Caveman - Part Twelve

[tekuno]

Notice: I am considering doing my next multipart story in a format other than straight text. (I won't be starting it until all three of the current stories have finished.) For various reasons, I am a bit doubtful about the whole thing. So I put up a poll. If you haven't already done so, go read the thread, and then vote.

Also: Does anyone read/speak Latin? I've been considering putting some stuff into Latin for Some Assembly Required and although Google Translate can help, I have a suspicion that it isn't giving me totally correct renditions, so I'd like to find someone who at least knows how to properly decline things.

I really have a problem with names. First I can't keep Mike and Joe straight, then I start screwing up other combinations -- and of course I gave the physics teacher a name which I type incorrectly just about every time ("Grundtstat" has three "t"s). So what do I do? I add another named character into the mix so I can confuse him with everyone else! I'm brilliant, I tell you! (Just shoot me now, somebody. )

This part is, once again, extremely long, for which I apologize. Part of that is because I wanted to keep the whole school day in one part, but mainly it's because I can't wait to get to the third school day (particularly the evening), so I was pushing hard through this one. There's a small arsenal of Chekhov's guns, some of which people have noticed, some of which seem to have passed without comment, (I never said this would be a difficult story to second-guess) and all just waiting to be fired. Even if some of them won't be particularly surprising it's going to be a lot of fun to let them off. (Show begins at approximately 5:30 PM.)

There are probably a lot of typos here. Believe me, there were even more before I proofread. At least nobody breads a sweat now.

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Caveman
Part Twelve

This story has been completed. Content warnings and general description are included with part one, general commentary will be after part twenty.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty

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The Proprietor wondered about that. He wondered why bad things taste nice, and good things taste nasty. He wondered why it was good to waste the golden sunlit afternoons of childhood doing piano practice so that, when you turn forty, you'd be able to play the piano indifferent-badly if only you had the time. He wondered why Youth must learn how to do long division so that Middle Age can tap a few buttons on a calculator. He tried to remember the things He'd been at pains to learn when He was young, but couldn't.

And He resolved; learning is to punish the ignorant for offences they would have committed if they hadn't known better.

--Tom Holt, Wish You Were Here

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Joe and Mike were once again waiting at the flagpole. Although Joe had obviously told Mike about Brad, they were both dumbfounded at his new size. Joe and Mike were, themselves, larger than they had been, and I suspected that both of them had spent the evening jacking off after dispatching their filial duties, but both Brad and Norris now loomed over them, a pair of muscular titans. Joe insisted on feeling all three of our biceps, and despite his smile, he was jealous. He didn't seem to mind me being so much bigger than him -- mentally, I was off-limits. But having Norris larger than him had been hard to take, and Brad jumping in as well really disturbed him. And there was something else, too.

"So, anyone have any after-school activities this time?"

Mike shook his head, but Joe got a crafty look. "Not exactly, but..."

"But what?"

"Well..." Joe reached up, put his hands behind my head, and pulled himself up until his mouth was level with my ear, and then whispered "I can get us that locker room in the fieldhouse again, but without an audience this time. Sound good?"

I nodded.

"Can you arrange for some mirrors, too?" I whispered back.

"Sure can, stud." Then he he took me completely by surprise by giving me a kiss on the mouth before dropping back to the ground. Then he winked. "See you guys later!"

"So, uh, what was that about?" Norris asked.

I looked down at the others -- and saw that we had attracted a crowd again. Some of the crowd were people I recognized; a few were guys who had been at Gary's cave last night, and already they stood out, larger than the others around them. Well, we would never avoid an audience after school if we were going to share the information with everyone. "I'll tell you guys when I see you during classes. Just keep your schedule free after school."

I picked up Norris by lifting from his ass, and gave him a hug and a nice deep kiss, long enough to last me until I saw him again at lunch. Then we split up.

Brad followed me through the halls. Ignoring the fact that he was now an insanely hot, 6-foot-8, well-over-300-pound, massively hung, hairy sex god, he was like a happy puppy. He was asking me questions, asking me to flex for him, waving and flexing at people he recognized... I was glad that I was the catalyst for his change, but it was kind of creepy to see him so hyped up when I remembered the emotional collapse of the morning. No matter how happy he seemed to be, there was still something wrong, there.

Still, there was nothing much I could do about it for now, aside from being supportive, so I shrugged -- triggering a sigh from the people watching me -- and followed him to his locker (just in case) and then into French class.

I walked over and removed my desk again without looking around. Which meant that I didn't see the teacher until I turned around.

Mr. Schmidt was breathtaking. He wasn't as big as Mike or Joe -- yet -- but he had put on vast amounts of size nonetheless. He must have grown more muscle overnight, on an hourly basis, than either Joe or Norris had. (Mike, Brad, and I were clearly no basis for comparison, since Mike and Brad had been deliberately boosted and I had either had an unusually strong reaction or a maladjusted dose.) Before, he had been tall and scrawny, almost gaunt. Now he had mass -- but it was all muscle. Each muscle bulged out, round and hard, but between the muscles was, well, nothing. Where you couldn't see his muscles, you could pick out his bone structure; he must have had a bodyfat of around 0. His cheekbones stood out above hollows; his face was a cross between a starving man and a boxer, and today he suddenly had obviously-heavy facial hair; he had given himself short-but-extended sideburns when he had shaved -- until today he had been clean-shaven -- but there was already faint stubble showing. Until that day I had never really considered any of my male teachers as human beings, but it suddenly dawned on me that the pale, characterless French teacher I had always ignored was actually even younger than Ms. Neidermeyer; now that I thought about it, he had been hired the year before, probably right out of college.

He grinned at me and beckoned me to the front of the room, where he leaned in and whispered.

