The barista

by Dream Big

Caleb’s regular morning regimen is shaken up a bit by the friendly new barista at Cuppa Joes.

I’m a creature of habit. It’s a mixed blessing—possibly a little bit of a spectrum thing, or maybe run-of-the-mill OCD. I like my routines.

I’d hoped to leverage that tendency to finally get back into shape. But I knew I needed motivation. So after I hit the gym, I’d stop by this little indie coffee shop call Cuppa Joes, and I give myself a little treat: a coffee (black, iced or hot depending on weather) and some sort of baked thing that definitely wasn’t countering my efforts at all. (Ahem.)

I’d been at it for a few months now, to the point where it felt weird if something came up and I missed my gym time, or if something disrupted the treat I’d conditioned myself to expect after. I was making decent, if slow, progress at the gym; I’d dropped nearly 15 pounds and was firming up the bits that jiggled. But I’d felt like I’d hit a plateau; I needed something to shake things up, but was resistant to major changes in my routine.

At 37, I was long past the party boy stage, and not quite at the Settled Dad phase, of my life. I had a boring white-collar job for my county government, and I went to the gym three times a week to stave off the middle-aged spread. That was pretty much it—no social life really.

But things changed when I showed up one Saturday and there was a new barista.

“Hey, bra, what can I get ya?” The source of that question was apparently Stevie, a laid-back, 20-something with dimples and a friendly smile and bright blue eyes beneath his dark brown artfully messy hair. He had a bit of scruff going, but whatever DNA produced him seemed to have been a rousing success. Killer cheekbones, lanky but fit body, good teeth—it was shocking how many folks did not understand that bad teeth were a turn-off.

“Black coffee, large, no sweeteners,” I mumbled. “And one of those cranberry scones.”

“You got it boss! Warm up the pastry?”

“Yes please,” I said.

“I just started a fresh pot, so have a seat and I will let you know when it’s ready. Name?”

“Caleb,” I said.

I watched him work for a few minutes. Stevie had good looks and an easy friendly manner, and he was competent. After he dealt with the other handful of customers, he poured my coffee from the new pot and grabbed the pastry with some tongs and put it on a plate. He looked around and spotted me, gestured to stay put, and emerged from behind the counter with my order. His smile was infectious.

But that wasn’t everything.

The boy had a goddamned huge bulge, and the black uniform pants did nothing to hide it.

I stared stupidly at it as he approached. I was at one of the low comfy seats rather than a table, so as he walked toward me, the thing was at eye level.

“Caleb, right?” He asked. I nodded stupidly, still staring at his junk like some kind of pervert. I couldn’t help it.

“Great! Yell if you need something,” he said through a million-watt smile, as he set my items down on the low table.

As he walked back to the counter, I noted with some dismay that his ass was pretty darned nice, too.

I was doomed.

Motivation is a funny thing.

My brain had already connected gym time with a reward: coffee and a pastry. That had kept me going through the early stages of getting into the habit of the gym, and through bad weather. A little caloric indulgence, my trainer had said, was worth it if it kept me on track. And now every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday, I was a regular at the gym and Cuppa Joes. I wasn’t a fan of mornings, but it suited my schedule and my boss wasn’t a clock watcher so long as I completed my work.

I’d tuned out the other gym members and the baristas, keeping my focus on my own routine and burning it into my brain.

So when I got home that first night, stripped down, and began relentlessly beating my meat to the hot barista, it was the start of another routine. I did it that Saturday. And that Monday, and that Wednesday. Because Stevie seemed to be on duty every time I was there.

Weeks passed, and my beloved routine had become fixed. Nimety minutes at the gym, walk to Cuppa Joes, exchange smiles with Stevie (who quickly figured out that I had a regular order), have a coffee and pastry while I pretended to play on my phone (but mostly watched the counter hoping Stevie would come out from behind it), go home and whack off for half an hour, and then go about my day.

I was meeting with my trainer, Sue, on the first Monday of every month, something I did to keep myself on track and honest. It also, sadly, meant measurements and revisions to the plan.

“Caleb, whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Down another half inch on the waist, and another couple pounds this month, but your lifts seem to have plateaued. I think you’re ready to take this to the next level, buddy.”

“Next level?”

“Sure. Let’s set some new goals, shake things up. I think for a start, we get you in here at least one more day a week. Alternate between upper body and lower body on that extra day. And let’s commit to doing more core stuff at home. Think you can do some crunches and stuff every day you’re not in here?”

“I guess.”

“You’re doing really well with this, so it’d be a shame to let go of that momentum. I’ll send you some stuff by email, okay? Follow the plan, make it a habit, and build on it, just like we agreed. Any particular areas you want to concentrate on?”

“I don’t really know,” I replied. I didn’t even know if Stevie was into anything in particular. “I guess the usual stuff. Bigger chest and arms, tighter abs, firmer butt…”

“Sounds good, we can get you looking swole, like the frat rats say.”

And just like that, my routine was altered, and I found I didn’t mind in the slightest. Sue had sent me a list of supplements and dietary suggestions, including a significant uptick in protein that was likely to be a bit of a challenge, but the exercises themselves were mostly doubling up or doing variations on stuff I already did. And pushing harder on upping the poundage and resistance across the board.

Friday became my “concentrate on one area” day, and between that and the other stuff, I saw some newbie gains. Stevie wasn’t scheduled for Fridays, but I still showed up for my post-workout treat.

But Stevie was there that first Saturday after adding Friday to the mix, and he noticed.

“Bro! Got your coffee. Lemon cake okay today?”

“You know me,” I said, smiling back and—oh shit, I found myself doing that thing they do in anime where the guy puts his hand behind his neck awkwardly.

“Whoa, man, look at you!”

I panicked, looking around to see what stupid thing I’d done to attract attention. Stevie laughed.

“Nah, man, you got a gun show going on, that’s all. You got some gains!”

I looked over sheepishly and sure enough, the swell of my bicep was right there. I was still pumped from the morning workout and pretty sore, because it had been arms and chest stuff yesterday.

“I guess,” I stammered.

“Lookin’ good,” he beamed happily, handing me my order. “What gym do you go to?”

I told him, and asked where he went.

“The college has a nice one, and it’s free for alumni,” he said. “But between my work and grad school, it’s hard to find time. And it’s usually pretty crowded when do have time.”

Stevie was in grad school, but I wasn’t clear on exactly what for. He studied when things were slow, but that mostly consisted of him staring intently at a thick textbook behind the counter, from my perspective.

“I credit my trainer,” I said. “She keeps me motivated. Had me switch things up a little this week by adding Fridays to the mix.”

“Good to know.”

The next Friday, my legs were aching after a pretty grueling session, and I limped into Cuppa Joes.

“Black coffee, and how about a nice chocolate croissant?”

“Stevie?”

“Yup! I switched shifts with Helen. Guess I’ll be seeing you on Friday, too!” He seemed pretty happy about it. So was I, because it meant I’d see him another day of the week.

And so it went for another couple of weeks. The Friday workouts were extra grueling, but targeting different groups seemed to be paying off. Stevie unerringly complimented me on whatever I’d been working on that day, which left me shyly pleased. Then I would Go home and blow a nice load thinking about him. I was smitten, but persisted in believing that he was just being friendly.

But in retrospect, our chaste little interactions were by now edging into the realm of flirtation. I’m usually kind of oblivious to such things but even I noticed when he reached out and—without asking, and likely without thinking—grabbed my bicep and told me to flex one Friday.

“I have got to meet your trainer, man, look at you!”

I glanced down where my shirt had, after months of effort, begun to fit snugly for the right reasons. And then over at my arm where his warm, long-fingered hand was still on my bicep.

“Dude. I—” and then he looked quite embarrassed. “Um, I gotta run to the back for something I left out,” he said, hurriedly backing away.

But not before I noticed his usual meaty bulge had shifted and gone decidedly….vertical.

By the time I got home, I was ready to pop. What I’d seen in Stevie’s eyes, plus the very large salami he appeared to have in his pants, turned my crank. I was raging hard, and I was ripping my clothes off before the apartment door closed behind me.

He was into me. He liked my emerging muscles and he liked them enough to spring wood in the middle of the cafe.

And his cock was huge. I’d suspected from the bulge, but now it was confirmed. He was packing, and from the glimpse I got as it twitched its way up and over to his hip, he was likely probably very hung indeed. Best guess, at least 8 inches, but quite probably more.

My hand grabbed my own desperate cock, which was leaking enough pre to slick things up. I imagined his long delicate fingers grabbing my cock, firmly like he had my bicep. I lasted all of three seconds.

Like I said, motivation is a tricky thing.

See, now I knew Stevie was into me, and specifically into muscle, on me. And that meant I needed more of it.

And so, I texted Sue, and told her I felt really motivated and wanted to meet with her. She had time on Saturday, and could meet me for my morning session.

“Well, Caleb, I think you’re making great progress as it stands. And you’re not in your twenties anymore, so slow and steady is the name of this game. I think the smart play is to keep upping your efforts by five pounds each week.”

“Should we consider changing up the supplements? Macros? That kind of thing?”

“I mean, sure, you can eat more protein. Maybe up your creatine, that’s working nicely for you I think. Are you looking for strength, or for aesthetics? We started this looking for health and then building up some strength, but I get the feeling you’re looking to put on some actual size now.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, then I suggest you don’t think that. Steroids are bad news, and no legit doctor would prescribe HGH for someone in decent shape like you.”

She was right of course. So I assured her I just wanted a kick in the ass, and she responded by putting me through a very thorough workout. Each station we hit, she pushed me harder than I had been pushed before. And sure enough, I was *drained* at the end of it, but I’d added five pounds to every single exercise. I hit the sauna for a good twenty minutes, letting the sweat pour off me—and fighting a hell of a boner the whole time.

I staggered into Cuppa Joes feeling like a used rag, but I was barely in the door before Stevie told me to sit, he’d bring me my usual.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just really wiped after the workout today. Sue tried hard to break me.”

“Looks like you managed to defeat her,” he said. “Nice pump, though.”

“Thanks. I just worry I bit off more than I can chew.”

“Nah, you got this, Caleb,” he said. And then for the next 15 minutes or so, while I drank my coffee and ate my blueberry muffin, he managed to find reasons to bend over where I could see. It had to be fucking deliberate, the tease. Nobody drops napkins that often.

The motivation was there, but by Friday I was struggling with the added weights. It was chest day, and my usual chest press machine was out of service. So I was using free weights. And during my second set I began to falter.

“I got ya,” said the young behemoth who was loading up his bar next to me. I grunted a thank you and tried to shake out my arms a bit.

“I’ve seen you around here a lot lately,” the big guy said. I hadn’t noticed him, though he looked vaguely familiar. I may have been a regular by now, but I was so focused on my own stuff that I kind of coasted along obliviously.

“Kind of,” I said.

“Well, you’re doing great. But,” and he looked around slyly before continuing, “I think you’re looking for something to give you a push. Or did I read you wrong?”

“Um. Kind of.”

“Thought so. How many reps you got left today?”

“This is my last set.”

“Good, I’m finishing up, too. Meet me in the sauna and let’s talk a bit. I may have some ideas for you.”

In the sauna, he said his name was Leo. He was probably in his early thirties, so younger than me. He was big, beefy, but still well put together. We were the only two folks there.

“So, I work for this biotech firm, and they’ve been working on some good performance enhancements. They hit on one that actually works better once you’re well past puberty. And it’s in clinical trials now. We always need test subjects. If you’re interested, I can make sure you’re NOT in the control group.”

“Really?”

“The testing is for the FDA. This shit works, man, but they have to gather enough data to pass regulatory approval.”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Dude, it. Fucking. Works. Look at me if you need a little proof. I did my treatment about a year ago. Just one round of treatment, and I put on something like 40 pounds in two months. A year later, I’m still setting PRs.”

“No side effects?”

“Nothing I’d call problematic,” he said. “It just gets you charged up to maximize every rep, and makes it easier to pile on muscle if you’re doing the work.” He handed me a business card. “When you show up to get the trial, make sure they know I sent you. We get bonuses for referrals.”

I hemmed and hawed all day Sunday. I dug into the company; it was legit—small but growing. They had a small number of supplements on their website, ordinary stuff. And Leo did work there, according to LinkedIn. He had some dumb title like Product Specialist or something, but it matched the card. Whatever drug they were trying out, however, hadn’t made it to anything public yet, but given their other offerings, it felt like it made sense.

Monday’s workout was about the same; I was really tired when I got to Cuppa Joes, and even after my treat and a nice chat with Stevie, I was feeling wiped. Still went home and masturbated and blew a load—but then I called the number on the card, and lucked out because they could see me that afternoon. I had built up plenty of time off, so I just took the rest of the day off, claiming I’d forgotten a medical appointment. It wasn’t too much of a stretch.

Half an hour after lunch—my usual turkey sandwich with loads of greens—I was pulling into a nondescript office park just outside the city line. The receptionist buzzed me in, I showed the card, filled out paperwork, and so forth. Exactly as you would expect. Thanks to modern technology, I could download and forward my latest physical results, which were recent enough for their evaluation needs. After a surprisingly short amount of time, they called me back.

And two hours after I got there, I got a shot in my left glute and that was it. Didn’t even hurt.

Mindful of the reminder to up my protein, I stopped at the store and loaded up my cart. I’d refill my supplements when I got home; they were cheaper online.

The results were not immediately apparent. Wednesday’s workout still saw me struggling to keep up with the added weight, but I had my coffee shop to look forward to. Friday was more of the same. Still nothing. I logged onto the testing app and dutifully entered my updates, but disappointment was starting to set in. I’d been hoping for a quicker fix.

And then, Saturday morning I woke up at 6 with the sort of morning wood I hadn’t seen in a decade. I blew a load just to get the damned thing to go down before I drank my morning smoothie and headed off to the gym.

It was immediately apparent that something positive was happening when I started my usual routine and found the weights way less troublesome than they’d been the day before. Not easy, but more…surmountable. I powered through the workout, then the sauna, then showers and a walk over to Cuppa Joes. Treat, chat, home, beat the meat, eat a meal.

On Sunday, I woke up feeling restless—and hard, once again. This time I took my time, relying on my detailed memory of my sexy barista’s tight trousers to build a very nice orgasm. Productive, too.

Sunday was my chore day, but I was feeling so full of energy that I tackled it with gusto. Rearranged the garage, for a start, which meant hauling around heavy racks and winter tires and the like. My watch informed me later that it recorded two hours of exercise.

Monday was more of the same, and I resigned myself to the idea that, much like in college, I’d be starting my day with a nice wank. Then off to the gym, the cafe (and Stevie), back home to wank and then get back to work. On Wednesday, I added five pounds to every one of my efforts, and my sexy barista’s smile grew broader along with me.

Now that I knew to look for him, big Leo really was there, somehow in the background, even though I’d never noticed him. But Friday was, this time around, chest day. And he was there when I realized that the machine wasn’t doing what I wanted, and I’d have to move to the free weights. Leo offered to spot me.

“By the way,” he said, “I saw you’d joined the study. From the looks of things, you’re taking to it pretty well. Have you noticed any side effects yet?”

“Just a little bump in the ol’ libido,” I said.

“Just wait,” he grinned back. “It took about a week for it to kick in for me, but I was really happy with that particular side effect. But I don’t want to jinx it for you.”

He wouldn’t say anything else about it, though. Frustrating.

Sue took one look at me at our next session, and suggested we meet in the trainers’ office.

“Okay, Caleb. What are you on?”

“Nothing illegal!”

“You’ve put on five pounds in a week,” she said. “If you’re on gear, I’ll slap your stupid ass…”

“Not gear. Not even HGH,” I said defensively.

“Then what?”

“Clinical trial. Doctors, the works. I had to sign an NDA and all that.”

She looked at me dubiously.

“I know, right? But look, it’s working!”

It was working, all right. Just not only on my muscles.

Virtually every day began with a wank, ended with a wank, and typically had at least one in the middle. I was beating my meat more than I had in high school.

And after a particularly stubborn morning wood, I measured it. The feeling that I’d grown a little bit bigger proved correct—by almost an inch. I dutifully logged it in my app.

Now, it’s important to note that this isn’t one of those stories where a guy gets on a mysterious drug trial and has a big reaction and grows a mega dick and huge muscles. There was no conspiracy to grow giant sex slaves, no super soldier serum, no aliens, no four foot cocks, no giants. Nobody was failing to read or follow instructions, there was no unexpected mixing of different chemicals, no magic. Just a very good hormonal cocktail and some modest growth.

Well. Mostly.

By the following Saturday, I was clearly bulking up in all the right places, and I walked with a new confidence…but the same habits. I’d pushed pretty hard in my workout again, and I was there a bit later than usual, but I wasn’t going to skip that moment of happiness. And so I found myself at Cuppa Joes for my usual treat, smiling at Stevie, who smiled right back.

“Order for Caleb?”

“I didn’t order anything yet.”

“You don’t need to order,” Stevie beamed back. “I already know what you want.”

“Oh do you,” I purred back.

Yeah, we had definitely ramped up the flirting.

“You boys gonna kiss or what,” the other barista asked, clearly not caring either way.

We both blushed, and I paid and went to sit down.

“You’re late today,” Stevie said.

“Sorry,” I replied.

“Actually, you almost missed me. I get off shift in twenty minutes.”

“Glad I finished up when I did, then.”

“Um… got plans today?”

I squealed inwardly but kept my cool. Was he asking me out?

“Nothing big, just some errands. Gotta buy some new clothes.”

“Do you maybe want some company?”

I finished the bite of pastry and realized he was sitting across from me.

“Why, Stevie, are you asking me out?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I figured we get along and I feel like getting out and doing something different. I don’t mind a little shopping.”

“I don’t know that I’m different. You see me four days a week.”

“For now.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, okay, might be fun. You can keep me from making any stupid decisions.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything but that fresh from the gym look.”

“And I’ve never seen you out of your work clothes.” He raised a cheeky eyebrow at that comment.

“Cute. You know what I mean. But I’ve, um, changed sizes a bit over the last couple of months and I a lot of my clothes don’t really fit right.”

“I bet. I could probably stand to pick up some stuff too.”

“Okay, well where and when should I collect you?”

An hour and a half later, I pulled up outside a cheap apartment building where Stevie, leaning against a railing, awaited. He had clearly showered and shaved (as had I) and was dressed in jeans and a grey hoodie, his black work shoes swapped for a pair of well-worn Vans.

“Sorry, I’d invite you in but I have two annoying roommates. Nice car.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s just a basic three-year-old Honda.”

“I drive a shitty Prius that is falling apart,” he said. “It won’t die, but who can afford to replace it on a barista salary and grad stipend? I only use it when I have to.”

“You should have seen my college car.” And so we chatted amiably about crappy old cars we had owned as we drove to the big outlet mall. It was easy and comfortable, as though we had been friends for a while.

The plan, such as it was, was to find me some new clothes. We hit the sporting good store first where I encountered my first problem.

“I’ve never bought a compression top before,” I said.

“Really? I have some from college, when I used to run. What size do you need?”

“I don’t really know anymore. This is a medium,” I said.

“Well, assuming you plan to stick with the gym—and why wouldn’t you?—you should probably aim for a large. But just try both on and see where you fall.” He tossed me two under armor shirts, and two pairs of shorts, and waited while I was trying them on.

It was obvious to me, that medium was not going to cut it.

“They are gonna fit tight, that’s the point,” he said. “Let me see.”

All I can say is, it was a damned good thing they make their shirts well, because that thing barely fit over my shoulders and growing chest. But I felt flirty enough to tease him.

“Okay, maybe not that tight,” he chuckled when I opened the curtain. The large was definitely the way to go—and when I put that one on and showed him, he agreed enthusiastically. I grabbed a few of those and some shorts—which I simply tried on the large. I could see the squats were paying off, that’s for sure. And the gear kept my bulge nicely contained and presentable. I opted not to show them off for now, and ignored his obvious disappointment when I didn’t show off the look for him.

