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With permission from LORUS, I am posting yet another of his stories that was deleted from the old forum but saved on my hard drive. As expected, this is another story about men who don't know the meaning of the words, "HUGE ENOUGH" and get a bit cranky when their growth slows down. ROLE REVERSAL by LORUS Based on a role-playing scenario by LORUS and MuscleMike85 The Boner Club was a special society at Edmonton Valley High, formed, in secret, by the Phys Ed Coach Chuck Mathers, upon instruction from the Regional Education Office Superintendent, the PTA, and the Edmonton Police Force, to keep unruly but exceptionally (physically) gifted male students in check. Okay, so it didn’t officially have a title; the Boner Club was its collective, colloquial reference, which seemed to stick after a few mentions of it in jest. These were all under-achievers in academic fields, and far too argumentative and troublesome on the football field, or the track, to ever bring Edmonton Valley to the State Championships in any team sport. But they were gifted, exceptional athletes, one and all, specifically where muscle development was concerned. The parents of the PTA wanted their special sons to get something beneficial from their school days without tearing up the house in frustration as their strength increased. The Police wanted them to keep themselves occupied so they didn’t get up to destructive mischief on the streets, short of imposing a curfew, which many considered a little too severe. The Regional Superintendent hated to see his schools under-performing, so if he could endorse “clubs” like this in other schools, then it might catch on and even become curriculum. All of this came under approval of the Mayor’s Office. Josh O’Neill was best friends with one of the Boners, Clay Ryan, but hated when his best friend, who’d only been lifting for a year and a half, wouldn’t reveal to Josh the secret to his bodybuilding. It was a Boner Club secret; a member must never give away the secret, something only Coach Mathers truly understood, but that his boys exploited to their fullest extent. Josh, like the Boner Club members, had been held back an academic year (they all should have graduated by now), and he considered himself good enough to join the Club. But Coach Mathers, a beefy brute of a man if ever there was one, felt he didn’t measure up. Josh was 175lbs at five feet ten in height and could bench three-sixty for 12 reps before needing a spot. He considered himself big for his age. But during his last assessment Coach Mathers scratched his head and failed to tick more than a couple of boxes on Josh’s score sheet. “Thing is, kid. You’re just not big enough. To get into the Boner Club, you need to be able to bench five hundred pounds for twelve reps straight. You need at least another thirty pounds of muscle on that scrawny frame of yours,” Mathers somewhat acerbically stated. There was no need for him to shatter Josh’s hopes like that and put him down so. “Come back when you’ve got the muscle and the strength, and I’ll re-test you.” That was as far as he would get with Coach Mathers. Josh needed a tactic, and fast. He was causing problems at home, failing more and more in the classroom, simply because all he could think about was muscle, getting bigger... no HUGE... and algebra would never cause that to happen for him. Fuck school. It was holding him back. One afternoon, over at Clay’s house, as they struggled through their math homework, knowing they got most of the answers wrong, Josh decided to come clean with Clay, regarding his sexual orientation. “I’m gay, Clay. How do you feel about that?” Josh fidgeted with his pencil as nerves began to kick in. He had a feeling that Clay might at least be bisexual. But to be honest he wasn’t sure how the muscle freak would react. Clay took it well and held his hand reassuringly. “I’m okay with that. I’m not into that kind of thing myself, but I’ve no problem with you being that way. You got a boyfriend yet?” “Nope, I’ve only recently realized this about myself. But I know Tim Wilson is gay and single, and a member of your Boners Club. He’s so beautiful, and I’d have a huge crush on you if he didn’t always push you out of my thoughts when I’m alone.” Josh lowered his head mock-shamefully. “Ah, so now I know your reason for wanting to become a member. Hmm, what did Coach Mathers say?” “He told me I need to get heavier and bench more. He was such a jerk about it, too. He made me feel tiny. Trouble with me is I don’t gain muscle as easily as you guys. Heck, you’re huge for your age, Clay. What are you now, two-thirty’’ “I’m closer to two-fifty... actually. We’re really packing on the muscle these days. It’s amazing at how well Coach Mathers’ methods are benefiting us,” said Clay proudly. To emphasize this, he curled up his arm and a gorgeous granite-peak of a bicep bulged upwards, thickly corded with manly veins. Josh’s eyes bulged vastly in their sockets. Beneath the kitchen table at which they sat Josh’s boner began to assert itself. The temperature of the room seemed to go up slightly. He felt hot and horny all at once. Clay was a quite good-looking young man, but Tim Wilson was already bigger than a great many heavyweight pro-bodybuilders, and had the face of a male model, reminding Josh a little of Sean Cassidy, one of his favorite muscle hunks on the internet. (Sean Cassidy photo inserted by Fallen Away for readers who were not old enough to be horny in 2003) “My advice to you is, you should join a gym in town and get yourself a personal trainer. I heard of an old guy... well actually he’s about the same age as my dad, about thirty-eight, I guess. His name is Stu Hardwick, and the guy is frickin’ enormous, I mean super-huge, the lucky freak. He’s new in town, apparently. He trains and teaches at Burt’s Muscle Shop over on Drury St. I think he and Coach Mathers don’t like each other for some reason, probably because he makes Mathers look as small as he made you feel the other day. I’ll try to get his number and you can call him. He’s not cheap, though.” Clay was a good friend and made Josh feel a lot better. Despite him swearing an oath never to reveal the secret of his growth, he didn’t treat his best friend as his inferior just because he was turning into a muscle god. “Well, I was saving for my first car, as you know. I got sixteen hundred saved in the bank. I could use that to hire this Hardwick guy. If it can get me into the Boner Club so I can try my luck with Tim Wilson, then it will be money well-spent.” Josh had brightened considerably. They spent the rest of the afternoon working out in Clay’s converted garage and he really helped Josh to improve much of his technique. He told Josh that he would get in contact with Hardwick as soon as he was able to and get back to him when he had news. Josh only had to wait less than forty-eight hours. He was idly channel-surfing, finding nothing interesting to watch on television, when Clay called him on his cellphone. Josh held his breath, hoping it would be good news: “I got talking to Stu. He’s an okay guy. A bit cocky, but he’s fuckin’ huge, so I guess he’s entitled to be. He said he will take you on as a client for a grand even. He operates on a one-off up-front payment basis. No refunds.” Josh was thrilled to hear this. He thanked Clay who summarily forwarded him Stu’s number. Josh called him immediately after speaking with Clay. The voice on the other end of the line was deep, gruff, and masculine. Josh explained who he was and stated his case. Stu told him that he could give him the mass he so desperately craved, that it would be worth seeing the look on Mathers’ face when he passed his next assessment with flying colors. He couldn’t wait to meet Stu who arranged for their first session the very next day at 9.30am, which suited Josh because it was the start of Spring Break. Traditionally most of the guys his age would be out of town for the festivities, so the gyms in town would be near-empty. That suited Josh fine. He reckoned that Stu might be able to focus better on him with fewer clients to deal with than normal. Josh wondered about how much he would show him in a week. Naturally he found it difficult to get to sleep that night. He was way too excited. But eventually he drifted off and had a wet dream about being a huge muscle hunk, with Tim Wilson for his boyfriend. Awesome. ***** Next day Josh was awake bright and early, and having taken the advice of Clay, ate a hearty protein-rich breakfast of oatmeal, a can of tuna, and a high-protein shake, not his usual fare. But he wanted to get big enough to become a Boner. His parents never ever witnessed him get up so early on a Saturday morning, but today was special. It was the beginning of a new phase of his life. He biked across town to Drury St, thinking the pedaling would loosen up his lower limbs and get his heart rate up. He was there before Stu Hardwick and was instantly stopped at the reception desk. A well-fleshed muscleman gave him a superficial once-over. “What’s your game, buddy?’’ Hardly the welcome he was expecting. “I’m here at the gym because I wanna get huge, but I need help, so I’d like to sign up and hire Stu Hardwick. Half-expecting to be told he didn’t measure up to the standards required by Burt’s Muscle Shop (his failed assessment by Mathers was playing heavily on his mind, making it difficult to act confidently around bodybuilders, except for Clay, of course), he was somewhat surprised when the guy simply said: “Okay,” and handed him an application form to fill out. By the time he’d handed it back, and then agreed to an affordable student price plan, Hardwick, as imposing and unforgettable in form as bodybuilders could be, strode into the lobby and dropped his kit bag, nodding a hello to Lou behind the counter as he stretched his neck a couple of times, causing bones to crack loudly. He took one look at the scrawny kid waiting nervously for him and thought to himself: this fag will never make the grade. But he remembered that he was taking him on, that he was a friend of a Boner Club Member, and that was enough to qualify him as client material. “Heh,” Stu said by way on an introduction, “The look on Mathers face when I bulk you up so big he won’t be able to deny you access to his little fag gathering will be worth more to see than what you’re paying.” Josh hadn’t expected to hear anything like this from Hardwick so soon. Could there be some hidden agenda here? Josh quickly dismissed the notion as ludicrous. “You and I need to have a little talk, kid. What was your name again?” Hardwick towered above Josh, a massively huge athlete like no other, hot, musky, and incredibly masculine. Hell, he was ten times the man Tim Wilson was. Hadn’t Clay told him he was thirty-eight or something like that’ He looked way younger, but his massive build and age-defying good looks made it seem like he was only in his mid-twenties. Josh doubted that Stu was anything but straight, so he didn’t want to come out with an erection upon meeting him. Best to dumb down his sexuality, at least until they got comfortable working together. He stammered out his name. Stu Hardwick grunted something under his breath and then turned to the guy manning the desk. “Lou, toss me the key to Burt’s office upstairs. He doesn’t mind me using it when he’s away.” Hardwick was an imposing fellow, the kind of guy who doesn’t take no for an answer and always gets his way. Josh tried not to lust after him, but it was difficult not to. Thank fuck he’d opted to wear baggy sweats to hide tell-tale bulges he felt were best kept to himself. Josh was very nervous when Hardwick took him out of the public areas and into the privacy of the office. The door was auto-locking, and Josh dry-swallowed anxiously when Hardwick kicked the door shut behind them and the dead-bolt mechanism fired. What was going to happen now? “I’ll be honest with you. Under normal circumstances I would never work with someone so scrawny. I don’t have the patience to wait for you to fill out. I like fast results, and I like to cut corners.” To illustrate his point, Stu Hardwick, muscle-behemoth, ripped off his tracksuit top, revealing a skin-tight wife-beater beneath. It clung to his massive musculature like a second skin, and this time Josh simply couldn’t hide his erection. Hardwick’s muscle-musk was filling the room, an intoxicating scent that began to drive Josh’s libido crazy. Suddenly Hardwick blasted a most muscular in Josh’s face, his huge, wide body of utter confidence and beauty shrieking into a definition that was almost surreal. Every muscle stood to attention next to its neighbor, but space was at a premium across this hunk, and the muscles needed to push against one