Baxter prep

by BRK   

A candid interview with the man who admitted dosing the stars of his reality TV show, Baxter Prep, with serums that altered their bodies—without their knowledge.

“Mr. Posner, I understand you’re willing to disclose the truth in this interview. For the first time, exclusively.”

“Yes.”

Mick looked up from his notepad, surprised by the frank, unqualified assent—an assent that was also an admission. But Robert Posner’s face was not that of a guilty man. Or a television producer, for that matter. It was the face of a model, Mick thought, his thick uncut cock stirring unexpectedly in his thin black slacks. A gorgeous model. He crossed his legs, trying to assess Posner’s smooth, mesmerizing face, a face that looked twenty at the most, bright-eyed, knowing, alert, and radiant.

Mick decided to clarify, for the benefit of the tape recorder on the low, swank coffee table between them. “That you dosed the stars of your high school reality series, Baxter Prep, with serums that altered their bodies—without their knowledge or consent.”

Posner seemed to hesitate only a moment. Then he went all in. “Without anyone’s knowledge or consent,” he said in a smooth, soft voice. “Only I knew what was happening.”

Mick thought about the stars of the show he’d already interviewed confidentially, one by one. Had they let slip anything that suggested Posner had told them, at the beginning, what he wanted to do?

Mick’s eyes drifted down momentarily from Posner’s face. His training as a reporter compelled him to keep his focus on the face—the eyes, the mouth, the little movements of the facial muscles that told things words would not, catching movements of the shoulders and hands with peripheral vision—but Posner’s physique was as luscious as his smile, his generous muscles and tight waist accentuated by a thin, buff-colored cashmere sweater that lay loose across his torso, tightening across his thick chest and ample upper arms.

This boy’s not only the president, mused Mick to himself, he’s also a client. He was uncomfortably aware his own cock was now completely hard, pulsing in his lap along his hip. He hoped Posner wasn’t perceptive enough to guess—but then, Mick realized, Posner probably knew the effect he had on guys. Posner probably got off on giving straight guys boners. He liked making the guys on his show hot for each other, and it was very clear that he liked turning on guys his own age.

With an effort, Mick affected a blank expression. “Go on.”

Posner settled a bit in his chair, looking up at the ceiling as if to refresh his memory. “The ‘dosing,’ as you put it, of the stars of Baxter Prep was undetectable at first.”

“Is that true?” Mick broke in. “I’ve seen the clips. All the boys in the cast were skinny in the pilot and put on 40 pounds of muscle by the Christmas episode!”

“Ah, but you’re watching these clips all at once, knowing what you’re looking at,” Posner replied calmly. “For everyone at home, these shows cropped up in their busy lives and then went away again, going back into the sea of distractions we all deal with in the 21st century. The effect was gradual. Marcus’s fans would watch the Halloween episode and think to themselves, ‘Wow, he looks really good this week.’ Or Kyle would get a new crop of fans who thought he was just the A/V nerd—until we showed him in a tight tee-shirt. Then they thought they’d just missed how hot he was.”

Mick knew the scene Posner was talking about: cute but geeky Kyle, who submitted to the show’s tee-shirt-and-speedos-only day gimmick and wore a Rolling Stones tee that turned out to be two sizes too small, stretched taut across his chest and riding up constantly to reveal the lowest of his hard abs. According to his notes, Kyle’s previously tame Facebook page was swamped with visitors from then on.

“Besides,” Posner was saying, “every young actor in Hollywood works out like crazy. You expect the stars of a teen drama to be buff, you expect lots of shirtless scenes that show off well-sculpted torsos. Even on so-called reality shows. Maybe even especially. Teens across America are spending hours in the gym, getting buffer by 15 than their dads ever got their whole lives.”

Mick frowned. “These boys became more than buff,” he objected.

Posner allowed himself a slight grimace. “The serum had never been used on teenagers before,” he said. “It proved to be—unexpectedly potent on high-school-aged males.”

“So it had been tried before, but not on teens,” Mick said. “On whom?”

Posner gave him a crooked smile. “I’m sure you’ve already guessed.”

Again, unexpected frankness. What did Posner hope to gain by this interview? Mick answered with the obvious response. “On yourself.”

Posner nodded. “My college roommate developed the formula, hoping to sell it to the military. He was afraid to experiment on himself, so he dosed me, without my knowledge. As you can see, the experiment was a success.”

“What was his name?” Mick asked, amazed to be finding out about this serum’s origin—that was the one thing he’d been absolutely sure Posner would stonewall on.

“David Moskowitz. Don’t bother tracking him down—he’s gone.” Mick raised his eyebrows, and Posner explained. “After ten doses over three months turned me from your typical pimply freshman into—well, this” (he gestured at his gorgeous body) “he lost control and swallowed a whole course of fifteen doses himself, all at once. I watched him start to grow in real time—it was the must surreal thing I ever saw—and then he freaked out and ran away. I never saw him again.”

Mick’s eyebrows were still raised. That should be easy to check, anyways. “So the effect—what is the effect exactly? Cell duplication? Muscle stimulation?”

Posmer shook his head. “Not really. The effect is—well, it’s beauty, I guess. But it’s tied into the chemical process of your brain. The serum magnifies in you, what you find most alluring, most intoxicating about the male form. A lot of that is preconditioned in our sexuality-oriented culture, so you’re hard-wired to start with social norms for male beauty—increased muscle size and tone, minimized body fat, facial beauty, height—“

“So you were a short, pudgy, ugly guy when you arrived at college?” Mick said, drinking in the man Mick was suddenly aware he was desperate to kiss. Every single guy that comes within five feet of this guy must think about touching him, he thought.

“With buck teeth,” Posner added with an incandescent, perfect smile that made Mick’s boner surge.

“But you said the serum magnifies the subject’s own ideas of male beauty. What if you’re into chicks?”

Posner actually laughed. “That’s actually the first thing to go,” he said. “I, uh, haven’t thought about a girl that way in four years.”

“Huh.” That explains a lot, Mick thought.

Posner was still relating his own college experience. “By the fifth dose I realized something was going on, and eventually I found the serum and his notes. When Davey ran off, I took them and hid them before anyone could get to them. Almost immediately I realized that this was my golden ticket—I’d always dreamed of making it big in television—creating a hit TV show, or something. And this would make it possible. I just had to find a hot young cast—and make them hotter. Only—I didn’t know about the enhanced effect on teens. And,” Posner added with the slightest taste of rue, “I got another surprise.” Posner paused—dramatically?

“Which was?”

Posner hesitated. “Some guys,” he said slowly, “have interesting ideas about male beauty.”

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