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Endemic Evolution

“As you can see, we’ve quarantined the area, Doctor Simmons.”

The parking lot was completely empty. The garage doors for food deliveries were shut down and the back remained locked with blinds drawn.

Doctor Simmons pursed his dark lips. His carefully shaved scalp shone under the sun. “Then tell me, Barton, why are we in the back of a hotel parking lot, and why is that man by the garage shirtless?”

Barton looked up at the doctor in shock. His paler skin and slanted eyes spoke well of his Asian heritage. “You haven’t been briefed on the nature of the illness?”

“Barton, I was just swept from my home a few weeks before Christmas. I was then promptly shoved on a redeye with an armed escort and a series of highly advanced medical vehicles with equipment to bring he here. And while I do appreciate the warmth Florida has to offer, I am tired and feeling more than a little cranky. I would prefer to get back to my family as soon as possible, so tell me the symptoms.”

Barton flinched. “O-of course, Doctor. This is Joseph Malloy. He’s a newer patient.”

Simmons looked over the subject briefly, then returned his gaze to Barton. “I perceive nothing wrong with him. He appears to be in perfect health.”

Barton cleared his throat uncomfortably. “That’s ... sort of the point, Sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“The course of this illness is different from most. Rather than degrade the body, it enhances it to a rapid degree. Immune response, sight, hearing, heart health, it all improves drastically.”

“And this is a problem because...?”

“Because more than half of my clientele have devolved into musclebound idiots that only care about working out, flexing, and showing off,” Joseph growled. “And I’d rather not join them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Heh ... they’ve devolved into meatheads in every sense of the stereotype, including decreased IQ and a complete obsession with weights, fitness, sports, and their bodies that borders on narcissism.”

“Surely, you’re joking.”

“No, Sir. According to our data, the phenomenon appears to be endemic in nature.”

“Demographic?”

“White Caucasian. Gender: Male.”

“That’s a very large population,” Simmons mused. “Communication methods?”

“Unknown, Sir. But there are certain signs. Restlessness, increased libido, arousal, and a fantastic amount of testosterone.”

“I assume that’s why he’s wearing those compression pants?”

“That and they feel comfortable.” Barton shrugged. “Why not kill two birds with one stone?” Malloy reached down and scratched at his crotch casually. “So, how did you want to start this thing? Were you hoping to feel up my muscles or something? Take measurements?”

“We haven’t even reported as to what this is in the first place. Does it have a name?” the doctor asked.

“We’ve titled it Meatheadosis, after the old urban joke,” Barton explained.

A low moan escaped Malloy’s lips and the pair of physicians turned immediately to face him. They watched as thick powerful veins began to rise up from the skin on his arms. Four abdominals had taken shape in his core and were developing more definition by the second. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as a thin coating of hair grew over his chest.

“Oh, damn. That feels ... this feels....” Malloy groaned as a small lump began to grow slowly and steadily against the crotch of his pants.

“Damn it all,” Barton swore under his breath. “He’s breaking faster than I expected.”

A light stubble grew in over Malloy’s masculine jaw that slowly filled into a proper short beard complete with mustache. “Fuck,” he groaned. “This feels ... this feels ... so fucking good. A light smirk pulled at his lips that soon blossomed into a mellow sort of half-grin. Hands clenched and unclenched. Shoulders heaved and cracked as his torso began to expand. His gaze became glassy as his pectorals began to bounce back and forth, back and forth. “So, uh, we gonna do this or not, Coach?” he asked as his neck gradually expanded with muscle and his voice lowered into a deep bassoon. “I’ve got cardio in like, five minutes.”

Doctor Simmons swallowed heavily. “He just....”

“Yes,” Barton agreed.

“And there are ... how many of them?” “Sixty here alone. We minorities seem to be immune.” Simmons watched as Malloy raised his arms and began to pose. With every flex, the subject’s gaze became more distant. Then came the guffaws. A light flush rose in Simmons’ cheeks as they finished their examination, then sent the affected patient on his way.  “Have you identified the bacteria or germ responsible?” Barton shook his head. “That’s part of what’s puzzling us. There’s no sign of them. I’m worried what might happen if the virus or whatever this is mutates into something more.” A light sheen of sweat now reflected the sheen in his brow. Simmons suddenly found himself grateful for his Nubian heritage as he felt the blood flowing through his veins. “We’ll need samples, won’t we?” he asked. “Hm?” Barton’s head jolted up suddenly. “Oh, you mean blood, tissue, that sort of thing.” He smirked. “I’m sure it won’t take long to get those. The others have turned the main lobby into a football field. Simmons’ breath hitched as he gasped. “Ve-RR-y--.” He cleared his throat. “Very well. Let’s see what we can get. “Mmm ... yeah. This is gonna be good.” Barton casually laid his clipboard down over his crotch. “Plenty good.” Simmons started walking. “It will be fun to ... observe the proceedings,” he said, heedless of the tent that was starting to grow in his own crotch. He let out a low chuckle as his lab coat became just a little more snug. “You know, I always wanted to play football....”

Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/635700023353622528/credit-goes-to-musclecorps-is-for-this-image

Next Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181232201117/endemic-evolution-chapter-4-there-you-see-its

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Endemic Evolution Chapter 3

Doctor Lee Chen Barton blew out his mouth like a whale as he surfaced from his breast stroke. They had studied the subjects for the last month with little success in isolating the disease. On top of this, a certain degree of worry gnawed at him. He peered over at the poolside, where Doctor Rante Simmons was just finishing another round of drawing blood samples. A pair of swim trunks hung somewhat loosely against his trimmer frame. The man’s eyes remained rigidly fixed on the vials, but Lee could see how Simmons would pass his gaze over the other men’s rapidly increasing musculature. His hands would squeeze and caress a little longer than necessary, and a bulge began to tent in the man’s crotch, pressing against the fabric. Lee knew what needed to be done. He waded confidently through the pool’s waters, heedless of the splashes that sounded behind as others bellyflopped or otherwise disturbed the waters. The air was heavy with the scent of chlorine and the humidity of the warmer waters. The resistance against his thighs was almost electric as he waded through the shallows and finally mounted the stairs. “Doctor Simmons, I can take over for now. Why don’t you take a dip in the pool? You look like you could use one.” Simmons blinked owlishly and gaped a moment, as if he’d only just noticed his colleague. “Sorry, what?” he finally managed to ask. Lee laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “The pool. You should take a dip. Cool off.” He looked pointedly down at Simmons’ crotch. The man at least had enough decorum to blush. “I’ll finish the samples and get them ready for shipping.” Simmons nodded and cleared his throat. “Right. Call me if you need me. I’ll be just over there.” He strode purposefully toward the pool’s steps and winced as he got up to his thighs in the water. Then he arced under and was lost beneath the surface. Lee sighed and looked up at his next patient, a more recent addition to the ranks. Kyle Lambridge was a former staff member under Malloy’s employ. The young man had been careful to avoid contact with the other men, and Lee had been hopeful the boy could be cleared to leave in due course, perhaps even prove to be a source for an inoculation to cure the disease. Unfortunately, Kyle had proven to the contrary. His reaction when he finally manifested symptoms had been so violent that he practically jettisoned into the Gym Rat stage. As a member of his staff, Malloy had taken full “responsibility” for the boy and now watched over him like a mother bear. He trained him in the weights section. He pushed him to eat more than his peers. And his mental faculties, well.... Lee had managed to catch the two of them chatting in the locker room once.

“It’s not that bad, really, once you get used to it,” Malloy had said. “You just have to sort of accept it, ya know?” “But I--”

“No buts. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” “But I don’t want to....” “Bullshit. Your body wants to, so you want to. It’s natural.” “... Natural....” Lee’s breath had begun to take on a labored tone. “Does it feel bad to you?” “N-no, but--” “What did I say about buts?” “S-sorry, Sir.” “Now listen to me. Your meat’s trying to talk to you. Listen to it.” “I--” “Don’t think. Just do.” A low moan escaped Kyle’s lips. “Just ... do....” “That’s right, bro. Do it.” “Fuck,” Kyle hissed. He grunted and his voice deepened. “Oh, fuck.” “Told ya, lil’bro. Best feeling in the world, except maybe for a good pump.” Kyle chuckled. His voice deepened with every husky guffaw. “Fuck yeah, it is.” “So, you scared about it anymore?” “Fuck no! Huhuhuh....” “That’s a good bro. Finish up. We’ve got a lot of reps to do today.” “Yes, Sir....” He grunted again and chuckled. “Dunno why I was so scared before. I’m such a dumbass. Mmm ... yeah, just a big, burly dumbass....”

