No More Mr. Nice Guy
by Londonboy
The mere fact that Brett McClintock left another file on my already heavily work-covered desk was what finally put me over the edge. It barely mattered that he was also expecting me to do his work and even come in over the weekend to get it done. The big brute hadn’t even had enough backbone to ask me to do his job in person, he had obviously scouted out when I left for my afternoon break and dropped it on my desk. He then promptly exited for a weekend trip to Vegas with a bunch of his friends from the office – the group of guys that still clung to their jock glory days from high school. Brett felt like he could still make a smaller guy like me do his work, just because he thought I feared him, which was probably slightly true. I flipped through the file and realized the jerk had done nothing with the case. To accomplish the task I was going to have to give at least eighteen hours of work and that thought pissed me off enough to become determined to make some changes. My boss dropped by around a little before five and thanked me for volunteering to help McClintock with the important job he had been assigned. He said he thought it was “big” of me. I smiled sheepishly and said I was happy to do it. Even my kind boss fell into the trap of favoring Brett just because he was a large handsome guy. I knew my skills were appreciated, but I wasn’t part of the company’s inner circle – even though I had been promoted to a vice president position, just like Brett.
I grabbed the file and left for home. The afternoon got worse from that moment on – the subway was late and that caused it to be overly crowded, the Chinese restaurant got my take-out order all wrong even though I had ordered the same thing twice a week for five years, and my mother left a message reminding me she wasn’t getting any younger so I had better hurry up and find a man to marry. She had become a poster mom for PFLAG as soon as I had come out to her and now anxiously waited for me to be in a relationship. To add salt to the wounds created earlier in the day she ended the message by saying I might want to add some meat to my bones, since it might help me catch a man. This was just what I needed to cap off a horrible Friday afternoon.
Now I was staring at the unopened UPS box that sat on my kitchen counter. I was eating the tofu dish that I had received by mistake and trying hard to imagine it was the aromatic shrimp I had really ordered. I had also forgotten to buy wine, so I had only enough for one glass, which was definitely too little to help me forget the terrible day that was ending. I was debating what to do and in typical fashion for me, my inertia was the answer to everything. I finally pushed the food away, picked up the package, and ripped open the brown paper around it. The carton inside had no markings; it was just a plain white box. I lifted the lid and peered in. There was mostly dark gray foam padding, but there, in the center, was a small bottle. It was the size of an alcohol container you’d get from the mini bar at a cheap hotel. I lifted the brown glass bottle from the foam. Just like on the box, there were no markings anywhere. I stared at the liquid inside and then placed the thing on the table. I crossed my arms at the edge of the surface and rested my chin on my hands, simply looking at the glass container like it might be a cure for cancer or something.
My friend Sven had sent me the bottle. He was living in Amsterdam and we had been emailing back and forth for about two months now. He knew about all of my troubles at work and had sent me the package – telling me it was the answer to all of my problems. He had said nothing more. He told me to make sure I drank only half of the full amount and that I should do it over the weekend, when I had more time to experience its full effect. I was intrigued and confused. Why wouldn’t my friend tell me anything more about the stuff? He had been praising the results of this liquid for weeks now and insisted I should try it. I figured it was some kind of hallucinatory drug that was going to give me the best ride of my life, hence the reason I needed the full weekend. I kept thinking about the work I needed to do, but that only made me angrier and more determined to ‘escape’ for a few days. I did not want to let my boss down, but I also did not want to do Brett’s work. I started to return the bottle to the cushioned box, knowing that I was always going to do the responsible thing. It’s just the kind of guy I was, even though I didn’t want to be that man. But as my fingers wrapped around the cylinder of glass a deeper desire took over. I reached out with my other hand, undid the top, and quickly downed half of the bottle.
