New York Fitness City (musc)

Continued from New York Fucking City

Manuel Villar stretched his arms up to the night sky. His trap muscles smushed into his face as he yawned. “Gettin’ too old fo’ dis shit,” he said to no one in particular, rubbing his palm over the buzzed stubble on top of his head. The sleeves of his black polo shirt bunched up under his arms for the zillionth time that night, and he made his zillionth half-assed attempt at pulling them down over his enormous biceps. The giant Puerto Rican bouncer blinked his eyes sleepily and put his palm over the divide of his pecs, just to feel how high the muscles of his chest stuck out through the collar of his polo. “Hehehehe,” he rumbled with pleasure, pectorals bouncing. He turned ninety degrees on his stool, enough to see his reflection in the blacked-out windows of the bar. He pulled his elbow back and flexed his arm until it looked like a watermelon stuffed into his sleeve. Manuel breathed in deeply, the smell of the bar wafting into his mouth, and watched his pecs stand out a solid foot in front of him. He chuckled again. This was how entertained himself in the latter hours of his doorman shift, when the bar was slow like it was tonight. Flex, flex, flex. Preen, preen, preen. Pose, pose, pose. So fuckin’ huge. Total muscle freak. The biggest freakin’ Rican stud.

4am was rolling around and Manuel was ready to go home. Subway took forever at this time of night and he needed to get some sleep before lifting in the morning. Did he have a personal training client tomorrow, too? He couldn’t remember. He reached into the pocket of his black pants, bumping his hand into his cock head, and pulled out his phone. Something else fell out onto the ground, and Manuel leaned down to pick it up off the sidewalk. Looked like a business card – oh, wait, no, it was one of those free trial things. New iron gym downtown, nowhere near where he lived, but he was always picking these things up at shows and stores and whatever gym he was training at for the day. People would shove a stack of twenty free trials into his giant hand, hoping that the hulking Puerto Rican bouncer would bring in a dozen friends just like him.

Manuel caught a swift moment out of the corner of his eye, and he snapped his arm full out to the side in a purely reflexive blocking motion. He barely felt anything when the guy – at least, Manuel was pretty sure it was a guy – bounced off his arm. “I’m trynna get in,” the guy slurred.

“We closed.”

“My friends are in there!” The guy was a small dude. He looked half the size of Manuel, with pale white skin, scrawny limbs, and a shock of white-blond hair that stood out against the night sky. He was wearing skinny jeans and a plaid shirt and looked young – real young, probably a freshman in college out on the town for the first time.

“Not fo’ long, we closed,” Manuel repeated.

“Yeah, whatever man, it’s like…it’s like midnight.”

“No it ain’t,” Manuel said gruffly.

The kid was pretty drunk. “Yeah, well, whatever, huge guy,” he slurred. “You’re like a brick wall with a, with a FACE.”

Manuel cracked his knuckles. “And you like a pencil wit’ a head. Yo tiny ass could use one o’ these,” he said, slapping his free trial card into the featherweight drunk guy’s palm.

“Hey,” the kid hiccupped, “who you callin’ tiny, I’m uh, I’m, ahhhh, forget you,” he said, waving his hand dismissively – comically. “I’m goin’ home, tell my buds, errr, fuck ‘em. Tell ‘em fuck ‘em.”

Manuel didn’t say anything. He just rolled his eyes and watched the kid stumble off into the city night, not realizing the impact of the exchange that had just occurred.



The iPhone alarm blasted apart the calm tranquility of a weekday morning. Justin Dolman left his face in his pillow and blindly smacked his hand all over his desk looking for his phone. “Mmmmrglpf,” he yawned, finally raising his head to get a good look around the room. The alarm blasted in syncopation with his pounding headache. BRRM POUND BRRM POUND BRRM POUND

“Unngh,” Justin groaned, his hangover in full swing. He yawned again and finally found his phone underneath a piece of paper on his desk. “Turn OFF, fuuuuuck,” he mumbled, finally stealing a glance over to the other side of the room. His roommate Max had apparently already left for the day. Justin and Max didn’t talk much – they had a good “roommate relationship” but were hardly best buds – and it was no surprise to Justin that Max had managed to leave without waking him up. They didn’t know each other’s class schedules and-


Justin grabbed his phone again and looked at the time. “FUCK.” It was 11:16 and his screenwriting class had started 45 minutes ago. No point in going now, and hopefully he could afford the absence since it was the first of his college career. Granted, his college career was about a month old at this point, but still.

He looked through his phone at the texts he’d sent the night before. Even with the help of autocorrect, they got progressively more incoherent until they looked like less like texts and more like e.e. cummings poetry. He had gotten two random ones from his mom about the brand new remote control his parents had just bought, and he was thankful that even in his drunken stupor, he had maintained the good sense to not respond.

Time to barf.

Justin had never been a popular kid in high school, so every drinking invitation he got in college, he accepted. He was nerdy about film – thus the declared Dramatic Writing major – and apparently film nerds in other places drank a lot more than he did. Now that he was making all these new friends, he was both a lightweight and ignorant of his limits, which combined with the social pressure to not be a lightweight had resulted in two blackout nights already. He hadn’t blacked out the night before, but there were definitely patches he didn’t remember, especially near the end. After he’d thrown up and drank some Gatorade, he saw the gym free trial sitting on his desk, heaped in with his wallet and keys. He remembered being given the card by someone but had no idea who, or when, or where – God, had he gone into a gym drunk? Nah, couldn’t be. Must’ve just picked the card up off the sidewalk or something.

It wasn’t like Justin was a regular visitor to the gym. He was physically inconsequential, just skin draped over bones, standing around 5’8”. He had never played sports or trained for them, and he ate whatever he wanted, never giving a thought to the metabolism that was currently keeping him rail-thin despite his diet consisting mostly of Chipotle burritos and Mountain Dew. He had spent his time in high school getting good grades instead of working out, and it had paid off with college in New York City. Growing up in a Pennsylvania suburb, Justin had always been interested in going to school in a big city. He was excited to finally be doing it, although he knew his parents were worried he’d be distracted by the City’s delights. He would try to not miss more classes post-drinking, he vowed.

Justin looked back at the gym free trial and noticed something strange: his name printed – not handwritten, but actually typed – on the card. There was a space that said “FOR:,” and after it came his name, JUSTIN DOLMAN.

Okay, that was weird. He must’ve been mailed it, Justin reasoned. He probably drunkenly checked his mailbox last night and found it in there. But the card was smaller than a postcard, and when he turned it over, there was no address or stamp on it. It was strange, but Justin didn’t think too much of it.

After throwing up again, Justin thought back to the card. He needed to sweat out some of this booze…maybe he could use that free trial to go for a run. He ambled over to his dresser and pulled it open to dig out one of the pairs of basketball shorts that he only ever used for sleeping. He didn’t have any t-shirts he used specifically for working out, so he just grabbed a plain white t-shirt. But underneath that tee in the pile was a shirt he didn’t recognize: a black tee that read “NEW YORK FUCKING CITY” on the front. He’d noticed these at the tourist stands whenever he made it up to Midtown, but he definitely didn’t remember buying one.

