The Evolution of Corbin Brantley (mf musc)

It all started with a glass of milk.

Corbin Brantley always had a glass of milk at dinner. It had been the custom for as long as he could remember, as far back as when he'd been a toddler perched in his high chair rejecting pieces of pear.

He'd grown a bit since the high chair, and the table had fewer occupants now. His two older sisters had left home for college and jobs, and he was now the lone child remaining in their parents' house. He'd leaned out in the past year, something his mother commented on mercilessly. "Oh, look at how grown up you're starting to look!" she'd coo in that loving tone that mothers use.

The thing was, Corbin didn't feel grown up, nor did he see a grown-up when he looked in the mirror. He still had braces...that was a big part of it, among other things. His face had gotten longer and skinnier, as was the case with most teenage boys, but the features didn't look quite "settled" yet – his teeth looked a little too big for his mouth, his nose was puffy, his eyes projected slightly. But puberty wasn't done with him yet, as his parents often reminded him: "Your father didn't stop growing until he was 22!"

Corbin apparently had inherited that height gene. At 5'8", he wasn't short, but he definitely wasn't tall either. His bones preferred to stretch at a steady pace instead of in one big spurt; he'd been adding two inches a year like clockwork.

So, as a teenage boy wanting to grow, Corbin had been drinking his milk.

He had a habit of placing the glass near the edge of the table and eating across the plate like it was an assembly line. A bite of steak on the left, a bite of baked potato in the middle, set the fork down on the edge of the plate, and then take a swig of milk on the right. It was an odd habit that he had just picked up somewhere, and it drove his mother crazy. "You're going to knock that glass off!" she would warn, as the glass wobbled precariously on the edge of the table.

On this night, Mrs. Brantley was already standing up and loading the dishwasher. Jim Brantley, her husband and Corbin's father, was still at the table, chowing down on another baked potato, not that he needed one. And Corbin was wiping his mouth with his napkin, because pieces of food always got stuck in his damn braces.

Then, it finally happened. Corbin's glass of milk tipped over. Everyone heard the first clink as it fell onto its side on the table, pouring its contents out before it rolled off the edge and smashed into pieces next to Corbin's chair. The glass shards were doused by a waterfall of milk that continued to run off the edge of the table in seemingly unending supply.

As both his parents made their reactionary noises – his mom a chirped "oh no!" and his dad just a grunt as he scooted his chair back – Corbin yelped "dammit!" and jumped to his feet to get paper towels.

"Don't curse!"

"I'm sorry," he grumbled, tearing off pieces of Bounty.

"I'll get the broom," Jim Brantley said, easing onto his feet.

"I warned you about the glass on the edge," Liz Brantley said with her perfected I-told-you-so tone.

"I know, I know," Corbin snipped, marching back to the scene of the crime and picking up the biggest pieces of glass with his bare fingers.

"Careful!" his mom said. "Just mop up the milk and let your father sweep up the glass."

"I can do it, I'm not a baby."

"Don't get smart."

"I'm sorry, I didn't even touch it! I wasn't even reaching for the glass. It just fell over on its own."

Mom raised an eyebrow. "Corbin, we should be past the lying phase."

"I'm not lying! Seriously, Dad probably saw it, it just fell…" Corbin looked down at the mess and trailed off when he realized he couldn't see it.

His chest was in the way.

"Wha-what, wait, wh-wh…" Corbin put his hands up on his chest. "I have boobs!"

"Don't say that word!" His mom made a face. "Urgh, I raised you better than that. What are you going on about?"

"I-I-I-I-" Corbin pulled on the hem of his t-shirt to pull the shirt tight over his chest. He could see two large round shapes standing out. "What is…how did-"

"The ol' Brantley chest strikes again, huh buddy?" his dad said, returning with a broom and dustpan in his hand. While he'd been gone, he'd taken the opportunity to enhance his chest somehow. It looked hilariously oversized, as big as a couple of cinderblocks.

Corbin looked at his dad and rolled his eyes. "Dad, this is serious! You're making fun of me!"

"I'm not making fun of you!"

"You put a pillow down your shirt!" Corbin poked his finger into his Dad's chest, expecting to feel the softness of a couple of the couch's throw pillow. Instead, it was like poking a concrete wall.

"No I didn't. What's wrong with you?"

Corbin was staring at the cheap, thin fabric of his father's plaid Oxford shirt. One button was threatening to pop off over his dad's brawny, broad chest muscles. A little bit of hair curled out through the opening, and the underside of his chest was outlined perfectly by his shirt. "How did you…" Corbin looked down at his own chest, then at his father's. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Jim was getting visibly annoyed. "Stop trying to get out of cleaning up your mess," he said, pointedly handing the dustpan and broom to his son.

Corbin bent over and started sweeping up the milky shards, never taking his eyes off his dad. Jim Brantley looked bizarre. He had the chubby silhouette of a dad from a sitcom, with a big belly, sloped shoulders and a double chin. And then this weirdly big strong chest standing out from all the flab. Corbin kept blinking, expecting it to go away.


He couldn't sleep.

Corbin always slept on his stomach, but now it felt like he was draped over the curb outside his house. His chest was propping him up too high. He could barely get his head to reach the pillow.

He rolled over onto his back, but couldn't take his eyes off the two hills standing into his line of vision. He kept rubbing his hands over them, taking in their shape like he was reading Braille. It was fascinating, the way the muscle crested up from the collarbone, then ended in a sheer dropoff above his ribs. The muscles had these weird creases running up from the valley in between the two…what were these things called? They weren't manboobs.

Corbin opened up his laptop and Googled "male chest muscles."

"Pectoralis major muscle," he read aloud. "At least they're not tits." He looked down at the two squares and sighed. "They kinda look like tits though."

Corbin rolled out of bed and reached for the light switch before stopping himself – the light would attract Mom and Dad's unwanted attention. He upped the brightness on his laptop to give the room some more light, and pulled on one of his t-shirts to see how it looked. It was tight over the chest, that was for sure. He could see the fabric wrinkling up under his armpits because it was too strained over his pectoralis major muscles. But he could at least get the shirt on, and all his shirts were smalls – Dad, on the other hand, had been nearly popping the buttons off his shirt down in the kitchen, and he wore XLs.

Corbin got close to his mirror and turned to his side to inspect further. Well, his chest definitely stuck out like a shelf. There was no missing it. But it didn't sag like boobs did, so that was good. In fact, it… oh.

"Really?" he said, casting a glance downward to his increasingly insistent boner. "Now?"

With a dutiful sigh, Corbin peeled his shirt back off and hopped into bed to take care of business. His hand idly wandered up to his pec as he beat off, and was contentedly stroking a larger nipple as he finally fell asleep.


"Corb! C'mon! Third warning! I'm leavin' the door open!"

Corbin heard his dad's voice from the doorway to his bedroom. "Mguh?"

"It's Tuesday, last I checked that's a school day – up and at 'em!" Jim said, smacking his hand against the wall as he walked away.

Corbin lay in bed for a moment, hearing the sounds of morning surrounding him. Chirping birds; his Mom's talk show from the kitchen TV; AM morning radio coming out of his parents' bedroom. His teenage need for privacy finally overruled his desire to stay in bed, and he stood up to close the door to his bedroom. The walking jarred him to consciousness, and he looked down at his prominent chest. This was the first time he realized that these chest muscles weren't going away, and that he was going to have to go to school with them.

"Fuck, they look like boobs," he whispered as he looked at them in the morning sunlight. With narrow shoulders and pipe-like arms, his skinny body looked bizarre having two healthy pectorals stuck to it. He grabbed one of his favorite t-shirts, just a simple navy blue with a soccer ball on the front of it, and pulled it on.

Then he heard the rip.

"Fuck!" He looked down and saw his chest peeking through the tear down the center of the shirt. The collar had pulled over his head but the top of his chest had stretched it too tight, and it had ripped out at the seams. "This was the shirt I put on last night…" Corbin cupped his hands under the muscles. "They're getting bigger. Fuck, they're getting bigger!" He turned to the hallway and bellowed, "Daaaaaaad!"