On to other stores where I quickly discovered that most men’s clothes are built expecting the occupants to fit within a rather narrow range of proportions. I was now on the edge of that range, which meant that nearly every shirt I tried on was too tight around the shoulders and chest, and too loose in the waist.

And with the pants, a different problem quickly emerged. Between my squats and my groin, and my smaller waist, I had to give up on my usual fit and size. I had gone down two waist sizes, but it took some trial and error, and a lot of help from Stevie, to find the right style.

“Yeah, I kind of have the same problem,” Stevie admitted. “I did cycling and track in school, before my course load just didn’t leave me time for them. I still run, and I usually bike to work, but I kind of have a …big butt.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I saw you staring at it, so you don’t get to tease me. Everyone notices. It wouldn’t be quite so annoying if I were below average up front.”

“You’re clearly not.”

“I don’t like to brag, especially in a dressing room, but yeah. I’m kind of big.”

“Nice,” I said, quietly.

“It’s a mixed blessing at best,” he said.

Two hours later, we were both ready for a break. I was jonesing for some protein, but I’d avoided food courts for at least a year. Luckily the mall had a Nandos and Stevie hadn’t tried it before. Better a beer than deep fried junk food, I figured. I insisted on paying. He enjoyed the meal almost as much as I enjoyed the company, though he did tease me about my order.

“Man where do you put all that food?”

“I had a banana and a protein shake, worked out for two hours, had a black coffee and a pastry, and then spent the next few hours walking. If we had put off eating any longer, you were starting to resemble a cartoon turkey leg…”

“You should have said something,” he laughed. “I was hungry too! But seriously, how many calories do you need these days?”

“A lot more than I expected. I’m supposed to get like 3000 calories a day. Over 200 grams of protein. That’s a lot of tuna, chicken, and peanut butter.”

“Whoa. Well then, I’ll let you finish your protein.”

I laughed and took a swig of my beer, and he was just….staring at me through the bottom of his glass. Then he put the empty glass down and stared into it for a moment.

“Caleb,” he said, finally, “I am really enjoying hanging out together.”

“Me too.”

“Is there…” he began. “Fuck it. I like you, and I think we have chemistry. But I don’t know if this is a bromance or something…else.”

I set down the fork full of chicken slowly, keeping my outward calm while inside, I was bouncing up and down like a toddler on a sugar high.

“I think,” I said, “that it could be something. I mean, if you want it to .”

“Oh. Oh shit,” he stammered. “I wasn’t…I didn’t know if…”

“I like you too, Stevie. Have for months now.” I sounded cool and collected (even to myself), but I knew better. “I’m really glad you suggested going out today. And I would like to do it again.”

He grinned back, suddenly fearless and cheeky.

“But Caleb, we haven’t …done it at all.” He leaned across the table as far as possible, to whisper, “but I’m game if you are.”

We immediately pulled back a little, because suddenly things had heated up, and we were in the middle of a restaurant.

But those little glances turned to lingering shy smiles, or cheeky winks, for the remainder of our meal and during the walk back to the car. I realized as I was putting my bags in that he really hadn’t needed to shop.

“So, should we continue chatting at home?” I asked, a little uncertain, as I got into the car.

“I’d like to. Just not at my place, it’s full of assholes.”

“Trouble with the roommates?”

“Not really. We aren’t fighting, we just don’t really get along great. They’re young and dumb and it’s a constant struggle to get them to clean or not stay up playing fucking call of duty all night, loudly talking shit on their headsets.”

“College boys are the worst,” I agreed.

“It just got old way faster than I expected. Still, housing is pricey.”

“Then we can hang at my place. I don’t even own an X-box, and it’s not *too* much of a mess.”

I caught his grin out of the corner of my eye.

My place was a decent little 2-BR condo, and it wouldn’t win any House Beautiful awards, but it was decent for what it was. I was slowly replacing the cheap or free furniture with stuff I’d actually chosen, and I’d lived there for about five years. It felt like home.

“It’s easily twice the size of my little shithole,” Stevie said, eyes wide.

“You want the tour, or a drink first, or what?”

“Tour please,” he said. It didn’t take that long, but he was impressed that I had a laundry area. “That’s the real luxury,” he groused. “So much time and money wasted at laundromats or shared laundry rooms.”

“It is handy. My gym clothes get pretty rank so it’s nice to not have them sitting around.”

“Nice office,” he remarked about the second bedroom. “And whoa, a bathroom that was remodeled in the last 20 years? Very swank,” he laughed.

“Got the fancy Japanese toilet seat too. Came in handy during lockdown.”

“And this must be where the magic happens,” he said as we stopped at the end of the hall.

“Magic?”

“Aww, come on. The bedroom?”

“Oh,” I said. God I was dumb. “Not sure about magic, but I did spring for a good mattress.” I began to scoot past him into the room, but he wasn’t moving out of the doorway.

“Can I test you on that?” He whispered huskily. I nodded.

He grinned, then leapt into the bed, spread-eagled. “Ahh, so this is what a man’s bed feels like. I have been sleeping on a crappy futon for the last two years. If I weren’t hanging with you, I could fall asleep right here.”

He looked adorable—and I suddenly felt bold. I stood at the edge of the bed, astride his legs. He’d have to get past me to stand up.

“That could be arranged,” I said. “But where would I sleep?”

“It’s a big bed,” he said. “It might take some maneuvering but I think we could both fit just fine.”

“Oh you think so? But I’m used to taking up all the room in this big queen-sized bed.” Now I had one knee on the bed.

He smiled up at me. “Only one way to find out.”

“I should warn you, I don’t wear all that much to bed.” I quickly shucked my outer shirt, leaving the t-shirt on for now.

“Me neither.” He unzipped the hoody just a bit, then glanced up. “Um, are you actually thinking of taking a nap?”

“Fuck no,” I said, and leaned forward slowly. “I am thinking there is a cute guy in my bed and it would be a shame not to do something about it.”

I honestly don’t know what had gotten into me, but it felt like we’d been slowly engaging in months-long foreplay. The flirting, the stolen glances, all of it. Months of it. Meanwhile, just in the last couple of weeks, the intensity had crept up without either of us consciously being aware of it. Couple that with my increased libido lately, and, well, I felt an urgency I wasn’t completely used to.

I crouched over Stevie like he was prey, and it was immediately obvious that he was turned on. His big cock was outlined in his jeans, and his eyes were lidded with lust as he beamed up at me. I dove for his mouth and we began to kiss—not tentative sweet little nibble-kisses that built to something more; these were aggressive, lips locked and tongues dancing and spit swapping. It was like were fucking each other’s mouths with our tongues. The feeling was electric and overwhelming, and I suddenly pulled away.

“Wow,” Stevie said. “I guess that answers the question of whether you were really into me.”

“I am so into you.” Well, yeah, but I kinda wanted him in me.

“Awesome. You, uh, wanna do that some more, or you want to go a little further? I mean this is technically our first date—”

I responded by yanking my shirt off, revealing the torso I’d been working so hard to create. Stevie clearly liked what he saw.

“…okay then,” he said, grinning, and shrugged out of his own clothes. I could see he was lean, decently fit without being particularly sculpted, if that makes sense. I found myself aggressively kissing his face, his ears, his neck, breathing in the scent of him, tasting him.

“Fuck, man….that’s so nice…”

Yeah, it was very nice, and as I kissed my way around his torso, to the faint hints of abs he had, I made my goal clear. We made eye contact and he nodded, and I was hastily pulling his jeans off him. Black Calvin Klein briefs, a classic. But within, a straining length of pipe and hefty balls that threatened to break free at any moment, desperate to be free of their cotton prison.

It was my duty to help that valuable prisoner escape.

“Damn,” I said. “That is a nice big cock you have there.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s been a problem for a while.”

“I think he likes me.”

“I know he likes you.”

I yanked his undies down and his hefty cock sprung up. Jesus, he was a big boy.

“How big is this thing?” I wondered aloud as I reached for it.

“Like….nine?” he said, as I brought my head closer to it. “Okay, maybe like nine and a half.”

“Impressive,” I said. “Statistically speaking, there are maybe 1 in 10 or 15 million guys with a dick this big.”

“Really?”

“Really.” It was fairly girthy, too, and it was clearly going to be a challenge. So then I began to lick it, and soon it was in my mouth (a very tight fit!), my tongue swirling and stroking for all I was worth. Slowly I worked my way about halfway down the wide shaft, willing my gag reflex away so I could make the final approach.

I soon had him squirming and moaning, as I choked my way down the shaft. The biggest guy I’d ever managed to deep throat was maybe 7, 7 and a half. But motivation is important in most things, and I was motivated.

Touchdown: my nose was firmly in his neatly trimmed bush, and it felt like his cock was endless. He gasped, and I would have too if I didn’t have his dick occupying all the necessary space for that. But as soon as he neared the edge I pulled away (with some difficulty) and sat up.

“Oh shit,” he said. “I was so close…”

“Not. Yet.” I growled. I stood at the foot of the bed and began to shuck my own pants, and he watched with that grin of his as I struggled to pull the jeans down over my own butt and aching rod. I’d thought about trying for sexy, but when the moment came, I just wanted those things off me.

“Damn, I think you’re as big as I am!” Stevie said, his eyes wide with wonder.

That couldn’t be right, could it?

He pulled me beside him, and wrapped his hands around each of our dicks; mine burped up a little pre at his touch and I shuddered. But when I looked down, there was nearly as much of my dick sticking out past his hand as there was his own.

“I still have you beat,” he said. “But that’s still a hefty package. You could, like, tie a boat to that or something.”

“Hush,” I said. And then his mouth was on my cock, and it became clear that Stevie was either well practiced or a very quick study. I managed to hold back, barely. Because while this was nice, I needed his dick in my ass more than I needed oxygen.

We made love for what felt like hours, and it was the sort of carnal exchange where literally everything was in sync. We were both happily verse, and had no hang-ups about oral or anal or foreplay or raw pounding sex—so we did it all, with (not just to) each other. Tender, but fierce; giving and receiving; teasing and fulfilling. We both wanted the other, on a deeply physical level, and there is magic in that. Or maybe it’s just biology.

Basically, our lust for each other that night brought about what was probably the best sex I’d ever had. And once we were thoroughly, utterly spent (and that took some time), there was the comfortable drowsy cuddling, which began the process of converting our physical relationship into something I dared dream might mean something more.

Stevie and I became a regular item almost immediately. When the sex is that good, you almost have to try for more, right? But there was more to it, from the start.

Two weeks went by and we carved out time where we could, trying our best to be responsible. I had work, and gym goals to manage, and he had work and grad school to manage. There was a lot of texting, a naughty photo or two, and every couple of days our schedules aligned and we would have mind-blowing sex. Aside from that, there was a lot of masturbation on my part. My libido really had ramped up, but I didn’t find the wanking as satisfying as playing with Stevie, so I channeled what I could into other things.

It was toward the end of the second week when I had a particularly annoying day at work, staying up late for a project that frustrated me no end. The next morning, I called out, and angry-jerked myself for almost an hour before unleashing a torrent of cum. I prowled around my house, still grumpy and unsatisfied, ate a pile of eggs, then pounded out another big load. My dick felt supercharged, and also… bigger.

I thought back to my most recent gym measurements, two days ago. Sue had shaken her head in disbelief. She said I was piling on muscle like a 19-year-old. My flabby middle was gone, and even the loose skin was mostly tightened up. I’d gone up 34 pounds in the last two months and added inches to all the right places (well, all the ones she was concerned with at least). But no acne, no stretch marks, no bloating, none of the usual indicators of illicit stuff. More and more of my time was spent with free weights. My shirts and pants had become satisfyingly tight—including the ones I’d bought with Stevie.

I was due for a follow up with the study folks on Monday, and Stevie was finished with his semester after today, so we had a weekend to look forward to. Aside from a vague plan for dinner, we had by silent agreement decided it was going to be a decadent weekend of sex, cuddling, and more sex. Just a few errands that we would do together, to break things up and get us out of the house. It sounded like bliss.

“Jesus, mister. Every time you come in here, you’re bigger,” said the snarky girl behind the register. I blushed, but that was probably truer than she realized. By now the staff were unavoidably aware that I was their most predictable regular customer, and that Stevie and I were a couple. We had become less and less discreet in very short order.

“Stevie’s getting his things together to clock out,” she said, handing me my usual order. “Otherwise he’d be taking care of you.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Naughty,” she said with a wink. “Running a little late again, huh?”

“Yeah, had a big morning at the gym.”

“Are you aiming to compete or something?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Spray tan would look stupid on you,” she said.

“Good to know.”

“How big are your arms now, anyway?”

“I don’t really know,” I lied. I’d hit 20 inches recently. But they felt extra big today.

“Maybe you can get Stevie to measure for you.”

“Caleb!” Stevie said, emerging from the back room looking even more fuckable than usual.

He was wearing kind of tight trousers, and his healthy bulge was very noticeable, as was his bubble butt. His lanky torso and arms were engulfed in a dark blue turtleneck that made him look a little dangerous, and he shrugged on a sleek leather jacket.

“Damn, you look good in that,” I said.

“You look good in that, too,” he grinned. I was wearing a tight black tee under a burgundy dressy shirt. I’d bought it about two months ago and it was probably the last time I’d be able to wear it. I hadn’t been able to fully button it past my chest, and my arms put strain on the seams.

“It’s a little snug,” I said.

“But it’s such a good color on you!”

We grabbed a bunch of food and headed back to my place to drop it off, chatting as we put the food away. It was giving off a very domestic vibe, which I liked.

“God damn, Caleb. You look proper big today,” he said. “Seriously, that shirt is probably going to explode. Shame.”

“You don’t think I’m getting too big, do you?” I said, frowning.

“If you’d asked me six months ago, I might have a different answer for you. But now? Apparently I have a taste for muscle guys.”

“That just sounds weird,” I said. “About me, I mean.”

“You should be used to it by now, you’ve been at this the whole time I’ve known you and you just keep getting bigger.”

“I’m glad you like it. Seeing you react is a great motivator. That and my 40th birthday looming ahead.”

He laughed and pointed down, showing his straining bulge. “Honestly I thought you were cute before but now you’re kind of hunky, and clearly I dig it. But even I can’t believe you’re pushing the back half of your thirties. If I hadn’t seen your license, I would have thought you were full of crap.”

“Nonsense,” I said.

“You really have no idea. Especially lately. You barely look thirty. People probably assume we’re the same age.”

He wasn’t wrong, I’d just tried not to notice and shrugged off the compliments out of habit. I felt so lucky to be around him that I didn’t want to jinx it by playing at being younger.

“You blush like a kid,” he laughed. “Heck, if you shaved off the beard, you’d look even younger.”

The next morning, after we’d spent hours in bed, I shaved off the beard. I’d never had a problem growing one and thought it would be funny to take him seriously. But as the last scraps of my beard hit the sink, I realized he wasn’t wrong. Whereas the beard before had been cultivated out of laziness, and kept out of a desire to disguise my softening jawline, what remained after its removal was the face of a much younger man. I leaned in closer to the mirror, fascinated. Aside from very minor laugh lines, my skin seemed healthy and elastic and blemish free, but after ten years of facial hair, I did have a moment of mild dysphoria.

“Whoa, you lost the beard!” Stevie said, bounding past me to piss.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Hot before, hot now. Shit, you kind of look like your own younger brother!”

“I don’t have a younger brother.”

“Good thing, I don’t know if I could deal with two sexy brothers, but I’d like to try.”

He gave me a peck on the cheek.

“By the way,” he said. “Have you, uh, measured everything recently?”

“Uhhh….”

“Babe, either I was dreaming or your dick is bigger than mine. Shall we measure properly?”

“Can we do it after breakfast? I’m starving.”

But honestly, I was a little afraid that he might be right. I was used to his big cock in me, but when we had switched, I thought he gasped a little at one point, and it sounded a little concerned, but he’d brushed it off. Certainly I’d felt fantastic, but as far as I knew, I was still barely hitting 8.5.

But right after we had finished breakfast dishes, he led me back to the bedroom.

“I gotta know, he explained. I’ve never been with anyone who was as big as me down there.”

He knew just which buttons to push where to touch and stroke. My dick inflated rapidly in his hand. With his other, he grabbed min, and placed one end of the measuring tape at the base of my cock, gently folding my finger to hold it. And then he pulled the length down the top to the tip. I closed my eyes and shuddered.

“Oh shit, I wasn’t imagining it!”

“What?!”

“You, my friend, now own nine and three-quarters inches of cock. You beat me.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” I said, looking down.

But he wasn’t upset. He was really turned on.

“Did you wanna measure around?” I asked, my OCD already visualizing the spreadsheet entries.

“Don’t care,” he said, flinging the tape behind me. “I know just what to do with this.”

He really did.

“I don’t wanna go…” Stevie said, pouting as he put on his jacket.

“Your fault for telling me you were a fan of Doctor Who….”

“David Tennant was so dreamy.”

“And I’m not?”

“Shut up, you know you are.”

Unfortunately, I had to take him home. It wasn’t that bad—his roommates were cool with his showing up with a random older guy. Possibly because the age difference was far less obvious lately.

There was no other way to put it: especially with the shave, I looked a good ten years younger. I certainly felt better than I had in ages.

And aside from the gym and the coffee shop, I still didn’t have much of a social life. Hadn’t seen family in a year, didn’t have a ton of regular close friends. The only folks who’d notice my recent transformation were already aware of it.

Knowing I would see him again, I’d left Stevie with the best kiss I could manage (I was assured it exceeded expectations) and myself with yet another nearly ten inch boner. I’d have to take care of that when I got home.

Turned out I needed to knock out two very full helpings of ball juice before I could get to sleep—if it hadn’t been for the post orgasmic vibes I would have been annoyed at the change in routine. Bad enough I had to miss the gym and coffee shop on Monday…

“These numbers are remarkable,” said the doctor. “We will see the results of the blood work in a couple days, but Christ, just look at you!”

“It does feel a bit excessive. I can’t believe it’s just one shot, a couple months ago now.”

“Caleb, nobody else has had the level of result you’ve seen. Your physical transformation is …well, I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t measured you myself.”

“Most of me,” I corrected him.

“I suppose we should, for thoroughness.”

“Flaccid: 6.8 inches. Aroused, 9.9.”

“Huh, yesterday I came in at 9.75 almost perfectly. Am I still getting bigger?”

“Possibly. Let’s measure your height again. I have doubts.”

Sure enough, I was at least a full inch taller, now 5’11.

“Damn,” the doc said. “It almost feels like you hit puberty again, but the lab work will tell us whether that’s really the case.”

I had another 3 to 5 business days before I expected to hear back from the doctor, but unfortunately Stevie didn’t have time off at the same time. In fact, he had an intense project to work on, and other than crossing paths at Cuppa Joes, we wouldn’t see much of each other.

That was fine by me. I had another project going anyway.

See, my little condo was still pretty empty, and I used my second bedroom as an office. But the office part itself was modest—just a desk, a chair, and a tall file cabinet on top of which sat my printer. Everything else was laptop-driven. And—embarrassingly for my zoom calls—the back was full of boxes of old crap I’d meant to go through for some time.

But it also had a weirdly large dining room that had a French-door, into the living room, and I almost never used it. I had a two-person table there (a holdover from a previous tiny apartment) and two chairs, and that was it. So I decided that I’d turn that space into my office, and offer the second bedroom to Stevie. If he didn’t want it, I figured I’d pick up some stuff and make it a home gym—winter was coming, after all.

So while Stevie was busy grinding away, I spent the rest of that day and all of the next rearranging my house. But that was finished by 2 p.m. on Tuesday and I still had a week left. I felt restless and bored, so I went shopping. Cue me at Ikea a few hours later having basically replaced half my shitty furniture with less shitty furniture…though it was satisfying as hell to carry a ton of flatpack stuff by myself. Wednesday, I hit the gym pretty hard, and visited Stevie at the coffee shop after, then finished putting the shelves and such together that afternoon.