Oh, but he and Max had combined their last load of laundry to save a few coins. Yeah, this must be Max’s. After Justin slipped on his white tee, he tossed the black t-shirt onto Max’s bed and went back to getting ready to go to a gym for the first time in his life. Sneakers on, earbuds in, and soon Justin was out the door, with Eminem blaring out of his iPhone.


The gym was not sleek by any means. It had a generic, unassuming front wedged in between a jean outlet store and a chimichanga restaurant that didn’t have any tables. Justin walked down this street nearly every day and had never noticed it before, but it was easy to miss because it was narrow. When he walked in, there was only an unmanned counter to greet him, with some various binders and an old Windows computer on it. To the right of the counter was a set of stairs going down. Justin quickly realized that the gym was below ground.

“’ello,” said a very short, chubby Mexican guy, well into his 60s, wearing a hoodie and cargo pants. He had been mopping a corner of the lobby – if you could call it a lobby – and had gone undetected by Justin. He leaned his mop against the wall and waddled around the counter, where Justin could barely see him. “You member?”

“No, I have one of these free trials.” Justin handed the guy his card.

“Oh, okay. You good then.”

“That’s all? Do I need to sign anything?” Even with his lack of experience, Justin knew about liability waivers.

“Nah, you good.” The man waved his hand and made a face like he smelled something foul, before going back to mopping. Justin watched him for a few moments and debated asking for a tour, before deciding he could figure it out himself.

“Is the gym down here?”

The man didn’t turn around. “Yeah, down there, yeah,” he called over his shoulder.

When he was sure the guy wasn’t looking, Justin reached over the counter and grabbed his free trial card back. If the guy wasn’t going to type anything into the computer, then Justin figured he could use his trial again.

What started as a leisurely descent of the stairs turned into a crazed rush to the bathroom. Justin ran frantically around two corners before he saw the locker room labeled “MEN” and dashed in to vomit again. This hangover wouldn’t quit. Thankfully, no one was in the locker room, so he could grab the closest stall. There were lots of advantages to being able to work out while most guys were at their nine-to-fives.

The lockers were old and made of wood. They looked like his grandma’s kitchen cupboards. Justin tossed his stuff into one and shut it. He hadn’t brought a lock, but he had left his wallet in his dorm room and there was no one in the gym anyway, so he wasn’t that worried. Justin tossed his hoodie and sweats into the locker on top of his school ID, put his earbuds in and wandered around the gym floor until he found a row of old-looking treadmills. He stepped onto one and started it up, but it had a stutter that almost made him trip every five seconds, so he hopped over to the next one, which worked fine. He put the incline at .5 and the speed at 4, which was just over the threshold of jogging instead of walking for him. Justin wasn’t looking to over-exert himself in his state, just feel better. And he found that the pace did indeed clear his head and distract his body from the way his stomach felt.

Justin felt his shaggy, straight hair bouncing on top of his head with each stride. He took in deep breaths and thought about the screenwriting he needed to do when he got back to his dorm, and what he would say to his teacher to explain his absence. He figured it would be good to at least email and apologize, try to get on the professor’s good side. He had never skipped a class unexcused in all of high school, so this was uncharted territory for him.

The phone vibrated in his hand and he looked down to see a text from Max. “Just realized I locked myself out…where r u”

Justin was going slow enough that he could type out a response with the help of autocorrect. “At the gym two blocks away”

“U lift? Can I come get ur key when I’m done with class”

“sure. Place is called NY fitness city”


Justin hoped Max came pretty soon. He wasn’t planning on hanging around the gym very long – he had stuff to do since he’d spent all of last night drinking and all of this morning paying the price for it. He had to do a block of pages for math too – why did they make writing majors take math?! – and that had been stressing him out, but all that shit people talked about endorphins was winding up being true. He was feeling much better. He narrowed his eyes and tried to look at the one TV that was on, all the way at the other end of the treadmill row, but he couldn’t read anything on it, and thought back to when his dad had said he was going to need a pair of glasses if he was gonna be a real writer. There was a small TV screen attached to his treadmill, but he wasn’t surprised when it wouldn’t turn on. “This place is a dump,” he mumbled under his breath. Did the guy up at the front desk ever do any other cleaning aside from worthless mopping? There were tons of machines labeled “out of order”, burnt-out lights that hadn’t been replaced, mats that were ripped and curling up on the edges – a tripping hazard, did this place want to get sued? – and dumbbells littered all over the floor. As he walked, Justin itemized the problems with the gym. It was an easier distraction than worrying about his homework.

Still wanting to watch TV, Justin smacked his hand into the side of the treadmill’s screen. “C’mon,” he grumbled, giving it another swat. That seemed to dislodge something, because a thin blue strip appeared in the middle of the screen, like a flatline. Justin did a third hit and laughed triumphantly when the TV screen came on. “Just needed a little kickstart,” he said, tossing his head to get his bangs off his forehead. “I’m the fix-it guy.” Watching ESPN made running all the more easier, although Justin didn’t much care for cardio.

After fifteen minutes, he had worked up a nice sweat, and wasn’t feeling queasy anymore. Exercise really did get rid of toxins, apparently, and Justin also needed to get a drink and pee. So he pressed pause on the treadmill and hopped off, walking over to the only water fountain in the gym.

It didn’t work.

“Goddammit,” he said, pounding his hand into the side of the water fountain. Water splashed out and, intrigued, Justin pressed the button again – and this time, a steady stream of hydration arced out. “Cool,” he thought. “Magical healing hands, alriiight.” He gulped down a few sips and then headed for the locker room, but was interrupted when he tripped over a dumbbell right in the middle of the walkway and nearly fell. “GodDAMNit,” he said loudly with surprise, bending down and picking up the 15-pound dumbbell with frustration. “I’ll just put it away my fuckin’ self.”

It was shameful how heavy fifteen pounds was for him. Justin angrily advanced around the gym and picked up the lighter weights one at a time, racking them in their places. The 10s, 15s and 20s were only marginally difficult, but when he found a pair of 45s, he literally couldn’t pick them up. He leaned back and pulled with all his might and eventually got them off the ground, but quickly toppled back forward and set them down. “I’m so weak,” he grumbled, turning and looking around for any more dumbbells to rack. There was only one other pair he’d missed in the corner, a set of 90s. He just looked at them and had to laugh at his own frustration. “Nope.”

He strode back up the stairs two at a time, ignoring the mild burn he’d gotten from his time on the treadmill. “Hey man,” he said, sticking his head around the corner while still standing on the top stair. “It looks like shit down there.”

“Eh?” The front desk guy – who was still mopping the same eight-foot area – turned around and pointed at himself.

“Yeah, you. It’s crazy dirty. Is there a maintenance guy?”

“Me?” The guy pointed at himself again, and Justin couldn’t tell if the guy was saying that he was the maintenance guy, or if he still wasn’t sure if he was being addressed.

