scarletic Posted October 30, 2022 Author Share Posted October 30, 2022 MadMutter's Thicker than Water by Scarletic 3 Night at the Museum It had been two days since Max had his last “accident,” and he wasn’t sure if he or his clothes were ready for another one. He was taking a shower for the first time in days. Max stood under the warm water, raising his head to face the downpour, waiting, wondering when he was ever going to wake up from this fever dream. Only he knew too well that he was never going to. The new body he’d been carrying around Lima had a surprising weight to it, a power he wasn’t used to, a size he was having difficulty shrinking to fit his old way of life. When he looked in the mirror, moments would pass before he recognized himself. His glasses, whenever he wore them, cut down that time to a second. Everything was so cut. So sharp. So thick, heavy. Big. Bulging. His left shoulder brushed against the shower curtain as he reached for the soap; try as he might to shift his musculature around to fit inside the cramped shower space, his other arm was already pressed against the opposite tiled wall. Max raised his right arm to lather it. The upper arm that sprung up was akin to two smooth loaves of bread, divided in between by a vein the size of a finger. He flexed it once. Twice. Slowly, gently, yet the muscle remained undentable, solid as stone, round as boulders. His fingers had a mind a mind of their own — the way they wandered, explored the curves, swerves, and wrinkles on the right side of his torso, encompassing his arm and shoulder and wing-like lats. Then his pecs. He grabbed them with both hands, cradling them in his fingers, reveling in the way their supple firmness moved almost like liquid. Marco’s words rang in his head: “The slime must have pushed mankind’s evolution to its limits.” Max sniggered, grinning, trying to justify why any man would need such bloated tits to survive. The soap ran down his body, cascading off his chest like a waterfall, running down his burgeoning legs, with thighs that could crush Jolias if he wanted. He had to move much more than he ever used to just to wash the lather off, to run parts of his skin under the water. There was some trouble adjusting to the new body. But he was slowly growing into it, adapting, molding his usual mannerisms to befit a man of his stature. For a time, the transition was smooth. It was when he noticed the morning after arriving in Peru that his cock was lengthening, thickening, his balls inflating — slowly, but surely — that the trouble started. Underwear was becoming obsolete in a matter of hours. The shopping spree he’d had that afternoon was making it inexplicably difficult to explain to local shop owners why he needed several sizes up when browsing for underwear. And whenever he believed he’d finally found a pouch that could accommodate him, an hour later, it had become too tight, too small. 13 inches hard was the measurement this morning. And it stood from his pelvis like a monolith under the shower, taunting him. Not to mention how sensitive it was. He had to go shopping again. It took three bangs on the frail wooden door to break him out of his stupor, his fascination with his cock. “Dude, are you done in there?! I’ve gotta take a piss!” Jolias hounded. “You can’t spend all afternoon jacking off. This damn house only has one bathroom! And Marco’s getting impatient. He says his favorite clothing store is only open till three in the afternoon.” Max sighed, folding his hair back with a free hand. “Give me a minute.” It was going to be a very long minute. ◊ ◊ ◊ The sun bore down on Marco as he led the way down the busy streets of Lima. In the heart of the city, there was no escape from the cacophony of voices all asking for different things, saying different words. Marco lived in Peru his whole life. Yet, despite his familiarity with the worn-down concrete roads, the faces he’d come to recognize on his commute to work, everything was — in a word — different. Disconnected. Especially with his two guests following behind. Though Marco would have used another word to describe their combined gait. It was hardly walking. Lagging was more fitting. He’d learned at a young age that it didn’t matter whether you ran or walked in the rain. What did was how fast you got out of it. And Marco treated the burning hot South American days no differently. He walked fast. It may not have been raining, but the amount of sweat soaking into his shirt so early in the afternoon was getting him wet all the same. But he would never raise his voice at Jolias. “Keep your bags close,” Marco said, raising his voice loud enough to compete against the city’s noise. “You can’t escape desperation. Not in Chicago, and definitely not in Peru.” Jolias only glanced at him once and nodded. Max didn’t look at him at all. In fact, the German seemed mentally preoccupied with something else. He was staring at something, or someone, in the distance, though in the coagulated throng of crowds, it was impossible for a man of Marco’s height to see anything. This was around the same time Marco caught one of his neighbor’s curious stares. Though he knew it wasn’t because of him. It likely never would be. No, it was Max. The large ivory-white European man with a tender face and expensive glasses. The very same who’d replaced him in Jolias’ life. And — how he wished he could forget — the young man with the uncanny ability to grow overnight if he so willed it. Marco still couldn’t wrap his head around it. He’d spent the past few days thinking about it. The slime. Max. Everything happening all at once. All his life, he’d been walking over a goldmine of opportunity, the power to exceed his twin in physique, to have been the taller twin. The bigger twin. Not just the older by four measly minutes. It crunched his stomach to think about it. At least they were near the thrift store. Marco’s feet moved a fraction quicker. Jolias and Max could catch up. MEANWHILE The Plaza San Martin was unusually crowded for a weekday. There was an arid perfume of burning grass and seaside mist in the breeze that brought Max back to his early days at the coffee shop, roasting their imported Peruvian coffee beans to a charred crisp. He laughed at the thought, much to Marco’s visible confusion. He practically set his paycheck that month ablaze. Though he wasn’t a fan of all the car smoke in Lima, beautiful though it was. Max looked around at the black fields of hair surrounding him, all the people, all those heads, so much smaller, shorter, than he was used to back in Dresden and Chicago. And he’d only become an inch taller since arriving in Peru. The growth only made him feel so much bulkier and wider. It made him take more space, demand more air. People parted when they saw him approach as if by command, though not without the occasional stare. Attention wasn’t his strong suit. Not unprovoked. And not without a formal letter of request. In the two days they spent shopping, he’d managed to collect a decent enough haul of sizable clothing, hopefully sufficient for the next few bouts. Though none of them really knew how intense the next would be. If there would be one at all. He wore a plain green shirt that clung to his torso like a second skin, the white stripe that ran along his chest deformed from the curvature of his pecs, their inhuman roundness. His shoulders had only become even broader since arriving in South America, forcing his sleeves to need alterations and be moved a size up to properly fit his thick arms. At least his shorts fit. Bottoms that fit a caucasian man of his height had their own aisles in the stores they visited. Most locals settled for shorts. Max couldn’t. They were too small, too tight. He reminded himself of Winnie the Pooh, how insane it was that a bear chose to wear something that obviously didn’t fit. Only, the more he thought about it, he’d made peace with the fact that he would’ve preferred wearing something than nothing at all. There was some regret, not listening to his gut that morning when he picked out what to wear. But Jolias wore a shade of green as well: lime. And Max figured it would be fun. Perhaps Jolias would take notice of his efforts to match. It would’ve given him something to break the ice while they made their way across the plaza. Of course, that never happened. But Max was used to it by now. Jolias was focused on something else. He had been for the past few days, not expecting anyone to notice his wandering gaze, his stolen looks. But Max was vigilant. “It’s crazy, Jol’. Everyone here’s so short. It’s like being at a kindergarten.” When Jolias took over a second to reply, Max peered down at his best friend, finding him just as distracted as he was by the ever-shifting crowds. “Earth to Jolias? Julias? Allo?” A flurry of blinks. A guilty smile. He had his attention, though Max couldn’t decipher the needle-thin emotions wriggling underneath. What are you thinking about? Max thought. “Did you hear a word I said?” The smile melted into indifference. Jolias’ eyes instead trained towards his twin, who’d since sped up in the past few minutes, passive-aggressively telling them to pick up the pace, not hesitating to leave them behind. “Yeah. I’m always listening.” “Oh, yeah? What’d I just say?” “You said I looked like a child.” Max caught his breath. He choked on his saliva. “What? I never said that. Why would I ever compare you to—“ “Forget it. I guess I just misheard.” Jolias slapped on a smile and latched a firm hand around Max’s wrist. “Come on. My better half is getting away.” In that moment, neither the heat nor the swath of people bothered Max. Not as much as what had just transpired with his best friend. “Right behind you, big guy.” ◊ ◊ ◊ Jolias ran his fingers across the sleeves of the compressed shirts that sat ignored on the clearance rack. Compared to the rest of the thrift store, these few aisles didn’t seem to belong. Their colors were too bright, some too distasteful, others too visually discordant. But they all had one thing in common: they were unwanted. Over at the other end of the warehouse-sized outlet was Max, trying desperately to find anything that could fit over his chest without something breaking, whether its threads or his air flow. Two of the store’s attendants were catering to his every need. They were running to and fro from the cashier to the stockroom to various piles of discarded clothes — and Jolias wanted to laugh, he did, at how they resembled worker ants serving their queen. But he couldn’t even muster an upturned cheek. His dimples stayed unflexed. When his fingers finally hit the end of the section he’d been stroking, he found himself staring at Marco. Or at least someone he thought was Marco. Then he noticed they were wearing the same thing. And he found the real Marco texting someone by the storefront. And he realized he’d been staring at himself. A mirror. It had only been two days, yet Jolias already forgot that he actually was the bigger one in the relationship for a good few years. He regretted letting that status slip away, to not have gripped it tighter. The Max of Chicago had been chiseled and carved, a Michelangelon marble statue that remained a work in progress, transforming into someone Jolias could have only dreamed of becoming: someone tall, someone muscular. Someone more than he ever was. He stood sideways in the mirror’s reflection, but his own gains now looked frail next to Max, even with the German only a distant speck in the glass. What were once sizable arms, a rotund chest, and heavy-duty shoulders were now diminutive in Jolias’ eyes, small, weak. He started working out for that very reason. To escape his genetic shortcomings. To distinguish himself from his beloved twin. To be more. It didn’t feel fair. It didn’t feel right. But they were only just feelings. He flicked his head, shaking them away. They were on vacation. And he was planning to come home thousands richer. The pity party could wait. Chicago always did have better pizza than Peru. “Elias!” Marco said, approaching from behind. “Are you doing anything right now?” Jolias snorted, folding his bangs to one side, plastering on his signature smile. “Besides checking myself out? No, not really. Max told me he didn’t want my judgmental eyes ruthlessly commenting on everything he liked. Pussy.” The twin’s face was unreadable. “…Okay. Anyway, I got a hold of my contact. Her name’s Dr. Alice. She’s a bio-something-something at some nondescript company who-knows-where, and she’s been studying Easter Island for a few months now for her dissertation.” “And what does that have to do with us? Is Max turning into the Easter Bunny?” Marco rolled his eyes. “If he were, half of Lima would be pregnant right now. No, Dr. Alice told me when we met that she was trying to study the head statues on Rapa Nui. Apparently, they’ve got something to do with something she’s been working on for a few months. She didn’t tell me much because of her NDA, but it’s something to do with meteors in Seattle. Some guy named Marcus or something grew big enough to tear down his own office building, so they had to come up with a story about construction failure. Her team’s been keeping the info from going viral, but I think she’s getting desperate for an answer.” Jolias scoffed, patting Marco’s cheek in pity. “Marco. You don’t actually think her Chilean head statue crack theory is related to meteors and dick slime, do you? If someone did grow enough to fuck up a building, I doubt anyone would be able to hide something so insane. Especially in America, the land where everything bad happens.” “I’m serious.” Marco’s posture deflated, lowering his head in a defeated sigh. “I thought you would believe me.” Jolias saw the weight in Marco’s eyes, the way their ends drooped when he felt the need to hide. “I’m trying to wrap my head around it. You just make it sound so hard to believe.” “You called me at eleven in the evening when you arrived asking me for someone who could help. Now I’ve found you someone, and the first thing you do is pretend like I’m playing around.” Marco pressed his hands against his gangly chest. “You don’t think this all sounds ridiculous