Chapter 1

Dante Holmes lay on his back on the sidelines of the practice fields, dreaming of his ideal man. The early September sun was warm on his face and there was a gentle breeze, making him feel completely relaxed. While football practice wouldn’t begin for another half hour or so, some of the guys were already warming up, their grunts and guttural shouts providing an almost erotic counterpoint to his daydream.

He yawned and stretched, still unwilling to leave his fantasy behind and join his teammates. Besides, he was still sleepy from the night before. He and Shiree had stayed up late after the performance and he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep before his alarm went off. He sighed and placed his hands under his head, a slow smile creasing his lips.

My ideal man…

A shadow fell across his face just then, blocking the sun and the warmth, and he cracked an eyelid, expecting to see Dillon or maybe Tyrell standing over him, preparing to berate him for lying around. He scrambled backward in surprise when he saw who it was, though, raising his knees to conceal the obvious bulge of his erection in his practice uniform while at the same time shading his eyes.

“Holy fuck!” he exclaimed, the hair on the back of his neck rising in disbelief when he realized he wasn’t hallucinating; it really was the ballet dancer from last night’s performance standing before him. (How is this fucking possible?) Something pricked his memory then and he glanced down at his wrist where the henna mark, drawn by that strange woman, was still visible. She had been sitting at a booth outside the auditorium when he and Shiree had exited the ballet and, on a lark, he’d paid the twenty dollars to have his palm read. He’d been surprised, however, when she painted the odd design on his wrist as he’d extended his hand to her. He rubbed at it thoughtfully as he remembered her words, ‘Your dreams will become real.’ And she had placed a small vial of henna dye in his palm as he’d withdrawn his hand.‘You will know when to use it,’ she’d said cryptically as she pocketed his money…

The dancer’s perplexed look brought him back to the present and Dante smiled apologetically, breathing, “Holy fucking shit! I can’t believe you’re here.”

 The man who Dante now knew to be Kyrylo Voloshin cleared his throat, saying, “Um, sorry?”

Dante’s cheeks flushed and he was glad that his dark skin made it difficult for people to tell when he was embarrassed. He opened his mouth, struggling to find words. He still couldn’t believe that the man he’d just been dreaming about was right here in front of him!

Kyrylo’s eyebrows drew together as he regarded the tongue-tied Dante. When it became clear that Dante was unable to form a coherent reply, he continued in a deep voice tinged with a Ukrainian accent, “Am I in the right place? Is this the football field?” 

Dante’s mouth was hanging open and he closed it with a snap, the strangeness of the dancer’s question dawning on him. Is this the football field? he wondered. WTF? What does it look like? He mentally kicked himself a moment later when he remembered that Kyrylo was a foreigner. To him, American football was probably an alien concept.

“Um, y-y-yeah,” Dante stammered, lurching to his feet. Before he could stop himself, he had reached out to grab Kyrylo’s hand, shaking it furiously. “This is a football field alright and it’s such a fucking honor to meet you, Mr. Voloshin!”

There was yet another startled pause, then, “You know me?” Kyrylo’s masculine voice sent thrills down Dante’s spine. “How is this possible?”

“I was at your performance last night!” Dante exclaimed, still shaking Kyrylo’s hand. The man had long, delicate fingers and a surprisingly strong grip. “You were superb as the faun! A true Nijinski!”

Kyrylo stared at him, taken aback. “And you are familiar with Nijinski, too?”

Dante grinned, unwilling to let go of Kyrylo’s hand even though the length of the handshake was rapidly approaching awkward territory. “Shit, man! ‘Course, I do! He was one of the fucking best dancers of the last century!”

This was met by a tight smile from Kryrylo. “I am glad you enjoyed the performance, Mr…?”

“Holmes but call me Dante, please!” he replied, finally letting go of the Ukrainian’s magnificent hand. He placed his hands on his hips, staring at the guy appraisingly. Kryrylo was tall and exceedingly well-proportioned with the slimmest hips that Dante had ever seen on a man. He was wearing a pair of close-fitting leggings that accentuated his long, lean, athletic legs. His upper body was corded with muscles that popped beneath the sheer fabric of his compression top. There didn’t appear to be an ounce of fat on him, even his taut neck muscles were clearly defined.

And then there was his face…

Dante grew weak in the knees as he took in Kyrylo’s ruggedly beautiful features. At first glance, he seemed almost feminine, possessing sensuous lips, an elegant nose, and delicate eyebrows. The rest of his face, though, oozed potent masculinity. He had a square jaw and a sturdy chin with high cheekbones. His light brown hair was cropped short (spiky on top) and his green eyes sparkled. Counter to the current fashion, he was clean-shaven, although this only seemed to accentuate his understated sensuality.

He moved like a dancer.

Every motion, every action, every slight adjustment was fluid yet determined. Maybe it was this authority with which he moved that cemented his status as a god among men? Dante had never met anyone with such a commanding presence. Kyrylo Voloshin moved as if the world–and everyone in it–belonged to him and him alone.

You are such a fucking sexy stud! Dante thought. If only you were mine…

 “And you may call me ‘Ky,’” the dancer said in his flat, no nonsense tone, reeling Dante back out of his fantasy world. He seemed completely oblivious to his adoration.

“Ky,” Dante repeated, testing the name on his tongue. Ky. My Ky. You are my Ky.

“I am here to kick,” Ky stated, pronouncing the word as if he found it amusing.

“Kick?” Dante asked before exclaiming, “Oh, yeah! Kick! You must be the new kicker. Coach said that he’d found the best one out there.”

Ky responded to this compliment with his standard tight smile. He was, Dante realized then, a man who was accustomed to being complimented.

“Can you kindly show me where I am to kick, please?” 

Ky looked over Dante’s shoulder as if he expected to see someone waving a sign for him and Dante suppressed a smile. “Here, Ky,” he said, steering the sexy man by the (incredibly lithe and sinewy) arm over to the sidelines where Coach Washington had just arrived with his entourage of assistants. The coach gave a shout and the rest of the football team jogged in from the field, waiting for instruction. Dante squared his shoulders as he led the new kicker up to the assembled group, saying proudly,  “Let me introduce you to the Polecats.”

***

“Yo, Voloshin!” Bailey Starks, one of the Polecat linebackers (and a huge pain in the ass), called out in the locker room after practice. “Wait out here while we shower, Ok? I don’t want a fucking homo dancer boy checking out my cock!” He walked up to Ky, shaking his package provocatively at him while some of the other guys snickered. 

Dante scowled into his locker, wishing he had the balls to stand up to Bailey. Doing so would put him in jeopardy, though. His unusual interests such as ballet already put him in a suspect position and he couldn’t risk being seen as too gay-friendly for fear that he might out himself. As much as he hated it, he was forced to be a realist when it came to his sexual orientation. Being gay might be acceptable in other parts of the university but the football team was still ground zero for homophobia. Every day, Dante had to choose between his love for the game of football and his self-respect. Every day. It never got easier.

Someday, he promised himself. Someday, this team will change. Someday, I’ll make them see… 

For his part, Ky seemed unruffled by the abuse, turning to regard the semi-clothed Bailey with polite disinterest. “Even if I were a homosexual,” he replied flatly, “what makes you think it is your penis I would be interested in?” To emphasize his point, he reached out and patted the big jock on the ass.

Bailey’s eyes went round as the implied meaning of Ky’s touch dawned on him. His face reddened and he looked like he was about to explode when everyone around him burst into laughter. Dante watched with satisfaction as the bully wilted under the onslaught. Clearly, he was unaccustomed to being the object of ridicule and didn’t know how to handle it.

Ky ignored the laughter and, turning back to his locker, stripped unselfconsciously out of his sweaty gear and strolled naked into the showers. He didn’t even bother covering himself with a towel.

Dante’s eyes just about popped out of his head as he strode past. It wasn’t often that reality showed up his imagination but this was definitely one of those moments. Ky Voloshin was even more gorgeous naked than he’d been the night before when Dante had seen him clothed only in his revealing ballet tights. His long body was shaved smooth except for a tiny patch of brown pubic hair over his small, uncut cock. Every muscle and every vein was delineated precisely under his flawless, porcelain skin. His broad shoulders tapered down a slender waist before widening to reveal two of the fullest, shapeliest ass cheeks that Dante had ever seen on a white guy. He’d known that Ky possessed a salutary backside–every ballet dancer did–but, shit, that ass! He had lower his towel over his crotch quickly to conceal his arousal.

From the looks on the faces of his teammates, he wasn’t the only one impressed by the man’s naked form. Dante might be the only gay team member but a guy would have to be completely oblivious not to be awed by a body like that. He smirked to himself as the locker room fell silent in the wake of Ky’s passage, remaining so long after he’d disappeared from view. The Polecats studiously avoided making eye contact with each other as they finished undressing, the sound of Ky’s shower echoing from the other room. 

***

“Hey, man!” Dante called out, jogging after Ky as he exited the locker room. “That was pretty fucking cool back there. I’ve never seen Bailey taken down like that.”

Ky stopped and waited for him to catch up. His gear bag was slung over his shoulder and he looked refreshed, almost serene, after what had been a grueling practice. He gave Dante a rare smile, asking, “Is he always like that?”

“What? A homophobic bully, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Dante shrugged. “Well, yeah. Pretty much all the time. I’ve sort of gotten used to it.”

Ky paused. His green eyes were unfocused for a moment before snapping almost disconcertingly onto Dante’s. “I could never get used to that,” he stated. “In ballet, almost all of the male dancers are homosexual. For me, it is normal even though I am not gay.”

“Y-You’re not?” Dante sputtered before he could stop himself, the disappointment palpable in his voice.

Another faint smile. “No, I am not.” Ky hesitated a moment, his beautiful eyes searching Dante’s face. They softened as he added, “I feel like I need to apologize now.”

Dante ducked his head. “No, no,” he murmured, feeling crushed but determined not to show it. “It’s Ok. I mean…”

“Dante,” Ky soothed, reaching out to place a warm hand on his shoulder. “We can still be friends. I always need friends. Besides,” he added conciliatorily, “I need someone who understands American football. Will you be my teacher?”

For some reason, this made Dante choke up and he had to look quickly aside to keep Ky from noticing the tears glistening in his eyes. “Sure, man. Sure,” he said, his voice thick. “I’m your man.”

***

The next couple of weeks passed almost like a dream for Dante as he and Ky rapidly became inseparable. Ky’s aloof exterior, Dante quickly realized, was only partly cultural. Mostly, it was a cultivated defense mechanism to conceal feeling out of place in America. Due to a delay in the processing of his student visa application, he’d arrived in the United States only two weeks prior to the start of the semester. The poor guy barely had time to find a place to live before classes began! It was the first time in his life that he’d left the Ukraine and, he confided very reluctantly, he was often homesick. He really appreciated having an American friend to show him around campus and introduce him to the obscure ways of his new country.

Even though the henna tattoo on his wrist took forever to fade, Dante quickly forgot about the fortuneteller and the strange coincidence of summoning Ky out of his daydream. Shit, he was too busy basking in the rarified presence of the athletic stud to think about anything else! If he’d thought that his crush would dissipate as he got to know Ky, though, he was sorely disappointed. The more time he spent with the man, the more hopelessly in love with him he became. It would have been unbearable if Ky weren’t so genuinely kind and sweet. He knew that Dante was developing feelings for him but, unlike most straight guys in his position, he didn’t retreat from the friendship. If anything, he seemed to derive as much pleasure out of Dante’s company as Dante did from his. They made a good pair. A good platonic pair, that is.

Dante had no idea how Ky maintained his rigorous academic and athletic schedule while still finding time to hang out. The guy woke up at five in the morning for dance class every day and followed this with a full load of classes. At five o’clock, he would meet Dante on practice field to train with the football team. Somehow, he had enough energy to study afterward. It was mind boggling but Ky made it look easy.

The Polecats went undefeated that season due in no small part to Ky’s expert kicking. He might not understand the nuances of the game but he never failed to kick the football between the goalposts when the time came. This skill, coupled with his suave, straightforward demeanor, served him well with the team and he quickly became one of the more popular players. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to be around Ky Voloshin and Dante couldn’t blame them. It was all he wanted, too!

***

One fateful night, the team was celebrating their victory over the Destroyers, a rival team from a land grant university two hours away. The Polecats and the Destroyers had a history going back more than fifty years with the Destroyers routinely trouncing the hapless ‘Cats. This year, however, was different; the team had won in overtime, thanks to the field goal Ky scored in the last ten seconds. 

The dancer had made it look easy when he’d dropped the ball and planted his elegant foot in precisely the right spot with precisely the right momentum to drive it effortlessly through the goalposts. The crowd had gone wild but the Polecats had gone even wilder, carrying the bemused Ky on their shoulders to the sidelines and dousing him with the ritual cooler full of Gatorade.

Dante had never seen his teammates so on fire or so happy as they were that night at the after-game party hosted by a fraternity affiliated with the team. He’d even gotten carried away himself, breaking his personal rule and having three beers in rapid succession. He was feeling pretty tipsy by the time someone had the bright idea of challenging Ky to a drinking game. This was largely Voloshin’s own fault because he boasted loudly that the Ukrainians could even drink the Russians under the table.

The room went silent at these words. 

The gauntlet had been thrown down and it was, perhaps predictably, Bailey Starks who took up the challenge that would end up altering the lives–and bodies–of nearly everyone present.

“Alright, Volo-shun!” he hollered, brandishing a full bottle of vodka over his head. “You’re fucking on! Let’s get drunk!”

The game that ensued was a grueling test of will–and alcohol tolerance–that ended with Ky’s eventual capitulation. After downing eight shots in a row, he held up his hands and wobbled off to the bathroom where the sounds of his pitiful vomiting could be heard by all present. Bailey burst out laughing, high-fiving his best bros, Dane and Chuck, while loudly admitting that he’d cheated by watering down his own shots.

Dante regarded him with narrowed eyes before staggering after Ky to help him get cleaned up. Bailey Starks was such a fucker!

***

Dante was still fuming at Bailey’s duplicity fifteen minutes later when he emerged from a bedroom where he’d left the drunken Ukrainian to recover from his binge. Ky wasn’t as bad off as he’d feared, having thrown up much of the alcohol he’d consumed. Mostly, he was tired and had fallen asleep almost as soon as Dante helped him into bed.

“You know what we should do?” Bailey was saying loudly to anyone who would listen. “We should strip off his clothes and make him run through campus.”

This was greeted with cheers from the same guys who always laughed at Bailey’s stupid jokes. Dante rolled his eyes. 

“No, no!” Chuck barked. “We should shave all of his body hair off while he’s asleep and then make him run through campus!”

Next to him, Dane rolled his eyes. “Dude! Are you a fucking idiot? He already shaves almost everything!”

“Oh, yeah,” Chuck muttered, crestfallen. “Well, we should do sumthin’. I mean, we got him at our fucking mercy!”

There were grunts of agreement as the drunken ‘Cats tried to think of devious things to do to their star kicker while he was incapacitated. Dante was shaking his head when his fingers closed around the little vial of henna dye in his pocket. He didn’t remember putting it in there but realized he’d probably just forgotten to take it out when he’d done the laundry. Now, however, an idea sparked in his mind and he cleared his throat, uttering the fateful words:

“Uh, guys?” he called from across the room. Every head in the place swiveled in his direction. “I have an idea. I know what will totally make him freak and be funny as shit, too.” He paused to lift the little bottle of his pocket, displaying it to the crowd. “Now, here’s what we need to do…:”

***

Chapter 2

The next morning, Ky awoke as he did every day at 5:00am to find himself in a strange bed. He sat up on his elbows and looked around the darkened room, feeling his head pound. The place smelled rank, like stale beer and vomit. He wrinkled his nose. He had to struggle to remember anything from the night before. He’d been at the stadium…there had been an American football game…he had done something important. What was it?

Oh, yes. The field goal. He had scored a field goal and his team had won. Apparently, it was important and the team had been happy with him. Very happy.

After that, he recalled nothing.

There was just enough light from an alarm clock next to the rumpled bed and the sleeping screen of a computer nearby to discern the contents of the bedroom…and the man next to him. He looked down, recognizing the sleeping form of his friend, Dante. He was clothed, like Ky, and sprawled out on his back, his mouth open and his arm lying across Ky’s belly. Ky reached down and moved it aside.

How did I get in here? And where is here?

It wasn’t Dante’s place because he lived in a dormitory. A friend of Dante’s? One of the football team member’s?

He stood up and pulled his iPhone out of his pocket. 5:03am, Saturday. Just enough time to get to dance practice if he went right there and didn’t stop by his apartment, provided, of course, he wasn’t too far from campus. He massaged his aching head, belatedly understanding why he didn’t remember much from the night before: He’d been drinking. He scowled at himself for being so stupid. He was a dancer and a student (and now, apparently, an American football player); he could not afford to have a hangover.

He stuffed his phone back into his pocket and pulled open the door, looking down an empty hallway. In the dim light, he spotted a row of doors, piles of beer cans, and what appeared to be dried vomit. Off to the side, there was a common room where he could barely make out the outlines of sleeping men, their snores echoing down the hall. He crept down the hallway and down the stairs, hoping that that he recognized where he was when he got out on the street. He’d only been in this city for a month and was still trying to find his way around.

Oh, well, he thought, pushing open the front door to the mysterious house. At least, I have my phone to guide me…

***

Ky arrived at the dance studio sweaty and out of breath. He’d had to run the whole way in order to make it in time–more than four miles! The other dancers were already mostly dressed in their workout tights and lacing up their ballet shoes. 

“You look like shit, Kiryusha,” his friend Piotr Sokolov commented in Russian. 

Even though Ukrainians and Russians didn’t usually get along, Ky and Piotr had bonded as the only members of the ballet company from the former Soviet Republics. Piotr was such a nice guy that Ky was even willing to speak Russian with him, a language he normally declined to use.

Ky grimaced at Piotr’s comment, opening his locker and pulling out his practice tights, dance belt, and shoes. “Thanks, Petya,” he muttered sourly. “Thanks.”

He kicked off his shoes before unzipping his jeans and pushing them down his long, lean legs, aware the entire time that Piotr was watching him appreciatively. He ignored him, stuffing the jeans in his locker and yanking his underwear down. He was turning to throw them into the locker as well when Piotr let out a low whistle. He turned questioningly.

“T-L-C?” his friend pronounced, looking pointedly down at Ky’s crotch. “What’s that mean? I’m not familiar with the term in English.”

Ky’s gaze lowered down to his crotch and his eyes widened when he saw the three letters stenciled on the shaft of his stubby cock. Shit! Where the fuck had they come from? Heedless of the fact that Piotr and a few of the other dancers were staring at him, he reached down and lifted his cock, forehead wrinkling. At first glance, the letters looked like they’d been tattooed on but, if he squinted, he saw they were merely inked on.

Inked?

Who would have drawn on his dick while he was asleep?

His shoulders tightened. There was only one person it could be.

Dante.

Ky set his jaw, feeling his back grow hot. He was already flushed from running to the studio but now he could feel his whole body going red with fury. He would have exploded if the instructor hadn’t started pounding on the floor in the dance studio with her cane. It was the dancers’ cue that class was beginning and they had better get out of the locker room quickly. Exerting extreme will, Ky forced himself to drop his dick and continue dressing.

As soon as he was done with class, though, he was going to fucking kill Dante.

***

Dante dodged his calls and didn’t respond to his texts after ballet practice. Exasperated and fuming, Ky finally threw down his phone and stormed into the shower where he hunched over, scrubbing at his cock furiously to remove the offending ink.

It didn’t come off.

He scowled and squirted more soap into his hand, rubbing with renewed vigor as Piotr looked on in amusement.

“Want me to give it a try, Kiryusha?” he asked slyly. “I could use my mouth.”

“Fuck off.”

Piotr laughed, goading, “I’ve been told my tongue can peel paint.”

“I said fuck off!” Ky growled, turning away from the prying eyes of his gay friend. He was in no mood right then to be teased. 

He couldn’t believe that Dante would take advantage of him while he was asleep and handle his equipment. It was sick! It was wrong! And it definitely violated the terms of their friendship. He had grown to like the hulking American over the past several weeks. More than that, he had come to rely on him. Had trusted him. And he liked him. A lot.

And now Dante did this?

***

“Dante!”

The big man ignored Ky shout, turning his back to him and unbuckling his belt as he got dressed for practice in the locker room. The other football players didn’t even bother looking up. It was like they didn’t even hear him.

“DANTE!” he demanded, all but yelling, “What did you do to me last night?”

Still the big man didn’t respond. Ky exhaled loudly, exasperated. He came to a halt directly behind Dante, his hands clenched at his sides. He was reaching out to grab his friend by the shoulders when Dante very casually lowered his jeans and underwear, exposing his big, blocky ass.

Ky froze, mouth falling open as he outrage was quickly replaced by confusion. He stared down at the man’s bare butt, completely flummoxed.

Stenciled in big, black letters were two words, one word on each hulking ass cheek: FUCK ME.

“Dante, what…?” he was starting to ask when he suddenly became aware that the locker room had gone silent around him.

Feeling heat creep gradually up his shoulders, he turned around. His gaze landed first on Bailey Stark’s bare butt but he quickly realized the linebacker wasn’t the only one with his ass sticking out at him. No, it was more than Bailey. More even than Chuck and Dane. He swallowed and his face went pink as he realized that every, single guy in the locker room had his back to him and his jeans around his ankles, his bare butt jutting out in his direction.

And every, single guy in the locker room had the same two words in black ink spelled out on his ass cheeks: 

FUCK ME.

The silence shattered then as the locker room erupted in raucous laughter and all of the guys pushed in toward him, wagging their butts salaciously, until he was completely ringed by bare asses. Bare, jiggling asses were everywhere. There was no escaping them. He looked around wildly, cheeks flaming crimson. It was no use, though. Everywhere he turned, there was a big, bare ass covered with the same profanity.

FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME

It made his head swim.

Belatedly, it dawned on him then that he been punked and punked good by his teammates. Ky Voloshin wasn’t stupid; he’d been on soccer teams before he took up ballet and had endured his share of pranks. He knew that being hazed was part of being accepted into a new group and the Polecats’ antics were actually their way of welcoming him aboard. It was a strange and devious ritual, sure, but he knew that he’d just passed an important test in his new country.

He was now part of the team.

***

“That was very funny,” Ky commented drolly as he steadied the bar while Dante bench-pressed. The team was lifting weights in the Polecat’s weight room after practice.

Dante’s face broke into a sly grin. “It was my idea,” he grunted as he lowered the bar. When he faltered under the heavy weight, Ky had to help him lift the bar.

“I guessed that,” Ky replied. “How did you talk the guys into doing it? I can’t believe they simply bent over and let you draw on their asses.”

Dante struggled to the lift the bar again and Ky had to step in again. This was unlike him; the big man normally lifted this weight without any trouble. He’s probably hungover from last night, Ky thought. Just like I am. Around them, the rest of the team grunted and groaned and sweated. It had been a hard practice; Coach Washington wasn’t letting them off easy after their win last night. Ky was about ready to fall asleep on his feet after getting up so early for his dance class. He desperately longed to go to bed.

“Get enough alcohol into a guy,” Dante explained after racking the bar (with Ky’s help.) “And he’ll do anything.” He rubbed his pecs, grimacing, as he got off the bench and Ky settled down in his place. The cushion, he noticed, was still warm from Dante’s body.

“Mmmm,” Ky murmured as Dante busied himself removing a couple of 20-kilo weights from the bar; there was no way that Ky could lift as much as his hulking friend. “How do you get the ink off?”

Dante shrugged. “Soap and water. It’s just henna.”

“I haven’t been able to remove mine,” Ky remarked, lifting the bar off the hooks. “I scrubbed at it for ten minutes in the shower and nothing happened.”

Dante looked down at him in confusion. “Your ink? What do you mean? We didn’t ink you.”

Ky gave his friend a look of disbelief but Dante’s serious expression didn’t waver. “Well, maybe you didn’t but someone else did,” he muttered, glancing down at his crotch as if Dante could see the letters inked onto his penis.

“Ky,” Dante said evenly, “no one touched you last night. I made sure of it. They wanted to…do stuff…to you while you were passed out but I wouldn’t let them. I swear!”

Ky felt his face grow hot as he lifted the bar off the hooks and started pushing it up and down rapidly. “Someone–Ugh!–wrote–Umph!–’TLC’–Ungh!–on–Gah!–my–Oh!–penis!” he gasped, barely realizing that he was lifting more weight than ever before almost effortlessly.

“Whoa! Dude! Stop!” Dante said finally, reaching out to hold the bar. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Ky scowled up at him. “I feel fine. Come on, let me lift and, while I’m lifting, tell me who wrote on my penis while I was asleep.”

“I already told you,” Dante explained, holding up his hands. “No one touched you! I used all of the ink on the guys–and myself–and the bottle was empty by the time we were through.”

Unconvinced, Ky pressed, “Well, someone must have. I didn’t draw it on myself.” He pushed up on the bar and resumed lifting, still not willing to believe his friend’s innocence. He grimaced when he realized that, if anything, the weight felt even lighter than it had a moment ago. After a few reps, he racked the bar again, ordering, “Put on another forty.”

“Forty?”

“Just do it.”

“Fine.”

Dante placed an additional twenty pounds on either side. When he was done, Ky hefted it…easily. Brow furrowing, Ky demanded, “Are you sure that was forty? It doesn’t feel any heavier!”

“Dude, that’s forty pounds,” Dante insisted. “Do you want me to put on another forty?”

“Do it.”

Dante shook his head. “This is crazy. You’ve never lifted this much before.”

Ky rolled his eyes, saying pointedly, “Just like I’ve never had a friend I trusted write on my penis while I was asleep before.”

An expression of deep hurt passed over Dante’s face before he looked away, his shoulders falling. When he turned back, Ky could have sworn he saw his friend’s eyes glistening with tears. “Ky, look,” the big man said quietly, “I didn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t! You have to believe me!”

“You still haven’t put on the weight,” Ky sighed before softening, “but I believe you. Is it possible that someone touched me after you were asleep? Maybe you were sleeping so soundly you didn’t hear them?”

“I guess it’s possible,” Dante admitted. “But they would have had to been pretty stealthy. And they would have had to get more ink. The bottle was empty when I threw it away.”

***

In the days after the prank on Ky Voloshin, the team became more cohesive, welcoming the ballet dancer into their ranks. Ky still endured more than his share of teasing but the easygoing way he’d handled the joke–and his extraordinary kicking talent–won him many friends. 

Despite Dante’s best efforts at ferreting out the culprit, no one admitted to inking Ky’s dick with the cryptic letters, TLC. As irritating as it was knowing that someone had painted his cock while he was asleep, though, Ky–and the rest of the team–were angrier about the fact the ink was taking a very long time to wear off.

Make that not wearing off at all.

No matter how much the other players scrubbed their butt cheeks, the ink stubbornly refused to come off. The guys were left with the embarrassing words emblazoned on their backsides for their girlfriends–and anyone else who saw them naked–to see. In comparison, Ky felt like he was better off. After a week, the male ballet dancers with whom he shared the dance locker room had stopped commenting about the ink on his dick. And, truth be told, his penis wasn’t very large to begin with and the letters got pretty much lost in the folds of his generous foreskin.

His teammates, however, were not so sanguine.

Dante received the brunt of the players’ unhappiness. Every day during practice, the guys gave him shit about the permanent ink on their butts until he finally got fed up. “Look,” he shouted after a particularly harsh bout of razzing, “I’m no better off than you are, OK?” He turned and, tugging down his shorts, displayed his prominent butt to the room, motioning pointedly with at the offending lettering. “Do you think I like it? If I’d known the ink would take this long to come off, I never would have gone through with the joke!”

The guys fell silent and Dante pulled his shorts up. Lowering his voice, he spread his hands, saying, “I’m sorry, Ok? I really am! I was drunk and stupid and, if I could take it back, I would but I can’t.” He turned back to his locker, hanging his head, his shoulders slumping.

“I forgive you.”

Everyone looked up in surprise at Bailey Starks’ words. The big bully was not exactly known for his forgiving nature. At that moment, though, he seemed genuinely impressed by Dante’s apology and strode over to the big man, placing a hand on his shoulder. Dante turned, startled, and then Bailey did something truly surprising.

He hugged Dante.

The entire team looked on in amazement as the two players, so often at odds, came together in a tender moment. When it was over and the men stepped apart, the room was completely silent.

No one blamed Dante again for the unfortunate ink staining his ass cheeks. This wasn’t due to exclusively to Bailey’s about-face, though.  No, in the coming weeks, the ink on their butts was the least of their worries.

***

Chuck and Dane

A week after the prank on Ky, Chuck and Dane were in the basement of their fraternity house, playing video games. The two bros sat side by side on the couch in their boxers as they did most Saturday mornings, hunched over their controllers as they battled each other in combat mode. Chuck was a master with the sniper rifle and loved to lie in wait for his friend’s soldier avatar to stumble past.

“Ha ha!” he chortled as he blew the head off Dane’s character for the third time. “Got ya, dude!”

Dane made an inarticulate sound, clearly annoyed. “Fuck, man!” he sputtered. “Why don’t you come out in the open and fight like a man?”

Chuck was about to respond when he happened to look down and catch a glimpse of Dane’s ‘little man’ peeking out the fly of his boxers. Or, rather, what used to be Dane’s little man but which now appeared to have grown.

Quite a lot.

Chuck goggled, unable to stop himself from checking out Dane’s cock. He’d seen his friend naked a bunch of a times–Shit! He saw him naked everyday before and after football practice in the locker room!–and he knew that Dane had a small dick…just like his own. One of the reasons that Chuck felt comfortable around Dane was because his friend was small, too. They were like brothers in many ways, sharing so much in common. Both were well over six feet tall and weighed close to two hundred fifty pounds. Both had shaggy brown hair, dense but nicely trimmed beards, wide faces, and hazel-colored eyes. Both were defensive ends whose skills were so interchangeable that even Coach Washington got them confused when they were decked out in football gear.

