Hunter: Family Man (musc)

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It was the day after Neil and Travis’s confrontation, and the last day in town for all three as well before they headed back to the Tri-State Area. The three men had eaten breakfast and had a two hour conversation, mostly answering Travis’s multitude of questions, in addition to talking about their children, their future children, their wives and their jobs. Travis revered both of them. Hunter could tell Neil had trouble considering Travis a friend just yet, but it would happen eventually. By the time breakfast ended, lunchtime was approaching. Hunter and Neil checked up on their kids and found Katie and Mel both asleep. Neil stayed at the Hardy house to help watch the children, and Hunter hit the gym with Henry, after much begging.

“That’s IT!”

The weight bar smashed back into its resting place with Hunter’s hands hovering above it, but not touching it. Henry heaved a large breath and then sat up from the bench.

“Fuuuucccccckkk, that was harder than it should’ve been.” Hunter’s younger brother stood up and they looked at each other, eye-to-eye. It was hard for Hunter to accept Henry’s new manhood. They had always enjoyed a closer-than-usual fraternal bond; Henry’s backseat conception being the cherry on top of the day that Hunter’s life completely changed. At 10 years old, Hunter had so desperately wanted a little brother, and before his 11th birthday he had one to go along with his “new” Dad. Henry worshipped Hunter and followed him around religiously as a child, a sweet two-year-old clinging to his twelve-year-old brother’s leg. Henry was only distracted when more Hardy boys started arriving – first the twins, then Harrison, then Hudson – but even then he was still keeping one eye trained on his older brother, the older brother who could do no wrong. Hunter set the standard, and Henry knew it was his job as the next-in-line to keep to it.

To Hunter, Henry was the embodiment of his new life, the barrier keeping the before separate the after. Without turning Sean Hardy into the Sean Hardy, he never would have gotten Henry, whom he loved so much. Henry was the one with him when he really got to know Neil at Target those ten years ago. Henry was the first little brother to ask Hunter to toss a football with him. Henry was the only brother who knew what Hunter could do. But Henry was always little Henry, kind and baby-faced, a sort of miniature Hunter that served as a nice placeholder once the oldest Hardy son moved out and began forging his own path. Hunter knew that Henry was not a placeholder anymore. He was, in fact, a glorious man, exceedingly handsome and athletic and gifted, and in many ways better than Hunter. He had maintained a solid GPA, just like Hunter. He was the most popular boy in school and a shoo-in for Homecoming King, just like Hunter. He had all friends and no enemies, just like Hunter. He was starting varsity quarterback and eventual state champion his freshman season of high school, just like Hunter. And he had done all of this without Hunter’s biggest advantage – his mysterious, nameless power.

Henry was an inch shorter than Hunter, 6-5 to his older brother’s 6-6. His frame was powerfully muscled and appealingly shaped: broad shoulders and a back that flared like a cobra, corded arms and a barrel chest. 28-inch thighs, thick from years of running, each practically the dimensions of his 31-inch waist, and large veiny hands that tossed footballs with perfect precision. His voice had deepened into a carbon-copy of Hunter and Sean’s. He was just as handsome as his father and older brother, but slightly less masculine and more pretty; his jaw equally chiseled but not quite as square, his nose equally fine but not as wide, his lips equally shapely but thicker. Girls were mad over him. A fight at school had broken out between two juniors when one claimed she had slept with Henry and the other seethed with jealousy; the best part of the story being that Henry had never met either girl.

It was hard for Hunter to fathom what puberty had accomplished with Henry. He remembered the little boy whose hair he would tousle and he would have to lift up to look over a store’s counter, and he saw almost none of that little boy in the pillar of masculinity who stood in front of him. He had the same dimpled chin and jet-black hair as that little boy, but baby-faced innocence was long replaced by oversexed confidence.

“375. Not bad, kid,” Hunter said with a sly smile.

Even a cocky jock loves a compliment from his hero. Henry’s eyes sparkled and his mouth broke into a Hollywood grin, and suddenly Hunter saw that little boy again and felt an odd relief. This is how a father sees, he realized. Henry pulled up his white tank and wiped the sweat off of his face, exposing for a moment abs that you could grate cheese on. He smoothed out his tank again and noticed his brother staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…can’t believe how grown up you are.”

Henry looked away for a second and chuckled. “I’m not that grown up. I’m still in high school.”

“You’re just such a big fucker. You’re built better than most of the Jets. You’ve got the same body as, well, me. Look, I’m not trying to get all soft on you, but I’m proud of you, Hen. I love you, okay?”

Henry’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’ve become such a pussy since Burke was born.”

Hunter said nothing, but smiled a little too sweetly and gently placed his hand on Henry’s shoulder, feeling the perfect formation of his bulging traps. Then, he squeezed it with such an unbelievable grip that Henry’s knees buckled.

“Ow! OW! Stop! I LOVE YOU TOO!”

Hunter grinned. “I thought so. You may be the Big Man on Campus, but I’ll always be the Big Man’s older brother.”

“No horseplay in my gym, boys,” Sean Hardy hollered from across the weight room. “How old are you two anyway?”

“Young enough to still work out at our Dad’s gym,” Hunter shot back. Sean laughed and walked back inside his office, shutting the door behind him.

Moments after Sean disappeared, Henry’s eyes got wide. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I got you, man!” Hunter saw Henry dart past him and hurdle a couple of benches en route to the man whose weight bar was wobbling dangerously above his neck. The 18-year-old Hardy grabbed the weight and barely blinked as he single-handedly racked it.

Hunter was making his way to the scene, but Henry was already offering a hand and a towel to the man who was still breathing heavily from the panic.

“Thank you. Christ, that’s embarrassing.” The man wiped his brow. “I did a couple sets and it was fine, so I put on the weight that I did in high school.”

