Description A very short young crewman and an older, very tall officer get merged during an emergency evacuation in space to a strange and distant planet.
|Updated||13 Jul 2018|
Sometimes things turn out differently than you plan for. Easy to say now, but, there are the memories of all but almost going deaf from every alarm sounding, it getting more difficult to breathe, and our particular Oracle of the Watchers zooming, darting around and past us, trying to keep as many of the dozen other crew mates from a premature return to the Real World. So much for the side-real dimension of Men’s World. Less hypnotic and brain rewriting than virtual reality, but for the moments we existed there, every bit as real as the Real World.
I was freaked out at becoming conscious on a ship bucking and shaking with the whine of…uhh.. gravity compensators straining to minimize the jolts and jerking. I was wearing… my midshipman’s uniform something pressed around my brow… oh yes,..a crisis responder. Something was very wrong, part of me knew it the moment I became aware in Men’s World and I looked down at my uniform. This, now, was not what my friend, Clark said it would be.
The crisis responder was providing air, moderating my flight or fight response and what might have been my terror. BOOM!! Scree!! The ship tilted and I was smacked against the floor. My whole left side and knee ached. The compensators either weren’t working or were failing. A white beach ball, no, not a beach ball. An Oracle was hurtling in the air toward me, then shot past me, the wake of its passing in the hall almost creating a vortex of its own. More baseline memories of where and who I was flooded my mind. That was the good news. The bad news was that not simply the ship, but the crew as well was in very hot water. Not a one of us had transformed on being translated to the Men’s World dimension. And the ship our crew was assigned to, Science Class SS Lustbeg, was apparently all but disintegrating around us. The Oracle was the only thing holding it together. While keeping us alive, it was computing survival options, even as it ran emergency communications with the Watchers.
It was burning though its power reserves and I knew from what Clark had shared in the Real World, not even a team of hormone laden college wrestlers could supply enough in session to matter. We were going to die!
“Shipman Boyd! You with us!?” No shrill high tenor voice had ever sounded so good at that moment.
“Lieutenant Stark, sir! A bit bruised.”
His incongruently high-pitched voice came over my responder’s communication link. “Any other casualties? Report!”
I saw in my mind’s eye the tall thin scarecrow figure, his clear pale ghost skin almost glowing against the dark rich red of the uniform. His even whiter hair in a ponytail confirming he hadn’t transformed either. Beneath his shaggy snow-white brows, his green eyes were shining as they do when he’s frustrated. Half crouched he was taking the shocks as the ship pitched in stride. Even here his spatial and body awareness made crisis a partner to dance with or martial arts opponent to respond to like a potential lover.
I instinctively described the status of my immediate surroundings and confirmed that I would check for other injured.
“Lieutenant Stark,” I added as I started moving, trying to ignore the sharp pains in my left leg, “you promised I’d have an experience like no other. This rates up there.”
“Brennen,” responded the lieutenant, less shrill and more personal, “none of my other times here have been anything like this. Sorry. But I’m sure we’ll make it out of this situation and live long enough to experience transformation, Wisdom Gain and all the rest. Don’t lose hope yet, besides…”
There was a pause. “Uh-oh… Looks like I am wrong.” He snapped back to his Lieutenant persona. “The Oracle tells me we are past borrowed time. He’s running out of tricks. I can see on the co-corder screen your body responsiveness has dropped down from your arrival here by 20%. Blast it! You couldn’t make nearest junction tube to meet up with the rest of us. Blast! I’m…” the transmission stopped.
Through the link I saw a group of men, a couple of them on stretchers bandaged. My link fully shut off. Just like that! At that moment I suddenly had trouble breathing. I couldn’t breathe! I was suffocating!