another simply for the space to exist. This made them become engorged with blood as his own libido and excitement flooded his system with hot blood and turbo-charged testosterone. Had his body been a car-engine, right now it would have been given a shot of nitrous oxide. Ripped, fucking huge muscles erupted across every part of him, demanding Josh focus on them and nothing but. “But your friend who called me is in the Boner Club, so I guess these ain’t normal circumstances. How does my incredible size grab you son?” Stu Hardwick chuckled as he caught sight of the tenting happening in the front of Josh’s sweats. He leaned heavily into his most muscular pose, squeezing his muscles harder and growing stronger in the process. The musk from his pores now hung in the musty air of the office like a heat haze, drenching Josh’s senses. A precum patch darkened the front of his sweats. Hardwick chuckled some more. The twinks always were the quickest to come under his spell. “Gonna have this little bastard cumming in minutes, heh... heh... heh,” Hardwick thought. He decided there and then that Josh could prove useful to him in the not-too-distant future. “Oh my God,” Josh panted, beginning to sway uncertainly on his feet, as reality around him began to melt into a dreamy, sumptuous haze, “You-you’re massive. Holy shit, I can’t believe how immense you are.” Snorting something inaudible, the towering monster-hunk that was Stu Hardwick proclaimed proudly: “I got to where I am today liftin’ heavy, eatin’ heavy, and fucking every guy or girl that crosses my path. Want to touch my watermelon-sized guns?” They were some huge watermelons he sported; the biggest Josh had ever seen. Josh staggered back against Burt’s desk to steady himself. He was afraid to touch any part of Hardwick, thinking he’d faint to the floor if he did. Hardwick hated reluctance in any shape or form. Reluctant people never succeeded at their goals in life. They certainly didn’t make it to be super-huge muscle gods like he was. Things began to get forced from here on. Introductions aside, lust began to get the better of Stu. He’d not fucked, sucked, or swallowed in many a day and his balls were in dire need of milking. He barked, in a menacing but guttural manly brogue: “Actually, I fucking order you to worship me... and my awesome, mind-blowing size!” His bark tapered off to a snarl that only made him seem more powerful, menacingly beautiful because of it. Josh whimpered as he stepped towards Stu, bringing himself into touching distance, and as he did, the precum in his shorts began to make him quite wet. His erection was full-on, now, and there was fuck all he could do about it but conform to this god’s demands. He gingerly groped the cannonball gun as Hardwick flexed it larger, harder. Josh thought the bicep veins couldn’t engorge further, but they did, swelling far beyond nature’s design. Hardwick grimaced boldly, arrogantly, snarling through pearly whites as though he wasn’t pleased by the intensity of his flex. He hollered out a string of profanity, cords in his neck thickening beyond the width of human fingers, his rage fueling his demands for growth and power. Josh’s lust overcame his trepidation when just feeling the augmenting bicep brought him to the brink of orgasm. He fought against it, managing to contain his ecstasy. “Oh man, it’s harder than... than steel,” Josh gasped, now groping the muscle mound of Stu’s bicep with increasing desire. “Run your tongue across my bicep veins. Spend time getting acquainted with the secondary peak on my bi, bisected by the thickest vein you’ll ever see, until I get bigger, of course,” Stu growled, enjoying the sticky but cool trail of saliva on his skin as Josh did as he was told and began to explore the bicep with his tongue. The feeling bolstered newfound power in Stu Hardwick, and he tensed his arms still further, his forearm alone wider than Josh’s thigh. He pumped at the wrist, coaxing a further, deeper flex along his entire arm. Impossible, but his bicep engorged itself larger and the excitement made his entire upper body swell so that threads broke in places where his wife-beater suffered the most strain. Meantime, lower down, his gym shorts became drenched in his own precum, and a massive bulging mass began to awaken and uncoil inside. “Fuck, kid. My bis are now way thicker than your scrawny legs. But I need more mass, more fucking incredible size!” “Holy Shit! Man, I’d give anything to be even half your size,” gasped Josh. “Uh-huh, I hear ya, Joshie. But I’m too powerful for you like this. You need bringin’ on. And I got just the thing... the secret of all your Boner Club buddies.” Hearing this caused Josh to rear back as he forced himself to take a reality check. Had he heard Stu correctly, or was he hearing things – “dreamed fancies” superimposed over the ambience of reality? Before Josh could respond or react in any way, Stu whipped out an imposing-looking syringe and allowed it to glint in the light from the skylight above. “I’ve got a little jab for you to take in the ass. Afraid of needles, kid?” “Not if it’ll help me to get huge,” Josh answered in all honesty. “Hmm, well I’ll be honest with you. You will never exceed my size, not even near to it. Last time I checked, I weighed 1266lbs, six times the weight of most superheavyweight bodybuilders.” Hearing this amazing number caused Josh to let out a submissive moan. His shorts and sweatpants were now sodden with precum. The smell in the modest office space grew stronger and stronger. Josh was surprised he hadn’t yet shot his load, but there was something almost mystical about Stu Hardwick, in which he owned every moment, and could almost make time and its consequences bend to his will. Stu wasn’t finished quoting his stats either: “My chest is 197 inches cold, 230 flexed. I’ve got 74-inch arms flexed, probably even bigger now. My waist is only 38 inches, but my quads and hamstrings measure 110 inches right the way around. And what you’re about to see come outta my shorts... heck... you can tell from my bulge that I’ve got an anaconda stirring down there.” There was no way Stu Hardwick was straight. Obviously from what he said earlier about fucking men and women, he was one of those over-confident macho-types who considered themselves omni-sexual, “comfortable with both sexes,” seeing little difference between a dripping pussy and a steaming manhole, so long as it got him off. It looked like Stu’s pet anaconda was about to emerge from its den. And it was hungry. Josh declared: “It’s as big as one of my legs,” when Hardwick shrugged out of his shorts, so that he was now almost fully naked, but for the ruined wife-beater that struggled to cling on, as though it were a thing alive and aware of the danger it was in. “Yeah kid, my dick is the biggest in the world, 30 inches fully hard and 18 inches thick. It’s not quite there yet, though,” Hardwick growled, with a hint of mischief in his tone. Then he added as an afterthought: “There’s no way you can take all this man meat, looking like you do. The jab will change that to some extent and then we can both benefit from this meeting. Heh, wait until Mathers, that thief-fuck, gets sight of you after Spring Break.” Josh gave himself completely to Stu Hardwick, lust causing him to err on the wrong side of caution. There was no telling what side effects he might suffer after the injection. All thoughts of Tim Wilson were now expunged from his mind. There was only one man in the world for him now, Stu Hardwick, mega-huge muscle-hunk. Josh took the needle in the butt like a good little twink and muttered: “I want to be a god like you, Stu!” “You need to understand, though, I’m growing like a pandemic, kid. I’ve already surpassed my highest expectations. I never thought I could break a thousand pounds. But look at me, almost thirteen hundred. Fuck yeah! Mathers and I were at college together, once very close partners in science, and we majored in biochemistry. This stuff you just got shot with came out of a failed experiment to help improve motor functions in lab rats with damaged spines. The drug was meant to build bridges between severed nerve fibers, but I fucked up the composition, you might say, and instead the serum alters male hormones, turning the endocrine system into a muscle-making factory. It not only thickens all muscle fibers throughout the body but causes them to divide like single cells. Fueled by testosterone and charged by sperm production, it’s a massive growth-inducer. And Mathers stole it from me. This is my last syringe, kid. But you’re going to help me get back the formula. But more on that later. For now, GROW!!!! Fucking GROW, grrrrrrrrrrr!!!” The things he told Josh caused the kid’s mind to stir with so many questions. But he put them aside, giving his full attention to what was about to happen. At first he felt nothing but the jab. Then... a warming of the tissues in his gluteus maximus muscle, followed by an annoying itching and mild burning sensation. Josh felt a bit dizzy and so gripped the desk securely to keep from falling. “Why can’t I get as big as you, Stu?” It was a fair question. The seven-foot giant, wider than he was tall at the shoulders, but looking incredibly aesthetic because of the massive difference in the girth ratios of his barn door shoulders and waspish waist, churned out a full lat spread that sent his deeply striated muscle-tits hulking upwards to slam into the underside of his chin. He seemed to fan out wider, blocking all light from the blinded windows behind him. “I used my own blood and hormones to booby-trap the serum. It voids itself after a couple hundred pounds of muscle. Mathers and the Boner Club are trying to find a way around it, but it’s hardwired, you could say, a little insurance to ensure that I remain the hugest bodybuilder alive. It only causes unlimited growth in me, no one else. Never mind though. In a few minutes you’ll be close to four hundred pounds, I reckon, more than enough muscle for you. But the growth will end there, I’m afraid.” Stu Hardwick almost sounded apologetic. He stood back to give Josh the room he needed in which to grow. “I’m starting to feel... changes. They feel good, Stu. You’re a genius!” “I’m a fuckin’ fool for standing idly by and allowing Chuck the Fuck to form his little collective. He’s using money sifted from Edmonton High’s annual budgets to fuel his research, and the Superintendent is obfuscating this fact ‘cos he’s secretly getting boned by Mathers and has a son in the Boner Club. Mathers and the Superintendent have been secretly spiking the food of potential initiates with small doses of the serum, including your friend Clay. That’s the secret to their muscle growth. You’re going to help me end all this, Josh.” But to do that Josh needed to grow... and grow.... He was hot, and so he shrugged out of his top, but left his pants on. Still though, as he grew, the material began to tighten, sodden with precum and sweat, stretching across his augmenting muscles with a speed that impressed Stu. His body began to grow at an alarming, but uneven pace, some muscle groups growing ahead of others. His legs thickened in manifold spurts, reshaping as his quads blasted outwards, his hamstrings bulging in equal measure, whilst his calves formed hugely into diamonds of perfect symmetry. Even as more muscle poured onto his legs, his bones lengthened, his pelvis widened to make room for more, thick growth. His glutes were reshaped in seconds, pushing outward and upward to form a sexy, manly bubble ass. His legs solidified for a time, as incredible energy surges gathered elsewhere to fuel further growth. This time his pecs, shoulders, delts and traps were the focus. His pecs, where they’d been reasonably attractive buds from what he was able to manage at his modest level of training, now pumped up like balloons, as dozens of pounds of thick, meaty beef was fleshed into them. His nipples and their surrounding sexy areolas grew to ten times their original size, even as his traps hulked up to beefy, super-manly wedges on either side of an enlarging bull-neck. His delts bulged hugely, separating into multiple heads of muscle and his bis and tris took on the aspect of footballs. Stu stood back and gawped at how quickly and amazing Josh’s transformations was. He hadn’t expected it to seize him with such a rapid and intensive transformation. He had to speak out, if only to reassure himself and not swallow his tongue in shock: “I am still your physical superior in every way...,” he flexed hard, massively, still out-muscling Josh to mind-blowing extremes. But Josh was gaining on him, far exceeding the meagre two hundred pounds of muscle he should have gained. “...but I never reacted to the formula like you are. Something must be