Hunter: V.I.P. (musc ar)

Have had this one written for a while; thus, the quick turnaround from P.D.A. More to come soon.

(I should also clarify that, although I have done a little research to try and get my facts right, I am not from Florida and do not guarantee complete accuracy when it comes to facts about the Gators football program. Any character's resemblance to people involved with the Gators is truly coincidental.)

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“This guy is so good. Look at that pass, it’s a heat-seeking missile.”

Neil absent-mindedly ate his usual mid-day meat – today, chicken – as he watched the massive television in his living room. Hunter sat on the floor, bouncing two-year-old Lachlan on his lap. Katie was in LA for some quick meetings over the weekend, and Mel had taken Bianca out for some spa pampering as a thank you for all of her hard work. It was a boys night.

Thank God Florida was playing.

“Who? Collins?”

“Chase Collins, yeah. He’s like the second coming of you. I can’t believe Florida got the nation’s best quarterback, two dynasties in a row. It’s almost like…”

Neil trailed off and looked at Hunter, who looked back over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Neil’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” Hunter grinned. “Yes I diiiiid,” he cooed to the smiling Lachlan. “Who’s Lachlan’s favorite uncle? Who’s Lachlan Blue’s favorite uncle?!”

The tot quivered with laughter from his belly being tickled. He grabbed his toes with his small, fat arms and bounced on his chubby bottom. “Uncle Hunter! Uncle Hunter!”

“That’s riiiiiiight!”

“Okay, okay,” Neil said, still watching the action playing out on the screen. “You’re going to have to tell me this story. I’m sure there are dozens of changes you’ve done that I don’t know about, but to this degree--”

“Yeah, this one was pretty good,” Hunter interrupted, before he started blowing raspberries on Lachlan’s cheek. “It was good, wasn’t it buddy! Who’s good? Who’s good?!”

Lachlan convulsed in laughter while Neil reached down and picked him up. “You, sir, are a distraction,” he whispered to his son before pecking him on the cheek. “Blech, and you left me a gift to dispose of, ya little stinker.”

“Guess I tickled him too hard,” Hunter laughed.

“Guess so, jerk.” Neil walked into Lachlan’s nursery and set the boy down on the changing table. “We’ve started potty training, but he hasn’t completely caught on yet. Good thing he was wearing a diaper today. Buddy, you’re supposed to tell me when you have to go, remember? Tell Daddy next time, alright?”

“Sorry, Daddy.” Lachlan’s big beautiful eyes widened and sparkled, just like Neil’s always did. The resemblance was uncanny, but it was when Mel held Lachlan too; the boy was a perfect mixture of mother and father.

Neil’s eyes sparkled back, as if communicating a message of love with their paternal twinkle. Hunter saw the love all over Neil’s face, and thought of the gorgeous face of adult Lachlan, the sculpted cheeks and sharp jawline and full lips, with the genetically gifted muscular body. Boy, that would be here before they all knew it.

“So, Chase Collins.”

“Huh?” Hunter snapped out of the mental images flashing through his head, images of him surrounded by his own children, which he envisioned as looking just like him but with Katie’s blond hair. “Oh, yeah. Well, I first met him in the Gators locker room…”


“Hunter.” Hunter felt a strong hand grasp his bare, massive shoulder. He turned to see his defensive coordinator.

“Hey, coach. What’s up?”

“You’ve got a visitor outside, once you’re dressed.”

“Oh, yeah? Thanks.” Hunter pulled a tight polo over his torso and whipped his hair, still wet from the shower. The jeans fit perfectly over his 21-year-old ass and long legs. “Just out in the hall?”

Hunter opened the locker room door, slung his athletic bag over his shoulder and walked out to see a man in a wheelchair, with a plump female attendant pushing him.

