The Perfect Guy, Chapter One.

By Erick S.

"Wake up!" Andrew Jenkins heard his mom calling from downstairs. His alarm hadn’t even gone off yet. Or maybe he’d slept through it again.

He replied by rolling over and refusing to budge from the blankets. Finally, he decided to open his eyes and get out of bed. It was Monday, a brand new week of school, and a brand new week of torture planned out by the teachers, or the students.

Before long, he was off to school, backpack in hand and ready to go to his first class.

His day started out with math, the most boring class of all. His teacher was droning on and on about some formula that he didn’t understand, and couldn’t imagine ever using anywhere outside of this stupid class. The teacher, Mr. Dodds, was an old bald guy who had been around for years. But that didn’t make him any more interesting.

He stared around the room, and out the window, hoping the torture would end, or that something interesting would catch his eye. No luck, as he still had another hour.

"I wish this class would become more interesting..." he muttered under his breath.

He decided to waste his time by staring at the teacher pretending to listen, when suddenly, a neatly-folded piece of paper dropped in front of him. He turned slightly, faking a stretch, and looked for the person that sent it. The rest of the class looked just as bored as he was. None of them even looked at him or showed that they sent a note.

Carefully, he unfolded the note and began to read it.

To my new friend,

You look so bored, just sitting there. Here's a game to amuse yourself into. Have fun! I know I did!

Your new friend.

He looked at the so called "game". All the instructions said was to answer the questions as truthfully as possible. If you stop or don't answer, something bad will happen... Good luck!

Andrew sighed, seeing there were still a lot of time left, and delved further into the note. The top read, "If You Were The Perfect Guy... Questionnaire." He looked down at the first question, only slightly weirded out.

Question 1: If you were the perfect guy... what would your handwriting be like?

“What a strange question,” Andrew thought, though he was always being told that his handwriting was messy.

He wrote down that his handwriting would be a little bit neater, and as he did so, his fingers gripped the pencil just a little bit more confidently, and he sat up a little straighter in his desk. As he completed writing the sentence, he took a quick second to look over what he had written and finished his thought with a neat period at the end. He moved on to the next question.

Question 2: If you were the perfect guy… what kind of music would you listen to?

Andrew paused for a second, thinking about the music he had on his phone. He’d been listening to a lot of Ariana Grande and, yes, a fair share Austin Mahone’s new album lately. Not that he thought there was anything wrong with that, but he always thought it would be cool if he knew a little bit more about what some of the other guys in his class were listening to, in case the subject ever came up.

“I’d still like pop music,” he wrote down, “But I’d also probably listen to a lot more country stuff, like Luke Bryan and Florida Georgia Line.”

In his pocket, his iPhone was busily building new playlists that would be more in line with what the other guys at his school were listening to. Suddenly, Andrew had “Country Girl (Shake It For Me)” stuck in his head. The next question was an easy one.

A Few Small Repairs

Read Part 1 HERE.

Read Part 2 HERE.

Read Part 3 HERE.

 

by Cris Kane

Shiloh and I stood in the dimly lit street, our astounding bodies each seven feet tall and bursting with more muscle than I'd ever seen on a human being -- if that's even what we were any more. Our shoulders and biceps were bigger than beach balls and solid as steel. Our lats flared out so dramatically that neither of us could lower our arms fully to our sides. A street light behind us showed off our musculature in sharp relief and cast long brutish shadows along the pavement. I was glad I'd had the presence of mind to switch us into stretch pants when our bodies became so gargantuan, so at least we weren't naked.

Guys had run outside the Manhole and the other gay establishments of 69 Street once people heard the sounds of our frenetic battle with the guy who had taken Cole away with him. Everyone was keeping their distance from the two silhouetted giants in the middle of the road, but every-goddamn-body had a camera on their cell phone and was taking pictures and videos of us like two sasquatches who had just landed in the gay-borhood.

Ironically, Shiloh and I were the only ones who didn't have a camera, and we were the ones who really could have used one, since it was my magical camera that had gotten us into this mess. Too bad Shiloh had accidentally stepped on it, his enormous weight grinding it into irreparable bits.

Seanday Shorts: The Backup

I was trapped in the kitchen of the frat house. Kyle's large hand gripped my throat. I tried to swallow, and I felt his hold relent. "What are you going to do with me?" I gasped nervously.

He slammed me hard against the wall. "I don't know yet. Rip your head off and bury you in the garden maybe," he growled.

His impressive physique stretched at the fabric of the black t-shirt he was wearing. I had little doubt that he could easily carry out his threat. I looked up at him, strong angular jawline with a meticulously trimmed beard. Kyle was one of twelve frat members that lived in the house, mainly football players and wrestlers--the heavy scent of testosterone hung in the air.

"I'll leave, say nothing. Just let me go," I pleaded.

He laughed, a deep booming laugh that echoed around the kitchen. "But I think I have the upper hand. You're in no position to negotiate," he muttered and tightened his grip--just to prove the point.

