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Bobby nodded to Joe. They were standing behind the fryer looking over the counter at an older guy who looked, well, dumpy. He was very old to their very young eyes, both of them around 17 years old, he looked... maybe even 40! He was in a dress shirt and tie, his eyes looked sad and tired, he was losing his hair and his rotund figure showed that he had not even thought about a gym in dozens of years.
His skin had a gray pallor and it sagged in places with sacks of fat. His thin lips looked like they had forgotten how to smile and his stance and stature announced that here was a man who had given up.
There couldn't have been a starker contrast between people than that of the older man out front and the two young men behind the counter.
They had been transformed, like Chuck and his friends. If they were striking as normal teenagers, that was nothing to what they looked like now. Health and vitality literally shone from their bodies and faces. Their pumped up bodies sang with youthful energy and massive power tightly controlled. The polyester uniforms they both wore did little to hide the collection of prime brawn and tight power that lined their limbs and encased their torsos.
If one didn't know better, one might have thought the two were twins. Both possessed faces of unsurpassed masculine beauty, with full sensuous lips and high cheeks and jutting, chiseled chins. Their faces were clean shaven and so smooth and tanned that it appeared they had been born on some magical Mediterranean isle, except that Bobby had flashing turquoise eyes and Joe's were darker blue, almost violet in color. They both had long, full heads of shining hair they kept tied back, lending them a native quality.
But it was their bodies that commanded attention even beyond the almost unearthly beauty of their faces. Their sleeves were bursting their seams from the pressure of the huge balloons of brawn on their arms. Their shoulders stretched so wide that it was lucky that polyester stretched. And they both had to wear pants that fit around their 30-inch waists that grabbed onto their high, round butts so tightly that the massive baskets that jutted forward and hung with ponderous weight showcased their endowments so obviously that no one had a shadow of a doubt that watching these dudes take a piss would be a lesson in humility no matter how much you were packing.
> From the tips of their toes to the tops of their heads 6-feet, 4- inches above, they were the two most gorgeous and powerful and sexually charged men anyone in the little town where they suddenly appeared had ever seen. And why these two were working the night shift at the 24-hour Tastee Freez on the highway was anyone's guess. There were still stories going around about their initial appearance together, walking through the front door of the little burger joint wearing tiny little bathing suits that were so small and so tight that they might as well have been stark naked.
If one had to choose which of the two was more amazing, most would have to say that Joseph -- or "just Joe" as he usually corrected people -- would get the slight edge over his twin. There was just something indefinable about him, some small additional edge that made one feel just a little harder. Maybe it was his smile, maybe the way he moved or the way his attention seemed to focus on you and only you when his deep, sexy voice spoke. And had Joe not been standing next to Bobby, it wouldn't even have been noticeable. They were both, frankly, too perfect for words.
They had their own reasons for coming to this place, and it was all because of a story that Joe's friend Ed had told after they'd just been Transformed:
"You're just sitting at... at McDonald's and this guy walks in. Frank walks in and you reach out to him and slowly, softly, nuzzle this place. You start to caress him, nudging him toward hardness, making him feel so fucking good that he springs a boner right there. Then you direct some Transform to him, just a little, just a touch. Maybe through your scent. Maybe you get up to get a straw or something and you brush his arm with your fingertips. And you give him a taste of this strength, and you point it at his dick, and that hard-on goes into overdrive. It gets harder and harder, so hard it hurts, then it gets bigger. You give him a horse dick, a magnificent tool of male sexuality so large its starts to rip its way through his tight jeans. He's standing there at the counter and he can feel himself getting hotter and hotter, his dick pressing urgently against his button fly until, finally, the head pushes into the open.
"He's so big he can't hide it. He's huge. Thick veins wind over the emerging prick and it extends inch by inch out of his pants, now dripping with salty lube. He feels it growing, wants to start stroking himself off but he can't, he still wants to hide what he's got. It's so strong now, though, and so big that there's no way to hide it anymore.