“That’s way too damn much weight for you, man,” Henry said. “And you need a spotter. My Dad could do it.”

It was simply assumed between both Henry and the man that Henry was Sean Hardy’s son. “Sean Hardy can’t be bothered with schlubs like me,” the man muttered. “Thank you, though.”

“No no, really, my Dad doesn’t think like that. I mean, he runs his own gym chain. He’s in business for guys like you. His life is fitness, and he loves helping people.”

“Well, it obviously paid off with his kids. Thanks, I appreciate you saving my ass, but I just don’t feel comfortable wasting your Dad’s time.”

“Suit yourself, but if you change your mind, you’re working out at the gym where his office is,” Henry said, offering his hand once more, this time to shake. “I’m Henry Hardy.”

“Steve Atkinson. Heard about your season opener, good way to start your senior year.”

Henry smiled with obvious pride. “Thanks. Oh,” he continued as if it were a basic introduction, “and this is my brother, Hunter.”

At forty-five years old, Steve Atkinson thought he was past fawning. But when confronted with two athletes of the caliber of Hunter and Henry Hardy, he got sweaty and nervous and stammered out a lame “pleased to meet you,” like some lovesick cheerleader. They were just so…impressive. Big, muscular, and good-looking. He almost wanted them to go away so that everyone else in the gym would stop staring in his direction.

Hunter looked at the plates stacked onto the bar. “That’s a lot of weight, Steve. You need to be careful. How long have you been working out?”

It was a considerate question, but all parties involved knew the answer was going to be “not too long.”

“Uh…this is my first time in a gym in, well…” Steve did some calculations in his head. “First time in fifteen years.”

Henry’s eyes widened a little. “Whooooaaaaa.” That’s almost my whole lifetime, the 18-year-old realized.

Both Hardys crossed their large arms across their chests, coincidentally at the same time. Brothers ‘til the end. “What brought you back, Steve?”

“Mrs. Atkinson. She’s worked out here for years.”


“I turned forty-five last week and she bought me three months here. Subtle hint,” he said, patting his very large belly for emphasis. “I’ve let myself go a little.”

Or a lot, Henry thought. Steve Atkinson was very rotund, in the way that most middle-aged men are. Paunchy and pale, at six-feet, he’d always been chubby and had, since his wedding, crossed from chubby to fat. The frustrating part was the way he had married a chubby woman who had gotten smaller as he got bigger, both bodies getting further away from their median until Steve was legitimately fat and his wife was a svelte size 4. Steve had hit the gym twice a month, maybe, until their first daughter was born, and then he stopped altogether. Daughter #2 came two years after that, and then a son, Steven Jr. Little Stevie was fat like his father, in the same way that his two older sisters were skinny like their mother. Steve’s wife raised her daughters to be conscientious of their health but not obsessive about their appearance, trying to avoid the pitfalls that she had suffered in her own weight struggles. Steve’s daughters were 15 and 13, thin and naturally pretty. Stevie was only 9, but Steve watched his son struggle with weight the same way he had and it broke his heart. Stevie’s weight, and Steve’s poor handling of it, was a source of strain in his marriage. Along with puppy-dog eyes and a kind demeanor, Stevie had inherited his father’s low self-esteem, his pear-shape, and a knowledge that most boys were not built like him. The boy just kept getting rounder. Finally, at 45, Steve’s wife Felicia decided that her son was going to have a positive example for a father, and a gym membership was purchased. “At least go to the gym,” she had pleaded. “Show him that exercise has merit.”

But Steve wasn’t going to tell any of that backstory to a Hardy.

Unless he was asked.

“It’s good that you’re here, but your wife will appreciate your body a lot more if you’re alive,” Hunter said, deadpan. “So be careful with those weights, man. Got any kids?”

“Three,” Steve said, sitting back on the bench. “Two teenage daughters and a nine-year-old boy.”

“They’ll appreciate you being alive too, then,” Hunter said as he and Henry removed plates from the weight stack. “Here, try this weight.”

Steve nodded and didn’t talk back, amazed that the two oldest Hardy boys were voluntarily spotting and advising him. It wasn’t an opportunity you messed up. He slid under the bar.

“Stop,” Hunter said as Steve reached for the bar. “Your legs are wiggling. Plant your feet and dig your heels in.”


“Arch your back like this,” Hunter said, demonstrating, which also caused his chest to push out and tighten the tank he wore. Everyone in the gym silently gawked. “Tuck your shoulder blades in slightly.”

Henry placed both his hands on the weight bar. “Put your hands where mine are, Steve. No, no, move your thumbs right like…yeah, there we go.” Henry gingerly helped as Steve lifted the weight and started doing reps. Hunter reached down and adjusted Steve’s elbows, slightly, to more correct positioning.

“Feel better than before?”

“A lot,” Steve gasped between breaths. And it was true, it was better. The lighter weight, yeah, but also the correct form did wonders. The confidence of two experienced spotters was another plus.

Still, looking up at the faces of Hunter and Henry Hardy, even when they were upside-down, was slightly intimidating. Faces that didn’t hold a hint of superiority but still had cocky little smirks on them. It was odd to think he was so much older than the Hardys; they were so much more physically dominant that he forgot that he was already nearly a grown man when Hunter was born.

“Good,” Hunter said as Henry added more weight to the bar. “Go get some water and come back and do another set and I’ll spot you.”

“But, but, I’m so…tired.”

Hunter and Henry sighed in unison. Hunter did the talking. “Do you want your wife and kids to be proud of you?”

The hangdog face looked up morosely. “Yes.”

Hunter stared down at Steve. “Do you think they’re proud of you now? Do your kids point at you with pride and say, ‘That’s my Dad’?”

Henry shifted in discomfort from the piercing question.

