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Weird, But Sweet (Complete Story, 1/18/23, Bonus Material added 1/25/23)


TQuintA

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Chapter 14

            With one last violent convulsion, I was thrown clear of Mason’s body, tumbling to the floor.  All I could do was watch whatever was going to happen to him.

            I noticed it first in his feet.  They thickened.  I don’t know how else to word it because they didn’t seem to get proportionately longer or wider.  Just thicker.

            The thickening spread up his legs, and by the time it hit his calves, I knew what was happening.  He was getting more muscular.

            His calves ballooned out into hard balls of beef, far thicker than I’d ever seen them.  Not just bigger than I’d seen on Mason; bigger than I’d seen on any person.  His calves were so thick, they looked like they were bursting from his legs in a diamond-hard heart shape, like they were trying to explode off his skeleton.  I wondered if I could even get both my hands around them.

            The growth continued upwards, turning his quads into absolute monsters.  They were already big—we never skipped leg day—but they burgeoned into flesh so meaty and striated that Mason had to readjust his stance just to make room for his mass.  Even just standing relaxed, his legs bulged out so far that they pressed into each other.  And the fibers of his muscles looked strong enough to support a suspension bridge.

            As the growth moved upwards, his hips and thighs took on a strange quality—and that’s when I realized that his ass had grown so massive I could see it from the front.  I scurried around—still on the floor—to get a better look, and his ass was mighty.  Large, powerful, jutting magnificently from his legs defying gravity with its roundness, heft, and brawn.  As if drawn my magnets, my hands moved to his ass, and I was rewarded by the hardest, firmest human flesh I’d ever had the pleasure of feeling.  His lower-half was monstrous.

            A small cry from Mason had me crawl back around to the front, and I saw what caused him to make that noise.  His abs were growing thicker and more powerful, but his waist was barely getting bigger at all.  He had bulging, powerful abs with deep separations between each muscle, his Adonis belt was severe and etched, but his waist was impossibly tight and narrow.  Even through the fur along his abs, a network of veins was forced to the surface, and his navel looked like it was closing in on itself as his skin shrank around the outwardly expanding muscles.  I got up to my knees so I could feel his abs, and as he breathed in and out, I could feel the muscles tense and relax, flex and release.  Even at their most relaxed, they were a brick wall.  At their firmest, steel.

            I stood up to more intimately appreciate his growing physique, tracing his abs and waist with my fingers as I walked around him.  I was just in time to see the muscles of his upper back visibly enlarge, bulging with an incredible amount of mass, his lats broadening into wings of might, further highlighting how small his waist was.  I put my hand on the closest lat, and found it hard and unrelenting.

            I continued my trip around his body to see his pecs surge with brawn.  They blossomed outwards into two large mounds of flesh, growing larger into a shelf, then a cliff.  Each pec was as big as my head, and the fibers were thick and discernible, the division between them grew dark and severe as his pecs crashed into each other in their growth. 

            I ran my hands along their hairy surfaces, teasing his nipples, which were swollen and beginning to point downward.  As I did, his shoulders began broadening, the valleys created by his powerful chest and increasing traps become chasms into which lakes could accumulate.  His neck widened and intensified, taking up some of that real estate.

            I wanted to lick his burly neck, but my eyes were instead intrigued by the movement in his arms.  His biceps had swollen into peaks so high that, even unflexed, they were competing for space with his pecs and lats.  His triceps swung out in the other direction, making him even wider than he already was.  His biceps had grown to an inhuman circumference, more like a leg than an arm, and a bodybuilder’s leg at that.  The vein that rose to prominence down the center of his bicep pushed the growth down his arm, his forearms flourishing into sturdy power, with a burliness again of some men’s legs.  His hands grew meatier too.  Like his feet, they didn’t get longer or bigger, just thicker and brawnier.

            I took a step back to take all of him in when I noticed that his face had changed somewhat too. His brow was more prominent, his cheekbones more pronounced, the hollows of his cheeks more concave, his jaw thicker, his chin broader.  It gave him a somewhat more rugged appearance.  Only his floofy hair, hipster mustache, and kind eyes betrayed the loving, gentle heart that beat beneath.

            Mason winced slightly, and I immediately saw why.  His impossibly muscular quads were squashing his balls, which had begun their own growth journey.  They swelled and churned larger, from the size of eggs to kiwifruit.  His cock too thickened and lengthened, the girth growing as the cock reeled out flesh to keep up with the size of his nuts.

            When it looked like the growth had stopped, Mason’s body hair began to grow denser.  His treasure trail spread out in all directions and darkened.  The hair on his hands, arms, legs, and feet grew heavier and thicker.  His pubes coarsened and spread.  He lifted his arm reflexively as his armpit hair tendrilled out, and I got a peek at his deep, cavernous armpit, surrounded on all sides by thick muscle and fur.  The carpet on his chest swirled outwards, thick enough now to grasp by the handful.  Even his stubble turned a few hues darker as more follicles sprang to life.  He still had his curling mustache and designer stubble, but it had intensified.

            When all of Mason’s changes stopped, I stood there, marveling.

            “What the fuck was that?!” Zack thundered.  “I thought Mason was going to die, and then he just exploded with muscles!  What the fuck?!”  His face was red from screaming.

            I shushed Zack.  “Witchcraft,” I reminded him.  “Witchcraft is real.  This was witchcraft.  Now, talk at a reasonable volume so no one comes into the locker room.”

            “Witchcraft is real,” Zack repeated, winded.  He fell to his knees in awe and surrender, then after a moment of silent reflection said, “Maybe tarot cards are real.”

            Leaving Zack to his crisis, I returned my attention to Mason. 

            Mason looked at himself in bewilderment.  “I know why Dalton would curse me, but why would he do this?” His voice was even deeper, more resonant—richer and sexier. 

            “That was the same curse,” I clarified.  “Kinda.  It’s complicated.  This is and isn’t a new curse.” 

            Mason continued to look down at his own body, taking it in.  When he saw just how prominently his chest jutted outwards, he began feeling himself up saying, in his deeper bass voice, “Look at those.”

            “I am,” I assured him.

            “Same curse?”  Zack asked in confusion, rising back to his feet and drawing our attention back to the matter at hand.

            “My Gramps cursed him,” I clarified.  “That’s how he got buff in the first place.”

            Mason spoke up, still feeling the heft and size of his pecs.  “Is and isn’t?” he asked, finally catching on to my word choice.  “Is this just part two of the same curse?  Or the same curse all over again?”

            “Not exactly,” I said, corralling him to the scales.  He wobbled a little bit as he swung his legs around each other, unused to his Herculean size.  “Last time, you put on 65 pounds.  Just looking at you, I can tell this is more than 65 pounds.”  He stood on the scale, confirming my suspicion.

            “Over 300,” he announced in hushed awe.  The scale kept ratcheting between 302 and 308, mostly because Mason wasn’t standing still.  In his defense, he had trouble looking over his protruding pecs while fitting both behemoth legs on the scale at the same time, especially with that cock and balls vying for space between them.

            “Also,” I said, pointing as his cock, “last time this only grew 3 inches.  I’m thinking 4 or 5 inches this time.”

            “Holy fuck!” Zack said.  Then covered his mouth to stop himself from screaming.

            “My sentiments exactly,” I agreed.  “We’ll measure it at full mast when we’re alone.”

            Mason backed off the scales, his arms out to the side to maintain his balance.  He no longer seemed charmed by his new body.  The full implications of his transformation were hitting him, and an edge of fear returned to his voice.  “How do we get the curse off me?” Mason asked.  “I don’t want to live with a curse hanging over me.  You said I could die, Roy.”

