Chapter 1

Remick was chatting with one of the team’s new Russian hockey players when Zeke got out of the shower. He watched them out of the corner of his eye while he dressed, feeling uneasy. He wasn’t sure but it looked like the Russian handed Remick a small bottle before slapping him on the shoulder. He turned to see Remick pocket the bottle, a broad smile on his face as he sauntered back to his locker next to Zeke’s.

“Hey, dude,” Zeke said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Gettin’ buddy-buddy with the Russians?”

Remick opened his locker and pulled out his jacket and gear bag. When he answered, his voice was light, almost airy. “Yeah, they’re super friendly. Have you talked to them yet? That one, Boris, just helped me out big time.”

Zeke raised an eyebrow. “‘Helped you out?’ Exactly how did he help you out?”

Remick shrugged, saying, “Oh, he gave some pills to help me lose weight and put on some muscle. One of the guys told me ‘bout the amazing stuff he brought over from Moscow.”

Zeke’s eyes went round and he whirled on Remick, demanding, “What? He gave you what?!”

“Relax, bro,” Remick assured. “It’s all on the up and up. The coach signed off on ‘em. They’re just supplements.”

“Supplements?!” Zeke hissed, causing one of their teammates nearby give him a funny look. He lowered his voice before continuing, not wanting to make a scene. “WTF, man? Supplements! Those are steroids! You know that the whole Russian team was booted out of the Olympics for doping, don’t you? Throw those things away!”

“Pfft. You’re paranoid, man.” Remick replied, pulling the little bottle out of his pocket and rolling it around in his hand. Inside, a bunch of orange pills rattled softly against the smoked plastic. “These are 100% botanical. He said so himself.”

Zeke couldn’t believe what he was hearing. With great effort, he restrained himself from grabbing Remick by the shoulders and shaking him. Instead, he forced himself to take several deep breaths. When felt sufficiently under control, he said evenly, “Remick, man, listen to me. Throw those fucking pills away now! You don’t need ‘em anyway. You’re already a fucking beast!”

Remick rolled his eyes. “A fucking fat beast, you mean. C’mon, Zeke. You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve been a muscle stud all of your life. Look at me!” He paused to lift up his shirt, exposing the big, hairy belly protruding over his belt. “The coach said I need to lose twenty-five pounds by April or I’m off the team.”

Zeke raised an eyebrow, examining his friend’s stocky body. People often assumed that he and Remick were brothers. Both had thick, brown hair and beards and, when they were in their hockey uniforms at least, they seemed to possess the same burly build. Undressed, however, the similarities ended. Unlike Remick, Zeke was loaded with muscles and lacked any sign of fat or flab. He was exceedingly proud of his godlike body but tried not to be too obvious about it. In the locker room, though, he couldn’t help strutting a bit and he loved to hang out naked. He kept his body hair trimmed short to accentuate the definition of his muscles and reveled in the envious stares he got from the other guys. (The fact that he had a big, uncut cock, too, was a bonus. Only Remick exceeded Zeke in that department but only by a hair. Not that he was keeping track or anything.)

“Remick,” Zeke sighed, casting a wary look at the pills in his friend’s hand. “You don’t need to take that shit! Come to the gym with me and I’ll help you work off the extra weight. You’ll lose it in no time!”

Leaning back on his heels, Remick crossed his arms and gave him a dubious look. “What?” he complained, “I’m not a trust-fund kiddie like you who can spend hours at the gym every day.” Zeke rolled his eyes and started to interrupt but Remick held up his hand, continuing, “I have to work full-time and Ashley needs my attention when I’m not at work. With the wedding next summer, she’s got all of my free time booked up.”

“It doesn’t take hours of working out to lose weight,” Zeke grumbled, hating the very mention of Ashley’s name. He had never cared for her and disliked the way she ruled Remick’s life. “You just have to work out smarter. An hour a day, four days a week, and you’ll lose the weight in three months.”

“An hour a day! I don’t have that kind of time! Shit, Ashley barely lets me get away for hockey practice.” Remick turned, shrugging on his leather jacket and dropping the pills inside his pocket. He paused to pat them protectively before saying, “I’ll catch ya later, man. Maybe we can watch the game tomorrow night? Ashley’s going out of town for a couple weeks and I’ll be all by myself.”

“Remick,” Zeke warned, resisting the urge to grab his friend’s arm. “Don’t do this, man! It’s not worth it. Don’t take those pills!”

“Chill out, dude. I’ll be fine,” Remick soothed, throwing up his hands and shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

***

Remick was a demon on the ice the next evening, seeming to possess an endless reserve of energy. He was out in front of the pack and on the puck at every opportunity, scoring three goals in the exhibition game against the team’s crosstown rival. Afterward, the coach singled him out for praise in the locker room. During his speech, Remick looked over at Zeke and winked, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Zeke scowled back at him, casting a leery eye over at Boris. The big Russian was sitting next to his friend, Igor, a neutral expression on his handsome face. Zeke shook his head.

***

“I’ve fucking lost my gut, man!”

Zeke looked up from his locker to see Remick standing there, completely naked. His hairy body was still moist and dripping from the shower. Zeke examined him cursorily, flinching a bit at the sight of his friend’s swinging junk.

“See?” Remick prompted. “Look at my tummy, bro!”

“Your tummy?” Zeke repeated. “What are you now? A two year old?”

Remick laughed, shaking his head and looking proudly down at his stomach. “You’re just jealous. Soon I’m gonna be as ripped as you!”

Zeke grimaced. Remick was right about his stomach being flatter, though. His friend was clearly sucking in his gut but even so Zeke could see the faint outlines of abdominal muscles pushing out against his hairy skin. He had known Remick for more than ten years and couldn’t remember seeing him with abs before. It was impressive but it was all due to the fucking steroids and he said so.

“How many times do I have to tell you they’re not steroids?” Remick protested. “They’re fucking herbal supplements!”

Zeke crossed his arms, saying, “Uh huh. How is it possible to lose your gut in just three days if they’re not steroids? It’s not possible.”

“Look,” Remick said, lowering his voice. “I know it’s crazy but I feel great and there are no side effects. I’m sleeping well, not raging, my tits aren’t swelling, and clearly my package is just as big as always.” He shimmied his hips for effect, making his huge cock sway languidly back and forth. Zeke rolled his eyes and started to turn away but Remick caught his arm, saying emphatically, “What I’m trying to say is that you can fucking relax. I’m fine and I’m not on steroids!”

Zeke shook off his grip and turned back to his locker. He was silent for a long time, hoping that Remick would leave him alone but, when he looked over, Remick was still standing there butt-naked, a funny look on his face.

“What?” Zeke demanded. “Get dressed! I’m tired of looking at your junk!”

Remick smirked and casually picked up his towel. He spent a long time patting himself dry, taking obvious pleasure out of pushing Zeke’s buttons.

***

The next evening, Remick answered the door after Zeke’s third knock, a big, goofy smile on his face. The sound of the television in the living room echoed down the hallway behind him. Zeke opened his mouth to speak but then froze in confusion and embarrassment.

“Uh, d-d-dude,” he stammered, catching himself before he looked down. “What happened to your pants?”

He cast about quickly to see if Remick’s neighbors were watching and was thankful that it was winter and therefore already dark. His hand was still poised before the open door and he was holding a six-pack. He’d come over from the gym after getting Remick’s text reminding him about the game and was still sweaty despite the cold evening air. 

Remick looked down at himself as if just noticing that he was only wearing a tight t-shirt and was otherwise bare-ass naked from the waist down. Eyes widening in mock surprise, he exclaimed, “Oops! Sorry, bro! I fell asleep on the couch and forgot I’d dropped trou.”

He started to turn to go back inside when Zeke inadvertently looked down. Unable to catch himself, he blurted out, “Dude! WTF? Did you shave your balls?”

Remick stopped and looked back at him before looking down at his newly shorn pubes, brow wrinkling. “Oh, yeah. I guess I did,” he said absently. Then he shrugged, adding, “I didn’t like all that hair anyway.”

Zeke gave him an incredulous stare, noticing for the first time that his friend’s legs and ass were likewise smooth. The guys on the hockey team didn’t shave anything. To a man, they were proud of their hairy, masculine bodies and looked down on the girly boys who plucked, tweezed, and shaved themselves. He couldn’t believe that Remick would risk being laughed out of the locker room and almost said as much. 

Instead he shook his head and muttered, “Uh, yeah, I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” He cleared his throat, debating what to do. He was seriously considering making up an excuse and fleeing. Before he could leave, though, Remick took the six-pack out of his hands and ushered him inside. Zeke hesitated for a moment before following him through the door. He made a point out of not studying Remick’s baby-smooth bottom during the slow walk down the hall.