On Thursday, I woke up bursting with energy and hauled all my replaced furniture to donate. Still feeling “stoked,” I decided to hit the gym to work some of it off, and ended up there for something like three hours, plus another half hour taking full advantage of the hot tub and sauna. But while the hot tub was empty when I got into it, by the time I got up to leave, there were six other people in the thing. The tub was big, so crowding wasn’t an issue, but when I stood up, I realized that my swim trunks, well…they weren’t really up to the challenge anymore. The bulge was obscene. And I swear, the looks of shock, disbelief, and interest from the various people in that tub triggered something in me. I quickly wrapped myself in a towel and headed for the showers, but by the time I got there I had the father of all boners raging down below.

Thank goodness the gym had individual stalls, because I needed to bust one a nut like a fish needs water. My cock seemed bigger than ever—or maybe I was just super turned on for no reason. Either way, I knew I was closing in on double digits and wouldn’t be shocked if I’d hit it that day. The only reason I didn’t use two hands is that I needed one to brace against the wall. I was rock hard and it didn’t take long for me to blow a load that felt endless, and when that didn’t relieve the pressure, I switched over to cold water—that helped considerably. But I knew I’d need to continue at home. If I hadn’t unloaded I’m not sure my pants would have fit.

But it was unrelenting, and returned full force during the short drive back to my condo, so I carried my bag awkwardly in front of me to conceal it. The gym clothes were tossed into the bin as I stripped on the way to the bathroom.

The bathroom mirror showed someone who I barely recognized—if it weren’t my face there, I’d have guessed some underwear model had replaced me. My “swole” look had been a work in progress for months, but I’d really blown up the last few months.

But even that face looked about 30 years old, and if the body in the mirror were an underwear model, it would have to be for the extended sizes collection. I shucked the underwear and grabbed one of the rattier hand towels out of the closet, and pulled the tailor’s measuring tape out of the drawer.

Sure enough, my dick was now over ten inches long. In fact, it was closer to ten and a quarter. And it was so hard that it seemed like it was competing with itself to get bigger.

Friday was more of the same, but I didn’t stay as long in the gym because I was meeting Stevie afterwards for lunch at the end of his shift. For all my love of routine, I could make exceptions to the routine when it came to rare quality time with him.

“Babe!” He bounded over and planted a big kiss right on the lips, right there in the middle of Cuppa Joes, eliciting a smattering of golf claps from the other staff and the handful of customers. He’d leapt into my arms and I had barely registered the weight. I blushed and looked around, but it was only a few people. Stevie wasn’t small by any stretch, probably around 170 pounds, but he really felt like a child in my arms. After dropping from the mid-200s down to 190, my own weight had crept up to 230 with all the muscle I’d added. I could bench about 350, but did 250 for reps these days.

“Glad to see you too,” I said.

“I can kind of tell,” he whispered. “Because otherwise you’ve got a mag light in your front pocket. Do you need to use the little barista’s room before we head to lunch?”

“I’d rather use the little barista,” I whispered back.

“Naughty,” he chuckled. “But we’ve only got about an hour, and I’m starving. For Food!!”

I was too, so I quickly agreed to rub one out in the restroom before we ran off. Say what you like, indie places like Cuppa Joes have either immaculate bathrooms, or terrible ones, with no in-between—and this one was clean. Ten minutes later I was freshly emptied and feeling more like a human and less like an accessory to my own cock.

Over lunch, I told him that I’d done some rearranging.

“Look, Stevie. I know it’s early days yet, but that second room is yours if you want it.”

“Really?”

“You don’t seem too happy where you are. No strings attached,”

“Fuck yeah, on one condition.”

“Which is…”

“I’ll pay you the same amount I was paying to live where I am now. I don’t want to take advantage of you, or look like a kept boy or anything.”

“I didn’t think you were,” I said.

He smiled and kissed me. “Caleb, you’re a good man, but I need to do my part too. But hell yeah.”

“I took the liberty of getting some basics in there to use as a guest room. I knew you were tired of sleeping on a futon.”

“Do I have to sleep in there?”

“I just want you to have a space that’s yours,” I said. “In case my snoring gets too loud or something. But don’t worry about the rent until you’ve satisfied your obligations for your current place.” Stevie nodded. He didn’t want to leave the guys on the hook for his portion. Even though they’d never fully clicked as friends, he wasn’t mad at them or anything.

“I”ll tell them tonight and see how long they need,” he said. “Wish I could come take a look today, but I’m having a hell of a time trying to keep up with the workload.”

“I understand. I’ll just drown my sorrows at the gym or something.”

“Seriously? You look stuffed into that outfit. Did your measurements go up again?”

“Yes,” I said. “All my measurements went up.”

“...Fuck, really?” he said, sotto voce. I nodded.

“You know what, don’t tell me, don’t show me. Not yet. I really am that slammed and I have a working session with my group in 25 minutes. My big project is due on Monday and I won’t be working anyway—so how about dinner on Monday night after you get off work. I’ll pack a bag and stay at your place, and you can show me what you’ve been cultivating.”

“I don’t know if I can wait until Monday night.”

“Sure you can. Just don’t spend all your time at the gym, okay?”

I didn’t spend all my time at the gym, because of course that would mess up my routine. But I did go Saturday morning, and spent the afternoon and evening cleaning and hauling the rest of my replaced stuff to the donation sites and dumpsters. But the hell of it was I was bursting with energy and ended up running a few miles in the evening, just to burn some of it off.

I tried, briefly, to refrain from self-gratification, but that only lasted until I got back from dropping off the donations. Four bags of clothes outgrown, sheesh. I absolutely had to get some more clothing on Sunday or I’d be living out of sweats for the foreseeable future. I tried to watch some tv, but ended up doom-scrolling and before I knew it, I was stroking my unflappable no-reason boner and edging for two hours before blowing an impressive load.

Sunday, I woke up horny, having had several erotic dreams involving Stevie. It took firing off two loads before I calmed down enough to get the day rolling, and I was already cranky because my wanking had thrown off my plan for the day. Angry and frustrated masturbation just isn’t as satisfying, you know?

Sports stores and big and tall were going to have to suffice, and I needed at least two presentable outfits plus some new undies. And that meant I needed measurements.

Travis, the young 20-something dude at the big and tall store, seemed very attendant and very interested in measuring me thoroughly. He was cute in a college way—athletic, a bit bulky, and clearly eyeing me up. It felt kind of nice to be ogled that way.

“So you’re, what, six foot? Six-one? Probably 240 or so?”

“That sounds about right? I’ve been putting on some size so I need updated stats.”

“Okay, big guy, let’s get some measurements then…”

Chest: 53 in
Shoulder: 59
Upper arm: 19, lower 16
Neck: 18
Waist: 35
Thigh: 29, calf 19

I didn’t say anything, but every one of those numbers was at least an inch bigger, except the waist. I was big.

“That’s going to be a challenge, because there’s a big difference between your chest and waist. You’d need a 52 long, and some tailoring, for a jacket or shirt. Trousers much the same—you have a healthy behind and big thighs.”

He smiled and said, “And you dress left. For what it’s worth, I think you might want to order your underwear online from a specialty store. Our house brand probably won’t handle what you’ve got going on down there. I have a similar problem, so I can recommend some options.”

Shit, I hadn’t really worn much besides sweats and some old baggy jeans that were no longer baggy. How much had I been showing off without realizing?

“Clearly, man, you work out. Are you even pumped right now?”

“No.”

“Might need to add another inch to allow for that…”

He walked me around the store, and showed me a bunch of staples, gradually amassing a handful of shirts and pants to try on. Athletic fit shirts with a bit of stretch seemed to work okay here at least, but even then the ones that should have fit showed some strain. At this point even fitting clothes was becoming a nuisance. No wonder bodybuilders tended to wear workout clothing exclusively.

In the end, I bought just a few items that mostly fit…and one shirt and one pair of chinos the next size up, just in case.

I refilled my fridge, adding in a few things I’d noticed Stevie particularly liked, though he wasn’t picky about food. I’d taken to buying mostly from Costco because protein was expensive and I went through a lot of it. A stray comment while in line for checkout made me aware that I clearly looked like a meathead, literally, with all the protein in there. Stuck in line, people were actually staring, some with a hint of judgement and disgust, but many with blatant envy, and a few with outright lust.

I kind of liked it, but if I kept thinking about it, I wouldn’t be dressing left anymore in these sweats. I glanced down and realized my bulge was verging on the obscene and required immediate repositioning. I cleared my throat and that seemed to shake a few eyes loose, and I quickly readjusted myself. Definitely half-chubby down there. Luckily the lines were moving quickly.

By the time I got loaded and sat in the car, I was actively and unmistakably hard. I couldn’t waste the time—and frankly there wasn’t really room in my increasingly cramped seat—to take care of things. I basically raced home and got the groceries put away, and then settled in for a serious wank. When one didn’t satisfy, I decided to measure my cock again. If everything else had gone up…

Shit, I hadn’t just imagined it.

I was topping out at 11¾. And definitely a bit girthier, too. Over an inch bigger than it had been last time. Last week. Almost a foot of thick cock.

Stevie was going to get a very big surprise indeed.

Spending Sunday night alone with a cock that big and a raging libido is dangerous. Your brain does some wild stuff to you.

I did try the self suck option, because, well, who wouldn’t? It’s definitely something I would attempt if I could. But I wasn’t flexible enough, mostly due to the muscle I’d been accruing. There are worse problems to have.

Then I got the idea to measure my spunk output. They say a teaspoon, of 5ml, is the high end of normal and I was sure I was well beyond that. And I’d already nutted three times that day.

So I got a towel and a measuring cup, and set about finding out. The idea of measuring this somehow got me hot and bothered anyway, so I was raring to go even before I loaded up the porn. I gave myself a good ten minutes of warm up wanking before I really went at it, marveling at the sheer size of my improved dick and hefty balls. And I managed to aim it pretty well into a measuring cup. A very healthy cumsposion later, once I caught my breath, and I estimated maybe twice that.

Ten minutes later I was hard again, and five minutes after that, I added to the measuring cup. Then I figured, fuck it, let’s really go for broke.

Over two and a half hours, I relentlessly wanked myself to erection, shot, and recovered six times, with 10 to 15 minutes or so on average between each round. Each round I unloaded closer to a tablespoon than a teaspoon. By the end I was glad I’d sprung for good lube, as my dick was a little raw.

But it was finally sated.

Despite the physical euphoria, I had a bit of post-nut clarity. That was an absolutely off-the-charts amount of ball juice, and a negligible, teenage-level refractory period. And I’d spunked nine times in one day. Nine!

My only thought was that I was even hornier when Stevie was around.

Monday morning meant the gym, and it took twenty minutes to unload enough to soften my cock up to something that wouldn’t get me kicked out of the gym. Even soft I looked borderline obscene.

I was a beast in the weight room; I basically upped my rep weight by 5-10 pounds across the board, and I remained energized the whole time. Got a heck of a pump, then hit the steam room where one of the regulars kept looking at me a bit weirdly. Only then did I realize my soft cock was spilling out. I blushed and tried to adjust the towel a bit lower, but the damage was done. Between the pump and the ogling, I was starting to get aroused, so I headed for the showers, hoping a bit of cold water and possibly a quick wank would set me right.

That took the edge off, thank goodness.

Stevie was waiting at Cuppa Joes, happy to see me, but a bit low energy.

“You okay?”

“I will be once the damned report is turned in. I’ll do that after work, need to drop it off personally.”

“Okay, text me, I’ll collect you after.”

But it was extra busy at Cuppa Joes, so he couldn’t linger. End of term was always more crowded, so while I ate my coffee and lemon cake, I watched a seemingly endless parade of collegiate hotties filter past. Many of them had the same vibe as Stevie — he was clearly not the only one who’d pulled an all-nighter.

Speaking of, I had a fair bit of work to do, too, so I headed home and got to it. I was still pretty high energy myself, despite having had a two-hour workout. My muscles were a little sore from the gym, but not ridiculously so, but I had a heck of a pump, and it hadn’t faded. The idea of Stevie’s imminent arrival was a real distraction, but I got through it. I also left a message for the doctor, but didn’t hear back immediately.

Shortly before five, I got a text from Stevie, and I wrapped things up so I could go collect him. I did a quick mirror check on the way out and couldn’t believe that was me in the glass — for one thing, I needed a haircut. For another, I was putting some strain on my clothes. I really had the look of a committed athlete.

When I collected my boyfriend, he looked even more exhausted, slumping into the car next to me with a sigh, and leaning over for a kiss that lacked its usual passion.

“Babe?”

“I’m just wiped. It was an all nighter and then I had printer issues — the prof insists on physical copies. I got maybe two hours of sleep and pulled a four hour shift, and then nearly fell asleep waiting for my turn to hand in and discuss the project.”

“Did you eat?”

“I grabbed an egg sandwich at Joes, and maybe five cups of coffee, but this is probably as good as it gets for now. I’m sorry.”

At his place, he confessed he hadn’t finished packing, but we grabbed most of his clothes and a few boxes of assorted stuff. One of his roommates watched from the couch as we carried stuff out. He grunted hello, but never offered to help or even hold a door. Barely made eye contact. Stevie had said he wasn’t awful, just pretty self absorbed. He wouldn’t be missed.

We ordered some takeaway Chinese, and headed home.

Stevie was happy, and clearly impressed, with the changes at my place, and I got a very sweet hug and kiss for my efforts. He seemed to perk up a bit as we ate but I could tell he was struggling to stay awake.

“I’m sorry, big guy, it isn’t the company. I know you worked so hard…”

“Stevie, it’s okay. Why don’t you rest a bit, and I’ll bring your stuff in,” I offered. He nodded assent. I wasn’t surprised when I came back with a loaded hand truck to find him passed out on the couch. God, even like that he was a sexy boy! He slept through me unloading two carts worth of stuff in his room.

Now, the problem when your boyfriend is pooped and literally passed out, and you’re there with a raging libido, is that you can’t act on it. And so once again, it was me and my dick keeping each other company. I managed two loads without waking Stevie, even though I realized I was pretty loud. With the libido in check, I felt a little grumpy that I had a hot guy right there and couldn’t do anything with him. I knew it was childish, but that’s how I felt at that moment.

But as I sat there watching him, I couldn’t even stay grumpy. You know how little kids can run around all super high energy, and then they just zonk out? My guy gave the same vibe. Well, if I couldn’t engage in some sexy times, at least I could cuddle. Just….not on the couch. So I gingerly pulled off his shoes and carried him to my bedroom, and slowly, quietly undressed him. He didn’t even stir. And just as quietly, I joined him in my bed and pulled him close, breathing in his scent and contenting myself with his presence.

Around 2 in the morning, however, I woke to something punching my arm.

“Babe! Come on, I gotta pee!”

I reluctantly released him, and he dashed unsteadily over to the bathroom.

“Fucking five cups of coffee…” he groused.

“C’mere,” I beckoned, and he snuggled in next to me. As he did so, his hot butt rubbed against my cock, which woke it up. It was like having a puppy; it woke up instantly and wanted to play.

“Oh,” he said. “Is that a hint?”

“Maybe. I know you’re tired.”

“I feel a lot better, actually,” he said. “But can we just cuddle some more?”

“All you want, but eventually I’m going to have to deal with this thing you did to me…”

He rolled over, and reached down to find my member.

“Damn, Caleb,” he said.

“You woke it up,” I said.

“What have you been feeding this thing? Shit, did you get bigger again?”

“Kinda,” I said. “I wanted to surprise you, but yeah, I grew a bit more this week.”

He was quiet for a moment, his hand warm around my cock, as he felt the size of it. “Fuck, how big are you now?”

“Eleven,” I replied, “and a bit.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I said, sheepishly. “And before you ask, I am waiting to hear back from the doctor.”

“I can’t believe I’ve got a statistical anomaly myself, and you blow that right out of the water. I think you’ve given me a size fetish.”

“That’s not all I want to give you,” I chuckled, pulling him against me for a kiss.

“I really want to test this baby out, but I honestly need a few more hours,” he said. “And a lot of lube.”

Morning came, and I woke up to my hot barista feeling me up with a dopey grin on his face.

“Good morning to you too,” I said, pulling him close for a big kiss.

“Mm. You woke me up, you know,” he said. “But there was no way I was going to attempt anything with that big,” and he squeezed my cock under the covers for emphasis, “big cock without a bit of prep.”

I grinned and pulled him even closer. “There’s lube in the nightstand.”

“Babe, I don’t think that’s going to be enough. Go pee, and when you’re done I will make sure the effects of yesterday’s coffee binge don’t turn a wonderful experience into weird foreign porn. I’m not into scat.”

“Me neither,” I chuckled, and tried to extract myself from the bed. Shit, I had a raging boner.

“Wow,” he said. “Shit, man, look at you.”

I looked down and realized my pecs were blocking part of my view, but it didn’t matter because my dick was still clearly visible. It extended pretty far and was firmly ratcheting its way upward.

“Oh,” I said.

“Once you figure out if you can piss with that iron girder, maybe we should measure you,” he said thoughtfully.

“Do you really have a size fetish?”

“Maybe now,” he said. “No, it’s just that my boyfriend is sporting the biggest dick I’ve ever seen, and I’m intrigued.”

He wasn’t wrong. After some awkward attempts to angle myself, I finally stepped into the shower and ran some lukewarm water. The need to pee was urgent, so I had few options — at least in the shower I wouldn’t have to clean up the floor. The water didn’t shock me back to flaccid mode, but it helped wash away the fountain I aimed at the wall. I figured I would scrub up while I was in there, even though I expected to get pretty messy again soon.

As soon as I was out of the shower, Stevie was at the doorway, looking annoyed.

“I was hoping to shower together afterwards, but whatever. Now scoot, I need to go.”

He hustled me out, and I stood there stupidly wondering how I’d been evicted from my own bathroom.

But of course pretty much nobody wants their boyfriend to watch them take a shit, unless that’s their kink. I decided to I was too hungry to dive right into sex, so I started a pot of coffee and started making eggs and toast. I’d taken to having a protein shake and some loaded scrambled eggs more or less every day, so it was easy to just make a big batch of it every few days.

“You look so domestic,” Stevie said, sidling up behind me.

“Yeah yeah. Pour yourself some coffee or juice or whatever. I made a pile of eggs with sausage and spinach.”

“Sounds great,” he said. “Do we, uh, have time for fun?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I have a meeting in 45 minutes. It won’t take long, but I do have to check in after my week off.”

“I’ll eat fast,” he said. “And I know you get OCD about it, but I will wash up in here while you’re working. Gives us a little more time, right?”

We plowed through breakfast pretty quickly, and by that point my raging boner had restarted. We finished about the same time, and I threw him over my shoulder like some kind of caveman. He giggled like a kid at that; Stevie wasn’t small and I had no trouble manhandling him.

“Wait, wait!” he said as I tossed him onto the bed. “I want to know what I’m getting myself into.

“We’re on the clock, don’t forget,” I teased.

“Gimme,” he chuckled, climbing back on top, having fished out the tape.

But we were both surprised to see the number it stretched out to.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “I may have bitten off more than I can chew.”

I’d passed the twelve-inch mark. By almost half an inch.

Finding out the new normal was …well, huge… gave us pause.

“Babe, that’s…that’s a lot. I’m more than happy to see what we can do, but I think first I need to do a little prep, and you should probably do your meeting.”

“Awww,” I whined.

“Caleb, no offense, but the last time your dick was in my ass, there was a lot less of it. Like, 2 inches, at least, and that’s a concern. So while you go talk with nerds about spreadsheets, or whatever, I’m going to see if I can find some poppers or cube oil or something else to help make that big boy fit.”

Yeah, I pouted and whined a bit, but mostly in jest. I didn’t want to hurt him. So I settled for a quick wank while he got ready, so I was nice and focused for my meeting. It was a camera optional call, which was just as well since I wasn’t eager to derail the meeting with questions about my physique. Stevie gave me a quick smooch and whispered to text him anything I needed him to pick up at Walgreens — I showed him the box of the biggest size condoms i had found, but I suspected they might be a squeeze. (People may think they’re big, but in reality, there weren’t many folks with an actual foot long dong out there.)

About 90 minutes later, Stevie was back and the accounting gods were sated. There were a bunch of updates to do on the work laptop, so I kicked them off and set the Teams chat to “busy, back later”.