They were almost twins. 

Twin brothers united by their tiny endowments. It wasn’t something that either talked about–EVER!–but, more than anything else, their less-than-average cock size had brought them together as friends. It made them compatriots rather than rivals because each knew instinctively what the other was going through. Both knew what it was like to be a big man who towered over other guys in every way but one. Two bros who were society’s pinnacle of manhood with one, ahem, small exception. Two men who understood each other, who had each other’s backs, who did everything together, including cruise chicks.

Dane and Chuck. Chuck and Dane. Brothers. Together. Forever.

Until now.

Chuck felt his cheeks color as he gaped at the wide, fat head of Dane’s circumcised cock poking through the folds of his underwear. It should have been lost in the thatch of his kinky, brown pubic hair. It should have been hidden in there. It should have…

“You Ok, dude?”

Chuck shook himself, trying to recover from his shock. (Why are you checking out his cock? What is wrong with you?) Dane’s eyebrows were drawn together in puzzlement as he searched Chuck’s face. Alarms bells were going off in Chuck’s head and he struggled desperately to come up with a reply but the sight of Dane’s much bigger, fatter cock had left him completely flummoxed. (How is that possible? How can he have grown so big? A full-grown man’s cock doesn’t grow like that! It’s not possible!)

Without realizing it, Dane made things worse by edging closer to him. Chuck’s neck went red as he felt his friend’s hairy thigh press against his own, felt the smooth skin of his shoulder rub almost caressingly against his own shoulder, felt the incredible heat radiating out from his friend’s body as if Dane were a furnace. A man furnace…

Chuck sprang up from the couch, his game controller landing with a thud at his feet. He stared wild-eyed down at his best friend in the whole world whom he now barely recognized. It was like the Dane he’d known had suddenly and inexplicably been replaced by a stranger. A stranger with a big cock.

And, just like that, in the space of a few seconds, everything changed between them.

Chuck no longer knew the man before him.

The man…before him.

The man.

The big, hulking man.

The big, hulking and hung man.

(Ungh.)

Ungh?

What the fuck?

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Chuck’s cheeks flamed crimson, his mind going blank with confusion and fear as he belatedly became aware of a very unwelcome sensation between his legs.

His little cock was standing fiercely erect and throbbing.

Gargling something unintelligible, he turned and fled into the nearby bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him, as Dane called out behind him.

***

Chapter 3

Ky Voloshin

“Have you been lifting weights, Kiryusha?”

Ky looked up from his locker in a daze. His mind was still abuzz with various football strategies and plays from last night’s tutorial with Coach Washington. The temperamental older man had taken a liking to Ky and made it his personal mission to inculcate Ky with the beauty of American football…and it was working. Lately, all Ky could think about was the game and the joy he felt when he was with his new teammates. 

“Kiryusha?” Piotr repeated. “Where are you?”

Ky shook himself. “Uh, I’m right here,” he grunted in English, yanking down his jeans. He pulled down his underwear and grabbed his dance belt. He was preparing to step into it when he noticed that his friend was giving him a strange look. “Piotr?” he asked, looking over at him. “What’s wrong?”

Piotr’s eyes had gone wide. As Ky watched, the tips of his ears began to turn pink.

“Petya!” Ky demanded, switching to Russian. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Reluctantly, Piotr tore his gaze away from Ky’s naked body and continued dressing. When pressed again, though, he refused to say anything besides, “I see the football training is paying off.”

Ky shrugged and sat down to lace up his point shoes. He’d long ago stopped trying to figure out his quirky Russian friend.

***

The dance instructor, Madame Sylvaine, was unimpressed with Ky’s performance that morning. The ensemble was practicing for Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet and Ky was once again cast in the lead role. For his part, Ky thought he was doing a splendid job, making a big show of the ease with which he tossed the lead ballerina in the air, catching her again with barely a tremor. He’d never felt more powerful and relished the way his bold, decisive movements complemented the delicate, ethereal grace of the prima ballerina.

Madame Sylvaine begged to differ.

“Stop, stop, STOP!” she demanded after some minutes, interrupting the practice. The music cut out and the dancers turned toward the instructor questioningly. Taking Ky by the arm, she dragged him in front of the class and forced him to watch as she danced the first few steps of the lead male dancer’s part. “Romeo,” she hissed, “is a boy not a lumbering oaf! He needs to be light on his feet, the essence of youth and innocence. See?”

Ky had to admit that, even at nearly sixty years old, Madame Sylvaine was still able to nail the role. Reed-thin and remarkably youthful-looking for her age, her lithe movements were nearly flawless. As she danced, she effortlessly inhabited the part, seeming every bit the lovestruck Romeo, telegraphing eloquently with her body his tentative yet exuberant nature. Even though it galled him to be chastised in front of everyone, Ky schooled his features, keeping his expression neutral, and nodded attentively as he followed her orbit across the dance floor.

After a few moments, she drew to a halt and turned back toward him, ordering, “Now you.”

He nodded and leapt into action, only to stop abruptly as Sylvaine pounded the floor with her timing stick. “No, no, NO!” she shouted. “What is that? What are you doing? That’s not dancing! That’s a mockery! That’s, that’s disgusting!”

To Ky’s undying embarrassment, she threw down her stick and lurched about the floor in an exaggerated caricature of his movements. She appeared more like a drunk elephant than an elegant dancer. He hung his head as the other dancers stifled laughter. When he looked up, though, he saw Piotr lift his chin at him and wink. Ky smiled.

Madame Sylvaine noticed and misinterpreted his smile, calling out harshly, “You think I am being funny, Kyrylo? You find this funny? Well, I wonder if you will find it amusing when I put Piotr in your place?” She rounded on him, her face red and her tiny body radiating a ferocity that caused him to take an inadvertent step backward. Motioning toward Piotr with her arm, she spat, “Don’t push me, Kyrylo! I will give this part to him without hesitation if you keep this up. Now get out there and move like the light-footed dancer I know you to be!”

***

Ky managed to appease Madame Sylvaine but it wasn’t easy. Even though his ego was smarting, he set aside his pride and took a deep breath, feeling into his body as he practiced. Gradually, he realized that Sylvaine was right; his movements might be powerful and decisive but they lacked the delicacy required to play Romeo. Doubling down, he put all of his attention into becoming the essence of a heartsick teenager, urging his body to defy gravity and appear light and graceful and fluid. It wasn’t, he was forced to concede as the practice wore on, as easy as it used to be. By the end, he was sweating from the effort and finished bent over, hands on his knees as he gasped, trying to catch his breath. The rest of the ensemble departed the dance floor, leaving him alone as he struggled to understand what was going on with his body. This had never happened before.

“Your tights are ready to burst.”

It was Piotr.

Ky looked up to find his friend standing before him, arms crossed and a wry smile on his face. Ky pulled a face. “Go away.”

Undeterred, Piotr stayed put. “Kiryusha,” he began delicately. “You might consider cutting back on weightlifting.”

“Why?” Ky demanded, surprised by the sudden tightening in his chest at the thought of not training with the guys on the football team.

Piotr sighed. “Because you are getting too big, my beautiful friend. If you put on any more muscle, you will be unfit to dance.” When Ky started to object, Piotr reached down and tugged him upward into a standing position, urging, “Kiyusha, look at yourself! Look!”

Ky shook his head at Piotr’s silliness but nonetheless humored his friend by examining his body. At first, everything seemed normal and he was preparing to turn back to Piotr when he noticed something.

His thighs.

Were bulging.

Big.

Bigger than they’d ever been!

And that wasn’t all.

His calves were burgeoning.

And his pecs.

Shit!

And his arms!

Face going white, he looked up at Piotr in shock, sputtering, “I-I-I didn’t realize–”

Piotr smirked. “Well, I did. It’s been…hard…not to.” He paused to stare pointedly down at Ky’s crotch, adding wickedly, “And, from the looks of things, more than just your muscles are swelling.”

Ky’s whole torso flushed red as his gaze landed on the bulge pressing noticeably against his white dance tights. He wasn’t turned on and he knew there was no way his penis had gotten bigger–cocks didn’t grow after puberty!–so it must be the effect of his extra muscle mass pressing everything outward against the sheer material of his tights. Fuck! His tights were stretched nearly to transparency, leaving nothing to the imagination. His mouth fell open as he understood too late the danger of weight training and practicing with a football team when you are a ballet dancer whose reputation depends on being lean. A dancer needed muscles to execute difficult maneuvers but, if he had too much mass, the muscle would hamper his movements.

He hung his head, shoulders falling as he edged toward the locker room. He felt suddenly too exposed, too indecent, too…

“Aw, come on, Kiry!” Piotr soothed, putting his hand on his shoulder. “It’s not that bad. If you stop training with the football team now and focus on your dancing, everything will be fine by the time of the performance. You have a month, right?”

“But I love football!” Ky protested, feeling his chest clench again at the thought of giving up the game. “And I love my team!”

Piotr nodded, his eyes becoming sad as he pronounced, “You will have to choose. It’s either ballet or football. Which will it be?”

***

In the showers, Piotr wisely dropped the topic of choosing between football and dance. He stood next to Ky, silently scrubbing himself as Ky stared down at his naked body in disbelief. He simply couldn’t fathom how much muscle he’d put on in such a short period of time. He’d always thought that it took years to build muscle, not weeks!

“I hate to keep harping on you, Kiry, but you really should start shaving more regularly, too.” At these unwelcome words, Ky’s head snapped upward and he fixed Piotr with such a baleful glare that his friend laughed. “Kiryusha,” he cajoled, “Don’t look at me like that! You know as well as I do that dancers have to be smooth. Your body hair is starting to poke through your tights!”

Ky sighed heavily, looking down at himself with chagrin. Piotr was right. Again. He’d been so preoccupied with his bulging muscles that he’d missed the carpet of auburn hair sprouting all over his body. He shook his head at it. Why was he suddenly so hairy? He’d barely had enough body hair to bother shaving a few weeks ago. Now this? As incredible as it was, he now sported a furry chest for the first time in his life. And his pubic hair…

“What the fuck?” he shouted in English as his gaze landed on his crotch.

But it wasn’t the dense thicket of red pubes threatening to spill out onto this hips and thighs that made him shout in consternation.

No.

It was his cock.

More precisely, it was his cock’s increased length and girth.

And something else.

He stepped out of the shower spray to squint down at himself, his stomach falling when he saw that the formerly small, black letters inked on his shaft had grown in size along with his cock. Even worse, there more letters. The ‘TLC’ had been expanded to spell ‘Th Lo Co’…whatever the fuck that meant.

“Th…Lo…Co,” Piotr read quizzically as he followed Ky’s gaze. “Why did you tattoo that on your penis?”

“I DIDN’T!”

This denial was met with skepticism. 

“Kiry, knock it off, Ok?” Piotr said, exhaling in disgust. “This is becoming tedious. What is going on with you?”

“What do you mean?” Ky demanded before he understood what Piotr was getting at. Puffing out his (impressively muscled and hairy) chest, he turned on the Russian, outraged. “You think I am doing this to myself on purpose?”

Piotr ignored his display of machismo and leaned back on his left leg, crossing his arms.“I was willing to believe you at first but not anymore.” As Ky stared at him, speechless, Piotr turned off his shower and grabbed his towel, drying himself with short, quick movements. After a few moments, he looked back at Ky, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Shit, I can’t believe I was so stupid! Shit! You really had me fooled! But now I get it. Now I understand!”

“Piotr…” Ky warned. He didn’t like where this was going.

Piotr raised his hand, waving him off before dropping a bombshell. “Just admit it: You’re on steroids and you had penis enlargement surgery.”

Ky’s mouth fell open and he stood there blinking dumbly. He couldn’t believe his friend would accuse him of something like this! Steroids? Penis enlargement? What the fuck? If Piotr’s demeanor weren’t so serious, he would have burst out laughing.

When he didn’t reply, Piotr shook his head, pronouncing smugly,  “I can’t say I blame you, given your size. It was probably really difficult for you to be surrounded by all of those big, muscular American men. In your position, I may have done the same thing…the steroids, that is.” He paused to laugh as he shimmied his hips, making his long tool slap against his thighs, “because God knows I don’t need a bigger cock. We Russians are truly blessed in that department…unlike you Ukrainians.”

“You–,” Ky started to say before his voice broke off and he turned away, clenching his fists and struggling for self-control. He couldn’t believe his friend would say such things. Being teased about his size was bad enough but not being believed was even worse. He’d thought that Piotr was his friend!

Oblivious to his reaction, Piotr continued blithely, “I see it clearly now. Your decision to leave home and come here makes even more sense. It wasn’t about the reputation of the university’s dance program, was it?” Not waiting for Ky to respond, he continued, “The science of medicine in the United States is advanced and muscle-building drugs are even easier to find here than in the Ukraine. Not content with larger muscles, you couldn’t resist the appeal of having your penis enlarged, too. And then you decided to underscore your new, bigger size with a tattoo.” He shrugged, concluding, “The only surprise here is how quickly you had the procedure done. And the absence of scars. In Russia, penis enlargement is involved surgery. Maybe they’ve perfected it here?”

As Ky stood there, shaking with disbelief and outrage, Piotr finished drying himself off. He wrapped the towel around his slim waist and, giving Ky a sly smile over his shoulder, sauntered out of the showers.

Two days later, Madame Sylvaine awarded Piotr the role of Romeo in the upcoming production.

***

Bailey Starks

Something was wrong with Bailey. 

For the third night in a row, he awoke in his dorm room drenched in sweat and almost painfully aroused. He tossed in his little single bed, trying not to wake his roommate, Miles Carlyle, the Polecat quarterback. Miles was a light sleeper and became unbearable when he didn’t get enough sleep. On top of this, Miles’ attitude toward Bailey had changed recently and, instead of his usual deferential fear, he treated Bailey almost like a servant. It made Bailey angry but there was little he could do about it. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to regain his footing as the alpha when it came to Miles…or the rest of the Polecats, for that matter.

Something was wrong with him!

He sat up on his elbows, feeling his cock spasm. He had learned the hard way not to touch it, though. No, touching it made things worse.

And, in this case, ‘worse’ meant smaller.

He hung his head, fighting back the unmanly tears that threatened to overwhelm him. His dick was a big (little?) part of what was wrong with him but he was too embarrassed to tell anyone. The thought of going to a doctor and explaining that his dick shrank every time he masturbated was beyond humiliating.

No.

NO!

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell anyone!

It was better to give up masturbation altogether.

If he stopped jacking off, he wouldn’t shrink further and he’d keep his meager, four-inch erection. As difficult as it was not to touch himself…down there…the thought of slipping below the four-inch threshold was even worse. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that he was already smaller that most men. Gone were the days when he would strut around the Polecat locker room, his giant snake slapping his thighs and his huge balls dangling lower than any other guy’s on the team. No, those days were over. Now he changed under a towel and used the handicap-accessible stall in the shower room because it shielded him and his tiny man from view. The guys thought he kept himself covered because he was ashamed of the ‘FUCK ME’ inked on his ass cheeks and he didn’t disabuse them of this notion….because the reality was far worse. Worse! 

The room was dimly lit from the light in the bathroom he and Miles shared with their suitemates. Steeling himself, Bailey pulled the sheet away from his groin and stifled his groan of dismay. Fuck! He was so small! Fuck, fuck, fuck! He couldn’t believe that he was now almost as tiny as Chuck and Dane and they were the smallest guys on the team.

He couldn’t jack off ever again.

He would become a monk if he had to. He would retire to a fucking monastery and wear baseball gloves on both hands to keep himself away from his dick. He would do fucking anything! He didn’t care how uncomfortable or weird it was.

As long as his cock didn’t shrink any more.

***

It was 3:00am and sleep still evaded Bailey. His erection was getting worse and his resolve not to touch himself was weakening.

He had to do something!

Finally, unable to take it any longer, he launched himself out of bed and threw on the first pair of shorts and t-shirt that he found in the relative darkness. Slipping on his sneakers, he squared his shoulders and marched out of the room and down the hall to the elevators, punching the number four on the panel. The weight room on the fourth floor was open all night, right? Well, if he couldn’t jack off, maybe working out would tire him out enough to go back to bed. He didn’t have class until ten the next morning so, if he hit the weights really hard, he could still get enough sleep.

The doors slid open on the fourth floor, revealing a blessedly empty weight room. There was a sleepy-looking guy at the fitness desk by the cardio equipment who nodded at him before looking back at his phone. Bailey sighed and paced over to the free weight area, only realizing belatedly that he’d donned a very flimsy pair of white shorts that were tight across the ass. He wrinkled his brow as he looked down at himself.

What???

They weren’t shorts, they were fucking Spandex!

And the shirt…was a white mesh jersey?

White mesh that ended six inches above his navel. Kind of like his football jersey but far more revealing. His hairy tummy and abs were completely exposed.

He was wearing a fucking midriff-baring, mesh t-shirt!!!

Bailey’s neck grew hot as he looked down at himself in disbelief. Where had these clothes come from? He didn’t own anything like this and he knew that Miles didn’t, either. Had someone sneaked into his room and put them there? But who? And why?

Then he saw his shoes.

They were white.

With pink laces.

And they fit his feet perfectly.

What the fuck???!!!

By this point, Bailey’s entire body was covered in goosebumps and, even though the weight room was quite warm, he felt a chill run down his spine. Something weird–and wrong!–was going on here and he needed to figure it out. But first, he had to get out of there before anyone saw him wearing this getup. It would spell the end to his already dwindling days as alpha bro! Fuck, it would be worse than that! It would be the end of his life as he knew it!

He was turning to flee when his gaze was inexplicably caught by the Smith Machine in the back of the room. It stood there, illuminated by spotlights in the ceiling, gleaming beautiful and black before a long bank of mirrors. It was set up for squats with the bar at the perfect height for Bailey’s shoulders.

Squats.

Squats!

He hadn’t done squats in forever.

He really should do squats if he was going to keep his butt in shape.

Bailey froze.

‘Keep my butt in shape?’

His skin prickled.

Why did he care about keeping his butt in shape?

No guy–Well, no normal guy–cared about his ass.

He certainly didn’t!

Why would he?

Why would he care about having a nice, shapely ass? An ass that thrust out proudly behind him and filled out his new Spandex tights. An ass that was as hefty as it was firm. A muscular ass with good definition and dimples at the small of his back. Dimples that other guys could see when he wore his new, mesh jersey. A beefy ass that contrasted nicely with his narrow waist.

Bailey swallowed.

He was hard as a rock again.

Heart pounding, he ignored the voice screaming at him in the back of his head–Screaming at him to get the fuck out of there, go back to his room, change into normal workout clothes and forget all about his ass and how defined it looked in Spandex. Screaming at him to–

No.

He ignored the voice and, lifting his chin resolutely, stopped and looked around. No one was in the weight area and the guy at the front desk couldn’t see him from where he was standing.

He might as well be alone.

It was 3:30am.

Everyone in the dorm was either asleep or cramming for an exam.

His quads twitched. His butt cheeks clenched.

The Smith Machine looked really inviting…

Looking down at himself one last time, he shrugged. He didn’t look so bad. Sure, the Lycra shorts were tiny and barely covered any thigh. And there was no mistaking his little erection poking insistently against the sheer fabric. Or the spreading dark spot on the front.

But…

But.

Butt?

Butt!

BUTT!!!

He needed to squat!

***

Bailey had been doing squats for over an hour before he realized he wasn’t alone. He heard a movement when he was at the lowest part of a squat and his eyes snapped to the mirror in front of him. Before he could see who was there, though, he was momentarily startled by his reflection. He looked…different. Or did he? He squinted. It was subtle but his face had changed.

His brown eyes were wider and framed by long, blond lashes that curled upward. And his nose. It was…cuter. He’d always had a button nose but, maybe it was the lighting or his soft, brown eyes with those long lashes, but now his nose appeared even more button-y than ever.

And then there were his round cheeks, full lips and little chin. 

Even sporting a reddish blond beard, he looked younger than he remembered. Almost like a teenager again.

He blinked and was startled by how naive and innocent he looked. It didn’t help that his lower lip was poking out. He pulled it in and frowned a moment later when it pushed back out again. Almost like he was pouting.

Huh? What was going on with him?

Just then, he heard another movement behind and he forgot about his face, realizing that his butt was thrust out embarrassingly at the lowest part of his squat. He was squatting so far down that this knees were nearly even with his ears, ears that there turning bright pink now that he could see the reflection in the mirror of the guy behind him. Somehow, without his noticing, the dude had walked in and taken a seat at the inclined bench press, located directly behind Bailey’s rear.

How long had he been there? And who the fuck lifted weights at this hour anyway? Well, besides him, of course.

The guy looked away when he realized he’d been caught staring and Bailey pushed himself upward and racked the bar, feeling his glutes and quads scream in protest. He really should get going. It was really late/early. Fuck, was it really almost 4:30am? 

Now that he had an audience, he should get going.

Or he should at least cover up, he thought looking down at his ridiculous getup. His little erection had subsided but the tiny bulge in its place was nearly as embarrassing. He glanced back at his butt and did a double-take when he saw how big it was.

Whoa! Did that thing belong to him?

Fuck, it was huge!

Heedless of his onlooker, he wiggled his hips and watched in startled amazement as his glutes swayed languorously. This was almost obscene! How could an ass that big and ripe belong to a man?

He caught the guy staring at him again and shot him a dirty look. The dude looked away. Was it Bailey’s imagination or did he look away almost reluctantly? 

Bailey shook himself. Why was he still standing there? Why wasn’t he–

The burning in his thighs and glutes distracted him again and looked down. His thighs were bigger, too. Really big. Almost fucking massive…but maybe they just looked that way in his little Spandex tights. Yeah, that was it. The fucking tights were making his legs and ass look extra big! If he were wearing his regular workout clothes, everything would look normal. Wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t…?

He couldn’t keep his eyes off his lower body.

Shit, he’d never done this many squats before! Oh, fuck! His thighs were swollen and full, his muscles pulsing with blood. He could feel his ass hanging equally heavy and full behind him. It had never felt like this before. Despite himself, he smiled.

And then frowned.

What was wrong with him?

Why did he care so much about making his butt more shapely? More muscular! Beefier! Rounder! More massive! So massive that it busted out of his jeans, so big that his ass cheeks poured out the top of the waistband of his shorts, so huge that there was no way to hide it, so ginormous that every guy’s eyes would be drawn inevitably toward it…

Just like that guy behind him who couldn’t stop staring at it.

Bailey flushed and fought with himself but nothing could stop him from squatting down again and pushing his achingly swollen ass out as far as it would go. He closed his eyes…and opened them again at the bottom of his squat when his bottom was threatening to burst the seams of his Spandex shorts.

He looked at the mirror and locked eyes with the guy behind him.

Just as expected, the guy’s eyes were glued to his ass. His gaze was smouldering. Bailey had never seen a man look at him like that and it scared him.

And thrilled him.

He pushed upward and racked the bar, gasping for air and wondering what was going on with him. His gaze was inevitably drawn back to the dude. He turned and cast a glance behind him as if to confirm that the reflection in the mirror was real.

It was real.

Or, rather, he was real.

Very real.

Jesus, the guy was fucking real and staring really hard at Bailey’s ass!

Even better, the dude was jacked.

(Jacked?! Why did he care if the guy was muscular? Why did he even notice? But he was. Oh, fuck, he was definitely jacked–and handsome!) 

Even though he was seated at the inclined bench press, Bailey could tell he was tall. And lean. With broad shoulders that tapered down to a slim waist. His angular face was clean-shaven. His skin was dark, almost black, and his eyes were the most fascinating shade of yellow ochre. His hair was dense, straight, and mussed up because, just like Bailey, he’d probably awakened in the middle of the night and been unable to fall back asleep. And, like Bailey, he’d probably decided to come down to lift weights, throwing on the first pair of shorts and t-shirt he laid hands on in the dark. Unlike Bailey, though, the guy’s t-shirt was a white, form-fitting Under Armour tech shirt, not a mesh jersey. And his shorts were baggy, not Spandex. Baggy, yes, but not baggy enough to hide his…

Bailey flushed pink.

The guy’s hairy legs were spread wide on either side of the padded seat. The seat was angled upward but not far enough to conceal Bailey’s view of his crotch.

His bulging crotch.

Bailey turned back around hurriedly as he registered the guy’s hardon straining against the fabric of his shorts. He couldn’t believe it! The guy was turned on by him! By Bailey!

Or, more specifically, by his ass.

This unwelcome/welcome revelation dawned on him at the same moment that he recognized his observer. He lowered his head, silently cursing. Jesus, what the fuck? Of all the guys to walk in on him when he was doing squats in these ridiculous Spandex shorts!

It was Neeraj Kaur.

The captain of the lacrosse team.

The captain of the fucking lacrosse team was getting boned up watching him do squats!

He couldn’t believe this was happening. The football team and the lacrosse team hated each other! For as long as anyone remembered, the two teams had been sworn enemies. From the football team’s perspective the feud had to do with the lacrosse team’s huge egos. The team had the longest winning streak of any team on campus and it had really gone to their heads. The cocky fuckers strutted around campus, acting superior and treating the football team like a bunch of losers. They looked for every opportunity to point out that it had been more than ten years since the football teams had won even a regional championship. Inevitably, the crowds had dwindled at football games while the lacrosse team became campus rockstars. It really, really aggravated Bailey and the rest of the guys on the team that an obscure sport like lacrosse could amass a bigger following than football.

And now the fucking captain of the lacrosse team was sitting there, sporting wood and ogling Bailey’s ass like he owned it. Like he wanted to…

He was distracted from his inner turmoil when Neeraj lowered his big hand to his crotch. As Bailey stared in disbelief, the dude started stroking his cock through his shorts. Bailey’s eyes goggled.

Fucking shit! From the looks of things, Neeraj’s cock was huge.

And fat.

The sight of that fiercely erect, huge cock encased in shimmering nylon made Bailey’s knees go weak and he had to grab the bar to steady himself. When he looked back, Neeraj was chewing on his upper lip and then he released it, the tip of his red tongue making an almost lazy swipe across that succulent lip.

Bailey closed his eyes, his heart pounding. His skin felt clammy and he realized he was sweating profusely but all he could think about was that delicious tongue on his…

He stood straight up, bumping his shoulders on the bar and grimacing in pain. When he looked back, Neeraj was smiling. His gorgeous, yellow-brown eyes were dancing with delight. As Bailey watched, half-frozen, he puckered his lips and blew him a kiss.

Bailey nearly fell over.

And then he did something unthinkable.

He didn’t know what came over him but he watched in helpless surprise as his hands slid down his waist to rest lightly on the sheer band of his Spandex shorts. Then, unable to stop himself, those same hands quickly slipped the waistband down to reveal his freshly swollen ass.

HOLY FUCK!!!

Had he really just done that?!

What was wrong with him?!

Heart pounding, he looked coyly over his shoulder to catch Neeraj’s expression as he registered the presence of the huge, bold, black letters stenciled across Bailey’s ass cheeks.

“FUCK ME”

Neeraj’s hand jerked on his cock.

“FUCK ME”

A big, dark stain appeared on the fabric of his shorts over the outline of his fat cockhead.

“FUCK ME”

Neeraj’s eyes narrowed.

“FUCK ME”

A huge smile spread across his face.

“FUCK ME”

His hand closed more tightly around his cock.

“FUCK ME”

Bailey took a deep breath and settled the bar on his shoulders once again, twisting it. 

Then he squatted.

He couldn’t believe he was doing it!

But it was true. Bailey Starks squatted down before the captain of the lacrosse team with his bare ass thrust out and the words “FUCK ME” prominently displayed. And that wasn’t all that was prominently displayed. He watched Neeraj’s eyes gleam wickedly as Bailey neared the bottom of the squat and rotated his hips just enough to reveal the one part of himself no man had ever seen.

His hole.

His eager hole.

His hungry hole.

(Hungry hole?!)

It was at the bottom of that squat that Bailey’s fraying heterosexuality shredded permanently, leaving him open and vulnerable and irreparably gay.

***

Bailey bared his ass for Neeraj and Neeraj bared his cock for Bailey. 

It was a one-for-one transaction. A fair trade, you might say, because it was difficult to tell who received more pleasure from the big revealing. Each possessed something the other desired desperately. You had to admire the symmetry of it…along with everything else.

Bailey nearly lost his balance when Neeraj–grinning even more wickedly–dug into the leg hole of his shorts and pulled out his cock. Bailey gaped. Neeraj’s cock was fatter than he thought possible, fatter than his fucking forearm. And, it was long as fuck! And dark. And hooded. Bailey had never seen an erect, uncut cock before he gaped at the generous folds of skin hanging off the bulbous tip of the beautiful rod. Neeraj winked as he slipped his foreskin backward to reveal the moist, pink head hiding inside.

He stood up.

Bailey’s heart skipped a beat when the captain sauntered over and stood looking down at him, his incredibly huge manhood pulsing hard and shiny before him.

Neeraj took his tool in his hand.

It was so fat and girthy that he couldn’t even reach around it fully with his fingers.

Bailey’s mouth watered.

And his hole clenched.

He pushed his ass out even further, increasingly confused and desperate by his actions. Why was he acting like this? Why was he–

Neeraj lowered his head and a thick wad of spit slid out of his lips to land with a splat on his shaft.

He worked his saliva onto his dick and spit again.

Bailey panted. His heart was pounding and his skin was clammy.

Neeraj lifted his head and studied Bailey, seeming to enjoy his torment as he squatted there with his huge, bare ass thrust outward. His muscles were spasming. He couldn’t take much more of this.

Then Neeraj said it.

The sound of the man’s deep bass voice reverberated through Bailey like the shockwave of an explosion as he said the unthinkable while massaging his thick cock with his hand:

“Dude, I wanna breed your hole.”

