Charlie

[mimimi1234]

I like this story...

[Tibo]

I like this development!
I'm curious for whom Tony works for. She surely won't produce this stuff in her own apartment.

I'd enjoy it see some more scenes with Charlie and his clients in the future, haha. I wonder though if there's anyone Charlie really cares for or is interested in. So far it seems like he'd only have some dirty thoughts when he sees the possibility to dominate or make some money.

Keep up the good work!
(I don't think that the story is developing too slowly)

[sexiscriptor]

I don't know what's gotten up mdlftr's ass, but this is easily one of the best written, most interesting stories I have read on these forums in a very, very long time.

I have long been confused by the literary analyses some perform on these stories. They baffle me. Like assuming these characters's behavior and this story is suggesting that all heterosexual sex is a chore, etc? That's a rather broad assumption. Maybe, for example, Charlie is gay and doesn't know it; and he's played himself as a straight stud for hire for a long time; and so he's reached a point where straight sex is a chore for him.

I can't pretend to know the author's thoughts/goals/ideas, but that seems like a perfectly reasonable possibility, certainly requiring far less stretches of inductive reasoning than assuming some pejorative comment on all straight sex? right? I dunno.

But to the point: Why does it matter? I mean, if gratuitous literary analyses are what you need to get off, then so be it. But most of the time we're lucky to get even a name for our characters, nevermind such intricate and skilled efforts as dhalden has continued to provide us. So appreciate the hot story he's giving us, spank your meat wondrously, and move on, yeah?

Anyway, sorry to ramble on; I'll reiterate that I love this story, and can't wait to see it continue. It doesn't even have some of the things I usually demand, like crazy rough muscle growth sex or macro, yet I still can hardly wait for each installment Please, continue writing, and I know I, for one, will certainly continue appreciating your offerings for a long time to come

[nnnrg]

Originally Posted by Mdlftr

O.k., so I like things explained a bit:
Charlie is a male prostitute, or gigolo. He works for a woman named "Tony" who is giving him the magic growth elixir/magic serum/steroids/hgh/NPH-01/macguffin to move the story along.

Yeah, that's the starting condition for Charlie, except that at the beginning, he claimed to be a personal accountant and to have been transferred. It looks more like his 'contract' was sold to this "Tony" witch (and I use that term in the pejorative and antique sense, she appears to be an evil woman who is using something like magic to enslave and corrupt others). Although the prostitute part wasn't clear at the outset, it quickly became obvious in the third installment.

Originally Posted by Mdlftr

Charlie, for reasons unexplained, is living with a high school classmate named Andy, who is a stereotypically skinny, closeted, gay high school English teacher. Charlie has been slipping Andy some of the growth drugs and Andy is growing.

Andy is generally clueless about why he's growing, whether or not Charlie likes him, and whether or not to come out of the closet.

There are a few other people around, including the former-prostitute-who-is-best-friends-with-the-closeted-gay-guy.

I believe the reason he moved in is because Andy asked him to. So, explained in the first installment. The reason Charlie got in touch with Andy is not explained, but could be anything from him regretting his attitude in college, to him having no friends and remembering that this is where Andy came from.

Andy isn't QUITE the stereotype you described: He's not skinny, he IS flabby and out of shape, but he's hung slightly bigger than Charlie, according to the opening installment and Charlie's revelation. That's not really "stereotypical" in a story that's otherwise realistic. He's closeted because he's a teacher. That may be a stereotype but it's also a very unfortunate reality in modern society in the US, at this time. Sexual orientation other than 'vanilla hetero" can get you fired, blacklisted, and even hit with lawsuits.

There are other characters, as you mentioned, which already means "look out, this is going to actually be a story with characters not just a growth fantasy." But that was also part of the foreword and warning.

The quick summary obscures the fact that we don't know that his best-friend was a prostitute until she threatens vague harm to Charlie if he hurts Andy.
Nor does Andy know this about her.

Though he's apparently gotten over his raging collegiate homophobia and has found the gym and gotten to light-to-middleweight bodybuilder size, Charlie hasn't really grown up very much emotionally, and is (1) lying to Andy about his job, (2) lying to Andy about what he's giving him since he doesn't KNOW, and (3) lying to Tony about his own drug use. He also lies to Lynn (the friend) about his job and about his general intentions. And he lies to himself about everything.

This is consistent, unfortunately, with too many sex workers, given that the people who run the sex-work industry do not encourage nor particularly want their "product" to be able to think for itself.

This is an exceptionally good treatment of the revelation of character flaws in the main characters. Andy is too trusting, Charlie is too self-centered, and the introduction of the "growth formula" is the chaotic component that is making it into something different than the tragic soap opera.

Originally Posted by Mdlftr

The story is told mostly from the point of view of the closeted gay guy. The implication is that he has limited his life choices and is not fulfilled in his career, his sex life or his self esteem. The visiting friend is mysterious and seems successful- he's handsome, built and seems to be self-sufficient.

Interesting telling of an otherwise fairly routine trope: so when does the muscle growth start getting overwhelming?

Who says it has to be overwhelming, and who says it hasn't already started? Did you read chapters six through twelve? Certainly the libido increase has been there, and the changes are happening much faster than anyone would expect them to happen. You don't make a complete physical transformation like that in a few short weeks, not if you weren't already there at some point and just regaining what you'd lost - and Andy wasn't ever there at any point.

Originally Posted by Mdlftr

Does the magic elixir make men more likely to have sex with women? Wouldn't THAT be a truly unusual twist in the usual "gay sex is the answer" storyline?

It's not that this story is poorly written. It's just that is seems to have the same old background: every man is gay, or wants to be gay, until proven otherwise. Heterosexual sex is a chore, or a job, or undertaken for business.

How about focusing more on the muscle growth in a muscle growth forum??

Dude. That last line's kind of rude and out of place. Would you have "The Gardener" and the Hunter stories and, oh, about a half dozen others removed because they don't focus "enough" on muscle growth? This is a good story, and as advertised, it's a 'slow burner'. Not all stories have to be ZOT HE GOT MUSKLES. There's plenty of that on the forum already.

And yeah, it would be a twist for the drug to change orientation, but personally I don't think that's what it does. It may be a "big and dumb" drug or a "big, horny and obedient" drug - either of those things seem consistent with the kind of 'treat them as animals' personalty that "Tony" has shown.

I'm looking forward to where DHalden takes this. And at his own pace and speed.

[Eliswansigurado]

"How about focusing more on the muscle growth in a muscle growth forum??"

How about writing your own story- that way it will more completely fulfill your own particular needs/desires/fetishes/whims. Then, spend hours of (what I presume to be) your valuable time, proofreading, re-checking, and posting it on here to share with us. And then, we can all complain about how it wasn't exactly to our own personal specifications....

Honestly I think this story is great. Personally, I'd much rather read great plot-driven steamy fiction where I actually give a shit about what happens to the characters than many of the quicker stories in here that focus only on describing muscle growth.

So, to whomever is writing this- please don't stop or change what you're writing based on one impolitic critic. You have many loyal fans who can't wait to see what happens next!

[dhalden]

*Holds up hands* Whoa, whoa, whoa, guys.

First, thank you for the passionate responses. I appreciate them, but Mdlftr's entitled to his opinion and critique as much as anyone else. I value it as much I do all others. For everyone that came to my defense, thank you as well, but keep in mind that a writer (however amateur) is due their fair share of criticism. I welcome it...just so long as it is focused on the story.

That being said, I'd hate to see this thread go the way of too many others and descend into a bickering, bitching mess. Let's try to keep criticisms focused on the story and not aimed at one another.

And fear not: a new installment is in the works and on the way! Let's hope that'll quell some of the bristling!

Now, I had some long, drawn-out explanation that answered Mdlftr's questions...but then I realized nnnrg did a pretty good job of that already. So read his response if you're wanting some clarification. Its remarkably astute and concise, much more so than mine was going to be haha.

All I can say at this point is that Tony is not a witch. There is no magic going on here. Perhaps "magic" was poor word choice on my part. NPH-01 is remarkably effective to the point that it simply seems magic. The only magic going on here is the magic of science.

