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Recruit, The (by Aardvark2)
|“Nolan! You left the garden hose outside and it froze, you stupid fuck!” “Oh, shit.” Nolan kicked his feet up on the coffee table, turned on the television, and stared at his roommate. “Look at how devastated I am, Simon. I can barely speak.” “That hose was twenty bucks, man.” Simon simmered scrambled eggs on the stove. “I wouldn’t be so pissed about shit like this all the time if you actually paid for anything.” “I pay my fucking rent, don’t I?” “Oh, yeah, you did six months ago. Now you don’t have a job, you’re out of school, and you’re doing nothing, you fucking loser.” “Fuck you, man. At least I don’t have a stick up my ass like you do.” “No, but you’d like it, you fag. You can’t even get a girlfriend, probably cause all you do is play X-Box while I’m at school. GRAD school, Nolan. You know, what a lot of people do when they’re done with college?” “Simon, shut the fuck up.” “I want two month’s payment by the end of this week or else we have to move. I can’t pay the whole bill by myself.” “What the fuck ever, man. I’ll pay you tomorrow.” Simon shoved the eggs down his throat and grabbed his backpack. “Well, I’m going to school. I guess I’ll see you when I get back. Enjoy your porn.” The door slammed. Nolan rolled his eyes and settled into a game of Doom, nibbling on Doritos. “What a douche.” Nolan picked the Dorito crumbs off of his slight belly – at 23, he had already lost most of his youthful definition, and was going bald. Every now and then, he’d wander around the house, picking something up randomly or maybe eating something besides chips. Then he’d go right back to playing X-Box and drinking Bud Light. The doorbell rang and Nolan snapped up. He must’ve nodded off. What time was it? He stumbled off the couch and saw that it was almost three. Not as late as he thought. Whew. Simon wouldn’t be home for at least five more hours. He opened the door. “Yes?” The man standing on the stoop was probably near seventy, but looked closer to fifty-five. He was in fantastic shape for his age, and his tight leather jacket and well-fitting jeans showed off a physique that, while not muscular, per se, was very trim. His bright white hair, tinged with silver, was barely half-an-inch long on his head. The only thing that gave away his age was his slightly-wrinkled, but still handsome, face. “Hello, young fella!” The man extended his hand and Nolan shook it, wincing at the crushing grip. “I’m your new neighbor from across the street. I thought I’d come over and say hello!” Nolan smiled, showcasing bits of chips stuck in his crooked teeth. “Mrs. Harris moved out?” “No, she didn’t, I’m just living with her.” “Tenant?” “More like partner.” “Oh, shit. Sorry.” The man smiled. “Don’t worry about it, son! My name is Yates, John Yates. Can I come in?” “Oh, um, I-“ Nolan tried to respond but John was already through the door. “Nice place ya got here, son!” Nolan almost laughed as John complimented the living room, covered in pizza boxes and empty beer cans. The kitchen – Simon’s domain – was spotless. Maybe, Nolan reasoned, John was commenting on that. “What’d you say your name was again, son?” “I didn’t ever tell you…it’s Nolan.” “And what’s your last name, Nolan?” “Zahn. Nolan Keller Zahn.” John walked over and took a handful of chips, then sat down at the couch. “Come over here, Nolan! Tell me about yourself.” Nolan walked over, suddenly self-conscious about his home’s appearance. His feet felt gross as they walked over the un-vacuumed linoleum to the couch. “Uhhh, well…” WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE, FOR ONE, is what Nolan was thinking. “My Dad’s a retired dentist and my Mom passed away when I was eleven…I went to college here, but I graduated last semester and now I don’t really know what to do with myself. My roommate hates me and I’m basically a good for nothing, lazy ass.” John sat there, thinking. “Nolan, you know what I always do when I feel down, like you do now?” “Have sex?” John laughed. “Clever. No, I always do push-ups.” “Push-ups? Why?” “Trust me, just try them.” He ate another Dorito. “Right now.” Nolan rolled onto the floor, his belly and slight double-chin jiggling lightly. He did one push-up and stopped, panting. “God, that’s hard. I’m so out of shape.” “Do another one.” Nolan did two more, then stopped again. “Jeez!” John stood up, the crouched down to Nolan, who was lying prostrate on the floor. “Nolan K. Zahn, I want you to do ten push-ups for me, starting now. One!” Nolan did one, groaning loudly. “Two!” Again, and again, and again. Sweat poured down Nolan’s chubby cheeks, soaking the neck of his Dorito-encrusted white undershirt. Again, again, more, more. “Ten!” “RRRGH!” Nolan went down to the carpet and pressed up again as the fumes of the fabric, mixed with his sweat, mingled in his nostrils. “There!” John smiled a satisfied grin. “Now, don’t you feel better about yourself?” “Yeah, actually,” Nolan panted as he stood to his feet, grabbing his waist and panting. “I stopped thinking about all the shit in my life and just focused.” “Exactly. See, Nolan, I’m an Army man because of that. When I enlisted, it was to serve my country. But I was also able to channel all my rage, all my anger, all my