"What?" His father's voice yelled out from their bedroom.

"Can I borrow a t-shirt?"

"You serious?"

"Yeah, I…none of mine fit." Corbin hadn't tried the rest. He was too scared of ripping them.

Jim walked down the hall, wearing jeans and an undershirt. The tank top was stretched tight over his chest, and the scoop dipped below the base of his broad, hairy pecs. Corbin stared intently at the way the muscles rippled as his dad walked. "Most of mine have the business logo on 'em, but I have this plain black one – what are you starin' at?"

"Nothing, nothing, thanks," Corbin said, grabbing the t-shirt out of his dad's hands. "Does anything about me look different to you?"

Their eyes locked, and Corbin's widened. Something about his dad looked different, but he couldn't quite place it. Jim, meanwhile, was just inspecting his son's face. "That zit on your chin cleared up."

"It did?" Corbin touched his chin. "Oh cool!"

"Well, it may come back now that you're rubbin' your greasy fingers all over it," Jim laughed.

Something about his dad laughing made Corbin realize what looked different. "You have hair!"


"Your hair's back!"

"Back? What do you-"

Corbin reached up and tugged at the front of his dad's hair. It was brown and wavy, and it was thick. Impressively thick, actually.

"Ow!" Jim pulled away. "What the hell is wrong with you lately? Get ready for school, you slept in and I don't want you late." He took two steps down the hall before calling back, "And stop pulling on people's hair!"

Corbin's heart was racing. His dad was bald. His dad had always been bald since Corbin had been alive. The hair had been thinning when his oldest sister was born, then when the second girl came, it all fell out, which had become something of a family joke.

Corbin inched out into the hallway and looked at the pictures hanging on the wall. Hanging outside of his bedroom was a family picture – they'd actually had it taken for the church directory, when Corbin was in second grade. The clothes were out of style now, and the hair was too. Corbin recalled that the camera's flash had reflected off his dad's bald head. But now, his dad sported the same head of thick brown waves in the picture, in a slightly different style from what he had now. "This is so weird," Corbin muttered as he slinked back into his room. "This is so weird, this is so weird."

He couldn't explain it. If his sisters had been living at home, he would've thought that maybe – possibly – they were playing some weird, stupid prank on their baby brother. But neither of them had been in town for months, and his parents were too boring to do something this random on their own. Something was going on, and Corbin needed to figure it out.

But he also needed to go to school. Couldn't rock the boat too much, with his dad already thinking his behavior was weird. Corbin put on his father's black t-shirt. It was baggy, but it still didn't hide his larger chest, so Corbin zipped up a hoodie over it too. The sweatshirt fell open a little in the front, successfully hiding the muscles that Corbin was so weirded out by.

Once he saw how late the time was, he was out the door like a shot. By the time he'd parked his old gray Chevy in the senior parking lot, he had two minutes to get inside. He was sprinting into first period just as the buzzer rang.


The first big revelation of the day was that everyone already knew about his chest. Corbin's buddy Richie was the first to make a comment. "Why're you covering up the funbags today?"

"The what?"

"The funbags. Y'know, your…" And Richie raised his chest high up, like a gorilla.

Corbin crossed his arms and pulled his hoodie in closer. "Don't call them that. They're not boobs. They're pectoralis-"

"Pecs, yeah, I know. I don't know why you're so weird about 'em."

"'cause they look like boobs!"

"No they don't. Everyone would make fun of you if you had man-titties. They're just pecs, man. I'm kinda jealous."

"No you're not." Corbin looked around and unzipped his hoodie. Even with the black t-shirt, the outline of the pecs was visible, and Corbin's nipples poked hard against the fabric. "Do they look bigger to you?"

"Now you're making 'em sound like boobs."

"Shut up!"

Corbin was mesmerized by his chest all day. He would go to the bathroom during passing period and tug down on his t-shirt's neck to look at the square ridges of muscle making a T-shape against his collarbone. How did they get there? What did he do? Did he want them to go away? Whatever the answers were, he hadn't the time to find them during passing.

He was sitting in math when an office aide came into the room and gave his teacher a pass. "Corbin?" The teacher read off the pass. "Your dad's here."

"My dad?" Corbin immediately grew nervous that something was wrong. His dad had never randomly come to his school before. There had to be a good reason he was being pulled out of class.

Or not.

"You just want to take me to the gym?" Corbin asked incredulously as his father peeled out of the parking lot. "I thought Mom was dead or something!"

"Why not have a little gym time with your old man? We've never worked out together." Jim did a small curl of his arm, but there was no muscle to flex. His flab just jiggled.

"I don't have gym clothes, Dad," Corbin said pointedly.

"I brought you some."

"Can't I just go back to school?"

"No, we're going to work out. Your chest isn't proportionate."

"Neither is yours!"

"I kinda like it that way," Jim smirked, copping a feel of his own pec. "Here we are. Grab your bag out of the trunk."

Corbin sat still for a moment as his dad turned off the car. He stared straight ahead through the windshield. His voice was monotone. "Dad, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your hair, our chests, you taking me out of school, you talking to me at all, it's all…it's all really weird. I don't get what's going on."

"I don't get what there is not to get. You seem really hung up on my hair."

"Cause it grew back! Unless it's a really good wig."

"I'd think you'd be happy that your pop has a full head of hair, considering that bodes well for your future."

"Mrs. Scheib said the baldness gene comes from our mom's dad."

"That's an old wives tale. Your teacher is still saying that? Oy. Let's go, c'mon, I'm on my lunch hour. I think we should hit arms today, what do you think?"

Corbin dragged his gym bag behind and mumbled an agreement. He watched his dad's walk: upright, tall, alert. He listened to the swish, swish of Jim's workout pants. He heard his dad's confident voice announce to the desk girl, "This is my son Corbin. He's going to work out with me today." None of it seemed familiar.

Jim was wearing a tank top underneath his jacket. He looked ridiculous with it riding up over his belly, and his flabby arms jiggling as he walked. The only part that looked good, of course, was his chest. Two massive square rocks pushing hard against the tank's straps. The perfect amount of chest hair really sold that part of the look.

Corbin had to wear a tank, too, which was mortifying to him. His own large chest filled the front scoop handsomely, but the rest of the tank hung loosely around his skinny teenaged frame.

Jim Brantley had been a member of this gym for years, so it wasn't strange to Corbin that they'd gotten in. What was odd was that his dad wasn't walking on the treadmill for twenty minutes and then leaving, which was his usual once-every-other-week routine. He would demonstrate the moves for Corbin and then eye his son carefully as Corbin did them. Corbin could tell that his dad was a little disappointed in him for not lifting more weight.

Jim's range of motion for a curl was limited because the weights always knocked into his chest. Corbin had a little bit of the same problem. By the time Jim was making Corbin do drop sets, the younger Brantley could barely move his arms.

"I can't-" Corbin gasped, genuinely trying to raise the 20 pound EZ bar, but failing. "I can't, I'm so tired-"

"Yes you can, come on."

"I can't." Corbin dropped the weight down to his thighs and hung his head.

"You're gonna do this, Corb, you're gonna do it for your old man. Come on, UP!" Jim barked.

Wobble, wobble. The weight cruised slowly up to Corbin's chest. "NNNRGH!"

"Another Corb! C'mon!"

"I can't!"

"One more!"

"NNNNRRRRGGHHHHAAAA-" Corbin got the weight up with a yelp and then dropped the weight to the floor.

"Good boy! GOOD boy!" Jim rubbed his son's sandy brown hair. "Good job. Looks like you enjoyed yourself."

Corbin put his hands over his boner. "DAD!"

"Don't worry about it, it's normal. Here, let's measure your arms," Jim said, producing a cloth tape measure from his pocket. "Actually, no, measure mine first."

