Making Friends and Influencing People — Part 5 (The End)

[tekuno]

This is the end of the story. I have already posted the whole thing in a single thread over at the new forum, but some of you may not have accounts there yet (hurry up and go make them! We'll miss you if you don’t make the transition!) so I’m posting it here, too. Wheeee!

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Making Friends and Influencing People
Part 5

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From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

August 19:

Well, we’re down to only one. Straight guy at the frat, I mean.

I can’t say I was exactly surprised. Or rather, I was extremely surprised, but not by the change. At least this time it didn’t rewrite my personal history — not that I’d want to give up Mori, at this point, but I’m only now starting to reach a point where I can go a whole day at a time without him knowing something about me which I don’t ever remember telling him.

Anyway, this time, I was coming back to the frat house with my guys after the afternoon workout. It was a good workout — according to Ken and Omer, I’m now the strongest guy on campus who isn’t a member of the frat. 545 pounds for reps on the bench press, arms up to 25¼" now, bigger than Ken’s were when we started dating, chest at 62". At this rate of growth. by the time Mom and Dad show up, I will probably be as big around the chest as I am tall. Which is insanely sexy to think about, and almost makes up for the fact that Ken and Mori are each another inch taller, and each an inch and a half better hung than they were two weeks ago.

To get back to what I was saying: we were headed back a little early because, not to put too fine a point on it, Ray had essentially approved a fratwide orgy. We were going to bring in a shitload of pizza and alcohol, lock all the doors, and fuck each other’s brains out. Yesterday, Ken told me that Achim and Declan, the last two straight guys, weren’t going to be happy about that, but hey, when the frat had been entirely straight, sex parties hadn’t exactly been unknown. They just involved more guests. And probably more freedom of movement in bed, considering how big everyone was, now.

So when we walked up to the side entrance and a rocket once again set fire to the bush I was standing next to, I thought “oh, god, Carlos again” and didn’t expect what happened next. (Should I worry that I’m getting blasé about too many things? This didn’t used to be normal for me.)

Two guys jumped out of the window, and one of them sprayed the bush with a fire extinguisher while the other poured a bucket of water over the rocket. The new guy was definitely a “new guy”, I noticed — 7' tall or so with shoulders like basketballs and an insane v-taper leading to the tiniest waist possible. Skin tone similar to Omer, black straight hair of medium length, and sublimely hairy forearms, chest hair curling out of top of his t-shirt. No doubt about it.

I took a look at him and decided it had to be Achim, and was proved right when he started fighting with Carlos, who used his name in conjunction with various swearwords. They gesticulated and snarled and yelled, and then finally — I saw it coming — kissed, passionately. Rocco and Tony gave catcalls, and they broke off.

Achim gave a funny look and then walked stiffly over to me. He gave an incomprehensible gabble — to me, at least — and then swept into a bow. “Aha, sweet camel of the plains! At last we meet, and my mangy son-of-a-she-goat rocket immolates the foliage at your side! This lowly Achim demands to be your servant. May your tents never grow less, and your testicles be fertile as olive trees!”

“Uh...”

He was eyeing me from the depths of a bow when Carlos gave him a punch in the back of the head. “Stop it, you ass. It’s not funny.”

Achim stood up straight, rubbing where Carlos had hit him. “Dude, come on. When people find out I transferred here from Lebanon they always either ask me if I’m going to blow up a church, or else they ask me if my family are nomads. Your country is full of fucking retards.”

“That’s not quite true — Declan asked you if you had a scimitar in your luggage.”

“Wasn’t he surprised. But not everyone in Lebanon collects weapons. I just happen to be an exception to the rule.”

He bowed to me again, this time ironically. “Sorry, dude. Carlos asked me to debug his robot for him.”

“You’re an engineering major?”

“Nah, ’m in the math department.”

“And you couldn’t fix it?”

Carlos laughed. “Nah, dude, ’s workin’ perfectly. I just couldn’t resist blowing up a bush near you again. I was hoping you’d freak out, but you’re way too easy-going.”

Achim laughed, and hugged Carlos. “I’ve been visiting the folks for a month, but I’ll be joining you in the mornings from now on. Carlos says you’re something special.”

