The Entity and Stephen Lewis Part 6

[JP71]

[COLOR=#808080]THE ENTITY &[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#808080]STEPHEN LEWIS[/COLOR]
[COLOR=gray]By JP71[/COLOR]
[COLOR=gray]Part 6[/COLOR]

[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 1[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 2[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 3[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 4[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 5[/COLOR]

It was when Agniezka left the apartment, just before midnight on that blighted Saturday, that I knew I’d reached a turning point. Something snapped inside me... well, maybe not snapped in the way people can sometimes go around the twist as a result of being exposed to something cataclysmic and soul-destroying. I had a very strong feeling that I was right about all this. And yet, I suddenly wanted to do nothing about it. No, wait... that’s not entirely correct. I wanted to do something, alright. I suddenly wanted to protect whatever it was down in that basement that was the source of all this unnatural activity. I was convinced that the secret to my muscle-growth was down there, whereas my apartment acted merely as a lens, a way of focusing the energy... into me. If you could feel the sheer power... the undiluted masculine strength that courses through my every fibre, you’d understand that it was something worth protecting, and improving on.

I need to move things along now; otherwise I’ll be telling you what I had for breakfast every morning since March of this year. No, that’s not how I want this account of the rest of my year thus far to unfold on paper. But what is really interesting about the next five or so months of my life, is how everything, for better or worse, more or less fell into my muscle-hardened lap. Well, it wasn’t all plain sailing, I guess. In fact, there were two particular incidents, which, depending on how you looked at it, could be considered major downturns or positive boons. But I think they made me a stronger person, and I don’t just mean physically. These “boons” stripped me down to a bloke with a more streamlined way of living, so that my life-goals never seemed more important to me. But I will explain in due course.

The murder at Xavier Heights became old news very quickly. For that you can thank two earthquakes, a plane hi-jacking by a religious extremist group in which a B-list American rap artist was shot in the face, and even further economic destabilisation across the Euro zone. News has a short shelf-life these days. And when you have something to protect, it’s nice to be anonymous. Although, my ever-growing physique meant that I could never be just another face in the crowd. And knowing this thrilled me and boned me all at once.

The Garda serious crime squad never showed interest in the basement, simply because they didn’t know it was there. To my astonishment, the keyhole marked “B” in the lift had the amazing ability to disappear on and off. Or maybe it was just that people didn’t notice it. I certainly had to focus on the panel of lift buttons to finally see the “B” button appear, so maybe it was the same for other people using the lift. But surely the police would have access to the plans of the building. You know what? I didn’t fucking care at this point. No sooner had poor Dale’s blood been washed off the asphalt by a downpour of torrential rain, the glass frontage of the gym called Mass Central replaced after a tree was removed from its second-storey, and life more or less returned to normal, when I began to wonder if I’d actually dreamed all of that god-awful day.

I later learned that Lance had taken some kind of fit in his jail cell and swallowed his tongue. It had happened during the night. He’d had to be sedated near-constantly, and it was ruled that he wouldn’t be standing trial on the grounds that his mental stability wouldn’t hold up. Besides, no one was prepared to run the gauntlet of returning this man to a public place, no matter how well-guarded the operation might have been. And that was that. Grease Lightning Lance was a goner, but what of the fate of his physical assets, the apartment building included?

The deeds passed to Rita, his estranged wife, but they hadn’t seen each other in years (guess I had Lance’s sexual orientation completely wrong). She lived her life in and out of one rehab clinic after another. Alcohol had robbed her of her ability to walk, and she more than likely had a liver that looked like it’d been dreamed up from the mind of Salvador Dali. In any case, I was the only tenant of hers at Xavier Heights when she and her overbearing spoilt brat of a son Oliver arrived to take what was rightfully theirs. This happened in early April. In the time that’d passed since Lance’s rampage, I’d experienced nothing new in the way of entity-generated muscle-growth.

Two days after she’d introduced herself and Oliver to me (oh how that kid would become the bane of my existence in the weeks and months to come), I awakened one Wednesday morning to find a note slipped under my door. There was no envelope; just a folded-over piece of A4 with a staple in it. The note was brief and to the point. In Rita’s shakiest hand she basically informed me that she was hiking the rent by a third. The last line was barely more than a scrawl, something about the property being in negative equity and overheads being astronomical. I wondered whether she had a right to do this. I decided to call Shirley. There’d been a fire at the company offices on the executive level. It was mostly smoke and water sprinkler damage, and the place has been empty at the time, but the floor would be closed off for a fortnight whilst it was set back to rights. And so I was mostly working from home... when I could set my mind to it. Shirley, also working from home, was doing the bulk of my work... bless her.

“She’s doing what?” Shirley was munching something (toast probably), and I could hear the TV on in the background. Wasn’t she supposed to be working?

“Upping the rent by a third. I can’t lay my hands on my copy of the contract at the moment. I was wondering if you’d take a look at the copy I know you made and scanned into your computer at the office. Can you dial in and see if I have a leg to stand on?” I could hear Shirley frowning on the other end.

