeletal forearm without any resistance. Octomentist twisted her body; her back facing the Skeleton Lord. She reached out with her Lightning Arm in a preemptive attempt to intercept the other axe-wielding arm. As predicted, the other skeleton arm swung its electrified axe at her. Octomentist’s Lightning Arm caught the attacker by the wrist and absorbed the electricity sprouting from the axe. Her feet slid about to reposition herself to face her attacker, while the hand of her Lightning Arm briefly relinquished their grip to snake underneath the bony wrist. After completing its slide underneath the skeletal wrist, the chrome hand reestablished their grip on the other side of the wrist. Octomentist yanked the axe-wielding arm, as her vibrating, left chrome arm thrusted forward in a palm strike. The skeleton arm shattered into bits from the vibrating attack. “Kyaa!” exclaimed Octomentist, “Thanks for the recharge!” The shield-wielding hand’s partner, the scythe sword, thrusted up from the red cloak as though it was proclaiming its reappearance. In the same moment of striking itself in the air, the bony hand brought down its scythe sword with slicing intent. Sliding her left leg back, Octomentist brought her gravity-negating arm up to block the the scythe sword’s blade. Her hand limply hanged, as the arm itself instantly generated its dark aura. The scythe sword descended upon the chrome arm. At the point of contact with the arm’s dark aura, the blade silently bounced. The sword never got past the anti-gravity field to clang with the arm. Instead, it reacted like magnets with identical charges. The skeletal arm of the scythe sword flung back with its weapon as if it were hit with a whiplashing force. With her defense successful, Octomentist twirled away from the Skeleton Lord. At the same time, a whirring noise echoed. While the scythe sword wielder struggled to regain control of itself, Marvelous Man’s golden wreath approached from behind the skeleton arm. It sliced through with no effort; the action similar to a saw blade cutting through cheap wood. The scythe sword and the skeletal hand wielding it clattered onto the concrete floor. The wreath curved around the shield wielder, as it made its return back to Marvelous Man floating unnoticingly in the background. Among the confrontation with Gene Lightfoot and Octomentist, the Skeleton Lord and his guardians took no notice of Marvelous Man’s whereabouts. The Skeleton Lord literally disarmed of offensive weaponry, Gene lunged forward and grabbed the villain’s red cloak. The bunny demigod lifted the cloaked man and pivoted his waist. The cloak itself seemed to be bonded to the Skeleton Lord, as the evil man was yanked into Gene’s twisting vortex. Gene’s body rotated with the red robe billowing. Upon completing his three-sixty spin, the rabbit hero threw the Skeleton Lord across the room with all his might. The super strength from Gene caused the Skeleton Lord to fly too fast for him to be able to process a counter maneuver. In the one second of flight before colliding into the wall, the Skeleton Lord looked like a badminton birdie. The Skeleton Lord impacted against the wall with a thunderous slam. Though the concrete wall cracked with bits flying off, its layers were deep enough to handle the shock rather than be instantaneously obliterated. The Skeleton Lord was in a huddled mass devoid of humanoid shapes within the wall’s newly created shallow crater. All four of the skeleton legs and the shield wielder that were attached to the Skeleton Lord now crumbled from all the force. Gene’s bunny ears twitched, “Impossible...” Bones cracking and snapping together and flesh squelching resounded from the Skeleton Lord’s prolapsed body within the red cloak. The cloak undulated with its contents poking and prodding the fabric, before the cloak fell from its crater from all the movement. It landed on the ground with a stifled splat. Black ooze leaked onto the glowing floor until it sizzled and immediately evaporated seconds after contact with the light. “What the hell is keeping him alive?” said Octomentist. The sound of cracking and squelching continued, as the robe slowly rose up. Shape within was rapidly taking form of something more humanoid. The heroes could only gape in horror at how undead this monster truly was. Marvelous Man knew he had to move, but he felt paralyzed at watching the abhorrent display. The nauseating sounds finally ceased as the Skeleton Lord’s form was now restored. Marvelous Man flew back to Gene’s position; hovering next to his partner. “Totochtin. Star child. Heroes. At first, I thought of you as a fun distraction,” spoke the Skeleton Lord, “But I now see that much has changed since I have been sealed.” A wail of an unknown beast emanated from the Skeleton Lord’s entrance next to the villain. Heavy thumpings can be heard; increasing in volume as it drew closer to the entry way the Skeleton Lord used. The Skeleton Lord resumed, “Ah, it appears my creation is nearly complete. I made this amalgam when I realized my absorption of the gypsy caravan’s flesh was to be interrupted. The process of formation would be slow, so my whole intention was to distract you. But allow me to dispose some wisdom for you three. You should mind the gas it belches. It is quite toxic.” The Skeleton Lord turned to his entrance. He paused for a moment. “When we meet again, Totochtin, I will ask you a very important question. One that can save your race should your reply be yes or doom their fate to be with the rest of the lower beings I will extinguish,” he said. Marvelous Man shouted, “Wait! Why are you doing all this? What’s the point of doing all these terrible things?!” The Skeleton Lord stood there silently. His form ebbed away to invisibility in seconds. The Skeleton’s voice echoed the clearing with an emotionless tone: “When one has the power of a god and their purpose has turned to ash, the only thing one can do is burn the world itself.” Next Chapter

All comments and critiques are welcomed here and on my Google Docs(https://drive.google.com/open?id=1I5XrV7wcuO9hhzVcqM3M8BnykDhi56XbVNxjdy1aD_4) For other chapters, I will post them on here later. But you can find the archives on my FA and Tumblr with pics included. FA: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/ecchimultiverse/ Tumblr: http://ecchimultiverse.tumblr.com/ First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Chapter 7: Haute Couture A silver key attached to a cherry-topped ice cream sundae keychain dangled between Justice’s fingers. It gleamed in Justice’s eye; echoing temptation. This was the key that allowed Justice to be free of his cage, but now it seemed to serve the purpose of letting him back in. So much had occurred in one day. His parents revealed that his hometown has always been fake, and the only reason for being created was to become a superhero that entertained his parents. He failed to capture a supervillain more than once, as well as being humiliated. And he had also experienced terror; a possibility that he could die and helpless to assist others. It was a lot to process. At least back in that fake world, it was safe and predictable. He wondered if he had decided to use the key to go back to his gilded cage, would he ever come back out? His thoughts then wandered back to last night when he met that bunny boy, Gene Lightfoot. He was strong and had lots of willpower. There was also a hint of carnal gluttony, but thinking about that part started to make Justice blush. And then there was the part where Gene invited him to the D.A.B. headquarters to file a report to help support Gene’s claims and shed some extra light on what had transpired. Thinking further back, there was also Sugar Skull; a perverted ghoul that was interesting to converse with. And then there was Octomentist. She was from the science-themed hero organization and was tough, but she meant well. Realization dawned on Justice. Yesterday was the first time he was able to interact with anybody without having to stick to a script. He could talk about anything without causing people to malfunction. His circle of friends no longer had to be his parents. There was so much risk in the real world, but it was all worth it to be able to socialize with other people and express himself however he wants. He also needed to get their personal phone number, if he wanted to continue talking to them. Filled with the inspiration to get outside, Justice decided to get out of bed. His muscular body of overbound proportions wrestled the golden sheets off his naked body. The silk sheets that grazed against his milk chocolate skin felt very pleasurable; combined with his king-sized memory foam mattress, it was like resting on a cloud that stimulated Justice to desire masturbation. The feeling was further increased when his long, meaty tip and full sack brushed against his euphoric bed sheets. His meatus then began to fill with the inspiration to release and erected itself into a hardened form. Justice cupped his hairless purse, full of his plum-sized sexual fruits, with one hand before dragging his fingertips over the crevice of his inner thigh, across his cobblestone abdomen, and then fiercely groping his sight-obscuring pectoral meat. His hips slowly gyrated against the golden silk, as he licked his lower lips and lightly bit them; a low moan escaping his lips in the process. As for the other hand, it gripped his erected dark chocolate bar; lazily pistoning until slithering away towards somewhere more enticing. It snaked down, passing underneath his pouched orbs of manliness, until reaching his pleasure hole. His fingers petted the hole’s moist rim; eliciting another low moan from himself. Without any resistance, a finger slid through the small gape and into his fleshy love tunnel. Then two. Then three. Each time his fingers effortlessly slipped in, Justice bucked and gasped sharply. Justice’s thoughts wandered to Gene and his encounter with him. The rabbit-eared demigod trapped in the Skeleton Lord’s dark magic that nearly brought him to orgasm. Without the circumstance of being in danger, it was quite sexy to dwell on that image. Justice remembered Gene’s body quiver from pleasure, and then he thought about Gene using his strength to dominate Justice himself. For as long as he could remember, Justice always felt an attraction to strong men. While it was fun to use his own hands to play with himself, he enjoyed the assistance of sexual toys more. He made a mental notation to pick up some pleasure tools later on. Justice then wondered if Sugar Skull really did have a ghost jelly cock. The possibility of the ghoul possessing one seemed exotic and oddly erotic. Justice groaned with bliss, as his groping hand switched to and fro with his bulbous pecs and more fingers slipped into his stretched hole. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Stepping out of his room, Justice made his way down the hall. He felt relaxed as his mind was still swimming in the euphoric afterglow. Though that was slowly disappearing due to his hunger pangs. Justice’s stomach grumbled, as he wish he had some clothes to put on. The only thing he could find in his room, other than bed sheets and curtains, was the apartment complex’s complimentary fluffy bathrobe. Had Justice been an average-sized person, the robe would have fit perfectly. Instead, all Justice could manage to do was tie it into a makeshift Japanese loincloth in order to at least cover up his manhood. While the penthouse apartment was his new home, he was not about to strut around naked when one of his parents could have dropped by unannounced. Justice made another mental note to purchase some clothes before shopping for lube and dildos. As Justice passed through the main hall, he noticed a change in his surroundings. Most of the statues and artworks portraying his dad, Apollo, was replaced with statues and other artwork renders of Ares and Aphrodite. Justice figured Papa and his mom had a talk with Apollo and wanted to be included in the final design. He then spotted different weapons and photographs of happy moments with his family framed across the wall. Upon arrival into the kitchen, Justice saw a black garment bag draped on a dining chair and a greeting card on the wooden dining table. Nobody else but Justice appeared to be in his apartment. Most likely, his parents must have stopped by earlier to drop those items off, while he was asleep. He approached the table and picked up the card. The front of the card had a cartoon cat with its fur soaking wet and dripping water onto a blank floor. It did not look pleased at the slightest. The front card read, “Heard you didn’t have a great day.” Opening the card, it was the same cat, but it was covered in a blanket looking satisfied. The rest of the card read, “But it’ll get better with love and some R&R”. Underneath the text and cartoon was his parents’ signatures. Aphrodite’s font signature of “Mom” was basic with a cute, curvy shape to it. Ares’ “Papa” looked as if it were written by a first grader. Apollo’s signature was the biggest that took over half of the blank space; written with his own name in huge cursive letters with big and fancy loops. Even in writing, Justice’s dad wanted to stand out. Justice then noticed some scribbles from Papa written on the opposite side of the card’s cartoon and signatures. Ares wrote, “Left you a spare of my clothes. Apollo really wanted to buy you new clothes, but I insisted you were old enough to buy your own. Spared you from skinny jeans. You’re welcome.” Turning his attention to the garment bag, he unzipped it to find a hanger draped with a black wife-beater shirt and a khaki utilikilt. Justice did not mind wearing kilts, as it felt nice to have his family jewels and muscular thighs being cooled during hot weather. And other than being more flexible to move with it, he knew his masculine body complimented well with the garment. Though it was not as if he had any other choice; seeing as how his only other option was to walk around in the fluffy, pink fundoshi loincloth he was currently wearing. He did not feel like challenging the boundaries of public indecency laws. The overly muscular bodybuilder then became distracted by his hunger pangs becoming more noticeable. His stomach felt as if it were thumping like a gorilla beating its chest. Justice hoped his family stocked the cabinets and fridge with food as he wandered over to refrigerator. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Marvelous Man floated inside of a parking garage on the third floor; scanning the area around him for any passerby. Only parked vehicles and deadening silence were on the only things on that level. He then glided to a corner and placed his bracelets together. Marvelous Man chanted, “Marvelous Muscle Magic, Metamorph!” The area around the superhero became a spaceless vacuum, as his clothes exploded like confetti holograms. His naked musclebound body continued to float in the vacuum with the second phase of his detransformation about to begin. Spanking sounds echoed in the chamber with paints of black and creamy tan striking with wall paint strokes at the musclebound body from every angle. The black paint slapped his back and torso; causing his meaty pectorals to jiggle in the process. The creamy tan paint swatted the spherical glutes and tree-trunk thighs; making them bounce in every direction. The slapping and spanking started slow and gained speed with every passing second. Accelerating the whipping to a point where the noises were no longer separate and became too many to keep track of. The paint collecting on the milk chocolate skin began to form into clothing fibers. This process continued in the void until Justice’s kilt and black tank top became fully formed. The timeless vacuum around Justice collapsed as his bare feet landed on cool concrete. He shivered, “Why is everything I do a sex thing?!” >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The automatic doors that led from the parking garage to the Barticle Troy Mall slid open as Justice walked through. It was researched on his smartphone that Barticle Troy Mall was the largest shopping district in Skyway City with the most clothing stores. A five floor paradise for shoppers, and the most likely to lose children at. Conveniently, they also had a store that catered to adult paraphernalia. Though Justice needed to go to the D.A.B., it was still an hour before noon, and he figured he had enough time to purchase his personal essentials. As Justice began to integrate into the mall’s main artery, he surveyed his surroundings. The interior was packed with stores side by side; stretching off into the distance that created the feeling of taking a lifetime to visit every store in the mega mall. What surprised Justice the most was the diversity of the patrons that his parents never mentioned. Though when one is told superheroes are real, it was to be expected that there would be a richness of racial variety. And when Justice was superheroing, he hardly gave the civilians any attention other than keeping them out of harm’s way. Amongst the many humans that shopped there, a splash of science fiction and fantasy existed in the fray. Robots, cyborgs, and even supernatural and mythological beings walked about gossiping with others, including humans, or getting lost in their cell phones. Some were dressed with modern clothes, while others were garbed in armor or loincloths or other articles of clothing that reflected their culture of origin or beliefs. One thing that seemed to never change was overweight security guards. “Get back here, you stupid toy!” shouted an electronic voice. Justice turned to a voice and saw an eastern red dragon made of paper the size of his fist fly over his head before a chrome-plated robot jumped into his view. The bipedal machine apparently leapt, because it began to tackle Justice. While the robot was not too heavy for the surprised man to handle, it was enough to upset his balance and send the bodybuilder to the ground. He grunted as the impact and the robot’s weight pushed the air out of his lungs. The electronic voice spoke out, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! Are you alright?!” The voice seemed to originate from somebody that was nearly face to face with Justice. Justice looked about and observed that the only person close enough to say that was the robot that had no lips. In general, the chrome machine lacked a face. On the section where its mouth was supposed to be located, there was a colored pink ring, like a glow stick, that circulated around the head. As for the eyes, it appeared to have three microscope lenses that differed in size. All three were located on a single rotator in the center like a mythical Cyclops. The only other feature on the mechanical being’s head was its ears. It had rabbit-like ears that seemed to resemble Gene Lightfoot’s. Justice felt pressure on his chest and gazed downwards. On top of his pectoral mountains were the droid’s hands; digging into and groping his chest as a means of trying to sit itself up. Even though the robot’s hands were of an average adult human size, it was not enough to contain the pec meat that spilled between the digits and outside of its grasp. And while it was a pleasant feeling, it was neither the right time or place for such foreplay to occur. “I’m okay, but could you please stop groping me?” asked Justice. The robot looked down and noticed its hands molesting Justice’s watermelon-sized chest. The chrome droid let out an inaudible squeak and immediately released its grip. The ring’s pink color seemed to intensify as if it were some sort of mood ring. The robot apologized, “Sorry!” “And get off of me,” said Justice. The robot stood up, “Sorry.” Brushing himself off, Justice rose up and surveyed the rest of the chrome automaton. Not did it seem to have ears similar to Gene’s, its height and body type were also alike. If the two were in a dark setting and the robot’s mood ring turned off, Justice would have a hard time distinguishing the two. It also seemed to be wearing an odd combination of clothes consisting of a white drawstring fundoshi loincloth with its string tied into a bow, a hunter green utility belt, and brown flip flops. “Why did you tackle me?” questioned Justice. The robot’s mood ring’s color shifted to white. It sighed, “I was trying to catch the dragon toy that flew over you. It’s over sixty dollars, and constantly on back order. Made the mistake of activating its seal before tying a string to it.” Justice turned to where the toy would have flown off to. “Don’t bother. It’s long gone now,” said the robot. Justice shifted uncomfortably, “Sorry.” “It’s not your fault. Though maybe if I had upgraded my body to be like a gymnast, I could’ve vaulted over you...though I think I’d need a pole vault and some doves for when I pole vault over you in slow motion,” remarked the droid. Justice giggled as the robot’s mood ring changed to sky blue. “Well, I’m glad there’s somebody around here with a sense of humor,” said the robot, “I’m Gemini,” Justice held out his hand, “I’m Justice.” Gemini looked down and observed Justice’s hand. He hesitated for a second before reciprocating Justice’s gesture of friendship. “Weird name. I would’ve figured names like Wall or Ox would’ve done you justice,” said Gemini. Justice giggled, “Did you seriously try to make a pun out of my name?” He began to walk forward with Gemini following next to him. “I know. It’s low-brow humor. I’m sorta rusty at jokes since...I don’t really have anybody to talk to at work,” shrugged Gemini. Justice asked, “You work alone?” “Naw, it’s just that everybody is a jackass. They see me as a joke or furniture or whatever and talk behind my back. Just because I’m not an organic being doesn’t make me less of a person for trying to study magic. So I get back at them by speaking in beeps and whirs. It all means jackshit, and it pisses them off. It’s awesome,” answered Gemini. Justice laughed, “That’s kind of an asshole thing to do. So you study magic?” “Yeah it’s what I was programmed for. My dad, I mean, creator was interested in seeing if a robot can perform magic. So I just try to analyze spells and enchanted items and see if I can understand how they can work. Currently, I’ve found that magic has a unique wavelength when my ears try to tune in. Haven’t been able to zero in on it yet, but I’m getting there,” explained Gemini. Justice thought back to his encounter of the dying magic that tried to keep the Skeleton Lord sealed. He questioned, “What about smell?” “Smell?” said Gemini. Justice nodded, “Yeah. When I found magic that died out, it made a popping noise and smelled like burnt popcorn.” Gemini tapped his chin as his mood ring changed to purple. “Interesting. What sort of magic was this?” he asked. Justice answered, “Uhhh, sealing magic.” “Did it have a color?” questioned Gemini. Justice replied, “Blue.” “When and where did you see this happen?” pressed Gemini. Not wanting to reveal his secret identity, Justice quickly surveyed the stores closest to him as a means of finding an excuse to distract Gemini. A few steps away, he spotted a boutique he needed to go into, Battlefield Delicates & Activewear. The shop seemed to cater mainly towards underwear and brief-style clothing. Underwear was a definite need for his wardrobe. Justice pointed, “Uhh, Oh hey! I need to get some clothes from this store. Want to come in with me?” “Mmm, Sure. I never went clothes shopping before. I mean, other than going to the supermarket to pick up the stuff I’m wearing right now. With exception to this Mokko fundoshi,” replied Gemini. Justice looked down at him, “Why not?” “Never saw the point of buying more, since I don’t soil it as easily as you organics do. No offense,” shrugged Gemini. Justice spoke back, “None taken.” As the two walked inside, Justice observed the interior. It looked no different than the clothing stores he shopped at back in Sunnysville; albeit with minor changes. The boutique was a small shop that had mannequins showing off the boutique’s flashiest clothing, thematic colors of brown, red, and grey strewn about, clothing racks with different styles and size, and a mix of electronica and heavy metal music softly playing from the store’s speakers. A small Latino sales clerk appeared from behind the purchasing counter and waved at the two. “Welcome to Battlefield Delicates & Activewear! How can I help you today?” he greeted. Justice waved back, “Oh, hi! I’m new here. Do you have anything my size? I’m an Extra Large.” “Of course! Everything you see here does carry an XL size. Have a look around and let me know if you need anything. We do have a changing booth in the back corner of the store,” nodded the sales clerk. Justice wandered the store with Gemini silently following behind. As they passed by the swimwear section, Justice snatched up swimming briefs that had colorful designs and patterns. There were other styles that caught his eye; such as mankinis and similar swimwear that were just as revealing. Gemini finally spoke up, “So why are you picking up so much? Don’t you only need one if you’re going swimming? Or is this for your daily activities when you’re walking around and stuff? Or...is it because you keep soiling them to the point that they have to be disposed?” “What?! No! I just like it. The designs are really nice, and I’d look good in it,” exclaimed Justice, “So it really is legal to wear all this in public places like this?” The robot pointed to his hunter green utility belt. “Pretty much. As long as your bits and tits are covered, you can wear as little as you like. I used to only wear a loincloth, but then I had trouble with transporting my personal effects around. Ya know, wallet and change and stuff. So I wear this cause of the pockets,” explained Gemini. Justice nodded, “Oh. So your job is okay with you dressed like that?” “Well, they don’t say anything, so I guess so,” answered Gemini. The two wandered over to the loincloth section. The area was lined with furs and long cloths meant to be fastened into a fundoshi-style loincloth. As Justice browsed the fur loincloths, he was slightly amused by a row that seemed to confirm a demand for fake fur loincloths; most likely for the people that wanted to feel like a barbarian without the feeling of blood on their hands. He picked up a few furs that felt really soft and turned to Gemini. Justice pleaded, “Can you hold a couple for me?” “Sure, I guess,” complied Gemini, “Hey, don’t dump the whole thing on me!” The mood ring on Gemini turned red as Justice began placing all his collected garments into Gemini’s arms. “Sorry, I’m running out of space on my arms,” apologized Justice. Gemini exclaimed, “Then stuff it between your pecs! There’s lots of space there!” Justice resumed his perusal while Gemini slowly calmed down with his mood ring becoming white. As Justice began to browse the fundoshi cloths and select whatever appealed to his tastes, a thought came to him. “Hey, I just thought about something. Do you have a favorite color?” questioned Justice. Gemini paused for a moment, “Hmmm, not really, no. You?” “Well...it used to be gold, but not anymore,” said Justice. Gemini pressed on, “Why?” “It’s...I don’t feel like it...it doesn’t really express me anymore. I don’t feel like I’m the best anymore. And gold is such an awesome color that winners wear. But I’ve only just been getting by, and there are people out there much better than me,” admitted Justice. Gemini followed Justice into the underwear section and said nothing for a few seconds. He then moved in front of Justice but kept close to his side. He stated, “So why not go after silver? Getting by is still winning. It’s just not the end result you wanted. It might not be as great as gold, but silver is still great nonetheless.” Justice stopped in his tracks. Gemini had a point. Silver is still an accomplishment and quite pretty; as well as shiny. “Hmmm, I guess you’re right. I think I’ll get seven of these then,” agreed Justice. Standing in front of a clothing rack full of shimmering silver thongs next to gold ones, Justice began picking them up. He would definitely look just as good in silver, and it would complement his golden bracelets. Gemini inquired, “So if gold isn’t your favorite color anymore, why do you still wear the bracelets?” “It’s a birthday gift from my parents. Besides, just because gold isn’t my favorite color anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t like wearing golden jewelry,” answered Justice. After picking up other selections of thongs, jockstraps, and string bikini underwear, Justice and Gemini dropped the collected garments on the check-out counter in front of the store clerk. The store clerk scanned each clothing while asking his default question if they found everything to their liking. Justice responded with his scripted yes. Another thing that never changed even outside of the artificial word; store employees always asking the same questions and saying the same phrase. A few minutes passed by in silence after Justice’s reply until the clerk finished scanning all the clothes. The store employee looked up at Justice, “Your total is three thousand, six hundred and eighty-five dollars and sixty-eight cents.” Justice reached down into his utilikilt’s pockets and found only empty space. He never bothered taking his wallet and phone out of Marvelous Man’s jacket before transforming back. If he wants to get those two things back, he will have to transform again. “Shit…” gritted Justice in a hushed voice. He smiled at the clerk, “Umm, I think I left my wallet in the changing room. I’ll go get it and be right back.” After excusing himself, Justice powerwalked towards the corner end of the store where the changing room lied. He entered the stall and tapped his golden bracelets together. A small flash of light escaped from the stall twice but went unnoticed both times by his new friend and the clerk. Justice then exited the changing room and slowly waddled back to the cash register; trying to keep his massive erection tucked behind his tree trunk thighs. He reached into his khaki kilt’s pocket and retrieved his leather wallet. Pulling out a black debit card from it, he handed it over to the store clerk. Gemini turned to Justice, “The hell kind of job allows you to blow that amount of cash?” “I’m actually in between jobs right now. My parents, ummm...they left me a trust fund. And I’m buying this much cause I accidentally forgot to bring my clothes with me when I moved here,” explained Justice. Handing Justice back his debit card, the store employee began to stuff Justice’s purchased garments into several bags. The cash register completed the transaction and printed out a receipt during the bagging. The clerk then snatched the receipt and handed it, along with the filled shopping bags, to Justice. The retail associate chimed, “Thanks for shopping! Hope to see you again!” Justice thanked the clerk and accepted the items. Still feeling flustered from the transformations, Justice decided that he would finish his clothes shopping another day. After all, it was perfectly legal for him to wear his purchased clothings in public, so there was no longer an immediate need to find something to wear as Justice. With his shopping bags, he and Gemini exited the store. It was time to obtain the utensils for his adult needs. But first, he needed to find a directory. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Having walked passed a music store and up another floor, the duo arrived at the erotica store, Carnal Desires. The entire interior of the store was painted with a layer of black and random areas bathed in the rays of blacklight. Strewn about, there was aisles of sexual toys, lingerie, and DVDs. Though what stood out amidst this outlet was a small table carrying a wide selection of nail polish that was located in the center of the store’s foyer. “All right! I need to stock up on fingernail polish. I left my whole collection at home,” said Justice. Picking up a shopping basket he spotted next to the store’s entrance, Justice made his way to the nail polish table. The bodybuilder rapidly plucked every shade and placed it in his basket. Gemini’s mood ring turned to gray as he watched his friend shop. Gemini questioned out loud, “Why is there a nail polish section in this erotica outlet?” As Justice heard his friend’s inquiry, he looked at the label of the current polish he had in his grasp. “I dunno, but it’s pretty-...oh,” responded Justice, “It’s all sex pun names. Precum Clear.” Gemini’s mood ring turned to sky blue, “Ha! Well, at least they function as nail polish, right? That’s all that matters.” “Yeah, you’re right,” grinned Justice. With one of each color in the basket, Justice made his way to the sex toy aisle and eyed the rows of lubrications bottles within that area. He picked up each brand and sampled drops of it on his fingertip; rubbing his fingertips together to test its viscosity and slickness. Eventually, he settled on bottles of strawberry and grape flavored lubricant, a really slippery lube branded as Unicorn Cum, an itch-irritant lube branded as Crack Addict, and ultrasound thermal gel lubricant. Justice also included a few bottles of massage oil in case if he invited someone like Gene over for something more...sensual. The two made their way further down the aisle into the rows of dildos differing in height, width, color, and even species. Justice browsed passed the smaller, beginners selection and inspected the ones for more advance users. Grabbing a couple that suited his fancy, he began stuffing a few into his basket. Gemini’s mood ring flared pink, “H-Holy shit! You can actually fit those in you?! That one’s as big as my fist!” “Yeah. I’m naturally loose, and I’ve had a lot of practice. I’ve even deepthroated them when I was in the mood,” shrugged Justice. Gemini shook his head, “Nooo...That?! No way you could fit that in your throat! Don’t you humans, ya know, throw up? Cause of that bulimia stuff.” “Nope. I never had a gag reflex. Made sword swallowing really easy when I tried that one time,” reminisced Justice. Gemini crossed his arms, “Prove it.” “Okay,” said Justice. Deepthroating was always an easy feat for Justice, especially for a dildo that size. It was a bit amusing for Justice to see Gemini so shocked. Though he had to admit, performing oral on a sex toy in public to amaze his friend was a bit arousing. Picking up the toy Gemini exclaimed about, he held its bulbous head to his lips. A tumbling sound of rubbery thuds echoed on the top shelf next to him. Turning to the noise, Justice spotted a decorated skull. It was perched above the top shelf of toppled dildos; staring down at him. In each of its sockets was a blinking red light in the center, while white pixelated words “REC” appeared in the top center of the empty, black sockets. The skull seemed to breathe heavily like a stereotypical voyeur pervert. Justice’s brow flexed in confusion, “Sugar Skull?” “You know this guy?” said Gemini. Marvelous Man personally met the Sugar Skull and would have knowledge about the ghoul’s existence. Justice, however, did not. Justice lied, “No. That head is a sugar skull. The kind from Dia de los Muertos.” “That is correct. But I’m not just any sugar skull. I’m THE Sugar Skull,” proclaimed the ghoul. Sugar Skull began to clumsily climb over the aisle dividing shelves; his torso crossing over and knocking over other dildos in the process. The dildos rolled off the shelf and made rubber plattering sounds upon floor impact. It was surprising to see Sugar Skull not glowing at all after being supercharged last night. The ghoul continued, “And I-” The shelf holding up the sex toys and the upper half of Sugar Skull’s body collapse. Upon the echo of bent metal, Sugar Skull careened towards the ground. Justice and Gemini took a step back for the ghoul to land between them, rather than on them. His fall was broken by the floor dildos; causing his back to land in an uncomfortable, jagged fashion. “Aye!” grunted Sugar Skull, “I’m okay. I just need to move into a more comfortable position.” The ghoul used his legs to push off the ground and slide himself forward. After two soft pushes, Sugar Skull’s head was directly underneath Justice’s khaki utilikilt. Justice rolled his eyes. Of course Sugar Skull would do something like that. “Wow, you are packing! Do you have a permit for that, uh, concealed weapon?! Perhaps you should squat down, so I can inspect it. Maybe even have a taste of your fruit salad. Don’t worry, I love licking the rim of the bowl too,” exclaimed Sugar Skull. He paused for a moment, “Oh. You probably couldn’t see, but I was, umm, waggling my long blue jelly tongue at you.” Gemini’s mood ring flashed green before switching to a concentrated orange. As the colors flashed, the robot stepped forward and stomped on Sugar Skull’s crotch. The ghoul wailed in pain, while Gemini continued to grind his foot against Sugar Skull’s privates. Sugar Skull immediately rolled away from Gemini’s assault and stood up. His eyes changed back to spinning, yellow cartoon flowers. The ghoul winced, “I think you misheard me. I didn’t ask you to crush my balls. Though I’m not opposed to it. I’m just not in the mood for it right now.” “Well, I’m not in the mood for you sexual harassing my new friend,” fired back Gemini. Sugar Skull smiled, “Ohhh, so you were feeling left out, huh? It’s fine. Everybody wants to touch the living contradiction of life and death. So tell me, how big is your robo dick?” Gemini’s mood ring returned to white while crossing his arms. “I don’t have one,” he said. Justice and Sugar Skull both said, “Huh?” “I don’t have one. I don’t have a penis cause I’m not a pleasurebot,” explained Gemini, “...And cause I haven’t gone through robo-puberty yet…” The ghoul broke out in laughter. His purple teeth chattered for a few seconds before his face became completely serious. “Wait, how old are you? Because I don’t mess with kids, and I’m not going to touch any robo jailbait,” said Sugar Skull. Gemini sighed, “There’s no laws for robot pedophilia...I don’t think...But if it helps, I’m physically six months old. Mentally, I’m nineteen years old.” The air hung thick with awkward tension, as rave music played in the distance. “Huh. Well, that’s sort of killing my erection,” said Sugar Skull. The ghoul turned to Justice, “But perhaps I can resurrect yours, hehe. Tell me, what’s better than one penis?” Before Justice could answer, Sugar Skull stepped towards him. He closed the gap between himself and Justice until they were within kissing distance with each other’s faces. The ghoul grabbed Justice’s hand and placed the palm against the loins of his purple pants. “Two penises,” whispered in Justice’s ear. The curiousness about Sugar Skull went up another level. In the palm of Justice’s hand, it actually felt like there was two penises residing in the ghoul’s nethers. Gemini’s mood ring changed to green. Gently wringing his hand away, Justice stepped back. He declined, “Sorry, but I don’t even know your name.” “Oh, how rude of me,” apologized the ghoul, “My name is Sugar Skull. A ghoul from Limbo. My job is to investigate any supernatural things that could be hiding in the human body. I am excellent at searching every crevice and places that are in need of being touched.” Justice held out his hand in an attempt to greet. Hopefully to distract Sugar Skull from making the effort of seducing him. He introduced himself, “I’m Justice. Justice Starr.” Sugar Skull reciprocated the handshake. “A pleasure to meet you...or will be, hehe. Say, have we met before? Perhaps in a dark place? Your body is very familiar,” said the ghoul. Justice shook his head, “I don’t think so. I just moved here yesterday.” “Hmmm, well, I do not usually go for big guys. But you are very cute. You remind me of a hero I met last night,” mentioned Sugar Skull. Justice began to sweat, “Oh?” “Yes. And maybe I’ll see him and you again soon,” flirted Sugar Skull. The ghoul reached into his purple sleeve and pulled out a business card. He placed it in Justice’s basket. Sugar Skull winked with a heart emoticon, “My card. In case you wish to discuss later...or maybe something more. Adios.” As Sugar Skull turned to walk past Gemini, Justice picked up the card from his shopping basket. Other than his name, phone number, and email printed on it, there was big cursive text that read, “Let’s make each other feel alive~”. Justice flipped the card to see if there was anything else printed on it. It was a greyscale photo of Sugar Skull’s naked, chiseled body covered in rose petals and lying on what appears to be a fur rug. The ghoul’s head was cropped out of the photo as well as his nethers. His hands were sensually placed with one on the edge of his chest, and the other on the crevice of his diamond cut hips. It seemed that no matter what Sugar Skull did, it was always a flirtatious opportunity to get into his pants. “What a creep,” huffed Gemini. Justice shrugged, “I think he means well. He just...gets caught up showing off. I admit, it is a bit charming. C’mon, I gotta go buy this stuff, and I don’t want to be caught with the wrecked dildo shelf.” The two made their way to cash register and proceeded the checkout with the store’s clerk. Thankfully, the total price was not as ridiculous compared to the Battlefield store, so Gemini did not bother to raise questions about his income or work history. Perhaps the trust fund excuse extinguished any further monetary query. After all, it was only a measly five hundred dollars; an amount that Justice considers to be petty. As the two left the store with the recently purchased adult toys and lubrication, Justice remembered something. It was something he needed to give his friend before anything else. It was not too weird to be giving gifts to somebody you just met, right? “Oh, right! I almost forgot,” he said, “I got you a gift!” Digging through the clothes of his Battlefield shopping bags, Justice searched for Gemini’s gift. His eyes glittered as he found what he was looking for. Pulling it out, the gift revealed to be a drawstring fundoshi. “Here! I got you another Mokko fundoshi!” presented Justice. Handing it to Gemini, the robot held it in front of his eyes. The lenses on Gemini’s head rotated as it seem to be scanning the garment. His mood ring changed to a thoughtful purple. He analyzed, “It’s...very blue. It’s dark...yet very bright. What shade is this?” “I know, right? It’s Zaffre. It’s like a shade of cobalt or lapis. I got you this, so you had more variety. And in case you soiled the one you’re wearing, heh. Blue is a friendly color, so I figured your coworkers might liken up to you more. Plus, I think it’d look good on you,” explained Justice. Gemini’s mood ring changed to pink, “Oh...thanks. It’s very nice. Thank you.” “You’re welcome. Hey, do you know what time it is?” smiled Justice. Gemini replied, “Ummm, it’s 12:36 P.M. Why?” Justice’s eyes went wide. He had spent too much time socializing and shopping. The goal was to spend thirty minutes of gathering some of his necessities and handling the rest after he visited the D.A.B. Headquarters. But even though he failed to accomplish this goal, he did not feel completely bad about it. “Oh, man! Sorry, I gotta go! Running late! I’ll see you later!” said Justice. Justice dropped his shopping bags and took off; sprinting towards the parking lot. He could hear Gemini calling off into the distance, but there no time to reply. Justice knew it was rude to leave his new friend abruptly and leave all his shopping bags there. However, he was on a tight schedule and could not waste a second more. In Justice’s mind, he quickly rationalized that his bags would appear at his apartment within an hour. After all, that is how it worked in Sunnysville, so the same should happen in the real world. Because if it did not, then Justice would be royally screwed. Next Chapter

All comments and critiques are welcomed here and on my Google Docs(https://drive.google.com/open?id=1eM-QYOab19bheMRu-kyTHwi1COJztr7GpwvYsnXH6rQ) For other chapters, I will post them on here later. But you can find the archives on my FA and Tumblr with pics included. FA: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/ecchimultiverse/ Tumblr: http://ecchimultiverse.tumblr.com/ First Chapter | Next Chapter Chapter 2: Stars & Stripes What started as an angry stomp out of the house escalated into a full on sprint. Justice ran down the sidewalk with the wind grazing over his swole, naked body, and his heavy pecs bouncing in the air. He kept sprinting without slowing down for even a moment as he passed over crossings and bridges. Justice's anger-fueled charge finally came to a stop when the sidewalk ended at a forked road in front of the artificial town's mall. Even though sweat collected on his chocolate skin with liquid trails glistening down his diamond cut six-pack, Justice breathed as if he had taken a brisk walk. Taking a moment to observe the choices in front of him, he decided to enter the mall. It was a habit of his to go to the arcade's rhythm platform game and dance his frustrations away. Inside, Justice felt the cool tiles absorbing the heat on his soles, and the other mall citizens staring at him. It didn't matter to Justice, because the people weren't real. They were androids built without any social interaction programming. He knew all they could do was stare and follow whatever their programming purposed them to do. So instead of doing his enraged naked walk to his room or some other part of the house as usual, he would go dance at the mall's arcade to vent his frustration and anger even faster. Justice strided into the arcade; blinking lights and players scattered all over with the scent of pizza grease wafting in the air for some reason. As he approached the back of the arcade, he spotted Doki Doki Beat; the dancing rhythm machine that never moved during his whole life in this fake world. Picking up a few game tokens from a stack sitting next to the selection buttons, he inserted the tokens in the slot and pressed the Player One start button. It was always weird how after Justice told his parents what his favorite arcade machine was, there was always a stack of tokens on that machine that he alone used whenever he visited. Now he knew why. Justice stepped onto the game's platform and tapped the selection buttons a few times before choosing a hyperactive J-pop song on Cardiac Arrest difficulty. The screen faded for a moment before appearing back with empty outlined directional arrows and a background filled with nauseating bright colors and smiley-faced hearts. Right when the song started, the screen was immediately assaulted with rainbow color changing directional arrows rising from the bottom at blinding speeds. Justice instantly reacted by stepping on directional arrow buttons built into the platforms. He danced and stepped in sync with all the arrows on the screen; never missing one. His body was so attuned to the game's music and rhythm, even his rhythm pole and sac bobbed and swerved with the beat. >>>>>>>>>>>>> After exhausting all the available game tokens, Justice exited the arcade. He noticed his mother, Goddess Aphrodite, sitting at a food court table across from him; sipping through a straw on a milkshake. It seemed no matter what she did, it always made Aphrodite's curvy body look beautiful. Even if all she wore right now was just simple jeans, plain black sandals, and a yellow shirt with the radioactive logo. Justice sighed and decided to go visit her. Aphrodite smiled as Justice sat across from her, "Hey there, sugarplum. Feeling a bit better?" "A bit..." nodded Justice, "...I don't hate you or my dads, mom...but I am angry at what you all did." Justice's mom stopped drinking her milkshake, "...I know. I'm sorry what we did, honey. But you have to know that we didn't put you in here just to make you into a superhero. It was to make sure you didn't hurt anybody while we were raising you." "Because I wouldn't be able to control my superpowers? Wait, do I have any?" questioned Justice. His mother gestured her empty hand with a maybe. Aphrodite spoke, "You should. We all gave you a sliver of our essence. At the very least, you have very superior genetics. Normal people don't get big like that from doing a hundred pushups every day without a needle's assistance." Justice's mother pulled out her phone and texted for a few seconds before standing up. "Can you come with me, sweetie? I want to explain more about why we did what we did in a more comfortable area for me. My limo is outside." requested Aphrodite. Justice's frown slowly creased into a small smile, "Okay, mom." Justice was more than happy to leave the mall. The seats were styled with a grid of holes along the back and bottom. And when he stood up, his bubble butt and the back of his tree-trunk thighs were indented with polka dots all over. As the two walked back to the entrance, Aphrodite remarked, "You know I really do love you, right?" "Well of course you have to say that. You're the goddess of love. You have to love everybody," giggled Justice. His mother hugged his muscular arm that was wider than her head. She smiled, "Yes, but I love you on a greater level than everybody else. A mother's love is powerful, and you will always be my baby." When the two exited the mall, they were greeted by a white limo and its chauffeur parked in front of the mall's entrance. The chauffeur simply bowed without a word and opened the door for Justice and his mother. After letting his mother enter first, he struggled to get in; angling his body in order to allow his bulky to get inside the limo. "You know, I think I already know what my weakness is," joked Justice, "It's doorways. Ever since I hit fifteen, I've had to keep ducking whenever I went into another room, and now I also have to enter in sideways as well. I'm too tall and too thick." His mother smiled, "You are perfect as you are, honey." After chauffeur closed the door behind them and drove the limo back onto the streets, Justice's mother opened a cooler and pulled out a milkshake cup. "I got you a blueberry pie milkshake," said Aphrodite as she handed the cup to Justice. Justice grinned, "Awesome! Thanks, mom!" Justice's mother smiled. Even though he towered over her and looked like he could bench-press a truck, he still looked like a child; hunched over while sipping through the straw of his milkshake with both hands. "You're welcome," said Aphrodite, "So back to what I was saying earlier about protecting you from harming others...The thing is...Even though we gave you a sliver of our essence, getting it from one god is the limit for any being to handle. If a mortal were to receive from two gods, there's a good chance they could become violently insane, die at an early age, or both. And from three...well...your chances did not look good, but we took those chances anyways." Justice connected the dots, "And that's why you put me here. To make sure I didn't hurt anybody if I went crazy...Why did you take such a risk then?" "...Your fathers and I wanted to relive the glory days so badly. Having our demigod children going on adventures, fighting bad people, and winning in our honor. But the bad people had evolved. Some of them had grown powerful enough to make us flinch. We did not want to send our child out to that world to simply die before drawing their sword. So we did something very drastic and made you." answered his mother. She continued, "We were lucky to spend all these years raising you into a fine man. And now, you can unlock the rest of your powers and become a fine superhero...But if this isn't what you want, I understand. It was very selfish what we did, and I love you more than my glory days." Justice looked down at his milkshake and continued to sip. "I guess...I could give it a try. It'd be cool to have some superpowers. Besides, you all kept me so busy, I didn't have enough time to try out college," said Justice. His mother smiled as the limo slowed down to a stop and parked. After the chauffeur opened the door, Aphrodite exited the limo first before Justice struggled to follow suit. Right when Justice finally got out, he noticed the limo transported them to the town's beach. His mother spoke up, "I agreed to meet your fathers here. They have a gift for you that will turn you into a real superhero. We were supposed to give it to you after the cake, but your fathers' loose lips sent you into your nude rage." "Sorry," blushed Justice. Aphrodite sighed, "It's not your fault, honey. Your whole world got turned upside down before you could even have cake. It's understandable. Come on, let's go meet up with your fathers." >>>>>>>>> "I'm glad you're not angry anymore. I kinda expected you to go on a murder spree across the whole town. We honestly thought you finally cracked, cause of all the power in you," admitted Papa Ares. Justice looked down, "Yeah. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. The robots aren't bad and didn't really do anything bad to me...that wouldn't be right." Apollo stepped in next to Justice; holding a present-wrapped box. "Good to hear then! Water under the bridge! Love prevails and family is important. Yada yada yada. Time to open your birthday present!" interrupted Apollo. As usual, his dad, Apollo, likes to act like a diva and does not like being unincluded from a conversation or event. Even his clothes screamed for attention of how fashion-forward he was; a sky blue buttoned shirt with a red ribbon tie, light khaki pants and shiny brown loafers. His papa, Ares, on the on the other hand unintentionally calls attention to himself by wearing what he feels is "casual". This entails him mainly wearing a wifebeater with a necklace made out of construction chain links, a black utilikilt, and black army boots. Justice turned to his dad, "Oh, right. Thanks, Dad." Apollo held out the gift; a velvet black box wrapped with a white ribbon bow. Justice gently picked up the gift from Apollo's hands and undid the ribbon. He then opened the box, which opened like a jewelry box. Inside, two large wrist-sized golden bracelets shimmered on top of black pillows. "So this is the gift that'll turn me into a real superhero?" asked Justice. Apollo nodded, "That it is. They're magical bracelets that we got your Uncle Hephaestus to make. It will activate your powers and transform you into the outfit we designed for you." Justice looked up for a moment. The last time they made something together, they created Justice from a multitude of earthy materials they each liked rather than agreeing on one kind of earthy substance. "What? Don't you want to try it on?" said his dad. Justice stared back down at the shiny gold bracelets and exhaled a small sigh. It couldn't be that bad. After all, he turned out fine, and maybe this outfit will look great. "Sure, I'll try it on," answered Justice as he set down the box. Squatting down he picked up one of bracelets; grazing his fingertips against the cool, smooth gold as his other meaty tip grazed against the sand. The bracelet was very thin and felt very light like cheap plastic jewelry. Justice noticed that this bracelet was not the type one sticks their hand through, but the kind that clamps around one's wrist. Justice opened the large bracelet and closed it around his wrist as it made a light clink. He then picked up the other gold bracelet and repeated the process. Hearing the other bracelet clink together securely, Justice took a moment to stare at his bracelets. Oddly enough, the golden bracelets clung to his wrists like a second skin. His body could barely even feel the shiny jewelry. Justice then looked at the rest of his body. Nope. Still naked. Maybe the outfit was only showing under his pecs? After all, his pectoral muscles stuck out long enough to form a shelf and block a small portion of his vision. Justice groped underneath his pecs. Still nothing. Justice stood up, "I don't think it's working. I'm still naked." "Oh, right!" Papa remembered, "We forgot to mention that it activates after saying the catchphrase. Each of us chose a word for the catchphrase and you have to finish it by saying a word that you feel would unlock your outfit and powers." "And you have to say it all while having your bracelets touching each other," chimed Apollo. Justice sighed, "So what's the catchphrase then?" In order, Aphrodite, Ares, and Apollo smiled and exclaimed their chosen word for the catchphrase: "Marvelous!" "Muscle!" "Magic!" Justice stared at his parents with an apathetic glare, "...Okay." Raising his arms above his head, Justice placed one wrist on top of another. "Marvelous Muscle Magic..." Justice paused, "Metamorph." The space around Justice vanished into vacuum of blending bright lights and stars as he felt his body fall and fly at the same time. Justice realized that his whole body became paralyzed and could not even move his pinkie. He could then feel ribbon-like tentacles reach out and wrap around his torso, feet, ass, and groin. The ribbons squeezed as it began to spread up his body. The ribbons that binded to his feet and torso were black. The ones binding to his feet began to take the form of black buckled boots. The other one wrapping around his torso enveloped over his arms and began to divide over his abs and bulbous pecs into an unzipped black jacket. The ribbons that cupped his male package and only able to squeeze a portion of his large round ass were blue and started to form a swimming bikini. However, the hugging ribbon's color began to change and mimic the pattern of the United States of America's flag. The portion that groped his package turned into white and red stripes, and the rest remained blue with white stars scattered about. Justice then felt something warm wrap around his head. A bright, tube-shaped light encircled his head for a few seconds before it exploded and took the form of something more narrow; a golden wreath that Greek champion athletes used to wear. The empty space that held Justice in zero gravity collapsed, and he landed on his feet back into reality. He stood there for a few minutes, shocked by what transpired in reality as a second but felt like forever in that spaceless pocket. His body, garbed with his new heroic uniform, glowed with a soft aura. Justice stammered, "WH-WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK?!" "Language, sweetie," said his mother. Justice spoke back, "Wha-what was that?! I-I-I was floating in an aurora and attacked by tentacles! I feel so violated!" "You'll get used to that...eventually. Besides, that was your outfit being fitted on you. There's no monster in your transformation void, so you're perfectly safe," said his dad. Papa tried to change the subject, "Um, hey, why don't I just zip this up for you. I bet you'd like your new look when you find a mirror, son." "Oh, that reminds me. MIRROR GIRLS!!!" screamed Apollo. Two girls in unremarkable clothing ran up to Apollo; carrying a mirror. They were Apollo's personal androids that followed him around while carrying a body-length mirror for Apollo to gaze into at any moment. In the past, Justice figured they were miserable assistants that were paid well enough to serve his dad's vanity. Now it is clearly obvious they are soulless androids. Apollo commanded, "My son needs mirror time." The girls turned to Justice and set the mirror in front of him. At that time, Justice was paying attention to his Papa approaching him and grabbing his jacket's zippers. Ares paired the zippers together and began to zip up. The jacket slowly closed over Justice's diamond-cut abs until it reached up to Justice's mammoth pecs. Ares pulled up at the zipper, but it wouldn't budge. "Ummm, I guess you should've skipped chest day a few times, son. Hehe..." joked Papa. Apollo commented, "Don't worry about it. I figured this would happen. The last time I measured you was when you were eighteen. On the bright side, I made sure to leave enough space for your arms, and you'll look more appealing if you show your abs. Bitches love abs. But if you want to work with a boob window, then I salute you." "I'll just keep it unzipped. Papa, can you take a step back? I want to look," said Justice. Papa stepped back while Justice unzipped his jacket. Justice looked up and saw his reflection. He was in awe as he twisted his body about and posed to see all the visible angles of his new outfit. Justice smiled, "Wow, I look really good in this. Thanks, you guys. So what are my powers?" "Oh, riiight. The powers. So here's the thing...we don't know. I can diagnose you, but I want to be surprised by what you can do," answered Apollo. Justice nodded, "Okay. I think I want to try..." He looked up at the sky and smiled. "Flying," said Justice. His mother tried to speak up, "Sweetie, I don't-" Apollo placed his hand on Aphrodite's shoulder. "Let's just see what happens. I highly doubt he'll be able to fly. And if he doesn't, at least I'll get a good laugh out of this," hushed Apollo. Justice took off sprinting at a speed faster than any modern drug-enhanced olympian; causing giant boot-print dents in the sand while kicking up a flurry of sand into the air. After feeling that he picked up enough speed, Justice jumped forward with his right arm fisting straight up. Gravity did not take hold, and his body kept climbing in heights. Justice cackled, "OH MY GOSH!!! I'm seriously flying!" He stopped flying and turned around to look down on his parents. The jaws of the three gods dropped. "Stars above...He really is flying! Can any of you fly?!," said Apollo. Aphrodite shook her head, "Sorry, no." "Neither can I. But I thought you could fly, Apollo," spoke Ares. Apollo sighed, "Not really. I have to use my chariot if I ever want to get off ground. As far as I know, only Hermes can fly." "Gold star for you, Justice. Now come on down, so we can test your other powers," shouted Apollo. Justice shouted back down, "Okay." Justice's body gently floated back down to where his parents were. As he arrived towards the ground, the tips of his feet lightly nestled against the sand before the rest of the appendage rolled onto the ground; barely shifting the sand itself. "So what's next?" asked Justice. Papa coughed, "You're not gonna like this, but I need you to hold out your hand." "Ummm, okay?" said Justice. As Ares walked up to Justice, his son held out his hand. Ares instantly grabbed Justice's wrist and pulled out a switchblade from his pocket. Activating the knife's spring to eject the blade, he slashed at his son's exposed palm before Justice had time to react. Justice flinched back right when Papa released his hand. He screamed, "What the heck, Papa?!" His father looked at him with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, but you would've said no if I told you what I really was gonna do," apologized Papa, "Are you bleeding?" Justice shouted back, "Of course I'm-!" He looked at his hand and saw no blood. Not even a scratch shown on his black palms. "I knew it! Invulnerable skin! Lots of superheroes have to have it nowadays. Looks like your survival rate just skyrocketed. No need to test your strength, by the way. We figured you're already plenty strong," smiled Apollo. Justice kept staring at his hand, "Huh..." "Oh, what wonderful news! My baby will be just fine. That just leaves one final test," said his mother. Aphrodite waved at her limo, "Daisington, be a dear and bring out the chicken." Justice looked up. "Chicken?" said Justice. The chauffeur exited the limo with a cage in his hands. He carried it over to where Aphrodite stood and froze in place in front of her. Aphrodite gestured to the cage, "If you please, Apollo." "Of course," said Apollo. Opening the latch, Apollo pulled out a black chicken. His hands gave a dark glow for only a second, but it was obscured underneath the feathers for Justice to see. His dad then handed it over to Papa Ares while the chicken calmly balked. "We want to see if you can heal this chicken," explained Apollo. Before Justice could say anything, Ares grabbed the chicken's wing and applied pressure with his fingertips. The bone in the chicken's wing snapped with a piece poking out of the skin. The chicken wailed in pain and struggled in the war god's grasp. "Friggety hell, papa!" screamed Justice. Ares handed the chicken to Justice, "Try to heal it, my son. Whether it dies in pain or not is up to you." Tears started to form in Justice's eyes as he cradled the chicken. "...But...how?!" said Justice. "If there is light within you, you need to let it shine," explained Apollo, "Let that light envelop those you care about and give it the intention to heal. Close all wounds; undo mistakes. Just like with flying, you'll know if you can do it." Justice looked down at the crazed chicken and sympathized its pain. He spoke softly, "It's alright. Everything will be okay." As Justice place his hand on the broken wing, he hummed a tune. He wished with all his might that the wing would feel. And then he felt it. His dad was right. He could feel a light inside of him. It felt small, but it also felt like it was feeding on his happy thoughts and memories. The light he felt within himself grew like a hungry flame. Justice compelled the light to shine out of his hand and heal the chicken. The light within him obeyed, and his hand began to glow with a golden hue. It exposed the poultry’s problems to Justice's mind, and he realized it suffered more than just a broken wing. Poison was seeping through the chicken's body, and Justice knew it would not have mattered if the wing was actually fixed. The light he was giving off is able to fix the wing, but would not be able to stop the dark poison in time from reaching the egg-layer's heart. He called on the light within him to shine brighter, but it was already at its limit. The chicken's wing glowed with golden light that spread to the rest of its body, but the light did not have enough power to go within the poultry to target the poison. To focus on more than one issue, it needed more positive energy to feed on. Justice realized this and allowed the light to envelop him and take anything else it needed to grow more powerful. And when the light fed on his humming, it became supercharged. Justice began to glow and then pulsed a ray of blinding ray of light. As the light from Justice faded, the glowing chicken in his arms calmly cooed. It vomited a black ink, which steamed and fizzled upon hitting the ground. "Marvelous. Simply marvelous," said his dad. Apollo approached Justice and placed his hand on the flightless bird. His hand glowed with the same golden shine Justice gave off. Apollo guffawed, "Not only did you heal the wing, but you cured the poison in it too! And...you can give objects a light attribute." Justice's eyebrow rose. "What do you mean by that?" asked Justice. His dad answered back, "Basically, you can imbue anything with the element of light for a certain amount of time. So you can make anything glow in the dark, including yourself, and even make it bright enough to light up a whole room. It can also be used to fight against anything with a weakness to light. So if you want to make some vampires sparkle, get ready for fireworks." Justice stood there shocked with the glowing poultry in his arms. "Wait, vampires are real too?!" exclaimed Justice. His dad nodded, "You bet your quarter-bouncing hiney they are. And put down the chicken, we don't need it anymore." Justice released the chicken, and it flapped its wings as it hit the ground. It pecked at the sand a few times before wandering off. "That wasn't a nice thing you two did," said Justice. Apollo shrugged, "It was either that or a real person. And you can't heal something that's already dead or not alive. Odds are, you would've been less scarred if you healed an animal." Justice said nothing and pawed at the sand with his foot. "Nevermind him, sweetie," spoke his mother, "We only did it with the best intentions. And now you know what your powers are. Aren't they cool?" Justice mumbled, "I guess so..." They really were cool. "So before we send you out there to be a hero, I think it's time for you to choose your hero name," said Aphrodite. Justice's eyes lit up, "Really?!" Papa picked at his scars. "Well...sure. You are the superhero after all. It's not like we wanted to pick a name for you. That would be selfish," spoke Ares. Justice thought for a moment. There was so many things about his new powers that was amazing. But like his dad, Apollo, there was not really a specific word that could encompass everything about Justice's skills. Rather, it was the ones with broader strokes of definitions like: super, awesome, or fantastic. But there was one word his parents said that stuck out and ringed with his feelings. Justice smiled, "I want to be called, Marvelous Man" His dad clicked his teeth. "Eh, let's just put a pin on that for now," said Apollo. Aphrodite leaned towards Ares and whispered, "So what did you want to call him?" Papa had stars in his eyes when he whispered back. "The Shining Fist!" he said. Next Chapter

Hi, this will be my first story posted on here, this is my story called 'A Thing Called Curiosity' which i had originally posted on metabods.com a couple of years ago It involves forced muscle growth and absorption, the story also contains a few images in order to help with the visualisation, please tell me if the images add or take away from the story. I hope you guys like it and any feedback would be appreciated! - A Thing Called Curiosity - It was a late Autumn day, and it was a particularly cool day, about 27 degrees Celsius, and quite dry wind a lot of wind so it felt like 24 degrees, Cameron liked going out on jogs in the morning, and it was a perfect day for it with this nice cool weather, so he put on a hoodie and just compression shorts and headed out, since it was still 4am he guessed there wouldn’t be many people on the street so he could wear whatever he wanted, especially on a holiday and in the weekend, everyone would be sleeping in anyways. Cameron was a 19 year old young man from a town called Citadel in the Kingdom of Two Suns, it was a very small country, only about 150.000 inhabitants, and it was a generally hot and a very humid place since it was an island surrounded by water, but during the Autumn and Winter seasons it would rain a great amount and it would make the island a generally quite cool place. Cameron was still in High School, he was an average boy in every sense, average grades, average at sports, had normal friends, but he was quite a handsome lad, he was mixed race from having both side of the mother and father coming from already mixed lineages, which gave him a very unique look, he looked Iranian but with golden tanned skin, jet black semi-wavy hair, great eyebrows and grey coloured eyes, he had those naturally pink full lips. He had no facial hair whatsoever, but he did have medium/long hair with a slight wave, it was jet black but with a few patches that grew brown naturally and he kept it in a simple pompadour hairstyle, he also had a generally hairy body, but it looked good, he had long thin soft jet black hairs on his arms and between his pecs, the rest of his pecs were hairless naturally, he also has a treasure trail that started just above belly button and went down to his crotch, and his legs were covered with long semi-wavy long black hair that was thicker on the lower legs and thinned out as it went up to the crotch area. His body was athletic, nothing too special but he certainly didn’t need it, he was tone and was 175cm tall (5’7”) and weighed a decent 68,9kg (152lbs) so he was quite the eye candy but he was humble so he never became the arrogant type of dreamboat in High School although it didn’t stop girls (and a few guys) from wanting him. One thing he was always fascinated by were the physique of world class body builders though, he wanted to be one, or meet one and be able to touch those incredible muscles but he didn’t know why, he didn’t have a particular desire to be one except he just felt like he needed to, but with school, family, job and etc. he didn’t have the luxury to invest time in body building, besides he was content with body as it was, or so he told himself, with the images of body builder physiques always in the back of his mind at all times. Back on the jog, it was 4:59am, you could barely start seeing the sky on the horizon turning orange/red as the sunrise was approaching, he had been jogging for almost an hour, when he decided it was time to start heading back, he quite sweaty and his hoodie and compression shorts were soaked, so he decided to take off the hoodie to try and dry off a bit. He decided to take a short cut through the wilderness, he was by the beach and going up back through the jogging path would take too long, so he just cut through the wood to get home faster. As he was walking through the plants after about 20 minutes the sun was almost out and the light made everything much clearer when he noticed a tiled rooftop over the plants to his right, he was a curious boy who liked exploring so he couldn’t resist and decided to go check out the old building. As he approached the little house he could clearly see it was 17th century house, Citadel had many old colonial buildings and some smaller ruins were still in the wild lost and forgotten to time, but this one seemed in decent shape but the doorway was bricked up. “Strange,” he thought, “if it’s bricked up, then someone used it not too long ago.” That only sparked his curiosity even more, so he looked for a way in, the windows were also sealed shut except for one where it seemed to have given away, so jumped on the ledge and then stepped inside the little house. It was dusty and smelled like it had been closed off for a while but with the little light that entered through the window he could see a bit of furniture, and a bookcase filled with books, he saw a kitchen but not pans and dishes but beakers, so he thought, “Maybe a doctor lived here.” It certainly looked old, at least 30 years, so he grabbed one of the books from the bookshelf, and read, it was about genes, hormones, tissue transplants and drugs. “Hmm, it seems more like a biochemist then a medical doctor,” he thought to himself when he heard some creaking and the rotted old bookcase he took the book from sank into the floor on the right side, it surprised him since the floor seemed like it was made from concrete covered with tiles, but he noticed that only under the bookcase it was a wooden plank floor “so there’s something more under the house?” again curiosity got the best of Cameron and pulled the bookshelf out the hole and moved it to one side. “If i take out 3 more planks I should be able to fit through there,” he thought to himself as he shined a light from his phone down the hole. After taking out the needed planks before he jumped in the whole he heard some voices, it were people and they were near, he didn’t want someone to find him and ruin his fun since he doubted he should be in the, so he jumped in the hole where a staircase awaited him to his surprise, he shined with phone and the staircase seemed to go down a few more steps, he couldn’t see far since the phone’s screen isn’t as bright as a flashlight would be, then he turned back and peaked out the hole and he heard the voices of the other morning joggers and decided to just drag the small cabinet against the wall over the hole, the cabinet was bigger and hid the entire hole so if someone also got curious of the house they wouldn’t find this secret passageway. He then turned his attention to where he was, it seemed the little house had a basement, so he walked down the stairs, it was about 16 steps which lead him to steal door. “This door doesn’t look 30 years old, it’s dusty but must be 15 years old at best,” he said out loud as he examined the door with his phone. “The plot thickens,” he said as he found the 2 latches that held the door closed, he pulled one back and then the other, and he opened the door so a very dark room, the room felt hot, about 29 degrees but very humid so it felt like 31 degrees or a summer day. “Good thing I took off my hoodie,” he said. He couldn’t see anything and he guessed the room was quite expansive since he couldn’t shine at anything with lights except an industrial looking steel pathway that lead forwards, so he touched around the sides of the door looking for a switch but couldn’t find one, so he decided to walk forward on the pathway, albeit carefully, which after a few steps he found a stand with switches on it from what he could make out and he could barely see something a little more ahead, so he went for and said, “What the hell, hope this is it,” and flicked 1 switch then the second one, and third, and fourth and fifth switches up, he heard the flicker of an old light then one grid of lights from behind him turned on then another over his head and so on towards the front, and he saw what he had discovered. “this is incredible!” he yelled out with a grin on his face. The lights showed the pathway that lead to a central octagonal shaped part which looked like a research or control station for something, and there was a bundle of pipes that lead to it and then a huge amount of different wires and pipes then lead out of it so another part further in front which he could somewhat see but it was still in the only dark part of the room. He walked over to the control station where there was a ring of monitors that turned on in the inner circumference of the octagon, and in the middle and tower where all the pipes and wires lead in and the back out. The screens slowly booted up one by one. He looked at the largest monitor and saw different buttons and controls. “I guess this one controls other things,” and he looked at one that read ‘illuminate tanks’ he couldn’t guess what that could mean so he pressed it because the only places still needing illumination was the dark unclear part further back from the octagon. What he saw made his jaw drop, it was an area a staircase down from the octagonal platform where he was standing, and there is where he saw 5 large glass vessels filled with a transparent liquid, they were each illuminated by individual internal lights and a central large overhead lighting system over the central floor area with the glass vessels in a circular array around it. But the truly shocking thing he saw was the contents of the glass vessels, it was 5 enormous men, it was 5 men with the physiques he always admired and craved, it was 5 body builders with incredible muscle size, one in each tank. Cameron was awestruck and walked down the steel stairs that lead to the tank area, he managed to get his head to come back to earth as he started to analyse the area where the tanks were situated. There were large wire bundles and various tubes that lead from the control platform over to the tank are which split overhead and came down over each of tanks. “I guess they feed power and that liquid to the tanks and I guess transport information to, and from the tanks to the computers up there,” he said speaking out loud. But there were other wires and tubes that lead other places, like from each of the tanks a tube went overhead and converged into a single pipeline which lead overhead to the middle of the area and then had a different tube that came down and it had an oddly shaped nozzle. There were also tubes that come from under the floor and up to 2 stands, one had 1 tube and the other held 2 tubes about 3meters (10ft) apart from each other and in between them on the floor there was a part of the floor made from metal and was an odd shape, kind of like the silhouette of a dolphin seen from above or the reclining dentist chairs but this was just flat so just the contour. And there were 3 little openings on the metal plate on the floor, one at the top, and two, one on each side about halfway down. His attention shifted to the men in the tanks so he approached the first one to the right, he read what a plate on the glass read “Subject number 5  –  NEN code: 300977  –  Height: 179cm (5’10”  –  Weight: 106,2kg (234lbs)  –  BF percentage: 11%  –  Age: 31” “Wow that is enormous, and so heavy.” Cameron found it even more appealing when a body builder wasn’t just big but also quite heavy for their size. He further examined the man in the tank, he was naked and suspended in the liquid in a limp posture like he was just floating under water, and he had two tubes probing his body, a thin one went inside his mouth which he guess provided life support, a very large one just laid on the bottom of the tank, and there was one that came down his back and went into his anus, the tube was transparent and rather thick, the diameter must have been about 4cm (1.5inches) or 14cm circumference (5inches), Cameron didn’t know why but looking at the huge pipe enter the body builder anus made him feel warmer and his heart started racing, and he also got quite the hard on and since he was wear compression shorts, the hard on was quite evident, Cameron never really felt any attraction to other men, but then again not much towards a woman either, the only that made his heart race was thinking about muscled physiques, he confused as to what he was feeling and how to interpret it but one he was sure about is that he liked it. Still with a hard on Cameron looked around him to see that all the men also had the same tubes probing them in them in the same places and the one at the bottom of the tanks, and all of them had information plates describing their weight, age, size etc. He really wanted to know what this place was so turned around and went back up the stairs to the control platform. He researched and looked, he went to books, papers and file after file on the monitors, he saw formulas, designs for machines, plans, schematics, theories and read document after document. He figured out that this place was built by a doctor L. J. Andrews privately and he was obsessed with ever larger muscular physiques, and he was designing a machine that could take muscles from one person and give it to another person, namely himself, and he went through a lot of research and development to design the method to achieve his goal, but ultimately although he finished successfully his research a couple of years ago he had to abandon it, even though the machine and formulas were done and correct, and he had “acquired” the donators for the muscle (acquired here meaning he kidnapped the 5 body builders) there was a major downside to the experiment, no matter how much he crunched the data and recalculated, there was only a 0.7% chance a subject could survive the muscle impregnation “there is less then 1% chance of survival?” Cameron muttered, a chill running down his spine. “There is more than 99% chance of dying if someone used this machine, no wonder the doctor abandoned it, I guess I should leave this buried away as I found it.” With that Cameron decided to leave that place. As he put the books and papers back into their places and closed the files on the various monitors, as he was closing the last file on the monitor next to the staircase that lead to down to the tanks, he accidently opened a control panel as he looked down at the tanks and pondered what it would be like to have a physique like that. Then as he was turning around he slipped on a patch of grease on the floor that he didn’t notice before, lunged his had forward to grab anything to keep him from falling down the stair, and he grabbed the screen he was working on but his hand slipped off of it and he tumbled down the stairs and rolled onto the floor below, he was dazed and disoriented from the bumps his head took and he didn’t notice he was laid out over the metal plate on the floor, as he was recollecting his thoughts and trying to figure out what happen he heard an audible *beep* and he felt a cold band stretch over his forehead and adjust tightly, he didn’t understand what was happening, suddenly two other cold bands also stretched over both his wrists and tightening down holding his arms in place just as the forehead band held his head down. As this was happening he finally came back to his senses, and then it hit him “fuck!! I must have pressed something when I grabbed the monitor!!”. He realised he might have turned on the machine with a less then 1% survival rate, and now he was stuck in it with no way to escaped! As he came to this morbid conclusion he felt something else happening which he directed his attention to. The plate on the floor he was strapped to started rising from the ground, it stopped at about 1m (about 3ft) above the floor, then one of the two tubes in the direction his feet were, started moving, it was the slender tube and it had a needle attachment, Cameron was scared but there was nothing he could do, he struggled and struggle and fought with the bands restraining him as the needle got closer to his body, but they wouldn’t come loose, so he had no choice but to resign himself to the situation and hope that he somehow makes it out alive as he laid on the cold examination table-like thing he was strapped to. The tube and needle reached up to about halfway to the side of his right thigh and pricked him and inject a small amount of a liquid with a blue hue to it and then receded back to its original position, the prick didn’t hurt too much and he was feeling drowsy or drugged Cameron wondered “well what is it going to do?” just as he finished that sentenced he felt the bands on wrists and head loosen up, and then they receded as well into the table. “Maybe the process takes place in stages, maybe I’ll be okay if I leave right now,” but after saying that and trying to get off the table he found himself unable to move his limbs. “What the fuck is going on here? Move. Move!” he yelled at his body but it didn’t he could only move his neck freely, his extremities seem to have been numbed by the injection, they felt normal in every way except they felt incredibly weak, like when your muscles are fatigued after you have worked them out extensively and you can’t even lift them up afterwards, that’s how they felt, and so he started worrying again and he remembered. “I forsake myself to it, guess I was just too happy that it stopped but I guess it’s not done yet with me yet,” he laid there for about a minute before something else happened. The second tube that was next to the one with the needle started moving, it was a much bigger tube, it was a dark grey colour, and it was as thick as the ones in the tanks that went in the anus of the body builders, and it had a strange attachment, and as it got closer he could make out what that attachment was, it was in the shape of a penis head, and the rest of the tube was ribbed with lines and bumps, making the whole length of the tube resemble the shaft of a penis, as it got closer to his body Cameron felt the table shifting, it moved his legs up from under the calves, into a position that resemble the position of sitting on a chair but on his back, and he realised the tube really was meant for his anus, he was scared just like before for the needle but a little voice in the back of his mind told him he wanted to try and know what it felt like, and his penis became erect in a second as he remembered what he felt when he saw it inside the bodybuilder, he was afraid but he wanted to feel it, the desire to experience it grew and grew, and before he knew he felt the cold tube shaped like a penis touch the outside of his anus, it was cold and sent shivers down his body. When the tube reached the outside of the anus it secreted a little bit of liquid that felt like gel so Cameron assumed it was lubrication, and then it really started, the machine started apply more pressure to open up the sphincter muscle, and it did, it finally reached the point where the anus couldn’t stay closed and the head popped right in and Cameron felt like something he never knew he could feel, it hurt a lot as it worked its way inside but it felt so good at the same time, it pried open his hole because of how wide the tube was but Cameron was enjoying and for a moment even thought, “Maybe this isn’t so bad,” a thought that quickly vanished as he felt the tube go deeper and deeper, it only hurt at the anus but he certainly felt it in his insides as it straightened the curves in his colon onto it until he was shocked to see it start to show as it protruded through his abs, and it protruded more and more till it finally stopped, it was pushing out onto his skin a full inch if not a little bit more, it didn’t hurt or feel like it hurt him in any ways but it was very incredible, Cameron sighed a sigh of relief since he thought the worst was over, but how wrong he was. A few minutes went by and nothing happened, but then out of nowhere he heard a machine start to make sound, it sounded like a pump to be exact, and he felt a little vibration inside from the tube he had in his abdomen, he knew something else was going to happen. And that’s when it really started. He saw body builder number 2 to his left side twitch slightly, and then the calf of the man suddenly shrunk down to just skin and bones! He gasped, it was unbelievable, the man’s huge left calf muscle, which looked to be at least 54cm (21inches) suddenly deflated, but then he noticed the tube that went into the man’s anus engorge at the anus, it was carrying a lump and transported it up until he couldn’t see it anymore, after a few seconds suddenly a lump appeared at the base of the tube that went inside Cameron “what is that?….” he thought to himself and the lump moved up the tube and it went inside him and he saw it then come the head that he could clearly see through his abdomen and the lump moved down his left leg and where his calf was and then suddenly engorged to four times the size of the lump in an very painful wave which made him cringe but he noticed suddenly he had developed calves that were about 41cm big (6 inches) and that’s when it hit him, the lump was the man’s calf and it transported it to his own body, albeit some of the size is lost in the process, then he noticed 4 other lumps consecutively show up moving up the tube and into his ass, which aroused him more as each one penetrated him, then he saw them come out the head of the tube into his abdomen and he watched as they started moving towards his left leg again under his skin, when he raised his head and looked at the legs of the other body builders he noticed they had all lost all the muscle mass in their left lower legs, and when he turned his view back to his left leg it was just as the 4 lumps merged and with a wave of pain started fusing and becoming his own muscle, the pain was like that of having a bone broken but localised to where the muscle was being absorbed only while at the same time feeling like having multiple orgasms one after another. It made Cameron grind his teeth and arch back with a tear flowing out of his eye, and his cock so hard and going wild ripped right through his compression shorts to full mast! And as the wave of pain and arousal subsided after about 6 seconds (the longest of his entire life) he was left breathing heavily and sweating profusely, then he looked down to be amazed at what happened, there was his left lower leg, with a 76cm (30inch) mass of muscle, he was amazed, awestruck by the sheer size, the striated muscle fibres visible through the skin, and the large bulging pumped up veins that covered it, it made his cock rage like a wild animal. It was beautiful. But as he was preoccupied admiring the beauty that had become part of his body the machine seemed to pick up the pace and started working faster. The sound of the machine working faster finally got Cam’s attention, as he looked up at the men he saw body builder 1 through 4 had deflated left upper legs, and as he reached body builder 5 he saw his left upper leg suddenly deflate too, all his thigh muscles just disappeared and he noticed the lump again exit his body through the tube, then he saw it start happening to the man’s right lower leg, then upper leg, and as he turned around it had happened to the other men as well, he knew what was coming next and he feared it yet desperately wanted to go through with it, the voice in his head that told him he wanted it had grown louder and louder and was overpowering the fear. Then the lumps started appearing, 4 of them in a file came up the tube and flowed into his asshole, arousing him and making his cock jerk, he saw them then protrude through his abdomen and start making their way to his left upper leg where they merged and again a surge of pain and pleasure flooded his system driving him wild as the muscle expanded and became part of his body, but Cam’s desire for the muscle was making him bare the pain so he could watch the wonderful thing that was happening to his body, his fear almost entirely subdued by the erotic desire to have those muscles. Cameron’s eyes were marvelled at what he saw, the muscle expanded and became his now 109cm (43 inch) left thigh, the sight made him reach orgasm and he cummed all over himself with more cum the he had ever seen before, then even though still partially lost in the pleasure more lumps appeared and started making their way to his right lower legs, then more lumps and at a faster rate started appearing, going to his upper legs, lower legs, left glute, right glute, each of his 8 individual abs, Apollo’s belt, left then his right pec, forearms, biceps, triceps, lats, delts, traps, each time making the muscle, or arms or legs contract with the expanding muscles. Every single individual muscle group, one after another, he saw as the muscles disappeared off of the bodies of the once body builders around him and come into his body and start being absorbed by him, every surge of unbelievable pain, every wave of erotic pleasure, he came again, and again, and again as the pleasure was unbearable as he saw his body parts engorge with monstrous mass, the muscle inflating like balloons, the muscle fibres showing through the paper-thin stretched skin, the veins growing, engorging and spreading all over his muscles, thickening with blood and testosterone from those 5 men, it was a sight to behold. When Cameron finally managed to came back to his senses after the thrill ride of pleasure he took, he was, needless to say, overjoyed by his body, muscles with size beyond what any mister Olympia could ever dream of achieving, veins as thick as ropes spread all over his muscles protruding and pulsating with blood, feeding them, all glistening from all the cum he shot over himself which only made his body more attractive, and the compression shorts you ask? Nowhere to be seen, they had exploded off of his engorging muscled body with only a few tatters stuck under his enormous glutes. Cameron was more than amazed and he was especially enjoying the huge veins that appear all over his muscles, he was covered in them, and they were massive and pulsated with testosterone, and the clearly visible muscle fibres that were clear as day to the eye, he loved it with all his might, but the ride wasn’t over just yet….. While Cam appreciated his new given body he noticed something weird start happening, the five tanks holding the now anorexic looking men that were once beautiful examples of muscle at its best. The five men started dissolving into the liquid and the liquid changed from transparent to a really thick-looking white almost gel-like substance. Then he heard an automated sounding voice from the computer say ‘DNA impregnation complete, beginning stage 2’ “WHAT? I’ve only gone through stage one yet, after all of this?!” he exclaimed, when he saw two much larger bulges move up the pipe that went inside of him, they were coming together in a pair, one next to each other and he felt them stop right at his anus, he then turned his attention up above his head where he heard rattling and as he turned his eyes upwards he saw the pipe dangling from above with the weird attachment, which was just like the cock head attachment the one inside him has, start moving down. He was again afraid yet again uncertain of what might happen next, his heart racing, and him body sweating profusely yet again. He tried to move his head since the pipe was coming straight down at his face when the band which had previously retracted appeared again and held his forehead firmly down, there was no avoiding it. The cockhead shaped nozzle of the tube touched Cam’s lips after it made its way down next to Cam’s head then up again to meet his mouth which he refused to open and allow it to enter, so the pressure increased more and more and his lips finally gave way, the long, thick, rubbery tube made its way into his mouth, reach the back of his throat, but before his gag reflects could even kick in it made its way down his throat and it kept going down, more and more as he saw more of it disappear in front of him into his mouth, he guessed he had swallowed about 30cm (1 foot) of it before it stopped, then like in unison both machines started doing something…… The one that had violated his now rock hard bubble ass and protruded through his now steel cut solid 8-pack abs started retreating from his ass, he was relieved thinking the approximately 40cm (16 inches) of tube that was inside of him was finally leaving his body, but as the head was just about to leave his hole, the machine re-adjusted itself to a more pronounced 90° angle and started making its way back inside, until it reached the base of Cam’s hard cock with a painful pressure, then the pressure increased and it hurt more and more, then he felt a really hot sensation in his crotch like he was in a hot bath, and although in pain he saw something amazing, the tube’s cockhead started expanding and entering the base of his cock, his eyes couldn’t believe it, as he bit his lips from the pain, but he wouldn’t stop looking at what was happening, it made its way painfully up the shaft stretching it to the 14cm (5 inch) circumference of the tube, and he saw the thicker and wider head leading the way, stretching and engorging it until it reach and stretched the 7inch cockhead of Cam’s penis, then the pain increased as it started stretched longer, and longer, it went on and on but it did so while sending waves of pleasure to Cam’s brain, it was delicious, it stretched to a full rock hard, massive length of 40cm (16inches) then stopped when the two large bulges, each about the size of an orange, were absorbed into the ball sack, and as it was absorbed, ropes of veins grew onto them and he started feeling the breeze on his stiff hot dick, it had become part of his body as well Cameron realised in a disbelieving yet still joyous shock. This huge, thick, hot, hard piece of man meat, was all his, he jerked it to see if it was true and it jerked, it was more than he ever dreamed off. The rest of the tube that was behind the huge bulges that became his balls, retreated outside to their original position next to the needle. That’s when a different noise caught Cam’s attention “There is still more?” he thought to himself, but without any fear now, he was now determined to see this through, this accident had given him the muscles and the cock he could only ever dream off, he wants it all now and he going to thoroughly enjoy it. It seems the muscles and cock not only enhanced his body but also his ego had been boosted up, and he liked it. Then he noticed the white liquid that formed from the men who were once in the tanks starting draining, the level was going down inside the tanks, when he felt the tube that went down his throat start vibrating a little and so he looked up. He saw through the transparent tube a white liquid moved downwards in the tube and it went into his mouth and he felt the flow of the liquid through his throat and as it pumped out into his chest, and he felt something strange, but in his pecs, so he looked at them and saw them swelling and pulsating and it plunge him into an orgasmic thrill ride of pleasure, it was a magnificent sensation, and he arched back from how erotic it felt while his mammoth dick jerked up and down. The tube kept pumping the liquid inside of him and into his pecs and the pecs swelled to twice their size then stop swelling but kept contracting with every massive pump into them, and Cam’s from the corner of his eye even though he was barely able to think from the pleasure he was in could see the tanks slowly drain empty, which took he could only guess was around half an hour, half an hour of toe curling, orgasmic bliss, when it started to subside he was surprised he managed to stay sane after en experience like that, and slowly the pleasure started dying down and the pumps became less intense, which is when he finally noticed that his pecs did not shrink down, but stayed at the doubled size, and looked gorgeously tight and hard, but his nipples had grown to almost triple their thickness and protruded more than 2 cm (1 inch) now and were as stiff as a hot cock. As he admired them he felt the tube retreating from him and as the head left his mouth the last bit of the liquid that was left in the tube, about a litre, pour into his mouth filling it up and then pour all over his face, and it tasted like warm, deliciously sweet and salty honey as he swallowed it down, and he recognised the smell and knew it right away that it was steamy cum, he never tasted it before or anything that tasted as delicious, it was all over his rosy lips and felt good on his face. At the same time the part of the table holding his legs up in the air lowered back down, and as it did he was regaining the feeling back in his legs and arms, and he tried to move, and he did, he managed to get off of the table and the first thing he could bring himself to do was touch himself, touch himself all over, feel the muscles up, grasp his beastly pecs and dig his fingers into the solid flesh, slide his fingers over the striations on his legs, to pas his hand over his marble abs, to feel up the ropes of veins on his 40 cm (16 inch) cock, to grope his massive balls bigger than a baseball each. All of this massively aroused him which is when he felt his chest and abs start getting wet and he looked down at his shelf-like pecs and saw something fantastic, cum was coming out of his nipples in a stream, and grabbed his left pec and squeezed and a long squirt came out of it, more than 10 times as cum in that squirt then in a regular man’s ejaculation. He squeezed again this time catching the cum and he doesn’t know why but an almost euphoric hunger came from within him for that cum and licked it all clean off of his hand, and it was delicious, so he squeezed again, and again, and again, licking it up each time, and each time the quantity increased until every squirt released about half a cup of cum, yet his pecs didn’t shrink down, nor did it feel like it was running out of cum, it just kept producing more until it satisfied his hunger. As he finished up his meal Cameron looked to the stairs for a way out, to go out into the world as a new man, and enjoy every moment of his new life. His new life of monstrous muscles, that no man would ever be able to match or surpass again, and to be the epitome of lust, beauty and strength. The End........ ?