“Mr. Anderson!” Hunter was taken aback by the sudden appearance of the football program’s biggest donor. Colin Anderson was eighty-five years old, weakened by his age and poor health, confined to a wheelchair. His construction of an elevator to get him into his private box at The Swamp was quite a coup. He was rarely seen, but his massive donations – millions upon millions to the football team, athletic department and university – were felt and appreciated by everyone. “Mr, Anderson, this is a surprise, and an honor. I’m Hunter Hardy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I know who you are, son.” Mr. Anderson smiled an old, yellow smile. He was gaunt, frail and pale, a man who had beaten cancer twice but was unable to conceal, despite all his money, the way it had ravaged his body. “I was checking out a project of mine with some gentlemen from the university,” he paused to cough, “and they told me the great Hunter Hardy was still in the locker room. I must say, you are as magnificent and handsome in person as I imagined.”

A pinkness flooded Hunter’s cheeks. “Thank you, sir.”

“A meeting with your family after the practice slowed you down, I hear?”

“Yes, sir. My entire family was in town and it took me a while to get all cleaned up. I’m the oldest of seven. Six boys in a row, and then the youngest is a girl, my sister, Hailey. But she’s brand new, just born.” Hunter smiled fondly. “She’s so little now. I can hold her in one of my hands.” He looked down at his large right hand and wiggled the fingers, imagining the way his baby sister sat firmly in its stay.

“Seven!” The old man smiled, sadly. “You treasure that. I so wish I had a big family like that, now. You start to appreciate it more. Why, when I was growing up, it was just me and my sister. She’s gone, now, you know. So is my wife, so is my daughter. The more family you have, the more fight you have in you. Remember that.”

“I will.”

“Now, six other boys in that Hardy family of yours?! If they’re all built like you, I hope to see them here in Gainesville,” Anderson laughed.

“Well, it’s hard to say at the moment, but they sure have potential,” Hunter grinned. “I’m the oldest by ten years. My first brother is Henry, and he’s 11 now. I can’t speak for any of them, but Henry loves football. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he wound up here. He looks just like I did at that age. My twin brothers, Hank and Hugh, just started soccer and swimming. Harrison and Hudson are the two youngest boys and they’ve just done tumbling, kid stuff like that. But my Dad is six-six, 290, all muscle. He’s an amazing man, physically and otherwise, I think you’d get along well.”

“No doubt. I’d love to meet your father.”

“And my Mom is pretty tall too, so I’m guessing we’re all going to be six-foot-plus in the end. Except, maybe, for Hailey.”

“What a life that little girl’s going to have!”

Hunter smiled with great affection for his only sister. “She’s already got us all under her control.” Both the men, and Anderson’s assistant, smiled. “She’s absolutely gorgeous, of course. My Dad wanted boys to start with, he said he was afraid to have a little girl because he didn’t know how to raise one, but about the time Harry was born, he started to want one. And my Mom, she always wanted Hailey. We were all so excited when she came along. She’s either going to be a crazy tomboy or the girliest girl imaginable, but either way we are all crazy about her.” Hunter paused. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m rambling. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

“No, no! I love hearing about the lives of the youth – gives me hope for the future. I want you to appreciate your gifts and that big family of yours. You have been given a gift-wrapped future. Use it wisely. Invest. Love.”

Hunter smiled. “Thank you, sir. Will you be at the game tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be watching from my box, of course.”

“Of course.”


“Man, he really opened up to you right from the start, huh?” Neil kissed Lachlan on the forehead as he spoke, then the threesome headed to the kitchen to get the boy food.

“Yeah, well, I’m giving you the Cliff’s Notes version, alright? We talked for like half an hour. He’s a fascinating man. Lived a hell of a life, and he’s got a ton of money. A TON. I like to think I’ll be doing what he did, giving a lot away. I’m making a lot right now, I’ll be starting philanthropy really soon.”

“What’s all the money from, anyway?”

“Well, he’s whip-smart, for one. I think hedge funds and stuff like that.”

Neil switched topics. “You want a PB&J, L-Boy?”

“Yeah!” Lachlan jogged into the kitchen, his small legs moving as fast as they could.

Neil rubbed his son’s head as he pulled on his shorts leg. “Yeah what, Lachlan?”

“Yes, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.” Lachlan widened his eyes again and tilted his chin down to accentuate the fact. “Please please please.”

“Thank you for saying please. Here’s your PB&J.”

