Twelve Steps Back III: Geek to God
I'm sure these past couple chapters are a little more expository than some might prefer. "Where's the sex?" Well, Colin has been masterfully providing a flood of steaming hot action to tide us all (myself included) over, and so, I ask you bear with me a bit. I think we'll get to it. I hope it will prove worth the ride. And now, a step just a little farther back . . .
Jarrod Hamilton had been depressed for a month when he went home for spring break when most of the other kids were going to Cancun or somewhere cool. He felt like all he'd ever done was get great grades and study, while everyone else was getting laid and partying and having a great time being young. Being young was just a total bummer for Jarrod, and going home for spring break was downright embarrassing.
"Jarrod, talk to me," his dad said the second day he was home. "What's the matter?"
Jarrod tried to brush his dad off, but Colin Hamilton wasn't a man to be brushed off, and he knew his boy was suffering from the angst of being twenty and still probably a virgin and not very popular. He'd been through the same thing in his own youth.
"Nothing," was Jarrod's typical answer, but Colin pushed on until he finally got his son to open up, and when he did, he released the frustration of years. He said that some guy recently had told him he might get a date if he ever started to shave. He'd been humiliated in the locker room for being hung like a hamster, having the pubes of a twelve-year-old, and being built like a scarecrow . . . one the crows had pulled the straw stuffing out of.
The next day, Jarrod found himself talking to a doctor, a good friend of a friend of his dad's, who worked for some sports medicine and nutrition institute. The doctor listened with great empathy, and then told Jarrod that they were just embarking on a project that he would be perfect for. He explained about a new formulation that was capable of completely altering a guy's genetic coding to remake him into an entirely different guy. The effects would be extreme, and they were pulling together a bunch of guys to be the first group to go public and model this whole new look. The advertising firm that handled their business would market the whole thing as a package, selling the product as the means to achieve a whole new look, and a line of clothing that would be made just for that look. Jarrod, like the other guys, would be a model for their catalogs.
"Yes, Jarrod. That's what I'm telling you. They . . . we . . . are going to be marketing this new look as a whole thing. Guys, you, will be developing hypermasculine bodies and putting this whole new look out there, including the line of clothes that we think is going to swing the fashion pendulum as far from those baggy, loose pants and shirts you're wearing as it can go."
"But I like these clothes. And besides, look at me. I could never model anything."
The doctor turned Jarrod to a mirror. "Look at your face," he said. "You're a good looking guy who just never quite finished maturing into the man you could be. And I'm proposing taking you way beyond that guy."
"Wow. How? What do you mean, 'way beyond'?"
"Why don't you sit down. Okay, what would you say about being very muscular?"
Jarrod, who had dreamed away half his youth looking at the popular, built jocks, wishing he were one of them, felt his heart speed up. He instantly imagined hours of forced workouts and some muscle-building steroids.
"Or," the doctor went on, "about having exceptionally large sex organs?"
Okay, this was coming at him too fast. This was a sci-fi movie. He had images, of big meat hanging from his groin.
"And there are other effects, too. But you'd have to be willing to go along with that basic concept first. So what do you think? Put a full, heavy shadow on that face. Real masculine. I mean, extremely masculine. I guarantee you one thing. You'll never be depressed again like I hear you have been. Unless you'd hate being a prototype of the new super muscle stud. Think you could handle that? You up to giving it a try?"
The next thing Jarrod knew, he was letting the doctor give him a shot in a place he'd never even had anyone touch before. The doctor said he said he should begin to notice a difference in a few days. He would come back before returning to school to finish out the year, learn to give himself the shot so he could inject himself weekly until summer, when he would join the other guys in a sort of training camp while they got the first catalog ready. Meanwhile, the doctor said, he could, and probably should, tell people he was part of this Littleman's project. They'd be running print promos in fitness and bodybuilding magazines, so people would know about it soon, and, anyway, he'd start to show some changes that would be unexplainable any other way.
By dinner, he was in a better mood. In fact, he felt almost high, in a way he'd never experienced. He felt really good about himself. He looked at himself in the mirror. Maybe he wasn't so bad looking. He tried to imagine himself more muscular, a jockbod kind of guy. It was hard, but so was he, thinking about it. That was weird. He usually looked at naked girls in Penthouse or something to jack off, but he was, unexplainably, turned on just thinking about that.