"How the hell do you stand it? I've been hornier since last afternoon than I've ever been in my life, and I've been eating like crazy! I jacked off twenty times last night!"

I was at a loss for an answer; twenty times in a single night was a lot for someone who just had the shot -- no wonder he had gotten so big so fast! I mumbled something and returned to my "seat".

The other students gradually filed in. The boys were all bigger than they had been the day before, but I was relieved to note that none of them had transformed to the same degree as Mr. Schmidt. Maybe Gary had varied the doses he gave people?

The class just flew by; I was the center of attention again, but there was a major difference from the previous day's class -- the teacher was now a giant with a tremendously commanding presence. I suspect that most of the people in the class learned more French that day than they ever had before.

Then again, I would hardly know. I sat and paged idly through the textbook. I had been an indifferent student, with a more-or-less solid B average in French, but suddenly it all made sense in a way which it never had before. I could see connections between irregular verb forms, the seventeen verbs which took "?tre" instead of "avoir" for the simple past tense were obvious instead of arbitrary... I found myself wishing I had a more advanced textbook, or maybe a native French speaker to converse with, to confirm my suspicions about topics too advanced for our flimsy high school text. When called on, I gave mechanical answers to the simple questions being dealt with by the rest of the class. Could I get my hands on a textbook for Spanish? Or maybe German? I'd have to ask Norris and Joe about it...

The bell rang and knocked me out of my reverie. Mr. Schmidt immediately speedwalked out of the room with a notebook over his crotch; no doubt he was headed for a bathroom stall for some hormonal relief. I wondered whether he had brought enough food with him for the day if he was going to jerk off between periods. Oh, well, not my problem -- or, at least, not a problem I was willing to spend much time on; there had to be some limit to my personal responsibility.

I turned around to go get my desk, and Brad immediately kissed me. I must have looked shocked, because almost immediately his face fell again. Just what I needed -- an emotional breakdown with no time to cope with it.

"I-I'm sorry. I thought that was okay. I mean, you kissed Norris and Joe, and--" Brad's descent into panic was so rapid that it was frightening. There were actually tears in his eyes by the time he reached the word "okay".

I grabbed him and gave him a big hug. I whispered into his ear: "it's okay, big guy. Just startled, that's all. When do you have lunch?"

The reinforcement combined with the apparent non-sequitur startled him out of his breakdown. "Lunch? Uh, second half of fifth period. Why?"

"Go to lunch with us in the first half of fifth instead. Trust me." Then I leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and whispered "we're going to fuck in a bathroom in the second half".

Then, avoiding the various people who were waiting to talk to me, I grabbed my books and ran -- leaving the desk in the back. I couldn't guarantee, if I stayed, that I wouldn't set Brad off again, and there simply wasn't time for damage control.

English Lit was, relatively speaking, a breeze, although with no hot teacher this time I'm afraid my presence was once again a total block against anyone learning anything. Oh, well. I, at least, was paying attention, and for my trouble I can now tell you about the poets and authors of the Lost Generation who never made it into the canon, even though I have never read even one work by any of them. I can also tell you that my English Lit teacher gets flustered and eventually develops a wet mark in the crotch if she discovers she is being watched by an eight-plus-foot, super-muscular male student. In the end I doodled in my notebook and just listened, and the stutters and flubs died down.

I was slightly annoyed that in two periods I had been the cause of two teachers running to the bathroom at the end of the class. I ignored the crowd again and headed for Mr. Grundtstat's class. I was dreading whatever revenge he might have in mind for yesterday's humiliation, but on the other hand at least it wouldn't be a case of abject lust.

When I walked in, Mr. Grundtstat was waiting just inside the door with his arms crossed, tapping his foot. It was clear from his reaction that he was disappointed I hadn't been late.

"So, Mr. Hammond, you're favoring us with your presence again?" This was followed by a sniffle -- clearly, it was just another day in the hay fever world of Mr. Grundtstat.

"Yes, Mr. Grundtstat."

Mr. Grundtstat stood there for a few minutes, apparently hoping I would say something he could punish me for. I didn't. Finally, he sneezed, then gave a grunt and stomped away behind the table at the front of the class. I shrugged my shoulders, removed "my" desk and chair, and sat down.

It was mildly amusing to watch Mr. Grundtstat's reaction as he gradually realized that every male student in the class had become larger overnight; I wondered if perhaps he had no earlier classes than this one, or whether I just hadn't recruited any of the guys who were in his earlier classes, if any. Whatever may have prevented him from noticing that male students were starting to enlarge, he was visibly upset by the time the bell rang to start class.

I couldn't precisely blame him; the smallest guy in the class was now big enough that, until today, they would have been a shoo-in for the football or wrestling team. All were beefier, most were visibly taller, some were noticeably bulging at the crotch -- and I don't mean they had erections -- and a couple really needed a shave. (As did I, I suddenly realized.)

Oddly enough, this was possibly the most normal class I had all day. Although Mr. Grundtstat tried several times to catch me with trick questions, finally he gave up. Fortunately, he (correctly, although he wasn't to know) assumed that I was at the center of whatever was making all the male students into exactly the sort he couldn't stand, and so he didn't attempt to pick on anyone else. Just as well -- as far as I knew, at least, nobody else had had their intelligence boosted by the shot, and even if that was a side effect one day probably wasn't enough to make my classmates capable of reproducing the teacher's thesis. I would have to come up with some method to ensure his attention remained on me in the future -- but at least it wasn't necessary yet.

When the bell rang, I headed for a bathroom. Even if I hadn't been somewhat pent-up after three periods without a sexual release, I knew what was coming next period and wanted to make sure I wouldn't get hard and accidentally encourage it. I consciously and shamelessly fantasized about Norris and Brad going at it with Mr. Schmidt on the way, and was rewarded with an almost instant orgasm once I pulled my cock out. A pity Mr. Schmidt was a teacher here; with a physique like that, it would be fun to include him in our group... oh, well.

