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Good Freak, The
|Personal Diary of Jack Donaldson
As I'm writing this, my home is filled with muscle. A few hours ago, there was what I can only describe as an orgy of hot, muscular sex going on, driven by whatever it is that young Mr. Peters has swimming in his genes. Ands afterwards, something even more amazing was happening – looking around, I think it still is.
If I pause in my typing and look at my own arm, bending and tensing the bicep, I can watch it bulge fat with hard power. The head of it splits in two, now, and a thick vein winds across it. The strength of it pulses tight and full, and that strength climbs across my wider shoulders and thicker chest. Jesus, my pecs are huge! I pull in a breath and flex the muscle and feel it grow hard and full. I brush my fingers against my nipple and a thrill of deep, hot sex rushed direct to my dick, and it starts to throb and lengthen and thicken, ready for more attention. Never satisfied.
I can't explain it. Not sure I even want to anymore. I just want more of it. More and more.
Someone stirs behind me, in the dim morning light filtering across the naked, perfect teen muscle gods asleep on the floor. I see a tangle of arms and legs and heavy, bulging torsos, some slick with sweat still, others brushed with light forests of curls. The body that moves twists his majestic muscled form and his heavy, fat cock flops across his cabled thigh muscles. His balls, like eggs, round in their loose sac, churn even now. He has more to give, and his body is merely waiting another opportunity.
I don't know what to say here, how to describe the past night and all the discoveries. Things have started moving very, very fast. There's no hiding this anymore, there'll be no way for some of these guys to be able to go home in a few hours and say good morning to their parents and siblings and friends looking like they do without lots of questions and maybe fears and accusations starting. I know fingers will point my way, that I've been experimenting or something, maybe even that I've been dealing, selling them some miracle steroid with absurdly effective properties. How else to explain it?
I look at these kids – that's what they are, really, even though the effects of Kevin upon them have some growing beards as I watch, and my own face looks years younger instead of older. I look at them and wonder what to do now. And at the same time, all I want to do is crawl among them and kiss them and fuck them and feel them and grow with them, bigger yet, stronger, taller, more perfect.
I swear that Tim is growing as he sleeps. His chest rises and falls, but does it fall as deeply or keep rising? Are his arms growing fatter, his shoulders wider and thicker, his legs bigger yet? Is it a trick of the light?
And Kevin. Could he get bigger? How does this all affect him, and his gift? Is it compounded by these others, feeding on itself and growing more powerful still? Now it can change a young man in a matter of minutes. What happens tomorrow? Will he fuck some guy in the locker room and, as they fuck, the dude grows more powerful, bigger, stronger, taller as they fuck. One second he's Peewee Herman, the next he's Paul DeMayo, ripped and huge, bursting from his clothes? Is that possible, and what are the side effects of that? How could a human body stand that much stress all at once?
Kevin stirs awake and looks over at me. He smiles and nods. He stretches, all the bulging masses of his body pulling and pushing against each other. What can that feel like, that much muscle and strength? He's so big now, he must weigh 320 or 330, all that added power from one night with these others. He stands and continues to stretch, nearly seven feet high with a cock that could choke, well, anyone. It swings as he kills an itch and then he hefts that mass of man meat and grins, rubbing his thumb across the helmet and teasing it to fullness. Blood pumps into the foot-long fatty and it inflates as he leisurely strokes himself, already prepped to plug into another lucky partner and push his body to new heights.
He's looking at me. I can almost feel the heat of that gaze, and the hunger and passion and need. I have to stop typing for a few minutes. Duty calls.
Well, a few minutes turned into a few hours. I'm afraid when Kevin's got you in his rather commanding grip, you're apt to be a little boisterous in your approval of certain of his charms. My ass will never be the same – but in a very good way.
I can feel it already, the stuff. Kevin's potency keeps growing just like him. My whole body feels like it's been supercharged, everything is tingling and has that "just worked out" feeling. And I guess a workout is pretty close to what I got.
Kevin's still going, of course. Him and Paul both. The Wonder Twins. Everyone else is in the kitchen, feeding all that muscle with food. Growing boys, you know.
It's almost 9 already. Kevin and I started in around 7, went for about an hour, I felt some other hands and mouths and dicks joining in, soon there was more come everywhere, the hungry little buggers were slurping that up now that they realize what it does for them, but it's not enough to keep those bodies growing all by itself, of course. Just the catalyst, they still need carbs and protein and all the other building blocks. It's almost as if their bodies have become muscle factories, turning whatever they pour inside into instant strength and size.
My stomach's growling like a lion, but that kitchen's only so big, especially when filled with guys bulging out bigger by the minute. Damn, I have no idea what to do here. Maybe a couple of the guys could hide their new endowments in baggy clothes – though it'd be a crying shame to do it. Perfect bodies and fat cocks like they now own should be framed and mounted, not shoved inside tents. I almost think seeing them in some tight T's and jeans, those bubble butts walking down the street, nips poking against the clean white cotton would be sexier than watching them completely naked.
I should ask Tim what his parents said. He changed dramatically overnight, he said. They couldn't have not noticed that – or maybe, being human and faced with the impossible, they just fit it into what they thought was real and reasoned it away. "He always looked like that," Mom would think as she felt a hot urge to run her hands over his tight belly and round, heavy pecs.
Jeez, I'm a sick fuck.
Maybe there's nothing to worry about. Maybe it'll all just pass, they'll go home at some point – probably after a last fuckfest and maybe a swim to get the jizz out of their curls, and things'll go on. Just like yesterday.
I guess I'll just have to wait and see.
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