One hot summer

by BRK   

Brandon and Eddie enjoy working for their pot-loving boss, Mike, at the pizza place near campus and are bummed they can’t stick around for the summer, too. Mike offers them a possible solution, though he doesn’t let them in on all his plans for the coming summer.

I think the thing I loved most about working at The Pizza Joint was the way Brandon Andros moved. He was so put together, with his chestnut hair styled and shaped just so, and that short, well-groomed beard of his always perfectly trimmed and somehow a complement those dark impeccable eyebrows above bright, ocean-blue eyes. And that smooth, faintly olive skin that was so flawless it could only be the product of routine diligence. His clothes were faultless as well. The forest green shop polo we all had to wear was unfailing tucked neatly into his new jeans, and even his chocolate-brown boots seemed immune to scuffs and scrapes. With all that attention to grooming I was sure he had a personality to match, full of attention to himself and his appearance and no doubt tragically born without the ability to unbend; which was a shame, as I saw it, because he was darn cute in an airbrushed, magazine-perfect kind of way. If I was going to be working next to someone three out of my four scheduled nights a week behind the counter, it seemed like a keen-eyed, fit-bodied square in well-pressed jeans was probably going to be a potential waste of good eye candy and good conversation.

Then I saw him swaying his hips to a beat for the first time, and it was over, done, locked up and put away. I was completely hooked.

We always had music on at the Joint. A few pizza places near here had local rock radio on or something like that, but our funky young boss, Mike, kept us going with a procession of homemade Spotify lists. Prince and Prince-inspired songs one day, Bruno Mars and Adele the next, that kind of thing, pitched just loud enough to add to the feel of the place without getting in the way of conversation.

It was about three weeks after Brandon started. I remember I came in from the back one Saturday afternoon with a new tub of mozzarella and I just stopped in the doorway, mouth slightly open and still as a statue, nothing else in my sight but him.

There was a Sam Smith song on, and as he was methodically spreading some fresh dough out into a large-sized circle Brandon was moving his hips in a slow circle I’d never seen him do or even imagined he was capable of. Every sinuous shift of those hips moved his narrow waist and long lower back in the same sexy way, and his firm, strong legs seemed interested in upping the ante and really starting to move. My attention, though, was caught on the center of it all: that sweet, rolling ass. My blunt tool swelled automatically in my jeans at the sight of those perfectly round, denim-hugged cheeks casually sashaying to the warm, liquid voice and easy beat currently filling the room, and my hands wanted to let go of the bin of shedded goodness I was carrying and grab hold around his hips on either side, with me coming up behind him and joining his slinky, sensual groove. I was hot all over under my clothes, and it had nothing to do with the pizza ovens I was standing next to.

I’m a pretty reactive guy. And for some reason, in that moment, I had to let him know what he was doing to me. Without thinking I slapped down the tub on the nearest counter and let out a long, low wolf whistle. Brandon turned sharply and saw me standing there grinning at him, arms folded over my chest, and even under his dusky Mediterranean complexion I could tell he was blushing.

“Eddie,” he said over the soft music. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly. But don’t stop on my account.”

He frowned slightly and started spiraling tomato sauce over his dough. “Don’t make fun,” he said.

“I’m not. I meant it. You should dance all the time.”

“I’ll second that,” laughed one of our regulars, a platinum blond football hunk who’d been stopping by a lot lately. Neither of us had noticed him suddenly materialize there on the other side of the counter, but when we looked guiltily over at him he was grinning toothily. “Keep dancing like that and I’ll get dinner here more often. And tell my friends.”

Brandon was definitely blushing now. I patted him on the shoulder. “Customer’s always right,” I said cheerily as I moved past him to the counter. “What can I get you today, Jay?” I asked our still-grinning regular. “Apart from Brandon’s ass, that is.”

“Geez,” Brandon muttered. But a few minutes later he’d seemingly forgotten about us as he worked on his pie, and sure enough that ass was groovin’ all over again.

Brandon was the main reason I was bummed about summer. That, and how relaxing it was working at the Joint in the general. College made me nervous. My future was like this brooding storm on the horizon, bearing down on me, and after three semesters of anxiety still don’t even know for sure what my major should be, much less my career. Some days it felt like the only thing I was good at was making pizza. It was a comforting rhythm. Those hours working dough and jockeying slices, and having fun talking with the people that came in looking for food and a friendly face, those were the best parts of my week for almost the whole time I was at college. Longer, actually, ‘cause my senior year part-time job at my uncle’s place back home was what got me the gig at the Joint the week I showed up at uni. Then Brandon came along, and I started looking forward to going to work for a whole new reason.

Summer was coming, though, and we were getting kicked out of the dorms. Without housing hereabouts that pretty much meant I’d be trudging back to Vermont and my four obnoxious brothers.

“Are they that bad?” Brandon asked with a half smile. It was late on a Friday, about twelve weeks after Brandon had started back at the beginning of spring semester. The shop was closed and we were in the back cleaning up; I was wiping counters and putting stuff away, and Brandon was up to his wrists in suds washing the trays and bins, his work subtly calling attention to the shifting muscles of his long, sinewy forearms. He wasn’t built by any means, but there was no waste on him, either. Everything you looked at, like now with the cable-like flexor muscles of his slightly hairy forearms, seemed to have been precision engineered to provide the maximum in strength, flexibility, and aesthetic appeal all at once.

It was getting so that Brandon was becoming a walking distraction for me, and I wasn’t sure whether to fight or go with it. Brandon was no help—he seemed completely clueless to my problem, despite the fact that my problem was him.

I willed myself not to stare and made eye contact instead. It didn’t help—his eyes were pretty distracting, too. With an effort I remembered the subject of our conversation—I was explaining about my annoying brothers. “They are absolutely that bad,” I assured him. “Every single one of them is eight years old.” At his confused look I explained, “Oh, they’re all teenagers now. Evenly spaced two years apart, like Mom pumped them out on an assembly line. But somehow they all ended up with the maturity of a toddler played by Jim Carrey.”

Brandon laughed. “I hear you,” he said, rinsing off one of the metal trays and setting aside. “I’m not keen on going home either,” he admitted. He took on another dirty tray. “My mother has this new boyfriend, and…” He shuddered.

“Say no more,” I said. “No one needs that.” I could empathize. Watching my brothers making out with their girlfriends queased me out just as bad. My older brother, Matt, opens his jaw so wide when he’s kissing it looks like he’s trying to swallow the poor girl’s face. I mean, who does that?

I sighed as I sealed up the big flour bin. “Man, the dorms closing sucks all around. I’d totally rather stay here for the summer.”

“Why don’t you?” said Mike. We whipped around, and Mike was there in the doorway, noodling on the iPad he used for keeping track of sales and finances. He wasn’t looking at either of us, but he must have heard at least some of our conversation.

“Can’t,” Brandon said. “Dorms are closed.”

Mike looked up at us. “I’ve got rooms at my house,” he said slowly, as if bunking at Mike’s house was the obvious solution and we were a bit behind not having already thought of it. When we gaped at him he went on, “It’s a win-win, right? I’ve got a big place standing practically empty. You both get to stay in town, I get to keep my favorite employees, and you make some bank on top of it. What do you say?”

The thing about Mike was, he was kind of impossible to say no to. He was just so nice and laid back, especially since he discovered pot a year or so back. He was already pretty chill when I first started working for him, but evidently he had a crazy brother in Colorado who bred all sorts of special strains of high-quality weed; and once Thad (I think his name was Thad) started turning him on to his best shit Mike got even nicer and even more chill. He didn’t smoke at work that I’d seen, but it was mixed into his smell like it was a part of him—baked in, so to speak. His demeanor was mellow enough, Brandon and I joked you could get a tiny contact high just off his smile. Even his voice was relaxing. It was low and smooth, like he could do voice-overs if he wanted, or hypnosis tapes for self-help addicts.

His body kind of intrigued me, too. Mike was seriously tall—taller than Brandon, and a lot taller than me, and he was naturally lanky. His body was just barely defined in terms of his physique, but the way he was proportioned you could tell by looking at him that if he just worked out a bit and put some effort in he would bloom with muscle. He’d be like a hot tennis star, or a taller version of one of those World Cup guys that are nice enough to look at that even Americans will watch soccer if they’re at all into guys. Brawn potential—that was Mike. Even without muscles he looked pretty good in that dark green Pizza Joint polo and the navy cargo pants he always wore. He kept his hair buzzed short and a bit of scruff, which made an interesting contrast from the coiffed and just-so Brandon. The two men in my life, I thought fondly, not that I’d so much as touched either of them outside of my dreams.

It did sound ideal. Work would be lower key during the summer, though seeing as how we had a good rep outside the school as well as in we’d still have plenty of business from townies and summer schoolers, so I’d still have the rhythm and the bullshitting with customers I liked. As a refuge from the unfocused stress of college, the Joint had been an oasis in my life: it was the one place I was the most at peace. Keeping that and ditching my stupid, smelly brothers to spend the summer with Brandon and Mike sounded like a dream.

Though I hadn’t been in it I’d seen Mike’s house just out of town, too, and it was big—bigger for sure than the cookie-cutter suburban ranch my family somehow crammed two parents and five boys into for the last twelve years. Just thinking about that sealed it for me. “I’m in,” I told Mike without hesitation. I turned a pleading gaze on my colleague. “Brandon?”

Brandon hesitated, looking between us. “What about rent?” he hedged.

Mike was back to fingering away on his tablet, probably finalizing the day’s take. “I’ll charge you a token amount,” he said as he moved his pixels around. “How does a couple hundred a month sound?”

Brandon snorted. “That depends,” he joked. “Can I live there forever?”

Mike looked up and aimed a wink at us. “Absolutely,” he said with a disarming grin, before turning around and heading back into the restaurant.

We went over to Mike’s house the next day before work, and the three of us went ahead and agreed that Eddie and I might as well move ourselves in on our next day off, just after finals, even though we still had another two weeks in the dorms before they closed. Wouldn’t you? I mean, his house was killer. It was this rambling two-story farmhouse with wrap-around porch on two sides and a sun-room added on and a deck looking out on a good acre or so of idyllic, lightly wooded property. Did Mike’s family rake it in this well from five decades of the best pizza in town, or was there more to it than that? I didn’t know.

The place was a blast inside as well as out. The kitchen was immense and mostly up to date, and the wiring had all been redone, too, so I could have my tablet, laptop, phone, and mp3 player all plugged in at once without worrying about torching the place to the ground. There was so much unused space upstairs Eddie and I had ended up with two rooms each, all pre-equipped with thick rugs and mismatched, leftover old furniture that still looked sound and durable—armoires, tallboys, wide walnut desks, stuff like that—and with a shared dual-access bathroom easily twice as big as the one I’d grown up in, complete with a cedar closet and a clawfoot tub big enough for President Taft. All the rooms needed were the beds, which Mike promised he was having delivered the day before we were set to move in.

After four semesters of loud music, louder assholes, and regular, truly heinous encounters with foul-smelling jock-vomit, I was ready.

It wasn’t quite that simple, of course, not for someone with my kind of messed up gray matter. I could totally hear my mother’s voice—she’d be thrilled to know how well I’d managed to internalize that strident, board-room bark of hers—warning me about how this man was someone I hardly knew, and how living in his home at a provocatively low rent put me at his mercy, yada yada yada. I’d secretly hoped dating this Wally character would distract her and tone her bitchiness down a notch, but if anything having a decade-younger climbing-instructor boy toy had given my mother an extra dose of obnoxious confidence.

It didn’t matter. I was already used to boxing up everything that voice said to me (about the corporate-finance career I was supposed to be building—I was, as she’d reminded me a hundred times, her only heir; about the courses I was supposed to be excelling at; and so on) and shoving that shit up on a high shelf in my brain to deal with later. This wasn’t much different. I considered myself a good judge of character, and Mike was solid. Plus Eddie had worked for him for years, and I could tell he would vouch for Mike without any reservations. Mike, I wasn’t worried about.

If I was going to be honest with myself, my only real qualms about the deal had to do with Eddie himself. The thing with Eddie was, I could tell he was into me. He was always teasing me about the nervous butt-dancing thing I do. I have all this extra energy, and where some guys fidget or tap their fingers or whatever I just can’t keep my butt still. If it wasn’t snark about my dancing, he’d be giving me that hungry look with the big smile. Or egging on that gay football hottie, Jay Johanssen, and his cute-nerd boyfriend whenever they came into the shop pretending they were only there to ogle my behind. Eddie was like that sometimes, up to 11 and no filter, like a yellow lab that couldn’t get enough of you.

It’s not like I minded, really. Honestly, I couldn’t avoid noticing I kind of had a thing for Eddie myself. He was shorter than I was and a little stockier—not muscled but not fat either, and like me not very hairy but just, like, a hundred percent guy, all made up of strong bones and hard thews and tough skin. He smelled masculine, too, not that I could explain what I meant by that. He had this jumbly pile of strawberry blond hair that I so wanted to push my fingers through sometimes. Especially if I had flour on my hands, or even a little tomato sauce. I kind of want to mess him up a little.

True, he was tidy enough when it came to his appearance, though he clearly drew the line at any kind of product. He tucked in his work polo, I think because I did and he didn’t want me to think he was a slob, but… well, was he a slob? At work he cleaned diligently and put stuff away whenever he was done using it, which was a good sign; but I had a sneaking suspicion he was secretly a tee-shirt-thrown-over-the-lampshade type whenever he was in his own space. Though I do admit, I kind of wanted to see what he looked like under there, once that pesky tee had been tossed aside. His shoulders were naturally broad but his waist was pretty trim, and I’d found myself lying in my bed in the dorm some nights wondering about things like treasure trails, and the places they might lead to. Whenever I was alone my mind tended to drift in his direction, even on the nights I hadn’t just spent eight hours shoulder to shoulder with him. I thought about his smile, his eyes, his body… and I’d be hard before you could say “pizza boy”. Which only made it worse, of course, because then I’d inevitably be imagining his secret tool all stiff and red and ready for anything I’d give him. I was pretty certain what he looked like down there, all thick and fat where I was long and slightly bent. Uncut, too, I was willing to bet. Probably with a hefty foreskin that you just couldn’t ignore. My mouth watered just thinking about it, and my nuts ached like I was deliberately screwing myself over by not making a move on him, or even flirting back. I was screwing myself over, and not in a good way.

And therein lay in the problem, because—truth, here—I’d never done anything with a guy. Or a girl, either, but lately it’d been guys filling up my head and swelling my wang and roiling my very impatient balls. In fact for the last couple of months it had been this one guy—this eager, smiling, irrepressible fireplug who’d be more than willing do give my tight sack the tongue-lathing it’d been craving if only I said the word.

Mike was an honorable mention, a guest star in the two-man show I had going in my head. He snuck in there sometimes, into the agonized sex fantasies I was too nervous to do anything about. Well, sure, why wouldn’t he. He was this relaxed-hot, like it was just a part of him. Maybe eight years older than us, but he looked younger, with a good head for problem-solving apparently inherited from his dad along with the Joint. He was what you call rangy. Taller even than I am, and not ripped at all but very trim, like he was constitutionally incapable of not being supremely fit. The stoner thing was mixed in, too, as a sort of undercurrent. You could smell the pot on him like it was all seeped under his skin, but it worked for him, sort of the way its calming, centering effects seemed to complement his personality. His strong physical presence usually set me at ease, and at the same time it turned me on as well. I had this feeling he’d be very… bendy, and the contemplation of that was something yet more persecution for my poor, lick-deprived ‘nads. And now I’d just agreed to move into his house and actually live with the guy, which would definitely up the ante—especially as I’d have laid good money Mike wasn’t too fussed about wearing clothes when he wasn’t out in public.

As I lay in my bed that night, one of my last nights in the dorms, I thought about all of this. The inevitable result followed, and with I sigh I reached down and began jerking my long, crooked cock with what could only be described as aroused trepidation.

By this point Eddie and I had the same schedule. Mike liked how we worked together and had put us on the busiest days three to ten. The Joint got a lot of its traffic doling out slices between afternoon classes, then the dinner rush was a steady mix of slices and whole pies, with late-evening pizza cravings at the dorms and the greeks rounding out the night. Larissa and some guy named Marco I’d barely met covered the nights we weren’t on, and Mike himself and an older part-timer from Mike’s dad’s day, Sal, covered lunches. We had delivery guys too for the second shifts. Mike was there pretty much every day, and I was invested enough in him after a whole semester working there I would’ve been worried about him putting in so many hours, if stress didn’t just slide off him like eggs off a perfectly greased pan.

So we moved in together late one evening on our next day off, our meager possessions stuffed in the back of Eddie’s hand-me-down Toyota, and got in with the keys Mike had already had made for us. We were both wearing tee shirts and shorts (me in army-style cargos, him in cutoffs), and I was trying not to think about the fact that Eddie’s sturdy, slightly hairy legs were kinda nicer than I’d imagined they’d be.

We slowed our step in the wide foyer, taking in the feel of the place. The first thing I noticed was that the house had this reassuring quiet and open feel with just us there, like it was this new realm to explore. The second thing I noticed was, not too surprisingly, the lightly pervasive background scent of weed. It was subtle rather than acrid, unlike more than a few dorm rooms I’d been in, but it was also everywhere, insinuating into the house as it had the man.

“I shoulda guessed,” Eddie laughed from behind a stack of milk crates full of desk junk and electronics.

“It’s totally Mike,” I agreed, repositioning my grip on the heavy duffels that contained pretty much all my clothes as we started moving again.

“I like it, though,” Eddie said. “It’s kinda making me horny,” he added, still sounding amused. I noticed he was falling behind me as we approached the stairs. The little fucker never missed a chance to scope my ass.

“Imagine,” I drawled. I was kind of glad he said it, though, because the truth was that my dick was loosening and chubbing a bit in my shorts just from being inside the place and breathing in its cannabis-tinted air. Something about this place was turning me on, and it wasn’t Eddie’s heated stare burning a hole in my cargos. Well, not only that.

We got our stuff moved in in short order—meager possessions, remember—and we were soon squared away except, as it turned out, for one small problem. I was in our shared bathroom, arranging my hair and skin products on what I’d decided to claim as my side of the ridiculously wide marble-topped vanity, when Eddie appeared at my side with an adorable crease between his brows. My dick flexed just at the proximity combined with the knowledge that we were alone, so I deliberately went back to unpacking my bottles and tubes and aligning them by size and function, and tried not to feel his body heat warming my forearms from barely an inch away.

“Dude,” he said, “have you seen my bed?”

“Nope,” I said, frowning at the tall bottle of mousse that had lost its cap and dribbled a little on itself in transit. I rinsed it off in the sink and teased, “Why, is it awesome? A thing of beauty?”

Eddie huffed. “No, I mean, have you seen it? Because I can’t find it.”

I frowned at him. How did you lose a bed?

“It’s not there?” I asked him. He shook his head. I followed him to his side of the floor, feeling slightly uneasy. The living room on his side was furnished with a worn but solid-looking desk, a chest of drawers, a wall-mounted TV a few years out of date, and big old plaid sofa and matching love-seat that looked very comfortable and only slightly used, with a dark, blocky coffee table positioned directly in front of the sofa that was just crying out for heaps of sodas and snacks. Eddie’s other room, which was at the back of the house with big windows like mine overlooking the sprawling back yard, was obviously meant to be the bedroom: there was a huge armoire and dresser, lots of heavy woven rugs, a small night stand with a nondescript lamp… and a big, empty spot where a bed should have been.

We crossed back through the bathroom to my side. My rooms were pretty much the same, though the furniture was different because none of the stuff up here matched. Plus there was a vintage stereo system (complete with a phonograph!) instead of the TV. The main difference, though, was that I had a bed. A king, in fact. Mike had said something about ordering a couple of fulls, which had seemed generous but reasonable at the time, and I’d bought a basic set of full-size sheets under that expectation. I now saw that a neat stack of linens clearly consisting of two new-looking sets of sheets, one navy and one rust-red and both no doubt sized for a king mattress, was sitting pertly on my heavy cherrywood dresser. Next to these was what appeared to be a thin, sky-blue comforter that looked perfect for the cool spring night ahead.

We stood there staring at my bed, which was the only bed we had between us. As we did so I suddenly had this uncanny sense of déjà-vu come over me, though it was a good minute before I could put my finger on what it was. Then I realized. This was exactly like one of those scenes from a frothy romantic comedy where the couple that isn’t supposed to be into each other is traveling somewhere and they go to a hotel and order a double room; only when they get up to the room they see that instead of two regular beds there’s one big one, and of course that’s the only room left. I snorted a laugh. Was Mike trying to do a “now kiss!” with us? Because that was pretty funny. And kind of sweet. A little scary for my virgin ass, but sweet.

“You… could always sleep on your couch,” I offered, still amused, though I could hear my heart thumping hard in my chest and wondered if Eddie could, too. “Until the other bed comes in, that is,” I added. In my head, the phrase “other bed” already had air quotes around it. To an outsider it might seem like Mike had had a stoner mind-slip; but I was becoming pretty sure Mike had never meant to order more than one bed.

“No way,” Eddie objected. “I’ve had bad experiences with sleeping on sofas. And I am not going to spend the summer with my back trying to kill me.”

I nodded. Sounded like, if he was already talking about the whole summer, at some level Eddie might also be cognizant of the not-so-innocent nature of Mike’s mistake.

I decided to mentally slide this up on that high shelf for the time being. Without another word I just turned and went back to setting up my toiletries.

Before long we were as moved in as we could get, so we retired to Eddie’s side to watch TV. We even ordered a couple of pizzas from the Joint. (Two pizzas? Sure. C’mon, leftover pizza is killer. Plus Eddie liked olives on his—yecch!) Mike delivered the order himself, something he usually didn’t do, just to say hi and check in with us. He was kitted out in the company windbreaker and everything. We got out our cash and tried to pay him, but he wasn’t taking our money.

Once the pizzas were unsleeved onto the hall table and he’d folded up the hot-pack he hovered a moment by the door. “So, you liking the place?” he asked, watching us curiously.

“Absolutely,” I said honestly. “It’s great. Say, Mike, when do you think the other bed’s coming in?”

I tried to ask it innocently, but he was on to me, and I swear I saw a glint in his eye. Eddie said, “Yeah, there’s a whole Persian rug where my bed ought to be! And I’m not sleeping on that, either,” he added to me, as if I’d suggested it.

Mike licked his lips and smiled; and the smile honestly seemed genuine, like he was thinking about how great this was turning out for all of us. “I’ll call them about it tomorrow,” he told us, still smiling. “Meanwhile, I better let you enjoy these,” he added, patting the pizza boxes. “Larissa’s are almost as good as yours, Brandon!” Then he turned, went out the door, and was trotting down the steps before Eddie had a chance to say “Hey!”

“Yours are good too, Eddie!” Mike called back without turning around. I laughed as I closed the door. Then we went upstairs and ate pizza and watched movies on Eddie’s couch and didn’t think about the bed situation until we were too tired to care. We stripped to our skivvies, made the bed together, and climbed under the sheets. There wasn’t even time for any awkward to brew between us before we happily conked out—me before him, as it turned out, which was kind of a shame as I was very curious to find out if Eddie snored as loudly as I suspected he did.

We slept in the next morning. I sleep in all the time; it’s why I work nights, and why I have only afternoon classes. But I was a little surprised to find Brandon was still asleep when I finally clawed my way up to consciousness. Brandon’s open and airy bedroom was already basking in the canary-yellow brightness of the high late-morning sun (we’d forgotten to draw the curtains the night before, evidently); but the real shocker wasn’t that Mr. Neat and Tidy was still slovenly snoozing at this late hour—it was the way my reserved, everything-just-so coworker and impromptu housemate was snuggling right up on me like I was one of those darn full-body cuddle pillows. I was flabbergasted and very, very happy at this development. My only explanation was that the calming and somehow liberating vibe of this place had done a number of him like it had me.

Seriously, he had his arms and his legs wrapped around me, his lips were resting against the side of my neck, and his full-blown erection was nestling casually against my butt, nearly in my crack. Only two layers of thin cotton kept the damp, warm tip of his hard tool from sliding right in between my cheeks.

I lay there in the middle of the big bed trying to drink in what I was feeling and store it away, in case Brandon retracted into himself again after he woke up and realized what had happened in the night, and made sure it never happened again. His arms felt limber and strong around me. His legs too. I bet he ran, just for fun. The way he was taller than me made it feel like I was securely enveloped inside his own personal space. He was warm, too, radiating a low, persistent heat, and my body was happy to take in everything he was putting out. And speaking of his cock! I loved the way it pressed easily against me, all hot and hard as iron. It felt big, too, and… not quite straight? That made me smile. Just like its owner, I thought.

I hadn’t fathomed how much I’d been truly craving this. The feel of him against me, his arousal from being with me. Not until this moment. For all the flirting I’d done I’d never actually made a move on him, and he’d given me only the merest hint that he was doing anything more that tolerating my affections. I’d been almost aggressively attracted to him, and I knew he knew it, but he was the opposite, not aggressive at all. If I’d jumped him he might have just gone with it, and that wouldn’t have been good for either of us. I had to know it was mutual. I had to know he wanted it, too; and with our situation this morning, with me folded up in every limb he had and his mouth nuzzling my sensitive nape and his power-stiffie rubbing close enough to my ass to make my hole twitch, I was hopeful I had my first solid clue.

Classes were over, but it was a Friday, which meant we had be at work for our regular three o’clock shift that afternoon. We silently, if red-facedly, pretended to ignore our respective boners as we climbed out of bed, then took turns in the shower (I had to whizz with a hard-on, which isn’t always fun) and got dressed in our separate rooms. By the time we managed to stumble downstairs was saw that Mike had already left for the Joint. He had, however, left a note for us in the kitchen—and a big plate of thick, delicious-smelling, obviously homemade chocolate-chip cookies, sitting there on the island like a present we’d gotten just for existing. They were still slightly warm—Mike must have only baked them that morning, while we were still unknowingly playing sleepy cuddlemonsters.

“Morning, roomies!” the note said. Mike’s handwriting pretty much looked like he wrote with his feet, but I was used to it after all this time and I didn’t have much trouble deciphering the note’s contents. “There’s plenty of food in the fridge and the cupboards, so make yourself at home, ha ha. Meanwhile, here’s a housewarming gift fro me. Does it count as ‘housewarming’ if it comes from your landlord, who already lives in the house and has been warming it already? Yes. I’ll say yes. Anyway, enjoy these, and I’ll see you at work. Mike.” He drew a little smiley face next to his name with its tongue sticking out, like he always did.

I turned from the note to grin up at Brandon. “What do you think? Cookies for breakfast?” I was hungry as fuck, like pretty much always, and right then I was dying to know if Brandon was a big-breakfast guy or an “I’ll have two egg whites and a tiny wedge of cantaloupe” guy. I was pretty sure he wasn’t a “What the hell, let’s have cookies for breakfast” guy, though.

Sure enough, Brandon just cocked an eyebrow at me before heading around to the big steel refrigerator and perusing its contents thoughtfully. After a lightning inventory of the cupboards and pantry, he started collecting various containers and packages and set about making us flapjacks with blueberry compote and bacon on the side. I sat at one of the stools on the far side of the island from where he was working and watched. What seemed like mere moments later he slapped a loaded plate down in front of me, and as I contentedly drew in the smells I fell for him just that little bit harder.

The cookies were not forgotten, though. We brought them upstairs with us with a couple glasses of milk, and after I finished hooking up my gaming system we scarfed them down ravenously like we hadn’t both just eaten a child’s weight in pancakes while having a blast shooting down hordes of slavering ogres and super-serumed orcs. We laughed uproariously as we finished wiping up the battlefield, partly because that last orc had collapsed and died in this really funny way and partly because we each leaned forward and reached for the plate at the same time, only for us both to realize it was empty. We’d actually managed to bolt down every last cookie from the huge stash of Toll House goodness Mike had left for us.

“You took the last one!” we both said in mock outrage, more or less in unison. Then we both laughed even harder. Brandon climbed nimbly on top of me—the couch was so deep I was almost horizontal—and started trying to tickle me. “I’ll get you for that!” he said. He looked a little wild, and not just in the eyes. He’d done his hair like usual after his shower, but now it looked weirdly mussed and tousled, like it was stretching to escape its product-imposed confines. He’d trimmed his beard, too—I’d heard the trimmer—but now he looked like he hadn’t. There was something funny about his torso, too. The raspberry-red tee shirt he was wearing seemed to be straining very slightly at his delts and it kind of looked like he had a hint of traps budding across the breadth of his shoulders. Speaking of straining, my dick was huge and rock hard—maybe it had been before—and despite his cargos and my cutoffs I could feel his was too as he moved his crotch against mine. I was incredibly turned on, not least from the deft fingers reaching up under my shirt and relentlessly exploring my obliques and intercostals, trying to find my tickle points.

Two could play at that game—I didn’t have four brothers for nothing. I reached up under that raspberry tee and found his vulnerable spots in seconds. He shrieked and laughingly grabbed my arms, hauling us around so I was on top of him, both of us longways now on the big sofa. It was a strange move on his part—or maybe not, because I instantly forgot all about how I had him at my mercy once I was on top of him.

My entire being was now suffused in a level of arousal I didn’t think I, or any human, could possible have yet experienced. Brandon was right there with me, too—I could tell from the burning lust in his fiery eyes as he stared up at me. My dick felt massive, like a barely controlled animal, and it was taking all I had not to rut savagely against the equally feral beast pressed unbearably against mine, through layers of clothing that so absolutely did not belong there their existence was like an affront against our equally lust-drenched dicks.

I stared hard into his eyes. “Bran,” I panted, bridling wildly at my own self-constraints.

“Yeah?” he rasped up at me, his eyes never leaving mine, either. I’d never called him “Bran” before, but he answered to it immediately, like it had been my secret name for him all along.

I gritted my teeth. I felt so flooded with horniness I thought I was literally in danger of drowning, unless I, we, did something about it, and five fucking minutes ago. “You better kiss me in the next ten seconds,” I warned him roughly, “or you won’t have the—”

Before I could finish he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my mouth onto his, and we sank into the fiercest, most necessary kiss in all of creation. My body pressed hard onto his, our dicks writhing together, and it was so hot, so thrilling, that our tongues hadn’t been sliding against each other for five minutes before a climax welled up in me like a tidal wave and I spent a giant load of hot, messy seed right there in my cutoffs, loving the way it felt like I was mashing my jizz straight into his raging erection. He bust his nut almost the instant he felt me cumming, and the squeezes of his shooting cock as it shoved against mine nearly drove me to another damn climax piled right on top of the first one. Our mouths never disengaged during the whole ordeal, the two of us snatching breaths desperately through our nostrils as we tried to kiss each other as deeply and as completely as we possibly could. We broke free at last, gasping and wide-eyed.

“Bed,” Bran huffed. “Naked. Now.” His pupils were so expanded the dark blue of his irises were almost completely lost. I nodded. We clambered out of the couch in mirrored motions and shucked our shirts and soiled shorts, casting them aside instantly forgotten as if they were vanished into the nothingness of nonexistence. I was unable to rip my eyes away from his body, and Bran was the same, staring hard at me like he had to have me. We were both still impossibly hard, completely unslaked by the primal orgasm we’d just had, despite the evidence of gobs of cum slathered over our dicks, our sacks, and beyond. In fact my balls, far from aching and calling up for me to take it easy as they should have been after such a release, were surging with what felt like bottomless reserves of cum and demanding I take action to ensure an even more colossal eruption at the earliest possible juncture.

Happy to oblige, I took Bran’s hand and pulled him into his bedroom; but once we got to the big bed he gripped my wrists and essentially threw me onto the mattress, climbing up after me and looming over me like a smiling panther about to devour its prey. It was all wonderfully unconnected to the reality we’d lost all consciousness of. It felt like we were floating, the bed was barely there; we were in the sky, and it was just us, and the moment we’d both always needed to happen had finally arrived.

“Please,” I begged him. “Fuck me. You gotta fuck me with that big tool of yours, Bran. I mean it.”

He looked down at his jumbo cock. It was long and cut, thick and slightly bent like I’d thought, a truly big and mighty dick. I might have had him beat in the girth department, especially the way my raging hard-on seemed to be straining at my very skin like it was trying to get bigger, but his was the largest cock I’d ever seen and I wanted it in me. I raked my gaze back up his surprisingly nicely muscled body and dwelled on his handsome, bearded face. His expression seemed slightly confused, like he didn’t quite recognize his own tool, but the second he lifted his gaze and met mine again the thought seemed to fall away and drop into the abyss.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, his breathing still a little ragged. Funny, his dick seemed to know the way—it was rubbing at the base of mine like a stallion champing at the bit. “We… we need lube, right?” he said doggedly, like he was having trouble working through his usual process of planning, assessing possible outcomes, and executing only when sure. Yeah, dude, forget that, it’s out the window when you’ve got a boner that hard.

I grinned. I had enough brain cells working to remember there was a fresh tube in my dresser drawer, but no way was I going to even suggest moving from where we were at right now. I’d go get it between sessions so we’d have it in here for next time, which I suspected would be be very, very shortly after this time. As in immediately. It would be simultaneously if that were physically possible.

“Use our cum, dude,” I said. “There’s enough if it, and you look like you won’t last any longer inside my tight ass than I will with you giving it to me.”

Bran groaned, like I’d gotten him close again just by mentioning my hole to him. “Don’t say things like—” he started to say. I cut him off with a kiss, more sensual this time. While we made out he used one hand to gather up the cum from our crotches, but instead of using it on his own cock he slathered it on mine instead.

I cried out into the kiss, then broke free. “Stop,” I said, and he halted in mid-stroke, gazing down at me like someone consumed with need. “You’re going to make be cum, and I want you in me when I blow.”

A smile spread across his kiss-swollen lips, like I’d surprised him with a compliment. “C’mon, Bran,” I said over the thundering on me heart, my dick trapped in his squeezing hand. “You know I’ve wanted you for ages.”

“I thought you just wanted my ass,” he said, his smile widening.

“Next time,” I gasped, and I could tell the idea excited him. “Now get it in me!”

He nodded, accepting the task. “I—I have to prep you, right? With my fingers?”

Damn it, more delays. I almost said no, but… that was one extra-huge dick he was about to shove into me. I nodded. “Make it fast,” I urged him.

He let go of my dick, much to its annoyance, and I spread my legs for him, feeling like I was pushing aside warm wisps of cloud with my feet. He found my hole and gingerly pushed a finger in. “Go,” I growled. He pushed in deeper, and I moaned. Fuck, I was ready for him. Maybe I hadn’t needed the prep—my ass was made for him. I barely contained myself as I felt two fingers, then three. “Enough,” I said. “Do it!” I stared into his eyes and, making my face utterly serious, I commanded him huskily: “Dance for me!”

Bran barked out a laugh before diving down and kissing me with urgency and passion. Then… then, as he pulled his face away, I felt his tip, pushing in rudely past my tight ring like it couldn’t hold itself back. He was looming over me balancing on one hand, the other resting low at my side; and strangely the fact that he was touching me on my bare hip unaccountably made me feel giddily naked, as if he weren’t pressing his prick against my hole. He was watching me, nervous and fervid all at once. Then head nudged a little further in, as cautious as its master, and my need to feel its full, hard length took up all of my attention.”Yes!” I told it in a low, growly voice, and him. “Yes!” It was all the reassurance he needed. That jumbo cock of his slid into me long, slow, and steady, like a freight train that was just starting up and would soon be rising to a dangerous speed and momentum. He pushed all the way in, down to the hilt, and… my god, that bend in his long, fat, very hard dick right nosed that head of his right up against my prostate.

I seized his heated cheeks in both hands like a spasm. I was having trouble finding words, or thoughts, but there was something I needed to tell him. “I’m not going to last,” I managed to get out, staring up into his sex-darkened eyes.

He nodded, a short jerk. “Me neither,” he whispered. He slowly drew back, then shoved in hard and deep. We both cried out. “Stroke yourself,” he demanded, pulling back for another go. I fisted my uncut dick and stroked myself hard in tandem with his thrust, and we yelled again in pleasure. If I’d been at all cognizant of the world in that moment I’d have expressed gratitude for the distance Mike’s house stood from the neighbors on either side—a far cry from trying to fuck in the crowded dorms—but my brain was toast. We were the world in that moment, me and my hands and my girthy hardon and Bran with his deliciously humpy body and his handsome face and hairy chest and his wonderfully crooked jumbo-sized cock. That was everything… that, and the universe-obliterating orgasm were were both building toward at light speed.

We didn’t last more than two more thrusts. I had both hands around my dick but I was barely stroking—I was so close to the edge I wasn’t sure I could stick out for Bran, but once again he was right there with me, cresting just as I was. Then with a final thrust we both cried out again and released monumental loads, the longed-for sensation of his hot jizz pulsing against my insides making me cum even harder in a euphoric full-body explosion of unending cum. I almost blacked out, and I definitely sort of lost focus for a while because the next thing I knew Bran was collapsed onto me, my sweaty arms wrapped tight and fast around his long, equally sweaty torso. He was still inside me, both of us still spurting the last dregs of our indomitable climax. We lay there for a while listening to each other’s heaving breaths until we were both spent, soaring on the edges of our shared release, alone together. It was like being incandescent and made of happy, all at once.

After a while Bran started to chuckle. “What the fuck happened to us?” he rasped into my neck. “I’m still hard for you.”

“Me too,” I said. Somehow, us moving in together had turned our bodies into sex machines and cranked our libidos up a notch or five. I held Bran close, and as my still-rigid erection flexed against his cummy abs, and his responded with an answering twitch where it lay still buried in my hot, tight ass, I realized with certainty that if this was to be my new reality I did not mind at all.

The boys were a few minutes late for work the day after they moved in, and that sped my pulse up a notch. Barry, the cute, skinny TA with the glasses who unfailingly came in at 3:05 every day and ordered two slices of white before his late afternoon labs, was already here, and no sign of the boys. Nice.

The music was on, low but present as always. It was a White Stripes kind of day, and I hoped I’d get a chance to see how Brandon moved to a backing track of that sort now that things had started to change—if they had. Barry was watching me from the other side of the counter as I slid his slices into the oven and shut the door. “What’s got you smiling?” he asked conversationally.

“Just a little project I’m working on,” I told him. “You want your Coke Zero with that?”

He nodded, and as I went over the refrigerated case he asked, “What kind of project?”

As if in answer, the boys suddenly stumbled in together at that very moment, having rushed in through the back. They looked flushed and slightly winded, almost like they’d run here, though I knew they’d probably taken Eddie’s beater Toyota. They gave me comically identical apologetic looks. “Sorry, Mike,” they said, and Brandon added, “We got—” (and here they both gave each other an aside glance, which caused them both to grin while reddening a bit further) “—caught up.”

I had to laugh. “No apology needed,” I told them, while giving them both a quick, critical once-over. They were just a bit disheveled, a condition that was especially noticeable on Brandon: not only were their store polos rumpled and untucked, but Brandon’s rich chestnut hair was a messy nest, like he’d combed it with his hands instead of a brush and hadn’t bothered with product after he’d gotten out of the shower. Their mussed states made my insides tingle a tad. It might have been the rush to get here after all the playtime they’d had, but then again… there might have been more to it than that. Certainly the other intended effects of the two special strains of weed I’d tried out on the boys were patently starting to manifest.

Though a stranger might not have noticed I could tell that their shirts were both nicely snug across their perceptibly swollen shoulders and around their firm, minutely rounded upper arms, and their gently improved pecs were starting to show a little where the soft green fabric draped over them. Their hair was not only tousled but seemed a scoche longer and looser, like a well-kept garden was turning wild by slow degrees; and Brandon’s always meticulously groomed beard looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in a couple days. A bit of dark, new chest hair was sprouting in the vee of Brandon’s polo, too, and there were even a few lighter hairs in evidence on the sliver of Eddie’s paler chest where his shirt made it visible as well. The usual sense I had of being well taller than Brandon, not to mention Eddie, seemed subtly muted, like things wouldn’t be that way for long.

Most telling of all, though, was their behavior. They were just a little stoned, I was pretty sure, but it was more than that. Both of my boys had low-level but persistent anxieties: Eddie’s was about at school, Brandon’s with his family, and most obviously they had been not-so-subtly sharing a mutual hesitation about each other. Now, though, my gut was telling me that their preoccupations were receding and their inhibitions were aggressively eroding away. From the way they were sneaking glances at each other, and the leveled-up bulges in their pants—were they both chubbed for each other? Or just bigger? Maybe both?—I knew one thing for certain: if these two weren’t standing here, right now, waiting me for me to get them started on the day’s work, they would be home fucking each other’s brains out.

I decided to needle them a little first. “You guys look great today,” I said. “You been working out?”

They blushed again and exchanged another grinning glance. They’d been working out, all right, but not at the gym.

I wanted to giggle. I was pretty sure that the reason Thad had been breeding these special strains of weed lately, with all these calculated interactions from various mixtures that he kept detailing in the notes and instructions he sent with all his packages, was that he wanted me to be a big mountain of a man like him… but this was way more fun. I’d stick with the regular, unenhanced stuff for my own tokes, thank you kindly; but the boys were another kettle of pot altogether.

“Barry’s whites should be ready,” I told Eddie, letting him off the hook, and he tore his eyes away from his new housemate long enough to turn his grin on me a second before going about his work. I had Brandon check the prep containers and open up a new sack of mozzarella before starting in on a delivery order we’d just gotten. He shared his grin with me as well, then started getting busy. I moved back to a corner where I could watch them both while retrieving my tablet and pretending to work on invoices. Both of them were moving around the place in utter contentment, like having hot butt sex and working in a pizza place was all a young guy could possibly need.

I was kind of turned on just seeing them like this… and imagining the summer ahead. I was, in that moment, pretty contented myself.

“You guys do look good,” Barry observed as Eddie handed him his slices on a tray with the bottle of soda I’d been interrupted from getting.

“Thanks,” Eddie said with another blush and a smile, taking his money—and a larger than usual tip. It was nice to watch from behind. From where I stood Eddie’s back looked broad and tapered—he was going to have lats. Brandon was staring too, but when he noticed me looking at him he ducked his head, keeping a secret smile for himself. I had to giggle again, and my dick shifted as I made a note on my tablet to buy some larger-sized uniform shirts. My guys were going to need them.

Man, this summer’s shaping up to be a dream. Everywhere I look there’s things I can’t get enough of. Sunshine so pure you want to bottle it and keep it in a cupboard for gloomy doomy days. This big, rambling, quirky house with unexpected rooms and odd surprises where I have space of my own for the first time since the fucking womb. Free time with no studying, no exams, and no papers was so great I was ready to postpone the end of summer into infinity and beyond. Pizza, of course—the best pizza. I thought I knew pizza before I started working at the Joint, but this is pizza where you taste that slightly soft crust and think, fuck, this would be good all by itself, and then you’ve got the beautiful melty cheese and the fresh-delicious slow-made sauce and everything to make it ambrosia-nectar-mannatastic. Best of all we always get two pizzas, which means I can get my own pie and slather it with olives if I want. My four olive-hating brothers became like a half-forgotten life on another planet I wasn’t going back to anytime soon if I could help it. Bran? Bran just wrinkles his nose at it and grins.

And speaking of things I can’t get enough of—Bran’s adorable face. And his butt, too, and his body, and his feet, and his long, thick, extra-hard dick, but—man. Every expression he makes. His enjoy-your-yucky-olives-you-sexy-weirdo face is definitely one of my favorites, but honestly every time he looks at me it gets me going something fierce. That total-focus, Mr. Intense face he makes sometimes when we’re gaming and it’s going fast and thick. The cute, bashful blush when he catches me leering at his perfect, mobile, waggly butt. The smirk when he’s about to pick up speed on our morning runs to see if stubby-legged me can keep up. The glint in his eye when he offers me the last Mike-brownie and then yoinks it back and snarfs it down himself, laughing right at me while he chewed like he’d tricked me out of the secret nuclear codes or something. Bran all powered down and perfectly content in the hammock outside, or nestling his head onto my chest as I hold him close at night while the two of us slide placidly into sleep in Brandon’s big, cozy bed. That’s the best. It’s so good it makes my heart hurt a little and my dick start to swell even if we’ve just gotten off twice and sleep was dragging us down like the Titanic. He’s growing out his beard a little, or at least he isn’t trimming it as religiously—heck, I’m much into the whole shaving thing this summer either—and that chestnut-dark beard of his was all soft and kinda perfect rubbling into my dirty-blond chest hairs as we spin slowly down into sleep, with his sweet face all simple contentment.

So, yeah. I like Bran’s face. I want to see his fuck-me-harder face—I want that pretty bad. I won’t have long to wait, either.

Bran hadn’t done the guys and cocks thing before, not until we kinda fell into bed together at Mike’s place. Actually he hadn’t done the girls and vaginas thing either, but the bottom line was he wasn’t used to dicks that weren’t his own yet. Me, I had four clothing-indifferent brothers in a small house and I’d been going out for football, baseball, and ice hockey since grade school, all of which I loved even without the covert locker-room scoping. So I’d’ve been copacetic being around dick in quantity by then even if I hadn’t realized I was into guys that time Tim Mathiason pushed me up against the wooden fence behind the bleachers after fifth-grade little league practice and asked me if I’d let him kiss me. The answer was fuck yes, by the way.

Not that Bran’s put off by my dick—not at all. He’s kind of fascinated by it, actually. When we’re in bed he likes to to fondle it, soft or hard, and if it’s hard—and it mostly is lately—you can bet his hand will be wrapped tight around it, feeling its heat and stiffness like its bonerness feeds him bits of extra arousal right through his skin. Or stroking me slow and careful, like he wants to make sure I get all the pleasure out of it I possibly can. Me being uncut was a novelty. He was astonished by the idea that the mobility of my foreskin and all the crazy amount of pre I generate means I can get off without needing any lube, a truth he’s been keen to prove for the last couple of weeks we’ve been living at Mike’s, night after night as he fucks me, and morning after morning as we stroke off while making out like we’re hungry for each other, which we totally are.

So he’s fascinated by my tool, like I said, but he’s also a bit intimidated. I can’t say as I blame him. My dick is a girthy fucker. It’s always been a literal handful, fat like a torpedo but wider, so it’s, like, almost oblong from above—kinda the shape of a watermelon, not the round kind but the wide kind. Thick, oblong, girthy—that’s my dick. Around Bran, though, it’s like gotten extra hard and extra huge, like I’m so into Bran—and fuck, I so am—that it’s actually stretched my dick bigger and fatter. My whole body’s that way. My brain is so blissed with endorphins all the time I can’t think of anything but him, and my bod’s all tight and hot and thick all over. Even my chest hair is sprouting and curling, I’m so hot for this guy. Old anxieties fell away forgotten like shed skin just from being with him, in this house and this job, and having our summer together that’s just that and nothing else. Fucking bliss. I feel strong and beautiful and made for fucking, twenty-four/seven. It’s such a rush just being around him and finally getting to be with him after all the long, slow, crazy-making build-up of lust since he started working at the Joint. My dick, though, man, all that goes extra for my dick. And when Bran’s got that strong hand of his and those long fingers wrapped tight around my dork, man, I can almost feel it wanting to pump bigger and thicker and harder with every single pulse.

So I developed a plan for Bran and my dick. It’s a very simple plan. It goes like this: hand; mouth; ass.

I told you it was a simple plan.

There was a side plan, which was to remain constantly shirtless when not at work so that Bran was confronted by my manliness at all times. This part of the plan backfired on me, because Bran quickly instituted the same policy for himself. Not only did he make me incredibly hard just looking at him, I was so acutely aware of his tight, lightly hairy, hard-muscled and totally shirtless torso, whether combined with board shorts, or clingy gray boxer-briefs, or total post-shower nudity, that it tended to swallow up anywhere between most and all of my attention, even when Bran wasn’t in the room.

I was on safer ground with hand; mouth; ass.

“Hand” was a go from the beginning. I think his paw slipped around my spent but still half-chubbed dick that first night while he was asleep, and it never left. If I’m naked, it’s there. Step one: check.

Step two is tonight. He doesn’t know it yet, but tonight, after our shift, Brandon Andros is going to suck my juicy, girthy, uncut dick, and he’s going to love it. I cannot fucking wait.

“Woof, man. You been working out?”

I was handing Jay, our resident platinum-blond football god, his three large slices of white (one each for him and his guy—they liked to share the third one), but my mind, and my eyes, were on other things. Specifically, they were on Eddie, who was even randier than usual today. Right now he was completely, wildly boned in his extra-snug black work trousers, just like he’d been for hours. He was turned away from me at the moment, but it didn’t matter. There he was, five feet away spreading mozz over a fresh pie, so hard in his pants for me I was pretty sure I could smell it even over the tomato sauce and the garlic and all the rising dough.

I remembered Jay and turned back to him with a guilty smile. “Huh? No, not really,” I told him, finally making eye contact. I gave him a crooked smile. “Morning runs, that’s all.”

He grazed his eyes up and down my torso like he was groping me with his eyes. I shifted my shoulders against my thin, too-tight work polo. I was kind of used to no shirts at all by now thanks to our duelling shirtlessness game at home. Anyway mine must have shrunk in the wash, because the thin, slightly stretchy cotton blend was feeling really tight across my chest and shoulders. Eddie’s too for that matter. Eddie’s was so plastered on him you could see the cuts in his abs. When he put it on that afternoon before work I thought his damned nips were going to drill holes right through the straining fabric.

“Tha-a-at’s not from going for a run,” Jay said slowly, his pale blue eyes full of appreciation. “That is some serious workout muscle.”

“And he should know,” chimed in his boyfriend Zac, a fit but non-jock biracial dude who was clearly Jay’s biggest fan. “C’mon, babe, make a muscle,” he teased.

“I’m not gonna make a muscle,” Jay said dismissively, though he brought up his right arm and did a bicep flex anyway literally just for a second, briefly stretching the short sleeve of his blue compression tee. Zac wolf-whistled happily and started shaking red pepper over their slices.

Jay wasn’t done, though. He nodded toward my own weirdly shirt-straining upper body. “You’re the one that should make a muscle, bro,” he said.

I ducked my head a little, abashed, and tried to turn it back around on him. “Come on,” I said playfully, jerking my chin toward Zac, who’d finished doctoring the slices and was now pulling a couple of sodas out of the cooler. “What’s your boyfriend going to think? He’s standing right there.”

Zac grinned and, slapping the sodas down on their tray, slipped an arm around Jay’s narrow waist. “Are you kidding? Scoping out you guys is our favorite activity as a couple.”

“In spades,” Jay confirmed with a wide, toothy smile. “You think we come here for the pizza?”

I gasped and grabbed my chest in mock offense. Jay, however, was not to be sidetracked. “Do it,” he pressed, smiling even wider. “Let’s see a little double-bi action. The customer’s always right,” he added in a sing-song. He wiggled his eyebrows, which were a couple shades darker than his spiky white-blond hair.

“Yeah, do it,” Zac begged, and his smile was even wider than his boyfriend’s. “Do it! Do it!” he chanted, and Jay joined in.

Then I heard it from behind me, too. “Do it! Do it! Do it!” Eddie urged, taking up the chant, his voice all low and excited. I turned to look at him. He’d finished his pie and stuck in in the oven already, and now was leaning back against the counter, grinning like Jay and Zac teaming up on me was the best show ever. Yep, he was still hard. Fuck. I was half-hard or more just from being around him. I’d probably be completely boned if I hadn’t proactively tucked my long, thick, and now-aching dick under my balls in my boxer briefs the moment it had gotten soft enough for me to get dressed before work, and it was starting to escape anyway. It’d be free to get all hard any time now, all thanks to Eddie.

I just stared for a second while he egged me on. The way he had the backs of his palms on the marble countertop behind him made his shoulders all wide and square and bulging thick with strength and masculine hotness, and fuck, he was the one that should be showing off for Jay, not me. Eddie’d always been kinda built—I was more the swimmer’s build type, especially as I was the taller one, though I admit my shirt and trousers shrinking in the laundry like this did kind of make me look like I spent all my time doing crazy reps at the gym. Eddie, though—he was muscle-hunky for real. These guys were just razzing me ‘cause I blushed easy, I decided.

That’s when I noticed Mike leaning against the doorway to the back room. His arms were folded over his chest and he was watching the whole scene with vast amusement. I met his eyes and he gave a little shrug that was like, “Well?”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Jay and Zac, only to see that the handful of other customers in the store were watching as well, interested. Two women near the door had joined the chant, which was getting pretty loud and insistent. “Fine,” I said, doing my best to sound exasperated, and the chant turned to cheers and chaps. I raised both my arms and did a double-bi so quick it was almost subliminal. Even for that brief second, though, I could tell the hems on my polo sleeves were so taut around my upper arms I actually had to exert some effort to fully flex against them. The words “flexing out of clothes” suddenly surfaced in my muddy brain. I’d seen videos like that—Eddie had shown me a couple the other day, actually, and suddenly I was thinking a bizarre and unexpected thought: I could do that.

My super-quick flex, meanwhile, did not impress my audience. “Awww,” Jay moaned, disappointed but laughing. He handed me a twenty for the slices and drinks. Zac booed, and so did Eddie and couple of the other customers.

I put the twenty away in the register and started pulling change. “Buy a whole pie next time and you get the full gun show,” I said dryly.

Jay slapped the counter. “Sold!”

I shook my head slightly and offered him the change, but he waved it off and turned away with his tray, heading for one of the tables. I shrugged and dropped the change into the tip jar, then turned to find Eddie smirking at me. “The gun show,” he repeated.

“Shut up,” I said, but when he snorted a laugh I had to grin, too.

“Nice upsell,” Mike said, obviously intent on teasing me as mercilessly as Eddie.

“Thanks,” I drawled.

He winked and nodded behind him toward his office. “For that, you get a cookie,” he said. If I hadn’t known about his baking fetish I wouldn’t have known he was serious. Instead I perked up—one of his special homemade chocolate-chip cookies sounded pretty awesome just then. He turned and headed back, and I immediately followed.

“Aw,” Eddie protested, trailing after us. “I want one too.”

“You too, Eddie,” Mike said. “There’s a whole baggie.”

“Woo-hoo!” Eddie exulted, crowding into the little office behind us.

Mike pulled the gallon-size Ziploc out of a drawer and handed it to me, eyes glinting. Eddie’s face lit up—Mike had made the cookies big this time, a good four inches across, and the surfaces were thickly dotted with chocolate chips and mini M&Ms. I could tell just looking at them that they were firm but soft to bite into and totally, heartbreakingly delicious like always. I opened the bag and retrieved one of the jumbo treasures, drawing in a good whiff of the captivating scent as I did so. “By the way,” Mike was saying from somewhere next to me and yet weirdly far away, “your new polos will be in tomorrow.”

“Thank god,” Eddie said, snatching the bag out of my hand after I’d barely managed to pull my cookie out. “My shirt’s hugging me so tight Bran’s starting to get jealous,” he joked as he got his out—the cookie, I mean. Then our eyes met and I kind of fell into those warm, pale green pools for a while, almost like they were actual tropical pools and I was just going to laze and swim and float under the sun in both of them all day and all forever.

I was totally hard now, hugely rock-hard in my work trous, maybe I had been for a while, I dunno, and I was totally sure I could sense Eddie’s hardness too thrumming through me even from a foot away. Suddenly the cookies we were both holding in our hands were kinda forgotten, and it was all I could do not to bend Eddie over the office desk and make sweaty, passionate, shirt-ripping love to him right then and there, and our extra-tall boss could either go somewhere and keep busy for a while or stay and watch, either way.

Mike chuckled. “Keep ’em in your pants at work, boys, if you can,” he said in mock remonstration as we stared hard at each other, in multiple senses of the word. “Health codes are a bitch.” He passed out of the room at some point, maybe right then, but I barely noticed, and we both slowly ate our cookies staring at each other and giggling, like our being into each other was the best thing any two guys could possibly share. Though the cookies, I had to admit, came close. Okay, yes, the fucking, and the making out, and the cuddling and all that. But the cookies too.

I was in the tiny bathroom behind the back room, trying to piss with a granite-hard boner—seriously, I loved being this horny, but every guy has that moment when he wishes there was this, like, ten-second off switch, and it’s usually when you’re trying to take a whizz while you’re boned up like the fucking Washington Monument—anyway, I was just managing to get it all in the bowl by sitting down and pushing down hard on the thing so it didn’t spray all over the tile wall in front of me when there was a rap-rap-rap on the bathroom door.

“Yeah? Kinda busy in here,” I said. I’d managed a system, but it was still taking a while this way.

“I bet,” Bran said, like he could guess my predicament. It’d be tougher for him, I realized, getting it all in the bowl, on account of he’s got a few inches on me. Though mine was looking and feeling way huge today. “Listen, there’s some guys here for you.”

I blinked at the door. “‘Some guys’?” I repeated. “What ‘guys’?” I tried to think who I might have pissed off enough to show up at my job and rough me up, but all I could think about was Bran’s naked ass. Okay, the plan, I coached myself. Hand–mouth–ass. Stick to the plan.

“I dunno, Edds,” Bran said through the door. He’d been calling me that the last couple days. My own pet name. I loved it. “They’re these skinny, strawberry blond, grinning fireplugs that look a whole lot like you,” he went on. “And each other.” He sounded amused.

Part of my world crumbled a little as realization hit me. “Fuu-u-uck,” I moaned. Either they were here early or I totally spaced on the date. I forgot what I was doing for a second and briefly let up my downward pressure, long enough for a brief burst of piss to spray past the seat and spatter a bit of the tile opposite me in the minuscule room. “Fuck,” I said again, more sharply this time, as I pushed my dick down hard and tried forcing out the rest of my whizz. “I’ll be right out,” I called.

“No rush,” Bran said. He was definitely laughing it up at me out there, though he was hiding it well. “I plied ’em with anchovy slices and shots of whisky.”

“Funny,” I said. I gritted my teeth as I squeezed out the last of my piss through my fat, protesting boner. If that was really my brothers out there, hand–mouth–ass was totally fucked.

“The moment we heard Eddie’d landed this big old house for the summer, we told Mom and Dad we were heading down here for a week and there was nothing they could do about it,” Jimmy was explaining to Bran, as Jase bit into the last slice. We were tucked away in the big booth, Bran, my middle brothers, and me. It was past closing and we had the place to ourselves. I’d already locked up at midnight. Mike did the lunch and dinner rushes and went home at eight, so he left the keys with me to close up.

Jase was nodding fervently. He struggled to swallow and said, “The house is pandemonium. Way too many people. Matt came home from State last week—and Uncle Carl and Aunt Flo are staying over,” he added to me. “And their kids.”

“Uncle Carl says the fishing is better at Lake Junicoga by us,” Jimmy put in, “but Mom says she just wants to get away from his mother-in-law.”

“She has the attic apartment in their house,” I explained to Bran. He nodded.

“Plus Kevin and Joey are over all the time, mooching off Dad’s cooking,” Jase went on.

Bran looked back at me. “Neighbors,” I supplied. “Their mom’s a shitty, shitty cook.”

“Totally,” Jase agreed. Bran nodded again, lips curving, though he took a swig of Sprint to try to hide it. I think he was entertained by our chaos. It was kind of funny, once you escaped it. I could see how he’d pegged them as my brothers: apart from the dark-framed glasses they both wore they looked like me pretty much, to an outside observer anyway. More than they looked like Matt and Hobie—those two were both darker and looked more like Mom. There’d been more than one occasion the three of us, Jimmy, Jase, and me, were out together and we’d been taken for trips, especially when we were kids. They were definitely built like me, maybe an inch taller, with the same light green eyes and kinda pale skin that tanned rather than burned, thank god. The same shaggy hair, too, though actually theirs was a little closer to regular blond than mine—Mom always joked they’d spilled some cherry Kool-Aid on my head as a baby and never quite gotten it all out.

They definitely seemed narrower in the shoulder than me, though. In a direct contrast to us and our too-tight polos, their kitch tee shirts—Mr. Bubble on brick red for Jimmy, Curious George on brown for Jase—were a size too large and sort of hung off them, even though I knew they were more than decently buff underneath.

“So,” Jimmy said, “we reckon: we’re 18, we got a car, we got a couple weeks before our summer jobs start at Woody Hole—”

Bran spit out some of his soda, and we all laughed. “It’s the local ritzy summer camp,” I clarified, chuckling as I wiped his beard with a napkin.

“It’s been called that for a century,” Jase said, still laughing around the last bite of crust. He dusted his hands together to brush off any remaining crumbs. “What a joke. We’re just lowly counselors, but the pay’s great.”

“And in the meantime,” Jimmy continued doggedly, “we figured we can get some peace and quiet, crash with our big bro in his big empty house.”

“Not so empty now,” I muttered. Bran was looking at me questioningly. “They emailed me a couple days ago about checking out the college again and maybe staying a week or so and looking around, since they’ll be here in the fall,” I said. “Mike said it was okay, I forgot.”

Bran smiled. “You forgot,” he repeated, and there was a little sauciness in his voice, like maybe he knew what had had me so distracted.

“Yeah, fuck you,” I said. And the fucker wiggled his eyebrows at me. Shit, was he—? No, he can’t be ready yet. Hand–mouth–ass. That was the plan. Stick. To. The plan.

“Uh oh,” the twins said, leaning forward looking gleefully back and forth between us. “Looks like we intruded on Eddie’s little love nest,” Jimmy added.

“I can’t wait to tell Matt and Hobie about this,” Jase taunted.

A bad thought occurred to me. “Please tell me Hobie’s not sitting out there in the Honda,” I pleaded. Hobie always fell asleep in the car.

“Nope,” Jimmy said. “Soccer camp. Days only, though, so he’s still home and underfoot the rest of the time.”

Jase mimed his smart phone, waggling the pretend device provocatively. “And only a text away!”

Ugh. Brothers are the worst. Fortunately, mine are easily bribed, and they had a sweet tooth. Which meant that I had a secret weapon. “I got something to shut you up,” I told them. I glanced at Bran and nodded toward the office. “Babe, could you—?”

He was already getting up, still hugely entertained by the brotherly madness. “Way ahead of you,” he said. Actually, it was a miracle the baggie was still there for me to fob off on Jimmy and Jase, but as it turned out a squall of customers had come in right while we were still eating those first cookies we’d grabbed and staring at each other like Ariel and Eric, the upshot being that Mike had called us out to toss pizzas around and be our usual charming selves—otherwise we probably would have gobbled up the whole bag. Instead we’d sealed it up to grab later and take home with us. Now, our trove was serving a more useful and strategic purpose.

I watched Bran’s ass longingly as he headed for the back—fuck, I was totally hard again. I’d gone down to half mast while I was dealing with Frick and Frack, but around Bran these days I was never not boned for long, especially if Bran’s butt was anywhere in sight.

When I looked back at my siblings they were sporting matching shit-eating grins. “What?” I said.

“‘Babe’,” Jimmy repeated. Jase made kissy-smoochy noises.

Ugh. Brothers. “Shut up,” I said, glowering, but they both just snickered at me.

Instead of loitering any longer at the Joint we handed off the cookies to Eddie’s brothers with the promise of milk back at the house. Happily appeased, for the moment anyway, Jimmy and Jase followed us back to Mike’s stately home. We knew from previous nights that there wasn’t much risk of Mike being disturbed at his end of the place with our shenanigans, but as we headed up the walk, leaving the twins’ bags in their car for the morning, we still warned the brothers to keep it down. It struck me a little funny, as the crickets and other nights sounds out here away from town were a lot louder than any of us.

“Impressive,” Jimmy said, as he took in the moonlit estate. “Our whole family could actually fit in here.” Eddie snorted.

“It is pretty big,” Jase agreed, keeping his voice low. “Speaking of which, is there, like, an Olympic gym in the basement or something, bro?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you have to admit, you’re looking like a real beast,” Jimmy said. Eddie and I were flanking the twins as we made for the front door from where we’d parked on the street (the garage only had room for Mike’s drop-top Nissan), and they were both looking him over curiously.

“It’s these work polos,” I put in. “Shrank in the wash.”

“Uh huh,” Jase said doubtfully.

I ended up being the one to unlock the front door and led the way in. Once inside I pocketed my keys while Eddie shut the door and flicked the locks. Then, following an already ingrained habit, we both grabbed our shirts behind the collar and sloughed them off in one swift move, like we were trained in synchronized stripping. I froze, shirt in hand, and turned to see the twins gaping at us. Eddie looked a little chagrined—as well he should be, since he’d started the shirtless thing in the first place.

“Uh—feel free to get comfortable too,” I said lamely.

“No thanks, we’re good,” Jimmy said. It was at that point I realized that their jaws were dropped less from the fact that we’d pulled our shirts off—in unison, which really should have been their gig—so much as at what we looked like underneath.

“Yeah, we’re not quite as… ripped as you guys,” Jase added, sizing us up like a pimp who’d just lucked into a couple of rainmakers.

“For Pete’s sake,” Eddie scoffed. “I never see you guys wearing shirts in the summer. Or pants.”

“Yeah, on account of no one in our house looks like a friggin’ superhero,” Jase said, laughing nervously. There were still goggling at us, and with the air conditioning on in the house, and both of us being boned up (which, thanks to our dark work trousers and the low lighting in the foyer, the brothers seemed to have missed so far), I was acutely aware of the fact my nips were very firm and hard at the moment—Eddie’s too.

“Except with chest hair,” Jimmy noted, taking in the creamy strawberry-tinged blond hair hugging the muscles on Eddie’s lightly tanned torso and the darker scruff on mine. “So, are you a personal trainer or something?” he asked me. “‘Cause I’d have said Eddie couldn’t’ve have gotten this swole if he gene-spliced himself with Dwayne Johnson.”

