Meat Market 4

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“Comin’ through,” Ennis growled as he clomped his way through the small backstage area. His shoulders spanned the entire width of the hallway he was stomping through, leaving bystanders to literally duck as his deltoids blasted over their heads. The hallway stank with his aroma of testosterone, sweaty musk and cigar smoke.

Sid was rounding the corner from the other way and didn’t see Ennis coming. It was only when he ran smack into Ennis’ pecs that he knew the man was there. Sid’s nose dipped between the top of the two hairy mountains and was overwhelmed by the scent of pure, unwashed man. Sid fell straight back, his face covered in Ennis’ sweat, and the enormous brute stepped over him as he bulldozed his way past.

“Fucking asshole,” Sid muttered, scratching his forehead – it itched from the brief moment it had been buried inside Ennis’ thick beard. And then it occurred to him: that stinking 350-pound muscle mountain was probably one of his coworkers, irrevocably transformed into a god, by the heat that Mark had been talking about when they’d walked in. Hell, maybe that guy was Mark…Mark hadn’t been seen for a while. All these patrons had come out of nowhere and suddenly the club – hadn’t it just been a fucking bar and grill?! – was packed wall-to-wall with people, and everyone had gotten separated. Sid turned and watched the backside of the bodybuilder lumbering away. The man’s ass was bigger than most men’s backs, meaning his actual back didn’t even look human. It was like watching a farmhouse move. The bearded guy was six-and-a-half feet tall – huge to begin with – but with his juiced-up muscles, beard and bald head factored in, he came across as impossibly huge. A genuine Goliath.

And that morning, that brute had probably put on his little khakis and his little polo shirt and headed off to work, humming along to a Maroon 5 song and drinking a coffee, not knowing he was going to go to bed with a new name, a new career, and a very new body. He wouldn’t be able to fit one leg into the waist of those morning khakis now. Hell, he wouldn’t be able to fit in the car.

Sid got a boner thinking about it. To be that massive, to command respect without saying a word…it made him hard. And then he felt so ashamed of his arousal. He struggled to his feet, embarrassed, and afraid.

The site this place was on – it was doing something. There’s a reason it had been worshipped…he’d thought his ex-wife was crazy, but she was right all along. God, THAT sucked to admit.

Sid wondered if he’d ever have the chance to figure it out. He’d known something was amiss as soon as he couldn’t find any exits. This place was incubating his very average coworkers and it couldn’t risk letting them escape before they were done. He felt foolish – well, he felt insane – but he crouched down near the ground and whispered to it: “I respect you, okay? Goddammit, stop all this.” Then, as the fear sank back in, he pounded a fist into the floor between his feet. He wondered if he’d even have an office to go to the next day.

Sid had watched Ben change, he’d seen Robby turn into the huge bouncer, and he’d caught glimpses of what had happened to Fred and Dave; once he’d seen Dave’s body puff up with all that muscle, Sid nearly vomited from shock and stumbled into the back area of the club. He hid back there while he heard the costume contest going on. The music’s bass still ground into his head, but at least it was dulled by the walls, and there were far fewer people in the wings.

Sid rolled his sleeves up and used his tie to dab all the sweat off his face. He looked at his undefined forearms and rubbed them, wondering if they were going to be bigger before the night was done.

Then he heard a groan behind him – it sounded almost like an animal. Sid spun around and looked at a row of doors. Disappointingly, none had an exit sign above them. “Hello?!”

No other noise was made. Sid walked up to a door and threw it open, hoping that maybe it would be an unmarked fire exit, but instead a broom fell into his face and he quickly realized it was a storage closet. He shoved the cleaning supplies back in and shut that door before moving on to the next one.

It was a small bathroom, with just one toilet, a sink and a mirror, useful for when performers had no time between acts to run to their actual dressing rooms. There was a person in there, doubled over, with one hand on the sink and the other around his stomach. He groaned again.

Sid recognized the polo shirt, the long khaki pants. This was someone he knew. “Nathaniel?”

The young intern looked up at Sid, and Sid could see that Nathaniel was not well. He looked exhausted, and pale; a far cry from the swaggering ladies man persona he put on at work. Sid, a grown man with an ex-wife, suddenly realized just how young Nathaniel really was.

“I don’t feel good,” Nathaniel said with a belch and a slight heave. “I don’t think you should come in here.”

“What’s wrong, man?” Sid almost stepped into the bathroom, then reversed his course and took a step back.

“My stomach...” Nathaniel shook his head around and leaned against the counter. “I feel really funny. And my head,” he said, moving his hands up to his temples, “my head is pounding.”

Sid had a feeling he knew what was happening. He tried to be comforting. “Yeah, the music is so loud-“

“It’s not the fucking music, okay-” Nathaniel smacked his hand into the sink.


Nathaniel just groaned. His feet slid out and he almost fell, but caught himself on the counter. His head conked into the mirror and he snapped back, then stared at his reflection. His breathing quickened as his wide eyes locked on the mirror. The intern was shaking like a leaf.

