The band

by BRK   

Eager to improve his personal appearance for the sake of the band he’s fronting, Ryan finds a solution that involves dramatically changing how he looks. Now he just has to keep the weird parts of it secret from his friends and roommate.

“You’ve got to start working out, Ryan,” I said earnestly. “You’re front-man for the band. You’re our image. And let’s face it, rail-thin rock stars are out. Way out.”

“I have been working out,” Ryan said defensively. “It just doesn’t seem to take.”

I had to admit, it sure didn’t. We were lounging around the student quad, taking a break between the class we shared and our regular Wednesday rehearsal. Me, Ryan, and Stuie, the drum player. Ryan was sitting on the grass opposite me, Indian-style, only a foot or so away. He was a fox, no doubt about it—he had a killer handsome face with perfect cheekbones and laser-sharp, ice-blue eyes; his jet-black hair fell perfectly across his forehead, cut short on the sides but long in the back, the latest look. It looked stupid on a lot of guys, but on Ryan it looked really hot. His sex appeal, though, as I saw it, stopped at his neck. His crisp white Oxford shirt just hung off his shoulders like it was hanging up in a closet. His jeans were the same. The group was doing okay, and Ryan’s performance was always intense if a little amateur, but I didn’t need my friends’ occasional comments—to the effect that more people would come to our gigs if there was more to look at on stage—to know that Ryan was the key to our future success. We weren’t good enough to make it on talent alone—we needed to have a draw.

Of course I’d gone over this with Ryan, and he even agreed with me. Up to a point. “Anyway, Bri, you’re hot enough for both of us,” he went on. He grabbed my right arm and folded it to make the bicep pop. “Look at that!” he said, cupping the thick bicep with his warm hand. His casual, almost inadvertent caress sent a wave of warms through my thickly muscled body which eventually settled in my expanding crotch.

“’S true,” Stuie said, watching us passively. He was sipping from some new age botanical drink, his latest obsession.

I glanced at Stuie, then at Ryan, who was flashing me a smile that made me want to melt, his eyes penetrating my soul. I resisted an urge to adjust my swelling member with my other hand. Damn him, he knew just how to manipulate me. He hadn’t let go of my upper arm. Gently I pulled it free. “No one cares what the bass player looks like,” I said for the hundredth time.

“‘S true,” Stuie said.

We both glanced at Stuie this time, then back at each other. “We’ll work out together,” I said. “Sometimes it helps to have someone pushing you.”

“Fine,” he said, “but it’s not going to work. I just don’t put on muscle like you do.”

I felt a quick pang of guilt. It was true—I put on muscle easier than anyone I knew. I’d only started working out when I got to college—I was not one of the “in” kids in high school, and athletics were reserved for them—but in the eight months since I’d gotten to UMass I’d almost effortlessly built up enough muscle to have already outgrown most of the shirts I’d worn in high school.

“But I’ll try,” he added, looking me square in the eyes, so that for a moment I lost myself, immersed in his gaze. “The band means a lot to me.”

A month of hard work passed. Every morning we went to the big gym on campus and Ryan and I worked out together, pushing each other hard. Ryan was an excellent work-out partner, but at the end of the month all he was incredibly toned. Meanwhile I had gained ten pounds of muscle, most of it in my chest and shoulders.

I found myself being consoled by Ryan at the dining hall. He was sitting across from me. I had barely touched my food—though in fact I was tremendously hungry—and was sitting there all hangdog. Ryan seized my hand. “Look at me,” he said.

I did, and his incredible eyes held me. Just the eyes turned me on. The face was incredibly cute, and the warmth of his hand was intense, but it was the eyes that really did it. This time I did have to adjust my dick, under the table. “It’s ridiculous for you to feel guilty,” he went on. “You put on muscle. I don’t.”

I felt weird nonetheless. The tightness of my shirt across my pecs, pumped from the morning’s workout, was a constant reminder. The tightness of my pants, too—even before I started getting big, I was already startlingly well-endowed in that department. All through high school I’d felt a little like a freak, because the popular guys were jealous enough to ostracize me, and because I knew it was weird to want other guys to hold it, make it hard, stroke it the way I did every night….

“Anyway,” Ryan said, breaking me out of my reverie, letting go of my hand at the same time, “did you get a chance to look at that new song?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I’ve got some ideas.” We went on talking about music for the band, the awkward moment nearly forgotten.

