Playing with Max Mann's Toys: A MassX Tale

By AbsMan420

The second offering in my "Playing With..." series, this time I get to play with Max Mann's toys - author of the way-hot "MassX" series as well as one of my all-time favorite stories, "My Son, the Superstud." As a whole, I try to avoid the "magic potion" style of story - though even I've played with the form in stories like "Cycle One" - but Max Mann is so successful with it that he's inspired me. As with "FanTCdude's Toys," I merely pay homage to another favorite author. Max, I hope you take this story in the spirit that it's meant. Enjoy!

The truth is I'd heard of MassX, though until I got the flier in the mail, I'd considered it a kind of trendy, coastal thing - the kind of thing that bodybuilders and professional baseball players always "experimented" with - not for a normal, red-state guy like me. For "young" people. Several of the other guys at my office had received the fliers, too, and they were all abuzz about it. They talked about that infamous infomercial that was now under investigation by the FCC - "indecency," the conservatives claimed; "contrary to God's will," cried the Evangelicals. The current administration was pressuring the FCC to make some sort of move to block its airing - not surprisingly, the only network that voluntarily complied was Fox. Not that it mattered - my understanding was that the infomercial ran almost non-stop on some of the local-access channels, anyway.

Personally, I hadn't seen it, but the guys at the office said it was unbelievable! In hushed but excited voices - these were all Fox-viewers, remember, so any disagreement with the party line made them nervous - they described an ordinary-looking guy who, within thirty minutes of ingesting this product, this MassX, literally transformed into a gigantic, hyper-muscular bodybuilder-freak. "No tricks," they said. "The camera stayed right on him. It was like watching 'The Incredible Hulk' without cutting back and forth to Ferrigno flexing out of his clothes!"

Except, they claimed, this guy became even BIGGER than the Hulk.

The junk-mail I got that day did little to rebut the FCC's position. "Are you the type of man who can handle MassX?" the envelope read, super-imposed over an image of the biggest arm I had ever seen, more muscular than those fake, computer-manipulated pics on the web. "Test kit inside!"

The "test kit" was nothing more than an envelope-sized piece of cardstock that could be perforated into two sections. On the larger piece - postcard-sized - was the return-form, ready for my name, address, and credit-card number. "Yes!" read the copy next to a small check-box. "I tested positive for MassX! Send me my dose! I'm returning the MassX-patch as proof. I've also enclosed a: __ check __ money-order __ charge my credit card (information below)"

On the other side of the perforation, there was some kind of chemical coating in a circular pattern - it reminded me of a scratch-'n-sniff. The copy on the back of this portion read, "Use this MassX-patch to find out if you're a candidate for X-treme growth! Place one drop of blood or seminal fluid on the test patch. If the patch turns blue, you can get X'd!"

Blood...or SEMINAL fluid!? Are they freaking kidding?

The whole thing struck me as too weird - magic elixirs... It was a modern version of the traveling salesmen in the old west hawking miracle tonics. Foolishness. First, that someone would believe it could happen - second, that they'd want it to. Who in their right mind would want to be one of those bodybuilder freaks who lived only for their bodies and forgot the most important part of being an American: making money?

My son had other ideas.

The very first thing he did, before I could stop him, was prick his finger to drip on the test patch. He was ecstatic when it turned blue - I wasn't surprised.

"This has been all over the news, lately," he said that evening, reading over the flier, motioning with it to indicate what he was talking about. I loaded the dishwasher while he sat on the marble-topped island. He was on break from college and chose to stay with me this summer rather than his mother, probably because I was at the office so much and he could do as he pleased. Didn't matter to me - not only did I enjoy his company, but I knew it hacked off his my ex. "Haven't you heard about it?"

I casually shook my head, said "No" and loaded the dinner plates.

"This is what happens when you only watch Fox news." He was joking, though he made sure to make eye-contact with me, as if to reinforce the underlying statement - we'd had THAT argument too many times. Sure, it was easy for him to be liberal, he was spending MY money! "Yeah, this stuff came on the market like, half-a-year ago maybe, and now it's all over the place. I heard that so many professional athletes are doin' it that they're thinking of forming their own league - they're that much bigger and better than normal guys."

"Ah," I said. "Professional athletes. There it is - sports 'supplement' gone awry. Shades of Mark Maguire, Alex. I mean, come on, how many people bought into that bogus 'Andro' because of him? It's just marketing."

"Yeah, but dad, this is different. This stuff really works!"

"They ALL 'really work,' Alex. They're all 'different.' That's the oldest dodge in history. Trust me - it's a scam. Of course it turned blue when you put your blood on it - the same way it'll turn blue for WHOEVER puts their blood, or God forbid... their seminal fluid on it. Part of the gimmick is to make you feel like you're special or select. They're just trying to get you to buy the product. It's all marketing - what profession do you think I've been IN the last thirty years of my life? I know what I'm talking about here, Alex."

He hopped off the counter. "You need to see the infomercial," he said. "The transformation happens right there in front of you - thirty minutes, body of a superhero. If they're faking it, dad, I'd like to know how."