Sid sensed the urgency and looked at Nathaniel too. “Dude…your skin…”

Nathaniel’s fresh young face seemed to slide minutely down his head. His eyelids folded slightly, and bags popped out under his eyes, accented by crow’s feet that spread out from the corners of his eye sockets. Frown lines appeared between his eyebrows, along with parenthetical markings around his mouth.

“What was-why did-“ Nathaniel reached up and tried to pull his crow’s feet taut. “I have wrinkles! I’M OLD!”

Wrinkles was a strong word. Nathaniel hardly looked elderly, but his face had a sudden dose of character. “Oh God. Oh God oh god. How am I going to…oh GOD.”

His lips were thinner, and his ears looked slightly bigger than before. He looked like he was wearing excellent aging makeup, like a college kid pretending to be forty. “I look like my dad!,” Nathaniel shrieked, still frantically pulling on his skin.

“Calm down. We’ll figure this out. Breathe.” Sid had never liked Nathaniel at work – in fact, most of the time, the kid was a total pain-in-the-ass, and lazy to boot. But Sid really felt for him now.

He was still dwelling on his sympathies when he noticed Nathaniel’s hands gripping the sink. Sid didn’t think Nathaniel had had hands like that before – big and strong. Even the fingers looked muscular. They hung like cinderblocks from Nathaniel’s thin wrists. When Nathaniel rubbed his temples again, his hands resembled catcher’s mitts against his head. That was when Nathaniel noticed, too, and looked at his broad palms with a startled cry. He shook them frantically, expecting them to shrink back to normal size.

“Wh-wh-what’s wrong with me?!” He buried his head in his hands. “My HEAD…I can’t think straight!”

“You gotta fight it, man. That’s all you can do.”

“I can’t…I can’t fight it,” Nathaniel said, his voice suddenly deeper. “I shouldn’t fight it. They need me.”

Sid got goosebumps all over his body. “No! No! The club doesn’t need you! They have plenty of guys-”

“Not the club,” Nathaniel moaned, looking back up. The mirror reflected a further changed man: his face and body were both broader. He had a stronger jaw and wide-set shoulders that strained at his polo shirt. “I know IT doesn’t need me. But THEY need me.”

“What are you…” Sid watched as Nathaniel continued to fill out. The young collegiate body was thickening up with years. The ribcage and chest expanded, and the rear was getting too big for Nathaniel’s pants. “What are you t-talking about…”

“My kids-”

Sid was quick to respond. “You don’t have kids!”

“I know I don’t,” Nathaniel grunted. “But I know I DO…I-uuuuunrrrrrr…” Whatever word he tried to say was garbled by the swelling of his jaw and neck. Nathaniel’s young features grew out, his natural aging fast-forwarding before Sid’s eyes. The young man sprouted a strong, clefted chin and prominent cheekbones, his average features shifting rapidly to be strikingly handsome. The arch of his eyebrows straightened out into two sharp lines.

He’d always been the office skinny kid, but the man he was becoming was not. This man had a large pair of arms and a dominant chest. His body grew in the way it would have had he played years of water polo and football, then adopted bodybuilding as a grown man. Pecs were pushing and shoving against the front of his shirt, snapping the buttons against the mirror. Nathaniel grunted in resignation, his resolve diminishing as he felt his pants split apart and his solid, manly ass swell out. Powerful legs stomped against the ground. “Just make it stop,” he groaned. “Pleeeeease.” Nathaniel’s voice was slipping into bass territory, and the short hair on his head was growing longer, flopping over his forehead. He wriggled and struggled with his small clothes.

“You’re…you’re…” Sid couldn’t find the words. “You’re a ladies' man! C’mon, Nathaniel, FIGHT IT!”

“I DON’T WANT TO, OKAY?!” Nathaniel’s pecs exploded through his shirt, heaving out with such force that they could have shattered the mirror. A dusting of chestnut hair had grown on their mountainous expanse. He was getting big. “I HAVE TO DO THIS FOR MY KIDS!” As he was saying it, Nathaniel was trying to choke back the words, his body twisting and contorting in fear. “NNNRGH! THIS IS SO WRONG-“ He pounded his fists together and then beat on his chest, experiencing a paroxysm of frustration and confusion. The steady growth of his body was so subtle and smooth that he resembled, to Sid, a special effect. Nathaniel’s back was curving outward with large muscles that jut out from the back of his neck and hung out from under his arms. He grew so wide, so quickly, that it looked more like the room was shrinking, rather than its occupant growing bigger. “This is perverse,” he sobbed. “This is – this isn’t FAIR!”

And he was right: the transformation was playing dirty, and underhanded. The new memories of his children made it impossible for Nathaniel to drum up a shred of resistance for the alteration of the fabric of his life. He remembered seeing his kids being born, holding them, feeding them, hugging them, playing with them, and he fell so in love with them – and the memories of them – that he couldn’t imagine a life where they were absent. And so, consequently, he had to embrace the path that his life was currently taking.

