Max and Ax, Part 3

[Padraig]

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Max and Ax, Part 1

Max and Ax, Part 2




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Max was lost in a sea of desire and lust when a shadow suddenly appeared through the window on the lab door and a determined voice began to speak.

“I’d stop right there if I were you.”

Startled, Max took his tongue out of Ax’s mouth and released his grip. Ax immediately slumped downward, and Max realized that his victim must have fainted sometime during their kiss. Max backed up and gently dropped Ax to the floor as he went.

The person on the other side of the door pushed it opened forcefully and stepped inside the room. Before even fully passing through the threshold, Max could see flashes of red and blue that gave away who was entering.

“Fuck,” he thought. “It’s Superboy!” Max wasn’t really surprised that he had shown up – even though the crimefighter hadn’t been spotted much the last several months, one could not get away with much suspicious activity in any of the small towns in the middle of Kansas without the Boy of Steel finding out.

In actuality, the cussing was because Max was angry at himself – he had made arrangements to take care of Superboy in case he did show up, but had forgotten about those arrangements when the ray gun’s effects had turned him gay and he had subsequently been turned on to Ax’s body. Max needed to think fast or the whole thing might be over before it began.

While he was thinking, Superboy bent down to check the body on the floor. He quickly scanned Ax’s vitals, and once he realized that the youth had just fainted, he turned his full attention to Max. The hero was tall, at least 6’3”, and although his bulky body wasn’t much bigger than a really well-developed 18 year old athlete, his incredible strength was known to be greater than that of 10 men.

“I believe that young man on the floor was asking you to stop before he passed out,” said the hero.

Max stood silent for a moment, gazing at the incredibly handsome face and well-built body of the Last Son of Krypton, and realized that his boner was not going to go away soon. “It's hard to concentrate when Superboy is so superfoxy,” he thought. “Jeez, how do gay men get anything done when other guys are around?”

Superboy stood akimbo, waiting for a reply.

Max tried to come up with an answer to get his plan back on track. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help myself. I was overtaken by a strange force – it was controlling me, making me do things I didn’t want to do.”

The teen hero looked at the hypermuscular student in front of him, wearing only his shoes, sock, underwear, and a raging erection. He could see the remnants of clothing scattered about the floor.

“Did the strange force make tear your clothes off as well?” he asked dubiously.

Max briefly looked down at his overgrown physique and smiled at the comment. “I know it sounds odd, Superboy, but if you just let me show you, I can explain everything,” he said.

Superboy nodded.

Max reached down toward his torn slacks and pulled a small metal box from the opposite pocket from where he had retrieved the gun that had transferred Ax’s muscles to himself. He turned the box toward Superboy and released the latch – and out shot a small red stone. It flew across the room like it had been launched from a catapult, hitting the hero directly in the chest and sticking to his costume.

Superboy was a bit stunned by the impact, and raised his arms to his sides to steady himself. He began to waver, and sensing he might be in for more than he could handle, ran toward the open window on the opposite side of the room in an attempt to fly away. He made it about three-quarters of the distance when his strength gave out, causing his hulking body to collapse on its side. Upon impact, a load groan emanated from his throat.

Max smiled when he realized that Part 2 of his plan was back in motion. He walked over to the fallen champion and gave him a swift kick, which made him roll onto his back. The small red stone was still stuck to his chest.

“How’s that Red Kryptonite doing there, Superboy? Can you feel yourself getting weaker and weaker now that my little friend has attached itself to you like a leech? In about 10 minutes your powers will be completely blocked, and if my research is correct, there’ll be nothing you can to do resurrect them. Ever.”

Superboy knew that Max was right – although green kryptonite was more common, the red-k was much more damaging to his system and would permanently inhibit all of his superpowers after a few minutes of exposure – they would still be present in his system, but disabled so that he couldn’t ever us them again. Already within just 30 seconds, his physical strength was gone, he couldn’t fly, and his superhearing was diminishing quickly. “Why?” he whispered to Max.

“Well, my Kryptonian friend, I’m going to be doing a little power-grabbing over the next few weeks – my name may be Max now, but soon you’ll think of me as Maximum,” he responded while hitting a double bicep pose at the same time.