Silence.

Bailey was frozen, mid-thrust, as he stared helplessly up at Neeraj. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was plead with him with his eyes. Plead with him to…

“Uh, hey, guys?” an unfamiliar voice said nearby, startling them. Both Bailey and Neeraj looked over in surprise to see the dude from the front desk standing there, holding up his iPhone and pointing it at them. “You can fuck each other if you wanna,” he continued in a deadpan voice, “but just know that, if you do, the video’s going up on social media and I’m tagging the football and lacrosse teams on it.”

***

Chapter 4

Chuck and Dane (at their frat house)

“Come on, bro! Open up!” Dane yelled on the other side of the bathroom door as he pounded his fist. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” When Chuck still refused to answer, he grew concerned. “Chuck!” he coaxed. “Chuck, man! Chuck! What’s wrong? Talk to me! Are you Ok?”

Chuck sagged against the door, trying desperately to ignore his hardon, trying desperately to ignore the scintillations of desire that Dane’s deep voice awoke inside his chest. Gritting his teeth, he felt his heart pound inside his chest cavity.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

He screwed his eyes shut, stifling a moan when Dane started beating against the door again, pounding in time with his heartbeat.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Go away,” he gasped. “Just go away.”

Dane’s pounding stopped. There was a pause before he called out defiantly, “I’m not going away, bro! I’m staying right here until you tell me what’s wrong. C’mon, man! I’m your best bro! You can tell me anything.”

“Go away.”

Dane’s sigh was audible through the door. “No can do, bro,” he growled. “I’m gonna wait out here until you talk to me.”

“J-J-Just fucking stop talking,” Chuck pleaded in a strangled tone, feeling like his little cock was going to explode if Dane said one more word. Even with a door between them, his friend still held him in thrall. For reasons he couldn’t understand, everything about Dane–Especially his voice at that moment!–was turning him on. 

Why?!

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

There was no sane explanation for this. He was straight! He was a fucking straight guy! A straight guy who was suddenly and inexplicably turned on by his best friend. His best friend with a big, fat cock…

A big, fat, dripping…

(Stop, Chuck! Just stop! Stop thinking about Dane and his cock! Close your eyes and forget about him and that thick piece swinging between his legs! Stop thinking about his…)

A pitiful moan came out of his mouth as he lost control of his thoughts again and they spiraled inevitably back to Dane and his huge tool.

“Chuck. Stop fucking around. Open up!”

That voice! That deep, baritone! That fucking sexy (Sexy???!!!!) voice! God, that voice! It was making his heart palpitate, it making the hair stand up all over his body, it was making his cock…

Gah! It was too much! It had to stop!

Somehow, he managed to muster enough strength to hiss, “Just stop talking and leave me alone.”

Dane paused and Chuck was momentarily hopeful that his plea had been heard but then Dane cleared his throat and Chuck tensed, his skin prickling with foreboding.

“Dude, don’t–” he warned but he was too late.

“I am here for you, Chuck,” came that beautifully resonant voice. That man’s voice. That big, strong man… “I am here for you. I always will be.” 

The sultry sound of Dane’s whisper reverberated through the doorway, its vibrations traveling through the wood and transmitting into the sinews, muscles, and bones of Chuck’s body. It was too much. Too much. Too fucking much…

“AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!”

Before his friend had finished murmuring three words, Chuck lost it and hot jizz rocketed out of his cocklet, soaking his boxers and dripping in thick wads down his thighs. He crumpled to his knees, his cock spasming painfully as he willed the cum fountain to stop but he just kept pumping out more and more and more. He clasped his hands over his crotch in desperation but that only made things worse and more cum spewed out. He whimpered pitifully, overwhelmed with pain and shame and desire. He wasn’t strong enough for this. He wasn’t strong enough…

By the time Dane busted through the door, Chuck was almost delirious. He stared vacantly up at the big man, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. His boxers were soaked with globs of cum and jizz trickled out the leg hole. As his friend gaped down at him, a little jet of it spurted up through his parted fly.

“Chuck, what–?”

Dane never got a chance to finish his question. 

Chuck’s eyes locked onto the bulge in his underwear and, before Dane could back away, he’d reached up and yanked them down, liberating that fat cock. It flopped out, heavy and thick and–Wonder of wonders!–dripping. Licking his lips, Chuck launched himself at the delectable piece of meat and stuffed it into his gaping maw. Chuck latched onto that cock and would not let go, grabbing Dane’s huge ass cheeks in his hands and pulling him close. He swallowed Dane whole.

“Ooof! Ungh! Oh, yeah!” Dane moaned after his initial surprise dissipated and he relaxed into Chuck’s hold. “Fuckin’ A, dude! You’re–Ungh!–a fuckin’–Ahhhh!–pro!” he gasped over the sounds of Chuck’s contented slurping. In no time, his tool was throbbing and hard and he was on the verge of cumming. “Whoa, hold on!” he cried, trying vainly to pull back but Chuck wouldn’t let him go and soon he was pumping his load deep into his friend’s eager throat. Chuck sucked and sucked, delivering good on his tongue’s promise to give Dane the best blowjob of his young life.

Dane collapsed back onto the sink even as Chuck continued to drain him of his seed. It took a long time but Dane was finally sucked dry and his cock softened slowly in Chuck’s mouth. Only then did he sink back on his haunches, his bud’s dick slipping out of his lips with an audible pop. Both guys were dripping with sweat (and cum) and sat there trying to catch their breath. 

Chuck stared adoringly up at his big, handsome friend, feeling like a lost puppy who has finally found his master. The corner of Dane’s eyes crinkled as he smiled down at him. He really was the biggest stud that Chuck had ever seen. So muscular, so broad-shouldered! His brown beard was so thick and woolly! His jaw was so rugged! His hazel eyes were so tender!

Dane lowered his hand and cupped Chuck’s chin. “Wow, buddy,” he said, exhaling with a long sigh. “That was–that was–that was–”

“How’d you get so big?” Chuck interrupted, his eyes sliding down Dane’s muscular body to land longingly on his mysteriously bigger cock. “How’d you do it?”

Dane blinked, his gaze following the same pathway down to his crotch. When he registered the size of his tool, his eyes widened and he exclaimed, “Jesus! Is that all me?”

Chuck was already reaching out to grab him and Dane tensed as his fingers clenched around his shaft. Chuck couldn’t believe it. If anything, Dane’s cock was even bigger than a few minutes ago. How the fuck was that possible? It had to be at least six inches long and it wasn’t even hard yet. He knew that Dane’s member had been barely more than a couple inches long just a couple days ago. How had it grown so big so fast?

“It’s gotta be temporary,” Dane said finally, giving a little shrug. “I’m sure it’ll shrink back down to size after a while. You probably just stretched it out with all yer hoovering.”

Chuck grimaced, unconvinced by this explanation but, before he could express his skepticism, Dane was gently loosening his grip from his cock and tugging him up by the elbows. He pulled him in for a hug and took Chuck’s ass cheeks into his big, strong hands, massaging them and murmuring appreciatively. Then he surprised Chuck by pushing him backward and sinking to his knees. In a second, he’d yanked Chuck’s boxers down and commenced sucking on his little soldier with gusto. Chuck stared down at him before closing his eyes and enjoying the ride.

Dane could really suck a cock!

Chuck came again in no time, filling Dane’s mouth with spunk. Unbelievably, his best bro in the whole world swallowed his juices hungrily, gulping and slurping and groaning with pleasure. When he finally sank back and wiped the cum dribbling down his chin, he announced proudly, “There! I returned the favor. Now your cock is as big as mine!”

Dane’s eyes were closed but they opened with a snap at these words. He stared down at himself in shock, convinced it must be a trick of the light. He blinked and shifted. His eyes weren’t deceiving him.

His cock was bigger.

And fatter.

Chuck’s mouth fell open as he gaped down at himself, unable to stop from taking his organ in his hand. It was fat and long for the first time in his life, measuring at least six or seven inches. He almost dropped it again when he felt it pulse in his palm.

It was like it didn’t belong to him.

Like he’d suddenly grown another guy’s cock.

He squeezed.

For another guy’s cock, it sure felt like it belonged to him, though.

And it basically looked like his old cock, just longer and fatter. His circumcised cockhead was three times wider but still slightly misshapen, like a lopsided mushroom cap.

A really big, lopsided mushroom cap.

But how–?

>>FLASH!<<

Chuck looked up in surprise to see that, while he was busy admiring his bigger tool, Dane had retrieved his iPhone and snapped a pic of him. His friend stared down at his phone, laughing and shaking his head.

“Dude,” he chortled, holding out the phone so Chuck could see himself on the screen, “you look like a kid at Christmas…if Santa was handing out bigger cocks!”

Under normal circumstances, Chuck would have been appalled at Dane for snapping a pic of him with his cock hanging out but he was too worked up and confused–and fucking delighted!–to protest. He didn’t even pull away when Dane settled onto the sink next to him and pulled down his own boxers, taking a selfie of the two of them with their new, bigger cocks hanging out.

“Look at us, bro!” he exclaimed happily as they stared at the unmistakable proof of their bigger, fatter manhoods displayed brightly on the iPhone screen. “We’re two hung bros now! Two hung bros!” He leaned over and planted a kiss on Chuck’s furry cheek and snapped another pic as a huge, silly grin spread across his face.

All of this was wondrous enough, more than Chuck’s poor brain could handle, but his knees went weak and Dane had to prop him up a moment later when he pronounced, “I finally got the cock and the guy I’ve always wanted. On the same day, too! What could be better?”

***

Ky Voloshin and Dante Holmes

Ky’s text was cryptic: >>Meet me @ Kosmos @ 6 – need 2 talk<< 

It was unusual for Ky to text (he preferred Facebook Messenger) and even more unusual for him to want to talk about anything, much less hang out in a cafe. The hunky Ukrainian wasn’t exactly known for his conversation skills. Dante’s brow furrowed when he read the text and he glanced at the time, scowling when he saw it was already after six. If he hurried, though, he’d only be a few minutes late.

When he entered the cafe all thoughts of Ky vanished from his mind, though, when he spotted the hulking, muscular man sitting by the window. The stud was splayed out awkwardly in a chair that was too small, at a table that was too short. Everything about the guy was stunning from his shoulders that were beyond wide to his waist that was beyond narrow. He held a coffee mug in a hand that was so huge that it made the cup look more like an espresso demitasse than a regular mug.  He was decked on in red flannel and skin-tight jeans, a killer combination that made Dante’s pulse pound. Sporting a dense, auburn beard and dusty brown hair, his eyes (Wait, are they green? Shit, they are. He has green eyes!) were unfocused as he stared distractedly out the window. His face was the perfect balance between hardened masculinity and soft vulnerability. His luscious lips were pursed as if he were preoccupied with weighty matters and his giant knee bobbed up and down nervously, banging against the underside of the table, making the napkin holder and sugar dispenser rattle. He appeared to be waiting for someone.

I would give anything to be the man you’re waiting for, Dante thought and then felt sheepish. He was there to meet up with Ky, not to cruise handsome men!

The thing was, Dante realized a moment later when the man looked over and met his gaze, the guy seated at the too-small table was Ky Voloshin. His jaw dropped as Ky struggled to his feet, nearly knocking over the table and chair in the process.

“Holy fucking shit!” Dante exclaimed, gazing up at the big man in awe. “Is that really you, Ky?”

Lowering his head, Ky murmured, “Yes. Yes, it’s me.” His voice was such a deep bass that Dante almost didn’t recognize it. Instinctively, he stepped closer but Ky held up a hand in a warning and backed away, warning, “Don’t get too close to me. I…I might be contagious.”

“Contagious?” Dante repeated, incredulous. “If you’re contagious, then I want to catch whatever it is you’ve got. Fuck man, you’re fucking stacked!” He reached out and put a hand on Ky’s arm, holding on despite the man’s attempt to shake it off.

“Stacked?” Ky repeated, his bushy eyebrows pulling together. “What is the meaning of ‘stacked’?”

“Nevermind,” Dante muttered, pulling the big man over to the table. “I’ll explain it later. Right now, I wanna hear about what happened to you. I’m guessin’ that’s why you wanted to meet up?”

Ky nodded, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. An expression of unexpected anguish crossed his face before his usual flat affect reasserted itself. 

“Here,” Dante offered, pulling a chair out for his friend. “Why don’t you take a seat while I get some coffee, Ok? We can talk once I get back.” Ky again nodded and settled uncomfortably into the chair. 

He doesn’t know how to move in this new body of his, Dante observed silently, shaking his head as he made his way over to the counter. It was weird, almost humorous watching him struggle; Ky always moved with the grace and poise of a demigod. Seeing him like this made him more human…and a lot sexier!

He could feel Ky’s eyes on him the whole time he was in line but the big man looked away every time Dante cast a glance his way. For some reason, this got Dante even more worked up and his cock was hard in his jeans by the time he returned with his low-fat, soy latte.

“So,” he began as he sat down at the table across from Ky. “Tell me your secret. How’d you pack on so much muscle? And grow like, what? Six inches?”

Ky’s gaze flicked to his face before he looked away, his cheeks coloring in the most adorable way. “Dante,” he began slowly in that deep, unfamiliar voice, “this is the problem. I did nothing.” He flushed a deeper red at Dante’s look of disbelief, motioning to his overgrown frame and bulging muscles. “You have to believe me! Something is happening to my body and I don’t know what to do! I am really worried and I don’t have anyone else to talk to. I need help!”

He sounded so sincere–and plaintive–that Dante forced himself to suspend his disbelief and hear him out. “Ok, dude,” he said delicately. “Have you seen a doctor? As a student, you have full healthcare coverage.”

“No.”

“Well, that would be the first thing to do.”

Ky swallowed, fixing Dante with those disconcertingly big, beautiful, green eyes. “Will you go with me? I don’t know how it works.”

“Of course, I will, man!” Dante exclaimed, feeling touched. “I got your back. We can go to the student health service first thing tomorrow morning and they’ll refer you to a specialist who can diagnose you.”

“Th-That would be great,” Ky stammered, hanging his head.

He looked so forlorn that Dante reached across the table and gathered up his massive hands in his own. Surprisingly, the big man didn’t pull away. If anything, Dante’s touch seemed to soothe him and he even returned the squeeze as Dante marveled at sheer size of his mitts.

Still not looking up from the table, Ky moaned, “There is more.”

“Tell me.”

“I am afraid that I may not be a student here much longer.”

Dante blinked, sputtering, “What? Why do you say that?” He didn’t realize he was clenching Ky’s hands until the big man winced and he loosened his grip apologetically.

“It is ballet,” Ky explained. “I just lost the lead in my upcoming performance and, if I don’t figure out how to stop…whatever it is that’s happening to me, I will lose my scholarship!”

“Hey, man, you don’t know–”

Before he could finish, though, Ky cut him off, insisting, “I am being serious! One of the other dancers has already accused me of taking steroids. If he tells my professors…”

Dante paused, collecting his thoughts. He was about to respond when they heard a familiar voice call out behind them.

“Ky? Dante? Is that you?”  

Startled, they looked up to see Coach Washington advancing on them from across the cafe. The big man’s face was split into a wide grin and he was tugging along a woman on his arm whom Dante assumed was his wife. “This is perfect!” the coach boomed as they came to a halt before their table. “I was just telling Marjolaine about you! These are my guys, Marj!” he announced, placing his arm over his wife’s shoulders and urging her forward. “I want to introduce you to my two favorite players, Dante Holmes and Kyrylo Voloshin!”

Coach Washington and his wife were both dressed in very tasteful and expensive clothes, clearly enjoying a night on the town. Dante had never seen the coach looking so dapper. He was used to seeing him on the practice field in grey sweats and an orange Polecat baseball cap. Tonight, though, he looked quite handsome in a black suit with a pink shirt and a stylish tie. His wife was even more stunning, wearing a shimmering black and white confection that accentuated her slim figure. Dante noted with approval that she wore her short, greying hair in a natural, finger coil style that complemented Coach Washington’s tight afro.

“I’m quite charmed to meet you both,” Marjolaine declared in a throaty voice as she extended an elegant hand. Her smile was both welcoming and sincere.

Ky and Dante blinked up at her, still frozen with surprise at the unexpected appearance of the couple. Dante was the first to recover, sitting up and extracting his fingers from Ky’s grip to take Marjolaine’s proffered hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Washington,” he declared, meaning it; he’d always been curious to see what sort of a woman shared her life with his beloved coach.

A loud bang caused both Dante and Marjolaine jump and they looked over to see Ky’s chair lying on the floor; the huge man had knocked it over in his attempt to stand. He wobbled there, looking sheepish, until Dante grabbed his arm, steadying him. Ky’s cheeks colored pink with embarrassment at his clumsiness and his accent seemed thicker than usual as he pronounced, “The pleasure is mine as well, Ma’am.” He took Marjolaine’s hand and shook it before dropping it again almost perfunctorily. 

He’s super self-conscious, Dante thought, feeling his affection for the big Ukrainian bump up a notch. 

Marjolaine’s reply was forestalled when Coach Washington laughed, reaching out to slap Ky on the back and joking, “Whoa, Voloshin! You’re gonna have to lay off the weights! You’re turning into a beast. We need you to be light and lean if you’re gonna be our kicker!”

Ky’s face fell at these words and he stood there struggling to respond. Finally, Dante took pity on him and stepped in to change the subject, “So, what brings you out tonight? Catching a show?”

“We have tickets to the opera,” Marjolaine informed them quietly. “It’s the premiere of Magic Flute. Darnel is a big Mozart fan.”

Coach Washington started to look down at this disclosure but he perked up again when Dante exclaimed, “Me, too! God, I’m so envious you got tickets! I guess the soprano who plays the Queen of Night really nails that impossible aria.”

“Yes, yes!” Coach Washington agreed. “She is supposed to be quite good. I didn’t know you were into opera, Dante!”

“Opera, symphonies,” Dante admitted, glancing slyly over to Ky before adding, “ballet dancers.”

It took everyone a moment to get his implied meaning and, when they did, Marjolaine’s eyes sparkled, Ky’s ears went pink, and Coach Washington barked with laughter. The coach was the first to recover, turning to Ky and saying, “Speaking of which, we have tickets to your ballet on Sunday night. We can’t wait to see you in the lead role!”

Ky looked down, once again at a loss for words. This time, though, Dante waited for him to collect himself and reply. It took him awhile but Ky finally raised his head, saying, “I am very thankful for that but I am no longer the lead. I am now dancing the part of Tybalt, not Romeo.”

“What?” Coach Washington demanded. “Why?”

Ky shrugged, looking miserable. “I have gotten too big. I cannot execute Romeo’s moves.”

“We were just talking about this,” Dante explained, spreading his hands, “before you guys found us.”

Coach Washington nodded and Marjolaine gave Ky a sympathetic smile. “I see,” the coach said finally. “Well, Voloshin, don’t worry. You’ll always have a place on the football team no matter how big and heavy you are. We might have to move you to the defensive line if you get much bigger, though.”

“Thank you, Coach,” Ky said. “I may need to talk to you more about that soon.”

“You do that,” Coach Washington said, nodding. “My door’s always open.” He paused and looked down at his watch before straightening. “Well, we won’t keep you boys. The show starts in a few minutes and I’m sure you’ve got other…things…on your mind.” He winked and this time both Dante and Ky flushed. “I’m glad we ran into you, though.”

He was turning to leave when Marjolaine elbowed him and he stopped, looking chagrined. “Oh, and I almost forgot,” he added. “What’re you doing Saturday night after the game? If you don’t have plans, Marj and I would love to have you both over for dinner.”

OMG, Dante thought frantically, he thinks we’re a couple! Then he paused, remembering that he and Ky had been holding hands when the Washington’s approached their table. Of course they thought he and Ky were a couple! Shit, shit, shit!

While he was struggling to come up with a response, Ky surprised him by saying, “I’m free. What about you, Dante?”

Dante glanced over at him but Ky’s expression was unreadable. “Yes, I’m free, too,” he replied, hoping his confusion didn’t come across in his voice. “I’d love to come over.”

“Excellent!” Marjolaine said. “I’ll make everything. Don’t worry about bringing a thing. Our son, Malik, and his friend will be the only other guests. You have any foods you avoid?”

“Uh, none for me,” Dante answered. “I eat everything.”

Ky smiled, nodding. “Me, too.”

“It’s settled then,” Coach Washington said happily. “Be at our place at six!” With that, he and his wife waltzed off, leaving Dante and Ky staring behind them.

“Uh, dude,” Dante whispered after they were out of earshot. “You know that they think we’re a couple, right?”

Ky’s eyes rolled over to him and his face broke into a sly grin. “Yes, yes, I do.”

Dante’s cock pulsed in his jeans and he had to tell himself sternly not to get his hopes up. Ky was just being coy. “And you’re Ok with that?”

Shrugging, Ky knelt down and lifted his chair off the floor before settling into it awkwardly. “Why not? You are my friend.”

“Ky, you–”

Dante’s phone buzzed in his pocket before he finished and he pulled it out without thinking. His brow furrowed when he saw that it was Miles Carlyle, the Polecat’s quarterback. I wonder what he wants? He glanced up at Ky apologetically as he slid his finger across the screen to take the call.

“Hey, Miles,” he began, trying to his best not to sound annoyed. “What’s up?”

Miles didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Fuckin’ shit, Holmes!” he fumed. “Have you fuckin’ seen Twitter? I’m fucking blaming you for this! Starks never did shit like this until you made his ass into a butt-sex billboard! Now he’s gone balls-out, full-on homo!”

Dante rolled his eyes. “Carlyle, would you mind slowing down and telling me what you’re talking about?” He paused to wave off Ky’s look of concern, adding, “What’s Bailey done now?”

“Go to my Twitter page,” Miles instructed in a cold voice. “The University removed the post but not before like a couple hundred people copied and retweeted it. It’s at the top of my page.”

“Hold on.” 

Puzzled, Dante put Miles on speaker before lowering his phone. He was about to open the Twitter app when he noticed that he had a backlog of over fifty unread text messages, mostly from his football teammates. He only had time to glance at them but it was clear they were very angry about something. Shaking his head, he clicked on the Twitter icon and searched for Miles’ account. When he clicked on it and saw the video that popped up on the feed, he almost dropped the phone, exclaiming, “Holy fucking shit!”

“I see you’ve found it,” came Miles’ droll response. “He’s fucking ruined the team’s reputation, Holmes, and it’s all your fucking fault!”

Dante’s heart was pounding as he watched the outrageous video playing on his phone. Curious, Ky shifted over next to him and looked down at it, his face going white. He looked away. Dante, however, sat there transfixed, unable to make himself close the video. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Couldn’t believe that was really Bailey and Neeraj Kaur–the lacrosse captain!?–on the screen fucking the shit out of each other. The video went on, becoming more graphic the longer it played. It ended with Bailey kneeling down and parting his wide ass cheeks–the huge, black ‘FUCK ME’ scrawled across them clearly visible–as he begged Neeraj to destroy his hole again. The thing was, his hole looked like it had already been pretty destroyed after taking so much abuse from the captain’s humongous cock.

Dante swallowed, only belatedly reading the caption over the post: ‘IT’S OFFICIAL!!! LACROSSE TOPS FOOTBALL!’ 

The video ended and he stopped it before it could replay. He felt ill. He felt…

“You still there, Holmes?”

It was Miles’ gruff voice. Dante looked down at his phone; he’d completely forgotten the quarterback was still on the line. His throat was parched as he croaked, “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good, ‘cuz you gotta find Bailey. He’s been missing since this morning and didn’t show up at practice or any of his classes. Chuck and Dane went to look for him but no one has seen them for hours, either.”

Dante felt numb and had to work to make himself answer. “I’ll find ‘em, Miles,” he said finally. “I think I know where to look.”

The phone clicked and Dante looked up to see Ky’s eyes had gone wide. The big man was clearly in a state of shock after seeing the pornographic video. “Listen, Ky,” he explained hurriedly, “I’m sorry but I gotta go. I will see you at Health Service tomorrow morning at 8am, though.”

***

Chapter 5

Chuck and Dane

(We catch up with our frat bros later in the morning after Neeraj and Bailey’s video but earlier than Dante and Ky would meet in the cafe…)

That week had been the best week of Chuck’s life. Exploring man-on-man sex with his best bro, Dane, was a delirious dream come to true. The weird thing was that it was a dream that he didn’t even realize he’d been harboring. If he weren’t so smitten with his studly friend–and overcome with excitement over his ever-growing equipment–he may have questioned it. As it was, though, he was overcome with lust and it was all he could to keep his hands off Dane during the day. His big new tool was left dripping with anticipation for the moment when Dane would sneak into his bedroom at night and he could get his mouth around that gorgeous, fat cock again.

They kept their budding relationship–and bigger cocks–under wraps, hiding both from their frat brothers and their football teammates in order to avoid suspicion or unwanted attention. It was testament to their discretion that no one seemed to notice. Their frat brothers were usually too stoned or drunk to pay attention to the way Chuck turned into a puppy dog when Dane was around. Likewise, their teammates were used to them changing under a towel in the locker room because they were embarrassed by their tiny dicks. No one guessed that they were now doing this ‘towel change’ for the opposite reason. 

Every night was a suck-fest with both guys trying to outdo the other as they sixty-nined it, gulping and slurping and devouring their buddy’s big dick. Their libido seemed to be increasing along with their dick size, too; it only took a few minutes before they were hard again after shooting their loads. They would cuddle together, swapping collected mouthfuls of cum between them in a contest to see who could go the longest without swallowing. Invariably Chuck would lose because he couldn’t get enough of the tangy, musky flavor of his bro’s jizz. It never occurred to him that drinking cum was something that would have turned his stomach only days before.

Both men had to invest in new underwear and jeans as the evidence of their burgeoning manhoods started to become noticeable. Dane found an online reseller specializing in underwear for well-hung guys and over-nighted a dozen pair of boxers to their frat house. Chuck made sure to be there when the package arrived to spirit the box away before his brothers saw. Unfortunately, the boxers proved roomy enough only for a couple days before the pinching began, prompting Chuck to order custom-made undies with an even larger pouch. It was, Chuck thought with a grin, a good problem to have.

Neither guy got much sleep but it didn’t seem to matter. Was it the endorphin-release after so much sex? The high they got from cocksucking? The satisfaction of watching their dicks grow longer and thicker everyday? Whatever the reason, the spring never left their step as they hastened to class and practice, barely able to wait for nighttime when they could share a bed again. Life was bliss for Chuck when Dane was nearby. The only thing that made it better was his cock firmly lodged in his mouth.

“Easy, babe,” Dane cautioned as Chuck eagerly sucked on his cock for the fourth time that night. He was lying on his back with Chuck’s head buried between his meaty thighs. “I think you’re starting to wear the skin off!”

Chuck reluctantly eased up, making a little growl of protest in the back of his throat. He pulled back entirely a moment later when he realized that Dane was only half hard. 

“What’s the matter, bro?” Dane coaxed. “I didn’t mean for ya to stop suckin’. Just be gentle.”

Chuck took his brah’s snake in his hand. It was almost a foot long by then and fat as a firehose. The big anaconda flopped lazily back and forth in his grip as he massaged it, trying to get his man hard again. It worked…sort of; Dane’s dick got a little harder. He smiled and dove down on the beautiful thing…

…Only to pull back again a few minutes later when Dane’s tool went soft in his mouth. He lifted his head and gazed beseechingly at his friend, whining, “Am I doin’ sumthin’ wrong?”

Dane pushed himself up on his elbows, a quizzical expression on his face. “Fuck, no, bro! You’re doin’ everything right! I’m just about ready to blow!”

Chuck’s brow furrowed. “Huh? Really? Then why’d you go soft on me?”

“I’m fucking hard as a rock, dude!” Dane protested. “Can’t you–” He paused then and looked down at his dick. Chuck wiggled his hand, making the monster flop back and forth like a dying fish. It was soft, soft, soft!

Eyebrows rising, Dane reached down and took his pole in hand, working it up and down with increasing vigor. He stopped after a minute, though, confused. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like I’m gonna cum but can’t get hard.” He winced then and closed his eyes as if in pain. When he opened them again, he stared at his cock in surprise and consternation. “What the fuck?!” he sputtered. “It just got even softer. Look at it!” He whipped it around in front of Chuck’s face. He was right; the big tube had deflated even further and now drooped limp and listless in his big hand.

Chuck licked his lips. The sight of his buddy’s cock was making him so hungry that he didn’t care if it was soft. He wanted it in his mouth! Dane stopped him, though, when he opened his mouth and attempted to stuff it inside.

“Hold off a bit,” he urged. “I think I just need to recharge.” He dropped his cock and took Chuck by the shoulders, pulling him upward. “How ‘bout if you let me suck on yer tool instead? I’m dying for another taste of yer spunk!”

Chuck obliged, straddling Dane on his knees and shoving his proud monster in his friend’s face. He was so turned on that he had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from cumming as soon as Dane’s soft lips closed around him. He moaned in ecstasy as his bro gobbled him up…and then groaned in disappointment a minute later when Dane pulled back just as he was going to shoot.

“Wha–?”

“You tired, man?” Dane queried, cutting him off; he sounded pissed. “Or bored?”

Chuck stared down at his friend, hurt. He choked off his whine of protest, though, when his gaze landed on his cock. He frowned. (Wait, what?!) It was bigger than ever, easily matching Dane’s in thickness and length. His once insignificant dick had attained godlike proportions.

There was only one problem.

He was completely limp.

Lifeless.

Inert.

The stupendously huge tool–his pride and joy!–sagged down onto Dane’s fuzzy chest. It was leaking pre like a fucking faucet from his gaping piss slit but somehow this only seemed to make it look more pathetic. Like a wounded animal. A dying, wounded animal.