“You’d swear I had a dozen pair of hands,” she complained.

“You do, bitch. And four brains, which makes you a multi-tasking dynamo.” I knew how to sweeten her lemon.

“Okay then. I’ll get a look at it sometime this morning. Call you back when I know something.” She hung up without saying goodbye. I’d already eaten, but I decided to help myself to another bowl of porridge. I hadn’t made any decent gains since my last growth-spurt, although I was lifting like crazy. I’d gained a couple of pounds, but I thought there was a bit of fat covering my abs, as they weren’t as defined as they had been back in March. I’d found a new gym, now that Gary was almost living at Mass Central by this time. It so turned out that he was humping Cynthia the boss, as she’d broken up with her boyfriend that owned the SUV (Zombie Guy, the gym receptionist, was a vault of information, bless him). Cynthia was a female bodybuilder, so I reckoned her pussy could handle all that Gary meat. Jesus, what a thought. I pinched myself forcibly for having come up with that one. I often wondered how he wrangled his way out of the trouble surrounding the partial demolition of his house, the result of which saw the police show some interest in his activities.

According to Shirley, Gary coughed up ten grand to appease Gillian. It more than covered the repair costs, and she had enough left over to take off on a fancy cruise with Bethany. Shirley was glad to see the back of them anyway, as they’d not only outstayed their welcome, but had begun to treat Shirley’s humble abode as their personal dyke den of iniquity. So Gary was “shacked” up with Cynthia now. It had all turned out smelling of roses, I reckoned. Except for me. My living costs, already inordinately high due to my hardcore bodybuilding lifestyle, were about to escalate, if Rita ended up having her way.

Shirley rang me back within the hour. “It’s in the small print, sunshine. The landlord has the right to increase rent in order to cover any increase in running and/or maintenance costs. It’s a load of crap, in my opinion. You should be served notice before a contractual change like this, plus you should be given the option to break said contract and get back your deposit and month in advance. But if you walk out now, dear Rita can sue that muscular arse of yours.”

“Who said I was walking out? I like living here, Shirley. I’m settled. Besides, my new gym is a five minute drive from here. This suits me fine, really. I’ll just have to tighten my belt, that’s all.”

“Huh, you tighten your belt? Stephen, with the way you’re growing these days, you need to let stuff out, not tighten things up, honey.” I could virtually hear her eyes rolling upwards to heaven so that only the whites showed. Well, Pauline at reception had her Tina Turner party piece. This was Shirley’s.

“My growth’s hit a ceiling for now. I think I need to re-arrange my training routines, make things fresh for my muscles again.” I was naked in my apartment as I talked on the phone. Just for fun I placed an apple from the fruit bowl on my coffee table between my balled-up bicep and the crook of my arm. It took minimum pressure to crush the apple into a pulpy mess. I beamed with delight, and my dick sprang upright when I pictured in my mind me doing the same thing a year from now... but to a coconut instead.

Shirley went quiet on the line. I could now clearly hear the programme on her TV in the background. I think it was Scrubs. We both loved that show. In fact, I’d lent Shirley my entire Scrubs collection on DVD more than a year ago. Time I got it back. Nah, I thought. Let her keep them. I don’t have time for TV anymore. It’s bodybuilding now. That’s all I have time for outside of work.

“It’s gone to your head, hasn’t it,” she said, intending to make a statement and not a question.

“I just want to be huge, Shirley. So that I can obsess over myself rather than Gary Shields. I’ve always wanted this. You know that. You read my fiction. I’m a loner, most of the time. This really helps me feel whole, somehow. Makes up for things I’m lacking in my life.”

“Like a boyfriend?” I’m sure she didn’t mean to cut in.

“Amongst other things, I guess... yeah.”

I heard what sounded like an exasperated sigh on her end. Or had she lit a cigarette and had just expelled a lungful of poison? “You’ve done in months what most men spend years trying to achieve. And Gary, too. He’s unnaturally huge. That bloke that used to be your landlord, too? He was monstrous, according to the news. Something about all of this ties my stomach up in knots, boss.”

“I’m a hundred percent healthy, bitch.”

“How do you know that? Have you had a physical lately? I’ve been reading up about the dangers of steroid abuse, Stephen. Did you know that you can g-----”

I was saved by the doorbell. “Gotta go, bitch. Talk to you tomorrow.” And I hung up.

I saw Agniezka through the peephole. I was strangely pleased to see her, but maybe that was just loneliness. The fire at work had happened over the previous weekend, so I’d been deprived of my co-workers since last Friday. Plus, I preferred to work out at night at the new place, although it closed at 11.30 pm every night except Sundays. I’d usually turn up there around seven-ish, and train until closing. I guess I was starved for some decent company. I just hoped she wouldn’t start pressing me about Marek’s remains again, like she had during the dozen or so phone calls I’d received from her since Wrath of Lance Saturday.