The next few days got strange. He found himself thinking about being a model, about whatever that doctor meant by extreme masculinity, just how muscular was real muscular, and, he almost couldn't think about it, how big was big when he talked about being so hung. He found himself looking at other guys, comparing, wondering, noticing things like their beard patterns, wondering what kind of meat they were packing, how muscular they were, and how he would outdo them all soon, if this was real and not some cruel joke. He also found himself constantly horny and getting boners every time he thought about all that. He even got boners when he'd notice some guy showing pecs or a really good, full shadow of scruff.
When he returned to the doctor, the handsome man came right out and said that Jarrod had probably been feeling all those things that he had, in fact, been feeling, and told him it was all part of the process.
"But," he said, "I bet you haven't been feeling depressed."
Jarrod laughed. That was true. He didn't feel embarrassed this time to strip while the doctor explained how to fill the syringe and give himself the shot. Then he talked Jarrod through the process, had him do it, and showed him, holding aside his balls and dick, the spot to prep with alcohol and jab the needle. Jarrod felt his dick start to bone up, and by the time he took the needle and jabbed it into himself between his legs at the root of his dick behind his balls, he was completely hard.
"Don't worry about that. Happens all the time. In fact, why don't we measure it and the rest of you so we can compare later."
The fact was, Jarrod wasn't worried about it, which struck him as odd but cool, a move in the right direction. He admired the guys who paraded around the dorm, showers, locker room, whatever, with apparently no shyness whatever, and now, for the first time in his life, he had a taste of that feeling. He watched with intense interest as the doctor, god, he was handsome, measured him up. Five and a half inches. He didn't think he was quite that big. Twelve inch biceps, thirty-eight chest, twenty-eight waist, eighteen inch quads, and on and on, all proving how skinny and underdeveloped he was, but strangely, it didn't bother him. Instead, he was looking at his body as the doctor measured him, thinking about how glad he was he was a guy. Even thin, small, practically hairless, he was still masculine in a way he really liked. He liked being naked in front of this doctor. He was glad he'd gone along with this thing.
Back at school, he found it came naturally, now, that feeling of being cool with being naked in front of the other guys. He also found that he was hornier than before, boning up at the slightest thought of anything sexual, which, more and more, was about guys' bodies. Within a couple weeks, he was noticing real changes, too. His sparse whiskers were suddenly filling in, his muscles were thickening and defining themselves, and when his dick got hard, it felt so hard that it almost hurt, like it was exceeding its skin-limit, about to burst, and when it went soft, it was not going back as small as before.
About the same time, the ads started appearing in the magazines, cryptic ads that said, "A new era, a new virility, a new look, a new you," and showed just a close-up shot of a very muscular male body in an article of clothing that fit like skin and emphasized the look of thick, highly developed, bodybuilder type muscle. One ad showed just the shoulder, the outer edge of a huge, bulging pec muscle, and the top half of heavily veined, extremely big biceps in a shirt pulled tightly across the pectoral, stretched to conform to the jutting, rounded contour of the thick muscle, with a sleeve so short it barely covered the delt. Another showed a close-up of a guy's hip and upper thigh and the side of a low-cut, short-legged pair of shorts made of something like a thin cotton Spandex or Lycra, with the horizontal wrinkles of being stretched tight across the groin, though the picture stopped short of showing the actual crotch. Just the hip, the thick flare of massive striated upper thigh, the flat-sided, high curve of buttock, the hard, oblique angled plain of lower abdomen, where the top of the shorts cut low across, and the first ripple of deeply carved abdominals. Yet another ad showed almost the same shot, but the article of clothing was a pair of trunks so small they would be expected only on the stage of a bodybuilding contest. But the caption read "Swimwear," as the others had read "sportswear." And at the bottom of all the ads, the name "Littleman's."
Jarrod bought them all. He got so hard looking at them, he no longer took girls' pictures to jack off. He jacked off looking at these, and at the other built guys in the magazines. But mostly, what turned him on, was that he was going to be part of what this mysterious promotion was all about, and he proudly let it be known.
"No way, dude. No fuckin' way. Look at that shit. Fag clothes, man. And look at you."
But Jarrod just smiled and said, "Okay, whatever." And each day he'd notice he was slightly bigger, his dick was just a little bigger, even his balls were growing. His pubes were filling in, his pit hair getting thick, a trail began to appear above and below his navel, even some short hairs sprinkled across his chest. And soon, the other guys noticed, too, and started asking how it felt, what it was like.