“Yeah, you. The lat pulldown and preacher curl machines are both broken, I saw. And you could run that mop over the weight area, it’s just covered in shit.”

The guy looked angry. “Okay,” is all he said.

“Thanks brother,” Justin said, turning around and making a face at himself. ‘Brother’? Since when did he call anyone brother? How douchey. But whatever, the guy wasn’t doing his job, someone needed to tell him.

As Justin ambled down the stairs, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. Maybe he felt a little cooler? He stopped for a drink of water and was pleased that the fountain worked immediately. Then he headed into the locker room, where he finally got to pee. But as he reached to flush the urinal, Justin realized what had been feeling cold: his arms.

He turned around and walked to the mirror, looking at his arms, which bore a slight farmer’s tan. “Weird,” he whispered. Where had his sleeves gone? Hadn’t his t-shirt had them? He’d never owned anything sleeveless. Without sleeves, his arms just looked freakishly long, because his shoulders had no definition. Justin tugged on the hems that should have his sleeves attached.

And then he thought back to something else and started to shiver for a different reason. Justin slinked into a bathroom stall and shut the door, which didn’t latch. “Dammit, lock. LOCK,” he commanded, rattling the door until he heard the satisfying ‘click.’

“Okay,” he said to himself, heart pounding. He pushed down his baggy basketball shorts and reached for his underwear, repeatedly telling himself that he was making shit up and just being crazy. But when he’d peed a second ago, he swore he’d felt…

He rolled down the front of his sweaty plaid boxers and his stubby dick – shrunken from the cold – bobbed out, the tiny head covered in a long foreskin that reminded him of a turkey’s wattle.

Justin heaved out three high-pitched whines. Could foreskins just…grow back spontaneously? Was that possible? He rubbed his thumb over the top and felt an astounding rush of sensitivity that he had never experienced before. Precum gently moistened the area. “Ooorgh,” he moaned, covering his mouth and accidently wiping some of his own pre on his cheek. His first thought was, how would he tell his parents? Did he need to? Could guys get circumcised if they weren’t babies? That sounded really painful. Had anyone ever been circumcised TWICE? Maybe he’d just leave it, he thought, reaching down to put his dick back in-


Justin Junior had apparently gotten over the frigid temperature of the bathroom. Instead of a stubby pinkie-sized dick, there was a long, thick phallus hanging far over Justin’s ballsack, weighed down by its new foreskin. His dick was only mildly stiff but looked longer semi-flaccid now than it usually did fully erect. If the member hanging off him now got puffed up, it would be at LEAST ten inches long. It was glorious to behold. Justin was enraptured by his cock and immediately grew to love his foreskin. A cock this magnificent wouldn’t be the same if it were cut. This was gonna make college a lot more fun.

Justin pulled up his shorts and walked out of the stall, his enormous bulge bopping like a metronome in front of him. Why the hell had he worn boxers to the gym? He tried to push his cock down but it kept bouncing back up, and every time he touched it, it hardened a little, so he stopped. After giving it a long gaze in the mirror, Justin decided he should probably just leave. It was weird here.

Oh, but Max…”Shit.” Justin checked his phone. No word from Max. “R u coming,” he texted his roommate, kicking at a wadded-up paper towel on the floor. “Fuckin’ pigsty, man,” he growled, leaning down to pick up the trash. Why did people find every possible place to drop a paper towel except in the trash can? He set his phone in his locker and took a lap through the locker room, picking up the litter while he waited for his phone to buzz. He found a handful of paper towels, a bunch of receipts, a couple workout plans…shit, the dudes here were messy, he thought as he tossed it all in the trash can. Just thirty seconds of cleaning went a long way to improving the locker room.

Finally, his phone buzzed.

“Just getting out of class,” read the text, but it was from a number that wasn’t listed in his phone. Justin scrolled through his text history but there was no conversation with Max anymore. Stupid phone had deleted it, along with Max’s number. He tossed the phone back in his locker and noticed a card in between his feet. It was his free trial card – no, actually, it looked like it was, but it was really just a business card for the gym. He casually turned it over in his hands, not expecting the words that greeted him on the other side.


Justin’s mouth went completely dry. He stared at the card for a couple of moments, then shut his eyes and opened them, expecting the card to say “FOR” again instead of “MANAGER.” It was just a stupid typo, that was all. Just a mistake. He wasn’t a gym manager. He was a college student. He just worked out sometimes, that was all.

The air was humming around him. Justin nervously looked around, twitching with confusion. His legs were aching from the run and his stomach was gurgling with hunger, while drops of nervous sweat rolled down his forehead. He pulled his shirt up to wipe his face. “Pull yourself together,” he told himself. “Everything’s fine.” He stood up and looked in the mirror to convince himself just that, and he was right, he looked normal.

Except for the fact that his shorts seemed to be kind of – changing. No other word for it. They were shrinking up his legs and he felt them starting to compress his thighs, bunching on top of the muscled quads and rounded hamstrings. “W-wait a minute,” he said, running a clammy palm over the defined shapes of his thigh muscles. “How did those get there-”

There was a bursting sensation in his torso and Justin’s head snapped up to look at two small, flat shapes extending out from under his collarbone. The first thing in his mind was “tumors,” and then he calmed down and realized they were muscles – pecs – which weren’t bad, but they shouldn’t be growing so fast either. The same with his biceps, and his delts, which were growing rounder and more defined, his skin dipping into the materializing cuts of his muscles.

He pulled awkwardly on his shorts, which now looked like something a biker would wear, except they stopped halfway down his thighs. What was creepiest to Justin was how he KNEW he’d been wearing underwear, but his body-hugging shorts definitely had nothing but skin and a horsecock under them now. He pointed his toe and flexed his right calf, amazed by how much larger the muscle looked now. He’d always had chicken legs before today.

Justin stared at his reflection in the mirror while trying to ignore his impulses to clean the glass. He still saw himself as scrawny, yet he knew he wasn’t nearly as small as he had been a few moments before. His chest made a slight shelf in his t-shirt, his biceps popped up into tiny peaks when he moved his arms, and he actually had an ass for the first time in his life. Instead of being a featherweight weakling, he looked like a guy who went to the gym a couple times a week and ate pretty clean.

“Okay,” he said out loud, his voice bouncing off the locker room tiles. “This ain’t so bad.” He even threw a quick bicep flex to his reflection, gritting his teeth like he’d seen those guys on the covers of magazines do. He was still holding onto the free trial – well, or his business card, which was a ridiculous notion – and made a move to toss it in the trash, casually glancing at it before he threw it out.


Justin’s cock stiffened upon reading the word “owner,” and he gave it a panicked push downward with his hand. The unsettling truth was that he knew the card had just changed, and he could tell that everything was a smeary blur in his mind, like he was remembering the world without his glasses on. The pieces weren’t fitting neatly together like they had a few seconds ago. He immediately tried to think about college, and his first thought was “I didn’t go to it.” But he knew that thought was incorrect, and yet he had nothing to disprove it. He couldn’t remember a school, a major, a dorm, anything. “This is real bad,” he whispered, reaching for his wallet to look for a school ID. “I think I got amnesia or somethin’.”

