But as he was getting showered and dressed, he had two realizations. First, his clothes barely fit him. All his jeans were uncomfortably tight and noticeably too short; the cuffs were above his ankles, half way to his calves. His shirt sleeves were short, too. But they could be rolled up to hide it. What could he do about his pants? He didn’t know, maybe new ones?
Second, he hadn’t gotten any more muscular overnight. He felt a confusing mix of emotions over this. He was relieved, thinking maybe the whole thing might be over, but also disappointed at the same time, as part of him had been enjoying the increases in muscularity.
But no, he couldn’t let himself feel that way. This was some kind of a condition and he had to resolve it. Of course, why he hadn’t grown was just as much of a mystery as why he had.
“There’s no mystery,” he heard a voice inside him say. “You didn’t grow yesterday because you didn’t work out.”
Of course, it was obvious. Exercise was somehow exacerbating the situation.
“Okay, Luke,” he murmured. He had a bad habit of talking to himself. “No more exercise for a while. Take it slow.”
What?! Even as he said it, he found something deep inside him bucking against the idea. Unbidden, the memory of the security guard warning him not to go out alone at night came to mind. He was suddenly angry. Not at the guard because he had been right. Luke couldn’t have defended himself. Luke was angry at himself. He should be able to defend himself! He’d been able to get that scholarship, earn his way to Harvard; why shouldn’t he be able to take a freakin’ walk at midnight?
The answer was he should be able to. He was going to exercise, was going to get bigger, and was going to get stronger. He enjoyed the way it felt. Why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he be able to protect himself? Muscles were ok in moderation. In fact they were a good idea.
By the time he was done wracking the question in his head, he’d resolved to return to the gym. He’d just try and make sure he didn’t exert himself too much, so that he didn’t run the risk of developing too much. There wasn’t even really any assurance that whatever was happening with his body would continue. He smiled, having reassured himself, packed an old book bag with gym clothes, and left.
Luke’s first stop was the dining hall where he scoffed a record setting breakfast. Since he was eating so much, he wondered if he shouldn’t be doubling up on the vitamins, too. But no, he figured that probably wasn’t necessary.
Luke arrived at the gym and walked past the desk again, idly checking to see if The Douche was there. He wasn’t. That was reassuring. He flashed his ID and went through to the changing room, switching from his undersized clothes to his gym shorts and tank top. He stretched with a little pride and walked out onto the gym floor. There were plenty of people here, but they were all too busy training to notice him, which suited Luke just fine.
There were dozens of machines that he frankly had no idea how to use; luckily, there was a large rack of dumb-bells available at the far end of the gym. He walked over and grabbed a pair of 25-pound weights. He figured lifting the 50-pounders again would be suicidal, and would probably just trigger another drastic transformation. 25 seemed to be a good middle ground.
The weights did feel a little light in his hands, though. He tried a few bicep curls and found them almost embarrassingly easy. He set the weights back and grabbed a pair of 30s. They felt a little more solid, at least. He swung the dumbbells up in each arm, one after the other, his new muscles easily dominating the weights. After eight or nine repetitions, he started to feel the weight in his hands, the burn in his muscles. Oh yeah, this was what it was all about. He gritted his teeth and pulled the weight up slowly, watching his biceps peak at the top of the movement. The sight was waking something in him, a feeling he didn’t completely understand. He loved that pumped up bicep, fucking loved it! He let the weights fall back to his side with a shuddering gasp and looked at himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw. His arms, pressed against his side, looked bigger than ever. Yeah. A thin sheen of sweat had his hard body glistening, the smooth grid of his abs sharply visible beneath the fabric of his shirt. The image was mesmerizing, and it also drove him to move on!
He went through another set of reps. As much as he loved watching his bicep bulge, he moved through the other exercises as well. He exercised his chest until he lost the pump and his back until it swelled hard with blood. He hadn’t meant to push himself so hard, but fuck, he couldn’t stop. He shifted to some weighted squats, surprising himself with how much he could lift. A leg press machine was free, so he hopped on that, pounding out a few repetitions with fervor. He didn’t even notice the numbers he was setting the weights to. He was past that; he just wanted whatever burned.
By the time he was done, he was sweating buckets. His muscles were swollen from all the blood rushing to them. He checked himself out in a mirror and saw that his musculature was larger and more pronounced than before. The faintest outline of veins were even visible on his biceps. Feeling a kind of primal, visceral pride, he grinned and stumbled back to the changing rooms. When he checked his phone, he saw that it was nearly 1 PM.
I got here at 9:30! Luke thought, feeling slightly uneasy. He hadn’t been able to keep track of the time. He’d gone from one exercise to the next, slowly trying out the complicated-looking machines until, by the end of his session, he’d been on nearly everything in the building. He realized a couple guys—both about as thin-but-chubby as Luke had been just two days ago—were staring at his arms. Luke grinned and flexed his bicep. His arm swelled eagerly.
“Check out the guns,” he said, sounding more than a little cocky. He immediately felt mortified. Without another word, he pulled on his too small t-shirt and pants, then left the changing room as quickly as he could.
