Description Jay’s new boyfriend is younger and hunkier than he is, making him feel unworthy. Kim coaxes him into a workout regime and hooks him up with a friend’s experimental workout supplement, and before long Jay is catching up to his boyfriend—a lot faster than he should be.
|Updated||30 Mar 2019|
I handed the keys and paperwork to the clerk absently, finishing my phone call quickly so I wouldn’t hold up the line behind me. Marge could handle things back in the office just fine, and I had stuff I needed to do, starting with the tune up.
I wasn’t prepared for the cutest little Asian hunk ever to meet my gaze.
“Sorry, had to take care of something at the office,” I explained.
“No problem, Mister… Callahan,” the mechanic said, flashing a gorgeous smile.
“Please, call me Jay,” I said.
“Kim,” he said. “I know, how stereotypical, right?” He had a surprisingly deep voice, but just a hint of boyishness to it. Messy black hair, incredible cheekbones, even teeth, intense but friendly brown eyes.
“Nah, suits you.”
“Always thought it was a girly name.” He handed me the clipboard to sign. Wow, that was a hell of an arm.
“I don’t think anyone thinks ‘girly’ when they see you, Kim. Not with those arms!”
Goodness, he blushed. Delicious.
“Heh, thanks. Look it’s pretty slammed today, may be a while. You okay to wait?”
“Sure, I figured there would be a wait. Brought my iPad.”
“Cool, we will try to get you out as soon we can.”
Kim seemed to be the busiest guy in the place, so I was able to watch him unobtrusively for a few hours. His shirt was tight in all the right places, and those overalls rode a much firmer and full ass than I usually saw in Korean guys. He split his time between the front and the shop, never slowing down, always friendly but serious. Confident but sweet, charming the mostly female clientele, some of whom found reason to suddenly feign interest in the shop floor visible through the window. I wasn’t the only one drawn to the friendly, built hunk with the messy hair and lopsided grin. He always found time to make eye contact with me as he passed, which was nice, but I didn’t let myself be fooled.
He was maybe 30, and I was pushing 45. Sure, my blond hair laid nicely and I’d just got a good haircut, and I had been told I had a nice smile and nice eyes, but I was a desk jockey and it had taken its toll on my physique. It had been a while since I was target of flirting, and after a rather embarrassing moment last year at Pride, I had found it safer to assume I was misreading the signals. I closed my eyes, thinking how nice it would be to recapture even the body I’d had when I was in my 30s.
I woke to a pleasantly calloused hand gently rousing me.
“Jay? Mr Callahan?”
I opened my eyes to see hunky Kim leaning over me.
“Sorry, must have dozed off,” I said, sitting up embarrassed.
“It’s okay, sorry I had to wake you!” Again with those eyes and smile. “I have some bad news…”
Turns out there was a problem with my car, and if I hadn’t brought it in for the tune up, I might have had some serious trouble. Unfortunately, the part wasn’t on hand and couldn’t be had until tomorrow morning.
“I guess I can get an Uber or something.”
“I can drop you off. I am off in fifteen minutes,” he said.
“That’s really generous,” I started.
“Dude, you live in the building next to mine.”
“I have seen you often during my morning jog.”
I was shocked. How the hell had I missed that?
“So let me drop you off. If you want, I can even bring you in tomorrow, if you don’t mind meeting up at 6:30.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But let me at least buy you lunch as a thank you.”
Surprisingly, he did. And as we chatted, awkwardly at first, over our salads and chicken, it slowly dawned on me that he was, in fact, hitting on me. Finally, he said something more direct and unmistakable.
“Jay, I have to confess, I think you’re cute. That’s why I wanted to take you home.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re a hot 20-something. What would you want from a washed up, middle-aged guy like me?”
“I like what I like.” Oh, that smile. Dimples, did I mention those? “I have a thing for blondes. We all have a type, right? But I am almost 36,” he added with a twist of his smile.
He kept at it, all through lunch, talking about how he’d always crushed on older boys, then men. Asking me about likes and dislikes, confessing that he’d seem me walking to Starbucks frequently since he had moved in two months ago. Flattery works. I found myself drawn to his energy, and soon we were sharing opinions on movies and music and politics—we were remarkably in sync, disagreeing just enough to make interesting conversation.
I don’t recall ever being pursued so firmly, or so sweetly. It out me so off balance that I didn’t notice his hand on my arm until it had been there a while. Then he blushed, realizing it just as I did. “Sorry, I get carried away.”
“It’s fine,” I said, “but we should probably free up the table.”
I remained off balance as he drove me back to the shared lot between buildings, and somehow we kept talking and then we were in my apartment and I was pouring some iced tea so we could continue talking.
And then he kissed me.
