Harry's Boys

By FanTCMan

"Sometimes I think you only like me because of Harry."

Paul pushed the button that would set the computer and all its peripherals humming as he teased David.

"Oh, eat my ass, you big faggot." David flopped on the sofa by the fireplace in the lower level "changing room," as Paul had dubbed the place where he had set up Harry. "I like you because you are sweet, handsome, fun, and my best friend. Of course, if it weren't for Harry, I'd drop you faster than your hair is falling out."

Harry was the name Paul had given the computer that he'd acquired from some mysterious connection he wouldn't reveal. David had long since quit trying to pry Paul's secrets out of him, and resigned himself to simply enjoying the fruits, as it were, of Paul's abundant wealth and connections.

"I want to choose first," David said, dipping a tortilla chip into a terra cotta bowlful of guacamole Paul had set out by the pitcher of margaritas.

"Well, too bad. It's my toy, and you chose first last time, anyway," Paul said, pulling a couple of small beakers out of a cabinet, untwisting and attaching some clear tubing to something that looked like a small, clinical, distilling pot, which was plugged into Harry and to an array of vials of fluids that would confuse Martha Stewart.

"Oh, all right, but I want youth, beauty, and I want to make Bob Paris look like a pathetic geek."

David poured himself a drink.

"I plan on taking a walk through the village by the campus, David. Do you think I'd want to walk with anything less? Cock magnets, dewd," he said the word exaggerating the youth they would soon conquer.

"Okay then. Drink?" David poured a glass for Paul and handed it to him.

Paul took the glass, sipped from it, and went to work at the keyboard, watching the screen as he produced an image and began to manipulate it.

The first couple of tryouts had been hysterical, but hot, nonetheless. The baffling number of possible configurations, the vast displays of templates of body types and body parts, had overwhelmed them and led to some unexpected results. But they had pretty much figured it out now, the "alpha program," and Paul concentrated while David watched.

Paul grinned as he watched the image change. "Uh huh," he said, and "oh, yeah, that's hot. Oh, man David."

Paul didn't fill the wifebeater he was wearing, but he knew he would soon. He ran his hand over his thinning pate as he concentrated. What hair was left stood up, a gray-blond halo of static electricity, making him look for all the world like the mad scientist that he was, at that moment, emulating. What had been muscle was softer and looser on his arm, now, than it once had been. But, even as he noticed it with a small surge of regret for the loss of youth, he smiled at the marvel in front of him that could recapture it, if only temporarily, in ways he'd only fantasized about when he really was that young.

He glanced up at David on the sofa, holding up his stem glass like some old queen. He'd die if he caught of glimpse of himself like that, his once dark hair now a salt and pepper than made him look imperious, with his hawkish nose and skinny neck. To think, he'd been such a heartthrob in West Hollywood, wasn't it only minutes ago? How eternal their early twenties had seemed. But then thirty had come and gone, and suddenly forty loomed and raced past, and now . . . Oh well, back to the menus for some attitude adjustment.

"There," Paul finally said sharply, hitting the enter key. The machinery whirred and clicked, hummed, gurgled, and finally a small stream of clear liquid with a slight amber cast dripped from the tubing into a small vial. Paul smiled, leaned back, and set the vial aside.

"Your turn. Same mold. Late teens. No more than 20. You know the rest."

Paul gave up the seat at the computer to David, switching seats and leaning back on the sofa. The thought of what he'd programmed for David had him already getting hard. He loved this. Choosing how he wanted David to look, creating a fantasy out of his best friend. He wanted him already.

"Don't tell me what to do." David started creating his own fantasy guy on the screen. "I didn't tell you. Well, okay, a little. But you know what I like, and I know what you like. Have you been disappointed before?"


"All right then." He watched the image take form. "Oh yes. Oh, that's sweet. Oh, babe. Yes."

He worked like a witch over a cauldron until he made the tubing ejaculate again. He grinned as he held the filled vial out for Paul.

"All right, dewd, are you ready?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Paul stood up and took the vial David had just prepared. David took the other one that Paul had created. They clinked the vials together and poured the contents into their cocktail glasses, mixing it with the half-drunk margaritas.

"Bottoms up," Paul said.

"Salud," David answered, and they both downed their drinks in one swallow.

"Okay. Here we go. Ready?"

"So ready."

"Want another drink?"


"Sit over there, David. I want to be able to see you."

"Okay. But you know I'm not going to be able to stay away from you for long."

"I know. Just till it gets going."

David went and sat in a chair opposite the sofa and Paul sat back on the sofa. They just stared at each other, waiting. Soon, within a couple of minutes, the room began to feel warm to them, sweat broke out on their foreheads, and they knew it had started.