I blinked at him. “I make pizzas,” I said. What was he going on about? How had he not noticed how muscled his big brother was?

“All right, we’re not going to be the only ones, and you guys are being hypocrites,” Eddie said grumpily. “If we were home your shirts would be gone by now, so stop wasting time and pull ’em off.”

“Uh…” Jimmy said.

Eddie cut him off, gesturing to the baggie of cookie goodness Jimmy was carrying. “Shirts off or no milk,” Eddie said sternly.

The twins looked rebellious for a moment, then caved. “Fine,” they said, like Eddie bossing them around was nothing new. “Here, hold this,” Jimmy added, passing him the cookies. Then the two of them pulled off their tee shirts, and, though they did it from the waist and up instead of from behind the head like we did, they still managed to make it more or less a single, fluid motion in stereo. Their bods were nothing to be ashamed of after all that, by the way: they were built short and a little stocky like Eddie, but their gently tanned torsos were actually very pleasingly muscled and cut hard and tight like a swimmer’s, with thick, square, mostly hairless pecs and impressive six packs.

“Not bad,” I said judiciously. “As a newly confirmed connoisseur of male pulchritude, I can attest that you are both certified hunks.”

They snorted, and Eddie gave me a wry look. He handed back the cookies, and they tried to give him their tee shirts in exchange. “Keep yer stinky shirts,” Eddie said, turning away from them. “Kitchen’s this way.”

In the end we stayed up another hour or so, I’m actually not sure how long, talking and laughing around the polished-walnut dining table in the big breakfast nook off the kitchen. Jimmy and Jase commandeered the cookies, reminding us of the bribe they’d accepted, but it turned out okay because Mike had left us something new on the kitchen island: a cold plate stacked with big mint-frosted fudge brownies. Eddie and I downed almost the whole batch, though I’m certain Jimmy and Jase managed to sneak a few of those, too. Compared to the chocolate chip cookies the brownies seemed extra-intense, like they were packed with concentrated flavor, and between the four of us we went through a whole gallon of one-percent to wash it all down.

I got to hear about the two remaining brothers, Matt, the 22-year-old older brother (not that he sounded like he acted it), and Hobie, the youngest at 16. The twins told embarrassing stories about Eddie’s antics as a toddler, which Eddie more than made up for in gleeful reciprocation. I don’t know when I’d laughed so much talking about family. No one in my brood would have ever even thought to demonstrate how to make the letter P by pulling out his weenie and actually peeing the shape of the letter on the kitchen floor, as Eddie apparently did at age 3, thinking it was a hysterically funny joke to do so; and even if they had, the tale would certainly never be spoken aloud under any circumstances, ever. Jimmy and Jase barely got the story out and could not stop laughing for at least five minutes, while Eddie just grinned and shook his head, waiting to get his due. It was great. I understood Eddie and the twins wanting to get away from the madhouse, but a bit of me wanted to go back with them and graft myself onto the family tree.

You’d think Eddie and I would have relaxed, arousal-wise, during all this, but the truth was we were getting more and more horny as we sat there talking and laughing and scarfing down Mike’s baked goods, and our minds were getting more and more clouded with the awareness of our need for each other and how bad we wanted it. We fought it and kept the conversation going because we didn’t want Jimmy and Jase to think we were sex-starved animals, but, fuck, we felt like sex-starved animals. Eddie, ever the instigator, was brazenly rubbing his leg against mine from the moment we sat down, and it got to the point that he was resting his hand on my thigh under the table, then rubbing my leg, then slowly drawing his hand back toward my throbbing cock—all while they were trading stories of untimely barfs and toddler public nudity.

When he finally got to his prize it was like an egg timer went off in my brain—ding! “Okay, time for bed,” I said, straightening up in more ways than one. We all got to our feet, feeling a little woozy and weirdly stoned from all the sugar, I guess, and very, very, stratospherically horny. The twins wanted to shake hands with me and say it was nice to meet me, but shaking hands just seemed complicated and formal, so we just hugged really tight, Jimmy first and then Jase, all of us giggling because we were all really majorly boned and our dicks were digging into each other as we hugged. There was even some kissing when Jase hugged me, which seemed perfectly normal at the time, except Jimmy complained he hadn’t gotten to kiss me, so Jimmy and I hugged again but with kissing this time.

Then Eddie complained that he was supposed to be the one doing the kissing, so Jase hugged him and they kissed a little until Eddie was like, “No, wrong kisser.” So Jimmy pulled off of me and hugged Eddie instead and they kissed a bit, and Eddie was even more confused. I was trying not to laugh my ass off. Finally I just grabbed my lover-guy by the hand and we stumbled upstairs and into my bed, Eddie falling on his back and me collapsing on top of him.

“You’re still wearing pants,” I teased.

Eddie nodded, then said solemnly, “Mouth.”

I didn’t understand. Eddie giggled.

“Hey guys?” I looked up, and saw that the twins were standing in our doorway. My doorway, I guess. But Eddie is always in here, and he doesn’t have a bed, which means this has to be his bedroom too. So, our doorway. They were shirtless and blond and buff and still wearing their glasses, which now struck me as funny, like they were stuck between Clark Kent and Superman. Only, twin Super Clarks. And blond. So now Eddie and I were both giggling.

The twins were grinning, too, but serious, too, and kind of hanging on each other, like they needed to collapse the way we had. That’d be funny, I thought, if they collapsed exactly the way Eddie and I had, with their boners pushing into each other and everything. “So,” Jimmy said, “are we sleeping—where?”

I giggled a little more. “Whut?” I said, because—was that a question? I didn’t think that was a question.

“There’s no beds,” Jase clarified. “Are we sleeping in here? With you guys?”

That sounded like the simplest solution to me, but Eddie said, “Naw. You guys have to sleep in the closet.”

I remembered what he was talking about and snickered. “Yeah,” I confirmed. “You gotta sleep in the closet.”

The twins both glanced at the door to the walk-in closet opposite the big bed, then looked back at us with comically identical frowny faces. We giggled harder. “Two doors down on the right,” I said helpfully when I could, nodding with my chin toward the hallway behind them. They didn’t move. I tried to be encouraging, though I was still snickering. “The closet. You’ll see.”

I blinked, and they were gone, so I guessed it worked. I turned back to Eddie and my eyes got caught and I just had to drink him in for a minute. We kissed a while. His tongue seemed adventurous and kinda long, which was super hot. Not to mention his stubble, which was more than stubble now, like he’d decided to grow a soft, cozy little beard and just went ahead and did it. That was almost as hot as the tongue, or the way he seemed so fucking strong under me, my thick-muscled fireplug lover. Or the way our huge hard dicks were grinding against each other while we made out like animals.

Finally I got my thoughts together somehow and pulled back enough to say, “We were talking about pants.”

Eddie nodded solemnly. He was panting a little. “And mouth.”

I grinned. “Good,” I said, “because I—”

Suddenly from down the hall we heard the sound of something metal unfolding, followed by the twins loudly going “Ooooh!!” in unison, which meant they’d found the Murphy bed we’d discovered in one of the spare bedrooms on our side of the house a few days after moving in. We immediately dissolved into helpless giggles, and it was a good few minutes before my desperate horniness shouldered aside my mirth and reasserted itself. Instead of trying again to say what I wanted to say, though, I just wiggled down the bed until Eddie’s crotch with its enormous bulge clinging to his practically fist-wide dick like he was smuggling sausage out of the Joint… which he kind of was! Okay, don’t laugh, I coached myself. I gave the rigid, thick bulge a big kiss through the heavy fabric of his work trous, then snaked myself the rest of the way down the bed so I could remove said trous—and then I tumbled right off the end of the bed and landed in a heap on the floor.

I was disoriented for a second, until I heard a new burst of giggles from up on the bed. Then I was laughing, too. “I’m okay!” I called up to him, because that’s what people did when they had a funny accident offscreen with thumps and clangs and crashes and all the sound effects. Like in It’s a Wonderful Life. Hey, whatever happened to him, that uncle guy? Fuck, I was hard. I was going to cum in my pants if I didn’t get this on track.

“Hey, you okay?” Eddie called down to me.

“I’m okay!” I told him again. I said that before, right? Maybe not. I clambered up the end of the bed and decided it was a good thing I’d fallen off because I was confronted with Eddie’s shoes, and I needed to get those off before I could get the trousers off. And then get Eddie off. Heh. I was sniggering again. I tried unlacing Eddie’s white sneakers, then gave up and just pulled them off and tossed them aside. Then I started tugging hard on the cuffs of his trousers.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie said laughing, and I looked up and saw his hands doing something at his waist, unbuttoning and unzipping I guess, but it was a long way away, all the way down his sexy, muscly legs with the thick thighs and the bulging calves and the hairy thighs and hairy calves, and he had hair on his feet too, nice big feet, and I wanted to see that. So the socks came off, and I started nuzzling his big feet and mouthing the arches.

“Uuuuunnhhh, dude,” Eddie groaned. He had lifted his ass and shucked his trousers down past them, and instead of giggling he was looking at me over the swells of his massive, hairy pecs with this heated, smoldering, fire-making gaze, like he was actually beaming sex into my brain with sex-phasers. “Dude,” he said, nodding toward the dick mountain in his tighty whities. There were two more round geological features just below that dick mountain, and they looked like they needed attention, too. And his nipples. Eddie was pointing at his fat, rigid dick, though. “Dude, mouth goes up here,” he begged.

I grinned ferally at Eddie. I was on fire with lust. “Mouth goes everywhere,” I countered. Fuck yeah. That sounded like a plan. A life plan. Definitely that.

Eddie gulped. “Yeah, okay,” he said, “but up here first. I need it, Bran, I need your mouth on me so fucking bad.”

I needed that too. And Eddie knew it so there was no need to say it. Instead I climbed up the bed toward him, kissing my way up those powerful, bulky, legs, nuzzling the hair as I did so. Finally I was kissing across his white Jockeys toward that massive, too-wide erection. It was jumping against the fabric, just mine was inside the tight trousers I was still wearing, and the sight of it filled my vision. It looked so massive, bigger than I’d ever seen it, just like the rest of him, so wide and thick and fucking girthy like no cock I’d ever seen or imagined, and I probably imagined a lot more cock than Eddie thought I had. Eddie’s, though, it was a gift, a fantasy. It was broad at the base, even broader in the middle, all the way up until it tapered suddenly at the head, though the head was wide and decent sized all on its own. The cotton fabric of his undershorts was soaked up there from all the pre he was pumping out. I hovered over it, breathing out on it, breathing in its heady sex straight into my brain, and my balls.

“Duuuuude,” Eddie complained. I turned my head and grinned at him, and he must have realized I hadn’t forgotten, I was just tormenting him. “Fuck, just do it,” Eddie pleaded. “I’ll give you anything if you just do it.”

I grinned extra-wide at him. I could extort what I wanted from him, except I had what I wanted. In spades, as the football guy said. Jay. So I just turned back to my lover-guy’s crotch and got dove in and claimed my “anything”.

I started by pulling down at the elastic with my teeth, though it didn’t quite work getting his shorts off at first. But Eddie helped with his thumbs and lifting his butt up again just enough that I could pull the undershorts all the way down onto his hard thighs. And then—whoa.

I wanted to stare at it, this thing I’d freed, but I was already close to cumming just from seeing it. A wave of heat flashed up my spine. This here, this massive, hard dick, Eddie’s wide, fat, monster dick, was the most amazing, the most beautiful, the most necessary thing I’d ever seen. Without another thought I wrapped my mouth around it like it belonged there, and… fuck, yeah, it did belong there. His cock in my mouth, utter perfection.

I sank down on it, and heaven washed through me, or into me, or me into it. Pure heaven. Heaven-bliss-ecstasy. It was so huge it felt like it shouldn’t fit, but maybe my not thinking about that let it fit, or something. I didn’t know. I just drove down onto that cock-mountain until my nose was in his pubes and the head was jammed against my throat. Eddie was making these… sounds. They were driving me wild, so I started with my tongue, which I guess was long enough I could do some crazy things all up and down his hot, super-rigid shaft, and Eddie let out this quiet, strangled scream. Shit, we were both close, I could feel it.

I did everything. I mouthed the base with my lips. I swallowed against his head, not taking it into my throat—fuck, I would’ve choked—but almost, teasing the tip in a way I could tell was giving him more pleasure than he could handle. I sucked hard, tasting him and reveling in his hot and way-too-wide adamantine hardness in my devoted, grateful mouth. My tongue licked and stroked every damn inch it could reach. My hands weren’t in on the action, they were stroking his thighs and his abs. Eddie said “mouth” was what he wanted, so “mouth” was what he was going to fucking get.

“Oh… oh god…” Eddie said suddenly, his voice high and tight, even as his cock got even more rigid inside my mouth. “Oh god, dude, I’m going to blow,” he said. “I’m going to burst like the fucking Hoover Dam, I’m going to—I’m—I’m—!”

If he thought I was pulling off he was insane. The thought of him cumming down my throat threw me over the edge, and I was blasting in my pants even before the first hot gusher started filling my already full mouth. I tried swallowing it all, I really did, but there was so much of it it really was like a dam bursting. I was gonna choke for real, so I pulled off quick, still bent over him, hands on either side of his torso and still cumming hard, soaring as jet after jet let loose in my trous, and I watched in utter fascination as he sprayed hot spunk all over his granite-hard six-pack. His abs looked so good that once I’d finally swallowed what was in my mouth I bent and licked his abs clean, and Eddie laughed and gasped at the same time while he finished cumming, spurts of jizz landing in my beard as I cleaned his abs with my tongue. Then I crawled up him some more, getting in a couple of quick licks at his hard, pointy nips (bookmarking the spot in my sex-brain for later) until I got to his face and started kissing him as messily as I could.

Whe couldn’t kiss long, though, we were both gasping, so I give him one more quick smooch and fell onto my back beside him. “What’d you think?” he asked.

“I think I want to never stop doing that,” I murmured. I was feeling sleep grabbing at me, and I was ready, though the hard-muscled hunk next to me with the amazing fat dick was keeping me turned on at a low simmer like it was a permanent state for us now. “Get used to my mouth on your dick twenty-four/seven.”

“Aw,” Eddie said. He sounded… disappointed?

I looked over at him, frowning. “Wasn’t it good?” I asked. I was sure it was good. I could feel how good it was for him, so I was way confused rather than hurt.

Eddie took my hand, looking me right in the eyes. “Babe,” he said, “that was, literally, the best sex I have ever had.” I grinned, inordinately proud of myself. It was, too. It was the best sex ever, though only because the sex we were going to have in the future that was even better hadn’t happened yet.

“But,” Eddie added helplessly, “there was a plan, okay? Hand, mouth, ass?”

Ass? I tried to marshal what few brain cells I had after cumming so spectacularly. Well, I’d already had his ass, so that couldn’t be the plan. “You want… my ass?” I guessed.

He went dead serious. “So much,” he said. It was kind of funny how intent he was about it, so I chuckled, and he did too.

I bit my lip. “Now?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I could move, but my dick was still mostly hard and was paying very close attention to our conversation. And, maybe for the first time, I was aware of my anus as a sexy place, and it was telling me yes… yes… be careful, lots of lube with that beautiful monster, but yes… yes… yes…!

He considered, giving me that look he gave me where I could tell he was seeing me for all the sexiness that he couldn’t get nearly enough of. “Give me a couple minutes,” he said at last, lips quirking as he said it.

We stared at each other for a minute, then we both burst out in quiet laughter again. Sometime after that we fell asleep, just like that, shoulder to shoulder in the bed and holding hands with our clothes half on, though by morning we’d somehow gotten ourselves naked and snuggling under the covers like always. The “ass” plan was thus involuntarily postponed… but not for long.

I awoke the next morning in a strange bed, but a familiar face was smiling down at me.

“Morning, handsome,” Jimmy said, insufferable tool that he was.

I smirked back up at him. “Morning, little bro,” I teased back in the same droll tone.

I felt surprisingly clear-headed, considering how out of it we’d ended up feeling the night before. There had to be something in those brownies, and maybe the cookies, too. You would have thought Eddie’d have warned us, but I had a suspicion they didn’t know. They kept going on about their great boss/landlord, Mike, an obvious stoner if the smell of the house was anything to go by; and the cookies and brownies were explained by how Mike was really into baking and was always leaving them treats. Anyway, Eddie and this guy Bran were so totally drunk in lust with each other they probably wouldn’t notice if the place was filled with laughing gas.

Now that we were awake and feeling a bit sharper, I was aware of several things. I was naked and totally hard, and not because I had to piss—my blood was hot and I was almost as turned on as the night before. Jimmy was naked under the covers with me and just as warm and hard, and he had the same look in his eyes that I probably had in mine—like there was a stellar orgasm in my immediate future.

I licked my kiss-bruised lips. “So, that’s something we haven’t done in a while,” I said.

Jimmy shrugged. Our getting frisky with each other when we were in our early teens seemed to weird everyone out, and there was never any privacy in that house, so we just sort of stopped, except for a couple of libido emergencies spaced a couple years apart between then and now. Last night, though… last night had been different. There’d been no question, and no problem. We were away from home, it was summer, we were graduated, horny, and buzzed. Jimmy wanted me, and I wanted him, and that was all there was to it. Nothing simpler.

I looked up into Jimmy’s face, taking in his wry smile and obvious interest. His pale green eyes were full of the kind of mischief people usually expected from me.

Was it any less simple now? Maybe not, I decided.

After we’d stared at each other for a few minutes, his smile went crooked. “Well?” he asked. “Are you going to look… or are you going to taste?”

Two orgasms, a lot of kissing, and a couple of showers later, the third overlapping extensively with the second, we stumped downstairs in just our jeans. No shirts seemed to be the default setting around here, judging by the polo-doffing routine we’d witness on arrival, and anyway our bags were in the car and our shirts from last night were still in the breakfast nook where we’d left them. We encountered Eddie and Bran in the kitchen, attired similarly to us. Bran was brooding intently over a large old-fashioned waffle iron, waiting the pounce as soon as the light turned. Eddie was at the stove, whistling while he shuffled scrambled eggs and crackling bacon around inn a couple of pans. Juice, milk, syrup, butter, and the like were already set out on the table, along with four place settings. There was no sign of our host, though Eddie had already said they didn’t see much of him at the house and wasn’t often home.

Eddie looked up at us and gave us a welcoming grin. “Morning, guys,” he said cheerily.

Jimmy and I froze, not quite sure what we were seeing. Last night, we’d both been pretty sure Eddie had put on a good twenty pounds of hard, solid muscle since we’d last seen him at Christmas. This morning, though, we were experiencing something that did not make sense… because Eddie looked like he had put on five or ten pounds more since last night. His shoulders, chest, arms—they all looked like they’d been goosed in the muscle mass department overnight. Bran looked huger, too. Incrementally, but obviously huger.

They both had this kind of shaggy vibe, too, like their hair had grown out some since yesterday to match their mild but noticeable brawn expansion. Bran’s loose, messy chestnut hair was brushing his bulging shoulders, and I was pretty sure that was not the case when I met him.

“Eddie has a beard,” Jimmy muttered to me out of the corner of his mouth. “How does he have a beard?”

I looked at our big brother and frowned. Jimmy was right. Between meeting up at the pizza place last night and this morning, Eddie had sprouted a short, pale, two-day beard. It was actually almost longer than Bran’s, since although he had actually had a beard yesterday it looked like he’d given it a rare trimming, most likely out of deference to having company.

We were still puzzling over this when the waffle iron dinged, and Bran quickly tossed it open and liberated the waffles within. When he turned to slip them on a plate he had warming in the oven, Eddie happily stepping aside to let him do so, I let out a gasp. Bran’s club of a cock was not only completely hard, it was so big and long it was actually shoving up out of the waistband of his jeans. Now, we’d noticed their boners the night before, of course, even back at the pizza shop, and we’d almost teased them about it. But we’d definitely taken note of how big Bran was, intending to compliment Eddie on his luck later. And Bran today was sized up, cockwise, from XXL yesterday to XXXL today. Then Bran went back to the waffle iron and poured another round of batter, so we looked over at Eddie, and… shit, him too. We hadn’t seen Eddie hard very much over the years and we were pretty impressed by what we saw last night, but it was very obvious that Eddie and Bran both were one step bigger and thicker this morning compared to last night, and not just in the pecs, shoulders, lats, arms, thighs, and ass.

Jimmy and I exchanged a look, and I knew what he was thinking. When we’d sucked each other this morning, we’d noticed and not said anything, but we were both a little bigger in the boner department than we were used to. It’s easy to tell when you’re sucking a dick exactly how big it is; and, as it turns out, it’s a cinch to tell if it’s gotten bigger. We both had. And it wasn’t just size. Jimmy going down on me had felt wildly amazing, like the extra mass in my dick and balls had come with all new sensory capabilities, all part of the upgrade package. And if that weren’t enough, I was feeling like there was a serious bit of pump in Jimmy’s pecs, and a touch of extra breadth in his shoulders. I thought I’d imagined it, but…

“C’mon, guys,” Eddie called over to us as he spatulaed a deluge of eggs into a bowl, his expression all pleasure and inclusion. “Dive in!”

I looked back at Jimmy. I was aware that we were holding hands, like they’d slipped together automatically now that we were in this new place with new rules. It felt right. All of this felt right. We wanted to know what was going on, but we also wanted to be a part of it.

Jimmy’s eyes were lit up. Why did everyone think I was the troublemaker?

He lifted his eyebrows, and I nodded. Woody Hole would have to find a new pair of counselors, because Jimmy and I weren’t going home anytime soon.

I was on cloud fucking nine that morning. Everything just fit. Before finals we were sneaking the occasional heated glance and just starting to flirt with each other. Now, we were waking up in the same bed, and our hands seemed to be drawn to each other’s bodies like magnets. I craved everything about him: his tall, hard-muscled body… the burning looks he gave me with those deep, dark-blue eyes… the way he moved that sinuous, perfect, hard as fuck bubble-butt of his… that long, huge, bent cock of his and the round, salty balls underneath… maybe most of all the way his sweet, crooked smile still had an adorable edge of shy disbelief to it whenever he caught me staring at him like a lovesick fool. I craved being with him, doing things with him. And not just sex, though if we ended up spending the rest of our lives in that big, beautiful bed upstairs as if on challenge to discover just how many orgasms per day two horny, infatuated men could produce I wouldn’t complain. Hell, I’d probably keep trying to break my own record, and I had a feeling Bran would be more than up for that, no pun intended.

But it wasn’t just the sex. It felt natural to be with him all the time, side by side. Bed, shower, video games, work, it was all him and me, me and him. Just making breakfast together felt impossibly perfect. I’d even started going on his morning runs with him, which would have astonished the twins had they been up to see it. It would have astonished the me of a month ago, honestly—I liked exertion, but give me hockey or football, please, or soccer even, anything with action. But seeing him coming back from a predawn run, the tanned, bare olive skin of his bulging shoulders and thick, square pecs and long stone-cut abs covered in a light sheen of sweat, made me want to watch him forming the salty Bran-dew on his yummy torso almost as much as I wanted to lick every single drop off of him. So now we ran together too, a long five-mile lope through the woods and farmlands near Mike’s out-of-the-way country house, and I was gifted with the unanticipated thrill of Bran giving me that exact same look as we ran—like he wanted to lap the sweat off my traps and delts just as badly as I did him. We ended up walking the last bit hand in hand to cool down, then made out and licked a bit in the mud room before I finally herded him upstairs and into the shower and stroked our big cocks to yet another beautiful, brain-melting orgasm while we ground our hard bodies together and sucked face like impatient teenagers.

Everything was good, everything fit. Bran and me, it was like two pieces of the universe had slid together until they fit and then snapped in place. I was exhilarated with the happiness of our situation, and I was just as stoked at how Bran was obviously feeling exactly the same way. Yeah, both of us were giddy all the time with extreme, relentless, heart-pounding arousal, and the fact that that was only the start of it just amplified how perfect it all felt.

Mike turned up halfway through breakfast, in a long, loose rust-red tee shirt that had been through a thousand washes over a pair of stripy pajama pants. These days we mostly saw him at work, almost like he was leaving us to get to know each other for a bit, so it was a nice surprise for him to pop in on our breakfast. Maybe he was there to meet my brothers, whom I’d told him would be staying over, but I have to admit that when I saw my tall, rangy, laid-back boss standing there smiling at us, almost like he was proud of what he’d created, I was so flooded with immeasurable gratitude that without thinking I jumped up and, preempting whatever he’d been about to say or do when he’d come in, I wrapped him up in a close, powerful hug.

Mike, for his part, didn’t even hesitate to wrap his own lanky arms around my bare back, stroking my lats as I nuzzled his neck and pressed my body against him. He smelled like pot, of course, but there was another dark-herbal scent on him today, too, a little like sage, and the mix of the two somehow seemed to go straight to my heavy, always churning balls.

“Thank you,” I said into his nape, stroking his back as he stroked mine as we held each other tight. The words weren’t stringing together sensibly in my head, so I just left it at that and hoped he understood.

“My pleasure,” he said with a soft laugh, close to my ear. He sounded like he meant it, or partly meant it. Like he was half-joking and half-serious, or maybe all-joking and all-serious, like the truth of it and the joke overlapped completely. Then I realized he wasn’t just whistling Dixie: he shifted his hips slightly, and I felt a massive hard-on press against my hip, just like the girthy cannon I was shoving against him on the other side. Fuck, he was as rock-hard as I was. My pulse tripped. I couldn’t quite believe Mike was hard for me, or, at least, that he was hard just for me. Maybe there was something about this house were you were just bone hard and desperate for it all the time. If so, I was cool with that. He was as thick as me and as long as Bran, and the thought of a cock as beautiful as mine and Bran’s put together made me shiver.

I sensed Bran behind me, but a step back like he was standing there watching us, happy to let us share this. Because, of course he was. I knew he was as thankful as I was, and if there had been another Mike standing there Bran would have been hugging him, too. Actually it seemed a little unfair in that moment that there was only one Mike to go around.

Mike pulled back a little bit, shifting the firm stroking of his hands from my back to my shoulders and biceps, while I held his flanks. He glanced down my bare torso and back up, his appreciation brief but comprehensive. “You’re looking damn good today, Eddie,” he said, and again he sounded proud and even a little smug, like he’d crafted the version of me that stood before him. Well, in a way he had—after all, it was down to Mike that I had gotten a chance to learn that Bran could be so much more than an unrequited crush.

I beamed up at him. “Thanks,” I said. I kind of wanted to go back to hugging him and pressing our bodies together. Except now, with us looking at each other like this, my attention was drawn to his lips, and I realized I wanted to kiss him, if only to show him just how grateful I truly was. I hesitated, though. Mike had been my employer for a long time now—I was used to thinking of him that way, though I’d always noticed how lanky-hot he was and how just being around him even during dinner rush was actively relaxing, like all stress shied away from being anywhere near him. But Mike was still the boss in my head—and now he was my landlord, too, though he mostly felt like a roommate sharing his gigantic house with us. Still, those rare-steak lips and that wicked smile kind of called to me. Maybe I’d work up to that kiss of gratitude. It felt somehow like that moment was there between us, and we just had to wait for it.

It was nice holding him and looking at him, though, him giving me that amused, slightly proprietary grin, and when Bran mock-complained about me hogging him I thought again about Bran having his own Mike to hug. But I relinquished my hold with good grace, and as soon as I had taken a step back Bran moved in and took him in a hug that looked even fiercer than mine. I drank them in, and I gotta say, between Bran’s heavy muscles, olive skin, and shoulder-length chestnut hair and Mike’s limber, fit body, short-cropped hair, and the steady, relaxing strokes he was sliding along my lover’s long, V-shaped back, it was fucking hot as hell to watch. I swallowed hard and very nearly grabbed my cannon of a cock. In fact I might have, had I not heard a breathy “Fu-u-ck” from behind me. At least one of my trouble-making brothers was as turned on as I was.

I clenched my hands to keep them still, but couldn’t tear my gaze away. Somehow I had missed that Bran was just as tall as my very tall boss, which surprised me for some reason—why had I thought Mike was inches taller than Bran?—but it also stoked the fire I got watching them even hotter.

Then I watched, heart hammering in my chest, as Bran pulled his face out of Mike’s neck and slowly drew his lips along the soft two-day beard Mike was sporting, sliding closer and close to Mike’s delicious-looking mouth. My breath caught as Bran playfully brushed his lips gently across Mike’s, from one side to the other, before planting a soft peck at the corner of his mouth. Fuck, I nearly fucking came just watching that. My dick flexed hard against my waistband, and once again I had to fight an urgent need to grip it hard and make it spit a whole mess of white-hot cum all over my chest and face.

Bran and Mike were smiling as they stared into each other’s eyes, their mouths only an inch apart, and the tableau was so crazy hot I half-consciously let out a tiny gasp.

They turned to me, still smiling, and then somehow Mike was gone and it was me Bran was holding in those strong, sculpted arms, and it was my lips he was giving a cheeky brush with his own. And then we were full-on kissing. It was a long, slow, sweet kiss, our long tongues dancing languidly together in our hot, welcoming mouths. It was a good thing it was low-intensity, banked-fire kind of kiss, too, because anything fiercer and we would definitely have been spraying our loads all over each other in front of everyone. I wasn’t quite ready to put on a show like that yet, though if we’d have been alone it would have been a different story.

But we weren’t alone. “Aw man,” Jase breathed, as our lips parted and we rested our foreheads together, grinning and serenely elated.

“Who needs HunkTube?” Jimmy chimed in.

We rolled our foreheads to smile at them. The morning sun was glinting off their dark-framed glasses and they both stared at us, looking impressed and aroused. Jase had an expression that almost looked like wide-eyed wonder, but Jimmy’s grin was a little more wicked. I separated myself from Bran, suddenly abashed—these were my brothers after all, as I belatedly reminded myself—but Mike stepped between us and wrapped his arms around both our shoulders, smirking as though he was happy to accept the admiration on our behalf, and our arms naturally slid around his back as well. I half expected he’d get the three of us to take a bow; instead he kissed us both on the cheek, catching us by surprise, though it was obviously for the twins’ benefit.

Jimmy grinned wider, and Jase nodded. He turned to his brother. “Hey, Jims, speaking of which—you pack the camcorder?” he asked.

“Right?” Jimmy agreed, scoping us assessingly. “We could make a fucking mint off these guys.”

For some reason this struck me as hilarious. I started giggling, and Bran did too. Even Mike snickered, though he kept hold of Bran and me, and we did the same wit him.

Finally I managed to get a breath. “Let’s… keep it between us for now,” I said, still giggling. I turned away and went to oven-reheat the last round of waffles that had cooled during our little show. Meanwhile Mike and Bran sat at the table, and our cozy little breakfast resumed as if nothing much had happened.

To be honest I had never thought much about breakfast as a communal thing. Edds talks about how it was always this big thing at his house, with all the brothers thundering downstairs and playing around at getting in each other’s way in the kitchen and generally making a big production out of the whole thing even if they were all just having milk and Cheerios (and geez, how many giant-size boxes of breakfast cereal would a family of four strapping brothers—plus parents, cousins, and hangers on, from the sounds of it—go through in a week?).

We didn’t have anything like that at our house. A lot of times it was just me, eating really boring stuff day after day because it had never been anything that mattered to anyone. And weirdly enough, that was what made we want to try whipping up different selections from the American Breakfast Pantheon, because by the time I was starting my junior year in high school, sitting down for my millionth solitary breakfast in a row, I was so in a rut I was like, “I’d rather figure out how to make blueberry pancakes than eat one more frosted Pop-Tart.”

In retrospect it was also a strange kind of rebellion. Mom put so much passive-aggressive pressure on me in every other block of my time. Her approval meant going all out in my schoolwork—every class, math, English, Spanish, social studies, didn’t matter, I had to not only ace it but put my freaking soul into it—and sports and Scouts and household chores, too. I had to show I was actively working to create the future she saw for me, so with everything that built that future I had to bust my ass, demonstrably and consistently. Breakfast? Breakfast she didn’t give a fuck about. She’d already be at work, even if she was home, and I didn’t see her. Or she’d be off on a weekend with her latest boytoy. Breakfast was just me. It was me time. Which meant that if breakfast was let-down or an empty doldrums in my day, that was a waste of an opportunity to put a win in my own column and not hers. Being good at everything else, that was for her. Being good at breakfast and having fun with it, that was for me.

Then I came here and started living with Edds, and… well, with the stress draining completely out of me at the prospect of just staying here and tossing pizza and digging into this serendipitously cozy shared bliss Edds and I were discovering, I expected all the achievement-driven priorities of my old life to fade into the personality archives as we wandered through these few months that were guaranteed to be achievement free, our brains off the hook as we just lived for a change. And they did fade, like I expected, but as they did so some of those parts of my life took on new meanings, and one of them was breakfast. Now, with Edds, it wasn’t about me and it wasn’t about a win in the long-game contest with my Mom that she mostly won. Breakfast started to be about Edds, and his smile, and watching those bright jade-green eyes of his light up at the sight of me cooking stuff for us. Him hugging me from behind while I pushed eggs around on the griddle, listening to his jokes about sausage or the snatches of pop songs he sang to himself without even realizing. Laughing as he kissed me with maple syrup-smeared lips. Me and him happy and hard for each other and not even rushing to get upstairs to our bed and fuck around, because we would be fucking around, and meanwhile there was this sweet, candid moment that existed because we’d chosen to stay here and make this unexpected summer together.

If I’d thought about it—and I was really having tremendous success in not thinking about things these days—I’d probably have expected to be a little miffed at the twins, and even Mike, showing up for waffles and sausages with me and Edds and horning in on all this we were having with each other. I wasn’t, though, and I kind of wondered at that when I realized it, though the thought quickly misted and slipped away.

Part of it was I pretty much wasn’t miffed at anything lately. Edds was too distracting, in how attention-consumingly, mesmerizingly hot he was, and how funny he was and fun to be with, and how he was so alive and crazy vibrant no matter what he was doing, whether it was playing video games or trying to climb into the hammock with me or sucking my desperately aching cock. And how he smelled and how he looked at me, whether he was raking his eyes over my body and how hard I was or just looking at me with a grin in his eyes because—just, because, and just in how the pure happy he gave me just seemed to sink into every atom of my body. That happy was so heady, it didn’t even occur to me not to want to share. The twins could use some serenity, I thought, after all the boisterousness and general lack of elbow room back room. And Mike? Mike was calm and cool, practically the dictionary image for laid-back. He was always on an even keel, and I sensed he was pleased with life. Was that the same as happy, though? There were a lot of things about Mike that made me curious, and that was one of them. I decided to make a side-project of spilling my happy Mike’s way for a while and seeing what happened.

So we included Mike and Jimmy and Jase in our breakfast, what was left of it. I was cool with it. I still had Edds, right there next to me, making me want to laugh and cum just from that dangerous, dimpled grin of his.

Mike was a relaxing presence, anyway. He seemed glad to join in with us, though as he was smearing butter and brown suger on his waffles (I know, right? Between stuff like that and all the sugary baked goods I’d say he has a sweet tooth, but his waist is tighter than mine and his six-pack is almost as cut) he let on he’d actually come down to the kitchen to see if we wanted spend some of our mutual day off at the lake. I glanced at Edds, licking my lips as I eyed his luscious, bulky muscle, and found myself pleasantly torn between wanting to show off my guy at the beach or keep him inside for myself.

Edds, meanwhile, was giving me the same kind of leering, assessing look. While I was still reacting to the heat in his eyes, Edds answered first. “It’d be a good excuse to get Bran in a Speedo,” he said, provocative as always.

“I’d pay to see that!” Jase said around a mouthful of syrupy sausage.

I felt my cheeks warm a little. “Duude,” I said, embarrassed, “I don’t think I should be wearing Speedos anytime soon. If you know what I mean.” I nodded down toward my dick, which was pretty consistently hard these days whenever I was around Edds. Or thinking about him. Or when I was asleep, seeing as how I was probably dreaming about him. Hell, my dick was sneaking out of my jeans as we sat there, impossible to contain in a regular pair of actual pants. There was no way that a few inches of—what are Speedos made of, anyway? Nylon? Lycra? Fuck if I knew, but no way a few inches of bright red stretchy fabric would even begin to hide the kind of huge, leaky boners Edds was giving me all the fucking time just by existing.

Edds was grinning. “Okay, no Speedo,” he agreed, eyes alight.

I guessed what he was thinking, and my pulse picked up a little. “I’m not going nude, either,” I said sternly.

“Aw, come on,” Edds whined. In fact all three brothers said it together, apparently spontaneously—a ludicrous unison plea for my rock-hard public nakedness.

“I’m not going to be nude at the beach, and that’s final,” I said, semi-serious, though actually I was barely keeping a straight face.

“Because it’s in public?” Edds interjected.

“Of course!”

“So you’ll go naked at home then?”

I froze, blinking at him, not having anticipated this trap at all. At the other end of the table the twins ooooed, impressed, while Mike, to my left, sat back in his chair, amused and taking in a forkful of double-stack waffles, watching us like he just didn’t get this kind of quality entertainment anywhere else.

“It’s not in pu-blic,” Edds pressed in a sing-song voice, his grin wicked. His strawberry-blond eyebrows wiggled—he knew his logic was unassailable.

I bit my lip. I was secretly wearing what were now my snuggest jeans—which were feeling very snug today in all the right places, like with the ones I couldn’t wear anymore ‘cause they’d shrunk like my work shirts. I’d pulled them on this morning before coming down to start or morning wafflefest because I knew one of the things Edds enjoyed most in this world was scoping my ass, and however much I protested his attentions I actually really got off on it. Now I was suspecting that the one thing that might rival my ass in snug jeans was my ass not in snug jeans.

I considered leaning forward and challenging Edds with an “I will if you will” strategy, which was an appealing idea on its merits—I definitely could cope with seeing Edds walking around naked more. But I quickly discarded that as a tactic in this game, because when it came to being uninhibited Edds made Harold Hill look like Marian the Librarian.

God, and look at him. Right now, seated at the table, he was this deliciously handsome, softly bearded satyr with glinting pale green eyes, shaggy red-tinged hair I just wanted to run my fingers through, broad bulging shoulders that looked like they were forged in a smithy, and these pale, crazy-thick pecs with the fuzzy chest-hair peeking out of the lickable crevasse between. Just those parts of him I could sit here and stare at for hours, probably blowing my load every so often without even realizing it. My exposed hip was wet with precum, that was how hot he made me, without having to do anything but just sit there and occasionally give me burning-hot looks like the one he was giving me now. Him, walking around naked? Want didn’t begin to describe it.

But wasn’t like me to just give in. So I said, “What’ll you give me?”

Edds responded to my challenge by setting down his fork, facing me, and looking me dead in the eye. “What will I do for you?” he said. He paused for effect. “I will make love to you,” he said, and the words seared into my soul one by one. “Slow and gentle… until you beg for hard and deep. Until you cannot imagine a world without my hard cock being in you and pushing further and further into that ass you love to shake. I’ll make love to you so thoroughly, so beautifully, that just the memory of it will make you cum harder than you’ve ever cum before.” His lips turned up, though I only saw it in my peripheral vision—those fiery jade-green eyes were all I saw. A chest-shuddering heartbeat, and then he concluded, “That’s what I’ll do for you.”

My throat was as dry as the Sahara, and my face as was hot. The big burning erection pressing against my hip seemed to swell and throb itself larger in its tight skin. My anus twitched, knowing how huge and wide Eddie’s pink and red uncut monster dick was and wanting it like lungs want air. I was swimming in every feeling I had for him, and it was like living with a permanent near-orgasm.

I swallowed hard. “You… you were going to do that anyway,” I managed to get out in a rasp.

He gave me that wicked shark grin and said, “Fuck yeah.”

I stared at him, panting. I think the others were staring at him, too. I have no idea.

Then he said, “But I think I do want to show you off a little first.” To Mike he said, “How far away is the lake?” Then he winked at me, and… suddenly it was funny, how hot he made me and how much he loved playing around with me, and I snickered.

How I was going to survive wanting Edds this much, I had no idea. Thank fuck we craved each other, because we both had a lot of cum in our future… and that would very soon involve a date for my virgin ass that I had already been nervously looking forward to, and now needed more than anything.

Jimmy and Jase begged off on the beach trip, claiming they wanted to “explore,” whatever that meant. So it was just the three of us in board shorts, sandals, and sunglasses (thankfully, the “deal” Edds and I had forged at breakfast seemed to mean no further mention of Speedos) piling into Mike’s Jeep for the trip to Van Buren Lake. It was a warm, sunny day with a brilliant blue sky, and we just let the wind riffle our hair and generally enjoyed the forty-minute trip.

A fair number of other folks had had the same idea. With the students mainly having flocked away to their places of origin, most were locals with boats or families barbecuing in the woodsy areas on the other dside of the boat ramp. So even given the beautiful weather the swimming beach wasn’t too crowded, and we found a nice spot without too much difficulty. We laid out a very large blue plaid blanket Mike had brought which was easily big enough for the three of us. He also plunked down beside it a bona fide classic-style picnic basket, from which the distinct odor of baked goods wafted. Just the scent of whatever was in there made my already boned dick perk up and my brain disengage a little, not that I minded. I glanced up at Mike, shaking my head at the relentlessness of his supply of yummy treats, but he only shrugged and grinned.

Edds, of course, made a game out of getting the sunscreen applied as salaciously as possible, egging me into doing Mike’s back while Edds did mine and then switching us around until, after lots of slippery rubbing of muscled, masculine real estate and playfully working around the hard-ons almost nosing past our waistbands, we were all sufficiently UV-protected and very aroused. Even Mike was hard and a little flushed, though he acted like it was no big deal, and after a bit of teasing we followed our leader’s noble example.

Then we lay back and enjoyed the sun for a bit, with a hazy plan to dip into the cold lake water a little later. Mike passed me a plastic container with a hinged lid from the picnic basket. This turned out to be full of blondies—brownies but with vanilla in place of the cocoa, though these had dark chocolate chips to make up for the chocolate deprivation. They were most and so richly flavored I wasn’t sure after the first bite whether one was enough to complete me, or I needed to eat the whole batch.

Eddie’s eyes widened as he took his first bite. “Fuck, Mike, these are amazing!” he said, turning to our boss-friend-landlord. Bendord? Frosslord? I chortled. Edds kept gushing. “It’s like—like—it’s like my whole body can feel the flavor!” he said, turning from Mike back to the teat in his hand, his expression one of joyous wonder.

We each quickly consumed the rest of our squares and reached for another at the same time, making us both snort with giggles. I swatted his hand away. “If you’re going to make me walk around butt naked,” I said, “the least you can do is give me first dibs on the brownies!”

“Blonnies,” Edds corrected.

“Bronlies,” I agreed. I reached for the container sitting between us again, and so did Edds. “Hey, stop that!” I said.

“I think you’ll want a bit of this first,” Mike interjected, passing me a Thermos that turned out to have very cold milk in it.

I took a swig and sighed deeply. “You are a saint,” I said.

“Gimme that,” Edds groused.

I passed him the Thermos, then looked back over at Mike. He was somehow again to my left on the blanket, with Edds to my right, like we’d been at breakfast. The sun glistened off his very fit torso, and I let that distract me for a second. He was nicely defined but not crazy muscular like me and Edds, and I kind of thought that was hot, too. I wondered what he would look like all built like we were. Then I frowned, noticing that Mike wasn’t eating a bronlie, just watching us eat them. “Aren’t you having some?” I asked, my brain already distracted again by the dark line of hair trailing between his flat pecs and down his very nice abs.

Mike smiled at me. “Those are for you guys,” he said genially. He patted a smaller plastic container he had next to him. “I got my own stash here,” he added.

I nodded sagely. “Clever,” I said. “With Edds here around, you’d never get your fair share otherwise.”

“Like you wouldn’t eat the whole thing if I let you,” Edds said.

Since I’d been thinking about that as an attractive possibility I turned to him in surprise. “Hey, how’d you know?” I asked, slightly unnerved.

Edds lifted his brows, confused but grinning. Then I noticed he was grinning around his second bronlie, so I quickly dug in and grabbed mine. “We’ll finish ’em together,” I said.

“That’s what he said,” Edds said around his bronlie, getting crumbs in his adorable little beard.

I blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Lookie lookie, it’s our two favorite pizza hotties!” someone said. “Both looking like hairy, cast-away muscle beasts. What are they feeding you guys?”

I looked up to see two guys standing at the edge of the blanket, smiling down at us. As I focused on them, still stuffing my second bronlie into my mouth, recognition dawned. It was the blond, beautiful football god, Jay Johanssen, and his extra-cute biracial b-f, Zac. I raked down Jay’s body and then goggled. Jay, unbelievably, was wearing the very same bulging red Speedos Edds had been ribbing me about earlier. On him the overall effect of the minimal trunks was that he looked like an actual god and not just a football deity. Funnily enough, though he was the true athlete out of the three of us Jay was the one that looked most like his muscles had been custom-sculpted from the finest marble by an aesthetically-minded and very gifted artist. His exquisite proportions and every peerlessly carved detail of his torso, arms, legs—every inch of him—made me feel just for a moment like Edds and I were too big by comparison. I let the vision sink in for a moment, then swallowed my bronlie so I could wolf-whistle.

“Hey!” Edds and Zac both objected, though Zac was smiling. He was very, very cute, so he couldn’t be too much in the shadows even when he was with his boyfriend.

Edds was probably only joking too, but I decided I should placate just in case. “Aw, babe, you know you’re hotter than him,” I said, turning to Edds with a smile.

“Hey!” It was Jay’s turn to pretend offense.

I gave up and grabbed the Thermos. “Shut up, you’re all fucking hot,” I said, talking a gulp of the blessedly cold liquid within.

Jay and Zac chuckled. “See, though,” Edds said, pointing at Jay’s Speedo. “Like I said. You should be wearing that.” He reached for a third bronlie, and I quickly snatched my third one to maintain the balance of bronlie power.

“I told you,” I said around a bit of sweet baked goodness. “I can’t cuzza this guy.” I pointed with my free hand at my raging erection, which had shoved a good inch at least past my waistband—were my board shorts riding low?—and which was looking, weirdly, as dauntingly girthy as Eddie’s. Or, no, Eddie’s was a lot wider than this. I must have been remembering things funny. I blinked up at Jay and Zac, and saw that they were staring hard at where my extra-fat stiffie was thrusting out into the open. Even my boardies were evidently not enough to contain it, so definitely forget Speedos. My cheeks heated, but I decided to ignore the whole partly exposed boner thing. I’d be walking around naked soon enough, after all.

“Hey, you want some brommies?” Edds said to the newcomers.

I looked over at him, and—yeah, that precum-seeping monster erection escaping from Eddie’s boardies was way wider than mine. My anus flexed, intimidated and fascinated all at once. “Bronlies,” I corrected automatically. To distract myself from my boyfriend’s uncanny and, as I knew from experience, very delicious cock, I picked up the container of very intense bronlies from where it sat between me and Edds and offered them up to the platinum-blond football hunk.

“Oh, Zac’s the one with the sweet tooth,” Jay demurred, patting his flat belly. I realized he was still staring at the protruding part of my dick. I swallowed, sticking with my decision to ignore all that, and redirected the offered bronlie container to Zac, who was also looking at my dick. What was it with everyone and my dick? Then I remembered I had wolf-whistled at Zac’s perfectly sculpted man and felt bad. “Here, have the rest,” I said.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Zac said. He ripped his eyes away from my big iron-hard boner to take the container, so that was a win. Although… did it miss the attention? I think it missed the attention. “Cool beans,” Zac said, taking a whiff. “Wow, they smell great.”

“Thanks,” Mike said.

Oops! I turned to him, dismayed. “Shit, it’s okay, right?” I asked him belatedly.

Mike, though, was checking out Zac head to toe with a cryptic smile. “Absolutely.”

Zac gave him a funny look. Just then, though, another problem occurred to me. “Wait—do you have milk?” I asked, worried.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he has milk,” Jay put in, tossing an arm around Zac. I nodded, relieved. Jay nodded toward my partially sunbathing boner. “You, uh, should get some sunscreen on that thing,” he suggested. “Wouldn’t want it to burn.”

“Good idea!” Edds said eagerly. He reached for the sunscreen bottle, but I just frowned at him and pulled my boardies up. Spattering Edds with tons of smelly spunk was something I still wanted to keep for us in private, at least for now. With some difficulty I managed to get the whole of my apparently too big, and completely immovable, cock covered by fabric, mostly. Everything but the very tip, at least. Darn, now my favorite boardies were shrunk in the wash, too. They’d always covered my dick before! I’d have to remember to talk to Mike about what we were doing wrong with his washer-dryer. Or maybe it was the detergent or something.

Then I remembered I’d be going naked, so it wouldn’t be a problem. But, fuck, I’d still be leaving the house sometimes. Maybe I could just drape a towel over it, I thought, and with an effort didn’t let myself laugh out loud. I didn’t want to explain what was funny to Edds and give him ideas. Anyway, the naked thing was definitely simpler, what with all my clothes getting too small anyway.

Zac and Jay were leaving, though they seemed reluctant. “So, uh… see you guys at the usual place,” Jay said, waving, and they both looked like they were looking forward to seeing us there. Fuck, yeah, the pizza joint, I thought, as Mike, Edds, and I waved back. I’d have to wear clothes at work. Right?

I lay back on the blanket, lacing my fingers over my thick, hairy chest, and thought reverently about me and Edds making pizza together stone-boned and stark naked. I didn’t even notice when the top few inches of my ungovernably huge erection sprang free of my boardies again as I drifted into a sexy reverie.

Coming back from our day at the beach I couldn’t decide what was making me happier: the way Bran’s fat, flat, gently bent monster cock was erupting from his boardies like it literally couldn’t be hidden or controlled, or the smear of juice it was laying all over the olive-tan skin around it in that space on his torso down and to the left of his tight little belly button, like it was marking its territory or something. I was flushed and giddy and totally jazzed all over, a hundred and twenty percent, like I had been all day; and looking at Bran’s smile, or his butt, or his yummy bulging bare shoulders with his sweet messy-thick hair falling over them like some kind of deep-brown waterfall, or especially his big wet beautiful dick… just looking at any of that it was like I got another dose. And it was potent stuff. I was amped just from laying eyes on him, feeling his warmth near me. Knowing he was mine, and that I would get to snuggle-fuck him as soon as we could find a bed or, I dunno, a cushy lawn, kitchen table, anywhere really I could throw Bran down and feel that body I loved to look at against me everywhere, hard and muscly and hunky and loving and smelling like him and tasting like him and being him.

I was staring at him in the back seat of the Jeep, and the whole rest of the world was just gone. He was looking away, a little bit of adorable pink in his cheeks, and I knew he wanted to drink me in with his eyes just as bad as I did him and was just not giving in to it like I was. Because of course I’m the one with no impulse control, except if that were really true I’d be attacking him right here in the Jeep as we cruised through the empty scrub, with Mike up there in the driver’s seat smirking at our mutual obsession, instead of waiting to get home like a good boy. Instead I just squeezed the hand I’d been holding since we left the beach. Then I leaned toward him and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I am so hard for you right now.”

Bran smiled, and it was that soft, affectionate smile of his that he always got when I made him happy. “You’re always hard for me,” he said, still looking away.

“Fuck yeah I am,” I agreed. “And you’re even harder for me.”

That protruding dick of his jerked a little, like speaking of it gave it a little jolt of power, and the smear on his lower torso widened. He turned and finally, finally met my gaze, and fuck, those ocean-blue eyes of his were consumed with hunger for me, like I was all he could possibly want or need. I was going to get lost in them. My heart tripped and my blood get hot. Then, fuck, then he was kissing me, hard and fierce, and even as my body thrilled and my super-thick cock made its own bid to escape my boardies I realized, that was why he’d been looking away. He wanted me so bad right now he couldn’t even look at me without attacking my mouth.

Our kiss slowed and deepened, and I lost an unknown amount of time before we finally broke free. Seriously, it could have been hours, or days. I half expected the sun to have set and the leaves to have turned if I looked away from those eyes and that face, but just then, those blue eyes and that handsome, wholesome, softly bearded, utterly gorgeous Brandon-face were all there were. I gave him my patented slow, evil grin. “You are going to be sooo naked,” I said. “No clothes for you ever again.”

He swallowed, and my own crazy hard dick jumped a little in my boardies. His fixed his gaze on mine. “You’d better keep your side of the bargain,” he said. His voice was deep and quiet, deeper really than I remembered hearing him talk, and my dick surged. I’m serious, if he’d said any more right then I could’ve blown a huge load straight out of nowhere.

My breath caught, but I kept my leering grin, ‘cause he loves it when I’m like that. Plus my side of the bargain was making love to him, slow and sweet, and there was no chance I wouldn’t, and he knew it.

We kissed some more then, and now it was soft and weirdly tentative, like we were both holding back. My free hand crept up to caress those ponderous, wooly pecs of his. The long, velvety chest hair was almost as much of a turn-on as the meaty muscle below. Then he reached up to hold my hand against his chest, and our fingers intertwined a little, even though we were already holding hands on the seat between us. And we just made out like that, winsome and shallow, hands all meshed together, until we got home, and both of us were hard as fuck and incredibly, so, so conscious of just how much more we wanted to be doing together.

Mike stopped in front of the house and cleared his throat ostentatiously. When we surfaced and looked up at him–he was kind of out of focus, like I was training myself to only see Bran?—he turned and gave us that funny proprietary smile, like at breakfast. Bran let go of the hand he was clutching to his chest, though we were still holding hands between us on the other side.

“I’m going to drop you guys off here and head into the shop,” Mike told us. “Larissa called out so I’m going to fill in.”

“Aww!” I said, feeling bad for him, even as the rest of my brain cheered House to ourselves! House to ourselves! I struggled not to vocalize these thoughts and said instead, “Today was your day off too. That blows.”

Mike shrugged, still smiling. “The shop’s my baby,” he said.

“Yeah, but you need more than that,” Bran said, looking a little worried. I figured he was thinking of his workaholic mom and squeezed his hand a little.

“Oh, I have a few projects that keep me happy,” he said pointedly, looking between us. I knew he meant us, and my heart swelled a little. He was so proud of putting us together.

“On that note,” I said to Bran. He looked at me with a “Huh?” expression. I nodded to the house, and the “Huh?” expression morphed into a delighted “Oh, yeah!” expression.

“Uh, we’ll see you later, then!” Bran said, hurriedly getting out of the Jeep without letting go of my hand. I swiftly followed suit. Mike waved, we waved back, and he started to drive off. Before he was even a carlength down the block we turned and scampered hand in hand up the walk to the house, laughing and stumbling in our haste to get inside and tear each other’s clothes off.

No sooner had we shut the front door behind us and started manhandling each other, glad there were no shirts to pull off (it was getting really tough to pull off Bran’s shirts lately, and I was seriously thinking somewhere in my head about how we could expand the Naked Bran rule to the pizza shop so we wouldn’t have to deal with trying to get his shirt off past those wide lats and bugling shoulders of his), when what do we hear but “Hey, you’re back!”

Startled, be both turned, frozen in the act of unbuttoning each other’s boardies, to find—the twins. Shit—I’d clean forgotten my own brothers were staying over with us!

They were standing there facing us in the foyer, each wearing nothing but beat-up jeans and their brainy dark-framed glasses; and I gotta say, they were kinda ripped. Not like me and Bran, but—man, they must have really been working out lately. They were standing close and their hands were brushing against each other, like they were thinking about holding hands like we’d been but had decided not to for some reason. They also had matching manic grins, which if I hadn’t been so high on how colossally into Bran I was I might have thought spelled trouble. But when Jase said, “Perfect timing!” and Jimmy added, “We cooked supper!” I suddenly caught the smell of delicious food wafting our way from the kitchen and realized I was famished. Bran’s stomach even gurgled like we were in a sitcom.

I turned and beamed at Bran. “We will need fuel,” I reminded him. His tanned cheeks pinked a little, but he grinned as wide as I did.

We turned back to the twins, only to find then staring at Bran’s thick, smeary boner where it was jutting out of his shorts, their mouths hanging slightly open. “Hey! His eyes are up here,” I teased, and I watched them start in reaction and then rake their eyes up my boyfriend’s long, awesomely built alpha-bod to his beautiful beardy face.

They exchanged a look with each other, and god knew what that was about. Then they turned back to us and if anything their smiles were even more devious. “C’mon, let’s eat,” Jase said, and Jimmy was like, “You’ll love it.” The turned together and headed down the hall toward the kitchen and dining area. Even their steps were in sync.

Okay, I might’ve been in a love stupor, but even in that state I was clueing in on… I didn’t know what. The twins never acted like they were identical like this unless they were in cahoots and up to something. What that could be, I had nothing.

I was hungry though, and my mind was so slippery these days, so I didn’t worry about it for long. Instead I grabbed Bran’s hand again and followed after them. “Whatcha been up to while we were at the beach?” I asked, still as little suspicious.

“Oh, exploring,” Jase said. “We found some stuff.”

“Recipes,” Jimmy amended hastily, looking briefly over his shoulder at us. “We wanted to try them out.”

“Right,” Jase said. “We decided to experiment. See if they worked like expected.”

“Oh I see,” I said. “You’re going to experiment on us. Make us your guinea pigs.”

The twins grinned as we entered the kitchen area and exchanged a look. “Exactly,” they said in unison. They gave us one more grin over their shoulders, then hurried off to different parts of the kitchen to put their dinner plans into their endgame.

Bran turned and gave be a sardonic look. “Can they cook at all?” he asked.

I huffed a laugh. “I have no idea. Smells good, though.” The aromas had hit us hard when we entered the open-plan kitchen and eating area, and I could definitely pick out the smell of tomato and spices after all the time I’d spent at the pizza place. Raising my voice I called to the twins, “What is that, pasta?”

“Lasagna,” Jase said, pulling two oblong baking dishes filled with delicious-smelling lasagna goodness out of the oven with potholders. “Made just for you,” he added as he set them on the counter.

“Very scientific,” Jimmy said from where he was collecting plates and silver. “Sit! Eat!” he commanded, as he brought the accoutrements out to the table. He paused midway and looked at us. “Where’s your buddy?”

“Work,” Bran said. “Somebody called out.”

Jimmy exchanged another glance with Jase. “Aw, that’s a shame,” he said. Evidently they had plans for him, too.

“Only the two guinea pigs left,” I said cheerfully, leading Bran over to the table. We sat next to each other as Jimmy set out the plates and cutlery.

Then Jase brought out the two steaming lasagna dishes and set them on a pair of trivets in the center of the table. “Now, this one’s yours,” he said, pointing to the nearer tray, “and this one’s ours,” indicating the other. They both looked identical, bubbling with cheesy, meaty goodness.

“Ah, so you guys are the control,” Bran said gamely, getting in on the joke.

Jimmy appeared between us, plunking an opened bottle of my favorite beer down in front of us both. “I knew there was a reason we liked you,” he said to Bran, adding to me, “Good to know there’s some brains in your relationship.”

I rolled my eyes. “Just because some of us aren’t science nerds…” I muttered.

The twins sat themselves, their own beers in front of them. “Eat up,” Jimmy urged. “When you’re all done, we’ve got a special dessert planned just for you guys.”

“I’ll bet,” I said. But my hunger took over and we dug in, and the twins seemed almost as voracious as us. The lasagna and the beer seemed to loosen our brains, and by the time we started slow down Bran and I had demolished a good two-thirds of “our” lasagna, and the twins a good half of theirs, and we were all laughing and telling terrible jokes. Jase even started singing, some nonsense song from Eurovision. Bran knew it too, weirdly, and they were both singing it and laughing.

Then Jimmy brought out the chocolate balls, and immediately we were all laughing so hard we were almost falling out of our chairs. “Once you go chocolate?” I giggled, grabbing one of them from the plate before he’d even set it down. It was still warm and exactly the right size for my mouth—which just made it seem funny all over again, and I nearly choked before forcing myself to swallow and get it down.

Jimmy dropped sloppily into his chair and picked up one of the balls, but instead of eating it himself he pushed it into his brother’s mouth. Jase, surprised, managed to chew it a bit and swallow some of it before he started sniggering. “You’re feeding me your balls,” he said gleefully. Then his eyes got wide. “Wait, weren’t those just for them? We used the different—”

“I want you to have some too,” Jimmy said, with a dark, salaciously cooked grin on his face.

Jase gave him a steady look, his eyes darkening as he did so. “Okay,” he said around what was left of the cakey chocolate confection in his mouth. He swallowed, very deliberately. “But then you have to have join me.”

Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows. “Make me.”

Okay, I saw where this was going. Wanting to avoid an actual food fight between my two happy, bleary, not always mature brothers I grabbed the plate away from where Jimmy had set it down between him and me—though not before Jase had reached out like lightning, snatched one of the chocolate balls, and started shoving in Jimmy’s laughing, resisting mouth.

I handed the plate to Bran. “Here, I think we’d better eat the rest of these,” I told him. Bran grinned—he was more than game. The twins didn’t let us get away with stealing their joke away from them, though, and we all ended up on the floor shoving chocolate balls in each other’s faces and laughing our asses off.

“I have to take these off of you,” Edds was saying, a little indistinctly.

I don’t know quite how we made it upstairs, because my feet felt very big and I was pretty sure that in their present state, or my present state, they wouldn’t be able to negotiate stairs with any degree of success or accuracy. But there we were, in our bedroom, which it was because it was the room with the bed—Mike never did order the other bed and really, neither of us wanted him to at all. I just wanted things to be like this, me and Edds, especially if Edds was looking at me like that, like I was delicious and he wanted to eat me. If anyone was going to get to eat me, it was Edds. I wondered what I would taste like? I kind of felt like I would taste like… like cornbread. I think I smelled like cornbread, too. Fuck, now I was jealous of Edds. He was going to be nomming away on cornbread, and that was what I wanted.

Man, how many beers did I have? My brain was not working right.

Or—or maybe you tasted like what you ate last. In which case I was going to taste like… like…

I sniggered loudly and inelegantly. I looked down at Edds, who had given up fumbling at the half-open fly on my boardies from above and had sunk to his knees, only he still wasn’t undoing me, he was just staring in awe at my dick.

“Hey,” I said, tapping him on the top of his skull. He looked up, confused at why I was seeking his attention. “Hey,” I said again. “If… when you get me naked…” I sniggered again. “Check and see if they’re chocolate.”

He gave me this big, easy, beautiful smile that sent my heart skittering, but I don’t think it was because of my joke because he looked me in the eyes and said, very earnestly, “Can I make love to you now?”

“From down there?” I said. “I don’t think it works like that, babe. I may be inexperienced but I think you have be behind me.”

I put my hands on his meaty, fireplug shoulders. I noticed his strawberry blond hair was tumbling all over those thick, solid traps and delts of his. His hair was getting really long. Mine too, come to think of it. We were both hairy, like, so hairy. I really needed a trim up top, this wasn’t like me. But whenever Edds looked at me like he was now, with stars in his eyes, I didn’t want to change a thing.

He was still smiling, that smile that was because he liked what he was looking at. Right now it was for my face. But then he lowered his eyes and gave that same adoring happy look to my dick, which had been very stubbornly sticking a good two or three inches out of my boardies all afternoon. I’d given up trying to hide it or cover it, though I had insisted on putting sunscreen on it myself, very carefully, because if Edds or Mike had done it I would have been making a whole new lake right there on the beach next to the one that was already there.

Edds was actually licking his lips. “I’m reconsidering the naked-Bran rule,” he said slowly, like forming words was just slightly more challenging than usual. Maybe he was feeling like his tongue was really big. that would be hot.

Then what he actually said registered in my foggy brain. “What?” I said. “Why?” I was surprised—he’d been very invested in the naked-Bran rule. Another thing surprised me: the idea of there not being a naked-Bran rule made me a little sad. Weird!

“‘Cause,” he said, his eyes riveted on my incredibly hard, throbbing cock, which under Edds’s scrutiny was currently twitching like a defective metronome and spitting precum all across that spot to the left of my abs. His own dick was just as messy, if the huge damp spot marking the end of the giant extra-wide bulge in his boardies was any indication.

I waited, then grinned. My dick was mesmerizing him, like a snake-charmer did with the cobra, except it was in reverse. Cobra’s revenge!

“‘Cause?” I prompted.

He blinked. “‘Cause,” he said, “if you were Naked Bran, you wouldn’t be wearing boardies right now.”

I waited again, loving the way he was so totally absorbed by my big, hard tool. I was incredibly turned on, warm with lust and desire, but I loved this part too, so much.

“And?” I said at last.

“And,” he said doggedly, “if you weren’t wearing boardies right now your cock wouldn’t be pushing out of them like this. And I have just decided that that—” He nodded at my dick. “—is the hottest thing ever.”

I laughed. “Babe,” I said, “love, sweet-lips—”

“Sweet lips?” he repeated, finally tearing his eyes away from my dick to look up at me again. This time his smile was adorably sardonic.

I shrugged my own big shoulders, enjoying the feel of my hair brushing against them as I did so. I was bigger muscles-wise than Edds, but Edds was more compact and so he looked more muscular. He was like a muscle TARDIS, or, something. That wasn’t quite it. But that was what I meant. I was looking at Edds’s mouth, and remembered what I was going to say. “You have sweet lips,” I said. “What’s wrong will calling you sweet lips?”

He grinned. “So does that mean I should call you… Super-Wiggle-Butt?” he teased.

I shook my head. “Mesmercock,” I corrected him solemnly.

We both broke into giggles. It was the stupidest name ever and so totally awesome.