Jim raised his arm up to Corbin's face, and Corbin went bug-eyed. His dad's arm was suddenly the biggest, hardest, thickest bicep/tricep combo he'd ever seen on a human. It looked like a bowling ball implanted under the skin. "C'mon, Corb, I can't hold this flex! Measure the peak!"

Completely flustered, Corbin fumbled with the tape before getting it around his dad's massive, rock solid arm. "Tw-twenty…twenty-one inches."

"Whooo-ee!" Jim shook out his engorged arms. The veins squirmed around his beefy forearms. "Almost cramped up." He curled his arms up to his chest and down again, enjoying the bicep plumping up and swelling with its pump. "Let's check you out, kid."

"Yeah, right, three inches I bet," Corbin snarked as he felt the tape wrap around the middle of his upper arm.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Jim scolded. "Seventeen! Seven-fuckin'-teen! That's great, Corb!"

"Seven…" Corbin looked down at his arms. They looked like slightly smaller versions of his dad's – completely spherical; the sinews stretching against paper-thin skin. Big and beautiful, and large enough to make them push away from his meaty chest. "No. No! That's not right!"

Jim misinterpreted Corbin's panic as pride. "Can't believe it, huh? That's amazing work, bud." Jim ruffled his boy's hair again. "I'm so proud of you."

Corbin was taken aback. His dad never said that to him. He knew his dad was proud of him anyway, but it didn't get verbalized. "You are?"

"Course I am! You're turning into a man right before my eyes."

As they walked back to the lockers to shower off and change, Corbin couldn't help but flex his arms for the mirrors as he walked past. He had never known men to have chests before, but he definitely knew that big biceps looked good, and he liked the way the little wing-like muscles on the underside of his arm looked like horseshoes standing out from his skin. "Dad, what are these muscles called?" Corbin pulled his arm straight up and reached behind his back, his tricep bulging.

"Triceps. Yours are lookin' good." Jim stretched his arm down and turned it to the side so that Corbin could see another perfect example of tricep development. He kept them flexed as he got to his locker and pulled off his clothes.

Corbin was standing by the sinks, holding his arms in a double bicep. "Check me out!"

"You're an arms guy, huh?" Jim smiled.

"The chest was freaking me out, but yeah, the arms…I like the arms." Corbin pulled off his tank top. Neither he nor his father commented on the odd structure of his body: narrow torso, ribcage visible through the skin, and wimpy shoulders that sloped down into awesome arms and a high, protuberant chest.

"Couple of sleeve shredders you got there," Jim said as he got into the shower. "Man, I gotta work on this damn belly," Corbin heard his dad mutter to himself.

Corbin had been waiting for his dad to get in. Once Jim's shower curtain was closed, Corbin felt fine taking off his gym shorts and letting his hard, excited cock flop between his legs. He hopped into the shower next to his dad's and beat off furiously, stifling his moans as he splattered cum all over the tiles, not knowing that his dad was doing the same thing. Neither spoke of it as they got re-dressed in their respective work and school clothes. Corbin's black t-shirt was tight now around both his chest and arms, and the big veins that crossed his biceps stood out from under his sleeves. Jim popped open his shirt cuffs and rolled them up to his elbows, exposing muscular forearms decorated with brown fuzz. His breathing was still quick from his jackoff session, and he couldn't button the second button on his white dress shirt because of his chest heaving up and down, so he left it and his collar open, and ditched his tie. As they walked out to the car, Jim put his arm around Corbin and squeezed his son's bony shoulder. Corbin just grinned.


Corbin felt like the king of the world for the rest of the school day – as long as he was behind a desk. He'd cross his arms over his chest and lean on whatever surface was in front of him, so that his biceps would flex and fight his sleeves. His dad was right, he was definitely an arms man. Corbin caught his friends staring at his – what had his dad called them? - sleeve bursters, or sleeve shredders, something like that. That was exactly what they were. They weren't gonna fit in any of his shirts at home. He would have to tear the sleeves off or buy new ones…

Shit, why did this bone him up so much? Corbin pressed his legs together as he popped yet another erection. He arched his back uncomfortably and heard his t-shirt groan audibly under the strain of his big chest.

"What's happening to me," he doodled on his notebook as he listened to his teacher drone on. "What's wrong with my body? What's wrong with my parents?" He made a bulleted list of things that didn't make sense, and didn't pay the actual lesson any mind. He ended the list with a question to himself: "Do I want it to keep happening?" and underlined it as the bell rang.


Corbin stayed a little later than usual at school. Everyone seemed chattier than they normally were, and he had trouble detaching himself from conversations – were more people talking to him because he looked kind of buff, he wondered?

He finally extracted himself and wandered out to the senior parking lot, which was now only a quarter full. He walked to his usual spot in the third row and pulled out his car keys. The way the keys felt in his pocket immediately alerted Corbin of the fact that something was different. His keychain had a keyless remote attached to it. With a furrowed brow and trembling fingers, he clicked unlock and hoped a car would beep, but nothing happened.

"Dang it." Corbin squinted his eyes and pressed the remote's panic button.

Right in the spot where he'd parked Bertha, the gray Chevy that had been passed down from his mom to both of his sisters and then to him, a small red sports car went nuts.

"Holy shit…"

Corbin started getting hard again. He couldn't help it. "Is this my car?!" He ran up to it and looked in the front seat…all the things he'd left on the passenger side of Bertha had been carefully transferred to this new car. "Holy shit, holy shit!" In his excitement, he barely remembered to shut the alarm off before he slid into the driver's seat, boner raging.

Corbin almost pulled out his cell phone to text his parents but realized they wouldn't know what he was talking about. Instead, he just ran his fingers all over the steering wheel, the dashboard, the ceiling. Anything to convince himself it was real. "Okay, this is awesome. This is fucking awesome. This is my car! This is MY CAR!" He slapped the roof excitedly. "YEAH!"

He noticed Patrick standing two cars away, smirking at him. Corbin turned as red as the body of his new car. He cracked the door and stuck his head out. "Just, uh, just got a good grade on my psych paper."

"Whatever. I just see Biceps Brantley dancing in his car, so I assume you've got Bieber playing in there or somethin'."

Corbin almost came at Patrick's nickname for him. He shut the door without another word, started up the engine and headed home before he made a mess in his pretty new car.

"It's the milk, it's gotta be the milk," he said to himself, stroking his hard cock through his pant leg whenever he was at a stoplight.

Corbin didn't know if he wanted to chug the whole carton of milk when he got home, or never drink a glass again. But he at least wanted to inspect the jug. So, there was no concealing his horror when he got home to find no milk in the fridge, and the carton already taken to recycling.


"I'll go out and get some more tomorrow," his mother said as she chopped a tomato.

"No! You don't understand! I needed that milk!"

"Why?" She set her knife down and turned to Corbin.

"I…" Corbin looked down. "I dunno, I just was craving some."

"Blame your father, he used the rest on his cereal this morning."

Maybe that explains the gym, Corbin thought.

"You have a hole in your shirt," she continued.


"A hole." His mom fingered an inch-long tear over the middle of his chest. "It's hard to see because of the black, so I doubt anyone noticed."

Corbin stared down at the tiny rip. "They're getting bigger," he breathed.


He looked her in the eyes and repeated, with obvious shock: "They're getting bigger."

"What is?"

Corbin was jolted out of his post-car ecstasy. What was happening to his body seemed to be entirely positive, but the mere fact that he was physically changing was enough to scare him – not to mention that it opened him up to the possibility that, at any moment, he could change negatively. The uncertainty was the most frightening thing of all.

He didn't answer his mom's question, and instead pushed by her and went upstairs with an abrupt "I'm gonna go change." He wasn't sure if he meant change his shirt or his body. Corbin wasn't sure if he knew anything anymore, really.


If Jim Brantley noticed his son eyeballing him all the way through dinner, he didn't let on.

