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Old December 27th, 2003, 12:31 AM
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The Roommate, Preface

Hey,

I'm new here, and I decided to try my hand at writing a story. I like things that are a bit long and drawn out, so it takes awhile to get to the real meat of the matter, so to speak.

Enjoy.

X
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Old December 27th, 2003, 12:32 AM
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The Roommate, Part I

Phil was quite possibly the worst college roommate a guy could have. Despite being quite a bit shorter than me at 5'5 and 110 pounds, he might have been pretty strong for his size—wiry as all get out—and I thought he could probably make a fight between us miserable, although he'd never win. I was taller, with a larger-than-average swimmer’s physique from years of water polo, pretty strapping at just over 6 feet and 185 pounds. I was dark-haired, dark-eyed, tan, and robust. Phil was fair-haired, blue-eyed, pale, and generally sickly. Still, I was a pacifist, so I let Phil get away with a lot. He'd never gotten past the high school stage where it was fun to meaninglessly assault others: in fact, he barely made it out of high school at all. We were stuck together by state policy, and because no one else would have accepted a guy like Phil as a roommate.

The part about Phil I hated most was that he was the best example of a guy deluded into apathy that I had ever met. His failing grades and disinterested outlook on life spread out into all aspects of our relationship. I caught him 'borrowing' food from my fridge several times, but he just laughed and turned back to his computer. I let it go, in the interests of preserving the peace. The guy was addicted to his hand, but he just rolled his eyes when I called him on that, too. His favorite line used to be "Everyone masturbates, get used to it."

I couldn't really bring myself to hate him back then. Sure, I took delight in seeing him get screwed over, occasionally: Seeing him half-heartedly complain about how I never had to study much to get As in my classes; hearing him boredly gripe about how much his professors hated him; knowing that he was secretly envious of my height and my size, despite his projection of uncaring.

Coincidentally, one such incident of Phil getting screwed over was the start of our tale. It was a really pretty day on the Carlsbad beach, or might have been were it not disgustingly early in the morning. There's something about community service that makes it feel more rewarding when done in cold, misery, and damp, I guess. The waves were crashing against the shore, driving their sparse cargo of crushed beer cans and the occasional 6-pack holder onto the wetly gleaming sands. It was a cloudy day, so the sea was grey with foreboding.

Phil wouldn't have been there if he hadn't been forced, and he made us all regret it. Three separate chunks of icy seaweed found their way down the back of my shirt, and one of the guys ended up getting pantsed. When confronted, Phil just gave us the finger and wandered on ahead. The sight of his red-golden hair flapping in the breeze up ahead almost made me want to throw something heavier than seaweed at him--a nice rock, perhaps?--but, as always, I refrained.

We eventually caught up to him at the edge of a makeshift dam that bisected part of the beach. The source of the water behind the dam was not the ocean, but rather a massive storm drain. The futility of cleaning up this part of the beach was not lost on me. The pool formed by the dam was an utter mess. Maybe it was fortunate that most of the stuff inside was concealed by swirls of greyish grime prevalent throughout the murky fluid. I distinctly recall several pieces of rusted metal, shards of broken glass, and other, less wholesome things like latex gloves. It was a veritable soup of foulness.

That was probably why Phil decided to show us what a moron he could be. A single bar of dark, slimy wood extended out into the waters of the small pool. And there nearby, like a sign of providence from above, glistened a single white bag at the surface of the filthy water. Phil grabbed a thin stick of driftwood from nearby and skirted out onto the bar like a madman. We all turned to look. That was his motivation in the first. False apathy or not, he liked commanding our attention. He bent forward, perching precariously on the wet wood, and began fishing for the bag.

I looked away for an instant, and missed hilarity. I heard the splashing sound, saw Phil's head submerge under the water, and subsequently erupted into laughter. His head exploded out of the water, gasping and coughing, and I stopped laughing. He did not look well. Covered in grey gunk, longish hair slicked down like a wet dog's, Phil looked more miserable than I had ever seen him. He tried once to escape from the sucking foulness, and failed with another splash. I almost went over to help him, but by the time I had reached the border of the pool he was already nearly out.

