Description Orphaned from birth, Jallen’s amazing growth has continually confounded and upset the long procession of foster parents he has endured. Until he meets Officer Brian Molloy of the Houston P.D.
|Updated||16 May 2020|
Jallen was found in a dumpster at a Houston mall, a few hours after his birth. His mother was long gone by the time he was found, screaming lustily. Despite having spent the first few hours of his life as a throwaway, Jallen was a big boy, easily 10 pounds, and remarkably healthy. As soon as the pediatric nurse stuck the bottle in his mouth, he sucked greedily and noisily and didn’t want to let go when the bottle was finished. No one came forward to claim Jallen and as is the case with most unclaimed babies he was handed over to the Texas foster care system, an elephantine bureaucracy designed to make the mostly poor, mostly brown children in its care feel unwanted and unloved.
From the beginning, Jallen stood out. He was gorgeous, for one thing, and indecipherable, for another. Even as a baby it was apparent that he had the face of a Greek God: ¬perfectly regular features, strong nose, square jaw, bow-shaped lips. On the other hand, his large, long-lashed luminous green eyes had the epicanthic fold of an East Asian. He had golden brown skin, perfectly even in shading and lacking any blemishes whatsoever. And thick, lustrous, wavy black hair. Anglo? Hispanic? African? Asian? No one could tell. There were other differences, too. He grew faster than anyone in his age cohort. He wasn’t just at the top of the chart for his age, he was off the chart. At 12 months he had the size and motor skills of a three-year-old, the verbal and social skills of a two-year-old. And he kept growing at that pace. It was TOO different for most foster families. They’d keep him for six months. Then something ODD would happen, or they’d notice that the child they’d brought home a few months previously seemed to have aged a year.
Jallen’s time in foster care ended when he was 12. In the middle of his sixth grade school year, Jallen was sent to live with the Gilmores, Frank and Linda. Frank Gilmore was a rough and ready construction worker, 6 ft. tall and about 200 pounds of well-distributed muscle. He was quite vain about his 9-inch dick and didn’t mind telling his co-workers that his wife always complained that it was more than she could handle. By that time Jallen was already 5’10” tall and weighed 180 pounds, all of it in the right places. He was outsized in other ways, as well. He’d always been “big down there” but as the year went by Jallen’s genitals became just as awesome as the rest of his body. When he went to live with the Gilmores Jallen’s dick was already as big as Frank’s; he was 11½ years old.
From the beginning Frank decided that Jallen was a troublemaker who needed to have “some sense knocked into him.” He never had a kind word to say to Jallen, made him spend twice as much time doing chores as the other two foster kids in the family, etc. Frank was also got it into his head that Jallen was in danger of “turning into a faggot” if he spent any time whacking off, which Jallen would have done all day every day if he could have figured out a way to do so. He was, after all, a newly adolescent boy, even if a very large one. His big dick throbbed with every random thought, with every gust of wind, with every tug of his always too tight jeans.
The Gilmores had only one upstairs bathroom and Frank made it a point of needing to go when Jallen was taking a bath. Morning, evening, afternoon, if Jallen was in the bathroom, Frank was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, reading a magazine, pretending to take a dump. And he stayed there while Jallen got out of the shower and toweled off, from to time glancing at Jallen’s huge dick. Sometimes Jallen would spring a boner. He tried and tried and tried to think thoughts that wouldn’t let it happen but then he’d relax a minute and start looking at his big weenie or think about his hunky, well-hung foster dad sitting five feet away from him and sproing! Whenever it happened, Frank would berate him mercilessly, calling him “weiner boy” and “stuck on yourself” and “sissy.”
As the year went by Jallen grew as he had never grown before. By the end of the sixth grade, Jallen stood six feet even and he weighed a good 230 pounds, all of it muscle. With a 50-inch chest, 30-inch waist, 28-inch quads and 19-inch biceps, Jallen had a body that would be the envy of most college football players and many a competitive bodybuilder. He was as tall as Frank and outweighed him by 30 pounds, all of it muscle. Jallen was smooth as whistle no body hair at all aside from him head but his dick had kept pace with the rest of him. He was a 12-year-old boy with a 12-inch dick.
The morning of his last day of school Jallen was taking his morning shower and Frank, as usual, was pretending to take a dump. Jallen was looking forward to his summer vacation; unlike some of his foster families, who had lived out in the boonies, the Gilmores lived in an in-town neighborhood, walking distance to lots of cool stuff and easy access to the bus system. Jallen meant to do some exploring. The warm water ran across his body and his thoughts ran toward summer Jallen’s hands ran over his body. He came close to dozing. And then…
Rrrrrrip! Frank savagely tore the shower curtain back, ripping it from the plastic shower rings.
“I knew it,” he bellowed. “You goddamned wussy faggot. In here in MY shower using MY hot water to get yourself all horned up! Get the fuck out of there, you fuckin’ perv!”
Jallen’s jaw dropped and he gave a little shudder as Frank yanked the faucet from pleasantly warm to shiveringly cold.
“I said get the fuck out of there…!” Frank snarled, grabbing Jallen’s wrist and pulling him toward the edge of the tub.
Jallen stepped out quickly.
“Look at that thing!”
Jallen looked down.
There it was in all its glory. The biggest cock either of them had ever seen. Twelve proud inches long, nine mind-numbing inches in circumference.
“Why, I oughta…” Frank growled and lifted his meaty right hand in a fist.
Suddenly, something inside Jallen clicked. As the blow headed for his face, Jallen’s left hand, faster than either of them could really see, flew out and wrapped itself around Frank’s big fist.
“You oughta what?” Jallen asked.
His right hand immobilized, Frank cursed and swung again, this time with his left. Jallen grabbed it, too. Jallen was standing nose to nose with Frank—who was suddenly aware that Jallen wasn’t just bigger “down there.” He was bigger everywhere! Shoulders, chest, arms, legs. And stronger, too.
“Let’s get something straight, Pops,” said Jallen.
Slowly but very easily Jallen lifted Frank up and up, so that he’s feet were dangling from the floor and his head was grazing the ceiling.
“You don’t hit me,” Jallen said, “unless you want me to hit you.”
With that, Jallen dropped Frank to the floor, then turned and punched a hole through the bathroom’s two-inch thick solid oak door. Jallen strode from the bathroom, stopped long enough to put on a change of clothes, then walked out the Gilmore’s front door.
They never saw him again.
After school Jallen did what he always did: he headed to the neighborhood park near the Gilmore’s house, the place where the hunky neighborhood guys went to play pick-up basketball. Jallen was popular at these events and not just because he was drop dead gorgeous; he was also an excellent athlete and a great team player. The guys, all of whom seemed to be in their 20s and older, seemed to like his polite, soft-spoken manner. They treated him like one of them, which was a nice change. It was also more than a little bit ironic: ¬none them seemed to have a clue he was only 12 years old and he was intent on keeping it that way.
Today, though, Jallen wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He certainly wasn’t going back to Frank and Linda Gilmore’s house. There wasn’t much point in calling his social worker, either; Jallen long ago learned that he had two choices, go with the flow, or go to juvenile hall for a couple of days’ worth of detention. So he played round ball. And then he played some more. And then more again, and on and on, well into the night. By the time midnight rolled around, Jallen was the only one left, the last of the consecutive groups of hoopsters having called it a night. None of them quite caught onto the fact that he’d been playing full out for something like eight or nine hours. He wasn’t quite aware of it himself. Jallen sat on the bench next to the basketball court, crossed his massive, sculpted arms across his powerful chest, and stretched out his spectacular legs, one of his size 14 Reeboks idly scraping sand across the concrete. He let out a heavy sigh.
“What am I gonna do?” he asked himself.
Suddenly a light flared in his face.
“Son, ain’t about time for you to be headin’ home?” a deep, quiet voice rumbled at him.
Jallen looked up and then kept on looking! About where he’d usually expect to see a person’s head was a very wide, very thick chest covered in blue / black cotton polyester.
Police, he thought. Oh, shit.
He cocked his head further back to see the cop’s face and sucked in his breath. Jallen didn’t have much on Officer Brian Molloy in the looks department. At 40, Molloy was all man. Majorly receding hairline, which suited him just fine because he liked to keep it buzzed short. As furry in back as he was in front, which was very. A mustache and goatee so thick and dark they looked like the pelt of some wild animal. A perpetual five o’clock shadow. Plus startling blue eyes, a strong nose, high forehead and cheekbones, dimples and a small cleft in his chin. Tom Selleck looked a bit on the nelly side compared to Officer Molloy.
His face wasn’t what people usually noticed first, however. What they noticed was his size—and not just his height. Brian Molloy had always been tall, even as a child, and he reached his full height—6 feet 8 inches—when he was only 16 years old. At that point he’d been rail thin and not at all happy about it. He started lifting and as soon as he started lifting he started growing and he never stopped. At 16 he was 150 pounds, all knees and elbows and wrists and ankles. At 20 he was 250 pounds, not that huge for one so tall but a big man even so. Still, that wasn’t enough. At 30 Brian was 325 pounds. He was bigger than any other man on the force and stronger, too. His supervisors told him that that was enough, that any more than that would cost him promotions.