He reached down and grabbed his piece, waving it up and down as if somehow this would resuscitate it. His brain simply could not believe that he wasn’t hard. He felt turned on as shit but oddly this state of arousal didn’t translate into an erection. He’d never had trouble getting hard before! What the fuck was wrong?

“Would you stop that?” Dane demanded after getting sprayed in the face with globs of precum. “Just forget about it. Obviously, you’re not in the mood tonight.” He pushed Chuck off of him, adding, “I’m gonna sleep in my own bed. Let me know when you can get it up like a man again.”

“But, but,” Chuck complained. “But you’re soft, too!”

Dane shook his head. “That’s only because you sucked me four times already! I’ll be hard as a rock soon enough.”

Chuck hung his head. He reached out to hug Dane, trying to stop his friend from leaving, but the big man shoved his hands off. Getting up in a huff, he stepped into his sweatpants and stuffed his limp tubesteak down the leg. The outline of it and his enormous balls was unmistakable; they filled out the sweats, bugling obscenely. As a sign of just how annoyed he was, he didn’t even bother covering up his crotch before stalking out of Chuck’s room.

The door slammed behind him and Chuck collapsed down on his cum-stained sheets, heartsick and miserable. Dane’s rejection was painful enough but he was also so fucking horny that he almost couldn’t stand it. He lay there, panting and wiping away tears and feeling sorry for himself until he fell into a disturbed and restless sleep.

***

He awoke to Dane’s furry asshole smothering his face.

“Ungh!” he sputtered, nose wrinkling at his bro’s ripe scent. “Wha–?”

“Shut up and eat me!” Dane ordered. He was squatting down over Chuck’s face, straddling his head and pushing his moist hole against Chuck’s lips. “It’s the least you can do after sucking the life out of my cock!”

He inadvertently opened his mouth and tasted more of Dane than he’d ever wanted. He writhed on the bed under his friend but Dane had him locked down and he couldn’t avoid his fate. If he wanted to breathe, he had no choice but to get busy. He stuck his tongue out and lapped.

Dane moaned.

Chuck made a face. This was the grossest thing he’d ever done. Disgusting. Yucky.

And also kind of hot.

He moistened his tongue, swishing it around in his mouth and tasting Dane’s musky flavor. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. There was something manly about it. Yeah, Dane tasted like a man. And his asshole…

Fuck, his asshole!

Chuck licked that man bud with his sloppy tongue, eliciting a long, low grunt from his best bro. Dane pushed his ass down harder and unclenched a bit, opening his pucker. Chuck smiled to himself, realizing that he was getting into this. He wedged his tongue into that tender, soft crevice. Such a vulnerable part of a man. Such a delicious secret.

He reached up and grabbed Dane’s firehose of a cock, eyes widening when he realized it was even bigger. And even softer. Apparently, nothing he did was having an effect on it. Yet Dane was acting like he was having the time of his life. This was confirmed a minute later when his buddy lifted his head and howled, his limp hose spraying Chuck’s chest and belly with what felt like bucketfuls of cum.

He sprayed and sprayed, grinding his tender hole into Chuck’s face and yelling at the top of his lungs. He was so loud that Chuck worried he’d wake their sleeping brothers even though his room was on the top floor, far away from the nearest bedroom. (This was the reason Dane came to his room at night, not the other way around.)

“OMG, bro!” Dane gasped happily as his spasming subsided. “That was fuckin’ amazin’!” He scooted his butt down onto Chuck’s chest, finally allowing him to take a full breath without an asshole in his face. When Chuck remained silent, he leaned down and kissed him, making a funny face when he tasted the residual flavor of manhole on Chuck’s tongue. “Thank you, man!” he breathed as his sweat dripped down onto Chuck’s body, mixing with his spew. “Thank you.”

Chuck returned the kiss tentatively, feeling confused. How could Dane have shot like that with a totally limp dick? And didn’t he know that his cock was soft? To make sure he wasn’t imagining things, he reached down at squeezed his bro’s tool.

Limp as shit.

Dane was softer than ever!

Pulse quickening with dread, he held his breath as he lowered his hand down to his own massive organ. And stifled a whimper when his fingers confirmed his worst fear.

He was completely flaccid, too.

“What’s wrong, lil’ buddy?” Dane coaxed, dipping his head to kiss him again.

Chuck couldn’t answer. His brain was too overloaded as he struggled to understand how he could be so fucking turned on–His crotch was on fire!–without any of this arousal showing up in his new, incredibly huge cock. Was something wrong with them? Was something–

“I know what you need,” Dane cajoled when he didn’t reply. With elaborate care, he shimmied down the bed and lifted Chuck’s legs up until his feet were positioned on either side of his head and his butthole was pointing up in the air. His lifeless dick was now so large that his bulbous cockhead dribbled pre down on his chin. Dane grinned at him before lowering his chin and sticking out his tongue.

Chuck gasped.

Chuck writhed.

Chuck moaned.

Dane was licking his hole! Dane was fucking eating his ass! Dane was–

“FUUUUUUCK!” he cried, letting loose with a volcanic organism after barely ten seconds of licking. His jizz soaked his neck and face, drenching him and the sheets beneath him. He writhed on the bed as Dane continue to delve into his asshole, pushing his tongue inside as far as he could. Then he surprised Chuck by inserting his finger and rolling it around.

In a fraction of a second, Chuck was aroused again, although any evidence of arousal still failed to manifest in his dick; his sleeping giant continued to slumber. His stream of cum tapered off slightly, although his hose continued to leak copious amounts of pre. When Dane inserted another finger, Chuck almost lost again. He couldn’t believe Dane was doing this!

“Fuck me!”

He stopped, almost choking when he realized what he’d said.

“FUCK ME!”

Chuck clamped his mouth shut in utter disbelief. Had he really just shouted that? Did he really…?!

“FUUUUUUUUUUCK MEEEEEEE!”

Yep, he had. He had just said that.

There was only one problem.

Dane couldn’t fuck him.

Not with a lifeless, limp dick.

Nope, there was no way that Dane–his best bro and the sexiest man alive–could relieve the hunger that he’d awakened in Chuck’s hole. And no way for him to reciprocate, either.

Chuck and Dane had been blessed with the biggest, fattest cocks imaginable.

And cursed to never get hard again.

It would take them a while before the true nature of their curse sank in, though. Right then, it was only beginning to dawn on them when Dane’s iPhone began ringing, the screen glowing on the floor by the bed. Together, they looked down at it. 

Dane squinted, saying, “It’s Bailey. Whaddaya suppose he wants?” Leaving Chuck whimpering in protest with his hungry hole still pointing up at the ceiling, he climbed down off the bed and answered.

>>Dane!<< came Bailey’s desperate voice before he could say a word. >>You gotta come get me now! And Bring Chuck with you. I’m at the lacrosse team’s clubhouse.<<

***

Chapter 6

Dante Holmes, later that evening after leaving the cafe

Even though he’d assured Miles that he knew where to find Bailey, Dante had no idea where to begin looking for the big idiot. He was extremely ambivalent about searching in the first place and cursed himself for caving into Miles’ demand to look for him. He should be back in that cafe soothing the distraught Ky. But, no! Where was he? Out on the fucking street looking for a goddamned bully he didn’t give a fuck about. And meanwhile, poor Ky was back there, so forlorn and lost…

Dante shivered, feeling his cock harden in his jeans at the thought of the big Ukrainian. Ky Voloshin was everything he’d ever wanted in a man. More than that, Ky was things that Dante hadn’t even realized he wanted. Every time he saw Ky, he became inexplicably more attractive while at the same time seeming more available. He knew Ky was straight but–Shit!–the guy had just held his hand! Did he dare hope that maybe…? 

God, how the fuck was he supposed to focus on finding Bailey when he just wanted to run back to the cafe and take Ky in his arms?

He grimaced, shoving his mutinous cock down a pant leg and trying vainly to stop thinking about Ky. (Focus on Bailey, Dante. Focus on Bailey.) Shit, fucking Bailey! The only good thing about Bailey Starks was the mere thought of him was enough to kill his erection. There was nothing attractive about the big asshole. Despite Dante’s hatred of the lacrosse team and especially that arrogant prick Neeraj Kaur, part of him was happy that Bailey had ‘gone gay’ in such a public and humiliating way. It served him right!

He snorted when he remembered Bailey’s ass in the video. It was probably the camera angle but the guy’s butt cheeks had appeared obscenely huge. And then there were his hulking thighs and the tiny nub of a cock. Ha! Dante couldn’t help smiling a little at the memory. Yeah, it served Bailey right even if his humiliation was symbolically shared by the rest of the football team. (Lacrosse tops football? Hmpf!) It was really fucking hilarious–

Gah!

He mentally berated himself for getting distracted again. Focus, Dante. Focus! he thought as he stalked down the sidewalk, heading back toward campus. Now, If I were that lacrosse captain’s bottom bitch, where would I be? 

Looking around, he realized belatedly it was a pleasant autumn evening. The streets were shimmering with the traces of an afternoon rain and a cool breeze blew down from the hills. Damp leaves scattered at his feet and the air smelled rich, woodsy, and fragrant. The only thing that would make this evening better is Ky, he thought before shaking himself. He would see Ky soon enough. The very next morning, in fact. And then he and the studly ballet dancer were going to Coach Washington’s for dinner after the football game on Saturday night. Christ, he thought, how am I gonna make it that long without jumping him?

Come on, Dante. Focus!

Let’s see, he thought, forcibly steering his attention back to Bailey. He’s obviously gonna be somewhere with Neeraj. What do I know about Neeraj? Other than he’s got a giant ego and he plays lacrosse? Hmmmm…

He started to turn toward Neeraj and Bailey’s dorm but then stopped, shaking his head. Miles was Bailey’s roommate, right? The quarterback wasn’t exactly the smartest guy around but Dante knew he would have already looked for Bailey in Neeraj’s dorm room. Clearly, Bailey wasn’t in the dorm. Then…where?

The lacrosse practice grounds?

He shrugged. It was a start. The lacrosse team’s practice was long over and it was already dark but they might still be in the locker rooms. Would Neeraj have taken Bailey there? Seemed unlikely but it was the only lead he had. Dante pulled out his student ID, wondering if it would get him into the lacrosse locker room. It was worth a try!

***

He was denied access to the lacrosse team’s complex when he slid his ID through the card reader at the front of the building. He pressed his face against the window, peering in. The building looked dark. Definitely not a good sign. He was turning to go when a custodian saw him and took pity, opening the door.

“Forget your ID, man?” he asked, looking Dante up and down and furrowing his brow. “I didn’t know any brothers was on the lacrosse team. You new or sumthin’?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dante replied, pushing past the man with a grateful nod. “Thanks, man. I owe ya one.”

He continued down the hallway, pausing only briefly at the entrance to the men’s locker room before pushing open the door. Inside, the place smelled like a typical locker room, damp and musty, but he stopped in amazement when he flicked on a lightswitch. The Polecat lacrosse team’s locker room was a luxury palace compared to the football team’s.

“What the fuck!?” he snorted, looking around with his mouth hanging open. “A sauna? Heated benches? Plush towels? Lockers made from teak? And is that a fucking potted palm tree?! This is ridiculous!”

Shaking his head at the outrageous excesses heaped upon his hated rivals, Dante was sorely tempted to commit an act of vandalism but somehow resisted. He took a few deep breaths and ignored the surroundings as best he could. He needed to find Bailey and the sooner he did, the sooner he would be free to daydream about Ky…and hate on the lacrosse team. Yes, he had to find Bailey.

“Where is that fucker?” he wondered aloud, putting his hands on his hips and examining the room. 

He paced around, systematically opening doors (the steam room, the whirlpool, the massage parlor…) Wait! WTF? A massage parlor!? This last bit of decadence made him reconsider his decision not to vandalize the place but, after wrestling valiantly with his conscience, he let it go. Life just wasn’t fair…

The locker room was empty and Dante was out of ideas. Bailey could be anywhere! He pulled his phone out of his pocket and was preparing to call Miles back when it buzzed.

He furrowed his brow, staring down at the screen. It was a text from Chuck of all people.

>>Hey, my friend!<< it read >>I found Bailey but he needs our help. Can you meet us at the lacrosse clubhouse? Please hurry!<<

Dante stared at the text, rereading it several times, eyebrows going up further each time. “WTF?” he wondered finally, talking to himself in the empty room. “‘Friend’? Since when am I his fucking friend?” 

He shivered in disgust at the thought. Chuck was perhaps the only person he found less appealing than Bailey. Oh, wait! There was Chuck’s Cro Magnon twin, Dane. Oh yeah, Dane was worse. Why would Chuck text him? Why not text Miles instead? And there was something else that didn’t add up: The text was grammatically perfect. Even the punctuation was correct. Who the fuck texts like that? he wondered. Definitely not Chuck! He’s barely fucking literate! Something is off here. Very off…

He pondered what to do for a while, finally deciding to call Miles and tell him about Chuck’s text. Yeah, fucking Miles can go investigate. Not me! he thought. He is Bailey’s friend after all. I’ve done my part. 

The quarterback answered after a few rings, sounding a lot more pleasant than when he’d called Dante in the cafe. “Well?” he asked, breathlessly. “Any luck?”

“Maybe,” Dante began slowly. “I just got a weird text from Dane. He said that Bailey is at the lacrosse clubhouse.”

“Really? Wow.”

“He wanted me to head over there but I’m not gonna,” Dante said flatly. “You asked me to find him and I did. Job over.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Miles protested before he could hang up. “We can’t just leave him there! He needs our help!”

Dante rolled his eyes. “Miles, I’m sure you and Dane can handle this on your own. Besides, I can’t stand the dude.”

There was a startled pause, then: “Bailey is our brother, Dante! We’re a team, remember? He would be there for you if you were in the same position.”

“I seriously doubt that and I would never be in the same position,” Dante pointed out. “No way in hell I’d let Neeraj near my hole.”

There was a loud exhale on the other end before Miles huffed, “Not cool, dude. Not cool.”

Dante laughed. “Just leave Bailey alone, Miles. He’s a big boy. He obviously knows what he’s doing…and who he’s doing.”

“Listen, Holmes,” Miles barked, dropping any pretense of niceness, “Like I said before, I don’t know what you did to him but I hold you responsible for Bailey’s…change. I’m heading over to that clubhouse now and I expect you meet me there.”

“WHAT?!” Dante started to object but Miles had already hung up.

***

Like the locker room had been, the lacrosse clubhouse was dark when Dante arrived. The walk over hadn’t done much to soothe his mood; he was still simmering with anger at being ordered around by Miles. I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is! he raged inwardly, but I am not fucking responsible for Bailey’s antics. I didn’t make him strip down and spread his hole for Neeraj! I didn’t–

“Holmes.”

He jumped at the sound of his name and then scowled when Miles Carlisle’s shadow detached itself from the shrubbery. Miles was a tall, lean guy, standing well over six feet tall while weighing in at a svelte one hundred sixty pounds. He was known for his lightning speed and outstanding arm: He could pass like no one else on the team. Built from sturdy Midwestern stock, his shoulders were broad and his facial features were blunt. His jaw stuck out in an obvious underbite, reminding Dante of a bulldog. Despite this or maybe because of it, Miles possessed an unvarnished sort of machismo that Dante might have found appealing if he wasn’t such an asshole.

“Fucking shit, Carlisle!” he shouted in surprise, consciously unballing his fists as adrenaline coursed through his veins. “You should know better than a sneak up on a guy like that!”

Miles stepped into the wan light of a streetlamp, smirking. “Sorry, bro. Didn’t think you’d have the balls to come.”

“Not the way to get on my good side,” Dante warned, eyes narrowing. “Not the way–”

“Aw, c’mon!” Miles cajoled, walking over to sling a friendly arm over his shoulder. “Why’re you always so prickly, man? We’re buds, aren’t we? Polecats to the end!”

Dante bristled at the physical contact but didn’t shove Miles’ arm off like he so badly wanted to. Miles smelled of beer and AXE Body Spray, the redolent perfume of rednecks in Dante’s playbook. “We may be teammates, Carlisle,” he growled, “but, as far as I’m concerned, that means shit when we’re not on the field. Got me?”

Surprisingly, Miles laughed, saying, “Stop being such a grouch!” While Dante waved the stench of beer away, he continued, “You got me all wrong. And I got you wrong, too. I owe ya an apology. You really came through.”

Dante gave him a sour look. “That’s the beer talkin’ right there, Carlisle. ‘Sides,” he said, turning to look at the darkened clubhouse while shrugging off Miles’ arm. “I think Chuck was wrong. There’s no one here.”

“You don’t know that, dude. It’s a big place,” Miles countered, walking somewhat unsteadily up the ramp to the front door. “He might be in the basement.”

“Miles,” Dante sighed. “C’mon! He’s not in there. The place is locked up tight.”

The quarterback waved him off, reaching for the handle. Dante blinked a moment later when the door clicked open. Miles turned back to him, triumphant. “See? Told ya. It’s open. Let’s go get our boy!” Before Dante could reply, the quarterback had disappeared through the doorway.

“Jesus fucking…” Dante muttered under his breath, reluctantly following him inside. 

***

Even though it was only dimly lit inside when he entered, Dante could tell that the clubhouse was extremely well-appointed. Granite floors, a hand-woven tapestry featuring Mohawk warriors playing lacrosse on rocky field, skylights, a wrought-iron sculpture of a semi-nude player, holding his stick victoriously over his head…the list of wonders went on and on. Fucking over-privileged fucks, he thought, shaking his head. How did the lacrosse team rate so highly compared to the much harder-working and more skilled football team? Did they have a gazillionaire alum or something?

Dante was so distracted by the opulence (and his inner commentary) that he lost track of Miles. Reaching the end of a long hallway, he looked around for the guy, calling softly, “Hey, Miles! Miles! Where’d ya go?”

Ahead, a huge oak door had been left partially ajar. Ears straining, he was certain he heard Miles say his name. Taking the ornately-carved handle (shaped like the basket of a lacrosse stick, of course), he yanked the door open.

Several things happened at once then and only later did Dante have the presence of mind to sort through them. The first thing he recalled was Miles’ voice announcing, “I brought him here like you asked.” By then, he was already poised over the threshold and it was too late to change course. His foot had barely touched down when someone grabbed him and threw a hood over his head. Dante yelled, “AW, HELL NAW!” while struggling fiercely. He might have succeeded in freeing himself if several more hands hadn’t grabbed him and started wrestling him to the floor.

Even though he was heavily outnumbered, Dante didn’t give in easily and made his assailants pay dearly. He was a strong guy and no stranger to fighting, having fought his way out of more than one scrape in his young life. He put all of his strength into resisting, managing to land more than a few punches. In the end, though, he found himself lying on his stomach on the wood floor, his head twisted painfully to the side. From the feel of it, a half dozen guys were piled on top of him.

“FUCKING FUCK!” he yelled. “GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME, YOU FUCKS!”

He was gathering his strength to redouble his efforts when a deep voice in his ear soothed, “Easy, Dante. Easy. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“NEERAJ!” Dante howled, recognizing the speaker instantly. “You fucking bastard! Let me the fuck go!”

“Not gonna happen until you calm the fuck down, buddy.”

Dante tried to kick but could barely move his leg with all the weight on top of him. Neeraj snorted, “Ha! Fiery. Quite different from your teammates, aren’t you? We didn’t have to resort to subterfuge to lure them here. They practically came running with their pants around their ankles after receiving Bailey’s invitation.”

“Shut the fuck up, you lying bastard!” Dante shouted. “There’s no fucking way!”

“Ahhh, but you’re wrong, Dante,” Neeraj breathed in his ear, settling his weight more fully on top of him. “They’re all here in this room. You’ve kept us waiting for too long but now that you’re here, the party can finally get started.”

“I don’t fucking believe you!” Dante gasped, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe with the hood over his mouth and the weight of the guys smothering him.

“Then I’ll show you,” Neeraj murmured. “But you have to agree to behave. Deal?”

“Go fuck yourself!”

This was met with harsh laughter and Dante was preparing a fresh verbal assault when Neeraj dropped a bombshell. “Behave,” the big captain ordered, “or I’ll force you to unlock your phone and send a text to your beloved Ky, begging him to meet you here. A little bird told me that you have a simmering crush on the dude. I bet he’d suck my big cock like a bitch in heat…”

Dante’s veins turned to fire with this taunt and he exploded with fury, somehow succeeding in shoving his way out from under the pile of men on top of him. Staggering to his feet, he ripped the hood off of his face, only to freeze in surprised disbelief a moment later as his eyes adjusted to the light.

He blinked, uttering, “What the fucking hell–?” as a ragged cheer broke out, gradually building in intensity until it echoed almost deafeningly through the room: “Don-TAY! Don-TAY! Don-TAY! Don-TAY! DON-TAY!”

Dante was so dumbstruck by what he saw that he was only dimly aware of his surroundings. In the background of his mind, he realized he’d been lured into a huge ballroom. Long, curtained windows rose up from a parkay floor and elegant chandeliers hung down from the ceiling. It was a classy place, yet another example of the lacrosse team’s incredible wealth. As luxurious as the ballroom was, though, it wasn’t what made him nearly fall over with incredulity. 

No, Dante was too flabbergasted to notice because his gaze was locked on the group of men gathered before him: The entire Polecat football team stood in a tight circle, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, cheering his name at the top of their lungs. 

And, even more unbelievably, they were all naked. 

He gaped.

There wasn’t a shred of clothing on any of them. And they seemed so…happy? Yeah, they were definitely happy. Every guy’s face was split into a wide grin as he chanted. Their cheeks were rosy and their eyes were shining. The whole fucking team was apparently happy to be completely naked and standing in the center of the lacrosse team’s clubhouse.

What the fuck is going on? Dante wondered, mouth hanging open. What the fuck is going on?

It got more bizarre.

Dante’s cheeks reddened when he noticed a little something else.

His teammates were turned on.

Really turned on.

Almost every single guy was sporting an erection! As he watched, they put their hands on their hips and thrust their crotches proudly outward. He was looking off to the side in embarrassment when he froze, noticing something else.

The guys looked different.

Their bodies had…changed?

Frantically, his eyes slid from one player to the next. Bailey caught his eye first. The dude was poised there in the middle of the football bros, beaming like a little kid. Dante’s eyebrows lifted when he realized it hadn’t been a trick of the camera angle in the video on Twitter. No, it was more than the angle. Bailey’s thighs had thickened, bulging out from his sides in a stupendous fashion. Dante couldn’t see behind him but he already knew from the video that the same fate had befallen the guy’s ass. He had a hulking ass and hulking thighs.

But that wasn’t all.

His package had suffered the reverse fate.

Shit, how was that possible?! He’d seen Bailey Starks naked in the locker room numerous times and knew the dude had a generous cock.

Not any more.

Was it cold in here or something? But, no, cold only affected a guy’s size when he was flaccid–not when he was so fully erect that he was dripping!

Dante tried to look away but he was captivated by Bailey’s crotch.

Bailey had shaved his pubes, leaving his erect manhood fully exposed.

The only problem was it couldn’t really be called a ‘manhood’ any longer.

It was more of a ‘boyhood’. And a little boyhood at that.

And Bailey wasn’t alone.

With effort, Dante tore his gaze away from Bailey to examine the guy next to him. It was Miles Carlisle–the fucking traitor! His head was thrown back as he howled Dante’s name. Dante would have scowled at him if he hadn’t been so mesmerized by the quarterback’s changes. He briefly wondered how he’d failed to notice earlier but then realized it had been dark outside the clubhouse and checking out Miles’ body had been the farthest thing from his mind. Now, though, he shook his head in amazement. Miles was no longer slim-hipped, lean, and lithe. 

It was crazy! 

Was this the same Miles Carlisle who had been the team’s star sprinter? Now he looked like he’d be hard-pressed to jog ten yards. Those giant thighs might be the envy of an Olympic squatter but would be nothing but an impediment on a quarterback. And his cock… Well, Dante doubted that little thing would be the envy of anyone, let alone a garden gnome.

He scanned the group, becoming increasingly flustered as he realized all of his teammates’ bodies were similarly transformed. With the notable exception of Dane and Chuck (whose cocks had inexplicably grown long and fat but, unlike their teammates’, remained completely flaccid), all the men–even the black guys!–on the football team had hulking thighs and boy-sized erections. Every fucking guy!

How the fuck was this possible?

One by one, his teammates fell silent. Skin prickling, he realized they seemed to be waiting for something. The question was…what?

He was standing there, feeling more unnerved by the second, when Neeraj came to stand next to him, rubbing his jaw where Dante had clocked him. “And you thought I was lying!” he jeered. “Wake up, Dante! We’ve always suspected that you footballers were just a bunch of bottom boys but now we have proof. And we have you to thank for it!”

Dante balled up his fists and was preparing to land another punch on the smug captain’s face, when he heard a loud rip and looked down in disbelief to see the shreds of his jeans falling to the floor around his ankles. While he stood there in shock, someone behind him yanked down his boxers, leaving him completely naked from the waist down. He froze as he felt the cool air caress his cock, balls, and ass. It took much longer than it should have to recover and by then it was too late. Before he could lash out, someone grabbed his elbows from behind, holding him fast.

“Uh, uh, uh!” Neeraj scolded, wagging a finger at him. “You’re in lacrosse territory now and you follow our rules. No clothes on the football bitches.”

Dante fought to free himself but this time he didn’t succeed; he was too fatigued. He glowered at the tall, smug lacrosse captain and was contemplating a kick to the groin when Neeraj let out a low whistle, his predatory gaze sliding down Dante’s body.

“Oh, wow! Now that’s not what I expected,” he commented. “How’d a guy with a man-sized cock like yours make it on the boy’s football team?” Dante was preparing a sharp retort when someone mumbled behind him and Neeraj stepped back to survey Dante’s ass. “What’s this? No ‘Fuck Me’ tattoo? I thought the tat was your idea?”

This gave Dante momentary pause–what had happened to the ‘Fuck Me’ henna-ed on his ass? It had been back there the last time he looked…a week ago. Had it finally worn off? He quickly decided he didn’t have time to worry about, though, and fixed Neeraj with a withering stare, spitting, “You can shut the fuck up anytime, Kaur. Now let me get dressed!”

Neeraj sighed. “I believe I already established the clubhouse rules: No clothes on the football pansies. Now kneel before the big men on campus–the lacrosse team!” He nodded and Dante’s unseen captor kicked the back of his legs, forcing him to his knees.

“FUCK YOU!” Dante yelled, struggling fiercely, but it was no use. He had no choice but to kneel before Neeraj.

He hung his head, refusing to look up and was only vaguely aware of the captain’s big, bare feet on the floor before him. His face was burning with shame and his mind was reeling from everything he’d just witnessed. What the fuck had happened to his team? Why did they seem so fucking happy to be here, naked and aroused and at the lacrosse team’s mercy? The football team hated the lacrosse team! Hated them! They would never in a million years have come here willingly and subjected themselves to this humiliation.

And then there were the mysterious and fucking impossible ways their bodies had changed. Guys’ cocks didn’t just shrink randomly! And guys didn’t suddenly grow fat assess and hulking thighs! It didn’t happen! It couldn’t happen! It was totally impossible.

He must be dreaming.

That was the only possible explanation.

Yes! It was a dream!

That would explain Ky’s changes, too.

He was just having a crazy, fucked-up dream.

Whew, he thought in relief, sweat trickling down his forehead. It had seemed so real! Now that he thought about it, though, he remembered reading about dreams like this. They usually happened right before the sleeper awakened. So, he was only a few moments away from the dream being over?

That was fine with him.

In fact, he couldn’t wait for it to end!

He wanted everything to be normal again even if it meant that he had imagined his meeting with Ky in the cafe. He wished that part hadn’t been a dream but would gladly forget it if that meant the rest of the evening could be erased as well. He shivered, hoping he could forget this whole experience. God, what an awful dream! What an–

“You ready, Dante?” Neeraj inquired above him, interrupting his feverish thoughts. “Your time has come, you know. Time to join your brothers.” He snorted then, adding, “Or should I say your sisters?” 

When this jab was met with guttural laughter, Dante ground his teeth. Smoldering with rage, he was preparing to throw everything he had into freeing himself when he happened to look up.

He blinked, face going pale.

It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream…

The entire lacrosse team was arrayed behind Neeraj. They towered over Dante, each one appearing to be taller than the next. Their lean bodies glistened in the dim light, muscles popping impressively. They weren’t naked, though. Well, not entirely. They had donned their team’s orange and black lacrosse gear. Wearing chest plates emblazoned with the Polecat logo, helmets, arm pads, and gauntlets, they looked like modern gladiators, potent and powerful.

And sexy.

Dante hated to admit it but it was true.

They were damned sexy.

It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream…

His eyes traveled down their taut bodies, lingering almost against his will on their crotches. Black and orange jockstraps girded their loins, the cups bulging luridly. Bulging almost beyond belief. Clearly, the men of the lacrosse team didn’t suffer from the affliction that had decimated the football team’s collective manhood. No, the lacrosse men were powerful, dominant, and virile.

It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream…

Neeraj lifted his head and bellowed then, shattering the breathless silence in the room. Dante looked over and swallowed when he saw his football teammates sink in unison to their knees. The lacrosse team smirked as their captain raised a triumphant fist in the air and they joined him, roaring with victory over their vanquished rivals.

Dante felt that roar pound against his sternum. It was so loud and so booming that it almost hurt. His chest clenched and it took everything he had to muster up the last shreds of his defiance. He managed to do so, though, and set his jaw as he lifted his head and fixed Neeraj with a hateful stare.

Neeraj met and held his stare, hands slowly lowering to the thick waistband of his jockstrap. His fingers sat there, poised on the elastic, for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds. Then, in one quick motion, he shoved the jock down and his enormously engorged organ flopped out. Dante couldn’t help it! He ogled at that massive piece of meat. He wanted to look away but he couldn’t. He was hypnotized by it. When the rest of the lacrosse team followed suit and liberated their straining erections from the confines of their jocks, Dante almost lost it. He’d never seen cocks that big before in his life…and he’d seen a lot of cocks!