I expected him to make light of it and run, cackling, after someone to spread the wealth of sewage encrusting his jogging jacket and trousers. He even might have, had someone not used my voice to shout out, "Phil-thy!" A few like mockeries later, and my drenched roommate was on his way. Others continued chanting "Phil-thy" from behind us. I should have stopped the insults then.

Maybe Phil was frightened by the fall, or just by being insulted so badly in concert. He walked way up ahead the rest of the way back to the dorms. After he had removed his fouled clothing and tossed it into his hamper (which I really do not know why he had, considering nothing ever escaped its clutches) Phil walked soundlessly past me and into the showers. I felt sorry for him. With his slender musculature, whose utter lack of fat was the only thing that prevented it from being girlish, and threads of gunk still clinging to his hair, he reminded me of a drowned rat. He looked cleaner than he should have been: maybe he had scraped most of the goo from his skin before coming into the bathroom.

He saw me inspecting him frankly, and I saw hatred in his eyes for a second. I remember him rasping something like, “Just leave me alone.”

I glanced down. There was barely-concealable bulge underneath his towel, but despite his erect state he was obviously underdeveloped there, too. I didn’t joke to him about his constant horniness. It just didn’t feel right at the moment. He wanted me to leave him alone, so I did.
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Old December 27th, 2003, 12:32 AM
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The Roommate, Part II

It took a few weeks before I noticed anything different about Phil. Things had gotten a bit better between us after the incident, mostly due to some concessions that I made. That wasn’t the only thing that had changed, though. Phil seemed more energetic, more willing to get out and do things not involved with sleep and eating.

He even started working out with me in the mornings, and—as I expected—he really was pretty strong for his size. He made some good progress in strength, week by week, starting out benching under a hundred pounds and pushing that up to 120 pounds in just a handful of weeks. It took him awhile to start benching his bodyweight; it skyrocketed to 130 pounds by the end of the month. It was virtually all muscle, but Phil also seemed less undersized as the days passed. I asked him about his height after a routine physical, and he told me he was all of 5’6. I hadn’t grown since I was 17, so I expected my own physical, only a few weeks away, to be somewhat more in the norm.

Phil was still a lot smaller than I was, but I found myself agreeing with him a lot more. He wasn’t necessarily more intimidating, I just didn’t feel like ticking him off with little things like complaining about his antics or filthiness. We ended up watching a ton of anime, even when my shows were on. I felt that I owed it to him, after being such a jerk. Most other guys might have rationalized that he had earned the treatment. I just didn’t feel that way.

We were still having a few small problems with Phil’s sexual overdrive. The number of times I walked into the room to catch him readjusting himself or looking flushed and out of breath with porn or a hastily-closed computer window was just positively nuts. Maybe, I thought, it was working out that had so enhanced his libido. Anyone who has had a sexually active roommate can probably understand my feelings: we all do it, but it’s somehow less cool when we catch another person doing the same. College guys do such disgusting stuff.

One night, after Phil had gone to bed, I found that I couldn’t sleep. I sat at my computer, eating pizza in the monitor-lit darkness of the room, and, like a typical klutz, shoved my hand right into the sauce. It burnt, and worse, it was clingy with cheese. Cursing quietly, I reached for the dull outline of a tissue sitting on Phil’s nearby desk. It was warm and very soggy.

I nearly vomited. I got the worst chill down my spine right then and almost flung the soaked sponge away, but fearing it would land some place where I’d have to pick it up anyway, I stumbled over my chair and dashed to the trashcan. To my horror, I could see and feel some gunk still clinging to my finger.

Racing out to the bathroom, I flipped on the light and hurried to a sink, but as I waited for the water to warm I noticed that my finger was completely clean. That didn’t stop me from cleaning my hands thoroughly with a large amount of soap. All the while, I cursed Phil internally, thinking about all of the ways I was going to make him pay for leaving a wank-rag sitting around our dorm. That was just damned disgusting.

I didn’t do anything about it, though. It was really late, and I was just noticing it now.

