So, is it true? Ya know, about the formula?” Casey asked eagerly, kneeling on the bed of the San Diego motel room, his lithe body dressed in nothing but his camouflage-patterned briefs.
“What formula?” said Andre, the incredibly muscular young man wearing nothing at all. Andre stood by the window, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks as the morning light seeping through the blinds cast flattering shadows across the impressive contours of his body.
“You are such a bad liar!” Casey giggled, rolling onto his back. “You do that scratching your face thing every time you fib. You must be terrible at poker.”
“When have I told a lie?”
“Let’s see,” mused Casey, stretching his right leg toward the ceiling. “For starters, last night at Rich’s, you told me you were a mailman.”
“I could be a mailman.”
“Riiiight. Like, only the most awesomely jacked mailman in postal service history. Plus you told me your name was Sam Adams, which you only said after staring at the label on your beer bottle.”
Andre hung his head in exaggerated shame. “You got me.”
“Indeed I did,” Casey said with a grin, his eyebrows jolting victoriously upwards. “It’s a good thing you’re not a spy. I could figure out all your secrets.”
“How do you know I’m not a spy?” Andre teased. “I do some of my best work undercover.”
Casey groaned, hurling a pillow toward the windows, which Andre deftly dodged. Casey extended his slender arm toward Andre and wiggled his fingers beckoningly. Andre wrapped his beefy fingers around Casey’s hand and, when Casey gave the slightest tug, Andre tumbled onto the bed as if yanked by an irresistible force. Casey rested his chin on Andre’s meaty shoulder and brushed his fingertips over Andre’s massive torso, skipping lightly over the bumps of his ribs and tracing figure-eights in the grooves of Andre’s well-defined abs.
Casey had been certain Andre was a Marine from the moment he spotted him walking tentatively into Rich’s nightclub alongside a couple of similarly buff buddies. The theme that night was “Active Duty”, when marines from nearby Camp Pendleton were allowed in with no cover charge. Casey observed that most of the military guys had gone out of their way to dress as “civilian” as possible, getting more than their share of playing soldier in real life, while the other boys on the dance floor took advantage of the theme as an excuse to get dressed up in some sort of uniform. Andre’s Hawaiian shirt, baggy cargos and leather flip-flops didn’t fool Casey. With his rigid posture and severe buzz cut, Andre simply screamed “Marine”… and if Casey had his way, he would have that Marine screaming by the end of the night. The “Semper Fi” tattoo poking out from under Andre’s sleeve only confirmed Casey’s assumptions.
Casey, who had assembled his own outfit at a surplus store in El Cajon, was dressed in a garrison cap, floppy black boots, camo underpants and white shorts. A corporal’s khaki shirt was draped like a tent on his lanky frame, its tails knotted loosely over his bare tummy. With his minimal muscle tone, boyish face and gelled hair with frosted tips, Casey was unlikely to pass as a real serviceman no matter what he wore. Casey had a lifelong obsession with the military. His father and two of his brothers had served, and Casey had grown up assuming that he would follow their path. But he had never sprouted to a formidable size like his brawny brothers and was prone to asthma attacks, which had cemented in place an inferiority complex which he had never overcome. He also realized at a young age that he really, really, really liked boys, which he initially figured would be an automatic disqualifier, although the exquisite hunk of man on the bed beside him proved him wrong on that count. He knew he was cute and fun and could turn on the flirtatious charm when necessary, but he was still amazed that he had lured Andre away from the club when there were so many more studly specimens on display. Maybe Andre just had a thing for twinks, or maybe Casey simply pestered him so much that he surrendered to the inevitable. Either way, Casey had achieved his goal and, as the dull ache inside of Casey reminded him, if Andre had any complaints about Casey’s body, they sure hadn’t stopped him from fucking Casey all night.
“So you’re not gonna answer me, huh?” Casey persisted.
“The formula,” Casey said with a brisk playful slap against Andre’s eight-pack. “It’s all anyone has been talking about lately in the clubs and at the gym, how much more ripped you boys from Camp Pendleton have been getting all of a sudden. Rumor has it that you’re using something based on that super-soldier serum from World War Two.”