going wrong.” As Josh continued to bulk up by hundreds of pounds a minute, his muscles almost forming mouths to scream their arrival and demand they be given the space they needed to grow and grow. Stu kicked out a special reinforced scale from beneath Burt’s desk. “Weigh me. I demand it,” growled Josh, his voice ever-deepening into a manly baritone rasp. He flared his lats and hulked out a crab pose to solidify his gains and force more growth out of the process. With his growth came confidence and cocky bodybuilder egotism, and these were feelings he would ‘grow’ to enjoy, he was sure of it. Stu was only too eager to find out the rate of Josh’s gain. Josh was still growing as he stepped on a scale designed for behemoths. “The numbers on the readout are changing so fast,” Stu declared as Josh’s massive body flexed close to his own astonishing bulk. As Josh widened beyond barn door dimensions, it grew dim in the office as the shadow he cast gorged on all the light it encountered. “855 lbs. This is impossible. You’re still growing.” So many concerns flashed across the screen of Stu’s mind. Something was causing Josh to react differently to the serum. But why? Could it just be a fluke reaction? Somehow Josh’s body was bypassing the genetic booby trap in the formula, but there was no way to know what was causing it... or even if it could be controlled. Secretly, inwardly, a part of Stu welcomed this. “Oh man, listen to my voice. Fuck,” Josh loved every moment of his transformation. Additional to his deepening voice and massively growing bodybuilder physique, he was sprouting hair all over, luscious black tufts of manly fur. “Unnnhhhh.... grrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!” He brushed his shovel-sized hands through the delicious black curls across his ever-swelling slabs of chest, marveling at the hairy expanse that jutted out so far from his body. His super-sensitive nipples caused him to moan in rapturous delight when he touched them. As he grew, his height shot up, the top of his head charging towards the ceiling of Burt’s office. Stu was worried that Josh might surpass him, usurping him from his self-ordained title of Biggest Bodybuilder in the World (that he knew of, anyway). He regretted that he was out of serum. He could still grow without it, but the effects, whilst at times impressive, could never hope to equal the gains Josh was currently making. However, Stu tried his best and flexed and flexed his immense muscles like never before, angering up more growth in the hope of staying ahead of Josh and spurting ever huger.... huger.... fucking HUGER!!!!! “Dude, you made me a furry beast. I fuckin’ love it,” Josh roared in utter delight. He was almost matching Stu in height, but still had far less muscle on his bones than the personal trainer. Stu flexed and flexed, crab pose after crab pose, and then flared his lats hugely, making his skin scream in defiance as the growth he coaxed strained against it so that stretch marks began to mottle his parts. Likewise, there were stretch marks all over Josh’s body, even on his dick. He was getting bigger, but would it be enough to win this muscle race? It shouldn’t even be a race at all. Josh O’Neill was a muscle god, now, a true super-freak. But Stu was the master, and he was still ahead in the growth race. Extremely and unexpectedly, Josh stepped off the straining scale and lunged at the older man as his increasing mass made him hornier still. Completely naked, now, his clothes in tatters on the floor, he charged at Stu with a dick almost as big as his own. The testosterone in the room hung almost as a cloud of excreted vapor. Anyone caught in its miasma would immediately have their libido increased many times. Even though Stu was desperate to remain as the Muscle Master, the ‘dominant Alpha Male,’ he couldn’t ignore the fact that he was now deeply attracted to Josh. The kid was all over him like a rash, kissing him deeply in a tongue-ramming session that caused Stu to almost gag as the prehensile organ rushed down his throat and seemed to expand and cut off his air supply. Josh the Giant continued to grow... and grow... and grow....aw yeah! Josh’s face had reshaped also, becoming more manly and rugged, and now he had thick, black stubble around his mouth and jawline which rubbed abrasively against Stu’s own as they continued to suck face. After what seemed like the longest two minutes of his life, Stu had to push him away to grab some air. In the time it had taken them to kiss, Stu was bigger by fifty or sixty pounds or so, but Josh had bulked upwards and outwards by hundreds. “I’m going to surpass you, Stu. As much as it freaks you out to think so, there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it,” hollered Josh, his lust now at meltdown point. Likewise, Stu was too horny to care, for he desired Josh more than he’d ever desired another man in his life. “How could I have underestimated the power of the formula on a newbie?” Nothing about this experience added up or made much sense to him. Josh came at him again, kissing him more sensuously now as his body generated its own brand of musk, a natural perfume that rendered Stu’s own flavor null and void. Josh was potency given a human form. He was raw, incredible, augmenting muscle power. His pecs bulged huger still, pressing into Stu’s slightly more developed shelf. Stu felt himself pushing back in the hope this kinetic collision would fuel his growth further. He needed to be bigger, way bigger. Josh mustn’t win the race for muscle supremacy. The clash of pecs was thunderous in its impact, causing the building to shake. Josh was growing at an alarming rate, and with it his strength was becoming superhuman. Stu felt him all over, concentrating for a time on his biceps, now almost rivalling his own in size and sheer awesome power. “They must be near 70 inches now, I reckon. But mine are still bigger,” Stu announced, blasting a massive mound of bicep into Josh’s face. Rage and lust, not to mention sheer desperation, forced more growth into Stu’s arms. His biceps surpassed the 90-inch mark fully flexed, the thickness of the veins at each apex alone adding an additional inch and a half to their thickness. That morning they had measured 74 inches flexed. But 90 inches wasn’t enough for Stu, not by a mile. He forced himself into a more assertive rage and demanded more growth from his body. But Josh looked set to beat him without trying nearly so hard. “So much growth in me, and you’re losing, Stu,” Josh beamed. “Never! I never lose, you hot, sexy fucking bastard,” Stu screamed. His face boiled with a purple rage, his internal temperature shot up and he hulked out a hundred more pounds in ten seconds. Fifty inches blasted onto his chest as his pecs gained fifty of those hundred pounds alone. His height went up to almost eight feet, his crown connecting with the ceiling so that he was forced to stoop slightly. But for every hundred pounds Stu Hardwick gained on his colossal frame, Josh, the younger, better man, would bulk up by three times that. It was quite clear that Stu couldn’t win this one. There was a new muscle monster in town. “Weigh me again,” Josh snorted, commanding he be served by the lesser bodybuilder. Both men had massive, bulbous, and highly striated chests, making it impossible - certainly for Josh as he stepped once again onto the scale - to bend forwards to read the number display. The straining, soon to be smashed scale was just too far away now. Stu, utterly dismayed, reckoned he himself was a good fifteen hundred pounds, by now, but if so, then Josh equaled him, though the readout wouldn’t settle, and the mechanism in the scale struggled to remain operating, as if it might fail at any moment. “You’re fifteen hundred plus. God, I’m so horny for you, Josh.” Stu couldn’t help it. “So horny for you, MASTER,” Josh interjected, his baritone voice booming, as he corrected the man who must now take a new, lesser position in the bodybuilding pecking order. Josh was proud of who and what he had become, but his muscle-lust was so great now. He had to get bigger, for his appetite to grow exceeded even Stu’s. His dick twitched before him, bobbing hugely, larger than a baseball bat. But he wasn’t happy with his size. He wanted to be bigger still. Fifteen hundred pounds of muscle mass just wasn’t enough for him. He was still growing, but it seemed like he was slowing down. It was an opportunity for Stu to make busy with a tape measure. He began with Josh’s monster-dick. “22 inches long, fully erect. And...,” he wrapped the tape around the dick where it was at its thickest, “... 18 inches thick.” He quickly measured his own, dismayed by the fact that although he’d gotten taller and more muscular, his dick had hardly changed at all. It was 32 inches long and only 20 inches thick. Josh’s sense of elation rose beyond fever pitch. He flexed his mighty dick, making it bob up and down, a massive organic divining rod charged with hypersexual potency. It dripped copious amounts of precum. In fact, the precum flowed easily from both men, now, forming viscous pools on the tiled floor. Stu had to try something. He found some plates from Burt’s personal barbell set in a corner in the office and easily, using raw strength alone, kneaded the holes in each disc with his mighty thumbs. The iron yielded like putty, and soon he had worried the holes large enough so that he could slip them onto Josh’s dick. “Doesn’t mean we’re engaged or nothin’,” he emphasized. Josh understood what he was doing. He welcomed it and began to flex the muscles in his crotch even as they took the combined weight of the swelling monster-dick and its 45kg payload with ease. “How does it feel?” Stu lustily inquired. Josh smiled as his body and his bodybuilder’s ego continued to inflate. “Ha... ha... how does what feel?” laughed Josh, knowing exactly what the older hunk was referring to. “Your dick carrying that weight. Or can you feel it at all?” “Can’t feel a fuckin’ thing. Can’t see the end of my dick ‘cos my massive pecs are blocking my line of sight. Are you sure you put that plate on my dick? How much weight is it anyway?” “45 kilos, damn,” admitted Stu. He flared his lats, attempting to coax out more size. They were physical equals in every way, although Josh’s dick and balls still had a bit of catching up to do. Stu was surprised that he wasn’t more dismayed than he felt. Perhaps he was quickly settling into his new role as the second biggest man on the planet. “Get another plate on there, pronto,” Josh growled, loving every moment of his new life. He could feel the first plate on his dick now growing tighter. Stu quickly did as he was told, pressing out the middle of yet another plate to make it slip over the ever-increasing mushroom head of the stunning eighteen-year-old. “90 kilos on there now,” said Stu, mentally admitting that had the roles been reversed, he would be feeling the strain now. Josh chuckled boyishly for a moment, then remembering his new role, and deepened his voice to a hoarse, throaty drone of a laugh. He bounced his dick some more, feeling no weight on it whatsoever. His organ flooded with blood and growth, and swelled up more hugely than ever, becoming stiffer, stronger, heaving up its payload so that its mushroom head - easily the size of a coffee cup - drew level with Stu’s heavy pecs. Stu could not believe the scale’s readout. The numbers were still going up. “Omifuckingod!!!!!” His throat went dry as sand. He tried to work saliva downwards to lubricate it. He stammered: “Less than ten minutes into the process and you weigh.... I... I... can’t say it, Josh!” His expression was one of total incredulity. “It’s too... unbelievable... and you can’t see the scale yourself,” he added, trying to keep his voice from shaking, however failing to. Still growing in every way and in every direction, Josh had to stoop slightly to stop his head from pushing right through the ceiling and into the space between floors. “Your weight is... oh God, Josh... you’re gonna have to order me to say it.” “Say it,” Josh growled, the tone of his voice dropping by the minute, becoming a monster’s growl. Before Stu could comply: “SAY IT NOW...TELL ME!!!!!!!!” “It’s... it’s....aw shit...” It was as if Stu were losing his grip on reality, his world beginning to soften and swirl before his eyes. “SAY IT, RUNT! Say it.... little...MAN!!!!!!” Impatience further fueling his desire to grow further, Josh grabbed hold of Stu around the back of his neck and forced his head downward, nearer to the readout on the scale. His strength continued to increase by incredible factors. Instinctively Stu tried to resist. But Josh was now too strong. “Tell me how huge I am,” Josh ordered, a little softer in tone, now. Tears began to sting