Hunter chuckled as he sat at one of the kitchen stools. “Look at you, you’ve completely become a Dad. It is the weirdest thing for me to watch. I remember when you were flirting with little sophomore cheerleaders in high school, and now you’re a Dad. What a trip.”

“You know you want to be a Dad, dude. And the cheerleaders loved the attention.”

“Oh, you bet they did, because you didn’t realize how cool you were just yet and they knew a good chance when they saw it. But shall I continue with my story?”

Shall you?,” Neil mocked as he watched Lachlan eat. “You shall. And I only really got with the seniors, okay? The sophomores, that was just a little sympathy flirting.”

“Oh, of course. Nothing but the best for the Whale!” Hunter grinned. “Your Daddy was pretty cool in high school, Lachlan.”

“Coooool,” the boy rasped in between bites of gooey peanut butter. Both men looked at each other and grinned.

“Anyway,” Hunter continued, “the next day was Game Day, and we had a ton of potential players in the stands. We played Kentucky, killed ‘em, of course, like always. I knew it was going to be a little bit of an easier game, so I could take a little time beforehand to…get some work done.”


Colin Anderson sat, alone in his box. His assistant’s sister was here and he had told her to get him to the game and then get him home, but he could manage while he was there, and she should have sister time. He looked out the crystal glass windows onto the beautiful field below, the field he had helped fund. He loved that field. He loved the stadium it was in, and the people who sat inside that stadium. And the students who played their hearts out. Most importantly, he believed in them, more than anything.

The marching band was entering to rev up the crowd. He could hear the boom of the drums and brass and the roar of the crowd. He shut his eyes and let it wash over him, the real sound combined with what was being pumped through the box’s speakers, and pretended it was all for him…and in a way, it was, because a lot of it wouldn’t be there without his donations.

One of the windows was open and a blast of air-conditioned air blew in, making him shiver – which he almost never did, living in Florida, but his spotted bald head had only five or six white hairs on it now, and his shrunken body was so weak…

He wheeled over and reached to shut it, but he heard someone say, “Let me get that, Mr. Anderson,” and he almost fell through it from surprise.

Hunter reached up and pushed the pane of glass shut, dulling the sounds from outside. He smiled at the old philanthropist and walked over to calmly draw the shades.

“Hunter! You scared the life out of me,” the old man muttered. “How did you...I didn’t hear you come in or talk to-”

“I know pretty much everyone here,” Hunter interrupted. “It’s not hard for me to get around quickly.”

“Well, son, you should be in the locker room! The game starts in less than an hour, they’re going to be taking the field soon and you’ll be in huge trouble if you’re not there. We need you! You’re our star!”

“I’ll be out there in time,” Hunter smiled, watching the wall clock behind Anderson stop cold. “Don’t you worry. I would never, ever be late. And I’ll be out there.”

Hunter was clad in an ultra-tight Under Armour tank that showcased every gorgeous facet of his ultra-muscle body. He wore his leg pads and cleats, his golden calves rippling in view as he walked toward Colin.

Colin looked at Hunter, confused. “Well, you don’t have any time, I mean it’s…” He looked up at the clock, turned around and then turned back to the clock, confused. “That’s odd…the clock stopped, but it’s not battery controlled. It-”

“Mr. Anderson, I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely truthful as to why I’m here,” Hunter said as he walked behind the wheelchair and lightly placed his large hands on the handles.

“You never said why, actually. I don’t remember why you-”

Colin Anderson was cut short because, suddenly, he was in a crumpled heap on the floor, weak limbs crashing to the hard floor. “AHHHHH! Ohhhhh my God, I fell, I fell, I fell! Help! Help!”

“It’s okay, Mr. Anderson, I’m right here. You’re alright.” Hunter knelt down on the floor next to the writhing old man. “Your chair just went away, that’s all.”

“My chair? My-” Anderson turned his head wildly around the room and saw that the chair he had been in seconds before was nowhere to be seen. “Where did it go?!”

“Away. You don’t need it.” Hunter’s voice was calm and soothing. “I want you to stand up.”