Short Story - A Twist on My New Year’s Resolution Please feel free to tell me what you think! I am planning on writing other stories, and maybe a sequel to this one if people want it. Hope you enjoy it! Okay, just hear me out. I know everyone always makes a New Year’s Resolution, usually fitness related, but never meet them. I understand that the gym gets full of people trying to get in the best shape of their lives at the start of the year…for a few weeks at most. But I’m different, I’m going to do it; my name is Drew and my New Year’s Resolution is to go to the gym and get ripped as fuck. Being skinny all of my life has not made things easy for me, especially during my first year of college. I’ve never really been popular, and if we’re being honest, I haven’t even kissed or had sex with anyone. My friends have always been pretty nerdy and geeky too, but don’t get me wrong, I like them all, I was just hoping for something different in college. Sadly, nothing has changed during my freshman year, except for the fact that I’ve gotten even more jealous. I’m tired of watching the hot muscular guys on my floor get with whoever they want whenever they want. My roommate, who isn’t even that big, has already been with like 10 different people. I’m forced to sleep over at my friend’s dorm every Saturday night, while my roommate is having his way with some hottie. I’m honestly sick and tired of it…but I have a plan. I am going to get some muscle on my body if it’s the last thing I do. Every day after class I am going to get myself into the campus gym, and I’m just going to work at it until I can’t anymore. I laid out my plan for my friends and they just laughed in my face. After I got over my initial anger, it actually just motivated me more and more. Leading up to New Year’s Eve it was all I could think about. I wanted to be muscular, I wished I could finally have sex, I needed a body that others would envy and drool over. The thoughts raced through my head, making me so horny, so turned on. Then, New Year’s Eve came. I was forced to attend my family’s New Year’s Party as I had no other plans. I didn’t care for it though, all I could think about was waking up tomorrow, driving back to my college, and heading to the gym. As my family watched the ball drop at midnight all I could do was wish to myself that I would get huge this year. But, after hanging around for a little while longer, it was time for bed. As I woke up the next day I had one of the worst headaches I’ve ever had, and my body felt so heavy. I was so annoyed that I might have to miss my first day at the gym, but it was honestly so hard to get out of bed and drag myself to the bathroom. Then, it hit me…as I looked in the mirror I almost didn’t recognize who was looking back at me. The first thing I noticed was that I was taller and now hosting a sexy and strong jawline. But then, I looked down, to find that my shirt and pants were almost bursting at the seams. My jaw almost fell to the ground…I couldn’t believe what was happening. The first thing I did was start to rub my right bicep through my shirt. Without even flexing I could feel that my bicep was now rock solid muscle. But then as I flexed it I heard my shirt rip, and through that I could see the giant bicep popping out through the sleeve. Amazed, I proceeded to do a double bicep pose in front of the mirror, which was too much for my shirt to handle. Drool trickled down my chin as I watched the shreds of my shirt fall to the ground, revealing my new muscled body in all of its glory. Along with my huge biceps I now had massive pecs, which I couldn’t help but bounce. First the right one and then the left one, and then together, again and again…fuck I was so turned on. Then, I focused on my abs, abs that looked like they had been chiseled out of marble. I had to play with each and every one of my six new abs giving each on personal attention. I couldn’t believe that this was my new body, the body of a god among men. Unable to control myself any further I ripped my pants off, revealing tree trunk like legs and a dick begging to be taken care of. I took my right hand and started to frantically stroke my cock as my other hand rubbed all of my muscles. I began by flexing my abs and pecs while my hand felt up every corner of my upper body. Then, as a started to moan and breath heavily, I went to massage my other bicep that was expanding as I stroked faster…fuck I’m close. As I started to play with my giant legs my cock released endless streams of cum all over the bathroom floor. I was experiencing some greatest pleasure in my life, but I needed more, my cock needed more. I ran back into my room and as I looked around I grabbed a pillow and jumped onto the bed. Fucking a pillow had always been a go too way for me to masturbate, but with my new muscles it was a completely different experience. As I knelt down on the bed with my amazingly muscled ass sticking up, I placed the pillow in front of my dick. Then I just went at it, uncontrollably fucking that pillow as hard as I could. With every thrust I went faster and faster, harder and harder, deeper and deeper. The entire bed shaking and hitting the wall in rhythm as my cock went in and out of the pillow. My entire body flexing as the sweat made each of my giant muscles glisten. My pecs, my biceps, my abs…wow I must have looked like a fucking sex god. I felt more powerful then I had ever before, so strong that the pillow could barely even handle a quarter of my new found strength. I shortly realized that the pillow was beginning to rip apart in my hands. I laughed to myself a little but the thought of not knowing my own strength was honestly turning me on so much. As I started to use a third of strength to fuck the pillow the feathers started to burst out all over the bed. I had been such a weakling before this and now just a fraction of my strength—my own godly physique—actually fucked a pillow to shreds. But I needed to finish, and this pillow was not going to do it anymore. Throwing the remaining pieces of the pillow off the bed I leaned over to my nightstand and grabbed some lotion. Feeling up my rock hard pecs and rubbing my nipples, I started to aggressively stroke my cock. Getting close I moved to flexing my huge sweaty muscles as I rubbed my dick faster and harder. My moaning and heavy breathing got even louder as I continually brought myself closer and closer to the edge. Before I knew it my cock was exploding with even more cum then in the bathroom again and again and again. Once it looked like my dick was done I fell back onto my bed dripping with sweat. After such an ordeal I thought I would be exhausted but it looked like this body could take far more than what I just did. As I laid on the bed imagining everything sexy and terrible naughty thing I could do with my body I realized that this was only half of my New Year’s Resolution. It was time to get up and give this body the training at the gym that it deserved. I needed to get even more ripped, even stronger, and even more of a fucking god. I quickly got up, took a shower, and put on some workout clothes, which barely fit over my massive muscles but looked sexy as fuck on me. What took me even longer was cleaning up the huge mess that this real man’s body of mine had made, but I honestly felt like I had a few more rounds in me. With my family still fast asleep, I got into the car to head to the gym for the workout of a lifetime. But I couldn’t help but think about what everyone was going to say about my new body. It was time to show off, have fun, and be the sex machine that I was meant to be. I was especially interested in showing off to my nerdy friends who didn’t believe me…oh were they in for a surprise. As I began to drive away all I could do was laugh to myself as I made my monster sized pecs bounce up and down through my shirt, stretching it to its limits. God, this semester was going to be insane…

Hello. My name is Ryan and I am a geek. Honestly, I've tried to make myself look cooler with pierced ears, tattoos, and bling, but I'm afraid all of that only emphasizes how desperately I'm trying not to look like the short, skinny white boy I am. In high school, I did have a few girls who liked me and told me I was cute, but it's not like they were ever gonna date me. No, they wanted to date the jocks, then call me on the phone afterwards and dish, weeping about what a jerk the jock had been. To them, I was the "gay best friend" that every romantic comedy and sitcom told them they needed as an accessory. Never mind that I wasn't actually gay. I suppose I couldn't blame them for making the assumption. It's not like I was doing anything that would prove them wrong. Like, say, having sex with a girl. I'm only five-seven and I've always had, like, zero muscle-mass. My folks knew how much it bugged me to be so puny, so Dad bought me a set of weights, but sweating and straining just to curl a fifteen-pound dumbbell was not my idea of a fun time. Besides, all that exertion never seemed to add an ounce to my lanky-ass body. The weights sat in a corner of my bedroom, growing cobwebbier by the day. I started college with the naive hope that it would be a less superficial environment than goddamn high school and people would put more value on intelligence than appearance. As my parents were wishing me goodbye, Mom couldn't stop crying and calling me "my baby", right there in my dorm room, right in front of my dick of a roommate, who was barely stifling his laughter. I just knew he would be mocking me and calling me "Baby" from then on. Fortunately, Dad didn't cause that kind of embarrassing scene, but he did slip me a parting gift as we walked back to the car. It was a new digital camera that they were working on at the tech company where he works. "It's a prototype, kid, so be extremely careful with it. Don't leave it lying around and, for god's sake, don't let anybody else use it." I assured him I wouldn't, and he smiled back, "I know you won't, son. Hey, snap a selfie once in a while and send it to me, so your sad old parents can see how you're adjusting to your new life." I got a lump in the pit of my gut. I thought I would be happy to finally be off on my own, but I think it was just as hard for me to watch my folks drive away as it was for them to leave me behind. Dad rolled down the window as he drove past and said, seemingly as an afterthought, "There's some pretty sweet software on that camera. You should fiddle around with it." Then he winked. My dad was a brilliant scientist, but he could be kind of a doofus. (Like father, like son, right?) I had never seen him fuckin' wink in my life. Glad my roommate wasn't around to see that. As the car disappeared in the distance, I heard my roommate yelling at me. "Hey, Baby, we're gonna go eat at the commons. You wanna come with us, Baby?" I looked over and saw him give me an exaggerated wink. He was surrounded by a group of similar bros, all testosterone and stupidity in their muscle shirts and backwards baseball caps. The other dudes followed my roommate's lead, cracking up and calling me "Baby" without even knowing why. What a barrel full of douchebags. I already hated college. The actual school part was fine, but all the social skills I never learned in high school might have come in handy here. By the first Saturday night, while everyone else in the dorm was out getting shit-faced, laid or both, I was sitting in my room, alone and depressed. On my desk, I noticed the camera Dad had given me and decided I ought to let the 'rents see how their son was coping...or wasn't. I stood in front of the mirror in my small-size t-shirt and my skinny jeans and attempted to smile, but a smile would have been false advertising. Better to show how I was actually feeling. With a frown on my lips and sadness in my eyes, I snapped the shutter and the photo filled the digital screen on the back of the camera. Christ, I looked about twelve. No wonder I didn't fit in here. I touched the screen with my thumb, intending to delete this grim photo, when a menu of options popped onto the screen. Great, just what I needed, fuckin' Instagram. The only thing that could make me look more pathetic would be looking pathetic in sepia tones. But I noticed that the options extended beyond the usual filters, color, brightness, contrast and cropping. Like, for interest, "BACKGROUND". I could edit the background? When I clicked on that, a circle popped up onscreen with the word "DORM" at the top. Damn, photo recognition software is getting advanced if it can tell just from the picture that I'm in a dorm. I figured it must use GPS or something to figure that out. I grazed my thumb over the circle and, like the click-wheel on my dad's ancient iPod, it allowed me to cycle through other options. The first one I stopped on was "CHURCH". Amazingly, the software immediately replaced the postered walls behind me in the photo with a massive stained-glass window. I had never seen any design software that could so swiftly and seamlessly alter an element of a photo like that. It would have taken me ten minutes of clipping and erasing in Photoshop to accomplish what the camera had done in an instant. As I scrolled through other options, there was my sorry ass standing in a restaurant, on a beach, on a boat, in front of the Eiffel Tower. When I landed on "LOCKER ROOM" -- just a blue-green wall and some kind of door -- I must have accidentally clicked the "ACCEPT" button in the middle of the circle, because an hourglass appeared and animated sand fell through it as the background rendered in high resolution. From out of nowhere, I started to feel very claustrophobic. The air around me seemed to be thickening, like an invisible layer of warm Jell-O wrapping itself around my body. I couldn't move as this sensation enveloped me. And then, BOOM, it was over. It felt like I had passed through a gooey membrane and come out clean on the other side. I dropped to my knees, gasping for air, happy to still be alive. A voice echoed from above me, "You okay, little dude?" I looked up and discovered I was no longer in my dorm room but in a locker room. I was sprawled on the hard tile floor, and a massively pumped weightlifter was looming over me. "I didn't even see you come in," he said, extending a hand, which I gratefully accepted. He practically dislocated my arm as he yanked me to my feet. I thanked him and he patted me on the back with his beefy palm, knocking the wind out of me again. As he walked out, I could hear the heavy clanging of weights in the next room. I stared in the mirror and saw the same old me with a new background. The turquoise walls perfectly matched the photo. I looked back at the camera, still clutched in my palm, and wondered what other astonishing alterations it could make. "CLOTHING" was the next option. The first click-wheel offered general categories ("SHIRT", "PANTS", etc.), which opened into sub-categories once you clicked them. When I chose "SHIRT", the display correctly identified that I was wearing a "T-SHIRT" in the photo. I then scrolled through the menu as my purple tee morphed onscreen into everything from an "ANGORA SWEATER" to a "ZEBRA-SKIN VEST". On the more revealing selections, the camera accurately recreated parts of my body, like my bony shoulders and my sunken chest, which you couldn't even see in the original photo. This whole experience was simultaneously creeping me out and making me hard. When I selected "TANK TOP", it allowed me to choose from a huge array of colors, patterns, and logos. A Gold's Gym shirt seemed the most incongruous on my weakling's body, so I went the ironic route and hit "ACCEPT". I braced myself for the Jell-O feeling again, but it didn't strangulate my whole body this time, just my torso. My chest and arms felt shrink-wrapped as my purple shirt shifted through the color spectrum through blue and green before stopping at yellow, and the arm and neck holes grew wider and wider until an authentic Gold's Gym tank was draped limply over my gaunt frame. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I searched frantically for what other unexpected gifts might be waiting inside the camera. "BODY TYPE" seemed too good to be true. As before, the dial had automatically set the baseline to correspond to my current state: in this case, "ECTOMORPH". One click to the left landed me on "ENDOMORPH" and I watched on the screen as my body ballooned to a level of obesity that looked comically implausible and dangerous for my health. I spun the dial in the other direction, which showed how I would look as a "MESOMORPH". I'll be honest, I nearly came in my pants when I saw my head on the body of a well-built jock, with solid pecs that seemed ready to burst the straps of my tank top and bulging shoulders and biceps that looked ready to burst through my skin. I could have happily chosen "ACCEPT" immediately, but was curious what other options were available. "BEAST" amped the muscle enlargement further to that of a competition weightlifter, while "BEHEMOTH" pushed the limits of plausibility past the biggest steroid abuser alive into the realm of comic-book superheroes. I knew I would be more than satisfied as a simple toned mesomorph, but I bumped myself just slightly into don't-fuckin'-fuck-with-me "BEAST" mode. My thumb pressed "ACCEPT" and I waited for the constricting feeling again, but this change went the opposite direction, as if my body was exploding from the inside. The cells under my skin were churning, multiplying, creating lumps of muscle on my weak arms and narrow chest, veins surging and surfacing with each heartbeat, inflating me into a slab of prime beef. My bones were aching, stretching, thickening, turning my fragile limbs into sturdy weapons. By the time the evolution stopped, I was closing in on six feet and over two hundred pounds. Adding some final touches, I swapped out my ripped Levi's for shiny workout pants and chose a simple baseball cap from the "HEADWEAR" menu. I couldn't resist turning it backwards. Since I already looked like such a bro now, I might as well commit all the fuckin' way. When in Bro-land, do as the Bro-men do. Satisfied with my makeover, I hit "SAVE" and slid the camera into the pocket of my shorts. I stepped out of the locker room and discovered I was in the weight facility used by the college's varsity athletes. I couldn't imagine a more alien environment, but as I checked my reflection against the other jocks around me, I now fit in perfectly. I walked straight toward the free weights to see just how much this body could do. I grabbed two sixty-pound dumbbells off the rack, lifting them as if they were nothing. The massive guy who had found me on the locker-room floor walked over to give me friendly tips on my form, giving no indication that he recognized me as the "little dude" from our earlier meeting. I wondered how long he had worked to become so ripped. I bet it was longer than the ten minutes it had taken me. I couldn't believe how cool it felt to be accepted by my fellow lifters, guys who would have looked at me with pity an hour ago. They didn't seem to get my geeky jokes, but I found that was easily fixed. I just opened up the camera, selected "IQ" and slid the dial down about twenty points. I immediately felt a whole lot more relaxed and shit. I figure when exam time comes, I'll just take another selfie and boost the old IQ back up again. Sure hope I remember to do that. I also couldn't stop staring at the other guys' rock-solid arms and wide backs and firm asses. I hoped no one noticed that I was getting a major chubby that was tenting my workout pants. I clicked open the camera to see what options it offered for "ORIENTATION" and discovered that the dial had already set itself to indicate that I was "BISEXUAL". Well, shit. Maybe those chicks back in high school were half-right after all. I'm always the last to know anything. Returning to my dorm room, I stripped off my shirt and admired my bitchin' new body in the mirror, exploring the crevices of my six pack with my fingertips. I was sure of at least one thing: my lame-ass roomie wouldn't be calling me "Baby" any more. Not unless he wanted to get his ass kicked. Or unless I wanted him to suck my dick. I decided to text the photo to Dad, who would undoubtedly be curious to see what his gizmo had accomplished. I messaged him: "Played around with the camera tonight. Thought you'd be impressed with how quickly I've adjusted. I think you're gonna sell a lot of these cameras. Thanx, Dad!!!" I followed up with an afterthought: "Please send money for new clothes. xo" After I texted my dad the photo showing how much his camera had changed me, I zonked out pretty fast. Growing six inches and eighty pounds in one night will do that to a guy. Not sure whether it was the sound or the smell of the fart that woke me up, but the combination of the two was lethal. I rubbed my eyes and held my breath as I heard the low chuckling of my dumbshit roommate Cole. The fucker was plastered, and his idea of subtle humor was to wake up his roommate at 3am and fart in his face. "Hey, baby, can I borrow a diaper from you?", he said in a demented whisper, hardly able to contain his laughter. Even his dimwit buddies hanging in the doorway were telling him he was being immature and should leave me alone. I just reached up and gripped his wrist, then twisted his arm around his back, amazed by my strength. He sure wasn't expecting that from his wimpy roommate. "Ow, ow ow!," he yelped. He whispered to his pals by the door, "Fuck, I'm in the wrong room!" His loyal friends freaked out and ran away. "No, you're in the right place," I whispered. "You just fucked with the wrong guy." I climbed out of bed while maintaining hold of his arm. I flipped on the light over my bed and could see clearly on his face just how much pain he was in, so I let go. His arm fell slack at his side. He rubbed his shoulder and turned around. I got a real kick out of watching his eyes as they caught their first glimpse of my broad chest and my giant arms, then moved up and up until he saw me grinning down at him. I now had a good couple inches on him and, except for the part covered by my exercise pants, all of my new muscle was on prominent display. He stared stupefied at my face, which basically hadn't changed but looked a shitload more bad-ass on this body. If he hadn't been so drunk, his brain probably would have exploded at seeing the stud his "baby" roommate had become. Instead, he was just really, really confused. He poked his index finger into my firm pecs, like he was trying to make sure they were real. "Didn't you used to be a little pussy?", he asked. "Yeah, but the campus food plan is awesome. Lotsa protein," I said, continuing to mess with him. "This is only after one week. By next week, I won't fit through the door." Cole stood dazed in the middle of the room, his eyes glazed over like he had passed out standing up. Just like he had been doing to me, I touched his chest with a finger. He toppled right over and was snoring on the floor within a minute. I couldn't leave the idiot just lying there, so I lifted him up and carried him to his bed. He felt surprisingly light in my bulging arms. I scooted a trash can next to his bed, just in case he needed to hurl during the night. On my way back to bed, I noticed I had gotten some texts while I was asleep. Dad had written back after seeing the photo of my new body: "WHOA, buddy. I guess the camera DID work. You might want to scale it back and take things more gradually. Massive changes like that can be hard to adjust to." That was followed by: "Oh, and you won't need to buy new clothes. Just use the camera to adjust your old ones into whatever you like. Have fun, son, but don't go overboard. Call me if you need advice." Despite what Dad thought, I felt like I was handling the changes pretty well, especially since he gave me the thing with no instructions. He always liked to do that, bring home some project from work and ask his geeky little kid if he could figure out what it did. It was a fun father-son bonding type of thing. I'm pretty slick with computers and shit, so it was never much of a challenge, but he'd never given me anything nearly as amazing as this before. I carried the camera back to bed and stared at the picture of the new me. I didn't even realize at first that I was stroking my cock, queering off to my own picture. When I looked at my dick, it seemed really small in the grip of my new sinewy hand. Seemed like I ought to be able to do something to change that. I aimed the lens at my semi-hard cock and focused. I'd never taken a dick pic in my life. No one ever wanted to see my dick in the flesh, so who would want a picture of it? I clicked and the rear screen displayed my little friend. I brought up the menu and had to scroll pretty deep through the options before I reached the controls for "GENITALS". The options were "MALE", "FEMALE", "BOTH", "NEITHER" and "NON-HUMAN". Guess those scientists at Dad's company didn't want to leave out any potential customers. I stuck with "MALE" and discovered the options for "LENGTH - SOFT" and "LENGTH - HARD". I only bumped up the soft length a little, figuring I didn't want fitting my dick into a pair of underwear to become more of a challenge than solving a Rubik's Cube. I can solve a Rubik's Cube in under a minute, by the way. Not bragging, just the truth -- although these big new hands and this lowered intelligence might slow down my speed a little. Then again, considering how long I was making my "LENGTH - HARD", I didn't figure I'd be having too many more Saturday nights sitting alone with nothing to do but fondle my Rubik's Cube. I clicked "ACCEPT", then "SAVE", and flipped off the light. I was amazed how far my hand had to travel up and down the shaft of my cock as it grew to its new full length, and my fingertips didn't even meet my thumb on the other side when I gripped the fucker. Once I finally fired, I coated my chest and abs with more cum than I thought I had in me. Guess everything about me was bigger now. * * * In the morning, I woke up full of energy for the first time in my goddamn life. I actually felt like going for a run. On purpose. Not even because it would be good for my body, because obviously I could adjust this body however I wanted without a lick of exercise. No, I just wanted to go for a run because I thought it would be fun. I pulled on my clothes from the night before, then snapped a selfie in the full length mirror on the back of our door. I musta spent half an hour going through the menus to decide what shirt and shorts and sneakers I wanted the camera to give me. I knew I could get sucked into a video game so deep that ten hours would pass and I wouldn't even get up to take a leak, but I never thought I could be just as addicted to picking out clothes. Once I chose a white tank top and some red running shorts that looked snug around my package, I checked myself out in the mirror and decided I would look even hotter with curly blond hair. So there went another ten minutes, as I figured out the exact shade and length I wanted. I settled on a nice rich honey color and adjusted my cap so it would fit (backwards, naturally) over my new halo of curls. I looked righteous. I clicked "SAVE" and the changes were locked in. Cole snorted loudly, still lying on top of his rumpled bedspread, tongue hanging flaccid from his mouth and basically looking like shit. One hand was lazily scratching his belly underneath his beer-stained sleeveless tee and the other was stuffed down his cargo shorts. A naughty thought passed through my head. I snapped a quick photo of him, then tucked the camera in a pocket of my shorts and headed out for a nice long run. The campus was beautiful that morning, with just a taste of fall chill sneaking into the morning sunshine. I'd never noticed how many people exercised in the morning, maybe because I was usually still in bed at this time. When I looked down, my arms and legs were swinging so fast and powerfully that my shadow was basically just a dark smudge speeding across the sidewalk. As my big feet pounded the pavement in my new Air Jordans, I smiled at all the chicks and guys who were running or walking or riding bikes or doing yoga, and nearly everybody smiled back. And why wouldn't they? They weren't looking at geeky Ryan Bradford any more, with his pencil-thin arms and legs. They were checking out Ryan Bradford, campus stud, whose muscles barely fit in normal clothing. I didn't even feel like the same person any more. A dude like me oughta have a nickname. What would my drinking buddies call me, if I had drinking buddies? Or any buddies? How about Ry? "Hey, I'm Ry," I muttered to myself as I ran. I liked the sound of it. "Yo, this is Ry." I chuckled my deep new chuckle. It was a thrill to see how many girls were staring at me, but the looks I was getting from guys were kinda freaking me out. Before last night, I found it hard to believe that any girl would be charitable enough to go to bed with me, but I never even considered that a guy might want to do it. I just wrote off all my fantasies about big hunky jocks as envy, not lust. Now, I felt like I could walk into any room on campus and seduce anyone in it. Male, female, both, neither or non-human. (Just kidding about the non-human thing. Gross.) By the time I reached the lakeside pier, I must have run ten miles but I still wasn't breathing hard. My shirt was soaked with sweat, so I pulled it off, the sunlight glistening on my wet torso. I stretched out my legs on a bench. They seemed to go on forever, like they were longer than my whole body used to be. The lake and the trees looked so scenic, I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture. I checked the editing options, but wasn't given anything unusual. Guess Dad's company hadn't figured out how to make the camera turn a sunrise into a sunset, or a tree into a polar bear. Yet. I deleted the scenic photo, and the last photo I had taken showed up onscreen: Cole, sprawled in bed. I amused myself thinking about what modifications I would make to the jerk if I could. What was I thinking "if"? I could! Too bad the options wouldn't let me change him from a prick into a decent guy. I could turn him into a GQ model and he'd still think it was hilarious to fart in my face. Then again, if I changed his body enough, maybe it'd change his behavior too. I was definitely acting differently as Ry than I had as Ryan. Maybe Cole could stand to be a little less like Ry and a little more like Ryan. I brought up the "BODY TYPE" menu, where Cole was a obviously categorized as a "MESOMORPH". I nudged the wheel toward "ECTOMORPH" and watched his muscles wither away until he was practically skeletal, even worse than I had been. Not sure even Cole deserved that big a punishment. I slid the wheel back toward "MESOMORPH" and got so aroused as his muscles grew back that my boner started to strain my shorts. My finger wavered on the dial until I hit a sweet spot where he was just muscly enough to turn me on but still puny enough to have an inferiority complex. His clothes now looked baggy on him, and he looked a couple inches shorter. I clicked "ACCEPT" and chuckled, wondering what must be going through Cole's mind at that moment as the changes took place. "What's so funny?" It was a chick's voice. I looked around and saw a girl on the bench across the pier, looking right at me. She was just the kind of girl who always wanted to be my friend in high school. They weren't total space cadets, because they appreciated my less obvious qualities enough to hang out with me, but they were definitely more interested in the football team than the chess club. This one had her red hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore glasses that screamed "I listen to NPR", but her legs were tanned and toned enough that you knew she hadn't spent the entire summer in her attic writing poetry. She was trying not to look like it, but I could tell she was scoping me out. "Oh, just a picture of my roommate," I said, still surprised every time I heard my new voice. I knew I had knocked down my IQ last night, but I sounded dumber than I felt. "Dumbass passed out drunk last night, so I..." I realized I shouldn't explain any more. "Just did something funny to him is all." "Ah," she said, smiling mildly and going back to her reading, not interested in hearing some sophomoric "dude" story. I hated that I was still so terrible at conversation, no matter how I looked. I noticed that she was reading a book I had also read over the summer. I could've struck up a conversation about that, but I suddenly realized I couldn't remember what the book was about any more. I didn't want to look too vain in front of her, so I decided to wait until I got back to my room to take another selfie and bump my IQ back up. I stood up slowly, making sure the chick could get a real eyeful of my body as I stretched. I had no idea if I was stretching right, and based on the way she was smirking, I probably wasn't. I walked over and extended my sweaty hand. "Name's Ry. Hope to see you around." She declined the handshake, smiled back mildly and said, "Kay," which I assumed was her name but could've been her just saying "'kay" to get rid of me. Still, I'd made first contact. I jogged back to the dorm, feeling even more energized than before. I felt incredibly horned up from changing Cole's picture and talking to Kay and just the general friction of my shorts against my hard-on. I was ready to take a good long shower and a have a good long wank session when I got back, but when I got to the room, Cole was curled up in his bed, looking ready to shit his pants. His thin but still muscly arms were wrapped around his thin but still muscly legs, and his face had gotten skinnier too. He looked more like a sophomore in high school than a sophomore in college. With a shaky voice that sounded like it had barely escaped puberty, he said, "I think I caught the same thing that you did, only backwards. Look how little I am!" I played dumb, even dumber than I was feeling. "Holy shit!" I sat down on the bed beside him and furrowed my brow. "I wonder what's causing this." "I never heard of nothing like this. I tried looking it up on the Internet, but I didn't even know where to start looking. Maybe it's God's revenge for me having so much sex." I looked down at my body. "So is this my reward for never having any?" Cole actually laughed, and not in a mean way. I didn't know he could do anything that wasn't in a mean way. He looked so scared and vulnerable. "I wanna go see a doctor." "I'm sure there's no need for that," I said reassuringly. "I bet you'll be back to normal by tomorrow." He looked back at me, doubtful. "My buddy Trent dropped by, but all he did was laugh at how I looked and my squeaky-ass voice. You'll help me, won't you?" His big eyes were pleading. "Sure thing, Cole." He leaned over and wrapped his lithe arms around me. When I hugged back, I could feel my erection lengthening. If Cole held me any closer, he was sure to feel it too. "There, there," I said, trying to pull away from him, but he was clinging to me desperately, making my cock grow even longer. As I squirmed to avoid intimate contact, I noticed the camera sliding out of my pocket and landing on the bedspread, with the adjusted photo of Cole still lit up on the screen. If he saw that, I'd be fucked, and not in the good way. I snatched up the camera and held it behind his back. I rested my chin on his shoulder and patted his back. I could feel his teardrops mixing with the sweat from my run. Let me say up front that I'm not proud of what I did next. I could blame it on the massive changes my body had gone through, which Dad had said took time to get used to. I could blame it on not having as much brain power as usual. I could blame it on having more testosterone in my system than Lance Armstrong on a bender, reliving old times. I could blame it on feeling Cole's tight little body pressed so close against me. But the truth was, I just desperately needed to get off. So I looked at the photo of Cole and quickly found the menu for "ORIENTATION". Cole's initial setting was, not surprisingly, rock-solid "HETEROSEXUAL" Since my giant cock needed a blow job right fuckin' now, he had to be into it one-hundred percent, so I swung him all the way to "HOMOSEXUAL". I wasn't dicking around. I clicked "ACCEPT", promising to myself that I would switch him back to "HETERO" as soon as I was done. The change in Cole's behavior was subtle, definitely not as dramatic as if I had made the switch right in the middle of him farting in my face last night. He was already hugging me, but feeling Cole's soft lips kissing my neck was strange. Fantastic, but something I could never have imagined would happen in a million years. He leaned back, his eyes looking a bit mystified, as if they weren't yet as fully with the program as the rest of his body. Then he pushed me back on the bed and climbed out of his oversized shirt, revealing that he still had decent muscle tone and the hints of a six-pack. Instead of the burly bruiser he had been this morning, he now looked like a scrappy high-school wrestler, and he was looking down at me with pure lust. He yanked down on my shorts and we were both amazed to watch my cock rise to a rigid ninety-degree angle. I didn't have a ruler handy, but we were probably looking at ten inches. I had set my max for twelve, so amazingly I still had some room to grow. Cole looked at it hungrily and bent down, burying his head in my pubic hair, which must have been pretty rank after my long run. "Mmm," he moaned. "Oh, yeah, baby." For the first time, I didn't mind him calling me "baby". Cole licked his way up my shaft before working the head and as much of the shaft as possible between his lips. Maybe the camera had implanted some techniques, but he sure seemed to know what he was doing down there. He stuck one hand into his loose cargos and started to stroke himself. He worked my balls and shaft with his other palm while tending to my head orally. I grabbed the foot of his bed with my hands and braced my feet against the headboard as his attack became more intense. I was getting so big down there that I worried he couldn't handle it, but between his teeth, his lips and his tongue, he kept working me into a frenzy. I tried to keep my moaning down, but the guys in the rooms next to us must have heard the banging of the bed. They'd probably assume it was just Cole and some chick. A chick with a really deep moan. My arms and legs tightened as I braced myself for an orgasm that could be measured on the Richter Scale. Jizz blasted into Cole's mouth and down his throat until the little guy had to pull away or else he would choke to death. He leaned against his headboard as my cock continued to blast his face and chest with hot cream. The pumping gradually slowed until my limp-ish cock flopped onto my abs and we both sagged lifelessly on the bed. Cole looked shell-shocked. "Sorry, man. Something just came over me." "Yeah, that was me." I smiled, looking at the glistening puddles on his skin. He laughed, pushing me playfully with his bare foot, then wriggled out of his shorts, giving me a good look at his erect cock. It was damn impressive, especially on his compact new body. Proportionately, it was probably bigger than mine. He seemed perfectly happy stroking it himself, but I figured I owed the guy now, so I crawled my way toward him. I knew basically what I was supposed to do, although I'm sure my technique was amateurish even for a first-timer. Fortunately, Cole was gentle and helpful. He ran his hands through my curly hair and told me how hot it looked. Then he guided my head onto his cock and talked me through what he wanted each step of the way. He gushed sooner than I expected, sending most of his cum onto my chin and chest, but he looked very satisfied. As I lay down with my head beside his, I felt something hard beneath me and heard the faint click of the camera. Cole curled up next to me and traced his finger along the contours of my muscles and into my belly button. "That was so 'not me', man. But I dunno, for some reason, it felt so right. Did you like it? Were you satisfied?" "Yeah, Cole, I had a great time." It was downright cute how vulnerable and considerate Cole had become. "I know people 'experiment' with sex in college, but I never thought I would," he said. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's just temporary. Maybe it'll blow over by tomorrow." "I'm sure that's it," I told him. With any luck, when I made him straight again, he'd retain some of this kinder attitude and wouldn't be such a giant ass any more. "So," he said in a sing-song voice, grinning at me, "you wanna fuck my ass?" He seemed very eager, but my conscience was weighing on me already for turning him temporarily gay. I didn't want to take any more advantage of him than I already had. It was almost like I'd slipped him a technological roofie. I told Cole I was going to take a shower. Between the cum and the sweat, I had never reeked so badly in my life. My running clothes stank nearly as bad. Once I was cleaned up, I knew I would have to conjure up some fresh clothes with the camera. I stood up, carefully palming the camera in my hand so Cole wouldn't see it, then slipping it into my underwear drawer. I took a long hot shower, kneading the shampoo into my plentiful curls and realizing I had no idea how to care for a hairdo like this. Then again, maybe once I altered the photo, my hair would just stay like that until I took another photo and changed it again. Sure would've helped if Dad had given me some helpful hints. I wasn't just tinkering with some ordinary product from his company like a virtual-reality system or a 3D printer. Well, actually, in a weird way, this was sort of the ultimate 3D printer. And I definitely felt like I was in a different reality. With a towel wrapped around my waist, and envious glances directed my way from my neighbors, I strutted back down the hall to my room. When I got there, Cole was gone. I hadn't seen him in the shower room or the bathroom. His oversized clothes were still lying on the bed and the floor where they had landed during our fuck session. Hard to imagine he was running around naked. As I looked in my own closet for something that even approximately fit me, I noticed that a few items were missing. Nothing special, just a small black tee, some skinny black jeans and purple high-tops, but they all would have easily fit Cole at his new size. Still in my towel, I ran back into the hall and looked for him. I asked around whether anyone had seen Cole. Nobody had. Nobody seemed to have any clue who I was either. I ran back into our room and looked out the window, to see whether Cole was wandering around outside the dorm, but I couldn't spot him. Fortunately, we had exchanged phone numbers on the first day, before I realized what a tool he was, so I grabbed my cell phone and called him. After the first ring, I noticed Cole's cargos inching slightly across the floor. Another ring, they moved again. I reached down and pulled his phone from the pocket of his discarded shorts. I figured I'd better undo the camera's effects before he got into a situation he didn't expect. I opened my underwear drawer and was relieved to still find the camera there. If he had discovered it and taken it with him, who knows what could have happened? I sat down on my bed naked and opened the revised photo of Cole. The word "SAVED" appeared at the bottom. I hadn't remembered saving the image...unless that was the click when I accidentally sat on the camera. I tried to re-open the photo and make further adjustments, but none of the menus would open. Come to think of it, I had never gone back to make additional changes after hitting "SAVE". Finally, a new message came on the display: "TAKE NEW PHOTO TO MAKE MORE CHANGES". Shit. So I would have to take another picture of Cole before I could change him back? That meant his horny little gay ass was wandering around out there, and it was all my fault. I tried to fit into some of my old clothes, but everything was far too tight. So, since Cole had borrowed some of my stuff, I figured I could wear some of his. God, he had terrible taste, though. The nicest shirts he had were either football jerseys or camouflage jackets. It took me a minute to remember that it really didn't matter what the clothes looked like to begin with. I could just change them to whatever I wanted. With that, I pulled on a sweatshirt, orange hunting pants, and muddy cowboy boots and took a picture of myself reflected in the mirror. I didn't have time to dawdle getting my wardrobe perfect, so I quickly converted my outfit into a short-sleeved blue button-down, gray wool trousers and black penny loafers. Instead of drying my long curly hair, I just shrank it into a blond buzz cut. And I had the presence of mind to bump my IQ back up. While I was at it, I even gave myself an extra twenty points. I was going to need all the brain power I could get my hands on. I clicked "SAVE". Now, I asked myself, where would Cole go if he were gay? I had no inkling where to start my search for my roommate Cole, having selfishly turned him from an abusive nincompoop into a frisky cocksucker just to satisfy my own sexual needs. Despite having boosted my intelligence substantially with the astonishing camera which my father had given me, I had little clue where my transformed roommate might have gone. Cole's cell phone, which I had retrieved from the pocket of the cargo shorts he left behind, began to vibrate. The screen displayed the name "SHILOH" with an accompanying photo of one of Cole's posse extending his middle finger. Those gentlemen were all class. I answered the call, stating, "Cole's phone." The person at the other end laughed. "Uh, yeah, hi, Cole's phone. Is Cole there?" "No. You're Shiloh, I take it?" "Yeah, this is Shy. Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck do you have Cole's phone?" With irritation, I replied, "I the fuck am...a friend of Cole's, and I the fuck have Cole's telephone because he left it behind." "Where'd he go? Trent said Cole looked mad sick and would probably be in bed all day. I was just checking to see if he's okay." "He's far from okay. Do you have any ideas about where he might have gone?" "Shit, I dunno. Let me call the other guys and see if any of them have heard from him. I'll give you a call back." "Thank you. I'll await your call." I hung up, wondering why I sounded so uptight. Was it because I had raised my IQ that that I was talking like I had a stick lodged up my rectum? "Rectum"? What was with my vocabulary suddenly? For the first time in my life I looked cool and sexy, yet I sounded like an insufferable pedant. It was time for another readjustment. I raised the miraculous camera to take another photo of myself in the full-length mirror. I was becoming ever more proficient at operating the variety of menus and submenus, which I used to nudge my IQ back down to its usual level. Fortunately, my standard level of intelligence was still well above average, just not obnoxiously so. I somewhat reluctantly bade farewell to my heightened intellect with a simple tap of my finger... ...and a rush of relief spread through my body. Being smarter had literally made my brain ache. It felt unnatural. I was glad to feel normal again. Well, at least as normal as I could in my new studly body. I took a seat, drumming my fingertips on my desktop and waiting for Shiloh to call back. I studied the camera, wondering how it operated. It looked like an ordinary digital camera, but its power to edit not just the photograph but the person in the photograph was phenomenal. It could definitely be misused in the wrong hands, and I wondered if "the wrong hands" included my own, seeing what I had done to Cole. Maybe that was why Dad had given me the camera without any instructions. Maybe he wanted to see what errors in judgment might be made even by someone who he trusted. If I couldn't handle the responsibility of using the camera, imagine the havoc that would be caused by someone with less impulse control, like Cole. The phone rang, displaying Shiloh's name again. I picked it up. "Shiloh. Any luck?" It was a relief to let words just fall from my lips again without my brain obsessing over proper sentence structure. "None of the guys have heard from him since Trent dropped by this morning. But I wouldn't worry too much about it. I'm sure he's fine." "I'm not so sure about that." "Why not? I mean, who are you anyway?" "I'm...just a worried friend. Just like you. Can you help me search for him?" "Sure, I guess, if you're that concerned." "Where should we meet?" Shiloh thought for a second. "How 'bout the pier? He might be there, doggin' on chicks." Given how he was behaving before he left, I doubted that Cole would be "doggin' on chicks", but it was as good a place as any to start. We described what we were wearing so we would recognize each other at the pier. Shiloh said he was wearing a white "wife-beater", blue jeans and a purple baseball cap. Turned backwards, undoubtedly. It was like Cole and his buddies had been issued a bro uniform when they enrolled. I hurried to the pier as fast as I could, although it had been much easier running there in athletic shoes that morning than in the penny loafers I was wearing now. It was late afternoon and the place was crawling with minimally-dressed students, soaking in what might be the last warm day before autumn took hold. I felt way overdressed and considered sneaking off somewhere to zap myself into something more comfortable, but the truth was I thought I looked damn good. Just because I now had massive guns didn't mean I had to be flashing them constantly. I saw plenty of guys in white tanks and jeans hanging around, but only one in a purple cap...backwards, as expected. I dimly recognized Shiloh as one of Cole's crew, but he was clearly the runt of the litter. Although he was obviously trying to fit in with his fellow dudes, his efforts were almost too blatant -- not unlike the ways I had tried to make my weedy little body look cooler with tattoos and jewelry. It was hardly surprising that I had almost totally overlooked Shiloh, compared to Cole and his bulkier, hulkier comrades. Shiloh was short and skinny with pale skin, sloping shoulders and wispy chest hair poking out above his tank top. He had a pugnacious but fairly average face, with caterpillar eyebrows, dark eyes, a broad nose, thin lips and a rounded chin covered with scruff. I walked over with a friendly smile and said, "Shiloh, right?" "Uh, yeah. The guys call me Shy," he said, sizing me up. Clearly my bulky body was not what he pictured from our phone conversation. "I'm...uh, my friends call me Ry." Yes, all of my vast circle of non-existent friends. I extended my hand and shook his, realizing too late how hard I was squeezing his thin fingers. "You spotted Cole yet?" "Nah, I just got here," he said. "Trent said Cole looked really skinny this morning." "That's right. He might look shorter than usual too." Shiloh stared at me skeptically. "What the fuck? How does a guy get shorter overnight?" I just shrugged, playing dumb. As we prowled the pier, I hung a few steps behind Shiloh and couldn't help but fixate on how tightly his jeans fit, with no wallet in his back pockets to interrupt the smooth curve of his butt. I wondered if Dad had known that his camera would make me so sex-obsessed. Was that part of what the beta test was designed to explore? It was starting to feel more like an alpha test. My attention shifted from Shiloh's ass to a familiar pair of tan legs on a familiar bench. Kay, the girl from that morning, was lying on the same bench, only barefoot now, still reading the new Malcolm Gladwell with his latest theories on how everything works. Shit, I could finally remember the book and what it was about! She and I could have had a genuine conversation about it, if only I weren't in the middle of searching for Cole. "Hey, it's Kay, right?", I said, looming over her. She peered up, shielding her eyes and slightly confused. "I'm Ry. We talked this morning." It wasn't much of a conversation, but we HAD talked. "Oh, right," she said as the light of recognition went on. "I see you're wearing clothes now. You got a haircut too!" "That's right. I did." I brushed my palm across the bristles of my buzz cut. "You like it?" "I kinda liked the curls," she said with an inscrutable smirk. I felt like I had disappointed her. "I can always grow them back." I had zeroed in on Kay so much, I'd almost forgotten Shiloh was beside me, but Shiloh seemed used to being overlooked. "Oh, this is Shiloh. We're looking for a friend of ours we thought might have come to the pier. Since you've been here all day, maybe you noticed him. About yea tall," I said, raising my hand up to my chin level. "Dark wavy hair. Black t-shirt. Black jeans. Purple sneakers." Kay shook her head. "Sorry, I've been reading. You're probably the only person I noticed all day. Your friend sounds cute, though. Hope you find him." She raised her eyebrows and smiled. I grinned back and thanked her. I could swear she was flirting, but then everyone I saw today seemed to be turning me on. I might have to go into the camera settings and pick either totally straight or totally gay, just so my libido could ignore half of the world. As Shiloh and I walked away, I realized I didn't know exactly what to talk about with one of Cole's buddies. Wasn't their conversation mostly about sports and chicks? "That chick was pretty cute, don't you think?", I offered. Shiloh didn't seem all that impressed. "I suppose. If you're into that type." We swung by the campus clinic to see if Cole had come by to get checked out, but the receptionist didn't remember anyone of his description. We didn't find Cole in any of his other usual hangouts either, and it seemed increasingly unlikely that we would simply run into him by wandering the sprawling campus randomly. My big-ass body was starving, so we stopped in a Mexican restaurant and strategized. As I watched Shiloh stuffing a burrito into his mouth, for some reason it reminded me of Cole giving me a blowjob this morning. I realized I had to level with Shiloh about how much his buddy had changed. "I think you should know. What happened to Cole, I don't think it just changed him physically." "What do you mean?", Shiloh asked, chomping down another bite. "I think he's behaving differently too. Last time I saw him, he was acting...pretty damn gay." Shiloh burst into a laugh that sprayed rice and beans into my face. He looked embarrassed, reaching over with a napkin to wipe me clean. "Sorry about that. I just find it hard to believe that Cole would be gay." "Maybe he's been in denial." Or maybe a magical camera turned him gay. Nah, too crazy. "Is there, like, a gay part of town where he might have gone?" "Over on Sixteenth Street. Some people call it Sixty-Nine Street." He added, "So I hear." "Maybe we should head over there and look around." Shiloh looked dubious. "You and me walking Sixty-Nine? People will think we're a couple." Would that be so terrible, even if he was a bit puny for my tastes? Funny how I'd suddenly developed standards and thought I could afford to be choosy. "Cole might not come with me," I said, "but he might listen to you. You're his friend." "Aren't you his friend too?" Let's see. Cole had abused me from the moment we became roommates. Then this morning I turned him into a little gay boy without his permission. "I'd say we're more like acquaintances." Shiloh was skeptical of my theory but agreed to continue the search. Judging from the rainbow flags and other obvious signs, it appeared that the core of 69 Street was barely a block long. Shiloh seemed nervous to be around the neighborhood, but I was enjoying the sensation of guys ogling me with no hesitation. I unbuttoned a couple extra buttons on my shirt to display my pumped pecs. Despite the aura of cool I was hoping to project, I was pretty embarrassed when we went into one sex-toy shop, and Cole was blushing so hard, his skin almost matched the purple of his cap. The place still had those coin-operated porno viewing booths that I had heard about -- I guess for the last remaining pervs on earth without internet access. I wasn't about to knock on the doors to find out if Cole was using one of them. On the off chance that he was, I decided I wouldn't be asking for my purple sneakers back. Not seeing Cole prowling the aisles, we got out of there fast. As we stepped outside, Shiloh literally collided with a pedestrian, sending them both reeling in opposite directions across the sidewalk. "Watch your step, honey," the pedestrian said with annoyance. I instantly recognized the voice from this morning. Shiloh stared with fascination at the other guy. "Cole? Is that really you?" Shiloh's confusion was justifiable. With its turned-up nose and pillowy lips, Cole's face had already been changed by the transformation, but Cole had been a busy boy refining his look since then. He was still wearing my purple shoes but at some point he had ditched my black tee and jeans and was now wearing a white fishnet tee that exposed his abs and low-slung lime-green shorts. He had obviously spent some time in a salon too, as his nails were now black and his hair sported a magenta streak that matched his eye shadow. I may have turned Cole gay, but I took no responsibility for his fashion sense. Cole rushed over and hugged Shiloh. "Shy, baby! I'm so happy to see you!" Shiloh patted Cole's back, his eyes registering amazement, while Cole showed now hesitation as he groped Shiloh's cute butt. When they parted, Cole's attention shifted to me. His eyes roved my body and a smirk crossed his lips. "Oooh, and I remember you, big boy." He slinked over to me and pressed his lips on mine. I couldn't resist kissing back, and the intensity of Cole's passion was possibly even greater than it had been earlier in the day. Our public display of affection was so public that I could hear guys on the street whistling or clapping or yelling "Get a room." When we parted, I noticed Shiloh's dumbstruck stare. I looked back, doing my best non-verbal "I told you so." "What are you boys doing in this neighborhood?", Cole asked. "We came to take you home," Shiloh said. "Why would I go home? I'm having a blast, honey. I've never felt so happy." "But this isn't you!", Shiloh insisted. "I know. It's better, baby. You should try it sometime." Cole winked at me before his eyes drifted to a large hairy biker dude in leather pants walking past. Cole's head pivoted to keep an eye on the big guy and, as he set off in pursuit, he called back, "See you later, boys." Shiloh watched as Cole chased after the brutish guy and struck up a conversation. Shiloh turned to me and said, "I think you better tell me what's really going on here...baby." I froze, knowing that I'd been found out. "You are Cole's little roommate Ryan, right, Ry? The one he teased so much and called 'Baby'?" I nodded. Shiloh studied me. "Unbelievable. You look...totally different. So whatever changed Cole is probably the same thing that changed you, right? What is it you're not telling me?" I was pretty sure I was going to need Shiloh on my side to wrangle Cole if I had any chance of converting him back, so I pulled Shiloh in between two buildings where we wouldn't be overheard. "What I'm gonna tell you will sound nuts, but it's true. Can I trust you to keep a secret?" Shiloh nodded. As I looked in his eyes, he seemed to have an inherent honesty and integrity, which made me wonder again why he ever hung out with Cole and his buds. Still, I felt I could trust him. Without divulging any more details than were absolutely necessary, I showed him the camera and described how it could be used to essentially Photoshop someone so that their body changed in real life. "How does it work?", he asked. "I have no fucking clue," I said with complete honesty. I figured a demonstration would be the best proof I could offer, so I pulled up the last photo I had taken of myself and showed him the various menus. Since I had never saved the photo, it was still editable, so I decided to alter my clothing, looking around to make sure no one was watching. I quickly chose a wardrobe that might be more appropriate for this neighborhood. Shiloh watched in amazement as, one by one, I "tried on" new clothes on the camera screen which then appeared on my actual body with a simple click of the "ACCEPT" button. Within a minute, I went from my conservative outfit to an orange sleeveless tee, a pair of ripped-knee jeans and rhinestone-studded All-Stars. While I was at it, I decided to give myself a new tattoo, opting for a Maori design for my chest and upper arm. I felt a concentrated barrage of needle pricks as the pattern emerged across my skin. I even selected "JEWELRY" and added seven silver hoops to the upper edge of my right ear, gritting my teeth as the pain of seven piercings was condensed simultaneously into the space of five seconds, then quickly fading away. When the transformation was complete, I extended my arms to my sides and said, "Ta-da!" Shiloh gaped in awe. "Satisfied? Now let's go get Cole and turn him back." As I turned back toward the sidewalk, I heard Shiloh behind me. "Do me." I looked back, knowing that I should resist, knowing that I didn't need this situation to get any more complicated than it already was. "Do me. Please?" I could see a familiar longing in his eyes, the same desperation to be noticed that I'd carried within me for so long. Silently apologizing to my dad, I walked back between the buildings and asked Cole to pose against the wall. I snapped a shot. I studied his photo, my mind racing at the possibilities. "So what do you want me to change?" "Anything. Everything. Just make me look cool. Like you." The idea of me being the epitome of cool was absurd, but I dove eagerly into the task of reshaping wanna-be bro Shiloh into a hottie. "This first one's gonna hurt, but you'll thank me." I slid him from "ECTOMORPH" to "MESOMORPH" to put some meat on his scrawny bones. As I hit "ACCEPT", the changes began. He seemed remarkably unperturbed by the pain I knew he must be experiencing, but he seemed utterly distracted by the awesome sight of his muscles and skeletal system growing at lightning speed. I frantically bumped up the size of his clothes before his muscles had a chance to burst through them. Since he had left the aesthetic choices to me, I tanned his pale skin and whisked away the thatch of hair on his chest. Shiloh would be a metrosexual if I had anything to do with it, and I actually had everything to do with it. Flexing his reshaped right arm while rubbing his left hand across his newly smooth pecs, Shiloh looked over at me and smiled, our eyes now at the same height. "More" was all he said. His eyes looked dark and impenetrable, so I adjusted them to a lighter shade, giving them a seductive sparkle. I knew the next thing that had to go was that stupid baseball cap, but rather than simply asking him to remove it, I chose "HEADGEAR", then "NONE". The best way to de-bro him was to take away his options. I clicked "ACCEPT" and the cap vanished from Shiloh's head, dematerializing until it revealed Shiloh's greasy mop of stringy brown hair. I decided he would look much better as a blond with highlighted streaks. "Ow, it's vibrating," Shiloh said, clutching at his hair as a month of growth was crammed into under a minute and his dark locks lightened as if he had spent all summer at the beach. My options seemed endless. I thinned his eyebrows and streamlined his nose. I pumped up his lips and gave him a more pointed, manly chin. Unlike Cole, who I had modified with revenge in mind, I realized I was reworking Shiloh with the secret goal of turning him into the hottest eye candy I could imagine. Now, as the final pieces shifted into place, the growing feeling in my heart -- and my jeans -- told me that I had succeeded. I had created my ideal man. Too bad he was straight. But, wait, how did I know he was? He acted straight, but... While Shiloh was occupied checking out his new body, pulling up his white tank to examine his new abs, I surreptitiously pulled up the "ORIENTATION" menu. Just as it had told me I was bisexual and Cole was initially straight, the camera had determined that Shiloh was most definitely "HOMOSEXUAL". How the hell could a machine figure that out, just by taking a picture, when I couldn't tell from spending time with the guy? It was one of about eight-million questions I would be asking my dad once this whole adventure was over. At the moment, I was just psyched to realize that I had a chance with this golden hottie. It'd be my cosmic bad luck if I had the power to whip up my dream man only to discover that he had no interest in me. "What do you think?" I gestured to his new body. "It's a miracle," he said, grasping at his throat when he heard the resonance his voice had gained in the transformation. "Just so you know, I didn't do anything to cause this, but the camera indicates that...you're gay?" He hesitated before nodding. "Do Cole and the other guys know?" He shook his head. "Those guys? You can imagine how they'd have reacted." "Then why did you hang out with them?" "I dunno. It was better than being alone. Maybe I hoped a little of their macho would rub off on me. Plus...I think I had a little crush on Cole." My jaw fell. "Do you still?" Shiloh smiled. "Not so much after what you did to him. I like my guys..." He looked me up and down. "...big." He smiled and walked back to the sidewalk. We entered a clothing store so Shiloh could inspect himself thoroughly in a mirror. "Oh my god," he said with a hushed voice. "That's really me?" As if still in disbelief, he raised his arm to flex his biceps and was amazed to see his reflection doing the same. He smiled into the mirror, revealing a set of perfect teeth that made me swoon. He turned to me with moist eyes, then wrapped me in his powerful arms and kissed me. Mmm, the camera had done a great job on his lips. God, I loved technology. Shiloh walked out of the store with supreme confidence, his arm wrapped around my waist. We looked up and down the street for Cole until Shiloh finally spotted him. "Cole just went into the Manhole!" "He fell down a manhole?" "No, the Manhole. The club over there. He was still with the big hairy guy." Shiloh pointed down the street. "Great. We'll wait outside until they throw him out and then grab him." "Why would they throw him out?" "Because he's not 21. In fact, right now he looks about fourteen." "The Manhole is eighteen-plus most nights. If you want to drink, you have to wear a wristband." "You sure seem to know a lot about this place," I said teasingly. Embarrassed, Shiloh said, "I thought about going there a lot last year, but I always chickened out before I got to the door." "You think you're ready now?" He grinned back, cocky as shit, and said, "The question is, is it ready for me?" As he marched down the street, I held myself back a few steps, pleased with how breathtakingly his new ass filled out his bigger jeans. I could follow that butt anywhere. When we reached the bouncer at the Manhole, I showed my ID, relieved that I hadn't changed my face much. He must have wondered how I grew so much from the height and weight listed on the driver's license, if he bothered to check that at all, but he waved me along. Shiloh, who now looked nothing like he had ten minutes ago, just said that he'd forgotten his ID. Before the bouncer could deny him entry, a firm voice emerged from inside the front door, saying, "You are NOT turning away a boy who looks that fine." The bouncer stepped aside and let Shiloh enter. The owner of that mystery voice was a slim young guy with either a very wide mohawk or a very severe sidewall. He asked for ten dollars each. "I guess that's the Manhole cover," I joked. From his expression, I was not the first person ever to make that joke. The muffled booms of bass speakers vibrated the walls as we headed to the dance floor. It was tremendously loud inside the club. Amid the swirling, colored lights were probably two hundred guys, some coupled up, others playing the field. I followed Shiloh, noticing how many guys were leering at him or copping casual feels and wondering if I had done too good a job. If I wanted to keep him for myself, I might have to go back in and ugly him up a little. Shiloh looked exhilarated and overwhelmed to be in the middle of the crowd. I no longer needed a high-tech gizmo to determine this boy's orientation. I could tell from the delighted expression on his face. I ran my palms across Shiloh's sturdy shoulder muscles and down his arms, my thumbs following the lines of his biceps veins and over his forearms. We began to move in sync with the music, and I was pleased to see him devoting his full attention to me, despite the massive attention he was getting from others. As I pressed myself against him, I could tell from the lump in his jeans that I wouldn't be needing to make any alterations down there. Our eyes met and the next move was obvious. I took his hand and led him into the men's room where we found an empty stall. We must have looked absurd, two total studs who were utterly clueless about what to do next. All I knew was I needed him and he looked like he wanted me. I unbuttoned my 501s and pulled out my foot-long cock, which Shiloh studied with amazement. He knelt down, ready to latch his lips around it, but I needed more than a blowjob this time. I spun him around and positioned his hands against the tile wall, then reached around to slide his skintight pants down his legs. Man, did he have a magnificent ass. As I gently probed my way inside, Shiloh started to moan. I rested my chin on his shoulder as my hips gyrated, pushing further into him while my left hand stroked his growing cock. Even in here, the din of the club nearly drowned out our voices, although I doubt anyone would complain if they heard what we were doing. I went faster and faster, pressing my face against his back, my nose buried between his shoulder blades as his tank became soaked with his sweat. He reached his sinewy arms behind his shoulders and pulled off the tank top. I licked his salty skin and felt euphoric as my cock spurted inside his tight ass. Shiloh pounded his mighty fist against the wall while screaming with pleasure as his cock surged in my hand. He joined in the stroking until he began to spurt onto the wall. When we had both settled down, Shiloh turned to kiss me and I got my first clear look at his sculpted chest and abs. I must say, we looked pretty damn good for a couple of wimps. Someone knocked urgently on the door of the stall. "How long you gonna be in there?" Not wanting to hold up someone in desperate need, we quickly pulled up our pants and opened the door. The guy rushed in, followed momentarily by a friend. Shiloh stuffed his tank into the back pocket of his jeans, returning to the dance floor topless. I took his hand and we resumed dancing. Somehow, amid the mob of faces and gyrating bodies, obscured by dry-ice fog and epilepsy-triggering strobes, I finally spotted Cole on the balcony, going into overtime playing tonsil-hockey with the big hairy guy. Shiloh and I squeezed through the crowd and worked our way up to the balcony. Shiloh tapped on the hairy man's shoulder. "I need to talk to my friend." The hairy guy must have had a hundred pounds on Shiloh. "Fuck off," he demanded, pushing a finger firmly into Shiloh's sculpted chest, but Shiloh stood firm. Shiloh turned to Cole and asked, "Cole, is this guy bothering you?" Cole was staring at Shiloh, puzzled. "Do I know you?" "It's me, Shiloh." Cole's eyes widened. "Shy?" He literally drooled at the sight of his buddy's new body. "That's right," Shiloh said. "And this time, we're not asking, we're telling. We're taking you home." Cole looked conflicted, but the large man blocked the path between Shiloh and Cole. "I think you're wrong, pal. I'M taking him home." Shiloh tried to push the big guy aside to grab Cole, but the hairy guy punched Shiloh hard in the face. Shiloh fell to the floor, clutching his nose. When I stepped forward, the hairy guy turned his attention to me. "You gonna be as stupid as your friend there?" Big as I was, I couldn't envision winning a fight with this guy, so I backed off. The hairy guy wrapped his huge mitt around Cole's fragile wrist and started dragging Cole toward the exit. Cole looked back at us with fear in his eyes. I knelt down to check on Shiloh. "You okay?" He pulled his hand away and discovered his palm covered with blood from his nose. But he was undeterred. "Can that camera make us big enough to beat that motherfucker?" We ran into the bathroom, the only place in the club well lit enough to take a decent photo of the two of us. Then we ran out the front door, catching a glimpse of Cole being dragged around the corner by his new "friend". Shiloh and I ran down the sidewalk as fast as we could, while I simultaneously attempted to navigate the menus on the camera and change us before we lost track of Cole. With each pounding step on the pavement, the camera was jostled in my hand. I knew we were going to need bulk if we had any shot at wresting Cole away from his captor, so I chose the "BODY TYPE" menu and slid the dial way past "MESOMORPH" into "BEAST" and then "BEHEMOTH" mode. Feeling it would give us our best chance, I chose "BEHEMOTH", then "ACCEPT". An incredible rush of power swept through my body. My muscles grew two, maybe three times their already impressive size. My powerful legs slammed so heavily against the sidewalk, I could swear the cement was cracking under my weight. I looked ahead of me and realized Shiloh was undergoing the same transformation. It hadn't occurred to me, when taking one photo that included both of us, that any changes I made to the photo would affect Shiloh and me identically. I quickly changed our pants to black bicycle shorts, so they would stretch as our bodies enlarged. With a massive change like this, the rest of our clothes were goners, shredding on the fly and leaving a trail of tattered fabric behind us. I lagged behind Shiloh and could see his back and shoulders widening to inhuman size and his blond hair streaming like a mane behind him. Up ahead, the hairy guy had heard and undoubtedly felt our approaching footsteps. He now had Cole slung over his shoulder and was running toward a battered pickup truck. He flung Cole hard into the bed of the truck, seemingly unconcerned for the safety of his prey but determined to keep him away from us. He climbed into the driver's seat and revved his engine. Shiloh reached the truck before I did, grabbed the driver's side door and tore it completely off its hinges. Shiloh yanked the big guy out of the truck and tossed him into the street. Shiloh was reaching for Cole's hand when I noticed something that had escaped Shiloh's attention. "He's got a gun!" The driver had dragged a shotgun out of the cab of the truck with him, which he was loading quickly. Shiloh turned back to him with fury, chasing him down the street. He took the hairy guy's shoulder in one mighty paw while snatching away the shotgun with the other. Shiloh smashed the gun over his enormous knee and flung the remains over a nearby chain-link fence. The skinny kid I had only met hours before was now an unstoppable fighting machine. Even with similar size, I was nowhere near as fearless as Shiloh. Shiloh held the squirming man in his grip, then raised his humongous fist overhead, prepared to strike. I feared that a single blow from Shiloh could kill the man, so I screamed, "Stop!" I ran up and instructed Shiloh to make the big hairy guy stand in the glare of the headlights so I could take his photo. Shiloh smiled, seeing what I was up to, and tossed the hairy guy into the road where the lights illuminated him. Within moments, I had reduced our opponent to a five-foot-three ectomorph with a smooth hairless body. He stared with panic at the whittled-down specimen he had suddenly become. "I'll get you motherfuckers," he squeaked, running to the passenger side of his truck, leaping his skinny body through the open window and climbing into the driver's seat. He squealed down the road, with Cole hanging on desperately as he was flung around the truck bed. Shiloh chased after the truck on foot, until the truck spun a U-turn mid-block and came racing directly toward him. I ran onto the sidewalk and braced myself, but the truck remained in pursuit of Shiloh, who narrowly escaped by ducking between two parked cars. The truck smashed into the cars, shattering its windshield. I could see Cole attempting to jump free but he fell back into the truck bed as the driver shifted into reverse and sped off. Shiloh gingerly lowered his bulk to the sidewalk beside me, his long blond hair falling in a sweat-drenched curtain past his eyes. We were both exhausted. In the middle of everything, we barely had a moment to appreciate just how radically our bodies had changed. We must be hovering near seven feet now and well over 400 pounds, most of it muscle. "When I said I liked guys who were big, I never meant this big," said Shiloh in a voice so deep, I could hear it rattling nearby windows. "Sorry, man," I said, my voice even deeper than his. "I didn't have time for subtlety." "What do you say we change back and let the police handle it from here?", Shiloh asked. "Sounds like a plan," I said. I pushed myself to my feet, then extended my brawny arm to help my fellow hulk stand. The commotion had naturally drawn crowds out of the clubs of 69 Street to see what was happening, and our huge musclebound bodies were naturally attracting a lot of attention. I suddenly had the realization that I was no longer holding the camera in my hand. "Shit, I don't have the camera!" "Did you drop it somewhere?", Shiloh asked. I shrugged my massive shoulders and stepped as gingerly as possible into the street. Shiloh joined me in my quest. "I sure hope that asshole didn't run over it with his truck," Shiloh said. "I would not want to be stuck like..." I heard a crunch and closed my eyes. When I opened them, Shiloh was looking scared. He lifted up a gigantic foot, revealing the crushed remains of the miracle camera embedded in the asphalt. In unison, we said, "Oh, fuck." Shiloh and I stood in the dimly lit street, our astounding bodies each seven feet tall and bursting with more muscle than I'd ever seen on a human being -- if that's even what we were any more. Our shoulders and biceps were bigger than beach balls and solid as steel. Our lats flared out so dramatically that neither of us could lower our arms fully to our sides. A street light behind us showed off our musculature in sharp relief and cast long brutish shadows along the pavement. I was glad I'd had the presence of mind to switch us into stretch pants when our bodies became so gargantuan, so at least we weren't naked. Guys had run outside the Manhole and the other gay establishments of 69 Street once people heard the sounds of our frenetic battle with the guy who had taken Cole away with him. Everyone was keeping their distance from the two silhouetted giants in the middle of the road, but every-goddamn-body had a camera on their cell phone and was taking pictures and videos of us like two sasquatches who had just landed in the gay-borhood. Ironically, Shiloh and I were the only ones who didn't have a camera, and we were the ones who really could have used one, since it was my magical camera that had gotten us into this mess. Too bad Shiloh had accidentally stepped on it, his enormous weight grinding it into irreparable bits. I was surprised that I had maintained my composure and most of my wits. Shiloh was more riled up, having been in the heat of the battle with Cole's abductor, smashing the guy's shotgun and tearing the driver's side door off his pick-up truck. Shiloh was still wired with adrenaline and ran angrily toward the crowd with a menacing roar that echoed off the buildings. Everyone scurried back in fear, and I clamped one of my meaty paws on Shiloh's traps, dragging him back toward me. I spoke as softly as I could, even though it felt like everything I said in this new body was being bellowed through a megaphone. "Chill, Hulk. You don't have to 'smash'." Shiloh, still glaring furiously at the mob armed with their smartphones, asked, "Well, what do you suggest we do?" "We maybe got a minute before the cops show. I say we run as fast as these big-ass legs will carry us." "Where to?" "Someplace we won't be noticed." "Oh, that oughta be easy to find", Shiloh snorted sarcastically and it came out like a lion's roar. That gave me an idea. "Follow me." I spun on my heel and began to run away from the crowd. I could hear from the pounding at my heels that Shiloh was right behind me and that some of the crowd were attempting to keep up. Fat chance of that. Despite my bulk, I felt just as agile as I had earlier in the day when I weighed half as much. I'd never felt so exhilarated as I bounded at ten feet per stride, my muscles like coiled springs. I tried to keep us in dimly lit areas, under railroad bridges, in industrial areas where no one was working at this time of night, but I'm sure that the pounding of our feet alone made our presence obvious to anyone within several blocks. Maybe one sprinting muscle beast could slip by unnoticed, but two would definitely catch your attention. One unlucky driver must have gotten the scare of his life as he turned down the street toward us. He slammed on his brakes as fast as he could, and I miraculously hurdled his car. Shiloh leapt over the car too, but his heel clipped the rear bumper, knocking it clean off. Shiloh paused to look back, but I yelled for him to keep going. The sooner we vanished, the less likely the driver was to know what hit him. I did take one short cut over a parked car where I left a giant foot-shaped dent in the hood of the trunk. If you parked anywhere in the neighborhood of Sixteenth Street that night, I sincerely apologize. When we finally reached our destination, we had to scale a fifteen-foot concrete wall with barbed wire at the top. Leaping to the top was simple with our new muscles, and the barbed wire left little more than surface scratches on our thick hides. After being such a little dweeb all my life, it was extraordinary to experience life as an almost purely physical being. I felt practically indestructible. We slid down the other side of the wall and landed in a scummy, stagnant water pool. We had become so animalistic in our behavior by that point that we felt refreshed, splashing ourselves and each other playfully, joyfully. We even cupped water in our hands to slurp it up and rehydrate after our marathon run. At that point, we both came to our senses and spat out the putrid stuff. Shiloh looked around. "What is this, a zoo?" I grunted affirmatively. "So we're in a cage with wild animals?" He scanned his surroundings with fear, moonlight catching in his eyeballs. "There are no animals. It closed down a couple years ago. My folks used to bring me here when I was little. Never thought I'd be on this side of the cage." I lay down on the cement where apes used to prowl, feeling my gigantic ribcage expanding and contracting as I caught my breath. Shiloh prowled our new habitat, on alert for anyone or anything approaching. He began to swing swiftly on a rusted old set of bars that had been installed for the apes to play on. Part of me was already making plans for what Shiloh and I could do with bodies like these. Obviously, we would be the center of attention wherever we went. We could probably go into football, pro wrestling, acting, modeling. I didn't think they'd let us into bodybuilding with the head start Dad's camera had provided. Then again, once Dad's camera went on the market, body building the old way would probably become obsolete. As would dieting. And plastic surgery. And shopping for clothes. And visiting the barber. This one little gadget might drive half the companies in America out of business. Dad and his colleagues were in line to become the richest people on earth, or the most hated, or most likely both. As I rested a hand on my thigh, I noticed something tiny and hard caught in my skintight pants. My cell phone! Even when I transformed our pants into running shorts, eliminating pockets, the phone in my front pocket had survived the change and was pressed firmly against my flesh. I gently pulled down the shorts and carefully extracted the phone, which now felt so tiny in my oversized palm that I was afraid I would crush it. If I'd had to dial individual digits with the bratwursts my fingers had become, I'd have been shit out of luck, but fortunately the person I needed was on speed dial. As the phone began to ring, I raised it to my ear. "Hey, big guy, what's shaking?" came the comforting voice of my dad on the other end of the line. "Why, what have you heard?" was my response, coming out in my laughably low new voice. "Holy cow, Ryan, is that you?" "Yeah, Dad. I need your help." Sternly, Dad asked, "Have you been using the camera some more?" "A little." I could probably lift a semi with my bare hands right then, but Dad's disappointed tone instantly transformed me mentally into an eight-year-old afraid to admit that he had knocked a baseball through the neighbor's window. "I warned you to take it easy with that thing. But don't worry, if you've pushed yourself too far, there's a quick fix that'll reset you right back to normal. You got the camera with you?" "Ummm...that's part of the problem. The camera got kinda...crushed." A long pause from Dad's end. "How 'kinda' crushed?" "Like oblivion crushed." Dad let out a world-record sigh. I waited for him to say something, anything. "You still there, Dad?" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just trying to get a fix on your coordinates. Looks like you're at the old zoo, right?" "Right. How'd you know that?" "When the camera transformed you, it put radioactive tracers in your body. I'm seeing another big blip. Is someone else with you?" "Yeah, my friend, Shiloh." My delight at being able to tell my dad that I had made a friend at college was tempered by the knowledge of what I had turned that friend into. He was currently atop the monkey bars, pounding his chest like Tarzan and yowling at the moon. I shushed him, not wanting to draw any attention to our hideout. "Okay, hang on, buddy. I'll be right there," Dad said. "Thanks, Dad. Hurry." I could hear distant sirens and couldn't imagine that Dad could drive here before we'd be discovered by the cops. I was walking toward Shiloh to give him the good news that Dad was on his way when I saw a weird glow over the water pool. The air above the ground seemed to be thickening and pulsating, reminding me of my initial transformation when the camera sucked me through space to another location via some gelatinous portal. Sure enough, I saw the outlines of Dad's shape emerging inside the glow. As he stepped his way through the ethereal goo, he became aware that he had beamed in at ground level, while the ground beneath him was actually several feet lower. He plunged into the stagnant water of the apes' drinking hole. I rushed over to grab him as he scrambled out of the water, carefully holding his camera aloft so it would not get wet. I reached out and wrapped my fingers completely around his forearm. He seemed unprepared for just how monumental I had become. "Oh my, Ryan. What have you done to yourself?" "I just wanted to put on some muscle. Things got out of hand." "Nice understatement, son. I know how sensitive you are about your size. I thought you'd use the camera to give yourself a few minor adjustments so you'd fit in better with the other college kids. But this, son, this is not fitting in." "I know I screwed up, Dad, jeez. Why do you think I called you?" I must have been the whiniest gigantic muscleman in the history of gigantic musclemen. Dad dropped the lecturing tone. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm glad you called me." He noticed Shiloh, who was hanging on the monkey bars. "And you must be Shiloh. I'm Ryan's dad. Nice to meet you." Shiloh dropped down and ran toward us, slumping forward and practically running on all fours. Dad looked around the spooky old zoo. "Well, one thing in our favor. At least you came to a nice isolated place to experiment where no one could see you." The silence from Shiloh and me must have been pretty obvious, as were the sirens in the distance which were growing louder. Dad looked up at me wearily. "People saw you, didn't they?" Shiloh and I nodded like bad little boys. I had to tell Dad, "We're probably on YouTube by now." "Fuck!", Dad yelled. I think I'd only heard him drop the F-bomb twice before in my life and never with such well-deserved ferocity. "If my company learns that I gave my son an untested prototype and that he turned himself and his buddy into monsters..." "We are not monsters!", Shiloh shouted, his words bouncing off the concrete walls as he shook a cinder-block-sized fist at Dad. I ran behind Shiloh and grabbed his arms to keep him from attacking Dad. "Well, you won't be in a minute," Dad said, raising his camera. It looked slightly different from the one I'd been given, bulkier with extra modifications, like a newer model that had been jerry-rigged in the lab. Dad quickly took a flash photo of Shiloh and me and started to manipulate the menus. I hovered over his shoulder -- high above his shoulder -- and watched how masterfully he worked the controls. I thought I had been getting the hang of it, but Dad had clearly been fiddling with this device for months or maybe even years. "If you have a picture of two people, the command affects both of them," I told Dad, offering one of my hard-learned lessons as if he might not already been aware of it, even though he was probably the person who had designed it to work that way. "That's right, son, but there's an easy override for that. What I'm trying to do is trickier. I want to set you both back to the way you started, which would be MUCH easier if I was working from the camera that made the changes in the first place." Nice way to rub it in, Dad. I already apologized for that. "Do you have to change us back?", Shiloh asked. "I feel kinda awesome like this." He flexed an arm and admired his massive biceps pump. "You're caught up in the endorphin rush, but it'll fade soon. You've expanded your body parts to inhuman proportions, way beyond the size at which they were designed to function. Your heart, your lungs, your brain, they're all straining to support what you've become. If you stay like this, you'll be dead in two days." "Okay, you can change us back," Shiloh said, all menace and bravado immediately gone from his voice. "Ah, there it is!", Dad screamed. "I connected back to the lab. All your settings were stored back there every time you used the camera, so I can revert you to your original states. You better brace yourselves. It's going to be quite a shock to be yourselves again." Shiloh and I walked over to the monkey bars and gripped them tightly. Dad gave us no warning that the process was already in motion. It felt like I was being crushed by a black hole, becoming smaller and denser at such a speed that I worried it might keep going until I was reduced to nothingness. The metal bar in my hand seemed to be getting bigger when it was really my hands growing smaller around it. It was a relief when my extreme hyper-inflated muscles were gone, but I genuinely felt comfortable when I had reached the size of the miniature weightlifter of my initial transformation. I felt like yelling to Dad to stop the shrinkage right there, but I was going all the way back to my frail "baby" weight. I felt so distanced from that version of me after all that had occurred, it was hard to believe that I had only been Big Ry for the past twenty-four hours. When I could feel the process coming to an end, my hands slipped from the metal bars, my knees buckled and I fell to the concrete, whacking my head and discovering that pain was once again a factor in my life. I looked blearily across the way and saw Shiloh coming to grips with being ordinary again too. All the "improvements" which I had made to him were gone. Shiloh was no longer the blond sex god of my dreams. He was just a regular guy trying to look tougher than he was. We were each wearing the jeans that had worn before our first transformations, but the rest of our clothes were missing, since whatever they had been changed into by the camera was shredded when we grew to behemoths. Interestingly, Shiloh's backwards baseball cap had returned from the oblivion where I sent it, having been stored in memory back at the lab. My ears had been ringing throughout the shrinking process, but I could now distinctly hear the sirens closing in. In another minute, we would be discovered trespassing at the zoo and we'd have a lot of fast talking to do. Dad hustled over and gathered Shiloh and me close together, holding out his arm to snap a selfie of the three of us. As soon as the flash went off, we could hear voices outside the wall as cops noticed the burst of light. "I've never transported three people at once, but it SHOULD work," Dad informed us. "We would have overwhelmed the system's capacity if you were still the size of human tanks, but we shouldn't have much trouble with you kids." Shit, I was back to being a kid. I can't speak for Shiloh, but my heart was racing with fear that we were going to get caught. Dad seemed unworried and unhurried. He pulled up the "BACKGROUND" menu -- something I'd forgotten about since last night -- and input very specific latitude, longitude and elevation coordinates, an option that hadn't been included on the model Dad had given me. The screen previewed the three of us against a plain white wall instead of the murky background of the zoo. Dad pressed "ACCEPT" and wrapped his arms around Shiloh and me. I realized too late that I'd better warn Shiloh what he was in for. "Shiloh, it's gonna feel like..." By the time I could say, "...squeezing through Jell-O," we had already made the freaky transit through space and were standing in an all-white room that I recognized as one of the labs at Dad's company. Shiloh was reeling. He braced himself against a counter top to keep from falling and turned to Dad, wide-eyed. Of all the shit he had seen and experienced today, this teleportation had blown his mind the most. "How did you do that?" "Simple. The hydrogen componolizer interacted with the dichlorium atoms in your duodenum, generating a paradoxical flux which reverberated against the polonium-synchronized geographical wave spectro-analyzer and creating a temporal parahelion dispersion of point-two-seven." Shiloh stared at Dad, in awe. I laughed and said, "That was just a bunch of nonsense, Dad." Dad smiled. "Yeah, but if I'd said, 'It's magic,' you wouldn't have believed me." And with that, he walked purposefully toward a computer work station, where several other working models of the camera were charging. Shiloh and I stared at each other. In the course of one day, we had been hunks together and hulks together, but now we were face to face as our real selves. Two skinny guys, same height, same weight, with more in common than we would have assumed that morning. "Almost forgot what you looked like," Shiloh said. "I dunno why Cole made so much fun of you. You're a cute guy." Even in the dim light of the lab, I'm sure it was obvious that I was blushing. The way Shiloh was examining my emaciated frame, I got goosebumps. "I thought you liked your guys big." "I do." Shiloh's slim lips curled up. "But size isn't everything." Across the room, Dad cleared his throat loudly and started humming some unrecognizable tune, which is what he always did when he heard something he felt uncomfortable hearing. Shiloh and I walked over behind him to see what he was checking on his computer. He was cycling through all of our vital statistics which the camera had recorded. "Looks like you two guys are safely back to normal, so that's a relief. I can survive any shit I'm going to get from the company, but if I had done anything to harm you..." "I know, Dad," I said, wrapping my skinny arm around his shoulders. I could feel his body tense up, and he leaned forward to look at something on his computer. "What is it?" "I'm seeing two more blips," pointing to two bright spots on a map of the city, not far from Sixteenth Street. Dad turned to me, looking like he might be willing to harm me after all. "Care to enlighten me?" Shiloh scooted his body between Dad's and mine, trying to explain. "I did them!" Dad glanced at Shiloh, then angrily back at me. "You let someone else use the camera?" I was in the middle of shaking my head when Shiloh blurted out, "Ry didn't know. I snuck it away from him and did it totally on my own. Please, it's not his fault." Dad glared at Shiloh. "So are you telling me there are two more monsters on the loose out there?" "No! I made them both skinny! Skinnier than we are now! That shouldn't be dangerous, right? I mean, not as dangerous as super-sizing at least." Dad thought it over, still unhappy. "Well, no, in our tests, we've found that making the body smaller and leaner is actually healthier, within reason." Dad sat down, his temper cooling. His eyes darted between Shiloh and me as he decided whether or not to believe Shiloh's story. "Can you keep tabs on these other two? And if you notice ANY adverse changes in them, you'll bring them to me immediately for testing?" Shiloh and I said, "Yes" at the same time. I added "Dad". Shiloh added "Sir". Dad took blood samples from both of us and ran tests on them. While we waited for results, I checked YouTube on Dad's computer. Sure enough, a dozen or more grainy videos had already been posted of two mysterious figures prowling the streets of the city. Fortunately, nobody got a good shot of our faces -- not that either of us resembled those two gorillas any more. The company had a TV in the break room and we watched the late news with Dad. The monster rampage was naturally the lead story on all the channels, but the police seemed baffled. They thought they had the beasts cornered at the old zoo, but a thorough search turned up nothing. They did say that police were seeking a man who drove off in a pickup truck at a high rate of speed and they showed his mug shot from a previous arrest. Shiloh and I immediately recognized him as the big hairy guy who had taken off with Cole. He looked even scarier in the mug shot than he had in real life, with scowling features and steroidal muscles. "That's one of the guys, sir," Shiloh told Dad. Dad studied the screen. "And you say he's smaller than you boys now? I think you did the world a favor." Dad smiled and went to check on the blood tests. Left alone together in the lab, Shiloh and I stared at each other nervously. "So, what are we gonna do now?" "Life will go back to normal, I guess. I'll be my old wimpy self and you'll hang out with the rest of Cole's posse of douchebags." "I don't think I can, after this." "I know what you mean." "And what about...us?", Shiloh asked warily. "I dunno. I mean, I really loved what we did together, but I still like girls too." I looked down at my once-again anemic body. "But they probably won't like me. Story of my life." "Any girl, or guy, would be lucky to have you," Shiloh said, walking over and kissing me on the mouth. His lips weren't as luscious as the ones I'd specifically chosen for him, but they had the benefit of authenticity. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation. Anyone would be lucky to be kissed by Shiloh. I heard Dad clear his throat and begin to hum again in the hallway. Shiloh and I parted quickly as Dad reentered the room, pointedly looking down at a computer printout. "Good news, guys. I'm not seeing anything scary in the blood tests. You probably weren't at enormous size long enough to cause any permanent damage to your organs, but you let me know if you notice anything unusual in the next few days. Fatigue, migraines, shortness of breath, pain in your joints, pain in your...loins." Shiloh and I nodded. Dad got out his cell phone and called two cabs to pick us up. "I assume you two don't mind going back to campus the old fashioned way?" "Fine, Dad," I said. "I think I've been sucked through Jell-O enough for one lifetime." "Absolutely," said Shiloh. "You positive we didn't screw up anything for you?" "I'm sure I'll be asked a few stern questions in the morning," Dad said. "But your little unauthorized field test gave us tons of data to study. And quite a few more ethical questions to debate." When the cabs arrived, Dad shook Shiloh's hand, then gave me a warm hug. I heard him whisper in my ear, "Have fun at college, son. Make me proud." I was happy that, after all of this, it was obvious that he still loved me. I got in the cab and, as we drove away, I felt something hard in the back pocket of my skinny jeans. I wriggled in my seat and extracted it. Shiloh and I were amazed to discover that Dad had slipped another camera in my pocket, with a Post-It attached. In the passing street lights, I was able to read the note: "Ryan, This camera's options are limited. Yours are not. Love, Dad" "What do you think that means?", Shiloh asked. "I dunno." When we reached my dorm, I invited Shiloh to come up so we could check out the camera. Dad had deactivated most of the menus, but I discovered two presets, one with my name and one with Shiloh's. I snapped my picture in the full-length mirror, then applied my preset. My image on the screen now looked exactly like the musclebound stud I had first changed myself into the previous night. I clicked "ACCEPT" and braced for the standard painful contortions, although they felt like nothing compared to being enlarged to "BEHEMOTH" size. As the metamorphosis occurred, I realized that my mind hadn't dulled. Dad must not have lowered my IQ the way I had during my original transformation. I couldn't blame him. He wasn't spending good money to send a dope to college. Shiloh watched enviously as I evolved back into Ry before his eyes. As I grinned down at him, I could have predicted his next words. "Do me." He stood against the wall, still in his dumbass baseball cap. I eagerly applied the preset "SHILOH" modifications and pressed "ACCEPT". Shiloh was wracked with pain as his slim body was once again wrapped in lean muscle and sun-kissed skin, and his face regained the features I had given him, the sleek nose, the powerful cleft chin, the ultra-kissable lips. His purple hat evaporated and his hair turned from brown to golden. I reached both hands toward him and lifted him to his feet. We stood in the middle of my room, thick arms wrapped around each other's torsos, studying each other closely. If he had any imperfections, I couldn't see them, but I hoped to inspect him very, very closely, very, very frequently. We stripped off our clothes and tumbled onto my bed, our combined weight testing the limits of the springs. Since I had taken the lead back at the Manhole, I let Shiloh assume control now. Our powerful bodies slid across each other, working up a quick sweat. Long strands of Shiloh's blond hair dangled into my eyes as he explored my mouth with his tongue. My hands slid down along his ribs until I reached up and squeezed his ass cheeks. I felt his cock pressing against my abs and starting to ooze precum, so I wriggled underneath him until I was face down. He slid his erection gently but firmly inside of me and I yowled with a mix of pleasure and pain, clawing at my pillow and tensing my legs. Shiloh's strong hands were pressed against my back for support as the pace of his humping accelerated. When Shiloh came inside me, it may have been the best feeling I'd had all day, and after a day like this, that was saying something. But my cock was still rigid, so I flipped over and wrapped my hands around Shiloh's neck, pulling him down toward my erection. As he lovingly applied his tongue and lips to my shaft, slowly and lovingly bringing me to orgasm, the "best feeling of the day" competition had a new winner. Shiloh lay beside me, brushing his bristly chin against my cheek and rubbing his hand up and down my chest. He whispered in my ear, "Thank your dad for me." I laughed. I probably wouldn't mention this specifically to Dad, but I was glad he had been so cool about everything. I'm sure I had changed many of his perceptions of me that day. Shiloh slept over with me. Cole never did come back to the room that night, and in the morning we decided it was more important to track him down than to go to our classes. We knew basically where the blips had shown up on Dad's computer screen and hoped that Cole might still be near there. Sixty-Nine Street wasn't as active in the daytime, and city crews were still busy cleaning up the damage from last night's fracas. Shiloh and I attracted our share of attention as we walked down the sidewalk, but we had no fear that anyone would imagine that two studly gentlemen like ourselves were in any way connected with the massive creatures who had terrorized the town the night before. As we walked further down the street, I noticed something and grabbed Shiloh by the elbow, pulling him backwards. We had just walked past a pickup truck. One that was missing its driver's side door. Jackpot! Now all we had to do was figure out where... "Hey, boys!" We turned and were amazed to see Cole -- at least the slender twinky version of Cole I had created -- leaning against a wall. "Cole!", Shiloh shouted, looking relieved that his former crush was still alive and seemingly unharmed. Cole was wearing a sheer black tank that was way too big for him and a black Speedo that seemed to fit just fine. He still had on my purple sneakers. Even in this part of town, it was an unconventional look for street clothes in broad daylight, but he was pulling it off. It was a bit annoying that I had made my tormentor look so fucking cute. "Thank god, you escaped from that lunatic!", Shiloh said. "What lunatic? You mean Jerry? Oh, he's such a sweetheart. I'm waiting for him so we can go get matching tats." Shiloh and I couldn't believe what we were hearing. "You're still hanging out with the guy?", I asked. "Uh-huh. He's inside buying some new clothes right now. He woke up this morning and couldn't find a thing that fit. Fortunately his ex had left behind some clothes that were just right for me. You like?" "It's definitely a different look for you" was as much as Shiloh would commit. "So when you coming back to school?", I asked. Cole shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno if I will. Jerry wants me to go to a motorcycle rally in Reno with him. He's got a Harley and I can ride on the seat behind him!" The prospect seemed to excite him, if you could judge by his Speedo. Not that I really wanted old Cole back in the world, but my conscience was killing me. "Are you really sure about this? I found out there's a way to cure what you've got so you'll like chicks again." I had checked overnight, and the camera still would allow me to alter a person's sexual orientation. "Chicks? No thank you!" He flapped his hands dismissively. "No chick ever appreciated me the way Jerry does. Oh, and here comes my baby now." Even though I knew I had reduced him to an ectomorph in the middle of last night's craziness, Shiloh and I were unprepared for the shock of seeing the new Jerry. He was walking down the sidewalk toward us, zipping up his new leather jacket, his skinny legs encased in tight leather pants. Unlike the thuggish lout who had nearly run over Shiloh with his truck last night, he now looked like a boy-band dreamboat trying to look like a tough guy, with a slightly shaggy pile of light brown hair over a baby face that had never felt the touch of a razor. "Mmm, check out my sexy little boy-toy," Cole said. "Doesn't he look fantastic? Jerry, these are my dear friends Shiloh and Ryan." "Uh, yeah, we met last night," I said cautiously. I had been worried about running into last night's hothead again, but I felt pretty sure Shiloh and I could handle Jerry now. Jerry peered his bright blue eyes through the fringe of his bangs. "Oh, hey, how you guys doing today?" If he was still mad at us, it sure didn't show. He was positively meek as he wrapped a leather-clad arm around Cole's body, palming an ass cheek. Cole kissed Jerry on the forehead. Cole may be a shadow of his former self, but the camera had made Jerry even tinier, several inches shorter than Cole. "Awesome outfit, Jerry," Shiloh said. "Cole says you guys might be going to Reno?" "Yeah, if he'll let me buy his sweet ass some leathers. Somewhere around the Continental Divide, he'll realize he needs more than a tank top and Speedos." "We've got time, baby. Lots and lots of time." Cole gave Jerry a long French kiss, then smiled back at us. "So good to see you boys again." He blew us kisses, then they got into Jerry's truck and drove off. Shiloh and I watched the truck disappear around the corner. We were shell-shocked. "Holy shit," I said. "I guess your posse really is breaking up." "Good riddance. So...does that mean you have an opening for a new roommate, Ry?", Shiloh asked with a sly grin. I smiled back and teased, "Only if he looks as good in leather as Jerry." Shiloh's eyebrows leapt at the idea. He practically raced into the leather shop. As Shiloh began trying on jackets, I pulled out my camera and reopened my photo from last night. I hadn't pressed "SAVE", so it was still editable. I pulled up the "ORIENTATION" menu. My finger hovered over the screen as I thought about Kay from the pier and all of the girls in high school who had been content to be my friend but nothing more. And I thought about what Cole had said about Jerry. No "chick" had ever appreciated me the way Shiloh did. I slid the dial from "BISEXUAL" to "HOMOSEXUAL". I clicked "ACCEPT". I didn't feel much change, actually. Only a sense of calm and clarity as I watched Shiloh sliding his bare brawny arms through the holes of a leather vest. Goddamn, he looked hot. I might need to buy one of those too. I clicked "SAVE".