We had a few small gigs at taverns off campus in April, but the semester was building up to a big concert at the student center just before finals. We were opening for a real, actual, famous band, a recent Swedish retropunk breakthrough called Typo. Their album was climbing the charts, and the UMass gig was the big finale to their national college tour.

As the April gigs went by with reasonable success we were feeling confident, but wary. The last gig in April, started out as a total fiasco. None of the sound had been set up at the Old Kinge’s Tavern, our “roadies”—slackers from the student programs council—hadn’t shown, and there were wires everywhere around the ridiculously small “stage,” a raised platform at the back end of the room. Ryan, Stuie and I ran around like maniacs, trying to set up everything. I was working on hooking up the power for the amps to the building electricity when Stuie bumped into my from behind, pitching me forward, tossing his drink onto both me and the ancient power coupling mounted in front of me. A massive surge ran through my body even as the coupling showered me with sparks. I blacked out before I hit the floor.

I came to almost immediately, Ryan and Stuie bending over me anxiously. Ryan’s concern warmed me. “Are you okay?” he said.

“Geez, man, I’m really sorry,” Stuie said.

“I’m fine,” I said. My head was buzzing a little, but my body felt excellent—energized, in fact. That seemed wrong, but I sure wasn’t going to question it. I climbed to my feet, steadying myself on their hands.

“You okay, Bri? Really?” Ryan said.

“You guys going on or what?” yelled a gruff voice behind me. The owner hadn’t seen my little accident.

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Ryan looked doubtful, but we hurried through the rest of the prep and started our set. The lights went down—the spotlight barely picked us out onstage—but I could feel the audience, feel the energy of the room.

In all the confusion Ryan hadn’t had a chance to change. He was still wearing the loose, worn-thin school tee and sweat pants he’d come to do the set-up in. My hands seemed to be flying up and down the bass—Stuie was shooting me amazed looks as he played—but my slightly blurred attention was fixed on Ryan in front of me. That tee hung off him like there was no one in it.

Ryan was wailing, putting everything into his performance, and I found myself hating the girls and gay guys in the audience who, as far as I could see, weren’t really paying attention because Ryan, in those sweats, didn’t look like much.

The song was reaching its climax, and we just weren’t hitting home. “If only he filled out those clothes better,” I said, my voice lost in the noise of a rock-and-roll band.

I looked down to check my fingering. When I looked up that loose tee, those old sweats, were packed tight with muscle. Broad, thick shoulders, wide lats tapering in a dramatic vee to the waist where the shirt was still loose, arms stretching the fabric of the tee, a wonderfully full and rounded ass the likes of which Ryan had never had stretching the sweats taut, thickly muscled bicyclist’s legs similarly filling the rest of the sweats. I could only imagine what had happened in front.

I blinked, unsure what I was seeing, while my fingers played blithely on. I heard the drums falter a beat, and I looked over at Stuie staring goggle-eyed. “Keep playing!” I yelled, then turned back to Ryan. He was still wailing, oblivious. We were nearly at the climax. The audience was suddenly with us—I could feel the electricity in the room. “Just keep playing, Ryan,” I said under my breath. “Nothing unusual going on, nothing strange…” I was staring at the luscious ass, heavy and solid and rounded, two luscious bowling balls straining at his sweats. I wanted it badly. My big cock was rock-hard in my jeans, and I knew that that meant it was incredibly visible, but all eyes were transfixed on Ryan, who was singing hard and playing harder, his suddenly thick back drenched with sweat, as he carried the song higher and higher, bringing everyone with him. My fingers played the bass part like they had a mind of their own, which was just as well, ‘cause my mind was consumed by the dream body in front of me. I wanted, needed, to have my cock in that ass, imagining it sliding further, deeper into him than I had ever managed with anybody. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my steel-hard cock, pointing straight up and already directly behind my belt buckle, was lengthening as if it really were pushing further and further into that incredible ass.

