The Photo Booth: Sebastian (musc mc)
by Aardvark
"There was a glitch in the Matrix."
That was how Sebastian described it to himself. He had figured out that he had a previous life, but it was untraceable to anyone – even him – and had, in the scheme of reality, never existed. And that was fine with Sebastian. Whatever life it was, it had to have paled in comparison to what he had become. He knew, when old Sebastian – or whatever his name had been, because it probably wasn’t that – had finished puberty, he probably hadn’t been 6’3”. And when old Sebastian had worked out, he probably wasn’t benching and squatting the hundreds of pounds of iron that had turned current Sebastian into a 285-pound muscle freak with a 33-inch waist that looked carved from pure marble. Hell, ALL of him looked sculpted. His 22-inch arms, his rock-solid freakshow pecs, his enormous hands that could rip a phone book in half, his thighs that were individually thicker than most men’s legs put together. Old Sebastian probably didn’t have a long blond ponytail slicked back from his straight, even hairline. Old Sebastian probably didn’t have an alpha-male jawline, shimmering hazel eyes and a nose so beautiful that people asked him where he’d had it done. Old Sebastian didn't work out all day and party all night. Old Sebastian was probably too educated to be a muscled-up fuck machine who minted money just by bobbing his pecs up and down, but new Sebastian had the right balance of self-awareness and narcissism to be the perfect muscle god.
Sebastian didn’t know why his old form had gotten in the booth. Out of simple curiosity, he often wondered what his old form was – an old man? A career criminal? A food-court worker? A paramedic? Each possibility stretched out before him like a different page in a choose-your-ending storybook. He often joked with his buddies about his past life, but no one else knew that he had actually HAD one.
He was a flawless slab of chiseled, muscled beefcake, with the face of a Golden Era Hollywood movie star. There was only one thing wrong with him: he knew where he'd come from.
That photo booth was his religion. Sebastian owed it everything: his beauty, his happiness, his life. And that was why he had taken it upon himself to stroll through the mall with a roll of quarters in his pocket, spreading his own peculiar brand of gospel.
He tried to find men, young and old, who looked like they were in need of some spice in their lives. Guys who looked like they were just over it, or guys who really wanted something new. It was a nonstop rush for Sebastian. The game got him off. He was equal parts hustler and burlesque performer, perfecting the art of the con AND the art of the tease, often using his own beauty to recruit new converts. Half Ken doll and half Viking warrior, Sebastian enjoyed up playing up different aspects of his incredible looks. Some days he went to the mall more formally dressed in a half-open dress shirt or a polo, as tight as he could squeeze his mass into. Nicer clothes played up his handsome face, his perfect jaw.
Other days, it was all about the muscle. The big, fat chunks of muscle that were strapped onto every part of his gargantuan frame. Hell, if he had been allowed, he would have gone naked to the mall, letting his cock swing gracefully between his legs – except then he wouldn’t have any place to hold his trusty roll of quarters.
So, feeling as cocky as ever, Sebastian had pulled on a cerulean blue tank top that corseted his rocky abs. The deep scoop of the tank cut below his huge pecs and wedged underneath them, leaving them completely on display except for the two inch-wide straps. His nipples poked out halfway from behind the straps.
His legs strained at a pair of green workout shorts. On most men, they were baggy; on Sebastian they looked like spandex bike shorts, clinging to every huge muscle that composed his legs. His cock bounced back and forth with each step, rolling between his thighs, and his eyes went in rhythm with it as he looked for his first client of the day. A shiny quarter, fresh from the bank, gleamed from between his fingers.
Sometimes nature threw Sebastian a big ol’ bone – which usually resulted in him getting one in his pants,as well, just from the tantalizingly delicious potential some schmuck held inside their unimpressive form. That was how Sebastian viewed most men in the world now: like flabby lockboxes waiting to be broken open to reveal the masculine fantasy within. And if he had the luck to encounter a man who was already an Adonis, the game shifted to guess whether he had attained such a form on his own, or if he’d had a little help along the way. It wasn’t like he ever knew for sure; Sebastian couldn’t even figure out his own previous life. The booth was nothing if it wasn’t thorough. He’d gone to his parents’ house and looked through his baby pictures, his yearly school photos, and he was the same Germanic blond in every one, his face transitioning from baby-faced cuteness to astoundingly handsome, a chiseled hunk. He’d interviewed family and friends tirelessly, and they all said the same thing: "You just kept growing! As soon as your arms were strong enough to lift a weight, that’s what they were doing." He’d looked through his school records, and his grades were always just good enough to keep him eligible for sports. He was far more attractive than he was intelligent, but it wasn’t like he was illiterate or anything. Sebastian was fine with his mind. He knew what he wanted to know about.
So there was really no telling who was a Boother (a Sebastian-coined term) and who wasn’t. The only way of knowing was if Sebastian saw them enter and exit with his own eyes. Otherwise, he just had to go with his gut…if he had one.
That day was a 'bone' day, for on the bench right next to the booth sat a very heavy, presumably teenaged boy. He looked like a cartoon caricature come to life: no chin or neck, just a head melting down into small shoulders and a far wider waist. His upper half was shaped like an unfortunate pyramid. Oily skin, damp underarms, a bosom that girls his age envied, and folds in all the wrong places. He looked like he’d never refused a Happy Meal. As a matter of fact, he was eating one. While he cried. His cheeks were so fat that they made his eyes squinty, so the tears had to work to roll out. His lips quivered as they tore into nuggets of fried chicken.
Sebastian slammed a quarter into the booth as he strode over to the kid. The town was small enough that the question he was trying to ask would come off as friendly, not invasive.
"Hey fella, what's wrong?" Sebastian was already knocking at his erection, half-trying to hide it but not really caring much.
The fat boy looked up. It was really hard to tell his age. The chubby cheeks, smooth skin, and baby fat made him look young, but his jowls aged him. He was probably about sixteen.
"Bad day." Another nugget popped into his mouth. He sniffled and his mouth quivered again. "You wouldn’t understand."
"Oh yeah?"
"You never got made fun of for being fat."