When they were standing awkwardly in the living room, Remick lifted his arm and scratched behind his ear. Yawning lazily, he looked back down at himself and raised his eyebrows, saying, “Oh, yeah, wow, man! I’m sorry. I guess I did kinda go overboard with the razor.”

“No harm, no foul,” Zeke grunted, still feeling really uncomfortable. He’d never seen Remick act like this. “But why don’t you put something on? I’m not sitting next to you on the couch like that.”

“Sure, sure,” Remick agreed, running a hand through his shaggy hair before wandering toward his bedroom where Zeke could see his jeans lying in a heap on the floor. “Make yourself comfortable while I change. The Oilers just scored a goal and are ahead by two.”

Zeke took a seat on the couch, trying unsuccessfully not to wonder if he was sitting on the same cushion that Remick’s bare ass had just been pressing against. He turned his attention to the game and quickly lost himself in the action. It was a good game and the Oilers were his favorite team. When they scored another point, he leapt off the couch, almost knocking a glass of red wine out of Remick’s hand. His friend stepped back in surprise, barely managing to keep the wine from sloshing out onto the white area rug at their feet.

Zeke stared up at him (gratefully noting that his friend was now fully clothed.) “Wine, dude? You’re drinking wine?” he asked in disbelief. “But I brought us beer!”

“No,” Remick corrected. “You’re drinking wine. This is from a bottle of the latest Beaujolais Nouveau. It’s really great vintage.”

Zeke’s mouth fell open. “Beaujolais what?”

“Beaujolais Nouveau, silly. Now take it. I left my glass in the kitchen.”

Zeke reluctantly reached out to take the proffered wine. While Remick watched him closely, he took a small sip and swallowed. He hated wine. Remick knew that. 

“Well?”

Zeke made a face. “It’s…uh…great.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I know. Now can I have a beer?”

Remick sighed through his nose, saying, “Listen, just humor me, Ok? This is a great vintage. We can have our beer later. Right now I just wanna watch the game with my best bro and sip a glass of wine.”

And that’s what they did. Zeke caught himself grinding his teeth several times but smiled reluctantly when Remick looked over at him. In the end, he managed to enjoy most of the game while keeping the unease he felt at his friend’s odd behavior at bay.

***

“Whoa, look at that ‘do!”

Zeke turned to see the guys staring at Remick as he sauntered into the locker room. His friend was sporting a new hairstyle, his thick, brown hair clipped short on the sides in a hip fade. The stylist had left a long mop at the top that was greased and flipped back over the top of his head. What really caught Zeke’s eye, though, was his missing beard; Remick’s cheeks were completely smooth. He blinked, barely recognizing his friend. The last time he’d seen Remick without a beard he was fourteen years old.

“Whaddaya think, bro?” Remick asked, cocking his head to give Zeke the full effect of his new hairstyle. “Like it?”

Zeke was at a loss for words and stood there for a long time, trying to think of something polite to say. Remick winked at him slyly, taking sadistic pleasure out of seeing Zeke so discombobulated. While Zeke struggled to find his voice, he opened his locker and started getting undressed.

“Your beard,” Zeke finally managed to croak. “What happened to your beard?”

“You know what, Zeke?” Remick asked flippantly as he unzipped his pants and stepped out of them. “I just decided it’s time for a change. I’ve had the same beard and hairstyle for too long. Now that I’ve slimmed down and finally have the body I’ve always wanted, I want to let loose. It feels good.”

Zeke nodded, unable to stop staring at his friend. He looked so different! When Remick pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his shaved chest, he gaped. The dude was fucking ripped! He wasn’t nearly as beefy as Zeke but every sinew was etched in stark relief against his tanned skin.

Tanned skin? 

Wait, had Remick been visiting a tanning salon? It was mid-winter and all of the white dudes on the team were pasty…all the white dudes except for Remick, that is.

Zeke was about to comment on this when he noticed Boris and Igor watching them from across the room. The two Russians were standing at their lockers, partially decked out in their hockey gear. Out of the corner of his eye, Zeke saw Boris nudge Igor in the ribs. Igor’s broad face broke out into a big smile that disappeared as soon as Zeke turned their way. Abruptly, the two men looked away and resumed getting ready for practice.

Zeke’s eyes narrowed. What is going on here? he wondered. Something wasn’t right…

“Remick, are you still taking those pills?” he asked, a hint of trepidation creeping into his voice.

Remick was bent over, preparing to pull down his underwear. “Yeah, bro, ‘course I–” he started to say but was interrupted by a wolf whistle behind. The whistle was quickly followed by another and soon the whole locker room erupted into frenzied laughter.

Zeke looked back in confusion to find every single guy in the room staring at them.

At Remick, actually.

More specifically, at Remick’s ass.

Zeke’s cheeks went rosy as his gaze dropped down to his friend’s buttocks. They were tanned deep brown like the rest of his body.

Except.

Except for a delicate band of white skin across his hips and down the crevice of his buttocks that was untouched by the sunlamp.

A delicate band in the precise outline of a thong.

Remick had been lying in the tanning booth wearing the tiniest thong imaginable and the evidence was now emblazoned boldly on his skin for all to see.

***

Chapter 2

“Aw, you guys, cut it out!” Remick teased as he looked behind him at the crowd of jeering players. Far from being mortified, though, he appeared to take pleasure out of the attention. He even waggled his butt provocatively and smiled at the chorus of hoots and groans this elicited. Straightening, he met Zeke’s horrified gaze with a wink and slight sway of his hips.

Zeke stared at him, appalled. His mouth was open and he closed it with a snap, eyes darting from Remick’s tanned, smooth, and naked body over to Boris and Igor. The two Russian players had turned back to gearing up for practice and studiously avoided his gaze.

Steadying himself against his locker, Zeke fought to calm himself so he could figure out what to do. He’d known Remick for more than half his life and knew that the old Remick would have been repulsed by the actions of this new Remick. Zeke wasn’t a homophobe–Shit, some of his best friends at the gym were gay!–and he was wary of jumping to conclusions, but everything he’d witnessed over the past several days pointed to one thing: Remick was acting more and more like a homo. And all evidence pointed to one factor behind this remarkable change.

The pills.

Those fucking pills! he thought. Those fucking pills are turning Remick into a faggot! Er, a gay man, he corrected himself, wincing at his un-PC word choice. He’s turning into a gay guy!

Next to him, Remick was in no hurry to get dressed and spent a long time bending over and inspecting his hockey gear. When he squatted down to rummage through his bag, ass cheeks spreading salaciously, Zeke intervened before the guys behind them lost it. He put a hand on his shoulder and coaxed, “C’mon, buddy. That’s enough. Get suited up, Ok? Practice is starting in a few minutes.”

Remick looked up at him innocently and seemed like he was about to say something but instead straightened and stepped into his Spandex jock. Looking behind him, he admired the way the stretchy material clung to his buttocks, saying, “I think my ass is getting bigger, don’t you?”

Zeke started to roll his eyes and then stopped. Remick was right. His ass was big! His cheeks were so beefy that they stretched the Lycra to the point of near transparency. He blinked and tried to look away but was momentarily mesmerized by the sight of his friend’s big bubble. Finally, he forced his attention away, shaking his head. He had never made a habit of inspecting Remick’s body but he was pretty certain that his friend’s butt hadn’t been that big.

It was yet another weird change that pointed to those damned pills! He had to get him to stop taking them ASAP!

“Remick,” he began delicately, “Maybe you should lay off those supplements for a few days and see how things go. I mean, look, you’ve already lost more than twenty-five pounds, haven’t you? You don’t need to lose any more weight. Hockey players are supposed to be stocky, remember?”

Remick pulled a face. “No, Zeke!” he said defiantly. “Would you lay off the lectures? Look at me!” He motioned down at his newly defined torso, the ridges of his abs forming a distinct six-pack. “I’ve never felt or looked better and it’s all because of those supplements! Boris just gave me another bottle because he says that I have to keep taking them for the effects to become permanent.”

“He did what?” Zeke demanded. “He fucking did what?”

“You heard me,” Remick said blithely, pulling his shoulder pads over his head.

Zeke realized he was clenching his hands into fists and had to force himself to relax. When he was sufficiently under control, he looked over at the Russian players again, determined to confront them. This business with Remick’s supplements had gotten out of hand. Boris and Igor may have succeeded in brainwashing his friend but he was no fool and he wouldn’t let get away with ruining Remick’s life. Someone had to do something before it was too late!

There was just one problem.

The Russians had disappeared.

The place in front of their lockers was empty; they’d already headed out onto the ice for practice. Zeke set his jaw, determined to confront them after the game and make them knock off this stupid bullshit.

