Popular Post arbotimus Posted January 7 Popular Post Share Posted January 7 (edited) Goldfish-man, Goldfish-man, does whatever a goldfish can Started as silly little one-shot, minimally edited to help me start writing again (and then it became 10 pages long, whoops). Also I know nothing about the spider-man universe so please donât at me, lol.  Crowds of people pushed past me as I stood transfixed, staring up at the glass ceiling arched delicately above us. Rippling patterns of light filtered down through the thousands of pounds of water, spilling over the many heads around me before finally reaching the ground. I inhaled sharply, apparently having forgot to breathe, to perform that foundational component of living, as if I, too, were submerged. The shadow of the giant ray, Mobula birostris, finally passed over me. It was hard to imagine living life at that size, pushing the boundaries of a (relatively) small tank and looming over smaller, meager creatures. A small, firm hand grabbed my shoulder roughly and spun me around. "Hey Mark, it's time to head up." Hamzah barely gave me time to respond, turning abruptly and weaving his way through the crowd. I followed him, rushing to keep up. I didnât see any other members of our college student tour group as we entered the huge open lobby â not too surprising. We had both come early to spend more time in the aquarium. Hamzah seemed to have the place memorized, though, never hesitating for a moment as he expertly dodged bedraggled moms and congested toddlers. An array of fish seemingly defeated by the false tides flailed about amongst fake bull kelp (Nereocystis spâŠwell, sort of). Their apparently lackadaisical approach to their surroundings infected me, bringing me to a gentle halt. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Hamzah staring back at me as if to say, âReally, Mark?â I shrugged, communicating paraverbally: âIsnât this what weâre here for?â His eyes said, âNo,â and he continued speed walking. Several minutes later found us at our lackluster destination â a door you would probably miss if it werenât for the sign that read âStaff Onlyâ in fun, aquarium-y font. Our professor, a middle aged man with the textbook appearance of a marine biologist (interpreted lovingly as: surfer dude turned scientist) welcomed us and handed us nametags.  I stifled a blush, Hamzah rolled his eyes. An aquarium staff member introduced herself as Dr. Mary Truant, the aquariumâs veterinarian and head researcher. Not for the first time today, I felt my mind wander as she explained her position and the purpose of the aquariumâs research center. Something something ecological restoration something something genetic plasticity to novel anthropogenic environmental stressors yadda yadda. I rolled my eyes at Hamzah already taking notes when we hadnât even started. The internal workings of the aquarium were rather gaunt and grey, as if this were a completely different building from the colorful halls we had entered through. Various pipes jutted out from odd locations, obstructing the walkway and disappearing into walls and floors. Occasionally a tank would come into view, but outside of talk of nitrogen levels and salinity, we rarely spent much time observing them. What a waste. Eventually we were taken across a skyway to the lab building, a separate entity from the aquarium. The only animals here were kept in holding tanks, and apparently âwell documented genomeâ also meant âleast interesting species possibleâ. I started zoning out again. Hamzah was still furiously scribbling. What he could possibly be writing about these rows and rows of identical goldfish was beyond me. I vaguely understood that they were part of a genetic engineering project, but visually they had so little to offer. One, however, was at least behaviorally distinct. It was larger than the other fish, and kept tapping at the glass. I stopped in front of the grungy medium-sized, eye-level tank and watched the maverick fish attempt to defy its fate (or, it occurred to me, play out the stereotypic commands of its genetically addled grey matter). I lifted my finger to touch the glass, when the tank shattered right in front of me. I barely had time to process the next series of events. For one, I was immediately soaked from head to toe in goldfish-stained tank water. Gross. Simultaneously there was an odd pressure on my right index finger, but by the time I could open my eyes it was gone. Then the screams filtered in (a bit melodramatic for my taste â wasnât I the one getting doused?) followed by some stifled laughter.  