That left Sid to watch the memories taking their physical form on Nathaniel’s newly massive body: years of sports of every kind, resistance training, heavy weightlifting and careful supplementation, all grafting themselves onto his physique. Powerful legs from his football days, huge arms from water polo and bicep curls, a broad chest from every kind of bench press that existed. He was a large, masculine man, with a dominance that radiated from him. The body hair was just enough to accent his muscles without distracting from them.

Nathaniel was staring at his hands, curling them into fists and releasing, over and over. He pounded them into his chest, but the huge pecs didn’t even quiver. His body continued augmenting, an impressive amount of growth happening at his thighs, where the distinctive saddlebags of a true lifter were now hanging off the sides of his quads. Higher up, a gathering of white hair was appearing near his temples and in his sideburns, his glossy brown hair segueing into salt-and-pepper territory. The daily highlight of his stubble got heavier on his handsomely stern face.

“Your underwear…”

Nathaniel’s collegiate boxers were shrinking, the fabric looking like it was being swallowed by his two enormous ass cheeks. The big man bucked and groaned as he felt the underwear riding up into him, the fabric of boxer shorts twirling into a small strip of fabric that couldn’t be seen between his monster glutes. In front, his package ballooned, a long, fat cock straining against a shrinking pouch, joined by two big breeding balls. The only clothing left on his body was now a tiny black thong, threatening to fail from the weight of his package. Nathaniel felt something stuck between his pecs, and flexed them, pushing out a gold wedding band on a thin chain that he wore around his neck.

Sid saw Nathaniel hold the ring and stare at it. Nathaniel smiled and let the ring fall back into its place on his chest, where he patted it and tweaked one of his nipples.

“Kinda ridiculous, huh?” the mature, stunning man said, bouncing his pecs so that the ring danced on top of them. He slapped a hand against his blocky abs and grinned at the sound of his firm muscle easily absorbing the shock of the impact.

“What?” Sid took a step back and stared at the man. Where Nathaniel had been, now stood a huge bodybuilder in a black thong, lovingly cupping his obscene cock and balls as he stared into the mirror. The new man’s eyes had a paternal quality to them – which made sense to Sid, since he’d heard the memories of the kids coming in. But there was something very primal and masculine about the gaze, too – this was a man who was very proud of his brawn, very proud of the fact that he had children, and very proud of how he’d fucked his wife senseless to create said children.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nathaniel said, his bass taking on an affected, sultry tone. “You think I look preposterous. But don’t ya wish you were as big as me?”

He reached out and rubbed Sid’s head, and Sid jerked away. “Stop that!”

“It’s alright, little guy. You can admire my muscles. My sons climb all over them. I’m like a big jungle gym. Don’t you think my sons are lucky to have such a big, strong dad to protect ‘em?”

Sid tried out one last tactic. “You look great,” he stammered out, “but I’m not a customer here. I’m just here visiting a friend, I was, uh, I was looking for the bathroom.”

“Thank God,” Nathaniel said, his voice still deep but no longer faux-sexy. “I hate the personal shit.”


“I’m alright up on the stage, but one-on-one private dances I don’t like.”

“You’re a stripper?”

The man looked down at his huge body. He chuckled. “I’m an exotic dancer,” he said, in a mock correction.

“Do, uh, do you really have kids?”

“Yeah. Got four. All boys. They really do climb all over me. Oh, I see where you’re going with this.” Nathaniel walked back into the bathroom and began buttoning up a white dress shirt that was clearly too small for him, designed to make his already huge muscles look like they were attempting to explode from the confining fabric. “I wasn’t always doing this. I used to be the respectable businessman with the office. Got laid off two years ago,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We had another on the way, and I couldn’t get a fucking job, you know? I had to provide for my family, right? So I talked it over with my wife, she went back to practicing law and I became the stay-at-home daddy.”


“I had a lot of time on my hands so I went back to the gym, got real shredded again. I’ve always been big,” he said casually, like it was nothing, “but I wanted to try out bodybuilding, and I finally had the time, you know?”

Sid nodded yes, like he knew.

“And a guy at the gym, well, he called me over and we talked about how I could make a few extra bucks, blah blah blah, and next thing I know my wife is cutting up my suit pants and sewing velcro into ‘em.” Nathaniel was putting on the tearaway pants as he spoke, clearly from a period in the man's life where his thighs had been a few inches smaller in circumference. “Aw, shit, where are my manners? Name’s Theo,” he said, extending his hand.


“Yeah. As in Theodore.”

“I get it, I just…” Sid stared up at Theo’s handsome face. The muscle god towered over him for a few seconds before clipping a tie onto his shirt collar.

