Ryan, My "Little" Brother (Rewrite) - Part 5

[tekuno]

This is a rewrite of BigBearMan94's original concept, done with his permission.

Original Story
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5

This story is now complete. (Thanks for reading!) Each section ends with a link to the next section, but here are links to all the parts of the rewrite for handy navigation

Rewrite
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Epilogue

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Here we are, a change in pace and tone, to a certain extent. I put in a lot of effort (and had some extra time today) so actually I have the next part ready now, but I'm going to be busy Friday through Monday, so if I hold off and still finish a whole part tomorrow, I can put up one last part on Friday morning, so there are only three days of delay instead of four.

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Ryan, My "Little" Brother
A Rewrite of BigBearMan94's Original Story (With Permission)
Part 5

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I threw open Ryan's bedroom door. Just as I feared, the figure lying on Ryan's bed was nothing like the Ryan I knew and loved. Even the larger Ryan of last night was nothing to the hulking naked figure on the bed.

Judging by appearances, Ryan had just finished masturbating. Without a word, I went and got some paper towels from the kitchen, and handed them to him. He mopped up, and then stood up.

I was shocked. Ryan was now only slightly shorter than me -- not much more than an inch, if that. He grunted. "Huh. I was sure I'd be taller than you by now. Damn. But at least I'm BIGGER than you." His voice sounded a lot like mine did, on those occasions when I had heard it recorded. He flexed his arms -- he might very well have been right. His arms didn't look that much bigger around than mine, but they had incredible peaks and separation; if I was lucky and worked very hard, my arms might look like that in a year or so.

Ryan's face was pretty amazing, too. If he hadn't been my brother, I would have been seriously attracted. His low bodyfat combined with his handsome facial features were now seriously good-looking. It didn't hurt that he seemed to be growing facial hair now, although not very much yet. In fact, his body was largely free of hair, but in the usual spots I could see a sort of proto-stubble. Most likely, he just hadn't been "older" long enough for it to grow.

Ryan tried a few more flexes. He wasn't very good at it, according to competition standards, but it was clear anyway that he was now my equal, if not my superior, as far as muscularity was concerned. And to add insult to injury, he also appeared to be slightly better hung than me, although I was always above average in that department.

"I can't wait to see how strong I am now! Come with me!" Ryan grabbed my wrist and pulled me along as he headed to the basement. I suppose I could have tried to resist, but there really wasn't much point; the damage was already done, and I was curious about Ryan's new size myself.

Ryan loaded the bar above the bench press with every plate we owned -- which wasn't very much in an absolute sense, I must admit. Until that point, I had been the only one in the family with any real interest in that set of weights, and as I already mentioned, I didn't like to use too much weight in case of an emergency. We had never even invested in an olympic bar; although the cheap standard bar which Dad had bought me years ago had long since bent and been thrown away, the replacement was just another standard bar to go with the weights we already owned. Now it was hung with a little over 300 pounds, and visibly starting to bow downward.

Ryan lay down on the bench and pressed the weight. After a slow first rep, he pressed it four more times, then threw it back on the rack and sat up. Then he stood up and hit a crab pose right in front of me.

"Ha! See how much stronger I am than you, you little wimp?"

Without a word, I lay down on the bench and pressed the weight -- 10 times. Then I sat up and grinned at Ryan.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Champ. We don't have much weight here because benching without a spotter is dangerous, not because I can't handle it. Why do you think I go to the gym most mornings?"

Ryan was seriously angry.

"Take me to the gym right now! I'm going to prove I'm better than you! You're just a big pussy who's scared of everything!" Oddly enough, Ryan was slowly rocking back and forth on his feet. Then his eye caught the column with his height measurements. "No, wait, check my height first!"

Ryan was now 6 feet and one quarter inch. He insisted that I was deliberately measuring too low, that he must be at least as tall as me, and it wasn't until we brought in a mirror so he could watch me draw a mark on the wall that he accepted that everything was accurate. By this time he was having trouble standing up straight against the column.

Next he insisted on weighing himself -- before going to the gym, of course. We went upstairs, and Ryan stood on the scale. Once again, we couldn't get an accurate measurement, but this time it was because he was swaying back and forth. Still, the needle seemed on average to be around 240.