"I may have," Sebastian conjectured. Hell, maybe it was a true statement. He heard the photo booth beep impatiently and knew he needed to hurry up.
The kid wordlessly handed his iPhone over. On it was a picture of him eating in a school cafeteria, a cupcake in one hand and a white-bread PB&J in the other. The caption: "A WILD SNORLAX APPEARS!"
"That's shitty, bro."
"I didn’t think anyone had seen it until a bunch of bitches from my school walked by and started laughing at me."
"Aw, that's so shitty, bro," Sebastian repeated. "What’s your name?"
"I'm Willy."
Now THAT's shitty, Sebastian thought. But he just extended his hand and said, "Sebastian. Hey, look over there."
Willy looked and saw a little flash of light, but thought nothing of it. "What?"
"Oh, nothin'. Just thought I saw something."
"Mmk," Willy muttered, looking back to his nuggets and eating them off his stomach – he didn’t have a lap.
Sebastian got a wicked smile on his face and a chuckle fell through his mouth before he could catch it. Willy looked up at the sound. "What?"
"Nothin'."
Sebastian couldn’t be blamed for laughing. On the bench sat one of the fattest teenagers he’d ever seen - and the kid's XXXL t-shirt and baggy jeans were gone. All Willy wore on his obese body was a gigantic pair of red bikini briefs. Metallic. Lycra. Sebastian shuddered to think how Willy’s ass looked in that thing. Probably gave new meaning to the phrase 'booty floss.'
"Okay," Willy said, his voice suddenly two octaves lower. "Sorry. I'm just tired of people laughing at me. You know." He reached down and straightened out a twist in the side of his brief. The red gleamed like a freshly-washed fire engine.
"Yup, I feel you."
White-blond streaks started forming in Willy's short hair. The buzz grew out two inches and neatly parted itself on the left of his head as every follicle turned the platinum color of a Marilyn Monroe wig. Willy reached up and pushed back his hairline as if he’d had the style for years. "Just a little sensitive. I’m trying to be better about it." His voice was comically sexy.
Boom, there was a table in front of Willy as fast as Sebastian could blink. One moment it was a bench, the next second Willy’s giant bikinied butt sat in a chair with a table in front of it. And on that table was a big sign that said "FAT BOY."
That's just cruel, Sebastian thought to himself. Guess we’ll just have to see how it all shakes out.
Willy's waist started to deflate. Folds of fat evened out and tightened up, like a balloon that had gotten poked with a needle and was rapidly losing its air. In his head, Sebastian imagined that deflating fart-like noise that balloons made. Willy’s hips narrowed as the last remnants of fat were sucked away. It was incredible to see. From a flabby gut to a tight waist, and soon after abs starting popping up. The soft ridges of the baby abdominals got deep and, soon, hard, his stomach lined by eight well-developed blocks. Perfect. Willy's posture shifted as his butt hardened into a bubbly shelf. There was no give on this ass. No padding. Just solid muscle that supported him like a cinderblock. If he’d been standing up, it would’ve stuck out nearly twelve inches from his backside.
"What’s the sign mean?" Sebastian turned it around so Willy could see it. The boy’s face went white. "Who put that there…?" He whispered, overcome by embarrassment. Tears formed again in his eyes. Sebastian turned the sign back around, feeling bad. He noticed that "FAT BOY" now was written as one word, "FATBOY." Looking back at Willy, he saw the pouch of the kid’s brief puff out radically, genitals growing into superhuman proportions. The bikini bottom clearly had some kind of pouch for containment, because otherwise the porn-star cock would’ve been sticking out, or at least visible within the crotch of the brief.
The table jumped up for a moment – Willy's knees had banged into it. The kid scrambled out of his seat in surprise and revealed a lengthier torso and long, lean legs. He was nearly as tall as Sebastian, now, and as soon as his legs got to stand up, muscle started packing onto them. His cock and balls were pushed out in front of him as his thighs grew into each other. Every muscle had its own pedestal to display itself on, like an anatomy chart. There was a lot of meat on these legs – their bulk was a living testament to leg presses and calf raises – but they had a litheness about them, too, like a runner's or a dancer's legs, just with twice as much muscle. Willy wouldn't be dancing much with thighs that large, though. Even his feet had little lumps of muscle now, in addition to being far bigger than before.
A tan started to seep down from his hairline, taking his skin from pasty to a shimmering, slightly outrageous bronze – too deep to be attained naturally, but fabulous-looking nonetheless. His abs popped like diamonds. His platinum hair stood out all the more; Sebastian hadn’t noticed until that moment, but aside from his eyebrows, Willy didn’t have any body hair. The sinews of his muscles stood out bare and beautiful.
Willy's eyes shut and he moaned, cupping the enormity of his package in his hand, rubbing the smooth lycra. The bikini looked at home now, with a fat cock straining at the pouch, giant thighs pushing the leg holes as high as they could go, and perfect abs running down to the waist.
His waist couldn’t be any more than 30 inches, so when his chest swelled into a beefy barrel, it looked unreal. The moobs bobbed up like buoys in the water, before hardening into solid, wide pecs. No one was going to tease Willy for this rack, not like before. The top of his chest thickened up to match the impressive overhang. Square boulders; thick, meaty but also ripped. Nipples were placed perfectly right before the sheer drop-off, poking straight out.
"PHATBOY," the sign now read. Sebastian smiled as he watched Willy's arms explode with muscle. The fat didn’t disappear, it just changed, so Willy's big arms stayed big – just in a very different way. Instead of being a sausage-like tube, the arms were mottled with peaks between the shoulders and biceps, biceps and elbows, and elbows and forearms. The only fat things on these arms were his veins. They wrapped around the twenty-inch guns like ribbons holding the muscles together.
Willy held his arms above his head and leaned back, bucking his hips. His thick shoulders pressed into his face and he ran a long tongue over the divide between his deltoid and upper arm. The fat melted off his cheeks but his face stayed the same width, skin pulled tight by manly bone structure instead of fat. His jaw was square and chiseled, pushing his lips out into a pout above a protruding chin. His nose actually got bigger – Willy had always had a small button – but retained a masculine, attractive shape, despite taking up more room on his face. And when his eyes opened, they were a dreamy champagne green, underneath a straight, jutting brow. He had to be fifteen years older. Older than thirty.