"And you sit there and watch this happen, and bathe the guy in pleasure, and when he finally makes a dash for the men's room, his foot-high woody bobbing in the breeze like a flagpole, you follow him in and relieve his passion. You hear him in the stall. He's moaning and his body presses against the stall and he's in such a hurry he didn't lock the door, it's open an inch, and you can see him in there, leaning against the wall, his pants undone, his shorts ripped apart and he's slowly and surely stroking the glistening majesty of his red, steel-hard prick, lost in waves of ecstasy like he's never known."
That's what Joe told Bobby about, and that's where they went when they left IGE, to find that place and make it happen, change guys who walked through the door. Seduce them and change them. And they found something out in the process.
Because at first, Joe wanted to do it sort of tricky. "I'll spit in their Coke," he planned, "and they'll start sipping and start ripping. Their bodies'll start to grow bigger with every gulp, and they won't know why, and you and me'll watch them grow! It'll be rad!" Sure they looked like gods and could kiss a man into heaven and fuck them into hell and jump from the earth to fly among the clouds and were physically capable of doing practically anything, but boys will be boys.
But it didn't work. Nothing happened. So Bobby thought maybe it wasn't in spit, though they'd been told it was in everything about them. So the next time it was a vanilla shake with a little extra protein. They got the night shift because it was mostly quiet so there was plenty of time to get their rocks off if they wanted to without any interruptions, and most of the people who came in late were guys; truckers hauling cattle or computer wonks taking a code break or after-hours clubbers coming in to down some grub on top of all the beer.
But it still didn't work. Bobby spilled some of his powerful spunk into this swarthy trucker's shake and expected the guy's body to start tearing out of his wifebeater as he strolled out the door, but nothing happened again.
"Maybe it only works from direct contact," shrugged Joe. "Come to think of it, nobody ever drink a cup of cum, right? You suck the guy's dick."
Bobby nodded. "Even the sex stink only works when you're with the guy. Nobody ever left some on a birthday card and mailed it out."
"Not that anyone ever tried."
"And why would they, when watching it happen is half the fun." He grinned for a minute, thinking about his own transformation and the last time he saw the other guys during the Sharing, when everywhere he looked he saw growing muscle and fantastic male beauty developing. "I wish Carlos was here, he'd know." Bobby grimaced. "Kinda makes sense, though. I mean, if it didn't take direct contact then you could, like, cum a gallon or so in a vat and sell the stuff as Dr. Sextongue's Super Muscle Formula and just anyone would get changed."
"Probably a safety valve sort of thing. I think I remember Carlos and Jerry talking about that, or something. Like, they put in stuff that prevented something like that happening. You know, to be safe or whatever."
They looked at each other and both shrugged. Then they fucked and everything was okay.
Now they were standing behind the fryer looking at the guy at the front counter. He was the first guy all night. Bobby's hand was squeezing Joe's firm butt, his other crawling down his pants to pleasure his hungry beast. Joe's pelvis was slowly rotating under Bob's expert handling, and his dicks were pressing against the stretchy warmth of his polyester pants. "He's perfect."
"He's not very... good looking."
Bobby smiled. "S'what I mean." His Texan drawl swirled through every word. Joe loved that fucking accent, loved to hear him moan `fuck me harder' with his soft R's. "You want to see a guy change, I'm thinking no one's gonna change more than this old dude."
"Think we should?"
"You saw him looking at us. You could almost feel the poor old guy's stare on your cock, couldn't you? The guy was practically drooling." He laughed. "So, how should we do it?"
"Touch? Maybe? No, let's do the sex stink first. Just a little, just a whiff. Get him started, right? And then..."
"See what happens? Cool." Bobby drew his paw from his pants and grabbed the greasy bag containing the old man's cheeseburger and fries. Then he and Joe circled back around to the counter and, with a glance into each other's eyes and a slight nod, they both started releasing whispers of sex scent, the strong sexual pheromones their upgraded bodies released on command. "Here you go, sir. Hot and tasty!"