***

Surprisingly, the other players didn’t hassle Remick on the ice during practice. Zeke expected them to take him down ‘by accident,’ trip him, knee him, or do other stuff. But by the time his friend made an appearance on the rink, though, everyone had calmed down and put the events of the locker room behind them. The fact that Remick was covered head-to-toe in bulky hockey gear helped because he looked just like the other players. Yeah, geared up there was nothing unusual about him and everyone could forget about what had happened. 

Zeke was a vigilant friend and he kept an eye on Remick, bracing to protect him if any of the guys got out of hand. He needn’t have worried; Remick handled himself flawlessly on the ice, moving with impressive grace, speed, and…aggression. Zeke shook his head when he saw how domineering his friend had become, taking risks and going for plays that often left him in the center of the action. It was unusual. Remick had always been a cautious player who preferred defense but now he was embracing offense like never before. This, more than anything else, helped to overcome any residual scorn their teammates might have been feeling toward him.

As practice wore on, Zeke spent less and less time worrying about Remick. He couldn’t because he had his own problems to deal with. It started out subtly but gradually he became aware that his cup was pinching him. He reached down to reposition it and sighed in relief. It wasn’t unusual for the plastic piece to move out of place after a rigorous play. A moment later, though, the pinching was back and he skidded to a halt to readjust himself. That helped for a while but after a few minutes he was forced to stop again. Grimacing, he reached inside his jock to grab his junk and froze.

What was wrong with his cock and balls?

They felt swollen.

Had he injured them without realizing it?

He was a well-endowed guy and took plenty of precautions to keep his boys safe. He wore an extra-large cup and his jock had plenty of padding up front. He wrinkled his brow and tried to feel himself surreptitiously. Everything felt Ok. There wasn’t any pain but his balls were so swollen that they wouldn’t fit properly inside his cup. And then there was his cock.

Shit!

Why was it was so big?

He sucked in his gut and shoved his junk into the cup, hoping that it was enough to keep everything in place until the end of practice when he could examine himself more closely. After five minutes, though, he stopped again. The pain had become unbearable. He skated over to the coach and told him he had to cut practice short.

“You doin’ Ok, Zeke?” Coach Jorgensen asked, looking worried.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, trying to stop himself from wincing. “I just gotta go. I’ll be back tomorrow, though.”

He turned and headed back into the locker room where he undressed and headed into the empty showers. There were blessedly empty which meant he could examine himself without having to worry about being observed. He jumped up and down as he waited for the water to warm up and grimaced as his cock and balls sloshed heavily to and fro. 

Looking down, he did a double take, inadvertently shouting, “Holy fucking shit!”

It hadn’t been his imagination.

His cock and balls really were bigger.

A lot bigger.

He stared in confusion down at himself, unable to believe that the monster dangling between his legs belonged to him. It looked a fucking terrible Photoshop job. It was huge even by porn star standards and he wasn’t even hard! Hands shaking, he reached down and cupped his swollen balls in his hand, scowling when he was forced to use both hands to hold them. He closed his eyes and waited to catch his breath before opening them again.

It helped. Somewhat.

Zeke had work at it but eventually he was able to stop freaking out long enough to assess his situation. Sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, he probed his testicles with his fingers, trying to detect anything abnormal. To his relief (and also consternation), they felt the same as always, just bigger.

And then there was his cock.

He stared at it, trying to figure out how much it had grown. He picked it up in his hand and closed his fingers around the shaft. It was fatter for sure but not as fat as he’d feared. Yeah, not as bad as he’d thought. He could still close his fingers around it. Barely. If he squeezed.

And it was longer, sure, but not that much longer. Maybe a couple of inches. Or three. Certainly not more than three, though. Or maybe it was four? He couldn’t tell without a ruler.

Sighing, he felt his shoulders relax a little. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought but he should get himself checked out. Even though nothing felt sore down there, he must have done something to cause it to swell up. He’d taken a hockey stick to the groin once and his balls had swollen up to the size of avocados. He winced at the memory. At least this time there was no pain.

Still, he was better off seeing a professional. He hadn’t been to his doctor in a long time and was past due for a checkup. He would leave a voicemail when he got back to his locker and ask them to schedule an appointment. With any luck, he could get in the next day. 

Yes, that was it!

A trip to the doctor would help. There had to be a logical, medical explanation for what he was experiencing.

***

“Heya, dude! Long time no see!”

Zeke smiled wanly as Dr. Carlos walked into the examination room. He was a young guy, still in his early thirties. Zeke and he had bonded from the beginning after Zeke learned that he’d played hockey in college. Dr. Carlos made him feel at ease with his easy bro banter and casual humor. Zeke, however, was in no mood for banter right then. Clothed only in a skimpy gown, he stood there miserably with his hands clapped over his crotch.

His cock and balls had swollen even more overnight and were rapidly verging on ridiculous. He could hardly squeeze his package into his jeans and the drive over to the clinic had been awful with his junk forcing his legs so wide that he had trouble working the pedals. Acutely, self-conscious, he held his coat in front of him on the trek across the parking lot and left it draped over his lap while he sat slumped in a chair in the waiting room. Now that he was dressed in the short gown, though, he was helpless to conceal his obscene equipment and his cheeks flamed brilliant red when the doctor asked him what the problem was.

“Uh, er, well,” he began, unable to look Dr. Carlos in the eye. “It’s, um, you see…”

“Yeah, dude?” the doctor prompted, a look of concern on his handsome face. (Wait, why did he notice that Dr. Carlos was handsome? He’d never thought that before!)  “C’mon. Tell me what’s wrong.” He looked down at Zeke’s hands covering his crotch, eyebrows going up. “Did you hurt yourself playing hockey?”

Zeke looked off to the side before wordlessly dropping his hands. His bloated balls flopped free, sagging halfway down to his knees. His firehose of a cock wasn’t much shorter. Shit, with his abnormally distended foreskin, it all but tickled his huge, fuzzy balls.

Silence.

When Zeke mustered the courage to look up at Dr. Carlos, he saw the guy’s mouth was hanging open. Noticing Zeke’s stare, though, he closed it and schooled his features but not before Zeke heard him whisper, “Holy shee-it!”

Zeke hung his head, glad his thick beard concealed his flaming cheeks. “What’s wrong, Doc?” he pleaded. “You gotta help me!”

Dr. Carlos shook himself, his shock giving way to a professional, almost clinical demeanor. Calmly, he took out a pair of latex gloves and was pulling them over his hands when Zeke’s phone buzzed from amidst the pile of his clothes on the floor. He ignored it but it buzzed again a moment later. And then again. And again. And again.

Finally, he shot the doctor an apologetic look before waddling over to extricate it from the pocket of his jeans. Staring down with furrowed brows, he saw a string of text messages from Remick. Each one increasingly urgent. The last one read: >>Where the fuck r u? Need 2 talk!<< His phone rang as he was reading the last message. It was Remick.

Dr. Carlos nodded for him to take it and Zeke reluctantly swiped his finger across the screen.

“Yeah?” he said in a terse voice. “What do you want?”

“Zeke, I need you, man! Where are you?” He sounded frantic.

Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, Zeke lifted his hands apologetically at Dr. Carlos before taking a breath. “I’m…at the doctor right now. Can this wait?”

“The doctor?” Remick squealed. “Oh, Zeke! Are you Ok?”

“I’m Ok,” he lied. “Just a routine checkup. I’ll be a while, though. Can this wait?”

There was a pause during which Zeke was certain he heard a muffled sob on the other end. Finally, Remick stammered, “Y-Y-Yeah. I-I can wait. It’s just that Ashley broke up with me. She called off the wedding, Zeke!”

For some reason, Zeke’s dark mood brightened considerably with these words and he had to work to keep the excitement out of his voice as he replied, “What? You’re kidding! That’s awful!”

There was another muffled sob. When Remick spoke, he sounded like a little kid. “I need my big, strong bro, Zeke. I need him bad. Can you meet me at Cafe Roxanne when you’re done?”

In spite of himself, Zeke was absurdly touched by these words and it took him a moment to collect himself enough to respond, “Sure thing, Rem! Your big, strong bro will be there for you!”

The phone clicked and he looked up to see Dr. Carlos eying him speculatively and he flushed. In his excitement, he’d completely forgotten that he wasn’t alone!

***

“There is nothing wrong with your genitalia that I can see,” the doctor informed him after a prolonged examination. 

For almost a half hour, Zeke had lain naked with his knees up on the table while Dr. Carlos probed every nook and cranny of his nether regions. That had been bad enough but he’d wanted to die halfway through the procedure when his cock started to plump up in the doctor’s gloved hand. He’d let out a strangled yelp and tried to pull away but he was too late. Dr. Carlos was treated to the sight of his massive cock growing even more massive as it became engorged with blood. The doctor had taken this development in stride, remaining cool and professional even as Zeke felt like curling up and dying. Eventually, his erection had subsided and Dr. Carlos had resumed the procedure. When he was done, he patted Zeke on the shoulder and he’d sat up, covering his bulging organ protectively on his lap.

