BOOM

BOOM

“Man... 6th place” Keone muttered to himself on his solemn walk back to his hotel room after just missing a top 5 placement at the Olympia. Waiting for him at the door, he found a small box, some sort of consolation prize he reasoned, taking it inside.

Like any good bodybuilder in a room with a mirror, he stripped back down to his stage uniform and scoured every inch of his crazy physique to see where he could have gone wrong. After a last defeated sigh, he remembered the box, awkwardly waddling the few steps over to it with his sweatpants still around his ankles.

The small gray box opened like a jewelry box, strangely barren aside from a small note propped up in the center.

Tough break, Keone. See you in the top five next year. Your friends at BOOM Genetics.

As he finished reading the note, he heard a small piercing noise before feeling a prick at the side of his neck. Before he had any moment to process, much like the company’s namesake, BOOM he instantly doubled in mass.

It was all part of their plan to shake up the bodybuilding industry, similar transformations happening to other 6th through 10th place finishing competitors all across the event, giving the hungriest few a more than ample head start over the newly crowned and instantly dwarfed former top dogs.

The next year was a frenzy, the new beasts not content to sit on their laurels continuing to pack on more beastly mass with the help of their new exclusive sponsors. Everyone else in their own frenzy, attempting and mostly failing at catching up to the new elite class.

BOOM’s genetically modified freaks easily cleaned up in every class, leaving the already demoralized stragglers wondering why they even tried. But a new round of small boxes was sure to turn their woes around.

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#28 watched in shocked amazement as the man in front of him in line blew up rapidly. This was no ordinary backstage pump, the mysterious shot administered by one of the show organizers being the first indication before the all too obvious massive result.

The man dropped the performative resistance band before starting a slow waddle to the stage, his arms barely dropping an inch as he let go. #28's gawking stare was only broken by the sharp call out "NEXT."

He started working out to help with his lifelong insecurity over his height... perhaps he took it a little too far.

He's got more muscle packed onto his 5'7" frame than any other man, regardless of height.

He's wider than he is tall, but only if you measure from his head to the floor instead of his delts.

He can just barely maneuver himself sideways through normal doorframes, the profound crevices of his pecs and glutes providing just enough play to squeeze through.

He thinks he's still too small.

And here I sit, watching him fill the hallway with his impractical size, egging him on and telling him exactly what he wants to hear to keep going.

What's wrong with me? What's wrong with him? ...Or are we the only ones who are getting it right? ....No time to dwell now, he's due onstage in an hour so we better get going... That doorframe isn't getting any bigger, but he sure is.

Surround yourself with what you love 💜

What if...

Carter sat in the audience watching the finals for the men's open. The big freaky men always sure to bring in the biggest crowd, larger for sure than when he was on earlier in the day in his class. He had made the firm decision early in his career that he would build his physique naturally and to that end he had sculpted himself into an aesthetically-shaped moderately-muscled male physique competitor. Not just any old competitor today either, the winner of his class in fact. Nevertheless, the nagging thought that popped up anytime he found himself in the audience of men like the ones on stage reared its head.

What would he have been able to build if he had taken a different track in life? Really go whole hog on anything and everything that could pack muscle onto a man. What kind of freaky physique could he have built? Would he be able to keep pace with the mass monsters on stage? Bigger?... It's just a fantasy he had to remind himself, in his late thirties, even if he started now no matter of juice would ever allow him to catch up and achieve a physique like that. Thoughts of his missed chance clouded what should be happy thoughts of his win, his physique, top in his class, but still... what if? what if?

"What if... you could be up there, would you take it, Carter?" a voice from behind softly asked to Carter.

Before he could question the source of the voice, his attention was pulled onstage as another competitor entered. To Carter's astonishment, it was him, but it wasn't, he, it, was HUGE easily larger than any other superheavy that evening. His eyes darted around from muscle group to muscle group, in awe at the level of obscene hypertrophy. It was astonishing, but how?

"This is what you wanted to see, no? What could have been if you had chosen differently all those years ago, gone 'whole hog' as you thought, right?"

Carter was in the presence of something special, he knew he wasn't dreaming, he was looking at a reality that could have been and he couldn't look away, the thunderous movement of his body that could have been holding his attention.

"I have to say, your current reality sure was the right choice for your hairline and manhood..."

He tore away from his muscular trance to take note of the remarks. He was right, all that juice had really done a number on his hairline, in fact, his whole face looked older, but it was what was down below or lack thereof that was the real cause for concern. All those drugs had absolutely fried his cock and balls.

"...life always has tradeoffs Carter, even in situations like you find yourself in now. The question is, are they worth it?"