“You intimidate people, Brian,” his supervisor told him. “That’s okay on the street but it’s not a good thing when it’s the chief or, God forbid, the mayor!”
Still Brian kept growing. At 40 he weighed 400 pounds. Of solid muscle.
“Well, it is Texas,” he’d point out when people gawked. “Everything’s bigger. Even the cops.”
There wasn’t one bigger than Brian Molloy, however, even that guy on the Arlington P.D., Ronnie What’s His Face, the Mr. Olympia titleist. He’d visibly blanched the first time he met Brian who stood 8 inches taller and outweighed him by a hundred pounds. Like Jallen, Brian’s muscles weren’t the only thing huge about him. More than one of Houston’s Montrose residents, the predominantly gay neighborhood Brian frequently patrolled, had remarked that Brian seemed to have forgotten that he was supposed to wear his nightstick on the outside of his pants, not inside. Brian never wanted to tell anyone how big it was but from time to time he’d let himself be maneuvered into revealing that it was, indeed, a bit longer than his nightstick-regulation 12 inches—and quite bit thicker.
“Jeez,” Jallen finally said. “You are SOOO fucking huge!”
“Potty mouth,” Officer Brian said. “But, yeah, I am. You’re pretty fucking big yourself!”
“I see what you did there!”
I like this kid, Molloy said to himself. He’s said a dozen words and I like him already.
“Yeah,” Officer Brian said. “There’s that. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re hanging around a deserted basketball court at midnight when you ought to be home, in bed, and getting your rest so those big muscles of yours can get even bigger.”
He noticed my muscles! Jallen thought.
“Home…” Jallen choked on the word, then doubled over.
Molloy rested a hand on the big kid’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, son,” he said. “You can tell me.”
And so Jallen did. All of it. Foster homes. The Gilmores. Frank’s pretend dumps and the bullying. Snapping.
“I can’t go back,” Jallen said. “He’ll kill me if I don’t kill him first.”
Twelve years old? Molloy thought. Holy Mother of God!
“Tell you what, Sport,” Officer Brian said. “I’m going off shift. You can come home with me tonight. I have a spare bedroom. We’ll get it all sorted out in the morning.”
Jallen rubbed his tear-stained face.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “You could just take me to Juvie. Not gonna lie, I’m sure that’s where this is gonna end up.”
Won’t be the first time, Jallen added to himself.
Molloy held out his hand. It was the size of a hubcap. Jallen took it and levered himself off the bench. Half an hour later they pulled into the driveway of Molloy’s suburban ranch. Jallen barely registered the well-kept lawn (or the rainbow flag flying by the front door) but he did notice the pool. And the very large dog with his paws up on his gate to the back yard.
“Oops!” Molloy said, sounding vaguely embarrassed. “You’re okay with dogs, right?”
“I love dogs,” he said. “I’ve always wanted one but you know how that goes.”
Brian heaved a sigh of relief.
“Excellent,” he said. “Jallen, meet Max, my six-year-old bloodhound. Max, meet Jallen.”
Jallen extended his hand over the gate. Max sniffed it…for quite a long time. His tail wagged furiously the whole time. Interesting, Molloy thought. He doesn’t usually take this much time. Eventually, Max sat down and barked his happy bark.
“Arf! Arf! Arf!”
Jallen looked at Officer Brian.
“Does that mean I pass muster?”
“I think you just acquired a new best friend,” he replied.
He led Jallen through the laundry room to the kitchen where Max was eager to show Jallen his food and water bowls.
“And let’s not forget his precious green ball,” Molloy said.
Max dropped it at Jallen’s feet. Jallen picked it up and gave Officer Brian a quizzical glance.
“The green ball is the ‘sit with me on the sofa’ ball,” Molloy explained. “Not everyone is so honored. But not right now, Max, we need to get some grub on.”
Molloy pointed Jallen to Max’s food canister.
“Two cups for him,” he instructed. “Steaks, baked potatoes, and salad for us. Unless you have dietary restrictions?”
Jallen’s eyes bulged. He would have been lucky to get a bowl of chicken noodle soup out of the Gilmores.
“I promise not to eat the plates,” Jallen replied, his look clearly expressing his regret over having to make that promise.
Half an hour later they were stuffed.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Molloy said.
The guest room was generic but comfortable. A big bed, a couple of night tables, a small desk with a laptop.
“It’s Internet-connected and feel free to use it,” Molloy said. “But if I don’t hear you snoring in 15 minutes I’m going to come shut it down. Bathroom’s next door.”
Jallen stood there looking at the bed, looking at Max, looking at Officer Brian.
“Thanks, Officer Brian,” he said. “I don’t know how…”
His words ground to a halt. Molloy patted him on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry about it, Kid,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”
“You can close the door if you want, it locks. Or you can leave it open, doesn’t matter to me. I have been known to sleep through earthquakes.”
Jallen closed the door, turned off the light, took off his clothes, slipped under the covers. Ten minutes later, just as he was about to drift off, the door eased up and 80 pounds of blood hound trotted in. Max rested his snout by Jallen’s head.
“Hi, Boy,” Jallen said, scratching Max behind the ears and under his chin. Max’s tail swished languidly. “Whatcha want?”
Max walked around to the other side of the bed and hopped on.
“Oh, really?” Jallen asked. “Is this okay?”
Max licked Jallen’s face, then flopped down. He let out a contented sigh. Down the hall, Molloy listened to the soft murmurings coming from the guest bedroom. Wonders never cease, he thought. Abandoned by my own dog! He fell into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning Jallen woke to the smell of frying bacon. And the sensation of a thick, wet tongue licking his face.
“Alright, all right,” Jallen told Max. “I’m up already.”
Officer Brian had enough eggs, bacon, biscuits, and OJ for the entire Gilmore foster family.
“Just for the two of us?” Jallen asked.
“We’re growing boys, aren’t we?”
Jallen scarfed down one plate, along with a giant glass of OJ and another of whole milk, then did the same thing twice more. When he was done, he burped—then turned bright red!
“Excuse me!” he blurted, ashamed.
Despite having spent his entire life in foster care, Jallen knew table manners. Not knowing them had gotten him in more trouble than he cared to think about. Then, when he was six, he found that book by Miss Emily Post, which he consumed one afternoon when his foster parents were otherwise engaged. He absorbed it the same way he absorbed everything else—totally and perfectly.
“Musta been somebody you ate,” Brian drawled.
If Jallen had been red before, now he was positively scarlet!
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Molloy said. “Kid, the thing you need to know about me is I’m a Big Old Queen. Occasionally my gay shines through.”
“Really?” he said. “I never would have guessed.”
Officer Brian arched an eyebrow.
“What? You think all gay guys are nelly little twinks?”
Jallen just sat there with his mouth open. It was completely clear to him that Officer Brian could crush him like a little bug if that’s what he had in mind!
“It’s okay, kid, I’m just joshing you,” Molloy said, scratching his massive hairy pecs. “Now let’s talk about today.”
Brian quizzed Jallen on his background, namely: Who were his foster parents? Where did they live? Where had he been going to school? Who was he with before his current foster parents?
“So, here’s the deal,” he said finally. “Today’s my admin day so I’m going into the station to do some research and some work-work while you hang out here.”
There was plenty of food, he was free to use the pool, the computer, and the big screen TV. In addition, Officer Brian gave him a bus pass and “loaned” him his library card, although it turned out that one of the houses four bedrooms was a “reading room / library” with floor to ceiling shelves on all four walls with two wing-chairs and ottomans.
“But for today,” he added. “I think you should stick around here. I want to figure out some stuff before you go gallivanting here or there. And Max will enjoy your company.”
Molloy drummed his fingers on the table.
“Oh, yeah, one more thing,” he said, signaling Jallen to follow him. He led the big kid outside past the pool and to the detached two-car garage, then opened the door.
“There’s this,” he said, flipping on the light switch.
Jallen’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. It was a fully equipped gym, with a squat rack, smith machine, flat, incline, and decline benches, a treadmill, and an array of Swiss balls, BOSU balls, weight-trees, and so forth. The three walls were mirrored and along one of them was a long set of dumbbells, two of each, starting at five pounds and going up to 200 pounds!
“In case you get bored,” Molloy said.
I think I’ve died and gone to heaven, Jallen thought. In a minute I’ll wake up and fucking Frank Gilmore will be in my face again.
“My cell number is by the phone,” Officer Brian said. “I’ll be back at 6.”
At the station Molloy’s first call was to Family Services. They gave him the short and the long of Jallen’s time in foster care. The more he heard, the more burned up he got about it.
“Are you seriously telling me, Mr. Chao, that Jallen—that is, John Allen Smith—has been in 30 different homes and he’s only 12 years old?”