I was struggling to breath. I tried to focus on his eyes--deep blue--almost innocent. But I knew they were his keenest assists with the girls, now they only showed malice.

Kyle must have been approaching 300lbs. My gaze traced down his shoulder to his bicep--it was huge--flexed hard as he gripped my throat.

Caption This (20th Sep)

NEW STORIES IN COMMENTS

Saturdays the readers get a chance to write something, use the picture as inspiration or perhaps suggest something for others to write.  Two pictures, but check in the new comments section you can add pictures now so post your own stories/pictures!

(note: administrators reserve the right to delete what they consider inappropriate pictures in any comments)

**THE STORIES/REQUESTS ARE IN THE COMMENTS**

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A Few Simple Changes

Read Part 1 HERE.

Read Part 2 HERE.

 

by Cris Kane

I had no inkling where to start my search for my roommate Cole, having selfishly turned him from an abusive nincompoop into a frisky cocksucker just to satisfy my own sexual needs. Despite having boosted my intelligence substantially with the astonishing camera which my father had given me, I had little clue where my transformed roommate might have gone.

Cole's cell phone, which I had retrieved from the pocket of the cargo shorts he left behind, began to vibrate. The screen displayed the name "SHILOH" with an accompanying photo of one of Cole's posse extending his middle finger. Those gentlemen were all class.

A Few Little Tweaks

Read Part 1 HERE.

by Cris Kane

After I texted my dad the photo showing how much his camera had changed me, I zonked out pretty fast. Growing six inches and eighty pounds in one night will do that to a guy.

 

Not sure whether it was the sound or the smell of the fart that woke me up, but the combination of the two was lethal. I rubbed my eyes and held my breath as I heard the low chuckling of my dumbshit roommate Cole. The fucker was plastered, and his idea of subtle humor was to wake up his roommate at 3am and fart in his face.

"Hey, baby, can I borrow a diaper from you?", he said in a demented whisper, hardly able to contain his laughter. Even his dimwit buddies hanging in the doorway were telling him he was being immature and should leave me alone.

I just reached up and gripped his wrist, then twisted his arm around his back, amazed by my strength. He sure wasn't expecting that from his wimpy roommate.

"Ow, ow ow!," he yelped. He whispered to his pals by the door, "Fuck, I'm in the wrong room!" His loyal friends freaked out and ran away.

"No, you're in the right place," I whispered. "You just fucked with the wrong guy." I climbed out of bed while maintaining hold of his arm. I flipped on the light over my bed and could see clearly on his face just how much pain he was in, so I let go. His arm fell slack at his side. He rubbed his shoulder and turned around. I got a real kick out of watching his eyes as they caught their first glimpse of my broad chest and my giant arms, then moved up and up until he saw me grinning down at him. I now had a good couple inches on him and, except for the part covered by my exercise pants, all of my new muscle was on prominent display.

Second Chance

The day had been beautiful. I had been walking downtown looking in all the store windows, not doing anything in particular other than being outside. I had stopped in the park to sit on one of the benches for a while before starting my trek back home. That is when I heard a man and a woman arguing not too far from where I sat.

“Listen bitch,” he started, “if I want to go have a night with the boys I damn well will go regardless of what you think.”

“You are the most inconsiderate bastard I have ever met. One of these days someone is going to put you in your place and I just hope I’m around to see it.” She shot back at him, her voice dripping with venom.

“Yeah, well it won’t be at my place. Go get your stuff and move out now.”

The tension in the air was palpable, so thick a knife wouldn’t have cut through it. I hadn’t intended to overhear their argument. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time I guess. I watched as she stormed off, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her tears and I knew their relationship had now come to a screeching halt. That was too bad. She obviously loved him deeply despite her words. Could he not see that? All couples argue and make up so maybe they would be able to resolve their differences and continue onward. From all appearances they seemed like the perfect pair. She, with her long flowing blonde hair half-way down her back, was such a beautiful and desirable woman. He was no slouch either. Tall, rugged good looks, sexy scruffy beard and well-built, I’m sure he had no trouble setting the hearts of women aflutter. He sure got mine pumping. I continued to watch him as he made his way over to a maintenance building, stopping to light up a smoke and pacing off his anger.

I returned to watching the birds and animals at play, remembering back on a time long ago when I had been very much in love. He, too, had blonde hair and been very handsome. Like them we had had a tremendous fight and my pride would not let me apologize. Hence we broke up and I found myself drifting from one affair to another throughout the years, never finding the one perfect love meant for me. I had resigned myself to living alone. Experience can be a hard teacher. If I only had it to do over again…

Seanday Lunch: Back to friends

I woke up as usual tied up in the sheets; another restless night. Seemed like I was always wrestling in my dreams, like I was fighting for my life sometimes.

Untangling myself I got to my feet and pulled my junk free of an uncomfortable crease in my boxers. I stretched and groaned pulling the drapes open.

Turning on the speakers I picked a track on my iPhone. The song--a slow ballad, began to lift my consciousness from the nights turmoil. I nodded slowly in time with the beat as I vacantly gazed out of the window.