"My guess would be CGI, right? I mean, how many summer blockbusters have effects that have looked real? Do you think there's really a Spider-man, Alex?"

He pushed past me, headed for the downstairs office. "You're not hearing me," he said, my nineteen year-old college boy - who I think was majoring in Liberal Arts just so I'd have to say the word "liberal" aloud to people who'd ask - he was a corker. "I'm gonna go find it online and we can watch it together. Then you'll see what I'm talking about."

I rolled my eyes and ran a sponge over the sink. "All right," I said. "Whatever."

Not even five minutes had passed before he was hollering for me to come into the office. "I got it!" he yelled. "Dad, get in here! I got it!"

I was drying my hands with the dishtowel as I walked into the room. Alex was sprawled out in my high-backed leather desk chair, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Get out of my chair," I said in a tone that betrayed the repetitiveness of that phrase throughout our lives. Alex gave up control a little too quickly, which only emphasized how eager he was for me to see this.

The MassX Home Page was loaded on the 21" flat-screen monitor. While "before" and "after" shots faded in and out on the left side - with copy like "Bill/ 178lbs BEFORE MassX" followed by "Bill/ 296lbs 30 minutes AFTER MassX" with pics of two similar but clearly different guys - unless this MassX could somehow change the structure of a man's face and make him more handsome, too.

I was about to comment on this to Alex, but he reached over my shoulder and clicked the link "View the MassX Infomercial" before I got the words out of my mouth. Even with DSL, it took nearly a minute for the file to load. A small screen, about 4x4, appeared. Alex tried to expand it, but it quickly became too grainy. "That sucks," he mumbled. "I'd rather we could see it a little more clearly."

"All the easier to con you with," I mumbled, but he ignored me.

It was a sleek production, I'll give them that - expensive, high-end graphics. A typically obnoxious studio host (normal-sized) gave a general welcome to the enthusiastic, live audience - probably paid extras - then quickly introduced their celebrity spokesman, former Mr. Olympia Steve Cummings.

Steve Cummings - now there was a name I hadn't heard in... easily a decade, maybe longer. Like many people, I didn't remember him for his bodybuilding accomplishments, but rather the string of "B"- action movies he produced in the mid-eighties. Remember the comically horrible "Gladiator-Man" series? Don't get me wrong, the guy looked great in them - his build so ripped they'd created the adjective "shredded" to describe him - but he couldn't act his way out of a paper bag.

So he's descended to infomercials now. How tragic.

But for a man who had to be in his mid-to-late fifties, Steve Cummings looked fantastic when he appeared on-screen. I immediately recognized his familiar black moustache and thick, wavy hair. As a matter of fact, he looked BETTER than he did in the mid-eighties, if such a thing were possible, almost like he hadn't aged. He was definitely more muscular.

I guess I was so adjusted to the ripped, mid-eighties "Gladiator-Man" star, I wasn't prepared for the hulking beast he was now, the mass he'd put on in the last twenty years. The guy was freakin' huge! So big, as a matter of fact, that his head looked almost too small for his body. Jesus, what he must've injected himself with...

"Check him out," said Alex. "Tell me MassX doesn't work."

"I'll give you he's huge," I said. "But just because they've hired a guy to represent their product, doesn't mean he's a result of that product."

He shook his head. "You're such a cynic, dad," he said.

Steve Cummings flexed for the audience, hitting the signature poses he'd become famous for as a bodybuilder, though he was far larger now than he ever was as Mr. Olympia. He was wearing loose-fitting cargo shorts, and though I could tell his legs were in proportion to the rest of him, they were largely obscured from sight. Seriously, the man was freakishly big. Even the modern competitors, swollen as they are on the latest advances in drugs and supplements, didn't measure up to the Steve Cummings appearing in this infomercial.

"So, how do you like being an X'd man?" the host asked him, holding a Mic in Steve's face.

"Best thing I ever did in my life!" he said, smiling widely, showing his Hollywood smile, his bonded teeth. "I'm bigger now than I was when I was maxed out on 'roids, and healthier than I've ever been! Not bad for a fifty-eight year old, is it?"

"Holy fuck," said Alex, under his breath.

"Impossible," I whispered under mine. He was ten years older than me, but looked ten years younger. Plastic surgery, too?

Or maybe... maybe Alex was right - maybe it was the MassX.

No. Ridiculous.

Next, they introduced the shill - some poor sap named Joe Killian, a guy whose body was so similar to Alex's in size and shape - 5'11", a weak 140 - that it took little to imagine it was Alex himself there on the screen, a connection he was probably making, too. Well, now I knew their target audience. It reminded me of the old "An Atlas body in seven days" ad in the back of comic books.

Anyway, they made a big production out of mixing the dose of MassX into a protein shake which Joe Killian quickly drank down while Steve Cummings cheered him on. He burped when he lowered the glass, getting a chuckle from the audience. "Spicy," he commented.

And then the impossible happened. Alex and I must've backed up and watched it fifty times, and though neither of us could pinpoint the exact moment the special-effects must've taken over, we both knew what we saw couldn't have been real. There was no possible way.

