Yawning beneath the moonlight, Nick padded barefoot down the lane. He finally found a way out of that interminable labyrinth of cul de sacs and discovered that he was less than five miles from his apartment. He made his way with ease, excited to be in his own bed and, more importantly, his own body.
He arrived just as the pinkish light of dawn was splaying over the rooftops. Sighing with relief, he pulled his spare key out from under the mat and let himself in. He hopped in the shower and was just toweling off when there was a pounding at the door.
“Nick, open up!”
Shit. It was Corey. Nick wrapped the towel around his waist and unlocked the door, letting his aggrieved boyfriend inside.
“Where the hell have you been? You disappeared on me at the beach and Tom next door said you haven’t been home in three days! I was worried sick! I was about to call the police when Tom let me know he saw you coming back in! What happened to you? …Whose underwear is that on the floor?”
“It’s a very long story, sighed Nick, “But I need to tell you something. We can’t be together. I’m so sorry, but you need to leave right now before something terrible happens.
“Baby, what are you saying? Are you mad at me? Is it something I did? Because I know how to make it better…” Corey slipped a hand into Nick’s towel and began to rub. “I know just how to make you forget your troubles…”
Nick gasped, tears welling in his eyes. “Please… Leave while you still can!” The towel slipping to the floor, Nick stumbled into the bedroom, clutching his chest.
“Nick! Nick, what’s wrong? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” cried Corey.
“Just go!” Nick shouted, slamming the bedroom door behind him. Moaning erupted from the room, growing steadily deeper until it rattled the walls. The rattling continued, gaining in force, knocking all the pictures off the walls. Corey shrieked as toy vanished, leaving the walls bare and white.
He sat at the kitchenette table, pale with shock. The deep mahogany tones of the vintage table Corey had helped Nick pick out were darkening to plain black. The corners of the table grew stiff and blocky until it began to look like something straight out of the IKEA showroom. The bowl of pears on the counter vanished, becoming an empty pizza box. The moaning stopped. Bewildered, Corey tumbled into the hallway.
He grappled for the knob, felt it click, and pulled the bedroom door open. Nick’s one neat room now looked like a hurricane had blown through it. The room was gloomy, lit by a single lamp, and the floor was scattered with porn magazines, past due action movie rentals, and a series of increasingly grubby white wifebeaters. A stack of rumpled clothes was piled on a bare mattress in the middle of the floor. What had happened here? What had Nick been doing over the past few days?
An alarm blared, making Corey jump in fright. A large, meaty hand slammed the off button. A hand that most definitely did not belong to Nick. A man stood up, unburying himself from the pile of clothes on the mattress. The blonde behemoth, his strawlike hair sticking out at odd angles, rubbed his chin groggily, his hand scratching against rough blonde stubble. His red face looked puffy: his brown eyes were half closed, squinting above his misshapen nose and broad mouth. He pulled on a pair of baggy yellow pants and covered his massive chest with the grubbiest wifebeater. He picked up a yellow construction hat from his dresser and planted it firmly on his skull, which was the size of a bowling ball. His meaty arms protruded from his torso, covered in a mat of blonde hair He looked to the doorway and grunted.
“Who’re you?”
“Uh… N-Nick?” stammered Corey.
“Uh-uh. That’s my name,” said Nick the construction worker dully.
“Um- sir, I- I’m sorry but- my boyfriend-“
Nick’s eyes opened fully for the first time. “Boyfriend? Huh. You don’t look like a cocksucker. Guess you never know. Outta my way, faggot.” Nick slammed into Corey as he walked into the bathroom. He started pissing loudly, slopping all over the bowl. Corey got up from his sprawl and caught a glimpse of himself in the closet mirror. Something seemed off, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what.
There was his waxed surfer’s body, his curly brown hair, his button nose. So why did this feel wrong? A yellow flash crossed his vision and he saw another construction hat on Nick’s… or whoever’s dresser. He felt irresistibly attracted to it. He tried to turn away, but his feet dragged him over to the dresser. He grabbed the hat, put it on his head, and instantly his body went slack with relief. Cold waves of calm trickled down his body. Nothing could hurt him now.
He was safe, secure, strong. Very strong. He ripped his pants off with his bare hands, no longer worrying about being nude, wanting to see. His dick burst free from his underwear like a roll of sausage, thick as a beer can, ten inches, lolling a little to the left. It looked wildly out of place on his slim body, but that would soon change.
His dick jutted out as he imagined using it on the girls from the bar. They were always wet and ready for a muscle god like him. Oh yeah, he was ready to pound those sluts into next Tuesday. But he had to go to work first. But before that… Corey rubbed his hands along his torso, massaging his nipples. His body began to inflate like a balloon, starting at his fingers and toes. He continued to squeeze his hard nipples with his meaty paws as his arms and legs tripled in size. He stood a head taller as the changes reached his torso, hard shelves of muscle bursting beneath his skin.
His neck pushed out until it was as thick as a telephone pole, needing all the strength it could to hold up his cinderblock head. His jaw grew square and stern, and his bronze ringlets receded into a short mat of hair that sat like moss atop his flat skull. His thin eyebrows darkened above sharp, angry eyes. His nose flattened above his stern mouth and a thick, trimmed goatee encircled his lips, blending into a soul patch as it reached his chin.
The alarm buzzed again. Shit. Late. He grabbed a pair of pants off the floor, opting to go commando – not much could have any hope of restraining his gigantic member anyway – and pulled on another of the wifebeaters, which strained to contain his bulging muscles. Nick arrived in the doorway with a grunt of greeting.
They grabbed their metal lunchboxes and headed out the door. After a few hours of wheeling bricks and laboring in the hot sun, they spent a happy hour eating tuna sandwiches, drinking beer, and catcalling any hotties that walked by.