“Guy at the sex shop suggested some cbd suppositories and lube,” Stevie said. “Takes a bit to kick in, though.”

“Well, take one!”

“Already did. Should kick in in maybe 15-20 minutes.”

15 minutes later, we were naked, making out, and groping each other in my bed. The condoms I’d bought were, in fact, a tight fit. They’d been okay a few inches ago, but I’d gotten girthier as well as longer. We spent a while opening him up, and the cbd stuff seemed to help a lot, but I’ve never been a big fan of pot smell. Still, we were horny and curious and really into each other, so I powered past it and made a mental note to find better options, as I massaged his pucker open.

My improved dick was a handful (at least two, in fact), but Stevie was a champ, and before too long I was sliding into his ass. He felt amazing on my dick, but only about 9-10 inches of it fit.

“Jesus wept, that’s a huge cock,” he gasped. “You’re rearranging my insides!”

“Should I stop?” I panted.

“God, no, but give me a minute to adjust….”

I held him close as his ass adjusted to my fuckstick…yeah, when it’s that big, “dick” doesn’t seem adequate, does it? Cruder terms feel more apropos. Anyway, a moment or two later and he nodded and pushed back again.

“Fuuuuck,” he said. “You get any bigger and I may be in real trouble.”

“Then I better fuck you good now,” I said, feeling more aggressive than I could recall. I needed to core him out, make him mine, or so some primal part of me insisted.

“Do it!” He gasped, and I began to rail him in earnest. I had to remind myself that he was breakable. But he was also mine, and I fucked him hard and deep. He came twice before I finally let loose, and I felt like a feral beast when I came.

“I can’t believe you fucking roared,” he chuckled later, as we lay in bed enjoying a post coital cuddle.

“Me neither,” I said, nuzzling him. He was my little spoon.

“But babe, you are seeing your doctor again, right?”

“I feel pretty fine,” I said. “Plenty healthy.”

“You also grew your dick a few sizes and that is not something that happens,” he said. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said. “And I don’t want me to get hurt, either, you know?”

“I would never hurt you.”

“Not on purpose, but…” he burrowed back into me, “you are strong as fuck, and your dick is gunning for at least a state record. I bet your hormones are out of whack.”

He was right, of course, and I knew it. I’d have to call my program doc again.

His ass was too sore just yet for another round, so instead we settled for a bit of mutual handjob fun. He was enraptured by my big cock, and comparing our dicks — his was a hefty 8.5, and mine was half again as long and proportionally as girthy. Between us we had nearly two feet of cock.

Eventually, though, we had to get moving again. Lunch was first, and then I called my doctor while he began setting up his stuff properly. I smiled, because after all this time I had my boyfriend living with me and it felt pretty nice.

“Caleb, can you repeat that?”

“My penis is now 12 and a half inches long. I’ve added eight pounds since I saw you less than a week ago. My boyfriend is worried and now I kind of am, too.”

“Understandable. At least there’s some good news — your blood work looks pretty good, but you are, as I suspected, effectively hitting a second puberty. It’s a very rare situation, but quite exciting, don’t you think?”

“What the heck did you do to me?”

“We went over this. A proprietary cocktail of hormones. Nothing weird or illegal, and no steroids,” he said. “The goal was to replicate the state of receptivity people have in their pubescence. It worked in your case — clearly. But I’m not exactly breaking confidence to tell you you’re the only one who reacted so well.”

“A little too well, maybe.”

“Yeah… Still not sure how. You’re an outlier and the folks who sponsored this study really want to run some more genetic tests on you to figure out why. Meanwhile, I’d advise you to skip the gym for a few days to see if things slow down a bit. Less testosterone might help.”

“Didn’t they get enough blood and jizz the other day?”

“Look, if we are going to get a handle on this, that’s how we do it. If you’re concerned, bring your boyfriend in too. For all we know, he may be a factor.”

I did want to know. I agreed to come in the next day anyway. If I had to disrupt my routine, at least Stevie would be there, and he was worth the disruption.

“Sure, I’m game,” Stevie said. “Maybe I can get some of your super serum. Then I could keep up with you.”

I had already messaged work and told them I’d come down with something, and Doctor Morris was able to squeeze me in around 4. And that meant there was time for another round of fun. But while Stevie was game, it was obvious that he wasn’t quite recovered, so we kept things a bit more …demure. I was getting really worried I’d hurt him, based on how he winced. The boy had a terrible poker face.

“You should probably mention how much you come,” he said. “Unless you were always so productive.”

“Nope, that’s new too,” I said, but of course anyone who saw my bait and tackle wouldn’t be surprised in the least.

A few hours later, we were signed in and shown immediately to Dr Morris’ office where he greeted us enthusiastically.

“You sure weren’t kidding,” the doctor said as he took measurements. “Now, I want to get some data before and after,” he said, “by which I mean we will draw some blood, then collect some semen, and then draw again so we can see if the hormone levels change. And then, if it’s okay, I want to hook you up and do some strength and stamina checks like when we got you started.”

Then he turned to Stevie. “You too, for the bloodwork, if you’re okay with it. Might help us figure out whether there’s any sort of catalyst. There’s some paperwork on the tablet, if you don’t mind…”

There were enough measurements to make my OCD very happy, and it was immediately obvious that I’d continued to improve on those fronts. Which made getting one specific measurement pretty difficult.

“He’s been like that all day,” Stevie said. “With brief periods of not being quite as much so.”

“Really.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Well, I guess we will have to settle for erect first,” Morris replied.

I blushed.

“I’m not really hard yet,” I said. “This is maybe halfway.”

“Nine and a half is only…okay, I guess you weren’t exaggerating.”

It took very little coaxing to complete the process.

“I really, really thought you were exaggerating, but the numbers speak for themselves. 32.15 centimeters. A bit over 12 and a half inches. Assuming you measured accurately earlier, you appear to be slowly growing.”

He also looked over the other measurements. “You’ve also grown almost two inches from when you first came in, and I can see you’ve been hitting the gym every day.”

“I haven’t, though. Four times a week, with some running or calisthenics on my off days.”

“Remarkable. You’ve added nearly forty pounds of muscle, my friend. I’d be willing to bet your endocrine system looks a good twenty years younger, if your face and skin are anything to go by.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“Now for the fun part. I will take these to my assistant and get started on analyzing this batch. Just let me know when you’re finished, like right when you’re finished, so I can get some more samples.”

Stevie and I stared at each other after the door shut, and he grinned wickedly as I shucked the stupid gown.

“Fuck you’re sexy. But I really do need to rest my ass. You cored me out pretty thoroughly. Not that I’m complaining, just acknowledging that at least one of us has some limits.” And then he reached over and grabbed me roughly by my cock. “But since you apparently don’t, I’m going to have some fun. Hand me those sample cups….”

When Dr Morris rejoined us we had cleaned up a bit, but it was very obvious what we’d been up to for the last half hour.

“That is… quite a sample.”

“Sorry, I tried to get more, but aim isn’t easy. That thing has a kind of its own,” Stevie said saucily.

Morris peered at the sample cup. There was a lot there. “There was more?”

“I think we managed to clean the rest up,” I said defensively, glancing at the medical waste bin.

“Noted,” Morris said. Then he pulled another couple tubes of blood from each of us and sent his assistant off to run the lab work.

“I know you’ve been here over an hour, but you may want to stick around. Or maybe come back after dinner? I’ll be here for a while.”

Stevie and I opted to eat and Morris gave us his personal cell. Whoever finished first would text the other.

“You know,” Stevie said as we tucked into some no nonsense steak and salad a few blocks away, “when I started flirting with you, I didn’t expect anything to come of it.”

“I couldn’t figure out why a hot young guy like you would even be interested in someone old enough to be his dad.”

“Okay, first of all, you’ve only got me beat by twelve years, old man. And second of all, you don’t even look as old as I do right now.”

“Please.”

“I’ll prove it,” he said, beckoning for the waitress. “Excuse me, my friend and I need you to settle a bet.”

“Okay…”

“How old do you think we are?”

She peered at us quizzically.

“Go on.”

“I wanna say 25?”

“I’m 26,” Stevie said.

“Okay, but he isn’t,” she said, pointing at me.

“No?”

“He’s probably a little young. 24?”

“I’m 38,” I said, stunned.

“No way. Not with that baby face. I had you pegged as a college jock!”

Stevie tried not to be insufferable, but it was no use. And it got worse when we got back to the doctor’s office.

“Your trainer had it right. Biologically, most of you is consistent with a 19- or 20-year-old, experiencing an extended and remarkable period of growth.”

“We should have tipped that waitress more.”

“This is very exciting,” Morris said. “There’s more, too. We’ve got a bunch more tests to run, but I think my instinct about Stevie being a factor was correct.”

“Really?” Stevie seemed happy at that idea.

“Well, possibly not specifically you, but the physical reaction you compel in Caleb. We don’t really know much about human pheromones, but you two have a lot of complementary markers, and it’s obvious you’re physically compatible. But I bet when the other la work is done, you’ll find complementary genetics, too.”

“Aww,” Stevie said, “you really do complete me.”

“Corny. Remind me which of us is the old one again.”

“Ideally, we would isolate you both and see if that has any effect, Dr Morris said, almost to himself. “But you live together, you said?”

“Yes,” I said firmly.

“Well, at very least, document everything you can for the next few days. I think, for the moment, you should just follow your instincts, and see what happens.”

“Lots of sex, I expect,” I said.

“That’s fine, just document it. If you can, see if you can skip a whole day and note how you feel, whether it’s different. Measure everything. I’ll provide you some tools and collection equipment. And I will call you back when I know more, and you call me if anything starts worrying you. Believe me, if either of you were in danger, I would let you know and get you into care. But you’re ridiculously healthy, both of you, though I’d recommend some vitamin d for Stevie.”

“He’ll be getting as much of that as I can—”

“I meant he needs some sun, or at least a supplement. Sheesh.”

Stevie was blushing. “Actually, can I ask you something?”

“Of course?”

“Can you recommend anything that would make it easier for me to, um,” he said.

“Oh! Oh, yes, actually. I’ll text you some resources, but I advise spending a fair amount of time relaxing, and some good lube. Practice will help. But I suppose keeping up with him may be a challenge, if he keeps growing.”

“Guess your doctor is gay, too,” Stevie said as we got into the car. “Or at least very well informed.”

“You’re taking this all rather well,” I said.

“Well, maybe with sufficient lube…”

“Stevie,” I said, “you don’t find all this a little freaky?”

“You were already hot, and you’re getting more incredible every day, and I love you,” he said. “In case I hadn’t made that clear. I’m into you, and I’m not going anywhere unless you suddenly kick me out, which would make me sad. Very sad.”

He leaned over and kissed me.

“Now let’s go home. But we should probably swing by Love Shack on the way home. I have a list.”

“A list, huh,” I smiled. “You always know what to say to turn me on.”

“But he also said something interesting, did you notice?”

I shook my head.

“He said ‘if he keeps growing’,” Stevie said. “So that’s possible. Maybe even likely.”

That was daunting. My soft dick was already bigger than porn stars are when they’re hard.

The rest of the week was lovely, honestly, we were figuring out our new routines together, and though he continued to tease me about my adherence to my schedule, he made it clear he found it endearing rather than annoying. For my part, I was happy to swallow my minor discomfort as we figured it out, because I was just as besotted with him as he was with me. Living together was going pretty well.

So was the sex, though he really had pushed his limits with me at first and needed some recovery time. We watched some very instructional videos and read some blogs, and began to work on the issue. I insisted that we both do it, because his cock was substantial too. Though apparently my treatment had given me a boost there, and I recovered much more quickly than he had.

I continued to grow, slowly, all week. Not much, but enough to notice. And my trainer was quick to notice my improvement there, as well.

“This is annoying and unfair. Can you at least point me to whatever study you’re in?”

I shrugged and told her the NDA was pretty gnarly. “As soon as I can, I will. I can give you the doctor’s office info. But I can assure you, if you tested me for steroids or hgh or something, you won’t find anything, and the doc can confirm it for you. That has to be enough for now.”

She seemed willing to accept that, but she also decided to put me through the most punishing routines she could think of for our next few sessions. All of which meant I hit new personal bests across the board.

I’d been preoccupied with my dick and libido and Stevie and all that,but I had to concede, I’d been in beast mode for some time and it showed. And I’d been actively tuning out the looks and attention I’d been getting. After all, I only really had eyes for my hot barista. But that Friday some of the regulars were definitely eyeing me up. In retrospect I should have paid more attention.

By this point, I had put on almost 45 pounds of muscle, which was several inches on all my major muscle groups, and my height had crept up to 6’1. That’s a lot for anyone, much less a guy pushing 40, who’d been overweight half a year ago. There was no hiding it. If I didn’t work from home, it would have been worse, but even on Teams people had commented on my hulking out.

What they didn’t know, thank goodness, was that the genital situation had danced into the land of truly ridiculous. I had put on another half inch just this week. Not that my boyfriend was complaining—if anything, he was leaning into his newfound ability to take me as a matter of pride. It was only fair; he’d worked pretty diligently to get used to my size. Still, I was pretty careful with him, just the same.

But when Saturday rolled around, and I went to the gym, things changed.

I’d finished my sets—I pushed pretty hard and worked up a heck of a sweat, and ducked into the sauna to relax my sore muscles. As I entered, one of the bigger guys eyed me up with barely disguised annoyance and envy. He ducked out as soon as I sat down, but almost immediately came back with two other big guys. They were the sort of big that typically moved to the meathead gym down the street—power lifters and body builders, averaging 300 pounds each. They entered the sauna and took position on either side of me, while the ring leader blocked the door.

“Something you want, guys?” I said, sensing the threat.

“What are you on, man?”

“I’m not on anything,” I said.

“No fucking way is that natural,” the blond sidekick said. “We fucking want in.”

I stood up, deliberately letting my towel drop. Their eyes couldn’t help but fix on my prodigious meat.

“I’m not taking any gear,” I said, “as you can clearly see. No telltale shrinkage.”

“Hgh, then.” The others were looking a bit askance but this guy, their little ringleader, pressed on.

I sighed. “We are done here,” I said.

“You must be bad at math,” he replied. “You are outnumbered.”

“Really? So you think the best way to get a bigger, more muscular, guy to give you what you want is to threaten him?”

He smirked. “Boys?” His two lackeys stepped over and grabbed at my arms.

Each of those boys was at most 200 pounds, but more likely about 170-180. All of it muscle, of course, but that didn’t matter. And they were at best 5’9. I had several inches on them.

So I raised my arms up and up until my assailants were no longer touching the ground. With a smirk, I slammed my arms together, banging the two of them into each other. They let go and fell rather stupidly to the floor. Now I won’t lie and say it was easy, but it had the desired effect, and I downplayed the amount of effort it took.

“Get out,” I said. “Next time I won’t be so nice.”

The two minions couldn’t leave fast enough, but the ringleader shot me a venous glare as he backed away, then his eyes darted down to my dick, which had become rather hard all of a sudden. Apparently showing off like that had triggered a response.

“Dammit,” I said. “Now I need to deal with that before I head out.”

I complained about Dave—the leader of the little group of assholes—to my trainer. And she must have raised the issue because a few gym days passed, and I didn’t spot any of them. I also told her why they’d tried to pin me down.

“Wish I could say I was surprised. You remember the really big dude, Leo?”

Of course, I remembered. He was the one who referred me. But I hadn’t seen him in months.

“Well, he ended up moving away a while ago, but he complained about Dave and his little crew, too, not long before. I liked Leo, and these assholes were probably part of why he left. I’d bet there are others as well. No loss from my perspective, to see them go. We are trying to run a nice place here, y’know?”

I debated about whether to say anything to Stevie, but by the time I got to Cuppa Joes, I’d decided not to keep any secrets. Besides, he might be at risk.

That said, I downplayed how serious it was, because I didn’t want him to worry over much.

“But what if they try something again? Or start tailing you or something?” Stevie pleaded.

“Then I will deal with it,” I said, with a confidence I almost felt.

“Promising results. Can you both come in this Wednesday?” asked the text message from Dr Morris.

We could, and on Wednesday after the gym and the wild berry scone, I collected Stevie, and we drove over to the study’s offices.

“Gentlemen,” Dr Morris said, “let me ask you a very brief question that will, I think, help contextualize what we now think is happening. Here’s a simple question, which I’ll have you separate, answer, and then hand back to me without saying anything.” So he did.

In the room next door, I opened the envelope and a card inside read, “Are you in love with him? If so, when did you know?”

I chuckled. Silly. We were both back in his office in a moment.

He opened the two cards and grinned. “Here,” he said, handing each the other’s card.

They both read: “Yes. Immediately.”

“Okay, that’s sweet and all,” I said. “But what does it mean?”

“It means that we will have to confirm some stuff with more rigorous testing, but I’m satisfied. Boys, you are genetically complementary, and more importantly, you are in love with each other. And if I’m right about this, it is your strong compatibility, your receptiveness to each other, that is triggering this reaction.”

We glanced at each other. “Corny,” I chuckled.

“I’m deadly serious. During puberty, as our secondary characteristics kick in, they’re all about functionality in terms of producing offspring. Biology demands that, right? So what if you’re both firmly gay and thus not interested in knocking someone up?”

We shook our heads slowly, not following quite yet.

“You, Caleb, are basically pubescent, and your body is responding to those biological urges, readying you for a compatible mate. And here he is, tailor made for you, and unwittingly sending out a million signals about what he finds desirable. Your secondary characteristics are responding to that template. But you are stuck in that state where your body is revving things up, which kicks your own signals into overdrive. Which overstimulates Stevie, because you’re just continuing to fulfill his fantasy…and so forth.”

“Wait, so he’s getting hotter day by day, because his body is trying to make him perfect for me?” Stevie said, piecing it together.

“Kind of. I think it’s picked up on your compatibility and views you as an ideal mate, and is trying to ensure successful offspring.”

“Good luck with that,” Stevie chuckled.

“It is because of the cocktail that kickstarted that pubescent state. So the compound works, but it worked extra well because you happened to be falling for each other at exactly the right moment.”

“Question,” I said. “How do we make it stop?”

“In theory, once Stevie’s body signals properly, the process should stop. Though we may have to fake it.”

“How would you do that?”

“Chemically—but it’s tricky. We don’t have a functional way to decode those signals. Pretty sure we will figure it out eventually. In a perfect world you’d have a twin sister who was pregnant….”

“I have a cousin who is,” I said.

“How close?”

“Not very. My mother’s older sister’s kid. She is about two or three years younger but we don’t stay in touch much. Not too tight with many of my family, really.”

“How about this, then. Let’s see if separating you boys for a week makes any difference.”

“How? We live together.”

“Simple. Put one of you up in a hotel for a week, no physical contact.”

We talked it over. Neither of us really wanted that, but we did want to know what was happening. With the semester break, it was a decent time for Stevie to break away, and he could pull different hours at Cuppa Joes without too much problem. Between my working from home and my love of routine, it would be tougher for me to schedule this.

We planned opposing times for checking in so we wouldn’t cross paths, and so Morris could keep tabs on our numbers.

Stevie packed a bag and headed off to the hotel the next morning.

It took almost no time for the regret to set in. We texted and FaceTimed way too much, but not enough to scratch the itch. And we sounded like annoying lovestruck teens mooning over each other. I guess we probably sounded like that already.

The grumpy goth girl at Cuppa Joes, however, came over to me the second time I stopped by without Stevie there.

“Hey. Did you guys break up or something?”

Ah, refreshingly blunt as always.

“No. We are just doing a study, so we are avoiding contact for a few days. It will be over soon.”

“Good. Because he’s miserable,” she said. “And we all like him. If you screwed him over, we might poison your muffin or something.”

“Noted,” I said, reappraising my next sip of coffee.

Instead of Stevie, I nibbled on my muffin and coffee and then headed to Morris’s office for my usual poking and prodding.

“Miniscule growth,” Morris said. I hung around for him to finish the analysis. “Not much to report this session. No, wait,” he said. “See this? That’s your baseline from the other day, these are your initial numbers, and here’s today. Your hormone levels definitely dropped, though they’re still quite high. Let’s see how they look in two days.”