Suddenly, Ray’s voice thundered from the building. “Carlos? Achim?” They both panicked and ran around the back of the building. My guys practically busted their guts laughing.

Not From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

Declan sat in the kitchen, nursing a glass of whiskey. Around him, the frat building throbbed — both with music and almost literally, as 15 incredible studs, each weighing a minimum of 300 pounds, had sex in every conceivable way, all around the building. The joists were definitely creaking in a few places under the onslaught — you could tell where the Ray-Cody-Achim-Carlos group was, upstairs, just by listening. Unless you confused it with Ken, Mori, Tony, and Rocco all trying to have sex with that other guy, Phil, or at least with someone who was having sex with him, if possible.

This was now the third gay sex party the frat had held. They had given him every encouragement to bring a woman, or even two, but even if his nerves hadn’t been completely shot, the girls just weren’t going for him any more. In the shady half-memory he could sometimes keep in mind for fifteen minutes at a stretch, he remembered joining the school’s drama crew so he could pick up women. He had never been good at acting, even though he enjoyed it, and these days the frat was so lively and distracting that he couldn’t even remember his lines any more. It was reaching the point where he was considering leaving the frat and going back into the dorm system again. At least then he wouldn’t have to see giant naked gay guys making out in the bathrooms every morning.

It wasn’t as though he had really expected to get any good roles, either. His talent had always been minimal, and he had an unfortunate tendency to look like... well, like an 18th-century stage Irishman, not to put too fine a point on it. He was the only one of his siblings to get his mother’s red hair, instead of his father’s black, and when he got upset it got unruly. To make matters worse, he had a crop of freckles across his face which somehow turned a brilliant, burning red under stage lighting, and eyebrows which tended towards the bushy. He knew for a fact that Irish actors from actual Ireland didn’t have this kind of problem; someday he wanted to meet a few and ask them if they had any tips to share.

He scrounged around the kitchen, but there wasn’t much food left. Tomorrow was the frat’s official grocery shopping day, according to Ray’s schedule, and with 14 multi-hundred-pound, mostly-seven-foot-tall men living in the house, food tended to get scarce this time of the week. Of course, he could go out of the kitchen and snag a slice or two of pizza, they always ordered too much, but last time he had walked in on three separate pairs of men fucking before he found even a single pie, and even the thought of it made him lose his appetite. (To say nothing of the fact that he had managed to find the single one with anchovies and pineapple. Yuck.)

He had the last half-bowl of Happy-O’s (without milk because there wasn’t any), the last carrot, and a packet of instant ramen (“Sodium Flavor!”). He shook his head, and remembered Chad — the old Chad, the stuck-up jerk — again. If only they had listened, maybe they could have figured out what was causing everyone to change so much. And then maybe they could have done something about it.

Say, there was something on the fridge. He took it down. It was a tub of candies, only 3 left. He took one out and looked at it, his mind still on the changes to the frat. Whatever it was which was changing the members, it would have to have started, oh, somewhere around the time that Phil guy showed up. And it had to still be around all along, maybe slowly getting used up as the frat brothers were altered, one by one? That sounded right.

The candy was halfway down his throat when he realized what it was, and what it meant for the tub to be nearly empty, and by then it was much, much too late. He fell asleep at the kitchen table, the music booming in his ears...

Also Not From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

The buzzer which served Phil’s apartment for a doorbell buzzed. Repeatedly and insistently. Phil woke up blearily; those parties were terrific, but he always drank too much. And all 310 pounds of him ached; Achim was certainly... athletic about sex.

He reached the speaker console and pressed the button.

“Yes?”

“Mister Elkhorn?”

“Yes?”

“This is officer Smith. I want to ask you a few questions about some acquaintances of yours in the Delta Sigma Chi fraternity. Can I come up, or will you come down?”

The officer’s words did the work of two cups of coffee and a cold shower. “No, officer. I mean, you can come up.”

Phil pressed the buzzer, and hurriedly pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. The officer was soon at his door, and he came in.