“Even though I didn’t detect anything abnormal, I am referring you to a urologist,” Dr. Carlos continued, tossing his gloves in the Sharp’s medical waste bin next to the sink. “I suspect your problem is glandular and not trauma-based.”

Zeke stared at him blankly. “Glandular?”

Dr. Carlos settled back against the sink, crossing his arms. “Zeke, have you…been taking any drugs lately?”

“Drugs? Fuck n–I mean, of course, not! I don’t take drugs!”

“No performance-enhancing drugs?” the doctor pressed. “Maybe supplements or steroids?”

Zeke froze, unable to believe what he was hearing. Sitting up very straight on the table, he stated emphatically that he would never, under any circumstances, resort to taking performance-enhancing drugs.

The doctor listened to him soberly while his eyes probed his face. Finally, he nodded and said, “Ok, I believe you but as a precaution I will have to take a sample of your blood and urine for testing.”

“Of course, Doc! Do whatever you think is best,” Zeke replied. “But you’re not gonna find anything. I’m as clean as they come!”

Dr. Carlos sighed and stood up, saying, “That’s good. I’m sure you are. The lab will test for unusual hormone levels as well. The most likely cause of your condition is a tumor or other malfunction with your pituitary gland.”

Zeke blanched, sputtering, “Shit! That’s bad. Is it curable?” He jerked his chin down toward his crotch. “And will my junk go back to normal?”

“Zeke,” the doctor said evenly. “If it is a pituitary tumor, those are relatively easy to treat. But I’m not going to lie. It may not be possible to…shrink…your penis and testicles without surgery.”

“What?!” Zeke demanded, eyes bugging out. “Surgery! You’ve–”

“Easy, boy!” the doctor said, interrupting his freak out. “You’ll be Ok. The urologist I’m sending you to is the best in the profession. I will have his office schedule you an emergency appointment. You should get in by tomorrow morning.”

Zeke sat there in stunned silence as these words percolated through his muddled mind. He’d hoped that Dr. Carlos would diagnose him and send him home with a treatment right then and there. If his cock continued growing at this rate, he might not be able to walk by tomorrow!

“Doc, please!” he begged, reaching out to grab Dr. Carlos’ arm. “Is there anything you can do right now to stop it from growing more? I’m fucking desperate! I mean, how am I supposed to work out at the gym or play hockey like this?”

Rather than removing Zeke’s hand from his arm, the doctor reached up and patted it, saying gently, “You’ll be Ok, Zeke. Really. But I could try injecting it with a cholinergic drug. It will make your vascular tissue contract and tighten up your scrotum. It’s not a permanent fix but it should help.”

“Cholin-what-gic?”

Dr. Carlos smiled. “It’s a drug that causes tissue to contract. It will hurt, possibly a lot, and it may cause some numbing. I’ll understand if you don’t want–”

Zeke held up his hands. “Do it! I want you to do it! I’ll do anything to make it stop growing!”

***

Zeke hopped off the exam table ten minutes later, relief flooding over him. The injections had hurt like a motherfucker–having a syringe jammed into his cock and ball sac was not his idea of fun times–but he could already feel his skin contracting. Letting the gown flutter to the floor, he stared down at his bare crotch, a goofy grin spreading across his face when saw that it wasn’t his imagination. His cock really was shrinking up! And his pendulous balls were retreating rapidly, tucking in snug and tight beneath his trousersnake.

He’d started wagging his junk back and forth exuberantly before he realized what he was doing and stopped abruptly when he noticed that Dr. Carlos was staring at him.

“Uh, sorry ‘bout that, Doc!” he muttered, reaching down for his jeans. “I was just happy to see it shrinking up.”

Dr. Carlos cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly. When Zeke looked up at him, he noticed the doctor’s eyes were glassy. As he watched, he licked his lips and took a step every so slightly closer to him. As Zeke stared at him, he realized for the first time how sensitive Dr. Carlos’ brown eyes were. His lips were tender and full and his nose was almost button-like. He seemed very young for his age, appearing right then to be no more twenty-two and yet his body beneath his white lab coat was replete with muscles.

He was a very attractive man.

Zeke’s stomach lurched as he registered his thoughts and he willed himself to look away. He needed to get out of there! He needed to talk to Remy!

“Zeke,” the doctor began tentatively, “I know it isn’t my place to do this but…”

“But, what?” he asked, tongue feeling thick in his throat.

In answer, Dr. Carlos reached back and dug out his wallet. As Zeke watched, heart pounding in his chest, he opened it and searched through it, finally pulling out a business card. He scribbled something on the back and handed it to Zeke with a wink, saying, “You, um, might try stopping by this place after you leave here. They, ah, specialize in gear for guys of your…unique…size.”

Confused, Zeke lifted the card. It read, ‘The BRUTE Boutique: We carry everything for the enhanced man.’ The address was in the gay district near Cafe Roxanne where he was due to meet Remy. He swallowed and looked back at the doctor. The man’s cheeks were rosy and he wouldn’t meet Zeke’s gaze.

Somehow, he managed to stammer his thanks and, fighting to stuff his mutinous package back into the tight confines of his jeans, buttoned up and pulled on his shirt and shoes as quickly as he could. He was turning to go when Dr. Carlos called out softly behind him, “My number is on the back of the card, Zeke. If you ever want to…talk, I’m here for you.”

***

Chapter 3

His cock started throbbing on the way to Cafe Roxanne. It pulsed painfully in his jeans when he was trying to park and he looked down to see the fat outline of his member push down several inches against his thigh. His eyebrows shot up when he realized it was almost down to his knee cap.

Shit! Shit! Shit! he thought, frantically scrambling to pull the business card with Dr. Carlos’ phone number scribbled on the back. With shaking hands, he managed to extricate his phone from his pocket and dialed the number. Two rings later and Dr. Carlos answered in a calm voice.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck–I mean, oh, shit! Uh, sorry!” Zeke stammered before choking out, “Dr. Carlos? It’s me, Zeke!”

There was a pause. Then, “Oh, hey! Zeke, my man! How’s it hangin’?”

Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “Not funny, Doc. Seriously, not funny!”

“Sorry, man. What’s up?”

“Dude, I mean, Doctor Carl–”

“Carlitos. Call me ‘Carlitos’, man.”

Zeke stopped, repeating, “‘Carlitos’? Really?”

There was a funny laugh on the other end before Dr. Carlos answered, “Yeah, Carlitos. It’s what my friends call me.”

Despite himself, Zeke smiled. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”

Dr. Carlos paused while he turned his head to whisper into the receiver. “After what we just did on the exam table,” he said in a droll tone, “I’d say we’re more than that.”

Zeke’s cheeks flamed and he was momentarily at a loss for words. He was quiet for so long that Dr. Carlos took mistook his silence and apologized, “Oh, Zeke! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

“No,” Zeke said, his voice throaty. “No, man. It’s fine. Really. It’s fine.”

This time it was Dr. Carlos’ time to pause. Finally, he exhaled deeply, saying, “God, that makes me happy, Zeke!”

Zeke couldn’t stop breaking out in a silly grin, too, but his smile faded a moment later when he felt his cock pulse again. When he looked down, he could have sworn it had just gotten fatter. He didn’t dare touch it for fear of getting turned on but it looked like it was more than three inches wide.

More than three inches!

And he was soft!

What the fuck was going on?!

“Hey, Dr. Car–I mean, Carlitos,” he said hurriedly, trying not to flush at the use of his doctor’s intimate nickname, “have you gotten those lab results yet?”

“No yet. I just sent ‘em off. They probably won’t know anything until tomorrow.” Zeke swore loudly at this, reaching up to rub his forehead, and Dr. Carlos asked, “Why? What’s wrong, Zeke?”

“Fuck, Carlitos! I’m so fucking screwed!” he breathed, unbelievably having to blink back tears. “My dick, I mean, my penis just keeps growing! Those drugs you gave me wore off already and it’s bigger than ever!”

“Really? No shit? That’s incredible!”

“Incredible?! What’re you talking about? It’s awful! I’m busting out of my jeans here! How am I supposed to go out in public like this?”

“Listen, Zeke,” Dr. Carlos said evenly, “You’ll be Ok. Really. We’ll get this figured out ASAP. In the meantime, I need you to stay calm. Can you do that?”

Zeke took a shuddering breath. “I-I-I think so.”

“Good. Now, go home and get some rest. If you like, I’ll stop by your place after work. I’ll bring more of the cholinergic. I’ve got a concentrated dosage that should shrink you up tight. That first dose was pretty dilute. The concentrate should get you through until your appointment with the urologist tomorrow morning.”