The next session, though, it was clear from Dr Morris’s excited chatter that he was onto something. My gym time was a dull routine, and for the first time in months, I didn’t make any tangible progress. And sure enough, the hormones I’d been bathing in were dialed quite far back.

Stevie reported similar results—we missed each other, and in particular we missed the physical proximity. Neither of us slept as well apart as we had been together.

As the week wore on, I got grumpier and moodier, and was angrily wanking 3-4 times a day to keep the edge off. But it wasn’t satisfying, and we had been trying to keep our interactions to just texts, so we didn’t even do video chats or sexting. It shocked me how much I missed him. And he said much the same.

By Friday, I was eager to reconnect. Desperate, even. But Morris wanted controlled circumstances and measurements.

Saturday after gym (and empty, sad coffee shop calories), I was hooked up to a ton of monitors and sitting alone in an exam room while Dr Morris sat in the next room chatting via intercom.

“Remarkable,” he said, as several background beeps changed pitch. “He’s not even in the room yet, and you’re responding.”

He wasn’t wrong. I knew Stevie was nearby, somehow.

“We are almost done hooking him up,” an assistant said.

“Great. Go on in as soon as you’re ready,” Morris said.

The door opened, and there was Stevie, looking like usual, but his smile told me everything would be okay. I thudded over to meet him, glad of the length of the monitoring cables. I could hear the machines going haywire nearby.

We were instantly hugging, and kissing, like it had been months rather than just six days. Somehow we separated before they had to turn the hose on us, but we held hands.

Cue a lot of science and visuals and a hyper-fixated mad scientist.

“We are going to be analyzing this data for a while. But I think my working theory is more or less correct. Those high tech sniffers, and all the other stuff, backs up the hunch so far. It’s just a matter of specifics.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“That depends. It’ll take more than a week apart to put the proper dampers on your little pubescent rerun. But we have the foundation of a way to slow, and hopefully stop, the process. Which I suspect you will eventually be very much asking for.”

“Why? Other than some logistic concerns, why would we not want Caleb to keep getting sexier?”

“You realize he isn’t just going through a makeover here. We’ve been pretty lucky so far in that most of the results have been fairly cosmetic and healthy,” Dr Morris replied.

“He’s not just getting in fantastic shape; he’s growing like a teenager. He is getting remade in prep for a sexual moment that will never come. He’s an almost-40-year-old in a much younger body. He’s hormonally supercharged. We are in uncharted territory. I know you’re not super technical, but it isn’t particularly healthy to stay in a pubescent adolescent state for so long. We don’t know the long-term effects on your endocrine or immune systems, or whether things like skin elasticity or apparently re-opened growth plates will come back to bite you. And there’s also a concern about your brain chemistry, because adolescents literally exist in a stew of mind-altering chemicals.”

Stevie looked chastened.

“Look, this is incredibly exciting and we are learning….sooo much right now. I’m not going to lie, the higher-ups are hoping to replicate this. But we need to tread cautiously and keep an eye on things. No point in all this if you get hurt, right?”

Well, that poured water on the fire. At least for a bit.

We tried.

Made it through two whole days without fucking. Barely even cuddled.

But it couldn’t last. For one thing, I was ridiculously horny.

If we thought I’d had a supercharged libido before, it was nothing compared to what began during those two days.

When we first got home, we agreed not to have sex. But I was already boned beyond belief.

So I excused myself, and began beating my meat in the bedroom. I came almost immediately but it barely took the edge off. By the time I finally exhausted myself, I’d cum four times—each of them a ridiculously productive affair that was every bit as much as I’d managed at the doctor’s office. By the time I’d cleaned up, I found Stevie passed out on the couch. And damned if I didn’t get hard again.

Several days passed, and each brought a new level of horniness. I felt practically feral, prowling around the house and sniffing after Stevie, who’d been clearly struggling with his own needs.

In an effort to mitigate my frustration, I threw myself into work, and into working out, to the extent I could. But my distraction made focus on my day job difficult, and I decided I would need to take some time off the following week. Honestly if this continued, a leave of absence might be a better choice.

But in the gym, I was scaring even myself. In three sessions, I increased all my weights by at least twenty pounds, for reps. I also added an hour of cardio each day. And my body responded by putting on another seven pounds of muscle.

And with all that happening, I was teeming with testosterone, and each day I was cumming at least six times.

For his part, Stevie looked haunted. He was taking care of his needs on his own—though considerably less often. But his gaze had a degree of hunger to it that I had only seen from him in the throes of passion. His self control was impressive. But three days in, he insisted on opening the windows and airing the place out. He’d been aggressively cleaning, too.

“I can’t help it. I can smell your musk all the time, and it’s driving me crazy,” he said. I could smell it, and him, too. Even with the windows open, even deploying baking soda and activated charcoal, all of our efforts barely took the edge off. I washed my sheets every day.

By Friday we just couldn’t take it anymore.

I came back from an epic gym session, having pounded out two loads in the showers. I could feel the gazes of the other gym goers as I stomped heavily around, throwing iron until I could barely move. It felt like I filled the steam room and then the shower with my presence. My clothing felt especially tight. (I’d later find out I’d grown another inch in height.).

I threw open the door, tossed my bag on the floor, and kicked my shoes off. Stevie emerged from the kitchen, a curious expression on his face. “Babe? I’ve got a tray of chicken in the oven but it’ll be an hour before it’s ready…”

His expression changed when he saw me. I literally ripped my shirt off. “I don’t want chicken right now.”

I practically pounced on him, kissing him like I was devouring a meal. I grabbed him in one arm and yanked his sweatpants off with the other.

“Bedroom,” I panted.

“Fuck yes,” he said, reaching for my waistband.

We were unhinged.

By any standard, we were pent up, but he was almost as desperate as I was. Almost.

We lucked out when the oven when the oven timer buzzed, because he’d just blown a pretty impressive load, and we needed to hydrate anyway. Laughing, but still inflamed with lust, we hurried through dinner without even cleaning up, our bites of chicken punctuated with sloppy kisses and steamy looks.

And then, back to the bedroom where we fucked our way through another three hours before passing out for a couple hours. When I woke, I felt energized, but Stevie was adorably snoring away when I got up to pee. I left him there, and ate the rest of the cold chicken alone in the kitchen.

I looked at my arm as I ate; it was still swollen, pumped from my workout and from our acrobatic lovemaking.

Fuck, I’d just eaten three chicken breasts and a cup of steamed broccoli as a midnight snack, and I felt like I could eat more. I also felt like I could fuck more. Already my cock was rising. Was I getting off purely on having been so intensely physical?

I prowled back to the bedroom; it reeked of sex, and those sheets probably ought to be sterilized tomorrow. Stevie was dead to the world, with a sheet draped artlessly over him, and I couldn’t bring myself to wake him, not just for more sex. He was exhausted.

I should be exhausted.

But my stamina was that of a teen in his prime, now. Maybe I could shoot another load and then pass out.

I needed to release, and I gripped my cock to grant it. I felt huge. More than enough cock for both hands and room to slide. I leaked pre like a faucet, and it slicked my tool delightfully. Even with my new strength, my cock felt like velvet covered steel. I came with a roar and fired off at least nine volleys of hot jizz that splattered onto the sheets.

Stevie, bless him, didn’t budge until I crawled in next to him. Finally, I could sleep.

Morning came all too soon. I hadn’t heard Stevie extract himself but he was in the bathroom when I finally opened my eyes. My body ached a bit as I pulled myself from the cum-encrusted sheets. I stood and stretched, and my stomach growled as Stevie exited the bathroom. He smiled and came over to hug me.

“God damn, you’re huge,” he said. “My big sexy baby.”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I threatened. “Seriously.”

“Babe, I love you, but I’m not starting anything. I need a break. And breakfast.” He frowned as he picked up his ruined underwear. “I can’t believe you ripped these off me like that.”

We had arranged to visit the clinic again, and we were there by 10. Apparently Dr Morris and his team had been working pretty much round the clock since our last visit.

“You’re bigger, aren’t you,” he said. “Let’s measure you.”

“We, uh, didn’t make it the whole week,” I confessed. “Last night was kind of wild.”

“So I gather,” he replied. I’d grown again, including almost an inch in height and pretty much everywhere else as well. I was up nine pounds, though I suggested that two pounds was probably just breakfast.

“Well, the rate of growth seems to have spiked, and just looking at your face, I see you’ve lost some of your laugh lines,” he observed.

My cock had continued to grow, too, and I was now almost fourteen inches, hard. Which was often.

“How are you holding up,” Morris asked Stevie.

“I was almost as desperate as he was last night,” he confessed. “It was almost physically painful to be near each other but, you know, not do anything. And my libido has been crazy, just not as crazy as his.”

“There does appear to be a feedback loop, as we discussed. But I think we may be close to putting the brakes on your hormonal surge.”

“Really?”

“Yes, if you’re up for it. I have to emphasize it’s purely experimental. But the idea is that we try to trick both your pheromones into changing what they’re signalling. Between that and a long-proven libido-reducing drug, we should be able to both grant immediate relief and push back against that feedback loop.”

“What kind of signal would we be sending?” Stevie seemed suspicious.

“We think you’re both signalling sexual interest and availability. Because you’re gay, you’re not sending the signals that, say, a pregnant woman might send to say that, well, you’re not available. So one thought is we’d try to blend in some chemical markers that we’d find in a pregnant human, so that the mating instinct is toned down. Another option would be to try to send those signals you release when you’ve just copulated—for want of a better word, we’re going to try to have you signal that you’ve had enough and aren’t interested.”

“And what happens to us? Won’t it fuck up our hormones?”

“It shouldn’t. But it will hopefully decrease your sex drives to something more manageable, and finally allow Caleb’s body to stop trying to optimize him for reproduction.” Dr Morris said. “Because really, that’s what’s happening. You’re being optimized to spread your genetic material, and your body’s basically constantly shouting about how virile you are. And then Stevie’s body responds with ‘I want some of that’, even though he’s not going to have your babies. So we’d be giving both of you this pheromonal hormonal tweak, but we’re also going to try to re-regulate Caleb’s hormone by adding some stuff to tell his body puberty’s done.”

“Any risks?”

“We’re thinking for both of you, likely a patch with hormonal adjustments, and some supplements. The specific mix would be a bit of trial and error. Obviously some of those would be artificial, or borrowed from donors. Generally those pregnancy hormones stimulate bonding between partners. The main risk is actually one of the goals, which is reduced libido. But yeah, there are risks of decreased interest in each other, as well as emotional states being pretty fluid. For Caleb there’s also the very deliberate attempt to signal the end of puberty with a targeted chemical trigger on the hypothalamus.”

We decided to give it a try. The patches were prepared and we both got similar blends—hopefully signalling that we weren’t really available for sex, without diminishing our feelings for each other. And I got the puberty blocker.

It took a couple of days before we noticed much, and during that time, we were going at it like rabbits. If anything, the main effect seemed to be a preference for extended cuddling and touching. If we were in physical contact, it was easier for me to manage the urge to just fucking take Stevie and ravish him.

But by the end of the week, it was clear that the puberty blocker wasn’t doing much.

“Another half inch taller, another five pounds,” Dr Morris muttered.

“And he’s gotten bigger down below too,” Stevie said.

“Yes, yes,” Morris said. “At 37 cm, you’re bigger than the record holder. 14.5 inches.”

“We’ll try to up the dose of the blockers.”

By this point, I was 6’4”. I weighed almost 290 pounds, mostly solid muscle and about 11% body fat. I was benching 260 for reps but could manage a max of 500 pounds. And I wasn’t really burning that hard to be competitive; this made Sue a little cross with me but I held my ground. I was just trying to gradually push myself harder and harder. Besides, like I said, the NDA was pretty fearsome. I didn’t want to put any of this at risk, because we were trying to get things under control. I looked lean enough but quite muscular—like someone who was into aesthetic bodybuilding.

Stevie, for his part, was back in classes for the semester, but was taking two of them online anyway. Some of his classes were online, though, so he had predictable hours, and between the coursework and his hours at the coffee shop, he was mostly out of the house during my typical working hours.

The puberty blockers seemed to be slowing things down a bit on the growth front, but my libido was still kind of extreme. I just didn’t feel like a feral beast quite so much now, and had better self-control. That said, I typically had sex every single morning and every single evening with Stevie (with the occasional day when he was too wiped for much); I also solo-sessioned at least once or twice during the day. And I typically had to rub one out in the gym, as well. The week after the second blocker dose, I still shot a load 33 times. And they were not small loads; I definitely had hyperspermia.

But it could have been more.

For his part, Stevie was super into cuddling, but he seemed more into topping me, as though he were asserting a claim on me. We typically took turns, but my huge dick was definitely a problem for him some nights. It’s one thing to take a nearly 10-inch cock, another entirely to take one that was nearly 15 inches. I didn’t mind; I’d grown to really enjoy being plumbed out by his 9-plus inches, but my sizable glutes mitigated some of the impact. Whereas Stevie’s butt, while nice and pert, was not nearly so deep. He got pretty much the whole salami when I was fucking him.

A month had passed, and it looked—finally!—like my growth was slowing down. I’d topped out a little over 6’5, 293 pounds. But the cock growth had been slower to taper off. I was now boasting 42 centimeters—16.5 inches, and really hoping it would finally stop growing for good. Even when I was soft, it was nearly 10 inches. Underwear had been a real challenge.

The libido was finally slowing down, too—still morning and night with Stevie, but I’d gradually lost the burning need to fire off a load every few hours. So add in one additional wank session, plus an extra on gym days. My body odor was less noticeable, too, and that was welcome. Sue asked if I’d changed deodorant, noting that whatever it was was nicer than the harsh musky stuff. When Morris measured it, my pheromonal output was much more normal. All in all, good progress.

I also found myself falling deeper and deeper into love with Stevie, wanting constant physical contact if I could get it. It was mutual but could often be left on simmer with our feet touching under the table, or just nearby.

By the end of the semester, we’d braced ourselves for another lengthy period of unavailability. Stevie had final papers and graduate work to deal with. So while that was not good news, my dick had finally stopped trying to reach the fucking moon. I’d stabilized at just over 17 inches, and I was thoroughly tired of managing the monster. I could manage on just two orgasmic bursts per day and was no longer boned quite so often, but I really don’t know how I’d have managed if I couldn’t work from home. Sweatpants were a godsend.

My ridiculous gym progress had finally stalled, too, and now that I wasn’t working to channel sexual energy into lifts, I switched and began to focus on pure maintenance. It was fun to push myself, but I also had reached the point where clothing was a massive challenge, and I simply didn’t make enough money to get everything custom-made and tailored.

Once I was stabilized, we worked out a plan with Dr Morris to quit the pheromone patches. We felt more in control now, and were willing to risk things once Stevie was done with courses. He had the summer to finish off his dissertation, and we were looking forward to a nice vacation before we tucked into that.

Unfortunately, we had a hiccup headed our way that neither of us had foreseen.

I mentioned above that I worked a boring county government job. Technically, I wasn’t a government employee, I was a contractor with a solid, long-term contract.

Well, politics changed and the contract was being recompeted. We’d been a little worried (most of us would be kept on under a new contract and company), but then got news that made that a moot point. Our company was being sold. Our main competitor took the opportunity to acquire our name and a few other contracts. We’d all get decent buyouts based on seniority, but I was about to turn 39 and was nowhere near ready, mentally or financially, to retire. Especially since I looked like a 20-something now.

“Well, that’s a bit of a shock,” Stevie said that night when I told him. “If you want a laugh, though….”

“Please,” I said, pulling him close.

“Well, Cuppa Joes offered me a management position. Which I turned down.”

“Maybe I should apply,” I said.

“Ha hah. You’d suck at that,” Stevie said fondly. “But one of the reasons I turned it down was that an adjunct position opened up at the university, and my advisor offered it to me. It comes with benefits and could be tenure track if I finish my doctorate there.”

“That’s pretty great news,” I said.

“How big is the buyout?”

“It’s good, but it’s not good enough to retire on,” I said. “Just good enough to have a cushion while I look for another job.”

“I doubt you’ll get much age discrimination with that baby face,” he teased. “We’ll figure it out.”

The next morning, I showed up at the office to deal with some final paperwork and turn in credentials. My coworkers were understandably shocked. I endured a lot of scrutiny and comments, as well as a few lingering glances. They hadn’t actually seen me in person in months, and then only from the neck up. They didn’t quite believe their eyes, nor my lame excuse that they’d misremembered how tall I was, or how young I looked. At least three people asked what the heck I’d been doing to myself, and another couple asked what gym I worked out at. Mostly, though, people pretended I hadn’t gone from a schlub to extremely muscular and grown a few inches. I’d worked there for a decade or so, and some of those folks were there when I’d started. Our former boss took us all out for a big farewell lunch.

I was annoyed that I’d have to miss my Monday gym session, but it was actually nice to be able to see folks in person, even if it was to say goodbye and make a bunch of promises we’d never be able to keep about staying in touch. Still, mindful of the value of networking, I played along.

But I had a lot of trouble sleeping that night, and was distracted the next day at the gym. Sue called me out on it, so I told her I’d been laid off.

“Caleb, you could always go pro to keep the money flowing,” she joked. “Though honestly, modeling could be a better option.”

“Get out of here,” I chuckled.

“You are in fantastic shape and you look like a man entering the prime of his life.”

“I’m 39!”

“So? You could pass for half that. Fuck, you could just do an only fans or something.”

“I don’t have any intention of whoring myself out that way,” I said, indignant.

“Fine, but the modeling can be lucrative enough you should really consider it. I’ll email you some folks who would absolutely be interested.”

Stevie was knee deep in dissertation work that week, and I was meeting with my financial advisor and a job service to get a feel for my options. Six months’ severance, basically, plus a seniority bonus, was actually pretty decent. My skill set was pretty solid, but the job service person suggested that I lay off the gym for a bit, because I’d come across as too intimidating in interviews.

That really threw me. Internally, I was still the same guy who’d been overweight and half a foot shorter a year ago. I couldn’t intimidate my way out of a paper bag. But my body, now, was intimidating on its own, as I’d proven during the altercation at the sauna. And I literally had a strong case of Big Dick Energy—and a huge dick to back it up, on top of the muscles.

I decided we deserved a proper vacation; we had already planned most of it anyway, and Stevie had already worked out his schedule around it. So we decided to go ahead with our planned two-week excursion. We’d scored a pretty good deal on a gay friendly cruise in the Caribbean, with a few days in Miami on either end.

Swimsuits for both of us meant ordering from a site that claimed to cater to well-endowed men. Surprisingly, they managed to contain even my oversized junk, at least when I was soft. The baggy version was what I wore into the hot tub at the gym. I’d ordered some new nicely modest shorts, but i also picked up some much more revealing speedo-style suits for both of us. We giggled as we tried them on—his dick looked huge in them, but mine was positively obscene.

“Fuck it, we should keep them and scandalize the natives,” Stevie said, laughing at his very full basket. Then he fixed his gaze on my overstuffed pouch and shook his head. “That’s just crazy. I can’t believe they had something that actually fit that monster.”

“I think they’re made for guys who inject their junk with silicone or something. It’s all about volume, I guess. Still, I feel like I’m pushing some limits here,” I said. Even soft, I was a foot long these days. That’s a lot of dick to manage, and my balls were plenty big too. .

“We should make sure that those can stand up to a full-blown boner,” he said. “You don’t want an unexpected wardrobe problem.”

It didn’t take much to raise my spirits (just a couple strokes, at least when it was Stevie), and luckily, the stretchy fabric was up to the job. But man, in a skimpy suit, if you spring a boner that’s almost a foot and a half long, there’s no hiding it. We couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous situation.

“People are going to think this is fake,” I mused. “Because nobody has a dick this huge.”

“Just wear a big Hawaiian shirt or something and park it vertically. I know you bought one.”

“It didn’t fit.”

“What size did you get?”

“3XL,” I said.

