Come Home

 Originally posted on Tumblr: May 12th, 2021 

Original A/N: Hey everyone! This is a collab by me and the Amazing Aardvarkia. Working on this was so much fun. I’m so happy he took the time to write this with me!

Also, in other great news Aardvarkia, the king of muscle growth and AP himself, Now has a patreon! That’s right, so if you want to get more heart racing, body building stories turning boys into men then hop on over!

  

“Okay, deep breaths.” Scott looked out his car window towards Dynamo Fitness. About a year ago, maybe even more than that he had got a call asking if he wanted to be an investor in the gym. He’d gotten a tour and a whole business spiel. But the thing was…Scott had not come alone that day. Though for so long he couldn’t remember that fact.

 

“Mr. Danvers, you chill?” asked Scott’s passenger. It was the first time the teen - Mason - looked up from his phone. His tone of voice betrayed his words. He wasn’t interested in whatever answer Scott would give, but that was to be expected. Mason was a high schooler still in the throes of finding himself, and currently that search had landed on “indifferent to everything.” Thin as a rail, the teen’s hair was dyed goth-black, a choice further reflected in his new clothing style. The teen was trying to be a rebel but at his core he was just a bored suburban kid with too much time on his hands. Or at least that’s how Scott saw him.

 

It’s not like Scott had wanted to bring Mason along, but the boy’s parents left him in Scott’s care while they flew to Italy. They said it was for business, but Scott couldn’t imagine why they couldn’t take their son. Mason’s goth phase was probably a cry for help. But today Scott didn’t have time to deal with that. He needed to march into that gym and take care of business. “I’m fine,” Scott finally answered, but Mason was already done pretending to care, face back in his phone.

 

“Hey Mason…do you remember my son?” Scott asked.

 

 Mason stopped texting on his phone. “Didn’t know you had a kid. Definitely haven’t met him.”

 

Scott nodded silently. “Okay I’m going to run into this gym real quick. I have some business to take care of, would you mind waiting here?”

 

“Fine,” Mason said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Thank you.” Scott started out the car but then turned around. “Whatever happens, stay out here. Don’t go into the gym.” Scott walked off.

 

Mason smirked. Clearly Scott had never been around teenagers. Telling them not to do something was the biggest invitation to do it. Mason made sure to wait a good 10 mins before hopping out the car. His mouth fell open - Dynamo Fitness was a huge place. After all that time on his phone, he never thought to inspect where he was. Of course, the gym held no interest for him, but this place seemed luxurious. Not that he cared about THAT either, but it was better than being in a hot car. He could use some water, too.

 

Mason was just about to go in when, through the towering, tinted windows, he saw two jocks from his high school walking through the lobby about to leave. He darted to the side, around a column, and stuck his face back in his phone. He didn’t know the names of the two beefy blond boys, but if he recognized them, they’d recognize him, and he didn’t want to get made fun of right now. So, he waited until their raucous conversation faded into the distance, then he walked inside. Instead of pushing his bangs back so he could see, he let them flop dramatically into his eyes - it made it hard to know where he was walking, but it also made clear that he didn’t want anyone to talk to him.

 

Oh, good, a water fountain. Mason charged toward it until a voice stopped him. “Scuse me! ‘SCUSE ME!” the voice chirped, and he turned to see a pretty blond girl with a heart-shaped face and glittery cheeks. She was behind the check-in counter, waving at Mason. “Sorry, you have to scan in first.”

 

“I’m not a member here,” Mason said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I just need a drink of water.”

 

“You can’t go past the waiting area if you’re not a member yet, unless escorted by staff,” the girl said, sticking her lip out. “Sorry. It’s a corporate rule.”

 

“I just want some water,” Mason said, rolling his eyes.

 

“We have bottles for sale? $3.”

 

“Fiiine.” What a fucking scam, Mason thought. He forked over three crumpled singles he found in his black jeans and received a bottle of water in return. At least it was ice cold. That tamped down some of the embarrassment of talking to this all-American cheerleader, who was petite but still taller than Mason. He kept waiting for his growth spurt, and he was getting seriously concerned that it kept not happening.

 

He’d already walked back to the seating area when the girl started talking to him again. “Did you want to talk about getting a membership?”

 

“Nooooo,” Mason said, tone dripping with disdain. “My neighb…” He trailed off. He didn’t want to explain the Mr. Danvers thing. He hated that he’d been left with a babysitter at his age. “My friend just came in here and I’m waiting for him.”