"Ha! I'm bigger than you now! Li'l Alex is gonna have to... call me 'big brother' from... now on. Now let's go to the gym! Bu' firs' I'm jus' gonna take a li'l nap..."

Ryan let out a huge yawn, and staggered into his bedroom, where he collapsed heavily on his bed.

I went in and listened carefully. He was breathing deeply but normally. I gently checked his pulse, and that seemed to be okay as well. Whatever was wrong with him, now, it didn't seem to be life-threatening.

I sat down in the living room to think things over. Ryan seemed to be exhausted, rather than dying. Well, that could be explained without assuming he was actively unhealthy: he had just grown more than a foot in height and more than doubled his weight, certainly in less than 10 hours and probably in a shorter period than that, depending on when he took the pills.

And, furthermore, if I took him in for medical treatment, they would laugh us out of the building -- although I could produce documentary evidence, including photos and video, that he had been a normal 11-year-old up to a couple of weeks ago, they would probably assume that the little kid in the video was someone different from the teenager in front of them.

Besides, even if I could convince the doctors that there was something wrong with him, what exactly could they do? They probably couldn't reverse the again at all, and certainly not without knowing what was in the pills. And at the moment, there was no reason to think that Ryan wasn't in good health apart from having been aged. Quite the opposite; he was clearly quite strong and energetic.

It might be worth it to get him in for a checkup, but in order to do that I would have to provide him with an identity. Of course, if all else failed, I could claim that Ryan was actually me, and just stay out of sight while he got examined, but that had its own problems.

Really, in the whole world, there was only one person who could really be of any assistance, and that was Dr. Franskasten in Sweden. Maybe it was time to dig out that journal article and find out just what it was that the doctor was trying to discover with these pills. I headed down to Dad's desk, and pulled out the magazine box I had been using to store medical journals.

There had been three of them sitting out on Dad's desk, and I started with those. None of them had anything particularly relevant in their tables of contents, so I started flipping through looking for any shorter piece which might have been left unsummarized. In the second one, I found what I was looking for in a jumble of "amusing" blurbs from around the world:

"FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH? Dr. Franskasten of the Svensk F?ryngring Stiftelse (Swedish Rejuvenation Foundation) is seeking regulatory approval for a new and experimental aging treatment, as an aid to the study of aging. This, in turn, would help create treatments to be devised which would reverse the symptoms of aging. In an interview with the Kiruna Dagliga Inl?gg, the doctor was optimistic (given here in translation):

"'One of the primary difficulties in preventing the ill effects of aging has always been our incomplete understanding of the precise mechanisms which cause those effects. Despite the fact that everyone around us is constantly aging at a steady rate, the breakdowns and failures of the human body generally occur over a timespan too great to be easily studied. My new treatment will permit us to harmlessly age a subject in good health and observe issues as they arise in a matter of weeks, rather than years. I am in good hopes of devising new and more powerful means of reversing these issues through careful observation. Once approval has been granted, I will be seeking test subjects from a wide array of backgrounds.'"

There followed the address of the institute, with an appeal for interested persons to contact the doctor. Well, that at least explained where Ryan had found the doctor's address. Sadly, there was no phone number or e-mail address given, and a quick search online brought up nothing except more or less the exact same blurb, over and over again. There was, apparently, no easy way to contact the doctor. I composed a new letter:

"Doctor Franskasten:

"I hope you have received my other letter, which I enclosed in my recent shipment with a bottle of pills. If not, then: my 11-year-old brother recently fraudulently wrote you in the name of my recently-deceased father, pretending to have found a test subject. He began your treatments in secret without any sort of oversight. When I discovered what was going on, I confiscated his bottle of pills and sent them back to you.

"Unfortunately, my brother did not tell me that there were two bottles of pills. Today, he swallowed the whole of the second bottle. He has now doubled in weight and increased in height by more than a foot. He also seems to be highly aggressive. My best guess is that he is somewhere in the range of 16 to 18 years old. Fortunately, there seem to be no other side effects so far. Please contact me as soon as possible to advise me; my cell phone number is --"

I finished the letter, and since the post office was already closed at this time of day, I ran to the nearest Fed Ups storefront, where I paid a vast sum to have the letter delivered "within no more than 6 business days". (It's astounding that people want to shut down the post office and replace it with commercial carriers. I later confirmed that the U.S. Postal Service could have guaranteed delivery in 3 days and would have cost a fraction of what I ended up paying for "best" service.)