“They call me Ted on stage. Teddy Bear. Get it?” Theo laughed, and the shaking of his huge shoulders caused his clothes to make actual noise from the stress. It looked like he was going to rip apart the suit just by laughing. “Teddy Bear, except I don’t have a beard, so I’m not much of a bear. Wife drew the line at me looking like Grizzly Adams. Alright, brother, gotta go onstage soon. Do my little ‘getting off work and taking off the suit’ song and dance. Maybe do some daddy stuff, they like that.” He took two steps forward and suddenly shoved Sid’s face between his chest, Sid’s nose going between two straining buttons on Theo’s shirt. Sid’s nostrils filled once more with the same musky, potent scent he’d gotten from Ennis. Again, he boned up. “You can get this big, little fella,” Theo purred. “Not this tall, but this big. I can see it. You wanna get bigger, don’t ya?”

Sid pulled away. “What-“

Theo humped his big body against Sid. The big man tugged off his tie and purposefully blew a button off his shirt. “Unnngh. You wanna play on Daddy’s muscles? It’s alright, I won’t get mad at ya. I’m used to it because I have so many sons, I’m a big stud and I can’t fucking stop breeding. I’ll protect ya just like I protect them.”

“I’m not, uh-“

Theo burst into an easygoing laugh. “Sorry, man, just practicing. Look, you're blushing!”

“Yeah,” Sid muttered, pushing at his pants to hide his erection. “Just flushed…”

“Big Daddy Teddy Bear will protect ya,” Theo said, again, laughing, but completely aware of his virility, and the effect it had. “I’ll see ya around, man,” he said, heading to the backstage area with a wave.

“Bye…Nate,” Sid whispered, watching the hulk in the suit saunter away with muscles moving in beautiful, perfect harmony. Theo had the bodybuilder swagger down pat. His arms were as big around as the two-year-old son waiting for him back home.

“Nate,” Sid called out, but Theo didn’t look back and turned the corner, and Sid heard the crowd explode as the suited dad trod casually onto the stage. Burdened by curiosity, Sid cautiously walked into an empty area of the wings and watched Theo’s act. The beefy man’s biggest coup was that he did most of his stripping hands-free: removing his tie by flexing his neck, taking off his shirt by swelling his chest and wriggling his shoulders, launching buttons all over the stage. By the time he was done, Theo was so sweaty that the dollar bills stuck to his body, and he literally rolled around on the stage to collect his tips, flinging his hair and bouncing his ass proudly.

The music shifted as the next act began. Sid craned his neck to see the rest of the stage, but no one was on it. It was only when the stage lights went out and spotlights guided his line of sight, that Sid saw who the next act was: Mark, still in his work shirt and khakis, looking horribly out of place in a giant cage that was hanging high above the screaming crowd.

“Oh no…” Sid whimpered, unable to look away.

“Get me outta here!” Mark kept yelling it, but no one in the crowd, including Sid, could make it out. Mark looked like a mouse in a trap. It was clear to Sid that he had no recollection of how he’d gotten inside the cage in the first place. Mark had pit stains that went nearly down to his waist. His head snapped wildly around and his arms swung as he tried to keep his balance in the precarious cage. The music and the lights were completely disorienting.

“This is fucking crazy! Let me out!”

Sid saw Mark put his hands on the bars of the cage. The lights strobed and there was a cheesy lightning-and-thunder sound effect. Mark shrieked in pain and fell back, and the crowd ‘ooooh’ed.

Sid saw what Mark didn’t: Mark’s short blond curls seemed to reach for the ceiling. His hair got shorter on the sides but longer on top, and higher, until the strands stood straight up, four inches in the air. From the roots up, the blond turned black, leaving Mark with a very stylized, very spiky, very high black fauxhawk.

“Mark!” Sid yelled from the wings, despite suspecting that Mark couldn’t hear him. “Mark, don’t touch the-“

Mark threw himself against the bars, his body visibly seizing, just like it was being electrocuted. He stumbled back again, eyes stunned, having already completely forgotten that the bars hurt to touch.

Sid watched as Mark’s body, already in good shape, swelled up with muscle. Every fold in Mark’s clothes was ironed out by the growing form underneath. The peaks of his biceps popped up as his pecs pushed out and his back flared. Already-broad shoulders stretched further out and strained at his shirt seams. Mark’s ass, the one part he’d always tried and failed to enlarge in the gym, swelled outward with new genetics, a bubble ass blowing up bigger and bigger. The clothes that had been one size too big were now two sizes too small, like Mark was wearing an outfit from high school. His waist pulled in, but the extra space in his pants was made up for by his booty. With the lights shining behind him, Mark looked to Sid like the Gold’s Gym logo.

Mark looked down at himself. He looked at his nipples poking through his shirt, his big biceps straining at the sleeves. This didn’t seem right. He opened a button and checked out his chest – had he always had pecs that broad and square? Where had they come from? Shit, he needed to get out of—


Mark grabbed his head and shook from side to side. His face now sported a manicured black shadow that would never leave his jaw, no matter how much he shaved it. His sky-high hair now gleamed with fresh pomade.

Childlike, Mark reached for the bars, but he heard someone say his name. “No, Mark! No! Don’t touch the bars!”

Mark’s eyebrows – now black too – twisted up. He didn’t understand. He knew he should understand, but he didn’t. “¿Qué?”