He got to the guitar solo and started going to town, better than he had ever played it before, and he turned to face us for a moment as he played. I nearly collapsed. His tee was now straining to contain thick, wonderful, luscious pecs so high and heavy and rounded they reminded me of his thick, round, solid ass. The fabric was stretched so tautly across the tops of his pecs it was translucent in places. The tee pulled up at the waist to reveal taut, thickly muscled abs. And below, against one of the deliciously muscled legs, the outline of a long, thick, beautiful cock snaked most of the way down to his knee. His biceps bunched against the too-tight fabric of the tee shirt arms. He looked up at me and smiled—an it’s-going-great smile, an I-haven’t-noticed-my-body-has-turned-freaky smile. I smiled back, and he turned back to the enthralled audience. To them, I knew, the body thing was some kind of special effect—part of the theatrics of the song, part of the act, and they were screaming and cheering and impressed as hell.

Ryan was bringing it home, and as he turned back around I felt a sudden urge to free his constricted chest and arms from their bindings. Even as we reached the sweet chord—the climax of the song—and Ryan leaned back, drawing out the note, his tee melted away, and he was even bigger, his whole body enlarged by half—the guitar suddenly seeming small as he loomed over the audience, nine feet tall, his once loose sweats now painted-on shorts, his body a mass of huge, bunching, bulging muscles, enormous yet still graceful, beautiful, lithe … mind-reelingly sexy, so that to look on them was, for me, deeply intoxicating. The crowd was going wild. They wanted to storm the stage and yet were afraid to, and many were simply entranced.

“Don’t notice, don’t notice,” I muttered, for Ryan and Stuie. By now it was starting to dawn on me that somehow I was doing this, or seemed to being doing it. Either way we had to finish the song for the audience to believe it was all illusion. Three chords was all we had left.

My cock was achingly hard, creeping up my abs inside my shirt. Ryan turned around to bang out the three chords with us as always. He still seemed oblivious, and Stuie was either under the spell or controlling himself admirably. I stared at Ryan agape. He was so intoxicatingly gorgeous, with beautifully massive muscles gracing his enormous frame, pecs thick and ponderous casting dark shadows, excitingly bumpy delts and traps, long muscled abdomen leading down to the too-tight sweats where a still-flaccid firehose bulged along one leg, the head just visible at the bottom of the sweats, right below the knee.

We slammed out the final chords, the crowd screaming, my cock throbbing, still growing, Ryan’s muscles pulsing, still growing. Bang—the first chord filled the room, and the crowd cheered. My cock surged. I was staring at Ryan—he was filling my vision. Bang—the second chord reverberated through everyone, hanging in the air. Babang! The final chord electrified the room. Ryan’s sweats finally tore open and fell away. My cock swelled with white-hot cum and exploded even as my fingers reverberated the last note.

Ryan grinned, thrilled by the crowd’s reaction, unaware of the full nature of the show. That wouldn’t last. Even as the note still filled the room and the crowd roared I imagined the lights out, and the room drifted into sudden darkness. The crowd loved that too. I imagined us all in my dorm room, worrying whether the enormous Ryan would fit, and suddenly there was no noise. My ears were ringing. The crowds were gone—we were in my dorm room, but my cock was still super hard from the image of the incredible enhanced Ryan wailing away in front of me.

As my eyes began to adjust to the dim moonlight sifting through the window behind me, the first thing I noticed was Ryan. He was directly in front of where I was standing, sitting with his legs up on my bed, back against the wall. Cool moonlight picked out bits and pieces of his enormous body, but I needed no moonlight to see his eyes. I could feel his brilliant blues staring deep into mine.

Stuie was sprawled on my roommate’s bed, drumsticks still in his hands. He was watching both of us with fascination, his eyes moving from Ryan to me and back.

Suddenly I could feel nothing, think nothing. My passion for Ryan flooded me, saturating every pore. I moved toward him, closing the distance between us, until I was standing in front of him. Even sitting down he still towered over me, but what struck me was wanting to be taken into those long arms and lose myself there. I licked my lips.

His eyes were still fixed on mine. I realized he was trembling. I put my hand up on his shoulder. My touch seemed to calm him a little. “Don’t be afraid,” I said.

He nodded. Simultaneously our heads moved together and we kissed.

His lips were so warm and luscious, his mouth so large and inviting, that I could have made love with him by doing no more than that. As we kissed, though, he drew me into his arms and pulled me up on the bed with him, my knees feeling his naked thighs through the demin of my jeans. Our heads were about level; my torso was pressed against the high, heavy, rockhard spheres on his chest. His long, massive arms folded around me, engulfing me. I was in heaven. He was kissing me with longing, with passion, with hunger, but he kept his kisses small so that my mouth could match them.