And again: all questions, comments, and criticisms are welcomed!

[convolution]

Thanks for all of this
You and the other writers commit your time and energy to produce a lot a great, entertaining stories. Watching your work unfold is often the high point of my day.
Cheers,

[Tibo]

*poke*
How is it going dhladen? How's your computer situation, can we expect another tiny piece of the story the next couple of weeks?

[nnnrg]

Incidentally, I wonder why Tony hasn't had her neck broken by one of her stable yet.

I suspect there's a chemical reason.

[dhalden]

Here it is fellas: a new entry! Something to hold you over this Thanksgiving. Questions, comments, and criticisms welcomed as always. Enjoy and have a great holiday!


When I look back on things, I still consider that night the threshold over which Charlie and I stepped hand in hand, the other side of which neither of us would ever come to know again. I asked Charlie sometime later?weeks or months perhaps?what he thought of that night. He would merely flash that dazzling smile and flex his inhumanly sized arm.

It was answer enough...

9:34pm - As my headlights swung into the driveway, my heart sank. I had been at the gym, luxuriating in the high of a particularly electrifying workout, and as I swayed out to my car on jello legs (today had been legs and abs), I gleefully imagined the look on Charlie's handsome face when he saw the new size I had packed onto my thighs. Even I had been stunned at the glimpses of impressive thickness my quads and hamstrings had layered on that I caught reflected in the mirrored walls of the gym. It had taken a considerable amount of willpower not to roll back my shorts and shamelessly flex them out in the open, but the thought of such douchebaggery quelled that desire. Still, I thought, won't Charlie be impressed? The archived image of his robust, muscled legs pumped from a barrage of squats and lunges flashed through my mind. Granted, my legs weren't near that size of Charlie's, but they were fast becoming impressive in their own right and I itched to show him.

But the driveway was empty. Charlie, evidently, was working late. He's been working like a madman recently, I thought. Guy needs to slow down some. Indeed, lately my workouts, while exceptionally productive, had been solitary. I frowned at the thought. I need to see that Herculean body of his all pumped again. Need to see those big arms straining his sleeves, see those fat pecs pumped up nice and huge.

What I needed was to jerk off. I would be lying if I said that I had not noticed the increase in my sexual appetite as well. I surmised that it was simply the new inundation of testosterone that was coursing through my body. With exercise came muscle, with muscle came testosterone, and with testosterone came libido. I haven't felt this horny since college. I'm nearly hard all the time and wired to blow.

I headed straight for the shower.

As the water warmed, I stripped down and examined my rapidly transforming figure in the mirror. My lips parted in a soft gasp. It had been a month and a half and I was still stunned every time I saw myself shirtless or naked. This time was no different. My chest, more prominent by the day, stood out as proudly as my arms. But my legs, still swollen with residual pump, were more impressive still. The beginning of striations and separations were beginning to show. These were the legs of an athlete, not an English teacher. They belonged to a rugby player or professional cyclist. And my ass! I turned to the side and examined it, grinning. In the heyday of my youth, my ass had always been my strongest suit physically, or so a handful of my partners said. It was, as they so astutely put it, "part of what made me such a good bottom". Look at it now though! The tell-tale drooping of middle age lethargy was gone now, replaced by an ass that stood high, proud, and firm as it ever did, if not more so. As I turned back around I was greeted by yet another surprising and pleasing sight. Is it just the light or am I hanging a little bit larger? My semi-hard cock hung heavily against my thigh and, unless I was mistaken, slightly lower than ever before. And thicker too, possibly. All this showing off has got me buzzing, I thought as I reached for my cock.

Whoa. Not just the light. Definitely bigger. Is there any judge better when it comes to your cock than your own hand? I readjusted my grip, but there was no doubt. I felt bigger. Thicker. Heavier. How is that possible though? I'm damn near forty years old. My cock cannot possibly be?

Defiantly, my cock surged to a full erection. Nearly painfully so. I stroked it a few times to make sure it was fully primed before I rifled through the sink cabinet and pulled out the measuring tape Charlie kept there. I am gonna shit myself if this baby reads any more than...

Ten inches! I stared in stunned silence at the rigid, fat meat throbbing arrogantly between my thighs. Okay. Okay. Take a breath and just think about this logically. My dick has grown?no, seems to have grown an inch and half. How is that possible? Maybe it's one of those cases where guys lose weight and they just appear bigger! But all of two inches? Even you've never heard of a guy who started looking like he was packing double digits just because he laid off Oreos!

The incessant throbbing wasn't diminishing though. It would have to be satisfied if it were going to go away. That was not a new aspect of my dick, however much length and girth it had seemingly packed on. Climbing into the shower, I lathered up and occasionally shuddered as the water coursed soothingly over my fat, unyielding dick. Eventually it proved too much to resist and my hand shot for it. I stroked with wild abandon.

"Oh shit. Holy shit," I panted. My head swam. I'd never felt so incredibly, powerfully long. So big. It's so big. How is it so big? I don't care. It feels?"Fuck ."

My balls slapped rhythmically against my thighs and they too (was it possible?) felt bigger. Heavier. My other hand rushed to fondle them. Fuck yeah they're bigger too oh fuck so hard I'm so hard. I had tossed back my head and closed my eyes without realizing it, but now I opened them and peered down at my new and improved jumbo meat. Damn! Look at that thing! An angry shade of red, every vein throbbed and snaked the full length of my cock. The fat, flaring head looked a full two inches across and fit to blow. My hand raced the length of my huge prick madly and with only a second's notice of the tingling of my balls, the head flared larger still and erupted in a single, long rope of cum. It flew through the air, splattered against the tiled wall and was followed by a second, third, and fourth. I couldn't make a sound. My cock bucked powerfully with another three shots, shooting like it never had before, draining my newly hefty balls of their load. Finally, with stars swimming in my eyes, my cock reared up with one final, dribbling release, and finished, leaving me to slide to the floor of the shower on weak knees.

But the night had just begun.




10:02pm - Showered and sexually satisfied (for the time being), I meandered into the kitchen and mindlessly prepared myself a post workout meal. I had never in my life ever shot a load like that before. I had never even come close to that, even in the pinnacle of my youth. The red cloud of lust wiped from my mind and the nagging, heavy throbbing in my groin dissipated, I could think clearly again. Guys who lose weight sometimes report that their dicks look bigger, especially when they drop weight around the middle. I looked down at my stomach. Definitely flatter than before. But guys who pack on size in their legs have dicks that look smaller by comparison. I flexed my thigh again and grinned at the swelling movement beneath the fabric of my sweat pants. How could both statements prove true? They we're completely incongruous. Unless...

I swallowed and shook my head. My dick was had not grown almost two inches in a month and a half. It simply wasn't feasible. What's wrong with you? Most guys would be jumping for joy if their dicks grew. Or jerking for joy, more likely. Still, most guys didn't know the occasional downside of packing the above-average pecker. At eight and a half solid inches, my dick had always been a particular source of pride for me, especially when I dropped my jeans and saw some hungry partner's eyes go wide with lust, concern, or (most often) a combination of the two. I had always found it a tight fit in any hole, but a fit nonetheless. Ten inches though? Functionally, my dick seemed to be working the same. Hell, better. But all I could see were the possible future pitfalls. The unwilling partners, the too-apparent public bulge, and (I feared) an increased demand of by my dick for stimulation.

A car door slammed in the driveway.

I'll go to the doctor next week, I thought, just as the front door opened.

"Hey, there. You're home la...." I trailed off as the door swung closed behind the madman of a stranger standing in my living room. I thought fleetingly of diving for the phone and calling the police before I recognized him. "Charlie?"

He looked like Mr. Hyde. On a bad day. His skin was violently red, as if severely sunburnt, and glistening with a sweat that drenched his shirt. His disheveled hair was plastered wetly to his forehead and he was wheezing as if he had marathon-climbed a cliff face. His wide, green eyes roamed the living room feverishly.

"Are you okay? What's wrong? Should I call 911?"