 

“Got it. I thought you might be here for the Brock Benson event.”

 

“I dunno what that is, so no,” Mason snorted, barely paying attention to the conversation. This girl was clearly bored and talking to whoever was around.

 

“He’s a Classic Olympia competitor!” the girl said, with the same reverence as if Mason had just said he didn’t know who Jesus was. “If you sign up today you enter a contest to win five training sessions with him. He’s never taking new clients so it’s a big deal.”

 

“Okay,” was all Mason said, and that seemed to finally give the girl a clue. She stopped talking and went back to folding towels.

 

Mason sat down in the waiting area hoping to spot Mr. Danvers on the other side. However judging by the size of the building the man could have been anywhere. Chugging his water Mason watched as minutes ticked by on the nearby clock. His patience wearing thin, Mason stood up and tried to peer deeper into the building. This was worse than when his mom went shopping at the grocery store.

 

The blondie at the counter kept side-eyeing him but not with the disinterest he had shown her. Her pursed lips revealed she had more to say but was willingly holding back, having realized Mason wasn’t the most social of boys. When he heard her humming and noticed that she kept looking at him, Mason groaned, “What?”

 

“Hm?” The female clerk’s eyes flew to him.

 

“You look like you want to say something so go ahead,” Mason said.

 

The girl cheered, clapping her hands a bit. “You look like you want to go in badly. So I just wanted to mention those attending the Brock Benson event get in free all day today.”

 

“So all I have to do is buy a ticket?” Mason raised an eyebrow.

 

The girl giggled. “Buy a ticket? We’re actually all sold out.”

 

“Then why did you—

 

Lowering her hand, the girl motioned for Mason to calm down. She sat down in her chair and pushed the rolling chair back. She grabbed a flyer off a stack of papers on a nearby desk. Turning around she presented the poster to Mason. In big white letters it read Brock Benson. Though there was no image of the guy on there, which Mason found odd. He was going to ask the girl but supposed, if this guy was so popular, everyone interested probably already knew what he looked like.

 

“So how is this supposed to help me?” He waved the flyer around in his iron clutch, a death grip accentuated by his black fingernail polish.

 

It was the girl’s time to roll her eyes. She even threw her hands up in the air. “Did you not hear a thing I said earlier? There’s a contest going on as well.”

 

Mason stood dumbly waiting for her to continue.

 

Defeated the girl spelled it out, “If you sign up for the contest you get in. It’s treated like a ticket.”

 

“I thought you were sold out.”

 

“We are but the contest isn’t full. Not everyone that wants to see Brock wants to train with him, because they think he’s intimidating. But that’s honestly their problem. He takes his fitness very seriously but outside of that he’s as good natured as he is dum—” The girl covered her mouth. “Oh, that would have been so rude.”

 

“So, he’s an idiot?” Mason asked with a wry grin.

 

“I didn’t say that. He’s the most famous Personal Trainer here at Dynamo Fitness. We’re lucky to have him.”

 

“Okay, I’ll sign up.” Mason put his name on the dotted line. The teenager grumbled as the pen he held travelled across the page. Just what he needed another dumb meathead in his life. As if he wasn’t surrounded enough by that at school. Though perhaps if he won the contest Brock could give him some pointers on how to keep the jocks a bay. But the idea of him winning any sort of fitness contest, whatever it was, was so absurd that he held back a laugh.

 

The female desk clerk shoved a complementary towel and handbag into his arms. Mason held on to them and got scanned in. Once past that initial obstacle, Mason didn’t want to waste any time. If two jocks from his school were here that meant there were probably more. Mason wasn’t going to dally. He was going to find Mr. Danvers and leave. The older man hadn’t been dressed for the gym nor was he holding a bag, so he couldn’t have been working out. That left the question: Where should Mason begin looking? The teen bit his lip. He didn’t even know why his older neighbor came here in the first place.

 

He felt ludicrously out of place, in his black jeans and baggy gray t-shirt, the fried ends of his hair sticking out every which way. But aside from a curious look or two aimed his way, no one said anything to him. Mason always had a quip prepared in case someone made fun of him, and he was rarely more out of his element than he was at the current moment, as a skinny wannabe punk in the town’s biggest and prettiest gym. He was impressed that people left him alone. Maybe real life wasn’t like school. When people didn’t know you, they minded their own business.