Lee had been quick to make his escape. He didn’t want to see what had just transpired, though he could guess only too well the lesson Malloy had taught his new protege. The fact the boy’s body and privates had both experienced a growth spurt less than twenty-four hours later only helped to strengthen those suspicions. He would be remiss not to admit the discussion had caused a certain amount of arousal. That was part of his reasons for spending so much time in the pool. The cooler water helped to shock his more carnal nature and left him clear-headed to focus on their work. Malloy soon approached. A confident easy-going grin was plastered over his face. He quickly wrapped a burly arm around Kyle’s shoulders as Lee finished the last of the bandaging. “Doc,” he acknowledged. “I see you’re doing well today.” He glanced down at Lee’s trunks and the grin widened as knowing eyes gave his expression just a hint of a sneer. “I like the look.” Lee shrugged. “I like to balance modesty with sex appeal,” he said bluntly. “The time we’ve spent here studying you has given me plenty of time to make my body more ... presentable for these.” “Oh, sure. Sure,” Malloy agreed amicably. “What are you up to now, anyway, a hundred pounds?” Lee grit his teeth as the familiar tingle rose in his crotch. “One twenty, if you must know.” “Not bad,” Malloy approved. “Keep at it and you might be as strong as me one day.” Lee nodded as he attended to the next patient. “Perhaps. But then again, I thought a man of your stature didn’t like competition.” “I don’t.” He wrapped an arm around Lee’s shoulders and smirked. “But I always make exceptions for friends. We are friends, aren’t we, Doctor Barton? Or should I call you...?” “Lee.” The word was out of his mouth before he could even think, and a sense of vertigo suddenly assaulted his senses. He grunted as he shouldered the extra weight Malloy forced on him. The man had quite literally become a block head. Every aspect of his jaw and features had become sharpened by angles to mutate into a bizarre parody of a polyhedron. His bristly beard scratched against the side of Lee’s head as he breathed heavily into the doctor’s ear. “Lee, huh? I like that name.” He released his deadly press and choke hold, then turned to Kyle and sneered. “Come on, kid. Time for your protein shake.” He laid a guiding hand on Kyle’s back and steered him away, even as the boy began to bounce his pectorals, just for the sake of the spectacle. Malloy stopped only long enough to turn around and offer his last farewell. “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you, Lee. Much more of you.” He sneered openly. “See you around, stud.” Lee couldn’t tell if it was a compliment, tease, or insult. Then again, it might have been some of all three. He subtly cupped his package on the sly. The effects of his dive in the pool had worn off. “Damn it,” he swore. It had only been a few minutes, after all. He peered over at the pool. Simmons had taken a seat on the edge at the deep end. The water glistened on his dark skin and he rubbed a hand absently over his torso as he watched a trio of Meatheads pose and flex by the hot tub. The desiccated remains of large plastic bags and the red dye on the labels indicated what had once dwelled within those coils. That and the small chunks of ice that had been thrust out of their makeshift ice bath to rest on the floor. He was too far away to tell, but Lee was almost certain his colleague’s crotch was bulging. No more joking. No more mocking. No more mimicry. After the way Malloy had treated him, it was time to face facts. Somehow, some way, they had become infected.

Happy New Year!! Wishing you a more prosperous and jockish year : )

Thank you for the well wishes. While I may not be jockish, you can expect for quite a few new updates in the future. I’ve got a new story going for our friend Coach Stone, and of course, there are other stories I’ve had on the backburner that I need to get back to as well. There will be much writing. Yes, much indeed. >:)

It was so weird. Ever since Adrian put on those shoes from check-in, things just ... went weird. He kept following the locker room, but no matter how far he went, he always wound up back at the same place: A massive floor-length mirror. The next walk he took left a tingling on his head. He frowned as he stared at the mirror. Was ... something different? He brushed a hand over the high and tight sides and felt the comforting bristles. No, everything was fine. He turned to try again. Once more, he passed through the endless line of lockers. No dice. He spun around on the poles, gripping with his hands and tensing the muscles in his arms and torso, then let go. Anything was better than repeating the same thing over and over again. Perhaps random turns would prevail better than reason. He stared at the mirror again. Had ... he come in shirtless? He couldn’t remember. It ... was pretty warm. Maybe he ... left the shirt behind? A few of the gym goers had done that. Yeah. He ... remembered seeing that. And it wasn’t like he had that much to be ashamed of. He was fit. No Adonis, but certainly toned enough not to raise any suspicion or antagonism. He furrowed his brow and stroked his beard. One more time? he wondered. Every step echoed hollowly through the vacuous locker room. His feet smacked heavily on the tile floor. His thighs felt tense as they brushed against one another and he adjusted his pace accordingly, swinging his legs from side to side in an unconscious swagger. The smacks sounded like hammer blows falling one after the other. One. Two. Three. Four. The rhythm beat into his head as he counted one after the other. Suddenly he stood before the mirror again. He felt the brush of fabric falling and blinked slowly as he gaped ahead at the tall muscle man in the mirror. A camera phone was in his hand. A camera phone was in Adrian’s hand. He furrowed at the sight, then clecked the button. The flash went off. He looked down. There was the man in the screen. He looked up. There was the man staring at him again with a puzzled expression. He clicked again. FLASH His cheeks became more sharply angled, his jaw thick, his traps swollen, shoulders broad. He looked good. “Damn,” he rumbled. “Wish I could be like that.” He chuckled and flexed his free arm. The man in his way did likewise. FLASH “Huhuhuh...” That felt good. He grinned as he stepped out of the shorts and strode out in his posing briefs. The weight room was awash with swollen muscle men, each wearing a pair of bright red shoes. “Uh ... is this where I audition for the weight team?” he asked. A strange sense of deja vous struck him as a titan of a man in a straining sleeveless muscle tee grinned down at him. Hadn’t he been at the desk before? And, like ... uh..... short or ... someth..... A sudden surge of warmth filled his crotch and Adrian lost track of his thoughts. A guiding hand helped him to one of the weight machines. “Right this way, bro,” a deep husky voice assured him. Then he felt his arms tensing, felt his chest seizing, heard the weight clacking heavily behind him. One. Two. Three. Four.... His head cleared. His thoughts emptied. His mouth gaped open. All that mattered were the weights now. ... Just the weights.... He let out a husky dimwitted laugh, heedless of the pulsing glow in his bright red sneakers as his muscles inflated. “Welcome to the team, bro,” the behemoth said. Adrian grunted. No time to talk. He had to lift.