His fists furled and unfurled. "No," he growled through gritted teeth. "I just need...to lay down..." I watched cautiously as he stepped forward. Suddenly, he swayed perilously, and stumbled toward the back of the recliner. He collapsed against it, screaming, "Gggraaahh!" as he slid to the floor and doubled over, clenching his stomach.

"Are you having like an a-appendicitis or something?" I stammered, hurrying to his side. Even before I reached him, I could feel the incredulous heat radiating from his body. It felt as if he were cloaked in some invisible fire that burned his very skin. "Jesus! What?s going on??

"Water," he managed, before doubling over again.

I scampered into the kitchen. As I fumbled for a glass, his tortured grunts and growls filtered in from the living room. They were interrupted only by his labored wheezing and the occasional heavy thump I could not place. When I returned, I found him curled in a fetal position in front of the coffee table, one fist punching the floor every few seconds, in what I assumed was an involuntarily release of whatever pain he was in.

"Oh Jesus oh fuck," I whispered, kneeling at his side. I placed one hand on his shoulder and winced: it was hot to the touch. "Here. Charlie, drink this," I said, pushing the glass into his hands. With shaking hands he raised it to his lips and swallowed with quivering lips. It provided only momentary respite. As he handed the glass back to me, he seized again, crying out, and I instinctively shot out a hand and gripped one of his reassuringly. It was like grabbing a red-hot vice: scalding, crushing.

"Bed...room..." he choked out. I nodded wordlessly and attempted to wrap an arm around his thick frame. It was like hugging a tree. A sweating, convulsing tree.

"I can't lift you, Charlie. Work with me here. Can you stand up any?" He shivered. His skin seemed less red now. The color seemed to be draining right before my eyes in fact. It wasn't reassuring. "Charlie!"

Quaking, he shifted his weight as he brought his knees beneath him. And then I felt it. One hand still on his shoulder and the other trapped in his crushing grip, I felt a pulsing movement somewhere beneath his skin. Not centralized, but all over. As if he were flexing every muscle in his body simultaneously. As if he were inflating like some great, muscled balloon. The next moment it eased.

As the pulsing flowed away, the color flooded his face again, turning his skin back to a frightening purplish red. The strained cry that accompanied it realigned my focus.

"Work with me!" I groaned, tugging on one of his thick, granite arms. Through a series of jerky movements, Charlie somehow directed his body to a standing position. I swung his arm over my head and around my shoulder. The weight of it was incredible, but the heat it radiated was frightening. I was sweating now, simply from being in his proximity. We made it to his bedroom. Kicking open the door, I guided him to his bed in the corner. He crashed onto it with the force of a felled sequoia and pulled into a fetal position again. How could such an ostensibly solid and strong man be reduced to the sight before me?

As if sensing my increasing trepidation, he reached out a hand toward me. "No ambulance," he groaned. "I just...give me a minute..."

I more than considered simply turning on my heel and marching straight for my cell phone, but the sight of him halted me. The seeming inflation of his limbs had begun again, but now it was plainly visible. The sleeves of his shirt were becoming discernibly tighter and more strained; his neck seemed on course to overflow his collar; the seams of his pants creaked with strain to contain the quaking of his legs. And then he began to shrink again. His arms deflated, his collar loosened, his pants eased their constriction. Charlie let out a rattling breath.

"It's...going," he panted. He rolled onto his back. Large, dark sweat stains patterned his armpits and chest. "I'm just so...so fucking hot." At some point I had cowered back against his dresser, but I hurried forward to assist him as he pulled himself into a sitting position. "Help me get this off," he said, tugging at his shirt. My stomach rolled. Through much tugging and pulling, we worked the sweat-soaked polo up over his head. Is it always that difficult for him? The thought was wiped away as he tossed the polo aside and revealed himself in his full, sweaty, shirtless glory.

Butterflies crowded my stomach.

"I need more water," he said, not looking at me. "Please." He was rubbing his right thigh absentmindedly, as if soothing an invisible bee sting. Hell, he looks like he's been stung by a thousand bees. His skin, though less so than it had been a minute before, was still a deep red. Moreover, the painful swelling had not completely gone. His muscles still looked as if they were in the throes of an exceptionally good workout: pumped, distended, and bloated with new size.

Leaving him to recover, I swept through the living room, swiping the empty glass from the living room floor, and refilled its contents with fresh water from the bathroom tap. What the hell is wrong with him? This isn?t a fucking appendicitis. He needs help. I?ll just give him this water and then I?ll slip into the kitchen and call 911. I was turning off the faucet when a low groan floated down the hall. Not again, I thought desperately.

Charlie had fallen backward onto the bed again. He was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, his hands clenching handfuls of sheets, caught once more in the agonizing cycle of whatever plagued him.

[Reeza]

Just what I was hoping for! Andy gets to witness Charlie's growth. Lots of heat there - literally and figuratively.

And the growth of that other important character, Andy's cock, was a bonus! Thanks!

[crushme99]

This is some truly fine work. Excellent writing, great plot, very good stuff.

[nnnrg]

Wow. Not the usual orgasmically pleasant growth. Poor Charlie.

[convolution]

Wow!
Well, she said the shot was a punishment ...
It would be a sacrifice, but I would be willing to endure such a punishment

[Tibo]

Poor Charlie! But then I wonder what the end results of this shot will look like. It's also kind of "nice" to see that the growth is a really unpleasant transformation, unlike in other stories. It's kind of ? refreshing

Anyway, keep up the awesome work, I'm already looking forward to the next instalment!

[panama]

Great story so far. I am curious to know how Lynn?s going to react to the augmented Andy... Will they have sex ? And what about the coach ? Will he be jealous ? Is Andy going to teach him a tough lesson ? Andy is my favorite character. So "realistic" despite the "unreal" stuff happening to him...
Thanks again.

[nnnrg]

Incidentally, I'd rather have it happen to me at the rate Andy is experiencing. Please.

[dhalden]

Hey, guys! Hope your holiday went well. Just thought I'd let you know that the next installment is finished. Just needs some polishing. Expect to see it very soon!

[dhalden]

When I was seven, my mother took me to visit her workplace. A devoted registered nurse of thirteen years, she had worked in nearly every unit of the West Cape General and, as such, had seen almost every malady and injury in the book. Being so young, I had seen perhaps a tenth of what she had when it came to life-threatening conditions, and a good 99% of that was from late-night viewings of slashers. We had perhaps been five minutes into my tour of the emergency room when a man sitting in one of the waiting chairs suddenly threw himself to the floor at my feet. Eyes rolling in his head, jaw clenched, body quaking, he was caught in the throes of a particularly hideous seizure of sorts. I prayed I would never see someone else have to endure such uncontrollable suffering. And I never did. Until?



10:43pm - Charlie was on his fourth bout of the gripping, paralyzing ache that visibly wracked his muscled body. Crouching in the corner, anxiously running my fingers through my hair, I was no less immobilized. Presently, Charlie reared his sweating, dripping, burly frame off the bed, arching his back in an unintentional gymnastic bridge that, were the circumstances different, would have been worth marveling over. The circumstances weren't different though, and I cringed at the sight, not quite sure if I had imagined the sound of his spine cracking.

"Fuuuuuck," he growled, thudding back onto the bed. It creaked loudly beneath him. And for good reason. Despite the convulsions wracking it, his body seemed incredibly, impossibly, more muscular than ever before. His shoulders, already impressively wide by common standards, bulged broader and his arms, by mere contiguity, thickened too. His formerly softball-sized biceps ballooned inches larger. I suspected that they had finally reached that twenty-inch mark he had, on more than one occasion, confessed to me he was striving toward. Heaving with his labored and frantic breathing, his bloated pecs had become laced with new chords of muscle too. To say nothing of his legs, which appeared to be on track to rival those of a Clydesdale?s. The sight stunned me into silence.

And then this cycle, the latest, began to recede. As swiftly as it had descended, it began to dissipate. His strained limbs relaxed and he fell limp. The deep valleys between his abs shrank then reformed with each fatigued breath. Slowly I found my own breath and rose cautiously to my feet.

"Are you...is it...okay?" I stammered in hardly more than a whisper.