I arrived at the watercolor class expecting to find the teacher waiting for me. And she was.

Ms. Neidermeyer was wearing the most intentionally revealing outfit I had ever seen on a teacher, and about twice as much makeup as usual. The latter was a mistake; as a bisexual I don't have any strong preference for or against makeup in general, but if it's going to be used I am a strong proponent of "less is more". The same is true for perfume, but there she was still within normal limits.

The dress she had chosen was, aesthetically, a triumph. It dawned on me that, as a young, attractive, female high school teacher, Ms. Neidermeyer probably dressed somewhat unsexily as a safety precaution -- the male population of the school was fairly well-behaved, but why provoke them?

Suddenly my regrets on the subject of possibly enabling rapists on the sports teams came back full-force. I wasn't planning to ravish her, but Ms. Neidermeyer could be in serious danger from some mindless jock who suddenly had an augmented libido and enough strength to act on it even in the presence of others.

I wish I could claim that I came up with a brilliant idea to make the class less awkward, but unfortunately whether my intelligence had been boosted or not I really had no means of coping with a sudden entry into a sitcom plot. As Ms. Neidermeyer found an excuse to lean towards me to expose her cleavage for the sixth time, I reflected that Mike would probably sell at least the mineral rights to his soul in exchange for this treatment.

The bell finally rang, and I barely managed to avoid having the teacher cling to my leg as I walked out into the hall. This, too, was going to require some thought -- all told, I felt more comfortable with Mr. Grundtstat's bottomless enmity than with Ms. Neidermeyer's almost topless adoration.

When I got to the cafeteria, Brad was hovering by the door. The nervous expression on his face was a flat-out contradiction to the confidence that you would expect from any male as big as he now was. He was, as I expected, noticeably larger than he had been when I left him after first period. I felt another pang of guilt -- someone so unstable probably shouldn't be given a lot of strength -- but once again, it was too late to do anything. His face lit up when he saw me, and he ran over, jumped up, and threw his arms around my neck.

"I was so worried that I got it wrong! But you're here after all!"

I gave him a one-armed hug, and he disengaged. "So how did your morning go?"

"Oh, okay. Everyone wanted to know how I got so big!"

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them I practiced bissonomy and tubso."

I grinned. "And did any of them get it?"

Brad laughed. "No. I'll have to come up with a better answer, though -- that one's on Google so they'll have it figured out tomorrow."

"Tell them you got locked in a self-rising flour factory and had to eat your way out."

"Heh."

Mike was already sitting at a table. He was obviously displeased that Brad was joining us, but fortunately Brad didn't seem to notice. And when I gave him a frown, he managed to hide his displeasure. Maybe the reason Mike was unhappy was because he just wasn't growing as much as anyone else; obviously he just didn't feel as turned on by the whole process as the rest of us, and as a result wasn't seething with hormones to the same ridiculous extent that the rest of us were.

Norris sauntered into the cafeteria just before the bell; it was entertaining to see someone so large enter the room (without actually being that person). Like Brad, Norris was visibly bigger. He was actually getting so large that he would probably look freakish even onstage at a bodybuilding competition. People backed out of his way and stared as he entered and made his way to our table. I started to get hard just watching it, and when he leaned in for a kiss, I went the rest of the way. Damn, I could hardly wait until the second half of the period!

Fortunately, Mike immediately brought me back down to earth for the time being.

"So, uh, how was Ms. Neidermeyer today?"

I gave a theatrical grimace. "Doing a 'Mrs. Robinson' impression, only moreso. You should go take a look at her outfit. And tomorrow she's announcing the next picture topic -- if this keeps up, I bet she'll try to pass herself off as a nude model."

"Geez!"

I had a thought. "Say, Mike, actually... you could do me a favor. I'm just a little worried about Ms. Neidermeyer."

"A big strong man like you?"

"Shut up, idiot. I'm worried that, now that I turbo-charged the jocks, one of them may get so riled up by hormones that they attack her. Could you, you know, make a point of hanging around her after school?"

Mike looked conflicted. "But won't that mean I miss out on Joe's thing?"

That was a point. However: "That's true, but, honestly, Mike, did you really enjoy yesterday's show before we headed for the cave?"

He blushed and looked down. "Not really. It felt good while it lasted, but..."

"That's it exactly. Even if it won't stimulate your growth like a round with us, I think you'll enjoy sticking with Ms. Neidermeyer more."

Mike thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose you're right."

"Besides, we're going to do a repeat of yesterday once we leave the cafeteria, so you won't be completely left out."

"Okay."

Norris looked at me. "I saw that teacher you recruited yesterday in the hall. Did he get a special boost, too?"

"Not as far as I know. He's our French teacher--" Brad nodded confirmation "--and he told me first period that he jacked off 20 times last night. I think he just, uh, went the extra mile."

"More like came the extra mile."

"He was actually bursting out of his shirt when I saw him a few minutes ago."

"Wow." I tried, unsuccessfully, not to fantasize about bringing Mr. Schmidt into our group. And in particular, not to imagine what he would look like in a few days. My cock actually started to lift the table slightly before I was able to calm myself down again. It's hard to avoid making superhuman strength inconspicuous under certain circumstances.

"What are you going to do for gym class?"

"What do you mean?" Brad and Mike were interested.

"Oh, the gym teacher thinks Mitch, here, is on steroids, and tried to give him a hard time yesterday. Threatened to get him expelled, and searched his locker."

Brad started to look distressed. "Don't worry, he gave up."

"Yeah, after you smacked him in the face with your cock!"