Damon was up against a hard deadline at work when he felt the vibration in his pocket. The brochure design was due by the end of the day, so he really didn't have a spare moment to chat on the phone. Still, he should at least check to see who was calling. Slipping the iPhone from his pocket, he saw the name "Quinn Brooks" and Quinn's excruciatingly handsome face. Damon didn't often get calls from Quinn -- Damon was usually the one reaching out to "bother" Quinn -- so he figured it must be urgent. He raised the phone to his ear while continuing to work one-handed. "What's up, Quinn?" "I need your help. I've got an audition for a soap tomorrow and I'm really freaking out about it. You're the only person I could think of to call." Quinn did indeed sound stressed, which was unusual. Quinn tended to be the most easygoing person that Damon knew. "Calm down. I'm in the middle of a project here, but I should be done by six. Where can I meet you?" "Just come to my apartment. Really appreciate it, man." Quinn hung up. Damon went back to work, but his work on the brochure was decidedly half-assed as he wondered what could be bothering Quinn so much. At 5:59, Damon saved his file, emailed it to his boss and headed out the door. As the sluggish rush-hour traffic betwen Brentwood and Hollywood redefined the word "rush", Damon couldn't stop thinking about Quinn. They had met in college working on a production of "A Streetcar Named Desire". Damon, a senior studying graphic design, worked behind the scenes, helping with the sets and costumes and also creating the poster for the show, while Quinn, a junior theater major, played the Brando role of Stanley Kowalski. Quinn definitely had the magnetism and physicality for the role, gifted as he was with a hard-edged masculine face and a naturally muscular body that required little upkeep at the gym. But as Damon observed the early rehearsals, he wasn't sure Quinn would cut it. Quinn was so good-natured, friendly and low-key, it seemed impossible that he could find within himself the anger and menace it took to bring Stanley to life. Only when Quinn started trying on costumes did he start to find his performance. When he was just Quinn Brooks, big man on campus, standing on that stage in a polo shirt, chinos and Nikes, he was just a lackluster guy reading lines. But once he put on vintage tweed slacks with suspenders and a too-snug tank top, things began to click. Some Oxford shoes that his grandfather had worn which he found in the attic back home made him feel more grounded. Switching from wearing his usual briefs to period-appropriate boxer shorts made him feel more authentically like Stanley. Whoever said "clothes make the man" was dead right in this case, while lack of clothes brought out the animal. The director was aiming for a look close to Brando's in the film version, with Quinn wearing a soiled and torn tank top during the famous "Stella!!!" scene, but Quinn discovered in rehearsal that he could better tap into the character if he tore the shirt off completely. It was a wardrobe choice which was thoroughly appreciated by most of the women and many of the men involved in the production, including Damon who was still deeply closeted at the time. The fact that Quinn wasn't a gym rat meant he didn't have the deeply cut abs that were commonplace on campus, but even that made him look more authentic to the period setting. Damon was impressed: even Quinn's body was part of the costume. For the final touch, he dyed his blond hair black and trimmed it short, until Quinn essentially disappeared. He had become Stanley Kowalski. Audiences were floored by Quinn's performance, in which he tapped into a side of himself he hadn't previously known he had. At the party after opening night, Quinn was back to his usual amiable self, surrounded with well-wishers gushing praise over his performance. With the help of several glasses of red wine, Damon worked up the courage to speak to Quinn and tell him how impressed he was. Quinn could not have been more gracious or more generous with his time, complimenting Damon on the great work he'd done on the sets and costumes and poster. Damon couldn't fathom that Quinn actually knew who he was. Damon felt that his shyness served like personality camouflage, preventing others from noticing he was even in the room with them. Damon mentioned that he was planning to move to Los Angeles after his graduation in the spring. Quinn said he was debating whether it would be better to move to New York or Hollywood to pursue a career when he graduated. "Well, if you move to L.A., be sure to look me up!", Damon said. "You can count on it," replied Quinn with a wide grin. Damon backed away awkwardly, straight into a table with bottles of booze and a streetcar-shaped sheet cake. Catching himself, his right hand landed directly in the thick frosting of the cake. He offered his goop-covered hand in friendship, which Quinn good-naturedly shook, and they both had a good laugh as they went into the kitchen to wash their hands clean. They saw each other from time to time around campus after that, although they didn't run in the same social circles, mainly because Quinn had social circles and Damon didn't. Only after Damon moved to Los Angeles and knew that he absolutely wouldn't be encountering anyone he already knew did he begin to explore his sexuality anywhere but online. But when he went out to clubs, he still seemed to be wearing that camouflage of anonymity that had cloaked him in college. He was thin and youthful, but not thin and youthful enough to attract the twink aficionados. He joined a gym and began to work out for the first time in his life, putting on a thin layer of muscle, but not enough to draw much attention amid a crowd of West Hollywood beefcake. He got an entry-level position designing pamphlets and web pages for a non-profit, found a studio apartment in WeHo that ate up the bulk of his salary, and spent most of his weekend afternoons browsing through obscure shops around town, looking for cheap eclectic items to furnish his tiny room. After a year in L.A., Damon was absolutely shocked to get a call from Quinn, saying he was moving to Hollywood to pursue his craft. Damon could not believe that Quinn was following up on a half-drunken pledge he'd made at a party well over a year earlier. It made him admire Quinn even more. Damon asked where Quinn was planning to live, and Quinn replied that he was hoping to get some advice on that from Damon, since he didn't know anyone else who lived in Los Angeles. Damon felt a little less special after hearing that, convinced that if Quinn knew even one other person in town, they would have received this call and Damon would have been forgotten. But screw that, Quinn did call him, so he boldly suggested that Quinn camp out in his apartment while he looked for a place of his own. "I couldn't impose on you like that, man." "Not a problem at all," Damon insisted as he looked around the cramped apartment that already made him claustrophobic as its sole resident. Quinn arrived in town several days later, his possessions narrowed down to a pile of clothes on hangers laid across the back seat of his convertible, his shaggy blond hair tossed by the breeze en route. When Quinn saw the size of Damon's place, he knew he would get in Damon's way and offered to go find himself a motel, but Damon refused to hear it. "When you start getting on my nerves, I'll let you know." Moving Quinn's belongings into the tiny apartment took a grand total of three minutes, after which they went to grab a bite at Hamburger Mary's on Santa Monica Boulevard. Damon noticed some stiffness in Quinn's body language as he realized how many of the pedestrians and the patrons of the restaurant were pretty clearly gay. Damon had never sensed a whiff of homophobia on Quinn's part at college, but it was a fairly small college in a relatively conservative state. Quinn wasn't so much unnerved as overwhelmed, as if he had cracked open the door of his black-and-white house and was taking his first step into a Technicolor Oz. "So, is this like the gay part of town, or is all of L.A. like this?", Quinn asked with genuine curiosity as he wolfed down his Barbra-Q Bacon Burger (which he had attempted to order by just pointing to the menu, until the waiter forced him to say it out loud). "We're pretty close to Gay Central Station here." "And you like living right in the thick of it?" Damon's stomach quivered and his pulse went into arrythmia for a second as he mulled what to say. He had yet to come out to his family or to anyone he knew prior to moving to L.A., but if this was who he really was, he had to live it. He thought of saying something earnest or defiant, but he figured a lighter approach would work better. "The thicker the better," he smirked and raised his eyebrows, watching Quinn closely for a reaction. Quinn took a long swig of beer and fixed his sparkling blue eyes on Damon. He lowered the bottle with a nod. "Yeah, I kinda had you figured for that." "You don't have a problem with that, do you?" Quinn laughed. "I just got a theater degree and I want to be an actor. If gays freaked me out, I picked the wrong fuckin' job." That night, Damon pushed his luck and dragged Quinn to Rage, a gay nightclub. If Damon thought he was wearing camouflage before, entering a gay club with Quinn Brooks by your side was like wearing an invisibility cloak. Quinn definitely got an ego boost from all the guys coming over to ask him to dance (or more), but he bet he set the world record for saying the words "straight" and "girlfriend" in twenty minutes. Meanwhile, Damon nursed a Seven and Seven and contented himself with hovering anonymously near so many horny, sweaty hunks and vicariously wishing all their come-ons were coming his way. Eventually Quinn turned to Damon and shouted "Let's get outta here" over the pounding disco music. On the sidewalk, it felt twenty degrees cooler. Quinn's eyes were wide, like he'd just narrowly escaped being gored at the Running of the Bulls. "Is that what it's like all the time?", he asked Damon. "Yeah, that's pretty much a normal night for me." Damon offered his house guest the futon, but Quinn wouldn't hear of it, using his sleeping bag instead. Quinn went to pains to make sure he wasn't interfering with Damon's routine, although seeing a shirtless Quinn shaving every morning was a disruption Damon didn't complain about. Within a week, Quinn had landed a job as a waiter. Within ten days, he had found an apartment which was bigger and cost less than Damon's. They saw each other occasionally, usually when Damon thought there was a play or movie or band that Quinn might appreciate, but Quinn was usually waiting tables in the evening and had to pass. The last time Damon had received a call from Quinn was two months ago, inviting Damon and a guest to come to opening night of a play Quinn was doing in North Hollywood. Damon couldn't find a date -- or even a beard -- and ended up giving the spare ticket to a young woman in the standby line. She was pleasant but monosyllabic waiting for the opening curtain, but when Damon mentioned at intermission that he was friends with the guy playing the lead role, the woman became chatty as all get-out, peppering him with questions about Quinn which only ended when the curtain opened for act two. The woman, whose name was Renee, came along with Damon to the after-party and was hanging on Quinn's arm by the end of the night. Two weeks later, Quinn had dumped his girlfriend back home and Renee was spending her nights at Quinn's place. As far as Damon knew, they were still dating, but perhaps they had broken up. Maybe that's why Quinn had called today, reaching out to an old friend -- okay, marginal acquaintance -- for counsel as he nursed a broken heart. But even if Quinn hadn't managed to make other friends in his short time in L.A., surely any stranger he grabbed randomly off the street could offer more wisdom on romantic matters than Damon could. Damon pulled onto Quinn's shady street and checked the myriad of parking regulation signs, trying to figure out if it was legal for him to park in this neighborhood. Convinced that he could, he ran to Quinn's apartment and knocked on the door. "Co-ome i-in," sang an off-key attempt at a soprano voice from within. Damon swung open the unlocked door and was surprised to discover Quinn pacing in the living room, covered in flop-sweat and wearing a bizarre mixture of clothing. His hair was haphazardly bobby-pinned into something that in no way resembled an actual hairdo. He wore a linen sportscoat with a Chicago Bulls jersey underneath, checkerboard-pattern bicycle shorts and a pair of muddy workboots. Quinn was flushed with relief at seeing Damon. "Thank god you're here. I gotta be gay! You gotta help me!" He clomped over and hugged Damon, transferring a substantial amount of his sweat onto Damon's gray silk shirt. "What to you mean you've gotta be gay?", asked Damon. Quinn picked up a script from his futon and handed it to Damon. "This audition tomorrow. It's for a recurring role in a soap, which'd be huge for me, but the character they want me to play is gay and I don't know how to play it." "Play it like a normal person." Quinn shook his head. "You don't understand. I gotta feel like I'm seeing through this guy's eyes. I don't know how to look at another guy from a gay guy's perspective." "Sure you do," said Damon calmly. "Just look at the guy the same way you look at Renee." Quinn wasn't being persuaded. He looked distraught as he checked out his reflection in the mirror. "I was thinking if I could just find the right look, the character would come to me, but..." Damon shook his head as he looked at what Quinn was wearing. "You have met gay people before, right? You know we don't dress like we escaped from a mental ward." "I know, I know. I was just trying anything. I woulda tried on some of Renee's dresses, but I'm way too big for 'em." Damon stopped cold and leveled a glare at Quinn. "You also know we don't all wear dresses, right?" "YES!", Quinn insisted. "What you're seeing is the result of two extra hours of desperation because you couldn't get here right away!" "Sue me, I work for a living! Why couldn't Renee help you?" "She's shooting a commercial in Baja. She'll be gone for four days." "Okay, just calm down. We'll get through this." Damon began to remove the bobby-pins from Quinn's hair and asked, "So, describe this character to me so I can get a sense of what he should wear." Quinn grabbed the script and scanned the highlighted stage directions. "His name's Alexander and he's the black sheep of the family who was ostrich-ized..." Damon corrected, "Ostracized." "Ostracized...when his father discovered he was gay. Actually, he was apparently...ostracized...from the show 'cause he thought he deserved a raise. But now they want to bring his character back." "And there are no actual gay actors in Hollywood they could hire?" "My agent says I look a lot like the guy who played him the first time, so he thinks I got a real good chance at it." "So? There's your answer. Dress like the other guy did." "I tried that, but that guy used to just wear regular business suits, and putting on my own suits just felt like...like me wearing a suit. Plus, apparently they're writing him a lot more flamboyant now and I don't have a clue how to be flamboyant. That's why I called you." Damon glanced down at his gray shirt and charcoal pants. "Oh, yeah, you're talking to the male Lady Gaga right here. Go put on some normal clothes and we'll go shopping." Quinn nodded eagerly and walked into the bathroom to change. He leaned out, asking, "Sir Gaga?" "What?" "Wouldn't the male Lady Gaga be Sir Gaga?" Damon waved a get-a-move-on gesture and tried not to stare too blatantly at Quinn as he stripped down. * * * As Quinn drove frantically toward Melrose Boulevard, Damon sat in the passenger seat, scanning through Quinn's script. "This writing is terrible. None of it rings true. This guy Alexander is swishy one minute and butch the next. No wonder you were dressed like you just grabbed random items from the clothes dryer." "I just need to get a fix on who I think Alexander is. If I can nail the audition, then I'll worry about getting them to write the character better." Damon pointed to a parking spot in front of a quirky clothing store he liked to browse. Quinn screeched into the spot, pissing off another driver who was getting ready to back into the same space. Quinn shouted at the other driver, "Sorry! Sorry! Acting crisis!" Quinn looked berserk, the wind having buffeted his hair into a crazed mess as the convertible sped here. Damon led Quinn into the musty smelling shop. They were the only customers, and the older woman managing the register looked surprised to have any visitors at all. Quinn searched frantically through the racks of clothes in his size, trying on one vintage jacket after another, displeased with them all. "Not gay enough." Damon shook his head, amused but increasingly irritated. He was generally so fond of Quinn but couldn't believe how narrow his views were, as if there were only one kind of gay personality or fashion. He watched as Quinn pulled off his t-shirt, revealing pumped pecs and shallow but distinct ab muscles. Clearly Quinn's carefree attitude toward exercise had changed, and Damon couldn't say he disapproved. Trying not to seem TOO interested, Damon casually asked, "You been working out?" "Yeah, agent said I looked too doughy. Apparently, if they can't count your ab muscles on two hands these days, nobody's gonna cast you." Quinn pulled a multicolored vest over his bare torso and evaluated the look. He cringed. "Too gay." Damon felt like he was watching Quinn perform a one-man show of "Goldilocks", where everything was "too gay" or "too straight", but nothing was "just right". (They'd have to go back to cruising Rage later to find three bears.) After Quinn rejected a few of Damon's suggestions, Damon turned in light-hearted frustration to the old woman at the back of the shop. "Do you have a 'gay' section for my friend here? Maybe something in a size Gay?" Quinn swatted Damon's shoulder. "This probably seems silly to you, but it's my process, okay?" The woman behind the counter gestured for the men to approach. The old woman's eyes were drawn to Quinn, but Damon had finally quit fretting about his non-entity status in Quinn's presence. That Quinn was now shirtless and more built than ever only made Damon fade further into the background. "This might sound stupid, but I need something that'll make me feel...gay," Quinn told the old woman. She smiled wistfully. "When I was a girl, a nice new hat used to make me feel gay." Oh god, Damon thought, this was a terrible idea. Now we're about to be treated to this woman's history of how word meanings changed throughout the twentieth century. But instead, she reached under the counter and pulled out a wooden jewelry box. She opened it to display a collection of various rings. She studied them, then selected one with a silver band and a single black stone. She handed it to Quinn, saying "I think this will help you get what you desire." Damon seemed unsure that this simple ring screamed "gay", but Quinn shrugged his recently renovated shoulders and said, "You never know what'll give you the key to your character." He studied it and a flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes. "This isn't one of those mood rings, is it? My dad told me he had one back in the Seventies. The color of the stone changed to show what your mood was." "Very similar principle," the old woman nodded. "Go ahead, put it on." Quinn slid it onto his left ring finger. He liked how it felt. The metal weight in an unfamiliar place gave him an immediate sense of otherness, like he wasn't just wearing a piece of jewelry but was wearing part of a different person, a new character. He looked closely at the stone and could detect a slight swirling in the darkness which settled into a deep, dark blue. "Huh, what do you know? It turned blue a little. What does that mean?" He placed his hand on the counter so the shopkeeper could examine the stone. She peered through squinted eyes, then glanced over her bifocals at Quinn and said, "That means you're a little gay." Quinn laughed uneasily, which made Damon cackle hysterically. He kidded Quinn, "Don't worry, sweetie, everyone's a little gay." But truthfully, as long as you set aside the fact that Quinn was an actor, Damon had never met anyone as comfortable in his heterosexuality as Quinn, and the straight women in the theater department always appreciated that Quinn was the one exception to the "all the good ones are gay" rule. Hearing Damon speak, the woman turned to him, almost as if she had just realized he was there. "Are you two a couple?" Quinn shook his head and waved his hands, saying, "No, no, no, no, no." Damon felt a little insulted. "Five no's? Could you be a little more emphatic there, buddy?" Quinn started to apologize when the woman pulled an identical ring from the jewelry box and handed it to Damon. "You try." Curious but a little scared, Damon slipped the ring onto his left ring finger. If Quinn's ring said he was "a little gay", Damon's ring would probably start shooting out rainbows and sparkles and unicorns while blasting "It's Raining Men". But after letting the mysterious liquid inside the stone swirl and settle, Damon's ring turned only a slightly brighter shade of blue than Quinn's. He held it out for the woman to evaluate. "This can't be right." "Oh, no, it's right," she assured him. "It's always right." Damon stared at the blue gem curiously, while Quinn flexed his hand repeatedly, getting a feel for the ring's weight. He told the woman, "It kind of grows on you." She nodded sagely. "I'll take it," Quinn said, pulling out his wallet. Damon was starting to pull off his ring, but Quinn stopped him. "Keep it, man. It looks good on you." Damon felt funny about it. "Won't it be kinda weird, you and me wearing matching rings?" "I'm only wearing mine for the audition. I'm serious, let me buy that for you. It matches your eyes." Damon was surprised and even a little turned on that Quinn had noticed the color of his eyes. Then again, actors were good at studying other people. Damon shook it off. Quinn got his change and thanked the woman behind the counter for her help. "Do you need anything else?", she asked. Pulling his t-shirt back on, Quinn glanced around the store and said, "No, I think I'm good." He stepped outside, with a puzzled Damon at his heels. "That's it? You buy one ring and you've got the character?" "No, but I don't think I need more clothes to do it." Quinn leapt energetically into the driver's seat and noticed the flyaway mess that his hair had become. "But I gotta fix this hair. Alexander wouldn't have this haircut. Where's there a good hair stylist?" Damon had never gone anywhere more stylish than Fantastic Sams, but he had a feeling Quinn needed something a bit more specialized. Damon searched on his iPhone for nearby salons while Quinn drove. Damon found one place on Santa Monica Boulevard that was still open, so he gave Quinn driving directions. Quinn was driving with his left arm propped in his open window, showing off the definition of his biceps and triceps as they emerged from his t-shirt sleeve. Quinn could swear he was noticing a lot more guys staring at him, and Quinn was someone who was used to being stared at. He even waved at a few as he passed. Seemed like what Alexander would do. When they arrived at the salon, the guy behind the counter with a shaved head, a septum ring and gauged earlobes looked too exhausted to deal with another customer, but when he looked up to see Quinn's smiling, hopeful face, he began to change his mind. Quinn explained that he desperately needed his hair styled for an audition in the morning. He even put his hand atop the counterman's pale slender hand which was splayed on the counter. Wow, thought Damon, he's really laying on the charm. And it worked. Soon Quinn was seated in a chair and getting his hair shampooed. The stylist glanced across the room at Damon, who was slumped in a chair, flipping idly through Frontiers magazine. "You gonna want a cut too?", asked the stylist. "No, I'm fine," said Damon. The stylist disagreed with that assessment of Damon's pedestrian haircut, with an indistinct part and uneven strands of lackluster brown hair straggling over his ears, but he said nothing and turned back to scrubbing Quinn's lush mane. Once it was washed, Quinn moved back to a barber's chair and stared at his reflection, his long hair wet and stringy, falling past his eyes. The stylist asked what Quinn was looking for. "I need something bold. Something that'll grab your attention, but won't look too radical for a guy in a business suit. What's that one where it's all kinda scrunched up in the middle?" "A fauxhawk?", replied the stylist. "Yeah, I want one of those." Damon looked up from his magazine, surprised. Quinn had been so casual, so lacking in vanity about his appearance in college. Quinn was plenty hot without bothering with fancy technology like, ya know, a comb. Still, Damon could imagine how sexy Quinn would look with a fauxhawk. It was even giving him a chubby. He had a bad habit of being attracted to straight boys, and Quinn had always been his kryptonite. He knew that it was futile and self-sabotaging to allow himself to muse about relationships that could never happen. Yet he found himself lost in Quinn's reflection in the mirror as the stylist set to work. Quinn was also getting aroused as chunks of his long hair were snipped away. It was like the stylist was sculpting the disorganized wad of yarn glued his head into something sleek and beautiful. Yes, yes, he was feeling the character more and more, getting a better fix on who he should be playing. He could practically see himself becoming the character in his reflection. With a flourish, the stylist removed the apron from Quinn, who was staring lustily at his newly gelled and peaked hairdo. Quinn spun in his chair to get Damon's opinion, but Damon was already standing, pointing to a photo in a book of sample hairdos and showing it to the stylist. "I want a fade." The stylist's shoulders sank, as he thought he was done for the day, but Quinn gave him a quick wink and he agreed. As the stylist buzzed the sides over Damon's ears down to bare skin, Damon started to wonder how he'd look with a different hair color, but he knew he'd be pushing his luck to ask the stylist to start a major project like that at this late hour. But as his new style took shape, Damon began to grin. It wasn't a radical change, but it also wasn't the same old boring haircut that had stared back at him since high school. He glanced behind him, where Quinn seemed to be studying an issue of Playgirl. Damon blinked his eyes, thinking there must be hair in them. "What you reading there, Q?" "Interesting article," Quinn said deadpan. Damon figured Quinn must be doing research into what he thought a gay guy would read. When the two men stepped back into the cool evening air, they both felt pounds heavier as their scalps felt the breeze. Quinn looked down at his shorter friend and smiled. "Da-amn, boy, you do look cute." Damon looked at Quinn skeptically, thinking back to Quinn's gradual metamorphosis into Stanley Kowalski back in college. Maybe this was just his process. "Just so I'm clear, you're just trying to get into character, right?" Quinn wrapped a strong arm around Damon's slender shoulders. "Aw, my little Damie, never could take a compliment." Quinn leaned down o kiss Damon lightly on the forehead. If this was Quinn's process, he was certainly disappearing into the role already. Damon checked his phone for the time. "Maybe we should head back to your place and I can help you memorize your script." "Fuck the lines," said Quinn, with a ferocity strange for someone who could usually beat Jack Johnson in a mellow-off. Quinn spotted the Rage nightclub up the street and started to drag Damon in that direction. "Let's go dancing!" "I thought you hated Rage." "I did. But I don't think Alexander does." Inside the packed club, Quinn was much chattier than he had been on his first night in town. In fact, he seemed downright comfortable, chatting and laughing with everyone who approached him. Damon hovered close enough to hear Quinn introducing himself to people as Alexander. Quinn pulled Damon over and started introducing him as "my boy Damon". Damon had done some role-playing games online and always felt too self-conscious about it, but he was getting off on playing this role. Even pretending to be Quinn's -- or Alexander's -- boy was a thrill, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. Quinn had already shed his t-shirt and was flexing in time with the music. Damon unbuttoned his silk shirt down to the base of his sternum. Any further exposure of his pale pasty skin would risk causing blindness to anyone who looked at it, and he'd never found his clumps of unsightly body hair to be aesthetically pleasing. Basically, Damon believed that the more of his body someone saw, the less likely they were to desire him. Ideally, to avoid turning off potential lovers, he would need to walk the streets in an Iron Man uniform. Quinn was getting sucked further away into the swirl of bodies, but Damon noticed that Quinn was constantly looking back to check on him. Eventually, Quinn squeezed his way back and they spent the remainder of the night dancing as a couple. When the pace slowed slightly, Quinn wrapped his arms around Damon's butt and hoisted him until Damon was looking down at Quinn. Quinn planted his lips on Damon's and kissed him hard. Damon closed his eyes, ecstatic, letting himself believe for a moment that what he was feeling from Quinn was real and not research. Fueled by Red Bulls and vodka, Quinn and Damon stayed until closing time. Damon was sure he would have a hangover at work tomorrow, but at the moment he was carefree and full of energy, literally skipping along the boulevard. Quinn strolled behind him, swinging his meaty arms loosely. "Okay, now we'll go home and do lines." Damon looked hopefully. "Cocaine?" Quinn rubbed his knuckles through Damon's new hairdo. "No, you knucklehead. Lines in the script." Damon giggled as they climbed into the convertible and headed back to Quinn's place. As Damon picked up the script from the floor of the car, he noticed the glow of his ring. The color had lightened since he first put it on. It now sparkled like a sapphire. He glanced over at Quinn, but couldn't see his ring, as Quinn was hanging his left forearm down along the outside of the car and pounding on the door in time with the music cranked on the car stereo. When they got back to the apartment, Quinn grabbed a couple of bottles of beer from the refrigerator and told Damon to make himself comfortable on the futon in the living room. Damon took a seat, sipped his beer and opened the script to the proper page, only to gasp as Damon returned to the living room wearing nothing but a pair of amply stuffed black briefs. "Aw, Damie, I told you to get comfortable. You're my expert on all this. I need you to tell me what I should be doing." Damon quickly flipped through the script. "Isn't it just a dialogue scene? I didn't see any sex scenes in the script." Quinn grabbed the script and flung it across the room. It slammed into the wall, snapping the fasteners and sending the pages fluttering to the floor. "Fuck the script. I need to know what it feels like to be inside you." Quinn pulled down his briefs and his rigid cock began to rise and grow. He worked the scrap of black cloth down both of his bulging thighs, then down the shins. He reached one big toe up to pull the briefs the rest of the way off. Then, holding the shorts between his toes, he tossed them directly into Damon's face. Damon closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, amazed to have this chance to inhale Quinn's musky scent. He pulled the briefs above his eyes and left them resting atop his new haircut. He giggled playfully and stared lustily at the golden-haired tower of muscle looming over him, standing with legs spread and a nine-inch cock pointing straight up, slapping flat against his abs and seemingly as wide as Damon's wrist. Jesus, Damon thought, he's staring at me. Right at my pathetic little body. And he's got a hard-on that could shatter glass. Fuck, thought Damon, this guy is a good actor. Damon tore open his gray shirt, losing a few buttons in the process. He unbuckled his pants but struggled to get them down before Quinn leapt upon him. Quinn shredded Damon's trousers and ripped off his boxers to discover Damon's slim, six-incher, fully erect. Quinn grunted and smiled, then eased his own cock gently into Quinn's asshole. "How's that?" Damon whimpered, never having had something that large inside him before. Quinn brushed Damon's cheek and kissed him. "You tell me if I'm hurting you, Damie. I just want to make you happy." Quinn took it slowly, gradually inserting more and more of his engorged cock into Damon. Damon was getting short of breath. He glanced down and saw Quinn's massive left hand wrapped around Damon's cock, stroking it in rhythm with the thrusts of his hips. Damon noticed the glint of Quinn's ring on the hand. The jewel was now sapphire blue, just like Damon's had been in the car. Curious, he glanced at his own ring and it had now lightened to a dazzling cyan. He felt all his inhibitions slipping away and surrendered to the power of Quinn. Or Alexander. Or whoever. Who cares? Damon screamed out, "Just fuckin' fuck me!" * * * Quinn slept deeply through the night, but his dreams were vivid. Amazingly, he had already reached a state that usually only came after weeks of rehearsal: he was dreaming in character. He knew he was ready to play a part when he had so deeply inhabited them that he no longer dreamt as himself, but as Stanley Kowalski, or George in "Virginia Woolf", or Estragon in "Waiting for Godot". (Man, if you think your dreams are hard to follow, try having some "Godot" dreams.) Somehow, with this Alexander character, he had gone from panic to serenity in a single night. He felt the power of Alexander's suddenly unleashed sexuality, the newfound sense of freedom that gave him, the strength he sought to exert over others, yet the tenderness he could exhibit to those he loved, like his boy Damie. That last part caused a slight glitch in the dream, as Quinn suddenly realized he was in a dream and tried to remember whether Damie was a character in the script or... No, Damie was his friend from college. Little Damon. How had he never noticed what a cutie Damie was all these years? Damie was always so shy. He must have been waiting for years for Alexander to make the first move. Fuck, no, that's not right. Alexander is the character. I'm Quinn. That's right, right? It was all intermingled, and suffused with a sense of well-being that seemed to have calmed his spirit. Yeah, now he remembered. He was in a panic all day about...something or other...and his little Damie came and made it all better. And they fucked until they collapsed. A familiar xylophone melody began to repeat and repeat in Quinn's brain, gradually rousing him from his slumber. He snuggled against the bare skin of Damon's back as they spooned on the futon. Damon remained blissfully asleep in Quinn's arms while the fog lifted from Quinn's brain. That music...it was the alarm on Damon's iPhone. What time was it? Quinn squinted until he finally spotted something with a clock: his microwave. 7:45. Fuck! The audition! When was the audition again? Quinn gently slid his arm out from underneath Damon, stood up and switched off the alarm. Morning wood slapping against his thigh, he wandered the living room naked in search of the title page of the script on which he had scribbled the time and place of his audition. Finally locating it, he discovered that he had a couple of hours of breathing room, although he still needed to memorize the lines. He wasn't worried though, because he already had the character. Quinn leaned down and kissed Damon on the cheek. "Morning, sexy. Time to get up." Damon grumpily opened his eyes and was rewarded with a view of Quinn's hard cock. He giggled sleepily and said in a lilting voice, "Mmm, is that for me?" "Not right now. Gotta get ready for my audition." "Can I help you?" "Not right now. I need to take a shower." Damon crawled across the futon with a smile, waggling his bouncy ass. "Can I help you?" Quinn felt tempted, but knew he had to get in and out fast so he could study his lines. He kissed Damon's forehead, then walked to the bathroom. Damon got hard just watching Quinn's broad back and dimpled butt cheeks as he left the room. That vision carried him to a speedy orgasm, spurting across the thatches of hair on his meagerly developed torso. He fell back into a giddy slumber, rubbing his fingers lazily through his own cum. Damon woke again when a shadow fell over his face. He looked up to see Quinn fully dressed in a gray business suit, the sunlight hitting the peaks of his freshly gelled fauxhawk. Quinn's cock rubbed softly against the material of his pants, as he'd decided that Alexander would go commando. Better to demonstrate his dominance over his rivals. Quinn nervously fiddled with a ring on his left hand, its jewel an entrancing bright shade of blue. "Gotta go, Damie. See you when I get back?" Smiling coyly, Damon sat up, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around his hairy legs. "I'll be here. Kiss for luck?" Quinn leaned down and planted his succulent lips on Damon's. They both closed their eyes to fully enjoy the sensation. Neither noticed the blue glow of their rings brightening further. After Quinn left for his audition, Damon made his way to the bathroom where he took a long hot shower. The gushing water kept him from hearing his phone ringing, as his office called to find out why he wasn't at work yet. Damon stepped from the shower and wiped the fog from the mirror. He had to admit, he really did look cute with his new haircut, but he grimaced the further he looked down. Those clumps of hair on his chest and the wet, clingy hair on his legs did not look cute at all. He grabbed Quinn's can of Barbasol and lathered up his chest and legs. It took him two of Quinn's razorblades to shave his chest and legs clean and, after he saw how that looked, another blade plus the rest of the Barbasol to take care of his pubes. As he lay his sleek new body back down upon the futon, Damie wondered how Q's audition was going. * * * Quinn's confidence that he would be cast in the soap opera peaked in the millisecond before he opened the door to the casting office. Once inside, he discovered several other strapping young men much like himself. VERY much like himself. Clearly the call had gone out for any actor who looked sufficiently similar to the one who had originated the role of Alexander, and the results of that quest were seated in this room. Blond, handsome, tall but not too tall. Their minor physical differences were outweighed by their striking similarities. Quinn had gotten used to being the go-to lead actor back in college, but he was now facing the reality of being a tiny fish trying to navigate the biggest sea in the acting world. Quinn checked in at the front desk and took his seat among the other prospective Alexanders, who were checking him out, both to evaluate him as their acting competition and, for many of them, just to check him out. At least his fears about playing a gay character had been erased by last night's events. As soon he had found that ring in the shop where Damon took him, something clicked in his mind. Never before had a single item of wardrobe given him such a strong sense of a character. He had been immersed in characters before, but last night, he felt positively possessed, seeing the world through Alexander's eyes, doing things he had never done before -- things he would never have considered doing before. But as the night went on, he realized he wasn't simply acting out of curiosity as research for a role; he was responding to irresistible physical urges...and he had to admit to himself that it felt tremendous. He only hoped that Damon didn't feel used and exploited, although from Quinn's semi-drunken memories of the night, it seemed like Damon had a gay old time. He had never seen Damon so loose, so happy, so free. * * * Back at Quinn's apartment, Damon was restless. He had checked his voicemail and discovered several messages from his workplace, asking where he was. He finally called back, explaining that he had misread some parking signs and his car had been towed. He promised to get to work as soon as possible, but he had no such intention. He wanted to be waiting here when Quinn returned triumphantly from his audition, so he could leap into Quinn's arms, smother him in kisses...and then fuck, fuck, fuck the night away. Although Damon had known he was gay since before he even knew it was a thing to be, he'd never felt as obsessed with sex as he did this morning. Sure, he had thought about the subject plenty, more in abstract terms than in genuine practice, but his mind had never before been whipped into such an orgy of nonstop salacious thoughts. It still seemed like some impossible dream that he had actually had sex with Quinn Brooks...and multiple times at that. But uncharacteristically, Damon wasn't dwelling on why Quinn suddenly found him attractive (or at least fuckworthy) and wasn't making mental wagers about how soon Quinn would inevitably turn his attentions elsewhere and leave Damon in misery. All that percolated through Damon's mind this bright morning was looking his best for his man ("his MAN"!!!) when he got back home. The drab clothes Damon had worn last night were no longer an option, as Quinn had shredded Damon's slacks and underwear when he tore them off Damon's body. Damon's gray shirt was slightly salvageable, since it had only lost a few buttons. Damon slipped it on, rolling up the sleeves and knotting the tails of the shirt in the front to expose his smooth, hairless tummy. Not terrible, Damon thought, but pretty blah. Surely he could find something with more pizzazz. He peeked through Quinn's drawers for some shorts, but anything big enough to accomodate Quinn was ridiculously huge on Damon's slim firame. None of Quinn's clothes hanging in his closet were appropriate either, but Damon did notice that Quinn's girlfriend Renee had left a few changes of clothes hanging there as well. Not only was her body closer to Quinn's size, but he admired her fashion sense. He felt a forbidden thrill as he slipped a spangly blue-and-white-striped top off its hanger, held it in front of himself and studied his reflection in the mirror. He pulled his gray button down over his head and slipped on Renee's top, its neck so wide that it exposed the slope of Damon's shoulder. A smile slowly grew on his lips. Yesterday, he would have felt embarrassed to wear anything so shiny or so feminine, but today it gave him a kick. He squeezed his way into a pair of her black leggings and was glad that the bottom of the shirt concealed the growing boner trapped within them. He would have to wash the leggings before Renee returned to town, so she wouldn't wonder why there was a stain of dried pre-cum in them. At least his own shoes still fit, although they were a ludicrous contrast to the outfit above them. Clearly he would need to run out and buy some new clothes if he was going to look good for Quinn, and this mismatched outfit would allow him to go into public. With his paltry savings, he couldn't suddenly become an au courant fashionista...but, hey, he thought with a giggle, that's why God invented credit cards! Damon stepped out of the apartment, realizing too late that the door was locking behind him. A day ago, Damon would have been frantic about getting locked out and mortified to be seen in public the way he was currently dressed. But instead, he shrugged it off and sashayed (there was really no better word for it) his little kiester down the sidewalk to where he thought he had parked his beat-up piece-of-shit Mazda. He looked up and down the street with a sinking feeling. Well, what do you know? That lie about his car having been towed because he didn't read the parking signs? It wasn't a lie after all. But again, instead of freaking out, Damon calmly pulled out his iPhone. * * * Quinn leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed as he went over Alexander's lines in his head for the millionth time in twenty minutes. He felt a vibration in his pants. He didn't want to be disturbed while he was so immersed in character. Still, what if it was important? What if it was a message from his agent? Or from Damon? He had to look. He slid the phone from his pocket and noticed that it was a text from Renee. He pushed the phone back in his pocket without reading the message. He couldn't lose his focus now. Besides, he had no clue what to tell her about last night. He probably shouldn't say anything. What if it was just a one-night fling, a dalliance fueled by an actor's need for new experiences to inform his performance? He still loved Renee, didn't he? Well, he liked her at least. After all, she was pretty and smart and understanding and... "Quinn Brooks?" Huh? What? Quinn heard someone calling his name. "Quinn Brooks?" The woman said it again, more impatiently. Quinn shook off his stupor and raised his hand. "Present!", he called, as if the woman were taking roll call. She gestured for him to proceed to the inner office. Quinn offered a hasty "Good luck" to his fellow actors in the waiting room and stepped inside. Three people seated behind a table stared at Quinn, impressed on first sight by his close resemblance to his predecessor in the role. They each informed Quinn who they were, but Quinn's mind was so scattered that all he heard was "words words name name words". Dammit, why had he looked at that text message? He was totally losing his focus. He brushed his left hand nervously through his fauxhawk, disheveling his carefully groomed look. The stone in his ring was darkening back toward a deep blue, verging on black. He gazed across the room at the three people evaluating him, as well as the bored guy manning a video camera behind them. Quinn found himself making friendly chit-chat. Dammit, that wasn't his plan! All morning, he had been in the zone. He had planned that, from the moment he walked into the audition room, he was going to take command of the situation and BE sly, conniving Alexander. But here he was, in front of the people who were going to decide his fate, and he heard his mouth on autopilot, lapsing back into friendly old Quinn, blathering about traffic and asking politely about getting his parking validated. Focus, man, focus! From somewhere, a voice asked Quinn to begin. He took a big breath and opened his mouth, but the words he had down stone cold just minutes ago were eluding him. It was the classic actor's nightmare of going dry. At least he wasn't naked too, although that would have given them something to focus on besides the lack of words coming from his mouth. Cringing, he put a shaky hand into the breast pocket of his suit coat and pulled out his script pages, hoping they would kick him back into gear. But he discovered they were in the wrong order and facing different directions. As he searched desperately for the first page, he could sense interest plummeting across the room. At last, he found the first line, which seemed dimly familiar. He cleared his throat and realized how parched he was. His tongue was practically cemented to the roof of his mouth. He grabbed a bottle of water that had been placed nearby for him. The cap was surprisingly tight and, when he finally loosened it, he was squeezing the plastic bottle so tight that a gusher of water shot out, dousing the crotch of his pants. Quinn stared at the dark wet blotch and wondered, where is cyanide when you need it? Quinn drained half of what remained in the bottle, then set it aside, glanced at the pages and began to recite his lines. Once he got rolling, the words were mostly there, so he only needed to consult the pages twice more for cues, but the character's voice, the one he had such a grip on all morning, was gone. It wasn't devious Alexander speaking his mind, it was just charming Quinn Brady lifelessly reciting some shit he had memorized. He may as well have been in a third-grade Earth Day pageant dressed as an oak tree for all the emotion he was investing in his performance. Once he finished, he was out the door in shame somewhere between when the casting director said "thank" and when she said "you". Quinn stormed through the outer office and into the parking lot, royally pissed at himself. He yanked off his necktie, wadded it up and hurled it into the backseat of his convertible. A voice in his head asked, "Is that really the best you can do?" Quinn told himself "no" as he struggled out of his coat. "I thought you were serious about this," said the voice. I am, Quinn insisted to himself. I love acting. "Well, then, show it, goddamn it!", urged the voice. I can't, I blew my shot, it's over, Quinn lamented as he stripped off his dress shirt. But the voice was screaming at him now, "Nothing is ever over unless you let it be over. You don't give up on what you need, you fight for it! Do you seriously think that I would just walk away?" Finally, Quinn realized the pep talk wasn't really from himself. It was the voice of Alexander, roaring back to life and asserting itself. The energy and intensity which had fueled Quinn last night were back, maybe even stronger than before. He marched back toward the casting office, still shirtless and with something to prove, flinging open the front door, crossing the lobby and barging into the inner room. An assistant chased after him, yelling that he couldn't go in there, but Alexander would not be stopped. Quinn pushed aside the startled blond guy who was in the middle of his audition and ignored the shouts from the folks behind the desk that this was unacceptable. "No, what's unacceptable is what I did before," said Quinn with fury. "I wasn't showing you who I truly was, what I had the potential to be. I had to get out of here and clear my head before I could see myself for who I am and realize I had unfinished business back here. I deserve to be here. Nothing is ever over unless you let it be over. You don't give up on what you need, you fight for it! Do you seriously think I would just walk away?" The words ran out. He had nothing more to say. His broad chest rose and fell with each deep breath, Quinn stared down the people behind the table, who looked like they had just witnessed a car bomb exploding. The bored camera guy was now alert and zooming in for a close-up of Quinn's face. The auditioner whom Quinn had interrupted felt compelled to applaud Quinn softly, realizing he could never have delivered a performance like that. Only as his adrenaline subsided did Quinn realize that everything he had said was actually from Alexander's lines in the script. But not only did they ring true for Alexander, they said what Quinn had needed to say. The folks behind the table consulted with each other in murmurs before the soap opera's director, a distinguished man with graying hair, a British accent and an approving smile, leaned forward and told Quinn, "Well, this is the part of the audition where we would usually ask you to take off your shirt, but you seem to have jumped the gun on that, dear boy." Quinn's piercing blue eyes gazed right back at the man. He radiated immense confidence, knowing that he had nailed it. He brushed his left hand slowly down his sweat-soaked chest and abs, unaware that the gemstone on his new ring had shifted back from a deep onyx to a blue lapis lazuli. * * * At first, the stylist did not recognize the waifish man getting out of the cab in front of the salon in the striped shirt, leggings and black Oxford shoes. But the stylist tended to have a good memory for his own work and, once the customer entered, he realized from the conservative brown fade that this was the meek pal of the gorgeous blond who had entered with such urgency the night before. The man walked gracefully to the counter and grinned conspiratorially at the stylist. "Remember me?" "Yeah, sure," said the stylist. "You were in here with that other dude last night." Damon liked being remembered for once, even if only as an afterthought to "that other dude". Actually, being remembered as having been "WITH that other dude" gave Damon quite a thrill. "I want to go further. Try something really radical." Damon described the look he was thinking of, then asked, "Do you do piercings here too?" Damon was surprised how long the process took to achieve what he wanted, but he knew it would be worth it, if only to see Quinn's reaction. As he waited for the process to complete, he decided he might as well get a mani/pedi while he was waiting. The cute boy tending to Damon's nails suggested a facial to clean out Damon's pores, so that was added to the credit card too. When Damon finally stepped outside, it was after noon. He checked his phone but hadn't received a call or text from Quinn. He hoped that was a good sign, but didn't want to jinx it by calling Q and asking. Catching his reflection in the salon window, Damon could hardly believe he was looking at himself, but these hand-me-down rags from Renee were not cutting it. He knew just where to go, so he phoned for another cab. The white-haired old woman was behind the counter at his favorite funky clothes shop again. In fact, he never remembered seeing anyone else working the register in all the times he'd shopped here. Well, browsed. He loved looking at the clothing, and had enjoyed trying on some of the milder outfits in the dressing room, but he never dreamt of wearing any of it out of here. Today, though, he wanted to buy everything he tried on, no matter how outlandish. All that held him back was a nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him that his credit card did have a limit. He brought a pile of items to the counter. As he pulled out his wallet, the woman behind the register noticed a familiar ring on his left hand, silver with a shiny turquoise stone. She studied Damon's face and was amazed. She knew the effects her jewelry could have, but had never seen such a radical change in a customer in such a short time. "Oh, it's you! I take it you are pleased with the ring." Damon held up the back of his hand and looked at the stone, mesmerized by its color. "I absolutely love it." "And your friend?" "Oh, yeah, it was exactly what he needed!" The woman was relieved. Although she had known immediately that the man before her was gay, albeit very introverted, she was a bit worried when the friend's ring had turned only slightly blue. She bought all of her jewelry from an old hippie living in an abandoned filling station near Ojai who had hyped his products by saying they had magical powers which would help the wearer become "self-actualized" and "live their life to its greatest potential". He ascribed different miraculous abilities to his various rings and necklaces and bracelets. The shopkeeper had been in the business long enough to have lived through the fads of crystals and pyramid-power, to have gone to EST seminars and had herself tested with an e-meter, so she figured this guy was just trafficking in another new line of bullshit, but she liked his designs, so she bought a few samples. The rings she had sold to the men last night were part of what he called his XY line. The jewelry maker claimed that they could detect the wearer's position on the sexuality spectrum. If the stone was pitch black, the wearer was uncontrovertibly heterosexual. The bluer the stone became, the more the wearer embraced their homosexuality. The storekeeper initially assumed the jeweler was just trying to unload crates of unsold mood rings from the Seventies with a modern angle that might make them appealing to gay couples getting married. (He also offered an XX line for lesbians, which accounted for the hot pink stone on the saleswoman's ring finger.) But the jewelry maker assured her that what made the rings mystical was their power to nudge the wearer along that sliding scale until they reached the point where they felt most comfortable in their own skin. At first, that seemed like an extravagant claim, but the saleslady had seen the jeweler's promises borne out hundreds of times now and, from the evidence before her, Damon had become far more comfortable with his gayness since last night. After she finished ringing up Damon's items on the antique cash register, the saleslady asked if Damon needed anything else. "Or perhaps a gift for you friend?" Damon would love to surprise Q with a gift, but he hesitated, informing the saleslady, "I don't want to buy him any clothes, because they might be too small for him. If he gets this new job today, they're probably going to want him to pack on a lot more muscle." She heard the magic word and brought out her jewelry box, selecting a pair of wide bracelets made from leather and silver. They had a very rough-hewn macho look, like something a gladiator or Thor would wear, and Damon thought Quinn would look fierce in them. "I'll take them!", he shouted without even asking the price. The saleslady rang it up and noticed that Damon was still studying the jewelry box in search of something else. "I don't suppose you sell...another kind of ring." "What kind of ring?" Damon blushed, his freshly-cleansed pale skin serving as a flesh-and-blood mood ring, turning practically scarlet. Although no one else was in the store, Damon still felt embarrassed to ask, so he whispered his request in the saleslady's ear. She nodded and gestured for him to follow her into the back of the shop. * * * Quinn was pumped! After Quinn's cloudburst of an audition, the director asked him to remain in the area for a while until they finished seeing the other actors. So, for a couple of hours, Quinn wandered the parking lot, picked up a protein shake from the Jamba Juice at the mall across the street, then returned to his car to wait until the director needed him again. God, he loved it here. Back home, the leaves would be falling soon and the air would be turning crisp already, while he could sit in his convertible with the seat leaned back and his shirt off, working on his tan. An assistant finally came out to tell Quinn they were ready for him. When he started to put his shirt back on, the assistant told him, "That won't be necessary." Quinn returned to the audition room, expecting to do a full audition, since he'd only said about ten sentences during his earlier tirade, but the director informed him they had heard enough. Quinn felt dejected, like he was being held after school to get a scolding on the way real professionals behave. Instead, the director informed Quinn that he had the role. Inside his head, Quinn felt like leaping ten feet high, but he retained his reserved Alexander-ish demeanor and simply stated, "You won't be sorry." Once he was on the studio lot, Quinn would have a personal trainer in the show's private fitness center, but since Quinn's first episode wouldn't shoot for a couple of weeks, they wanted him to hit the gym heavily in the meantime. His body was well on its way to perfection, but for maximum tittilation value, the soap writers set a high proportion of the show's scenes in bedrooms, bathrooms, locker rooms, saunas, massage parlors, laundry rooms -- anyplace that the male actors could conceivably display a lot of skin. For a story arc about an academic cheating scandal, the writers had even bandied about the notion of a clothing-optional library. Wags in the press had long ago dubbed the show "Topless Hospital" and "The Hung and the Shirtless". "As a gay character," the director said to Quinn, "it would seem unlikely that your physique would be less spectacular than the straight characters, wouldn't you say? You do feel comfortable playing a gay character, don't you?" "Absolutely," said Quinn as his ring became a touch more brilliant. Quinn wanted to share the good news with Damon immediately, but he didn't want to do it over the phone. He wanted to see Damon's face. He leapt into the convertible without even opening the door and sped back to his apartment. Climbing out, he slipped on a ribbed purple tank top from his gym bag, slung his dress shirt, suit coat and tie over his arm and walked toward his front door. A veritable bunker of shopping bags was piled by his front door, and extending from behind them were two alluringly slim, smooth legs, feet in blue flip-flops with blue painted toenails. Had Renee already returned from her commercial shoot in Baja? Shit, she did send him that damn text message this morning and he never even looked at it. But why was she sitting outside, when she had Quinn's spare key? "I'm sorry, baby. You been waiting long?", said Quinn as he rounded the corner. "I don't mind," said the soft-voiced man seated on Quinn's welcome mat. Quinn leapt back, startled by the stranger, then became even more startled when he realized this was no a stranger. It was Damon, but he was virtually unrecognizable from the sexual dynamo he'd left on his futon this morning, let alone the shy and awkward man he had he known since college. "I didn't see your car out front," said Quinn, as if that was the reason for the look of shock on his face. "Fascist cops towed it away. I must have parked where I shouldn't have. Far as I'm concerned, they can keep it. I can't be seen in a monstrosity like that." Damon struggled to his feet and pointed to some of the shopping bags surrounding him. "Can you help me with these, babe?" Quinn grabbed two bags and unlocked the door. Damon preceded him into the living room, and Quinn was hypnotized by the waggle of Damon's ass in white short-shorts that ran out of fabric before his glutes ran out of curves. A baby-blue fishnet tank top covered Damon's now hairless torso, and silver studs now adorned both of his earlobes. His fingernails were coated with the same navy-blue nail polish as his toenails, and his face had a refreshed appearance that made him appear even more boyish than usual. But it was Damon's hair that commanded the most attention. Although it had been buzzed to the scalp on the sides last night, the top had been left fairly thick and messy. Now, the hair on top was dyed a rich shade of blue that matched his eyes and stood in dozens of gelled spikes. Damon couldn't help admiring himself in the reflection on the microwave door. "Maybe I read too much anime as a kid and had too many crushes on cartoon Asian boys with blue hair, but I fuckin' love it. Don't you fuckin' love it?" He could never have imagined it, but Quinn had to admit that it did work with the rest of Damon's new look. "I do, but it's so...different." "Different is what I want. I've had 23 years to be the same." Damon sat his little butt on the edge of the futon and leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees as he looked up expectantly at Quinn. "So...how did the audition go?" Quinn wanted to draw out the suspense, but he was so eager to share the news, he was about to burst. He spoke softly with as blank an expression as he could manage. "I got it." Damon's high-pitched squeal triggered a frenzy of barking from the dogs next door. Just as he had envisioned, Damon leapt into the air, wrapping his slender arms around Quinn's neck and his bare legs around Quinn's waist. Quinn gave Damon a soulful French kiss and inhaled deeply. "What have you been drinking? You taste like Kool-Aid", he asked when he pulled his mouth away from Damon's. "Oh, I'm wearing fruit-punch-flavored lipstick," Damon explained. "Just a little. Also a little eyeliner. And some mascara. You like?" "As the actor in this relationship, I thought I'd be the one wearing the makeup." He smiled, then noticed Damon's expression suddenly turning serious. "What's the matter?" Damon seemed ready to sob. "You just called this a relationship." He grinned as a tear formed in the corner of his eye and, for the first time in his life, Damon had to worry about runny mascara. Quinn hugged Damon's thin ribcage tightly, fearing he could snap the poor little guy if he squeezed any harder. "Oh, I got you a gift," Damon declared, motioning for Quinn to lower him to the floor. "To congratulate you for getting the part." "But you didn't know I'd gotten the part." "Positive thinking!", Damon shouted as he rummaged through his shopping bags. Quinn thought Damon was nearly broke, but he had clearly gone on a massive shopping spree. Damon flung bright pastel shirts and gold lame vests and sequined socks onto the floor. Quinn even thought he spotted Renee's striped shirt and black leggings among the pile, but he was sure he was mistaken. Finally, Damon found what he was looking for and handed the two leather and silver cuffs to Quinn. "For my macho macho man," Damon said. Quinn looked at them, impressed with the craftsmanship but unsure if they were exactly him. "Thank you so much, Damie, but you really shouldn't have." "I should have and I did. Try them on!" Quinn unbuckled them and strapped them onto each wrist. Just like when he tried on the ring last night, he felt a comforting warmth in his body as soon as the cuffs were in place. Maybe they weren't Quinn's type of accessory, but he could certainly see Alexander wearing them. They felt like battle armor, like something Alexander the Great might have worn leading his troops. Maybe Alexander in the soap sees himself as a modern-day Alexander the Great, Quinn thought. Not that Quinn knew much about Alexander the Great, aside from that stupid movie his girlfriend at the time made him watch where Colin Farrell and Jared Leto had the hots for each other. "Mmmm, Colin and Jared," thought Quinn. "Maybe that movie was better than I gave it credit for." A slight buzz and heaviness spread through his muscles, as if he had just finished a heavy workout -- which reminded him... "I gotta go work out. They said I'm gonna have a lot of shirtless scenes, so the show wants me to get more ripped." Damon grinned. "My heavens, I am gonna watch this show on a constant loop." "You wanna come work out with me? Then afterwards, we can have a celebratory dinner." Damon, for whom working out had always been a slog, clapped excitedly, then searched his bags for his new workout clothes. When they arrived at the gym, for once it was Damon drawing the curious eyes. Not that Quinn was completely ignored, but here he was but one of hundreds of muscleheads. As far as Quinn could tell, Damon was the only blue-haired pixie in a Madonna "True Blue" t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, old-fashioned scrotum-length running shorts and electric-blue Chuck Taylors. As Quinn headed toward the free weights, Damon hung back by the treadmills. "Aren't you coming over to lift with me?", Quinn asked. "I'm gonna work on my calves. You go play with the lummoxes. But I'll have my eye on you, Q, so don't get too friendly with any of them." "Promise," Quinn said, rushing back for a kiss and another dose of Damon's fruity lipstick, which he would continue to taste throughout his workout. Quinn was practically delirious. He was prone to falling into relationships quickly, with his swift courtship of Renee being the most recent example, but he'd never felt quite so smitten with anyone as he was with Damon. Then again, it's not like they rushed into this. They had been acquainted for several years already, but until yesterday Quinn hadn't even acknowledged certain tendencies in himself. He always was a little slow to catch on. Quinn worked his way in with the muscle beasts whose inflated bodies made him feel puny. He never wanted to look that absurd, and would draw the line if the show suggested that he take steroids or any other drugs. He wanted any muscle growth to be natural -- unaware that, as soon as he began to lift wearing the new cuffs that Damon had given him, they would start to work their own mysterious magic on his muscle tone. It started slowly, as he noticed that the usual weights he could curl and bench felt surprisingly easy today. He attributed that to his great mood and the adrenaline rush of landing the part on the soap. But when he moved up to the next heaviest weight, that too was a breeze. He had to go up a full fifty pounds before he started feeling any strain at all. With each set of curls, his arms were swelling massively, his biceps veins snaking in sharp relief on top of them. By the end of his workout, he was handling as much weight as the WWE wannabes surrounding him, and his bulging muscles were testing the limits of the seams on his tank top. Sprinting on the treadmill, Damon watched with fascination, turned on by the sight of Quinn's expanding lats within his purple tank. When the two men hit the showers together, Damon didn't even attempt to hide the erection he was getting. Quinn had never been one to check out other guys' dicks in the locker room, but he figured Damon was fair game now. He was amazed to see that Damon's cock was several inches longer than it had been last night -- bigger than Quinn's now! -- and was that...a cock ring? Yup, the silver beauty that Damon had been afraid to ask for out loud was now working its own form of magic on Damon. Back in the locker room, Quinn attempted to pull on his plaid flannel shirt, but it was tight on his arms in a way it never had been before. When he tried to pull the buttons toward the buttonholes, he heard loud ripping sounds as the sleeves separated at the shoulder and his lats tore a slit straight down the back. He was maintaining an incredible post-workout pump, with a deep crevice between his pecs and sharper definition in his abs. His briefs were a tighter squeeze than usual. He had to lie down on a bench and pull like hell to get his pants over his quads, and there was no way his zipper was going all the way to the top. His sneakers were the only things that fit remotely well. He lay on the bench, defeated and barely clothed. "I'd say our Q needs to go shopping again," said Damon, hovering over him, amused. Quinn looked up and witnessed the latest incarnation of Damon. He had washed out the gel, so his blue hair now hung across his forehead in choppy bangs that grazed his eyebrows. He wore a silver button-down shirt with the short sleeves rolled up to display his modest biceps, a vintage hand-painted necktie, tight tweed slacks turned up at the cuffs, baby-blue socks and black-and-white wingtips. Quinn suddenly felt like a schlub. "I'll only go shopping if you pick out what I buy." Quinn entered Damon's favorite shop wearing sweatpants and no shirt. The same saleslady was at her usual post, and she noticed the cuffs on Quinn's wrists and the dramatic renovations they had already performed on his body. Quinn wasn't nearly as fussy as he had been last night. With the ring and now the leather cuffs, he felt he'd truly found his center as Alexander...and he felt pretty secure as Quinn too. The selection of clothes that fit Quinn's new size was limited, but when he tried on a blue sharkskin suit, Damon swooned. Quinn didn't want to invest in more clothes right now, not knowing if today's growth spurt was a one-time event, but this ought to do for tonight. They found a romantic French restaurant where they only had to wait two hours for a table, giving time for the men to have their longest sustained conversation ever. Damon's memories of his own past seemed to be receding like a bad dream, with only the past 24 hours feeling real to him, so they mostly talked about their hopes for the future. After an extraordinary candlelit dinner fueled by much wine, Damon asked if he could drive the convertible home. Quinn asked, "Can you drive a stick?" Damon cupped a hand under the newly hefty bulge in his pants and assured Quinn that he could. Damon tooled down Wilshire Boulevard, frequently glancing over at the sharp-dressed hunk in the passenger seat and smiling. When he passed the usual turn-off, Quinn asked, "Wasn't that my street?" Damon just smirked and kept driving toward the setting sun. When they arrived at the coast, a jazz band was playing a free concert on the Santa Monica Pier. Damon parked the car and led Quinn toward the music. They hung on the edge of the crowd, Quinn with his arms around Damon, taking in the sights and sounds of the band and the sky and the ocean and the carnival rides, while remaining in their own little world. As a slow song began to play, Quinn asked if Damon would like to dance. "I thought you would never ask," said Damon. "Literally." Having been performing in musicals since he was in seventh grade, Quinn was by far the superior dancer, but he took it easy on his partner, just swaying back and forth as Damon rested his blue hair against Quinn's chest. Quinn stared at the darkening sky and wondered how it was possible for his life to have changed so radically in a single day. He had no idea that Damon was thinking the same thing. When the concert ended, they returned to the convertible. This time Quinn drove, with Damon reclining so his head rested in Quinn's lap. He offered to blow Quinn as he drove, but Quinn did not want to end this perfect day by plowing into a freeway overpass while cumming on his windshield. Damon agreed to wait until they got home, contenting himself with nuzzling the hardening bulge under Quinn's shiny pants. Once they reached Quinn's place, they had almost completely undressed each other in the short distance between the car and the front door. They stumbled inside and fell immediately onto the futon. Damon's cock grew stiff and rigid as he kneaded Quinn's impressive new muscles. He pushed Quinn down and straddled him, guiding the head of his cock toward Quinn's ass. Quinn flinched. "What're you doing down there, young man?" "I'm taking my new pink Cadillac for a test drive," Damon grinned. "First you drive my convertible, now this? When did you get so aggressive?" "Since I realized what I wanted." Damon eased the head of his cock into the virgin territory of Quinn's tight hole. Quinn shouted, his arms spread wide to grip the sides of the futon, his ring now a bright turquoise, just like Damon's. Damon bent down and kissed Quinn's chest, whispering, "It's okay, baby, it's okay." As Damon's cock pressed deeper inside of him, the agony shifted to pleasure for Quinn, as he experienced a feeling he never knew he could crave. He spread his powerful hands over Damon's ass cheeks and helped provide thrust for Damon. When Damon came inside Quinn, they both moaned with satisfaction. After cuddling for a while, Damon offered to let Quinn fuck him, but Quinn took a rain check, already having had more excitement today than he could have possibly expected. "In that case," said Damon, "I need to take a leak." He leapt from the futon and scurried naked into the bathroom. Quinn lay spread-eagled, toying with his semi-hard cock and suddenly feeling envious of Damon's endowment. Moonlight filtered through the venetian blinds, illuminating the floor which was scattered with their discarded clothes and Damon's purchases from earlier in the day. Quinn noticed a shadow moving past the blinds, but thought nothing of it until he heard a key sliding into the lock. He scrambled to find something to wear as the door swung open and Renee switched on the lights. She was lugging two suitcases and looked haggard, her usually stylish hair now a straggly mess. Quinn had only managed to get one leg of his sharkskin pants up to his knee. "Renee! You're here!", shouted Quinn, trying to make up in volume what he lacked in enthusiasm. She rubbed her eyes with exhaustion. "The shoot was canceled because a hurricane was heading for Baja. Didn't you get my text?" Oh fuck, Quinn thought, I never did read that fucking text. "Yeah, of course I did. I just didn't expect you back so soon." Renee glanced at the shambles of the room and said, "No, apparently not. What the hell happened here?" "I, uh, just went on a shopping spree to celebrate. I wanted to wait to tell you when you got back. I got the part on that soap!" "You did? That's great, honey." She walked over to hug Quinn, who gave her a friendly hug back. Renee was amazed by Quinn's size. "My god, how did you get so huge?" "What do you mean? Just good diet and exercise." Renee cast a skeptical eye. "I've only been away for two days. Nobody balloons like this in two days." She looked at the slim-fitting clothes strewn about the floor. "I'll tell you one thing, you're never going to fit into any of these baby clothes you bought. Didn't you try any of them on before you bought them?" Just then, Renee noticed her own striped shirt and leggings among the other clothes. She picked them up and showed them to Quinn. "What are these doing out?" "I don't know. Honestly." And he WAS being honest. About that. Renee heard a flush in the bathroom and her eyes turned accusingly toward Quinn. "Do you have another woman here?" "What? No. NO. Absolutely not. Listen, why don't you go back to your place and get a good night's sleep and we can talk about all this in the morning when we've got clearer heads?" He tried maneuvering her toward the front door, but she outflanked him and dashed toward the bathroom door. She was about to knock when some naked twink with blue hair and a silver cock ring swung the door open. He smiled with surprise upon seeing Renee. "Oh, hi!", he said, grinning. But as Renee reeled, looking back and forth from Quinn to Damon and trying to piece together what was going on, Damon put a hand to his lips and said, with concern, "Oh." Renee felt like she had stepped into an alternate universe. The last thing she expected when she returned to L.A. was to discover her boyfriend Quinn's body had suddenly become so jacked. No, that's not true. The last thing she expected was to discover a blue-haired boytoy hiding naked in Quinn's bathroom. Scratch that. The last thing she expected was to discover that the blue boy in question was that sweet mild-mannered guy Damon who had first introduced Renee to Quinn. She was now seated at Quinn's kitchen table across from Quinn and Damon. As soon as Damon emerged from the bathroom, Renee demanded an explanation. Quinn said she was owed that, but asked if they could at least get dressed first. Quinn pulled on the pants of the sharkskin suit he had bought earlier in the evening but he remained distractingly shirtless. Damon poked through the piles of his new clothes that were scattered around the living room floor, his pale white butt pointing up as he bent down. Renee turned away, embarrassed...after first taking an astonished look at Damon's surprisingly hefty penis. She would never have suspected he was so gifted down there, proving that you can't judge a cock by its cover. Damon finally slipped into a bowling shirt and a pair of fashionably pre-torn blue jeans and walked over to the table, handing Renee a blue-and-white striped shirt and some black leggings. "These are actually yours." "Yes, I know." Renee tossed them aside. "Do you have anything else that's actually mine?" Damon shook his head silently. Damon took a seat beside Quinn at the table. He wanted so much to lean against Quinn's powerful shoulder for support, but that wouldn't be helpful in this situation. Instead, he brought his left foot onto his chair, placed both hands upon his hairless knee where it poked through a hole in his jeans, then rested his chin upon his hands. Quinn sat upright with his hands folded on the tabletop. Arms crossed, Renee took a deep breath and tried to speak as calmly as possible. "So, can you tell me what exactly I walked into here?" Quinn and Damon looked at each other with puzzled expressions. Neither was quite positive how to describe what had happened in the past day and a half. Damon deferred to Quinn, who took his best shot. "Well, you know I was having trouble getting a fix on this character I auditioned for." "The gay guy," said Renee. "Right, the gay guy. I just wasn't feeling like I had a grasp of who he was, what he would look like, how his mind worked, what his needs were. So I asked Damie...Damon to come over and give me his advice." "I see. And where did he give his advice first? In your mouth or in your ass?" Both Damon and Quinn were outraged by this remark and shouted loudly. Renee immediately regretted it, and she motioned for the guys to quiet down. "I'm sorry. That was rude. But I think you can understand that this all has me a little...shaken up." Quinn reached over and held her right hand in his left. "I do understand. These past couple of days have been a whirlwind for us too." Renee looked down at Quinn's comforting hand and noticed the unfamiliar turquoise ring on his finger. Confused, she glanced over at Damon and saw an identical piece of jewelry on his hand. She let go of Quinn's hand. "Are you guys wearing matching rings?" Quinn pulled his hand back, and Damon covered his ring with his chin. Quinn insisted, "It's not what you think. It's not like we're a couple or anything." Damon glanced at Quinn, miffed. It may have been a whirlwind, but Damon had indeed begun thinking of them as a couple. "Oh, so you're not a couple," said Renee. "You just happen to have bought each other identical rings." "We didn't buy them for each other. I bought them both," said Quinn, not exactly helping. Renee looked at the clock on the microwave. It was 2:17am and she felt ready to collapse. "Can you just tell me if you two have been...doing this since we started dating?" Before Quinn could reply, Damon reached across the table and took Renee's hand. "No, Renee. I would never in a million years try to break up a couple." Renee stared at Damon's painted nails, then looked him in the eyes. "Isn't that precisely what you've done?" She then turned to Quinn and said, "I guess I can't be totally surprised. I've dated enough actors to know...that I should stop dating actors. But you're such a regular dude. I have a hard time picturing you being happy with..." She tried to come up with an apt description of the blue-haired waif across the table. "With some refugee from a rave." She stood, taking her shirt and leggings in her arms. She crossed the room, opened the front door, grabbed her suitcases and said, "I'll come back tomorrow and pick up the rest of my things. Let me know when you two won't be here. I wouldn't want to interrupt anything." She walked outside and the door closed behind her. Quinn stared at the door, feeling sad for Renee without feeling any remorse for what he and Damon had done. Damon also felt bad for Renee but had no regrets. He and Quinn had merely been carried away by irresistible, repressed longing for each other, right? Right? Quinn had run out of words for the day. He walked over to the futon and fell onto it face-first. Within a minute, he was snoring. Damon walked over, sat beside Quinn on the bed and slid his hand gently across Quinn's broad, well-muscled back. Damon glanced at his clothes scattered about the floor and began to put them back in his shopping bags. He slipped on his flip-flops, quietly carried his bags outside and gently shut the door behind him. On his iPhone, he looked up the address for the city impound lot, then called a taxi to take him there to get his car. * * * In the morning, Damon woke up alone and naked on his own futon, back in his own crummy apartment. He looked at the pile of shopping bags heaped by the front door and knew he had to go back to work today to start building up the money to pay off his credit cards. He walked into the bathroom and took a look in the mirror. He had looked so different the last time he was at work, a mere two days ago. He was bound to be the talk of the office today, walking in with blue hair and pierced ears. He could minimize the impact by removing the blue nail polish and wearing some of his lackluster old clothes, but he'd be slipping right back into the old camouflage that had kept people from noticing him for so long. He didn't plan to hide himself any more. Let them talk. Damon could handle it. The arrival of the new version of Damon in the office was almost a non-event. Partly it was because Damon had chickened out a bit and worn the least showy of the various outfits he had bought yesterday, even if a coral polo, white cargos and leather sandals were nothing like the nondescript clothes he typically wore. Partly it was because they were in L.A., where it seemed that most of the population lived their lives in a constant quest to be noticed, discovered and given their own reality show. But mostly it was because no one was really surprised that Damon was gay, no matter how meek and restrained his behavior had been. The blue hair was a surprising choice, but perhaps he had needed to make a bold, definitive statement. Most of his co-workers just felt relieved that they could stop using neutral pronouns when asking Damon if he had a "significant other" of if he had any plans to do anything with "anyone" on a holiday weekend. * * * Quinn's dreams were stressful all night. When he woke up, he felt like he'd just spent six hours watching Renee, Damon and Alexander have one non-stop argument. That's odd, thought Quinn. Why was Alexander in the fight and not me? But Alexander had been more forceful in defending his position than Quinn had been when he was trying to explain things to Renee. Alexander was unapologetic. If he wanted something -- or someone -- he found a way to get it, and felt no regrets for anyone who got hurt in the process. Much better than wishy-washy Quinn who might put on a tough act but, as soon as the performance ended, went right back to trying to be everyone's friend. Right now, Alexander's viewpoint had greater clarity, and seemed to be more defensible. Quinn noticed the time and would have to hustle to get to the studio for his first meeting with the cast and crew. No time for a shower, and as he reached for his deodorant, he realized he felt no need to cover up his natural scent. Checking himself in the mirror, he could swear he looked even more pumped this morning. His serratus anterior were much more clearly defined over his ribs, and the V leading into his shorts was more prominent. The stay-at-home moms of America -- as well as the gay guys with DVRs -- were going to enjoy seeing Alexander back on their favorite soap. He pulled on the white Oxford shirt he had worn last night, rolling up the cuffs to expose the bracelets that Damon had given him. His chest must have expanded overnight too, as the top three buttons of the shirt couldn't reach their buttonholes. He tucked the shirt tails into his sharkskin pants, the only pants he owned that would fit him any more. Quinn felt his ego swell as he gave his name at the gate and was waved onto the lot. Sure, it was only a soap opera, but he could tell you a dozen great actors who served their time in soaps on their way to the Oscars. All he needed was a platform where people could notice him and he would be on his way. A staffer from the show met him and guided him to the soundstage, where he spotted Lionel, the British director he had met yesterday at the audition. He was reintroduced to the show's producer and head writer, Betsy, who had also been there. She complimented him on his performance. "I've never seen anyone rebound from catastrophe to triumph quite so spectacularly. That's just what we want to see in Alexander." Lionel breezed over and asked Betsy a quick question before the next take. He was delighted to see Quinn. "Why if it isn't our Alexander! Good to see you again, my boy. And aren't you fliing out that shirt nicely today. Don't get too used to that. You know our motto here: It's either 'no shirts' or 'no show'." Betsy led Quinn on a quick tour of the set and introduced him to more people than he could ever hope to remember, including the cameramen, makeup people, even the other writers. When they got to wardrobe, two costumers sized up the new arrival. "It'll be a pleasure to dress you," said a slender young man, while his older female counterpart remarked, "Before the writers figure out how to undress you." "Yeah, I've heard that clothing isn't a big chunk of the budget here," said Quinn. Betsy asked Quinn to take off his shirt. "Maybe it'll give our designers here some ideas." Quinn did as he was asked, although he figured the male costumer was already getting ideas before Quinn disrobed. Betsy was surprised to see how pumped Quinn looked today. "That's funny. We were a little worried that you weren't buff enough yesterday, but I can't imagine why we thought that." "Ooh," said the young designer, "I really like those leather cuffs. You'll have to tell me where you got them. And what an interesting ring. Is that sapphire?" "Honestly, I don't know what it is. But I was hoping I could actually wear these things on the show. They seem like the sort of stuff that Alexander would wear, and they really helped me find the character." Betsy nodded and said they would consider it. As the designers took initial measurements for Alexander's wardrobe. Quinn idly fiddled with his ring. His fingers had grown beefier, like the rest of his body. They might be forced to let him wear the ring as part of his costume, because it didn't seem like it was going to budge. He heard a knock on the door and saw three very fit and handsome young men hanging in the doorway. "We heard there was new meat," said the swarthy one in the front. "Welcome to Topless Hospital, Alexander." * * * At the end of the workday, several of Damon's co-workers asked if he wanted to join them at happy hour to celebrate the end of the week. Damon was surprised and attributed their friendliness to his new look and attitude. If he thought back, he would have recalled that they were all very friendly to him when he started on the job, frequently inviting him to go drinking or to come to someone's party, but after Damon consistently turned them down out of shyness and insecurity, they stopped asking. Damon still turned them down tonight, but at least he had a genuine excuse to offer for once. "I think I'll be doing something with my fr...my BOYfriend," he smiled, shutting down his computer. He felt light on his feet as he strolled to the parking garage and called Quinn. Damn. Voicemail. "Hi, babe, it's Damon. Damie. Hope everything was extra special on your first day! I was thinking we could go out for sushi and then I saw online there's a big dance at Arena which we might want to do after." Maybe he was being too bossy. Didn't want to spoil things by pushing too hard. "Unless you've got other ideas. Whatever. Anyway, give me a call and let me know, okay? Okay, byeeee." He hung up and considered texting too, but he didn't want to seem too needy. Quinn was probably still busy at the studio. Damon was sure he would call back when he got the chance. * * * "More tequila!", shouted Enrico, who played a brooding but sexy doctor on the soap. He was seated at the innermost side of the round booth at the Mexican restaurant, with each arm hanging over the shoulders of a large-breasted young woman. "And more chips!", shouted Terry, who played a streetwise but sexy doctor on the soap and whose entire left hand was currently inserted below the waistline of the tight jeans worn by the buxom young woman who was currently nibbling his ear in the booth. "And more salsa!", shouted Chad, who played a naive but sexy doctor on the soap and was currently "Lady and the Tramp"-ing a nacho chip clenched in his teeth, crunching his way toward the giggly young woman attempting to keep the other end of the chip between her front teeth. "And more tequila!", shouted Quinn, who had just spent his first day getting to know his future co-stars and was now getting a first-hand glimpse of the kind of raucousness one could drum up on a Friday night with the benefit of minor televised fame and a secure paying gig. Not that outgoing, handsome guys like these would have had trouble making friends at any bar they entered, but they became even more popular when they told these girls that they were footing the bill. Terry leaned over to Quinn and whispered, "We know you're not on salary yet. We'll cover you too. Just have fun!" At the moment, Quinn was having fun with the petite young woman sitting on his knee who was rubbing her hand across the smooth skin of Quinn's chest through the gap in his open shirt. She couldn't stop telling him how much she loved men with big muscles. Someone else at the table must have felt the same way, as Quinn felt bare toes sliding their way under the cuff of his pants and along his shin. At first, he suspected "Lady", but she was sitting fully on the bench of the booth with her feet tucked underneath her butt. No, the mystery footsie player was "the Tramp". Chad may be playfully eating chips for the rest of the world to see, but his tootsies were privately making moves on Quinn. The woman on Quinn's knee took Quinn's sudden erection as a compliment and gave him a big kiss, but Quinn kept his eyes fixed on Chad. When the four actors finally staggered out of the cantina, Quinn had ditched the petite woman and was having trouble finding where to insert the key into the lock of his car -- even thought it was an unlocked convertible with the top and windows down. Chad wandered over, asking if Quinn needed any help. Quinn informed him, "I'm fine." "You sure are," Chad whispered in Quinn's ear, discreetly sliding his palm across Quinn's crotch. Quinn turned instinctively to kiss him, but Chad pulled back. "Not here. Come with me, I've got a beach house." Chad yelled to Enrico and Terry, "Looks like the newbie's a lightweight. I'm gonna make sure he gets home. See you guys on Monday!" Quinn followed Chad to his car, which turned out to be a red Corvette. It took all of Quinn's remaining self-control not to ejaculate then and there. He climbed into the passenger seat and placed his hand lovingly on the stick shift. Chad shut his door, put his hand on top of Quinn's and planted a kiss on Quinn's lips. Quinn felt like his body was liquefying. As the Corvette roared away toward the coast, a faint buzz was emerging from the trunk of Quinn's convertible back in the parking lot. When Quinn had gone to pump some iron with the other guys at the show's full-service exercise room, Quinn had tossed his cell phone into his gym bag. Where it still sat. In Quinn's trunk. * * * Damon hung up, frustrated that Quinn wasn't calling him back. Maybe he'd "come to his senses" and gone back to Renee. Damon started to beat himself up for becoming so attached so quickly to Quinn, when Quinn obviously could have pretty much anyone he wanted...of any gender. But before he could sink into depression, Damon rallied his spirits. While draining the last of a bottle of white wine he had bought on the way home, a bottle he had hoped he would be sharing with Quinn, Damon was modeling for himself in the bathroom mirror, trying on various items of his new wardrobe. He wrapped his arms around his smooth body, pursed his lips and waggled his semi-hard cock which hung loose through his fly. "Suck my dick, Quinn Brooks," he shouted defiantly. He stuffed his phone and wallet into a kicky little man-purse, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door and into the night. Damon found a parking spot on the street a mere six blocks away from the club. He had gelled his blue hair so it jutted straight forward, hanging off his head like an extended cliff in a Road Runner cartoon. He wore a sheer short-sleeved shirt, Levi cut-offs so short that the bottom of the pockets were hanging out, and a pair of navy-blue Keds. If he was at all hesitant about his first solo excursion into gay bars since his big transformation, it wasn't evident in his purposeful stride and steel-eyed glare. Tonight, he was definitely on the prowl. After 45 minutes waiting in line, Damon was reconsidering the wisdom of a sheer shirt and shorts on a chilly September night. By the time he got in, he was sure his skin was now color-coordinated with his hair, but it felt good to finally be indoors and surrounded by hundreds of male bodies which were both hot and warm. His energy level was high, he was making flirty eye contact, he was taking the initiative to start unintelligible shouted conversations as the beat pounded relentlessly and the floor periodically filled with fog. On the surface, he was having a good time, but it wasn't the same without Quinn nearby. Damon headed to the bar for another glass of wine and pulled his phone from his bag. Still no messages. Even when Quinn used to blow off all of Damon's invitations to go out and do something, he had been unfailingly polite in promptly getting back to Damon. This wasn't like him. At least it wasn't like the old him. Damon shoved his phone back into his bag and pulled out a wallet to pay for his drink. He heard a husky voice behind him say, "I got this one, cutie." Damon turned around and discovered an enormous bear of a man looming behind him. His long dark hair in a ponytail, the man wore a leather vest, pants and boots, and heavy silver chains around his neck. His chunky arms and chest were heavily tattooed, but it was hard to make out any of them due to his heavy body hair. Damon was pretty sure that was a mermaid on the guy's forearm, but the hair made her look more like a werewolf. "You look cold, little buddy," the man said as he paid for Damon's drink and ordered a Miller Lite for himself. "Maybe you could warm me up," said Damon, leaning against the bar and sticking out his ass provocatively. Damon didn't think this guy was really his type. Then again, he was barely out of the closet. How could he be so sure what his type was? He clinked his wine glass with the man's beer can and smiled, wishing Quinn would return his calls. * * * The Corvette reached Chad's oceanside home astonishingly quickly, or maybe Quinn just hadn't been paying attention to the time or the traffic. Through the entire drive, his eyes had been fixed on Chad, his collar-length strawberry-blond curls, his slightly pug nose, his plump lips, the whisps of facial hair, the freckles on his suntanned skin, his toned biceps and triceps which flexed every time he turned the steering wheel, his strong hands wrapped in leather driving gloves. Quinn had never felt free to ogle another man blatantly like this and he was enjoying the sensation. Sure, he had been checking out Damon's body over the past couple of days, and he appreciated Damon's loyalty and friendship. Maybe he even loved the little guy. But Alexander would never let a prime cut of meat like Chad go undevoured. And could Quinn really give an authentic performance as the sexually omnivorous Alexander if the only gay sex he'd ever had was with one twink? Chad kept the lights low as they entered his cozy beach house. The sound of the waves, crashing then receding, provided a constant pulse that echoed through the building. As he followed Chad, he couldn't help but notice how many framed photos of Chad lined the walls and were propped on the furniture. No photos of Chad with anyone, just solo shots of him fishing or surfing, plus plenty of publicity headshots. Most of the living room had been made into a home gym, with windows offering an amazing view of the ocean to the west and floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining the south wall. "Want anything?", Chad asked from the kitchen. The refrigerator door was open, stocked with healthy foods and protein shakes on the lower shelves but an entire shelf of various beers at the top. Quinn also noticed that Chad had casually shed all of his clothes on the way to the kitchen, and the refrigerator light was now illuminating Chad's impressive musculature and outlining the shape of his substantial cock. Quinn stripped off his shirt and strode confidently into the kitchen, tilting Chad's head back and wrapping his lips around Chad's. Chad loosened Quinn's belt and tried to nudge Quinn's pants down, but Quinn's muscles had grown again today and the pants would not slip easily around Quinn's now massive glutes. Quinn grabbed one side of his open fly in each hand, pulling apart and shredding the fabric enough that he could step out of his pants. Chad tried to say something, but Quinn's tongue in his mouth made him unintelligible. He pulled back and breathlessly instructed Quinn, "The bench, the bench," pointing across the room to the home gym. The two impressive physical specimens made their way across the living room without ever letting each other go. Quinn sat down on an exercise bench and lowered Chad's ass onto his now erect penis. Quinn was rock-hard and was really getting off on Chad's body. Chad was also getting off on Chad's body. Chad moaned with pleasure as he gazed at his ecstatic expression in the mirror. He reached up and grabbed the lat pulldown bar on the exercise machine, both to steady himself and to study how beautifully the refrigerator light outlined his exquisite deltoids and biceps. He pulled down the bar to give himself a little extra pump to admire. After Quinn came the first time, they switched over to the inclined press bench. After that, the sofa. Then, the carpet. Eventually, the beach. Occasionally, Quinn would try to ask a question, but Chad shushed him quickly each time, not wanting to be distracted from his own sensations. By the time the sun rose, Quinn felt he knew every inch of Chad's body and barely anything about Chad's brain. Inside his own brain, Quinn could hear Alexander asking, "Isn't that enough?" * * * Before he even opened his eyes, Damon knew something was wrong. The sounds around him were unfamiliar, for one thing. The din of freeway traffic was so deafening that he felt like he must be lying on an exit ramp. The mattress beneath him was so lumpy and uncomfortable, he thought it must be stuffed with bowling balls, and he could feel an errant spring poking through the fitted sheet and scratching against his stomach. His asshole felt raw, his stomach queasy, his mouth parched. As his tongue explored his mouth, it detected notes of alcohol, tobacco and rubber. His whole head felt funny, beyond a typical hangover. He felt drained of energy and lacking in confidence. In that respect, Damon felt just like...old Damon. He finally risked opening his eyes, which weren't ready for the blast of sunlight shining freely through the room's nearly transparent curtains. Damon was in a shabby motel room, with unexplainable splotches staining the stucco ceiling, decades of cigarette residue coating the wallpaper and god knows what mixture of bodily fluids clinging to the matted strands of green shag carpeting. He was lying naked on a double bed with grimy sheets and several used condoms. Careful where he stepped, Damon stood up and peeked through the drapes. No wonder the traffic sounded so loud -- the freeway couldn't have been more than forty feet away. Damon walked gingerly to the bathroom, where soggy towels covered the floor. He leaned against the sink and checked himself in the mirror for any damage, but his face and body were still smooth and pale, except for the thin pink scratch mark across his tummy from the bedspring. He had major blue bedhead and had lost the stud from his left ear somewhere, but his cock ring was still in place. He couldn't put a finger on what was missing until he noticed his finger. His left ring finger. His ring was gone! He tried to remember who he might have been here with. He knew it wasn't Quinn, although he wished it had been. The last thing he could remember was drinking far too much wine at the club with...some big hairy guy. A big hairy guy who was paying a lot of attention to Damon, pawing his skinny arms and his perky butt. Could he possibly have come here with that guy? He sucked on something caught in his front teeth and pulled out a short, curly, black hair. Not exactly DNA proof, but that pretty well confirmed his suspicions. He wondered how long ago the guy had left, and whether he would be returning. As Damon looked around the room, he couldn't find his clothes. He checked under the bed. No clothes, but he saw a few other items there which were currently in the midst of decaying. Nothing in any of the dresser drawers except for a bible, from which someone at some point had torn out the entire Old Testament. The people who used this room probably didn't consult the Ten Commandments all that often anyway. No clothes in the bathroom, no clothes behind the TV, no clothes hanging on the lampshade. Damon even poked his head out the door, but saw no clothes outside. Shit, did the big guy ditch him here and take all of his clothes as well as his ring? Why would anyone do that? Unless... Damon suddenly got a sinking feeling. He hadn't noticed his man-purse anywhere in the room either. Where he kept his iPhone. And his keys. And his wallet. With his credit cards. And his driver's license. That showed his home address. Which the big guy could be ransacking at this very moment. Wrapping a soggy bath towel around his skinny waist. Damon ran to the motel office and spoke to the woman working behind two sheets of bulletproof glass. He shouted through the slot at the bottom of the window, "Were you working last night when I checked in?" The woman droned, "Yes, sir." She couldn't say she spent much time studying the faces of the motel's guests, but she was fairly confident that only one scrawny blue-haired white boy had registered last night. "Do you remember who was with me? Maybe a big hairy guy? Leather vest?" She shook her head. "I don't recall anyone with you, sir." Damon banged his head against the window, rattling the bulletproof glass. He leaned down again and called weakly through the gap, "Thank you for your help." The woman said, mechanically, "You have a nice day, sir." Damon's bare feet slapped against the cement as he made his way back to the room. When he tried the knob, he realized that the door had locked behind him. But there hadn't been a key inside the room anyway. Besides, he had no belongings left in there to retrieve. Tying a tighter knot in the towel around his waist, Damon took a seat at the side of the motel's drained pool, dangling his feet into the air at the deep end. Sure, he felt ripped off and dejected, but there was something more bothering him. Those feelings of pride, confidence and self-worth which had elevated his mood in the past few days were totally gone and he had reverted back to the same old meek, self-doubting Damon. He had felt so great dancing with Quinn on the pier. No, the good feeling came earlier, when they were at the French restaurant. No, it was definitely earlier than that. When they were fucking, Damon thought, starting to wonder if he could really have been that lucky to go to bed with Quinn Brooks. But, no, he was feeling positive about himself even before the fucking. Way back in the old lady's shop when Quinn bought him... ...the ring! * * * Quinn woke to something hard beneath him and something sticky on his face. As he felt around, he realized he was flat on his chest on Chad's redwood balcony, his naked buns baking in the mid-morning sun. He reached up to his forehead, where a Post-It note had been attached. Quinn peeled it off and tried to read Chad's nearly illegible printing. "OUT 4 A GUN BRITE BUCK"? With a little more study, Quinn deciphered it as "OUT 4 A RUN. B RITE BACK." Quinn stood up, giving the neighbors brunching on their deck next door a clear view of Quinn Junior. Quinn just smiled and waved. "Morning!" Quinn slid open the balcony door and stepped into Chad's living room. He couldn't resist checking out his reflection in the wall of mirrors. Damn, you just keep getting better, he thought with a wicked smile, grabbing his cock in one hand while he reached for a banana with the other. He peeled the banana and devoured it quickly, then scoured the kitchen for more food. His metabolism must be going nuts with his body's sudden growth, as he was famished. He whipped up a protein smoothie, and then another, before he felt even slightly satisfied. The idea of a run along the beach sounded nice. Maybe he would catch up to Chad. He searched the house for running gear that would fit him. He located some Speedo Jammer shorts that he could just barely squeeze into and hit the beach barefoot. He was still getting used to carrying so much extra muscle, but his endurance seemed to have increased along with it, and he found himself racing along faster than he had ever run in his life. He spotted another runner sprinting ahead of him, his lean muscles clearly visible. If it were possible, this guy might have negative body fat. Quinn shifted into overdrive to catch up with the guy, then eased back to stay even. The runner clearly felt challenged, so he kicked it up and pulled away, but Quinn wasn't going to let him get away. For the next mile, the lead seesawed until Quinn finally hit the wall and collapsed on the sand. The other runner laughed, victorious, then jogged back toward Quinn, still moving to avoid cramping up. "You move pretty fast for such a big guy," the runner told him. Quinn would have responded, but he was still panting too heavily. "You got that much endurance at everything?" Quinn stared at the runner's shock of red hair, his gaunt but handsome face, his fit body and the bulge under his fluorescent yellow running shorts. Five minutes later, Quinn was underneath a pier, leaning against a support column with his hands clutching the runner's shoulder muscles. The runner's red hair bobbed back and forth as he worked his tongue along Quinn's arching shaft. Quinn brushed a thumb gently along the runner's cheek. When did I become such a slut?, Quinn wondered, but at that moment, he shot his load, dislodging any deeper thoughts for the time being. * * * It's amazing what people throw away, if you just go looking for it. Damon knew he wasn't going to make it all the way back to West Hollywood barefoot and wearing nothing but a towel. His car hadn't been in the motel's parking lot, meaning either the hairy guy had stolen it or they had driven here in the hairy guy's vehicle, reducing Damon's current options to walking or hitchhiking. He checked in dumpsters and trash cans as he walked along and, one by one, found discarded bits of clothing which more or less fit him. He ignored the stains and the stench that coated the sparkly stretch pants and the One Direction t-shirt. He spotted several pairs of sneakers hanging from their laces across telephone lines, but couldn't figure out a way to retrieve them. Eventually, he located a bamboo sandal for his right foot and a zebra-striped Vans slip-on for the left. Frankly, he had worn sillier outfits in the past few days. By the time he reached Melrose Avenue, he must have walked ten miles. He desperately needed water, he was developing blisters on his right foot, and his pale skin was guaranteed to be lobster-colored and painful by tomorrow morning. But it was worth it. He had finally made it to the old lady's store. He could get an answer to why both he and Quinn had experienced such radical changes, and why Damon had suddenly lost his mojo this morning. He reached the door and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. He noticed a little sign on the inside of the door bearing the face of a clock, declaring "WE'LL BE BACK" with the hands set to 2pm. Damon slumped to the sidewalk, exhausted. Enough pedestrians took pity on this pathetic-looking guy and tossed him spare change that he was able to buy himself a bottle of water at a convenience store across the street. Walking out of the store, he saw the old lady unlocking the door. Seeing a disheveled crazy man bolting through traffic mid-block and heading straight toward her, the shopkeeper hurriedly got inside and slammed the door in his face. Damon screamed through the front window, "You gotta tell me what's going on! Look, remember me?" He pointed to his blue hair. She finally realized who it was. "Someone stole my ring. I need your help!" The storekeeper unlocked the door and let him inside, reeling from his pungent aroma. When he moved toward a rack of delicate vintage clothes, she said, "Please don't stand by those. I'd never get the stench out." He looked too weak to stand, so she led him to her stool behind the counter. Damon finished off his bottle of water and took a minute to catch his breath before speaking softly. "I need you to tell me about those rings you sold us. What do they actually do?" She composed her thoughts. "Well, to put it simply, they help you become the person you want to be. They free you of your inhibitions and let you explore your options." "So the ring didn't make me dye my hair and everything else? It just gave me the balls to do it?" "The ring may have given your balls a little...nudge. The color of the ring showed where you were on the scale from black being totally straight to bright blue being totally gay. Only you can say where on that scale you feel the most genuinely yourself." Damon thought back. Before he put on the ring, he was barely acknowledging his sexuality, let alone embracing it. After the ring, he felt like he could be wild and try anything, no matter how outrageous. Maybe he had gone a little overboard, probably overcompensating for years of self-repression, but somewhere in the turquoise range, Damon felt like he was in a comfort zone, living his life the way he had always wished he could. "So if I want to feel that way again, I guess I need to buy another ring?" The woman took Damon's hand and assured him, "If the ring taught you who the real you is, then just be the real you. You don't need a ring for that." Damon considered that. Maybe the ring had helped him realize that he did have the strength to be himself. "But what about the ring you sold my friend?" "He asked for something that would make him feel gay. Didn't it work?" "It worked great. But he wanted to ACT gay! For a role! On TV! He didn't want to BE gay in real life!" "Are you sure about that?" Damon still wasn't, entirely. Quinn definitely embraced his changes once they started happening, but Damon was never sure if that was just research for his character. "So once he takes off the ring, I guess he'll go back to acting the way he did before?" "Maybe. Unless he decides he likes his new self better." Damon shook his head. If he hadn't seen and experienced these changes personally, he would never have thought them possible. "You really should've explained all this up front." "Ah, but life is all about unexpected discoveries. Think of all the fun you would have missed." Damon looked down at the hodgepodge of stinky clothing he was wearing and didn't feel very fun right now. "How about the other stuff you sold us? Like that cock ring? Did that read my mind too and adjust my cock to the length I liked best?" "No, that just made your penis bigger," she said, matter-of-fact. Damon shoulders sagged. "Could I borrow your phone, please?" She pointed Damon to a rotary phone on the wall in the back room, then had to talk him through how to use it. He wanted to call Quinn and check up on him, but he had no clue what Quinn's number was or really what anyone's number was. They were all stored in memory on Damon's stolen iPhone. Instead, he got the number for a cab company that could take him the rest of the way home. He borrowed money from the shopkeeper to pay for the taxi. When he reached his apartment, all he wanted to do was walk inside and collapse on his futon. But he got a bad feeling when he saw the key stuck in the front door. Damon turned the knob, swung the door open and discovered that the big hairy guy had indeed come by and stolen most of his belongings, including the futon. All of Damon's new clothes were gone, leaving behind only the dullest or most unsightly relics from his past. He really would be starting from scratch, but at least he now had a sense of where he wanted to end up. He wasn't likely to be as flamboyant as he had gotten in the past few days, but he would never go back to being Mr. Camouflage. * * * After his blowjob under the pier, Quinn kept strolling toward Venice Beach. When he reached the outdoor weightlifting area known as Muscle Beach, he stopped to watch the bodybuilders working out for the enjoyment of the spectators passing by. Quinn's own muscles had grown huge enough that he could fit right in, and he found himself itching to get in there and lift. He felt a gigantic palm on his chest as he tried to enter and a towering muscleman asked Quinn if he was a member. Quinn explained that he was just passing by and didn't have any money on him. A short but powerfully built man nearby shouted, "Tramon, let him in. I'll pay his fee for the day." Tramon let Quinn onto the hallowed ground, and Quinn approached his benefactor. "Thanks, man. You didn't have to do that." "Call me curious. I wanted to see if all those muscles were just for show." He extended his hand, told Quinn his name was Dwayne, and offered to spot Quinn on the clean-and-jerk. Half an hour later, Quinn and Dwayne were back at Dwayne's condo, smoking pot and jerking each other off. After a while, Quinn asked to borrow some clothes from Dwayne, then continued on his walking tour of the coast. He found himself locking eyes with every cute guy he walked past. Most of them looked away in disgust and embraced their girlfriends as proof of their lack of interest, but he did end up making out with three of them (two as a couple) before the sun went down. His needs were growing insatiable. He fell asleep on a bench and spent most of Sunday wandering up and down the beach, trying to remember where Chad lived. Eventually it occurred to him to call the office of the soap opera and ask if they could give him the address. When he finally convinced the operator that he was really a cast member on the show who had just started on Friday, he was patched through to a frantic production assistant, who immediately connected him to Betsy. "Where have you been? We've been trying to track you down all weekend!" "I dunno," said Quinn, "just kickin' back." "Everyone was so excited after meeting you that we've decided to introduce your character sooner, in the episode we shoot tomorrow. I've already emailed you the script pages." "Actually, I'm not at home and don't have access to a computer right now. Is there any way I can get a hard copy?" "Of course. Where are you?" Quinn looked around for a landmark. "I'm by the ocean." "Could you narrow that down a bit? At least tell me it's the Pacific." Quinn walked to the nearest streetcorner and gave her an address. A production assistant arrived within half an hour, and he asked the PA to drive him to the Mexican restaurant where his car was still parked. He went inside and ate a few burritos while he studied his script, then sat in the convertible for a few more hours, reading and rereading his lines. By the time he arrived at the studio in the morning, Quinn was locked in the zone, thinking like Alexander, being Alexander. Betsy was relieved to see Quinn and led him toward his dressing room, where she proudly pointed out the star bearing the name "Quinn Brooks". "What do you think?", she asked. Quinn seemed ambivalent, which surprised her. "You look unhappy. It's usually a pretty big moment when an actor gets his own dressing room for the first time." "No, it's great," Quinn said in a tone that conveyed it wasn't great. "Is there any way you could put Alexander's name on the door instead? It might help me to stay in character." "Maybe you won't want to stay in character. Alexander is kind of a dick." Betsy laughed lightheartedly, but Quinn took it personally. "I don't know. I think he's got a lot of admirable qualities. He's a bit all over the place in the script, but I have some notes on how we can make him more consistent." Betsy smiled stiffly. Was Quinn unaware that she was not only his boss but also the person who had written that "all over the place" script? "I look forward to that," she lied, and led him to wardrobe. Quinn took off his shirt and the male costumer gasped as he saw how much bigger Quinn had become over the weekend. As Quinn tried on his first outfit, he couldn't even get his arms through the sleeves. The female costumer sighed and informed Betsy it was going to take them a while to alter Quinn's wardrobe. Betsy nodded, then placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "I know I said we wanted you buff, but maybe you should lay off the exercise for a bit. We wanted a hunk, not the Hulk." Betsy was called away, but the male costumer whispered to Quinn, "Can you tell me what you're taking? I've never seen results like this." Quinn looked indifferent, so the costumer returned his attention to measuring Quinn's inseam. Lionel, the director, walked past wardrobe and noticed Quinn. "Oh, there's our dear boy. Big first day, eh, Quinn?" Quinn glanced away from the mirror where he was admiring his physique to address Lionel. "I'd prefer if you would call me Alexander." Lionel chuckled until Quinn's expression convinced him the request was serious. "Oh, by all means, Alexander. We shall await you on the set. Verily." "I'll be there whenever these two are done," pointing toward the costumers. Lionel nodded and left. When he encountered Betsy on the soundstage, he informed her, "Mr. Daniel Day-Lewis would prefer that we call him Alexander for the duration." Betsy rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. I'm trying to cut the kid a break. Maybe it's just first day jitters." The production was running an hour late by the time Quinn reached the floor, the costumers still making some last-minute alterations. Chad approached Quinn and asked quietly, "Where did you take off to the other day? I was worried sick about you all weekend." Quinn waved a hand at him dismissively. "Please, I'm trying to focus." Chad fumed, thinking several words which he would not be allowed to say on the show. Lionel began to block the first scene, but as soon as they reached the first line, Quinn -- ahem, ALEXANDER -- loudly voiced his concerns about some of the dialogue. "Does any of this seem far-fetched to the rest of you? I realize it is only a soap opera, but come on. Can we get the writers in here to punch this up a bit?" Lionel pulled Quinn aside and whispered, "I don't disagree that you might have some valid points. Unfortunately, we're already behind schedule, Quinn." "Alexander", said Quinn. "Yes. Quite." Betsy walked over, asking what the problem was. "The problem," said Quinn, "is the words and the fact that I have to say them." Betsy bristled, trying desperately to control her temper. "I'm afraid there's no time for rewrites right now, so if you can just deliver the lines as written, maybe we can talk about future scripts when we have a bit more time to think." "Yeah, but this is the first time that people are going to see me and they'll think that I'm the one who's bad because I'll be the one saying these shitty fucking lines." Betsy was seething. Although she was a foot shorter than Quinn, she brought all of her anger and passion to bear and told him in a low but firm whisper. "I am going to let you go home and rest, because you are clearly not in the right frame of mind to work today. And while you are there, I would like you to think long and hard about whether you want to stay there, or whether you would prefer to come back here and do your job. You can call my assistant when you've decided." She spun on her heel and exited the silent soundstage. Lionel nervously called for an early lunch. * * * Quinn drove home in a fury. If he encountered any red lights along the way, he certainly didn't notice or obey them. He screeched his convertible into its parking space and stormed into his apartment. He had blown it. He'd submerged so deeply into his character that sensible, fun-loving Quinn wasn't even on that soundstage today. Just Alexander the arrogant prick. Quinn looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and was sickened by what he saw. Everything about him seemed phony, like he was looking at someone he no longer recognized. He ripped off Alexander's shirt and pants and stuffed them in the garbage. He yanked the leather and silver cuffs off his wrists and flung them across the room. Immediately, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. Exhausted, he flopped face first onto his futon, his arms hanging limply over the side. He sobbed into a pillow and breathed heavily as he found himself relaxing, unaware that his body was deflating like a popped Macy's parade balloon. The giant muscles that had exploded on his frame since last week gradually receded, their sculpted definition softening, his former leanness returning to his frame. When he reached the size he had been when this all began, the ring on his left hand was pulled downward by gravity and fell onto the floor. Quinn let out a deep exhale and fell asleep. Hours later, after the sun had set, he was awakened by a tapping on his door. He stretched his arms and shouted, "Who is it?" "Damon." Quinn smiled. He needed a friend right now. He walked to the door and opened it. Damon stood on the welcome mat with a look of concern. His hair was still blue, but without any gel and combed straight back, looking about as conservative as blue hair can look. His skin, by contrast, was sunburnt red. He still had a stud in his right earlobe, but wore no eye makeup. His skinny unadorned arms hung slack from the sleeves of a white v-neck t-shirt, tucked into tight black jeans. His nails still had blue polish, with his toes wriggling in flip-flops from the discount bin at CVS. The first thing Damon noticed about Quinn was that his old body was back and that the cuffs were off his wrists. He was happy to see that, since he never had any complaints with the way Quinn looked to begin with. He also saw that Quinn was no longer wearing the ring. "Hey," said Damon, optimistically. "Hey," said Quinn, exhaustedly. "Just hadn't seen you in a few days. Wanted to make sure you were okay." "That's nice. You're probably the only person in L.A. who gives a shit." "Oh, come on, there's..." Damon thought. "I'm sure there's lots of people. How are things going on the soap?" "I was a complete jackass today, so they sent me home." Quinn fell heavily onto his futon. "Sent you home? Did they fire you?" "Not exactly. They told me to think about if I wanted to come back." "And you're gonna tell them yes, right? You can't just blow off an opportunity like this." Damon risked sitting on the futon beside Quinn, but didn't make any physical contact. He had no idea how much of the past few days Quinn even remembered, or if he'd be embarrassed or ashamed about how intimate the two of them had gotten. "I don't know. I'm not sure I want to be that Alexander guy." "I know this isn't my specialty, but do you really have to BE him? Can't you just, like, ACT?" Quinn laughed for the first time all day. He reached up and slapped Damon on the shoulder, giving his body a friendly shake. "I can always count on you to put me in my place, Damie." Damie? Quinn had never called Damon that until he started wearing the ring. Quinn repositioned himself so he was kneeling on the futon. He put his arms around Damon's shoulders and kissed his neck. Damon got goosebumps, but knew that he had to tell Quinn everything he had heard from the shopkeeper about the magic ring. After hearing Damon's explanation, Quinn leaned back on his elbows and stared at the ceiling to process this new information. "So everything I did while I was wearing the ring was just me exploring my sexuality so I could learn what felt the most honest and real?" "Yeah, basically." "Kind of the way I figure out how to play a character. I keep doing the wrong things until I finally stumble into what feels right." "If that's how it works. You're the actor here." "Oh, I am? Does that mean I can be the one who wears the makeup again?" Damon turned with a smile. "I'm still wearing the fruit-punch lipstick." "Really?", Quinn asked. He leaned in and gave Damon a quick kiss on the lips. "Mmm. Still as good as I remembered." Damon didn't want to set himself up for getting hurt. He looked Quinn in the eyes and said, "All those feelings you've had over the last few days, you know they might just have been you trying to figure out how to be Alexander. They might have nothing to do with what the real you wants." "Yeah, but the real me is here right now, and he finally knows what he wants." "Seriously?" Quinn grinned. "That woman at the store was right. I've always been a little gay. I just refused to acknowledge it. But for the right guy, I think I can be a lot gay." He pushed Damon back onto the futon and kissed him. Damon yelped a bit as he pulled the v-neck over his head, as the fabric brushed against his sunburn. Quinn helped him wriggle out of his jeans, but they had only been making out for a couple of minutes when Quinn stopped. "Second thoughts?", Damon asked, his worst fears confirmed. "No, I just realized I've really got to act tomorrow. I need you to help me memorize my lines. But first, I'm taking you out to dinner. Just give me a minute to shower up." Quinn hopped to his feet, kissed the top of Damon's head and went into the bathroom. Damon's heart was skipping. He looked down from the edge of the futon and saw Quinn's ring lying on the floor. Damon picked up the little troublemaker and examined it. Hard to believe something so small could cause such huge changes. Damon clutched it in his hand, stood up and walked to the front door. Standing naked in the doorway, he hurled the ring as hard as he could, with no clue where it landed. He was just glad to get rid of it. As he walked back in, he noticed the leather-and-silver cuffs on the floor and pondered what to do with them. Quinn jumped out of the shower, wiped off the mirror and smiled, happy to see himself looking back again. He felt tremendously calm and, for the first time in his life, certain about himself. "Q?", Damon called from the living room, a hint of worry in his voice. "What, D?", asked Quinn as he swung open the door. Damon stood in the middle of the living room, wearing the cuffs on his wrists. In the brief time since he had tried them on, the cuffs had already enlarged the skinny young man's muscles so he resembled a competitive diver. His arms actually had distinct bulges, his pecs and abs had the beginnings of true definition, and his legs, already his best feature, gained significant size and tone. Damon smiled at Quinn and asked, "Can you help me pick out some clothes?"

