Influenced

by BRK   

Dwayne is excited at having won a video chat with Mayson, the hottest of all the gorgeously-muscled fitness models and insta-hunks he follows online. Then things take strange turn when Mayson reaches into the fruit bowl next to him and pulls out a banana—an inexplicably blue banana.

“Hi,” said the beautiful man, his smile warm and welcoming. He was wearing a sky-blue muscle shirt and white gym shorts, perched on a lone barstool in the middle of an idyllic, window-lit country-house home gym. “Dwayne, right?”

Dwayne grinned boyishly, momentarily tongue-tied at the suddenly interactive fantasy before him. He was so glad he’d gotten the iMac with the biggest screen, if only for this moment. “Hi,” he said, his heart pounding.

Dwayne’s Picthread and Vidthread feeds were wall-to-wall with perfect-bodied Adonises. He subscribed to hundreds of threads, just so he could flick through his feeds and (assuming no one was carpet-bombing that day) enjoy a rich, steady, random, color-diverse stream of thick shoulders, corded arms, exquisitely thick pecs, stone-chiseled abs, long sculpted legs, and suggestively packed crotches. An aesthetically-muscled heavyweight fitness guru might come after a hard-cut bantam insta-celeb; a rangy and tall somber-looking nutrition export might be followed by a short and compact bright-smiling actor-model cutie. He didn’t mind the product placement most of the time, either: he was as happy seeing his models poured into name-checked body-flattering sportswear or lounging in a resort hotel’s rooftop pool as he was catching them flexing in their own kitchens or pumped and masked in the gym locker room mirrors. It still astonished him how many myriads of incredibly hot guys there were out there wanting his likes, and he loved adding more, increasing the riches he could flick through whenever he so desired.

Out of that rushing river of beautiful men there were maybe ten that he paid special attention to. Those were the ones whose Vidthread channels he had bookmarked, whose FanFunds campaigns he joined, whose OnlyStarkers accounts he willingly plumped for at the highest tier. He watched their posing, “everyday,” and behind-the-scenes videos avidly, and his nightly jerk-off sessions (after a long day of being under-appreciated by the more senior architects at Billings & Grosse Design Group) often found him drifting into those scenes: cheering on his favorite guy from the edge of the set as he did a photo shoot, no one else seeming to notice that both he and the model were naked and hard; driving with his ridiculously hot companion as they roared a limited-edition sports car convertible through the twists and turns of the snowbound Alps; luxuriating together in a cozy whirlpool hot tub in an exclusive and remote Asian resort wearing nothing but skimpy black Speedos and staring into each other’s eyes, the staff forgetting they’re there so they’re locked in together for the night. He was sweet enough, it was easy to imagine a guy like that falling for Dwayne if he had the chance. That was the real fantasy.

Dwayne’s favorite hunk-idol was probably Mayson Montgomery, one of the top fitness paragons with a growing sideline in menswear modeling. Maybe it was because his mixed-race heritage, vivid brown-and-gold eyes, and arresting, expressive face made him the most beautiful of all the man, so that Dwayne often found himself transfixed, lingering on his videos and zooming in on the stills so his smiling visage filled the screen. Maybe it was his genes and relentless workout ethic, which combined to produce the most ideally sculpted masculine body since Antinoös, one that cried out for Dwayne’s touch and hardened his dick every time he saw even a part of it, or glimpsed the shape of the hard curves and planes hinted at under any kind of clothing. Or maybe it was his widely-reported vow not to do nude shoots or join OnlyStarkers like the others all had, making Mayson the only idol out of his short-list of fave-boys Dwayne had never seen naked.

Dwayne did have a paid-up membership in Mayson’s FanFunds account—at the all-the-perks level, of course—which was how he ended up winning a one-on-one video-chat nutrition and fitness consultation via a drawing exclusively open to top-level subscribers. The days until the session counted down with agonizing anticipation and nonstop boners, until now. This moment. All his plans to smooth-talk Mayson into being comfortable with him so they could be momentary besties were going out the window, all thanks to his addled fangasming.

“Just relax, Dwayne,” Mayson said with an easy smile. Fuck, I was supposed to be relaxing him, Dwayne thought. No wonder this guy is famous—he’s, like, instantly charming. Dwayne belatedly noticed Mayson had one heel up on the rung of the stool, and was thrilled anew to see the foot was completely bare.

“S-sorry,” Dwayne said, momentarily thrown at the unexpected foot-nudity. Hurriedly, he met Mayson’s friendly gaze, not wanting to seem like he was so much of a perv that he couldn’t stop gawking at the guy’s feet. “I’m just such a huge fan,” he gushed. He wanted to hit himself. He must sound like such a rube!