Pathetically, Colin turned his face to Hunter’s, sharing a long stare. The man sucked his lips inward in frustration, and began to talk to Hunter as if he were a child. “Boy, I cannot stand. My legs stopped working after my stroke. I have had cancer twice and a series of strokes, I am not WELL. I can’t stand…I need my chair.”

Hunter smiled jovially, as if he hadn’t heard the icy tones at all. “No. Stand up, please.”

“I CAN’T! Son, I know jocks aren’t supposed to be too smart, but you’re a bright kid. I don’t even know how to work my legs. I can’t even communicate with them anymore. Please give me my chair, I don’t know what you did with it, but I need it…”

And then he felt the unbelievable strength of Hunter Hardy wrap around him, as he was lifted off the ground by two of the most beautifully muscled arms he’d ever seen. He felt Hunter’s breath against his face, and he wrapped his arms back around the young QB, trying not to fall.

“Put me down! PUT ME DOWN!” He felt his back press against the wall and his legs flopped down below, like a marionette’s gangly units, controlled by Hunter the puppeteer.

And then, suddenly, he felt his legs. He could feel his two feet standing on the ground, he could feel the shoes on them and the pressed pants that he wore brush up against the skin underneath. He had nerves, he had bones, and he could control them.

With a shocked shudder, he half-stepped, half-fell forward into a step, and then another, and then another. “Whuh. Wh-what…how is this…no.” He looked up at Hunter in disbelief, his face filled with joy and utter puzzlement. “Hunter, I can walk! I can WALK! Haaa ha ha!” He reached down and felt his moving legs. “They’re alive again, they’re-”

“See, you don’t need your chair. Now let’s fix some other things.” Hunter stared intensely at the old donor, who was too preoccupied with his new ability to bother listening to Hunter. The old man stumbled slightly, then leaned, grimaced and grabbed his lower back, letting out a high-pitched moan. He shuddered, then shuddered again, and there was a loud crack and suddenly, instantly, he was two inches taller.

“Ahhhhh! What the-” Another crack, another two inches. Anderson fell against the room’s table and covered his ears to block out the sickening noises of his bones growing. His small, shrunken body sprouted to a long six-foot-four, and his clothes became tight in all the wrong places, his inseam pressing against his old shriveled cock and riding up his ass, the shoulders of his Florida Gators Oxford too tight around his longer torso. His belly and speckled bird-thin legs were exposed to the light of the room. He leaned against the wall and squeezed a few tears out of his eyes, then slid down to the floor, curling up into a ball and crying.

“It’s killing me, it’s killing me, I don’t have the strength for this…please, stop…STOP.” Hunter could barely hear the pleas, they were so muffled and weak.

“You’ll be strong enough to handle anything soon, don’t worry. Trust me.”

“Trust you? You’re…so young.” Anderson coiled up tightly, as if Hunter were about to attack him. “Go away. Go away, now. I can’t do this…” He reached down to unbutton the ill-fitting Oxford and felt his torso expand as he did. The shock caused him to fall forward on all fours, and Hunter could see a strong back begin to re-develop, shoulder blades pushing out and through the tight fabric. The hair on his head began to sprout in tufts, brown, the color of dull rust, then his body follicles turned the same color. He appeared to expand in all directions, reversing the shrinkage of old age. His bald head now had a horseshoe of hair circling the formerly-bare crown, and he itched it feebly, barely able to keep his quivering body from exploding with cum. He’d forgotten how it felt to be a man, to get horny and cum, to be able to create children and satisfy lovers with your hot seed. He shook and rocked, and then blew a small amount of cum into his underwear. “Ooungh…that’s str-str-strange.”

He leaned back against the wall, his body suddenly feeling more vigorous and alive. The skin’s wrinkles and age spots were slowly get lighter and tighter, and Colin Anderson looked a good thirty years younger, a man in his fifties, not eighties.

“Am I…bigger? I feel heavy.” With those words, he lay down on the floor, long arms outstretched in a silent plea for aid. He felt his trousers soak with another, heavier dose of cum, and looked up with pleading eyes at the tall, dark-haired stud. “Hunter, wh-what have you doooone?”

