Titanification 2
by Jaypat
The next day at school I didn’t say a thing to Scott and Lucy about my mysterious evening at Matt’s. It was all kind of weird and depressing and I didn’t really feel like talking about it.
And I didn’t see Jack all day. In fact there was such an obvious lack of Jack that I began to wonder if seeing him yesterday was only a bad dream.
When I got home there was a limo waiting outside my door.
I didn’t have to look at the driver to know whose limo it was. It’s not like limos were common place around my neighborhood. I bypassed it and went straight to my room. No sooner had I logged on to Facebook than I got the IM.
Sorry about yesterday.
I wasn’t sure I even wanted to respond.
What exactly are you sorry about? I typed.
Sorry I was rude.
Well that was a start.
You can’t go around pretending like you’re not 8 feet tall, I typed. It’s bound to come up in conversation once in a while.
I know. I’m sorry.
And…?
I’ve got an advance copy of Harry Potter 8. You want to come over and watch it with me?
Harry Potter 8! Holy crap!
Where did you get that?
My Dad has connections. Will you come?
I wanted to, very badly. It was kind of amazing to be around Matt. I mean, I don’t think I had a sense he didn’t rattle. And I’d been looking forward to that movie for months. But I had no interest in another evening of dark weirdness.
If I come, will you tell me why you don’t like to talk about your size?
With all due respect, that’s very personal and I hardly know you.
That’s how we get to know each other, I replied, by sharing personal stuff.
I waited over a minute for a reply.
Maybe, he said. We’ll see.
I figured that was the best I was going to do and I accepted.
As I climbed into the limo and sank into the plush leather seats, I realized that I could get used to this, very easily.
When I arrived Randall showed me right to the theater. When he opened the large double doors Matt was watching something on the big screen. I only caught a flash of it because he switched it off as soon as we came in. I guessed it was the news because it was at night; there was a lot of shaky camera work, police lights, and people running around screaming.
He stood up, rising to his full, impossible height. I almost laughed. He was wearing a camp shirt and loose fitting kakis. It was such a contrast from the form fitting clothes I’d seen him in so far, I could only assume he was trying to deemphasize his titanic build—like that could ever work. That camp shirt hung over his monumental pecs like a tent. I was pretty sure there’d be enough space for me under there. If anything the shirt made him seem even larger. And those enormous, impossibly thick, corded forearms were still completely exposed. Alone, they were enough to spoil any attempt at modesty.
“I’m glad you came,” he said
I guess I was still feeling a little of the burn from last night, because my answer was, “Really? Why?”
He took a minute before he answered, but then he said, “Because watching this alone would suck.”
Then one thought-pebble rolled into another thought-pebble and pretty soon I was having a brain avalanche.
He was lonely.
Now that I thought about it, on both occasions I’d been to this house I hadn’t seen a single other person except for Randall. Not that there couldn’t be other people. The place was so big, an army could be living there and I might never see them. But the house did have a quiet, empty feel to it.
And if he didn’t go to school, he might never see any other people at all. But he had to have friends. Everyone had friends. Sometimes they were awesome and sometimes they were lame, but everybody had them. Where were his?
“So which is your favorite Harry Potter movie,” he asked me.
“It’s hard to choose,” I said. “one through four were pretty good, but they pretty much went down hill from there.”
I was about to elaborate when my stomach interrupted us by letting out a growl.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m being rude again. Are you hungry?”
Well, now that he mentioned it, I was.
“What would you like,” he asked.
“Whatever you’re having,” I said.
Then he laughed. I hadn’t seen him laugh before. It was kind of nice. “I’ve already eaten,” he said. “But you can have anything you want.”
“Just whatever’s in the fridge,” I shrugged.
He laughed again. “How about seafood? Do you like seafood?”
“Sure, seafood’s great.”
Then he hit a button on the wall and a moment later the door opened and Randall came in.
“Randall, some Lobster bisque and poached salmon with asparagus for my guest, please.” Randall just nodded and left without a word.
“Oh no,” I said, “don’t go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble,” he smiled.
I couldn’t see how poached salmon and lobster bisque could possibly add up to no trouble, but I decided not to protest any further. It might come across as rude.
“I think my favorite Potter was Goblet of Fire,” he continued, and we spent the next half hour amiably discussing the pros and cons of all the Harry Potter movies.