            “I don’t think you’re still cursed,” I said.  “Can I check?”

            “You can check?”  Mason fumed in a whispered scream.  “Why didn’t you do that last time?”

            “Because, if you’re cursed, it’s not going to be… pleasant,” I said, underselling just how horrible it was.  “You guys okay if I check?”

            They nodded, but their faces showed concern.

            I filled a sink with water.  Once it was full, I steeled myself.  I hated checking for curses.  I just fucking hated it.  But it had to be done.

            I held an egg on Mason’s head and said a different counter-curse.  Then, I cracked it into the water.  The yolk floated on the top for a while, then sank to the bottom.  After a minute, the yolk popped out of the water into the air, spinning, and splashed back into the sink.  I sighed in relief.

            “The yolk just jumped out of the water,” Zack said, pointing at the sink.

            “That’s a good thing,” I assured him.  “But it also makes no sense, though, because there’s definitely a curse happening.  Likely, it’s one called Pure Spite.”  I paused for a second to think.  “Maybe Dalton cursed me?” I said.  After a few quick breaths to psych myself up, I picked up another egg, said the counter-curse while holding it to my head, and cracked it into the sink.  The yolk floated for a second, then sank to the bottom.  After a few seconds, it too popped out of the water, spun, and fell back in.

            “That one did the same thing,” Zack said.  “That’s good, right?”

            “Yes,” I said, turning back around.  “If either of us was cursed before, we’re not cursed now.  For definite.”

            Mason stumbled over to the sink, still adjusting to his mass, his pecs bounding under their own gravity, his legs colliding into each other.  He poked the yolks in the sink.  “What would have happened if one of us was cursed?”

            “Well, then the…” I stopped dead and let the water out of the sink.  “No.  I’m going to spare you from the answer.  You’ll be much happier not knowing.  Trust me.”

            Zack backed away for a bit.  “Trust you?”  He practically laughed.  “After everything I’ve seen in the last fifteen minutes, I’m this close to worshipping you as a god.”

            Ignoring Zack, I went into problem-solving mode.  “We have to get you home,” I said to Mason.  “I don’t know what our next step is, but I need time to think, and any second now some hapless guy is going to blunder into this locker room.  And since Mason’s made friends with everyone in the building, they’ll notice that he’s put on 100 pounds of beef.  Once we’re home, I’ll have some time to think.”

            “How am I going to leave this room?  I don’t have clothes big enough to fit me.”  Mason pointed out.

            I grabbed an unused towel from the shelves and wrapped it around Mason’s midriff.  Between his ass and his thighs, the towel wasn’t big enough to encircle everything, but at least his junk was covered.  Unless he got a stiffy.

            “Do you feel covered enough to make a run for it?” I asked.

            “Are you kidding?” Mason retorted.  “Assuming I don’t trip over these giant things,” he said, striking his thighs, “in three steps, I’ll flash everyone everything!”

            Zack added, “And even if he doesn’t, they’ll still notice hulk-Mason running through the gym.”

            I turned to Zack.  “Do you think Mason will fit in the back seat of your tiny sports car?”

            “Sure.  No problem.”

            “Once we get him in your car, you drive us to the bakery.”  I turned to Mason, “Take the towel with you.  Wear it in your lap like a blanket.”  Back to Zack, “Park in the alley behind the bakery.”  Back to Mason.  “You can sneak up to the apartment as covered as possible without anyone seeing you.”

            “Zack’s car isn’t in this locker room,” Mason said, frustrated.

            I continued my instructions to Zack.  “Move your car around back behind the emergency exit at the rear of the building.  Leave it running, but come back inside once it’s in position.”

            “On it,” he said and raced out of the locker room.

            “Okay,” Mason said.  “The emergency exit is closer than the front door, but how are we going to get me from the locker room to the emergency exit?”

            “I’ll improvise a distraction,” I said.

            “When I open the emergency exit, the alarm will go off automatically,” Mason pointed out.

            “Then I’ll improvise two distractions,” I corrected.

            While we waited for Zack to return, I peeked out of the locker room to look for anything to use as cover for Mason’s exit.  When I saw a large rack of weights near the reception desk up front, inspiration hit me.

            After Zack came back into the locker room, I had us all stand in position just inside the door.  “When everyone looks up, run Mason out the emergency exit.”

            “Up?” Zack asked.

            “Up,” I repeated.  Finishing my directions, I said, “Once you’re both in the car, burn rubber.  Even if I’m not in the car, leave without me.  I’ll jog home.”

            “Got it,” Zack said.  “Before we leave, I have to say, this has been the most fun and terrifying night out I’ve ever had.”

            I opened the locker room door and focused on the rack of weights I’d picked earlier.  Staring at it intently, I cursed it, trying to make it double in size.  Of course, with my crappy cursing skills, it didn’t double in size.

            It rose in the air, turned upside, and threw itself to the ceiling, sticking there.

            Loudly.

            At the sight and sounds of hundreds of pounds of iron careening towards the ceiling, the few people who’d been near it spread out, giving it a lot of space.  Almost everyone was staring and pointing.  To get everyone staring, I cursed the rack again.  I pointed at it sharply, trying to make it come back down to the floor.  Instead, with an obstreperous, clanging bang, it doubled in size.  As it expanded, it crashed into the overhead lighting on either side, exploding in a shower of short-lived sparks, scraps of metal, and shards of glass.

            Everyone was staring.

            Even Zack.

            I pushed Zack and Mason towards the emergency exit.

            Mason momentarily got stuck in the locker room door, but only because he was still trying to walk like a man 100 pounds smaller than he was.

            When Mason pushed on the emergency exit, the alarm went off, but at the exact same moment, the rack of weights dissolved into hundreds of gallons of water and crashed down as everyone stared at it.  Those in the splash zone got drenched.

            I followed Mason and Zack out to the car.

            When we were all in the car and driving back to the apartment, Zack said, “Did you just turn that rack of weights into water?”

            “After sticking it to the ceiling and doubling it in size,” I agreed.  “Thankfully, I didn’t electrocute anyone.  And with any luck, they’ll think the sprinkler system went off because a lighting fixture exploded.”

            “They saw a giant rack of weights float to the ceiling, grow huge, and then splash into water,” Zack said.  “They know exactly what they saw.”

            “But they didn’t see Mason,” I replied.

            “You are one powerful he-witch,” Zack said.

            “Actually, I suck.  A better witch would know what’s happening to Mason.  A better witch could’ve gotten us out of there without doing thousands of dollars of property damage.  But I can only solve one problem at a time.”

            Mason, who’d said nothing this entire time, was still pale.

            “You okay, sweetness?” I asked.

            “I’ll be better when we get home.”

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Chapter 15

            We got back to the apartment without incident.  And, as we smuggled him up the staircase, I had a new perspective on just how huge he was.  All by himself, he practically took up a whole stair.  We used to both be able to fit on the same step, and that was no longer the case.  He was just too big.

            Once Mason was inside the apartment, he raced into the bedroom.  “Where are your biggest pair of underwear?”

            “Bottom drawer,” I called out.  Zack had come upstairs with us in case, he said, we needed him to run for something, but I think he just wanted to stick around in case more witch stuff happened.

            Mason came back into the living room in a pair of white boxer briefs stretched so incredibly tight that if he sat too quickly, the ass would blow right out of them.  They were so tight that I could see the shape and outline of his cock, even count the hairs on his giant ball sack.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him the boxers were an old pair of Dalton’s.  Then it hit me that Dalton’s underwear was scandalously small on him.  God, Mason was huge.