Looking down, the shattered remains of the glass were strewn about my feet. Somehow, I had avoided getting a single cut. Dr. Truant appeared within seconds offering a towel and profuse apologies. I assured her I wasnât damaged (beyond my dignity) and she didnât need to file a report. After all, the assailant had fared much worse - both lacerated and asphyxiated, it lay dead on the floor. âWell, Richards wonât be thrilled, but maybe he should have invested in thicker tanksâŠanyways, Iâm just glad you werenât hurt. If you need a sweater Iâm sure we can get you one from the gift shop after the tour if youâre cold.â The sweater had a cool whale on it. Sweet. As we left the aquarium, I noticed a series of red markings on my finger. They looked suspiciously like little teeth marks. And then it dawned on me. That goldfish bit me. I was bitten by a goldfish. Was that even possible? A quick google informed that it wasnât impossible. Although the anatomical considerations were⊠A growing fear was mounting in my chest. âHey Hamzah,â I whispered, âWere you paying attention in there? I think this goldfish attacked me in some sort of last-ditch effort to play out its misplaced aggression.â I showed him my finger. âDidnât she say they were, like, radioactive or something?â âItâs irradiated, not radioactive. To simulate exposure, like at Chernobyl. Creatures canât be radioactiveâŠwell, not, like, meaningfully. Theyâd die. From the radioactivity. Also thereâs no way weâd be allowed in that room if there were stacks of radioactive animals in it. Iâm surprised IACUC let them get away with it, honestlyâŠâ âOh, because youâre so familiar with the ins and outs of IACUC policy.â âWait, how do you know what IACUC even is?â âWhy would I not know what IACUC is? Just because Iâm not drowning in books every day like you areâŠI know stuff.â This argument continued for several minutes. âI mean, youâre probably fine,â Hamzah said, finally. âItâs probably too late to go back there anyhow. If it gets infected, just go to your doctor.â I stared at the innocuous indentations. They seemed harmless. Like they were already healing, maybe. Nothing I could do about it now, anyways. My head slumped over onto Hamzahâs shoulder as I fell asleep on the subway ride home.  Later that night, I awoke in a sweat. I put my hand to my stomach to find that my wife beater was entirely soaked through. Great.  Sirens blared through the midnight air, reminding me for the umpteenth time that I did, in fact, live in the city that never sleeps. I rolled over lazily and turned off my space heater, allowing the light chill of early winter to creep its way in. Taking off my shirt was an unexpected challenge. For some reason it felt glued to my skin. Weird. Maybe it had shrunk in the wash? But it fit well when I put it on earlier. Now the seams were audibly groaning as I struggled to remove it from my wiry frame. Maybe my sweat had suddenly develop astringent properties from that mutant goldfish? I laughed into the empty night at my own dumb thought. I fumbled around in the dark for an alternate clothing option, landing on my recently acquired cetacean sweater. Nice. I was already feeling chilly, and being bundled up in a nice big sweater like this lulled me back to sleep almost immediately.  I awoke to the tune of my own circadian rhythm, enjoying the freedom of an unburdened Sunday morning. The overcast sky greeted me with a gentle gray light, and I huddled under the covers for another hour before finally freeing myself from the tomb of blankets and pillows holding me down. I let out a yawn as I stretched my hands skyward. My sweater slid up my abdomen as I lifted my arms, and it stayed stuck around my midsection. I pulled it back down, failing to immediately piece together any incongruity. Several key realizations, however, slowly made their way through the fog of my waking brain as I went to make myself a bowl of cereal: 1. All the kitchen cabinets had been moved lower since last night 2. My cereal bowls were lighter than they used to be 3. Everything seemed to be a slightly different color 4. My clothes were tight again. Like, uncomfortably tight. WaitâŠwhat? I glanced over at the full length mirror across the room. Perched atop a stool at the kitchen counter, a tall, beefy jock stared back at me. But thatâs where I was sitting. The spoon dropped out of my mouth and fell into the bowl, splashing a little milk on my new sweater. I waddled over to the reflection slowly, still not quite believing the evidence right in front of me. A series of perfectly mirrored pantomime motions confirmed that the behemoth