I yanked the emergency responder off and tried to suck air from it. That action was useless, though—it was dead. My heart was thumping in my air starved chest. Maybe I’d really die in both worlds! The gravity failed and I was floating. I didn’t need my bum leg. Still not able to breathe I found my arms pulling me down the corridor’s hand rails fast as it could move hand over hand. Broken parts of the corridor were also floating. I felt, though I didn’t hear an impact shaking the ship. Floating debris snagged me and for a millisecond I watch blood float from my chest, like glancing at a snap shot. I kept moving, but everything was taking more effort. The junction tube was less than 20 feet away from me, then 15 feet away. Might as well have been a mile, even with no gravity, moving my arms was taking so much effort now, let alone move aside debris. I knew I was seriously injured this time, but couldn’t feel it. I was shaking. Detached, I saw myself having trouble thinking. This must be the dying part…
I was staring at the junction tube through the rubble. Staring. Staring. No movement any longer, just staring. Dark spots fill my view. Then a light… the tube was offering me The Light…
As clear as anything The Voice came—sounding just like Clark Stark. It said, “No way, it’s not time for you to go back home. Blazes, boy! What did you do to yourself? Oracle, he’s confused and in shock, he won’t be able to respond in time. Can you go in to him?”
All I knew in that moment is I could suddenly breathe again, even if I couldn’t think. Maybe I hadn’t died yet. It also hit me funny in my mind—Santa Claus’s pale, emaciated taller hippie brother had come to save me, in a red and white star officer’s outfit yet. A last gift. I was okay with losing consciousness now and started to fade, but something wouldn’t let me…
Another voice. “Brennen Boyd, the Watchers feel it is justified to risk helping you stay in our dimension if you chose.” I could feel warmth and clarity flood my body. My injuries were healing. I was almost restored physically. Whaaaat?
The somewhat mechanical but definitely inhuman voice continued. “I have cast the others on the nearest planet several light years from here. All six of them are safe for the moment, though it was beyond my ability to cast them accurately in the same location.” A back part of my mind computed, that the other six of my crew mates must not have made it. “Understand, this is a learning process for myself as well as my masters for we have had to create blended harmonies—which is a transformation we had not tried, not in the manner we now attempt.” It paused. “Still, we have seen all will be well with the Wisdom Gain when you return to the Real World.”
Then the voice said, “I need your permission to translate you and Lieutenant Stark as a blended harmony to the planet.”
I blinked up at Clark. His figure still swam a little in my eyes, though I was already nowhere near the proximity to death I’d been in moments before. “What does this mean?”
The scarecrow-thin giant knelt, still looking down at me. “Brennen, I think it means we can return to the Real World, or we can choose to stay here and get translated to some distant planet… but somehow we will be transformed and joined for survival’s sake, not just for kicks.”
I was worried. I spoke to the voice. “If you haven’t done this before, how do you know you can fix things later?”
The organic-mechanical voice responded evenly, “We have seen restoring you will be done correctly.” A pause. “You also wonder if we could have seen the disruptive force that caused your emergency. Neither I, nor my Masters, the Watchers, can see all points in time. Some points we do see clearly, especially regarding possibilities of Wisdom Gain. For that reason we have been created by Life,” the voice added solemnly.
“Life?” I asked.
“Yes, the same Life that strives for partnership with mankind.”
That was a little too mystical for me at that moment. I was more concerned with survival. “Is our survival at risk?”
“Only if you don’t care about it and cease paying attention.”
Translation… joining… blended harmonies… I now had to decide my future—or rather, Clark and I had to decide what the future would be for us…
“Can’t be any more adventure than my first 20 minutes here, let’s…” Brennen started.
Before the last word could escape the man’s mouth, the whiteness surrounding them became blindingly white, then brighter yet, ramping up to become a musical note… and for an instant each man knew the deepest thoughts, experiences of the other…
Brennen saw glimpses of himself and Clark… from both perspectives, both only for a moment, like seeing one’s life pass before their eyes. And the picture began to blur… to a single kaleidoscope panorama, taking in past and future.