“It’s those shoulders and pecs,” he said, groping them. “And the lats and traps and biceps…”

“You may not mind, but it’s pretty inconvenient,” I groused,

“They’ll have something at the big and tall store,” he said.

“Yeah, but it’ll be baggy in the middle, and it’ll cost too much.”

“I love you, you big dork, but only you would complain about being built like a Dorito. Or a tank.

“I’m an analyst, Stevie. And I have only been built like this for a few months. I’m used to shopping at the mall.”

“I know, babe,” he said. “But this is you, now, and you have to figure out how to dress like a human being. Luckily I’m not exactly a fashionista myself, thanks to being a broke grad student. So I put up with your sad dress sense.”

I was right about the big and tall store. My options were really stylish but $200, or boring and baggy for about $50-75. Still, I did find things that actually fit me, including a very silly Hawaiian shirt with smiling pineapples and bananas all over it. Stevie loved it; I worried it would draw too much attention, especially if I was stuffing my own overgrown banana under it. I’d have to come back for some more professional looking clothing after our trip, I realized. One doesn’t apply for desk jobs in sweats and workout tops.

While we were picking out some long shorts, the other customers were staring—one was a bearish older black man, and the other looked like an off-season linebacker. I had him seriously outmuscled, I suddenly realized. The clerk, a well-manicured and sharply dressed Persian guy, barely disguised his appreciation for both me and Stevie, and despite blowing a few hundred bucks, I walked out feeling pretty good about myself.

Miami was fabulous but very hot. Both temperature-wise and in terms of eye candy.

And where we stayed was a very gay area. Wherever you looked, there were fit young men, fit middle-aged men, fit older men, and loads of bears and twinks, all showing off on the beach. We indulged in huge drinks, delightful coffee and pastries, heaping piles of Cuban food. Took in the sights. Quickly realized we would be taking advantage of the overpriced cruise laundry service because we were sweating through everything. And in the evening, we fucked like rabbits—very sweaty ones.

By the time we boarded the cruise, we were already in very happy vacation mode, and the cramped quarters and tiny shower didn’t phase us much.

I’m ashamed to say that we were quite irresponsible that first day on the boat with unlimited drinks. Stevie got completely wasted and passed out, and that left me with a giant dick and no help dealing with it. Since I was also pretty drunk, I decided to suck myself off, and when I was something closer to decent, decided to go for a walk while he slept it off.

It wasn’t my smartest move, in retrospect. I was drunk, annoyed with my boyfriend, and wandering aimlessly on a cruise full of gay men looking for action. Before I realized it, I’d drawn a bit of a crowd as I chatted with a very hot Serbian bartender named Nickola. Men found any excuse to brush against me as they vied for Nickola’s attention. This particular bar was getting very boisterous.

“Hello, Mr Olympia!” shouted a very handsome ginger, probably in his late 20s. “What’s a hot young slab of beef like you doing sitting alone here?”

“Just watching the people,” I said.

“Well, that’s only fair. Most of them are certainly watching you!!” He threw an arm around me. “Damn, you are one solid boy!”

“Thanks, I guess,” I mumbled.

“Dane! Come here and feel this arm, oh my god!”

Dane, it turns out, was built very much like me, but about a size smaller. He was wearing a very snug polo, and he had enormous pecs and thick arms. He was dark-haired and had a very Gallic nose, and handsome features.

“What’s your name, stud?” The ginger bubbled.

“Caleb,” I slurred.

“I’m Ritchie. This is my buddy. Dane works out too!”

“Nice to meet you, Caleb,” Dane said, then leaned forward. “You are hot as fuck,” he said in my ear. “And I bet you’re packing as much as I am.”

Oh, I was pretty sure I’d win any such contest. “Thanks,” I said.

“First cruise?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“It’s our third. And speaking of thirds…” he leaned in close, “Ritchie and I are very, very open to some fun, if you’re interested.”

My dick was already starting to chub up, and it twitched as it crept down my leg.

“God damn,” Ritchie said in awe. He reached out and touched me. “Jesus, is that thing for real? Dane, I think he’s at least as big as you!”

Danger! Warning! I needed to get back to the cabin now, before things got too crazy. I was only wearing board shorts and a t-shirt, and there was no way to hide what was about to happen if I didn’t escape.

“Sorry guys, my boyfriend is calling,” I said. “Maybe another time?”

My dick wasn’t hard, yet, but it was on its way, and I needed to adjust before walking became impossible.

“Anytime,” the ginger shouted. “I’m a fucking size queen and Dane is very competitive!”

Somehow I extracted myself, shifted the Problem Child to a better angle, and staggered off to find my cabin. The main corridors were pretty full and it was only about 11pm, but somehow I found my floor and then our room.

“Where did you go?” Stevie said. “I woke up half an hour ago and you were gone.”

“You were passed out drunk, so I decided to see if I could catch up,” I said grumpily. Even I could hear the slurring in my words.

“Sorry,” he said. “Guess you were successful.”

“I got hit on,” I said as I pulled off my shoes.

“And?” There was a bit of ice in his tone.

“They offered a threesome,” I said, shucking my shirt. “I almost said yes.”

“Huh. So why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m here with you, dummy.” I pulled my shorts off and my dick began to erect in earnest.

“Damn right you are. Besides, with that thing, you’ve already got a threesome. You, me, and him.”

“Well, one of us was too drunk to do anything a few hours ago,” I said.

“Yeah, well, sorry. I thought we were both drunk.”

“We were. Now I guess I’m drunker than you are,” I said.

“Hey, I’m sorry. But this is kind of dumb. You are just grumpy because you wanted a fuck and I was out of it. So let me guess: you got more attention than you bargained for.”

Shit, he was right.

“And then you started to get a boner the size of Cleveland, so you ran back here.”

“Yeah.”

“How much did you have?” he said, pulling me into bed by the dick.

“Like three more?”

“I remember about five each before we came back here,” he said, counting them on his left hand.

“Sounds about right.”

“Guess you do have some limits,” he said, and kissed me hard.

“Mmmph,” I said. “I wanted you.”

“You got me,” Stevie replied. “So we should fool around and then get some sleep, okay?”

Ten minutes later, we had a lovely orgasm together and fell asleep.

The next day was all at sea, and we somehow escaped the hangovers we expected. I persuaded him to join me and check out the gym, after we fucked and ate breakfast. It was surprisingly decent.

“Wouldn’t kill you to put a little meat on your bones,” I teased.

“I’ve never been much of a gym rat,” he said.

“Maybe you just needed the right trainer,” I said.

“Just don’t make me do squats,” he said. “My butt’s already big enough.”

But he agreed to do a bit of cardio, and then I walked him through a beginner workout. He wasn’t super enthusiastic, until I reminded him that I’d been doing those same beginner workouts for a couple months when we met, before I had my little fountain of youth moment.

Eventually he said he was done, and just wanted to watch me work out. By that point there were more people in the gym anyway, including quite a few athletic guys. I began to do a more usual workout for me, which mostly meant I was close to the maximum loads for most of the machines. The music was good and I felt like showing off for my man, and I got into the zone.

For another 45 minutes, I hit all the stations I could, while Stevie sipped his smoothie and watched with rapt attention. I only had eyes for him, so I didn’t notice how the other patrons watched, and stared, and adjusted themselves.

We showered and headed off to get a snack before loafing at the pool for a while. We had too much fun slathering lotion all over each other, but after an hour in the hot sun, we decided to look for other activities—after a quick return to our cabin for some nookie. Then the casino and the shops for a bit, then dinner, then a show…all the while ignoring the stares we got. Let’s not forget, Stevie was hot and packing, and I was huge, and it was a gay cruise.

It was the third day when I noticed my shirt was a little snug. My new shirt.

Let me backtrack a bit.

We’d pulled into port overnight, and it was one of those ports of call where you are technically in the Caribbean, but you’re basically in a little beach and pile of tourist shops that exist purely to serve cruise ships. Our whole plan was to sleep in, eat, and then go swim in blue water and sip drinks on a tropical beach. We had t-shirts and swim trunks, a bag with some lotion and towels, and not much else besides a bit of cash for impulse buys. It was blazing hot, and after a short while I decided to go for a swim.

Stevie had way too much fun spraying me down with waterproof sunscreen, complaining that I was using it all up because I had so much surface area. But he wasn’t much of a swimmer, and was very much enjoying relaxing on shore. So I smooched him and then I traipsed off into the surf, oblivious to the stares of maybe fifty fellow tourists. I didn’t really notice until I looked back to try to find Stevie, and suddenly I felt dozens of pairs of eyes, some hidden behind sunglasses or hats, but many blatantly watching.

I was caught a bit off guard when one of the men on shore began to whistle and clap, and his little group of friends joined in. I was emerging from the water looking a lot like Daniel Craig in that first Bond flick, but the big difference was that Daniel Craig wasn’t carrying quite the same weapon as I was. I glanced down and realized my flaccid dick made for an insane bulge, which hadn’t been noticeable with a dry suit, but wet? It looked like someone tried to shrink wrap a zucchini from my crotch to my hip bone. I’d put on a hell of a show.

Red-faced, I hurried back to Stevie, who had fallen asleep.

“Stevie,” I said. “You’re on my towel, hon.”

He blinked awake, shook the fuzziness from his skull, and then took me in.

“Shit, Caleb. Those don’t leave much to the imagination when they’re soaked.”

“Apparently half the beach noticed before we did,” I said.

“On the bright side, they’re not white,” he said. Then he squinted at me thoughtfully. “Damn, you look hot as hell.”

“It’s about 95 degrees out here,” I said, wrapping my towel around my waist for modesty. I yawned and stretched, flexing unconsciously as I did so.

“No, I mean you. You look amazing. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if you started the treatment again. You look huge!”

He wasn’t wrong; I felt pretty big, and the salami in my trunks was no exception. But it had been at least a day since we’d hit the cruise ship gym, so I could rule out lingering effects of that pump.

“It’s probably the light,” I said.

“If you say so.”

We lay there for a while until Stevie decided to go splash around in the waves a bit. I was feeling self conscious about how little these shorts hid my cock, so I stayed where I was. But even then, I could feel the eyes on me. I was definitely being ogled, and though I tried to tune it out, people weren’t exactly subtle. Several folks suddenly had a burning need to walk right past me. Problem was, I was apparently developing a hint of a fetish for that sort of appreciation. And once my dick started revving up, well, it created a logistical problem. I pulled on the tee, figuring I would use that to help keep my junk out of direct view, but it felt super snug in the shoulders. If I tried to hide a foot and a half of steel under that tee, you’d notice.

Stevie came back just in time; I sensed the couple behind me edging their way toward me.

“Too hot now. Wanna beat the rush and go back to freshen up before formal dinner tonight?”

“Sounds good, but I need a minute here,” I said. “I don’t think I can walk just yet.”

After ten minutes, not much had changed other than a growing sense of being ogled. Stevie got a cup of ice water and “accidentally “ spilled it on me, hoping the shock would soften me up—and it helped, thank goodness. Sensing our window, we packed and headed back to the ship with Stevie’s towel thrown over my shoulder to help cover up my dick, should it get unruly. Luckily it stayed semi-soft ‘til we got back to the cabin.

At which point we dove for the bed and began our afternoon session, followed by a nap. There wasn’t any way two of us could fit into the shower together, not given how much of it I took up. While Stevie was in the bathroom, I pulled my new shirt out and shrugged it on.

It was a little tight.

It hadn’t been tight two days ago. I think I was still lost in thought when Stevie emerged and gasped.

We had brought a tailor tape, so Stevie measured me. I wasn’t imagining it—I was half an inch bigger across the shoulder and three-quarters of an inch bigger in the chest.

“But why? We’re both still using the patches. You haven’t grown in a long while now,” Stevie said. “You’ve barely looked at the gym for weeks now.”

“I’ve just had a disturbing thought,” I said. “We know there’s a thing where I respond to your pheromones; what if I’m responding to the lust signals of other people too?”

“Oh,” he said. “Fuck, we’re on a gay cruise. If you’re getting dosed by everyone who thinks you’re hot…”

“They can’t all be lusting after me and compatible enough to trigger the effect,” I guessed.

“Still, babe, there’s 3,500 people on this ship and you are objectively a very hunky man. And you look a lot younger than you are.”

“Do you remember what Dr Morris said about the likelihood of complementary genetics?”

“I don’t think he gave us any numbers,” Stevie said.

“Let’s see if we can get in touch,” I said. “Because either we’re bouncing off each other again, or someone else is triggering it.”

“The beach wasn’t just our ship, though. There were two cruise ships there. Although,” he said, thinking aloud, “I’d guess there were maybe 300 people on the beach yesterday. Plus staff.”

Luckily, we had sprung for an internet plan and we reached out immediately via email.

“Do you want to do room service, just to be safe? Might be better to avoid the crowds,” Stevie asked.

“I didn’t spend all this money to hide in my cabin all week,” I said, grumpily. “We’ll take our chances. Just keep your eyes peeled for anyone staring too hard.”

“If you say so, but that isn’t likely to narrow things down much…”

Luckily the day seemed to pass without incident, and it occurred to me as we were finishing a pretty big lunch that we’d used the laundry service to wash some clothing right after we boarded, because it had gotten super sweaty in Miami. I convinced myself that the shirt had simply shrunk a bit, and it wasn’t anything to worry about.

I was wrong.

By dinner that night, we hadn’t heard back from Morris, and we’d convinced ourselves that it was just a normal fluctuation and a bit of shrinkage on the shirt. It wasn’t like I blew the seams out or anything.

But then after dinner we decided to hit the casino for a bit, and I cajoled Stevie into learning Three-Card Poker. I gambled occasionally, always mindful of the odds and within a very limited budget. But I’d had luck with slots so I was playing loose with the house’s money. The table minimums were within budget and the vibe was good.

We started off with a rather nice couple of hits almost immediately (beginner’s luck!), and then started drinking. And the lucky streak continued for a long while—if I wasn’t winning, Stevie was. Drinks and good times flowed and we were engrossed in the game. About 90 minutes after we sat down to play, the place was packed, and Stevie and I had attracted a lot of attention. It was pretty warm and our table in particular had a big crowd of onlookers. The dealer was very sexy, the table was running hot, and most of the people playing were good-looking.

I’d been letting my side bets ride, and I’d just hit a couple of hands in a row. So there was $150 sitting on the side bet—and that’s when I hit the royal flush. 1000 to 1 payout.

Stevie and I leapt to our feet, screaming in celebration. Everyone was happy for us (except the casino, one imagines), and all eyes were on us as well. Even after taxes, that was a pretty huge hit—easily enough to pad things out while I found a new job. It was a game changer.

We colored up our chips and went over to the cashier to collect. It took a while and while we waited, everyone seemed to be watching. They even had a security guard stand by us. On top of the big payout, we were also up overall for the day—after sitting down with less than $300 for me and $150 for him, the two of us had over $1200 in chips after tipping generously. Plus a bunch of tax paperwork and a wire transfer receipt for $150k and change.

When you have a big win like that, things get weird. You’re in a strange headspace. Plus, in our case, we were already pretty tipsy.

Cut to two hours later when everyone had been our friend and we’d spent a few hundred dollars celebrating with a bunch of hot guys. The party continued to the adjoining bar where I have only fleeting memories. I know at one point we were making out with several guys, and things were getting a bit too risqué for the cruise’s comfort, so they shooed us all away and cut us off. Stevie, me, and two other guys—Richie and Dane, the very same guys who’d hit on me that first night—ended up in the Schooner Bar with a hot Thai bartender heavy pouring our last call. We were shirtless and just this side of an orgy.

“Oh my god, you have to check out our suite,” Richie bellowed as we staggered out of the bar. And so we did—and damned if they didn’t have a huge suite. Apparently Richie was a trust fund boy. And the room had a king-size bed that we all, remarkably, fit into.

At that point, things got even hazier.

When I woke the next morning, it was to a gasp from an unfamiliar voice.

“Holy Jesus, that’s unreal,” Richie said. “You’re fucking massive!”

I looked down and immediately sobered up. Between my straining pecs was a scaled-up version of my dick… which was already huge when I boarded the ship. Now it was, as Richie had said, unreal and fucking massive. And still hard.

I’d grown. And as Stevie roused and we extracted ourselves from the tangle of Dane’s long sexy body and Richie’s nonstop appreciative chatter, we tried to escape to our cabin to assess the damage. I ended up borrowing one of their long robes, because the enormity of my cock would have rendered me obscene.

My shirt—my new oversized Hawaiian shirt—didn’t fit me properly anymore. And back in our cabin, Stevie measured me.

I’d put on two inches in the chest and arms and shoulder; basically I’d gone up an entire shirt size, and added another inch and a bit to my cock’s length—it was nearly 17 inches long when erect. Hopefully at some point I’d be able to get a flaccid measurement. I’d also gotten at least an inch taller, and probably put on at least 20-25 pounds.

“The shorts should still fit but the shirts are going to be a challenge.”

“Getting this fucker to go soft is a bigger challenge,” I groused. “How long were we at it with those guys?”

“At least three hours I can mostly remember,” Stevie said. “Shit, I’d never had a threesome before, and we went right to foursome. Though you might technically count as two people yourself.”

“At least this stretchy underwear still fits. Barely,” I said. Fancy briefs with an oversized pouch, these were dark blue. There was so much of me stuffed in them, the material was stretched thin, leaving little to the imagination. The same company made my swimsuit.

“Well, at least that works for later,” Stevie said. “Or did you forget there’s an underwear party tonight?”

Some part of me knew it wasn’t a great idea, but I was grumpy about my condition limiting my plans for the trip.

“Sounds good,” I replied.

We spent most of the day in our room, ordering food and trying to connect with Dr Morris without much luck. (The internet sucks on cruise ships.). Plenty of sex, and then we showered and got ready for the nighttime party.

“My boyfriend is the hottest,” I said, appreciatively. He looked good, to the point where I wondered if he was toning up deliberately or just as a side effect from all the sex. He was always sort of naturally fit, and didn’t do much to maintain it unless I prodded him.

“Babe, you’re so wrong. Because I clearly win on that front.” Stevie had to look up a bit to me now, and I was half again as wide as he was. “Big strong boy with a big strong—”

I kissed him to shut him up.

Yeah, we were smoochy. Can you blame us?

Somehow we kept things rated PG, and made our way to the nightclub where the party had clearly already started. The music was loud and catchy, and the room was full of hot men in sexy skivvies, bouncing around happily or seductively. We grabbed some very strong drinks, downed them, and took it all in for a few before we joined in.

It had been a long time since I’d been to a proper club party, and this took me back to the days when gay dance clubs thrived. Stevie had been excited because by the time he was grown, they’d mostly gone away outside of the biggest cities, so it was a new and rare experience. The music was somehow timeless and yet the vibe hit that sweet spot that made everyone feel welcome. I found myself dancing with abandon in a way I hadn’t done for years. Half an hour after arriving, I was downing my third drink and getting very buzzed, while my boyfriend danced beside me.

What I didn’t quite clock was that I was attracting a lot of attention. Dozens of lustful eyes were fixed on me and Stevie as we playfully bounced and occasionally kissed deeply. I hadn’t realized how my foot long soft cock and big balls had stretched the blue undies, or how my ass and pecs bounced, or how the sheen of sweat trickled visibly over my abs into the treasure trail. I was mostly either focused on my boyfriend or immersed in the vibe.

It was inevitable, I suppose. Because a few hundred horny, sweaty, drunk, gay men were going to find me attractive, and the room already reeked of arousal. And the drinks had hit me hard, but they’d hit Stevie even harder. Our guards were down and our inhibitions were disabled. Bodies pressed in all around us as the crowd got rowdier.

The working theory is that all that lust focused our way primed both our pumps, so to speak. We’d weaned ourselves off the suppression patches a while back, and the puberty blockers had run their course. Well, it seems the episode at Dane and Richie’s successfully triggered a bit of a relapse, which seemed to have kicked that door back open, at least a bit. And once that door was open, it got compounded by a room full of sweaty, aroused men.

