Max was running around the house, his arm outstreched, pretending he was saving Lois Lane, as he often did during the afternoon. He loved comic books and superheroes, but he was particularly fond of Superman - the man of steel, as fast as a speeding bullet. All of his evenings and weekends would be taken up either reading about his latest adventures or acting them out.

"No! There's a bomb outside! Quick, I must dive over it and sheild everyone from the blast!"

Max sped outside to the front yard and blindly dived onto the lawn, as if he was trying to cover the imaginary bomb. However, unknown to him, an elderly man was walking on the sidewalk, and Max collided straight into him. This brought the superhero plummeting back to earth.

He woke a few minutes later, slightly dazed and a bit sore, and sore the old man standing over him. "Are you alright, little one?", he asked. It was strange - he looked frail and weak, but his voice sounded young and powerful. "Yes, sir, I'm alright", Max replied. "I'm so sorry I bumped into you; I was in a completely different world". The man didn't seem to bothered. "I've been through worse. I'm just sorry I spoiled your adventure. There's nothing more precious than a young 'uns dreams...". His voice trailed off, his mind dwelling on his unfulfilled fanstasies and bygone ambitions. "I see you like superman", the man said, pointing at Max's costume. "Yes, he's my favorite. I just wish I could be him. Flying around the city, saving people and defeating the evil baddies". "Well maybe one day your dream will come true".

"Maybe", replied Max. The man shook Max's hand, and when he looked at the old man's face, he swore he saw his eyes flash. He began to walk back to the house. When he got to the door her turned around to look for the old man, but he was nowhere in sight. He had just disappeared.

Max was extremely tired for the rest of the evening. He kept dozing off, and having dreams of saving the world - nothing unusual for Max - but this time they seemed much more real. He could smell things, touch things; sense things much more than before. But then, when he went to bed he couldn't sleep. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn't seem to get comfortable. He decided it was best to go downstairs, get some milk, and then try again.

He made his way to the kitchen, and got a glass out of the cupboard. "That's strange", he thought, "I didn't have to stretch as much. Mom must have moved the glasses around". He thought nothing more of it, and went to the fridge to get the milk. He filled the glass, and lifted it to his mouth to drink. However something was stopping him lifting it high enough. He looked at his arm and saw that the sleeve of his PJ's was skin tight, moulded to a rather nicely rounded bicep. He looked at his other arm and the same was true of that sleeve. He looked down at the rest of his body. His bigger pecs were now obscuring the view, the buttons down the front of his top being pulled so tight that flesh could be seen in the gaping holes between them. His nipples were like two bullets about to tear through the fabric. Because of his increasing height, the top had now been pulled up his body, revealing the bottom of a perfectly sculpted stomach. The bottoms of his pyjama trousers were around his knees, again stretched tight like a second skin to his manly thighs. That's right, they were no longer childish twig-like legs, but manly trunks. But the fabric clung most noticibly to the new bulge in between his legs. And as he got bigger, the waisband got pulled lower, revealing some whispy hairs that would soon become a thick forest of pubes. He looked at his reflection in the fridge door and was stunned. He looked like a 15 year old jock, albeit shrunken down slightly. He noticed his eye level moving higher, his body stretching his PJ's tighter and tighter until they eventually tore - down the front, around the shoulders and biceps, across his back, around the waitband, around his thighs, across his tight, hard ass and, of course, around his hefty crotch. His body was now unrestricted and able to gain the height to make his muscles look more proportionate. He could now scratch the stubble that was forming on his legs and underarms, but the itching soon stopped when it grew into a thick mat of hair. His pubes had also filled in nicely, covering his stuffed sac and framing his cock perfectly. His eye level was now above the fridge (which meant he must be about 6'6" now!) but he could still see his gorgeous body. It reminded him of a statue of a Greek or Roman god. Perhaps Adonis, the perfect male. He crouched down to see his face and was stunned by his rugged beauty. He had to be at least 19 now, with a hard, square jaw, deep blue eyes, and perfectly defined muscles that could only belong to a dedicated swimmer. He put his hand to his engorged, matured member and began stroking it - it seemed the right thing to do. But he had to live out his fantasy first. He had to become Superman.

He knew his old costume wouldn't fit, but there was one part of the outfit that he could fake - the tight breifs. He sneaked into his older brother's room, and took a pair of his. When he was back in his room he tried them on in the mirror, smirking at the way they struggled to contain his inflated cock.

Max hadn't noticed it downstairs, but there was now a tattoo on his arm - the emblem of his beloved hero. He just had to finish his jerking off, with the image of his hero reflected in front of him. When he came, he shot his load all over the room. Hot load after load after load. He knew this would be the first jerking off session of many, and Max then finally managed to rest in his bed, knowing that he was a Superman, in every sense of the word. •