When I finally got back into my room, my hands felt raw from all that scrubbing, and I was more tired than I’d let myself realize before. I glanced at the remnants of my pizza, but I wasn’t really hungry any more either. I didn’t know how tired I was until I sat down on my bed, overcome with a sudden bit of late night dizziness. Within moments, I was asleep.
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Old December 27th, 2003, 12:33 AM
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The Roommate, Part III

I woke up a few minutes later, Phil’s face staring into mine. Groggily, I blinked my eyes a few times to clear the sleep away. I’d fallen asleep sitting up, leaning against the wall, still in the T-shirt I’d worn to bed. The first thought I had was that I must have stretched it out, as it didn’t feel quite as snug about my biceps and shoulders as it should have. Phil was only wearing his boxers, a fact which confronted me with how much muscle he had put on in the last few weeks. He wasn’t large by any means, but his complete lack of body fat made every bit of muscle spring into veined relief.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. It sounded deeper than I was used to from him.

After I yawned, I asked, “Coming down with a cold?”

“Naw, man, I feel great,” he said, flexing his arms. I was surprised at the small muscles that mounded up on his slender body, especially his golf ball biceps. Then he notified me, “You look like shit.”

I felt like it, too. I really didn’t feel like I’d slept at all. My muscles were tired, and they moaned in protest when Phil asked if I wanted to work out. Against my better judgment, I pulled on my grey workout shirt and parachute pants. As he was changing, I glanced over at Phil, again assessing how much he had grown in just a month. He was definitely larger all over, although that not-terribly-small bulge in his boxers was probably a semi. His legs had always been pretty well-developed from his time as a high school runner, but they were putting on some cut mass now. I felt a surprising bit of heat in my face as he turned around and caught me looking at him. I hoped my face wasn’t as red as I thought. Had I been checking my roommate out?

He just chuckled and walked over to me. Anxiety passed away from the pit of my stomach at his wide smile. The friendly expression was pretty alien to his face; I was used to sneers and smirks. He stopped right in front of me and asked, “Ready?”

Inanely, I asked, “Are you getting taller?” Sure enough, the distance between his gaze and mine was not quite as great as I’d become used to.

“Don’t think so,” he said, but he stepped over to his closet and pulled out a folding, rigid measuring stick. I hadn’t seen him buy or make the thing, but it was a good seven feet tall. After getting it straight, he ordered me, “Help me set this thing up.”

I did. He stood against it, and I was surprised to see Phil was just a hair under 5’7. He acquiesced into measuring me. “6’0, like always,” he told me. I guess I had always been closer to 6 feet than 6’1, and besides, I’d slept in a weird position. They say your spine compresses.

We headed to the gym, leaving the measuring stick standing against our wall, held fast by the ceiling and the floor.

As my muscles had predicted, I did pretty miserably in the gym. Phil told me not to worry about it, as I was still a big guy. I couldn’t quite make 235 on my bench, so I slipped down to 220. My curls were likewise lesser, and I had to settle for 60 in each arm. It was a little disheartening. I don’t think I could have done it at all if Phil hadn’t been offering encouragement.

There was one high point of the day. I had never been fat, but I was trying to get a little more cut to look like Phil. It did wonders for him, and I was pleased to be down to 177 pounds by the call of the scale. I teased Phil about getting fat: he was 136 pounds now, and benching 140. His curls were still miserable: he couldn’t get himself over the 25 pound-per-arm mark until I shamed him into it.

I was too tired after the workout to want to shower, but Phil’s newfound energy manifested itself. We wound up in the communal showers. I felt constricted by the heat, and it was making me woozy. After a few minutes of leaning against the glassy-smooth wall of the shower, I was almost ready to go to sleep.

The touch of a cool hand on my shoulder startled me into abrupt alertness. Phil was standing behind me, a slight smile on his face. It wasn’t the sort of smile I wanted to see from my roommate. There was a bit of a puckish gleam in his eyes.

He asked me, “You all right, Dane?” I glanced at him over my shoulder, my face heating up again at his closeness, and nodded.

Phil leaned closer. My heart was suddenly pounding, and it felt as if it were pushing all the caffeine at Starbuck’s through my veins. His face was redder than mine, a fact made all the more obvious by his pale white skin. I felt one of his solid little pecs pressing against the middle of my back.

Quietly, I finally stuttered, “W-what are you doing?” I think maybe I was spellbound.

Phil’s voice came, deep in whisper. “I saw you checking me out this morning.”