Corbin watched his father like a hawk, studying his mannerisms and behaviors. There were slight differences in the way Jim carried himself – his posture, the volume of his voice. And not to mention, the way his clothes fit: snugly. Lots of small improvements that wouldn't have been noticed by a casual observer, but could be easily spotted by someone who was, essentially, a piece of Jim. Like how Jim kissed his wife for a few seconds longer than he usually did when he got home, and he put both his arms around her instead of just one. Or how he took off his dress shirt as soon as he could, like he was tired of his chest being contained, and sat down to dinner in his undershirt, pecs resting lightly on the tabletop.

He was like a Frankenstein creature in Corbin's eyes. That awesome chest; those rippling, permanently flexed arms – then sloped shoulders, a saggy double chin and a big belly. Corbin made note of the milk being gone and decided that if any more changes happened, he'd have to consider other causes as being triggers. Every time he or his dad took a sip of ice water, Corbin would quickly snap to attention so that he wouldn't miss any changes. But none occurred, and soon dinner was over, and his father was asking him to clear the table.

"You okay, Corby?"

Corbin looked up from the counter where he was putting cellophane over a salad bowl. "Huh?"

"You alright?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, why?"

"You're just quiet tonight, that's all," Jim said. "You seem tense."

"I'm sore from today. And, uh, school's just busy right now."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Yes. "Not really."

"Alright," Jim said, making it clear with his tone that he wasn't buying it. "You want to work out again tomorrow?"

"It feels weird to miss school…"

"You've already got your credits to graduate. I think you can afford to miss a period here and there." Jim grinned. "I just want to squat with my boy a few more times before you move out."

"I'm not good at squatting," Corbin said. "But…I'll do it for you, I guess."

"Atta boy." Jim stood up and slung his dress shirt over his shoulder. "If you need to talk about anything, I'll be in the den, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks."


Corbin Brantley couldn't believe he was having sex with Maggie Ramirez.

What was more amazing was how good he was at it, and how into him she was. She kept telling him how hot he was, how amazing his muscles were, and how big his dick was. It got him so horny. It didn't hurt that she was the hottest girl in school, a fantasy mix of a Latina bombshell and cornfed All-American prom queen thanks to her mixed parentage. Every guy in school wanted her, and Corbin had gotten her. And she was loving it.

It didn't seem strange to Corbin at all. He was handsome and charming and had big muscles and a huge cock, and he was an awesome fuck. It was all effortless for him. And when he came, he came gallons. Except when he threw his head back triumphantly as he emptied his seed into Maggie, he hit his head on something hard. And his feet, too. Then he felt something wet and sticky all over his chest, then he heard Dad's voice-

"Oh shit!" Corbin sat bolt upright in bed, only just realizing that he'd been dreaming. He looked around wildly and saw the clock on the nightstand: 3:39 AM. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. His bedroom light was on, why was his bedroom light on? He looked at the lightswitch and saw his father's finger still resting on it. He followed the digit all the way up to Jim's concerned, tired, and slightly amused expression.

Corbin still felt something cool on him, and he looked down to see his sheets soaked with his own jizz, which made the fabric stick to his body like glue. He had kicked his comforter off. He was extra cold because of this, and also because his bare feet were hanging slightly off over the edge of his bed, uncovered. It took extra moments in Corbin's groggy mind before he began putting two and two together. He leaned back and conked his head on his headboard. "That's not right," he slurred sleepily. As an experiment, he raised his hand in front of his face. His fingers looked, to him, freakishly long. "Oh shit. Oh shit." He clamped his hands on his thighs and ran his fingers over his long, lean legs. "Oh shit, Dad!" he said, looking up at his father and noticing that Jim filled the whole doorframe.

"You just had a wet dream and you screamed so loud you woke up your mother and me."

"It's not that, it's…ugh, gross," Corbin said, realizing he was stewing in his own sperm. "But I got taller! YOU got taller!"

Jim chuckled. "I think you're still partially asleep."

"No, I'm awake now. I don't fit in my bed!" Corbin looked down at his lanky legs stretched out in front of him. "Aw, shit," Corbin gasped, suddenly short of breath. He put his hands on his head and gripped onto his hair. "I think I'm panicking! I think I-this is crazy!" Corbin's chest noticeably rose and fell as he gulped down breaths.

Jim quickly sat down next to Corbin on the bed and put a muscular arm around his son. "Alright, I am officially concerned about you. You've been acting strange all day." Jim reached for a bottle of water he saw in Corbin's backpack, and handed it to his son. "Drink this and let's talk."

Corbin drank down the contents of the bottle in one long gulp. He weighed his words carefully before he said them, not wanting to alarm his dad further, but also really wanting to figure some things out. "You know that scene in The Santa Clause where Tim Allen goes to the doctor and the doctor tells him he probably has a hormonal imbalance, to explain why he's, y'know…"

"…turning into Santa?" Jim finished the sentence. "Um…I sort of remember. That's a strange reference."

"I feel like I have a hormonal imbalance."


"It's just like, I feel like I'm being forced to keep this secret, and it's not a secret I want to keep. But if I try to tell somebody, they won't believe me. It makes me feel like I'm crazy, but I know I'm not."

"Hm. I'm not sure what you mean."

Corbin looked down at his and his father's legs stretched out over the entire bed. "Yeah. I'm not sure I know what I mean either."

"Should I be worried about you?"

"I don't think so," Corbin said, mustering a little smile. "It's not really anything bad. Just a strange feeling. Different."

"Promise me you won't do anything you'll regret."

"What, like hurt myself or something? I won't. I promise. You don't have to worry about that."

"Good." Jim rubbed his son's dirty blond hair. He pressed his nose into it and kissed the top of Corbin's head. "I can't believe you're taller than me now."

"I can't believe it either," Corbin said with a shiver. "How, um…how tall do you think I am?"

"About six-three, right?"

"Sounds about right," Corbin said, trying to make his voice easygoing.

"You sound tired as hell, Corb."

"I am." Corbin leaned his head on his dad's protruding chest and felt Jim's hand stroking his hair rhythmically. He hadn't snuggled up to his dad since he was a little kid, but it felt nice tonight, and moreover, it felt right – because they were going through something together, even if Jim wasn't aware of it. Corbin hadn't felt close to his dad in a long time, and he was enjoying building a connection. He wondered if his dad was viewing him as a man instead of a boy, because his body was beginning to look so manly. Corbin was pondering on this as he dozed off.


Corbin woke up on his own when his head lolled forward off of his dad's chest. The sudden lack of support jolted him awake, and he drearily looked over at the clock. It was a few minutes past 6 AM, well before his alarm went off. He had to pee like a racehorse, so he wriggled out from under his dad's arm, hoping to not wake him up.

He left the bathroom light off while he pissed, so that the glare of the lightbulb didn't wake him up further. But when he returned to his bedroom, the morning sunrise was peeking through his blinds, cutting ribbons of light across his bed and his sleeping father's large figure.

"AAAHHH!" Corbin fell back against the wall, losing all the restraint that he'd mustered in the night after he'd grown seven inches.

His scream shot Jim awake, and the elder Brantley leapt to his feet, nearly knocking his head into the ceiling fan at his new height. "What! What is it! What happened?!" Jim wiped his eyes and tried to pull himself awake, thinking his home and son needed defending from some adversary.

"Holy shit," Corbin gasped, staring at his dad.

"Why're you screaming? What's wrong?"



"Is that you?"

"Of course it's me, what do you mean, 'is that you?'"

Corbin didn't answer. He just stared in slack-jawed wonder at the male supermodel standing where his dad was supposed to be. Jim had somehow evolved into a perfect specimen of male beauty while they'd slept. His shapeless double chin was replaced with the jawline of a god: square and strong, like it had been chiseled from a block of granite by an expert craftsman. His chin stuck out like a knot of wood, clefting perfectly in the middle. His brow had reshaped into a perfect expression of masculine intensity. And the middle-aged sagginess of his features was gone, replaced with tight skin and a few small creases that accented his manliness. It was almost unbelievable how handsome he was. Even his lips and teeth were gorgeous. The darkness of night had swapped out the normal Jim Brantley for an ultimate version of himself. The same man, but with flawless bone structure, a perfect hairline and a new lease on life.

