I'd always known my dad was disappointed to have such a nerdy bookworm for a son. Dad had been the captain of his high-school football team, which went all the way to sectionals his senior year -- an accomplishment which, barring a sudden and very unexpected nomination for a Nobel Peace Prize, would likely go down as the greatest achievement of his life. He is still a formidable physical presence, even if these days his body is built primarily out of cholesterol and Old Milwaukee.
He did attempt to bond with me by tossing around a football when I was seven or eight, but his first gentle pass broke my nose and shattered my eyeglasses. From that point on, he focused his attention on my little sister, who had all the natural grace, ferocity and athleticism I lacked. Now she's the goalie on her soccer team which won the state title last year. I think Dad gets perverse joy out of knowing his pretty blonde daughter could easily beat the crap out of her skinny geek of an older brother.
But when I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt almost as disappointed as Dad did.
I wasn't grotesque or anything, but I didn't exactly have people lining up at the door to date me. Between my overly prominent forehead, my wide nose (deformed by the bump from Dad's ill-fated football lesson), my horn-rimmed glasses and my weak chin, I was your standard-issue dork. My body was frail and bony, my skin was pale bordering on sickly. At least the acne had faded after I concocted my own special ointment last year based on some treatments I'd read about on the internet, and I was dressing better once I finally insisted that Mom let me buy my own clothes. When shopping, Mom seemed to be under the delusion that I was six years old and living in 1977. I had also managed to improve my hand-eye coordination by playing hour after hour of video games alone in my basement bedroom. Pretty much the extent of my social life was interacting with other online gamers, scattered around the world in basements much like my own and undoubtedly bearing as little resemblance to their online avatars as I did.
I was unhappy with myself and knew I needed a change, but conventional methods weren't going to cut it. No amount of going to the gym was going to turn me, at five-five, 110 pounds, into the kind of guy I wished I was, let alone the kind of guy chicks were looking for. Besides, I was so far behind the curve that any gains I made would be minor compared to my classmates who had already built upon their genetic head-starts through years of sports and weight training. I could laugh at them, knowing that they were in the prime of their glory days while I was destined for a lucrative future, but that didn't provide much consolation in my dank basement in the here and now.
When junior year ended, I vowed that I would not return to school in the fall as the dweeb everyone knew. And I would do it using the most powerful tool I had: my brain.
I spent nearly all of June on my computer, researching different approaches, only going upstairs for meals, which I usually asked permission to take back with me downstairs. I quickly dismissed the most common quick fixes like steroids and human growth hormone, knowing that I didn't want the cause of my changes to be easily detectable. Other products that promised fast results looked disreputable at best and lethal at worst. It finally became obvious that I would need to synthesize something of my own, just like I had with my zit cream, based on the best research that was out there. Once I was confident that I was on the right track, I ordered the various compounds I needed and waited for them to arrive in the mail. In the meantime, I focused my energies on playing "Madden NFL", building up a basic knowledge of football strategy. I'm not sure I saw direct sunlight for that entire month. Dad would sometimes yell downstairs, telling me to stop wasting my time on my computer, go outside once in a while and hang out with some real people. I couldn't wait until the day when I could show him the results of all the time I "wasted" that summer.
When the ingredients I needed arrived, I carefully mixed them in the proportions I thought would bring about the best results and fed a small dose via eyedropper to my pet gerbil, Skinny Pete. Pete sucked it up, seemingly craving more once he got his first taste. I sat back and watched, but nothing happened. You know what they say about watching paint dry and pots boil? I made up my own maxim that night: "Watching a gerbil do nothing is fucking boring."
The longer I waited, my eyelids sank further and further. My head fell backward frequently, only to snap forward, waking me with a start each time. Eventually, I flopped face first onto my unmade bed, ready to write off my whole idiotic plan as the desperate failure of a terminally pathetic wimp.
Then I heard the scraping of tiny gerbil feet against the bottom of his tiny cage. I looked over and Skinny Pete was scrambling toward his tiny gerbil wheel. He hopped in and began to run, faster than I'd ever seen him run before, his tiny legs a blur. I also noticed that Skinny Pete was not so skinny any more. He had seriously bulked up. It was incredible...and exactly what my calculations had predicted.
I knew I would not be sleeping that night. I had too many preparations to make to create a formula tailored for human consumption, the human in question being me. Once the ingredients were combined, I had to let them ferment for a while, so I returned to playing "Madden", at which I had by now become very adept. That night, I crushed my opponent, despite my mind not being entirely focused on the game. I was giddily anticipating what awaited me in the morning...and, looking a bit further ahead, began to make a mental draft of my Nobel prize acceptance speech, unsure whether it would be for chemistry or medicine. Maybe it'd be for both.
In the morning, after my parents left for work and my sister headed to soccer practice, I checked on my formula. It reeked spectacularly but, if my calculations were correct, I would only have to taste the stuff once. I headed upstairs and outside to the backyard. Not having a human-sized gerbil wheel, I knew I would need a wide open space where I could burn off my excess energy once the changes took effect.