 

Mason turned a corner and found himself face-to-face with a tall man who had more muscle than Mason had ever seen up close. The guy was in a sweat-soaked tank top, so every inch of his carved body was on display, from his big veiny delts to the meaty thighs that were far too thick for his shorts. His pecs were wide and solid, covered by a dusting of chest hair that curled out from the scoop of his tank top. “Sorry, buddy,” the bodybuilder rumbled, breaking into a smile that shone through his short, thick beard. “Wasn’t looking where I was going’.”

 

“My bad,” Mason said, standing to the side to let the hulk pass. He was glad he wasn’t that big, he thought as the man strutted to the locker room. Everyone would always be looking at him.

 

The locker room seemed like a good place to search for Mr. Danvers, but Mason didn’t want to follow the muscle guy in there directly, so he took a lap around the inside of the gym, poking his head into the various rooms he came across. Every single one was chock full of bizarre looking equipment that reminded Mason of medieval torture devices. He had no idea what to do with any of this shit. One room was just all dumbbells, hundreds of them. Another was all squat racks, and the sounds emanating from it made Mason want to never work out ever.

 

He’d been walking around for ten minutes once he got back to the locker room and decided it was probably safe to enter. But no sooner had he walked in than he found himself face to face with the bodybuilder from before. Except now, the man was clean - his short brown hair was glossy, indicating he’d taken a shower - and he’d changed clothes. His shorts were swapped out for a pair of khakis that clung tightly to his thick legs, while his tank top was replaced by an Under Armour polo shirt that didn’t quite fit: it was skintight and none of the buttons would connect over his chest, allowing a shelf of hairy muscle to bulge out into view. He was in the process of tucking it into his pants when Mason walked in.

 

The man looked up. “Ah, hey buddy,” he said with a bright white smile. “You lost?”

 

“No,” Mason lied. “Just looking for someone.”

 

“Can I help?” The man pulled his belt tight, showing off his trim waist and his abs pressing against his polo.

 

“What, do you work here or something?”

 

“Sure do. I’m the PT manager, Paul,” Paul said, clipping his nametag onto his shirt as he said it. The dramatic curve of Paul’s pecs made the tag hard to read - it almost slipped into his armpit as he walked forward and extended his hand to Mason. “Who’re you looking for?”

 

“This guy Scott dragged me here and is taking too long. I wanna leave but I can’t find him, and I don’t have his number.”

 

“Hm. Where have you looked so far?” Paul folded his arms across his colossal chest. His biceps heaved out from under the short sleeves of his uniform.

 

“Just did a lap through the like…workout…rooms, or whatever they’re called.”

 

“I just taught a class in the studio area, let’s go look there,” Paul suggested, clapping a beefy hand on Mason’s bony shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Mason tried his best not to wince at it as Paul dragged him along. Though on the inside Mason was grateful he’d run into someone that actually knew how to move through this labyrinth.

 

Most of the walk Mason stood behind Paul letting all eyes fall on the broad man, but Paul would keep slowing down to let Mason catch up so they could talk.

 

“So, are you thinking of joining us here?” Paul asked with a warm smile.

 

“Me? No, no I don’t—gyms aren’t really my thing.” Mason looked at the passing people. Abs, biceps, calves, and pecs galore. There was a group of four teens all in tight muscle shirts the duo passed. The guys were laughing, showing off, and poking at the other’s bodies. Mason didn’t recognize a single one. They must have been from a rival highschool. He was sure one of the boys would have made a snide comment when Paul passed but the boys were still off in their world.

 

Their indifference towards him left Mason stunned. Should he have been appreciative? In his high school that never would have happened. Part of him kinda wished they did say something to him. It almost felt like he wasn’t important enough to worth acknowledging. Mason was unaware that he had turned to watch the group until Paul spoke.

 

“See something you like on those guys?” Paul playfully elbowed him.

 

Mason’s face went red. “Oh no, I’m not gay. They’re hot, but not like that.” The poor kid was fumbling over his words.

 

“Hey, no judgement.” Paul said strolling along. “But you know if you want to look like them I think you could.” The two arrived at the studio area. Paul stepped into the room. The lights were on but it was empty.

 

“Really how?” Mason stepped in. Not that he cared he was too cool for gyms. They weren’t really his scene. Jocks at school made fun of him, and then Mason and his friends made jokes about jocks behind their back. But it would be nice if he could have a body like those other teens. They were the same age, but some of those kids looked old enough to be his father.

