Creo

reader14 · #1 July 30th, 2011, 11:51 AM

[COLOR=White]I know I never finished California Muscle; thanks to everyone who asked, but it's not a project I'm really interested in any more (at least for the time being). This one should set the stage for a multitude of generally linked, but sort of one-off stories; hopefully I'll be able to write when I can. Clearly, I owe a lot to a ton of wonderful authors around here--thanks to everyone for contributing and supporting!

[/COLOR] Jimmy plodded through the door of his shabby bedroom, threw his schoolbag on the faded bedspread, collapsed into his rickety desk chair with a sigh, and buried his face in his hands.

“I'm sick of this,” he muttered into his palms.

Jimmy was sick of all of it. Sick of being too poor to have what he knew he and his hardworking parents deserved. Sick of being skinny and malnourished. Sick of looking like he was twelve even though it was his sixteenth birthday. Sick of getting beaten up for being so small. Sick of feeling like he had to hide most of the details of his life from his friends so that he wouldn't get made fun of even more. Take today, for instance—it was his birthday, and when his friend Danny had asked if he could come over to celebrate with Jimmy and his family (he insinuated that he had a cake and a gift he'd like to bring over), Jimmy had had to say no, that his parents were working late, and that his birthday celebration would be that weekend with family that lived out of town. Jimmy had no family out of town—and while it was true that his parents often worked late (his mother was a supermarket cashier and his father a gas station attendant), both had said they would be home early that night.

Jimmy looked at his watch—it was barely four in the afternoon. Even if they did manage to get home early, his parents wouldn't be in before six. “May as well do some homework,” he murmured, pulling a book out of his bag and sitting with it at his desk.

Jimmy's parents did manage to get home by six that night, and all things considered, they had a nice birthday. His mother had gone around town looking for discount steaks, and when she had grilled them and served them with baked potatoes, Jimmy was so excited to be eating red meat that he didn't mind if it was a little tough, or the portions a bit too small. His father had gotten a nice tip that day, and brought home a small cake from the bakery.

The best part of the night, however, came after dinner, when the dishes had been cleared. Jimmy's parents suddenly started looking very secretive, pleased with themselves, and just a bit apprehensive.

“We've got something for you, son,” said his father. “It's not one of the real ones, but the guy who sold it to me told me it was just as good.”

“We wanted you to have something that all the other kids your age have,” said his mother, pushing a small box across the table.

Jimmy opened the box with nervous excitement. Could it be? Was it possible? Inside, nestled amongst a few folds of tissue paper, was a small, solid, shiny black rectangle—something that, at first glance, could be mistaken for an iPhone.

“Oh, Mom and Dad! How'd you know? I—I--I love it!” he said, tears coming to his eyes. He gave both his parents a giant hug, gushing about how excited he was, and wondering how they had managed to afford it. Best not to ask, he decided—he'd feel too guilty otherwise.

“Well, go ahead, turn it on! It should work!” his father said, excitedly. Jimmy pressed the button to power it on, and the screen flashed the Apple logo for a moment before showing the main interface. In the second that the Apple logo flashed, Jimmy could have sworn that instead of the classic apple with a bite out of it, the screen showed a whole apple—but his father had said this was an off-brand, so who cared?

Jimmy hugged his parents again, thrilled, happy, elated to finally have something that he felt he deserved—that everyone else he knew had gotten before him.

Later that night, after his parents had gone to bed, Jimmy was still sitting up in his room, playing with the features of his new phone. It was basically the same as an iPhone, and Jimmy had begun to make an excited call to Danny before realizing that he didn't know what he would say. “Hey, guess what! My destitute family scrimped and bought me a phone for my birthday!” Reluctantly, he pressed the “Cancel Call” button.
Jimmy touched the icon on the screen for “Apps,” knowing that it would be empty, and that it would likely stay that way until he could afford to buy some (or download free ones off the internet at school). He was wrong, though—there was an app there, entitled “CREO.” Thinking that it must be a freebie (because lord knows, Jimmy's parents wouldn't know how to buy an app, much less afford one), he clicked on it, not sure what to expect.

