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|I grew up in a large suburban town outside a major northeastern city near the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. You know the kind of place I mean – neo-colonial houses, crisp coastal climate, picturesque wooded lawns, middle-class and upper-middle class families, expensive cars in every driveway. It was comfortable, there was always a sense of calm in the community, and I felt that at home, too. My parents had a lassiez-faire approach to parenting, and so I was free to do my own thing. I was shy, independent minded, creative, curious, a whiz in the sciences. I went to the local public schools, avoided most of the other kids, concentrated on my school work, but I wasn’t what you would call a nerd. My parents had grown up in the city, they both worked in the city, and they treated me like a city kid. I had cool clothes, trendy clothes the kids in school thought were different because they couldn’t find them in town or at the mall. It was more like I was one step ahead of them. They thought I was smart and sophisticated – that got me some cracks, but mostly I was respected. Also, though I wasn't a real athelete, I went swimming in the fall and spring, and played volleyball in the winter, so I was always in good shape and could hold my own against the other guys growing up.
Early on, I knew that I liked boys. I remember sitting at a double desk in second grade next to a boy named Jay and feeling high, feeling special just to be near him. I developed crushes on all the guys in my grade eventually, one after another, in elementary school and middle school. I would pick one and he would be my favorite for a while and then I would move on, develop a fixation on someone else. Of course, they never knew, or at least I didn’t think they did. Years later, after Phil went through his first change, he told me he knew, that he had always known, because the mind is the most powerful organ in the body, and that one person’s imagination can reach another’s when they are thinking the same thing; he thought that was more powerful than physical contact, than touch, at least at the beginning.
I never made any physical overtures, except perhaps to try to get near them, or linger in the locker room before or after gym to catch glimpes. Perhaps I stared, or looked a little too intensely, perhaps they noticed that. If I stared, it was because my mind was always working. I was always imagining things, creating fantasies. I knew that I liked boys early on, but I also knew that I liked muscle. It astonishes me now that my desire to create a musclegod was there even at the age of six or seven.
In these fantasies, I would transform whoever was my favorite at the time into a musclegod. Usually through telepathic powers I would make him grow while we were in class, his body would get tense, begin to harden with muscle, then the muscle would grow as he got taller, his kid being shredded in a matter of minutes as he became a he-man. Noticing the change he would jump up from his desk, giddy, marveling at the change, knowing that it was beyond his control, but slowly, the bigger he got, the more he grew, feeling like he was in fact controlling his own growth, that he could get as tall and as massive as he wished. In some fantasies, I let them have that power and I imagined who would do what with their bodies based on their personalities. Some would become beautiful Adonises and others would become gods. Or, I would transform my favorite into a god and he would rule over all the others, lording his size and his strength over them, making them feel his body and his power.
When I was a little older, the scenario changed. I imagined that he, whoever he was, came to my house, into my bedroom, where I told him that I could transform him, make him the most popular kid in school. He would be incredulous, disbelieving. To prove it, I would make him take off his clothes, except for his underwear, and stand on the other side of the room. Then it would start – no convulsions, or rippling, or pain of any kind, but rather an awakening. Though I was controlling the growth, I would make it seem to him like it was coming from deep inside him, slowly coming to the surface, so that he could feel every bit of strength and power coursing through his expanding body every second of the process. He would look down and see his pecs become perfectly formed shelves of muscle and his nipples wide, dark disks the size of half-dollars, he would turn his torso and admire his arms. Then he would look up at me, surrounded by a kind of aura, with an awesome, knowing expression – it was this gradual sense of awareness of his new form and the feeling that it came from inside him, the mental transformation that accompanied the physical transformation, that truly turned him into a god. Then I would go over and instinctively kneel and worship him, from his strong manly feet up.
Once I found Phil, everything changed. The fantasies became more complicated, more ornate. That was in the ninth grade. He moved to our town with his family from another part of the state the summer before we started high school. He is Italian, and so he was already perfect – dark hair, blue eyes, a modeled face with full lips, olive skin, beautifully proportioned body with tight, sinewy muscle, long legs and arms – but he wasn’t really refined, he was a bit rough, and he wasn’t really smart, but he was cocky, something of a smart-ass. He knew what he had and he knew everyone of both sexes was attracted to him, and he played with that power. He was the only guy who ever teased me, flirted with me. Sometimes he would come up next to me in the hallway and say “hey” before going on ahead, turning his head back, raising his eyebrows and flashing me a grin. We never really had a conversation, and we weren’t friends. But, I looked for him everywhere in school, always trying to catch a glimpse.