“Just a minute, Agniezka. I have to throw some clothes on.” I hadn’t done any laundry in a small age. I found some less-than-fresh khaki cargo shorts and pulled them on. As for my upper body, I loved how snug a tight wife-beater now felt stretched to near-seam-splitting by my exaggerated torso. Once decent, I pec-bounced my way back to the front door and let Agniezka in.

“It’s far too easy to get in here. The buzz-com is still smashed down at the gate,” she said by way of a greeting. She had a worried look on her face.

“Come in, is everything okay?”

“My mother back in Poland... she slipped... broke her hip and dislocated her knee. I need to get over there as soon as possible. She needs looking after. I just stopped by to let you know, Stephen.”

Like she needed my permission? Okay, that was insensitive of me. “Wow, that’s terrible news, Agniezka. Is there anything I can do?”

“No luck in getting the key to the basement to do what it’s supposed to then?” She looked moderately expectant. I held up a finger wrapped up in a plaster.

“It’s still freezer-burning to the touch, alas.”

“I see,” she said, before sighing despondently. I decided to give her a little hug. She seemed grateful for it. She even landed a small peck on my pec (peck on my pec, that’s funny), just above the neckline of the wife-beater. I flinched, pulling back from her slightly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” she said, blushing a bright red.

“It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. Er... in case you don’t know, Agniezka, I happen to be gay.” There, I said it. My warning flag was now flying at full mast. She turned to leave.

“I’d better be going. I have a taxi waiting outside. By the way, who are the woman and boy I saw downstairs before I got into the lift?”

“Rita in the wheelchair is my new landlord, or -lady, or whatever. Oliver is her son. Lance was his father.”

“Oh, must’ve been long before we dated. Of course, I was only seeing Lance for a month or so. He was too much of a groper, and just loved to put women down. I’m surprised a woman managed to produce his heir.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. “Are you okay for money?” I had a feeling this was Agniezka’s reason for calling. To my surprise she nodded solidly.

“Please keep in touch while I’m away, Stephen. It would be nice to have a reason to one day come back to Ireland, but I guess we’ll both have to see, eh?”

“I’ll get into that basement eventually. I promise you that.” I gave her a brief hug and let her go. I wasn’t sure what the future held for both of us, but I liked the woman, and hoped that things would turn out well for her. I certainly wished her mother the best of recoveries. But when I closed the door on Agniezka, that day, something inside me – call it my inner lust for growth – let out a little whoop for joy. Sometimes I hated myself.


I decided to get out and do some laundry by twelve-thirty that afternoon. My mind simply wasn’t on my work. Every time I stared at my computer screen, I felt my eyes getting sore. I began to wonder if I could even do this work anymore. It not only bored the hell out of me, but on occasion it made my head throb. I wanted to be lifting weights. That’s all I wanted to do. I determined, there and then, that I needed to take inventory of my life, and somehow make bodybuilding my ultimate success. I checked my bank balance online. Shit, I’d managed to get through seven grand in three months, and that excluded rent and fuel costs on this place. I’d spent a small fortune on supplements alone. I was still one rung away from earning myself the promotion that would afford me an annual clothing allowance in work. That would’ve certainly shaved a couple of grand off my expenditure, saving me on suits. Hmm, what if I could arrange to work from home on a more permanent basis? Would Estelle even go for that? I knew that Shirley would try to choke me with her bare hands if I succeeded in pulling off the seemingly impossible.

“If Homer Simpson could do it... then so can I,” I humorously remarked, and pictured myself in a fat man’s moo-moo. I quickly dismissed the thought.

My bedroom looked like a bomb had gone off at a male lingerie fashion show. Brands such as N2N Bodywear, 2(x)ist, Nike, Undergear, and even Spalding littered the room. The smell of jizz was more evident than ever. An erection sprang up inside my cargos, and I immediately hit a most-muscular pose when I once again caught sight of my gorgeous self in the full-length mirror. I did my best to shred the tank I was wearing. I didn’t quite get it the first time, but I had turned the second bedroom into a mini gym, complete with the basics of equipment, and after twenty minutes of pumping up my muscles in there, I returned to my bedroom to flex out of that tank. This time the seams came apart, and I growled like a maniac in response to my titanic muscles obeying my commands. Okay, like I mentioned before, I was still bigger in my mind than I was in reality, but this way of thinking helped to fuel my desire to grow even bigger. GRRRRRRR!!!

I gathered up my underwear, some of which were positively walking out of the apartment by themselves, and stuffed them into a duffel bag. After showering I dressed in my gym gear, deciding to hit Apollo’s Gym (the new place) early for a change. Today I would be working on my arms. I craved larger guns, not satisfied with having 22”. I wanted 40” inch upper arms, like Gary’s. And then, once they were mine, I’d consider pumping them up even bigger. My dick was huge now, almost a foot-long when it was hard, and I’d forgotten that I no longer had the building to myself as I left my apartment at around 1pm to carry out my business for the day.