Mr. Lee had become adept at guessing what his customers wanted before they asked for it, but the man who had just stepped through the front door of his shop was a puzzler. He cut an imposing figure: a muscular six-two, arms crossed, hands tucked under rock-solid biceps. From Mr. Lee's vantage point, the man was a study in blackness, with deep ebony skin, a shaved head, impenetrably dark sunglasses, matching black polo shirt (with no logo of any sort to break up the uniformity), sharply creased dress pants, and thick-soled black boots. Even under normal circumstances, little light filtered through the shop's intentionally grimy windows, but with this man standing between Mr. Lee and the glass, it was like Mr. Lee was caught in the shadow of a solar eclipse. "May I help you?", asked Mr. Lee curiously. "I understand you fulfill unusual requests," said the man in a low, clipped, all-business tone. "How unusual?" "I hear that you can change the human body in ways that most people would consider impossible." "I may have a different definition of impossible than most people." "Let's say, for example, that someone, on short notice, wished to appear older. Or more muscular." To Mr. Lee, the man appeared to be in his early-to-mid-thirties and was extraordinarily fit for a man of any age -- not the sort of customer who would typically ask Mr. Lee for either of these transformations. He added, "I'm asking for a friend." Mr. Lee nodded. Usually someone "asking for a friend" was merely too embarrassed to say they wanted the changes for themselves, but in this case it was plausible -- in fact, more understandable -- than that the man would want such modifications for himself. "Yes, I can do what you ask." The man let down his guard slightly, stepping closer to Mr. Lee and removing his sunglasses -- the whites of his eyes finally providing a contrast from the man's all-black color scheme, although his irises were such a dark brown that they might as well have been black too. His speech patterns retained the staccato rhythms of a military man or police officer, and his tone continued to suggest that the matters they were discussing were of world-shattering importance. "Can you be trusted to maintain the utmost secrecy?" "Of course," said Mr. Lee firmly. "What happens within these walls is private. I never reveal anything about my customers. Even to the police." The man in black allowed himself the slightest of grins, appreciating how Mr. Lee slyly fished for a hint of whether he was being visited by a police officer. The man reached behind him and unclipped a walkie-talkie (black, of course) from the waistline of his pants. "Send in King Joffrey." A black SUV with tinted windows screeched to a halt in front of the shop. The man inside Mr. Lee's shop swiftly swung open the door. A slight figure bounded nimbly from the vehicle, a black hoodie shielding his entire head from view. As soon as the newcomer was inside, his advance man closed the door and the SUV sped off. The man who had been speaking with Mr. Lee looked with concern at the dirt-covered windows which allowed in some light, and could allow outsiders to peer in. "You got any shades on those windows? I don't want any bypassers to see my friend here." Mr. Lee merely raised his hands in the air and the opacity of the windows changed to 100%, leaving the three figures in the shop illuminated solely by a single spotlight shining on the slender figure in the hoodie. "That's awesome," he said in a boyish tenor. "We should work an effect like that into the stage show!" He lowered his hoodie to reveal a youthful man with an enormous, carefully shaped cascade of blond hair. "You gotta tell me the trick." "No trick. Magic. You are a magician, maybe?" "I ain't no magician," the young man scoffed and looked up into the eyes of his protector, who towered over him by a solid six inches. "Dude doesn't even know who I am?" The large man turned to Mr. Lee. "I'm sorry, I should have done the introductions. Mister...Lee, is it? This is Billy Farrow. Perhaps you've heard of him?" "Pleased to meet you, young Mr. Barrow." Mr. Lee preferred to feign ignorance in such cases. If he was thought to be merely an ignorant, out-of-touch old Chinese man, people tended to be more willing to trust his vow of secrecy. But Mr. Lee had grand-daughters, and anyone in America within earshot of a girl between the ages of 9 and 13 was aware of Billy Farrow. He had first gained notice as a precocious 12-year-old by posting Vine videos: a new six-second song every day. This led to his major break the following year as a contestant on the music competition show, "America Wants S'more", in which viewers voted whether to let the singers continue performing or to drop them into a vat of liquid marshmallow. Billy Farrow survived to be the only contestant not "creamed" during his season, and the cult of Billy exploded. His fans were almost exclusively tween girls (who called themselves "Farrow-noids" and whose frenetic outbursts at concerts had been dubbed "Farrow-moans") and twink-loving gay men. Both groups loved him for one simple reason, and it wasn't his music: Billy Farrow was beautiful. In those first crude videos, he was unquestionably cute, but it was the fragile baby-fat cuteness which the horrors of puberty could potentially mangle into something truly unsightly. But by the "AMS" finale, it was obvious that this kid was developing into a fine-featured stunner. His trademark was the Farrow Flop, a swoop of sunkissed blond hair that hung over his right eye all the way down to his elegant cheekbone. Rumors abounded on the internet that he did not actually HAVE a right eye, which merely intensified fans' curiosity. Since it would be such a letdown to reveal that his hidden eye was simply an ordinary eye (albeit one sparkling purple in color, like the other), his manager had decided to maintain the mystery until such time as Billy's fortunes began to wane and he needed to do something dramatic to attract publicity. For a while, Billy tried to come up a signature gesture he could do whenever taking a picture on a red carpet. One such concept consisted of pointing both index fingers at the camera and winking his left eye...but since his right eye was hidden by the Flop, it just looked like his eyes were closed. Billy had recently turned 18 but was retaining his androgynous beauty remarkably well. Hormones had lowered his voice a bit, although he could still hit the high notes of his earliest hits. His fans still adored him and enough were continuing to buy his music rather than steal it that he had become a phenomenally wealthy teenager. His hard-nosed manager, Alan Wiseman, who had leapt aboard the Billy bandwagon after hearing just six seconds of his music, was insistent that Billy would not become another Justin Bieber or Lindsay Lohan or...god, the length of the list he could compile was truly depressing. Therefore, Billy's public image remained unsullied, if a bit whitebread. He spoke of loving his family and steering clear of alcohol and drugs and saving himself until he finds the right person because his life these days was "like bonkers cray-zee with traveling and recording and stuff". Yes, he said "stuff". That's how squeaky clean his public image was. He had been allowed to get his ears pierced, because tween girls thought that was "hot", but tattoos were vetoed after a focus group deemed them "gross" and "too street". But Wiseman was mindful that Billy was now officially an adult and was starting to chafe at some of the restrictions which had helped make both of them very wealthy. That's why, before Billy's frustrated desires had a chance to erupt into some grotesque and embarrassing spectacle that would be all over TMZ, Billy's chief bodyguard, the monumental Reese Boudreaux, had brought Billy to a whispered-about shop near Chinatown while they had a night off between gigs in San Francisco. If the rumors were true, perhaps Billy could have his own equivalent of the Amish tradition of rumspringa and get some of the rebelliousness out of his system. Reese informed Mr. Lee that Billy was a well-known celebrity who had trouble going out in public without being recognized. Fans had managed to see through previous attempts at disguises and mobbed him wherever he went. Mr. Lee nodded. "So you are not looking for a permanent transformation?" "You can do that?", asked Billy, eager to hear more. Reese poured cold water on Billy's enthusiasm. "Yes, sir, just a temporary change. But one that's foolproof enough that no one will realize that it is really Mr. Farrow." Mr. Lee walked behind his counter and opened a cabinet which seemed to be filled with junk jewelry, neatly organized by color. "For a temporary change, I use these bracelets. They allow you to try out a change to see if you like it before you commit to it for good. So, what would you like to change about yourself, Mr. Darrow?" Billy's success had spoiled him, so that he usually was able to get whatever he wanted, but it was beyond his imagination that he would ever be able to make radical changes to his own body as his whims dictated. His first wish came to mind immediately. "I wanna be taller. Like...six foot...two?" His voice went up, as if he was asking for something impossible with his very first request. Mr. Lee was unfazed. As he sorted through his collection, he instructed Billy, "Please remove all of your other jewelry and take off your clothes." Billy shot Reese a leery look, which Reese translated to Mr. Lee. "Why exactly does he need to get undressed?" "He is about to gain six inches of height. I assume he does not want to ruin his nice clothing." Billy didn't need to hear another word. He took several bracelets from his arms, rings from his fingers, and silver hoops from both earlobes, handing them to Reese, who pocketed them for safe-keeping. He then pulled his hoodie and a designer t-shirt over his head, kicked off his Nikes and slithered out of his skinny jeans. He was about to pull down his red silk bikini briefs when Mr. Lee raised a hand. "You can leave those on for now." Billy seemed relieved that he could maintain a slight amount of modesty. He stood in the spotlight in the center of the store, feeling a little chilly. He glanced at himself in a full-length mirror across the room. Despite the best efforts of a full-time personal trainer who toured with him, Billy's 18-year-old body remained scrawny with only the barest hints of muscle tone. At least the full-body tan he'd gotten during his last vacation in the Virgin Islands hadn't entirely faded. Thanks to a private rooftop suite, he managed not to get a tan line, although a sunburn on his penis had led to a jerking-off hiatus of several excruciating days. Mr. Lee handed a slim metallic red bracelet across the counter to Billy. "Please put this on your left wrist and close the clasp." Billy excitedly slid the bracelet up his slender forearm and clasped it together. As the two sides of the bracelet connected, it triggered a surge of energy to shoot through Billy's body like nothing he had ever experienced. Reese looked concerned as Billy cringed in pain, but Mr. Lee assured him, "The pain is very brief, followed immediately by euphoria." Sure enough, Billy smirked, then grinned, then beamed his famed toothpaste-ad-worthy smile as a warm sensation flooded through him. Although his bones were still holding his body erect, he had the sensation that they had turned into gelatin and were morphing into longer shapes. The change was gradual but dramatic as his body grew upward like a vine. His arms dangled loosely from his shoulders and his spindly legs wobbled a bit at the knees before the calcium resolidified and he once again felt sturdy. Billy opened his eyes and laughed like a kid when he discovered he was now staring eye-to-eye with his stoic bodyguard. "Check it out, Reese! I'm as tall as you now!" "Yeah, yeah, very nice, spaghetti boy." He pointed toward the mirror and Billy spun to admire himself, only to be horrified by the sight. If he felt skinny before, he was now basically a skeleton wrapped in skin, with only a thin band of red silk wrapped around the middle. It was like looking in a carnival funhouse mirror at a gawky, emaciated version of himself, but there was nothing wrong with the mirror. Billy spun toward Mr. Lee and made his next request frantically. "Muscles. I gotta have some muscles." Mr. Lee nodded. "How much muscle? On a scale of zero to ten, where ten is your friend Mr. Reese here, and zero is...you." Billy pondered the choice carefully. He didn't need to be a human tank like Reese, but the idea of suddenly becoming as buff as he wanted was making him greedy. "Eight. Wait, no, six." Mr. Lee went to grab the proper bracelet when Billy blurted out, "Seven. We'll go with seven." Mr. Lee's intuition had already led him to grab an orange bracelet. "Seven it is." Billy put on the new bracelet and again, as soon as he closed the loop around his wrist, a jolt of agony was followed by a soothing sensation in his muscle tissue. He kept his eyes open this time and watched the transformation in the mirror. What no amount of time in the gym had been able to accomplish was suddenly happening spontaneously throughout his body. It was as if someone had hooked his body to a bicycle pump and was inflating him. His neck widened to match his broadening shoulders. In the mirror, he was admiring the swell in his pecs when his eyes fell upon his suddenly visible abs and the deepening V below. Extruding from the bottom of his tautly-stretched silk shorts were now bulging quads and calves that would be the envy of anyone on the Tour de France. The little shop seemed even smaller to Billy now and he was delighted to discover that he could extend his long muscular arms and touch the ceiling with his fingertips. He felt incredible, but this he-man still had the smooth face that was known around the world. "You gotta do something about my face." "But your face is so pretty," Mr. Lee smiled. Billy could wretch. "I'm sick of having a 'pretty' face. I wanna be rugged. I wanna be dangerous. I wanna be a MAN." Mr. Lee understood. "How old this man?" Billy thought a moment. "Young enough not to have wrinkles. Old enough not to get carded." Mr. Lee raised his finger, muttering, "I have just the thing." He handed a yellow bracelet to Billy to put on. He braced himself, now fully prepared for that first jolt, then watched his reflection as his facial features contorted themselves beneath his skinn. He nodded approvingly as his bones gained heft, disrupting the soft contours and smooth jawline that his fans loved and turning him into a brooding hunk with thick eyebrows, a sharply angled jawline and a five-o'clock shadow. He rubbed his immense hand across the bristles on his cheek and fingered the depth of his new chin cleft. He smiled, delighted, and noticed that this new face had killer dimples on top of it all. Billy got goosebumps. He knew what had to come next. He ran his hands through the golden avalanche of hair atop his head. "We gotta get rid of this stupid hair." Mr. Lee frowned. "I have only limited hair to choose from. Maybe you go to a barber and ask for exactly what you want?" Billy was thrilled by the thought of a barber giving the chop to the famous Farrow Flop, but Reese intervened. "No, I'm under specific instructions that he has to emerge with his hair intact." Billy had a concert tomorrow night, and there was no way that Wiseman was going to let his star go onstage without his signature coif. Mr. Lee rummaged around before coming up with a green bracelet. "You try this one." Billy snatched the bracelet from Mr. Lee's hand and snapped it on his wrist immediately. It was hypnotic to watch his carefully fashioned hairdo as it seemed to be absorbed back into his scalp. When only a few millimeters of hair remained above the surface of Billy's scalp, the hair suddenly darkened into a black buzz cut. Without the distraction of the Flop, the stunning masculinity of his new face was even more apparent. Billy's excitement at seeing himself modified was escalating. He needed more, and fast. "Body hair!", he snapped, and Mr. Lee forked over a blue bracelet. In moments, Billy had a lush new layer of wall-to-wall carpeting on his arms, chest, abs and legs. Curious, he looked inside his silk undies and was pleased by the dark bush of pubic hair he found there. But it was obvious that one part of his old body had stubbornly resisted any change so far. "I just gotta have a bigger cock." Reese covered his eyes and shook his head. He could never have envisioned a moment like this when he signed onto the security detail for Billy Farrow three years ago. Mr. Lee kept any obvious reaction hidden, but he had expected this moment to come. Seemingly every man who entered his shop walked out with a larger penis. Even if they had other perceived imperfections that they wanted to fix first, they always seemed to tack on "bigger penis" at the end of their requests, as if they were making an impulse buy at the checkout stand of a convenience store. "Yeah, I need a pack of Marlboros, a fifth of Ketel One and...while you're at it, can you toss in a huge fuckin' dong?" And their size demands often demonstrated a lack of basic knowledge of the dimensions of the orifices into which they would be sticking these penises or the limits of haberdashery to properly accommodate such an enormous member. Nevertheless, Mr. Lee always did his best to give his customers what they wanted. "Bigger length or bigger circumference?", asked Mr. Lee. Billy mulled it for a second, then said hopefully, "Both?" It was always both. Mr. Lee handed an indigo bracelet to Billy, who waved it at Reese. "Hey, Reese, look at the size of my cock ring!" His wrist was now getting crowded with all of these narrow bracelets, but he made room for the new one. The intensity of the rush he got from this one startled Billy, as a flood of testosterone swelled his penis and balls to such a massive size that his silk underwear burst into tatters which fell to the floor...and he wasn't even hard. Even Reese was impressed by what Billy was now packing. Reese turned appreciatively toward Mr. Lee. "I think that covers everything. You happy, Billy?" Billy was so entranced as he stared at his new meat dangling halfway down his thigh that he was only able to nod. "You forget one thing," said Mr. Lee. "His voice." Billy and Reese were amazed they hadn't thought of it. Billy's tenor voice was immediately recognizable to his fans, and it also seemed incongrous emerging from the strapping nude man now fondling himself in the middle of the store. Mr. Lee offered a violet bracelet which Reese snapped onto Billy's forearm. "Thanks, man," Billy grunted in a baritone rumble. His eyes widened and he looked up. "Did that come outta me?" He tested his singing abilities with the first line of his biggest hit, "Baby, You're My Baby". He seemed to have retained all of his vocal skills, just in a lower register. He looked at the rainbow of metal rings on his arm and shook his head in amazement. He felt like a new man. Hell, he WAS a new man. Reese leaned on the counter and pulled out his wallet, asking Mr. Lee, "So, how much do we owe you?" "Free trial. When you decide if you want to make any permanent changes, you come back here and return the bracelets, okay?" "How do you know someone won't just run off with the bracelets and never come back?" "You asked if you could trust me. Now I am trusting you. It is a matter of honor." Reese smiled. He liked people who stood by their promises. The towering stud at the center of the room reached across the counter and gave Mr. Lee a firm handshake. "This is a miracle, Mr. Lee. Thank you so much." Mr. Lee nodded humbly. "Don't mention it." Reese shot back with a grin, "Don't you mention it either, Mr. Lee." Billy started walking toward the front door when both Mr. Lee and Reese shouted simultaneously, "Stop!" Billy looked puzzled until Reese gestured toward Billy's body. "If the goal here is not to be noticed, going outside like that is a bad way to start." Billy was so comfortable in his new skin, he had completely forgotten that he was totally naked. * * * In the back room of Mr. Lee's shop, Billy grabbed some clothes that fit his new body, but the selection of hand-me-downs from Mr. Lee's previous clients was less than spectacular. He chose an apparently authentic Lakers jersey bearing the name "RODMAN", camouflage khakis and a pair of size-14 work boots just so he could get out the door, but once they got into the van, Billy told Reese the name of a trendy clothing store he wanted to visit. Their driver took them to the store and Billy waited for Reese to open the SUV's door for him. Out of habit, Reese stepped out and slid the door open. Billy peeked out cautiously, then out of habit, rushed toward the store to avoid being mobbed. Reese laughed and yelled, "Hey, slow down, big guy!" Billy stopped on the sidewalk and turned back to Reese, who whispered loudly enough to be heard over the traffic, "Nobody recognizes you." Billy took a moment to let this sink in. After living his life for years with the knowledge that fans or paparazzi could pop up at any moment, he hadn't truly realized how liberating it would feel to be ignored. Reese motioned for the SUV driver to find a place to park, then strode over to the sidewalk, planning to enter the store with Billy, who always delegated the actual dirty work of spending money to Reese, Wiseman or someone else in his entourage. Noticing Reese side-by-side and shoulder-to-shoulder with him, Billy stopped. "Let me go in by myself, okay?" Reese nodded. Giving Billy a break from the routine was the whole point of this experiment. He didn't need Reese tagging along to look after him. "You're gonna need some money." Reese pulled out his wallet and gave Billy a couple thousand bucks. "Can I have more?" Reese figured $2,000 should be enough to buy some new clothes, but then the stores Billy Farrow shopped in were a bit pricier than the ones that clothed Reese Boudreaux. He removed the rest of the cash from his wallet and handed it to Billy, with the instructions, "Call me on your cell phone if you need anything." "Okay, Dad." Billy winked his left eye at Reese and shot him two upraised middle fingers. The whole world seemed different to Billy now, like he was suddenly looking at it in 3D. He then realized that after years of having that damn Farrow Flop blocking his right eye, he actually HADN'T been seeing the world in 3D since he was thirteen. That alone made this transformation, however temporary, worthwhile. Reese stood on the sidewalk, feeling like he was watching Billy take his first steps as a man. It warmed his heart almost as much as when he had seen his own daughters take their first steps many years ago. They were now twelve and nine, firmly in the Billy Farrow demographic, so Reese was like a god to them. Well, actually, Billy was like a god to them, but their dad got to work for god, and that earned him major brownie points. It almost made up for the ribbing he took from his former colleagues when he took the gig "babysitting" Billy. Reese used to be a cop with the San Francisco Police Department, but he had to resign when the nagging knee injury he got playing college football began to cause him major grief and hamper his effectiveness on the force. Fortunately, the position on the Billy Farrow security detail came along. At first, he took the gig because it seemed cushy and the pay was good enough to cover his child-support and, until his ex remarried, alimony payments. But as the years progressed, he had truly come to like Billy and tolerate his music. Frankly, given the circumstances, it was a miracle that Billy hadn't turned into an industrial-strength douche. Reese tried to imagine what it would be like to have been famous since the age of twelve, to constantly be fawned over, to have every whim catered to, to never hear the word "no". Even Reese and the rest of the security team were guilty of coddling him, taking it easy when Billy would challenge them to play basketball. They let him believe he was kicking their asses when they actually could have creamed him if they weren't worried that he could have them all fired. Not that Billy would do that. Despite the code name of "King Joffrey" that security had given him, Billy was generous and friendly to everyone he worked with. So when Reese heard rumors from his old buddies on the police force that there was a mysterious shop near Chinatown that performed miraculous transformations, Reese was the one who pitched Alan Wiseman on giving Billy a day of anonymity as his reward for years of hard work, dedication and toeing the line. Reese paced on the sidewalk outside the clothing store for close to an hour. He knew how particular Billy was with his clothing, so he must be having a great time playing dress-up with a brand new body. Even so, Billy had never needed to fend for himself in the real world, having been under the wing of Wiseman for almost a third of his life. Perhaps Billy could use Reese's assistance but was too proud to ask for it. Reese wandered in, pretending to look at the clothes, even though one shirt from this store would probably cost a month of Reese's pay. A salesman swooped over to ask Reese if he needed any help. Not spotting Billy anywhere in the store, he asked, "I'm looking for a friend. Little white guy. Well, actually, he's about my height...now." The salesman's eyes lit up. He most certainly did remember that gentleman. "Yes, I think he took several outfits to the back to try on." Reese smiled appreciatively and made his way to the dressing rooms. Reese startled a sad-eyed middle-aged man who was trying on a leather thong, but most of the other dressing rooms were empty. The final one had a locked door. Reese knocked and whispered Billy's name, but got no answer, so he knelt down, wincing as he put pressure on his bum knee. Stared through the gap below the door, he couldn't see any legs, but he did see the clothes Billy had worn from Mr. Lee's shop strewn about the floor. Reese asked if the salesman could unlock that dressing room for him. "Official business," said Reese with enough authority that the salesman was too afraid to ask what kind of official Reese was. The salesman fumbled for the right key. Finally, the door swung open and the dressing room was empty. On a chair, Reese found Billy's wallet with an I.D. and credit cards, a stack of cash (with a note to the store attached that said "Thanks for the outfit"), and Billy's cell phone. On the screen of the phone was an unsent text message: "Hey Reese, Smell ya later, BF." Reese asked the salesman, "You got a back door?" The salesman pointed and Reese ran outside, limping on his aching knee. Billy was nowhere in sight. * * * "He escaped?" Alan Wiseman was apoplectic even in the best of times. Right now, you could take his pulse simply by looking at the veins trying to leap out of his sunburnt forehead. Alan was completely bald, just like Reese, although in Reese's case it was a style choice, not a genetic inevitability. Reese hobbled along the sidewalk, furious at himself but more furious at Billy. He had to hold the phone several inches away from his head to prevent Wiseman's screaming on the other end from bursting his eardrums. Across town, Wiseman paced in a frenzy around his hotel room. "I knew this crazy idea of yours was a risk, but I thought you were gonna keep tabs on him." "I was just trying to give the kid some space. How can he relax if he's got a bodyguard breathing down his neck the whole time?" Wiseman countered, "Well, how can I relax knowing that the kid whose career I fucking built, who pays all of our fucking salaries, and who has a concert tomorrow fucking night is wandering around this city in some unrecognizable fucking body?" "I thought I had taken appropriate measures," Reese explained. "I put a GPS tracker on his cell phone, but he left the phone behind in the dressing room at the clothing store. Plus I had another GPS tracker sewn into his underwear." "He left that in the dressing room too?" "Uh...no, sir. The underwear actually...burst into pieces." "How does underwear burst into fucking pieces?" "Sir, that happened when, uh...when his cock...roughly tripled in size." Wiseman beat his head against the window, looking down at the city. "Fuckin' San Francisco. Okay, get back here to the hotel. You and I are going to scour his room for clues as to where he might have gone. But as far as anyone else knows, everything is normal. Billy is just down with a twenty-four hour bug and is staying in bed all day." "Yes, sir. I'm on my way," said Reese, hanging up his phone. The SUV pulled over to pick him up. Reese ordered the driver to take him back to the hotel. "We gonna pick up Billy?" Reese turned to the driver excitedly. "You know where Billy is?" The driver looked puzzled. "I thought we left him back at that shop in Chinatown." Reese sagged, then tried to cover. "Ah, right. No, he took a taxi back to the hotel already. He wasn't feeling himself today." "Aw, poor kid," said the driver. "What about that guy we dropped off here?" "Wha...? Oh. No, he's gone too." "That's too bad," the driver said, pulling into traffic. "He was fuckin' hot." When he arrived at the hotel, Reese went straight to Billy's room. He tapped lightly on the door and Wiseman let him in. "Find anything?", he asked Wiseman. Wiseman yelled, "I don't even know what I'm fucking looking for." Reese shushed him. "Stop panicking. Everything will be fine. At least until a mysterious body is found floating in the bay." Wiseman was in no mood for jokes. "Don't even kid about that." At five-six and two-fifty, Wiseman was a heart attack waiting to happen, so Reese should have known not to raise his ire further. But sometimes it was a fun game to poke Wiseman with a stick just to see how outraged he could become. Reese risked getting down on his bad knee again to look under Billy's bed. There, he found a baggie containing a small amount of pot and some ecstasy, which Reese was frankly surprised Billy hadn't taken with him. Even further under the bed was a laptop. That was strange, thought Reese, since Billy already had a laptop lying above the sheets of his unmade bed. This second laptop was just within reach of Reese's fingertips. He snagged a corner and dragged it out, then carried it over to a desk where he booted it up and began to search through the files. Wiseman hovered over his shoulder and asked, "Finding anything?" Reese wasn't a computer whiz, but he did have some training from his days on the force. "Most of the files look encrypted to me. We'd have to bring in someone who knows what they're doing to crack those, and I'm not sure you want to bring in any outsiders on this. Looks like there are some video files in this folder. Let me click on one." Suddenly the screen was filled with amateur-shot footage of two men in a bed. The larger, beefier man was wearing leather and pounding the bejesus out of the ass of a younger, slimmer man. Wiseman cringed and looked away, until he had a thought that made his temples throb. "Please tell me that kid's not Billy." Reese squinted at the grainy footage. The young man being rammed sure didn't look like Billy, although he definitely qualified as a pretty young thing. Reese clicked on another file, which was a different video with the same basic subject matter and lack of plot. The younger man in that footage also did not look familiar. Just to be sure, he checked a few more of the files. "Doesn't seem to be Billy in any of these. But I guess we know what Billy's been watching all those nights when we thought he was playing 'Grand Theft Auto'." * * * Billy felt a little guilty about running away from Reese like that, since Reese was such a stand-up guy. But as soon as he heard the crazy idea of giving him some free time in another body, Billy had been making plans for what he would do in the unlikely case that this bizarre transformation actually worked. Once he turned 18, Billy had been using his secret second laptop to set up bank accounts under other names around the world, accounts that only he had access to and which Wiseman knew nothing about. He slipped some of the debit cards from those accounts into his wallet this morning, then took them with him when he escaped from the clothing store. Those, combined with the cash he'd gotten off Reese, ought to get him through the evening's adventures. Now he was sitting in a sidewalk cafe, running up a tab on a card bearing the name "Liam Fortune", and truly relaxing for the first time in months...maybe years. Just knowing that Wiseman had to be freaking out somewhere and that, for once, Billy didn't need to hear it, was almost a vacation in itself. He was determined to take advantage of the amazing opportunity he had been given. He leaned back with his feet propped on another chair, wriggling his toes in the flip-flops he'd picked up at the clothing store, luxuriating in the feeling of stretching his long and powerful legs. The shiny, neon-colored outfits that Billy characteristically wore would have looked bizarre on the sturdy and studly Liam Fortune, not to mention too attention-getting, so he went casual. He wore a black silk vest with no shirt underneath, allowing him to display enticing hints of the newly acquired pelt of body hair on his newly acquired broad chest. Relaxed black jeans covered his legs and his massive junk, which was riding commando down his right pantleg. Billy had never cared for the taste of beer before, but right now it tasted like freedom. And it really showed off the rock-hard peak of his biceps whenever he tilted back the bottle for another swig. He had been checking out the redhead two tables over for the past ten minutes, and felt no need to be subtle about it. For years, he'd never managed more than subtle glances and coy smiles that led nowhere, as his whole career might be in jeopardy with even the slightest hint to his mobs of tweenage admirers that not only did they not have a chance with their dream boy, but that no one with their type of genitals did. Finally, the redhead rose from his table and headed directly toward Billy's table. Billy's heart raced and he thought about standing up and asking the boy if he was interested in hooking up, but he felt like Liam was more the type to kick back and let the ginger beg for the opportunity -- hell, the honor -- of betting fucked. Billy/Liam took a healthy mouthful of beer just as the redheaded boy walked past. Under his breath, he blurted out, "I did see you looking at me, and I'm very flattered, but I'm afraid you're too old for me." Liam burst into a laugh, spewing his beer explosively across his chest. He sat up, dabbing away the beer and foam from his chest hair and his vest with a napkin. The redhead was easily five years older than Billy in reality, but "Liam" must look to him like an ancient man...of 27 or 28. Billy was starting to make a distinction between his brain, which still felt like Billy, and his new body, which seemed more like a Liam, although even that dividing line was becoming less clear the more he drank. Liam was definitely the one craving more beer, so he signaled the waitress to bring another as his eyes began to roam again. A seriously cute bike messenger in a white tank and royal blue bicycle shorts was waiting for the light to change and scoping out Liam's body approvingly. Liam's cock began to stiffen in his pants as he studied the curve of the bicyclist's ass. He pointed both index fingers at the messenger and gave him his standard wink. The biker snorted a chuckle at the corny move and weaved back into traffic. Billy was puzzled. He was so used to everyone who he encountered being awestruck just to be in his presence. Even with all the obvious merits of this designer body, it seemed like Billy would have to work harder to get Liam laid. At the moment, though, Liam was starting to get hungry. Although he had passed through San Francisco on tour several times, Billy had always been driven wherever he needed to go and usually got his meals from room service or backstage at the concert. He paid for his beers and set out on foot to explore the city and search for a restaurant. He quickly discovered that flip-flops weren't the wisest choice for tromping up and down the city's hills, so he handed them to a homeless man and entered the Nike Town store barefoot. One of the staff stopped him at the door. "You can't come in here without shoes, sir." Billy chuckled at being called "sir", then told the employee that he was here to buy shoes. "The fact that I don't have shoes is exactly why I need to buy shoes." Billy was accustomed to dressing however he wanted, wherever he wanted. The last time he had shopped here, they had opened the store for him after hours by special request and he came in wearing nothing but sweat pants. When the employee stood firm and threatened to call her manager, Billy went outside and asked the homeless man if he could have his flip-flops back. The man clutched them in his arms and refused to hand them over, so Billy offered to buy them. Reaching into his pocket, he discovered that he had nothing but hundred-dollar bills. It was unlikely that the homeless guy would have any change, so he gave him a Benjamin for the flip-flops, then returned to Nike Town and bought a pair of Air Jordans...and a second pair that he gave to the homeless guy on his way out. Billy usually demanded nothing more than the junkiest of junk food, but Liam seemed to be craving a thick, rare steak. He spotted an upscale steak house and headed inside, only to be halted at the door again. The place had a dress code, and a silk vest, jeans and basketball shoes was not one of the approved ensembles. Instead of arguing, Billy decided to stick with what he knew and found the nearest McDonald's, where he wolfed down three Big Macs, two large fries and two large shakes before Liam was sated. The tables near him were occupied by young girls who probably had Billy Farrow posters on their bedroom walls, but they didn't waste a second glance on Liam. Give them a few years and they would appreciate the assets Liam had on display, but for now they were only obsessed with things that were cute. Their nonstop jabber about cute boys and cute clothes and cute backpacks while they shot cute selfies was giving Billy acute nausea. He was tempted to ask the girls what they thought of Billy Farrow, but didn't want to seem like some kind of perv. Little did they know how safe they were from his advances. Billy returned to the street, slapping his tight abs with satisfaction after his meal. He knew what his next destination would be, but had no clue how to get there. He asked a passing police officer how to get to the Castro. The friendly cop offered detailed directions, and even suggested a couple of clubs he might check out. Billy could have hailed a cab if he had known how to do it. Instead, he followed the stranger's directions and ran there. His old body had great stamina for cardio, which undoubtedly kept him so skinny and helped him through a heavily choreographed ninety-minute concert several nights a week. But Liam's powerful muscles gave him a true runner's high as he pounded the pavement in a three-mile sprint to the neighborhood where he hoped to pick up the pace of this evening's events. Pumped and musky from the run, yet amazingly not short of breath, Billy unbuttoned his vest and walked into the first gay bar he found. His stomach churned with excitement and half-digested Mickey D's at the thrill of entering forbidden territory for the first time, but unlike at the stores he visited, no one here stopped Liam from entering because of the way he was dressed. For the first time since the changes, he started to feel the familiar sensation of attracting the immediate attention of strangers just by walking into a room. They may not have known who he really was, but the clientele of this establishment were definitely fans of the man who he was tonight. Billy was so used to strangers approaching him that he discovered he was surprisingly inept in the art of initiating a conversation. Also, he knew the type of guy who turned him on, and none of the other drinkers here seemed to fit that template. The closest match was the bartender, a clean-cut athletic type with no shirt and Greek Letters tattooed on his left pec. After a shot of Jagermeister (possibly a mistake, Billy thought) and another beer, Liam's tongue became looser. He pointed to the bartender's chest. "So, are you from Greece?" The jock laughed and said they were the letters of his frat. Billy hit his forehead with his fist, annoyed with his stupidity. He informed the bartender that he had played Greece recently. "You played Greece? Like, in what, soccer?" Billy realized that Liam needed to be less accurate in his descriptions. Unlikely as it might be in this body, he didn't want to tip anyone off to the fact that they were really talking to Billy Farrow. "I mean I traveled there. I traveled all over Europe." "Cool. Were you studying abroad?" "If I wanted to study a broad, would I be in a bar like this?" The bartender groaned. "Walked right into that one, didn't I?" Liam's lips curled into a seductive grin as he continued to survey the bartender's well-toned body. After a bit more chit-chat, he gestured for the bartender to lean in closer, lowered his voice and asked, trying to be clever, "When do you get off? Work, I mean." The bartender had dealt with this situation countless times and knew just how to dash a customer's hopes gently. First, he assured Liam that he took it as a compliment, and he understood that he was probably sending mixed messages by standing shirtless in a gay bar, but he was in fact straight with a great fiancee. "But I can't imagine a guy like you has any trouble finding new friends in your travels." "More trouble than you'd think." That was definitely Billy talking, as he drained his beer. This adventure was going south fast. "Well, don't make any sudden moves, but if you like the way I look, there's a guy who came in about five minutes ago who's been doing nothing but staring at you since he walked in. Look casually at eight o'clock." Billy was getting drunker and his thoughts sillier. "Eight o'clock? Can't I look sooner?" The bartender groaned and told Liam to check over his left shoulder. Liam swiveled his stool to the left and tried not to be too obvious, but it was clear who the bartender meant. Sitting alone on a stool at a tall table was an adorable guy with lightly tanned skin, wearing a white muscle shirt, jean shorts and cowboy boots. His shaggy brown hair with highlights hung in bangs across his forehead. Looking extremely bored, he hopped down from his stool and crossed the room to the jukebox, allowing Liam to admire the grace with which his lithe body moved. Like a gymnast. Or one of the many sexy backup dancers who Billy never risked getting to know better. Or one of the taut-muscled bottoms in the dom/sub videos he secretly liked to watch at night on his private laptop. Liam was still hesitating, so the bartender handed him another shot of Jager. "This one's on me. To apologize if I led you on." Liam slammed the shot, placed the glass upside down on the bar, and summoned the courage to walk over to the jukebox. He liked the way this boy's firm tight ass filled out those shorts and the shape of his legs approached perfection. One of his cowboy boots was crossed behind the other, calling attention to his sculpted calves as he leaned on the jukebox and pondered his selections. Liam moved closer and pretended to look at the song titles as well, but he was furtively checking out the young man, who was having trouble concealing a smirk. "See anything you like?" Liam answered with a drawn-out "mmm-hmmm" which left no doubt that he wasn't thinking about what songs were on the jukebox. The kid (who technically had to be older than the real Billy just to get in the door here legally) pressed a couple of buttons and waited for his selection to play. Billy expected to hear something by Lady Gaga or Kesha or, based on the young man's footwear, some country song, but the jukebox began to blast Ray Charles's "Unchain My Heart". The agile young man stepped away from the jukebox and began to gyrate to the upbeat music. Billy watched him admiringly. The guy was clearly not a professional dancer, but he had good intuitive moves. The young dancer cast his pale blue eyes on Liam's violet eyes. "You gonna join me, or are you just gonna watch, big man?" Liam was definitely getting bigger the longer he watched. He scooted across the floor in his basketball shoes. All the drinks he'd been consuming had added sloppiness to his dance moves, but his new dance partner nodded approvingly. He shouted over the music, "What's your name?" The name "Billy" was just about to cross his lips when something made him realize the mistake he was about to make. Instead, he said "Liam". When the word came out, it just felt right. This was going to be Liam's night. Billy was just along for the ride. "Hey, Liam. I'm Todd. My friends call me Todd the Rod. Or Todd the Wad. Or Todd the Bod. Or Todd the Odd." "And which do you prefer?" "Todd the God," he smirked. "I agree," Liam shouted over the music. They danced without further conversation. Liam enjoyed being so close to Todd and was ogling him without shame or hesitation. Todd's shirt clung tight to his skin, so Liam could make out his general contours, but he was sure he'd appreciate the additional details that would be visible once the shirt came off. The song faded out and Todd eyed Liam. "What next?" Liam's mind was swimming with possibilities, which Todd dashed with a grin. "What SONG do you want to hear next?" Todd waggled his hips exaggeratedly as he crossed back to the jukebox. Liam followed like he was on a leash. Wait, wasn't he supposed to be the one in control tonight? He leaned his hands on the jukebox, surveying his options. "Holy shit!", he thought as he noticed that "Forever Girl", one of his own hits, was on the jukebox. He selected it and, as the opening notes kicked in, launched into a sloppy version of the introductory dance step he performed to open the song during every concert. Todd watched Liam's moves and shook his head. "What, you don't like my choreography?" Todd shrugged. "Guess I'm not a huge Billy Farrow fan." Liam stopped in his tracks and became a little agitated. "Why? What's the matter with him?" Todd leaned back against the jukebox, surprised by Liam's intensity. "Chill out. What, are you the president of his fan club or something?" Liam realized he needed to take down his attitude a notch, and not take it so personally. "I just think he's really talented. For a kid." "He's definitely cute, if that's what you're into. And he can sing, no question. But that hair of his is a joke. And his songs..." Todd stopped before he got too wrapped up in his tirade. "No, tell me, what about his songs?", asked Liam in more measured tones, his curiosity growing. "They're just so antiseptic. It's all a bunch of generic bubble-gum nonsense. Ray Charles, you could hear in his voice that the man had lived. You get the feeling Billy Farrow's never had a real emotion in his life." Liam leapt vehemently to Billy Farrow's defense. "He's got emotions..." Whoa, a little strong there, buddy. Back off. "...I'm sure." That's better. "Maybe he's just so isolated from the real world that he's not as experienced as he'd like to be. But look at all he's accomplished. He sold twenty million albums before he turned eighteen. What had Ray Charles done by that age?" "Went blind, for one," Todd said calmly. Liam had to laugh, realizing that he may have gotten too worked up over the subject, and that Billy Farrow, talented as he was, was no Ray Charles. Certainly not yet. "You got me." "Is that a promise?" Todd moved closer to Liam with a grin on his face, hips swaying to the beat of the song. Maybe he was more into this Billy Farrow song than he was letting on. He took Liam's hands and guided them toward Todd's hips. Liam had a four-inch height advantage on Todd, but they didn't seem like an odd pair. Todd pointed to the nine bracelets around Liam's left forearm. "Those are nice." "Thanks, I just got them today. Actually, I got all of this today," he said with a gesture that he meant for Todd to understand as "this entire wardrobe", although lurking in the back of his brain, Billy secretly meant "this entire body". As Billy Farrow's recorded voice faded out, Liam strode over to the jukebox to make another selection, but Todd took his hand. "If you really feel like dancing, there are better places than this dump. Come on." Even after admiring the definition of Todd's compact muscles, he was surprised how strong the shorter man was. He nearly dislocated Liam's arm yanking him toward the door. Soon Todd had led him to a building up the street which looked unimpressive from the outside. The youthful-looking Todd was asked for an I.D., but Todd whispered something to the bouncer, who nodded and let him pass. Liam was just waved through, as if his age was obvious. The vast space inside the building was filled with fog and spotlights and thumping noise and men and sweat. Billy had performed in plenty of venues this size early in his career, but the dominant noise was high-pitched screaming and the crowds were much younger and monolithically female. Billy might have been overwhelmed (and swamped by admirers) if he had wandered in here, but Liam seemed prepared to handle it. Todd had worked his way to the bar and brought back two beers. He handed one to Liam and proposed a toast. "To new and interesting experiences." They clinked bottles and drank. "Follow me," said Todd, dragging Liam behind him as he maneuvered across the tightly packed dance floor to the DJ booth. Todd climbed up and had a shouted conversation with the DJ that Liam couldn't make out over the pounding music. The DJ shook his head at Todd's request, and Todd returned to Liam dissappointed. "What's the matter?," Liam asked. "I wanted to surprise you and get up on one of the dance poles, but he said they're for the professional dancers only. Insurance reasons or something." Liam would certainly be interested in seeing what contortions Todd's limber body could do on a stripper pole. He decided to test his dominance by walking over to the DJ and making his own argument...in the form of cash. Liam returned to Todd victoriously. "Apparently, for a thousand dollars, insurance reasons can go fuck themselves." The DJ gestured for Todd to come up onstage as the current song faded and made an announcement. "We've got a special treat for all you sexy, sexy boys tonight. Stepping up to shake his gorgeous ass on the silver pole, we have..." Off-mic, he asked the dancer for his name again. The DJ misheard and announced, "Todd the Cod!" Todd smirked at Liam and shrugged a "Whatchagonnadoaboutit?" He peeled his sweaty shirt off his torso, to the approving roar of the crowd -- the deep bellow from Liam being the loudest and most enthusiastic of all. Todd tauntingly unbuttoned his shorts, but left them on, as well as his cowboy boots. He took hold of the pole and waited for the music to begin. The music sounded extremely familiar to Liam, yet he couldn't immediately place it. The hook kicked in and he realized it was a remix he'd never heard before of "I'm Your Boy", the first single by a very young and very high-pitched Billy Farrow. The DJ got a few catcalls, but most of the crowd was delighted or at least amused for nostalgic reasons. Liam couldn't help but wonder how many of the men in this room had first realized they were gay when they saw pretty little Billy Farrow on "America Wants S'more". Todd leapt in the air and suspended himself with one knee wrapped tightly around the pole as his arms swung free. Damn that skinny boy could move. The crowd was enjoying his performance tremendously, and Liam (actually, in this case, more Billy than Liam) felt left out. That was HIS song being played. Much as he was enjoying watching Todd gyrate, he craved some attention too. He stepped over to the DJ and asked to borrow his mic. Liam's cash supply was getting perilously low, but another hundred persuaded the DJ to surrender the mic. While everyone's eyes were still focused on Todd's acrobatics, Liam's deep sexy croon came over the speakers in a perfectly harmonized duet with squeaky little Billy Farrow. One of the spotlights found Liam in the darkness at the edge of the stage, where he started to move. Between the alcohol in his system and the bulkiness of his new body, Liam's moves weren't nearly as slick as Billy Farrow's would be, but he was still an impressive hoofer. As the crowd egged him on, Liam pulled his vest slowly off one shoulder, then off the other and flung it into the crowd. He reached the chorus and bellowed "I'm Your Boy" directly at Todd, who was currently suspended upside down on the pole, his face at Liam's eye level. Liam walked over and kissed Todd's upside-down lips, and the crowd went berserk. Billy Farrow's anthem of puppy love suddenly took on a whole new meaning, especially for Billy Farrow himself. When the song ended, the crowd cheered boisterously. Liam carried Todd offstage in his strong arms, stopping at the booth to ask the DJ where he'd gotten that version of the song. The DJ said it was his own remix, and Liam complimented him on how great it sounded. Liam stepped down from the stage, remarking on how light Todd felt in his arms. Todd giggled and seemed to be contemplating the wisdom of his next move before committing to giving Liam another kiss. Their tongues connected between their parted lips and the kiss continued far longer than either of them had expected. When they finally separated, Todd asked, "What do you want to do next?" Liam knew what he REALLY wanted to do next, but he was having such a good time, he hated to leave the club so soon. The two stuck around for another hour, dancing in the middle of the crowd as one man after another made their way over to praise both Liam and Todd for their performances. Todd's face seemed to be blushing permanently, while Liam's heart was warmed by the praise. Billy Farrow had never gotten good reviews from critics, and he had reached the point where he never knew if he could trust the opinions of his fans or his entourage, because everyone seemed to have a reason to suck up to him. Even factoring in that a few of these people could be bullshitting in hopes of getting into Liam's pants, most of these compliments seemed entirely genuine. Eventually, Liam and Todd left the club, both bare from the waist up. Liam wrapped his meaty arms around his smaller companion to keep him warm. "What now?", Todd asked. Liam's booze-soaked brain came up with what seemed like a great idea. "Let's steal a cable car!" "Calm down there, big guy. Why don't we go to Coit Tower and look at the city lights?" "Mmm, that sounds romantic. How do we get there?" "If you don't mind riding behind me, we could take my motorcycle." "Holy shit, you got a motorcycle?" Billy's youthful excitement had momentarily overwhelmed Liam's reserve. Wiseman had absolutely refused to let Billy get a motorcycle for fear of that Billy might get in an accident, doing irreparable harm to his career...and to Wiseman's bank account, Billy always added mentally. Rounding a corner near the bar where they met, Liam saw a late model Harley-Davidson parked on the street and resisted the temptation to drool. "I've only got the one helmet," said Todd. "So, if you ride with me, we'd technically be breaking the law. I don't know if we should risk it." Liam gave his answer by straddling the bike's seat. "Get on, babe. I'll handle any cops." Amused, Todd wriggled his way onto the seat in front of Liam, his compact butt fitting snugly between Liam's spread legs. Todd tightened the strap on his helmet and roared the engine. Todd could feel Liam's giant cock pressing hard against his right ass cheek. He steered the bike into traffic and set them on a course for Coit Tower. Halfway there, he leaned back and shouted, "You steer. I'll tell you where to turn." Liam removed his arms from around Todd's waist and placed his hands upon the handlebars. Despite all his fame and all the celebrities he had met, Billy Farrow had never felt as full of life as he did right now. They reached the top of Telegraph Hill and sat together on the grass in Pioneer Park. After thirty seconds of marveling at the panoramic view, Liam rolled Todd back on the grass and they began to make out. Liam's erection seemed to have been in a constant state of getting harder and bigger since the first moment he met Todd, and he knew he needed release soon. As he began to kiss Todd, he became short of breath and light-headed as his backlog of cum urgently pumped its way into his pants. Liam slid his bare chest across Todd's as he rocked back and forth in coordination with his ejaculations. When the surging finally stopped after emptying what seemed like a liter of jizz, Liam collapsed like dead weight atop Todd. Todd was more amused than upset. Having flashbacks to the movie "Weekend at Bernie's", Todd managed to lug Liam to the motorcycle and prop him up on the seat. With Liam's furry chest pressed onto Todd's bare back, the motorcycle slowly wound through the city streets. Todd found a cheap hotel and got a room, dragging Liam to bed and undressing him before collapsing with fatigue himself. * * * Billy woke up to the faint sound of something vibrating. At first, the noise seemed to be inside his head, which felt like it had been stuffed with cotton during the night. As he cracked open his eyelids and saw the naked hairy body stretched out on the bed before him, the events of the previous night began to filter into his head. A smile crept across his lips as he looked at the jumbo cock laying heavily atop his granite abs. He could get used to the sight of "Liam's" body first thing every morning. But how had he gotten here? And where was that cute guy from last night? The buzzing sound hadn't stopped, and Billy realized it must be his second phone vibrating in the jeans that were folded neatly on a chair. He wasn't as hungover as he might have expected given everything he drank last night, but it was still a struggle for him to slide off the bed and extract the phone from his pants pocket. He looked at the screen, which indicated that the caller was blocked. But who could even have this number? No one knew this phone existed. Billy thought of ignoring the call, but his curiosity was too strong. He answered it. "Yeah?" Oh, that's right, he remembered upon hearing his husky new voice again. "Good morning. Is this the fugitive?" It was Reese. "How did you get this phone number?", Billy asked, peeking through the drapes to see if anyone was spying on him from outside. "I have connections. Don't forget, I used to be a cop here. So, you had your fun. Are you ready to come back to reality?" Billy stared admiringly at the reflection of his body in a mirror on the wall, rubbing the heavy stubble on his cheeks, then letting his hand slide down his hairy torso and finally onto his cock. "You know what? Tell Wiseman I'm not sure I'm coming back. Ever." Reese sighed. "Then we're gonna have a situation. If you don't come back soon, people are gonna start to wonder what happened to Billy Farrow." "Tell the world that Billy died. In a fiery motorcyle wreck. He could only be IDed by his hairdo." Billy brushed his hand across his bristly buzz cut, loving that he could climb out of bed and not need to spend 45 minutes gelling "the Flop" into shape. "I've got money stashed away. I've got enough money for a normal person to live on the rest of his life." "You're kidding yourself, Billy. In a week, you'll be begging to get your old life back. You knew going in that this was a one-night deal, only you didn't hold up your end. You know how much Wiseman reamed me out for letting you escape?" "I never meant to get you in trouble, Reese. You've always been super-nice to me. But I can't give up this body. I'm enjoying it too much" "You have a concert to perform in twelve hours. You have obligations. Trust me, we will find you, the same way I found this phone number." Billy realized that Reese was probably right. Wiseman was not going to let Billy simply walk away from his lucrative career. Billy suddenly had a brainstorm. "I know, tell Wiseman he can manage the new me. I've still got my voice, only it's a lot sexier now. And every once in a while, I can take off the bracelet that lowered my voice and record a 'lost' Billy Farrow album that Wiseman can release posthumously!" There were several seconds of silence from Reese's end. "Get serious, Billy. Tell me where I can find you and we'll go back to Mr. Lee's store and put everything back in order." Billy thought it over. He simply was not ready to surrender his new freedom. "No deal, Reese." Billy hung up, opened a window and flung his phone into the street, where a car promptly ran over it, grinding it to bits. Billy felt liberated. He also desperately needed to take a leak. He stepped into the bathroom and sighed with almost orgasmic pleasure as he pissed. When he heard the door to the hotel room opening, his piss stopped flowing. Could that be Reese? He felt completely vulnerable, standing naked, so he grabbed a bath towel and wrapped it around his waist. If he needed to, he would fight Reese for his freedom. Reese might be a tower of muscle, but Liam's body gave Billy at least a fighting chance. A lyrical tenor voice called out, "Liam? Are you here?" Billy peeked through the gap between the bathroom door and the jamb and saw his friend from last night's adventures, Todd, with two paper cups of coffee and a bag of croissants. He seemed to be alone. Billy exhaled with relief and walked out of the bathroom. "Boy, am I glad to see you. I thought you ditched me." "Nobody gets away from me that easily," said Todd, still wearing his shorts and boots from last night, with the addition of a touristy San Francisco t-shirt which Todd filled out nicely. "I had to buy a shirt in the gift shop. For some stupid reason, most places require you to be dressed when you enter." "So I've learned." Todd set down the breakfast items and stood on tiptoe to kiss Liam, who hung his arms over Todd's shoulders. Billy felt Liam taking command of the situation as Liam's towel tented in the front. "Listen, my memories are kinda sketchy from last night. Did we...?" Todd shook his head with a wistful grin. "You conked out before we could." "That's what I thought." Liam's powerful hands gripped the back collar of Todd's t-shirt and pulled hard in opposite directions, shredding the shirt and yanking it off his body. Todd looked shocked. "Don't worry, I'll buy you a new shirt. I'll buy you ten if you want. Now drop those shorts." Todd suddenly became shy and hesitant. "Do I have to rip those too?" Todd shook his head. Liam flung his towel to the floor and leapt onto the bed. He leaned against the headboard, hands clasped behind his head as his cock rose majestically to a right angle. He watched Todd unbutton his cut-offs and pull them down his sleek legs slowly. He stepped out of them, then pulled off his black thong in a similar manner. Todd's cock was fully hard, maxing out at five inches, but it looked proportional with his compact body. Todd jumped onto the bed and straddled Liam. "Aren't you gonna take off your cowboy boots?", Liam asked. Todd shook his head. "Never." Liam didn't mind. He sat up and pushed Todd's body backwards, then flipped him face down, ass up. He stroked his hardened cock and maneuvered it toward the depression between Todd's sweet ass cheeks. He pounded his way in, causing Todd to yelp loudly in an equal mix of pain and pleasure. Todd's hands gripped tightly onto the bed's footboard, his knuckles turning white. Liam felt incredible. The strength of this new body and the sensitivity of his new dick were overwhelming him. He leaned forward, pressing down on Todd's well-built shoulders for leverage as he worked to get as much of his mighty cock as possible into Todd's hole. The metal bracelets on his left arm slid and clanked against each other with each heavy thrust of his body. Todd's wails became higher pitched as both men drew closer to climax. Liam finally shot his wad inside Todd, while pulses of thick creamy cum flowed onto the bedsheets from Todd's cock. Liam lay his heavy body atop Todd, blissfully spent. After a couple of minutes, Liam rolled off and spread his arms, one palm resting cozily atop Todd's ass and giving a squeeze. Todd leaned over to kiss him and asked if he was satisfied. Liam nodded weakly. Todd smirked and said, "Well, I'm not. Sit up, I want to try something." With effort, Liam rose into a seated position. Todd directed him to turn around and lean against the headboard. Intrigued, Liam followed orders. Todd hopped off the bed, his boot heels clopping on the floor as he walked toward a bag that Liam hadn't noticed before. Todd must have gone shopping for more than breakfast while he was out. Todd bent down to look in the bag, flaunting his bubble butt in Liam's direction. He pulled out something which he kept hidden behind his back until he reached the bed. "Put your hands up by the railing," Todd instructed. Liam complied, and Todd revealed a pair of handcuffs which he promptly latched around Liam's right wrist. It was harder to find room on the left arm, with all those bracelets, but he finally managed. Liam was now securely fastened to the headboard and smiled in anticipation of Todd's next kinky surprise. Todd stared at the multi-colored bracelets on Liam's arm and said, "I think I'd like you better without the bracelets." Liam panicked. "No, don't touch them!" "Why not?" "They're just...I never take them off. Kinda like you and your boots." "Let me just take off one." Liam wriggled ferociously, but he was firmly shackled to the heavy wooden headboard. Todd unlocked the violet bracelet and placed it on the bedside table. Liam shuddered, then plead to Todd, "Please stop." He was startled to hear Billy's voice once again emerging from this body. "Wow, listen to that. You sound like a whole different person. Wonder what would happen if I removed the next one." Todd sprung the latch on the indigo bracelet, and Liam whimpered as he saw his cock shrink back to Billy's usual size, which was a little smaller than what Todd was packing. Liam was practically screeching now. "Who sent you here? Was it Reese?" Todd spoke calmly as he continued to remove Liam's bracelets one by one. "That wasn't a nice thing you did to Reese. You know, giving you this makeover was his idea in the first place. He sympathized with your predicament. He wasn't going to be a buzzkill. He had to tail you, but he planned to do it from a discreet distance. He wanted to give you your space to explore. But you had to run off on your own. You must have known that someone had to keep an eye on you, to make sure you didn't put yourself in too much danger. You're too valuable an asset not to have some protection. Reese even gave you one last chance to come back voluntarily this morning, but you refused." Liam's head was abuzz. How did Todd know about Reese's phone call? Liam felt his impressive muscles sagging and disappearing. His bones creaked as they contracted and his body hair retreated into its follicles. He was practically weeping as he watched the change. "So what happened? Wiseman hired you to tail me?" "Wiseman doesn't know about me," Todd smiled. "Reese used his connections with the police force to keep an eye out for a man with your description. Your new description. When they found you, they called Reese with the location. And then you met me." Todd looked down at the lovely young man on the bed, who had surrendered to his fate and was no longer squirming. "My god, you're Billy Farrow! Oh, wait, not quite. One bracelet left." Todd removed the green bracelet, and the dark buzz cut regrew into the Farrow Flop in its full glory. Liam -- no, wait, he was without question Billy now -- sagged his slight shoulders in defeat. "Just tell me who you are. Some male prostitute that Reese hired?" "Let's just say that all those videos on your computer gave Reese a pretty good idea of your 'type'. Since you'd changed yourself into a dominant type body, that must be who you fantasized being when you were watching those videos. So you were probably on the hunt for a submissive. Based on your preferred videos, that meant probably a slender guy with a pretty face who looked younger than his years. In other words, someone who looked a lot like Billy Farrow. You literally wanted to go fuck yourself." Todd kicked off his cowboy boots. Clasped around his left ankle were a number of colored bracelets, just like the ones that Billy had been wearing, although wider to accommodate the size of leg bones. Todd bent over and began unsnapping them. Immediately, his body grew inches taller, his muscles bulkier and his cock longer and thicker. Billy had never seen a cock so big, certainly not in person but not even on the internet. As Todd continued, his face grew more menacing, his hair receded fully into his head, his eyes turned deep brown and his skin darkened to a rich black. Finally, he removed a violet ring and his voice shifted from Todd's high tenor to the familiar low Ving-Rhames-y tones that Billy had just heard on the phone earlier this morning. "Surprise." "Fuck me," said Billy. "Can't now. You've got a show to get ready for," said Reese, all business as always. "While I was out getting breakfast -- and handcuffs -- I picked up some clothes for you. Some for me too. I can't guarantee they're fashionable, but they'll fit well enough that we won't have to leave the hotel naked." Billy hung from the headboard, limp and shellshocked, his pathetic arms still held loosely in the air by the handcuffs. He noticed there was still one metal band left on Reese's leg. "So that last bracelet, is that the one that made you act all gay?" "Who says I needed a bracelet to be gay?" Billy was floored by this revelation, then grinned. "Holy shit, Reese. I just fucked you in the ass." "No, man, you fucked me in the ass yesterday when you ran away. This morning was my reward for putting up with your shit. I don't think Wiseman needs to know about anything you and I did together. Do you?" Billy unleashed the radiant smile that adorned so many little girls' bedroom walls. "You and me? We didn't do a damn thing. But Liam and Todd had a blast." Reese's face betrayed the hint of a smile as he removed the cuffs from Billy's wrists and handed him his new clothes. * * * Reese stood across the counter from Mr. Lee, who was examining the bracelets that Reese had just returned. "One missing," said Mr. Lee. "Oh, yeah, I wanted to keep the one you gave me for my bad knee. It feels brand new. You can't imagine the things I was able to do with two good knees." "I try not to imagine," Mr. Lee said with the merest smirk. "What do I owe you for it?" Reese pulled out his wallet. Mr. Lee waved him off. "You kept your promise to bring back the bracelets. Consider this my thank-you for your honorable behavior." "Come on, man. You got no idea how much money I've paid doctors to fix this knee, and they never did jack. You fixed it with one little bracelet." "If you insist on paying me, I only barter for what I need for my transformations." Mr. Lee gestured to the glass jars full of unusual substances on the shelves behind him. "What do you have that you could spare? Some of your muscles, perhaps?" "No, man, I'm a bodyguard. I gotta stay strong." He thought, then thought of something. He spoke in a whisper, even though no one else was in the shop to hear him. "It's a little embarrassing, but I've gotten some complaints over the years that my dick is...too big. Maybe you could make it smaller." Mr. Lee's eyebrows rose slightly. "Smaller length or smaller circumference?" Reese cleared his throat and said, "Both? I know, I know, stereotypes and all that, but seriously, it's gotten in the way of me finding a good steady relationship. It's too much for most people to handle. Literally." Mr. Lee asked, "May I see?" Reese extracted his cock from his pants. Mr. Lee was usually an expert at hiding his thoughts and feelings from the customers, but his jaw dropped. He extended his hand and said, "It's a deal." Outside, the SUV was idling with Wiseman in the front passenger seat and Billy sprawled in a custom swivel chair at the back, with stereo speakers embedded in the headrest and videogame controls in each armrest. Billy was surfing the web and discovered that someone had posted a shaky video of Liam's "I'm Your Boy" performance from the night before. Billy looked wistful, watching Liam and Todd having so much fun. Billy passed his iPad to Wiseman and said, "I want to do this arrangement of 'I'm Your Boy' tonight." It was a bit harder-edged than anything in Billy's usual set, but Wiseman liked it and thought the fans would enjoy it too. Just as long as Billy's delivery wasn't as raunchy as this anonymous shirtless guy in the video. Wiseman agreed to find the DJ who had done the remix and make sure he was properly compensated. Billy sat in his comfy throne at the back of the SUV and told Wiseman, "I also think it's time for me to get rid of the Flop." Wiseman turned around, livid. "You can't. It's your signature." "It's a joke. I look absurd. What we'll do is I'll get my hair cut off and donate it to one of those cancer charities for the kids who lose their hair getting chemo. We'll give 'em a big check too. Lots of positive publicity!" Wiseman pondered the notion. Maybe it was time for the Flop to go. Despite running away yesterday, Billy was acting more mature today. Maybe his image should mature too. The side door slid open and Reese hopped into the SUV, showing more agility than he had since college. "Everything copacetic?", Wiseman asked. "Yup, we're all clear. I want to put the shopkeeper and his grand-daughters on the list for backstage passes at tonight's show. And, here, I got something for you." He passed a thin green bracelet to WIseman, who looked at it skeptically. "Uh, thanks, I guess. I'm not big into jewelry, ya know." "I know, but I wanted to get you a thank-you present for not firing me. I think you'll like it. Put it on your left wrist." Curious, Billy leaned forward, resting his chin on Reese's shoulder as Wiseman slapped the bracelet onto his forearm. He yowled from a strange jolt shooting through his body, then calmed down as a cooling rush spread through his body and localized in his head. Although Wiseman hadn't realized it yet, Liam's buzz cut had now taken root on Wiseman's previously naked scalp. Reese looked amused and Billy cackled, but they both thought it actually looked pretty good on him. Wiseman looked back at them with annoyance. "What's so funny?", Wiseman asked as he gestured for the driver to pull away from Mr. Lee's little store.