After a few moments of this I became aware of my cock, which had grown as a result of my onstage fantasies, pushing straight up and up as I imagined it pushing deeper and deeper into Ryan. Right now I could feel it pushing against the bottom of my left pec, pushing the muscle up a bit. Ryan must have felt it too, grinding against his pendulous pecs. Even as I became conscious of my cock I started to feel something pushing against my back.

“Holy shit,” I heard Stuie whisper.

I had forgotten he was there. I looked over at him, but he was looking at something behind me. I craned around to see. Ryan’s enormous cock had gotten hard—very, very hard. It was up to my shoulder blades and curved toward me, pushing on my back, shoving me foward as it throbbed. I looked back at Ryan, whose eyes were lit up. I kissed him again and then stood up on his legs and started to take off my clothes.

Like a flash I remembered the concert, what I had done. I thought about being naked and suddenly my clothes were gone.

Ryan immediately pulled my cock out from where it was wedged against my left pec and placed it in his hot, luscious mouth. Slowly he lowered his head and took more and more of my extra-long cock, his sexy eyes smiling up at me, his randy cock throbbing against my back. My cock felt so good inside him, it felt like it belonged there, like sheathed sword. And I knew he felt the same way. He ran big hands across my naked muscular body, and I ran my hands across his extra-broad shoulders, through his long silky hair, and as his hot mouth and broad tongue ministered to my entire cock, his muscular throat massaging the uppermost lengths of the shaft, I felt a wave of deepest pleasure.

But as enormously satisfying as that was, I had to feel what it was like to be in his ass. Slowly I pulled out, and he reluctantly lifted his head off of my cock.

I climbed off him and he slid down onto his back, his feet resting on the bureau at the end of the bed. I took those feet, which were as long as my forearm, and kissed them, then slid between his beautiful, muscular legs. They seemed to be radiating a luxurious warmth as I nestled between them. He was smiling at me across the length of his torso, his great bowling ball pecs partly obscuring him from me. His tremendous cock pressed thick and quivering between his pecs as if trying to fuck them.

I found his throbbing ass hole with a finger. It felt remarkably tight. I pressed the tip of my cock against it, felt the muscle part just enough to admit the head.

Ryan reacted immediately—his entire body shuddered with pleasure. He moaned lightly. Slowly I slid my cock into his body. Never had I felt a hotter, tighter, sweeter ass. I was awash in ecstacy, my face flushed, my breath coming in pants. I pressed my cock deeper and deeper and deeper.

I slid my hands across his smooth incredible cock, something like four feet long and half a foot across, laying against his pecs like an excited lover. It was like a cock idol, and I wanted to worship it. I lifted it up—it was heavy and stiff as a tree-trunk—and pointed it toward Ryan’s mouth, only a couple inches away. He eagerly took the hint and began going down on himself as I stroked the pulsing base.

I was deep, deep inside him and was so into shoving my cock into that hot, tight, sweet ass. My balls were up against his ass, but it felt like I was pushing even deeper as I stroked my cock in a rhythm. I wouldn’t be able to hold on too long. My rhythm quickened. Ryan was watching me as he went down on himself, matching my strokes. We got faster and faster, pounding in rhythm, until suddenly, even as I felt a massive rush of heat surging through my entire body, Ryan moaned and began sucking himself at a fever pitch.

I wanted to feel what he was feeling, experience what he was experiencing, and suddenly I was. For a moment our sensations swirled together like two cyclones melting into one. I felt everything he was feeling—the thrill of that colossal body, of deep-throating your own tremendous cock, of having a startlingly long, superhard cock deep in your hot, tight ass, but most of all the passion that infused him, the long-contained passion he felt for me. It drove both of us over the edge. He drew up off his cock to kiss me madly, pulling me against him with his engulfing arms as we kneaded his cock between our torsos, my pole stretching inside him, and after a white-hot minute we both exploded. In the intensity of feeling each other’s orgasms we both nearly blacked out even as we both shot load after load, Ryan’s splashing on the cinderblock wall behind him. I slumped onto Ryan, still enfolded in his massive arms, my long cock still inside him, and felt as though I were melting into him. We lay that way for a long time.

What made me jerk suddenly bolt-upright was the sound of keys jiggling in the lock—my roommate! Of course—it was nearly 7 a.m. He always came back to the dorms at this time from his girlfriend’s digs off campus, to shower and get ready for the early-morning classes he’d been saddled with.