Steve’s face fell even further. “No. No, they don’t. I embarrass them.” He put his head in his hands. “I embarrass my own family.”

Henry reached to comfort the man, but Hunter stopped his brother, shaking his head and flashing a quick smile that Steve didn’t see. Henry pulled his hand back and looked his brother dead in the eye, expressing a multitude of questions with his intense gaze.

Hunter nodded. Henry smiled and thought of his best friend Heath.

“Go get some water, Steve. If everybody stopped working when they got tired, the world would have long since ended.”

Steve didn’t argue, but guzzled water from the fountain and plopped back down on the bench as sweat trickled down his face. Henry sensed Steve’s frustration with himself, but Hunter was the older, and Henry watched in admiration as his brother finely exercised his makeshift client. Steve pushed himself to failure without another complaint.

“Steve, don’t you feel better?”, Hunter asked, clamping a huge hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“I dunno,” the man laughed. “I can’t feel anything, bad or good. I bet I’ll feel like hell in a few hours, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll feel just fine. I’m impressed, Steve – three sets and going to failure after a fifteen-year-break is good shit, man. Good shit.”

Steve nodded and gasped out a “thanks,” then wiped his face with a towel. “My kids aren’t gonna believe I met you.”

“Your address is in the computer, I’ll look you up and send you some stuff.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.”

“No really. I insist.”

“He won’t take no for an answer,” Henry laughed. “Hunter autographs everything in sight. This bench probably has a scribble somewhere.”

Hunter reached for his brother’s shoulder again and Henry dodged. “Okay, okay, sorry!”

Steve smiled at the fraternal bond being demonstrated in front of him. He stood up and shook their hands, explaining that he had to get back to work, so he needed to take a shower and change. Henry and Hunter smiled widely, and Steve now understood why the Hardys ruled the town and were beginning to stake their claim on the celebrity world, too. They were stunningly gorgeous, utterly charming and personable. Born privileged, built strong. What a life to have.

As Steve walked back to the locker room, he felt two lingering stares and looked in one of the mirrors to see the two tall, muscled figures still looking at him. It was strange, he thought, they way the Hardys just stood there, gazing at him. He felt self-conscious and only relaxed once he was out of their sight and in the locker room.

Steve rounded the corner to head to the showers and collided with a very overweight young man of about 25. The kid had mousy brown hair and alabaster skin, wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and was even heavier than Steve. Steve immediately appreciated the kid’s presence and felt less like an outcast in a gym that seemed to be almost 100% hotties. The two chubby men acknowledged each other with a smile and a “sorry,” although the younger man looked bashfully at the floor.

Steve’s upper body was already sore. As he stepped into the shower, he groaned from the stress tightening up his muscles and slowly rolled his shoulders and arms around to loosen them up. “Ahhhhhh.” The cold water of the shower was exhilarating for the first few moments, but Steve slowly cranked up the temperature until the stall began to steam. It felt so fucking good, he wasn’t all that surprised to feel himself becoming erect.

Steve breathed deeply and smiled as the steam rolled around in his nostrils. He shut his eyes contentedly and leaned against the beautifully tiled shower wall. Lazily and without thinking, he rubbed the water and steam into his bare skin. It was rapturous and renewing. This shower was the icing on the cake of an excellent first experience with the Hardy gym.

His hands ran up his thighs, past his rockhard dick, to his stomach. They rubbed and rubbed and Steve’s mind wandered into total relaxed bliss, not noticing the way his stomach appeared to flatten at the same rate that his chest expanded; his pear-shape disappearing as the mass rocketed upwards and pushed out his upper body, while leaving his waist and hips thin and narrow.

Steve’s euphoria was only interrupted when he started feeling deepening ridges on his very taut stomach. His eyes fluttered open and he looked down, only to have his view mostly blocked by two very plump, round pectorals. Their shape was still coming into view, powerful and elevated, a chest that had years of weight training to explain it; all areas of the pecs were exercised to the limit, the top, middle, bottom and sides all had equal volume and mass. Steve whimpered in stupefied shock. He stuck his fingers into the grooves between the abs that he had to crane his neck to see, then pinched a nipple that pointed outward instead of down.

Confusion flooded Steve’s mind. This wasn’t right, it wasn’t natural…how was this happening? He had never heard of anything like this happening before. Was this a dream? He knew his surroundings, he remembered getting there – it certainly didn’t FEEL like a dream. He’d never felt such terrifyingly erotic pleasure from the sight of his own body. By now, his arms were beginning to match his torso: bulging biceps dissected to a road-map of veins, connected to triceps that looked like horseshoes stuck underneath his skin. Even his hands were unfamiliar to him, save the big mole on his right thumb that he’d had since he was a little boy – the only distinguishing feature that let him know that his hands were still his own. They were oddly bigger than before, although the fingers weren’t much longer. The perfect circle of his bicep fit like a puzzle piece underneath his flaring pectorals as he manhandled himself. The odd sensation of bulking shoulders caused him to let out a quiet “Ohhhhh pleeeeeaaaasseeee,” more from fear than from pleasure.

“You okay in there, sir?”

He assumed it was the voice of the kid he’d run into outside of the showers. Steve stood quiet for a few moments, feeling his shoulders continually broaden until he could practically see his own ‘V’ from the front. One turn to his left revealed a huge trap hugging the top of his powerful chest, and lying next to a delt that was the size of a regulation cantaloupe.

“Yu, yu…” Steve panted, trying to make a sound, any sound. “Yuuuuh,” he swallowed. “I’m f-fine.” And he was, wasn’t he? He didn’t hurt, really…unnatural as this all was, Steve knew he was technically fine. In fact, he acknowledged that he was probably, at this moment, the healthiest he had ever been in his life.

