In my line of work a night off was pretty rare. Cases came up all the time, and I'd learned where to make the most of what little out time I could squeeze. I headed to Plexus, a local club known for its rather sizeable entertainment. It had been remodeled after some sort of mishap with the entertainment. Reports were dubious, but they all indicated that it was the place to go for muscle to show.

Of course, I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea. Men into more man than they could usually see all flocked to this place for some reason. None of our operatives had been able to be admitted, nor did they ever see anyone out of character leaving the place. Fortunately, I did not give off the usual signals of a G-man, so I had no problem making it through the door.

Scoping the place out, it definitely had its share of eye-candy. There was nothing going on that wouldn't be out of the ordinary in a metropolitan gay bar.

Nursing an overpriced martini, I covered the floor toward the back of the dance floor. I thought it was kind of odd that they hadn't built the walls all the way up for support. I just chalked it up to some new `open concept' of design that let the noise and light from the front keep guys jazzed while the made use of the facilities for various purposes.

I made eye contact with an attractive guy in his mid-20's wearing standard issue jeans and a snug-fitting dark `dress' shirt with several of the buttons undone to peel over his well-formed chest. I approached and asked if I could check them out. He said that he might consider it over a drink. I held up a $20 and he took my hand and led me back out to the bar. His hands must have been faster than I thought because the bill disappeared before I could see him stuff it anywhere.

Wheeling around at the bar, he pressed himself outward toward me straining the shirt even more. Grabbing him at the waist, I pulled him in and slowly palmed him from the waist up. I took extra time subtly pressing into his hardened chest before circling up over his shoulder and rounding down back toward his upper arm.

"Nice," I commented. He flexed for me and acted surprised at how tightly his shirt molded to his biceps when he flexed them. Taking it for an invitation, I squeezed it firmly while I myself firmed up inside my pants.

"Excuse me," he stammered and pulled himself away.

Figuring that I had been too forward, I watched as he frantically searched for someone who could take his attention from the current situation. He left awkwardly and made his way to a friend on the other side of the bar. I tried to watch inconspicuously as he talked to his friend. He signaled in my direction a couple of times, and when his friend offered him some money, he threw up his hands without taking it. He then downed his friend's drink and walked away. I turned my attention away assuming I had been the cause of the rift. Resuming my scan of the goings-on, I was surprised when I felt an arm grab me from behind and heard "my name's Kevin. Let's get out of here."

The cab ride back to my hotel was fairly uneventful. He chatted about some of the special events at the club, explaining to me the mystery of the growing musclemen. After hearing what he described, I could hardly wait to experience this in person. I had already experienced massive muscle growth in a private experience, and would like to compare the level of energy when an entire crowd is driven with these amazing passions.

Wondering if the process involved the same technology I had recently discovered (and even more recently lost), I asked if there were any special lighting effects. He answered 'no,' that there was pretty much just the energy of the crowd. Much as he had tried, he had also never managed to hook up with one of these guys or see how they left the club in the morning.

Trying to tie this in somehow with my missing device, I continued to ask if he had ever seen anyone else transform like this. He got really nervous and laughed. "Why do you ask? Are you one of the Bancorp guys?"

"Never heard of them. Do I look like I'm a banker?" My answer seemed to assuage his concerns, though personally I had always thought I was a little better built than most of the bankers I've met.

We arrived at the hotel, and I caught him staring at the number of bills in my money clip when I paid the cabbie. We hadn't discussed whether a fee would be involved, and since he had initiated leaving I figured that there wouldn't be one. I said nothing and put it back into my rear pocket.

Rounding upon him as soon as the door was closed, I mentioned his attention on the money and asked if it would make things more interesting. He smirked and said, "I'll think it would probably make things better for both of us." I reached for my back pocket, but he intercepted my hand. "Allow me."

He grabbed me and traced his hand downward from my spine and over my beltline. Massaging and sizing up my ass in his hand first, he finally wedged his hand deeply into my pocket. I felt him tense up slightly as his hand moved over the metal clip. He slid his hand up and down inside the pocket before removing it but not the money clip. Smiling again, he pulled me in and said "it's showtime."

Before I could ask anything he kissed me as hard as he had been holding me. I reciprocated and kept it going. Not wanting to lose time, apparently, he kicked off his shoes all the while maintaining his hold on me and my lips. Pausing to take a breath, he nuzzled my cheek, whispered "figure it out yet?" He then cupped my neck in his hand and resumed kissing.

