For the next few weeks, Jake pushed Rocky in the weight room. He pushed the other guys, too, so it wouldn't seem like he was doting on Rocky, but he made the kid go up with the weight he was lifting, and was merciless, with an occasional wink, about getting the extra killer reps out of him. Rocky quietly did everything he was told, giving all to his efforts. And Jake created the workout space in his own house, turning over a spare bedroom to the task of creating serious muscle. He bought free weights, benches, and several machines with elaborate cables and pulleys. He installed mirrors on every wall. Mats covered the floor. And he began testing the equipment, pushing himself to ready himself for his new role as mentor and trainer. He could hardly wait to begin.

The month left in the spring semester seemed endless, after that first meeting. They had met again, when Jake gave Rocky a list of supplements to take, when to take them, and how much. All to be approved by his parents, of course. But the weeks did pass, Rocky had his eighteenth birthday, he graduated, and, Jake learned one day after weight training, he'd told his parents about what Jake had told him, about his potential, about training to get the kind of bodybuilder's body he really had come to want.

Jake almost got a hard-on when Rocky told him how his parents had said that the coach was right—that he already did have a bodybuilder body. What got to Jake was the wide-eyed, boyish way Rocky said he told them no he didn't, not really, not like he wanted. He'd told his parents what Jake had gotten him to admit—that he really wanted to get huge—really, really, seriously massive, like the freaky big guys—as big as he could—as big as possible. As Rocky gave voice to his dream, Jake felt like he'd unleashed Rocky's primal desires, and he saw that Rocky was finding a primal strength in them.

It seemed like the saying out loud of it had released something in Rocky that was already helping him grow. That and the supplements. In the few weeks before the end of school, Jake could see Rocky begin to mass up, bulk up, and carry his body with less shyness. Nothing dramatic, but Jake could tell a difference, and he could tell Rocky was doing it, not just for himself, but for him, his coach, his mentor.

Finally the day came for Rocky to start his training with Jake. Jake showered early, dressed in silky workout shorts and a loose tank, and waited for nine o'clock, when Rocky was to show up, before he had his morning protein drink. They would both have one, he'd talk some about what they were going to do, and the process of transforming the kid into a muscle god would begin.

Jake was more excited than he expected. He'd wanted to Jack off when he showered, but he made the hard decision that he wouldn't. He'd hold back that energy for the workout. He was ready to push this kid right into his own fantasy-become-real. He knew there was masculine power and strength in unreleased sexual energy. He would use that to jump-start this relationship. He was going to create a muscle god.

*****

Rocky had been flying on a cloud ever since his meeting with the coach. He couldn't believe that someone as cool as Jake was taking such an interest in him. He couldn't believe that Jake, and even his parents, were telling him that he looked like a bodybuilder. But, since they'd said it, he had to admit, looking in the mirror, that he might not be a huge bodybuilder, but he was getting that look. He could begin to see the thickness, the flare, the cut mass that gave him the look. He began to feel it when he walked—the way his legs pressed apart, the way his arms hung heavily over his lats, how he could feel the thickness of his back pushing his arms out. It had all been happening so slowly that he didn't even see it, or feel it, but now he could. Oh, he had a long way to go, but he was on his way.

School became a sort of white noise to him. He loaded up on the supplements the coach had recommended, ingested gigantic amounts of protein, whizzed through the rest of his classes and finals, every minute thinking about getting to the weight room where Jake would drive him hard, push him to grow. None of the other guys had a clue that he had a secret pact with Jake, so careful were they not to let on. But Rocky felt the specialness of it, and it gave him such a feeling of buoyancy that he went home from the weight room and pushed even more weight until he was shaking from the effort—and then he'd push some more. He was excited. Thrilled. Ecstatic. The depth of his excitement showed itself in the erections he was getting now all the time. The harder he pushed the weights, the more it turned him on. Flexing in front of the mirror turned him on. Catching a glimpse of himself in the hallway, reflected in the glass of the trophy case, turned him on. When the kids teased him about being a muscle boy, a bodybuilder, that turned him on, now, too. In fact, he'd almost boned up in the showers when he heard some of those comments, and when they said, hey, donkey dick ape boy, you're starting to look like one of those freaks, he almost turned around and let them see his big dick get hard. But he didn't. He turned the water cold, rinsed, and went home and worked out again, this time with a steel hard erection the whole time. He'd show them freak!

The day he was supposed to start working out at Jake's place was the hottest day of the year so far, and he woke at dawn with the birds. He showered, and as he lathered up his hairy chest and abs, legs and arms, pits and groin, he thought about how Jake had commented on how hairy he was and that it looked good. That guy just had a way of making him feel good about himself, making him see himself differently. As he soaped up his cock, letting how big he really was sink in, he got hard thinking about Jake's comment about needing a specially made poser. Just the thought of wearing a poser, of putting this package he was always trying to hide right out there for everyone to see made him so hard. Even just wearing one in front of Jake . . . But he wouldn't let himself Jack off. He knew he always worked harder when he was horny. The energy was so strong. He flexed and felt his muscles to reinforce the feeling. He made himself so hard it was almost impossible to keep from Jacking off, but he resisted. His will was strong. It had to be to make him strong.