Maybe I was a little starved for affection, but it was perfect. I found myself leaning in, and soon he was shrugging out of his shirt.
He was perfectly sculpted, of course. And then my self-doubt kicked in and all I could see was the inevitable disappointment he would feel if he saw me shirtless. I pulled away, a bit.
“Dude, it’s really okay. I like you. A lot. Enough to follow you home and make out with you. Let me touch you…”
Intense brown eyes and dimples distracted me, and he gently unbuttoned my shirt, then lifted my tee off.
The shame of middle age, sedentary life, and genetic predisposition. Hairy, pale, flabby.
“Jay, it’s fine. I like you. Everything else is just packaging.”
Suddenly feeling bold, I managed a joke. “I like your packaging much better…”
“Tell you what,” he said. “Just relax a bit and let’s enjoy this. I am glad you like this, but it isn’t me. It’s just my body. Inside, I am still the scrawny teen who follows his older brother’s best friend everywhere.”
A week later, and we had become a couple.
I was still in shock, honestly. This buff, smart, sweet boy could not possibly be this into me. But against all odds, he was, and gradually I’d let down my guard.
Then one night he surprised me yet again.
“Jay, it’s obvious you are unhappy with your body,” he said. “What if we work on that together?”
“Really? You know my schedule…”
“Don’t use that as excuse. You made time for me, right? So let’s do this together. I didn’t always look like this, you know.”
“Yeah, that would have been unfair. I mean, you had to work at least a little for that kinda muscle.”
“I was scrawny for ages. But honestly, I think you could shed the weight quickly enough, and the rest is stuff I learned the hard way. Let’s do it—let’s give you a tune up.”
The first week was brutal. Between the diet changes, mystery supplements, and the intense cardio he had me on, I felt like I was going to die. But he was so encouraging, and the rewards were there already, in that I got to spend time with him. And he also rewarded me with affection, and, well, sexy stuff. Motivation is key, he’d say.
It was near the end of week three that he finally let me look at the measurements.
“You’re down twelve pounds, and took almost two inches off your waist. And look, a bicep!”
I was astonished. Twelve pounds? How fat had I been?
“Dude, it’s early days yet. And you have been working your ass off. I am impressed.”
But just as I was hitting my stride—in my case defined by no longer being on the verge of puking every workout, disaster struck.
First, I got slammed at work with a huge emergency, and spent a whole week of 14- to 16-hour days, and with them, the bad eating habits returned. Second, Jay had to fly back west to L.A. for a family emergency, and was gone a week. I had barely returned his texts, I hadn’t done so much as a sit up, and he was home two full days before I even had time to see him. By then the guilt and shame were mounting.
Thank goodness, we made our deadline, and I got to relax for a day. Mostly I slept, but made arrangements to meet up with Kim for dinner.
“As setbacks go, I’ve seen worse. The trick is to get you back on the wagon,” he said.
And so of course we dove back in. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that momentum was draining away. I hit a plateau almost immediately, to my annoyance.
One night after dinner, as he and I took turns with massaging each other, he confessed his disappointment.
“Not with you, but it’s a situation. You still have thirty pounds you want to get rid of. And you have been pushing about as hard as I’d consider safe. You are doing everything right.”
“Me being 45 probably has something to do with it,” i moaned.
“Maybe. Look, I know you don’t want to mess around too much with supplements, but I have a friend who has access to some trial stuff. He’s part of some study, and he asked me if I wanted in, but apparently there are issues with certain ethnicities not reacting properly to it. I don’t know the science stuff, but Trevor has a solid rep and doesn’t go in for dangerous stuff.”
“Worth a try, I guess. I trust you.”
“Let me see if he has any ideas.”
Well, he did have ideas. But first, blood work, paperwork, and so on were needed for the study evaluation. Meanwhile we kept chugging away at the workouts and everything else. There was slight improvement, but not nearly like what I’d had at the start.
And then the call came. “Hey you. Got some news,” he said.
“You’re a match. You’re in the study, stud.”
“Cool, I guess.”
“You guess? You do want this, right? I mean for you, because you know I don’t care as long as you are healthy and happy.”
Of course he didn’t care. Blessed as he was, he really didn’t grasp the crippling doubt I still had, the constant nagging feeling that my boyfriend was way out of my league. But I realized I wanted it for me just as much as I wanted to be more worthy of him.
“I want in,” I said.
A few days later I met with Trevor, alone, because Kim had work. As I filled out still more paperwork, a fairly standard NDA, insurance data, etc., we got to talking, mostly about Kim, while he did final measurements. I got the distinct impression that Trevor was making sure I was worthy of his friend.
“Can I ask you one thing?”
“Do you love him?”
“That’s a bit personal,” I hedged.
“We just got done measuring your penis,” Trevor pointed out.