I stared at the door in the early-morning light. The knob was already turning. With barely a thought I imagined the dresser pressed against the door, and as I concentrated there it was. Even as the dresser shifted the door shoved against it. From outside I heard a muttered “Shit!”

“That you, Jerry?” I called. I glanced at Ryan and saw what I already knew—as much as he loved being a giant he was not ready to be discovered in this form. I nodded and smiled, and to my relief he smiled back. He trusted me.

“‘Course it’s me, hoser,” came the voice from the hallway. “What gives?”

“I think the door’s stuck. I’ll work on it from this side,” I said. I turned back to Ryan and slowly climbed off him, sliding my softening cock out of him a half foot at a time; I was startled to see how much I had made it grow inside him—by the time it was all out it was soft but still reached below my knees. I ignored it for a moment and took all of Ryan in with my eyes as he sat up, willing myself to be careful—it occurred to me that I could hurt Ryan if I did something wrong, and that nearly kept me from doing anything at all, Jerry or no Jerry.

But Ryan saw something in my eyes and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid,” he mouthed. Suddenly I realized how much he meant to me—and that had to make it impossible for me to hurt him. I concentrated, and for the first time, with all the passion subsided, I felt the raw energy of the earth itself flowing through my mind and body, and I drew on that energy, concentrating on bringing Ryan back to his former form.

—Only (as the alert reader might have guessed) I couldn’t bring myself to take him totally back to his original scrawniness, and the boy getting up off the bed and standing in front of me after a moment was a five-foot-eleven Ryan who was still proportionately as muscled as the nine-foot Ryan had been. I grinned wryly at him, and he grinned back, but we both knew it was too much of a shock to anyone who actually knew Ryan.

This had only taken a couple seconds, but the thumping coming from the door—Jerry was throwing his whole weight into opening the “jammed” door, a curse accompanying each shove, and the dresser was starting to budge—told me I didn’t have much time. I concentrated again and Ryan’s muscles shrank to reasonable proportions; not as fabulous as before, but still hunky, and seeing him in this light I found him as sexy as I had before. I had no time to admire my lover’s body, however; I had to get rid of that dresser before Jerry realized the door was barricaded not jammed. I shifted the dresser back and even as I did so I realized we were still naked; and even as I was throwing jeans, sneakers, and flannel shirts onto both of us I realized the wall behind the head of my bed was drenched in cum. And even as I was concentrating on taking that away, the door was opening hard, and I realized as Jerry bowled into the room that I hadn’t done anything about the sizes of our cocks. Mine was not too thick, so it wasn’t obvious in the jeans I had drawn onto myself; but Ryan, standing next to me, looked like he was smuggling a two-foot kielbasa. Instead of making it smaller, though, I opted for making his jeans baggier. Ryan realized what I was doing and shoved me playfully, giving me a mock admonishing glare. I grinned unrepentantly even as Jerry picked himself up off the floor.

Jerry was a year behind me and a jock, to the point of almost always wearing sweats (usually only sweatpants, as he was now—he was very proud of his chiseled, heavy-muscled torso, and was miffed that I, though not a jock, put on muscle faster than he did, taking solace in his superior definition), being competitive about everything, drinking beer whenever possible (though amazingly he was still flat-stomached and a 32 waist), and trading dirty jokes with his buds. He was amiable enough, and I liked having him around, not least because he was certainly pleasant to look at. He was also smarter than he let on.

“Thanks for helping, dude,” he said pleasantly. He turned to Ryan and clapped him amiably on the shoulder. “Hey, Rye, you’re looking good,” he said, even as he did a double take on the shoulder he’d clapped. “Very good, in fact,” he added, stepping back to appraise Ryan more fully. I thought ruefully to myself, Of all the times for him not to be drunk… but I hastily tailed off that line of thought. I didn’t want to make someone else drunk just for my benefit!

“Thanks,” Ryan said, sitting down in the chair that went with my desk. “Brian’s really been helping me out at the gym.”

Jerry must have seen something moving in Ryan’s pant leg because he glanced sharply down at Ryan’s crotch. I almost regretted my moment of caprice but Jerry shook his head and sat down on the edge of his bed, crumpling a piece of paper under him. “What’s this?” he said, pulling the paper out from under his ass and reading it: “Guys, thanks for the show—fucking unbelievable! See you at breakfast, Stu.” He looked up at me and cocked his head. “Show?”