Superboy watched in awe as the teen’s arms plumped up in size – he had clearly been blessed with a superior physicality – and he thought it was strange that he hadn’t heard of Max’s athletic achievements or noticed his physique in any previous visits to the town.

Max continued. “I’m going to take more and more muscle, and I didn’t want any Super Goody Two Shoes interfering. I wasn’t quite able to figure out how to take your powers for myself – not yet, at least – but for the time being, I think I came up with a pretty good plan to sideline your heroics and prevent you from stopping me.”

“I’ll figure out a way!” replied Superboy.

“No, no…you won’t,” replied Max as he walked closer to his new victim. “In another few minutes, you’ll just be a regular teen with absolutely no powers. No flying. No x-ray vision. And no superstrength. But me – I’ll be getting bigger and bigger, stronger and stronger – so strong that your puny muscles won’t even be able to tickle me, let alone stop me.

Superboy grimaced and struggled to get up, but his body felt as if it weighed a ton. He was able to prop himself up on his elbows, but couldn’t rise any further.

Max knelt down next to the hero and placed his hands on Superboy’s chest and abs and began to give them a massage. “It’s no use, Supes. These muscles just won’t work the way you want them to anymore – they’re going to keep getting weaker and deflating in size, and no amount of effort on your part can change that. And it’s too bad, too – they definitely turn me on…”

Max had to stop giving a rubdown to the World’s Mightiest Teen for a moment as he became a little woozy with desire – he felt overwhelmed and overpowered, and he could actually sense his body temperature rising. After a few seconds of this intoxication he felt like himself again, and when the fog lifted he realized his massive organ would soon be ready to cum.

“How you doing, Superboy?” he asked with a smile. “I bet you must be so weak by now, huh? Just like a regular boy. I bet you didn’t think you would ever be so pathetic, right?”

Superboy didn’t respond as Max continued massaging his torso, but his torturer couldn’t have been further from the truth. The Kryptonian ‘s mind flashed back to six months earlier during a period when he didn’t know if he would ever be in the hero business again.


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Last autumn, Clark Kent truly had it all. He was starting his senior year at Smallville High and was far and away the most popular student at the school. His parents, Jonathan and Martha, ran a successful ranch just outside of town which kept their family flush with cash – Clark never had to worry about having enough spending money in his pocket.

Because of this wealth, Clark was also able to dress much nicer than the average Kansas citizen. His tastes ran toward fitted white shirts, red sweaters, and tailored blue slacks, all of which fit his well-muscled body to a T. Yes, as if the money and the clothes were not enough, Clark also possessed a spectacular body – even from 100 yards, anyone could see the Clark took great pride is his body and surely must have worked very hard to develop such an athletic physique and fantastically erect posture at such a young age.

With that physique also came movie-star good looks – silky black hair, smoldering blue eyes, flawless skin, a dazzler of a smile that frequently caused the young ladies (and some of its young men) of Smallville to swoon as he walked by, and a stylish pair of retro black horn-rimmed glasses that added a touch of maturity. It was as if God had taken the best features of Clark Gable, Paul Newman, and George Clooney, combined with the muscles of Samson, and rolled them all up into one 18 year old.

Clark was modest, however – he didn’t intentionally flaunt his body, and he never used his good looks to take advantage of others. He was also charitable and kind – he always did his best to help others, and he had never teased or bullied another student. And to top it all off, he fought for truth, justice, and the American way in secret double life as Superboy, the Last Son of Krypton.

As Superboy, he had become the most well-known of the junior heroes – certainly attracting far more attention than Manipu-Lad or Gargantu-Anne. He had foiled numerous crimes in the rural Midwest, and his exploits were becoming very well-known across the country.

The leaders of the Justice League of America were thrilled with his progress, but they did worry about his vulnerability to kryptonite, and the fact that this weakness was already so well-known to the world’s supervillians. Having that knowledge out there, along with the fact that remnants of meteorites from Krypton had scattered all around Earth, added some doubt to their prodigy’s bright future.

