Tony the Tiger

Stuck in a rut? Bored with your own series? Try a little stream-of-consciousness interior monologue write-it-as-it comes exercise for another little sidetrip (he says to himself) . . .

"So," he says, "Are you sure about this?"

Russ looks at me with the interest of a doctor or scientist asking for a progress report from a researcher, or, which, I guess by now, is exactly the case with me, from the subject of some scientific pilot program. He looks bigger than he did when they first came to town. Both of them do, Russ and Ken. And it's only been, what, three weeks?

"Yeah," I say. "It feels great. I'm sure."

Truth is, I feel more than sure, or I wouldn't be back here. I had a feeling from the first time, when they came on to me at the store, that something was about to rock my world, that I was standing at the edge of a fault line, about to fall in, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it. I was checking them out, and, I guess, checking them out. Who wouldn't? Two guys built like pro bodybuilders shopping together in a supermarket in this backwater Midwestern city. From the minute they walked in, everyone was, like, look at them, man, they must be gay. The girls said gay, the guys said fags. Either way, with their tight wifebeaters and shorts that should have been long and baggy fitting tight because they were so big and showing their butts and their bulges and all, they blew in like a couple of queers from the coast, and they made us all nervous, even if they were amazingly good looking, which I can admit now. So they go through my line, and they say, quietly, so the bagger can't really hear them, that it looks like I'm into working out, which I am pretty much, and if I'd like to come by their place and talk about some amazing stuff to get amazing results, here's the number and address, just come by, and they hand me a card.

So I tell myself I'm not going to do that, and almost throw away the card, but, somehow, I can't stop thinking about them, what they look like, you know, wondering what that must feel like, looking like that, having people stare at you like we all did, so I put the card in my pocket, and when I get off, even though I've got, like, this lump of some kind of fear in my mouth, I call the number on my cell, get them, and they say come on by, and I do.

When I get to the place, which I know from the address is in a real upscale part of town, I'm blown away. It's this huge mansion, way back off the road, hidden in the trees, like in some old mystery movie or something. Russ comes to the door in just a pair of those Lycra shorts you see guys in the fitness magazines wear sometimes, and I feel even more nervous, like what the fuck am I doing, but there's something that just keeps pulling me in when I feel like I should bolt right then. I mean, if these guys are queer, what do I think they think I'm coming over for? But I'm not. It's just something about what they said, having something to give amazing results from working out, and even though I don't really want to bulk up and look like these guys, I wouldn't mind getting cut up like the guys in the magazines. Everyone tells me I'm so good looking, with my Mediterranean Italian coloring and all, and being tall, even though I always think six four would be tall, that six two isn't all that tall, but they're always saying that I should be a model, and do I know I never had any trouble getting laid. Funny, when you grow up a babe magnet, you kind of just take it for granted, anyway. And I had guys come on to me, too, but it was no problem telling them I just wasn't into that, but it was cool, and all, and flattering in a way, because everyone knows gay guys are so picky about a guy's looks. So, anyway, he invites me in, asks if he can get me a beer, which I think will help me get over being so fucking nervous, and he says his partner is down by the pool, if I'd like to have a swim.

Well, I'm just, like, stupid or something, saying yeah, that'd be cool, yeah, that'd be nice, stuff like that, and he takes me to the kitchen, which is like out of a movie, and then down to the lower level, you can't call this a basement, all furnished like a big party media room or something with a big gym att ached, and a bar, and other rooms, all opening onto this huge room that is a giant pool house, all glassed in, but with most of the panels retracted so it's like being outside, but protected.

So the other guy, the blond one, Ken, is lying on a chaise and he's wearing a pair of those tiny, skimpy little posing trunks, and I guess I'm standing there looking stupid again, because Russ tosses something at me from a cabinet, a pair of those trunks, and says here ya go, and he strips off his shorts and puts on a pair of them, and I remember trying not to just stare at him, and the other guy, too, because they are both hairy guys, which you hardly ever see on bodybuilder guys, and these posing trunks are so tiny they have pubes showing all over the place, and I'm thinking, I know I got some pubes, big Italian bush, and if what he gave me fits me like theirs do, I'm going to be showing pubes all over the place. Besides, I've never even had the nerve to wear a pair of Speedos outside swim class at school. Although I always kind of liked being naked in the locker room with the other guys even when they were secretly checking me out because I know I look good.

