Do not read this story if you are under 18 years of age or if you are offended by explicit language involving gay men.
I walk into this bar by the beach. Since it's right by muscle beach, there are lots of bodybuilders there, some gay, some straight. Like always, when I walk in, I get stares. I'm used to it. I'm big. Really big. See, I took part in this experiment with this stuff that's supposed to replace steroids, and now, I'm one of the examples of how well it works. I actually love the stares I get at my muscles, which, I have to admit, are truly huge, like I said. Also my crotch, which has become something like a porno illustration. I mean, I'm not shy about saying that I bulge out like I'm packing a couple of tennis balls and a five-pound sausage. And I guess I also have to say that I encourage the stares, because I always wear something that caresses every thick and heavy curve.
Anyway, I walk in, and I get all these stares, but there's this one guy, sitting with a couple of other guys and their girlfriends at the bar, who does a double take on me, and then, I can tell, starts to pull this macho shit about what a freak I am. He's real good looking and I can tell he thinks he's mister hot-shit. I can tell he pumps iron. Not a real bodybuilder, but a nice, muscular body. Real Hollywood type with his soap-opera hair, his perfect stubble on his handsome face. He's in a tank-top and stretch shorts, and you can see he's real impressed with his body and his looks in general. The main man with this crowd.
Maybe he's jealous, or intimidated by me, I think. But I don't really care. With his attitude, he's just the kind of guy I love to morph. See, all of us guys who have been through this experience, have this great assignment. Sort of like missionaries. We're supposed to pick some guy, about once a week, anyone we want, and surprise them with an unexpected trip into our world. Each of us carries the morphing formula with him at all times. We have these rings that carry it, and we just push on the back of the ring as we touch the front against someone's skin. It only takes a drop, instantly released and absorbed, and they don't even feel it.
So, when I order a drink, I go to the bar right next to him. I nod and smile at him, and he smiles back his too-cool smile, and then looks at his friends and laughs. I think, just wait for a few minutes and then see how you feel. I pick up my drink, and when I turn to walk away, I brush his arm with the ring, pushing hard and fast. He barely notices. I just keep walking across the bar where I can watch him, and I lean against the wall. A couple of friends say hi, but I keep my eyes on him.
He maintains his casual attitude, but I can see right away that he's feeling it. He's feeling real hot and flushed. Then I can tell he's starting to feel real turned on, real erotic. He tries not to show that he's feeling weird, but he begins to seem distracted, and his hands start to feel his own chest and arms, just kind of rubbing himself, like he can't help it. He's got some hair on his chest, and he's rubbing that, too. He starts to look like he's lost in the sensation, touching himself, even though he's trying real hard to act like nothing is happening. Then I can see his muscles begin to swell up and start to get big and thick. It happens real fast, fast enough so that anyone couldn't help but notice. His chest is ballooning up, his arms blowing up with muscle, his back getting thicker and wider by the minute, along with his shoulders. His legs are getting thicker and bigger, and his thighs start to push apart from each other. In his stretch shorts, I can see his bulge getting bigger and bigger. He is completely freaked out by what is happening to him. So are his friends and everyone else in the bar.
They are all saying, "Jesus Christ, what is happening to you?"
"I don't know," he says, as his tank top starts to rip out under his arms and down the center from his lats pushing wider and his pecs growing more and more massive. Unable to contain the the swelling mass of his torso, the top rips completely open down the front. More hair is sprouting on his chest and abs. And he keeps feeling himself. He can't keep his hands off his own muscles. He flexes an arm. He can't help himself. He has to see how big it's getting, and it's huge by now, like Paul DeMayo's or some other seriously massive bodybuilder.
"Holy shit," he says. "I'm getting as big as that guy over there." The legs of his shorts split open, the tears quickly running up to his hips. He looks down at how big the bulge in his crotch is getting, and I can see his dick is getting hard, and it's so big now that everyone is staring at it.
"Christ," his girlfriend says.
"Christ is right," one of his boyfriends says.
He looks over and sees that I'm laughing.
Now his chest and abs are covered with dark hair, like Alec Baldwin's, and I know where else it is growing in. He is feeling it, the hair and his pecs, which have become absolutely gigantic. When he looks over, I let him see me feel my own huge, hairy chest. He has a look of panic on his face, but I can tell, because I've done this before, that the panic is partly because of what is happening to him and partly because he is so freaked to realize how much he is loving the way it feels.
He walks over to me, walking the walk of a really huge bodybuilder, his basket bulging enormously in front of his crotch, his huge dick hard as a baseball bat, straining his shorts, bounced back and forth by his massive, rolling thighs.
"You do this to me?" he asks.
"You should always be careful about how you show attitude, man," I say to him. "Never judge a man until you've walked in his shoes."
"Well, I thought any man who would get himself like this was a freak and a faggot," he says, "but all of a sudden I think I feel real different."
"What do you feel?" I ask him.
He says, "Well, I'm not really sure, but just then I'm looking over at you and all your muscle doesn't look so queer to me. It starts looking real hot and sexy. I'm thinking, what's happening to me? I'm standing here, I know you did something to me to make my muscles and everything change like this, and all I can think is how sexy it feels. And I'm actually thinking how sexy it looks on you. And I know I'm standing there with this gigantic hard-on, and I'm not at all embarrassed. I'm just thinking, what guy wouldn't want to pack this kind of ammunition?" and he rubs his hand over his own bulging crotch. Everyone is watching him, and he doesn't care.
"I bet you can show me what to do with all this, too," he says.
"You know I can, I tell him. What about your girlfriend?"
"She'll just have to get a ride home with the other guys."
"You sure that's what you want?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
So he goes back over and tells them something, and then he comes back over to me.
"Sorry I laughed at you, man."
"Just get me back to your place, man. I've got to get us both out of these clothes before I come in my shorts."
When we walk out of the bar, the room stares at two of us. He notices.
"I get it, man," he says.