frustration. And nothing channels better than push-ups.” John poured Nolan a glass of water. “That’s probably your hardest workout in quite a while, right?” “Yeah.” Nolan drank it, gratefully. “Thirteen pushups and I feel like I’m gonna die. Not a good sign.” “Nope.” Nolan stared at John, who smiled at him. This was so weird. He’d known this guy for all of fifteen, and was already working out for him, sweating and panting on the floor. It was like some weird domination porn. “My arms are so sore, I can barely feel them. Why did that hurt so much?” “Just the stress release, pure and simple.” John smiled at Nolan. “Let’s talk more.” And talk they did, covering Nolan’s life from birth to his boring, average trek through high school and college. “Yeah, pretty much straight C’s with some B’s thrown in,” Nolan related. “My Dad wanted me to be a dentist, but I majored in business instead. I should have been a dentist…I just always feel like a loser. God, I AM a loser. My roommate has a job and a fiancé and I don’t have a fuc…” “Again with the negativity!” John stood to his feet. “Get on the ground, boy!” “But I…okay, fine.” “Let’s do sit-ups this time. Get on your back.” John straddled Nolan as he lay on the ground. “Twenty, no cheating. One!” “Rrrrgh!” Nolan felt like the blood vessels were popping in his face. He was SO out of shape. Why had he let himself go? Fuck college! He should have joined the military like John did instead of getting that pointless degree. He realized he was sporting a pathetic little hard-on. Why? Why was he so horny? Was it the idea of exercise making him sexy again, like he’d been in – when was it? Junior high? So fucking long ago. Or was it because of John standing over him, and that his face almost smashed into the man’s package when he sat up? What was going on here? “Nnnngh!” “That’s ten! Ten more, Nolan! C’mon! Don’t think about your shitty life! Focus on finishing these!” Nolan’s little belly burned and his back ached. His neck was sore from the slight touch against the ground and quick snap off of it, caused by the sit-ups he hadn’t done for so many, many years. “CHRIST!” His voice was hoarse and tired, along with the rest of his body. “Seventeen!” “NNNNNNNNNNGGGHHHH…fucking SHIT!” “Twenty! You’re done, boy!” “Shit! I feel fucking great!” Nolan was cursing more than he ever did. It was like he couldn’t even control his tongue. “I fucking can’t believe how fucking out of shape my shitty fatass is…fuck!” “Stand up, drink some more water.” John offered his hand to Nolan and pulled him off the floor. “Don’t you feel great, boy?” John slapped Nolan’s ass and handed him another glass of water. “I think you’re done for the night. Don’t want you to tear a ligament or somethin’.” John looked at Nolan, spread across the couch, dazed, tired, and chugging water by the gallon. “I can’t barely fucking do twenty. I’m such a goddamn pussy fucker.” He plopped to the floor and started doing more push-ups. “Fuuuuuuck, gotta do more.” “I’m gonna go home, Nolan. I’m glad I got to meet you, son. Keep up the good work.” Nolan was too preoccupied with his push-ups to respond, so until he was finished with ten – which seemed easier than they had before – he didn’t notice John was gone. “John? Hey, John?!” He eased up off his weight. He could barely feel his arms, or his chest, or his belly. How many push-ups had he done? Why was he doing them anyway? And where the fuck was Simon? Again, he asked himself, what the fuck was going on? He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, and gleefully chugged it. He noticed the fridge was nicely organized – the lids were all tightly screwed on, all food was in containers, and it was scrubbed down from top to bottom, practically sparkling. When had Simon cleaned the fridge? He threw the finished bottle into the recycling bin and plopped down on the floor to do some sit-ups. Nolan’s sit-up technique had changed over the time he’d since done them – he sat on the floor, back firmly planted, shoulders moving up and down rhythmically, with his hands folded across his chest instead of pulling his head up. He breathed in as he went down and out as he sat up. After twenty more, he was dripping in sweat. He could feel it soaked into his hair and his face, even on the carpet where he lay. The white undershirt he was wearing was all see-through and wet as a rag. He pulled it up to his face and wiped it as clean as he could. Looking through his shirt, he could see his belly. And on top of his belly, he could see hair – hair that hadn’t been there before. He pulled the shirt up higher and watched. It was light brown hair, and it was spreading slowly outward, covering his belly like moss covers a tree. And, as he watched more closely, the belly it was covering began to shrink – slowly, gradually, it was disappearing. He pulled the shirt off and watched the hair travel both downwards and upwards. It spread toward his small breasts, swirling up into the center of his chest and across it, around his nipples. The hair wasn’t so thick that it completely hid his skin, but it was present and suddenly gave his chest a whole new masculine edge, one he had never had before. And the strangest part was, he didn’t feel a thing. No pain, no ecstasy, nothing. “John?! John, are you