Joe Killian cramped up, uncomfortably grabbed his stomach and moaned. "Don't worry," said Steve, putting a massive arm around Joe's shoulders. "That's just the MassX starting to work on your stomach. You can probably already see the change."

Joe Killian removed his hands from his stomach and revealed a strong, solid eight pack, the kind of muscle earned through hours of painful crunches and endless leg-lifts. The boy flexed them as if as surprised to see them as we were, a smile breaking out on his face.

It continued like that. It was subtle at first, like he was thickening, gaining weight as he stood there. And to be frank, this section looked entirely plausible. He'd flex, and then when he'd relax, the muscle looked bigger. But when Joe started to expand beyond the size of a professional athlete, when he started to look like a hard-core bodybuilder after only fifteen minutes, that was when it started to lose me. And I wasn't as willing as Alex to suspend my disbelief, especially when Joe Killian, now nearly the size of Steve Cummings, began sprouting hair all over his torso.

"This is [bleep]-ing AMAZING!" Joe Killian roared in a voice that was significantly deeper than before, a tear in his eye.

By the end of it, only a few minutes later, Steve and Joe posed happily together, their massive bodies nearly identical. The credits rolled as the audience cheered.

As I said, Alex and I must've watched it fifty times trying to figure it out. "Just because we can't disprove it," I finally concluded, "doesn't make it real."

Alex shook his head. "You are such a freakin' cynic," he said. "You see what the stuff does. You can't prove they faked it. And even though we test positive for it, you still mock it. I think we're crazy not to do it."

"All right, Alex, let's say it WAS real. Why would you want to end up like those guys? Look what freaks they are! Why would you want to be like that?"

"Oh, come on, dad. You never wanted to be bigger, more muscular?"

I shrugged. "Well, okay, yeah. Maybe when I was a teenager, a younger guy..."

"See?" he asked, interrupting me.

"BUT..." I continued over him, "I realized there were more important things in life than how big my biceps were. Come on, Alex, this is all a scam. It's FAKE!"

Shaking his head, sighing in exasperation, Alex left me sitting alone in the office.

The next day at work, I brought up the subject of the mass-mailing again. My argument with Alex was still weighing on me and I needed someone to tell me I was right. "So, did everybody's MassX card turn blue?" I asked with a sarcastic tone to the other guys at the water-cooler.

I expected everybody to laugh about it and start busting on the cheesy marketing gimmick - we all DID work for one of the largest marketing firms in Texas, after all - so instead, when there was an awkward silence among my compatriots, I was immediately thrown off-balance.

"Yours turned blue?" Tim McGuinness asked with an almost stunned awe. Was there a tone of jealousy in his voice?

"Yeah," I said, suspiciously. "Didn't everybody's? I mean, isn't that the gimmick?"

But it turned out that NOBODY'S had - well, nobody standing there at the water-cooler. After a quick sweep of the office, we discovered only one other guy - Scott Landis in tech support - who tested positive. Landis was a pudgy, mildly annoying computer geek who was largely tolerated around the office because he kept us flawlessly on-line. Slovenly dressed and easily overlooked by the ladies - if for no other reason than his lack of grooming and the complexion of a pizza - Landis mostly kept to himself, hiding in his small office.

"Yours turned blue?" I asked, standing in the door of his messy, disheveled cubicle. The other guys stood behind me, listening in as best they could.

Spinning to face me in his desk chair, Landis took off his glasses and started cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. "Yeah," he said. "Did yours?"

"Yeah. Well... it did for my son."

He nodded. "Same thing. Same genetic stock. That's how it works." He slipped his glasses back on his face - they slightly magnified the size of his eyes - but they didn't seem any cleaner. The world must've been blurry for Scott Landis.

"So you don't think it's a scam? You believe in it?"

He snorted. "More than believe in it," he said, resting his hands on his big belly. "I'm doin' it."

THAT got a reaction from the guys behind me. A little shock, some quiet conversations.

"You're DOING it?" I asked, trying to keep my voice down. I didn't want to come right out and call him crazy. "You're buying that stuff?"

"BOUGHT that stuff, actually," he said, tapping his watch. "As a matter of fact, it should be arriving today with express overnight. Probably right about now."

"I can't believe you're going to do it..."

"What are you, kidding? A chance to be a muscle-freak instead of a computer geek? Of COURSE I'm gonna do it! What... you're NOT?"

"No," I said, looking at him with scrunched brows, like he was an idiot. "No. It's crazy."

He laughed at me - laughed at ME! "YOU'RE crazy!" he said, his smile displaying his neglected teeth. "A chance to get the body that every man dreams of? Look at these guys behind you - they all wish THEIR cards had turned blue. They're all thinkin' that if they were you, they'd do it, too. They'd buy it." He turned back to his computer, dismissing me. "Right now, they're all thinkin' YOU'RE crazy," he concluded, "not me. See you tomorrow."

And when I turned around and faced my co-workers, I could see the truth in their eyes. Scott Landis was right. They did think I was crazy.

Just like my son. Dinner that night was quiet - Alex was distant, distracted almost. I wanted to talk about it, and tried a couple of times, but when I'd start to speak, such inanities would stream out of me that I'd end up feeling like a character in a bad family sit-com.