"Here it goes." David wiped his forehead with a cocktail napkin.

"Oh, man," Paul said. "You forget, don't you? Whoa!" He gripped at the sofa like he had just hit the top of the first dip on a roller coaster.

"Oh, shit!" David said, gripping the arms of the chair he was in.

They sat taking deep breaths, holding themselves in their seats, their bodies tensed like they'd been plugged in. Veins pulsed on their foreheads, their faces flushed red, and both their cocks stiffened completely in a few seconds. And then, after a few minutes of looking like they might combust, they could let go and relax.

"Oh, yeah. Here it is," Paul said. His voice was different. It was strong with the unsteady buoyancy of youth.

"Oh," David said, "Fuck yeah." He also sounded very young and almost delirious with ecstasy. "This is worth any pain. I feel so fuckin' hot, dude. So Horny. Oh, man, my muscles . . . my cock . . . Take your clothes off, Paul." He'd jammed his hand inside his shorts, and now he dropped them and pulled off his tee shirt.

Paul stripped off his pants and underwear, but he left on the wifebeater. He felt his chest. Already, the ribbed white cotton had filled with chest muscle and pulled taught across his back, while the stomach that had slightly protruded under it had now receded and left it hanging loosely below his pecs.

"Fuckin' hot, bro," David said. He stood naked and already his flesh had pulled tight against his muscle and he could feel everything lifting, tightening, swelling. "I love this part. Look at you, man. Brad Pitt with muscles. Check out the dick, bro. I gave you 13 big ones."

"Look at your own, dude. You fuckin' skimped on me. Hope it's fuckin' huge soft, man. I gave you 14. Thick as shit. Big lemon balls."

"Oh, shit, man. Hot. I love gettin' a big, bulgin' package, man. You want me to fuck your fag ass with this big cock your puttin' on me, faggot? Shit, man, look at it grow. Fuck. And I'm getting hairy, dude. Aww, you know how hot that is to me. How hairy you make me this time, man?"

"Alec Baldwin, dude. Wanted to see that on a nineteen year old jockboy, man. You fuckin' love, it, don't ya?"

"Oh, yeah. Totally fuckin' hot, man. Big hairy muscle dude. Teenage muscleboy, man, with Baldwin hair." David felt his chest, his abs, his hands lightly flying over the tight skin as veins popped to the surface on top of the swelling, thickening muscle, hair sprouting so fast he could actually see it grow. "Eat your hearts out, fratboys. And you, smooth as a baby's ass. Total Abercrombie boy with big muscles and big meat, bro. And check out the color I made your hair, man. Pit hair and pubes, too, man. Look at it change, dude. Total bleached-out white blond, bro, everywhere, not just on your head. God, that looks so fuckin' hot, man. Makes you look like a fuckin' muscle slut, dude. Fuck, man, you're gettin huge."

"Fuckin' feels so hot man." Paul's pecs stretched the ribbed cotton of his wifebeater, his nips hard and little by little, but fast enough to see, rolling to point down as the muscle thickened and forced them over the expanding, deep, thick edge, overlapping more heavily each minute, the cotton being tucked up into the crease that was forming as the weight of his pecs pulled down on his rib cage. He felt them, grabbed and pushed them up to feel their mass and weight. He flexed his arms, which must have been nearing twenty inches now, and then just looked down at his crotch where his thick, fat, juicy thirteen inches jutted from his tangle of pale straw. "My cock weighs ten pounds, man. Ten pounds of fuckin' jock cock, man. You want to suck it, don't you fucker?"

"Yeah, fag, just like you want to suck mine, man. Check out this body, man." David flexed for Paul. "Feel this muscle. Come on, you fuck, lick my muscles."

As they taunted each other, more like teens with every word, they finished morphing into two frat jocks, handsome as models, built like hardcore bodybuilders, and hung like two stud horses. Paul did lick David's muscle, licked it and felt it with the irrepressible enthusiasm of a teen who had just rocketed through puberty to discover the breathtaking thrill of teen muscle, hair, oversized and throbbing cock. David grabbed and groped at Paul just as intensely, sucking saliva from his mouth and precum from his thick, hard meat. They laughed at each other as they flexed their swollen muscle, feeling the youthful manliness each now embodied, toying with, sucking on the enlarged and engorged manflesh. Like two colts in a stable, they frisked and flexed and worshipped at the altar of their new youth. The whole change only took about fifteen minutes, and they became two nineteen year old muscle buds, shooting cum at each other as they laughed.

"Gonna fuck your ass so hard man. Let's get dressed and go out. We've only got about twelve hours. Let's go find some real straight college jock meat, bro. Come on," Paul brought another image up on Harry's screen, "let's make us a real gorilla boy for later, have it ready."