This was coupled with the fact that his shorts had lost more inches in length, ending right above his thighs and further emphasizing the enormity of his manhood. His t-shirt was now half of itself, only covering his chest, baring a set of abs that were getting progressively more impressive.

The soft, undefined features of a college freshman had little place on the head of a gym’s owner. And so, Justin’s nose strengthened, his chin squared off, his jaw filled out. The same face, but now more hardened by life. His eyelids had more of a hang, with a brow that was far more prominent. Staring back at Justin was a 32-year-old version of himself. Hair darker than before, now meeting at a triangle in the middle of his forehead, instead of the straight line he knew. Most strikingly, his rough cheeks indicated that he could grow a beard if he wanted, which had not been an option as an eighteen-year-old boy. Boys didn’t open their own gyms, but men did.

And if a man was going to open his own gym – “Justin’s Gym” – then he was most likely going to be a workout devotee as well. And as Justin felt his muscles swell, a part of him realized that having muscle was an integral component to his business. The flat pecs bounced up into a full, prominent chest that knew how to fill out a V-neck. His shoulders broadened nicely as his delts swelled, and his defined abs solidified into a cobblestone road. Arms grew from 14” to 17”, an impressive measurement that kept most sleeves tight. His collar size increased a full inch, while the muscles in his legs grew to impressive girth, giving a nice flare to his masculine silhouette. He had to smile when he felt his ass double up underneath him, the slight curve popping into an unmistakable bubble butt that got lots of second glances.

The skintight shorts were now straining obscenely over his hard cock, huge balls and perky ass. Justin felt the fabric starting to slip up between his ass cheeks, and he didn’t mind the feeling, so he didn’t interfere. He couldn’t be upset over the state of his body, which was his genetic potential pushed to impressive heights. He had never bothered to imagine how he’d look as one of those gym bunny men, but any mental picture would not have prepared him for how good it felt to have some muscle.

That was why he’d opened Justin’s Gym in the first place…right?

“Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his left thigh nervously. “This is a weird day.”

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight he saw next on the card. The owner part was the same, the manager part he was used to. It was the letters after his name that came as a shock:


Justin could only grunt with surprise as he felt his entire mandible contort and change, expanding into a massive, blunt square as his facial bones overloaded with growth hormone, which then seeped down his body and flooded his muscles. The healthy slabs of pec meat swelled into monstrous basketballs stuck to his chest, standing a foot out in front of his body. His arms grew from their buff 17” proportions to an eye-popping 22”, leaving Justin to a life of sleeveless shirts. He slapped a hand against his abs as his fingers thickened up on top of stronger palms, which was nothing compared to the swelling of his abs into a blocky stack of boxes. “Aw SHIT,” he yelped, his soft voice lowering into a basso profondo, rough from years of barking over music and clattering weights, with a collar-bursting tree-trunk neck to go with it.

He rolled onto his knees and groaned as his ass ballooned from a bubble butt into a boulder, inches of muscle rounding it out as his hips spread and skeletal structure altered. In his original state, Justin would have never been able to get so thick – genetic alterations had to be performed to turn him into a card-carrying professional bodybuilder. His thighs jiggled and shook with the transformation, swelling monstrously as veins shot over his rippling hamstrings and saddlebag quads. Even his feet grew, as his back spread as wide as three lockers, lats threatening to fall off him if they pushed any further away from his spine.

Justin struggled with all his might to get to his feet. In the place of the 5’8” 150-pound boy stood a 5’11” 298-pound beast. When he locked eyes on his bulk, his frightened eyes first went to the only piece of clothing left on his body: a wisp of a posing brief that showed his long cock through the fabric and displayed his balls like they were dice hanging off a rearview mirror. The brief was meant to cover his ass but had little success, and instead had become a makeshift thong. Justin made note of how much he hated the color: a retina-searing metallic hot pink that sparkled even in the dim light of the locker room. He looked more undressed wearing the pouch than he would have had he been stark naked, the tiny triangle of fabric sagging and nearly ripping under the weight of his cock and balls.

His mouth hung open in its newly natural, mouth-breathing position. His features were meaty and thick; his jaw and cheeks could only be described as muscular, and his eyes were nearly hidden by his jutting brows. “I look like a fuckin’ goon,” he said to himself with sincere surprise. He had always had slim, angular features and a skinny body. There was nothing familiar in this blunt, broad face and dense bulk. He sized himself up using his surroundings for scale: he was as wide as four lockers, his shoulders spanning about ¾ of the locker room counter. He could only use the handicapped toilet stall because he didn’t fit in the other ones, and if he stood at a urinal to piss, he blocked the urinals on either side of him as well.

The disconnect between his mind and his body was fluctuating wildly. Justin had no relationship with the body he now possessed; he didn’t really understand that the fully adult competitive bodybuilder staring back at him was him. It was more like looking at a portrait in a gallery, and his body was certainly worthy of display in a museum. But somehow, the distended muscles hanging off every square inch of his body felt like his home, too. The gym felt like home, as well - the gym he had opened because he loved the iron so much. Every guy who set foot in the gym was not just a client, they were a guest in Justin’s home. Underneath the caveman features lurked the mind of a damned good businessman.

Justin hefted his dick and balls and admired the way the well-made poser cradled his package. He slipped his middle finger under his balls and tickled his taint, grunting with manly pleasure. Justin was too wrapped up in his body now to notice how differently he was carrying himself, rolling his shoulders as he strutted like a rooster around what was now his locker room, and also how differently he was thinking, with his memories and thought processes beginning their slow maturity into manhood to match his physique. Instead of an 18-year-old being confused by the adult thoughts worming into his head, Justin now knew himself as a 32-year-old man, perplexed by the last few immature worries that remained in his mind. The screenwriting assignment was gone – never existed – and in its place sat clients and business meetings with banks and supplement companies. Not to mention he really needed to practice his posing routine, which was why he’d put on his posing pouch in the first place. Damn, why had he chosen such a hideous color? Hot pink with GLITTER?

Justin sauntered over to his locker and looked through his phone for his posing music. A text from an unknown number rolled through: “Almost there,” it read.

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit,” Justin swore, checking the time. Did he have a client he’d forgotten about? He had that haunting something-I-forgot feeling, sure that he had known at some point why the person was coming but now unable to remember, as the rest of Justin’s college-related memories began to make their way out of history. He flipped through his phone’s calendar and noticed he had no appointment booked for the next 90 minutes, but he didn’t want to fuck up and ask the person why they were coming if he was the one in the wrong. He glanced through the various pieces of paper in his wallet to see if there were any reminder notes scribbled, then he picked up his business card prototype to check it, as well.