When my dinner arrived it was amazing. Another butler-dude came in with a little table and put it by my chair. Then he draped it with a cloth, left and came back with a place setting. A minute later Randall showed up with the food. I felt like a king. And I don’t think I’d ever had a better meal.
“You should try some of this,” I said through a full mouth. “It’s incredible.”
He smiled. “That’s ok,” he said. “I already ate.”
“What did you have?” I asked.
“A cow,” he said.
I almost choked on my salmon.
Then he broke up laughing. “I’m kidding,” he said. “…mostly.”
Well, at least he had a sense of humor. That was nice to see. And that had to be the first time he referenced his size – even if indirectly. That had to be progress.
After I finished eating, we watched the movie. It was actually pretty good. Well, at least it was better then the last few.
When it was over, Matt walked me out to the limo. We were still deep in conversation about the movie. We both thought some of the character deaths were gratuitous. We must have stood out by the limo for about 20 minutes just talking about it, before I opened the door and got in.
“You know,” I said, “this is the sweetest ride I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah,” he said. “This used to be my car. I loved it, too.”
“Used to be?” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“Yeah,” he said, looking wistful. “I don’t really use it anymore.”
Of course, he didn’t. It was way too small for him. Here was another thing he’d lost because of his growth. I decided it was my opportunity to broach the subject.
“Are you going to tell my why you don’t like to talk about your size?”
Suddenly he got very serious and for a moment I thought he was just going to walk away. But then he leaned over, way, way over. In fact he got about three inches from my face. And when someone that huge gets three inches from your face you develop a new understanding of why moons orbit planets.
He looked me in the eye and when he spoke I could feel his warm breath of his whisper splashing on my cheek.
“Because I’m a monster,” he said.
Then, before I could react, he straightened up, closed the car door between us and signaled the driver to pull away.
As the car rolled down the drive, I watched him standing there, like a small building, his camp shirt fluttering like an awning in the breeze. And despite his humongous size and the raw physical power those colossal muscles must command, I couldn’t think of anyone who was less like a monster than Matt. I lost sight of him as we pulled out onto the street, but the image of him standing there watching us drive away, was emblazoned in my mind for a long time after.
When I got home I hopped right on the internet. I decided it was high time I found out more about these titans. I was actually amazed about how much information there was. I’d never really thought much about them before, maybe because there were so few of them in the United States. But in Europe they were huge… pun intended. There were fan clubs, reality shows, and even a watch dog organization which was pretty much a bunch of cranks convinced the titans wanted to take over the world. I saw no sign of that. It looked like they were all too busy having fun.
And boy did it look like they knew how to have fun. Besides the demolition derby Scott had been talking about, they had their own soccer teams, wrestling teams, strength competitions, the works!
There were even some women who had been through the process. The only problem was, as they grew huge and massive, their voices dropped, they developed facial hair and their breasts were swallowed up by massive pecs. In short they became practically indistinguishable from the male titans. You’d actually have to pull down their undies to tell—not that I’d recommend anyone try…
And then I found what I was looking for. Some of the titans didn’t take well to the change. They developed a condition termed as “Titan’s Remorse.” They actually felt disconnected from the rest of the world, like they didn’t belong anymore, like they weren’t human. They longed to go back, but there wasn’t anyway back. These titans developed low self esteem and eventually came to hate themselves. They led reclusive lives and avoided friends, family and the general public.
Now who did that sound like?
There were some psychiatrists treating the condition, but currently it was mostly treated with antidepressants.
So there was my answer.
I logged on to Facebook. I was in luck; Matt was logged on, too.
You’re not a monster, I typed.
That’s very kind of you to say, but what makes you so sure?
Because I like you and I wouldn’t like a monster.
But then a voice in the back of my head piped up and said, “You liked Jack.” But I blocked it out because this was completely different. Matt was nothing like Jack.
With all due respect, you don’t really know me at all.
I know about Titan’s Remorse.
There was a pause before he wrote, Someone’s been googling.
I just want you to know that if you want to talk, I’m there for you.
Thank you, but I don’t have Titan’s Remorse.
Then why do you think you’re a monster? I typed.
I had to wait a long time for a reply.
You really shouldn’t ask me that.
Too late. I already did.
You’re not going to let this go, are you?
Nope.
Then I guess I’d better explain it to you.
I’m listening.