Easier to let the silence settle between us.

And the distance continued the next morning with Alex - with my co-workers. Conversation at the water-cooler was almost as awkward as it had been at the dinner table the night before - they all wanted to ask me why - they all wanted to know. I couldn't stand the unspoken accusations.

And then Scott Landis stepped up to the group.

I'm not even sure how I recognized him so quickly, the change was so dramatic, but there was something. I looked at him and immediately recognized him as Scott Landis, though I don't know how. The guy standing if front of me looked more LIKE Scott Landis than he was identifiable AS Scott Landis - like Scott's younger, athletic brother, one who kept his complexion clear and never got caught up in computer-code and role-playing games. They had the same eyes, the same basic facial structure - though this guy had a much stronger, definite chin and a handsome, almost sexy smile.

But it was Scott Landis - Scott Landis as a three-hundred pound professional bodybuilder.

"Well, boys," he said, his normally nasally voice now resonating much deeper in his chest, "what do you think?"

He wore his normal company uniform - for guys in tech, it was just khakis and a cotton-twill collared pullover with the company logo on the chest - which fit him like a second skin everywhere but his stomach, the only part of him that had obviously shrunk. He lifted his massive arms and hit a double-biceps, admiring the near bowling-ball sized peaks himself. Everybody gasped. Lowering his arms, he hit a "most muscular" to show us his mind-blowing traps and thick, thick shoulders.

Finally, he lifted the front hem of his shirt and showed us his cobble-stone abs. Though he tried, he couldn't see over his own pecs to view them himself - this clearly disappointed him. He satisfied himself by running his free hand over them, like a blind man identifying a familiar face by touch. He moaned lightly. "Still think I'm crazy?" he asked me, smirking, flexing, bouncing the shelves of his pecs back and forth. "Still think it's fake?"

And then I noticed something else - beneath his ill-fitting khaki pants, tight in the thighs and cinched at the waist with a belt that used to belong to him as a fat man, but now had new holes added, the excess leather hanging down his bulky thigh. Beneath those pants, Scott Landis was starting to get an erection.

And what an erection! I mean, not that I was looking, but it was fairly obvious that Scott Landis was sporting quite a dick - I mean, it was a big ol' kielbasa! I don't know if he'd been hung that well when he was a computer geek, but I doubt it. I think I would have noticed - and all this showing off was clearly turning him on. Worse, he caught me looking. That cocky smirk! How DARE he act like he was so awesome that everybody should just bow down and yield to him - like he was SOMEBODY all of a sudden just because he bought these big muscles.

"You're the one who's crazy," he whispered to me, pursing his lips and adjusting his growing hard-on - the very act of touching it seemed to send a shiver through him.

Ending our moment, he turned his attention back to the group. "Why don't you guys come back to my office and I'll show you EVERYTHING it's done to me?" And like a group of lost boys, or the helplessly hypnotized, or perfectly submissive sidekicks, they trouped off behind him, not even realizing how pathetically obvious they were being. Not even realizing that it was Scott Landis - a guy they used to spend a great deal of time mocking - that they were suddenly hero-worshipping, suddenly following around like a bunch of lost puppies.

I took that moment to duck into the fire-exit stairwell and call Alex on my cell-phone.

Though he answered quickly - "Yeah, hello?" - his voice sounded rough, from the depths of sleep. Ah, my liberal, up-at-noon son.

"Alex, it's me," I said, surprised to discover myself speaking quickly and nervously, like I was letting out a big secret. "Alex, the MassX... it's real! One of the guys here at the office took it. He's... Alex, it's REAL!"

He snorted on his end. Snorted, like he was holding back a laugh. "I know, dad," he said, his voice deep and heavy. "The UPS guy's already been here this morning."

"What? Alex, what's wrong with your voice?"

He laughed - a rich bass echoed through the receiver until the line went dead. He'd hung up.

It all came crashing together for me in that moment, but expressed itself through blind panic. I HAD to get out of the office - I had to save my son. Images of over-blown muscles, super-sized dicks, cocky smiles from guys who hadn't worked out a day in their lives, they drove me. I ran back to my desk and grabbed my car keys and my briefcase, made some lame excuse to the receptionist - "Family emergency" or some such nonsense - and peeled out of the parking garage. Honestly, I don't think I drove as fast or as recklessly since my ex was in the hospital giving birth to Alex, some nineteen years ago.


What the hell had he done?

Overblown muscles... super-sized dicks... cocky smiles...

Oh, Alex...

I don't know why I thought the HOUSE might be different, but when I pulled up, everything looked normal - the sun beamed through the trees and across the expanse of lawn - for no good reason, I was relieved by that. I screeched the Jag into "park" and raced inside. "Alex?" I called, betraying my panic. "ALEX!"

I heard one of the small appliances running in the kitchen and darted in that direction. When I found him, casually mixing fruit into the blender, it was immediately apparent that I was too late.

Alex had taken the MassX.