When Zeke didn’t reply, he prompted, “Zeke? Hey, Zeke? You with me, man?”

Zeke exhaled loudly, looking down at his burgeoning crotch before staring longingly at the windows of Cafe Roxanne. He really wanted to go home but he’d promised Remy that he’d stop by and Remy was his best friend…

Taking another deep breath, he replied, “Yeah, dude. I’m with you. When can you be at my place?”

“Around five. What’s your address?”

***

The day had turned cold and dark clouds were gathering on the horizon as a chill wind blew in from the prairie. A few snowflakes scuttled against his windshield as he took a deep breath and prepared to meet up with Remy.

Excruciatingly self-conscious, Zeke shrugged off his jacket when he stumbled out of the car and held it in front of him as he sidled toward the cafe. His balls were so huge now that he had to walk bow-legged. Add the fact that his cock was trying to split the leg of his jeans wide open and you had the recipe for supreme discomfort. The short trek to the front door felt like a thousand-mile journey and he was out of breath by the time he staggered through the door.

Inside, the cafe was stylishly appointed with gauzy curtains, exposed-beam ceilings, subtle lighting, and polished wood furniture. It was a favorite lunchtime hangout for the hordes of young professionals who worked downtown but at that early hour it was mostly empty. Zeke stopped in the foyer, debating what to do with his jacket and waiting to catch his breath. As he stood there, he searched the tables for Remy.

He didn’t spot him right away but his gaze was momentarily caught by a young man sitting alone on a stool at a high table. The guy was leaning over a thick manual, resting his chin on his hand and sipping espresso.Thick, brown bangs hung down over his eyes and he’d pause occasionally to brush them out of the way. He was strikingly handsome with a narrow face and strong features, reminding Zeke of his former college roommate whose family had emigrated from Iran. Like Farhad, he had lustrous brown skin and beautiful brown eyes. Unlike Farhad, this young man was tall and thin and his shoulders appeared very broad. (He was wearing a white, orange, and blue Edmonton Oilers hockey jersey, though, so it was difficult to tell.) As Zeke watched, enraptured, he noticed several guys at a nearby table turning around to check out the young guy. They turned back and whispered among themselves before looking back again, googly-eyed. For some reason, this made Zeke angry and he had to force himself to unclench his fists even as he puzzled over this strong reaction. Why did he care that the other men were checking out the guy?

He was standing there, shaking his head at these oddly possessive feelings, when the man looked up from the manual and their eyes met. Zeke’s stomach twisted and he had to grab the coat rack to steady himself when realized that the handsome, young guy was Remy.

Wait, that’s Remy?

He did a double take.

Shit, it really is Remy!

“Zeke!” Remy cried out, pushing himself off of the stool and rushing over to him. “I’m so glad you came!”

He launched himself into Zeke’s arms and hugged him fiercely, his body molding itself so tightly against Zeke’s that Zeke grew quickly embarrassed, especially when their crotches pressed together. Awkwardly, he held Remy out at arm’s length before his friend registered the size of the monster lurking inside his jeans. He tried to form words but he lost himself in the warm regard of those dark eyes and he swallowed, looking down and trying to master himself. When he noticed that–in spite of the cold weather–Remy had shortened his hockey jersey to expose his muscled midriff, he swallowed again and cleared his throat.

Wait, what…?

He blinked, realizing he hadn’t imagined it.

Remy had pierced his navel. 

A gold ring strung with rainbow beads dangled down over his belly button.

Remy caught his gaze and shook his hips, making the beads jingle. “Like it?” he queried lightly before glancing back at Zeke. “Ashley didn’t. She said it was the last straw.”

Zeke was captivated both by the piercing and the top of a new belly tattoo that he glimpsed peeking over the waist of Remy’s low-rise jeans. It was a small scorpion rendered in black ink, its stinger raised and pointing directly down at… Zeke flushed and looked away.

“Er, yeah, about that, Remy–”

“Remy?!” his friend exclaimed before repeating, “Remy?” As Zeke watched, his smile broadened and he said, “I like it. It sounds French and I’ve always wanted to be French.” He paused before adding impishly, “French Canadian, that is.”

“Uh, that’s good, I guess,” Zeke said, feeling inexplicably tongue-tied around his friend. He was about to continue when he spotted the guys at the table across the cafe casting envious stares in his direction. For some reason, this made him proud and he stood up straighter, squaring his shoulders.

“Oh, Zeke!” Remy exclaimed, reaching out to wrap his arms around him again. “Now that you’re here, I don’t even care about Ashley. All I care about it being with you.” He leaned his cheek against Zeke’s chest and laughed. It was such an infectious sound that Zeke found himself responding with a deep laugh of his own as he lifted a hand to cup the back of Remy’s head. He knew it wasn’t normal but he felt the same way about Remy. Now that he was with him, he didn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone else.

Remy turned to lead him over to their table but Zeke stopped frozen in his tracks, eyes glued to his friend’s posterior. Remy’s twin bubbles were half-hanging out of the top of his low-rise jeans and his tiny white thong hugged them provocatively. That would have been enough but there was more: A tattoo representing a strand of black barbed wire was stenciled on the small of his back, accentuating both the narrowness of his waist and the extreme curves of his mounded ass cheeks.

Remy glanced behind him and a mischievous smile spread across his face when he realized Zeke was staring at his ass. Backing up, he pushed his ample butt cheeks against Zeke’s crotch and shimmied his waist. Before he could stifle it, a loud moan had escaped Zeke’s mouth. Hurriedly, he pushed Remy away and covered his freaky crotch with his jacket.

He was too late. Remy’s ass had made full contact with his mammoth bulge.

A look of awe transformed Remy’s face and his eyebrows drew together as he asked, “Zeke, what–?”

“Nothing,” Zeke grumbled, sidestepping over to a stool and sitting down awkwardly. The height of the stool meant that his ridiculous package was thrust upward and he scrambled to keep it covered with his jacket. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But–”

“Remy, drop it!”

Zeke turned his back on his friend and tried to ignore him. Remy stood there quietly for a moment before walking over and placing a warm hand on Zeke’s shoulder. When he looked up at him, Remy’s eyes were soft.

“What?” he demanded, wishing fervently to be elsewhere. He really shouldn’t have come in. He really should be at home. He wasn’t well. He wasn’t–

Remy kissed him.

Shit!

Remy was kissing him!

His mind blanked as his best friend’s full, soft, moist lips met his own. His eyes bugged out and his body went rigid as Remy grabbed the back of his head and pulled his mouth against his. In seconds, they were mashing almost violently. Zeke’s mouth opened and Remy’s tongue thrust inside, probing and pushing, pushing, pushing. To his unending surprise, his best bro utterly dominated him, taking control of his lips, his mouth, his head…and his heart.

Then it was over.

Zeke blinked. 

Remy settled onto the stool across the table from him, a smug look on his face. His eyes were alive with playful fire as he pushed a glass of wine over to Zeke, saying, “Drink up. It’s your favorite vintage.”

Zeke stared at the wine glass, wondering vaguely where it had come from. His heart was pounding and his mind was a molten hot mess of confusion. To make matters worse, his gigantic cock was throbbing painfully and he was forced to straighten his left leg to make room for it. His erection had somehow surpassed the length of his thigh and was heading steadily down toward his ankle. His balls throbbed and strained against the crotch of his jeans and he had to widen his legs to the point he could barely perch on the stool. He didn’t know how much longer his jeans would last; they felt ready to split. 

“Drink, Zeke,” Remy urged. “It’ll steady your nerves.”

He reached out and picked up the glass with a shaking hand, still not quite in control of himself. He took a sip and made a face, setting the glass back down on the table. “Takes like cat piss,” muttered.

“How would you know?” Remy asked slyly.

Zeke pulled a face, sighing, “Wine sucks. And besides, it’s not even noon. Too early for drinking.”

“You looked like you could use one,” Remy commented, raising an elegant eyebrow.

“Fuck you.”

“Now that’s something that might make us both feel better.”

Zeke shook his head, ignoring the double entendre. Far from calming him, the wine made his head swim. He was about to say something when his stomach growled so loudly that Remy heard it. He winced, realizing that he’d been so worked up about his mutant cock that he’d forgotten to eat breakfast.

“Let’s do something about that, shall we?” Remy asked, beckoning to a waiter. “What can I get my best, big, strong bro? Lunch is on me.” Zeke started to protest but Remy held up his hand, silencing him. “The steaks here are great. 100% Alberta beef, just like you!” Zeke flushed and he continued, saying, “but, unlike you, they’re kinda small. I’d get two or three if I were you.”