On the other end of the line, Henry Chao gulped. He’d worked with Officer Molloy on more than one child-related case and held him in the highest regard. He was just as appalled by the story he was telling as Molloy was hearing it.
“Yes, Officer Molloy, that is exactly what I am telling you,” he said. “And if I’d had any idea, I would have called for an intervention years ago. Unfortunately, I don’t see every case and many of colleagues don’t share what they refer to as my ‘anal retentive’ attitude.”
“And I’m guessing you haven’t heard a damn thing from his current foster family?”
Chao grunted an affirmative.
“In that case,” Molloy said. “Here’s what I would like you to do…”
He explained his plan of action. Chao listened attentively.
“Are you sure, Brian?” he asked, finally.
“Do you have any problem with it?”
“Not in the least,” he said. “I can’t think of a better environment for him than the one you will provide. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
Molloy rubbed his stubbled jaw.
“Apparently my biological clock is ticking,” he admitted, finally, prompting Chao to laugh. “Do you think there will be any problems?”
Through the telephone line Molloy could hear Henry Chao’s eyes rolling.
“The Gilmores being the Gilmores, I expect them to get shirty about it,” Chao said. “And I expect to cut them off at the knees.”
Chao said that he would follow up with the Gilmores.
“And there will be no problems,” he said. “Or else they’re toast.”
Molloy thanked Chao, did some more research—this time on the schools in his area—and then headed home.
While Officer Brian was at work, Jallen spent the day with Max. Lifting. Eating A LOT and reading. Jacking off. Lifting. Eating a lot and reading. Jacking off. And then doing laps in the pool. Lots and lots and lots of laps. Max found Jallen’s pool time very entertaining. A marked contrast to Jallen’s time in the gym—where Max wasn’t allowed—or in the bedroom (this time Jallen locked the door.) Jallen was finishing his last lap when Officer Brian pulled up in the driveway. He hoisted himself out the pool and shook his whole body—much to Max’s delight—just as Molloy was entering the gate.
Jesus, Molloy thought, taking in the twin slabs of the kid’s 50-inch chest, his ridiculously broad shoulders, and his ripped eight-pack. It looks like he’s put on 5 pounds since this morning!
“Officer Brian!” Jallen said, delightedly. “Max and I had a truly awesome day. I can’t wait to tell you all about it!”
The warmth of the kid’s smile was enough to light and heat the Earth. Molloy grinned.
“Very glad to hear it, Jallen!” Brian replied. “Turns out I’ve got some good news for you, too!”
“So here’s the deal, Jallen,” Officer Brian said. “How would you like to live with me?”
Jallen’s face lit up at Brian’s words, then immediately crashed.
“For how long?” he asked, suspiciously.
Molloy counted to ten. He reminded himself that Jallen had been disappointed way too many times in his short life.
“Well, that depends,” Brian said. “As of today and as far as the Division of Family Services is concerned, you are in my care—indefinitely.”
“They have rules for me, you know, regarding how I’m supposed to treat you. If I screw up, they could step in and say you need to go somewhere else. I don’t think that’s likely to happen.”
Then he added.
“But I have rules for you, too. They’re pretty simple.”
He listed them:
No drugs, no alcohol, no cigarettes (especially the cigarettes.) Help out around the house. Help take care of Max.
“He was here first, you know.”
When summer was over, go to school and work hard.
“And no skipping and no running off,” Molloy added. “I don’t need you to tell me when you’re going to the bathroom but if you’re heading from one place to another, I want to know about it as you’re doing it, not after the fact. Same thing with having friends over. Ask first.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, I hate to say it but there were times when I didn’t manage to do all that when I was your age,” he said. “But I think you’ll do fine if you set your mind to it.”
Jallen stuck his big hand out. Officer Brian grasped it in his much bigger hand.
“It’s a deal.”
And so they were set for the summer.
Five days out of seven, Officer Brian went to work and left Jallen home with Max. Jallen would eat, lift, jack off, swim in the pool, play endless rounds of fetch and “who’s the fastest dog” with Max, do his chores, and plow his way through Brian’s library. Then Molloy would come home, they’d have a snack and then they’d spend a couple of hours in the garage gym. The first time Officer Brian curled the 200-pound dumbbells for 20 reps Jallen thought he was going to jizz on the spot.
“Sorry! Too much OJ! If I don’t get to the bathroom right now I’m gonna wet myself!”
He fled and Molloy chuckled. Jallen wasn’t the first guy who had to excuse himself when confronted with Molloy’s fucking gigantic vein-engorged 34 inch biceps.
After the gym sesh, Brian would cook supper and Jallen (and Max, of course!) would help out. Turned out Jallen had been fending for himself since he was old enough to stand on a stool to reach kitchen cabinets and microwaves. He proved to be a dab hand in the kitchen and it wasn’t long before Jallen was cooking supper and Brian was helping out.
Weekends? Rinse and repeat plus grocery shopping, clothes shopping, movies, day trips to Galveston or NASA or wherever, and visits to the Natural Science Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts, or Brian’s fave, the Menil Collection.
Jallen ate it up, of course. And he grew, of course. Like a weed, of course. By the end of the summer, a couple of weeks before school was set to resume, Jallen was two inches taller—and 50 pounds heavier. At 6’2 and 280 pounds of solid muscle, Jallen looked like an extremely well-conditioned college football player who might be angling for a career in bodybuilding. He was still 12 years old.
One night Molloy met Henry Chao for drinks after work.
“I really don’t what to do,” Brian said, showing Henry a pic of Jallen, in board shorts, and Max standing next to the pool. “He’s a very unusual kid.”
Henry looked at the pic and gulped.
“Jesus Fucking Christ, Brian,” he said to his former lover. “What have you been feeding him?”
Brian shrugged is gigantic shoulders.
“Anything, everything, and a lot of all of it,” Brian replied. “I swear to God he could eat cookie dough all day long and it would still turn into muscle.”
Chao gave Brian a long look, then he whistled.
“You realize, of course, that it’s impossible to send him off to 7th grade like that, right?”
“Did I point out to you that he’s read half of my library”—Henry was well-acquainted with Molloy’s library—”and that as far as I can tell he has an eidetic memory? And don’t get me started on puzzles. I’m pretty sure he does partial differential equations in his head—in his sleep!”
“What do you have in mind?”
Brian twirled his martini glass, a sure sign that he was conflicted.
“Okay, stop me if this sounds insane,” he said. “I think it’s time for 12-year-old John Allen Smith to disappear. And for my 17-year-old nephew, Jallen Henry Molloy, my sister’s daughter, to enroll as a senior at Montrose High.”
Henry’s jaw dropped.
“Your sister was killed in a car wreck 15 years ago,” Henry said. “She never had a kid.”
Brian tilted his chin and gave Henry the look.
“Oh,” Henry said. “You mean…”
“Yes,” he said. “I mean. I think between the two of us…”
Henry fondled his goatee.
“Yes,” he said. “I think you’re probably right.”
And between the two of them they figured out how to make it so.
“Officer Brian,” Jallen asked. “What’s Latin?”
Brian paused mid-stroke. He was shaving and, as usual, Jallen was watching. Huge and built as he was, Jallen showed no signs of getting any hairier and he was apparently quite fascinated with Brian’s pelt and his perpetual five o’clock shadow.
“Latin is a classical language, like ancient Greek,” Brian replied. “It was the language of the Romans and their empire and it was the ancestor of modern languages like Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and, oddly enough, Romanian.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “And I guess that’s why Spanish and Portuguese-speaking countries are called Latin America and people from those countries are called Latinos?”
Brian grunted an affirmative.
“You got it,” he said, continuing his shave. “Why do you ask?”
Jallen stood and stretched. Mentally, Brian started counting:
1, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19…I will not have an erection, I will not have an erection, he told himself.
“I have one more class to choose for my schedule,” Jallen said. “And I thought it might be fun.”
Brian chuckled, as he cleaned up.
“It is fun,” he said. “Great for expanding your English language vocabulary or at least understanding it. About half of English words are borrowed from Latin or Latin-derived languages or they’re made up words with Latin roots.”
He turned towards Jallen and scratched his massive hairy pecs.
“Not very useful, though,” he said. “No one speaks it.”
“I don’t seem to have any trouble picking up languages,” he said. “Right now I’m trying to decide whether I want to learn Russian or Chinese.”
Brian gave the kid an appraising look. Jallen had spent a lot of time on the computer over the summer. Anytime he wasn’t lifting, eating, sleeping, wanking, hanging out in the pool, or playing with Max, he was in front of the computer with headsets and a microphone.
“How many do you know now?” Brian asked casually.
Jallen see-sawed his hand.
“Sixteen or seventeen,” he said. “Depends on whether you count Catalan as a separate language or just as a dialect of Spanish.”
Brian bit his tongue.
“You should give Latin a try,” he said. “Among other things, you’re likely to meet more nerds, that way. I was a Latin nerd.”
Brian tapped Jallen on his boulder-sized delts.
“Then it’s settled! Latin it is!”
Coach Bill “Bull” Butler couldn’t believe his eyes.