He looked back at the cock in question. His own monster was jerking violently in his shorts, but he didn’t seem to notice. He seemed determined to spend all his focus on my glorious, precum-slicked, iron-hard wang.

“It is,” he affirmed, his smile softening with awe. Mesmercock, he meant. I almost snickered again, but he was kind of serious now, so I kept it in and just squeezed those hefty shoulders of his, just to give him some affection back.

He swallowed. “I wanna leave it like this. Just stare at it, the way it’s so big and thick and hard and sticking out and smearing pre on you. That okay?”

I let out a little gasp. Now I remembered what I was really going to say. “Babe,” I tried again, “love, sweet-lips… you should know this already, but if you’re going to fuck me—”

“Make love to you,” he corrected instantly.

My heartbeat tripped over itself, because when he said that, he wasn’t just using nicer words. He meant it, so literally. Fuck, I loved Edds like crazy. Had I told him? Could I ever tell him? In that moment I wasn’t sure I knew the answer to either question.

I tried keeping to the thought I’d had before, because I thought he would like it. “If you’re going to make love to me,” I repeated, “there has to not be pants.”

Edds’s smile turned wicked, and he looked up at me through his lashes with definite carnal intent. “I dunno, Bran,” he said. “I’m so hard for you I think I could make it happen.”

I swayed slightly, and discovered I was holding onto Edds’s shoulders, fortunately. “Okay,” I said. “Pants off, and you have—” I tried to come up with a really short amount of time. “—ummm, negative two minutes to get your dick inside me.”

I don’t know how long it actually took, but the amount of time that actually elapsed was not long, and that included Edds pulling off my boardies without bothering to open up the fly the rest of the way after all (my hard, round butt resisted, but Edds is really strong); Edds ceremoniously throwing my boardies in the trash to symbolize my future nakedness, and me objecting that we should at least donate them (after washing them to make sure we weren’t donating a gallon of my precum along with them); Edds pulling off his boardies, making his palm-wide dick spring up and splatter pre across my face, almost hitting my eye; us laughing at how our cocks were such troublemakers; and some really deep kissing, like we practically swallowed each other’s mouths kind of kissing, which also made us start giggling halfway through when we realized that was what we were doing.

At some point we made it to the bed, naked and hard and just holding each other while our dicks tried to be patient with us. I was on my front, which kind of surprised me because of all those scenes in gay romances (not that I read that stuff) where the bottom positions himself on his front and the top always says, “Turn over, I want to see you.” It felt right this time, though, for us to share this moment this way, and for Edds to hold me from behind as he let his insanely hard and uncannily massive dick nudge wetly along my crease. Somehow he was producing so much precum now that it occurred to me he didn’t need lube, and his slow, affectionate rhythm made it impossible to feel even the slightest trepidation. So when he hesitated, and I guessed he was thinking muzzily about finding some slick somewhere, I said, “Do it. You’re good. Slide it into me.”

He slid his hands around my long, thick-muscled torso and bent to kiss my spine. “You sure?” he said. “I’m so big, I didn’t even realize. I don’t know if I could take me.”

We snickered at that, maybe because I was trying to imagine how that would work. I ended up picturing him having a twin like Jimmy and Jase, only that was too complicated, so it just ended up being Jimmy fucking him. Or Jase. I could tell them apart now but they’d probably take turns so it wouldn’t matter.

I nudged my butt up a little, feeling the blunt head of his dick almost catch on my tight hole. “If I can take your dumb jokes,” I said, grinning into the pillow, “I can definitely take that log of a dick you’ve got.”

He kissed my spine again, licking up a bit of the sweat he found there, and I was feeling so close to him just then, our heat and passions intermixing in the heady air of our bedroom, that I could almost taste it myself. He kissed again. “I love you,” he said. Before I could answer, he shifted against me and the head of his dick pressed firmly, but calmly, against the restrictive ring of my anus. I gasped. He kissed my back and repeated, “I love you. You’re mine. I love you.” He kept saying it, low and soft like a mantra, as my body adjusted to him and let him steadily, relentlessly, adoringly into me.

It felt like a union of souls, and as he pressed in, driving his wide, thick, wonderful hardness deep into my tight, anxious, and almost totally ready body, I suddenly wished I was on my back after all, just because instead of panting and gasping with spikes of ungodly pleasure I wanted to be saying “I love you, you’re mine” too, but to his face, looking into his amazing green eyes, sharing the words with him. But I didn’t really need that. I need this. This was more than words, like the song. I suddenly, truly understood, for the first time ever, why it was called “making love”.

Okay, and thinking of the song meant that somehow I was hearing “More than Words” actually playing in the room now, like those two guys from Extreme were sitting on their stools over there in the shadows by the bay window and singing quiet, mellifluous harmonies and the long-haired guy was doing that sweet semipercussive guitar strumming and the other guys were lounging at the opposite end of the room with their lighters and their dog and just enjoying the song with us; and that was okay, because it was chill, and I loved that song, and I loved Edds, and we didn’t have to say it, though we did say it and we would say it because it felt good to say it too sometimes. Edds was saying it now, kissing and nuzzling my spine as he drove himself further in; but it was that part, him pushing himself more and more inside me, that was truly joining us together.

Aw. I wanted a dog.

He was halfway in. God, he was so big and it felt so unbelievably good and crazy and huge. It should have felt dangerous, but it wasn’t, not at all. Not like that, anyway. The danger was to me staying who I was, because I was changing for Edds. Not just over time, but while we were doing this, like all the changing I’d done for him since I’d started working at the pizza place was being concentrated into this single steady, hard push of his incredible dick completely and totally into me, deep into who I was and what I was. He was halfway in and I wasn’t sure I would make it to the root, much less into any actual quote-unquote fucking after that. He would drive his spike all the way into me, and I would be gone, lost, exploded into the depths of the furthest dark matter of the universe, floating in the unreality of infinite release.

Time slipped again somehow. He was almost all the way in now, and I felt like a finely tuned car engine being pushed into the red. I was hot all over, sweating, thrilling with the overstimulation of Edds behind me, holding me, kissing my back, murmuring his passion for me, and driving his mammoth, too-thick cock deep into my soul. My own dick felt enormous, like the potency of his big, blunt magic wand inside me was filling my own dick with power and strength and size and need. I was so close. I was shaking with the urgent necessity of blowing the largest load ever conceived of by the entirety of humankind.

“Babe,” I panted. “Please. Push it into me. Finish me. I’m so close. Just—whatever friction you need, if you need to fuck me, just—god, I need your orgasm, Edds, I need your load, I—I—” I was babbling. My mind had gone from foggy to saturated with pure, two-hundred-proof Edds-lust.

Edds rested his head against my damp back. “Bran, love,” he said, “I’ve been close for, like, ten minutes. I could have cum a hundred times already, you feel so good. I’ve been holding back… but I’m not sure how much longer—”

“Do it,” I barked. “Ram me hard. Make us cum, Edds! Make us fucking—yyyeeeesss!!” I broke off in a scream of pure pleasure as Edds did as I ordered and jammed his enormous dick all the way into me, and I lost it, just as I knew I would. The feeling of raw pleasure was just too intense. My release hit me like lightning and I started cumming hard, as huge, high-pressure jets of cum began tearing out of me. Edds cried out too, and hearing him hit his powerful release and feeling his hot spunk bursting out of him deep inside me drove my orgasm into some kind of intensified turbo mode. We were both crying out as we shot ungodly amounts of spunk out of our red-hot cocks, each surge feeling like a cycle that took us through spasm and relaxation and back. I slumped limply on the bed, ignoring the still-warm wet spot as our releases ebbed. Edds wrapped himself around me, his hard dick still all the way in me for a long time after we’d finished cumming.

Eventually the wet spot was a nuisance, though, so I bucked him off be to one side; only there wasn’t any bed there on that side, only the floor, and I heard him land with a loud, sickening thump.

“Oh shit!” I said. I scrambled to the side and peered over to see him lying there on the plush carpet, rocking with silent laughter. I chuckled too, unable to take my eyes off him. He was naked and beautiful and I was too far away from him. So I climbed awkwardly off the bed, managing not to knee him in his heavy balls as I did so, and once I was down there on the floor next to him I snuggled up close to him, and we held each other as we drifted off to sleep.

I think we’d planned to clean up after the big dinner-slash-experiment with the Grow Boys, Brandon and brother Eddie, using the “special herbs” we suspected we’d find if we did a little unauthorized tour of the place… and they hadn’t been hard to find, either. Our host might have even meant them to have been found if his guests were more curious than our brother and his tall, dark, and hunky b-f had turned out to be.

We weren’t cleaning up, though. Instead we were out on the porch behind the kitchen and dining area, the sounds and calm of a summer night all around us as we held each other close, enjoying the press of muscle and flesh and cock. I wasn’t sure why we were doing that, but… I didn’t feel like stopping anytime soon.

Our dark-framed glasses were set aside on the little table next to us, making me feel a little exposed, like the barriers were down between us. Jimmy’s bare back felt nice under the slow movements of my hands, and his chest felt pretty good pressed against mine, too. We’d already been upgraded that first night, from defined a step or two toward buff, and damn it felt right to have that in my arms, and feel arms like that around me. It was calming, too, holding and being held. We swayed slightly, as if we were dancing to a quiet orchestra comprised of crickets and toads and nightstalking birds in the woods beyond.

My lips pressed against Jimmy’s neck. We were both very turned on, but we weren’t doing anything about it apart from our tight, mutually appreciative embrace and the subtle caresses of our hands on each other’s backs. We hadn’t felt this close to each other in a long time, and we were both kind of savoring it, seeing where this mood and connection took us.

Only I was feeling more than arousal. My body felt hot and full of some kind of energy that seemed to be trying to expand inside me, stimulating muscle and sinew and bone and charging it with its own dynamic power… pushing at my skin like it was a semielastic boundary, one that could be pushed out by the sheer, creeping multiplication of what was within. It was strong, what I was feeling, so strong, like I would be utterly changed by it. We would be, because I felt it in Jimmy, too, his muscle, his physique, and his cock all pushing against mine, burgeoning like mine was, pressing hard as our mass subtly increased.

I should have been alarmed. I should have been—we both should have been. No one would be able to miss what was happening to us. Everyone would see, even Eddie and his equally oblivious other half. It was only just starting, and we could feel the potential building and building, like the shadow of a giant looming over us.

Jimmy’s breath was quickening against my neck as he tightened his embrace. “It wasn’t just the chocolate balls,” he said after a while. It wasn’t really a question. The dessert was dosed, and we’d had a few, but this was feeling way beyond what could be accounted for by a couple or three chocolate balls.

We’d put the darker, stronger-smelling cannabis strain we found in the stockpile of plastic bags in that cooler in the (otherwise empty) garage into the chocolate balls because we figured the cocoa and other flavorings would mask the more potent of the strains we were experimenting with this time. The medium strain, the one Mike had the most of and which he seemed to be using most often based on the larger, partly filled bags nearer the top of the trove, was what we used in the main course. The plan had been to give the half with what we’d surmised was the moderate cannabis growth agent to our two marks, so as to prove our deductions about what had been happening to them since they moved in here; and we’d reserved remaining non-doctored half for ourselves.

I pulled back so I could look Jimmy in the eye, just because I had to get it out, to put it on record. “I think… I think I switched the pans,” I said.

Jimmy’s lips twitched. I couldn’t hold back either. We both burst into huge grins. It was the silliest experimental fuck-up ever. “Our life story is going to be called The Wrong Lasagna,” he said. We snickered.

Our mirth faded as we gazed at each other. There wasn’t much light out here, just what spilled out from the fairly bright lighting in the kitchen and eating area, but… as I stared harder I could swear I could see the blond bristles in my brother’s beard pushing out of his pale chin and along his jawline, picometer by picometer.

Whoa. Trippy.

The lobes of my brain felt misaligned. We’d done weed before, of course, but this stuff, even the mellow-smelling strain we’d thought was a kind of medium grade, was creeping up on us a lot faster and harder than we expected. And its effect on our bodies was already more than we’d expected to see tonight. We were buffer, firmer, and harder all over, and our cocks were thick and long and eager to get bigger and thicker and more impressive in every way. Even our jeans were turning into floods, gradually exposing more and more of our ankles to the warm night air.

It wasn’t just that we’d eaten the wrong tray, I thought. We… might also have fucked up the dosage a bit.

That was the other thing we’d sort of improvised with. What kinds of quantities and ratios had Mike been using with his specially-bred weed to get the slow results he’d attained over these last few weeks? We didn’t know. We guessed. It was an experiment, after all.

I was starting to think we’d underestimated the raw effectiveness of our special ingredient. Perhaps… seriously underestimated.

I swallowed, staring at Jimmy. His face was the same as always, but… Okay, the more I looked at him, the more he looked like he’s had a subtle but not insignificant handsomeness upgrade in the last hour or so. What was up with that? Was it because I was horny as fuck right now and I was actually feeling our bodies infinitesimally but relentlessly growing and pressing against each other as we hugged each other tight? Or was something happening to him, to us, that was beyond growth, beyond… beyond…

I couldn’t hold onto the thought. I couldn’t even keep my focus. My vision seemed to track in, slowly filling with those dulcet lips of his, which were now surrounded by dark blond stubble. My mind emptied except for one thought: Lips were for kissing.

Twins don’t always think alike; ‘seldom’ is probably the better word. Jimmy and I generally think more in complementary terms, which means we’re best at coming up with solutions to things together. I’m pretty sure, though, based on what happened next, that in that moment Jimmy had exactly the same thought I did.

After the beach this morning and seeing Brandon Andros again all huge and hot and hairy and grinning like there was nothing but sunshine in him, I’m starting to think I might be in trouble.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Zac. In fact I’m pretty sure I’ve loved him since the moment I realized I was gay for him. Like, years of bare-ass dudes in the locker room did nothing for me, and then one night I’m coming home from practice and I see this guy leaning all languid and relaxed against his dorm room doorway, chatting with some dude with his arms crossed over this long, loose burgundy-colored Bronie Zone tee shirt, and my heavy hose of a cock just starts inflating in my jeans all on its own. And I barely noticed because I was staring at his lips from all the way down the hall and thinking how much I wanted to taste them.

Most people don’t believe it when I tell them I barely noticed he was a dude, or that he wasn’t what I was used to thinking of as sexy in a guy—i.e., muscled up like me. Everyone I knew had more muscle than him, my last girlfriend included. My own arms are pretty thick and hard for a running back, everyone says—people always wants to touch them, guys too, and most of my shirts are sleeveless because, fuck, of course I show ’em off!—and yet in that moment I wanted nothing more than to just wrap them tight around that fit, barely muscled bod and kiss him ‘til we both forgot there was anything else. And maybe slowly hump my big, stiff cock against his hip a little while we were at it, and see if he was into me enough to do the same.

I’m not much for impulse control, I’ll admit. I’d barely become aware of my sudden need for him before I was already there, right in front of him, staring into his dark brown eyes as he leaned against his own doorway. He stared right back at me, too, and I could see all kinds of things in those eyes—amusement, curiosity, interest, and (yes! fuck yes!) a seriously heavy dose of raw, old-fashioned lust. In my peripheral vision I sensed the random guy he was talking to (his ex, I later discovered) frown and then basically evaporate in oblivion, along with the rest of humanity.

We stared at each other and just… breathed for a moment. I could feel the heat between us, literally. He smelled like sandalwood and cinnamon. When he smiled at me I grinned like a loon.

“The Platinum Bullet,” he announced slowly, his voice soft and almost reverent. I could tell from the way he said it there was true appreciation for what that nickname meant on the field—namely, that I was fast and unstoppable. Later I’d find out he obsessively went to all the games, even including most of the away meets, and knew my stats better than I did. In that moment, though, I was just ridiculously happy he’d heard of me.

“Call me Jay,” I said seriously, like he was the only one that would call me that from now on. They guys on the team were starting to call me J-Jo, actually, for some reason I didn’t get, so maybe he would.

“Zac,” he said, a little distractedly. We were still staring into each other’s eyes, but he was already slowly stroking my bare, stone-carved upper arm with his right hand. Neither of us had noticed when he’d started doing it. My pulse sped up suddenly like I’d been plugged into a city generator.

“So, Zac,” I said, uncharacteristically nervous, “you, uh, want to grab a beer with me, maybe?” I bit my lip. His lips curved in response, and my stomach did a little flip.

He nodded into the room behind him. “I got beer,” he answered casually.

My grin was back. “Sounds like a plan,” I said.

Then we went into his room, Zac closed the door behind us, and… well, let’s just say I got to do all the things I’d been hoping I’d get to do, and a fuck of a lot more. We’ve been together ever since, and I gotta say it’s ironically kind of humbling that my favorite person is also my biggest fan. He’s there for me, he’s an amazing lover, and my best friend. He’s all you could want in a boyfriend and a bag of chips.

So why the fuck have I started noticing the hip-swaying, swoled up, stoner pizza gorilla?

Part of it has to be that since the start of summer he’s put on the weight of a small child in thick, solid muscle, and every ounce of it looks like he was born to be this way. Week after week I go into that shop and he’s, like, a notch bigger every time—sometimes two notches. It’s like there’s crank somewhere under that counter that’s hooked up to his beautiful, sculpted brawn somehow, and every once in a while someone comes along and gives it a good yank. I swear he’s even gotten taller. His fireplug buddy, Eddie, is growing too, so maybe they’re in some kind of intense gym rivalry, or maybe there’s something in the water where they live—who knows.

But the way Brandon is putting on muscle is fucking captivating. I know he’s gone up in shirt sizes at least twice and his uniform polo is still constantly straining across the chest and shoulders. Which is amazing to watch as he goes about making pizzas or hauling shit out of the oven, his muscles all bunching and flexing and shifting under the snug, stretchy fabric while he works. And meanwhile that round, hard, criminally alluring butt of his is shifting this way and that to its own rhythm like it’s bent on hypnotizing anyone caught watching it.

Plus, as if that weren’t enough, he’s been blooming with hair like one of those time lapse videos of a desert turning green overnight. Only in Brandon’s case it’s thick, chestnut hair that’s like, practically pouring out of his head and pushing through into the light from neck to ankles. The way it complements his olive skin, it’s like it’s showing off how fertile it is. It was bad enough when his chest hair was a tantalizing fringe escaping his uniform collar, but at the beach you could see so much more of everything, and… well, the only reason I didn’t bone up instantly at the sight him like that was that my junk was curled up tight in a very well-made Speedo. That tight, only slightly stretchy banana hammock was literally the only thing holding me back from springing the biggest goddamn woody I’d ever had.

And speaking of which… Christ. Now, I’m hung way better than average, and Zac has this long, straight, gorgeous cock, a little wide and a little flat, that my mouth almost literally cannot get enough of. But Brandon is huge and—I swear to Walter Payton!—he’s huger every week, just like his big hard pecs and his shirt-stretching shoulders and his amazing, hot-as-fuck legs. Early on you could see the bulge even when he was working; then it was like it was showing itself more and more. Once I realized he was hard most of the time I couldn’t take my eyes off it whenever he moved away from the counter enough for it to be obvious.

At the beach, though? He was wearing these sweet deep-teal board shorts, and it’s not like they were low cut or anything… and yet this big, fat, enormous, huger-than-ever hard-on was just shoving right out of them and nuzzling those tight, furry, perfectly chiseled abs with its warm, wet nose like it simply could not be contained. Like it was only going to get bigger and bigger, and more and more uncontrollable.

Holy hell, I’m hard just thinking about it.

So, yeah, I’m basically fucked. I love Zac, but I’m not the kind of guy who keeps things from his boyfriend. Not that I could—Zac says not only do I wear my heart on my sleeve, I wear my dick and my stomach, too. I’m not exactly a black box, especially to the guy who knows me better than I do, and who loves me even more than I love him.

So, he must know, and he’s waiting, patient as ever, for me to tell him.

I gotta tell him. I love my man, but our favorite sunshine-smiling, slowly growing pizza gorilla has some kind of hold on me, and what the fuck I can do about it I have no fucking idea.

Jay is so adorable when he’s wound up about something. Usually he’s pretty chill, but when he gets pent up about something—a big game coming up, one of his buddies in a scrape—he’ll just zone out and start biting at his lower lip, slow-dragging it past his front teeth over and over, and every time I just want to kiss him right back to reality.

Summer’s normally a break from any kind of stress for both of us. No school, no sports, and his job at the bog-box DIY store his aunt runs and mine at the guitar shop are both pretty low-key. Lately, though, he’s started glitching again. And I gotta laugh because I know exactly why it’s happening. He can’t stop thinking about how our favorite handsome and hunky pizza dudes have been getting bigger and bigger all summer. And the funny thing is, neither can I.

Seeing them at the lake this morning must’ve given him an extra-heavy dose of lust-angst. We were at Goofy’s (that’s Gui Fei’s Mandarin downtown—lots of good food for not much), and all through dinner those beautiful sky-blue eyes of his kept sliding out of focus. Then those white front teeth would start dragging across his fleshy lower lip, and my heart would just melt for this jock-muscle dork all over again. I actually started chubbing up a little, he was so cute like that—not that I’m ever far from a major boner around this guy. Not with that body, and the way he gives head like he was made for it.

I took a bite of my spicy pork and grinned at him, but he didn’t really notice. He’d barely touched his steamed chicken and broccoli, too, and he loves steamed chicken and broccoli. This was serious.

So of course, I had to tease him about it. “So,” I said, swallowing and pointing my chopsticks at him across the booth, “Beardy McPizza Dude sure is getting massive this summer, huh?”

He started and stared at me for a second, then dropped his gaze. Even with his light summer tan I could see his cheeks redden a little.

I set down my chopsticks and leaned toward him. “Dude,” I said.

He looked up again, his eyes wide and plaintive. “I’m so sorry!” he said.

I just grinned at him. “I know,” I said. “Dude, you think I haven’t been just as riled up over Brandon and Eddie as you have?”

His blue eyes flashed, and a tiny line appeared between his pale eyebrows. Finally, he said, “You want… both of them?” He sounded worried.

I wanted to smack him on the forehead, but instead I reached up and smoothed his almost-white bangs away from his face. Normally he kept his hair boot-camp short, but he was growing it out a little, and it was coming in loose and silky, its pale sun-straw color a beautiful contrast to his mild, toasted-almond tan. He was mostly going without product so as soon as I pulled my hand away it fell back, almost but not quite obscuring those amazing eyes of his. He’d have to trim it soon.

“I want you, doofus,” I said truthfully. “Only you.”

“Me too!” he responded immediately. When I grinned wider his eyes narrowed. “You know what I mean.”

I held his gaze. “I do,” I said, mostly serious now. “I know I’m your guy.”

“Damn straight,” he said, finally smiling. This was a running gag with him, alluding to him supposedly being completely and unquestioningly hetero before he met me and suddenly started craving dick even more than I did.

We were still staring into each other’s eyes. I could get lost in them so easy. There was frank arousal in them now, and best of all no guilt—that lust was all mine. “Eat your chicken,” I said finally.

“How bout I eat you instead?” he suggested.

“I am not chicken.”

He smiled and finally started diving in like he normally does, plowing through his overgenerous portion like he hadn’t eaten in days—exactly the way he eats every meal, if he’s not hung up on hot, growing pizza shop guys. I knew he still had Brandon and Eddie spinning around in his head somewhere, though. I decided to strike again. “So what would you think if I started thickening up like that?” I asked.

This was not exactly an idle question. I’d been thinking about Brandon and Eddie almost as much as Jay had, and (unlike him) not just with my little brain. Now, Eddie, him I could picture getting bit by the iron bug and turning into a dedicated, obsessive gym rat. But Brandon just did not strike me as the type. I was taking criminal justice with a focus on forensics, and I had noticed two changes in Brandon and Eddie that coincided exactly: muscle, and the smell of pot. And when I’d opened that plastic container of blond brownies Brandon had given us and peered inside, I’d gotten a very distinctive whiff of hash. Only… I dunno, it was not quite like any pot smell I’d encountered before. It was more potent somehow, like it might just do more to you than make you high. I was… intrigued.

Jay looked up at my question, surprised, a wide wafer of white chicken halfway to his mouth. “I like you the way you are,” he said dutifully. I knew he meant it—he likes that I’m fit-sexy rather than jock-muscley like him. And yet, I could see it in his eyes. He was curious.

I pressed him a little, hiding a smile, because I just can’t help teasing my sweet, guileless man. “You’d hate it if I got all buff and beefy?” I asked.

“Uhhh…” he said. He frowned. “I feel like this is a trick question.”

I laughed and went back to my food, dropping the matter, and he did too, obviously both relieved and… a little distracted.

I eat fast enough—you know, like a normal human—but before long Jay had completely cleaned his plate and was sitting back in the booth looking satisfied and watching me dawdling over the remaining third of my spicy pork. Finally I pushed it over to him. I watched in fond admiration as he inhaled that, too.

He leaned back again, patting his flat stomach through the (of course) sleeveless blue tee he was wearing. “Now all I need is dessert,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I pretended not to catch his innuendo, another running joke between us. “Oh good,” I said. “We still have that thing of blondies the guys gave us.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about those,” Jay said. “They look kinda rich, though.” Jay had a thing about sweets. Even if he ignored his athlete’s rigorous diet he couldn’t eat more than a little of anything sweet, especially cakey stuff like cookies and brownies.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll eat most of them. But I’ll definitely save a couple for you.”

“Cool,” said Jay.

Zac and I live in this big, roomy flat off campus now with Zac’s best friend Benjamin, another trim-fit cute-nerd type who’d known Zac since they were in high school jazz band together. They were even criminal justice majors together. Now, I know what you’re thinking: why would a committed couple want to live with a third guy and have him listen to us having loud sex all the time? For that matter, why would the third guy want to live with a committed couple and listen to us having sex all the time? And the answer is two words: dream apartment. It’s the entire top floor in a converted factory off the edge of downtown, complete with a skylight and an actual view over the arboretum toward campus; and the reno was done right, with modern appliances, a freaking washer/dryer in flat, and internal walls that not only aren’t tissue-thin but actually had some soundproofing laid in. No listening to us having sex required! Unless Zac gets extra-loud, and that’s only if I get really inspired. The kicker, though: with Benji paying a third of the rent, Zac and I were actually paying less than we would have for the second-best apartment on our list.

And, okay, it’s not like I have an exhibitionism streak exactly, but I’ll concede it’s kind of fun making out with Zac in the living room and knowing Benji’s watching and maybe getting off on it a bit. I mean, it’s not like I constantly walk around the place buck naked, but, hey, if people like it when you don’t wear shirts all the time, why wear shirts all the time?

Zac, of course, knows I’m like this and is vastly amused, the fucker. But he plays into it too. To play up the “skin” theme, he’s been wearing my tee shirts that have the sleeves ripped off, which actually look damned hot on him—his arms aren’t bulky but they’re still very, very nice. He even started getting Benji to “help” him whenever he’s sitting next to me on the couch and stroking my upper arms, supposedly so my other arm doesn’t get lonely, and Benji is willing enough, so… that’s how we watch TV now. It’s not a big thing.

We got home from Goofy’s that night to find the apartment dark except for some flickering coming from the living room, so we go in there and find Benji in there, sprawled on the big sofa watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with the sound off on the big plasma screen. That was odd already—Benji’s normally a turn-on-all-the-lights kind of guy, and who watches Buffy on mute? But the real bizarreness came when we rounded the couch and saw that he was naked except for a pair of charcoal boxer-briefs. Definitely not Benji behavior.

His eyes wandered up to us blearily. “Duuuuudes,” he said happily. He smiled slowly, like his facial muscles were having trouble remembering the sequence.

Zac was already grinning. “Hey, Benji!” he said. He lifted up Benji’s long legs to sit under them, dropping them back on his lap and patting them. “How you feeling, bud?” he asked, the entertainment clear in his voice.

“Duuuudes,” Benji answered, more serious now. “I think there was something in those brownies you brought home!”

It was then I noticed the plastic container Brandon had given us was laying on the floor near his lolling hand. The lid was open and all but two of the blond brownies were gone. A big glass from the kitchen was next to it on its side, fortunately empty, though the milk smears inside it were obvious.

“You ate all the brownies?” I asked, incredulous.

He blinked owlishly at me. “I only ate one,” he protested. “Then, I ate another one. And another one…” He trailed off, forgetting whatever point he’d been making.

I was miffed. Not because I wanted the brownies for myself—I like stuff like that but can’t really eat a lot of it or my gag reflex kicks in (for a change, wink wink). No, I was miffed because hunky pizza gorilla guy had given them to me, darn it. Well, okay, us. And now I was doubly miffed, on Zac’s behalf as well as my own. He’d been looking forward to those brownies.

Then Zac laughed, and… damned if he can’t defuse any situation. He melts my miff every time. I looked at him, eyebrows up, and he laughed again, nodding in invitation toward the other end of the couch. Sighing, I went over and heaved Benji up by the shoulders long enough to sit under him. He felt heavy—and solid. Had he been working out? As he laid his head back in my lap I glanced over his torso, and yeah, it definitely looked a bit thicker than I remembered it. Not that Benji showed off his body much, or at all. He was pretty conscientious about wearing shirts and pants even when I didn’t bother, in fact, which was part of why his current state of absent-minded dishabille was so out of character.

I put my arm up on the back of the couch, looking him over and thinking I really hadn’t been noticing him—he was definitely buffer, and a little hairier, too. His wavy, dishwater-blond hair was almost Tarzan-long and was spread all over my lap, and he had a two-day growth of beard I hadn’t noticed on him when we’d headed out to the beach that morning. Man, am I oblivious or what? All stretched out like this he looked even more limber and bendy than usual, like he was made out of pale taffy. It was all very sexy in a very unexpected way, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with what I was feeling in that moment.

To hide my perusal of his unexpected beefiness I said, “Dude, why’d you eat all our brownies?”

He’d been staring at Zac, who was stroking Benji’s shins, still very amused. He looked up at me, his expression earnest. “I was going to save them for you,” he said, “but the first one was soooo good…” His gaze wandered over to my arm on the back of the couch. “Dude, your arm’s too far ‘way.”

Zac barked another laugh. With a fresh sigh of exasperation I brought my arm down and rested my forearm on his midriff so my bis and tris were in reach. He smiled contentedly and lifted both hands to start slowly stroking my biceps and triceps, like he was polishing a marble statue. “I like touching your arms,” he said.

“We can tell,” Zac said, still amused. I looked over at him, and he nodded his chin toward the huge stiffie in Benji’s boxer-briefs. Geez, was Benji really that big? He was almost my size. Any bigger and that thing’d be pushing past his waistband, like Brandon’s gigantic boner at the lake—

Fuck, now I was getting hard. I wiggled under Benji, using the weight of his head to reposition my cock as it swelled to record hardness. He was gazing fixedly down at his own dick, though, and seemed not to notice.

“Oh, that,” he said. “No, dude, I’ve been horny all day. So fucking horny. I already beat off, like, three times, and look at it!”

We looked at it. There were some dark spots near the elastic, though whether they were from this boner or the previous ones I couldn’t say. The shifting light from the TV made it hard to tell much, though I did notice at this point that some of the fine hairs on his tight, faintly carved belly were matted and stuck together. Okay, I was definitely all the way hard now.

“It’s so big,” Benji mused, staring at his own dick like it was far away on the horizon, while still mindlessly stroking my arm.

“It is,” Zac confirmed. I glanced up at him. His expression was thoughtful and a little knowing, like he’d worked out something that was still a mystery to the rest of us. As if following his secret train of thought he looked up at me and added, “You should have the rest of them, Jay-Man.”

“There’s two left,” I told him. “One for each of us.”

“Hey!” Benji protested. “What about me?” He was so distressed he actually stopped stroking my arm for a minute.

“Dude, you already had the whole box,” I reminded him.

“Ohh,” he said. “Right.” He went back to moving his hands over my hard, thick upper arm, focusing all his attention on his work. “I love touching your arm, dude,” he murmured again.

“Okay,” I said briskly. “Time for bed!”

He looked up at me with wide eyes. “With you guys?” he asked.

“No, you go you your room and we’ll go to our room,” I explained.

“Ohh,” he said, disappointed. “But… can’t we just make it one big room?”

Some dangerous part of my lizard-brain thought this was a great idea. Were there any sledgehammers in the house? But fortunately my lizard brain is not in complete control of me, however much Zac might argue otherwise. “Not tonight, Benji boy,” I said. “Up and at ‘em!” I got my hands under Benji’s bare shoulders and half shoved, half helped him sit up, Zac shifting his legs to the floor from the other end, so that he was sitting between us on the sofa, obviously not sure how he’d gotten that way.

“You need a hand getting up?” Zac said. My traitorous lizard-brain heard that as “You need a hand getting off?”, which, okay, clearly he did, but once again I pushed down my impure thoughts and helped Zac cantilever Benji onto his big, hairy feet.

I had another wave of weird reality disconnect then, because in the Buffy light he definitely, definitely seemed more Adonis-muscled than I remembered. And as he straightened up (more or less), his Tarzan hair falling in his shoulders, I realized that he was taller than me. Hell, he was taller than Zac. By a couple inches. I glanced down at Benji’s feet—no, he wasn’t standing on a textbook or a throw pillow or anything. And Zac and I were both wearing tennis shoes with decently thick soles, so…

I met Zac’s gaze over Benji’s pale, newly bulging shoulders. Something was going on, and the look in Zac’s eyes told me he knew it, too.

Benji looked at me, a little unsteadily. “Okay, you’re right,” he agreed. “I’m going to bed.” Then this foolish grin came over him, and all at once he leaned in and kissed me, hard. With tongue. For, like, a minute. At first I just let him, and then I thought, fuck it, and kissed him back. I knew somehow that Zac was okay with it.

Then he pulled back, grinning like he’d won the lottery. Then he turned and kissed Zac, too, and… man, if I hadn’t been hard already…

Having duly ravished us, Benji shambled off down the hall toward the bedrooms. When he was out of sight I quickly closed the distance between me and my man. “I need to suck your dick, right the fuck now,” I said in a low undertone, our faces inches apart.

“That’s funny,” Zac countered, lips quirking. “I need to suck your dick right the fuck now.” Wow, he was as turned on as I was. So awesome. That only made me even more aroused.

I smiled, wide and wicked. “I know!” I said, like I’d just come up with a new idea no one had ever done before. “Let’s do both!”

We finally made it to bed about an hour later, but before that I detoured us to the living room to pick up the container with the blond brownies, then, hand in hand like he might get lost, I brought my jock-man with me to our big, homey kitchen and plunked him down in one of the chairs, impressed at how good he looked there all bare-assed and fresh from the shower, his pale wet hair a tumbled chaos on his head.

He watched me dishing out the two remaining oversized, gooey brownies with an indulgent smile. “You mean I get more dessert?” he said.

I’d already noticed how that whopper of his was half-hard again (or still). For that matter I was feeling strangely unsated myself. Despite some seriously intense sixty-nining in the living room leading to what felt like double orgasms for both of us, I was ready to go again. I cast him a quick wink as I worked and said, “Maybe lots more.”

He let out a contented sigh. “Best boyfriend ever.”

“You bet your perky ass.” I plunked the plates and a couple of glasses of milk on the table and sat down next to him. “Now, eat up. Benji can’t have all the fun.”

He eyed the blondie on his plate speculatively. “Maybe you should have both of ‘em,” he offered, glancing over at me. “You would have had most of the batch anyway.”

I looked at him curiously. Had he made the connection like I had? Or was he was doing that thing again where he tries to feed me because he eats like a black hole and feels weird I don’t? For once I couldn’t read him, though when that happens I can usually sort him out by asking the right follow-up question. I already knew what to try this time. “How about… a little scoop of ice cream on top?” I suggested. “We’ve got Pure Premium vanilla bean in the freezer,” I added in a sing-song.

Jay’s beautiful blue eyes lit up at that. “Yes! Perfect! I love you.”

I laughed and leaned in for a kiss. “I love you too, Jay-Man,” I said as I got up. I fetched the ice cream, a scoop, and a couple of spoons, then sat down next to him again, dishing a nice round dollop of the frozen goodness onto each of our thick, fragrant blondies. We ate our treats kind of staring at each other. I was pondering a rapid string of thoughts and questions:

was I was right about these blondies Brandon and Eddie had given us and what they did to people?

what would have happened if Benji hadn’t snarfed most of them, and I’d ended up eating as many as Benji had?

does it affect different people in different ways? does it make a difference if you got a huge dose all at once like Benji instead of steady doses over time?

what would the extra variable of the ice cream do—maybe intensify the effect, or mute it?

what would it really be like to be thicker and bigger and stronger every week like the pizza guys?…

I could tell what Jay was thinking, too. Both thoughts, actually:

mmm, ice cream; and

Zac looks really hot licking his spoon like that.

I drew my spoon out of my mouth reaaaal slow, and Jay watched avidly, his eyes darkening with serious lust.

We finished our desserts in a hurry and left the washing up for later, with me barely remembering the stuff the ice cream back in the freezer before we followed our very hard cocks back to our bedroom.

Our clever plan derailed slightly when we got back to our room and discovered something unexpected: Benji, in our bed, naked, boned as fuck, and out like a light.

We stared at the wreckage of our roommate for a few second, the apartment otherwise deadly quiet apart from Benji’s unconscious mumbling and the steady whuff of the high-powered window A/C. This was a tricky one. See, when we’d moved in we’d gotten a king-size bed, because reasons, so it might not have been a problem if he’d been off to one side. If he had been, we could have just climbed in on the other side and still had most of the bed to ourselves. That, however, was not the case. Benji was stretched out on his side right in the middle of the mattress, and looking huge and heavy enough to probably be as immovable as the trunk of a huge oak tree that’s right onto your car, smashing it from end to end. And he was on top of the sheet, so he’d sabotaged our ability to go to bed normally in more ways than one.

Jay made a go of trying to roust him, though I was sure it was doomed from the start. He climbed onto the bed and started shaking his shoulder. “Dude,” he said. “Benji, get up, bro. You’re in the wrong bed.”

Benji grunted and frowned. “Leeme ‘lone,” he slurred, still ninety percent asleep. “I like it here.”

Jay tried shoving him a little more seriously, then got his hands under his shoulders and tried shifting him by brute force. His fabled arms strained with the effort, but Benji was a dead weight. Out of ideas, he looked up at me hopefully.

Shaking my head, I turned and went around to the linen closet in the little hallway outside the bedroom. Retrieving a clean topsheet (from the navy-blue set we liked), I went back to the bedroom. Seeing what I had, Jay huffed a laugh. “Well, which side do you want, then?” he asked, gesturing to our sprawled-out roomie. His lips quirked, and his eyes glinted in the overhead light. “Heads or tails?”

I shook out the sheet, looking Benji over as I did so. He was definitely, definitely bigger now—like, twenty pounds bigger. He had pecs, for one thing, serious, square, thumb-thick pecs, and he had not had anything like what you’d call pecs before. His legs had gone from the proportions of a empty paper towel roll to exquisitely developed, firmly packed swimmers’ dream legs in the space of an afternoon, a beard had appeared on his formerly clean-shaven face like he’d been growing it a week, and his wavy Romance-novel hair was already past his hard, bulging delts and traps. I hadn’t known my buddy’s dick too well before this, not hard anyway, but I was almost certain it hadn’t been wrist-thick and pushing wetly past his navel. Most of all, though, I got the distinct feeling he was bigger overall even since he’d stood up in the living room and revealed he had a couple inches on me. How much I wasn’t sure, but it occurred to me that he wasn’t done growing. The idea that he’d be lying between us tonight, getting subtly bigger and bigger the whole night through, made my rock-hard dick jump.

Jay had noticed too, and given his reaction to seeing Brandon jumping up a size every time we saw him I wasn’t surprised to clock him staring at Benji while he waited for my answer, his own seriously massive cock sticking up at an angle as he knelt halfway between his legs and his perfectly sculpted torso, the mighty tool twitching and jerking enough that a spot of precum flew off of it and landed on Benji’s hard, hairy thigh.

“He’ll probably make out in his sleep with whoever’s facing him,” I said after a moment, remembering how he’d taken his leave of us in the living room, “so you can take that side. You’re already there anyway.” Turning of the overhead light, I spread the new topsheet over Benji’s legs and the bottom half of the bed and moved around to the other side.

Jay watched me suspiciously. “And you’d be… okay with that?” he asked.

I smiled at him. “Dude, would you be okay with it if it was the other way around?”

“Fuck yeah!” Jay answered immediately. “That’d be so hot.” His dick jerked again, sending more precum flying, and I chuckled as I climbed in behind Benji and started pulling the sheet up.

Jay quickly moved from his kneeling position to lay down on Benji’s other side, pulling up the sheet with me. “But what about you, then?” he asked, lifting his lead to peer over Benji at me in the dimness of the unlit room. He liked the idea of Benji sleep-kissing him, clearly, but he also wanted to share. Adorable.

“Dude,” I said, “I’m going to be riding his crease with my rock-hard cock all night.”

Jay smiled, and Benji murmured, “Sounds good.” I smiled to myself and snuggled in behind Benji, positioning myself exactly as I said I would, and from the deep depths of wherever Benji was I heard a hum of approval.

Jay settled in on the other side, and if I’d been wondering about getting any sleep as turned on and boned up as I was, I needn’t have worried. I was already feeling kind of muzzy as I climbed into bed, and as my body relaxed completely the three of us drifted together into an alternate reality of sex, kisses, sweet lips and long tongues, thickening muscle and huge, leaking, cum-spurting cocks that grew and grew with us to fill the entire universe.

My head feels like it’s filled with broccoli.

Why do I feel so strange? Why is my dick as hard as a crowbar and… is it spitting precum? Why do my nipples feel like they need a mouth on them, and right now?

Why are Jay and Zac sleeping in my bed?

Ugh, can’t think. Gotta get off. Fuck, I’ve never been this horny.

Maybe Jay and Zac will suck me? I kinda feel like we… did stuff, last night. That was all in dreams, right? It feels like it was real and a dream, all at once. Me, and Jay, and Zac, and… was that Seth Green? What was he doing there?

Fuck, all this time making sure I didn’t get between Jay and Zac, and then I go and literally get between Jay and Zac. I am such an asshole.

So horny. Gotta cum. Fuck, I’m getting close just thinking about how horny I am. Thinking about kissing Jay and kissing Zac. Oh, fuck, that was hot, if it was real. Was it real? So hot. So wrong and so hot.

Zac’s dick riding my ass-crease while I make out with Jay forever. Zac talking about riding my ass-crease with his iron-hard, pre-slick cock while Jay kisses me back. Was that real? Must have been a dream. Feels like a dream I fell into, like I merged with the dream. Maybe I’m still merged with the dream.

Head. Broccoli. Cock. Close.

Can’t cum here. Can’t get between Jay and Zac. Bathroom?

Climb out of bed—careful, don’t wake them. Still early, only a little light. Sunday? Is today the police ride-along? I—

Ow!! Fuck, who lowered the doorframes?

Ow. Ow ow ow. Okay, the headache is so much worse than the broccoli.

Owwwwww.

Bathroom doorway looks low too. What the fuck? Stooping under doorways feels weird, like I’m in some kind of dollhouse.

Toilet seat is cold. Why am I naked?

Why am I haaaard?

My dick looks weird. It looks… big. Crazy big.

It also looks… close. How is it up to my chest like that?

I must have, like, brain damage or something. Or I’m still in the dream.

It’s so close.

I bet I could lick it. Fuck, I bet I could kiss it. I never could before, but it’s so big and so close, and I’m feeling kinda bendy somehow?

Breath feels good on it. Shit, balls are churning. Warm all over. I’m gonna cum soon.

Can I cum in my mouth?

Oh god, that’s so hot, I’m totally going to explode—

Oh, yeah, my mouth goes around the head so easy—feels hot, feels amazing, so amazing

Deeper

Suck

Deeeeper

Hot mouth huge cock

Tongue, lips

Throooooat

Oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgodohgod

Cumming cumming so hard ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod

…

No brain just pleasure

Feels so good

Don’t want to let it out of my mouth ever

Still hard as fuck

Still tasting all the cum, so much cum, tastes weird but good

Never tasted my cum before, but I sure will be now

Unnnh no brain just pleasure

Feels so so good

No brain just

Applause?

Wha—

Zac and Jay in the doorway, grinning and clapping

Fuck, they’re naked and rock hard

They look amazing, and their cocks… they look different too. Should I tell them? They’d… probably get awkward knowing that I secretly jerk off to those cocks and can tell they’re, like, ten percent bigger. Right?

Is this my dream still? Did I do that? Did I buff Zac up a notch and make their dicks grow? They’d be so embarrassed if they knew I got off on them. But then

They’re naked and rock hard

Their dicks are, like, aimed at me

Fuck, Jay’s is massive. He could probably suck himself off now, too. Not as easy as me—how the fuck is my dick up to my chest? And as thick as

Wait, what the fuck is up with my chest? Like, I have one. And it’s covered in hair? Abs too

My legs look like someone stole them from a Greek statue

A really big, hairy statue

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Whose body is this?

Do Zac and Jay know what’s going—oh, they’re right here in front of me now.

They’re smiling and moving in closer, kneeling in front of me. Their fists are wrapping around my impossible cock. Their fingers don’t even meet. Fuck, four hands on my giant cock. So hot.

They’re moving in for a kiss. They’re going to kiss me, together. They’re going to kiss me and taste my cum in my own mouth and make me blow my wad again. Wow.

Hey guys. Welcome to my dream.

I’m not sure I remember waking up and getting out of bed that morning. I sort of came to myself, like I checked in on my physical being and discovered I was outside on a warm, breezy early morning, the predawn sky still starry to one side and tinged with reds and oranges in the other. I was running, but that seemed right and good. I wasn’t running from anything, I was just running. Working up a sweat, making my blood rush.

I was also wearing sweatpants, which did not seem right and good. Sneakers were okay. Socks were good, if there were sneakers. But there was something not right about my wearing sweatpants, or any kind of pants. Why did that seem strange?

I looked to my side, expecting to see Edds, and of course he was there, grinning up at me. We were running together down a country road somewhere beyond the house, nothing but fences and gently rolling fields in either direction until your eyes hit the distant tree line. I felt like a machine—I could just keep running in this direction until I got back to the house the other way around. Edds was keeping pace with me with no visible effort.

Fuck, just seeing his face. My heart flooded with so many emotions, I couldn’t even name them all. I smiled back down at him.

“You with me, love?” he asked, like he’d been waiting with patient amusement for me to emerge from the fog this whole time.

There, that was one of them. One of the emotions I was feeling so powerfully. Love. Was I with him? I wanted to affirm that in expansive, even florid terms. “You better fucking believe I am,” or “Until the end of everything,” or “Fuck, you have no idea.” That kind of thing. But every formulation I could come up with was anemic compared to the certainty and utter peace I felt at the thought of being next to him always. I just smiled and nodded, and drank him in. He knew, and I knew. It was enough.

He was so beautiful, it was almost incandescent to me, like it shone out of him. Maybe his long, cascading reddish-blond hair and creamy, sun-warmed skin, with the rising dawn behind him, made me think of it, but he seemed to be radiating beauty to all who could see it. I felt so lucky to be one of them, to be able to feel his allure and let my skin and heart and being just soak it in and be the better for it. His beauty wasn’t even all beauty, either, if you know what I mean. Sure, his rough-stubbled face was gorgeous, and his shining hair flowing behind him, and those pale green eyes that just seemed to skewer me every time I looked into them. His powerful muscles, all thick and round and yellow-furred, gave him the look of a Hercules transformed by some stray bolt of godly power into a being even thicker, even stronger than the demigod of legend and song; just his heavy, inches-thick pecs, shifting distractedly up and down with every footfall, was enough to inspire slavering lust, and his thighs and calves looked mighty enough to run to the stars and kick down the fortresses of the very masters of the cosmos. And, between legs and chest, rolling wetly against stone-carved abs, was that mighty tusk of a cock. Thrusting straight up from his groin and pushing past the waistband of his running shorts as if they were of no account, Eddie’s cock started out thick and got thicker as you got to the middle, then tapered to this wide, blunt head that I now knew belonged in the back of my throat forever. His sweet, fat prick was massier, girthier, and altogether more arresting than any cock I could even imagine. My mouth watered, and my own rigid, bent cock felt like it got even bigger and harder just from having Eddie’s prick fill my mind and vision.

“Watch the road, big guy,” I heard Edds says. He sounded immensely pleased with himself, and when my eyes tracked slowing up his brute-muscled, sweaty torso to his handsome, grinning face, I could see that he was, indeed, very proud and more than a little smug at the way he was able to gain my full and utter attention.

The road? Fuck the road. I was so filled with strength and elation, I felt like an encounter we had with any oncoming car would end with the car wrecked and smoking in the middle of the road and me running on unscathed, so empowering was it to have Eddie at my side, happy and smiling up at me, those green, smirking eyes filled with love.

I just winked at him. He was the same way about me, and we both knew it.

Eddie was beautiful, and his heavy-muscled physique and huge, fascinating, fist-thick cock were beyond amazing. But it was his joy, his sweetness, and his boyish playfulness that had started my attachment to him from the moment he’d wolf-whistled at my dancing butt all those weeks ago. I had been closed up and tamped down, living half a life. Eddie opened all my doors and threw up the sashes on every window, letting in light and sun and fresh air and real happiness I hadn’t even known I’d never had before. For me to have found in him both all-consuming love and fathomless lust felt like winning five lotteries and gaining superpowers all in one day.

We were coming to a crossroads in a bit. The right turn would take us back around toward the house; ahead took us further into the countryside toward Van Buren Lake. I didn’t feel even a little tired—on the contrary, I was exhilarated and energized. I looked down at Edds. “Do you want to keep running?” I asked him. “Or do you want to head home, take a shower, and let me make a big, beautiful breakfast for you?”

“Yes,” Edds said cheerfully. “All those things. And the one you didn’t say.”

“Oh yeah? Which one was that?” I asked, though I had a feeling I knew.

“Fucking your brains out,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Geez. My dick and my ass both twitched hungrily at very idea.

“Fast and hard,” he continued mercilessly, his voice low and husky, “then long and slow.”

“Then… fast and hard again, right?” I suggested.

“No,” he said, shaking his head with a leering smirk as he gave my body a quick once-over. “The third time,” he said, his eyes darkening, “will be really slow and really, really hard. I’m going to drill your giant, sweaty, thick-muscled, ape-hairy body so deep and so hard that when I blow, you’re going to be tasting my salty cum in the back of your fucking throat.”

I blinked at him. Fuck, it felt like my cock was being slicked up and jerked off just by his dirty talk alone.

Once again, my own words were both insufficient and unnecessary, so I just smiled at him, all slow and happy. We turned right at the crossroads and silently picked up speed, both of us now grinning like loons.

By the time Bran and I got back home, showered, made love, and showered again, the sun was up and morning was officially under way. It was still reasonably early—we hadn’t held out very long for the first round, and after the second round turned into fast and hard like the first one (because we were still, like, impossibly horny) we decided to postpone the long-and-slow and the slow-and-deep rounds of lovemaking till later when we were a bit calmer. So when we got downstairs it was just Mike in his pajama bottoms and red shirt sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading the news on his tablet.

The shirt was a no-no, I decided, so before Mike had even finished turning to look at us I’d pulled him up out of his chair (making him hastily set down his mug before he spilled anything) and was hauling that top right off of that lanky, fit body of his. It was a little awkward on account of him being taller than me (though not as much as I remembered—weird), but I managed to get it off him smoothly enough anyway.

“There,” I said, tossing the shirt into a corner. “Muuuch better.” I took in his defined torso and thought, as I had before, that with his proportions he would be hot as fuck with a bit of serious muscle gain. He wasn’t furry like Bran, but he had a nice scattering of short, curly dark hair that perfectly accentuated his firm pecs and his flat belly with its just-discernable six-pack. I admit I spent a second admiring the effect, and my cock and balls reacted with approval as well.

He smiled indulgently at me and picked up his mug. “No shirts to breakfast, I take it?” he queried, taking a sip.

“No. Shirts. Period,” I clarified, meeting his gaze. I realized I had stroking his upper arm without really noticing what I was doing, and decided to keep doing it for a few more heartbeats. “Any more violations,” I continued in my stern shirts-police tone, “and I’ll make you go naked like the big guy here.” I gestured at my big, hairy boyfriend, who still managed to look like a cover-model pretty boy even with a fuzzy chest and abs, equally fuzzy legs, long wavy chestnut hair, and a beard that managed to looked just a bit messy even after he’d just trimmed it a half-hour before. Over all he was not nearly as assiduously kempt as he had when I’d first met him and despaired of such a hot guy being an anal-retentive square. My man had definitely unbuttoned himself since then, and that was without taking into account the fact that he was standing there buck naked with his huge, fat, deliciously bent dong tapping arrhythmically against his hairy upper abs. My own dick, thrusting irrepressibly up out of my cargo shorts as usual, squeezed hard at the sight. I ignored it as best I could.

“Duly noted,” Mike said blandly, looking Bran up and down consideringly as he took another sip from his mug. “If you’re going to cook like that,” he told Bran, “you might want to check that box over there.” He nodded with his chin toward a large, squarish cardboard shipping box on the wooden credenza that stood against the far wall. Bran turned to investigate, treating us to a view of his magnificent, muscular, lightly hairy ass. It looked positively majestic, especially the way his long, sculpted legs and equally long, tapered back and narrow waist all seemed to be pointing to its firm, round globes.

“Fuuu-uu-uuck,” I breathed, staring.

“You guys didn’t do that already today?” Mike teased. My arm was around his waist now, and he had one over my shoulders as we took in the view. I hadn’t tracked exactly how we’d gotten into this configuration—I was kind of vague on transitions between moments these days. But it felt nice, so I went with it.

But yeah, whether we had fucked that day or not definitely didn’t matter, I was so ready to go, and right that second. “I could make love to that ass twenty times in a row and still want more,” I admitted, to myself as much as to Mike. It felt like a mini-revelation.

Bran, meanwhile, had opened the box and was holding up a soft-looking, dark green apron with the Pizza Joint logo on it. He gave Mike an inquiring look.

“I actually got them for work,” Mike said. “I thought we’d shift the uniform a bit, seeing as you guys have been having trouble with the polos.”

That sounded like the best idea ever. I moved in our half-embrace so I could look up at Mike. “And he doesn’t have to wear anything underneath, right? Just the apron, right?” I asked eagerly.

He gave me that fond smile he seemed to reserve just for me and Bran. “You guys have to at least wear pants,” he said reluctantly, like he knew someone had to be the grown-up here.

“Shorts?” I pressed, my whole body tingling with glee. “Shorty shorts?”

Mike’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but he was still clearly amused. “Boardies,” he conceded. “That’s as far as I’ll go.”

The prospect of Bran almost naked at work, in just board shorts and an apron, made a wave of happy arousal wash through me, and I yanked Mike against me in a fierce embrace. “Thank you!” I said, as he hurriedly putting down his mug a second time to prevent it from sloshing. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

Mike was laughing, and he looked so handsome, and so… Mike, that I impulsively shoved a hand around his nape and pulled him down into a kiss. Fuck, he was a good kisser. His tongue was almost as long as Bran’s, which was saying something, and after the initial shock he let it play deftly with mine as we kissed for quite a while.

Bran snorted a laugh from somewhere behind me. “III’m… going to go start in on some omelets before I blow a load watching you guys make out,” he drawled.

We separated after a while and just embraced as I stared into his pretty brown eyes, letting our big boners mash into each other’s hips like they had the last time we’d hugged. There was something about Mike that made me want to draw him closer to us. He was still our boss and our landlord. As a business owner and a home owner he seemed impossibly more together and mature than I thought I could ever be. And yet he was more than that to us, and we were more than employee and friends to him. The funny thing is, for all our tall, lanky stoner boss was the most relaxed guy we knew, there was still something about him that needed loosening up. What that was I had no idea, but I was sure as fuck going to do something about it. I’d have to talk to Bran—I was sure he’d felt it too.

I kissed him again, all messy this time, rutting my rigid, girthy cock into him just a little as I did so. “Thanks again,” I said as I pulled back. I saw a smile in his eyes, and I let myself feel a little proud of myself.

“Don’t mention it,” Mike replied softly.

“Hey, do we get a turn?” I heard one of my brothers say in a sexy, growly voice.

I turned and saw Jason and Jimmy standing in the doorway, looking a little too big for it. Shit, they had been working out. Apart from their Clark Kent glasses they were wearing just jeans, their heavy muscles looking too big for shirts—their thighs looked they were going to split the denim as it was, and a few inches of ankle showing at the bottom underlined just how wrongly sized those pants were for them. They were definitely holding hands, which was unexpected but sweet, and were sporting matching club-like erections that looked almost as intimidating and ungovernable as mine. Their blond hair tumbled fully onto their bulging shoulders like it was laying claim to them.

“Uh…” I started to say, momentarily flummoxed by their impressive, compact heft and unexpectedly intense hotness. Hadn’t they said something the other day about not wanting to pull their shirts off because they weren’t built like us? I must have been remembering that wrong, because these two looked like they were about to about take a few pics and videos for their livestream and pretty much melt down the internet with their young, blond, vibrant, totally ripped identical neo-Viking hunkritude, with the dark-framed specs throwing in that added nerd-stud appeal. The weird thing, though, was that somehow I felt like there was something deeper than looks and alluring smiles and hot, slightly stocky muscle bodies going on with how intoxicatingly attractive they were. It was like there was this heavy undertow where you just looked at them and got aroused—and I was already aroused.

I’d noticed that the latent pot aroma all over the house made us all extra-horny almost from the moment we walked in; that had to be where our constant erections and utter insatiability came from, I thought (not that either of those things was confined to the house, as our beach excursion had proved). But this sex glamor had a locus, and it was the twins themselves. I gulped, frantically instructing my cock and balls, as their boss and owner (how they would have laughed at that if they could), that they were not allowed to explode cum-juice all over everything just from looking at these two heart-stopping hooligans.

Then they started toward us. When they’d make the joke about getting their turn I thought they were after a chance at Mike, but before I could say anything more the twins moved right in on us and grabbed me away from Mike and started mashing me between them, feeling me up with what felt like lots more hands than they had. “Yeah, big bro, that kissing thing looked fun,” Jason said, smooching me noisily all over my face like that amorous skunk in the old cartoons while he and Jimmy groped and fondled and pressed up against me from both directions.

“Please teach us,” Jimmy added, licking my neck as he fondled my bare flanks and humped my ass. Jason stared licking me then, too, both of them humming happily as they manhandled me.

I was laughing and flustered and wildly turned on, like these two were radioactively sexy and each of them doubled up the other’s appeal. “Fuck, you weirdos, get off me!” I protested, giggling and close to orgasm at the same time. Mike and Bran were laughing, I think, presumably enjoying the spectacle, but I couldn’t see anything but Jason’s face as he moved in for an actual, on-the-mouth snog. I only fought it for a second before melting into it, all the roughhousing vanishing as Jase and I kissed while they both held me, Jimmy kissing the side of my neck—

All at once I realized I really, truly was about to cum, and I wasn’t ready to start blowing my loads with Jimmy, or Jase, or Mike, or anyone by Bran. Maybe if Bran and I were both getting sexed up by—Fuck, orgasm alert! Mayday! Mayday!

I shoved Jason back with more force than I intended, though he was almost as densely muscled as I was and pretty hard to move. Jase stumbled back, grinning jubilantly—he knew exactly what they’d done to me. I wrested myself free of Jimmy too and stepped back from them a pace, panting and hot. They snapped together like magnets, the two of them leering at my exposed dick like my big boner was all their doing. Maybe just then it was. If I hadn’t been crazy hard before, I sure would be now.

I looked down and saw that my granite abs were messy from what felt like half a dozen almost-orgasms. I looked up at them defiantly. “Ha!” I said, adding in a sing-song, “You didn’t actually make me cum!”

“Sounds like a challenge,” Jimmy said, his green eyes glinting mischievously. Behind them, Mike snorted a laugh and, adjusting his own hard-on, retook his seat at the table, though for the moment he refrained from picking up his tablet so he could continue watching the free entertainment in his own kitchen.

Jimmy and Jase moved toward me again, like tight-bodied beauty-hunk mountain lions stalking their prey. They looked weirdly big and granite-hard all over, which kind of fried my brain. I pointed my finger firmly at the two miscreants, but spoke to my boyfriend. “Hey Bran,” I called, “need my help with those omelets?”

“Nope, I’m good,” Bran sang back happily.

Jimmy and Jase were still advancing. “Um,” I called back to Bran, “in that case, maybe you don’t need help with that other project we were planning on working on later!”

Bran laughed. Instead of giving in to my childish blackmail, however, Bran said, “Hey, Jason, why don’t you help me chop up this chipotle?”

No, you idiot, I thought exasperatedly, looking over and trying to signal him with my eyes. Wrong twin.

Jason gave me a wink and peeled off, heading for the main kitchen area and leaving me face to face with Jimmy, who was kind of looming over me. With him all hard-bodied and half naked, glasses glinting in the overhead light, I felt like I was a teacher suddenly getting the tables turned on me from a large, blond ex-nerd turned as if by some transformation ray into a big, beautiful, mega-horny muscle Adonis. I held my ground and tried to look like a disdainful older brother, but my big, traitorous balls were begging me to let him have his way with me so I could blow my biggest load since, er, about forty-five minutes ago.

Jimmy’s expression relaxed into something that looked like genuine, raw affection, and instead of pouncing he gently enfolded me in a warm, not-quite-crushing hug. Almost automatically I reciprocated, wrapping my strong arms around his powerful upper body. Jimmy wetly nuzzled my neck for a moment while our extra-wide, extremely rigid cocks brushed up cozily together. Then, just as I was letting my guard down, he moved he mouth up next to my ear and whispered, “Don’t worry, bro, when we make you cum your boyfriend will be right there with us.” As my overtaxed brain tried to process that, he added, “Maybe your hot stoner boss, too.” Then he pulled back and planted a long, deep, furnace-hot kiss on me that was almost enough to make me violently cum like a gushing geyser all over both of us. Just as I started to lose track of whether I could really hold off my release any longer, he broke off the kiss, gave me a messy, bruised-lips smirk, and wandered off to help the others make breakfast.

I stood there a minute feeling a little dazed. I wondered how I could have four amazing tongues in my mouth in one morning—and how I was now pining for each and every one of them.

Avoiding Mike’s amused look, I decided I first needed to seek out the paper towels, which were on a stand at the end of one of the kitchen counters. I tore off a few and wiped up my precum-slimy six-pack before tossing the towels and heading over to join the others.

Jase and I were definitely having a whale of a time messing with our brother’s mind (and his massive choke-a-bloke cock), but we also couldn’t escape one particular chicken that had come home to roost thanks to our little experiment gone wrong. We’d tended to wear pretty tight jeans as it was, going for the whole “fit twins you can’t help scoping out” look that had gotten us into, and out of, so much trouble since our simultaneous puberty had woken us up to men and the intriguing effects of male beauty, especially when doubled, as ours so blessedly was. Now, though, our little trick with the doctored lasagna boomeranging on us, coupled with the unexpectedly potent chocolate balls we’d made, meant that Jase and I were growing out of our only pairs of jeans on top of being impossible horny.

And, okay, it sounds like fun to be literally getting too big for your britches. Conceptually we were getting off on it, for sure, but the trouble was we weren’t actually growing out of them. Demin jeans are sturdy, bro. The seams were straining at our impressive thighs and calves and our legs basically thinking our cocks being 20% bigger in length and thickness looked great and deciding to do it themselves too, but nothing was ripping open, everything retained its integrity, and the net effect was we were getting squashed from the waist down, not least when it came to our now lemon-sized nuts.

Eddie and his boyfriend were going through kind of the same thing in terms of outgrowing their clothes, though their development had been a lot more gradual. (And they hadn’t noticed it yet? Or were they just, like, wow everyone looks so big, coool?) Eddie, though, had always dressed in looser togs than we did. He hadn’t really seen himself as sexy like that and so hadn’t dressed the part before this. His current vow of shirtlessness and addiction to loose cargo shorts and boardies was an Eddie-loves-summer thing as much as anything else, so him being bigger wasn’t as much of thing for him sartorially speaking. And of course the boyfriend situation was very neatly solved by the guy being tricked into permanent nudity around the house and minimal clothing in public, which seemed to suit everyone fine, even the hairy muscle ape himself—and this despite his leaking boner constantly dripping on stuff and otherwise getting in the way as he went about his business. We gathered that Brandon had once been kind of closed up and more meticulous about his appearance, but falling for our free-spirited brother—plus doing a shit-load of strong, body-altering cannabis thanks to Mike’s Trojan-horse cookies, brownies, and whatever else he’d tried on the two of them before we got here—had, it seemed, completely loosened him up… though he still looked reserved next to Eddie, and me and Jase for that matter.

Meanwhile Mike, alone out of all of us, was not experiencing any kind of clothing crisis, which confirmed our assumption that all the pot he did was strictly the normal kind. Apparently he reserved the special strands for his pet projects, Eddie and Bran. This, of course, pressed all my mischief buttons pretty hard, and I resolved to find a way to make sure Mike was hoist on his own petard soon enough. Having seen Eddie looking him over I knew he agreed with us that this tall, lanky, cool-as-a-cucumber Mr. Handsome Young Business Owner would be even hotter with a serious dose or three of whoa-I’ve-got-muscles-popping-out-all-over. Plus, I had a sneaking suspicion that Mike’s super-laid-back demeanor would translate into him being a fucking machine in bed, and I so wanted to see that with his body, cock, and libido amped up like he’d done to Bran and Eddie, and like we’d mostly-accidentally done to ourselves, in spades (especially in the cock department).