“C’mon, Jer, you know we had a show last night,” I said casually.

“Yeah, I heard you guys blew your wad on some weird-ass special effects,” he said, glancing at Ryan and then back at me.

“Yeah,” I said. “Listen, Ryan, we should catch up with Stuie.”

“Hang on, I’ll come with you,” Jerry said, standing up. “I gotta catch breakfast too.”

“Sure,” I said.

On the way over to the dining hall Ryan leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Why don’t you do something about Jerry?”

Jerry was only a foot away, walking with us, glancing at us and running a hand across his abs, which he normally did when he was puzzling out a homework problem. I tried something new: I concentrated on Ryan hearing my thought—Why? I think it’s kind of fun.

Ryan started momentarily, then looked carefully at me. I guess it is fun, I heard him thinking. But what if he figures out what’s going on?

Don’t worry, I thought. He won’t.

Stuie’s grin on seeing us walk into the dining hall subsided on seeing Jerry, but we grinned back anyway and collected around his table. “Hey, Stuie,” Jerry said. “Heard you had a really hot gig last night.”

Stuie, like an idiot, said, “What do you mean?—Oh, yeah, the concert. It went great, yeah.” Stuie glanced at me and Ryan. I had to grin at Stuie’s total lack of conspiratoriality—his was a refreshing naivete.

Jerry smiled and said, “Sure did. C’mon, guys, let’s get our trays.”

As we stood on line to get our “western omelets” Jerry drew up between me and Ryan. “So, guys, what’s going on?” he asked in a low voice to Ryan’s back.

That was fast, I heard Ryan think. I smiled and said innocently, “I think omelets today. Can you see, Ryan? Is it omelets?”

“It’s omelets all right,” Ryan affirmed.

“Cut the crap,” Jerry said patiently. “I want you to explain this,” he went on, patting Ryan’s broad shoulder in front of him.

“I did,” I said. “Rye finally broke through at the gym. Why, did you want a taste?”

“Ha, ha,” said Jerry, still with a disconcerting patience. “Then how come he didn’t look like that yesterday?”

“Sure he did.”

“Brian,” Jerry said quietly after a moment, as we moved slowly forward on line, “one thing you must have noticed about me—’cause I know it about myself—is that I’m obsessed with my body. That’s just the way I am. I notice other guys’ bods ‘cause I push myself to be better than everyone. This,” he said, patting Ryan’s back, “is not the same bod Ryan was wearing yesterday.”

All I could say was, “Sure it is.” I heard Ryan think to me, with more than a hint of irony, Jeez, what kind of a freak roommate do you live with?

“And,” Jerry continued, “even if that weren’t true, I’d like to know how come Ryan’s now taller than me, considering we’ve always been the same height.”

“C’mon, you’re nuts,” I said. “You’ve got to be five-nine or so, right?”

“Right.”

“So Rye’s always been five-eleven. Right, Rye?” I had believed this up until that moment, but of course I had seen Jerry and Ryan together and they were the same height, damn it.

Ryan thought to me, I’m five-nine, you dork. But aloud he said, “Right,” even as I blurted, “It’s the shoes.” Shit!

Jerry turned and grinned up at me, satisfied in his own mind that he wasn’t imagining everything after all. I supposed that up until that moment he hadn’t been sure. “So what is it, some kind of government experiment?”

In his eagerness he had forgotten his low voice, and I found that we were at the front of the line, with the dining hall tray-scooper (and our fellow students on line) looking right at us. I laughed it off to the scooper lady and the three of us took our trays in tense silence.

As we walked away I whispered, “All right, it’s an experiment. But you have to—”

“Get me into it.”

“What?”

“Get me into it,” Jerry said simply. “That’ll shut me up.”

I exchanged glances with Ryan, who was biting his lip, no doubt wondering as I was whether this would be enough. I shrugged my shoulders. “Okay.”