The screen went black, then an odd silvery color, like the reflective tint that underlies the negative space in a mirror. Jimmy waited, looking at his reflection in the screen.

“Great, a mirror app,” he thought. “Just what I need—another reminder of how ugly I am.” He sighed and almost turned the phone off, but noticed that the uneaten apple had appeared in the silvery screen again. Jimmy paused, and as he stared, the word “CREO” appeared underneath it. The screen went blank again.

“Must be an advertisement. That silvery background is pretty cool, though.” Just then, a black box appeared in the middle of a white screen with the instructions “Place thumb in box for security recognition.” Almost in a dream, Jimmy pressed his right thumb against the screen. The phone made a small beep, and the screen cleared itself to read “CREOmode engaged. Press thumb against screen to end.” The screen went silvery again, and Jimmy was looking at his own, squinty face again.

“CREOmode? I wonder that that means? But here's that silvery screen again—this has to be a fancy ad, or mirror app.” Jimmy sighed—he had gotten excited for a few seconds, about what, he didn't know. Looking at himself in the screen—it gave a much clearer reflection of his face than the warped mirror in his room—he studied his facial features.

In addition to being short and small for his age (he was barely five feet, weighing in at about a hundred pounds) malnutrition and other circumstances had left Jimmy with a rather unfortunate face. He was pockmarked, his eyes were forever squinting, and his mousy hair was ratty and strawlike, always a bit too long or too short. Puberty hadn't brought on the acne-hiding stubble he had hoped it would—the best he got was an unfortunate unibrow. It was the unibrow that Jimmy focused on now, staring at it resentfully in his reflection and wishing it away.
Within a moment, without a noise or a tickle, it was gone.

Jimmy started backwards, almost falling out of his old desk chair. He shot his hand up to his forehead to feel—there was no unibrow any longer. He scrambled out of the chair and over to his mirror for a closer look, but the evidence was the same: without being shaved, waxed, or plucked, the dense cluster of hairs between Jimmy's eyebrows had just completely disappeared.

Immediately suspicious, he dropped the iPhone onto his desk and stared at it, breathing heavily to calm himself.

“I wonder...” he murmured, moving closer, looking into the silvery screen again.

Jimmy looked at his reflection again, focusing this time on his squinty, muddy brown eyes. As he looked at them and concentrated, they seemed to open, going from small, watery slits to wide, almond shaped eyes, expressive and beautiful. The muddy brown slowly disappeared, lightening to an icy blue, then deepening to an intense blue-green that Jimmy somehow knew could change color depending on the light. A quick glance in the bedroom mirror again told Jimmy that the phone wasn't playing tricks on him—either he was imagining things, or this was strangely, oddly, wonderfully real.

Even if he was dreaming, Jimmy decided, he may as well have fun while he could. Continuing to look at his face in the screen, he watched his pug nose become longer and straighter, his cheekbones higher and wider, and his forehead smoother. The acne and pockmarks disappeared in a moment, leaving behind luminous skin pulled tightly over his face.

Jimmy cracked a smile, then almost snorted because of how ridiculous he looked. His face needed a lot more work, and he set to it. His jaw widened, becoming square and so sharp it looked stony. A cleft appeared as his chin moved outwards, changing from a receding jawline to a lantern jaw. His ears moved into his head, and his lips, so thin and small, became wider and poutier, coloring themselves with just the slightest blush of pink, and finishing off with a gentle Cupid's bow. The planes of his face grew strong and defined, and within a moment, rich brown stubble had covered Jimmy's neck and chin. A set of sideburns crept down his face, and his hair, once so matted and mousy, became a lustrous brown that Jimmy knew shone red and gold in the sun. The length evened out, becoming slightly spiky towards the front and top in a style that Jimmy had seen on the cover of fashion magazines. When Jimmy could handle the heartwrenching beauty of his face no longer, he turned to the mirror and put his hands up to feel it, and ran his fingertips over his soft lips, his taut skin, his jutting cheekbones. And snorted with laughter again at the vision of this angelic face on his tiny, scrawny, barely-five-foot body.