The man's name was Stanley Jefferson. He was 42 years old, single, lonely, and in his own words `a pathetic example of what life does to a man.' He stood 5 feet 9 inches tall and weighed 212 pounds. He didn't know that because he stopped weighing himself a long time ago. He looked in the mirror only to make sure his contact lenses were in and that he'd wiped all the toothpaste off his mouth. His hair, if it could be called that, was growing thinner by the minute. He had never married, and never would. He rarely thought about sex at all anymore, and thought of himself as more like a walking lump of flesh than a man.
Stanley could not believe his eyes, looking at the two young men towering over him behind the counter at the Tastee Freez. People like this did not really exist, and if they did they sure as hell did not belong behind the counter at Tastee Freez. They reminded him of everything he never had. Sex, beauty, strength, power and authority all in such abundance that the very earth should be shaking as they trod upon it. Their skin shone with so much health that he felt better just looking at them. And when they spoke, the power of their bodies rumbled in every syllable.
He had felt frozen since entering the small restaurant and seeing these guys turn toward him. He could have sworn they were kissing when he opened the door. It was hard to tell, maybe they were just talking. Very close. But the thought of these two guys kissing sort of made him... feel hot. In an interesting way. He'd never thought about that before. Two guys.
He looked at the white waxpaper bag and the happy little ice cream cone man smiling back at him. He could smell the grease and beef and ketchup and mustard. And something else he didn't recognize. He said, "My Diet Coke?"
"Oh, shit! Right, sorry about that. Bob, can you get that?"
"No prob, Joe."
The second guy had a southern accent. Stanley suddenly flashed on the young man standing in a big, open dirt field wearing overalls, one strap hanging off his shoulder, his broad chest gleaming with sweat, hair billowing in the hot breeze like a flag. He shut his eyes and rubbed them, wondering were that came from, and why he was feeling so hot.
"Anything wrong, Mister?" Stanley opened his eyes and the other guy was looking at him. The guy had beautiful eyes. They were drilling into Stanley's own, looking inside him.
"Is it hot in here?"
He smiled. His face grew more beautiful. "It's the grill. S'always on." The guy lifted his arm, and Stanley watched his upper arm swell huge inside the sleeve, his back flaring out like a wing, his shoulder mounting higher and higher. Did something rip? "See," he said, nodding at his armpit, "I'm sweatin' like a pig." A sudden strong whiff of the young man's underarm washed over Stanley. It smelled like high school, like gym class. Perspiration broke out on Stanley's brow, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. His jacket felt tight.
"Here ya go, sir. I put in lots of ice," the southern guy said. "Looks like you could use some cooling off." Gosh, his voice was deep for such a young guy. Couldn't be more than seventeen. He took the cup and stuck a straw through the lid, sucking earnestly. "Thanks."
"Sure. That'll be... $5.54, sir."
Stanley reached up for his wallet, putting his hand in his breast pocket. His arm felt constricted for some reason, and he was getting hotter instead of cooler. He couldn't take his eyes off these two guys. One of them was leaning back on the shelf behind him, resting his elbows on it and stretching his long frame out. His chest bulged against the dark blue polyester. His nipples were clearly defined on the thick mountains of muscle. The buttons strained to hold on under the powerful pressure. His neck was a map of brawn and sinew. He was sweating, too. A dark stain colored both pits and down the middle of his chest.
The other guy leaned one hand on the counter and tilted his head quizzically, a curious and small smile on his lips. He exchanged a look with his friend -- they might be brothers, except for the accent, Stanley thought -- and he sort of nodded. Then he turned back and his eyes fell down along Stanley's body, dancing along his torso and down further, like he was checking him out. That small smile kept getting bigger as he looked, making Stanley feel uncomfortable and weird, but at the same time, for some reason, he could feel something happening down below he hadn't felt in what seemed like years.