So it was that Jerry, Ryan, and I found ourselves stealing across campus that night around three a.m., after most of the partiers had gone home. I had wanted to spend the day with Ryan, but it felt too strange with the Jerry situation unresolved—and I felt weird about using my “powers” lest someone else turn out to be paying too close attention. So we went to classes (which was just as well, since I had forgotten I had an exam that week in physics). That night Jerry clung to me like glue until three rolled around, so when Ryan showed up the three of us ended up watching a lot of old movies on my little TV. Jerry was excited and nervous, fidgeting in his chair, beads of sweat rolling down his perfectly rounded pecs and down his tight abs. He was wearing a jock under his sweats but I was fairly sure he had a constant hardon all night. I was relaxed, but Ryan glanced occasionally at me, thinking encouraging things at me like I hope you know what you’re doing. But despite the dampening presence of my roommate both of us were energized by each other’s presence, and even though Jerry “knew” we kept ourselves from getting aroused with increasing difficulty.

Finally the appointed time came and we headed for a lab in the med school I thought would be convincing as headquarters for a secret experiment. In between classes I had whipped up a “form” asking for his personal information, his goals for the experiment, and most important extracting a detailed confidentiality agreement. Jerry had already confided in me what he would ask for: the best bod on campus, not huge but perfectly built (which he wasn’t far from now), and two “big fat” cocks, his reasoning being that other guys might have bigger dicks no matter how big a cock he asked for, so to beat everyone he figured the only way was to have two.

I opened the locked doors that led us deep into the dark, echoing bio labs and picked the largest one. The lights went on with a shudder, and Jerry looked around, blinking. His eyes fixed on the large black examination table, complete with heavy duty straps, that dominated the room (and which hadn’t been there ten minutes ago). Lying atop it was the clipboard with the form and a pen.

A southern male voice spoke, sounding as if it was coming through an invisible P.A. high overhead. “Fill in the form, young man,” it drawled, “then undress.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shot up. I winked at him and he thought at me, Nice touch. Then he stepped closer, his shoulder brushing against mine. I heard him think, Can we wrap this up quickly? I’ve been aching to make love to you again all fucking day.

I glanced down to see Ryan’s cock swelling like a life raft in his baggy pants, shoving rapidly down the leg. This prompted an immediate response in kind from me. The P.A. voice suddenly drawled, “Quickly, kid. We don’t have the room secure for very long.”

Jerry was scribbling rapidly on the form. “Gimme a second!” he exclaimed breathlessly. Sweat was trickling down his sculpted pecs.

“You sure about this, Jer?” I said, noting his nerves and thinking we might get off scot-free. Even as still-scribbling Jerry responded with surprising vehemence “I’m sure!” Ryan moved behind me and began running his hands across my back. A shiver ran through my body and my cock, just pushing out of the leg of my jeans, throbbed with excitement.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Jerry said to the ceiling, setting down the clipboard as he kicked off his shoes and stripped off the sweats to reveal legs as carefully sculpted as his torso. “Lie down,” said the P.A. voice, sounding slightly hasty and a bit less Southern than before. I had planned to use anesthetic equipment to put him under, in case he was still suspicious, but I didn’t want to move away from Ryan and in any event I couldn’t walk till I was free of the jeans. So I just had the P.A. voice say, “Count backwards from ten.”

Jerry looked around with a frown but began “10… 9…” I willed him asleep before he got to eight.

The next instant Ryan and I were enfolded in each other’s arms, pressing our naked bodies together, our repressed passion bursting forth as we hungrily kissed, our arms wrapped tightly around each other, our super-hard cocks, freed from their bonds, expanding and quivering in the cool air of the lab.

That night I let my imagination run free for a while, our passion casting aside inhibitions, and the excitement and raw lust of our flowing, morphing, intertwining passion is impossible to describe. As we kissed we grew together, expanding like human erections, until we were both about twelve feet high and so tremendously muscled that I stretched us up to a lither sixteen feet, as high as we could go in that room. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, and he did the same around me, so that we were bobbing in midair, our pulsing, redhot, intoxicating bodies intertwined, our cocks throbbing and pulsing between our stretched torsos, and we were still kissing feverishly. Only I was finding I couldn’t get enough of Ryan and found myself wrapping more and more arms and legs around him, until I realized I had a dozen thickly muscled arms folded around him and half a dozen legs, and some of the arms were long enough to wrap all the way around him and still have the hands stroke my back. Ryan found it so blindingly hot to be wrapped up inside my many arms that he nearly lost it then; but he held out, and moaned with pleasure as he discovered extra arms and legs of his own, which he wrapped tightly around me, saving four hands to minister to our powerful cocks. Our bodies twisted and contorted a we floated intertwined, and soon we were twisted in such a delightful way that I could fuck him even as we kissed, our many hands running all over each other’s impossible bodies and the colossal flesh-covered rock rising from Ryan’s loins as I pushed my extra-long boner inch by inch into Ryan’s hot, sweet, tight ass. Despite the pleasure of all we had been doing, being inside him was sublime, and as I pushed it all the way in I knew I couldn’t last long. I enlarged my own mouth and quickly went down on Ryan’s outstanding cock even as I pounded his ass, and he gasped and moaned as I took more and more of his tremendous cock. It felt almost as good as being inside him—deep, deep inside him—to have his massive cock throbbing in my throat. We floated there, poised on the edge, for I don’t know how long, a perfect moment; then in a sudden rush we exploded, shooting huge amounts of white-hot cum into each other, our bodies surging, melting together, overcome with bliss.