Still looking in the mirror, Jimmy thought about being taller, and closed his eyes in anticipation of the foot-plus that he was about to gain.
Nothing happened.

Jimmy opened his eyes, made sure his new face was still there, and screwed his wonderful eyes up again, concentrating as hard as he could on growing a foot and four inches exactly.

Nothing happened again.

Beginning to freak out a bit, Jimmy turned back to his desk where the iPhone was, and picked it up. As soon as his face was visible in the silvery surface, he experienced a crushing wave of vertigo.

When it passed, he realized that the room was different—it seemed smaller, somehow. Going up to the door where his parents had marked his height in pencil for the past sixteen years, Jimmy saw that he was now, indeed, six feet and three inches tall. A bit more experimenting with the phone as he fine-tuned his face and height showed that the changes only happened if he was holding the phone, or looking in the mirrored surface of the screen. Looking back in his bedroom mirror as he held the phone in his left hand, Jimmy's beautiful lips stretched into a smirk. Now it was time for the good stuff.

Starting with his neck, Jimmy slowly added muscle to his body, tightening and toning the skin as he did so, moving down, down, down. Onto the frame of a six-foot-three beanpole with a gaunt yet stunning face, he added pound after pound of hard, solid muscle, watching his body expand as he did so. His shoulders widened as his delts ballooned, his biceps lengthening, expanding, contracting even as veins snaked up his forearms. Jimmy gave himself a set of triceps that were a little larger than usual, watching with glee as the horseshoe shaped muscle bulged out when he straightened his now impressive arms. His pecs slowly ballooned out, creating a beautiful crevasse down the middle as his nipples pointed further away and down. His waist, of course, gained almost no inches at all, and his lats flared into a glorious cobra hood as he placed his hands on his waist and spread them. Six-no, eight shredded abdominals slowly came into focus in Jimmy's midsection even as a host of intercostals and inguinal curves made themselves visible as well (owing, of course, to the fact that it never even occurred to Jimmy to have anything remotely resembling body fat). Veins snaked down into his pajama pants, and while he was thinking about it, Jimmy ran his thumb up and down the crevice between his abs, leaving behind a short brown treasure trail.

Jimmy looked down at his legs next, surprised to see that his pajama pants had disappeared, only to be replaced by a pair of elastic-waisted grey gym shorts (the same pair, it turns out, that Jimmy had imagined himself wearing). His skinny, sticklike legs slowly became thicker and thicker, his quadriceps showing well developed teardrop shaped muscles even as his calves began to look like footballs carved from diamond. His feet grew to keep up with his legs, completing his beautiful, lithe form.

Jimmy stepped back, taking stock of himself. A lithe form it was, like a fitness/fashion model. His waist was narrow and his chest wide, and his body fat was low—he looked as if he had played sports all his life, and hit the gym to sculpt, not bulk. As he checked himself out, left hand roving over his new body, he realized something was missing. With another mischievous grin, he imagined his shorts away, leaving him naked, staring down at a comically small (yet completely erect) cock. Still smiling, Jimmy began to play with it, willing it to get harder and harder as it became longer and thicker. When it had grown from a measly two inches erect to a slightly more acceptable five, Jimmy stopped, and placed the phone where he could still look into it. Still fondling his dick with his left hand, he moved his right around to his ass, which he willed to become larger and rounder, and higher and higher. As his dick continued to grow, he slowly slipped one of his new, masculine fingers into his crack, relishing how tightly his glutes closed around it.