He was aware of his penis. He could feel it down there. Usually, that only happened when he had to take a piss, but this was different. Maybe it was this beautiful young man looking at him like that. He opened his wallet and took out a ten, handing it forward.
The guy straightened, and there was something weird about it that Stanley couldn't place. Something out of place. The guy reached out and they touched, hand to hand, for a second and it felt like a static charge hit him. Something shocking and sudden passed between them as they touched and the guy, who must've felt it too, his smile still increasing, said, "Thanks," as he took the bill.
Stanley's arm dropped to his side. He looked at the other guy, who had raised his arms up and cupped his hands behind his head. His arms were swollen huge with muscle that made the shirt appear almost skin tight, except at the belly. His pit stains had become more prominent, as had the wetness down the front of his body. One button was barely hanging on, and Stanley could see the separation between the young guy's chest muscles between the stretched edges of the shirt.
The sound of the register brought Stanley's attention back to the first guy, whose eyes were again taking a measure of him, scanning up and down his body. Then he met his eyes and sort of wiggled his brows once. "Feeling better?"
He forgot he was still holding the cup of Diet Coke. Taking a sip, he noticed that all the ice was gone and it had diluted. How could that have happened? Maybe there wasn't as much ice in there as the other kid said. He grimaced as he took the change, and the guy's fingers tingled across his palm. He must have noticed the grimace. "What's wrong?"
At first, he said, "Nothing." Then he said, "Diet Coke's sort of watery." Normally, he wouldn't have cared, but something made him feel... dominant. But only a little. And his penis was still bothering him. And his balls were tingling. And now his scalp was itchy. The beautiful young man looked over at the other beautiful young man and said, "Didn't you put a lot of ice in this customer's drink, Bobby?"
The southern guy straightened, lowering his arms. The buttons were still having trouble coping, though, as if he was bigger now than he had been before. Probably just needed to adjust his shirt. Damn, that was one ugly shirt. He'd look so much better with it off, Stanley thought. He wanted to lean across the counter and unbutton it for him. "Thought I did." His grin became a bright smile. "Must be hotter in here than I thought." He reached forward, saying, "Gimme that one and I'll make you another. No charge."
They touched. Another shock rattled Stanley as the cup exchanged hands. The heat must be building up the static charges in here. What other explanation could it be?
Now his jacket was feeling really tight, across his shoulders and chest as well as down his arms. His penis was starting to really bother him too, but in a good way. He was aware of it rather exceedingly, feeling now the head of it and the shaft, feeling his whole unit down there. And his balls, too. He shifted his hips slightly, hoping the two guys didn't notice. He really wanted to dig down there and shift things around, but that could wait until he was outside. A trickle of sweat rolled down his face, tickling his skin. He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, which felt suddenly tighter.
He watched the southern guy walk back toward the soda nozzles and pour out his drink. It occurred to him, randomly, that the kid had a nice ass, and that, more than that, the pants did a nice job of showcasing it. Then he was reaching into the ice bin. Stanley's gaze lingered on the guy's butt. It was an amazing sight. He'd never seen a butt that looked so... good. It made him want to...
"Sir?" The deep voice drew his attention back to his senses. He swallowed hard. His throat was very dry. He looked at the guy eye-to- eye. "Maybe you should sit down. It's cooler at the tables."
"Yeah," agreed the other, the nice ass. "I'll bring your drink out. Go have a seat!"
He hadn't planned on staying. He was just going to get a burger, fries and a Coke and head home to watch the end of Letterman. Alone. As usual. But this sounded like a good idea, for some reason. And he wanted to see the guy's butt again. "Yeah," he agreed, "maybe I will."
Bobby and Joseph watched the old guy take his sack of deep-fried fat and walk over to a table. "Jesus," Bobby whispered, "can't he even tell what's going on?"
Joe was shaking his head in disbelief. "Weird. The guy looks, what, 10 years younger? 15? And look at his fucking chest, Bob. And you could practically watch his neck narrow."