But not panicking was really a struggle.

He smacked his tongue around his mouth and closed his eyes again, momentarily shuddering from the bizarre pulling and growing he was feeling all over his body. His skin was hot and he felt it pulling continually tighter as his muscles inflated. His weirdly big hands grasped his thighs as they wiggled, pressing into each other, forcing him to change his stance. He felt the muscles of his back push outward and further into the shower wall at the same time as his very nice ass. Steve stumbled forward and almost hit his head on the other side of the shower, stopped only by his hands once more. He traced the muscles of his forearm in front of him with a finger, gasping at the power that gushed through his veins.

A look downward revealed two feet that were also significantly larger than before. The dark, wet hair on his legs looked fantastic now, on top of thickly carved muscles – quads, calves – and beautifully tanned skin.

Steve began to become concerned that he was becoming younger. As amazing as it was to have a god’s body, he had three children and a wife. He couldn’t be younger. Maybe forty, but he couldn’t just become some twenty-year-old kid. He had to be a Dad. His family needed him to be himself.

But the dark hair on his legs and arms, and the thick virility of his entire body, didn’t exactly radiate youth. They broadcast experience, and wisdom, and certainly power, but he didn’t see many kids with this kind of muscle. Certainly not the gym-bunny frat kids, with their fat-free, skinny muscles, or the linebackers with their bulging bulk. The muscle that Steve had – that was dedicated muscle, perfectly supplemented and trained and prepared. It took time. Except, Steve thought, it apparently didn’t, since it was taking him all of ten minutes to develop it.

“Pllleeeeeaaaassseeee,” he pleaded with the unseen force. He bit into his forearm to keep himself from screaming in panic. I like this, but let me be myself, he thought. I have to be Steve Atkinson. Why is this happening to me?! WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!

He came like a gunshot, pellets exploding into the wall in front of him. With every pump, he felt his balls twist and grow, and saw his shaft expand and lengthen instead of go flaccid. He wasn’t as hard as he had been, but his dick looked longer than before even as he came; before he knew it, his enormous equipment had emptied its seed and lay soft against the inside of his leg, and he couldn’t believe its girth. It looked like a fuckin’ soda can. Steve had never seen a cock this big in his life.

Steve was finished. He stood in the shower and straightened his posture, watching his chest expand and deflate with each deep breath he forced. This cannot be my body. He couldn’t put his arms completely at his side because his chest and arms and shoulders were all so large. The word Steve thought of to describe himself before was ‘round,’ and it still applied in a way – his pecs, his delts, his traps, his biceps, hell even his forearms, all had the same size and shape of a basketball. A big, pumped, veiny basketball. He balled his big hands into powerful fists and placed them on his hip bones – which he could see for the first time in years – and rolled his shoulders forward, flaring out his back like he’d seen Schwarzenegger do. He bumped into the shower, and with a shock realized that he filled the entire stall, his thickly muscled back and big brawny arms colliding with the tiles. The thing that blew Steve’s mind was how small his waist was. Even as a kid, he had a spare tire; but now his waist was 32 inches at MOST, and it made his chest look even wider, his shoulders look even broader, which in turn made his biceps look even bigger. His tiny little waist flared out into two juicy thighs that pressed together and made his dick stick out. He grabbed his ass and squeezed the two rocks, which didn’t give at all when pressed; Steve turned and saw his butt sticking out like a shelf, matched only slightly in the back by his bulked-out lats and football-sized calves.

Oh God, what am I going to tell Fee? And my kids? What have I become? What has this shower DONE to me?

With marked hesitation, Steve stepped out of the shower stall and wrapped a towel around his waist. “Anybody in here?” His voice didn’t sound terribly different: maybe a little stronger, a little huskier, but he’d had a deep voice to begin with. “Anybody?”

He swore he heard a little movement, but a quick inspection yielded nothing. He walked to the lockers to get his bag, then turned and caught the mirror. The bag, and towel, both dropped.

Well, he sure wasn’t younger, but he looked a thousand times better. His face – it was fuckin’ incredible. The weak, flabby chin and puffy cheeks were replaced by solid bone structure: a wide, stubble-dotted jaw and swooping, high cheekbones below piercing sapphire eyes and thick, dark eyebrows. He looked tougher, stronger, but he was definitively still himself. Steve recognized his own essence. It was like his original face, but after a hundred-thousand dollars worth of incredible surgery, or something. A strong forehead, a square chin, everything chiseled and masculine and beautiful. Steve came again. He couldn’t help it once he saw the thick dark hair on his head, starting at an even hairline across the top of his forehead; the once bald-spot now filled in with salt-and-pepper locks. A smile revealed perfect white teeth. I look like a movie star. I look BETTER than a movie star.

And his body looked even better in the mirror, the shoulders and back not even all visible in the narrow glass. Steve couldn’t believe how flat his stomach was, with the chiseled-out lower abs and the saddle and the hip flexors. He caressed himself and shot into his hand. He knew most kids half his age didn’t have abs like his, or strength like his.

But the panic was still in his mind, even as he began dressing and realized that his clothes had grown to fit his new muscle girth. The dress shirt he’d worn to work was pulled taut all over. He unbuttoned the neck because it was uncomfortable around his thick neck and Adam’s apple, then he unbuttoned the next button down as well and was amazed at how the shirt was still tight around his bulbous pectorals and powerful arms. Every movement made the fabric crinkle and stretch. He knew if he rolled his shoulders too far forward, the shirt’s back would split. His khakis were waist 32, as he’d thought, and he even tightened them a little with his belt. Steve was looked almost topheavy, were it not for the mammoth thighs and powerful ass holding up his pants, the pants with the noticeable bulge in the front. His legs were longer now, he saw he’d grown a couple of inches in addition to the pounds of muscle he’d developed.