to me? Do you know what it took me not to laugh at you when you told me something crawled up your friend’s penis because you swam in an underground cave? I trusted you, Elias. I’m just trying to help you here. The least you can do is do the same for me.” Jolias took a moment to pause. He couldn’t help but remember. The decade he and his twin spent, fighting, arguing, joking — and him, the better of the two, always winning. But that spineless Marco was gone. It left the moment he did, plane ticket in hand. They were the same height, but Jolias never realized how he’d never actually seen Marco eye-to-eye. Not until now, years later, in a thrift store. “Sometimes,” Marco said, “I think you forget you have a twin who’s just as smart and handsome as you.” He sniggered. “I’ve always wondered, you know, all those nights we slept together, whether it was me you wanted or another you.” Jolias took offense. He couldn’t help it, stepping forward, gripping Marco’s wrist, pinning him against the wall with a thousand-yard burrowing stare. The cheeky smile was gone. Emotions were running wild within him. He had no idea what it was he was feeling — annoyance, anger, disappointment — but the fear in Marco’s paralyzed eyes was palpable. “Don’t you even fucking think for a moment that I ever forgot about you.” Jolias brought his free hand up and cupped Marco’s cheek, feeling its soft chocolate skin with his thumb. “You know me better than anyone. You know I like to sleep around, but you should know that I always came back to you. No one in Chicago who’s had my dick up their ass means shit to me, okay? I may have been gone for four years, but I’m still the same me you remember. I never forgot about you. All those guys I’ve fucked? All the guys who’ve fucked me? I don’t even know half their names. There was only one thing in my head whenever I slept around, and that was your ugly ass name, Marco.” “Then why didn’t you reply to any of my messages?” Jolias froze, his gaze now met with a glare that held as much fury as his own. He knew the answer, but he would never say it in front of Marco. Not after everything he’d just said. And so loudly. He wanted to forget. Marco was just collateral damage. “It’s okay, Elias.” Marco gentled himself and slowly lifted Jolias’ limp hands off him, smiling, looking at their feet. “At least, me and Max have the same first letters.” Jolias wasn’t expecting to hear that name, not in a conversation so intimate. “What does he have to do with this?” “What doesn’t he have to do with this? Isn’t he your boyfriend?” Boyfriend. “No. No way. He’s just my best friend.” Marco shook his head and snorted. “Uh-huh. Yeah, I also give my gay best friends handjobs because I’m so straight like that.” Boyfriend? “Oh, stop.” Jolias felt his face turn red. When was this conversation going to end? “Only if you take up my offer and come with me to Rapa Nui. Dr. Alice said she’d be there for the next few days. We can take a seaplane.” Jolias rolled his eyes and groaned, loud enough for Max to look their way. “Fine! Just— don’t call Max my boyfriend again.” “One more condition.” “What?” “You tell Max to spend the night out.” Jolias raised an eyebrow, not sure whether to smirk or frown. “Why?” “Because. It’s been three days since you’ve been back, and Max’s already had his way with you. You owe me a turn, at least.” Jolias decided. A smirk, then. The blood was already rushing into his boxers. “I didn’t pack any rubbers.” Marco quickly glanced around the store, decided that no one was watching, and planted a kiss on Jolias’ cheek so fast no one would’ve noticed. “Since when did we ever?” “You always know how to rile me up.” Jolias hand-brushed his hair. “Said it yourself. I know you better than anyone.” “Tell Dr. Alice we’d like to talk.” “Already booked the flight.” “Hey, guys!” Max yelled from across the store. “Could you come over here a sec’? I need some help in the dressing room. It’s smaller than the damn shower at our place.” Jolias snickered, as did Marco, practically in unison, neither noticing the other did the same. ◊ ◊ ◊ Max couldn’t take it. His stomach was eating itself, begging him for sustenance, but his pride couldn’t shoulder the brunt of Marco’s and Jolias’ jokes about his newfound appetite. They’d been teasing him here and there for how much he was eating when no one was looking. He was just grateful that, no matter how much he ate, none of it seemed to be adding to his body fat. Jolias held in a snort, though everyone heard it loud and clear. “The waiter’s been waiting for four minutes, Max. If you’re not going to order everything on the menu, then I’ll do it for you.” “Wait! Tz, I wasn’t expecting these prices to be so high.” Marco chimed in, eyes and fingers viciously tapping away on his phone. “Pad de Sioux is known for their quality. The food is worth it.” With a reluctant sigh, Max closed the menu and handed it over. “Fine. I’ll have the rocoto relleno, tacu tacu, arroz con pato, and wagyu anticuchos to start.” The waiter nodded, not the least bit surprised, his pen flying across his notepad. “Si, Señor.” He left with a graceful smile of acknowledgement and not an ounce of judgment. “Eating for two?” Jolias remarked. “I wish you were joking,” Max replied. When the waiter was out of hearing range, Max turned back to his two smaller companions and sighed. “Why aren’t you two as nice as that guy?” Jolias prodded at his nose in boredom. “Because we aren’t being paid to be.” Marco lowered his phone and shook his eyes clear of the blue light. “You know, I’m actually surprised you can speak Spanish so well. I’ve never known a German who could handle the silent and rolling syllables.” With a prolonged groan, Max adjusted his glasses and puffed out his lips at the smaller twin. “Vott, did yu expekt mi to tokk lik diz?” Jolias snickered, then burst into laughter. “Stop, stop! It’s weird hearing your original accent.” “You’re just mad English and Spanish aren’t as fun as German.” Jolias’ cheeks flushed red for a quarter-second. “It’s not that. The way you talk just gets me so riled up. I hate it.” “Oh?” Without hesitation, Max hopped his chair over to Jolias’ side and brought his mouth close to his best friend’s ear. “Magst du es, wenn ich so rede?” Jolias shuffled under the table. “Fuck you.” Max grinned with his same guileless smile and leaned back into his chair, puffing out his chest in confidence. “I’m not saying no.” “I don’t even know what you said.” After airing out the tension, Max looked down and lost focus again, mesmerized in the way his same green shirt was shifting and stretching to wrap around his round muscles. If his pecs protruded any further, he wouldn’t have been able to see his crotch. At least, not until it got long enough. “So what’s the agenda now that we’ve bought a new wardrobe for Maxxy?” Jolias said, a blatant change of topic. “Have you told Max about Rapa Nui?” he aimed at Marco. Max shot them both a confused look, darting between their knowing expressions. “What’s a Rapa Nui?” Marco sighed. “It’s what you’d call Easter Island. I know a doctor there who tells us she can help figure out what’s going on with you. Her name’s Dr. Alice.” With a snigger, Max poked Jolias’ hand with his fork. “Hey. Jo-Alice in Wonderland.” “Oh, stop.” Marco placed his phone on the table, surface on the cloth. “Save the ball and gag for the bedroom. I’ve already told Elias about it earlier. We’re flying out to Rapa Nui in three days via seaplane. She told me she’d like to see what ejaculation actually does to you in person, so I hope you have the balls to abstain for a few days.” “I’ll do my best.” Max sipped his iced lemonade. From behind, the waiter returned with a plate of grilled stuffed peppers, gently presenting it to Max as if to please. “La rocoto relleno, Señor.” Marco replied for him. “Gracias.” The fork Max had been holding was then snatched from him with Jolias’ swift flick of the wrist. There was a sheen of tomfoolery that flickered in the younger’s eyes. “I get first dibs,” Jolias said, already cutting himself a generous chunk of Max’s starter. “That bite’s going to cost you.” Max said, in a vain attempt to dissuade his best friend. Jolias raised an eyebrow, chewing hard and fast. “Oh, yeah? How much, tough guy?” “How’s about your share of the inheritance?” “Whoa, there, cowboy.” Jolias didn’t hesitate to cut off another piece, pricking into it with the fork, lifting it up to their mutual eye level. “What about I feed you? Is my unpaid manual labor enough to pay off that debt?” Marco sank back into his phone. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that.” Max blinked. Once. Twice. Jolias was dead serious, though his cheeky smile was unabashedly hiding an ulterior motive, one he wasn’t sure he was actually opposed to satisfying. Adjusting his glasses, Max snorted and opened his mouth. “Here comes Jolias Airlines. Choo-choo.” He welcomed the fork into his mouth, letting the soft crunch of the pepper melt on his tongue as he locked eyes with Jolias. His mind was too preoccupied with staring at his crush to focus on chewing. The half-chewed food in his mouth lingered there as Max snickered, helplessly floating in his best friend’s copper eyes, a sharp sort of spark that burned between them, pulling them towards one another as the moon would the tide. A magnetic force of two polar energies meant to touch, to connect. Once he swallowed, Max decided to give himself a break from all his constant restraint. He let himself chub a little, to give himself some allowance, knowing what Jolias was capable of doing to him with nothing more than a word. His cock, already larger than it was that morning, was mercilessly shoving against the fabric cage, begging for release under the table. But people were watching. And soon, Jolias would undoubtedly be touching. And they were on vacation. Max didn’t really care what anyone else thought. Others’ opinions were not why he came to Peru. He’d had enough of those in America. “Feed me again,” Max said. “I like it when you put things in my mouth.” Jolias raised a brow. “Oh? What sorts of things?” he asked, cutting another piece. Max groaned, feigning a thought, already knowing what he wanted to say, and what Jolias wanted to hear. “Hard things. Warm things.” “My things, then.” Max’s mouth clamped around the fork, engulfing it. “Slut.” He received a confident wink in reply. Which Jolias then, inevitably, followed up with a rogue foot gently prodding against Max’s crotch, forcing him to wince in arousal. Max wanted to let the heat that had built up over the couse of a minute free. To precum just a smidge. But Jolias would never let him live it down, being so susceptible to his not-so-subtle advances, that he could make a hulking German splooge by poking at his cock with a toe. Jolias propped up a smirk, exposing his dimples, locking Max’s warped attention. “What’s got you looking like you just bit a lemon?” Max fluttered his eyes as he bit his lip in protest. “Maybe it’s the hot pepper I’ve been eating. Maybe it’s the footjob I’m getting under the table.” “Oh, Jesus,” Marco groaned, doing his best to desperately distract himself with his phone. Yet despite the public announcement, Jolias only further upped his intensity, pinching Max’s shaft between his big and pointer toes, resting his own chin against the palm of his free hand. While Max could tell his face was flushing red with embarrassment, Jolias was silently laughing. Max was barely clinging onto the edge. People were passing by their table, glancing at him in confused repulsion, wondering what was happening to make him so tortured. “How much more do you think you can last?” Jolias teased. Max knew the answer. No more. He had to let go. Release, even just a bit. And that he did. It came as a drop, then three, then a gentle stream. It wasn’t a full release, not in the slightest, but he’d let himself drip, just enough to feel its few warm droplets stream down his inner thigh to the wicker chair beneath. Devilishly hard was an understatement when describing the labor he’d strongmanned, restraining himself from exploding right underneath their late afternoon lunch. He had to hold it in for the doctor. He worried, though brief, of the effects of containing his libido for so long. Two days was the threshold. And today was the deadline. The sensation evaporated in a flourish off his cheeks, and Max turned back to Jolias. For a moment, he was relieved, that nothing had happened, that he didn’t cause a scene in such a public restaurant, a stage where Peruvians and American tourists were enjoying a fine meal by the seaside. But he hated how he always seemed to jinx it. Because in his very next breath, he felt his genitals drop against the chair, unprovoked, as if they’d been tugged by gravity, their weight more swollen than seconds before. And the sensation returned, from that dreary morning in the plane, that afternoon in the rental. It wasn’t as intense as before. Still, it held away over him and caused his eye to twitch in ephemeral pleasure, a flash flutter of sexual gratification. His next inhale surprised him. One, because it didn’t stop, allowing him to suddenly take in more air than he was used to. Not until he had more air in his lungs than ever, puffing his chest out like a held breath. And two, because that same held breath did not retract. It kept its protrusion from his ribcage, another blasted bout of growth that didn’t stop at his chest — he could feel it in his shoulders, his trapezoids, the way they stretched and reached our further from his girthy neck, widening his posture. While not much grew in reality, the illusion lingered and made Max feel top-heavier than before. Marco’s eyes were frozen marbles aimed at him. “Did you just”—he gestured with his hands, like a balloon expanding out his sides. Then they heard it, the sound of his collar tearing down the center, a miniature fracture. All three’s eyes grew wide in shock. And none uttered a word. Max reached a hand to examine the damage, and he struggled to move his arm close enough becauss of the way his now burgeoning shoulder and arm were held back by his too-short sleeve. To an unsuspecting passerby, they