What’s getting into me? That’s not the kind of thing I’d say! I’m an intellectual for crying out loud! He headed back to the dining hall, his stomach screaming for food, his thoughts flashing through his head like beams of light. While he’d been at the gym, time had seemed to go away. Why had he enjoyed that so much? What was it that had prompted him to show off like that? He just wished he knew more of what was going on with his body, and his mind.
He ate another record setting meal and then walked back to the dorm, his longer strides moving him much quicker than before. He didn’t feel lethargic or tired, but rather impossibly energetic. It was like an electrical current was running beneath his skin.
But somehow, as soon as he laid down on his bed, he dropped right off to sleep.
As Luke slept, he felt the real world intruding on his dreams, pressing through the thin membrane between the waking and sleeping worlds. He felt pressure, all over his body, as though he were constantly moving outside of himself. He felt his arms bulging, his stomach tightening, his legs burning and throbbing. Through the sleepy haze of the dream he felt faint stabs of pain as his muscles rebuilt themselves. It hurt, but it felt good, too … and his dreams were only about himself, a genius, succeeding at Harvard, with a body fit for an Olympian….
Luke woke up groggily and slapped a hand to his face to try to wake himself up, and flinched at the pain. “Ow.”
He felt strange. As the pall of sleep slipped away from him, he felt refreshed, though he was starving. A feeling of dread—tempered by anxious excitement—settled into the bottom of his stomach. He pushed himself to his feet and looked in his mirror again.
He was big. His biceps, once just a distinctive curve unless he was really flexing them, now protruded off of his arm, thick and heavy, even as they hung loosely at his sides. His triceps bulged up behind his arms, giving them substantial size. The vein that had been present at his workout had settled into permanent residence, snaking down his now beefy bicep and towards his wider forearms. His shoulders had grown as well, their curved shape defined and unmistakable, now. His back was definitely broader, pushing his arms off from his sides as they rested against the broad, thick muscles there. His abdominals were now unmistakably defined, and his thighs had a slight teardrop shape even when he was standing perfectly relaxed. And damn, he was pretty sure he’d gotten taller again, too. It looked like another couple of inches. He took shallow breaths, trying to calm himself.
“Okay, it definitely didn’t stop,” Luke whispered under his breath, half-elated, half-terrified. He was torn between punching the air and running to hide under his bed.
He darted into the shower and stripped down. When he saw himself naked, the effect was magnified. His back tapered down in a v-like shape down to his thin waist that blossomed out into his larger thighs. Biting his lip, he raised an arm and flexed the bicep, gasping in elated shock. The muscle curled into a hard ball nearly half again as large as it had been before and featured a prominent peak. He began rotating his wrist repeatedly from the front to the back, from the front to the back, causing his biceps to leap and dance, the vein on his peak twisting as his muscles bulged. Fuck. He felt himself getting stiff, and marveled to see that his member was now longer and thicker than before.
He slipped into the shower without another word. He turned on the water and took care of himself with one hand as he meticulously washed every hard bulge and etched crevice with the other. When he was done he dried off hastily, and pulled his clothes back on. He realized with some anxiety that you could see his sculpted shoulders, chest, back and arms bulging through the fabric.
“I definitely need some new clothes,” he said to his reflection. “Although…,” he said and flexed, watching and feeling his big, hard muscles, swell up into stark definition and stretch out the cloth, “…this has its appeal, too.”
“Discretion, discretion,” he thought to himself. “This is going to have consequences, definite consequences.” He just didn’t know what kind or how severe. And until he had some idea, it was better to keep the changes on the down low.
He pulled on his gym shorts (there was no way his longer, meatier legs would fit into those skinny jeans now). Even his shoes barely fit. So limping, he discretely made his way to the clothing shops of Harvard Square.
As he walked, he was running things in his head, trying to think of something that could explain what was happening to him.
Increased metabolism? That would make sense. It doesn’t seem to be hormonal. No abnormal emotional state, just heightened mental alertness. It was the best theory he had so far, but he had no idea what was causing it. Maybe a reaction from the vitamin pills? No, that was impossible; no compound when combined with vitamins would cause this sort of reaction. Maybe something in the water?
Perhaps it was genetic. Maybe some sort of delayed onset of certain DNA markers, a switch in his genetic code that had failed to go off. He knew there were some people whose bodies produced an abnormal amount of muscle tissue—the same abnormality was intentionally bred into cows—but those people, as far as Luke knew, were always born with the condition. Perhaps his condition was simply unique, or extremely rare.
If that were the case, he definitely wanted to keep this under wraps. He didn’t want to have to spend his first year at Harvard being some Ph.D. student’s pet project. As a student on a scholarship, he’d be particularly vulnerable to the whims of a faculty member. He’d always had to be aware of his own dependency on others. It galled him.
He was still steaming when he walked into the clothing store. It was quiet. The salesperson was helping a student couple. Luke looked around. Suddenly, he realized he didn’t know what size he took in anything! He was going to need help.
The student couple seemed to be making up their mind about something. The guy turned to the sales person and said, “We’re going to need a few minutes to decide. You should probably go help that jock over there before he flexes out of his shirt.”
“I am not a jock!” Luke shot back. The vehemence surprised even him.
“Ok, you’re not a jock, bro. Chill,” said the guy looking a little nervous.