To ease this concern, they commissioned the JLA Science Team to work on a resolution to this problem and demanded that it be ready by the end of the year – the crimefighting organization wanted to announce that they were officially changing his name from Superboy to Superman during the Super Bowl, as well as tell the world that he was no longer adversely affected by rock fragments from his old planet. They had a whole publicity campaigned planned with the slogan: “We’ve taken the best and made him better.”

By November, the Science Team announced a breakthrough. Using DNA from strands of the Kryptonian’s hair, they had created a formula that halted the effects of kryptonite. Superboy raced to Manhattan where the JLA was headquartered and, relying on the expertise of the scientists, agreed to a test. He and the scientists adjourned to a private lab to begin the experiment.

One of the scientists asked Superboy if he would be comfortable disrobing in front of the team, or if he would rather use the privacy screen. “We can have one person accompany you behind the screen and set up, or we can all work together and it will go a lot faster.”

Even though his modesty almost overruled his decision, Superboy was very eager to see if their formula would work. “Let’s just get started out here – nothing us guys haven’t all seen before, right?”

The hero quickly stripped off his supersuit and stood there in his birthday suit – he was wrong about one thing, however, because most of the team had never gazed upon such a marvelous physique (except for online). It was a site that many of the small, frail scientists would consider to be the highlight of their year.

The scientists escorted the hero to a clinician’s chair, where he took a seat, and they began to attach special wireless super-electrodes to measure the test results. As they did so, several of them took a few extra seconds to admire the size of Superboy’s biceps, the hardness of his abs, and the power of his bulging thighs.

Ray Zane, the captain of the Science Team, kept the best assignment for himself – to attach the electrode to Superman’s cock. He picked up the super-rod gently in his tiny hand, immediately noting its size and heft – it was as thick as a big hose and felt like it weighed as much as a 20-pound dumbbell (which was about the weight that Ray could bench press). The scientist continued to act professionally while affixing the electrode, but he was struggling to overcome erotic thoughts of a night between the sheets with the Big Blue Boy Scout.

After setting everything up, the formula was brought over to the chair and Superboy drank it down. The blue creamy liquid coursed down his throat, dissolved in his stomach, and entered into his bloodstream within a few minutes. Ray then had his assistants bring out a variety of Kryptonite fragments, exposing them to Superboy one at a time – the ubiquitous green, the power-zapping red, as well as a host of other samples that had been gathered from across the globe.

During the exposures, the team noted that all the electrode readings remained steady, showing no evidence of any decline or change in physicality. Superboy watched as they gave each other a series of thumbs-ups and high-fives, and then confirmed for them that he felt no weakness of tingling as the different samples were paraded into the room.

Once the last piece had been brought in, the scientists detached the electrodes and had Superboy put his supersuit back on (although most would have preferred he stay naked) so he could demonstrate his powers, starting with flight and continuing though superhearing, X-Ray vision, heat vision, superbreath, flight, and invincibility. As they had predicted, he passed each test with flying colors.

Finally, it came time for superstrength. They walked Superboy over to a squat rack, which he knew had been modified to test the muscle potency of Justice League members. The teen took his spot under the bar and prepared to lift.

“What are you going to set the weight for, Ray?”

“Well, Superboy, you squatted 10,000 pounds last time, so we estimate that you should be able to handle at least 12,000 pound by now. Or would you rather warm up first?”

Superboy nodded. “It’s been a year since my last test, and since I’ve gotten a lot stronger in the past few months, let’s start with 12.”

“Will do.” Ray turned the dial to increase the setting. “Ready when you are.”

Superboy placed his hands on the bar, and then hoisted it upward off the rack on his back. He slowly began to squat, thrusting his chest forward and moving his hips backward as he had been instructed during previous test sessions. As he did so, he could instantly feel a burning in his back and thighs that was more intense than he had ever felt.

“Great Scott,” he thought. “This one’s a whopper.”

Superboy slowly descended until he reached the nadir of the squat, with his knees parallel to the floor. Due to the amount of exertion, sweat began to pour from his brow and a tremble became evident across his body.

“We can suspend it at any second, Superboy. Just give us the word.”