When I got back, which was about two hours after Ryan's collapse, he was sitting on the sofa in the living room. He was wearing the smelly sweatpants -- why hadn't I washed them while I had the chance? -- and he had obviously been crying. When I walked in, his face lit up.

"Alex! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean what I was saying earlier!"

"It's okay, Ryan. I just wanted to send a letter to the doctor and let him know what was going on, in case he can help you."

"I was so afraid you had just left! I don't want to be all alone, it's so scary!"

I sat down at the other end of the sofa.

"Don't worry, Champ. I won't leave you here, no matter how tempting that may be sometimes." Ryan looked shocked, so I explained. "Ryan, you don't listen to anything I tell you. I keep asking you to clean up after yourself, and you never do. I tried to stop you taking the pills, and you took a whole bottle. Why did you do that?"

"I just--" he sniffed. "I wanted to grow up and get a job, and then you could go to college and everything would be good again."

Oh, great. The one objection I had forgotten to tell Ryan the previous night, and it turns out to be the one he most needed to hear. Crap. I wanted to yell, but I held very rigid control of my voice.

"Ryan. You can't get a job."

"What do you mean?" Ryan was looking at me suspiciously.

"When you get a job, people want to know your background and work history, and they report your employment to the government. Someone, somewhere, will notice that you're really just an 11-year-old, and you'll get in all kinds of trouble. There are laws against 11-year-olds having serious jobs."

"Okay, then, I'll just pretend to be you." Ryan was pleased with his "clever" solution.

"And get me into trouble with both employers AND the IRS because I'll be working two full-time jobs during the same hours? That's not happening, Champ. And besides, you're overlooking something important."

"What's that?"

I sighed. "Ryan, do you know how to drive?"

"No."

"Have any useful professional-level skills? Know anything about computers? Have any background in science? Know how to use a coffee maker? Know how to balance a tray of dishes in one hand?"

"Geez, no! Who cares? What does any of that matter?"

I laughed. "Ryan, those are the sorts of things that make people want to hire you. People usually learn them gradually during high school; you just skipped all that, so you're going to get the kind of job where the pay is nothing because you can't find anything else which matches your skills. You're going to be mowing lawns or busing tables, and you're going to be doing it for years! Everyone else is going to grow up normally and have a huge head start over you! And you're going to have to lie low for years until your body is at least somewhat normal for your age! Is that what you want?"

Ryan started to cry again. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't want that! I didn't know! I didn't think about it!"

I leaned over and gave Ryan another hug. It felt really weird to be hugging someone as big as myself.

"I'm sorry, Champ. I didn't mean to spring all that on you. I'm just... this is a big shock to me."

"It's okay, Alex. I'm sorry I did all this."

"Well, just don't do anything like that again. I was really worried when you were all aggressive earlier. What was up with that, anyway?"

"I don't know. I took all those pills at lunch. And then I got really hungry -- oh, by the way, we're out of protein powder --"

"Already?! Geez, Ryan!"

"Sorry. Anyway, after I ate everything I could think of, I could tell I was getting bigger. So I went into the bathroom to watch. I took off my clothes, and then I found out that it felt really good when I touched myself down there, and it started getting hard and felt even better..." He drifted off into a mumble, and looked at the floor. So I cut in.

"So you went into the bedroom, and while you were playing with yourself I came home. Is that right?"

Ryan nodded. "And I felt so big and strong, and I just wanted to show you that I was that way. I just couldn't stop, I had to show off."

"Hmmmm. Sounds like you were in the grip of a sudden hormone overload. I've known guys who took steroids and acted a bit like that. It seems to be over now, at least."

It was really weird to be talking to someone my own size but totally naive. Well, at least I could do something about THAT.