I uncorked the vial containing my special elixir, held my nose, and downed it. Just like Skinny Pete had, I started to crave the foul stuff once I got a taste of it, but the whole batch was quickly down the hatch. Also just like Skinny Pete, I became incredibly sleepy and inactive at first. I sat down in a lawn chair, amazed by how quickly I felt exhausted despite not having exerted any energy at all. I removed my glasses to rub my eyes and my chin dropped to my chest. It felt like I was going into hibernation or, more accurately, like I was a larva becoming encased in a cocoon, readying my body for its reemergence in a new and more stunning form. A comforting warmth began to ooze its way throughout my body.
When the transformation finally kicked in, it shot through me like a lightning bolt. I swear I could hear my skeleton squeaking as the formula expanded it from the marrow outward. Cracking sounds resonated in my ears as I felt the plates of my skull and the bones of my face separate, then mend themselves back together. My clothes began to tighten around me as my anemic muscles started to pulsate. I had intentionally worn baggy clothes, hoping I would grow into them, and I seemed to have calculated my metamorphosis properly. My shoulders and biceps were puffing up, their newfound strength palpable, and my chest bulged outward, threatening to burst the buttons holding my shirt closed. My collar chafed my expanding neck, my blood vessels thumping against the fabric.
As the changes
reached my thighs and calves, expanding them into rock-hard masses, I
felt the burst of energy I'd been awaiting. I didn't just want to run, I
HAD to run. I raced a few laps around the backyard, my mighty arms
slicing through the air like windmill blades as my speed increased. I
blasted down our driveway and around our sleepy cul-de-sac, chasing
after and then overtaking an amazed ten-year-old on a bike. All of my
senses felt hyper-alert. My reflexes were sharp, allowing for quick
shifts of direction and on-the-fly course corrections. Without any pause
to consider the effort involved, I hurdled our mailbox with a foot to
spare, barely breaking stride when my feet hit the ground on the other
side.
Returning to our backyard, I leapt through the air, landing on the trampoline Dad had given my sister for her thirteenth birthday. I had always been afraid to use the thing, worried that I would fly off and crack my head open on the patio. Now I was instinctively doing backflips and somersaults, propelling myself higher and higher with each bounce. As my manic energy tapered off, I was able to focus on what I was seeing over the fence in the neighbors' backyards, although I knew nothing I could see would be as remarkable as what the neighbors would notice if they caught a glimpse of me.
After all that exertion, I was still barely winded, but my clothes were drenched with sweat. I deftly dismounted the trampoline and headed inside, shedding clothes behind me as I went. Entering the bathroom, I got my first clear look in the mirror and gasped. The formula had worked beyond my wildest predictions. Staring back at me was a musclebound stud. Judging from the tightness of my cuffs around my shins, I must have gained five inches in height, which still left me on the short side at five-ten, but I had no complaints. I stepped on the bathroom scale and discovered that I had put on a full fifty pounds of solid muscle. I stared with awe at my stomach, which was now carved with deep crevices.
A side benefit I hadn't anticipated was how much my face had changed. The individual differences were subtle but the overall effect was dramatic. My jaw had grown stronger and my nose more streamlined, although the bump remained. I decided it now gave me character and made me look rugged, rather than being physical evidence of my ineptitude at catching a football. I thought my eyes seemed darker and more mysterious, until I suddenly realized the true difference was that I wasn't wearing my glasses any more. Where I wouldn't have been able to see a foot in front of me without my glasses before, everything was now perfectly sharp.
Returning to our backyard, I leapt through the air, landing on the trampoline Dad had given my sister for her thirteenth birthday. I had always been afraid to use the thing, worried that I would fly off and crack my head open on the patio. Now I was instinctively doing backflips and somersaults, propelling myself higher and higher with each bounce. As my manic energy tapered off, I was able to focus on what I was seeing over the fence in the neighbors' backyards, although I knew nothing I could see would be as remarkable as what the neighbors would notice if they caught a glimpse of me.
After all that exertion, I was still barely winded, but my clothes were drenched with sweat. I deftly dismounted the trampoline and headed inside, shedding clothes behind me as I went. Entering the bathroom, I got my first clear look in the mirror and gasped. The formula had worked beyond my wildest predictions. Staring back at me was a musclebound stud. Judging from the tightness of my cuffs around my shins, I must have gained five inches in height, which still left me on the short side at five-ten, but I had no complaints. I stepped on the bathroom scale and discovered that I had put on a full fifty pounds of solid muscle. I stared with awe at my stomach, which was now carved with deep crevices.
A side benefit I hadn't anticipated was how much my face had changed. The individual differences were subtle but the overall effect was dramatic. My jaw had grown stronger and my nose more streamlined, although the bump remained. I decided it now gave me character and made me look rugged, rather than being physical evidence of my ineptitude at catching a football. I thought my eyes seemed darker and more mysterious, until I suddenly realized the true difference was that I wasn't wearing my glasses any more. Where I wouldn't have been able to see a foot in front of me without my glasses before, everything was now perfectly sharp.