You’ve heard of the magic red boots that forced their wearer to dance. Well, bro, these here are magic sneaks that force a bro to LIFT! Think you’re progressing now? Just wait till that curse settles in. You won’t be able to think of anything else. ... But bro, seriously, why would you want to? Welcome to your new home, bro.

Losing Self

Look at the watch, the watch that is ticking, ticking down, down into the ages, down the corridors of time. Down. Down. Counting down.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The voice plays over the speakers as I lay on my bed, staring up at the massive mirror mounted to the ceiling overhead. It is a familiar voice, albeit a little higher range than I remember.

Deeper and deeper.

I’m clutching my shirt, keeping my watch in plain sight. My pupils are shrinking. I can see them as I watch the watch. That means it won’t be long now. Maybe a few seconds, maybe a few minutes. They’ll expand soon enough.

Tick ... Tock ....

The subtle click of my own watch’s hands seem magnified as I listen. Of course, it’s just the recording, but my unconscious mind doesn’t know that. I even went so far as to magnify the sound of the watch hand to ensure it was exactly the same.

Counting down the seconds. Counting down the moments. Counting down to that deep, deep sleep.

Tick ... Tock ... Tick ... Tock....

Whoa. That was a rush. Forgot how good this felt. I can see my lips twitching into a hint of a smile.

The sleep that lets you change. The sleep that lets you listen to my voice, listen as it whispers and fixes and repairs. You remember, don’t you? You remember what we talked about last time.

Oh, yes....

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. That little click sounds so much like a hammer, doesn’t it? The hammer of my voice, striking the chisel, the chisel that chips the stone, the stone that gives way so effortlessly under the hands of a master crafter....

Master ... crafter....

You are that stone.

I am the stone.

I am the master crafter.

Yes....

Time to sculpt, my little blockhead.

I am ready to be sculpted, Master Crafter....

Last time, we agreed you would look better with some stubble, and would maybe grow a proper beard to complement your features. Have you done this?

Yes, Master Crafter....

Good. That is good. You have modified your diet. You have changed the clothing you wear. Now is the time to focus, to focus on my voice, to focus on the instructions I am to give you next.

Focus....

It is time to move on to the next phase. Remember, you asked for this. You wished me to change you, to mold you, to remake you. That is my purpose as the master crafter. It is your purpose to accept my changes.

Yes, Master Crafter....

Now that you are trim, it is time to get fit. You will go the gym and work out three days a week to start. You will seek assistance from a trainer if the need arises. You will push to grow stronger, grow bigger, grow buffer.

Yes.

And the more progress you make, the more you will become entranced by the gym. You will want to spend more time there. You will want to continue to make progress, continue to grow. And the more you grow, the more time you spend there, the slower your thinking will become. Slower and slower, dimmer and dimmer, dumber and dumber....

Dumber....

The only exceptions to this part of your change will apply to the gym, fitness, anatomy, and other masculine things of the musclehead stereotype, including exercises, diet, plans, sports, weights, manual labor, and other affiliated items.

Yes, Master Crafter....

Your body will react positively. Your muscles will expand quickly with mass and strength. Your manhood will increase in size with the rest of you. Your voice will continue to deepen, because of the growth you will experience. And it will all feel so very good, so good to let these things happen, to make them happen, because you are being molded, sculpted by my voice, by my hammer, by me, your master crafter.

Yes.

Sculpted into a true meathead in every sense of the word.

Yes!

Good blockhead. You will not remember our conversation, only that we had success in this session. You will follow the instructions I have given you, despite not remembering them. And as always, you will have found great pleasure in our sessions. You will become a musclehead. You will become a meathead. You will become.

I will become....

Good boy. Now, it’s time to wake up. Remember, blockhead. The clock is ticking. Time to get to work.

...

...

...

Wake up, blockhead.

...

Whoa. That was ... wow. I ... I really outdid myself, didn’t I? I really don’t remember it. Haha!

Yes!

 Complete success! Can’t wait to upload this one online! ... Hmm. And maybe start searching for a gym, while I’m at it....