With much trepidation, Steve walked into the main gym and headed for his car, stealing glances for a Hardy along the way. He saw none, but was blown away by the response his body got. Women smiled at him, men nodded at him, both in a way that hadn’t happened before. Steve could tell he was respected.

Reaching his car, Steve felt like he’d just conquered the world. It wasn’t until he sat in his driver’s seat and saw the note on his steering wheel that his mind began to race once more.

It was a neon green Post-It, and on it was scribbled, “It’s not only for you.”

Steve Atkinson did not know Rawley Cavenaugh, and Rawley Cavenaugh did not know Steve Atkinson.

Hunter Hardy didn’t know Rawley Cavenaugh either, but he’d been observing him over the past hour at the gym. And when Rawley was fortunate enough to be the only other man in the locker room as Steve Atkinson hunked out, he would soon find that a little growth could be contagious.

Rawley Cavenaugh was a chubby young man, and at 24 years old, it was the only body type he had ever known. Large breast-like mounds on his chest that got him teased by his siblings and classmates, saying he needed a bra. His stomach was pulled down by gravity, low and flabby, over his waistbands. His expressive brown eyes were covered by black-rimmed glasses and a mop of shaggy, dull hair hung over his ears and forehead. He was sweet and timid from a lifetime of feeling inadequate, mocked for everything from his appearance to his name, Rawley, pronounced like (but, for a more masculine touch, spelled differently than) the city in North Carolina where his parents conceived him.

He’d only recently moved to town, after getting his first real job with an accounting firm; and his first resolution was to get a gym membership and shake off the stigma that had weighed him down for his whole life. He swore that here, he would not be known as the chubby kid with the funny name.

His first workout had been brisk; it was his lunch hour, after all. Just cardio, but he was sweaty and sore, so that was good, right? A shower had felt great. As he walked back to the lockers, he ran into another guy who seemed to be in the same boat as him. Rawley appreciated that, in a way. It was nice to know that he wasn’t always alone in the gym.

Rawley grabbed his things and headed back to the privacy of the showers to change clothes – after junior high gym class, he still didn’t like to drop his towel when there might be a possibility of someone seeing him naked, even for a second. He didn’t like seeing himself naked, so why would he let other people? But as Rawley headed back, he heard a couple of strange noises. One sounded like a low squeal, followed by a grunt and some muffled words he couldn’t make out. As Rawley’s bare feet stepped across the wet tiles, he heard more noises. A loud slam, like someone punching a wall, made him jump a bit. Then, more muffled sentences and really heavy breathing. The kind of panting you hear after a 100-meter dash or rough sex. Guttural and a little desperate.

Rawley didn’t want to bother the guy, but he was afraid the man was having a stroke or something. “You okay in there, sir?”

A couple moments of silence were followed by an entirely unconvincing “Y-yeahh,” but Rawley didn’t pursue the matter. If the guy had wanted or needed help, he would’ve asked for it. He said he was okay, so Rawley had done all that was required.

The changes were so miniscule at first that Rawley didn’t even notice. They started as soon as Steve’s response reached his ears, like some kind of airborne virus. Legs a little longer, arms a little thicker, stomach a little smaller. As if mass was being moved around from places where it looked bad, to places where it looked good. Nothing, individually, that would be visible to the naked eye, but as a whole was becoming more and more clear. So clear, in fact, that in the few seconds it took Rawley to walk into an empty area, his physique was already considerably more impressive-looking.

Rawley didn’t have any mirrors around him, so he couldn’t see the way his shoulders began to take up more space in his shirt, leaving the fabric to hang looser around his shrinking waist and flat stomach. In fact, it wasn’t until Rawley went to put on his pants that he noticed anything different about himself at all. But his belt was far too large. He’d have to poke new holes to make it fit, he realized, and as he cinched it tighter, saw that it doubled over itself almost halfway around his waist.

“Huh?” This wasn’t like that an hour ago…what could…oh, oh…“Holy shit.”

Rawley’s hands flew up to his torso as it all but disappeared. His pants collapsed around his ankles. “Wh-whoaaaa, no, no, I don’t understand…”

He was shrugging out of his clothes, like a snake shedding his skin. They were too tight in parts and too loose in others, and everything was changing so fast that Rawley’s head spun. He was staring, mesmerized, at the shape in his boxer briefs expanding outward like magic, growing a cock that conquests would brag about landing. “Holy shiiiiiitttt.” A faint smile crossed Rawley’s fear-stained face. A dick that big looked good on anyone, especially-

A voice, deep and husky, broke through the silence. “Anybody in here?”

Rawley covered his hands with his mouth and his eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, his brief euphoria snapped. Don’t make a sound.


With the quietest steps possible, Rawley’s bare feet tread across the shower tiles, thrown slightly off-balance by a body that quivered with every modification it made to itself. He stuck his head out into the row of showers and saw the back of Steve Atkinson walking away. Big muscles rolled on the man’s frame. He looked sensational and spectacular, a huge and powerful body that a man wasn’t born with, but had to earn over the years. Rawley stared, awestruck. It can’t be.

Without thinking too much about it, Rawley darted down the opposite direction from Steve, rounding the other corner and ducking behind the sauna door. He stared at Steve through the slats in the door with shock. He’s the same man. The face was the same, fundamentally, but greatly altered. This was the studly, hunky, testosterone-blasted twin brother of the guy he’d collided with. Drop-dead gorgeous with a body men killed for. Rawley could see Steve was just as shocked with his new body as Rawley was. But Rawley was so preoccupied looking at Steve that he barely felt the rest of his fat dissipating off of him, or the three inches of growth, leaving a tall and lean man where there had once been a shorter, stockier one. Rawley saw Steve cup his pectorals with large, virile hands, and as soon as Steve did so, Rawley felt unbelievable spasms in his own chest. What had once been jiggly man-breasts became high, striated and wide pecs. Nipples stretched tight over thick muscle. A chest grew so thick that it stood out much further than his fatty breasts had before, and as hard as a rock. Rawley bowed his head and grit his teeth, desperately trying to not make a sound. His eyes watered from the Herculean effort.