Standing in line at the class registration desk was a giant kid who had “NFL” written all over him. Bull Butler was a big man, 6’4 and 300 pounds of muscle (covered in curly blond ringlets—everywhere—that matched the thinning crop on top of his head), and he knew muscle when he saw it. This kid, whoever he was, was nearly as tall and nearly as big as The Bull (as Butler thought of himself) and clearly all muscle.
“Hey, Kid,” Butler said.
He was talking to Lily Painter, one of the guidance counselors, who was clearly about to wet herself. Butler knew all the single female teachers under the age of 40—knew them intimately, truth be told—and he knew that Lily had a serious thing for muscle, his in particular. The Big Kid didn’t even look at Butler, just held up a meaty finger, as if to say “Hang on, please, I haven’t finished talking to the nice lady here…” The Bull saw the finger and saw red. No one held a finger up at Bull Butler! Didn’t this kid know he was the winningest football coach in Montrose High School history?!
“Oh, Mr. Butler,” Lily broke off what she was telling the kid. “So nice to see you this morning! Jallen, this is Mr. Butler, our football coach and driver’s ed teacher. Mr. Butler, this is Jallen Molloy, a senior transfer student from, uh…”
Jallen stuck out a hand the size of a hub-cap.
“Nice to meet you, Coach Butler,” he said. “I’m from New Mexico. And I was home-schooled. I persuaded my mom to let me come live with my Uncle Brian in Houston so I could go to a real school for my senior year.”
Butler tried not to gape. This kid had been home-schooled?!
“So, have you ever played any football?” he asked.
Jallen shyly shook his head.
“No,” he admitted. “I’ve never been on a team. But I’ve watched enough of it!”
Butler looked him up and down.
“But you must have had a killer home gym,” he said.
“Uncle Brian has a great set-up in his garage,” Jallen admitted. “He’s a competitive powerlifter. Makes me feel small. And I’m 6’2 and 280.”
Butler felt The Bull stirring in his compression shorts. He thought of himself as “90% straight” but he had a decided taste for young muscle studs and he’d never seen one as well-built as Jallen.
“Football tryouts Friday afternoon,” Butler said. “I’ll see you there!”
Jallen’s jaw-dropped and then his eyes widened as he watched The Bull’s giant squat butt bouncing up in down in those shorts. Lily Painter rolled her eyes, then cleared her throat.
“Coach Butler can be somewhat direct,” she pointed out. “But team sports are a great way to get to know other young men, plus the cheerleaders and the band members and…”
Jallen smiled that gorgeous smile of his.
“But we were talking about Latin, right?”
Ms. Painter blushed.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “It doesn’t actually fill any requirements but it’s an acceptable elective. And if you’re really interested…”
Jallen nodded eagerly.
“There,” she said, updating his entry in her laptop. “Ms. Price will be happy to have you I’m sure. Do keep in mind that most kids in that class are freshmen so you’re apt to stick out a bit.”
Jallen raised his eyebrows. Ms. Painter shrugged.
“Most of them are 14 years old, Jallen,” she said. “On average, you’re about twice their size and some of the boys, you know, are just now starting puberty. Don’t be surprised if some of your classmates are 5’2 and a hundred pounds soaking wet.”
Like being in 6th grade all over again, Jallen thought. In other words, a few months ago!
Jallen thanked Painter and headed home.
And so there he was, an ostensibly 17 y.o. Montrose High senior. And a bit of an anomaly.
He was 6’2 and 280 pounds, all muscle, on the first day of school. There were a dozen or so guys at the school taller than he was and half a dozen as big as he was or bigger. But none of them were built like he was. And none of them were growing like he was. So the football team should have been a natural fit, despite the fact he had never played football. In fact, he took to the actual game like a duck to water. But the social interactions? He tended to be baffled and confused and his teammates weren’t quite sure what to make of him. Huge, built, talented, handsome, obviously hung like a horse—and definitely not a jock. It didn’t help that he had a way of focusing all of his attention on his fellow players.
“It’s like being devoured by his eyes,” the tight end said to the fullback. “Do you suppose…?”
The fullback his head.
“With a body like that?” he countered. “Not possible!”
The cheerleaders, and Montrose High cheerleaders were the sort destined to be cheerleaders at Big Name universities and/or for NFL teams, were likewise smitten—and rebuffed? It wasn’t like he was rude or unfriendly but he wasn’t all over them the way the other football guys were.
“It’s like he actually pays attention to what I say,” one of the blonde ones said to one of the brunette ones. “He actually looks me in the eye!”
The brunette giggled.
“Makes for a nice change of pace, doesn’t it?” she suggested. “But it does make you wonder why he isn’t checking out your rack!”
And then there was Latin Club. Yes, Latin Club. Despite football, Jallen somehow found time for Latin Club. Jamie Peters, a fellow senior, was President of the Club. Like Jallen (at least for the first month of their senior year), Jamie was 6’2—and all of 140 pounds.
“He could break me like a twig,” Jamie said to Lance Friendly, President of the Math Club, who had been angling to get Jallen to join.
“And you’re telling me you wouldn’t like it?” Lance asked. “Have you seen that bulge in his pants?”
Jamie shivered delicately.
“I never really believed in that Too much man for most bullshit,” he said, ruefully. “But in Jallen’s case…”
Jallen was oblivious to it all.
By the end of October, Jallen was up to 6’4 and well over 350 pounds. He had to ask Brian what Homecoming was. The idea that he might need to ask a girl out was giving him the shakes.
“I don’t know how to dance!”
Brian rolled his eyes.
“Everyone knows how to dance,” he said. “You just move your arms, wiggle your hips, and shuffle your feet around.”
He demonstrated. Jallen looked on skeptically.
“If you don’t believe me,” Brian said, finally. “Just check out YouTube.”
Jallen pursed his lips.
“But what about slow dancing?”
“Uh, well, it’s never been my strong suit,” he said. “But it works something like this.”
So he showed Jallen how to lead and how to follow by having him do both.
“That ought to take care of it!”
Jallen was skeptical but he felt vastly reassured. And then Gina, the head cheerleader (the brunette), asked him out.
“Really?” he said, pleased.
What’s with this guy? She asked herself.
“Earth to Jallen,” she replied. “You’re the biggest, strongest guy on the football team. Traditionally, you are supposed to ask the head cheerleader to the dance but I knew you were homeschooled so I figured you might not have received the memo!”
Jallen didn’t know whether to be appalled or delighted so he decided that he would go with delighted!
“Wow, Gina, that would be swell! Tell me what to do!”
She counted to 10.
“Rent a tux—if you can find one that fits—pick me up in a rented limo at 7 o’clock and we’ll go from there.”
Renting a tux, of course, was impossible but Brian had several, the oldest of which was still in good enough condition to be cut down to Jallen’s size.
“It was fucking amazing,” Brian told Henry later. “It fit him perfectly in the chest, shoulders and arms, even though I outweigh him by 50 pounds.”
Henry sipped his Sidecar.
“For now you do,” he muttered.
“So it was just a matter of shortening the sleeves and the legs and cinching in the waist.”
Brian didn’t mention to Henry that he had given Jallen two of his Super Magnum XXXL condoms. And he didn’t know that Jallen had already filched a couple of them previously and that while they were presumably adequate for Brian’s 13 x 9 inch tool they were about 3 inches short and much too tight from Jallen’s point of view.
Homecoming might have been a tremendous success, except for Coach Butler. Turned out The Bull was there as a chaperone, as he was every year. And as was the case every year, he wore the tightest possible pants with the tightest possible shirt, unbuttoned to his sternum to show off his massive pecs, which were now decidedly skimpy looking next to Jallen’s, and his famous golden curls.
Jallen danced every dance with Gina, except the times she excused herself to dance with one of the other football players. And he chatted with all the other cheerleaders and anyone who came within six feet of him, regardless of which clique they happened to belong to. And he never took his eyes off The Bull. He and The Bull were standing side by side at the punch bowl when it was time for the last dance.
Gina walked up to Jallen and extended her hand. Which he didn’t take. He was still looking at The Bull. Gina cleared her throat. She tapped her dainty foot. And then she let him have it.
“Jallen, you goddamned motherfucking piece of shit son of a bitch,” she bellowed.
That got his attention.
Gina then proceeded to tell him exactly what a miserable date he was, steamrolling past his attempted interruptions and explanations. You wouldn’t think a 5 foot 6 inch, 120-pound cheerleader could back a 6’4, 350-pound mountain of muscle into a punch table, but you’d be wrong. The results, of course, were inevitable. Jallen’s giant squat butt landed on the table, collapsing the table and Jallen. The punch bowl literally bounced into the air before somersaulting, dumping all of the contents on Jallen’s head, and then landing in his lap.
“Son,” The Bull said, helping Jallen up. “You’ve got a lot to learn about women.”
Jallen shook himself in manner that Max would find acceptable. Punch flew everywhere.
“I’m beginning to realize that,” Jallen said, with as much dignity as he could muster.