Andre glanced sideways at Casey and chuckled. “You mean like Captain America? You are aware that’s a comic book, right? Do you think we’re all getting bitten by radioactive spiders too?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them. I’m just saying, I study you boys… very closely. And I gotta say, I’ve never seen anyone make these kind of gains.”
“Maybe we’re just trying harder,” said Andre stone-faced, purposely rubbing his whiskers to taunt Casey.
“Now you’re just being a dick,” Casey sneered, followed immediately by a grin.
The two men grabbed a quick breakfast before heading out for a brisk hike. Andre pulled a change of clothes from the trunk of his car, hitting the trails in a tight olive-drab tank, cut-off jeans and a rugged pair of Timberlands, while Casey still wore the half-assed uniform he had worn to the club. “You know, you really shouldn’t be walking around in public like that,” Andre warned. “People will think you’re trying to impersonate a Marine.”
Casey tapped a finger against the sternum of his flat chest, exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. “If someone sees the two of us, you’re honestly saying they’ll think I’m the Marine?” Casey cackled and ran ahead of Andre on the dirt trail. Andre stayed in place, giving Casey a head start and allowing himself a few moments to admire Casey’s firm little ass. But once Casey tauntingly berated Andre for being a “wuss”, Andre could not let that stand. He pounded his way up the trail, quickly breezing past Casey, who was already chugging along and looking winded.
“Ha, look at you! Who’s the wuss now?” Andre’s laughter boomed across the hillside as he jogged ahead of Casey, facing backwards. He continued to chuckle as Casey staggered and clutched a hand to his chest, but the severity of Casey’s wheezing and the purple hue of his face made Andre stop in his tracks. When Casey turned his ankle and dropped to one knee, Andre rushed back and guided him to the side of the trail where Casey sat down and rested his back against a tree. “Shit, man, are you gonna be okay?”
Casey nodded as his coughing fit subsided. “It’ll pass,” he said, extracting an inhaler from his pants pocket and sucking in a much-needed puff. He shot a glance at Andre squatting beside him, his powerful quads practically bursting out of his shorts. “It’s not fucking fair. I bet you were already totally built before you even entered the service, and every day you just get fitter and sexier. Me, I can’t run fifty feet without collapsing like a ninety-year-old who had his walker stolen. I’d give anything to be like you.”
Andre placed a comforting hand on the soft slope of Casey’s shoulder and leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. As the kiss lingered, Casey’s body shook as if stifling a chuckle. Andre pulled back and asked, “What’s the matter?”
“It’s just funny,” Casey said, flashing a wide grin. “Here I am suffocating, and you’re taking my breath away.”
Andre stood up, holding Casey’s hand. “You think you can walk with me?”
Casey nodded and rose on wobbly coltish legs, and the pair resumed their hike, slowly strolling side by side and hand in hand.
After a sunset dinner at the Chart House, Andre drove Casey back to his apartment. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Casey said.
Andre shrugged his shoulders. “Me too, but I gotta report back…”
“To your mail route, I know.” He kissed Andre, then asked, “Am I ever gonna see you again?”
“Absolutely. You know the mailman’s code.” He pointed to the “Semper Fi” tat which spanned his right biceps. “Always faithful.”
Casey smirked. “Fuckin’ A.” He turned and gimped his way toward his apartment. As Andre watched, he made a silent resolution to himself.
After two weeks without a word, Casey had given up hope of seeing Andre again. When he did eventually spot Andre strolling into Rich’s on a Saturday night, in a body-hugging white tee and obscenely tight jeans, Casey was simultaneously thrilled and angry. Wearing only silver hot pants with matching high-tops and liberally sprinkled with sparkling confetti, he marched across the dance floor, skinny arms swinging furiously, hands balled into unintimidating fists. “Whatever happened to ‘Semper Fi’, asshole?” he demanded.
Andre was taken aback by Casey’s fury. “Uh, hi to you too, Casey. I love what you’re not wearing.”