"Wow," was all Corbin could manage to say. As his brain continued to wake up, he was able to rein in his natural reactions and control his emotions better. When he saw his father's disturbed expression, he decided to start lying. "I'm sorry, I just had another weird dream – I had one last night too – I don't think I'm sleeping enough. I dreamt you were short and fat."

"Me?" Jim's face widened into a perfect Hollywood smile, and he curled his bicep like a strongman. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"I know, right?"

"Are you feeling better?"

"A little."

"I gotta be honest, bud, you were makin' no sense last night."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry to freak you out."

"I'm thinking you should stay home from school today." Jim's stubble had grown in over the last few moments, and Corbin hadn't even noticed. His dad now sported perfect morning shadow that just made him even more attractive.

"No…really," Corbin said. "I can go. I'll just sleep for another hour."

"Are you sure?" Jim scratched his scruff. His chest flexed up and down. "I don't want to get a call that you're having a meltdown in the nurse's office. I'll be pissed."

"I won't have a meltdown in the nurse's office. Just let me sleep."

Jim peeled off his tank top. The sweat of the night glistened on his enormous pecs. He slapped a hand on his fat belly. "Man, I need to do some sit-ups," he said to himself. "Alright, I'll catch a few more minutes myself. Don't make me drag you out of bed, kid."

"I promise," Corbin said, imagining a halo over his head. But as soon as his dad walked out of his room and shut the door, Corbin was over at the mirror like a rocket.

"Holy shit. Fuck. FUCK." Corbin's chin had a cleft now too. He put his fingernail in the groove and traced it up and down. Furthermore, he could just tell that his jaw was desperate to widen out. The angles had already thickened up under his ears a little bit. It was just a matter of time. "Holy shiiii…" his eyes wandered up to his hair with the realization that he was now blond. A golden, lustrous blond. His eyebrows had changed color too, and noticing that feature got him to look at his eyes in the mirror…and they were beautiful. They'd turned blueberry blue. "Oh fuuuuck." Corbin pawed at his dick. His cheeks went flush. He stuck his hand into his boxers and grasped his balls, moaning.

It wasn't his actual features changing that got him off. It was the fact that his braces had magically disappeared, and now his teeth were white and perfect like his dad's. As he stumbled into bed, tugging at his cock and tweaking his nipples, he heard himself moan: "I gotta be just like Dad. I get to be just like Dad…"


True to his word, Corbin woke up an hour later. Not purposefully, though. He would have been fine with sleeping several more hours, but once again, the general noises of the household morning routine awoke him. He could hear his dad's electric toothbrush in the bathroom, and his mouth watered at the aroma of breakfast wafting up the stairs.

He stumbled out of bed. The first thing he did was check to make sure that his face hadn't reverted. It had not. He was still a slightly more beautiful version of himself – and his jaw had definitely grown out a few more millimeters. Corbin wanted to masturbate so badly, and the effects of that desire were clear as he pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, which were painfully tight over his throbbing, hungry dick. "Not now, not now," he told himself.

He had already stepped into a pair of khaki chinos and buttoned them before he realized that he shouldn't have pants that fit the legs of 6'3" man. "No way," he said, checking the tags of his other pants, all of which bore much longer inseams now. "It's just like the car."

His shirts had gone up in size, too, but not enough. He pulled on three different t-shirts, none of which fully covered his stomach. He finally pulled out a baby blue polo shirt that covered him fully. The mesh fabric, however, was unforgiving. He buttoned the polo and felt the front pull apart again as soon as he bent over to put on his shoes. The buttons didn't fall off, but they wouldn't stay together. And the sleeves didn't come close to fitting his biceps.

"Fuck, I look so jacked," Corbin whistled to himself, flexing his big chest and watching the fabric strain. He couldn't keep the grin off his face as he slung his backpack over his shoulders and loped down the stairs.

"Someone's happy this morning," his father said from the bottom of the stairs. "You feeling more like yourself?"

"Sorta," Corbin replied, still not used to seeing this stunningly handsome version of his dad. Jim had shaved and gotten dressed, and he looked astounding. His pecs made a broad ledge at the front of his blue-and-white striped dress shirt, and his chin jut out proudly as he talked. The sunlight made him look tan and radiant, and his thick hair shone with health.

"Good. You still want to work out today?"

"If you're okay with it!"

"You already know I am." Jim slapped his belly. "Gotta do some work on this, myself. I gotta run, so I'll see you then," he said, grabbing his keys off the hook and heading to the garage.

Corbin stood in the door to the garage and saw his father getting into a shiny black BMW. "Well, that's another new thing," he said to himself, as he watched Jim back out of the garage and zoom out of sight.


There was less space between his chest and steering wheel than there had been the day before, and Corbin flexed his biceps for himself at every stoplight on his way to school. Bodies were so fascinating. No wonder buff guys flexed at every opportunity. It was so much fun. The tightness of the shirt was just a constant reminder of how big he was getting. He could even feel the muscles in his back - whatever they were called - pushing a little against the sides of his polo.

His cock was rock hard by the time he got to school. "That milk's turning me into a nympho," he said to himself as he got out of his sports car – and cracked his head on the frame as he stepped up. "Oh right, I'm tall now."

"Biceps! Hey!"

Corbin turned and saw Patrick walking to catch up to him. "Wassup, man?" Corbin hit a double biceps pose to greet his friend. If his sleeves had been able to make noise, they would've screamed in agony.

"Pretty tight shirt there, buddy," Patrick teased as they walked through the parking lot.

"Yeah, none of my shit fits. I gotta go shopping." Corbin adjusted his package three times during their short walk. His erection was too big to be completely hidden. As he walked up to the glass doors of the school and saw his reflection, he blurted out, "Shit, Pat, I look like a jock."

Patrick just guffawed.

Corbin's shirt was too tight. He kept tugging the hem downward when he felt it riding up over his abs, and he received three comments about his nipples from people. He was self-conscious about it all morning, to the point that he was actually looking forward to his dad coming to pick him up.

"Mr. Brantley?"

Corbin had been pulling down on his shirt for the millionth time when he heard his teacher call his name. He looked up. "Yes?"

Mr. Halloway wasn't even looking at him. "See me after class, please."

Corbin swallowed and went white. "Okay." He never got in trouble, he was a good kid. And he hadn't been doing anything wrong. Maybe this was about his shirt being too revealing? The button placket was starting to fray because his pecs were pushing too hard on it…

Corbin stayed after the bell rang, bobbing his leg nervously under his desk.

"You can relax, Corbin, you're not in trouble," Mr. Halloway said as he took a drink of water. "I'm just wondering why a boy built like you isn't playing sports."

"Built like…" Corbin momentarily forgot how muscled he had gotten. His brain still didn't see himself that way. "Oh. I just never, like, thought about it, I guess."

"Have you thought about wrestling? Half the battle is having the right build for it, and you've got almost every other boy in this district beat already."

"I never really thought about it," Corbin shrugged. "I'd have to ask my parents."

"Of course. Of course. Just know that if you wanted to join, I would put you on the team immediately. How much do you bench?"

"I…uh, I don't really know."

"You don't know?"

"What about squat?"

"My dad always loads the weight plate things on," Corbin lied, squirming.

"He must know what he's doing. Well, if you're as strong as you look, you won't have any trouble catching up. Give it some thought and let me know, alright?"

"Okay. We'll talk about it tonight. You're the wrestling coach?"

Mr. Halloway frowned. "You didn't know that?"


"You should pay more attention to morning announcements," Mr. Halloway scolded.


Corbin left at lunch to wait for his dad to pick him up. He completely forgot that his dad was driving a black beamer now, and when the car pulled into the pick-up lane, Corbin continued to sit for a solid minute before his dad stuck his head out the window and hollered, "what the hell are you doing? Let's go!"

