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Self-Made Man (Chapter 3 added 9/21)


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[A/N: Sorry there's no growth yet aside from an imagine spot, but take a good look at the main tag - it's coming in due time. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!]

I plunk down the cash on the granite counter. “I want a year’s membership.” The man at the front desk (Colton, his name tag says) is surprised. I can see why; when you run a rust-bucket gym, you don’t exactly see people built like me there, let alone signing up.

“Uh, sure? Not sure why you didn’t say ‘hello’.”

“Small talk isn’t going to sell me on working out here. I made up my mind a while ago.” Months and months ago.

“Okay, just fill out this form and you can come back here.”

He gives me a bog-standard contract and a shitty 25 cent pen, the ink almost gone. Address. Payment method (taken care of). State ID. My parents wouldn’t let me even THINK about driving a car, but I at least have something. One that somehow makes my face look even rounder and more cherubic than it already is, and one with the shoulder-length hair they thought was “cute”. God, I hate that word. I save the name for last, get it all over with at once in case my ID wasn’t enough. Casey Anderson. Yep… that’s me.

I hand over the form, he presses a few keys, and we walk over to the free weights area. Not that it’s far. You can count the cardio machines on one hand, and the sole TV hasn’t been touched in almost a decade. Certainly explained Colton’s beer gut. I can walk faster than him, for fuck’s sake, and I’m almost half a foot shorter than him and even chubbier.

“You look you’re new to exercising.” No fucking shit the guy with C-cups, a massive soft belly, thighs bigger around than a skinny man’s waist and a fatter ass than most women who has never seen muscle definition when looking in the mirror is a beginner. At least he’s offering to walk me through the basic barbell exercises. I’ve already researched form before I left for college, but that was late at night in private browsing so I didn’t get an earful from my parents about how I’d invariably get crushed under the bar and die, or trip and fall into a ravine, or break a bone doing yoga. Might not hurt to get a refresher. “Sure.”

“Okay, so you wanna start with the bar at eye-level, feet flat on the ground, back arched like this…” Standard stuff. He pounds out 12 reps with the empty bar like it’s nothing, probably because it IS nothing. He gets up and walks behind the bench. Now it’s my turn. Arch my back, and… oh fuck. (One…) 45 pounds is more than I thought it would be. (Two…) I’m less than I thought I would be. (Three…) The bar is pushing into my saggy moobs with every rep. (Four…) A few months ago, they’d have bumped into my breast buds. (…Five…) I just got cleared to exercise after my gynecomastia surgery (…Six…) and it’s embarrassing how much strength I’ve lost in just 6 weeks. (…Seven…) I was at least able to do “girl push-ups” (…Eight…) albeit in private so they didn’t think I was ruining my knees. (…Nine…) Colton’s hands are getting closer to the bar. (…Ten…) I fucking know I should be able to rep this. (…Eleven…) I push one last time. It stalls. Stagnant. Colton finally grabs it on either side of my hands. No.

Let go.

He obliges. I arch my back even further than before, and the barbell resumes its steady ascent.

I’m not… fucking… DONE YET.

It reaches its apex. I move it just a hair towards Colton and my arms finally give out, the clank resonating throughout the gym. His blue eyes are wide with surprise. I get him. You expect that kind of now-or-never effort from a massive, lean bodybuilder, not someone as squishy and pampered-looking as me. It shouldn’t be surprising for long. This should be my new fucking normal, my body changing to reflect who I am on the inside. And what I am is a fucking predator, rugged from a life of kicking ass and taking names, the unquestioned alpha whose very presence inspires terror and lust, people asking, no, begging me to plunge my massive, throbbing manhood into their tight quivering holes and fill them with – great. Now I have a boner. Good news: nobody can see it. Bad news: I remembered that it’s 2 inches hard. Reality sucks. For now.

“How the hell did you-”

“I wanted it.”

“Well, be careful. You need to have gas in the tank for the rest of the workout, haha.” I don’t see how that’s funny.


“Alright, let’s finish with squats, got that Casey?”