He dressed quickly—jockstrap, loose tee, long loose shorts, trainers—and then looked in the mirror. He didn't watch himself dress, because he was afraid he'd bone up again, seeing himself the way Jake was getting him to look at himself. He just covered up in loose workout gear, then checked to see how he looked for his first day as a real student and protégé of the coach. Even if he was a hairy guy with a slightly too-big nose and caterpillar eyebrows, he really was looking not too bad lately. Maybe he did have more potential than he'd allowed himself to see before. Even in the loose, baggy gear, he still filled the sleeves and chest of the tee, and the shorts showed definite swells and curves, beside the one he was always trying to hide. His butt was like two separate globes sitting high under the waistband, allowing the material to fall between them, defining them. And the legs hung, not exactly tight, but nearly filled by the flaring curve of his quads. He was even seeing more veins sitting on the surface under his tight skin as though forced there, pushed out by the solidifying of his muscles, the hardening and thickening that squeezed the veins out to pump more blood to make him grow.

Damn. He could feel himself starting to get hard again thinking about that. The bulge at his groin showed it. He turned away, grabbed his car keys, and headed out the door without even having any breakfast. Jake had said he'd tank him up with all the fuel he would need and anything else. No need for a gym bag. Just jump into the car and go.

*****

Jake made himself stay away from the window when he realized he was standing there, obviously looking for Rocky to arrive. Consequently, he was in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. With casual nonchalance, he opened the door wide and invited the kid in.

Seeing Rocky on his own turf had a completely different feeling than had seeing him in the weight room or even the locker room at school. There, he'd been a teacher. Here, he was his trainer, and Rocky was now longer a high school student with whom he had to take extreme professional care. Now it was all about turning the teen hunk into a serious muscle guy, and the cards were on the table. And already, in his loose, camouflaging clothes, Rocky's body was declaring itself, despite his best efforts to keep it under wraps. Well, that would change—and soon.

"So, muscle boy," Jake said, leading the kid to the kitchen, and thinking, why not put it right out there from the beginning, "you ready to get serious?"

Rocky laughed, a self-conscious sort of chuckle. "Yeah. Yes sir."

"Good. All right, then. Let's mix up some body-building nutrition for you, for us both, and then, while it settles for a few minutes, we'll talk."

Jake poured non-fat milk into a blender, added spoonfuls of yoghurt, protein powder, amino acids in liquid form, and several other concoctions that flew by too fast to read the labels. He noticed Rocky watching with intense interest. Throwing in some frozen blueberries, he set the blender whirring.

"You gotta feed that muscle to make it grow. But you already know that, don't you? We're just going to kick up the effects a notch or two with some extra-high-powered things to get those hormones running in overdrive."

Rocky took the glass offered him. "I think they already are," he said.

"Not nearly enough," Jake answered, as he drank his shake. He motioned for Rocky to drink up, and when Rocky's glass was nearly empty, he filled it again with the remainder of the blender's purple contents. "Drink up," he said. "That should help get you jump-started. Now, if only my dad would come through with his mysterious stuff. He's been promising for at least a year, keeps teasing me, telling me maybe I can finally bulk up some. I told him about you, about our project here, and he seemed really interested. I sure hope I can get that interest translated into action."

"You mean that stuff you mentioned before? What is it, anyway?" Rocky finished his shake.

"Some military secret. I don't really know. Supposed to make guys, soldiers, super-strong, but they need to get it fine-tuned. I guess it's like super-roids, but they've worked so hard to avoid the bad side-effects that they keep running into others. Instead of just giving hormone replacement, which means the body doesn't have to make its own, they are trying to make the body create more of the stuff that makes a guy grow muscle and all on its own. That way it can self-regulate. Doesn't take over the function of your nuts, so they don't shrink up and all. Or create acne. Not like amplified puberty, more like some leap beyond puberty, if it just kept going, making a guy more of a guy or something. Anyway, until they get it right, he won't get me any to try on us. But he swears he will, eventually. So, let's show you the workout room, get you suited up."

Jake led the way back through a hallway into the large back bedroom that he'd converted. With a sweep of a sinewy arm, he indicated the gleaming steel machines, bars, black iron plates, mats, and walls of mirrors that would be the laboratory where they would effect the transformation.

"What do you think?"

"Wow," Rocky stared at the equipment. "Impressive." Then he looked at Jake. "What do you mean, suit up? I already am."

"For a high school gym, maybe. Not for the private domain of a real, hardcore bodybuilder. Isn't that who you are going to be, now, Rocky? Isn't that who you are now?"

"Well," Rocky visibly pulled into his shy mode. "Yeah, I guess. It sounds so funny to say that."

"Oh, man," Jake faked major disappointment, "you gotta know it, man. You can't wimp out on me now. Do you want to get huge, muscle boy? You want the kind of body you were talking about? I know you do. It's just us, man. You gotta say. Say it out loud. Own it. Be it."

He waited for a response from Rocky. Rocky grinned at him and rolled his eyes as if to say, "aww, gee, do I have to?"

"Well?" Jake insisted.

"Okay. Yeah That's what I want."

"What are you, Rocky?"

"I'm a bodybuilder."

"Yeah. That's it. And what is a bodybuilder's task?"

"To build up his muscles."

"To get big. Yes. How big, Rocky?"

"Very big."

"Aww, come on. Tell me how big you want to get, Rocky. Say it."

"Okay, Jake. I want to get huge."

"Yeah. There you go. Are you a muscle boy?"

"Yeah."

"And what's a muscle guy's task?"

"To build up his muscles."

"Right. So why would he want to hide his work behind all that loose material, have it all get in the way? Now, here," he handed Rocky a small handful of black material. "Strip and put this on."

Rocky took it, blushing, and went to a bench where he could lay his clothes, half turning away from Jake as he undressed.