Mayson’s smile widened, and it sure seemed genuine. “That’s great to hear,” he said through the video connection. There was a round table next to him with a bowl of fruit and some water bottles, and Mayson, maybe sensing Dwayne was keyed up and wanting to set him more at ease with a bit of ordinary activity, selected a banana at random from the bowl and started peeling it, his reassuring eyes still on Dwayne. “I really appreciate it. The gym-targeted support from Fanfunders like you helped me replace some badly outdated equipment in here.” He tilted his head back toward the small but state-of-the-art gym behind him.

“That’s great,” Dwayne said. “You deserve the best.” C’mon, rein it in, Dwayne! he lambasted himself, embarrassed.

Mayson took a bite of the oddly-tinted banana, and Dwayne huffed a laugh, glad for the distraction. “So if this is a nutrition consult,” he said in a playful tone, “does that mean I should be eating what you eat? Even the blue bananas?”

Mayson, caught off guard, glanced down at the banana in his hand, its light-blue flesh half-exposed, then at the bowl beside him. All the other bananas appeared to be the normal pristine yellow. Mayson then shrugged at Dwayne. “Absolutely! You totally understand how all this works,” he agreed, taking a second big chunk of the bluish fruit into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed quickly, then swallowed. “You eat what I eat!” he affirmed, before taking another bite.

“I eat what you eat, huh?” Dwayne repeated, amused. “That’s how it works? So right now, I’m eating a blue banana?” he chided.

Mayson swallowed and grinned happily—fuck, that was his genuine smile, and Dwayne’s dick, fortunately hidden below the frame of his webcamera, managed to get even harder in his favorite navy boxer-briefs. “Sure thing,” the model agreed genially. “Right now you are eating a blue banana!”

If Dwayne had had any bananas he would have gone and found one real quick, just to eat it on camera and maybe tell Mayson he needed to fix the tint setting on the monitor he was looking at. Except, as soon as Mayson said the words, there was no need for pretense—because his mouth was suddenly full of what was very obviously, from the feel of it against his tongue, a large chunk of soft, gently sweet banana flesh. He looked down at his hand, his pulse quickening… and there where it hadn’t been before, was a half-eaten blue banana, the four segments of separated blue peel draped languidly over his fist.

He almost spit the banana-meat out, shocked by its sudden appearance. But something in him told him to go with this, that this was his chance. So he chewed as much as he needed to and swallowed it down hard instead. “You’re good,” he said to Mayson, holding up the half-banana in his hand.

Mayson looked surprised. “Hey! Banana buddies!” he said, lifting his as if in a toast. They pretended to clink through the screen. “That’s amazing you have one too! Must be a new variety they’re trying out.” He peeled his banana further and took another bite.

He doesn’t know, Dwayne thought. Or he’s a really good actor. “Say something else about me,” he suggested.

Mayson swallowed and eyed Dwayne through the video connection. “You’re in great shape. More so than I expected,” he added with a slightly sheepish smile. “Not all my Fanfunders are—well, let’s just say they’re not all hitting the gym and eating right the way you obviously are.”

Dwayne drew in a sharp breath. Before, Dwayne had been in adequate shape at best. He’d had good proportions and a flat stomach, but under his heavy black polo there had been a very unremarkable and unmuscled body.

Emphasis on “had been,” because peering down the loose v-neck of his polo he could see glimpses of the body Mayson had just described. He looked up to see Mayson finishing his banana. A flicker of unaccustomed cockiness stirred in him. “You don’t mind if I lose this, then,” he stated, grabbing the polo just over the sternum and whiffling the fabric a little to show what he meant.

Mayson gestured with his free hand, setting aside his empty peel with the other. “Go for it.”

Dwayne started to reach behind him to pull off his shirt, then realized he still had half a banana in his other hand. After a second’s hesitation he freed the remaining half from its peel and downed it in one huge swallow, tossing the detritus into the trash by his desk, then hauled off his shirt and cast it aside.

Damn, he looked good. Mayson seemed to agree. “Nice,” the fitness idol said. “Very fit. Great pecs.”

As Dwayne watched, his torso went from “fit” to “very fit”, and his pecs plumped outward, a little bit disproportionate to his otherwise extremely defined but not truly muscular physique. His stomach flipped a little as he got a handle on what was really happening. It was the banana, it had to be. The bananas, plural—his and Mayson’s. He was almost certain, but it still needed to be tested for him to be completely sure. So why do I know, if he doesn’t? Because I got a banana created by a banana? He wasn’t clear on that part, but his new body had already distracted him.