wouldn’t have noticed a thing. The German bodybuilder would have been his usual, oversized self. But the three of them knew that Max’s situation wasn’t usual in the slightest. And he’d only gotten bigger, even by an inch all over. Jolias twisted his head to hook Marco with unsurprised eyes. “Any chance the good doctor could move us up a slot?” Marco fired away at his phone. “Blackmailing her as we speak.” ◊ ◊ ◊ Jolias held the Museo Larco ticket in his hand and battered it against his chest, as if to shame it like a bell at the museum’s stone staircase. He eyed the one-storey complex, drawn more to the garden of vivid flowering plants framing it. While only a guess, he was confident the foliage outnumbered the institution’s visitors for the day. “Is this place really worth the 35 soles?” Jolias mumbled, eyeing Max for a response. The bigger man, now dressed in an undersized gold and white baseball jersey, had no visible response. “Humor me. We’ve got days to kill before we meet the doctor, and we’re not going anywhere till then anyway.” “I’ll never understand your fascination with museums. They’re just filled with fancy bobbles and tchotchkes.” The ticket’s paper was flaccid, weak, easily torn. Jolias nearly crumpled it, examining it in the sunlight. The sun was teetering on the horizon of the cityscape, slipping quietly behind the landscape of buildings, painting the sky a hazy golden orange. Yet despite the smog polluting the clouds, all Jolias could smell was the pungent perfume of a million different florals arresting his nose. Max turned back to smile shamelessly at Jolias. “Don’t be such a prude. You probably just haven’t been to any good museums. Germany has loads. They’re not as modest as this, though.” Jolias sighed, not wanting to make a petty fuss out of his general aversion for the arts. He’d always been a fighter, not a lover. The romantic aspect of artistry confused him; then again, he’d never actually been to a gallery before. He’d only ever seen them in pictures and described in text. Despite his hesitance, he followed alongside Max, who was happier than he’d ever been in the past week, glowing almost. Jolias loved that about him. That his best friend was able to find the beauty in things he never could. That he had things to love. Though likely a self-made belief, Jolias enjoyed entertaining the thought that, with every growth spurt Max had, the greater yet his heart became. “I guess I’ll try to enjoy myself while we’re here,” Jolias commented as they approached the ornate wooden doors welcoming them in. Max squealed under his breath. “That’s the spirit! Now come on, I think there should be a map somewhere inside. I’d like to see where I can take you, so you don’t get so bored being with me staring at colored oil on stiff fabrics.” I’ve never been bored with you, Jolias thought. “Whatever makes you happy, Frida Kahlo.” He was nearly at the last step when Max’s thick hand bulleted into his line of sight and pulled him by the wrist. Jolias couldn’t catch his breath. Not that he needed to — but Max’s newfound energy was beginning to overwhelm him. A thought that he never thought would find its way into his mind. They sped down the brick pathway that wrapped around the perimeter, brushing through the plants and darting into an open door that resembled a lobby. The inside of the Larco Museum surprised Jolias. Passing through its grand wooden entryway enshrouded Jolias in a shadowed veil, as though the sun had been snuffed out behind him and replaced by the dim ceiling display lights overhead. It was deceptively posh, with laminated mahogany floors and extended ceilings and marble dividers to hold up the lobby’s paintings. If Lima were coal, the museum could only have been that very same lump pressured into a diamond. The floral air wafted in from the outside and mingled with the distinct aroma of wax and paint. A resin-preserved buxifolia. Jolias found it hard to believe that such a place was actually in Peru. He’d lived a train ride away his whole life and never realized what it was he was missing in his lakeside hometown. The building didn’t belong in a place like South America. Then his eyes latched onto Max, the golden accents of his stretched-out shirt glittering in the yellowing lights, as he was checking out the map on display. He had to slouch just to see it eye-to-eye. Jolias wondered if that last spurt in the restaurant added another inch. He couldn’t tell. All he knew for sure was that Max was only going to keep rising above — and beside him. “Hey, Jol’. Come over here. I think you’d be interested in this section,” Max said, softening his voice as if to avoid disturbing the paintings. But his enthusiasm spilled with every word that left his mouth. And it gleamed as he grinned with his full set of teeth. Jolias walked over, worried less about where Max was eyeing and more about what he was planning to do there with him. “What is it?” Max’s dainty finger landed on a section at the upper left of the map, a small detached area of the museum, separated by a garden, and aptly named: the Erotic Gallery. “Perfect for an afternoon date, no?” Max teased. His fist in a ball, Jolias punched Max in the arm. He’d applied more force than usual, not that it made a dent in Max’s heavy-duty tricep. “Oh, stop.” “Maybe we should save it for last? I haven’t jacked off in the past few days, and it’s honestly starting to get to me. I feel like I’d need to rush straight home if I saw anything remotely resembling a phallus.” Max jostled his pouch, stiff with restraining layers. “You’ve got no idea how big this damn thing’s been getting lately. I swear, I could take a breath, and it’d grow a millimeter.” “Don’t tell me you’re complaining about having a horse cock,” Jolias joked, anticipating Max’s reply. “How unbecoming.” “I’m not a horndog like you. Or, fuck, at least I’m not supposed to. This stupid thing’s gotten so sensitive, I feel like I could blow just thinking about you.” Jolias stepped closer, compressing the distance between them, almost elbow-to-elbow. “Ditto.” Max blushed and shook it off as quick as he caught himself. But Jolias had already seen it, the subtle way his alabaster skin hummed with rose-red lust. He thought about the way he was fawning over his best friend, the very same he’d always told himself he’d never like, never love. Max had always been stubborn, the less determined of the two, the less ambitious, the more romantic, more humble. Jolias could count the days he joined Max in the gym on one hand. But his damned admiration, his adoration, attraction for the now-larger man was an ever-present thorn in his side. He wanted him. He wanted to be him. Jolias wanted Max and all he ever was and would be. That was his reality. Envy was just a distraction. For the longest time, he had no intention of making his feelings known. Desire was weakness, and Jolias couldn’t afford to be weak. He had to be strong. He had to. For them. For Marco, Max. But he already felt himself losing grip, needed someone else to keep him safe, make him whole. He couldn’t tell when he’d become putty in Max’s hands. But that wasn’t the issue; Jolias’ real concern was whether it was before or after their accident in the cave. Together, they spent the afternoon exploring the Larco Museum. Studying ancient artifacts, dissecting paintings. Some were exotically abstract, others were vague wooden statues that resembled people, sometimes local fauna. Try as Jolias might, he couldn’t unhook himself from Max’s contagious excitement. Every work of art had something to communicate to his soul, when all Jolias’ felt was silence. Yet he found the craftsmanship something to be respected. It was the least he could do in Max’s growing shadow. Things of beauty knew things of beauty. And, to Jolias, he’d lost that title to his best friend overnight. And he couldn’t care less. Not anymore. He didn’t even notice in all the time they spent studying the contents of the museum that the sun had already left them, the heavens’ eyes gone, replaced by a quarter moon. The night was chillier than usual, the salt-kissed ocean breeze caressing their noses. They were alone in the silence. More than they’d ever been since arriving in Lima. Jolias and Max might as well have been holding hands at the rate Max’s rarely ever let go, pulling his smaller companion around in a rush to absorb everything the museum had to offer. The dimmer that interior got, the more Max’s mocha hair and golden accents hummed with the vigor of the sun. Being in such close proximity to such a specimen caused a stir in Jolias; he hadn’t been so infused with another man’s warmth since his final days with Marco years ago — and it made him crave the bigger man’s body more with every fleeting breath, to taste the sweat that soaked his baseball jersey, his smooth European milk-like skin. His imagination spurred from contact with Max’s hands alone, his desire travelling from their fingers and stretching to encompass the rest of his firm, thick body. Twice the amount of muscle in his own. Jolias knew that allowing his balls to speak for him was treading into dangerous territory, stepping foot into a marsh he would never escape from. At this point, however, the pros were vastly overpowering — and, soon, outnumbering — the cons, if any. They stopped in the gardens when Max’s phone struck at six in the evening. He took a deep inhale, letting the floral perfume soak into his lungs. “This place is amazing, Jol’.” “Peru, or the museum?” Max smiled down at him, an inebriated innocence in his wrinkled smile. “Both. I don’t know why you would ever want to leave. The people are great, the food is delicious, and I don’t think Marco is someone I would ever leave home without. And I barely know him.” Jolias’ rush of lust was smothered by Max’s sudden mention of his twin. Though still there, its flame burned just a bit colder. “I’ll tell you why if you let me know why you left Germany. A secret for a secret.” But, while he expected an answer, he only got a snigger. “It wouldn’t be a very good secret if someone else knew, would it?” Max said. “Anyway. A topic for another day. We still have one more site to go to before the museum closes in an hour.” Jolias tightened his lips into a line. “Right. The Erotic Gallery,” he said, readying himself to take a deep breath — but cut off by Max’s sudden hand dragging him yet again across the grass, over to the detached building. The grass crunched beneath their feet, louder under Max’s. Jolias trailed behind his best friend, unable to fully see the small building from beyond the expanse of white dri-fit fabric, yet he could still see the waves and ripples of muscle moving and pulsing underneath as he moved, as if Max’s body were a machine of perfection, masculine power, brimming with untapped energy, waiting for its catalyst. There were two sets of double doors that led into the H-shaped building. Max entered through the right, Jolias in tow. Once inside, they were immediately surrounded on all sides by hollowed display cases lining every inch of the walls, each casting a bright white glow. Jolias closed the door behind them to allow them some privacy. It was cave-silent, and every breath they took could be heard from the opposite end of the short corridor. Walking up to the first display on his left, Jolias considered the strange wooden statue behind the acrylic glass. It could fit in his hand and resembled something between a bong and two of his ancestors fucking on it. Jolias hated how it put a smile on his face, seeing their miniature phallic replicas hanging low and bare. The next few works of art were similar in essence. A bong. A cock. There were always one or two inconsistencies: a different pose, a man-sized set of genitals. But there was one thing nearly all had in common, and that was a bond shared by two — sometimes three — people. A muted connection that whispered to Jolias, incepting the seeds of lust. The way they touched, kissed, mouths agape, ripe with carnal vigor. Always at least two. A perfect pair. “Jol… come over here a sec’?” Max said, almost in a whisper, at the other end of the gallery. “What’s up?” Max fingered him closer, then pointed at a life-sized statue that resembled a warrior, which, though not particularly tall, still looked powerfully built, holding a spear in one hand, his black hair flying in the wind, and his orange titian eyes made of bronze. Jolias’ best friend smiled down at him, not an ounce of malice in his eyes, only wonder, awe, admiration. “He kinda looks like you,” Max remarked. “Don’t you think?” “Mr. Voigt, are you really flirting with me in a place as sanctified as this?” “An orgy gallery of ancient penises? I don’t know; it seems plenty fitting that I’d find a replica of you somewhere in here.” Max held his longing gaze, Jolias sharing the same. They breathed the same air, blinked at the same pace, and chuckled to each other simultaneously. The bigger man didn’t say or make a motion, yet Jolias — unprovoked — stepped closer to him, wanting him, and only him, in his line of sight, within his reach. All 85 kilograms of him. For a second, Jolias’ eyes glanced up at the security camera pointed at them. He snarled. Max allowed himself to be shoved against the wall, disturbing the miniature statue within, in Jolias’ attempt to hide what he was about to do right under the guards’ nose. Jolias pressed himself up against Max, standing on his tip-toes to bring his face as close to his, to feel his cock grind against the other, and to have Max’s swelling phallus crawl up his own set of abs. They dug their hands under one another’s arms and held tightly. “Fucking kiss me,” Jolias growled, taking a deep inhale of the musk emanating from Max’s cleavage. MEANWHILE Max was lost in a stupor of shock, witnessing the jewel of his dreams want him so fervently, so ferociously. It was all so sudden. He’d been struggling for the better part of the day, trying to keep his libido under control. But it was too much, even for him. His hands moved on their own, wanting to touch, to grab and hold Jolias around the museum. And now he was met with the consequences, confined against the wall by two capable arms — which were still vastly slimmer than his. The smaller man stuffed his nose into the valley of Max’s tits and let the sweat paint his nose. “Fucking kiss me,” Jolias moaned. Max took a second to contemplate. No, he wanted to. But his cock was already leaping, and he stepped forward, lifting Jolias up and planting his lips onto his. The smaller man’s saliva was sweet, and his skin as he’d expected was deliciously fine. Soft. Hard. He failed to realize the grace and ease he had, having lifted a gym trainer like a child. Someone he’d all but given up on back in Chicago, now putty in his stronger hands. Their tongues met and caressed as their bodies did, fondling one another’s sensitive delicates, becoming increasingly bolder as their advances went unpunished under the camera’s vision. “Fuck…” With a loud gasp, Max’s cock broke free of its fabric constraints, crawling out of his pants and standing tall in the display lighting, casting a shadow on their feet below. It was enormous, likely another inch longer than that morning’s 13. And likely nearly as thick around, its girth unimaginable on most. All that remained in Max’s underwear were his engorged testicles, now heavier than they’d ever been. And twitching for release. In Jolias’ presence, no less. “Holy,” Jolias said, eyes wide. “It’s massive! How the fuck did you squeeze all that in your pants?” “It was smaller this morning. I guess being with you just made it bigger.” Max bit his lip. “I guess it likes growing for you. And so do I.” Jolias stopped and held his breath for a second and shut his eyes as if to ready a bullet. “Fuck, that’s hot.” Max’s heart (and balls) trembled in ecstasy and primed themselves to burst. The skipped breath added another pound to his balls, the slime within churning and drawing more and more power for a massive orgasm. One the likes of which he’d never seen before, that he could tell, even holding up Jolias in his arms. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” Max asked amid chuckles. Jolias’ curious eyes traveled down and landed on Max’s cock, staring back at him tauntingly. “Put me down, and we’ll find out, big guy.” Max did as he was told and lowered Jolias. Once back on the ground, the smaller man continued to descend, landing on his knees and wrapping his hands around the pearl-like head of Max’s cock. “Oh, fuck,” Max said, throwing his head back in a jolt of pleasure that wracked his nerves in surprise. He was already sensitive. Jolias abused that fact. The Peruvian didn’t even have to do much; Max was already teetering on the point of no return. “What are you doing?” Max asked in a slurry. “You’re gonna make me cum in a museum!” “That’s the plan.” Jolias said, already stroking, pressing his fingers into the veins, the urethra, and the underside of the bulb — whatever buttons Max needed pressed were done so with a professional lilt, a power only one guy in the world held. All Jolias had to do left was lay his tongue on the slit. And that he did. The cum shot out of Max’s balls in a visceral fury that left his sexual nerves ravaged from the inside-out. Each white blast landed on Jolias’ face or flew past and landed on the tiled floor. But the fingers never stopped their assault on Max’s cock, pressing and squeezing it as if it were a toy, something his. And he was. They were each other’s. Max’s back slid down the display case as he leaned, his cock rocketing with spurt after spurt toward the ceiling. Jolias had to step back to avoid getting any of it into his mouth. The bursts continued until Max was sitting against the wall, knees buckled, feet apart, eyes locked on the closed double doors at the end of the corridor. When they finally ceased, a wash of cool almost mint washed over him. It was refreshing, as if his body had shut down and surrendered control, readying itself for something more. And more there was. A lot of it, to be exact. Because before Jolias could get on his feet, Max’s arms jolted and slammed against the walls at his sides, bracing himself involuntarily. An action of instinct. He could feel the power lit aflame once again in the heart of his genitals, rising like plumes of red smoke and filling his body from within. It burned and scorched and melted his nerves and his senses, but most importantly, it electrified, no different to shots of heroin coursing in his blood. From his pelvis to the tips of his toes, his fingers, and the back of his eyes. Then he felt it again, that familiar buzz that heralded the inevitable growth. Only this time, unlike the first, he couldn’t gauge when it would end. His accident in the plane was a hiccup. In their bedspace, a breath of fresh air, untapped vigor. In the Erotic Gallery of the Museo Larco, it was akin to a voiceless yell. Because every minute inch of Max’s skin was viscerally stretched to accommodate his new soon-to-be enormity. For a moment, it was torturous. The next, unbridled pleasure. With what agency he could muster, he pulled himself up and leaned back against the wall, standing up to his full height as he watched Jolias approach him in fascination. He could barely open his mouth to speak, much less gasp. Jolias only nodded, teeth appearing in a bold smile, as he began unbuttoning Max’s baseball jersey from the top. Every breath Max made left an imprint in his already impressive physique, keeping a fraction of his held-breath’s size like memory foam. “You’re gonna grow again, aren’t you?” Jolias asked. “Come on then. Do it. Become huge, Max. I want to see what you look like even bigger than me.” Max was half-lucid, half-faint, but his body was already aching for release, the power bouncing from end to end, gaining control in whispering demands in a voice that wasn’t his, wasn’t spoken. “I want you to grow for me.” In that single command, he let loose the floodgates and allowed his body to expand in all directions. The corners of his vision were red-hot white but still he could see Jolias’ beautiful face, grinning like a madman, slowly crouching? No, he was disappearing from his line of sight. Taller. More than an inch. He could feel the rippling mountains in his back push and shove as the muscles fought for space against his ribs, against his shirt, and against the marble wall. His shoulders were pulling his collar apart. Jolias served to release some of his shirt’s stress by undoing the rest of his jersey’s buttons, but pulling the sleeves off his burgeoning arms and shoulders was a futile pursuit. Max was becoming too big too fast; much faster than either of them could’ve ever anticipated. He was blowing up and out and forwards simultaneously. His spherical pecs were already creeping into his vision, blocking out most of his lower body. Forced apart by expanding hamstrings, Max’s legs crawled along the floor away from the other foot to allow for continued muscle and height to pour in. Max blinked and lifted his right arm, now discovering how unimaginably robust his upper arm had become. It didn’t look real, not on him. But he could feel every nerve, every muscular fiber contained in the meat-packed peak. A softball alone was understating just how much beef was wrapping around just one pair of biceps and triceps. One of his hands wasn’t enough to hold either bicep or tricep anymore. Jolias even less. He could grab both individual muscles, divided in between by a cut line, and squeeze and never make a dent. The power only continued into his forearms, baby-smooth yet riddled with arteries that pumped power to and from his fingertips. In the next breath, he felt the rest of his pants tear apart at the seams. Jolias tore the rest of the restrictive fabric off, exposing Max’s new bodybuilder legs, matching the smaller man’s 30-inch waist. With a final rumble, Max’s torso finally expanded wide enough to tear the baseball jersey down the middle and falling to the floor in a flurry of rags. His full consciousness returned to him over moments, but each was an eternity in his hangover. Suddenly his body had gone from a blaring symphony of power to a quiet that disturbed him. Withdrawal from his own potential. His body wanted more. He wanted more. And so did Jolias. But more could wait. More would come. “Jesus…” Jolias muttered. “Max…?” Max raised an arm realizing now just how far he had to reach to bring his thick hand up to his head. He was massive. Bigger than he’d ever thought he could become. Larger, taller still than most bodybuilders he knew. Daresay he looked like a morph. A 3D rendition of his ideal self made flesh. Every limb felt heavy. Max knew they were to any normal human. Yet he had more than enough power to charge a car. He felt big; because he was. Checking out his body from shoulder to shoulder entailed turning his head a full 180 degrees because of his new span. “I’m so huge. I…” Max said. Jolias walked up to him, his aura of confidence gone, or at least subdued by Max’s own immensity. He smiled. “You’re incredible.” The top of his messy-haired head barely visible beyond his cleavage. “How big am I now? I didn’t think I was going to become a goliath overnight.” “‘Overnight’?” Jolias snickered. “You finished growing in less than three minutes.” “Well, it felt like an eternity to me.” “It looks like you ate the eternity too. Damn, Max. If I knew that slime was going to turn you into this, I would’ve brought you down here sooner.” Max continued examining himself, feeling every centimeter of exposed skin. His balls, barely contained in a loincloth that desperately clung around Max’s thighs. “God, you look so small now.” “Yeah, you definitely grew over an inch taller this time. Maybe even in the half-a-foot realm if I had to guess. I never had to look up so high to meet anyone’s eyes in the gym before.” “So I’m taller and bigger than anyone at your gym?” “Yup. And at the rate you’re going… honestly, fuck.” Jolias eyes dimmed, the exhilaration gone. Max knew what it meant whenever Jolias went quiet. He settled into his new body and slapped his inhuman penis against his abs as he looked around, thinking about how they were ever going to get back to their rental without getting arrested for extreme nudity in a city so conservative. Then he noticed the other security camera, at the other end of the corridor they’d failed to notice. A red dot blinking beneath it. Lens pointed at them. Filming them. How long had it been on? And where were the guards? “Uh, Jol’, I think we should go.” “Huh?” Jolias turned and spotted what it was that caught Max’s attention. “Oh, Christ on a bus. I guess we’re never coming back here again.” Max whimpered. “Add it to the list.” 17 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
citizenies Posted October 30, 2022 Share Posted October 30, 2022 Thanks for the new chapter 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
k293 Posted October 30, 2022 Share Posted October 30, 2022 The intrigue between characters is awesome. Cant wait for more! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
hugeman2 Posted October 30, 2022 Share Posted October 30, 2022 8 hours ago, scarletic said: Some guy named Marcus or something grew big enough to tear down his own office building, so they had to come up with a story about construction failure @scarletic👁👁 now when is this going to happen in "Hard at Work"???? 1 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
scarletic Posted November 2, 2022 Author Share Posted November 2, 2022 On 10/30/2022 at 7:25 AM, hugeman2 said: @scarletic👁👁 now when is this going to happen in "Hard at Work"???? Reviewing the past stuff to catch myself back up and will resume it ASAP. 👁👁 5 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
hugeman2 Posted November 3, 2022 Share Posted November 3, 2022 22 hours ago, scarletic said: Reviewing the past stuff to catch myself back up and will resume it ASAP. 👁👁 Please. I miss them boys! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
StochasticQuetzal Posted November 3, 2022 Share Posted November 3, 2022 Oooh seems like Marco wants to grow too also is Dr. Alice the Alice from Family Affairs on Coiledfist? 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dredlifter Posted November 4, 2022 Share Posted November 4, 2022 Hot story! Love it. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
spacevlad Posted November 6, 2022 Share Posted November 6, 2022 Great work! I love the descriptions of growth power surging inside of Max, how he can't control it and can't help but grow bigger. Super excited to see how big he ends up getting... we're only on part 3 and he's already getting huge! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