Justin rubbed his eyes and read his business card again. They’d printed the wrong damn name, he thought angrily. Those motherfuckers down at the printer couldn’t even get his name right. Justin furiously wadded up the business card and tossed it back into his locker with a growl. That motion brought his hand into his vision and he watched, dumbstruck, as his hand began changing color. Out from under his fingernails was spreading a lush, deep caramel shade with rich accents of mocha and cinnamon. The new coloring flowed up his arms and accentuated the deep cuts and prominent veins on his muscles. Justin gulped as he watched his pale porcelain skin darken past a regular tan to something much browner, and as the color reached his chest it began to convert the bodybuilder’s genetics further. His light pink nipples popped to a deep brown, doubling in size as they grew into two pointy bullets aimed straight down at his incredible abs. Sweat gathered under his pecs and began rolling down his baking body, his skin now covered all over with dark brown patches. New genetic advantages were taking root: higher pecs with a deeper center, fuller traps, beefier calves, vascularity that looked like the interstate system.

“Gotta figure dis shit out,” Justin rumbled nervously, his contrabass now bursting with an unmissable accent. A patch of color spread out between his eyes, the bridge of his nose spreading at the top as his irises shifted from green to black, two glittering orbs surrounded by sharp white. “I feel kinda different.”

The browning skin dribbled down to his nostrils, causing them to flare as his nose widened, pushing the color up to his solid cheeks which got rounder and blockier, their new fullness stretching at Justin’s mouth. Gravity pulled the color downward to Justin’s lips, which instantly filled into identically thick brown pillows that smacked together sensuously with every word, constantly licked by Justin’s long pink tongue. The color reversed course and shot back up Justin’s face, gaining speed as it passed his overhanging brow before smashing into his hairline with such force that it blasted Justin’s blond shag up to the heavens, his scalp burning as it changed color and erupted with a new hairstyle: a stubbled buzz on the sides, with longer waves on top textured with gel. Hair no longer blond, but solid black. Justin reached up to make sure it looked good, but it was Flavio who pulled his hand back down and slipped it inside his poser to happily stroke at his huge, uncut cock. No trace of the scrawny white film student remained in the enormous Dominican bodybuilder he had become, least of all Justin’s hatred of his posing strap, which was now Flavio’s favorite piece of clothing – if you could call a few centimeters of fabric “clothing” at all. The hot pink color looked amazing on Flavio’s smooth brown skin.

Justin’s transformation into Flavio was so intense that the aftershocks rippled through the universe to set up the Dominican pro with his new life. No one on the street seemed to notice the gym’s signage warp from “Justin’s Gym” to “Flavio’s Fitness,” a tornado sweeping through the dumpy lobby to turn it into a sleek entrance with chrome accents and modern décor. Angel, the maintenance man, felt his legs start to extend underneath him and looked down just in time to see himself grow a full foot in height, from 5’3” to 6’3”, his patchy mustache falling out as he regressed from a grizzled old man to a fresh-faced, gorgeous 21-year-old Latin stud. Every muscle pumped up proudly as the now-young man filled into the body of a hunky fitness model, with broad shoulders, a barrel chest and a trim waist that cut an impressive silhouette. The new Angel made sure his tight black uniform polo shirt was tucked into his khakis, then placed himself behind the front desk to welcome the members with his sexy smile. Putting the Adonis behind a metallic counter was dangerous: Angel was constantly flexing his pecs and biceps so that he could see them in the reflection of the metal. He was in love with the way his shirt’s buttons strained over his chest and its sleeves bunched over his huge arms. Polos were the best kind of uniform.

Behind the preening Angel unrolled a huge floor-to-ceiling portrait of Flavio de los Santos, doing a side chest pose in his signature pink poser. No visitor to the gym could miss the wall-sized picture, a shrine to the gym’s namesake. The transformational energy shot through every room in the gym as Flavio posed in his locker room, changes swirling around him until his gym was New York’s premiere iron destination. The City’s biggest men made themselves even bigger at Flavio’s under the watchful eye of Flavio de los Santos, “the Dominican Domination.”

Max Griener was just trying to get into his dorm room. He was a 5’4” freshman in college, a trumpet performance major who had never set foot in a gym unless it was to perform at halftime. A nervous, jittery goody-two-shoes, Max had always been a serious academic with little room for a social life. His roommate Justin had embraced the party lifestyle of college more than Max had, as Max had never even had a sip of alcohol in his life. He had also never met anyone from the Dominican Republic, nor had he encountered any professional bodybuilders, although his former roommate Justin was now both of those things. As Max headed into Flavio’s Fitness, he felt the warmth in his body rise exponentially, but just assumed that the gym kept the thermostat pretty high. He didn’t realize he was opening the door to a place that was still in a transformational vortex, and any entrant would be changed irrevocably along with the gym.

Max stopped and stared at the immense picture of the gross bodybuilder, repulsed by the man’s inhuman size. How could a person want to look so big? The man was clearly a good-looking guy already, why did he need to turn himself into some beast?

“Pretty awesome, huh?” Angel said in his newly silky voice, his accent gone as English was now his first language, although he had retained his previous life’s fluency in Spanish.

“Oh, ahh, not really my thing,” Max shrugged, plopping his backpack into one of the black leather couches in the lobby. He looked up at the man at the front desk and immediately became intimidated by Angel’s perfection. Gorgeous Latin features, perfectly styled hair, a killer smile and a body that had fallen out of a Harlequin novel. They were the very antithesis of each other, save for their similar ages: Angel was tall, dark, handsome and jacked, while Max was short, fair, homely and skinny. Angel’s arms were twice as big around as Max’s, a fact that Angel drove home by his casual flexing of them as he spoke. “Can I help you, sir?”

Max wasn’t used to people calling him sir. He knew Angel was just doing as his job demanded, but he still got a kick out of it. Made him feel like he was his dad or something. “I locked myself outta my dorm, I’m waiting for my roommate.”

“Oh, what’s your roommate’s name? We’ve only got a couple members here right now.”

It was weird that Max had to think about his roommate’s name for a moment, but it came to him. “Justin Dolman, D-O-L-M-A-N.”

Angel folded his arms over his big chest, thinking. “Huh. I don’t think we have any Justins here right now. Only Justin I know here works out late at night, big Southern guy. Powerlifter?”

“No, no, wouldn’t be that one. He’s a small guy like me.”

“Huh. You wanna go down and look for him?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Is that okay?” Max didn’t want to break any rules.

“It’s okay as long as you don’t try to work out,” Angel laughed, and Max shook his head. “Nah, no, I’m in jeans.”

“You just have to sign this paper,” Angel said, motioning Max over. “It’s stupid but it’s a liability thing, so like, if you slip and crack your head open in the bathroom, you can’t sue us.”

“Right,” Max said, signing before grabbing his backpack and heading downstairs, not realizing that the name he’d written in uncharacteristically elegant script was not the name he currently bore. The energy running through the gym was making Max take notice of things he normally never would have given a second thought to: how high the dumbbell weights went (150 pounds! Nice!), how many squat racks there were, how busy the place was in the afternoon. It was almost like Max was checking the place out for a future membership, but that was ridiculous. He didn’t work out. He was a shrimp, and way too busy to do anything but practice.