"Cool. Fuckin' huge and dumber than a bucket o' rocks. Won't remember anything when it's over."


As they stood before the screen, Paul pounding the keyboard, clicking, dragging, resizing, an image took shape on the screen that looked like an A&F model with the body hair of the perfect male pattern, all flat swirls and converging flows, decorating but not obscuring the body of a supersized pro bodybuilder, twenty-two inch guns, fifty-six inch chest, thirty-two inch waist, and thirty-four inch quads. Everything else was in proportion, including the fullness of his lips and breadth of his smile. All it needed was a real face, a real human to take shape on. Finally Paul hit the enter key and another vial filled.

"There. Now, out to find our boy. Let's get dressed."

"Yeah. Here." David grabbed clothes from a pile they'd set out ahead of time. "Board shorts. Beater."

"Beater for you, too, stud. Cargos. Yeah, nice bulge, dude. Look at that package stick out there, like you stuffed your briefs with gym socks."

"Well, look at you, dude. Carryin' a load. Teen muscle stud, man. I don't care how straight he is, man, whatever jockboy we want, we can have, man. God , I feel hot."

"So, you set?"

"All set."

"Then let's go."

With baseball caps in place, the two youthful looking muscle hunks sauntered into the nearby campus housing area where students were milling about. It was too early for them to be heavily into partying, but too late for the party-minded to be interested in studying, at least for a Saturday night. David and Paul strolled along, feeling the mass of their muscles as they walked, seeing the stares that followed them, acutely aware of the bodybuilders' gait they both had because of roll of their thick legs and the forced wide-arm-swing from the mass of their lats, reveling in the bulges of their packages leading them on. They gave equal smiles to both the guys and the girls, but it was the guys that got the extra second or two of seductive attention. They couldn't help being seductive. It was programmed in, and it exuded from them like perfume from an exotic night-blooming flower made to attract just one species of moth.

Their moth was doing pull-ups on a bar at the side of a playing field. His shorts hung so low on his tight belly that the top of his pubes showed when he hung from the bar, and when he pulled himself up, his biceps bulged and his lats flared. After a set, he dropped to the ground, smiled at the two guys who were passing, slowly, watching him, and pushed back his sandy hair. He appeared flattered, straight as he looked, by the attention of the two musclebound dudes giving him the once-over.

"Hey," he said, acknowledging their attention before they got past.

They stopped, faced the kid, probably nineteen at the most.

"Hey," Paul answered. "Lookin' good, there, bro. See you're into liftin'."

"Yeah," the guy smiled, looked down, a bit embarrassed, "I do some. You guys look like you're really into it."

"Yeah." David absentmindedly let a hand stroke his pectoral mass.

There was a moment of awkward silence. The guy was hooked, they knew. He just needed to be reeled in.

"Sorry, man." Paul held out his hand. "Paul."

"Hi. Dan."


They shook hands. Another moment of silence ensued.

"So," Paul said, "You in the mood for a drink maybe, talk some liftin', muscle, stuff like that?"

"Uh, sure . . . I guess . . . yeah . . . that'd be cool."

"Great. We were just headed back. It's only a few blocks."

They walked back, their catch in tow, keeping up with them like an eager puppy, unable to resist. When they got back to the house, they went to the basement where the margaritas had not quite gone watery, and Paul freshened the pitcher and poured them all a drink, one spiked with the premade vial.

"To better bodies," Paul lifted his glass.

"And bigger muscle," David lifted his.

"Uh," the kid grinned and blushed, "Yeah, all that."

They tossed back their drinks and Paul was pouring another round when the kid sat down on the sofa, his face turning red.

"Whoa," he leaned back, "you put something in that, didn't you? What the fuck did you give me?" he said, barely able to get out the words before he grabbed the edges of the cushions, went stiff, and his mouth fell slack. His eyes took on the wild look of a trapped animal, but very quickly, the look turned to pleasure, then ecstasy, as the light of intelligence was completely replaced by the glint of lust. He glanced stupidly at David, then at Paul, almost drooling, as his muscles began to swell with mass, sandy hair began to sprout on his legs, his arms, his chest above the low neck of his tank, and his cock involuntarily went rigid, tenting his shorts. In a sudden need to free his body, to see what was happening to him, he tugged off his clothes. By the time he got naked, hair was sprouting all over his pecs and down his abs, his muscles were rapidly swelling, and he could not keep his hands from roaming his swelling body. As he felt his magnificence, unaware of anything earlier than this moment, devoid of memory or thought, he grinned at the two studs watching him, grinned more as he looked at his own cock, watching it stiffen along his leg, up to his belly, where the hair trail was spreading and thickening, lift to point to his mounding, swelling pecs, and begin to grow enormous. •

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