“True… well, honestly? Not sure yet. But I like him a lot, and I want to see where this leads.”
“And you’re doing this for him?”
“No,” I said. Why was he worried about motives? “I am doing this for me. But I also think I would feel less out of my league with Kim if I were in better shape.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. Well then, let’s do this thing.”
I probably should have paid more attention to his spiel, but I know it involved hormone stimulation, some sort of triggering agent, and a bunch of other big words. I was a little distracted because when he leaned over, I noticed that Trevor must have been pretty buff under his outfit, too. Once I noticed his chest and arms, it was all over for my attention span. Instead, I nodded and said “mmm hmm” a lot.
First up was a vile liquid I had to drink. And then, injections. Back of neck, butt, groin, and arm. And then a tub of powder mix and a large bottle full of pills. He handed me one to take now, and it was enormous.
“Mix the powder with milk, preferably whole milk, and have that as breakfast. Every day, without fail, to make sure your body has what it needs to process the other stuff. Come back in two weeks, and call if you run into any unusual reactions.”
If you guessed that I would run into unusual reactions, you were right.
At first, everything was pretty normal. We worked out and made love and ate and slept and worked. As usual, Kim took measurements but wouldn’t show them to me until the end of the week. He didn’t want me worrying about fluctuations.
But by day three, it started to become obvious that I was not in the placebo group.
By sheer habit, I’d got used to avoiding mirrors, ignoring my own body, so I really didn’t see it. Maybe there was a little cognitive dissonance there as well. Blinders.
But day three started with enthusiasm and energy, despite Kim having to miss it because of a work thing. I was a good boy; I blew though my workout, set a record for my run, and was in the gym shower when I got a compliment from a stranger.
“Hey kid.” It was one of the regulars, a guy in his late fifties, but we hadn’t met. “Looking good lately.”
“I’m serious. You keep at it and you’re gonna be a real hunk. Just be careful if you’re using, it isn’t always safe.”
And I finally looked at myself with fresh eyes, and realized that I was almost certainly in better shape than I’d been in ten or fifteen years. There was some actual muscle under a rapidly shrinking fat layer. Progress!
Well, I can tell you I had a bit more spring in my step that night when I got home.
I did a huge double take, but instead of the usual laugh, he pursed his lips and gave me a look.
“You’ve look like you’ve been living in the gym lately.”
“You’re gonna stand there looking that ridiculously hot, and complain I am catching up? Or is this some fetish thing where you are just into flabby guys?” I tried to make it sound like a joke, but the thought had crossed my mind. I guess I was that shallow, that I couldn’t imagine someone so fit being into me, not for long, unless there was some weird fetish.
“Babe, seriously, you need to get over this. You were always cute, and you were always sweet and smart, and you’re starting to get buff.”
“And I have to say, I like the results so far. Don’t get so caught up in this that you stop being all the other things I like. Yeah, your body is looking pretty great. But that’s never been all you are. Not to me. Try to remember that.”
Yeah, I was tearing up. You weren’t there. You didn’t see those beautiful brown eyes glistening, overfilled with sincerity. He opened his mouth to say more…
You see, we hadn’t actually said the words to each other, not really. But right then, I didn’t really understand what that meant, is say that. I was still too caught up in my own self doubt and lingering body issues.
There was also the matter of the libido boost.
“I know.” (I didn’t, really.). “I am doing this for me, and for us.” (Not really, I was doing this because I felt unworthy of the hottest guy I had ever gone out with and was afraid I’d lose him.)
I felt bold, rather than touched emotionally. And my libido was probably spiked a bit, too. Either way my next words set something in motion I couldn’t foresee. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“I love you, Kim.”
His eyes widened, his concern melted. And he threw himself into my arms.
God, I was such a selfish little shit. I was falling for him, but honestly I wasn’t there yet. I wasn’t comfortable enough with myself to love someone else. But I said the words, intuiting that they’d get him to stop questioning what I was doing. Heaven help me, because it worked.
And then we were kissing, and stripping our clothes off, and desperately grinding against each other, our insistent hot cocks rubbing against each other deliciously. I grabbed his firm midsection and lifted him onto my throbbing cock without a thought, not even really registering that I lifted him with minimal effort.
An hour later, spent and dozing in his arms, the doubts returned. It was a while before I could finally sleep, and I woke the next morning determined to catch up to my hot boyfriend so I could finally put this demon to rest.
It was probably a side effect of the medication, but over the next few weeks, I began to obsess over my progress, and well, I really went overboard. In my addled mind, I could work extra hard, and when I was built as well as he was, when we were even, then I would no longer have these doubts about our relationship. Meanwhile the doctor visits, the pills, the diet, the workouts, and the foul drink continued. My progress was remarkable but two weeks later (and another fifteen pounds dropped, and ever-growing arms and tightening midsection), I felt it slow again. I expressed my concerns to Trevor.