For the first time, I actually felt it kick in. First, I began to feel lightheaded as my blood began to rush and tingle everywhere in my body. Then, an intense hunger and thirst slammed into me. I felt my stomach gurgle.

“I’m fucking starving, let’s grab a quick bite,” I shouted at Stevie, who laughed and agreed. Once we exited the club, we hit the 24-hour canteen across and up a level—pickings were limited, but they had pizza and hot dogs. I didn’t care how long it had sat there, I was ravenous. It was after two slices of pepperoni and two hot dogs that I suddenly realized this wasn’t normal at all.

“You okay, babe?” Stevie asked. He was chewing on a slice of cheese pizza and had a concerned, if slightly non-sober expression on his face.

“Something’s up. I think I want to go back to the cabin,” I said. It wasn’t that hard to talk him into it. My bones began to ache as we staggered back to our cabin.

“Shit,” Stevie said. That’s how I woke up.

“Ugh,” I replied, my head pounding. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“If you did, you were the one driving it. Or maybe the truck itself.”

I raised my hand up to my forehead and immediately knew something had shifted. It was like there was something in the way of bending my arm.

It was my arm. Getting in its own way. Fuck, what had happened?

“You okay?” He asked.

“Not sure,” I said. “Guess we will see.”

“Can you stand up?”

“I hope so, I need to pee.”

When I stood up, the room looked oddly short. I wobbled over to the bathroom and ducked to enter it, then pulled out my dick to piss. Once that finished, I looked into the mirror.

It was immediately obvious that I’d grown. I was definitely taller, at bare minimum. But I was also a lot more muscular, to the point where you’d see me and assume I was competing in a contest someplace. Everything bulged, and now that I’d drained the lizard, my cock was starting to wake up. Silently blessing whoever made the undies I wore, I tucked the monster back into the straining briefs. How was the material so stretchy?

The face in the mirror looked mostly the same, but a bit less young. Mid-twenties again, though how much of that was the way my bone structure had gotten slightly more masculine. My jawline was sharp and square; you could see the muscles move when I clenched my teeth. I needed a shave.

I was never a particularly hairy guy, but this latest burst seemed to have changed that, at least a bit—a dusting of golden blond hair had grown across my chest, before darkening as it danced down to my pubes. There, it had grown quite a bit thicker, and my legs were considerably furrier than they’d been last night.

The dysmorphia began to grow. I was having serious trouble connecting my mental map of myself to the creature in the mirror. The other changes had been gradual, or gradual enough, that my brain could catch up. But this time? It felt explosive, swollen, unreal.

“Babe?” Stevie’s hands reached around my midsection, tentatively.

“Yeah, it’s me, apparently,” I said, worriedly.

“Damn,” he said. “You must be pushing 7 feet tall, you know. And about that wide.”

“I noticed,” I said.

He stroked my chest, though he had to reach up to do so as he swung around in front of me. “All that hair is new, not sure how I feel about it.”

I grunted. I wasn’t sure either.

“Can always shave it. And you might look hot with a full beard.”

“At this rate, I’ll have one after breakfast. It’s pretty itchy.”

“Talk to me,” he said.

“What do you want me to say? I’m a freak. A reeking beast.”

He squinted and frowned at me—and then slapped my dick, hard.

“Ow!!!”

“Do I have your attention?”

I nodded.

“You are not a freak. You’re the biggest, hottest guy on this whole damned boat. You’re my boyfriend and I love you. And we will figure it out. Together. Got it?”

“Yeah,” I said. God, my voice had gotten deeper, too.

“Good.” He leaned over and hugged me hard. “Now let’s assess the damage, and then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

The damage was …a lot.

I was 6’9”, but the weight would have to wait until we found a scale. My chest was now 60 inches around, my waist a solid 38, and my biceps 26 inches.

“Yikes,” Stevie said. “This is utterly ridiculous,” he said, stretching the tape along my flaccid dick. “You’re 14 and a quarter soft.”

“Um,” I said. “That’s not going to last for long.”

Indeed, it was already rising. And rising.

And rising.

“Twenty. Well, and a bit. Twenty and an eighth.” He shook his head. “I’m huge and you are more than two of me. Any bigger, and you’ll need a leash for this thing!”

“Not really helping,” I grumbled. And I wasn’t entirely sure the idea of a leash didn’t stir some naughty thoughts up.

“Okay, let’s take care of this, and then get some breakfast, okay?”

Easier said than done. Luckily, Stevie had a big dick and knew how to use it. He knew what I liked and how I liked it. And we’d had lots of practice getting there.

But my dick was stupidly huge, even on my huge body, and as I curled back to receive Stevie’s cock, my own was right there, and while he pounded my prostate, I gripped and yanked my pole until hot jets of jizz exploded toward my waiting mouth. Some of it even made it into my mouth, but the wall, the sheets, and my hair were sopping with cum by the time Stevie unloaded into me.

Then, we had to deal with the logistics of showering in a space built for a normal man. It made almost as big a mess as my jizz had, though we took pity on our cabin steward and did our best to wipe that up.

I’d grown so much that the clothing situation was dire. The first two t-shirts simply burst. It was an unbuttoned shirt or nothing. The shorts fared a little better, but I had to layer them with the stretchy faux speedos, just to contain my junk. It mostly worked, at least enough to keep me from being obscene. Hopefully nobody noticed I was walking a little funny.

I banged my head on at least two doorways as we made our way to the buffet.

Of course Richie and Dane were there.

“Holy fuck,” Richie said, giving me possibly the gayest up-down-glance assessment I’ve ever received. “Did you eat the poor boy?”

“I’m right here,” Stevie said from somewhere behind me.

“Damn, bro,” Dane said, materializing from somewhere with a plate full of a giant omelet, a slab of beef, and half a dozen slices of bacon. “I really want some of whatever you’re on.”

“You really don’t,” I said.

“Sounds like there’s a story. We’re sitting over there if you want to tell it,” Richie said.

We decided to join them; there wasn’t much point in trying to hide, not at this point. We needed bloody marys and coffee, stat. And as soon as we ordered those, we were off to load up.

Stevie still had an enviable metabolism, and he’d been eating a fair amount on this trip. But my hunger—actual normal hunger, not the horny kind—was nearly lethal. My stomach was growling actively, so I ate a pastry and some bacon while I waited for the three-egg loaded omelet (sausage, spinach, mushrooms, herbs, cheese), dropped it off at the table, then ate another pastry while I was loading up another plate with potatoes and meat. I was desperately ravenous and began shoveling everything in. I didn’t even realize I’d been zoned out while I ate, until I realized someone had said my name.

“Sorry, what?” I winced.

“I said, save some for the rest of us,” Richie giggled.

It took another three-egg omelet, half a plate of prime rib, another mound of potatoes, two bananas, a bowl of broccoli salad, a bowl of grits and a plate full of grilled mushrooms, and probably half a pound of bacon before I was sated. Plus half a pitcher of bloody mary and 3 more cups of coffee.

“Damn, bro,” Dane said. “I thought I was bulking, but that’s insane. That has to be like 4000 calories, minimum.”

“Clearly it’s going right to his …” Richie arched an eyebrow and looked down.

“Everywhere,” Stevie said. “He ate like this last night, too.”

“You’d know best! But all of—” Richie gestured. “—this has come from somewhere.”

“I should feel gross after all that. I ate more than the rest of you combined! At least the pain finally stopped,” I said. But you couldn’t tell—there was, charitably, a slight bit of stomach bloat, but nobody would notice it because if your eyes made it that far, my giant fucking package would pull the eyes further south.

By this point, the tables nearest us were empty, so Dane leaned in conspiratorially and asked in hushed tones: “How the hell did you put on all that muscle overnight?”

I debated what to say.

“I had some hormone therapy a while back; this seems to be a side effect. We’re waiting to hear back from the doctor, but hopefully this is the last of it. Can’t say more because of NDAs.”

“Is that also why you appear to be smuggling a toddler in your trunks?” he asked. “Because if you got that through a shot, everyone will want one.”

I sipped at what I’d decided was my last breakfast drink. “Apparently I’m the only one who got this particular set of side effects.”

“Beats the hell out of bitch tits, heart problems, and memory issues,” Dane said. “My old lifting buddy got some black market HGH and it fucked him up.”

“You’re hunky enough for me, sweetie,” Richie cooed at Dane. “No need to go chasing more muscle.”

“Trust me,” I said. “I stopped chasing size at least a month ago. Too much of a good thing.”

“Speaking of….” Richie said, “did I hear correctly that you hit it big last night?”

“Possibly.”

“Nice. Any plans?”

“Not specifics,” Stevie said. “We talked last night and decided to blow a little and bank most of it. I’m finishing a degree and I work in a coffee shop, and the scrawny waif across from me just got laid off before this trip started.”

“After this trip, it’s back to the grindstone for both of us. Literally in my case, at least until Caleb finds something new.”

I was eager to change the subject, so I asked about where they lived—and we were all surprised to find that we lived maybe an hour from each other. They’d been together for a few years now after years of flirting at each other. It’s a common enough dynamic.

Eventually we decided we would exchange contact information.

After breakfast, we made our way to the shops, hoping to find something that would make me more presentable. Pickings were slim, but at least one pair of oversized shorts was available, and a shirt made for a much fatter man, though it barely reached my hips. Better than nothing.

Then back to the room where I whacked my head again.

“I don’t think I like being this tall,” I said, rubbing the bump on my noggin.

“Awww, my big strong man hurt his head?”

I’m sure my eye roll was audible. Then, as if the bump on the head had jogged my memory, I had a terrible thought.

“Shit, Stevie. My passport. It lists me at 6’1 and 230. And look at my face!” I looked a lot younger in real life.

“Huh. But you were taller than that when we boarded.”

“I’m nearly 6’10” now, and if I’m not at least 300 pounds, I’d be shocked.”

“I guess we play it off as a typo?” Stevie hazarded. “That’s if they look real hard.”

“Fuck, what if they don’t let me back in?”

“They will. They let you board the cruise and your face matches closely enough for the TSA checkpoint.”

“I guess,” I said. Then, remembering one of the reasons we’d come back, I pulled out my tablet and checked the mail with that shitty onboard wifi.

“Babe! Dr Morris finally replied!”

Morris’s email didn’t inspire confidence.

First: Call me as soon as you’re in a port where your mobile phone works. Don’t worry about the time. I’ve attached my personal cell number.

Second: do your best to avoid contact with too many people.

Third: try to avoid too much physical activity, by which I expressly mean both the gym facilities and the personal time with Stevie. The last thing you want right now is vigorous activity. Instead, go for things that relax you.

I may have more information when you connect on the phone.

“Goddamn it,” I shouted. “Too fucking little, too fucking late.”

“Babe—”

“No, I’m allowed to be pissed,” I said. “Avoid people on a cruise ship! Avoid your boyfriend and sex and working out!”

“I know. It’s not really helpful.”

I pounded the little half desk, and heard a loud crack in response.

“Are you trying to wipe out your winnings in damages?”

“No…” I replied, chagrined.

“Then rein it in, Dr Banner.”

I stopped and took a very deep breath, willing myself calmer. He leaned up and kissed my forehead.

“Okay. Go for things that relax me, right.” I said. “I could go loaf by the pool, except the chairs aren’t really made for a guy my size, and most of my clothing options are a little problematic. I could go soak in the hot tub, but they’re pretty crowded and I don’t want to risk it.”

“What about a massage at the spa?”

I’d never done a proper spa massage and pampering session. Most I’d had was massage therapy after a frozen shoulder incident. Whereas Stevie had a cousin who worked for one of those places and had done it once. And it turned out Richie and Dane were happy to pull a string or two to get us in. Richie advised us to go ahead and avoid the salon products upsell, and tip well.

God damn is it worth it.

We opted not to go for a couple’s massage, because the thought of being turned on had become dangerous. Besides, we could afford a one-time pampering session. The deluxe package included sauna, hot soak, deep tissue massage, facial, and mani-pedi. We chose separate massages—hoping to avoid unnecessary potential triggers of the lust spiral pheromone thing—but the rest of the time was luxurious settings, fantastic views, herbal tea, soft music, and holding hands. The staff were all incredibly good to us.

Then we got haircuts. All of it cost ridiculous amounts of money, but what the hell.

Five hours later, we emerged from the spa feeling utterly relaxed and entirely rejuvenated.

When we got back to the cabin, there was a note slid under our door.

Hey sexy boys, join us for dinner tonight, 7pm, meet at Schooner bar? Richie and Dane.

And of course we realized we hadn’t turned on our phones. When we did, there were multiple texts from them, saying basically the same thing. I texted back that we were in.

“Did you order something?” Stevie asked while I fiddled with my phone at the desk.

“No,” I said.

“Well, those clothes we sent to be washed are back, but there’s also a ridiculously huge robe that may actually work, and a massive pile of linen that might be a shirt in your size.”

It was a very long white linen shirt, probably meant to fall mid-thigh on a normal-sized person, and also a set of loose linen tan “island” pants that were meant to be tied at the ankles. Both of them actually fit me.

“Gonna bet this is Richie as well, though where he found this is anybody’s guess.”

“At least you have something nice to wear tonight.”

Richie of course had sent the gift, for which I thanked him.

“Please, sweetie. We saw it at a shop on shore, and I got one for Dane, too—they look so nice on you big boys. Plus, it looked like it would fit and unless I miss my guess, you don’t have many options right now. I’d have bought more but the lady said that was the only one in that size. But we have a little shore time tomorrow before we have to be on the boat again, so I told her we’d be back—looking for a larger size!”

Dane’s shirt was also off-white, and his pants were in a sort of faded turquoise color.

Apparently the suite the boys had was part of a VIP area and they had a special dining area. Same food as the fancier restaurants downstairs, but we were away from public eyes. And that meant fantastic food and service, but it also meant we didn’t have to deal with stares and sweaty strangers. (Though I did see another famous closeted gay actor and his boy toy splashing around in the pool, but I won’t out him here.)

It had been nagging at me for a while, but over dinner we found out Richie’s parents owned a stake in the cruise line, apparently. Hence the royal treatment. He was, in fact, obscenely wealthy, and seemed all too happy to share it… And Dane and he were pretty serious about each other. When they realized they liked us as friends, they decided to make our cruise memorable. Score one for them so far.

“Of course, when you showed up the next day five inches bigger all over…” Richie laughed. “My baby here got all jealous.”

“I did not!” Dane said. “I was envious, not jealous.”

“Fine, fine, you win,” his boyfriend laughed. “But we had a long talk this morning, and we decided we all get along really well and we should hang out more. And I also figured you might be a little sick of all the public attention you were getting. Et voila!”

“And just so you know, this isn’t because of the sex, though that was hot, and it wasn’t about whatever Captain America serum you’re on. It wasn’t because of anything else.”

“I mean if you want another foursome, I’m game,” Dane laughed. “But that monster of yours isn’t going anywhere near my ass again. Stevie’s is about all I can handle.”

We chatted some more, and I tried to steer that conversation far from the topic of my oversized junk, or the way I’d been growing. It was normal stuff, the kind of basic social interaction I’d rarely excelled at, but which Stevie was well steeped in. Social graces, chit-chat, all that stuff was….well, more work than I typically wanted to do for long. It’s one reason I had few friends. Plenty of acquaintances, people I was friendly with, but not many of the deeper friendships I saw in others. Most of my contemporaries, even the queer ones, had moved away or become parents, or otherwise become unmoored from the dock of my life over the past five or ten years. We were still friends but didn’t hang out as much as we used to. Tony had moved to Seattle for work, Jon and Xavier were in Atlanta and had adopted a kid, and Alice and Sash’s twin six year olds occupied all their time. I came to realize I wasn’t great at instigating contact without proximity, and I tended to miss out on things because I didn’t want to disrupt my routines.

But then Stevie happened, and it was awesome to have someone else in my life—even before we properly began a relationship. Sometimes you don’t notice you’re lonely until you suddenly aren’t, I guess.

Somehow Richie and Dane filled a need I didn’t know I had, and suddenly I realized I already thought of them as proper friends. Later Stevie would tell me he felt the same.

We spent much of that night doing nothing but learning about each other. Natural chatty conversations, gentle teasing, occasional deep questions, all of it. Hours passed before we noticed, after a fantastic multi-course dinner with wine and cocktail pairings. Somehow that Michelin-worthy meal took second fiddle to finding out Richie had a birthmark he never noticed until Dane showed up, or that Dane’s first time with a man was with his step-cousin, followed by his first time with a woman the next night—that step-cousin’s twin sister. Stevie confessed to mooning over a girl for two years in college, only to discover (when they undressed) that he liked boys better.

Eventually the wait staff asked us to clear out and continue elsewhere. So we wound up walking the deck for a while enjoying the night air and the moon on the water.

“Feeling relaxed now?” Stevie said, snuggling into my side as we watched the waves ripple. Dane and Richie were doing much the same a few feet away.

“I am,” I said. “It’s probably the first time all cruise that I haven’t been stupidly horny. You?”

“Relaxed,” he answered back. “But if I’m honest…”

“Yes?”

“Well. Let’s just say I’m trying to be mindful of what the doc said.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t horny at all, you know.”

“Sorry sweetie. Doctor’s orders, no hanky panky for a bit.”

“Cuddling is nice too.”

“Some of us aren’t quite so unstoppable as you are,” Stevie said. “I could use a little recharge time.”

We let our friends know we’d be heading in for the night, and planned to meet in the morning.

None of us noticed the figure in the shadows.

“Sirs? It’s Gervaise. I have a little breakfast for you, may I open the door?”

“Just a sec,” I said, half awake.

For the first time in days, we were actually decent, having fallen asleep in undies. I pulled up the sheets for modesty; Stevie was still snoring next to me. “Okay, it’s safe.” He entered with a tray laden with food.

“Ah, sirs. We have here some smoothies and omelets, and toast, and bacon and coffee. With compliments. Please enjoy. I will be back in a little while.”

It smelled amazing, enough that it roused Stevie.

There’s something about the food on cruise ships that makes you want to eat, I suppose. We both tucked in enthusiastically.

Unfortunately there was something in this particular meal. I’d inhaled about half my smoothie, and Stevie perhaps a third of his. We had each had a bite of omelet, and some bacon and coffee, when the drug kicked in. I saw Stevie nodding off with a piece of toast in his mouth like a Japanese school girl, and realized my vision was blurring. And then, nothing.

“He’s waking up,” a voice said.

I groggily opened my eyes and went to wipe them, only to be stopped by the discovery that I was tied—no, strapped—to some sort of frame. I was blindfolded and gagged, apparently.

“He’s so hot,” another, rather swishy voice replied. “But he’s huge. Are you sure that’ll hold him?”

“It’s industrial strength. It secures lifeboats. He’s not going anywhere.”

I could swear I only dozed for half a second.

“Where’s Stevie,” I growled.

“Your boyfriend is fine,” the voice replied. A hint of an accent, too.

“He better be,” I said.

“He will sleep for a while yet, I think. You were out for some time, but your boyfriend here is half your size. We didn’t want to take chances so we drugged it all for someone your size.”

“Here,” another voice said. I felt a straw touch my lips, and I realized I was utterly parched. I think it’s a common side effect of being drugged. Whatever the case, I eagerly sucked down the liquid. Apple juice, maybe?

“You must have been thirsty. Now we wait for that to kick in.”

“Fuck, what did you dose me with?”

“Just some fun party drugs to loosen you up.”

Fuck, they had no idea what they were about to do.

I cautiously flexed and pulled a bit—nothing budged. I was pretty sure I wasn’t wearing anything, either. It had to take several men to move me; no telling how many, but at least three or four. It sounded like Stevie was here in the room. But there were enough other masculine smells that I couldn’t distinguish his scent.

“What is it you want from us?” I asked. “You must know we don’t have much cash, just the winnings from the other night. And we don’t actually have that yet.”

“We don’t want money,” a different, more masculine voice said. I almost recognized it. “We want you.”

Hands began to grope and caress my body.

“You never heard of asking?”

No answer. The hands on my neck and shoulders worked their way down, their electric fingertips leaving trails of shivering excitement as they went. There were at least five hands me, meaning at least three people. Meanwhile another hand found its way to my nethers, and I could feel my massive dick begin to roar to life.

