“Push, Greg!” Billy bellowed from the side, urging him through the final rep. He needed only a little bit of a spot from Nick and then racked the bar.

“Good job, man!” Nick congratulated him, peering down at him from above. Greg couldn’t help but think of what an angel he looked like in that position, his piercing hazel eyes penetrating his brain.

“Thanks,” he grunted. “I can’t believe I did it!” He sat up and glanced at his reflection in the wall mirror. There were a lot of things he couldn’t believe anymore…including his own body. Yeah, his face still looked familiar, but his body was no longer that scrawny, pasty stick figure he had known for his entire life. No, that was behind him now. And a bronzed, shredded, athletic one had replaced it. Greg had put on over 20 pounds of pure muscle over the course of the summer and now stood at 5’10”, 143 pounds. His shoulders stretched wide, his biceps bulged, his pecs rippled. But his abs were wicked; even at his most relaxed his six-pack was tight and dense, his serratus muscles were etched and cut and his deep obliques slashed down toward his crotch. Every pair of shorts he owned – including the ones he wore now – hung so low on his hips, they always seemed in danger of falling off.

“Damn, you are hot!” Nick exclaimed in the macho tone Greg had gotten to know. He swung his head around to the jock, looking at him with wide eyes. “Show us those guns!” Beaming, Greg raised his arms and flexed his biceps. Two striated balls of rock instantly exploded up from underneath his paper-thin skin. They measured an astounding 14 inches now. And that wasn’t the only thing that had grown. His thighs had expanded to 22 inches and his chest had blown up to 39 inches – a full seven inches bigger than it was back in June. Greg stared speechless at his rock-hard, peaked biceps, unsure of what to think, let alone say.

“Those pythons are sick!” Billy gushed, shaking his head as Greg flexed and unflexed them over and over again. You could see each individual muscle moving around.

“Yeah, like an anatomy book,” Nick added. “But they’re nothing compared to these babies!” And with that, the teen superjock shoved his arms in front of Greg’s and flexed their own massive size. Greg had simply never seen anything so beautiful in all his life – 22 inches of solid muscle, big beyond belief. And the rest of him was just the same: 6’2”, 258 pounds – a gain of over 35 pounds in three months! – a 59-inch chest, a 30-inch waist, 31-inch thighs. And every once in a while, Greg would catch a glimpse of the tremendous bulge that lurked beneath Nick’s tight gym shorts – the thing had to be close to 12 inches in length…and thicker than he could ever imagine. Yeah, Nick Angelakis was a Greek god, a hunk of a stud, a miraculous specimen of masculine perfection…an inspiration. Greg knew that he couldn’t have achieved what he did without the constant guidance of the teenage superstar.

“Well, you guys wanna see something else?” Billy spoke up, directing their attention to him. Then, he swelled his chest, inflating it to almost freakish proportions. At 6’3”, 289 pounds, Billy Freeman was beyond behemoth. With 24-inch biceps, a 63-inch chest and massive 33-inch quads, there was no guy in school that could even touch him in size…and strength. His pecs looked like shelves as they bowed out from under his chin and his monstrous arms were practically forced horizontal by his immense lats. The sleeveless shirt he wore – sleeveless all the way down to his waist – strained at its seams. “Let’s load up the leg press,” he grinned, glancing down at his gigantic legs. “I wanna test these wheels.”

“Load ‘em up!” Nick said, jerking his head toward the stack of plates in the corner. The three boys spent the next ten minutes piling the iron on the leg press machine. They all knew Billy was ridiculously strong, so they knew he would need it all. After all, this was a kid who could bench 650, military press 450, squat 800 and deadlift almost 900, numbers that made Greg’s head whirl with dizziness.

“That should do it!” Billy announced, settling down onto the machine. Then with a grunt, he began an easy set of presses. Greg stared at him in utter amazement. How could he do that? “This is too easy,” Billy said with a laugh. “Put some more on!”

“Uh, Billy,” Nick answered hazily. “That’s all the plates I have down here.” Billy stopped repping and looked up at his friend in shock.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Nick shook his head. He glanced at the plates – piled high on top and on each side – and did some quick calculations in his head. “There’s 2000 pounds on here?” Nick nodded. Greg nearly felt faint. Billy was leg pressing 2000 pounds like it was nothing! Then, the 15-year-old goliath grinned and peered up at Greg. “Get on there, kid,” he ordered with a smile. Hesitating, Greg carefully mounted the leg press and balanced on top of the iron plates. Once he was sure he was on securely, Billy began another set of 2000-pound leg presses…plus Greg’s 143 pounds on top.