FINALLY. You couldn’t have done this before the snatch & clean? By now, he’s warmed up enough that this is his workout for the day. Turns out he’s pretty solid under the fat. His forearms show a surprising amount of thickness and shape as he loads up the bar, even if he probably hasn’t seen a vein in years. His back looks big and broad as he walks under the bar. His thighs are firm and show the shape of his thick quads as he begins to rise back up. He’s too old for me, but he’s easy on the eyes. He re-racks the bar and all the weights, sets the holds to a part of the rack that’s a lot less worn-down than the rest of it, and gives me the floor. He said to only do sets of 5 for this. He says it’s to improve my strength. I think he thinks I have none. I’ll prove him wrong.

Feet hip-width apart. (One.) Knees behind toes. (Two.) Bar path vertical. (Three.) Keep your knees from bucking inward. (Four…) Explode upward. (Five!) …Holy shit, that was easy.

“Atta kid! That’s probably your strongest lift. Hell, you should probably put some weight on the bar next set!”

Wait, already?

“…How much?”

“Ten pounds oughta do it.”

God, I actually get to put weight on the bar for the first time. And it won’t be the last. (Dismount.) 55 pounds to start with. (One.) Add 5 every other day and I’ll be at 135 in less than 6 weeks. (Two.) Another 3 months and it’ll be 315. (Three…) Fuck, I’ll be strong. (Four…) Just imagine what that will feel like. (Five.)

“Nice, nice! That was more challenging, huh?”

This is the most I’ve felt alive in years. “Sure was.”

“How about you stay there for your other sets?”

Damn it. Soon.


Of all the time for Percy to use the bathroom, it’s this one. I swear to God the guys in charge of pairing up roommates do this on purpose. Okay, I hear the faucet, he’s probably close to done. He opens the door.

“You’re really serious about the fitness thing?”

How can be so fucking dense? I swear to God the dumb blonde stereotype is gender-neutral these days. “Did you think I stocked the minifridge with chicken and broccoli for shits and giggles? Look at me. That’s not something I did before moving here.”

“Okaaay then, suit yourself. I’ll get started on homework.”

As he walks off, I can hear him mutter “At least he’s only going to do this for a week or two.” Prick. Mine’s been acting up today too. Must be the workout. Better take care of it if I’m getting my pre-labs done. I take my phone out of my pocket, then strip off my clothes. Okay, don’t look in the mirror, don’t look in the mirror, don’t look in the… good, I got the lotion out. Now for the visual aid. I pull up Cliff Renegade’s socials. Fuck, he uploaded another shirtless hiking photoshoot… God, he looks so rugged in those. That rough layer of dark stubble covering his sharp jawline… Those strong, muscular, veiny arms… They have to be at least 18 inches across. That hairy six-pack… And those pecs, so thick-yet-flat... I bet people are joking when they call his tits. And that bulge, dear God. I’d fucking kill to have that in my pants. Maybe then I’d be able to jerk off with more than 2 fingers. Okay, that was a buzzkill, next image… Fuck me, his back’s gotten even bigger and broader and craggier since last time. And those legs look like sheer power instead of the blubber I have. And Jesus Christ in heaven his fucking perfect toned bubble butt is filling out those shorts. God, I want to rail that ass, my cock making him whimper, his feet on my shoulders, oh God and they’d have gotten bigger with the rest of me, I’d look like a breeding stud, just getting leaner and stronger, my cock swelling to dwarf his, just getting bigger, bigger, bigger bigger bigger bigger BIG-

Fuck imagine me filling his ass with load after load of my hot cum, his hole just dripping with – crap, looked down. Hey, 2 pumps usually only happens when I’m pent up. Maybe I’m moving in the right direction. But right now, I had better clean up. After all, I’m not fit enough to be sexy when I’m sweaty. Yet.

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[A/N: More setup, but I swear to God by the next chapter there'll be a scene where Casey realizes he's growing. Also, I'll add tags as they come up each chapter, but I will give say one thing in advance: while his relationship with his parents is a big part of his characterization, and they will show up in person later on, this story will not contain any incest. There are plenty of other stories on this forum if you want that, but it's not a good fit for this plot.]

Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch. The soreness in just my arm is brutal just from turning off my alarm. It makes sense. They got basically zero activity before yesterday. But that’s the feeling of my muscles rebuilding themselves, bigger and stronger than before, a little less sedentary looking than yesterday, the synthesis almost certainly burning fat for fuel, making me… oh.