There was only one guy on the weight room floor when Max walked by, and he wasn’t Justin. Max took note of how beautiful the gym was; clean, well-maintained and color-coordinated in masculine colors, it was a bodybuilder’s oasis. Max pulled out his phone to see if Justin had texted him, and was still scrolling through when he walked into the locker room and saw the biggest man he had ever seen. Max didn’t realize that the monstrous Dominican in front of him was the same man in the picture in the lobby. He was awestruck by Flavio’s size and stared openly at the mountain in the pink poser.

Flavio turned his head and leered boldly down at the pipsqueak checking him out. “Like whatchu see, lil man?” The big man’s words echoed around the locker room and remained in Max’s head.

“N-no- sorry, I mean, yeah, you, you’re huge, I didn’t mean…sorry,” Max stammered, looking nervously away but still stealing glances at the man.

Flavio opened his arms and spread his lats, pulling one arm up into a flex and running his tongue over his pumped-up bicep. His free hand wandered down and cupped his big dick. “Yeah, I think you like whatchu see,” Flavio chuckled, his pecs flexing up and down.

Max covered his eyes with his right hand, trying to be respectful while feeling horribly uncomfortable. “I’m looking for my roommate, I need to use his key, that’s all.”

“Lil fella locked himself out, hehehehehe,” Flavio’s deep bass rumbled like thunder.

“Have you seen Justin Dolman anywhere? He’s a couple inches taller than me, not much bigger…”

“Oh, he’s small too? We ain’t got no small guys in here. Just big muthafuckas like me.” Flavio casually turned toward his locker and slipped out of his poser. His gigantic cock sprang up from between his legs, slapping into the lockers and smearing precum all over them. But it was his ass that Max couldn’t look away from. Flavio’s ass looked like a couple of Thanksgiving turkeys. It was absurdly big, and now it was rolling toward him, big cock outstretched. Flavio de los Santos, stark nude, was a sight to behold. “Alright my friend, let’s get you shaved,” Flavio said, roughly grabbing Max by the shoulders and guiding him toward the showers.

“Get me what?! I just need a key!” Max wanted to say ‘don’t touch me,’ but it was too aggressive a statement for him to make, even as he was getting manhandled by the giant Dominican. Max tried to wriggle free, but Flavio’s huge paws were all over him. “What’re you doing?!”

“Ain’t never gonna see dem muscles under all that fur,” Flavio purred, ripping off Max’s treasured polo shirt – one of the first items of clothing Max had bought for himself instead of his parents paying – and revealing a strange sight: Max’s tiny chest, covered in a forest of dense black hair that rolled up over his collarbone and down past his bellybutton. Max stared down, bug-eyed, at the curls. “Wh-wh-wha-“

“These pants, bro, ain’tchu got no style? Shit,” Flavio said, tearing off Max’s baggy jeans in one smooth motion. “I don’t have any…any muscles-“ Max pleaded, humiliated tears springing from his eyes. Flavio didn’t seem to notice as he pulled down Max’s underwear and made the kid step out of it. Max’s body had never grown any body hair before this day, and he was making up for lost time now, covered from the neck down in a black carpet. His inch-long flaccid cock had disappeared under a pure black bush of wiry fur, which had spread like a virus over his thighs and lined his asshole like a runner rug.

Max’s brain was overloaded with embarrassment and confusion. Being naked in front of the biggest bodybuilder in the world – who was also naked - was awful in and of itself, but coupled with the horror over his sudden hairiness, it was too much to bear. Max found himself begging for Flavio to both stop and continue, because while he didn’t want to be naked like a bitch in front of this giant brown muscle daddy, he also hated body hair and wanted it all gone as soon as possible. And judging by the way Flavio was brandishing a handful of disposable razors, the bodybuilder wanted Max’s hair gone too.

Max was tossed like a ragdoll into the shower. He cowered in the corner as Flavio roughly rubbed shaving cream onto his chest, covering the hairs in a thick coating of white. Max was ashamed to feel his cock stiffen slightly at the bodybuilder’s hands slapping the cream onto his body – Flavio had such giant hands, and the strength in them was palpable as he slapped the fluffy cream over Max’s black curls. Flavio’s palm could span nearly armpit-to-armpit on Max’s tiny torso.

Max tried to cover his tiny dick with his hands, even as he felt Flavio’s long phallus pressing against his stomach, spurting its own brand of “shaving cream” onto Max’s hair. Max felt like a little boy showering with his big, strong dad. For an 18-year-old kid trying to assert his independence, this was terribly frustrating. It never occurred to him that this rough, smelly, masculine brute had once been Justin, the very Justin he was looking for. All he was thinking was that he couldn’t bend down or tilt his chin, because any accidental movement could easily result in Flavio’s cock stuffing itself into his mouth.

“Tell me ‘bout yo’self,” Flavio growled as he tossed the safety cover of the razor onto the shower’s tiled floor.

“Uh, um-” Max shut his eyes as he felt the razorblades bite into his chest hair. There was so much of it that it was inevitable he would feel some of the strands just get ripped out instead of sliced. “My name’s Max, M-Muh-Max Griener, I’m 18, I’m a trumpet player. I’m from Nevada.”

“From Vegas?”


“Aw shit, was hopin’ you’d say Vegas, I go there every year fo’ Olympia. I like Vegas, they got dress shirts dat fit me.” Flavio chuckled and his pecs pressed lightly into Max’s face. Max squirmed but Flavio’s free hand – which covered all of Max’s shoulder – held him firm and wouldn’t let him move. “Don’t fuckin’ move, I ain’t lookin’ to take someone to the hospital today, shit, aintchu ever been shaved before?”

“Sorry,” Max said, coughing.

“How long you been liftin’, Max?”

“Never. Never lifted.”

“Well shit, whatchu doin’ here then?”

“I…dunno…I really dunno what’s goin’ on here-”

Flavio ran the razor under the showerhead, dislodging a large clump of body hair. He took another swipe over Max’s chest, neither man noticing that the razor had more distance to travel than before, and had a bumpier road as it had to travel over two small hills instead of a flat prairie. Max’s pecs were being lured out by the razor, although the boy certainly didn’t notice; he was too busy fidgeting and staring breathlessly at Flavio’s muscles, drinking in the sheer vastness of the deltoids and the way the skin didn’t seem big enough to contain the muscles beneath. Max couldn’t believe he’d ever thought bodybuilders were gross. They were gods, the hottest men on the planet. Everything about Flavio was mesmerizing. Max fixated on the water pouring down over the bodybuilder’s powerful chest – the droplets would pool on top of the pecs before rolling down over the mountains like waterfalls. Max didn’t know why it made him so horny, but it did. His cock extended higher up, growing harder by the minute until it began to tickle the underside of Flavio’s erection. “Swordfight,” Flavio drawled with a cocky grin, which Max reciprocated, not feeling more flesh growing onto the head of his cock as his foreskin began coming back.