Zeke never ate steak but for some reason the suggestion made his stomach growl loudly again. He took Remy’s advice and ordered three sirloin steaks, medium rare. The menu didn’t list the prices which gave him pause but Remy waved off his concern, adding one more steak to the order.

“We’re celebrating, Zeke,” he said, answering his quizzical look. “Or maybe it’s more of a pre-celebration?”

“How so?” Zeke’s tongue felt swollen and he took another sip of the awful wine.

“Our new life, perhaps?” Remy offered before looking down at the manual before him. “And my new role.”

“Huh?”

“My role, Zeke,” Remy repeated, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes and tucking them behind his ear. “I found out this morning that I got the part in the play I tried out for.”

“Part? Play? What?” Zeke felt increasingly like he’d fallen asleep and awakened in a world that didn’t make any sense. He’d known Remy almost his whole life and he had never expressed the slightest interest in acting or theater.

“I tried out for A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Zeke, and got the part of Puck.”

“Puck?” The only puck Zeke knew about was the one they smacked around on the hockey rink.

Remy sighed through his nose and rolled his eyes upward. “It’s Shakespeare, Zeke. Shakespeare! A Midsummer Night’s Dream is one of his most well-known plays and Puck is a main character.” He paused before announcing proudly, “He’s a fairy.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, Zeke,” Remy soothed, reaching out to take his hand and squeezing. “I will personally educate you on everything having to do with Shakespeare.” He paused to wink before adding, “And fairies.”

Zeke didn’t how to respond to this and he didn’t have to. At that moment, the waiter placed the first of his four steaks in front of him. He stared down at it, stammering, “W-Wow! That was fast!” The waiter smiled and Zeke gaped, looking up at Remy and demanding,  “I thought you said they were small? It’s huge!”

“Are we still talking about your steak, Zeke?”

His cheeks flushed as he shot Remy a murderous glare that only made his friend’s smile widen. He motioned for Zeke to eat and he swallowed, staring down at the humongous slab of meat unsure if he could eat that much. Shrugging, he decided that he could always take the rest home with him if he couldn’t finish it and he dug in.

Zeke ended up devouring all four steaks (and a fifth) while Remy prattled on about theater and Shakespeare and his part in the play. Curiously, the topic of Ashley never came up. Zeke was too distracted to ask about her anyway. He was too captivated by his friend’s transformation, the strange feelings erupting inside of him, and his burgeoning crotch. This last proved to be the biggest distraction of all because his cock and balls continued to balloon as he ate, demanding more and more of his attention.

He was licking the juices of his fifth steak off of the plate when he heard an audible rip and his jeans started to give way. Panicked, he lurched to his feet and wrapped his coat around his waist. The place had grown crowded and several people turned to stare at him curiously. Remy pushed himself up to follow him out but Zeke stopped him, all but yelling, “No, don’t! I’ll call you later!”

With that, he fled, staggering like a drunken zombie and trying desperately to keep his jeans intact. He fell inside his car, not bothering to scrape the accumulated snow off the windshield before speeding into traffic. His jeans gave way completely as he turned into his apartment complex and he stared down in horror at the enormous appendage that had once been his beloved cock. It took up nearly all of the space between him and steering wheel. Shit, it had to be more than a meter long and wider than the length of his hand. And then there were his balls!

Feeling like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he scooped up his bloated (and heavy) package and stumbled headlong across the parking lot to the steps of his apartment. The snow was falling heavily by then, offering a modicum of cover, but honestly he was beyond caring if anyone spotted him.

He only cared about one thing.

A cure.

A cure!

He had to find a cure for this horrendous affliction that was ruining his life. Without it, hockey and training and–Shit!–his everyday life was over. Without a cure, he was destined to be a hopeless freak who never left his apartment. 

Without a cure, he was doomed.

Bursting through the door of his apartment, he let his massive endowment tumble out of his arms and almost fell down with it. The weight and inertia of it threatened to knock him off of his feet! He dug his phone out of the shreds of his jeans and brought up Dr. Carlos’ number. When the man answered, Zeke collapsed on his knees, barely suppressing a howl of pain as his equipment slapped down on the hardwood floor.

“Doc! Doc!” he pleaded. “You gotta help me! Please!”

There was a startled pause and then, “Zeke? Hey, buddy! What’s wrong? I’m on my way over.”

“Good,” he sighed, letting the phone fall out of his hand. “I can’t take this for much longer.”

***

Chapter 4

Dr. Carlos found him sprawled out on his kitchen floor a half hour later. Zeke was lying in a pool of his own cum, whimpering pathetically, when the young doctor knocked on the partially open door of his apartment. He was clad only in the shreds of his jeans and t-shirt. Adding further insult to injury, his giant cock had started leaking a prodigious amount of precum, leaving a trail of slime across the floor.

Zeke moaned, covering his face with cum-covered hands in embarrassment when the doctor approached. “You’re too late,” he rumbled. “I wanna die.”

Carlos stared at him in shock for a moment before recovering. Moving deliberately, he set his satchel aside on the counter before declaring, “I see it’s too late for the drugs but not too late for my Plan B.”

Zeke stared up at him in confusion, stammering, “P-P-Plan B? You mean you know how to fix this?”

“Yep, I sure do,” Dr. Carlos said, nodding. “It’s simple.”

With that, he pulled off his parka and laid it over one of the kitchen stools. When he turned back, Zeke’s eyes went round and he forgot all about his mutant cock. “Doc,” he gasped. “What the fuck happened to you?”

The handsome young doctor looked down at himself, smiling proudly as he quipped, “Whaddaya mean what happened to me? I’m the same as I was a couple hours ago.” 

Zeke gaped as Carlos lowered his hands and unfastened his belt. Clearly enjoying his surprise, he gave Zeke a knowing smirk and unbuttoned his jeans. “Did ya think you were the only guy with an enhanced package?” 

He winked, shimmying his skintight jeans down his thighs and snorting, “Fuck, no! Why’d ya think I gave you that business card to the Brute Boutique? This town is crawling with dudes like us, it’s just that most of us haven’t been blessed with a glandular disorder like yours. We have to resort to other, um, less natural means of growing man-sized cock and balls.”

Zeke goggled when Carlos leaned forward and worked his jeans downward. The doc made a funny face when he pushed them down to his crotch, theatrically wrestling with denim in a heroic attempt to get them over his package. There was an audible pop and then Dr. Carlos straightened, sighing with mock relief.

Zeke’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the stupendously swollen bulge protruding from the overfilled pouch of Dr. Carlos’ underwear. He’d never seen, much less imagined, anything like it. From the looks of things, the doctor’s boxers had been specially modified to accommodate his inflated organ. It jutted out before him like a distended tumor, so heavy and full that it sagged down nearly to his knees.

Dr. Carlos indulged in a moment of smug self-reflection as he looked down at his oversized manhood. Patting it fondly, he commented, “Now you see why I wear a baggy lab coat when I’m in the clinic. I gotta do something to cover up my boys here ‘cuz I wouldn’t wanna make my patients feel inadequate.”

Zeke almost didn’t hear him. His beleaguered mind was too busy struggling to comprehend this completely unexpected revelation. “W-W-What…I mean, h-h-how…?” he began but his voice trailed off, leaving the question incomplete.

Carlos’ smile deepened. “One word, Zeke,” he said. “Silicone.”

Zeke blinked. He’d seen–and dated–plenty of women with silicone breast implants but it had never occurred to him that a guy would get silicone injected in his cock and balls. 

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Carlos continued, “I have the advantage of being both a doctor and a citizen of Mexico where silicone is legal. You see, I was my own guinea pig, injecting myself with a few cc’s here and there at first until I gradually got braver. Before I knew it, I’d injected more than a liter into my balls and nearly that much into my shaft.”

Zeke nodded dumbly, eyes still locked on the humongous bulge swaying back and forth between Dr. Carlos’ hands. He wasn’t an expert but it sure looked like it’d take more than a couple liters of silicone to attain that size.

This was confirmed a moment later when Carlos revealed, “I’ve got over a gallon in there now and I’m not even close to stopping. I want a bulge so huge I gotta walk bowlegged!” He smiled down at Zeke, becoming almost sheepish as he asked, “Now do ya see why I was so fucking tickled when you showed up in my office this morning? I knew I’d finally found my long-lost freak brother. We’re gonna have so much fun, Zeke!”

“F-F-Fun?”

“Yeah, FUN!” Carlos exclaimed, nodding excitedly. “Now let’s get this party started!”

With that, he kicked off his jeans and tore open his shirt, exposing a toned and fuzzy chest. Clad only in his custom-sized boxers, Zeke goggled at his physician’s stocky physique. Carlitos was a small man with a squat stature whose thighs and arms and chest bulged with thick muscles. His dark skinned glowed a luminous mahogany in the low light of the kitchen, sending an unexpected frisson of pleasure through Zeke’s body. 