It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream…

Neeraj watched him, leonine face framed by a shaggy mane of black hair. He caught and held Dante’s gaze as his full lips twisted into a grin. His yellow eyes sparkled with evil delight as he called out, “Is the video camera ready ‘cuz its time for the whole campus to see the Polecat football team get fucked.”

It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream…

Or is it real?

***

Chapter 7

Dante Holmes at his dorm the next morning

His iPhone alarm went off at 7:30am and Dante sat up in bed, groaning. He had a splitting headache! Fuck! Was this a hangover? He didn’t remember drinking. In fact, he had trouble remembering anything he’d done the night before. 

He pulled his knees up to his chest and looked around. The morning sun was just beginning to rise over the far off hillside, its gentle light staining his room pink. Dante stared blearily out the window, trying to wake up. He vaguely remembered setting his alarm for 7:30 so he could meet Ky at student health services but…

Wait.

That had been a dream, hadn’t it?

Moaning, he rubbed his temples, brows furrowing when his fingers touched something crusty stuck in his afro. What the fuck was that? 

He froze, skin prickling as he remembered.

Neeraj’s dried cum.

FUCK! He hadn’t dreamed it! He really had been held captive by the lacrosse team and–

He shook his head, swearing loudly as the memories poured over him much like Neeraj’s spunk from the night before. While the rest of the lacrosse team fucked the shit out of Dante’s football teammates, Neeraj had jacked his long, fat cock over Dante’s lowered head. Dante had struggled but he had been held down by two guys, forced to kneel in supplication before the sadistic team captain as he worked himself to a climax. When he came, he’d pinched off his foreskin, collecting his jizz in an expanding bubble, only to squirt it ignominiously all over Dante’s face and head. Dante had screwed his eyes shut and closed his mouth as the cum dripped over him, silently longing to strangle the big asshole.

That had been humiliating enough but Neeraj had decided to twist the blade in Dante’s wounded pride. While Dante had knelt there, cum drizzling down his cheeks, Neeraj had leaned down and grabbed the back of his head, planting his mouth over Dante’s and smothering him with a lingering kiss. Dante had clamped his mouth shut but the kiss had lasted so long that he’d finally been forced to take a breath. That was the moment Neeraj had been waiting for and soon his long, hot tongue was probing the insides of Dante’s mouth, overwhelming his taste buds with the acrid flavor of his cum.

It was disgusting.

“I am letting you go without fucking you,” Neeraj had announced after pulling back while Dante gagged beneath him. “But we’re not done. We will meet again soon.”

With that, the lacrosse thugs had manhandled Dante out of the room, depositing him unceremoniously on the ramp in front of the building clad in only his boxers and t-shirt. As he scrambled to get up, they’d tossed his phone and shreds of his jeans out the door, clicking the lock behind them. Dante had pounded on the door, incandescent with rage, but to no avail. Finally, exhausted and shaking with fury, he’d wound his jeans around his waist and stalked back to his dorm.

***

A burning desire for revenge propelled him out of bed and into the shower. He had been lucky that year and landed a single with a private bath, something that he was especially grateful for as he scrubbed his head, trying to get every last trace of Neeraj off of him. How dare that fucking bastard hold him down and go bukake all over him! How dare he treat the football team like a bunch of whores! The more Dante thought about it, the angrier he got. By the time he stepped out of the shower, he’d quite forgotten his headache and was more than ready to face the day.

Neeraj Kaur was going to fucking pay…

…after Dante met up with Ky at student health services, of course.

***

Ky was leaning against the wall outside the health services building, looking anxious, when he arrived. Dante watched him as he approached, feeling all tingly inside. Ky was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants that hugged his sculpted legs like tights. His green nylon jacket had probably fit him better before his body had exploded with new muscles but Dante wasn’t complaining. The material clung to his huge frame, accentuating his broad shoulders and protruding pecs. And then there was his face…

God, Ky Voloshin had to be the most beautiful man to ever grace the planet!

His face was covered with reddish brown stubble that had the effect of drawing attention to his full, kissable lips. His light brown hair was a mess and his eyebrows were drawn upward over his famously penetrating green eyes. The same eyes that were now fixed with anticipation on Dante’s face. Everything about Ky’s posture oozed worry but he visibly relaxed as Dante drew nearer, favoring him with an almost childlike smile.

“I am so glad you are here!” he rumbled in that deep, heavily-accented voice that sent shivers down Dante’s spine. “You did not return my text messages.”

“Huh? What text messages?” Dante grunted, pulling out his phone and staring at the screen. There were no messages. He was wrinkling his brow when he realized what the problem was and apologized, “Oh, shit! It’s in ‘do not disturb’ mode. Sorry ‘bout that!” He looked back up at Ky (God, he’s so tall!), surprised to see the big man brushing self-consciously at his eyes. The poor guy was really worked up! “Aw, Ky,” he murmured, reaching up to cup his stubbly cheek with his hand, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you worry!”

“It is worse! I have gained another five kilos!” Ky moaned before doing something that was both unexpected and touching: He melted into Dante’s arms, folding his huge body over him and hugging him fiercely. Dante stood there frozen at first but then returned the hug, pulling the big stud against him and murmuring soothingly. When Ky began to tremble, he lifted his lips and kissed his ear. For some reason, this seemed to upset the Ukrainian even more and it wasn’t long before Dante felt a telltale wetness on his neck; Ky was crying.

“Hey, babe,” he consoled. “You’ll be alright. Really. It’ll be fine.”

“I am sorry!” Ky moaned, burying his face against Dante’s neck. “I am so sorry! I do not normally cry.”

Dante laughed. “Why not? I recommend it. It helps when life sucks.”

Ky lifted his magnificent head, holding Dante transfixed in his beautiful, green gaze as he declared, “Having you here makes me feel better, though.” He paused to sniffle before adding, “You are a good friend, Dante.”

It was all Dante could do to stop himself from kissing Ky right then but somehow he suspected this would not go over well and he didn’t want to push his luck. Ky had just given him a surfeit of emotional riches by unburdening himself so openly. Already, the bitter memories of Neeraj’s assault from the night before were melting away in the exquisite warmth of Ky’s vulnerability. If having to endure humiliation at the hands of the lacrosse team was the price he had to pay for this, he’d willing pay again and again and again. Ky made it all worth it.

The door clicked beside them and Dante looked over Ky’s shoulder to see that the student health service was now open. Patting the big Ukrainian on the back, he urged, “Hey, looks like we can go in now. You ready?”

Ky nodded and Dante held the door open for him.

***

The doctor was a squeaky-clean white dude who looked like he had only just graduated from medical school. He entered the examination room without bothering to knock, something that immediately put him on Dante’s bad side. Alright, motherfucker, he thought, you’re already gettin’ on my nerves and you haven’t said anything yet. What the fuck kind of doctor doesn’t knock before entering? He quickly decided to cut him some slack because he was cute, though. Dr. Falco, as Dante figured out from reading his name tag, was a tall guy with a powerful build and boyish face. He had killer brown eyes with long, black lashes and a mop of studiously sculpted brown hair. Everything about him screamed ‘ex-jock’.

After barging into the room, Dr. Falco stopped, perplexed, and looked Ky and Dante up and down before demanding, “Why’re you both in here? It says here that I’m only seeing one patient, a Mr. Kyrylo Voloshin.”

Dante had anticipated this question. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before answering. “My name is Dante,” he said, sticking his hand out and trying to act friendly. “I’m Ky’s friend. He’s from the Ukraine, see, and, while he speaks OK conversational English, he needs help navigating our health system.”

Dr Falco raised an eyebrow, murmuring, “I see.” He paused, shaking his head before continuing, “You know that it’s our policy–”

“–to only allow immediate family members accompany patients,” Dante finished in a bored tone. “Yes, I know but I expect you to make an exception in this case. Will you?”

It was interesting to watch the young doctor’s reaction. He stiffened and seemed about to object but then relaxed and let it go. Nodding curtly, he muttered, “Yeah, sure. Ok.”

Dante smiled to himself, guessing that the young doctor was not accustomed to being interrupted or essentially told what to do. “Good,” he said, mimicking the doctor’s curt nod. “Let’s get down to business then.”

Dr. Falco’s lips tightened into a thin line. He turned to Ky, asking, “And what seems to be the problem, Mr. Voloshin? I see on your chart that you’re a ballet dancer. Did you injure yourself?”

Ky’s cheeks colored and he stammered, “I-I-I guess.”

“And what did you injure?” Dr. Falco pressed, leaning back on his heel and crossing his arms. 

Ky hung his head. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “My body.”

“I’m sorry? You’ll need to be more specific than that,” Dr. Falco sighed and turned back to Dante, saying, “It seems that he doesn’t have a good grasp of our language. Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

Dante ignored him and instead inclined his head toward Ky, urging, “Go on, Ky. It’s Ok. You can tell the doctor what’s wrong.”

“It is very bad,” Ky began hesitantly. “You see I have started to…”

***

After hearing about Ky’s mysterious bodily changes, Dr. Falco decided to examine him and handed Ky a dressing gown before leaving the room, saying over his shoulder that he would give Ky a few minutes to change.

“Do you want me to step out?” Dante offered, hand on the door. He stayed, though, at Ky’s imploring look. He made himself unobtrusive, leaning back against the wall and looking the other way as Ky stripped out of his clothes.

“I am ready,” Ky announced a few minutes later and Dante looked up, nearly choking in surprise.

Ky Voloshin was even more stunning than he’d imagined. Dressed in the revealing hospital gown that threatened to burst open, his muscular body was on prominent display. Dante’s mouth kept wanting to fall open but somehow he managed to keep it closed.

“Holy shit,” he murmured under his breath as Ky ducked his head.

“It’s bad, is it not?” Ky queried, sounding miserable.

Dante had to think about his reply. His instinct was to gush but instead he tried putting himself in Ky’s position. Here was a dude whose identity was wrapped up in being a slight, lithe dancer. Ballet had been the focus of his life and now it was slipping away as his body inexplicably morphed into that of a muscle god. While this did wonders for his sex appeal (to Dante, at least), it was also jeopardizing his scholarship. Ky was confronted with losing everything he’d worked so hard to attain and was on the verge of losing himself in the process.

“Yes,” Dante agreed finally. “It is bad, Ky, but don’t give up! There has to be a way to fix this. If it happened practically overnight, maybe there is an easy cure?”

Ky’s reply was interrupted when Dr. Falco re-entered the room, once again failing to knock. Dante was about to chastise him when he noticed doctor did a double take at the sight of Ky in the skimpy gown. He started to exclaim, “Fucking shit–” before he caught himself. Dante took evil glee in watching the doctor’s ears turn pink as he stepped up to Ky and, clearing his throat several times, croaked, “I-I-I will need to examine you now. Would you mind taking a seat on the table?”

Ky folded his huge frame down onto the paper-covered exam table, spreading his legs. He’d left his boxers on under the gown but somehow this seemed to draw more attention to his huge bulge. Dante saw it and shook his head. He remembered clearly the first time he’d seen Ky naked in the football locker room and knew the dude’s dick had been on the small side. Now, however, there was nothing small about it. Dante was very curious to find out how it was possible for a guy’s cock to grow like that. Or, for that matter, shrink up like the cocks of his football teammates. Was there a virus or something infecting men on the football team? If so, why was he unaffected? And why did some guys’ dicks shrink while Ky’s was growing? Should he mention the plight of his football team to Dr. Falco? His grimaced at the thought. No, the last thing he wanted to do was think about the team right now. It reminded him too much of last night…

He looked over and smiled to himself when he saw that Dr. Falco’s gaze was locked on Ky’s crotch. There was no indication that the doctor was gay but Dante knew that straight guys were just as obsessed with dick size as gay guys, they just didn’t talk about it as much. Clearly, the doctor was impressed by what he saw–and probably feeling a little inadequate, too. Dante crossed his arms and settled back to enjoy the show.

“Y-Y-You say that you have gained nearly thirty kilos and grown more than ten centimeters in the past week?” the doctor stammered as he opened Ky’s gown, exposing his flawlessly defined physique. Ky’s chest was covered in red fur but he was so lean and his muscles were so big that the hair did nothing to hide his magnificence.

“Yes,” Ky answered, solemnly. “I have gotten so big that it is interfering with my dancing.”

“Are you on any medication? Or do you have a family history of…glandular…disorders?”

Ky looked over questioningly at Dante, asking, “What is this ‘glandular disorder’?”

“He means has anyone in your family ever had something like this happen to them?” Dante clarified.

“No,” Ky said flatly. “Nothing like this.”

Dr. Falco stepped back, belatedly remembering to don latex gloves. He fumbled with the package, dropping several on the floor and cursing under his breath. When he finally managed to pluck out one, his hands were shaking so badly that Dante took pity on him and held the glove open so that the doctor could slide his hand inside.

“Thank you,” Dr. Falco breathed, finally making eye contact with Dante. As he looked at him, though, his brow furrowed and his eyes went round. Dante’s eyebrows went up when he asked, “You’re the guy from the sex video, aren’t you? The one from the football team who stood up to that lacrosse captain?”

“Huh?” Dante asked, feeling a cold chill settle over him.

“It was all over the news this morning,” Dr. Falco explained, taking a step backward. “The campus is crawling with television crews. I’m surprised they didn’t accost you on the way here.” He paused, shaking his head. “I guess the university board of trustees has called a special meeting this morning. They are talking about suspending the players on both teams.”

Dante’s chest clenched at this news and he could hear his heart pounding inside his chest as he fought back the panic that threatened to engulf him. (The fuckers had released the video! Jesus fucking Christ! Why? It’s gonna fucking kill the football team’s reputation!). With great effort, he schooled his features, though, and very slowly reached into his pocket to withdraw his phone. Steeling himself, he slid his finger across the glowing screen and turned off the ‘do not disturb’ setting. He blanched when, several breathless seconds later, it exploded with text messages and voicemail notifications.

“Dante?” Ky called over from his seat on the exam table. “What is wrong? What has happened?”

Fucking Neeraj! Dante thought, still fighting valiantly to maintain his composure. Why couldn’t last night have been a bad dream? Why? Why had suddenly everything turned upside down around him? And when would it go back to normal again? When?

He realized that both Ky and Dr. Falco were watching him closely and waiting for him to respond. Exerting all of his will power, he pushed aside his worries and gave Ky a confident smile, saying brightly, “Don’t worry! I’ll explain everything later. Right now, we need to focus on you.” He turned to Dr. Falco, asking, “Don’t we, Doctor?”

Falco was looking at Dante as if he was somehow contagious. He’d backed about as far away from him as he could in the tiny exam room. As Dante fixed him with a level stare, though, he swallowed and squared his shoulders, his clinical demeanor reasserting itself. “Sure,” he said finally, stepping back up to Ky. “Sure.”

***

The fateful moment had arrived.

“I, uh, need you to pull down your underwear, Mr. Voloshin,” Dr. Falco said, cheeks coloring slightly, “so I can, um, you know, examine your genitalia.”

Ky shot Dante a helpless look and he nodded encouragingly. After a pregnant pause, he hopped off the exam table and, closing his robe, reached under it to slide off his boxers. They slipped to the floor around his ankles as Ky covered his crotch protectively with his big hands.

“You’ll, um, need to drop your hands so I can…you know.”

Dante smirked. It was extremely satisfying watching the doctor become so flustered. The poor dude was clearly struggling to maintain his composure when confronted with Ky’s potent masculinity. Dante almost felt sorry for him.

Very slowly, Ky let his hands fall away and the doctor reached out with trembling hands to part his robe. Neither he nor Dante were prepared for what was revealed, though.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Dante breathed, staring in wonder at Ky’s manhood. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized a man’s penis could be so beautiful. As Ky squirmed under their astonished scrutiny, Dante felt his cock swell in his jeans. Ky Voloshin had just become even more attractive. How was that possible?

Dr. Falco was captivated by something besides the aesthetic beauty of Ky’s long, perfectly symmetrical cock and low hanging balls, though. “Y-Y-You have a tattoo?” he sputtered. “On your penis?” Ky looked down, chagrined as the doctor read aloud, “‘THE LON COC ON THE POL FO’?” What does that mean?”

“Yeah, Ky?” Dante chimed in, leaning in for a better look. “The last time I saw it, it was just ‘TLC’. Did you add to the tattoo?”

“No, no, no!” Ky objected, covering his member from their prying eyes. “It is not a tattoo and I did not add to it! It just appeared on there. I do not know why!”

“I see,” Dr. Falco murmured, sounding unconvinced. “Would you mind moving your hands again so I can have a closer look? I need to be sure you don’t have a tumor.”

***

In the end, the doctor discovered nothing unusual and released him after placing an order for bloodwork in the basement lab. Looking Ky up and down, he pronounced, “You appear to be in excellent health, Mr. Voloshin, but it’s possible the tests will show an elevated level of hormones. If that’s the case, we’ll send you to an endocrinologist. In the meantime, try not to overdo it because you are at risk of injury if your body is growing as much as you say it is.”

Ky gave Dante a questioning look and he explained what Dr. Falco had said in simpler terms. When he was done, Ky nodded, looking pensive.

“It’ll be Ok, Ky,” Dante reassured. “Really. Now let’s go get your blood drawn.”

They thanked the doctor and Dante led the big Ukrainian downstairs. 

***

A horde of reporters and cameras awaited them when they exited the health services building. Dante was looking around, wondering what the fuck was going on, when someone from the scrum surprised him by calling out his name.

“Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! I’m from CNN. How does it feel to be caught in the middle of a campus gay sex scandal? Does your family know?”

Before Dante could reply to this, another reporter shouted, “Mr. Holmes, will you press assault charges against the lacrosse team?”

A third reporter, this one from Fox News, yelled, “Are the rumors true that you staged the whole sordid affair in order to stoke the flames of racial hatred dividing our country?”

Someone else screamed, “Is this your boyfriend, Mr. Holmes? Was he at the sex party, too?”

Thinking quickly, Dante took Ky by the arm and steered him through the crowd. “Are any of you from NPR?” he demanded. When the crowd of reporters fell silent, he said, “No? Well, then I have no comment. I will only talk to NPR News.” With that, he urged Ky to run and the two of them sprinted across campus leaving the mass of media far behind.

***

“What happened, Dante?” Ky queried after they were certain they were no longer being followed. “Why were they asking you those questions?”

“Last night,” Dante explained, panting, “after I left you in the cafe, I went looking for Bailey. You remember Miles calling me, right?”

Ky nodded.

“Well, I finally tracked him down at the lacrosse team’s clubhouse. The only problem was that Miles’ phone call was a setup. He tricked me into entering the clubhouse and once I was inside, the fucking lacrosse assholes jumped me and stripped me naked. Then their fucking captain held me down and jacked off all over my face.” When he realized that Ky didn’t know what the term ‘jacked off’ meant, he clarified, “He masturbated and ejaculated all over my face.”

“No!” Ky exclaimed. “And you did not go to the police?”

“I probably should have,” Dante conceded, shaking his head. “But I was too freaked out both by being jumped and by the fact the entire football team was already inside the clubhouse when I got there. They were…well, let’s just say our teammates weren’t their usual selves. They seemed to enjoy being made fun of by the lacrosse guys and,” he paused, suppressing a shudder, “they were naked, too. Naked and…”

“Naked?” Ky repeated. He was watching Dante’s face closely, trying to be certain that he wasn’t teasing him. “They were naked?”

“Yeah, totally naked,” Dante confirmed, making sure to maintain eye contact. Not that it was difficult; he could get lost in those gorgeous green eyes. “And turned on.”

“Turned on? What is this?” Ky queried, brows furrowing.

“They had erections,” Dante stated flatly. “And they were getting ready to let the lacrosse guys, um, have sex with them. They tossed me out before any of that happened but I’m assuming it’s all on the video the reporters were asking me about. Neeraj Kaur, the lacrosse captain, must have leaked the video…or even live-streamed it.” He stopped, clapping his hand to his forehead and exclaiming, “Shit! That’s it! The fucker live-streamed the whole thing!”

Ky’s face had gone white. Dante expected him to retreat from him like Dr. Falco had when he’d recognized Dante from the video but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer and placed his hands on his shoulders, looking down soberly at him. “I am sorry, Dante,” he rumbled in his sexy baritone. “You experienced that last night and still you came to help me this morning. I am very selfish. I have been thinking only about myself.”

Dante lowered his head, feeling suddenly choked up. He fucking loved Ky Voloshin so much it hurt! Why, oh, why did this guy have to be straight? He was so perfect! So everything that Dante ever wanted in a man. It wasn’t fair!

“What is wrong, Dante?” Ky asked gently when he didn’t reply. “Did I offend you?”

Dante shook his head, blinking his eyes furiously. He wouldn’t look at Ky, though, for fear of losing it. “No,” he choked finally. “It’s just that…Oh, fuck! Ky, why do you have to be so fucking adorable–and straight?”

Ky’s mouth was on his before Dante realized what was happening. The big Ukrainian leaned down and parted his soft lips, planting them softly on his own. Dante was so surprised that he just sort of stood there for a moment. Finally, though, he responded by kissing Ky back. They stood there in the middle of the sidewalk as students filed past them on their way to class, kissing tenderly while Ky wound his arms around him and reeled him in for a delicious hug. 

When Ky pulled away, Dante was left breathless. He stared up at the huge, handsome man, savoring the bold flavor of his mouth. Ky tasted like smoke, ginger and leather. A man’s flavor.

“What was that?” he asked finally, still unable to believe the kiss had happened.

“It was a beginning,” Ky answered before turning and slowly sauntering away. He stopped after ten paces, though. When he looked back at Dante, his face was transfigured by an exuberant and angelic smile.

***

Chapter 8

A warm glow suffused Dante’s world that morning, the flavor of Ky’s delicious mouth lingering like a promise on his tongue. That kiss haunted every footstep, calling him back to that moment when everything had changed. Ky Voloshin–the fucking sexiest man in the world!–had kissed him! The impact of everything else was softened, blurred, and ultimately revealed as just noise. The bitter memories of the night before, the burning desire for revenge, the surreal media presence blanketing the campus, the bizarre physical and sexual transformation of the guys on his team? Gone.  Faded into the background. They were all noise that he could easily ignore. None of it mattered. 

There was only one problem: Dante may have moved on but the rest of the campus had not. Quite the opposite! The drama was far from its apogee; the tidal wave of shock and outrage and scandal was still cresting and it was bearing down on him whether he cared about it or not.

He had just fielded a call from his father (“What in the hell is going on there, Son? Do you need me to come down and kick some ass? No one does that to my boy! No one! Unless, of course, he asks your permission first…”) when his phone buzzed again. It was Coach Washington demanding that Dante meet him at the office of the athletic director at 1pm.

“This whole thing is blowing up around us, Holmes, and you’re at the center of it,” the coach declared in a gruff voice. 

“Oh, geez, Coach! I–”

Washington didn’t wait for him to finish. “General counsel will be there so be prepared to make a deposition.”

“A depo–?”

“Campus public safety is working with the city police on the investigation because the incident took place off campus,” Coach Washington explained, rapid fire. “They’re calling it a sexual assault, Holmes, and maybe a hate crime!” Dante took a breath to respond but the coach was already plowing ahead, “I was interrogated for over an hour this morning by the trustees, Dante. In all my years as a coach, that’s never happened! I had to plead with them not to shut down the football program. Did you hear that? I had to beg! The best I could do is get ‘em to punt; they agreed to let the athletic director decide the team’s fate after she interviews you.”

He paused long enough to take a breath and Dante attempted to jump in, saying, “Coach, I–” but Washington cut him off again.

“Holmes,” he growled, voice so low that Dante had to strain to hear him. “I am sorry. I failed you. None of this would have happened if I’d been doing my job. When the guys tattooed their asses, I chalked it up to harmless fun. The stupid sort of stunt guys pull when they’re drunk and regret as soon as they’re sober. Ya know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yes, Coach. But–”

“But,” Washington sighed, “I really screwed up yesterday after that video of Bailey went viral. I shoulda stepped in but didn’t. You gotta pick your battles as a coach, Holmes, and you can’t react to every dumb thing your guys do. In these days of social media, shit like that’s bound to happen. I thought it would end there but, of course, it was only the beginning.”

Dante gave up trying to speak and simply waited for the coach continue.

“While the rest of the team’s behavior in that video is,” Washington’s voice broke off as he struggled to find the right word, finally settling on, “regrettable.” He paused then as if deciding whether to leave it at that before finally continuing, “But it was consensual. Plus, it took place away from campus. I would prefer that my players used better judgment before, um, engaging in sexual practices but I can’t stop ‘em from doing so even if it reflects poorly on the football team and university. This is a free country, Holmes! A man’s body is his own!”

Dante nodded, silently impressed by the coach’s enlightened viewpoint. Washington wasn’t finished yet, though. Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead, all but shouting, “What happened to you is another story entirely! Christ, Dante! You’re like a son to me! You gotta believe me when I say I would do anything to take last night back. Seeing that, that…monster…hold you down and, and, and–” his voice broke off as he choked up and Dante finally took his opportunity to speak.

“Coach,” he said, “I’m fine. Really. And I appreciate your looking out for me. I promise I’ll be at the athletic director’s office and meet with the police afterward. Don’t worry! They won’t shut down football if I have anything to say about it!”

There was an extraordinarily long silence on the other end of the phone and Dante was beginning to wonder if the coach had hung up on him when Washington murmured, “That’s my man, Holmes. That’s my man! I knew you were the best of the best the moment I saw you during tryouts. It was more than your skill on the field. No, you got something special in you. Real special. Guys like you only come around once in a generation, Holmes, and I’m honored to have you on my team.”

Now it was Dante’s turn to choke up. “Thanks, Coach. That means a lot to me.”

Washington took a shuddering breath. His voice was noticeably brighter as he concluded, “I’ll see you at one, Holmes. And tickets to The Magic Flute are on me as soon as this whole thing blows over. Ya don’t wanna miss the Queen of the Night’s aria!”

After he hung up, Dante stood there looking at his phone for a long time before finally sticking it back in his pocket, shaking his head. 

***

Evading the omnipresent media was easy after he borrowed his friend Tyrell’s hoodie. Donning it and pulling the hood over his head gave him instant anonymity. He even escaped notice in his classes. He usually deplored the huge class sizes at the university but that day they worked to his advantage. All of his Friday lectures were in crowded halls with more than three hundred students. No one looked at him. No one even knew his name.

It was wonderful!

At noon, he met up with his best friend, Shiree Webster, and her boyfriend in the cafeteria after sneaking in a side entrance overlooked by the television crews. He was only too happy for their company and he smiled appreciatively when Shiree’s boyfriend, Alex Thompson, waved him over.

Alex was a towering guy who played on the basketball team. Standing nearly seven feet tall and sporting a thick black beard and dreadlocks, he left quite an impression. Dante had always envied Shiree for landing such a terrific guy who was also a prime specimen of manhood. Now that Ky Voloshin–the sexiest man in the world!–had kissed him, though, he felt that envy draining away.

“I don’t know,” Alex was saying as they waited for Shiree to exit the lunch line, “Getting a facial and a pearl necklace from Neeraj Kaur is pretty fuckin’ awesome. You sure you wanna press charges against him?”

“Wait,” Dante said, holding up a hand. “How the fuck do you know what a ‘facial’ and a ‘pearl necklace’ are anyway? You’re a fuckin’ straight dude!”

“Dude,” Alex whispered, leaning across the table until his face was only inches from Dante’s, “have you forgotten who my gf is?”

In unison, they lifted their heads just as Shiree was approaching and broke into raucous laughter.

“What?” she demanded, slamming her tray down on the table next to Alex. “What’re you two fuckers laughin’ at?”

“Alex was just telling me I should feel honored that Neeraj spooged all over my face,” Dante informed her, casting a sly glance over at Alex. The basketball player’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at this betrayal and he leaned back in his chair, lifting his hands upward at Shiree and exhaling nervously.

Predictably, Shiree rounded on her boyfriend, hands on her hips. “WHAT?! What makes you say sumthin’ like that!?” she demanded. “What if it’d been a woman in Dante’s position and those fuckin’ lacrosse assholes held her down while that fucker shot his load all over her? Would you say the same thing?”

“No, baby,” Alex replied meekly. “‘Course not!”

Shiree gave him the hairy eyeball for a few seconds before sitting down in a huff. Dante smiled over at her even as Alex glowered back at him. Shiree was a small woman who was nonetheless a force to be reckoned with. She was not only his best friend but also his staunchest ally, the one person his age who shared his love for opera, ballet, fine art…and studly men.

Silence settled over the table for a few moments before Alex inexplicably threw back his head and started laughing out loud.

“What’s so funny, asshole?” Shiree queried, a forkful of broccoli raised halfway to her mouth.

Alex continued laughing, slapping the table with his huge hands. Finally, he managed to choke out, “Aw, nothin’! I was just thinkin’ ‘bout those football bros and their tiny dicks! Ha! They’re never gonna live this down! Never!” Shiree rolled her eyes and Dante flushed. He was about to comment when Alex turned to him, asking, “But not you, man! Shee-it! I saw that hose between yer legs! You’re almost big ‘nuff to be on the basketball team! Yes, sir! You can play with the big boys!”

“I didn’t realize that cock size was a litmus test for getting on the basketball team,” Dante observed drily, lifting an eyebrow. “I thought it had more to do with skill and height.”

“Do we have to keep talkin’ ‘bout this?” Shiree complained. “The whole video was disgusting. Disgusting!” Turning to Dante, she added, “I hope the university comes forward with counseling for you and the rest of the guys on the team. I feel like I need therapy and I only watched a few minutes of that video!”