My heart seized. To my revulsion, the heat spread to my groin, which began to echo with my heartbeat. I was boggled, I couldn’t be getting excited over this! The self-disgust fueled my strength, and I rounded on Phil, pushing him firmly away. He just stood there, looking at my back, while I turned off the shower and pulled the towel down to cover my growing junk.

Phil laughed when I finally turned back to meet his eyes. He was standing there with a full-on erection. Judging from what I’d seen of him before, he was at full mast, a little over 5 inches. He was still bigger than I’d expected from seeing him that day after the beach. There was some seepage from the head. He must have been whacking it while we were in the showers. The thought of that erection coming from looking at me was enough to make me want to vomit.

With all the coldness I could muster, I shouted, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His laughter dissolved, and his face hardened. “You were checking me out earlier today. I thought—“

“You’re queer?” I demanded, furiously. When he didn’t respond, I shouted, “God damn it! Get the hell away from me!”

“Don’t lie to yourself—“ he began, but I assaulted him suddenly, knocking him down onto the floor. His erect penis left a trail of fresh wetness where it encountered my leg through the slit of my towel. I drew my arm back to punch him, but I didn’t.

Instead, I forced myself to cruel calm, saying, “Don’t ever think about me again, you dirty little pervert. I don’t care if you’re gay. I’m not. I’m a hell of a lot bigger than you. I will make you pay for this.”

His cock was still rock hard against me. I felt it buck, once, twice, and a spray of white ooze arced out across my bared thigh. He was sobbing, at this point. My mind was a whirl of emotions, and the lack of sleep from the night before was suddenly getting to me. Something strange was going on, I knew it, and I didn’t care. I just wanted Phil to go back to being my apathetic, idiot roommate, and not some pervert who fancied me!

I was in shock, definitely. I wiped myself off with my towel. There wasn’t as much cum as I had thought there would be, from the number of spurts. Afterwards, I threw the towel at him and yanked his down from its hook. As I walked away, Phil whispered something. The room swayed around me as I turned to look at him.

He was smiling.

Dizzily, I spun back about and left to get changed.
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Old December 27th, 2003, 12:35 AM
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The Roommate, Part IV

I walked back to my room at an almost-run, resolving to take a private shower there. Everything felt wrong to my senses after Phil coming on to me. I tripped over my own feet twice, and had to stop to tighten my shoelaces. I felt really weak, weaker than I had when I woke up. Twice I nearly fell running up the steps to the dorms, and by the time I made it to our room I was wholly out of breath. Still thinking in inanities to avoid the situation, I reminded myself to get a new weight room shirt—this one was even more stretched than the T I had worn to bed last night—as I slipped it and my shoes off.

If I thought I had looked sickly before, I was wrong. The guy in the mirrors looked utterly wasted in his boxers. Although muscular, my reflection seemed like it hadn’t eaten in several days. My mirror image didn’t even fill out his boxers like I used to while swimming, although I really hadn’t been working on my legs and glutes as I should have. Maybe I needed to start doing squats again. The reflection cast me an aghast look as I flexed my biceps. They were still hard and large, just not as perfectly balled as they should have been. I was really out of it today, I thought, and I resolved to start hitting the weights even on off days.

I slipped off my boxers and, tossing Phil’s still-damp towel over the nearby rack, jumped into the shower. It was cold, just the way I wanted it, but the water ended up hitting me too high on my back. I frowned at having to adjust it down a bit, but I assumed that I must have knocked it into a higher position during my last shower.

Despite the coldness of the water, I realized there was only one thing I could do to relieve my tension. I lathered myself up and took my penis in my hand, chuckling. The cold of the shower, weariness, and disgust at Phil took their toll on my erection. I was normally hung a good nine and change, easy enough for both of my hands to grip. Today I just didn’t feel so impressive.

Even worse, as I jerked it, my mind kept going back to the feeling of Phil’s hand against my shoulder, his pec against my back, his twitching cock spraying its hot payload over my leg and thigh. I couldn’t keep an image of a single girl in my mind. I came with a force and speed that was unexpected, splattering against the shower wall. After cleaning it up, I gave up on showering more. I was just too tired.

Though I lay down, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for several hours, sweating under my covers rather than facing the coolness of our room. It didn’t work. I tried to find myself something to do, shifting over to my computer and pecking out a few searches for bodybuilding advice on the Internet. I even curled some old 30s that I had under my bed, and the light weights gave me a better workout than I expected.