A bodybuilder. A very, very good bodybuilder, too. He wasn’t as big as an Olympia contender, but it was obviously purposeful: a waist that precise was no accident. He enjoyed aesthetics, but wanted the thickness too, and he had it. And he was cocky as shit – he had to be to hang around a mall in the tiniest slip of a red panty. The only other thing on his body, aside from the poser, was a pair of matching red flip-flops.
"PHATBOY PERSONAL TRAINING."
A line was forming behind Sebastian. People wanted to check out this amazing, all-but-naked stud. The table now held an array of free samples – protein bars, performance gels – in addition to brochures, an e-mail sign-up list, and a drawing for free training.
"Did you use to be fat?"
"Fuck yeah, man, I was a chubby kid," the stud with the big pecs purred, launching into his sales pitch. "See man, that’s what I bring to the table. I’ve been down that road, I know how it feels. I understand it and I know how to help psychologically as well as physically. Helps me connect with the clients who have that problem."
"But you lost the fat first…"
"-Yeah, yeah, so then I had to bulk up. I have personal experience with losing fat and gaining muscle."
"Well, you look incredible, um…" Sebastian extended his hand. "Didn’t get your name."
"Jake Haynes," the former Willy replied, his square jaw cracking into a smirky, bleached grin. "Pleased to finally meet you, Sebastian. You’re a legend at the gym."
"You’re about to be too, with that get-up."
"Publicity’s publicity, bro. If they make me cover up, I will. Disappoints the clients, though, I've been paid to train like this before. Clearly we both like showing off our moneymakers."
Before Sebastian could respond, a voice cut in from behind up. "Hurry up! Jesus!"
Sebastian turned around to see another young man, very different from Jake’s previous form. This one wasn't fat at all. Tall, lean, but fit. His brown hair had no gel and hung over his forehead, a second-tier jock haircut for a second-tier jock. Definitely an athlete, but not a star one.
Sebastian and Jake’s faces both darkened as they looked at the impatient kid in the expensive sweatshirt and sweatpants. He returned a bratty look.
Jake jerked his thumb to the side. "I don't train rude-ass children. Beat it."
"Whatever, as if I want to be trained by a fag in a thong," the kid shot back as he walked up to the table. "Your balls are fuckin' hanging out."
“You wish,” Jake chortled. The kid grabbed a granola bar and darted away. “Thanks for the souvenir, faggot!”
Sebastian looked back to Jake, who didn’t seem shaken at all by the incident. “I’ll be back,” Sebastian said.
“You don’t have to worry about him. I really don’t give a fuck.”
“No, no, I know. I think I can improve his behavior, though.”
Jake chuckled. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
As he walked away, Sebastian smiled as he heard Jake talking to the next interested client in the line. “’sup bro, I’m Jake. You lookin’ to get big?”
“Hey,” Sebastian said gruffly to the tall teenager. “HEY!”
“Fuck off, I don’t want what you’re selling, I just wanted some free shit,” the teen hollered over his shoulder as he waved his granola bar in the air.
“I’m selling some GOOD shit, though,” Sebastian said with a smile, and the brat stopped and turned around.
“Wait, are you the guy I’m supposed to meet?” The teen eyed Sebastian suspiciously. The god with the ponytail certainly didn’t look like a dealer.
“I’m the guy you NEED to meet,” Sebastian answered stealthily. He palmed a quarter and began to walk backwards toward the booth. “You didn’t make a very good first impression, I’m not sure you deserve what I’ve got-”
“Fuck you, man, I’m stressed out, I need some shit that will calm me down, help me focus!” The teen interrupted. “Parents are on my case about my grades, said they’re gonna stop paying for my stuff. Hey, how’d you get so big, anyway? I thought this stuff made you LOSE weight.”
“Sometimes it does, sometimes it helps you gain muscle,” Sebastian said, knowing the kid was talking drugs, probably prescription – but Sebastian certainly was not. He flared his lats out. His tank groaned as his back flexed out several more inches in width. “It depends. It’s VERY unpredictable. Here, have a seat, uh…”
"Tommy. I'm Tommy. I've never heard about that muscle shit, that's fuckin' awesome."
Sebastian was sure the kid's name wasn't really Tommy, but he rolled with it. "Yeah, hey, pull that curtain closed so people won't see."
Tommy obediently shut the curtain on the other side of the booth, leaving the one between him and Sebastian open. Sebastian noticed that he had his hand on the panel already, so in two fast motions, he dropped the coin in the slot and shut the other curtain. The booth wheezed its flash, and Tommy swore loudly.
The curtain flew back open. "What the FUCK, man?! What kinda bullshit is thi-I-s?" His voice dropped an octave as he ranted. "Is this some sort of set-up or something? Are you the po-O-lice?" Another octave, and much louder than before. Tommy didn’t seem to notice how manly his voice sounded.
"Not the police."
"Well then what was that all about?" The bass was deeper than Sebastian’s own voice.
"Just a little joke."
"Yeah, well fuck you," Tommy spat. "I’m outta—hey, what’s that…"
He picked up a piece of wood from his lap, where the granola bar had been. As Tommy held it and stared, it seemed to melt, bending itself into a different shape. Carvings etched themselves into the wood as the teen stared in surprise. Before Tommy or Sebastian could guess what the wood was becoming, its change was complete. In Tommy’s smooth hand he held a large-bowled, full-bent briar pipe.
"That’s an unusual free sample," Sebastian said. "Gonna try it out?"
Tommy shoved his way past Sebastian and out of the booth. "Fuck you, this shit’s weird, I’m going home." He spun and took a step away before he heard Sebastian's voice: "Tommy, wait! You dropped something!"
Tommy stopped and turned. “Huh-“
Sebastian shoved the pipe into Tommy’s mouth. “There you go.”