Meanwhile, I go to take another swig off my beer, and I realize I must've been downing it pretty fast, because one small gulp is all that's left. So I finish it, put down the bottle, and there's nothing left to do but get undressed and put on those trunks and jump into that pool before I look like a total asshole, just standing there, like I'm embarrassed or something.

I'm feeling all embarrassed, anyway, I realize, maybe because I'm there alone with these guys and I'm pretty sure they're gay, and I must be more embarrassed than I thought because I feel all flushed, like I'm blushing like crazy. But just as fast, I sort of realize it isn't embarrassed I'm feeling, and I'm not blushing, I'm just rushing all over, like with niacin or something, and they're both in the pool, hardly paying any attention to me, and that's when I started getting all the weird feelings. The one guy, Ken, gets out of the pool and goes out on the diving board, and he yells in to me, hey, are you coming in, or what, and I look at him standing all there, all covered with muscles bulging everywhere and those tiny trunks, all wet, clinging to what looks like some huge stuff inside that pouch, and all his hair, and he looks really cool to me all of a sudden, and I know that I'm going to look cool in those trunks, too, maybe not huge like them, but cool, with my pubes showing, if this suit is a small as theirs, and I'm glad I didn't shave down or anything like some guys do, and when he says that, I take off my clothes, just drop them on the sofa like Russ did, and I feel really hot, naked, because I look at myself in the mirror enough to know that I look good by anybody's standards, hard six-pack, chiseled pecs, decent V-shape, and not too bad in the meat department, either. Hell, they don't call me Tony the Tiger for nothing. For a seventeen year old guy just out of high school, I'm pretty built, and why wouldn't I want these guys to check me out? And when I pull on the trunks, they are just like theirs, and when I get myself adjusted, I've got pubes showing out the sides on my legs and over the top. And they both watch, and I'm liking they way they look at me, even though I know this is something really wild, feeling this way, like it should be really weird but it isn't, it's somehow just real natural and hot, and I jump in the pool, too.

It's hard to give a lot of details about what happened the rest of that night. I remember feeling more and more up, and getting up on the diving board, them getting me to flex up there, telling me I've got a great body for a kid my age, and how hot I would look all muscled up, and then they're both flexing for me, and, even though part of me is saying this is so queer, I'm thinking, now, that their muscle looks really cool, and that I would love to look like them, and that if this is queer, then it's also totally cool. I hear myself asking what it feels like, and I'm getting into the whole body thing, about how masculine and powerful it is to be real muscular, that only guys can really know how hot it is, how great it is to be a guy, to be able to get big, and having a big dick and all, and then they're showing me how this stuff they have, the stuff they just gave me in my beer that's making me feel this way, made their dicks bigger, and their balls, too, and they do have these huge cocks like at least a foot long and fat as shit, and when they get naked and all boned up, I do the same thing, just getting naked and boned with them, and it's all just so cool and fun and hot, and I find that kissing guys is incredibly hot, the scratchy whiskers and all, and having a guy suck on your cock is a hot as they say because nobody knows what makes a guy feel good like another guy. I remember being a little afraid to cum because I didn't want to have it be over, to cum and then lose the feeling and go all soft, but they just kept working on me, and getting me to do the same to them, and it's so weird and hot at the same time to actually feel another guy's hard cock and make him get all turned on, and everyone getting each other all turned on, and when they make me cum anyway, sucking it right out of me, I don't lose the feeling or go soft. I keep going for hours. They get me to fuck them, and I fuck both of them, which feels amazing to be so free with a couple guys like these guys, sucking each other even while I'm fucking them, and then even letting them play with my ass, and wanting them to, and wanting to know what it's like, and getting my ass rammed by both of them, and thinking that even if this is totally queer, I don't give a flying fuck, it's the best sex I've ever had, all the time them flexing and telling me how hot big muscle is, the bigger the better, and me agreeing in some kind of way where I can feel it deep inside me, how I agree, how it's like my whole body wants that, wants to be big, to get huge, to feel like they feel.