Suddenly, a realization struck Luke. He almost laughed. That guy was scared of him, scared of Luke, the nerd! Why? Because Luke the nerd was bigger and stronger than him. Luke the nerd had bigger, harder fucking arms, a larger chest, and broader fucking shoulders. It made him a little light headed. He felt and odd sort of thrill run though him, and he ran a hand over his hard bulging arm. He could probably beat the crap out of that guy!
Wait, what? No! No, no, no, no, no! Luke was getting really carried away. He would never beat the crap out of anyone, even if he did call him a jock. So what if he did? What’s wrong with being a jock? What’s wrong with being muscular? Nothing. It was good. It felt good. There was nothing to get upset about here.
“Can I help you?” asked the sales person, breaking Luke out of his reverie.
Luke bought some new clothes, all on the large side. Not only did he want to de-emphasize the changes, but he also wanted them to last a while, and the way he was growing, he’d better get them down right baggy.
He went back to his dorm, closed his door and walked into his room. His eyes immediately went to his roommate’s weight set, still sitting on the floor.
No. I’ve already taken this way too far, Luke thought. It really isn’t wise to push this until I know exactly what’s going on. Instead he went to his computer to research metabolic anomalies, but he found his mind constantly drifting back to his body. He had to admit it was one hell of a distraction. He could feel it bulging under his clothing, his hard, powerfully built, buff body. Fuck. He took off the shirt and baggy pants and turned to look at his sculpted physique in the mirror. When he twisted his sides, he could see little oblique muscles popping out around his ribcage. He brought a hand up and touched them. They tickled. He licked his lips and rubbed a hand along his abs, watching the skin brush across his defined muscles. I do look good, though.
He put his hands behind his head and clenched his stomach, his abs locking together like armor plating. His lats spread out with the motion, showing off the width of his back. He laughed. Just two days ago he didn’t even have lats!
“I can’t hide this anymore,” Luke whispered. He was noticeably taller and starting to look like a bodybuilder. His muscles were almost completely depleted of body fat. It was like his body had burned through every bit of energy he’d provided for it.
Probably something metabolic, then, Luke thought rapidly, even as he tried to think of what he could do now. He’d have to tell someone what was going on. Who could he trust?
Will. Luke didn’t feel quite ready to show the rest of the world his body, though. Instead he just picked up his phone and called Will.
“Hey, buddy,” he answered. “Long time, no hear. What’s up?”
“Will, can you come up to my dorm room, please. It’s urgent.”
“How about meeting you at the dining hall for Lunch,” said Will.
“That won’t work,” said Luke. “You have to come up here. Please, it’s really important.”
“Okay, I’m coming.” Luke unlocked his door, stepped back from it, and waited, shirtless. He heard the rapid clunking steps of Will ascending the stairs, and took a breath, trying not to think about how the sunlight pouring in through his dorm room window struck his large, defined muscles and illuminated them with highlights and shadows that emphasized their threatening size and veined hardness as he felt them shift heavily with his every movement. Fuck. He was getting stiff again.
Will knocked on his door. “You decent?”
“More than decent.” The words were out of Luke’s mouth before he could stop them.
Will walked in the door and his jaw dropped in mute shock. Almost independently of the rest of his body, his arm reached for the doorknob and forced the door shut.
“What the fuck? Luke, you’re jacked!”.
“Um, pardon? Will, I, ah—”
“Wait. Are you taking steroids?—”
“What? No! I don’t know why this is happening. I don’t know why I’m getting bigger. I just keep exercising, and then I wake up with another ten pounds of muscle! Well, it was ten pounds when it started. Now I think it’s more like twenty! It’s insane!”
Will stopped and nodded. “Really? How long as this been happening?”
Luke’s heart leapt into his throat and he nearly cried with gratitude. He grabbed his friend in a bone-crushing hug.
“Woah! Careful, big guy,” said Will. “What’s this all about?”
“Sorry.” Luke relaxed his grip a little. “I just don’t know what to do. I was scared you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Luke, I met you the first day, and you weren’t… like this.”
“Damn! You’ve really got some guns on you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how, or why, or what to do about them,” Luke said, intensely grateful to have someone to talk to about this. “My brain’s working about four times as fast as normal. I’m always hungry. I think my metabolism must be through the roof, and the only way to calm my thoughts is to work out. But whenever I work out, this happens!” He gestured down at his muscular frame helplessly.
“You should go see the doctor, Luke. I know this is scary, but you’ve got to do what’s right. You don’t want to jeopardize your chances at Harvard, do you?”
“No and I don’t want to become a Harvard case study either,” said Luke.
“I take your point. Ok, we’ll figure this out, just the two of us, ok?” said Will.
“If you can figure this out, you’re a heck of a lot smarter than I am,” said Luke. “I’ve read everything on the internet even resembling my case and there’s nothing.”
“Maybe, you’re just too close to it,” said Will. “You just need a fresh perspective.”
“Ok,” said Luke, “What’ve you got?”
Will began pacing the room. “Ok, ok, your roommate, he was a big dude, right? Got kicked out for performance enhancers. Any chance you got effected by any?”
“Effected? They’re not like viruses or anything. I’d have to have—” It hit Luke like a thunder clap! It had been right in front of him all the time and he hadn’t seen it! He ran over to his vitamin collection and retrieved the small bottle of Vitamin Y. He handed it to Will.