My progress had been good. Better than good. I rarely tired and all my vitals were miles better than when I had started the program. Kim and I started and ended each day with a very thorough session of sex, and I had been pounding one out at the office or the gym most days as well, so most days I was actively burning 500 to 750 calories on the sex alone. Trevor urged patience, and increased protein intake. My body was doing precisely what he expected on the supplements and he didn’t want to screw with the study, or introduce any risk.
He hadn’t spent half a lifetime slowly sliding into obesity and lethargy and self-loathing.
So of course, apart from the protein bit I ignored his sane advice and joined a CrossFit box near my office, and I didn’t tell my boyfriend or Trevor. Five days a week I would be there every lunch hour. Then I’d come home and hit the gym with Kim.
And boy, did I take to it. Somehow I avoided talking about it, nonstop, like most of the CrossFit guys tend to do. It’s hard not to be enthused because of the results and the supportive people, but I couldn’t blow my cover. But man, I was hitting personal bests every few days.
And as the weeks wore on, I graduated from “hey, looking good” to “shit, you got buff”. And it wasn’t enough. And the nonstop working out was taking a toll.
Then a CrossFit buddy—George, the beefy Latino dude I had caught staring a little too often—approached me after our session.
“You are really aiming for beast mode, ain’t ya?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I demurred. “Just trying to catch up to a friend.”
“Ain’t so easy hitting it this hard, when you’re not a kid anymore, I know. Why don’t you try this?” He offered me his water bottle. “It’s helped me keep up.”
“What is it?”
“Just a recovery drink, kinda like Gatorade. Nothing weird, just caffeine and vitamins, I think. It’s worked for me.”
I looked George over with a critical eye. He had joined a few weeks before me, and his progress had been on par with my own. We had spotted each other fairly often, and he was friendly. I recalled him saying he was in health care. I decided I trusted him and took a swig.
Not bad. Most of those recovery drinks reeked of taurine or had a nasty aftertaste. Not this stuff. I guzzled the whole bottle.
“Whoa, buddy, I guess it agrees with you,” he said, laughing. “Tell you what, if you’re happy with it, I will mix up some more tomorrow, and it’s all yours.”
“You sure, bro?”
“Yeah, my cousin brought a whole case of the packets back from Columbia last month.”
That probably should have been a warning sign, because weird foreign supplements brought in by cousins weren’t exactly getting through vetting by the FDA. At any rate, the blue stuff really helped, and I shot through another week of personal bests.
Meanwhile, other things were building up.
For example, I had finally had to buy new clothes; I’d gone from a pudgy 42 waist down to 36, but my shoulders had picked up the slack. My flabby 44 chest was up to 48, and my pecs were better suited to an underwear model. Speaking of which, the loss of all that weight was making my dick stand out more. Or maybe all the attention it was getting was building up that muscle too. It wasn’t all that noticeable, though. At least not at first.
“I don’t know where you’re getting your energy, babe,” Kim said. “But like I said, the results are pretty nice.”
Three months into my dual program, and I was consistently outpacing Kim—whose amazingly hot body I had felt unworthy of half a year ago—and was heading firmly into magazine cover territory. And despite his early reassurance that he loved me for me, he certainly seemed more into my body as I beefed up and shredded down.
Oh, and something else had begun to make itself clear: my dick was remarkably getting bigger. For first half inch of length, I attributed to losing all the flab. But it kept going, and going. Neither of us mentioned it out loud, and for myself, I was half convinced if I acknowledged it, I’d break whatever spell or dream I was having.
But one night, as we settled in in bed, and he went down on me, he suddenly gagged.
“Yeah, hon, but I gotta check something.” He flipped on the nightstand light and pulled a tape out of the drawer.
“Jesus, no wonder. I don’t fucking believe it,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“How can we not have.., dude, you used to be what, just shy of seven inches hard, right?”
“More or less,” I said through gritted teeth. This was it, the dream was about to end.
“Well, you are currently nine and one eighth inches.”
“No wonder I fucking gagged,” he said, unable to fully believe it.
“I must have been seriously fat.”
“Sure,” he said sarcastically. “I think that supplement might be working overtime. I keep meaning to go with you to Trevor’s but now I really want to. I think this is the sort of thing we might want to be concerned about.”
“Why? I mean, I am clearly more healthy than I have ever been.”
“Have you seriously looked at yourself? Or are you still blind to your own body?”
“I guess I have been beasting out a little,” I admitted.
“Ya think? Dude, you have turned about forty pounds of flab into fifty pounds of muscle. I keep thinking you must be on ‘roids, but obviously you aren’t, so I guess Trevor’s little experiment is to blame. Did you really not notice?”