"No way, Rocky. No shyness allowed. Nothing there I haven't seen anyway. Everybody knows you're 'Donkey Dick' and 'Bull Balls' and 'Ape Boy' and all the other things they call you because they're all jealous you're twice the man they'll ever be. Own it, Rocky. Proud. No fear."

Rocky turned toward Jake, still looking shy, but making an effort to stand tall, act proud. He stepped into the tiny briefs and pulled them up. He had to grab his genitals and lift them forward to rest in the pouch of material that barely held them. He adjusted the leg holes, the waist, trying to make it sit comfortably and still hold all it had to hold. No matter how he adjusted it, his package pulled the front down low enough to expose more than a bit of his pubic hair.

Jake looked him over. "Turn around," he said. "Show me what a hot looking muscle guy you are, how incredibly well built, how masculine you look with all that perfectly placed hair. Flex, don't flex. I don't care. Just show me you, the new you, and make me believe it. Make me believe you believe it."

Rocky turned slowly. Jake saw him pause when he faced the mirror directly, saw him look at Jake looking at him, saw him look himself over, so very exposed in the tiny poser, looking every bit the unshaved, young but obviously hard-core bodybuilder. He saw Rocky stand a bit straighter, lift his chest slightly, setting his head more squarely on his thick neck. He saw him pull his shoulders down, just enough, while tightening his thick arms against the bulk of his lats, the barely noticeable move tightening his pectorals just enough to look relaxed but full, defined, thick and hard, the swirls of hair only decorating the deep, wide shape of his chest. As he completed the turn, coming back around to face Jake, the coach saw a new guy emerging in the confident, almost cocky, if somewhat still detectably forced expression in his eyes, on his face. Rocky looked at Jake directly, then slowly raised his arms into a double biceps pose. He did not look like a professional bodybuilder posing, though, but like an extremely muscular teen just flexing for a buddy, showing off. Jake was sure the poser had pulled down even lower in front, showing more pubes, because, he was sure the already overstuffed package had reacted to Rocky's changing sense of himself.

"Well done. Very nice," Jake said. "Now let's start putting some real size into those muscles." And he turned toward a bench.

"Wait a minute," Rocky said.

Jake stopped.

"Shouldn't the coach be setting the example for the student?"

"What do you mean?" Jake asked.

"I mean, if I'm going to work out in these tiny little trunks, the least you could do is to set the example of body confidence, don't you think? You must have others."

Jake swallowed. Of course Rocky had a point, although he could argue that the coach should just be teaching. But this relationship was already more than that. Suddenly the very insecurities that he was helping Rocky overcome, his own version of them, came flooding over him. He'd even thought about the two of them in his new gym, only in posers, and the thought had intimidated him, placing his smooth, slender body in proximity to the blooming magnificence of his young protégé, the four years of age difference seeming like a generation. But the challenge was put to him, and he knew he had to do it, to fake it just like Rocky must be.

"Yeah, I have others," he said.

"Great," Rocky grinned.

*****

Rocky would never forget that first day, or remember it without an erection. He'd been embarrassed and yet somehow relieved, even excited, when Jake had told him to strip and put on the poser. He'd seen enough bodybuilders in them, in pictures, and wondered how he would feel wearing them. He'd been embarrassed to buy any. He'd even imagined how the coach would look in them. He didn't have the kind of bulky muscle usually associated with posers, but he did have that carved, athletic muscle that Rocky thought was the epitome of classical masculine power and grace. Next to him, he felt like a bulky bear, even if he did like the muscle he was finally getting. Actually getting into the posers Jake had handed him had felt like being thrust into a fantasy he was afraid to visit, but when he saw himself, with Jake watching him, he saw a guy he'd only imagined becoming, and suddenly he did feel good about how he looked. Even the oversized bulge that pulled the trunks down so low made him feel a little proud, even sexy, although he couldn't admit to that here, not with Jake.

He didn't even know where the voice came from that asked the coach to get into posers, too. He knew it made him sweat, when he blurted it out. He heart pounded. He felt like a complete fool, and he thought, from the way Jake just stared at him for a moment that he had, in fact, made an absolute idiot of himself, or worse, that he sounded like some kind of fruit. But then Jake had said okay, and like it was an everyday thing, had gotten a pair for himself, undressed, and put them on. He did look like one of those ancient Greek statues, skin smooth as marble, everything in proportion, sleek, handsome, the picture of all-American perfection.

There was something so different about being with him and being nearly naked together as Jake put him through his first workout. It wasn't like the locker room, with all the guys undressing, showering, showing off to one-up each other. It felt more relaxed and natural, and, at the same time, more exciting in an embarrassing way, as though he shouldn't be feeling so good. Jake talked about his muscles when he was lifting, made him push more weight than he ever had, for more reps, talking all the time about his muscles, how he needed to picture them big, thick, growing, picture the fibers deep inside being stressed and forced to grow to handle the workload. He even put his hands on his muscles when he talked about them, about the shape, the size, the length of his muscle bellies, all genetic gifts. It felt indescribably good to Rocky to let go like this, to let Jake take charge, to just allow himself to be taught, shown, told, made to work, to push, to feel, see, think muscle.

After the last set, the last rep, Jake told him to stand in front of the mirror again, and he stood next to him.

"Now tell me what you see, Rocky."

Rocky looked at himself next to Jake. He was bigger, no doubt about it. Much bigger. But as much as he could see himself as really getting the bodybuilder look he wanted, he appeared a rough, hairy, bulky boy next to the sleek model perfection of his mentor.