scarletic Posted November 13, 2022 Author Share Posted November 13, 2022 MadMutter's Thicker than Water by Scarletic 4A It Came From… Max and Jolias managed to sneak back to the rental in one piece after their escapade in the museum. While the hows came and went, the burning whats lingered on their tongues. A short yet concentrated burst of growth that left them short on words, short on fabric, and Jolias shorter than ever — a whole foot of difference with his best friend. They’d had to clothe Max with whatever Jolias could afford to shed from his own outfit, using rags and desperation to hide his impossible musculature from the late-night passersby who questioned the existence of such an enormous man in Lima. While putting on a shirt was impossible, they used what little they had to at least cover up his not-so-private genitals. Thankfully, Marco picked up on the second call and heeded Jolias’ demand to come meet them halfway at the subway with a white blanket Max could use as a makeshift poncho. It was a chaotic night of compromises on everyone’s part. And, much to the twins’ chagrin, only Max stood to benefit — and he stood very, very tall. They didn’t bother waiting to settle in the bedroom before whipping out the measuring tape in the kitchen. Max measured in that same night at 6’6”. 198 centimeters. 230 pounds. 105 kilograms. Nothing they bought that day fit anymore, not even the oversized pieces that tented him just hours ago in preparation for more growth. No one expected him to grow so much so fast. Yet, while Jolias and Marco remarked on the ever-growing concern that loomed over them, understanding that Max would likely never return to his normal — no, not normal — his now extinct, diminutive self, Max was tortured by the cavernous hollow left in him. The last bout of growth had awakened something, a rush of power that energized him, made him feel more alive than ever. It was a strange thing to want, especially when he had so much already. His muscles bigger and more intimidating than he’d ever seen, his shoulder span alone already double his waist, his upper arms girthier around than an American football. But he still found himself wanting more, admiring himself in whatever he could squeeze in the too-small bathroom mirror. And he knew that in a few days’ time, he would experience that refreshing stupor, that enriching oblivion, again. The rotted wooden bed nearly gave in when he threw himself onto it, forgetting his weight, the density of his engorged muscles. It creaked violently in protest, its legs buckling and splintering beneath him. The sound was loud enough to scare the two brothers downstairs. Jolias came rushing into the bedroom and found only Max’s body lying flat on the bed, leaving nearly no space left for anyone else. Arms and legs sprawled out over the edges of the bed. A flexed upper arm that made Jolias’ head look like a doll’s. Rounded biceps alone that made Jolias’ entire arm look malnourished, demanding enough skin to wrap around them to cover half a basketball. “For a minute, I thought you farted,” Jolias said, staring at Max’s enormous body as something to be ogled. “Sorry, I think you’ve confused me with my grandpa. I’m not the one in charge of filling the gas chambers. I just forgot how heavy I am now. The bed nearly gave when I jumped on it,” Max said, staring at the ceiling. He wore a satisfied grin that melted at the sight of Jolias’ indifference. “Well, you better make enough room to let me on that thing. If it bucks in the middle of the night, I’m using your tits as a pillow.” Max chuckled. “You say that like it’s a punishment.” Jolias turned to leave, eyes glancing at the creaking bed legs, hand on the knob. “Who said it was supposed to be a punishment, big guy?” “I’m supposed to be the one calling you that,” Max said. Jolias raised the tip of his mouth. “I think I fell out of that weight class when we flew down here, Max. I’ll finish up with Marco downstairs. We were just… discussing some things over coffee. You can go ahead and sleep. I’ll be with you in a bit.” He didn’t let Max reply before discreetly shutting the door behind him, allowing Max the privacy of their bedroom. He thought about pulling out his tightly packed junk from his makeshift diaper, now thankfully back at a more “manageable” nine inches, but he fought his urges. Dr. Alice wanted to see the full extent of the slime’s ability. Likely just as much as he wanted that intoxicating floodgate of power again. He could wait. Good things came to those who waited. And Max had every intention of cumming again. Maybe not that same night. But soon. MEANWHILE Downstairs, Marco’s coffee was going cold. It was on the dining table, with its owner on his knees underneath. While his brother Jolias was happily sipping away overhead, a pinched smile on his face, his underwear was pulled down to his knees. Marco may not have had the pleasure of sharing the bedroom for the night, but he wasn’t about to neglect the agreement he’d made with his twin. After a few more expert strokes, Jolias ejaculated down Marco’s willing throat, quenching a long-abandoned thirst that ached for his semen. “Damn. As good as ever, Marc’,” Jolias remarked, readjusting his posture, recovering himself. “Your coffee looks a bit cold.” Marco reappeared at the other end, wiping away the residue from his cheek and feigning a gulp. “You know I prefer my black with a bit of creamer.” It was always such a treat to catch the lingering effects of Marco’s blowjob plastered on Jolias’ face, the subtle twitch of the eye, the wriggling lips. He was proud of his craft. Though he knew it could’ve been better. It could always have been better. Jolias wouldn’t have left him in Peru, otherwise. He hadn’t been enough to make him stay. “I hope you understand that you’ve gotten me blacklisted from the Larco Museum with that stunt of yours,” Marco said, sipping his lukewarm coffee. “Why? You weren’t even there. Didn’t get to see a real master in action.” Marco idly twisted one of his spiky strands of hair. “And you forgot we literally look alike. If I grew out my hair, I’d look just like you minus the muscles.” Out of habit, Jolias lifted his right arm and flexed his bicep, clearly proud of its baseball-sized sphere. “It’s the muscles that maketh the man, bro. Unless you plan on getting a gym membership, no one’s confusing either of us.” “You wouldn’t be saying that if I looked like him.” “He has a name.” Marco sighed, pausing to reflect on what he’d just said on impulse. The jealousy was getting to him. The envy. The ache of something — someone — so close, seated right across from him, yet so far. Already putty in the hands of another he could never compare to. “I’m sorry.” Jolias shook his head, lifting a smile, even if somewhat airy. “Don’t be. Things haven’t been easy for a while. I get it. Just— give him a chance. Max isn’t a bad guy. He’s actually one of the best I’ve ever met.” The upturned cheeks made a sour knot in Marco’s stomach. Every conversation with Jolias always seemed to eventually gravitate back to Max. The same Max who’d allegedly been a lard bag before arriving in South America, the same who now stood seven inches taller and at least fifty pounds of solid beef heavier. The guy whose jawline could cut paper, the same whose rounded square glasses made him look younger than he was. A man whose nipples were level with both twins’ mouths. Marco couldn’t help but imagine both he and Jolias suckling on them like babes. He had to pinch himself to remember that this was still Max: Jolias’ boyfriend in everything but name, the same who’d made him obsolete. Who’d made him feel smaller and weaker than ever. A shadow of a shadow. For the first time in years, Jolias was finally back where he belonged. With Marco. Now it was just a matter of making him stay. But how he was ever going to be able to compete with someone like Max, the very embodiment of Jolias’ desires, was still off the table. Just as Marco finished the last of his coffee, an explosive crack echoed throughout the house, reverberating from the ceiling, coming from the bedroom. He and Jolias glanced at one another before the latter sprinted upstairs. Not a second wasted in his need to check on their third party. Marco held a deep sigh. Jolias didn’t even say goodbye this time. ◊ ◊ ◊ Jolias felt the grains of sand seep into his sandals as he walked along the beach towards the parked seaplane at the end of the docks. Leading the way was Marco, as always. And behind was Max, giving up his ability to wear shirts and opting for a thin yellow tank top instead. He’d whined to Jolias earlier that morning about not wanting to show off so much skin, but there was literally no point arguing. There was nothing else he could’ve worn. They’d already blown their budget on clothes that no longer fit. It was either he exposed his arms and side chest or go full broad. Jolias wouldn’t have minded either. Max minded both. Their pilot was a local of Lima, someone no more than an inch or two taller than the twins, with a heavy beer gut to rival Max’s pecs. He wore a black mustache like his pride and joy, and his Spanish accent was about as thick as Max was wide. “Eh… you are Mr. Castillo-Moreno?” he asked, voice gravel from cigarettes. Marco nodded, shaking his hand and donning his diplomatic smile. “Yes. This is for the Isla de Pascua flight?” he asked, pointing towards the rusted seaplane idling in the water behind him. Its white paint was chipping from wear, and it was dawning on him now — better late than never — that maybe going for the cheapest flight available wasn’t the best idea. The man nodded furiously, gesturing with deceptively friendly open palms at the winged chum bucket. “Yes, yes! Come aboard. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours to Easter Island. Are these your two guests?” he asked, eyeing Max’s large form as if he were a monument. “I’d hope so,” Max remarked, wiping his glasses clear of the sea condensation with the hem of his tank, exposing part of his full-bodied abs. “Is the seaplane going to be able to carry all three of us?” Jolias asked. The man pulled out a cigarette and twiddled it in his fingers. “You two, yes. Him?” he said, referring to Max. “He’ll float.” Max snickered, blinking rapidly. “That’s reassuring.” All three climbed into the tight seaplane, its interior musty with years of neglect, the leather of its seats fraying at the edges. It reeked of sweat and gasoline, but they knew what they were paying for. The pilot revved up the engine and tossed Marco and Jolias their life jackets. For Max, he had to dig through his piles of crates and cargo in the back for a heavy-duty jacket that would’ve fit. The orange thing was covered in dust and looked like one wrong tear would crumble it into nothing. Max voiced out his concern but wore it, nonetheless. With nothing left to say or do, especially not with the motor and rotors muting them all out, they set sail into the sky towards Rapa Nui. Jolias wasn’t sure what would happen once they met Dr. Alice. The possibilities stormed in his head, wondering if she would be able to determine the extent of growth left in Max, what it was causing it in the first place, and what it meant for him and Jolias. Easter Island, Rapa Nui, Isla de Pascua — it was a small Chilean island, but what it held in store for them was greater than anything they could’ve imagined. Jolias’ anticipation was killing him. ◊ ◊ ◊ Jolias did not regret taking the co-pilot’s seat. The ear-to-ear view of the clear blue Peruvian skies and crystalline seas was something no postcard or Chicago art exhibit could compare to, flocks of birds sailing past, clouds like feathered wisps. While the flight wasn’t as long as he would’ve liked, it was more than enough to witness what it was he’d been missing. And, the closer they got to Easter Island, the more Jolias felt a subconscious tug. A place that felt like home, somewhere he belonged. When the world-renowned Isla de Pascua came into view at the break of golden twilight, Jolias shook his sandals free of its remnant grains of sand, ready to set foot on the vibrant grass that tore through the approaching village as an ocean’s current. The pilot grinned, exposing his golden canine. “Aha! There it is. Isla de Pascua.” Jolias was the only one who could hear him. “You come here often?” he asked, trying to dissect some information. “Ah, you’re not from around here?” the man said, tapping his Adam’s Apple. “The accent. You left Peru?” Jolias pressed his lips into a line. “Yeah, a few years ago. Migrated to America. I lost the accent to fit in better, I guess.” The pilot took a moment to respond, grinning and patting Jolias on the shoulder, squeezing its firm muscle. “You’re still in America, mi pata. That your brother back there? You didn’t go together?” A nod. Jolias wasn’t sure where to take this line of questioning. “He… didn’t come with me.” “Didn’t? Or couldn’t?” the man asked, deviously, smirking. “You’re asking too many questions, aren’t you?” Jolias asked. “Ah, but you didn’t pay for my silence, did you?” The pilot let out a hearty chuckle, glancing at a nervous Jolias over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, American boy. I won’t ask any more questions. You did what you gotta do, yeah? At least you’re back where you belong. Home!” Jolias mustered a smile, albeit fragile. “Yeah. I guess.” “And look!” the man said, pointing at the natural stone docks of what looked like a village on the edge of the island. “Hanga Roa, capital of Easter Island.” “Hanga Roa, huh.” Jolias’ wore his discretion on his face, eyes darting from house to house. Every building was unsurprisingly modest, knowing that the island had a history of resource shortages. Most buildings stayed close to the ground, no more than one storey. At most, there were two. Yet, the addition of stairs came with lower ceilings. Most trees were scraping the windowsills of the upper levels, acting as a second curtain of shade from the sun. The closer they got, the more Jolias noticed that the island was paradisaically quiet, as if a mist of the ocean’s silence had washed over it, claimed it as angels’ land. It was peaceful; and that was all he could ask for. Lima’s usual hustle and bustle was gone, replaced by the splashing of waves on rocky shores and seagulls overhead. In the time Jolias spent staring out the windshield, he counted no more than ten people cross the visible streets. Outnumbered by stray dogs and birds of all sorts. Chickens especially. “We’re here,” the pilot said, beginning the seaplane’s descent. He adjusted the back view mirror and stared at something — no, Jolias knew: it was someone — in its reflection. “You sure you should have brought the gringo here with you?” Jolias raised a brow. “What do you mean? He’s why we came here in the first place.” The pilot’s expression went somber. “The Rapa Nui have a… certain way with people like him. The big guys. Just warning you, cholo. Don’t let him out of your sight.” He held his breath, trying to decipher what he’d just said. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind.” As the seaplane’s legs made contact with the ocean’s sheen, its motor died in unison, gliding across the water’s surface before coming to a full stop. Just outside was a natural stone formation acting as a makeshift dock. Standing outside to greet them was a small group of locals who’d come to welcome their new guests. Among them were children and elderly, people pulled out of their daily routines to inspect the unordinary with smiles of curiosity. “We’re here?” Marco asked in the back. Jolias sighed. “As here as we’re gonna be.” ◊ ◊ ◊ The trio made their way across the beach and into the village of Hanga Roa. It was a quiet afternoon with louder winds than voices. “Couldn’t this doctor have booked a place at Ramon’s Village Resort instead?” Max asked. “I hear it’s nice in Belize this time of year.” “I’d tell you we could just plan to go there next year, but I’m not exactly keen on finding any more pools of dick goo,” Jolias said. Max sighed, loud and meant to be heard. “You’re no fun.” “We’re not in bed. Of course, I’m not.” Marco, though, stayed silent. Half of all he could hear was the crackling of grass and gravel beneath his feet. The other half was occupied by his thoughts, leading the way down the dirt path for his brother and Max. Despite having lived so close to the island his whole life, Marco admittedly had never visited it, mostly due to a lack of legitimate reason to do so. He’d become so accustomed to Peruvian hospitality that the deafening absence of constant human interaction felt like a migration of his own into a new world. Though there were still people going about their day, Hanga Roa being the capital and all, no one seemed to mind their presence. Apart from their sudden welcoming party, the crowd quickly evaporated and left them to their devices. Max, however, while similarly unsettled, didn’t seem to share the same cause. His eyes were wandering, watching, spying on something or someone lurking forever in his peripheral vision. Marco couldn’t tell whether his fear was warranted or if it was normal for Germans to be paranoid. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t normal for anyone to be paranoid. Eventually, they found their way to their temporary housing, a quiet resort with separated beach houses for each guest. It was just as nondescript as the rest of the village, painted with aged red roofs and yellow walls, but they weren’t exactly expecting decadence and wine. Just the wine would’ve been enough in Marco’s case. He gathered his guests at the pebbled walkway leading to their quarters for the night, checking the time on his phone before shoving it back in his fanny pack. 4:43 PM. “Alright. We’ll get settled in for the night. Dr. Alice should still be out in the field, I think. She mentioned she’d be back here in time for dinner,” Marco said, scrutinizing every emotive detail on his brother’s and Max’s faces. Jolias rolled back his shoulders and yawned. “More than enough time for a damn nap. I hate flights.” Max wiped his glasses clear of the humidity for the nth time since they arrived. It was starting to get a bit too tight to wear. If his growth wasn’t going to magically fix his eyes in the next few spurts, they all knew he would’ve been a giant, sure, but a blind one at that. “I, uh, might take a walk around if that’s alright. I’ve always wanted to visit the legendary Easter Island, home of the Easter Bunny, birthplace of Jesus Christ.” Marco felt half-offended, being raised Catholic. “I think you got a few mythos a bit mixed up there, bud.” His other half didn’t really care. He’d spent that same amount of time growing up fucking around with his blood brother. Max only laughed it off and, without warning, wrapped his fingers around Jolias’ hand. “Haven’t you heard? Everything’s fake in a capitalist world,” he said, bending down — way down — to give Jolias a quick peck on the cheek. “Walk with me?” Seeing the gesture set off a wick in the bowels of Marco’s stomach. A pain he would never get used to. But he smiled. He was a man of two halves, but he knew them well enough, controlled them well enough, to act how he needed to. Jolias returned the firm grip around Max’s fingers and bit his lip, following Max’s gray eyes as he stood to his full height, a full foot taller than either of them. “You’re really going to make me choose between you and a nap?” “Why nap when I could do more than just put you to sleep?” Marco wanted to puke. Dinner could not come fast enough. He wanted out. He wanted Max, specifically, out. To be alone, as things should’ve been, with Jolias. Something the years in Chicago had drilled out of him, much to Marco’s chagrin. When all was said, and Marco was well and truly done, they went their separate ways for the afternoon. The two lovebirds headed towards the fields further inland. Marco opted to do as the Chicagoans do: he took a nap. ◊ ◊ ◊ Before Max got to the island, he was expecting to receive a Hawaiian lei and a roast pig to celebrate. Instead, he got neither. That, and no one seemed to come within ten feet of him for reasons he couldn’t justify. Sure, everyone was over a foot shorter and could’ve concealed themselves under the cover of his voluptuous tits, but that meant coming towards him — not away. Wherever Max went, he could feel the stares of a thousand different eyes watching him. The resort Marco had brought him to was no different. There were only a handful of guests, most local, beers already in hand, but he knew that he was being watched. And he had been so since they arrived on the island. He hadn’t yet bothered to ask Jolias if he noticed the same thing, the hungry gazes of the locals, their wandering eyes that traveled to the backs of their heads, away from their telltale faces that lied of modesty and disinterest. Max could feel them crawling under his great expanse of skin, dissecting him from quarter miles away. It may have been because of his size. It may have also been the 16-inch log sticking out of his frontside like an actual third leg. Even in the passing gossip he heard as he took Jolias over the grassy hills, a few words were clear enough for him to hear and read on their lips: dios among them being the loudest, most prevalent. He wasn’t religious nor did he know enough of any sect to limit his beliefs to such a strict set of codes. But Max was no idiot. He knew what the word meant. God. Divinity. Though its purpose for being mentioned at all was an enigma, especially in relation to him. Was his presence alone some sort of sacrilegious act? Were they planning to sacrifice him to appease a god of their own? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know. Though he wanted to. And, with Jolias in tow, he planned to, even if it meant leaving Marco behind. There was an animosity between them he’d felt since they met, but he’d never felt it more palpable than now. They were both on edge, but Max could tell whatever was bothering Marco wasn’t a problem of his own. Trust was something a bit of a commodity to Max, and the smaller twin didn’t exactly have good credit. The sky above them held both sun and moon at opposite ends of the hemisphere, one rising, the other setting, slicing the world above in half. The light reflecting from both celestial bodies made the grass that willowed in the silken wind, brushing their sandal-worn feet, glimmer in twilight dew. Yet despite the jarring division of purples and yellows in the ensuing night, one element united both: an ocean of stars that lit the clouds. Beautiful in its independence. Here, Max and Jolias were alone. The stars to his moon. Atop the range of hills that spanned the island from end to end, they could see the entirety of the village and all the famous gatherings of stone heads, scattered around without much rhyme or rhythm. “I think we’re alone now,” Max said, inhaling the cool tropical scent of salt-kissed nighttime breeze. It was a respite from the invisible eyes that lingered just out of sight. He felt the cold air fill his lungs as he took his first deep breath of the early night. Jolias climbed on a nearby boulder and squatted, examining the fields of green that surrounded them. “Yeah, I think that’s been established.” The two spent the next five or so minutes (Max had lost track) watching over the ocean, scooching closer until they were arm to arm, Jolias’ own toned bicep, a baseball poking out from bone, making Max’s hefty combination of muscles and bone and skin look like a full-grown man’s entire leg in comparison. Max had to glance down at the guy of his dreams every few seconds; he kept forgetting he was there, shadowed by his own spherical pecs and shoulders. Then Jolias smiled up at him for a second, and all he could picture was that same handsome grin motorboarding the firm cleavage underneath his tank top. “So, any reason you brought me up here?” Jolias asked. Max did, of course, have a reason besides escaping his paparazzi. He wanted to prove something, to confirm if his gut feeling was right. Down the hill was a cliffside lined with the far-famed Easter Island moai statues, each of varying heights and widths and material used in their creation, some marble, others limestone. Seeing them in person was something he’d been waiting to do since the night at the museum; he’d wanted to test his strength, to see if he wasn’t just a glorified balloon of hot air. The power was an ever-present current flowing through his veins, like an intoxicating river of fire that circulated with the vim of an electric shock. He’d broken many things in half as many days since then. Most were accidental, still unused to how much force he could apply with the littlest of effort. His favorite travel mug among them. Others — like the derelict steel cart outside their rental, the defunct motor engine in their boiler room — weren’t as lucky. He didn’t even break a sweat tearing them apart with his bare hands. To him, rusted steel was as flimsy as toothpicks. But while they did appease his curiosity for a time, he found himself craving a real challenge, something to put him in his place, to remind him of what it was like to feel small again. To feel weak. To see just how much stronger and bigger and godlike he could still become. His might didn’t feel human anymore. Not that he ever wanted it to be again. “I wanted to check something out,” Max replied. “I’m not sure how you’d feel about it though.” “Try me, big guy. I’ve seen you nude, I’ve sucked your cock, and it’s just a matter of time before you tear my asshole a new one.” Max inhaled deeply and pointed at one of the head statues near the center of the line. It hovered somewhere in the middle of the pack: which, if his internet research had been worth its salt, was around 14 feet or 4.3 meters. 14 tons; 12,700 kilos. “I want to try lifting one of those moai heads,” he said. “I’m not sure I could, but I wanted to know for sure.” He was expecting Jolias to laugh. At the very least dissuade him. But the little man whose words alone could turn him into a pulpy mess did neither; instead he considered Max with a sobriety that surprised him. Jolias jumped off the boulder and carefully made his way down the sharp-sloped hill. “Let’s go then.” Max was dumbfounded. “You’re not going to stop me?” Catching the dirt with the ball of his foot, Jolias stopped and seemed to measure him. “Why would I? It’s not like I could, even if I wanted to. Besides”—he ran his eyes down the Max’s generous stature—“have you seen yourself lately? I’d be more surprised if you weren’t able to skip one of those rocks across the ocean.” Hearing Jolias say those words was well-needed validation, elating Max and filling him with enough energy to fly down the hill, zooming past Jolias with the force of a stampede towards the cliff. He nearly tripped on his feet in his excitement, but he knew he’d be fine. It was the statues he was more worried about. Up close, Max marveled at the monolithic heads that stretched along the cliffside. Being 6’6”, he wasn’t expecting to dwarf the things, but he’d underestimated how small they would make him feel. Some of these heads were even built to stand as tall as three of him, something that baffled him about their existence. There was almost an erotic energy that hummed from each, the vibrations especially potent around the one he’d singled out and circled. He could feel the slime in his genitals stir to life, and he had half a mind to let it have its way with him. Jolias approached from behind and didn’t say a word. For all the studying he’d been doing, it wasn’t until Max checked on Jolias that he discovered the smaller man wasn’t as into the heads as he was; Jolias’ attention was directed at something else, further down the cliff edge. “You don’t look local,” a voice came from behind. It was a woman’s, and that surprised Max. Not because he had no experience talking to the opposite sex, but because she spoke in an accent that reminded him of home. It was French. Distinctly European. Though — Max noted — it didn’t hold quite as much sex appeal as other Parisians he’d met. He’d later come to note that she had a habit of dropping several consonants, her accent taking over, deleting the S’s and H’s from her English lexicon. Her footsteps were light and quiet, able to avoid disturbing the fragile grass beneath. And Max turned to greet her and found someone who somehow made even Marco look buff. She was wearing black elephant pants that tented her one-dimensional legs and a white tucked-in dress shirt that accentuated her lack of curves. If it weren’t for her neck-length auburn hair and inch-thick glasses (which reminded Max more of goggles than practical eyewear), he would have guessed she were a stick drawing with a bobble head. “Oh, hi, sorry, we weren’t expecting anyone else to be here,” Max said, slouching forward to try and cover himself, only to end up squeezing his pecs and protruding them further from his chest. “I hope we didn’t disturb you.” Jolias stared at her with sharp eyes, inspecting her as if under a microscope. “You don’t look or sound like you belong here either, miss.” Without any fear in her gait, she walked up to the two and coiled her hands at her pelvis. “Then I suppose we already have something in common. My name is Dr. Alice Dupree,” she said, evidently far more interested in Max than Jolias, something no one could fault her for. “So you’re the scientist my brother’s been telling us about. You can call me Jolias”—he gestured at Max with an open palm, not allowing him to introduce himself—“and this is Max, my… best friend.” Dr. Alice’s eyes lit up as she opened her mouth to speak. “Ah, oui, the lovebird‘. I’ve heard plenty about you two, how you found something of interest to me in Colombia. My intel was evidently garbàge, seeing as it brought me here to the middle of nowhere, but what matters is