"What?" Neither of the two audience members could believe what they heard.

"It wasn't on purpose. He pretended to fall down behind me, and then yelled at me to turn around, and..."

"...and centrifugal force happened. You could hear the slapping sound everywhere in the locker room."

Mike burst out laughing. Brad, however, just looked more upset than ever.

"What if he actually expells you? What will you do?"

"If he expells me, I will go home peacefully and file an appeal with the school board. But that's something to worry about when it happens. If he couldn't come up with an excuse yesterday, he probably won't be able to do anything today, either."

"Funny that he's the only one."

I turned to Norris. "The only one?"

"The only one who thinks you're on drugs. In less than two weeks, you changed from approximately the smallest guy in the school, certainly the smallest in the senior class, to probably the largest guy in the world. You'd think everyone would be clamoring for a drug test."

"Hmmm. You're right. I hadn't thought of that. I've been a little distracted lately." For emphasis -- but really more to calm Brad down -- I pulled Brad and Norris over and gave them a hug. "I wonder why that is? There's an awful lot going on that seems inexplicable. Maybe I should ask Gary about it."

We discussed things in similar vein until the bell rang. This time, by arrangement, the four of us split up and made our way separately. I took the most convoluted route to the bathroom we were using that I could think of, cheating a bit by using my strength and stamina to move at a faster pace than ordinary people would be able to keep up, particularly on the stairs.

I was the last one to reach the bathroom, as it turned out. Luckily for us, it had been empty again. After locking the door, and stripping, I insisted that everyone flex in the mirror, and was rewarded with an incredible lineup of muscle. Mike was a piece of beefcake who would dwarf most bodybuilders, and covered with the sexiest body hair imaginable, but he was substantially smaller than Brad and Norris, who were making a joke out of pretending to be mirror reflections of each other, pulling poses which made my cock harden and pulse once again. And, of course, I towered over all three of them, a mega-muscular giant.

Judging from their relative heights against mine, Norris and Brad must have been close to, or possibly above, seven feet tall now. But their growth had begun to change in character as well. Their upper arms were now so large around that even unflexed it looked like there was a spherical mass under the skin. This mass was approximately the same size as that of the enormous deltoids which bulged out like cannonballs immediately above. And their pectorals, ignoring the fabulous separation between the upper and lower parts, looked like slightly larger spheres. You could see that the various rounded bulges were now larger than their heads, and had begun to spread wider; soon Norris and Brad would be having trouble going through doors... double doors. Mike had not advanced to this level, quite, but he still looked like he could beat up Mr. Olypmia for his lunch money. All told, wildly sexy -- I suddenly realized that, although I had been bouncing from one crisis or distraction to another all morning, my libido had been ticking over and was now threatening to explode if I didn't get to work pretty quickly.

It was a repeat of the day before, but with one more guy to fuck, and all of us bigger than ever. And that extra guy was just as hot as Norris was. Out of consideration for the fact that Mike was not going to join us in the afternoon, and the fact that I was the only exception to his heterosexuality, I let him get off on me four times in a row; twice by pec-fucking me and twice by jacking off. Meanwhile, I was screwing Norris and Brad into the wall -- both at once, since they were fucking each other; they changed places each round.

When we had finished, it was time to clean up. I reached for the paper towels, but Mike gave a smug smile. He reached into his backpack and pulled out four of the cheap towels the school provided for the gym showers, and handed one to each of us.

"Just throw 'em out when you're done."

"Isn't that kind of wasteful? And don't those belong to the school?"

"They have thousands and thousands of these. I got to see the storage area once. They got some kind of bulk deal back in the 90s and filled a whole room with them. Trust me, they won't miss these."

With the assistance of towels, we did a much better job cleaning up than the previous day -- and in less time, too; we had just finished when the bell rang. I told Norris and Brad to meet me at the fieldhouse after school before unlocking the door.

This time I beat Joe to history; I had the pleasure of once again observing as the male portion of the class entered displaying significantly larger size than the previous day. I found that it was easy to tell which guys had been sexually active since getting the shot -- which, if Mike was any indicator, might have a correlation to the Kinsey scale. Maybe someday I could do a little research on that -- it seemed a little bit of a pity that straight guys should be left out of the benefits of the shot.

Joe sauntered in, just beating the bell. It was clear that he had been working hard on stimulating himself all day; he was taking on the same type of width and build as Norris and Brad. If I hadn't just spent half a period fucking, I probably would have been unable to resist dragging him straight off to a bathroom. As it was, I just got semi-hard -- particularly when he gave me a not-at-all-chaste kiss (which the teacher seemed to find entrancing -- the start of class was noticeably delayed because she went into some sort o fantasy mode).

I started a new page in my notebook for the day's notes, but the teacher started talking about Cambodia again. Joe and I exchanged glances -- it became clear quickly that she was sufficiently distracted to give the same lecture as she had given the day before.

I wrote in my notes: "Wasn't this yesterday's lecture?"

Joe nodded, and in a moment his reply came into view: "Damn, you're sexy enough to warp time "

"Embarrassing. But kind of hot anyway. This happen to you in other classes?"

"No, this is your personal touch."

We spent the rest of the class holding a slow conversation by notes, conscious that everyone in the room was watching us. There was an element of ridiculousness to it, and at first I considered pointing out the teacher's mistake. On the other hand, though, sheer repetition the lesson was probably the only way most of the people in the class would ever pick up anything about Cambodia, since they were patently not paying attention to the teacher. It made me grin slightly to realize that I could at least stop feeling guilty about distracting people; if they weren't able to learn after hearing the lecture twice, then there was probably no hope for them at all.