…Holy shit I have morning wood. First time in years. I’m already catching up to men my age in testosterone level. That or growing just turns me on. Either case has the same solution. Maybe if I’m quiet or jack off in the shower, I can…


Second first day of classes. Joy. There’s probably a way to connect biology with the “Study of Global Democracies”, but I’m too sore for it right now. I get to the lecture hall a little early. No 8 AM classes for me, my body needs its rest. I watch the other students filter in. Of course the frat jocks are bragging about how drunk they got last night. Jackasses. Some professional-looking people sit down, backpacks perfectly organized. They must be majoring in this stuff. And then there’s… oh my God they’re stunning. I never thought a Carhart beanie and powder-blue button-up would look good together, but they pull it off. It helps I can see they clearly work out. And their butt looks just divine, nice and muscular but still clearly with a bit of jiggle to it. But that carabiner… they’re either a lesbian or into rock climbing, and I really hope it’s the second one. A short packet lands on my desk. Might as well try and tear my eyes from them while I read it. Don’t want to be a creep if they’re a woman, not that I can really tell.

“Okay class, I need to put names to faces, so let’s do icebreakers. State your name, major, and a fun fact about yourself.” Shit.

“Hello, I’m Hannah Umbridge, I’m a comp sci major, and I have a pet lizard at home.”

“Hi, I’m…” I tune him out. I can ask his name later or pick it up from others. First I need to figure out how I get out of this without being a laughingstock. I don’t want them to think I’m a wimp, but I also don’t want them to think I’m a weirdo. Maybe if my voice is just a bit gravellier than it was at home – but how much is too much? How deep can I make my voice without sounding like it’s on purpose? What if-

“My name is Jennifer Hermandez-” Shit, she’s gay! “I’m a journalism major-” DEFINITELY gay! “And I’m top rope certified and climb every weekend.” THANK GOD. Okay, next step: figure out if she’s into me. Wait, she’s looking at me! …So is everyone else. It’s my turn. Just act natural.

“Uh, I’m Casey Anderson, I’m a biology major, and I-” Have shitty parents? No, that’d make me sound weird. Am going to become a bodybuilder? They’d never buy it. Shit, what do I…

“I’m bisexual.”



“Welcome back! Glad to know I didn’t scare you off, haha!”

“Don’t worry. You can NOT scare me off from fitness.”

“Oh, that’s good. Well, have a good workout!”

I will. Lifting can build the monster, make me more powerful, broaden my shoulders, but none of that matters if my muscles are buried under a comfy, cozy (blegh) layer of blubber – especially with how it’s distributed on me. Time for cardio. Treadmill? If anyone sees my man tits bounce when I run, I’m killing everyone in this gym and then myself. Stationary bike? Growing my lower body can’t get any farther from what I want. Ergometer? …Now we’re talking.

Okay. 24-week program is on my phone, recorded lectures are cued up, form has been studied. It’s go time. My lats burn, but I want hair of the dog that’s just a little different than what those jocks need. The cold metal of the handles is new to my skin, but this feels like what I was born to do.

Fuck it, might as well enjoy some eye candy. That guy is a DILF if I’ve ever seen one. Nothing massive, but his pecs are stretching that T-shirt, he’s deadlifting probably twice as much as I weigh, and… oh God he lifted his shirt to dry off his salt-and-pepper stubble, holy SHIT those are some hairy abs. The only thing stopping him from having kids very frequently is if he’s gay. Some schlubby ginger dude wearing a gray polo and slacks walks up to him with a towel. Damn, this place has some perks. I ought to ask about tha- AND he’s feeling up his bicep? He’s saying something, earbuds out.

“Your alpha status is undeniable, Sir. I am yours to do with as you please.”

“Yeah, sure. Can you get me into contacts so I can tell Shannon I’m about ready to pick up the kids?”

“Yes, Sir. I live to serve.”

Something’s not right here. Just need to finish this 5K first.

There. Sure, I’m out of shape, but that 6-minute-per-kilometer split isn’t going to stay that long for long. Better ask Colton about that guy before I leave.

“Hey, that redheaded guy, does he work here? Is that part of his job duties?”