Brennen was from an ultra-conservative household, part of a wave of early childhood manipulation designed to control and shape the next generation by arresting the dangerous, brutish attributes of alpha masculinity. He had his adolescence induced early at 6 years of age, then medically retarded by his mother. When the doctors stopped the meds, his stature had become fixed at just under five feet. It was hoped that would change after the meds were discontinued, but it didn’t. His frame had the demurely defined, idealized proportions of an Olympic god, broad shouldered and with a tiny waist, all in miniature. He didn’t mature any further, leaving him permanently frozen in a half-adult, half-adolescent body. Both his parents realized their mistake but were told that nothing outside of a miracle, or years of painful surgery, could correct the retardation.
Then, against the odds, in the middle of his seventeenth year Brennen began to mature… really mature.
While he didn’t gain height, his body filled out with muscle in a matter of months. His neck thickened. His forearms and biceps became rounded to diamond peaks, even his small hands thickened, looking power filled. His chest and shoulders pumped up and filled out with the least effort, solid as a brick. His abs became a cobblestone highway with the adonis belt leading the eye down to a lower half blessed with powerful glutes and quads and calves.
The Celtic gods—or, perhaps, just his natural genetics—must have been trying to compensate for the medical insult that he had been subjected to.
And the changes kept coming even after his physique perfected itself.
The initial reason his parents had stopped his maturing picked up where it left off. 18 years old, still 4’ 11 3/4” tall while everything else about him radiated the perfect athlete in miniature, his manhood was the one part of him out of proportion. Before it had been eight inches long and constantly flaccid. A fun accessory, able to give him pleasure enough from its latent sensitivity, but until his changing his equipment was nothing like the towering erections of the normal guys Brennen had drooled over and handled.
One night after his roommate had left to study (or go circle jerk without “the kid”), he noticed new sensations that were not like his always flaccid penis. In moments his “accessory” was transformed. The limp biscuit became the ‘man of steel’, wider than his thick wrist and as long as his forearm, elbow to middle of his hand. His heart started pounding, and he had to pant to get enough air. His body was shivering or quaking. Filled with adrenaline, all sensations seemed to radiate from his pulsing quaking phallus. Involuntary contractions were spreading out from his cock and balls. Nothing had ever felt like that before and it felt fantastic! It was like electric jolts of bliss.
Brennen finally understood what horny was for him and was both stunned and in ecstasy when he felt the heat radiating from his cock. He had friends he enjoyed, but, this, he was head over heels in love with this. No wonder guys liked jerking off so much. Closing his eyes, as he pulled down on his foreskin with both hands, even before he uncovered his glans he felt wetness, precum flowing down his towering giant… The contractions, the pleasure was growing.
Then when he didn’t think it could get any better, the pleasure leaped up. The fist size balls which had been swinging and shaking starting drawing closer to him, swelling even as they rose. The foreskin felt even better sliding up and over the engorged glans and back down. His hips started thrusting and bucking. His whole body was convulsing. He couldn’t or didn’t want to stop it. The contractions changed to almost a violent/blinding pleasure and hard grasping in his groin as volleys of cum fountained up and out of him and hit the ceiling, once, twice, three times and continued over and past Brennen, hitting the windows and wall behind him. It ended some fifteen shots later with his energy finally starting to flag, leaving him a smiling, groaning, semi-conscious mess.
“Holy freaking moley!” Brennen remembered hearing. Looking around a little blearily, he discovered that his first real getting his rocks off, his first ejaculation, had had an audience. Several of the guys he had watched circle jerk on any number of past occasions were now clustered in his doorway, staring in shock at the spectacle before them. Their eyes were all as wide as saucers and several of them had their mouths open. All of them were breathing hard. Even Gregor, the hot-but-gruff rugby captain, was flushed and overcome with awe.
“Brey, Brey,” Gregor murmured. “I’m impressed. Can you get it hard like that again? And—can I feel it?”
