A Hot July 12: Getting the Story
One spray toward his face was all it took to get Todd Andrews, hot young reporter, over his fear of the West Hollywood assignment. He'd heard the stories, even seen the guys, driving around in his Mercedes convertible, and he didn't mind getting stared at. He knew it was a compliment when gay guys gave him the once over. He liked being considered a stud. But he was, or had been, nervous about going on foot into the hotbed of gay life, where the transformations he was reporting were running rampant. Curious, he couldn't deny it, but not really ready to put himself at risk. But then, the risk was everywhere, and, like terrorism, you just had to go on and live your life, and if you ended up catching whatever it was, well, it wasn't killing anybody so far. He even went so far as to admit to himself that his fear was mostly about his own ambivalence. Was it that he didn't want to be a musclebound gay guy, or that he didn't want to want it?
Standing in front of the camera, he'd felt his whole attitude change, even as he felt his shirt become tight while he tried to maintain professional focus, his head flying, stoned out of his brain, rushing with an erotic euphoria. He'd had to make up an excuse to drop by his condo before returning to the station. There was no was he could hold back the boner he felt coming on and coming on fast. In his car, the top down, he'd experienced the bizarre feeling of his own extreme, unabashed excitement when he couldn't stop the erection, his pants straining with the incredible hardness of his cock, which he suddenly, powerfully loved, reaching an unstoppable orgasm, sitting at a stoplight with the top down and a guy in the car next to him smiling at him in recognition as he came in his gabardine slacks.
At home, he changed, but first he showered, stopping in front of the mirror to marvel at how he felt about his sudden new muscularity and noticeably larger genitalia, flexing, finding his change so far almost unbearable attractive and exciting to him, fuck what anyone else might think. He jacked off again, and his orgasm was stronger than before and lasted longer. "Aww, fuck yeah," he heard his sexy voice saying to the hot stud in the mirror. But he had to dress, in looser clothes, and get back to work.
"Well," his boss said, when he returned, "Nice show, Todd. So much for objective reporting, I guess."
"Couldn't help it, boss. Some guy just did me before I could stop him."
"Yeah, well, looks like you'll be our man to go inside, now."
"Get to that company putting that stuff out, get to the head of it, the CEO, whoever--they're so wrapped in secrecy--find out where this stuff is coming from, what it's all about."
"Oh, sure," Todd said, facetious, but liking the idea of this assignment, and realizing that he was sitting there in front of his boss feeling his pecs, which showed, now, even in this baggy shirt.
The rules for an interview stipulated that only Todd and one cameraman with a handheld camera would be allowed into the company compound, a securely fenced, gated, and guarded estate on the edge of Malibu in the hills above the Pacific. Todd drove with the guy, Paul, a skinny kid, kind of cute, about twenty-two, who'd been assigned with him. All the way out Sunset and up the Pacific Coast Highway, he mused on how radically his mind had changed, while Paul, all curiosity, taped his vocal musings. Even though that rush, after he'd been hit with the stuff, had long ago faded, the intense sexuality he felt had not.
He liked the way this thickened muscle felt on him, the weight, the way it filled his clothes, made itself known. He knew he could no more hide the fact, now, that he was becoming one of them than he could hide being male, and that pleased him in a way that made his dick hard as it had ever been. He felt an exhilaration, a liberation. It was out of his hands, beyond his control. His cock felt huge pushing against his slacks, and he asked Paul to stop shooting while he managed to wrest it from the confines of his briefs and the zipper and let the spontaneous ejaculation that was building just go, exploding into an old T shirt he kept in the front seat to wipe down the windshield. Paul didn't say a word.
By the time they arrived, he'd managed to stuff his cock back in, a feat much more difficult than releasing it. It went soft when he wanted it to, amazing in itself, having that kind of control over his out-of-control sex drive, but it was still so fat and long. He wondered what Paul thought about what had just happened. He wondered, but he didn't really care.
They stopped at the high gates, Todd announcing them by intercom speaker, and the gates opened to admit them to a half-mile driveway. It ended in a motor court in front of a Mediterranean style mansion. Todd saw that Paul was nervous to the point of sweating. It wasn't at all hot out. Todd rang the doorbell, and, like the gates, the huge double front doors swung open on their own, admitting them to an entrance room, about six feet by ten feet, and closed off from the house by a second set of doors. There was a security camera mounted above them, and coat hooks lined the paneled walls. The outside doors closed behind them.
"Please remove your clothes and leave them on the hooks."
The deep, commanding voice came from a hidden speaker.
"You may leave on your underwear, but remove everything else. Thank you for your cooperation."