Mike had become very worried. It had been two weeks since his ex-co-worker David had made his presence known anywhere on social media. What made this so worrisome was that social media was the only place that David actually WAS social. Extremely shy and lacking in self-confidence in person, David would only dare to offer his opinions online, whether griping on Facebook about the casting of the latest comic-book movie or posting on gamer message boards the latest video-game cheat codes he had figured out. David had been one of the earliest employees of DigiWarp, the software company for which Mike worked, while Mike had only been hired a year ago, straight out of college. He admired David, who was a brilliant coder, while Mike considered himself adequate at best. Mike's brains were never going to stumble upon a game-changing breakthrough the way David had a few years back. The best Mike could hope was that he'd be on a development team with people far brighter than he was and reap some of the benefits of their success simply through proximity. Mike didn't know if he had the right to call David his friend, but he might be the closest David had to one. Given David's seniority and Mike's lack of it, there were few reasons for the two men to cross paths at work. But at a lavish party for all of the company's employees at the CEO's mansion overlooking San Francisco Bay, Mike and David found themselves isolated from the rest of the crowd, standing nervously beside each other in a tight corner of the room. Neither man said anything for the first ten minutes. Mike tilted his head to read the spines of the books the host owned, realizing that not only had he never read any of them, he had never heard of most of them. David fixed his attention on his shoes, which he must have tied and retied eight times in those ten minutes, and kept running his fingers down the crease in his chinos, in a futile attempt to make it stay at a perfect 90-degree angle to the floor. They first bonded over their shared allergy to seafood, which they announced simultaneously to the waitress carrying a tray of crab puffs. This led to a twenty-minute discussion of various foods that disagreed with them, a conversation which, if you boiled away the awkward silences, would have amounted to about three minutes of actual conversation. To look at him, you wouldn't think any food disagreed with Mike. Although he and David were both about five-foot-eleven, Mike was easily 200 pounds heavier. Every part of his body weighed too much. His eyelids looked like they could lose a few pounds. His wide head seemed to melt directly into a wider neck. His torso was nearly spherical, and was largely unchanged since childhood when his classmates had dubbed him "Frosty" due to his snowman-like contours. His legs were bulbous and knock-kneed. In an attempt to outwit the male-pattern baldness that ran in his family, he had been shaving his head since college. He comforted himself by thinking of all the celebrities who managed to maintain their sexiness or even become hotter when they went full-cueball; unfortunately, the only celebrity Mike resembled was the Michelin Man. He was also apparently the only invitee to this party who had not noticed the request to dress fashionably. Even if he could afford to buy fashionable clothes, he had no idea what would make his body look in any way fashionable, so here he stood, not eating crab puffs, in a polo with wide red and white stripes providing lines of longitude across his surface area, and cargos which ended about an inch above his black plastic sandals. Aside from their similar heights, David's body was a contrast to Mike's in nearly every way. David was worryingly gaunt, all straight lines and sharp angles. He had a Zuckerbergian head of unruly red curls, which he never thought to get cut until someone pointed out that they could no longer see his eyes. A Wicked-Witch nose dominated his pale sunken face, with an Adam's apple that echoed the nose's shape and prominence. David had no more natural fashion sense than Mike, but he did have a high enough salary that he could walk into an expensive store and ask what he should buy. The only thing he liked about the experience was going home and devising a color-coded program which would tell him, based on the personal shopper's advice, what items should be worn with what other items, which is how he arrived looking positively preppy in his navy-blue sweater vest, pale-blue Oxford shirt, chinos and deck shoes. In a rare oversight, he had neglected to include socks in the program, which explained the green argyles covering his ankles. David always had problems knowing what to do with his large bony hands, which tended to flutter on uncharted courses when he spoke, so he mostly kept his hands buried deeply in his pants pockets. Standing beside each other, rotund Mike looked like a big zero and spindly David looked like a big one. Depending on one's era, this juxtaposition might call to mind Laurel and Hardy, Mutt and Jeff, Mama Michelle and Mama Cass, or Steve Martin and John Candy as the mismatched travelers in "Planes, Trains and Automobiles". But to a roomful of Silicon Valley techies, whose entire lives revolved around manipulations of ones and zeroes, they suggested only one thing. "Hey look," shouted one of their inebriated colleagues, "it's the Binary Brothers!" The initial comment got a few chuckles, but the hilarity grew as more and more partygoers passed along the remark and created a wave of laughter and pointing through the crowd. Mike attempted to join in the laughter, under the flawed theory that they can't be laughing at you if you're laughing with them. David stood uneasily, then decided his shoes needed to be retied. From that point onward, David and Mike found themselves hanging out with each other from time to time, eating together in the company cafeteria, occasionally getting together after work to play video games. Perhaps it was only the gravitational field of Mike's greater body mass pulling anemic David into his orbit. Mainly it was that, even within the hive of worker geeks where they worked, David and Mike were still the last two likely to be picked for a hypothetical game of dodgeball. They were the nerds who even embarrassed the nerds. In the Binary Brothers, Mike might be the zero, but David felt like a zero too. Mike sensed they had another shared interest, although the two men never discussed it. Even at that first party, when David seemed to be averting his eyes completely from the other guests, Mike noticed that David's head would swivel ever so slightly but involuntarily whenever one of the handsome waiters walked past. Mike hoped that his own sampling of the beefcake was more subtle, and he made exaggerated efforts to more blatantly ogle the waitresses, avoiding taunts by maintaining a facade of heterosexuality. The sad fact was that none of the other guests were paying enough attention to David and Mike to give a shit who they were mentally undressing. The pickings were slimmer at the office, where few had gotten ahead on their looks, but Mike did notice David leaving his corner cubicle more frequently when a copier repairman or the UPS guy dropped by. And when the two played video games, Mike noticed how muscular David's avatars always were. Then again, it wasn't like Mike was exactly opting to look like Jonah Hill onscreen. When David took the company buyout and put an absurd number of zeroes in his bank account, he did invite Mike over to his new house once to play games on his sweet seventy-inch HDTV and back him up and down the driveway in his new solar car. But the evening was uncomfortable for both of them. For Mike, he felt inadequate in the presence of such pricey playthings and could sense David's general malaise, which Mike took to be boredom from having to hang around with his sad, fat and broke former colleague. In fact, David disliked the feeling that he was flaunting his obscene wealth which he felt he didn't deserve, despite being the primary brain behind the software that led to the buyout, and he felt disillusioned that all of this money had failed to make him any less dissatisfied with his life. When Mike left the house that night, he vowed not to bother David, not wishing to seem like a pathetic hanger-on. But after two weeks with no trace of David online, Mike was concerned. Maybe David had decided to go on a cross-country drive, or take a cruise, or do something else totally unlike him. Maybe David had met someone. Guys might find him more attractive now that he had such girth in his wallet. Mike wondered whether David was the type to resort to suicide, but considered that unlikely, as it would require physical effort of some sort. He had left voicemail messages and texted David, but never heard back. Finally, he decided he would just go to David's house after work and drop in unexpectedly, in hopes of discovering a simple, logical reason for David's silence. They'd both have a laugh and maybe even get a little drunk on the couch together and, who knows... Mike shook off this scenario for a multitude of reasons, not least of which was that neither of them was likely to make the first move. Besides, it was hard to envision a comfortable way for the Binary Brothers' bodies to mesh sexually. It's not easy to make a one and a zero add up to sixty-nine. Mike trudged up the driveway to David's house with a copy of the latest "Call of Duty" and a sixer of Mike's Hard Lemonade. Despite dismissing his earlier fleeting fantasy, he discovered he was actually nervous about the prospect of meeting David tonight. He had already sweated thoroughly through his black Astro Boy t-shirt and baggy purple shorts, and his calves were chafing from rubbing against each other on the walk here. He noticed that David's solar car was still in the driveway, which he took as a good sign, although fallen leaves and dust were coating it. Mike leaned a beefy arm against the front door and rang the doorbell, but heard no noises from inside. He knocked, first timidly, then more loudly, but still got no response. Too winded to walk back downhill right away, he took a seat on the stone steps and cracked open a bottle to refresh himself. The bottle was half-empty when Mike felt he was seeing a vision. A heavily-muscled shirtless dreamboat jogged from the sidewalk up the driveway. His artistically-carved abs were heaving with each breath and his taut hairless torso was covered in a layer of glistening sweat which reflected the setting sun. His dark hair was trimmed close on the sides and hung in limp, curly, sweat-beaded strands on the top. He was more thickly muscled than the stereotypical runner, with his meaty quads and glutes threatening to widen the slit that went up the side of his skimpy royal-blue running shorts. His tanned calves bulged, forming powerful masses above his matching blue Reeboks. The man was clearly at the end of a lengthy run, while Mike had worked himself into a similar state of exhaustion and perspiration by walking the one block from his bus stop to David's door. Mike gulped a swig from his bottle of alcoholic lemonade as he drank in the runner's body. Mike's hard, indeed. The new arrival wiped a heavy forearm across his brows to shake the sweat from his eyes. His eyelids parted, revealing pale green pupils that seemed somehow familiar to Mike. The man was startled to see someone seated on the steps. "Can I help you, dude?", came a resonant voice that also vaguely rang a bell. Embarrassed, Mike hoisted himself to his feet, grappling with the video game and his drinks. "Sorry, maybe I'm in the wrong place," he said, feeling he must have screwed up somehow, even though he knew this was David's house, and David's solar car was RIGHT THERE in the driveway. Maybe this stud was some rentboy that David had hired with his new wealth...and who could blame him? "I was trying to find David Tanner." As Mike brushed past the hunky jock, pausing just slightly to take a deep whiff of his masculine musk, the runner said, "I'm Dave Tanner." Mike stopped dead in his tracks and turned around slowly. He studied the man before him. It couldn't be. Sure, this guy did have the same color eyes as David. And the voice did sound a lot like David's, only slightly slower and with all the anxiety drained away. And if you dyed David's hair black and trimmed it nicely, it could look like this guy's. And if you put a team of plastic surgeons to work for a couple of years, and piled on the protein shakes and steroids...maybe. But he'd only seen David two weeks ago. This was clearly impossible. Maybe David had a studly cousin named Dave who he'd never mentioned. Not impossible, since Mike and David's conversations never veered near personal topics. "David and I used to work together. Are you maybe a relative of David's?", Mike asked. "Nope, I'm me," the other man said, followed by a throaty chortle. "You okay, buddy? Looks like you're gonna barf." "My head's spinning a little. I think I just need to sit down." The alluring young man studied Mike's face curiously. "I could swear I seen you somewhere before. You work out at Gold's?" Now it was Mike's turn to chortle. He lifted up his bottles of alcohol and said, "This is the only six-pack I'm working on." Looking with confusion at Mike, the man entwined his arms behind his tilted head, his stony biceps seeming to stretching his skin to its limit. Unconsciously, he was alternately flexing his left and right biceps to make them pop, and Mike's eyes were automatically drawn from arm to arm as they peaked. The guy shook his head. "Now it's totally buggin' me. I KNOW I know you from somewhere." He reached into his shorts and extracted a house key. He opened the door and gestured for Mike to follow him. "Come in and cool off before you stroke out." Mike hauled himself up the steps, gripping the railing for support. The inside of the house was largely as Mike remembered it from his single previous visit. For the living room, David had not purchased much furniture beyond the jumbo television and a single gaming chair. When they had played games, David had graciously allowed Mike to use the chair as David sat cross-legged on the floor. To these items had been added a beanbag chair, a wooden dining tray and a couple of bar stools, suggesting that this mansion's interior designer was Pier One. The guy calling himself Dave kicked off his running shoes and peeled off his sweaty ankle socks, which he tossed onto the hardwood floor, joining previously discarded items of athletic clothing scattered around the room. He pointed toward the drinks Mike was holding and asked, "You mind?" Mike handed him the whole six-pack. The dude laughed and said, "I only need one." He uncapped it with his bare hands and slammed down the contents in a single uninterrupted chug. He ripped a belch that echoed on the house's hard surfaces and yelled, "Fuck, I needed that. Thanks!" He clapped a sweaty palm on Mike's shoulder, then flung himself into the beanbag chair, legs unapologetically spread wide, allowing Mike a clear view of the thin white lining of his running shorts and, beneath that, a jockstrap that was working overtime to hold in something major. Mike had to get to the meat of this (so to speak). "So you're sure we never worked together?" "Dude, I can't remember the last time I had a job. But I swear I'm motivated now. I'm trying to get in shape to take the fire department's entry exam." Mike gaped at the body sprawled in front of him. "YOU aren't in shape?" "I gotta work on my stamina. Bein' a fireman, there's no fuckin' around. Lives are on the line and shit. But I think my cardio's coming along pretty excellently. I only been at it for two weeks." Mike's legs got a bit wobbly. David had been missing for two weeks. "Two weeks? So, what were you doing before that?" The guy in the beanbag casually scratched his balls as he thought. Nothing was coming. "Fuck if I know, dude. Just livin', I guess." Mike took a seat in the video-game chair and tried to make sense of this. "Hey, I'm gonna grab a quick shower, but you're welcome to play a video game or whatever. I can trust you not to steal my shit, right?" Mike nodded as the guy called Dave leapt energetically from the beanbag chair, his big bare feet slapping hard against the wooden floor. Without a thought, he pulled his nylon running shorts down the full length of his legs and kicked the shorts through the door into his bedroom. He paused in the doorway to wriggle free from his jockstrap, which he dropped with a soggy flop onto the floor. Mike stared in awe at the exquisite symmetry of the ass cheeks across the room, and was tantalized by the glimpse of a cock head he could see in the narrow gap between Dave's brawny thighs. Once he heard the water running in the bathroom, Mike rose and began to search the house for any clues about what might have happened to David Tanner. He found no obvious hints in the living room. The kitchen was even more barren of furniture aside from appliances. A dietary chart was Scotch-taped to the wall, with fresh fruits and oatmeal containers on the counter top and a fridge full of steaks, chicken breasts, yogurt, eggs and veggies. Mike crept into the bedroom, careful to avoid being seen by Dave in the adjoining bathroom. Mike had only gotten a brief tour of the house on his previous visit, but from what he remembered, not much had changed. The king-size bed was unmade, which the anal David would never have allowed. More clothes were strewn about, along with the bags from the stores where they were purchased. Mike rifled through the empty bags and found receipts for the items purchased, all within the past two weeks. A cheap cellphone rested on the floor next to the bed. Mike checked it and saw it was not David's old number and that only a few calls had been made on it, also in the last two weeks, with no text messages. Then Mike noticed the one strange item that would differentiate this from any average sloppy bachelor's bedroom. Hanging on the door to the closet was a San Francisco fireman's uniform. It seemed bizarre to Mike that the fire department would give a uniform to someone who wasn't a member of the force. Maybe this Dave guy was fucking a fireman who had left his uniform behind. Mike tiptoed across the room, flinching when the floorboards squeaked under his weight. He reached the closet and began to rifle through the pockets with his stubby hands. Nothing in the jacket pockets, but in the pants pockets he felt something. He reached in and pulled out two items. One was a business card that he couldn't read in the unlit room, the other was another cell phone. Mike attempted to switch on the phone, but it was drained of juice. His eyes scanned the room until he saw a charging cord plugged in the wall behind the closet door. As he plugged the phone into the charger, he heard a voice behind him. "I toldja not to steal nothin'." Mike spun around, terrified at being caught, dropping the phone and stuffing the business card into the pocket of his shorts. He'd been so caught up in his snooping that he hadn't heard the shower stop. He attempted to look nonchalant, but was stunned to see Dave standing in silhouette in the bathroom doorway, towel draped casually around his shoulders, his skin slicked with water and backlit. "I'm sorry, I was just...my cell phone..." Dave laughed and waved an arm dismissively. "I'm just fuckin' with you, man. C'mon, you hungry?" He slapped his hand over his firm abs and motioned for Mike to follow him to the kitchen. Mike would have felt foolish to do anything other than what this dude requested. He walked several steps behind, admiring how Dave's bare ass shifted with each stride. Goddamn, this guy had absolutely no self-consciousness about his body. He was walking fully nude in front of some fat slob he only kind of thought he might know, and it didn't bother him a bit. This cat was cool. Dave set about making his supper, grilling a steak and whipping up a spinach salad. Despite repeated inquiries, Mike insisted that he wasn't hungry (not for food, at least). He pulled up a bar stool and downed more hard lemonade as he watched the naked chef go about his business. Dave stuffed a spinach leaf in his mouth. "So what's your name? Maybe that'll jog my...ya know..." "Mike. I work at DigiWarp." The word "DigiWarp" did seem to ignite a spark in Dave's eyes, but the spark dulled by the time it reached his brain. "You look so fuckin' familiar, dude. I feel like I should remember you from somewhere. I mean, you're a lot to forget." He gestured toward Mike's gut. Mike smiled weakly, as always trying not to be overly sensitive. Dave detected this and looked immediately apologetic. "Sorry, that was a real fucked-up thing to say. I didn't mean nothin'. You seem like a cool guy." No one had ever said THAT to Mike before. "Well, we can't all have a body like yours," Mike said, quickly plugging a bottle of booze in his mouth to prevent drooling. "All you need is a good diet and discipline, man. You think I always looked like this?" "I don't know," Mike said. "Did you?" Dave had to consider that. His memory was so shitty lately, like part of his brain was just plain gone. He sure hoped there wasn't gonna be a lot of math on the fire department exam. He dodged the question and pointed toward Mike's bottle. "Ya know, that shit fucks up your body. Lemme have another one, 'kay?" Mike playfully pulled the remaining bottles out of Dave's reach. "No. Maybe I don't want you fuck up your bod." Did he actually say "bod"? Was he seriously flirting with this man who was so far out of his league? Even if somehow that really was David inside that cocoon of beautiful muscle, he sure wasn't acting like it. Mike hardly felt like he belonged to the same species as the gorgeous specimen standing naked before him. Dave sauntered across the kitchen and stretched an arm around Mike to grab a bottle. "I just ran ten miles. I think I deserve a treat, don't you?" As Dave's cock grazed against Mike's arm, it jolted and rose slightly. Dave noticed as Mike's eyes dropped down to gaze at his dick. "Unless you can think of a better treat." Mike became short of breath again and looked at Dave to see if this was a gag, but Dave was staring back through half-closed eyes that radiated sincerity. "You serious?" "Serious as the heart attack you're having, dude." He grabbed Mike's pudgy hand and led him back to the living room. Dave flopped into the leather gaming chair, his damp, bare skin clinging to the upholstery. He leaned back and stroked himself lazily while waiting for Mike, who was frantically trying to pull himself free from his stupid, sopping-wet XXXL shirt. He clumsily lowered himself to the floor, kneeling before Dave in his leather throne, and wrapped his lips around the head of Dave's glorious cock. It was already semi-hard and leaking cum, but grew dramatically as soon as Mike's tongue made contact. Dave leaned his head back and let the sensation rush through his body. He didn't know why he'd been so sex-crazy lately. He didn't remember always being so willing to fuck any guy he met. Then again, he didn't remember NOT being that way either. This Mike guy might be a tub of goo, but he seemed harmless and it was obvious from the way he'd been staring that it would be a major "Dear Diary" moment in this guy's life if he could just polish Dave's knob once. Even though he had whacked off in the shower, Dave still needed more release after that long run. A mouth is a mouth, thought Dave, and this guy seems to be eager. Why wouldn't he be eager? Just fuckin' look at me! Mike was so thrilled by what was happening that he had already shot a load in his pants, but he didn't let on to Dave. He continued sucking and licking, trying to remember any move he'd seen in the videos he had watched in college while his roommates were out banging cheerleaders and poetry majors (of both genders). He had always thought himself so undesirable that he had never found himself in a situation that even offered him the opportunity for sex. To be deep-throating this stud, however strange the circumstances, was a chance he could not pass up. He started to wheeze as Dave's cock swelled to its full nine inches, but he refused to gag. Dave's cock fired, launching clots of thick cream so far down Mike's throat that, only as Dave pulled out, dragging his still pulsating head across Mike's tongue, did Mike get a full sense of the flavor of Dave's cum. Exhausted, Mike flopped shirtless onto the floor, smiling euphorically. Dave waited a respectful fifteen seconds before loping back into the kitchen. It was all over so quickly that his steak was still rare. * * * The next thing Mike heard was gunfire. It startled him awake and he lifted his bulky shoulders off the floor. Propped up on his elbows, he looked beside him and saw Dave seated in his gamer chair and lost in a ferocious gunfight on the massive video screen. Dave's empty plate, salad bowl, and three more empties of Mike's Hard rested by his bare feet. While Mike was dozing, Dave had gotten dressed...to an extent. He wore a black Under Armour sleeveless and skintight black compression leggings which clung so tightly to every contour of Dave's body that he may as well have been spray-painted black. Mike smiled up at Dave, who glanced down for a millisecond to smile back and inform Mike, "You fuckin' snore, dude." Mike rolled his substantial frame on its side and watched the action on the screen. Dave was slaughtering anyone who came in his path. His reflexes were astounding. His long-fingered hands masterfully worked the controls in a frenzy...just like David's had. "This game is great for hand-eye coordination. I am gonna fuckin' ace the firefighting exam." Mike turned back to Dave, smirking. "Just because you're good in a firefight doesn't mean you're good at firefighting. You do know that you don't actually fight fires with guns, right?" "Yes, I know. You think I'm an idiot or something?", Dave said, laughing and pushing a bare smelly foot into Mike's face. Mike squirmed away, yelling, "Gross," but he secretly loved it. His cock was semi-hard again. "I gotta take a leak." "Go ahead. Piss your heart out." Mike waddled through the bedroom and into the bathroom. He didn't want to break the awesome mood he was in, so tried to avoid catching a reflection of his flab in the mirror. But reality hit home when he needed to pull out his penis and, as usual, had to fumble around under his enormous overhanging gut to extract it from his shorts. He had come to think of his cock like a black hole: he couldn't actually see it, but based on the evidence, he was convinced that it must exist. He was tempted to jerk off, but his bladder was shouting more urgently to his brain, and maybe if he was lucky, he'd get Dave to jack him off or blow him or... "Stop it," yelled Mike's bladder, "I'll never get to piss if you keep thinking about things like that." Mike sighed with relief and unleashed perhaps the longest piss of his life. After a few final afterthought squirts, he pulled his baggy shorts up to what technically qualified as his waist. As he dragged the shorts up his thigh, he remembered there was something extra in his pocket. He dug in and pulled out the dog-eared business card he had found earlier. He examined it in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. It read, "MR. LEE, X-DREAM MAKEOVERS", followed by some Chinese symbols. "X-Dream Makeovers," Mike thought. Could this be the explanation for how shy, nerdy David had seemingly been transformed into the musclehead currently racking up kills in the living room? There was no address on either side of the card. Mike remembered the cell phone he had found along with the card and tiptoed into the bedroom. The phone was still recharging but had enough juice that Mike could boot it up. A quick look at the phone showed that the ringer had been turned to vibrate and that all of Mike's texts and voicemails had come through, but none seemed to have been read or listened to. As he scrolled around, he noticed that the last message received and read two weeks ago was from someone named Kenneth. It gave a street address that Mike knew was on the fringes of Chinatown, followed by "IT'LL BE THE BEST INVESTMENT OF YOUR LIFE. CALL ME AFTER. ;)" Could whatever had happened to David have been so dramatic that it wiped out his memory to the point that he didn't even remember where his phone was? Did he even remember to get back in touch with whoever sent him to get the makeover? Mike forwarded the text to his own phone, so he would have the address, and stuffed the business card back into his pocket. Returning to the living room, Mike held the cell phone in front of Dave's face. "Is this your cell?" Dave shoved the phone out of his face and continued with his game. "Could be. I couldn't find my phone, so I just bought a new one. You know what's nuts? Turns out I got like crazy amounts of money in the bank." Of course he does, thought Mike. He's David Tanner, tech wizard and multi-millionaire, only he's oblivious to those facts. Now he's Dave Tanner, Mike's dream boy, with nothing on his mind beyond getting in shape, becoming a fireman, and laying waste to whatever videogame character pops up around the next corner. Dave addressed Mike without ever turning his attention from the screen. "Listen, I gotta get to bed so I can hit the gym at five a.m. It was great to meet you and all. I hope you find that guy you were looking for." "Thanks. I think I did." Dave was already lost in the game again. Mike pulled his Astro Boy shirt back on and made his way to the front door. He sneaked back into the living room, grabbed one of Dave's used ankle socks from the floor, took a whiff and stuck it in his pocket. Whatever happened next, at least he would have a souvenir of tonight. * * * Mike went directly from Dave's house to the address in the text message, so jazzed by the evening's events that he walked a full three blocks before getting too tired and riding a bus the remainder of the way. When he reached the address, he was disappointed. It was a tiny shop with dingy windows. Mike attempted to look inside, but the streetlamps barely penetrated the grime on the glass and revealed almost nothing of the interior. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep or be able to focus on his job tomorrow morning, so he faked a convincingly scratchy throat and left a message on his supervisor's voicemail that he would not be in to work. Mike did indeed stay awake all night, surfing the web. He could find no references anywhere to "X-Dream Makeovers", which seemed impossible. If someone could indeed change David the dud into Dave the stud, how could that ever remain a secret? Why wouldn't everyone one earth be storming the place? Maybe they wiped David's memories to keep him from revealing the details of his transformation? But then who was this Kenneth who told David this would be "the best investment of his life" and that he should "call me after semicolon end-parenthesis"? So many questions, so many hours until daylight. Mike tried to pass the time by watching porn, but he kept closing his eyes and fantasizing about Dave instead. As dawn broke, Mike headed back towards the address he had found, wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt and cut-off sweat pants. The shop was not open and looked no more like a going concern than it had in the dead of night. Mike decided to grab breakfast across the street. He headed to a 7-Eleven but, rather than his typical Diet Coke Double Gulp and a couple of donuts, he decided to try yogurt and a banana this morning. If the day went as he hoped, he might be eating more healthy from now on. Regardless, the creamy texture of the yogurt and the long firm slope of the banana in his mouth brought back pleasant memories of last night. Mike hiked back to the shop, amazed by how much energy he had exerted in the past twelve hours. He still saw no lights or activity inside, but he finally decided to try the door. When he pushed the handle, the door swung open and an elderly Chinese man with a mustache was seated calmly behind a counter. He looked like he had been expecting Mike. Mike had no idea how well the man spoke English, so he pulled out the business card and pointed to it, asking, "This. You?" The man smiled serenely. "This, me. You may call me Mr. Lee." Mike took a few steps forward but realized he had left the door open. As he was turning back to close the door, Mr. Lee raised a hand and the door seemed to close on its own. The dim light which seeped through the dirty windows gave the room a feeling of foreboding. "Hi, Mr. Lee, my name is..." Mr. Lee raised a hand to stop him. "I do not need to know names." Besides, the gifted Mr. Lee already sensed that the man was named Mike and had discerned several other details about the new customer. "What can I do for you today?" "I think you helped a friend of mine a couple weeks ago. His name was... Well, his name doesn't matter. But maybe you remember him. He was a skinny quiet guy who designed brilliant software. Only now I went to his house last night and there's this big hunky guy living there who wants to be a fireman." Mr. Lee showed no outward sign of it, but he indeed remembered the one who left dressed as a fireman. He also remembered the fireman who had left behind the uniform in the first place. Mr. Lee remembered many things. "You are sure it is the same man. Perhaps the first man moved away and the fireman moved in." "No, no, no, they've got the same name. They've got the same eyes. They've got the same voice...sorta. I mean, that's about it, but I'm still sure it's the same guy." "So what is it you wish from me? You also wish to be a fireman?" Mike realized that he had not planned an answer for this question, even though it was the one he hoped he would be asked. "Well, I dunno. What exactly do you do here?" "You tell me what you want to change about yourself, and we agree on a price you are willing to pay for that change." "Oh, man. I don't have anything like the money Da...my friend has. No wonder you don't have lines around the block. You must charge like a billion dollars." "I do not charge money. I ask you to give me something of yours in exchange for what you wish. From this, I replenish my stock of ingredients." He gestured with a practiced flourish to indicate the multi-colored jars on the shelves behind him. "What do you wish to change about yourself?" Mike looked down at his body, then back at Mr. Lee. "Isn't it kinda obvious?" "I never assume. Unfortunately, to be blunt, I do not need more fat in my inventory. There is not much call for it, except the occasional gentleman who wishes to be...what is they call it...a grizzly?" "You mean a bear?", offered Mike. Mr. Lee nodded. "Yeah, I've been carting around this lard for years. I can understand why no one else would want it." Mike looked ready to give up. Compassion was Mr. Lee's greatest flaw. He couldn't bear to see a potential customer disappointed, even if it meant stockpiling ingredients that he would never use. How many times had he removed a customer's acne, knowing that no one would ever enter his shop and ask to have MORE zits? "I will not have much use for it, but better in my store room than on your body." Mike was getting seriously excited now. "You mean it? Great!" "But you have still not told me what you can give to me in exchange." Mike thought it over seriously. He felt he wasn't being falsely modest or brutally self-critical when he said, "I can't think of anything about me that's special that anyone else would want." As he heard those words out loud, Mike realized he had just stated his entire philosophy about romance. "Perhaps I could take some of your intelligence?" After all, that is what his friend had sacrificed for his new body. Mike laughed heartily. "I do not have a drop of intelligence to waste." "That is too bad. I can always use brains." Mr. Lee placed his fingertips together and hinted, "Surely a young man like yourself can think of something else." It took a moment for the suggestion to sink in. Young man? "You want...my age?" "To be accurate, what I want is your youth." In most cases, Mr. Lee discouraged people if they asked him to make them older. Those who ask for it usually regret the years they have skipped over and quickly ask for their youth back. But this young man seemed to be carrying so much weight, not just physically but emotionally, that he already seemed ready to be old. "I sense you have been worn down by life, despite your young age. You do not even have your hair." "Maybe you could give me some?", Mike said, raising his eyebrows hopefully. "I could. But only in exchange for something else." Mike had not anticipated this complication. What would he be willing to give up to gain what he wanted? It made him question the entire concept of who he was. If he was miraculously thin all of a sudden, how would that affect the way he acted and the way others acted toward him? If he showed up at work and was twenty years older, would he get newfound respect or would he be thrown out by security as a crazy person? "If I go through with this, will I still remember who I am?", Mike asked. "You should." Sometimes, when he drained off someone's intelligence, memories got lost in the process. Mr. Lee was sure that was what had happened to Mike's friend, David, but he had seemed so delighted in his new fireman's uniform, and all of the innate wisdom and common sense he would need as a firefighter were still intact. Mr. Lee never wanted there to be negative consequences from the changes he made. He didn't want to read in the newspaper one day that someone had died in a blaze because their fireman was an idiot. "And will other people still remember who I am?" "Depends on how much you change. Big change, more problems. How you explain is up to you. If you need new name, new driver's license, new Social Security, that up to you. I do not handle paperwork" Raising his voice for the first time since Mike entered, Mr. Lee thundered, "But the one thing you must NEVER do is tell anyone about this store!" "Oh, right, absolutely, my lips are sealed." Of course Mr. Lee depended on customers breaking this vow in order to bring in new business. But he figured it didn't hurt to spook them with a little threat, so they would only mention the store confidentially to those who could truly benefit most from Mr. Lee's services. Mike couldn't believe he was negotiating this. "How many years are we talking about?" "Depends on how skinny you want to be." "Let's say I lost 180 pounds." Mr. Lee pulled a wooden abacus from under the counter, slid the beads around in a way he had never learned to understand but gave his presentation a certain level of showmanship, and declared, "Eighteen years." "Whoa," said Mike, contemplating walking out of this store as a 40-year-old, albeit a skinny 40-year-old. "Can we make it fifteen?" Somehow the notion of being 37 was slightly easier to stomach. "We can make it whatever you want. It is your decision." "Would that mean I'll live fifteen years less? That I'll die sooner?" "You could live to 115. You could be hit by a truck tomorrow. The question: how do you want to live whatever time you have?" Mike looked down at his bulbous body. He definitely didn't want to be carrying around this load for the rest of his life. But wasn't he crazy to be considering something this weird and drastic? Maybe he should just grow some balls and join a gym. Oh, who was he kidding? That would never happen. Whereas what Mr. Lee was offering was immediate, and he'd already seen the results it had on David. Mr. Lee was already getting jars off his shelves, as if he knew that Mike had made his decision. Which, in fact, he had. "Okay, fifteen years." Mr. Lee raised his hands and the room became dark, except for a single spotlight shining on Mike. Showmanship again. "If you are ready, I will take your fifteen years from you." Mike braced himself, not knowing how you prepare to lose fifteen years of your life. He tensed up, closed his eyes and nodded. Mr. Lee opened a jar with a small amount of yellow powder at the bottom. It had been so long since he had persuaded anyone to sacrifice their youth that his supply was nearly gone. He watched as Mike's large body began to sag even more than usual. Light yellow particles, like clumps of pollen, began to seep out of Mike's pores and float across the room into the open jar. Mike's head remained bald, his eyebrows became flecked with gray, and the spotlight even caught the emergence of small hairs from his ears and nostrils. "Can I look yet?", asked Mike. It felt to him like his body was melting. "No, keep your eyes closed please." Mr. Lee didn't think Mike would like what he saw if he opened his eyes now. If he was unhappy with his hefty body as a 22-year-old, seeing that same body at 37 might be a devastating shock that could damage him permanently. To remove Mike's fat cells, Mr. Lee used a jerry-rigged device with ropes, a funnel and a hose. It looked like the sort of thing the Amish might use to perform liposuction. He pulled up Mike's sweatshirt to reveal his enormous belly and positioned the funnel at Mike's navel, tying it in place with ropes stretched around his back. The hose fed from the funnel into an underground tank where the fat was collected after removal. Mr. Lee always had such an excess of his customers' fat in the tank that he was forced to sell it, just to get it off his hands. He knew never to eat fried food from any of the restaurants who purchased it. Mr. Lee clapped his hands twice, which somehow activated this non-mechanical device. Immediately, Mike could feel the fat cells from throughout his body being drawn toward his belly button like iron filings toward a magnet. Clots of liquid lard began to ooze through the hose and under the floorboards. As the body fat shrank, Mike's skin began to tingle as it contracted. Untoned muscles which had been camouflaged for years by thick layers of obesity were revealed. The viscous stream from Mike's navel slowed and eventually stopped. Mr. Lee removed the device and declared, "Now you can look." Mike grimaced in the glare of the spotlight, then caught his reflection in a mirror on the wall. The man looking back at him was startlingly unrecognizable, but at the same time familiar, and Mike suddenly realized that it was like looking at a tweaked version of his own father. He stroked his newly slender fingers across his cheek, stunned to discover cheekbones and an elegant nose that had been lurking unseen on his face all these years. He found his chrome-dome look was considerably more bad-ass on this less bloated head. Crows' feet by his eyes and wrinkles on his forehead provided evidence of the years he had lost, but also suggested the wisdom of age. All Mike was missing was the actual wisdom. His cut-off sweats and boxer underwear had dropped to the floor once his waistline receded, revealing knobby but not unattractive legs. His sweatshirt now felt like a circus tent draped over his shoulders. He essentially climbed out of the shirt, tossing it aside so he could take in his fully naked body. No question, he looked middle-aged, but he now had the slim build of someone who was generally healthy but didn't exercise much. Maybe he could whip himself into better shape with a hand from Dave. Mike's mind toyed with the vision of Dave whipping him with his hands, and Mike's cock stirred to arousal. He was glad that he hadn't aged further, as his cock was still spry enough to spring into action after a single fleeting horny thought. Seeing his cock and balls on full display in the mirror, Mike realized they looked pretty much the way he'd remembered, but they looked bigger now that the body surrounding them was so much smaller. He hadn't turned into a traffic-stopper like Dave, but given how little he had to barter with, he was pleased with his new body overall. And somehow, with age, he felt less agitated and more serene, less self-doubting and more self-assured. It certainly didn't hurt his self image that he could finally see his toes again. "Are you pleased, Mr. Mike?", asked Mr. Lee. "I'm amazed," responded Mike, not realizing he had never told Mr. Lee his name. Mr. Lee pushed the mirror aside, revealing a room filled with clothes. "Please choose some clothing that suits the new you. I will give you some privacy." Mr. Lee went back behind his counter while Mike entered the room and evaluated his options. He felt like he'd wandered into a thrift shop, where clothes of different styles and even from different eras hung side by side. Mike had no idea what size clothes would even fit this new body, so he tried on several items, all of which he discovered were too roomy for him. He strolled down to the smaller sizes and spotted a gray hoodie and khaki shorts which looked very familiar. They were practically a uniform for David when he worked at DigiWarp, at least on the days when he didn't need to use his color-coordinated system to look more put together for visiting clients. Curious, Mike attempted to slip on the shorts, but even after all this weight loss, Mike was still heavier than the old stick-thin David had been. He did, however, discover something folded in one of the pockets of the shorts. He pulled it out and noticed that it was an envelope from a law office: "Mr. Kenneth Donnelly, Attorney At Law." Could this be the Kenneth who had directed David to Mr. Lee's store? He pulled out the letter, which was about provisions for David's post-buyout investments, not life-altering body changes. Still, Mike kept the letter, as it provided him with Kenneth's work address and phone number. Mike was still completely naked with no clue what he could wear when he spied a pin-striped black suit, white shirt and red tie. He tried the pants first and they fit his new measurements almost perfectly. The whole suit couldn't have been a better fit if it had been tailored. He rummaged around the piles on the floor until he found socks and shoes that matched, then emerged into the store, modeling his new look for Mr. Lee, who nodded approvingly. Mike admired himself in the mirror, amazed by the trim figure he cut. As the front of his slacks bent outward, he realized that he was becoming aroused by his reflection, another new phenomenon for Mike. As Mr. Lee was placing his magic substances back on the shelves, he dipped a tablespoon into the yellow powder of youth and swallowed it down. A small dose like that didn't produce any major changes, maybe a few darker hairs in his mustache. Mostly, it gave Mr. Lee the quick jolt of energy he sometimes needed in the morning ever since he had given up coffee. * * * "Mr. Donnelly, there's a gentleman here to see you," came the voice over the intercom. Kenneth Donnelly looked annoyed. He had taken off his jacket and was loosening his tie, preparing to take his midday exercise break. "I was just about to head out." The assistant's voice squawked again. "He says it's regarding David Tanner." Kenneth stopped suddenly, leaving one end of the tie dangling much further from his collar than the other. "Send him in please." The door opened and Mike strode in with a sense of confidence and purpose he had rarely felt, still wearing his new suit from Mr. Lee's store. He made a quick evaluation of Kenneth Donnelly. Based on his wavy graying hair, Mike would peg him in his early forties, although his blue eyes were bright, penetrating and youthful. At first, he appeared stocky, but on closer inspection, his dress shirt was simply loose to accommodate the impressive arms and torso underneath. Through the shirt, one could clearly see the outlines of a ribbed white tank tightly caressing Kenneth's curves. Donnelly was used to making quick judgments about people as well, and he was immediately curious to hear what the man in the pin-striped suit had to say. "You have information about David Tanner?" He gestured for the man to take a seat, but Mike remained standing. "I'm a friend of David's and I believe you have information about what happened to him two weeks ago." Donnelly looked alarmed. "What do you think 'happened' to him?" Mike thought Donnelly seemed genuinely concerned, but he could just be a lawyer who was good at feigning emotions when required. Mike pulled Mr. Lee's business card from his pocket and showed it to Donnelly. "Do you know anything about this?" Donnelly kept his hands in his pockets and studied Mike. "What do you know about it?" "Can you give me any answers that aren't in the form of a question?" Donnelly pondered what he should tell this stranger. "Can I at least know who I'm talking to?" "My name's Mike. I worked with David at DigiWarp. And I'm pretty sure you're the person who sent David to see Mr. Lee." Donnelly motioned for Mike to lower his voice and crossed the office to shut the door so they wouldn't be overheard. He gestured again for Mike to take a seat, but he found that he preferred to remain standing, eye to eye with Donnelly, alpha male to alpha male. Although they were roughly the same height, Donnelly seemed to shrink a bit under Mike's glare. "I knew I shouldn't be spreading the word about Mr. Lee. Are you telling me David actually went?" "Didn't you tell him to?" "I...mentioned it. He was such a mess when we were working on his buyout, so lacking in self-worth despite all his success. I thought it might be a good idea for him to see a shrink. When he shot that down, I told him about Mr. Lee. But I never heard another word from him, so I figured he had ignored my suggestion and was just sulking around in that new mansion of his. So..." Donnelly paused before asking, "How does he look?" Mike could tell from the glint in Donnelly's eye that the lawyer was very curious to hear a detailed description, with exact measurements if possible. "He looks amazing. Keeps saying he wants to be a fireman, but I get the feeling he'd settle for exotic dancer. Anything that involves sliding on poles." Donnelly grinned, tantalized. "So if you already knew about Mr. Lee and what he had done to David, why are you here?" Mike put his cards on the table. "Because he's dumb as a bag of hammers now. He's like this big, lovable, well-hung puppy dog." "And, what, you want me to take him back to Mr. Lee and make him smart again?" Mike hesitated. "No, I don't think I want that. I mean, I've never seen him so happy. It's probably good for him that he doesn't have a care in the world. I'm just worried that someone will come along and take advantage of his good nature and rob him blind." "Not a problem. I will personally look after all of his interests and will not let him sign anything that is against his interests." Mike nodded, but didn't say anything. Donnelly could sense what was bothering Mike. Donnelly ponted at Mike and said, "YOU want to be the one who makes sure he's taken care of." Mike nodded, feeling a bit foolish. Donnelly smiled more broadly. "You're in love with him." Mike took a long time before he was able to say a simple "Yeah." "Since when?" "If I'm honest, probably since I met him. He was such a special person, and not just because of his mind. And, now, I swear to god, it's not just because of his body. I think I always saw something sweet in him that nobody else did. Look at me. I'm just a nobody. I'm not special at anything and I'm never gonna be. But if I can be the person looking out for someone special, maybe that's special enough." Donnelly was not immune to sentiment. He knew the man before him was being genuine. "If David looks as good as you say he does, there will be a lot of people trying to get between you and him." Mike looked up with determination. "Let 'em try." Donnelly was impressed. He cast a lingering glance at Mike's body and asked, "So what did Mr. Lee do for you?" He'd never met Donnelly before. Donnelly had no idea how Mike had looked before this morning. "How do you know he did anything?" Donnelly smirked as he pointed to Mike's wardrobe. "Because that's my old suit." * * * Dave was doing crunches on a yoga mat when a faint pounding seeped through the earbuds that were cranking house music. He finished his set of one-hundred before popping out the earbuds. Yup, somebody was beating on his door. He shouted, "Who is it?" "It's Kenneth Donnelly, your lawyer." Dave tried to remember if he had a lawyer. And what exactly a lawyer was. He walked to the door and opened it without checking the peephole. Donnelly stood on the front stoop with his briefcase, dressed casually in his after-work wardrobe of a polo shirt and white slacks, the shirt's elastic cuffs riding high on his ripped biceps, exposing his Celtic tattoos. If anything, Mike had undersold his description of Dave, who was bathed in sweat and wearing only a pair of soaked olive-green boxer briefs. Donnelly would have loved to get a court order to poke through those briefs, but he firmly believed that the only time you should fuck your client is when you send them your bill. Donnelly set aside prurient thoughts and got to business. "I've got some papers I want you to look over, so I thought I'd swing by on my way home, rather than making you come into the office." "Cool," Dave said, waving the man inside. He had no clue what this was about, but the guy seemed to know what he was doing. Dave took the video game chair, leaving Donnelly the option of a sweaty yoga mat or a beanbag chair. He opted for squatting in the beanbag. "First, just for official identification purposes, can I ask what is your name?" "Sure you can." Dave waited for another question. Even Donnelly was surprised just how precipitously David's IQ had fallen. But Mike had been right, all traces of David's crippling anxiety and lack of confidence were absent in the dude seated across from him. "Okay. What is your name?" "Dave Tanner." "Good, Dave. Now you might not remember it, but you recently came into a lot of money. And you hired me to help safeguard it. But you have a friend who, if you agree to it, would like to help you on a more day-to-day basis. Does that sound good?" "You bet! Who's the friend?" "Do you have a friend named Mike?" Dave scratched his tangle of curly hair vigorously, as if he were trying to scratch all the way through to the brain. Finally, it hit him. "Oh, you mean the fat dude from last night?" Donnelly smirked and shouted through the still-open front door. "Hey, fat dude, come on in." Dave swiveled his chair around and watched as a man in his mid-to-late thirties stepped through the doorway. The bald head and slightly wrinkled face were recognizable from this morning's visit to Mr. Lee, but from the chin down, this was Mike 3.0. If the first transformation had changed Mike into the equivalent of a middle-aged accountant, he would now be more firmly typecast as a gay-bar bouncer or motorcycle-gang member. Much of his bulk was back, but in the form of enormous muscles. His traps strained the straps of his black stringer tank, which was stretched tight across his solid shelf of pecs. Veins leapt out in sharp relief against the mighty curves of his arm muscles. Black denim shorts hung down to his knees, exposing calves which were once again the size of piano legs, just more elegantly carved. He exuded confidence as he nodded, "Hey, Dave." Dave crossed the room to get a better look at Mike's body. If Dave had become an ideally sculpted David, Mike was now a crushingly powerful Goliath. "Dude, you gotta tell me what gym you go to!" Mike grinned. "Same place as you." After Mike's visit to Donnelly's office, they decided another trip to Mr. Lee's shop would be necessary if Mike were ever going to have a shot at competing for Dave's attention among the sea of well-built men surrounding them. Mr. Lee broke his primary rule by not giving Mike muscles in exchange for some other attribute. Instead, he agreed to accept free legal counsel from Donnelly for the next year. As careful and selective as Mr. Lee tried to be, there were always disgruntled customers threatening to sue, so having a powerful attorney -- legally and physically -- could come in handy. Donnelly was willing to make such a deal because he felt guilty that he hadn't accompanied David to Mr. Lee's shop to keep him from making any ill-advised choices, although seeing the joy on Dave's face right now, he wasn't sure that Dave hadn't gotten exactly the body and mind he wanted and needed. "So," Dave asked Mike, "how was your day?" Mike shot a glance at Donnelly. "Eventful." Donnelly left a sheaf of papers on one of the barstools. "I'll just leave these here for Mike to explain to you. They'll allow Mike to make routine purchasing and investment decisions for the two of you. If you agree to it, you two can just sign the documents where the flags are and get the originals back to my office. You can keep the second copies for yourselves." Donnelly may as well have been speaking to an empty room, as Mike and Dave were now kissing hungrily. Mike's meaty hand was palming Dave's firm ass, and Dave was frantically unbuckling Mike's belt. Donnelly had to squeeze his own substantial body past them to get to the door. "Okay, you two have a good night. I'm sure you will." Donnelly headed down the sidewalk, smiling with certainty that at least two of Mr. Lee's customers wouldn't be suing him in disappointment. As Donnelly reached his Tesla double-parked in the street, he realized he'd forgotten to remind Mike of something. He jogged back to the front door and said, "Mike, don't forget to call DigiWarp and tell them you quit." Mike and Dave were both now naked on the yoga mat, grunting and moaning, with Mike taking his new eleven-inch cock for a test piledrive up Dave's tight ass. Donnelly smirked. Mr. Lee had resisted throwing in that cock for free, but Donnelly talked him into it. "Tell them you got a better offer."