“And that dick of yours. Man, nobody gains two inches of dick in their forties without silicon or stretching. And they sure don’t gain the girth too.” His hand no longer wrapped all the way around it.
“I guess I figured I was imagining it.”
“You have one big imagination,” he said. “Let’s make sure you are safe and healthy. So tomorrow, let’s call Trevor.” Then he gave me that smile again, finally. “But tonight, you’re mine.”
Trevor agreed to squeeze me in at the end of the day, and Kim met me there. I had rushed through my CrossFit lunch workout, and George wasn’t in. I was nearly out of his mixed bottles.
He’d left a package for me, though, at the front desk. Inside, an unlabeled tub of powder with slightly blue tint, and a note. He’d had a family emergency and didn’t want to throw off my regimen. The note said one spoon per two cups of water. So I mixed it up and drank it—the taste was growing on me—and popped the tub in my bag, and mostly forgot about it for the rest of the day.
Trevor was shocked, and went right into nerd mode, excitedly jotting down notes and measuring things. The look on his face was priceless when he jotted down my new dick measurements.
He took a fair amount of blood and asked for semen sample. I obliged but got a shock of my own when I damn near filled the sample cup. His assistants rolled everything up to get the testing done.
“I just can’t believe you,” he said. “You have outpaced everyone on this study, my friend. Especially with the muscle mass—what are you doing to earn it, pulling tanks around or something?”
“We do about 90 minutes three nights a week, mostly free weights and standard machines… and I have also been doing CrossFit at lunch every day.”
“Good grief. That is too much, really. One or the other should suffice. You could injure yourself. It’s a miracle you haven’t strained something.”
“But I feel fine.”
“Just skip the CrossFit until I get the results back,” he said. “You are not a twenty-something. You will hurt yourself sooner or later. I am not a hundred percent sure how you aren’t constantly exhausted. I assume the libido’s fine…?”
“Oh yes,” Kim and I said, in unison.
Four days later, I was missing my CrossFit fix, but settled for doing crunches and push-ups at lunch, swigging the off-brand Gatorade after as usual. This batch seemed more intense and tart than the prior ones, but it worked just as well.
And sure enough, all the other stuff continued. If anything, it was increasing.
That Friday, my boyfriend announced that my dick was getting too big for me to fuck him. When I told him it wasn’t his imagination, he pulled out the tape measure and there it was—at a hair over 9.75 inches. Nearly every other measure had increased as well. My chest hit 50 that day, waist down to 34, and my bicep was pushing 17.5inches. I was insatiable. It took three hours of vigorous fucking to drain my balls, which were nearing the size of chicken eggs.
Dummy that I was, I brought the gym bag home and Kim spotted the tub.
“What’s this stuff?”
“Just Gatorade, or something. It’s pretty decent. Want to try some?”
“Sure. These the directions?”
“It’s just a tablespoon for every cup of water,” I said.
“That isn’t right. This says one teaspoon for every two cups of water.”
“Thought it tasted a bit too intense.”
“Honestly, this is why I do the cooking. That shit tastes like salty lemonade. Guess it’s even worse if you have all that powder in it.”
So I cut back, and didn’t think any more about it, not realizing what had already begun was far too late to stop.
The tub ran out by the following Friday, and George hadn’t responded to texts or emails. I popped over to the CrossFit and they hadn’t heard from him either. It was almost eerie though, the way the trainer looked at me. Kind of hungry, almost.
But having noticed it there, I noticed it even more at the office. People kept interrupting my work to chat. Mostly guys, but all the sporty women too, found excuses to pop in. My friend Ellen made two separate comments about my collar being unbuttoned and I realized she had been staring at my chest the whole time during the staff meeting. I kept feeling eyes on me, and sure enough, I would catch someone looking me up and down.
It started to feel like something weird was going on. And every night, Kim was waiting for our gym date, followed by ever more intense and creative fucking, though I was usually on the receiving end because, well, my dick had pretty much outgrown my boyfriend’s ass. Any attempt required a ton of foreplay and lube, and I was afraid of hurting him.
By this point, I should also confess that the dick thing was getting even more out of hand than the muscle thing. I had gained almost two inches that week and if it didn’t slow down I’d hit the foot mark by the next appointment with Trevor. Similarly, I continued to pack on muscle, and looked more like a pro bodybuilder than anything else. I was pretty sure I was taller, too, and I had started at 6’2”. But my main measure was my hot little muscle boyfriend (who had packed on a bit more mass, too, just trying to keep up with me), and he was only 5’6”. And a bit sensitive about his height. I’d long been in the habit of not looming behind him, and we didn’t notice so much when snuggling or… doing other stuff.
Two inches of dick in a week. How on earth could we have just let that slide?