“Not a chance, Ray. I can do this,” he grunted as a reply.

The Last Son of Krypton pushed upward for about 15 seconds, but the weight didn’t budge, so he redoubled his efforts and focused his superbrain on the task at hand. “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat,” he thought. “This bar is really heavy.”

He continued straining with all of his might, but began to realize that things were moving in the wrong direction. Instead of going up, the barbell was sinking a tiny bit with each passing second. Sweat was now cascading over his eyebrows and clouding his vision, and he could sense that his breathing was stressed.

“Why is this so difficult?” Superboy asked himself as recent crimefighting adventures flashed in his mind – episodes in which he had stopped bad guys by hoisting their cars in the air, helped keep aircraft up in the air, and uprooted trees. “This should be so easy!”

He gave one last push, concentrating all of his power into his already-numb legs. He didn’t hold back one ounce of his superstrength and gave it his all. And that’s when everything went black.

Some time later, Superboy awoke back in the clinician’s chair where the scientist’s had tested him earlier. “What happened?” he asked as he came out of his fog.

The scientists were quiet at first, but Ray finally spoke. “Well, Superboy, it looks like we ran into a few complications with the formula. Our best guess is that the solution not only blocked your weakness to Kryptonite, but also blocked your strength from refueling. The harder you pushed, the more of your muscle was drained away until, um, your well ran dry.”

Superboy felt nothing but pain coursing through his body, and he put his hand on head for comfort. “That’s happened before though, Ray. All I need is exposure to Earth’s yellow sun to recharge, right?”

“We tried that while you were out, Superboy – we opened the ceiling hatch and sat you directly in the sunshine, but that didn’t revive you and it didn’t raise your strength level.”

The teen hero looked down and noticed that his costume had been taken off again and the wireless electrodes had been re-attached. “So…so what happens now?”

Ray handed Superboy a cup of water. “Well, we'll try a few more thing now that you are awake, and of course we'll keep working on the formula until we get it right. And as for your current condition, well, we obviously need to create an antidote so you can get your powers back.”

Superboy almost choked on his water. “Powers? I’ve lost all of them?”

“You know how it works,” replied Ray. “Your strength is the engine that drives all of your other powers. Without it, everything else lies dormant.”

“So how long until you develop the antidote?” asked Superboy, slumping his shoulders as he spoke.

“Hard to say – our goal was to have the chemicals bind themselves to your body. We wanted to create something that would last a long time so you wouldn’t have to drink it every day. We will study the results of your tests to see if we can determine where it settled and how we can neutralize it. It’s also possible we weren’t successful and it may drain from your body naturally – one good bowel movement and you might be as good as new.”

The Kryptonian sighed, and then stood up. He wobbled a little, and several of the scientists reached out to help steady him.

“Let us finish the final tests and we'll get you dressed, Superb – I mean, Clark, and then we’ll figure out a way to get you home,” said Ray. “I promise we will call you the moment we come up with something.”

Clark sighed again, then sat back down on the chair - just the act of standing up had tired him, and he was glad for the chance to rest while the science team did their work.

Later, he borrowed a track suit from Hercu-Leeza, since she was about his same size, and then hopped a ride back to Smallville in an extra seat on Wonder Girl’s invisible jet. After a quick landing, Clark went into his home and broke the news to his parents. They were supportive in his hour of need, of course, but figured it would only be a short time until the JLA scientists came up with an answer.

And so did Clark – he sat by the phone for the entire afternoon and evening waiting for a call, but one never came. He wanted to skip school the next day, but Martha pushed him out the door. He attended his classes and tried to act as if everything was OK, but the world seemed so different to him – slower, quieter, less vivid, and flatter – without his superpowers.

Of all of his powers, the depletion of his strength was by far the most annoying loss for Clark – everything was just so much heavier and unwieldy (even something as little as his lunch tray) and he became winded after just a short walk. His muscles looked just as big as they did the day before, but there was no power or force behind them – they were like empty shells. His biceps still increased in size when Clark flexed, for example, but the muscles were very soft when he touched them and could easily be squeezed. The rock hardness that was there before was no longer.