After a few more moments, and when Jimmy felt like he was at the peak of orgasm, he stopped and looked into the mirror to take stock of himself. His eyes, for the second time that night, began to water—he was looking at the vision of what he had always wanted to be, what he felt he had always deserved to be. The face of a teenage heartthrob model rested on the body of an athlete-cum fitness model, while the long, thick cock of a pornstar stood at attention, throbbing gently and dripping precum. His balls hung low in a golden sac, the size of chicken eggs. Jimmy turned to the side to admire his ass, and almost gasped when he saw how round and pert it was, his cock involuntarily growing another few quarters of an inch as he did so. “Damn, I wish I knew what my stats were,” he thought to himself.

The screen of the phone was flashing. On it was a list of stats. Jimmy read:

Height: 6'3''
Weight: 190
Neck: 18.25''
Chest: 47''
Biceps: 18''
Waist: 27.5''
Quads: 24''
Calves: 18''
Penis length: 9.75''
Penis circumference: 7''

Jimmy looked up from the screen and at his reflection in the mirror again. Realizing that he was naked, he was clothed in a pair of black silk Dolce and Gabbana briefs before he even realized that he wanted them.

“I wonder...” thought Jimmy, beginning to get the general idea of the situation.

Taking hold of the phone, Jimmy began concentrating on his room. No longer was it dinky and small—he made it into the lair he had always wanted—or, the lair that the new Jimmy would have always wanted. The walls pushed away as the ceiling swept upwards, and the bed expanded into a king sized mattress. His desk became larger, wooden, and equipped with not one, but two brand new computers, flanked by bookshelves on either side. After considering a moment, Jimmy imagined a second room attached to his bedroom, a study of sorts, and pushed the desk and bookshelves into there.

One of the walls became a glass display case filled with trophies—most of them athletic, but some of them academic and theatrical as well. On the wall next to the trophy case was a page torn out from a teen magazine, showing Jimmy at his sexy best in a lemon yellow bikini, bearing the title “All About James.” “James,” thought Jimmy. “I'm James now.”

Several leather couches materialized, focused on a ninety inch plasma television that took up another wall. A small fridge, stocked with beer (and vodka that his parents didn't know about) completed the den area. A door off the side, James knew, led to his new closet, a room in its own right, in which his almost endless supply of clothes was kept. The walls became covered with photos of athletes, models, actors and actresses, almost all of them shirtless.

As James changed his room, he changed his whole house, and indeed life, as well. No longer were he and his parents poor—they were quite well to do, living in a beautiful mansion in the nicest part of town. His parents owned a consulting firm together, and enjoyed it very much—especially since they made enough to jet off to their second house in the south Pacific for a month every winter, and to their home in Aspen, Colorado for a month every summer. James was still sixteen, he decided, and still in his sophomore year at the same high school. He was the school's star athlete, winning MVP for football, baseball, soccer, and swimming his freshman year alone. He was no dumb jock, though—he aced all his classes, was loved by all his teachers, and had a huge circle of friends. For his sixteenth birthday, he decided, his parents had given him a new car—a Hummer H2, not entirely practical, but easily the biggest thing by a longshot in the school parking lot.

When he thought he had finished with his new life, James walked into his new bathroom, still carrying the phone. The walls, instead of the normal tile, were all mirrors—something he insisted on, so he could always see his body in its full beauty. He placed the phone carefully on the floor, then stood up, looking straight into the mirror into his own beautiful new eyes, his hands roving up and down his new, teenaged jock supermodel body. He started fingering his nipple, and saw his giant cock moving again, stretching the confines of its soft, silken prison. Settling into a rhythm, James rubbed his nipple with one hand and continued to feel his new body with the other, switching every once in a while so that both tender brown-pink spots got attention. His cock continued to stir, tightening the underwear.

Its head appeared, snaking out of the bottom of his briefs as the uncut tip snuck down to his left thigh. Slowly, slowly James continued to feel himself, watching the cockhead with glee. Finally, when his cock was semi hard (which was, of course, larger than most men's full, raging hardons) he reached both hands down to the underpants and released his cock. It sprang up, beautiful, long, and thick, the foreskin pulling down over the glans, looking almost more like two soda cans, or a tree branch, covered in flesh than a real cock.