here? What’s happening? What’s happening to me?” He rubbed his belly and smiled at the tickles of the wiry growth. His belly was gone, and it was hardening. He could feel it with his hands, but not internally – it got harder and harder, thickening with muscles. He stared, eyes widening, and stood up. He felt so much wider, so much more powerful than he had before. The abs on his chest were soft and squishy, but poking them caused them to stiffen up more and more. His stomach was so developed that it pushed out farther over his waistband than his belly had previously. His abs exploded into their position, a shredded eight-pack, the result of years of sit-ups. “What the hellllll?” His voice sounded crackly, and husky, but a lot louder. It resonated from a cavity deep inside of him. He threw the door open and shouted, at the top of his lungs, down the street. “AAAAUUUUGHH! JOHN! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOOOU?!?!” He heard the sentence echo down the street, bouncing between the houses and filling up the road. His voice was so gravelly and masculine. Still, no pain. Nolan could’ve been walking around the house, watching TV or talking on the phone for all that he felt. His whole body began to stretch, taller and taller towards the ceiling, and he still felt nothing. True, he could hear things. He could hear his bones creaking and muscles ripping as they reformed, but the pain was nonexistent. The couch and the floor became farther away as he grew, hands and arms stretched upward. He had barely been able to touch the ceiling before, but now his whole palms were pressed flat against it, and soon he had to slightly bend his elbows. He must have grown a foot, literally. The cracking of the bones was a disgusting sound. Nolan covered his ears briefly but the sensation of his fingers stretching longer across his scalp was too strange. In addition to the growth of his hands, his hairline was filling in, the same rich brown that the hair on his chest was. “What the fuck is happening? What the fuck, John?! Was it the sit-ups? Was it the…fuuuuck! Was it the water?!” He lost his balance and dropped his tall-and-thin new frame onto the couch, unable to stand on his newly beanpole legs. Almost all of his calves and ankles were exposed, his sweats barely went past his knees now due to the huge height increase. He could see the bones snapping and healing into bigger ones in his hands. His fingers were long and thick now, thick enough to seem as if they could pick up a barbell by themselves, individually. The veins bulged out of his hand and ran down his plumping forearms. He held his arms out in front of him and watched them thicken. Not only were they growing, they were darkening – his skin was hotter than hell, and he was pouring buckets of sweat because of it. It darkened so dark and brown that he almost looked Mexican instead of Caucasian, and the deep tan spread all over his body, making his skin leather-like to the touch. His arms were getting so big and wide that he could tell that it was going to be hard to get through the door due to his new, massive, and ever-increasing size. His pectorals were growing, too, and the hair was getting spread out more evenly across them. They were getting bigger, and wider. His nipples got bigger and pointier as well, sticking straight out to the sides, taking the pecs with them. He thought, momentarily, that the huge plates would rub against his equally large biceps. His back was widening, getting the look that thousands of pull-ups will give – shaped like a V, with every single muscle bulging outward. It balanced his smaller-than-small waist and daunting pecs perfectly. The back ran into a thick, pert ass. The ass cheeks were slammed together because of their muscular girth, and were opposite a huge and rock-hard dick. Nolan had watched his little penis appear out of its shell and slowly get longer and harder, pretty soon it was sticking straight up, with the head even with his bellybutton. His balls had gotten so swollen and large that they were the size of hard-boiled eggs. The crotch area was covered with a thick coat of brown pubes that trailed downward into thundering, tree-trunk legs. His once-bony kneecaps had disappeared under a mountain of muscle mass, and the growth spread downward, down, down, thickening his calves into monsters themselves, and his feet into daunting pedestals, of equal proportion to the deadly weapons he would call his hands. He wiggled his toes as he watched them lengthen, the hair sprouting slowly. He had stopped noticing the sickening noise of bones cracking, and was focusing all his energy on his changing body. It was like a scene in a movie, but playing on mute. Nolan wasn’t reacting with fear, or pain, or ecstasy, or even excitement – just acceptance. His shaggy, untrimmed hair was disappearing. He grabbed onto the ends and felt even his strong hands unable to hold it back from receding. The big bald spot in the middle was filling in, and pretty soon it was completely gone – he ran his hands over the bristly hair. His hair had been almost two and a half inches long. As he pulled at it, he could tell it was just about one inch, soon it was half-an-inch shorter, then a quarter. He was unable to keep his grip as it became