Oliver stepped out of the lift and came right up to me, his eyes never once wavering from the sight of the throbbing hardon through my grey workout pants. It was topped-off nicely with a spot of precum, I later discovered, when I adjusted myself. I immediately covered it up with my duffel bag.

“My dad was bigger than you,” he said, sounding like he had a cold (did he mean muscle-wise or in the cock department?). I later realised it was a speech impediment, probably caused by over-inflamed adenoids, or something. Oliver was the epitome of all things annoying, I would soon learn.

“He sure was,” I admitted, but I decided to refrain from making further Lance/acne remarks. Oliver was about sixteen, maybe seventeen. He was tall and gangly, unlike his father, although they had the same colour hair and eyes (not that I’d noticed Lance’s features much, beyond the predominantly obvious. I just have that habit of remembering faces). Oliver wasn’t unhandsome by any means, but he had an unrefined quality to him. But I reckoned he would scrub up well if he put some effort in. Like his late father, he had a penchant for shiny tracksuits.

“My mother wants to know if you’d read the note, and if you agree to it,” he sniffled, sounding like he was about to hock a loogie at any moment. But he sniffed it back and I felt my stomach turn.

“Well I reluctantly agree to it. But I want a new contract drawn up before I commit to anything. A sheet of paper shoved under my door hardly constitutes a legally-binding document, Oliver,” I said, as I less-than-discreetly adjusted my hardon inside its jock straitjacket whilst using the duffel bag as a screen. Before the boy could speak another word: “Also... I’d like a cap on the rent after that. Your mother can’t hike the rent willy-nilly every time she feels like it. She should be trying to attract business into this place, not turn it away.”

That’s when Oliver dropped a hard one in my lap: “She’s got some deal going with the government. They’ll be paying her to take in refugees from Africa or some shit like that. It’s our right to benefit from my dad’s success. He was never around for me growing up. I deserve a legacy.”

I had nothing against foreign people, or Africans, by any means. But I’d once shared a flat with a girl back in Dublin, when I first moved out of home to be nearer to college. It was fine until a group of Nigerians moved into the same block as us. They would party until all hours, and sleep for me became something of a luxury. Okay, so they were just one group, but I suddenly had a morbid fear of history repeating itself. I decided to see how this played out. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad and I could bag myself a gorgeous African boyfriend. Maybe there’d be a bodybuilder or two among my new neighbours. It’d been on the news some months back, how mass genocide and genital mutilations were being carried out in the troubled tiny African country Masula, and also that Ireland was taking in at least five hundred of its refugees. Looks like Xavier Heights was set to become the New Masulan Republic. I quickly dismissed the thought.

“Yes, you DO deserve a legacy, Oliver. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to take care of.” I made a bee-line for the lift. Oliver said nothing, but once I’d passed him I felt his eyes boring into me, and I found this altogether unsettling.

The basement keyhole was there, beneath the other buttons of the panel, as if waiting for me, promising to be as unyielding as always. I tentatively touched it with a finger and immediately felt something akin to an electrical charge emanating from it. It wasn’t painful by any means, but I was suddenly filled with a cold sensation that I could’ve done without. This was a reminder that something altogether beyond this world still had the power to exert an influence over a portion, or portions of, this building. I left Xavier Heights that day, concentrating on getting my chores out of the way so that I could spend the next five or six hours building my muscles up even bigger.




Apollo’s Gym was different during the day. There were more people there, mostly bodybuilders at various stages of development, but it so pleased me when I discovered that I out-muscled everyone. But in true hardcore gym fashion, no one paid me any notice, as they were totally engrossed in their workouts, and that pleased me. Still, I would obviously play the show-off if such an opportunity arose in the form of a smaller guy watching me train out of the corner of his eye.

I decided to warm up with a little cardio, and found a treadmill I liked, set it to a moderate incline and speed and began a healthy pace once its electric motors kicked in. Fifteen minutes into my routine, and I was just getting nice and limber, when a familiar face hopped onto the machine next to me.

“Hey there, sexy man,” said Ray McInerney. It’d been about three weeks since we’d last seen one another.

“You left your iPod at my apartment,” I said blankly, the tone of my voice sounding flat and uninterested.

“Cool, maybe I can stop by later and pick it up, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows expectantly. He was dressed in a red sleeveless tee-shirt and black spandex leggings. He sported a thick growth of designer stubble on his way-too-handsome face. I had to admit wanting to jump his bones there and then. I decided I’d had enough cardio for one day, and I pushed the “STOP” button on the machine. Ray did the same to his.

“How come you’re coming here,” I asked, “... you finally decide to become a bodybuilder then?” It was a valid question from me. Apollo’s was for serious bodybuilders and power-lifters, not for your common-or-garden pretty boy interested in growing a nice set of abs in time for his holiday to Mykonos.

“Well, that depends on the band, and whether we make it or not. I’m in a band now,” Ray explained, expanding his chest like a proud farmyard cock.

“Really? But you still enrolled at a bodybuilder’s gym. Is this really the thing for you?” I was curious now, already picturing this hot stud in my mind mega-improved with a body to rival mine.