Dante looked down and was about to reply when he noticed the little henna design on his wrist. He rubbed at it thoughtfully, remembering for the first time in weeks the strange woman who had painted it on him outside the ballet. ‘Your dreams will become real,’ she’d told him as she pocketed his money. That had been the night he’d seen Ky in the production of The Afternoon of the Faun, falling in love with him on the spot.

‘Your dreams will become real…’

Skin prickling, he sat up straighter, remembering the vial of dye she’d given him after painting the design on his wrist. She’d said he’d know when to use it…and he had. It was the same dye he’d applied to the ass cheeks of his football teammates, spelling out ‘FUCK ME,’ as a joke on Ky. The dye had become permanent on every guy’s ass but his own…

Dante felt a chill run up his spine then as he remembered something else. Ky had appeared out of nowhere the very next day on the football practice field at precisely the moment Dante had been daydreaming about him. And what had he been dreaming about? 

My ideal man…

There was more.

After practice that day, Dante had silently fumed while Bailey teased Ky about being gay in the locker room. At the time, he’d wished furiously that he had the balls to stand up to Bailey and he’d vowed that someday the football team would change. 

Someday I’ll make them see… 

“Dante, honey,” Shiree asked, interrupting his thoughts. She was staring at him with a look of concern, her eyebrows drawn together “You Ok? You look freaked out.”

Dante lifted his head, shaking himself. “Nah, I’m fine,” he lied, pushing himself away from the table. “I think you’re right, though. I do need to talk to someone ‘bout what happened. In fact, I need to talk to them right now.”

With that, he got up and, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head, stalked out of the cafeteria.

***

He tried vainly to calm himself during the walk across campus but kept coming back to the realization that he’d unwittingly caused all of this to happen. As unbelievable as that was, it was also the most logical explanation: Ky’s mysterious appearance followed by his miraculous beefing up and sudden attraction to Dante, Bailey Stark’s public butt-fucking, his teammates’ transformation into big ol’ gay bottoms followed by their willing humiliation at the hands of their hated rivals.

It was all too coincidental. And it all pointed to the same person: The fortuneteller.

He had to find her! He had to find her and convince her to undo everything. As much as he hated the prospect of losing Ky, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him like this. Ky didn’t ask for this and he didn’t deserve it! The same went for the football team. Sure, they could be real assholes but they didn’t deserve to be cursed like that. It wasn’t right!

Looking down at his phone, he saw it was already 12:50pm and he groaned in frustration. He didn’t have time to track down the fortuneteller before his meeting with the athletic director. Depending on how long the meeting lasted, he might not have enough time to search for her after that, either; he had football practice at 3pm that day. It was the last practice before their big game on Saturday…if the team wasn’t suspended, that is. His only choice was to wait until after practice and search for her that evening. 

Shit! What the fuck he had done?!

***

The meeting was just as awkward as he’d expected. The athletic director, Dr. Priya Aggarwal, was a prim woman in her mid-thirties with short, black hair and a sympathetic mien. She did her best to put him at ease but that didn’t mean she was easy on him. She and the general counsel took turns grilling him and Coach Washington, trying to establish the facts about everything that had happened the night before. At heart, they wanted to make sure that the video accurately portrayed Dante’s version of events. After an hour of pointed questioning, they seemed convinced: Dante had done nothing to invite the treatment he’d received at the hands of the lacrosse team.

“Quite simply, Dante,” Dr. Aggarwal explained at the end of their meeting, “the fate of the lacrosse team rests in your hands. If the police are able to corroborate the information in your deposition, you will have grounds for a lawsuit and the university will back you up, providing legal assistance, if that is what you decide.”

Dante nodded, saying, “I understand, ma’am.”

The director leaned forward on her desk, steepling her fingers. “You are free to meet with the detectives now. They are waiting for you in the room next door.” She nodded her head and he got up but, before he could go, she announced, “I am suspending the lacrosse team for the duration of the season but the football team will be permitted to continue without sanction.” 

As Coach Washington sighed with relief and gave him a covert thumbs up, Dante smiled and left the room, ready for yet another awkward meeting, this time with the police.

***

He caught up with the athletic director after his police interview, calling out to her as she exited her office. It was after 5pm which meant he’d already missed most of his football practice but the coach had texted him during the interview, telling him to come anyway. ‘I have an announcement & I want you there to hear it,’ his cryptic message read. Dante hoped it wasn’t anything too earth-shattering; he was worn out after hours of interrogation.

“Can I help you, Dante?” Dr. Aggarwal asked politely, regarding him with her astute gaze, her hand poised on the door of her office. 

He’d never met her prior to that day but had to admit the trustees had chosen well when they offered her the job two years before. Prior to taking over as director, she’d been both a university professor and the captain of the national soccer team, eventually leading them to three consecutive World Cup titles. Her steely determination and focus showed in every word and movement; she was a born leader.

He met and held her stare as he replied, “I have decided not to press charges, ma’am.”

Dr. Aggarwal’s eyes widened slightly but she didn’t miss a beat as she pressed, “May I ask why?”

“I don’t believe it is the right thing to do,” he answered simply. “It won’t fix what happened and I believe it would actually do more harm than good.”

“Really? You really believe that?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “I would like to ask one thing, though.”

Dr. Aggarwal’s attention never wavered as she asked, “Yes, what is that?”

“I would like to meet with Neeraj Kaur and the other players who did those, um, things to me. I believe it will help all of us to move past what happened.”

This was met with silence. Finally, the director shook her head, murmuring, “Dante Holmes, you know what?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t.”

She smiled faintly at this, continuing, “Coach Washington was right about you: You are an amazing man. I wish more of our student athletes were like you.”

He lowered his head, saying, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You will have your wish,” Dr. Aggarwal announced before taking her leave. “I will arrange for the meeting.”

***

Chapter 9

Dante Holmes, at football practice later the same day…

Dante had to fight his way through the scrum of reporters and television cameras to get to the locker room. This time, they were more aggressive and he had to jostle them out of the way–still refusing to answer their shouted questions–before he could crack the door open and dodge inside. He was so worked up that he wasn’t prepared for the experience of déjà vu waiting for him on the other side.

Just like the night before in the lacrosse clubhouse, the entire football team was gathered before him, wearing nothing but stupid grins, their broad thighs and tiny nubs on full display. The only noticeable difference was that this time they were not aroused. (Or at least he was pretty sure they weren’t; some of them were so tiny it was difficult to tell.) As soon as they saw him, they raised their voices in a jubilant chant that echoed through the room: “Don-TAY! Don-TAY! Don-TAY! Don-TAY!”

He had to reach out and steady himself on the wall. Seeing Ky in the back of the room, towering over everyone, an ecstatic smile on his handsome face, helped to steady him a bit. He stood there, shaking his head and feeling both happy and a bit queasy.

“Alright! ALRIGHT!” Coach Washington’s voice boomed over the chanting after it threatened to become truly ear-splitting. “Would you guys shut up?!”

Gradually, the team settled down. When they were quiet, Washington beckoned Dante forward. He walked on wooden legs to the fore of the group and stood there surveying the assemblage. Here were his guys, his football bros, his teammates. For the past three years, he’d spent hours every day training and working out with them, not to mention fighting the good fight on the field every Saturday throughout the autumn. 

The events of the past few days had thrown him off but, as he looked out over them, he realized how much he loved them. Sure, some of them had occasionally been his tormentors and a couple were veritable bullies but overall they were good guys and he loved them. He felt privileged to play ball with them. And further, he was honored to serve under the expert direction of Coach Washington, the man who was more like a father to him than his own father. Yeah, this was his group, his clan, his family. When a tear formed at the corner of his eye, he wiped it away before anyone noticed. God, why had he not realized before how much he loved being a Polecat footballer? This was his home.

It was strange that it took such craziness to make him understand that.

And, shit, was it ever crazy!

All he had to do was look out at his guys to be reminded of that.

From the waist up, his teammates looked the same as ever. Just a bunch of big, goofy football brutes like you’d find on pretty much any college team. From the waist down, though…. Jesus!

Coach Washington startled him out of his reverie when he slung an arm over his shoulder, calling out to the crowd, “Now that Dante’s here, I’ve got a couple announcements.” This was greeted by a chorus of grunts from the team and Washington waited politely for the room to quiet down again before continuing, “I think we can all agree that, after the events of the past day or so, the Polecats will never be the same again. The team has changed. You guys have changed. And our reputation has definitely changed.” He paused to shake his head and the guys all nodded, still grinning. 

Dante noticed his teammates had followed the coach’s lead and slung their arms over the shoulders of their brothers as they stood there listening. A curious sense of camaraderie with an undercurrent of charged sexuality pervaded the locker room. It was like a potent perfume, a not entirely unpleasant one, but definitely not the sort of atmosphere Dante was accustomed to.

Coach Washington seemed to sense it, too, and wore a bemused expression on his normally gruff face as he continued, “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit…well, I’m still reeling from what’s happened. Nothing in my ten years as coach–or anything else in my life for that matter–has prepared me for this.” He took a breath before asking, “My team going gay?” He shook his head. “And gettin’ thicc, real thicc? And then, er, well, having sex with the lacrosse team on Facebook Live? Shit! Never in my wildest dreams…”

Rather than dipping their heads in embarrassment as Dante expected, this was met with cheers and high-fives from his team. He and Coach Washington exchanged bewildered glances and Dante shrugged, giving the coach a hangdog grin.

“In the end, it doesn’t matter what I think, though,” Washington said after looking down at the floor in thought. “I’m your coach and you’re my team. I’m gonna put everything that’s happened behind me and look forward at the rest of the season. The, ahem, bottom line is we’re a football team and we’re here to win.” The guys interrupted him to cheer loudly at this forcing the coach to wait once again for the noise to subside before saying, “We’re undefeated this season and I intend to stay that way. As the cliché goes, when life hands you lemons, make lemonmade…although looking out at y’all right now, I’d say it’s more like life handed us a bunch of pears.”

This was met with snickers from the team and some of the guys even went so far as to shimmy their hips, making their enormous thighs sway provocatively from side to side. Not to be outdone, a few turned around and shook their big asses, leaving Dante momentarily captivated by the bounty of booty richness bouncing and jiggling before him. Despite his tense mood, he felt his cock harden in his jeans and surreptitiously pushed it down a pant leg. The last thing he wanted was for the coach to see him getting boned up right then.

“Your, ahem, fuller figures mean that we have to retool our offensive line,” Coach Washington explained, cheeks rosy. Dante noticed he was looking up at the ceiling rather than at the bawdy antics of his team. “Clearly, our running game is limited and the same goes for our passing game. That means we’re gonna focus on rushing. This is the ol’ style game your granddads played. Ya know, the ol’ ‘three yards and a cloud of dust’ strategy?”

The players nodded. Makes sense, Dante thought, given how heavy and slow our team is.

“But,” the coach continued, holding up a hand, “I’m not going to abandon running and passing altogether. That’s why I have decided to make Ky Voloshin a wide receiver. He’s got both muscle and speed and I’ve been working with him on catching passes. He’s got a knack for it and is looking forward to joining us on the field for offensive play.”

Dante looked up at Ky in surprise with this announcement and the hunky Ukrainian gave him the thumbs up before blowing him a kiss. Dante colored and looked away, feeling his cock harden further. The next moment, though, he forgot all about Ky when Coach floored him by making a totally unexpected announcement.

“More importantly,” he said, “Miles has offered to step down as quarterback so that Dante can take over. Some of you know I’ve been grooming him for this position since he joined the team three years ago. He’s got a quarterback’s winning trifecta: A killer arm, power, and, most importantly, an unerring grasp of strategy. Miles and I both agreed that there is no one better suited to be your quarterback.”

Wild cheering erupted, eclipsing the previous cacophony by an order of magnitude. Dante looked out at his ecstatic teammates in a state of shock. He turned to discover that Miles was cheering as well. (Miles is happy about being replaced as QB? Huh?) As he stared, Miles met his gaze and pumped his fist in the air, shouting, “GO, DANTE! GO POLECATS!”

The sheer unreality of it was overwhelming to Dante and he had to fight to stop trembling. Once again, Ky was a steadying force, seeking out and locking eyes with him from across the crowded room. Dante stared back, blinking back tears as Ky gave him a proud salute.

It was too much.

What had he done to deserve this adoration? Was this really how his team felt about him or was it more magic? He realized he didn’t know…which meant he couldn’t claim it as his own. They were cheering an abstraction, an idea, someone who didn’t really exist. Not him.

He waited patiently until the cheering died down before pitching his voice loud enough for everyone to hear, saying, “Thank you, Polecats. I’m truly honored.” Then he turned to Coach Washington, adding, “And thank you, Coach. I really appreciate your belief in me.”

The coach nodded, smiling just as broadly as everyone else.

Dante swallowed and looked down at the floor before lifting his head and asking, “Can I speak with you in your office, Coach?”

***

“I don’t know how to say this,” Dante began after Coach Washington closed the door behind them. Rather than taking a seat in his chair, though, the coach leaned against the front of the desk with him, shoulder to shoulder.

“Dante,” Washington said in a warm voice, “I already know what you’re gonna say but, before you do, I wanna tell ya you’re wrong. You were made to be our quarterback. Now step up and own it!”

Dante hung his head, complaining, “But I’m not ready, Coach!”

“Yes, you are.”

Thinking wildly, Dante protested, “But I’m not fast enough. I’m too heavy! A quarterback’s gotta be fast! I’m built for the defensive line!”

Coach Washington looked askance at him. “Have you looked at yourself lately, Holmes? You’ve slimmed down nicely. I’ll wager you can run with the fastest of ‘em now.”

Dante started to reply but halted, inadvertently looking down at himself. He blinked, convinced he was seeing things. Wait, what? With shaking hands, he raised his shirt to reveal his bare belly.

It was flat.

And ripped.

His pudgy gut had disappeared!

Lowering his gaze to his waist, he patted his thighs and realized the same was true of his lower body. Unlike the rest of the team, his thighs and legs were lithe and lean.

Like a runner’s.

Or a dancer’s.

Huh?

When did that happen?

“Normally, I’d be pissed if one of my star linemen decided to diet during regular season,” the coach quipped. “But, if your case, I’m fuckin’ delighted. You and Ky just might end up saving our butts!”

Dante didn’t answer right away. He was too busy studying his body, wondering what the hell was going on. He hadn’t been this svelte since high school! And he hadn’t even been trying to slim down! I guess I’ve been so preoccupied with all the weird shit going on that I forgot to eat, he thought. I must be at least twenty-five pounds lighter! Finally, shaking his head, he looked back up at the coach and smiled wanly, saying, “Well, Ok, then! I guess I have no reason to say no. I’ll do it, Coach. I’m your man!”

***

Ky was waiting for him outside the coach’s office when he got out. Before Dante could react, he grabbed him in his muscular arms and smothered his mouth in a hungry kiss. Pleasantly shocked by this amorous assault, Dante gave in, melting into the embrace and relishing the feeling of being devoured by the man he loved more than anyone else. When Ky finally stepped back and looked down at him, Dante was breathless. His cock was rock hard in his jeans and his eyes were glassy. 

“What are you doing tonight?” the Ukrainian inquired in his gravelly voice. Dante squirmed, feeling his cock let loose a little shot of precum when Ky lifted an eyebrow suggestively.

“I-I-I’m, well,” Dante stammered, trying to remember what he had going on. He knew he was supposed to do something important. A moment later, disappointment washed over him as he remembered: He had to find that fucking fortuneteller! He hung his, looking down at the floor, and sighed, “I gotta look for someone. Someone important.”

Ky reached down and lifted his chin, forcing Dante to meet his gaze. His green eyes were tender and warm. Dante noticed that his auburn beard had grown thick since the morning when it had just been stubble. Christ! The dude is so fucking hot! Dante thought, blood coursing through his veins…and cock. My ideal man, indeed! 

“You are not looking for Bailey again, I hope?” Ky asked, forehead wrinkling. “Because I will not let you. Those…” he paused as he struggled to find the word, finally spitting out, “assholes! I will never let those assholes touch you again!”

“Awww, thanks, man!” Dante murmured, touched by Ky’s protectiveness. “But I am planning to meet with Neeraj and the guys on the lacrosse team again. Not tonight, though.”

Ky’s eyes widened at this announcement and he took Dante by the shoulders, shaking him. “What? Why do this? It is wrong! They are bad men!”

“Whoa!” Dante protested. “Whoa, boy! I know what I’m doing, Ky. You gotta trust me on this.”

Ky seemed unconvinced but stopped shaking him long enough to press, “Let me go with you.”

Dante smiled, teasing, “When? Now or when I meet with Neeraj?”

“Both.”

Dante thought about it. He had no intention of bringing Ky along when he met with Neeraj but to look for the fortuneteller? Hmmm…It would be good way to accomplish two goals: Spending time with his new boyfriend and telling him that a weird twist of magical fate might have transformed him into a gay muscle god.

There was just one problem: Did he have the balls to tell Ky about the fortuneteller and her magic? Especially when it meant that he, Dante, was responsible for ending Ky’s ballet career? The big guy would probably just laugh at him for being so superstitious…but what if he didn’t? What if he blamed Dante? Did he want to jeopardize his nascent relationship with the big stud? This was, after all, the man of his dreams.

No, he decided, shrugging his shoulders. No, he wouldn’t tell Ky. Why destroy this blessed gift over something that was at best wildly implausible? Hmpf! Magic? Really? It was ridiculous. And, what was the old cliché about not looking a gift horse (or Ukrainian in this case) in the mouth? The trouble was Ky’s mouth was so fucking sexy he couldn’t stop looking at it…along with everything else.

***

Dante let Ky tag along with him on his search for the mysterious woman. (He never did tell him exactly who he was looking for and Ky didn’t ask.) Being a Friday night, the campus was abuzz with activity, making it easy for them to evade the media presence; they were able to blend in with the crowds and go unnoticed. Much to Dante’s delight, Ky took it upon himself to ‘christen’ campus landmarks they passed by giving him a lingering kiss at each one. He pushed Dante up against numerous statues, monuments, the bell tower, various campus buildings, even most of the trees, forcing his huge, muscular bulk against him and pulverizing his body and his mouth into exquisite submission. By the end of the evening, Dante hadn’t succeeded in locating the fortuneteller but he had succeeded in scoring a stellar case of ‘beard rash’ around his mouth from Ky’s relentless mashing.

He treasured it like a trophy.

Inexplicably, Ky wasn’t inclined question his sudden attraction to Dante and Dante was equally disinclined to bring it up. Perhaps Ky simply chalked it up to the mysterious changes overtaking his body? Perhaps he just didn’t care? Dante didn’t worry about it. He was too busy enjoying the totality of Ky Voloshin’s erotic attention.

Ky walked him back to his dorm after Dante finally gave up on his search. It took an act of herculean will for Dante not to invite him up to his room but it was the night before their football game and Ky had ballet practice at 5 o’clock the next morning. As much as he would love to consummate his union with the big stud, it would have to wait.

“Tomorrow,” he sighed as he pressed his cheek against Ky’s magnificent chest. “I will see you tomorrow.”

Ky dipped his head, favoring Dante with the whisper of a kiss on his lips before giving him one last, lingering hug. It took everything Dante had to step away from him and go into his dorm.

***

The next morning, at the football stadium…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Miles exclaimed, shaking his head as Dante entered the locker room the next morning. “Have you seen the crowds out there? They say the game is sold out!”

Dante nodded in agreement, still a bit overwhelmed by what he’d seen on his way in. The wild cheering of the assembled crowd was audible even in the depths of the stadium where the locker room was located. Coach Washington had warned them to expect a smaller crowd along with tons of reporters and hecklers on this first game after the infamous livestream but the opposite turned out to be true: The hecklers and media presence were vastly outnumbered by the myriad of fans filling the stadium. Apparently, the team’s notoriety had sparked a burst of enthusiasm that spread beyond the usual patriotic fervor for the home team; Dante had seen almost as many rainbow flags as orange and black Polecat pennants when he peeked out at the stadium bleachers.

“It’s pretty fucking incredible, alright,” he agreed, taking the locker next to Miles. He looked over at the squat former quarterback, still amazed at how big his ass had grown. Miles had to wear special jeans to accommodate his huge behind and hefty thighs.

The dude caught him staring and smiled, shaking his hips a little. “I see you like my new booty, Dante,” he commented coyly. “If you ever wanna give it a test drive…”

Dante let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Woo, boy! You know how to tempt a guy, don’t ya?” Miles took this as an invitation and backed up to him, pressing his voluptuous cakes against Dante’s leg. Dante grinned, slapping him playfully on the butt before gently pushing him away. “You know I’m taken, right?” he said, tilting his head meaningfully over at Ky whose back was turned to them as he stripped out of his street clothes. “Ky’s the only man for me.”

If Miles was disappointed by this news, he didn’t show it. Instead, he shrugged, saying, “I’m always here if ya wanna, you know…”

Dante laughed. “Message received, Carlisle. Loud and clear.” He paused before adding, “Are you sure you’re Ok with not being quarterback anymore? No hard feelings?”

“What? You kidding, bro?” Miles asked, seeming genuinely surprised by the question. “I’m super happy for you, Dante. Really. The coach was right: With an ass this big, I ain’t no good at runnin’ and a QB’s gotta run. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t trade my booty for nothin’! Even for being quarterback again. You know how many times my bussy’s been pounded since Thursday?” He paused to shake his head before finishing, “I’ve lost count!”

Dante was momentarily speechless. He still couldn’t get over the feeling that he’d stepped into a new, strange reality. Looking across the crowded locker room, though, he realized that maybe he was the odd man out. The guys were the happiest he’d ever seen as they helped each other suit up, laughing and joking and flirting the whole time. It was disorienting and also kind of…welcome.

“And I hope yer not upset ‘bout the other night,” Miles continued, reaching into his locker and pulling out his shoulder pads. “I feel kinda bad about tricking ya.”

Dante looked over at him, considering his reply. “Nah, It’s Ok,” he said finally. “I mean, it was a pretty shitty thing to do but I forgive you.”

“Good,” Miles said, face breaking into a beautiful grin. “I’m glad. You’re alright, Dante. You know that? I’m proud to be on yer team.”

***

The lacrosse team was lined up on either side of the stadium tunnel, their sticks raised in an arch, as the Polecats exited the locker room and charged out onto the field. Dante nearly fell over when he saw them, thinking, What the fuck? The lacrosse team? Here? I thought they were suspended!

The lacrossers were dressed in their black and orange team uniforms, complete with faceguards and gauntlets. They raised their deep voices and let loose a thrilling roar as the Polecats dashed under their upraised sticks. Dante had to admit they made an impressive sight, so tall and so muscular, standing rigid and alert and staring straight ahead. Given his recent experience, though, you could forgive him for feeling a little twitchy at their unexpected appearance. In the end, he hesitated only a moment before gamely joining his teammates and charging out onto the field under the protective arch. Neeraj Kaur was stationed near the end of the tunnel and winked as he ran past; Dante studiously avoided eye contact.

As if he needed any reminders, Dante knew the moment he stepped out onto the field and took up position behind the offensive line that football would never be the same for the Polecats. When the players bent over, their huge asses and bulging thighs all but threatened to tear their way out of those constricting tights. Worse, the bold, black “FUCK ME” tattooed on their ass cheeks was clearly legible through the stretched-thin fabric. My team! Dante thought with amused pride as he stared at the ass vista before him. A bunch of big-bottomed gals!

The Polecats pounded the rival team into submission with their relentless offense and powerful defence. It was kind of amusing, especially when you considered their opponents, the Penitents, had derided the Polecats as pansies and faggots before the game. The Polecats had ignored the insults, buoyed by the unparalleled support of their fans, and went on to deal the Penitents a stinging defeat.

Just as Coach Washington had predicted, Dante proved himself to be a wily and capable quarterback and Ky was an agile and capable receiver. The elegant Ukrainian seemed to materialize out of nowhere behind the opponents defensive line, often without a Penitent in sight. Dante found it almost easy to pass the ball to him and Ky ultimately scored three touchdowns. Ky’s receiving skill was matched only by the rushing power of the Polecat linemen. The team used its newly lowered center of gravity to outmatch their opponents, driving them inexorably backward as they plowed their way across the field. In the end, the Polecats held the Penitents to only one field goal while scoring seven touchdowns.

The team was elated. When Ky hoisted Dante onto his shoulders and paraded him before the wildly cheering fans (and television cameras), the rest of the team quickly crowded around. Plucking Dante away from Ky, they tossed him high into the air before eventually dunking him into a cooler full of pink Gatorade.

It was one of Dante’s finest moments, made even finer when Ky lifted him up by the shoulders to bestow a passionate victory kiss. Feeling the huge man’s hands on his sopping wet body was almost enough to drive him to orgasm on the spot. He was glad he’d worn a cup or the evidence of his arousal would have been obvious to the whole world when Ky stepped away.

He was staggering back toward the locker room, beaming with pride and savoring the adoration of his teammates and the crowd, when Neeraj stepped out from the sidelines, putting a hand on his arm. “Hey, bro,” he rumbled, fixing Dante with those disconcerting golden eyes before dipping his head. “I wanna apologize for the other night. I…I feel bad. What we did was wrong. Really wrong.”

Dante stopped, open-mouthed, at this surprising show of contrition. (Neeraj being humble? Whoa.) After a few moments, he recovered enough to nod, saying, “Yeah, it was.”

“I-I-I also want to thank you,” the handsome captain stammered, looking down at his feet. “You could’ve really destroyed me and the rest of the team but you didn’t. I want you to know how thankful I am.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dante murmured. “It’s no big deal.”

Neeraj’s grip tightened as he protested, “But it is! It is a big deal! And I want to make it up to you. Will you come by the clubhouse tomorrow afternoon? Me and guys have something special for you. We want to show you how grateful we are.”

Maybe it was because he was feeling munificent after his big win (and Ky’s delicious kiss) or maybe it was just that Neeraj had caught him off guard but he found himself agreeing, “Um, sure. Why not?”

Neeraj’s face split into a happy grin and he slapped Dante on the back, shouting, “Fucking AWESOME! I can’t wait! Be there at two, Ok? And don’t be late!”

With that, he took off, leaving a bemused Dante behind him. Not until after Neeraj was long gone did he remember that he and Shiree had tickets to see Ky in his ballet performance of Romeo and Juliet the next day at the same time he’d agreed to be at the clubhouse.

***

Later that day…

Ky was outside his dorm later that afternoon, waiting to walk him over to Coach Washington’s house for dinner. He was dressed in a pair of jeans practically painted on his muscular thighs and posterior. His red, plaid shirt was untucked but even it did little to conceal Ky’s impressive package…or bulging muscles. With his dense, red beard and steel-toed boots, he looked like a lumberjack wet dream. Dante was rendered awestruck by the sight of him.

“You look delicious,” Ky murmured, leaning down for a kiss. “May I eat you for dinner instead?”

Dante flushed, feeling his heart pound. “Afterward,” he gasped. “I’ll let you do anything you want to me afterward. Just make sure to leave room for dessert.”

Ky laughed, a deep bass rumble. “I will. Believe me, I will.”

***

The Washington’s lived in a modest but tasteful bungalow in a neighborhood several blocks from campus. It was one of those Arts and Crafts style houses built around the turn of the last century with a wide, low roof and overhanging eaves. A large, cedar porch opened onto the street, softly lit by muted lamps. The evening was warm and the front door was open. Inside, Dante could see Marjolaine Washington standing next to a tall young man in the kitchen.

“This is close to my ballet studio,” Ky said, pointing down the street. “It is there, one or two blocks away.”

Dante turned. “Mmmm, maybe we can stop by later and you can show me?”

“I am to eat you after we leave, remember?” Ky purred. “You are my dessert.”

“You can do both, can’t you?” Dante replied, laughing. “Maybe at the same time?”

Ky’s face split into a wicked grin. “I like the way you think, my love.”

Dante’s heart leaped at this new term of endearment but Coach Washington interrupted him before he could respond, teasing, “Hey, are you guys gonna come in or stay out there making goo-goo eyes at each other all night?”

Dante and Ky looked up startled to find the man standing with his hands on his hips on the porch; Washington had seen and heard their entire exchange. Cheeks flaming, they quickly darted up the steps, ducking their heads as they passed by the coach. 

Washington was tickled by their antics and slapped them fondly on the back before calling out, “Hey, Marj, Malik, Trevor? The lovebirds, Dante and Kyrylo, are here!”

Dante and Ky stood inside the foyer, looking sheepish, as Marjolaine and the tall boy in the kitchen turned to look back at them. A moment later, another boy about the same age appeared from the living room.

“This is Trevor,” Coach Washington said, placing a big hand on the kid’s back. The boy was perhaps seventeen years old and he was a cute, Dante noted, with big, brown eyes and a mop of unruly brown hair peeking out from under his baseball cap. He smiled up at Dante and Ky shyly through long eyelashes. Before Dante could shake the boy’s hand, though, Marjolaine and the other boy appeared next to them and Coach Washington continued, “You already met my wife, Marj, at the cafe.” Marjolaine inclined her head before surprising them by stepping forward to hug both Ky and Dante. “…and this is our son, Malik,” Coach Washington concluded, clapping the tall boy on the back. Malik Washington was a somewhat gawky youth with a close-shaved afro and sensitive eyes. Like Trevor, he was wearing a pair of baggy sweats and a Polecat football jersey. Both he and Trevor stood staring up at Ky and Dante with what could only be described as awe.

Dante cleared his throat to introduce himself but Malik interrupted, asking breathlessly, “You’re the football players who were kissing on ESPN today, aren’t you?” As Trevor nodded excitedly beside him, he added, “That’s totally cool!”

“Uh, yeah, that was us,” Dante muttered, embarrassed. He’d been so carried away by the excitement of winning that he’d forgotten about the presence of national media. That probably explained why his phone had blown up with messages after the game. There had been so many of them that he hadn’t had time to read them yet.