Curiosity led me back to the bathroom’s scale. I really must have lost more than 8 pounds. As I flexed my arms in the mirror, they rounded up impressively, almost as large as they ever had been. They were also pumped, I recalled hazily. I stepped up onto the scale and stared at the numbers.

“Well, I’ll be,” I said. “173 pounds.”
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Old December 27th, 2003, 12:36 AM
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The Roommate, Part V

“Five feet, eleven inches,” said the doctor’s voice in my head as I worked on my Lit paper. I shook my head. I guess those squats were a bad idea. Then again, I hadn’t been sleeping much of late, or eating, and it showed. My posture had to have been affected by it. I hadn’t been to the gym in half a week. But I wasn’t kidding anyone. The biggest strain on my life was Phil. He stood at 5’7 now, if the mark on his measuring stick was true. He was also pushing 140, and was throwing himself into weightlifting. I had to admit, he was beginning to look pretty large. I caught him a few times flexing in the mirror, and even I—despite still dwarfing him—had to be impressed.

I didn’t tell him that, though. In fact, he had barely said a word to me in the two weeks since the shower incident. I was almost gladder for that. I still had troubles getting the mental sensation of his body beneath mine out of my head. It was like the feelings had been seared into my memory. Sometimes, I caught him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, but when I looked over at him, he would look away.

There was something worrisome about Phil, though. I didn’t like his occasional and unprovoked chuckles over things, or the way he continued measuring me up when he thought I wasn’t noticing. I wondered if he was thinking about trying to get into a fight with me. But days came and went, and he didn’t. My bench stayed level at 225 despite the lessening of my health, and my biceps gained a little bit of size and strength. I was at something of a plateau, that was obvious, but at least I wasn’t allowing my stress and general poor standard of living to push me back any further.

One thing that I didn’t mention to anyone was that my erections were definitely not like they had been before. They certainly felt as hard and as heart-pounding as any hormone-drenched college student’s could be, but for some reason I just couldn’t break 9 inches on my ruler any more. I passed it off as stress. I kind of felt like a kid measuring myself. Then, one day, Phil walked in. I wish it hadn’t happened.

In my fluster to clear the evidence, I succeeded in tossing the ruler aside but left my overlarge tool hanging out of my pants. Phil monotonously said, “Guess it’s not just me.”

I stood up and stalked over to him, glaring down from my greater height. My bulge formed an obscene tent in my trousers. Phil glanced down at his own inflating groin. He must have been stuffing. Phil had never been able to manage much of a bulge. At a stir of echoes in my head from our encounter in the showers, I knew what I was going to do even as part of me protested against doing it. I backhanded him, hard, sending him sprawling.

Nose bloodied, eyes unfocused and hateful, Phil used his bed to pull himself up with one vein-choked if still slender arm. He was obviously tensing his muscles underneath his tank top to look as big as he did.

Phil hissed, “You’re going to regret that.” Then, leaving me surprised at his audacity—I don’t know why I was, after all he had done—he stormed out and slammed the door.

He didn’t return until that night. I couldn’t sleep, as usual. This time, it was the scratchiness of one of my new shirts. Then I took it off, and it was the coolness of the covers against my muscled chest and torso. I was awake when, at 3:14 AM, he stepped coolly into the room. His eyes were faintly lambent despite the utter lightlessness of the room, and his voice was ice as he said, “I know you’re awake. Things are about to change around here.”

I pushed myself out of bed and tightened my own muscles like a crowing rooster. With all the ominous deepness I could muster, I began, “You little fa—“

But I was cut short. He simply ordered, “Shut up, and stay there.” And I did, as he stepped over to his desk and turned on the light. I thought I could still talk, I just had no motivation to do so. It was like my mind wouldn’t let me. A slight bruise marred his fine Irish features, not so boyish now with his thickening neck and darkening stubble. I thought it strange that Phil needed to shave. He never had needed to since I’d known him.

“I bet you’d like to stand,” he said, “but you can’t. Everything is going to change tonight. Want to know why? Just ask.”

Suddenly, I could speak, and desperately wanted to. “What the hell is happening?”