As predicted, I hit the foot mark when Trevor measured me, and he was not sympathetic when I moaned about the challenges it posed. He raised an eyebrow again when he measured my height—6’6”.
“This is well into uncharted territory, Jay. I think we need to pull you off the program, but your cycle would have wrapped next week anyway. Your blood work has been great, or at least as expected given the hormone surge. Nothing worthy of concern at least. They did ask about the quantity of the sperm sample though. Anyway, we’ll do the stabilizer shot now, instead of the booster, and then you just have to finish out this week’s pills. The experiment is over. But it will be some time before we know what happened.”
He stuck me in the arm and sent me on my way.
Kim texted me that he was running late, and so I decided to go for a run when I got home, and I forgot to bring my phone. I did however bring the last bit of sports drink, and downed the remains as I jogged up to our door.
Kim was there looking super worried. My phone had been blowing up.
“Jay, this is Trevor. Call me.”
“Trevor again. Look. I don’t want to worry you but I need you to call.”
“Please call me. We messed something up and I need to make sure you’re okay.”
Kim had called, and Trevor told him they’d given the wrong shot. Instead of a stabilizer, I’d got a larger than normal dose of the activator. He needed Kim to watch me for adverse reactions.
“I keep telling you I feel fine,” I said as I deleted the other voicemails from Trevor.
In the gym, I was a man possessed. I added weight to everything and breezed through it, and the tent in my shorts was verging on the obscene as I bench pressed my prior maximum—for reps. It was during the bench press when I noticed that Kim was boned up, and once I noticed that, it seemed everyone I saw was, too. We fucked in the showers and again when we got home. And then again.
And the next morning, I hit fourteen inches. Nearly all my measurements had gone up an inch or two.
Kim was insatiable, turned on by the size difference. After our second morning round, I called him on his hypocrisy. “This is just my body, just a package for the real me, you said.”
“I still believe that,” Kim said, “but that package is now really nicely gift wrapped.”
I called out of work the next Monday. I woke with a raging erection, and Kim eagerly announced I was fifteen inches and a bit. Kim called out too, and spent the whole day in bed with me and my muscles and increasingly impractical mega cock. My arms were pushing 20 inches, and my chest? 58 inches. At my height, I not longer looked like a body builder. I looked like I had just eaten one.
By Wednesday morning, I was really concerned. After Kim headed to work, I took private stock. The house reeked of sex, and I was sore. I was topped out at 6’8”, 324 pounds, all muscle. My dick hit a solid foot flaccid, and a whopping 16 inches hard.
I had not gone soft in a good six hours, and my dick just kept stretching itself in a priapistic explosion. Around lunchtime I finally couldn’t take it anymore—I had cum seven times just that day, already. When I realized that I could suck myself with very little effort, the rest of my day was spoken for….
It sounds pretty awesome, doesn’t it? Sucking your own dick?
When you only need to tilt your head a bit, lean just slightly forward, and let the swollen head tempt your tongue? Yeah, it totally is.
It’s also kinda weird, tasting yourself that way. I mean, most of us have probably taste-tested our own spunk before, if only out of sheer curiosity—but mostly as part of hot sex with a slightly kinky partner. I’ve always been a reasonably enthusiastic cocksucker, and an even more enthusiastic recipient. Both were fun and hot. It’s about either making your partner squirm in utter bliss, or about ceding all control to the person whose lips are wrapped around your cock. When you can do both at the same time, without anyone else involved, it’s almost like a feedback loop.
Also, if your dick is as long as two or three “normal” dicks, and you’re producing a third of a cup of spunk at a go, it’s surprisingly filling. And the smell and taste just intensify. The first time, it’s almost a surprise because you’re all caught up in the sensation, and then the second time, it’s about realizing that yeah, you really did just shoot hot jazz down your own hungry throat. After that, it’s disbelief that you’re still fucking horny and hard and your boyfriend still isn’t home, and well, why not? And so on. Hours might well go by as you fade in and out, and your existence narrows down to your enormous schlong and its demands.
The bigger challenge is ever stopping.
Or noticing anything outside your little circle of bliss.
So that’s why I didn’t notice Kim until he said something.
“Oh my fucking god,” he said. “I don’t know whether to be jealous, or grossed out, or mad, or what.”
With my mouth full, I couldn’t really reply, and the momentary panic set off the trigger—so when I opened my mouth to speak, my dick popped out of my mouth and fired half a dozen ridiculous volleys of spunk all over me and the bed.
“Dude, it reeks of sex in this whole house right now. How long have you been at it?”
I glanced over at the clock—it was nearly 5:30 pm. I’d been at it since lunch. In fact, I didn’t even remember eating lunch at all.
My guilty look triggered the most epic eye roll Kim had ever managed.