“Don’t touch the bars!”

“¿Qué?!” Mark touched his lips and felt them swell sensually out, his whole face becoming sexualized. His lashes grew long and dark, and his eyes turned a beautiful brown as they got bigger and more hooded. “Hablo, hablo inglés,” he stammered out, yelling more at himself than anyone else. “Soy Americano! Ayúdeme! Por qué no puedo hablar Inglés?! Ayúdemeaaaghghhhhh!” The electrical pulse shot through him and he swelled again, muscles piling on top of muscles. The music took on a whole new meaning and he began to grind his pelvis against the bars vacantly, feeling his cock balloon inside his underwear as his ass tore through it on the other side. With his new plump pout, he kissed the cage and sent more volts through his face.

Sid watched helplessly from below as his friend took on a whole new form: that of a shredded, perfectly proportioned muscle god. Mark’s shirt blew open and bared his pecs and shredded eight-pack. Big, broad shoulders and pecs tight as a drum, and as square as Mark had once been. His body contorted until it was a nearly freakish ‘V’, a teeny waist expanding up into a prominent chest and wide shoulders. His arms performed their own burlesque act by slowly tearing through the sleeves, the muscle pumping itself onto his biceps and triceps as they hung out in the air. His pale Irish skin soaked itself with a cinnamon-tinted honey hue, almost gold under the lights. His teeth re-aligned inside his squaring jaw, this Mark becoming absurdly handsome as his genetics changed to fit the standards of the Meat Market. Mark’s averagely handsome face sharpened, every feature becoming rigidly precise. Razor-sharp cheekbones stood out from his eyes like windowboxes. His stubbled jawline was straight out of a fantasy. Mark was transforming into a caliber of man that had never existed outside of Photoshop before.

His khakis were rolling up his legs, baring bulging calves and thighs that dripped with masculine prowess. Behind, his ass continued to swell with pride, jiggling with its own rhythm. Magnificent. It was an ass that had, until that point, only been seen in the dreams of the most ass-obsessed gay men.

It was a stupefying process to watch. Sid’s mind couldn’t fully process the complexities of what was happening. Mark didn’t look like that. He didn’t have nipples that could double as Hershey's Kisses or abs that looked like his skin had shrinkwrapped around an egg carton. And he certainly didn’t look like a Spanish stud able to give Banderas in his prime a run for his money.

The khaki pants were turning green, and the fabric was changing too: a glossy, shiny, silky material taking over. Soon the new Adonis was sporting a pair of lime green hot shorts, so tight that the waist was starting to rip over the bottom blocks of Mark’s eight-pack. It was good to keep them small – made Mark’s ample over-endowment look even more extreme. And, as they did with everything that attempted to cover their seductive majesty, Mark’s ass cheeks were cresting out of the top of his shorts – the world’s sluttiest plumber’s crack.

“Esto es un error!” Mark grabbed the bars and shocked himself, but his scared yell came out as a whorish moan instead, and he suddenly smiled.

Sid saw the smile, and his blood ran cold. He watched the switch from fear to joy as Mark bounded around the cage, flexing and preening. “Mark!” Sid kept yelling into the air, going hoarse. “MARK!”

“You trying to get his attention?” Ken was walking past, toweling off his pecs. “He can’t hear shit up there. Wouldn’t understand you anyway though.”

“Understand?” Sid looked over at Ken as it began to dawn on him what that meant.

“Yeah, Marcos is from Spain, bro. Doesn’t speak a lick of English yet.”

“M-M-Marcos…” Sid looked back up. He heard Marcos taunting the crowd playfully: “¿Te gustaaa?” Marcos shoved a hand down the front of his short shorts and let his eyes roll back as he groped himself. The new Spaniard was complete masculine sex. He obviously shaved his body, given how hairy he was above the neck, but the hairlessness of his muscles made them look even sharper and bigger. He was a perfectly-cut diamond, a carefully-sculpted work of art designed to be gawked at and lusted after.

“Marcos,” Sid sighed in defeat, wiping away tears that had welled up while watching Marcos shove his bulbous glutes against the bars of his erotic prison. “I’m never getting out of here.”

Ken was still behind Sid, toweling off. “Want me to give him a message for you?”

“No,” Sid said, whirling around angrily, “No, I duh-dude, put your clothes on!”

Ken was stark naked, his thong in his hand and his cock flaccid against his leg, reminding Sid of a fat sausage he saw hanging in his supermarket's delicatessen the other day. The stripper laughed. “Sorry. Didn’t know you’d be offended by nudity in a strip joint. How were you planning to handle your act? You gonna go out there and put all your clothes on?”

“No, I’m gonna-“ Sid’s mouth went dry. “What did you say?”


“You mentioned…my act…” Sid stumbled backward, his face twisted into a mask of terror. “No! No! I’m not gonna change! I’m not!”

“What?” Ken also retreated. “What’s wrong with you? Stop yelling, are you fucking crazy-”

“You stay away from me! Stay away!” Sid released a primal scream and went bolting as far away from Ken as he could. Unfortunately for him, that put him directly on the stage, where he went colliding into yet another enormous titan.