Jim Brantley's bone structure looked even more heroic now. His cheekbones were like big shelves holding up his wayfarer sunglasses. His jaw had gotten so big that it stuck out past the points of his dress shirt's open collar. "How was the morning?"

Corbin stared for a beat too long at his dad and almost forgot what he was going to say. "Oh, uh, it was good, it was good. Kinda weird. My shirt doesn't fit."

Jim peered over his sunglasses. "You're right, it doesn't. Raise your arm up."

Corbin did as he was told.

"Now flex it hard."

Again, Corbin obeyed. His arm pumped itself up as big as a soccer ball, and the sleeve around it exploded. Jim hooted with laughter, but Corbin went red. "Daaa-aaad!"

"I just wanted to see if you'd do it!" Jim slapped his knee. "Ah, shit, that's funny. That's awesome that a kid your age can do that, by the way. That's not even a small shirt."

"I can't go back to school like this!"

"Relax, I won't make you. We can pick something else up. Might have to grab you a new pair of pants too, your legs are about to get pahmped ahhhp," Jim said, putting on his Schwarzenegger accent.

"Awesome." Corbin put his hand over his crotch to hide his excitement. He rubbed his legs, wondering if it was the last time his thighs wouldn't press together when he sat down. "Dad, how much do you think I can squat?"

"You don't know."


"That's something you should know. I sure don't remember. Guess we'll have to find out today!"

"You brought me gym clothes, right?"

"Sure did."


"I feel naked."

Corbin had to admit he looked amazing in his stringed Y-back tank top, like what guys wore in muscle magazines. His dad wore the same style in a different color. Their pecs were already sweaty because of their pre-workout drinks, and both father and son were constantly pulling on the tanks to cover their nipples, which somehow kept flopping out.

Also matching were their mid-thigh shorts. Jim's were tighter than Corbin's, but Corbin still felt self-aware, like he was wearing boxers and had forgotten to put on his actual shorts. The only thing not the same about their outfits was Jim's wearing of a brown leather weightlifting belt, which gave him an old-school look. Corbin watched his dad lovingly putting on his belt and pulling it high, almost under his pecs. "Dad?"


"I love doing this with you."

Jim threw his arm around his son, buddy-style. His bicep mashed up around Corbin's neck like a brace. "The feeling's mutual, slugger."

When they swaggered out onto the gym floor, Corbin noticed how different everything looked at this perspective. His legs looked so long in the mirror. It was going to be harder to squat now – they had more distance to cover.

Jim didn't seem to care. He was loading up the squat rack while Corbin was still checking himself out in the mirror. "You come to work out or to preen?" Jim asked.

"Work out!" Corbin barked.

"Damn right. We already know we're pretty," Jim smirked, and he was right, it was a pretty smirk. "Today's about gettin' bigger. Spot me."

Corbin stood behind his dad and crouched with him to help in case the bar wobbled, but it didn't. It was just a warm-up, but it was considerable weight already – enough to bend the bar. Corbin felt something hit his feet, and his dad mumbled "shit" and racked the bar. When they looked down, they saw that Jim's weightlifting belt had slipped down and fallen on the ground.

Corbin looked in the mirror while his dad squatted down to pick up the belt, which was still looped. The belt had fallen because Jim's stomach was now shredded with abdominals, the big stomach muscles of a large adult male. Like a stack of bricks wrapped in cotton under his tank top. "Holy shit, your abs," Corbin admired, knowing they had just come in.

"Yeah, been workin' on 'em," Jim said, running his hands over the grooves in his stomach. "Of course, they're nothin' like yours," he said, wrenching up his son's tank top to expose Corbin's own new diced eight-pack. "No one does abs like teenagers."

"Yeah, but yours are so thick," Corbin said, hiding his surprise at the state of his own stomach. "Yours look powerful. Mine are just…I dunno, window dressing."

"Window dressing, ha. No, yours are amazing. But you're right, mine suit me," Jim smiled. "It's apples and oranges. Yours'll look like this someday."

"I hope so!"

"Mine actually didn't look that good when I was your age, so just imagine. Any of the other dads at school have abs like this?" Jim crunched his stomach and the muscles bulged. There was going to be no hiding these abs – they'd push against every shirt and belt buckle.

"You know they don't," Corbin said, a little thunderstruck. "Let me have a set."

So they squatted.

It was a bonding experience for father and son, gross at it was. Strips of sweat ran down the backs of their shorts, and their tank tops were soaked. Corbin could feel his butt growing in, and his thighs thickening up. It was completely intoxicating. His short shorts rode higher and higher over his enlarging quads, until it looked like he was wearing a pair of old-school posers. Jim was even worse, with bunches of fabric disappearing up underneath his mighty thighs and enormous middle-aged muscle ass. As Corbin watched their bodies change in the mirror, it was incredible to see the effect that a good pair of legs had. It was all in the foundation. They'd looked big before, but having bigass wheels changed everything. They looked solid now, in addition to being huge. Corbin's underwear was soaked with his pre-cum, and he just hoped his dad would think it was sweat if it made it all the way through his shorts. But then again, Corbin assumed his dad was probably close to cumming too. There was no concealing their fat crotches when they squatted. It was lewd, a little obscene even, but hyper-masculine.

"Is that us?" Corbin sniffed the air. The air was drenched with manly musk. If it were any thicker, it would've left precipitation on the mirror.

"Yeah, we stink."

Corbin raised his armpit and gave a whiff. "I've never smelled like that before."

"That is the smell of man, my son," Jim said with a wise tone. "And that is what you are." Jim stepped back and admired his son's legs. "Damn, kid, those cuts in your thighs. They're epic."


"Let's run and get our tanning done in the back."

"Our tanning?" Corbin followed behind his dad as they walked to the locker room. "We're gonna tan?"

"Just gotta shower off real quick first," Jim said, pulling off his tank top. Corbin gaped for a moment at the massive pecs and abs that composed the front of his dad's torso, before collecting himself and doing the same. They hopped into side-by-side showers and slapped soap all over their big bodies. Poor Corbin was getting desperately horny, but he had to keep up with his fast-moving dad. No time to jerk off.

He rinsed off and hopped out. He barely got into his underwear and toweled off before his dad was on him, rubbing him down with tanning lotion. Jim had Corbin leaning up against the wall as he rubbed the tropical-smelling cream all over Corbin's skin.

"Wh-what are you-"

"Don't act like you don't know what tanning lotion is."

"Okay," Corbin said, despite actually not knowing. His boner stuck straight out from his boxers and if his breathing had been any more shallow, he would've passed out. Something about the feeling of the lotion on his skin made his knees weak with lust. "Dad, I-I-"

"Hold it together," Jim said, already aware of the problem.

"I'm so horny all the time," Corbin gasped, twisting his hand over his crotch to contain himself. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothin's wrong with you. Your body is doing exactly what it's supposed to be doing. You're excited that you're becoming a man."

Corbin groaned and leaned against the tiles. He heard his dad smacking lotion onto his pecs.

"Get my back, will you?"

Corbin turned around and looked at his dad's bare back up close. There were so many muscles composing this thing – and as soon as Corbin touched them, they started to move. His dad was getting slowly wider right there, just standing still. Corbin already had an inkling that the same thing was happening to him.

"Yeah, I gotta tan here because it's the only place in town that has the extra-wide beds," his dad said, rubbing his five-o'clock shadow.

"Uh-huh…" Corbin noticed that it actually looked like his dad's waist was getting narrower, while in reality all the muscles around it were growing outward. A muscular illusion.

"Here, got your eyewear," Jim said, handing Corbin the little goggles that looked like a figure-8. "See you in ten," he said, climbing into the first bed and shutting the door.

Corbin was looking at the outline of his body on the metal surface of the tanning bed. "I'm getting so fucking big," he breathed softly, looking down at his rippling muscles. "What the fuck, man, what's happening to me…" He curled his fingers into a fist and watched the veins shoot through his arms. "Fuuuuck."