“I got this out of the supplements he left behind.”
Will looked it over. “Vitamin Y? There’s no such thing as Vitamin Y.”
Quickly the boys scavenged the internet looking for information on Vitamin Y, Luke on his lap top and Will on his phone. Both of them came up empty.
“Ok, ok,” said Will. “If there’s no such thing as Vitamin Y, what is this shit and where did your roommate get it?”
“We could call him and ask,” suggested Luke.
“We could,” said Will, “But this shit is obviously illegal, probably experimental. One thing’s for sure: he shouldn’t have it. Who’s to say he’d tell us the truth?”
“Good point,” said Luke. “But if we don’t ask him, how do we find out?”
“We start by finding out everything we can about him,” said Will. “You said you had his year book?”
“Yeah, right here.” Luke opened the desk drawer and removed the tome. It had an index in it which quickly enabled the boys to find every page on which he was featured.
The first page was the football team photo. There he was in the back, looking as huge and massive as Luke remembered.
“Football Team, no surprises there.”
The boys flipped through the pages to the next photo. It was the chess club, in his junior year they had won the state championship. There he was, in front this time, looking appropriately nerd-like—and skinny as they come.
“That’s impossible,” said Luke.
“But it fits, doesn’t it?” said Will “What does it say about him?” Will flipped through the book until he hit the page he was looking for. “Chess, Football, Honor Student, hopes to go to Harvard, like his father! He’s a legacy!”
“So, his dad went here. So what?”
“Think about it, Muscles,” said Will, picking up the bottle of Vitamin Y and shaking it, making it rattle. “It’d take somebody pretty smart to come up with this shit.”
“His dad?” questioned Luke.
“It would fit,” said Will.
“And he was right here…” said Luke.
“What do you mean he was here?” asked Will, and Luke told him all about Mr. Winton’s strange visit.
“He must have come for this,” said Will shaking the bottle of Vitamin Y. “Let’s see what we can find out about him.”
They found him listed on the alumni page. He was a research geneticist. “My spine’s tingling, which means I’m on to something,” said Will. “We need to read everything we can about this guy where he works, what he’s working on, if he’s published anything; we need to read it all.”
And so they did. For the rest of the day, they scoured the internet and Harvard’s intranet for anything they could find.
Finally Luke stood up. “It’s all here,” said Luke tapping the screen. “His dad was researching the degeneration of the Y chromosome.”
“The Y chromosome? That’s the chromosome that makes us male, right?” said Will.
“Yup, and it’s degenerating. It’s already lost most of its functional genes.”
“What,” gasped Will, “That’s terrifying. If the Y chromosome fails…That means no more males, no more humans!”
“Calm down,” said Luke, “We got another 10 million years before it loses all its functional genes. I’m sure we’ll come up with an answer way before then. If fact, it looks like my old roommate’s dad is already hot on the trail.
“He’s come up with an idea to reconstitute the lost genes in the Y chromosome. He wants to use gene therapy to beef it up, so to speak. But there’s some controversy as some of these genes haven’t been in the Y chromosome for hundreds of thousands, even millions, of years. Nobody knows what the effect of reintroducing them will be.”
Luke sat down again.
“Well, almost nobody,” said Luke, flexing his big peaked vein-ridden bicep.
“Y chromosome. Vitamin Y,” said Will. “It all fits.”
“Fuck,” said Luke. “I’ve got some experimental genetic substance running around inside me.” But his objections seemed hollow and empty, even to himself. He liked the way he looked. He liked the way he felt. And he was now more male than any guy on campus, and by extrapolation, more of a man than any guy on campus. That thought sent a palpable thrill running through his hard, muscular body.
“Now, at least, you know what the substance has to be,” said Will. “And if the guy gave it to his own son, I think we can surmise there’s no risk to your health.”
“But why would he leave it for me?” asked Luke.
“Dude, this guy is trying to save the whole human race,” said Will “He’s not going to do it by altering the chromosomes of one guy, even if it is his son.”
“So, what do I do now?” said Luke.
“It looks like you’ve got two options: stop taking the pills or continue taking the pills. But I have to say, looking at you, I wouldn’t mind a dose or two myself.”
“Here,” said Luke, handing the bottle to Will. “You’ve helped me a lot. It’s the least I can do for you… and for humanity, apparently.”
Will helped himself to a handful of pills, dry swallowed one right away and put the bottle back on the desk. “Thanks, Bro!”
Later on, after Will left, Luke looked at himself in his mirror and admired his new body. Now that he understood what was happening and that it probably wasn’t going to kill him, it didn’t scare him at all anymore. Damn, he looked good, and all those big, strong, hard muscles felt amazing shifting under his skin. And he could get bigger… But how much bigger? How much bigger would he get?
He sat down at his computer and fidgeted with his mouse. What were we like as a species a million years ago? A little quick research showed him no one knew. Our recorded history only went back a paltry few thousand years, the smallest fraction of humanity’s history. Who knew the full extent of the changes these reconstituted genes would bring. He flexed an arm and watched his bicep bulge up. So far, he liked what he was seeing.