Charlie didn't stir, but continued lying motionless, as if fearful that the slightest movement might trigger the horrific pain again. Gingerly I crept to the edge of the bed and stood over him. Glistening beads of sweat covered every inch of his reddened skin and ran in thin rivulets between the deep crevices of his pecs, abs, and armpits. His weary eyes rolled slowly toward me, as if the minimal effort it took was all that he could muster. Can a guy with that much muscle, a guy that ripped, really be that exhausted? He certainly looked it.

"Sleep," he managed to croak. "I just need to...sleep."

"I don't know if that's a very good idea," I said quickly, finding my voice again. I had heard cases of people who had unknowingly suffered concussions, gone to sleep, and never awoken again. Whatever the hell that was, it wasn't a concussion, a voice in the back of my head reminded me. More like a seizure. And fever. Simultaneously. And the (I struggled for a better word, but none seemed more adequate) inflation of his muscles? What the hell was that?

"Okay," I said hesitantly. "But I'm going to wake you up in an hour to make sure you didn't die from, like, internal bleeding or something." He nodded wordlessly and closed his eyes. "Maybe you'll feel like some food?" He nodded faintly again. "And a shower," I added, noting the pungent musk of his body odor that had filled the room. It was oddly intoxicating and oppressive. I waited until I was sure he was asleep (which didn't take long; he tumbled almost instantly into a slumber) before I slipped from the room. I left the door ajar behind me and tiptoed into my own room across the hall. It was marginally cooler in my room and I shivered. Charlie had been putting heat off like a boiler, I realized as I collapsed onto my own bed. Surprisingly, exhaustion swept over me now too. Clearly the pent up tension and trepidation of seeing Charlie writhing in agony before me was now draining from my own body and being replaced with a drowning fatigue.

Can't forget to wake him up...

It was the last trailing thought I had as my eyes slipped shut and I was pulled under into...

...music. Muffled and indistinct, as if somewhere nearby but behind closed doors, yet somehow familiar. It was clouded by the sounds of voices. Dozens of voices: some hooting, some laughing, others singing along to that nearly recognizable song. Abruptly I was aware of the blackness of night above and all around me. Hot air pressing in on all sides, air that streamed from the open windows of house that towered menacingly ahead. Three white, foreign characters hung at odd angles on the cedar-green clapboard. Vaguely, in the deep recesses of the back of my mind, I recognized them as the Greek letters of Alpha, Gamma, and Sigma.

"You're lying."

A voice close behind me. I spun about and there, less than three feet from me, stood Charlie. But not the broad-shouldered, muscled hunk I had come to know. He was stripped of all traces of his mightily muscled self: still obviously athletic, but lanky, flat chested, with arms that were absurdly thin by comparison. His plaid patterned shirt hung loosely from this thin frame and flapped in the warm breeze. The frame of a...track star? No, that's not it. Soccer maybe?

Mechanically, almost as if I were preprogrammed to do so, I shook my head.

?How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?? he said bitterly. His voice, too, was changed. Higher and uninfluenced by the rich testosterone bass he usually spoke in. It was the voice of a younger, more fearful man.

Faces. Behind me. Watching. Sneering. I could feel their eyes coldly on the back of my neck. And then my mouth was dropping open and I was speaking though sound issued from my mouth:

?You don?t have to. I just thought you should know."

Dream speech, I thought pensively. I've been here before, haven't I? I think so. And I've said these things already...

?That you?re a faggot?? Charlie said, too loudly. Oh, yeah. This. This I've definitely heard before. ?So, what?re you saying, you want to, like, suck me off or something??

But instead of the words I remember saying next, the very words my lips formed to speak, the ones I heard were altogether different: "You should lie down." Sweat that had not been there before was now beading on his chest and stomach. His skin was rapidly turning red. "You need to lie down."

Charlie's own lips moved, but it was merely a senseless string of indistinguishable words that dribbled forth. A strange stirring had begun beneath his shirt. He did not look down to investigate, not as I did; it was as if he were aware and sublimely accepting of the unnatural reshaping of the body that began to transfigure before my eyes. His chest was ballooning outward, forcing his shirt wider open, his pecs rapidly becoming obscenely oversized. Sweat practically began to trickle from his pores, dripping from the tips of stretching nipples. Panicked, I met his gaze again. He continued staring ahead, completely unfazed. In a matter of seconds, his stance became bowlegged as his thighs first doubled, then tripled in girth, clashing against one another in an endless struggle for more size and mass. His eyes, despite their unaffected gaze, bulged madly in their sockets as veins snaked and throbbed abhorrently red and angry across his neck, threatening to burst. All the while his shoulders extended and bulged toward, around, above his ears, trampling the neck they supported. Saliva foamed white and copious at the corners of mouth as he struggled to accommodate the bowling ball-sized traps exploding upward.

"Someone get help!" I screamed.

But when I turned to the faces that leered behind me, they merely grinned and clapped, cheering on the spectacle unfolding on the lawn. They applauded silently the heinously expanding flesh before them, coaxing it to further growth. They?re amused, I thought dimly. The ghastly bloated muscles that stretched to cellophane-thinness the skin that would soon fail to contain them continued expanding. Hideously purple stretch marks raced across every inch of his ever-increasing brawn. Beads of blood began to streak the sweat pouring off of him.

"Someone help him! Don't just stand there!"

And as the shadow of the beast eclipsed us and I turned to confront him, as his veins finally failed him and began to softly pop one by one, my mouth fell agape in a screaming plea?

I bolted upright in bed.

Instinctively, I cast my gaze around the darkness enveloping me. Familiar shadows in the gloom jostled my memory. I was in my bedroom. The green digits of my digital alarm clock glowed 11:36. Alive. I was alive. Awake. I was not on the front lawn of the Alpha Gamma Sigma house, nor had I been in nearly ten years. And Charlie...

A stab of panic raced through my chest as I scrambled off my bed and dashed across the hall. Halfway into his bedroom, I skidded to a halt. There, dozing peacefully in freedom from agony, he lay, one thick arm draped across his chest that rose and fell in a gentle, reassuring rhythm.

Right where you left him, see? Nothing to worry about. The big guy's probably off in Neverland this very second. So just take a deep breath and try to reestablish some logic for gods-sake. It was a nightmare. A godawful, rather-be-fucking-shot-then-see-it-again nightmare. But just a nightmare all the same. I struggled to follow my own advice and shakily inhaled and exhaled until I felt my pulse slowing. It was probably just brought on by whatever the hell episode you saw Charlie suffering through earlier. Cause and effect, right?

I had to tell repeat the advice to myself several more times before I was reassured. When it finally sank in, I crossed to the bulky, slumbering figure on the bed. Even in the gloom I could tell the ruddy complexion of his skin had faded; it had returned to its golden, unblemished norm. The frightening heat it had been putting off was gone now too, I noted as I placed one hand on his shoulder. I nudged him softly.

"You need to get something to eat and drink," I said as he stirred and groaned. Bleary-eyed, he nodded and rolled over onto his back, exposing his glorious chest in its full glory. I quickly looked away. ?I?m going to whip something up, okay? I?ll meet you in the kitchen if you want to take a shower first though.? He groaned, but accepted the offer and stalked off to the bathroom.

See? Everything's A-okay, I thought as I watched him go. Why do you always have to worry so much?

Nevertheless I waited until I heard the shower start before I trudged into the kitchen. A tugging, bothersome itch still lingered in the back of my mind as I opened the refrigerator though. Even if Charlie's near-apoplectic episode earlier in the night explained my nightmare, that still didn't provide an answer for the episode itself. I was far from a doctor, but even I knew that incidents such as the one I had witnessed were far from normal. And why the hell had he been so vehement about not calling an ambulance?

I'm clearly missing something, I thought.

Perhaps it was time I did some investigating.

[convolution]

Great chapter. This story is completely engrossing
Thanks

[crushme99]

This is such very, very good work. Excellent job.

[imfit]

Nice chapter. Good detail in advancing the story. Very natural internal dialog

[Mdlftr]

Looks like the muscle growth is now becoming overwhelming! Dhalden, you really delivered!


Great descriptions!