too short to hold – one-eighth of an inch in length. The sides pushed up to be the same length as the middle, and Nolan ran his hands over the extra-flat top. Oh, it all made sense now. He was too curious to see what he was becoming – he needed a mirror. To the bathroom! He slammed his wide shoulders against the sides of the door, realizing he was now too big to walk through normally. He turned to the side and slightly hunched down – he was going to need to measure himself. His permanently dark, browned skin was a shock, as was the muscle plastered all over his body. His head and features were changing too, but he could see how ridiculous they looked on his too-big body. Slowly, his very head got bigger, becoming more proportionate. He ran his hands again through the flattop and wiggled his fingers on his thickening sideburns. The cracking was still going on, and it was loud. His cheeks pushed out to the side of his face like his pecs had done on his chest, and then his jaw widened with them. His forehead bulged out farther and his brow snapped to get lower over his eyes. His lips began to get bigger, curving into a cocky smirk, and the area around them began to darken with beard. His chin was developing a dimple, he could see, and soon it pushed out even farther, increasing visibility. His neck was as thick as his extra-wide jaw, the same tree-trunk proportions of his legs, settled on the biggest set of shoulders he’d ever seen on any man. He was HUGE. The skin on his face was as dark and burnt gold as the rest of his body. He noticed a movement on his right cheek, the skin seemed to be warping, stretching. He watched as it bugled out and spread, and soon he had a prominent scar on that place, stretching about two inches long, slightly upward. His face began to age slightly, and he could tell he had reached his thirties. Sun spots and wrinkles from the exposure began to show across his face, but he was becoming increasingly more handsome, and soon he was absolutely gorgeous. His face was so hyper-masculine, with it’s rugged, scarred skin; the permanently cocky sneer that was created by two magnificently plumped lips; and the jaw that was so wide and so sharp it could cut a diamond. His brows with thick and his eyes were just a little smaller than normal, increasing his tough-guy appeal. He saw color down by his huge penis and noticed a tattoo forming, soon he had the five-pointed US Army star logo tattooed right next to his daunting fuck-stick, the inside of it filled in with the familiar army camo. He could see, down the index finger of his right hand, another tattoo that simply said the word “One.” He looked at himself in the mirror, flexing and posing, sneering and egging himself on. “Come on, you hot fucker. Fuck, give a fuckin’ pose. Fuuuckkk yeah.” He was cumming on the floor, all over the place. “Jooooohn,” he heard the rumbly bass coo. “I’m finished.” He walked out the door of the bathroom, hitting his shoulders again. He opened up the door to the garage and grabbed a tape measure off of the immaculate tool bench. He stood against the wall, marked the place where his flattop ended, and measured it. Six-nine-and-a-half. What a hot fucker. He then stepped on the scale, which gave a read-out of 355 pounds. 0% body fat, he knew. He was an Army man’s dream. He came all over the scale, again. He couldn’t contain himself, he was cumming anywhere and everywhere. His big ol’ cock was full to bursting, locked and loaded. Where were John and Simon? Fuck, he didn’t care about what’s-his-name anyway, but what about John? Maybe he was at Mrs. Harris’ house. He walked into the bedroom and grabbed one of his old white t-shirts. He pulled it over his shoulders, which took considerable work, and then heard it rip straight down the front AND back. Shit. He wandered into the bathroom, his big pecs and juicy cock bouncing with every step. He wrapped a towel around his tapered waist – his big dick bulged out so far that it could have been used a baseball bat – and noticed the camouflage pattern on it. When had he bought camo towels? Fuck it, it didn’t matter. He wanted to show himself to John! The push-ups had paid off. He opened up the door and wandered out into the street. Scrawny Nolan’s feet would have been bruised by the rough, rocky asphalt, but Army stud Nolan didn’t even notice. He padded over, across Mrs. Harris’ lawn, and knocked on the door. “Hey, Patty?” He’d never called her Patty before, but it seemed to make sense. The door opened. “Oh my god…” Nolan realized that she probably had no idea who he was. “Nolan!” Patty reached out and rubbed her hands on his pecs. “It’s so good to see you! Every day you get so much bigger and better looking.” “You know who I am?” “What a stupid question! Of course I do! I always keep track of my Army boys. You’re so helpful to me! What can I do for you?” Nolan breathed in, deeply, and his pecs rose up higher on his chest as he did. This was weird. “Is John here?” “John? John who?” “John Yates, your partner…he came next door to visit me…” “Sweetie, I think you may be a little confused. I live alone, I thought you knew that! If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have to mow my lawn in that tight little Speedo all the time.” She looked down at his penis, so big