There was that excess energy again. He found it hard to concentrate on anything. His brain was still working unbelievably fast, but it was like he was in the seat of an F1 racer and he’d just hit an ice patch, or something. He’d lost control of his thoughts; it felt like he was trying to think through a thick fog. Typing suddenly became a task too slow and mundane for his fingers, which flitted across the keys with imprecise haste. He grew frustrated and turned away from his laptop.
He got to his feet and started pacing around the room. He kept coming back to the dumb-bells, as though they were drawing him, as though they were the sun and his room the solar system. Everything came back to them. But they were no longer just dumbbells, were they? They were a catalyst. They would alter him further. Did he want that? Did he want that kind of muscle? After all, he was going to be a research scientist. What did a research scientist need with all that muscle? The answer was nothing. He didn’t need it at all.
But was a research scientist all that he was. Wasn’t he a man, too? Of course, he was. He knew being big and strong wasn’t all there was to being a man, but wasn’t it a part of it, maybe an important part? Of course it was. Humans are physical beings too, not just intellectual. Hither to, he had pretty much ignored that side of his nature, even suppressed it. But now, he thought as he stared at his bulging, striated chest, it would no longer be ignored. He could feel it calling to him almost as if it had a voice. “C’mon Luke, be a man,” it seemed to say. “Let’s just see how much man you can be.” Luke surrendered to the call, let go of his thoughts, reached down and picked up the dumbbells, not thinking about anything other than how good it felt to pump up his muscles. He craved the burn.
The dumb-bells were set to 50 pounds. They were heavy, but not unmanageable anymore. As he held them at his sides, he felt his biceps and forearms going taut, the dormant strength in his arms being readied for duty. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled greedily, admiring his abdominals, admiring the perfect taper and curves of his waist, admiring the vein that was popping out of his bicep thanks to the stress. He pulled one weight up, slowly, evenly, gritting his teeth with exertion and closing his eyes. When he got the weight to its peak, the opened his eyes and looked at his bicep, swollen to a beautiful peak. He licked his lips and let the weight down, before he raised the other, and kept repeating the bicep curls. He did as many exercises as he could, though he was finding them disappointingly easy. His muscles burned and bulged and coursed with strength, but he was increasingly dissatisfied. He needed to get back to the gym where he could push some real weight. The fifty pounders were pushing him to his limit, but they wouldn’t do that for long, not with the rate he was getting stronger.
He let the weights down back on the rack. His body felt hot and sweaty, and his arms felt weak from all the exercises. He’d focused a bit much on the bicep and triceps curls. He checked the time—nearly 10 pm. Nowhere near the time to sleep, yet. He got back to his computer and found it was at least possible to concentrate; most of the excess energy had been worked off. Unfortunately, if he kept using exercise as his solution, his development would quickly get out of control.
As the night went on, he tried to get back into his homework. He was mostly successful, but every now and again his brain went into overdrive. He’d start multitasking about a dozen different things, and then the noise of constant thinking became too much to handle and he’d have to take the weights in hand and pound out a few bicep curls. He found it only took a little exercise to vent the extra mental activity; the hard part was putting the dumb-bells down, even if his muscles felt like they were on fire. The veins in his biceps started to become more visible as he worked them harder. He liked them, liked getting them to pop out of his arms.
It wasn’t until 4 AM that he managed to get to sleep. He stumbled into his bed in his underwear, sweat gleaming on his skin, coming down in rivulets between his abs. His entire body felt swollen and sore.
A warm contentment flooded him. He knew he’d done it again. He knew he was going to get bigger, maybe much bigger, and he was looking forward to it, a lot. Perhaps these new genes were effecting his thought processes as well. He was obsessively enjoying his workouts, enjoying his muscles’ size and strength. But was that a good thing? Was it a smart thing? In the final moments of consciousness, before drifting off to sleep, he realized he no longer cared. He just liked it.
Luke had another weird sort of waking dream. He was lying in bed, staring down over his pecs at the rest of his body. He could see his chest muscles, rising up a bit as he breathed. His arms were at his sides, lying on the bed with their biceps facing inward. He tried to move his neck and found he couldn’t.
Suddenly, he felt a burning, an awesome burning. Was that even possible in a dream? He tried to wake himself up, but found he still couldn’t move. His chest heaved faster and faster, his pecs rising and falling like the rounded ornaments of a muscular tide. And then as the burning reached intolerable levels, he saw it: his body was actually starting to expand. Whoa! His arms twitched in fits as his biceps literally started to bulge outward, veins pressing against his skin like a roadmap. Oh man! His pectorals started to rise and thicken, faint striations appearing beneath his skin. Oh fuck! He couldn’t see the rest of his body, but he could feel it, feel his legs burning and pulsing with strength, feel his powerful thighs thickening and expanding with pure lean, brutal muscle. Yes! He began to yell, not with fear but with ecstasy. “ARRRGGHHHH! YEAH!!!! YEAH!!!! OH FUCK YEAH!!!! ARRRGGGHHH!”
Luke snapped awake, the echos of his yells, still resounding in his ears. He remembered the details of his dream, still felt the burning. Had he really been yelling?
He immediately swung his legs over the side of his bed and felt them rubbing against one another, his thighs chafing. He spread his legs out and looked down, half-expecting to see his old, flabby legs again. He did not. What he saw instead were huge, long, thick, muscular stalks.