He opened up the tanning bed and crawled in, whipping off his underwear and dropping it to the ground as he shut the bed over himself like a coffin. He got his goggles on right as the bed whirred to life and the fluorescent lights soaked into his muscles.

"Unnngh," he heard himself groan, completely involuntarily. He darted his eyes downward and over the mountains of his chest he could see the tip of his hard dick, and he immediately wrapped his hand around it. He could feel his back and shoulders shifting around on the glass as he pumped at his dick. "This is…this is…" Corbin's toes curled and he bent his knees a little. The UV rays poured into him, and he got hornier and hornier, biting his lip and grunting. The heat of the bed was just magnifying his own hotness, and the thought of how he'd look when he got out began to send him over the edge. "UUUHH!" Corbin put one hand on the upper glass and pressed his hips upward. His neck rocked back as his back arched. "I can't-can't-no-" He ground his teeth together so that he'd stop making noise, but then he started feeling his teeth shifting and his jaw literally growing. "NNNNGNGHHH!"

It was when he felt his shoulders shove against the side of the bed – even though he hadn't moved – that did it. He erupted with a loud moan of orgasm, and coated the inside of the tanning bed with his sperm. That was all he remembered until his eyes opened and he saw his dad standing over him, managing to look annoyed and amused simultaneously.

"You're lucky these things have a timed shut-off," Jim said. The middle-age lines in his face were enhanced by the golden-brown tan he now bore, but it also brought out his impressive bone structure and played off his light gray eyes. Corbin got so distracted by Jim's handsomeness that he forgot that the man he was staring at was his dad.

Corbin managed to sit up and saw that Jim was standing there wearing nothing but a metallic blue posing strap. His bulge was so packed in that it pushed the strap's pouch away from his body. And his shoulders…his shoulders were immense. They filled the entire locker room. It was his shoulders that pushed his body from being astounding to godly. "Here," Jim said, handing Corbin a neon green strap. "Cover yourself up, I don't wanna see that now that I'm not changing your diapers."

Corbin looked down to pick up his boxers, until he realized that the little slip of silky fabric in his hand had been his boxers. He slipped the tiny poser up his massive legs, and his balls fell out one side of the pouch. He kept having to adjust them to make them fit. The whole time he was breathing so heavily that his chest threatened to hit his chin. He couldn't form words because he was so out of breath.

"Shit, you're really worked up," Jim said.

"Nnngh," was all Corbin managed. He wiped off a few drops of sweat from his tanned bronze brow, but his hands were shaking badly.

"I'd tell you to go take care of it, but I think you'd recharge in thirty seconds, so it'd be pointless," Jim laughed.

"UNNGH!" Corbin's hips bucked forward again. His face turned red as he tried to contain his orgasm.

"I'd tell you to get ahold of yourself, but I think you already have."

Corbin wanted to yell at his dad for making a Dad Joke with his son was about to cum all over the place, but he was scared if he opened his mouth, he'd detonate. "Nnnnnnrrrggghhhh…"

"Alright, you clearly can't go back to school. Let's get you home. Sheesh, it's like you just got five years worth of hormones in one rush."

Corbin's eyes went wide, and he nodded up and down vigorously. He wanted to shout "yes! That's exactly what happened!" Instead, he rolled onto his feet and felt his shaft fall out of his poser.

"Aw shit," he heard his dad say, once the puddle of cum inside the tanning bed was spotted.

While Jim mopped up the mess, Corbin crouched in front of his locker and stared at his hands and feet. He'd never seen his skin so beautifully tan before. It made his muscles look amazing, but he was scared to look. Instead, he tried to pull on his polo shirt, but the back ripped open as soon as it was over his head. His cock pumped one shot into his poser, but he held back the rest.

He looked up at just the wrong time to see his dad putting on the white dress shirt he'd worn to work. The shirt had clearly tried to grow to fit Jim's mass, but it was still form-fitting, hugging his muscles like a second skin. Jim got it buttoned up to the collar, but as soon as he reached for his tie, the whole thing came apart. Pop, pop, pop went the top buttons, and one of the sleeves ripped off, exposing Jim's hugely muscled arm.

Corbin exploded once again. Long ribbons of cum sprayed out from his poser strap and made a puddle between his feet. He slumped forward on the locker and gasped out apologies. "Sorry, I'm sorry…I'm done…" He rolled onto his haunches and moved his eyes upward to look at his father. The man was masculinity embodied. He stank of testosterone. His muscles wouldn't fit in his clothes.

And Corbin was just like him.

More cum shot out. Every time Corbin thought he was through, he was proven wrong. He finally shut his eyes and just released it all, letting it flow down the insides of his legs and onto the floor.

"Now are you done?" Jim asked. Only his voice was different. Deeper, sultrier, richer.

"No more energy," Corbin responded, his own voice now a plush baritone. He clapped a hand around his throat. "My voice…"

"C'mon, get up." Jim offered his hand to his son. "Let's get you cleaned up and go home. No more school today."

But Corbin instead wandered over to the mirror and began to flex for himself. He stuck his jaw out and watched the skin strain over the blocky angles. His mandible had perfect angles, like his father's did.

Even his blinks were sexual. "Fuck me," he moaned, cupping his pecs and playing with them. "Fuck, they feel like basketballs. Who the fuck am I?" Corbin stuck a finger in the cleft of his chin. It was so deep you could lodge a penny in it. "We don't look human, Dad, we look like gods."

"Settle down and stop cursing. And yes, that's what bodybuilding is about. C'mon, get dressed. You can wear your workout stuff home."

"Take a picture of me."

"What? Like that? Absolutely not."

"I'll put my shorts on," Corbin grumbled as he moseyed over to his locker. Sweat dripped off his burned skin. His muscles bulged of their own accord. He realized he didn't want to get dressed, and thought how odd it was for him to feel that way. He loved being naked, or nearly naked, and admiring his physique. But he pulled his shorts on and rolled the legs up until they looked like a diaper around his crotch.

"Do the Greek God pose," Jim suggested. "Like you're Atlas."

Corbin put his arms over his head. He felt his deltoids bulge up against his neck. It was so hot.

"Alright, ten second posing lesson," Jim said. "Angle your foot like this. Move your thigh like – yeah, there we go. Bend that elbow just a liiiittle more. Now breathe out. Push all the air out, then flex your abs. Makes your waist look smaller. Good boy."



Corbin stared at the picture the entire ride home. He couldn't tear his eyes away. Even when he asked his dad how he learned so much about posing, he didn't pay attention to the answer. He was too busy analyzing every aspect of his body, and he felt strange admitting that he couldn't find a flaw with it. An aesthetically perfect Adonis.

When he got home, he collapsed right into bed totally spent. He wanted to share this amazing picture with the world, but it felt wrong having it just go onto his personal Instagram account. It was private anyway, and his friends would just think he was being vain – and he was, he knew, but it was different…he really had something to brag about. No one he knew was built like this. Maybe no one in the world was.

So he created a new account: "BicepsBrantley." He posted the picture, hashtagged it "aesthetics" and "bodybuilding," and fell asleep trying to think of more hashtags to put in the comments. He was so tired, he'd forgotten to masturbate.

The only thing that woke him up – four hours later - was his mom downstairs yelling that dinner was ready. Corbin rubbed his chiseled jaw against the back of his hand and felt a whole lot of stubble, about half-a-beard's worth already. It had just sprouted after the gym. He would have gotten horny, except he'd cum twice while he was asleep. He heard his skin peel away from his sticky sheets. "I gotta wash these again?" The room was ripe with his scent.

He rose up out of bed and massaged his chest and arms, reveling in their immensity.

"Corbin! DINNER!"

"I'm coming!" He boomed, his voice effortlessly deafening. "I already came, heh heh," he chortled to himself, pawing at his crotch. "When did I turn into such a fucking animal?"