And the nightmare!...with the ending description of veins popping....


Awesome writing!

Mdlftr

[zmack]

Yeah... dhalden's basically killing it with this series... I check back almost every day just to see of there's a new installment. XD

[Tibo]

Wow ? I wonder what he'll do that Charlie secretly drugged him without even knowing what the stuff actually does. And maybe we'll find out a bit more about Toni the next time, too.
As always, it was such a pleasure to read and I check back almost daily to see if there's a new instalment.

I hope you're not running out of ideas too quickly, because I want to read a lot more of that.

[dhalden]

Fear not, I have plenty of ideas I've yet to incorporate. To answer your question: yes, you'll find out more about Tony. Or rather, a character in the story will. And it may not be who you expect.

Also, new characters to come!

[panama]

I hope there?s more coming !! Thanks again !

[dhalden]

Hey, guys. Fear not---more is coming! If ever I get to the point that I cannot continue with the story, I'll let you know. Unfortunately, family's in town for the holidays right now (by which I mean, they're swarming the house). Seeing as this isn't the type of story I feel comfortable writing with someone peering over my shoulder, the next installment is taking a bit. Also, I'm writing it entirely on my cell; my laptop is still broke.

Thanks for the patience!

[dhalden]

Thought I'd give you guys an update. I order to make up for the long hiatus, I've decided that the next installment will be particularly lengthy!

Get back to you soon!

[convolution]

Thanks, and happy new year

[bunkyboo93]

Whoa. How did I miss this excellent series for so many months?! I feel like I fell down a rabbit hole of hot, funny, just-weird-enough muscle fiction for the last hour or so.

Wonderful work thus far, dhalden. I love your dialogue and pacing (even though I got to read everything thus far in one big, um, shot). Really looking forward to more!

Because all the updates to this story have been added to the original message, I didn't realize how elaborate and well-developed the story is. I hope others aren't overlooking this posting, thinking it's just one story with a lot of comments or debate. They don't know what they're missing!

[arcto]

yeah this is a great story hope the author returns soon to keep it up, no rush but hopefully soon. Too often do we have a good story that doesn't get finished, its sad really.

[pizzadaddy]

this comment is for those who think the next part is up and thinking Im commenting on it, but actually its just a comment meant to annoy those who thought so

[dhalden]

Next installment finished! Just need to edit!

[dhalden]

The next day dawned as usual. The sun rose as plainly majestic as ever, its rays piercing my eyelids and coaxing me awake. As I rolled over, I wondered vaguely how that could be, seeing as my bedroom window faced west?and discovered that the bed had shrunk. As I thudded to the floor, flashes of last night's escapade of growth soared through my mind, particularly those of Charlie's engorged muscles?both inside and outside of the unnerving nightmare that had revisited me more than once overnight. Maybe the bed didn't shrink. Maybe I just grew? My heart skipped a beat as I considered the possibility that perhaps Charlie?s freakish growth was contagious. But as I shielded my eyes against the blinding rays still pouring through the window, I realized I was not in my bedroom at all.

Sprawled out on the floor of the living room, I slowly gathered that I must have dozed off on the sofa sometime during the night. Sluggishly, I stood and stretched, my back popping loudly, and distantly recalled slipping into the living room sometime during the late-night smorgasbord that Charlie had enjoyed in his post-growth stupor. The smorgasbord that had occurred at the expense of my sleep. If I recalled correctly, it had been well past two in the morning before he had begun to seem satisfied by the amount he was putting away. Suppose I better to see if he's still alive. When I saw him last, he looked like he could've just about gorged himself to death.

In the kitchen, evidence of the impromptu feast riddled the sink, counter, and table. Pots and pans sat uncleansed amidst bowls and plates covered in residue that suggested only half of what Charlie had consumed. Cottage cheese. Chicken. Oatmeal. Tortillas. Apples. Turkey. Celery. Eggs. Sweet potatoes. Steak. And protein shake after protein shake, as if his stomach knew no depths. When I didn't find him slumped over the table with a leg of rotisserie chicken sticking out of his mouth, I crossed to the refrigerator and peered inside. I had but half-empty jars and bottles of condiments and a tray of ice-cubes left at my disposal. Damn, how much did he put away? Wasn't there like a gallon of milk and a carton of eggs in here? And a jar of olives? As I let the refrigerator door fall shut and started down the hall toward my hunky glutton-of-a-roommate's bedroom, I cast a quick glance at the trashcan by the back door and rolled my eyes. It was near-full with empty boxes, wrappers, bottles, and bags.

"Charlie?" I said, knocking softly at his bedroom door.

No answer. Shit, I thought, and quickly burst in, fearing I would find him purple-faced in a puddle of his own vomit. But the sight that greeted me was an unexpected one: a neatly made bed, complete with fresh sheets and pillowcases. He had even lit a scented candle to mask the pungent aroma of his sweat which had clouded the room only hours before. "Charlie? Charlie!" I called, stepping back into the hall, my panic not entirely gone. The bathroom, garage, and backyard proved just as empty though, and slightly chilled from the early autumn morning air. Back inside, I scrambled to find my cellphone and discovered it tucked between two couch cushions. I had two new messages.

The first: Gone to the gym. See you tonight. The second: Sorry about the mess. Will clean it when I get back.

No acknowledgement of the previous night's outlandish episode whatsoever, as if it hadn't happened at all. Hey, maybe it didn't happen. It could have just been a nightmare. I shook my head, throwing off the logic that was trying to creep in. As if the musk of Charlie's sweat that still clung to my clothes wasn't evidence enough, there was a pile of dirty dishes in my sink to prove that what I believed had happened actually had. So he doesn't want to talk about. Big deal. Would you if you were him? No. No, I wouldn't want to if I were in his shoes, I realized. Even if I were in his size 11?s, I would rather just forget about the whole thing entirely and go about the day pretending as if it were all a wild fantasy. Because the things I had witnessed that night simply didn?t happen in the real world. The things I had seen only happened in stories. But he's hiding something, a small voice in my head reminded me. Remember?

The same suspicion that had piqued my interest last night suddenly reignited in my mind. He's hiding something from me. I can feel it. Was it really any of my business though? He made it your business when he collapsed in the middle of your living room and started pulling a Linda Blair right before your eyes, I thought fiercely. Despite the overwhelming need I felt for a hot breakfast and even hotter shower, I found myself stalking back Charlie's bedroom. Standing in the doorway, I peered around the immaculately clean room, and suddenly felt sickeningly akin to a burglar. Who was I to intrude upon Charlie's privacy, even if it was my house? Didn't he have a right to a reasonable amount of trust that I wouldn't violate that privacy?

But you can feel it, can't you? Indeed, I could. It was nagging, unshakable. Like a plastic film that clung to my mind with mental static electricity. This involves you somehow, whatever it is he?s hiding. You have a right to know how.

With that ugly thought in mind, I set to work.




Platinum Fitness was open 24/7 to members. All you had to do was swipe the key card given to you the day you signed up for a membership and the electronically locked doors would buzz open and allow you to enter. Said doors only remained unlocked during staffed hours. Later that morning, as I stepped into the air-conditioned building that had become my recent refuge for physical stimulation and mental respite, I was glad the front desk was unattended. Whoever was meant to be working, was clearly either late or elsewhere. Which meant no-one else was present to distract me. Today was arms day, but more importantly, I had the discoveries of Charlie's bedroom to ponder over.

Or lack of, I thought, disappointed.

Minutes into my scan of Charlie's room, I realized that I couldn't quite afford to spend all morning searching for God-knew-what. I hastily called into work and amidst a bout of fake hacking and coughing, informed the secretary, Jean, that I would be unable to make it in on account of illness. "You? You always seem healthy as a horse. Especially lately," she had said, with something warm in her voice. It had taken me a minute to process what she said before I hung up, called a substitute, and relayed my lesson plan for the day. Afterward, I returned to my search...which proved much less successful. Despite the homey touches he had planted in a few places around his room (a picture of himself, much skinnier, with his father at Christmas time; his high school and college diplomas; and appalling amount of Sylvester Stallone movies on DVD), he had a concerning lack of personal mementos and possessions in general. A handful of shirts, pants, and underwear; shoes, socks, and ties; and an assortment of athletic gear. The only interesting find was the surprising amount of XL condoms and bottles of lube I found in his sock drawer. It looked like a large enough stock to suit three men. He's the world's sexiest enigma, I thought.

