Roommate, The (by Xyggurat)
|Strain was written across my face as I pushed against the handles of the chest press machine. The old weights I had pressed seemed impossibly distant now. I was having problems pushing 160 pounds. I didn't trust myself to do bench presses any more, and Mike and Tom—two of the guys I'd helped in the gym during my freshman year—seemed too busy showing off for a couple of nearby girls to help me out. Not that they would have anyway. They had walked past me a couple times without even noticing me.
They say you never know what you have until you lose it. As I went through my classes that next week, all that I once had became quite clear to me. It never occurred to me what it would be like to be this short. At 5'8, I was the national average. Maybe I would have been content to be this height had it been natural, but in my situation I found myself constantly roving the crowds, looking to see who was taller than me. It was an odd dichotomy, trying to hide myself from the people who knew me well while playing my comparison game with the general populace.
I needn't have worried about being recognized. Looking at myself in the gym bathroom's mirror revealed a man who shouldn't have been. This particular mirror had some memories for me; most of them were good. Flexing daily, seeing progress from my workouts... as I walked into the door of the bathroom, I was recalling the numerous personal victories I had won in the gym. The mirror told me they were no more.
The face looking back at me was barely recognizable as my own. There were as many similarities as differences between my current look and the one in my memories. My face was slimmer, finer-boned than it had been since I was much younger. My beard, too, was thinner, providing stubble that looked more like scruff than the careful five o'clock shadows I had cultivated. The faint lines about my eyes betrayed my age, but the dark skin beneath them just made me look weary. I was confident that most girls would still find me attractive, in a tortured artist sort of way.
I tilted my head to get a better look at my neck. The thick column of muscle that lent me a wrestler's appearance was gone. Its replacement was supported by my diminished traps, which were fairly small even though they were pumped from my workout. My pecs were small but hard, clearly defined but no longer forming their imposing shelf over my abs. At least my body fat was low enough to reveal my boyish six-pack. My hip flexors still formed an arrowhead, though the point of that 'V' was a source of neverending frustration to me of late.
It wasn't that my tool was smaller than it had been since I was sixteen. That bothered me. But I was also constantly sporting wood and desperate for release. This was a source of neverending horror for me, because I knew that Phil would eventually notice and be drawn toward more growth. I whacked it between classes just to ensure that I would not attract undue attention, but this revealed a new problem to me: I was cumming each time at a rate that would have given a porn starlet pause. Phil's influence was changing me, and I did not know when the alterations would end.
Even the thought of masturbation had me as hard as a rock and aching with pleasure. I felt like I had been teased for hours and denied release. My logic argued that this was a public place, but the nearby showers were completely empty. Besides, the gym had been nearly abandoned. And those showers... I was of two minds about them. They were a place of privacy, true. They also held memories of the first time that Phil had made me shrink. Now that I was aware of what had happened on that day, I could not get it out of my mind.
I was reveling in the comfort of a hot shower and a self-inflicted hand job within minutes. The sheer pleasure from stroking my erection nearly had me passing out. Little firecrackers of pleasure shuddered up my spine, precipitating a coming orgasm. My eyes were shut tight to shut out the world. This was the longest I had held out against the urge all week, and I knew the explosion would be legendary. The tension was mounting. I started tweaking my nips, kneading the lithe muscle underneath—
"Need some help there?" A brazen tenor voice brought me back to the world, but I felt no shame.
He was just standing there in touching distance, appraisingly watching me stroke my rod. The guy was small, but anyone could see he was gorgeous. He was only about 5'2, pale and slender, with barely any body hair to conceal his taut little physique. His eyes were a neutral grey, but his face was a model's: full lips, feminine lashes, slender brows, and a countenance that looked carved from white marble. I looked into those grey eyes and knew that I was going to change his life. He barely moved, as if he could tell something was about to happen.
Something did. His eyes widened a bit as I began to jerk my cock. I think he was as shocked at my actions as I was. It was a quick jerk, as all of them had been of late. Fire exploded through my nerves as orgasm hit. I threw my head back, gasping with the pleasure of my first volley. I heard it splatter across his slender chest before the torrent of ecstasy consumed me. I lost count of the times that I spurted, even as I lost track of time itself. I felt my knees become jelly, knew I collapsed against the wall, but for several moments I was definitely out of my head. A sick sense of humor tells me now that it was the first and only time I have had a near-death experience.