The Super Magnum XXXL condoms went unused.
It was the end of the fall semester and Jallen wasn’t a happy camper. His grades were excellent and when Ms. Painter found out he hadn’t taken the SAT she tutored him for an hour before she realized he was going to ace it, which he did on Saturday.
“You will have your pick of schools,” she said, much to his surprise. So he filled out applications for Stanford and USC, Brown and Columbia, in addition to UT-Austin and the University of Houston.
Ditto, Latin Club was great. Everyone had loved his gladiator costume for the Latin Lives Today pageant. But after the Great Punchbowl Incident, as it was now known, the cheerleaders had stopped talking to him, and so had most of the girls, except for the ones with braces and pigtails and coke-bottle glasses, who were suddenly his best friends, as were the ones with the spiky short hair and the motorcycles. Likewise, once he got up to 6’5 and passed 400 pounds, all of it muscle, the jocks started getting standoffish. It was pretty clear that he was bigger than all of them, he was stronger five or six of them put together. It was just too freaky.
The Bull ate it up, of course, relishing the fact that with Jallen anchoring his team they were unstoppable. Ten days before the last game, Donte Williams sat down next to Jallen in the cafeteria. Aside from Jallen, he was the biggest guy on the team, 6’5 and 300 pounds and most of it in the right places. He had already been recruited by TCU in Fort Worth and before Jallen arrived had been the star of the team since he was a 14-year-old 9th grade freshman.
“What’s up, Big Man?” Jallen asked. Of all his teammates, he admired Donte the most. The latter had gone out of his way to make Jallen welcome and to show him what being on a team was all about.
“There’s something you need to know about the Montrose High School football team,” Donte said. “More precisely, something about The Bull.”
Jallen blinked with surprise. He knew Coach Butler’s nickname, of course, but most of his teammates were reluctant to invoke it in anything other than a whisper.
“We have a tradition that isn’t exactly, uh, well, politically correct,” Donte continued.
Now Jallen was fascinated. What on Earth could he be talking about?
“Every year The Bull chooses one of us to be his Chosen One,” Donte explained, the capitalization clearly evident in his voice. “Sometimes it’s the biggest, sometimes it’s the fastest, sometimes it’s the one who’s scored the most points.”
Donte rubbed his big mitt over his face before adding.
“I always thought it was going to be me,” he said. “Before you came along, I was the biggest and the strongest, the backbone of the team. And I had resigned myself to it. He makes us what we are, you know, and we owe him. That one of us needs to be marked seems like a small enough price to pay.”
Jallen was feeling alarmed.
“Chosen One?!” he whispered. “Marked?! Donte, what the hell are you talking about.”
So Donte told him:
After the last game of the season, it was tradition for the team to go to The Bull’s house for a celebratory sleepover. What wasn’t known was that the Chosen One spent the night in The Bull’s bedroom.
“To, well, you know, do stuff. Male bonding stuff,” Donte said.
Jallen couldn’t believe his ears.
“You mean like…?”
“But how does he get away…?”
The future college All-Star see-sawed his hand.
“How many games has he won? How many trophies are in that case in the lobby?”
Under the table, Donte placed his big hand on Jallen’s enormous quads and gave it a squeeze.
“Just be careful, okay?”
To say Jallen was distracted for the next ten days was putting it mildly. Everyone noticed, including Brian and Max, but Jallen just shrugged it off.
“Last game of my senior year,” he said. “Nerves, that’s all.”
What Jallen couldn’t tell anyone was that he was having to beat off four or five times a day thinking about spending the night with The Bull. It didn’t matter than Jallen was now an inch taller than Butler and outweighed him by closing in on 150 pounds. He was still the hottest man on Earth—aside from Brian Molloy—as far as Jallen was concerned.
They won the game, of course. They went to Butler’s house. The celebratory rough-housing was even more exuberant than usual. Butler usually had the Chosen One strip in front of the team before they repaired to his bedroom for the evening. The guys all knew Jallen was packing, it was just a case of how much! The giant kid seemed to have a sixth sense for mostly covering it up or turning away in the showers or just plain keeping it out of view.
Even so, they and The Bull were stunned when Jallen started undressing. At 6’5 and 440 pounds of muscle, he was the biggest, best built man any of them, The Bull included, had ever seen. The kid’s shoulders were four-feet across, his gigantic biceps were three-feet around, his quads, calves, lats, forearms. All of it was gargantuan. And then Jallen slipped his pants down. The biggest dick any of them had ever seen sprang forth. Seventeen inches long, 12 inches in circumference. It looked like a battering ram.
The Bull paled at the sight. That it was bigger than his was no surprise. He had played with some very well-endowed kids. But nothing much more than a foot long.
“Get out!” Butler yelled. “Get out of my house! You’re a freak, a goddamned freak, that fucking faggot police officer uncle of yours must have altered you somehow! Go, goddam it, just fucking go!”
Jallen’s mouth formed a perfect O.
Whatever Donte had led him to expect, this wasn’t it. He grabbed his clothes and left.
At home, sobbing, Jallen told Molloy the whole story.
“Why that fucking son of a bitch,” Brian growled. “I shoulda known…”
“But it’s true,” he sobbed. “You know it’s true. I’m not really 17, I’m only 12. And I have gigantic freak muscles and I’m freakishly strong and I’ve got this fucking freakish pole hanging between my legs.”
Brian gathered Jallen in his arms and held him for a long time, making the soothing, cooing noises he would make for a sobbing baby. Jallen had 12½ years of sorrow pent up in his huge body and it was time to let it out. Finally, when the young man calmed down, Brian said:
“Jallen, look at me. You are not a freak! You are a wonder! You have an amazing body, amazing potential, an amazing mind, and more than that you have an amazing heart. Anyone in his right mind would be thrilled to have you look in his direction. Bill Fucking Butler is out of his cotton picking mind!”
And I’m going to nail his ass to the wall, Molloy told himself.
“Do you really think so, Officer Brian?”
Brian hugged Jallen.
“I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you, Kid,” he replied. “And so did Max.”
The following Monday Molloy called Jack Preston, the Montrose High School principal, and told him what had happened.
“If you don’t want a member of the Houston P.D. with a dozen merit commendations filing charges,” he said. “Butler will be gone by the end of the week.”
Preston spluttered for a moment, then caught himself.
“I really had no idea,” he said. “It’s completely unacceptable.”
Two days later Preston announced Butler’s retirement, effective the end of the calendar year. It pissed Molloy off to think that Butler was getting his full pension (and he was positively volcanic when he learned that an “anonymous” Montrose High football supporter had paid off Butler’s house, car, and given him a $100,000 stake in a supplement company. On the other hand, it was Houston, after all. What else was new?)
Jallen, meanwhile, stayed home that week with Brian’s blessing. It was the last week of fall term, so no one thought much of it. He spent a lot of time in the “library,” a lot of time by the pool, and all of his time, awake or asleep, with Max.
“You know,” he said after reading a glowing review of Butler’s coaching career in the Houston Chronicle. “That guy is a fucking douchebag. I can’t imagine what I ever saw in him.”
Internally, Molloy heaved a sigh of relief.
“Kid, I’m very sorry you had to go through that,” he said. “But now you know the difference between men and men who are pigs. And, sorry to say, men in positions of authority are often the worst pigs.”
Jallen looked up Brian. The latter swore the kid was taller every time he looked at him but he still had 2-3 inches on his charge, even if the kid now outweighed him by 50 pounds of solid muscle.
“But you’re not a douchebag, Officer Brian,” he said. “And you’re in a position of authority. And nobody’s bigger than you are.”
Well, except for YOU, Brian thought.
“I had parents who loved me,” Brian replied. “People who knew injustice when they saw it and who weren’t willing to look the other way. And you gotta remember—I got bullied when I was your age. A lot! I was too tall and too skinny and too easy a target for the bullies to resist. You either stand up to that crap—or you turn into it. I resisted.”
Jallen mulled that.
“There’s too much pain in the world,” he said. “I just can’t fathom adding to it.”
Brian thought his heart would burst with pride.
“I can’t imagine you ever doing so,” he said. “And I don’t say that about many men. It’s like I said before: You’re a wonder!”
Jallen smiled. Max wagged his tail. And Brian knew it would be okay.
By the time New Year’s rolled around and spring semester started, Jallen was half an inch taller—and another 20 pounds heavier.
“Jesus,” Jamie Peters said, sitting down with Jallen in the lunchroom the first day back from the holidays. “You never stop growin’, do you?”
Jallen shrugged shoulders that were on their way to five feet across.
“I guess not,” he said. “How were your holidays?”
Jamie waggled his hand.
“The same old-same old,” he said. “I’m not sure which is worse, having an alcoholic dad or a Shrew from Hell mom.”
Wincing, Jallen rested his gigantic mitt on Jamie’s knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Careful there, Big Guy,” Jamie exclaimed. “You could crush me like a bug!”
The doleful expression that crossed Jallen’s face instantly caused the Latin Club president to regret his words.