“Das’ one round,” Flavio said. “Yo chest could use more but let’s do somethin’ else fo’ now.”

“Legs maybe,” Max suggested vacantly, hoping to avoid having to turn around. He just wanted to stare at Flavio’s amazing body forever.

“Legs it is.”

Max grinned and ran a hand up his stomach, running into the underside of his pecs. His eyes widened as he felt the small cliff that his chest muscles made – was that supposed to be there? It wasn’t big like Flavio’s – Flavio’s chest was crazy. He must not ever be able to button the top three or four buttons on his shirts, Max thought to himself, scratching at the itchy stubble remaining on his pecs.

“You sure you ain’t liftin’?” Flavio brushed off some cream from Max’s thighs, admiring the cuts around the quads. Max’s hips bucked at the bodybuilder’s touch.

“I – I lift sometimes,” Max heard himself say. “I’m just busy with school.”

“Whatchu in school for?”

“Errr, ah-“ Max felt two large pops in his knees and groaned, putting his hand on Flavio’s huge shoulder for support. Touching the man was a whole new erotic experience for Max, who tried to keep his heart rate down as he felt the musky heat rolling off the big man’s body.

“Say again?” Flavio asked.

“You go to college?” Max was trying to change the subject. He couldn’t remember what he was studying, which made him nervous.

“School of Hard Knocks,” Flavio chuckled. “I never been a good student.”

“Did you grow up here?”

“Yeah, I was born in the DR, came here ‘fore I could walk tho’.”

“The DR?”

“Dominican Republic.” Flavio’s hands rubbed all over the inside of Max’s thighs, slapping the skin like it was a baby’s ass. Max became embarrassingly erect at this, his cock lengthening past its normal length as his balls began trembling and expanding. “Yeah, you like dat,” Flavio chuckled, giving Max’s testicles a little goose.

“Sorry about that,” Max apologized, his high voice suddenly dipping in pitch.

“Gonna need a fresh razor for this bush,” Flavio said, uncapping a new Bic. “Damn, you hairy.”

“Yeah, always have been.” Max said it, but it didn’t seem right. He didn’t think of himself as a hairy guy. No one in his family was. Max looked down at himself, glum that he’d somehow gotten gorilla genes while the rest of the guys in his family were blond and smooth. “I look like a werewolf,” Max grumbled, triggering a dramatic color shift in the hair on his head. Black roots began poking out of his scalp as his eyebrows started thickening up.

“Not when I’m through wit’ ya,” Flavio said, clogging up the razor with Max’s pubes. “Gon’ be smooth as glass from the neck down. Look fuckin’ amazing onstage.”

“Onstage?” Max cleared his throat. His voice sounded so deep now. “Oh right, for trumpet, I remember now!”

“Trumpet?” Flavio laughed and gave Max’s lengthening cock a hard squeeze. “Dat whatchu call this? A trumpet?”


“Legs done.”

Max looked down at his silky legs. They burned even under the cold water, but he couldn’t deny how amazing they looked when they were shaved – his calves bulged, his thighs rippled. “Ya got good-ass leg genes, brother,” Flavio complimented. “And good-leg ass genes, heheheheheh.”

Max chuckled at the terrible joke. “Thanks.”

“So how old you, man?” Flavio asked while coating Max’s right arm with foam.

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m 21.” Max had meant to say 18. “Sorry, I mean I’m 23.” At this, his boyish features hardened slightly. Black bristles burst out like thorns over his jaw and neck, coating his entire lower face with five o’clock shadow. Max’s stubble was a permanent addition to his face; it never went away and was visible even while he toweled off after a morning shave.

“Forgetcho age or something?”

“Just had a birthday,” Max rumbled, his neck gaining inches as his voice dropped to a bass that matched Flavio’s, the only difference being that Max’s basso profondo was smooth and sexy, instead of gruff like Flavio’s.

“Oh yeah? How old?”


“Nice.” Flavio’s razor was revealing bulging muscle on Max’s forearm. The blade traveled up higher, bringing out the sensuous curves of Max’s bicep and the bloated wedge of his tricep. There were only a few hairs on Max’s shoulder, but as the razor whisked them off, his deltoid expanded into the space surrounding it, yanking out his trap muscle until the right side of Max was bulging with manly power, while the other was sunken and weak.

Their cocks kept smacking together, and Max was panting with lust now. His dick was extended up to ten inches, the foreskin half-grown back over the expanding tip. Flavio was grinning smugly, fully aware of the sexual power he held over Max. He was too busy shaving the kid to notice that Max’s hair was blond on one side and black on the other – the black side’s follicles twice as thick as the blond side’s. Flavio finished up Max’s left side, revealing the gorgeous body underneath. Powerful arms, built shoulders. Max was getting sexy. And bigger. Way bigger.

“Turn around,” Flavio ordered, grabbing Max’s shoulders and spinning him like a ragdoll. Max moaned and pressed his face into the shower tiles, grinning as Flavio roughly slapped loads of shaving cream onto Max’s ass. Even before it started getting shaved, Max’s pure adrenaline was getting his ass to perk up. Flavio’s fingers reached in between Max’s swelling ass cheeks and filled it up with foam. Flavio’s hard cock was slapping against Max’s thighs as the kid stretched taller and bigger, his back bulking out before Flavio’s eyes.

“You may need to do extra work back there,” Max murmured, his eyes bugging out as he heard his mouth saying words his brain wasn’t asking it to. He felt Flavio’s giant hand rest on the hard curve of his waist, but he couldn’t see Flavio slop some shaving cream onto his own cockhead.

“How old you say you were?”

“33.” Max’s muscles were getting heavier, more lived-in.

“Jus’ checkin’. Damn, that’s a hot ass,” Max heard Flavio say, and then he felt the Dominican’s cock thrust deep inside of him.

“UUUUUUNNNNNGGGHHHHHHH!” Max shuddered violently, pressing himself up against the shower as Flavio began fucking him while the shaving continued. And it needed to continue, because the next wave of changes was making Max hairier. Black bristles popped out across his back, but not as fast as the muscles did. Flavio was whipping them off with his magic blade as the back of a full-blown bodybuilder spread out before him, Max’s waist pulling in as his ass got higher and rounder, looking like it was consuming Flavio’s long dick.

“Doin’ alright, big fella?”

Max panted and nodded, thrusting back and forth wildly as he grew to Flavio’s height. This all seemed so wrong, and yet so familiar. He felt Flavio’s tongue run against the back of his neck, which made his traps sprout up like mountains rising from the Earth.

“You lookin’ good, big guy,” Flavio whispered in Max’s ear.

“OH YES-“ The pounds were flying onto Max now. The kid was getting bigger and bigger, but less and less a kid. His jaw was hardening and growing into a giant square, the stubble now so manly that it practically had a cock of its own. Max’s lips were getting plumper and fuller, but never losing their shape, his mouth inflating into an enticing kiss that gave him a permanent model’s pout.