 

“Well,” Paul crossed his arms re-examining Mason. He drew one hand up to his chin holding it as he pondered. “Come over here.” Mason did as told. Then Paul positioned the boy straight ahead face to face with a mirror. Paul situated himself behind the boy, “First I’d start you off with your shoulder. I think you’ve got great potential.” Paul rested his hands on Mason’s shoulder blades, massaging the muscles around them.

 

The boy didn’t even register how the breadth of his shoulders was expanding.

 

“Next, we’d move down to your arms. It’d be a waste to keep them small don’t you think? Let’s see what you got.” Paul hunched over and flexed a bicep beckoning for Masin to follow his example.

 

The teen felt stupid, he knew he didn’t have any meat on his bones. He wondered if Paul was trying to embarrass him, but he didn’t get that impression from the man. Begrudgingly he flexed his small arms, looking away from the shame of seeing himself next to the behemoth that was Paul.

 

“Look at that dude, you got some muscle on you!” Paul’s voice caused Mason to look back at the mirror. There was a nice hunk of flesh bulging out of Mason’s biceps. A smile began to form on Mason’s lips. He flexed again and his biceps pulsed bigger.

 

“You know you can’t ignore your chest,” Paul added. “You want the perfect pecs that can support big arms.” Paul flexed his own mouthwatering pectorals, making them dance in the mirror. He lifted his arms showing his pecs extended, then lowered them. “But this is way too baggy to show off your development,” he said, fingering Mason’s oversized t-shirt.

 

Before another thought crossed Mason’s mind, he popped his t-shirt over his head and chucked it on the floor. His torso was thin - not muscular at all - but also not as bony as he’d expected. He did have two little squares above his ribcage, and a nice six pack. The potential was there, the size was not. “Yeah, I actually look pretty good,” Mason said, running his fingers over his stomach.

 

“Pretty good for a kid,” Paul agreed, “but you have a lot farther to go.” He smacked Mason’s butt like a teammate saying good game, and the teen’s bony bottom suddenly swelled, pushing up into a perky shelf and then ballooning with round, solid muscle. Mason doubled forward, suddenly vacuum-packed into his jeans. He groaned.

 

“Ah, my…shit…” The button of his jeans shot off. His fly burst open. There was a flash of color that Mason caught between the slits of his eyes, which were squeezed shut from the pain.

 

“Ooh, you brought out the signature gold today!”

 

Mason stood up, the pressure somewhat alleviated by the ruination of his jeans. They’d peeled off him like the skin of a banana, revealing his hips wearing the smallest brief he’d ever seen…well, it wasn’t even a brief, more like a thong. The fabric was metallic gold, as shiny as an Academy Award. As soon as Mason registered the silky caress of his posing strap around his nuts, he sprang a boner, and his cock lengthened into a piston fit for pornography, veiny and thick with jumbo balls that lewdly pushed the pouch of his poser to the limit. He preened proudly, his face twisting into a cocky sneer he’d never seen himself make before. Something about it shocked him. He looked different - something was happening, he needed to leave… Mason turned around and took one step forward.

 

“Good thinking let’s check out that back,” Paul nodded, and Mason’s lats bulged outward, broadening him dramatically and pushing his shoulders even wider. Millions of tiny details popped out across the growing expanse of his huge back, which looked all the broader as his already slim waist pulled further inward, losing any fat that had accumulated from the consumption of after-school Hot Pockets and pizza rolls. Mason didn’t eat that stuff anymore, and it showed. His skin was taut over his growing muscles.

 

“Wait,” Paul said, running his palm over the nape of Mason’s neck. “You’re BLOND? Why do you dye it this ugly black?”

 

“It’s not ugly, it’s cool,” Mason insisted. His voice sounded different - deeper, sure, but it also lilted in a new way. “And I’m not blond, bro…uh, Paul…my hair’s brown.”

 

“Nah man, you’re blond. I can see the roots.”

 

“Really?” Mason ran his hand over his hair, and the black flaked off like old paint, revealing shiny golden blond waves underneath. He turned around to prove he wasn’t blond and found himself looking at a lush head of gold locks, matched by deeply tanned skin he’d never seen himself achieve before. Mason gasped, and his ribcage expanded with a mighty thump, as two square boulders swelled out from his chest. He stared down at them in astonishment, which was compounded when he realized he was now broader than Paul, with bigger pecs to boot. And he was so close to naked. His pants were off, his shirt was off, he was just in this little triangle of gold that barely held his big package. “What’s happening,” Mason slurred, drunk off his own beauty. “I look like a bodybuilder guy-”

 

“Um, yeah, you ARE a bodybuilder guy.”