“Where the fuck have you been? You never heard of texting?”
“I’m sorry, man. I was away on training exercises,” Andre shouted over the music. “But you’re right, I am an asshole. I should have taken a second to drop you a message. If it makes any difference, I was thinking about you the whole time.”
“Riiight. Easy to say,” Casey said, crossing his scrawny arms in defiance, on the verge of hyperventilating.
“Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you a drink. What do you want?”
A drink hardly seemed like sufficient penance, but at least it was something. “Kamikaze. No ice.”
“You got it. Be right back.” As Andre marched toward the bar, Casey watched as dozens of heads swiveled to take in Andre’s sculpted body. Casey sulked, mired in the feelings of depression and rejection that had dogged him in the two weeks of silence since he had last seen Andre. Sure, he might have been able to smile seductively and waggle his pert ass enough to capture Andre’s attention for one fun weekend, but what chance did Casey have of holding onto a guy like Andre who could clearly have his pick of any man in the club? He gyrated half-heartedly on the dance floor as he awaited Andre’s return.
“Here is your kamikaze,” Andre said, handing the glass to Casey, then clinking it with his own bottle of Samuel Adams.
Casey took a gulp of his drink and gagged. The vodka and lime juice were strong, but they couldn’t entirely mask the taste of some foreign ingredient. “What the fuck? Did you slip something into my drink?”
“What? No!”, Andre insisted, unaware that he was rubbing his hand across his five-o’clock shadow.
“You better not be Cosby-ing me,” Casey said, bracing himself before taking another slug of the drink. There was definitely something extra in there, although he had no complaints about the unfamiliar sensations which were starting to flood through his body. Casey’s skin flushed and his cock began to expand inside his shorts as a pleasant heaviness fogged his mind. His dark eyes widened as he looked fondly toward Andre, but before he could say a word, his knees buckled and he tumbled forward. Andre reached his hands under Casey’s armpits to prevent him from collapsing. The empty kamikaze glass slipped from Casey’s limp fingers and shattered on the floor.
When Casey’s eyes opened, he was back in his apartment, tucked cozily under the comforter of his bed. A sliver of light emerged through a crack in the door leading to the living room. Casey drowsily swung his legs out from under the covers and placed his bare feet on the hardwood floor. He shuffled toward the light wearing only his silver-lame shorts, noticing that his silver high-tops had been placed neatly in his closet.
Andre was seated on the sofa, staring at a muted TV displaying nothing but snow. “Why the hell do you have so many fucking remotes? I just wanted to watch SportsCenter and it’s more complicated than launching a missile.”
Casey rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Did I pass out?”
Andre cringed apologetically. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t realize it would hit you so fast. I should have taken into consideration your size.”
Casey barked, “Didn’t realize what would hit me so fast? How dare you sneak something into my drink without my permission!”
“I’m sorry! Jeez! The way you kept asking about it, I thought you’d be excited.”
“Kept asking about what?” Casey demanded.
Andre glanced around, as if worried that he would be overheard, then whispered, “The formula.”
Casey rolled his eyes and flopped down into an upholstered chair. “Ha, ha, very funny. Make fun of the idiot.”
“Hey, I’m not kidding,” Andre continued, keeping his voice low. “You know how tough it was to sneak that stuff off the base? Maybe you should be a little more appreciative.”
Casey leaned forward, studying Andre for a tell, but he wasn’t scratching his face and his eyes were burning with sincerity. Casey slowly settled back into the chair as an amazing realization sunk in.
“When I saw how miserable you were on that hiking trail, it just seemed wrong that you weren’t allowed access to something that I knew would help you. You were right, I was already in good shape before I joined up. I was probably the last person who needed that kind of boost. I gave you the same size dose they gave me, but I’ve got no idea how it will work on a shrimp like you.” Casey jokingly flipped Andre the finger. “Okay, I guess I deserved that. But, just think, that’s the last time anyone will ever be able to call you a shrimp! I’m just glad you woke up before the changes started kicking in. You wouldn’t want to miss them.”