Bobby snapped the lid on the drink. "Thick he'll freak when he realizes what's happening?"
Joe shrugged. "Go give him the drink and a little extra push while you're over there."
"How much, you think?"
"Not all of it! Just... make him know what's happening."
Bobby grinned and gave his friend a little salute as he walked over to the old -- now looking much younger -- guy's table.
Stanley watched the southern guy approach. His gaze was drawn like an arrow to the target in the guy's crotch. The young man with the ponytail owned a huge prick. It was almost obscene how big it was, and how obvious. It lay there folded lengthwise, a snake in his crotch. Stanley reached down and adjusted himself, not even realizing he was doing it, grabbing his own burgeoning beast and shoving it around in his shorts.
"Sorry about that other cup," he said, his deep voice smooth and powerful.
"No problem," Stanley answered. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" The guy seemed to perk up a little. He stood up and folded his impressive arms across is chest. The buttons strained, and his forearms looked like hams. "Nope."
"How old are you?"
"Oh," he said, looking disappointed for some reason. "Eighteen."
"And your friend? Joe, I think?"
"Yeah, Joe. And I'm Bobby." He smiled. "Joe's sixteen or seventeen." He laughed slightly. "I should probably know that." He rubbed his chest, possibly killing an itch. His thumb rubbed against the nipple pressing against the material. "What's your name?"
"Do I make you nervous or something? You're still sweating." His eyebrows arched and his smile looked honest and beautiful.
"No. Well, a little."
"How come?" The guy was still rubbing his thumb across his nipple.
"Because you're so big, I guess. Kind of intimidating. But you probably get that reaction a lot." Why was he saying this? He usually refrained from talking to anyone. He was shy, retired, embarrassed by his appearance, if he were perfectly honest. But he wanted to talk to this guy, this kid, this beautiful human being. He wanted him there, to keep feeling this pleasant feeling.
He shrugged. "Most of the guys I know don't seem to mind." He nodded his head back at Joe. "I know he sure doesn't."
"Well, but he's as big as you, isn't he?" He gulped, and realized the sexual connotation. "I mean, as tall."
Bobby laughed. "He's as big, too." The guy reached down and cupped himself, adjusting his massive meat so that it settled longer down his pantleg. "How old are you?"
"Really? You look a lot younger."
The boy was a good liar. "Thanks," he answered.
"I mean it," he said, almost urgently. "You look really good!"
He glanced down at himself, "I..." Then he stopped. "I..." His brow furrowed, he pinched his eyes shut tight and reopened them. His hands were frozen above the table as he looked down his body in the plastic seat.
"See?" the boy said, and he put his hand on Stanley's shoulder. Stanley felt something jolt him, then a heat seemed to cascade down his body from that touch, then he felt an incredible pleasure filling him up, and his cock felt heavy and hot and throbbing. "You look really good, Stan."
"What's...? What...?" His brain was spinning. He slowly rose to his feet, standing next to Bobby, feeling the muscles of his body stretching and burning. His body had changed. He could tell. He could see it.
Everything had changed.
The tightness he felt in his shoulders and arms and chest wasn't just discomfort. He looked down now and saw that he had a chest, a real chest, not the two sad tits of flesh he woke up with but two fat, muscular mountains sticking out. He placed his fingers on them, those mounds of brawn, and pressed. They did not easily yield. He felt their strength and tightness, they were hard, packed with might. "Oh my God."
"You okay, Stan?" It was the other guy. Joe. The beautiful, amazing, muscular Joe. They stood on either side of him, now. They bulged out of their uniforms everywhere. Huge, rounded bellies of powerful brawn pressing insistently against the cheap polyester. They were both smiling, both showing perfect rows of white teeth, their bright eyes shining, their bodies glowing with health and sexual power. Stan could hardly take his eyes off them, he felt drawn to them, he wanted them, to have them, to hold them. To fuck them.