"I see a muscular ape-boy standing next to a guy who looks like an all-American fitness model or an ancient statue of a perfect Greek athlete."

God, he thought, what made him say that?

Jake didn't turn, but looked him in the eye in the mirror. "Didn't you learn anything today?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, sure." Rocky felt all shaky again.

"Can I tell you something, ape-boy?" Jake continued. "I'm standing here looking at an eighteen year old kid with a body I would kill for, with muscles already bigger than I could ever get. Hairy, yeah, with smooth, dark, silky hair in all the right places. And to top it all off, you got a package there that any guy would be jealous of. I'd trade my totally average all-American looks for that body any day, and we're just getting you started. You're going to be among the most muscular guys on the planet before you hit twenty. Now, let's try it again. What do you see?"

Rocky found himself repositioning himself as Jake spoke, adjusting his stance, almost as though the words had a way of making him stand differently. He lifted his chest, tightened his muscles. They were big for a guy his age. Hell, for any guy. And he had to admit, he wasn't all that bad looking, either. It was early afternoon, and already his whiskers had become that heavy, stubbly shadow that covered his jaw and neck from sideburn to sideburn. When he looked at himself this way, he did feel fairly sexy. It was strange, allowing himself to admire things about himself that had been an embarrassment. He could see how his body hair could look good, masculine. The same with that big bulge, which he'd not been able to even try to hide all day. He knew guys were jealous he was so much bigger than they were, and now he could imagine not being embarrassed by it. He could see, through Jake's way of talking to him, that he could be proud of all that. And he was muscular. He definitely looked like a bodybuilder. Why had it been so hard to see? Or was Jake just telling him all this to boost him up?

"Well?" Jake persisted. "What do you see, Rocky?"

"I see a teen muscle guy," Rocky blurted out, before the words could run and hide.

"Good. More. Go on."

"Uh, a teen muscle guy with pretty cool hair."

"Now you're getting it. Go on."

"A teen muscle guy with cool hair and big nuts and a really big dick."

"Yes. Good. And is he going to get bigger?"

"Oh, hell, yes. He's gonna get much, much bigger."

"Good. Yes. How much bigger?"

"Aww, man, coach, I'm gonna get so much bigger."

"Yes, you are. And is the teen muscle guy good looking? Sexy? Hot?"

Rocky realized he was getting hard. He'd been so caught up in the words, the feelings, he hadn't noticed. He knew Jake would see. But he glanced in the mirror to see that Jake was showing the same effect. Could this be happening? He looked in the mirror at Jake's face and answered.

"I think so, yeah. What do you think, coach? Is he?"

Jake smiled. "Yes. He definitely is."

"And coach wants to get him huge, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Jake answered, "coach wants to mold him into his fantasy of a masculine muscle god."

Rocky felt his cock instantly get harder. He couldn't stop it, and he didn't want to. He'd never felt this kind of excitement before. And Jake was just standing there letting his own dick bone up. He swallowed hard.

"Whose fantasy? The muscle teen's," Rocky asked, "or the coach's?"

The two stood facing the mirror, side by side, looking at each other.

Jake said, "Are they different?"

"Damn, coach," Rocky said, "you had to have been reading my mind."

"Not really," Jake said. "Just observing. Seeing what you didn't."

"Seeing me as a huge muscle dude?"

"Oh, yeah. I saw that from the first day."

"Coach?"

"Yeah, Rocky?"

"Why did you ask about when I'd be eighteen, a legal adult?"

"Ah," Jake smiled, "well, because it might have seemed out of line for a student teacher to be personally coaching an under-aged student in private in his own home like this."

"Why?" Rocky flexed his right pectoral and felt the muscle with his left hand, looking down at it as he asked, then looking up at Jake without lifting his head, up from under his heavy, dark eyebrows.

"Why? Well you know the kinds of things people think."

Rocky saw Jake looking at him touching his muscle, feeling it. He sensed the power of something between them. He wanted Jake to touch him.

"But I thought you wanted me not to worry about that stuff, what people think."

"It's something we all have to work at, I think. You like how that feels?"

"What, coach?"

"That pec you keep feeling. Does it feel big to you? Hard? You like the idea of getting it huge, don't you?"

"Yeah. It does feel good. Big. Hard. You felt it."

"Not like that."

"You want to?"

"You want me to?"

"Don't you need to see how well I did today?"

Rocky lowered his hands and turned toward Jake. Jake stepped forward and gently put his hand over Rocky's pec. Rocky flexed it under Jake's hand. Jake put the other hand over Rocky's other pec, exerting a little more pressure, and Rocky responded by flexing both pecs as he looked right into Jake's eyes, waiting for Jake to look up from his pecs. When Jake finally did look up, Rocky found himself almost dizzy with the closeness. His breath was shallow, his heart racing. He opened his mouth a little to catch a better breath, and when he did, Jake leaned forward, slowly, stopping just far enough from Rocky's mouth to give him a chance to pull his head away. He didn't.

*****

Two weeks after that first workout at Jake's house, Rocky moved in to live with Jake. He would be a freshman, Jake would be a coach at the high school, and their mutual goal would become their obsession. Jake never did become a coach, however, because word of the young bodybuilder living with him traveled quickly, and the administration made him chose between his "alternative lifestyle" and his job teaching impressionable children. In truth, they didn't offer much of a choice, and, for Jake, there wasn't much of a choice to be made. A local gym needed a certified instructor, and Jake gave up coaching high school to coaching would-be bodybuilders. And one teen demi-god in particular.