Stu’s eyes. He tried his best to focus on the liquid crystal display, but Josh’s body cast a massively voluminous shadow, darkening everything below his pec-line, including the dying scales. “It says...gasp...er... first number is a 1.” Stu’s heartbeat was pounding in his brain now, making it difficult to form anything coherent. He was in danger of passing out, something that had never happened to him before. With hundreds of pounds a minute causing Josh’s body to gain ever-increasing mass, the numbers on the readout continued to change, like a digital countdown, only one that counted up rather than down. “TELLL MEEEEEE!!!!!!!!” Anger and impatience surged through Josh. He flexed hard, massively so, and his dick began to fill out. The first plate began to buckle as tremendous pressure from its center worried and heated the iron. The plate began to soften and warp from the inside out. The second plate wouldn’t last either. “YOU FUCKING RUNT.... TELL ME, TINY MAN!!!!!” “Suh...second number is a 3, I think. Oh God... no wait... it’s... a 6,” stammered Stu, fear now very much evident in his voice. “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!” Still growing in size and strength, Josh pushed Stu’s head even closer to the scale. Stu could no longer resist his immense power. “READ IT... PROPERLY!!!!!!!!!” “Which nu...number... would you like it to be, Master?” Stu would forever wonder why he asked Josh this question at this time. It served only to anger him further by prolonging Stu’s carrying out of Josh’s demand. A streak of pure white suddenly washed through Stu’s hair, just above his right temple. “Bigger than you,” Josh hissed, trying to keep his rage from becoming uncontrollable. He should have been terrified at the changes happening to his body, but he was too far into the process now, and it warped whatever terror he might have had... molding it into an elevated sense of triumph, coupled with an ever-increasing desire to get way huger than he was at this moment. Stu, out of desperation to make it through this alive, forced his eyes to sharpen their focus. With the last two digits of the scale still ticking ever upward, he could now see that the first two numbers were a 1 and a 6. Josh was pleased when he heard this, but still not satisfied. “1630 lbs., Master. No wait... 1658... 1677... 1701lbs... gasp... you’re WAY bigger than me now.” “Way bigger...maybe... but not way... HUGER,” Josh interjected. “Master, I don’t know enough about what’s happening to you to make this stop.” Stu banged against the front of the desk as he stepped backwards to give Josh more room to grow. He could see his massively erect, ever-expanding dick growing darker and darker in color, and the gonads beneath swelling to the size of watermelons. “You need to expend your man-juice before you explode. And I must insist that I take it all in... to the very last drop. I am in your power completely now, Master, and must do as you command.” Feverish, Stu continued to lose his grip on reality, although he relinquished himself of all fear. “Oh yeah, man. Suck this freaky cock,” growled Josh, and in a mighty explosion of effort, caused the plates around his dick to fly apart in smoking fragments as the pressure from his thickening and lengthening super-dick annihilated them completely. “Heh... heh... heh, I know you want it, you little dwarf.” Josh was now the strongest being on the face of the Earth and roughly guided Stu’s head inwards. Stu was done with trying to resist at this point; there was simply no way that he could. “I... I can’t imagine how you will fare on the weight machines, Master. There may not be a machine in existence that shall satisfy your workout needs. But you completely own me now, and I will always try to please you.” Sycophantic for the first time in his life, Stu had been broken in by Josh, and it had required little effort on Josh’s part. That said, he closed his hungry lips around the head of Josh’s monstrous dick just in time for Josh to erupt into him with a vigor he’d never felt before. “Grrrrrrr.... so good.... so fucking strong,” Josh snarled, throwing his head back to enjoy the convulsion of ecstasy that now rewarded his dominance. “Yessssssssssssssssss!!!!!!” Stu gagged reflexively, trying his hardest not to spill a single drop. As Josh came and came - as hot cum blasted through him and out of him - so his growth began to level off. He quickly became aware of this, and soon flew into his biggest rage ever. He roared the place down as he continued to pump Stu full of his cream. Unbeknownst to them both, the scale screamed its last, sticking at 1876lbs. “No... I can’t be stopping now. I gotta get huge... fucking HUGE!!!!!” He flexed a show of maximum hugeness, a double biceps pose, his guns travelling upwards and upwards, peaking hugely and exceeding the height of his balled fists. “Buh-but... gulp... you need to... gulp... stop now.... gulp,” Stu managed to communicate between mouthfuls. “No... I need more size... more weight... more superior muscle.” Josh emptied the last of his cream into Stu, who had been able to take it all in, his abs now slightly pushed outwards from his stomach’s increase in volume. “But there is no more, Master. Your growth has slowed almost to a halt.” Hearing this drove Josh almost insane. He flew into an uncontrollable frenzy, lashing out at the very walls and pounding them with unparalleled force. No longer concerned about anything but his size and power, certainly not his immediate surroundings, Josh took the room apart, knocking out walls even as his head pushed through the ceiling and into the room above, which happened to be the ladies' changing rooms. Luckily Josh and Stu were the only people at the gym at this time - as well as Lou who worked at the desk - otherwise a lot of people could have gotten hurt. “You must be over ten feet tall,” cried Stu, his panic beginning to rise. “Bigger.... I have to be bigger... fuck yeah!!!!!” Stu Hardwick had become like a bug to Josh, now, although this played out mostly in his head. He’d be lucky himself to have passed eight feet in height and 1500 lbs., but Josh was a great deal larger than he was. Until... Stu experienced a sudden, rapid spurt of muscle-growth, more than likely a side-effect from swallowing so much of Josh’s dynamic super-jizz. “Omigod, this is fantastic. I’m fucking growing again, Master. I’m growing fucking huge....HUUUUGE!!!!!” As Josh’s frenzy became more and more uncontrollable, the thought of his servant catching up to him in height, weight and overall size, made him rage further. “Never!!!!! I will be the hugest. I will get huger...HUGER........HUUUUGER!!!!!” And Josh smashed the fuck out of the gym, a human wrecking-ball without mercy. Down below at the reception, Lou managed to make it out with his life, throwing himself into the parking lot, just as Burt’s Muscle Shop came down in a tumult of hurled debris and so much dust and rubble. Out on the street people panicked and screamed, fearing a terrorist attack. Emergency services were soon alerted, creating a hubbub of interest and activity around muscle-growth ground zero. Josh had surpassed 12 feet in height and his weight could not be gauged at this stage, although it was reasonable to assume it had broken the one-ton mark. Shrugging out of the collapsed building, dusting massive chunks of rubble off his parts as though they were mere dust motes, the monster bodybuilder loped out onto the street and caused an even greater panic. “What’re y’all lookin’ at, you fucking little bugs?” People Josh should have respected were now insignificant to him. A plain-clothes police officer, eating a taco from a street vendor, instinctively reached for his sidearm upon sight of the muscle freak bearing down on him and cracked out two shots. The rounds glanced harmlessly off Josh’s powerful, impenetrable hide, and the ricochet sent one of them into the arm of an innocent bystander. The teenage girl collapsed with a scream. “Shit,” cried Josh, suddenly struck by the severity of the events he had caused. “Duh-don’t move. You’re under arrest, buddy... whatever the fuck you are,” the cop stammered. Then: “Josh? Josh O’ Neill. Fuh-fuck... my wife used to babysit for you when you were little,” the cop realized. This came as a further reality check for Josh. “I didn’t do a thing,” Josh cried, his voice booming, “It was your gun that shot her. I’m not taking the rap for this.” Josh was panicking now, realizing that although his growth had slowed, he was still getting bigger and more powerful. Suddenly he wanted to be normal again. Perhaps the effects of the injection giving him a lust for size and power was finally losing its grip. “She’ll be okay. I have paramedic training,” said a man who was gingerly tending to the girl’s wound. An old lady fainted when she stepped out of a shop and came face to face with the biggest male genitalia she’d ever seen. “You need to get out of here, Josh, before others get hurt,” the cop, whose name was Hal Wiazowski, urged the giant, once a little baby in the arms of his then-girlfriend. As wailing sirens drew ever closer, attracting various intrusive and specialist media, Josh, his strength pretty much untried in many areas, leapt into the air, soaring high above the rooftops, Hulk-fashion. He had no destination in mind. He couldn’t go home - he was simply too big to fit in the house. He was 12 feet tall, a ton in weight, and had the biggest muscles of any living creature. He could have the world in his palm, if he chose to, but instead he leapt to the hills snaking upwards from the basin in which Edmonton existed, knowing, sensing, that Stu would find him. They had become bonded in a sense, each one the lodestone of the other. “He’d begun to grow again, too, before I completely lost it,” said Josh, when he reached the seclusion of the forest. But would the trees hide him for long? The police would have helicopters out searching for him soon. He had become a fugitive. He found the cottage after about an hour of searching for nothing in particular. It was abandoned, but he knew it belonged to a famous writer, who used it on and off as a way of escaping the media. Josh broke in, finding he had to get down on his hands and knees to force his way through the double front doors. His huge frame weakened the cottage’s entrance, and when he got inside, he felt like Alice, in the part where she grows huge inside the house and cannot leave. “What have I become?” He curled into a ball and tried to get comfortable, wishing for all of this to go away. He eventually fell asleep, but his slumber was disturbed with powerful, disturbing images of gigantism gone horridly awry, of Josh growing to even more insane proportions. Epilogue: Josh awakened to find the cottage shaking around him. But it didn’t feel like it was coming apart, rather moving. But how can a cottage move’ His answer came when the ceiling above, in fact the entire roof, was peeled off and removed, revealing the blue sky of a new day. Josh squinted against the sunlight streaming down on him. But then, the light was blocked off when a huge, immense face appeared over the cottage and peered in, smiling pleasantly. It was Stu. He was carrying the cottage with Josh in it. And... fuck... he was gigantic. “Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well?” He seemed genuinely pleased to see Josh. Josh was confused and totally overwhelmed by what had occurred. “Stu... but how?” “You were the catalyst I hoped you would be. You see, I wasn’t entirely truthful with you, back at the gym. Turns out, I’m not Chuck Mathers’ rival. I’m his life-partner. We’re very much in love, have been since puberty. We fell out of friendship for a time, mostly to do with the formula, because I reacted better to it than he did. He used the Boner Club as a smokescreen for his experiments. We ascertained that one of the things that really makes the serum react to its greatest effect is desire. Simple as that. I got huge from it, but then my gains reached their ceiling. My desire to be huge came from a life-long dream, which the serum couldn’t entirely exploit in order to have me grow even further. But your desire came mostly after you got the serum, altering your brain chemistry sufficiently to achieve greater results. Once you had broken the 200lb deadlock I’d created in the formula, I knew that your chemistry was the key to ultimate growth. You succeeded where all the Boner Club members have yet to succeed. The role-playing between us was great and seemed to bolster the effects of the serum in you. You grew to 12 feet and about a ton in weight, which is fantastic. But you passed this alteration to me when I ingested your cum. Now my body is remaking the serum, perfecting it. As you can see... the effects