Hunter knelt down, with great sympathy, and lightly touched the burning-hot forehead of Colin Anderson. “You’ll thank me. I promise. Just fight through it.”

“Son, I’m all out of fight. I’m eighty-five years old, I have fought my battles. I don’t know what happening to me now…so I don’t know how I can fight it…” And he cried more, in complete and total confusion, unable to comprehend what was wrong with his body. Another shudder shook his body and he released a heart-wrenching moan, then buried his head in his arms as his body changed further.

Hair grew onto his head, thick and dark. He rolled over onto his back and furiously scratched his head, but as he did that, he saw his forearms bulge out suddenly with muscle. “Ahhhh…ahhhh…AHHH…” His eyes got wider as he followed the growth up his arms, watching his biceps swell outward, feeling the deltoids adjust and the chest grow out, closing his eyes as his neck got slowly thicker. His body burst with vitality, as the skin cleared and tightened against developed, athletic muscles. Looking down, he saw a body he didn’t recognize – young, tight pecs peeking out of his torn shirt, broad shoulders leading to brawny arms and powerful hands, a foot-long cock with balls big as lemons…and were those abs? He touched his stomach and felt the small muscles bunch, then expand, as eight tight rocks pushed out against chiseled obliques. “Nooooooo…”

The sensation of his ball-sack tightening into a pouch, not that old stretched flesh bag he’d had before, made him cum again. He felt his cock grow longer as his thighs slowly thickened, and his calves cramped before they grew as big as footballs.

There was a cracking as his feet got bigger – a lot bigger. “Ahhhh, get ‘em off! My shoes!” Anderson began to kick and thrash as his feet painfully pressed against the leather. Hunter quickly made the shoes disappear right as Colin’s socks were torn completely through. “AHHHHH!”

The strong features of a forty-year-old man became even more youthful. Lips got plumper, skin got smoother and rosier. Colin struggled to his feet and looked down at himself, and barely got one feel in before he dropped back to his knees – a move that didn’t hurt anymore – and screamed as he came explosively. “OhhHHHHh f-f-f-fuuuuuuck!”

Hormones shot through his body, upping themselves, and the man began to change more as testosterone welled through his body. His arms got bigger, hands clenching as veins popped. The wide chest became brawnier, pecs shaping themselves into two perfect discs. He flexed them and watched the muscle ripple, then felt more cum dribble down his carved-out legs. The shoulders swooped out and got wider, higher.

Colin Anderson was withering away, being replaced by a well-built muscle stallion. He tore his confused eyes away from his body and looked up to Hunter. They shimmered, for a second, then became an intense icy-blue. His lips got thicker once more, the ends curving upward into a natural smirk. His face was so tight now, especially as his facial bones grew outward, giving him the high cheekbones and strong jaw of a natural, genetic athlete. Eyebrows got thick, then dropped lower on his face as his forehead widened. The man of 25 became a gorgeous 18-year-old stud, with a godlike body that could only be developed through rigorous two-a-days and intense workouts, combined with insane diet and the right DNA…

“You feeling alright there, Colin?”

The big chest of a powerful mesomorph teen heaved with breaths. “I feel so…alive.” And he touched his throat, unable to believe the melodic tenor floating out of it, untouched by the troubles of life. It was a smooth, sexy tone. His long fingers reached up and lightly touched his temples. His skin was tight, smooth and supple, free of blemish like a model’s. The hair on his head was a soft honey-brown, tinged with blond and a little shaggy. He was a beautiful man, tall and muscled and darkly tanned, full of the bloom of youth.

The old pants reshaped into well-pressed worker khaki’s, with a thick black belt notched tightly around the carved waist. His feet were in large black sneakers, and as he reached up to feel the high peak of his bicep, he saw navy blue sleeves wrap tightly around his upper shoulders as an American Eagle polo, one size too small, became visible. With every breath, he felt his brawny pecs and built back strain the fabric. The overhang of his pecs to his abs was strongly visible in the tight weave, and the tucked-in shirt showed how large his shoulders were in comparison to his small, well-worked waist.