“Lead singer in the band knows the owner of this place. Got me a great discount... a great big fat zero in annual fees. Who you know in this crazy world is more important than what you know, wouldn’t you agree?” Ray boldly extended a hand in order to squeeze the hard muscle of my left bicep. I allowed him the privilege and then curled my forearm upwards so that the ball bicep bulged, hardened and erupted with delicious, sexy veins. Ray’s eyes said “WOW” on behalf of his larynx.

“What you know, indeed. And in your case, as well as the case of an elderly relative of yours, I’d say you know very little, Ray!” I suddenly jerked away from him, grabbed my towel off the rail of the treadmill I’d been using, and dabbed a little perspiration from my forehead. I adjusted the front of my tank-top so that more of my awesome pectorals were on show. I somewhat angrily bounced them up and down several times, instantly catching the eye of a lesser-built bodybuilder working out on an exercise bike to my right.

Ray looked puzzled, and so he should have been. “I don’t know what you mean, Steve,” was his response, and he again got my name wrong.

“That stuff you told me about Sean. Complete bullshit. I know the ex-nurse that cared for him. Turned out it was Agniezka, the Polish lady who came to my apartment the day Lance lost it. She told me that he never abused a child at all. Where’d you get this information from anyway?”

Ray frowned and furrowed his brow. It was plain to see from his suddenly agitated fidgeting that he hadn’t expected me to bring up this particular subject.

“From my dad,” he finally muttered after about half a minute. Additionally: “I never actually met the old guy. But anything my dad spoke about became law in our house. We haven’t spoken in years. Don’t give a flying fuck about him either.”

“So that’s it? You never once were curious about your uncle’s welfare, or even if he really is gifted with psychic abilities?”

“Well, it’s crossed my mind a few times. I’m not a heartless cunt, Steve. I think my mother visits him at the home, but she and I don’t speak much, just texts most of the time.”

If he gets my name wrong one more time, so help me I’ll....

“Right, back to the locker room. Get dressed. We’re going there right now.” I had to meet Sean. I had to approach the problem of the basement at Xavier Heights with as much of an advantage as I was capable of obtaining. Even if I could just reach out to Sean, for a moment or two, it might be enough for certain connections to be established. It was also an opportunity for the estranged ex-priest to finally be positively acknowledged by a member of his family.

“You must be joking,” Ray snapped, balking at my sudden change of mood.

“You want your iPod back?”

“Fuck the iPod. And fuck you!!”

I grabbed him by the arm and began dragging him across the floor. People stopped working out in order to observe the spectacle.

“Get off me,” Ray wailed, acting quite immature for his age, if you want my opinion. I knew I was doing the right thing, although I would be lying if I said that my bodybuilder’s Alpha-male persona wasn’t rearing its ugly head right now. I didn’t care. A wrong needed to be righted. And I needed Sean to help me access the basement. I just hoped that the old man was conscious and coherent enough to work with once we got to the home.

In my car...

“You realise this is kidnapping, don’t you?” Ray sat in the passenger seat, his arms folded across his seat-belted torso, a sulky expression now set on his gorgeous face.

“Your mother will thank you for this. And so will I. My name’s STEPHEN, by the way. Not Steve.” I came to a red light and put on the brakes. It gave me a chance to lean to the left so that I could land a peck on Ray’s cheek. It was my attempt to make him feel more at ease than he actually was at this time. Of course he flinched and began trying the door lock on his side, now that we were temporarily stationary.

“Central locking, Raymond. You’re my prisoner until all of this is over,” I said in a somewhat cheerful voice.

“I’m supposed to be at band practice in an hour. They only hired me as their lead guitarist last week. I can’t afford to piss them off,” Ray moaned.

“Then phone them on your mobile. Tell them you have an urgent family matter to take care of. They’ll understand.”

Ray did just that, and seemed to lighten up a smidgeon. “Where’s this place anyway?”

“Just outside Mallow. According to the internet it’s right beside a horse riding school, and a pub called “O’Shaughnessy’s”. It’s called “Elm Wood House”. You may have to help me with directions, what with me being a thick Dublin lad.” I shot him with a sexy wink as the traffic lights became green and I put the car back into first.

“I know that pub. You need to take the next right to get onto the motorway. It’s about five kilometres after that.”

We found Elm Wood House without any difficulty. It was one of those privately-run facilities established from a converted British landowner’s nineteenth century estate, set on acre upon acre of private but scenic land and encapsulating woodland as far as the eye could see. It was quite a plush affair, and I found myself wondering who was footing the bill for Sean’s care. To my knowledge he hadn’t made much money from the sales of his book, considering how the family of the boy from Connemara were the main beneficiaries. But it was mostly a retired priests’ retreat, so I guessed the vow of poverty in the Catholic Church was a misnomer.