Todd looked at Paul. The poor guy was sweating so much now, he looked about to try to bolt, but Todd shrugged and smiled, hoping to calm the guy, and started to strip. When Paul had his shirt off, Paul put down the camera and began to strip as well. When they were down to their underwear, Todd in his low-cut briefs and Paul in oversized boxers, the voice said, "Thank you," and from several nearly invisible, pin-hole sized nozzles in the ceiling and walls, a short burst of mist sprayed, filling the small chamber with a fog that hung in the air around them. It barely dampened their skin, but it settled on them from head to foot, and it filled their lungs.
When the mist faded, after a minute or so, the inner doors were opened, this time by a human. Or was he? The man who invited them into the palatial hallway and led them down the hall was something beyond human in proportion and dimension, even though he introduced himself politely as Max. He wore what might be called posing trunks, although the material and cut had obviously been specially designed to stretch to hold a gargantuan set of genitals. The package hung halfway to his knees, propped in front of thighs unimaginably thick, and looked like two ostrich eggs and part of an elephant's trunk. He was only about six feet two inches tall, but he must have weighed over four hundred pounds. Todd couldn't even guess, the muscle on the guy was so obscenely thick, massive, huge. Even with hair that was almost a pelt covering most of his body, thick, black, and shiny, each muscle, each cut, the thick, ropy veins all stood in powerful relief.
He was obviously a man of few words. He'd said "Max," and motioning down the hall, he said, "Come."
Todd looked at Paul. Already he knew that the mist had been one strong dose of that stuff. He felt like he'd swallowed a whole bottle of poppers. Blood pounded in his ears. He was so stoned and so turned on he couldn't even speak, and he saw that Paul was exactly the same. He was completely boned, and so was Paul. He knew what was in Paul's head because it was in his. That guy was so hot he would do anything, anything he wanted, anything. And so was Paul, skinny as he was, because he wouldn't be for long. And he would grow, too, he didn't care how huge now. He wanted to go as far as they could take him. As they followed the huge man down the hall, they were already starting to cum.
Connor got home after everyone had gone to sleep, and he crept quietly into the house. He wished his dad still lived with them, that his parents hadn't divorced, because he would love to spray some of this stuff on him. The guy he'd just been with, Ken, reminded him of his dad, what his dad might be, anyway, and that would be too cool, to have a dad like that. As it was, there was just his mother, who'd probably drunk herself into a stupor again, and his little brother, Cole.
Connor loved Cole. He was a mistake. Connor was supposed to be an only child. His mother hadn't wanted any more kids, and probably shouldn't have had any, but when Connor was ten, she'd gone and got pregnant and, thank God, abortion had been dismissed. When Connor's dad left a few years later, Connor had become more than Cole's big brother. He was his protector, his mentor, and they were very close.
That was mainly why, even after he'd graduated from the local college, he'd stayed at home.
He tip-toed into Cole's room. The boy, twelve now, and just showing the first signs of puberty, lay asleep in his underwear, the covers thrown back. He'd been so excited about finally getting a few hairs, downy and barely showing color, but definitely, finally, more than just peach fuzz at the base of his little dick. Connor smiled, looking at Cole. He had thought about this all the way home. Somewhere inside, a small distant voice told him to think before he did anything to Cole, but he was full of whatever that stuff was, and he knew muscle and cock, huge, thick, so unbelievably masculine, was not only his destiny, but every guy's. It had to be. It was too hot to be any other way. It might be too bad that Cole would never be a regular teenager, but this was so much better. Connor's cock was hard again as soon as he'd left Ken. He'd jacked off in the car. But he just kept getting more turned on by the whole thing, the idea of being one of those guys. He reached in his pocket. His pants were already fitting him more tightly and his cock was so hard and felt so hot and big. He took out a tiny spray that Ken had given him, enough, Ken had said, for several doses, and he could always get more from him or just go straight to the mansion. He held it over his sleeping brother. He looked at him, at his body, so thin, the slightest hint of musculature. He pushed the nozzle, and the mist settled on the boy's chest and face. Connor knew he had to have inhaled some. He wanted to do another spray, but he held back. He'd see what this did first. He watched Cole for a minute. The boy never woke, but very soon, as Connor watched, Cole's underwear showed a rise as the boy's small cock grew rigid. Connor grinned and headed for the bathroom to take care of his own again.