I told Joe about Mr. Schmidt. He was extremely interested. The two of us speculated whether he had received a boosted dose or whether his incredible growth was simply unique to his metabolism -- or his age. After all, every single person other than Mr. Schmidt who had received a dose was a teenager. Perhaps it was easier to transform a body which wasn't already in flux naturally.

In any event, when the bell finally rang, Joe gave me another kiss which forced me to hit the bathroom for more masturbation before heading to the locker room. Where I encountered Norris, who -- after having a large dose of food and sex two periods earlier, had apparently spent the previous period growing uncontrollably, which was almost enough to make me retreat to the bathroom again.

Of course, in the mirrors above the sinks at the end of the aisle of lockers, I could see that Norris wasn't the only one who had grown; I looked like a photomanipulation of a morphed fantasy drawing. I was too tall to see my own face without crouching, but when I twisted my torso around to face the mirrors, I discovered that I took up most of the aisle all by myself. That was pretty impressive.

It took some concentration and deep breathing to unharden myself before changing into my gym uniform. Even so, a crowd had gathered to watch me do it. And to make things worse, the crowd was made up almost entirely of guys who had had the shot and the better part of a day to grow in. Yesterday, they looked like children to me. Today, they were still tiny in comparison to me, but most of them were large enough not to trigger my mind's pedophilia filter, and several were actually large enough to be distinctly attractive.

Of course, there was always the teacher to worry about -- in the end, worrying about what he would say when he saw me was enough to keep me from slipping into a prolonged sex fantasy which I might not have had the self-control to avoid acting out.

So it was with a great deal of nervousness that I left the locker room for the gym.

To my surprise, the teacher lit up when he saw me, and while we waited for everyone to assemble, he stared at me in the fashion which was becoming familiar.

Not that this was an unwelcome change, exactly, but the degree of the change was creepy. At least he wasn't demanding to search me for needle marks any more.

"All right, everyone, we have a change of plans. I know we've been doing basketball recently, but today we're going to go to the weight room." There was some whispering; even the people who ordinarily would have been groaning were looking at me and grinning. Great -- whether the teacher was on my side or not, I was still going to be in the spotlight. On the other hand, I'd rather be forced into exhibitionism than expelled.

The teacher led us off to the weight room; as it turned out, he meant the real weight room, the one the heavier sports teams used for weight training, rather than the smaller one filled with machines. As we filed into the room, the teacher faced us, giving a manic forced grin.

"I just had an idea." Some people shouldn't try to tell lies. "Girls over there, guys over here." Everyone shuffled into position. "Okay, count off." I was number 4. "Now, evens are one team, odds are the other. Girls, evens get pinnies--" If we had needed any extra evidence that this had all been planned, there was a bin of pinnies in the weightroom, where it would not possibly have appeared under ordinary circumstances. "--guys, odds are... shirts, evens are skins." What a surprise.

I peeled off my shirt and became even more of a focus of attention than usual; a couple of people almost reached out to touch my chest hair, apparently because they couldn't believe it was so thick. At least I had plenty of practice coping with it by now; I think that if everyone had stared at me shirtless like that before spring break, I would either have burst a blood vessel from blushing too hard or just died out of sheer embarrassment. Maybe it was all the time spent nude at home.

In any event, Norris was also a "skin", so at least I had something to look at, myself.

"Here's how it's going to work: we're going to look for maximums on each exercise, and the team which has the highest totals will win."

From the back of the class, I heard a guy mutter "why bother? It's not like the shirts are going to win." I was thinking much the same thing.

I motioned to Norris, and whispered to him: "what do you think? Should we hold back, or really go for maximums? I'm pretty sure either one of us can break the world bench press record now."

He considered this question. "Well, it's only a matter of time before there's nationwide attention on you, really. Why not cut loose?"

I nodded, as the lines formed for the bench press, which was station 1.

Since all the guys in the class had had shots from Gary the previous day, the numbers for males were unusually high -- the lowest bench in the male half of the class was 170, and the highest before Norris and I reached the front of the line was 440 from a very proud jock.

Then Norris got under the bar. I was interested to see how he would do. I knew that I was more or less superhumanly strong -- back on that first day I had crushed one of the home gym machines into a ball, after all, and I had only gotten bigger and stronger since then -- but I had no idea whether Norris was super-strong or merely as strong as any other 7-foot-tall, 3-and-a-half-foot-wide guy with arms significantly larger around than his waist and a chest bigger around than both arms put together, assuming you could find one. Maybe the point was moot -- I wasn't sure how much weight the bar could actually hold.

It was mildly amusing to watch. He started off at 450 pounds, just at a guess -- nobody really expected that to be his maximum (although the guy who benched 440 was certainly hoping for it). Naturally, he pressed it without much difficulty.

Next he tried 500 pounds. He managed this as well.

600, 700, 800, and 900 passed. As the two guys adding weights to the bar tried to load another hundred, the bar started to bend visibly, and they backed off. Norris went down on on the record as benching 900, although he still hadn't so much as changed his posture while lifting.

Then it was my turn. The two guys at the bar looked at me, then looked at the partially-bent bar, and then looked at the teacher. He was clearly looking forward to seeing me bench, but obviously if Norris could handle more than the bar could hold, I could do so as well. I decided to show off just a bit.

"Hang on one second, I just want to check something." I straddled the bench, reached out with both hands, and lifted the bar off the rack. There was a gasp. Then I curled it, causing another gasp. Finally, with a little smile at Norris, I put it back, put one hand in the middle, pulled it off the rack, and pressed it overhead. It really wasn't much more difficult than lifting, say, Norris. When I turned around to face the class, there were a lot of gaping jaws.

Norris grunted. "Showoff." I gave him a light punch in the arm and a fake smirk. "Sorry, man. Not my fault I'm awesome."