Phil was mildly shocked to realize just how small the policeman was. He was so used to working out with, having sex with, and cooking for 400-pound men that the policeman looked almost comically thin and weak. He was only slightly taller than Phil himself, and definitely less bulky, even though he was might well be the largest man in the force.

But there was no time for observations; the cop asked a number of sharp questions about drug trafficking, particularly steroids and human growth hormone. Phil gave the best answers he could, but he was aware that the answers were profoundly unconvincing. To anyone outside the frat, after all, the situation was ludicrously unnatural. A bunch of men living together with no oversight, who just happenedto be growing taller and more muscular, well outside the normal human range, over a period of around two months? Occam’s razor — they were drug abusers.

The officer took down Phil’s answers in scribbles in a notebook. Finally, he tugged his moustache and said exactly what Phil had been fearing most. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

“A-am I under arrest?”

The officer sighed. “No, mister Elkhorn, not yet. If you choose, you can remain here. But your refusal would be noted, and I would certainly apply for authority for a further investigation into your role in this case.”

Phil nodded and followed the officer downstairs, where they got into an unmarked car. The officer drove along without a word, and they pulled up outside the frat house.

“Aren’t we going to go to the station?”

“No, mister Elkhorn, I need your cooperation here, at the fraternity house. If you’ll lead the way?”

Phil walked to the front door, uneasily aware of the policeman at his heels. He reached the front door, and hesitated. He knocked, praying that Ray was there — if anyone could get them out of this mess, Ray could.

A voice called out “It’s unlocked, come on in!” Phil swallowed, and pushed the door open, into the darkness inside.

When he had taken two steps in, there was a chorus of “Surprise!” as the lights came on. There were pops as Rocco, Achim, and Carlos set off crackers, and a round of applause. The various frat brothers were sitting and standing around the lounge, laughing or smiling. Even Chad managed a slight smile as he stood at attention.

“Wait, what? Guys, it’s not my birthday, and— wait, who...?”

Phil turned. The policeman closed the door, and reached up to pull away his mustache and knock off his hat. His green eyes twinkled between sheer cheekbones. Phil found himself almost knocked back by the man’s sheer good looks.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, the runt of the house. Declan Moynihan at your service!”

Ken, disapproving of Phil’s reaction, pulled the hat back down over Declan’s face. “Yeah, you’re only six foot two and two hundred and sixty pounds. How will you ever survive life as such a tiny weakling?”

Declan pushed the hat back with a smooth gesture, and his silken black hair brushed down across his face. “I know. Actually, I’m lucky I stopped there. Much larger and I wouldn’t even be getting any offers.”

Phil hesitated. “Offers?”

Ken snorted. “From Hollywood. They’ve asked him to star in some kind of superhero movie next year.”

“Geez...”

Declan pulled a mock-frown. “Yes, just at the beginning of my career, and already stereotyped. Curse these muscles for their betrayal!” Ken grinned and socked him in the arm. “Ow!”

Ray’s voice called out, silencing everyone. “I call to order this special meeting of the Nemor Sands chapter of the Delta Sigma Chi fraternal order. First item of business, the induction of Phil Elkhorn as a new member. All in favor?”

Mori called out “I want to amend that motion!” He was probably the only man with enough physical presence to interrupt Ray’s agenda. Ray cocked an eyebrow at him, and Mori went on.

“The prospective member under consideration has informed us — meaning brother Abraham and myself — that the members of this fraternity were not always the healthy and cheerful young men that we now are. Through careful consultation with the rest of the membership, we have concluded that he is correct, and reached the conclusion that the catalyst for these changes—”

Cyrus interrupted. “Not a catalyst, surely. We were eating the fucking things. That’s hardly ‘remaining unchanged’.”

Mori glared at him. “The figurative catalyst for these changes, thank you, was a batch of Turkish Delight which the prospective member himself provided to the fraternity. Brother Abraham and I feel that, before we induct the prospective member, we should formally address these involuntary changes and give him a suitable repayment.”

All eyes turned to Phil, who took a step backwards. “Wait, what, the candy? But I— I certainly didn’t— I’m really sorry!”