He bounded got out of bed and looked at himself in the mirror. Holy fuck, he looked huge! First, he was taller, well over 6 feet, now. At least six inches taller than when all this started. His chest and back were wider than ever, now definitely substantially wider than a normal guy’s. Even his neck had grown thicker, so that it was nearly wider than his head, supported by noticeable trapezium muscles that obscured where his neck ended and his body began. His shoulders were half the size of his head, leading to huge biceps and triceps that bulged with burgeoning power. Even his forearms had grown thicker. His abdomen had become a study in grooves. He had an eight or ten pack now, each individual muscle bulging out of his mid-section like a cobblestone. The oblique muscles along his sides were impossible to miss, now. His legs had grown as well, particularly in his thighs, which had grown so large that unless he broadened his stance, they rubbed together. He took deep breaths, staring at his unbelievable physique. He remembered The Douche from the gym just a few days ago: at the time he had seemed pretty muscular. Now Luke was bigger, way bigger. That made him grin. When he breathed, his entire body rippled. He raised an arm and flexed it slowly, savoring the motion. His bicep grew and peaked, separating from the rest of his arm, the veins along it writhing as the muscle exerted itself.
Irresistibly, one hand slipped down into his Jockeys and he started massaging his huge stiffening cock, licking his lips and flexing his muscles. His stomach clenched and bulged as he touched himself, even as he flexed his arm for his own enjoyment. He leaned forward and flexed his traps, which snapped to life with astonishing power. From this angle they looked huge. He groaned softly and finished himself off, falling to his knees with force of his orgasm. He hit the floor with a thud. He took a heavy breath and looked at himself in his mirror, on his hands and knees. Aside from his face, he barely even recognized himself.
Why am I enjoying it so much? He was so different. He knew he really should be afraid, but he wasn’t. He was excited.
Luke slowly got back to his feet, bracing his palm against his knee. As he stood up, he naturally assumed a wide stance, his legs held apart so that his thighs weren’t competing for space. His arms were hanging lazily off of his muscular sides, which expanded and contracted slightly with each breath. He swallowed and he could see his neck surge with power. He licked his lips and tried to straighten his thoughts.
What am I becoming, Luke asked himself, staring at his Herculean physique in his mirror. He raised a hand to his chin and his bicep bunched up to the size of a grapefruit. Whoa. He looked dubiously to the overlarge shirt that he’d discarded last night. Would it even fit?
Only one way to find out. He pulled the shirt over his head and felt it tightening against his new bulk. It was tight, but not too uncomfortable. When he looked at himself in the mirror, though, it was plain that he was no longer skinny. The shirt was tight around the muscular contours of his body, and if anything, the pale fabric actually highlighted Luke’s transformation. When he pulled on his pants, they were stretched nearly to breaking around his thighs, though his tight waist didn’t prove a challenge. He took a breath and felt the fabric of his shirt straining against his hard bugling torso, and grinned. He liked the feeling. He liked it a lot. At least that was clear.
He looked over at the innocuous looking bottle of Vitamin Y, and pondered his next big decision: Should he continue taking them? Why shouldn’t he? He knew that he had already passed by the bounds of conventional muscularity, but there was nothing wrong with it. He was free to get as jacked as he liked.
“Yeah,” Luke muttered, feeling unusually cocky. “Jacked.” He raised his arm and flexed the bicep, watching it swell up huge and hard and veiny. He could feel the fabric straining; if he kept this up, it was going to tear. So, he kept it up. RRRIIIIP! Oh fuck yeah. That was it. He was sold. He took the Vitamin Y.
Luke went out and bought some Olympic size weights and a bench for his dorm room. He was committed now, ready to go for it, all the way, come what may. And he was damned excited about the possibilities.
He pulled off his baggy pants. His current shirt was squeezed uncomfortably across his pecs. He flexed his chest and felt the fabric stretching nearly to the breaking point as his chest exploded into a bulging plate of striated lines. He lifted the front and rubbed a hand along his washboard stomach, feeling each individual ab muscle barely contained by a thin layer of skin. He thought about them even bigger. Oh, fuck yeah.
He immediately got to work, loading up the barbell with massive plates, until it weighed 300 pounds. He knew he’d be pushing it, and he didn’t care. He laid down on the bench and reached up to grab the bar, wrapping his hands around the corrugated metal surface. He bit his lower lip and heaved the weight off of its rest, immediately feeling the incredible pressure bearing down on his chest and arms. His face worked itself into an expression of rage as he slowly lowered the heavy weight and forced it back up, his muscles pushed to the brink of what they could do, bulging against his skin. Veins spread across his chest and biceps like spider webs as blood pounded through his muscles to fuel his insane workout. But now his insanity had a clear purpose and vision, no more uncertainly. He knew what he wanted. He thought about his muscles getting bigger, becoming inhumanly huge. He imagined shoulders like boulders, biceps more muscular than a python’s body. He grinned.
I’ll walk naked at midnight if I want.
He pumped the weight up and down with reckless fury, grunting at the apex of each repetition. Just as he felt his arms shaking out of control, he forced three more repetitions and finished with a savage scream. He put the barbell back onto its resting place and let his arms flop to his sides. His breath came in exhausted heaves, his lungs inflating like bellows as he inhaled huge gulps of air. A drunken smile was plastered on his face.