"I was gonna surprise you," he said, his voice as deep and rich as Scott Landis' had been. He busied himself making a protein shake as he spoke, so he wouldn't have to look at me. "At dinner tonight I was gonna walk in all casual, wait 'til you noticed and then say, you know, all cool, 'Oh, by the way, the MassX works.' But the dude at your office kind of ruined that for me."

"That's okay," I mumbled. "I'm still surprised."

He laughed - the same laugh he had all his life, the same slight duck of the head - but it came out of a different man. A different man who LOOKED like my son, who looked like an idealized, hyper-masculine version of my son, who looked like my son if my son had been a hard-core, testosterone-laden football hero who got mixed up with steroids at age nine - except my son didn't display the skin conditions that usually accompanied steroid abuse.

He was handsome. Not that I ever thought he wasn't a good-looking boy - he was his father's son, after all - but he looked grown-up now. His jawline was stronger, a cleft in his chin he'd never had before, all his features bolder yet still youthful. The same eyes, but a heavier brow - the weight in his face made him appear so mature. The heavy five o'clock shadow emphasized it. Alex had only recently started shaving every day, now it looked like he'd have to go twice a day if he intended to stay smooth.

And his body...

Easily twice the weight he was when I'd last seen him, thick, packed with lean muscle, veins criss-crossing in a biological roadmap, Alex flexed without even intending to. He was even bigger than Scott Landis, or Joe Killian the shill, or even the Gladiator-Man himself, Steve Cummings. I'd never seen a man as large as my son before - I wouldn't have thought it possible that someone - a teenager! - could be so muscular.

He wore only a pair of spandex shorts that he stretched to near-dangerous end, making it all too clear that he was packing meat that surpassed Scott Landis, too. To Scott Landis' kielbasa, my son had a summer squash - and he made no effort to hide it or be discreet about it at all. His genitalia showed the same freaky benefit from the MassX as his hyper-huge muscles - and to be proudly showing them off the way he was, obviously the MassX had affected his inhibition, as well.

Pouring the contents of the blender into a large plastic cup, he inadvertently flexed his big arm and his shoulder - a bowling ball, a freaking bowling ball! Quickly filling his cup, he said, "Shit, made too much. Want it?" He motioned the pitcher toward me.

But I was suspicious. "What's in it?"

He snorted and almost imperceptibly shook his head. "It's just a protein shake, dad. I gotta feed this body now." He smiled - were his teeth that good before? "Look, it's just protein mix, some orange juice and a couple of fresh strawberries. I promise, there's no MassX in the shake."

He reached for another plastic cup on the counter and poured the excess into it. Handing it to me, he said, "Here. Drink it." then sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.

So I took it from him - slack-jawed as I was - and didn't make any kind of protest. I confess I didn't know what to say. I didn't know where to begin - that moment for a parent when the kid does something so OUTRAGEOUS that you simply can't believe a child that you created could do be so stupid!

Drinks in hand, he made a toast. "To the body I've always wanted," he said, clinking our plastic cups together and tossing his back - he couldn't help but touch himself while he did it. Even HE couldn't resist his new body.

I sipped mine - surprised that it tasted as good as it did, Alex was hardly a culinary whiz - realizing that it was probably the first thing I'd consumed all day that had any nutritional value. The sip quickly turned into a gulp and I drained the glass - damn tasty! "Spicy," I commented as I set the cup down on the counter. "What was in that again?"

"Dad, there was no MassX in the shake," he said dryly, putting both cups in the sink, putting his wide, massive back to me. Then a chuckle, shaking those mountainous traps slightly. "I mean," he said, "I'd already put it in the cup."


He spun to face me, arms out before him in the defensive-stance that he'd used with me during so many of our adolescent arguments, except my son was now taller than me and out-weighed me by a hundred pounds. He smiled. "Aw, come on, dad. I knew you weren't gonna take it voluntarily and I didn't want to FORCE it on you. It was my only option."

"No," I said, my anger-level rising. "There WAS another option. You didn't have to give it to me at all. You said it yourself. You KNEW I wouldn't take it voluntarily."

"Yeah," he said, interrupting me, pushing his hips away from the counter to face me, to square-off with me. "I also know that once you're through the transformation, you're gonna feel a lot differently about it. C'mon, dad, it's fuckin' AMAZING! Look at me! Look how huge I am! Look how big my fuckin' COCK is!"


"What?" he said, flexing. "It's who I am now, dad. I'm a horny muscle-freak with a huge fuckin' cock. And in less than an hour, you're gonna be just like me." He smirked and adjusted himself in his spandex shorts - that freak cock of his had started to get hard, just like Scott Landis' had. My God, the posing and showing off DOES turn them on.

I'm going to be like THAT?

And just as I was about to protest again, just as I was about to call the poison control center or the hospital or the paramedics, I got a stomach-cramp that literally doubled me over. At first, I was afraid I was having a heart attack until I realized the pain was in my gut, not my chest.

"Don't worry," said Alex. "That's just the MassX starting to work in your stomach. In a few minutes, those cramps'll feel pretty good."

Bent over, clutching my stomach, I growled, "Justify it... however you want, Alex. You... did this to me... against... my... will."