Nearly everyone in the room tried to speak at once. Ray once again silenced them all. “I don’t think you understand, Elkhorn. We like what the candy did to us. There isn’t a one of us who isn’t happier now than he was before being changed.”

Phil’s eyes darted to Chad, who nodded eagerly.

Mori smiled. “Ken and I noticed that there was still a little left. And we decided that, if the stuff makes people happier than they were before, nobody deserved the last of it more than you. Open wide!”

With that, Ken and Mori each opened a hand to reveal a small cube of Turkish delight. They pushed it, almost unstoppably, into Phil’s mouth. “Wait, I— umph!” He chewed and swallowed.

Achim muttered “This is a double dose. I wonder what it will do.” Carlos nudged him. Everyone stared at Phil, who looked around.

He gave a small hiccup, put his hand to his mouth, and vanished entirely.

Still Not From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

The man sat at his desk, doing a few last tasks with the computer. He grinned — even better than planned. Then he got up — his exquisitely tailored pants shifted along his massive legs — and stretched, touching the high ceilings easily. Then he buttoned up his shirt, hiding the enormous hairy bulges of his pectorals, and put on a tie. He looked out the window — the limo was waiting.

He walked through the rooms of the apartment to the door, out into the hall, and to the elevator, which he took to the ground floor, ducking to get through each doorway. He filled the elevator completely from side to side, and almost a third from front to back, which was just as well because he was nearly a third of the elevator’s rated weight limit, all by himself.

He opened the door to a media presence.

“This is Patricia Dermot, live, for Channel 17 Nemor Sands News. I’m here with whoa, he’s big. Sorry. I’ll start again. Are you still recording? This is Patricia Dermot, live, for Channel 17 Nemor Sands News. I’m here with Philip Elkhorn Jr., heir to the Elkhorn fortune and minority stockholder in Elhorn Industries International. Mister Elkhorn, are you really intending to build a new factory here in Nemor Sands?”

The huge man was used to being interviewed, and smiled at the camera. The cameraman and the interviewer both found themselves blushing.

“Yes, Ms. Dermot, I certainly am. While I’ve been attending your excellent college for the last year, I’ve been assessing the local conditions and I believe that Nemor Sands is ideally placed to become a major hub for our North American operations. The new factory should reach the point of employing roughly 300 full time workers within the next year.”

“Mister Elkhorn, do you have any comments on the report that the other Elkhorn Industries shareholders disapprove of your plan?”

The enormous man laughed. “They can disapprove all they like; I have the approval of the CEO — that’s my father — and the construction funds are guaranteed absolutely from my personal fortune.”

“Which you inherited from your father?”

“Don’t be absurd. Dad’s still alive. I’ve been trading on the stock market, through brokers or personally, since I was thirteen and investing money I made by doing yardwork in junior high, to say nothing of the three companies I founded as my senior project in high school. The other shareholders have nothing to lose, and possibly a great deal to gain. The last six times they disapproved of my suggestions, they were wrong. By now, you’d think they’d know better than to second-guess my judgement.”

“But why Nemor Sands and not, say, China? What will the new factory do, anyway?”

“Ms. Dermot, Elkhorn industries believes in investing locally. The new factory will be producing sports nutritional supplements for the North American market, and I believe that Nemor Sands’ unique location will help lower both shipping and operational costs by as much as ten percent over the other sites I investigated. Furthermore, we have tentatively secured, right here in the Nemor Sands State University campus, endorsements from several up-and-coming athletes, including this year’s Heisnam Trophy winner, and an NCCA baseball Conference Player of the Year winner. I’m just off to sign contracts with them now, in fact. You’ll have to excuse me.”

The giant man walked past the reporter and squeezed into the limo, which drove away. He pulled out a phone.

“Dad? Yeah, it’s Phil. Yeah, I just got ambushed by a reporter. No, no problem. Look, I told you I knew what I was doing. Yes. Yes, I know. Well, fine. Yeah. Oh, fine. Dean’s list again. No, I’m enjoying it. Besides, it’s fun to see people’s faces when I tell them I’m triple majoring in chemistry, sports nutrition, and business. Yeah, I know. Well, all of them, if you really want to know. I tried to join the frat a few months ago, don’t know why they wouldn’t let me in. I’d be a perfect match, from what I’ve heard. Well, you know what they say about money not being able to buy— Dad, that’s gross. Yeah, I’ll see you in a few weeks. Give my love to Mom. We’ll talk on Sunday.”