Rocky's parents went through a brief bout of anguish over their son's coming out, not just as a muscle freak but as a gay one. But they quickly got over it as they saw him come into his own, blossom and grow, both in body and in spirit. His confidence was soaring. People who had never noticed him saw a stunning looking guy with a body that drew stares everywhere he went, and Rocky was learning how to project the confidence, the sexual awareness that grew along with his muscles.

Jake worked hard, too, but, as he'd always said, he just got more and more carved. His muscles grew some, but he just couldn't bulk up, while Rocky seemed to add mass just by looking at the weights. But they each saw so much masculine beauty in the other that none of that mattered. They were gods among men, at least when they were together, and more and more, they projected that feeling to any who saw them.

By the end of summer, the work and the supplements had begun the real act of transformation. Rocky hardened and thickened and grew more comfortable in his body every day. The real transformation came with Jake's constant encouragement and pushing, always pushing Rocky not just to grow, but to see himself as the bodybuilder he was, uncommonly massive and beautifully shaped, especially for an eighteen year old kid. Rocky began to appreciate the unique combination of his hirsute muscularity and his youth, the heavy stubble on the boyish face, the teen with the rolling gait of the real bodybuilder and the overstuffed basket of goods. And whenever the old doubts, the fear of just becoming more of a weird freak, began to surface, Jake was there to help him see his new truth.

"Got you some new gear I want you to wear when we go to the store."

"What?" Rocky shouted back from the decline bench.

"Just some shorts, a new tank. Summer's over after this weekend. Time for showing off is about to take a hiatus. Finish up there, give those pecs ten more pounds for ten, then we'll go get the stuff for the barbecue."

Rocky came into the bedroom when he finished the set. Jake was at the dresser in a pair of low cut tighty-whities, looking every inch the Abercrombie model with a few more years of training under his belt. But as delicious as Jake looked to Rocky, Rocky knew that Jake would want him to be the muscle boy, to be the creation, to let Jake get off on his body rather than the other way around. So he came up behind him and stood next to him so Jake could see him in the mirror. It seemed mirrors held a certain magic for them, the reflection of their increasing physical masculinity on display for each other, doubled. Jake looked. Rocky flexed. Double-bis first, then a relaxed stance, once again feeling one pec, as he had that first day.

"Nice," Jake said. "My kid's really getting some muscle now. Going to look amazing in these."

He held up a pair of soft cotton and Lycra shorts, pale gray with white stripes down the sides. They looked about half the size to fit over Rocky's thick globes and mounds, but the material would stretch to hug it all, mold itself to the teen's body. The tank was ribbed cotton and Lycra, white, like a wifebeater, but of a tighter, thinner, more stretchable material. It would obviously cling like skin, the bottom not coming within three inches of his navel, once it stretched to cover the massive chest, and the armholes and neck were cut so deep probably only his nipples would be covered. It was more a costume than clothes, something from a bodybuilder's catalogue. Jake was working Rocky little by little into showing his body more all the time. Every time was a challenge for Rocky to keep those old insecurities quiet, to relax and enjoy the admiration he drew and ignore the shock or disgust of the prudes and assholes. It had almost become an exciting game, something he looked forward to. He'd gotten used to posers around the house, but these would be the most blatant things he'd worn in public.

"Yeah," Jake went on, "muscle boy on display. Gonna look real hot."

"Think so?" he said to Jake with a wink. "Don't think I'll get arrested?"

"Only if the cop wants to cop a feel of all that."

"All this? You mean this muscle? Am I getting what you want to see, Jake?"

Rocky flexed an arm again, and Jake turned and wrapped his hands around it.

"Oh, yeah. Look at you, man. Already up to nineteen and three-quarters. In one summer. Better living through modern chemistry. You define muscle boy." He caressed the thick biceps and triceps, feeling the shape, the size, the hardness, the veins. "Or at least you're starting to. I'm gonna get you so much bigger." He moved his hands to Rocky's chest, feeling the hairy contours of the thick, carved pectorals. "Is that okay, muscle boy? Can I get you bigger? Muscle boy to teen muscle man?"

"Yeah, coach. If that's what you want. You want to get me bigger?" He spoke seductively.

"Oh yeah, muscle boy. I want to get you bigger. Much, much bigger. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, coach."

"You like me getting you bigger, don't you, muscle boy? You like being a real muscle boy, don't you? Almost a teen muscle man."

"Yeah, Jake. I love what you're doing for me."

"Yeah. Just let me grow you. Feels so hot, doesn't it?" He slid a hand down Rocky's ripped, hairy abs, into his poser, wrapping it around the hardening shaft.

"Fuck yeah, coach. Grow me all you want. Am I your muscleboy?"

"Fuck yeah, kid. You're getting there. Just keep it up, muscle boy. Never stop. You'll never be too big."

"As big as you want, coach. Anything you want."

Rocky accepted Jake's kiss with an open mouth, flexing whatever muscles he felt Jake's hands touch. He felt Jake work the muscles down his back, slide between his legs, under his heavy balls, a flicking, probing finger finding the tender hole hidden deep between the hard globes of his furry butt.

"That's what I want right now, muscle boy. I want to fuck some teen boy muscle."

"Yeah?" Rocky teased and he backed toward the bed, pulling Jake with him. "You want to fuck this muscle boy's hairy ass? Get you hot, seeing me getting huge, you getting me huge? Totally your muscle boy, man. Do what you want."