“Huh? Uh, no, I sure wouldn’t.” Casey was shaking with anticipation, his stomach churning, his still-bony fingers drumming anxiously on the armrest. It had only been a minute since he learned what was going to happen to him, yet the waiting had already become excruciating. What was the hold-up? Why couldn’t it just start alread…?
Just then, Casey’s body jerked violently, like a head-to-toe charley horse. He shrieked in agony and wrapped his arms around each other as his legs seized up. He tumbled out of the chair and curled up in a fetal position on the floor. Andre leapt off the couch and positioned himself behind Casey, rubbing a comforting hand along Casey’s narrow back. “Don’t worry, the pain will go away soon.”
“You never said anything about pain!”, Casey bellowed. But, just as Andre promised, the misery quickly eased, replaced by a comforting tranquility as his body was suffused with a feeling of great power. He stretched out, leaning his back against the sofa as he felt energy spreading throughout his body. Andre was huddled beside him, watching closely for the metamorphosis to begin.
The first changes Casey noticed were to his arms which were pulsating in rhythm with his heartbeat, swelling larger with each pulse. His biceps arced outward, hardening into solid masses. Thick veins emerged under his skin, bisecting his biceps and thickening across the back of his hands as they pumped more of the mysterious formula through his growing forearms. His anemic chest began to puff out with each breath, his pecs thickening into sinewy slabs. He could feel his back and shoulders broadening while his waistline remained trim. The skin was sucked tight across his stomach as his abdominal muscles tensed, surfacing like islands emerging from beneath the ocean. Beyond that, he watched as his thighs and calves ballooned into fleshy trunks that would be the envy of an Olympic bicyclist. He felt himself rising slightly from the floor as his glutes firmed up and bulged out. He also felt his cock hardening and elongating, its head snaking toward the suddenly inadequate elastic waistband of his silver shorts.
Casey was unaware of the ecstatic smile on his face, which retained its boyishness while losing some of its baby fat. He beamed at Andre, awestruck by the extraordinary gift he had been given. The two men kissed, and Casey’s erection shredded the strained fabric of his shorts, springing upright like a turgid ten-inch flagpole. Casey broke away from the kiss to stare in disbelief, then looked back into Andre’s eyes. “So the formula is real! The rumors were all true!” Casey gasped at the maturity in his new resonant voice, a confident, commanding voice, the voice of a leader.
“You didn’t hear that from me,” Andre grinned slyly.
Casey wrapped his fingers around the base of his towering cock and gave in to the irresistible compulsion to stroke it. “You don’t need to tell me. I’ve got the evidence first-hand!”
“Well, can I be the second hand?” Andre asked, curling his own palm around Casey’s hard-on. The two hands coaxed the erection to further heights, nearing a foot by Casey’s astonished estimation. When pre-cum began to sputter out, Andre shifted himself until he was straddling Casey’s legs, then lowered his lips onto the bright red mushroom of Casey’s head. Casey’s neck fell slack and he braced his arms against Andre’s shoulders as Andre’s tongue masterfully nursed Casey’s cock until it gushed, pumping thick gobs of cum down Andre’s throat.
Casey slid away from the couch until he was fully prone beside Andre, post-orgasm drowsiness combining with the literal heaviness of his enhanced body. Andre rested his cheek on Casey’s firm belly as Casey rubbed his palm across the bristles of the Marine’s buzz cut. “You’re not gonna get in trouble for this, are you?”
Andre shook his head. “I was extremely careful. Besides, the way I look at it, all I’m doing is bringing them an amazing new recruit.”
Casey chortled. “Yeah, right. Me as a Marine.” But the more he thought about it, he realized he now unquestionably had a Marine’s body, as the formula had made him as big as Andre, if not bigger in some particular areas. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “Holy shit. I’m not winded at all. Do you think it could possibly have cured my asthma too?”
“I dunno. You think Captain America has to carry around an inhaler?”
Casey smiled dreamily as he pondered where this new body might take him. “Semper fi,” he declared.
Andre closed his eyes and murmured, “Fuckin’ A.”
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