No, it was their machine and the "patient" in the drawing that were so similar. Pipes, bottles, switches - nameless objects inserted in his every orifice, strange black rubber coveralls and a mask. Yes, he had a gas-mask to receive whatever the mad scientists were going to gas him with. But my two guys had the same drawing on the wall of their office and they called their machine "Rex" after it.

But what the hell was I doing in their office? I’m a big guy - 6'2" in my socks - and I had recently won the overall in the all-natural Musclemania contest. (I won the light-heavies the year before and moved up with a bit more muscle.) They had already canvassed a number of guys in that natural contest and others: they said their candidates had to be steroid-free for their experiment to work. When I walked in they were obviously depressed as they had not yet found a suitable candidate, they told me. I named a few guys and asked what was wrong with them: too many steroids in the past had apparently wrecked their DNA. And there were other things.

These two guys were sending out some kind of pheramones, because they had me all hot and bothered. They could see me squirming about, trying to hide the growing bulge in my cut-offs, but that was a good sign, they said, because not many of the other guys had responded in that way and it was important that they should - we had to be "compatible" with our "mad scientists". I’d find out what that wassall about if I came through their exam.

Then I had to be "completely unattached" - no family or job connections that would keep me ensnared in any way. Why? I asked. Because this is an extreme experiment and we are looking for someone who feels he has nothing to lose, in the event of the experiment going wrong. Wow. Matt was pacing nervously about, waiting for my answers: all the other guys they had interviewed obviously couldn’t face this for whatever reason. (Matt: tall, dark, muscular, wearing lycra shorts, bare torso under plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off and open all the way down to show everything. Backward baseball cap (yuk) and shades. Done deliberately to release the pheramones?) Zipp asked me how I felt about all this. (Zipp: tall, blonde, huge, jeans containing giant quads half-way down his butt showing the top of a jock; muscleshirt ripped off under the pecs, displaying one of the most perfect set of 10-packs I’ve ever seen. More pheramones.) I was weighing all this up in silence for a moment. Losing his patience, Matt finally asked Whether I wanted to be real big or not? Zipp: Was I prepared to stake everything, even my life, to be bigger than any Olympia winner? Not if it involved steroids, I said.

Zipp: That’s the whole beauty of this experiment - no steroids are involved - it’s all organic.

Then what’s the risk?

We’ve tried it on each other in moderate amounts and we’ve gotten to be as big as we are (Read: pretty big) . We can’t go the next step on either of us because if it fails and one of us is lost, that’s it.

Matt: So what we’re looking for is someone who wants to be big so badly, someone with no family attachments or other baggage, good or bad, that he’s prepared to risk everything for the "Big" Opportunity. How big do you want to be?

Know those Master N. pics on the web? That’s how big.

We know them - which one?

The ones that are really well-proportioned. Bulk-big doesn’t interest me unless the proportions are great. Like Sarcev or my name-sake, Bob Paris - only much, much bigger.

Cocks and all, like the N guys?

You bet!

It’s good you feel that way, because a lot of the development process is stimulated by the thought patterns of the patient himself. And it will only work on guys that already have a good musculature. Sorry, but none of the 95 pound weakling transformation stuff will work.

I was mulling all this over, getting really excited. Stood up and started pacing myself. A real N-guy? Wow. What the hell - I’d had a great life and had gone as far as I could go in the bodybuilding scene without resorting to steroids. If I could beat out the Olympia guys without them, anything was worth it. I stopped pacing as I had a real good think. Matt said, Zipp! and stopped pacing. They looked at each other, and Matt cocked his head in my direction. This was obviously a cue for something.

So far they’d had this pheramone effect on me from a way off. Now Zipp got up and they both advanced on me. The closer they got, the hotter I felt. And the hornier.

What is it with you guys? I got horny as soon as I came into your office, now I want to cum up both your asses!

I started massaging my ever-growing bulge which was getting real uncomfortable in these tight jeans.

It’s what you might call Heavy Persuasion, said Matt, grinning, as he knocked my hand away from my dick and started massaging the length that had appeared out of the bottom of my cut-offs. Zipp got in close behind me so I could feel his crotch grinding against my butt. His hands came round to grab my meaty pecs with one hand and started twisting one of my oh-so-receptive nips with the other.

Matt flexed a mighty, veined bicep in my face. Want a bit of this, don’t ya? Go on, lick it! Admit it! You want it! And how about this?

He swung me around to face Zipp and forced the palm of my hand on to one of Zipp’s hard, swelling pecs, rubbing it hard into the flesh. You want all of this and more! If you’re lucky, you’ll get it.

What I want is all of both of you! They ground their huge torsos into mine, front and back, and had me squirming between their full, hard muscles, the meat in their relentless muscle sandwich. Pec to pec, bulging shorts against straining dicks, something long, thick and hard trying to ram itself up my ass through at lest two layers of cloth........

Jeez, guys! Leave me alone or I’m going to explode my gism all over your floor.

They laughed and stepped back. That’s just the effect we have on people since we treated each other with our basic procedure. You just wait till you’ve had the full treatment. Then you’ll really enjoy it. But we don’t want to influence you unduly, so we’ll back off.

Influence me unduly? Hell, you crazy hunks! You don’t give a guy much choice, do you?

Zipp: Seriously, we don’t want you to rush into this without a lot of thought about what the

outcome may be. So, go home and think about it and let us know.

Matt: ASAP. Rubbing his crotch where a very large and long schlong had appeared above the top of his lycras.

You want me to do something about that? I asked him.

No, we’d all get in too deep. Go home and think. But just remember, if you’re prepared to let us use you as our guinea-pig, you could fulfil your wildest muscle-dreams. But consider the worst-case scenario too. Go home.

I went, but I wasn’t going to go home. What was there anyway except for a pile of muscle mags and a few trophies? I got into the street and looked up to where their window might be: Matt was stretching his back at the window with his hands behind his neck. Even from eight stories below I could see those massive bis bunching up and those abs contracting. The pheramone effect was still working! Then Zipp pulled him away from the window and I moved on out.

Half an hour of pacing round the block and I was back hammering on their door.

I’ve done enough thinking - when do we start?

They let out sighs of excited relief. A lot of pheramone-inducing claps on the shoulder and punches to the pecs and squeezing of huge bis (Don’t know how they expected me not to cum - it was a huge effort of willpower), then piles of instruction. Ten days of maximum protein ingestion, minimum ten hours sleep every night, work out really hard and get back into contest condition, and on NO account to cum in those ten days. If there was an unsolicited night loss, OK, but no fucking and no hand-jobs. It was CRUCIAL to maintain a full store in my nuts for the maximum effect of the procedure.

I got so excited at the prospect, don’t know how I stopped myself cumming over and over again in those ten days. But I did. Getting Maximum Big was more important. •