We made it through breakfast by concentrating on flirting with Eddie, who seemed a little overawed by us after our antics earlier but was compensating by going for bluff and unconcerned. Afterwards, though, it was pretty clear we’d have to do something about the clothes situation, so, with goodbye kisses for Eddie, Bran, and Mike we piled into our car (it was my turn to drive, which made me happy because I love driving) and headed into town in search of looser pants and, while we were at it, either bigger shoes or some sandals to replace the very cramped tennies we’d reluctantly jammed our dogs into for this excursion. In the car we debated getting some oversized tee shirts just in case we needed not to be topless for some reason.

“I dunno, bro,” I said, glancing over at Jase’s pecs—which were, like mine, a lot hairier than yesterday. “Looks to me like you’re growing a new shirt already.”

“Yeah, it’s a tee shirt that says ‘My twin brother is an idiot,’” Jase snarked.

“Oh, cool, I have one of those already. We can wear them together.”

Jase grinned as we pulled up in front of the store. “No, I remember that shirt,” he said as we unbuckled our seat belts. “I’m certain what it really said was ‘My twin brother is a genius and I defer to him in all things.’”

I snorted a laugh as we got out. “Uh, huh,” I said. “And whose cunning idea was our cock camouflage?”

“Whose lame idea? That would be you, dear brother.”

After breakfast, knowing we were about to go out in public, we’d conferred briefly on the problem of our erections, which were now so big there was no way we could lever them down into our jeans without risking snapping them off. Jase had suggested repeatedly sucking each other off until they went down, but I think we both knew that—as much fun as that would be to attempt—the insanely hard and incredibly insistent boners Eddie, Bran, Jase, and I were sporting these days were as incapable of destruction as alien monsters in the first reel of a sci-fi flick. Probably we both thought of doing a Chad Smith and just pulling a sweat sock over them, but the fact was Brandon’s big bent hard-on wasn’t the only one that was proving exceptionally leaky, and what that would mean for a sock that that been pumped full of pre-spunk for a few hours seemed too gross to be seriously considered.

Then I remembered having seen the perfect answer to our problem. While we were exploring the kitchen cupboards ahead of our infamous lasagna experiment I’d happened across three or four cylindrical foam insulator sleeves, the kind you use to keep your beer cold. (Why Mike had them I had no idea, but there was a lot of stuff in the house that seemed not to jibe with his personality, like he’d inherited the place complete with whatever was in it at the time.) Anyway, they were the perfect size in terms of the girth of our fat, round cocks, and though the amount of shaft sticking out of our pants didn’t yet correspond to the height of can of beer there was enough exposed cockage for me to be pretty sure the insulators would fit snugly over our dicks and stay there. I thought the whole concept was kind of funny. Jase was less impressed, but seemed willing to try it, if only to see what reactions we’d get.

“My brilliant idea,” I corrected him. I tossed him one of the insulators we’d brought with us—the brick-red one with the Texas Longhorns logo, which I thought would look extra-silly upside-down. He caught it with a half-smirk. I kept the cherry-red one and fit it snugly over my exposed dick, twisting the inverted Applebee’s logo around to make sure it faced front.

Funny thing is, we even talked about shirts in the car, but it hadn’t occurred to us to borrow some bigger shirts to cover our erections from Bran or Mike before we left the house. Instead we’d resorted to a form of self-censorship the effectiveness of which was roughly on par with those little black bars they artfully place across the boners in Japanese erotic manga. Ah well. I never take the boring path on anything, and, whatever he might tell you, the truth is Jase is always along for the ride. Some people even think he’s the bad twin… which is often exactly what I want them to think.

Having thus made our concessions to public decency with respect to our mighty, now-hidden wangs, we crossed the sidewalk and entered the shop Mike had recommended, a large, locally-owned men’s clothing place called Trou Now—the logo for which, annoyingly, involved a smug-looking brown cow. Wearing pants. And a dark-teal fedora between its horns, for some reason. Whether it made sense for a menswear shop to go with a cow as its mascot for the sake of an idiom reference and its memory reinforcement value is a question for the marketing wonks—though on closer inspection I noticed the stylized bovine didn’t actually have an udder, so maybe gender wasn’t as relevant to the animal in question as one might think.

Though it was pleasantly summery outside and not at all oppressive, the air conditioning inside the store was cranked way up, the main effect of which was to turn our already-perky nipples into steel-hard nubs. “We’re gonna need the extra chest hair to warm up our nips,” Jase muttered as we headed deeper into the store, empty at this hour apart from a cute ginger salesman who was watching us with wide eyes from the register.

“Forget that,” I said. “Even Brandon’s chest-fur couldn’t warm our nips up in this place.” I looked at him sideways, my head tilted with a saucy smirk. “I kinda like it though.”

“You would. You’re such a perv.” He glanced down at my nips very quickly, and I know he was thinking his tongue could warm them up just fine.

I looked away with a grin, having caught some movement in my peripheral vision. “Speaking of which…”

The sales guy was now edging hesitantly toward us through the aisles of chinos and khakis between us and the register. He was wearing a heavy white Oxford-style dress shirt with a rust-red tie, the shirt hinting at a thin but very fit frame underneath, like a pop idol who kept his body extremely tight through constant workouts but didn’t go for gain. His pleated midnight-blue trousers were loose enough you only spotted the raging hardon angling straight out to the one side if you were looking for it… which we were. He also had a little ring toward the edge of his left eyebrow, as if to announce to everyone he wasn’t as wholesome as he looked. Good to know, I thought.

As he moved toward us he suddenly winced and swiveled around to put his back to us long enough to shove something around in his crotch area, and when he turned back around the ridge of his erection had been moved from almost 3 o’clock to a presumably more comfortable 1:30 or so.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” he said as he approached us. His voice was a little deeper than I’d expected. He only came up to our collarbones, which filed him under “pipsqueak” in my head, but then I had to remind myself that our collarbones were now a few inches higher then they’d been before we’d come down to visit our big bro and stumbled onto Mike’s secret stud-making stash. Our family was used to being “not the tall ones” in any group, but for us at least, and Eddie, that was starting to change, though lanky Mike still had us beat by a ways and Bran had passed him up like stretching taller was just part of being half-stoned and horny.

As for our red-haired, fresh-faced pup of a salesman, he started out meeting our eyes admirably well, but then his gaze started drifting south. “My name is Quinn. What can I help you fiiiiine sirs—” he said, trailing off as his stare raked languidly down our thick, square, just-a-bit-fuzzy pecs onto our stone-carved abs like an eager hand. He seemed to be losing track of what he was saying, only to abruptly catch himself, his eyes shooting apologetically back up to ours. “Wh-what can I help you with today?” he tried again, his pale cheeks pinking up just a little.

Jase and I smiled at him, and just that, just us smiling, made him visibly gulp. I watched his adam’s apple move in fascination—he had a nice neck, just a bit longer than usual, I thought. Perfect for a long, thick cock. “We’re looking for pants,” Jase explained, gesturing toward our very obviously inadequate jeans. Quinn took this as an excuse to make a quick but thorough examination of us from the waist down. As he did so he nodded sagely, as if to say, “Why yes, I can certainly see how you might have an insufficiency in the trouser area.”

This time when he back looked up at us he was licking his lips, though I’m not sure he knew he was doing so. He seemed a little dazed in general, like our presence was derailing his synapses. He marshaled his focus, though, and said, “All right, I can definitely help you… both… with that.” At the end of this he was looking at me, then at Jase, then at me again, his eyes a little rounder now as if I’d suddenly appeared there while he was looking at Jase. It seemed to really hit him right then that there were indeed two of us, or maybe that we were twins, because he kind of blue-screened for half a second before rebooting with a couple of quick blinks. “Um, so,” he said, “er—are we going for jeans, then, or something else? Maybe some nice slacks, or some cargo pants would look good on you guys. Um—what sizes shall we look for?”

I exchanged a surprised glance with Jase. My smile twisted naturally into a little leer, and his eyebrow went up. We turned to look at Quinn again.

“Actually, we don’t know our sizes,” Jase admitted.

“Maybe that’s something you could… help us with?” I added suggestively.

Quinn blue-screened again for another second, his cheeks blooming with red this time in a way that made me feel unaccountably gratified. “S-sure,” he said finally. “Um, why don’t you… both… follow me?” He turned briskly and started moving at a good clip toward the back of the shop, which we now noticed had a curtained-off area to one side of a bank of changing rooms. Jase and I followed, both amused and bemused by the sales guy’s behavior.

“You think he’s always like this?” Jase asked in an undertone.

I shook my head slowly. “I think we’re doing something to him,” I said honestly.

“Fuck,” Jase said. “I think you’re right.” He seemed hesitant, though I noticed he was staring at Quinn’s round, tight ass just as intently as I was.

“I think it’s something we’re going to have to get used to, sooner or later,” I said philosophically. Actually, I was a little excited to begin getting used to it that very morning, starting with our very fit, very appreciative sales guy.

“I dunno, Jimmy. Maybe we should—”

“Right through here, gentlemen,” Quinn said. He’d reached the back already and was holding the heavy black curtain aside for us. Jase shrugged his distractingly broad bare shoulders and went in. I followed him into the secret space, wondering faintly if it maybe wasn’t a good idea to be seducing strangers willy-nilly.

The room he led us into was not an abattoir or a den of iniquity, however: just a simple six-by-six nicely carpeted back room with a little table to one side, a small stool, and one of those big triple mirrors in the far corner. I caught sight of multiple reflections of Jase and me in the mirrors and was so startled at how unlike we were to my own accustomed self-conception that I had to look away. It was weird—I’d been looking at Jase this whole time and admiring what our accidental upsize had done to him, but it was a different matter altogether to see that we both looked like that, not to mention in a mirror that made it look like there were six or eight of us. No wonder we were crashing poor Quinn’s operating system every few minutes.

The room felt kind of full with the three of us in it. Jase and I moved together instinctively, our knuckles brushing as we stood next to each other. I wanted to hold hands, and Jase did too, but… I dunno, it was one thing to do when we were alone, or when we were messing with Eddie, but it was another thing to be out in the world telling everyone how into each other Jase and I were. Neither of us was quite there yet.

Quinn grabbed a rolled-up tape measure from the little side table, then turned and looked between us uncertainly. “Should I take upper body measurements?” he asked. What he was asking was, “Will you be wearing shirts any time soon?”, and we were happy to answer “Nope!” in unison. Quinn responded to this with a sheepish grin, like he couldn’t hold back how turned on he was by us anymore, and knew he didn’t need to try now that we were alone together in what felt, oddly, like our own little safe space.

“Okay then!” he said. Then he hesitated again, looking at our too-small jeans. “Uh, I guess we need to… remove…” He swallowed and added, almost to himself. “You’re probably not wearing underwear…”

“Nope!” we said again.

“All right!” he said, and I actually saw that ridge of hard cock in his work slacks shift and flex as he processed that information. “Could you—” He seemed to try to look up at us and away from our crotches, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “—could you… both… remove your pants? P-please.”

I exchanged a knowing glance with Jase. He rolled his eyes. “Are you sure about that, Quinn?” I said, like the imp I am.

Quinn looked up at me then, the pierced eyebrow raised. However much we were getting his blood hotted up and his cock raring for release, they guy wasn’t oblivious to how aware we were that that was exactly what we were doing, and how much we were enjoying it. “Yes, of course,” he said, looking me right in the eyes. “We have to measure things properly if you’re going to get a good fit.”

I grinned my extra-saucy pirate grin at him, and his cheeks pinked again. “As you wish,” I said, and Jase and I unbuttoned our jeans and slid the zippers down as if we sat around practicing synchronized unpantsing.

We pushed at our jeans, but they were so snug they wouldn’t shuck the way we were used to. “Er—I may need some help,” Jase said, a split second before I could say something similar.

“Hm,” I said to him. “Should our new friend Quinn here help us, or…?”

“Be more efficient if we helped each other, don’t you think?”

“You have all the brilliant ideas,” I said with a wink. As Quinn watched avidly, Jase and I faced each other, grabbed each other’s jeans at the hips on either side, and gave them a hard yank. This time, thanks to our strength and the shift in leverage, they pushed down so readily we barely avoided smacking our heads together with a resounding, coconut-like thunk. From there we each got our own jeans off the rest of the way, our stiff cocks waving wildly as we moved around. We’d both neglected to remove our too-small tennies before starting all of this, but our feet came right out of them and we stepped free of our encumbrances at more or less the same time.

“Ahh,” I said, relieved, and Jase murmured, “So much better.” My balls felt like they were expanding into to full size after an hour of unhappy compression. We kicked the offending clothes away and stood before our appreciative audience of one, our cocks bobbing happily. We were gloriously naked—almost.

Quinn was looking at our cocks, but with that uncertain expression, like there was something that still needed doing. We looked down. Oh, right. “You can take those off, too, if you want,” I said.

Quinn hesitated for barely a moment, then, palming the coiled measuring tape, he reached out with both hands and removed the foam insulators off our cocks with an audible shhhtp. The cold air hit our upper cocks all at once, which seemed to make them stiffen even harder, weirdly enough.

Quinn set the foam can-holders aside on the table—carefully, like they were important artifacts that should not be allowed to come to any harm—then turned to us again and started unrolling the measuring tape. Then he stopped, eyeing our waists with a frown. He looked up at me, then at Jase. “Er—should I get the measurements while you’re… like this?” he asked. Then, more boldly, he suggested, “Maybe I could help you, um, get them out of the way?”

I gave him a slow smile, impressed and rather turned on by his audacity surfacing at last. His efforts would probably prove futile, but there was no harm in trying, right?

“There’s two of us, though,” Jase put in, taking a turn at teasing the pup. “Do you have someone you can get to help?”

“No,” Quinn said quickly. “It’s… it’s not like I have a twin brother or anything,” he added, and this time he really blushed, going full red in the face. He looked down, embarrassed.

Interesting, I thought, sharing another look with Jase. He was thinking the same thing: that Quinn likes this twin thing even more than we’d thought. “Well, then,” I said softly, “we’ll just have to pretend that you do.”

With a nervous smile, Quinn set the tape aside in a heap in the side table, then dropped to his knees on the carpeted floor in front of Jase. Why he picked Jase, I’m not sure. Maybe he’d pegged me as the bad twin and thought Jase would be less likely to tease him and drag out his orgasm. If so, he might be in for a surprise. Jase and I were both dicks, so to speak, when it came to letting our partners get off (especially with each other)—though right now we were both so horny that probably neither of us would last long enough to be any kind of playing games with our eager assistant.

Quinn, now positioned in front of Jase’s (truly massive) club-like erection, gave mine an appraising look before holding up his left hand and giving his palm a long, juicy lick, depositing as much spit as he could on the surface of his hand. He didn’t really need to—our cocks were plenty slippery from all the precum we’d been spitting out, and we were uncut besides—but I appreciated the visual so much my balls actually tightened a little.

With deliberate synchronization, Quinn positioned his mouth over Jase’s cock and his hand over mine, then slowly sank onto both of them.

Oh fuck, that felt… impossibly good. Like Quinn had just invented blow-jobs—and he wasn’t even giving me a blow-job. It didn’t matter. We were instantly close, like we hadn’t cum in a month. My fingers found Jase’s and we clasped each other’s hands tightly. We both moaned, low and indistinct.

Quinn came slowly up, then sank down again, and Jesus, I felt like I was on fire with arousal and urgent need. Jase gripped my hand harder, feeling the same. Either we were a lot hornier than we thought we were, or the physical fuck-over we had inadvertently given ourselves had given us a shit-ton more sensitivity on top of more cock, more muscle, and more everything else.

One thing was for sure, we were not going to last long enough to tease Quinn. In fact, judging by the glee in his eyes as he looked up at us, there was a very good chance it would be the other way around.

Just then we heard the bells jingling over the shop door. We froze. “Hello?” came a woman’s voice after a moment. “Is anyone back there? I need some help buying a sports jacket…”

Quinn’s eyes were wide with alarm. He started to pull off Jase’s dick, but Jase palmed the back of his head and kept from doing so. “Keep going,” Jase hissed, surprising both of us. “We’re really close!”

Quinn’s big eyes shifted to me. I nodded. “Do it,” I growled.

“Hello?” the woman called again. The sound of her voice was terrifyingly closer now, like she was heading through the store right toward us. “Are you on a lunch break, or can you come out and help me?”

Quinn redoubled his efforts, no longer playing around. With deft movements of mouth and hand he brought us relentlessly to orgasm so quickly we almost forgot not to cry out. Instead we held each other’s hands painfully tight as Quinn pistoned us into a cataclysmic release. We felt like we burst through a stone wall into utter, soaring, synapse-searing bliss as we came in enormous spurts, my cum arcing across the room and spattering in heavy swaths across the triple mirror. Quinn struggled to swallow Jase’s superhuman load, but eventually had to give up and pulled off, quickly moving aside so as not to be soaked with Jase’s fountaining eruptions. He watched us geysering for a moment, enthralled, as he fumbled at his pants, then suddenly let free an impressively big erection and started spurting his own silent orgasm onto the fitting room carpet, rocking with the sheer pleasure of it.

“Hello?!” the woman said querulously. She sounded mere feet away, but the tone of her voice fit more with someone exploring an old house in a horror movie, or wandering haunted caves after midnight. Suddenly we were all laughing soundlessly, overcome with the ridiculousness of our situation and the adrenaline-rush of almost getting caught in top of a spectacular orgasm. Quinn looked adorable as he giggled noiselessly, his reddened face smeared with Jase’s cum even as his own orgasm petered out.

Finally Quinn recovered enough poise he was able to call out in a slightly strangled voice, “I’ll be right with you, ma’am!”

“Oh,” the woman said doubtfully, “all right then.” Her voice, mercifully, started receding back into the store as she called back, “I’ll just be looking at the sports jackets while you finish your lunch!”

Of course that set off another round of silent giggles. Jase bent and, grabbing the leg of his discarded jeans, began carefully wiping the cum off Quinn’s face while he worked on levering his very red, half-hard prick back into his miraculously unstained trousers. With his equipment safely tucked away he climbed to his feet, and Jase and I brushed his hair into place and smoothed out his shirt and tie. “I’ll be right back,” he mouthed, still grinning. He leaned up impulsively and gave Jase a messy kiss, then gave me one, too.

We left Trou Now an hour later with matching new jeans and several additional bags of clothes, more than we needed really. They even had the sandals we’d been thinking about getting, and in our size. And yes, we also left with a certain redheaded twin-lover’s phone number and the promise that next time he’d show us exactly how cocks like ours should be handled. As we walked out to the car laden with bags, hand in hand, our foam dick covers firmly back in place, I knew there was no way we weren’t going to be taking him up on an offer like that.

It was a pretty simple idea. One day I was watching from the doorway while my hard-working, always smiling go-to pizza guy, Eddie, was staring lustily at the perfect ass of my lanky new hire, Brandon, as he unconsciously shifted his hips to the Post Malone song on the playlist, and I thought… these guys would be so hot together. Especially with a little help from my brother Thad and his private stash.

Thad had been obsessed with breeding new and better cannabis strains ever since his high school fascination with botany had collided with his first, enthusiastic inhale. He dropped out of college halfway through his Plant Biology master’s program to start growing next-gen pot full-time, always looking for ways to intensify the weed’s effect on whoever smoked or ingested it. Every new variety he came up with was a hit (sorry, pun not intentional). I worked with him for a while out there, back before Dad retired to Florida and handed off the Pizza Joint and his too-big house to me, and even tried out a few of his first few “special blends”; but somewhere over the three years since I’d come back home Thad had had a breakthrough and began developing new strains that were so potent he didn’t dare sell them in anything like their pure form at his bustling dispensary—not if he didn’t want to risk being suddenly hauled into a van and dragged away to a secure location to make super-soldiers. Instead, he mixed the good stuff into his regular blends at low dosages, one part in ten maybe, and sold them under names that suggested strength and vitality, like Red Sequoia, Olympian, Smilin’ Sasquatch, Unstoppable Steve, that kind of thing. Even at those ratios Colorado Springs was apparently awash with the hunkiest stoners anywhere, if the oblivious, baked-looking guys posting selfies on the “Thad’s Hashery” Facebook page were any indication.

He’s always said he’s eternally grateful to me for sending him down this road by offering him his first toke (hey, that’s what older brothers do when their kid bros turn 16, right?). So, not only does he ship me my usual monthly supply free of charge (and in unnecessarily copious quantities), but he always throws in a bag or two of his latest exotic-looking experimental strain. Each one is marked with a Greek-mythology-themed code name and its generation, like Herakles Lambda, Apollo Epsilon, Hyperion Delta—to me they all sound like Star Trek planets where strange things happen to the members of the away team—but with no further explanation beyond a cheery little note stuck to the side of the bag (“Try this one, you’ll love the results!”).

All of Thad’s pot was particularly good for making edibles, so the first time he sent a bonus pack of his clandestine super-cannabis, maybe six months after I’d come home and started running the pizza shop, I’d taken the plunge and tried baking them into a big batch of double-chocolate Toll House cookies for a party I’d been invited to at the house of one of the friends-with-occasional-benefits I’d been getting to know in town, Stellan—a handsome older guy who’d been offering me the occasional steamy afternoon ever since he’d personally returned the jacket I’d more-or-less-accidentally left behind in his taxi. It was bustling party, and as I watched the table with the food on it I was amused to observe one of the attendees, a swarthily attractive mechanic my age who’d introduced himself as “Boo” (his real name, as it turned out), circling back to the table every so often and slipping away with yet another of my special creations already half stuffed into his mouth. By midnight he’d snarfed nearly the whole plate.

Curious, I sought him out later on and found him in the kitchen, making out with maybe three guys at once. And I could understand why. I was powerfully drawn to him myself, like he was exerting a sexual gravitational force on me that grabbed me by the balls and plowed through my brain like a seriously potent contact high. The guys with Boo in the kitchen seemed to be high on him even apart from the raging monster cock that was now shoving rudely up out of his pants. He left an hour later with two admirers who could not keep their hands off him and an even bigger slab of hot cock pushing out of his jeans. (I’ve since learned that he now has a thriving dirty Twitter feed and what looks like a very lucrative OnlyFans account, and his shop is now the most popular garage in a fifty-mile radius. Which… is not surprising given the pictures of him featured prominently on his website, especially the smirking one where you can almost see the shape of his slightly uncanny, shock-absorber-sized erection under his heavy work coveralls.)

I learned two things that night. The first thing I learned was just how powerful these experimental strains of my brother’s were. I’d only had three of those cookies myself, and by the end of the party not was I only very pleasantly baked, but I could swear I was feeling some extra weight in my junk, and not just because I was half-chubbed the whole night. The effect on Boo, though, was swift, incontrovertible, and impressively dramatic.

The second thing I learned was about me. Though I’m sure it was Thad’s sly intent to turn me personally into the biggest, hottest big bro on the planet, I realized that I wasn’t too interested in testing the effects of all these strange breeds of super-cannabis on myself—but I was very intrigued by the idea of making hot guys hotter. Watching Boo had flipped a switch in me.

How to do it, though, was a conundrum. I thought about just adding it into the pizza toppings, obviously, but with the Joint’s customers coming and going I wouldn’t be able to really experience the effects. Even my regulars were only in the shop ten or twenty minutes at a time; and they were usually wearing clothes, alas. That wasn’t the way. I needed something more intimate.

I’m a patient guy. I waited. When Eddie started working for me I thought he was a promising candidate, but something seemed to be missing. Was there any way I could see the effects up close, day by day? I waited some more. Then Brandon came, and their housing situation came up, and I knew I’d been handed my opportunity on a platter.

I was only going to watch. That was the idea. It was pure entertainment, watching them slowly and gradually become hornier, hotter, and hungrier for each other.

Then came the moment where Eddie kissed me that morning, slow and deep, our half-naked bodies pressed warm and close, and suddenly I didn’t feel like a spectator anymore

I was a bit preoccupied that morning as I headed in to open up the restaurant. I was also still a little buzzed from that intoxicating kiss—enough so that I had to force myself to really focus on my driving, which at least had the added side benefit of closing my mind temporarily to everything else while I concentrated on turns and traffic. I wondered wryly what a field sobriety test would show if I got pulled over. I’d driven while I was a little high before—heck, “a little high” was my usual state these days, given the way even Thad’s ordinary blends tended to stay with you. But the kind of float I got from kissing Eddie—from thinking about kissing Eddie, and Bran, and the twins, and doing more than kissing them—was a kind of mind alteration different from anything I’d ever experienced before. It was more vibrant than my regular mellow, more provocative and more aggressive. I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to act. I wanted to kiss Eddie again. I wanted to taste Brandon’s sweet, bearded lips. He was taller than me now, and broader, and I’d have to lean up to kiss him as he wrapped his thick arms around me…

Wow, I was hard again.

I adjusted my big stiffie at a red light. At least my trusty dark cargos wouldn’t show it too obviously.

And then there were the twins. They’d obviously cottoned onto what was going on a lot more lucidly than Eddie and Brandon had. I was pretty sure they’d been the ones to find the extra side-stash I’d left in the garage, not the boys as I’d more or less expected; and the way they’d obviously planned to deliberately beef up Eddie and Brandon only to be hoist on their own petards got me grinning whenever I thought about it. They’d received the full brunt of what they’d planned for the other two, and the condition they were in at breakfast showed they’d gotten major doses of multiple super-cannabises. They were heavy with hard muscle. Taller and harder, with much bigger cocks that looked like they’d never go down. Hotter. Hornier. And pouring off them was that same hard-to-resist undertow I’d experienced with Boo back when all this started—only with the twins it was even stronger, likely to infect anyone who came close to them with arousal and need.

Eddie and Brandon had been developing their own lower-grade version of the same carnal pull on those around them—lower-grade because I’d been pretty sparing with that particular strain after having seen how it’d caused our town’s favorite mechanic to make almost every man he met hard and aching to touch him. Still, even the boys’ more muted version of the sex aura had easily snared that platinum-blond football hottie, and he had a sexy boyfriend. The guys’ turn-on factor had me helplessly hard all the time, and of course they had the same effect on each other. But now, with the twins suddenly tweaked to huge, hung, and nearly irresistible literally overnight, having all four of them in the same room was a pretty heady experience. I’d blown my wad twice in the shower afterwards, and that had barely taken the edge off.

And their little plot boomeranging on them hadn’t daunted the twins at all. I think it’s in their nature up to something. I try to keep a low profile around the house, since it’s more fun to sit back and let the guys interact with each other. But the twins were giving me shrewd looks and exchanging crafty glances all through breakfast, like they had a diabolical scheme or two in mind just for me.

It was kind of funny, the way it was turning out. You make plans, and then they sort of go fractal on you all on their own, like crystals slowly expanding in a dish, and all you can do is look at the shape as it keeps growing and amplifying from the little thing you started and see it for its majestic, evolving, accidental beauty.

I pulled into my space behind the Joint with a smile on my face. Beauty was right. The town now boasted four extra-hot guys—no. Wait. It was six, right? The football hero and his cute bf had ended up with the blondies at the beach. So, six newly extra-hot guys were now roaming the town. That had to be a good thing.

I grabbed the box of aprons out of the back seat and made for the rear door with a warm glow in my chest, thinking ahead to a pleasant summer day full of the rich smells of pizza, calzones, and a couple of hairy, sweet, half-naked muscle hunks perving on each other and turning on their unsuspecting patrons. Yeah, there were worse ways to spend your time.

As the day went by, though, I started to doubt my ability to remain in close proximity to my guys in the constricted confines of my beloved pizza shop.

The first problem was that my spike in arousal that morning—from the kiss and from just being around my four super-hot, arousal-exuding housemates—had never quite subsided. I was incredibly horny, my hardon not going away even for a second, and my usual unfocused mellow was now dappled with images of Brandon sucking me off, then Eddie, then the twins, then Brandon again, over and over. I could practically feel their hot, wet mouths wrapped around my crazy-hard wang, and it was only making me more turned on.

And that was before Brandon and Eddie showed up for their shift a little after three wearing nothing but the world’s snuggest board shorts. I watched as they tied their long hair back and gleefully pulled on their soft-sided aprons, grinning and joking about not having to wear shirts ever again, and felt my arousal deepen. From the back it was like their shorts were specifically tailored to show off how hard and round and amazing their firm, mobile asses were. The shorts’ legs were just as taut, full of thick, hairy thigh muscle. And above the waistband was nothing but the broad expanse of a captivating, tanned, V-shaped back. Eddie was so solidly built his was almost square, as wide across the shoulders as his back was long, with his strawberry-hair-dusted lat-wings looking all the more impressive for that. Brandon’s tapered back, meanwhile, looked endless, like you could start your tongue sliding slowly up his spine and never stop.

I turned away, almost disoriented with arousal, and pretty amused at my self-caused predicament. I gave serious thought to heading into the little bathroom and trying to take care of my not-so-small problem. Then I imagined Eddie or Brandon—probably Eddie—figuring out what I was up to and the two of them deciding to join me, and… well, you know, I was still determined to remain firmly backstage and let the boys enjoy the spotlight. I wasn’t ready for them to pull me center-stage with them and make me a real participant in the story I’d authored.

I went back to my desk with my cheeks warm and my hard-on raging and tried to apply my brain to the municipal taxes that were coming due in a couple weeks. I lasted forty-five minutes. Not unimpressive, I thought.

I’d joked with myself coming in about how I’d be smelling the musky, cummy scents of Eddie and Brandon mixed in with the tomato and oregano and melting cheese all afternoon, but the truth was I was pretty sure I could smell them, and the scent was going straight to my heavy balls, which in turn proceeded to unmoor my brain. I couldn’t focus on anything but my body, which felt hard and manly, and my dick, which was busy deluging me with fantasized sensations of vigorous, unrelenting blow jobs. My whole being was telling me to stop resisting what I was feeling and ride this sex-high until it finally tailed off and dissipated… if it ever did.

And if it didn’t fade away? If I stayed permanently and profoundly distracted by the two, or the four, or the six most mesmerizingly luscious men I’d ever imagined in all my wandering sex dreams? Well, I thought wryly, my other kid brother Adrian was always saying he’d wanted to run a pizza shop instead of being stuck as a an accountant. I could just flip pizzas with my guys and fuck, and he could be the one doing the municipal taxes.

Snorting a laugh, I set my tablet onto the desk, then stood and, adjusting my inconveniently big hardon again, headed up into the front of the shop.

Eddie, ever the extrovert, was happily engaged in conversation with Shaun, the dark-haired, slightly elfin son of Bill Mathers, the old-guard owner-proprietor of the hardware store five doors down from my shop. I’d always pegged Shaun as solidly straight in a pining-after-Mary-Jane-Watson kind of way, so it was kind of funny to see him leaning heavily on the counter and thirstily drinking in the hard contours of Eddie’s wide, muscular, hairy torso, obviously fascinated by the fact that he was completely bare apart from a swath of dark green cotton with the store logo on it. From where he was standing and with Eddie right behind the counter he clearly couldn’t see very far down, and I was sure he was wondering whether Eddie was wearing anything at all apart from the apron. Brandon, meanwhile, was off to one side with his back to the prep area, leaning his legendarily round and tight butt against it and with his hands behind him on either side gripping the counter’s edge, not an unusual pose for him and one that, given his current attire, showed off the firm definition of his thick, hairy pecs and the textbook delineation of his lats and intercostals, like he was modeling for a new generation of uncostumed, half-clothed super-heroes.

Brandon, of course, was watching Eddie with rapt attention, and the bulge of his obvious physical arousal was secondary to the pure physical and emotional devotion that was radiating off of him… along with that pesky contact-high sex aura. My own cock jumped, begging me to provide it some relief, but as I followed his gaze back to Eddie my mind was instantly and completely distracted by a smear of tomato sauce along the pink, cannonball-like crown of Eddie’s left deltoid. It filled my vision, the way things tended to do when I was just a little high, and crowded away all other thoughts.

You should lick that off, came the thought from somewhere—my sex-hungry mind, or my huge, aching dick, or both.

I stared at the delicious-looking smear on that beautiful, intoxicating curve of hard, alluring muscle. Go on. You should totally lick it off. My mouth watered, and my tongue shifted in my mouth, long and thick and ready.

I must have made some noise in my throat—a whimper, maybe—because Brandon turned to me then and grinned. A few months ago he would have been embarrassed by his state of arousal, not to mention being a little messy-haired and half-undressed, and most of all at being caught staring at Eddie in utter infatuation. Now, he was just happy to see me. “Hey, boss,” he said. He looked me up and down, and his smile widened. Thick cargo pants can only hide so much.

Eddie turned, beaming and offering me a “Hey” as well, and I was hit with the full force of his undertow. My breath went ragged for a second, and I fought my mind’s attempt to telescope on his bright jade-green eyes, or those lips that would send me back to that kiss, and the orgasms in the shower that had followed…

I looked away, abashed and amused at my out-of-control hormones and desires. Eddie, interpreting my reactions correctly, moved closer so that he was standing right in front of me, his expression one of lascivious curiosity. I’d been right about his being on a mission to include me in their guy-play. And either Brandon was on the same page or Eddie had had a word with him, because he moved around behind me at the same time, making me feel every inch of his larger form looming behind me without any part of him actually touching me. Shaun watched from the counter, transfixed, as my boys closed in around me.

The sense of being surrounded by these hairy muscle Adonises I’d kind of created shot through me down to the bones like a cosmic storm. I was a bit taken aback by the intensity of the moment. For all I’d been tracking the boys’ developing interest in engaging me, I… hadn’t quite seen this moment coming.

Yeah, I thought. Fractal consequences. Wild.

“Can we do something for you? Boss?” Eddie said. He was looking up at me, though the dissimilarity in out heights was considerably lessened over what it had been a few months ago. The thought of that difference slowly lessening as Eddie grew made my balls tighten. Behind me the now-taller-than-me Brandon breathed down on me, the gusts washing across my neck and sinking into my spine. Their dark scents, sweat and cannabis and cum, were all I could smell.

They could make me climax, just like this, and over and over. We could stand here, unchanging, with me so turned on I just kept pumping out orgasm after orgasm, until the stars went cold.

My vision homed in on Eddie’s lips.

Time stretched.

“Ho-o-oly fuck,” Shaun moaned. “If you three do it right now I will order fifteen pizzas. With everything!”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing softly. Eddie and Brandon chuckled too. Eddie’s eyes were twinkling. Suddenly it felt safe, like the universe had shifted into a different slot; and I kissed him, brief and gentle, like a hello. Eddie seemed pleased.

I finally got out my preplanned excuse for abandoning the sex box that was my pizza shop. “I gotta go meet with a supplier,” I told him. “You’ll be okay for an hour or two?”

“Sure,” Eddie said easily, used to handling the place when I wasn’t around. He was still standing close, and Brandon was still right behind me, shedding his warmth onto me like he was a limitless supply of raw, unadulterated sex-heat. I was very close to being distracted again. “Old Man Langston still trying to sell you on goat mozzarella?” Eddie asked, eyes locked on mine.

I smiled back at him. “Something like that,” I said. I twisted to look up at Brandon. “You two will, like, actually make and sell pizzas, right?” I said. So far, as the summer and their physical development progressed they’d been working reasonably diligently, holding off their groping and make-out intervals for slow moments; so I wasn’t too worried. Maybe they had better will-power than I did. Or maybe they were waiting for the cat to be away before they turned the “Closed” sign over and went at it on the prep table. Assuming they didn’t just leave the store open and let a cheering, excited audience slowly accumulate in the store.

Brandon smiled, and my heart skipped a beat. “Whatever you say, boss,” he growled, his voice a little deeper than I was used to. Daaamn. I focused on his lips just like I had with Eddie, and Brandon, getting the message, dipped and gave me the same kind of “hello” kiss I’d shared with his boyfriend.

I shook with desire for both of them. Man, I was so hard. I could give in to this, now. But I wasn’t ready, and it wasn’t the right moment. Give me a little more time as a spectator, I thought.

Very deliberately, I stepped back out from between them. “Awww,” Shaun booed. We glanced over at him, Eddie grinning merrily. He was a little flushed and obviously very aroused, though he was smiling, too. “That was hot and all, but I’m only ordering three pizzas for that.”

“Sold!” Brandon said, moving toward the counter. Eddie duly headed over to prep and took out three round slabs of dough. He glanced up at me with a wink, as if to say, See? Making and selling pizzas. I turned away with a grin and headed for the back. Maybe I could manage this whole arousal-on-eleven thing, if I took regular breaks from the company of these sex gods I’d created. I went out the door, pulling out my phone as I closed it behind me, and got into my car.

Once I’d pulled the car door closed and once again adjusted my omnipresent erection, I opened up my phone and sent a text.

Hey, it read. You around?

I heard the ting of an incoming message and set my travel mug down in the center cup-holder to check my phone. Immediately I broke out in a smile. Mike Loukanis. Long time no see, buddy, I thought, a little wistfully. We’d had some great fucks off and on the first year or two after he moved back to take over his dad’s pizza place, but the last few months he’d been making himself scarce. Some project taking his attention, I’d thought, or maybe a new boyfriend. The message asked if I was available, so, no boyfriend now, anyway. I didn’t know Mike as well as I knew his tall, lanky body and his seriously hefty cock, but I knew he wouldn’t be coming to me if he had a real relationship going.

Afternoon horndog attack? I texted back, my dick perking up in my pants.

Like you would not believe, was the almost comically quick response. I could almost picture him sitting somewhere texting me with a hard-on he had to take care of right the fuck now.

I smirked at my phone. Meet me at my place in fifteen? I suggested.

Nice, he responded. I started my engine and radioed my dispatcher that I’d be off duty for maybe forty-five minutes.

“What, you don’t cuddle after? Take an hour,” Sheila radioed back, her grandmotherly voice only managing to make her snark more withering.

“Don’t ask about my sex life, Sheila, and I won’t ask about yours,” I shot back with a smile as I pulled out of my parking spot near the train station and headed for my little house in the older part of town.

“Ask away,” she replied drily. “If you want I can give you pointers.”

“Car 3 signing out,” I said, very deliberately, and hung up the mic. I knew she was sitting there at the dispatch desk chuckling.

As I drove, I thought about how I’d met Mike, picking him up at his sprawling house outside of town for a trip to the airport. The place was full of boxes, and as I pulled up he was at his door, signing for one more. I joined him on the porch as the courier left. He was smiling down at his new arrival, like he was looking forward to opening it.

It wasn’t a huge box, and it was unmarked apart from the airbill in its plastic sleeve. “Sexy underwear?” I guessed.

He looked up at me with a smile, giving me a quick once-over. I could tell he liked what he saw. “Close!” he said. “My brother sent me pot.”

“Awesome,” I said. He motioned for me to come in for a second while he set the box aside and we got his bags. “You smoke?”

“Sure, but Thad’s stuff is really good for edibles, so I’m going to be trying that once my kitchen’s in order,” Mike said as we headed back toward the room in question. His voice was nice, low and smooth, and I kind of wanted to listen to it a lot. Maybe while he was calling out my name, I thought idly, feeling my cock plump. “You?”

“Some,” I admitted. “I’m more of a coffee fiend.”

“You can make cannabis coffee,” he said matter-of-factly, setting the box on a counter and looking up at me with a wink.

“You think?” I asked.

For an answer he pulled open the plastic pouch on the box and handed me the airbill. “Ask Thad,” he said. “Tell him you’re a buddy of mine and he might give you a discount.”

Surprised, I took the airbill and looked it over and noting the name of my yummy new friend. “Thanks, Michail,” I said, smiling up at him.

The lust in his eyes seemed to be mirroring mine. “Call me Mike,” he said, his voice a low purr.

The second greatest thing that came out of that original call to Mike’s house was the connection with Mike’s brother Thad. I was telling the truth when I’d said I was only an occasional toker, but when I called Thad, telling him as instructed that I was a friend of Mike’s, he seemed eager to help and promised to send me the best blends to use in making coffee or chai, and at a fifty percent discount. I make a good living but I’m not exactly rolling in it, so I didn’t blush to accept.

Soon enough a plain brown box like the one I’d seen at Mike’s arrived on my doorstep, with a generous supply of couple of different mainstream blends Thad said were perfect for dark, caffeinated beverages. The boxes kept coming, too, every three months or so, and in time I’d gotten very used to a mug or two of “special” joe after a long shift in my cab. It made me feel good—and sexy, which was a side effect I hadn’t experienced with pot before, but I didn’t mind. I was getting regular attention from Mike, and one or two other guys I’d met on a call under similar circumstances. In fact it started to seem as though I could have my pick, like I was getting better looking or something. Some guys age dashingly, I guess.

The last several boxes from Thad had included sampler baggies of what seemed like more potent strains, at least going by the smell, but for a long time I just set them aside, thinking they might be too strong for my now-regular adulterated java. A few months ago, though, I’d run low on one of the usual blends and decided to try one of the premium samplers, a very dark-looking cut with some kind of Greek name sharpied on the bag. To my surprise it went even better with my Arabica than the usual stuff, and I found myself drinking it after work every day, and more on my days off.

I didn’t know at first if it was the weed, but it was around then I started feeling seriously horny a lot more than usual, getting boned over nothing. Plus my clothes were getting tight. Fortunately it was getting toward summer and I could just wear tee shirts, but even those started getting small and the last couple weeks I had to switch to tank tops. My jeans were hopeless, and I’d ended up just buying new ones. Shoes, too. Why? I wanted to make up some excuse about how your body starts to change when you hit forty, but I was pretty sure this wasn’t what they meant when they said that. I knew it was the premium stash Mike’s brother Thad was hooking me up with.

I’d wanted to talk with Mike about it, quiz him about what his brother was up to, maybe ask him why he wasn’t growing all over and sporting big round-the-clock boners like I was, but as I mentioned Mike had been in the background for a few months. I’d seen him around town, even stopped in for a slice now and then, and he’d been happy to see me and talk; but no hook-ups got planned. That was about to change, I was pretty sure.

I primped my fast-growing flaxen hair in the hall mirror, weirdly turned on just by how unexpectedly handsome I looked. My gray eyes seemed almost… compelling.

The doorbell rang, and I took a breath. This should be interesting, I thought.

I opened the door and looked down on my tall, lanky friend. His eyes widened, traveling all the way up my taller, thicker, harder, more awesomely manly body until he got to my face, and I could tell that if there hadn’t already been a massive, stiff bulge in those navy cargos of his, there would be now.

“Wo-oow,” Mike said.

I don’t know if it was how randy I was or some layer of buried feelings for my occasional sex buddy, but right then Mike looked really good and I could not hold back. Overcome with insatiable lust I snatched him up, almost lifting him off his feet, and held him close while I kissed the fuck out of him. He kissed me back just as fiercely, like he was aching for me to give him everything I had. His tongue was long, but mine was too, now, and we kissed there in the open doorway, his dick grinding against my ten-pack abs as I held him ferociously. He grabbed onto my long, flared back, stroking my stretched, hard-muscled torso through my sky-blue tank, and we made out like we couldn’t get enough of each other.

Finally we broke the kiss, both of us floating like we’d just toked some of his brother’s strongest stuff. He eyed me a little dazed, his usual grounded mellow derailed by sudden exposure to my months-long transformation.

I gave him a crooked grin. “Miss me?” I asked fondly.

“I had no idea,” he said. Then he kissed me again, and we both forgot we were standing there in my doorway in full view of the town as we proceeded to get lost in our raw, masculine need and our almost fathomless desire for each other.

The sun was blasting through the windows by the time I finally woke up, and I rolled around a little in a luxurious haze, reaching futilely for my man. He didn’t seem nearby, though, so I reluctantly opened my eyes. No dice. The big bed was completely devoid of hot, flirty boyfriends, leaving the current occupants reduced to me, my hug-hungry jock body, and my huge, aching morning wood, which definitely wanted more comfort than I alone could give it.

I smiled wide, thinking about the awesome sixty-nining we’d done last night. I could definitely use some more of that, and my hefty slab agreed, twitching messily against my abs. And… had something happened with Benji, too? It had, right? We got home, and—that’s right, we got home and he’d eaten all the brownies, the fucker, and—he’d been acting kinda stoned, too, weirdly enough. And mumbling about the brownies having something in them. That must have been why he’d gotten into the wrong bed, and we just let him, because… well, I thought it was kind of hot to share him between us, but what made it hotter was that Zac thought so too. So we went with it and slid off to sleep cuddling Benji together. It was awesome. I could totally get used to that.

Though… fuck, curling up with just Zac is awesome too. Things like that happen to me a lot. Like where I have this really amazing thing I love, but there’s this other really amazing thing I also love, and you have to figure out if you want both and how that would work, and sometimes you end up with just one of the amazing things. Like I’d bring a roast beef sandwich to lunch at school, but that day they were having the chicken mini-pizzas that our school caff was unaccountably good at, and I’d be like, fuck, what do I do? Or like when I was in middle school, and I was playing football on the team and I was really good at it, but then I was at the park and got mixed up with these guys in a pick-up game of soccer. And I didn’t know the game, and we were just fooling around, but I kicked ass anyway, and one of the dads watching the kids was the soccer coach, and before I knew it was on the soccer team too. And they jiggered the schedules a little so I could do both, and it was great, but then I got the college and I had to choose.

Sounds drifted into the bedroom from somewhere else in our converted warehouse apartment: Zac, clattering around in the kitchen, singing little snatches of Lady Gaga as he worked. I stretched my legs and arms, wondering where Benji was. I kind of wanted to see him. And maybe for both of them to come back to bed.

Not that I’d ever choose between Benji and Zac. I loved Zac absolutely—that was, like, the purest thing in my life, even more than football. Still, though, sharing Benji was really hot… especially with how much he must have been hitting the weights lately. Like, seriously. How had I not noticed he’d bulked up, like he really was trying out to be some kind of movie Tarzan?

He’d totally looked, like, big last night. Maybe that was all in my head. I’d been fixating on stoner gorilla pizza dude pretty bad lately, I was seeing big hulking guys everywhere. It was dark and shadowy, too, perfect for making things seem big. I definitely had big hot muscle guys getting bigger on the brain. And… there was… was there a thing in the bathroom, too, in the middle of the night? Where we’d sucked Benji off together, and he was a giant and his dick, was, like, up to his chin? Fuck, that had to be a dream. Nobody was that big. I sleep like a stone and I always have lots of strange dreams, and that had to be one of them. Just my brain telling me how much I like hot guys, and big dicks. Who knew, right?

Then I remembered something else—Zac had even teased me about getting bigger himself, too, and whether I’d like that. Probably because he knows how into my own muscles and big dick I am, and how the pizza guys have been tugging at my fantasies. He loves to poke at me. And I love letting him. In all senses of the word!

Funny thing is, though… for all I’ve let our local progressively-growing gorilla pizza dude and his compacter but similarly swoler-and-swoler boyfriend gambol about in the back reaches of my sex-obsessed brain the last few weeks, apparently to the point of roping Benji into my little muscle animations, I hadn’t ever dreamt about Zac getting any bulkier. Or even more hung. The God’s honest truth was, I loved him exactly the way he was. That tight body of his… fuck, it was completely perfect, and that long, beautiful wang, too. His proportions were exactly what I wanted.

I started thinking about the word “proportions”, which of course took me back to fractions in math class. Then I started remembering how I was working on yearbook in grade school for a few weeks, before I had to drop it for football. The editor was this cute boy named André who had thick messy hair and grew his bangs long so he could hide under them a bit if he wanted to, and he’d look at you from under them and it would just make you grin because it was adorable, like he was shy but he also had this sanctum behind his bangs where he knew who he was and didn’t take any shit. A lot like Zac, really, though Zac wasn’t shy so much as, he stood back and let guys like me have the attention. From what I could tell when he wore tighter shirts André was really defined and a little lanky, too, like Zac. And—

Shit, did I have a crush on André without even knowing it?

—Anyway, I remembered he showed me how stretching images in the layout software worked, and how you could constrain it with the shift key so that you could grow the picture and still keep exactly the same… proportions…

My dick jumped, and I swear I kind of half-came.

See, I knew myself. What was happening with Brandon and Eddie was crazy hot, so much I’d mixed Benji into it too. That was fantasy, though. Zac… Zac was my man. I didn’t even daydream about Zac getting slowly gorillafied like Brandon, or seeing him get all thick and swole, or anything. Not more jacked, not big heavy pecs or thick, irresistible arms like me, not more hung, not a single extra hair on that lithe, beautiful bod of his. I wanted Zac exactly the way he was. But… what if… what if, in my little hedonistic fantasy brain space, Zac did get to grow a little too… except, I held down the shift key so he stayed exactly the same, only… scaled up a notch? Or two? Or three?

Fuck, I was actually cumming. I hadn’t even touched myself either. I grinned at my horndog brain as I grabbed my dick and jerked out what turned out to be seriously major orgasm, like panting and half blacked out major. Man, my sex-brain was out of control, and… you know, ironically, I kind of got off on it. Is that the right use of ironically? Fuck if I know, but I was definitely amused that my being bottomlessly horny actually turned me on.

Thank god Zac loves that part of me as much as he loves everything else, I thought as I licked my fingers and then happily relaxed into yet another afterglow, my hard abs splattered with ropes of cum. Otherwise… man, if he didn’t I’d be seriously boned. And not in a good way, I thought with a grin as I let myself slowly drift, my mind blissfully clear and content.

After a quick shower—for which Zac joined me partway through, making it not so quick after all—we wandered back into the bedroom to get dressed and head out and enjoy the sunshine. Neither of us was the type to stay cooped up indoors. While Zac pondered the short-sleeved shirts hanging in his closet, I raised my tee shirt drawer for my extra-well worn, half-sleeve navy-blue “S.H.I.E.L.D. ATHLETIC DEPT” tee shirt. It was one of my go-to shirts for bumming around town in, partly because it fit me like a glove and partly because it was the very first thing my nerdy boyfriend had bought me, and I liked giving him chances to see other people liking how I looked in it. As I pulled it out of the drawer and held it up, though, it was clear something unexpected had happened to it.

“Babe,” I said, “Did you remove the sleeves from my favorite tee shirt?” I looked it over critically. It was very carefully done—the seams around the arm-holes where the sleeves had once joined to the torso, were perfectly stitched, as if the shirt had been made that way. My boy was clearly handier with a needle and thread than I’d known.

He came up behind me and wrapped himself around me. “Absolutely,” he purred in my ear. “Do you like it?”

I leaned back to nuzzle my cheek against his. “You know I do.” Quickly I turned around to face him so he could watch me slip into the shirt. Once it was on I spread my arms wide, then did a modeling pose, turning my brawny shoulder toward him with an insouciant expression.

Zac was nodding approvingly. “This is what I’m talking about,” he said. He moved a little closer, sliding his fingers along my heavy, sculpted triceps. My bis and tris both seemed particularly nice this morning, like they had a bit of a pump, though it had actually been a couple of days since I’d worked them.

Zac expanded his grip to mostly encompass my upper arm, and I flexed a little for him, ‘cause we both like that. “These,” he pronounced, sliding his hand up and down my upper arm, “should not be hidden. As a wise man once said.”

I moved in and kissed him. “Which wise man was that?” I asked indulgently, wrapping him in an embrace. He’d pulled on an ironically untrendy chartreuse bowling shirt, though it was a nice one that fit him surprisingly well. “Is he a cute, flirty criminal justice major, perhaps?”

Zac laughed. “He is! But not the one you’re thinking of.”

I pulled back and looked at him. He wiggled his dark eyebrows, waiting for me to clue in. “Oh, right,” I said, smiling. Benji did have a thing for my arms, so it was entirely believable that he’d made a wistful remark about me and shirt sleeves the last time I’d worn a shirt like this. Some guys liked the way my upper arms completely filled out an elbow-length sleeve like the ones this tee used to have, but Benji—and Zac—seemed to like the bare flesh, and I can’t say as I blamed them. I was a bare flesh kind of guy myself. “Where is our brownie thief this morning, anyway?” I asked.

“He ducked out while you were still sleeping,” Zac said. “Mentioned something about going clothes shopping, before there were too many people out.” Zac’s eyes were twinkling, usually a sign that I was a step behind him on something. Not unusual for us. But then, if you know you’re a step behind someone, maybe that should give you partial credit. You know, for being aware that there’s something you’re not aware of? What it was I wasn’t aware of, though, wasn’t quite as clear, though weirdly the dream I’d had about the two of us pleasuring Benji’s Tower-of-Babel cock together surfaced in my mind just then. It would be just like Zac to know about that dream somehow. I’m an open book—with transparent covers, Zac had joked once—and my boyfriend had a knack for knowing what was going in in my head, sometimes before I did. Probably because it usually involved physical gratification of one form or another. I’m a pretty simple guy, and both of us like it that way.

I gave Zac a shrewd look, but decided to circle back around to Benji later. Instead, I gave him another kiss, and took my time with it. Zac was more than amenable. I was getting worked up again, and I could tell Zac was too, but we broke the kiss and smiled at each other. Neither of us wanted to be indoors on a day like this for long, and I’d slept in late enough it was already afternoon. “C’mon,” Zac said, sliding his hands down my back to grab mine in both of his. “Let’s show those puppies off!”

We wandered most of the afternoon, hand in hand, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the occasional admiring looks my completely bare arms garnered here and there in town. I was feeling a little shaggy, so I stopped in to the old-fashioned barbershop on the square to get a trim, and Zac joined me for his own cut, though he didn’t really need one since his hair doesn’t grow as fast as mine. A new guy only a little older than us did me, and he kept raving about how he never got to see actual platinum hair like mine that hadn’t been ruined by bleach. Once he’d finished and pulled the gown off, I stood and admired the very smart trim he’d given me in the mirror, while he looked into the mirror and admired the combination of body-hugging tee and bare arms my boyfriend had provided for me. I caught Zac’s reflection watching both of us checking me out with considerable amusement, and sent him a saucy wink.

Around four my stomach started growling, the subs we’d gotten and eaten in the park when we’d first come out having already worn off. “You hungry?” I asked Zac.

“Maybe. What’d you have in mind?”

“Well—” I glanced over at him. He was giving me that knowing look again. “What?”

“Babe,” he said. “Look up.”

I did so, and saw we were standing directly in front of the Pizza Joint. Either I’d steered us there unconsciously, or Zac had done so deliberately. Probably both.

“Huh,” I said. Looking over at Zac, I added, “Well, since we’re here…?”

Zac grinned, and we went inside.

It was just starting on the dinner rush, but the place was already hopping. We pushed past a group of gossiping women our age leaving the place as we slid in, all talking breathlessly about “those hunks” as they carried a couple of pizza boxes out with them, and inside there was a line to order and a dozen or more people waiting in the crowded shop. When we got closer to the counter it was not hard to see what had the locals all stirred up. Brandon and Eddie were both happily working flat out making and serving pizzas, both of them looking even more massive than they had looked at the beach and—most arrestingly of all—they were completely shirtless under their soft store aprons. At first I thought they were buck naked underneath, but then Brandon turned to pull some slices from the oven and I saw he was wearing tight board shorts that made his ass look like an invitation to cock. My own dick agreed, and I had to adjust myself as my all-day half-hard-on suddenly started swelling to full, unbridled erection.

“Jesus,” Zac said next to me, gaping at the two men just as I was. It seemed to be the general reaction. The fireplug, Eddie, was at the counter cheerily accepting compliments from a couple of gushing frat-type guys who were raking their eyes over his thick, bare shoulders and hairy arms. Next to them another guy was standing to the side live-streaming the two worker-beasts on his phone.

“I’ll say,” I agreed. Weirdly I felt eyes on me, which seemed impossible under the circumstances. I wrenched my gaze away from the two upsized muscle studs behind the counter and looked around the noisy, crowded restaurant. Sure enough, two guys sitting next to each other in one of the booths were watching me with interest, trading comments with each other that I kind of had to assume were about how humpable I was. I drew in a sharp breath. I wasn’t sure what was more shocking: that they were completely bare-chested; or that they closely resembled Brandon’s lover Eddie, only larger and with Clark Kent glasses; or that they both looked exactly like each other, or—did I mention that they were even bigger than Eddie, who’d been piling muscle onto his compact frame all summer like they were giving it away?

“Why is everyone so huge all of a sudden?” I wondered aloud, to no one in particular. The twins caught my eye and waved in unison, managing to look both folksy and lustily appreciative at the same time. Did they practice that shit? I wondered what it would be like if I had a twin, and decided I wouldn’t want the competition.

Zac, hearing my question, turned around and spotted my two admirers. “Fuck,” he said—pretty succinctly, I thought. Then he unexpectedly gave me a push in the middle on my back, shoving me out of line. “Why don’t you go ask them while I order?”

I gave him a smile over my shoulder, as if to say, if any trouble resulted from this it was his doing. He was eyeing the twins with an assessing gaze… which was kind of the same look the twins were eyeing me with. Man, I’m so glad I’m not the kind of guy who stresses out about what’s going on in other people’s heads.

I raised my eyebrows at Zac, double-checking he was okay with me wandering off to talk to hot guys. He gave me a smile and nodded his chin toward them. All right then!

Making friends is one of the things I’m good at, so I had no trepidation about walking over and dropping into booth across from the two blond, beautifully muscled twins. “Hey, boys,” I said. I offered my grin to the one on the left. “I’m Jay.”

“Jimmy,” the twin on the left said, grinning back. “Jason,” added the other one. They were sitting very close, their broad, bulging shoulders in direct contact as they sat there smiling at me, and I suddenly had a powerful mental image of the two of them tasting each other’s dicks. It was a pretty small booth, and all three of us were long-legged enough that our knees had met under the table as soon as I’d sat down. It didn’t take long for this to transition into my lower legs and a bit of thigh being firmly pressed from all sides. I felt drawn into their erotic space in a way that made me both intrigued and a little thrown off, like I was used to being the alpha but the tables had unexpectedly turned. My dick was now straining desperately in my pants, fully erect and feeling thicker than ever.

Words. Conversation. “I, uh, take it you’re related?” I asked, jerking my thumb over my shoulder.

“What gave it away?” Jimmy asked.

“I think it was the shirt allergy,” I said. Then, because I couldn’t hold back anymore, I asked, “Seriously, is everyone in your family this big?”

“Everyone,” Jason agreed.

“You should see the dog,” added Jimmy.

I gave them a narrow look. “Uh huh.”

“Actually, this is kind of new,” Jason admitted. “There’ve been some… gains recently.”

“‘Some gains’!” I scoffed, sitting back and looking the two of them over in amazement. “‘Some gains’ is putting it mildly. I mean, I saw what Eddie and Brandon looked like before the summer started, and… seriously, that happened to you, too?”

“Well, Eddie was the shrimp before,” said Jimmy.

“But yeah,” Jason finished. He eyed my exposed arms and added, “You’re not so bad either.” He wasn’t just being nice, either—both of them were looking at me like I was what’s for dinner.

I looked down at my own arms, which suddenly seemed almost unimpressive compared to these blond, hairy fuckers. Almost. “Uh, thanks,” I said sardonically, looking back at them sidelong. I bit my lip. “I gotta say, as a running back I’m used to being on a team with defensive guys who are bigger than me, but… they’re usually built like fridges, you know? It didn’t really count, if you know what I mean.” I rubbed my chin, amazed at the sudden realization. I’d never actually felt small before—not in a stud on stud kind of way, at least.

Some part of my brain started to reassure me with the fact that my dick was probably still bigger. Which was a pretty reliable truth, or had been. But these four had been growing in a way unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and I’d been in a weight-training culture watching me and other guys layer on brawn since puberty. So if these guys were outstripping everything I knew about getting swole, how did I know that only muscles were involved in their overall hunkification?

My hard-on had no qualms about finding out. Heck if it could have it would have broken out of my pants and said hello right then.

The twins exchanged a look. “You know…” Jason said to his brother. He seemed to be not so much offering a suggestion as tacitly querying how far his twin’s mind had already gone in whatever direction they were contemplating. They communicated silently for another second or so, then turned and looked at me together. Jimmy’s expression was now distinctly crafty, which I have to admit is kind of a turn-on for me.

“We might be able to offer you some… tips,” Jimmy said.

I’m not sure how I might have followed up on this, but as I’d just been thinking about hard, slippery, slow-growing cocks the word “tips” completely derailed me and I just stared at them, the noise of the milling pizza shop blurring meaninglessly around me.

Zac dropped down next to us. “Pizza’s coming,” he said as I turned to look at him.

Okay, now I was thinking about orgasmic pizzas. I kind of froze. Zac recognized my blue-screen expression and grinned. “Where’s your brain?” he asked, teasing and curious at the same time.

My eyes widened. “You don’t want to know,” I said. Then I grinned, too, and leaned in for a kiss before gesturing to my new friends. “So this is Jimmy and Jason,” I said, making sure to get the names right, because if I were a twin that would be important to me. I made a mental note to start looking for distinguishing features to tell them apart, seeing as Jimmy probably wouldn’t always be the one on the left. I’d already clocked the difference in their long, thick, wheat-blond hair from their slightly more strawberry-hued brother, but there was already the glasses and them being bigger to tell them apart from Eddie, so that didn’t help me. Did they even need those glasses, or was it a look?

My boyfriend raised a hand in greeting. “Zac,” he said. He nodded his head toward me. “I’m with this guy.”

“Lucky you,” Jason said, aiming a wink at me. I beamed at him—I love dirty compliments like that, especially from guys who register in double digits out of ten on the hotness meter themselves.

At one point in my life I probably would have made a joke like “I know, right?” But this was Zac, so I threw one of my famous arms around his shoulders and said truthfully, “I’m the lucky one.” Zac snuggled into me happily. His hips and legs had been pressed firmly against me since he sat down, like always, and around then it occurred to me that that meant he must be aware of how the twins’ legs were nuzzling mine under the table. Actually I was pretty sure Zac was getting the same treatment from Jimmy. They seemed to be giving each other assessing looks. Probably both of them recognizing a fellow wise guy and mischief-maker.

Well, I make mischief too. Zac’s just smarter at it. I like it. It feels very yin and yang to me, like the different ways we both see the world as a place to have fun makes us fit.

Zac started talking about how one of the reasons we liked coming here was Eddie and his boyfriend and how fun they were, which was true enough, and how cool it was to run into Mike and them at the lake yesterday. “They gave us this big thing of brownies they made, too,” he added.

The twins’ eyebrows raised at this, and they seemed to do a quick scope over both of us. What was that about? Whatever. “I think he called them ‘brommies’, babe,” I told Zac with a grin.

“Brandon,” Zac explained to the twins. “Pretty sure he was trying to say ‘blondies’, but he was majorly baked.”

“So baked,” I agreed. “Like the brommies,” I added, because yeah, brownies are baked. Fuck yeah, wordplay.

“And did you enjoy the brommies?” Jason asked, very curious. He kept glancing at the bare arm I had around Zac’s shoulder for some reason, like he was looking for evidence of brommie-eating. What, like a few chocolate baked goods were going to make my delts fat?

“Naw, our flatmate snarfed almost all of them,” Zac explained, all pretend-casual.

This seemed to explain something, because both twins relaxed and slipped into matching smirks. On two identical half-naked muscle hunks it was downright sexy, and I mean, like, stomach-flutteringly sexy. “So he got to enjoy them all instead,” Jimmy said.

“A lot,” Zac confirmed. “He enjoyed them a lot.”

“I’ll say,” I added, not that they needed me to chime in. I was starting to get the sense that these guys were having more than one conversation at the same time, and I was only savvy to the one on the surface. People tend to think I’ll miss stuff like that, ‘cause I’m a happy-go-lucky jock, but I watch people and can usually tell when something’s going on. And like I said… I kind of get off on it. Zac knew that, too, which meant that in situations like this it was even money he was doing it on purpose just to rev my engines.

Zac’s mischief vibe intensified, and my hard, confined slab of a cock stiffened a little more. “You guys must enjoy their brownies a lot, too,” he said meaningfully. The twins smiled wide, like Zac had just inducted himself into their little club or something. Okay where were the subtitles for this conversation?

I decided to play dumb, just to see if any more clues were forthcoming. “Babe, look at them,” I said. “They do not eat a lot of brownies.”

“It’s true,” Jimmy said sagely. “Last night we really enjoyed a pan of homemade beef lasagna.”

“And chocolate balls,” Jason added, and fuck, they were smirking again.

“Interesting,” Zac said thoughtfully, looking them over. I did the same instinctively, and… man, their pecs were thick. And amazingly, exquisitely shaped, too. Like what you would make for yourself if you had a pec-making app and you were a bit of a pec connoisseur, wanting only the best and most pleasing shape possible. Though, with them, the app was obviously not just for hefty, meticulously crafted pecs. Everything about their upper bodies was simultaneously massive and perfectly sculpted, like they’d been evoked from a serious quantity of marble by a horny sculptor who wanted to show how beautiful hard, thick muscle could be, and then somehow turned to flesh and bone.

Speaking of bone, so far all I’d seen of the two of them was from mid-eight-pack up, and for a few minutes now a part of my brain had been given over to a fierce debate about whether I wanted them to stand up. Did I want to see their bulges and find out for real how big they were? And whether their legs were carved even more aesthetically than mine? Mine were, after all, my second-best feature, or third-best if you counted my certifiably awe-inspiring dick. The side that wanted them to stand up so we could see all was winning, I think, mostly because both sides agreed on wanting to see their no-doubt amazing man-asses.