This sensation, or more precisely the desire it elicited, left Zeke fish-mouthing. He stared up at Carlos in confusion, unable to understand why a mostly naked man would trigger such potent feelings…and other rather more carnal reactions. 

Until that moment, he’d been so preoccupied with Dr. Carlos’ silicone-filled package that he’d forgotten all about his own mutant cock. His new and fantastically-enhanced size became front and center of his attention, though, when the young doctor lowered himself onto the floor and reached for Zeke’s hulking anaconda. Carlos drew it slowly through his hands, marveling at its immense size while Zeke shivered with ecstasy and horror. His already maxed-out brain exploded with the realization that his cock was now longer than the length of his body.

And fatter than his upper thigh.

His cock was now the biggest part of his body!

Smiling wolfishly, Carlitos took Zeke’s massive cockhead in both hands and drew his soggy foreskin back to reveal a glans bigger around than a man’s cranium. Zeke let out a startled bellow at the sight but the young doctor didn’t give him time to dwell on this impossibility. He dove for it, burying his face in the cleft of his newly gaping piss slit. It was instant pleasure overload and incinerated his confusion and dismay. He could do nothing but throw back his head and howl as the doctor’s beard tickled him where no beard should ever tickle. As gratifying as this was, though, it wasn’t until Carlitos’ tongue began to lap at places equally as incredible and profane that he nearly passed out from erotic bliss.

He came to as his whole body was rocked by an incendiary climax with cum jetting out of his cock like a jizz geyser. He roared as his spew drenched the hapless physician from head to toe with globs of milky fluid. Zeke eventually tumbled backwards, landing in a lake of warm cum, his entire body wracked with tremors of release.

Several minutes passed as he lay there gasping for air and waiting for his body to stop shaking. When he lifted his head to behold the crazy sight of Carlos’ entire head dripping in semen, he couldn’t help laughing.

“Go on and laugh,” Carlitos muttered, wiping the cum from his eyes. “‘Cuz paybacks are hell.” He smiled, though, as he flicked pearly globules off of his beard before leaning in for a kiss.

Zeke’s eyes widened as much from the touch of another man’s lips as from the taste of his bitter cum on those lips. He had kissed Remy back in the cafe but hadn’t realized that the experience could be so different with Carlos. Whereas Remy had been aggressive and dominant, Carlos was tender and sweet. That didn’t mean he was passive, though. No, he was relentless as he pushed Zeke back down and smothered him with the longest, most lingering kiss of his life.

Zeke lost himself in the pleasure of meeting his doctor in this unexpectedly intimate way. Only when Carlos pushed his hands down to the waistband of his boxers, begging Zeke to remove them, did he wake up to the full magnitude of his new reality…and cock.

Carlos was perched atop him, riding on the mound of Zeke’s sleeping giant. His own silicone-filled giant lay nestled between their cum-soaked bodies, fatter and wider than an overstuffed pillow. Carlos smiled, pushing his face into Zeke’s and tracing his lips and teeth with a succulent tongue.

“Yer a monster,” he purred. “My big, freaky monster.”

He pulsed his buttocks and Zeke’s hands clenched. Wait, he thought, feeling those soft mounds. What…? “Shit!” he exclaimed. “What happened to yer ass?”

“Ha! Did ya think I only injected my cock and balls with silicone?” Dr. Carlos laughed. “I won’t stop until I get the biggest, fattest ass in Canada!” He paused, delighting in Zeke’s shocked reaction, before continuing, “You know what, Zeke, my man? You could stand a bit of a cushion back there, too. Ya need something to balance out that cock!”

Zeke blanched. All of this was too much. His poor brain couldn’t handle any more of this. He couldn’t process all of these crazy changes. Had it only been yesterday when he’d been a normal, hetero dude with a big but still normal-sized cock? And now he was a gay, mutant freak! He couldn’t take it. It was too much!

Perhaps sensing his trepidation, Dr. Carlos took the initiative and guided Zeke’s hands back to the elastic waistband of his boxers. Instinct took over and Zeke found himself pulling them downward and liberating the doctor’s overfilled organ. It flopped out, heavy and bloated, spilling out on top of Zeke’s own bloated member. Zeke moaned, discovering that his hands couldn’t resist exploring that fantastically hulking organ, and Carlitos wrapped his arms around his neck. They hugged together, squishing their organs between them. Their mouths met and they mashed, bodies slippery with cum and twinned monster cocks rubbing in delicious friction. Soon, Zeke was hard again, his cock sliding up past his head, only stopping when it bumped against the door of the kitchen cabinet.

The friction alone was enough to get both of them off and they came in unison, braying like a pair of sex-crazed donkeys. As they rocked back and forth together, Dr. Carlos moved Zeke’s big hands onto the twin mounds of his buttocks. They were so ripe and full and perfectly round that Zeke couldn’t help admiring them. He became alarmed, though, when he caught himself thinking, ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a big ass like this…?’

“Told ya we were gonna have fun,” Carlitos murmured, tongue drifting down to caress Zeke’s earlobe. “I can’t wait to introduce you to my other patients. I’ve got a whole team of enhanced guys I’m working on. They’re my freak army. Someday we’ll take over Canada and then maybe the world. No guy will be left un-enhanced!”

Zeke grimaced at these words and mumbled something inarticulate. Now that the pleasant euphoria of his second orgasm was receding, he was once again caught in a cycle of worry. What the fuck was happening to him? How would he live a normal life again with a cock this huge? How would he ever play hockey much less go out in public? How was he going to pry himself away from Dr. Carlos before the dude injected him with silicone and turned him into an even bigger freak? And what about Remy?

Remy.

Remembering his friend brought on a fresh cascade of anxiety. When he thought about going back to his old life and body, he realized that Remy was the only thing he wouldn’t give up. He didn’t want to be straight again! He needed Remy! He had to be with Remy no matter what – even if it meant being a freak for the rest of his life.

This last thought gave him pause. Did he really mean it? Was Remy really so important to him? He was his friend but only a friend…until that day. Zeke lay there, heart twisting in his chest, as he thought about his friend and how much he loved him.

Whoa.

Love?

He loved Remy?

Really?

He was struggling to answer this question when he heard a knock on the door of his apartment, followed by the ring of a familiar voice.

“Hey, Zeke?” Remy called out. “If yer front door’s open, does that mean yer back door’s open, too?”

Carlos tensed on top of him and Zeke scrambled to sit up on the cum-slicked floor. Before either could cover themselves, though, Remy rounded the corner and caught the full view of their freaky bodies and cum-soaked debauchery. There was a startled pause before he burst out laughing.

“Well, Comrades,” he said, looking back over his shoulder toward someone Zeke could not see, “looks like your Russian wonder drug exceeded even my wildest dreams and remade my Zeke into the perfect man….while delivering a bonus pet for you to play with.”

Zeke forgot all about this outrageous announcement (So, Remy did this to me? But how?) when his friend sauntered into the kitchen and revealed his provocative attire. Zeke did a double take, struggling to square the man standing before him with the Remy he remembered. 

Remy–his buddy Remy!–was clad only in a very revealing black leather harness with a matching jockstrap and jackboots. The harness hugged his smooth, svelte body, accentuating his leanness…and meanness. There was something almost sinister about him but, instead of frightening Zeke, it excited him. He drank in the sight of his friend who appeared almost like a stranger now. 

The scorpion tattoo.

Dark eyes.

Angular face.

Seductive haircut.

Wide shoulders.

Narrow waist.

And especially his bulging crotch–the pouch of the leather jock was extra large but even so it strained to contain Remy’s man-sized organ.

Taken altogether, it was enough to get Zeke aroused yet again and he blushed when his giant cockhead belched out a freshet of precum. Remy noticed and smiled wickedly, rattling the chains he held in each hand. Zeke’s brow furrowed. Why was Remy holding a pair of chains?

Then he got it:

They were leashes.

Remy was holding a pair of heavy chain leashes.

Zeke didn’t have to wonder long about who on the other end of the leashes because at that moment his friend yanked on the chains and two men wearing heavy, studded collars staggered into the kitchen. Zeke gave a start of surprise when he saw that the guys were even more provocatively dressed than Remy.

The two men were clad in harnesses similar to Remy’s but the resemblance ended there. Whereas Remy exuded a casual, almost wicked dominance, the collared men were clearly submissive to the point of obsequiousness. Maybe this was because they were naked below the waist and their feet were bare. Or maybe it was because their faces were concealed by black latex dog masks complete with lolling pink tongues. Even with the masks, though, Zeke had no trouble recognizing them as the newest members of his hockey team: The two Russians, Boris and Igor.