When we parked the car in the visitor’s parking lot, I was immediately taken aback by how empty the place seemed. I’d half-expected there to be nurses traipsing around the grounds as they pushed old codgers around in their wheelchairs, encouraging them to embrace the great outdoors for a few minutes before taking them back inside to park them on their intricately-carved antique commodes.

The gravel I displaced as my footfalls took me across the parking lot felt loud and overbearing. In the trees nearby a crow squawked noisily. There were no other sounds until we got inside.

The frugal decor of Elm Wood House’s interior belied the opulent appearance of the building’s exterior skin, and the religious effigies adorning walls and almost every free flat surface reminded me that this was a religious order. No sooner were Ray and me inside when we were approached by a somewhat serene-looking nun dressed in white. She was middle-aged, a little plump, but had a friendly, rosy face which I instantly took a liking to.

“I’m Sister Mary Ignatius. What brings you to Elm Wood House on this fine day? Do you have an appointment?”

I couldn’t help but notice how her eyes seemed glued to the prominence of my chest muscles and how they hogged so much space inside my gym-gear. Should I bounce them for her? I decided to agitate them a little. In response Sister Mary Ignatius flushed bright red, immediately averting her eyes. I noticed how her fingers were inching along a set of Rosary beads in her left hand. Wow, these holy bitches could do the Rosary in their sleep, I humorously thought.

“Er, I’m sorry we showed up without phoning first, Sister. But if it’s at all possible, we’d like to see Sean McInerney,” I explained. Ray was deathly quiet, and for this it was a relief that I had such strong leadership qualities.

“Are you next of kin?” Sister Mary Ignatius regarded us both with something of a suspicious eye. I mean, we weren’t exactly dressed for a visit to an old folk’s home.

“He is,” I said, nudging Ray with an elbow, soft enough not to injure him. And then I don’t know why I added this, but it seemed appropriate at the time: “And I’m his other half. So I’m practically family... you could say.” Ray shot me with a quizzical look, although there was something about the way our eyes met at this time that spoke volumes in favour of how we felt about each other, despite that our brief history together hadn’t gotten off on the best of footings thus far.

“Normally I wouldn’t allow this without an appointment. But this is a good day for Sean. He’s responding well to his medication and he was somewhat coherent this morning when he was fed his breakfast.” Sister Mary led us through a set of double doors and along a somewhat dingy-looking corridor. We were passed by two other nuns who looked like they were floating along on invisible skateboards. I tried not to giggle out loud. This was meant to be a sombre affair.

“Er... I’m a friend of Agniezka Rcazkowska,” I decided to add, even though it was hardly necessary, given that we’d already been granted the visit.

“Oh really? How is she? We were so sorry to see her go last year. She was such a tonic to the residents. But up until last year Elm Wood House was semi-funded by the Health Service Executive, and as you know the cut-backs in the health service since the recession has taken its toll across the entire spectrum of care in this country. We rely solely on the Church and various charity organisations for our funding now. Alas, the registered nurses we often take on here are only on loan from the HSE, you might say, and the Church won’t cover their wages. We had to let Agniezka go, along with six others. Sometimes we can feel the staffing pinch here, but most of the time we can just about manage, with God’s help of course.”

“That’s odd...” I said as the nun led us down an adjoining corridor, “... Agniezka told me that she left here of her own accord.” I decided to leave out the bit she told me about not being able to bear this place. It was gloomy and depressing in here, and we’d only been in it for a few short minutes so far.

Sister Mary Ignatius paused to regard us both. She removed her spectacles and smiled in that serene and reassuring way that nuns specialise in. “She was probably too proud to admit that she was made redundant, bless her. But once you have faith in the Lord God Almighty, doors that close behind you will never box you in, and there will always be a righteous path before you.”

“Fuckin’ bullshit,” Ray muttered under his breath. How Sister Mary didn’t hear that via the natural amplification properties of the hollow corridor we were stood in, is beyond me.

Eventually we were shown into Sean McInerney’s personal room. The old guy was propped up in bed, and I thought that he looked quite comfortable. In contrast to the corridors outside, the room was brightly lit and smelt fresh, as though the bed linen had only been recently changed. According to Agniezka, he’d suffered two strokes in the past year, but I had to admit it to myself: he looked good. Prior to seeing him I was expecting the Crypt Keeper, all emaciated and with tubes sticking out of him. However, if I didn’t know any better, I’d have taken him for a sleeping man in his mid-to-late sixties.

“Sean can’t speak since his last stroke,” Sister Mary advised in a somewhat precautionary manner, obviously for Sean’s benefit and not ours. “He can move his left arm well enough, and nod and shake his head. We gave him a blackboard and chalk to write with, but he hasn’t been able to manage that lately.” Hearing this caused my heart to sink slightly. Just how was I going to communicate with this man? Now that I was here, standing over the bedside of the author of Manifestation, would it even be wise of me to reveal my personal reasons for coming here, in front of Ray? True I wanted Ray to meet his great-uncle and somehow reconcile with him on behalf of his father, but in short I wanted Sean to connect with me on a more spiritual level, or even... a psychical one.