            “You’d kill at a wet undies contest,” Zack said.

            “We don’t do strip clubs,” Mason said.  With his deeper voice, it sounded commanding, authoritative, not just a statement of fact.

            “You might want to rethink that,” Zack responded.  Tu es un mec canon.”

            As Mason and Zack spoke, I just stared at Mason.  He was massive.  Just standing there, breathing, his chest heaving up and down mightily, his arms swollen and hanging at on odd angle, too huge to lay flat against his sides, his wide, powerful lats not helping anything.  And overfilling Dalton’s tight, tight shorts.

            Before I knew what I was doing, my hands were groping his ass, trying to squeeze his flesh, but met with the hardest, steeliest resistance.  Even through the underwear, his ass cheeks were warm and alive, vital, and larger than any ass I’d had in my hands.

            “Um, Roy?” Mason said, trying to look over his massive shoulder at me.  “Can you save that for later, honey?”  Hearing him call me “honey” in that deeper register sent a tingle down my spine.

            “I promise you nothing,” I said, releasing his ass.  “You are the hottest fucking stud I have ever seen, and I thought that before you tripled in size.”

            “More like doubled,” Mason corrected.

            “If you think that’s going to pour cold water on my horniness, think again,” I said.

            “There’ll be time for sexy stuff later,” Mason assured me.  “For now, we have to solve our problem.  What’s our next step?”

            Before I could stop myself, I said, “I’ll start by licking every inch of your body.  Then, I’ll feel these mighty muscles writhe in ecstasy as I shove my…”

            “Roy!” Mason chided, turning to face me.  His muscles heaved and rolled around each other as he did.  “Not in front of company.”  I absolutely loved how he gave me commands in his bass voice.

            Wait, company?  Right.  Zack was there.  “Sorry, Zack,” I said.

            “Are you kidding?” Zack replied, clearly unbothered.  “If Sammy looked like this, I’d have a permanently sprained dick and a prolapsed asshole.”

            “What’s our next step?” Mason repeated out of practicality, trying to redirect the conversation.

            “Kick Zack out and go to town on each other?” I tried.

            “Take this seriously,” Mason said.

            “Fine,” I surrendered.  “I can’t call Gramps, but I’m out of my depths.  I need the help of a more talented witch,” I said.

            “Melody,” Zack suggested.

            “Yes!” I said, pulling out my phone to text her.

            “Melody?” Mason asked.

            “She runs a coven in town.  Zack forced me to text her earlier.”

            “And aren’t you glad I did?” he said, smiling smarmily.

            “Wait,” I said, stopping myself.  “I haven’t vetted her yet.”

            “Vetted?” Mason asked.

            “She’s throwing a potluck,” I said.  “I was going to check it out and see if she was a real witch.”

            “Are there fake witches?” Mason asked.

            “Are there fake witches?” I repeated incredulously.  “You know the type. Has The Craft memorized, but has never cast a real spell?  Has a fully stocked spice rack, but has never prayed to the moon or danced naked in a forest at midnight?  Is really into Stevie Nicks and owns a bunch of scented candles?”

            “You’ve danced naked in the forest at midnight?” Zack asked.

            “How else would I welcome the solstice?” I responded nonchalantly.  “If we lived closer to a desert, I’d welcome the equinox too.”

            “What’s wrong with scented candles?” Mason asked.

            “Nothing,” I said. “But if you try to cast a spell with one, you’re gonna get snow.  Doesn’t matter how hot it is—snow.”

            “We need help, right?” Zack pointed out.  “So, vet her.”

            “How?” I asked.  “It’s not like there’s a membership card or password or secret handshake.  I was going to go to the potluck and feel things out subtly and organically.”

            “We don’t have time for subtle,” Zack announced and grabbed my phone.  He read what he was texting as he typed it.  “Witch crisis!  Need test you.  How welcome equinox?  How break curse?  Scented candle spell?”

            Not even thirty seconds later, Melody texted back.  It was a string of numbers and emojis. 

1💃🌵2🥚🥤3☃️

            “Text her the address,” I said.  As Zack texted Melody, I looked over at Mason to reassure him that another witch could help.  Instead, I was struck by Mason’s beauty.  I’d been so besotted with his pecs and his arms and his ass and his ass and his ass and his ass, that I hadn’t even really taken in his face.  I’d seen the changes, but I hadn’t really looked.  He was still my Mason.  He still had the floofy hair, the ridiculous but sexy mustache that curled up at both ends, the ever-present stubble.  But his face was magnified.  His cheekbones, his eyebrows, and especially his chin—he somehow looked more rugged and more beautiful, but he was still my Mason.  I could still see him in there, which made me happy in a way I couldn’t really explain.

            “Earth to Roy,” Mason said, waving his burly mitt in front of my face.

            “Sorry, I lost myself in your beauty,” I admitted.

            “You were staring at my face,” Mason said, slightly flattered.  “Not my muscles or my ass.”  He demurely smiled—if a mountain of muscle could be said to do anything demurely.

            I felt my lips curl into a half-smile.  “Your face always has been my favorite part.”  I snapped myself back into focus.  “You might want to hide in the bedroom before Melody comes and sees you.”

            “Too late,” a voice said from the door to the apartment.  “The front door was open, so I let myself in.”

            Melody was an older woman, likely in her early 60s, with streaks of grey at her temples, her hair thinning a little.  She had kind brown eyes and wore absolutely no makeup.  Her vibe said “former soccer mom” or “cool grandma” more so than “practicing witch.”

            I looked to Zack, “Was I staring at Mason for half an hour or did she teleport?”

            “Neither,” Melody said.  “I live four houses down.”

            “Yeah,” Mason said.  “This is Melody Janikowski.  She and her wife Meredith own the secondhand shop where I get most of my t-shirts.  She holds the neighborhood barbecues every summer.”  He stood there, unbelieving.

            “I buy my clothes online, and I don’t go to the neighborhood barbecues,” I said.  “How would I know who she is?” 

            “Because I live four houses down, Roy,” she said with an edge of exasperation.  “I see you all the time.  You’ve made the whole neighborhood smell delicious since you moved in.  I had no idea Roy Whitaker was one of us.”  She looked over at Mason.  “Guess you won’t fit any of the stuff we have anymore.”

            “Guess not,” he shrugged.

            She looked back at me.  “Are you the warlock who’s responsible for this?”  She showed me her phone, and there was a string of social media posts about the floating/melting weight rack and exploding light fixture.

            “He’s a he-witch,” Mason corrected.

            “He-witch?” Melody asked with a tone of recognition.  “You’re Lucian Morrow’s grandson.”

            “I am,” I said.  “You know Gramps?”
            “Only by reputation.  I never met him.  But, I knew Elspeth and Katherine.”

            “Elspeth and Katherine?” Zack asked.

            “My grandmother and mother,” I clarified.  A witch who knew my mother and grandmother lived four houses down from me for the past two years, and I didn’t know.

            Melody continued, “They’d occasionally come to our coven meetings, especially Elspeth.  Katherine died before I got to know her that well, and then Elspeth a few years after.  Elspeth was a lovely woman.  She was besotted with you.  She showed the coven a thousand baby pictures.  I’d forgotten your name was Roy.”

            Then, I asked, practically accusing, “There’s a coven in town, and Gramps never took me to a meeting?”

            Melody explained, “Our coven’s more about spells of healing and white magic, nurturing our inner lights.  We’ll cast a curse if we need to, but only when backed into a corner.”