As Carlos squirmed and Zeke stared incredulously, the two ‘dogs’ lowered themselves to their knees and raised their ‘paws’ in the air, wordlessly begging Remy. Zeke’s harnessed friend smiled indulgently, patting them on their heads and praising, “Oh, yes, you are such good pups! Your master is very pleased! You’ve earned a treat. How about a delicious man-cunt? Or maybe you wanna chew on a bone? Ha! Why not do both? I see yer doggy dicks are knotted and ready for rutting!”

Doggy dicks? Zeke thought, perplexed, only to go rigid with disbelief when his gaze slid down their taut physiques. The two Russians sported male organs even freakier than his own.  Two of the longest, slimiest dicks jutted out from their hips. They were fat, wet and red, bulbous at the base and tapering toward a thin tip.

Like a dog’s penis.

Exactly like a dog’s penis, in fact.

Somehow, the Russian men had grown canine cocks. 

Mind racing, Zeke realized he’d never actually seen either Boris or Igor completely naked. Not from the front at least. How in the fucking hell had they…?

He swallowed, feeling his buttocks clench at the sight of those huge, alien cocks. On top of him, Dr. Carlos began to tremble. Fortunately, Remy stepped in and took pity on them. Smirking proudly, he released the studded leather pouch of his jockstrap to reveal a blessedly normal penis. A very long, thick, dripping penis but one that was blessedly human.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, reaching down to work his pole into an erection of eye-popping size. “We’ll take it slow. There’s a blizzard raging out there. We’ve got all night and probably all day tomorrow to play. By the time we’re done with you, yer holes will never be hungry again. Or, at least we won’t leave ‘em hungry for long!”

Zeke looked shyly downward and then braced when he felt his body respond forcibly to these words. It was like Remy had named something that had been niggling at the edges of his mind ever since their kiss in Cafe Roxanne that morning. It was a sensation at once completely unfamiliar and completely obvious. So obvious that he at first lacked the words to describe it. The sight of Remy’s huge cock helped, though, because it magnified this new compulsion and made it undeniable. By the time his friend stepped up and ordered Dr. Carlos to dismount, Zeke recognized this new sensation for what it was. 

A longing for cock.

Or, more precisely, a longing to be filled with cock.

With a really big cock.

This feeling–no, this hunger!–was accompanied by another unfamiliar sensation: His butthole gaping. He tensed, trying to force his pucker back into its usual tight rosebud but it was no use. If anything, it gaped wider. He really had to have that cock inside him! He stiffened, feeling like he should be embarrassed.

But he wasn’t.

If anything, he was…what? Proud? Happy? Contented? Maybe all three?

Yeah, that was it. He felt happy.

Everything was becoming as it should be.

He was finally the man he was meant to be…or the man the drugs meant him to become.

It would take some time before he understood that the Russian ‘wonder drugs’ had altered his identity as radically as they had altered his body, that he was now as much of a freak inside as out. Perhaps an even bigger freak inside because the drugs worked to ensure he was never satisfied with his freakishly enhanced body; he would forever be consumed with a desire to augment it. And Carlos and Remy would always be there to feed this hunger, making it the bedrock of his new identity.

All that would come later, though.

Right then, Zeke was blissfully unaware of how much he’d changed. Unaware that his inner hunger to be fucked was mirrored perfectly by his outer monstrosity. In other words, it was a good thing he craved to be fucked because his cock was so big now that it was useless. Yes, it was better that he didn’t fully understand because the truth would have crushed him: He would never fuck like a man again. Mercifully, his instinct filled in the blanks, giving him the words to describe his new condition while blunting their full impact. For the first time in his life (but certainly not the last), Zeke knew what it was like to be a cum-hungry bottom bitch. A bottom bitch whose hole ached to be filled with a big, fat, juicy cock.

He couldn’t stop grinning as he flopped over awkwardly onto his hands and knees, positioning his mutant cock between the gap of his hands and arching his back to stick out his ass. Remy slapped him painfully on the butt and Zeke smiled.

This was more than a feeling.

It was who he was.

***

“Do it again!” Zeke begged after Remy finished pounding his manhole for the fifth time that evening. Even though his mutant cock continued to spew cum in an unending series of orgasms, he couldn’t get enough of his buddy’s huge cock inside him. (In an effort to stem the cum flooding the kitchen floor, they had been forced to tie his cockhead to the faucet and drain it into the sink.)

“Your wish is my command,” Remy purred behind him, leaning down to wrap his arms around Zeke’s midsection as he thrust his long pole deep inside. Their bodies were slick with sweat and cum and other secretions but it didn’t matter. Both men were on fire with a lust for each other. Lust and no small measure of love.

Nearby, Boris and Igor were working over Carlitos with their doggy dicks. One of them (Igor?) had taken the young doctor’s bloated cock in his hands and was in the process of docking with his gaping foreskin. The stretched-out skin turned out to be the perfect size to accommodate his canine penis and he thrust in and out while lifting his mask far enough to devour Dr. Carlos’ mouth in a passionate kiss. 

Behind them, the other (Boris?) was pounding the doctor’s bubbly ass, going at it doggy style, humping frenetically and making those lusciously overfilled cheeks vibrate in almost wanton fashion. The sight of the two dogmen and the ridiculously enhanced doctor was both disturbing and titillating. Everytime Zeke felt his libido begin to wane, all he had to do was look over the trio and he was horny as fuck again. His hole had never been more sore nor more happy than that night.

Zeke hoped the snowstorm never abated. Tears filled his eyes when he realized he had been given an incalculable gift: A best friend who was also his ideal lover. He never would have imagined that this precious gift would be accompanied by a giant, useless cock and a gaping, insatiable butthole but somehow it all made sense. Or at least it made sense when Remy’s fat cock was slamming against his prostate as he rolled around on top of his basketball-sized testicles. 

Grinning from ear to ear, Zeke raised his head and bellowed with yet another orgasm. Remy laughed and bucked his hips, filling his hole with fresh seed. Zeke felt it trickle down his thighs even as fresh jet of his own cum spurted into the basin of the sink.

Pucked.

That’s what he was.

Well and truly pucked.

***

A Midsummer Night’s Dream premiered that spring to rave reviews. Everyone marveled at the sudden appearance of such a rare and gifted actor in the role of Robin Goodfellow; a.k.a., Puck. Remy took all of the praise in stride, downplaying the rumors that he was being scouted by an agent from New York City.

“I would never leave Alberta,” he reassured a worried Zeke, “and I especially would never leave you.” Zeke smiled weakly as his lover hoisted his massive cock to plant a tender kiss on his helmet-sized glans. “Besides,” he added mischievously, “I told the agent that Robin Goodfellow and Nick Bottom are a package deal. If he wants me to come to New York, you will be right there on stage with me.”

Zeke pulled a face. Thanks to Remy, he had achieved his own measure of thespian notoriety in a gay cabaret down the street from the main production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Each night after the curtains fell in the theater, Remy would join Zeke at the cabaret for a decidedly more adult version of the play. This version was populated with amater actors whose stupendously transformed physiques more than made up for their lack of acting talent. 

Boris and Igor were in it, of course, as were Dr. Carlos and his silicone-enhanced army. Zeke, however, was the centerpiece of the performance as Nick Bottom, the besotted, donkey-headed oaf who provided the bulk of the play’s comedy…and erotic delights. The audience couldn’t get enough of his massive schlong or his incredibly blocky buttocks. (Zeke had turned Dr. Carlos loose on his ass and was enduring round after round of silicone injections as he strived to match his historic proportions in front with equally massive ones in back.)

Sadly, standard hockey was no longer possible for Zeke. He’d been forced to give it up once he realized there was no way to tie down his giant trouser snake while staying balanced on skates. Remy hadn’t helped matters much when he quipped, ‘Well, at least you don’t need a hockey stick anymore, Zeke.’ 

His lover had, however, come up with a compromise that somewhat mollified Zeke. Once night each month, Remy paid the facilities manager of the local ice rink to close early so that he and Zeke could enjoy a private game of nude hockey. Sure, the sensation of his giant schwanze trailing along behind him on the ice was chill-inducing but there was nothing quite like the freedom of his balls swinging back and forth as he chased Remy’s hard cock down the rink. And the victory buggering in the penalty box with a puck stuffed in his mouth was icing on the cake…Remy’s ‘icing’ inside his cakes, that is.

Crazy, you say? Well, yes, love is often crazy. 

Sometimes when Zeke was kneeling in the penalty box, balanced on his huge testicles with his cock sliming the glass several feet in front of him, he would hear Remy laugh and say, “Lord, what fools these mortals be!” 

And he couldn’t disagree. 

He was a fool. 

But he was Remy’s fool and he wouldn’t have it any other way.