As soon as that thought fired up in my head....

It was like I was whisked up into the heart of a whirlwind. My mind reeled, my control over my body was relinquished, and suddenly I was careening off into some “nether-yonder”, a dreamscape not unlike the one which initially set me up for contact with Marek’s spiritual self. Although this had to be happening in my mind, it felt so, so real, as though I were in possession of all my physical senses.

Out of the murk and indistinct haze of distant places – a nebula of shimmering effects was born – and I found myself facing a spectrum of light and colour, which quickly rushed forwards to meet me. I was no longer surrounded by featureless black; instead I was suddenly engulfed in a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, even textures. Then, all these things were sucked down into a central point, which soon expanded once more, only this time into a shape that was visibly man-like.

I knew the being was the psychical manifestation of Sean, of how Sean liked to see himself in his dreams... dreams he could somehow manipulate. He now used this ability to communicate with me. And I welcomed the sight of him as he came to me now, holding out his massively muscular arms to embrace me. I went to him willingly. I didn’t even have to think about doing it... I just did, as though we’d always meant to be together in this place of “no-where and no-when”.

“Hello Stephen,” he said simply, and his voice was deep and almost booming. The breath from his words hit me like a wall of wind, but it carried with it his scent, his musk. It was intoxicating to experience, and I was suddenly erect before him. He didn’t mind this, for his own member, vastly larger than my own, was also bobbing its way northward.

“You... you’re... beautiful,” I gasped, and felt great heat and comfort from his encapsulating embrace. It was true. Had this been real he would have stood at least two and a half metres from the ground to the apex of his perfectly-formed crown. His hair was a radiant golden-blond, and his skin was an awe-captivating shade of olive. The twin-sapphire orbs of his eyes were set perfectly in a face that was masculine and symmetrical. His brow, although slightly imposing, did not overshadow his eyes whatsoever, but gave him an authoritative presence that had me almost gasping for breath. I could go on and on finding yet more interesting ways to express the beauty of his facial features, but just take every beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life, and then try to pick out their best features. Then give those features to this dream-version of an ex-priest in his 80s, but before you do that, multiply their beauty and perfection by a factor of one thousand. And that was just Sean’s face.

His muscles were another thing altogether...

He was wider than I was at the shoulders by at least another half of me. His trunk for a neck was thick and rippled with vein and sinew with every modest movement of his head. But on either side of that neck it found itself dwarfed by massively-developed traps that sloped down to deltoid-masses, each one the size of coconuts. As my amazed eyes took in each muscle group in turn, so Sean was able to flex each one individually, and I could feel a cord of precum slowly stretching downward from the slit of my dick, as my arousal became more and more my aggressor. He flexed his arms, holding them up on either side of his head, and mountains of hard, powerful muscle sprang upwards, hardening and strengthening as he held the pose for as long as I wanted him to. He never once stopped smiling at me, as he bounced his pecs, first the left one, twitching it upwards so that it became super-striated, and holding it there so that I could count four deep horizontal crevices across the mesmerising globe. Then he allowed it to fall under its own weight, and it actually shuddered as the muscle remembered its recumbent shape. It cast a deep, dark crescent shadow beneath it, one that stretched down over the first of his four pairs of cobblestone ab-bricks. He did the same to the other pectoral, holding the striations in place whilst his hand found the fingers of my right hand, and guided them to the stream of precum oozing out of my dick. Once my fingers were sufficiently coated, so he guided them up to his pec, allowing me to smear pre into those striations, which made his muscle glisten and refract the strange luminescence of this place.

He pressed into a most-muscular pose next, and his upper body erupted into so much mass and definition. I let out a whimper of bliss as this new pose set my level of arousal even higher. Again each globe of beautifully separated muscle begged to be basted in my horny juices, and soon my pre was being captured in my cupped palms so that I could paint this vision of beauty in more and more of the fluid of my arousal. I gasped in disbelief as I felt such unyielding density and hardness beneath my roaming wet fingers. I worried my digits into every crack formed of his muscle's definition, separation and sheer flexing, that I could find, and marvelled at how some of those clefts went deep enough to bury my fingers up to the first knuckles.

“Buh-but... you’re not as big as Gary is,” I found myself saying, as though I knew that this version of Sean McInerney could do so much better than this.

He said nothing, but just smiled even more, pushing me back gently so that he could better respond to my criticism. He reshaped himself into a full-lat spread, unfurling the great sails of his lats, which seemed to be the first of the muscle-groups he allowed further metamorphosis to affect. His body bulged and swelled still further, muscle globes seeming to burst across every part of him, gorging up free space and fuelled as if by a desire to grow entirely independent of the mind of the man to whom they adorned and were commanded by.

Before my very eyes the dream-Sean hulked up by hundreds of pounds of beautiful, huge and rippling muscle. At one point I almost panicked, for fear of being consumed by his ever-expanding physique (although, not a bad idea now that I’ve thought more about it). I now wanted him to take me, in every way possible, and as I focused on his still-stiffening member, I imagined it growing huger still. It responded, thickening ever more, so that the girth of three beer cans side by side still would easily have fallen short of matching the circumference of this gigantic schlong. Its length, too... fuckin’ hell... the mushroom head would have easily touched the ground, had he allowed it to hang flaccidly.