My eyes lit on the booth opposite ours. With the four of us all simmering in extra-potent hormones—it wasn’t just me, that’s for damn sure—I’d almost forgotten we were out in public in the middle of a bustling pizza shop, but the skinny, mop-haired guy filming us on his phone through the gaps in the line of people waiting to order kind of reminded me. It looked like he’d been doing it for a while, too; he was watching his own screen with a big, heart-tugging smile, like he’d struck web video gold and now he was just reveling in it. He had an interesting look. The way his white tee shirt and skinny jeans emphasized his limber-looking physique made me think of those stealth dancers in Broadway shows. You know, the nameless people in tight clothes milling around in the back of a scene who suddenly start Bob Fosseing en masse behind the leads as soon as someone starts singing. If this were a musical about me—and I know it would be called The Platinum Bullet, though personally I’d go for Arms and Cock and a Whole Lot More, a typically teasing comment Zac had directed at me on our second date that I kind of loved—but if this were a musical about me and one of us were to suddenly set sail on a big show-stopping number, I could definitely imagine mop-haired phone guy leading the Company in all the wow-’em steps behind us. And his Archie Andrews buddy, currently leaning way over his shoulder to watch the screen with him with a delighted, awe-struck look on his face, would be kicking it up right next to him.

Why were they watching us on their screens, though? We’re right here! Look at the real world! I’m much hotter live than on screen. I think. Though I have to admit, I’ve seen some locker room videos of me where I look pretty fine.

I waved at them. They gasped a little but didn’t look up. I huffed a laugh. Maybe one of these days we’ll get rid of reality altogether, and we’ll all be streaming video only showing up on each other’s screens.

Zac noticed my little wave and glanced over in that direction, but evidently didn’t spot our admirers because he quickly turned back to me with an interrogative expression. He didn’t get to ask me who I was waving at, though, because just then Brandon appeared with two big, bubbling-hot pizzas on trays. Eddie was right behind him with paper plates and an armload of sodas.

“Wow, table service and everything!” Jimmy said, surprised.

“It pays to live with the crew, looks like,” Jason added.

Brandon set the pizzas down on the clean wood-grain linoleum table between us. As he reached in front of me my vision kind of filled with his meaty, dark-haired forearms. “Just being nice to the in-laws,” he said. “And two of our favorite regulars,” he added, throwing a warm smile at me and Zac. Then he was gone, happily greeting the people in line as he passed like he was about to take the stage at his own sold-out concert. Eddie replaced him at the end of the table, looking huge and a little obscene in just the thin, soft apron and a pair of boardies. He was also almost literally emanating sex, just like Brandon and his brothers—enough so that I was almost neglectful of the wonderful redolence of pizza and sight of two luscious pies right in front of me, one sausage and one white, both divine in all possible pizza aesthetics.

“He’s buttering you two up to ask for a favor,” Eddie admitted with a big grin as he doled out sodas, eyeing up his brothers for their current state of amenability. He seemed to be in high gear, harried but happy, an interesting contrast to his more mellow lover and the twins, who had “ready for fun” written all over them. Eddie dropped a couple of Dr Peppers in front of me (the best soda to have with white pie, hands down, I swear), but he continued talking to his two brothers. “As you can see we’re slammed tonight and we’re down a delivery guy, because fuck Larry, and Brandon figured since you two imbeciles have a car—”

Jimmy grinned. “Only if we get to keep these two!” he said.

Eddie’s strawberry brows lifted, but he immediately said, “Sold!” He finished divesting himself of sodas and reached out a hand to me, which I took automatically. We shook. “Welcome to the family!” he said, cheery and brisk. He did the same with Zac, who seemed bemused but intrigued, then turned to the twins. “The other big bed finally came, so you four can use that instead of the Murphy if you want,” he told them. Was he joking? He sounded like he was joking. At least a little.

Eddie gestured to the food. “Eat up, and then we’ll put you to work!” And then he was gone. I noticed mop-headed phone guy following his bare back and round ass on his livestream before drifting back to us.

I blinked, then turned to Zac. “Okay, I’m not really a clueless jock, but… what just happened?”

Zac shrugged. “Sounds like we just got grafted onto the family,” he said. He aimed a blatant leer at the bare-chested muscle twins, who happily accepted it. “I don’t mind, do you?”

“Hey, Jims,” Jason said, “I think we left something out in the car. You want to come check with me?” As he said this, he aimed a very obvious look at the pizzas, then locked gazes with Zac, then his brother. He did not look at me.

Jimmy and Zac both grinned. “You know, I think you’re right,” Jimmy said, immediately cottoning onto whatever the fucking coded message was. To us, he said, “Hang tight, guys, we’ll be right back.”

My intense, slightly frustrated curiosity was immediately overwhelmed by sudden awareness of the fact that the twins were now about to stand up. But before I could gather any anticipation, Zac got up and ushered me out of the booth. Distracted, I complied, and by the time I turned to see the twins in all their glory they’d mixed into the crowd and were mostly out of sight, only their thick blond hair and broad shoulders visible as they headed out the front of the shop.

I turned to Zac to ask why he’d pulled me out, but he was already leaning towards my ear. “I need to blow you in the bathroom, right now,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the hubbub of the shop.

Him saying that? In that moment, in the middle of everyone? I barely kept myself from jizzing in my pants right then and there. It helped that I’d had occasion to use the shop’s cubicle bathroom before (to take a whizz, nothing dirty—so far), and the fact that it was small and cramped enough to remind you of an airplane toilet made the idea of sex in there deliciously illicit.

The bathroom was, miraculously, free when we got to it, and once we were packed inside Zac wasted no time in yanking my pants down and dropping to his knees, fishing his own long, stiff dick out of his fly as he did so. “Wow, babe, you really—”

“I have been desperate to suck your cock since I walked in this place,” he murmured fiercely, interrupting me. He gave my rigid, pre-messy shaft a long lick and then sighed. “I swear, all four of those hunks are, like, radioactive with sex. Just being around them makes me need to cum so hard—”

He pounced on my cock, and my brain melted. I have never been so grateful for the fact that Zac’s favorite way to cum—at least, for the first time in any given night of pleasure—was with his dick in his hand and my slab-o’-hot-cock in his throat.

We returned to the booth in a haze of pleasure, weaving through the crowd hand in hand. Jimmy and Jason were already back, though they had switched places—how did I know that??—and as my half-hard, still slobber-wet dick recrudesced to raging erection I realized Zac was right: these two, and Bran and Eddie as well, were giving out boners in waves, and making the balls of every guy around them churn with a need for orgasm. I was already a pretty horny guy—Zac, too, when it came to me, though usually he liked to string things out a little more. Being overdosed with sex, and knowing that it was coming from these four specific epicenters, made me think about the pleasure I got from sex leveling up and being even more than what it already was, and my mind kind of boggled at that.

I glanced at the opposite booth with the budding filmmakers, wondering if we were now easing toward making a semi-unintentional porno, but the table was now occupied by another regular from town, the skinny hardware store guy’s son—Shaun?—and a couple of his buddies I didn’t recognize, all talking animatedly about something that had happened when Shaun was in the shop earlier. I kind of missed the phone guy and his friend being there, but I guessed once we’d all vacated the stage, however temporarily, they’d ended the scene and hustled off to enjoy their treasure in more private surroundings. Good for them.

Hmm, maybe a little video element to what was going on tonight might be fun, come to that. Because something was definitely going on tonight, and not just involving me and Zac.

As we settled into the booth and our legs were affectionately recaptured under the table, I noticed something else that had changed in the time Zac and I had been away besides the departed vloggers and the changed twin line-up: the white pizza Zac had ordered mostly for me (he usually only had a slice or two) was now sprinkled with dark flakes of some kind of seasoning that had not been there before… and which was definitely not oregano. It would have been more subtle on the sausage pie, but on the white pizza it was pretty obvious. I could practically smell it, mixed in with the cheese and tomato and garlic. This was some potent stuff, whatever it was.

I glanced around at the other three, who were all trying to look like they were just excited about grabbing pizza slices and opening sodas and totally not being conspiratorial. Okay then.

Mike was a known pot-head. Clearly the baked goods Bran and Eddie were enjoying at the lake were directly related not only to them being stoned, but Benji too, after he’d bogarted nearly the entire container of blondies they’d gifted us. I’d felt a little buzz just from the one (or two?) I’d had with ice cream before bed, and I’d sure slept soundly with some really weird dreams afterwards. Now these three were obviously angling to get me high as part of the general foreplay to having their way with me. That was new territory for me—the being high part, I mean, but the group sex thing too, honestly—and I loved being the center of their carnal shenanigans. Plus, the fact that Zac was in on it made it a major, major turn on.

I grabbed a slice of my not-so-clandestinely doctored pie and slid it into a paper plate before bending it expertly to raise it to my mouth. It was still warm, but the pie had cooled just enough that the mozzarella and ricotta didn’t slide around as I took a big, cheesy bite. I grinned at Zac with my mouthful of pizza, who was watching me as he ate, almost giddy with suppressed anticipation. The twins were background libido stimulation at the moment, their brawny, smirking, half-naked presence making my dick pulse and my blood run fast and hot, but just then I was focused on Zac, and he was focused on me.

As I swallowed and prepared to take another bite of delicious, lusciously fragrant pizza, I registered that Zac had actually grabbed a slice from the twins’ sausage pie for his first piece, instead of mine. Well, that wouldn’t do. If nothing else, I would make sure he had at least one slice of my pie before we were done here. Whatever I was getting, I told myself, Zac was going to get a taste of it too, or I wasn’t the Platinum Bullet… and he wasn’t my biggest fan.

I could still taste the twin-cum.

I’m not a cum connoisseur or anything. Actually for the longest time I’d kind of hated the bitter taste and slimy consistency. In my head it was like little bursts of hot, salty mayonnaise: not my thing. The problem was that having a hard, thick cock in my mouth and bringing a guy to climax was my favorite thing ever, even more of a rush than driving fast cars or swimming laps full-throttle until I dropped—my two favorite pastimes that didn’t involve stiff, leaking boners. Though there was that time I managed to combine a high-speed tour of some Arizona canyons in a borrowed Mustang with—buuuut that’s another story.

So the first phase of my life as a gay cocksucking enthusiast involved a trade-off I was happy to accept: bringing a guy off with my mouth, lips, and tongue was thrilling to me, and I could embrace the natural consequences of my endeavors as tangible proof that I had succeeded in what I had set out to do. A friend who sympathized with my problem told me I should just spit it out, but still have the taste in your mouth either way. I tried fellatio with a condom, but latex doesn’t taste any better than spunk, and you lose the unique, incomparable tang of hard, masculine cock.

Then it happened. The magical day came when I was giving Greg Winchell a blow-job in his dorm after swim practice, his fat cock throbbing in my eager mouth as I brought him to climax, and as he blasted my tonsils with hot cum I suddenly realized I wasn’t hating it at all. All at once some kind of switch had flipped, and I didn’t just crave big hard cock, I wanted the spurt of cum. I wanted to feel it hitting the back of my mouth. I wanted to taste it, swallow it, and feel it lingering in my mouth afterwards. Cock and cum—I was so into it I almost got tee shirts made so I could proudly proclaim the two most amazing things on earth to any who hadn’t already come to the same epiphany I had.

At first I thought it was just Greg and his nine-inch torpedo cock producing some kind of specially flavored jizz, not that I could actually taste anything different about it. I kind of latched on to him, desperate for his awesome dick and unexpectedly yummy spunk, and for two months we were nearly inseparable. Then he dumped me, complaining that all I cared about was his dick. I was baffled—how can a guy end things with a boyfriend who serviced his cock with frequency and glee? It took me half a year, and two more boyfriends who quickly grew disenchanted with my obsessive interest in the excitement of passionate, all-out fellatio, for me to finally gain some perspective. I still love big, hard dick and making a guy cum in my mouth, preferably spontaneously and in strange places just to add to the adrenaline rush; but can I make it mean more than the concentrated act of excitement, pleasuring, and release? Is it in me to value the guy I’m sucking off as something more than his delicious erection and the recipient of what I can do for him?

I still wasn’t sure. Lately, a year on from the break-up with Greg, I’d been foregoing the dating thing altogether and just doing hook-ups with guys who only wanted to blow their loads. I’d gotten to taste plenty of good cocks that way, but, man, did it feel hollow. I was starting to come to the uncomfortable realization that I wasn’t a meaningless-sex kind of guy. Hanging that plaque on my mental personality-wall next to the one that said I didn’t know how to treat a guy as more than an ambulatory system for his dick was not my most self-affirming moment. When the twins showed up at the menswear shop I’d been working at since graduation, I’d stepped back from sex altogether and hadn’t sucked a single cock in almost two weeks.

Maybe that was why they made such an impact on me. There’s more to it, somehow. Their cocks were huge, like a fantasy, and the taste of their spunk was a revelation. I actually hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning before coming to work, wanting to hold onto that taste as long as I possibly could. But it wasn’t just their cocks, or their jizz, or their herculean bodies and impossible jade-eyed beauty. It was them. I was only with them for a little while, the space of a sale and a joint blowjob, but I was drawn to them as men. It dawned on me that I wanted more with them than just fellatio, and the thought made me giddy with relief—maybe I wasn’t just a superficial cock-hungry queen after all.

I was pottering around the empty shop, hard in my loose, dark-hued herringbone slacks from thinking about the encounter, wondering whether I should seek the twins out and try my hand at dating… them?, when a customer walked in. We didn’t get much traffic that early in the day, so I prepared to give him my complete attention. It so happened I had been kneeling to square a stack of jeans on a low shelf, so when I turned my head to see him my eyes started low and traveled up… and up… and up.

They saw a lot of things on that journey. Big feet barely shod in sandals that looked a shade too small. Incredibly long legs, the shins and calves half-exposed by the too-short yellow sweatpants, with an hefty, unmistakable bulge down the left leg that reached most of the way to his knee. The fabric of the sweats was none too thick and I could easily make out the shape of the glans culminating that long, thick length pressed against a thigh like an Olympic high-jumper. I gasped, but I couldn’t stop my eyes moving up his frame—I had to see every inch of the man who owned that impossible wang. Past a narrow waist was a tightly-muscled bare torso that was just as extended in length as the rest of him. It was tanned and firm, like he’d been sculpted from smooth, golden oak, but hairy, with a thin dark-blond treasure trail leading up out of the waistband and climbing subtle but well-crunched abs to bloom across round, two-inch-thick pecs. Compared to his legs the luscious, stretched torso being completely exposed like that seemed oddly obscene, as if the compromise he’d been able to wrangle in clothing his lower half hadn’t even been worth an attempt up above. Even his neck looked half an inch longer than you’d expect. As I watched his throat moved, up and down, as if he had been working up the nerve for something. There was a short, close-trimmed sandy-brown beard along his firm jaw and lower cheeks and a long, thick mane of wavy, luxurious ash-blond hair that seemed almost literally to call to my fingers to comb through it.

But it was his light brown eyes that hit me hardest and made my heart skip a beat or two, and the way his thick, sexy eyebrows were drawn uncertainly together, and his voice that seemed to fill me as he asked, almost pathetically, “Can you help me?”

I stared at him, aflame with utter arousal. Then, without thinking, I blurted out, “I sure hope so.”

It wasn’t a dream. Delirium and kidnapping into an alternate dimension were still on the table, but it definitely wasn’t a dream.

I was kind of glad it wasn’t a dream. Not because of what had happened to my body, which… honestly I hadn’t really accepted. It was like one of those farces, you know? Only instead of swapping phones with one of the other characters I’d accidentally swapped bodies during that fuzzy time with the brownies and Buffy I couldn’t really remember too clearly—dramatically, a perfect dubious moment where anything could have happen and, apparently, had. Now I was just walking around waiting for the inevitable classic scene where someone hilariously mistakes me for the real owner of the body, and I have to perform their hit song at a sold-out concert or play running-back in a championship football playoff or act in a porno or something.

Heh. Given the kind of body I’d ended up with, and especially the steady, feverish arousal suffusing me top to bottom that I could barely keep in check, it would probably be that last one.

Sam Beckett never had to deal with this, I thought. My lips twisted in bemusement as I imagined Scott Bakula as a seven-foot, stretched-out, fuzzy-chested, long-haired muscle Adonis with a giant, hard, chest-tapping dick haplessly trying to bluff his way through a sex scene with a wide-eyed, coked-out gym bunny who’d clearly never seen a dick bigger than his own proudly erect, double-wide eleven-incher. Except while I was focused on Scott’s hilarious mugging the scene in my head had unaccountably shifted to the bridge of the Enterprise NX-01, and now the awestruck thickly-hung scene partner was a naked, boned, and startlingly buff Malcolm Reed. Then Chuck Bartowski walked in from the turbo-lift in his Buy-More get-up, only to stop and stare, gasping out a shocked “Dad?!”, while Casey, standing to one side, folded his arms over his chest and took in the impending Starfleet fuckfest with steely-eyed interest.

My dick twitched against my thigh, intrigued, and I hurriedly shook away my Scott Bakula slashfic mash-up and resumed my train of thought. No, the real reason I was glad it wasn’t a dream was…

I sighed, pausing before the entrance to the menswear store on Main, the one with the stupid name, and leaned my bare shoulder blades against the narrow column of smooth stonework between the display windows and the glass door. It was so fucking nice, waking up between Jay and Zac like that, my two idols cuddling me like—like I was a part of their couple.

I snorted. A part of their couple! What an oxymoron I was. All along, too. At first I’d thought it was just Jay’s amazing arms and Zac’s heart-melting smile I was in love with, but… sadly, I was not that shallow.

What an idiot. At least the guys hadn’t caught on yet that my devotion extended beyond Jay’s perfect biceps.

I looked down at myself and once again took in what I now looked like. What I saw baffled, confused, and scared me. I was barely what you could call dressed, and basically you could see everything. I was in public, and while it was early on a summer day it wasn’t that early. There were people on the streets even at this hour, and I was getting more than a few looks. Most (but not all) of the glances lingered lasciviously on my long, godly torso as they passed, which was a blessing, I guessed. I could almost retcon myself as having strategized how to take away attention from my dick by leaving my upper body exposed—in place of the prosaic truth, that my old banana-yellow running sweats were literally the only clothing I owned that would fit this farcical other-bod someone had stuck me in. It had taken a few moments for that to sink in this morning, distracted as I was by the pleasure-haze of having woken up between my guys like I’d always pretended would someday just accidentally happen and then become just what we did. I stumbled back to my room in predawn gloom with a face-stretching grin, barely fazed when I bumped my forehead on the doorjamb, and then I had stood there in front of my dresser naked and agonizingly boned for an embarrassingly long time, happy in my post cuddle miasma, before my cruel and heartless brain let me in on a stark reality: that everything in that dresser I was currently towering over was probably completely useless to me while I was like this.

And that was when I remembered that I’d promised to show at my high-school bestie’s birthday in two days.

Fuck. If my real body wasn’t restored in time—and of course it never was in body-swap comedies—I was going to need clothes. I mean, I could show up to Rusty’s backyard barbecue all naked and transformed, I thought in a kind of panicked sarcasm. Actually Rusty would probably take it in stride—he was pretty chill—but Rusty’s Pollyanna sister might scream at the sight of a male member, engorged or otherwise, and then hijinks would definitely ensue. Not very nice of me to cause all that pandemonium, being a guest and all.

I had to buy clothes—no way around it. Ordering online would probably take too long; I couldn’t risk it. I had to go to a store—a good one where I could get measurements taken. Except… I couldn’t go out like this. Maybe I could ask Jay or Zac to—? No. That was—I couldn’t deal with that. Had they even seen me like this? I kind of wanted to hide it from them, like, if they wanted to hang with me they should like the real me, not this weirdness. I had to do this myself. Maybe there was something in my dresser I could make fit?

I dropped my bare butt onto the end of my bed, confused and redline-horny. I could barely think, I was so turned on. I looked down and my cockhead seemed to be looking right at me, pre-smeared and quivering. Okay, I thought: getting clothes would be step two. Step one was getting rid of the boner so I could at least go out in public.

As if I had done this all my life I gripped the hot lower shaft with both hands as I bent my eager mouth toward that spunky cockhead, ready to bring myself to orgasm for the sole purpose of getting this monster soft and reasonably presentable in public.

Step one… let’s just say it took a while. Thank god I love the taste of my own cum, because by the time I was flaccid enough to pull on those old sweatpants I remembered I had, I felt like I had swallowed more jizz than the winner at an all-day cocksucking contest. I didn’t even eat breakfast before I headed out—I was full.

On the way out I ran into Zac, who’d gotten up to take a piss, I guess, and was leaning against their bedroom doorway scanning me up and down with obvious interest. I didn’t know what to do with that, so I’d just sheepishly muttered something about how I was going out to get some clothes and bolted, just barely remembering to duck as I exited and closed the door to the loft behind me.

Maybe if I steered clear of the guys until everything was normal again, Zac would think that that had been a dream he’d had. Once I thought it, it didn’t seem likely. Sure, I snarked to myself—the sharpest guy you know will willingly self-delude himself against the evidence of his own eyes. That will definitely happen.

Someone in an old Impala had slowed down so much to stare at me that cars behind him were honking at him in annoyance. He pulled away suddenly with a loud squeal of tires, and traffic resumed, as did the passing stares of drivers and passers-by alike. Jesus, I was going to cause an accident if this kept up.

I pressed my lips together. I’d procrastinated long enough. I straightened and turned to the door. Again remembering to duck only at the last minute, I entered the store, heart thumping in sheer trepidation as I crossed the threshold, the shop bells tinkling as if in warning that there was no turning back.

It’s cold in our store, and I had the rare privilege of watching my new favorite customer’s nipples harden in real time. Fuck, if I weren’t already hard…

Reminded of my condition, I tried to maintain some decorum by stepping behind the nearest sales counter. It was a completely clear case full of neckties, as it happened, so my movement probably didn’t accomplish much actual concealment, but it helped me regain my composure, a bit.

I put on my best customer-service smile and tried not to make it a leer. I could hear my own heart thumping like a horse at full canter and could only hope he couldn’t hear it, too. “How can I help you today?” I asked, looking up into those light-brown eyes. The uncertainty and unease I saw there took my focus off myself and my high-revving lust. Something about the vulnerability of this handsome, lanky demigod made me want to ease his mind in any way I could. My plastic smile softened and became more genuine.

He held my gaze as if determined to go through with what he had resolved to do with squared shoulders and a steady heart. “I, uh… need clothes,” he said.

I very nearly shot back “You’ve come to the right place”, but this pup didn’t need retail sarcasm. He did smile, though, as if he got the humor of what he’d said, and I smiled back, my cock aching for me to do more than smile at him.

“I… grew recently,” he elaborated cryptically. “I don’t know what I wear now, so, I think I need to be measured?” His cheeks actually turned a little ruddy at this, and the undertow of arousal I was getting from this guy grew deeper with an additional pull of genuine affection, despite my having known this guy for literally fifteen seconds.

“I see,” I said. I couldn’t help but think of the last two customers I’d had the day before with a similar problem. “You don’t happen to know a pair of very fit young twins, do you?”

His brows drew together. “No?” he answered uncertainly.

It had seemed a reasonable guess that my three larger-than-life customers had to be connected, but apparently not. Now I was curious. “How were you referred to us, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh. Um, I did a search for places nearby that were open early and seemed like they might have someone who knew what a tape measure was.” He was looking at me intently with a half-smile, as if he were inwardly praying with all his might that I would turn out to be exactly the right person to simplify at least one aspect of his life and clear away some of his troubles. You and me both, buddy.

I stuck out my hand. “That’s me,” I said, and he took my hand. “My name’s Quinn, and I definitely know my way around a tape measure.” As we shook I couldn’t help but let my eyes drop to his inseam, granting me with another gander at the part of his anatomy I most wanted to examine the dimensions of. “For you I might need two,” I said, almost without realizing I’d spoken my thought aloud.

He let out a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes closed, as if trying to push away a flood arousal. When they opened again they fixed on mine. “I’m Benji,” he said roughly.

“Nice to meet you,” I said softly. His hand was still wrapped around my own. Like the rest of him the overriding characteristic was length—long wrist, long palm, long fingers, long thumb—but his grip was warm and strong in a way that was reassuring rather than intimidating. He let go with visible reluctance, eyes still locked on mine.

I started to invite him into the back alcove to take his measurements, then faltered. I knew with certainty that if I pulled him behind the curtain right now, I was going to yank down those sweats and take as much of that impossible dick into my mouth as I possibly could. That was all right for a pair of randy, smirking twins out to have fun, but this guy needed me to take care of him, and not just by driving him into a frenzy and making him shoot thick jets of hot cum all over my tonsils for five minutes straight. I wavered for a beat, half of me screaming “What are you, crazy?” at the other half, but with an effort I pushed my arousal down as much as I could and grabbed a tightly-rolled tape-measure from the set of drawers next to me.

“Let me get a quick waist and inseam,” I said, moving around the counter, “and then we’ll see if we can get you into some better-fitting pants.” The shape of my not-so-small erection was very clear in my trousers, and I knew there was no hiding my reaction to him now. That was okay. I felt like he needed to know. He’d be able to see how thoroughly he turned me on, and my actions would show him everything else about how I felt about him.

I knelt in front of him, making sure to position myself so that he would turn enough toward me that his back was completely to the store windows, and took a deep, centering breath. I saw him shoot a quick glance back the rear alcoves before looking down at me uncertainly. I gave him a reassuring smile, which, I hope, communicated that privacy right now might not be the best idea. He gave me that quirky smile that made me think he understood.

I freed up the tape measure and very deliberately placed its head next to the inseam of his right leg, but I could not help but be aware of the massive slab of meat that was only barely being held against his left thigh by the thin fabric of his sweats. I could have sworn it was radiating heat, and maybe more—I felt like it was seeping under my skin somehow. As I unrolled the tape it moved, and I looked up to see a slightly alarmed expression on Benji’s face that was half “getting hard in these sweats it going to be painful” and half “geez, what is this guy going to think of me”. I gave him that genuine smile, the one I was already starting to think of in some part of my brain as my “Benji smile”, and he drew in a breath through his nose and seemed to steady himself.

I patted the side of the thigh that didn’t have an anaconda-sized trouser snake pressed against it reassuringly and positioned the other end of the tape at his ankle. “Okay, so that’s… 44 inches,” I said. I barely held back from saying “Holy shit”, but Benji did it for me. I looked up in surprise. “You didn’t know?”

He looked sheepish again. “New growth spurt,” he reminded me.

That seemed… weird, as Benji was clearly college age and only a couple of years younger than I was. He also seemed to not have been expecting a number anywhere near that high. I remembered Benji wasn’t the only big-dicked giant I’d seen lately, though my latest specimen had a few inches even on the twins, for all they were a lot more thickly built than he was. “Huh,” I said. Was there something in the water—and if so where could I get a cup?

I stood, adjusting my hard-on surreptitiously with the heel of my palm as I straightened. I repositioned the tape at his hip, taking the rest in my other hand. As I reached around him to measure his waist I was suddenly deeply aware of how almost naked he was, and how impossibly hard and full of hot cum waiting to spurt I was. His torso was palpably warm despite the chilly air conditioning, and I wanted to just stand there and stop moving, basking in him for however long he’d let me.

Benji was a good 14 inches taller than me, so the waist I was measuring was mid-abdomen on me, and I was looking right at his collarbone. There was a pale, almost invisible half-inch scar right at the top of his left pec, directly in front of me, and I stared at it as I forced myself with some difficulty not to turn the action of putting my arms around him with the measuring tape into an embrace, partly because it might embarrass him, partly because having to be pried off of him with crowbars would be embarrassing for me. “How’d you get the scar?” I asked, making conversation to distract us both as I finished bringing the tape around to meet the end I was holding in my other hand.

“Huh?” he said, surprised. He glanced down at where I was looking. “Oh. Uh, accident with a can opener when I was seven,” he said. “Long story.”

I looked up to meet his eyes and we exchanged little smiles again. Then I checked the measurement. “Thirty-four inches,” I read. I looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Did someone grab you at both ends and pull, or something?” I asked. He rewarded me with a bona fide smile of amusement. My heart sang with happiness, and my balls with lust.

I stepped back, doing my very best to look him over with the detachment of a professional menswear associate, an aspirant to the noble art of haberdashery, though my sang-froid was cruelly undermined by the obvious fact of Benji’s meat having very visibly crept down his leg to kiss the side of his knee, its diameter expanding in the process all along its length. I felt instantly hot, and I knew my ginger complexion showed it. My entire body seemed to be convulsing with a need for this man at the cellular level, which I wasn’t sure came from the literal allure he possessed drawing me to him or a bottomless, hungry desire of my own making. His expression was growing uncomfortable, too, like a guy who knew there was an angry bear nearby but had sworn not tell anybody.

“Well,” I said, “the good news is I can do you for a few tee shirts. There’s an athletic fit brand that comes in a few sizes of extra-extra tall, which we keep in stock because one of the owners has a couple of grandsons who’re six-seven and six-nine and they all like to shop here instead of going online.” This prospect intrigued me: as certifiably hot as Benji’s bare, lightly hairy torso was, I totally wanted to see a well-fitted red tee shirt clinging to those meaty pecs and emphasizing the long journey down his abs to his narrow waist. My gaze dropped to his feet, straining against sandals that were at least a size too small, the heels hanging an inch off the backs. How recent was that growth spurt, anyway, and how dramatic had it been for him to have no footwear anywhere close to the right size? “We may have a pair of walking shoes, too,” I continued. “One of the grandsons ordered a pair that turned out to be too big, and we never got around to sending them back. We’ll have to measure later to make sure. As for pants, though…” I bit my lip, meeting his gaze rather than letting my eyes plunder his sweats and what was in them. “We’ve got a few that go up to a 40-inch inseam, for the same reason as the shirts, but nothing in your actual size,” I explained. “For you I think you’re stuck with custom-made stuff, or special orders from manufacturers that cater to the extreme big-and-tall.”

Benji nodded, but his stare was so smoldering I felt my insides burning. “What about shorts?” he asked, his voice a little rougher than it had been.

I brightened. It was summer—of course he could make do with shorts. “Shorts we can do,” I said, nodding. There were actually quite a few options in stock I could discuss with him, though… suddenly now didn’t seem like the time to talk about clothes anymore, somehow.

“Good,” Benji said absently. Neither of us spoke for a second, and the air between us felt electrically charged. I glanced at his left leg and held in a gasp. The bulge had pushed past the knee by this point, and overall it had already progressed halfway from thick, sinuous snake to extra-thick, extra-hard iron-bar. The head was pushing up against the fabric for the first time, too, like it might try ripping through the thin fabric of the sweats it if got much harder. There was no way he was leaving the store looking like that—that monster needed immediate taming.

I shivered and heard myself say, “Maybe you w-want to take care of that, before… um, before?”

I was about to suggest he take a few private moments in one of the back alcoves he’d noted earlier for a little alone time with his little friend. But just then Benji took a step closer to me and we were inches apart again. My mind went blank as his gentle body heat seemed to pour through me.

Then he said something I’ll never forget. “I sucked myself off four times this morning just to get it even a little soft,” he said in a low, quiet voice. “I think… I think, to be truly satisfied, it needs more attention than I can give it.”

I had been staring hard at the shifting bulge, mind awash with lust, but now I looked up at him, and when our eyes met I saw it again: that need for more than simple sexual release. My cock surged at the implications of what he’d just said, and I very nearly had to grab my dick to stop myself from cumming like a bullet-train through a tunnel. Meanwhile my heart was swelling at the possibilities beyond what was about to happen. Another time, I told it. Priorities.

We gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, his dark with an arousal that seemed already personal and intimate, a lust focused on me and me alone. I thought with a flash of unexpected amusement: And this is before he finds out how good at cocksucking I am. I gave him a sly smile, like he was in on the joke, but this time he was too in need to smile back. I shivered again, feeling another wave of almost unbearable arousal. I wasn’t even sure if it was his or mine.

I should say something, I thought, slightly belatedly. Several cornball replies along the lines of “I’m happy to help” occurred to me in succession, but I discarded all of them.

Instead I took his hand and said, “Follow me.”

Quinn drew me back behind the heavy black curtain screening one of the rear alcoves the associates used for measurements and alterations. It was larger than I expected, its own room with cupboards and drawers and the tools of menswear tailoring, though still separated from the main store by a bit of fabric hanging from the wooden dowel I’d ducked under. Anyone else might have been thrilled by the illicit and public nature of what was about to transpire, the glissando of potential discovery, but all I could focus on was a single fact: Quinn and I were alone, and we were about to share the orgasm that had been slowly stoking since our eyes met and which now hung between us like a red giant star building inexorably toward supernova.

Then Quinn gave me a quick wink and bolted out of the alcove. I stood there in fevered arousal for mere seconds before I heard the jingling of keys. I smiled, imagining him locking the front doors and gleefully turning the closed sign, a grin on his cutely handsome face at the power he had to ensure we were alone, just us. And before I was done thinking that, he was back, and that grin was aimed at me. It quivered through me like gentle lightning.

Quinn hit one of the two light switches beside the curtain, reducing the light in the room by half, from clinical and professional to tranquil and intimate, though it almost seemed the glow of our arousal might have been enough to light the space around us. I stood in the center of the room, vibrating, my whole body feeling hot and tumescent. A drop of sweat trickled languidly down the shallow, hairy defile between my pecs, and another formed at my temple. A third arose between my shoulder blades and slid down my spine. I was so heated up I half expected them to turn to steam.

Quinn stepped toward me with almost fearsome intent in his storm-gray eyes. He looked like he intended not to get me off but to claim me. My entire being reacted to the idea with a need to do the same. I closed the distance between us and stared down at him, absorbing every detail: his firm, defined body almost straining against his tight-fitting white dress shirt and snug herringbone slacks… full, ruddy lips against pale, flushed skin… the smattering of barely visible freckles just under his eyes… the combed-back red hair that seemed to be rebelling in little tufts at the edges, like an unruly garden growing when its master’s attention was elsewhere… the barest hint of rusty stubble along his jawline and around his decadent-looking mouth. I wanted to touch and taste all of it, every inch, but I stood, still and waiting, unable to force myself to commit to a full and passionate experience in this body, as though such an act would be accepting permanent ownership of this alternate self, this changed reality.

My fully hard, impossibly huge cock was now pushing out violently against the leg of my sweats, threatening to rip free. Quinn’s hands reached out to me, and I expected them to land on my elastic waistband and start forcefully pulling down my sweats, converting my in a single motion from notionally clothed to indisputably nude and fully exposed to his lust and desire. Instead the hand that found my flank began sliding slowly upward instead along the planes of my back in a long caress, every bit of palm and finger contact seeming like a balm and an stimulation all at once, while the other wrapped firmly around my neck under my crazy mane and pulled me irresistibly down for a kiss.

I willingly complied with this momentary detour, bringing my lips to his and opening for him immediately, my long hair tickling my traps as it shifted over my shoulders. My hands copied his, cupping his neck and letting my other hand wander his fit and gently flared back. My throbbing cock bucked through the fabric of my sweats, smacking against his leg insistently as we kissed, our tongues sliding eagerly against each other as our lips moved in luscious undulation. He was as physically hot as I was, and the need we both felt seemed like a single fire that burned in bodies bound together by luck and fate.

That fire and need was raging out of control, however, and our release could not be staved off—certainly not by the incendiary kisses we were sharing. Without releasing his hold on my mouth and tongue Quinn moved his hands down to my hips and fumbled for the waistband of my too-small sweats. He quickly got a firm grip and began pulling down, managing to get them past my ass and halfway down my thighs before more direct action, and disengagement of our mouths, was unfortunately required.

Quinn broke the kiss and turned his attention to getting my sweats off. He knelt and managed to work the sweatpants down past my iron cock without actually touching it, which only stoked my need for his hands and mouth on my huge, sensitive dick. The moment it was free it flew up in a blur of pink and red flesh, and Quinn barely avoided being clubbed in the face as he rocked back onto his heels, spattered by flying drops of precum. My dick slapped against my torso, the head nosing into the slight cleavage between my pecs.

“Oh my god,” Quinn breathed, almost inaudibly.

Quinn stood. We stared at it together in awe, panting almost in unison, not taking our eyes off it as I made the minimal amount of motions necessary to step out of my old sweats and undersized sandals.

Quinn abruptly he tipped his head up and met my gaze, a fierce look in his storm-gray eyes. “That,” he said, pointing, “is mine.” He meant it, too. I’d already seen that he had a dry sense of humor he’d mostly been holding back, and I couldn’t wait to see it released and given free rein. But this was no joke. He felt the unbreakable connection between us as strongly as I did.

Later, I’d be amazed that no thought of Jay and Zac, my idols up until the moment I saw Quinn, even entered my head as Quinn claimed me (and, specifically, my giant, needy cock) for his own. What I had thought was love for my two unnaturally attractive and beautiful roommates wasn’t really love at all. I want to say it was just infatuation, but infatuation isn’t a bad or insignificant thing, and it had its own place. Certainly last night they had made me and each other very happy, and maybe now that the physical barriers between us had been unexpectedly broached and cast aside there was no question that the three of us would continue to make each other happy as friends who found pleasure in each other. This, though. This was on another level, and Quinn calling me and my throbbing cock out as his amped our shared arousal yet further, to a level I would never have imagined possible.

I suddenly needed to see him grin again. “Are you sure you can handle it all on your own?” I asked, licking my lips.

Yes, he did smile, even as his big hard-on jumped against his hip at the prospect of sharing with me. A glint surfaced in his piercing gaze. “Okay, ours then,” he conceded.

He moved closer, swallowing visibly. He stared at the dark-red cockhead, moving his tongue methodically along his lips in preparation. I did the same. “First time fast,” he said. “Second time slow. Real slow.”

“And the third time?” I asked, my voice sounding weirdly deep in my ears.

Quinn looked up at me with a dangerous grin. “Buy me dinner first, ya player,” he teased.

The arousal between us had reached critical. There could be no more banter. In a single movement, as if we were competitors in some Olympic sport involving synchronized giant-cock fellatio, our mouths homed in on opposite sides of my long, wrist-thick shaft just below the head. We both moaned deeply as our hot, wide mouths made contact, and my dick spurted eagerly in anticipation. We moved around the shaft, sliding up and down as far as I could crane downward, then up and around against toward the head until we were both kissing around the glans, our lips occasionally brushing against each other as we worked to bring ourselves to blessed release. We didn’t even bother to stroke the shaft with our hands. Instead I managed to undo his pants and free his thick, impressive hardon, which was hot and slick with all the precum he’d already spent, while Quinn caressed my elongated torso along both flanks, slowly stroking up and town like my body was a seven-foot cock.

Soon we couldn’t stand it anymore. Our mouths worked around the head and upper shaft like dervishes, the fever building up in us like a thermometer about to burst. I started grunting in awareness of imminent climax, and Quinn did too. He raised a palm and tapped my shoulder once, and instinctively I let my mouth slide down the shaft as I gripped and stroked his own cock, wanting to feel his release as much as my own. He moved his mouth around to the head and took it all in, engulfing as much of my giant cock as he could. The pleasure was utterly exquisite, and holding back became impossible. We exploded together, violently and completely, as if we were releasing all the cum there was in the universe. I gasped and panted around my shaft, reveling in the feel of Quinn’s physical climax pulsing through my hand while our shared ecstasy burst through us in shock after shock of release. Quinn swallowed as much as he could but had to pull off, and I took over, swallowing my own cum even as my ability to think or understand anything but the feel of Quinn’s hand and mouth and body and the wrapping of our selves around each other through some powerful force I hadn’t had before became all I knew for some unmeasured quantity of time.

I surfaced, and though my last awareness had had my mouth wrapped around my cock, now we were kissing. I had dropped to my knees, so now Quinn was the one bending to kiss me, his fingers sunk deep into my long, thick hair and carding through it like he’d been wanting to do that for ages, and I was now the one caressing his flanks. He was still wearing his snug button-down, I noticed distantly with amused disapproval. That would have to change. His job might be getting me into clothes, but from now on mine would be to get him out of them. My cock was still so hard it was like I hadn’t even cum a few moments before, pulsing between us like our sexual desire made manifest.

We kissed and kissed, then Quinn pulled back and looked me in the eyes. I could see mischief there, which kind of thrilled me. “That was the tension-reliever,” he said, his fond smile delightfully crooked. “Now the fun begins.”

I shivered a little and nodded, matching his lopsided smile. “Now the fun begins,” I repeated.

One of the many things I love about Jay Johanssen, a.k.a. the Platinum Bullet, a.k.a. the only man anyone like me could ever need, is how adorably transparent he is. Like, whenever he knows something’s going on and he’s not quite sure what it is, you can see the excitement in those sweet cornflower blue eyes of his, and it’s cute as fuck. It’s like he’s on the football field and he’s just caught the quarterback’s lateral pass with herd of moose-sized defenders between him and the end zone. For him, using his stellar physical gifts, gridiron savvy, and a lifelong affinity for dumb luck to twist and plow through any and all obstacles was the biggest thrill and the best part of the game. It doesn’t matter what clever tricks the other team has planned for him, because Jay always finds a way to score in the end. It’s such a rush for him, and so much fun watching him experience that rush, that you can’t help rooting for him even if you’re the one with the crafty smile and the devious plans.

It’s pretty hot for both of us, frankly, so it’s more about me keeping that kind of thing infrequent, unpredictable, and intense in a slow-mounting excitement kind of way. It’s honestly, and in a very real sense, a kind of foreplay for us.

Usually when you say that so-and-so has a hard-on for something, it’s a metaphor. Like, saying Michael Bay has a hard-on for explosions, that doesn’t mean that—hang on, that might be a bad example, now that I think about it. Maybe if I use Bruce Kalish inst—no, that’s not safe either. The point is, when I tell you that Jay has a hard-on for my crafty smile and devious plans, you can trust that it means he literally gets hard seeing me with a quirk in my lips and a glint in my eye. And the hard-on that gives me, literal and figurative, only spurs me on. It’s a bit of a feedback loop, honestly, and we’re both pretty happy falling into it when it happens.

What was different about this particular game was that I wasn’t the one calling the plays. Conning Jay into eating a couple of the brownies that had had such a wild and unmistakable effect on Benji had been fun partly for the unfamiliar level of suspense involved. I knew the brownies would do something, but I didn’t know how much to expect from just two of them compared the almost entire batch Benji had polished off. The only things I could count on were that (a) Jay would be subtly hotter in the morning (check, and it was pure providence that the brownie thing coincided with my just having secretly stolen the sleeves off a few of his favorite tee shirts), and (b) Jay would be totally oblivious to it (again, check, and fuck was that hilariously hot). Now, though, with the doctored pizza scam the shirtless and ridiculously hunky Clark Kent twins were the ones in the driver’s seat—again, metaphorically and in actual fact, as we’ll see in a moment—and I was finding myself, and unexpectedly, totally reveling in the tingle in my belly I was getting from not having any idea what was going to happen. Would the “secret ingredient” the twins had fetched from their car work differently steeped in steaming-hot cheese compared how it had done when baked into brownies? Would it be more apparent this time whether the effects on Jay were like those Benji had experienced, or characteristic of Jay in particular? Was this even the same strain as what had gone into the baked goods Eddie and Brandon had given us? That one especially gave me tummy-flutters. It suddenly seemed probable, even manifest, that there was more than one variety of weed involved, given how the effect on Benji seemed to have gone mostly into his height and his cock whereas Eddie and especially Brandon were turning into long-haired muscle gorillas and it looked to me like Jimmy and Jason were getting ratcheted up everywhere in god-like glowing muscle perfection and all-around golden bonerificness. All of which prompted the compelling question: what exactly had they given Jay, and what would the effects be on my beautiful, grinning jock-man of a partner?

Other possibilities occurred to me. They might have been punking both of us and given Jay ordinary weed instead of dipping into their family’s secret stash, for example; in that case the only entertainment I’d get out of all of this would be watching Jay get high as a kite (which would be awesome). But even though I didn’t know the twins very well yet I had a strong inkling that their inclination to mischief drove them to explore just what kinds of fun and illicit diversions they could perpetrate with this stash of freaky botanical change-catalyst that had—recently, I suspected—fallen into their sexy laps.

True to form (and I really don’t know how he does it), Jay inhaled almost the entire white pie that Jimmy and Jason had adulterated—though he did insist on me downing a piece as well, along with the slice of sausage I’d pulled from the twins’ pie, and he did it with a smile and a look in those pretty blue eyes of his that told me very clearly he knew he was being fucked with, and however much he loved it he was not going down alone. And fuck, if I hadn’t already been rock-hard just from sitting next to Jay in that sleeveless shirt and all the footsie and leg-play with our cunning hulk-twins and generally being turned on from the whole idea of Jay getting even hotter, that single long moment with both Jay and me biting into our respective tampered-with slices from Jay’s pie while our eyes stayed locked on each other, both of us grinning with excitement, would have boned me up so hard and so fast I probably would have ripped right through my underwear and jeans and no force on earth could have gotten me under control again without a major jizz explosion.

Heh, Major Jizz Explosion. I think he reports to General Cock Obsession.

In any case I didn’t have too long to dwell on the ramifications of weaponized Italian comestibles. Once Jay had demolished the remainder of his pie and the twins and I had done in the sausage one we were put to work. I say “we” because even though it was strictly Jimmy and Jason (and their car) that’d been dragooned into delivery duty, Jay and I joined them automatically without really questioning it. If I’d pondered my options at all I’m sure I would have figured the twins totally deserved to enjoy seeing the fruits of their plan, but really all it took was a friendly grin from Jimmy as they exited the booth and headed from the counter for me to get to my own feet and follow them, and Jay followed me with his eyes glued to the new-looking jeans the brothers were wearing like he was trying to settle a bet in his head. Nearly-naked Brandon handed his “in-laws” a couple of boxed-up pies in a red insulation sleeve with a grateful smile, and the four of us left together, got into the twins’ reasonably roomy red Honda hatchback, and began our temporary stints as pizza delivery boys.

If there was one constant of the evening, it was the goggle-eyed awe with which our new pals Jimmy and Jason were met at every destination. It was kind of funny to watch just because it was so consistent: the door would open, the customer would be focused on the food they were about to get or the money they were sorting out if they were paying cash, and then the sight of two identical blond six-and-a-half-foot shirtless exquisitely-muscled Adonises wearing shit-eating-grins and holding their pizzas would stop them in their tracks. Jaws fell open, wallets plopped to the ground, crotches got visibly tighter. One guy, a fit-looking prematurely balding cutie who lived in one of the new duplexes south of campus, mindlessly pulled his phone out of his back pocket and took a picture of the twins standing there on his porch smirking at him, gaping the whole time. I’m not even sure he was aware he was doing it—it was like an autonomic response.

He wasn’t the only one who snuck a pic of the twins, either, or of the four of us if they noticed me and Jay hanging back enjoying the show. A couple of girls even brazenly took a selfie with all of us, all but forgetting their veggie-lover’s sicilian in their rush to fawn over the beef that had arrived on their doorstep with it. I caught a glance at their pic, too, and I have to say that the twins were almost as good as Jay was at looking absolutely edible when packaged up in a social media pic. Jay was the master of the over-the-shoulder grin, with or without his patented bicep flex, variations of which had graced countless social media feeds on game nights and at team events; but the twins’ all-encompassing beauty demanded you get the full impact of their gorgeous faces and their equally deluxe torsos in frame on every shot. They also looked fucking huge, as obviously larger-than-life on screen as they were in actual reality. Between the snaps the twins were getting and the live-streaming and selfies I’d seen going on at the pizza shop featuring the ever-growing, barely dressed super-hunks behind the counter, I was becoming more and more convinced that knowledge of our town’s little posse of bonerifically augmented titans wouldn’t stay close to home for long.

Something else happened over the course of the night. Jay, previously a pot virgin, was maximally, saturatedly stoned practically from the moment we got in the car. People react to pot differently; with Jay, everything about being high seemed to magnify his personality. He wasn’t just Jay-horny, he was mega-horny, which meant he was all over me in the back seat while we drove to our destinations, even blowing me successfully in the car during one of our stop-overs at the shop to pick up new deliveries—only his horniness was so intense and so escalated that it was pulling me in, and the twins too, like it was spilling out of him and onto us. He was also easily distracted, moaning about his state of arousal one minute and then grinning at local landmarks as we passed in the next, even rolling down the window and sticking his head out like a big doofus mutt when we got up to speed on one of the state roads between towns.

It wasn’t long, though, before I was picking up on the other effects of the night’s secret ingredient. At first I was struck by how Jay, standing next to the taller, more muscular, and almost palpably sex-radiating twins, seemed almost like their protégé: even his thick, sculpted, and much-prized upper arms, the source of many an obsession around campus (not least with our own roommate), looked almost elegant and demure by comparison with the more heavily built, even more stone-carved bis and tris of the two brothers. It was something new for me. Sure, I’d seen pictures of guys more built than Jay, but I hadn’t really had occasion to be with him and at the same time in the physical presence of guys whose physiques were even more impressive than Jay’s was. The most gratifying thing about this, for me, was that while Jimmy and Jason inspired the same elemental, primal lust they kindled in everyone who saw them, my heart and my erection both still belonged most of all to the one and only Platinum Bullet—my uniquely beautiful and peerlessly arousing jock-man and soulmate.

But that comparison didn’t stay constant. Over the course of the night I could viscerally feel the impact of the twins’ stash taking hold on him. I kept thinking about it and reevaluating what I thought I was seeing. Two hours in I still wasn’t sure. It seemed like it might still be my imagination—or perhaps my anticipation—when we got back in the car after one of our stops and it seemed like Jay was filling the back seat more than he had been before. His beloved navy-blue “S.H.I.E.L.D. ATHLETIC DEPT” tee seemed tighter across the chest, too—I half wished I hadn’t pilfered the sleeves off of it just so I could watch them being stretched by his thickening biceps. His hefty boner looked amazingly large as it pulsed along his hip under his old, dark-khaki cargo pants… but it always looked big and demanding, in or out of clothes.

It was when we got to our last stop, a six-pie order for a noisy, happy-looking Pride party at one of the big houses west of town, that I really noticed the full effects of Jay’s transformation. When he got out of the car, he looked… big. Just… big. And when I climbed out on his side, drunk with lust and just wanting to stay close, I was looking up at him—like, instead of eye-to-eye I was eye-to-throat. (Fuck, even his throat was sexy.) His shirt seemed to be bugging him—it was riding up and too tight across the pecs and shoulders—and so he just impulsively reached behind his neck and hauled the thing off, not without a little difficulty.

I almost gasped. Not only were his pecs obviously massive, but you could see the prominent V of his lats from the front in a way you really couldn’t before. His storied arms now looked like a gift from the gods. He aimed a dazzling, stoner-goofy smile at me, and I followed him dumbly as he walked around to the front of the car and grabbed one of the three insulated sleeves from Jimmy. He then strode confidently up to the door of the McMansion flanked by the twins, looking for all the world like he was joining them in a three-man cult of shirtlessness—and fuck. Fuck. Not only were their backs similarly broad and tapered, their skin flawless, their butts hard and round and fuckable, their legs long and brawny and tireless, but I stared in amazement as it registered that Jay was now taller and thicker than the twins. Marginally, but also incontrovertibly on both counts. In the course of five hours he had gone from protégé to prototype, and the twins, the magnificently muscled, make-everyone-hard god-twins, looked like his fucking acolytes. Even their hair seemed to highlight the distinction between them as I took them in from behind: two long golden-blond manes on either side of precious, newly sculpted platinum as bright as the noon sun.

The twins were looking at him, too, and they were both grinning smugly, obviously aware of what they’d accomplished and cocky as fuck about it. Already… already there was something about the three of them together, a combined radiance of attraction, that was cultivating some kind of powerful linked affinity deep within me. As I stared at them, entranced, I could almost feel my destiny shifting, my love and attraction expanding beyond my union with Jay alone.

The door opened and was quickly crowded with staring, goggle-eyed admirers popping into view one by one like meerkats, and I couldn’t blame them at all. Another wave of hot rapture flooded through me from the three of them, and I shivered, feeling overcome.

My skin felt too tight for my body. I suddenly had to climax, irresistibly and with no hope of forcing it down, a night of constant, insane arousal coming instantly to a head at the breathtaking sight in front of me. I nearly came in my pants right then and there, and the only thing that prevented my making a total mess of my clothes was having the presence of mind to turn and dash behind the back of the car first. There I dropped to my knees and freed my big, aching boner just in time to splatter what felt like a week’s worth of hot, arcing jizz all over somebody’s driveway blacktop. I knelt there for several minutes, shaking and euphoric, and almost laughed as I realized that at least I could be certain that no one inside could possibly have clocked my actions: in that moment, it would have been impossible for anyone at the party to be looking at anything other than Jay and the twins.

I didn’t even know what to think about all of it. It wasn’t quite what I’d planned for, but it was still crazy hot. The cum I’d nutted all over the asphalt behind the twins’ Honda was proof of that. So was I the player or the played this time—and which option did I want more of? As I stood and tucked in my dick, I was unsurprised to see that the Hotness Trio had disappeared inside and the door had closed behind them. I grinned crookedly to myself and walked back up the driveway. Time to explore this new world I’d helped create, and which none of us had fully anticipated.

After we joined the party, the initial fascination with me, Jims, and especially the new and improved Jay sort of settled into the fabric of the gathering. Everyone went back to what they’d been doing or started grazing the pizzas we’d laid out on one of the long side-tables, but we’d shifted the center of gravity of the whole gathering straight onto us.

The party was an interesting mix. There had to be around fifty or sixty people there, all colors and ages. Most were clustered in the sprawling “great room” that took up a third of the ground floor (where the music and snacks were), which through some feat of lighting wizardly seemed to be lit by bluish moonlight and twinkling stars; but a fair number of guests were to be found scattered around the house nattering in the equally moodily lit kitchen, or energetically playing video games the den (clearly the electronics man-cave of whoever owned the place), or watching the lazily swirling fireflies from the extensive back deck. Everyone seemed aware of our arrival. As we moved through the main room someone swapped the playlist over to something serious and throbbing, and a light machine started playing high-saturation rainbow colors over the slow-churning crowd. My hips started moving of their own accord, and Jase, grinning at my low-key sexymoves, started his own hips going in sync with mine.

Our new friend watched us in rapt fascination, completely oblivious to the aroused attentions of the various flavors of rainbow-dappled twinks, twunks, bears, jocks, adorkables, and miscellaneous cuties and hotties rhythmically gyrating around us. The three of us were in a sort of close horseshoe, so he certainly could’ve looked elsewhere if he wanted too, but his delighted attentions were entirely fixated on our tandem hips as they slid and slithered in unassuming unison. “How are you doing that?” he marveled, like we’d somehow invented a new art form.

“You’ve never seen dancing before, QB?” Jims teased.

“RB,” he corrected happily. “I’m a running back, not a quarterback.” His eyes were still riveted on our lower halves. I’d have taken as a compliment the very obvious and startlingly huge boner currently straining against the entire left side of his waist under his dark butt-hugging cargos, if he hadn’t been carrying the thing around like a fifth limb the entire night. Not that it had been quite so evocative of a mountain ridge in his pants when we’d first set out on our little delivery gig. It was kind of funny, like, I could imagine his body knew that some not-so-innocent gay boys might just have some pretty extreme fantasies about what their pizza boy could deliver, and under the influence of our mega-weed was obsessively determined to live up to their wildest imaginings.

“RB, I like that,” I said, taking the opportunity to look him over in the surreal multicolored lighting. I had to get Jims alone and have a serious talk, because something about our little experiments with Mike’s secret stores of hunkifying wonder-cannabis had been skewing toward “beyond expectations” in a big way, and I at least was… not alarmed, exactly, but I was definitely alert. The first “holy shit” moment had been our own accidental transformations: our backfired ploy with the strong stuff in the lasagna (and another, equally potent variety in the chocolate balls) had blown us up in one night almost as much as a few weeks of incremental growth using the milder strains had done to Eddie and Brandon. We were stuck being monster muscle gods now—not that I was complaining, but the slow path would have been fun too. And all that wasn’t taking into account that I was pretty sure Jims and I were a couple of notches bigger even than we were yesterday when we woke up huge together (and insanely thirsty for each other). For all I knew the pot-tinged air in Mike’s house was building up microadjustments, and we’d all keep growing a tiny bit week by week even if we stopped raiding Mike’s stashes of mutant weed.

Our new jock friend, though, was another defcon level altogether. I’d been as keen as Jims to dose him just to watch a hot guy get hotter, though my eyebrows had gone up a little when I saw that Jims had pulled the bag with the strand we hadn’t tried yet—the one we’d pegged as extra-potent even compared to the others after a single whiff made us crazy high and in sudden need of an hourlong sixty-nine session. It was that strong. So I was kind of thinking, after the unexpected colossal overshoot on the lasagna, maybe using the super-strong stuff with an unknown quantity like our naturally superathletic and already exceptionally attractive platinum gridiron prince here was asking for… extreme results.

And extreme was definitely what we’d gotten. The combination of the extra-strong strain and Jay’s already outlier body seemed to have produced off-the-charts results. Just the inches of exposed ankle that had developed in the space of a single night was enough to tell you that; nevermind the inches-longer and inches-thicker cock, the heavy pecs that now stood off his chest like lovingly rounded and chiseled boulders, the arms that still looked like works of art in spite of being dramatically bigger than they had been, and, perhaps most of all, the wash of intense arousal that poured off of him, stealing into your flesh and balls, stiffening your cock and making you susceptible to an imminent orgasm with nothing more than an uncannily ravishing smile and a long, heart-piercing look from those stunning baby blue eyes. His was a body that defied any shirt to cover it, and a cock that spoke in sultry, libido-stroking tones to anyone it noticed regardless of whether it was covered by clothes or exposed for all to see.

Other changes were more subtle. While his hairiness hadn’t been amped up to the extreme (as with Brandon and Eddie and, to a lesser extent, ourselves), he did have a bit more super-light-blond body hair than before; and over the course of the night he’d developed a short, pale beard that looked amazing on him, aggravating the already extreme beauty that in turn super-amplified the arousal he was inducing in everyone around him.

Of course, it could be that Jims and I were feeling the effects a little too intensely right now just because the stuff was still coursing through him. His high was magnifying the entire force of his personality; it was reasonable to think that might include the powerfully arousing effect he was having on others. It might also be relevant that we were a little “dosed” ourselves from the milder stuff we’d snuck onto the sausage pie (a ploy to subtly induct the cute boyfriend into the club as much as anything, through he’d ended up having a slice of his boyfriend’s intensive-growth pie, too). Maybe tomorrow Jay wouldn’t be leaving quite the same trail of instant, aching erections and desperately horny men behind him wherever he went like he was tonight. Maybe. I remembered the effect we’d had early that morning on Quinn, the menswear guy. Jay’s mojo might be more potent still, whether he was high or not.

All I knew for sure was that I was drawn to him. He wasn’t just turning me on and filling me with a need to fuck his brains out. I was pulled close to him by a force I didn’t understand. Jims felt it too. We were both dancing closer to him, like we were all connected, and I viscerally didn’t want to be anywhere I couldn’t feel his heat and smell his musky, pot-tinged sweat.

“So what is it you were wondering how we did it, RB?” Jims was saying. Jay was still watching our hips moving in time with the gentle thumpa-thumpa of the music that was permeating the room and everyone in it. We weren’t full-on dancing yet—dance-wise, this was more like the make-out session before the true fucking commenced. I noticed Jay’s hips were swaying a little too, though I guessed he probably wasn’t conscious of it.

“Just… that,” he said, looking between our lower halves and grinning inanely. I was amused but not surprised by his fascination. Guys seem to like it when we do things in sync like that. They like it more, though, when we play off each other—when one of us yins and the other one yangs. That really gets a lot of guys going. Especially when Jims in the one that yangs.

“We’ve been dancing together for a long time,” I told him, not so innocently. We stepped it up a notch, raising our arms and sliding into movements that were more complementary and evocative. Jay laughed and started trying to copy us. He wasn’t a natural like Eddie’s boyfriend, but he had a good rhythm and decent hip-sway—and, in point of fact, sick dance-floor moves escalating his irresistible sexiness even further was a phenomenon probably best left to our fertile imaginations.

Jay was about to say something else when a good-looking boy-next-door type in a tight-fitting and very flattering white long-sleeved tee appeared in front of Jay. I saw him later and he was actually reasonably tall—probably about six feet—and kinda buff, but next to Jay he looked comically short and Olive Oyl skinny. “Hi there,” he said cheerily, beaming up at the platinum hunk and, like us, sort of half-dancing to the music. “I’m Dave.”

“Hi Dave,” Jay said. He gave him a wide, toothy grin, like Dave approaching him was the best thing that had happened to him all night.

Suddenly Dave froze, his eyes bugging out and his cheeks reddening as he grabbed at his crotch with a vise-like grip. “Oh god,” he said, before vanishing instantly into the crowd.

I traded an astonished laugh with my brother. “I hope he makes it,” Jims said.

“Makes it where?” Jay said, looking around for him in surprise.

Before another sacrificial victim could be sacrificed to the libido-volcano that was our newly upgraded and upsized friend, a familiar face appeared on Jay’s other side. “Hey guys,” Zac said, reaching up to caress Jay’s godly upper arm.

“Hey, there you are!” I said, and my brother chimed in, “Where’d you go?”

“Oh, well, I just… had a moment,” he said, and fuck, I did not know guys with his coloring could blush. He turned to look up at Jay, who was staring down at him with a level of pure joy. “Damn, I’m close again just looking at you,” Zac murmured, tilting his head up at his lover in a kind of lustful wonder.

Zac’s return truly drove home for me just how off the hook the one-two punch of double-plus-potency morphweed and Jay’s exceptional constitution had been. Since our own lasagna transformation we’d been just barely avoiding having to duck under doorways, which I figured meant we were now somewhere around 6’7” or 6’8”—over half a foot taller than we’d been when we’d first driven down here to bug Eddie for a couple weeks. Which? Awesome. Zac had been taller than his lover, Jay, and a couple inches shy of us. The shorter-than-us part was still true, but thanks to the dosing we’d given him and his body’s reaction to it Jay had shot past all of us—he must have topped out at, like, 6’10” easy. He’d have trouble with doorjambs for sure. And if he got any wider he might have to tilt to get through side-to-side, too.

Zac still wore his chartreuse bowling short, the only one of us not topless, which only emphasized his anomalousness in relation to Jims, Jay, and me. And yet—I felt that same connection. Jay and Zac were soulmates, bound together, and the adamantine link Jay’s indomitable allure had forged with us snapped into place with Zac, too. We were all linked, and the knowledge of it caused a low surge of sultry pleasure in me that didn’t stop, that probably wouldn’t ever stop.

I mentally explored the physical bond I was feeling with the two of them as we danced, Jims and me shifting our position around slightly so we were moving to the heavy pulsing music on either side of Zac and Jay as they faced each other. There was still something out of alignment, and now that we were bound to Jay and Zac together I could feel it nagging at me. Zac being taller than his jock boyfriend had seemed so perfect before, and this unintended extra growth we’d accidentally induced in Jay seemed to, I dunno, imbalance things.

The funny thing is, it didn’t even feel strange to me anymore that I could contemplate actually restoring the taller-Zac scenario—not that the fit and perfectly proportioned Zac needed to become a muscle-behemoth (however perfectly aesthetic) like his Nordic god of a lover. Just scaled up. That would be… yeah, that would look very hot, and very right. My rigidly hard and very pre-slimy cock squeezed with a need that, for the first time in several hours, had nothing to do with either Jims’s permanently arousing effect on me or our devious plot to grow our new friend Jay.

Zac was still looking deep into Jay’s eyes. They were both dancing ever so slightly, neither one even aware of it. “Are you—are you okay?” Zac asked. His hands were sliding irresistibly over Jay’s huge, ponderous pecs and trim waist, and I realized that not only had Jims and I moved closer, as if drawn into Jay’s gravity well, but our hands were sliding over the jock-giant’s granite-hard delts and triceps and his trim, temporarily (?) shorter lover’s long, smooth back through his shirt. Warmth was cascading off of both of them, and we were increasingly helpless to escape our completely oblivious captors.

Jay grinned incandescently down at Zac, his blue eyes filled with an elation that I was sure had little to do with weed. “I am so okay,” he said with utter sincerity as he stared down into Zac’s lust-filled eyes, as the four of us, flushed, hard, and happy, danced together in our own little world.

Last night was… a bit hazy.

It’s not a feeling I’m used to. Unlike some of my teammates—heck, Rodney, our middle linebacker, is known for downing whole pitchers by himself—I don’t do a lot of drinking, and I’m squeaky-clean enough that I haven’t really had the opportunity to explore pot, either.

Or at least, not before last night. That was the part of the twins’ plan I was savvy to going in, and my spotty memory and lingering sense of “oh, wow” jubilation was pretty solid confirmation.

I was lying in a big, unfamiliar bed. My eyes stayed closed for now as I languidly explored my memories and senses. There was a mild breeze from an open window, and a clean scent in the air—sweet, with an herbal undertone. I was lying on my side, warm bodies cuddling close to me from both directions under a light top sheet. My “little spoon” felt pleasantly familiar under my hands: I immediately recognized those gently firmed abs and defined chest, and the happy little “hmm” he made in his sleep as I pulled him close. True, he seemed to fit differently against me, which was weird, but I knew it was Zac. My stiff, self-slicked morning wood was pushing between his legs and teasing his taint, probably as a break from filling his tight, eager hole. It felt like I’d been doing the taint-teasing thing for a while, too. Maybe I’d been humping him the whole time we were both asleep. I could believe it—it was like my body would find a way to fuck him 24/7 if it could.

Fucking Zac all the time. That would be a good life, I thought with an inner smile.