“Shit!” Nick shouted as Billy struggled on a fourth and fifth rep. Greg was stunned; he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Billy’s bulging, blood-engorged thighs. Even though he was wearing loose-fitting sweatpants – nothing else could fit him – the size of his quads was obvious. No doubt, he was ripping through yet another pair of boxers underneath. “God, you are such a monster, Billy Boy!” Nick taunted.

“What you call me?!” Billy roared playfully, locking the press and lunging for his friend, but Nick was too quick for him. He darted toward the squat machine, Billy chasing after him. Greg remained on top of the leg press, just gazing at the two uberjocks. Only a few months ago, he would’ve been scared to even talk to them, but now they were his friends. A chill went down his back as he thought that.

“Hey, guys! I can smell the testosterone from upstairs!” The three stopped and looked toward the stairs. Chrissy, Nick’s older sister, was standing there, her shoulder leaning against the wall. She was stunningly beautiful, her exotic eyes always twinkling brightly – the Angelakis genes, of course. “Hey, little bro,” she greeted Nick as she came forward, emphasizing “little” comically.

“Hey, sis,” Nick returned, smiling childish, as if he were a young kid again. But then, he looked past his sister and froze solid.

“Hi,” Erin muttered from the stairs, Kim standing right next to her. The two girls wore their usual summer clothing – tight-fitting shorts and mid-drifts that hugged their ample curves closely. Greg noticed the bulge in Nick’s crotch lurch, the thick pipe growing across his upper thigh. He smiled awkwardly to himself, realizing that Nick was getting turned on by his girlfriend. Erin walked over to him and gave him a soft hello kiss. Kim went over to Billy and kissed him as well. Slowly, Greg climbed off of the leg press, looking away. He felt uncomfortable watching this display of affection. Suddenly, he felt out of place again. He knew he could never have a hot girlfriend. He knew that someone who was gay like him didn’t belong in the company he was keeping.

“Hey, Greg,” Chrissy asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. “You look great!”

“Greg?” Erin repeated, looking at him in surprise. “Is that you?” He bit his lip.

“Yeah,” he replied, brushing his fingers through his long hair.

“Holy shit!” the girl blurted. “You look amazing!” Greg chuckled, feeling his face turn red. “No, seriously,” she continued, leaving Nick’s arms and coming toward him, “your body is…is…shit, I can’t find the word!” Nick cleared his throat, garnering his girlfriend’s attention once again. She glanced teasingly at him. “What, I can’t look at another guy?” she chided, propping up an eyebrow. Nick immediately gave her a look of guilt. What was that all about, Greg wondered.

“See, I told you he looked different,” Chrissy said, beaming brightly.

“I know,” Erin answered. “Look at those abs. You must have, like, 1% bodyfat.” Greg bashfully covered his stomach with his hands. He wasn’t used to this kind of adoration.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Kim chimed. Chrissy and Erin looked back at her conspiratorially. Then, they both said in unison:

“Make-over!” Suddenly, the three girls began chattering their ideas.

“He’d look hot if we straightened his hair.”

“Maybe give him some highlights!”

“How about cut it a little, layer it. That would be gorgeous!”

“And then some new clothes. You know, to help bring his body out a bit more. Maybe some low cut jeans?”

“Yeah, but we have to make sure he doesn’t look emo. That’s not his style.”

Greg glanced over at Nick for relief, but the jock just kept laughing, his own abs tensing up. Then, Greg shrugged his shoulders. He might as well go with it. His life was going to be different now anyway.

Brandon jogged down the street, ignoring the turning heads and stares of passing girls. He knew they were silently lusting over his sweaty, musclebound body, his debilitating good looks, his agonizingly sexy physique. But he didn’t return their looks. It wasn’t that he was used to all the attention – he had gotten it all his life. It was just that he didn’t care anymore. All his muscles weren’t natural; Brandon didn’t feel normal. In fact, he felt like a lab rat. How could his parents betray him his entire life? How could they so blindly give their son up to make their own dreams come true? Well, his dad got what he deserved. He would never be able to have grandchildren, thanks to his ignorance.

Brandon turned up the volume on his iPod as he neared his house. He didn’t want to talk to his dad in case he was waiting for him inside. He was angry with him. Why wasn’t he told the truth earlier, when he started showing signs of growth? Why was he put through the pressure of living up to his dad’s expectations all his life? As he put the key in the lock, Brandon caught his reflection in the door window. Freak, he called himself. To others, Brandon Jones looked like a 6 foot, 203-pound miracle of genetics. But to himself, he felt more like Frankenstein’s monster. How much of the nearly 15 pounds he had put on over the summer was natural? How much of it was really the residual effects of that fucking drug he had been given as a baby? He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, giving his dad the cold shoulder as he heading straight up to his bedroom.