"What do you think, dudes? It feels totally hot. It's amazing. Just makes me so fuckin' horny"
He gave himself his injections, and the ritual became almost a religious experience. Each time he knew he would soon change a little more, feel a little differently, his confidence growing as strong as his sexual feelings, which were becoming intense. Each shot would make him more horny, more exhibitionistic, more comfortable with his new feelings, and he would look at those teaser ads and think as he jacked off, fuck, yeah, man, soon that's me. That's fuckin' me.
He told the guys that the formula made him so horny he couldn't help boning up just thinking about how it was making him change. And he'd let them see him bone up, see him hard, see that his cock was getting bigger. By the end of the school year, it had fattened up and reached a hard length of almost seven and a half inches, a difference noticeable to any of the guys who saw it, and he'd let plenty see by then. He was jacking off regularly in front of his roommate, who became the envy of even the guys who said the whole thing was "so gay." Maybe, but they still wished they were the ones who got so see Jarrod casually sitting around naked, boning up, and just jacking off like he was scratching an itch. And if they happened to drop by, the right guys and the right times, because Jarrod remembered who had treated him like a disease before all this, they just might be treated to the show as well.
"Fuck, man. I'm gettin' big. Feels so hot. Fuckin' big dick."
All during April and May, Jarrod felt his clothes getting a little tighter, which just meant they showed more how his body was thickening, changing, growing more muscular. The flat fronts of his loose hanging pants and shorts started showing a definite bump behind the fly, and the kids at school started talking about how he was in on that Littleman's thing, like the ads. The initial scoffing and locker room derision behind his back quickly began to turn to envy, and Jarrod found himself with more "friends" than he could handle. Guys wanted to buddy up and girls wanted into his pants, and, oddly, he didn't mind showing the girls, even letting one or two fondle his cock to get him hard, even jack him off, but he realized he didn't care about them, and the only thing about them that turned him on was how they were turned on by his changing body, by his new muscles and his big dick. But the guys, well, that was a whole other thing. He liked his new buds. Especially the jocks. Especially the built ones.
Summer came and he was sent to a place above the coast of Malibu, a secluded but huge campus of manicured grounds, dormitories that housed six guys in each, a couple of gyms, several pools, clubhouse, and all the amenities. His first day there, all the guys, and there were eighteen of them, had a brief orientation, were showed to their dorms, where they turned in the clothes they'd come in. The counselors, there were three, one per dorm, told them that while on campus they would not be wearing any clothes at all, but when they left campus, they'd find plenty to wear in their closets and small dressers. They all looked, of course, and found nothing but body shirts, muscle shirts, shorts like in the ads, all small and stretchable. All the guys laughed at each other, all naked, all at least partially hard to find themselves in this situation together. And then the counselor for each dorm passed out already filled syringes to "his" guys, and one for himself, and told them they'd be doing this together each week.
Jarrod felt an unexpected thrill. Shooting himself was so hot, he knew every guy had to feel the same, and doing it together, and with this counselor guy, who was a little older and obviously also a user, well, it was too hot. He went totally hard as he spread his legs and held aside his balls and dick. So did the others. They all looked around, all boned up, all taking it to the next level.
After they'd done it, the counselor, Brett, said, "I'm gonna let you dudes get acquainted. Me and the other counselors gotta meet with Doc Troy. Have
fun." And with his big rigid cock swinging as he walked, he left them alone.
They introduced themselves to each other, just passing names around the room, all sitting there totally hard, and soon they were into it:
"So whatta ya think about this? Gettin' all muscled up. Looks like they're really gonna hulk us out. What about getting huge dicks and all, with those clothes. Fuck, man."
Finally one of them said what they were all thinking.
"Anyone else here feel like touchin' man? Anyone else want to get it on, man? I'm so into it, man."
It was Jarrod who answered.
"Fuck yeah, dude." He walked over and put his hands on the guy's pecs, let their cocks touch. "Mmm," he said as he felt the guy down the front till he reached his cock.
"Aw, fuck yeah," the other guy said.