Most of the rest of the class went like that. We moved from exercise to exercise, Norris would max out the bar or something along those lines, and then I would come in and either do the same thing one-handed (or -legged, or -fingered) or in some other way demonstrate that I could do even better. Norris pretended to be upset that I kept breaking his records, but he was tremendously turned on -- as was I; maybe it wasn't straining him at all, but seeing him shirtless and lifting weights was pretty damned sexy. The teacher apparently thought so, too -- after about twenty minutes he had a visible damp patch in his pants, and was visibly hard again when we were headed back to the lockers.

Norris decided to rub some salt in the wound. "Too bad you don't have any heavier weights -- Mitch and I didn't even break a sweat."

Our gym teacher really was a little too transparent; I could tell just from his expression that Norris' comment had made him picture the two of us, shirtless, sweating. And I could see a look of calculation show up -- one way or another we were going to be shirtless and sweating the next day. I wanted to smack my forehead with my palm -- or maybe Norris' forehead.

The gym showers were more of an ordeal this time -- to guarantee proper hygiene, some late unlamented architect had built the showers as a sort of hallway or tunnel through which you had to walk. Norris was just narrow enough in the shoulders to slip through, but I was now quite definitely too wide to navigate the system, particularly since I was also tall enough that I brushed against the showerheads as I passed. I essentially had to walk through sideways. And, of course, there was an anti-masturbation surveilance window for the teachers, and our teacher was watching for me as I passed. It wasn't so much the lust I objected to as the fact that he seriously believed he was being subtle. I really don't know why the school continued to employ him -- the other gym teachers weren't conspicuous for brainpower either, but none of them sank to this level.

On the other hand, I was increasingly indifferent to this. On the one hand, it was embarrassing, on the other it was mildly flattering. Balance out the feeling of being powerless against this unwanted attention from a teacher I didn't like with the fact that I could probably have packed said teacher into a matchbox and still had room for the matches, and it more or less canceled out. I got dressed, gave Norris a nice long erotic kiss -- long enough to make sure anyone watching got a good look, and walked out at the bell.

I was in two minds about whether to hit a bathroom and jack off before my last class. On the one hand, kissing Norris like that had turned me on incredibly; on the other hand, immediately after that last class, I was going to go and have an hour of hot sex with three incredibly huge guys.

...oh, who was I kidding? I went and jacked off. If nothing else, I deserved it for putting up with that jackass of a gym teacher. Besides, I had the images of Norris lifting weights fresh in my memory to sustain me.

Calculus class was, fortunately, another boring class. Ms. Jonas, though clearly keeping an eye on me, was far too good and professional a teacher to make a serious mistake. So, after nodding a greeting to Mike and clearing my space, I once again tuned out of explanations I didn't need and thought about the events of the day. Complex numbers happened to everyone else as I thought.

Norris was right -- I should barely be able to walk down the hall without being stopped by a teacher accusing me of drug use. Instead, five of my seven teachers seemed to not only accept my transformation as legitimate but were obviously consumed with lust over it. That couldn't be normal. And one of the two holdouts -- the only one who actually suspected drugs -- had given in after a day.

The answer had to be Gary, somehow. He was jamming people's thoughts in some way, or maybe he had secretly had my teachers kidnapped and replaced by robots. Every scenario I could imagine -- and there were many -- had some objections via Occam's Razor, but I had to admit to myself that I really didn't know very much about Gary; I didn't really have a clear notion about his motivations or his limitations. He seemed to be benign, but there were all sorts of possibilities, even there. The apparent kindness might be merely an act, or he could simply be nice when it didn't cause any trouble for himself while actually being evil in some way, or he could simply be beyond comprehension -- his own story about his origin said he had started off as a non-organic life form, so maybe he had desires which couldn't even be shoehorned into 'good' or 'evil'.

I sighed. As the first contact from the human race, I had to take some responsibility for figuring Gary out and trying to soften any negative impact he might have. Yet another thing to worry about. I would start by visiting his cave on Saturday, I decided. I could spend the whole day there getting answers; if he refused to explain himself, I could simply assume him harmful and alert the authorities.

But first I would have to make it through the rest of this school day, and a whole extra one the next day. I thought for a bit about strategies for coping with the sheer boredom which lay between sex acts, and made a few plans.

At long last, the bell rang, and I headed for my locker to grab a few things before going to the fieldhouse.

On the way, I saw Joe -- or so I thought. It was nearly the same monstrous level of development, with the back broadening into something nearly inhuman, and the same approximate hair color, but after a moment I realized that it wasn't actually Joe at all. One of the clues was the torn clothing; the man was wearing a wife-beater undershirt and his pants were torn down the back to make room for his giant leg muscles.

The enormous man turned around, and I recognized Mr. Schmidt. He was huge; in one day he had reached Joe's level. He must have been shaving during the day, because he had no more than stubble on his chin. He looked like a pornographic superhero's secret identity. I had an intense craving to pull him in for our activities in the fieldhouse -- but he was still a teacher, after all. If nothing else, I had to consider his career. There had to be some limits.

When he saw me, he gave me a wry smile. "Oh, hey, I was looking for you, Mitch. I wanted to let you know it wasn't your fault."

Uh-oh. "What isn't my fault?"

"I just got fired. I won't be here tomorrow. And I figured it was my one chance to do this." He suddenly reached out and grabbed my shoulders while giving a small jump, and planted a kiss on my mouth.

Compared with most of the ones I had received that day, it was pretty chaste. Still, a bell rang in my libido. Well, why not go for the gusto? Aside from the sex -- which I really seemed to need, and had gone to some trouble to keep secret -- I had been playing by the school's rules. I deserved a treat.

"Come with me. You can explain to me after we leave the building."

I crammed my stuff into my backpack and led Mr. Schmidt out one of the back exits. "Okay, what's this about?"