“Brandon,” his dad called after him, following him up the stairs. “Brandon, we need to talk.” Brandon closed his door in his dad’s face and locked it. No way am I talking to you, he thought. He turned off his iPod and ripped the headphones out of his ears. “Brandon, you can’t just keep ignoring me.”

“Just go away, dad!” Brandon yelled, falling backwards onto his bed, his loose pecs jiggling as he hit the mattress. Everywhere he looked around his room, he was reminded of the life he lived – trophies, posters, awards for every sport. If my parents hadn’t entered me in that study, how much of this would be here, he wondered. How much of it would have happened regardless? His dad pounded on his door.

“Brandon, open up now!” he raised his voice, trying desperately to keep himself under control. Suddenly, his dad got quiet. Brandon closed his eyes, hoping he had left. But he spoke again, this time much more softly. “Son, I’m sorry for everything your mom and I did to you.” Brandon turned his head to look at the door – a Brady Quinn poster staring back at him. “Please, open up.” Rolling his eyes, Brandon slowly climbed out of bed and unlocked the door. His dad came in, but Brandon had already turned his back to him.

“Look around my room,” he said bitterly, “and tell me how much of this stuff is real.”

“Brandon,” his dad answered, “we always wanted the best for you.” Brandon squeezed his eyes shut. Yeah, right, he thought.

“No,” he blurted angrily, swinging around to face his father. “You only wanted the best for yourself.” He flexed his jaw, glaring fiercely at the man who had ruined his life.

“Brandon, you can’t possibly mean that.”

“Yes, I do!” His dad sighed, glancing down for a moment.

“I thought you always enjoyed being the successful athlete you’ve become.” He stepped forward to place his hand on Brandon’s shoulder, but Brandon instantly pulled it away.

“You think I wanted to be this way?” His dad looked at him with a puzzled look. “I never asked to be a jock. I never wanted to be this…mutant that you made me.”

“Then what did you want to be?” his father asked. Brandon stopped for a moment before answering. He narrowed his eyes hurtfully.

“You never gave me the chance.” His dad’s eyes softened and he looked away, realizing for the first time what his son was saying. All his life, he had bred Brandon to be a great quarterback. Brett Favre, Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, Brady Quinn…Brandon Jones was supposed to be the next name on that list. His father had been so obsessed with molding him into that person that Brandon never could express what his own dreams were. To his dad, his dreams and his son’s dreams were one and the same.

“Brandon,” his dad finally replied, “whatever you become…whoever you want to be…you know I will be proud of you.” He looked at his son with respect; Brandon could immediately feel it…but would he stick to it. I hope so, he thought to himself, because you have no idea who I really am.

What would his father say if he knew he was gay?

Ashley lay on top of Ryan’s naked torso, their lips interlocked in a romantic kiss, her hands taking in every inch of his broad pecs. They had just finished having sex; it was first time they had done it and Ashley realized immediately why Ryan had had such a reputation in high school and college; he was good. He knew exactly how to please, practically controlling his orgasm until she was ready.

“Wow,” she exclaimed softly, fingering the Superman tattoo on his right shoulder – he really was a superman, “that was amazing.” He grinned back at her, his piercing green eyes melting her heart. She couldn’t believe she was getting married to him in only months; it seemed like a dream come true. Every since she was a little girl, Ashley had dreamed about growing up and being whisked away by some handsome stud. She never thought it would actually happen, especially being in the constant shadow of Brionna, her more dominant, domineering sister.

“Have you spoken to your sister lately?” Ryan asked. Ashley glanced up at him. It was as if he read her mind, but they seemed to do that a lot to each other. They could read each other’s faces.

“No, of course not,” she answered, shaking her head. Ryan smiled.

“I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk to you, especially after you showed her up.” Ashley rested her chin on her boyfriend’s – no, fiancé’s – chest, her fingers gliding over the 100% Grade A Beef tattoo on his left pec. Grade A Beef was right. “You don’t know how proud I am of you for doing that,” he added.

“You know I couldn’t have done it without you,” she returned.