The music came screeching to a halt and Sid, for the second time that night, was left looking up at a bodybuilder he’d just run into. But this time it wasn’t in private, as he was realizing with growing horror that hundreds of eyes were looking at him, and he had just made a fool of himself.

The man Sid had run into was clearly displeased. He was also clearly naked. Almost as big as Ennis, well past six feet, with pecs like a pair of concrete sacks and thighs that could kill any man unfortunate enough to get caught between them. The only thing not like Ennis was the skin color – this god was black, with a large, perfect afro that swayed atop his head when he danced. The only clothing he had left on his body was a pair of gold lace-up sandals and a gold belt around his waist, with a buckle that said: “OZ.” The word was directly above his enormous dick, which was splattering precum as it swung like a pendulum against his gigantic thighs.

“Get the fuck off the stage,” Oz snarled.

“I’m sorry, oh God, oh Jesus…you’re…” Sid scuttled backward as Oz advanced on him. The black man was growing angrier by the second.

“Oscar…” Sid squeaked out. “Oh my God, no, Oscar-”

Sid didn’t have time to see Oz – Oscar – react before hands reached out onto the stage from the crowd and yanked Sid off, sending him crashing a few feet into the crowd pit. The music roared back to life and Oz slipped back into his performance, flexing his 23-inch arms and jerking his cock around like he had a grudge against it.

Sid scrambled on his hands and knees through the crowd, crashing into people’s ankles and crawling over their feet. His panicked breathing was an eerie undercurrent to the bass that was reverberating through him; the club’s music made the floor shake, and the tremors went through his palms and up his arms. He left a trail of sweat behind him.

Sid’s hand landed right on a beautiful black-and-white leather shoe. He immediately sensed that he was in the presence of someone powerful, and he stopped crawling immediately, but still was wheezing loudly.

“What is this? Why are you crawling?” came a deep, incredulous, curiously accented voice.

Sid looked up at the man asking the question: Dimitrios Emmanouilidis. Sid didn’t know who the stocky bodybuilder in the white suit was, but he assumed – correctly – that he owned, or at least ran, the club.

“Help-help me-”

Dimitrios was not pleased with someone crawling around like a rat. “Stand up, what is wrong with you?”

Sid immediately stood up. He felt small and weak next to the Greek businessman, who radiated dominance and wealth. Sid felt like a little boy, despite actually being the taller of the two men.

“Again, I ask,” Dimitrios barked, “what is wrong with you?!”

“I have to get out of here,” Sid sobbed, “please! Please let me out!”

“Let you out? This is not a prison.” Dimitrios’ accent was so thick that Sid had trouble understanding him. “Are you having a panic attack? I cannot have you making a scene. You go sit down in the back room, I will have one of my men get you some-“

“NO! I’ll sit down outside! Where’s the door?! Why doesn’t this place have exits-”

“You do not want to dance tonight?”

“I’m not a dancer,” Sid had to insist, although it didn’t really need to be said – it was clear to everyone he was a corporate drone.

“Ah. I did not think so. I was just, eh, confused, you know, by your hair.”

“My hair-?” Sid reached up and rubbed his balding buzzcut.

And then, it erupted.

His hand was still on top of his head when it was thrown off by the force of millions of hair follicles shooting out from his scalp. Sid nearly got whiplash from the intensity with which his hair suddenly grew. He looked down in shock to see long, glossy platinum-blond locks resting on his shoulders, long enough to reach his collarbone.

“NO! NO!” Sid pulled on his hair furiously, hoping it would tear out, or come off like some sort of wig. “This isn’t my hair! No please not me please-“

And then, just like his hair, he grew. The moment he felt the pressure at his ankles, Sid knew what was happening. He watched the shorter bodybuilder in front of him seem to shrink even more, but he knew that wasn’t the case. Sid’s pant legs became high-waters, and his shirt a crop. He whipped his head back and forth angrily, shaking his blond mane. “STOOOPPPP!”

The scariest part, to Sid, was that he realized how good it felt to change. He now knew why all his friends had given in so quickly, why Mark was fine with becoming a shameless Spanish god, why Nathaniel had let himself turn into the beefy Ted McGinley-esque stripper daddy, why Oscar gave into becoming Oz: it was because it felt fucking amazing. It felt like every muscle in Sid’s body was a cock, and all those cocks were getting blowjobs from the world’s most talented mouths. An orgasm times one hundred. Sid was struggling to hold onto the shreds of resistance he still had.

He drummed up just enough to shove himself past Dimitrios and stumble further toward what he assumed was the exit. He needed to look for that big Arab bouncer, wherever he was, the door would be.

Dimitrios grabbed Sid by his newly-long hair and wrenched him back, and Sid screamed in pain. “LET ME GO!”

“You owe me a dance, boy,” Dimitrios hissed, pressing his beefy pecs into Sid’s back. “I’m not letting you out of here until I see that hot body I'm paying in action.”