Immediately, my throat and mouth were overcome with a burning sensation. It was like I was drinking some amped-up Jaggermeister or something worse, like turpentine. I instantly felt like I was going to vomit, but the feeling quickly faded. It seemed like my taste buds had all been erased with one swallow. My mouth was numb, like I had just come from the dentist and he had given me numerous shots of novocaine. I began to worry that I would never regain feeling in that part of my body again. A sharp pain then began in the pit of my stomach and started shooting through the rest of my body a few seconds later. What started as a little uneasiness quickly became more like a panic that I was dying. When I looked down, however, the feeling of discomfort began to disappear and I let myself fall into the drug induced visions that were now taking over. I suddenly felt very buzzed as I watched my chest begin to balloon up toward my chin and out, in a way that made it impossible for me to see my feet. I quickly pulled off all my clothes and stood there looking down at my changing naked body. This had been exactly what I hoped the secret liquid from Sven would do – help me escape from reality for the night, and maybe the entire weekend. I hoped the “high” from the drug would last a long time.
I brought my arms up in front of me and saw that they were expanding just like my chest. I watched, enthralled that it felt so real, as my forearms widened and my biceps popped out thick and bulging. I decided this trip would be enhanced even more if I watched it in a mirror. I moved from the table, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Walking, or any movement for that matter, felt like I was underwater – slow and met with a little resistance. When I looked into the mirror I was instantly pleased by my hallucinatory transformation. My face had gotten a heck-of-a-lot more masculine, cut at the chin and with chiseled cheeks. I then gasped at what looked like skin-covered padded shoulders, but that was nothing compared to what my chest looked like. It was as if I had started benching three times my weight when I was ten years old and had never stopped. I didn’t know what was in the drug, but it had to be even better than acid to make me appear this good. I leaned out and glanced down, noticing that my stomach had turned into something more beautiful than a washboard or a six-pack. It basically looked inhuman, but was as muscled as the rest of me. My newly thickened and elongated cock was bouncing up and down with excitement, forcing me to move my gaze. The thing looked like it belonged to some huge heavyweight bodybuilder – all hard and covered in veins. The huge quads that framed my dick were like icing on the cake. I tensed my lower body and loved how the drug could connect what I dreamed of with what I told my muscles to do. It was so unreal.
That’s when I decided to take the body in the mirror and the drug on a test run. I squeezed my pectoral muscles together and the big slabs of chest meat bunched up together, causing the hard nipples to bounce up farther in the air. By this point I was so turned on by my vision that I could feel my body starting to leak pre-cum. I so owed Sven for this great trip, which had already helped me to forget my horrible day. I brought my arm up and flexed it like I was doing some kind of professional posing routine. I would have normally laughed at the tiny peak my arm would make, but today – thanks to the help of good drugs – all I saw was a massive bulging mound of meat rising from my thick, bent arm. I reached out and grabbed my rod, amazed that the drug could actually make the hard thing feel as thick as it looked. I clamped down tight with my fingers and stroked myself slowly and forcefully. My dickhead immediately flared out like a small umbrella being opened and the slit at the top widened like it was gasping for air.
The sensations that shot through my dream-expanded body were unbelievable. Everything in my drug haze seemed so real. I was so overcome with pleasure that I had to reach down and grab the counter around the sink to steady myself. The second downward fist-pump on my cock made a wave of joy rush over me that was even more powerful than the first. I squeezed the counter harder and a chunk of concrete and tile broke off in my hand. The thrill of this little part of my time in la-la land was so incredible. I watched with total glee as my fingers destroyed the clump in my hand like it was a potato chip easily being crushed. I loved the little anthill of dust I created on the bathroom floor. This dreamed-up display of strength was enough to put my rock-hard cock over the edge. The force of my initial ejaculation sent my body flying backward into the bathroom wall. I loved how it seemed like my new big frame had easily busted the drywall and tile, leaving a big indention. My spunk spewed forth like some kind of fire hose had been turned on and splattered against the mirror with a loud smacking sound. The convulsions of my tight stomach were so intense that I slammed my free hand into the wall a few times and I loved how the drug made it feel like I was easily creating a hole with just my closed fist. My cock continued to spray for what seemed like a few minutes, causing my cum to cover the mirror, the counter, the floor, and to thickly drizzle down my tensed muscle-legs. I was finally allowed to breathe again – after the intense workout from my orgasm – and I stumbled into my bedroom, spent and ready for sleep. When I dropped onto my bed the box springs seemed to cry out in protest louder than ever before. I thought that was a nice touch caused by the drug and that was the last memory I had before I quickly fell asleep.
END