"Well, I kept getting bigger and hornier all day. And my beard kept growing back. So I kept going to the bathroom and jacking off and shaving."

I nodded.

"Well, I didn't have any classes during eighth period, so I went to the faculty men's room. And I shaved, and then... I, uh, undressed, or at least, I took off what was left of my clothes, my shirt didn't make it past lunch, and, uh,..."

"You masturbated into one of the sinks."

"Yes."

"And somebody walked in on you."

"Actually, the department head was in one of the toilet stalls. He saw the whole thing."

"Oh."

"So now I'm out of a job."

"That sucks. You have anywhere you need to go, anyone to call?"

"Not really. My parents need to be told, I suppose, but..."

"No girlfriend?"

"Boyfriend, actually, and not lately."

I clamped down, hard, on the grin which was threatening to fill my face from ear to ear. "Well, come with me. There's something you've got to see... you have to cum with me..." Dammit, no puns, either! At least that one was innocuous -- it had apparently passed over Mr. Schmidt's head completely.

Mr. Schmidt was increasingly bewildered as I took a long route to ditch anyone who might be following and then dragged him into the fieldhouse. Joe was waiting with his arms crossed, and his eyebrows rose.

"This is Mr. Schmidt--"

"Call me Adam."

"--who was my French teacher. He just got fired for being insanely hot and having sex at school, so I thought I'd bring him along. Mike won't be here. Any objections?"

Joe obviously wanted to say something, but he shrugged and held the door of the locker room open. After the three of us entered, he locked the door.

"Okay, we're locked in."

Mr. Schmidt looked around, a bit puzzled. "What are we doing in a locker room?"

Then Norris and Brad, who were making out, came into view around a corner. Brad noticed us first, and broke off. "Is that Mr. Schmidt?"

"Yes. Norris, this is the guy who used to teach us French. He just got fired by the school, so he's not a teacher any more. He's going to join us this afternoon."

"Call me Adam. Please!"

I reached over and tore off what remained of Bill's clothes. "You can borrow Joe's gym uniform when we're done. Now, let's get fucking."

Honestly, that session was everything I had ever dreamed of in terms of gay sex. Joe had managed to get some mirrors moved to reflect the shower area -- I think they came from over the sinks, but I really didn't care. For a little over an hour, we were a teeming mass of male bodies, fucking hard, over and over and over again, as warm water played over us, beading on our thick, bulging muscles and running in rivulets through the hair which covered us all.

Adam was the smallest of us, and also the only one without a beard, although his stubble was growing in quickly. "Smallest" was a misleading term, since he was nearly Joe's size and larger than any human I had ever seen before spring break. His pecs alone probably contained more muscle than most freshman boys had spread across their bodies, and -- except for the beard -- he was as hairy as any of us. His cock was, if anything, slightly larger than Joe's, and his balls were as big as Brad and Norris' were -- no wonder he grew so fast.

Joe was slightly larger than Adam, with slightly lighter hair and a different face. Looking at Adam, though, I suddenly realized how much hotter Joe could be with a different haircut. He already radiated masculine sexiness, but between the youth in his face and his "I'm a teenager trying to look cool" haircut, his potential was largely being thrown away. I resolved to get some clippers when I got a razor, and to force Joe into a new haircut. If nothing else, at the rate we were all growing facial hair, if I messed up that part it would grow out in a day.

Norris and Brad, of course, were a level above Joe and Adam. Since lunch, the two had continued to grow. Neither one seemed to have gotten much taller, but both of them were noticeably wider and thicker -- and better hung as well. It looked as though they were now more than half as wide as they were tall, which was not an inconsiderable measurement. As the two of them repeated their trick of the morning of giving me a kind of symmetrical blowjob, I found myself wishing I knew how heavy they actually were, now -- and myself as well, although I was of lesser importance.

I seemed to have gotten somewhat taller, judging by the way the ceiling seemed closer than it had yesterday. I wasn't quite sure whether to be happy or worried about that. Of course, I was as wide as three normal people, incredibly heavy, covered in thick body hair, and hung less like a porn star than a fire hose, so there wasn't much point in trying to be inconspicuous. Even in a crowd of guys the size of Norris and Brad, I would stand out. So I decided not to worry about it for the time being -- the fact that I had four studs, each one practically bursting with muscle, worshiping different parts of my body in between actual fucking may have helped me remain laid back.

When we finally stopped -- which was purely because nearly all of us were getting incredibly hungry -- I dispatched Joe to bring his gym uniform. He ran off and returned within two minutes, smiling.

"I hadn't noticed before, but I'm a lot faster than I used to be. I got to my locker in 45 seconds flat. This season is going to be so fucking awesome!"

The five of us set off for my house. Once we were reasonably out of sight, I scooped everyone up and carried them, much to Norris and Brad's delight. Once we were at my house, we started in on the bag of cylinders like we hadn't eaten in a week, very nearly polishing it off. After we were done, and practically all at the same time, everyone except Adam stripped. He looked around at us.

"What, again?"

I looked at him. "Well, yeah. We're all incredibly hot gay guys with overloaded libidos and apparently unlimited sex drive. What did you expect we would do, macrame?" Everyone laughed, even Adam.

"Okay, you got me there. Jesus, the secret lives of high school students!" He peeled off Joe's gym uniform, and soon we were merrily screwing away again.

This time, I had to interrupt the action, myself. Around 8:30, I noticed the time.

"Oh, shit. Stop, guys! I've got to go run an errand."

"Do you have to?" Joe was a bit upset, since he would miss out on whatever happened after he left.

"Well, you tell me." I pushed my chin into his face. "Think I can get away with not shaving tomorrow?"

He laughed. "No, you're going to need to get rid of that before you show up. Out of razors?"