The more the man in the mirror checked his new body over, the more Rawley changed. A quick flex of Steve’s arms gave Rawley huge guns straight off the cover of Men’s Health. Steve turned to the side and watched his tricep bunch up, and Rawley’s arms swelled out further, exploding with inch upon inch of perfect muscle. Steve crunched his abs and Rawley’s fists slammed into his thighs, anything to distract him from the quick flash of intense discomfort in his stomach. A stomach that now looked like a mottled cobblestone road, with his obliques being the high curbs on each side, leading down into an immense cock that was overflowing with cum. Steve grinned from ear-to-ear as he rolled his shoulders forward, and Rawley’s face twisted into a mixture of shock, terror and pure euphoria as he felt his lats flare wider, wider, wider, giving him lats like the wings of an airplane and shoulders big enough to land the airplane on.

And when he saw Steve’s hands begin to trace the lines and planes of a newer face, Rawley’s eyes widened like saucers. He felt his own face begin to feel tighter, then he felt his own hands enlarge too, matching his bodily dimensions of strength and height. A heavy jawline sharp enough to cut glass pulled his fatty neck taut. He came at the feeling. Expressive brown eyes became a prettier shade of the same color. Eyelashes lengthened and eyebrows thickened under a strengthening brow and new widow’s peak. A big square chin with a deep cleft bulged out under Rawley’s already-pretty lips, and the skin of his cheeks shifted with as the bones underneath got larger. Dimples popped into view when he smiled.

Sweat poured down Rawley’s body in the sauna as he watched Steve get dressed, the nice shirt bunching under swollen, pumped muscles; the khakis accentuating his ass and long legs. Rawley’s own derrierre swelled below him into two appetizing melons, his thighs thickened and his calves burst with definition. He itched his face as the unseen whiskers of his beard become more dense, giving him better five o’clock shadow. When Steve undid the button of his collar, Rawley felt his own neck swell. When Steve undid the next button to reveal the top of his own perfect chest, Rawley felt his shoulders and back and chest become wider, making his eventual shirts more tight across his bulging, rippling muscles.

And as Steve’s well-heeled feet clicked their way across the floor, Rawley’s feet expanded by three sizes.

Rawley lay on the floor of the sauna, writing in his own sweat. He looked down on this body. It was youthful muscle, vital and pulsing under his skin as if every muscle had its own heartbeat. He was very, very tan and the sweat only accentuated the fact. Rawley arched his back and felt the cum flow out of him; he felt so unbelievably masculine that he just wanted to fuck something, anything. He came and came and came and felt like it would never stop. His pecs didn’t give at all when touched; they were each shaped like a dinner plate and were just as wide. He spread his hands wide, and even the large digits didn’t cover his magnificent chest.

I wonder if I’m still me.

Rawley stripped off his boxer briefs, by now dripping with sweat and cum, and tossed them in the trash after a quick sniff. His walk had adjusted to a natural swagger, necessary due to the power of his ass and thighs and the unstoppable roll of his shoulders. He buttoned up the white shirt he wore to work this morning and found that it had adjusted itself as well, fitting tightly around his slim waist and widening in the back to accommodate his stunning V-taper. He tucked it into neat black pants that looked mouth-watering on his long, powerful legs. Rawley stared at his face for what seemed like hours but was only moments. He almost came at the sight of it, especially the silky black hair that was swept back from the widow’s peak that dipped into his pronounced forehead. Brown eyes that could hypnotize anyone into his bed peered out from behind lusty cheekbones.

Rawley blinked. His vision wasn’t any better, he noted with disappointment. He slipped on the black-rimmed glasses and was shocked at how delicious they looked. They changed his whole image. Sweet, unassuming Rawley, with his nerd-chic glasses, packed into a cover-model body that made any sidewalk a runway. He didn’t feel any different, or any more confident, really. He knew he looked great, but even that fact did little to help Rawley’s feelings of deficiency.

Man, that shirt looks good. Rawley puffed his chest out and saw the buttons stretch. He popped a boner. Look at the muscle under-

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

Rawley leapt and spun around to see Hunter and Henry Hardy standing in the doorway. He nearly toppled over, stunned. Why were they here? What had they seen?

“I, I, uh…”

They both had smirks on their faces that said they knew more than they should. “What’s your name?”

“Cavenaugh. R-Rawley Cavenaugh. Rawley, like the city in North Carolina,” he stammered out of habit.

“Rawley, huh? Sit down, Rawley. I’m guessing you’d like an explanation right now, and I’m gonna give it to you.”

The big brown eyes shimmered underneath the glasses. The muscled hunk looked so sweet, and innocent. Afraid. Hunter and Henry liked this guy, they decided. He’d needed a little boost.

Steve Atkinson sat in the driveway of his home, staring at the family’s SUV parked to his left. A presence of a vehicle meant that someone was home, at the least. They had recently bought a third car because Brooke would be 16 soon, and would help with taking her siblings around in exchange for a vehicle. Steve’s hands shook. I’ll just go in, tell them who I am, say some things that only I would say. It’ll have to do. It’s all I CAN do.

“Fee, I’m still your husband. Kids, I’m still your father,” he practiced. “I just look a little different. That’s all. I just look a little different.”

I’m fucking crazy. They’re gonna bash my face in with the fire extinguisher. No, no, I’ll just talk about the days they were born. They’ll know I’m their Dad. I look kinda like myself, still, just better.