“Christ, sir, that is a huge cock!” An astonished voice proclaimed. “Never have I seen the like!”

“And yet somehow his lover took it. What a magnificent challenge.”

“It’s unreal, I swear he’s bigger than the other night….” An incredulous voice said behind me.

“They both had these patches,” another voice said. “We pulled them off when we took their clothes. Some kind of hormone thing?”

“Gotta be steroids or something,” this from a gruff voice—American or Canadian.

“Please,” I begged. “Let us go. The patches are—I have a medical condition, my doctor told me to avoid sex for now!”

“Sure he did.” The voice in front of me said. “That’s why you’ve been fucking like rabbits all week.”

“No, I just heard back from my doctor today!”

“Then you have a challenge ahead of you. Try your best. Let’s see how long you can hold out, that’s more fun anyway. I bet this fucker of a cock makes a hell of a mess….”

Crap, if they’d pulled off the patches, then we were in trouble. I had the distinct impression that those blockers were the last line of defense.

Whoever it was leading the pack—it didn’t sound like our steward, though I was pretty sure one of the other voices was him—was clearly no stranger to edging someone. And for the next half an hour he did so, building and stoking my desire and guiding the other hands to assist.

It was having the desired effect. I was sweating profusely, and my pulse pounded in my head. I had to be pouring out the pheromones now, like I had in the club, and if Stevie was in the room, he probably didn’t even need to be conscious for the effect to kick in.

My erection was painful now, no doubt helped along by whatever date rape crap and offshore Viagra they’d spiked my water with. And with their talk of upping dosage, it was possible they’d scaled up the dose given my size. I was truly fucked.

Things get quite blurry after that—a haze of moans and fucking and orgasms, mostly, with a lot of the smell of sex and men. My eyes remained covered the whole time, I think, but I’m pretty sure there were half a dozen of those bastards, and the way they had me strapped to storage frames, they took turns or teamed up to have their way with me. I know at one point there two guys were in me, while another was fucking himself as best he could on my pole. But no faces, no names.

“Babe, talk to me, find my voice, come back to me,” Stevie was saying, over a lot of background chatter.

I opened my eyes. At least two medical staff and some kind of police officer were in the room, looking me over presumably. Everything was still a little blurry and I had a hell of a headache.

“Stee? Wha happa?” I managed to say. My throat was dry.

“Oh thank god,” Stevie said, throwing himself against me.

“Mr Caleb, I’m Doctor Gomez. I’m going give you some water, sip it slowly please.”

“Fanks,” I said. “Bleh. What happened?”

“Some fucking maniacs kidnapped us! If Dane and Richie hadn’t thrown a fit when we didn’t show up for brunch…”

“We can cover specifics in a minute, and you’ll need to give a statement shortly if you can. But for now, eh, we need to make sure you are okay. We haven’t been able to take you to the hospital,” Dr Gomez said.

“Why not?”

“Because you would not fit on the stretcher,” he said. “You are the largest man I have ever seen.”

“Oh shit,” I said.

“Yeah,” Stevie said. “It’s…a lot.”

The doctor asked me several questions about the date, who was president, the usual stuff. As I answered, my vision cleared up a bit, but I could tell by the angle that I’d probably grown significantly, even if Stevie hadn’t confirmed it before.

“And how old are you?”

“39,” I said.

“Astonishing. I would have guessed at least 15 years younger, based on your skin and face.” He scribbled some more notes down. “Steven says you are part of a medical study?”

“Yes, but there’s an NDA. I can’t tell you a lot.”

“He said that it was a hormone treatment and you have grown taller as a side effect. I am only 162 cm, I might wish to have this side effect myself!” Then he grew more serious. “But you must be at least 210 cm tall. At a guess, given your physique, you must be 150-170 kilos.”

“That’s about 7 feet tall and over 370 pounds,” Stevie said.

“It is only a guess,” Gomez said. “You don’t seem as surprised as I would expect.”

I just stared off into space, leaving him to continue.

“There is also the matter of the genital swelling. I do not wish to shock you, but the men who took you and brought you here, they seem to have done something to your…” He looked uncomfortable, before continuing, “your penis and testicles have extreme hypertrophy. I confess I have never seen anything like this.”

I sighed. “How bad, Stevie?”

“I did the measurements myself. As flaccid as we could get you, you’re about 17 inches, but …shit, babe, you really got the whammy this time,” he said. You were at about 25 when they arrived.”

“Oh my god!”

“If it’s any consolation, it doesn’t look quite so insane on a 7 foot guy.”

I could hear my pulse quicken, or rather I could hear the machine beeping away as it noticed my rising panic. It didn’t help that I was still strapped to something. I was sitting on the floor and covered in a sheet, while a ton of monitors were attached to me. I could hear the machine beeping as if it were panicking on my behalf.

“Please try to stay calm. I dare not give you anything to help you calm down, not until we know what they already gave you.”

Stevie’s hand felt like a child’s, but I was glad when he slipped his hand in mind and laced our fingers. It helped instantly.

All things considered, my senses returned pretty quickly.

Eventually Dr Gomez was satisfied that I wasn’t in immediate danger, and didn’t pose one, and authorized me to be freed of the straps. By then I felt like I could stand.

My hair brushed the ceiling when I stood up, and the door frame was at eye level. My future would involve a lot of stooping.

The cops were still taking evidence and statements, but I hadn’t eaten since the night before, and I was painfully hungry. I also wanted to shower and find some clothing. And I didn’t know much anyway. My answers were curt and unhelpful, if I’m honest, but given the day I’d had, I felt justified in my crankiness.

The cruise ship moved us to one of their high-end suites, like the one Richie and Dane had. The ceilings there were a bit higher, too, but I couldn’t afford to jump up and down or anything. To our shock the captain himself walked us to it, apologizing furiously.

Along the way, I found out more details.

I was right about recognizing our steward, Gervaise, but there was also a bartender and the ship’s doctor on duty, one of the maintenance crew, and two others who’d been there for the near orgy at the club. One of them had stalked us since then. The crew had access to medical supplies and the empty storage room. As far as they knew, I was just a big guy they thought was hot enough to kidnap.

Stevie had to fill in other gaps. Having overstimulated me and pumped me full of party drugs and Viagra, and being unaware of what was already going on with my condition, well, the kidnappers had no clue what they’d unleashed. That storage room became ground central for a three-hour orgy that left our pheromones in overdrive and restarted the feedback loop. Apparently they’d also tried to fuck themselves on Stevie’s cock, which woke him up, before trying mine on for size. But Stevie was used to my sex drive and huge equipment, and they weren’t—and those poor dummies hadn’t worked up any tolerance to my overstimulated pheromones either. I was likely responsible for the utterly demolished food delivery cart, too. They’d planned quite a party for themselves.

Richie, worried, played the “my family are part owners” card and demanded a search—and as part of that, the missing crew were identified. And once that happened, they found Stevie and I panting and tied up while half a dozen crew lay unconscious and exhausted all around us. It was pretty smart of them to do the search while half the ship was ashore. No way could they miss me going through the exit procedure.

Dr Gomez being on board had been a lucky coincidence—he’d just boarded as relief for the second doctor, who’d had a family emergency during our previous port of call.

After talking with the captain, we asked them to continue the cruise. I didn’t want to screw up vacation for a few thousand other passengers. Filling in all the paperwork was a bit of a nightmare, but damned if we were going to let our kidnappers get away with it.

All of that took hours to sort out, or get rolling. In the end we left a day late. Finally Richie and Dane joined us for a quiet meal in our new cabin. We kept it light and avoided too much traumatizing discussion. But we both wanted to make our gratitude clear. Who knew what would have happened if we hadn’t been found? Richie also promised to connect us with a lawyer if we needed one.

Of course there were questions about the physical situation, which was, well, obvious.

“I hate that I can’t tell you guys the whole story, but until I get the okay from the doc—” I began.

“Hon, it’s really okay. Just wait until you get answers.”

“I can say this, though. As far as we know, I’m the only one who reacted like this. I’m kind of an outlier.”

The rest of the evening, we avoided the subject. Richie was as good as his word, and if Dane had entertained thoughts of getting into the study, he was second-guessing them now. Instead, we opened up about our lives a bit more, and what had been a very casual vacation acquaintanceship felt like it was becoming a proper friendship that would last.

Finally, around 9 p.m., our energy flagged and we parted ways, promising to stay in touch.

The ship left the next day after the authorities cleared us. We spent most of the final two days in the cabin, for practical reasons—literally nothing I had fit my new proportions. The best I could manage was a pair of extremely oversized shorts that had a drawstring, and a tent of a shirt that fit like a tablecloth. Anyway, the ridiculous luxury made that more palatable than a cramped standard cabin. It certainly didn’t hurt that I fit better in the bed.

We had connected again with Dr Morris, who was eager to get us both into the lab, and shocked by the tale we’d told. But also curious about the interactions between the drug cocktail and my unique situation. Initially a bit dismissive of Dr Gomez, once they’d actually talked a bit, Morris seemed to gain a bit of respect for him. Gomez had seen a lot of questionable party drugs and stimulants in his time on cruise lines and had a keen mind.

When we finally docked at home, we opted to be the last off the cruise ship, because the last thing I needed was a few thousand people staring at me. We arranged with Dr Morris to have a car take us directly to the clinic for a proper round of measurements and tests.

“Whatever they fed you, you’ve metabolized. I expect you burned it out the same day. You must have run an enormous calorie deficit.”

“Is that why he’s so crazy ripped?” Stevie asked.

“Probably. You’re the only guy I have ever met who left a cruise ship leaner than you got on it.”

“Wasn’t for lack of trying, Doc.”

“Caleb, we should probably talk about what I think the new normal will be. Because if the test results are right, you’ve finally burned the treatment out of your system with that last growth spurt. Your hormones are no longer out of whack and your system seems to have stopped overreacting to the presence of your boyfriend.”

“Sounds like good news,” I said. “Great, even!”

“Yes. But as we discussed, there isn’t much we can do to reverse all of this. Even surgery to reduce the extraordinary size of your pe—”

“Don’t you dare,” Stevie said.

“You could take a foot off this thing and it would still be huge,” I said. “All the same, I’d rather not go under the knife unless it was life or death.”

We did go to therapy, because we’d basically been raped, but if I’m honest in both our cases the memories weren’t sharp or painful—or at least weren’t specifically so. And we got closure that many people never get. One of our kidnappers was dumb enough to record the assault, too, so the case was easy to prove. Given the dependence of some of those little islands on tourism and cruise ships, they were very quickly found guilty and sentenced. That happened within the year, and our testimony via video feed was instrumental.

A month after we got back, I’d settled at just shy of 7’2, and 385 pounds once I’d actually had a few meals. I was covered in dense, heavy muscle (and my love of routine meant I would keep up the workouts indefinitely). My chest was 66 inches and my waist a solid 42, 25-inch biceps, 37-inch thighs… that was all unflexed. Pumped fresh from a workout, you’d add an inch or two to all those. (At this point, I just wanted to maintain what I had…though I was still slowly adding to the density and volume over time. I had to kind of talk myself out of pushing harder.)

The dick took some getting used to, for both of us. There was no getting around a knee-length whale of a cock that grew to two feet when aroused (which was often, though slightly less than it had been for a while).

Dr Morris was happy with my health, at least. “Luckily, all your other vitals check out just fine. For a 25-year-old world-class athlete who’s over 7 feet tall and carries an excessive amount of muscle,” he noted. “Our company will, of course, provide lifetime monitoring for your condition, which we’re chalking up to a hormonal imbalance. But the thing is, they think they might be able to do a little more for you.”

“Like…what?”

“Like, a considerable payout to cover expenses and a guarantee of covering any health risks your condition poses, for a start. Honestly, they offered more than I expected. That’s without other conditions.”

“I sense a ‘but…’ in there,” Stevie said.

“But…they’re offering to sweeten the deal quite a lot. Like, a lot. In exchange, they want the rights to keep studying you and see if they can replicate the results—in a more controlled environment, of course. You’d have to report in on a schedule for monitoring, and give up some rights to anything unique they find after digging around in your DNA. Samples of everything—I’m talking about very invasive stuff like getting samples of your internal organs and brain tissue. Frankly, Caleb, you could be a big enough moneymaker for them that they’re more than happy to give you a pretty hefty sum.”

So of course, we called Richie, and he called his lawyers, Wilson & Bradley (I kept thinking of them as Wilford Brimley), and we all sat down for a very lengthy chat.

In the end, the offer was too good to pass up. They paid to convert a rather nice house so that I fit better in it—ten-foot ceilings, custom doors and cabinetry, all that stuff, and paid me a consulting fee that was slightly better than my old yearly salary had been, while things were being set up. This was basically to keep me around for study, but that was fine with me; about six months in, they realized that they could use me for my actual skills as well, and so I did some part-time analytical work for them. Once my five-year consultancy was done, I would have access to the trust fund anyway. And that trust fund was guaranteed.

This also meant my hot barista boyfriend didn’t have to worry about money, and could fully concentrate on his graduate work. He got his Master’s degree in architecture later that first year. Richie and Dane were there for the celebration, having become very close friends (with occasional benefits).

The other thing the Wilford Brimley team got for me? Any resulting treatments or pharmaceuticals that were derived from my experience, I had a stake in. Not a big percentage (just a fraction of one), but one that seemed fair.

Two years into that arrangement, not long after Stevie agreed to make an honest man out of me, the mysterious backers of my treatment got a breakthrough. They’d found a way to recreate a much more limited set of the “side effects” I had, and with a much more dependable expiration. Basically, they aimed for something that would knock 5-10 years off you, at least, and stimulate unrealized growth potential—just not as much as it had for me. No full second puberty that lingered for months, but still a sought-after outcome. The revised version managed to suppress the pheromone feedback too—that one was much trickier to test. Imagine a bunch of horny college students stewing in their own sexual arousal while others are paid to sniff them!

As it happens, one of the early tests of the final formula—and one that we specially requested—was on Dane. We knew that he and Richie were as stable and loving as they get, and were willing to risk it. Dane grew about an inch in height and put on thirty pounds of muscle, but mostly he was happy because it seemed to reverse some of the joint pain he’d begun to notice. And Richie was happy because Dane was happy, and seemed even hotter, and got a bit girthier where Richie wanted him to be. He declined to try himself, though, because he was determined to become, in his words, “one of those endearingly tiresome old queens who refuses to act their age,” and he couldn’t do that if he looked 10 years younger than he claimed.

As for Stevie, well, we discovered something we kept mum for a while. Actually it wasn’t until we got fitted for the wedding tuxes that it even became an issue.

Stevie had been joining me in the gym, mostly to build up his stamina, he said, but I think also because he finally had time and wanted to be in a shape comparable to mine. He took to it pretty well, and saw plenty of newbie gains. What made us realize they weren’t actually newbie gains was when, joking around one night, we measured his dick and realized he’d grown. At some point, he’d nudged slowly past 9.5 to nearly 10. Since I was the main recipient of said dick—which was already oversized when we met—we really didn’t notice right away.

That led to a hotly debated discussion about what to do about it, if anything. I wanted him to get checked out; he wanted to “explore the possibilities”. By our first anniversary, he was closing in quickly on 10.5, and by that point I insisted we get checked again.

If you thought “hey, what if Stevie got big too”, you would be right. In theory, there was nothing communicable about what I’d been through. But sure enough, his test results suggested he was undergoing a similar, though muted, version of the revised process. In short, his body was undergoing a pseudo puberty, though it was nowhere near the version I’d dealt with. The nearest we can figure is that he’d triggered a weaker version at some point, purely because of the, erm, volume of my output he’d been exposed to, regularly, for a long time. (The newer serum had a few telltale genetic markers but none of them were present.) Sadly, perhaps, it was nearly gone when we spotted it, so Stevie didn’t get quite the same benefits as others might have, and only got a half inch taller. He seemed happy with the extra inch or so, and with the improvements in his physique—which happened a little faster than they might have otherwise. He was putting in plenty of effort in the gym, but it was the cardio that really came in handy. Mostly he looked toned and slightly athletic now whereas before he’d been lean and wiry.

I have to confess I liked his extra inch or so, too.

He was, however, more averse to the medical poking and prodding than I was, and declined to be a guinea pig. The research suggested pretty strongly that our odd reactions were exceedingly rare, and they couldn’t reproduce the effect on anyone else. After a year of trying, Stevie told them to be content with the samples they had.

Life kept us away from our old stomping grounds for a while, because we were building a life away from the downtown and university. Sadly that meant we missed Cuppa Joes for the most part, though we do use their roasted beans at home.

When you’re over 7 feet tall it’s virtually impossible to go out without being stared at, but when you’re well off, at least you can dress properly. On the rare occasion I have to get fancy, I have a few custom suits. The enormity of my junk means that’s a requirement; nothing comes standard, and there are logistical support concerns to manage. As far as we know, nobody in the world has a bigger cock (without artificial means), but we’ve kept that pretty close to the vest. Guinness can have that record after I’m dead. Apparently there was a guy in the trials of the product who reached 14 inches, but most guys only gained an inch or two. Still, there were quite a few more guys out there with 8-to-10-inch cocks now. You’re welcome!

The success of “the product”—as we always referred to it (the proper market names sounds like it’s in Elvish)—meant that my tiny fraction of a stake in the profits proved to be life-changing. By the time the first year of sales kicked in, my passive income from that was enough to keep us content for ages.

So if you’re reading this, it may be because you were curious as to why so many guys were suddenly beefier, hunkier, and bigger where it counts, and seem to look younger than they are. I only take partial credit. The real bit of genius I added to the mix was to suggest very strongly that they make it more affordable. The core treatment in its final form runs about $1-2k for the cycle, but that still represents a big profit, and it kept it from being the provenance of the wealthy.

Each dose is guaranteed to knock 2 to 6 years of visible aging off you (but often overperforms), and you typically gain about an inch all over. And realistically, it would work fully only once every 8-10 years. This was also by design, to avoid DNA damage. It was a brilliant bit of biochemistry, really, that had few drawbacks unless you had one of a handful of uncommon conditions. For about 90% of men, it worked as expected, with minor side effects like unwanted hair or relentless acne. They’d managed to turn my side effects into selling points.

As it happened, we built a new place closer to Richie and Dane, who traveled a lot—and we found ourselves joining them on other adventures. I shied away from cruises, though, understandably. Instead it was the Hamptons or some other private beach or a mountain lake cabin where I wouldn’t be stared at. I’d never really been comfortable with it, anyway. Richie’s family, as it happened, owned stakes in a lot of high-end resorts. We also hit Vegas about once or twice a year, using the original winnings from the cruise ship as our fun money. We picked up a few friends there who stuck around, too.

Before long, my agreed contract term ended, and I was left with, well, the rest of my life. I just turned 50 (but physically am more like young 30s), and I have a trust fund to fall back on if anything happens to the company, and Stevie makes decent money freelancing as an architect when he wants to. He did get into the field out of love for it, after all—and he seems to enjoy charity work where there is no real money to pay an architect. I am a little shy about appearing in public, but I do volunteer where I feel I can really offer something. One of my favorite things is to just show up and be huge and menacing where it helps—I’ve walked a lot of nervous girls to get abortions, and given a few talks to survivors of assault. And of course we donate a lot on the QT.

It’s astounding how positive life can be when you’re not struggling to survive.

Mostly we have more than we’d ever need—including a very well outfitted home gym and a pool. A nice big deep pool, too, and we love doing laps in it. I’ve been learning to make sushi, though of course Stevie makes all the coffee. My sexy barista did grow out his hair and did the little man bun thing—annoyingly, he looks good with it. He looks good with everything, and now that I've met his family, I suspect he will look 30-ish for a very long time.

The best thing about all of it is Stevie; I feel luckier about him than all the rest of it. In the end, with my partner by my side, and some good friends to enjoy good times with, honestly, life couldn’t be better. If I had to give advice, I’d say you should take whatever steps you can to get into better shape while you’re young. You never know where it might lead.

And you should always, always flirt with the hot barista.

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