are incredible. I’m 25 feet tall and I weigh about 15,000 lbs.” Stu paused, giving Josh time to digest what he was hearing. “I’m overwhelmed. I’m just a gnat to you. But... how did you get away from the ruckus back at the gym? The cops should have been all over you.” Josh would have to work hard to get the look of total incredulity off his face. “Thankfully the Mayor took care of all of that. He completely supports our research into the growth serum, considering it could be a cure for several debilitating diseases. His office invented a fake chemical spill that made people hallucinate. That’s what the news will say. It’s being tied to an underground explosion which levelled the gym. Whole area is cordoned off so no one can get near it. We’ll be yesterday’s news in no time.” “Where are we going now?” Things were starting to make sense to Josh. Maybe all of this would work out for the best. “To the Boner Club. The mayor has given us use of an abandoned military training center in the mountains. Tim and Clay are there already. Once we further our research and run extensive tests of your new physiology, we should be able to replicate the effects of the serum in you and me. The others can’t wait to be as big as us.” “As big as you, you mean,” Josh said, now chuckling with relief. “Yeah, I guess I am the hugest man alive again. But you had your moment in the limelight, too. I was genuinely worried that you would be unstoppable. But as you can see, after you left me at the gym, buried under tons of rubble, I grew like wildfire, easily surpassing you by many times. But who knows, Josh, you may grow to be as big as me in time,” boasted Stu, and suddenly it became even darker in the cottage, when the most massive bicep in all of creation peaked above the exposed walls of the roofless cottage. It was about fifteen feet in circumference, as hard as titanium, and the engorged veins across its brute-mass were thicker than Josh’s wrists. Josh couldn’t hide his boner. Stu smiled, blew Josh a kiss and then continued carrying the cottage high into the mountains, where they would all be left alone to grow... and grow... The End.

Once again, with the author's permission, I'm posting a story he wrote for the old forum and later deleted. I saved a copy on my hard drive and wanted to make this available to readers who might enjoy it as much as I do. This was written at a time when coin-operated public telephones were still widely available, so enjoy the trip back to the mid-00's, youngsters. Never Enough Muscle by LORUS Part 1 Dexter Rhodes was a bodybuilder. A very big one. He got this way mostly by acting as a guinea pig for his father’s experiments. At only nineteen years old he was 6’ 5” tall and weighed a solid 640lbs of eye-popping muscle. His upper arm circumference alone exceeded that of his waist by several inches. When he pumped and flexed his chest, he could make a table of his upper pecs. He could crush rocks to dust between his biceps and forearms when flexing. His legs were so big that he could no longer wear pants off the rack. Like all his clothes they had to be specially made. But he was so into the size of his body that he tried as often as possible to go around in the skimpiest of outfits. He was studying sports nutrition at college and money was tight since his father cut off his funding. Dex had to work to pay his tuition and fees, but he made enough money from stripping and doing cam-shows online. That was how he met his current boyfriend Sonny, over the internet during a cam-to-cam session. There was an instant mutual attraction. Sonny wasn’t a bodybuilder, but he still had enough muscle on his Eurasian physique to allow him to make a living as a fitness model. They’d been together for just under a year. They thought about a civil partnership to mark their one-year anniversary. They planned a honeymoon in the Greek islands, possibly Mykonos. Sonny was ripped all year around, thanks to great genetics and the perfect diet. But Dex was a size freak; he simply couldn’t get big enough, and he had to get bigger. He wanted to postpone the wedding and honeymoon until he was at least another couple of hundred pounds heavier. On that beach in Mykonos, he wanted jaws to drop and straight guys to get boners and question their sexuality just by looking at the muscle god. He was huge now, bigger than so many bodybuilders, professional or otherwise. But he needed more muscles on his incredible body before he felt that he truly deserved to be called a muscle god. This morning began like any other: angry, playful muscle worship followed by oral and anal sex. Sonny must’ve had reptilian blood in him, for his body was so supple and almost metamorphic, the way he could open his ass and take so much of his boyfriend’s enormous shlong, almost the entire length of the 12-inch shaft before screaming out in orgasmic ecstasy. And when Dexter made a cream pie out of that delicious ass, Sonny’s ass could take so much jizz before reaching its limit in terms of capacity. The young men were lying back in bed, their bodies laved in the sweat of their exertions, when there was a knock on the door. “That’s odd. It’s only eight-thirty. Who’d be calling at this hour?” Dex had no classes today. Sonny had a photo-shoot later, but they had hours to spare. The huge bodybuilder muscle-waddled out of bed and over to the apartment balcony. He liked to have a naked stretch and a flex in the morning, and because they lived in a predominantly gay part of town, many of the apartment complex’s residents were gay men. Dex liked to think he was providing a service. A lot of his neighbors were single and of different ages. Imagining the fapping that went on behind so many pairs of curtains, binoculars in one hand, dick in the other, made Dex smile from ear to ear. Haha, he also found it so amusing. There were occasions when he would step outside, if only to inhale the stench of freshly spewed cum wafting towards him from all directions. He loved that smell. But he loved the smell of his own muscles even more. He looked down into the courtyard and saw the mail carrier. Was he expecting a package? He couldn’t recall, but the guy looked cute, and he always loved to tease male callers (mail carriers, pizza delivery boys etc.) by answering the door in his birthday suit. Once he’d even answered the door with a full boner, his massive shlong dribbling precum at an inexhaustible rate. There was still semen dripping from his cock, now. Cool, he might convert this guy in a trice. The mail carrier was the same guy as before, a cute Hispanic dude who looked like he did some lifting himself. His uniform seemed a little tight for him, and there was an undeniable shape of meaty pecs impressed into that shirt, as well as nice, muscular legs filling out his sexy shorts. Dex made sure to pump his upper body to its max and bounce his pecs vigorously whilst addressing the mail guy. “Uh... registered letter, sir. You need to... er... sign for it,” said the mail guy, clearly captivated by the size of Dexter’s massive muscles. He blushed visibly and Dex bounced his pecs and flared his lats so much that he had to turn sideways to step out into the hall. His semi-erect cock wiped a sizeable precum stain across mail guy’s shorts. Both men instantly noticed this. “Shit, I got muscle-cum-juice on your sexy shorts, hot stuff. Maybe you can come in and have breakfast with me and my hot male model boyfriend and I can wash that stain out for you,” said Dex, boastfully. It sounded like something out of a bad porn movie. He flexed a single biceps pose, and his granite-peak cannonball firmed up, so huge and round. Still laved in sweat, his shiny bodybuilder’s skin reflected the light from an overhead light-fitting beautifully. Mail guy’s eyes widened with astonishment. Not only was Dex the biggest muscleman he’d ever seen, but he was also drop-dead gorgeous in the facial department. “Er...um...it’s fine, sir. I ruh-really got to guh-get going. The stain’s nuh-no problem.” The mail guy passed over the letter. Dex folded his arms, squeezing his muscle-tits together so that the cleavage created the perfect letter rack. Mail guy was visibly sweating, now, as he gingerly placed the letter between the two sweaty mounds of muscle. Dex then reluctantly signed for it. There was only one person from whom a registered letter would be sent to Dex’s address. Dexter Senior. “Hey, stop flirting with the mail man and come back to bed, big fella,” Sonny called from the bedroom. “Letter from the old man. I almost don’t want to open it. I know what he’s gonna say,” said Dex, his bottom lip trembling a little, a strange sight to behold on one so huge and strong. But it looked like his future depended on what his father had to say. “Want me to read it out to you?” asked Sonny, being supportive as always. “Nah, I need to do this. But thanks, Babe.” Dex nervously ripped open the envelope. In his father’s neat script, the words said simply: “In your dreams, Junior.” “Dammit!” Dex angrily ripped up the letter and then stomped around the apartment in search of something heavy and metallic to bend. Fortunately, he kept a toolbox full of crowbars for occasions such as this. He took out two together and bent them into pretzels. Then he picked up the toolbox and crushed it into a ball the size of an egg cup. He made it seem effortless. Sonny hated seeing his Adonis losing the head like this, but he had every right to be angry. Besides, his body got so super-vascular whenever he angrily bent something. His veins were on the verge of popping out of his skin at this moment. Sonny grew hard again and really wanted to kiss every one of the massive bodybuilder’s sexy veins. “What did it say, honey?” Sonny wanted to hold his boyfriend in that “It’s going to be all right” kind of way. But he knew better than to approach him while he was still at boiling point. When Dex had sufficiently calmed: “It’s a response to what I asked him at our last family reunion... Grandma’s funeral. Last time we talked.” “That was just before we met, yes?” Dex nodded. “You know a bit of the story. I asked him if there was a chance that we could reconcile, bury the hatchet, and I could get reinstated into the program.” Dex’s breathing was slowing as he became less enraged. That was a good thing. Sonny loved him very much, and although Dex would never physically harm him (unless it was a genuine accident), Sonny still knew when to give him enough space. He mentally resolved to visit a hardware store later to stock up on more crowbars. They were running dangerously low. “And it took him a whole year to get back to you? That’s pretty shit of him.” Dex nodded again. He bounced his pecs and they looked and felt so massive to him. They helped to distract him from his current emotional state. “So, what did the letter say?” Sonny now felt it was safe enough to approach Dexter. He put out a hand and Dexter took it in his own beefy mitt. Sonny then began to soothingly rub his 26” forearm. They were monstrously huge. Dex didn’t think so, however. “It was a no. What a fucker. It’s not like I set out to ruin him or anything. He’s made his fortune.” Dex let out a slow, defeatist sigh. He hated being in a bad mood. It wasn’t fair to Sonny. “I’d like to help. But I know very little about what happened with you and your father. Didn’t his research company cure that terrible virus that affected male muscle mass?” Dex nodded dolefully. He decided to tell Sonny the rest of the story. The virus had been nipped in the bud four years previously, before it became a pandemic. It was one of those ancient microbes that lay dormant in millennia-old ice floes which, due to global warming, were released back into the atmosphere by the receding ice caps. The virus mutated and started causing muscle depletion in infected males. Fortunately, there were less than one thousand cases worldwide, and Prof. Dexter Rhodes received the Nobel Prize as the architect of its eradication. Win-win scenario, right? Wrong. Dex had just started bodybuilding around the time the virus broke out. He made great advances in his training in the first year – a veritable teen prodigy – thanks primarily to a guy at the gym who liked Dex enough to take him under his wing and teach him all the techniques and tricks necessary to get really huge. Then Guy Roche went on a trip overseas – something to do with the reading of a will – and started showing signs of the virus shortly after returning. The bodybuilder lost thirty percent of his body weight in muscle shrinkage in just four months. Cases of this started cropping up in newspapers and television news reports. As with other viruses and flu outbreaks, the public panicked. Pharmaceutical companies and the world’s leading scientific minds in medical research