staring dumbfounded back at me was in fact my own reflection, my own titanic arms stretching sleeves to their limit, my own thunder thighs squeezing into my pajama pants like a stuffed sausage. Fuck. My clothes were so tight that I was afraid to move, worried that I might destroy them. An involuntary erection snaked its way up and over the hem of my pants, beginning to leak. Overcoming the fear of fabricide, curiosity demanded that I lift my arms into a mighty double bicep pose. The sleeves moaned under the pressure and I could see the hems starting to give, but they remained woefully intact. A swift most muscular just barely failed to make the seams explode at my shoulders. Lifting the fabric at my waist, I almost lost it at the sight of deeply etched abdominals. I rubbed my hands over the grooves in my skin, still struggling to believe that they belonged on my body. A notification on my phone snapped me back to reality. Hamzah, texting me about plans later today. I sent a message back saying I was sick.  I mean, wasnât I, in a way? As incredible as these new changes were, the inconvenient logistics of my situation were starting to creep in. How was I supposed to explain these changes to anyone at school or at home? Was this the final stage or were there more changes to come that I couldnât predict? What was I even supposed to wear? What was I supposed to wear⊠I glanced back at the milk-stained sweater and cum-stained pants holding on for their dear lives as my himbofied muscle bod stressed their core stitchings to their limit. So, maybe not those. I scrambled through my closet to find an XXL t-shirt left by my ex and pair of one-size-fits-all scrub pants from a lab I took a year ago. An unusual combo, but they at least they sort of fit. I wiped up the mess from my cereal bowl, grateful that my roommates were gone until later in the day, and headed out the door. My reflection in the subway window continued to startle me. More than a few people had turned their heads as I had walked to the station. The struggles of the jock life. Of my life. Well, that was going to take some getting used to. Fortunately, there werenât too many people out and about on a Sunday morning to gawk at me. There was, however, one cute boy who was clearly awestruck by my presence and kept furtively glancing in my direction. I had half a mind to⊠No, no, focus. I had to get back to the aquarium, to get someone to explain what was happening to me. I was so distracted playing out the thousand possible scenarios before me that several minutes passed before I noticed my shirt actively shrinking. No, that couldnât be right. Could it? I watched helplessly as my already prodigious biceps slowly but perceptibly expanded. The band logo on my shirt gradually warped into unrecognizable text as my growing pecs pulled the words apart. I pulled at the collar around my neck for space, but there was already so little room that it was hard to fit my fingers through. The inflexible fabric of my pants only served to highlight every individual muscle group as they relentlessly inflated against their woven captor. Somehow, my equally inflating dick was not as obvious as it could have been â still, I struggled to hide my full on erection in this increasingly tiny tube. And just when I thought my shirt was tight enough to burst, the growth stopped. In typical New York fashion, no one seemed to notice my public transformation â except, of course, for my mid-range admirer. In fact, he had his phone out. Was he recording me? Well, that wasnât good. The car stopped and the sonorous overhead âdingâ announced the new station.  The moment he realized I was looking directly at him, he stopped recording and fled out the door. I found the subway car difficult to maneuver in with my new size â seriously, how did any bodybuilder function in everyday life? â and by the time I got out he was already leaving the station. Shit. I sprinted in his direction, and to my surprise I caught up to him in mere seconds. Standing before him, it baffled me just how small he was. His eyes barely reached the bottom of my pecs and my forearms were probably thicker than his thighs. How did an adult man tolerate being this puny? âWere you recording me?â I grunted. âN-n-no, dude. Of course not.