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|I had no idea how in the world I had gotten the assignment. It
that no one could have been more ill fitted for the job. I remember
how surprised I was when my editor told me I'd be going in undercover
for an expose on the new company in town, STUDS.
I was working for a less than reputable newspaper. OK, it was a downright sleazy tabloid, but a writer has got to make a living somehow, right? Anyway, STUDS was one of these hunk-o-rama calendar and dancing companies. They had a local club where women by the hundreds would go to see hunky men bare it all to Top 40 Hits. STUDS also put out a hot calendar so women could have their very own hottie plastered to their walls, staring at them with his deep baby blues. For a month at least, then behind the next page was a hunk to rival the one from the month before. Personally, I too had one of these calendars. Except I taped the picture of the current month's stud to the ceiling above my bed, then prayed to God that the tape lost it's sticky.
The men that worked for STUDS were just about the biggest, most gorgeous creatures on earth. I had seen other men around, even other professional men in porns or gay strip joints. But these guys were amazing. Their facial features were flawless, their skin as smooth as it was the day they were born. Except now it had a deep, rich tan. They all shared the same amazing physique. Amazingly broad shoulders. Biceps that made footballs blush and forearms like steel. Throughout their muscled bods ran thick veins, which stood out proudly. Perhaps their most breath-taking feature were their chests. These men had huge slabs of beef for pectorials that made you wonder why they don't just fall forward with the massive weight. Each pec was chisled and cut perfectly, protruding out from the body inches and inches. Between them was a divide that seemed so deep, it looked like water had carved out a canyon. The nipples were perfect as well, the size of a quarter and perfectly round. God, what I would have given to have felt up one of those chests. Little did I know...
To call the abs on these men 6-packs would have been in insult. 8-pack, or hell, even 10 on some of them was more like it. Gave a new meaning to the term washboard abs. In fact, it seemed these men redefined the term "hunk" just by existing. They had muscled legs that looked like they could hold on to you for hours. And although they were never nude, anyone could tell that the STUD men were hung like horses. In each picture of every calendar, these scantily clad men were owners of a perversely huge bulge between their legs. No matter what the pose or setting, these bulges caught the eye, and drew all attention towards them. The STUD men wore tiny bikinis, or posing straps, or sometimes jock straps which did very little to hide their overly generous endowment. In fact, it looked as if the picture was taken only moments before the bikini burst from the strain of all the weight of their meat. Lucky bikini! Shit, what I wouldn't have given to have seen one of these huge sets exposed. Again, little did I know...
STUDS had been an overnight sensation, and I was lucky enough to live in the same town as their headquarters. However, it wasn't long before some questions arised, especially around my office, where just about anything becomes a front page story. Where did all these physically perfect men come from? Where had they been before? Why didn't anyone ever see them around town, grocery shopping or in the gym? It was because of these questions that my editor decided to do a story on them. He thought that the only way to do a "proper" story, however, was to get someone on the inside. His plan was to get me into the STUDS office as a secretary.
I went into the STUDS office complex (which was immense, much like the studs themselves) the next day. I was surprised again by how fast I got an interview and was hired on the spot. It seemed like they really needed a good secretary. I went down the hall to their own physician and took the customary drug test. He also insisted on a blood analysis. I thought this was strange, but, who's to argue. The very next day, I was sitting in a desk, answering phones. "Hello, you've reached the STUDS company. How may I help you?"
A week went by, and I didn't see anything unusual. That is what bothered me. I didn't see any huge muscle men around, I didn't see photographers or anything that would make you think that this was anything other than a lawyer's firm. My editor was getting upset that I hadn't gotten anything good for a story. Apparently the headline "STUDS Company is Uninteresting" doesn't make for good sales. He was just about to pull me out of there in lost hope when I got called in, unexpectedly, into the Senior Executive in Charge of Model Recruitment's office. This meeting would certainly change my life...
As soon as I walked into his office, I knew that this man was built. I sprong an immediate erection. He wasn't nearly as big as the STUD models, but he still had the physique that most men would kill for. Even through his shirt, I saw muscles rippling with his every movement, and he had broad shoulders and a thick neck. He stood up to shake my hand and I saw that even he had a full basket that was staining against the fly of his pants. He introduced himself as David, and we both took our seats, his behind the desk, and mine in front.
"Kevin," he said, "I'll cut right to the point. My job here is to find men who have the potential of becoming a model for us. I believe that you would be excellent."
I nearly fell out of my chair. Me? A STUD? No way. I certainly wasn't gorgeous. That, however, seemed the last of my problems. I was downright scrawny. No fat, but no muscle, either. And so far as the cock and balls go, I was still coming to grips that I'd be a measly 5 inches erect all my life. It must have been all this that made me laugh.
"Oh, don't laugh, Kevin. I know what you're thinking; you just can't believe that you would be a STUD. Well, your physical results from the doctor have come in, and you have the perfect blood type and construction for it."
Blood type and construction...what the hell was he talking about?
"Just sign here, and we'll take care of the rest." In a blind stupor, I signed his paper. It sounded like I might be getting a story after all, and besides, this might allow me to get a glimpse or two at some real STUD beef.
I was escorted down the hall, and into an elevator. Once there, I was taken through a hallway connecting the office to another building that was hidden back behind it. I hadn't even noticed this building before. Once there, I was amazed to see that it looked a lot like a hotel, or country club. The halls were lined with doors. Each door sported a name of one of the huge men I had grown to obsess. I was even more surprised when I was taken to my room room, with "Kevin" written on the door. This must all have been some mistake. My escorts put me in my room, and then proceded to hit me over the head with the lamp.
After I gained conciousness, I knew I felt different...Then I figured it out. Not only did I have a raging headache from being knocked out, I had a sore arm from a shot. I could see a small needle prick in the vein of my elbow.
I got up, and walked around the room. It was lavishy furnished. I went into the bathroom, and stared at myself in the mirror. How did I get here? Who are they fooling? I'm no STUD. Then I began to feel warm. Tingly, even. This was too weird, and I thought I must have a concussion from the "lamp over the head incident" so I went to go lie back down. It wasn't until I turned to go out of the bathroom until I noticed that I seemed a little bit taller. Again, I rode this off as being a side effect of my extreme headache. I walked out the bathroom door, and smacked my right shoulder into the wall. This pissed me off...you'd figure that I'd been walking through doorways all my life, and by now I would know how wide I was. It wasn't like I was any bigger than when I went it. But then it started. I WAS bigger. I looked in the mirror totally in awe, as the tingling got more intense. I was growing...
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