 

Mason’s body seemed to explode with mass. He stretched six inches taller, and his muscles all grew at once, bulging out in every direction until he’d become a walking wall. His head looked comically small atop his herculean physique, even with the perfect swoosh of blond hair. “L-like Brock Benson?”

 

Paul laughed, but his face looked confused. “JUST like him.”

 

Mason laughed too, and it sounded different, a deep and pleasant giggle. Sort of like if you asked a cow to chuckle. It sounded…well…dumb as hell. Once again, he was shocked back to earth, staring at this tall, huge body, a testament to the male form. This wasn’t him! He wasn’t supposed to be some hunky stud obsessed with how he looked…

 

He needed to get out of here. Mason rushed for the door, but his body froze the moment his hand connected with the handle. There was a tingling sensation encroaching the inside of his face.

 

“Everything okay Bason?” Paul asked standing a few feet away.

 

“What’s happening to me?” Mason caught his head’s reflection expanding in the mirror. His oversized body was looking less and less out of proportion. But it was still no less out of place for it still carried the semblance of a teenage boy.

 

“What are you talking about Brason? You look fine to me.” Paul walked over and placed a hand on Mason’s huge traps. Then Paul looked in the mirror squinting trying to find what was troubling the other male.

 

Mason clenched his teeth and grunted as he felt the inevitable changes coming. The pressure built up and the first thing to go was his nose. It popped out of existence, replaced by a strong solid refined nose. Then, Mason’s jaw grew wider, becoming chiseled and square as hair began to sprout. His thin eyebrows arched into two thick swoops. Mason locked eyes with himself. He didn’t look like the teen that had wandered into the gym. A thought crossed his mind: Why would he think that? There was no way a teenager had the body he did. He had worked for years perfecting his body. His feet ached and he kicked his shoes off, sending them flying across the room where his shirt was.

 

Flashing himself a cocky smile Mason stepped out of the Studio Room. He had a body just like the jock in his high school did except he was bigger than all of them.

 

“Wait, where are you going? We can’t just leave the room a mess like this,” Paul shouted.

 

But Mason was no longer listening, he was looking for some classmates to show his body off to. Possibly even establish a new hierarchy at school. However, the first teens he ran into were the four him and Paul had passed by earlier. Seniors, all of them and the group had swarmed around him before he even knew what was happening.

 

“Oh my god, you’re him.” A teen jock in a black muscle shirt said. “You’re Brock Benson.”

 

“Nah, I just look like him.” Mason stated he watched as the teen’s face fell. The other three smiled, laughing and saying, “We told you it wasn’t him. There’s no way he could be Brock, he’s not big enough.”

 

That was unacceptable, Mason thought. He was bigger than all these boys here. How would they know what was big enough. “Boys, I am too big enough.” His muscles began to swell anew. It felt so good…he wanted to nut so bad…he was so goddamn big and chiseled. A fucking prized stallion.

 

“He’s not old enough,” another guy cried.

 

“Old enough to beat your ass,” Mason grumbled as his skin began to age, the bones of his face hardening into jutting angles that turned him from a teenager into a man nearing 30. He was handsome now. Really fucking handsome. Full lips and jaw like the bottom half of a stop sign. And the cocky leer on his face showed he knew it.

 

“But he’s wearing Brock’s signature thong,” the teen in black stated.

 

Mason nodded, that was right, his poser was for special occasions these days. A real fan like the young man in black would know that. Suddenly the young man in black cupped Mason’s package. “These certainly feel like Brock Benson’s cock and balls. I’ve seen enough of the stage photos where they slipped out to know.

 

“What? Let me see.” Another one of the teens in the friend group held Mason’s cock, which now twitched violently in the young man’s palm. “Still just a bit small,” the guy said.

 

Mason was immobile, his giant frame frozen in shock. Every time his ego grew, something would happen that shot him back to normalcy. Why were these kids acting like this…not kids, guys…he was their age, right? No, he was older - he couldn’t hit this size as a teenager, he had to be older.

 

“And what about muscles? They should be bigger.” A teen in a gray shirt fondled Mason’s chest. “His pecs should be huge, meaty and - AND look at this! This guy’s nips are tiny. Anyone would know this isn’t Brock.” Then the young man did something strange: he leaned forward, took Mason’s nipple in his mouth, and began sucking on it. Mason couldn’t believe this was happening right in the halls of the gym. Nobody seemed to think it was odd, even as Mason grew bigger and blonder and buffer with each stroke of his cock and suck of his nipple. When the young man stopped sucking, the nipple released from his looking like the top of a baby’s bottle. The young man went to work on the next one, sucking eagerly until the same thing happened.