“Oh, you mean Jim? Yeah, he’s on payroll as an accountant, but when he’s on breaks or it’s a slow day he helps out around the place.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure that’s a sex thing-”

“He’s always been like that. He just sort of gravitates to whoever he thinks is superior and tries to piggyback off of them.”

“…Huh. See you tomorrow.”

…My hands are blistering. At least I’m not as sore.


“How do you think you did on the quiz?”

“I aced it, of course. Only a non-bio major wouldn’t!”

“I thought it was pretty easy too.”

“We’ll see how you did on Monday. You might not look like a dumb jock, but you sure act like a meathead.”

“You’ve SEEN me study. A lot.”

“And a good quarter of the time it’s about lifting or dieting.”

“Fine. Just know I’ll have the last la-”

My phone vibrates and keeps vibrating. It’s probably a telemarketer. Wait, no, it’s Dad. Hoo boy.

“Be right back.”

The bathroom seems like a pretty quiet place. I open the door and pick up.

“Hey Casey! How’s your first week of college been?”

“I studied hard and ate well.” Definitely not in the way they’d have liked.

“Good! What was your favorite goodie from our care package?” Fuck. They are NOT going to want to hear what I did with it.

“Obviously the New York cheesecake.” I gave a slice to whoever on my floor wanted any the day I got it, then threw the rest away.

“Do we know you or what? Anyway, stay safe out there, don’t go out past 8 PM, don’t talk to strangers, and remember to take breaks when walking to class!”

“Will do. I love you. Bye.”

…I have never been so glad to be away from them in my life. Come to think of it, my face’s been itchier than usual lately. I might as well shave my peach fuzz while I’m here. …Holy shit, are those calluses? I rub my hand up my arm to check. God, they’re real. They scratch my skin – lightly for now, but they’re going to grow and get rougher with the rest of me, my body changing, getting less soft and non-threatening and getting stronger and more rugged, my upper body exploding with power, my… fuck it, I need to take care of this. At least I’m not using enough of my hand for them to touch my dick.

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Casey’s parents probably won’t recognize him the next time they see him. He’s already starting to change but it will be really hot to see him acknowledge it in the next chapter. Nicely done!

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“Your assigned reading for tonight is chapters 3 and 4 of the textbook. The test is next Wednesday and covers all of the basics we’ve talked about so far. Have a good day, class dismissed.”

Now’s my chance. I started packing up as soon as the professor started his ending spiel. Just act natural.

“Hey, Jennifer.”

“What’s up?”

“You made some really great points about how media bias can undermine democracies globally. Can we meet up sometime Saturday morning so I can pick your brain some?”

Oh my God she’s actually blushing. She thinks I’m hot!

“Sure! Where were you thinking?”

“I was thinking either… your place or the coffee shop in the student union.” I didn’t think I’d get this far.

“I could use the caffeine before climbing with the crew. Sounds great! How about 9 AM?”

“That works for me. See you there.”

“You too!”

We split and head to our next classes. I’m as bright red as the hallway walls. Chin up. Shoulders back. Pick up my knees. I can still carry myself like a badass.


Come on, where is it? A good-looking, formal-ish pair of chinos should be easy to find in a suitcase full of elastic-waistband shorts and goofy-patterned sweatpants. There they are! The last time I wore them was at new student orientation day, so they should still fit. …Hey, I don’t have to struggle as hard to button my 42s anymore. Maybe I am getting-


Oh God it’s all fucking pointless my genetics are just made for me to pack on fat androgyny is my fucking curse I’m doomed to grow even curvier and weaker I grab my gut to curse my fat cells for poisoning me with aromatase – my… smaller gut. I can hook my thumb into my belly button and grab my entire lower belly with barely any squeezing needed. My arms look… well, they don’t look fatter. I hold out my right arm in the mirror. It has to have lost a good 2 inches around, but those were all padding. Might as well practice my flexing for when I really start grow- there’s a bulge. For the first time in my life, there’s a clear rise and fall to my biceps. My left hand reaches to feel it, then squeeze it. It touches firm muscle, responding to stimuli it’s been waiting my entire life for. My forearms, too, show shape and structure when I clench my fist that they never did before. And my shoulders look just a little rounder, a little wider. If I’m losing fat, why did my pants rip?