Not over IM. I’ll send the car for you tomorrow. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
So it was another 45 minute ride in the lap of luxury. I confess to whiling away some of the time on the PS3. After all, it’s not like I had one at home.
This time Randall escorted me to what I can only assume was the ballroom. It was a huge wide open space that just looked like it was made for dancing. And for an instant I thought Matt was standing in the center of it. But it wasn’t him. It was a statue of him. He’d been depicted naked except for a small pair of tight shorts. And what a statue it was. Every aspect of every titanic muscle on him was carved in amazing detail. I could see every striation on those massive pecs, the amazing separation between each of those boulder abs, the startling width of those bulging shoulders and every hill and valley across that massive back. And I could not get over the size of those arms. Each one looked like it had as much muscle as an entire pro wrestler. His legs were immense pillars of muscle, and those shorts did very little to mask a startling package. The whole thing was overwhelming and I felt myself getting hard at the sight of it.
After a minute or two of circling and staring at it, the door opened and the real thing came in. Matt walked up to the statue. He wasn’t dressed for modesty today. Once again he was wearing a form fitting tee and a tight pair of pants. It was pretty clear the statue was no exaggeration.
“What do you think?” he asked. The question was the same one he’d asked me about his setup only this time he was talking about his body… or at least a statue of his body.
“It’s amazing,” I said. “Who did it?”
“The company,” he laughed. “Its computer generated based on a digital model. I know it looks like bronze but it’s actually a resin colored to look that way. Their computer modeled it based on my genetic information and their projection of what the titanification process would do to me. They sent it as part of their final sales pitch. In short, it’s their estimate.”
“You mean this was done before…?
“Before I underwent the process, yes. I wanted you to see it so you might better understand how I felt when I first saw it.”
“Overwhelmed,” I said.
“More than that,” he said. “I was mesmerized. I was in love with it. I spent hours in here just staring at it, imagining what it was going to feel like to be that big. I couldn’t wait. And at night in bed, I fell asleep thinking about… well, this.” He brought his arms to his side and flexed those insanely massive biceps of his. They bulged up to enormous proportions, all cut up with peeks the size of grapefruits. And suddenly I felt a little light headed.
“What were you like before?” I asked.
“Come with me,” he said.
He led me into a much smaller room. It was actually quite cozy looking with a fireplace and a more conventionally sized flat screen. I did notice, however, that the door to this room was also smaller – more ordinary sized – and he had to duck and squeeze to get through it.
He pointed to the fireplace. On the mantel was a photo of a small, sad-looking kid in a school uniform, the kind they wear at expensive private schools. It was a burgundy blazer, a white shirt with a striped tie and a grey pair of pants. I recognized the face at once, but the rest of him… Holy crap, he was just skin and bones, and so very short. His jacket was narrowly cut but it still hung loose on his gaunt frame like an old blanket. And his shirt was baggy and wrinkled, almost as if there wasn’t anything beneath it to give it shape. It looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over and half way across the lawn.
“We are not large in my family and I was even smaller than most,” he said, “I used to get bullied a lot in school, everyday and twice on Thursdays. The school just turned a blind eye because every kid there was from “a good family,” and no one wanted to risk unemployment by pissing one of them off.
“My life was pretty much a living hell. There was no way out for me. I was being mercilessly beaten day after day after day and no one would do anything about it. So, when my 16th birthday was approaching and my dad told me he was getting me a Maserati. I told him I wanted this instead.” He gestured toward his massive body. “Titanification.
“At first he wouldn’t hear of it. “I know you’re having a tough time in school right now, Matt,” he’d say, “but it’s only for another couple of years; and then you’ll be out. Titanification is forever. You’d be a freak for the rest of your life.” I don’t think he knew how excited that thought made me. So, I kept at him, every time I saw him, showing him my bruises, cuts and scars, wore him down until finally he gave in. I wanted to do it right away but the earliest I could have it done was my 16th birthday so we scheduled it for then. I counted the days, literally crossing them off on my calendar. I couldn’t wait to go to Switzerland. ”
“Did it hurt?” I asked, “the process?”
“No,” he said. “Actually it felt good, really, really good. I’m not sure if it was the process or the drugs they gave me, but I pretty much loved it. And when I came back from the first treatment, I thought my problems were over.”
“Were you bigger?”
“Not immediately,” he said, “but it happened fast, really, really fast. I don’t know; maybe if it had happened slower…” Then he laughed. “Funny, at the time I didn’t think it was happening fast enough.”