that you are ‘ere, Max.” “I was there too, doc,” Jolias remarked. The disinterest in her face held no subtlety. “Oh, I am fully aware, young man. But I need ‘at is inside your partner here, and from ‘at your twin ‘as told me, you ‘ave nothing to offer. I am sorry.” Jolias sighed, his lips curled in boredom. “You’re not sorry, doc.” “Ah, quite yes. I am not. ‘Ow very perceptive of you,” Dr. Alice said, adjusting her glasses and digging her petite hands under Max’s armpits. “Now let’s ‘ave a look at the sample.” Her eyes were glazed with mania. Max’s eyes flashed white in surprise as the warmth of her fingers cradled him and brushed his nipples. She looked so miniature, like a plastic doll groping a wrestler. Yet her presence forced him against the moai statue. He had to crane his neck all the way down, testing the limits of his spine, just to catch a glance of her over his pecs, barely able to find her red head of hair. And, despite her stature, she’d managed to stretch out her short limbs to reach across both ends of Max’s expansive ribcage, something that he didn’t believe was possible. Jolias chose to step in and gently pry her away from Max, a sheen of a prick in his eyes that pinned her down where she stood. “Whoa, hey, you can’t just go around touching people like that.” Max didn’t even mind it, in all honesty. All this growing was awakening something he knew was always there but never entertained — the pleasure derived from human touch. She quirked her lips into a petulant smile. “Ah, right, yes.” She cleared her throat, flattening out the wrinkles on her clothes. “Please do forgive me. It’s difficult to explain the lengths I’ve gone through to finally see my months of research lead me to this”—she tongue-tied herself gesturing to Max with both hands—“beautiful thing of power. You, Max… are a marvel. Undoubtedly one of the biggest men I’ve ever seen!” The tips of Max’s lips curved upward in a smile, trying desperately to avoid Jolias’ pointed scrutiny. He was enjoying the attention far more than he anticipated. Especially so being given such by a stranger doubling as an educated woman of the academe. He couldn’t help but blush. “I— thank you,” he said. She shook her head in response. “Don’ thank me, Monsieur Voigt. I am merely stating the facts of the matter. And you ‘ave something that I would like to better examine before our scheduled dinner tonight. Could you please?” Jolias interrupted before Max could speak. “What do you mean? Could he please what?” he asked, almost aggressively so. The open display of concern, something Jolias had never done for Max before — at least, not before a snarky quip or layer of humor — was a welcome surprise. Dr. Alice adjusted her glasses and lifted her nose to better inspect Jolias’ physique, no doubt in comparison to Max. “I want your friend here to demonstrate what Marco ‘as described to be ‘unnatural cum growth’ per se.” She twisted her head towards Max, lowering it to meet Max’s eyes with the top of hers. “You think you could do that for me, Max?” Max was about to open his mouth when Jolias, again, beat him to it. “Wait, questions first,” Jolias said, standing side-by-side with Dr. Alice, proud of his few inches of height over the smaller woman. “Be my guest,” she said, smiling, already turning on her heel, the breeze flowing through her red hair. “Never knew the Q in Q&A stood for qockblock.” Max stuck to his instincts and sat the discussion out, leaning against the statue and crossing his arms as far over his tits as he could. He’d wanted answers, yes, but not when they postponed what he’d been itching to do for days. Regardless, he was a patient man. His years at the coffee shop had trained him for moments like this. People talking over him for hours on end. Studying to become an architect worked just as well. Books were excellent distractions. “Marco told us your research involved something about meteors and these statues,” Jolias said. “‘E is correct. My field of study does concern said extraterrestrials,” Dr. Alice started. “You must think it’s stupid.” Jolias nodded shamelessly. “Right on the money.” “Yes, you Americans do ‘ave a penchant for stupidity.” Max couldn’t avoid not chuckling at the remark. Being European himself, it was impossible not to come to the same conclusion. At least in the first few months. Or years. “Don’t worry. You see, at the lab where I work, we study one thing and one thing only.” Jolias shuffled his feet, moving towards Max at the base of the statue. “Marco mentioned extreme muscular hypertrophy.” “Correct. Specifically, that of which outside the public global sphere. While my colleagues focus on ineffective things like nano bots and magic trash, I concentrated on ‘at already exists in the natural world. You see, it started a few millennia ago — you probably weren’t born yet, I don’t think — in the age of the dinosaurs. They went extinct, yes, but not all in one go. It’s how evolution as we know it came to be: several meteors came down to Earth and inseminated the planet’s existing organisms with its contents. She continued. “You’ve probably seen one yourself. The organisms that rode into Earth in said meteors come in the form of an organic slime-like entity that merges with its host. Typically green, sometimes purple.” Even with Max only half-paying attention, the mention of the word ‘slime’ caught his attention. “So,” Jolias stuttered, “it’s the goo that makes people grow?” Dr. Alice nodded. “Oui. And not just people. Animals, plants, and insects are also suitable, though they die unfortunately quick. It’s ‘ow the dinosaurs ceased to exist. It was not the meteors that killed them — it was the inability for their continually growing bodies to support themselves with suitable nourishment. The slime triggers a chain reaction in the host’s body that makes their cells reproduce at speeds previously thought impossible. It’s ‘ow the dinosaurs came to be. They used to be tiny lizards.” Max spoke up, making a connection. “Like a cancer.” Again, a nod. He hated being right, sometimes. “It’s also ‘ow these moai statues came to be,” she said, approaching the one Max had been resting on for the past few minutes. “These were natives of Isla de Pascua that found pits beneath the earth that preserved these organisms.” Her eyes sparked and glanced at Max. “They were worshipped as gods among the people. Enormous, gigantic bags of muscle and sinew that walked the land we now stand on. “It’s just unfortunate,” she said, taking a solemn tone in her voice, “that they hadn’t realized the potential these incredible beings ‘ad. The Rapa Nui believed them to be immortal, human-born gods like seeds that would continue to rise into the sky until they reached ‘eaven. They were also starving. Food was running out, and the regular people got desperate. The ancestors of the locals ‘ere, they took down each and every giant, killing them where they stood, and burying their bodies deep underground, like seeds”—Dr. Alice gestured at all the statues that lined the cliff—“and placed tombstones over their graves as reminders of ‘ow immense they were in life.” Jolias shook his head, furrowing his brow and lifting his hands to his chest in defense. “Wait, so you’re saying… these statues… on every postcard and wallpaper around the world, are just tombstones? Shaped as the heads of whoever was buried underneath?” A third nod. “Accurate, true to life sizes, as well,” she said. “These people got off lucky. Others were tied and trapped at the bottom of a lake somewhere and left to drown for eternity.” Max wasn’t sure what it was he was meant to feel, knowing that there had once been others like him, others who’d had the ill-fate of discovering some space slime and became giants. Real, actual giants. For the first time in a long time… he felt achingly small. In his next breath, he propped himself off the statue and stepped back to admire its wonder, how someone’s head alone was already over double his entire body’s height. And how, given the chance, he would end up just like them. Gargantuan to the point of starving entire islands. Towering over buildings. Crushing pathetic nine-footers in his toes. Jolias snapped his fingers to pull Max’s head out of the clouds — which, for now, was figurative. “What’re you thinking, big guy?” Max couldn’t help but chortle. “What am I thinking? Are you serious?” He stretched both his massive arms to his sides and bellowed to the sky. “I’m going to be a fucking giant! I-I-I don’t even know what to think, Jol’,” he said, unable to control his grin. “This is all insane to me.” “Because it is.” Jolias didn’t waste a second shooting another question at Dr. Alice. “How do we even know you’re telling the truth? I was taught in high school that the locals here starved because of rat overpopulation. And how did you even think about the meteors in the first place?” Dr. Alice pulled out her phone and brought up a picture of three men in casual business attire. The one in the center, blonde, resembled a fitness model. To his left was a shorter and older Asian man with extra beef, and an average Caucasian to his right. Brown-haired. Uninspired. Though pixelated, the lit-up sign positioned on the far wall read out the company’s name: Haley & Bennett’s. Manufacturers of most goods sold in the USA. Food, drugs, and alcohol. They sold the coffee beans Max’s coffee shop used; he also recognized their logo on some of the plastic waste he’d seen along the streets of Chicago. Looking at the picture at first glance, however, told Max nothing. Not without context. Jolias’ wrinkled expression read the same, full of doubt, confusion. No answers. Only strangers. “A few months ago,” Dr. Alice started, gazing at the picture as if to reminisce. “Three meteors crashed in Seattle.” Jolias raised his brows in recognition. “Yeah, Marco mentioned something about Seattle. Almost Canada but not really.” “Yes,” she said, “and these people at H&B, a company we own mind you, were lucky enough to ‘ave found them all.” Dr. Alice’s cheeks stretched increasingly wider with every sentence, spoiling the big surprise before it even left her mouth. A shaky finger pointed at the tall blonde one in the center of the photo. “This man ‘ere’s name is Marcus Fringe, and ‘e was made host to the organisms of all three meteors.” Pressing her lips into a fine line, her finger hovered over her phone’s touchscreen, eager to flick to the next picture. “Do you know ‘at happened next?” A sigh grated Jolias’ throat as he circled a finger at the phone, eyes dull with a painful lack of suspense. “Let me guess. He became a giant.” Dr. Alice pulled her face down in annoyance, lowering the phone to her side. “Oh, just jump right into the punchline, why don’t you? Merde.” Surprise ruined, she flicked over to the next photo and flashed it in both Jolias and Max’s faces, wanting them to see what it was that led her on this meteor chase. What appeared was unreal. Max couldn’t believe what he was seeing: a majority of his vision occupied by flesh. Expansive mounds of muscle and sinew that spanned from corner to corner, coming together to form what appeared to be limbs, then pecs the size of trucks, and a blurry finger in the background, saddling what looked like the same average office worker from the original photo. In the background was what looked like a warehouse, only without windows, likely an underground bunker. Each second Max’s eyes spent traveling up towards the messy head of blonde hair at the top of the photo left him more speechless, breathless, than the last. The very same blonde figure had become an incomprehensible behemoth of inhuman muscle that dwarfed the average office drone. Made people like him look like ants. Only then did it sink in, weighing on his guts, when he put his feet into the brown-haired man’s shoes — that he too would soon see Jolias as nothing more than a termite riding his fingers. No pixel was out of place, and Max had studied photo manipulation to confidently know there was no such tampering here. “This is what’s in store for you, Monsieur Voigt,” Dr. Alice said, sternly. Jolias stole the phone from Dr. Alice’s hand and pinched to zoom as close as he could, his forehead creased, his eyes rabid. “You’re kidding. There’s no way this is the same guy.” Dr. Alice raised her brows and sniggered, leaning onto one arm perched on her hip. “I can guarantee that is the very same Marcus Fringe you saw in the first photo.” Max snuck up next to Jolias and held the smaller man’s shoulders, over his head, resting his chin on the messy bed of black hair, eager to join in his friend’s detective work. It was then that Jolias, in his disbelief, accidentally swiped an extra photo past the first, revealing a new shot — a new angle, something that made both men’s faces go pale. Standing next to Dr. Alice was a massive penis that she could have slid down; instead, she stood next to it, as if to pose against its erect enormity. Her entire body, crumpled up, could have fit inside the space the plump mushroom head occupied. By at least ten times. Neither got a long enough look at the shot, though, unfortunately, as Dr. Alice didn’t hesitate to snatch it back. “Don’t go snooping around a woman’s private photos,” she said. Jolias’ jaw hung open, drool puddles beginning to form. “Wh— was that his…?” She nodded matter-of-factly, putting away her phone as if the sight of a building-sized cock didn’t faze her. “Yes, it was. Now do you understand what is at stake here?” she asked. “Max is the key to understanding what it is that makes these organisms tick. His is still fresh, not yet fully melded with his body. That man in the photo had had far too much time on his own, and we couldn’t ‘arvest a sample before it combined with ‘is genetic code and became worthless. All three organisms in ‘im — dead. We didn’t know there was a time limit then.” Max caught her shoot a glance at him, triggering a sly grin. “We do now,” she finished. “Unbelievable,” he grumbled. Such a bombshell of information like that being dropped onto an average person would’ve ended with them in a coma, Max guessed. It wasn’t until he started distracting himself by wiping his glasses clean on his tank top