To make things worse, his muscle control was also affected. He was used to confidently gliding through the halls of his school and avoiding any obstacles, but was now walking awkwardly and stumbling from time to time. The snow and ice on the ground outside also made it difficult for him to get around, so he began to walk very slowly and carefully wherever he went to make sure he didn’t fall and hurt himself.

In addition to these complications, he was also starting to gain weight at a rapid rate. Clark had never relied on food to supply his nutrients before, so he had never been much of an eater – he would just consume whatever necessary to blend in with non-superheroes. But since his fateful day at the JLA, he found himself to be just as famished as any other large teenage boy, and he started eating bigger and bigger meals and snacked constantly throughout the day to satisfy his hunger.

But the test fomula had also robbed him of his super-metabolism – in fact, His was left slower than that of a normal teen – so Clark’s body started to quickly register some changes. His once super pecs began to sag ever so slightly, and his ridged abdominals no longer showed up under the layer of fat that had accumulated on his belly. His once-perfect ass had begun to spread wider and wider, and love handles had sprung from nowhere to attach themselves to his side.

Of course, the weight gain was very difficult for Clark to hide in his tailored clothes. What had once fit perfectly was straining to cover him, and by early December he could no longer wear his regular pants or shirts. He had to have his mom drive him to the Big and Tall outlet shop in nearby Tipton, Kansas, to pick up some sweatsuits that would fit his growing bulk.

The other kids at school certainly noticed the changes, but most were too kind to say anything – they just avoided saying anything about the transformation and tried not to laugh at unfortunate events like his pants splitting open as he sat down due. Some of the more cruel ones, however, started calling him “Clark Spent,” and unfortunately he could hear their whispers and giggles even without his superhearing.

He tried to remain upbeat, but as the days stretched on without a call from the JLA, Clark became more and more withdrawn – he felt pathetic and weak, and hated that he could no longer contribute as a crimefighter. He only left the house to go to school, he rarely spoke to anyone, and he stopped paying attention to the world around him. As winter settled into Smallville, Clark grew as gray and cold as the weather.

By the last Saturday in January, Jonathan Kent had had enough – he had always been a man of action, and even though his wife insisted that they let Clark mourn the loss of his powers, Mr. Kent couldn’t stand seeing his son mope around day after day. He checked a number in the phone book and made a quick call, and then waited for Clark to come down the stairs for breakfast. When he hadn’t showed up by 10:00am, Mr. Kent went right into Clark’s room, woke up his son, and told him to put on some comfortable clothes and be in the car in five minutes.

Exactly five minutes passed before Clark emerged from the house, dressed in an oversized blue sweatshirt and baggy blue sweatpants under his winter coat, and got into the car with his father. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“Son, you may no longer be the Boy of Steel, but I’m certainly not going to let you sit around and turn into the Boy of Mush while we wait for an antidote to your condition. I’ve signed you up for a membership to a gym over in Tipton and paid for a personal trainer. You can go as much as you want, but you will be going down there at least three days a week. Got it?”

Clark was about to complain, but he knew it would be of no use. Once his father had his mind set of something, it was impossible to change. He’d just have to make the best of it.

“I guess working out won’t be so bad,” he said. “And it probably would take my mind off of things.”

“That’s the spirit,” said the elder Kent. “Trust me, Clark, exercise will be the best thing for you right now.”

They drove from Smallville to Tipton, and Jonathan let his son out of the car when they arrived at the town's only gym. “I’ve got some errands to run, but I’ll be back in an hour or so to pick you up.”

Clark nodded and thanked his dad, and then got out of the car and went into the gym, where the attendant at the front desk checked him in. “There are four trainers here right now, sir, so you can have your pick,” he said as he pointed to the workout area. “Just look for the people in the yellow shirts.”

Clark walked over to the workout area and immediately spotted the first trainer in a small office just off the gym floor – he was older, maybe 50, and had the look of an ex-football player. He had some muscle tone, but the giant gut stretching out his yellow shirt was definitely his most noticeable feature. The trainer was shoving a foot-long sandwich into his mouth, and had a big bag of cookies sitting beside him.

“Option #1,” thought Clark.