He lay back on the bed, his legs up, apart, pulling Jake on top of him, flexing his mounds of pec meat against Jake's chest as he kissed him, rubbing his thick stubble hard against Jake's face, feeling Jake enter him, making him even more his muscle boy.

*****

The Last week of October, Jake took Rocky to Los Angeles, where his father lived, to introduce them to each other. He also knew that the Halloween celebration in West Hollywood, which he'd last attended as a straight college guy, was something that would test how far Rocky had come.

They took a room in a rather lavish hotel near the Sunset Strip, overlooking "Boys' Town." Rocky's head seemed to be swiveling like one of those toys that bob in the back window of some cars, wide-eyed at the number of attractive and obviously gay men in residence at the hotel—obvious not by their looks, but by how openly they held hands, draped arms across shoulders, and stared at each other with looks of lust. Rocky got more that a fair share of those stares.

Jake watched him to see how he reacted. He'd told Rocky to wear the clothes he'd bought him for Labor Day, and back then, Rocky had worn them with a combination of extreme self-consciousness and pride, allowing himself to show off his body, and turned on by it, while working to push down and ignore the embarrassment of being so blatantly on display. And that had been in the privacy of their own backyard. Here, in the hotel, when Jake had suggested the same body-hugging gear to go meet his dad at a private function for a few close friends, near the beach up the coast in Malibu, Rocky had pulled on the Lycra with a look of readiness. He'd adjusted his package front and center, his large, heavy organ pointing down over his big balls as much as he could. A few steps of his massive thighs pushing the meat back and forth, and it soon worked its way to the right side, lying in the bend of his leg. The tank didn't cover much more than the bottom of his rib cage, and Jake smiled to watch Rocky lift his arms after pulling it on to drag it up a bit more on his brick-like abs, exposing a belly so carved that the heavy trail and outflow of hair hid nothing of the exceptional muscle, bared for several inches both above and below his navel. Jake grinned, and boned helplessly, to watch Rocky's studied self-approval. He saw Rocky watching him in the mirror, and he winked his approval. His muscle boy appeared to be finally accepting himself as the stunner he was.

As they walked through the hotel lobby, both saw guys nudging each other, nodding in their direction, and, though Jake knew that he'd always attracted men in West Hollywood, even back when he'd thought he didn't want to, he knew that now it wasn't him drawing the stares. Rocky was magnificent. He was the boy-man paradigm. His youth carried the plumage of manhood, and he bore his gifts as naturally as a born athlete or artist. His arms, now nineteen and seven-eights, swung jaunty and wide at his sides, the wings of his lats emerging from the deep armholes of the tight tank to push the arms out, the thick mass of his pecs flexing with his slightest move, his thighs, which had benefited most from the program of advanced nutrition and training, rolled around each other in a thunderous but graceful gait. This was no junior bodybuilder. This was a teen, obviously, who could challenge the best of them down at Muscle Beach.

As the pulled away from the valet station in the rented convertible, catcalls and whistles came from the guys outside waiting for their cars.

"Baby, baby."

"Come back."

Rocky took in the sights, driving down Sunset and up Pacific Coast Highway, while passing cars took in the sight of him. And Jake basked in the reflected light of his creation, knowing that any who saw them together must think he had something pretty special going, just being with this young god. Maybe they weren't wrong.

Pulling up to the house, Jake realized knew that much would be clearer, now, to his young friend. His father lived in a neo-Mediterranean villa on a hillside above a narrow, private strip of beach, well above the tourist-traveled parts of Malibu. The cars parked in front were Mercedes, BMWs, and a Bentley. The front door was answered by a man in his mid-to-late forties, a weathered but handsome sandy-haired man wearing a very minimal Speedo. His face identified him undeniably as Jake's father. His body, however, was the type that Jake constantly lamented not to be able to attain. The man was enormously muscular. He was built like a professional bodybuilder, or, more to the fact, like most professional bodybuilders would give anything to attain.

He welcomed them inside, told them trunks were in the changing room, and said to join him and the others by the pool when they'd changed.

"The white ones are for your friend," he said over his shoulder as he returned to the pool.

Jake led Rocky to the changing room, off the pool. Through the glass doors, several men, all of them monumentally built, like Jake's father, sunned or cavorted in the water. Bikini trunks appeared to be the order of the day.

Jake went to the bench where several little clumps of material lay, picked up the only white one, and tossed it to Rocky.

"This one must be yours."

For himself, he chose a black one. He pulled it on. No larger than posing trunks. Then he watched Jake get into his. He grinned. His dad was a real jokester. The "trunks" he'd set out for Rocky appeared to be the most minimal underwear briefs, the white material thin and infinitely stretchy. It covered little more than the crack of Rocky's butt, and the small V of material that comprised the pouch did stretch to hold Rocky's package, but just. This was the skimpiest of posers in the thinnest, most revealing fabric imaginable. Jake watched Rocky for his reaction, saw the briefest moment of reticence, shock at seeing himself so purposely exposed, and then he saw him smile at him, sharing the joke, adjust his equipment, and adjust his posture to that of the cocky muscle boy that Jake wanted to introduce to his dad and his dad's friends.

Rocky surprised Jake when they joined the others at the pool. After a round of hearty, friendly handshakes, Rocky, not flinching an inch at the fact that all these men did little to hide their head-to-toe inspection of him, asked if they minded and dived into to pool, emerging with the white material pulled down even farther, necessitating his re-adjusting himself and making a pointless show at attempting to pull the trunks up a bit, the material now virtually transparent, as he rejoined the group and let them stare some more.