rushed to find a cure as more and more men began to wither away. The virus was passed through the air, but only 3% of people exposed developed symptoms. Dex was tested and found to be a carrier, as he’d spent a lot of time breathing the same sweaty air in the gym as Guy Roche. Dexter Senior took no chances. He would use his teenage son to test various serums and anti-viral treatments he was developing. Less than two hundred men succumbed to the virus. Guy Roche, they say, was saved by his muscle mass. He’d been the only bodybuilder in the world to develop symptoms, but the virus liked to attack exterior muscle tissues before launching a final assault on internal organs. Heart failure was the outcome for someone exposed to the virus, but in Roche’s case, he was down to 137 lbs. by the time he began the treatments. He was weak, yes, but alive. In just eight months he’d lost more than half his body weight in muscle mass, mass it had taken him years to build. One month after being declared well once again, he was found hanging from a beam in his basement by a concerned neighbor with a spare key. Dex took his death badly, but his father had already adapted his treatment into an all-out muscle enhancer. In healthy men... especially bodybuilders, the anti-viral serum could help build astonishing amounts of muscle. Since Dex had acted as a guinea pig to his brilliant father’s efforts, it seemed logical to continue trials on him. One year after Guy Roche’s suicide, Dexter Rhodes had ballooned to over 300 lbs. of massive muscle. He was bigger and more muscular than the current Mr. Olympia at the time, and he’d won every bodybuilding contest he entered until he was banned from competing when the secret to his growth became public (as these things are sometimes wont to do). “So, your dad obviously ceased giving you treatments? But you continued to gain muscle, right?” Sonny couldn’t recall when this scandal hit the media. To be honest, he rarely read newspapers or watched television, even to this day. But what are scandals these days, anyway? Flashes in the pan? One day it’s a corrupt scientist growing his own son into a muscle freak. Next day that’s forgotten in favor of Lady Gaga’s latest shocking behavior on stage. “You know pretty much the rest of it. I became a whore for muscle-growth. I just wanted to get bigger and bigger. My dad put this down to hormonal instability. He stopped the treatments, and one night I lost it. I drove his Mercedes out to the nearest lake and then threw it right into the middle of the water. I’d picked up cars a couple of times before, but never to throw one two hundred feet. Pulled a couple of ligaments for my trouble, but I healed up soon after.” Sonny grew hard upon hearing of this massive feat of strength. “Why’d you never tell me all of this before?” Dex shrugged: “I don’t like to remember the shit times in my life, to be perfectly honest. Everything got better after I met you, darling.” He smiled lovingly. “And yet you still gained more muscle. Just from conventional bodybuilding techniques?” Sonny’s cock was now in precum overload. “I stole an entire year’s worth of serum from my father’s personal stock. The modified one, not the one that was made available worldwide. I tried to make it look like a break-in, but my father, already fearing I’d attempt something like this, had me tailed. Since he had to brush all this under the table, there was little he could do, legally, to get me to give back the treatments. And so, he cut me out of the will, my funding... everything. The treatments I stole turned me into the man you know and love today.” Although emphasis wasn’t required, Dex’s upper body burst into a massive full-lat spread, every muscle tensed and bulging beautifully. He was incredible to look at. Sonny wanted to jump him there and then. He thought about making some excuse to the photographer so that he could get out of the afternoon shoot. Just to spend an entire day with his bodybuilding boyfriend. “And now your supply is gone, eh? But you made some sweet gains in the year since we met. And that was after you’d run out of the treatments, right?” Sonny was finding it hard to set Dex’s story into a viable timeframe, he was that horny. “Yes, I have,” said Dex, forcing his upper body into a mind-melting most muscular. His muscles seemed to fill Sonny’s entire visual periphery. For a few seconds he could not breathe for fear he would be consumed and crushed by a massively mutating muscle amoeba. Then Dex added by way of a closing remark to the subject: “But they’re nothing compared to the gains I made when I was injecting. I have to get more... somehow.” Part 2 Sonny seemed lost to his own thoughts, as the hot lovers enjoyed yet another breakfast together. Coffee was a luxury they both allowed themselves only occasionally. Sonny cupped his mug and savored the aroma. Despite the great sex they'd shared earlier, he wasn't much in the mood for eating. In contrast Dexter's appetite was huge, and he was only too happy to polish off any leftovers. "I guess this is all my fault, everything that happened between my father and me," said Dex after some moments of silence. Smiling reassuringly, Sonny extended a hand across the breakfast table where it found Dex's to rest on. "You have a passion for growing muscle. Fate decided to smile fondly on you for a time. You saw an opportunity and took it. You tried to make amends to your father, but he chose not to meet you halfway. He's a jerk if you don't mind me saying." Sonny sipped on his coffee. Dex managed a half-smile. "The more it plays on my mind, the more I grow to accept that what I did was wrong. And now I'm the family black sheep because of a mistake I made." Sonny was quick to jump to his boyfriend's defense against his bitter self-judgment. "Your father started this. You finished it the only way you could, by satisfying an insatiable hunger inside you. A hunger for growth. It was your father's invention. He should have known how it would affect you ultimately." "I guess so," said Dex after some time. "Come to the shoot with me today. Alfonse would love to photograph you. Besides, we can always use the extra money. It'll be fun." Dexter considered it. "Not a lot in my wardrobe for a photo shoot. I really should sort out some new attire. I've just about outgrown everything." Somewhat cheered up, the bodybuilder could not mask his muscle pride. "Doesn't matter. It's a nice day outside. It's an underwear shoot anyway. Wear something tight and slutty," said Sonny as he set about clearing the table. "Everything I own is tight and slutty," Dex reminded his number one man. "Keep talking like that, hon, and I doubt either of us will get out of here today." *** The massive bodybuilder spent quite a while trying to find something to wear. Recently he'd returned from the gym far too many times in a state of extreme muscle lust, his pumps held for an impossibly long time. During these moments Dex would perform hulkouts as much for his own gratification as Sonny's. It had taken a severe toll on his wardrobe. He decided that after the events of the morning, some all-out muscle showcasing was the order of the day. He opted for a trashy mesh string top, which was literally falling apart. He managed to keep it on its last legs by holding it in place with a sturdy set of red suspenders, which he securely anchored to the skimpiest pair of trashed denim cut-offs no huge bodybuilder had any business being seen in. The cut-offs looked more like briefs than shorts, made to seem even more skimpy, given the fact that two enormous thighs blasted out of them, the vast swell of each muscle belly rippling thickly and with ridiculously deep striations in between. Each thigh tapered down to a solid knee which in turn was under siege from a surfeit of unfaltering, huge calf muscle. “You’ll be arrested if you go out like that,” said Sonny when it was time to give Dex the onceover. He was right, the outfit was ridiculously skimpy. Dex only had to sneeze, and that mesh string top would fly apart into so many useless strands. Sonny couldn’t conceal his boner and was so turned-on by how his boyfriend made items of clothing appear like they were about to disintegrate from the sheer pressure of so much huge muscle flexing and bulging beneath them. Sonny went to Dex’s closet and found a trashed denim jacket to go with the shorts. “Waste of time getting that out. I’ve gained about eighty pounds of muscle since I last wore that. My arms will never get through those sleeves,” Dex protested. His mood had brightened. He was well-known around the city, but there were always the tourists to shock with his enormousness. He really wanted to rape the entire city with his muscularity, figuratively speaking. “Not a problem,” said Sonny, who quickly got busy with a pair of scissors. He turned the jacket into a sleeveless vest-style, and because it was a little tight across Dex’s shoulder’s and back, it was impossible to fasten across his dynamic chest. After some further checking-out: “You look like an explosion in a Levi’s factory. But huge, and incredibly hot, darling.” “Not huge enough,” Dex growled, the coiled meat-monster inside the pouch of his jockstrap, slowly yawning awake and thickening as it stirred, pushing against four metal buttons with the potential to turn them into four bullets if he wasn’t careful. He blasted out pose after pose with utmost precision, his movements graceful, never awkward, but oh so masculine in their delivery. A wet stain had already formed in the front of Sonny’s cargo shorts. Some seams began to part down the sides of the jacket/vest as Dex flared his lats to delta-wing proportions. His muscle aesthetics were unmatchable, utterly flawless, and awesome to take in at a glance. Dex had grown too large for most cars, although neither of them owned a car. The walk to the tube station from the apartment was a little under two kilometers, plenty of distance in which to strut so much muscle as well as force it down the throats of as many jealous guys in passing as possible. Sonny was a good sport and always played along. It was so difficult doing anything with him – even the most mundane activities – without coming out in a boner. Sonny had had boyfriends prior to Dex, but only Dex could make him super horny like no guy ever had before. Near the tube station: "That guy over there... taking pictures with that big telephoto-lens camera. He looks familiar," Dex exclaimed, bouncing his pecs vigorously for the pleasure of two twinks who'd spotted in him their ultimate walking wet dream in passing. Sonny followed the giant's line of sight to the fountain in the square about fifty yards from where they stood. "So what? You've been snapped and filmed by just about every modern gadget between here and the apartment. What's so special about him?" "I think that's the same guy that... nah... can't be... can it?" "The same guy that did what?" Sonny was growing impatient. His stomach was rumbling, and it was now that he regretted not having solids for breakfast. A bagel would go down nicely just about now. He began to scan for a vendor. "The mail carrier from earlier, the one that brought the registered letter from my father. I'm nearly sure that's him," Dex explained. As if those words had carried power, the photographer by the fountain realized he'd been rumbled. "Dexter, darling, I wouldn't worry. You probably converted him this morning to Dexter's Temple of Muscle Infatuation. He's acting beyond his control, like so many men who fall under the spell of your massive muscles. Blast him with a double biceps. He'll cream himself, shoot off to find a bathroom, and we won't be late for our train." Sonny checked his watch. They would make the two-thirty train if they hurried. Alfonse was not known for his patience. "Hmmm, maybe," Dex mused, although something about this wasn't settling well with him. This day had quickly turned into something unexpected. And no amount of massive muscle fleshing your body out to near god-like status could ever prepare you for the unexpected. They made it to their platform, and Sonny got his bagel en route. There were two bodybuilders waiting for the same train. They were mid-twenties, one Caucasian, the other black. Both had been showing off and owning the platform, until a huge shadow appeared and swallowed up their own lesser ones like some omnipresent and sentient oil slick. They both, suddenly, felt quite inadequate, and they didn't like it one bit. One of them said: "Dude, you're a monster. That ain't natural at all. What shit you on?" Both were dressed in gym clothes, and they looked like they'd both had good workouts. Their bodies were pumped and rock hard, but neither of them looked heavier than 220 lbs. tops. Dexter, as if