The limo pulled up at the Delta Sigma Chi house, and the huge man got out of the car. He walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. The door was opened by a confused-looking man in a police uniform, who stared at him. He smiled, and ducked through the doorway.

The front room was filled with men looking slightly bewildered. Before the huge man could speak, two of them ran over and hugged him. “Phil!” “What happened to you?”

The huge man looked around suspiciously. “What? I’m sorry, I’m here to get endorsements from a few of you. Ken Abraham, Mori Zbrigniew, Cody—”

“Crap. He forgot.” The other men in the room looked at each other blankly.

“Wait, wait.” One of them, the largest frat member, with muscles which would have seemed huge to anyone except the huge man, who was himself even larger, ran out of the room, and came back a minute later, panting. “Here, Phil. You left this here, last time you stayed overnight.”

“What? I’ve never—” the huge man looked down. It was a bound blank book. “Wait, that’s...” He picked it up and opened it to the title page: Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal. “I... whoa... that’s... fuck, just look what you guys went and did to me.” He looked down at himself. “Not that I can complain. Can we get this over with? We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and the new me really does need some signatures.”

Ray cleared his throat. It was an unusual experience for him to feel so cowed in the presence of another man, but the new Phil was awe-inspiring. “Good. Glad that’s taken care of. Now then, the motion is amended. All in favor of inducting the, ah, new prospective member, say ‘aye’.”

The chauffer wondered what all the cheering was about.

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Three Years Later...

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From Phil Elkhorn’s Private Journal

September 20:

Well, this was a red-letter day, even for a birthday.

Everyone made it to the party. And everyone from the frat stayed for the afterparty.

Of course, half of them are working for me in one form or another, now, anyway —*even if I didn’t want to keep them around for (ahem) other reasons, it would have been crazy not to get Ray, Carlos, and Achim under contract the minute they graduated. And it wasn’t a big leap of imagination to set Rocco and Tony up as fitness gurus — it’s almost embarrassing how much cash we all made from that, from such a small initial investment. Then again, their program actually works, so it’s not like we’re doing anything unethical.

But it meant a lot to me to see Cody made it back from his game, and Mori practically had to duck out of a contest halfway through to make it in time, although since he actually lives with me and Ken that’s not such a surprise. (He won, of course. Hardly a surprise, since he’s almost reached my size, now.) Declan even came in costume, which was interesting considering he’s still under NDA about the new sequel. I understand they actually licensed Achim’s special effects program for it. Juan and Chad said their families have invested in it, so he’d better watch his step. The really big surprise was seeing Cyrus back — I thought he was in southeast Asia with Doctors Without Broaders. The sex was just like old times. Well, okay, old times as they were after my change; going from the smallest, weakest, and least-hung guy to the biggest, strongest, and most-hung does, surprisingly enough, alter your perspective on sex.

For old times’ sake, I did the catering. It was, needless to say, a lot easier this time than three years ago. I didn’t have to haul everything around in a car. And I had Sanjay to help me out... and distract me, unfortunately. I had to ask Omer to distract him, eventually. Omer picked up the sofa Sanjay was sitting on and walked out of the room; I think winning the championship belt has gone to his head. He’s running out of ways to show off, though — everyone knows he’s almost as strong as me, and the element of surprise has been lost.

I thought long and hard — ho ho ho — about dessert. But the old cookbook is gone, now — it vanished when I changed — and so even if I really thought we needed it, I can’t make any more Turkish Delight.

Then again, tonight, after a birthday which came 3 days after I officially became the world’s tenth-richest man, I had, in addition to sundry other smoking-hot men, the world’s largest competing bodybuilder, the world’s largest football player, a three-time Major League MVP, an action movie star, a pro wrestling champion lying on or around my bed after I wore them out, and was still so horny I went back and re-fucked all the others. So I can’t imagine why I would want any.

Oh, well. It was all empty calories anyway.