After he took a rest, he removed some of the weight from the barbell and heaved it up onto his back for squats. He didn’t bother holding back his grunting anymore. It felt good to release his animal fury as his muscles were pushed to exhaustion. It cleared his head. Made it possible to think clearly. He went through a series of squats with burning intensity. Years of quiet rage burst back to his consciousness as he lowered himself beneath the deep weight of the barbell and forced himself back to a standing position. He remembered all the times people had called him a nerd, or belittled him just because he was smarter than they were.
“Now—” he grunted in between reps, “I’m—bigger—and—stronger—than—them—too—yeah!”
He dipped down for another squat and momentarily panicked as he realized his muscles were too exhausted to bring his back up. Somehow that enraged him, and on nothing but the power of blind, primal fury, he pushed himself back to his feet. He awkwardly made his way back to the weight set and laid the barbell back on its rack. The strength went out of his legs and he fell to his knees, leaning against the weight set. He laid on the weight set, his arms and legs flopping uselessly over the sides. With every deep, heaving gasp, his body heaved and swelled, revealing deeply striated muscles overlaid with a road map of veins. He found the strength to raise his right arm and just stared at his unflexed muscle, the huge bicep separated from his arm and criss-crossed with thick veins. He smiled.
The work was done. Time to grow.
After he recovered enough strength to stumble to the closet, he found the keg of protein powder his roommate had left behind and mixed a gigantic drink. He slurped it down immediately, then made two more. He’d meant to eat some fruit he’d bought earlier, but somehow that slipped his mind entirely. He wiped chocolate-flavored mush from the corner of his mouth and mixed another glass to take to his bed. He stumbled back to his bed and then popped another vitamin as he swallowed the rest of his drink. Finally, he flopped onto his bed and chuckled to himself as he fell asleep, savoring the burning in his muscles, the sweat on his skin, and hungering for the metamorphosis that was about to come….
Luke didn’t dream, this time, and his sleep passed as soundly as it ever had. When he woke up, it was with the sudden clarity of someone who had had exactly as much sleep as they wanted.
He rolled out of bed and found his body big and clumsy. Barely able to contain his excitement, he pushed himself to his feet. Whoa, he was so fucking far off the ground now. He looked to the mirror and ROARED!
He was fucking MASSIVE, a monster over 7 feet tall and all enormous, shredded muscle after shredded muscle after shredded muscle! He had to step back so the mirror would reflect his entire massively muscled body. He started to laugh, a deep rumbling, frightening sound. His carved biceps had swollen to the size of his head, and his shoulders were like boulders. His arms rested at a slight angle on his broad back, rising and falling with each deep breath. Veins pulsed on his biceps like writhing snakes, and had even started to wrap around his muscular forearms. His chest was buried by huge, beef-like slabs of pectoral muscle. Veins spread from a knot in his collarbone across his pecs, like a fine, branching road map that twisted as he breathed. Over-sized abs bulged and competed for space on his slim waist, almost making it look like he had a gut. Veins spread from his crotch over his abs and down to his thighs, which had become as thick as tree trunks. He had to widen his stance to keep his veiny inner thighs from touching one another. His calves had grown as well, moving from svelte, contoured muscles to bulging spheres in the shape of hearts. He turned around and examined his back, a brimming landscape bulging and twisting with huge muscles. He could see faint veins there, too. When he twisted his neck to look at himself, his giant traps resisted him, making it hard to look over his huge shoulders. He turned himself back around, clumsily adjusting to his new stance, and looked at himself from the front.
He couldn’t help but stare at his barely-contained gigantic, ripped and bulging frame. He smiled, raised both his massive arms, and flexed his huge biceps, forming miniature mountains of muscles on his arms. Veins spread from his huge chest, across his giant shoulders, and through his enormous peaked biceps, bursting beneath his skin as huge muscles pushed them to the surface. He flexed his abs and watched them clench into brutal ridges of throbbing beef.
Oh… fuck! Look at me! I’m a fucking massive genetic freak! And I feel… I feel fucking amazing! He knew that he wasn’t supposed to be proud of being a freak, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t a boy anymore, he was a genetic muscle monster, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He flexed and growled into his mirror, watching his godlike physique swell and bulge into astonishing shapes.
He glanced down at the clock. Midnight. He snorted contemptuously. “Think I’ll hit the gym.”
Of course he was stark naked and nothing he owned would fit him anymore. Then he remembered his old roommates Gym shorts. He pulled them from the wastebasket, shook the old underwear free from them and pulled them on. They were a perfect fit.
Of course there was nothing else he could wear, so he’d have to go in only gym shorts. Ha. Fine with him.
As soon as he stepped out his door he ran into Jimmy, the RA, looking sleep deprived as always.
“Hey,” said Jimmy, as quizzical expression on his face, “I thought they kicked you out.”
“That was my roommate,” rumbled Luke in his new baritone.
“I thought your roommate was a little guy,” said Jimmy, looking more confused than ever.
“I wouldn’t call him that,” said Luke, with a sly smile.