“I wasn’t even there,” he replied, though he knew exactly what she meant. Ashley would have never had the courage to stand up to her sister if Ryan hadn’t been in her life. Ryan leaned his head back on the pillow and gazed thoughtfully up at the ceiling. A chill went down Ashley’s back as she watched. Ryan was so beautiful, especially when the light crossed his face the way it did just then.

“You really should get back into modeling,” she suggested. Ryan shot a scared look at her. She expected that reaction, knowing how his last modeling career ended up.

“No way,” he immediately responded, shaking his head.

“Ryan, stop kidding yourself,” Ashley went on. “You’re a natural with the camera. I mean, you don’t have to go all hardcore like you used to, just headshots and stuff like that.” He looked away, brushing the bangs of his jet black hair out of his eyes. “Plus, it would make me happy seeing you do something you love.” Ryan looked back at her. She knew that he had loved modeling, even though it turned out to be a disaster and she knew he sometimes wished he could back into it…he was just afraid to.

“Well, when you put it that way,” he answered. “You know I would do anything for you.” He leaned forward to kiss her again. As soon as their lips touched, Ashley felt his warmth seep in her. And I would do anything for you too, she mentally said to him.

“Yo, B!” Brandon heard Billy call from across the parking lot. He looked up to see two massive teens coming towards him. It was the first day of football camp and Brandon had heard that Nick and Billy and been working out all summer, but he never realized they had gotten this big. Billy was easily the biggest guy Brandon had ever seen in his life…and that was saying a lot. The sleeves of his shirt had been torn off so that his monstrous arms and thick lats could spread freely – and boy, did they spread. He definitely needed to turn sideways to walk through a door anymore. And his chest was so broad, the shirt wasn’t big enough to cover his nipples. They stuck out the sides, his beefy pecs heaving as he lumbered along. And then his gigantic legs strained the fabric of the sweatpants that he wore, threatening to burst free at any moment. Brandon could only imagine how strong Billy had gotten; he was already the strongest guy on the team last year!

But then, there was Nick. Brandon struggled to hide the boner that was about to pop out of his shorts when he saw him. Nick was the sexiest boy he had ever laid eyes on before the summer and now, every bit of him had gotten even sexier. His hypnotic hazel eyes now practically made Brandon faint and the black stubble on his face made him look hotter still. His neck and traps bulged with power and his shoulders were capped with what seemed like layers of muscle. His arms were ripped and massive, swaying heavily away from his torso, pushed outward by his wide lats. Nick’s pecs were thick and shredded, rippling with every movement he made, and his abs were just as tight and corrugated as always. His mammoth thighs quivered with each step and his diamond-shaped claves bulged. He gait was beginning to look like Billy’s, a slow roll as he placed one huge leg in front of the other. He was only wearing a pair of shorts – tight enough to keep the incredible bulge of his crotch noticeable. Even that seemed to have grown since last year.

“Hey, guys!” Brandon answered, quickly coming to. “Jesus Christ, you two blew up over the break!” Nick grinned modestly, his dimples – yeah, he still had those! – suddenly appearing. Billy wrapped his colossal arm around Nick’s vast shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said, “this little dude’s catching up to me.” Nick shook his head, side-glancing his friend’s barrel chest.

“You look pretty good yourself, Brandon,” Nick piped up, his eyes twinkling. Brandon blushed. They still had a thing for each other.

“Thanks,” he shrugged. “I put on a few pounds, broke 200.” He looked back over at Billy, trying to avoid getting seeped into Nick’s eyes again. “But it looks like you’re on your way to 300, Billy Boy.”

“Well,” Billy laughed, “I have to stay ahead of the rest of the defensive line. I heard they packed on some size since last year.” Brandon smiled. He had heard about that, too. Coach was allegedly floored when he saw them in the weight room after break. They were apparently eager to start the new season…and so was Billy. “I’m gonna see if I can find them,” he announced, patting Nick on the back and heading off toward the practice field.

“I’m sure you won’t have trouble doing that,” Brandon quipped with a chuckle. Once their mammoth friend was gone, the two jocks exchanged glances.

“How’ve you been doing?” Nick asked, shooting Brandon a concerned look. He had heard from Erin about his father’s confession and had been talking to him online ever since. Between workout sessions and his summer job of mowing lawns – plus the fact that Brandon had decidedly kept to himself – they hadn’t had time to really meet up.

“Alright,” he answered sullenly, hanging his head slightly. Nick peered under at him.

“You haven’t talked with your dad much, huh?” he surmised. Brandon nodded. “You know I’m here whenever you need me,” Nick continued.