Dwayne looked up and tossed Mayson a smile. “Thanks,” he said humbly. “You, uh, have great pecs too!” Mayson just grinned. Of course nothing happened—Mayson had already had great pecs. He seemed more genuine now, though, as though the earlier Mayson had been a mask he wore for the fans. It showed most in his eyes, making them even more beautiful and inviting.

Dwayne decided to risk pushing the boat out a bit. “You want to lose your shirt, too, I can tell,” he said confidently. “I mean, you love being shirtless all the time. Right? Go on, you don’t need to hide anything from me.”

Dwight wasn’t sure the Mayson-loves-being-shirtless thing was true, given the proportion of topless pics on his channels was a lot lower than other models of his caliber. But Mayson beamed at him. “Is it that obvious?” Without waiting for an answer he whipped off his blue muscle shirt with the grateful alacrity of someone who covered his torso only when he had to.

Under other circumstances Dwayne might have thought twice about using his banana-induced ability to affect Mayson that way, but he was too intoxicated be sight of Mayson’s perfect pecs and hard abs. He was so well defined that his intercostals were as clear as his eight-pack, and the crevice between his lovely pecs called out to Dwayne’s tongue. “Fuck, Mayson,” he breathed. He looked up a little guiltily. “You, uh, don’t mind guys like me ogling you?” he asked, making it a question only at the very last second.

“Not guys like you,” Mayson admitted, his tone a little more intimate than before. Dwayne realized that Mayson was checking him out, and not trying to hide it. Holy fuck.

There was a second of pregnant silence. “I could take more off,” Dwayne said slowly, holding Mayson’s gaze. “I’ve got exactly what you like to see, all over. I promise!” Even as he said the words, his heard jumped into his throat. He had no idea what Mayson wanted! The phrase Please don’t be pussy please don’t be pussy started racing through his brain. But his 8-inch hard-on didn’t go away in his boxer-briefs, though it did get much thicker—and uncut, if he was reading the changed sensations of his newly-wrapped dickhead correctly. His balls went up a size, too. He let out breath.

Mayson gave him a remonstrative look, though there was something wistful there too. “I don’t think FanFunds would approve,” he said. “Even this—” He let his eyes dip down over Dwayne’s newly excellent chest for a second. “—is pushing the terms of service a little.”

Dwayne steeled himself. Time to kick this up a notch. “Mayson, dude, don’t you remember?” he said. “We’re not on FanFunds—we agreed to do the chat on the OnlyStarkers account you set up just for this.”

The fullscreen feed flickered almost imperceptibly, but otherwise nothing seemed to change. “Oh… right,” Mayson said, his cheeks reddening slightly. “Um, well, I guess you can go ahead, then, if you want.”

He wasn’t expecting it to go like this, Dwayne thought. He wiggled his eyebrows. “I will if you will,” he said suggestively.

Mayson winced. “I—don’t do naked. Sorry, it’s… a thing.” Again, Mayson’s words were clearly tinged with regret.

Dwayne could tell Mayson was tempted to level with him. He remembered what he’d said about Mayson not needing to hide things from him, which seemed to be easing his inhibitions at least to a point. He decided Mayson needed just a little more of a push. “You want to tell me, I know it,” he coached. “You trust me. I won’t spill your secrets to anyone, I promise.”

Mayson shook his head, but not in negation. “It’s stupid. My junk is—it’s not as ‘ogle-worthy’ as the rest of me.”

“Why, is it weird?” Dwayne teased. He pretended to guess. “You have two dicks. Is that it? Is that why?”

Mayson blinked at him. “How did—? No, that’s not it, not exactly.”

“Show me,” Dwayne begged. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Mayson he wanted to show him, but Mayson then nodded and stood up, pulling down first his white shorts and then the gray jock strap underneath, letting them both fall to the floor and stepping out of them before sitting back on the stool, bare-assed and blushing, with one leg down and one heel on the rung of the stool, as before.

Dwayne thought he understood now. It wasn’t the extra cock (the one he hadn’t had a minute ago) that made Mayson nudity-bashful. Between Mayson’s deliciously sculpted, perfectly hairless thighs were two things that he could tell made Mayson feel different: a taut, rosy scrotum with plum-sized nuts considerably larger than any real balls Dwayne had ever seen, in real life or photoerotica; and a pair of squat, overlapping, extra-wide cocks that couldn’t have been more than three inches long and had to be close to the same in width. It wasn’t even the captivating unusualness of Mayson’s junk that took Dwayne’s breath away, though—it was the fact that Mayson was extremely, even painfully, hard.