“We barely slept last night for all the fucking, and you must have come at least four times before I left this morning? I was exhausted!” I could tell by his face that he was more shocked and worried than actually mad, but I still felt the stinging guilt of ignoring his concern and just being selfish.
“Lucky for you, I called Trevor today, and he’s downstairs. He’s worried, too, Jay, worried enough to come right over when I told him about your most recent growth spurt. So why don’t you clean up a little and come downstairs, and we can figure this shit out before you get any bigger.” And with that, he stomped out, only to return a moment later.
“Seriously, help me strip the bed first. We have got to clean these sheets. Ugh.”
In the shower, I realized two things.
First, despite attempts at cold water, I simply couldn’t go soft. I didn’t have time to pound anything out and after the epic amount of cum I’d unleashed in the last 24 hours, I doubted it would help anyway.
Second, I was ridiculously ripped, as though…well, as though I’d been cutting liquids for competition and had burned through my remaining body fat and water weight. Which, now that I think about it, I basically had done by skipping two meals and fucking myself half to death.
I stepped out of the bathroom, toweling myself off, and found Kim and Trevor waiting for me. The windows were open and it was chilly.
“Holy shit,” Trevor said. “This is incredible.”
“See what I’ve been dealing with? And he’s still hard.”
“Jay, when was the last time you remember being soft?”
“Sometime yesterday, I think. I’m a little worried.”
“A little worried, he says.” Kim frowned. “None of this is normal. It’s barely believable. You have an extra foot of dick bobbing in front of you, and you’re a little worried. You’re like half a foot taller than you started, and you’re a little worried. You put on 15 pounds of muscle just this week, and you’re a little worried.”
“I get it, Kim. I just…I haven’t been thinking straight, I guess.”
“Well, we know where all your blood went!”
“Boys, please,” Trevor said. “Let’s calm down and go through some basics.”
Measurements first, then. Bathroom scale had me at…wow, 303 pounds? Height: 6’8”. Chest: 59.5”; waist: 32.5”. Arms, calves, neck, all tied at 23”. Thighs at 34 inches. My dick had surged up to 16.75 inches. I hadn’t been soft in almost 19 hours.
“There’s something else. This whole place smells like you.”
“I just showered—”
“No, I mean pheromones. I noticed it last time you were in, but it’s way stronger now. I could almost smell it on Kim.”
“Yes. Kim, are you aroused right now?”
“Yeah, maybe a little—but I’m not really hard or anything,” he said.
“Take a good strong whiff of your man, here,” he said.
One somewhat awkward sniff later and Kim was looking a little stunned as he flopped back onto the bed. Trevor checked his eyes and pulse quickly. “Yup, you’ve got it bad, don’t you? Pulse racing, pupils dilated, face flushed…”
“…Yeah,” Kim said.
“Uh-huh. Jay, do you think you can coax a load out of those oversized balls of yours?” He handed me a large plastic container.
“I think the bigger issue will be aiming,” I groused. “But I’ll try.”
It wasn’t that hard to do. With little provocation, and some tricky aim, I handed over the nearly 3 ounces of jizz.
“Astounding. And how many times have you done this in the last 12 hours?”
“I think at least 10, but I kinda lost it for a while there while I was sucking myself—it’s a bit of a blur,” I said sheepishly.
“Wow. Just… wow. Assuming they were all like this, that’s over three cups of ball juice, man.” He shook his head incredulously.
“Trevor, look at that dick, those balls—are you really surprised?” Kim growled.
“Of course I am. That’s beyond anything we’ve ever seen before.”
“I just realized I haven’t eaten any food since yesterday.”
“Looked like you were getting plenty of liquid protein when I got home,” Kim said, “but I guess I’ll make something for the three of us.”
Once Kim was downstairs, Trevor asked quietly: “What else are you taking? Something else triggered this.”
I debated, but he was right. So I fessed up.
“Well not really blue, mostly white powder that was like Kool-Aid or something. It’s all gone, though. Tub’s here but there can’t be more than a few grains left.”
“I’ll check it out, but I think I know what happened, now. At least, if that’s what I think it is.”
“Well? Are you going to tell us, or just tease us,” Kim asked.
“Well, it’s probably a rumor, and I will have to follow up with some tests in the lab. But if I’m right, you had the misfortune to be used as a lab rat by my company and my competitors,”
“Wait, I thought you worked for the GNC guys,” Kim said.
“I did a few years ago, but I went private about eighteen months ago after corporate shut down my research. This stuff your boy is on? Independently funded.”
“What about the other guys?” I asked.
“I dunno. I haven’t even started to market the stuff I am developing. It’s just in clinical trials—a few absolutely legit ones, as well as a few special cases like you.”