James moved both hands to his massive shaft, slowly, then quicker and quicker, moving them up and down. As he jacked himself, precum flowed from the tip of his incredible sausage, acting as lubricant when he rubbed it in.

Faster and faster he went, thinking about his new body and his new life—harder and harder he got. He started thinking about muscles—more muscles, bigger muscles, sweaty pecs the size of half basketballs glistening as he ran down the beach, biceps as big as some men's waists with such a thick cephalic vein on top it looked like another muscle. He imagined more vascularity and more strength; less body fat and even more radiant beauty. He jacked harder and harder, building up to the first orgasm in his new body, what he knew would be the best one of his life.
The phone, almost forgotten on the floor, blinked again, reverting to the silvery screen. Catching the reflection of James's cock, or perhaps being nudged by his toe, the CREO app started working again. James grew bigger and bigger as he masturbated, towering up to six feet, eight inches, and going from one hundred ninety pounds of muscle to over three hundred. Gone was the lithe, model-athlete body: standing in his bathroom, James was a rival to every bodybuilder in the world, his pecs ballooning, his biceps flexing, his abs becoming more and more shredded by the second.

Not gone, however, was the beautiful, pouty model face: James's hair went from brown to gold, and his jaw and cheekbones became even sharper, but his lips became fuller and poutier, his brows heavier, his eyes even more incredibly bright and beautiful. It was still the face of a sixteen year old, though a beautiful, worldly one whose expression could switch back and forth between innocence and seduction in no time at all.
And, of course, there was the cock. As his ass rose higher and rounder and his muscles inflated fuller and denser, as his skin became more and more golden and flawless, the massive cock that James was jacking grew longer too. Quickly it passed ten inches, then eleven, then twelve: all the while, it grew thicker, stronger, veinier as his hands moved over it. Standing at attention, it moved past his navel, the tip whacking against the deep line between his abdominals and sending drops of precum to rest in the golden blond bush that decorated his still barely-twenty-nine inch waist. His balls swelled with his cock, testicles moving from eggs to oranges in a matter of seconds, churning, seizing, straining to produce enough cum for what was sure to be the orgasm of the century.

And it was. When he could take it no more, when his body was at its peak and his glorious cock at its absolute finest, he let go. With one final stroke, he let out a mighty groan (not worrying about his parents hearing, because he had remembered to put their wing on another side of the mansion) and watched as, in what seemed like slow motion, a river of cum exploded from his cock.

It went on and on, splattering the mirror, the tiles, the whole bathroom. James was covered in his own seed, and smiled, licking it off from the skin around his kissable lips. He absentmindedly rubbed the cum on his chest into his nipples (a habit he had picked up from the football team, where all the guys did it for some reason) and picked up the cum-drenched phone from the floor.

“Shit,” he thought, “I hope I didn't break it!” He imagined the cum covering the mirror away, and in a moment, it was. Turning around, he examined the new him in the mirror.

It was unbelievable. He couldn't imagine a sexier being, and he kept having to touch an ab, a glute, or a testicle to reassure himself that it was real, that it was really him.

It was real, all right. It was all real now, the new life, the new memories, the new body. James looked at his phone, and smiled.

He stood in the bathroom a while longer, staring at himself without really seeing anything. When he shook himself awake, he made moves to start heading back to bed—but then stopped, eyeing the mirrors again. Why bother? Taking a wide legged stance and looking squarely into his own eyes, James held the phone in his right hand. Slowly, he willed his hair back to brown, then black, and started darkening his skin even as his spine contracted just a little bit, making his impossible muscles even more dense and hard. Looking down, he saw his cock, now a foot long flaccid, begin to twitch again. A smirk flitted across his exquisite, innocent face. Tonight was going to be a lot of fun.