So the only question was, who was that snoring lightly behind me? My first thought was that it was Benji, but I knew without looking that I wasn’t back home in our apartment. I was somewhere else. And last night we weren’t with Benji, we were with the twins. I was still putting the pieces together, but I recognized that big club of a cock that was mechanically riding my crease and smearing my buttcheeks with pre while its owner slept, and the strong, generously muscled arm that was wrapped around my torso just under my pecs. I mean, I didn’t know yet whether it was Jimmy or Jason, but I knew it was one of them—and where one twin was the other was never far away anyway, especially if one or both of them were naked. I listened, and sure enough, there was a duplicate snore, slightly out of sync, from just behind the hunk who was humping me with his club dick while I instinctively legfucked my biggest and sexiest fan. Okay, I have the strangest, most awesome luck sometimes, and believe me, I am grateful.

No, actually, I did know which it was. It was Jason. (How did I know that?)

I squeezed my empty, slightly sore anus, feeling the buzzing pleasure of recent use that rippled deep into my inner guts like the spoor of an intruding beast, and had to smile. The inside of my ass would probably recognize that club dick behind me even more readily than the outside crease did. Recognize it, and welcome it home.

Funny, I realized, it seemed perfectly natural to be thinking about Jimmy and Jason fucking me while I fucked Zac, or Jimmy sucking my dick while Zac sucked me and Jason muscle-worshipped me and sucked my nipples, or the four of us kissing languidly for ages in the throes of afterglow. Maybe because we’d done all that, and more, I think, but…

I dunno, it was like, that was who we were now.

Huh.

And the way I felt about that was, okay, it was pretty fucking sweet. There wasn’t any internal conflict about it. I knew that Zac and I had a special connection—he was my soulmate, and nothing was going to change that. But those feelings also overlapped with something real and primal and enduring that was shared equally between me and Zac and Jimmy and Jason.

We were basically lovers now, the four of us. I felt it, I knew it in my bones. We were bound to each other. Just recognizing that deep, passionate connection I’d forged and somehow made permanent between us filled me with warm contentment.

And also, urine. Okay, the urine didn’t come from that, obviously, but the fact remained that I had to pee in a big way, and pretty much right now, hardon or no hardon—a condition I was all too familiar with since puberty.

I managed to extricate me and my happy erection from the pile of extremely hot guys in the bed we were sharing, and a moment later I was standing at the foot of the big bed, looking around. It was a big room with lots of light and a few pieces of old furniture. The large windows overlooked a grassy back yard that was just catching the first rays of morning light over the trees. There was a solid, impressive-looking armoire and matching chest of drawers, some nice rugs underfoot, and an attached living room the opposite direction from the windows. The bed and sheets looked new compared to the rest of it.

My erection towered in front of me at a 45-degree angle from my torso, looking absolutely massive for some reason and spitting precum like I hadn’t shot a load in days. I still didn’t have a complete picture of what had happened last night after the party we’d been pulled into, but the main remaining bits of fogginess presently lay in whether we’d erupted together in full, brain-melting orgasm a total of three times, or four. (Zac hungrily sucking me off in the car on the way here and Jimmy climbing back out of the passenger seat to help definitely didn’t count.)

The bodies in the bed caught my attention. Apparently missing me, Zac and Jason had moved together into the space I’d occupied and were snuggling together, face to face, while Jimmy had nestled in tight behind Jason. Zac and Jason’s lips were so close that while I watched they started making out lightly in their sleep, their rigid, jerking cocks fencing between them. Fuck, that was so hot I was in serious danger of cumming again right then and there, splattering another lengthy, copious release all over the sheets and kicked-aside summer comforter. Not wanting to create an unnecessary laundry problem I turned away, feeling hot, my heart thumping excitedly in my chest as I pushed the putative orgasm down as best I could.

Behind me there was a door standing slightly ajar, and peeking through the gap I saw tile, a mirror, and part of a sink. Just what I needed. Except as I took a step toward it, the doorframe to this adjoining bathroom seemed… small? It looked like a standard American doorframe, but I was seeing it from an angle I was not used to, with my eyes very close to the top of the assembly. Feeling a queer sense of foreboding I opened the door and, very self-consciously ducking my head to avoid smacking my forehead on the lintel, I stepped into the bathroom.

This was the point at which I discovered that that bathroom in question was in fact a connecting bathroom, and standing at the further sink, brushing his teeth and absolutely stark naked, was none other than my favorite muscle-gorilla pizza dude, Brandon, his hard brawn and big, bent erection on full display. He paused in mid-brush, staring into the mirror at me with wide eyes. I knew at least some of why he looked so surprised, because I was surprised, too: against all odds I was now taller than him. I was now taller than the increasingly looming Brandon—the guy who, over the past three or four weeks, had gone from just edging past my own six feet to standing over me at a very brawny 6’5 at least. In fact now he looked a bit taller than that, maybe 6’7” if the open doorway behind him was any guide. And I had a good three fucking inches on him.

I’m not an idiot. Brandon and Eddie growing, the twins being uncommonly massive and compellingly beautiful, that weird dream I’d had about Benji that probably wasn’t a dream… Yeah, I finally knew what the hidden layer of Zac’s conversation with the twins last night at the pizza place had been about. It was about this. Me. This new, bigger me.

I turned and took in my own reflection. Brandon spat and rinsed his mouth, eyes on me in the mirror the whole time. I was huge. Massive, all over. My pecs looked like I’d won some kind of pec lottery. My cock was gargantuan. And my sweet, beautiful arms… Slowly, I raised my fists high and flexed for a double-bicep, and it was so hot, so beautiful, I nearly came again.

“Jesus,” Brandon and I said at the same time. Then we both snorted a laugh.

I lowered my arms and we faced each other, knowing we were now growth-brothers. Brandon folded me in his arms, and I hugged him back, ignoring the way our insistent cocks shoved against our torsos between us. We kissed in a sort of half-sexy, half platonic way, and Brandon grinned at me. He smelled like toothpaste, pot, spunk, and maybe a hint of bacon. “Welcome to hunk house,” he said.

My cock surged between us, and I had to focus to keep it from getting the better of me. “Thanks,” I said. “I think I’ll like it here.”

Brandon winked and disengaged, padding back toward his and Eddie’s bedroom. “Breakfast’ll probably be in an hour or so,” he said over his shoulder. “Come down when you like.”

“Thanks,” I said, tearing my eyes off of his amazingly round olive-skinned muscle ass so I could turn and head back into my own bedroom. An hour was plenty of time for more shenanigans, I thought.

First I had to pee, I remembered. I did so with difficulty, bending almost double and pushing down my immovable iron cock as hard as I could so I could get the stream into the bowl. When I was finally done I carefully wiped the head with a hand-towel. I was so deeply and continuously turned on I was already precumming again. I stared at the head. I could probably lick that off myself, I thought. Instead I tossed the towel in the built-in hamper and made my way back to the room.

When I stood before the bed again I saw my beautiful, exceedingly delicious lovers were all awake and engaged in various forms of light mutual pleasuring. Jimmy, now in the center, looked up from a snog with Zac, and all three of them grinned lewdly at me and especially at the heavy, ginormous and once again pre-spitting monster erection I was pointing right at them.

I gave them my best wicked smirk. “Who wants more?” I asked.

“We do! We do!” the three of them cheered. I climbed onto the bed and they immediately pulled me down and flipped me on my back, and as Jason and Zac went to work on my indomitable erection while Jimmy’s mouth covered mine for an aggressive, passionate kiss, all my thoughts sank into blissful mush as I surrendered to total pleasure.

I’ll admit it. The all-hands family feast was my idea. You can blame me for all the crazy.

After another intense booty call or three Mike decided he couldn’t ignore the spark of something more that was kindling between us, so he buckled down and asked me on a proper date. I was amenable. I wanted to see more of him. The truth was I was feeling a little too solitary, boxed into my cab from eleven to eight every day with only Sheila’s friendly chiding and the occasional randomized stranger for company, then coming home to my cozy budget-furnished rowhouse at night. During the original round with Mike, when he’d first come to town, I was plenty satisfied with just fucking around whenever either of us was horny. Then Mike got busy, and my hours spiked for a few months while Nilda went on maternity leave, and somewhere in there I surprised myself with the realization that there was a Mike-shaped hole where his enigmatic smile and sleek, lanky body had been. There was something about him that made we want to know more, dig deeper. Maybe I was finally growing up, too, now that I was in my late twenties and all, and I thought I was picking up on a bit of that sentiment from our playful local-pizza-dynasty scion as well. So, yeah, I was up for prodding Mike Loukanis into a something steady if he was game, which… I was pretty sure he was.

I texted him my one stipulation for our date. No pizza.

Mike’s reply was a series of emojis: eye-roll, grin, circle with a line through it, and pizza slice. I laughed. So much for our budding sense of maturity, I thought. What are you, thirteen? I messaged back.

I settled into my seat, happy to enjoy a moment between moments. I was parked by the courthouse in the county seat two towns over, on the clock for one of my regulars, Billie Preston, a chronically frazzled lawyer who refused to drive or even own a car (and who no doubt billed my cab fares through to her clients), to file another “quick motion” that might take her fifteen minutes or two hours. It was a breezy, brilliantly sunny late-June day, loitering by the town square War Memorial in my 2016 Caddy CT6 with the windows down, relaxed in my loosest jeans and a sage-green tank, the wind gently toying with the ends of my more-than-shoulder-length flaxen hair while I texted contentedly with my maybe-future-bf, seemed like a good way to pass the time.

Not nearly that big dude, Mike texted back with a wink emoji. U?

It was my turn to send back an eye-roll. My hefty, easily-triggered dick sensed it was being talked about and stirred in my pants. “Pipe down,” I muttered at it, not that it was any good at listening. It occurred to me that I wasn’t sure if Mike was joking about the thirteen inches bit or not. The truth was I wasn’t certain how big it was lately. I’d worried about it (and me) having gotten slightly too huge during our hiatus thanks to the steady quantities of his brother’s mysteriously-formulated weed I’d been routinely adding to my morning coffee over the months since Mike had set me up with him; but it turned out Mike didn’t seem to mind buff, lanky Swedes getting suddenly all gymnast-muscled and looming over him with steel-pipe cocks for him to pleasure, all without him ever surrendering that casual sense of control he always had. So I didn’t worry about my size much. Maybe the weed helped with that, too.

Thirteen inches seemed like a stretch, though, and I didn’t mean Mike’s ass (I thought with a smirk). Still… my tool was getting pretty fucking big, hard or soft, and thick as fuck too. Hard it was actually well in range now for easy licking, and not just because I was weirdly extra-limber these days.

Sheila did some seamstressing on the side. Maybe I should borrow a tape measure? I could do the length with a ruler, but getting the girth—no, that was stupid. I could just wrap a strip of paper around the thing and then lay that against the ruler. No need to bother Sheila. Besides, she’d probably guess why I needed it. Nothing ever got past her for long.

How about steakburgers at Orville’s? I texted back, bypassing Mike’s innuendo. Not that I’d been able to actually ignore it or prevent his startling estimate of my mighty prick-size from snuggling into my subconscious… but one can pretend.

Sounds like a plan. Tonight good?

Tonight was good, and the sooner the better. Did that thought come from me, or my dick? I’ll pick you up at 8:15, I confirmed. He sent a thumbs-up, and I put away my phone, excited in more ways than one at the prospect of spending the evening with the one guy I could imagine fucking for life. Understand, I was generally a hook-up kind of guy, or always had been, but… there were hook-ups, and then there was this guy.

My smile was so wide and dreamy that when Billie bustled hectically back to the cab a few moments later, one arm gripping a stack of accordion files to her chest and more stuffed into the messenger bag slung over her shoulder, she actually paused by my door and tilted her head at me. Her look turned shrewd and she gave me a sardonic grin. “Let me guess. Hot date?” she asked. She seemed half-teasing, half happy for me, like an older sister.

I just winked at her. She got in the back with a laugh, and we were both smiling as I pulled away from the curb.

The date went off without a hitch. I picked up Mike at his restaurant, which was packed as always these days. A mob of giggly young men and women (and a few older folk) trailed out of the glass doors and down the sidewalk, all gabbling excitedly with each other about “the blond one” and the “big hairy one” and all kinds of guff about whether their smiles were as sexy as their bodies, yadda yadda. Phones were out and selfies in front of the Pizza Joint signage were taken—the place was blowing up past local fixture status into local social media phenom.

Mike had to squeeze through the crowd, and it was a good thing he was dressed inconspicuously; if he’d been wearing one of the green store aprons he might have been mobbed. He dropped into the passenger seat looking a little stunned. “Pretty crazy, huh?” I said after a quick but tonguey kiss.

He shook his head, eyeing the crowd in bemusement. “Dude, I had no idea…” he said, trailing off. He then met my gaze and his lips twisted into a crooked smile. “It’s been a day,” he added. “I could use some cheeseburgers and calm.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” I tossed back, and he gave me a saucy once-over before I turned back to the road, pulling away carefully in case the crowd spilled onto the road and then driving us to Warrenville for our date.

Orville’s was a family sit-down American-cuisine kind of place, with juicy half-pound burgers, ten kinds of goop-covered fries, and premium homemade ice cream ten times better than anything in the freezer aisle. The decor was simple and homey—no license plates or bicycles on the walls or anything. We got a big, enclosed booth—“I love these, they’re like food caves,” Mike joked—and settled into unhurried perusal the massive menus. The place was so ferociously air conditioned I almost regretted not wearing more than my usual tank; but I figured the way that Mike kept eyeing my hard nipples poking through the snug fabric of my top was worth a couple of slightly chilly shoulders.

After the waiter brought our beers and took our food orders—not without another lingering glance at said shoulders—Mike started entertaining me with stories about the zany goings on at his house, which sounded like it was rapidly becoming a out-and-out dormitory for wayward hunks. He’d previously mentioned the two employees he’d let move in after the semester ended, but now it seemed that the twin college-bound brothers of one of them had taken up residence as well, and they’d been joined by their two boyfriends. Or maybe the four of them were all boyfriends with each other. Mike seemed happily confused about the exact status of the foursome, which to me fit well with his habitual toker’s appreciation of ambiguity. One of the new housemates was a star on the college football team, which struck a bit of a chord: I’d played myself back in high school, though I’d lost touch with the sport since.

I was curious to see what all these guys looked like. If I was right in my reckoning, Mike’s two original roomies were none other than the two XXL-sized half-naked Adonises currently attracting all the wowza at Mike’s increasingly bustling shop. Mike’s willingness to seduce the sexy cab driver (namely me) his first day in town to me suggested a bit of low-key recklessness in his character; and given his connections to a certain brother in Colorado, and what had happened me over the course of a few months’ steady intake of specially doctored coffee, it wasn’t a huge leap to surmise that the two dough-tossers in question had had a little help in acquiring their new size and burgeoning sex appeal. Had the newer additions to the household tempted Mike to share his special stashes with them, as well? I kind of wanted to find out.

“Sounds like you filled up that big place after all,” I said, tucking my long hair back behind my ear. Mike nodded.

“It feels weird, like a family I got by accident,” he said. Then he gave me this weird, kind of guilty grin, adding, “Mostly by accident.”

I decided to let that pass. “So what are you all doing for the holiday?” I asked, taking a swig from my bottle. “Big blow-out, lots of food? Backyard cookout?”

He stared at me blankly. “What?”

I huffed a laugh. “Duuude,” I said, leaning on the word. “Next weekend? The Fourth?” I gestured at the little laminated sign mounted atop the salt and pepper caddy that offered deals on Orville’s burgers, fries, and potato salad in bulk for those organized enough to order three or more days ahead of the big day.

Mike glanced at the sign, then back at me, his eyes a little wide. I laughed. “Dude, you gotta have a cookout,” I assured him. “Feed some beef to your houseful of beef.”

He was nodding slowly. “A holiday feast,” he said, taking a slow drink from his beer. He looked distracted for a moment, bottle in mid-air, as though various possibilities for food and invitees were percolating through his head. “The twins will want to help,” he added, mostly to himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly. Then he focused suddenly on me again, setting the bottle down. “Will you be there?” he asked enticingly. As he asked, I felt his foot sliding against mine, his toes slipping under the hem of my trouser leg to brush against my calves. No wonder he wore loafers, I thought.

I fixed my eyes on his. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I said. Just then our unit-sized burgers came, mine with cheesy fries, his with chili baked potato. We tucked in, but even with all this great and fragrant food to devour we had trouble keeping our eyes off of each other. Meanwhile, my own unit was awake and alert, waiting for what came after the meal.

I’m good at understanding things. It’s not that I’m obsessively analytical or anything. I just have a knack. Having a steel trap memory helps (good for being a sports nerd, too), but mainly I’m observant. I see things, and they click. Jay thinks it’s sexy as fuck.

So it was a little unnerving to realize my life had changed, pretty fundamentally, and I wasn’t quite how it had happened.

Oh, I understood the part about us getting bigger. That was pretty obvious, almost from the moment our favorite stoned gorilla hottie with the peekaboo monster dick offered us that Tupperware full of their special blondies—the same special blondies that turned our habitual food-thief roomie into a seven-foot cuddle-monster giant with an unstoppable chest-high megaboner that night after scarfing down almost the entire batch. A little more of that not-so-secret ingredient had given me enough of a size-up I now looked a little like the kind of tall, tireless athlete I was used to cheering for from the bleachers; and beautiful Jay, thanks to an unexpectedly extreme dose, was now making an intimate and painful acquaintance with every door-frame lintel he didn’t remember to duck under.

So that part I grokked. What seemed more like a dimensional skip was the way I was now insatiably horny for three amazingly hot guys instead of just one. And it wasn’t just the need to fuck, and kiss, and constantly feel the smooth contours of their hard, heated, sculpted muscles under my hands (and lips, and tongue) at every possible moment. Somehow my deep love for Jay had bled onto Jimmy and Jason, too, diffusing overnight through the three of them like potent gas filling a finite container, until I was having trouble being away from any of them for long and wanted all of them with me, all the time. Like, I’d be kissing Jimmy with my back up against the wall of our bedroom at Mike’s house, our leaky, steel-hard dicks jostling between us, and Jason would approach behind him and wink at me before diving in to mouth at his brother’s strong neck, and fuck—that wink would send me. Jay and the twins were exactly the same way, with the nuzzling and the joking and the intimate moments in twos or threes or fours around quiet corners or on long walks on the country lanes where Brandon and Eddie took their morning runs.

It was like the four of us were a couple, and it was so natural and permanent it was hard to even think twice about. It just was. I’m sure Jay didn’t question it, easygoing goofball that he was, and I only kept ruminating about it in odd moments because I’m perverse that way sometimes. Even in a house full of pot my mind doesn’t always stop working when it should. I’m the kind of guy who can lay in our huge, comfy bed with three sweaty, impossibly sexy, cum-spattered boyfriends snoring cozily away against me and be both unspeakably happy and content and, like, “this is kind of insane, right?” all at the same time.

And that was another thing: our bed. Our bedroom. There was no question Jay and I and the twins were all living together in that big room across the hall from Brandon and Eddie at Mike’s sprawling family manor just outside of town, pretty much from the moment we’d all come home that night after our shared delivery stint. We corralled Benji into helping us move our stuff out of the loft the very next day, just to seal the transition we’d already made without actually making it. At least that had given the big guy a moment of positivity about his new size, which he was still feeling a little self-conscious about. Even if he had to duck even deeper under doorways than Jay, his extra-bigness was useful, and not just for getting stuff off the top shelf in the kitchen: it turned out wasn’t just his giant boners that were extra-strong now. Even my boxes of books and Jay’s weight sets were like so much empty cardboard to him. So the move was a breeze, and before we even knew it the four of us were fully ensconced in our new digs, which the three Js and I celebrated with a very messy fuck the moment Benji, blushing at our randy foreplay, high-tailed it back to town. I was still kind of hard a couple days later from all the sexual energy we’d released that afternoon.

I decided the best thing for me to do was to try to get a handle on something I could understand: Mike’s supplies of special pot and what they did. I knew the twins, natural-born trouble-makers that they were, had gathered plenty of useful information along these lines, but I was determined to amass and correlate what I could on my own.

I got my chance soon enough one afternoon a few days after we moved in. Everybody would be out of the house for a while: Brandon, Eddie, and Mike were at the restaurant, and the three Js had decided to go into town to look at scooters. They invited me along, but I begged off, implying I wanted some alone-time to work off all the extra horniness my lovers saturated me with 24/7. This almost induced them to stay home and help me out with that little problem, but I managed to convince them that imagining me enjoying myself while they were out would stoke even more intense sexual fireworks after they got back. After half an hour of very dirty two-, three-, and four-way kisses I got them packed off, and then I was alone in the house—and so turned on I actually did need some time in the shower with my hands and mouth and gently hunkified bod before I was clear-minded enough to get to work on my plan.

The first step was to explore the house, as quickly and thoroughly as possible. I found the big cooler full of baggies in the unused garage almost right away. It was easy to guess that this was the stash that the twins were using—and also that Mike had left it there for the twins to find and play with. I took pictures of the bags and their markings to examine later, then moved on, knowing the real store of specially-bred weed was still to be discovered.

It didn’t take me long. Mike’s house was full of heavy furniture from various bygone eras, and the bedroom next to Mike’s, on the opposite side of the house from where we six variously augmented houseguests had been installed, was no exception. The extra-strong and intensely captivating pot scent in that room was the main tip-off, even in a house where a latent weed-smell skulked everywhere at all times: it was potent enough to actually be a little disorienting (and to give me the hugest hard-on, too, not twenty minutes after I’d aggressively sated myself after the guys had left).

Among the various furniture relics crowding the room there were two ponderous Shaker-style deep-drawer walnut bureaus—and sure enough, both of them were filled to the brim with stacks of carefully labeled Ziplocs packed with maybe fifty different kinds of weed, all in different shades and forms for smoking, baking, infusing, and more.

I grinned, proud of how my impulse to get control of this knowledge had reached the first stage of success so spectacularly, and started using my camera to catalog all the varieties and labels. My brain was already working on the names and what looked to me like small, coded markings on the bags, and once I was back in my room I had a spreadsheet set up and had already managed to decipher most of what the panoply of body-changing pot could do by the time my boys came home, eyes bright, dicks hard, and ready to fuck.

Later that night we were sprawling languidly all over the 70s-style rumpus room I had discovered during my quest and earmarked for sexy shenanigans. The twins looked oddly naked without what Bran called their Clark Kent glasses (which they seemed to set aside only when things got really athletic), though their light-green eyes if anything looked even brighter without them. I was admiring how Jay’s almond skin and longer, rangier 6’10” physique contrasted pleasingly with Jason’s paler, compacter and bulkier musculature as they sloppily made out on the shag rug in front of me—their sweaty pecs in particular were intriguingly different, Jay’s long and thick but flat and mostly hairless, Jason’s (and Jimmy’s) more like hairy, extra-dense half-volleyballs of delicious muscle—when the phone I’d managed to remember to bring down with me buzzed with an alert on the couch next to me. I picked it up without disturbing Jimmy, who was placidly sucking my rigid but just-orgasmed cock with the air of someone who was thoroughly enjoying himself and would happily pleasure me for as long as it took for me to start building unstoppably toward yet another monumental gusher. He would not have to wait long.

I dug my fingers deeper into his long, loose tawny-blond hair and made myself focus on the notification, despite the waves of slurping ecstasy Jimmy was sending through my annoyingly insatiable body. It was from the group messaging app that all seven of us now belonged to—I wasn’t sure how or when that had happened, either.

“Mike’s planning a backyard cookout feast for the Fourth,” I announced to the guys. “Lots of food, all invited.”

I didn’t miss the crafty look the twins managed to exchange at that news, despite both of them being otherwise engaged. Jay caught it, too, and he knew me well enough to check my expression in reaction. It must have been a doozie, because his eyes widened a little before he went back to his make-out session with Jason, grinning a little into his kiss.

Life is this amazing dream, you know? Everything is in flux and yet everything stays solid and unchanging. At the same time. How does that even work? I don’t care. It’s bliss.

Like the cookout Mike whipped up for the Fourth. It was awesome. So much food, all with that great savory taste that cooking at Mike’s always seems to have, whoever’s doing it. Like, the burgers from the grill tasted like they came from cows bred on some other world where cows were more than cows. And the hot dogs and brats too, though I know you’re not supposed to ask what’s in those! There was even vegan sausage and portobello mushroom steaks, but I was a good boy and left most of that for the actual vegans. Grilled corn on the cob with a spicy butter sauce—wow. Side dishes, too. There was this watermelon salad that had this fun kick to it, I’d never had anything like it. Even the punch tasted like more than just punch, like there was some kind of wild you could just capture and stir in with the juice and the ginger ale. It was all awesome, and I felt full and tingly and hungry for more all once.

And horny, but then I’m horny a lot. All the time really. My dick is almost totally out of my control these days, and honestly that’s okay. It knows how to give me a good time, and far be it from me to stand in its way!

Everyone was there, and more than everyone—people I didn’t know, or who I’d, like, met but I didn’t really have any awareness of beyond the familiarity of their face. It didn’t matter—everyone there was this big, extended family. Everyone looked very fit and handsome, too, which was a pleasant surprise, and I kept trying to shove my hard dick back under my waistband even though it didn’t really go anymore (I was topless, of course, because them’s the rules, so there was no hiding it that way). After a while I just let it go and kind of ignored it.

But seriously, so many hot guys. There was Eddie to start with, looking as amazing as he’d ever been, like he was almost radiating gorgeous. He was shirtless like all the housemates in solidarity with me, a bit of a tan from our runs and hard all over, and, fuck, I wanted to just stare at him and maybe swoon a little. Mike, of course, acting like a very laid-back team dad the way he was overseeing the grill and watching the supplies for anything running low, that kind of thing. He had this big Nordic-looking guy in a tank top helping him—Stalin? heh, that can’t be right—and they were kind of acting like new boyfriends, smiling at each other and sneaking butt-grabs and kisses whenever they got a chance, and it was so fucking adorable and very hot. And there was the foursome. The twins had that expression where they were clearly up to something, which Zac seemed to find pretty funny, and Jay just watched them with a grin all like his three bfs were his own personal tv show.

Beyond us housemates were various guests that had got invited. You could tell the guests because they were wearing shirts—though most of them weren’t for long, actually. I think by the end only Mike’s guy still had his tank on. The one that stood out was Jay and Zac’s old roommate, Benji, who was tall as fuck—taller than me, or even Jay! So wild. Talking to him I sensed somehow that he wasn’t really used to it, either, though he clearly liked being big deep down. His muscles were medium-thick but dense and crazy defined, and not nearly as fur-covered as me and the three Paxton boys. I was pretty sure from the lump in his trousers he was the most hung out of any of us, and later, when things got hot, I can tell you there was definite confirmation. He had an admirer, a perky redhead named Quinn who I knew worked at the clothing store a little ways down from the restaurant. He was slim but very defined, barely topping out at Benji’s collarbone and probably weighing half of what the bigger guy did, and they both seemed to like the contrast and danced around each other the whole party, each of them hanging back and just getting off on watching, at first.

Other folks from town showed up, too. Shaun, the hardware store owner’s wispy son, was there, staring bug-eyed at all the beef. I knew him from a couple of my classes, but he’d been too intimidated by me being bigger than him even before to do much more than stare at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Which he still did at the pizza place—so adorable. Later I saw he’d got up the nerve to start up a conversation with the town’s very popular mechanic, Boo, who came in his trademark coveralls—heh, double meaning there, totally unintentional, but honestly he did actually cum in his coveralls later, with Shaun’s help.

The music was good and made the whole day just flow, connecting all the moments together. Eddie used my playlists mostly, I think because he likes to get my butt wiggling; and since Eddie and my butt are on intimate terms now I’m not nearly as uptight about getting a little move going as I used to be. I do it for Eddie now, and I don’t even think about anyone else. Like, I know all the people that come to the pizza place now are mostly scoping us out in our skimpy aprons and tight pants, and they always squeal and cheer when the right song comes on and I start swaying my ass a little while I’m stretching out my dough or spreading my tomato sauce over a 16-inch in tight spirals with the ladle or arranging the pepperoni in perfectly-spaced but random-looking designs. But it’s almost like they’re not there, you know? I’m moving my hips for Eddie, swaying my big limber muscle bod just I can feel the heat of his lusty stare on my backside, making me all hot and joyous. A moment like that, there might be fifty people in the shop, and it’s still just me and Eddie, both of us grinning from being suffused together with this perfect, horny happiness.

So when my favorite Sam Smith came on, drifting around the big backyard at our feet from the quad speakers Mike had set out in all the corners, my body, knowing what I craved, started to move on its own. Not crazy John Travolta stuff, just a happy sway as I stood there under the bright holiday sun, blue solo cup of punch in hand and the party drifting around me, my big bare feet snuggling the vivid green grass… because I knew I would feel it. Eddie’s hot stare.

It was a couple hours into the party, and I was feeling very mellow and toasty and very full from all the super-delicious hamburgers I’d had (three? five?), not to mention all the brats and corn and punch and everything else, and I felt like I was in this cozy-hot, sun-baked dream full of huge, happy, big-muscled hairy guys, all of them full of spunk and waiting to shoot. The foursome were making out together and openly stroking each other’s fat dicks where they shoved out of their pants, leaking onto fuzzy, stone-carved abs. Mike was watching them, absorbed and a little stunned by the sexy and very visibly turned on, with his guy (Stellan, it had to be Stellan) holding him close from behind, looking very big and sexy in his too-tight tank. Others were pairing up, too, and I knew all I needed to conjure my guy into my floating reality was the siren song of my swaying butt.

Sure enough, a moment later I heard Eddie’s awed “Wooow.” I turned with a grin and he was staring up at me. Like, way up at me. His eyes were dark with naked, unstoppable desire, and his incredibly wide, super girthy cock was plowing right up out of his pants like mine always was, needy and bared and begging for a mouth to wrap around it, or an ass—my ass. I noticed his beard had come out, too, since the party started. He’d started the day clean-shaven, but both of us had facial hair that grew a lot faster than it probably should. It looked cool on him—very manly.

I beamed down at my guy. I was used to having four inches or so on him, but right now it was like I had even more, like, double that. It was awesome. The weird thing is that Eddie was the one who looked like he’d grown, judging from the inches of bare ankle and skin exposed past the hems of the loose old jeans he was wearing. I was wearing boardies so it was harder to tell, though they felt more painted on than before. And fuck, my weeping club of a cock was way up out of them. I’d never get it back in now.

“Duuuude,” Eddie breathed. “You’re so huge.”

“I know, right?” I said, swimming in a wash of pleasant amazement and urgent arousal. My voice sounded strange, too, like it was deeper and, I don’t know, plusher than how I usually spoke. “I’m like… like Benji to your Quinn, right?” I joked.

Eddie chuckled. “Not exactly.” He nodded toward the buffet table. I looked over to see Benji and Quinn, and they weren’t the proportions I remembered. Benji was still taller than me, and if I was bigger… But Quinn now came up to his navel, like Benji had swelled up, getting taller and harder-muscled than before, while Quinn had ratcheted down a size at the same time. Benji’s cock was hard now, fatter than before and trying to drive the head into the tops of his heavy, densely packed pecs, leaving pre-slime all over the tops of his chest and down his tight cleavage. His luxurious Tarzan hair was well down his back, and his handsome face clearly showed his mix of chagrin and mind-melting arousal. Quinn, for his part, was not too changed apart from his overall stature—a little buffer, maybe, his shorts looking like they were trying to become pants—but obviously all that mattered to him was having Benji.

“I’m too big,” Benji said, abashed, staring down at Quinn.

Quinn’s eyes were riveted on Benji’s dick, which was making little spurts of precum now. “Kneel the fuck down,” he said in a low growl, “so I can show you just how huge you are.”

As if in response, Benji’s cock flexed and he seemed to get a little taller, or maybe Quinn got an inch or two shorter. Or both. Quinn reached up and tugged down at Benji’s belt, and Benji, not needing further prompting, dropped to his knees in the soft grass, his near-collarbone-high massive erection instantly getting a full two-armed embrace from his smaller, cock-worshipping admirer.

I snorted a laugh, loving the scenario they had going. My gaze drifted to the foursome standing in a knot nearby. I was amused to see the twins looking at Benji and Quinn in obvious confusion, while Zac bit his lip and Jay grinned at the three of them. I wasn’t sure any of them realized that Zac was as tall as Jay now and fifty pounds heavier than he had been with cold, thick, exquisitely aesthetic muscle, or that the twins now sported two-headed hardons halfway up their tight abs and almost twice as wide as any boner here (apart from their brother Eddie’s, natch).

The twins must have felt my gaze, because they looked over at me, their light-green eyes widening comically as they took in how big I was now. That was a look I recognized on them, too: mischief gone awry. Maybe someday they’d tell me what that was all about, but I doubted it. At the moment I didn’t care much.

I smiled and waved at them, then turned back to Eddie. “I guess you’re right,” I started to say to him, only… he was even further away now. Had I just grown? Again?

Wild.

“Duuuuuuuude,” Eddie said again. He scoped me out up and down, stopping at my boardies. Now that he drew my attention to them, they were feeling really, really tight just then, especially around the balls.

“I think we need to extend the Naked Bran rule to outside the house,” he said quickly. “At least for today.” He allowed himself a smirk as he raked his eyes over me again, his gaze so carnal I felt its heat under my skin as it passed over me.

I looked down at his pants. I’d thought they were loose before, but I guess not. They were showing off his stellar thighs and thick calves like they were yoga pants instead of denim jeans, and I really wanted to see those legs without all that fabric in the way.

“As long as it’s not just me,” I rumbled. I leaned forward onto my fists to give him a fast, deep kiss, knuckles pressing into the soft soil, the hair on my long, bulky arms ruffling in the light breeze. It was a comfortable position and I relaxed, aware of the possible utility of this bent-forward configuration should Eddie choose to aim that gargantuanly thick cock of his at my crazy-tight ass anytime soon.

I let my hips start swaying again, picking up the rhythm of the music around us, just to give him the idea. Eddie grinned and stroked my arm, love and lust in his beautiful eyes.

See? Everything fluid, and yet everything the same. This was the best possible life.

No one was answering the doorbell, so I walked around to the back of our dad’s old house to find the party well under way. It wasn’t exactly your ordinary backyard get-together, what with the seven-foot-tall mesmerizingly handsome muscle gods and the like and more exposed cock than a weathervane factory. There was so much lust back here it was rippling outward, palpably washing over me as I walked in, and I carefully adjusted my own sudden erection to its usual position ten degrees off from my belt buckle as I approached my adorably clueless brother.

I took a position right next to him and folded my arms over a chest any aspiring fitness model would have killed for. He was leaner, rangy like I’d used to be, but facially we looked pretty similar still.

“So, big bro,” I said, “what’s new?”

We were standing on a little rise on the fringes of the fast-devolving orgy, him with his mouth agape, a spatula hanging limply in his grip. A few feet away a couple of large, fragrant hamburgers blackened in neglect. “I was all supposed to be gradual,” he said after a moment in a quiet, plaintive voice. “Subtle. Progressive. I had it all under control.”

“I see,” I said wryly, looking out at what was very obviously the opposite of subtle. As we watched, the whole crowd below us grew, like a pulse hitting a speaker in close-up. It was only a little, but collectively, over a dozen people at once, it was hard to miss. Mike himself stayed the same size, but the flaxen-haired Nordic giant behind him with his hands on Mike’s shoulders visibly bumped up a notch in size and a little bit in breadth, stretching his sage tank top almost to the breaking point. He was already on his knees and yet he was now taller than my brother—and Mike was naturally 6’5”, almost as tall as my own carefully modulated 6’7”.

Fuck, I could smell the potency of all the stuff that had been used and mixed together. If I wasn’t careful I might end up growing a little just from being this close to the epicenter. Clearly whoever had engineered all this had no idea what they were doing, though I had to admire the raw scale of it all.

“Someone found your stash, I take it,” I remarked blandly.

Mike winced, though he kept his eyes on the growth-play filling his backyard. “I let the twins find some of it,” he admitted. “But I suspect they were sabotaged.”

I grunted. Mixed intensions, combined with imperfect understanding of the strains, would definitely cause unexpected reactions. I’d seen it before… once.

Another little wave of growth washed through the attendees, and I felt a slight but ominous tingle travel over my skin. Maybe it was a good thing I’d grabbed a loose “Thad’s Hashery” tee and my most relaxed-fit jeans for the flight out to my brother’s holiday feast.

Mike’s now-slightly-bigger-again friend growled low in his throat. “Babe,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “you know I like the upgrades, but… I’m not gonna fit in my cab.” He addressed me. “Thad, right?” he said. “I’m Stellan Olofsson. We’ve talked on the phone?”

I smiled up at him, surprised, and shook a hand almost half-again the size of my own. “The coffee infusions!” I said, remembering my other main client back in the old hometown. “How’s that…” I looked the giant over, taking in his huge size, bristling muscles, thickening white-blond body hair, and arm-sized erection. “…working out for you?” I finished, keeping a straight face.

“It was working out fine,” the handsome Swedish giant intoned with an eye roll. “Is there anything you can do?”

Mike sighed, biting the bullet but still not looking at me. “Is there?”

I turned to gaze out over the oversized fucking, my own hefty and very excitable cock responding with a powerful yearning to join them all and get right in the middle of the fray. I shrugged, ignoring it for now. “We have to let it all play out first,” I said, more or less truthfully. “There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

Everyone grew.

I think I floated home from that Fourth of July cookout at Mike’s. I mean, I know my bike was involved, and I felt like I was running but I was also on my bike, and I was laughing the whole way because I had this stubborn erection even though I’d cum twice helping that crazy-hung, chiseled mechanic to the gods blow his own monster hard-on. I’d lost my shirt somewhere, but that was okay because I was going really fast and the breeze was riffling my hair and flowing over my body like I was an airfoil and I could take off any time if I wanted, which was so cool. And my favorite loose yellow gym shorts that I always wore in the summers felt really tight, like they were trying to turn into Speedos, and I loved it because it made my dick and balls feel really huge! Even my bike felt small, like I was so blissed out from the best sexual experience I’d ever had that I was just filling up the world, like all the wild, chaotic ecstasy popping and expanding all through me was swelling me huge like I was turning into a Thanksgiving parade balloon, and soon I would be drifting over town like a big helium-filled human colossus, grinning inanely down at all the thumb-sized people gaping up at me, shirtless, uncontrollably hard, and horny as fuck.

And people were staring and gawking at me as I sped into town, and I laughed as a pedaled/ran/floated past all the people and cars and buildings I had ever known. I felt liberated, like the Shaun they knew and routinely ignored had been peeled back like so much corn husk and the real me exposed, blazing out like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. It had been building to this. Seeing those sweetly beautiful pizza boys get hunkier and unbearably hotter over the spring and summer, first in class and then even more so the last few weeks, had unlocked something in me. All that beefcake-lust I’d been burying in my gut for twenty-five years had busted loose, and I ogled. I ogled, shameless and awed at how good it felt to let myself get hard and flushed over a guy. Not that I could resist—Eddie and Brandon were just too impossibly hot (I mean, seriously, half the town was talking about them)—but when the dam bursts you can either fight it or flow with it, and fuck, it was so amazing to flow with it. I jerked off thinking about them in bed every night, twice a night sometimes, and it was so much better now that I was no longer pretending I was just envying their hotness and was just letting my heady hunk-arousal blossom unfettered. It was like rediscovering the concept of orgasm all over again.

And now it had happened. I had had sex! With a guy! Not just a guy—an Adonis! An Adonis with what was probably the biggest cock on the fucking planet! I let out a giddy whoop as I banked at speed onto Maple, earning me a startled look from a wide-eyed Mrs. Johnson, my old first-grade teacher, and her two adult daughters standing on the corner waiting to cross. I was so tickled by their reaction I gave another whoop right at them as I passed. Meg Johnson was licking her lips as she stared at me flying by her, too, which I thought was pretty funny—not only because of the circumstances (me! Adonis! huge cum-spurting cock!), but also because she had been in my class back in middle school and had caught me watching her once at lunch and after that had she’d made a point of never once looking at me, not ever. And now that I was sure about batting for the other team, her eyes snagged on me like fabric catching on a nail. Hilarious!

I turned into Juniper Place, the alley that runs behind the store, still buoyant with pure joy. Finally I pulled up short in front of the back door to the big century-old building that housed our family hardware store, the storerooms on the second floor, and the third floor roost Dad and I called home. Dean, one of the afternoon/evening guys, was just tossing a trash bag in the dumpster as I came up, and he stood there for a few seconds just staring at me like he could see everything that had happened as I stepped off my bike and set it against the back wall. I beamed at him as his eyes climbed up my body like the mercury in a cartoon thermometer. Because I was done holding back my man-appreciation I took the chance to scope him out too. He was wearing the store’s short-sleeved denim uniform shirt and black trousers, and I decided he filled them out pretty well. The sleeves on those shirts were extra-short, which I’d always hated on me thanks to the way my freckled, albacore-white Skinny Shaun toothpick arms were almost completely exposed in them, but on Dean I appreciated the chance to drink in the full glory of his corded swimmer’s bi/tris and ripped forearms, the light sheen on his dark skin from the warmth inside the poorly-a/c’ed store giving him an extra dose of he-man cred. We’d known each other a long time—heck, it was a small town. But that was the moment I really saw him, so to speak. And I liked what I saw.

Maybe Dean did too. It sure felt like we were sharing the moment, but I was soaring so high from being at that hunkfest and then my semiprivate encounter with Boo that I was pretty sure the whole world was horny gay guys right then.

Dean finally blinked and let go of the lid of the dumpster, and it dropped with a bang. The sound broke the spell of us staring at each other, but whereas before I might have ducked away and fallen back, now I went the other way, leaping forward and snatching Dean up in a huge, tight hug—with so much exuberance, I lifted him right off his booted feet. I don’t know why, I was just so happy. After the cookout my brain was just in this fixed state of exhilaration. I wasn’t thinking or wondering, I was just being, and it was awesome.

“Hey! Put me down, ya goof!” Dean protested, flailing a little.

I hugged him harder, reveling at feeling the full length his hard, well-proportioned body pressed against mine. “Nuh uh!” I said in his ear, teasing him. He smelled good, too, which I hadn’t expected, and now that my inhibitions were gone I didn’t hesitate in moving my face in against his neck and taking a slow whiff.

Weirdly enough this seemed to amuse him. He huffed a laugh and stopped struggling, wrapping his arms around me so that I could feel the pleasant warmth of his forearms against my bare back, one above the other. His feet dangled, but I was okay with his weight—I’d have guessed he’d have been heavier, but apparently not—and since he was hugging me back I decided to just keep the embrace going as long as I could get away with it. The way our crotches were mashed together he must have been able to feel my implacable iron-girder of a hard-on, but I pretended he wouldn’t notice. The mood I was in, I probably wanted him to feel it. “What has gotten into you?” Dean asked, a little incredulously. He patted his hands against my flanks a couple times before letting them rest comfortingly against my skin.

I so desperately wanted to say “big hard cock,” just to shock him, maybe, and proclaim my transformation from the rooftops at the same time. But I hadn’t had a dick up my butt yet, and Boo’s monster erection had been so ridiculously girthy I hadn’t actually managed to get much of it in my mouth, much less down my throat like I’d dreamed of doing a few times with the pizza hunks. Instead I licked his salty neck, wide and sloppy, and answered “Man spunk!” in my deepest, smarmiest voice.

Dean giggled, and to my delight I felt his dick shift and push against mine through our clothes in reaction to my cheek. He squeezed me a little tighter, too. “Oh yeah?” he said. Our cheeks were pressed together, and after getting a taste of his neck I kind of wanted to slide my face back and find out what his mouth tasted like, too. “Who’s the lucky boy?”

I pulled back in our embrace to look at him, and he shifted his hold slightly so he could as well, casually latching his legs around my thighs to distribute his weight better. “You—you’re not surprised?” I stammered, though I was still smiling. It hadn’t really occurred to me that anyone besides me might have noticed all those longing looks I had given the track stars and the all-state wrestling team back when, or my broad-shouldered classmate Brandon and his compact muscle-stud bf more recently; and in my present state of ebullience I found the idea of my lustiness leaking out of my inner emotional bank vault, exposed to the sight of my friends, unutterably delightful.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” he said archly.

I laughed and have him a spontaneous kiss, which he returned with a grin. It was a “friends” kiss, a “best buddies” kiss, though it overlapped into another universe where best buddies hugged each other close like this all the time with their hard-ons grinding happily against each other and made out like it was a standard part of friendly conversation. I liked the idea of being from that universe and decided somewhere deep down that that was now my origin story. At least when it came to Dean.

“You jealous?” I needled him.

“More like envious,” Dean said. He nodded his head toward my body, though he kept his eyes on mine. “You obviously got hit by whatever’s been pumping up the pizza boys—it must be your mystery lover’s spunk, am I right? And how much did you guzzle down, anyway?” he added, like I’d been offered a cookie from a stack of delicious-smelling Toll House treats and instead had scarfed down the whole plate.

I stared at him, uncomprehending. Yeah, Brandon and Eddie had been working out like maniacs and their bodies had blown up crazy hot, but what did that have to do with me?

Dean laughed. “You haven’t noticed? That must have been some fuck!”

I shook my head at him, still grinning. “Noticed what?”

Dean gave me a mock-reproving look. “Sean, sweetheart, since when are you a head taller than me? And strong enough to hold me up for a second, let alone a whole conversation without even noticing? And since when do you have a hard-on big enough to choke a horse?” He gave his own hefty boner a playful little thrust against mine, as if in punctuation.

I blinked at him. He waited, smirking. I think he knew the reasoning centers of my brain were all offline at the moment, drowned as they were in high-saturation bliss; but the things he had just said were so obviously true—and no at odds with the reality of Skinny Shaun that had been my life for a quarter-century—that I could only conclude he was right. Maybe that universe where best buds kissed and mashed their dicks together was one where lifelong wisps like me could turn into brawny studs through the ingestion of extra-special spunk.

That would sure explain Brandon and Eddie, even better than a sudden and obsessively all-consuming gym-ratdom, especially for such a mellow guy as Brandon. Come to think of it, everybody at the cookout had been smacked by the size-and-muscle sexy stick except Mike, though after my first burger I had gotten so completely distracted at the drinks cooler by the shape of a certain sky-pointing erection through a certain pair of tight-fitting, short-sleeved coveralls right next to me that everyone and anything else had pretty much fallen out of the back of my head right then and there. Not long after we were behind the trees, acting on our mutual interest in the mechanic’s beautiful chest-high, arm-thick, easy-leak power tool.

Something occurred to me, and I felt a silly grin bloom on my face again. “I don’t think it’s in his spunk,” I said. “‘Cause otherwise Boo would just keep growing and growing!”

Dean goggled at me, gratifyingly. “Wait—you blew Boo Fredriksen? The Monolithic Mechanic?”

My grin got even wider. “Actually,” I said, “I had help. It’s a two-man job!”

“I bet,” Dean said. “And who was your lucky co-fellator?”

I was almost giggling. “Boo Fredriksen,” I said.

Dean laughed, and he was so cute, and the sight of his open mouth so compelling, that I kissed him again. We squeezed each other close, our hands roaming each other’s backs, and I have to say that that time it was a little less “best bud from the make-out universe” and a little more “you’re an amazing kisser, you know that?” with just a trace of “fuck, I love sucking your tongue.”

We broke apart, and now it was both of us smiling like we owned the world. Dean looked me right in the eyes. “I still think it might be in the spunk,” he said shrewdly. “Which would mean it’s probably very contagious.”

My brain was starting to work again—enough to catch his drift this time, anyway. “I know a way we can test your theory,” I said, my smile going a little wicked.

Dean’s eyes darkened. “Put me down, then, Sizable Shaun,” he said, “and we’ll see if we can’t find out together.”

It wasn’t the first blowjob in an alley ever—maybe not even the first blowjob in that alley. But it was my first blowjob, as a recipient, anyway; and it didn’t exactly put a dent in my free-soaring mood of drifting, uncomplicated ecstasy. It wasn’t my last, either, not that day, or that week, or that month. And, for the record, we determined with great certainty there wasn’t anything growth-inducing in my output, carried over infectiously from imbibing large quantities of Boo’s savory spunk: after all, Dean’s fat cock filled my mouth exactly to the same extent, and pushed gallantly into my eager throat by exactly the same amount, every single time, no matter how often we checked.

I sat on the edge of my bed, tensely smoking a fat joint of undoctored, un-Thad-mutated mary jane, and thought about the way little actions became expanding circles. How one’s volition soon exceeded one’s grasp. I mean, it’s the story of mankind, right? You grow you two favorite employees a little because you think it’ll be fun, of course it would turn into a back-yard full of sex-crazed, mind-fogged giants growing out of control…!

My newly-minted boyfriend sat next to me, his head topping out near mine despite the fact that he was sitting on the floor, not the bed, a perfectly bare-assed as if clothes were now out of the question—which they might very well be. His head was bigger than mine, too—everything was bigger. It wasn’t that he’d been stretched—he’d been scaled up. He’d also been grown in other ways, his muscles compounded over the slow growth he’d been giving himself via weed-infused coffee over the last few months like they’d exploded past “swole” all the way to “massive” in the space of an afternoon. And his half-soft dick, unavoidably visible despite the raised knees he was leaning his arms on, was an outsized tube of meat such as sausage-makers might dream of making to wow cities and emperors with. It looked massive even on him; on me it would look like I was halfway toward growing a third leg. His musk was as strong as the rest of him, a natural spice-roughened cologne that I wanted to bury myself in. Even his Nordic handsomeness had been boosted, brightening his eyes and sharpening his features into an almost perilous beauty. He looked like a carnal elf-god descended to the mortal realm to addle the minds of the awestruck humans and fuck them senseless.

Right now, though, he was simply sitting serenely, as an elf-god might do between enthrallments and fuck-frenzies, I supposed. He was unbearably attractive, and I marveled at his calm.

His butt-crack-length mane of flowing white-blond hair shifted as he turned toward me with a soft smile. He held my gaze for a loud heartbeat, then dropped his eyes to the thick spliff I was nursing. “Pass that over, will you?”

I handed him the joint, awed at how it suddenly looked tiny as he held it between his massive, yet elegant, finger and thumb and took a long puff. I let out my smoke, chasing the mellow a good toke normally gave me, despite knowing that on me stress and THC weren’t always a good mix. I watched Stellan pull in a long drag. I was turned on just at the size dissonance between him and the joint. I wanted to hand him things—my phone, one of my tee shirts, a small puppy—just to enjoy his hugeness, like I’d been doing lately to a much more minor degree with Bran and Eddie. Like when they grabbed a ladle and made it seem like it had shrunk a little as soon as they picked it up, or hefted a big box of shredded parmesan like it was the size of a GameCube. That was before things got crazy at the Fourth of July Man-Magnification Cookout. Stellan was so big now, just him being in my room was like a Photoshop morph, and getting in here he’d had to bend through every door sideways.

Fuck. I started to get hard again, like I’d been all day.

I thought of his taxi, as if some part of my brain thought I needed reminding of the down side of the whole size dissonance thing. As Stellan had gently pointed out to me earlier, Cadillac sedans were not really made to accommodate actual, real-life hunk-giants. It didn’t stop me getting hard, but it was kind of an anxious erection.

“Relax.” Stellan spoke placidly, not looking at me, though he obviously felt my stare. His voice was deeper, too—so deep I wondered if some of the sound he was producing had passed beyond the range of human hearing.

“We’ve got this,” he went on, as cool and calm as everyone thought I always was. “Your brother will fix it.” He did look at me then, a glint in his eye. “And if not,” he added, “we’ll just have to train your ass to take a cock the size of a battering ram.”

I goggled at him, not quite sure whether I was terrified or incredibly turned on by the prospect. I beckoned mutely for the joint, and he snorted a smoky laugh from his nostrils as he handed it to me.

I was taking a very serious toke when said brother walked in, his “Thad’s Hashery” tee and old, high-water jeans (over bare feet) looking unexpectedly snug and sexy on him. I held my smoke as I sized him up, lingering distractedly on my brother’s hefty-looking package. Interesting, I thought, with detached self-awareness. Maybe I’ve been around the Paxton brothers too long.

I smiled a little at that, wondering what the twins were up to right now. The last I’d seen them they’d been helping Zac hose the massive amounts of cum off everyone, the three of them whispering fiercely at each other the whole time. Then the hose-down had devolved into an eight-way scrum of wet, hairy, laughing muscle giants, and I, torn between watching them while openly jerking off and fleeing into the hills and rebuilding my life as a forest hermit, had discarded both options in favor of heading inside to find my stash of ordinary, mundane, Colorado-approved cannabis.

I was still staring at my brother’s junk. I blinked and lifted my gaze to meet Thad’s. His dark eyebrows were both lifted in bemusement.

If I were Eddie I would wink at him, I thought, amused as much at the idea of being as extroverted and forward as Eddie as that of coming on to my even-tempered, botanically-savant kid brother. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be very successful at either endeavor. Instead, I gave him my most disarming smile. Those I was good at. I’d gotten a lot of mileage out of disarming smiles.

He just gave me a flat look, and his expression told me I was wasting my time. I let out my smoke in a chuckle, giving up. Thad had grown up while he was out west, and not just in the couple of inches and twenty pounds or so he had on me now.

He sat next to me on the side of the bed and held his phone out for me to look at. I handed the joint back to Stellan and took the phone from him. To my surprise, it was video footage of the hose-down and its devolution, playing at half-speed. I looked up at my brother with a smirk. “For your website?” I chided him.

“Not the one you’re thinking of,” he answered levelly, surprising me. As I tried to figure out if he was joking or not, he nodded toward the video. “I have this loaded in an app I use that measures heights and things like that,” he said. I nodded. I could imagine an app like that would prove useful for an experimenter like Thad.

He tapped the screen, and green numbers appeared of the heads of the frolicking giants as they tackled and ran around each other, their immense cocks flapping and heavy pecs wobbling as they moved in slow motion. At first I was confused, as the numbers weren’t what I was expecting—they were all in the 200s. I realized belatedly that they must be heights in centimeters. “It’s a German app,” Thad explained. “They’ve made a lot of progress in this area.”

I wondered briefly which area he meant—measuring apps, or growth-inducing pot—then set the question aside and scrutinized the numbers, trying to nudge my brain into sorting out the translation into numbers I was more familiar with. I was normally very good with math and numbers, but my brain was stuck and all I could remember as I squinted at the screen was 2.54 for inches to centimeters. “Most of these are between 235 and 245,” I said slowly, watching the boys play, the green numbers doggedly following them like the guys were all inside some perverted version of The Sims. “That’s…” I glanced up at him.

“Seven and a half to eight feet,” Thad said, holding my gaze.

Stellan whistled through his smoke.

I bit my lip. Before, everyone had been under 7 feet for sure. Maybe that guy Benji had been right at 7, but everyone else was under. And—even at 6’7” (and considerably muscled up, to be sure) Bran had been causing a sensation in town. At—I checked the video for him—241 centimeters, a.k.a. (and now I could do the math, converting without thinking to the American equivalent) a full 7’11”—the Bran effect would go from “sensation” to “pandemonium”. And that was just him. There were eight of these hairy muscle giants in the video—Bran, Eddie, the twins, Jay and Zac, Benji, and the redhead from the menswear shop, plus Stellan and whoever had snuck off left the cookout early—Boo the mechanic and Shaun Mathers, definitely, and there might be others I couldn’t remember. Together a posse of titans like that would cause a riot, especially if they walked around town with their dicks flapping like they were in the video, looming over ordinary folks like twenty-something Beau Bridges in Village of the Damned—no, it was Village of the Giants, not Village of the Damned.

Village of the Damned Giants?

The anarchy of that appealed to me on some level, I had to admit. On the other hand, it sure wasn’t the gradual, under-the-radar incremental growth I’d planned for when I’d started this little project.

Stellan handed me back the spliff, which was almost used up. “So what’s the next move?” he asked us, smoke pluming out of his mouth and nostrils.

I looked at Thad, drawing in the terminal toke and carefully pinching what was left of the joint. Thad grinned at Stellan. “We could turn your cab into a convertible,” he said. To me he added, “Got a can opener?”

“Ha, ha,” I said, without breathing out.

Thad sobered, though he kept a slight smile. “I don’t have the exact strains I need with me,” he said. “I should be able to finagle something with what you have here, if I remember correctly what I’ve sent you so far.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, letting out the smoke through my nostrils. “Isn’t ‘finagling’ what got us into this mess?” I asked, falling back on my assumption that the dueling doses the twins and Zac had both doctored the food and drink were the cause of the unexpected effects everyone had been subjected to.

Thad’s eyes glinted. “May I remind you, dear brother,” he said, “that I am the one who developed these strains? I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“And yet, the word used was ‘finagle’,” I mused. “Not a term you see in the scientific journals very often.”

Thad grinned brilliantly, and I drew in a breath. How baked was I if I was wondering how good a cocksucker Thad was? Not that the thought had never occurred to me, but…

Thad’s look was knowing, and I hurriedly deflected back to the topic at hand. “I should show you my stash, then,” I said. I blew out a smokeless breath and looked away, dejected. “I dunno, half of me thinks it’s already too out of control, and I should just take it all out back and burn it.”

Stellan and Thad both snorted. I frowned at them. Stellan said, “Gee, burning a ton of growth-inducing pot—”

“—With unpredictable conflicting effects—” added Thad.

“—Upwind from a bustling town full of college guys,” Stellan finished. “What could go wrong?”

My imagination started churning, and a slow smile spread across my face, Both of then laughed. “Stellan,” Thad said, “do you have a rolled-up newspaper I can hit my brother over the nose with?”

“Just smack him with my dick,” Stellan said cheerily.

“I want to knock sense into him, not knock him out completely,” Thad answered.

“Fine,” I said, faux-grudgingly, “no town-changing bonfires.”

“Good boy,” Stellan said.

Thad was still giving me a steady look, like there was something else I should have thought of. “What?” I said finally.

Thad nodded toward the video again, which was playing on a loop, the green numbers still dogging my housemates and their friends. “There are two outliers that might be instructive for trying to figure out what happened today and how to efficiently reverse it,” he said. “The redhead, for one.”

“Quinn,” Stellan put in. He knew everyone in town.

I frowned at the screen. In the video, the ginger in question was perched on the 8’5” Benji’s shoulders like a Pikachu, and now that my attention was drawn to him he did indeed look a couple sizes smaller than his giant mount. The number over his head read only 165—5 foot 5! “What the heck?” I said, surprised. I didn’t know the guy well, but I’d seen him around, and no way was he that shrimpy before. Was he actually shorter than he’d been before the cookout?

Thad nodded. “Either he was dosed somehow with something different from everyone else—” he began.

“—Or his biochemistry reacts to the pot completely differently from everyone else,” I finished, intrigued. I nodded, following him in the video. “Who’s the other anomaly?”

“You,” Thad said.

I looked up at him in dismay. “Me?” I exclaimed.

“You haven’t grown at all.”

“I didn’t even take anything! I never do!” I’d been very careful about that. Today especially.

“I didn’t either,” Thad said patiently. “And yet I was caught up in the growth burst the moment I got here. I grew two inches just from the contact high.”

I stared at him, remembering the high-water jeans he was wearing, with an inch of ankle exposed. Not high-waters—they just didn’t fit him anymore.

“Plus,” Stellan put in, “you’ve been living in a house full of mischief-makers for weeks. Sharing meals with them. They have to have tried dosing you.”

“To no avail,” Thad added.

I swiveled between Stellan and Thad. “What are you guys saying?” I asked my brother.

Thad fixed me with a steely gaze. “What I’m saying,” he said, “is that we have a question before us.”

I gulped. “Which is?”

Thad leaned toward me. “What, my dear, beautiful brother, is different about you? What secret are you hiding from everyone else?”

I gaped at my sibling, all the effects of the pot I’d just smoked swept away in an instant. Maybe it wasn’t too late to run for the hills after all…

I was pretty sure I was still high.

The cookout was hours ago. Afternoon had slipping gently into evening, the blue of the sky shifting from brilliant azure to a deep, inviting sapphire, fiery reds flaring in the west like a prodigy while on the opposite horizon a dimly speckled cobalt was already taking hold. Yet I still had that same heady, unmoored feeling—not that I was anchorless, exactly, but that everything around me was, like the world was a cyclorama on gimbals. Every tree, every leaf, every strain of birdsong seemed only loosely attached to its surroundings, liable to shift and slide at a look or a thought, and the thought might be my, or the tree’s or the leaf’s or the song’s, or it might be a stray spark in the random musings of the world itself.

I smiled. I felt in tune with those strands of swirling world-thought, and it definitely seemed like a lot of them were about dick. Just like my own. Not just cocks. “Dick thoughts” was a category I used to lump together all the things about men that stroked my inner lust. A place my mind strayed to a lot—more and more lately, for that matter. The breadth of a long, well-sculpted back tapering rapidly to a narrow waist… the delicious spectacle of muscles in use, biceps shifting, pecs moving and flexing, shoulders striating, thick, sleet thighs pushing a man to impressive speed… a drop of sweat sliding down a tanned flank from a musky underarm… a saucy, possessive look and a half-quirked smile, framed by the faintest dusting of late-day stubble…

And of course, dick. Thick, long, veiny dick that swelled and stiffened to a mouthwatering manifestation of raw sex and desire… the feel of dick in my eager mouth or my sensitive ass, a manly intrusion that seemed to become my core, my everything… heavy, sweaty balls contracting as climax galloped out of control… my own dick, saturated with my boundless lust, pushing slowly, teasingly between beautiful lips or deeper and deeper into a hot, tight, masculine hole, every inch escalating the pleasure I was giving, imbuing, receiving back in blessed feedback.

Dick thoughts. As long as I could remember, I’d been swimming in them. I remembered my very first time watching football on a huge plasma TV as a pubescent boy, staring at the screen in awe, tantalized by the glimpses of bare, muscled arms and the shifting shapes of thickly built thighs and round, hard asses through the tight white leggings as the players ran and caught soaring passes and tackled like knights at a medieval joust. I’d avoided watching much TV before that, especially sports, thinking that brainy nerds like me were supposed to be better than mindless entertainment. I was vaguely dismissing of most of the media as pacification of the masses, that whole reduction of the common intelligence thing. Cringey to think now, I know, but your first set of bugbears come free with the chassis.

Then came that Thanksgiving family reunion where I was stuck watching a Cowboys/Seahawks game all the way through with the rest of my extended brood while we all waited for the replacement turkey to deep-fry after the first one came out charred. And that was it, I was a goner.

The pull was too strong, so I went with it. I rationalized the whole thing by obsessing about stats, something that came as naturally to me as breathing, and thusly I kept up my own internal nerd cred while simultaneously getting to ogle powerful, driven men exulting in blood-pounding demonstrations of pure physical prowess.

I had no illusions, really. Immersing himself in football stuff was just a special category under the general heading of “dick thoughts”.

Now, thought. Now it felt like… like I was becoming a dick thought. Like that lust stirring through the spirit of the world itself had focused on me a little too intently, slowly remaking me, turning me into an embodiment of everything that sparked need and intense desire in me. I was clay in the hands of a horny god, one whose desire was never quite slaked, one that always, always wanted to see what his malleable, growable toy would look like with just a little more…

I was out in the woods somewhere. I wasn’t sure where. A warm wind playfully stirred the trees high above me, dappling the slowly waning sunlight down in the still summer air where I was. A few birds chirped and sang and flitted about, mostly high up where the breeze was. I’d found a path and started walking, after… everything. All the stuff. You know.

I mean, the whole afternoon was not so much blurry as patchy. It was this swirl of individual scenes with fuzzy edges. The cookout, all the hot guests, it was all mixed up and out of sequence. The wet fuck-fest. The woods alone, the path. Thad showing up. Seeing a very happy Quinn being held with legs dangling a few feet above the grass while a giant Benji made out with him. Bran and his kinda-gorilla arms. The hosedown. Finding a pair of Jay’s old sweats afterward, yellow and faded, which clung to me like too-small yoga pants. Looks of shock on the twin’s faces as guys grew around them, as they grew themselves. The happy smell and sizzle of meat cooking on a hot summer day.

I remembered taking my first bite of the hamburger and tasting its potency, the juicy prime beef seasoned with much more than the usual salt, pepper, and a bit of oregano worked in, the generously-spread special sauce adorning the soft kaiser roll clearly a little too special. There’d been a little thrill of fear mixed with excitement in my belly as I’d taken all this in, and then after that… well, I’d just stopped thinking about it, more or less. Maybe it was just that it was pot, or maybe it was a deliberately instilled component of Thad’s weed—like, that once it was in you you didn’t really worry about what it might be doing to you? I’d have to ask someone who knew more about weed, like Mike. Not my thing, until recently.

Heh. I was still kinda high, which meant I still kinda didn’t care that the cookout food had turned out so much more potent than expected. Which proved my original premise, right? Q.E.D. Quod erat dickmonsteratum. I giggled.

Now the only question I was curious about was whether it was the weed and the high that was making me this incredibly turned on, or if that was just… me now. Only way to test that was to see what I was like when I climbed down and my mental state returned to normal. If it ever did.

I sort of hoped it didn’t. Part of me did, anyway. It was sweet, really sweet, being all floaty like this, sharing in the world’s heady, limitless horniness as swirled around and through me. Or maybe it was my infinite horniness blasting outward in plumes of lust that were curling about in potent eddies of dick thought, slowly filling the shifting, churning world.