It hung inelegantly from the kid’s lips for a few milliseconds before he pulled it out, not realizing he was holding it expertly in his hand. “Goddammit,” the bass swore. “What the fuck do you think you’re…shit, that smells good.”
Sebastian couldn’t smell anything, but he could see Tommy slowly growing taller. The boy’s shoulders started to fill out as he stretched up past six feet. “Well,” Sebastian said, “take a hit, or whatever it is you do with a pipe.”
“A hit?” Tommy’s head tilted back and he laughed uproariously. “No, no, my boy, that’s with marijuana. But yes, I think I will take a puff.”
Tommy placed the pipe in his young mouth. Immediately whiskers swirled out from around his lips, spreading up his cheeks and coating his jawline and neck with a rich brown color. The post-pubescent mustache he’d already been sporting launched out from under his nose into full, rectangular shape that completely hid his upper lip and tickled his nostrils. At first, the beard was only where Tommy’s original hair pattern lay, but the longer the pipe sat in his mouth, the more the hair swirled into new directions. His eyebrows were growing bushy, and heavier as a result, starting to pull down on his forehead.
Tommy pulled the pipe out. “What the fuck are you staring at?”
“You,” Sebastian replied honestly.
“Well, whatever, fag,” Tommy said, rolling his eyes.
“And your fancy pipe.”
Tommy looked down at the pipe, his eyes registering surprise that it was there. “Listen, faggot,” he said harshly, before his tones suddenly switched and he wisely intoned, “this is not merely some ‘fancy’ pipe, it is a full-bent Oom Paul! Some call it a Hungarian. It is named for a gentleman named Paul Kruger.” The muscle pushing out at his clothing began to grow out to the sides, enlarging him exponentially, as if Sebastian was viewing Tommy under a magnifying glass. “There is nothing more satisfying than giving this beauty a good clench.”
He placed the pipe back in his mouth and more changes began.
The kid’s hair was already receding at the temples, which along with the beard gave his youthful face a very strange maturity. His body was really starting to thicken up. His chest broadened out first, stretching the lettering on the front of his sweatshirt. As Sebastian watched, the collar of a plaid Oxford shirt rose up around Tommy’s neck – and before Sebastian knew it, the collar had burst open, as Tommy’s neck was transformed into a powerful column of muscle. Then, in another instant, it was consumed completely by his shoulders, which hulked into monsters that ripped his sweatshirt in two. His traps rose up to his ears and flexed casually as he smoked.
Two squares pressed against the sweatshirt, ruining it further as his pecs came in – thick, heavy mountains. Tommy reached into his pullover and opened the next button on his shirt. His fingers brushed against his burly chest, and his cock twitched.
Instead of any more growth up top, Tommy’s legs had to bulk up next, to accommodate and support the torso he was developing. Strange shapes were pulling on his sweatpants – the back of them was filling in with calf definition, juicy hamstrings and swollen butt. Seams began popping open as his legs got thicker, stouter, evermore powerful. The ass coming in was wide and solid, and pulled his hips and waist with it as it extended out to the sides. As it ripped through the layers of fabric, Tommy removed the pipe from his mouth. “Do you feel a draft?”
He turned around to look behind him, but not twisting enough to be able to see his big ass on display.
Sebastian rubbed his naked pecs at the question. "I'm always a little drafty," he admitted.
Tommy laughed loudly. Heartily. A man's laugh. Seeing Tommy's pecs jiggle as he chuckled brought to Sebastian's attention the small patch of brown hair that had cropped up in the middle of his chest.
"Indeed," Tommy chuckled, "Hmmm, indeed! Goodness, what a body you have on you," he said before clamping his mouth onto his pipe.
His beard fluffed out. The visible skin underneath the whiskers disappeared as the mustache layered itself over the beard. Tommy had lost two inches of his hairline but the size of his body was making up for it. Huge shoulders, enormous chest. The word that came to mind was 'beef.' It was also an apt descriptor for the solid gut that ballooned out from Tommy’s flat stomach, pressing into the buttons of his Oxford. A high, concrete musclegut, on top of which his pecs rested. Tommy's posture shifted again to counter his newly wide-set hips and the waistline that flowed over his drawstring. Sebastian had to take a step back as the space between them was filled by Tommy's newfound size.
"Goodness me, I feel a bit out of sorts," Tommy said out loud, reaching up to give his beard a curious tug. His eyes flashed briefly when he felt the plush whiskers, as if he wasn't quite expecting them to be there. But he reassured himself as he stroked them - as well-trimmed as they were dense, his whiskers composed a very beautiful beard. Groomed with attention, care and, yes, love. Sebastian hadn’t noticed it happen, but Tommy's face was far rounder than before, set on a bigger head. Gravity had done its work to his jaw and chin, no longer chiseled with youth, but thick with muscle and bone.
Tommy curled his arm up to place the pipe back between his teeth. The bicep stretching at the plaid sleeve was as big as a melon, and just as hard. Soon, a well-worn tweed herringbone blazer had grown out of the remnants of his sweatshirt. His teenaged sweats had become a pair of neatly pressed (and generously tailored) khaki trousers, snug around his hulking thighs and solid man ass. Sebastian imagined the Tommy of old in such professorial clothes, and the thought made him snicker. The teen walking with his boys through the halls of his school, while wearing the fine clothes of an esteemed gentleman. Swearing at teachers while adjusting his cuffs. Picking out which watch to wear in the morning and putting it onto his thin, hairless wrist. Running a razor over his already-smooth cheeks. Knotting his bow tie after gym class while the other boys slid into their t-shirts. Sebastian broke into a giggle at all the mental images.
Tommy looked at him curiously, puffing away at his pipe. With a series of popping noises, the boyish nose enlarged greatly, along with his ears, as his eyes sank deeper into his head. Blunt, gruff features. His cheeks developed a pinkish hue as hair spread across his body. Flecks of gray began appearing around his mouth as a salt-and-pepper pelt curled out of the opening in his shirt, concealing the sinews of his muscles, but not their size. Tommy reached down and awkwardly scratched at his crotch, indicating there was a dense thicket taking root there, as well. Although his limbs were covered by his clothing, there was no doubt he was a hairy brute of a man, judging by hair that curled out of his shirt cuffs and lined his hands up to the knuckles. The smoke mostly concealed the last parts of aging showing up on the man’s face: deep crow’s feet around his eyes, eyelids slightly folding, jowls pulling on his cheeks. Sebastian was taken with the way the man had to hold his arms out to the side. His lats stretched his brown blazer when he smoked.