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t,” he said. “I’ve never met a kinder, gentler man.”
Jallen’s eyebrows shot up.
Jamie tried to return Jallen’s squeeze but finding a grip on thigh that exceeded 50 inches in circumference was impossible. It’s like trying to squeeze a fucking boulder, Jamie told himself.
“But that’s not why I’m here,” he said, lowering his voice. “I heard about what happened.”
The muscle that jumped in Jallen’s clenched jaw told Jamie everything he needed to know.
“I never understood how he lasted as long as he did,” Jamie said. “Or why he isn’t in prison. But I wanted to thank you.”
Jallen glanced at his tiny friend.
“Seriously,” Jamie continued. “Having to go through what you did was a crying shame. But you brought it to an end. All of Montrose High School should be thanking you.”
“Somehow I don’t think that is going to happen!”
Chewing his lower lip, Jamie nodded.
“People being what they are,” he said. “You’re probably right about that. But you know me, I’m the one with the big mouth. And I’m pretty sure every time I open it I’m talking for 10 or 20 or a hundred people who are unwilling or unable to open theirs.”
“I really wouldn’t know, all that’s over my head,” Jallen said. “But you’ve got the mouth, that’s for sure.”
Jamie hunched his shoulders in the classic whatcha gonna do? pose. He was NOT expecting Jallen’s comment.
“And it’s a damned cute one, in my opinon.”
Jamie’s eyes flew wide. They flew wider, if such a thing were possible, with Jallen’s next comment.
“And I hear it’s pretty fucking talented, too.”
“Jallen Molloy,” he said. “I do declare I think you are coming on to me!”
“Wanna go see a movie Friday night?”
Jamie tapped his fingers on the table.
“I drive, you buy the popcorn?” he asked.
Jallen smiled his million-watt smile.
“It’s a date!”
It was a good movie and…They went by Jamie’s house on the way home. His parents were in Dallas for the weekend, his elder sister had gone back to Brown. Jallen sent Office Brian a text:
At Jamie’s. Don’t wait up.
Brian wasn’t sure whether to roll his eyes, grin, or frown at that one. He sent a reply:
“Is it really as big as they say it is?” Jamie asked.
Jallen hunched his shoulders, which meant his traps were crawling up past his earlobes.
“Is it a problem if it is?”
“Hell no!” he replied. “I learned a long time ago what to do with a Monster! You sling it over your shoulder and burp it!”
Jallen chortled, then gave Jamie a long, deep kiss.
“Holy Mother of God,” Jamie gasped, when they loosed the lip lock. “And I haven’t even undressed you yet!”
Jallen arched an eyebrow.
“I’m a big guy,” he said. “I can undress myself, you know!”
Jamie pinched Jallen’s left nipple, causing the giant kid to squirm.
“Don’t you dare!”
They had a long, entertaining evening.
Jamie was suitably awed by Jallen’s cock and eager to get as much of it into his mouth as he could.
Turned out Jamie was a champion cocksucker.
“Mostly because with one as big as mine…” and it was a hefty 10 x 8, Jallen discovered to his delight “…I don’t want to hear anyone bellyaching about ‘it’s too big!’ If I can do it, YOU can do it!”
Still, given Jallen’s thickness even Jamie couldn’t manage more than about half of the 17-inch monster.
“But that’s why God gave us hands,” Jamie pointed out between what he called his deep-sea diving exercises.
When it was time, their orgasms were loud, joyous, and simultaneous. Four or five orgasms later, they fell asleep on the pillows in Jamie’s parents Ultra 70s “conversation pit,” with Jamie nestled like a kitten on Jallen’s mammoth chest.
A great start to my last months, Jallen thought as he drifted off.
So Jallen had a boyfriend. Considering their size difference—even though he was only 3-4 inches taller than Jamie, Jallen outweighed him by more than 3 to 1—they were the talk of the school. (Montrose H.S. was smack dab in the middle of what had been Houston’s gay ghetto back in the day so same sex couples weren’t remarkable in and of themselves. But anything Jallen did was considered remarkable, just because he was!) Brian was pleasantly amused. And quite fond of Jamie, whose eyes nearly bulged out of his head the first time the two of them met.
“Oh my God!” he blurted. “You’re even taller than Jallen!”
And furry as fuck, he added to himself. No wonder Jallen has such a hard on for you!
“Alas,” Brian said, in mock despair. “The height thing is the only thing I’ve got going for me. Compared to Jallen, I’m just a wee thing! He outweighs me by a hundred pounds.”
All three dicks—Jallen’s, Jamie’s, and Brian’s—jumped when Molloy said those words! It was true, of course. By Valentine’s Day Jallen was 6’6 and over 500 pounds. By Easter he was half an inch taller and 560 pounds.
“You realize, of course,” Jamie said, reading the number off the agricultural scale they’d found. “That you now weigh four times as much as I do.”
Jallen looked down at his boyfriend.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Having the world’s biggest, most muscular boyfriend is NOT a bad thing!”
But it wasn’t going to last. A week or so after that they’d had a pleasurable romp (Brian and Henry were visiting friends who had a house on Lake Conroe) and fallen asleep in Jallen’s nest, as Brian called it. Jallen had long since outgrown the king-sized bed so Brian had covered the entire floor of Jallen’s bedroom with 10-inches of high grade foam mattresses. To which he’d added a large assortment of pillows, comforters, throws, duvets, and so forth.
Suddenly Jallen’s eyes snapped open. Something was pushing against his arm. At 46 inches cold, Jallen’s upper arms were a thing of wonder, bigger than most men’s chests. Jallen looked over to see a frantic Jamie, his face bright red, trying to push the deadweight (how much does a 46-inch arm weigh, anyway? A hundred pounds? More?) of Jallen’s arm off of his neck!
“Oh my God!” Jallen exclaimed, yanking it off of Jamie and then lifting his boyfriend in a sitting position.
Hack! Gasp! Wheeze!
It was five minutes before Jamie could talk again. Jallen spent the whole time apologizing, asking Jamie if he were okay, and so forth. All Jamie could do was nod and shake his head and Try-To-breathe! Eventually, Jamie could talk again.
“Sweetie darling,” he said, as gently as he could. “I think it’s time we faced the facts. Much as I enjoy playing with the biggest mountain of muscle on the planet, it’s clear that we can’t actually, you know, sleep together.”
Jallen looked despondent.
“You mean you’re breaking up with me?”
Jamie opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Actually, I meant sleep as in sleeping,” he said. “Because, you know, the sex is outstanding. It’s the after part that’s scary.”
Jallen looked hopeful for a moment, then hung his head.
“But it is scary, isn’t it?”
Jamie ran his long, delicate fingers through Jallen’s shiny hair.
“Yes, my dear, beautiful man…” he said, sighing. “It is.”
A week later, Donte Williams sat down next to Jallen in the lunch room. “Next to” being a relative concept, of course. By that point Jallen’s shoulders were closing in on six-feet wide so there wasn’t much “next to” left at the cafeteria table.
“I was sorry to hear about you and Jamie,” Donte said.
“You’re very kind to say so,” Jallen said. “Most people are acting like it’s my fault. And I guess it is, when you get right down to it.”
Donte rolled his eyes.
“You don’t need to be apologizing for being the biggest, most muscular man who ever lived,” he suggested. “It was an accident, that’s all, and if Jamie had an ounce of muscle in his body he might not have freaked.”
Before Jallen could leap to Jamie’s defense (he’d had variants of this conversation more than once), Donte continued.
“You just need a bigger boyfriend,” Donte said. “You know, someone who can bench 500 pounds or thereabouts!”
Jallen laughed at that.
“Are you volunteering?”
It was Donte’s turn to chuckle.
“Hell, no!” he replied. “I’ve seen what’s between your legs. It’s a thing of wonder but I know my limitations! Besides, I like being the big man! And next to you I’m a pipsqueak!”
Jallen wrapped his monster hand around Donte’s 24-inch arm. Donte automatically flexed. He’d gained 20 pounds since Christmas and he was proud of his big guns.
“Pip Who?” Jallen asked.
Donte wiggled out of Jallen’s grasp.
“The Pip who is well aware that you outweigh me by at least 250 pounds,” Donte replied. “That’s about 70 pounds more than I outweigh Jamie!”
Not this again, Jallen thought. He sighed.
“But that’s not what I’m talking about,” Donte added. “I’m talking about a guy who can look you in the eye and who can go head to toe with you. Someone older, someone, I dunno, built like a brick shithouse and furry as fuck.”
Donte had to laugh at Jallen’s reaction.
“Close your mouth, Doofus, you’re attracting flies.”
When Jallen stopped spluttering, he asked:
“Officer Brian? Are you kidding me? He’s, uh, he’s my…”
Donte gave Jallen the look.
“You know that you’re not the only guy at Montrose High School who has an ‘uncle’ on the force, right?”
“So you know…?”
Donte pursed his lips.
“I don’t know nuttin’,” he said.