The first fantasy I had about Phil was this: together we created a transformation device with two glass chambers that would transfer the total essence, power and strength of the person in one chamber to him in the other with the flip of a switch on a control panel facing the chambers, which I would operate. On the appointed day, we hypnotized everyone over the PA system; they lined up around the football field, where we had set up the apparatus, and went through one by one, clothed. As I flipped the switch Phil, standing in only his underwear in the other chamber, gained whatever muscle mass and strength they had, (without them losing their own) growing bigger and taller each time, pausing after each person had their turn to feel his newly acquired muscle and to reposition himself before he gave me the go ahead to flip the switch again. When everyone had had their turn, he would be transformed from his normal frame into a 10 foot, 1200lb musclegod. Then, we would ditch school and make him outrageously rich by having people pay to worship him.
A later, sexual fantasy was that he fucked every guy in school, transferring their essence to him as he fucked them, growing taller and more massive with each guy. All the guys in school formed a line through the hallway into the gym where Phil was waiting, haunched on his knees on a queen-size mattress on the floor, looking out at them. As their turn came, they would undress, get down and lay on their backs; Phil would grab their ankles with one hand, lifting up their legs so that their asses were in the air at the level of his cock, and plow away, watching his cock and looking at his torso, his arms, his hands, feeling the strength grow in him as his body changed. He would instinctively feel when the guy beneath him had nothing left to give; as he felt the last bits of life in the guy ready to pass to him he would plow in deep and grunt or moan, pulling out only after he had got it all, and then the guy would get up, zombie-like, get dressed, and the next one would lay down. The bigger he got and the stronger he felt the faster it would go, the grunts of full-transfer louder and closer together. If he wasn’t watching his own growth, he would spread their legs in the air with both hands and look at the body of the guy impaled on his engorged cock, make eye contact so that he could watch the expression on their faces as he took all that they could give, to let them see as well as feel his full power. As the specimen got up – for that was how he thought of them at this point – he would feel his mammoth pecs, tweak his nipples, or run his hands across his chest from shoulder to shoulder smoothing his sweat into a glistening veneer. After he was done with the last guy, he would summon me to him, undress me, give me the raised-eyebrow look, which meant authoritatively, but gently, “your turn,” take my waist in his huge hands, flip me over and take me from behind, slowly at first so that I could feel every inch of his now 12” cock burrowing in all the way, his enlarged balls pressed tight against my ass. He would fuck me rhythmically, pulling me to him with one giant hand, while holding and rubbing my neck with the other, keeping my head down with gentle force, bending down to hear my low moans, my purring, and to whisper in my ear that I was about to become his forever. Then, as he pulled back, arching his back, letting his chest and his pecs expand to their full width, I would turn my head to see as much of him as I could as we experienced the mother of all orgasms at the same time, his roar drowning out my screams and scattered breaths.
There are so many more, for once I saw Phil I no longer thought about any other guys. He was at the center of all my fantasies all through high school. We did have one real intimate moment. Thinking back, I can’t believe I got up the nerve to actually do this: at the end of our sophomore year, one weekend while my parents were staying in the city, I had a pool party at our house. I hadn’t invited anyone specific, and so people came and went over the course of two days by word of mouth. On Sunday, Phil arrived with a group of people – this was the first time we had what I would call a real conversation. As they came through the gate to the back of the house he broke away from the group and came over to me. He admired our house and thought the pool, which was almost Olympic size, was amazing. He thanked me for having him before he ran off to change into his swimsuit – which, when he returned, I saw was a white speedo, perfect against his dark complexion. He was oblivious to my gaze the entire afternoon while he swan, ate, sat on the grass and talked with the others, layed out in the sun. But toward late afternoon, I asked if I could take his picture and without the slightest hesitation he agreed. He also seemed to sense that I wanted to do it away from the others because he got up and motioned for us to move over to the hedge at the far end of the lawn. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, accentuating his muscle tone, and looked at me in ¾ view, mischievously. I snapped the picture, he nodded and said “good” and ran off back to the others.
Four years worth of fantasies – they became more sexual and more graphic as we got older, as we really did grow and become men. They were furthered by the fact that Phil really was working out and perfecting his body, so that by the time we graduated he had the look of a sports model. I wasn’t so bad myself, having officially joined the swim team junior year, working my way up to captain by the end of senior year. I had done well enough in school to be the valedictorian and was going to an important Ivy League university in the fall to study biology and chemistry, my two best subjects. As far as I knew, Phil hadn’t decided what to do, though college wasn’t one of his choices. Maybe he really would become a model, or a trainer or whatever. Of course, he was still the object of all my fantasies, but I had to deal with the fact that I wouldn’t be seeing him everyday. I gave my speech and everyone applauded and then lingered on the football field, scene of my first Phil fantasy. I thought maybe I would get a chance to say goodbye to him or something, but there were too many people, parents, and I didn’t see him by the time everyone left to carry on with their lives. I thought I would never see him again, except in my fantasies. How could I have known then that future events would prove me wrong...
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