“That’s enough, Dane,” Phil said, wry humor in his voice. “I’ll tell you. You remember that little spill I took in the sewage a few weeks back?” I nodded, dumbly. He smiled, icily. “It just so happens that something in that water changed my whole outlook on life. Since then, everything’s turned around. You had to notice how good everything was.

“I’ve been getting bigger. Sort of a second puberty, feels like. And you’ve noticed.” With a yank, he pulled down his pants, revealing his plaid boxers. I guess he wasn’t stuffing after all. The bulge in his trousers wasn’t that sizeable, but it was larger than it had been before, and quite authentic. “I’ve had so much more energy, and I’d never gotten gains like this before when I used to work out in high school. Before I gave up on everything.

”But the best changes of all aren’t what you’d call normal. People just seem compelled to obey whatever I say. Want to see? Watch yourself flex those big old biceps of yours. Slowly, now, so you can savor them before we start our new relationship.”

I complied, quite willingly. Even after I had brushed away the warm layer of platitudes my mind was feeding itself—it couldn’t hurt, he just wanted to see, I’d been planning to do this anyway—I saw the thickly muscled arm rise and slowly tense, its mound of muscle growing until it reached a certain point. Then, it leapt into stern relief on my arm, going from flat to baseball-mounded. My body flexed harder, sending veins popping across its surface, and pushing the muscle into its fullest size.

Phil said, “That’s enough.” And it was. I dropped my arm and faced him again. “I must admit, that’s an impressive sight.” His cock agreed, bouncing in his boxers. He glanced down patiently at it. “At least, it is for now. Once I’m done with you... well. Let’s just say that I found the weirdest thing. A few weeks ago, I noticed you picking up one of my rags. I was just waiting for you to get to sleep so I could get back to business. You picked it up, threw it in the trash, left to go wash your hands, and when you came back… you were just a bit smaller. I barely noticed, and I’ve been watching you for awhile.

“So then we had our little situation in the showers. You thought you were pretty cool, big jock beating up on the little fag lusting after you, right? But I managed to get some more semen on you, and, well, I’m just aching to see what a full dose will do, aren’t you? Soon, I won’t even need to use my voice to control you. I want you to know what it’s like to be the little guy. Now, don’t say a word.” Panic flared in my mind, although I didn’t fully believe at this point what was happening.

He tugged his shirt over his head and flexed his thickening shoulders, sending their striations into awesome relief under the lamplight. He really was getting bigger by the day. He had to have been over 5’7 by now. As he pulled down his boxers, his inch-thick cock swung up to meet the treasure trail on his rippling abs. It was already wet with the stuff of my downfall.

Even he looked surprised. He bent down and picked up the cast-off ruler, holding it against his tool. After a few moments of adjustments and a break to run his hand over the livid shaft a few times, Phil stepped closer so he could show me. His swollen head met the 6 inch mark.

“Lie down, and flex what you can without moving too much,” he ordered, dropping the ruler. I lay down, flat on my bed, and he just stood there as I tensed and relaxed my considerable muscles. His hands began to work the shaft of his cock, slowly at first, and then with growing fierceness. He moaned with pleasure, bucking his hips into his hand as he massaged the head and shaft. Phil opened his mouth to say something, but it was lost in a wave of orgasmic, moaning laughter. I saw his cock swell, and would have vomited, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so.

Anticipation hung in the air for a sick, burning moment. I felt like my entire body was awakening from poor circulation, tiny ants crawling under my skin. The sheets were slick with sweat. Phil was standing above me, backlit by his desk lamp, larger than I had ever seen him. He took his hands and raised them into the air, a triumphant flex filling them out to their fullest size.

His seed exploded forth in a wet hot rush, more than I ever thought could have come from his smaller-than-average balls. It sprayed across my chest and face aimlessly, but not a drop missed my skin. He was groaning in pleasure, laughing when he had the breath. The sheets were shifting under me, a soft susurrus against my skin. I knew I was shrinking, but my humiliation at having just been used so by my roommate warred with that for the full weight of my horror. Even worse, my own tool was spurting wildly in my boxers. I couldn’t be enjoying this! Luckily, I was saved from further thoughts by the dark rush of unconsciousness.
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Old December 27th, 2003, 12:53 AM
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The Roomate, Part VI

“I kind of like you this way,” Phil said, looking up at me slightly as I leaned against the measuring stick. “Five nine and a half. Too bad about your cock, though. Eight inches just isn’t as impressive as nine, is it? Well, it’s more than enough. And who would have thought you’d lose so much muscle? One-sixty-five.