and so hard. “Sorry, Nole.” Nolan turned around and walked back to the house. When he walked in, the changing house had completed its transformation. Not only was had the X-Box disappeared, but the television was gone as well. They were an unneeded distraction, Nolan suddenly realized, and he needed to focus on training his men. He was a great soldier, twenty-eight years old, in his prime. He was rough. No one messed with him, and no one got in his way. He was vicious in the sack and had two illegitimate children, but he never saw them, and they didn’t know he existed. Thankfully, they were both boys, and he knew they’d grow into sexy, big-dicked killing machines, like he was. He ran his hands over his awesome jaw and felt the beard growth of the day. It was getting pretty thick. He walked into the bathroom and noticed that it, too, was now very organized. Oddly, all of his roommate’s – the name escaped him – stuff was gone, and so were his old pills, all the combs and hair products – didn’t need much to take care of a military haircut – and everything else that was considered frivolous. He lathered up the shaving cream and rubbed it against his cheeks, slightly jizzing the counter that Nolan Junior rested on. He pulled the razor across his cheeks and jawline, rinsed it and watched the little hairs float in the water. He washed his face off and looked in the mirror. His grizzled, sexy face now looked more boyish and clean-cut, cute and All-American. He hated it. It made him look less like a man, and he was a man. He was a foot-long Army hunk, not some cute boy-toy. As he looked at himself, lamenting the loss of whiskers, the area around his pouty lips started to darken, and soon the whiskers were poking through again, spreading up and down his face and down his neck. Seconds later, his face was again covered in a thick layer of stubble, a five o’clock shadow that was more ten than five. He gaped at the sudden sprouting of the whiskers, but not a few moments later, had completely forgotten it. He looked at the razor in his hand. Why had he been thinking of shaving his whiskers? They were his trademark! He set the razor down and walked into the bedroom. The sight made him gasp. His big wooden bed had been replaced by an Army cot, and the pictures on the wall were changing before his eyes, as was the man inside of them. Nolan watched the image of his old self grow and shape-shift into the new man he had become. He picked up the picture of him arm in arm with his father. They had been building a new tool shed for his Dad, and had stopped. The picture depicted the father and his son, arms around each other, smiling in front of the construction. But soon, the backdrop changed, and so did the men in the picture – Nolan saw his body bulk up and his face change from the boring to the sublime. But what surprised him was his father – the new Nolan towered over him, but soon his father stretched to almost reach his son’s six-nine height, short by a couple of inches. His father’s body was getting thicker, too, and soon both men were wearing the uniform of the Army man. Nolan’s Dad’s face was changing into an older version of his uber-man son’s. Nolan set the picture down, oddly unshaken by it. The pictures had all changed, as had the people and friends in them – soon, all the pictures of him with women were gone, replaced by ones of him with Army buddies. He was bigger than all of them, and he was damn proud of that fact. Nolan’s mind was changing so fast that he wasn’t even able to register that it was. The boring business major was disappearing, taken over by the sexed-up, testosterone-fueled, nails-for-breakfast Sgt. Nolan K. Zahn. He remembered his Mom dying when he was seven, and his Dad pushing him through sports and into the military. He remembered the secret sex with other men, the passionate love-making with women, the hiding of his children, the combat, the war, how he got his scar – shrapnel from a bomb. He looked in the back of his room and saw the trophy case, brimming over with military honors and medals, in addition to the acres of trophies he had amassed since he started sports in first grade. With his fantastic, naturally muscled physique, he was ideal for football. With his great height, basketball suited him perfectly. His huge feet and hands made swimming a cinch, and his thick neck and powerful upper body made him one of the top wrestlers in the country – high school state champion four years, freshman year through senior year! He was gradually becoming aware that he wasn’t wearing any clothes, and thought of how disapproving his Army friends would be that was gay and turned on by his own ridiculously chiseled body and face. He pulled on a silk camo tank top, a camo thong, and a black leather pants. All clung to his body like glue. He cracked his knuckles and the pops echoed through the house. He dropped to the floor for his hourly one hundred push-ups. For the first 50, he used both hands. The next 25 he put his left hand behind his back, and for the last 25 he pulled off his right. Mustn’t…get…out of shape… His mind revolved around three things: his body, his sex, and his career as a soldier. This was life. This was the new Nolan K. Zahn. |
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