Dwayne felt himself vibrating with excitement. This was Mayson’s natural reaction. Maybe Mayson had boosted Dwayne’s body a little, bringing him more in line his own preferred type. But the fact remained that Mayson—the most erotically attractive man in the world—was totally, red-cock boned over him.

He looked up through his lashes at Mayson, his crooked smile turning wicked. “Do I do that to you, Mase?” he asked in a low, sultry voice.

Mayson swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “You make me hard.” He gulped. “So hard.”

“Do I make your stubby cocks that hard, Mase?” he asked, smiling wider.

“Yes,” Mayson repeated, impatient and aroused. Then: “Are you—?”

“Like steel. This whole time.”

Dwayne heard Mayson’s breathing through the connection. He wants to ask, Dwayne thought. He wants me to show him like he showed me. But he’s never done this before.

He decided to see if he could make it easier on the big guy. “There’s one thing I’m really glad about,” he said quietly.

“What’s that?” Mayson asked breathlessly, staring hard at Dwayne through the screen.

He looked Mayson right in the eyes. “You agreed to do this in person.”

And then he was there, alone with Mayson in the big, airy house with the sunlit gym. Mayson gave him a little, intimate smile from where he sat, only a couple of feet away. “Me, too,” he whispered.

Dwayne’s shirt was gone, tossed aside back in his apartment. And his jeans, which he’d taken off before he’d logged onto the chat. And his phone, and everything else. It was just him, newly buffed up and hung to match Mayson’s ideal, hard and horny in his navy boxer-briefs, staring at his own perfect man. He felt vulnerable in a way that was unaccountably exhilarating.

He reached for the elastic and slid the briefs slowly off his hips, letting them drop onto his feet, then he stepped out with one foot and used the other to very deliberately toss his briefs to land on top of shorts and jock strap Mayson had taken off moments before.

Mayson was eyeing him hungrily, his gaze sliding down from his face to his “great pecs” to his extra-fat 8-inch pipe. Dwayne took a step closer. “Is that what you wish you had, babe?” he asked. “Did you want to be this big?”

Mayson bit his lip, still staring longingly at Dwayne’s big cock where it quivered near the left crease of his hip. “Because that’s what your blue banana was for, Mase,” he said. “Or one of the things. They grow stuff. Like cocks.”

Mayson looked up, eyes wide. “How much?” he asked.

Dwayne smiled, and he found he was smiling in genuine happiness for Mayson. “Cocks? Cocks grow six inches.”

Mayson’s eyes got even wider. He stood up, revealing himself to be just a couple inches shorter than Dwayne. Dwayne was sure he’d been shorter than Mayson, 6’1” to his 6’3”. Had the model lied about his stats—or had Mayson leveled him up height-wise, too, when they’d unconsciously made Dwayne’s body into exactly what Mayson wanted to see? Would that keep going, Mayson’s gaze subtly remaking Dwayne every time he saw him? The thought gave him goosebumps, and his cock jerked hard.

“What else?” Mayson asked breathily.

“Hm?” Dwayne asked, momentarily lost in Mayson’s vibrant brown and gold eyes.

Mayson took a small step closer. “You said they grow ‘stuff’. What else?”

Dwayne’s gaze dropped to Mayson’s lips. Lips he’d fantasized about for months. He tried to figure out what Mayson could possibly want bigger about himself, but all he could think about was—

“Tongues,” he blurted. “They get longer. And stretchy, and—”

Dwayne wasn’t sure what else he would have said, because suddenly he was very busy kissing a very eager, very beautiful man who’d wrapped him up in his powerful, aesthetically perfect arms. Dwayne enfolded the hunk in his own arms, reveling in the feel of Mayson’s tapered back and the press of his heavy pecs and his rigid, leaking nine-inch cocks before the two men submerged completely in the most amazing, and longest-lasting, kiss either of them had ever imagined.

The snog was so good, so deeply satisfying on top of the anticipation they’d built up together, that Mayson abruptly broke and started cumming in huge gushes over their tight, closely pressed bellies. Dwayne immediately followed, blasting his cum over both of them, and they were gasping and giggling into each other’s mouths as they climaxed and then kept going, unwilling to stop tirelessly making out and holding each other tight, their hands slowly roaming each other’s dream bodies as afternoon became evening and they enjoyed each other more and more.

Later Dwayne remembered that he’d eaten a growth-inducing blue banana, too, with all the effects that entailed. For now he was way too busy kissing to notice.

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