The drumbeat of the showers brought me back to rational thought. The little guy had fallen by the wall opposite to where I was leaning, eyes closed, chest barely moving. Panic shot through me, and I wondered if maybe I had injured him. I had never given anyone—not even Jason—that much. Who knew what it would do? Could his body even handle it? A wave of guilt and doubt poured over me.
His eyes flicked open, and he groaned. Looking up at the naked man who had just reenacted the eruption of Mount Vesuvius to his Pompeii, he seemed unusually calm. He actually smiled as I helped him up, waving away my apologies. I looked down at him in concern. His five incher's erection told me he was all right. Moreover, he was enjoying himself. He pushed off of the floor and looked right into my eyes.
Quietly, he began, "I'm Christian. That was fantastic! I thought you were going to beat the living crap out of me. It seemed like—"
And then it happened. A quake ripped through his body, sending him falling into my arms. I tightened my grip around his bony shoulders, knowing full well what was about to happen. He doubled over despite my efforts to hold him straight. His eyes were rolling, and the spasms rushing through his muscles looked painful.
Just as abruptly as they had come, the tremors receded.
He uncertainly asked, "What's happening to me?" Another spasm hit. I jumped back away from him, abruptly feeling unwell.
Christian had been slender before, but as I watched, every bit of fat seemed to evaporate away from his body. His skin was shrink-wrapping to his taut, small muscles, revealing a road map of little veins. He grunted with agony as bones began crackling and settling, acclimatizing his naturally undersized physique for the growth to come. I could do little but watch in fascination at the change. As his bones were shifting, he was getting taller. With each shock of growth, he put on a little more height. I wondered how tall he would get—could he reach my height?
As seconds passed, he seemed to settle in to the growth. He was leaning against the wall for support, but looking like he was getting used to what was happening. He was probably lost in the experience as much as Jason and Phil had been. Christian kept rubbing his hands across his chest, bunching his flat pectorals. With every flexion, the striated flats thickened and expanded, forming two bulges of muscle that his old shirts would have been hard-pressed to contain. They were still growing, even as his nonexistent biceps tightened and strengthened. He was as dumbfounded as I when he flexed his arm for the first time and a perfect golf-ball peak exploded from his arm, pushing out a coiled blue vein. He spread his arms out to reveal swelling lats, bulging widely to give his waspish waist the V-taper it deserved.
His abs were looking cobbled. With each heartbeat their definition deepened. They were growing, too, pushing out against his skin like they were yearning to get free. At first, they were just six, then eight defined plates. As time passed, they became distinctive bricks that looked as unyielding as steel. They marched in a perfect, hairless procession down toward his pubic bush. His five incher was just beginning to experience the effects of the growth that was transforming the rest of his body. It was thickening, bloating to a width that would almost have made him look hung at five inches. But then again, he was no longer that small. Christian was definitely on the larger side of average all of a sudden, probably six and some change. In moments, his cock was clearly bigger than mine. It might have been almost as large as Phil's by the time his growth had leveled off. I suddenly felt like I had made a mistake.
"That was beyond incredible," Christian rasped, leaning heavily on the wall and looking wasted. He pushed himself off the wall, brushed silken black hair away from his brow, and I got a look at the extent of his growth for the first time. I had been worried about him growing to be almost as tall as me. He was taller, by at least two inches. His face was the only thing unchanged, but it looked different atop a thickly muscled wrestler's neck. The traps that bulged to either side of that bloated column further contributed to the illusion that he had built his body through long hours on the mats.
I envied his chest. Thick, hard muscle formed a beautifully rounded chest with small, dark nips. He would never be able to hide those pectorals; they were so large as to be nearly out of proportion with his other muscles. His lats were two massive wings, pushing his vein-choked arms away from his body. His biceps, too, were slightly oversized, measuring at least sixteen inches. They were balanced by equally brawny forearms that tapered down to surprisingly delicate wrists. He flexed his biceps while I watched, and the bulge there would have put a softball to shame.
Despite the growth of his abdominals, his waist seemed to be just about the same size it was before his transformation. The slimness of his waist made his massive quads and bulging calves seem all the more impressive.
And his cock was ridiculously large, swollen like a beer can, at least as large soft as it had previously been erect. With his face, body, and that endowment, he could probably have anyone he wanted. He could easily walk away from me. Of course, rational thought was returning now, when I'd have to actually deal with consequences. He could have hurt me for doing what I did to him.
But he didn't.
Instead, he cautiously asked, "Why did this happen? And how?"
I had some explaining to do.
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