He gripped the steering wheel to stop his hands from shaking, but he was still petrified. He was surprised to find himself crying. I was in the hospital room and I saw you come out of your mother and I love you more than my own life and I want to see you finish growing up and please, please don’t reject me.

“Pull yourself together, moron.” He rubbed his temples and took a very, very tentative step out of the car. He shut the door and the very noise made him jump. Calm down.

Steve stood on his stoop, spinning his keychain on his finger for a good five minutes before summoning the courage to put it in the lock and walk inside.

Well, the house looked the same. Exactly the same. He heard footsteps and went white as a sheet. A pretty girl of 13, thin and fresh-faced, rounded the corner. She wore a junior high cheerleading t-shirt and cotton sweatpants, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. Steve stood and stared at his daughter from his higher, more empowered perspective.

Natalie stopped with surprise and looked up. What seemed like an hour to Steve was actually a mere moment, less than a second. She smiled. “Hi, Daddy! You scared me. You’re home early.”

Steve’s eyes widened and his mouth went slack. “Hi, sweetheart.”

She walked past him and into the kitchen, asking if he had a good day as she breezed by. “It was unusual,” he responded, still stunned. “Who all is home?”

“Just Stevie and me. Mom took Brooke to, I think, the dentist or something? Some kind of doctor’s appointment. Brooke was driving to get her driving hours for her license.”

“Mom just left you here with Stevie?”

Natalie shot a withering glance back to her Dad, whose broadly muscled frame filled the entire doorway of the kitchen. “I’m thirteen, Dad.”

“I know you are, Nat.” He walked up behind her and wrapped his pumped-up biceps around her small shoulders. “I love you. Give your Dad a hug.”

“I love you too, Dad,” she said with a hint of confusion in her voice, but Natalie returned the hug anyway. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It was just a day, that’s all. All day long I just wanted to come home and hug my pretty girl.” He kissed the top of her head. “How was school?”

“Fine,” she shrugged. “School’s school.”

“Any boys I need to know about?”

She smiled. “Well…”

“Who is he, Nat?”

“His name’s Harrison,” she blushed. “He’s really, really cute. Brooke is friends with his older brothers and they told her that he likes me.”

“Who are his older brothers?”

“Hank and Hugh Hardy.”

Steve blinked. “My girls are being pursued by Hardys?”

“Proud of us?”

“Careful with those boys,” Steve said. “I know how teenage boys work. They know how good-looking they are and they’ve got a lot going for them, I don’t want you girls to-”

“Daddy, I’m fine. It’s just fun. But Harry, he’s really cute. He’s a wrestler. He’s a GOOD wrestler.”

“Oh, he’s Harry to you now? And of course he’s a good wrestler, the Hardys are athletes. Sports are in their blood. Y’know, I went to the Hardy gym for the first time today and the two oldest ones were there, Hunter and Henry.”

“Omigod, Hunter and Henry Hardy?! Oh GOD, Dad, they’re sooooooo hot. They’re, like, perfect.”

“Yeah, well, your old man knows the Hardys and they all…”

“Wait, did you say you went for the first time?” Natalie’s brow lowered. “You’ve been going there for years.”

“I, uh…” Shit. “I was at that location for the first time.”

“Oh. I was gonna say, I mean, you’re at the gym all the time,” she chuckled. “None of my friends’ Dads look like you.”

Steve smiled. He couldn’t help it.

He heard the refrigerator door open and looked over, then nearly collapsed from the shock.

It was Stevie.

But not the same Stevie.

The boy he’d dropped off at school that morning was chubby, bordering on fat, with rolls on his arms and waist and a big round face. This boy, this Stevie 2.0, was still nine years old, but entirely different otherwise. He was taller; like his father, he had grown. He had no excess fat and possessed a nice physique for a nine-year-old, with nice shoulders and legs and a thin waist. His face was adorable; apple-cheeked, boyish, with light brown hair that was sunburnt blond at the tips. He was tan. He appeared to have become a burgeoning athlete.


Stevie looked up and smiled a beautiful, white smile. His beauty stunned his father. “Hey, Dad.”

Steve shuffled over to his son and dropped to his knees, putting their faces at even height. “Is that you?”


“You’re, you…you’re skinny. You’re fit. What happened?”

Natalie stood behind her father, thoroughly puzzled. “Daddy, he…”

“Did it hurt?”

“Did what hurt?,” Stevie responded, looking increasingly puzzled.

“Losing your weight.”

“Daddy, he’s never been fat.”

Stevie’s big blue eyes were wide and afraid. “Dad, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s your name, son?”

Natalie and Stevie spoke in unison. “Dad…”

“Just tell me your name, I have to know you’re my little boy.”

Stevie began to cry. Big tears rolled down his pretty face. Natalie darted behind her brother and hugged him tight. “Daddy, what is WRONG with you? You’re scaring him. You’re scaring ME!” She hugged Stevie even tighter. “It’s okay, Stevie, Dad’s just tired.”

Steve rolled back on his haunches and sat on the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t want to scare-”

“Stevie. Steven Charles Atkinson, Junior,” Stevie said through sniffles.

“Oh, Stevie,” Steve said, going forward and wrapping his arms around his son, picking him up off the ground in a big bearhug. “I love you. I love you both. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll never doubt you again, I promise.”

He set Stevie down and looked at his children’s two confused looks. “I’m gonna take a nap, I’m tired. Natalie’s right. Listen to your sister, Stevie.”