“No, of course not,” said Jimmy. “Sorry if I gave away all your rubbers.”
“No problem,” said Luke. “If I need any I can always borrow some from you.”
“Nah, man,” said Jimmy. “They’d never fit you.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” said Luke, tugging up on his gym shorts so they emphasized his ample package.
“See you around.” Then he headed down the stairs to the lobby.
He stopped by the security guard’s desk and said, “I’m going to the gym. Is that ok with you?”
Luke saw the security guards eyes bug out at the unapologetic display of bugling, vein-ridden, masculine power standing in front of him. “Absolutely, sir. You go where ever you want whenever you want,” he said.
“That’s what I thought,” said Luke, shooting the guard a cocky smile. He flexed his massive pecs for the guard, making them leap and dance, before heading out the door with his new rolling gate, courtesy of his gigantic, muscular thighs.
As he walked across the campus, he saw the same shadowy figures moving just out of eyesight, but now they seemed tiny and inconsequential. And they seemed to be scurrying away from him just as fast as they could. Luke felt a self-satisfied smile manifest on his face as he enjoyed the sensation of his huge iron-like muscles shifting across his towering frame as he thundered through the night.
When he got to the gym, he realized he had forgotten his ID card, but he went in anyway. Who was going to stop him?
As soon as he walked in all eyes were on him. Of course they were. No one had seen anything like him in about a million years. One glance around showed him that The Douche was there. Could the night get any better?
The Douche was doing Military presses; so, naturally, Luke set up right next to him.
The Douche had one plate on each side of his bar. Luke added 4 plates to each side of his, knowing instinctively that his mammoth striated shoulders could easily handle the weight.
He saw The Douche looking up at him with uncertain eyes as Luke began his set. Oh Luke loved this. He loved the feel of the weight in his hands. He loved feeling his muscles extend and contract powerfully as he raised and lowered the barbell over his head. He could feel his shoulders burning, his massive back heaving, his stone-like abs tightening. He felt like muscles were bulging out of his muscles as he finished his set and wracked the weight.
He looked down at the substantially shorter Douche, and nodded at the guy’s barbell. “Light workout tonight?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” said the Douche.
“Me too,” grinned Luke, adding another plate to each side of his bar, and giving The Douche a good view of his monumental bulging, veiny biceps at the same time. “Do you think you could give me a hand?”
“Ah… ah…,” stammered The Douche. “I’m kind of at the end of my workout. My shoulders are pretty beat. I don’t think I could spot you.” He began rubbing one of his shoulders and moving it around.
“Spot me?” Luke laughed. “No dude, I was just noticing there aren’t any more plates nearby. I was going to ask you to grab onto the bar with both hands and hold on tight.”
“What, you mean like this?” asked The Douche grabbing onto the bar.
“That’s perfect,” said Luke grabbing the bar himself and lifting it out of the supports. “Hold on tight. “
Then Luke began his second set of military presses, lifting the bar with ten plates and the Douche hanging off of it, up and down over his head. Luke felt the burn intensely. This was actually turning out to be something of a challenge.
The look on The Douche’s face was priceless. He looked torn between being scared, awestruck and humiliated. Good.
Luke finished his ten reps and replaced the bar in the supports. The Douche was still hanging on for dear life.
“You can let go now,” said Luke. “Thanks.”
“Sure, sure,” said The Douche.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” said Luke.
“What?” said The Douche.
“Go on, flex. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Ah… ok…,” said The Douche and flexed. Up came his baseball. Luke flexed, and up bulged his giant, throbbing, vein-covered mountain. Oh fuck yeah. The Douche’s eyes bugged out of his head. “I’ve… ah… gotta go now.”
“Ok,” said Luke, “And cheer up. We’ve all gotta start somewhere. Although, looking at you…”
And then it happened. Luke could tell The Douche had suddenly recognized him. The Douche’s mouth dropped open, he turned pale white and he looked like he was going to shit his pants.
“It’s all about taking the right vitamins,” said Luke grinning, and intermittently flexing his massive pecs.
The Douche turned and practically ran to the locker room. Luke just broke out laughing. Life was good.
“Picking on the little guy, Muscles?”
Luke turned around and there was Will, except it was more like Will and a half. His friend had gotten substantially bigger. He was at least f 4 inches taller, still dressed in his old street clothes, Luke could see big pecs were now stretching out his shirt, straining the buttons and pulling the front slightly apart. His upper arms had substantially expanded, and once again his shirt was challenged to contain both them and his meaty shoulders. And obviously muscular thighs were stretching out his pants. Soon he wouldn’t be alone. Soon there’d be another behemoth walking around Harvard. In fact, Will seemed to be growing faster than he had. Luke grinned.
“Whoa Dude, what happened to you?”
Will grinned. “I wanted to catch up with you so I embarked on an accelerated program of eating, sleeping, working out, and vitamin Y,” Will flexed causing his big arm to bulge up in his shirt and pop a few threads in his sleeve. “I feel like a new man!”
“More like a rebooted ancient man,” said Luke, grinning.
“So what do you think they’ll call us?” said Will. “I mean there’s been Cro-Magnon Man and Chancelade Man… What will we be called?”
“I don’t know,” said Luke. “How about Harvard Man?”
Site Update: 21 March 2020