Most kids their age were into video games and anime. Donte, aside from football, was into Philip Marlowe and Humphrey Bogart.
“But I know that Brian Molloy isn’t your dad, he isn’t your uncle, and you’re with him because he’s a kind, decent, good-hearted man who saw a kid who deserved a whole lot more than he was getting.”
“I also know that Brian Molloy is, aside from you, quite possibly the hottest man on Earth. And that you’ve had a hard on for him since the day you walked in those doors,” he said, nodding at the cafeteria entrance.
“We’re graduating in another six weeks,” Donte added. “At which point you’ll be a grown man, free to choose what to do with your life—and with whom. You might want to think about what that’s going to be: Stanford, Columbia—or Brian Molloy.”
Six weeks later…
“Are you sure you don’t want to hang out with your friends afterwards?”
They were outside the Montrose High School auditorium, sweltering in the heat and humidity. SE Texas is fierce even at the end of May. Brian was adjusting Jallen’s custom-made purple and gold robe (the MHS’s garish Mardi Gras colors.)
“Like I said before,” Jallen replied. “We have plans for next week. And they were here this past weekend for my birthday. I’m partied out! I really just want to hang out with you and Max by the pool. You haven’t been around much this month.”
Brian winced when he caught that tone.
“Sorry, Kid,” he replied. “It’s been crazy busy. But as you will recall, I’m taking off the whole month of June so we can do whatever you like!”
Jallen smiled his mega-handsome smile.
“You and Max are all I need,” he said.
Jallen was completed flummoxed when the School Superintendent called his name and his entire class stood up and applauded. And then they laughed and stomped and whistled when the Superintendent saw Jallen walk across the stage and just stood there with her mouth hanging open. Jallen took his diploma from Mr. Preston, the school principal, and stuck out his gigantic hand for Ms. Fernandes to shake. At 6’8, Jallen was about 1½ feet taller than the diminutive bureaucrat, and he was nearly as tall as he was wide.
Finally, Mr. Preston leaned over to whisper in Ms. Fernandes’ ear, shook Jallen’s hand, and nodded him to head off the stage. Which should have been the end of it but Fernandes looked over her shoulder as Jallen exited and when—finally—she regained her composure, there were five more students lined up to shake her hand.
“What the hell was all that about?” Jallen asked Jamie and Donte afterwards. “Why were the clapping when my name was called?”
Jamie rolled his eyes, Donte just laughed.
“Uh, which part of you’re the biggest guy anyone’s ever seen and you’re OUR super-huge guy do you not understand?” Jamie asked.
“And you may have repressed the memory but the football won every single game this year—and we won them because of you,” Donte added. “Before you showed up we were not looking at a winning season.”
Jamie wrapped his arm around his big powerhouse boyfriend’s neck.
“Donte couldn’t do it all by himself,” he pointed out.
Jallen was pensive on the short ride home but then he was often pensive. He greeted Max happily enough, then went to his room to change.
“I think I need to spend some time in the pool,” Jallen announced. “Want to join me?”
Molloy’s pool was completely private—the neighboring houses were single story and the six-foot privacy fence occluded whatever view that wasn’t blocked by the strategic plantings—and consequently his pool policy was clothing optional. And since his pool preference was nudity so was Jallen’s.
Holy shitballs, Brian thought as he gazed upon Jallen’s magnificence. The kid was now exactly Brian’s height, 6 feet 8 inches. As for the rest, well, Brian told himself he wasn’t going to think about that! To Jallen he said:
“Sure thing, Kid! Hop in and I’ll join you as soon as I change out of these clothes.”
They’d had dinner before commencement so Brian figured he’d wait on ordering pizza, their usual pool night snack. Jallen was at the deep end of the pool, his gigantic arms and shoulders resting on the coping, his beautiful head resting on his right arm while Max busily lapped at his face. Brian entered the pool and glided over to Jallen.
“So what’s on your mind, Kid?” he asked softly.
Jallen straigtened his head and looked at Brian.
Really looked at him. Like he’s looking into my soul, Brian thought.
“Thanks to you and Henry, today I am a man,” Jallen said, finally.
“Well, yes, technically speaking,” he agreed. “As far as anyone else knows, you’re an 18-year-old high school graduate. But we both know…”
Before he could continue, Jallen interrupted.
“Brian,” he said, unconsciously dropping the ‘officer’ part of the name he’d been using for the past year. “How many grown men do you know who are 6’8” tall?”
Uh oh, Brian thought. I’m not sure where this is gonna go…
“You know the answer to that,” he replied. “Not very damned many!”
“And how many grown men do you know who weigh 650 pounds, all of it muscle?”
Brian cleared his throat.
“I’m pretty fucking sure you’re the only one on the Planet,” Brian replied. “Possibly in all of history.”
Jallen turned so that he was facing Brian directly. It was sort of like watching an aircraft carrier come alongside its berth.
“How many grown men do you know whose shoulder are six-and-a-half feet wide?”
Brian laughed nervously.
“Uh, well, you’re it, buddy.”
Jallen flexed his mountainous pecs. They’d recently measured them at eleven feet in circumference. Then he flexed his right arm. Brian couldn’t help himself. He was instantly hard. It wasn’t the first time he’d sprung a boner looking at Jallen’s unbelievable muscles. It was the first time he’d done so with Jallen naked in the pool less than two feet away!
“How many grown men have an arm that’s 4½ feet around? Cold?”
Brian licked his lips.
Jallen interrupted again. Once was unusual, twice was unheard of. He leaned in towards Brian. It was kinda like one of those scenes in the Star Wars movies where the Imperial battle cruiser looms over the Millennium Falcon. Brian felt totally insignificant in Jallen’s shadow.
“How many grown men have a dick that’s 16 inches soft and 20 inches hard?”
Brian surprised himself. He whimpered. I feel like such a fucking little girl, he thought.
“No one!” he blurted. “No one, Jallen, you know that! You’re the biggest, builtest, best hung kid who ever lived in the history of the human race! And you’re still…”
This time Jallen interrupted Brian by kissing him full on the mouth. It was the most erotic kiss that Brian had ever experienced. When they finally came up for air, Jallen wrapped his gigantic arms around Brian’s magnificent 80-inch fur-covered chest and nuzzled Brian’s silky black beard. Brian was keenly aware that not only was Jallen more than half again his size, he was three or four times as strong. If Jallen decided he wasn’t going to let go, Brian wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’ve waited a long time to do that,” Jallen said, purring.
Jallen shook his head.
“No buts,” he said. “I’m not a kid. I’m a man. And I want what a man wants. You know that, right?
Brian found himself nodding.
“And you want it too, right?”
I’m going to hell, Brian thought. That’s all there is to it. Good thing I like hot weather!
“Yes,” he said. “You know I do.”
Jallen’s monster cock slapped up against Brian’s impossibly hard fur-covered eight-pack.
“You want it and I want it,” Brian said, making one last attempt to stall. “But answer me this: How is this going to work?”
Jallen opened his mouth to reply…
And then they and Max and the pool and the back yard were bathed in a brilliant purple light!
Three huge men floated down from the clouds above Brian’s back yard. They were identically dressed:
Purple boots that came up to their knees. What appeared to be leather harness, dyed (??) purple and trimmed in gold. Flowing purple capes, also trimmed in gold. Gold shorts that were about the same cut as boxer briefs, these in gold trimmed in purple—and stuffed nearly to bursting with what appeared to be melons and kielbasa. The dudes were seriously packing!
They were also seriously gorgeous.
One of them was a white guy with wavy darky hair, a full black beard, and a luxurious pelt. Another appeared to be straight out of the throne room of Wakanda, a handsome coal black man, smooth as silk except for the luxuriant mustache occupying his upper lip. The third man, taller than the other two, looked vaguely Polynesian, with glistening, flawless caramel skin and straight, jet black hair, tied back in a queue. Brian’s eyes widened when he looked upon that face. It was like the older brother of the one that had been occupying his former guest bedroom for the past year.
Standing in front of Jallen and Brian, the first two men were clearly the same height they were. The third guy, who appeared to be in charge, was a good half a foot taller than his companions, which put him over 7 feet. They were also, to put it bluntly, totally fucking huge. The black guy, the smallest of the three, must have had 200 pounds on Jallen, all of it muscle, which made him twice Brian’s size. The white guy with the beard had to weigh close to 1000 pounds and he was clearly out massed and out classed by the third guy, who looked to weigh three times as much as Brian.
Without saying a word, the three men knelt before Jallen, bowing their heads and holding clenched fists the size of soccer balls to their insane chests. The leader lifted his head and addressed Jallen in a string of liquid syllables and sibilant esses. Heavy on the vowels, it sounded to Brian like a cross between Hawaiian—and Elvish!
Jallen—much to his own surprise and to Brian’s utter astonishment—replied in kind. Then he switched to English.
“You may rise.”
The three men did and Max immediately went into full sniff-o-rama mode, racing from one to the other, checking out their feet, their knees, their elbows, and their hands.