He scanned the room further and noted a second yellow shirt, this time being worn by a man approximately 30 years old with a slender build on a treadmill – and slender was being generous. He was probably the skinniest person Clark had ever seen, and at the rate he was jogging, cardio was clearly his biggest priority.

“Well, at least he’s a little closer to my age.”

Clark continued to walk around the gym until he noticed a third yellow shirt on a small woman with a severe, almost angry, look upon her face. She gave off an aura of unhappiness and was glaring at a young woman who was working out nearby. Clark wasn’t sure if the young woman her client or just somebody who was annoying her, but he really didn’t think it would be worth finding out.

He decided the head back to the skinny trainer on the treadmill when he spotted the fourth yellow shirt – it was being worn by a youthful muscular blond guy who was doing wide-grip chin-ups. Suspended five feet in the air with his arms outreached, wearing the yellow t-shirt over radiant skin and crowned with golden hair, the trainer resembled a glowing angel.

Clark stopped immediately and stared. The man’s biceps were insanely big for someone so young-looking, and they didn’t seem to require much effort to propel his beefy body up and down, up and down, on the chin-up bar. Clearly this person needed to strap on about 100 extra pounds to really challenge himself.

In addition, the skintight yellow shirt revealed a set of sturdy-looking set of delts and traps, a beefy chest, and a pair of wing-like lats that added to his angelic appearance. The shirt was also a little short (or was all that muscle preventing it from covering the trainer’s whole torso?), so his finely-sculpted abs were peaking through. Below the shirt, he was wearing a baggy pair of athletic shorts that hid the definition in his upper legs, but Clark was reasonably sure they were probably as strong-looking as his calves.

The trainer seemed to notice the staring, so he jumped down and walked over to Clark. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked in a polite tone.

The golden hues grew brighter as the well-muscled trainer approached, and Clark felt a wave of tingling stirring his senses – it was as if he had suddenly woken up from a long nap and no longer resided in the gray world he had been living in for the past few months. He felt really alive for the first time since his powers had been drained.

The former hero cleared his throat and stood up as erect as he could. “Um, I just signed up for one of your training packages, and the guy at the front desk said I should come out here and meet the trainers.”

“Great. Would you like me to introduce you to everyone so you can find the one right for you?” asked the trainer. He rubbed his left hand over his buzzcut hair, causing his bicep to bulge up again – and up close, it looked even larger than it had on the chinup bar.

“After seeing how easily you do those chin-ups, I have a feeling you’re the right person for the job,” Clark replied with a big smile on his face. Then he reached out his right hand and added, “I’m Clark, by the way.”

“Very nice to meet you, Clark,” said the trainer as he firmly gripped the hand of his new client. “My name is Garrett, but everyone calls me ‘Ax.’”


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Superboy's flashback stopped when he felt a strange warmth flowing through his entire body – a strange intense heat that creeped across his being. “Could it be related to the Kryptonite, or was it from something else?” he asked himself.

Before Superboy could figure it out, the warmth had disappeared and Max's cold voice once again filled the room. “Your time as a hero is almost over, Supes. Tick tock, tick tock,” he chortled.

Max's taunting reminded the dwindling champion of the danger facing him now. Superboy knew he only had a few more minutes before his powers were gone forever, but his mind was so cloudy that a plan of action wasn’t taking shape.

He struggled to get up, but Max pushed him all the way back down to the floor, swung his leg over the hero’s body, and sat down on his abdomen. “Do I seem heavier as you get weaker? Do my arms look bigger as yours get smaller?” Max put his hands next to Superboy’s head and leaned in really close, flexing his large biceps and he moved.

“How about my chest?” asked Max as he leaned in even closer, laying his torso on top of the fallen hero. “Does it seem firmer than yours? Do my pecs feel stronger?” He began to flex them up and down, rubbing his nipples across Superboy’s costume but careful not to knock off the piece of Kryptonite that was sucking away all his power.

“Or what about my dick? Does it feel bigger as yours shrivels away?” He slid his hips downward to match up his groin with Superboy's and began to grind them around so that their cocks would rub together. “Am I more of a man than you, Superboy?”