The realization that I had failed to see him bring even a single woman home since he had moved in with me would come later, in a blinding flash of insight when I least expected it.

My search proven fruitless, I stumbled back into the kitchen in search of breakfast and managed to find a pack of instant oatmeal in the back of the cabinet that had been overlooked during last night's feasting frenzy. As I sat at the table, washing it down with a cup of coffee (black, due to a lack of milk), the itch of inactivity crept over me. I don't know what you planned to do if you?d found anything, but you have a whole day of nothing to do ahead of you since you found nothing. Congratulations.

It was inevitable that I would end up at the gym. When I wasn't looking, it had become a regular sanctuary of mine when seeking peace of mind. While my body worked, my mind could, as Fitzgerald once said, ?romp like the mind of God?.

And so, fast forward back to my arrival at the gym. Having securely stowed my belongings in the locker-room, I meandered out to the free weights area. Almost mindlessly, I started with my usual warm up weight and within moments could feel my arms buzzing with blood flow. The pale pallor of my arms soon flushed pink. Now let's really get these baby's pumped, I thought as I racked the dumbbells and selected a pair nearly doubly as heavy. I met my gaze in the mirrored wall as I begun curling in earnest.

Where had the doughy, aloof, yet clean-shaven, middle-aged man gone? He had begun to be replaced by a slender-faced man with five o' clock shadow and a determined, proud gaze that seemed better suited for a linebacker than an English teacher. All the while as I scrutinized my new, unintentional appearance, my arms rose and fell mechanically in alternating reps. That guy looking back at you is who you could?ve been all your life, if you?d just had the determination to pursue him, you know, the voice in the back of my head reminded me sourly. I gripped the dumbbells harder and curled them faster, willing the voice away, proving it wrong. Soon the deep, vigorous burn I had come to appreciate began churning within my biceps. The burn that hurt so well. The man in the mirror grinned at the sensation. Imagine if you hadn?t wasted all your time cooped up inside reading and spent more of it here, in the gym, like Charlie. I curled the weights more fiercely at the thought. The brutal burning continued. It was the burn of growth, of muscle being pushed to a new limit?and with it, new size. Despite what optimists said, size did matter, that I was beginning to accept. I had witnessed it, fallen victim to its influence, and only just begun to experience it for myself.

And I wanted more of it. More size. More muscle. Because, as appalling as the night?s events had been, they had also proven (I swallowed at the thought) strangely exciting. And somehow inspiring.

Biceps thoroughly flaring and red, I racked the dumbbells and moved to the dip machine. My triceps, I had learned in my time training with Charlie, were not my strong suit. I usually could bust out far fewer reps on any triceps routine than any other body part. But on this day, as I clambered onto the machine and lowered myself down, then back up again, the burning that had infiltrated my biceps quickly spread to my triceps, and with it, extra vigor. I really am getting stronger, aren?t I? And with that contented thought came more strength still. Soon enough, my triceps felt on fire and fatter with more size than ever before. I savored the strain of each sinew and imagined them quivering against the struggle of my body-weight (a full twenty pounds heavier than a few months again, despite the weight I had lost), and bulging thicker, fatter, bigger.

Growing.

Back to biceps. Another set of standing curls before I eagerly plopped myself down for barbell preacher curls, one of my favorites. The burn that had begun to recede in my biceps swiftly returned in full force within the first few reps. Perhaps doubly so. At least, that?s how it felt.

?Graaah,? I grunted deeply, meaning to exhale. I paused briefly. Did I always do that when I worked out? Since when? That?s what you get for not bringing your headphones, I thought, not entirely displeased by the thought. But, seeing as there was no-one else around, I didn?t hold back anymore grunts or groans that continued to rise in my throat as I carried on exhausting my biceps, pushing them to even greater size. More size.

?Grruuhh?come on!? I urged myself, when the weight began to make my reps shaky, sloppy. ?One more. One?grrr?more??

At the bottom of the last rep, the loudest exclamation yet escaped my lips: ?Fuucckk.?

Panting, I mopped my forehead on the back of my hand, and glanced down at my arm. My stomach rolled. It really was bigger. Visibly so. Between my now bloated biceps and pumped-up triceps, my arms were becoming impressively thick. And I?ve only just started getting to the good part. I grinned darkly. Then it was back to triceps again. Skull-crushers and kickbacks. The fire building, building, building in my muscles as they swelled and expanded and grew. More size pouring into them. Gotta get ?em bigger. Gotta get more muscular. All the while, more testosterone-fueled grunts of power to echo throughout the gym, increasingly more forceful each time:

?Hhuh!?

?Grraah!?

?FFUARRKK!?

Sending the weight of the fully loaded barbell crashing to the floor, I stumbled backward a step, the weight of my swinging arms sending me off-balance. Sweat dripped profusely from my brow, stinging my eyes; heavy, dark circles of it stained my t-shirt at my armpits. The sleeves, slightly loose at the beginning of my workout, were now fully filled, the material gently pressed against my oversized biceps. Thick veins throbbed in my forearms. They feel so big. So heavy. I marveled as I squeezed my hands into fists, flexing every muscle in my arms, willing them bigger still. My skin, now profusely red, felt tight at the slightest bend of my elbow, the skin stretched the tautest it had ever been over the mounting muscle of my arms. I tossed a quick glance around the gym, found it still empty, and quickly rolled back my sleeve to flex in the mirror.

Holy shit?

When had that happened? My swollen biceps were easily the size of baseballs, if not slightly larger. Certainly the largest I had ever seen them. Add to that the ever increasing sweep of my triceps beneath them and I was packing the makings of an impressive set of guns. God, they look and feel so big. So good. So strong. I squeezed one of my biceps with my hand and found it stout, rock-hard. Fuck. I feel like I could punch through a brick wall or something.

Just then the front door of the gym opened. I turned angrily (Can?t a guy get some privacy?) and saw a harassed looking blonde-haired young man, no older than twenty, hurrying to the front desk, ostensibly late. At least I got a workout in, I thought bitterly. Before I was interrupted.

I glanced at my watch. A good forty-five minutes had passed in no time at all. I wasn?t quite ready to toss in the towel, but my stomach was already beginning to growl and the last thing I wanted to do was deprive it of the food that would feed my arms new thickness and size. Slipping back into the locker room, I stowed my sweat-drenched shirt and shorts, wrapped a towel around my waist, and headed for the shower.

I couldn?t stop thinking about my arms. I wonder what guys with those twenty inch arms feel like? God, it must be amazing. I wish I?d started working out years ago. As the water heated, I tried to envision myself with a pair of huge biceps my head and shoulders to rival my head, with triceps that flared and flexed with even the slightest movement of my arms. I wanted to feel the strain of sleeves against my body, the power of toting such an awesome pair of arms. My cock began stirring at the thought. I?m making myself hard again, I thought miserably.

Suddenly I remembered something. A revelation from the night before.

I stared down at my cock. Yep, still bigger than it was last month.

In the unanticipated insanity of Charlie?s episode last night, I had completely forgotten about the?well, the undeniable growth I was exhibiting myself. It, too, seemed incredulous, but undeniable. Cocks don?t just grow all of the sudden, but then again, neither do muscles. So what did you make of the fact that I had seen evidence to the contrary for both within the last twenty-four hours? Doesn?t matter. You can?t reason away a hard-on. There?s only one way to take care of that, buddy.

Closing my eyes, I grasped my cock and started stroking, still surprised by the new heft it presented. Even more surprising, however, was the deep, slow burn that reignited in my biceps as I started stroking more energetically. Best of both worlds, I thought, and chuckled. My balls jiggled and slapped against my thigh as my newly fattened cock raced to present its new length.

?Oooh. Fuck??