did he pause the gears of his brain for a second and actually try and encapsulate the almanacs Dr. Alice seemed to have passed on through word of mouth — and expected them to write down. Only when he thought back to what he said did he come to realize: he no longer considered himself an average person. No, he was far from it now. If the scandalous photos on the doctor’s phone were any basis for his future: he never would be ‘normal’ again. He would never have guessed what a few hundred dollars would have landed him when he booked the flight. Muscle-bound godhood was not on his retirement plan. “And where is that guy now?” Jolias asked, referring to the blonde man in the photos. The joy left her face at the question, and the life behind her eyes seemed to dull out, remembering something clearly unpleasant. “‘E… Well, let’s just say the weather up in the ‘eights is… rocky. I would divulge more details, but I’m trying to minimize as much media coverage as possible. I’m already breaking my NDA by laying all this out for you two. Oh, if you only knew the billions we spent suppressing all those pesky news outlets and amateurish batshit journalists. Blech.” Max knew what she was trying to say, could decipher the words left unsaid. And it worried him. “You won’t let that happen to me, though, will you?” he asked, half-hoping she didn’t hear him, couldn’t give an answer, couldn’t confirm his suspicions. Alas, he had since become a bit too big for whispers and secrets. Dr. Alice opened her mouth to answer, but not before sliding up to Max and caressing his wide-set obliques. “Don’t worry, Monsieur Voigt. I would sooner burn the world to ashes than let anything ‘arm you. What ‘appened before will not ‘appen again. I guarantee it.” But her last word did not end on a final note; no, she had more to say still, and it came once Max hung on her every word. “But you ‘ave to do ‘at I say.” “And what is it you want me to do?” Max asked. Jolias spoke up, sitting cross-legged on the grass in his impatience. “Nothing involving those cliffs, I hope,” he said. “I’m dealing with enough deaths in the family as is.” “Don’t be silly.” Dr. Alice chuckled, lacing her fingers across her stomach. “I would never risk the integrity of the organism. You two need to stop watching so many stupid American ‘orror movies. I only need Max here to provide a sample for me to study. I ‘ave a portable lab set up in one of the guest ‘ouses ‘ere on the island. It shouldn’t take me all day. Midnight at the latest. You’ll ‘ave answers by tomorrow. As long as I get my sample…” she jerked her head toward Max. “Now.” “And how would you like me to do that?” he asked. All day, he’d been worried about how long he could hold out. How long until he could finally show the scientist what it was he’d been holding back in his bloated testicles for the past few days. The slime had relished in its first few tastes of release. Ever since the accident at the museum, the nights had become unbearable, his cock, burning hot, surging another few centimeters, longer, thicker. Depriving him of sleep, of growth. “All you ‘ave to do is give me a sperm sample.” Dr. Alice stepped aside, waving an open hand at the moai statue Max had picked out from the bunch. “And, in my experience, there’s no better way to rouse a man’s penis than with some exercise. You came down ‘ere to lift one of these tombstones out of the ground, yes?” And there it was: the go signal. “Yeah.” Max was on the verge of shaking with excitement. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep his composure, to avoid making a jittery fool of himself in front of Jolias and the scientist. The excess energy released itself through his extremities. In the little twitches in his toes. His fingers. At the mere thought of digging his hands into the base of the monument, the organism in his sack began to wreak havoc in his bloodstream. His face flushed a hot red, his breathing quickened. Every chance he took to concentrate once more on the statue pulled him out of his fears, his inhibitions. But there was one thing that held him back — more than anything else, more than the power waiting to supercharge his muscular tissues once again. He turned to Jolias, expecting to see fear, rejection, apprehension. Hesitation. Instead, he found someone even more eager for him to grow than he was. With a chewed-up lip, Jolias ducked underneath Max’s cleavage and gave his semi-hard cock a firm squeeze with both hands. “Go for it, Max. I know you’ve been aching to grow again. Just— hold back for me. Don’t blow your whole load in one basket just yet. We still have all vacation to squeeze out every last drop in you.” Feeling Jolias’ small yet solid hands grope his shaft riled Max up, causing him to sweat, darkening his bright yellow tank top, adding a thin layer of gloss over his curves, his muscles, emphasizing how they glowed in the setting sun. And soon, how much they would expand even further. Enough to make Jolias and Marco and Dr. Alice — and anyone else who dared to challenge his size — resemble nothing more than children. His first boyfriend among them. “Don’t keep us waiting, Max,” Jolias joked. He didn’t waste a second more. “Alrighty, here goes nothing.” Dr. Alice sat down next to Jolias on the grass as Max walked the opposite, towards the statue he’d singled out. There was still some doubt whether this was going to work, if he would have even been able to dig his hands into the ancient stone that stood for centuries, unaffected by the weather and the elements. Still, he wanted to try. If not for himself, then for Dr. Alice. For Jolias. He dug his sandals into the dirt, twisting the balls of his feet to create a solid foundation. As he descended into a squat, bracing himself for what was about to come, he stole a final look at Jolias and savored in the enthusiasm he saw mirrored in his admirer’s eyes. You can do this, Max, he thought to himself. You’re strong enough now. The glasses resting on the bridge of his nose were fogging up from the heat building up on the surface of his skin. Strands of hazelnut hair were falling into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Max grunted and wrapped his arms around as much of the base as he could. This head was skinnier than the rest, allowing his wingspan to at least reach halfway around it, giving his sinewy hands enough real estate to flex and squeeze it tight. The succeeding seconds of exertion reawakened the beast slumbering in his balls, unleashing a torrent of testosterone that caused his veins to bulge, his arms to surge, and his pulse to skyrocket. The vibrations of his heart traveled as far as his ears, returning him to that intimate place of dominion, him becoming one with every muscle in his body — a being of power made flesh. Max spread his feet apart, ample room for lifting. He’d never set foot inside a gym before, much less ever tried a deadlift in his life, but now, as he channeled the power in his legs, from his genitals, into his arms and hands, the imminent display of raw strength seemed to come naturally into him. It was his tour de force, his nature. Whether it had been in him since birth or incepted by way of hostile takeover, he didn’t know. And he didn’t care. Puffing out his chest for the loudest inhale of his life, he held the air from escape as he squeezed his hands around the statue, dug his feet into the ground, and arched his back — and lifted the massive stone, inch by inch, from its socket. Power was coursing through him like never before. And even as he laughed, witnessing himself perform such a feat, he knew that soon: he would be able to do so much more. “Holy shit…” Jolias gasped. “Keep going, Max!” Dr. Alice egged, hollering in her excitement. “More!” Max shook the sweat off his forehead and grinned, uncaring of how much teeth he was showing. “Will… do…!” he forced out. And he persisted, not showing any signs of weakness or slowing down. He’d never been able to lift a 10-pound dumbbell before this. Now he was an engine whose acceleration was endless, reaching new highs with every second that passed, every centimeter the moai statue rose from the earth. Long undisturbed patches of grass and dirt were falling off as more and more of its hidden underside was revealed. An ancient, bone-like smell was emitting from the forming cavity. Fused with crop waste. “Uargh…!” Max cried, gritting his teeth as he rose to his full 6’6” height, leaning back just enough to hold the enormous 14-foot-tall stone in the air at an angle. “Oh, my god,” he whimpered, lost in disbelief. “You fucking did it,” Jolias and Dr. Alice said, almost in unison. Max’s body was pumped to the point of madness, his arms and back and legs all strained and swollen past the point of normalcy. Each thigh alone was at least two of Jolias’ worth of beef, and one flexed upper arm was enough to eclipse Jolias’ entire head. The excitement was like a drug, now coursing through his bloodstream, edging him towards release, demanding that his cock make him grow to accommodate the weight in his arms. He felt his testicles become agitated, and his penis bounced in his shorts involuntarily, prepping itself for ejaculation. Max was a breath away from release when Jolias’ request paused him in his tracks. ‘Hold back for me,’ he’d said. And so, he did, but for a good amount of warm cum already shooting up his shaft, it was too late. Three spurts rocketed out and landed on the stone, coating its rough exterior with a thick layer of translucent spunk. The rest of it, Max managed — biting his tongue — to clip at the base of his cock, postponing its escape, forcing it to linger at the tail end of discharge. His shaft’s inner lining became unbearably warm and sensitive and excruciatingly pleasurable. It was a battle of wills between Max and the organism urging him to grow all at once as he had been the past three times. While he hadn’t always been physically strong, though, mental fortitude was a skill he’d developed over the years. He didn’t want to disappoint Jolias. He wouldn’t be the fault of another broken relationship, at the mercy of his adoration’s captor. The seething hot sensation in his gurgling balls was going to haunt him till nightfall. But for Jolias, it was worth it. Dr. Alice didn’t hesitate to whip out a steel vial from her back pocket and make the necessary trek towards Max. As the strongman held the statue in the air, making minute steps towards the cliffside, she stayed just underneath his line of sight, underneath his engorged chest, taking every last drop of semen from the statue’s surface, enough to fill the vial. As she remained there, Max could feel the genesis of a small yet concentrated spurt, priming his already swollen muscles to balloon further. He didn’t even notice it begin, his brain a hot white, until Dr. Alice spoke up. “Putain de merde… you are growing!” But just as he finally reconnected his senses, the bout had subsided, leaving him an aching shell, leaving him wanting. There was newfound vigor and energy that empowered his prolonged lift, kept him standing for a few seconds more, but every second he spent suppressing his ejaculation was another that taunted his very core. His tank top had become marginally tighter, leaving less loose fabric to flutter in the breeze, and so had his glasses, pinching his head. When Dr. Alice reappeared next to Jolias at a safe distance, Max gave a huff and tossed the statue on its side, away from his smaller compatriots. It landed in an earth-shaking thud that likely echoed for miles — Informed all those prying eyes in the village of where the enormous German man was. Was what he’d just done considered sacrilege to the locals? Did they even know about their heritage? Who they once were? What they could have become had they not buried all that potential in the earth and left it to rot for centuries? As Max caught his breath, he considered Jolias, Dr. Alice. They looked smaller than before. Shorter, by at least a few inches. No more than two. His tank top hung barely over his shorts’ hem, and his shorts rode up on his hamstrings just a little higher. “Did you get what you needed?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead, cracking his neck before bending to meet the doll-like scientist in the eyes, amused by the now-comical size difference between them. “I can’t believe I just lifted that whole thing,” he continued, walking over and gawking at the massive hole he’d left behind, exposing walls of dirt and rock and crust — and what looked like a fragment of bone peeking out at the very bottom. “Jesus.” Jolias appeared next to him and joined him in his inspection of the pit. “Christ,” he added. “I can’t believe you just plucked that boulder out of the ground.” “Welcome to the club,” Max said. Behind them, Dr. Alice cleared her throat. “Well, I think we’ve all gotten what we came here for, yes?” She waited until she had both men’s attention. “Shall we head to dinner? I still have much to study,” she said, lifting the vial towards the last few minutes of sunlight over the sea. “Incroyable…” With a nod, Jolias gripped Max’s wrist, unable to fully wrap his hand around it, and prompted him to start walking. It was amusing to realize that Jolias acknowledged the fact that he could no longer drag him around like a pet. Max had outgrown his habits. But Max refused to outgrow him. At that moment, Max was overcome by a conflicting sense of dread and boundless thrill. He couldn’t wait to see what she had in store for him. An answer, maybe. An explanation? Perhaps. More growth? Only time could tell. And it was ticking. He wasn’t about to waste another second of it idling on a hill when his best friend and the doctor were already making good distance. And the villagers’ murmuring was already audible in their approach. He didn’t want to be caught. Though he knew it was obvious from the sight of it who the culprit was. Jolias looked back and smirked. “Hurry up, fatass!” he yelled. Max tripped on his sandals, rushing to follow them, legs still aching from his little exercise. “Wait for me!” 12 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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