Another cramp. This time, when I squeezed against it, warmth spread through my torso as if I'd juiced an orange. Was it too late to force myself to throw up?

Standing up straight, I realized I was flushed and breaking out into a light sweat - I felt like I had a fever, so warm. "It's starting to work," Alex said. "Do you feel it?"

"I... I feel..."

He reached over - God, I thought. Even his HANDS are more muscular! - he reached over and tore open my dress-shirt, popping the buttons and sending them clicking along the tiled floor.

Abs! I had ABS! For the first time in my life, brick-like, solid abs, like the steroid-abusing athletes had, like the obsessive marines who would challenge each other to punching contests had. Like my son had.

Though I'd never been overweight, I'd never been in any kind of decent shape before, either. I'd always been naturally lean, but there'd certainly never been any definition to my muscle. I'd never known what it was like to be in-touch with my athletic nature before, with my innate, instinctual masculine being.

That's how I felt in that moment - for no good reason, I felt like a MAN. A man with a kick-ass set of abs.

And that felt good.

"How ya doin'?" Alex asked, leaning against the counter again. With one hand, he was subtly playing with his package through the spandex, pinching the base of his cock while he watched me. He was so freakin' huge.

I was panting - shallow-breathing like I was going to hyperventilate - so to counteract it, I drew a deep breath in. When I did, I felt it - I felt my torso expand.

I felt myself grow.

"It's... happening," I said. "I'm growing."

He chuckled. "No shit," he said. "I can see that from here, though I wish you'd take your shirt off so I could see better. Seriously, I think you better undo your tie before you choke on it."

He'd ripped my shirt open all right, but I was still wearing it, and my tie was still tied around my neck. My collar DID feel tight, even though before now I'd always felt that this shirt was a little large on me. When I raised my arms to undo my tie, I could feel them filling the sleeves, feel their thickness when I flexed them.

No, I thought to myself. You're not supposed to like it. Fight it. Fight it!

But when I undid the tie, and pulled it off, I flexed my neck and traps, because the shirt had always been too loose before this. Now, it was tight. So for fun, I flexed my neck and popped the top button on the shirt.

THAT was kind of cool!

"Oh, yeah," said Alex. "Flexin' out of your clothes. Hot."

Hot? Did he just say "hot?"

"Tear it across the back," he said. "Bring your arms together like this." He demonstrated, flexing his arms and delts in front of his torso.

I did, and could feel the shirt stretch and tighten across the shoulders, but not tear. That was frustrating. Mother-fucker wants me to tear out of my shirt, I'll show him tear out of my shirt...

I flexed again, pulling against it, nearly WILLING myself to grow big enough to...

When I heard the tear, when I heard the shirt give, I swear, I felt like I'd accomplished something, like I should be proud.

I felt fuckin' good.

"YEAH!" Alex yelled, coaching me on.

"You like that?" I asked him, stripping off the scraps of shirt, tugging the ever-tightening sleeves. "You like what you're forcing on me? You like what you've done to me?"

He smiled, crossed his mighty arms across his mighty chest and said, "Yeah, I do. I'm surprised YOU'RE still fighting it, though"

"I can feel it working in me," I said, dropping the rest of the shirt to the floor. "And I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good. But this..." I gestured to my body, now the body of a fitness model like I'd seen in the sports magazines, hawking weight machines and workout videos. "This is not what I want to be." I pointed to him, to his gigantic physique. "THAT'S not what I want to be."

"But, dad," he said, continuing to flex for both our benefits, "it feels so good!" We made eye-contact and he raised his brow slightly. Quietly - sexily? - he asked, "Wanna feel it?"

Before I could respond, I got hit with another cramp. No. No, not a cramp - more like the sharp shock at the base of the roller coaster, when the conveyer jerks the cars and hauls them to the start of the ride, the top of the first peak. It didn't make me double over this time, but I pretty much flexed every muscle in my entire body at once. Head to toe, I was one big flex.

A rush. A wave. The warmth grew in me - the flush - it expanded, filling me like blood in a muscle cell. Lustful intensity, the muscles grew to absorb it. A pump was the only way to contain the feeling. It overwhelmed me.

My chest inflated - the muscle fibers filled with blood like water balloons, rounding at the edges, pushing the nipples down over the bottom like rubber stoppers. When I ran my hands over them, an erotic shock rolled through me like my muscles were suddenly as sensitive as my cock. It was like my whole body was getting an erection, swelling hard and growing.

That was when the seams of my pants ripped open. I laughed because they were so loose in the waist - there wasn't an ounce of fat on my stomach now, no love-handles anymore, just rock solid muscle. The weight of my belt pushed the pant's waist down near my hips. But I was tearing out through the thighs.

I let Alex in on the joke. "I'm tearing out through the thigh seams, but look how fuckin' loose the waist is!" I waved my belt buckle at him, showing him the excess material, flexing my lower abs hard enough to make the veins stand out.

Alex made no secret of being hard. His erection nearly reached his hip, growing steadily in length and girth. He was getting off on my transformation. "Are you gonna tear those pants off," he asked, "or are you gonna fuckin' flex your way out of them?"