Okay, so the next day I wake up at home, my parents ask where I was so late, I say I met these guys, and they say I should be careful, I say I am, and I go to work, and everything is just like always, except one thing. I can't stop thinking about those guys, and about their muscles, and about how hot being naked and sexual with them was, and knowing it was that stuff.

A week goes by, and I have a couple dates, and my girlfriend tells me I'm like some animal when we have sex, and she really likes it, but she's so soft, and I'm wanting her to get more aggressive with me but she doesn't, and I think about those guys. She also tells me I'm looking exceptionally good lately, have I been working out more, or harder, or something, and I say, well, yeah, or something, because I have noticed that my guns are responding to my workouts really great, and my pecs are getting some meat to them, and even my legs feel thicker, rubbing together some now, which they barely did at all. I also notice that I'm so horny all the time that I'm jacking off all the time, locking the bathroom at work even, and that's why Sheila thinks I'm an animal, because I'm so totally into the sex thing. I fucking love my cock.

So when they come into the store again, and ask me if I want to come by again, get another taste of their stuff, I say, really? like some idiot, and they say they were sure I would want to, and so I go over that night, and this time, when they give me the beer, I know it's got something in it, and I drink it down without a breath, and when the feeling starts, we're down in the lower level again, no one even bothers with the posers. They just get me naked and they're all over me, and it's like that's what I needed all week, like nothing could reach the itch but this, and now I know I'm like a total fag with them, and I don't care. In fact, I love it. They even call me stuff like fag, and boy, and ask me if I like their muscles, and do I like feeling myself getting more muscular, and I hear myself talking to them the way they're talking to me, all fuckin' this and fuckin' that and fuck yeah, and stuff, and I'm just all about my cock and my muscles, and their muscles, and flexing, feeling the hard, masculine muscles, loving being a guy with guys all into the same thing about being guys together with muscles and cocks and hairy pits and hairy pecs, and for the whole night I'm a total muscle fag with them and they call me muscle boy, and I want to be that.

So another week goes by, and today just Russ comes into the store to pick up a few things, and it's a time when the store is fairly empty and he sort of chats me up and says if I think I can explain to my parents and get their permission, that they would love to take me on as their house boy, take care of stuff, the house, the yard, business stuff, whatever, but since I'm not eighteen, they have to know I have permission.

Meanwhile, I have told my parents about these guys, and it seems they had heard of them, of their coming to town with this stuff that gets men all muscular, like steroids, but some kind of breakthrough that makes them bigger than steroids can even, without the bad side effects, but why would any guy want to get like that, and I told them I did, and I'd tried some, and my mother got mad, and so did my dad at first, but then he just wanted to know more about it, and finally he said he'd talk to my mom. if it was really what I wanted. and it would be okay with him, even if he did think it was kind of weird, so I knew I could get him to say okay.

Meanwhile, during that whole week, I figure maybe they'd given me a bigger dose, which is why I get so into the sex thing, but it won't go away. It's all I can think about. And at the gym, guys tell me I look like I'm juicing or something, not that I look bloated or anything, but just that I seem to be muscling up faster, and I flex because I knew it's true and I felt really hot showing them how my 'ceps peak. My T shirts are showing pecs. Even the other kids and some of the old ladies at work say I'm looking muscular. One of the ladies says, now you're starting to get a little musclebound looking, you don't want to look all musclebound, and when she says it I get hard in my pants and I think yes, I do. I feel this whole different kind of masculine feeling in me, I know from that stuff, and it keeps getting stronger, and by then I know this whole new thing, that it's that masculinity deep in me that's so strong it's making me horny and sexual and making my muscles and cock and all grow, not that I'm feeling masculine because of getting bigger, but that I'm getting bigger because my whole body is responding to that increase of my masculinity.