Six-foot-four, 205 pounds of chiseled muscle on an eighteen-year-old body, with the face a gridiron-injected fashion model. When he reached up to scratch his lightly-whiskered jaw, the big bicep twitched inside the tight sleeve, and he naturally cocked his tiny hips.

“Hunter,” the hunk breathed with growing fear, “what have you done to me?”

“Given you what you wanted. You have all that money that you poured into our program, but you couldn’t use it – and now you can. You’re the nation’s top QB. Hopefully you’ll be impressed enough today to sign with the Gators – they’ll need someone pretty good to follow up Hunter Hardy and his hot Heisman. I’d say you’re the man for the job.”

“Me? I’m 85 years old…” Colin looked down on his buffed-out body and shook his head, “…at least I think I am.”

“Maybe inside. See? There’s the advantage. You’ve been watching football for seventy, eighty more years than punks like me. You know every play, every history. You know the system inside and out, don’t you?”

“I do,” the 100% Abercrombie face broke into a wide, white-toothed smile. “I do!”

“That’s why you’ll be the nation’s top QB. After me, of course. You can hold down the fort until my little brother Henry is old enough for Florida.”

“I can’t believe this.” Colin felt his bulging bicep and traced the rope-like vein down into the crook of his elbow and across his forearm. “I’m so muscular, and I’m so tall…am I handsome?”

“A regular Helen of Troy. Except, y’know, a dude.”

The new stud was getting used to his body fast, throwing flexes and posing for himself, watching the fabric of his clothes bunch with muscle as he flexed. “I’m not Colin anymore. I can’t be…I need an alter ego.”

“Oh? How about your last name be Collins, in tribute?”

“Yeahhhh,” the young man began to reveal himself in vocal inflection, slowly slipping out of his older conversational habits. “Fuck, this feels good…” He adjusted his large crotch in his khakis, then lightly rubbed his abs. “Fuck, Hunter, I like the name Chase. That’s kind of QB-ish, right? Chase Collins?”

“Chase Collins it is.”

“Heh, listen to me talk. I sound like some kid. I am a kid, aren’t I? It’s funny, those guys out there should be my grandkids, but I look like them, I talk like them, I play better than them…” He smiled again. “Thank you, Hunter. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you so much, man.”

“No problem, Chase. I gotta go get ready now. You good up here, old man?”

Chase smiled. Only Hunter knew now. Only Hunter knew how old Chase – Colin - was. But this body, fuuuckkk, this BODY of his… “I’m good. I don’t even want to watch the game, I want to sign NOW.”

“Patience, bro. Let me finish up my time before you start yours.”

Chase rushed toward Hunter and hugged him tightly, a gesture that Hunter was become all too familiar with. “Words can’t express my gratitude, Hunter. Nothing can. Thank you, thank you…”

“See? Told you you’d thank me.”

“You were so right.”


“And that is the story of Chase Collins.”

“Wow,” Neil muttered. “He’s probably a cool dude.”

“Oh, he’s really cool, of course. He’d be the coolest guy on campus regardless, since he’s the QB, but he’s nice and sometimes he’ll say the most hilarious, grandfatherly stuff. He’s great in interviews, though, and he’s got a wicked sense of humor. All of that life experience really helped him out. They worship him down there.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Word is that he’s kind of the school bicycle, though. I guess when you’ve suddenly got the libido of an eighteen-year-old man who runs and lifts weights for fun and doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him...”

“Boy, I can’t imagine what that’s like.” Neil and Hunter exchanged a glance and laughed goofily at the memories of their high school exploits.

“Halftime’s over, the game’s back on,” Neil said. “You staying?”

Hunter nodded. “Why not? Just us guys, right Lachlan?”

Lachlan bounced giddily. “Yeah! Yeah!”

Hunter picked up Lachlan and the three walked back into the lounge. “How many people have you changed, Hunter?”

Hunter set Lachlan down and scratched his head. “Oh, dozens. Maybe a hundred by now. I’ve got a lot of stories. A lot.”

They sat and watched the game, Neil’s arm firmly wrapped around his son. As he sat with his child in his arms, he couldn’t help but imagine all the great stories Hunter had inside of him.

They could fill a book, no doubt…

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