I flexed my legs again and heard the tears deepen. It was like my legs were sprouting from cocoons, muscular butterflies. I liked the way that felt.

And maybe my mind was squeezing out of a cocoon, too. I have to admit, it didn't stop feeling good. As a matter of fact, the bigger I got, the better I felt - the more muscular, the more masculine. It was so sexual. No wonder Alex was hard - I was surprised I wasn't.

So what would make him enjoy it more? "What do YOU want?" I asked, my voice strong with lust. "You want me to tear out of them, or you wanna rip 'em the fuck off me?"

"You're gettin' real sexy, dad," he said, pushing himself away from the counter and stepping toward me. "Puttin' on that size is makin' you quite the man."

Standing face to face, he purposely undid the belt buckle, looking at me with the same smirk on his face that Scott Landis had, that confident, sexy, MANLY look, his hard-on quickly growing beyond the spandex's ability to control. I liked that I was turning him on - I didn't find it peculiar at all.

With a simple gesture, he tore the dress pants away from my body. I flexed to give him something to pull against, but he ripped it off easy. I stood there in my BVD's, my tightie-whities, and they were stretched so thin they were about to give way, too. It wasn't just my ass, either, now high, round, a bubble-butt in the old lingo. It was my package, as well.

My balls were nearly the size of lemons and so fuckin' sensitive to the touch - in-fuckin-credible! I could feel them churning, literally MAKING the testosterone that was flooding through my body, barely keeping up with the demand. And before them was my cock. My beautiful, beautiful cock, now nearly a foot-long soft - and it begged for release.

"Why aren't I getting hard?" I asked, and I could hear my voice changing. "This feels so... What's wrong with my cock?"

"It's okay," he said. "You're not done growing yet. You just wait. But look, you're getting all this chest hair!" He ran his hand over my pecs and I could see the little sprouts of dark hair appearing. I'd never been a hairy man - and Alex had been much like me - but I got to admit that the hair on his chest and abs only enhanced the muscle, only made him more masculine.

And soon I'd be just like him.

Another wave. Fortunately this time I had Alex to lean against.

It was the same again, only magnified. I could literally feel myself thicken - I could feel the growth and the pleasure that magnified in direct proportion. Leaning against my son's massive pecs, when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the head of his erect cock, forcing its way past the waistband of his spandex shorts and nearly reaching the top of his ab-wall.

And on the very tip, a pearl-sized drop of pre-cum.

I'd never smelled anything like it, so masculine, so rich. And suddenly, I wanted it. I wanted to taste it. What the fuck was this shit doing to me?

"Alex, your cock..."

"This is so fuckin' hot," he murmured. "Your transformation is turning me on, dad. You're gettin' so fuckin' BIG! I can't help it. Shit, I don't wanna help it. That's the other thing the MassX does, dad. It makes you so masculine that the only thing that can satisfy you is another guy who's been through it. That's why I needed you. I needed you so bad..."

And I kissed him, my own son. I planted my lips on his and I kissed him - it was so right, so true. A perfect moment. The feeling of his rough, unshaven face against mine, our coarse hair rubbing together made it clear that two MEN were in each other's mouths - two big, muscular men.

It was hot.

As we made out, as we tongued, as we pressed our massive bodies together, I felt the life stir into my cock. My muscles must be done growing, I thought, because something else has started. And if my new muscles were as sensitive as my cock USED to be, my new cock brought me to levels of erotic pleasure that I'd never before experienced.

How could I have not wanted this?

Alex felt it, too, as it grew past the elastic waistband of my underwear and fought for space between the mass of our bodies. He started thrusting himself against me, rubbing his cock against my hard abs, so I met his rhythm, and we looked each other in the eye as we slowly dry-humped.

"I want you to fuck me," he said plainly. "I'm achin' for it. It's why I transformed you."

I smiled slightly - a smirk, maybe the same one as I'd seen on him and Landis - "Okay," I said. "But let's do it in the living room, in front of the big mirror."

He kissed me, then stepped away, striding toward the living room, his huge erection leading the way like flag-bearer at a parade. Damn, he had a hot ass - I wasn't gonna mind fuckin' that at all.

The first time I got a good look at myself was in the living room mirror - the whole wall was covered in mirror, cost a pretty penny - was when I realized I looked fuckin' FANTASTIC!

I was huge. Even bigger than Alex, WAY bigger than Landis. Fuck man, even Steve Cummings would bow down to me. I made Mr. Olympia look like a Mr. Wimp-ia. Everything, every single muscle, every single male-characteristic, everything about me was amplified to its max. I was beyond possible. I was the ultimate.

I was perfect.

"Get over here, Alex," I growled, my voice deep and rough, sexy and masculine. "I wanna fuck you the way I fucked your mother when I got her pregnant. You want that?"

"Yeah," he panted, watching me get off on myself while I posed. He darted right to my side. "Yeah, I want it bad."

I smirked. "Then bend over, bitch."