to demonstrate total muscle dominance, worked some tension out of his neck by tilting his head from side to side. The sound of shifting bones was drowned out, but only by a vagrant playing some sort of wind instrument further along the underground platform. Then Dexter drew back his shoulders, forced out his pecs, and flared his lats to further seam-splitting proportions. Mouths fell agape, not just those of the bodybuilders, but pretty much everyone within viewing distance. Further down the platform the vagrant stopped playing his pipe in favor of playing with something else. Dex moved to within pec-touching distance of the lesser bodybuilders. He was a head taller than one guy, and two thirds of a head taller than the other. He loved being the biggest... but he still had to grow way huger than his current size. He could never have enough muscle. "I'm not on any...shit...dude!!" The massive muscle teen gave the taller of the two a face full of mega-bicep. It peaked at a mind-blowing 36 inches. Some of the color drained out of both their faces when they observed the bulging muscle firm up to cannonball proportions. Probably hard as iron, too. Nearby, a middle-aged, suited gentleman, complete with stereotypical bowler hat, suddenly tugged uncomfortably at his pristinely starched shirt collar before scampering for the nearest public convenience, dropping his umbrella as he went and awkwardly covering up his "embarrassment" with his briefcase. It was time for Sonny to intervene lest Dexter Rhodes take exception to such a remark. "Fifty thousand and his secret's all yours. Not a penny less," Sonny said, stonily. "Fuck that shit. We don't have that kinda money, bitch," said the other bodybuilder. "'Sides, who'd want to get that huge? Dude, you a freak!" The first bodybuilder cracked knuckles with the other before "high-fiving" him. Dexter really hated all that bromance/hetero buddy-buddy shit. He now touched pecs with "Knuckles", and for the lesser bodybuilder it must've felt like he'd been hit by a muscle tsunami. "I think you both need to get another train. In fact, I must insist that you get another train," Dexter said calmly enough. His mind was still preoccupied with the familiar-looking photographer by the fountain from earlier. "Dude, we cool, okay? I didn't mean nuthin' by it, is all. We cool, man." The bodybuilders made a hasty retreat considering the moderately-impressive bulk they were carrying. Sonny's full attention was now back on his boyfriend. He was only three inches shorter than Dex, but he still often got a pain in his neck from staring up at him. He liked to call it his "Romantic Strain Injury". They both liked silly, soppy stuff like that. "They didn't upset you, did they?" "I'm still in my clothes, aren't I? Couple of jerks," Dex admitted. "You seem preoccupied. It's not the camera guy again, is it?" "First whiskey craving in over four years. Dammit why now?" Dex suddenly craved metal to bend. There was plenty of it around, but he wasn't a vandal. "Whiskey? What in the---" "Don't worry about it. I haven't touched a drop since I was fifteen. Bodybuilding helped me kick that particular habit." Trying not to look visibly upset, Sonny voiced his concerns: "Is there anything else you'd like to tell your boyfriend of almost one year? I thought we agreed ages ago not to keep secrets from one another. So, you were a teen alcoholic, and a thief. What other skeletons are rattling around inside that huge body of yours?" With voices raised, tempers grew frayed. More people began to leave the platform. "Take that back," Dex growled. His body began to expand, fueled by rising anger. Veins popped out all over his muscled form. More seams parted in the jacket, and parts of his mesh string top began to disintegrate due to the expanding flesh pushing against the flimsy fibers. Unbeknownst to them both, a youth nearby had his iPhone's camera trained on them. YouTube Gold was the order of the day, it seemed. No matter, Dex had found himself in YouTube videos more than a few times already. You just had to type in the right tag words and phrases and eventually he popped up (in more ways than one). "Why, what you gonna do, bend me into a crowbar-pretzel?" Sonny stood his ground, although he was at a loss for what to do. They'd bickered in the past before. What couple doesn't? But those minor tiffs were nothing like this. This was... getting bad. Anger caused Dex's blood to boil. His muscles became engorged, and his skimpy garb destabilized further. He decided to ditch the jacket, for it had become uncomfortably tight across his back and shoulders. Now all that barely concealed his super-huge, muscled torso were a few ounces of string and some visibly straining suspenders. The way they stretched over the curved swell of his pecs – the immense prominence of each muscle-tit creating several inches of space between his impregnable 8-pack and the elasticized straps – was a minor miracle in that the front and back clasps were still able to cling to their denim moorings. "The shit!!!" It was the youth with the iPhone, creaming himself but unable to do much about it, except to keep filming. Later he would break it off with his girlfriend of two years, Susan, in favor of a new lifestyle in need of exploring. She'd be devastated and blog about it on Facebook to her 1,567 girlfriends before deciding to become a nun. Happened all the time, that. "Enjoy your photo shoot. Fuck this crap!" The super-gorgeous muscle behemoth stormed off towards the stairwell back to ground level. Concerned and cautious commuters pushed close to the walls to give him a wide berth. A curious police officer, no more than a rookie, called it in and requested instructions on what to do. His superior advised him to "keep an eye on the situation", nothing more. Dexter hadn't done anything wrong. No one had complained about him (too scared to, most likely). He'd caused no damage and the altercation down on the platform had been a minor one, all things considered. He was scantily clad, but it was a warm day, and there were plenty of shirtless hard bodies around. The guy was a giant, but so far, he wasn't breaking any nudity laws. A little bit of denim around his junk and ass just about kept him from getting cuffed (not that any cuffs would hold him). When the train came Sonny made sure he was on it. He was upset by how the day was going, when it had started out with amazing sex and muscle worship. But their rent wasn't cheap, and Alfonse was a pain to work with, but at least he paid well. Time to focus on work for a while. *** A huge bodybuilder made his way out of the underground and across town. His movement was half-strut, half-waddle, made that way by the sheer immensity of his hugely bulbous thighs and the way they were intricately arranged... powerful muscles fighting against each other for space. As he went his torso continued to hemorrhage bits of shirt string. He made for the fountain, where earlier he'd seen the mail guy snapping him through a professional-looking camera. It had to be him, he thought. He liked to think that he never forgot a face. The craving for alcohol no longer niggled at him. He was meant to put it down in a diary, but for the life of him couldn't remember where that diary was now. "I crave size... more size... more massively huge size... more than anything else," he voiced aloud, something of a vow he was determined to honor. He stood looking at the fountain for a long moment. He closed his eyes. Dreamed of getting bigger, each muscle bloating upwards and outwards with so much more mass and power, skin stretched to wafer thin extremity across the ever-burgeoning bellies. He would make it happen. It had to happen. His mind filtered out all sounds of city life... all except one. The sound of a modest-sized coin hitting water with a discernible "plop" sound. It instantly brought him back to reality. A thin well-dressed gentleman – his hair snow-white and cropped tightly to a somewhat egg-shaped skull – stood next to him, the top of his head just about level with Dex's shoulder. Fairly slumped in posture and middling in stature, the man was respectable looking, but looked tired and somewhat older than his years. "You can have my wish," he said softly to the giant, without taking his eyes off the baroque cherubic scene carved into the fountain. "Huh, what did you say?" In truth Dexter had heard him perfectly, but he still had to come fully down from his angry time. "Have you never tossed a coin into a fountain and made a wish, Mister Rhodes?" The gentleman now moved to the lip of the capacious fountain bowl to take some weight off his feet. He took out a banana from the inside pocket of his light-grey suit and began to peel it with care and precision. He never once made eye contact with the giant muscleman before him. If he felt intimidated by the handsome super-hulk, then he certainly didn’t show it. "Uh, maybe... as a kid... I dunno. Wait a sec... how do you know my name?" The gentleman smiled a wan smile and paused with the peeled banana held before him in a hand that ever so slightly trembled. "I make it my business to learn all I can about the exceptional people with whom I share a troubled planet." He went to take first bite from the fruit. But he paused once again, only to add: "Something tells me you haven't been having the best of days." Well, he got that right. But Dex didn't like the idea of a complete stranger knowing his name. What else did the old codger know about him? Upon second glance the banana-man didn't look all that old. Dex reckoned he could be anywhere between forty-five and seventy. By now several dozen people, mostly tourists and young adult males, had formed a ring around the huge bodybuilder. They gave Dex plenty of room, but nearly every one of them were recording his image in some fashion. Dex was used to it. His brain just filtered them out. It was human nature, driven to utter fascination by all things "different". "Are you spying on me? How much did you pay that paparazzo dude to take my photo and pose as a mail man?" Dex's muscles began to swell further as his anger surfaced once again. Miraculously his suspenders still held. "I don't employ photo-journalists as a rule, Dexter. May I call you Dexter?" "Fuck you, gramps," Dex barked before turning around to leave. The same police officer from earlier stood near the burgeoning crowd. He watched the scene intently. The people boundary began to disperse to give the muscle giant room to leave. "Please don't walk away from me, Dexter. I only wish to help. Why did you approach this fountain if you weren't made curious by the photographer earlier?" This grabbed Dex's attention and held it in a grip from which not even he could escape. He did a 180-degree turn and walked back part of the way towards the fountain. His chest heaved hugely, suspender straps straining against the rise of so much chest muscle. The string top was almost completely eradicated. He looked massive... beautiful, a sandy-haired Jesse Metcalfe crossed with Zac Efron. Such a facial mix set on a huge muscle-body was a one in a billion occurrence, several billion, even. But it still wasn't enough for him. Not by a mile. "So, he does work for you. You'd better fess up to what you're about, Mister, or you'll be eating a fire hydrant instead of that banana." Dex's body was flushed with anger which fueled an overall increase in muscle mass as blood and adrenaline swelled his muscle fibers to near-bursting point. People nearby gasped at the sight of such a big man swelling up with further muscle mass. "I mean you no harm, Dexter. Of that you can be assured. As to how I know you... well... for now let's just say that I have your best interests at heart. As you grow bigger... and I'm certain you will... the world will come to accept you less and less. Look around you at the gathering you've attracted. And a lone police constable, too. Unless you keep that temper of yours under control, this could easily turn into something best avoided." The man stood up again, but only to toss the uneaten banana into the nearest bin. "Turns out I'm allergic to potassium," he revealed by way of a comic aside to everyone but Dexter. Total pantomime stuff. Dex quickly grew tired of this. "I'm listening," Dex said simply. "Alas, I'm done talking... for now. Let me give you my card. I really must get to another appointment post haste." The man began to make his exit, across the street to a waiting limousine. The copper would run a check on the plates. Routine stuff. Everything would check out. Banana man was a ghost in the system, it seemed. "Wait a sec, I need to know what this is all about!" Dex's voice was a booming one. Pigeons nearby stopped picking at scraps in the street and took to the wing en