"So, is it true? Ya know, about the formula?", Casey asked eagerly, kneeling on the bed of the San Diego motel room, his lithe body dressed in nothing but his camouflage-patterned briefs. "What formula?", said Andre, the incredibly muscular young man wearing nothing at all. Andre stood by the window, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks as the morning light seeping through the blinds cast flattering shadows across the impressive contours of his body. "You are such a bad liar!", Casey giggled, rolling onto his back. "You do that scratching your face thing every time you fib. You must be terrible at poker." "When have I told a lie?" "Let's see," mused Casey, stretching his right leg toward the ceiling. "For starters, last night at Rich's, you told me you were a mailman." "I could be a mailman." "Riiiight. Like, only the most awesomely jacked mailman in postal service history. Plus you told me your name was Sam Adams, which you only said after staring at the label on your beer bottle." Andre hung his head in exaggerated shame. "You got me." "Indeed I did," Casey said with a grin, his eyebrows jolting victoriously upwards. "It's a good thing you're not a spy. I could figure out all your secrets." "How do you know I'm not a spy?", Andre teased. "I do some of my best work undercover." Casey groaned, hurling a pillow toward the windows, which Andre deftly dodged. Casey extended his slender arm toward Andre and wiggled his fingers beckoningly. Andre wrapped his beefy fingers around Casey's hand and, when Casey gave the slightest tug, Andre tumbled onto the bed as if yanked by an irresistible force. Casey rested his chin on Andre's meaty shoulder and brushed his fingertips over Andre's massive torso, skipping lightly over the bumps of his ribs and tracing figure-eights in the grooves of Andre's well-defined abs. Casey had been certain Andre was a marine from the moment he spotted him walking tentatively into Rich's nightclub alongside a couple of similarly buff buddies. The theme that night was "Active Duty", when marines from nearby Camp Pendleton were allowed in with no cover charge. Casey observed that most of the military guys had gone out of their way to dress as "civilian" as possible, getting more than their share of playing soldier in real life, while the other boys on the dance floor took advantage of the theme as an excuse to get dressed up in some sort of uniform. Andre's Hawaiian shirt, baggy cargos and leather flip-flops didn't fool Casey. With his rigid posture and severe buzz cut, Andre simply screamed "marine", and if Casey had his way, he would have that marine screaming by the end of the night. The "Semper Fi" tattoo poking out from under Andre's sleeve only confirmed Casey's assumptions. Casey, who had assembled his own outfit at a surplus store in El Cajon, was dressed in a garrison cap, floppy black boots, camo underpants and white shorts. A corporal's khaki shirt was draped like a tent on his lanky frame, its tails knotted loosely over his bare tummy. With his minimal muscle tone, boyish face and gelled hair with frosted tips, Casey was unlikely to pass as a real serviceman no matter what he wore. Casey had a lifelong obsession with the military. His father and two of his brothers had served, and Casey had grown up assuming that he would follow their path. But he had never sprouted to a formidable size like his brawny brothers and was prone to asthma attacks, which had cemented in place an inferiority complex which he had never overcome. He also realized at a young age that he really, really, really liked boys, which he initially figured would be an automatic disqualifier, although the exquisite hunk of man on the bed beside him proved him wrong on that count. He knew he was cute and fun and could turn on the flirtatious charm when necessary, but he was still amazed that he had lured Andre away from the club when there were so many more studly specimens on display. Maybe Andre just had a thing for twinks, or maybe Casey simply pestered him so much that he surrendered to the inevitable. Either way, Casey had achieved his goal and, as the dull ache inside of Casey reminded him, if Andre had any complaints about Casey's body, they sure hadn't stopped him from fucking Casey all night. "So you're not gonna answer me, huh?", Casey persisted. "About what?" "The formula," Casey said with a brisk playful slap against Andre's eight-pack. "It's all anyone has been talking about lately in the clubs and at the gym, how much more ripped you boys from Camp Pendleton have been getting all of a sudden. Rumor has it that you're using something based on that super-soldier serum from World War Two." Andre glanced sideways at Casey and chuckled. "You mean like Captain America? You are aware that's a comic book, right? Do you think we're all getting bitten by radioactive spiders too?" "I wouldn't put it past them. I'm just saying, I study you boys...very closely. And I gotta say, I've never seen anyone make these kind of gains." "Maybe we're just trying harder," said Andre stone-faced, purposely rubbing his whiskers to taunt Casey. "Now you're just being a dick," Casey sneered, followed immediately by a grin. The two men grabbed a quick breakfast before heading out for a brisk hike. Andre pulled a change of clothes from the trunk of his car, hitting the trails in a tight olive-drab tank, cut-off jeans and a rugged pair of Timberlands, while Casey still wore the half-assed uniform he had worn to the club. "You know, you really shouldn't be walking around in public like that," Andre warned. "People will think you're trying to impersonate a marine." Casey tapped a finger against the sternum of his flat chest, exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. "If someone sees the two of us, you're honestly saying they'll think I'M the marine?" Casey cackled and ran ahead of Andre on the dirt trail. Andre stayed in place, giving Casey a head start and allowing himself a few moments to admire Casey's firm little ass. But once Casey tauntingly berated Andre for being a "wuss", Andre could not let that stand. He pounded his way up the trail, quickly breezing past Casey, who was already chugging along and looking winded. "Ha, look at you! Who's the wuss now?" Andre's laughter boomed across the hillside as he jogged ahead of Casey, facing backwards. He continued to chuckle as Casey staggered and clutched a hand to his chest, but the severity of Casey's wheezing and the purple hue of his face made Andre stop in his tracks. When Casey turned his ankle and dropped to one knee, Andre rushed back and guided him to the side of the trail, where Casey sat down and rested his back against a tree. "Shit, man, are you gonna be okay?" Casey nodded as his coughing fit subsided. "It'll pass," he said, extracting an inhaler from his pants pocket and sucking in a much-needed puff. He shot a glance at Andre squatting beside him, his powerful quads practically bursting out of his shorts. "It's not fucking fair. I bet you were already totally built before you even entered the service, and every day you just get fitter and sexier. Me, I can't run fifty feet without collapsing like a ninety-year-old who had his walker stolen. I'd give anything to be like you." Andre placed a comforting hand on the soft slope of Casey's shoulder and leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. As the kiss lingered, Casey's body shook as if stifling a chuckle. Andre pulled back and asked, "What's the matter?" "It's just funny," Casey said, flashing a wide grin. "Here I am suffocating, and you're taking my breath away." Andre stood up, holding Casey's hand. "You think you can walk with me?" Casey nodded and rose on wobbly coltish legs, and the pair resumed their hike, slowly strolling side by side and hand in hand. After a sunset dinner at the Chart House, Andre drove Casey back to his apartment. "I wish you didn't have to go," Casey said. Andre shrugged his shoulders. "Me too, but I gotta report back..." "To your mail route, I know." He kissed Andre, then asked, "Am I ever gonna see you again?" "Absolutely. You know the mailman's code." He pointed to the "Semper Fi" tat which spanned his right biceps. "Always faithful." Casey smirked. "Fuckin' A." He turned and gimped his way toward his apartment. As Andre watched, he made a silent resolution to himself. After two weeks without a word, Casey had given up hope of seeing Andre again. When he did eventually spot Andre strolling into Rich's on a Saturday night, in a body-hugging white tee and obscenely tight jeans, Casey was simultaneously thrilled and angry. Wearing only silver hot pants with matching high-tops and liberally sprinkled with sparkling confetti, he marched across the dance floor, skinny arms swinging furiously, hands balled into unintimidating fists. "Whatever happened to 'Semper Fi', asshole?", he demanded. Andre was taken aback by Casey's fury. "Uh, hi to you too, Casey. I love what you're not wearing." "Where the fuck have you been? You never heard of texting?" "I'm sorry, man. I was away on training exercises," Andre shouted over the music. "But you're right, I am an asshole. I should have taken a second to drop you a message. If it makes any difference, I was thinking about you the whole time." "Riiight. Easy to say," Casey said, crossing his scrawny arms in defiance, on the verge of hyperventilating. "Let me make it up to you. I'll buy you a drink. What do you want?" A drink hardly seemed like sufficient penance, but at least it was something. "Kamikaze. No ice." "You got it. Be right back." As Andre marched toward the bar, Casey watched as dozens of heads swiveled to take in Andre's sculpted body. Casey sulked, mired in the feelings of depression and rejection that had dogged him in the two weeks of silence since he had last seen Andre. Sure, he might have been able to smile seductively and waggle his pert ass enough to capture Andre's attention for one fun weekend, but what chance did Casey have of holding onto a guy like Andre who could clearly have his pick of any man in the club? He gyrated half-heartedly on the dance floor as he awaited Andre's return. "Here is your kamikaze," Andre said, handing the glass to Casey, then clinking it with his own bottle of Samuel Adams. Casey took a gulp of his drink and gagged. The vodka and lime juice were strong, but they couldn't entirely mask the taste of some foreign ingredient. "What the fuck? Did you slip something into my drink?" "What? No!", Andre insisted, unaware that he was rubbing his hand across his five-o'clock shadow. "You better not be Cosby-ing me," Casey said, bracing himself before taking another slug of the drink. There was definitely something extra in there, although he had no complaints about the unfamiliar sensations which were starting to flood through his body. Casey's skin flushed and his cock began to expand inside his shorts as a pleasant heaviness fogged his mind. His dark eyes widened as he looked fondly toward Andre, but before he could say a word, his knees buckled and he tumbled forward. Andre reached his hands under Casey's armpits to prevent him from collapsing. The empty kamikaze glass slipped from Casey's limp fingers and shattered on the floor. When Casey's eyes opened, he was back in his apartment, tucked cozily under the comforter of his bed. A sliver of light emerged through a crack in the door leading to the living room. Casey drowsily swung his legs out from under the covers and placed his bare feet on the hardwood floor. He shuffled toward the light wearing only his silver-lame shorts, noticing that his silver high-tops had been placed neatly in his closet. Andre was seated on the sofa, staring at a muted TV displaying nothing but snow. "Why the hell do you have so many fucking remotes? I just wanted to watch SportsCenter and it's more complicated than launching a missile." Casey rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Did I pass out?" Andre cringed apologetically. "Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't realize it would hit you so fast. I should have taken into consideration your size." Casey barked, "Didn't realize what would hit me so fast? How dare you sneak something into my drink without my permission!" "I'm sorry! Jeez! The way you kept asking about it, I thought you'd be excited." "Kept asking about what?", Casey demanded. Andre glanced around, as if worried that he would be overheard, then whispered, "The formula." Casey rolled his eyes and flopped down into an upholstered chair. "Ha, ha, very funny. Make fun of the idiot." "Hey, I'm not kidding," Andre continued, keeping his voice low. "You know how tough it was to sneak that stuff off the base? Maybe you should be a little more appreciative." Casey leaned forward, studying Andre for a tell, but he wasn't scratching his face and his eyes were burning with sincerity. Casey slowly settled back into the chair as an amazing realization sunk in. "When I saw how miserable you were on that hiking trail, it just seemed wrong that you weren't allowed access to something that I knew would help you. You were right, I was already in good shape before I joined up. I was probably the last person who needed that kind of boost. I gave you the same size dose they gave me, but I've got no idea how it will work on a shrimp like you." Casey jokingly flipped Andre the finger. "Okay, I guess I deserved that. But, just think, that's the last time anyone will ever be able to call you a shrimp! I'm just glad you woke up before the changes started kicking in. You wouldn't want to miss them." "Huh? Uh, no, I sure wouldn't." Casey was shaking with anticipation, his stomach churning, his still-bony fingers drumming anxiously on the armrest. It had only been a minute since he learned what was going to happen to him, yet the waiting had already become excruciating. What was the hold-up? Why couldn't it just start alread...? Just then, Casey's body jerked violently, like a head-to-toe charley horse. He shrieked in agony and wrapped his arms around each other as his legs seized up. He tumbled out of the chair and curled up in a fetal position on the floor. Andre leapt off the couch and positioned himself behind Casey, rubbing a comforting hand along Casey's narrow back. "Don't worry, the pain will go away soon." "You never said anything about pain!", Casey bellowed. But, just as Andre promised, the misery quickly eased, replaced by a comforting tranquility as his body was suffused with a feeling of great power. He stretched out, leaning his back against the sofa as he felt energy spreading throughout his body. Andre was huddled beside him, watching closely for the metamorphosis to begin. The first changes Casey noticed were to his arms which were pulsating in rhythm with his heartbeat, swelling larger with each pulse. His biceps arced outward, hardening into solid masses. Thick veins emerged under his skin, bisecting his biceps and thickening across the back of his hands as they pumped more of the mysterious formula through his growing forearms. His anemic chest began to puff out with each breath, his pecs thickening into sinewy slabs. He could feel his back and shoulders broadening while his waistline remained trim. The skin was sucked tight across his stomach as his abdominal muscles tensed, surfacing like islands emerging from beneath the ocean. Beyond that, he watched as his thighs and calves ballooned into fleshy trunks that would be the envy of an Olympic bicyclist. He felt himself rising slightly from the floor as his glutes firmed up and bulged out. He also felt his cock hardening and elongating, its head snaking toward the suddenly inadequate elastic waistband of his silver shorts. Casey was unaware of the ecstatic smile on his face, which retained its boyishness while losing some of its baby fat. He beamed at Andre, awestruck by the extraordinary gift he had been given. The two men kissed, and Casey's erection shredded the strained fabric of his shorts, springing upright like a turgid ten-inch flagpole. Casey broke away from the kiss to stare in disbelief, then looked back into Andre's eyes. "So the formula is real! The rumors were all true!" Casey gasped at the maturity in his new resonant voice, a confident, commanding voice, the voice of a leader. "You didn't hear that from me," Andre grinned slyly. Casey wrapped his fingers around the base of his towering cock and gave in to the irresistible compulsion to stroke it. "You don't need to tell me. I've got the evidence first-hand!" "Well, can I be the second hand?", Andre asked, curling his own palm around Casey's hard-on. The two hands coaxed the erection to further heights, nearing a foot by Casey's astonished estimation. When pre-cum began to sputter out, Andre shifted himself until he was straddling Casey's legs, then lowered his lips onto the bright red mushroom of Casey's head. Casey's neck fell slack and he braced his arms against Andre's shoulders as Andre's tongue masterfully nursed Casey's cock until it gushed, pumping thick gobs of cum down Andre's throat. Casey slid away from the couch until he was fully prone beside Andre, post-orgasm drowsiness combining with the literal heaviness of his enhanced body. Andre rested his cheek on Casey's firm belly as Casey rubbed his palm across the bristles of the marine's buzz cut. "You're not gonna get in trouble for this, are you?" Andre shook his head. "I was extremely careful. Besides, the way I look at it, all I'm doing is bringing them an amazing new recruit." Casey chortled. "Yeah, right. Me as a marine." But the more he thought about it, he realized he now unquestionably had a marine's body, as the formula had made him as big as Andre, if not bigger in some particular areas. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. "Holy shit. I'm not winded at all. Do you think it could possibly have cured my asthma too?" "I dunno. You think Captain America has to carry around an inhaler?" Casey smiled dreamily as he pondered where this new body might take him. "Semper fi," he declared. Andre closed his eyes and murmured, "Fuckin' A."

Not exactly my wheelhouse, but wrote this at the request of a furry friend. He is probably going to post it elsewhere too, in case you happen to come across a similar story. “Hey Chad.” Chad rolled over languidly on the couch to face Andy. Summer had just begun, and Chad wore only boxers as he woke up from his mid-day nap. His prodigious girth bulged through the thin fabric unapologetically, his head starting to peak through the rim. Chad had been unable to work out for the past year due to his herniated disc, but his body still reflected his formerly jockish stature. While he had lost a fair amount of mass, he still had above average musculature and tone. His chest stuck out proudly above where his abs had been, and his arms, though softer than before, still filled the sleeves of his shirts nicely. Chad was unsatisfied with this, but there was not much he could do about it in his condition. His cock, in the meantime, was unaffected and made this fact known at every opportunity. He grinned mischievously. Andy had been upstairs working on a “secret project” for the last few hours, and Chad had already started throbbing in anticipation. As Andy strolled down the stairs and into the living room, Chad admired his lithe body and smooth, young features. His deep jade eyes held a playful expression. “What have you got there?” Chad said, eyes intently focused on what Andy was holding behind his back. Andy grinned in kind, revealing his red panda suit. “Put this on, for starters. I made some changes I think you’ll like. I’ll go grab the head.” Chad hurriedly started donning the suit, careful to avoid aggravating his injury, and had just finished when Andy returned. So far he hadn’t noticed anything obviously different. Eager to find out what Andy had devised, he placed the red panda head over his own while Andy finished strapping up the last of the Velcro. “Okay, now don’t freak out. The spell I bound to the suit is going to start when I say the trigger word, and it might be kind of intense,” Andy said. “What? Why would I…?” Chad started to say. “Zanzibar,” Andy whispered. In spite of Andy’s warning, Chad started to freak out just a little. The suit tightened around his body when Andy had released the spell. While the fabric wasn’t constricting him, it started to conform perfectly to the outline of his body. “What did you do?” he said, a note of panic in his voice. Andy just smirked and watched as the transformation began. Chad first felt a warmth in his groin that slowly radiated outwards across the rest of his flesh. As it spread, his muscles tensed and relaxed rhythmically beneath the fabric, growing slowly with every flexion. The suit continued to alter its shape to accommodate the changes. It expanded where his swelling biceps and burgeoning triceps fought for space on his arms, while it shrank in the waist as his abs tightened into thick cords of muscle. It failed to keep up around his torso, however, momentarily constricting his breathing. His chest pushed relentlessly outward, growing rounder and fuller by the second, and his back pulled the fabric in the opposite direction giving a nobility to his stature. Ultimately it caught up, providing the contour for his heavy set of pecs and fitting perfectly taut along the jutting lats. It seemed to fare better with his quads and calves, even though they were ballooning at an equally dizzying rate. His legs rubbed together as he finally stood again and took a few steps towards Andy. “What the hell just happened?” Chad asked, still in shock. “What, you don’t like it?” Andy said. Andy couldn’t help but appreciate the results of his work. He guided his hands across the powerful chest and down the row of abdominals leading to thick, meaty quads. He kind of regretted not making the fur softer than it already was; some of the changes were hidden behind the thickness of it. Even still, he realized he had overcorrected (perhaps on purpose), and Chad was a little larger and better defined than he had been before his injury. Chad attempted to answer the question, but before he got his first word out the second part of the spell had started to take effect. The warmth that began in his groin intensified to a sensation near orgasm, his head flaring and pre leaking from his slit. His eyes, though not visible to Andy, began to roll back in his head and he fell to his knees from the overwhelming pleasure. It was a few minutes before Chad came back to his senses. Andy was not really in a rush to help him, either. Watching this indomitable stud he had created fall to his knees as the result of his work had him more than a little hard. Chad then lifted his head and gave Andy that lusty look that the costume had been designed for. Andy froze in anticipation. They held eye contact for what seemed like minutes before Chad rushed in on Andy and immediately began to disrobe him between grinding sessions. “How does your back feel?” Andy asked. Chad didn’t have time for questions like that. He was too busy running his claws across Andy’s back and humping him vigorously. The spell had given him some prehensile control over his tail, and he used it to wrap around Andy’s waist and rub it along his crotch. He then threw Andy down on the couch, noticing for the first time the newfound strength that had been missing for so long. And he relished in it. Andy was now his plaything, a vessel to shove his cock into anytime he wanted. The look on Andy’s face was still a little smug, though, as far as Chad was concerned. That wouldn’t do. Chad picked him up from under his legs, shoving him into the wall by the fireplace. They hadn’t done this position since the injury, and now Andy felt like a feather in his burly arms. He started to frot against Andy through the suit, the firmness of his cock apparent to Andy’s bare skin even through the fabric. After he couldn’t take it any longer, Chad slipped his dick through the opening in the crotch. His head pressed gently against Andy’s hole as it begged for release from the confines of the suit. “You’re going to cum soon if you keep going at this rate,” Andy advised. Chad didn’t seem to be paying much attention. “Alright then, you asked for it. Heel, boy.” Chad felt something like a rope slide around his wrists, shoulders, legs, and ankles, lightly at first and then just shy of painful. He couldn’t see anything physically binding him, but he guessed that Andy had constricted the suit at those points to allow control over Chad’s motions. Andy descended to the floor as Chad’s wrists drew closer to his ankles, and by the time his feet hit the ground Chad was already hogtied with his knees on the floor. “Let’s just take this nice and slow, okay?” Chad stared intently at Andy already knowing full well he could not disagree. He was using the full strength of his new body to pull against the binds to no avail. The more he flexed the tighter the binds became, and it was only making him harder. “I added that command in as a precaution in case you got a little too frisky, but I think I like you better this way. It reminds you who’s really in control here…” Andy trailed off. Chad’s cock still stuck out of his suit, full mast and dripping with pre. Andy knelt down gently and worked the tip of his tongue across his slit, slowly lapping up the sweet fluid that flowed steadily down his shaft. He carefully brought his lips down to meet the head as his tongue slid further down the shaft until his entire head was held inside Andy’s mouth. His tongue explored fluted edges of the expanding head, which always grew dramatically as he approached orgasm. Chad still held every muscle in tense opposition to the binds, starting to moan involuntarily as Andy held him constantly on edge. It might have been a byproduct of the spell, the fact that he was bound, or just from the absence of the pain that had plagued him, but the motion of Andy’s tongue incited more erogenous sensation than he could recall ever experiencing. All of his conscious thoughts were absorbed in the ecstasy of that moment. Andy pulled his mouth off of Chad’s dick, making a popping sound as his lips slid over the edges of the head. Now that Andy had released him from his blissful stupor, Chad slid slowly back into reality. He managed to angle his head so that he could look down at his cock, still pulsing, and noticed that it had not grown to match the rest of him. With some clarity finally returning to his thoughts, he managed to blurt out his burning question. “Andy, why didn’t you make me any bigger down there?” “Christ, aren’t you big enough?” Andy replied. Chad started to whimper in protest. What good was this body if it didn’t have the cock to match? Andy couldn’t help but smile at the behemoth who knelt entangled before him, begging him for more. “Hold on,” Andy said, flicking Chad’s cock hard with his middle finger on his way to emphasize his helplessness. Andy returned a few minutes later with a large, leather-bound book, leafing through the pages. Chad was still in binds, fully erect, and as far as Andy could tell still growing. Andy flipped through the pages of his tome looking for the addition to the spell that he needed, meanwhile allowing Chad to stand briefly before binding him again to a nearby chair. Ergonomics were important, after all. Once he found the incantation he was looking for, he studied it momentarily and began to recite it softly in the direction of the suit. The musical tones that escaped his lips were low and guttural, like a toad attempting a song in bass. The hair on the suit stood up as Andy made the changes to his previous spell. Within the first few notes, Chad’s dick started to throb with greater fervor than he thought possible. Each pulse left his dick just a little bit harder, thicker, longer, larger. The massive inflation of his already gigantic cock was almost painful, but Chad watched in ignorance of this as his dick grew larger by the second. “Happy?” Andy inquired after Chad’s cock had stopped growing. If Andy had to guess, it had gained about a third of its original size. Chad just stared at Andy through his lusty panda eyes. The renewed pre flowing exuberantly down his shaft like a small stream answered his question for him. Andy grabbed Chad by his joystick and started again where he had left off, realizing that his fingers barely fit around the shaft. Andy could feel Chad’s urethra pumping in his hands as the pre continued to flow. A few precursory strokes were followed with an attempt at fitting the massive rod in his mouth, but Andy was having some difficulty even fitting the head in. He had probably made Chad a little too large, even if Chad was too lost in ecstasy to recognize it. Andy made a mental note of things to change for the next time around. Without warning, Chad exploded into Andy’s mouth. While Andy did his best to swallow all of it, the force of his spray was augmented by the spell and the greater part of Chad’s cum spilled out through his lips, leaking back down onto Chad’s cock and groin. After gently removing his mouth from Chad’s head, Andy licked his lips. Slowly Chad’s convulsions died down and the semen stopped flowing. Andy and took a minute to clean himself up while he admired his handiwork. Chad’s body seemed as though it had not entirely finished growing, and even though he was still snugly bound Andy enjoyed watching his muscles tense as he resisted in futility. Meanwhile Chad had not quite finished his ejaculation, and shot a few extra spurts across Andy’s face. Andy chuckled a bit. The cum he was wiping off his nose and chin was nothing compared to the volume that ran down Chad’s shaft and soaked his groin. Andy took a few seconds to take in the whole scene, and then decided it was time to come to a close. “Kookaburra,” he whispered softly into Chad’s ear, citing the trigger word to inactivate the spell. Chad was perhaps too incapacitated to notice the changes, but Andy watched as he returned to his previous size, his cock the only feature that remained hard and proud as it returned to its former stature. His arms deflated, his chest sank, and his back shrank as the magic that had sustained his gargantuan body returned to the suit. Chad came back to his senses right around the end of the transformation. He removed the panda head, still reeling from the orgasm. Andy kissed him gently, the taste of Chad’s cum still fresh on his lips. “When can we do that again?” he asked. “Any time you like, big guy,” Andy said.

This is a story by Speaker from the old Evolution Forum written in 2007, which never got the credits it deserved. Sadly the story is unfinished and there seems to be no way finding the author now. Therefore, I am posting this story on his behalf, hoping he will see, like and continue the story. If the author wishes to take down the story, then I will do that. I also took out the liberty to correct spelling mistakes and revise a passage or two, as well as add a little bit at the end to open up for more possibilities for this story to be continued. Hope you enjoy! Help me find the author to ask for a continuation or permission to continue the story. ______________ "Paradise" by Speaker (Sept, 2007), revised by MuscCanon (2016) Joey woke up, not having the slightest clue whatsoever as to where the hell he was. He was content to simply lay back on this sinfully comfortable, warm bed, and just relax. Joey had no idea how he'd gotten here either, but he really wasn't complaining. He just had no desire at all to move. His bliss, however, was not everlasting. After simply lying in bed for what unkindly felt like about three minutes, he heard a voice above him somewhere. "So, still asleep are ya?" Joey had no desire to answer. Part of his brain wondered if he was drugged, because he normally was not this sleepy, and answered any question he was given. Unfortunately for him, that was not the part of his brain in control, so he just continued to lay there, mute. "Figured..." Joey felt a needle pierce his skin, and when he still made no movement, the suspicious part of his brain knew that there was something wrong. The needle emptied into him, and after about a minute of continued bliss, he stopped being so sleepy. He sat up and looked around. Whoever had spoken to him was gone now, leaving him alone in this cell-like room. There was the incredibly comfortable bed, a door, and lamp. Nothing more. Joey stood up, noticing while he did so that he was completely naked, which seriously embarrassed him, as he knew that there was no chance that there weren't cameras in this room. He put one hand over his privates, and walked to the door, where he was not surprised to find it locked. He sighed, "Wonder what the hell this is about." He muttered to himself as he walked back towards the bed. He sat on it, and given that he really had no choice in the matter, stopped hiding the fact that he was naked, exposing his average dick and balls to the free air. Normally he'd be scared in a situation like this, where he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there, but Joey at least thought things through. Scared or not, he was here anyways, and there didn't seem to be any chance of escape, so why be afraid if you can help it? He hummed music, to distract himself from the fear welling up deep inside of him. The door opened suddenly, and Joey stood up, covering his cock and balls with his hand out of instinct. A man in a white lab coat walked in and smiled at him. Joey instantly relaxed, but he kept a hand over his crotch just to be safe. There was something about this man's friendly, smiling face that put him instantly at ease. It wasn't hard to notice that the doctor absolutely had to work out like a beast whenever he wasn't working wherever they were. His lab coat was huge, but it had to be to hold a man as huge as he was. His upper arms completely filled the upper portion of the sleeve, and even through the coat Joey could see some of the incredible definition in the man's arms. His pecs forced themselves outward from his chest, arrogantly pushing the lab coat out far enough from the front of his body that it almost looked like a table. Joey had no doubt that this man would have trouble seeing the rest of his body if he looked down, simply because his huge pecs blocked the view. Except maybe his cock, which was, although Joey couldn't see it clearly through the material, obviously exceptional. His thighs filled his pants to bursting, and his face topped it off. The guy looked like he couldn't be a minute older than 21 years old. He was a Latino obviously, from the tone of his skin and his black hair and dark eyes, but he was also the sexiest Latino that Joey had ever seen. His white teeth stood out perfectly from his dark brown, perfect skin. His black, curly hair was cut short, and he had an impressive 5 o'clock shadow around his perfect face. The man was absurdly sexy, the kind of man who would put Mr. Olympia to shame, while having the face and dick of the best male model in the world. Joey's dick immediately, and obviously, hardened fully under his hand. The man grinned, and said to him, "There's no need to cover that up. I get that reaction a lot. My name's Miguel, and I bet you're wondering what the hell you're doing here." Joey nodded, and the simple tone of Miguel's reassuring voice brought his hand away from his dick, exposing it's hardness to anyone who cared to look. He simply couldn't take his eyes off this man. Quite a large part of him wanted to put his hand back on his dick and start stroking, but he wasn't prepared to go quite that far... not while Miguel was looking anyways. "Simply put, you are in essence a guinea pig. I know putting it that way sounds cruel, and I assure you it is not. I'm one of the first people who was tested you know, and now here I am, working to continue the testing." Joey finally found the courage to unglue his tongue, "Yeah but what is it you're testing?" "In essence it's a combination of a muscle-enhancement formula the military has been using, and a sort of fountain of youth. Guess how old I am?" Joey guessed, "21?" "Try tripling that. I only look 21 because of the formula, but I'm actually 64." Joey gaped at the man, who didn't look like he could possibly be 64, but if what he'd said was true, then of course it was possible. Duh, he thought to himself, he just said that he was 64 and that the formula made him look younger, so of course he doesn't look like he's 64. All that thinking didn't stop him from wondering how it was possible though. "But if it's a fountain of youth thing, then why am I here? I'm only 18. Are you trying to make me younger?" Joey thought in horror of having to start puberty again if he was going to be shrunk. "Well no. See it actually happens by us injecting a sort of template into a person. That template overrides your genes for age, and muscularity and sort of bootstraps itself in, but it leaves the rest of your genes alone. Of course, everyone doesn't end up the same height and weight, but it's reasonably close, and the rest of your genes determine how you grow when you lift weights, even after you've grown from the formula. That's why we're all muscular and look like we're 21 years old. It's because the template makes us look that way, but the rest of our genes are in place, which is why I'm Latino, Antonio is Italian, Brandon is black, and so on and so forth. You aren't the first person we've tested who is younger than the age that the rest of us are, but the first person came through perfectly and we want to see if it works well on everyone. That's where you come in. Joey stared at the man. He'd understood almost half of what Miguel had said, but he at least comprehended the most important things like if he took the formula then he'd become a 21-year-old muscleman. He really didn't care about the rest of whatever Miguel had said. If all he'd said was 'We're going to make you a muscular man.' Then that would have been enough to hook him! "So, whaddaya think?" Miguel asked, "Do you wanna do this?" "Hell yes!" Miguel led Joey into another room, this one with an ominous looking machine in the centre of it. There was a large glass tube in the heart of the machine, easily big enough to hold two men comfortably. The tube was surrounded by other wires and there were other tubes that entered the glass one in the centre. He assumed, correctly that he was supposed to get into the big tube. Miguel nodded when he gestured at it and Joey got in it. He entered the tube and heard Miguel's voice from a speaker somewhere inside. "Don’t be afraid, but the other tubes are going to attach to you." As soon as he said that, the tubes inside the main chamber attached to his body. One to each leg, each arm, and one to his chest. He looked at them apprehensively, as they were as thick as two fingers in diameter. "Those are for the muscle mass you're going to be gaining. You're going to gain weight in muscle mass, and that mass has to come from somewhere, so we inject it straight into your bloodstream with these. I know they look big, but that's to get the growth over with quickly because I won’t lie to you, it's painful. Knowing that do you still want to proceed?" Joey nodded. He didn't care if it hurt if it gave him a body like Miguel's. "Ok. I'm starting the procedure." Through the tube into his right leg a small amount of a purple fluid entered his leg, which began to burn immediately. It hurt, but Joey gritted his teeth and attempted to ignore it. "That's the template. We have to wait a minute for it to circulate to the rest of your body before we can actually start the growth." It was probably the longest minute of his life. The fire in his leg, spread up into his dick, up his abs, chest, arms and even into his head. It was like being forced to stay in a campfire even as he slowly started burning. "Ok, here we go." He heard Miguel say Blue fluid rushed into his body from the tubes. Joey grunted as the fluid entered him in five places. He felt, rather than saw, his body starting to swell. He really didn't care about the muscle growing along his body at the moment. He suddenly understood what Miguel had said. He really did want this over with quickly. Through the pain though it was impossible not to notice some things, like how his thighs forced each other outwards, forcing him to adopt a wider stance. How his back thickened and widened, forcing his arms out wider. How it was getting difficult to look down over growing pecs. How his body itched as hair grew in. All those were easily ignored however at the pain. He screamed as his bones lengthened, and the muscle fluid just kept pouring in. The growth had only taken another minute, but it had felt longer than that when it abruptly halted. The door of the chamber opened and Joey staggered out, unaccustomed to walking with massive thighs. He looked up, panting and saw Miguel slowly stroking his really thick, uncut, Latin cock and staring at Joey. Miguel walked over and pulled one of Joey's thick arms around his shoulder. "Tired eh? I know that transformation takes a lot out of you." Joey nodded, still staring at Miguel's thick dick. It wasn't hard for Miguel to notice this. "Sorry but the transformation is pretty hot to watch, even if it's not so fun to experience." Joey managed to gasp through his panting, "Are you... gay?" Surprise filled Miguel's face, before he laughed suddenly. Joey looked at Miguel in confusion. "GAY?! Of course we're all gay! That's the one prerequisite for the transformation you know. I can't believe I left that out. You have to be gay or the transformation won't work!" Joey stared at Miguel, who was laughing so hard tears fell out of his eyes, and despite being riddled with residual pain (which was quickly ebbing), felt like the happiest gay guy on Earth. "How many people have had this?" Joey asked, not panting as much anymore. "About 100 now. We try to keep it relatively quiet, but it's hard to do so with a hundred 21 year old horny musclemen in one place." "In one place? So we don't leave here?" Miguel smiled at Joey. "You can anytime you want." It took Joey only a moment to understand. "Yeah I wouldn't want to leave either. Not with 'a hundred 21 year old horny musclemen in one place.'" Miguel slapped his hand on Joey's newly broad back. "Now you're getting it. Look you're probably exhausted. I was when I transformed. Just let me take you to a room and you can rest up a bit before you meet the rest of the guys." Joey nodded. He let Miguel practically carry him to a much nicer room than the one he'd previously been in, lay him down on a bed, and he was sleeping the moment that his head touched the pillow. ----- Joey woke up, energized. He noticed that he was sleeping naked on top of the sheets but didn’t care at all. He sat up and stood up, marvelling at how abnormally easy it was. Normally standing up really wasn't much of an exertion, but people usually do get tired of it after a few hours. Joey instinctively knew that he wouldn't. He jogged into a private bathroom, noting that the room he was in looked more like a hotel suite than anything, complete with a balcony overlooking some ocean from atop a cliff, although he still didn't know where he was. Joey stared at his new self in the mirror. He was huge, easily 6'1" tall and he couldn’t be a pound less than 300, which he quickly confirmed on the scale in the bathroom. His chest was absurdly huge, like two massive dinner plates had been grafted onto his torso, and adorned with a half-dollar sized nipple. The crevice between his pecs looked deep enough to lose things in, although he knew that was an exaggeration. His pecs were so smooth, there was no hair to be seen. This gaze led him down over his 8-pack and then to his cock, which hung at least half-way down his tree-trunk thighs. He'd noticed that it was hard to walk, and gazing at his thighs gave him a shrewd idea why. His calves looked as though someone had shoved a football under them. He looked up again, this time at his arms which hung out of bowling ball sized shoulders. His guns had to be at least 24 inches around, if not bigger. He went into a double-bicep pose and stared at the proud peak which stood up from his arms. Veins covered his biceps and his forearms, which were absurdly thick as well, even at the wrist. Last, but not least, he stared at his face. His brown eyes somehow had more of a lustre, a shine than previously. His face was covered with brown shadow, and he noticed that he really needed a haircut. Joey grinned at the man, and the man in the mirror grinned back at him. He swaggered back into the main room, even though there was a separate room with a TV, a sofa bed and a computer. Joey doubted that he'd use the TV and computer but he had to marvel at the computer. Before his transformation, he would have been astounded at the quality of it, but now he really had no desire to use it. He looked around but found nothing that even looked like a dresser with clothes in it, so he shrugged and walked to the door. There was a note pinned there. ____ Hey! Welcome to the community! I'm Antonio and since our rooms are across the hall from each other, they asked me to give you a bit of an explanation, but I really didn't want to wake you up. The rooms are private and are set up to allow access when it scans your hand. We've already put in your fingerprints so if you want to get into your room, just put your hand on the panel next to the door and it'll open up. If you wanna know more, just come across the hall. I'll be in my room until 6 tonight. There's a clock next to the bed if you dont know the time. Antonio ____ Joey read the note, and looked at the clock. It was only 3 in the afternoon so he walked out of his room, into a carpeted hall which looked like nothing more than a hotel hallway, with rooms stretching along it. He walked across the hall and knocked. He heard feet moving and the door opened. Antonio was the epitome of an Italian hunk. Joey had just undergone his transformation and therefore hadn't had an opportunity to work out and grow any more. Judging by Antonio, he had only recently arrived too, but to Joey he looked like nothing less than perfection. Joey had a fair amount of brown body hair, but Antonio's pelt put his to shame. Antonio's chest was covered in about twice the black hair as Joey's was in brown, and it only continued down Antonio's abs, surrounded an impressive cock, and covered his legs as well. Antonio's short hair was curly and he had, like every man here apparently, an impressive black 5 o'clock shadow around his mouth. His muscles were about the same size as Joey's, but his body practically screamed 'HUNK' to Joey. Joey stared, open mouthed at Antonio and Joey could feel his dick harden as he stared. Antonio only grinned. "Hey man I was wondering when you'd wake up." Like Miguel, despite Antonio's obviously Italian heritage, he had no discernible Italian accent. "Joe isn't it? Come on in!" "It's Joey." Joey muttered and followed the Italian stallion into his room. It was physically the same as Joey's room, but there were the unmistakable scents of man, sweat and a fair amount of cum in the room that only aroused Joey further. "Ah ok Joey. I'm Antonio, and it looks like we're the next best thing to roommates! I suppose you want to ask a few questions?" Joey shook himself, nodded, and asked "Are there any clothes?" "Why would you want them? We're in a tropical paradise, the room temperatures are permanently set to 80 so they're never cold, and all you'd be doing is covering up that glorious bod." Joey couldn't argue his logic. "Where are we?" "We are on a nice small island in the south pacific. It's owned by Dave, who had the original idea for this growth. He's actually only 30 but he's probably the richest person in the world. Inheritance you know. 'Course he doesn't look like he's 30 since he got transformed too. You'll meet him later. He was the first guy to be transformed and is the biggest of us because of it, although Miguel, the doc, is almost as big. Nobody comes here unless they're delivering food or bringing another person here to be transformed, and then they only see the front, where they see a massive resort for 'The rich and famous,' which explains why they've never met anyone who's been in here. The private beach is on the back side, which is in a little cove and can’t be seen from the outside. We've got everything here. An AWESOME weight room, all the food you could possibly eat, none of it junk food either so you can grow more. You name it, we've got it." Joey laughed. "Well that answers pretty much all my questions, but I’ve got another one. How old are you really?" Antonio smiled, "I'm 19. I was the first guy they tested the formula on who wasn't over 21, and you're the second." Joey grinned at Antonio. It didn't seem possible that a 19-year-old could have that kind of body, but then, he was living proof that it was indeed possible himself. Joey couldn't resist anymore. He reached forward and kissed Antonio on the mouth passionately. He loved the feeling of Antonio's rough facial hair against his own, which told him beyond a doubt that he was kissing a man, and that he loved every second of it. They broke off the kiss after about a minute and Joey muttered, "God I've wanted to do that since I saw you. You're so hot." Antonio grinned and muttered, "So are you." Then Antonio beckoned Joey to follow him. "I want you to meet someone." Joey walked into Antonio's bedroom and saw in bed, what had to be the most massive man here. The man had his huge arms behind his head, showing off what had to be 30" guns, and Joey couldn't even imagine the colossal chest the man had. The man's body was entirely hairless, save his eyebrows and a crew cut, but it only showed off his size even more. This man had the most freakishly huge legs you can imagine and they were covered with veins. The man spoke, "So you're Joey? I'm Dave, the owner of this place and the biggest fucker you'll ever meet." Joey was loving his 'tough guy' attitude. Joey walked up to the Dave's naked body, knelt and started sucking on Dave's massive cock. Or at least he tried. Joey guessed his to be about 14" hard, but Dave's had to be at least 18" and it wasn’t fully hard yet. He couldn't imagine what it felt like to have that inside of him. It was hard enough to get it in his mouth. Whilst sucking this huge cock he couldn’t stop feeling all over Dave’s huge legs and calves. Just a moment later, he felt a thick cock enter his ass. He didn't need to look to realize that Antonio had taken advantage of Joey's ass in the air and hadn't needed any more invitation than that. He released Dave's cock for a moment to moan with pleasure as he felt that 14" cock pounding away at his bubble butt, before he went back to sucking on Dave's cock with gusto and looked up at Dave’s face. His impression showed pure bliss. He must have been really enjoying Joey’s sucking. At the same time Dave was playing with his big nipples, which were hard and erect. It didn't take long before Dave's cock started throbbing hard and spewing a massive load down Joey's throat. Joey didn't know if he could swallow it all but he tried anyways. Suddenly his own cock began shooting its load all over the floor. He tensed from the pleasure, and that was enough to squeeze Antonio's dick with his ass cheeks and drive Antonio into climax as well. Joey was getting cum into him from his ass and his mouth and was shooting his own load as well. All at the same time. He was in the ultimate state of ecstasy. Nothing could ever match this. Nothing. He slowly felt himself getting fuller and fuller and started touching his muscle belly in shock. His ones flat 8 pack muscled abs were now replaced with a bloated but rock hard roid gut which kept growing bigger and bigger by the second. After five minutes of this pure, sweet sex Joey and Antonio stopped shooting. Dave, of course, continued for another minute or so before he too was sated. Joey grunted as he felt Antonio slide his thick cock out of his own ass. Joey released Dave's cock and stood up. The floor was covered with his cum. He'd shot at least a gallon, maybe two, and it was oozing along the floor. Dave looked at Joey’s new roid gut and laughed “don’t worry boy. All that cum will transform into muscles really soon. It’s the fuel that makes us grow. And by the looks of it, you have a lot of growing to do.” Just the thought of it made Joey hard again and leaking pre all over the floor. Dave was watching him, absentmindedly stroking his cock, which was hard yet again. "If you haven't noticed Joey, we can have sex pretty much 24-7, but most of us do other things as well. I, for example, am going to go down to the weight room and shame all of my other guests. Antonio, after sex, usually likes to go surfing at the beach, but of course, what you do is up to you. This is a pleasure island. You can do anything you want here as long as it doesn't harm or steal from one of the other guests. Of course, I wouldn't have brought you here if I thought you would do anything like that, but just to be sure, I'm laying down the rules. The formula is reversible and if you piss enough people off, we can reverse it, wipe your memory of this island and send you back to the mainland. I'd prefer not to do that, as you're one of the better cocksuckers I've ever encountered, and you'll look good with another 100lbs of muscle on you. So be good." He flashed a grin, and walked sideways out of the room. His yet again hard nipples hit the side of the door, which obviously gave Dave shudders and pleasure, as his dick leaked more pre on the floor. Antonio looked at Joey and smiled. "He's right you know. I like surfing after sex, but I guess I could be persuaded into a little more fun." Joey smiled back. He knew he could have Antonio anytime he wanted. But right now he couldn’t stop thinking about Dave. “Thanks for the offer, but I would really love to lift some weights. Getting my fully blown out roid gut down to a more reasonable size. Do you want to join?” Antonio was a little bit disappointed but changed his mood in a second. “Follow me, I’ll show you the way”. As both muscle hunks left the room and walked down the hallway, Antonio kept on pointing out who lived where and all the opportunities they had. Once they turned the corner, Antonio stopped in front of a particular door and obviously got nervous. Joey also noticed that Antonio’s dick got harder by the minute. Joey looked up at the door sign and read Miguel. “Follow this way, then turn left and take the elevator down to the first floor. You will find the gym right there. Don’t be shocked but what you will find there. I will follow you right after. Just need to finish some business first.” Antonio absentmindedly started stroking his cock. “Ok, see you around. Have fun.” Joey couldn’t stop smiling thinking about what Antonio will do with Miguel. Were they lovers? Once he reached the elevator and got in, he clicked the button with a big G.Y.M. sign to it. The elevator closed and slowly started going down. His head was full of ideas what he will find at the gym. But most of all he was looking forward to see Dave work out. Maybe he will be able to work out with him. What will Dave look like pumped? Is Dave still growing? How big will Joey grow? The door opened and what Joey saw made his dick rock hard in an instant. TO BE CONTINUED....

I was out of it, my life had been a fucked up nightmare train with stops at chaos stations in every Shitville and I had no idea how to fix any of it. I couldn’t sleep, it had been a week since I’d been to the gym, my long-time partner and I broke up, and I was on the verge of losing my job. I was nearly pulling patches of hair out of my scalp with the stress of it all. My name is Henry, and the last few years of my life had formed what I hoped would be the start of me settling down, forming a successful lifelong career, building a family in my own home… as a person, I can’t really say too much about myself. My mother was half Spanish and my father was all German. Because of them, I had an exotic look some might say, but I still looked white enough to not get racially profiled in Arizona. My hair was a dark wavy brown, which fit well with my naturally tan looking complexion. My facial structure was strong, my cheekbones solid and high pairing well with a squared jaw and lightly dimpled chin. But, even though I had some confidence issues, I had known ever since I was a kid that my eyes were far and by my best feature. They were deep-set and cat shaped, lending my face a roguish expression naturally. They were a dazzling green, a true green made from a combination of a hazel and blue eyed couple. My second best feature was without much contest, was my body, at 27 years old, I had spent enough time in the gym to carve out a physique that most people’s mouths water with desire or jealousy. At six feet even and a lean 190 pounds, I certainly was no lightweight, but I wasn’t quite on the level of a bodybuilder. Each muscle stuck out from my body with clear definition. The steak slices that made up my pecs pushed firmly and squarely away from my torso. My solid biceps when flexed were easily the size of softballs. My upper body was equipped with a ripped back which tapered absurdly past my eight-pack abs into my full globular ass. I personally loved wearing knee length ‘man’-leggings in the gym which defined the high curve of the cheeks and the outward sweep of my thickened quads. Normally I loved working out. I could easily spend an hour to two hours a day in my gym. When I wasn’t at work I was either at the gym or playing video games. Speaking of, the way I’ve described my propensity for fitness mars my actual lifestyle’s appearance. In reality, I was quite a geek. My parents liked to move around a lot, all across Europe and then the U.S., this caused me to not really be able to make a lot of friends, forcing me to find my own devices of entertainment. So I learned about gaming and the art of getting lost in books at an early age. My first system was the Gameboy advance and from there my knowledge of “geek” and gaming culture grew exponentially. I did small FPS competitions here and there, and it was much easier to make friends online than in person, and much easier to keep them. My career was perfect too, I did computer, console, keyboard, T.V., and controller repair for a larger tech company. I also did in home troubleshooting and taught tech-care classes to kids interested in the field of electronics. I was on track to become a manager with a comfortable salary and some hefty stock options, until my performance began to fall and I was placed on work probation. The probation was sort of and sort of not my fault. For the past month, things in my relationship had become at best, messy. I had met my partner at a gaming convention just after my 25th birthday and we started hitting it off pretty strong, we were both nerds that also had a strong interest in fitness, and just like the snap of a finger it had been just over two years and a certain promotion that my partner had received in their work allowed us to move in together, we were both pretty sure that we would soon be married, and the first month or so of living together only strengthened that thought. But it was after that month that our magic began to fade. We started spending less time together, they stopped spending as much time in the gym and at home, and it was showing. Clothes that were once a little too roomy to wear on normal days were quickly becoming the norm for them, which I suppose I would have been fine with if they didn’t also grow more and more distant each week. They went out to more and more work outings at expensive restaurants and bars, coming home later, having missed dinner and too tired to do anything more than watch some Netflix and sleep. Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t just sit idle while watching the person I loved, the person that I wanted to start a family with leave me day by day, I tried setting up dates, planning romantic excursions, begging them to take some time off of their job or ask for their original position back. This went on for nearly three months before I couldn’t stand it, the pain of losing the person I fell in love with so slowly was physically harming me, I was weaker in my workouts and as I stated above, my job performance was waning. So I decided to end it… the tear filled battle ensued for two days before we both lay down our weapons, broken and lost. I don’t remember much, but they seemed to be under the impression that the main reason I was leaving was their body that they had let go, over using the question “It’s because I’m fat now isn’t it?” Eventually, the end of it all came and they finished their piece with a curse of sorts. They screamed “I wish that one day your body would match the size of your bloated ego!”, never having lost the idea that I left them solely because of their recent weight gain. Now there I was, lying awake, hours later than I should have been, in my bed at night, trying to force myself into the thrall of sleep to escape my ruined existence. Surely enough though, I felt my eyelids touch firmly together, signaling to my brain that it was time to dream, and I dreamt, I dreamt something so realistic it was practically tangible, I could even smell in the dream. I had never had a dream so real, it was almost as if I weren’t dreaming at all. All before me was a huge semi-circle table piled with foods of all kinds from all around the world, noodles, curries, breads, cheeses, meats, fruits, desserts, any food you could think of was there to be found. The aroma of it all was intoxicating, it didn’t necessarily come from the food itself, it was too singular in its depth. It was spicy, not the chili kind of spicy, but the kind where cinnamon, cumin, onion, and a dozen other flavors melted to make one single sweet yet thickly rich scent the seemed to double my appetite for the amazing spread of food. The dream would have been perfect were it not for the big sign hung awkwardly from the ceiling with bright read numbers the read 190 in alarm clock font and a mysterious, dark figure in a corner of the room, apparently watching over me. But that hardly bothered me, I approached the table and picked up a choice cut of steak, the fat marbled like artwork and the meat itself cooked perfectly to my tastes, still dripping juice and blood, and I dug in like a monster, the one pound cut of meat I easily inhaled, relishing each tender and juicy bite, the meat turning even more juicy and delicious with every bite. It was truly amazing, I’d never consumed something so amazing in flavor, forgetting almost instantly all qualms I possessed about the dream in the beginning. I had no need for utensils at this point, something ravenous inside of me had awoken, and it needed to be fed, I reached for a cake, just grabbing a chunk off with my bare hands. Shoving the fluffy confection into my mouth was as heavenly as the steak. It was the sweetest thickest cake I had ever eaten. I gobbled handful after handful of the stuff, and even when finished I hadn’t been satiated. I moved on to the fruits, the breads, and nibbling on everything else. I had reached approximately half of my stomach’s dream capacity when I noticed a cool feeling on my abs, I reached down in the middle of murdering a huge steak meat tomato to feel out the problem. I was shocked to feel my hand hit bare skin. Upon looking down I was even more shocked to see my skin tight shirt which hugged my chest and shoulders had ridden up my belly, just to my naval. I stopped chewing momentarily to admire and sort of fear this development, but only shortly as I was quickly recalled to my quest of stuffing my face until I could no longer physically do so. For what seemed like an hour I kept eating anything I could grab, loving the feeling of the food being forced quickly down my throat so I could swallow more. Finally, full I, sat down on the floor up against a wall, looking down at my comically bloated gut, my abs were still visible but grossly stretched over my gluttonous stomach. I started rubbing it, a euphoria spreading over my body as I did so, each muscle fiber in my body tingling begging me to continue. I did until I noticed something, my gut was going down, right in front of my eyes it was deflating, and there were two other things that I noticed the number on the big sign was slowly going up from 190 and the pants and shirt I was wearing were getting tighter. I could feel the shirt becoming tighter around my chest and arms, the fabric sucking to my skin. The pants I was wearing did the same. All the while as my clothes became tighter all around me, my shirt becoming skin tight around my bloating pecs and biceps. The pants I wore did the same, the fabric was clinging more and more with passing seconds. The fabric soon started to show a definite outline of the muscles implanted in my body. My muscles’ swelling slowed to halt quickly, though. But my belly hadn’t shrunk down all the way. I pulled my shirt up from my waist and looked on, it was soft. My whole body was without a doubt more blistered than ever before, my pecs and shoulders fighting their way forward through my shirt, my legs and ass threatening to tear the seams on my pants, and that didn’t stop with my stomach. All over I felt a little softer, squishier, fatter. I kept feeling around my stomach, trying to reveal my abs, which were barely there, they had been almost completely covered by a thicker layer of skin. My small sprouting tummy even had a small pout to it, sticking forward beyond my hips, not a huge amount, but noticeably none the less. I looked up to see the strange dark figure gone, and the sign showing a new number, it read 215, in my dreaming state I simply could not figure out what that meant, I just kept rubbing my full belly, because for some freakish reason, I liked it, I liked having more real estate down there, more to play with, it felt kind of good. That is, until another pair of hands joined in, going over every inch of my body. I stopped moving, scared and slightly aroused by the euphoriant experience, the figure behind me started whispering. I couldn’t make out anything other than “I can’t wait until next time.” Then I woke up. I threw my eyelids open, freaked out and amazed at my dream. It still felt like I could taste some of the food from it. I lied there for a few minutes, reminiscing about it all, the food, the rubbing, the smell, all of it. I slowly started to move when I noticed something, my arm was heavy, in fact, all of me was heavy, something was very wrong here. I ripped off my covers and dashed to the nearest bathroom. In it was a floor to ceiling mirror, great for checking yourself before you went out, or when you had hyper-realistic dreams about eating and growing. I ran to the mirror and my hand went straight to mouth, as if to stifle a scream that might have exited were I capable of making noises. I was huge, I was fucking bloated and massive, I appeared 30 pounds heavier than yesterday. My chest stuck out more, deepening the under-shelf, it has also begun to round slightly, both due to its growth and the evident fat gain I had undergone. All of my body was like that, every muscle more swollen and rounded than normal. I poked and prodded everything. Feeling my fingers sink into the grown muscles. I looked everywhere. My back was so much wider, I was looking like a cobra, my arms were thicker and stronger looking, starting to lend the appearance of a budding bodybuilder. My ass was huge. It was completely round and seemed to have blown up more than anything, every time I moved it bounced a little. The sweep of my legs was even more exaggerated now making my knees look knobby and shrunken. But most jarring of all was my stomach, for sure. I had for years, tight abs that naturally tucked in, but now all those years of work were gone as my stomach had puffed up to one that was certainly getting more than its fair share of food. I was too big, I looked so bulky and I had no idea of what to do, no idea who to go to. Who could I tell that I had just blown up nearly thirty pounds overnight and was starting to hulk out? Roughly three weeks had passed since then, I went on a crash, fat burning diet, and had lost about 15 pounds since that freak incident. I lost most of it after the first week and my abs were just as ripped as before, but I was decidedly bulkier, at least more than I wanted to be. At just over 200 pounds, I felt heavy, the change in my weight was noticeable not just by me in my normal day-to-day routine, but everyone I saw noticed too. I had to take a week off of work, which was certainly less than ideal in my current position. But, it wasn’t like I could waltz into my job with people that I saw daily, looking all bloated like a puffer fish. People would obviously ask questions that I would never have been able to answer. I had to get new clothes that week too. Not many though, most of my t-shirts still fit, albeit, a lot tighter around the chest and arms, but at least that was flattering, I’m talking business clothes, I tried putting on a dress shirt, and the fabric stretched away in the middle of my bigger pecs, making small gaps above and below the poor, straining buttons. Of course, there was no way I could get away with being gone from work for a week, having gained a significant amount of weight and then coming back as though nothing had happened. I was hounded with questions, mostly about where I had been, not much about my body, thankfully, the new shirts and pants really hid just how much I had changed. Everything, was fairly normal after that, I just told everyone that I’d had a pretty nasty allergic reaction to some medicine, they bought it. I also spent a bit of time trying to research what had happened to me, trying to find some other person’s story like mine, but all I found was inspiring transformation stories of skinny kids gaining some muscle and subsequently thinking they were hot shit. Besides the second week though, everything was seemingly getting better, I was sleeping more, I had more energy, I was doing better in work… the only thing that still nagged me was my ex, we hadn’t spoken since our break-up, but I guess it was for the best, we may as well at least grow a scab before we pick at old wounds. But, just like that night almost a month ago, I had extreme trouble falling asleep, a certain sense that someone could see me… but just as that night before, I forced myself asleep... I opened my eyes, annoyed this time. “I shouldn't be up now.” was all I thought. A certain smell crept into my nose, this wasn’t dreamy, this was disgusting, like the smell of meat left out, but not quite long enough to rot yet. I almost gagged, something was really not right, I could feel it deep down in my stomach, that kind of sick and burning feeling when you're in an old empty house, or a graveyard at night. It wasn’t just fear; it was an instinctual knowledge that some energy was there… that something very wrong was there. But it was all dark, I couldn’t see anything, I could only smell, and hear, I could hear so much, and yet so little. I could hear feet moving, shifting quietly around, just one set of them, but they were unnerving nonetheless. I could hear a faint gurgling, I could hear flies, and I could hear my heartbeat. I heard one more thing, a voice that could crack a spine, it said “You will feel the burden that you have caused. This is your punishment.” I almost peed myself, but then it started, a piece of raw tasting meat was shoved violently into my mouth, I was forced to clamp down on it and chew, I tried to spit it out, to vomit, anything, but to no avail. I couldn't even run, I was locked in place, forced to chew on this disgusting meat piece. Just as soon as I swallowed, another piece was quickly forced down my throat, leaving me coughing and sputtering, tearing up at the eyes. This happened with two more thick pieces of meat until it stopped for only a moment. A light popped on above, it showered me in a stinging glory, I looked down at my full feeling gut, seeing it puffed out and covered with drippings of blood and something else. I looked filled up. My strong pecs pressed forward considerably, but my belly even further. My legs were squeezed together by some invisible force, making the quads look like stuffed turkeys in my legs. I heard that voice again, “Aren’t you having a good time? You had so much fun the last time we did this.” I had no idea what they were talking about at first, but it came to me slowly, “They were there when I stuffed my face at the buffet in my dream, this was their doing, they were making this happen, that freak!” I would have killed them if I could have. But I sat in a chair, unable to move, “Oh, it doesn’t really matter anyway” They said, as they forced another piece of meat into my mouth, and then another, and then another. They kept forcing this gruel into my gut, and I could feel it, and see it. I felt so freaking full, like my skin was getting hot from being so stretched at my gut. My big belly kept rounding out, pushing forward ever so slowly, a creeping balloon ready to burst. I sat, tied like a hog gagging on rotten meat as the thing kept pressing it into my face. I started feeling pain down at my stomach, not just the pain from being full, but a cutting sensation at my skin, I looked down as they pressed more gruel into my gullet, and I saw pink lines ripping across all of my skin, at this point, my strangely large gut rivalled any 9-month pregnant mother. I’d have had difficulty reaching my arms around the thing, and yet the kept force feeding me. I started crying… I don’t know if it was the physical pain, or the sight of my perfect abs ruined and stretched and scarred by this monster. But I started weeping, a gross snotty kind of weep. This allowed me a second of piece, the freak stopped feeding me, but they started laughing, they laughed for an eternity, a horrible gum-itching cackle, I hated it. They spoke again “Oh, this is fun, this is a good time, you’ve only got 70 pounds left, you’re doing great you little pussy.” ‘Wait, 70 pounds?’ and then it started again, hours went by my belly continued to swell more and more, pushing further and further past my engorged pecs. It was starting to go numb, the nerves were being stretched so tightly across my gut. It was almost like I was a cartoon and someone has just hooked a hose to my mouth, causing gallons of water to flood my body, turning me into a human balloon. And yet, the freak continued stuffing me, fuller and fuller, forcing me to chomp on that disgusting meat. “Ooh this is exciting, we’re almost done!” They suddenly exclaimed “Oof, look at that big belly, so round and full. Hah, you look kind of like a bear; such big strong muscles and such a big round belly.” They continued to say as they forced more gruel into me. Some time passed, my jaws fully aching from all of the chewing, and the weird thing was, I didn’t feel sick, the only thing that hurt was my skin, and I had come to a realization, I wasn’t eating anymore, they weren't feeding me anything else. “We’re done. Let’s look at your big gut now.” They told me. I looked, and my breath got caught. I was huge, enormous, fucking bloated beyond anything possible. I my stomach was completely round, it stretched so far in front of me that I couldn’t see my knees. “Ooh, you did get big. You’re so huge now, look at you!” They started to rub my belly, it felt so good. I knew it was wrong, that I should fight it, but I just let it happen without saying anything. They rubbed my belly like a crystal ball, pushing their hands up and down all across my stretch marked belly. I could feel the weight of it too, on my legs, it hunched me over just a little bit with its pull. They removed their hands and said “Let’s see what a freak this turns you into… suddenly, my stomach started shrinking, ever so slowly. As it shrank I could feel everything else getting bigger. My chest started moving forward, taking up more of my view of my stomach. My arms started straining against the rope tying them together as the muscles in them started to grow too big to contain. My thickening legs were pressing together more and more as my stomach shrank back behind my knees. But, I noticed something else as I my muscles bloated, they were getting softer all over. I was losing definition, as I watched every appendage round out with fat and muscle. They cut the rope releasing my big arms, I still couldn't get up, but I could feel myself, I started pressing into my swelling body, amazed and scared by how my muscles moved against my fingers, pressing out more and more, until slowly, it stopped. I felt myself all over. I was huge. “Wow, look at you… you're like on off-season Lee Priest. I never thought you’d get this big. Well, this is your punishment. Someone in very deep pain wished this upon you for good reason, hopefully now you’ll remember to be more caring to others." Then I awoke. I stayed in bed, not wanting to get out, too scared to see what I might look like. But I could still feel myself under my sheets, my thick arms rubbing against my fat torso… I closed my eyes, and carefully made my way to my bathroom, terrified of what monster I would find. I noticed that both of my shoulders bumped the door frame on my way in. I made it to the mirror and opened my eyes, then dropped to the floor. I was a beast, a fat, huge muscle bloated beast. “What-what the hell?" I whispered. My arms were massive, as thick and rounded as my legs had been yesterday. They were pressing against my lats, sticking out at a stupid angle. My pecs were so broad and bloated, they bounced up and down when I lifted them. I could feel their heavy weight pulling down. It was as if someone filled them with synthol, they were so round and stuck out from my torso so much. My neck had become wide like a tree trunk, it fed into my double chin swelling out from under my softened jaw. My normally ripped and thin waist was grown, bloating out in all directions, pressing forward even more than my muscled tits, only slightly narrower than my much broader shoulders. “Oh my God-” This wasn’t me; it couldn’t be… My eyes started watering again “I’m a freak…” I turned around and looked at my bulging back and ass. My underwear was straining, pressing into my new love handles and stretching far across my massive bouncing butt. My face was wider and fatter, my cheeks lightly pressing up into my eyes, squinting them ever so slightly. I started crying and sat down on my bathroom floor. There was no way any of my clothes could fit me, I couldn’t go into work like this, I couldn’t hide how big I was now. I calmed down after a while, I thought about calling someone, but I was too embarrassed, I didn’t know who I could even call in the first place! I weighed myself, I shouldn’t have done that. I was tipping my scale at 302 pounds. I couldn’t even believe this, and it was my reality. I really did look like an off-season Lee Priest hugely muscular but incredibly fat. I was too big; I was a freak. My face was even rounded out. I was ugly, I started crying about my body, my freakish body, and then I heard I knock on the door...