I was confused for a moment when it dawned on me I now had to lean my head back to kiss him fully. This had not been the case earlier. I pulled back and said "oh, my god!"

"Just you wait," he laughed. Now that the secret was out, he stepped forward into better light pushing me back as he came. He seemed to be stretching upward more than outward so far, but his examinations seemed to indicate that he expected everything to be heading in the positive growth direction. By now he was several inches taller than me and an outward expansion of his frame was starting to become evident.

The few undone buttons at the top of his shirt did little to relieve the stress being placed on the fabric by his chest and shoulders. The seam stretched taut as his shoulders filled out past the yolk, and he shrugged a couple of times to allow the fabric to replace itself in a more comfortable fit. These attempts were in vain as the fabric simply tightened further in areas from which spare had been pulled. The most noticeable was the armpit area. In trying to spare fabric stress from front, back and above it was easy to determine where the first tantalizingly rip of seams would occur. I just wondered whether Kevin would savor the enjoyment of these events or simply tear away like a hulk. So far he had made no sudden movements toward the latter, and I felt no need to urge him in this direction.

As predicted, I saw the heard the shoulder seams tear away first revealing a stripe of flesh over the top of each of his delts. He inhaled slowly, increasing the pressure on the tearing fabric by not lifting his arms any more than necessary to breath. The outside of his shoulders were exposed as the upper semi-circle of sleeve fabric peeled downward but failed to drop completely as the inner sleeve was still pinned between his expanding arms and torso.

"Who do you think wants this more?" he smirked while raising an arm parallel to the floor. His back and shoulders filled out further completing with ease the mundane task of separating the sleeve from the rest of the shirt. By now his arms had swollen to the point of bursting through. He bit his lower lip and moaned as he brought his forearm up to flex his massive arm. The fullness of his swelling was more than enough to slowly tear the seam from the middle outward toward elbow and armpit. The armpit end was reached first and the fabric slid back to uncover and amazing display of muscular fullness. He flexed a couple more times and let his arm drop into place. I could see the pendulous masses of triceps sway in seemingly slow motion as he shook his arm to let the tattered cloth slide over his wrist to the floor.

"One down," he quipped and turned his attention to what he could still see of his other arm, his view having become obscured by the imposition of his chest on his field of vision. Rather than raise this arm, he slowly began to flex and unflex his hand rolling his fingers in and out like a magician about to make something appear. The veins on his forearm began to stand out in relief from being pumped so firmly by the handwork. I could see more of them now that his arm length had pulled up the rolled cuff to very near the elbow. Even under the strain of the fabric his upper arm had still grown, and a large vein pumping across the top of his biceps was visible as well. The longer and harder he flexed his hand, the wider his forearm swelled. There was to be no relief for his rolled cuff, and very soon it was torn apart by the pressure of his forearm and elbow against it. Not stopping the tear continued up and across his upper arm as well. Without even flexing, his arm had ripped through the remaining sleeve. Giving this one its due, he shook the mass loosely and gave no more thought to the sleeve flutteringd groundward.

Standing fully upright, he smiled again and brought both arms into a magnificent double biceps pose. The swell of his back tore down the side seams of his shirt, and it seemed like he was simply inhaling more muscle mass onto his frame. Dropping his arms, he rolled one shoulder forward and then the other to emphasize the swelling of his chest. Even with the side seams tearing out, there was still too much pressure on the buttons as his chest and abs pushed forward through them.

Glancing downward, I saw that his jeans were undergoing similar abuse. Panels of fabric were still painted down his thighs between an intact waistline and knees. Even his calves had split through the lower hems as they climbed with his growth. Seeing that my focus had shifted, he began showing off below the waist. Flexing hard, one of his quads literally jumped through the tight denim as the seams gave way to his pressure.

"This is taking way too long," he said while unfastening his waist button and zipper. This was as far as the delicate processing was to go for he then grabbed a handful of fabric and ripped the front of his jeans over the top of his thighs. Grabbing his breaths in heaves, he pulled the remains of his shirt off by simply relaxing a single arm holding the hem.