That explains it. My thighs are still massive, but I can see the very start of my quads underneath the cushioning. I push in on one of them and the fat is only to my first knuckle before I reach the muscle. Just wait until they’re more defined than Colton’s. My pelvis hasn’t changed shape, but my hips look narrower. Turning around, my ass only jiggles a little with every step, and it looks a little less womanly and more like just a fat cis guy’s butt. And my calves have just ballooned. They feel firm, barely yielding at all, and the blond hairs on them are getting more plentiful. God, part of me is dominated by muscle and strength instead of domesticated cuddliness, even if it’s a tiny bit… for now.

My moobs, while still sagging onto my belly, at least don’t look like they’re one Anderson Thanksgiving away from needing a bra. And my lats, whatever size they are, are still completely covered in fat. But my face… I look more like myself. It’s still chubby, but my cheeks are less puffy, my emergency buzz cut from move-in night is growing in enough so I can soon get an actual man’s haircut, and my double chin is merely a shadow of what it was, exposing my neck and… there’s a little shadow under my first chin. Better touch it to see if my jawline is starting to emerg- it’s rough.

I have stubble.

God I’ve wanted facial hair since puberty hit and now I’m finally getting it. That little patch is going to spread throughout my face, adding texture and grit to it. (Fuck it, I’m already pantsless, might as well take care of things before Percy gets back from class.) I’m going to look like a badass with a five o’clock shadow, too busy doing man shit to shave. Then a full-face stubble will make it look intentional, like I can fucking own my productive follicles, the scratchiness making kisses and oral feel hungrier and more passionate and less tender and mushy. And then… I’ll grow a full. Fucking. BEARD. So thick and lush, completely transforming my face, making me look years older, like the man that I am, and grizzled, years of experience lifting and fighting and providing for my own and… JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I HAVE A GODDAMN SHAFT NOW FIRST 3 FINGERS THEN A FULL HAND THEN TWO THEN MORE MY COCK IS STARTING TO PERMANENTLY GROW AND GROW AND GROW UNTIL I-

“I’m back. Also, Casey, could you keep it down a little?”

Maybe I can wait to pick out a shirt until after I explain myself.


“You honestly think that’s going to make you look better?”

“It’ll get me called ‘they’ less often.”

“She wouldn’t date you without knowing your gender.”

“This isn’t about her. My stubble just makes me look more like… me.”

“I didn’t know you were a Discord mod the way you want a neckbeard.” Don’t slap him, don’t slap him, don’t slap him… “I bet you’re gonna call Jennifer ‘kit-’.”

“Fuck off! Why do you have a hateboner for me getting in shape?”

“Because it’s embarrassing to see you chase something you can’t get. You should own being fat, not do a Batman impression when speaking to people or always look grouchy or try a diet and exercise routine that you’ll quit any day now-”


“You literally just did it! But you’ll quit because what you want is fundamentally unattainable. That Cliff guy you look up to is one Photoshop tutorial away from going from 6’2 to 6’8, and don’t get me STARTED on how much goddamn airbrush he uses!” Damn, that’s kind of hot. “Even in videos, there is no way in Hell he keeps that six-pack year-round; he probably gorges and gains 15 pounds of fat the second the cameras stop rolling.” Forget what I said. “And about height – you’re literally a biology major, you should know that late growth spurts are, like, one inch.” For my dick, maybe. “What I’m trying to say here is that you’re working yourself to the bone for unrealistic body standards. Oh, and the beard? We call that ‘getting older’.”

“I am getting older, but that doesn’t matter. I have wanted this since puberty, and now that I’m away from my fucking parents, I finally get the chance to live the way I want to. And that way is going to result in me actually looking like a goddamn man.”

“You already do! You might not be conventionally attractive, but you’re still a man.”

“That’s not what I-” I have better things to do. “You know what? Let’s agree to disagree, and by Thanksgiving we’ll see who’s right.”

“You’ll develop an eating disorder by then, but it’s a free country.”

“See you later, Percy.” Ideally in Hell.

[A/N: Call me one of those thingies in Mr. Renegade's closet, because here comes a cliff hanger! Don't worry, while the update schedule won't be 100% regular and hasn't the last few days due to IRL stuff, you can usually expect at least one chapter per week.]

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