"I'm not... sure. I think something... something's..." His hands were crawling across his chest, down his belly. His belly that didn't seem to be there anymore. His belly was gone. "Something's happening to me."
"Really?" That southern drawl was seriously sexy. "You look pretty fine to me."
"Pretty fucking fine," agreed the other voice. "But that jacket looks sorta tight. Why don't you take it off, get more comfortable. It's still kind of hot in here." Stanley felt the boy's hands on him, pulling his jacket open, sliding it off his shoulders. It had a hard time pulling from his arms, like the sleeves had shrunk. They were suctioned onto his arms and pulled inside-out by the time he was stripped from it. Then the hands were back, massaging his shoulders. "There. Feels better, doesn't it?"
The massage felt great. The boy had very strong hands, naturally, but also there was a fantastic feeling of pleasure and satisfaction that seemed to envelope him under the kid's attentions. He nodded and relaxed, and noticed that the smell was back, that locker room smell. "Feels great," he said.
Then Stan felt the other boy's hands on his chest, fumbling with the collar of his shirt, undoing his tie. "Lemme just loosen that up for ya, buddy. And maybe..." The fingers were unbuttoning his shirt. "Mm, hairy chest." Stan kept his eyes closed under the massage, but Bobby's voice sounded pleased. "This'll cool you off some." His shirt was being pulled open.
"Maybe, or it might heat him up," said Joe's voice, very near his ear. "Are you feeling cooler, Stan? Feeling better, now?"
He nodded. He was, in fact, feeling amazing, and he could feel his somewhat more noticeable dick start to reflect his pleasure. His whole body was feeling better than it had since... since he couldn't remember when. Better than ever before. His eyes still closed, and those amazing hands still relaxing him, he heard a whispered question, a single word: More? But he couldn't tell which boy had uttered it. But soon after, he felt suddenly warmer again, but this warmth felt good, sexy, powerful, it filled him up from inside and spread through him, down his arms and legs, into his cock and balls, across his scalp and chest and belly.
The hands on the front of him moved now under his unbuttoned shirt and then up his torso, shoving the cotton material off his skin. The heat was everywhere, and that funky smell was strong, he could nearly taste it, like spice and salt on his tongue. He felt a moan in his throat, a deep sound, and he released it, unable to resist the feelings of sensual bliss that shook his body.
"Nice," said one of the boys. Bobby, maybe. Hint of the southern in it. The hands on his shoulders moved forward, onto his chest. He could feel the boy's strong body pressing against his exposed skin. The other hands were undoing his belt, then unbuttoning his pants and unzipping his fly. He didn't stop them. He wanted this. The heat was building. He wanted to be free of the clothes that constricted him, to feel the cooling air on his flesh.
"Jesus, Stan, that's a nice boner." He felt a hand on his cock. It felt smooth and warm, silky and slick. "Let me help you with that." He was being stroked, and his prick was responding by getting very, very hard. It felt huge, thick and meaty, and heavy, too. Something warm and wet was stroking him, something that felt very like a tongue. He let another moan out, arching his back and sucking air into his lungs.
Hands caressed his chest, he could feel them moving across the skin, through his wooly fur, pausing at the nipples and teasing them. He'd never felt anything like that. Nipples could do that? He felt the feeling zero in on his prick, and it grew harder still, and felt even bigger. "Oh, god."
"Feel good, Stan?" The voice whispered in his ear. It sounded hungry, drenched with power. "Want some more."
"Yes," he said, barely able to speak through the sexual pleasure shaking his whole body.
One hand left his chest and came up across his neck, onto his face, pulling his head to the side and suddenly he was being kissed, deeply, soft wet lips pressed to his, then he felt something stiff and hot pushing into his mouth, and he opened his jaw and let it come in. Down below, something similar was happening, but it was his dick that was stiff and hot, and someone else's mouth that it was going into.
He heard a ripping sound. Then several. Something was being torn apart. He felt naked already.
He opened his eyes.
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