Completely unaware of the magnificent metamorphosis he had just undergone, the new middle-aged hulk removed the pipe from his lips and casually scratched at his chest. His knuckles disappeared in between his wooly pecs.
"Pardon me, sir, would there happen to be a pipe shop around here?"
"I think so," Sebastian said, failing to hide his grin again. "East side of the mall, near the exit. They don’t get a lot of business."
"A shame, really," the powerlifter in the blazer said. His voice was husky and deep, but his word choice reflected his new form. "But I have every intention of giving them generous patronage this afternoon. I’ve just smoked the last of my favorite blend."
"Well, I’m sure they can help you out, Mr…"
"Carnes. You may call me Tom." The fake name of Tommy had become the new man's real one. Christened Thomas, but always Tom. "Thank you for your directions, young man." Tom waved and strode away a few steps before turning back around. "And keep up the good work, you look marvelous." With Tom’s open blazer and sideways stance, Sebastian could see button-in suspenders holding up Tom's khakis – a decidedly old-fashioned touch.
"Thanks, man. Uh, Tom. So do you." Sebastian looked the new man over. From the ashes of a teenage punkass beta-jock had risen a stout, muscular, exceedingly dignified pipe bear. The trap muscles – the ones that made it impossible for him to close his shirt collars – were the most impressive feature, Sebastian thought, although Tom’s beard was cool too. Sebastian reached up and rubbed his own jaw, giving it a thought. Nah, he decided. Not right now. Maybe in a few years.
He walked around for a bit – almost an hour, actually – but no one was catching his eye yet. For quite some time, he tailed a big-gutted guy who looked a little bored, but then that guy met up with his wife and two little girls, and Sebastian veered away. At the food court, usually a bonanza for him, he was helped by only females. And it was clear that the booth was making its mark on the town, judging by all the studs in the mall already. Stretching out their tees, polos, button-downs, whatever, there were a lot of real big guys already. Shit, maybe the market was getting saturated.
As if on cue, Sebastian spotted a man sitting innocuously on a mall bench. He was finishing off the last bits of a yogurt cup and letting the spoon linger a little too long in his mouth each time an attractive young lady passed by. His eyes would only dare to look at the women when they had already passed by, backs to his bashful gaze. He checked his watch and fiddled with papers in a folder next to him; Sebastian guessed he was on break from work. Probably late 20s, looking dutifully conservative for the office: a navy tie paired with a slim-cut white shirt that was tucked into his high-waisted khaki dress pants. A slim-but-fit body, dressed well. He wore trendy circle-lensed glasses and his thick hair was parted on the right, standing up a full inch from his head. The attractive office introvert. He probably got nice glances from secretaries that he never noticed.
The guy stood up to throw away his yogurt cup and his eyes accidentally caught with Sebastian’s. Sebastian smiled, a disarming ploy, and the guy did the customary head nod back.
Sebastian decided to just make small talk. No need to ask for the time or any of that bullshit. He just strode right up to the guy and stuck out his big hand. "What’s up, I’m Sebastian."
"Oh,” the smaller man said in surprise. "Hi. Uh, Rory."
"Haven’t seen you around here before."
Rory’s eyes narrowed slightly. Sebastian could tell that Rory was trying to guess if he was being hit on. In a way, admittedly, he was. “I come here on break from work a lot. Gets me into the real world a little.”
"Oh yeah? I work out here," Sebastian said, flexing slightly. "So I recognize a lot of the same faces."
"That’s cool," Rory responded, awkwardly. There was a pregnant pause. Uncomfortable with the silence, Rory took off his glasses and cleaned them on his dress shirt.
"You don’t wear contacts, huh?”
"Ummm…no. Never really minded glasses, really."
"Bet the ladies like 'em. How far can you see without them? Can you see that booth over there?"
"It’s blurry, but yeah. I’m nearsighted."
"Did you see it flash?"
"Yeah. Is someone in it?" Rory slid his glasses onto his nose. “Oh, no. Must be broken."
"Must be,” Sebastian nodded, staring intently.
"Must…oooorgh." Rory's forehead suddenly broke out into beads of sweat. He sucked in a deep breath – and burst open a button on his shirt, which fell out from behind his tie. His body vibrated and spasmed as it stretched up six inches, pulling his shirt out of his pants and moving his cuffs up to his wrists. Rory’s slender physique underwent a rapid shift, his shoulders and back flaring out suddenly, pulling him twice as wide as he had been. Even with a thicker neck, his head looked small atop the wide prairie of his shoulders. His sleeves rapidly retreated up his arms, exposing a growing pair of arms and deltoids. Thin biceps thickened up like pythons on his arm, square and solid with a high, veined peak. His triceps pressed firmly into the overbuilt swoop of his lats, their curves meeting like puzzle pieces. Another deep breath pumped his chest out like a pair of overfilled balloons, snapping the buttons across his shirt. His full-body pump was bigger than anything he’d ever gotten at the gym, and now it was permanent. His physicality was totally different than before – his legs long, and leaner than his burlier, broader upper body.
Sebastian was liking this one – it actually was getting him erect. It was dramatic, and Sebastian certainly had a flair for drama. He wondered what sort of day Rory had been having. Probably a normal one. Some office flirtations, a cup of coffee or two. Maybe his boss yelled at him a little. Nothing would have indicated to Rory that he was going to transform that day, become a god. He wouldn’t have to go to the office anymore, or if he did, he’d be the fucking boss. No one would give him an ounce of shit.