            “Yeah, that’s not really Gramps’s speed,” I acknowledged.

            “Tell me,” she pointed to her phone, “Did you do this, he-witch?”

            “I did.  We had to sneak Mason out of the gym, and he was too big for any of his clothes, so I did it as a distraction.”

            “Why water?” she asked.

            “That was an accident.  I’m not a very good he-witch.  I was just trying to double it in size and float it around a bit.”

            “Don’t demean your skills.  It takes some real power to do something like this.  You just need to work on your proficiency.”  Then, something clicked in her mind.  “Water?”  She nodded knowingly.  “You pointed at it.”

            It hit me like the obvious answer it was.  “Of course!  I pointed at it.  That would do it.”  I turned to Mason and said, “I can make all your shirts big enough to fit you again,” and beamed widely.

            “No offense,” Mason said, “but can she make my shirts bigger?”

            Melody tutted with her tongue.  “I’m sure your husband…”

            I cut her off.  “No, no.  He has a point.  If it doesn’t involve an egg, I’m not to be trusted.”

            “And he’s my fiancé,” Mason added.

            “If Elspeth had brought you up, you’d be a perfectly serviceable he-witch,” Melody said politely.  “From what I see in this video, you’ve definitely got the power.  And your pedigree is impressive.”

            “Pedigree?” Zack asked.

            “Being a witch is genetic,” I explained.  “Both my grandparents were witches; my mother was a witch too.  And, according to Gramps, my father was Satan, but that was just Gramps being colorful.”

            “Wait,” Zack sounded disappointed.  “I can’t practice witchcraft and learn magic?”

            “Unless it’s in your blood, there’s only a handful of magic things you can do.  Hell, I’d probably be a better witch if my father had also been a he-witch.”

            “You only need one great-grandparent to be a witch,” Melody said.  “You’re a full witch, Roy—you have more witch ancestors than I do.  The rest is just practice and learning.  I can teach you if you want.  I doubt I’ll make you an expert, but a man of your obvious innate talent should have a few more skills.”  She turned to Mason, “And in the meantime, I can make your shirts bigger, but I have a better idea.  On top of that, I can even put a glamour on you so people don’t notice your size increase.”

            Mason looked down at his feet, or he would have been if his gigantic chest wasn’t in the way.  Regardless, he was overtly looking down to not make eye contact, a slight blush coming to his cheeks.

            “He has a favor he’s embarrassed to ask,” I said, interpreting Mason’s all-too-familiar body language.  “Just say it.  We’re past the point of embarrassment.”

            “I want people to notice I’m bigger,” he said with a sigh.  “I like the attention I’ve gotten from becoming a stud like Roy.  I can only imagine what the attention will be like for becoming beyond huge.”  He paused for a second.  “I just don’t want to be dissected my medical science.”

            “Easily managed,” Melody said.  She turned to me and said, “I could even make the people at the gym forget what they saw.  But that would include this guy,” she pointed her thumb at Zack.  “Because you’re not a warlock, right?” she added.

            “No, not a witch, not a he-witch, not a warlock,” Zack said.  “But I’d very much like to keep my memories.”

            “He wasn’t in the gym.  He was in the locker room,” I pointed out.

            She smiled, inspired.  “I can work with that,” she said.  With that, she went into the bedroom with Mason.

            “Thanks,” Zack said.  “I like being in on the know.”

            “You’ve earned your stripes,” I reassured him.

            Zack lit up with pride, then said, “I also don’t want to lose the memory of Mason getting ultra-buff, or the weight rack floating and doubling in size.”

            “Or it turning into water,” I added.

            “When did it turn into water?” Zack asked.  “I’d remember if it had turned into water.”

            What was he on about?  He saw that happen.  Then, I understood.  “Oh yeah!  You were in the gym for that bit.  You’ve forgotten already?  Melody doesn’t waste time.”

            “You turned a weight rack into water?” Zack asked, beyond impressed.

            “Not exactly on purpose,” I admitted.

            It couldn’t have been two minutes later when Melody came out of the bedroom.  “I gave him a semi-permeable glamour.  People will notice he’s put on mass, and put it on quickly, but no one will think it was impossible.  Just impressive.  I also slapped on a general protection charm.  It won’t prevent him from choking or stop a speeding bus or anything like that, but it will make sure he doesn’t get cursed again.  It will also give you a head’s up if a ripple’s approaching.  And while I was at it, I took the liberty of unsticking your lamp from the ceiling.”

            “Thank you,” I said.  Damn, she was a fast worker!  “What do I owe you?”

            She shook her head.  “I’m not charging for this.  Consider it my gift to you.”

            Mason came out after her, strutting confidently.  He was wearing a fluorescent lime green t-shirt that said “Your Design Here”—his favorite shirt.  Only, it was magically big enough to fit him, clinging to every bulge and curve of his body.  It accentuated the width of his shoulders, the fullness of his pecs, the circumference of his biceps, the narrowness of his waist, and it hugged each and every separate ab.  This might come to be my favorite shirt.  His jeans similarly caressed each and every contour of his formidable size.  His thighs swept out, encased by the denim of his jeans, and while it looked like they were tight, they looked fashionably tight, not dangerously tight.  Even his obscenely bulging basket was prominent, but not threatening the zipper.  “She made it so any clothes I put on will conform to my body,” he said, showing me his engagement ring.  He bent over and touched his toes, exposing his magnificently mammoth ass, and though it stretched the fabric of his jeans, it did not rend or break.  He stood back up and said, “She said I could wear doll clothes!”  After a second, he said, “I’m buying some doll clothes tomorrow.”

            “Someone’s in a better mood,” I said.

            Mason nodded emphatically.  “I have a protection curse on me, all my clothes fit, and I’m a mountain of man-muscle.  Why wouldn’t I be in a better mood?”

            “It’s not a curse; it’s a charm,” Melody corrected.  “Not everything’s a curse.  The clothes thing?  That’s a boon,” she added, reminding Mason.  “If Roy here eggs you again, my spells won’t come off.  That only works on curses.”  Melody looked at me, “Now, what were you trying to do when you put this curse on him?”

            “I didn’t.  Gramps did.  Well, the first time.  I’m pretty sure Dalton cursed him the second time.”

            Another warlock?” Melody asked.

            “Pure Spite,” I said.

            “That’ll do it,” she agreed, looking over at Mason.

            Zack looked confused.  “Why would Dalton’s ‘Pure Spite’ make Mason more muscular?  That makes no sense.”

            I explained.  “Pure Spite is a rudimentary curse accidentally performed by non-witches.  When you’re hit with it, if you’ve been cursed before, it’ll just copy and paste the last curse ever inflicted.  Maybe a few smudges around the edges out of blind rage.”

            “And if you haven’t been cursed before?” Zack asked.

            I began listing the results on my fingers: “Vomiting, a nosebleed, a blinding headache that lasts a few days, and I hope you don’t need to do any driving for at least a week.  Things like that.”

            Melody was still looking Mason up and down.  “Are you sure he’s not still cursed?  I’ve heard Pure Spite is a bitch to get rid of.  Not egg-proof, but egg-resistant.”

            I reassured everyone.  “I may not be that skilled at casting curses, but, thanks to Gramps, I know all about them.  If Dalton had half a clue what he was doing, the worst Pure Spite could do is seizures and the mother of all migraines.”

            “I’ve never dealt with Pure Spite,” Melody admitted.  “Are you really sure?”

            “I’m sure,” I repeated.  “I did the egg test.”