Jake's father congratulated them both on the good work they'd done. He made a passing comment about hoping to reward their efforts soon. And then Jake said he and Rocky had to get back to town because it would be a zoo once the street party got started.

Again, back in the changing room, as Jake was putting back on his shorts and tank, Rocky surprised him by saying, "You think it'd be cool if I just wore this?"

"You mean wear it back, in the car, to the hotel, or tonight, for your costume?"

"Yeah," Rocky grinned. He'd found his inner muscle boy. "All that."

"Well, I hope we don't get stopped on the way. Sure. Why the fuck not? It's Halloween in West Hollywood. You can get away with anything."

"Anything?" Rocky did the thing of flexing and feeling one pectoral, and his cock began to harden, which the thin material did little to confine or hide.

Jake stared at his creation, cocky, standing in his father's changing room, boning up, not caring, teasing even, and he nodded his head.

"Pretty much, muscle boy. I think you could get away with pretty much anything you wanted."

"Yeah?" Rocky said. "Then I want you to suck my big cock, right here, right in front of your dad."

"In front of my dad?"

"Is there an echo in here? Dude, your dad and his friends are so gay, and they so know you and I are, so, yeah. Right here, in front of your dad. Let them see how hot your muscle boy is."

That was only the first of several blow jobs and hand jobs Rocky enjoyed that Halloween, as he discovered the power of muscle, parading Santa Monica Boulevard as a muscle boy. Too young to go into the bars, he found guys deserting the bars to follow him through the crowds, asking his to flex, touching him, feeling his muscle, and proposing all sorts of other entertainment. If Halloween can present a life-altering experience, this one did for both Jake and his creation.

Finally, after just six months, right before Thanksgiving, which they were spending with Rocky's parents, Rocky broke the twenty inch mark on his arms. Jake had promised a special treat when that milestone occurred.

"Any eighteen year old guy with twenty inch guns deserves something very, very special," Jake said, the night before Thanksgiving, as they stood, naked, in the kitchen, mixing an evening protein shake after a grueling workout. "And here it is, my fine hairy stud boy."

He held up a small brown bottle with an eyedropper cap.

"Is that? . . . Did your dad finally? . . ."

"Yes, indeed. He did. You, my friend, are being given the chance to be a prototype for a covert military development. He was very impressed. And I, I get to finally add some muscle mass to this pathetically skinny body."

"Oh, man!" Rocky eyes glinted like aquamarines. "Are you kidding?"

"Would I kid about that?"

He poured their shakes, and then measured six drops of clear liquid into each. He swirled the glasses with a spoon and handed one to Rocky.

"To muscle and masculinity," he said, raising his glass to toast.

Rocky clinked his glass with Jake's and they both emptied their glasses.

"Now what?" Rocky asked, expecting to feel something.

"I don't know. Honestly. He just said it would take a while to kick in and the effects would begin to show pretty quickly, but he didn't say what or how quickly. But remember what I told you about side effects. He said we'd feel it first as a sexual thing, that it's about amping up the maleness factor that makes the body stronger."

"Dude," Rocky said, "I'm already so horny all the time, that could be dangerous."

Jake laughed. "No shit," he said. "Well, bring it on, babe. I ain't scared of a little extra muscle boy sex."

The next day they spent with Rocky's parents, knowing that something was working in them, but not really feeling much. They looked at each other over the table, sharing a secret that had them both getting partial erections again and again, but family chatter kept their minds diverted enough to get through the evening.

They infused their shakes with the liquid every day, which they were to do for six weeks, to get the full effect working, but it was near the end of the first week that they both realized that they were feeling something different, something changing. Rocky asked for heavier weights. He said he felt like he needed to work harder, to get deeper into the muscles. Jake found he was able to keep up with Rocky, and both of them discovered that pumping their muscles was feeling more sexual than it ever had.

"You're not skinny, man," Rocky said during one workout when Jake flexed, his usual expression of frustration at not gaining mass fixed on his face. "You're fucking built, coach. Look at you. Remember how you made me look at myself. Well, your turn, dude. You're looking thick. You are starting to look like a bodybuilder."

"Yeah?" Jake said, looking at himself again. "You think? Maybe. Yeah. You might be right. I'll tell you what, muscle boy. My beard is heavier. I'm getting some hairs on my chest. And I swear my dick's getting it too."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I think so, too."

"You? I can already see you muscling up, I swear. And now we are going to have to get you some special posers." He laughed.

"Or not," Rocky also laughed, and grabbed his crotch provocatively. He felt hot, sexy, and his old inhibitions seemed a lost memory.

"Yeah," Jake said, "show your stuff, muscle boy."

"You made it, coach. You're making it, aren't you? Fuckin' coach is gonna be a muscle boy, too."

"No, Rocky. You'll always be the muscle boy."

He shoved him to the floor and slid down on Rocky's steel hard cock. "Ooh, God. Fuckin' muscle boy's cock is getting so huge. How huge, now, muscle boy? Thirteen inches yet?"

"Almost. You like that?"

"Fuck yeah. I'll like it better when it's fourteen. Get those guns to twenty four, man. You like that?"

"Fuck yeah I'd like that. How big's a prototype supposed to be?"

"How'd you like those guns to hit twenty six?"

Aww, fuck, Jake. Really? Oh, yeah, dude. Do it slow, just like that. Yeah. I don't want to cum for a long time. Am I fuckin' beautiful, man?"

"Rocky, man, you are so fucking beautiful. Your muscle is so massive and thick. But you know that, now, don't you?"