And this morning, when I get dressed, I really noticed for the first time, you know how you can be aware of something and not really notice and then it just hits you, that when I put on my boxerbriefs, my package is bigger, for sure. I mean, I'd thought several times, a bunch of times, taking a leak or jacking off or just looking at myself in the mirror, that my dick is getting bigger. I even measured it, of course, who wouldn't under those circumstances, and it measures maybe half an inch bigger, from six and a half to seven, maybe a little over, depending on how I hold the tape, so I know it's happening. Just like I notice that I'm getting some kind of heavy peach fuzz on my chest and some down the middle of my abs, but it's like I could see it but almost not see it.

Then, this morning, it's like, whoa, man, I really am getting a bigger package. I have to take them off again, and look, and I still didn't look that much bigger, but I can feel it. My stuff is heavier. My balls are a little bigger and they make my dick stick out more, but my dick is definitely fatter and hangs longer. Of course I'm boning by then, and I have to jack it again, but even when I pull on those boxerbriefs again, I can't get over how my bulge looks, how full it is, how I just have a definitely bigger package. And, I have to say, I feel hot. All day, I'm totally aware of that bulge in my pants. I have that feeling of really intense masculinity, constantly stronger, but now getting really strong. It's all about how it's making my body feel, my muscles, how it feels knowing people are looking at me, seeing my guns filling up my stupid white long-sleeved shirt I have to wear at the store, seeing my pecs, the shape of them, all squared off and rounding up thick, probably my back looking really wide, even though I can't see that, I can feel the material, and it just makes me feel so hot. When I just bend my arm to put something in a bag, I can feel my muscles jumping full and hard in the sleeve, and I see people looking, too, the way they try to look at something they shouldn't and not let you see they're looking, like at a guy's muscles, or the bulge in his pants. So when Ken comes in and says that, about being their house boy, I was, like, ready to leave right then. But I had to get my dad to give me something in writing saying it was okay for me to stay at their place, which I did right after work, with my mom crying, and dad saying you have to let him be what he wants.

So, here I am. Am I sure? Shit, man, I'm thinking, looking at Russ sitting there like some muscle god, I'm so sure. Make me your total muscle boy. Experiment on me. Use me however you think would be hot. Make me grow. Show me off. Make me a freak.

"All right, Tony," he says, "then let's dispense with that game of putting it in your beer. Those were just teaser doses, anyway. We want our house boy to be a real muscle boy. You want that, don't you?"

"Yeah," I say, "You know I do. I got my dad's permission and everything." Why is he asking again, I wonder, and I hand him the paper.

"Good. Just want to make sure everything is above board, you know. Okay, then. Just take off your shirt, let me have your arm. Here, sit right here and put your arm on the arm of the chair. Just relax."

He ties off my arm with one of those rubber tourniquet things and rubs the inside of my elbow with an alcohol swab to find a good vein. I have to admit, it's seeming more extreme this way, but it's kind of exciting, too, scary in a way, but exciting, and I can feel myself boning up, and I remember about how my package felt this morning, all day, all those feelings, so masculine, so loving my masculinity.

"Okay, Tony. Deep breath."

And I watch as he slides the needle into my vein and slowly empties the syringe into me. Damn, it seems like a lot. I am so fucking ready. He pushes another alcohol swab on the puncture and slides out the needle, tells me to bend my arm and hold it there for a few minutes, and even as he's saying it, I start to feel the rush, the flush. I'm so hard my dick hurts. I want to let it out, let him see how big it's getting, look at it myself. I want to be naked. I fucking love this, how it feels. He's smiling at me, and everything is kind of silvery and colors are bright and the hair on his pecs looks so amazing, the way it swirls across that huge, wide, thick muscle, and I'm going to get like that. I'm going to be a seventeen year old dude with huge fucking muscles and a monster cock, a total stud, fuck boy, muscle boy, so huge, so hot, oh, man, I can barely hear him talk, the blood is so loud in my ears. I have to take off my clothes. I gotta get naked. Aww, yeah, fuck, yeah.

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