Check out Part 1 here: Part 2: “Jasper, we don’t have time for this. This is the most logical way of converting Clive into a carrier. He will have to take my cock up his anal cavity so that I can find his prostate. I am feeling incredibly horny right now and need to fuck somebody so I suggest you go get him or I will have to make you the carrier which is not the most logical plan.” Jasper agrees and goes to get Clive. He pulls him into the exam room which makes the smaller partner a bit uneasy. The red behemoth grabs Clive who is quite alarmed by the huge monster standing in front of him and puts him on the exam table before propping his legs up onto his bloated shoulders and traps. Seth rubs his thick fingers along Clive’s wet hole before turning to look at Jasper who seems quite turned on by this. Seth looks down at the lube he left on the floor and turns to speak to Jasper. “Get me the clear lube on the floor Jasper. I want to make this as comfortable as possible for him. *looks back around at Clive who seems very tense* Relax Clive, let’s see how your body will respond when I press my cock up against your hole.” The huge muscular demon rubs his shiny purple cock against his human bottom’s tense opening before slapping it a few times. After getting the lube for the doctor, Jasper hands it to the red beast and begins to run his fingers all over the red doctor’s soaked backside before maneuvering around to the amazing slabs beneath his two engorged tits. Jasper is becoming quite intoxicated by the huge monster’s amazing musk as he rubs his thick cock against Seth’s big tail. The doctor turns his torso just slightly to the side before wrapping his tail around the muscular human’s waist. He picks him up off the ground to make him moan a couple of times before putting him back down. “You feeling good right now Jasper? Just give me a few minutes with Clive and you will be amazed at what he will be doing to you. For now, feel free to let your inhibitions take over as long as you don’t interfere with my process.” The doctor squirts a big pile of lube on his fingers and reaches down to completely coat his massive shaft before slowly parting Clive’s hole. It seems quite receptive to Seth’s entry as the doctor positions himself over top of the helpless human. The thinner bottom appears to be in a bit of pain as the red hulk begins to bear down on him. “Just stay relaxed Clive and you will be fine. There is going to be an incredible amount of pressure right now. I am going to manipulate your prostate into trusting me so I can convert you.” Clive groans as the doctor continues to spread his hole wider, stretching his anal walls as it tries to accommodate the girth of his mighty pole. He can’t resist the beast either as he feels Seth’s cockhead pressing up against his prostate. The red-skinned muscle monster begins slowly fucking him as Jasper continues to worship the doctor’s body with his hands and rubbing up against Seth’s bloated ass. After toying with Clive’s prostate for a few minutes, Seth stops moving inside him as he starts to feel the bottom’s prostate swelling. The human’s cock and balls turn a deep purple as the red hulk can feel that he is getting ready to unload inside him. Clive starts yelling because the sensation is so overwhelming which prompts the doctor to put one of his massive paws over top of his patient’s mouth. “Shhh…..stay calm Clive. *feels his balls starting to throb* Mmmmm, this is going to feel good when it comes out. *breathes heavy as he turns to talk to Jasper* You might want to get back Jasper, I have to maneuver my cock into just the right spot in order for this to work properly. *holds Clive firmly as he picks him up and sits him upright onto his engorged member* Ready for it Clive? MMMMMM…..it is going to be quite the rush.” Before Clive can even get a word out, he can feel Seth’s bloated cock showering his insides. Seth continues to cover the bottom’s mouth as he screams from the sheer volume of cum wrecking him. Jasper fears that the doctor is killing him because it looks like Clive is in severe agony. The doctor continues to grip him tightly as the river starts to pour out of Clive’s anus as he passes out from the ordeal. Jasper notices that his boyfriend is unconscious and starts to beat on Seth’s back to get him to stop fucking. “Relax Jasper in order for this to be successful I have to ravage him pretty badly. His body has to be prepared to be converted. Just give it me a few more minutes and you will see what I am talking about.” Jasper still seems a bit unconvinced. “I want to trust you doctor, but seeing him like this is really driving me crazy. I love him so much and hate to see him in such distress.” As they continue to banter with each other, they don’t even notice that Clive is starting to change physically. The bottom is writhing against Seth as his cock and balls begin swelling as precum starts to roll down the huge red hulk’s abs and right quad. He groans deeply as his muscles start expanding. It is at that point that Seth can feel Clive’s hole getting wider against his thick pole. He decides to put the growing human back down on the exam table as he pulls his limp dong making it flop a few times. The stretching sounds get louder as the unconscious grower’s legs and calves expand to twice their size as Jasper looks on in awe. The growth quickly moves up into his chest and abs as each individual slab pops before forming into a perfect six-pack. Jasper can’t resist rubbing his oozing cock on each one of them as Seth picks him up. The stunned bodybuilder turns to look at him as Clive’s bloated cock arches to find his partner’s gaping hole. The doctor slides Jasper on top of it which prompts him to yell in shock. “No need to wait Jasper, he is responding the way he is supposed to with my serum. His changes will be permanent as well because he is now a carrier of the virus. Now it is your turn to coax him into filling you up so that you two can start to bear children.” Jasper reaches down to feel Clive’s pecs swelling as each muscle fiber contracts. His small biceps and forearms are growing now as well as his veins struggle to maintain their size over top of the huge boulders forming. His back and lats are pushing him up from the table as Jasper leans in to kiss him on the lips. He moans noticing a huge difference in the way Clive kisses as the growing human starts to wake up to embrace him as he starts to fuck Jasper. The intense transformation is too much for his cock as he launches massive rivers of cum up inside his partner’s body as he yells in delight. His body continues to change as his face is more chiseled than before and a light layer of stubble appears on his face. Jasper grimaces as they continue to kiss each other. Dr. Darkori rubs Jasper’s back for a couple of minutes as Clive finishes filling him with massive quantities of sperm. Some of it flows into the floor beneath them as the two muscular lovers sit and try to collect themselves as the doctor starts to move away from them and over to tower over his desk to open one of his drawers. He is still bloated with muscle himself and is trying to find an antidote to his medication before he becomes consumed with lust. He could sense it as Clive was transforming and managed to keep it under wraps. However, with the two patients now emitting quite a plethora of hormones, he is finding it more difficult to control his own. “Guys, just give me a second here. *opens a drawer and talks softly* Ohh, thank gawd. *pops a pill out of a bottle and swallows it as he looks down at his swollen cock* Whew…..down boy. *it is leaking precum like it did before* I can’t let you dictate my moves, sorry.” Clive pulls out of Jasper as he tries to stand up. The newly muscular 27-year-old stud walks over to Seth and starts to massage his shoulders. The doctor pushes him away immediately though. “Knock it off Clive, you are feeling a bit horny I know, but I won’t be doing anything else for you at this time. *walks back around the desk towards Jasper* Jasper, you need to sit back down okay? Let everything swim around inside you for a few minutes. You will be developing a bump here in just a bit.” Seth pulls some of the paper off the table and has the 28-year-old bodybuilder sit back down. The tired bodybuilder grasps his pelvic area and appears to be in some discomfort. As he stands beside Jasper, he feels Clive’s huge vascular arms surrounding him as the thick hulk tries to slide his cock inside him. The doctor reaches around and grabs him by one of his arms before escorting him into the bathroom. He closes the door quickly and punches another button located beside the other one. The door makes a swooshing sound like they heard before as a steel door slides down from above. Clive yells in anger as he punches the door. “You need to relax Clive, it will wear off shortly. Don’t break your hand okay?” Jasper looks concerned, but he seems to get it. “I don’t appreciate you doing that to my boyfriend, but I suppose I can understand why you would want to keep him from interfering with this….. *feels his pelvis starting to swell* OHH SHIT! IT HURTS SO BAD!” Jasper’s lower abs and pelvic region are starting to bulge into what appears to be in the shape of a giant volleyball. His pecs are also swelling as his nipples stretch to twice their size. They both leak a clear liquid which is rolling down his bloated torso now. The sensation of his growing belly and erect nipples makes his cock spray the doctor’s body with a jet of precum. The doctor reaches down to massage the uncomfortable man’s balls which are rapidly filling up with cum now. “Things are looking really good Jasper. The whole process is working really well. *runs his hands on Jasper’s even larger round belly* It looks to me like you may be having more than one.” Clive has now stopped banging on the bathroom door as the doctor goes over to let him out. Seth pushes the same button he pressed before as the huge hulk rushes over to look over his partner. He is in awe at what he is looking at. He gently rubs the pregnant man’s furry pecs and squeezes his engorged nipples as they shoot what appears to be milk all over his bulging stomach. He then runs his hands along his lover’s belly as he kisses and licks the top part of it. Jasper’s agony appears to be subsiding as the pregnancy appears to be in its final form. The doctor walks back over to them again. “I think you two are ready to take this out of the exam room now. You should be due in about 12 weeks Jasper I would think. The babies have to be taken care of the same way they would be if they were being carried inside of a female. Of course, when you need to deliver them though, they will be coming out of your anus. Your body will transition to being able to do that in the meantime. Clive, I hope you are enjoying your new body because it is permanent since you are now a carrier of the pregnancy gene. Now, I will get you both outfits from the closet over here by the wall so you don’t have to leave here in the nude.” After a couple of minutes of shuffling through garments, the doctor returns to where he was before and sees that Clive is now servicing Jasper’s throbbing cock. The pregnant stud is moaning quite loudly as he starts to drench his partner’s face in thick voluminous cum. The happy sucker grunts as he takes turns gulping down the thick sea of cum and letting it smack him in the face. He looks up at Seth and smiles as he finishes drinking his partner’s nectar. “As long as it is just you doing that Clive, that isn’t a problem. The seed coming out of his cock will be needed later for when the babies are ready to mature.” Both of the men get up after they compose themselves and are in need of a shower. They both go into the bathroom to clean up before emerging just a few minutes later. They are now dressed to go in the clothing Dr. Darkori provided them. He is standing by the first button he punched so he can release the lever on the exam room door. The same swoosh they heard earlier disappears into the ceiling. As they both turn back around to look at Seth as they get to the main door, they notice that he has now returned to his original size again. “In case you both didn’t know, that noise you heard at first was a steel door coming down for the exam room door. Anyway, I want to see both of you again in 4 weeks. I will be checking to see how both of you are doing in your new roles. *hands Clive a clipboard with papers on it* Give that to Armand at the front desk for me Clive. I need to clean up myself before I see my next patient. *waves goodbye to both men* Talk to you both again soon.” They both wave at him as they go down the hall into the main lobby. Dr. Darkori stands by the bathroom room door and sighs a few times. He whispers a few ‘thank gawds’ to his self before going into the shower. The experiment worked exactly the way he hoped it would. Hopefully his luck will continue. End of Part 2

Link to part 1 here Link to part 2 here Link to part 3 here "I better hit some more poses for you then hadn't I mate?", I said to my aroused admirer, who was now suddenly beaming at the prospect of watching me flex more. With both hands resting on my hips, I looked at my lucky spectator head on and slowly cranked down into a explosive must muscular. As I hit the peak of the pose and squeezed with effort, I released a loud, arrogant, "ARRRGGHHHHH". "Fuck YES!", The Transformer exclaimed. In response, I released one hand, curled it into a fist and squeezed out yet another most muscular with a shamelessly cock, "YEEEAAAAHHH"! I then made my boldest move yet. I walked, no, strutted towards The Transformer until I was merely a few feet away from the couch he was sitting on, and releasing my loudest and most aggressive growl yet, I bought both my arms up and then cranked down hard into a brutal and intense crab most muscular. "GAAARRRGGGHHHH"! I squeezed and squeezed as hard as I could. Every single body part was tensed and strained to the absolute max. My whole body just a mass of huge, tight, flexed muscle, squeezed into the ultimate bodybuilding pose. "OH FUUUUCK"! The Transformer's eyes were wider than ever before. He looked as if he was struggling to breathe and a look of sheer panic suddenly swept across his face. Was watching a huge, inhumanly conditioned bodybuilder flexing and squeezing out an explosive crab most muscular just a few feet away from him, while releasing the most outrageous and arrogant growl about to cause The Transformer to cum? His whole body suddenly began to tremble. "Oh God no!", he exclaimed. Oh God YES!! Fucking blow that load mate. Watch me flex my huge, freak-like muscles and just fucking CREAM IT!! Still squeezed in my crab most muscular to the absolute max, I released one last grizzly growl in The Transformer’s face, guaranteed to push him over the edge, and cause a major mess in his undies. "GGGRRRAAAARRR"! And that's when it happened. Completely snapping me out of my pose, an intensely bright, white light suddenly started to radiate from The Transformer’s body, which was now jolting with force underneath. It was so bright I had no option but to cover up my eyes with my huge, bronzed forearm. Confused at what was happening and scared for my new found admirers well being, when the brightness seemed to vanish, I anxiously pulled my arm away to ensure that he was OK. What I saw startled me so much that I released a yell and instinctively backed away. A stranger had somehow gotten into The Transformer's house. That was my initial thought. And then I realised, the man sitting on the same coach, in the exact same spot as The Transformer had, was not a stranger at all. The absurdly gorgeous man who'd been dubbed "THE REAL LIFE G.I JOE", and had appeared as a model on the cover of a men's fitness magazine, the man with impressively pumped arms, a fantastic chest and an absolutely jaw droppingly perfect physique, the man who had the power to transform others into any living person for twenty-four hours, was in fact, a slightly nerdy looking, still rather cute, but mostly unremarkable looking man of slim build, with very little evidence of muscle mass under the t-shirt which was now about two sizes too big for me. Completely lost for words, The Transformer looked at me with a deeply embarrassed and sorry look on his face. A face I then suddenly realised I'd seen before. "It's you", was all I could pathetically say. "The guy in the picture in the Star Trek costume". He sheepishly offered me a deflated smile. "Minus the ears", he replied. With the comment, and the reality of the situation which had suddenly dawned on me, I felt my mouth curling into a huge, amused grin. "So I guess you can also transform yourself into anyone you like"? Still looking extremely embarrassed, he picked up the fitness magazine from the coffee table and holding it up to reveal the man who not five minutes ago was sitting talking to me, sheepishly replied, "Anyone I like". I couldn't stop smiling. I'd been so nervous in the presence of this guy, and all the time he was just an just an average built, slightly geeky looking but admittedly still pretty cute bloke who, on occasion, liked to dress up in Star Trek costumes. And there I was. A shredded fucking muscle God in shiny pink posers. Towering over him. Almost on the verge of making him cum in his pants. Most people wouldn't even look twice at the guy who was sat sheepishly in front of me. Whilst the body I was then inhibiting caused people from all corners of the globe to cum just from looking a photo of it on the Internet. And yet, something was abundantly clear to me. Me and this guy; we were exactly the same. The incident had clearly knocked his confidence. "I never transform people as my regular self mate", he began to explain. I carried my 200 lbs body of ripped muscle and sat next to The Transformer on the couch. He looked slightly terrified as I sat down next to him, and couldn't seem to stop staring at my huge pecs, but he continued to explain regardless. "It's just to protect my identity really. I must have gotten my timings wrong. I saw that guy in the magazine yesterday and thought - yeah, it might be kinda fun to be that hot for a day". "I think I can relate to that", I said. With this, The Transformer seemed to relax a little, and he flashed me the first hint of his real, rather adorable smile. Sitting next to him on his couch, the size difference between us was ridiculous. My thick bronzed legs alone looked about three times as big as his. I felt a heady mix of power, superiority and overwhelming arousal. I also suddenly had a strange urge to dive towards The Transformer, kiss him and just embrace him with my sheer mass. "But I'll be honest mate”, he continued. ”I do this a fair bit. Transform myself. Not that I don't like the real me. I mean, I'm no G.I Joe but, I'm fine with the way I look. I more do it...for fun". And with this, his mouth curled into the most mischievous smirk. "I think I can relate to that too", I said. We were sat smiling at each other, when it suddenly dawned on me just how much I actually liked him. Not just the gorgeous fitness model, G.I Joe version either. I mean, granted, he was one beautiful fucking man. But the real version too. "Soooo", I began. “Before you transformed, you seemed to be enjoying watch me flex.” "Too fucking right I was mate!", he exclaimed. "So I could do a bit more posing for you, or...I could show you my superpower"? His eyes widened and he suddenly looked excited. "The second one mate"! He then looked a bit confused and flustered and quickly said, "No, the posing. No wait. Oh shit - do I have to chose just one?" I chuckled and felt my heart flutter just a tiny bit as I struggled to comprehend just how endearing and utterly adorable he was - whether in this body or his previous one. "Why don't we start with the superpower", I said. "OK", he grinned excitedly. "You ready"? I asked. The Transformer nodded and I took his hand in mine. The difference between them was almost comical. His pale, average sized and perfectly normal in appearance, mine big, bronzed, veiny and anything but normal. He smirked giddily and I felt an instant surge of electricity as we touched. That smile almost tripled and his eyes widened to a brilliant degree as I bought my left arm up into a one armed bicep flex, and firmly planted The Transformer’s hand around the gloriously bronzed ball of muscle exploding before his eyes. As his fingers wrapped around the rock hard and indecently sized peak of my freakish left bicep, I squeezed hard, looked The Transformer in the eye and released an outrageously cocky, "YEEEEAAHHH!", in his face. "OH FUCK"! The Transformers mouth was hung open and his look was part way between shock and sheer pleasure. With my palm still firmly covering the back of The Transformer’s hand, his fingers continued to dig into the freakishly sized bicep muscle. As I squeezed as hard as I possibly could, I gritted my teeth and released a deep, loud growling noise. "GRRRRRRRRR"! And that's when it happened. "OH FUUUUUUCK!", The Transformer exclaimed. His mouth and eyes grew wider, and his legs began to shake. "Oh Gaaawwwwwwd", he cried. With his mouth stretched open as wide as it possibly could be, he threw his head back, and, still firmly gripping my bicep, his whole body started making quick, sharp jolting movements, and he unleashed a chorus of the loudest, orgasmic groans of pleasure. "GRRR-YEEEEEAHHH", I growled over the top of The Transformer’s moans of ecstasy, which then turned into pants, groans of, "Oh God", "Oh fuck" and then, finally, into giddy laughs of post-orgasmic joy. Half an hour into my day of being a huge, shredded muscle freak and I'd already made someone cum in their pants. "Fucking HELL", The Transformer cried, as he tried to catch his breath, unable to wipe the huge smile off his flustered face. With my bicep then un-flexed, I unwrapped my palm from around The Transformer’s hand, which proceeded to slide off my mound of muscle mass. "Wait!", he said, his mind ticking over as he studied his now free hand. "Was that your superpower"? I looked at him and smirked. "I touched you...and I came", he said, trying to figure out what my mysterious power was. "No. You touched me and I came". He'd cracked it, and then he spoke my infamous superpower name. "You're...you're The Human Orgasm"! I blushed slightly, continued to grin and playfully raised my eyebrows. "Imagine that"! "So...you make people cum just by touching them? WOW!", he said. "Yep! Well...only if I want to obviously", I assured him. "Phew. Well that's good", he said. "That would make shaking a strangers hand very awkward". I laughed and thought it best not to mention the fact that before I really learned how to control my power, that very extremely awkward scenario actually did occur on one occasion. Instead, without really thinking I blurted out, "I only do it with guys I like". I hadn't meant for the comment to be flirtatious or suggestive at all, but as soon as it slipped out, I realised that it qualified as being both. The Transformer blushed furiously, and his mouth uncontrollably grew into his giddiest grin yet. "I have a confession", he said. "OK", I curiously replied. He adorably took a deep breath. I had no idea what The Transformer was about to say, but he was clearly very nervous about it. "I think you're cute". I was completely baffled. It was such an odd comment to give to a 200 lbs muscle freak known for his insane conditioning, alien-like quads and thick, shredded glutes. A muscle freak who'd just made him cum in his pants while he digged his fingers into one of his rock hard, freakishly huge, fully flexed bicep. "Oh-kay", I replied. "Thanks"! "No! Not this guy. I mean - yes, you're cute. He's cute. Kind of". He didn't sound too convincing of the last part. "I meant - you're cute. The real you." His shoulders relaxed and my heart started fluttering once more. "I thought it from the moment you turned up at the door. And I knew you fancied me. Well - him. Who wouldn't? And I know you were probably checking out my arse when you followed me into the flat". I couldn't help but smirk at this particular statement, as he continued. "He does have a nice arse. I mean - it's nothing like THAT arse. Fuck! But yeah - I just wanted to say. I think you're cute. Really, really cute". I could barely wipe the smile off my face. I had no idea what to say to those completely adorable words, so I thought for a moment, and calmly spoke the first words which came into my head. "I'm gonna kiss you." His mouth grew into the most uncontrollable smirk. "But", I continued. "Not like this. I'm gonna come back here in twenty-four hours, when the transformation has worn off, and I'm no longer in Stephen Dresner’s body, and then I'm gonna kiss you. If you'll let me". The Transformer couldn't stop grinning. "I guess I'll see you in twenty-four hours then". "But you have to be the real you too", I explained. "You wouldn't prefer me to be "The Real Life G.I Joe"? I shook my head. "No. Although", I began, my mind drifting to the inexplicably gorgeous man who'd answered the door to me earlier that afternoon, "You can always turn into him afterwards. If you want". He laughed, and as we sat there smiling at each other, the chemistry between us felt stronger and more evident than ever. A knot suddenly arose in my stomach and the giddiness and excitement I had been experiencing up until that moment unexpectedly and momentarily turned into fear as I realised that I could really see myself falling for the guy sitting next to me. Here I go again. "So Tobey", The Transformer began. "How are you planning to spend the next twenty-four hours, like, well...THAT?", he asked, pointing at my outrageously muscular, gloriously chiselled, muscle popping physique. The question suddenly pulled my thoughts away from any potential love affair with The Transformer and back to the sole reason why I’d met him in the first place; to inhibit the inexplicably muscular and freak show worthy body of a genuine, competition conditioned bodybuilder. I suddenly felt an incredible surge of excitement at the possibilities which lay ahead. I had planned to spend a good portion of the day flexing, touching, worshipping and cumming over my own freaky muscle mass in the mirror, but the incredible rush and power I’d felt from The Transformer’s reaction to my body was suddenly giving me a few other ideas. I also couldn't deny the huge ego trip I was experiencing just from being so much bigger than The Transformer. Being that huge, being so different in appearance, not just to him, but the majority of the people outside of his flat. Knowing I was a freak that people would queue up just to merely touch. Knowing I could make certain people cum just on appearance alone. It was incredibly intoxicating. "I think I kind of wanna...freak people out", I mischievously said. "Just strut through a city centre in shorts and a tight revealing vest. My enormous, freaky, bronzed beef just spilling out for everyone to see. Watch the looks of fear and confusion. Hear the shocked gasps and see the awe-stricken glares. If they stare hard enough I might stop and hit a cheeky double bicep just for the hell of it. YEAH! Or maybe squeeze a quick, hard crab most muscular in their faces. BOOM!" Clearly liking what he was hearing, The Transformer was listening intently and grinning like mad. "Watch you don't get arrested for giving some poor old dear a heart attack". I laughed and continued. "Or maybe I could waddle into my local Tesco’s. Take off my shirt and drop my shorts to reveal my pink trunks and just start hitting some poses in the middle of the meat aisle. OOOOOF"! The Transformer laughed and shook his head. "Has anyone ever told you you're a little bit of a nutter mate"? I grinned. "Only the people who know me best". He suddenly looked a little deflated as he spoke his next words. "Well Tobey, I should probably let you go. Muscles to flex, people to freak out and all that. You might have to turn sideways to fit through my front door mind". I laughed and, bringing my fists either side of my waist, I spontaneously hit a front lat spread for The Transformer to show off my impressively thick lats, with a cheeky, short, dog-like bark; "RUFF"! I couldn't deny it. I was really enjoying The Transformer's company. Just sitting there with him felt new and exciting and I suddenly felt a twinge of sadness that our encounter was coming to an end. "I guess I'll see you in twenty-four hours then". I didn't even know his name, and, given the kind of service he provided, and much like anyone who "sold" their superpower, I wasn't expecting him to provide it just yet. So, taking his hand and intertwining his fingers with mine, while affectionately looking him in the eyes, I christened him with a new nickname. "Mr McSpunky-Pants". He squeezed my hand and giddily and affectionately gazed back at me and gave me my own adorable name. "Yep. See you in twenty-four hours. Tobey McCutie-Bum". "Unless", I began. His eyes widened and his face suddenly lit up in anticipation of my next words. "You want to come with me"? "You mean it?", he endearingly and excitedly asked. "Of course", I replied, shaking our hands which were we still locked together. "Tesco’s here we come!", he brilliantly said. "Wait", he continued. "You mean...come as me you mean?", he asked. "Like this"? "Sure", I replied. I hadn't really thought of an alternative. "Hmmmm", he said thinking. "We could do that. Or, I could transform into someone else". "You could", I said. "Though I am rather partial to this version". He blushed and replied, "I'm just thinking, on this occasion, we might have more fun if I transformed into…a different person". "Ok", I curiously said. "Do you have anyone specific in mind"? It was at this point that The Transformer reached for, and picked up my muscle magazine lying on his coffee table. He flipped the pages so the magazine was closed, and once again looked at the picture of the huge, hardcore, fully flexed bodybuilder on the front cover. The very bodybuilder who'd freaked him out and caused such an extreme reaction the first time he’d seen it. His mouth curled into a devilish grin as he looked from the bodybuilder on the magazine to me and answered my question. “Oh…I may have a certain someone”. The End

(deleted by the author)

Link to part 1 here Link to part 2 here The Transformation started with a slight tingling sensation running up and down my arms. Although my eyes were jammed shut I could sense a bright light in the room. The feeling in my arms quickly transformed into an intense, almost euphoric sensation, almost like I was being lifted off the ground. As it spread to my entire body, it became so intense that I suddenly became short of breath, and what started as a wobbling in my legs quickly turned into my whole body shaking. The transformation ended with one final, intense jolt like I was suddenly falling, or being pushed from behind. I was completely convinced that I'd open my eyes to find myself lying on the floor of The Transformer's flat. It was only when I suddenly regained feeling in my feet that I realised, against all odds, they were still planted firmly on the floor. Only they weren't my feet at all. They felt different. Almost alien. And bigger. They definitely felt bigger. In fact, everything felt bigger. It was my body. But it wasn't. My arms felt further away from my torso. My thighs were touching. My chest stuck out more. And there was more of my body round the back. A lot more. Almost like something big had been stuck on to me. What was that?! "OH MY FUCKING GOD"! The statement from the other man in the room made me jump and forced me to open my eyes. The Transformer was gawping at me in complete awe, sheer disbelief and slight fear. It was only when I caught sight of my reflection that I knew why. "OH FUCK", I exclaimed. Staring back at me in the mirror was an outrageously muscular, excessively developed, inhumanly shredded bodybuilder in bright pink posing trunks. I was huge. A fucking beast. A living, breathing anatomy chart. A barely human, grotesquely muscular freak. "FUUUUUCK"! I couldn't stop staring at the mountain of huge, rock hard, deliciously bronzed muscle mass in the mirror. My legs looked fucking mutated. Rips, cuts and lines I never thought possible ran over the ridges and rock-like mass which made up my quads. How, just HOW did these legs classify as being human? Six granite hard and gorgeous looking bricks of muscle protruded from my stomach. Each one separated by the deepest of cuts. My whole midsection covered with crazy lumps and alien bumps. It was like a work of art. A freaky, but beautiful creation. And my skin. Did I even have any? All that was there was a thin layer of darkly bronzed film, spread over the perfectly chiselled array of muscle erupting from my torso. And the pecs. Holy fuck. I had pecs! Two plates of thick, bulging mass trapped under the gloriously golden skin of my enormous sized chest, almost begging for release. My shoulders looked like they'd been replaced by two enormous boulders, and my arms had tripled in width and size. Veins were snaking all over my upper body to an almost terrifying degree. A sure reminder that humans really weren't supposed to look like this. "Fucking look at me mate", I excitedly exclaimed to the man responsible for my new freak show worthy existence. It was a completely redundant instruction of course, because The Transformer, still wearing his awe stricken expression, couldn't tear his eyes away from me. "Tobey, you're HUGE!", he adorably exclaimed. I suddenly felt a surge of confidence I hadn't previously when I'd been sat in front of this devastatingly handsome man in my normal body. "FUCK YEAH!", I confidently exclaimed. "And I'm fucking SHREDDED!", I added, once more admiring the insane striations and razor sharp cuts running across my entire body and separating every single crazily developed muscle. "How's the rear view mate?", I asked, spinning around to treat The Transformer to a view of me from the back. I was expecting a big reaction, but I never would have predicted the next words to emerge from my new admirers mouth. "FUCK! LOOK AT THAT BUM"! I sharply twisted my head round and it suddenly became apparent why I had felt like there was more of me round the back. Sticking out, either side of my shiny pink posers, now filled out to an absolutely laughable degree, was the biggest, and most developed arse I could ever imagine. The exact same arse that Stephen Dresner was so well known for. It. Was. HUGE. Copious amounts of bum beef just unashamedly sticking out for the whole world to see. "HOLY FUCK!", I exclaimed as I admired my new outrageously developed, rock hard glutes in the mirror. Other than their sheer size and development, there was something else these very glutes of Stephen's were famous for too. Still with my back to the mirror, but my head twisted round, I tensed the two gigantic orbs of meat nestling in my trunks. Sure enough, out of nowhere, a dozen deep lines and striations erupted underneath the frighteningly thin skin covering them, to reveal what had to be one of the most freakishly conditioned asses in bodybuilding. Out of nowhere, and without any sort of pre-thought, I suddenly blurted out in an admittedly cocky and rather outrageous manner, "FUCK YEAH GLUTES"! Following this outburst, I looked over at my unwilling spectator and suddenly felt a slight twinge of concern. Transfixed with my huge, freaky, striation plastered bottom, The Transformer's mouth was hanging open. And where his expression was still awe stricken and shocked, he also looked a tiny bit terrified. "Is this freaking you out mate"? He quickly responded with an instinctive no, before more honestly saying yes and adding, "I mean. It IS freaking me out. But. Fuck"! He shook his head and the right side of his mouth suddenly curled into a smile. I knew then that whatever conflicting feelings The Transformer was having, one thing for sure; he was definitely enjoying the freak show. It was that gorgeous smirk of approval which gave me the confidence to brace my next question. "So...do you wanna watch me hit some poses"? "Sure", an excitable and keen Transformer replied, not really seeming as if he knew what he was agreeing to, but apparently eager to see what a shredded muscle freak could do with his body. It was ironic. I'd felt in such awe of this still ridiculously good looking and impressively muscular man prior to my transformation. A man so sickeningly handsome that I felt nervous just being in his presence. And now, he was in awe of me, and my physical appearance. And to an exceptionally bigger degree than I had been to him. There was no doubt about it. The power had shifted tremendously. "OK let's give you...a front double bicep", I confidently said to The Transformer. Having spent the past thirty years as a regular sized man, I'd never actually hit any poses before, but I'd watched enough muscle videos of huge, ripped bodybuilders to at least have a stab at doing so. Staring once again at my new freakish body in the mirror, I bought both of my thick, muscular arms up either side of my head. With my elbows in line with my absurdly broad shoulders, I clenched both of my fists, and before I knew it, I had, albeit rather clumsily transitioned into a front double bicep. "HOLY SHIT", I exclaimed as I caught my reflection. Two huge, round balls of glistening, granite hard bicep muscle were exploding to an insane degree. I turned my head to the right to marvel at the mound of squeezed muscle erupting before my face, before turning to the left to marvel at the other. "Look at the fucking SIZE of these", I exclaimed to The Transformer. "They're MASSIVE mate", came his response. "Fuck yeah", I exclaimed, in my cockiest tone yet. I couldn't stop staring at the huge peaked muscle before me. Still clenching my fists, I continued to squeeze, and squeeze. Flexing the fuck out of my huge guns, some kind of animal instinct seemed to take over me and I suddenly let out a deep, fairly quiet growl. "Grrrrrrr"! I looked at The Transformer who was staring at my huge biceps with immense admiration. He was completely and utterly in awe. I couldn't help myself. I had to release another animalistic growl. Only this one came out a lot louder than the previous. "GRRRRRRR"! The Transformer released a half-laugh, half-astounded, "Fuck YEAH!", which seemed to spur my new found arrogance on even more. I squeezed my biceps harder still, and giving The Transformer an intense, almost aggressive stare, I released my loudest growl yet. "ARGGGHHH"! "Fuck", he replied with a short chuckle, still half amused at my display of arrogant, hyper macho flexing. As I finally relaxed from the pose, I dropped the attitude and released an amused chuckle along with my lucky spectator, who seemed to be enjoying the experience almost as much as I was. "How does it feel mate?", The Transformer asked. "To be a shredded bodybuilder, or to flex"? "Both!", he replied. Like I'm gonna cum in my posers at any given second! "Fucking AWESOME mate!", I replied. "Fancy another"? "Hell yeah", he eagerly responded. "Hmmmm. How about...a front lat spread". Looking down to see the beautiful image of my protruding six pack abs, inhuman looking quads, and shiny pink coloured bulge looking up at me, I released a quiet, "Fuck yeah", to myself. Then, grabbing and tucking both of my thumbs under the thin straps of my trunks, I bought my huge chest up and, pulling the pink coloured straps up as far as they'd go, I transitioned into a front lat spread. "HUP!", I cried out as my pecs jumped up and almost touched my chin. I stared at my reflection to see my gloriously chiselled physique in this incredibly powerful pose. My thick mutated quads were flaring to a laughable degree, my pecs kept twitching as if trying to escape my torso, and tucked under each of my armpits, two, thick lats were sticking out like wings about to take flight. "Get a load of THAT mate", I cheekily exclaimed to The Transformer. "Fucking insane!", came his reply. "Your legs look BONKERS"! "I KNOW!", I exclaimed. Relaxing from the pose and letting the straps of my posers fall back into place, I added, "These posing trunks don't look too silly on me now do they"? The Transformer blushed and released a sheepish smirk. "Time to work these abs I think"! And with this statement, I threw both of my arms around the back of my head, and crunched down HARD onto my stomach, with a big, loud, grizzly "EEUURGHHH!", in what was, undoubtedly, the most satisfying and pleasurable pose yet. Admiring the big blocks of crunched ab muscle popping protruding through the cling wrap thin skin of my stomach in the mirror, while I gritted my teeth, and scrunched up my face in effort, I felt like I'd transcended to a new plane of pleasure. Being huge and ripped and flexing for an adoring audience (albeit an audience of one) was like a high I hadn't ever come close to experiencing before. If it felt this good to pose for one person, how must it feel for a bodybuilder to be on stage, with a group of other, equally freaky muscle men and pose for a packed auditorium? I wondered if there were any local bodybuilding competitions happening in the next twenty-four houses. Maybe Stephen Dresner could turn up and put in a surprise guest posing appearance? "PHOOOOO"! I let out a cocky exhaling sound as I crunched down once more on my otherworldly midsection. Looking down, I bought my left foot forward slowly, and began to twist and tense, showing off the freak-like rips and crazy detail for my audience. Giving the same treatment to the right quad, I glanced at The Transformer. He was completely transfixed. Showing off my freakish mass and development, my abs and posing trunk covered bulge pointing in his direction, I couldn't help but shoot him a mischievous, bordering on flirtatious grin. The mystery of The Transformer’s sexuality was occupying my thoughts once again. Was The Transformer turned on by my huge, shredded muscle? Was he even gay? Did he even necessarily have to be in order to feel aroused by my excessively muscular body? I had no idea. But the way he was staring at my quads, the way he blushed when I started smiling at him, and the fact that the general atmosphere had suddenly seemed to turn a little sexual, I was sure there was a chance he was just a little bit aroused by my hyper macho display of muscle posing. Relaxing from the pose, and slightly out of breathe, I decided to be up front and satisfy my sudden curiosity of the obscenely handsome fitness magazine cover gracing man before me. "Can I ask you a question?", I cautiously said. "Sure"! "Tell me if it’s too personal, but...are you into blokes"? An amused and mischievous smile emerged on this perfect face. "Well I'm sitting here with a massive hard on right now, so...does that answer your question"? "Fuck", I exclaimed with a chuckle. "Well I wasn't expecting THAT for an answer"! I couldn't stop grinning at his cheekiness and confidence, while also feeling myself blush a little. For the first time since I'd transformed, it felt like he was the confident, cock sure guy of the two of us again. "It's the pink posers isn't it?", I jokingly asked. The Transformer laughed. "Actually I don't know what it is. I mean...I didn't feel like this when you showed me the magazine. I was shocked. And a little freaked out. I mean, those men. They're pretty extreme. But seeing you in the flesh. Well...like this. I mean...your body. You’re HUGE. I don't know why, but from the second you transformed, I just got hard. Like straight away. And when you started flexing, and making those noises. FUCK! That just turned me on even more". I stood listening to this utterly adorable and completely awesome confession with a huge smile on my face. This absurdly good looking guy with a genuinely impressive and muscular physique was actually turned on by me. OK, it wasn't technically me. He was turned on by the body I was currently inhabiting. And all I had to do was stand in front of him, and flex. And the more I flexed, the more turned on he would be. It was then that I had a brilliant flash of inspiration. He'd asked me about my superpower before but I hadn't revealed it. Could I? Should I? He'd wanted to know after all. Maybe it was time to reveal my power to The Transformer.

So first time posting a story here. I jumped this chapter off a shoe store story on CYOC interactives. Didnt write set up part but the gist is Ryan, a small frail man, walks into a shoe store where the shopkeeper says that any shoe in the store is guaranteed to fit. What follows is a series of interactive chapters where he tries on several different sizes and types of shoes and transforms into what the wearer would look like. With that introduction, here is the chapter I wrote. As Ryan browesed through the endless rows of shoes, he came across a pair of cowboy boots. The tall kind that go all up over your calves. He looked at the bottom and saw they were size 13's. He always wanted to see how he would look in boots so he slipped them on. They were huge on him and he had tons of room to move in them. He stomped around like a toddler wearing his daddies boots. He started feeling a tingling in his feet. At that moment though, a bolt of lightning hit the store and traveled through the light in the dressing a struck him since the boots had some metal in the soles. The attendant was freaked out that he may had just killed a customer right when the transformation was beginning but when he peeked into the changing room, Ryan was still standing there. So he went about his business and let the transformation continue. Ryan however was feeling the effects of the Lightning. His feet were now tingling more and throbbing. The boots felt less and less roomy. Suddenly his feet started pressing against both the front, back, and sides of the monsterous boot. It was getting painful. He winced as his feet finally started ripping through the thick leather. His toes, heel, and sides just blew out the entire sole of the boot. He watched in horror as his feet were approaching flipper size. His socks were stretched so thin you could see skin through them. Finally those ripped as well and the growth slowed as his feet approached what looked like size 20's. Ryan didn't know what to do. His feet were now the size of a pro basketball players. He then felt a power course through his body like he had never felt before. It felt like an all over erection. He started hearing stretching sounds and something like running your hands over a balloon. He thought his feet were growing again, but as he looked down, his feet looked further away. He stood up straight and watched the top of the door approach his line of vision, match up with it, and then he was looking down at it. He looked in the mirror and only saw his torso which had elongated as well. His arms were approaching monkey length. If he had to guess, he had grown miraculously to about 7'3". He started freaking out. Not only had he been hit by lightning, but he had grown into a giant of a man in minutes. His clothes were tight on his because of the body growth but still intact thank god. The boots that had come up to his knees were now at about calve height. But the growth had stopped. Or so he thought. He started hearing the sounds again, but this time it was deeper and thicker. The bottom of his legs started feeling constricted. He looked down and saw his calves inflating to the size of footballs. His jeans and the boots were getting so tight on them but they just kept growing. Slowly he started hearing stitches popping and realized his jeans were ripping, however the boots were basically welded to his skin. Not for long. With a long, deep rip, the leather split and he saw the biggest calves he had ever seen. Take Eric Fankhouser and Ben Pakulski and put them together and they might come close. He would never be able to wear high socks again. His thighs were now experiencing the same tightness. As he saw layers and layers of muscle building, he again heard the popping sound. With a loud crack, and a flurry of fabric his gigantic thighs just made the jeans explode. And yet they kept growing. He winced in pain as they started to touch and squeeze his balls. He cupped his less than average package and had to pull and put it on top of his thighs. He didn't know how he was ever going to find pants that fit again. The jeans he was wearing had been rendered into daisy Dukes in minutes. Next, his stomach started to flip and flex. He pulled up his shirt to see a rock hard group of abs appear. They started to push out a bit but still were ripped and solid. He counted 10 abs. A fucking 10 pack. He didn't think that was possible. His arms started to experience the same tightness and he saw his forearms start to grow with solid beef. Not to be overshadowed, his biceps and triceps started to growth wildly out of control. He wasn't even flexing and he heard his shirt slowly start to rip from wrist to shoulder. He feared cut off of circulation, but his arms were having none of that. Veins snaked up and down his trunks of arms. Huge veins. His arms had to be 26" flexed of solid ripped muscle. He then started to feel like it was hard to breathe and it's because his shirt was starting to cut off everything due to his pecs, shoulders, and back and lats just exploding with size. At first there were sharp cracks of threads popping, like firecrackers. Then, his shirt just started ripping everywhere. It became ribbons and fluttered to the floor. Still he grew. His neck felt like he was being choked. He reached up and felt his neck triple in size. In fact, what neck. Everything was a column of muscle that went from one rock hard part to another. He felt like there was something stuck in his throat and reached and touched his throat. He felt a huge Adam's apple push out into his palm. "I can't fucking believe this" he said with such a deep voice it rumbled the mirror. Speaking of the mirror, he looked into it and saw a 7'3", easily 450 pound God. Every muscle was cut and defined. Veins were snaking all over his body. He felt then like someone kicked him in the groin. He looked down to see the front of his left over pants start to swell with something. That something was him. Tight pinching and pain followed as his throbbing meat grew and grew. Finally it ripped it's way out of the zipper and underwear. His balls had grown to the size of apples and his cock had grew halfway to his knees, which was huge considering his height. It also swelled and thickened. He started to get hard and it inched forward, or more like foot forward and thickened even more. He had to be 12" soft and 19" hard and thick as a beer can. His balls started churning his newly transformed sperm with new levels of testosterone. All of a sudden, an intense itching gripped his whole body. He looked down and even though he couldn't see past his massive shelf of a pec chest, he could see thousands of hair growing out of them. He knew by the feeling that they were growing all over. His legs, cock, abs, chest, shoulders, even some on his back. It was growing so dark and thick it was hard to see skin through. However it did not hide the powerful size and strength of his now gargantuan muscles. His face started itching intensely as a thick but tightly groomed beard grew out all over his cheeks. His beard even joined up with his chest hair to make one carpeted pelt. Looking at the mirror, he could see himself now in full glory. He was massively huge, in both height and muscularity, hung like a porn star, and covered head to toe in the sexiest black body hair. It was enough he could grab it by the handful. Problem was he was completely naked as his clothes had been destroyed in the transformation. He yelled at the top of his lungs and with his foghorn like voice said "I need help". The shopkeeper came running and as he approached the fitting room he saw the tops of the biggest and hairiest pecs he had ever seen. He went in and saw the giant that was now Ryan. Ryan said, in the deepest and sexiest voice the shopkeeper had ever heard, "what the fuck happened and how am I supposed to leave since my clothes are shredded?" The shopkeeper had no answer nor explanation. This has never happened before where they shoes didn't transform to fit perfectly. It must had been the Lightning. However, words were not what he wanted to be in his mouth. He immediately dropped down and started sucking the massive cock. He felt it grow in his mouth, stretching his lips apart, inching down his throat. He could barely get half chugged down and he was an experienced cock sucker. Ryan bellowed "I'm not feeling your mouth. Let's try your ass". He flipped the shop keeper around and ripped off his pants and started pushing his massive tool into the shopkeepers ass. It was hard at first but someone he took it. After about 5 minutes, with the work up of the transformation and seeing himself, Ryan screamed and shot load after load into the ass. Mirrors rattled. Shoes fell off the walls. Afterwards, the shopkeeper found clothes that barely fit Ryan but did clothe him. A pair of size 23 EEE cowboy boots, tight wranglers, a XXXXL flannel shirt which looked like it had been painted on, a jockstrap that was a gag, but still hardly contained the cock, and a cowboy hat. Ryan said "Thanks partner" as he exited the store to become the next big porn star. The shopkeeper was left there wondering if this was fate or an accident, and started feeling pressure in his feet. He looked down just as his foot tore through the shoe and started spilling all over the floor.

Link to part 1 here "BLOODY HELL!", The Transformer exclaimed in response. He was still unable to tear his comically wide eyes away from the enormous flexed muscle freak staring back at him from the cover of my magazine. "This guy's HUGE"! Along with my cheeks burning up, I suddenly found my mouth curling into an amused smile. I loved the fact that such an image of a huge, freaky muscle monster (the very kind of muscle monster I'd been uncontrollably lusting over since I was a horny teenager) had caused such an extreme reaction. Particularly from a man who had not long before, very confidently assured me that he was incapable of being shocked. I also find it completely adorable, but also rather surprising that such a reaction would come from a man as muscular as The Transformer. A man who'd clearly dedicated a considerable amount of time to weight training, had even graced the front cover of a men's fitness magazine and was not far off being worthy of entering a physique competition. Surely such a man would have encountered an image of a professional bodybuilder before, if not even met one in real life? "His arm looks bigger than my bloody head", The Transformer continued, before finally tearing his eyes away from the bronzed, jacked monster on the page and looking up at me. "So I'm gonna have this guy standing in my living room"? As he posed the question, the dumbfounded expression which had occupied his face for the past few minutes seemed to morph into a smile. Whether it was excitement, or just amusement at the surreal and admittedly rather crazy notion that he'd soon be in the presence of a man so huge and muscular I wasn't entirely sure. I couldn't help but wonder; if a picture of said muscle freak caused such an extreme reaction, how was The Transformer going to react to having the real thing (or a superpower addled doppelgänger at least) standing before him in the flesh? "Well, maybe not him exactly", I began in response to his question. "He's an option. But there's a few guys in that magazine I wouldn't mind transforming into". "Are any of them bigger than this guy?", he exclaimed, pointing to the mass muscle monster on the front of the magazine he was still clutching. "Some probably are", I said, smirking and getting a kick out of provoking such an amusing and incredibly endearing reaction from this absurdly beautiful man. "FUCKING HELL!", he comically and adorably exclaimed. "Well I take it all back Tobey mate. I definitely hadn't seen it all before. But I have now. Oh and this is definitely the most unique transformation request I've ever done. And I had Donald twatting Trump in my flat last week". "Was that the day he dropped out of the elections by any chance?", I curiously asked. "Yup", he replied, a proud, almost smug expression momentarily leaking on his face. "I take no responsibility though remember", he added, still looking rather pleased with himself. "Ok Tobey. So before you transform, I'm gonna have to ask you do something that you might not feel completely comfortable with". I intently and curiously listened as The Transformer continued. "If you're transforming into someone of a similar size, or smaller, you can get away with not doing this, but, well...you definitely can't", he said, glancing once more in awe and amazement at the monster on the front of my muscle mag. "I'm afraid, you're gonna have to strip. Probably to your undies". Not only had I mentally prepared for this eventuality, but I'd even come wearing appropriate clothing. If I was going to be transform into a huge, shredded, 200 plus lbs bodybuilder, there was only thing I wanted to be wearing. I blushed as I thought of said item, hiding under my jeans. How the hell was The Transformer going to react when he saw me wearing those? "No problem", I nervously and not completely truthfully said. Of course I was going to feel embarrassed standing in front of, not just a stranger, but one with such an incredible physique as The Transformer had, almost completely naked. The then exposed item of clothing I was going to be wearing would only increase that embarrassment to an enormous degree, but it had to be done. I had fantasised about the moment I would transform into an outrageously huge, competition conditioned bodybuilder so much, and I’d be damned if it were to happen any other way than I'd imagined. "Time to make your decision then Tobey mate. Which one of these guys are you going to be for the next twenty-four hours”? He passed me back my muscle magazine, and looking up and down my slim, perfectly average body, with an amused smile on his face, he added, "This is gonna be one fun transformation to watch". I sheepishly smirked as I took the magazine, and as I looked down at Johnnie Roberts, one of the biggest, most hardcore and well known professional bodybuilders in the world, blasting out a side chest pose, his entire body a mass of enormous, carved out, freak show worthy muscle mass, I was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of excitement that I was about to inhibit such a body. How was it going to feel to be that huge and muscular? To look in the mirror and see the very thing which turned me on more than anything else in the world staring back at me? I was about to find out, but first, I needed to decide exactly which shredded muscle freak I was about to transform into. The muscle magazine was packed with an array of bodybuilders of different varieties and almost every page had a potential candidate. American mass muscle monsters, insanely shredded amateur European guys and adorably cute young Canadian muscle pups all graced the pages. Some had beautifully carved out abs, others had freakishly shredded glutes. Some were dry and conditioned to an almost alien-like degree, while others were just flat out fucking monsters, most likely tipping the scales at over 300 lbs. How the fuck was I supposed to decide? "I'm gonna have to push you a little for a decision Tobey. Sorry mate". Feeling the pressure, I'd narrowed it down in my head to a bodybuilder with one particular attribute; whoever I chose, he had to be in insanely shredded condition. Just as that decision was made, I turned the page and happened to find the absolute perfect candidate. His name was Stephen Dresner, a slightly quirky but handsome looking twenty-something bodybuilder from the UK who'd just wowed the judges at a huge amateur bodybuilding competition in Europe with his off the charts shredded conditioning, and earned himself his pro card in the process. I was already familiar with this ridiculously hot and freakishly conditioned bodybuilder, who just so happened to be very well known for one particular body part. A body part which was unfortunately hidden in the stage shot of him squeezing out an insane most muscular pose (outrageously cocky shit-eating grin and all) staring back at me from the page. Nevertheless, my decision had been made. "OK. I've found my guy", I said, my emotions a heady mix of nerves and excitement. I tentatively passed the magazine back to The Transformer, unsure of whether a picture of a crazily conditioned muscle freak would provoke as strong of a reaction as that of a big pro mass muscle monster. "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!", he exclaimed at the image of excessively shredded Stephen Dresner. "Is that even human"? I let out a short chuckle. "Barely mate!", I replied. The Transformer hadn't seen all of Stephen yet. How would he react when faced with his biggest, freakiest and most famous asset? "How does someone even get like that?", The Transformer asked. I playfully shrugged. "Visit someone with a superpower who can transform them into anyone they desire"? The Transformer chuckled and I felt ever so slightly smug at the fact that I'd managed to make a man so outrageously beautiful laugh. "Well...that's one option", he playfully retorted. "Do you think any of these guys are so muscular because of some superpower they have"? "Possibly", I said. I didn't feel like getting into a whole conversation with The Transformer about it, but I had heard of a guy who could apparently transform his regular sized body, into a huge, hulking mass of muscle, worthy of professional bodybuilder status, whenever he liked. "So now I have my picture. All I need you to do is, erm...de-clothe". "Right", I said apprehensively. On top of being slightly nervous to show off my perfectly average body, which happened to be ridiculously inferior to The Transformer's, I was also worried about the garment I would be revealing under my jeans. An idea suddenly hit me. "Can I not do it from another room"? The Transformer shook his head. "I'm afraid not mate. Besides, this is one transformation I have to see. Look Tobey - don't be embarrassed. Trust me when I say I've seen a lot more out of shape bodies than yours. Not that you're even out of shape. You look fine to me mate. More than fine actually”. This seemingly genuine and completely adorable statement took me by complete surprise. Was The Transformer just trying to work his charm on me to get me to relax, or, was there any remote, slim possibility that this utterly stunning man was actually flirting with me? Maybe he could sense that I clearly fancied him (but then, who the fuck wouldn’t?) and he was one of those straight men comfortable enough with his sexuality to dabble in harmless flirting with a gay male admirer. Or maybe, just maybe, he was on the same bus as I was. As I pondered the sexuality of The Transformer, he was giving me the warmest, most sincere and utterly gorgeous smile. I wanted to melt. Straight into his thick, impressively muscular, fitness magazine cover gracing arms. Instead, feeling suddenly at ease, I stood up and began to undress. After offering me another drink, The Transformer headed to the kitchen, leaving me alone to remove the rest of my clothes. My apprehension only returned when I was undoing my belt buckle in preparation to remove my jeans, and as I undid the top few buttons, I saw the indecently shiny, bright pink material of the posing trunks I'd bought especially for the occasion. Admittedly they sagged around the arse a little, but boy did they feel fucking good. I'd never really questioned why, but I'd always found these tiny, shiny, usually colourful garments, normally only worn by bodybuilders and muscle freaks alike, a massive turn on. Even against my pale, non muscular body, the indecently shiny trunks looked incredibly fucking sexy. Unfortunately I wasn't too hopeful that the man in the next room would look at them in quite the same light. As I awkwardly stood in the middle of The Transformer's living room wearing nothing but my newly bought pink posers and awaited his return, my attention turned to the shelves against the wall, containing what must have been the biggest collection of Star Trek DVD’s. I couldn’t help but be amused at the realisation that a drop dead gorgeous muscle fitness model with a physique as incredible as The Transformer’s had a not-so secret geeky side. I then spotted another item on the shelf. Next to the DVD collection was a photo frame containing a picture of two men. One of which I instantly recognised as a famous actor, presumably from Star Trek. The other, an admittedly nerdy but still rather cute looking man in a Klingon costume and big prosthetic ears grinning wildly at the camera. My stomach suddenly twisted into a tight knot as I heard The Transformer’s voice. He was speaking to me as he was re-entering the room. "Sorry Tobey mate, I've run out of ice. Hope that's -", The Transformer suddenly stopped mid sentence, and as I looked up, a slightly baffled but amused look was spread across his utterly beautiful face. "Here you go mate", he said, as he passed me the glass. He was barely able to wipe the grin from his face. As he went over to sit on his sofa, he approached the subject head on. "OK mate, I gotta ask. The underwear. It's that like...a new fashion"? Still blushing, I sheepishly responded. "They're posing trunks". Still looking confused, he replied, "Oh-kaaaay", in a tone which suggested he needed a much better explanation. "Bodybuilders wear them. When they compete", I explained. "Oh right. Gotcha. Ha! Wow, you're really getting into the part aren't you? Nice"! His response made me feel a little less embarrassed, until he posed his next question. "Are they always pink"? "Not always", I sheepishly replied, furiously blushing once again, as his mouth curled into another amused smirk. "Ok mate. You about ready"? I suddenly felt an overwhelming nervousness. "I think so", I said. He smiled. "You'll be fine. Just try and relax". I suddenly wondered what the actual transformation would feel like. "The Transformation", I began. "Does it...hurt"? He gave me a reassuring smile and shook his head. "No mate. It doesn't hurt. But it is a pretty...intense sensation. You might lose your breath a little. But it's over very quickly. If you're really nervous, I'd probably recommend you close your eyes. And when you open them you'll be....", he picked up my muscle magazine and read from the page featuring my chosen bodybuilder. "Stephen Dresner. Britain’s newest pro bodybuilder". I was incredibly nervous but I also felt an intense and heady rush of excitement at the prospect of what was about to happen. "OK Tobey, you ready"? I took a deep breath. "Ready", I replied. "Ooooh, wait", The Transformer suddenly exclaimed. "There's something I've forgotten". He jumped up and darted out of the room, only to return carrying a full length mirror. "I bring this out for most people. So you can see the full effect of the transformation", he said, propping the mirror in front of me. Staring back at me was my slim built body. It wasn't exactly unattractive. I was in pretty good shape and had a little muscle definition from fairly regular trips to the gym, but it was, if nothing else, a completely unremarkable physique. The only striking image in my reflection were the modestly filled out, indecently shiny, bright pink posing trunks I'd squeezed myself into. God knows what had gone through The Transformer's head when he’d walked into his living room to find me wearing those. "OK Tobey, let's try again. You ready"? "Ready mate", I replied. With my heart rapidly pounding in my chest, I shut my eyes and braced myself for the unexpected.

The door swung open and my jaw almost hit the bloody floor. I was so busy battling my nerves, apprehension, and excitement as to how to my encounter with The Transformer (his official superpower name), and the preceding twenty-four hours would play out, that I didn’t give the slightest thought as to what this rather famous individual would look like. Standing before me was, quite possibly, the most devastatingly beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. With his piercing blue eyes, a ridiculously square lantern jaw, perfectly preened chestnut coloured hair, and strong, masculine features, The Transformer was the absolute embodiment of male perfection. And the body. Holy fuck the body. Six foot something and built like a fucking tank. The line separating his pectoral muscles teasingly peeked above the V neck of his dark grey t-shirt (clearly chosen for that very bloody reason), while the rest of his exceptionally broad chest deliciously strained underneath the material. Both of his impressively thick arms bulged below the sleeves of the grey material, and his waist was impressively small, helping to give his torso the most gorgeous V shape. I made a good bet with myself that six perfectly shaped blocks of nicely separated abdominal muscle were lurking underneath his t-shirt. He certainly wouldn’t be entering any bodybuilding competitions any time soon, but it wasn't hard to imagine The Transformer standing on stage in nothing but a pair of board shorts, competing in a physique, or fitness model class. “Are you Tobey”? Oh God that accent. Thick, Northern and completely adorable. I suddenly started to panic. How the actual buggering fuck was I supposed to have a conversation with a man that beautiful? “Ummm, yeah. Hi there”, I nervously replied. Technically I was lying, but he probably knew that. It’s never good practice to give out your real name when you’re involved in these kind of dodgy superpower dealings. He didn’t even bother offering up an alias for himself. He just flashed me a reassuringly friendly and heart melting smile and before I knew it, I was entering into the outrageously handsome stranger’s flat and following him into his living room, whilst also admiring the immensely beautiful rear of his V shaped physique, and unashamedly checking out the modestly plump and completely edible arse stretching out the material of his jeans. Woof times three. "Can I get you a drink Tobey"? "Can I just get some water?", I nervously replied. "Sure", The Transformer said. "Take a seat. Make yourself at home", he added as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone in his rather compact but modern flat. I took a seat on the three seater couch of the most beautiful man I'd ever met and I suddenly spotted an object which cried out for my attention. Casually lying on the coffee table in front of me was a magazine with a very familiar man on the front cover. "Still or sparking"? The Transformer's absurdly sexy voice called from the kitchen. "Still please", I replied, as I leant forward to inspect the insanely gorgeous man on the front of the magazine cover. The same man who is mere meters away from me getting me a beverage. The same man whose coach I was currently sitting on. Under the magazine title of "Ultimate Male Fitness" was the most stunning black and white shot of The Transformer in a tight t-shirt. His impressively muscular and thick arms wrapped behind his head in an effortlessly sexy manner. For the first time since meeting The Transformer and entering his house my mind drifted to the magazine hiding in my backpack. I was nervous about what The Transformer would think of the men gracing the pages of said magazine, as anyone would be. But discovering that he was not only an impressively muscular man himself, but also a model gracing the pages of a men's fitness magazine, my apprehension started to ease considerably. I suddenly noticed a yellow post it note peaking out of the top of the magazine. Mysteriously written on it were the numbers "10/07". The day's date. I nervously peeled back the corner of the magazine to try and get a sneaky peak at what was on the marked page. The words "MEET THE REAL LIFE G.I JOE" were revealed and I just got a glimpse of the tight, modestly meaty pecs and lovely, peeled, six pack abs of The Transformer, when the real life version took me surprise and unexpectedly walked back into the room. I quickly retreated from the magazine, but it was too late. I'd been busted. A mischievous smirk was suddenly rested on The Transformers devastatingly sexy, male fitness model worthy face. "It's OK mate", he said with a warm tone. "I don't mind you checking out that magazine". I couldn't help but blush at the situation. "Did you...enjoy doing the shoot?", I asked. It was the only thing I could think to ask him to show my interest in the subject. "Ummm....yeah. Of course". He looked a little flustered at the question, and curiously, not entirely convincing in his answer. He handed me a glass of water, sat down on the sofa chair next to the one I was resting on and quickly changed the subject. "So did you come from far today Tobey"? "No, just North London. Twenty minute tube journey", I replied. The Transformer took a seat on the sofa chair next to mine. "Ahhhh, that's handy for you. I have people coming to see me from all over the world you know. Canada, the States, Australia"! "Wow", I said, genuinely impressed, though not necessarily surprised given his superpower. "I even had a guy come over from Singapore the other week. Singapore! Imagine that"! The Transformer then surprised me with an unexpected question. "So Tobey", he begun conspicuously. "Don't feel pressure to tell me but...do you have one of these superpowers yourself"? I immediately felt my cheeks burning up and my mouth curling into an ominous smirk. "I do", I said in a non committing manner. "Hmmmm. Something tells me you're not one for sharing your power?”, The Transformer playfully asked. "Sorry", I replied, but only out of politeness. My reasonably harmless but utterly fantastic superpower isn't exactly embarrassing. It's just not the most appropriate power to discuss with a complete stranger. Or most people really. "Is it a fun superpower at least"? "Oh yeah", I replied. And it most definitely is. Granted, it had a few teething problems at first, and lead me into to some rather sticky (no pun intended) and embarrassing situations. But, like most powers, once I'd learned to control it and only use it when I wanted to, boy oh boy did I start to have fun with it. "Awesome", The Transformer replied. "Those are the best kinds of powers". "One last question, then I'll drop the subject", he continued. Man he was curious about my superpower. "Would I have....heard of you"? I told him most likely and blushed even harder at the thought of my rather cool and very fitting superpower name (not self given I might add). I've lost count of how many times someone has said to me, "Have you heard about the guy who can...". Yeah, I guess I'm fairly well known in superpower circles. I've heard quite a few people say they'd like to meet me, some of which I definitely would NOT use my power on (yuck), and others who I definitely would (woof). The absurdly beautiful man whose coach I’d found myself sitting on that day was definitely in the latter camp. "So I'm guessing you know this works, but I'll run through it anyway", The Transformer began. It was apparently time to get down to business. "For twenty-four hours I can transform you into any living person you like. They have to be living though. I can't do dead people. You have no idea how many requests I get from people wanting to transform into Michael Jackson. Or Judy Garland. That last request mostly comes from men. Men walking around out there in the body of Judy Garland. Imagine that". All of this I knew already, but The Transformer continued to explain his services anyway. "What you do in that twenty-four hours is totally on you. I don't take responsibility for anything. Also a friendly word of advice. You might wanna make sure you're alone when you transform back into your normal self. Unless it's with someone who knows it’s really you, obviously". Hearing The Transformer explain what I was about to go through, I suddenly felt a little apprehensive about the whole thing. What if I didn’t like being in somebody else's body? What if I regretted my choice? What if something went disastrously wrong? "All OK so far? It's not too late to back out", he reassured me. I impulsively and quickly responded. "No! I mean, I don't want to back out. I guess I'm just a little nervous"? He flashed me one of his gorgeous, warm smiles. "That's normal. Lots of people feel like that. It’s just the fear of the unknown". The Transformer then raised the issue of payment and I fumbled into my wallet to retrieve almost a month’s worth of wages in cash to hand to the stunning specimen of man before me. There was, of course, many who thought that using one’s superpower for financial gains was unethical. The Transformer, however, didn't seem to have any hang ups with regards to this. "One last thing Tobey. Whoever you want to transform into, I need to see a picture of them". I gulped and felt a pang of nerves in my stomach as I pictured the men who featured in the magazine tucked up in my backpack. This was the part of the process I had been dreading. The part that almost talked me out of embarking on the whole experience. "Even if they're super duper famous I still need a picture", he explained. My stomach tightened in knots once more. What would The Transformer think when he saw the pictures of the kind of men I wanted to spend the next day in the body of? I had to warn him, surely. Another curiosity suddenly entered my head. "I have a question", I cautiously began. "Go ahead - ask me anything", he replied. "Will I...transform in front of you"? "Yep", he said. "Right here in this flat. It's the only way to do it I'm afraid". Oh shit. I definitely had to warn him. "So, If you're ready - let’s get to it. So whose body do you fancy inhibiting for the next twenty-four hours Tobey"? My heart started beating faster. "OK, so I don’t yet have a specific guy in mind, but I know the kind of person I want to be transformed to. There’s a few candidates shall we say”. “OK”, he curiously said. “That’s no problem’, “They’re all in a magazine I have. But before I show you a picture", I nervously continued, "I feel like I should probably warn you". The Transformer smirked to himself in amusement. "Oh-kay", he sceptically said, giving me the benefit of the doubt. "The guys in this magazine. Well, they're a little...extreme". He gave me a reassuring smile. "Tobey. I've done a LOT of transformations and I've had a lot of....unique requests. I'm sure it's nothing I haven't seen before". "OK", I said, a little more relaxed but still weary of how The Transformer would react when he saw an image of the kind of person I was requesting to be transformed into. I picked up and unzipped my backpack, before reaching in to take out the kind of magazine I used to be terrified to buy as a teenager, and nervously handed it to the almost sickeningly handsome man sitting across from me. The second The Transformer saw the image of the outrageously huge and frighteningly muscular mass monster on the cover of one of the most hardcore bodybuilding magazines on the market, his expression changed. As The Transformer stared in complete shock, amazement and ever so sight fear at one of the biggest, nastiest and freakiest professional bodybuilders on the planet in all his monstrous, shredded, barely human glory, I took a deep breath and nervously revealed my intention. "I want to be transformed into a bodybuilder".