masse. Elsewhere a kid's balloon popped, and a pregnant woman's waters broke. The woman's husband began to panic and called for assistance. Fortunately, the police officer, no longer interested in a giant nearly naked bodybuilder, was on hand to render assistance. A strange day, indeed. Dexter stared at Banana man's business card for far longer than he needed to. There was very little on it, just the initials "W L", followed by a phone number. He decided to go home, take a shower, then head to the gym. Nothing like a workout to preoccupy a troubled mind. He started walking... strutting muscle. People still stared in droves. They always stared. Part 3 It wasn’t the first time that his fob key had been rejected at a gym turnstile. He knew the drill. Stare hard enough at the desk clerk until question marks pop out of your head and steam shoots out of both ears. “I’m sorry, Dex. Rufus was pretty explicit about the instructions he left,” said Jeff the hunky clerk, hoping to high hell that the biggest bodybuilder ever to squeeze sideways through the doors to this particular muscle-building convenience wouldn’t take his frustrations out on the messenger. Jeff could bench 650lbs for 12 reps in a controlled situation, but it was a different matter altogether when 650lbs of hyper-muscle charged at you in a flying rage with intent to rearrange every bone in your body. “This can’t happen today. Not with the kind of day I’m having. Buzz me in, Jeff,” Dex insisted. Breathing faster than usual, his mighty chest heaved up and down, in and out, throwing extra inches his way. His suspenders would not hold for much longer. There was no one else in the gym lobby at this time. Maybe that was for the best, should those suspenders fly off suddenly in an erratic pattern with the potential to knock out eyeballs. “You owe Rufus a grand for the damage you did to the equipment last week. You’re too strong for the place now. He said not to let you in until he sees some green. So please, no trouble, yeah? I need this job, Dex.” Jeff cautiously placed a finger next to a panic button discreetly positioned where Dex couldn’t see it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to push it. “And I need a workout, Jeff. I’ll ask you one more time... buzz me the fuck in.” Dex’s voice had become a growl. His anger was about to boil again. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep his rage under control. Lifting weights helped a lot. But now he was denied even that privilege. “Sorry, Dex. I can’t go against the boss’s wishes. I can call him on the phone if you like.” Jeff was a very strong bodybuilder, but he was a dwarf compared to Dexter Rhodes. Anxiety began to take hold like a bitch. “Huh... forget it. He hasn’t even got the balls to be here when I call in. Fuckin’ wuss. I’ll see him in my own time. Thanks for nothing, Jeff!” With nothing more to say on the matter, Dex vacated the building, much to Jeff’s relief. Of course, Jeff would have to let his boss know that Dex had been in. What he didn’t know was that although Dex left the gym, he didn’t go very far. Dex waited almost an hour for Rufus’ SUV to pull into the parking lot. Rufus had been a champion bodybuilder in his day. Now in his sixties, he was still in great shape for his age. But it was no secret that he was selling all kinds of performance enhancers under the counter to help his ailing business stay afloat. Dex waited a few more minutes until he was sure that Rufus was in his office. Then he returned to the parking lot, specifically to the private corner of the lot reserved for staff vehicles. It was around the side of the building. Rufus always parked in the same spot, so that he could keep an eye on his beloved motor from the small window to his office. Dex wasn’t sure how much an SUV weighed, but it felt near weightless to him as he hefted it off the tarmac and pressed it effortlessly above his head until his arms locked straight. With a mighty grunt he tossed it with two hands as easily as a footballer would a soccer ball during a throw-in. Fortunately, Rufus was doing a little cocaine in the small bathroom off his office proper when the vehicle struck home, otherwise he’d have been killed instantly. The fright of the huge off-roader taking out an entire wall to his office and pretty much destroying everything within, however, caused him to inhale too much coke far too quickly. It triggered a seizure there and then. By the time the paramedics and police arrived, the ex-bodybuilding champ was already in a coma. By 5pm that evening an APB calling for Dexter Rhodes’ arrest meant that every cop in the city would be out looking for him. He couldn’t go home. He didn’t have a phone on him. Sonny would be worried as hell, despite their bad exchange of words earlier. “I should turn myself in,” he mouthed aloud from a safe vantage point atop an apartment block on the outskirts of the city. These days he could propel himself Hulk-style over inhuman distances. Scaling a twenty-story building took just a few leaps and bounds, using windowsills and extractor-fan casings as hand grips and footholds. On the top floor of this block of apartments, his friend and fellow stripper Giancarlo lived with his boyfriend Rafael. Both were currently out of town. Dexter knew this, and so gaining access to the apartment via the fire escape was no problem to a superhuman muscle-freak. He suddenly had a place in which to lay low. There was no phone in the apartment, but there was a payphone in the corridor directly outside. “I need a coin for the phone. Could you help me out?” Dexter standing in an apartment block corridor meant that anyone coming or going simply couldn’t pass unless he pressed himself against a wall. He spoke to a drag queen, half-in, half-out of his outfit for the evening. Was he going to work, or coming from? Did it really matter? “For you, handsome, you can have all the cookies you want... but the cream you gotta pay for,” said the queen. Now what in fuck did that mean? “Have you got a coin or not? I need to make an urgent phone call.” Dex ground his teeth and tried to keep calm. He didn’t have time to be toyed with. “Only if I can kiss all those enormous, beautiful muscles of yours, hombre.” The queen winked at Dex in that exaggerated way that queens sometimes do. He wasn’t very good at it. One wink and off came his stick-on eyelashes. “How about I bend you over so hard, you’ll be sucking your own dick for a week,” was Dex’s exasperated but somewhat colorful threat. The queen relented, took some coins out of her purse, and threw them at the bodybuilder. “I can already do that, bitch. Now go call yo’ mamma and tell her you missed out on the best blowjob you’ll never have.” The queen slinked off back to wherever it was she liked to slink to. Dex wasted no further time calling Sonny: “Hey... it’s m---” “Where the hell are you? The police were here, asking me questions. I didn’t know what to tell them. Fuck it Dex, you’re all over the news.” Sonny sounded frantic with worry. “I... um... lost control. Rufus barred me from the gym. The rage I felt, Sonny. I couldn’t help myself. Did the news reports say anything about... well... you know?” Dex felt that kind of dread we all do just before hearing something we’d be better off not knowing. His throat went dry as kindling. “The news didn’t say much. Just that the alleged target of your attack, gym owner Rufus Boyd, is in intensive care. He’s in a coma, Dex. Because of you. If he dies... well, I don’t have to spell it out for you.” An awkward silence passed between them for a few long seconds. “Where are you? Speak to me for fuck sake,” Sonny’s voice was cracked with emotion. He broke down, which was enough to set Dex off as well. His bottom lip quivered whilst his tear ducts began to swell. “If I tell you, you’ll have to tell the cops, Sonny. If you don’t know, then you have nothing more to tell them, right? I need to lay low while I figure out what to do next.” “How about turning yourself in? Where will you go? You’re wanted by the police as the main suspect in an attempted homicide. Where can a man that looks like you expect to hide anyway? Please, Dex... do the right thing and don’t prolong this and make things worse for yourself. I... I... love you... so much.” Another short silence. Then: “I love you too. I might see if my father is willing to help.” Dex wiped tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand, but one managed to evade him. It dripped off his masculine, chiseled chin and onto his enormous pec shelf, where it then proceeded to forge a path downward over the beautiful, swollen curvature of his left pectoral muscle. The muscle-tit immediately contracted, as though it had been touched by an electrical current. As if hewn from the flesh by a master sculptor’s chisel, deep striations were suddenly carved across both pecs, one of which rapidly sucked up the escaping teardrop. “Are you crazy? If he didn’t want to know you before... he’s hardly going to be interested in coming to your aid after what happened.” “I have to try. If anything, I’m going to need bail, and a good lawyer. I might get him to do the right thing.” “And if he doesn’t. Are you going to start tossing more cars?” “I love you, Sonny. More than life itself... more than bodybuilding,” said Dex, and hung up. Only part of that admission was true. At this moment in time, the greatly troubled behemoth didn’t know which part was. *** He worried that the drag queen from earlier might learn of his crime and report his whereabouts to the police. He had to get to his father, but home was on the other side of the country. “I’ll give muscle shows in exchange for places to hole up,” he decided, as he freshened up in Giancarlo and Rafael’s ridiculously small bathroom. Dex could hardly turn full circle in the cramped confines of the tiny room. Still, he just about managed to splash warm water from the sink all over his muscles and junk. Despite all that happened, he still got hard looking at himself in any mirror. The mirror over the sink was large enough to cater to an average-sized man’s needs, but because of Dex’s height and awesome upper-body width, his pecs completely filled the mirror. He bounced them vigorously, squeezing them with sheer will alone, until they broke into roughly similar-sized sections separated by striations deep enough to hide change in... a lot of change. “This isn’t how it should be playing out for me. Suddenly everything’s gone to shit. How can I grow my amazing muscle-bod if everything’s gone so wrong?” Dex grew super-hard when he tried to perform a double biceps pose, but there simply wasn’t enough room in the bathroom. He went into the bedroom where the couple had a decent-sized full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door. Completely naked, Dex began to blast out pose after pose, each movement designed to show him at his most muscular and beautiful. He was huge. A bodybuilder his size got horny far too much. His libido was hyper-charged, and even though he’d had sex only that morning, his balls felt like they had a months-worth of jism in them. Fully naked, and completely erect, Dex’s cock was the size of - if not longer and thicker than - an average man’s forearm. It slammed against the bricks of his ab wall with a most satisfying thud. The mushroom head was already shiny from precum that began to leak from it like resin from the wound of a tree. He touched the viscous bead with a finger, which he then brought to his lips to taste. The flavor of his raw manliness further excited him. He began to growl like a threatening wild animal. He brought fists to his sides and fanned out his lats into a vast spread, puffing up his chest and pecs simultaneously, and he marveled at how his upper body seemed to triple in size. Precum now began pouring down the shaft of his cock, and he wished that Sonny was here to collect it in his mouth, to hold it there before bringing his lips up to his lover’s so that the precum he’d saved could cement their kiss together with even greater degrees of man-lust. “Gotta get bigger. BIGGER!!!!!!!!! IT MUST HAPPEN!!!!!” ********************************** Clearly this story was meant to continue, but no further chapters were added. It's disappointing, but let's frame it as an opportunity to imagine where things would go from here. I'm sure Dex would find a way to continue his growth, and it would be magnificent. I'm torn between wanting him to get his anger under control vs. wanting to see him fuck shit up with his gigantic body and incredible strength. He's only nineteen, and life is a journey, right? It would be understandable if the power went to his head and he made a few more "mistakes" before getting himself under control with the help of his faithful lover, Sonny. ~ Fallen Away