“Thanks, man,” he replied. His entire life, Brandon had always thought he had been the most perfect specimen alive – with the perfect body and the perfect looks. But now he knew that he was missing something. While Nick was just as physically immaculate, if not more, than he was, he was also a great friend. He always put those he cared about before him, something that Brandon never did…ever.

“Oh, shit!” Nick suddenly blurted out, staring behind him. Brandon turned around to see who he was looking at. Near the entrance to the weight room, a tall, sturdily built teen stood, talking to a beaming Coach Palmer. “I didn’t know we got a new player this year.” Brandon smiled. He didn’t know.

“That’s Peter Evans,” he replied.

“Petey?!” Nick exclaimed, lowering his head in shock. “But he used to be such a little guy.”

“Well, not anymore.” Brandon waved to Peter and called over to him. “Pete, come over here!” Immediately, their teammate jogged over to the pair. This was the new and improved Peter Evans. No longer was he was diminutive kicker he had been a year ago. After the heartbreak of missing the winning field goal at the state championship, he had hit the gym…hard. Combined with a sizable growth spurt going into his junior year, Peter had sprouted a good five inches and gained nearly 50 pounds, most of it muscle. His shoulders were now broad and strong-looking, his arms big and muscular, even his neck had thicken up considerably. He still paled in comparison to the two beefcakes that stood opposite him, but his growth was impressive nonetheless.

“Holy crap!” Nick gushed, looking the boy over. “What happened to you, man?”

“I buffed up a bit,” he shrugged, making the boys laugh at his understatement.

“And get this,” Brandon went on. “Pete’s been practicing with me. Coach said he’d love to have him be back-up quarterback. You should see the power behind that arm of his.” Nick smiled down at him – Pete was still a few inches shorter – and shook his head.

“It’s amazing what a difference a year makes,” he remarked.

“I’ll say,” Peter answered. “Check you out. What you weighing these days? Like 260?” Nick blush, glancing over at Brandon.

“Almost. 258.” Peter whistled.

“I’d like to see someone try to stop you.” He grinned proudly, puffing out his muscular chest. “I hope we get back to states this year,” he said.

The first day of camp went incredibly well. Despite not having seen each other most of the summer, Brandon and Nick were just as well-matched as they had been last season. Nick caught nearly all of Brandon’s perfect-spiral passes, running for the endzone. Obviously, his added mass hadn’t done a thing to his speed. He was still the fastest wide receiver by far on the team. And he was so strong, no one – save perhaps Billy – could stop him alone. Coach Palmer was visibly excited about the upcoming months.

At the end of the day, Brandon removed his pads and wiped the sweat off his face. He began to make his way back to the locker room, passing by the field where the marching band was still practicing. Some of the guys gave the band kids crap every now and then, but you had to give it to them; they practiced hard and got only a fraction of the glory the football team got. If that was dedication, he didn’t know what was. He was about to turn away again, when the flash of a twirling rifle caught his eye. He looked and that’s when it happened. His stomach instantly began churning and his heart began thumping so loud, he thought for sure someone would hear it.

Standing off to the side, practicing his color guard work was a slender, yet muscular boy. Simply put, he looked like an angel. His long, straight brown hair – highlighted with streaks of blond – hung seductively over his face, his brown bedroom eyes sparkling in the sunset. He was wearing what looked like pajama bottoms, no shoes and a shirt that hugged his torso tightly, the sleeves barely enough to cover his striated shoulders. And man, what beautiful shoulders they were. And his arms – ripped to shreds. Shit, his whole body was ripped to shreds, it looked like. He was powerfully built in a compact way – every inch of his body was covered with muscle. Yet he also looked light, as if he weighed no more than a feather. He had incredible agility, his muscular legs arched and curled in a glorious display of flexibility. And whenever he raised his arms, his shirt would raise up to reveal a breathtaking set of six-pack abs. Brandon was so taken by the boy, that he forgot that he was staring…until the kid dropped his rifle, interrupting his routine…and snapping Brandon back to reality.

“Hey,” the boy called over to him. He seemed slightly embarrassed…or was it something else?

“It’s cool,” Brandon replied, trying to keep his jock image. He didn’t want him seeing the effect he had had on him. “You looked pretty good…spinning your gun thing around, I mean.”

“It’s a rifle,” the boy said with a slight smile. God, that smile was gorgeous!

“Sorry,” Brandon apologized. “By the way, I’m Brandon—”

“—Jones. Yes, I know who you are.” Brandon blushed a light red. Of course, everyone in school knew him; he was the starting quarterback. “My name’s Greg,” the boy continued. “Greg Hazelton.” •