Truth to tell
From Metabods
Contents |
Part 1
I’ve recently discovered that I have some weird power over truth.
People tend to tell me the truth. They don’t even fight it – whenever people are talking to me, especially when we’re alone, their inhibitions about telling me their innermost feelings and beliefs about any topic I ask about just melt away, and they tell me their secrets as if they were someone else’s.
And it gets better: when I’m speaking to someone, and it’s just us and I have their full attention, whatever I say is the truth.
Naturally I’ve been using it to get my rocks off.
Now, I’ve been pretty careful. So far. I’ve had this powerful instinct that anything too big, too epic, will backfire on me in ways I can’t imagine. So I keep it small. Well, obviously when it comes to certain kinds of things I’m not keeping it small, but you know what I mean.
But last week Stefan moved into the single dorm room next to mine, and I’ve kind of been losing perspective.
It’s just that he’s so beautiful. He was gorgeous before I even said a word to him: thick thatch of longish blond hair, a huge and easy smile, bright blue eyes. He wasn’t particularly tall or at all built – if anything he was skinny. It sounds corny to say, but I was drawn to his attitude more than anything else. I wanted to be with him, hang out with him. That’s my real test with a guy. I’d learned that I couldn’t change someone’s nature or character; believe me, I’d tried, with some of the assholes I know. But one look – one shared glance that lasted a second too long, with that huge heartstopping grin – and I was overwhelmed by how beautiful Stefan was in a way that kind of radiated out of him. Sure — when it came to his body I could give him an upgrade, no problem, but there was something pure about him that made me want to be in his life.
And he seemed to like me, too, from the start. That night after he moved his stuff in he poked his head into my room – we’d introduced ourselves to each other as I’d gone out to my afternoon class, that’s when we shared that glance that had my stuck on him all through physics lab – and asked, with a big effortless smile, if I wanted to hit the dining hall for dinner, and I just about melted. As it turned out we ended up ordering pizza and talking into the night, both of us swigging beer from my fridge, lounging barefoot on my bed (he had big, sexy feet), and I was so enamored with him that I was finding myself brutally torn between acting mute and “saying” everything that came into my head.
Especially as the topic drifted to physical appearance. Stefan was tossing the crust of his third slice back into the box and eying the last piece on his side. “I used to eat so much pizza,” he said, “but I’m worried my metabolism might be slowing down, just when I get used to eating it all the time.”
I was barely listening. I realized I was getting aroused just talking to him for an hour. My cock was chubbing in my jeans, and if that progressed he’d definitely notice – my boners were hard not to notice, these days.
I’d already scarfed down two slices but had stopped there, afraid of looking like a pig. “You’ve got a lot more will power than I do,” he said, and even his voice was rich and sweet and sexy.
“About some things,” I said.
“Well, you obviously work out a lot,” he said with a grin, eyeing my generously muscled, (truthspeaking-enhanced) torso and the thick soccer star’s legs filling out my jeans. “I think muscle is really sexy,” he added. I was willing to bet he’d never come right out and told anyone but me that, but of course he didn’t seem self-conscious about his honesty. “I never have time,” he went on, glancing ruefully at his own gangly body, his hand brushing his flat chest.
There was no chance I wouldn’t rise to that opening! Not after three beers anyway, not in the presence of this man who was filling my vision, sneaking into unwatched corners of my mind. Still I hesitated for a full heartbeat before swallowing my scruples.
“Well, you don’t have to, you’re, like, naturally muscular,” I said, unable to avoid such an obvious “in.” And between one heartbeat and the next his thick, loose heather gray tee shirt and jeans fleshed out so deliciously, so perfectly, that my dick would have gotten instantly completely hard if it hadn’t been wrapped tightly around my hip, held in place by the biker shorts I tended to wear as underwear in case my overenhanced cock might be a problem. I heard myself panting and willed myself to stop, and act naturally.
But Stefan noticed none of this, as he was still looking down at the humpy shape of his tight, naturally muscular, no body-fat, but still not gym-groomed bod, which his still-loose clothes only accentuated. “It’s true. But I’d still take your bod over mine.”
You can have both, I thought. I was staring at his bod. To me it looked now like an extra-beefy Michelangelo’s David, hard and bulging under that shirt and jeans. I went on talking on autopilot, not even listening to myself. “Really? Because your pecs are definitely the biggest I’ve ever – seen – up close – ” Shit, I was so lucky I had suddenly realized what I was saying partway through and started talking myself down. I’ve seen pictures of pecs the size of beach balls, but no way this kid needed that. As it was another space between heartbeats and his pecs jumped to the size of big melons, just a shade larger than this huge, pec-obsessed gym rat senior I’d tutored in high school before I got my powers. (He let me touch them for ten bucks. What a bargain.)
God those pecs – those thick, round, hard, heavy pecs – stretching his shirt, leaving it to hang loosely over his tight eight pack and tiny waist – god they were so bonerific, my cock was going to want to pound itself free from its prison. Fuck, there was a tiny tear in the exact center of his tee shirt, just where those monster pecs were straining it. Forget breaking free, I was going to rip out my monster in a second with my bare hands, tearing apart my jeans and bike shorts to get at it.
Stefan was still looking down, but curiously now, not ruefully. “I’m not surprised. I haven’t met many guys as big as I am. To tell you the truth, it kind of turns me on, actually, having these big pecs.” And he started gently stroking them with his fingertips. Fuck. I was panting again.