Blue Pill Part 15 James always kept in good shape his whole life. He ran track in high school and played tennis, giving him a lithe build with sinewy muscles. It wasn’t until James left for college that he started visiting the weight-room more often. That’s where his lust for muscle began, it’s also where he first met Titus. Back then Titus was an Adonis, he had the body of a Greek god. James quickly became good friends with Titus, lifting with him, hanging out with him, only to find that they were both going to school for the same thing. Being around all that beautiful muscle always had James hard. James didn’t think he was gay, but something about Titus’s body drove him wild. It was at that point in his life that he would do everything and anything he could to become bigger. So throughout his college years, James had packed on some muscle to his thin sinewy frame, giving him more of a swimmers build. At 170 pounds, packed with muscle, he wasn’t much to bat an eye at but he was still quite the stud. After college he became obsessed with working out and it wasn’t until he stated working with Titus at the same government agency that James fell off the deep end and started taking steroids. He wanted to do everything he could to catch up to Tidus. No matter what he did though, Tidus was always bigger. James would say to himself, “One day I will be bigger than you Tidus. I will take all that you have worked so hard for and make it mine.” As he stood staring at his reflection in the mirror, James thought for the first time in his life that his dream could become a reality thanks to the muscle growth serum he had produced. James brought his arm up into a tight flex and watched as his 20 inch orb of sweaty, veiny daddy muscle bulged in front of his eyes. He reached up and tweaked one of his nipples and gasped in a sharp breath of air as pleasure rocked through his body, making his almost 10 inch turgid dick bob in front of him. He looked down as he watched a glob of pre-cum fall from the tip of his penis to the floor. James let out a low guttural growl as he continue to tweak his nipple and let one of his hands wander down to his cock to give it a few strokes, covering it in his slick pre-cum. “Let’s see what this body can do.” James started with his legs. Squatting all the way down to the floor with his new found strength it was easy. He found himself squatting nearly 400 pounds by the time he was done with his final set. He couldn’t believe how full and pumped his legs were. You could see veins branching off everywhere through the matted hair on his thick bulging legs. His legs had to be closing in on 28 inches, which was almost as big as his waist. James loved how his thick thighs now pushed his package out. James gave his hard throbbing dick a few more strokes, sending pre-cum all over his lower abs. Next James headed for the bench top do some chest presses. He loaded the bar up with 250, about 50 pounds heavier than his usual. James finished his first set with ease. “That barely even gave me a pump!” James said, astonished as head added another 50 to each side. James got under the bar and started his first rep and found that it was the perfect amount of resistance. He loved the feel in his pecs as rep after rep he watched his meaty mounds bulge higher, quickly making his rock hard nipples disappear out of view. His hairy pecs were covered in veins and sweat by the time he finished his last rep. He dropped the bar on the support and sat up. Instantly he felt the new weight in his pecs from his pump as they pulled further down then they usually do. James couldn’t believe his eyes as he looked in the mirror. His pecs were so red and swollen from all of the blood he pumped into them. He reached for a nipple only to find they were more sensitive than ever. This time James’s dick belched out pre-cum as if he were having an orgasm, but he wasn’t. He scooped up some of his pre-cum and rubbed it over his hairy pecs, giving them a shiny appearance and making them slick. James kept rubbing his slippery hands over his nipples, making his dick shoot out more ropes of pre-cum. James reached back down and scooped up more pre-cum, this time slathering his dick in it. He stroked his dick up and down as he was rewarded with even more pre-cum. James caught the pre-cum in his hand this time, curious, he brought his hand up to his mouth and licked his palm. A buzzing sensation rushed through his body as his sensory nerves were overloaded. James couldn’t believe the rush, so he quickly lapped up all that was left in his hand. His eyes rolled back in his head as he reached for his nipple again to tweak it. James was quickly brought out of his euphoria as he felt his nipple slowly stretching further down on his pec. He opened his eyes, but didn’t see anything odd. “Hmmm, that’s strange. James reached back down to stroke his dick, and when he wrapped his hand around it he could have sworn it felt meatier, thicker almost. James looked up in the mirror and gasped at the full body pump he had. “Holy fuck! I didn’t look this hard a moment ago!” James had scooped up another handful of pre-cum to test his theory that he had formed in his head as to how he looked harder, when his wife Sarah walked in. “CHRIST JAMES! What the hell happened to you?!?” Sarah looked shocked as she eyed her husband up and down. James turned to face Sarah. When he did, she saw his throbbing man meat for the first time since walking in the room. “FOR FUCKS SAKE!!! IS YOUR DICK BIGGER TOO????” Sarah’s eyes about bugged out of her head as a wet spot began to form in the crotch of her yoga pants. “You like it baby? It’s all for you!” James rumbled in his baritone as he went into a most muscular, sending all of his veiny, sweat coated muscles into sharp relief. Sarah couldn’t believe her eyes as she stifled a moan and bit her lip, the wet spot growing ever larger in her pants. “I know you want this thick daddy dick inside you. Come here and show me how badly you want this dick.” James said in a cocky manner as he flexed his dick, making it bob up and down, causing the veins running the length of his shaft to bulge even more. Sarah didn’t need to be told twice. She quickly closed the distance between her and James as she came in for a kiss. James pulled her into his embrace, she feel into his thick meaty pecs and had to stand on her tip toes to reach his thick meaty lips. While locked in their passionate embrace, James slid his pre-cum soaked hand down the front of Sarah’s yoga pants and began massaging her pussy. James slid his index finger in as Sarah let out a moan against his lips. Her eyes rolled back in her head as he continued to push his finger in past the knuckle. As James began moving his finger in and out of his wife’s pussy, he noticed that it was growing tighter around his finger. He thought that meant she was readying herself for an orgasm. So he pulled his finger out and backed his hand out of her pants. James reached down with both hands, grabbing on both sides of the wet spot of his wife’s yoga pants and ripped them open, revealing his wife’s leaking, quivering vagina. James pickled up his wife to straddle the hole in her yoga pants over his throbbing manhood. Pre-cum was pulsing out of the tip of his dick at a near constant rate now as the head of his turgid cock pushed at his wife’s pussy lips. It was a tight fit, but his cock head eventually made its way in. James began pushing in only to find that he hit the back of his wife’s wall with only 4 inches of his dick inside her. He kept feeling resistance as if her pussy was getting tighter. “OUCH! James that really hurts!” James pulled his dick out. “Sorry baby, but I’m too fucking horny. I’ve gotta fuck one way or another.” With Sarah’s legs wrapped around his torso, James reached behind his wife’s supple ass and ripped a new hole where her thick luscious cheeks split. James lowered her back down onto his dick, this time entering her tight pucker, he pushed until his cock head popped in. His pre-cum soaking her ass cheeks as he continued to spill more pre inside her. All the pre-cum made it real easy for him to slide his dick all the way to the hilt. “Oh My Gawwwwd baby! That feels sooo fucking good!” Sarah’s eyes were rolling back in her head now. James took that as a sign so he began to pull back out just to push his dick all the way back in. Supporting her weight and with his dick still inside of her, James walked them over to the Weight bench and lowered Sarah down onto the bench. Sarah had reached up and started playing with her nipples as James continued ploughing her ass. James remembered that he forgot to work his arms, lifted the bar above his wife’s head. He started doing bar curls as he continued driving his dick in and out of his wife’s ass. Each thrust with his rock solid dick driving him to lift the weight harder and faster with his arms. James couldn’t take his eyes off of his thick bulging biceps as each rep drove the peak higher and cause his veins to pulse even thicker. After about 100 reps, James noticed an odd sensation. It felt as if his wife’s ass was growing tighter around his throbbing dick. James looked down in shock, only to see his wife playing with her nipples. What shocked him though was the fact that his wife’s breasts looked bigger and more solid. That wasn’t the only thing though, her whole body looked harder. Like she had been lifting weights for the past 6 months. Then James got a real surprise when his wife gasped as milk shot out of her nipples. “Am I lactating?!?” Sarah asked with a look of confusion on her face. Sarah brought her hand to her nose to smell and James quickly grabbed her wrist and brought her hand up to his mouth. He sucked her finger into his mouth, tasting the sweet nectar that her jugs now produced. “mmmmmmmm” James moaned as he felt a familiar tingling sensation throughout his body. After sucking her fingers clean James leaned in and took on of her nipples in his mouth. The moment the milk spurted into the back of his throat, he lost it as he began shooting his pent up load. James began bucking into his wife’s ass harder and faster like a feral beast as he sucked even harder at her tit. Sarah could feel her husband shooting inside her as his dick throbbed over and over, however each time it throbbed it didn’t seem to decrease in size. Sarah’s eyes rolled back again as James began to hit new territory with his dick. “How the hell is that even possible?!” Sarah wondered out loud. Sarah realized that wasn’t the only thing that had grown as she latched onto James’s arms as an orgasm swept over her. She began summing and she could feel it hit her belly and the bottom of her tits. Sarah was so lost in her orgasm she didn’t pay much attention to it. She kept feeling her husband’s arms as she felt the rock hard boulders bulge larger in her hands. “Oh Fuck!” Sarah yelped as James had completely drained her first tit. Even though James had already cummed he continued driving his dick inside his wife’s ass as he felt his dick pulsing larger inside her. James quickly began sucking Sarah’s other tit. As he did his back muscles bulged thicker his lats bulged wider, pushing his arms further out. James had to reposition his stance as his quads fought for space. Probably the most beautiful sight of it all was his monstrous pecs. Which his wife had a wonderful view of as they began to sag lower, filling with more meaty muscle. Sarah reached up, feeling his rock hard pecs until she finally found his nipples on the underside of his pecs. Sarah pinched them and as she did her husband moaned while sucking her milk, driving his dick all the way inside her. Once again she felt her husband’s dick pulsating in her, spilling his seed inside her. Sarah felt odd as it felt as if her back was sliding along the bench as her husband continued ramming his fuck pole inside her. She looked down at her own arms as she watched them bulge thicker right before her very eyes. Her breasts no longer looked like breasts, they were hard and starting to show veins. She watched as her other breast started to inflate a little. She watched as her legs, which were up in the air from her husband fucking her, bulged thicker as more muscle was pushed into her ballooning quads. Sarah’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as her husband switched back to the other tit. He had drained it in no time and there wasn’t much to take from the one he was on now. Sarah didn’t have much time to test her theory as to why she was growing, so she quickly reached her hands back up and gave her husband’s nipples a flick. This time James clamped down on her nipple with his teeth as he saw stars. He instantly began firing his load inside his wife’s ass. This time he came so much that cum started squirting back out and onto the bench. Sarah began cumming almost instantly as she felt her husband’s teeth clamp onto her sensitive nip. This time Sarah felt the sum spray all over her stomach and she heard a shot hit the bottom of her husband’s thick meaty pec. She had a moment of realization as her husband was still cumming inside her. So that was her cum that shot all over her. Surprised by cum hitting his pec, James finished milking his wife’s tit, just as they started to fill back up again. He leaned back up and noticed that his wife looked insanely muscular, like an amateur bodybuilder and her muscles were bulging right before his eyes, getting bigger with each passing second. “Fuck yeah! You’re getting so big baby, but nothing compares to these!!!” James lifted his arms into a double biceps pose as the peak rose higher and higher. “Gotta be closing in on 23 inches now. Jesus, look at these things!” James couldn’t takes his eyes of his own rock hard mounds of muscle. His body hair was matted down and covered in sweat from his intense workout and fuck session. Sweat dripped from his rock hard nipples as he continued to flex his biceps. Sarah couldn’t contain herself with the sight before her eyes, she reached down to finger fuck herself but when her hand got there, it hit something hard. She grabbed onto it only realizing that she was grabbing onto herself. Sarah looked down in time to see her own dick where he pussy used to be. It was growing larger right before her. The head looking swollen and angry, she gave it a few strokes and laid back again as she fired shot after shot against James’s rock hard abs. As Sarah’s dicked pulsed with her orgasm it made a wet smacking sound against her husband’s stomach. The sound of wet smacking and the feeling of cum shooting on him brought James out of his lustful state. He looked down only to see an unrecognizable face and body below him. No longer were there the supple curves of his wife or the big bulging breasts. Instead a handsome seasoned bodybuilder lay on the bench with James’s dick still buried in his ass. “My God, What have I done?”

Blue Pill Part 14 James was ready for his transformation to begin, but wondered how long it was going to take to start. He reached his left hand over as he flexed his right arm. A ball of muscle bulged up, but it wasn’t any bigger than before. Frustrated, James began to pull himself off of Derek’s dick. As he did, Derek came out of his trance like state with a deep low moan. Derek grabbed onto James shoulders and proceeded to push him back down on his dick with ease. James moaned as Derek’s dick pushed back inside him, but was surprised to find that James wasn’t actually pushing him back down his dick. Derek’s dick was pushing into James ass…it was GROWING!!! James began to panic. “There is no way I can over power this freak to get away. Why the hell isn’t the serum working!!!” he thought to himself. James watched as Derek’s neck and traps bulged thicker. Veins pulsing pushing more blood into his muscles. His shoulders pushing out even wider, as wide as a doorframe. Finally James rested his eyes on Derek’s swollen pecs. They looked more swollen than the rest of his body. His pecs were red and looked like they were about ready to burst. James couldn’t control himself as he reached his hand forward and touched the swollen pec. It was hot to the touch and he could feel it pulsating in his hand. James gave the pec a squeeze and felt that it was rock hard. Derek let out a deep low moan and this time he began pushing his dick back into James. It was James’s turn to moan as his eyes rolled back into his head. Derek’s dick was hitting virgin territory again as he could feel Derek’s dick pulsating against his prostate. James’s dick was rock hard now as he was seeing stars from the amount of dick up his ass. Derek pulled his dick out of James a little only to lean back down taking James’s dick into his mouth. James moaned and began firing another round of cum down Derek’s throat. Grabbing onto Derek’s boulder like arms for support as Derek began pistoning his slick cum covered dick in and out of James’s tight hole. Derek soaked up James’s cum like a sponge, not wanting to miss a single drop of his sweet nectar. James, in his delirious state, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The red and swollen pecs bulged out even further as they hung lower. The nipples disappearing from view. A liquid began to flow from underneath Derek’s pecs. James was curious by this point so he reached a hand under Derek’s pec only to have it filled with an opaque liquid. James brought the liquid up to his nose to give it a whiff. It smelled sweet like buttermilk. James stuck his tongue in just to get a taste. James quickly drank the rest of the milk in his hand, finding that it was as sweet tasting as it smelled. James had gone to reach for more milk, when Derek pulled of his dick and threw his arms into another double bicep pose. This time James watched as he saw Derek’s arms bulge larger with even more muscle. His forearms getting thicker as well. Thick veins snaked their way down the length of his entire arm. James admired the size of Derek’s forearms. They were now the size of his own biceps. James couldn’t believe how big Derek was getting. Derek began to rub his pecs and tweak his nipples as he felt just how swollen they were. It was as if someone had cut a giant watermelon in half and stuffed it under each side of his pecs. Derek winced in pain as his fingers brushed his tender nipples. Stretch marks had begun to appear around the edges of his pecs as the skin began to pull taught from all the pressure. James couldn’t believe all the muscle before his eyes. Derek’s arms were easily 25 inches now and you could see his heartbeat in his veins because they were as thick as a garden hose. James, with one hand stroking his own throbbing member, reached forward and felt the bulging mass that was Derek’s arm. It was hot to the touch but was hard as granite underneath the taught skin. Still holding onto Derek’s arm and stroking his own dick, James leaned forward and flicked Derek’s nipple with his tongue. “Fuck yeah!!! Oh My God that feels amazing!” Derek moaned as he threw his head back, reveling in the feeling of James’s tongue on his perky swollen nipple. James didn’t have to wait long to be rewarded for his efforts, seconds after flipping Derek’s nipple back and forth with his tongue, he was rewarded with a shot of muscle milk. James kept the milk on his mouth, tasting its sweetness this time before slowly swallowing it. James could feel a heat radiate within his body, he felt like he could run a hundred miles or lift a semi-trailer. James took Derek’s nipple back in his mouth and began to suck as a rush of milk began flowing into his mouth. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT” Derek yelled out as James latched back on to hi nipple and began forcefully pulling the milk out. His moan rattled the windows of the house and caused James’s son Chris to stir on the bed. Chris looked on at the scene bewildered. Derek looked as if he were in some sort of trance and couldn’t move as James sucked on his giant pecs. Chris still hungry for dick started to approach the scene. As Chris got closer to the scene, James continued sucking the milk from the beast in front of him as he stroked his own rigid, thick, throbbing daddy dick. James took notice that he was having to take longer strokes and that his hands were being slowly pushed apart by the thickening of his dick. Chris watched his father’s dick begin to swell before his very eyes and couldn’t contain himself. Chris dropped to his knees and positioned himself between the moaning Derek and his own father as he engulfed his dad’s dick. James let out a moan as he took a brief moment from milking Derek to see who was on his dick. “I never knew you were such a good little cock sucker. Yeah! Suck daddy’s big dick. Here, let me make it bigger for you.” With that said, James latched back onto Derek’s pec and squeezed the muscular globe as milk gushed into James’s mouth, swallowing as fast as he could so not to lose any of the sweet nectar. Chris could feel his dad’s dick as it expanded in his mouth. The head bulging larger and filling his throat. Chris felt like the dick was growing too fast as he felt it pulse and thicken in his mouth, only to realize that it kept pulsating as his dad began to shoot a massive load down his throat. James pulled off of Derek’s nipple in euphoria. “FUCK YEAH!!! Take all of your muscle daddy’s jizz. Feel me grow!!!” James said as he rammed his dick all the way down his son’s throat. He quickly latched back on to the deflating pec to suck up more of the muscle milk. Chris struggled to keep up with the torrent of jizz coming from his dad’s slowly expanding dick. Chris was plunging his fingers in and out of his pussy as he felt like he was going to cum, but a strange sensation came over him. His leaking snatch grew tighter around his fingers so he quickly pulled them out. He watched as his pussy slowly pushed out a dick head. Small at first, the dick head continued pushing out till it was close to three inches. He felt is testicles slide back into the loose skin where his vaginal flaps used to be. Chris was hit with a wave of hormones as his nuts began pumping massive amounts of testosterone back into his system. Facial hair began sprouting all over his face as he took on a more rugged appearance. His hair receded back into his head creating the short buzz cut he had before. His breasts had decreased a bit in size, but only a little as they turned solid and veiny with muscle. The entire time Chris went through his transformation, James was going through a transformation of his own. James looked like an amateur bodybuilder. A bit bigger than his runners build he had before. His arms were closing in on 19 inches as his pecs jutted out from his body, slowly pushing against Derek’s deflating pecs. Just as James was admiring the veins running up his forearms he heard a moan escape Derek’s lips as the pec he was sucking ran dry. It was almost comical seeing this massive man in front of him with one pec that was significantly smaller than the other. James stopped for a moment. Pondering if he really wanted to get that big. “A little more size won’t hurt me. They shouldn’t be too suspicious at work. I’ll just wear some loose fitting lab coats for a few months.” James quickly pulled the other nipple into his mouth and began to suck. The moment the milk hit his system he could feel an orgasm getting ready to hit. Chris was feeling up his six pack abs and hard bulging biceps as he heard Derek moan. He looked up to see his dad latch onto Derek’s other pec. That wasn’t what Chris was seeing though. His own father had grown into quite the stud. His dad was rock hard everywhere. Covered in fur from head to toe with a light sheen of sweat coating his skin. Chris looked back down as something had caught his attention. His dad’s cock, which had somewhat deflated after his last orgasm, was quickly inching back to life. He quickly reached full hardness as the head of his giant dick looked red and angry as it throbbed right in front of Chris’s face. It began pulsating angrily as Chris heard a deep baritone moan come from his dad. Chris knew what to do. Chris latched onto his dad’s ass cheeks with both hands as he felt how rock hard they were. Chris swallowed the cock all the way down to the hilt as his dad’s ass swelled larger in his hands and his dick pushed further down his throat. “OH FUCK!!” James couldn’t believe how good his son was at taking his dick. He began firing his seed into Chris like never before. James started sucking hard and fast on Derek’s nipple as it quickly closed in on the same size as the other deflated pec. As James pulled the last drop from Derek, Derek passed out on Chris’s bed from the feeling of being completely drained. James brought his arms up into a double bicep pose as he swallowed the last bit of milk. He watched as his biceps bunched up and peaked, and then swelled just a little bit more from that last bit of milk. James couldn’t believe how powerful he felt. His arms must have been 20 inches of solid power, covered in veins as they snaked all over the bulbous muscle, leading down to his thick veiny forearms. James lowered his arms so he could feel his thick pecs. James rubbed over the hard masses of each pec and lifted them up only to watch them bounce back to their beautiful shape. James found his nipples just at the edge of his view of his pecs. He tweaked both at the same time, causing his still hard dick to start pulsating again, firing of another round of jizz. The whole time James was feeling his newly minted muscles, Chris was feeling something too. As Chris was feeling his muscles inflate from his dad’s cum, he watched as his own dick began to pulse bigger, closing in on the 7 inch mark. Chris flexed his biceps which were now close to 15 inches. His six pack was becoming pretty solid as his pecs began to fill out. He felt his legs and ass starting to swell, when everything suddenly stopped. Panic filled Chris’s eyes as he tried to figure out what was wrong. He quickly realized that his catalyst had run out. About the same time he figured this out he looked up to see his dad tweaking his nipples. Chris felt himself getting hit with jet after jet of jizz as it splattered against his face and on his pecs. Chris began to moan as his growth surged anew. His ass and legs began swelling again as his quads started to push out with some mass. His pecs began jutting out further as he felt his arms began to swell too. His arms had added another 2 inches, taking them to 17 inches of striated veiny muscle. Chris could feel his traps creeping up and his shoulders started to fill out, when once again the growth stopped. Chris reached for his father’s dick and pulled it into his mouth. James quickly pulled his dick back out of his son’s mouth and smacked him across the face with it. “Did I tell you to suck my dick little faggot? I’m the big man around here, I make the rules. I will tell you when you can suck my dick and right now I want to go see what these muscles can do.” With that, James left Chris kneeling on the floor feeling up his body. “How the hell am I going to get all of my muscles back if my dad isn’t going to help me?” Chris went to stand up, and as he did his foot hit something that went rolling under his bed, rattling the whole way. Chris got back down on the ground and reached under his bed. He grabbed the bottle and pulled it into the light. He twisted off the cap to see the full bottle of black pills. “If my father won’t give me what I want, I’ll just take it.” An evil grin formed on Chris’s face as he stood back up. He nearly screamed as his gaze was met with a mountain of muscle on his bed. “Derek?!?” Chris prodded the sleeping beast with his finger, but he didn’t stir. “I know just where to begin too.”

Plotline: After centuries of living in isolation, Zeus decides to return to earth and have some fun as a human. The following is a work of fiction, this story does not make attempts to presume religious practices, faiths nor retell any historical events with accuracy. I I sit in my small throne room, levitating high above Olympus where I was forced to relocate after the explosion of Vesuvius so many earth cycles—well, years ago. For centuries I have remained here, a prisoner of my own mistakes, I assume, watching as my creations have evolved beyond me and my fellow gods. The years of warring and brute control of our human creations resulted in a devastating loss. With many of the Titans destroyed due to their own brutality and selfishness, I no longer have the influence over my people as I once did. I should have had the foresight to understand that humans would move beyond their faith in me; after all, there are plenty of other deities both evil and good for humans to invest their lives in, and they do have free will. As humans have stopped believing in my existence, my powers have also diminished. I'm sure other Titans exist elsewhere, perhaps in far off places and times, but in any case I am comfortable where I am. I have actually found it amusing to watch the human civilization evolve and grow over the centuries, they have discovered so much about how I and my fellow Titans created them and their environment. As I walk to my reflecting pool, I realize that it has been nearly 2000 years since I was exiled from the Roman existence. Jupiter, as I was called then, was their leader, their source of power, their ability to conquer and discover and rule and love, lust. As an immortal and a deity I do realize that time bends to my will, but I have enjoyed my current role as a hands off god, living in solitude high above Olympus. I perform nearly the same ritual each day that I have since I settled here, and though I am not dissatisfied with my immortality or my power, these last few years I have become bored and restless. I look down at my reflection in the pool, the cool water shining an emerald glow of myself back into my eyes. I wear the same white toga I have always worn, prestine in its own immortality. I appear to the be same age as I always have, my bright blue eyes reflected against my blonde, curly beard and a thick, flowing blonde mane wrapping down my head and behind my neck. Not bad for a human, typical for a god, though. I smirk at myself, we Titans sure did have fun in our day. We languished in our fluid sexuality, our carelessness and candor with each fellow god as well as humans. Even in our selfish and turse natures, I had no regrets for what I did. Hyperion and I would often go to Earth, visiting in human form. We could take our picks of the strongest and worthiest humans to bond with, gracing them with our godly sex. Theia would challenge us to plant our seed into as many humans in one night as we could, I usually won because I could coerce multiple men and women to come to bed with me at the same time, Hyperion preferred one partner at a time. Pulling the strap from my toga, I undressed and dropped my garment. I put my hand against my chest and feel my blonde hair gracing over my sturdy and flattened pecs, leading a treasure trail across my six-pack abs and down to my thickly hairy pubic region. I miss my sexual encounters, my tool misses it too. Years of masturbation on my own have caused me to grow longing and restless. I flex my quads and see my hair raise over my sinew. We gods always enjoyed our nude rituals, and my daily swim in my lake remains one of my favorite activities. I take a perfect dive into the water and stroke back and forth across the lake, feeling the cool water rush over my naked body. I couldn't help but ask myself what it would be like should I return to earth today. Humans with their computers and vehicles, their vast languages, cultures and technology. Only few rituals remain from my time as a ruler, how I would love to participate once more in the activity of human life. Of course there really was nothing to stop me. As a controller of energy and electricity I could easily and quietly work my way back into the plane of earthly existence. But what would I do? The political factions and cultural phenomenons are so different now. Does it even matter? Of course not, for I am a god, and I can integrate myself back to visit the earthly existence once again. A smile grew on my face and I stopped my stroke. Floating in the water I decided right then to spend at least a few days on earth. I levitated out of my pool and toward my observatory. Up until now I simply used it to monitor human activity, but today I will use it to find a location and a group of humans to integrate myself with. I dried my body and stood before my observatory windows, watching the present time in every place on the plane. I wanted to be young, athletic and with a group that had fluid and constant access to each other. A university setting, of course! But where? Humans today seemed to enjoy fame, particularly with athletes, I should be in a university setting where a particular sporting match is popular and well-respected. My people had always reveled in the sport my fellow Titans created: wrestling. I should be a wrestler, of course. I had never visited the Americas before now, and I wanted to try a new location. I found a university with wrestling as a primary, popular sport near the east coast of the Americas and set my sights there. I could locate there in human form, but that would be difficult to integrate myself. Instead, I could share my powers and possess a male athlete already integrated, it would be perfect opportunity for me to have some fun, for the man would have already established any social necessities. I turned my focus to the athletic center of the university, where around 12 men were scrimmaging each other during their daily practices. I had not possessed a human in centuries, it would be best to take one of them while he was alone. One man stood out to me, someone of Greek heritage, a man named Lukas, someone who had a long string of Greek heritage. He was not the strongest of the sport, but he was on the team and had a fair set of friends. He also seemed to be a bit of a loner, not terribly social but people did recognize him. Perhaps I could help him establish himself as a true Power Player of the wrestling team. Yes, that would be my way of thinking him for lending me his body for a short while. I informed my demi god servants of my temporary absence and prepared myself for my journey. I could teleport myself into the human plane of existence, but I would need to be creative to possess this human and take on his form. I quickly moved to my chamber that bridged the plane of earth and set my course for the Americas. I stretched my body and prepared itself for metamorphosis, I would need to take on my form of pure energy to most effectively gain control of Lukas, it would be quick and painless for him. Actually, it would be quite pleasurable, any human gaining the awesome powers of a god would enjoy it. I smirked as my chamber began channeling the energy of my body out and toward the earth, perhaps the centuries in solitude has made me softer to the human condition. In the past I cared not for human feelings and sympathy, I simply ruled with my intent. But today I plan to take this human with care and compassion. I looked once more at my raw, nude body as my sculpted, muscular form broke apart and into waves of blue energy. I smiled as my body morphed apart, skin and muscle splitting into a blue blur of energy. “Take me to the Americas!” I ordered as the room rocketed my energetic form downward into the plane of human existence. II I wrapped myself into the energy cables that seemed to cloak every part of human life and traveled in them toward the university, into the athletic center and into the light fixtures above the gym. 8 mats lay evenly spaced apart as young, strapping collegiate athletes pushed their own bodies and that of their foes to their fullest athletic ability. These men held the same passion for sport, for respect of the male form, and for athletic camaraderie that the humans I ruled over used to have. These were men who respected and were proud of their bodies, they were the perfect vessels for me. Lukas was out of breath, his muscles ached, but he was able to pin his opponent Victor against his own odds. He was able to exhaust Victor as he slammed him in a last pin, claiming victory for himself. “Damn dude!” Victor said, out of breath, “you've been training hard, man, you got the strength! Can't wait for our competition tomorrow, I think you're going to rock it!” Lukas also out of breath answered, “thanks Vic, that was fun man.” Victor laughed, “hey dude! I know you're not in a frat or nuthin but we gotta party going on at the house tonight. You should stop by. I know you haven't been yourself since Mercedes broke up with you. We're gonna have the girls over tonight, might be nice to get laid before the big meet tomorrow, ya know?” he added with a toothy grin. Lukas shrugged him off, “yeah we'll see man, I'm tryin to get over her ya know?” Coach called Lukas before he could finish a conversation. “Lukas, I need you to condition your quads before heading back to the locker room. Rest of you men, run 3 miles then hit the showers!” Vic gave Lukas a slap on his ass as the other guys headed toward the track. With Lukas alone I should be able to take his form with ease. I traveled through the walls and electrical structure following the young man to the weight room where he hooked up a quad machine and started pumping his legs. He wasn't as big as Victor or the other wrestlers, but he had his own stature, and as I watched him pump the machine in his singlet I was reminded of the warriors I used to train. Lukas had dark, short hair and thick tuft of arm hair underneath his pits. He would have had hair on his chest and legs too but he shaved it. The guy was a jock in every sense of the word, but he was not the arrogant, stereotypical showoff I was used to seeing in other men. Lukas grunted with each pump of the machine, I could read into his head he was considering going to the frat party, he wanted to be social, but he also took his sport seriously. The thought of being with a girl was arousing him, and he started having memories of his sexual escapades with his former girlfriends. His dick started rustling under his jockstrap and he felt it best to hold off on his fantasies until later. Lukas stretched himself in the weight room and looked at himself in the mirror. He was the only one in the room, and he started flexing to see his physique. He smirked as he moved his forearms up and down, looking at the tension in his arms, his sweat shining on his skin, his sinew bulking up and down tightly against him. Lukas turned to see if anyone was around, deciding to get creative. He took his left arm and pulled down his right tank, sliding his arm from underneath it before doing the same with the left. His sweat stuck his skin close to his singlet but he was able to roll it down across his pecs and down to his abdomen, exposing his thinly defined six pack and a shaven, shaped treasure trail below his belly button. He crunched his abs and examined his back, flexing his shoulders to see how much muscle he had gained. “Not bad,” he told himself. I respected this young man, he was proud of his body. I realized now was just a good a time as any to merge with him. I just needed him to touch something that could let me connect with him. I flickered the lights in the weight room to get his attention then cut the power off of the lights. “Shit,” he said, “did the power go out?” I turned on the emergency light right above the light switch. If he were to touch it, I could reach out and into him. Lukas looked at the switch, contemplating to turn it. “Yes, Lukas, touch it!” I whispered into his subconscious. He walked toward the switch and I began anticipating the ritual I had not done performed in centuries. I could feel a flutter of excitement wrack through my form. “This is it,” I told myself. Sweat dripping off of Lukas, his exposed upper body walking toward me, I beckoned for him to reach out. As soon as his finger hit the switch I moved beyond the wall and touched his finger, a blue spark of electricity gracing the human. “Mmm,” I told myself as a wave of orgasmic pleasure hit me. I sorely missed this. I branched out of the wall and covered his hand as Lukas's eyes opened wide. “Holy shit!” he shouted, “What is the fuck is happening!?” Forcing myself onto his arm I started to move up his body, covering him in my electric power. The young man's body felt shapely and well-defined. He wasn't a muscular behemoth but that wouldn't be a problem, I could certainly help him with that. I wrapped around his neck and onto his head before covering myself over his pecs and abs, wrapping over his singlet and down his legs and feet. Feeling the entire body was nearly orgasmic, but I had to integrate with him. “Oh! Wow!” he said, feeling new surges of energy on his skin, “Oh fuck what is this?!” I lifted the human off the ground as he twitched his body in pleasure, Lukas's breathing started accelerating as my energy diffused around him faster and faster like a tornado picking up a toy. I dug underneath the signlet and toward the man's loins, ripping the fabric and causing it to fall to the ground. “Uhh!” Lukas shouted, he was starting to enjoy this and didn't mind exposing his whole body to my power. I graced his exposed ass within his jockstrap as it began to fray from the violent power surrounding him, but I needed the man truly naked to take his form. Picking up speed, I dug into his strap and ripped it off, let his large package hang free, whipped around my cyclical power. “Rarr!” Lukas shouted as he tensed his muscles and flexed his arms. I felt his dick and wrapped between his legs and up his ass crack. This human was in great form, but I was going to improve him. Pushing my energy, I dug immediately into his body, thrusting myself through his pores into his nervous system. I moved into his form, flowing into his body gaining control of his muscles, thoughts and consciousness. “Umm, moree!” he shouted as he felt me enter his mind, “YES! OH FUCK, A GOD YES I WANT MORE!” he shouted again, lost in his own wrath of pure power pleasure as his brain wrecked with my own consciousness. I pushed my power into Lukas, starting at his arms, buldging his forearms with power as veins snaked down them, regrowing his dark hair thickening on his skin. His sinew wrapped up his arm and into his shoulders as his pecs swelled and bulged with power, his skin tone darkening to a warrior-like golden hue. My powers then dug into his abs, expanding his flattening pecs engrooving his abdomen into a tight, well defined eight pack. Lukas rubbed his bulging hands across them as his midsection widened and shoulder broadened, expanding his upper body. “Oh fuck yeah!” he shouted through the wave of power surrounding him. Our minds met. "OHHHH God! Yes! YES, it's ARGH, Zeus! Fuck yeah! The powers of Zeus!" Lukas shouted as his breathing increased, his body taking in my powers. Lukas stretched his levitating body, lurching taller, his growth giving him inches in height. His arms stretched downward as he watched his body swell and grow like never before, thickening as his chest and lats continued to heave with every deep intensely pleasurable gasp of breath. Lukas looked between his legs as they began to pump and grow outward, football-sized quads hardening between his dick and balls as his shins tightened with muscle and feet grew outward. His formerly shaven legs began pushing his dark hair out with aggression, covering his legs and reaching up toward his now shaking cock and balls. His adonis belt tightened, creating a deep arrow directly toward his package, chiseling out this warrior form. His cock pushed out with power as it moved to the right and thickened with increasing girth. His balls began dropping lower from the verility of godly seed I was feeding into him. I entered my consciousness into his as I began to feel the human's body, his mind, his alignment with my all powerful abilities. “RARRR!” I shouted as I blinked his eyes and flexed his muscles. I had forgotten just how good it felt to be human! “OH YEAH!” I shouted again, lowering myself to the floor as I ran my hands across my new naked and bulked body. “Umm, yes,” I said again, “this feels fuckin good! Why didn't I do this sooner!” I looked at the mirror and began posing every possible muscular show off I could, stretching my back, wrapping my arms around me, crunching my abs and quads. I ran my hands down to my package and felt my dick and balls, remembering how good the sex organ felt. I shut my eyes as I touched my uncircumcised head, “I forgot some humans do this now, feels good,” I said. I crunched my butt and gave it a solid slap before turning around. This was going to be a fun week. III I picked up Lukas's tattered clothing and began walking toward the locker room when I could sense a human working his way toward me. “It's Freddy, another wrestler, a freshmen,” I told myself, sensing who it was. He was going to catch me nude and truly ripped. I could turn invisible. Or I could have a human to have a little fun with. Freddy approached the bottom of the stairs and saw me fully naked and ripped my arms crossed, in a pose to wait for him. He considered turning around but couldn't help but stare at me. “Uhh, Lukas? Is that you?” he asked. “Fuck yeah, man! I've been pumping up my body where you've been?” I answered. “Uhh, I just needed to lift some before tomorrow's meet. Coach said I gotta bulk up.” “Yeah you do,” I answered, a smirk on my face. “What happened to you?” Freddy answered, walking slowly, his guard somewhat down, now. “You're fuckin ripped, what did you do to yourself?” I didn't know how to answer that so I just said, “hard work, my friend! I was posing after I finished pumping the weights and my singlet ripped. Hope you don't mind I'm naked.” Freddy looked me over once again and gulped. If he wouldn't have known me he would have been intimidated, but he also couldn't look away, I was lusting him in ways he had never felt before. I smirked again, “hey man, I'll help you condition for tomorrow, hop on the press,” I said, pointing toward the bench. “I'll spot.” Freddy was in a t-shirt and shorts with a jockstrap on underneath. He wanted to look like me, he wanted to be me, he wanted to anything he could to get like me. So he excitedly agreed and hit the bench. I spotted him for a few rounds of pumping, Freddy driven to try harder and harder as he looked at my naked form. “How did you get like that?” He asked. “Can I have some of that, even 10% of your power,” he said. “Let's train,” I answered, “I'll show you some moves on the mat and maybe you can gain some of this physique.” I wanted an opportunity to share with him some of my strength, and this was the perfect way to get me laid and to get him some of my power. Freddy walked out toward the mat and positioned himself, but I crossed my arms and stared. He looked up at me. “What?” he asked. “Am I doing something wrong?” “You wanna be a greek warrior, right?” I answered, pointing to my body. “Get naked we're wrestling like real men did in the days of the true warriors!” Freddy's mouth dropped but his lust for me took over. He had only ever been naked before in the locker room, never actually on a mat. But he realized that he allowed his buddy Lukas to remain naked during his conditioning in the weight roomnow, why not get naked too? He let Lukas stay naked because he liked it, and with Lukas's suggestion he was starting to like the idea of being naked himself. He shrugged off his t-shirt exposing his sweaty arms and glistening chest. He kicked off his tennis shoes and slid his sweaty socks off of his brown, hairy legs. The guy was short but had muscular physique. He wasn't afraid to show himself and he wanted to further condition too. “Well, you went all out,” Freddy said, “I guess I should too.” Freddy dropped his gym shorts before stretching his jockstrap out and pushing it to the floor, stepping out in his own naked form. He fluffed his dick and clapped his hands. “We're true warriors, huh?” he asked. “Let's fuckin wrestle then!” We both took a starting pose and ran into each other, using our energy to try to pin the other. I could have easily taken him down but wanted the guy to enjoy this moment. We knocked our naked bodies together, grabbing each other in the back and on the ass to pin each other down. I let Freddy flip me over as he landed on my back. As he did I felt his full erection against my lower back, pulsing with each fast heart beat against me, booming over and over in rapid succession. I smiled, this human was enjoying this body as much as I was. I flipped him back over and kneel above him as he looked at me wide-eyed. “You have a big boner there, Fred,” I said, nodding down to his dick. “Look at you, Lukas!” He shouted between breaths, “how could I not with a body like that?” “You want some of this?” I asked with a smile. “Fuck yeah! But how?” Freddy answered. I gave my dick a couple of tugs and let it grow out, its girth gaining bloodflow and thickening as it went horizontal and began pointing high toward the ceiling. I wrapped my arms around him and picked him up like a ragdoll, the man going limp with confusion and letting me take over his body at my will. I pushed him against the wall and sat my erected dick against his back, feeling his hairy butt and reaching around to his dick. “This is going to give you the body you want,” I whispered as I entered into him, Freddy grunting with pleasure as my ever-powerful dick melded into his form. I could feel my powers brewing within my body, preparing itself to transform Freddy into a mortal but muscle behemoth. “Yes, Zeus, give it to me!” Freddy said, connecting with my mind, “I want your powers!” I rocked my hips as I felt a mortal orgasm build within me. I had forgotten how good it truly felt. I ordered my immortal seed to deposit muscular growth into Freddy and I shot load after load into him, hearing him gasp with pleasure as he felt my power building inside of him. “Oh fuck! YEAH! YEEEAAAHHHH HAHAHAH!” he started shouting as his voice moved into lower octaves. “The POWER!” Freddy started twisted as his body exploded with muscle, shoving his ass free of my dick. His sinew running from his bulking and square ass down his quads and up to his abs, back, pecs and shoulders. He stretched his arms and saw them bulk thicker and thicker as his neck widened and hair grew over his chest, down to his ass and between his legs. Freddy grabbed his package as he felt his penis explode with pleasure, growing downward as his scrotum accommodated for the weight in his growing testicles. “Mmmm,” he said, reality sinking back into him as he looked around. “Lukas, Zeus, whoever you are, thank you,” he said. He grabbed me and took his dick, pushing it against my legs. “I'm fuckin behemoth, now! How long...” he asked. “I will return to my plane on Olympus in 3 days, you will return to your former self at that time,” I answered, “you will not remember this physique and this event with much detail, you understand why.” Freddy didn't seem to mind, “gotta have some fun for the next few days, then!” he said. “Where are you going now? What are you doing tonight?” His energy was surging with excitement. “Off to the locker room now, my friend!” I shouted, “most of our team is still in the showers. I think there's some more worthy men I would like to share this with.” “You're the boss,” Freddy said, “lead the way!”

Howdy all, I am a total noob here after lurking around muscle growth sites for two decades at least (Jeeez, has it really been that long?) Here is my first attempt at a story y'all might like. Cheers and criticisims are most welcome! I must give a shout out to Arpeejay for reading this and giving me enthusiastic support. He was one of the first out muscle junkies I ever came across all those years ago. His stories and his willingness to post about his musclelust and life in general have meant a great deal to me, even though I did not have the balls to even email him until a few days ago. I am such a fanboy! Cheers and much gratitude! The Mulligan By Bjort I am a middle aged closeted fat guy with a muscle fixation—a fixation which I have pursued only in the recesses of my mind for many years. For a long time I thought I was alone in this obsession with muscle men and bodybuilders. Then along came the internet in all of its infinite variety. I discovered that many gay men like me yearn for and lust after muscle. I found this a comfort and also a source of new stimulus for my internal sexual fantasy life. I did not have the courage or the means to pursue my muscle dreams anywhere beyond the fantasy stage, but discovering this community of muscle junkies at least allowed me to completely come out to myself. Having some talent at writing, I also began to write muscle related gay erotic fiction. Once I got up the nerve to post some of this writing, I received positive feedback for my efforts. At times this praise would come in the form of private email correspondence which evolved into internet friendships. This is the story of one of those friendships. I met Max online when he emailed me some comments and praise for a story called “The Water Fountain”. It was, I thought, a fairly main stream effort about a chance encounter between a young muscle wannabe and an older bodybuilder stud at the drinking fountain of the local YMCA. This chance meeting results in the older stud taking the young wannabe under his wing and mentoring him. The story goes on to involve the wannabe becoming a muscle stud himself and his mentor’s partner and lover. They eventually end up as a pair of champion bodybuilders and the toast of the gay muscle scene. Pretty standard muscle fantasy stuff--but Max particularly liked the perspective I used relating the story from inside the character's head. He was also keen to know if it was in any way based in my own experience. Over the next six months we struck up a lively and enjoyable internet friendship. Max told me he was an out of the closet gay bodybuilder who had made quite a bit of dough. I was slightly skeptical of this claim and told him I was a big fat broke closeted slob. Usually this is enough to put most correspondents right off, but Max just sent back an LOL! He told me that it did a good deal to explain the mentor fantasy idea in my stories. He came back to the water fountain story from time to time. I eventually confessed that it was all fantasy, save the internal feelings of the wannabe and his first realization that he was gay and into muscle. These, I told him, were based on my own experience. Max reacted a bit more enthusiastically that I expected to this revelation. He immediately suggested that we meet in person to talk about this some more. We had been emailing and talking on the phone for a good long while and I was fairly sure he was legit and telling me the truth about himself. Nevertheless I found it a bit odd that he would get so excited about this. He called me a while later to suggest that I meet him at his “place” in the mountains for the weekend. He was there “working on some stuff” and summer was the best time to be in the high country. I agreed and got directions from him. I figured that if it got weird in any way I could just bail. I was sure to let my sisters and several friends know where I was going and when I would be back. I took Friday off and drove into the mountains. It was a beautiful summer day and I enjoyed the drive very much. Toward late afternoon I found the dirt road leading off of the state highway that Max had told me to take. It wound through lush alpine meadows and tall stands of evergreens--rising steadily and branching in several places. I did not see another vehicle for many miles and eventually came to a metal gate with a key pad and a call box. Max had given me a code to use and after I tapped it in the gate swung open automatically. The driveway was much longer than I expected, winding gently down through thick pine woods. Eventually I turned a corner and emerged along the shore of a pristine azure blue alpine lake. It was a gorgeous sight with the late afternoon sun glinting on the water and snow capped high peaks rising on the far side. I drove a bit further and came to a meadow that ran down to the edge of the lake. There were several buildings scattered around the perimeter of the meadow. I followed the drive toward the largest of these which turned out to be a large log and stone lodge. I got out of the truck, grabbing my bag as I went. I was more than a bit nervous as I approached the front door, which I found slightly ajar. There was a note taped to the wrought iron latch which said: Welcome! I am finishing up some slightly touchy work in the shop. Come on in and relax. Your room is the first down the hall to your right. Unpack and freshen up. The bar is in the living room straight ahead of you so make yourself a drink when you are ready for one and I will be back up soon. Cheers, Max I walked in and looked around. It was everything a mountain chalet should be. Lots of stone and pine and leather and wrought iron fixtures like the door latch. I made my way down the hall to my right and turned into a spacious bed room with a massive log bed, thick Persian rugs, and a sitting area with leather chairs and a work desk. The room was dominated by a large granite fire place. There was an equally capacious bathroom with a large glass and stone shower enclosure and what looked to be a built in Jacuzzi. Through a set of French doors I could see a porch overlooking the lake. It was wonderful! I quickly washed the road grime from my face and hands and changed into a fresh shirt and a flannel over shirt as it was getting a bit cool out. I ran a brush through my brown curly hair and my beard. I was still quite nervous about meeting Max. I had no idea what to expect but thought that a drink might help steady me a bit. I went into the living room and poured myself a stiff one. I was greeted by another stunning view as I made my way out onto a stone terrace. The sun was now sinking toward the mountains on the opposite shore of the lake and the clouds overhead were colored in a beautiful array of red, gold and purple against a dazzling deep blue sky. The lake sparkled with streaks of gold and silver as a gentle late afternoon breeze riffled across the water. I leaned on the terrace railing drinking in this glorious scenery and took a sip of my drink. As I stood there feeling the very fine whiskey spreading warmth out from my gut, the tension and nervousness begin to fade. I eased into a reverie of peaceful scenery and excellent hooch, growing more oblivious to anything else until, as if out of no where, a very sexy baritone voice located somewhere just to the rear of my right ear said “Brilliant sight isn’t it?” I gave a bit of a start, but managed not to spill my drink as I turned around to catch a sight every bit as stunning as the sunset. Max had moved up behind me with no apparent sound and I found myself confronted by a muscle junkie’s living wet dream. He was only a bit taller than me but any similarity ended there. He had the, square-jawed face of a comic book hero His eyes were as blue and deep as the mountain sky and were screened behind wire rimmed glasses. These just added to his sex appeal! I drew in an admiring breath as I contemplated spending a life time swimming in the blue of those eyes. The sun glinted off his beautiful long golden pony tail and close cropped beard as he stood there legs, slightly apart and hands out stretched in greeting—a magnificent muscle stud! Thor lives! He was wearing a white polo shirt that seemed to have been painted onto his torso. Each wondrous bulge and hard curve of his deep chest, wide lats, and mounded shoulders were highlighted. His triceps and biceps almost exploded out of the short sleeves. You could clearly make out individual abdominals as his shirt tapered down to intersect with a worn and very tight pair of jeans that hugged his mighty legs like a scared child clinging to its mother. His narrow waist was cinched with a wide dark brown leather belt with a lightning bolt shaped gold buckle that pointed at what looked to be a very full pic-i-nick basket indeed! Stunned by this vision of total manliness, I sputtered a bit and held out my free hand toward his. “Sure is!” I said in a golly-gee kind of way that made me want to smack myself with a blunt object. He took it all in stride, breaking into a wide grin and grasping my hand firmly in his. “It’s great to meet you. I love you writing so much I just had to get you up here for some talk and possibly some inspiration.” He pointed out at the view showing a massive bi and tri combo connected to a beautifully muscled forearm sprinkled with a dusting of golden hairs. I certainly knew which view was going to inspire me and I had to resist the urge to reach out and give his bicep a squeeze. “It’s a stunning spot. Thanks for inviting me Max.” was all I said. We chatted for a bit while we watched the sunset and I tried not to ogle him too flagrantly. After I had relaxed a bit he went and fired up the outdoor grill, asking “I hope you like steak with roasted corn on the cob?” “Nothing better” I replied finishing off my whiskey. “Excellent!” he exclaimed in textbook Bill ‘n Ted accent. “Party on, dude!” I ritually replied getting another 10,000 watt smile from him. “Tell you what” he said, “I’ll grab the grub and you can pick out the wine.” “Deal!” I said and was treated to the finest bubble butt display I had ever seen as I followed him inside. He pointed me toward a wine cupboard as well stocked as I had ever seen. I picked out a pinot noir I recognized as a fine vintage and uncorked it to allow it to breathe. We ate and talked and drank wine as the sun finished setting into the lake. We talked about a wide range of things and I began to relax a bit more. We covered baseball, politics, and movies--finding that we shared many tastes and interests. Comic books were also a passion of his and it was no surprise to find that the Mighty Thor was his favorite. The conversation eventually moved into personal history. It seems that Max was a true science whiz and made an obscene pile of dough in the dot com boom. He retired when he was still in his 20s to pursue his own muscle fantasies and to indulge his interests in pure physics. I had little idea what he was on about when it came to physics theory and the time-space continuum, but I could see the results of his determination to become a as much like a comic book hero as he could. I did not doubt his resolve to succeed in any area! I was falling hard for this super stud, but was absolutely petrified to make any sort of move or indication. Max had been very friendly and a fine host, yes, but it was clear that he was just as much a muscle freak as I was. I was sure that he would be just as put off by a giant fat slob like me as I would be. I was simply happy to breathe the same air as this walking wet dream and certainly did not want to do anything stupid to scare him off. After dinner we washed up the dishes and then moved into the living room. Over a fine glass of port the topic of conversation finally came around to my writing. Max spoke about how much he liked what I had written and how he wanted more of my own insights into muscle. He particularly wanted me to write down the non-fictional elements from my own past that I had used as a premise in the story he liked so much. “Listen, my physics work at a very critical stage right now and I am going to have to get back at it shortly. There is a computer terminal in your room. Why don’t you write up your memories from the Water Fountain episode tonight before you go to sleep? Put in all the detail you can and then save it on the shared drive. That way I can read it later and we can talk about it some more tomorrow.” I was slightly disappointed that he could not stay for more talk right then, but agreed immediately. “Excellent!” he exclaimed in that sexy baritone that was a bit louder and more excited than I expected. He grabbed my arm in an iron grip and, with seemingly no effort at all hoisted my lard ass off the couch and into a tight bear hug. Gods above! I could have stayed wrapped in those massive arms and bulging pecs forever! I immediately began to get hard and was surprised to feel a reciprocal stiffness from him as we broke apart. Neither of us said anything, but I could swear I saw a hint of a sly grin dance across Max’s lips as I looked into his eyes again. It was all I could do to resist the urge to kiss him right there. As I headed down the hall to my room, Max headed out the front door and said over his shoulder “Get right on it before you crash, man. I think I will be able to read it later on tonight once things clarify in the lab.” “OK, can do.” I said and he flashed me another 10,000 watt smile as he vanished out into the dark evening. I finished my port and strolled back to my room to start writing… I have secretly lusted for muscles and the men who have them for as long as I can remember. I have a clear memory of having what can only be called a proto wet dream, complete with interesting sensations in my private area, involving Superman. I can’t have been more than five or six years old at the time. From then on I developed a keen interest in comic books. I loved the big brawny super heroes like Superman, the Hulk and Captain America. I was especially taken with the Mighty Thor--who was hugely muscular, ruggedly handsome, noble (if a bit hot headed), spoke in Shakespearian dialect, and had long golden locks that waved seductively in all possible circumstances. What was not to love? I used to particularly groove on transformation sequences and origin stories. Some ordinary schnook was, via a variety of scientific or mystical means, turned into a massive powerful muscle man complete with super strength, rippling he-man physique and exclamations about incredible power surging through his previously wimpy body. The finale of a really good transformation would feature the newly born super stud basking in the glory of his new powers and admiring his bulging muscles which had grown right through, and shredded, any ordinary item of clothing he had been wearing at the time. The Incredible Hulk was tops at this because it happened almost every issue. Needless to say, once Lou Ferrigno began doing this routine on television every week I was in muscle junkie heaven. Unfortunately, in the real world it took an incredible amount of hard work and dedication to become anything even close to the hyper-idealized men that populated comic books and pulp fiction. I had some pretty significant handicaps in this regard. I was a fat kid. I came from big framed fat people on both sides of the family and got a double dose of the fat gene. I also inherited asthmatic lungs from my mother. Any time I tried any sort of aerobic exercise, like running, I became short of breath and had asthmatic seizures. This put a serious kink in any possible athletic aspirations I might have entertained. Indeed PhysEd class at school was always a nightmare. I was the worst at everything and was a special target for thugs and bullies. The coaches were almost as bad. Their attitude covered a narrow range from pity to indifference to outright contempt. My folks did not help the situation either. My old man had played football in high school and had a bit of the jock mentality. However, he was married to his work and as such had little time for his kids. Primary kid wrangling duties fell to my mother. She tried, bless her, but she had had no brothers and I was her only boy. She had no idea what to do with me. She liked the fact that I was smart and funny and was interested in books and music, but I honestly think she was repulsed by my being fat. I also think she found us kids very trying once we developed the ability to question her decisions and to push back. She tried me on diets, but those failed because she could or would not impose it on the whole family. As a result I resented the whole thing and did my level best to cheat. This only made her angry and frustrated. I think it made her resent me more which fed right back into my cheating and uncooperativeness. I was certainly not blameless in this and, on the whole, it got all of us nowhere. Mom also tried to institute some sort of exercise regime. This mostly constituted various classes at the local Y. She shoved me into a gymnastics class, mostly I think because my sisters were all taking gymnastics. As one might predict, it was a disaster. Anyone with a clue would have known that a slow fat kid in blue plaid Bermuda shorts was not going to become any good at tumbling or flinging himself up onto a pommel horse. It was a complete embarrassment. She also tried me at swimming. This was an even bigger embarrassment. Being the semi-naked fat kid in the biggest and baggiest swim trunks imaginable and having to compete with rail thin sharks in tiny speedos was another obvious non-starter. Here too I was a complete laughing stock. As I was the consistent victim of the aforementioned thugs and bullies, my folks decided that an additional class might be in order. I found my self enrolled in a beginning karate class which met in the big upstairs basketball court at the Y. While I was just as rotten at karate as I was at swimming and gymnastics, I found it to be OK as long as I kept to the back of the class with the other losers and tried hard not to make too much of a fool of myself. The folks took this lack of complaint and ran with it, keeping me in karate classes for several years. Eventually I tested for and, somewhat to my surprise, received the next ranking belt. This entitled me to attend a smaller class that was held in an upstairs studio dedicated to karate. Karate continued on once a week for several years until the spring of my senior year in high school. That year the Y began a multi-year series of interior renovations. It was a big hulking brick and stone building in the heart of downtown that had been built when my Grandpa was still a young man. They closed the upstairs part of the building off and started in on that first. It would be closed for over a year and all the activities from upstairs had to be relocated. Karate was moved into one of several handball courts in the basement. I had never been in the basement at the Y before. It was a bit dark and dungeon like and smelled of a combination of stale sweat and chlorine from the indoor pool one level above. The handball courts were closest to the stairs. Beyond that, down a dimly lit hall, were locker rooms, showers and a steam room. At the far end of a long corridor was the weight room and another set of lockers, showers and whatnot. I remember that the first day of class downstairs was on my little sister’s ninth birthday. Because of this my Mom could not drive me to class. As I had no car and no driver's license, despite having turned 18 the previous winter, I had to take a city bus downtown. As such, I had to enter the locker rooms for the first time in my life and surreptitiously change into my karate gear--which nearly made me late. I arrived out of breath, but just in time. We made do in the new room as best we could, but the falling mats they had brought from upstairs did not cover the entire hardwood floor. Moreover the janitors had forbidden the use of any adhesive to hold the mats in place, so they slid around as we practiced and sparred. I took several nasty falls as a result. The instructor had also paired me with a new partner for this class. New partner seemed a bit put out by this and as a result was determined to make the fat boy sweat hard. By the end of the class I was totally knackered and dying for a drink of water. I had heard earlier that there was a drinking fountain down at the end of the hall by the weight room, so as the rest of the class filtered out toward the handball locker room or the exit , I ventured off to find water. I grabbed my gym bag, went down the hall, and followed as it made a turn down another long passage. There at the end of the corridor next to the entrance to the weight room was a water fountain. I made a bee line for it, focused only on gulping down cold water by the gallon. I drank so much so fast and it was so cold that I got a brain freeze headache and dropped my bag. I straightened up, closed my eyes and turned half way around to get some circulation and let my head clear. When I opened my eyes I almost fainted. There was a big built in display cabinet on the wall across from me. It was filled with muscle! There were lots of trophies from bodybuilding and power lifting competitions accompanied by photos of various winners. Behind these the entire cabinet was filled with color magazine pictures of the most massive and beautiful muscle men imaginable. I recognized some of them from secret peeks I had stolen at muscle magazines at the newsstand. To have them all laid out all together on public display was overwhelming! I felt dizzy with the excitement as I stood there, nose now almost touching the glass, drinking in what was surely a vision of muscle paradise. I stared greedily trying to memorize every bulge and vein, every peaked bicep and brick-like ab. I swooned as I ran my eyes over luscious round pecs with glorious brown nipple glowing with oil and hard as a nail. I feasted like a starving man on bulging thighs and broad wing-like backs—never wanting it to end. I loved the sunlit warm splendor of it all and envied the total confidence that such men must have. I could almost imagine myself, sun glinting off burnished muscles, standing proud and powerful in nothing but a small posing suit. As I gorged myself on man candy, I slowly began to realize that I had a strange giddy feeling in my gut. Even more alarming, my cock was stiff as a board and trying desperately to escape the confines of my cup and jock. I had never been this turned on in my life! I was excited and thrilled and scared to death all at the same time. I felt dizzy again, as if all the blood had just rushed out of my head and headed straight for my dick. For a brief moment I really thought I might pass out. Instead I forced myself to turn away from the muscle vision that had so enraptured me and steadied myself on the drinking fountain, I pushed down the button on the side of the fountain and let icy cold water splash me in the face. I took another drink and straightened up, resolved to head for the exit without another look. Still in a bit of a muscle induced haze, however, I found that I was once again standing in front of the cabinet. As I let my eyes range over that vision of masculine perfection for a second time, I again felt that queasy sensation in my gut and was over come by that strange mixture of fear and excitement that had gripped me before. As my cock once again began to harden, I came to the inevitable (and by now somewhat obvious) conclusion that I was undoubtedly gay and completely queer for muscle. As I slowly processed this revelation, the excitement (and the boner) began to fade. Fear and shame reared their ugly twin heads and exploded into full blown panic. I quickly looked around to see if anyone had seen me. I felt like I had suddenly stripped naked and publicly declared my queerness. The hallway was empty as, with a mounting sense of hysteria, I grabbed my bag and jacket and hurried straight for the exit and the bus stop without stopping in the locker room to change into the street clothes I had brought with me for the long bus ride home. More than thirty years later I can see that this experience has colored my entire subsequent life. Everything I am and, more importantly, everything I could have been and wasn’t seems to stem from my muscle revelation and my fearful retreat from who it meant I was and what I wanted from life. Looking back I deeply regret the path not taken and my decision to avoid truth, pride, love and life for the anonymity and safety of the closet. From the vantage point of hindsight I want a mulligan, a do over to find the courage to pursue that slice of muscle heaven that I experienced all those years ago by the water fountain. The best I can hope for now is that writing this and acknowledging past regrets will allow me to… I stopped writing here and, truth be told, had no real desire to go any further. I dreaded relating in detail how I had no idea what to do next and absolutely no one to talk about it all with. As I thought about it sitting there at the computer, I was ashamed that I had let fear of this bit of self knowledge rule the rest of my life. Embarrassed and saddened that fear of more persecution, fear of rejection by friends and family, fear of the generally hateful societal attitude toward homosexuals that pervaded the America of my youth, and fear of the hysteria and tragedy of the AIDS epidemic convinced me to turn away from the possibility of achieving my desires and dreams and retreat from life into the darkest corner of the proverbial closet. I was also very afraid that I would lapse even further into maudlin self pity and loathing, thereby completely ruining any potential friendship I might have begun with Max. I felt on thin ground as it was. How could a beautiful successful stud like Max, who had achieved so much in his life, possibly identify with a loser like me after reading what a craven schnook I had been for more that thirty years? I thought about canning my true confession and writing something lighter, funnier and very much less depressing. I was suddenly very tired and wanted sleep. I contemplated hitting the delete button and whipping up something better in the morning. Instead I saved the document, powered down the terminal, and went to get ready for bed. I figured I could always tweak it in the morning before Max read it. As I changed into baggy shorts and oversized t-shirt I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. God I was a mess! Big fat slabs of flab everywhere, pasty fish belly white skin, big blocky frame, dick hidden beneath a huge bulging belly; you really couldn’t get much further from a muscle stud if you tried. I let out a big sigh, resolved to try and just enjoy the rest of the weekend in this beautiful place with this beautiful man, and get on with my life. I flipped out the lights, got into the huge and very comfortable king bed and drifted off to sleep. After good food and wine, it is no surprise that I fell asleep quickly. It is also no shock that I started to have quite vivid dreams. Naturally they involved muscle—a recurring nocturnal subject. At first they were run of the mill and not particularly coherent. Soon however the dream focused and intensified like no dream I had ever had before. I was back at the Y staring at the display cabinet full of my fantasies. As I stared I again got that familiar sense of giddiness and began to grow horny. My nostrils flared with excitement as I experienced that wonderful terrible realization all over again. The suddenly I felt a lurch, as if a stereo needle had jumped a grove. A large weight struck me lightly on my shoulder and a rich baritone voice asked “So how do you like it?” I turned my head and saw that the weight was a powerful hand attached to a thick and oh so muscular forearm. This in turn lead to a massive bicep attached to a glorious expanse of deltoid and pec topped by a chiseled face grinning a winning smile at me. As I turned I realized I was facing a semi-nude muscle stud. He was as huge a bodybuilder as I had ever secretly fantasized about dressed only in tight blue workout shorts and a wide lifting belt. He had a white tank top draped over his shoulder and the hand not gently squeezing my shoulder was wiping his glorious sweat covered granite abs with a towel. “I just finished putting it together before I went to work out. Thought it might get the boys amped up a bit and drum up some new customers.” His gigantic hand slid down my arm then reach out to clasp my other hand. “I’m the new weight trainer. Call me Tor” I stood speechless for a second and then blurted out “Tor? You’re putting me on!” I mentally kicked myself for saying something stupid, but he threw his head back, shook his long dirty sweaty blond hair and bellowed out a laugh. “Nope kid, Ya shure it's dat Skandahoovian heritage, you betcha!” I smiled with relief that this total stud had not been offended and knocked me into next week. “So waddaya think Karate Kid? Does my cabinet get you stoked up for some hard core workout action?” He said grinning at me again. I felt as if Tor could see right through my karate pants to my expanding boner and knew how much his display was affecting me. I replied in a husky near whisper “It sure does. I think it’s beautiful!” He flashed a brilliant smile at me and “How about that, it works! My first new client on the first day!” “New client? No wait… I can’t…” “Sure you can kid, I can tell you’re up for it… take a good look at this and tell me you don’t want to get in on the action!” He raised his arm and flexed for me. His bicep rose up like a mountain and his tricep bulged making the biggest arm I had ever seen. I nearly fainted as my stiffy went from half staff to raging hard. Tor grinned wider and said “Go ahead and touch it kid, give it as hard a squeeze as you like.” I reached out with first one hand and then both unable the get them around his massive gun. God I loved feeling his muscle and I knew right then that I did want big muscles just like Tor’s. “C’mon big boy.” He said as I reluctantly let go of his arm “Let’s go get cleaned up and talk this over a bit. You’re almost as sweaty as me.” Still stunned by my muscle encounter I offered no resistance as Tor steered me up the corridor and into the weight room. The smell was overwhelming—a combination of sweat, testosterone and cold iron and steel. I was intoxicated as we crossed the empty room full of gleaming weights and machines to a door opposite which led to a locker room. Tor opened a locker and threw his towel and shirt inside. “Just leave your shit on the bench.” He said as he pulled the weight belt from what I now realized was a fairly small and incredibly tight waist. With no further discussion he shucked his shorts, jock and cup and headed for the showers. I stood in awe at the sight of him fully naked as he walked past me and away. He had the most spectacular ass and thickest legs I had ever seen. He was also quite nicely hung and if my eyes were not playing tricks on me was semi hard. All this was totally new to me, having constantly avoided public nudity at all costs. I thought about fleeing--just up and running away and never coming back. But then I realized that I wanted this, all of this—working out, muscles, and especially Tor. That taste of muscle he had given me in the corridor had me hooked. It was enough to allow me to conquer my fears and take a leap at the muscle paradise I had always secretly wished for. I undressed quickly and the cooler air in the locker room helped reduce my boner as I walked toward the shower. I was petrified that at any moment I would find out I was on candid camera or something and it would all go horribly wrong. What if Tor caught sight of my fat flabby naked body and was repulsed? What if I was too far gone to make anything but a fool of myself? What if he told me to get my fat ass out and never come back? I resisted the urge to flee again and stepped into the shower room. It was an open tiled room with shower heads lined up on the walls. There were no dividers around so I grabbed a piece of soap from the pile next to the door and walked over to Tor who was shampooing his hair with his eyes closed. I turned on the shower and got it warm, then went about the business of showering. After a minute or two I heard Tor rinsing his hair and beginning to soap himself up. “Dude, can you help me soap up my back?” came his sexy masculine voice from the growing wisps of steam. I looked up and saw that he was standing with that massive wing spread and beautiful ass toward me. “Sure.” I said, trying to keep my voice low and steady. I started with his wide shoulders soaping and massaging as I worked inward toward a monumental set of traps. I could feel tension and soreness ease out of him as I worked down over a magnificent universe of ridged muscle that defined his back. I labored mightily on his lats which I found immensely sexy. I wanted nothing more than to reach around and soap his deep hairy pits ant glorious bulging pecs. I resisted, as I was unsure how far I could go, and opted to work and soap the massive twin columns of his lower back. I finished his back and hesitated. I was not sure that fondling that beautiful butt was part of my mission and did not want to blow it. I straightened up, realizing that I was again fully hard. Just then Tor turned his back to the shower nozzle and started to rinse his back. After a moment he leaned his head back, raised his massive arms into what I later learned was called a Sergio pose, and let out the deepest sexiest growl of satisfaction I had ever heard. I felt dizzy at that glorious sight and before I could do anything I simultaneously moaned loudly, staggered with disorientation, and shot off the biggest orgasm I had ever experienced. It felt magnificent for a second and then my vision swam and I felt as if I would pass out. Suddenly I was surrounded by muscle—bulging bis, meaty pecs, a tight waist and super ass that I found myself clinging too, and a raging 10 inch muscle cock slapped up against my fat gut. As my brain and vision cleared, I heard Tor whisper in my ear “Easy there dude, just relax and get your bearings back. I won’t let go.” I reveled in his solidity for a minute, not caring if I died right there I was so sublimely happy and contented to be in his arms. Then I came back to myself and tried to pull away and shrink into invisibility. I spoke in a choked whisper “Oh God I am so embarrassed! Don’t beat me up or anything, I’m so sorry.” “Sorry for what man? Dudes get off on me all the time, I love it!” he said as he steadied me on my own feet again. “I knew you were a muscle junkie from the way you looked at my display--nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of there.” He shot me another beautiful smile and the knot in my gut started to slacken. He took a step back and shot me a double bi pose which started my cock hardening all over again. “Now” he said with a commanding note in his voice, “Stop trying to hide in the shower water, stand up straight and proud and let me see what we have to work with.” I did as he said, tentatively at first and then taller and straighter as I realized that the feeling in my gut which had been one of pure terror was being replaced by elation. By God, for the first time in my life I felt no need to be ashamed of who and what I was. I was almost giddy with the feeling and my dick responded accordingly. Tor looked appraisingly at me, as if judging horse flesh at an auction. “Hmmmm…a solid big frame, good length of bone, and muscle under it all. You are a fat bastard kiddo, no question about that, but you have the makings of a real muscle stud in you and you will be amazed how quickly that blubber peels off with the right diet and work out". "I can see from your rising boner that you are a true muscle freak and that is just what the doctor ordered”. He grined that infectious grin again and looked me right in the eye. “So are you up for taking the muscle plunge junior? I won’t kid you, it will be hard work and you will have to dedicate yourself to it like nothing you have done before.” I thought for a second, did I want this? Did I want to be mentored by this stud? Did I want to be near him and possibly get off on his muscles again? Did I want to transform myself into a big brawny muscle stud and change my life forever? Was I going to be proud of who and what I was and go for what I truly wanted in life? “HELL YES!!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs as I rushed back into his open arms and French kissed him as if my life depended on it. The next part of my dream rushed by in a rapid blur of images and fragments. I started working out with Tor right away, three days a week at first then more often. I changed rapidly under his guidance, shedding pounds and building a solid foundation of muscle. Within a year I was unrecognizable. I elected to go to college locally and continued with Tor for another year—making enough progress to be hired as an assistant trainer. Shortly after that Tor came and told me he had to leave and we would not see each other again. I was crushed. He had become almost a father figure to me as well as an object of worship, a trainer, a friend, and a lover. I begged him not to leave but he said it was unavoidable and that we would meet again in the future. He made me swear to not come looking for him but to get on with my muscle life and to always stand tall and proud of who I was. I agreed reluctantly but did go into a fair sized funk after he left. I refused to backslide though and if anything threw myself into training even harder. The next years were peppered with education, muscle lovers, bodybuilding contests, computer jobs, and writing. The strange thing about the dream was how vivid and real it all felt. I thought I could physically feel the workouts I did, the muscle encounters I had, and the progress I made-- even as I dreamt it. As the dream progressed toward the present time it seemed to become more and more real and my “real” life as a fat lonely closeted slob seemed to fade and become less real and more like a dream. The feelings of power and pride, of masculinity and pure muscle pleasure, grew and grew as my dream fast forwarded toward the present. My dream weekend reeled into sharp focus and, while the basic events remained the same the dynamic shifted markedly. Max and I were two confident gay muscle studs who were obviously into each other. We still talked and drank until he went off to continue his “time-space manipulation” experiment and I went off to write a very different story that reflected the dream version of my past rather than the ‘real” thing. The dream seemed to build to a peak with a swirl of muscle imagery. I could feel my dream muscles flexing and bulging while my dream cock grew harder and thicker. I let out a mighty roar; much like the Hulk used to do on television, and woke with a start and a deep gasp. I lay still for a second realizing that the grey of dawn was providing a soft misty light in my room. I quickly realized that my head hurt with all the hallmarks of a king-sized hangover. I was drenched in sweat and, slightly to my embarrassment I had shot a load off. “Jeeeez”, I thought, “I haven’t had a real wet dream in a long time”. My eyes seemed to be full of morning eye gunk as I managed to get out of bed and feel my way toward the bathroom without turning on the light. I got the warm water going and rinsed the eye goobers away. I reached over and switched on the light and was momentarily startled by the face and body in the mirror. I stared for a minute and familiarity crept back in to my aching head. There was the curly close cropped auburn hair and full beard that had earned me my nickname. There were the wide traps and wider delts connected to beautiful full and bulging upper arms. The mirror was small so I could not see down past the deep crease between my huge chest muscles all dusted with auburn fur. I gave each pec a bit of a flex and was gratified to see them jump in a very sexy and satisfying dance. I stroked each one lovingly, stopping to tweak each hardening nipple, then ran both hands down over my bricklike abs ending with an appreciative fondle of my substantial and semi-hard dick. “Damn I love being a muscle stud!” I thought as I then raised my right arm and flexed my bicep into a beautiful full rounded peak. As I was admiring my bicep’s shape in the mirror, I felt a hand grab it from behind and a sexy baritone voice whisper in my ear “You must be the Mighty Hercules. Can I feel your muscles?” “Any time big boy.” I purred back at Max as I turned and put my other arm around his waist to draw him in close. He had shed his clothes and I was stuck again by how beautiful his incredible muscles were. I looked into his chiseled face and sparkling blue eyes and got a quick impression that he looked a bit older this morning than on the previous evening. There was nothing old feeling about his big horse cock however that was rising to greet me in the dim grey light. “So is the God of Thunder done playing Mad Scientist for the night? How long have you been awake?” “It seems like two years.” He said giving me a killer smile. “Did the experiment or whatever go well?” He gave me an appraising look and squeezed my bicep again. “I would say the results were magnificent” he said, his smile widening. “Well” I said giving his glorious bubble butt a playful squeeze, “Are you up for helping me get cleaned up before you turn in to a pumpkin?” His eyes flashed as he whispered “Hell yes.” Then he French kissed me as if his life depended on it.

Part One "Hail the conquering hero" smiled Henri as Porthos trotted into Musketeer Headquarters adding "So, are you the strongest man in Europe?" Porthos simply smiled as he dismounted and as he did, flexed his arm for the cadet who he considered a brother. As Henri wrapped his hands around the bulging arm, he nodded and at the same time sighed saying "I know it's pure wishful thinking, but, I hope one day I shall be able to do the same!" Porthos rubbed the cadet's head with his hand saying "You will, my lad, it just takes time!" and with that Henri led Porthos's horse back to the stables. As Porthos watched his friend, he knew that Henri was a good lad. He's joined the corps as a cadet six months previously, on a secret mission from the Duke of Buckingham, to establish how much of the Duke's dalliances with the Queen were public knowledge in France, but in those six months his honour, his bravery and his swordplay were never in doubt. What was in doubt was Henri's sense that he would never be more than a tiny cog in the wheel that was the corps, and yet on numerous occasions Porthos could see just a glimmer, especially when Henri got angry, of what the lad was capable of. That's why he had entered the competition because he knew that the winner would receive a prize greater than any number of livres, a prize that was whispered by everyone who took part, the fabled Amulet of Athelstan. The amulet, forged in the time of dark magic, was crafted for the ancient King of the Britons in an attempt to prevent the Vikings from constantly invading his nation. Whoever was in possession of it would, on the word of command, drain the strength and power from the most powerful person within fifty yards of the owner. And now, he was in the possession of it. But Porthos wasn't going to use it for himself, no, he was going to be the victim of it, and as he imagined the pain of his strength and power surging out of him, he started to moan. All that was needed was the right recipient of that power and that recipient completely unware of the Titan's designs on him. "So, Sandy" smiled Henri as he took the saddle of Porthos's horse, "did you have a nice time in Bavaria then?" The horse, named for it's colour, nodded and neighed as Henri brushed him down. Of all of the cadets, Henri was the most in tune with the horses of the corps and on several occasions, it was almost as if Henri could understand every sound they made. As he continued to brush the horse, the two seemed engaged in a conversation and seemed to be recounting Porthos's triumph in the contest to find the strongest man in Europe. Giving Sandy a final brush down, Henri smiled "There, fit for when the Titan rides again!" and turned around to find Porthos standing next to him with a smile on his face. "Ah" smiled Henri, picking up the saddle, "are you to ride again?" and was about to place it on Sandy when he knocked out cold by a right hook that seemed to come from nowhere. As Porthos caught the cadet in his arms and picked him up, he started to moan. Moans that became more amplified as he entered the headquarters and started to make his way down into the dungeons and by the time he reached the deepest and darkest dungeons the moans were now easily heard. "Oh, Henri" Porthos moaned, "you are going to love this!"