I surmised that normally by this point in my jerking off process, I would be fully hard by now, but this freshly enlarged cock hanging between my legs felt half-hard at most. My balls, on the other hand, felt heavier than ever and continued slapping noisily against my thighs. I leaned back against the tiled wall and let the steam envelop me, tickling my freshly bigger balls as it rose in clouds from the floor.

?Mmmm?oh, yeah?? I moaned. The fat, swollen piece of meat in my palm was nearing full rigidity now, I sensed. Opening my eyes, I peered down at it?and gasped. Shit, I?d forgotten it looked so big. I?m double digits now. The head, angry red and flaring, looked fit to burst and when I let my hand fall away for a moment, it bucked and throbbed on its own, demanding attention. I switched hands, but in the few seconds I had let it stand alone, I could have sworn my cock had grown bigger still. It certainly felt that way. ?Mmmm...?

A familiar sensation of building pressure had begun to build in my balls. Wait. Just wanna?go a little bit longer. This new size?mmmmm?it?s not so bad. In fact it feels?mmmm yeah?all kinds of good. And so I released my grip and forced my hands back to my sides. My cock bucked angrily in response.

?Fuck me,? I gasped, my legs wobbling. Maybe it was just the steam, but my head swam like never before. This orgasm had all the makings of a mind-blower. Even my balls seemed to quiver and beg for my attention. Fuck it, I thought, and dove back into action. A wide smile of euphoria spread across my face as I grabbed my cock and set to jerking it with wild abandonment of all previous notions of prolonging its ultimate pleasure?cumming.

I needed it now.

?Uuuuunnnnhhh?.?

Cum raced the length of my cock and exploded out my cock-head with the force of a rocket. It sailed across the stall and splattered against the tile of the wall opposite, only to be washed away by the flow of water streaming from the showerhead. A second, third, fourth, and fifth stream of cum followed, my cock rearing with each new volley. My knees quaked and shook and I fell against the wall, gasping. Mmmm?oh yeah. Hell yes. That?s what I call a fantastic jerk session.

Eventually, when my head cleared, I stood and washed, shuddering as I lathered my still over-sensitive cock. In its post-orgasm state, it hung heavily between my legs, swinging to and fro with a pleasant heftiness. Hell, maybe a bigger cock?s not such a bad thing. Not if it can do that every time. Still, I should probably make an appointment. Just to be safe. I continued to try to convince myself that it was a good idea as I dried off and returned to my locker. Once dressed, I packed my sweat-soaked workout clothes back in my bag.

Five minutes later, I climbed into my car, my stomach rumbling with hunger. It was time to eat.

[dhalden]

West Cape, for all of its quaint small-town feel and despite the fact it was nestled in the ever-so-health-conscience state of California, did not necessarily have its fair share of healthy dining out options. In fact, since I had graduated high school, the number of fast-food restaurants downtown had more than doubled. The once lone-standing McDonald?s was now joined by no less than a Wendy?s, Taco Bell, KFC, Pizza Hut, Burger King, and Dunkin Donut?s.

?Just need some fuel,? I grumbled as I passed a Red Lobster. Absentmindedly, I massaged my chiseled, impatiently growling stomach with one hand and steered with the other. Wait a second, didn?t they put up a Chipotle around here somewhere recently? As if I had summoned it with sheer desire, I saw the artsy-modern logo of the restaurant up ahead on the left. My stomach rumbled again. I parked hastily, swinging into the first available spot with the speed and near-skill of a professional stunt driver. Never underestimate a hungry man, I thought bemusedly.

Once inside, I skittered to a halt and harrumphed at the sight of the atrociously long line ahead of me. The lunch hour. Of course. What was I thinking? Any possibility of going elsewhere was abolished I stepped through the door, though. The aromas that filled the building wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling had already enticed me beyond escape.

As I waited, the dull pain of hunger began to settle into the pit of stomach again, forcing it to grow even more insistently. Anxiously, I tapped my foot and peered at the line ahead of me. I didn?t think it was possible for a fast-food restaurant to move a glacial pace, but apparently I was wrong.

?Hey, Mr. D!?

The hollow aching in my stomach was momentarily forgotten as I turned to spot a hand across the restaurant waving back and forth. It was impossible to miss, given the length of arm to which it was attached. Seated at a table in the corner with several other students I recognized, was Luke Freeman. What?s he doing here? It?s the middle of a school-day.

?Come sit with us!? he called, waving me over. Is he serious? I quickly scanned the faces of his peers to look for any sign of disapproval, but they merely grinned back at me innocently.

?We?ll see,? I called back, hoping I sounded jovial as the pain in my stomach redoubled. I grimaced. ?If this line would hurry up,? I added beneath my breath?or so I thought. The woman in front of me glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. ?Sorry,? I said quietly. Eventually, the line did move and when I reached the counter, before the acne-plagued young man behind the counter could so much as ask my order, I blurted out: ?Two burritos, brown rice, black beans, chicken, guacamole, corn, cheese, and lettuce, please. For here.?

The young man raised his eyebrows, as if unable to believe I could put so much away. I couldn?t quite blame him. I?m just so damn hungry. Deeply, I feared this was the beginning of another eating onslaught, like the one I had experienced weeks before. Or (I gulped at the thought) like the one Charlie had experienced the night before. Again, the possibility of some muscle-augmenting contagion flitted through my mind. It proved at once to be both a frightening and attractive fantasy.

I strummed my knuckles impatiently on the counter as the young man assembled the burritos, licking my lips at the sight of the food that would soon dropping into my gullet and practically tossed my credit card at the cashier before snatched my tray from her eagerly. All mine, baby.

?Mr. D?over here! Mr. D!? Luke called. I felt my shoulders sag a bit. If he insists, I thought. The group of students looked up as I approached and, almost instinctively, parted to allow me a seat.

?Not to ruin your fun, but why aren?t you all in school?? I asked.

Luke chuckled. ?Seniors get to eat-out for lunch, Mr. D.?

?But you?re a junior.?

?Yeah, but he?s also varsity,? a blonde-haired girl across from him giggled. I thought I recognized her and wracked my brains to try to remember her name. Crystal or Christina or something like that. Kristen, maybe? That?s it. Kristen Dafoe. ?Take a seat,? she said, and patted a free chair next to her. My stomach growled loudly in response and I thought I saw her brow furrow slightly at the sound.

?I shouldn?t,? I said. ?Besides, I?m in a hurry. Just grabbing some lunch.?

?Yeah, I thought you were sick,? Luke said. ?The sub said??

?Personal day,? I said quickly, cutting across him. I grimaced as my stomach protested even more loudly, demanding the satisfaction of the food in my hands. ?See you tomorrow. And get back to class, okay??

?Sure thing, Mr. D!? Luke said.

?Yeah, see you later, Mr. Donovan,? Kristin said coolly. I cocked an eyebrow at her. Seriously? You?re seventeen. I?m thirty-five. And gay. Not to mention a teacher. Have some dignity, girl.

Turning on my heel, I spotted the nearest empty table and dropped into a seat. I clawed at the foil-wrapped burritos like the starving man I was and tore into the first one madly, biting off mouthfuls before I could swallow the one before it. Food had never tasted so good or felt as filling as it settled into my stomach. I could practically feel it being digested and repurposed into fuel for my exhausted biceps and triceps. That?s right. Fuel those babies up. Get ?em bigger. Not five minutes later, Luke, Kristen, and their peers left, Kristin wiggling her fingers at me as they passed. What?s her deal? I wondered vaguely, stuffing my mouth full of more rice, beans, and chicken.
As a pleasant fullness began to satisfy my stomach, I settled more comfortably in my seat. That?s just what I needed. Just a little post-workout meal. Well, maybe not so little. I?ll probably be hungry in another hour or so though. Maybe I should get another to go?

Just then, the door opened and in strolled yet another familiar face of West Cape High, though far less welcome. This first instinct was quickly superseded by a second. One of pure bewilderment. Were it not for the West Cape baseball cap he wore, I might not have believed it was him, but upon a second look, I realized it was, in fact, Rick. New and improved, I thought. Jumbo-sized. Clearly I was not the only one whose time and dedication in the gym had been paying off.