Beside him, Ky smiled proudly, slinging an arm over Dante’s shoulders. This seemed to please more than just Dante; he noticed that everyone–but especially the two boys–brightened at the gesture of affection.

“What can I say?” Ky bragged. “I am a lucky man. I am dating the quarterback!”

Coach Washington watched them, shaking his head. “I gotta say I never thought I’d see the day when football became so inclusive,” he admitted. “It’s about damned time, though. And I couldn’t be more delighted that it’s my guys who are the trailblazers!”

***

It quickly became clear that one of the reasons the Washingtons had invited Dante and Ky over for dinner was to serve as role models for their son and his boyfriend. Malik and Trevor didn’t actually refer to each other as boyfriends but it was clear from the way the boys treated each other that’s what they were. They hung on every word, watching Ky and Dante with undisguised adoration. It was touching and also a little uncomfortable. Someday, Dante thought as he helped himself to more mashed potatoes, no one will blink at a quarterback dating his teammate. It will be completely unremarkable.

“I gotta ask,” Coach Washington piped up near the end of the meal. “Dante, how did you become such a fan of ballet? I don’t meet many black folks who are into it.”

“You can blame my dad for that,” Dante explained, spreading his hands. “He signed me up for ballet lessons when I was six to help me develop balance and channel my spastic energy. I just sorta fell in love with it.”

Next to him, Ky’s jaw dropped. “You are a dancer?” he demanded. “Why did you never tell me?”

Dante laughed, clarifying, “I was a dancer. I stopped several years ago in high school when I started bulking up and decided to focus on football instead. I do still dance a few times a month for fun at a studio downtown.” He stopped, holding up a finger and adding, “I don’t wear ballet tights anymore, though. Ain’t nobody wanna see this phat ass in tights!”

“I do!” Ky chimed in, eagerly holding up his hand. “I want to see your ass in tights!”

“Me, too!” Trevor called out before Malik elbowed him..

Dante rolled his eyes upward, asking, “Um, is it just me or did it just get real hot in here?”

***

Later…

“You said you wanted to see my dance studio,” Ky entreated as he tugged Dante’s hand, leading him down the street. “And I want to see you in tights. Come with me?”

“Whoa, boy!” Dante protested, standing still and refusing to budge. “I already told you my ass is too big for tights. ‘Sides, I don’t have tights anymore. I threw ‘em away years ago.”

“You can wear mine,” Ky offered. “I had to buy bigger ones recently but still have the old ones. They will fit you…and your beautiful ass.”

“Ky,” Dante pleaded. “Don’t make me do this! Please!”

The Ukrainian pretended not to hear him as he continued, “And I will wear my dance belt and nothing else…”

Dante swallowed, feeling his cock twitch painfully at the thought of Ky in a dance belt, and he hastily amended, “Like I’m always saying, ‘Bring on the ballet tights!’ Let’s go!”

***

The dance studio was on the upper floor of an old music hall. Ky led him by the hand up the creaking stairs and pushed open the door, motioning for Dante to enter. Inside, it was dark except for a light in a rear hallway. The wooden dance floor glittered with a fresh coat of polyurethane in the dim light. A bank of mirrors with dance barres lined the far wall.

“Are you sure it’s Ok for us to be in here?” he asked as he kicked off his street shoes and padded across the smooth, open surface.

“Yes, of course!” Ky said, heading toward the back. “Let’s get undressed.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice!” Dante chirped, scrambling to catch up with him.

***

In the locker room, Ky was standing before him, completely naked and aroused as he watched Dante pull the sheer pair of tights up his legs. Dante’s cock was at attention, too, encased as it was in one of Ky’s dance belts. (I’m wearing Ky’s dance thong! The string riding up my ass has been christened by his sweat and…well, other stuff. Ungh!) But his arousal wasn’t simply due to the dance belt or Ky’s magnificent bod. Well, Ok, sure. Ky’s manly beauty was a big part of it. Everything about the Ukrainian was stunning: His huge cock, tall frame, defined muscles, hairy chest, steely jaw, glowing eyes… The list was limitless. Ky Voloshin was ideal in every way and it took everything Dante had not to leap into his arms and beg Ky to fuck him senseless.

He managed to refrain, though, because he was on the verge of realizing a lifelong fantasy: Dancing with another male dancer. It was a dream he’d written off long ago because his body had thickened just as he was coming to terms with his homosexuality, effectively killing his dance career along with the opportunity to explore male-on-male ballet. He’d been forced to abandon ballet and the fantasy of dancing with a ballerino. He kept the dream alive, though, with his fascination with ballet. If he could no longer dance, at least he could still admire the dancers.

“Your ass,” Ky was saying as he reached down unconsciously and fondled his dripping cock. “It is not too big at all. It is perfect!”

Dante finished pulling the tights up and cinched the drawstring. Looking behind him, he did a double take. When had his ass become so shapely and pert? It was muscular without being too round or too heavy. “But…” he murmured, wiggling his hips and watching with surprise when his ass remained tight and firm, “I used to have a big ass. Really!”

In answer, Ky took him by the hips and pressed his tumescent cock into the cleft of his buttocks, moaning, “Your ass is perfect, Dante. Everything about you is perfect. I cannot wait to…” his voice trailed off as he thrust his crotch more insistently against him.

“Ooof,” Dante panted, feeling his own cock throb almost painfully inside the pouch of his (Ky’s!) dance belt. He wrestled against the desire that threatened to overwhelm him, though, and somehow managed to gasp, “Uh, buddy? Either we go out there and dance right now or you bend me over that bench there and fuck me until morning.”

***

“What do you want to dance to?” Ky asked, solicitously wagging his crotch at Dante. They were standing in the middle of the dance floor and, as promised, Ky was clad only in his point shoes and dance belt whereas Dante was somewhat more decent in his pair of gray tights. He was shirtless, though, and his feet were bare; Ky’s old tights fit him but he didn’t have the same luck with the shoes.

Dante cleared his throat, trying to keep his attention off the stupendous bulge distorting Ky’s belt. “Uh, I, well, I might be able to remember Juliet’s parts if you help me out a bit,” he admitted, casting his eyes down to the floor.

“You have studied this?” Ky asked, eyebrows rising. “You know her parts?”

“Maybe.”

A guttural moan emanated from deep inside Ky’s chest as he closed the distance between them in one, big step. “You will be my Juliet then,” he pronounced, taking Dante into his beefy arms. “And I will be your Romeo. Here, let us warm up.”

Dante had to fight to keep from swooning as he quipped, “Um, I don’t know about you but I’m already pretty warmed up here.”

***

Ky switched on the lights and put on the music for Romeo and Juliet’s pas de deux during the balcony scene at the end of Act I. After bowing deeply to Dante, he straightened and, in so doing, assumed the bearing and demeanor of the lovestruck Romeo. Not that he had to work very hard to do so; everything about his demeanor already screamed lovestruck. Dante could only watch in awe, feeling his heart pound against his ribcage.

Dancing with Ky was a delirious pleasure, not because their performance was flawless but because of the utter eroticism of the experience. Dante lost himself in the wonder of leaping and twirling and kicking and spinning in near perfect synchronicity with Ky. The big man was always right there, ready to catch him, ready to lift him, ready to spin him at precisely the right moment. He soon forgot about keeping track of Ky because he knew he would be there for him, no matter what. More than that, Ky actively worked to augment Dante’s performance, offering him unsolicited support that enhanced his admittedly mediocre dancing abilities. With Ky, Dante was a better dancer. With Ky, he felt like he could do anything.

This was, he realized, why the hunky Ukrainian was an expert dancer and he was not. Ky knew instinctively how to make his dance partner shine. He was so attuned that he almost faded into the background as attention naturally focused on his partner. It was the opposite of a big ego and it was what made Ky a true master of dance. 

That night was the capstone of their romance and Dante fell completely, drunkenly, and unreservedly for Ky. Nothing, he knew with absolute certainty, would ever change that. And no one would ever come between them.

He was officially in love.

***

Ky was holding him against his sweaty torso, kissing his ear, at the end of their performance when unexpected applause rang out through the studio. Dante looked up to see a small, fierce woman dressed in a turban and flowing scarves, standing on the far end of the room. Her hands were lifted over her head and she was clapping with obvious elation.

“Bravo!” she cried. “Truly marvelous! Catch me before I swoon!”

“Shit!” Ky breathed, body going rigid. “It’s Madame Sylvaine! She saw us!”

Dante smiled. “Ah, she’s your dance instructor?”

Ky didn’t answer, he was too busy positioning Dante in front of him in order to conceal his near nudity. “Madame Sylvaine!” he called out. “I am sorry! I did not realize you were here.”

Sylvaine seemed amused by his modesty and her smile broadened as she swept toward them. “Kyrylo, please!” she teased. “Why are you suddenly so shy? You have no reason to be. That was an inspired performance. You captured Romeo perfectly.”

For some reason, Ky hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding miserable. “It was not right of me to come here…or to dress like this. Please forgive me.”

“Oh, pish!” Sylvaine said, waving her hands dismissively. “You think I have not seen men dance like this before?” She snorted, adding, “And, in Paris, they dance with rather less on than this!” When Ky made no reply, she continued, “I am very glad that I saw the lights and decided to investigate. You have given me a great gift, Kyrylo, and I have changed my mind about you.”

Ky lifted his head at this, querying, “You have? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Madame Sylvaine explained, pitching her voice dramatically as she extracted her phone from within the scarves fluttering about her, “I want you back as Romeo. I am going to call the costume designer right now and have him refit you for the role.” She paused to look Ky up and down before finishing, “Because, if my eyes don’t deceive me, he will need to sew an entirely new costume for you in time for tomorrow’s performance. Good thing his contract covers this sort of last minute change!”

Dante gave Ky a congratulatory squeeze, managing to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he exclaimed, “Wow! Congratulations, Ky! I guess this means you’re gonna be busy tonight?”

Ky looked down at him sadly, saying, “I am afraid so, Dante. I will see you at the performance tomorrow afternoon, though. I can’t wait!”

***

Chapter 10

2pm the next day…

Dante knew as soon as he knocked on the door of the lacrosse team’s clubhouse that he’d made a terrible mistake. He didn’t even know why he’d decided to come. Shiree had been super pissed when he’d informed her (via a text message) he was ditching the ballet. She had called him almost immediately after he clicked ‘send’ – and she’d continued calling and calling when he didn’t pick up. In the end, she left a blistering voicemail, berating him severely for standing her up. 

And then there was Ky…

Dante hung his head. He didn’t have the balls to let Ky know he wouldn’t be at the ballet. He knew that the big guy would seriously disappointed when he looked out into the audience and didn’t see Dante. Thinking about it broke his heart. He couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning his lover on the opening day of his big performance…and yet he had.

He’d let everyone down.

Everyone, including himself.

And why? So he could return to the lacrosse clubhouse.

So he could return to Neeraj.

Neeraj Kaur.

Dante shivered. He hated Neeraj with a passion. Hated him! Especially after the way he’d humiliated him in front of the whole fucking world. Neeraj Kaur was a fucking asshole! Why the fuck was he here?

He should go. 

If he left right now, he could still get to the hall before the ballet started. If he left right now he could make it up to Shiree and Ky. He could redeem himself, save face, be the lover he wanted to be…

He gritted his teeth, trying to make himself leave but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make his feet move. Instead, he watched his hand lift slowly to the door. He watched it move forward. And he watched it pound on the door. He watched his hand, feeling aghast and ashamed. Why was he doing this? It was almost like he was possessed. Almost like–

“Hello, Gorgeous!”

Dante looked up to find Neeraj standing there, naked save for a tiny pair of orange nylon shorts. His bright, golden eyes bored into Dante, holding him captive. 

He swallowed, unable to help himself from noticing the hunky captain was stunning as ever. Neeraj had even gotten a haircut to mark the occasion; his luxuriously thick, black curls were fashionably trimmed and his beard had been carefully styled to accentuate his luscious, full lips. Adding to his appeal, his dark skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. As Dante stared, a rivulet of perspiration trickled down Neeraj’s neck, traveling a circuitous route between the cleft of his hairy pecs. The sweat gathered and hung suspended for a moment on a black curl until gravity pulled it inexorably down, down, down. Dante’s cheeks flushed when the stream of sweat disappeared under the waistband of Neeraj’s shorts. The outline of the man’s long, thick cock was clearly visible beneath the soaking, sheer fabric.

Dante felt his own dick pulse and he flushed a deeper shade of red.

“Join us inside, Holmes?” Neeraj inquired, thrusting his crotch forward suggestively. “We were just about to rinse off but now that you’re here–”

“What do you want, Neeraj?” Dante interrupted, hating the breathless tone of his voice. “Why did you invite me here?”

The big man smiled down at him. “Isn’t it obvious?” he challenged. “Or do I need to spell it out for you?” 

While Dante struggled to articulate a coherent reply, Neeraj took his arm, steering him inside and propelling him down a side hall and into a plush lounge. A big screen television hung on the far wall. In front of it sat three leather sofas and upon those reclined a half dozen tall, lean, sweaty guys, all of whom were in various states of undress. They sat up expectantly when Neeraj pushed Dante inside, closing the door behind him. Dante shivered as he watched their handsome faces split into vulpine grins. A couple of them even reached down to massage their crotches.

“Look who’s here, boys!” Neeraj announced, guiding Dante over to a couch. While Dante looked on in a confused state of panic and arousal, Neeraj sprawled out on the cushions, spreading his legs wide and patting the space between them.

Dante stared.

Neeraj’s shorts were so tiny that his hairy ass cheeks pushed out through the leg holes. The crotch of his shorts was askew, revealing the moist straps of his jock. They formed a tantalizing V-shape, inviting and focusing attention on the cleft of his ass. Dante couldn’t stop himself from looking, inadvertently salivating when he spotted the dark nest of bristly hair concealing that ripe, sweaty manhole.

He sat down.

“Ah, now, isn’t that better?” Neeraj purred, squeezing Dante between his long legs as he leaned forward and pulled his shirt over his head. Dante wanted to resist but he found himself incapable of doing anything to thwart the studly captain. He raised his arms obediently and felt the cool air caress his bare skin as Neeraj lifted off his shirt and tossed it aside.

Neeraj kissed the back of his neck and wrapped his arms around Dante’s stomach, running his fingers down the ridges of his abs before pausing to unbutton his jeans. In a few breathless moments, Dante’s jeans had joined his t-shirt on the floor.

“You’re so sexy, Dante,” Neeraj whispered in his ear. When his tongue flicked out and traced the curve of his earlobe, Dante moaned and then hated himself for doing so. 

Why the fuck didn’t he just get up and leave? Neeraj was nothing compared to Ky! Sure, Neeraj was handsome and hung and possessed a sort of animal magnetism…but Ky was bigger, hotter, more hung (hung-er?), and had a stellar personality. Even better, Ky loved him. Neeraj, Dante suspected, didn’t love anyone but himself.

Still, he didn’t get up.

It disturbed him to no end. Why? he asked himself. Why am I still here? Unlike the last time he’d been lured into the clubhouse, no one was holding him down, forcing him to stay. He could get up and leave whenever he wanted.

But he didn’t leave.

The other jocks converged on their couch, flopping down on either side of them. They were so close that Dante could feel the heat emanating from their sweaty bods. He almost flinched when his cock spasmed mutinously. Why was his body betraying him? These were not his friends!

Neeraj cupped Dante’s pecs in his big hands, pulling him backward until he was nestled on top of him, feeling the man’s huge cock pulse against the small of his back. Neeraj exhaled, letting out a contented sigh as he lifted Dante’s arms up over his head. Dante was just beginning to relax, suffused with the deliciously soporific effect of Neeraj’s ministrations, when the lacrosse captain turned his head and, kissing the underside of his wrist, murmured, “Ah, there it is. I was wondering how you did it.”

“Did what?” Dante asked, sitting up and looking back at him.

In answer, Neeraj took Dante’s hand and gently turned it over so his palm was facing upward. “This,” he said, tracing a finger over the little henna design on Dante’s skin. “You put a spell on your team, didn’t you? And one on your big stud dancer boy, too.”

Dante froze in alarm, stammering, “N-N-No, I-I-I didn’t. I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Neeraj smiled lazily, his yellow eyes alive with mischief…or was it malice? “Don’t lie to me, Dante.”

“I-I-I’m not lying!” he insisted, fighting back against a rising tide of panic. How the fuck did Neeraj know what the design signified? How?! Chest clenching with fear, he willed himself to get up and flee but it was no use: His body would not obey him; he was glued there between the captain’s muscular thighs.

Neeraj laughed. “You wanna know how I know?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. Dante willed himself not to respond but instead found himself nodding helplessly. Neeraj’s smile broadened as he held up his own wrist.

It was marked with the exact same design, the same one the fortuneteller had dabbed on Dante outside the ballet theater.

“How did–?” he squeaked but Neeraj didn’t let him finish.

“It seems we both got our wishes, didn’t we?” Neeraj murmured, still smiling as the studs next to them pressed in closer, eyes on fire with lust. “My wish was to subjugate and humiliate the football team and yours was to force a straight guy to fall in love with you.”

“No!” Dante protested. “I didn’t–”

“Yes, you did,” Neeraj corrected. “Don’t deny it. I know everything you did. I know, for instance, that it was your idea to tattoo your teammates’ asses, thereby turning them irreparably, unrepently gay.”

“N-N-No! That’s not–”

“Tell me, Dante,” Neeraj inquired, brows knitting together with feigned curiosity. “Did you admit to Ky that you painted his cock, too? Wasn’t he awfully surprised when he woke up and found ink all over his precious manhood? I’m sure he suspected you were the one who did it…but the question is: Did you come clean? Did you tell him you handled his piece while he was asleep? Did you tell him that you laid a curse on his member? Did you tell him that you are responsible for making his cock grow to such a stupendous size?”

Dante swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing painfully up and down in his throat. Looking off to the side, he gasped, “I would never–!”

“Oh, yes, you would!” Neeraj sneered. “You’re a fucking liar, a schemer, and a cheat. And now it’s time you received your punishment. Now it’s time for payback!”

With this, he leaned over and retrieved something wedged between the cushions of the sofa. As Dante struggled valiantly to find the will to defend himself, to yell at Neeraj, to free himself from this increasingly alarming situation, the lacrosse captain held out his hand. 

In it, lay a chastity cage.

A very small chastity cage.

In spite of himself, Dante snorted, “Really? You’re fucking kidding!” He looked around the room mockingly, teasing, “I hope you have a bigger one somewhere because my cock and balls ain’t never gonna fit in that little thing!”

Neeraj didn’t reply. Instead, he held out his other hand and waited patiently while one of the jocks placed something in it. Without saying a word, he held out the object. Dante’s eyes went round and a strangled moan escaped his lips when he saw what Neeraj was holding between his index finger and thumb.

It was a vial of henna ink.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about the cage fitting for long,” Neeraj whispered ominously, rolling the vial around in his fingers and causing the dark ink to slosh back and forth. “You see, unlike you, I didn’t waste my vial of magic ink on stupid endeavors. No, I saved it for a very special occasion. I save it just for you, Dante.”

Dante went rigid with fear, his eyes going round and alarm bells ringing nonstop in his head.

When he failed to respond, Neeraj nodded to one of the jocks and the guy reached down and pulled back the waistband of Dante’s boxers. His huge, erect cock flopped out, slapping against his belly. His stomach knotted and turned to ice as he stared down at it. Measuring more than ten inches long and nearly the width of his wrist, it was proud piece of manhood. Proud and long and strong. Full of life. Hot-blooded and bold and dominant. A man’s cock.

Apparently, Neeraj and his teammates thought so, too, because an awed hush descended on the group as they stared at the hard and dripping behemoth. Neeraj was the first to regain his composure. Letting out a low whistle, he shook his head as he reached out to pick up Dante’s massive member. Dante moaned as he stroked it, gradually lifting it upward until it was perpendicular to his crotch.

“Shee-it!” he breathed. “That’s one big cock you got there, Dante! It would be a shame if you lost it, wouldn’t it? A cryin’ shame if somehow, I don’t know, it shrank down to nothing and then got locked up so that Ky couldn’t even touch it.” He paused then, clearly relishing the way Dante’s whole body had begun to tremble. Just when Dante couldn’t stand the tense silence any longer, he concluded, “Some might say, though, that this would be a, ahem, fitting punishment. What do you think, guys?”

As the jocks around them grunted their assent, Dante scowled, somehow managing to protest, “Fuck you! Leave it alone!”

“Too late for that,” Neeraj murmured, shaking his head. “Way too late for that, I’m afraid.” He let go of Dante’s cock then and it flopped back down onto his belly as he uncorked the vial of henna ink. Accepting a fine-tipped ink pen from one of his teammates, he continued, “They say that revenge is a dish best served up cold but I disagree, Dante. You see, I always enjoy my revenge best when it’s hot. And nothing’s hotter than a captive, shrunken cock. Don’t you agree?”

***

Chapter 11

Ky Voloshin at the ballet theater

Ky’s heart sank as he looked out over the gathering audience from backstage and didn’t see Dante. Instead, his lover’s friend, Shiree, was there with a big man he didn’t recognize. Was that her boyfriend? Why was he with her instead of Dante? Dante had promised to be there. Why hadn’t he come?

“Don’t worry, Kiryusha,” a voice murmured in Russian at his shoulder. “He’ll be here.”

Ky turned to find his erstwhile friend, the Russian dancer Piotr, standing next to him, dressed in a pair of sapphire tights and a silver doublet identical to his own. Piotr had been slated to play the part of Romeo until Madame Sylvaine gave the role back to Ky the night before. The lithe Russian dancer was nonetheless prepared to step in should something go wrong during the performance.

“He is not coming,” Ky pronounced in a forlorn voice. “His seat is taken by someone else.”

“Maybe he is coming late?” Piotr offered. “He cares for you, Kiryusha. He won’t miss your performance.”

Ky hung his head. “I-I-I wish I believed that. I really do, Petya.” He paused then, searching Piotr’s face. The Russian’s eyebrows lifted and his soulful brown eyes softened as he asked, “Why are you not angry with me? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me after accusing me of using steroids and having–”

“Kiryusha,” his friend interrupted soothingly, “I was wrong. I can see that now.” He swept his arms upward, indicating the length and breadth of Ky’s greatly enhanced form, adding, “I know that medicine in the West is advanced but nothing could have done this to you. I don’t know what is happening but I do know no doctor or drug is responsible.”

“Really?” Ky pressed. “You’re not just saying that?”

His friend rolled his eyes. “Can’t you just take my word for it?” When Ky shook his head, his mouth quirked and he reached up to muss his hair. “Fine,” he murmured. “I’ll tell you what convinced me that you weren’t lying to me: It was Dante.”

“Dante?” Ky queried. “What about him convinced you?”

Piotr smiled slyly, answering, “His penis. Or, more specifically, the fact that he has one.”

Ky blinked, mystified by this answer.

Piotr waited for him to get it. When he didn’t, he sighed theatrically, saying, “I know for a fact you were straight until a week ago. How did I know this? Because I tried my best to seduce you from the moment I first met you and you never took any notice.” He paused to regard Ky levelly for a moment before stating confidently, “There is no gay man alive, Kiryusha, who can resist my charms. Not one. If you were gay before last week, I would have bedded you. Period. Something happened to you, my friend, something beyond penis augmentation surgery or steroids.”

Ky opened his mouth to reply but his voice was drowned out by the orchestra as it began warming up for the performance. Behind them, Madame Sylvaine pounded her staff on the floor, prompting them to get ready.

There was still one thing bothering Ky, though. One thing he had to know. Putting his hand on Piotr’s arm, he asked, “And you’re not mad at me for taking the part of Romeo away from you? I know how much you wanted the role.”

Piotr regarded him for a moment with his sensitive gaze before answering emphatically, “No, I am not mad. It is your part, Kiryusha. Sylvaine is never wrong about these things. Besides,” he added, turning to give Ky a stunning view of his pert butt limned by the stretchy pair of blue tights, “I still get to play Romeo on the days when we have two performances. The world will still get its chance to worship Piotr Romanov in the starring role.”

***

The ballet started out normally enough, aside from Dante’s mysterious absence. Ky had tried texting him just before the show but had to set his phone aside when Madame Sylvaine gave him a stern reprimand. He did so reluctantly, feeling hurt and confused. Why had Dante abandoned him during his most important performance? It didn’t make sense. Using all of his self-discipline, though, he managed to square his shoulders and continue warming up. This was one of the times he was glad he had learned to set aside his feelings before a performance. He was Ukrainian after all. If his people had learned anything over the past five hundred years, it was how to endure.

When Ky made his grand entrance in Scene I, his body felt as strong, supple, and limber as ever. He couldn’t believe he’d gained nearly fifty kilos in two weeks. It was almost inconceivable that he could move with the same speed and grace as when he’d weighed a mere 75 kilograms. The audience broke into spontaneous applause as he leaped and spun in perfect timing. He knew it strained credulity to have such a hefty man play a lovesick teenage boy but apparently Madame Sylvaine had made the right call: Ky was so convincing that he could pull it off and the audience loved him.

Dancing to Prokofiev’s frenetic score in front of a live orchestra was such an extraordinary privilege that it helped distract Ky from his worries about Dante. The same could be said of sharing the stage with the expert ballerina in the role of Juliet. She might not possess Dante’s, er, charms but she was the perfect match for Ky’s athleticism and grace, embodying the movements and mannerisms of a virginal girl so completely that even Ky had a hard time believing she was in her early twenties. Her meticulous yet exuberant performance helped Ky to scale new heights and he was profoundly thankful for her and the support of the rest of the ensemble.

The performance was so powerful and sublime that it took him until the ball in Scene II to realize something was amiss. The trouble was subtle at first, so subtle he almost didn’t notice, but soon the tension in his groin area was too great to ignore. He pushed it aside resolutely but it was no use; he had to do something to relieve the pressure. Waiting for a small break from dancing, he moved with the utmost subtlety, reaching down to adjust himself and froze, nearly losing his balance.

What the fuck?!

His bulge was swollen.

Really swollen.

What was going on?!

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t have a chance to do anything about it until the end of the scene; he had to continue as best as he could. He turned away from the audience and grimaced as he felt another tug down there. His dance belt strained, the string pulling tighter up the crack of his ass and he almost stumbled. With great effort, he recovered, hoping Madame Sylvaine hadn’t noticed, and continued dancing. This was an important scene and he had to move with stealth and sleekness!

It got worse.

After another five minutes, his crotch was throbbing painfully as the wicked dance belt dug deeper into his sensitive flesh, the string abrading his tender butthole. He bit the inside of his cheek, determined to carry on despite the strange pressure and was somewhat mollified when none of the other dancers seemed to notice his discomfort. They were all well-trained performers and maintained strict eye contact while dancing. Madame Sylvaine had drilled this into their heads above all else: ‘Smile and don’t look down,’ she reminded them, ‘the audience needs to believe in you. You are actors as well as dancers. Convince your audience that you have become your character and they will get lost in the beauty of the performance.’

Ky was doing a pretty good job of remembering Sylvaine’s advice until he landed a particularly difficult jump and happened to look down at his crotch.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME??!!!

His bulge had swollen more than twice its already significant size, depending out like a fat sausage between his narrow hips. His sheer tights did little to conceal the behemoth despite the confining influence of his dance belt. Struggling to regain his composure, he surreptitiously tugged down on his doublet, silently cursing when he realized it was too short. The doublet had been designed to ride above the waist so as not conceal his elegant legs and muscular buttocks. Unfortunately, this meant that it offered no way to hide his mammoth cock and balls.

There was nothing he could do to hide his package.

And it was only growing bigger.

***

Dante Holmes at the lacrosse clubhouse

“Hold him down, boys,” Neeraj ordered. “We don’t want him moving while I’m stenciling his dick.”

Immediately, Dante’s arms and legs were pinned by six half-naked lacrosse studs, their huge erections jutting out before them like wooden poles. Despite being terrified of what Neeraj had planned for him, he couldn’t help being turned on. The guys were so lean and svelte, their bodies glistening with sweat and their sensuous lips drawn into arrogant sneers…he found them both revolting and beguiling at the same time.

What the fuck is wrong with me? he thought. I’m punch drunk on sadism!

“It’s gonna be so much fun watching you lose this,” Neeraj said, giving Dante’s cock a vicious squeeze that made him cry out. He laughed at his reaction, dipping the stylus into the little bottle of henna dye. “You’ve been nothin’ but a cocky asshole for too long,” he growled. “Time to remove the cock and leave you just an asshole.”

He held Dante’s throbbing hardon in one hand while lowering the inked stylus in the other. Dante whined when the nib pierced his tender skin and a little droplet of blood leaked out, mixing with the brown-black dye.

“The blood makes it permanent,” Neeraj murmured, giving him a lascivious smile. “Did you know that?” Dante gurgled something incomprehensible and Neeraj smirked. “There is no going back now, asshole. Your cock is history.”

Dante fought with all of his might to free himself, to no avail. The lacrosse studs held him firmly in position and Neeraj’s grip on his cock was true. Nothing he did could stop the fucker from dying the shaft of his proud cock with the transformative ink.

Neeraj paused then, prolonging his misery. When Dante looked up at him, there was an evil gleam in his yellow-gold eyes. He was, Dante was forced to admit, devastatingly handsome. His newly-trimmed hair was deep black, left long and thick on top and swept back in almost a pompadour style. His face was narrow, cheekbones high, lips full, beard thick. There was a symmetry to his features that made him appear almost preternatural. Like a fallen angel, Dante decided, A beautiful and deadly demon. And so desirable that his cock was throbbing uncontrollably in Neeraj’s stony grip.

“Let’s see,” Neeraj began, looking off into space thoughtfully. “What should I draw on your cock to remind you of everything you have lost?” Barely a second elapsed before his face broke into a wicked grin and his eyes snapped onto Dante’s. “Oh, I’ve got it! This is going to be fun!”