"More 'never had one'. I've been using Norris' electric one, and it was practically burning out when we finished up this morning."

"Ah, well, then, you'll definitely need to get something."

"Tell you what -- you guys stay here, and I'll run to the drugstore. Or better yet, I'll run to the drugstore, and you guys go to the cave and get some more cylinders. We're going to want a snack, and then there's tomorrow to consider. Get a couple of hundred. Joe, you'd better go with them; you know the woods better than they do." That cheered him up, at least. Now he had an excuse to stick around -- which meant I had an excuse to try to improve his hairstyle.

Since they would have to navigate the woods, I took my time getting to the drugstore -- which meant that it took me nearly six minutes to travel the mile or so.

Walking into a commercial building late at night when you have a heavy black beard, smell like sex, and look like you eat football players for breakfast is an experience. Every single person in the store, from the cashiers to the pharmacy crew, was watching me the entire time I was there. I'm pretty sure the pharmacist was gripping some sort of weapon behind the counter, in case I turned out to be a criminal. I toyed with the idea of going over and asking to see it -- I doubted it was a gun, and I couldn't see how he could possibly hope to even mildly inconvenience me with anything else. But I didn't want to get involved with the police, which might happen if I pushed my luck too far, so I simply grabbed four or five electric razors, a few electric hair clippers, a couple of bottles of shaving gel, some regular, non-electric razors, and some lotion, and headed for checkout.

The checkout clerk was practically petrified. I had to ask to be rung up three times. I started to think it would be better to simply walk off with the stuff and risk being picked up by the police, but she finally finished the transaction, and I headed home.

Despite the delays, I actually beat everyone else back, and so I headed to a bathroom, plugged in one of the razors, and got rid of my beard. I tried leaving various parts of it in place, but unlike Joe and Adam, everything above "clean-shaven" looked a bit silly. Of course, I had seen myself with stubble and that was absurdly sexy, but everything else made me look like a caveman wearing various wigs and false mustaches and beards.

As I finished removing my sideburns, the others returned. Apparently they had been been fighting over carrying the food because everyone wanted to show off -- even Adam, who hadn't fully grasped just how strong he now was. They stopped when I walked in to the kitchen.

"Ah, I see you made it. Where'd you go, anyway?"

"Floorblue's, over on First."

"Geez, Mitch!"

"I thought I was getting faster!"

"Actually, I walked."

"You're shitting us!"

"Nope. Anyway, come on. I want to try something."

I grabbed Joe and carried him under my arm to the bathroom. His dick hardened and pressed into my side as we went, so I knew his protests weren't completely sincere. I put him back on his feet, clicked on some clippers, and started to work. The others watched in the mirror.

After about two minutes, I had gotten rid of much of Joe's beard. I left him with sideburns slightly longer than Adam's, but also a sort of little tuft on his chin. Then I went in and shaved the stubble away. And then I flipped him around to face everyone else.

"Holy shit!" Adam was instantly hard again. Brad stared, and Norris whistled.

I grinned down at Joe. "That's been bugging me ever since I saw Adam this afternoon. You never made enough use of your facial hair."

Joe gave a wry grin, echoing Adam's earlier one. "I never actually had enough facial hair to make use of it before."

"Well, anyway, this is good. Maybe it could be even better later, but just looking at you makes me hard, so--"

"Okay, I get it." Joe's grin was back to its usual cocky self. "This was for your benefit, not mine. Well, fine. I get to go first, though."

And we screwed some more. We stopped for a snack about half an hour later, but by common agreement we raced through it in order to continue. Finally, at about ten, Joe's parents called and asked, sarcastically, if he had any plans to come home. He rolled his eyes and promised he'd be back soon, dressed, packed up, and left.

This left only Adam, Norris, and Brad. We continued to have sex until about midnight, at which point everyone else seemed to be tired. I was actually a bit surprised, but in the end I had no choice but to concede that we had better stop -- Adam actually fell asleep while being fucked by Norris.

We left Adam to sleep in a guest bed -- he didn't even wake up when I lifted him up and carried him up -- with a note telling him where we were. Then we headed to my bedroom and settled down on the mattresses on the floor. I noted that the three of us were so large now that even the two mattresses together were only barely large enough to support us at once; something would have to be done about that, as well. Perhaps I could use that as an excuse for my trip to Gary's cave...

The night was oddly, almost eerily, similar to the one before. Once again, I fell asleep and dreamed about rope. The dream, in fact, seemed to be a continuation of the one I had been having before -- I continued to try to repair the "malfunctioning" ball. Even my progress remained from the night before; I could remember exactly how I had left things, and although there were some minor alterations everything was essentially in place.

And, once again, around 3 AM I was awakened by a buzzing sound of radio-like voices. It was much louder this time, enough to pull me out of my dream, where the previous night I had merely been awake when it began. The foreign words sounded again, and -- I was waiting for it -- I heard "HELP" quite clearly. This time, however, that was not all. I also heard "SEX", "SEMEN", and "HURRY". Someone, somewhere, was looking for investigation by the FCC. Then, as it had the night before, the noise stopped. I went back to my dream.

Much to my satisfaction, I managed to fix the ball of rope. It had been a difficult job, but if I ever had to do it again, I would know what to do from the start. Now this ball would work as well as the other one. The other one? It had been there all along, but it wasn't broken, so I hadn't touched it. It was important, all by itself. The logic of this made me nod sagaciously in my dream. Now if only all those televisions and radios would turn off. They were very distracting.

Next Part

[rododoro3]

Oh lord, not the Kyubey situation.
And I don't think this qualifies as a Chekhov's guns, you've made the entire story become one huge Chekhov's Armory.
The story was ravishingly hot as usual, and I agree, sideburns are super sexy with a shorter hairstyle