"Only because you showed me, coach. Are you beautiful, Jake?"

"I want to be bigger."

"You're getting bigger. You're going to be huge, and so, so hot. But are you beautiful?"

"With you, I am."

"With me or without me, coach. You are the all-American sandy-haired stud times ten, man. You are so fucking beautiful. I love you, coach."

"Oh, God, Rocky. I can't wait to see what this stuff is gonna do to us. You're already so hot, I can't believe my fantasy could not only come true, but be even better than I dreamed. Is this hot, man? You love this shit?"

"Yeah," Rocky panted. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Rocky said. "I gotta remember to tell my dad."

He suddenly burst out laughing as he raised and lowered himself on Rocky's big cock. Rocky's abs bunched up thick as he lifted his head.

"What's so funny? That I said I love you?"

"No, God no, Rocky. Oh, fuck, man. I love you, too. No, I was just thinking. This puts a whole new spin on "support our troops," doesn't it?

*****

It took six months for the drug to complete its work. They took their dosages every day for the six weeks, and daily it grew stronger in them. The sense of their masculinity increased exponentially, and everything else seemed to spring from that. For six weeks they had to constantly re-adjust to the intensifying sensations that drove them to work out harder and harder, as though possessed, the desire, the hunger stronger every day. The increasing feelings of masculinity grew more and more powerful, forcing the body to change as though it had no choice but to grow ever more masculine. Sandy hair grew on Jake's body. Rocky' hirsute muscles grew more so, even as they thickened and hardened and grew. Their genitals had no choice but to respond, and Jake's "average" cock grew and thickened and his balls swelled with the new demands of their job. Rocky's already large equipment became larger. And after the six weeks of taking the drug, they were done.

But the dosages, the six weeks of alteration, had done its work, and the changing, the transformation continued at that level for six months. It was June—a year since Rocky had found his creator in Jake, and Jake his fantasy in Rocky. Rocky had completed his freshman year. Jake was the most sought-after trainer in town. Their sudden and remarkable transformation had to be explained, and so the media had been fed the story of the new and safe drug that had been used to create a few prototypes of the kind of men that could be "built" to beef up military or law enforcement operations.

By the time the story was out, the transformation of the men was complete, and the sudden fame that crashed in on them proved a wave they were ready to ride. Jake had finally achieved the body he'd always fantasized about. He might not have won a major bodybuilding contest. Genetics, after all, still exerted a certain control over ultimate attainment. But he would not have looked out of place on the stage with the best of them. But Rocky, with genetics that blessed the outcome, grew to be the most muscular teen anyone had ever seen. His arms didn't reach twenty-six, but they did grow to twenty-five and three quarters. His chest expanded to a magnificent sixty-four. His waist remained an impossibly tight and small thirty-one inches, surpassed by the mass of each of his thighs, which had finally attained their goal of being larger than his waist, each one hitting thirty-two inches of raw, male power. And it was good that he'd begun with more than ample endowment, since anything less than his huge cock, which did overreach the fourteen inch mark by another half inch, and the balls to support it, would have appeared diminutive on a man of his stature. A man. And still only nineteen.

"You're magnificent," Jake said in a private moment. "To even imagine that the hairy teen muscle man that just flexed in a poser on the Tonight Show and the Today Show, who just let Katie Couric giggle and feel his muscles on national television, was the shy kid I met a year ago, embarrassed about being hairy, about having a big dick, even about the muscles he was trying so hard to build. Look at you now. You could make the straightest guy in the world get a boner for you."

"Yeah? You think? You happy with your creation, coach?"

Rocky flexed an enormous arm, looking at it as he felt its hard, striated, veiny mass. He obviously loved the feel, the look of his own muscle.

"What does it look like, muscle boy? Do you think I'm happy?" Jake indicated his rising, stiffening cock, which would now reach nine-and-a-half inches by the time it started oozing pre-cum. "Are you happy? You like being the famous hairy teen muscle man?"

"Does it look like I'm happy?" Rocky's cock was rising in response. "Yeah I like it. You made my dream come true. Yours, too. Look at you, coach. You said you'd never be able to be like a bodybuilder, and now most of them would kill to be you."

"Yeah. Yeah." He flexed for himself. "It is great. Fuck. I love being this big. But nothing like you, muscle boy."

"Stop. Dude, look in that mirror. What do you see?"

Jake turned and looked. He flexed. "I see a sandy-haired, all-American model type guy with the totally muscled up body of a serious, big bodybuilder." He smiled, remembering the day he'd made Rocky answer that question. "And I see the most amazing, hot, hairy, beautiful muscle teen standing next to him, bulging with huge, magnificent muscle. What do you see?"

Rocky came up behind Jake, reached around him, and put his hands on Jake's thick, beautiful pecs, lightly stroking his new, blond chest hair.

"I see a god. A god and his creation. God made Adam, a prototype of man. Jake made this prototype, and he's this muscle boy's god."

"Oh, no, man. Don't go all heavy on me."

"I'm serious." Rocky kissed the back of Jake's neck as he slid his hands over Jake's massive arms. "Besides," he said, brushing his cock against Jake's thick, round butt-cheek, "I thought going heavy was what it was all about for us." He pinched Jake's left nipple. "Is your muscle boy big enough now, or you want to try to get him bigger?" he teased.

Jake turned and put both hands on Rocky's mammoth, hairy pecs, squeezing their rock-hard mass. "What do you think, muscle boy? What did we always say?" •