He was huge before me, and I was huge behind him. I was surprised at how easily he was able to take my cock - I guess the MassX makes that easier, too - but I was pleased by his skills. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever felt, fucking my son, and we both groaned from the pleasure.

"Fuck me like you fucked mom," he moaned. "Harder! HARDER!"

I could let loose - my strength wouldn't hurt him - I plowed his ass with abandon, watching myself in the mirror, watching one huge, handsome man fuck a nearly identical huge, handsome man. Were they brothers? They looked like they were. The one fucking appeared a bit more mature, but looked like he was within a year or two of the other.

They were both so fuckin' hot!

When I came, I buried myself so deep inside him that I swear I could feel his heart beating against the head of my cock. "Take my seed, fucker," I groaned, sending it into him, instinctively trying to get it deeper, trying to impregnate him.

"Yeah," he moaned. "Give it to me." I felt him cum beneath me and heard the wet "spat!" as his jizz hit the mirror.

I'd never experienced anything like it before - sex had NEVER been this good! More, I was ready to go again. Hell, I didn't think I'd ever want to stop. If I'd known orgasms were gonna feel like that, I never would've fought getting X'd.

I fucked him again in the living room, then we posed for a while, and ultimately jerked-off looking at ourselves in the mirror. He fucked ME in the shower - he was SUPPOSED to be washing the areas I couldn't reach anymore and suddenly, I felt his cock up in my ass.

I took to it like a bird to flight. Yeah, having a big X'd dick inside me was pretty damn okay - and that it was my son's made it all the more erotic.

We took a break to eat dinner, pretty much cleaning out the freezer of meat. Okay, the EATING was going to be an expense. Hopefully, the protein we got from each other during sex was something that could help sustain us. Later that evening, we went online and registered ourselves on the X'd-Men site, posting the cheesy digital pics that Alex snapped of us fucking each other. Before we were even finished up-loading it, we registered hits. I was actually glad to see there were so many of us in the area - I didn't realize how big this MassX-thing was getting. Pardon the pun.

We also went to the main MassX site and ordered almost eight-hundred dollars worth of clothes that were specifically designed for the X'd man - casual wear, athletic wear, posing wear, even business attire (I ordered three pairs of the cotton/ spandex blend pants that fit like tights, but had a belted waistband, and a faux fly. They would show me off nice around the office.)

"I can't believe you're keeping your fuckin' job," Alex complained as he knelt between my legs, sucking my cock while I shopped the MassX catalogue.

"Someone's gotta pay the grocery bill, Alex," I mumbled, checking out the new X'd jockstraps. They MIGHT stretch enough to cover my balls.

"We could direct-market porn videos," he said. "Lots of fags would pay for that."

THAT was true... "Okay," I said. "You set it up."

By the time I got home from work the next day, Alex would have our web page up and running, and nearly a thousand pre-orders for our first video.

As a father, I think it's nice to see my son finally serious about something.

Yeah, I went to work the next day. And yeah, it was because I wanted to show off. So fuckin' what? I mean, with a body like this, who WOULDN'T want to show off?

So, the guys were hanging around the water-cooler, as usual, and I stroledl up casually in a pair of spandex shorts and a cotton shirt with the company logo on the chest, stretched almost beyond recognition by my massive pec. As a matter of fact, I was BARELY wedged into these clothes, things I'd owned BEFORE MassX - I felt big and hot.

They were stunned - speechless - nothing to do but flex for them, show them my body, my beautiful new body. Good God, I WAS getting off on it. I was getting off flexing for these teeny pukes and seeing the lust and desire in their eyes.

Fuck, why did I resist?

This time, they followed ME as I ambled to Scott Landis' office.

Yeah, I was bigger than him. I already knew it in the back of my mind, but it felt good to have it confirmed. Sitting on his desk chair, when he spun to face me, I could see not only surprise in his eye, but also that lustful sparkle. It suddenly registered on me that he'd stopped wearing his glasses - another benefit of MassX, I figured. He was big, massive, handsome - but I was bigger. I completely filled the door frame.

"Well, well, well..." he said, unconsciously reaching for his package. "Still think I'm crazy?"

I smirked, that expression I thought was so hot. "Get over here and suck my cock," I said.

I didn't have to ask Scott Landis twice. As everyone in the office watched, Landis knelt before me and took my huge dick in his mouth. I loved it.

I made sure to flex and pose and give them a show - I fuckin' screamed as I orgasmed. And later, in the boss' office when they were firing me for my conduct, I couldn't help but play with myself. I didn't fuckin' care about this job - nothing was more important than the size of my biceps. With a body like this, all that mattered was satisfaction - muscles, pumps, and sex. Tons and tons of sex. Hell, I owned my house - I could live off my investments alone - early retirement was fine by me - stock options, buy-outs, whatever. Look at these pecs! Look at this COCK!

When I got home, Alex was ready for me. He'd invited a couple of local X'd guys over to be in our movie. Both of them were big, but not quite as hot as my son, or myself - of course, we WERE the stars.

With surprising ease, we moved into this new phase of our lives. I loved it! I thanked Alex for my transformation every time I came in him, so I thanked him a lot.

I don't think I'll be able to thank him enough. •

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