            “You did the egg test in front of non-witches?” she asked.  “Weren’t you scared?”

            “I was out of ideas,” I confessed.

            “While we were in the bedroom together, Mason said he was convinced the curse isn’t over, that it’s still acting on him,” she said. 

            “That’s correct,” I confirmed.  “That is what he thinks.  He’s new to witchcraft.  He’s wrong.”

            “Since he was cursed twice, are you sure you got rid of Lucian’s curse?  If you aren’t, Mason could get so hugely muscular he just explodes.  And he would’ve been an immobile blob of man long before that.”

            I quickly looked over at Mason.  He was still playing with his clothes, so maybe he hadn’t heard her expound the worst case scenario.

            “How could he still be cursed?”  I was getting frustrated.  “The egg test came back negative, and I took the curse off him—twice!” I insisted.  “It’s the one magic thing I do really well.” 

            “Because of your grandfather, I expect you know curses better than I do,” she confessed, sensing my frustration, “but could this be a perpetual curse?”  She seemed uncertain.  “Those can have rippling effects even after you take them off, right?”

            I shook my head.  “Pure Spite is simple and to the point, no bells or whistles.  It’s a real fucker, but straightforward.  A sledgehammer, not a scalpel.  And I don’t think Gramps is powerful enough to have done anything fancy like a perpetual curse.”

            She exhaled pointedly.  “Then we should call him to find out what the curse was in the first place.”

            “I agree we should call him,” Mason announced, “but we can’t.  He’s on a cruise, and he doesn’t own a cell phone.” He was still playing with his clothes, amused that they wouldn’t burst, even if he flexed both biceps and his chest all at once.  The fabric pulled as his muscles expanded, but it never gave.

            She looked at me pityingly.  “You can’t even…”

            I shushed her.  “Gramps is coming up on his 81st birthday,” I whispered loudly.

            She tilted her head, not picking up my cues until I said, “He had his 80th birthday a little while ago.” 

            Still no understanding.

            “A little over eight months ago,” I added.  I then made a face to wordlessly tell her, “Fill in the blanks.”

            “Oh!” she said, finally putting it together.  “Right.  We’ll have to wait until his ‘cruise’ is over.”  I could hear the air quotes around “cruise.”  We all could.

            “Gramps isn’t on a cruise, is he?” Mason asked, no longer amused by his clothes.  “I don’t like it when you lie to me, Roy.”  I knew that tone.  That was his I’m-not-angry-I’m-just-disappointed tone.

            I had to explain.  “I only lied because you didn’t know about witch stuff.  And once you did, we had more pressing matters.”  I raised my eyebrows in genuine contrition.  “Forgive me?”

            He crossed his arms, his bulging biceps fighting for space with his enlarged pecs, making it somewhat hard for him to do.  It was both intimidating and erotic.  “If you come clean now.”

            I sighed.  “Gramps isn’t on a cruise.  But I still can’t reach him for witch reasons.”

            “He really can’t,” Melody confirmed.

            “Why not?” Zack asked.

            “The answer won’t explain anything without a lot of background info,” I insisted.

            “Where is he?” Mason asked impatiently.

            “It’s his abjuration,” I said bluntly.

            “His what?” Zack asked.

            “Where is he?” Mason echoed.

            “See what I mean?  I answered honestly; it explained nothing.”

            “Okay,” Mason said.  “He’s on an abjuration, whatever that is.  Where is he doing it?”

            “At home.  Alone,” I confessed.

            “If he’s at home, we can call him,” Mason said.  I’ll call him.”

            “Please don’t,” I said.  “It’ll ruin everything.”

            “Ruin what?” 

            If Mason wanted details, he’d get details.  “Turning 80 is a big deal for witches.  Eight months, eight weeks, eight days, eight hours, eight minutes, and eight seconds after they’ve lived for eight decades, they have to be alone for a while.  They abjure all human company for an additional eight weeks, eight days, eight hours, eight minutes, and eight seconds.  If they do, they become eight times as powerful.  If they don’t, well…you only turn 80 once.”

            Mason and Zack stared at me.

            “It’s true,” Melody said.  “It’s a teensy bit more complicated than that, but it’s fundamentally true.”

            They continued staring.

            Then, after I thought they’d never talk again, Zack said, “It’s more complicated than that?”

            “It’s not always eight,” Melody and I said simultaneously.

            They stared at us again.

            “Like that’s the weirdest thing you’ve heard today,” I said defensively.  “This is why I just said ‘cruise.’”

            Rolling his eyes, Mason asked, “To be safe, let’s just assume this curse is perpetual.  Is there any way you could prevent this curse from ‘rippling’ without knowing what the original curse was?”

            “If the protection charm doesn’t work?  None that I can think of,” Melody said.

            “Then we have to call him,” Mason asserted.

            “If I call him, he’ll answer,” I said definitively.  “He’ll answer because he loves me, and he knows I wouldn’t call unless it was especially important.  I won’t ruin Gramps’s abjuration,” I said.

            “It’s been three weeks, and I’ve gotten bigger twice,” Mason reminded me, chastising me with his eyes.  “I was willing to roll the dice when I thought Gramps was unreachable.  But he’s reachable.  If we wait another five weeks… no, not just five weeks!  Over six.  If we wait that long… She used the words ‘immobile blob’ and ‘explode,’ Roy.”

            “I guess you were listening.”  I shook my head reassuringly.  “You can’t get cursed again; Melody saw to that.  You’re not cursed now; I saw to that.  We’re fine.”

            “You’re not the one who’s been cursed twice in one month,” Mason said, his tone getting a slight edge to it.

            “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were still scared,” I teased lightly.

            “I’m not scared anymore.”  It was a statement of fact, cool as a cucumber.  “I’m looking ahead.”

            “Don’t be so dramatic,” I said.  “I get it.  You’re new to witch stuff, and a lot of it’s scary.  But, you’re under a protection charm.  You’re fine.”

            Mason stared at me, his eyebrows raised, pressuring to call my Gramps.

            Exhaling loudly, I said, “Let’s give it another two weeks.  If nothing happens in two weeks, we don’t call him.  If you’re still feeling hinky in two weeks, I’ll call him, and ruin his abjuration.  If something even slightly cockeyed happens before then, I’ll call him immediately.”

            “You promise?” Mason asked.

            “I promise.”

            “Thank you,” Mason said, his tone genuinely thankful.

            “Do you trust me that you’re safe?” Melody asked.

            “If Roy says it, I trust it,” Mason relented.  “But, I’m just used to being extra careful.  If this,” he gestured to his massiveness, “is the end result of being cursed twice, thank you to both of my cursers.”  He smiled broadly, the smile I knew and loved.  “Now that we have a contingency plan, I’m fine.  I’m looking forward to going to the gym tomorrow.”

            “Thank you for everything,” I said to Melody.

            “It’s nothing, honestly,” she said.

            “Right, then,” I said.  “It’s past 8, and I want to fuck my fiancé silly before we go to sleep.”

            “Say no more,” Melody said, leaving abruptly.

            “Say more later,” Zack said.  “Everything he’ll let you.

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16 hours ago, TQuintA said:

Chapter 15

            We got back to the apartment without incident.  And, as we smuggled him up the staircase, I had a new perspective on just how huge he was.  All by himself, he practically took up a whole stair.  We used to both be able to fit on the same step, and that was no longer the case.  He was just too big.

            Once Mason was inside the apartment, he raced into the bedroom.  “Where are your biggest pair of underwear?”