“Neeraj, please!” Dante pleaded in a strangled voice. “I didn’t mean to do any of it! Really! I had no idea what would happen when I used that ink!”

The lacrosse captain ignored him. Instead, he doubled down on Dante’s cock, stenciling it with surgical precision as he sketched out a nefarious design. Dante screamed but it made no difference. His captors held him immobile.

He was doomed.

***

Ky Voloshin during the ballet performance of Romeo and Juliet

“What is wrong, Kiryusha?” Piotr demanded when he staggered into the dressing room at the end of Act I. Ky had his hands clamped over his ridiculously swollen package and his cheeks were flaming pink. He had barely managed to hold it together for the trek backstage. How the audience and his fellow dancers had failed to notice his humiliation was beyond him. Surely, they were being polite and pretending not to see?

“Kiryusha!” Piotr prompted when he didn’t answer. “What is wrong?”

“I…I…I,” Ky stammered, unable to find words to express his humiliation. Finally, he choked, “I can’t do this, Petya! I need you to take over for me!”

Piotr stared at him, mouth falling open before he recovered, stating flatly, “No. I cannot do that. Not now. And especially not when your dancing is so flawless. You were stupendous out there! There is no one better to play Romeo! Why would you ask this of me?”

In silent answer, Ky let his hands fall away from his crotch.

There was a stunned silence.

Then: “Holy mother of Russia, Kiryusha!” Piotr shouted, backing away from him as if he were somehow contagious. “What is wrong with your…with your…with your…”

“I am cursed,” Ky replied, hanging his head and closing his eyes. He couldn’t stand to look at the rapidly mutating monster rearing out like an unholy tumor from the crotch of his tights. “I am over. I cannot dance like this.”

Piotr stood there pressed against the mirror on the far wall, gaping at him for a long time before finally taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. When he opened them, the fear and disbelief had disappeared and in their place was a calm resolve. Moving decisively, he stalked across the dressing room and rummaged around in a locker. After searching for a while, he pulled something out, exclaiming, “Here! Put these on. They will help you.”

He held up his hand and Ky stared at the little wad of clothing contained within it, declaring, “That won’t work, Petya. I am too far gone for that. Nothing can save me.”

Piotr made a dismissive gesture. “Trust me, Kiryusha. These will work. They are made for Russian ballerinos. All of the men in the Bolshoi wear them when on tour in Europe so they don’t, ahem, stick out.” He paused, a sly smile creasing his lips. “Men from the West would feel too inadequate if we displayed our true dominance so we are forced to hide from their envious eyes.”

When Ky remained skeptical, he urged, “Come on, Kiryusha! Take off those tights. I will help you. You can do this!”

Reluctantly, Ky reached out and accepted the tiny dance thongs, holding one up in his fingers. It was barely more than a pouch and two strings. A very tiny pouch at that. How on earth would such a miniscule thing ever contain his rampaging monster?

“Off with your tights,” Piotr repeated, more sternly this time. “Let us tame that beast!”

Flushing scarlet, Ky unlaced his point shoes and shimmied his tights and dance belt down his legs, sighing with despair when his enormously inflated package flopped out. 

Piotr’s mouth fell open and he stood there dumbfounded for a moment before exclaiming, “I’ve never seen anything like this on a Ukrainian! You’re almost as big as a Russian now!”

Ky grimaced, admonishing, “Stop it, Petya! This is no time for joking.”

The dancer looked up at him, motioning up to his face which remained as impassive as ever. “Did you forget that I am Russian, Kiryusha?” he queried. “We Russians do not joke.”

“Oh, whatever!” Ky huffed, exasperated. “Just shut up and help me! We don’t have long before I have to be out there again!”

Piotr complied somewhat reluctantly, giving his huge package a look of longing before shaking himself and unfurling one of the thongs. He stretched it out in his hands and held it down for Ky, urging, “Go on, boy! Step in!”

Ky stuck his foot out and Piotr tugged the sheer piece of fabric up his stocky thighs. The little thong was stretched thin by the time the Russian had succeeded in pulling it up to his waist. Ky grunted, struggling desperately to stuff his mutant sausage inside. He couldn’t do it, though, and finally he gave up, imploring, “Help me, Petya! Help me!”

“You don’t have to ask me twice!” Piotr replied, eyes gleaming hungrily.

The Russian approached the task with such gusto, tugging and pushing and yanking on Ky’s equipment so furiously that he finally had to beg him to stop. “Enough!” he pleaded. “You’re having the opposite effect! It is getting even bigger!”

It was true.

Flaccid, his cock had verged on unmanageable but as a result of Piotr’s onslaught it was now rapidly hardening and there was no way to stuff it into the tiny pouch of the thong. To make matters worse, the bell sounded just then, indicating that Act II would begin shortly. 

Ky’s shoulders hunched and he stared down at his engorged member in despair. “Oh, Piotr!” he moaned. “What am I going to do? I can’t go out there like this!”

Piotr placed his index finger on his chin thoughtfully. After a few moments, his eyes lit up and he announced, “I’ve got just the thing! I’ll tame that beast myself!” 

With that, he sunk to his knees and made good on his promise.

A few minutes later, Ky emerged from the dressing room with a silly grin plastered across his face and a renewed spring in his step. Thanks to Piotr’s, ahem, expertise he was now clad in an overlapping trio of dance thongs, his monster safely contained and all ready for Act II.

***

Dante Holmes at the lacrosse clubhouse

“There,” Neeraj Kaur pronounced. “Now, we wait for the ink to dry and then the fun begins.”

Dante whimpered, looking down at his huge, hard cock with dread. Neeraj had drawn the words, “BIGGEST AND BADDEST WILLY. DANTE IS THE COCK KING,” in large, mocking block letters down the length of his shaft. Dante’s cock was so long and fat that there were still plenty of un-inked inches after Neeraj was finished. Not for long, he thought with a shudder of fear. Not for long.

Even though he was on fire with outrage and seething with hatred for the evil lacrosse captain, Dante had to admit the dude possessed excellent penmanship and a steady hand. He himself had not been nearly as tidy when he’d drawn on his football teammates’ butts…or on Ky’s little penis while the dude slept unawares. 

He was particularly ashamed of this last part. Ky Voloshin had trusted him so completely that he felt like a total asshole for lying to him about writing on his dick. But how could he admit that he’d undressed the sexy stud and drawn on his penis during that party a month ago? Sure, they’d both been drunk at the time but it was still inexcusable and he’d known that the Ukrianian would never forgive him if he knew the truth. Admitting to the deed would have ended their nascent friendship then and there. 

And losing Ky was the last thing he wanted. 

Ky was the love of his life, his perfect man, the best thing to ever happen to him. When he’d undressed the dancer and stenciled those fateful letters on his dick, he’d acted out of impulse and hope. He’d really had no idea that the fortuneteller’s ink would work. It was a leap of faith. And Ky Voloshin was so special, sexy and beautiful he’d felt it was worth the risk. What was one small betrayal if it landed him the boyfriend he’d always wanted? Now that the tables were turned and his lie had been exposed, he wasn’t so sure. 

Ky! Oh, Ky! What have I done? he thought plaintively, an ominous tingling spreading down the length of his shaft. If I could take it back, I would! I never wanted to hurt you!

“Let the games begin,” Neeraj said, exhaling in satisfaction as he watched Dante’s hardon convulse. Nodding to the half dozen men holding him down, he ordered, “You can let him go now. The deed is done. His cock is as good as gone.”

A pathetic moan escaped Dante’s lips as all thoughts of betraying Ky disappeared from his mind and he watched in stunned disbelief as the impossible–but all too real–happened: His proud, fat, long, hard cock began to shrink.

A pulse.

Then another.

And–just like that!–he’d lost an inch.

His dick was still hard as ever but even so it was clear to everyone present that his erection was not nearly as impressive as it had been a minute ago.

Rubbing his hands together, Neeraj purred, “Oh, this is gonna be fun, boys! This is gonna be fun!”

***

Ky Voloshin, Act II of the ballet ‘Romeo and Juliet’

He strode onto the stage for the folk dance at the beginning of Act II feeling like a whole new man. Back in the dressing room, Piotr had made sure his cock and balls were tied down to the point of decency…among other things. Thinking of his Russian friend and his magical…skills…made him blush and he cleared his throat, lowering his head and marveling at Piotr’s handiwork. How had the man squeezed his stallion-sized package into the tiny pouch? It was nothing short of a miracle. There was barely a bump visible in the crotch of his tights.

Piotr’s magic held for a long time, too. It wasn’t until the fight scene with Tybalt after Mercutio’s death that it began to wear off. Ky was cradling the fallen Mercutio’s head in his lap, weeping over his dead body when he felt it.

A pulse, followed by swelling in the pouch of his thong.

Shit! he thought. It’s happening again!

He carefully schooled his features, hoping beyond hope that it was just his imagination.

It wasn’t.

Less than three seconds later, his cock and balls throbbed again, this time pressing almost painfully against the constraining thong. He winced, willing his cock to stop inflating. It didn’t. The next time his crotch throbbed, the fallen Mercutio’s eyes cracked open in puzzlement and Ky’s cheeks grew hot.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck!

What can I do!? he thought frantically as the orchestra’s score swelled, presaging the climactic scene where he was to duel against the murderous Tybalt. His crotch throbbed again and he felt something give way. It didn’t take him long to figure out what it was: His growing cock had just succeeded in shredding the pouch of one of the thongs. He panicked, mind blanking, and he would have darted off stage if he hadn’t happened to look back at the dancer in his lap.

What the–?

He did a double take.

Instead of Mercutio, he saw Dante.

Wait. Dante?

He blinked.

When he reopened his eyes, his lover was still there. It really was Dante!

But it couldn’t be!

He blinked again, trying to clear his mind.

And once again, when he opened his eyes Dante was still there, his handsome face pinched in anguish as tears slid down his cheeks. Ky shook his head, forgetting about his mutinous crotch. All he could think about was Dante. Dante had been hurt! Dante was in trouble! He had to rescue Dante!

The rising shrill of the woodwinds snapped him back to reality.

The woodwinds were his cue!

He had to get up now.

He had to battle Tybalt!

Lifting his head, he tried to shake off the weirdly real vision of Dante and gasped when–instead of the dancer playing Tybalt–he saw Neeraj Kaur looming over him. The lacrosse captain sneered, brandishing his sword menacingly.

Neeraj! Ky thought in confusion and fear. But…how? What is going on?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. He was in danger of missing his cue (and, worse, incurring Madame Sylvaine’s wrath.) A half-step too late, he leaped to his feet and unsheathed his rapier. By that point, he was past caring who he was fighting, Neeraj or Tybalt. Either villain was a worthy foe. His face contorted with rage as he lunged but the man sidestepped his blade, dancing elegantly away. 

Ky lost it when Neeraj/Tybalt paused, just out of reach, snarling haughtily. Unable to tell whether he was Ky Voloshin defending his lover, Dante, or Romeo avenging his friend, Mercutio, all he cared about was vanquishing the hated rival before him. He threw himself into the fight, limbs and blade awhirl as he relentlessly pushed his adversary backward. When the dancer exposed his flank, Ky’s vision swam with red and he dove for the kill, only barely managing to restrain himself at the last instant and preventing real bloodshed.

The music stopped at that precise moment and the auditorium filled with silence.

Ky stared down at the dying Tybalt, contorting in death throes, and saw only Neeraj. A cold smile touched his lips and in his heart he was glad.

He had avenged Dante. He had saved his lover.

The death of Tybalt was meant to be a momentous scene, filled with gravitas as Romeo wakes up to what he has done. It was therefore somewhat bewildering when a snicker from the audience broke the silence, echoing ignominiously throughout the amphitheater.

The snicker was soon joined by another.

And another.

Soon the entire concert hall was ringing from floor to rafters with raucous laughter. Annoyed, the conductor tapped his baton on the stand before him, imploring the audience to be silent.

It didn’t work.

If anything, the laughter increased.

Ky looked around, wondering what was going on. This was extremely rude! Every ballet aficionado knew that you kept quiet during a performance. The dancers relied on the silence and attention of the audience. Even taking your smartphone out was considered impolite. Never before had he witnessed a performance interrupted in such a way.

Placing his hands on his hips, he turned and felt something…

Something that shouldn’t have been there…

Something that…

Fuck.

What–?

Oh, no!

His heart froze when he looked down to find the fallen Tybalt–who was supposed to still be in the throes of dying–was now contorting with laughter, clutching his belly as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Ky’s chest clenched.

And his body broke out in a cold sweat.

As he realized the dancer’s eyes were glued to his crotch.

Breathlessly, his gaze slid downward…

He goggled at his crotch, unable to comprehend how a bloated elephant’s trunk had gotten crammed inside his tights. But there it was, swaying ponderously from side to side, threatening to explode through the sheer material at any moment. The ridiculously long, fat, serpentine tube pressed against the flimsy fabric, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Every thick and twisted vein was outlined luridly. Every ridge, every wrinkle, every freckle.

It’s not an elephant’s trunk, he thought feverishly in a far off corner of his mind. It’s a woolly mammoth snout!  

It was true.

A forest of woolly red pubes spilled out the top of the distended waistband of his tights. And the base of his gargantuan ‘trunk’–more than a half-foot wide–was clearly visible. It was so far beyond obscene that it ranged into hilarity. Which, of course, was why the members of the audience–and now most of the dance troupe–were laughing their heads off at him.

Ky stood in shock, raised sword slowly descending in an arc to land flaccidly at his side. His cheeks burned bright red and he began to shake with humiliation. The last straw was when he lifted his head and spotted Coach Washington and his wife sitting in the front row of the theater…only to discover they, too, were laughing at him. Laughing at him! Laughing at Kyrylo Voloshin! The Polecat’s football star and the best damned ballerino on campus!

He wilted in defeat.

Before he knew what he was doing, he’d tottered off the stage and was floundering down the aisle as the colossus inside his tights lurched to and fro before him. He didn’t know what he was doing or where he was going. He just knew he had to get out of there! He had to flee! He didn’t care if the performance was only half over, didn’t care if he was doing the unthinkable and abandoning his role, didn’t care how loudly Madame Sylvaine was hollering behind him. He had to get out there!

When he blundered through the doors at the back of the auditorium, he was so overwhelmed with shame that he didn’t see the fortuneteller until she was directly in front of him. At the last instant, he heaved his ponderous crotch to the side and narrowly avoided colliding with her. He would have staggered past if she hadn’t reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Take this,” she urged, folding a small bottle into his fingers. “You will know what to do with it when the time comes.”

Ky was so overwrought that he barely heard her and stuffed the vial unthinkingly inside the tiny pocket of his doublet. Without a backward glance, he wobbled past a pair of startled ushers and careened through the atrium and out onto the sidewalk. He had no idea what he was doing or where he was going but one thought rang loud and clear over the cacophony of noise inside his skull: He needed Dante. He had to find Dante! 

Lifting his head, he sniffed the air and let out a low bellow before heading off blindly down the street.

***

Dante Holmes at the lacrosse clubhouse

Within five minutes of the henna ink drying, the bold letters stenciled on Dante’s dick were much smaller. And some were missing entirely. Neeraj’s script now read, “BIG AN BADD WY DAN IS COC KIN”

Neeraj’s brow furrowed in mock confusion as he read it aloud, voice cracking into maniacal laughter by the end. “Ha!” he crowed as Dante writhed in humiliation beneath him on the couch. “You got less than six inches now, I’d wager. Which makes you barely average for a white dude…and damned small for a black guy.” He reached out and grabbed Dante’s dick in his hand, laughter rising when he saw that his shrunken glans barely peeked out of the top of his fist.

“Pleeeeeeeease, Neeraj,” Dante begged. “Make it stop! You can’t do this to me!”

“I love it when you plead,” Neeraj sneered, face contorting in a wicked grin. “It makes me feel like such a big man. And you know what?” He paused to look down at his own huge erection bobbing full and hard before him. “I am a big man. A really big man compared to you!”

Kneeling in a sweaty ring around him, the other lacrosse players chuckled, wagging their equally huge cocks provocatively, and Dante whimpered. He was drowning in shame at his rapidly shrinking cock, growing increasingly desperate the more inches he lost. His formerly big, fat cock had been such an integral part of his identity for so long that didn’t even realize he’d taken it for granted. Had he really thought that cock size didn’t matter? Now that he was swiftly losing size, he realized he’d been deluding himself. It’s easy to pretend size doesn’t when you’re big down there. But when you aren’t…

Cock size did matter. 

A lot. 

He tried and failed to get himself under control but he couldn’t stop the fearful thoughts churning around in his turbid mind: ‘What will Ky think of me? What if I don’t even have a cock anymore by the time this curse is done? How will I live without a penis? I don’t wanna have a fucking clit!’

As Neeraj loomed over him, a long rope of precum drooling out of his pulsing erection. Dante watched helplessly as it descended, finally landing with a splat on his belly. He yelped, cock spasming in another painful contraction. When he looked at it again, it was even smaller, less than five inches now and barely the width of his index finger. Even his formerly generous foreskin had shrunk, peeling back from his cockhead like a banana.

“NOOOOOO!” he cried, reaching down to cradle his little cock in his hand. It was so small that his fingers didn’t recognize it as his own. There was no way his cock would be this tiny! No way!

And yet it was.

And getting smaller by the second.

Another minute and he’d lost another couple of inches. He gasped in disbelief when he realized it was thinner than his pinkie finger and only about half as long. He could hold the entire length of it in three fingers!

And his balls!

His formerly glorious balls!

Were now the size of marbles.

And his nutsac was basically gone.

His little balls pulled up tight and hard against his boy-sized shaft.

A final contraction came, more agonizing than all of the previous ones, and Dante howled in pain and despair. When he opened his eyes, tears rolled down his cheeks as he beheld what had become of his former masterpiece. The slanting rays of the autumn sun spilled through the picture window beside him, highlighting his shame for all to see.

Dante sobbed.

A micro penis.

He had a mico penis that nearly disappeared in the spidery tangle of black pubes.

It wasn’t even big enough to be considered boy-sized anymore.

No, it was too tiny to belong to a boy.

“Heh,” Neeraj chuckled, leaning down and making an exaggerated show of squinting at Dante’s pathetic dicklet. “What’s that written on it? It’s so miniscule, I need a magnifying glass to read it. Hmmm…” his voice trailed off and he leaned in closer. Finally, his face brightened as he exclaimed, “Oh, there it is! I can read it. Barely, but it’s there.” He lifted his head and fixed Dante with narrowed eyes, asking, “You wanna know what it says?”

Dante’s head wobbled. He didn’t! He didn’t want to know because he had a sinking feeling that he already knew. He had a sick premonition and didn’t want it confirmed.

Neeraj waited, letting him marinate in the putrid juices despair for a long time before he pronounced, “It says, ‘BABY DICK’!” He looked up at his naked compatriots, shouting, “That’s right, men! ‘Big Man Dante Holmes’–the star quarterback of the Polecats–isn’t so big now. Nope, Dante Holme’s got nothin’ but a baby dick.”

This was greeted with loud guffaws from the assembled teammates. Dante writhed on the couch but Neeraj stopped him when he tried to cover his little nub, shaking his finger in his face. “Uh uh uh!” he tsked, reached under a cushion to withdraw his iPhone. “Not before I take a few pics and post ‘em on the Polecat football team’s Twitter feed. It was so…generous…of Bailey to share the login with me.”

Dante sat bolt upright, howling in protest but Neeraj simply shoved him back down. A nod from him and a couple of guys grabbed Dante by the shoulders and held him in place. Another couple grabbed his legs and he was spreadeagled, minidick on full display and ready for its closeup. 

He groveled, pleading with Neeraj, offering to do anything for him as long as he didn’t expose his shameful pinprick to the world but the lacrosse captain would have none of it. Ignoring his plaintive wailing, he nonchalantly snapped pic after pic, smiling with satisfaction after he uploaded them.

“There,” he pronounced when he was finished. “You’ll never fucking live this one down, little guy! And you know what? I don’t give a fuck if I get suspended over this. Watching you taken down like this was totally fuckin’ worth it.” He paused before continuing, “And now that’s done, it’s time to lock you up and throw away the key.”

With that, he reached down and clapped the chastity cage over Dante’s cocklet and tiny balls, locking it securely. The cage that only minutes ago had been laughably small now fit around his member with room to spare (although it was still snug enough that Dante knew it wouldn’t come off again.)

Neeraj straightened, his cruel work completed, and dangled the key to the cage in front of his face, gloating, “After I toss this away, yer never gonna touch that dick again! Not that you’ll want to. There’s nothin’ there to touch!”

Dante whined, bitter tears running down his cheeks, and the lacrosse players surrounding him laughed. Things got even worse a moment later for poor Dante when Neeraj reached down and grabbed his legs, thrusting them violently over his head.

“Oh, ho! Would you look at that?” he called out, staring down at the crease of Dante’s ass. “A virginal manhole if I ever saw one. I think it’s time we broke it in. Don’t you agree, men?”

This was greeted by an enthusiastic cheer from the sweaty, aroused lacrosse players and they crowded around Dante, giant cocks aimed menacingly at his exposed pucker. He flinched, crying out in alarm, but this only made them bolder. Soon, they had begun wrestling, each vying to be the first one to have at his hole, and were on the verge of breaking into a fist fight when Neeraj’s deep voice rang out.

“STOP!” he ordered and the men abruptly obeyed, hands dropping to their sides and heads swiveling in his direction. “As your captain,” Neeraj informed them. “I go first. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” His voice trailed off then and he snorted, adding, “Well, Ok, maybe it’s only been three days but it feels like forever. I have a score to settle with Dante. A very long, very hard, very brutal score.”

Dante screamed as he was held down once again, two guys taking his arms while another pinned his ankles over his head. Neeraj spit into his palm and slicked up his massive pole, eyes flashing a feral red in sunlight. He had moved into position over Dante and was aiming his fat cockhead at his quivering pucker when there was a loud crash in the hall outside.

Everyone looked up startled as the door flew open with such force that it smashed through the opposite wall. Dante nearly fainted from surprise and confusion when a hulking brute of a man stepped inside the room. Lifting his head, the man let loose a deafening roar before launching himself at Neeraj. He moved with such preternatural speed that the lacrosse captain didn’t have time to do more than gape before he was flung bodily through the air. He crashed into the far wall and fell, unmoving, in a crumpled pile. The rest of the team soon followed, landing in a moaning heap on top of Neeraj.

“How dare you do this?” the giant man roared, glowering down at the mass of naked men. “You think you are big and tough? Well, you are nothing! Do you hear me? YOU ARE NOTHING!”

With these words, he lifted his fist in the air and hurled a glass vial down on the marble floor with such force it shattered into a thousand pieces, spraying the bodies of the prone men with an inky liquid. The liquid sizzled when it touched their bare skin and the lacrosse players writhed in agony before falling still. 

Apparently satisfied, the big man rounded on Dante, coming to stand between him and the window. Dante squinted up at him as the rays of the setting sun blazed behind him. Seeing the man’s grand silhouette limned by dazzling light, Dante felt like he was being visited by a divine presence–a very big, very muscular, very masculine divine presence–and he wept.

“Do not cry, my love,” the man soothed, kneeling down before him and lifting him into his great, strong arms. “I am here and I will never leave you again.”

“Ky?” Dante croaked, unable to believe that this hulking lumberjack of a man could really be his beloved Ukrainian. “You found me?” The man nodded and Dante’s breath caught in his chest as he finally recognized those bewitching green eyes, luscious lips, and glorious mane of auburn hair. “But…how?”

The Ukrainian laughed, a pleasant rumble that built from deep inside his barrel chest until it came booming out. It was so infectious that Dante smiled in spite of his misery. “You and I,” Ky replied. “You and I, Dante, are drawn together. Literally drawn together. I believe you ensured that a month ago when you painted on my penis.”

Dante’s face went pale and he stammered, “Y-Y-You know about that?”

Ky nodded. “I do not understand how I know this but, yes, I know.” He paused, face wrinkling into a mischievous smile as he continued, “You have been very bad, Dante. Do know you just ruined my ballet career and embarrassed me in front of the whole theater?”

Dante struggled to sit up in his arms, exclaiming, “I did?! Oh, Ky! I’m so sorry! I didn’t–”

“Shhhh,” the big man soothed, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now that I am holding you. We will worry about tomorrow…well, tomorrow.”

“But, Ky–”

“Silence!” the Ukrainian ordered and Dante fell quiet. “Now is not the time for talk. Now is the time for you to repay me with your beautiful body.”

Pulse suddenly racing with a potent combination of excitement and dread, Dante felt himself being lowered back down onto the cushions of the couch. Breathlessly, he looked up at Ky and his eyes went wide with shock when he beheld what had become of the sexy Ukrainian’s crotch, suddenly understanding what Ky had meant when he’d said his ballet career was over. There was no way the man could possibly dance with a package that huge.

“Now do you see how bad you have been?” Ky teased, provocatively waggling the mammoth before him. “I hope to God in heaven that your beautiful, tight butt can take this thing because I really, really, really need to be inside you.”

Dante’s eyes became saucers as Ky looped his fingers through the straining waistband of his beleaguered tights and slowly lowered them to reveal the tree trunk-sized member lurking within. The tights must have on the verge of rending open under the strain because they split down the middle almost as soon as Ky touched them.

And there it was: The biggest, fattest, longest, thickest, and heaviest piece imaginable.

Dante no longer needed to dream.

His ideal man was standing right in front of him.

***

Epilogue

Ky stood there silently for a long time, gazing down at him. Dante hung his head and moved to cover himself out of shame. He’d gotten so carried away by Ky’s improbable rescue that he’d forgotten about his locked and shrunken member. Now that the excitement was over, he was acutely aware that he was naked and exposed and he felt embarrassed.

“Don’t do that,” the sexy, hung Ukrainian ordered. “Don’t hide yourself. I am enjoying looking upon you. You are beautiful, Dante.”

“I don’t feel beautiful,” Dante mumbled. “Especially not after what Neeraj did to me.”

“Neeraj did this to you? While I was dancing?” Ky asked, staring with interest at his little cocklet. 

Dante nodded and Ky leaned down with difficulty. (His huge member was ungainly in the extreme and impeded easy movement. Dante had no idea how the man had moved with such effortless speed when he’d stormed into the room; it must have been the effect of adrenaline!) He didn’t resist when Ky took his hands and moved them away from his crotch. 

The big man was quiet for a long time, contemplating Dante’s tiny, locked package. Finally, he stirred and, looking around, spotted the key to the chastity cage lying on the floor nearby. He shuffled over and retrieved it, unlocking Dante’s micro penis with a little click.

Dante looked away, unable to bear the sight of his baby dick but Ky knelt down between his legs, murmuring in appreciation. “It’s perfect,” he whispered. “Just like you. I like you better this way.”

“That’s easy to say when yer hung like a fuckin’ elephant,” Dante grumbled, pushing himself backwards on cushion. “But look at me! I’ll never fuck again!”

“Dante,” Ky said levelly, leaning forward to take his chin in his hand and holding him so he couldn’t look away. “Do you think I am happy with what you did to me? I will never dance again and I may not even be able to play football. As for…fucking…as you put it, I may not be able to do that, either. If we are going to be together, we have to be creative. And patient.”

Dante blinked away tears of shame and embarrassment. He felt selfish for fixating on his own problems when he himself was responsible for permanently altering the trajectory of Ky’s life in a much more profound way. He could go on and live a more or less normal life with a micro dick. He could play football and keep his scholarship, maybe even go on after graduation and go pro. Ky, on the other hand, was much more limited in his career prospects…and then there was the small matter of his enormous bulge. Ky Voloshin would never again be able to go out in public without his gargantuan package being the center of attention. There was simply no way to hide it. Dante could alway stuff a sock down his underwear and change secretly in the locker room but Ky…

“Oh, fuck, Ky!” he exclaimed, hating himself. “I am so sorry! I have really fucked you over!”

Ky’s green eyes were so soft and expressive, though

Their coming together was surprising in a number of ways. First was the way Ky’s mutant member defied gravity. Dante watched stunned as Ky’s massive cockhead lifted off the floor, the voluminous foreskin parting and reveal a hulking glans with a piss slit wider than a mouth with gooey gobs of precum leaking profusely. Inadvertently, he clenched his ass. Neeraj had been right; he was an ass virgin. He’d always topped (for obvious reasons) but now that was a thing of the past.

***

“Wait,” Dante urged, holding up his hand. “What does it say?”

Ky’s mouth quirked. “You tell me. You’re the one who wrote on my dick while I was asleep!”

“But I only wrote, ‘TLC’!” Dante protested. “There, um, wasn’t room to write more than that at the time.”

Ky lowered his head and, hefting his massive piece in both hands, studied the bold, black letters tattooed down the length of his shaft. “Let’s see,” he began, “it says, ‘THE LONGEST COCK ON THE–”

“‘…’POLECAT FOOTBALL TEAM, THE UNIVERSITY, THE UNITED STATES AND THE WORLD BELONGS TO KYROLO VOLOSHIN,’” Dante continued, leaning forward with growing disbelief. He had to lift the last couple of feet or so of the beast off the floor in order to finish, “‘THE SEXIEST STUD EVER TO WALK THE EARTH, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN AND THE LOVE OF DANTE HOLME’S LIFE.’” He fell silent at the end, sighing, “Whoa. All that from ‘TLC’! And I just thought I was being cute when I wrote that! I had no idea what was gonna happen to you!”

Ky didn’t reply right away. He stood there, looking down at his new, huge cock speculatively. After a while, a slow smile creased his lips and he looked at Dante, murmuring, “You did not need to be cute because I had already fallen in love with you then, I just didn’t know it yet.” Taking a deep breath, he repositioned his monster cock enough to sit down on the cushion between Dante’s legs.