”I suppose I have to be a bit nicer to you, though. I had no idea that your semen would have the opposite effect on me.”

It had, although not nearly to the same degree. We had measured Phil this morning at his command. He had decided not to lose a good opportunity, and had been rewarded in spades. Just a bit over 5’7.5 now, and tipping the scales at 145, I now had more right to be physically worried about my formerly diminutive roommate. After I was done with the measuring stick, he picked up the ruler from off of the floor and set it up to his penis.

He had always been a grower, he told me. That was obvious, as his penis was only three inches soft. I watched, unable to look away, as the inch lines passed under his growing cock. 4, 5, 6, and finally, it came to a rest at 6.4. He stroked it a few times in my direction.

”You’re practically drooling,” Phil cackled, as he noticed me watching it. After jacking his tool a few times, he pushed it back into his boxers and glanced down at mine. At eight inches, my cock could still make quite an impression in my trousers. Especially as hard as it was now. “But I like you at this size for now.” he told me. “I’m just not sure about my size.”

He pushed his arms down to his swollen groin and forced his chest into impressive flexion. That I knew the source of his growth did not make it any less astounding to my eyes. His dick was not the only thing stuffing his boxers now—those developed legs were almost as large as mine even at his lesser height. His other muscles were still dwarfed by my diminished ones. I took some solace in that as he forced me to flex my biceps again. They were over 15 inches still, whereas his were clearly not quite 14 when he brought his up in comparison to mine.

“I must admit I’m a bit disappointed in myself,” started Phil. “I’ll tell you what, though. You’re about to drop your boxers and let me suck you. It’ll be the best orgasm you’ve ever had.”

I couldn’t decline. After he had put the ruler on his desk, Phil got on his knees. The anticipation in his new-grown muscles was pronounced by the too-tight T-shirt he was wearing. I could see the coils of the veins in his arms through the fabric of the sleeves as he placed his hands behind me and went down on my tool. He gagged a bit, and his jaw popped. Phil had obviously never done this before. I almost laughed when I realized I was comparing him to one of my girlfriends, but then the seriousness of this situation blossomed into my mind. His own cock was sticking straight out of his boxers, crimson with excitement.

He was getting better fast, I noticed through my ecstasy, and I started bucking hard against his face. My shorter roommate didn’t seem to mind. In spite of the clumsy ministrations of his tongue, it was probably the fastest I ever came. Unexpected, my penis lurched in his mouth in preparation.

I spewed. He gagged on the sheer amount of ejaculate the erupted from my engorged eight incher, but he managed to stomach every drop. Pleasure rocketed so fiercely through me that I barely noticed him push me back onto my bed.

Lying there in horror, I saw him start to expand. It was a slow process. He flexed, and a baseball of muscle exploded out of his arm, he flexed it several times, and each time it mounded up noticeably larger than before. He definitely passed the 14 inch mark and was a good way toward meeting 15. His biceps continued to solidify and stretch. Phil’s pecs had already been straining the fabric of the small shirt, and quickly a slight tear began to form down one massing shoulder.

His cock was growing longer and longer, amassing much more girth than it did length. I should have moved, but I had no warning. His rod spurted more thick, white fluid at me. Even as I rolled away, some of it caught me in the face. I frantically wiped it away, knowing full well its effects, but was halted in the act as he gleefully moaned, “Stand up, now.” I couldn’t fight it!

I did, and stood straight in front of him because I knew he wanted me to. His eye height was increasing, as if he were pushing himself slowly off of the ground, but I knew he wasn’t. Correspondingly, mine began to drop. His muscles were still flexing of their own accord, swelling with new layers and striations. I felt mine agonizingly collapse into themselves.

Time and vision swam. Phil rapidly pressed the ruler to his cock again, and watched the head climb to seven full inches. It was almost as big as my still-hard but smaller tool, now. The worst thing was his bright, blue eyes. They were the last thing I saw, an inch below mine and still rising slowly, as I succumbed to the blackness hazing my vision.
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Old December 27th, 2003, 01:26 AM
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That's All, Folks

That's all I've got for now. Please help me make my work better?