            “Bottom drawer,” I called out.  Zack had come upstairs with us in case, he said, we needed him to run for something, but I think he just wanted to stick around in case more witch stuff happened.

            Mason came back into the living room in a pair of white boxer briefs stretched so incredibly tight that if he sat too quickly, the ass would blow right out of them.  They were so tight that I could see the shape and outline of his cock, even count the hairs on his giant ball sack.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him the boxers were an old pair of Dalton’s.  Then it hit me that Dalton’s underwear was scandalously small on him.  God, Mason was huge.

            “You’d kill at a wet undies contest,” Zack said.

            “We don’t do strip clubs,” Mason said.  With his deeper voice, it sounded commanding, authoritative, not just a statement of fact.

            “You might want to rethink that,” Zack responded.  Tu es un mec canon.”

            As Mason and Zack spoke, I just stared at Mason.  He was massive.  Just standing there, breathing, his chest heaving up and down mightily, his arms swollen and hanging at on odd angle, too huge to lay flat against his sides, his wide, powerful lats not helping anything.  And overfilling Dalton’s tight, tight shorts.

            Before I knew what I was doing, my hands were groping his ass, trying to squeeze his flesh, but met with the hardest, steeliest resistance.  Even through the underwear, his ass cheeks were warm and alive, vital, and larger than any ass I’d had in my hands.

            “Um, Roy?” Mason said, trying to look over his massive shoulder at me.  “Can you save that for later, honey?”  Hearing him call me “honey” in that deeper register sent a tingle down my spine.

            “I promise you nothing,” I said, releasing his ass.  “You are the hottest fucking stud I have ever seen, and I thought that before you tripled in size.”

            “More like doubled,” Mason corrected.

            “If you think that’s going to pour cold water on my horniness, think again,” I said.

            “There’ll be time for sexy stuff later,” Mason assured me.  “For now, we have to solve our problem.  What’s our next step?”

            Before I could stop myself, I said, “I’ll start by licking every inch of your body.  Then, I’ll feel these mighty muscles writhe in ecstasy as I shove my…”

            “Roy!” Mason chided, turning to face me.  His muscles heaved and rolled around each other as he did.  “Not in front of company.”  I absolutely loved how he gave me commands in his bass voice.

            Wait, company?  Right.  Zack was there.  “Sorry, Zack,” I said.

            “Are you kidding?” Zack replied, clearly unbothered.  “If Sammy looked like this, I’d have a permanently sprained dick and a prolapsed asshole.”

            “What’s our next step?” Mason repeated out of practicality, trying to redirect the conversation.

            “Kick Zack out and go to town on each other?” I tried.

            “Take this seriously,” Mason said.

            “Fine,” I surrendered.  “I can’t call Gramps, but I’m out of my depths.  I need the help of a more talented witch,” I said.

            “Melody,” Zack suggested.

            “Yes!” I said, pulling out my phone to text her.

            “Melody?” Mason asked.

            “She runs a coven in town.  Zack forced me to text her earlier.”

            “And aren’t you glad I did?” he said, smiling smarmily.

            “Wait,” I said, stopping myself.  “I haven’t vetted her yet.”

            “Vetted?” Mason asked.

            “She’s throwing a potluck,” I said.  “I was going to check it out and see if she was a real witch.”

            “Are there fake witches?” Mason asked.

            “Are there fake witches?” I repeated incredulously.  “You know the type. Has The Craft memorized, but has never cast a real spell?  Has a fully stocked spice rack, but has never prayed to the moon or danced naked in a forest at midnight?  Is really into Stevie Nicks and owns a bunch of scented candles?”

            “You’ve danced naked in the forest at midnight?” Zack asked.

            “How else would I welcome the solstice?” I responded nonchalantly.  “If we lived closer to a desert, I’d welcome the equinox too.”

            “What’s wrong with scented candles?” Mason asked.

            “Nothing,” I said. “But if you try to cast a spell with one, you’re gonna get snow.  Doesn’t matter how hot it is—snow.”

            “We need help, right?” Zack pointed out.  “So, vet her.”

            “How?” I asked.  “It’s not like there’s a membership card or password or secret handshake.  I was going to go to the potluck and feel things out subtly and organically.”

            “We don’t have time for subtle,” Zack announced and grabbed my phone.  He read what he was texting as he typed it.  “Witch crisis!  Need test you.  How welcome equinox?  How break curse?  Scented candle spell?”

            Not even thirty seconds later, Melody texted back.  It was a string of numbers and emojis. 

1💃🌵2🥚🥤3☃️

            “Text her the address,” I said.  As Zack texted Melody, I looked over at Mason to reassure him that another witch could help.  Instead, I was struck by Mason’s beauty.  I’d been so besotted with his pecs and his arms and his ass and his ass and his ass and his ass, that I hadn’t even really taken in his face.  I’d seen the changes, but I hadn’t really looked.  He was still my Mason.  He still had the floofy hair, the ridiculous but sexy mustache that curled up at both ends, the ever-present stubble.  But his face was magnified.  His cheekbones, his eyebrows, and especially his chin—he somehow looked more rugged and more beautiful, but he was still my Mason.  I could still see him in there, which made me happy in a way I couldn’t really explain.

            “Earth to Roy,” Mason said, waving his burly mitt in front of my face.

            “Sorry, I lost myself in your beauty,” I admitted.

            “You were staring at my face,” Mason said, slightly flattered.  “Not my muscles or my ass.”  He demurely smiled—if a mountain of muscle could be said to do anything demurely.

            I felt my lips curl into a half-smile.  “Your face always has been my favorite part.”  I snapped myself back into focus.  “You might want to hide in the bedroom before Melody comes and sees you.”

            “Too late,” a voice said from the door to the apartment.  “The front door was open, so I let myself in.”

            Melody was an older woman, likely in her early 60s, with streaks of grey at her temples, her hair thinning a little.  She had kind brown eyes and wore absolutely no makeup.  Her vibe said “former soccer mom” or “cool grandma” more so than “practicing witch.”

            I looked to Zack, “Was I staring at Mason for half an hour or did she teleport?”

            “Neither,” Melody said.  “I live four houses down.”

            “Yeah,” Mason said.  “This is Melody Janikowski.  She and her wife Meredith own the secondhand shop where I get most of my t-shirts.  She holds the neighborhood barbecues every summer.”  He stood there, unbelieving.

            “I buy my clothes online, and I don’t go to the neighborhood barbecues,” I said.  “How would I know who she is?” 

            “Because I live four houses down, Roy,” she said with an edge of exasperation.  “I see you all the time.  You’ve made the whole neighborhood smell delicious since you moved in.  I had no idea Roy Whitaker was one of us.”  She looked over at Mason.  “Guess you won’t fit any of the stuff we have anymore.”

            “Guess not,” he shrugged.

            She looked back at me.  “Are you the warlock who’s responsible for this?”  She showed me her phone, and there was a string of social media posts about the floating/melting weight rack and exploding light fixture.

            “He’s a he-witch,” Mason corrected.

            “He-witch?” Melody asked with a tone of recognition.  “You’re Lucian Morrow’s grandson.”

            “I am,” I said.  “You know Gramps?”
            “Only by reputation.  I never met him.  But, I knew Elspeth and Katherine.”

            “Elspeth and Katherine?” Zack asked.

            “My grandmother and mother,” I clarified.  A witch who knew my mother and grandmother lived four houses down from me for the past two years, and I didn’t know.

            Melody continued, “They’d occasionally come to our coven meetings, especially Elspeth.  Katherine died before I got to know her that well, and then Elspeth a few years after.  Elspeth was a lovely woman.  She was besotted with you.  She showed the coven a thousand baby pictures.  I’d forgotten your name was Roy.”