A dark honeyed tan soaked into Rory’s skin, but by the time it took root, it had become deep brown. The deep color overwhelmed every part of Rory’s body, swirling like chocolate being poured into a glass of milk. Rory’s gaping mouth suddenly enlarged, his lips swelling up as his nondescript nose pressed into his face, wide and dominant. The elegantly-coiffed hair exploded off his head to reveal a nearly-bald scalp with just a shadow of stubble on top. Rory’s cheekbones burst out from the sides of his face like granite shelves, reshaping his entire head in the process. The wide blue eyes sparkled for a moment, then shifted to a light brown with golden flecks.
His waist hadn’t grown an inch, leaving his brown leather belt resting gently above his shredded obliques. The belt loops had stayed intact but the rest of his pants were ruined by the muscle mass packed onto his former-runner’s legs. Likewise, the knot of his tie was choking him, having been pulled tight by his denser neck, but it had at least stayed. The rest of his dress shirt hung in tatters around his muscled frame, his cocoa-colored nipples on display for the world to see.
The man who had been Rory was a broad-shouldered, beautiful black man now. Had he been shorter, the 250 pounds of muscle on him would have made him a bodybuilder, but at his nearly 6’6” height, they gave him a beautiful warrior’s elegance, his brown skin pulled tight over fat-free wedges of muscle. His sweat made his skin appear to glow. His dreamy eyes gave him a youth that belied the tougher face he had developed, which gave away his true age of 45.
The white dress shirt that Rory had carefully selected from his closet this morning was now a string tank, with the thin straps wedged in between the muscles of his shoulders. His pecs hung out over the low scoop of the tank, keeping his nipples bare, their breadth too wide to be covered by the straps as intended. His chest had a natural height that was enhanced further by his high, confident stance, puffing his pecs up and out. Buckled around the tank, pulling it low, was his former belt, now a thick black weightlifting belt, its leather worn down from years of use. And where khakis had once been, there was now a pair of spandex workout shorts, tight to show off the etched teardrop shape of his quads. That was a requirement for the man now called Roosevelt: always had to show off the quads in the gym. He loved the way the long muscles looked like melted candle wax, shoving up against his knees – and against each other.
The giant stretched out his arms, showing their stunning definition, then he plopped back down on the bench. Roosevelt folded his arms across his big chest and leaned back, relaxed. Sebastian smiled at him, and he smiled back, exposing rows of sparkling white teeth – far bigger than Rory’s smile had been. Then the smile wavered, just a moment, and Roosevelt stood back up and touched his temple with a finger. “Shit,” he muttered, turning around and looking at the bench, then back at Sebastian. “Hey man,” he said, his voice now deep and smooth like espresso, “you seen a pair of eyeglasses around here?”
Sebastian turned around and looked on the ground, but saw nothing. He shook his head as Roosevelt crouched on the ground – his bubbly glutes straining at the spandex shorts – and looked under the bench. “Found ‘em,” he said with a smile. “Must’ve left ‘em in my lap and stood up.” He slid them onto his face. The lenses were square instead of circular now. It fit his new head shape, and new age, better. “Thanks,” he said with a head nod, before sitting back down and shutting his eyes for a few moments of rest. His bare pecs were as dry as his shirt, indicating that he had not yet worked out. Beefy thighs were spread apart to reveal a full bulge pushing out of his shorts, his virility no secret to any passerby.
Two men had been standing nearby, unaware of Rory’s conversion into Roosevelt. Sebastian eyed them with great interest now. They were obviously in uniform for work - blue polos with the business logo embroidered onto the breast, tucked into khakis. Very standard, as were they: frat boys gone to seed, their blond buzzcuts a little thinner than they used to be, their stomachs not as flat.
Sebastian, this time, did not talk to them. They were standing facing the booth directly, subconsciously begging for it. He listened to their conversation briefly.
“…passing shit off. She was cool at first but now she loads me up with all this extra shit I can’t get done before the day’s over, and then she bitches at me for it. ‘Chaaaaas-‘”
The other man cracked up. “That’s EXACTLY how she sounds, bro. ‘Chaaaaas…’”
“She talks like Jill does after about eighteen whiskey sours. ‘Chaaaaaas, take me back to thehousethanks.’” Chas was the same height as his coworker. His hairline was further back but he was the more handsome of the two, and carried himself with more confidence. “Anyway, yeah, Rita’s pissing me off today with her bullshit. I know how to do my job but I can’t do hers AND mine.”
“So tell her that.”
“Wade, you know she’s in with the boss.” Boom, there it is, Sebastian thought. Chas and Wade, although they could both just be called AJ, for Average Joe.
“Yeah, but it’s not like she can get you fired.”
“No, but I bet she could swing a write-up, and then I’d have NO room to fuck up.”
Sebastian turned to drop a quarter into the booth and he heard their conversation turn to hushed tones. He knew they had seen, and were talking about, him. Jealousy and admiration mixed with some good-ol’ heterosexual bitchery.
He turned around to face them and they saw the flash from behind his head, illuminating him like he an angel. Sebastian smirked at them and they both gave him a strange look before turning back to their conversation.
Chas chortled at the awkward interruption. “Anyway,” he said, drawing it out, “you want to get a coffee before we go back? We can-” Chas’ brow furrowed. The red in his cheeks drained out and he raised a finger up to Wade. “What the hell is that…”
Wade couldn’t see what was happening to his shirt, but Chas could. The collar of the polo got slightly bigger, crisper, and then in an instant turned lavender.
“What the hell is what?” Wade said innocently. He looked down at his shirt but couldn’t see the new collar. Then he looked back up too quickly and missed the lavender color spreading over his shoulders and chest, sinking into the blue, converting both the color and the fabric itself. The buttons of his polo moved downward and companions for them grew in down the center of Wade’s chest. His short sleeves expanded into long ones, cuffs buttoning around his wrists. A paisley pattern was visible inside the lining of his shirt collar.
Sebastian smiled. It was always fun to see where it started. Sometimes in the chest first, sometimes in the clothes. Sometimes they were aware, sometimes they weren’t. Just roll the dice and find out.
“What did-how did…” Chas was speechless. He continued pointing at Wade’s new dress shirt. Wade looked down and took the silky cotton between two fingers. “What, this? I’ve had this shirt for a while. You haven’t seen me wear it?”