“Some kind of military thing, I guess?”
“Hah. No, this is university donor-funded research. Too many eyes and noses military side, and they have a tendency to grab stuff in the name of national security. No, this is from the sports programs where wealthy donors make private contributions. You’d be amazed what some folks donate to keep their boys in school, and most of it goes to the sports teams.”
“The muscle stuff makes sense, building better athletes and all that. But why blow up the nards?”
“I don’t think my stuff is to blame there. Well, maybe a little. Won’t bore you with the science, but Jay was in the mature men study, and that was testing to see whether it would be as effective on older men. But to make it work, we basically simulate puberty hormones, which, in layman’s terms, makes the body receptive to the formula. But Jay already responded better than average on that front… maybe you can blame an inch or two on me,” he said, mentally working things out.
“And the rest is because of that recovery drink?”
“Well, we will have to see. But yeah, I think they probably chose a different approach. We solved the problem by hormonal alterations and encouraging natural growth. I suspect they solved same way Viagra solves it—pushing more blood into the tissue itself. If I’m right, they may have actually started with an ED medicine and bonded their growth agent to it.”
“That might explain a lot about the monster he grew.”
“Even then it’s a stretch, if you’ll pardon the pun—and it wouldn’t be so quick. But if you combine super Viagra with what amounts to a second puberty. The body would signal the sexual organs to grow, it would redirect blood flow and push hormones there, and then you’d compound the effect with all that extra Viagra effect. Add extra testosterone from all the working out, and you have a seriously fucked up setup. It sure wasn’t what we intended! Still, that is probably the largest human cock on the planet.”
“Okay, but what do we do about it?”
“Kim, Jay, I will be honest. I don’t think any of this is really reversible. At the moment, slowing it down will be a challenge.”
“Wait, you are saying I might keep growing?”
“I don’t know. We are off the map here, Jay. God knows how much of those two concoctions are in your bloodstream or how they’re really interacting. You exceeded the controlled study parameters and you overdosed on this blue crap. I will do what I can to help, but I’m not really sure what will be possible.”
Trevor pulled what felt like half a gallon of blood from me, and left with that and the cup of jizz, promising to contact us again when he knew more. Kim walked him out, and then returned to stare daggers into me from he doorway.
“I know you’re mad,” I said, “and I know you hate what I’ve done to myself. I have fucked everything up… I am a freak now!”
“I don’t care about that. I told you ages ago, the package isn’t what matters to me,” he said. “Big, small, you could be anything on the outside and I would still love you.”
I hung my head in shame. I was so fucked up, I didn’t deserve this guy, I never had deserved him…
“I am mad because you lied to me,” Kim said sadly. “That’s it. I am worried for you and concerned about what you’ve done to yourself, but I am only really upset about the lies.”
Yeah, I was a dick. I felt absolutely terrible, and had only myself to blame. I would just be a freak, Kim would leave me and be justified in doing so…
“Oh for god’s sake, Jay, you can be so dense. I would bet my left nut that you are sitting there expecting me to bail on you. I swear, if I could figure out who fucked up your self-esteem, I would break their neck.” He swooped in and hugged me close, ignoring the foot and a half of killer cock in the way.
“I am not going anywhere, dummy. Just don’t lie to me about something like this ever again. The rest, we can figure out.”
Meanwhile, in a shabby industrial park, two shadowy figures in lab coats sat in a darkened observation room above a well-lit operating theater. Strapped to a table, heavily sedated, and connected to dozens of monitors and tubes, was a mammoth beast of a man. His Latin good looks and beefy musculature must once have looked healthy, enviable even. Now, his bloated body was a testament to excess, covered in stretch marks and thin skin, and barely able to function. Every muscle striation and fiber seemed visible in his overstuffed body.
“So what’s the deal with this one?”
“Another bad reaction. This guy was supposed to be our middle man to find test subjects and build a market. “
“Shit, it looks like he ate his customers.”
“Right? Well, it’s more that he was dipping into the product. Dummy stole a whole lot, hundreds of doses, and disappeared with it. We aren’t sure if he used it all or sold it for cash”
“You’re not sure? Look at him!”
“Oh, no, this boss punishing him for stealing. He fed him a whole tub of the new formula. It broke something in his system and he keeps packing on muscle. They just keep him hooked up to life support, and pump him full of nutrients and meds. Since Wednesday, he has been getting electroshock muscle stimulation, but he hasn’t really moved on purpose since Friday, and I am pretty sure he’s basically in a coma.”
“Jesus. Remind me not to cross the boss!”
Below, the freakish mass of muscle and bone that used to be George stirred.
His eyes opened and he began to swim, mentally, upstream to consciousness. He had to do something! He had to warn… Jay. Jay, his workout buddy. Had to warn him, had to…