“No-“ Sid whimpered, knowing what would happen next. Buttons sprayed in front of him and he felt his chest pump itself full of muscle, a cool draft hitting the middle of his torso as he shirt was torn apart. His butt grew out and shoved perfectly into Dimitrios’ waist, and the Greek began pumping his hips against his new toy.

“Such a beautiful body," the bulky Greek moaned. "You are a god.”

“I’m noootttt-“ Sid felt his beer belly shrink into a set of diced abs, and his pants fell to his ankles with nothing to hold them up. Horrified, he tried to wriggle free from Dimitrios’ grasp, but all that happened was his dick fell out of his boxers, as it too grew into glory, a veiny python screaming for action. Sid’s yelps and shouts were getting deeper as his voice changed and his shoulders broadened, his body idealizing itself into a form far more amazing than it had ever been in Sid’s own youth. Shoulders so big and a waist so small it looked almost waspish, with arms that only fit in specially-made sleeves.

He wanted to cum. His dick slapped against his abs and he felt liquid excitement spray from it, but he wouldn’t let himself fully ejaculate, and his face began turning blue from the resistance. He bit his lip and screamed through a shut mouth.

A surge of strength exploded through him like lightning as his muscles became real on him, well-earned instruments of beauty and might, and the rush of power was enough to pull himself free. He whirled around and used the speed to crack his knuckles across the Greek’s jaw, sending Dimitrios flying.

Sid wouldn’t let himself look down at his body; he knew he would cum if he saw it. Two worshippers stumbled out of the crowd of onlookers and began running their hands over him, and he felt their fingers dipping in and out of planes and angles that he had never had before. He shoved the men off, and then had a sudden realization.

“Fight,” he said to himself in a voice he didn't recognize. “Get kicked out. You gotta get kicked out.” And in a white-hot blaze of rage and terror, Sid threw himself at the crowd like a man possessed, smashing his now giant and very powerful hands into every face he could find. And sure enough, a massive brawl broke out, Sid struggling to control his emotions as he felt a new personality asserting itself – that of a young, sexy, alpha male. He had grown completely through his clothes and was as naked as the day he was born.

An excruciating pain in his face caused him to lurch out of the fight, and he realized the vestige of Sid was melting off and growing new features, way hotter ones, like totally smokin’ hot, bro, fine as fuck—NO!

“HELP ME, BRO!” Sid threw his cape of hair back over his shoulders and spotted the bouncer he’d been desperate to find. “GET ME OUTTA HERE!”

“You can’t leave,” Rabih said.

“WHAT?!” Sid felt an amazing expansion in his jaw and chin. He could barely form words as the bones crunched and changed. “WHAT KINDA BOUNCER ARE YOU? BOUNCE ME!”


“DUDE, LIKE BRAH, I GOTTA GET OUT-“ Sid jumped on the tall Arab and humped him desperately, then started punching his chest over and over, completely losing it.

“What is wrong with you-”


And then Rabih grabbed Sid by the hair and began dragging him closer to the door, and Sid’s thoughts – what was left of them – began collecting in the manner he wanted them to, and he realized he was on the right path.

So he let himself act as fucking crazy as he felt.


Rabih made a motion to throw Sid out the door, which stood open. But Sid couldn’t pass through it, as if the air was glass – he felt himself press against an invisible surface, and tears exploded from his eyes and coursed down his face. “Please let me out,” he began to beg, “please, I’m begging you, please, goddess, whoever you are, please-”

“Get him out of here,” Dimitrios yelled, watching his club descend into pandemonium as the patrons and dancers all began brawling. “GET HIM OUT!” Dimitrios threw himself against Sid’s broad, chiseled back and shoved along with Rabih, and the two of them combined was enough to grant the club permission: the Meat Market released Sid, and he smashed, naked, onto the sidewalk outside.

“Oh god, oh god,” he kept saying, not recognizing the deep voice in his own head. He stumbled a few yards, knowing he had to run and get away, but the panic and shock set in and he vomited on the curb. He stared at the vomit in shock and then barfed again, moaning pathetically, swiveling his head around to look for an escape.

He noticed an alley and ran for it, his dick swinging between his legs, every stride making him felt the weighty shank of flesh slap against his powerful quads. In the darkness, he found an old blanket stuffed inside a discarded laundry bag in a dumpster. He wrapped his body in it, hiding his splendor from himself and others, and then everything began to spin, and he heard honking, oh god, “Oh god, Jesus please help me-“


Movement. He was moving.

Sid sat up with a jolt and gasped, placing his hands on the dashboard of a car.

“Easy, easy,” said a voice beside him. “You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m gonna throw up,” Sid said, lurching forward. He heaved, but nothing came out.

“You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

From in between his knees, Sid turned his head and looked at the driver: Theo, looking handsome in a plaid dress shirt and black-rimmed glasses. “Th-Theo?”

“You know my name, huh? I don’t even know yours.”