â I lifted him by the back of his shirt collar easily and held him up at eye level. âHand me your phone,â I commanded. He scrambled to take his phone out of his pocket and gave it over to me, sweating. âGreat. Now whatâs yourâŠâ I asked, but in my attempt to get to his log on screen I had already busted his phone with my giant hams. Oops. I guess I really didnât know my own strength. âShit, sorry,â I muttered, dropping him to his feet. I noticed a wet spot in his pants â it was anyoneâs guess as to the nature of the fluid, but either way, the awkwardness of the encounter was mounting higher with every passing second. âIâŠI hope you have insurance,â I mumbled, turning around and walking away swiftly. As I continued my speed walk down the streets of New York, struggling to erase that embarrassing interaction from my gray matter, I kept having to pull my shirt down to avoid exposing my abs. After the fourth or fifth attempt, I realized that keeping my shirt down just wasnât possible â I was so much taller and wider that the bottom of my shirt was unable to reach down past my navel. Great, my hulked out body had transformed the modest XXL into a skimpy crop top. But you know what? Why should it matter? People probably loved getting a glance at abs like these. This might be the only time in their lives when they were up close to so much muscle. Shouldnât they enjoy it? Yeah. Yeah, they absolutely should. And who was I to deprive them of that? For the first time since the transformation, my lumbering gait had transformed into a strut. By the time I reached the aquarium, the gawking receptionist informed me that both Truant and Richards were out of the office (it was Sunday, after all). She was also not permitted to give out their contact information to members of the public, and advised that I reach out through the program that facilitated the tour if I needed to get in touch sooner. No amount of jockish charm was getting through to her. My ego deflated a little. As I walked away, I could just imagine the email to our professor â âHey Prof, seems I was accidentally mutated by that fish who broke its tank yesterday, and now Iâm a hulking behemoth whoâs rapidly running out of valid clothing options. Think I could get a main line to the mad scientists who fucked over my genome? Best, Mark.â I sighed heavily, staring into the large fountain outside the aquarium. The water was comforting, somehow. I had half a mind to get in as I weighed the options before me. I decided to text Hamzah instead. In an ideal universe, this would be kept a secret. My burgeoning traps and glutes, however, made than an unlikely possibility. If I couldnât contact the scientists directly, I could at least ask the smartest geek I personally knew. âHeyyyyyyy, so I lied. Iâm not exactly sick. But I need your help. Come over ASAP?â Within minutes I received an ambiguous âfineâ in response.  By the time I got home, Hamzah was already sitting outside my apartment door, absentmindedly staring at his phone. As I approached he turned to face me and said, âAboutâŠtime.â I looked down at him with a blank expression, not certain what response to expect in return. He stood up, the top of his head reaching just to my collar bone. âWhat happened to you?â he asked, almost too matter-of-factly. âI can explain once we get inside.â âAnd why are you wet?â Leave it to Hamzah to focus on the extraneous details of our science-fiction-come-to-life scenario. âWell, IâŠswam here. It was faster.â âYou what?â âItâs a lot easier with the gillsâŠâ âGills? Oh.â He sighed, putting together the few pieces of the puzzle he had with lightning speed. âYeah,â I said, unlocking the door. âFrom yesterday? The fish?â âUh huh. Well, probablyâ âRight. RightâŠwell, the gills make sense. But why are you, you know?â âOutcompeting Arnold? Going toe to toe with Lou Ferrigno?â I laughed at the idea, but I wasnât wrong. âYeah, that.â âYour guess is as good as mine. Although, I think I have an idea.â He stared up at me, as if to say, âExplain, please.â âI think Iâm growing to the size of the clothes Iâm wearing. The growth always stops just when theyâre about to burst. You know, like how a goldfish grows to the size of its tank.â âI donât think thatâs a real fact about goldfish.â He seemed almost annoyed. âDo you have a better explanation?â He put his hand to his chin in a classic thinking manâs pose. âNo, I guess not. But then why the size of your clothes? Why not the room?â âI donât know, I donât make the rules. It was a mutant goldfish?â âHave you tested it out?â âI mean. Not exactly. This is only my second change of clothes, and they were already the largest I own. Emphasis on were.â I shifted uncomfortably in my scrub-coded tights. âRight. Well, I can probably be back from the thrift store in 15 minutesâŠâ âNo!â âNo?â âIâm already big enough. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to explain this to anyone?