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.

Added: Jun 2019 Updated: 26 Jun 2021 76,165 words 34,364 views 4.9 stars (28 votes) This story was commissioned via Patreon.

Contents (36 parts)
Part 1: Eddie 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. (added: 29 Jun 2019)Part 2: BrandonPart 3: EddiePart 4: MikePart 5: Eddie Eddie has a plan to escalate his budding sexual relationship with his sexy coworker and bedmate, Brandon. It’s working well, until his annoying twin brothers show up. (added: 11 Jan 2020)Part 6: BrandonPart 7: EddiePart 8: BrandonPart 9: JasonPart 10: Eddie Mike joins Eddie and Brandon for breakfast, then the three of them head to the lake for a beach day off, complete with baked goods. (added: 18 Apr 2020)Part 11: BrandonPart 12: Eddie Eddie and Brandon come back from the beach to find the twins have made dinner for them all. Eddie should be wondering what they’re up to, but he’s too caught up in his deal with Bran: no clothes for Bran, in exchange for lovemaking Bran would never forget. (added: 13 Jun 2020)Part 13: BrandonPart 14: JasonPart 15: Jay Jay the football god adores his nerdy boyfriend Zac, but he’s been getting more and more distracted by the slow growth of a certain cute, beardy pizza guy since summer started. Fortunately Zac knows just how to grab his attention. His plan for the brownies the guys gave them, though, doesn’t go quite the way he’d intended. (added: 28 Nov 2020)Part 16: ZacPart 17: JayPart 18: ZacPart 19: BenjiPart 20: Brandon Jimmy and Jason cope with having accidentally grown themselves by doing what any brothers would do—mercilessly teasing Eddie. Their real problem is clothes, though, so they decide to go into town and check out the local menswear shop where they get a bit of personal assistance. (added: 9 Jan 2021)Part 21: EddiePart 22: JimmyPart 23: JimmyPart 24: Mike Mike is realizing his little experiment is getting out of hand, but he’s kind of okay with it. (added: 27 Feb 2021)Part 25: MikePart 26: StellanPart 27: Jay Jay and Zac head into town and run into a pair of very hot, and familiar-looking, identical twins. (added: 27 Mar 2021)Part 28: JayPart 29: JayPart 30: Quinn Benji has grown out of all his clothes, so, donning a comically too-small pair of sweatpants, he seeks out the local menswear store for help—not knowing that the associate he’s about to meet is the right man for the job in more ways than one. (added: 8 May 2021)Part 31: BenjiPart 32: QuinnPart 33: BenjiPart 34: Zac As Jay and Zac help the twins deliver pizzas, the effects of the twins’ pizza-doctoring experiment start to take hold. (added: 26 Jun 2021)Part 35: JasonPart 36: Jay
I

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 cock 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.

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