            Then, I asked, practically accusing, “There’s a coven in town, and Gramps never took me to a meeting?”

            Melody explained, “Our coven’s more about spells of healing and white magic, nurturing our inner lights.  We’ll cast a curse if we need to, but only when backed into a corner.”

            “Yeah, that’s not really Gramps’s speed,” I acknowledged.

            “Tell me,” she pointed to her phone, “Did you do this, he-witch?”

            “I did.  We had to sneak Mason out of the gym, and he was too big for any of his clothes, so I did it as a distraction.”

            “Why water?” she asked.

            “That was an accident.  I’m not a very good he-witch.  I was just trying to double it in size and float it around a bit.”

            “Don’t demean your skills.  It takes some real power to do something like this.  You just need to work on your proficiency.”  Then, something clicked in her mind.  “Water?”  She nodded knowingly.  “You pointed at it.”

            It hit me like the obvious answer it was.  “Of course!  I pointed at it.  That would do it.”  I turned to Mason and said, “I can make all your shirts big enough to fit you again,” and beamed widely.

            “No offense,” Mason said, “but can she make my shirts bigger?”

            Melody tutted with her tongue.  “I’m sure your husband…”

            I cut her off.  “No, no.  He has a point.  If it doesn’t involve an egg, I’m not to be trusted.”

            “And he’s my fiancé,” Mason added.

            “If Elspeth had brought you up, you’d be a perfectly serviceable he-witch,” Melody said politely.  “From what I see in this video, you’ve definitely got the power.  And your pedigree is impressive.”

            “Pedigree?” Zack asked.

            “Being a witch is genetic,” I explained.  “Both my grandparents were witches; my mother was a witch too.  And, according to Gramps, my father was Satan, but that was just Gramps being colorful.”

            “Wait,” Zack sounded disappointed.  “I can’t practice witchcraft and learn magic?”

            “Unless it’s in your blood, there’s only a handful of magic things you can do.  Hell, I’d probably be a better witch if my father had also been a he-witch.”

            “You only need one great-grandparent to be a witch,” Melody said.  “You’re a full witch, Roy—you have more witch ancestors than I do.  The rest is just practice and learning.  I can teach you if you want.  I doubt I’ll make you an expert, but a man of your obvious innate talent should have a few more skills.”  She turned to Mason, “And in the meantime, I can make your shirts bigger, but I have a better idea.  On top of that, I can even put a glamour on you so people don’t notice your size increase.”

            Mason looked down at his feet, or he would have been if his gigantic chest wasn’t in the way.  Regardless, he was overtly looking down to not make eye contact, a slight blush coming to his cheeks.

            “He has a favor he’s embarrassed to ask,” I said, interpreting Mason’s all-too-familiar body language.  “Just say it.  We’re past the point of embarrassment.”

            “I want people to notice I’m bigger,” he said with a sigh.  “I like the attention I’ve gotten from becoming a stud like Roy.  I can only imagine what the attention will be like for becoming beyond huge.”  He paused for a second.  “I just don’t want to be dissected my medical science.”

            “Easily managed,” Melody said.  She turned to me and said, “I could even make the people at the gym forget what they saw.  But that would include this guy,” she pointed her thumb at Zack.  “Because you’re not a warlock, right?” she added.

            “No, not a witch, not a he-witch, not a warlock,” Zack said.  “But I’d very much like to keep my memories.”

            “He wasn’t in the gym.  He was in the locker room,” I pointed out.

            She smiled, inspired.  “I can work with that,” she said.  With that, she went into the bedroom with Gabriel.

            “Thanks,” Zack said.  “I like being in on the know.”

            “You’ve earned your stripes,” I reassured him.

            Zack lit up with pride, then said, “I also don’t want to lose the memory of Mason getting ultra-buff, or the weight rack floating and doubling in size.”

            “Or it turning into water,” I added.

            “When did it turn into water?” Zack asked.  “I’d remember if it had turned into water.”

            What was he on about?  He saw that happen.  Then, I understood.  “Oh yeah!  You were in the gym for that bit.  You’ve forgotten already?  Melody doesn’t waste time.”

            “You turned a weight rack into water?” Zack asked, beyond impressed.

            “Not exactly on purpose,” I admitted.

            It couldn’t have been two minutes later when Melody came out of the bedroom.  “I gave him a semi-permeable glamour.  People will notice he’s put on mass, and put it on quickly, but no one will think it was impossible.  Just impressive.  I also slapped on a general protection charm.  It won’t prevent him from choking or stop a speeding bus or anything like that, but it will make sure he doesn’t get cursed again.  It will also give you a head’s up if a ripple’s approaching.  And while I was at it, I took the liberty of unsticking your lamp from the ceiling.”

            “Thank you,” I said.  Damn, she was a fast worker!  “What do I owe you?”

            She shook her head.  “I’m not charging for this.  Consider it my gift to you.”

            Mason came out after her, strutting confidently.  He was wearing a fluorescent lime green t-shirt that said “Your Design Here”—his favorite shirt.  Only, it was magically big enough to fit him, clinging to every bulge and curve of his body.  It accentuated the width of his shoulders, the fullness of his pecs, the circumference of his biceps, the narrowness of his waist, and it hugged each and every separate ab.  This might come to be my favorite shirt.  His jeans similarly caressed each and every contour of his formidable size.  His thighs swept out, encased by the denim of his jeans, and while it looked like they were tight, they looked fashionably tight, not dangerously tight.  Even his obscenely bulging basket was prominent, but not threatening the zipper.  “She made it so any clothes I put on will conform to my body,” he said, showing me his engagement ring.  He bent over and touched his toes, exposing his magnificently mammoth ass, and though it stretched the fabric of his jeans, it did not rend or break.  He stood back up and said, “She said I could wear doll clothes!”  After a second, he said, “I’m buying some doll clothes tomorrow.”

            “Someone’s in a better mood,” I said.

            Mason nodded emphatically.  “I have a protection curse on me, all my clothes fit, and I’m a mountain of man-muscle.  Why wouldn’t I be in a better mood?”

            “It’s not a curse; it’s a charm,” Melody corrected.  “Not everything’s a curse.  The clothes thing?  That’s a boon,” she added, reminding Mason.  “If Roy here eggs you again, my spells won’t come off.  That only works on curses.”  Melody looked at me, “Now, what were you trying to do when you put this curse on him?”

            “I didn’t.  Gramps did.  Well, the first time.  I’m pretty sure Dalton cursed him the second time.”

            Another warlock?” Melody asked.

            “Pure Spite,” I said.

            “That’ll do it,” she agreed, looking over at Mason.

            Zack looked confused.  “Why would Dalton’s ‘Pure Spite’ make Mason more muscular?  That makes no sense.”

            I explained.  “Pure Spite is a rudimentary curse accidentally performed by non-witches.  When you’re hit with it, if you’ve been cursed before, it’ll just copy and paste the last curse ever inflicted.  Maybe a few smudges around the edges out of blind rage.”

            “And if you haven’t been cursed before?” Zack asked.

            I began listing the results on my fingers: “Vomiting, a nosebleed, a blinding headache that lasts a few days, and I hope you don’t need to do any driving for at least a week.  Things like that.”

            Melody was still looking Mason up and down.  “Are you sure he’s not still cursed?  I’ve heard Pure Spite is a bitch to get rid of.  Not egg-proof, but egg-resistant.”