Flavio dropped his razor and pushed Max further down, making Max put his hands on his knees and crouch down to accept the now-shorter bodybuilder doing the fucking. For Max stood 6’1” now, a few inches taller than Flavio.

Max tilted his squaring chin forward and rested it above his pecs, which were being pulled down by gravity into two huge pillows hanging off his body. His abs came in, shredded and powerful, the final component to the bodybuilder that Max now was. Not quite as big as Flavio, a few pounds shy, but more dedicated to pure symmetry and beauty instead of mass. Nothing on Max’s new body could be described as small, though. From his large feet to his equine uncut cock and balls and every enormous muscle, Max was a marvel to behold, a walking spectacle.

As Flavio’s cock pumped in and out of the new man, Max tried to reject the joy he felt from getting fucked by this huge muscle god. But his pleasure began to grow unwieldy, and instead of going away, the joy grew too large and orgasmic, and began to consume Max instead. His features started to contort under the surface of his skin, as if Flavio’s cock was pushing at them with each thrust. His head was square now, the big chiseled jaw bursting with manly stubble, the beautiful mouth hanging open with lust. His droopy eyes grew big and dreamy, darkening to black while his nose lengthened. Max wanted to pull himself away from the massive Dominican, but instead he widened his stance and let Flavio plunge deeper. His shame was gliding away with the rest of his old personality, as a new Max was born in the form of Manu Gupta, gloriously handsome Indian-American bodybuilder. The last shred of Max – his puritanical nature – swapped itself for Manu’s unrestrained libido, and Manu reacted by splattering ropes of cum all over the shower walls as Flavio detonated inside him. The transformation completed as Manu’s skin darkened to a beautiful tanned brown, more befitting his black hair and Indian ethnicity.

Manu collapsed onto the shower floor, laughing happily as he rolled onto his sore ass and leaned against the wall, letting the water pour over him. Flavio chuckled too and collapsed onto his knees between Manu’s legs, the two brawny hulks cuddling like grade-schoolers.

“Thanks for shavin’ me, buddy,” Manu smiled, his deep voice echoing against the shower tiles. “I know it’s no small task.”

“Anytime,” Flavio grinned evilly, running his hand over Manu’s awesome pecs. “These could use another go-round.”

“I’ll get ‘em at home. I gotta go back to work.”

“Where do you work again?”

“Biotech. Oncology.” Flavio stared blankly at Manu, who smiled. “Cancer stuff,” Manu explained helpfully.

“We both know I’m too fuckin’ stupid to get that,” Flavio laughed, goosing his fuck-buddy’s pecs. “I’m just a meathead. I ain’t got no PhD like you.”

It was true, Manu had a PhD in molecular biology. Max’s body hadn’t been the only part of him to experience transformational growth. Nursed inside Manu’s godly physique was a brilliant mind, as well. “Don’t be so rough on yourself,” Manu scolded, nuzzling his head against Flavio’s smooth chest, loving how the pecs rose and fell with the Dominican’s breathing. “You’ve accomplished so much.”

“Yeah.” Flavio rubbed his hand in Manu’s thick, close-cropped black curls. The men stood up and Flavio had Manu do a turn to make sure that no spots had been missed, aside from the chest. Manu liked having a little fuzz to show through the open buttons on his white dress shirt. Flavio had to help the big Indian put his shirt and suit jacket back on. Manu’s arms were so sore from his workout, and getting so big, he didn’t currently have the range of motion to slide his clothes on. Manu grinned mischievously at Flavio while his buddy buttoned his shirt for him. “No no, leave three open. I like doing three open after I go to the gym.”

“I like it too,” Flavio purred, kissing the cleft between Manu’s bared pecs. “Help me out with mine.”

Flavio’s shoulders were so huge that it was a struggle to raise them over his head to slip on his uniform polo. Manu had to pull roughly on the shiny fabric to get it onto Flavio. The black polo was skintight on the big bodybuilder, his nipples poking at the fabric as the sleeves bunched over his gargantuan arms, the veins alone straining at the material. Manu tried to button Flavio’s lowest button, but it wouldn’t go.

“They don’t make bigger than triple-X, yo,” Flavio said. “I’mma have to go wit’ a new company soon.”

“And it’s that shit for fat guys, not big guys.”

“Yeah! Da fuck is dat? Gotta get my uniform tailored to my waist, shit.”

“You’re losin’ your logo,” Manu motioned, pointing to the “Flavio Fitness” emblem that was folding into the underside of Flavio’s chest.

“Yeah. Good problem to have,” Flavio chuckled, tucking in his polo to his khakis and checking his fly. Manu did the same, the white dress shirt’s buttons puckering over his solid abs. “You ‘boutta burst outta that shirt, son,” Flavio said, running his finger over Manu’s chest cleft. Manu flexed his pecs together, the striations “biting” Flavio’s finger.

“I like it.”

“Me too.”

The two huge bodybuilders lumbered up the stairs, their shoulders brushing the walls as they squeezed their bulks up the narrow stairwell. It was the ultimate badge of honor at Flavio’s when you had to start angling your body to go down the main stairs.

Angel was folding towels behind the front desk when he heard the footsteps. He looked up expecting to see his boss escorting out the short kid in the freshman class t-shirt. But instead, Flavio was accompanied by the most handsome man Angel had ever seen, an Indian bodybuilder in a half-open white shirt and beautifully pressed suit, with a leather duffel slung over his broad shoulder. Angel blinked and looked down at the guest waiver he thought the kid had signed, but the only paper there was signed “Manu Gupta.”

“You two pretty boys oughta know each other,” Flavio said. He would lighten his accent up when he was in the lobby of his gym, in an effort to sound more professional. “Angel, Manu, Manu, Angel.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Manu said with a charming smile, shaking Angel’s hand.

“Pleasure,” Angel replied.

“Angel wants to be a fitness model,” Flavio said to Manu, “but y’know how this place goes, he’s already gettin’ a little too big.”

“That so?” Manu’s thick eyebrows rose. “Well, we’ll have to train together sometime.”

“D’you model?” Angel was like an excited puppy.

“Me? Not really, I have a full-time job. I’ve done some stuff here and there but I’m focusing more on competing now, not photos. With my schedule, I kinda have to choose. I’ll leave the pictures to you younger guys.” Manu grinned. “Really need to go, but Flavio can give you my number, we’ll get a workout in.”

“That’d be great! I’d like that!”

Manu popped on a pair of Ray-Bans as he headed out, turning heads on the sidewalk. The door was still swinging shut as Flavio said, “I’ll get him to do a campaign for us, donchu worry.”

Angel looked at his boss with barely concealed hope, and Flavio laughed at the expression. “We’ll beef you up more, kid, getchu up in lights too, a’ight?”

Angel’s grin couldn’t have been larger. Flavio slapped some fliers on the counter. “’ay, give these to the members when they come in, have ‘em invite a friend. Time to get some more people in here. I’ll be in my office.”

“No problem,” Angel said, watching his boss saunter away and squeeze into his tiny office, where Flavio passed time by watching himself flex in the mirror he’d had installed on his office wall.