It took a second for Carter to realize what the being was asking, no, offering. He was overwhelmed with the prospect of hopping into the body onstage, he could live with the hair, but that poser pouch... It can't be that bad can it? Surely his colossal quads are just making it look small... besides, he's always been more of a grower than a shower. Carter hesitated, he reminded himself of everything else on offer, he looked at his smiling face and reasoned, 'if the me up on stage is happy with it, then I can be too, right?' He just had to know what it felt like, what those godlike muscles felt like. Consequences be dammed.

"Yes! I..." Carter blurted out right before his perspective changed in a snap.

He was up on stage, holding that same abs and thighs pose. He could feel the energy radiating off his muscles as he flexed them. New memories started to rush in, it was his final pose so he was going to milk it for all he had. He shifted slightly, crunching down on one side of his abs as he lifted and stomped his left quad. The feeling of mass shifting over mass then sharply transforming from mere flesh to a substance harder than diamonds was orgasmic. Carter was suddenly worried about popping a stiffy onstage, even with his diminished size, it was sure to bring embarrassment.

But that's when he noticed it. He was already hard. He had been. That shower had been showing all it had the entire time. His heart sank as he realized the true extent of what he given up for this body, but god what a body it was otherwise. He had compared himself to a superhero in his past life, but he didn't understand that fully until now.

As he relaxed the pose, he was pleased to see just how high his boulder arms rested on his cushy lats. His body looked even more insane relaxed. His wideness was on full display, but spectators would be more taken in by the resting enormity of the bulges that made him. Muscles blown to sizes unseen before just existing on his frame, taking up so much space on it, so much space in the world, all ready to unleash unmet power at a moment's notice.

Carter turned to waddle offstage as he finished drinking himself in. A new worry that he might just crush what's left of his twig and berries (a comparison unflatteringly too close to reality) with his colossal clumsy thighs. Thankfully after a few steps, muscle memory kicked in and he swaggered the rest of the way offstage in the only way a muscle behemoth like himself could.

It would reason that Carter was sure to be leaving with the title tonight, but in his new world, that was far from the truth.

Clearing the curtains Carter was met with the sight of his coach and boyfriend, Riley. Wait... boyfriend? 'I'm not gay!' he shouted internally. He quickly searched his memories, old and the new ones as he finished catching up with his new reality, sighing with relief when he realized his previous sexuality was still in tact. Nevertheless, that didn't change the definition of the man standing in front of him.

Riley was his boyfriend. Well, to Carter more of a fucktoy, but he let him call himself his boyfriend to keep him happy. Carter wasn't going to be getting any action with the equipment he was sporting now. Heck his quads are so deep it was physically impossible to penetrate anything with what's left. Long ago he realized he needed to figure out a new way to get his rocks off, and that's where Riley entered, in more ways than one.

They do say that sexuality is a spectrum, and new Carter was the tiniest hair off the straight and narrow. He loved at least one man... himself. If he wasn't training, eating or sleeping, you were sure to find Carter flexing in front of his wall of mirrors, most of the time while Riley fucks his brains out from behind. But to him it's like he's not even there aside from the feeling of the penetration, he can barely even see Riley behind himself anyway, not that he's even looking. It's the Carter show 24/7 now, flexing away as his little cocklet sprinkles his quadscape with what little jizz it can produce.

"You were so close to callouts this time babe, I could feel it," Riley reassured Carter as he approached him backstage. "Don't worry, we'll be back next year with you even bigger and you'll surely be able to make up for all the point deductions in that stupid category."

"Hah, true manhood what a crock of shit, can you really look at this," Carter gestures to himself, "and tell me it's not true manhood?"

The category was introduced years back as a response to rampant PED abuse in the industry. An outright ban is never possible, the truth being that one can't exist without the other, and most loved the juiced up monsters that could be produced theses days, but to many there was a growing concern of too much, too fast. Like its namesake, true manhood started heavily factoring in competitors' cock and balls, to reward those who didn't... overindulge. Now nature is a fickle bird and the naturally less-endowed can't be counted out, so this measurement is of course scored year over year. With it, Carter's performance of course dropped year over year being already far too late to alter his trajectory.

It has been a few years now since he even made callouts despite being the largest competitor everywhere else by far. Carter and Riley share the same delusion that more mass can outweigh his deductions. They're not dumb though, they've both done the math and realized it's a fool's errand, but neither of them need a very rational reason to cram more muscles onto Carter's frame. Besides, he had already decided all those years ago... always more muscle, by any means possible.

"Yeah, more mass, that'll do..." Carter trailed off, suddenly feeling woozy, fatigue washing over him unbecoming of his powerful physique. In his daze he watches Riley quickly and deliberately scan across the room before shoving two syringes into the top of his quad and rocketing the plungers down, pulling them out and stowing them as quickly as they appeared. Carter intently watches the small pin pricks of blood well up in a sea of vastus lateralis as he refocuses.

He looks back to Riley, "c'mon, let's get out of here, there's a hotel room mirror with my name all over it."