Steve rubbed his son’s hair and headed upstairs to his bedroom. He walked into the master bathroom and began to undress, becoming hornier and hornier by the minute. He’d had his new body for an hour and hadn’t masturbated yet? What was wrong with him? So fucking hot. Steve watched, and felt, his shirt slip off his tanned skin, the new muscles rippling and twitching with anticipation. He rubbed his nipples, on his huge chest, and ran his hand across the sandpapery texture of his lantern jaw. So FUCKING hot. Steve fingered out his huge cock and began jerking off into the sink, staring at his own unbelievable physique, pumping and pumping. “Jesus, look at meeeaaahhhh.”


He heard a knock on the door and stuffed his rockhard dick back into his overfilled briefs. “Steve, honey? Natalie said you were taking a nap.”

Steve cracked the door. “Are you alone out there?”

“Yeah,” Felicia answered. “What’re you-”

Before she knew it, he’d yanked her into the bathroom and was inhaling her, kissing her face, her neck, her shoulders. “Steve, baby…” She could smell him, his masculine scent. His stubble against her skin, his muscle holding her.

“I couldn’t wait for you to get home, I’m sorry, I started without you,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. “But let’s finish together.” He sat her on the bathroom counter and tore – literally, tore – off his briefs, exposing his spectacular, naked body. Six-foot-two inches, 240 pounds of muscle. He still took her breath away after all of these years.

He began undressing her without her permission, but she didn’t stop him. Felicia knew she was lucky to have a 45-year-old husband with the sex drive of a high-schooler. And he was crazy about her.

He held her in his strong arms and their mouths connected so passionately, it sounded like animalistic noises from the outside. He rubbed his nose against hers. “It’s been a while since we did this,” he said with an evil smile.

“It has?”

Steve dropped the subject and shoved his face between Felicia’s breasts, then looked up at her, a wolfish smile giving way to a sincere one. “Can we try for another boy?”


“I want Stevie to have a little brother,” Steve said, no longer afraid of having another overweight son. “I want to have another son.”

“You can’t just – mmmm, that’s nice – you can’t just decide to have a boy, but-”

“I’m ready for another child, but I can feel it, Fee. I think we’ll have a son,” he said, maneuvering inside of her. “A man who’ll grow up to look like me.”

It was an odd statement, but Felicia couldn’t blame her husband for saying it or blame him for his cockiness. He was born to be gorgeous: he knew it, she knew it. She saw his features in Stevie when she looked at their son, and it excited her. There was a reason Stevie bore his father’s name. Steve was right – another son would be great. And Stevie would love it, and she had wanted more children…there was still time, she was just 39…oooooh, yeah….yessss

Their minds overheated as they fucked. And fucked, and fucked.

“It’s not only for you.”

20 Years In The Future

“Class, this is Ven.”

The man was handsome, really handsome, in that matinee-idol way. Square-jawed and wavy-haired, with piercing blue eyes that shimmered like water when he spoke. The beauty of his face was matched only by his spectacular body. There were many men his age, 29, that were his height – six-three – and weight, 235. But close to none could claim that they too had 4% body fat. His shoulders and arms rippled, visible even through the tight fabric of his dress shirt. His abs were cobblestone, his glutes enormous, and his thighs large. He resembled a Greek god descended to earth.

“Hi, guys,” Ven said, his deep voice reverberating through the small classroom. “Did Mrs. Atkinson tell you why I’m here today?”

The girls in the class were too awestruck by the Adonis in the room to respond, and the boys were so intimidated that they wanted to go straight to the gym. A head in the back shook to answer ‘no.’

“Ah, good, someone in the back is listening,” Ven said with a smile that showed off his perfect teeth. “I’m here today to talk with you all about physical fitness and taking care of yourselves. What did Mrs. Atkinson tell you about me ahead of time?”

“You’re a sports guy,” a girl in the front said with a deep blush.

“Yup,” Ven nodded. “What does that mean, exactly?”

There was silence. The girl who had originally answered shrugged her shoulders and blushed more.

“Well, I’m actually a physical therapist, guys. I’m a certified strength and conditioning specialist, and also a personal trainer. I’ve traveled with several pro sport and college teams to make sure that their athletes stay in peak physical condition. Sound cool?”

The boys in the class nodded vigorously. The girls just stared.

“Did Mrs. Atkinson tell you how she knows me?”

“Oooh! She said she met you in a hospital.”

Ven laughed and so did the teacher. “Well, I guess that’s true, although I have no memory of it,” Ven said, walking over to the woman. He dwarfed her with his mass, but bent down and gave her a kiss on her cheek.

“This is my Mom.”

The class gasped. But, this guy, he was so cool. No way he was their teacher’s son!

“My name is Ven Atkinson. Ven’s short for Steven, my Dad’s name is Steven too, and in high school football there were already four other Steves, Stevens and Stevies. So I started going by Ven. Went by Stevie when I was a kid, though.”

A girl’s hand shot up. “How old are you?”

Ven, and Felicia, laughed again. “I’m 29. And I’m engaged, I might need to clarify.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Sheesh, does Mom not talk about us?,” Ven asked with a smile, turning back to his mother.

Felicia smiled back. “I don’t want to date myself! Look at how young I look, and now you’ve ruined it all. Now my class knows I have a 29-year-old.”

Everyone laughed. “Well, can I tell them?”

Felicia nodded, so Ven spoke. “I have two older sisters, Brooke and Natalie. They’re both married now and would kill me if I told you their ages, so I’ll just say that they’re both in their thirties. Then, there’s me, and I was the youngest for a long time until Mom and Dad surprised us and had Luke, who’s 19. He’s the baby, and yes, he looks a whole lot like me. That’s the family history.”

“Is your brother single?”

“He is, and I’m sure he’s looking for a twelve-year-old girl to remedy that, but I’m not allowed to give out his phone number. Sorry.” Ven shrugged, his shoulder brawn filling his shirt to the breaking point.

The class laughed. Ven stood straight and tall.

“So, you all ready to hear about what it takes to look like me?”

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