"Okay, Ryan, there are all sorts of things I'm going to have to tell you, I can see, but I think we'd better start with 'the talk'. Have you had Sex Ed in school yet?"

Ryan's eyes were wide. "No, they don't do that until Junior High."

"I guess not. Okay, then, listen up..."

There followed a custom, extemporaneous version of the sex lecture that Dad had given me four or five years earlier. I tried to remember as much as I could from the weird "we can't tell you much in case one of your parents turns out to be a Fundamentalist whackjob" sex ed unit in school, too.

I also threw in some practical advice which neither Dad nor the schools had known, or maybe had dared to say. Officially, the schools believe -- and parents want to believe -- that kids never have sex, and so statements of the sort which begin with "if you really must, then at least don't--" are often left out. So Ryan was left in no doubt whatsoever about using condoms, warned against ever taking nude photographs with his phone (or anyone else's), and against sending messages about sex by private message or e-mail. And, unlike the schools, I explained WHY these policies were good, citing examples.

I hesitated over the next bit. The idea of my 11-year-old brother having sex was pretty disgusting, even though objectively I could see that he was very attractive. Still, ick! Nevertheless, I had just screwed up by not giving him information the day before. Sooner or later, Ryan would have sex with someone and if he got an STD that way because I didn't let him have condoms now, that would be my fault, too. So I went and got a fistful of condoms from Dad's stash, demonstrated how to put one on using a banana from the kitchen -- which then went into the trash because neither of us could imaging cutting it, biting into it, or putting it into the blender after that -- and insisted that he try one on right away, just to make sure he knew what he was doing.

"...and that basically concludes the most embarrassing talk I hope we'll ever have."

Ryan's cheeks had alternated between beet red and paper white as he heard all of my talk and fussed with the condom. He was obviously relieved that it was over.

"Now, let me just add one thing. I have, so far, been trying very hard not to get angry with you, even though you have spent most of the last three weeks doing things to annoy me. I hope you will put off having actual sex until you are older, because you are in very unusual circumstances. But if you don't, and I find out you have done anything harmful to yourself or someone else because you didn't wear a condom, I will unleash every last iota of older brother wrath that I contain, and I swear that no matter how big you get I will make you hurt. Are we clear?"

Ryan nodded.

"Good. Now, it is well past time for dinner, but if you really ate everything you just said you did, then there is very little left around here. And I'm feeling ravenous. Let's get takeout again."

"Yes. And thank you, Alex."

Ryan hugged me, this time, for once.

Part 6

[Logan2009]

i kind of really want the older brother to grow and get massive as well haha but great job man keep it going!

[Otaru_grower]

This story is amazing.

I really want the older brother to get younger so that Ryan can pose as him and vice versa.

Either that or Ryan can make porn and find a way around all those laws...

[tekuno]

You'll find out what's happening soon enough. I'm afraid that some of what happens will be a disappointment to some of you. (Heck, the previous two comments show that no matter what I do I'll be disappointing someone, so I may as well do as I like.) But Alex and Ryan will not be changing places -- please note that the description at the top did not say "age regression" anywhere.

(Besides, given Ryan's behavior patterns, how long do you think it would take someone like Ryan to end up getting fired, losing the house, and ending up arrested? I'd give him about a week before something terrible happens.)

[mlbjock]

Personally I think this story is progressing just fine.

It sounds like Ryan is already bigger than Alex pound for pound for pound since he's a lot more cut. Just not yet as strong. It'll be very interesting to see how he matures both physically and mentally as the story moves along.

[xboy]

I like how the story go but i prefer Ryan when is more aggressive/mature than is a 11 boy....

[tekuno]

Well, then I'm afraid you're going to be partially disappointed. Ryan IS an 11-year-old boy. He's going to become a little less, uh, twirpy, and (as you'll see in part 6, which I have already posted, he consistently acts agressive after growing) but there's really no substitution for actually having been alive longer.

Of course, not everyone becomes a better or more interesting person as they grow up, but even the dumb ones eventually figure out, so to speak, not to put their hands palm-down on the stovetop to see if it's turned on. Which is kind of Ryan's problem: he not only doesn't recognize downsides, he doesn't even bother to look for them. (He could have been a policy advisor under Bush.)