“How fast was it?” I asked.
“Here,” he said, “Check this out.” He picked up a TV remote and started fiddling with it with his massive fingers. But after a moment he gave up and handed it to me.
“Here you better do it,” he said. “I have trouble hitting just one button.”
“What do you want me to do with it?”
It was some kind of DV system. He told me what to punch into the remote, and in a few seconds we were looking at a home video. I had to look twice. Holy crap! It was him, it was the kid in the photograph, but damn, he was bigger, much bigger. He was taller, and about 4 times as thick, thick with muscle. It seemed to have exploded out all over him, his shoulders, his chest, and his arms. He was practically bursting out of his school uniform.
And there was another huge difference. The kid in the photo had looked sad, even morose. But this Matt was all grins, strutting up and down in front of the camera, doing a kind of mock fashion show, showing us every angle of his school uniform, now pulled tight in some places, bunched up in others, and on the whole, distorted from the inside by big, bulky muscles it was never meant to contain.
His wide back and broad, rolling shoulders were stretching his jacket to the tearing point. His corded neck was so thick, he had to unfasten his top two shit buttons just to make it fit it in the collar. His tie was undone and hung loose around his neck, dangling off the burgeoning chest that was bullying his shirt front. Buttons straining, his shirt had bee pulled almost open by his substantial pectoral mounds which now thrust out several inches beyond his jacket lapels, shoving them to the side. His sleeves were being stretched to their limit by a pair of sizable upper arms which were just begging to be released from their undersized prisons.
Every once in awhile he would stop and do a side flex of his bicep. It would swell up big as a baseball pulling that sleeve so tight you’d swear it was going to rip wide open. You would hear threads pop and then he would chuckle before starting is strut once again.
Once he stopped and showcased his leg, flexing his thighs for the camera. Powerful looking quads could be seen bulging up beneath his feeble looking trousers, stretching them to the tearing point too.
“I shot this about a week after the first treatment,” Matt said from beside me.
“A week?” I gasped, shocked at the dramatic change in him.
The Matt on the video turned to the camera, and started growling and pulling most muscular poses. He was trying to look fierce but he was grinning so hard he wasn’t pulling it off. Then he reached round with one hand and tried to pull off his jacket. I could tell he was trying to do it with one smooth move, but his large muscles were wedged so tightly into it that it turned into a bit of a struggle to remove it. But he got it off eventually and threw it to the ground. Fuck, I could see his body a lot clearer now and I got a much better idea of how much bigger he was. His biceps were definitely baseball sized and his chest was a couple of softballs. He started pulling most muscular poses again. I could tell he was trying to pop his straining top shirt buttons and on the 2nd try he did it.
“Yeah!” he cried. He grabbed his shirt front and yanked it open the rest of the way, scattering buttons and fully revealing those big striated pecs and his raging six pack. Then he flexed his abs while he gyrated his waste around.
“Here comes the titan! Here comes the titan!” he started chanting. And then piece by piece he ripped off the rest of his shirt.
“Here comes the titan!” Riiip! Off came the sleeve revealing his large segmented shoulder and his tore up bulging bicep. “Here comes the titan!” And then he tore his shirt away at the neck revealing his intercostals and his burgeoning lats. “Here comes the titan!” Then he pulled off the rest of his shirt revealing the remainder of his muscular torso. “It’s titan time!” And he started posing. It was awkward and clumsy but damn, those washboard abs, those bulging bis, those jutting pecs, that boy was buff and shredded all over. And he never lost that grin, not for a second. After about a minute of posing he waved at the camera, reached over and shut it off.
Man, his little display had my blood rushing to all kinds of inconvenient places. What if Matt should see? This was difficult enough for him without throwing that into the mix.
“Yeah, I was king of the world back then,” said Matt, towering beside me. “I feel kind of stupid looking at it now.”
“So you were acting a little goofy. Everyone does that once in a while.”
“Yeah, but it didn’t stay like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“As I got bigger, things got darker, a lot darker. I’m warning you,” he said, “stop now. Don’t ask anymore questions. Walk away from this. We’ll go to the theater. I’ll put on Lord of the Rings or something. And later we can eat. We never have to talk about this again.” He was almost pleading with me.
But I couldn’t stop now. I’d gone too far, seen too much, and now…
I had to know the rest.