“What else turns you on?” I said.
He grinned again. “Guys looking at me like you’re doing now,” he said slyly, still stroking his pecs through the tee shirt. “And stuff about muscle growth and transformation. That really makes me hot. Sometimes I pretend my pecs are so big because someone cast a spell that they’d grow whenever I ate pizza.”
I was no longer in control. “Actually I happen to know there is a condition like that,” I said immediately. “It’s called, um, Kason’s Syndrome. It’s like 0.1 percent of the male population. The ingredients in pizza interact with a very rare antibody and get converted into hard, thick muscle, and it goes almost totally to the pecs.”
“Really?” Stefan said, looking back up at me and cocking an eyebrow. “Do you think I –?”
“—And you’re obviously one of those guys.”
Stefan nodded. “That explains a lot, actually. Well, all I can say is,” he said, glancing down first at his luscious pecs and then at the three remaining slices of pizza, “you gonna finish those?”
I shook my head rapidly, and we both grinned. Fuck, it was so hot that he wanted to grow his already disproportionately thick pecs. It didn’t even occur to me until, like, a week later that I’d just created something like seven million guys in the world with pizza-enhanced pecs.
Now I see them everywhere. Especially on reality TV shows.
Stefan reached for a slice. I was about to tell him to stop and take off his shirt first, but instead, as he grabbed the nearest slice and pointed it eagerly at his mouth, making a delightful bulge in his naturally big bicep, I opted instead to say, “At least I know one thing – people understand why you never wear shirts,” trying to phrase it so that it was both absolute and unproblematic. “Now that you’re at college,” I added, just to soften the size of the change. No need to give him a weird time at high school.
And the tee shirt was gone.
Fuck, they were even hotter now that they were freed. They weren’t monstrous – they were just really big, ponderous spheres of hard, pink muscle sticking out a good six inches from his torso, casting a harsh shadow over his brick-hard abs. And what made these mounds of man-flesh even more sexy was the light dusting of short, ash-blond hair that subtly accentuated his mighty cleavage – and dusted the middle line of his overshadowed abs as well, disappearing into his loose, 30-inch-waist jeans. I really was gonna have to haul out my drooling monster cock any minute now.
Stefan was nodding as he chewed a big bite of pizza. “Actually I started in junior high,” he said around his pizza, then swallowed. My gaze snapped up from his mesmerizing balloon pecs to his mesmerizing gorgeous face. What? Fuck, did I wait a second too long to issue the modification? Or is this guy just that eager?
“I just woke up one day and none of my tee shirts fit because my pecs were getting big even then,” he said. “And I said, fuck it. And went to school shirtless. And people stared at me all day but I didn’t get in trouble, so I just kept doing it.” He took another bite.
I looked at him curiously – this guy was an unnervingly perfect subject for my powers, and then some. I had a very back-of-the-head sense of the danger I was in. Of course, that voice was hard to listen to in my lust-intoxicated state. Still, I shifted to questions. Questions were safe. “So,” I said curiously, “what do you do if you have to go to, like, a wedding?”
He shrugged his wide, bulging, bare shoulders. “My rule is no shirts,” he said after he swallowed. “But I wore this really cool dark blue blazer to my prom, and my brother’s church confirmation, and stuff. And of course I wear jackets and coats when it gets cold,” he added, taking a last big bite. He reached for another piece with a grin.
“Careful, buddy, you don’t want to grow those things too big!” I said laughing, as my straining cock flexed angrily against its confines like a python trapped in panty hose.
He looked at me with a mock-confused expression. “Why not?” he said, taking a bite of the new slice. Fuck, he really wants the transformation – and he can do it without me!
My mind was a blank. I shrugged helplessly, and he laughed. “You’ll, you know, get topheavy,” I said lamely, and he laughed more.
“Good thing I got big feet,” he said, taking another bite. We both looked at his size-12 bare feet, and he wiggled his long toes. Shit, stop stealing my lines, I thought.
So instead I said, my face burning suddenly for some reason, “Yeah, um, size 16 dogs like those should keep you balanced enough,” and watched those gorgeous feet pop up to exceptional size in the space between heartbeats. It was enthralling because they didn’t just blow up proportionately – they got longer. (I checked later – the diff was about an inch and a quarter, and seeing them stretch up that much was just as hot as seeing an eight inch dick pump up into a nine and a half inch dick. Which I had seen, more than once, but truthtelling instagrowth had never been this hot.)
“They sure do,” Stefan said happily, wiggling his feet.
Stefan looked up at me warmly, and I stared back at him with raw, unmistakable lust for a long moment – but then suddenly a cold tingling shot down my spine. This wasn’t just lust for Stefan. I was drunk with power. I wanted him – I so wanted Stefan, and I wanted him to want me — but what I really wanted was to change him, mold him, more than any boy I’d ever played with. I felt a twinge of horror: I could make him want me, and he wouldn’t care. Never before had the realities of my abilities hit me so hard.
I shrank back from him, and he frowned, not understanding.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he said, concerned. He reached toward me, but I leapt up and bolted from the room. I heard him call after me, but I needed to get out, get away, to figure myself out. I kept going, hurtling down the stairs and out into the quad. I was pretty upset, or I might not have run smack into Jake Peters — and found my night getting even more complicated.