Beyond the shock of not being alone came the rush of arousal at being asked. To be included in the jerk group of hot men and now able to do more than watch them cum as he jerked them seemed as amazing as what had happened to his tool. Brennen felt his cock harden and rise, and he answered with a smirk, “Maybe if you call me Brennen I’ll let you play with mine, if you let me play with yours. I’ll bet I can even produce some fresh cream for you, if you treat me right…”
That was the start of fun times for Brennen on campus. Guys were joining his particular j/o group solely because of him. By the time he graduated, his dick topped out at a little over 16 inches, and his glans sometimes reached 11 inches around. There were some adjustments, all minor and all worth it. He tried to avoid hot food because it made him hang low enough it was troublesome, because whatever pant leg his hangers were in they’d bounce off his calf when he played soccer, plus they seemed bigger after a spicy meal. He developed an impressive and luxuriant covering of hair over pretty much most of his body. He worked on being clean cut and found himself voted the most handsome man on campus his junior year.
Upon graduation he received multiple offers and leads from alumni in his field and settled in the upper midwest. His new job and new hometown happened to be a more conservative community than he had anticipated and over the years he became a bit more modest than in his freewheeling college days, but he still enjoyed driving into the nearby larger city that had a decent fitness center several times a week. That ended up being the fitness center where he met Clark, and the second phase of his story began.
When I was younger, I had a difficult time sometimes. I was called names and teased by most of the kids—things like, “Stark White.” “Cool Ghoul.” “Everest” (for Mount Everest). My family and I, even my extended family, were all whiter than most albinos and taller than most people. I have to admit my parents were really cool with helping me deal with our differences and guiding my teachers, though I didn’t realize how much they were supporting my success until I was a freshman in college. That was when I reached a high-enough level of mental and physical sophistication that I could experience what I called psychic phenomena. I confided in my parents what I had discovered—that I could influence my teachers with my thoughts, and often know things about them. I also had an eerie and uncomfortable sense about when I was misusing that ability. Nevertheless, I wanted to understand this new aspect of myself.
That was when my parents, especially my dad, shared how they had judiciously nudged my teachers and role models to use the better parts of their normal inclinations to make sure all students, not just myself, were more fairly treated and achieved their potential. I wasn’t abnormal for my family in developing telepathic ability. It was, nonetheless, a closely guarded secret and part of a rite of passage. Even extended family members could not mention these abilities until those with some telepathic capacity reached their twenties. Had I older siblings, or more contact with my extended family, I might have suspected this, but we mainly interacted via video chat. The seven-hour flight to see my mom’s grandmother came once a year, and every three years there was the family reunion on Dad’s side. That was it.
The sex talk—the mechanics, the psychological, social aspects, various consequences, fantastic possibilities and such—I had been given an overview that was constantly updated by both my parents from when I could first ask questions. This continued once I found out what I could do. My Dad, during a conversation after I had discovered my advanced mental abilities, surprised me by mentioning that I should pay close attention to any sense I had of influencing someone too far regarding sex. At the same time it would be important to experience and learn to encourage things from their perspective.
“Two more things I might mention,” he added casually. “You may be able to alter certain aspects of your body, like penis length, recovery time after an orgasm, how fast your hair grows, your strength, that kind of thing. But there is a short window on that. Be thoughtful, now that you’ve reached this level of development.” He looked thoughtful. “The family reunion is coming up next January,” he continued. “The oldest traditionally make themselves available to all that have made rite of passage the past three and a half years. This year may be different. Instead of the oldest, the men of your grandfather’s and my generation may hear your hopes, concerns and triumphs, before you are presented before first the old ones, then the adult community to start training to live up to the responsibilities of your age.”
I set aside the fantastic knowledge I could do really hot things with my body. That could be considered when I had time alone. This thing with the oldest was disconcerting. Somehow I sensed Dad’s probing—not of my mind, but of the situation, as though he were trying to peer into events I couldn’t remotely sense yet. I asked, “The oldest are more dependable than stone, water or fire. Right? Is there something off with my generation, or them?”
Then I saw in my mind an asteroid, the shape of a sphere, hurtling past our solar system. For less than a nanosecond it rent the boundaries separating different existences. Out of the tearing something like a window glass hurtled toward earth faster than light, slowing (purposely?) in Earth’s atmosphere before finally lodging itself high in an ancient giant cedar.