It sure was slow wearing off. Bran and Eddie seemed pretty permanently baked, after, what, a month?—Or maybe their new lifestyle was mellow enough it was just a whole lot like being high even when they weren’t actually stoned. Reality and zonk interwoven, diffusing like dye billowing through a beaker of water until natural synthesis utterly left behind separateness of being, leaving only one.

The path turned to the right and descended a bit, and I realized the sound I’d been hearing under the birdsong and the wafting of the trees had been the lapping of a small, shallow creek that meandered idly through the leafy woods. Its banks were made of dark, packed soil, but the bed was mostly smooth rocks and stones, visible through the clear, lightly rippling water. I crouched, careful not to split the seams of my undersized, clingy sweats, and felt a rush of raw delight as I stared into the water, drinking in the patterns. I startled when a fish wandered through my contracted field of vision, laughing at its wiggly dance as it slid soundlessly through the irregular shapes and colors, which I found eerie and captivating.

The moment changed somehow, and my focus shifted to my own stooping reflection in the water’s surface, still clear enough in the reddening light to make out most of my features. My hair was long and untamed, much more so than it had been that morning. My face—it was the face I saw in the mirror every morning, sure, but subtly tweaked in a dozen, like someone had spent a day making subtle changes in Photoshop to see how much more handsome they could make me while still looking like himself. My eyes were still dark brown, but somehow they were more vivid, more alive than I remembered seeing them. My jaws and cheeks were smudged with stubble, both denser and higher up my face than I was used to seeing. And the shoulders on this image of me—just the man-curves of the semi-silhouette, the honed traps, the sculpted delts… I looked like someone I would have dreamed up to jerk off to, and that was just the shoulders!

As I thought this I became weirdly, intensely aware of the muscles of my whole body, as if I were infused into the hot blood flowing through me, through my heavy, inches-thick pecs and my tree-trunk legs and my immense, extra-strong arms and hands…

I snorted. You were supposed to be wowed by your hands when you were high, right? That was the stereotype, but I actually had reason to be. I lifted them and spread my hands open in front of me, feeling their size and their streaming potency from the inside. I exchanged a look with my reflection in the creek, even as my constrained, footlong, wrist-thick softie started trying to harden, pushing down my kegs against the ridiculous constraints of my boyfriend’s too-small sweats.

“Fuck, you’re huge.”

At first I thought it was the reflection that had spoken. Or maybe I was talking to himself? Then I lifted my head and saw a figure standing in the little creek directly in front of me, bathing his bare feet, chocolate-brown eyes full of wonder.

That looked nice, letting the cool creek-water wash over my feet, I thought. I stood from my crouch, the smaller figure dropping his jaw a little as I rose up and up and up in front of him like an ICBM emerging from its silo. I took a few steps into the shallow water, basking in the pleasure of this simple act, and smiled down at the much shorter man. I knew I recognized the cute face and lean body, but it wasn’t important to put a name to him yet.

The awareness of my body surged again, my consciousness tingling and present in every capillary of my swollen, god-hewn brawn and my swelling, unnaturally huge dick, which at that point was only being kept from leaping up and poking the smaller man in the chest by a few inches of taut, worn yellow cotton. My admirer was dressed in a blue polo and chinos, the latter rolled up his calves to allow for the foot-bathing. I had no need to do the same—my borrowed sweats didn’t come anywhere near my ankles.

I looked down at the guy. He stared back up at me. We were close enough he was looking almost straight up, and I wondered if he was going to hurt his neck like that. But then he started raking his eyes down my new form, and I felt more self-aware than ever.

“Eight feet tall,” the guy muttered, his voice too familiar. “Exactly eight feet. So muscular, like a perfectly crafted Hercules.” The eyes crawled back up me, and I shivered, heat flashing through me, my cock trying desperately to harden. Heck, my whole body was trying to harden. “Must be five hundred, six hundred pounds? Maybe more—those muscles are so dense…”

I shrugged mutely. I felt so big, it was like the action might lift the skies if I did it right.

Our eyes met and locked. “You’re so much bigger than me,” the smaller man said.

“I am you,” I assured him, smiling softly at the other man sharing the warm, gamboling creek with me.

The other man shook his head slightly, part negation, part bewilderment. “I’m you—before,” he said.

I wasn’t sure what to do with him. I wanted to pick the smaller man up and hold him before me, like I’d seen Benji doing with Quinn, just so we could see eye to eye. But then I felt a sudden twinge of fear that if I reached for him, for Before-me, he would flinch away from me.

My arms suddenly felt heavy and limp.

My stomach twisted a little. “Don’t say it,” I said suddenly.

Before-me did the unsure head shake again. “Jay and Jimmy and Jase,” he said, holding my gaze. “They like me like I am now.” He gestured to his lanky, six-foot form—sexy, to my eyes, but puny next to the colossus I had helped accidentally turn myself into. “They’re the big muscle guys, and they like that I’m not. They like me like this.”

I did reach for him then, wrapping a hand lightly around Before-me’s upper arm. The difference in size wasn’t that great—I was just big, I wasn’t Paul Bunyan or anything—but my attention and my lingering high seemed to be magnifying the contrast in size between us. “They love you. Us,” I insisted to my other self. The smaller man knew that—why was he sowing this doubt through all the enjoyment I’d been experiencing? “They love us.”

The little head-shake again. “They love us like this.” He gulped. “This is who we are, Zac. We watch the muscle guys. We love the muscle guys. We think dick thoughts about the muscle guys. We don’t know how to be the muscle guys.”

“There’s nothing to it, really,” said a cocky voice near my ear. A lightly tanned hand settled on my browner deltoid, caressing its roundness. The touch sent electric shocks of pleasure all through me. “It’s easy as shit, actually.”

I twisted to look behind me, letting go of Before-me as I did so. Jay was standing behind me, exactly as tall as I was and even more exquisitely muscular, grinning with almost palpable joy. I grinned back at him. Seeing Jay made me feel instantly at home.

I turned back to make my case to Before-me, to say something like, “See?” But Before-me was gone, and instead I was looking at the rosy-tinged, stone-carved abs of the twins, half-hidden by towering, startlingly girthy uncut cocks. I slid my gaze up their powerful, peach-skinned forms, drinking in their viscerally magnetic aesthetic beauty and—yes, the fact that I, thought now built and even swole and sharing the same eight-foot stature as the other three, was still a notch less swole than my lovers.

I met the twins’ green eyes behind their glasses (so hot they almost always had their glasses on even when they were otherwise buck naked). I saw the usual mischief there—but also a hint of trepidation, like they were afraid I would reject them for their part in the latest and most extreme in a string of growth fiascos. Didn’t they know that was impossible?

I smiled at them, genuinely, full of lust and love. My dick was literally struggling against the thin fabric of the sweats, doing all it could to rip through. The twins smiled back at me, moving closer, the concern in their eyes slowly receding. Jay wrapped his sculpted arms around my darker, newly flaring torso from behind. The twins took up the caressing of my arms and shoulders.

“I love you guys,” I purred to my three men. I grinned. “Also, I need to fuck you guys.”

Jay kissed my neck below my ear. “Too bad we’re not really here.”

“Doofus,” added Jase as he kissed me on the mouth.

Jimmy placed his own kiss low on my cheek, his short blond beard nuzzling along my stubbly jaw. “Which means,” he supplied, “you’d better come back to the house soon so we can fuck properly.”

“For a week,” Jase said.

“They’re holding a meeting, anyway,” Jay put in. “You should be there. Say all the smart things.”

“And we can fuck after,” Jase promised, kissing me again.

“Or during,” Jimmy said, licking along my jaw toward my ear.

I closed my eyes, forcing down a flickering orgasm. When I opened them, I was alone in the woods, the only sounds the lapping of the creek and the rustling of the trees. I could still feel the warmth of my guys, though, and the affection of their touch and the desire in their kisses. My cock bucked, wanting what those visions promised.

Still I stood there for a long while, savoring the sensations and the memories. Finally I turned with a smile and sloshed out of the creek, heading back up the trail toward the house. As I went I left the echoes of Before-Zac behind me, vanished and forgotten.

They—Mike and Thad, I guess, and maybe Eddie and Bran as tenured residents from before I joined the party—decided to hold the meeting in the rumpus room down on the basement level, which surprised me a little. I figured that with ten guys, seven of whom were giants topping out at seven and a half to eight feet or more, and all-hands gathering would be of necessity held outside with the fireflies. But the rumpus room (and really, who had named it that?) was not only surprisingly large, taking up a good third of the footprint of the house, but weirdly high-ceilinged as well. Plus it had its own set of angled bulkhead doors providing direct access from the back yard, eliminating the need to wind through the house and bend sideways through door-frames not meant for extra-big dudes like us.

Like us. Not just like them, now. Stat-nerd Zac was one of the giants, and already it was hard to imagine being any other way.

So there we were, all sprawling in cushions or sitting cross-legged on the various pillows and blankets that had been strewn over the chartreuse shag rug, the furniture all pushed to the walls. We were arranged in little clumps, signifying our affection-groups. Most of us—the giants, anyway—were buck naked, big fat dicks just hanging out; I was one of the only grown dudes wearing any kind of clothing, though Mike and Thad, and the ungrown Quinn—a pipsqueak among us at 5’5”, though ridiculously defined—were clad in jeans and shirts like nothing strange had happened. That said, it sure looked like Thad’s clothes were a little small for him, like he was in an old milk commercial and he was just going through the time lapse that made him all tall and strong.

I was with my guys, of course, in the corner opposite the bulkhead doors. Jay was plopped happily in a big blue beanbag, me between his toned, almond-tanned legs; the twins were in front of me, Jase between my legs and leaning back against my chest, Jimmy leaning against both of us, which intriguingly sort of echoed our arrangement in my little vision in the stream. Jay was playing with my hair, running his fingers through it and enjoying the novelty of it being long and wild, which he’d never seen me let happen before. Jase had my big foot in his lap and was caressing the arch with pleasant broad strokes that weren’t triggering any ticklish reactions, though they were stimulating other thoughts. I had an arm draped over his chest and the other over Jimmy’s—I was still kind of fascinated by how big and rounded their pecs were, unlike the thick but square and kind of flat chest muscles that Jay, and I guess I, were sporting. It was like their huge, hairy pecs had been extruded outward from their chests for maximum depth of cleavage or to cast impossible shadows over their abs, then nicely rounded with a belt sander.

I looked around. Nearby Bran sat on the floor, Eddie wrapped up in his embrace. Eddie was huge in his own right, though still compact and concentrated even at his new size; but Bran was so massive that he kind of eclipsed Eddie, and his dark body hair over olive skin was almost as much of a contrast with Eddie’s peaches and cream as his relative size and bulk. He wasn’t that much taller, really, eight feet to Eddie’s seven and a half, but his proportions made him look like he, more than any of us, could rip the place apart if he wanted. A lot of that was the arms, which were disproportionate in length and thickness, as though someone had grabbed the corner nodes in some transmutation app and just yanked; but his shoulders had bulked and widened to an almost inhuman extent as well, and his neck and chest had thickened too, all to keep up with these arm-and-a-half-sized arms. It was heartwarming looking at them, too, because it looked for all the world like Bran and Eddie had gone in on a set of bigger arms for him just to make their snuggling even better. Bran’s face was buried in Eddie’s neck, and Eddie himself had his eyes closed as they both languidly stroked his huge, double-wide erection. It would be a wonder if they even remembered where they were or why they were there.

Beyond them were Benji and Quinn. Benji was bigger than all of us, and not just in height and bulk either. Quinn, who by staying ordinary-sized—or had he actually shrunk a little? I wasn’t sure—now looked comically small next to his guy, wasn’t sitting in Benji’s lap so much as on his left thigh, a little at an angle, and it was no mystery why as this gave him access to the enormous, precum-slicked pillar of a cock Benji had the rose of stiff and hard from his groin, looming over his heroically muscled torso to top out near his fucking neck. Quinn had his bare feet squeezing the base and was stroking the towering, slippery shaft with both hands. His own red-tinged hardon was thumping against his abs, mostly ignored, though it looked from the cum spattered on his ginger-dusted chest that he had already cum all over himself at least once. Benji, for his part, seemed overwhelmed with pleasure, as though he had abandoned all his anxieties about being so openly huge and sexual because it just felt so incredibly good.

Fuck, I was going to need to rip off these sweats pretty soon, probably literally, because there were just way too many hard-ons in this room for mine to be left out for much longer. I was too comfortable at the moment relaxing in the middle of a pile of muscle giants, but I knew that tipping point was coming when getting rid of the pants was going to be too urgent to put off any longer.

On the wall near the bulkhead doors was a bureau with an old-fashioned stereo and speakers, and to my surprise I saw that Mike was situating a vinyl LP on a turntable. Next to him, his surprise Viking lover, Stellan, sat on the rug, serene and naked, watching Mike work with a bemused smile. Mike lowered the needle and adjusted a few knobs, and a lush, only slightly crackly recording of Count Basie started drifting quietly through the room.

Beyond them was the remaining member of our crew, Mike’s kid brother, Thad, leaning against the wood-paneled wall near the open bulkhead. He was an interesting contrast to everyone else in the room in that he looked tall—not expanded like us giants but grown deliberately tall, with carefully sculpted muscles that would have turned every eye in any midwestern mall but which looked positively demure in this crowd. He was a little cuter than Mike, and somehow came across as more focused despite being a pot farmer.

I met his gaze and realized he’d been watching me size up everyone else. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he smiled, glad to be caught.

Thad stepped forward and clapped his hands, getting at least a portion of everyone’s attention. I felt the room move slightly on its axis, not unpleasantly, and Thad, now that he was in motion, seemed to be fluidly changing posture and stance, as though he were rotating randomly through alternate universe versions of this little get-together. Still buzzed, I thought, amused. Cool.

I wondered if there were alternate universes where Benji’s dick was even bigger. Or mine. Or—fuck, it would be so hot if the twins had bigger dicks than they knew what to do with. And came, like, bucketloads. That would be funny. And hot. Hot and funny. I snickered, drawing Thad’s glance. Jay tousled my overgrown, unruly hair, enjoying this stoned, giant version of me even more that he appreciated being stoned himself.

We needed to find a new way to mess with Jay, I realized. He got off on that so rotten. I’d have to steal a moment with the twins after this meeting and cook something up. Was this thing over yet?

“So, guys,” Thad said, addressing the whole assembly, while blues piano wrapped itself around them. Mike dropped to the shag carpet, sitting cross-legged next to his flaxen-haired Asgard-refugee of a boyfriend. “We all met before,” Thad continued calmly, “but if you don’t remember, I’m Thad, Mike’s kid bro from Colorado.” There were some light chuckles from somewhere in the group. Thad was clearly used to dealing with stoned guys possessing varying levels of self-awareness and/or short-term memory.

“So, as you have recently become aware,” Thad explained in measured tones, as if he were promoting his business at the local Rotary Club potluck, “I’m a cannabis cultivator specializing in certain specialized strains—strains the effects of which you have been introduced to.” He gestured around the group. Jimmy took this as an invitation to turn and give first me and then his twin brother big, sloppy kisses, causing my dick to remind me rather urgently of the unfairness of its constraints as it pulsed behind Jase’s back.

Thad bit his lip, his gaze roving around the group—evidently we weren’t the only ones to take Thad’s comment as a cue to pay tribute to our mutual transformations. After a moment, Thad reached down and adjusted what I now saw was a very impressive hardon. From the bulge it had to be twice the size of a normal dick in length and girth, though most of us were proportionately better hung by a considerable margin. As with everything about his body, Thad’s dick was scaled up, but prudently—just big enough to pass for normal. And that was an option we giants had passed several exits ago on this particular Autobahn.

Mirroring my thoughts, Thad said, “Usually the administration of my special strains is performed more gradually, and with a bit more… circumspection.” He aimed a pointed look at me and the twins, and I gave him a guilty smile while the twins beamed sunnily at him. There was a high-hat on the record just then, as if punctuating Thad’s look, and a few of the others snickered.

“And while I’m sure you enjoy your current, um, dimensions,” Thad continued, “there are some practical considerations in the real world that suggest a need to—”

“You want to undo all of this?” Eddie broke in, just catching the drift of what Thad was saying. He looked taken aback, and more than a little mutinous. Stellan, Mike’s boyfriend, looked over at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Shh, babe, let him talk,” Bran said, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck.

“—dial things back,” Thad finished finally, the three stressed syllables adding a little extra impact to his statement.

He looked around the group, gauging our reactions.

I stared blankly up at Thad, still idly stroking the twins’ pecs, but inside my brain froze, my eyes probably turning to spinning beach balls. I was completely seized up by two perfectly balanced and completely incompatible notions, and my normally rational, currently slightly impaired brain couldn’t make sense of how to resolve them.

Both impulses were very simple and completely at loggerheads.

On the one hand… I was suddenly struck by that phrase Thad had used, “in the real world.” We were in this wonderful little bubble of stoned, randy muscle giants, but there was this town of actual normal folk not far away, and—well, I’d already seen at the pizza shop the pandemonium and increasing levels of local and social media circus caused by Bran and Eddie being just one or two levels up from ordinary size. And that was yesterday. Today, Bran wasn’t a 6’7” hairy hunk—he was a 7’11” muscle Goliath. The town would go nuts. Not just the town—within hours it would be the county, the state, the whole fucking planet. Aliens, too, probably.

And that was just the summer interim we were all idling away in. School would start in the fall, and picturing Giant Bran sitting in a student desk taking notes in a lecture, while everybody stared at him and his exposed hairy muscles and bent, adamantine hardon (because my imagination refused to put clothes on him), was beyond a joke. (Though picturing the little grandfatherly professor at the front of the lecture hall, steamed that no one was listening to him because they were all fixated on Bran, was pretty funny.) And—

Shit. I very belatedly remembered that I was a student, too, with long-term plans in criminal justice that would be slightly more difficult to achieve being 33% larger and infinitely hornier than all of my more mundane, un-weed-adulterated classmates.

And yet… I couldn’t picture going back. I just couldn’t. This was me. This was us now. The four of us, we were together. Us together, giants together. I knew intuitively, without even questioning it, that none of us wanted anything other than what we were now.

So… yeah. Two incompatible visions of my own ideal state. It was like I was Sparta and Athens both, and I really hoped I wouldn’t have to end up going to war for thirty years, with myself, and, you know, attacking Sicily and killing Socrates and selling out to the Persians for a navy and all, because that would just be really messy and, frankly, pretty futile in the end.

I looked around at the others. Mike had his head in his hands, abdicating everything to his brother. Stellan, next to him, was watching Thad with a serious expression, ready to move forward. That was no surprise, as I’d already heard him talking about how he couldn’t fit in his taxi cab anymore. Eddie looked upset, and Bran was holding him, giving all his attention to his partner and none, it seemed to Thad—though I already knew better than to underestimate what Bran was aware of. He just really loved Eddie and went with everything that came with that.

Benji seemed anxious. I already knew he’d been thinking about the real world consequences of all this from the morning after that bout with the blond brownies, when he’d disappeared from the loft. His redheaded boyfriend was looking between Benji and Thad, trying to second-guess the best solution for them—perhaps one that, if possible, might still leave him access to a stroking, as he was now, raging, chest-high pre-spitting cock that was way more than a two-hander.

Thad was nodding, as if our reactions were pretty much what he expected. He must have known how addicting size enhancements were, and how difficult it was to scale them back. It struck me for the first time that Thad might even know what we were going through from personal experience. Had he made himself big, testing the limits of his creations, and then had to claw himself back to reasonably normal in an exhibition of steely self-determination? Now that the thought had occurred to me I was strangely certain that was exactly what happened. Even in the midst of my very distracting man-pile I focused my attention on him, waiting for what he would say next.

“Now,” Thad said, “we do have some strains here that, in the right combinations, and based on exactly what you’ve taken to date, should, let’s say, de-escalate things enough for you to appear in public.” I frowned slightly—he sounded like he was holding something back when he said that. Was he not sure what the effects would be or how predictably they would progress?—or… maybe there were side-effects, apart from the whole “de-escalation”…

As I was pondering this, the young weed wizard continued. “Before I roll that solution out to everyone,” he said, “I would like to do a trial run with just one of you to make sure it works as expected.”

“I’ll do it,” Stellan said instantly.

Thad turned to him, shaking his head once. “You’re the one with the most specific size needs, and the most immediate time constraints since you need to get back to your job sooner than the others need to get back to school,” Thad told him. “The solution needs to be fine-tuned and predictable before we give it to you.” Stellan nodded reluctantly.

Quinn seemed about to volunteer next, but Thad spoke first, before he could say anything. “I need one of the big guys,” he said, turning to share a look with each of us. “Someone willing to give this a go and show the rest of you how it’s done.”

The room was silent. The record must have ended at some point, and someone, Mike or Stellan, had switched off the stereo rather than turn it over. It was just the ten of us in the basement room. Even our breathing seemed muted.

Thad looked around the group, all of us conflicted and reluctant. Eddie looked like he might be about to make the “You don’t just walk into Mordor” speech, but I knew Thad was right. My stats brain had already been computing the odds and the scenarios for the last few minutes, and had already arrived at the obvious outcome.

A voice broke the silence at last. “I’ll do it,” I heard myself say.

The countless stars saturated the inky sky like a record of every bad idea humanity had ever had. I smiled wryly up at them from my simple throne, a heavy, red-stained Adirondack chair dragged up by some recent ancestor to the long, narrow widow’s walk mini-balcony on the southern gabled end of the rambling gray-and-blue Loukanis manse, wondering if my fractured idea to slowly buff up and lightly stonerize my two favorite employees was up there, tauntingly twinkling away at me. It was reassuring, at least, that it was one amidst a myriad, as numberless as the atoms of the earth, as deep and layered as the story of time. The stars gently moved and swirled, not individually but together, as though giant hands were moving them in slow swaths and curves like the broad, choreographed gestures of a dancer in some grand, hours-long modern-style performance, and I watched in awe, fascinated and pleased. All the while my mind turned in some kind of echoing emulation, the reverse of the sky’s performance under the surface of some wide, still lake below.

It was one of my favorite places to lie back and smoke my stash of un-special weed, the kind that altered your mind but not your body. Not that there weren’t plenty of nooks and corners in the place perfect for tucking yourself away and having a toke in this old place. Some features-writer spinning fluff about my Dad for the local paper’s Eats and Leisure section, back when there’d been such a thing as a local paper in these parts needing to fill umpteen inches a day with random banalities to justify the display advertising below it, had called it “the house a million pizzas built”. Kinda true, kinda not. Half a century of selling the most reliably tasty pizza in a town brimming with hungry college folks and loyal-to-a-fault locals had stacked quite up a lot of cash, but the house itself was actually built and grown with the same family money that had seeded Thad’s experimental pot business and ensured I didn’t have to be too anxious about any blips in the restaurant’s bottom line. Not that that was much of a worry lately, with lines around the block to drink in the hypnotically sexy studs behind the counter.

The house and I had a funny kind of relationship. My first couple of years here I kind of liked the way it was all big empty rooms and old unused furniture—it went with this sort of wistful vibe I often had when I smoked, like the universe was a quiet, lonely place and I was in touch with that, and that was cool. Then, I don’t know, something changed. I hired Eddie, and gradually his boundless energy and zeal infected me, though I had no idea what to do with it. I hung back, watching, smiling, wondering about other versions of me that might exist if I let them. Then he and Brandon met, and Eddie blossomed so vividly, and Brandon responded so naturally and completely, that my own life of floating detachment and serene isolation seemed like a strange mistake. It was like I’d misread the instructions on how to be human and had been eating unpeeled bananas and wearing my underwear on my head this whole time.

Now the house that used to be empty was instead packed full of eight-foot-tall hormone-factory muscle gods hot enough to make a dead man spring wood. It was like I’d been colonized by a contingent from Planet Hugenhorny. Bran had smirkingly started calling it Hunk House even before the Fourth of July incident that had made everybody explode with size in a literal orgy of growth, so that “Hunk” hardly seemed to cover it.

What intrigued me was that the two exceptions to that growth were as remarkable as the growth itself. One was Quinn, but his smaller size was clearly his transformation just as much as ending up three feet taller was Benji’s—it was all about their dynamic and their lust together. There was a clue there, that desire and fantasy was maybe as much a part of what drove the changes as the chemical composition of the dozens of different specialized varieties of pot Thad had devised, categorized, and bagged according to that special, meticulous coding system Zac and the twins had thought they’d mastered but hadn’t. I’d wanted to talk to Thad about this, but from his interactions with Quinn at the meeting and various other hints I was sure he was already following this line of thought—assuming he hadn’t been aware of desire/fantasy/imagination as a component and factor of the change from the beginning.

It was the other exception I was having trouble making sense of, emotionally and rationally both.

I took a long draw from my joint, creating a momentary flare of color in my gray and black nighttime world. I held the smoke in without conscious thought, watching the infinite stars waft carelessly overhead in the celestial expanse, far removed from human concerns yet always watching them, unable to look away. I was achingly hard, like we all were in the house these days, and my stiff bulge twitched along the crease of my hip in the loose gray sweats I was wearing. That felt normal, of course, and so did the lack of a shirt in the way as I scratched my hairy chest. I was fully conditioned to life in Hunk House. And yet… my body’s stubborn aloofness to my housemates’ growth and sexual expansion, gradual at first and then increasingly extreme, made me feel awkwardly excluded and shunted aside. I was the unwitting orchestrator of this mess, at least in inception and the contextualization of the changes induced by others as the whole thing snowballed and then avalanched, and yet here I was, alone on the beach in a hat and sunglasses and covered in SPF kajillion, while my bevy of happy, cum-filled muscle gods frolicked in the frothy, sun-sparkled, spunk-sprayed surf.

I snorted a laugh, letting the smoke out as I did so. My big house was no longer empty, and I had even accidentally stumbled into a relationship, sheer galloping Eddie-and-Bran-induced horniness having driven me to overcome my love-shyness and seek out the one guy I’d always been softest on. So me ending up feeling isolated and apart after all was… pretty ironic. And probably demonstration of a different kind of stubbornness.

I took another long toke and held it in, my eyes lighting on a red-seeming star rolling with its yellow-white mates in their secret, curling path through the firmament. I was pretty sure I was looking at this the wrong way. I was in the heart of this, not on the outside, like that red star was in the middle of all its gang, different but not separate. So what had made me into the red, normalizing sun of Krypton instead of the yellow, growth-happy sun of Earth?

Was unconscious intent a part of it, like I was guessing it was for Quinn? Was I not into buffing up and getting a junk upgrade on top of it? That didn’t ring true for me, I decided, letting the smoke stream out through my nose, sifting into a warm, faint midnight breeze languishing lazily around the attic dormers. I liked muscle growth—that was plain enough from the fact that I’d started Eddie and Bran on this journey in the first place. Long before that I’d spent plenty of time attentively watching friends tacitly bulking up in my bustling high school, a place where in my day fitness and at least a bit of muscle were so commonplace as to be almost socially mandatory. And it wasn’t just about seeing it on others. Pot made me feel a need to be unfailingly honest with myself, and there was no hiding the fact that my admiration of Eddie and Bran’s impressive early gains, and then the twins’ and Jay’s and Zac’s and the others’, had been liberally tinged with envy—leading to more than a few hour-long jerk-off sessions, one or two in this very aerie where images of my unnaturally and alluringly large housemates had shaded into sinuous and sensuous visions of myself just as magnificently hunked up and amp-on-11 hung. I’d cum pretty hard at the end of those sessions especially, and… well, self-bukkake-ing over fantasies of your own augmented bod probably ruled out personal indifference to the effects of growth-cannabis.

My dick squeezed and jumped, remembering, and I took another toke, happy to let my own horniness build up as usual until I couldn’t help but grasp my dick and stroke it to long, lingering release.

Another obvious possibility was some kind of natural immunity to the transformation factors Thad had bred into the special varieties of pot he’d provided. That might have seemed the likeliest answer from a rational standpoint. Something about the way Thad had underlined my exemption from the growth made it seem like the answer wasn’t quit that banal. For one thing, there were dozens of different strains, all of them with complex variations on the kinds and potencies of effects they produced—and none of them had had an effect on me. I hadn’t gained an ounce of muscle, a millimeter of cock, or a scintilla of height, and my increase in randiness was clearly down to being surrounded by impossible hot and insatiably horny guys all the time, at work and at home. A block somewhere in the pot itself, excluding me? I huffed, letting out my smoke in a gust. This was horticulture—these strains had been bred and refined. Did Thad whisper in the plants’ ears? “Grow everyone except Mike?”

I shook my head at the stars, bemused. If it wasn’t fantasy, and it wasn’t personal immunity or chemical exclusion…?

A head poked sideways out of the narrow floor-to-ceiling window that connected the darkened attic to the widow’s walk, followed by a set of extremely broad and bulging shoulders. Platinum hair, buzzed short that evening and already growing out again, seemed to catch the faint starlight as if that were its purpose. “Here you are,” Jay said, smiling wide at me, and my dick reacted instantly, straining hard against my sweats.

I ignored it. “Hey,” I said, smiling back. I figured I had probably lost track of time; all I knew was that it was sometime in the dead of night. “What are you guys up to?”

Jay wiggled his white-blond eyebrows, and I laughed. “Got room for one more out here?” he asked.

“If you can make it through that window,” I said.

Jay liked a challenge. He had to it at an angle, and there was a moment where the thickness of his pecs seemed likely to defeat the endeavor, but he did manage to squeeze himself through the narrow aperture and was soon looming over me, a massive, naked shadow against the deeper blackness of the moonless night, the contours and recesses of his sculpted, oversized muscles almost subliminally perceptible. I could see his smile as he enjoyed his success. “Nicely done,” I said.

“We’re all getting the hang of being big,” he said easily. He reached out and gripped the banistered parapet lining the widow’s walk, testing its fortitude, and deciding it was strong enough to bear his weight he turned and leaned against it. The position threw his body and his huge, flaccid cock in profile, though he kept his face aimed at me. He folded his brawny arms over his chest and added, “It kind of comes naturally, almost?”

“Hm,” I said neutrally. I thought of saying something the might help explain this—Jay was an athlete, for one thing, and hadn’t been tiny before all this—but I just let it lay and drew in a puff from my joint.

Jay watched the spark flare and die. Wordlessly I held it out to him, offering him a toke, but he shook his head. I nodded, pinching the joint and tucking it away. “The no-smoking thing is pretty ingrained by now,” he explained.

His voice was deeper, I noticed. I’d picked up on Brandon’s getting lower before, and some of the others—Stellan’s had gone totally basso, which would have gotten me hard just to think about if I hadn’t been pre-spittingly-hard already. Jay’s seemed to have gotten lower over the course of the cookout and its aftermath. I wondered if his three boyfriends had noticed.

We co-existed for a while, Jay seeming to enjoy the warm breeze and the night sounds of the country and, more dimly, the forest beyond. I tilted my head to look up at the sky, checking to see if the stars were still slowly churning. Or maybe it was out perspective turning and melding under them, the kaleidoscope of existence.

“Your brother,” Jay said after a while. “He’s a good guy, right? I mean, I don’t know him, is all.”

I let out my smoke slowly and didn’t answer right away. “Zac’s going to be fine,” I said eventually.

“I know,” Jay said immediately.

“Aren’t you worried about football?” I asked. I’d been curious about this for a while, and figured I might as well ask. I was dealing with some latent guilt, I realized, for my part—indirect thought it was—in jeopardizing everyone’s lives and plans. Stellan’s job required him to be able to fit in a car, for one thing, and he was my boyfriend, so that was the big one. But Jay was now too pig to fit into shoulder pads and football jerseys, and from what I’d heard his identity was all bound up with his being the star player on the team—the Platinum Bullet, they called him.

“Huh?” Jay said, not seeing what I was asking about.

“I mean, if you can’t play—”

“Dude,” he broke in, “that’s ages from now. We’ll deal with it then. But honestly,” he added, unfolding his arms to tap himself on the breastbone in the deep cleavage between his massive pecs, “being like this is so awesome, we can’t even worry about anything. I have never felt this good—and this from a guy who’s felt the euphoria of winning football games and having crowds cheer for me. That doesn’t even compare to what it feels like to cum and cum and cum with my guys. And—” He gestured toward the window and the house beyond. “These guys. We were in love before, Mike, but now? With Zac and the twins? It’s like I didn’t know what it meant to be connected to someone. Someones,” he corrected himself with a grin.

“Yeah?” I said, intrigued.

“Yeah! Sometimes it’s almost like we’re, I dunno, overlapping,” Jay confirmed, excited. He looked up at the stars, trying to figure out how to explain it to me. “Like, we’re sharing and multiplying all our feelings, all our pleasure, like it’s this sweet echo chamber we’re all in. You know? Like everything we’re feeling is rushing through all of us, like a river, or—” He turned back to me, grinning suddenly, and added, “Like a river of cum!”, like he had to beat me to saying it.

I laughed. “I believe it,” I said. “I’ve seen how much jizz you guys make.”

“Duuude,” Jay said appreciatively. “So. much. cum.” His big dick was thickening rapidly in jumps and jerks, and he stared back in through the window he’d just come through. Was he thinking about sex with his guys, or was he feeling them, that connected, mutual lust between the four of them? I remembered the meeting, the guys grouped together. Those four, Eddie and Bran, Benji and Quinn. Somewhere under the vast, encompassing mellow of my high I felt an unruly flicker of jealousy—I hadn’t had that connection with Stellan yet.

Jay straightened abruptly. His dick was mostly hard now, protruding straight out on front of him. “Hey, um,” he began, jerking his thumb back toward the inside.

“Go,” I said. Jay grinned, and, a moment later, he had squeezed through the window (with the extra complication of getting his dick through it causing only momentary delay) and was gone.

Ideas prickled in the back of my head, and I knew while I was baking to let them be and they’d take root on their own. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, drifting slowly into a universe of midnight blue that seemed to be the exact color being hard, relaxed, and utterly content.

I never thought of myself as small before. I mean, I was 5-foot-10, which if anything is a hair above average, and I’d been naturally fit even before I started killing myself at the gym for the cut, defined look that always makes guys’ eyes light up when I take off my work shirt and they see what I’ve got. Everyone in my family was smaller than I was. My dad’s tiny, shorter than my mom. All my cousins are skinny dudes topping out at 5’8”, tops, and my long-term boyfriends all ended up being just that little bit shorter than me, too. If anything I had the size thing going the other way.

I’d thought about it, before, what it would be like. My low-key celeb crushes drifted toward handsome, muscley guys who were solidly in the “fuck, you’re tall” range—Armie Hammer, the Hemsworths, Momoa, Dolph, the usual suspects. I’d imagined what it would be like, just for fun, being the smaller guy. The owner’s grandsons were extra tall, and that had stirred something in me, though they were too stocky to be my type. Then the twins came in and busted my fantasies wide open, these towering, happy mischief-nerds with glasses and grins and muscles as swole and sculpted as any gay guy’s fantasy, and I was hooked. That encounter unlocked a craving I hadn’t known I had.

And now… now I was inside a fantasy so impossible that, in this moment, I seriously could not imagine any kind of reality even existing outside this house we were all sharing. Everything was just this, this space, this version of us.

See, this guy I had fallen for, instantly and completely—and I don’t even know how that works—he wasn’t just tall. He wasn’t just bigger than me. It was totally different scales, like I was centimeters and he was yards, or miles. This was like, if you were to make a movie of my life (or more likely Benji’s, a biopic about the college days of the biggest and hunkiest Supreme Court justice in history or whatever he ends up doing), you’d have to do that weird perspective shooting thing like Peter Jackson did with Frodo and Gandalf on opposite ends of the room just to have the actor playing me and the guy playing Benji in the same scene together. It was like that.

I knew the weed cocktail had made me something like five inches shorter. They’d measured everyone with that app, height, weight, dick size, everything. That should have been a big deal, losing half a foot almost in height, but honestly apart from the trendy chino shorts I’d worn to the barbecue being a little less like shorts than they’d been, it… didn’t even really register with me. On the other side of the ledger, I’d also ended up a little more buff after the cookout-slash-transformation-orgy, kind of like I’d been accidentally routed the effects of someone else’s six months of working out, someone whose muscles responded with expansion instead of firming like mine normally did. Those two things together, the height drop and the buffness upgrade, honestly felt like a wash. I was solidly in twunk territory, which works surprisingly well for defined, pale ginger types with a twinkle in the eye and an eager, red-lipped, cocksucking mouth. I was good with how I looked, and Benji was… well, he was hungry for me like I was now.

So, yeah. Even though I was smaller, I didn’t feel smaller—but I sure as fuck felt small.

Have you ever heard that expression, that someone was “towering over” them? Yeah, no. You don’t know what that means until you are looking up at a giant, massive, muscle-carved boyfriend who is three full feet taller than you.

I stood in front of him, looking up. He started down at me, still not used to being so huge, though since the cookout and all the activities that followed his self-consciousness had been melting away faster than a glacier under an ozone hole. Maybe it helped that most of the guys were eight feet or more now, so he wasn’t so singularly huge, but I think it was mostly that he could see and feel my love and all-consuming lust for him—for us, together, like this.

We were in the kitchen, and thanks to its providentially high ten-foot ceilings we could both stand there and just drink each other in. It was late. Ben had come down seeking food, and I’d followed him, not wanting to let him out of my sight, so I’d padded after him with my straight-ahead hard, uncut dick leading the way. I was long past being embarrassed at pandering to my insatiable dick and tirelessly productive balls. And now we just stood there, midnight snack run forgotten, nothing but us, naked and hard, our mutual need mixing and thrumming within us.

He hadn’t turned any lights on, and neither had I, so it was just a single soft globe light over the breakfast nook behind him giving us the barest amount of light. The effect was remarkable, the impressive contours and bulges of his modestly hairy, inhumanly built frame emphasized and exaggerated by dark, deep shadows like a graphic-novel artist using all his thickest pens and going all out for moody, masculine, and utterly irresistible. The lighting also emphasized the way he looked massive but also extra-tall, with the proportions of a fashion sketch, or one of those crazy-tall manga guys, but from the swole-heavyweight division. Everything about him went up and up and up—his legs alone were, like, most of my body. It was like they’d taken the muscle-grown version of Benji and scaled him out to a big, heavy, seven-and-a-half-foot giant, then dragged up a little more until he was starting to push plausible humanity. It was only when you focused on individual components of his freakish physique—his serene, boulder pecs, his crazy-thick upper arms, his chiseled ten-pack, his tree-trunk quads, his literally perfectly round ass-cheeks bigger than my head—that you understood just how densely ginormous he had become.

Yet when he moved, like when he’d stalked silently down here from our room like a well-practiced predator, or even now just shifting his weight or tilting his head on that long, thick neck to stare down at me, every motion was fluid. His new bulk and size had somehow made him more loose-limbed and graceful, not less, like he could dance the most heartbreaking (and most hung) rendition of Swan Lake you could imagine right now, out there on the lawn under the stars. I wanted to see him do anything that required elasticity and range of motion—tai chi, hot salsa, ashtanga yoga, autofellatio. I wanted to climb him, explore him, feel his strength and responsiveness as he moved around me. I wanted him to wrap me up in himself, arms and legs and body enfolding me in raw, unending, feverish bliss.

I wanted that. I wanted him to touch me and caress me, always, constantly. Benji was naturally tactile and snuggly—I knew that at some deep level without knowing how I knew it. But he’d been holding back, not used to being so huge, not quite believing how much I was into it. I could almost imagine getting even smaller, and Benji even bigger, just so my legs would be too short to walk with him, and he’d have to carry me… maybe even perch me behind his dick, and I could just lean against his hard body and hold his hard cock to me 24/7.

My dick flexed hard, and my heart tripped a beat. That would be crazy hot, and… fuck, it could actually happen, with only a little more height difference…

Brushing the thought away I stared up at him, and the moment lengthened so that I was aware of little more about myself than my breathing, deep and steady, and heartbeat, loud and pounding like a monster’s fists on a cathedral door. My lust clenched and yearned but remained patient. I could not get enough of this perspective. His handsome face, framed by his long, lush dirty-blond mane of what his old roommate Jay liked to call his “Tarzan hair,” was on the other size of the perfect, ponderous curves of his fuzzy pecs, their mass several inches over my head and projecting out from his chest far enough I joked to myself they only needed a few more bumps upward in size before I could use them to shelter from the rain. Certainly their vertical position was exactly right to serve as a useful overhang, like the awning of a sweets shop or a delicious-smelling bakery, inviting you in, offering you safety and comfort. I could reach up and grab them, feel their mass and concentrated heft, gauge his instant reaction to the brushing of thumbs against the long, stiff protuberances of his down-pointing nipples.

Even more tempting was what was literally in my face—his impossible, perfectly vertical steel girder of a cock, shoving straight up toward the sky like a redwood and almost the size of one. Given our new relative heights looking straight ahead should have had me gazing into his taut little navel, but the sight of that endearing feature of my soulmate’s anatomy was completely and permanently obscured by a cock that was literally as big as my arm—admittedly the limb in question wasn’t exactly bodybuilder thick, but still. Its rigid, exactly vertical, slightly-wider-than-it-was-thick massiveness was hard, heavy, and immutable, like the hairy, fist-sized balls pulled close and heavy below an undeniable, unignorable fact of the universe. His hot, inhuman cock and balls called to me, sang to my blood, and I felt their heat, breathed their musk, savored their power and greed for pleasure. In the dramatic near-dark I couldn’t see the red tinge of his prick, the little lines of blue and red, the thin protruding vein that slid up and around the undersize, but I knew them. I knew all the contours of this cock and these balls already like I’d been studying them for years: the wide, constantly wet and leaky flatness of the head with the broad part under the glans, the line marking his circumcision, the little mole like a beauty mark near where his taut scrotum met his shaft on the left-hand side, the subtle, almost unnoticeable flare that gently widened his girth a little past half-way up its incredible length, the way it topped out at exactly the right length to notch into the base of his pec-cleavage if he was standing up, and to fuck those check-cheeks hard and slick if he bent over even a little bit.

My hands itched. Hell, my whole body wanted at it. Even my virgin ass was pleading with me: Please, I want to try, let me try…

A sudden flash of feverish desire shuddered through me. I jerked my eyes up to meet his, panting silently. I had to taste him—had to, urgently, starting with his tongue and working my way down.

I swallowed and whispered, “Kiss me. Please.”

He started to kneel, almost an automatic response to our height difference, but I shook my head and he stilled, remaining as he was, tall, and looming. For just a second his brows drew together, a shade darker than his hair at least in this light; and then he smiled, a little crookedly, like he was still self-conscious about his ability to do things he couldn’t before—that no one could do before. He reached down, pushing his pre-slicked cockhead just slightly into his cleavage, and carefully wrapped his extra-large, long-fingered hands around my bare, strangely sensitive flanks, the contrast between his honeyed skin and my pale, paper-white torso intensified by the abnormal lighting of our post-midnight scene. As his grip settled and firmed I shivered again and almost came.

He lifted me, effortlessly. I tore my gaze away from his face long enough to watch his biceps shifting in the two-toned, hard-shadowed half-light, and it was obvious that they weren’t straining even a little, only gliding from extended to a divided peak the way they would if you were doing curls without any weight on the bar at all. It was a beautiful etude, a brief concerto of muscular movement and harmony, and my pulse quickened at the thought that this was just one detail of a fluid, incredibly potent masterpiece of a man. Then the lifting was done, and he was holding me directly in front of his face, and our eyes locked, dark with lust. I felt his megacock shift infinitesimally and thrilled at his desire for me.

As Benji held me up with so little expenditure of effort I was sure he could do it literally forever, I took him in hungrily, his face filling my vision. He was crazy handsome, not all sharp-planed and impersonal like a movie star so much as like the good-looking puppy-hearted guy that steals your heart with a smile and who you just can’t stop staring at. After the big sexy hose-down at the end of the cookout there had been a general impetus to grooming, starting with Jay finding some clippers and brutally buzzing his long, silky platinum hair off to get it out of the way. (I’d given Benji a very serious don’t-you-dare look that had made him grin sheepishly in response.) Then the twins found their razors and a can of Barbasol and started shaving each other, and that became a thing. I’d done my part and meticulously shaved off the messy, almost full blond-brown beard Benji had accumulated in the previous day or two of transformation, and he’d done me, too, which was a lot quicker—gingers with rusty red beards like mine tend to get even more razzing if they grow. them out, usually with reference to Kris Kringle or Conan or Ed Sheeran or whatever. As a consequence I tend to keep my chin clean, and unlike the Cannabis Contingent my hair all grows at the normal rate for homo sapiens, meaning I had only had a bit of weekend stubble, too short to have gotten very carroty yet, for Benji to remove. The point is, at this point Benji should have been just as smooth as I was, but already in the handful of hours since I’d shaved him he’d developed a fresh coat of soft, inviting bristles over the lower part of his face, like his body was dramatically more efficient and more productive of everything than it had been.

So hot.

This close it was so obvious that Benji hadn’t just gotten taller. He was bigger. His face was a size or three larger than mine, and then some thought nudged me that I was a little smaller than I’d been—and all at once all I could think about was the difference in size between our mouths, and how I needed to experience that again right the fuck now. I reached out and caressed his soft-bearded cheek. “Please,” I said, barely voicing the word.

He smiled wide and brought our mouths together, and the moment our lips met I was moaning. My hand pushed back and I shoved my fingers into his lush hair, sliding them over his scalp, and my straight-ahead pointer of a dick stabbed against the middle of his massive 20-inch shaft before deflecting reluctantly to one side as Benji shifted his hold to press me close along my back and ass as we opened for each other, the disparity in our mouths thrilling me. I tentatively reached my tongue for his, and they touched, both of us feeling how much more massive his was than mine. We moaned into the kiss together, and our cocks bucked, his smearing what felt like pints of precum over my bare, swimmer’s chest.

He hugged me even closer, mashing his pecs and cock into me as our kiss deepened, and I slid my other hand around his long, wide neck and under his cascading hair, feeling that somehow incredibly warm and masculine place at the nape of his neck, like it was an emanation point for his raw manliness. We kissed harder, like we were trying to meld together, and I felt like I was on fire, like we were both burning off our separate identities in the incandescent passion we were sharing. He shifted again, wanting to bring me even closer, and I responded in kind, hoisting my dangling legs and wrapping them tightly around his narrow waist. His cock was squeezed between us, almost making it a threesome, and somewhere in the back of my brain I was imagining… pretending… that that mighty tree-trunk of a shaft was only a few inches forward, inside me, filling me, reaming me, not only spoiling me for any other cock but for any other condition except having it in me. I melted completely into our shared, mutual, bonfire of pleasure, letting fantasy blur with reality as we strive with our entire souls to give each other everything.

Somehow a perfect moment came, and we found it—utter, complete, carnal joy, shared, uncomplicated, and completely all-encompassing, and we were cumming hard before I was even really aware of it. We gasped into our kiss, his huge tongue still filling my small mouth as we panted around it, gripping each other hard as we climaxed, shooting plume after hot plume of cum between us. My chest and neck and jaw were soaked, and his too, and the high-pressure spray of his cock was still shooting, ropes of cum splattering across our faces as we kissed and panted and laughed.

Eventually our orgasms died down, his lasting a lot longer than mine, and we kissed lazily now, still open-mouthed as our breathing settled and our hearts pounded. Finally he pulled back, and when our eyes met I saw a kind of clarity I hadn’t seen before.

He was still breathing a little heavily, but he licked his lips like someone with something to say—smiling when his long tongue found cum on his lips and in his nascent moustache and beard. I smiled back, reveling at the taste of cum. I’d have to suck this cock later and get the full dosage. Maybe not so much later.

He held my gaze. “I don’t want to give this up,” he said softly.

We were all thinking about Thad and Zac and the first “roll-back” trials they’d be starting tomorrow morning. It was an important thing for Benji to say—he was finally used to his new size, and part of that was because he was content with how he’d connected with me. It was kind of exciting, imagining Benji and me, him still eight and a half feet with big muscles and a giant cock, me still five and half, while all the others had gone back to more reasonable sizes. I’d have fun dressing him, thanks to my sartorial expertise, and he’d put up with it, bemused and letting me play, and we’d just live our lives. Benji had not only accepted his size but was willing to contemplate being the only giant in town, as long as I was right there with him. It was sexy, but it also moved me, because it wasn’t all about the big-guy/little-guy thing between us—it was just us, Quinn and Benji, two guys who had become connected and beautifully inseparable in a way neither of us had ever expected to find.

I smiled, letting him know I agreed. Before I could say anything, he added, “But I need you to know… whatever changes, Q, I want this. I want us.”

He watched me, still holding onto a lingering uncertainty despite everything. I grinned at him, squeezing the back of his neck as I slid the backs of my fingers along his cheek. “Babe,” I said, feeling a happy little frisson of pleasure at getting to call this giant man half again as big as me “babe”, “there is literally nothing in the universe I want but you and me.”

He laughed, and we kissed, our cum-slippery bodies rolling against his hot, still-hard cock between us.

I gave up trying to sleep somewhere around two or three, so when Thad came for me I was sitting in one of those big old-fashioned armchairs this house seemed to have an overabundance of, watching the twins snoring loudly curled up together on the now-doubled-up bed the four of us shared. (Mike had gotten some extra king-size mattresses in two days before the cookout, while we were still just extra-large guys and not the titans we were now, so now we had two kings—still a bit small for four eight-foot-plus muscle studs.) I looked up and saw him silhouetted in the dim light, and when he saw me look up he beckoned to me.

I got to my feet and soundlessly crept out into the hall to meet him, not that I had to worry much about waking Jimmy and Jase—they slept like logs, if logs are addicted to snuggling tight and wrapping all the branches around you while snoring like the braying of angry donkeys. I stood over him, unself-consciously naked, listening to the twins snoozing on one side and Eddie and Bran talking quietly behind the door of their room on the other side, and looked our mad botanist over. He was wearing an old pair of jeans shorts that looked just slightly too small, and I remembered him remarking that he’d grown a couple inches when he got here just from the effect of the pot. That had seemed strange to me, and now that I was a little more clear-headed, the day’s intense sex-and-cannabis haze having finally diminished, I knew why: Thad had acted like it was second-hand pot smoke that had given him his contact boost—but all the super-extreme cannabis-driven growth had been accomplished through edibles. So how had Thad grown at all—unless it wasn’t just the cannabis that was causing our transformations?

There was almost no light in the hallway, but I had pretty good night vision and I could tell he was giving me a knowing look, like he was expecting me to have started piecing things together. Maybe my reputation had preceded me—that, and being the volunteer guinea pig would have kicked the focus of my ratiocination up an order of magnitude or too.

I kept all this to myself and looked down at him blankly. “What’s up?” I asked quietly. “I thought we were doing the first attempt in the morning.”

Thad shrugged. “It’ll be easier without spectators.”

I hummed, and indicated for the smaller man to lead the way. We walked in silence around to the other side of the house, and when we got to our destination my stomach flickered as I realized what room we were entering—the room with all of the massive amounts of specialized growth-weed Thad had sent his big brother, all of it bagged, labeled, and organized into various deep dresser drawers. I remembered my cockiness in thinking I had decrypted all of the codes and how sure I was I knew exactly what I was doing, only for it all to explode in a comically spectacular way.

The center of the room was cleared, a huge, comfortable-looking Persian rug occupying most of the center of the room. A table lamp on a side-table was on, casting a warm, low-wattage glow over the room that left many shadows in place, undisturbed. One of the windows at the far end of the chamber was half-open, letting in the night sounds and a gentle summer breeze. Thad gestured for me to take a seat, so I sat my bare ass down on the springy carpet, folding my legs to sit comfortably. Thad pulled something out of his pocket and did likewise. I looked at what he was holding and my eyebrows climbed my forehead in interest. He had two items: a small plastic sandwich bag containing three very long, fat joints, and a cheap, orange-yellow lighter.

Thad was watching me closely. “They tell me you’re the smart one,” he said.

That annoyed me, on behalf of the whole group but my three partners especially. All of us were smart. The twins were probably cleverer than I was, though their inclination to mischief and a still-immature hedonism got in the way. And I’d often thought that the ways Jay was smart were a lot more important, and useful, than my own obsessive stat-crunching and the random connections I derived from it. But this conversation was not about me standing up for my lovers and friends, it was about setting the stage for the magic act Thad was about to perform, with me as both audience participant and lovely assistant all rolled into one. “Smart enough to know that there’s a mental component to this growth that we’ve all been ignoring,” I said bluntly. “It’s not just a chemical effect. It’s more than that.”

“Mental?” Thad repeated, not challenging so much prodding me to go further, like Doc Ock nudging Peter in the original second Spider-Man movie.

“Emotional,” I said. As he watched me I added slowly, “Parasensual.”

He nodded minutely. “The principle I discovered in my early research—a principle that is, or was, very poorly understood in the field I work in—is essentially that certain varieties of cannabis stimulate and unlock a unique part of the brain,” he said. “One that connects our emotions to the emotions of others.”

He removed the three joints from the baggie, and I saw that they were slightly different in hue—one white, one off-white, one sepia, like a brown egg. I hadn’t realized they made rolling papers like that, so you could color-code your spliffs if you wanted. “I developed strains that exploit that in different ways,” he said as he set the joints on the rug between us, three white or near-white lines against the richly saturated blood-reds and cobalt-blues of the carpet design. “Different paths, different intensities, and generally different results,” he said. “But the human factor is harder to control for.”

I thought of the beginnings of this experiment: Mike’s not-quite-innocent impulse to grow his two favorite employees. Eddie and Bran’s budding love for each other must have been a big factor in what happened to them in those first weeks, even before the twins showed up and kicked things up a notch. I was starting to think that if it was about the intense parasensual connection, Mike must have been a part of it too, his guarded fondness for the boys feeding into their connection to him and to each other. But then, if Mike was emotionally a part of Bran and Eddie’s transformations from the beginning, why was Mike immune to the growth, when even Thad had caught the edge of it?

But something else was bugging me. Thad’s last remark processed, and I looked up at him quickly. “Harder to control,” I repeated, adding significantly, “—especially if the subject knows about the mental factor.”

Thad nodded. “The rational mind upstairs can… interfere, let’s say, with the emotional and parasensual stuff the pot is fostering down in the basement,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “So why are you telling me, then, if knowing about it makes the results—?”

“Unpredictable,” Thad finished. He brushed his bristly chin thoughtfully with the back of his hand. Most of the giants had shaved after the group shower, but Thad had refrain from both activities, letting us have our fun. “Because,” he went on, “my guess is we’ll need both of us—a parasensual connection—plus the right strains and rational guidance from you on top of it to successfully shape your results.”

I gaped at him. “Your guess?”

His lips curved. “I’ve only had to do this, like, once, Zac,” he said. “And it wasn’t like this. What’s happened here is… beyond.”

“Uh huh. And did it work? When you did it before?”

Thad winked. “He’s happy,” he said.

I lifted an eyebrow, letting him know I knew that wasn’t what I’d asked. Thad let that go and picked up the brown joint, putting it in his own mouth and sparking up the cheap lighter. To my surprise it lit instantly, despite its dollar-ninety-nine appearance, and he set about carefully starting the joint burning.

I watched him, intrigued. I guessed getting high together would be part of the connection we were forming for the purposes of this experiment. I wondered how things would be different if I was sitting across from one of my guys instead of a near stranger. Would this be easier if I were doing it with Jay or Jimmy or Jase—or would the intensity of our connection introduce an unwanted variable, making the whole thing catastrophically derail like the train from The Fugitive?

Thad drew in a long toke, clearly a seasoned pro with his own wares, though I assumed he usually followed Mike’s habit of sticking to the growth-factor-denuded varieties. I waited from him to pass me the joint, but he only lowered it and crooked a finger at me with his other hand.

I rolled my eyes and bent forward to place my mouth over his, lips brushing without actually starting something fun, and let him shotgun the smoke into me. I wasn’t as used to it as he was and had to force down a cough, but it passed and I was able to hold in the smoke with surprising ease. Maybe something in Thad’s special strains facilitated the smoking of pot while it was changing your biology around in sexier ways.

We continued in this fashion, and I started to get amazingly stoned. Memories cropped up, kaleidoscopic, curling and blurring and floating away. Only—those weren’t my memories, were they? Mike was Thad’s big brother, not mine, and I’d certainly never had a crush on Mike all through high school. But then more memories came, and I lost track, and all of it was good.

At some point he pinched the brown reefer closed—it was barely a third gone, these joints were massive, cigarillo-sized and extra-fat—and we switched to the white one, leaving the third, off-white one untouched for now. As soon as we started with the second joint my high seemed to stack up and get super-intense, and I had the weird feeling that the tendrils of smoke we were sharing with each other were winding through all of our thoughts and control centers, activating abilities and possibilities.

We were kissing, now, because why not, for the shotgunning and then just to enjoy the pleasure of it. I was kind of half-hard, and I could feel he was too, and this pleased me because I knew that the emotional connection between us was working like it needed to. Then we pulled away, and Thad was trying not to giggle, and that made me want to giggle, too.

Our eyes met, and something in Thad’s gaze said, Now. Now? Now what? A memory came back to me, of us wanting to use this moment together to roll back my size so I wasn’t an eight-foot giant anymore. Why exactly? I couldn’t think of the reason. In fact I felt like I knew for certain that neither of us wanted me to “roll back” anything. Did I even have a body? Did either of us? What did size even mean?

I started laughing, and the image that stuck with me afterwards was Thad’s eyes getting rounder and rounder as he stared up at me while I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Thad was hilariously small. The expression on his face was pretty comical, too—wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Like he’d never seen a guy grow before.

My bare shoulders pressed gently against the high ceiling of the room as I bent over him. I was sitting, legs folded, bare-assed and beautiful on the Persian rug in the sprawling side-bedroom Mike used for storing all his pot. The feeling of having grown to fill the room, becoming hotter and sexier as I did so, was… beyond everything. And wild, so wild, in the literal sense of being far beyond the ordered, predictable, guarded normality of the space humans carved out for themselves in a vaster and more interesting world. I laughed again, loud and high and a little giddy, even as my emotions shifted and eddied and the same awe Thad had written all over his face swirled through me. The same awe—and the same extreme arousal.

The potency of the feeling surged, expanding like a supernova, filling every particle of my massive form and swelling soul. I didn’t have to look for the stiff pole straining painfully against Thad’s too-small jeans or my own growing, steel-hard, inhumanly large monster erection. The hot arousal we shared suffused me utterly, stealing thickly through all the fibers of my suddenly acquired superhuman muscles: immense, obscenely dense pecs that protruded a hand’s breadth or more from my once-flat chest, shadowing the carved, rippling, steel-hard abs below… Matterhorn biceps that bunched and shoved against my forearms if I bent my arms toward myself… wide, meaty, bulging shoulders and a tapered back so broad I was approaching the proportions of a pyramid standing on its head… thighs and calves so thick and strong I could kick through that wall, jump to the lawn, and maybe, if the wind was right, leap at the fucking moon.

I laughed again. How could we be so impossibly turned on by nothing more than a man finally finding his true size?

The upper part of my back, the bit between the shoulder blades, pressed a little more firmly against the ceiling. More or less at the same time my dick thumped audibly against the same painted expanse a foot from my face, the shudder of contact filtering through me as it eagerly smeared hot, thick pre-cum on the smooth, hard surface. As it flexed and squeezed, my skull-sized balls were busy churning out infinitely more from where they rested heavily on the carpet, brushing hairily against my thick, folded calves and thighs. The towering immensity of my organ now blocked the low, amber light of the table lamp across the shadowed room, reminding me of an eclipse as it winked out behind the veiny, shadowed occlusion of my member. A cock-eclipse! Awesome, hilarious, very hot.

In fact, the breadth of my dick was so epic I couldn’t even see Thad any more. I laughed at that, too, because it didn’t matter anyway. I could feel Thad. I could feel him within me, all of him. His awe, his arousal, his secret plans and his long-held crush, his very form and being all within me, as though I had swallowed him whole and he’d gone into my mind instead of my stomach.

That was a funny thought. I probably could swallow him now.

Thad-in-me snickered from his warm, curling presence inside my soul, sharing our body fully now. I’d rather we did something else, he said with a grin.

Yes. Yes. I—we—the need to experience orgasm was suddenly all-consuming, a layer of spiky, tingling urgency on top of our burning, fathomless arousal. Blindly but unerringly we reached for Thad’s physical body with both hands—it was still sitting in front of us on the rug, closer now because of how much we’d grown. We gripped his torso in our massive fists, our fingers curling around his small, sexy body, and lifted him up gently. Gravity unfolded his legs, but he otherwise did not react—all of Thad was inside me now, marveling as one with me at the feel of a nicely muscled, six-foot-nine body being hefted around like an extra-large action-figure. We’d lifted him almost without effort—we were so strong we could probably do it one-handed—and the knowledge of that was awesome and arousing and funny, too, but especially arousing. Our giant dick shuddered and stiffened further, shoving hard enough against the ceiling in front of me the plaster started to crack.

Any more turned on and we’ll be fucking the damn attic, one of us thought, laughing in amazement at how awesome it was to be the size one was meant to be.

We brushed a thumb down across Thad’s groin and felt the considerably-larger-than-average erection throbbing insistently against the constraining fabric of his jeans, feeling an echo of that body’s pleasure as we slid the pad of our thumb along its length. Memories surfaced, memories of how it had gotten that way through slow, careful experimenting with a particular strain of weed that seemed especially effective in producing cock growth with the right mental reinforcement. Those happy weeks of slow, steady growth, every morning just a little longer and a little thicker and a little more insatiable. The incremental side effects of increased height and muscle definition starting to become noticeable enough he thought he should stop, he really should stop, until he broke the twelve-inch mark and decided his girthy, ruler-busting cock was big enough. And then the mounting worry when the growth kept going for eight wild, anxious days after he’d cut himself off, before the effect finally ebbed and he was left with a visibly taller, hotter body and an obscene, impossible-to-hide dick that was ten inches long soft and nearly fourteen inches fully, achingly hard. Like it often was.

Like it was now.

As we methodically stroked Thad’s sensitive, responsive body with our thumbs and fingers, feeling his hard-on and muscles and firm, round butt, all of it sensed but still unseen behind our heated, thrumming, foot-and-a-half-wide colossus, it seemed to us a real shame no one was experiencing the pleasuring sensations we were giving currently-empty Thad’s body from the inside. Someone really should be in there, appreciating… and maybe reciprocating a bit, too. That would be fun. We were so high, so aroused, so wrapped up in each other we didn’t even think of separating out Thad (or Zac!) from our coiled double-self and slipping one of us back into the physical form Thad had left behind, hard and touch-hungry on the carpet before me.

Instead, we expanded our sight, looking for the other souls sharing this house and the collective experience Thad had set in motion a year ago with his steady supply of GX-factor weed. Weed Mike had only thought was undoctored. Weed specially bred to enhance the parasensual ability to induce change in others. Weed that apparently worked subconsciously, feeding on even deeper fantasies than the ones you’ve been willing to acknowledge.

The weed was more powerful than we thought—or his fantasies are. Or maybe the fantasies combined with the desires of those you’re fantasizing about. That seemed right. We grinned, imaging the first, innocent stages of the experiment. Mike getting off on Eddie and Bran starting to grow, day by day. Their own mutual attraction and arousal intensifying the effect, fantasy and desire feeding off of each other, compounding and magnifying the growth and need. The arrival of the twins, accelerating the effects and magnifying fantasy and desire even further. And more, and more.

Had our sexy, laid-back but responsible big brother guessed? Had he known he was the epicenter the whole time? Did he know now?

Our vision took in the whole of the rambling house and the fields beyond, the twinkling lights of distant souls a wide, ringlike backdrop to the shining presences inside our walls. They all seemed small compared to us, mere demigods beside our swollen, intense potency, hot, blazing star-satellites to our own blinding Sol. Though the souls felt like suns we could easily distinguish between them, the men as distinctive in their spirits as they were in physical form. There was Stellan, the closest, sleeping soundly on the floor of Mike’s room nearby, dreaming of driving a giant-sized convertible cab to match his size, his fares all gaping and blowing their wads at his naked, giant form. Jay was in the kitchen, naked apart from a too-small apron, humming to himself as he mixed batter for a huge batch of blueberry muffins, his mighty cock still tingling from a major, multi-orgasm jerk-off session. So adorable. We’ve always loved him, but at that same time we hadn’t known what it felt like to truly love.

We kept looking, taking in the whole house and the people connected to it, or within it. Benji and Quinn were in the rumpus room, sated and sticky, trading off between talking and making out. Eddie and Bran nuzzled in their bed across the house; though they were more than half-asleep, Eddie was happily fucking his larger lover slowly and sensuously, like making love was their natural state, radiating their powerful lust like it was part of the air. The twins, our other loves, curled up together in the big double-king bed in the room across from Eddie and Bran, their mouths close as they slept deeply (and noisily).

We grinned, an idea striking us from somewhere within the transforming haze induced in us by the special pot we’d shared. The twins loved pranks, didn’t they? Well, we had a prank for them! We reached out and took hold of each twin and, with kind of mental gesture, slipped them fluidly into each other’s bodies. They snorted in their sleep, cuddling closer, then went on with their snoring. We giggled, watching them snuggle for a while, and moved on.

Mike was out on a little narrow upstairs terrace, like he’d found a secret place of his own. He was stoned and dozing, thoughts and realizations swirling languidly just under his consciousness. Even now we could feel his fantasies pulsing faintly through the house, banked dramatically by his anxiety over the extreme nature of the recent transformations but far from extinguished. All of them were affected by it, a low-level urge to sex and strength and size, seeping day by day into every member of the household, softly exerting a shared lust for growth and release that enabled and amplified the effects of the various powerful growth-strains of mutant pot Mike had been sharing with them from his extensive Thad-sent supply.