Superboy didn’t respond, but an authoritative voice from behind did speak.

“I’d stop right there if I were you.”

[ToolShedCub]

ok well this story WAS cool

[manlion]

Yeah, parts 1 and 2 were pretty awesome. You lost me with Superboy, tho. (I dunno, I never got into superhero fanfics. Original characters and plots are great, but as soon as someone drops in a major character, I'm done.)

[iluvbigmen]

Oh this is much better now that Superboy is in it ... hopefully Ax steals his powers and costume and becomes SUPER MAX!

[michaelv2]

I can see what you mean about a little bit of everything in this story! I'm starting to guess who Ax's "out of town" boyfriend might be.

[Generitrans]

Well...that story just took a right-hand turn. I think it might have been a good idea to add in a few clues earlier about Superboy showing up and Max having supervillain ambitions, because this chapter just threw me totally for a loop. Reading it from the start you think it's a nerd's-revenge story, but the fourth paragraph cranks you a hard 270 into supervillain origin setup, and your head spins from the transition.

[Xyggurat]

Originally Posted by ToolShedCub

ok well this story WAS cool

Not trying to play moderator here, but it would be nice if we tried to keep our criticisms vaguely constructive and polite. I was thrown for a bit of a loop myself at Superboy's appearance, but it's important to remember that this is Padraig's story.

You're always free to write something up to your own standards if you don't like what someone else is producing.

[Padraig]

Thanks for everyone's comments ? I do appreciate them all, and I'm glad you are taking the time to read my stuff.

I tried to drop a few subtle clues about the arrival of Superboy in the earlier chapters - I set the story in Kansas, and Max said at one point that he felt as strong as Superboy. I had some other hints in the original draft as well, but I felt like I was giving too much away too soon so I deleted them. But pretty much with most of the things I write, I try not to give too much away at the beginning ? I like the reader to be a little surprised along the way.

As for the "kitchen sink" style of this story (fast muscle growth, over-time growth, muscle theft, superheroes, etc.), this tale was the first I ever wrote in the muscle growth genre, and I was trying on different elements to see what felt right for me. I learned from this endeavor that I definitely prefer more natural growth and less fond of revenge scenarios (like muscle theft) ? which I think is why the later stories that I wrote (like the Summer of 1981 series) do not contain much of that.

But I thought there might be some who would take a liking to this (admittedly messy) story, so I decided to post it. I enjoy hearing from you, and I enjoy hearing from those of you who don't like it as well because sometimes your suggestions for improvement plant the seeds for future writing.

Thanks again! Part 4 will be up soon!

[Hunk Golden]

I think this is a great story, pretty well written and I really liked the "Superboy" twist and I'm looking foward to part 4.

[Padraig]

Thanks, Hunk Golden! Love your name!

[iluvbigmen]

LOOOVE The Superboy part ... alsokind of saw the it coming from the kansas thing, or I was hoping Also Loooove the part where he says he hasn't figured out how to take Superboy's powers ... YET Sooooo looking forward to a SuperMAX

[speedoTrap]

I greatly enjoy the story. I am impressed with your creative notions in various genres being detailed. The lessons to be learned by Max has been building and you've definitely given us some big surprises. So, this is not a judgment on muscle theft. I'm eagerly awaiting for additional climatic episodes, a dabble into the experience of someone initially stealing the powers of others... and the heroes slowly finding their way.

THANKS for sharing your story and allowing us to enjoy your creative talents!!

[Eldrhnk]

A multitude of thankfulness to you, Padraig. You have quite a flair for writing and it shows up here very markedly.

[Padraig]

Thanks, Eldrhnk! I re-edited this story a little to add some pizzazz because I though the first draft was a little dry. I'm glad you like it!

[ToolShedCub]

Originally Posted by Xyggurat

Not trying to play moderator here, but it would be nice if we tried to keep our criticisms vaguely constructive and polite. I was thrown for a bit of a loop myself at Superboy's appearance, but it's important to remember that this is Padraig's story.

You're always free to write something up to your own standards if you don't like what someone else is producing.

yeah tried that apparently nobody liked it.