“What?!”
And then Chas noticed the color changes continuing down Wade’s body. He gaped as Wade’s plain belt turned into dark blue suede, and then as the khaki color was bleached away from his pants – like laundry gone wrong – leaving them a beautiful white. His black shoes didn’t change color, but they looked a lot more quality than before. Chas could see his reflection in the leather.
“What the hell are you wearing?!” Chas took a step back. “You look like a fruitcake!”
Wade looked down again and unbuttoned his shirt to the middle of his chest. “I like it,” he smiled. “I think I look nice.”
“Yeah, like a nice-”
Wade’s pecs suddenly inflated out in front of him. A set of puffy nipples, beginning to sag from too many late night pizza-and-beer runs, stretched out tight over the broad expanse of his muscled chest. Striations puckered the edges of his beauties. They were bolted firmly under his clavicle, square and jutting. Wade’s stomach grew out into a set of firm abs pressed into the buttons of his dress shirt. The blocks of muscle were visible through the fabric.
Chas stared, gaping. The muscle growth spread from there. Wade smiled back at his friend, completely oblivious to his changes. His shoulders spread outward and took his upper torso with them, giving him a powerful ‘v’ shape as his traps and lats bulked outward and pulled the tailored shirt tight over them. His arms grew into cannonballs that he’d envied on football players in college. The tight white pants now held a massive bulge between solid thighs that he had earned at the squat rack.
His clothes grew tight and form-fitting over his muscular physique. Wade felt his ass bubble out and his neck fill into the opening of his collar. His stance adjusted to one of supreme confidence as a wide smile spread over his face. A deep, healthy tan swirled over him, painting his muscles a beautiful gold.
Chas took two more steps away and Sebastian began fearing he’d run. But so what if he ran…he’d come back.
Sebastian looked back at Wade. The man’s hairline had grown back in, and his teeth had straightened. The new arch of his brow indicated that his face was in the beginning throes of an alteration. And indeed it was – as Sebastian and Chas watched, a handsomely chiseled jaw grew out from Wade’s former neckline. His nose tightened up and his lips became shapely as a smattering of stubble began to spread out around them. Wade’s dimpled chin also grew a coating of whiskers, and soon his mouth was surrounded by a stubbly goatee, like a five o'clock shadow that had been trimmed into a style. Above his lip, the mustache was light black, like his eyebrows. On his chin, however, his whiskers had gone white. The shortly buzzed hair on the sides of his head had also turned a healthy, vibrant white, but the longer hair on top, neatly gelled back from his hairline, was still a light black with an occasional white strand to break up the color.
Chas stared at the handsome man, dumbstruck. Where Wade had stood was now an immaculately groomed muscle stud with a European aura about him, exemplified by the glossy half-open shirt and clean white pants. His pecs and back filled the shirt perfectly, arms straining at the fabric just enough to show off how big they were. On his ring finger was a large gold band.
"Wuh…wuh…wuh…Wade?"
The hunk’s blue eyes met with Chas’. He gave a very strange look that Chas couldn’t interpret. "Whit," he responded with a curious edge.
Chas was about to say something else when the buttons of his own polo suddenly exploded, scattering in opposite directions. He looked down wildly to see his chest rise up on its own, moving up higher on his body before beginning its journey out into the space in front of him.
"No!” Chas put his hands on his chest and pressed against it, but the muscles grew faster, rounding out into a beautiful set of full pecs. His frantic fingers rubbed against his nipples and, to his horror, that action made his cock tent his khakis.
"St-stop!" He looked up at Whit, who smiled at him. "Make it stop!"
"You worked for it,” Whit responded, poking a finger into the dense muscles adorning Chas’ chest.
“No I didn’t! Make it stooooo-" Chas’ back suddenly spread out wide, shoving his arms outward as the knotted with muscle. His biceps tore through his polo sleeves as his forearms thickened up, even making his hands muscular at the wrist. His shoulders ripped the seams of his shirt as they pushed past the width of his back, his amazing shape a testament to the hard work he didn’t remember putting in.
Down below, his waist was doing the opposite: narrowing. A shredded eight-pack, dry as can be, settled in on his stomach, and with nothing to hold them up anymore, his pants collapsed around his ankles. Horrified, Chas stumbled backward out of them. The pert ass that now filled his tight boxer briefs swelled further with muscle.
He ran a hand over the grooves of his abs and turned his torso slightly to the side, flexing them. “That’s it,” he heard Whit say in that silky-smooth voice, “run through your posing routine. It’ll make you feel better.”
Just the words ‘posing routine’ made Chas throw his bulging arms straight out to the side, and curl them up.
“Bring your elbows down, you’re hiding your shoulder definition. There you go. Look at those delts, pal, those have come in amazing. I’ve never seen delts that good on someone your age. You’re gonna be huge. You ARE huge.”
Chas smiled. He couldn’t help it. The compliments made him feel so good. The smile was only swept off his face when he felt his legs grow longer underneath him, making his head spin briefly as he readjusted to being 6’2”. He had about four inches on Whit now, but Whit’s extra muscle made him look just as big.
“So glad you wound up tall,” Whit smiled. “Might make the bodybuilding a little tougher, but it’s good to be tall. Be grateful for it.”
Chas’ body swelled up more, the muscles on him getting bigger and shapelier. He looked really terrific. Dry, pumped, tan. He smiled, then remembered what was happening and felt that scary panic sweep back over him. “What’s happening to me?!”
His voice was different. Not deeper, but smoother. His hands flew up to his throat and he choked out a gasp. “Something’s wrong with me! I-“
His jaw pushed into his hands. Chas couldn’t see his face becoming beautiful, like his body now was. The roundness of age was swept away into a mountain range of sharp bones and angles. A movie star’s face. A jutting, dimpled chin capping off his chiseled jaw. His lips had such a classical shape, and his eyes sparkled bright blue. Eyes that were filling with tears. “Help me!”
“What do you need help with?”
“I feel weird!” The words just weren’t coming.
“Alright, come on, let’s sit down over there, come on now.”