Clear, cold, yet warm and undeniable, I felt the thought of an oldest, speaking to my father and me. “What concerns us, Markus and son of Markus, is that, though it might be perceived as a pane of glass, this thing is clearly sentient. It has been listening to the vast webs of Earth’s ecosystems through this one tree. Ecosystems whose memories go back even before our arrival.”
The oldest continued, “We are being judged by what our interstellar guest is learning about the past of this planet’s history from that tree and its community. At first we worried it might be for ill. Among the oldest are those who can dimly see future outcomes. They do not see that or any judgement being punitive. Nevertheless, we, the oldest, are focused on seeking and encouraging a best outcome for us all. For that reason, we have prepared and entrusted your passage to the younger ones, such as the grandfathers’ and fathers’ generation.”
The oldest them spoke admonishingly to me alone: “The knowledge we have shared we ask you to set aside as you consider your present path to adulthood. Enjoy the time and gift of this stage of life. The strength of simple elegance to you.”
I was momentarily caught up in the elder’s concern about the glassy meteor. But then, those last words dislodged the very exciting news I was trying not to think about. Enjoy the time and gift… If Dad was telling the truth, there was a lot of enjoyment coming my way. Holy moley, I could grow my dick even longer…!!
I remembered belatedly that I was still in the presence of my Dad. Whoops! I felt my face heat a little, but he shrugged his shoulders and winked. “I’m pretty sure I had much the same thoughts as you may be having at that stage in my life,” he said. “With yourself, be bold as you can. With others, always guard their dignity and build bridges… and enjoy yourself.” He stood. “I’ve got to meet with the head of the physics department at the university, then I’ll be heading home. Oh yes, Mom said make sure you share your care package.” With that, Dad left.
I had the weekend to work on developing new skills. Though all of this was decades ago, I remember shouting out loud to the universe as the door closed, “New skills, yes…!!”
Next stop: body modification!!
I soon learned that a change didn’t come simply because I snapped my fingers. The easiest changes seemed paradoxical. If I focused on growing my penis, nothing happened. If I indirectly did things like long extended nude yoga poses and immersed myself in “experiencing” how normal it was for me to have a long thick softie with a huge long fat head, things began to change. Of course, I’d lose track of time, or desperate striving, but the payoff was about a sixteenth or and eighth of an inch a day and the added bonus of lower hanging and bigger nuts. Gawd!! I never thought about how it would increase my horniness or precum, which it did. My internal self controls kicked in and I discovered I could cultivate horniness, or store it for use later.
After about 12 weeks the growth of my equipment was slowing down regardless of how long I “supported” my growth. At 6’7” a 19” erect penis didn’t look inhuman, but it was pretty close… seeing I could never seem to increase my muscle mass significantly, only refine it and my strength. My frame finally did look better than skeletal, but not by much. My dick was about as wide as my wrist and roughly as long as my forearm, with the head being slightly bigger, longer than my fist with an extended pair of lips that swelled if I edged for several hours. Nice thing about edging and mental gifts. I found I could mentally “allow” and encourage my dick to convulse, reinforcing any wave of pleasure. There was a point of no return where my dick would take over and wash me in wave after wave of orgasm once I set it in motion. Once I spent the entire afternoon precumming and orgasming. I more than half filled a quart glass milk bottle with pre! Boy, my swollen nuts ached, hanging low, shaking, quaking, at my knees, as my dickhead’s lips, fat and plump, kept contracting, reminding me of puckering up for a kiss. That one afternoon was an agony of pleasure I don’t think I’d ever forget, and afterwards I repeated the indulgence on the rare occasion I could clear my schedule.
The first time Rolland (actually, Rolly), my suite mate, had dared me to compete, seeing who could edge the longest, he saw my orgasm and was hooked. Then I let him feel my orgasm through his body. Once Rolly recovered consciousness from shooting his wad across the living room and beyond until it splattered on the dining room wall, I swore him to secrecy and told him I’d share as much as I knew about the skill to do what I did.