"Ryan, breakfast in twenty minutes," my dad called from downstairs. I sagged, mom must have left early which meant flat, burnt pancakes. I shuddered and started to concoct an excuse to skip the meal. I sighed kicking off my boxers, and headed for the bathroom.

I turned on the shower and tested the water, and shivered. While I waited for it to warm, I gazed at my face in the mirror; I looked tired. I scratched at the small clump of black hairs sprouting from my chest and wondered if I should shave them, perhaps at the weekend. Another test--hot enough--and I climbed in. Still in a daze I started to wash myself down, a squirt of gel and I was soon swamped in a soothing lather. Inch by inch I cleaned the nights worries away.

Drying myself off, I looked at my face. Young, angular, good looking--I guess, with black hair that refused to lay down. A quick splash of deodorant and I returned to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around my waist. I had a good feeling about today.

Picking out a simple white vest I pulled it over my head and continued to get dressed and in cargo shorts. Picking up my iPhone I checked my email and social, and retweeted a couple of funny pictures. Where were my earbuds? I searched the table, and found them on the floor. Pulling at my vest I threaded the cable inside and plugged it in, and put my iPhone in my pocket. "Pancakes are on the table Ryan, get a move on," Dad called again from downstairs. I grabbed my rucksack and stuffed some books inside and jogged down the stairs two at a time.

Caption This (13th Sep)

Check out the story in the comments
Saturdays the readers get a chance to write something, use the picture as inspiration or perhaps suggest something for others to write.  Two pictures, but check in the new comments section you can add pictures now so post your own stories/pictures!

(note: administrators reserve the right to delete what they consider inappropriate pictures in any comments)

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A Few Minor Adjustments

by Cris Kane

Hello. My name is Ryan and I am a geek.

Honestly, I've tried to make myself look cooler with pierced ears, tattoos, and bling, but I'm afraid all of that only emphasizes how desperately I'm trying not to look like the short, skinny white boy I am.

In high school, I did have a few girls who liked me and told me I was cute, but it's not like they were ever gonna date me. No, they wanted to date the jocks, then call me on the phone afterwards and dish, weeping about what a jerk the jock had been. To them, I was the "gay best friend" that every romantic comedy and sitcom told them they needed as an accessory.

Never mind that I wasn't actually gay.

I suppose I couldn't blame them for making the assumption. It's not like I was doing anything that would prove them wrong. Like, say, having sex with a girl.

I'm only five-seven and I've always had, like, zero muscle-mass. My folks knew how much it bugged me to be so puny, so Dad bought me a set of weights, but sweating and straining just to curl a fifteen-pound dumbbell was not my idea of a fun time. Besides, all that exertion never seemed to add an ounce to my lanky-ass body. The weights sat in a corner of my bedroom, growing cobwebbier by the day.

I started college with the naive hope that it would be a less superficial environment than goddamn high school and people would put more value on intelligence than appearance. As my parents were wishing me goodbye, Mom couldn't stop crying and calling me "my baby", right there in my dorm room, right in front of my dick of a roommate, who was barely stifling his laughter. I just knew he would be mocking me and calling me "Baby" from then on.

Costume Change

by Carlos Palanca

I was walking on the beach in front of the hotel I was staying in where I saw a beach party. I thought to myself, “I’m sure they won’t mind if I grab a drink from their party.” I went to towards the crowd and found the refreshment table and grabbed a cup of mixed drinks.
I was minding my own business, drinking my drink. I was suddenly pulled from behind until my butt touches something. It was a drunken guy wearing a Captain America costume. Then, a guy in a Red Ranger costume arrives. I don’t know their names so I called them Cap and Red for now.

Cap pushed me down so that my face is in line with Red’s crotch. They laughed and made fun of me as Cap pushes me with his dick so that my face will touch Red’s dick. I managed to break free and ran. They followed me towards the parking lot
Red caught up with me when I got there but Cap tripped on the way because he was too drunk to do so. Red grabbed a hold of me and placed a hand on my mouth. I tried to break free but kept failing. He told me, “Dude, chill! Relax! I’m not going to mess with you. I only followed you to talk to you! Just keep your mouth shut!”
I took his hand of my mouth and said, “If you only wanted to talk to me, you didn’t have to do that thing to me a while ago.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It as the alcohol. Oh, I’m Dave by the way” We shook hands and I told him that my name is Chase. “I just want you to know first that I know what you can do.” Said Dave.

The New Kid on the Block

Come one, come all and extend a warm greeting to the newest author to join the blog – Cris Kane. You’ve read his stories - “Hitching” being his latest – as well as his earlier epics. We all expect great things from the new kid.

So take your bow, Mr. Kane, as all your admirers and the rest of the authors at the Male Transformation Blog welcome you heartily into our ranks.

May the muse strike you often for many more tales to come (and maybe some X-Dream stories?)…

His stories thus far:

Hitching

No Shirt, No Service

The Last Resort

and a Re-Caption This

Welcome to the family!