â âYou explained it to me just fine,â he said, tapping his foot impatiently. âHow am I supposed to explain it to anyone normal.â âOkay, yeah, fair enoughâŠâ It was a little hard to see down that far, but I could swear I saw a bulge in his pants. âReally, youâre hard?â He glared at me, half indignant and half embarrassed, as if to say âDid you expect anything different given the circumstances?â âWell, youâre not the first guyâŠâ âWhat?â âItâs not my fault? Or I donât think itâs my fault. I canât tell if this is a mutant power or if every gay boy in the city is secretly just a freak muscle junkieâŠâ âItâs probably the former.â âProbably,â I said, rolling my eyes at his unfounded certainty in the explanation that absolved him of any responsibility. âOkay, well, first things first. We have to find clothes that fit but arenât going to trigger your growth.â âRight, okay.â âI have an idea.â âIâm open to anything,â I said, somewhat desperately. âIâm guessing the way this works is that your body grows until it senses a certain degree of pressure on your skin. So, maybe, if you wear something form fitting, itâll be enough pressure to stop you from getting bigger but still fit over yourâŠgirth.â âOkay. Itâs worth a shot. I mean, itâs that or never wear clothes again, right?â I saw him blush, which was a rare occurrence for Hamzah. It was kind of cute, seeing him small and helpless like that. In fact, if I wanted to, it would be so easy to just grab him and⊠Focus. Step one, obtain clothes. âOkay, Iâll be back soon. Soonish. Iâll probably need to make a few stops.â He left in a hurry, seeming relieved to break the sexual tension in favor of a more objective mission. I tried to take off my current clothes, but being soaked and two sizes too small I quickly gave up and just tore them off. I grabbed a few towels to wipe off the entirety of my body and glanced at my progress in the mirror. I was starting to approach seriously freaky size. As I craned my arms into a double bicep pose, my lats flared out involuntarily, eclipsing the width of this poor little wall-mounted mirror. Wrapping my hand around one of my jutting pecs, I could feel the weight and heft shift as I slowly flexed it to its full potential. I noticed my perception adjusting to this new size, maybe even longing to get bigger. My gaze wandered down to my dick, which seemed to always be in a state of semi-erection. I lifted it up against my abs, letting it graze the corrugated muscle and throb in response. No one was here. Might as well let loose. By the time Hamzah had returned, I had lost count of how many loads I lost. I had attempted to take a bath to wash off the spunk, but most of my body no longer fit and I shot another at the thought of growing too big for the tub. Fortunately, the shower was more effective and I was just drying off as Hamzah entered the bathroom. He tried to hide it, but I could tell the little man was awestruck by the glory of my fully naked body. I flexed my gills, exposing the openings in the sides of my neck. âEw, put those away,â he said. âHmph, feels a little ableist,â I joked. âOh, shut up. I got some options for you.â He dumped the new spandex clothes unceremoniously on the couch. âHere, try this one.â âWhat color is this?â âWhite. Did the fish bite make you blind?â âNo, I think I see ultraviolet now. Itâs kinda like purple butâŠdifferent.â âFascinating. Can you put the shirt on now please?â He said, averting his eyes. âI think itâs pretty coolâŠâ I muttered under my breath. I contorted my torso to slip on the XL under-armour shirt. It ripped before it even got past my shoulders. âI think weâll need something bigger.â To make a point, I flexed my bicep and easily tore the poor seems apart. âOkayâŠtry this.â He handed me a neon orange XXXL, and I barely managed to squeeze it on with his help. âWell, how do you feel?â he asked. âHonestlyâŠgood. Like, really good. Like Iâve never felt this powerful in my entire life.â âI meant the shirt, idiot.â âOh, yeah. It fits well. I donât think Iâm growing, either.â He smirked, seemingly proud of himself that he had cracked the code. âPut these on next.â The pants were a deep green and slightly tighter than the shirt, but together we pulled them over my iron glutes. My half hard dick fell sideways over my huge quads. Hamzah didnât say anything, but I knew he was impressed. I waddled over to the mirror once more. âWhereâd you get these colors? I look like a superhero!â âAt the sizes youâre looking for thereâs not a lot of options. And you look like Mermaid Man. If you count that as a superhero.â âDoes that make you my little Barnacle Boy?