The tape that arrived at the station by messenger never made it to the air. It showed Todd in the car talking about how he felt about having taken the formula. It showed him in the entrance, showed him start to strip according to the voice that told them to. There was a gap while, obviously, Paul had put the camera down to remove his own clothes, and then it showed Todd again, briefly, shirtless and muscular, and then the lens had misted over. When it started up again, Todd was sitting in a chair, the camera only showing his torso, never pulling back, and he was trying to interview a man behind a huge desk. The man was handsome, somewhere in his thirties by appearance, extremely muscular, and probably naked, although the camera stayed up on his torso. It seemed as though Todd was having difficulty focusing, like he was stoned, and so the man behind the desk had taken over the interview, such as it was. He didn't say much. He said he would love to cooperate, but he didn't have much to say because he really didn't know much. He and his partners had been anonymously contacted to set up this company. Their purpose was simply to test this substance, to try out new variations of it, and to affect its distribution through as many centers, worldwide, as they could set up. He had no idea who had created it or where it came from. That information had never been shared, and in fact, had been kept quite secret, even from them. They simply received the stuff by messenger along with instructions, and even the messenger knew nothing, or didn't say if he did. He left the cartons at a drop off box at a side gate. He wished he could be of more help. He smiled as he spoke, but his face was a mask.
Behind the camera, toward the end of his little speech, they could hear Paul's voice, and he began saying, "Oh, Jesus, oh, man." And then the camera turned to Todd, who was sitting in the chair, his head back, his eyes closed, feeling his body in a way that was so sexual that the station executives asked the women to leave the room. Paul held the camera on Todd for a minute, while Todd felt his pecs, which appeared thicker and bigger than they had in the earlier shots in the entrance. They even appeared to have short hairs spreading all over them now. And then, with Paul's voice saying, from behind the camera, "Aww, fuck, man, awww yeah," the camera panned down to show the rest of Todd's body, naked, his legs spread, his cock erect, at least ten inches long and proportionately thick, and, as Todd sat feeling his torso, running his hands over the ridges of his abs, Paul's hand came from behind the camera to take hold of Todd's cock. The man behind the desk said, "I have a feeling this interview is over. If you men would like to stay with us, we'll send that tape to your station with our regards. Mr. Andrews, would you like to say anything?"
The camera moved back to Todd's face. He looked into the lens, his face the face of pure lust, and he said, "Yeah. This is fuckin' Todd Andrews, big fucking muscle stud, signing off." He dropped his head back again, and just as the camera went dark, he could be heard saying, "Aww, fuck yeah, man, aww fuck yeah."
The executives stared at each other. They never discussed it. The tape was filed away. But later that night, several of them, in casual attire, decided to take walks around the West Hollywood area. Or down by the beach, in Venice.
"Connor, Connor," Cole's voice woke Connor from a deep sleep. "Connor!"
The voice was the voice of an adolescent in the midst of its change, deeper, raspy, cracking.
Connor opened his eyes. Cole was standing by his bed in his underwear with a boner sticking straight out.
"Look at this, man."
He pulled down his underpants, and where he'd had those few downy hairs, he had a full wreath of dark, coarse, thick hair at the base of his dick, and a scanty trail of hairs growing right up his belly to his navel.
"Cool," Connor said, sitting up. Holy shit, he thought as he sat up. He felt his own muscle rubbing together where he had not been muscular, but he looked at Cole. He had matured a couple years overnight. He was taller by at least an inch, his shoulders had broadened, he had a definite, youthful muscularity to him, and his chin and upper lip had the shadow of downy whiskers. In his excitement, he hadn't even noticed that yet, or it wasn't what excited him the most right now.
"And look at this, too!"
He lifted his arms, and there were small patches of dark hair under them.
"Wow, Cole. The dude's growing up!"
"Overnight, man!" Cole said. "This is so cool!"
Connor stretched, reaching toward the ceiling, then flexing his arms behind his head, not even thinking about what he was doing util he felt the size of his biceps when he flexed them.
"Wow! Your muscles! You got muscles!"
Connor flexed again where he could look at his own arms. They were big. He looked at his chest and felt his pecs. He hadn't expected to get this muscular this fast. He popped wood and the sheet tented up.
"Oh, man, you got a boner! We both got boners, man!" Cole's voice was deeper, but his giggle was that of a kid at Christmas.
Now Connor stood up, letting the sheet fall away. He grinned at his brother as his cock sprang up so hard it smacked his hard belly. Smacked it up above his belly button. It was huge! Cole stared at it, his eyes wide, his mouth open.
"Yeah, we both got boners. Big ol' boners, dude. You know what guys do with their big boners? Come on in the bathroom, dude. Did you even notice you're getting some whiskers, too?"
"No, I didn't look in the mirror yet. Connor, wow, man. You look like a muscle guy. Your boner's so big."
"Look at yours, kid. It's not bad either. Come on, little bro. Big bro's gonna show you how to do something really hot."