I popped the top button and worked down the zipper until I could unleash my cock. It was already five inches and had room to grow. I closed and locked the bathroom door, just in case my sister came back early from soccer practice. I stepped into the shower and explored my new body for a good half hour, cumming three times and still feeling horny as fuck. Poor Skinny Pete. He must be going nuts alone in that cage of his. I put "go to pet store for a Mrs. Skinny Pete" at the top of my mental to-do list. The little guy deserved a reward for his assistance in my pioneering work.
I dried off and wrapped a towel around my waist, unable to resist checking myself out some more. When I walked out to the living room, my sister was on the couch, watching some dumb movie about these girls who all share one pair of pants. Like, buy more pants, for god's sake! They're not that expensive. Girls can be so stupid sometimes.
My sister didn't even look at me when she heard me come in the room.
"You're back early," I said. For the first time, I heard my new voice. Not squeaky like before, but low. Like a man.
"Yeah. What's up with your voice? You sound sick."
"No, I feel good. Muscles feel kinda achy." I rubbed one pumped shoulder with my other hand and made a tight fist to feel my strength.
She snorted. "YOUR muscles? What, did you try to open a milk carton or something?"
Ha ha. Just look at me and say that.
"Well, don't get near me. I don't wanna get sick."
One of the girls in the stupid movie about the stupid pants looked like one of the hot chicks on my sister's soccer team, so I asked, "Hey, do you have the number of Katie Webster? I'm thinking of asking her out."
My sister pretty much gagged with laughter at that. "You? You want to ask out Katie? Are you out of your..." But she never finished her sentence. She finally looked over and saw me, grinning with my hands on my hips. Her jaw dropped and her eyes glazed over. "What did...? How did...?"
I tapped my finger on my forehead and said, all cocky as shit, "Science, bitch!"
I went to my bedroom, clomping down the steps. I squeezed on some baggy sweatpants...well, they USED to be baggy. None of my shirts fit any more, so I went back upstairs and rummaged through Dad's closet. As much as I had bulked up, I was still thinner than Dad's fat ass, so I found a t-shirt that was loose on me and a pair of his old sneakers. I checked myself in the mirror. No question about it, I was a jock.
My sister stood in the doorway, still stunned by my awesomeness. She snapped a pic of me on her cell phone, then sent it to someone.
"Who'd you send that to? Katie?"
"No. Dad. He's gonna shit."
Her phone rang a few seconds later and I could hear Dad's voice through the speaker. He demanded my sister put me on the phone.
"Hey, Dad," I said, smiling. I saw in the mirror that smiling gave me dimples in my cheeks. Goddamn, I was gonna get laid so much...
"What did you do to yourself, boy?"
"Aren't you happy? Now you got the son you always wanted."
"But how? All that? Since breakfast? It's impossible."
"Check out the picture, Dad. It's not impossible."
"I see it, but I can't believe it. This isn't normal. Whatever you've done, it can't possibly be safe."
Oh, like suddenly he gave a crap about me being safe. Blah blah blah. He said a bunch more stuff, but I already lost interest. I tossed the phone back to my sister and raised both my arms to check out the peak of my biceps. Cool. I wondered how much I could lift now.
I gotta admit, things got kinda nuts for a while. Right off the bat, Mom freaked out. She made me go see this doctor the next day, but the doctor didn't find anything weird in my system. In fact, he said I was in perfect shape. Asked what my secret was. I said it was Mom's home cooking. The doc laughed.
Dad came around, especially when I made the football team. All that time playing "Madden" gave me the basics, and my body takes care of the rest, like automatic. Three months ago, I didn't know what a wide receiver was. Now I am one, and we got a good shot of going all the way to state. Take that, Dad! Nah, just kiddin'. He's a hard-ass sometimes, but I wouldn't be who I am today without him givin' me so much shit.
My sister started sucking up to me big time 'cause she wants me to introduce her to the quarterback. I'm still thinkin' about it. She's an okay kid, really. It's just fun to torment the little squirt sometimes.
I didn't need her help to get Katie Webster's number. Katie wrote it on my palm in ink on the first day of school. We been dating two months now, and the sex rules! Me and her are on the homecoming court, and me and some of the other guys already rented this Hummer limo for the night. It's gonna be righteous.
My grades kinda suck this semester, probably 'cause I finally got more to think about than studying and GPAs and that. Mostly I'm like 110% super-focused on getting the team to state. I know I only just started playing this summer but, if I do good enough, maybe I got a shot at a football scholarship somewhere. Not much else really interests me these days.
I tried to make another batch of the formula so I could get even more massive, but I couldn't figure out the instructions. I looked at 'em and looked at 'em, but it was all just a bunch of science-y mumbo-jumbo. Oh, well, I'm happy the way I am. Why fuck with perfection, right?
I chucked the notes in the garbage. On the cover of the folder, I'd written something like "Save for Noble Prize Committee". Whoever they are.
No comments :
Post a Comment