Your comments and suggestions about style, content, and delivery are not just welcomed, they're begged.

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Last edited by Xyggurat; December 27th, 2003 at 01:29 AM.
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Old December 27th, 2003, 02:17 PM
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Xyggurat,

That was fantastic! You've got a great narrative style and I really got off on how you described the physical changes of the two guys over time -- slowly at first and then building up to the BIG change in the last chapter. THAT was insanely hot! I thought the pacing of your story was perfect and not overly drawn-out either. (Of course I never tire of reading descriptive growth scenes, no matter how long.) With your descriptions you really did a great job of allowing the reader to "savor the growth" so-to-speak -- instead of having the character instantly turning into a 500lb musclefreak (which ain't all bad, don't get me wrong!).

I've always gotten off on the whole role-reversal element and your story is definitely one of the best in that regard. (I must admit that I do feel sorry for Dane though). Nonetheless I hope you continue the story and describe Phil's growth as he gets as big and then BIGGER than Dane. I've gotta say again that the growth scene you set up in that last chapter was amazing and I hope you can write an even more detailed account of his continuing growth!

Check out Growing Guy by MassiveBoy if you want some more inspiration.

Thanks for sharing!
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Old December 27th, 2003, 03:40 PM
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Regarding Responses...

Well, I've got a whole two comments. One of them ended up in my in-box!

I thought I'd mention something again: comments are extremely helpful to any would-be writer, especially those that are constructive. Since I've invited them, I really, really would appreciate them. As of this post, there are around 300+ views of this thread, so I'd hope for more commentary, even if you think it's inane. You never know what will help me improve.

If you don't feel comfortable posting on the boards, feel free to send me an e-mail at [email protected].

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Old December 27th, 2003, 07:39 PM
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Xyggurat,
I think many are shy on posting...i've just started to more actively participate after lurking around for months.

As requested, comments on your writings:

This was a really well described and developed story. I also enjoy growth stories were the transformation is somewhat more gradual and prolonged. Your descriptions, characterizations, and consistent narrative perspective were strong.

The only plot elements that did not quite work for me was the overall passivity of Dane to Phil. He knew he was becoming weaker, understood the cause, but seemed to willingly partipate in his own de-jockification. That I found almost impossible to believe even with the suggestion of some form of indirect mind control. I also was not clear how in one situation Dane's spunk seemed to shrink Phil (or at least that was my reading of it) while in the end Dane's seed acted as a mega-catalyst for muscle growth.

Overall, however, this was a great story that was quite a turn on.

PS I hope that maybe you were actually laying down the elements of some sort of revenge by Dane on Phil. Dane was never portrayed as mean and evil and therefore may be deserving of redemption. Perhaps, the effect of Phil's seed on Dane is not entirely predictable in every situation or the effects may not be enduring. Just a though if you decide to extend the story.
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Old December 27th, 2003, 07:54 PM
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Buffdoc and others,

I'm a firm believer in one truth: no matter the slings of life, good triumphs over evil eventually.

I like muscle theft, but I don't like good people being punished horribly for mistakes they didn't even know they were making (like getting an evil mutant for a roommate, for example.)

I'm not aware of the section where Dane's semen apparently shrank Phil. Enlighten?

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Old December 27th, 2003, 08:30 PM
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I thought this sequence of dialog may have suggested that Dane's semen apparently shrank Phil:

”I suppose I have to be a bit nicer to you, though. I had no idea that your semen would have the opposite effect on me.”

It had, although not nearly to the same degree.

But this might be my misreading given how the story was broken into seperate sections for posting on the web forum.

Also if good is to triump over evil as you say, Phil's muscle theft from Dane is not justifiable solely in those terms alone; as Phil (before & after his transformation) was portrayed as slothful, unmotivated, and generally unjust.
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Old December 27th, 2003, 11:13 PM
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Yeah, about that...

>I thought this sequence of dialog may have suggested that Dane's semen apparently shrank Phil:

It was intended to imply that, since Phil's made Dane shrink, Dane's made Phil grow.

And I totally agree with you. Dane's not the villain here.

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