            I reassured everyone.  “I may not be that skilled at casting curses, but, thanks to Gramps, I know all about them.  If Dalton had half a clue what he was doing, the worst Pure Spite could do is seizures and the mother of all migraines.”

            “I’ve never dealt with Pure Spite,” Melody admitted.  “Are you really sure?”

            “I’m sure,” I repeated.  “I did the egg test.”

            “You did the egg test in front of non-witches?” she asked.  “Weren’t you scared?”

            “I was out of ideas,” I confessed.

            “While we were in the bedroom together, Mason said he was convinced the curse isn’t over, that it’s still acting on him,” she said. 

            “That’s correct,” I confirmed.  “That is what he thinks.  He’s new to witchcraft.  He’s wrong.”

            “Since he was cursed twice, are you sure you got rid of Lucian’s curse?  If you aren’t, Mason could get so hugely muscular he just explodes.  And he would’ve been an immobile blob of man long before that.”

            I quickly looked over at Mason.  He was still playing with his clothes, so maybe he hadn’t heard her expound the worst case scenario.

            “How could he still be cursed?”  I was getting frustrated.  “The egg test came back negative, and I took the curse off him—twice!” I insisted.  “It’s the one magic thing I do really well.” 

            “Because of your grandfather, I expect you know curses better than I do,” she confessed, sensing my frustration, “but could this be a perpetual curse?”  She seemed uncertain.  “Those can have rippling effects even after you take them off, right?”

            I shook my head.  “Pure Spite is simple and to the point, no bells or whistles.  It’s a real fucker, but straightforward.  A sledgehammer, not a scalpel.  And I don’t think Gramps is powerful enough to have done anything fancy like a perpetual curse.”

            She exhaled pointedly.  “Then we should call him to find out what the curse was in the first place.”

            “I agree we should call him,” Mason announced, “but we can’t.  He’s on a cruise, and he doesn’t own a cell phone.” He was still playing with his clothes, amused that they wouldn’t burst, even if he flexed both biceps and his chest all at once.  The fabric pulled as his muscles expanded, but it never gave.

            She looked at me pityingly.  “You can’t even…”

            I shushed her.  “Gramps is coming up on his 81st birthday,” I whispered loudly.

            She tilted her head, not picking up my cues until I said, “He had his 80th birthday a little while ago.” 

            Still no understanding.

            “A little over eight months ago,” I added.  I then made a face to wordlessly tell her, “Fill in the blanks.”

            “Oh!” she said, finally putting it together.  “Right.  We’ll have to wait until his ‘cruise’ is over.”  I could hear the air quotes around “cruise.”  We all could.

            “Gramps isn’t on a cruise, is he?” Mason asked, no longer amused by his clothes.  “I don’t like it when you lie to me, Roy.”  I knew that tone.  That was his I’m-not-angry-I’m-just-disappointed tone.

            I had to explain.  “I only lied because you didn’t know about witch stuff.  And once you did, we had more pressing matters.”  I raised my eyebrows in genuine contrition.  “Forgive me?”

            He crossed his arms, his bulging biceps fighting for space with his enlarged pecs, making it somewhat hard for him to do.  It was both intimidating and erotic.  “If you come clean now.”

            I sighed.  “Gramps isn’t on a cruise.  But I still can’t reach him for witch reasons.”

            “He really can’t,” Melody confirmed.

            “Why not?” Zack asked.

            “The answer won’t explain anything without a lot of background info,” I insisted.

            “Where is he?” Mason asked impatiently.

            “It’s his abjuration,” I said bluntly.

            “His what?” Zack asked.

            “Where is he?” Mason echoed.

            “See what I mean?  I answered honestly; it explained nothing.”

            “Okay,” Mason said.  “He’s on an abjuration, whatever that is.  Where is he doing it?”

            “At home.  Alone,” I confessed.

            “If he’s at home, we can call him,” Mason said.  I’ll call him.”

            “Please don’t,” I said.  “It’ll ruin everything.”

            “Ruin what?” 

            If Mason wanted details, he’d get details.  “Turning 80 is a big deal for witches.  Eight months, eight weeks, eight days, eight hours, eight minutes, and eight seconds after they’ve lived for eight decades, they have to be alone for a while.  They abjure all human company for an additional eight weeks, eight days, eight hours, eight minutes, and eight seconds.  If they do, they become eight times as powerful.  If they don’t, well…you only turn 80 once.”

            Mason and Zack stared at me.

            “It’s true,” Melody said.  “It’s a teensy bit more complicated than that, but it’s fundamentally true.”

            They continued staring.

            Then, after I thought they’d never talk again, Zack said, “It’s more complicated than that?”

            “It’s not always eight,” Melody and I said simultaneously.

            They stared at us again.

            “Like that’s the weirdest thing you’ve heard today,” I said defensively.  “This is why I just said ‘cruise.’”

            Rolling his eyes, Mason asked, “To be safe, let’s just assume this curse is perpetual.  Is there any way you could prevent this curse from ‘rippling’ without knowing what the original curse was?”

            “If the protection charm doesn’t work?  None that I can think of,” Melody said.

            “Then we have to call him,” Mason asserted.

            “If I call him, he’ll answer,” I said definitively.  “He’ll answer because he loves me, and he knows I wouldn’t call unless it was especially important.  I won’t ruin Gramps’s abjuration,” I said.

            “It’s been three weeks, and I’ve gotten bigger twice,” Mason reminded me, chastising me with his eyes.  “I was willing to roll the dice when I thought Gramps was unreachable.  But he’s reachable.  If we wait another five weeks… no, not just five weeks!  Over six.  If we wait that long… She used the words ‘immobile blob’ and ‘explode,’ Roy.”

            “I guess you were listening.”  I shook my head reassuringly.  “You can’t get cursed again; Melody saw to that.  You’re not cursed now; I saw to that.  We’re fine.”

            “You’re not the one who’s been cursed twice in one month,” Mason said, his tone getting a slight edge to it.

            “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were still scared,” I teased lightly.

            “I’m not scared anymore.”  It was a statement of fact, cool as a cucumber.  “I’m looking ahead.”

            “Don’t be so dramatic,” I said.  “I get it.  You’re new to witch stuff, and a lot of it’s scary.  But, you’re under a protection charm.  You’re fine.”

            Mason stared at me, his eyebrows raised, pressuring to call my Gramps.

            Exhaling loudly, I said, “Let’s give it another two weeks.  If nothing happens in two weeks, we don’t call him.  If you’re still feeling hinky in two weeks, I’ll call him, and ruin his abjuration.  If something even slightly cockeyed happens before then, I’ll call him immediately.”

            “You promise?” Mason asked.

            “I promise.”

            “Thank you,” Mason said, his tone genuinely thankful.

            “Do you trust me that you’re safe?” Melody asked.

            “If Roy says it, I trust it,” Mason relented.  “But, I’m just used to being extra careful.  If this,” he gestured to his massiveness, “is the end result of being cursed twice, thank you to both of my cursers.”  He smiled broadly, the smile I knew and loved.  “Now that we have a contingency plan, I’m fine.  I’m looking forward to going to the gym tomorrow.”

            “Thank you for everything,” I said to Melody.

            “It’s nothing, honestly,” she said.

            “Right, then,” I said.  “It’s past 8, and I want to fuck my f

(Sorry for reposting the entire chapter; my phone isn't cooperating!)

Outstanding as always. As usual, you know how to push ALL of my buttons!

One continuity error:

She smiled, inspired.  “I can work with that,” she said.  With that, she went into the bedroom with Gabriel.

Looking forward to more more more!

 

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