"Go ahead," he invited. My hands roamed up over his abs until they struck the wall of his jutting chest. Moving closer, I spidered them up over this I marveled at the extreme angle of the curvature. I reached wider as I came into contact with his extreme shoulder mass, curving deliberately down around his full, firm arms. At this point, he pulled his hands up behind his head and flexed hard. I patted his biceps a couple of times and then grabbed his thickening lats by the handful.

Making my way down toward the waistline, I could see that his thighs spread almost as wide as his torso. Their flexed fullness even created a gap in the fabric of his boxer briefs where the fabric spanned across from thigh to ass. I played my fingers in it briefly before he pulled back. I could feel pressure increasing in his crotch before this, but his cock seemed to be taking full advantage of the room it now had.

Laughing, Kevin reached down and gave it a couple of firm squeezes while milking it into place across the top of one of his thighs.

"That's as impressive as the rest of you," I commented.

"Oh, yeah," he chuckled "wait'll it actually gets hard."

"Big mess?" I asked.

"Unbelievable. So why don't we plan ahead and take this to the shower?"

I had no idea how a man of this size planned to fit into these tiny hotel baths. I guess I'd be left outside the tub.

He thudded past me. I was in a daze watching this muscle giant sway and thud away. Every muscle competed for top place as they rolled and ground around each other as he moved.

"You coming?" he called out over his shoulder. I obeyed.

Entering and turning the corner to the bathroom, I found him leaning into the doorjam. Although he was obviously too tall for doorway, he tried to appear nonchalant in his size. Grinding his ass around the doorjam he hung his arm by the fingertips from the top of the doorway and let the leg inside extend across the doorway. I took a step toward him.

"No. Strip first," he ordered.

Not that I had any problems with that; I had kind of gotten used to being the smaller man. Under normal circumstances I could pretty much hold my own; these were not normal circumstances.

Once that had been completed, I resumed my attempt to enter the bathroom. I had always noted that hotels used smaller-scale doors to their bathrooms, and I was particularly looking forward to this one. Moving in, I was able to maneuver over the outside leg before bumping into the other. He inhaled and leaned forward into me as if to re- emphasize the tight fit. I resumed my exploration of his body, and he facilitated this by enclosing my head when his second arm flexed around me to grab the door frame behind me. Navigating my way around the massively flexed chest in front of me, I felt him squeeze me between his gargantuan thighs. I looked up and could not tell if it he was still growing or his head was being displaced by the alternating flexes of body mass.

Being pressed into his crotch I wasn't surprised at the size of his member swelling across his thigh. It curved higher and thicker toward his waistband until his breathing became a solid pattern of heaving. Grunting and grinding me to him, I heard the cotton fabric of his underwear tear as the head ripped through the side. He relaxed a bit and looked down at me. I stared as it elongated to the side and continued to increase in length and girth as it throbbed upward. Trying to stand upright, he straightened his arms down through the waistband. Not even flinching, he did another double biceps and tore off his underwear. Fully liberated, his cock now stood at throbbing attention between us.

I felt myself squeezed through the door as the rest of his body mass pushed through from behind me. Looking between him and the shower, I wondered how we would ever be able to fit.

"Don't worry. I've learned how to make do," he chuckled. Without another word, he lifted me up and impaled me while stepping into the tub. Pressing me against the side wall, it was obvious that he had no intention of bothering with the shower curtain. As it was, the width of his shoulders and arms spanned a majority of the distance from the front of the tub to the rear. Turning the tap, he grabbed a tube of shower gel from the rack and crushed it to release its contents. I grabbed and groped as best I could in the slippery aftermath. I loved the way his unflexed pecs would ooze between my massaging fingers, only to have them solidify at an unspoken command. We continued this until we had both satsified ourselves that trying to remain clean would be futile, and he stepped backward out of the tub. Carrying me, we squeezed back through the door and returned to the bed.

He dropped me unceremoniously onto the bed and flopped down. The depressing he created was like a black hole and I had no chance of not falling in. Rolling toward him, I reached as far around him as I could before drifting out.

Although I have no idea how, I missed the seismic event that accompanied his every move, and he somehow managed to leave a couple of hours later. He took none of his clothes. Rummaging through my own, I noticed that my money clip had fallen onto the floor. It was empty. Not that I minded; after all, I said he could have it. I was just wondering if he would have enough to tip a cabbie in order to make it anywhere. •