The rest of the summer was an orgy of sex and growing. The guys played and worked out and had sex together as naturally and casually as having a quick game of b-ball or a swim. They went to town and learned how to wear their Littleman's gear to show off the bodies they were growing, how to place their meat in that stretchy material for maximum display, absolute virility. They were growing so big that by the end of summer, they all looked like real bodybuilders, maybe not hulking pro-sized yet, but not buffed up gym boys, either. They were definitely walking with the swaying strut of bodybuilders, and their meat had grown passed anything that could pass as natural development.
Jarrod's balls were the size of eggs, his cock boned to fourteen thick inches, his arms grew to a rock hard nineteen, his chest a defined forty-eight with soft, flat hair decorating his swollen pecs, his rippled, carved waist held at thirty, and his quads had almost caught up to his waist at twenty-nine. He was a hunk.
Near the end of summer a photographer shot pictures for the catalog. The guys cavorted in the various items, shirts and shorts, shorts and tanks, briefs, bikini swim trunks. The finished product was on the shelves, and flying off them by the time Jarrod went back to school. He wore his Littleman's clothes, and, while many faculty eyebrows were raised, more looked with interest, envy, and soon the questions began to inundate him.
How could you get the stuff that did that? Was it expensive? What did it feel like to look like that, wear stuff like that, to show so much?
Jarrod strutted the campus, proud to show his musclebound body, proud of the Littleman's display package that he and all the guys had learned to place just so, for maximum effect. He'd gone from geek to god, and, after a sadly necessary break from taking the formula, to allow the body to adjust, he'd start the second phase, and then he would really turn into a god, a hulking god with the giant genitalia that would befit what he would become.
Meanwhile, other guys on campus sought out the doctor who could supply them with the life-altering formula, the one in this town being the same one who had started Jarrod and who had attended the summer camp. Doctor Troy became the number to get, and by the time Jarrod was ready for his second phase, guys were showing up on campus with newly swelling muscles, wearing the small, tight, blatantly revealing clothes that defined the new Littleman's look.
A local club became a hangout for the guys. No one said girls weren't welcome, but it was known to be a guys' club--Littleman's guys. There were a couple of the guys from the original group, Jarrod's model buddies who came, and Doctor Troy, and that counselor from the camp, Brett, and they began a sort of ritual of initiating guys when they'd had enough treatments to be able to wear "the look." Those would always be private parties, since the initiation always involved way, way more than a handshake.
Jarrod loved those parties. Especially as he got near the end of his second phase. By then, the third catalog had been released, each with the original guys bigger and hotter and a few of the best of the newer recruits. But Jarrod was famous, now. He swaggered with the confidence that came from twenty-three inch guns, thirty-four inch quads, a thirty inch waist, balls the size of big, ripe, heavy mangoes, and a cock that arched a rigid eighteen inches, to the middle of his huge, thick pecs. He could pec fuck himself, and often did, loving to watch his cream shoot over his head, spill down his hairy pecs, and lubricate his giant cock for another thrust, another fuck.
Brett had called him and told him to be at the club for an initiation that would be great. He'd got this guy from the Littleman's ad agency, the original adman's agency, a mail room guy who was turning into a total hottie. When the night came, and Jarrod made his entrance, shoving aside the guys w ho had already surrounded the new guy, he was completely shocked to see a guy he'd sort of known in high school. He'd been too much of a geek to have been friends with this popular jock, and now . . .
When he saw the look on Matthew's hot, sexy face, he though Matt recognized him, too. He'd probably seen him in the catalogs, but he could tell Matthew was just this instant putting it all together. And in Matthew's eyes, he saw, in a new way, the complete transformation he'd gone through. In that one instant of recognition he saw his whole change from geek to god. Oh, this was going to be so fucking hot . . .
"Matt," he said, stepping close, zeroing in, his giant cock arched up so hard the head grazed the middle of his pec valley, practically in Matthew's face, close enough to smell the potent virility the formula was making this newly transforming stud exude, knowing exactly what was racing through the guy's head, seeing him, the one-time geek, now one of the original, famous, totally hulked out Littleman's guys, "you faggot. It's Jarrod, dude. Look at you."
Yeah, he thought, compliment him, make him feel as hot as he looks, but what he really felt, as this unexpected encounter made him instantly so much more intensely aware of his power, his massive muscular presence, bigger, stronger, hotter than ever, seeing it reflected in Matthew's astonished gaze, was, fuck, dude. Look at me!