The more I wished it of him, the larger and more exaggerated his muscles became. I saw balls the size of footballs pushed outwards along with his cock, as the muscles of his inner thighs ate up the space usually allocated to a pair of low-hangers. There was no more room for his ever-burgeoning junk to exist, and so they had to invade new areas as they became heavier and heavier with more and more of his yet-to-be-seen dream seed. Hundreds and hundreds of pounds of new muscle continued to appear all over his incredible physique, and now I felt him drawing me back to him. I dared not to resist his pull, nor would I have wanted to. Now he was much, much bigger than Gary. How much... I couldn’t say. I just knew that I wanted to be this size for real. Sean had become the dream-manifestation of how I’d always dreamed of becoming myself. Now that I was seeing a version of what I could be, I wanted it more than ever.

He gently but firmly pressed a hand against the back of my head, and pushed my face between his burgeoning pec-meats. His smell was intoxicating: so musky and masculine. Even his sweat carried so much of this scent, and I found myself lapping it up with my tongue. I didn’t just want some of his fluids... I wanted all of them, not just the sweat. I wanted his spit, his pre, his glorious semen. Had he decided to piss on me there and then, I would have permitted it, although in reality I’m not into that kind of thing.

I felt tremendous pressure on either side of my face, now, as he flexed his pectoral masses, bunching the muscle-tits together as if to cave in my very skull. But I welcomed this show of power, and whilst I smothered into his fibrous bodybuilder breast-flesh, the fingers of his free hand found the entrance to my arse hole and ventured inside to stimulate me like nothing else ever had. Sean’s dream-self bored his digits deeply into me, and I never felt this level of sexual stimulation in my life. My gasps came out as bliss-laden screams, and now I truly wanted those pec-meats to squeeze my brains out.

My cock was now larger and more erect than I’d ever seen it (had I grown in this dream, too? I wasn’t sure). I was hot, but not uncomfortably so.

“Tell me what I need to know,” I managed to get out, knowing that Sean hadn’t brought me here simply to smother me in his muscles whilst fingering me from behind. He was a man of very few words, alas. All he responded with was:

“Not tell you... you will feel for yourself.”

Then he released me and stepped back with enough space to turn on the spray from his massive hose. He shot gobbet after gobbet of thick, ivory cum at me, and soon I was drenched in the stuff. I slurped up as much as I could and wondered if this would make me grow. But I somehow knew that the real purpose for this emission was for the impartation of knowledge and nothing more.

The shower of jizz seemed to go on forever. Finally, as if it would never end, Sean took me in his arms once more and smiled at me serenely, before kissing me long and hard. Then, as I felt this dreamscape dissolving around me, Sean spoke to me one last time:

“I have nothing else left to do. I can pass happily now. All that I was is now all you will become... and more.”

Sean melted into a fading rainbow haze, which swirled inward on itself before folding into all-ensnaring whorls of deepest dark.

When my awareness once again aligned itself to reality, I found things had changed around me whilst I got jizzed on by a massive muscle-dream-god. To begin with it was now dark outside, with only a solitary light shining simply overhead. I was sitting on a chair next to the wall furthest from the bed. I don’t remember sitting here, but then again, it’d been a strange afternoon. Ray had nodded off next to his recumbent uncle, the old man’s still hand gently held in his own. It was such a sight to see, the younger man, who had recently spoken ill of his great-uncle just weeks ago, now acceptant of him. I felt so glad that I’d brought Ray to the home, that day.

I knew that the old man had died, even before Sister Mary Ignatius came into the room to check for a pulse. She gently shook Ray awake, and it didn’t take him long to realise what had happened. The nun smiled serenely and reassuringly, in that nunny way, before pulling the bedspread up over the old man’s stiffening form. She made the Sign of the Cross, and at this point it was our time to leave.

Sean had been holding on... holding on... for me. We had made contact outside of our bodies, and although so many thoughts that weren’t my own now jostled about in my head, bashed around by less-than-tolerable currents, I knew that I would have my work cut out for me simply trying to assemble them into some order that I could understand and utilise. I couldn’t wait to get back to my apartment in order to test some theories.

Sean had given me power. I just had to figure out how best to use it.


To Be Continued....Click HERE

[silvershadow]

oh wow another amazing installment. I can't wait for more. I also enjoyed the honest gentle love that was shown in this chapter. Bravo.

[umlerian49]

It's about time Steve, er, Stephen gets to manhandle somebody a little bit. I could just see him grabbing Ray and dragging him here and there and thinking "hey, this is kinda cool..."

The dream scene was outstanding. It was wonderfully sensual and does a great job of setting us up for what's coming. I can't wait to find out what this secret knowledge that Sean had been saving for Stephen could be.