I think we both blacked out—anyway, I came to a moment later, and we were still in the same position, wonderfully intertwined with my still-hard cock inside his ass and his still in my throat. Ryan looked overcome with sated passion, his eyes closed, his many hands slowly stroking my back. I sighed and said, “I need to see to Jerry.” He nodded, and I slowly went about restoring our normal forms, until we were standing in front of each other almost back to normal, even reducing our cocks to manageable size—but I kept us both with four arms until the last. “I love how this feels,” Ryan said, running each hand across the opposite arm.

“I love how it looks,” I said, my eyes drinking in how the extra arms hanging off broad, lithely muscled shoulders suited Ryan. My own arms felt so good with bulky biceps of the back arms pressing against bulky triceps of the front arms, I wondered if I could get rid of them.

Ryan seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Maybe no one will notice,” he said with a crooked grin.

“I doubt it,” Jerry said suddenly.

We both whirled round to see Jerry sitting up, staring at us in awe, his dick hard against his flat abs.

For a long minute we stared at each other, Jerry’s cock twitching against his belly. Then Jerry jumped off the table and walked over to us. “So it was you all along,” he said, still in awe. “How do you do it?”

I decided to level with him. “I don’t know,” I said. “I just—” (I concentrated and Jerry was soon sporting two big, fat, succulent cocks, both very hard and curving slightly back toward his abs) “—do it.”

He looked down at the two cocks, slowly took one in each hand, and closed his eyes for a moment. I was just thinking we were going to be off the hook when he opened his eyes and said, “Thank you. But I don’t think this is going to be all. Not now.”

I nodded. I moved closer, until I was standing inches from him. He was breathing hard. “What’s your fantasy, Jer?”

He looked up into my eyes and swallowed hard. Would he be too shy to reveal his secret fantasy? Even if he was it would only postpone the inevitable. Ryan had moved behind him, and he seemed to feel the heat radiating from that sexy body.

That seemed to decide him. He took a deep breath and said, “Twins.”

I blinked at him. “Twins?”

“You know, twins. I want to be like this, but with twins.” He was obviously feeling the raw sexual energy of standing between us; his hands were slowly stroking his two fat cocks.

“What kind of twins?” Ryan breathed.

Jerry bit the bullet. “Twins of me. I want to be like this, but with twins of me.” He held his breath as he looked up at me. I realized he really wanted this—he was deeply attracted to his own body. He was always caressing himself, checking himself in the mirror, gazing at his own bod. I suddenly knew he’d always wanted to make love to himself and had never thought it possible until now.

I laughed aloud, relieved. That would most definitely satisfy him—and would not require any explanation other than a family reunion. “You’ve got it!” I said. I was so happy I bent down and kissed him, which he eagerly returned. Then I drew myself back and he realized he was kissing his clone—identical in every respect, including the two big delicious cocks and significantly enhanced but still beautifully sculpted muscles I had given him during our kiss. He ecstatically embraced himself, kissing so hungrily it was impossible to watch without a surge of passion. But I had one more task, and as I brought in the other twin behind him Jerry moaned loudly with ecstasy.

The three Jerrys went at it with wild abandon at first, then with slow sensuality, and I realized as they built back to a feverish frenzy that I was losing track of which one was the original. I guessed it didn’t matter. I caught Ryan’s eye and we shared a smile. At any rate, I was looking forward to resting my newfound abilities for a while and spending some quality time with the man of my dreams.

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