“It’s, uh…” Sid’s mind raced. Sidney, Sidney, what name goes with Sidney… “Crosby.”

“Crosby huh? How old are you?”

“I – I don’t know. I just really need to sleep.” Sid, now Crosby, began to cry. “Please don’t make me go back there.”

“Go back where? The club?”

“Yeah. Please.”

Theo laughed. “Why would we go back there tonight? You’re delirious, man, you need to rest.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

“Saving you?” Theo smiled. “Little dramatic. I think you’ve had a rough night. You can sleep it off on my couch.”

“Yeah,” Crosby agreed, shutting his eyes. “It’s been rough.”


The next morning, Crosby cautiously slid the shower door open, his muscles finally dripping with clean water instead of sweat and grime. He toweled off and stood in the bathroom, waiting for the condensation on the mirror to clear so he could finally see himself. While he waited, he practiced introducing himself. “’Sup, name’s Crosby...Hey, nice to meet you, I’m Crosby...My name’s Crosby, nice to meet ya, man.”

Then he looked up, and he saw himself.

Cum shot into his towel. Crosby jumped forward and let his cock fully blow into the sink. He threw his head back and moaned loudly, jizz pouring down the drain.

He was perfect.

A perfectly-shaped forehead, perfectly square jaw, perfectly prominent cheekbones, perfectly pouty lips. A deep voice that oozed sex. And a body that wouldn’t quit – he was a bodybuilder…a big-pecced, big-shouldered Adonis. His tiny waist was composed entirely of abs and obliques, climbing up into a beautiful pair of lats that seemed to fill the entire bathroom. Between his legs was a cock that would seem excessive even by porn standards, supported by balls so fat and productive that they were already replenishing their supply for the inevitable release that was always just around the corner. Crosby began writhing and dancing around, running his hands through his damp hair, grinning cockily and humping the counter. Sid seemed like some distant, yet clear, memory, a poor schmo, not a sexually-liberated Viking god.

And then, reality hit again, and Crosby remembered the night before, and what had happened – all of his coworkers, but now they were so happy and so fuckin’ hot –

This was going to take a long time to sort through. This was a lot of fuckin’ baggage.

Crosby pulled on clothes Theo had loaned him. They belonged to Theo’s oldest son, who was growing into quite a muscular young man himself, but wasn’t nearly as big as Crosby yet. The shirt and shorts were like cellophane, but Crosby, for the first time in his life, had a body he didn’t mind flaunting. 6’3”, 240 pounds, and hot as hell.


Three months went by while Sid reinvented himself as Crosby, the constantly-flexing, preening, cocky muscle alpha. He learned bodybuilding – it was surprisingly easy when you already WERE a bodybuilder – and built up his life in the process. He got an apartment, and a job as a shirtless waiter in between modeling gigs. He bought a new, revealing wardrobe, and particularly enjoyed showing off his chest with deep-Vs, scoopnecks and tank tops, allowing his pecs to stick out through the collars like sidewalk squares. He became obsessive about his hair, fastidious about his appearance – tan always fresh, teeth always gleaming. His speaking patterns naturally changed. He started fucking men as well as women, as long as he could take someone home to satiate his body’s insane, nearly inexhaustible libido. He had to remind himself that he was actually an educated, divorced middle-aged everyman buried inside the body of a big, young, muscled fuck-god. But, he allowed himself to live out the fantasy of being a gorgeous person.

He fucked his way (as he did with most things) into a free membership at the nicest gym in town and was bench-pressing when he saw a fellow blond hunk approach. Figuring he was about to get hit on, Crosby flexed his pumped chest and squared his shoulders, giving his hair a quick flick.

Then he saw the man approaching him – Ken Doll. And Crosby almost fainted.

Ken smiled eagerly. “Catch you at a bad time?”

Crosby blinked a few times. “Whuh-whuh? Sorry, couldn’t hear you over my music,” he lied.

“It’s cool. Name’s Ken.”

“Yeah.” Crosby shook Ken’s hand. “Um, hi, I’m Crosby.”

“Yeah, hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but you, well – have you ever given any thought to dancing?”

“Dancing? You mean like…stripping.”

Ken gave a mischievous grin. Cocky little fucker. “Yeah.”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“I work at the Meat Market,” Ken said, “and they’re always looking for new guys for the roster. And you! Shit, you’d be the star attraction. I’d swear you were designed to be.”

The last sentence gave Crosby a chill down his spine. “I’m never setting foot in that place,” he said, darkly.

“Oh. Okay,” Ken said awkwardly, a quizzical look forming on his all-American face. “Well then sorry to bother you.”

“Nothin’ personal,” Crosby said. “You didn’t bother me. But I have a vendetta against the Meat Market itself.” He looked up with sad eyes at Ken. “You look great, man, you really do. But don’t forget to be a real person under all the beauty. Don’t…lose yourself.”

“Uh…right.” Ken looked around, clearly confused. “Sure. Anything I should know about, since I work there?”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” Crosby said, letting himself smirk a little. “You would never believe me.”