The first thing I noticed was that he seemed hairier than ever. The full beard he had been sporting for the past few years was now truly impressive, a good two inches longer than when I had seen him last. His hair seemed longer too, curling out from under the edges of his cap, like he had worn it in high school, I recalled. Even the hair on his arms seemed thicker. But what was truly most halting about him, was the sheer size that he carried. He had always been a thick guy, but now?hell, he looked like a full-blown power-lifter. Each of his hairy arms were thick and meaty as Christmas hams and looked fit to tear his sleeves at the seams. His chest, too, was more rotund. The chest of a man who looked like he could bench press a small car. It was barely contained by his shirt, which was stretched so thinly over those portly pecs that I could see every wiry chest hair through the material. Damn, look at the size of him. He?s gotten fucking huge. He?s has to be almost 300 pounds. As he maneuvered his burly frame into line, I saw the beefy roll of his traps beneath the cotton of his shirt. Each was the size of a good-sized grapefruit and just as hairy as the rest of him. And his legs! How did he fit into his pants? I looked him over again and decided that he hardly did at all. Each of his legs was easily thick around as my waist and stretched the denim to its absolute maximum. Even as I watched, he shifted his stance, one of his stout ass cheeks rolling?

I looked away quickly. I should go, I thought. I really don?t feel like entertaining whatever public display of humiliation he?s bound to conjure up. Hurriedly, I wolfed down the rest of my second burrito and rose. I deposited my trash and was halfway to the door when I heard his barking voice across the room.

?Not even going to say ?hey?, brownie? Don?t you want to have lunch with me? Or am I not as good looking as your pretty boy back home??

I stopped, one hand on the door, and sighed. Ignore him. Just walk out the door, I thought. But the damage had already been done. Rick, with all of his imposing bulk and barking voice, had drawn the restaurant?s attention. I could practically feel everyone?s eyes boring into the back of my neck. I turned to face him, shaking.

?Sorry, Rick, but bears just really aren?t my type,? I said. ?Tell you what. When you can finally get your team to win a game, let me know and I?ll reconsider.?

I didn?t wait to gauge anyone?s reactions, let alone Rick?s, and quickly darted back to my car. Backing out of the parking space, I caught a glimpse of my red hot face in the rearview mirror.

Twenty minutes later, still flushed with embarrassment, I turned onto my street. Instantly, I spotted Charlie?s car parked in the driveway. Tentatively, I parked on the street and looked up at my house and then at those on either side of it.

Next door, Mrs. Sevaro was scrambling through her flowerbeds on her hands and knees while Mr. Sevaro raked the first fallen leaves of autumn from their always supremely-maintained lawn. How did they feel about having a gay neighbor? They had never done or said anything to lead me to believe they took issue with my sexuality, I reflected. But they haven?t been exactly friendly since Charlie moved in either, have they? To my knowledge, I was the first openly gay man born, raised, and foolish enough to return to West Cape. As such, I had encountered my fair share of ignorance and prejudice flung in my direction. Since taking my teaching position at my alma mater, however, I had managed to carve out a peaceful existence. Not that the occasional parent didn?t go out of their way to voice their concerns that a homosexual was educating their child.

Stepping out the car, I ambled across my lawn and raised a friendly hand toward Mr. Sevaro, who had stopped raking and was now casting his gaze in my direction. He waved back halfheartedly.

Don?t over-analyze it, I reminded myself as I hurried inside. I had just shut the front door behind me when Charlie?s voice called from the kitchen.

?That you, Andy?? he said, his head peering around the corner, grinning. Instantly, any residual embarrassment I felt about my encounter with Rick and concerns I harbored about the disapproval of my neighbors melted away. There?s something magic in that smile, I thought distantly. ?What?re you doing home already? I thought school didn?t let out until two-thirty.?

?I, uh, didn?t go in today,? I said. ?What about you??

Stepping into the kitchen, I was surprised to find every inch of the table and counters covered in plastic grocery bags, each overflowing with contents. I looked to the sink and found it free of the multitude of dirty dishes I had discovered that morning. I must have looked surprised.

?I thought I?d restock,? Charlie said sheepishly. He opened the refrigerator and dropped seven T-bone steaks into the drawer. Despite his usual meticulously groomed appearance, he somehow looked different, I thought. Slowly, I began unloading the other bags of groceries and furtively looked him over again.

Was it a trick of the light or was he bigger? His arms, already impressively large, looked unquestionably thicker, his biceps fuller and rounder, easily the size of softballs; the cords of muscle in his huge forearms strained and flexed with the slightest movement. They were the forearms of a professional arm-wrestler, the sort of forearms that could tear phonebooks in half. When he turned his back to me, I felt my stomach twist into a tight knot. Look at how wide he is, like a fucking barn door. The fabric of his red polo t-shirt was stretched so thinly over those enormous shoulders, it looked like he had small cantaloupes tucked beneath his skin. Between him and that asshole, Rick, I?m starting to wonder if there?s something in the water around here. It was indisputable: Charlie had grown too. And no surprise, I thought, reflecting on the empty cabinets he and I were presently restocking. He put away a Thanksgiving meal all by himself last night.

Last night. At that, my attention snapped back into focus, my suspicions freshly aroused.

?Hey, so what do you say we hit up the gym after dinner?? he asked, turning back to me.

?I actually just came from there,? I said. I caught another glimpse at his muscle-laden arms, doubly as thick as mine, and bit my tongue. Focus. Don?t let those big ol? biceps distract you. ?So, I don?t want to be intrusive or anything, but?can I ask you something??

He looked up from the bag he was unloading, each hand deftly grasping three sweet potatoes each. I bet those hands can work wonders, I thought, biting my lip.

?Sure thing,? he said, grinning innocently. Unsuspectingly.

I heaved a breath and slowly exhaled through my nose.

?Okay. So. About last night??

I trailed off, uncertain of what to say next. That?s it? That?s all you can muster? You sound like you?re talking about some awkward hookup or something. You have the entire fucking English language at your disposal and you choose to say that? Don?t just stand there awkwardly. Say something else. Anything?well, not anything. You don?t want to sound like a dumbass.

For a full five seconds he simply stared at me, those deep-colored eyes of his clouded over by some emotion I could not place. And then, suddenly, the shadow passed and they sparkled again.

?We should probably sit down,? he said, and gestured toward the table.
A thousand explanations, each progressively more terrible and exponentially more impossible than the previous, raced through my mind as we settled into chairs at the table. Normally we sat across from one another, but for some reason we sat side by side, facing the sliding back door. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the glass highlighted yet another new feature of his that I had yet to notice. He has facial hair. It was hardly noticeable?barely a dusting of whiskers, light as his blonde hair?but given that he was normally so immaculately clean-shaven, it still surprised me.

My fascination was interrupted by the deep, shaking breath he took.

?Okay, here?s the thing,? he said slowly, avoiding my gaze. ?I wasn?t entirely honest with you when I moved in with you a few months ago.? He looked down at his hands and traced invisible shapes in his palms which, despite their years of vigorous weightlifting, were remarkably free of callouses. ?I haven?t always had the easiest time, with a lot of things. I mean, I know I look like confident most of the time, but I?m just a guy, you know? I?m not infallible. I make mistakes just like anyone else. I??

He took another shaking breath, steadied himself, and his gaze met mine.

?Andy, I have to tell you something.?

[nnnrg]

You, sir, are a consummate tease.

Loved how he put Coach Rick in his place for being an ass in public.

[imfit]

Enjoyed reading these chapters. The interaction and description of Coach Rick was very good. And the tease at the end....well it will keep me coming back.

[Reeza]

Very well done! What a nice treat to get so much more of this story in one day. You're a very good writer. Everything flows so smoothly, the pacing is good, the dialogue sounds real, it's dramatic, it's funny, hot and sexy. It's everything I look for from a story on this forum.

Thanks for all the time you put into this. I will, as always, be looking for the next chapter. One of these days I will go back and read it all from the beginning. It's that good.

[crushme99]

Originally Posted by nnnrg

You, sir, are a consummate tease.

Once again . . . GREAT WORK.