Mike loved what had happened so far, even if he was alarmed by its growing scale—but even that he loved, because it reflected his deepest, most untrammeled fantasy. He loved being a part of this communion of sex and size, experiencing the growth and hyper-lust viscerally; but he’d locked his mind against growing himself. For him, it was akin to being high—and Mike loved being high because it was about escaping everything completely, the liberation made sweet and embraceable only by the security of knowing he would always return to his body and his normal life.

Our massive heart thumped in anticipation. This was perfect. You’ll be back in your body, don’t worry, we promised happily as we slid Mike’s spirit out of his sleeping shell with a gentle tug and poured him into the form we held in our hand—the vacated, extremely aroused form of his hunkier, hugely erect potmeister brother.

I woke up, sore, sated, and logy, curled up tight on a bed that felt strangely warm and…

Alive…

My eyes flew the rest of the way open and I pushed up on my right elbow to look around. I was in the weed locker—my joke nickname for the room next to mine where I stored all the cannabis my bro sent me. The edge of morning filtered redly through the sheer curtains over the front-facing windows. The morning. The morning everything might change in a whole new direction.

I looked down and considered that maybe it already had.

My arm was pressing into what could only be flesh. Sweet, brown flesh, firm and only barely yielding under my palm. Abs. I looked up and my sight was blocked by a dark wall, the lower surfaces of two mountainous pecs. The chest rose gently, and fell. A nipple nearly half the size of my thumb poked toward me, inches away from my face.

Flickering memories came back to me. I had sucked on that nipple.

It wasn’t a dream. Not unless I was still in it. For a stoner, you know when you’re straight, and I was wake and sober. I was pretty sure, anyway.

I went to push the covers off my curled-up legs, but it wasn’t a heavy comforter or a duvet warming my thighs—it was an enormous, mostly-flaccid cock. I gaped at it, scraping more memories together. Images, sequences, none fully coherent. Retreating to the widow’s walk with a plan to get deliberately very stoned. After that, it came in patches. A talk with Jay, convincing me he really was happy with—everything. Strange dreams. And then I was here, with Zac, only Zac was at least three times my size or more, barely fitting into the room, with a raging hardon bigger and thicker than I was. And there had been something weird about me, too. The bigger, obtrusive dick and thicker, more vibrant muscles I’d never dared give myself even though it was easily within my reach, the tools of my self-growth I’d kept literally in the next room and only ever used on others. That had convinced me I had shifted into another dream—a very vivid dream.

Yet now the first light of day glimmered over a Zac sprawled across the big room, taking up all of it. Even laying down he didn’t quite fit—his feet were directly abutting the front wall under the windows, but his legs didn’t have room to straighten out fully; one knee was raised, and the other leg folded under it. Furniture was pushed out of the way, tables and chairs knocked on their sides. The table lamp was still burning on the floor, its light swamped by the daylight sifting through the drapes. At the other end of the room Zac’s head pushed just a bit out of the doorway. His face was peaceful and smiling, like he had discovered knowledge and serenity in the arms of Morpheus.

I remembered being undressed by him, Zac gleefully fumbling with clothes I didn’t even remember wearing with too-big fingers. He of course had already been gloriously naked, exploded with thick, beautiful muscle and monstrous man-sized junk on top of his overall inconceivable tumescence in size and height. I wasn’t doll-sized even compared to him, not exactly—I was still six-foot-whatever, and all that—but whatever had happened to Zac had grown him so much larger. The ceilings in this wing were ten feet, and Zac—Zac had been sitting down, and he’d still had to bend over his shoulder blades rubbing against the top of the room. That had to make him well over twenty feet tall, like 21, 22 feet at least. That was beyond Benji/Quinn ratios—that would be like me getting it on with a hunk version of, I dunno, Thad, maybe, shrunk down to under two feet tall and grinning up at me. My dick twitched at the thought, despite having gotten all of the exercise it could want the night before.

I eased out from under Zac’s ponderous phallus, watching it flop aside onto the four-and-a-half-foot expanse of chiseled, flat abs I’d been sleeping coiled up on like a cat. I sat up on the edge of my “bed,” feet on the nubby Persian rug that went so well in here, and looked myself over. With a sinking heart I saw that I was still different. More muscular, not like the rest of the guys and definitely not like Zac here, but built, with a gymnast’s pecs and a visible if uncarved six-pack divided by a faint line of dark hair, and…

I frowned. This wasn’t just a buff-up of what I’d been before. These were different muscles, different proportions. My dick looked strange, too, not just bigger and thicker but utterly unfamiliar. Struck by a sudden, alarming thought, I tried twisting awkwardly to get a look at my own left shoulder blade before I remembered there was a big, ornate mirror hanging on one of the walls. I stood up and walked over to it, and as soon as I appeared in the mirror, I froze—because it wasn’t me that appeared in the mirror at all. It was Thad.

I don’t know why, but I turned see my left shoulder blade in the mirror anyway. There, if I had needed any further proof, was the half-dollar-sized yellow-pedaled sunflower Thad had had tattooed there the moment he was old enough to get ink. We’d all thought he was going to keep going and get tatted stem to stern, but he’d been happy enough with one, moving on to other forms of rebellion more in line with his interests in botany and horticulture and (as it turned out) tall, exceptionally well-hung hunks.

I gazed helplessly into Thad’s cute, kid-brother face with its pert cheeks and its day’s growth of bristles, framed below by the aesthetic traps and delts that, though they seemed to belong to a fitness model, somehow still suited him. I think I was looking for that wry half-smile he had that had always lightened my heart whenever he’d turned it my way; but all I saw was me, staring back at me out of my brother’s eyes.

There was motion in the doorway. I turned, expecting to see one of the guys. Instead, the man standing there in nothing but loose gray sweats and morning hair, lanky and defined but not buff, gaping at the slumbering giant filling the room, was… me.

He felt me looking at him and turned toward me. “Thad?” he asked uncertainly after a second, like he could almost tell it wasn’t our brother he was looking at.

I shook my head slowly.

We stared at each other for a long moment.

“Help me wake him up,” I said finally, my throat dry. He nodded. We needed answers, and it was obvious Zac was the one most likely to have them.

I came down from my little terrace refuge eventually, the weed having worked its magic enough that my conflicting thoughts were all buried under a thick, calming high like a lawn under a foot of snow. I was still aware of my houseful of giant, sweet-smiling, utterly delicious wet dreams, throbbing gently just on the edge of my perception, quasars marking the fringes of my galaxy; but I was used that, now. It would be tough not having them there, on the periphery of awareness, full of endless strength and cum and that deep, loving passion that seemed to magnify their hotness tenfold. Could I get them to stay, when they’d turned back to normal? Summer would wane, and classes and activities and friends and family would slide over the horizon and be upon all of them. Could we all just… keep going anyway? Was there a way this could go on being my life?

I rubbed my bare lower back a little. I’d been dozing in my Adirondack chair upstairs, always a bad idea, and I was currently heading for bed to try to get a couple hours’ proper sleep before Thad’s disembiggening trials with Zac got started later that morning. As I got to my bedroom, however, I noticed a faint light coming from the doorways of the weed locker, a.k.a. the grand pot repository. Curious, I kept walking in that direction, sure I hadn’t left the door open. My steps slowed as I got closer and noticed the edge of something dark and round just barely protruding from the room into the hallway. What the heck was that?

The light was dim, though, and it wasn’t until I was almost upon it, a mere foot or so away, that I could tell what it was. It was the top of Zac’s head. A head that was much, much larger than it should have been. I stared.

Seriously, his head was huge. Like, “giant statue of a narcissistic emperor” huge. Relic of a lost civilization huge.

All I could think of was the size of the skull and all the gray matter packed inside it. Now he’s literally the big brain in the group, I thought inanely, suppressing a giggle. I’m really bad with terrible puns when I’m high, though I usually manage to keep them to myself so that I’m the only one who suffers.

My attention focused on the strangest things, so fascinated was I by the experience of normal facial attributes made huge on a scale that blew away all the giants I had collected. His lips were inviting, perfect, and visibly so much bigger than what my own lips would be placed against them. Stubble showed faintly around his chin. How big were those follicles? And his eyes! They were closed—he seemed to be sleeping—but I could sense the shape and uncanny mass of them. Eyes the size of fists… Even in a house of eight-foot-tall hunks I had never consciously imagined such a thing.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze to take in the rest of him. It was all just as big. Zac’s slumbering, naked body was sprawled over almost the whole floorspace of the pot room, like he’d grown to fill the darkened room. His muscles were vastly expanded, too, I saw, though they remained so exquisitely proportioned, so aesthetically ideal, it was almost as though his new form revealed mankind’s true design specs. The enormous cock, a cock that would have to be measured in feet in all respects, lay draped across endless steel-brick abs, its size and beauty punctuating the overall sense of idealized humanity, writ large. Writ large and in fucking boldface, too. My own dick stirred and swelled a little in my sweats, responding eagerly to this utter fantasy, and I couldn’t exactly blame it.

I was so fixated on Zac’s peaceful, triple-giant-sized form it took me a moment to see Thad standing there in the gloom, staring hard at me like he’d never seen me before. I stared back. Recognition simmered on the edges of my perceptions—a recognition that did not match the face I was looking at. My stomach fluttered. I didn’t quite understand what I was feeling. I wanted to step back and move toward him at the same time.

“Thad?” I asked uncertainly.

He shook his head, and I shivered. Somehow, I understood. It wasn’t Thad in Thad’s body, and I had a very creepy feeling I knew exactly who was wearing Thad’s snugly-clothed, semi-aroused, post-sex corpus-delectable at the moment.

We both looked down in unison at the colossal form of our new friend and housemate. The only clear thought I had was that either Thad or Zac needed to have “disembiggening” explained to them because this clearly wasn’t it. Kind of the opposite, in fact.

Not-Thad suggested waking Zac up to see if he had any answers. This seemed like a plan, so I stepped over his giant-tortoise-sized head and we began shaking both shoulders. He was sleeping deeply, perhaps immersed in some dream-snuggling he was reluctant to emerge from, but it wasn’t long before he was blinking up at Not-Thad, who like me had knelt down next to him for better manhandling. His hands were still pressed against Zac’s massive, muscle-swole shoulder.

Zac seemed momentarily confused at the sight of my brother’s face, in a manner that strongly suggested (even aside from the obvious smell in the room) that his present size and condition was the result of some serious extra-strength toking the night before. “Who—?” he started to say, then his face cleared, and he smiled. “Oh yeah,” he said, “I forget we did that. How are you, Mike?”

“Just great,” Not-Thad and I said together.

Zac whipped around to see me gazing placidly down at him on his other side. His head was so big it made a little wind that washed pleasantly over me. I waved sardonically at him. Zac stared up at me, mouth open, before grinning again, even wider. “Shit,” he said. “I guess when we tugged you out of your body to put you in Thad’s, we must have—”

“Where’s my brother?” I asked, interrupting. “And why are you the size of a triceratops?”

He glanced down at himself, lifting himself up on his elbows to get a better view in the growing light. His abs bunched like steel plates locking together, and his boulder pecs loomed obscenely over them. He looked back up at me, smile crooked. “Are you sure ‘triceratops’ is the comparison you want to go with?”

I folded my arms over my not-nearly-so-impressive chest and waited. No way was I telling him how hot he was now that he’d blown up with prime beef and had grown to nearly four times my size. My three-quarters hardon in my sweats would tell him that anyway, if he looked down a degree or two.

His smile turned affectionate, which, given the size and proximity of that smile, had a profound effect on me. I started thinking distractedly about his mouth again. His tongue must be—

“I’m right here, big bro,” he said, jarring me out of my thoughts. Then he added, his voice the same and yet subliminally different, “We’re both in here.”

I exchanged a quick look with Not-Thad. “How?” Not-Thad asked the giant hunk.

He, or they, I guess, shrugged those massive shoulders at us. “The parasensual connection,” they said. “The mental force that drives the changes. It got… extra-intense. Totally consuming. It expanded beyond the two of us, connecting everyone, all of us that were affected by it. Blurring us all. Merging, almost.”

I bit my lip. This description resonated with me, somehow. I remembered the sensation I’d been feeling before, of thinking I could almost perceive the others in the house on the fringes of my mind. I’d thought that was just my imagination, but something told me now that it wasn’t.

“The connection was beyond real,” they were saying, looking between us. “Literally, I think. Bodies became—” He paused, considering, and then he did that nearly-imperceptible register shift again. “—permeable, I guess.” He grinned salaciously over at Not-Thad, giant cock shifting on his expanse of abs as he did so. “And fuck, dude. We were so horny, and there was this sexy Thad-body right here. It just needed a… a…” The shift again, eyes twinkling. “—an operator.”

And out of the whole house Thad/Zac had chosen me to drop into Thad’s empty bod, I thought. I gave Not-Thad the same side-eye he was giving me. Maybe they figured I’d appreciate a chance to test-drive the turbo-charged body my bro had obviously had some fun augmenting, before I went home to my own reassuringly familiar anatomy. The only snag was, apparently when they’d pulled me out of my body they’d inadvertently also left me behind there, too.

So did that mean there was no putting the Mike-genie back into the bottle it was supposed to be in, since I was still in it? And if they did, would there be two of me rattling around in here? That would be—very weird, even for us.

Okay, all of that was getting tabled. What mattered to the guys was the disembiggening, and that had clearly not just gone off the rails, it had gone off the rails so badly it had fallen through a hole in time and obliterated the guy who invented rails in the first place.

“What about this?” I asked evenly, nodding at their colossal form while managing to mostly ignore the slow swelling of the enormous, twitching cock a few feet away. I realized my arms were still crossed, and though the sternness of the body language was not me I left them that way. “Was the experiment a failure?”

Zac/Thad seemed to consider this from within a moment. Then they smiled, slowly shaking their head. “Something… broke free last night,” they said. “We control things now. We can control our own size. I think.” The smile became a smirk. “Want to see?” he asked.

Oh boy. That was a loaded question. What did I want to see? Quickly, I shifted my gaze to Not-Thad. He was closer to the door, so I said, “Go get the others. We should all be a part of this.”

Not-Thad nodded, and with a last look at Zac/Thad he disappeared into the house in search of seven bigger-than-before guys and one smaller-than-before guy, gathering the audience for a much more dramatic Zac-disembiggening than any of us had anticipated.

The thing that surprised me the most that shouldn’t have was how long it took. Zac/Thad had to concentrate and force themselves smaller, bit by bit, and all that mass had to be converted to psychic energy and consciously sent somewhere else. It was a long, slow effort, and I wondered how big a headache they’d have afterwards when it was done.

All the guys had gathered in the room in a big circle around Zac/Thad. All of them were naked except for me (sweatpants) and Not-Thad (old jeans). They were all sitting, too, owing to their giant size (apart from Quinn, who was sitting in Benji’s lap because that was where he belonged). Given the ten-foot ceilings in this room it was more a matter of width; seven eight-foot muscle giants milling around makes for a lot of getting in each other’s ways. The guys were very excited, eager to see what would happen; only the twins seemed tense for some reason, and the odd looks they were giving each other gave me the impression that whatever had them on edge had nothing to do with the morning’s de-sizing experiment. The whole group settled and watched in rapt fascination as the still-enormous figure of Zac/Thad sat at the focal point of their circle, legs folded and cock hard, eyes closed in concentration as they forcibly shrank themselves inch by inch.

At first glance the guys looked like a mixed bag, a pantheon of titans: skin of alabaster, bronze, and olive; their hair blond, ginger, strawberry, brunet; bodies that ranged from furry to sparse-haired to smooth; brown eyes, blue, gray, and green; sunny, sardonic, sober, and impish. But the sight of all of them sitting together in that circle of naked muscle, alike in being transformed, eyes trained on Zac/Thad, made me feel oddly detached. I found myself standing close to Not-Thad, a little apart from the others, and after a while I realized we were holding each other close as we stood side by side, arms around each other’s flanks, and my impulse to sneak out of all this got mixed up with a gathering curiosity about maybe exploring things with Not-Thad for a while. I kind of wanted to kiss him, very badly, and I could not figure out whether it was Thad’s bigger body I wanted to make out with, or the Not-Thad inside him.

A little while into the disembiggening process Jay got up and left for a while, taking one of the twins with him—for some reason I was having trouble telling them apart today, so I’m not sure whether it was Jase or Jimmy, but either way they returned a short while later with a big, fragrant basket of blueberry muffins and a second basket full of the pint-cartons of pulpy orange juice I’d got delivered in quantity in my last grocery order. These were happily passed around as the shrink-show continued, the muffins eliciting silent exhibitions of glee and appreciation—nobody wanted to disturb Zac and Thad as they worked on reducing the size of their body, I guess. The muffins were amazing; tasty, obviously fresh, and for a novelty there was no trace of body-warping cannabis in them that I could tell. Not-Thad and I fed each other, me with muffins and Not-Thad with the juice, more because we didn’t want to let go of each other than for any other reason. The guys noticed, of course, and I knew we were in for some ribbing later, not that the couples among them weren’t mostly doing the same thing.

I think we mutually decided somewhere around this point not to tell anyone that “Thad” was really me. Keeping that secret felt like it would be pleasingly empowering, especially in a house of tricksters. The jig would be up once Zac explained he had a co-pilot in there with him, but so far that hadn’t come up, and I had a strange feeling they might want to have fun keeping that fact hidden for a while, too.

It was almost an hour of steady, aroused observation before Zac/Thad let out a single, long breath, opened his eyes, and smiled, looking much, much smaller than he had when I’d first come into this room, a little after dawn. He clambered to his feet, and—yeah, he was clearly shorter than my 6’5” by a good couple of inches. There was a little sweat on his brow, but he appeared positively exhilarated. His muscles were more demure as well, and in general he could pass for normal. The main thing that stood out, or stood up, rather, about him was his dick, which was still steel hard, several inches wide, and towering over his left shoulder.

“You, uh, going to fix that, too?” Eddie teased from where he sat enfolded in Bran’s huge, hairy gorilla arms.

“Shut the fuck up,” said Jay with a grin. He and the twins were standing now, surrounding and caressing their man with obvious excitement, all three of them very visibly a solid two feet taller. The others stood too, all crowding around the sexy, huge-cocked, secretly-combined man.

“A hundred eighty five centimeters,” Stellan announced, looking at the phone he’d brought in from our room next door. He had it aimed at Zac/Thad, and I remembered he’d asked about Thad’s measuring app. He must have downloaded it for himself. “Six foot one,” he translated.

“Is that him or the cock?” Quinn piped up, getting a round of deep, vibrant titan-chuckles.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jay said again, stroking the wide boner in question reverently with both hands.

“Don’t ever change, babe,” one of the twins added, both of the brothers doing likewise. Zac/Thad looked over at us through the giants surrounding him and winked. I rolled my eyes, and I’m pretty sure Not-Thad next to me did the same.

“All right then,” Stellan said, sounding a lot like the only adult in the room, though his monster dick was as hard as the others’. “So, now for the big question: how do the rest of us do what you just did?”

Zac/Thad’s expression became decidedly mischievous, a fact that was not lost on the rest of the group—especially Jay, who’d already proven he actually got off on being subjected to his boyfriends’ wily machinations.

“I’m glad you asked,” they said.

Something about the smug look on Zac’s face worried me as he beamed up at us. Without interrupting our collective worshipping of Zac’s preposterous ear-tickling erection, I turned my head and exchanged a quick look with—

Well, he was Jase, even if he was… fuck, I couldn’t even deal with that.

It was weird being in my twin’s body, weirder than anything else that had happened since we showed up in this burg to pester our big brother. That included the cookout orgy, us turning into giants after falling in deeply love with two college bros we just met, and Eddie’s lover Bran growing hairy, slab-knuckled, hamhock-thick gorilla arms to matching that increasingly hirsute brute bod of his.

I flicked my gaze away from Jase, confused and flummoxed on top of the high-simmering arousal I was sure we were all feeling, if the roomful of rigid, sky-seeking boners was any indication, and stepped back from Zac, letting my hands fall to my sides. Jase did the same almost simultaneously, and Jay, who’d been watching us as we manually admired the now-shorter-than-us Zac and his mesmerizing dong, followed suit, as though we’d all made a collective decision to give Zac the floor. For me it was more pulling back from the edge, like, if I had sex in this body I was somehow committing to the switch, accepting it, and I wasn’t quite there yet.

The funny thing was we had pulled this prank ourselves, dozens of times. All identical twins try it at least once, I’m sure. Unlike a lot of twins our faces really were close to identical, and the nuances that distinguished our personalities weren’t as obvious to outsiders as they were to us—mainly that I was the impish one, and most of the time Jase was the one that was going along with my anarchic impulses, and assessing afterwards what worked and what didn’t. Teachers treated us with constant suspicion, not sure if we were who we said we were. Dad just treated us as a unit and didn’t bother trying to tell us apart most of the time. We fooled our mom exactly once (and she made it very clear that we would get exactly one free pass on that score); Eddie and Matt a bunch of times; and Hobie never. It was like our kid brother saw right through us no matter what we did. Of course, there’s a physical tell, but that’s not anywhere most folks would see it.

One thing most people don’t know that is different about us: our glasses aren’t the same. Jase had come out of puberty just barely needing glasses. I didn’t quite need them. But had insisted on getting specs with him anyway so Jase wouldn’t be the dorky one. From then on we both wore glasses, but Jase’s prescription was different from my own.

So, imagine the scenario this morning. We woke up, snuggling and horny, our huge, leaky erections sliding against each other. We were kissing almost without realizing. Only—something was off. Don’t get me wrong, everything felt great, fantastic even, but… not right. We broke the kiss and pulled back, staring at each other. I knew instinctively that I was not in the right body, but my brain could not mesh with that idea. It’s impossible, my brain said. Yeah, my throbbing dick answered, and so’s growing to eight feet tall in the course of an afternoon barbecue.

I sat up and reached for our glasses on the night table. I handed Jase his—we wore the same style frames but he chewed on the earpieces, I didn’t, so it was always easy to tell whose were whose. I put mine on while Jase did likewise, and the wrongness magnified. Slowly, we removed our glasses and exchanged them, eyes on each other the whole time. I put on Jase’s glasses, knowing that I would be able to see perfectly.

I looked into my brother’s green eyes and, almost together, we whispered, “Holy fuck.”

Jase’s lips twisted in an uneven smile. “Guess the prank’s on us this time,” he said.

I have to admit, I was totally turned on by my brother Jase smiling with my mouth, and I could not even tell you why. We moved toward each other, wary but curious and achingly in need of release. Before we could even kiss again, though, Mike’s hunky, nongiant brother Thad appeared in our doorway and shouted for us to join the others for Zac’s grand disembiggening.

Even before we got to the spare bedroom Mike used for pot storage where Zac and the others were waiting for us, we felt it brimming over with the combined, redzone arousal of nine enhanced and extremely horny men. Crossing into the room was like passing from air conditioning into the shimmering summer heat. In a way this wasn’t quite a new thing: I now realized that we had been subtly aware of an undercurrent of barely banked lust pretty much from the moment we’d set foot in the house a few weeks back. But something had broken loose overnight, like the regulator snapping off a steam radiator, and now everyone’s need, my brothers’ included, was as accessible to me as body heat in a shared sleeping bag.

Jase and me getting swapped around wasn’t the only anomaly of the night before, I thought.

We still felt it now. I found Jase’s hand and we threaded our fingers together. Jay stood behind us, reaching out to either side and stroking our flaring flanks and bulging arms. We were all still hard, and I could experience Jase’s and Zac’s and Jay’s arousal almost as intensely as I could mine, the three closest and most intimate of all the arousals we could feel in the room. The need to cum soon didn’t drown all of my brain cells, though. I knew that that awareness of the others was definitely connected to our body swap and to Zac’s suddenly-acquired ability to shrink himself from an inhuman room-filling colossus to a self-satisfied, 6’2” gymnast-bodied biracial cutie with a hard dick the size of Albuquerque.

I was distracted from these thoughts as Jay bent and kissed Jase’s neck, and I kind of almost felt it. The warm lips, the soft bristles, the love and raw desire, the tingling of Jase’s sensitive skin, all of it was just on the backside of my perceptions. Was that because it was my body Jay was kissing, or was it because of the blurring of all our arousals? I shuddered with pleasure and just a hint of foreboding. We’d have to tell Jay that we were swapped—wouldn’t we? Jay liked being pranked, fucking got off on it even, but… this wasn’t our prank. I caught Zac’s eye, and something in his knowing expression told me we wouldn’t have to tell him. His arousal felt strange and magnified. Was something different about Zac? There was, I was sure of it, but what that was I could not tell. Not yet, anyway.

Meanwhile Jase was looking and Mike and Thad, his expression thoughtful. I followed his gaze. Mike and his brother were standing a little apart from the rest of the group and were holding each other close side-by-side, arms tight around each other’s backs. Not exactly Mike-and-Thad behavior, come to think of it, from the limited exposure we’d gotten so far. They’d been very unalike so far: Mike had been intense and introspective since Thad’s arrival, Thad confident, bemused, and amused. They’d also been physically nondemonstrative, more prone to casting furtive looks like they were from different lunchroom cliques than being wrapped up in each other like they were now. Plus, Thad seemed to have adopted Mike’s keen, flat expression and ardent stare. They were also the only ones wearing pants, which might or might not be a coincidence but it sure paired them off visually.

Another thought struck me. Thad should be in the middle of all this right now. He was the one with the plans and the means; Zac had been just the guinea pig. But we’d been instinctively crowding around Zac for answers, and anyway it was Zac who had accomplished his own disembiggening while Thad had stood back like he was one of us, a mere spectator. So how had the impetus shifted from the mad scientist to the subject of the experiment? Had the Frankenstein’s monster had actually become the Frankenstein for once?

I exchanged another look with Jase. We were on the same page. Something had happened to Mike and Thad too, maybe a variation on what had happened to us. If the forthcoming explanation didn’t shed light on our little puzzle, we were definitely corning the Loukanis brothers after our little giants’ town hall was adjourned.

Eddie and Bran were usually in their own hazy little world—a world in which they reveled in the sheer excitement and pleasure of physical intimacy like they were actually discovering it for the first time in human history—so I was a little surprised it was the laid-back, born stoner Bran who broke the silence. “Well?” he asked Zac with a grin. “Are you keeping us in suspense, Z?”

Zac looked slowly around at us, his dark brown eyes alight. “Well—” he began.

A phone buzzed. Mike startled as if he’d not only forgotten he had his phone on him, but that such devices even existed. Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, he detached from his hot kid brother and pulled his phone out his back pocket, checking the screen. “Hey Sal, what’s up?” We all waited, guessing what was coming next. I knew enough about the store now to have picked up that Sal was an older guy who worked some of the lunch shifts, but I knew nothing else about him. “Wow, she’s delivering early? No, of course you should be with your daughter. I’ll cover the Joint today.” Mike listened a bit more. “No problem. Give Angie and Doug my best.” He hung up and stowed his phone, glancing at Thad. Interestingly, Thad seemed like he was about to ask about what Sal had said, like he knew the guy and his apparently pregnant daughter. Only, how would he, if he’s been in Colorado all this time? Anyway Thad stopped himself and said nothing, and Mike addressed the group. “I have to go open the shop,” he said. He turned hesitantly to Eddie and Bran. “You guys, uh, going to be able to cover your shifts this afternoon?”

We all knew the subtext to that question. The guys had kept working while they were slowly growing and coming more and more under the influence of the very special cannabis provided by Mike and Thad, for all it had made them a minor sensation. But coming in to work at 6 and half feet of hairy, Picthread-ready shredded muscle and pheromones off the charts wasn’t quite the same as working a counter while you were over eight feet tall and built like you could literally crush a beer keg under your palm. Apart from the ruckus it would cause in town once everyone saw how huge their new local-celeb hunks were, which I kind of wanted to see, there was a more fundamental problem—I knew there was no way they’d actually fit. (Though that, too, was kind of fun to imagine.)

Even as he was saying the words Mike seemed to realize this wasn’t really a question for Eddie and Bran, and he tilted his head slightly to glance at the newly disembiggened (prick aside) and still smirking mystery-keeper who held all our attention.

Eddie and Bran looked that way, too. “I guess that’s up to Zac,” Eddie said.

Zac nodded, his red-tinged, head-high cock twitching slightly. “Yes,” Zac confirmed with a wide smile. “Yes, it definitely is.”

Things have changed so much for me the last few months. Wow. Before, I was all about having things just so. I wasn’t even totally aware I was doing it. But I see it now, you know? I have this kind of clarity. It’s like, before, I structured things. My schedule, my objectives, my feelings… It was my way of coping with the expectations pressing down on me from my mother and her crowd and the friends she’d guided me into having. I was her only chance at self-replication. I was supposed to be another corporate baron, the steel prince to my mother’s iron queen. She had everything. The money. The connections. The clothes. The McMansion. The gleaming, eye-catching Mercedes, the gleaming, eye-catching climbing instructor boytoy. I had to want that. Who wouldn’t want that? Anyone who didn’t want that was—her words—a fucking imbecile. Her real motivation was as venal as the rest of her. A successful, high-powered son and successor was her legacy.

I did what I could. I worked hard so my mother wouldn’t badger me for slacking off. I structured my life so I could feel like I had control. I hoped things would be different in college, and, starting in my sophomore year, they definitely were.

You’d think the big change in my life lately would be what Mike’s weed has done to my body. Hah. Sure, it’s awesome. I love being big, and I definitely love being full of cum. A shared stratospheric orgasm mixed with high-intensity cannabis high—that lasts for-ever. Forever. You’re floating in bliss, and that just stays with you, cocooning you together. Then after a long time it slowly starts easing back, little by little, until it’s this universe of sunny, congenial pleasure. And under it all is the persistence of the physical joy your body feels when you release, and that goes on and on and on. And when you cum again, there’s still some of that last climax under it, mixing into your new, mind-fucking eruption and making it that much sweeter. When you’re like that, your body is what it is. It’s all good. Maybe that’s why the twins thought at first I was clueless about the slow augmentations Edds and I were experiencing. It was the feelings that I was living in and paying attention to. My body just was.

What mattered was what started happening before all of that. Something that grew alongside our growing muscles and cocks and cumloads, but infinitely outpacing all of that. Edds’s love for me changed me. It released me. I’m sure of it. The more time I spent with him, the more I was able to break free of the walls I’d made for myself. Edds jokes that my butt got free first, shifting to the music in the pizza shop for him without me even knowing, and that was how he knew. Maybe! All I know is, the way he drew me in and cherished me and showed me what love and desire really was—that changed me. From day one, working together, we were sharing laughs and that little space behind the counter and the sweet time we made pizzas and served customers together. But it wasn’t just that he loosened me up emotionally. We created a new binary star system together. From the beginning I felt something shift in me, telling me he was special and I needed to open myself to him.

Then we got closer. Our first embrace. First kiss. First night of lovemaking together. Step by step, Edds became my person, the one individual in the universe I trusted without reservation. The pull and passion between us allowed no barriers. It was just… us. Me and Edds, Edds and me. Just that—that was bliss.

Everyone else was outside that. Sure, we loved Mike and the twins and all the rest. Our perceptions and clarity of thought ebbed and throbbed depending on whether we were actually crazy high from recent cannabis intake or more straight, like now. But the fundamental us-ness was my new constant. My reality was reforged around Edds and me. I was kind of leery of anything that came from beyond that looking to come in.

Like this disembiggening thing.

Honestly I’d been cool with it when I’d thought we’d be learning how to do it to ourselves. The right toke, a few brownies, a little wishful thinking, and ta-da! No big. (Hah.) But now it was turning into something that would be done to us. That was giving me a weird feeling, like, this kind of dissonance. Maybe I still preferred things under control, in some ways. Maybe that gleam in Zac’s eyes wasn’t helping, either.

We were in our bedroom, me and Edds and Zac. It was a private session to explore Zac’s newly-gained ability to resize us so we could appear to be closer to normal—the normal we’d been before the Fourth of July cookout, I guess, because it would be just as weird for everyone to see six-and-a-half feet of hairy muscle one day and then have us walk in today the sizes we were before all this started happening. (Though maybe that would be cool. Everybody would be like, “Huh? Did we dream them being huge?” No, wait, that wouldn’t work, everyone had been filming us. There were probably a million pics and videos on social media showing us like we were right before the Mangrowth Barbecue. Too bad, that would have been funny. The twins would have gone for a joke like that for sure. What was up with the twins today, anyway? They were acting like wary dogs around each other all morning. Were they fighting? I’d never seen them fighting. I’d have to ask Edds later. I hoped they weren’t fighting. They were fun to have around. Like muscle puppies.)

This parasensual thing, now—that made sense to me. I’d felt Edds in my head almost from the beginning. It felt completely normal. And I’d started getting a dim awareness of the others. I knew when the twins were in the house, when Mike was home. I’d started feeling a dim, growing connection to the others, too, as they joined our group. I hadn’t thought about it at all. It just was. Maybe I thought it was something in the house, like the house was alive and it was connecting us? But it was us, our beings, interfacing with each other like stars linked through hyperspace with each other. That was what had intensified the growth, it had to be. Our desires reshaped each other.

Zac thought it was Mike’s unconscious fantasies driving all of our changes. Thad had given Mike this special strain of weed that conditioned him to wish and dream our bodies bigger, fuzzier, and hornier. Maybe. But if Mike’s unconscious need was seeping through those connections, changing and intermingling with us, how could the end result be all his desires? I was sure Edds’s raw, devoted lust had empowered and grown me at least partly as much as any catalyzing fantasies Mike had had of swelling up his two most amenable workers. Right? Maybe some of the others were in there too. Maybe even my own desires.

I remembered seeing a demonstration of diffusion in a physics lab once where red liquid was sent into a large container of water from a little hole in the side, billowing through the container until the permeated liquid was a uniform mixture of the original water and the intruding red. Then a different liquid was projected in, blue into the pink, and a violet homogeneity resulted. It felt that, somehow. I couldn’t explain it, but at some gut level I was sure that was how it worked. It wasn’t all Mike. Mike may have provided the current, the force of the flow, thanks to his special tailor-made strains of weed he’d been smoking on his own. But the strengths of our connections mingled all our desires and fantasies.

So far it had been mostly collective growth, though we all had a few fun variations. Now, though, Zac had unlocked some new level, something that enabled advanced, conscious direction of the changes. But if my gut feeling was right… maybe it wasn’t as all about him as that look in his eyes suggested he thought it was?

“So what’s the plan?” Edds asked brightly. “You just going to stare us down to normal size?” We were on the rug by our bed. He was sitting in my lap, like we’d been ending up doing at these house meeting things, my big arms wrapped around him and my giant, bent erection laying along his spine and jutting to one side to press against one pre-smeared shoulder blade. So hot. Maybe we could just make love for a few hours and not disembiggen at all.

Zac was sitting cross-legged in front of us. He was now closer to how he’d looked when we’d met him, only sized up in muscles and a lot more confident. And there was the giant dick, of course. Him sitting down it looked even more ridiculous, reaching the top of his head and a little past it. He looked like he’d decided to sit around a phone pole or something. I could feel the heat from it. How did he keep his hands off of it? My own dick pumped a little more precum out, sending streams of clear sexjuice leaking down Edds’s wide, uber-muscled, strawberries-and-cream back.

“If that’s what you want,” Zac said. His tone was… not quite Zac-like. Zac was a sports nerd. His whole thing was enthusiasm and brio, using his intellect to shape data and see new things. Unlike the twins, who were pretty much just a couple of goofy, fun-loving anarchists, Zac’s mischievousness came from extrapolation: he wanted to see how things might turn out if something around him were tweaked or altered. I felt like this slyness now was a different kind of Zac, but I could not figure out why. It definitely made me wary, though, and the fact that I was feeling a need to be wary was unexpected. Right now Zac was definitely outside the Edds-Bran unit, and I was watching him closely.

I almost grinned when I realized. Maybe I didn’t have to just watch him with my eyes? The connections were stronger today, much stronger. I could sense the others in the house, like distant suns. I could sense Edds, close to me, in tandem revolution with my own being. I could even sense Mike, already back in town and opening the pizza shop for the lunch crowd. And there was Zac in front of us, blazing brighter than any other member of our group. Was it possible to see more, feel more detail? Could I do more than just sense his presence?

“What do you mean?” Edds asked.

Zac shrugged his bulging, dark-bronze shoulders. “I could do lots of things,” he said diffidently. His phone-pole cock twitched, maybe out of excitement at the possibilities, maybe just to provide a visual example. “What do you want to try, Eddie? Eye color? Extra nipples? Completely hairless?” He sounded half like he was teasing and half like he was really motivated to explore what he could do with his new abilities. And as I drew closer mentally to Zac’s “source,” like I was focusing my inner awareness of him, I thought I could actually perceive that duality, like he had two different aspects that weren’t reacting to this situation in quite the same way. Weird. Had last night’s breakthrough, like, actually broken him in two?

Edds giggled. “As long as Bran gets to keep his,” he joked, stroking one of the hairy forearms I had wrapped around him. He was hard, too, of course, and I wrapped my meaty hand around his sweet, stupidly girthy monster dick almost without thinking and gave it a quick jerk. It was like a kiss between us, and I loved to feel that shudder pass through him that was as much about me taking the initiative as it was the actual friction along his mighty prick.

Zac smirked at this. “I think I could do personality changes too, if you want,” he told Eddie suggestively. “I could make your boy Bran hot for your dick all the time. A real himbo.” Zac’s brown eyes flicked up to mine, and maybe he saw the challenge there. His smile widened.

“Not much of a change,” Edds said, still snickering. Zac was holding my gaze. I smiled back at him.

All that mattered to me now was that Zac try whatever he was going to try on me and not Edds. “Let’s go,” I said.

Zac focused on me, really focused, like he and I were the only souls on Earth. Everything else fell away. I could feel his presence reaching out to me, intensifying this underlying awareness into something stronger. It was like a trickle of sensual interplay suddenly opened up into a massive, utterly responsive conduit of impulses and id. There was no logic, no higher reason, just the baser needs swirling around urgent motivations. There was no question now that Zac was divided, the intermingling urges hampering the thrust of change pushing from him to me. I caught glimpses of conflicting shifts in my physical form, none of them quite winning out: the original, sober plan to reduce me to my pre-cookout augmented state seemed to flicker behind a sudden impulse to make me “more gorilla”, which was in turn baffled by a strong drive to test the boundaries of this capacity to force change by remaking me in some unexpected way—I wasn’t sure how, but I caught a flash of platinum hair, so maybe the experiment would have been to turn me into the previous version of Jay instead of the previous version of me.

It was a funny thought, and maybe if I was a part of the foursome it would have been a harmlessly silly way to spend a few days before finding a place a bit further down the road to normal. But he—or they?—were messing with Edds when they messed with me, and the idea of anyone messing with Edds aroused something in me most folks would not have guessed I had.

I pushed back.

It was easy, honestly. Maybe all the special cannabis I’d had had smoothed my senses in this parasensual reality. I was in an altered state now even when I wasn’t high. My mind belonged here. This was my realm.

The current shifted, twisted, then slid back the other way. I marshaled my willpower onto the faintly smug presence facing me. Unlike him I was unconflicted—and I was very strong of will when I needed to be. The universe of our two radiant beings may have been made active by Zac’s new breakthrough ability, but the will driving it was increasingly mine. I thought of what I wanted to do, and I knew my bearded lips were twisting in a wicked smile. I felt shock and dismay as my ideas took hold, and also amusement, and even curiosity, as I pressed my will onto the presence before me…

As if through meters of ocean I heard Edds suddenly burst out in laughter, and I surfaced, heart pounding in anticipation. Edds was still cuddled in my lap where I held him close, and his laughs rippled through me like the beat of a warm, pleasant summer shower on your face.

Zac was staring at me with wide eyes. Slowly, he reached up with both hands and gingerly felt the pointy, brown, fully functional dog ears I had added onto the top of his head. His hands on both sides automatically began rubbing the soft-furred cartilage between finger and thumb, like people have been doing with doggie ears since that first wolf sat down next to the hunter at his campfire. Zac’s mouth fell open a little in simple astonishment. I just smiled at him.

I don’t know exactly where the idea had come from. I think I’d been thinking about the twins as muscle puppies before, right? And when I was doing that I had actually visualized the two of them with perked-up German shepherd-like doggy ears, just because it was so apt and so ludicrous. The image was already in my head—I wanted to be amused by it again later—which meant it was there to grab and use. So I used it.

Edds was still laughing. “Oh my god, that is the funniest thing ever,” he said. I held him and planted a kiss on his neck as he mastered his amusement, then I glanced up at Zac.

His hands had dropped back into his lap, but he was still thunderstruck. It wasn’t even about the ears, I was pretty sure. I think he had totally bought into the idea that he was the master of all our transformations now and had been wanting to feel that out, even if he was conflicted about how because of that dualness I had picked up on. When I showed him otherwise, I guess he was shook.

He was still giving off conflicting emotions, but intriguingly I now was catching a taste of something that felt like relief. Maybe I had pulled him back from somewhere he hadn’t realized he was going. I liked that, the idea that I’d hauled him back from a cliff. Call me the Lone Ranger, butt-wiggling muscle-Sasquatch edition.

I met his gaze. “You ready to do this for real?” I asked him softly, lifting an eyebrow. Someone told me once I have expressive eyebrows. And, well, one thing I did learn from my mother: I know how to use what I need to to get my point across.

After a second Zac nodded, and his doggie ears twitched adorably. He smiled a little, a chagrined smile. I could literally feel the flickers of respect coming off him.

That’s right, I thought with immense satisfaction. Nobody messes with Edds and Bran.

Bran and Eddie made a big entrance when they came down to lunch. First, while they were still out of sight around the corner, Eddie heralded himself with a mouth-trumpet fanfare to catch everyone’s attention before marching into the kitchen/dining room and taking a bow in response to the general applause and wolf-whistles. He then turned and exhibited his partner. Bran rounded the corner managing to look both serene and bashful, his ocean-blue eyes gleaming, all while Eddie gestured comically toward him like a model at a car show, and we all jumped to our feet in a hooting, catcalling ovation as we celebrated the successfully disembiggened hunks together. The two hams lapped it up, joining hands and bowing again as though taking a Broadway curtain call. The resizing had clearly been a huge (so to speak) success, the pair now stunted to a mere six and a half feet tall or so—Bran still topping out a few inches past Eddie, making the bulky blond’s reversion to his pre-barbecue 6’3”-ishness look positively demure and twunkish by comparison. All his obvious power and bulk meant a lot less standing next to his boy.

In truth both of them were still heavy with muscle, may even a touch more than before. And they were still hairy as fuck from cheeks to ankles. Bran even retained a hint of his previous gorillaness, apart from the thick dark brown pelt that hugged the curves and arcs of his epic muscles, by way of arms that seemed slightly too long and forearms as thick as his impressively sculpted calves. They were both naked, of course, like we all at the moment were except for Thad, presenting a nice olive-tone-brunet/creamy-peach-blond contrast, and their mighty erections towered red and stiff and as tall as their furry, rock-hewn abs. Eddie’s uncut, ruler-straight monster looked crazy fat at his new size; next to him, Bran’s long, cut superprick, backdropped by his dark-furred eight-pack, listed to one side as though its weight might unbalance the whole apparatus.

My own heavy, jumbo-sized giant-dude dick squeezed out a couple doses of hot pre just at the sight of them as we clapped and hollered. I could only imagine how their lust-crazed admirers would react when they showed up for their shifts at the pizza place in a couple hours. Then again, maybe I had a pretty good idea—after all, I’d always counted myself a charter member of the Bran and Eddie fan club, long before the pizza place was choked with livestreaming droolers, and I had the fuckton of hours of extra gym time all spring working off all that pizza to prove it. More fool me—who knew there were semimystical, mutant-cannabis-related ways of achieving the same ends?

The adulation subsided and the two started making the rounds, gabbling happily with their assembled stud-family. I bit my lip, surveying the crowd as we sat down again at the big dining table. “I have to admit,” I said to the twins, “I loved the houseful of giants, but now… I’m really getting off on the mixed-size thing, too.” Our household was a petting zoo of wet dreams: eight-foot-plus fuckers like me and the twins… sized-down titans like Bran and Eddie… sexy mundanes like Thad and Mike… plus the one deliberately undersized twunk cutie, Quinn, at the other end of the scale from his extra-huge soulmate Benji. “This,” I said, staring around the manscape in awe, “this is fucking beautiful.”

Honestly, I felt weirdly close to orgasm just from the collective hotness and the shared, slightly blurred arousal that suffused the room along with the latent sweet, misty odor of pot. I kind of wanted to cum just for it to be a thing that we did—just blowing our loads and painting ourselves with spunk randomly all through the day, like that was normal guy stuff. Well, naked, hairy muscle Adonises with raging, ruler-busting permaboners guy stuff, anyway.

I turned to grin at the twins, who nodded sagely as they shared the view with me, accepting my verdict, and when they looked my way again I found myself falling into their green eyes like always, the intense, warming fire of their love and lust tearing all through me and wrapping cozily around my heart and my balls at the same time. I totally dug how I could feel their beings now, like we were suns revolving around each other. I could taste their need, the cum from the orgasms building up in them at that very moment, even the minute imbalance between them today that had them strangely cautious and reflective. Most of all, I knew at the level of universal truth that we were four, bound, connected, forever.

Four? Or… five? Four of us, and a fifth, not us.

Wait—why was I thinking five? Where had that feeling even come—

“So who are you calling ‘beautiful’?” growled Zac playfully from behind me.

Grinning, I twisted to see our now-6’5” beautiful sepia-brown boyfriend, back to his own most recent version of “normal”—with one or two, er, exceptions. The second-strangest thing about him at the moment was that he was, unaccountably, wearing a dark green ball cap I’d never seen before, though he was otherwise nude and entirely delicious. To me his new look presented itself as halfway between the tight, modestly buff look of his pre-brownie-incident days and the elegantly heavyweight eight-footer he’d been after the barbecue. And, okay, there was the not-to-be-ignored jaw-nuzzling dick that reminded me of what he’d looked like filling a fucking room that morning. That dick must be where I’d gotten the “five” from, I joked with myself—it was practically big enough to count as a person.

“That thing, of course,” I answered back, eyeing Zac’s two-and-a-half-foot erection with cartoonish exaggeration. “Forget you guys, I’m taking that dick to prom.”

“Aw,” Jase said, “we were going to ask it out first.”

“Yeah, we were going to take it to the movies,” Jimmy chimed in.

“Make out with it in the back row.”

“Cover it with popcorn butter.”

Zac was nodding agreeably. “All viable possibilities,” he said. He was smiling at the three of us, and we felt his love, the presence of his sun turning in sync with the three of us, but… we felt the tension, too. There was something else. Some… one else? Why did I keep picking up on another presence?

It couldn’t—it couldn’t actually be the dick, could it?

I stared at the thing, awed and apprehensive. Could my reality have gotten so strange that I was now in a deeply committed polyamorous relationship consisting of Zac, me, the twins, and Zac’s aching, enormous, leg-sized hard-on?

Zac was looking over at Thad, who seemed very at home in his brother’s kitchen as he put together plates full of big Dagwood sandwiches worthy of many manly men. Bran and Eddie had joined him to help. “Listen,” Zac said softly, turning back to me and the twins, “how about we go into town for lunch? Just us.” He was smiling, but his eyes were… guarded.

The twins and I exchanged a glance. “Uh, Z, in case you haven’t noticed—” Jase began.

“—We’re still kinda Paul Bunyan sized,” Jimmy finished.

“Unless you’re suggesting we proclaim the Age of Giants, right here, right now,” I said, leering up at him. “In which case, I’m in.”

Zac smirked at us. “You’ll all be normal sized by the time we get there,” he said placatingly. Then his eyes shifted, becoming more familiar somehow, and he shared a longish look with Jimmy and Jase that made my pulse quicken and my steel-hard dick stiffen just that little bit more. Shit, were they planning something? Were they using the mutual connectedness thing to make evil plans? Fuck, that was hot.

Then Zac was all po-faced again like the preceding moment hadn’t just happened. Uh huh. “We’ll, uh, take Thad’s pickup,” he said blandly. “The twins can ride in the bed ‘til we get there.” Yeah, okay. I hadn’t realized Thad had driven down, or that Zac had seen his truck and knew it could cart around a passel of giants—whatever, none of that mattered, I was too riled up by the idea that Zac and the twins might be up to something. I wondered if my excitement showed on my face… no, fuck that, I didn’t wonder. My excitement always shows on my face. I’m not a complicated guy.

“And pants,” Jimmy put in. “We should take pants.”

“Yes, and pants,” Zac agreed patiently.

“What about your friend?” Jase asked, nodding at Zac’s mondo prick. God, just being near it was making my own cock want to stretch and spurt, over and over, like one of those rat-a-tat rotating fucking lawn sprinklers.

Zac’s smile twisted wryly. “I’ll think of something.”

Yeah. We were doing this. Us, in public, on a date. Less work for Thad and co. lunch-wise, too, and the fact was, the four us were due some alone time. I didn’t have to look at the twins—I could feel they were up for it—but I glanced at them anyway for form’s sake before turning my excited face back toward Zac’s. Momentarily I was distracted, wondering again what the deal was with the hat—maybe that was part of what he wanted to talk about?—but I quickly got myself back on track.

“Goofy’s?” I suggested.

Zac grinned, and his delight was all Zac, the Zac I knew. “Perfect,” he said.

I sensed that the twins picked up enough unconscious info from our blurred connection to understand that Goofy’s was a Chinese restaurant in town, and that they weren’t being taken to Disney World—not that they wouldn’t have been up for that, especially in their present forms, and that was sure fun to imagine for me as well. At any rate they disappeared a moment or two afterwards, silently but with matching smirks (so sexy), to gather post-disembiggening clothes for us, while Zac and I explained to Thad and the others about our impromptu assignation. Bran was eyeing Zac, and especially that mysterious hat, like he had something on the guy; but he said nothing, just hung back, quietly amused. Thad, for his part, seemed reluctant to let us go, and after a long look at Zac from under furrowed brows he pounced on the guy and gave him a tight hug and then an obviously meaningful kiss: brief, as kisses went in this house, but still slow and deep.

I watched the two smaller men closely as they lingered on the kiss, arms folded over my ponderous chest, knowing with absolute certainty that all this was part of whatever wool was being pulled over my eyes. Just because I’m a happy-go-lucky jock who enjoys the exertion and exhilaration of running and throwing and scoring touchdowns and making a stadium crowd bust out a roar of delirious approval at me doesn’t mean I’m too dense to notice the little stuff, especially when it’s happening right in front of me.

Then Zac gave me that quick, sly look of his out of the corner of his eye, and I fucking beamed at him, my heart tripping a bit as I managed to hold back a sudden, ceiling-painting orgasm. Fuck, did he know me.

A short while later the four of us reconvened at Thad’s truck, a silver, heavy-duty, slightly dusty pickup parked along the curb in front of the house with “Thad’s Hashery—Colorado Springs, CO” stenciled on the doors in the same logo design as Thad had been wearing on his shirt when he’d shown up on the Fourth. Even the bed smelled like weed. The twins tossed a duffel into the back and then clambered in after it, making the truck’s rear end dip visibly from their combined weight. I huffed a laugh. With two giants in the back the truck now looked bizarrely mis-sized, like a greenscreen overlay that some hapless FX artist had totally fucked up. Awesome.

When I turned my grin on Zac he surprised me by tossing me the keys. “You don’t want to drive?” I asked, brows up. Zac always tried to take the wheel whenever we went anywhere together. He couldn’t get enough of driving, getting the same thrill from the horsepower and the skill of maneuvering at speed even on the back country roads you had around here that he got from watching me power down the field. Usually, I let him, because I like seeing him get off on that experience of power. Sometimes I wrestled him for it, which, not unpredictable, often led to us forgetting about the whole going out thing anyway.

Zac arched a brow. “I’m going to be busy, remember?” he said.

I nodded happily, though I was sure that wasn’t all of it. More clues. Gallantly I opened the passenger door and gestured for him to climb in, then as he slammed his door closed I walked around the front of the truck, opened the driver’s door, and… stopped. Fitting my 8-foot-2 bulk behind the wheel would be more of a problem than squeezing in on the passenger side. That I could picture, but this… I wasn’t going to fit. Was I?

But something was off. It was as though my perspective was already subtly different somehow from what it had been a few minutes before. I looked up and caught the glint in Zac’s eyes as he watched me from across the black and tan interior of the cab, and knew. I already wasn’t 8-foot-2 any more. He was changing me.

Fuck, I almost came again, but I’d gotten really good at banking my orgasms lately and letting ’em loose in one huge cataclysm of fuckawesome pleasure. I was hoping that was a skill I’d always get to keep no matter how big or small I was.

Because honestly, you know what’s better than transforming your body at will? Being transformed at someone else’s will. Hell, yes.

Greedily suppressing and storing my orgasm I got into the cab, first thumbing the release to roll the seat as far back as it would go, and pulled the door shut, ready for more. I was still a tight fit but not as crammed in as I should have been, and the idea that I was going to get changed while I drove us into town filled me with crazy excitement.

I started us going, the truck’s big tires crunching on the dirt-strewn asphalt. I managed to get us all the way to the turnoff onto the county road that would take us into town—all of half a mile—before I started in on him. “Tell me about the ball cap first,” I demanded, barely holding back my grin.

Zac huffed an embarrassed laugh. He hesitated, then pulled off the hat. I looked over and nearly sent us into a ditch. “What the fuck?” I said, laughing. “Why the fuck do you have doggo ears?” Keeping one hand on the wheel I reached over to feel the nearest one—they were real, soft and sinewy and exactly like a dog’s, despite the fact that he still had his human ears in the usual place as well. The one I was rubbing between my fingers and thumb even twitched as I felt it, startling another laugh out of me.

Unable to resist, I scritched him affectionately between his doggo ears, making his shoulders flutter a little. “Stop,” he drawled, but he gave me a coy look that told me he kind of liked it.

“Why?” I repeated, both hands back on the wheel now. I was, myself, still transforming, and as we spoke I had to shift my butt forward a bit and adjust my leg to get better foot contact with the accelerator. Like most athletes, though, I’m good a staying focused. “Did you do it to yourself, or did they just happen somehow?”

The whole thing with the ears kind of boggled. I’d been thinking about size, mostly, when I’d considered the whole transformation thing, but… If Zac could give himself doggo ears, it wasn’t just about scaling things up and down anymore. It was about real change, real transformation. We didn’t have to be normal, or human, or—

“It was actually Bran’s idea of a joke,” Zac admitted, breaking into my runaway thoughts. “Well, not so much a joke as an object lesson.”

“Wait—Bran did it to you?”

“Yep.”

He waited.

“So,” I said after a moment, “it’s not just you that can do stuff.”

I looked over at him, and he rewarded me with a wide grin. “Nope.”

This was important information, but I filed it away to think about later. I looked back at the empty road, wheat fields shining with life under a cerulean sky. “And he did it to… teach you a lesson,” I said.

My guts twisted a little. What he was implying—it could only mean that Bran hadn’t been into whatever Zac had had planned for him, and had managed to take hold of the parasensual transformation and turn the tables on him instead. I wasn’t surprised about it being Bran that did it—Bran was a mellow stoner Sasquatch these days, but in many ways he was the strongest-willed of any of us.

When Zac said nothing I prompted, “That doesn’t sound like you, Z.”

“That’s… because it wasn’t ‘me’, exactly,” Zac said. “It was ‘us’.”

By the time we got to Gui Fei’s Mandarin (“The Great Wall of Food!”) and parked around back in the always-deserted rear lot (no one ever used it unless the place was slammed during evening rush), I’d already had to pull over once and adjust the seat forward—all the way forward. That should have been a heads up for me, but my brain was too swamped with everything Zac had told me on the way into town.

The thing I was stuck on most was Zac and Thad sharing a body. I mean, sure, the fact that they’d pulled Mike out of his body to stick into Thad’s, only they’d accidentally pulled a copy of him and left a Mike behind—that was wild. Now there was an extra Mike, tooling around in his kid brother’s body. Crazy hot.

But… two guys sharing a bod? That had me stunned. I mean… imagine, if that was Zac and me. Zac could experience the rush of being out on the field racking up those stats he loves first hand. Not just this blurred awarenesses that lets us share impressions and sensations, but actual shared, co-experienced events. That was so intense. I was jealous of them, honestly. I wanted that to be me, so bad.

I was so caught up in this fantasy-slash-new-reality as we arrived that it didn’t even occur to me that Zac and Jimmy and Jase would have known that about me. That I’d want that. I didn’t even see that part coming. And I was so distracted by all that, I missed the rest of the plan at first, too. What a doofus!

I climbed out of the truck, still buck naked and boned, without even looking around for any normals who might be hanging out back there and not expecting to see naked guys with big leaky hard-ons. A pile of clothes smacked onto my shoulders from behind—presumably the twins had thrown them at me, but I didn’t even look around. I just pulled them off me, barely glancing at them—jeans and loose, heavy jersey—and started whipping them on, around in front of the truck, completely dazed and agitated.

Zac—Zac/Thad, I remembered—had got out too and had come around to stand in front of me. I noticed he still had the jaw-nuzzling mega-boner, not to mention the doggo ears, and there was, like, a single flickering brain cell in my head that was not thinking about the shared-body thing left to wonder if he was really going into the restaurant like that. But, bottom line, I was stalled out enough, I had to reboot my whole mental OS.

Then… I realized. I was looking at a collarbone. A very nice collarbone. Zac/Thad was 6’5” again… and I was staring at their fucking collarbone.

I looked up to see the sly yet shit-eating grin I knew so well. That was Zac. “Whaaaat did you do?” I said, thrilled beyond belief.

They wiggled their eyebrows at me. “Look down.”

I did as instructed. The jeans and the jersey both hung limply on me, like I had no heft at all, like I was a teenage runt decked out in Magog-sized hand-me-downs. I lifted the shirt up high enough to see a barely-defined six pack and just enough pecs to not be completely flat—and not a single hair in sight, either. Fuck, even my raging permaboner was scarcely eight inches, and thinner than I was used to even before, too. It didn’t push past my waistband, not even a little!

I looked quickly back up at Zac/Thad, heart thumping wildly. I knew my eyes must be shining, and I could see in their eyes that I wasn’t just good-looking anymore—I was goddamn beautiful.

“You twinkified me!” I said. Fuck, even my voice was higher. Just in case some part of them was worried, I added, very emphatically “I love it.”

“It was all Zac,” they said. “The twins’ energy was part of it, too.” They sounded pleased, but also… contrite? It was like Thad had stepped back and let Zac have all the control for this operation, knowing he and Zac were a bad mix.

Not like Zac and I would have been, I thought wistfully. “Dudes, I am so consumed with envy right now,” I admitted.

Their dark brown eyes glittered. “We were hoping you’d say that.” Without waiting another second they grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me so long, and so deep, that I totally lost track of time, of space, of basically everything…

And when I surfaced, Zac surfaced with me. In me, in us. We were sharing our twinkified Jay-bod together.

I couldn’t help it. I pulled down our baggy jeans and grabbed our dick just in time to cum like crazy all over the grill of Thad’s truck (earning a laughing “Hey!” from Thad). For a nongiant we came a lot. It was like three built up orgasms, and at the end of it we were dazed and drained from the euphoria of it, and laughing, both of us laughing together. Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah.

Thad, now left in sole possession of Zac’s body, was chuckling, too. He drew in a deep breath, calm again, and now I understood why he hadn’t bothered changing himself and gotten rid of the dick and the ears and all that. This date… it wasn’t for him.

We met his gaze and sent him all our gratitude, oceans of it. He bit his lip and smiled back, sending back some gratitude of his own.

The twins had climbed down and were close behind us now in front of the truck, their hands slapping down on our narrow shoulders, and their love poured through us. “Nice look, Johanssen,” one said, and the other added, “Instead of the Platinum Bullet, what’ll they call you? The Platinum BB?”

We turned to smile up at them, but when we did, our smile froze, and all we could do was stare. Between Jimmy and Jase—now 6’8” again and built like bespectacled gods, their inhumanly girthy, three-abs-high boners barely hidden by their not-quite-oversized-enough shirts—was another person. He looked like… well, he looked like all of us, as though he’d been cloned from Jimmy and Jase and Zac and me as we all were before the barbecue. All our features were perfectly mixed into one truly handsome, hard-muscled, very hung dude.

He was also very obviously completely vacant—eyes glassy and face expressionless, a clear sign that there was no operator inside this vehicle, at the moment.

While we were all busy with this revelation Thad had slipped quietly around us and was now seated behind the driver’s seat of his truck. He rolled down the window and waved to us, jaw-high dick poking out with it. “Have fun, guys,” he said fondly. “Come visit me in Colorado when you get the chance.” He twitched his doggo ears at us, and then, with one last wave, he pulled back and drove out of the lot and was gone.

Zac and I watched him go, then we looked up at the twins, blinking. “What just happened?” I said. Our eyes returned to the blank-eyed hunk-mélange. “And… who the fuck is this guy?”

“It was the weirdest thing,” Jase said, voice low and rough. “Zac and Thad—we knew they were disembiggening us while we were in the back of the truck, right? Except, they kind of… duped an extra body out of the two of us too.”

“Huh?” Zac and I said.

Jase looked at Jimmy, who shook his head, like there was no way to put what had happened into words. “It was like, we were two bodies, and then one body? And then we split again, and there were three bodies,” he explained, wide-eyed. “Kind of.”

“Maybe that’s not literally what happened? But that’s what it felt like,” Jase added. “Merging, and then… unmerging.” They shared a look that had me and Zac wondering just how “merged” the twins had gotten, and how merged they still were.

Our collective attention fell on the hunky empty vessel between us. Zac and I lifted a hand and stroked the handsome face, noticing in his combined features everything hot about all four of us. It might have been our imagination, too, but his contours seemed to shift as we slid our hand down his perfect jawline, responding to our touch so that his face became slightly more Jay-like—like he was still in flux, susceptible to our influences and desires, his final form yet to be determined. “So who gets the new bod?” we joked, entranced. “Do we take turns? Get a guest in for playtime?”

Of course, we both knew it was neither of those. Jase just said, “Up to you guys.” Jimmy nodded in agreement.

Zac and I smiled together, totally in sync on this. Sliding our hand around the nape of New Guy’s neck, we leaned in for a long kiss. You might say that we couldn’t decide which of us got to be in the new bod and so we managed to transfer us both in there, at the same time “accidentally” leaving us both behind in our shared Twink Jay bod, too, the way Mike had been both pulled out of his bod and left behind; but we all know there was no indecision about it, and nothing accidental, either.

Then we turned to the twins, and then the four of us started making out, in two and threes and all together, shifting from mouth to mouth like a kiss kaleidoscope. Hands found flanks, asses, pecs, arms, everything but cocks—that would come later (yes, pun intended). As we kissed our feelings and sensations overlapped and combined, compounding and growing our joy and ecstasy, and I wondered how I’d ever thought I knew what kissing was before we’d been slowly changed and intertwined by Mike and Thad’s special weed and opened up to a universe of capabilities I’d never imagined existed.

We were at it for a really long time—long enough that we were interrupted by either Jay or Jase’s stomach rumbling really loudly. That broke us apart, laughing. We’d also made enough time pass that we’d stabilized New Guy so that he—they, I mean, Jay 2 and Zac 2—now looked exactly like the Twink-Jay body that Zac and I shared, except we’d both unconsciously taken on a hint of Zac’s sweet tawny mixed-race skin tone.

“What are we going to call you?” Jimmy asked, stroking their face, fascinated. “‘Zac’ might be too confusing, unless you go back to looking like him.”

It was an interesting question. “Jay” had a public profile as a football star, and the driving need to play football was a major part of both Jays—and a need to enjoy Jay playing football was just as intrinsic to Zac. So one of us would definitely be doing that. But “Zac”‘s presence at school was more… malleable. It could go a lot of ways. Maybe one of us would be “Zac”; or maybe “Zac” could disappear, handwaved with talk of a transfer or whatever, and “Jay” could gain a twin brother; or, hell, one of us could grow doggy ears and start urban legends about a local werewolf. The breakthrough Thad and Zac had forced in all of our connections to the transdimensional aspects of parasensual energy meant that anything might be possible.

Right now, though, the only thing we needed to decide on was a name to use among us. We passed around a look. “Jay-Z?” Jase suggested innocently, green eyes glinting.

“Fuck you,” New Guy laughed. “No way I could pull that off.”

“Plus he’s way prettier,” Jimmy agreed. “Scarlett, maybe?” That got him a shove in his thick, manly chest.

Jay and I communed with our double. Who did we love who had white-blond hair like us? We’d heard all the jokes. “Draco?” I offered. That got a laugh. “Anderson?”

“Andy,” New Guy amended. It would work for now. I couldn’t hold back from giving that gorgeous face one last kiss, and then…

“Let’s go get ogled,” Jase said, twitching his brows, and we all grinned.

It was time for our date. Jase had been right, of course. Every head turned when we walked into the restaurant: two identical 6’8” lightly tanned shaggy-blond god twins with glinting green eyes and Clark Kent glasses, freighted with muscle and exuding a raw masculinity that stirred deep, carnal need in the cockles and gonads of everyone around them; and two equally identical 5’8” platinum-haired biracial twinks with sinful mouths and perfect bodies, radiating joy and ultimate beauty straight into the hearts of anyone who saw us. Everyone there wanted us, or at least wanted to see us wanting each other. And, no lie, we absolutely loved it… though not nearly as much as we loved each other.

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