“Max,” Brian said. “Knock it off. Sorry gentlemen, he doesn’t usually get this excited when new people show up but apparently you are the right kind of people!”
The three men grinned. The leader bent over Max, patted him on the head, and then pulled from some invisible pocket what appeared to be a very tiny speaker, which he attached to Max’s collar.
“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!” said a voice emanating from the collar. “I’m so glad! I’ve waited so long!”
Brian and Jallen gaped.
“CTD,” the tall man said. “Canine Translation Device.”
Before Brian could ask, he held up a hand.
“Please, allow me to introduce ourselves,” he said in perfect accentless English. “I am Jerr-Dan, Captain of the Jaunian Royal Guard, and these are my lieutenants, Jim-Pa and Jack-Ritt.”
Jim-Pa and Jack-Ritt extended their hands, which Jallen and Brian took in turn.
“An honor to serve you, Highness,” Jim-Pa said. “It’s really Jim Pasternak but most Jaunians can’t handle the ‘sternak’ part of my name.
The black man chuckled, the kind of sound a wakening volcano might make.
“Captain Jerr-Dan did us honor by allowing us to accompany him, Highness,” he said. “And Jaunians have just as much trouble with ‘Averitt,’ hence the shortening.”
The two laughed.
“As apple pie,” Jim-Pa said.
“Or cornbread dressing,” Jack-Ritt added.
From the time he had said, “You may rise,” Jallen had been silent, standing there rigid as if he’d been hit by a bolt of lightning.
“Brian,” he said, finally. “Did we have pizza from Mellower Mushroom and I just forgot about it?”
Jerr-Dan looked puzzled but Jim-Pa and Jack-Ritt both laughed.
“Highness,” Jim-Pa said. “Let me assure you: This is no trip.”
Jack-Ritt cleared his throat.
“But it’s likely to become one.”
Brian just shook his head.
“Jallen,” he said. “I’ve been drunk, I’ve been high, I’ve been stoned, but I gotta tell you: I have never been more sober in my life. This is happening.”
Max ran around in circles and barked, which his collar translated as:
“It’s real, it’s real, it’s real!”
Then Brian put on his serious cop face.
“Even so,” he said. “I think you gentlemen have some explaining to do.”
Jerr-Dan looked pained.
“Thirteen years ago today,” he said. “My cousin, Her Imperial Highness Jala-Lani, Princess of Jess-En and Jora-Marti, crashed on your planet. She was eight months pregnant and was being pursued by Auslandrian pirates.”
Brian thought his eyes would pop out of his head. Jallen’s face was ashen.
“We found the wreckage of her craft and that of the pirates,” he continued. “A few of your miles away we found the corpses of the pirates. But we found no trace of my sister or her child-to-be. We searched high and low, everywhere within a 100-mile radius of the wreckage. For a year. To no avail.”
The giant man heaved a deep sigh.
“We did not entirely give up, however,” he said. “We knew that if the child survived, eventually he would stand out from the local population in ways that would be hard to explain. As you can tell, even though I am somewhat oversized in comparison to Jim-Pa and Jack-Ritt, I am clearly of human stock. But during our thousand years on Jaunia, human beings have received rich blessings in terms of health and physical development. We grow far larger and stronger than Earth Prime humans and we do so at a much faster rate.”
Jallen could feel his ears blushing.
“So we seeded the area with sensors that might detect the presence of an unusual child and six months ago those sensors finally pinged in a way that caused us to investigate,” Jerr-Dan added.
He held his hands out to Jallen.
“Jal-Len, you are the only child of Jala-Lani,” Jerr-Dan said. “Her mother and your grandmother—my father’s sister—is Her Imperial Majesty Jossa-Larat II, Empress of Jaunia. As the son of a Princess, you have been from birth a Prince of Jaunia.”
Brian couldn’t help himself. He’d been fascinated with British royalty since watching Charles and Diana marry when he was a kid. It was one of his few concessions to gay boy fandom.
“But doesn’t that make you a Prince of Jaunia, too?”
As soon as it was out of his mouth, Brian blushed.
God, he said. I’m standing in front of 1200 pounds of muscle and asking him whether he’s a Prince! What’s wrong with me?
Jerr-Dan’s crooked smile told Brian he was forgiven.
“It was the first thing we asked when we got to Jaunia,” Jim-Pa pointed out.
Jack-Ritt rolled his eyes. It had taken him a while to reconcile himself to the royalty thing, as he thought of it. Meeting the Wakandan branch of the royal family helped a great deal in that process!
“Our society is a matriarchy,” Jerr-Dan explained. “And the royal succession is matrilineal. My father is a Prince because his mother was the previous Empress. As the son of a prince, I am royal but I carry no title. And before you ask: As a male member of the royal family, Jallen is not in the line of succession.”
Jim-Pa spoke up.
“But he is His Imperial Highness Jal-Len, Prince of Jess-En and Jora-Marti,” he pointed out. “Hence the kneeling, which we don’t do for The Honorable Jerr-Dan of Jal-Na.”
“Well,” Jim-Pa added. “Not much kneeling, anyway!”
Finally, Jallen spit out what had been bugging him since Jerr-Dan introduced himself.
Jerr-Dan rolled his eyes.
“Not this again?”
Jim-Pa and Jack-Ritt both doubled over with laughter.
Maybe I had a Mellower Mushroom after all, Brian thought.
Catching Brian’s look of bewilderment, Jerr-Dan leaned over and whispered:
“I’ll explain later,” he said.
Jallen put his hands on his hips.
“So I guess you’re here to whisk me off to Jaunia Prime, is that it?”
Jerr-Dan arched an eyebrow.
“Well, that was the idea,” he said. “Unless…?”
Jallen pursed his lips.
“So we’re going off to Jaunia Prime where Brian are going to be midgets…”
“An anorexic midget, in my case…”
“And Max is, what, going to Canine University?”
Max wagged his tail furiously.
“Highness, you are 13 years old,” his cousin said. “So you may do whatever you like, with whomever you like. If you want to join an Auslandrian pirate ship, that’s your prerogative, although I think Your Imperial Grandmother might have a thing or two to say about it, especially since they would inevitably send her a ransom demand of truly huge proportions.”
Jack-Ritt rolled his eyes.
“The Honorable Jerr-Dan once again misses the point,” he said. “Which is really two points. The first is that even though you’re a legal adult of Jaunia you haven’t finished growing. Chances are you’ll outstrip your cousin here both in height and weight in two-three years.”
Brian’s dick got rock hard on hearing those words.
“And that’s probably a conservative estimate,” Jim-Pa added. “Jerr-Dan and his cohort recruited Jack-Ritt and me and a couple of other friends about a year ago. In that time we’ve grown four inches taller and basically tripled our weight.”
Jallen thought about that.
“So if we go to Jaunia Brian might be 7 feet tall and 1200 pounds a year from now?”
Jim and Jack both nodded—the lust was written clearly on their faces and Jerr-Dan’s as well. Looking at their faces, Jallen’s 20-inch dick sprang to attention.
“And I guess this is probably a good time to point out that the male population of Jaunia is about 90% ‘gay,’ as you call it,” Jerr-Dan explained. “Some of us—my father, for example—really do prefer women but for the overwhelming majority of us stud service is a once a year obligation.”
The reference to stud service elicited a delighted cackle from Jack and Jim.
“You’ll have to forgive us, Highness,” Jack said. “Jim and I only recently completed our first ever service, which was the first time either of us had been with women. We’re full-fledged Grade-A American Homos.”
Jim cleared his throat.
“And it was perfectly delightful,” he pointed out. “The women of Jaunia take very good care of their studs!”
Max plopped down next to Jallen and licked his balls. When he was done, he looked up at his best friend and arfed.
“It’s gonna rock, Jallen,” he said. “They will love you just as much as Brian and I do. You will have so much fun.”
Jallen looked at Brian.
“The dog has spoken,” Brian said. “Max’s recommendation is all I need.”
“I guess we’re ready,” he said.
Brian held up a finger.
“There are a few things I might need to take care of…”
Jim and Jack smiled.
“We have factors on Earth who can do all of that for you,” Jim said. “We can talk about it on the ship. And anything you want to bring along they will pack up and send on the next transport.”
Jallen put his arms around Brian.
“I can’t do this without you,” he said.
Brian kissed Jallen full on the mouth.
“I’ll always be by your side.”
They let go and Jallen leaned over. Max jumped into his arms.
The next day Henry Chao found a hand-addressed envelope in his mailbox. It contained a letter in Brian’s loopy scrawl.
Jallen, Max and I have gone away. You know and I know that he has outgrown Houston. As it turns out, what he and I have together has outgrown, well, everything. It turns out that there really is a “Somewhere over the rainbow…” We’re going to find out what that is.
People will be contacting you regarding what to do with the house, the cars, and so forth. They know that I put my complete faith in you to make the right decisions about things. I will write again when I can but I don’t expect we will see each other again.
Thank you for being my friend…
Brian Patrick Molloy