Chas’ world was getting narrower and narrower. He felt Whit’s strong hands guide him over to a bench and he sat down. Then he heard two voices. Whit’s and another man’s.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know. He says he feels weird.”
“Pre-workout stuff? He take too much? Hey bud,” the voice said to Chas, “how many scoops did you take?”
“Three,” Chas stammered out.
“Might be too much.”
“Yeah, might be.”
“Just give him a second, he’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.”
Chas’ world spun. He leaned forward and put his head between his legs, seeing for the first time the huge bulge he sported in his repaired khaki pants. He leaned back and saw his tan muscles swelling out of an athletic-cut blue polo, but instead of a business logo, he just saw the little polo player stretched across his pec. He shut his eyes and listened to his breathing, and with his eyelids shut, he envisioned himself and welcomed the new him. He remembered his head of thick, short blond hair, the pretty face that drove his girlfriends wild, the Adonis body he’d honed through sports and all that weight training with his…
With his…
“Oh fuck.” Chasen reared up onto his feet and stumbled forward a few steps, then whirled around as his entire world crashed into his mind. His blue eyes opened up wildly and he looked at the two men on the bench.
He looked at Whit, dressed for the office in his lavender dress shirt, his white pants. Then he looked at Roosevelt, carved muscles swelling out of every opening in his tiny clothes. These men…
“Dad?” He said to Whit, blinking a few moments before turning to Roosevelt. “…Pop?”
Roosevelt smiled at his son. “You feeling okay?”
“I feel better,” Chasen muttered. “I think I took too much pre-workout powder.”
“You’re just like your father,” Roosevelt smirked at Whit, who rolled his eyes. “And what is this?” Roosevelt motioned to Whit and Chasen’s dressy clothes. “We’re about to work out! Where are your things?”
“Chasen and I had to meet with Coach Hill about missing practice for the contest, I told you that last night,” Whit said discreetly to his husband.
“You wore a Robert Graham shirt and Armani pants to a meeting with our son’s football coach?”
Whit smirked. “Chasen made me leave the velvet blazer in the car.”
“Hey, come on,” Chasen said defensively. “Be reasonable.”
Whit sighed and looked at Roosevelt. “I embarrass him. I have succeeded as a father.”
They all laughed and Roosevelt was about to make another crack about Whit’s glamorous fashion when Chasen sensed it and butt in. “We left workout stuff here yesterday,” he said quickly. “In the locker room.”
Roosevelt and Whit stood up. Their only child bridged the gap between their heights – Roosevelt, 6’6”, Whit about 5’10”, while their beautiful boy had grown to be 6’2”. Sebastian sized them up. Small, medium and large…although the size was relative. Nothing about Whit was small, and Chasen could hardly be described as medium either.
“I hope you remembered your wrist straps,” Roosevelt said.
“Yesssss, Pop.”
“Good boy.”
Chasen’s dreamy blues widened with awe when he saw Sebastian. Sebastian saw the look and smiled at the built, buff and bronzed teenager. Chasen darted between his parents and headed over, hypnotized. “Hey, not to be awkward, man, but uh, you kinda have my goal body…you got any tips or anything?”
“Tips?” Sebastian sized up the kid. Their shapes were incredibly similar. Sebastian had more size, but he was also older. Chasen had to be the most muscular kid in his school by far. “You seem like you’re doing just fine. Just keep plugging at it and eat big. Your workout partners over there are huge.”
Chasen looked over his shoulder. “Who, them? I mean, I guess you could call them my workout partners. They’re my dads.”
“Dads?” Sebastian feigned a little ignorance.
“Yeah, they’re gay. They’ve been married for twenty years though, that’s longer than most of my friend’s parents,” Chasen said, slightly defensively, in a response he used often.
“You look like him,” Sebastian said, motioning to Whit, who had casually joined his hand with Roosevelt’s as they talked a few yards away. And it was true: Chasen really did look like Whit – defined, angular features with sparkling blue eyes and a wide jaw. Very attractive. Whit had the beef while his boy had the height.
“In the purple?” Chasen looked back over at Whit and laughed. “Makes sense, he’s my dad.”
“Not adopted?”
“Nope, he’s my bio dad. They actually both gave sperm and decided that fate would choose which one, uh, took, if you know what I mean.”
Sebastian nodded. “And you came out white.”
They both laughed. “Yup,” Chasen said. “Yup.”
Sebastian was fascinated by the intricacies of the booth’s machinations. He kept grilling Chasen. “So, what do you call them? I’m sure everyone asks you that.”
“Yeah, they ask what I call them and if I’m gay too. I’m not. And I call my bio dad ‘Dad’ and my other dad ‘Pop.’ Something I started when I was little that just never went away.”
“So you’re an only child?”
“Yeah, I mean they’ve never really talked about it, but between you and me, I think they could only afford one baby. It’s expensive,” Chasen said. “Luckily I turned out okay. I-“
“Chasen, is this what you call a warm-up?” Roosevelt strode up behind Chasen and put his hands on his son’s broad shoulders. “Giving my boy some pointers?”
“I don’t think he needs any with a trainer like you,” Sebastian said with a giant smile, putting his hand out. “Sebastian.”
“Roosevelt Richards. He’s looking pretty awesome, right? He’s a week out.”
“Pop,” Chasen mumbled, stretching it out. His cheeks turned red.
“You didn’t mention that. Yeah, he looks great. I bet you have a good shot, man. What are you guys working today?”
“Back. His lats lag a little, just like Whit’s. But the shoulders make up for it.” Roosevelt smiled, thinking of his husband’s broad set of delts and traps. “We’re trying to get them to flare out a little more this week.”
“You’ll get there, you’ll get there. I can tell he’s in good hands.”
“Oh yeah, he’s my project.” Roosevelt ruffled his son’s blond hair affectionately. “As soon as he was born, we had a feeling he was gonna be our little bodybuilder.”
“You want to lift with us today?” Chasen jerked his head in the direction of the gym. Sebastian looked over at an overweight man walking by, eating a submarine sandwich. He briefly considered it, then turned back to Chasen. “Sure, I’d love to get some lat work in. Let’s do it.”