He'd already forgotten about posting the picture, thanks to his post-nap fog. That was until he grabbed his phone, just to see what time it was.


The notifications ran off the screen. He skipped over his 237 text messages and went straight into his Instagram app.

His picture had 5,088 likes, and his account – which had just the one picture – already had over 27,000 followers. There were 200 comments already: people tagging friends, saying he had the physique they wanted or that his abs shat all over Lazar's or Jeff's or whoever; accusing him of steroids; asking him how he did it; asking to show his penis; posting their phone numbers...

And those were just the comments in English. The words "aesthetics" and "mirin" were everywhere.

Corbin was pale. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His attempt at anonymity had backfired epically. His parents were going to be so pissed. What if someone showed up at their door or something? How intense did Instagram followers get?

He had to get dressed – he was still just in his too-tiny poser – so he pulled on the first t-shirt he found in his drawer. The shirt split halfway down the middle over his chest, and the sleeves frayed under his arms. He yanked on sweatpants next, stuffing his crotch down in the middle, and prayed that their seat didn't give out over his glutes.


"I'm comin', I'm comin'," Corbin said, finally emerging from his bedroom. He clomped down the stairs and walked into the kitchen.

Jim was already sitting at the table. He had put on a clean shirt that fit, combed his hair and looked every inch the studly father. With his jacked body, square jaw and clean-cut appearance, Jim gave off the look of a GI Joe gone white collar. "Heyyy, Biceps!" he said when his son appeared in the doorway.

Corbin stopped dead, fearing his dad already knew about the social media activity. "Why did you call me that?"

"Because you've got twenty inch biceps?"

Corbin raised his arm up to look at it and, for the second time that day, shredded his shirt sleeve. "These are twenty inches now?!"


"I gotta sit down." Corbin sat at the table and put his head in his hands. His biceps, big as his head, flexed up toward his ears.

"What are you wearing?" his mom asked, more amused than anything at his appearance.

"None of my clothes fit," Corbin grumbled.

"Look at your mother when you speak to her," Jim said.

"I said none of my clothes fit," Corbin said again, this time pointedly looking up at his mom. "I'm sorry," he said immediately afterward, both for being snippy and for his state of undress.

"You should be," she responded, walking back toward the counter. "Set the table."

"Yes ma'am." Corbin hung his head and lumbered over to the silverware drawer. He could feel his mom staring at him and did his best to avoid her gaze. It was hard, since he took up so much space. He towered over her by almost a foot, and was three times as wide as she. "Mom, did you ever buy more milk?"

"No, I haven't gotten to the store yet."

"Okay." Corbin's mental gears cranked along. Every time he was reminded of his muscles – his chest in his peripheral vision, his shoulders knocking into the cabinets because he wasn't used to their breadth – he started wondering why this had happened to him and his dad. The milk had been a red herring, he knew now. It was something else…but what…

"You need to shave, Corb."

"Yeah." Corbin raised his hand to his cheek and felt the stubble, which had grown out enough to be soft instead of bristly. "I'm still not used to how fast it grows."

"I think it makes you look handsome," his mom said. "But a little too grown up for my taste."

"I like it," his dad piped up from the table.

"Um, what would you guys think if I tried wrestling?" Corbin asked, switching conversation topics. "Coach Halloway mentioned it today. Or was that yesterday? I don't remember. Recently."

"We've talked about this, Corbin," his dad said.

"We have?"

"Yeah, remember? You're 250 pounds of muscle. You don't fit in a high school weight class. I talked to Halloway about this before, he should know better. There's either 285, which you'd have to gain a ton of fat to get to, or 220, and you'd have to lose a lot of your size. And I know you like your size."


"Now I know you've been feeling like you're not going to win contests because of your height and the way it makes your muscles look. But it's not all about winning. You're the biggest kid – man – on stage every show, and the crowds always love you. You're a tank! Doesn't matter if you don't get the prizes. You'll get the endorsement deals and the magazine covers because you're enormous. Wrestling doesn't fit into that."

Corbin had the wherewithal to realize that his dad was talking about some kind of bodybuilding career that he, Corbin, had no memory of. "Yeah," he said, sitting down uncomfortably. His thighs spilled over the sides of his chair. He felt huge and cumbersome. And he felt scared, because his dad had such authority when he spoke now – it hadn't used to be like that. Corbin felt like he was in a TV show and the actor playing the father had been re-cast. He looked at this rippling square-jawed god in the tight dress clothes sitting at the table and felt like he didn't know him. And yet, Corbin loved him, admired him, and wanted to be him.

As he ate chicken and rice, Corbin thought back to what the conversation had been the last time they'd eaten as a family. He and his dad had been completely different then – it felt like so long ago, and yet it was less than a week. Corbin hadn't paid much attention to what his parents had been talking about, and he was cursing himself for it now, because there had to be some answers there…

It hit him like a bolt of lightning. "How's your guys' marriage counseling going?"

His parents stared at him like he was from Mars.

"Our what?" Jim asked.

"You guys went to marriage counseling a couple times. You told me…"

"We've never been to marriage counseling," Jim said, tilting his head as he looked at his son. "You must be confused."

"Your dad and I are fine," Liz chimed in. "We don't need therapy."

"But you guys - you went, there was something about Mom writing down what she liked about Dad in a…book…" Corbin trailed off, realizing he was onto something. "What did you write down, Mom?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Corbin, you're just making things up."

"Holy shit," Corbin said out loud. "That's what did it. It was-" Corbin turned to Jim and pointed. "Something about you, and it trickled down to me…but you don't remember…"

Jim looked at Corbin's extended finger. "Are you high, son?"

"No!" Corbin once again formulated a lie to squeeze himself out of an inexplicable situation. "I must've dreamt it."

"Must have," Jim shrugged. "It's funny for kids like you. You guys are the ultimate athletes, but you're so busy training that you don't have time to play normal sports. It's ironic."

"Sure is."


Corbin Brantley couldn't believe he was having sex with Maggie Ramirez.

What was more amazing was how good he was at it, and how into him she was. She kept telling him how hot he was, how amazing his muscles were, and how big his dick was. It got him so horny. It didn't hurt that she was the hottest girl in school, a fantasy mix of a Latina bombshell and cornfed All-American prom queen thanks to her mixed parentage. Every guy in school wanted her, and Corbin had gotten her. And she was loving it.

Of course, Corbin was the hottest guy in school, a fantasy mix of muscled jockiness from his dad and Scandinavian beauty from his mom. It made sense that he would've eventually fucked his way up to Maggie.

What surprised Corbin was after he reared up and shot his load into Maggie, he didn't wake up. He stared up at the ceiling, expecting it to turn into his dad's face. But it didn't. All he heard was the house party still raging a floor below them, and then he felt Maggie's hand on his chest. She was playing with his pecs.

He lay down on top of her and kissed her neck, and smiled when she giggled. "I thought I was dreaming," he said.

"That's a good line."

"No, really!" Kiss kiss. "Gosh, you're beautiful."

"So are you," she smiled. "You wanna go back to the party?"

"Can we just stay here for a little bit? I'm so tired."

"All those weights, baby," she said, rubbing her hand over the mountains composing his back. "You must be exhausted."

"And I'm hungry."

"Contest stuff, right?"


"How long have you been competing in those? My mom made me do pageants when I was little. I hated them."

"I don't remember," Corbin said, truthfully. "But I think they're better than pageants."

"Anything is better than pageants."

They both laughed. Corbin rolled onto his back and Maggie snuggled up next to him. He stroked her hair a little and almost told her that that had been his first time, but decided against it. He had a feeling that New Corbin was not known as being a virgin, so he decided to uphold that reputation.

"Let's just stay here a while," she said, rubbing his pecs again.

"You like my chest, huh babe?" Corbin liked calling girls 'babe.' It was so jocky, and he liked playing that part now.

"I love it."

"That's what I'm workin' tomorrow, then."

They fell asleep together, staring at his pecs going up and down as he breathed.