â I said, smirking down at him. Way down. In fact, he seemed to be getting shorter. Uh oh. âHamzah, I donât think your theory was correct.â A pallor came over his face as he watched my pecs pull my collar downwards. âHere, Iâll help you take them off. Hurry!â I started to lift the shirt up from my abs, but quickly found my lats to be very much in the way. Hamzahâs little stick arms werenât having any better luck. He sprinted over to the kitchen to get scissors, but when he returned I held him down with one of my hands. âWhat are you doing!?â I took a moment to contemplate what to do next. This growth felt good. Like, really good. Great, actually. Like the best thing that had ever happened to me. Why should I stop now? Why, I could be the strongest man that ever existed. Bigger than the Thing, stronger than the Hulk. Who cares who knows? No one could stop me now. Iâd just outgrow them. Become invincible. It turns out the spandex wasnât just ill equipped to stop my growth. If anything, the elasticity just propelled my growth even further â no matter how much larger I became, the pressure never changed. Hamzah watched in horror as my body continued to swell. I must have passed the 400 pound mark before they started to tear, but I just kept growing through it. It wasnât until all the clothes were in shreds on the floor that my body finally slowed down. I eventually let Hamzah go, but he didnât move. I stood up and stretched my arms, but found them quickly hampered by the ceiling. My dick was staunchly erect and oozing cum.  It bobbed against my abs, which were starting to get a little bloated from the sheer size â still, my waist was only about a quarter of the width of my shoulders. I picked Hamzah up by his shirt and propped him on one of my pecs. His legs dangled over the edge of my chest, but he sat there comfortably. âWell, that didnât work,â I stated plainly. âNo, no it did not,â he responded. âBut look at the results!â I exclaimed. âIsnât it incredible! I canât believe I ever wanted to stop growing. Although finding clothes that force me to grow more is gonna be pretty difficult nowâŠâ âYou canât be serious. This isnât enough for you? As it is you can barely even walk out the door or wash yourself. If you get any bigger itâd just beâŠimpractical.â âHmph, well, you donât seem to mindâ I gestured, pointing at his own erection. He blushed again, and I lifted him up to stare at me face to face. âI think I know what will help. Give you an example of how we can meet the âimpracticalâ needs of my growing body.â âWe?â âWell, you really,â I said, grabbing my dick and forcing it down just enough to create a special opening between my cock and my abs. He fit perfectly, squirming a bit at first but quickly accepting his position. âThere. Now I have someone to keep the cum from getting all over the apartmentâ.  He started lapping up the flowing liquid, wrapping his arms and legs around my massive member to squeeze out more and more. âThatâs a good boy. Does this seem âpracticalâ enough for you?â âYeah, IâŠâ He couldnât stop drinking long enough to fully answer. The door clicked and my two roommates entered with their backpacking gear. It was fair to say they were a bit taken aback by the scene before them. Oh, good. Some more servants to meet my needs. Edited January 7 by arbotimus Added tags 27 5 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
RealIn2Growth Posted January 7 Share Posted January 7 Good story! Really enjoyed it!! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
RogerHines Posted January 7 Share Posted January 7 Nice story! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
FallenAway Posted January 7 Share Posted January 7 I like this a LOT! Very clever, with a good mixture of humor and heat. Also, I think "fabricide" should become a new tag to replace "clothes ripping." 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
StormFalcon7 Posted January 8 Share Posted January 8 Reading this brought me back to a story thread from writing.com that Iâll link here with a similar power structure of outgrowing surroundings. https://www.writing.com/main/interactive-story/item_id/787831-Giant-Guys/cid/2199422-Harry-Potter 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
bigguy16br Posted January 20 Share Posted January 20 loved, hope you continue 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bear Posted April 15 Share Posted April 15 Yes! This is really interesting. I hope you'l continue. 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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