 

The teen in the gray shirt pulled off wiping his lips happily. “Wait, he does kinda look like him.”

 

“But he’s not really dumb like him is he?”

 

Mason blinked at that. His IQ was plummeting as his cock, balls, muscles and ass grew bigger, feeding off the intelligence that was no longer needed in this new form. “I’m not dumb,” Mason insisted in a deep, dreamy voice that betrayed not even a hint of intelligence. “I just didn’t pay much attention in school…too busy, like…lifting and playing football and shit…” Finally, the jocks were starting to look at Mason with the reverence they should have held from the beginning.

 

“Yeah, guys, he’s not dumb,” one of the other boys teased. “After all, you have to know something about chemistry to get a body like this.”

 

There was a shift in Mason’s build. Years of laborious cycling changed the look of muscles to thick, full, and vascular. Too massive and defined to be achievable naturally. He looked like a true bodybuilder now, a man obsessed with the art form: beautiful lines, complete symmetry. Nature had given him a pretty face and juicy cock, and he’d built the body to match.

 

“Brock,” Paul barked. Mason didn’t know why he turned around. His name wasn’t Brock. His name was like…somethin’ else. Brock would’ve fit him well if it was his name, which it wasn’t, but if it was he’d make sense as a Brock. ‘Cause it sounded kinda like ‘Rock,’ which sounded kinda like ‘jock.’ Just a big dumb hot jock. Sweet natured when he wasn’t lifting, intense as hell when he was. He just wanted to be naked and show off his muscles and be worshipped. Wearing a skimpy poser in public was the hottest thing in the world to him, this giant slab of vapid muscle waddling around with his cock threatening to pop out. Fuck yeah…

 

“Sorry boss,” Brock mumbled with a dopey grin, moseying back to the studio. It stank of sweat and cum, Brock’s two favorite smells. Why’d he been in here again? Oh right, he was like…posing…a poser, people always said he was a poser…what’d that mean? Brock looked at his hands and watched the last vestige of his former self - his black nail polish - flake off, leaving him a giant spray tanned Ken doll with a gleaming white smile, happy as could be. “Posing practice!” Brock hiccuped when he finally remembered. “Sorry Paul, I got distracted.”

 

“I know, big fella. You think with your dick. But your routine is looking great.”

 

“Fuck yeah it is,” Brock grinned, squatting down and swooping out one leg. His thighs rippled with the definition of a redwood tree, as his arms did as he raised them above his head. Paul watched Brock run through his routine for a few more minutes before all the flexing and posing had Brock panting for breath.

 

“I think we should call it for today, you’re spent.”

 

“Yeah,” Brock rasped. “But I did good, right?”

 

“Of course, man. You’re a fucking masterpiece. You’re gonna get so many members in here.”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Brock grinned, his usual response to most things. He picked up a pair of black jeans and a baggy t-shirt. “Are these…mine?”

 

“They’re not mine,” Paul shrugged.

 

Brock figured he’d get yelled at if he walked out in his poser again, so he pulled the t-shirt over his head. What had been several sizes too big on a bony teenage boy was several sizes too small on a classic bodybuilder. The t-shirt ripped open as Brock pushed his head through the opening, but soon it was changing in shape and size, getting bigger to fit him, sprouting buttons and a collar to match the clingy polo that Paul sported. As Brock desperately stuffed his huge legs into the youth-sized jeans, they too shifted to the dress khakis that Dynamo employees wore when they weren’t training. The clothes barely fit Brock - his melon-sized pecs were showing even more cleavage than Paul’s - but he felt sexy as hell in them, and that was what mattered to him. Plus the polo was made well so it showed off his V-taper when he tucked it in.

 

Paul walked around inspecting Brock. “See, I told you they were your clothes, and they fit you well.” Brock was too busy staring at himself in the mirror to care about what Paul was saying. “I know you look good, but you can’t stay here ogling yourself in the mirror. You do remember you’ve got an event today, right?”

 

Brock stopped posing, “Of course, I already signed up.”

 

“You do realize it’s your event and a contest to train with you. You didn’t have to sign up for….nevermind.” Paul gave up. There was no point in trying to convince him. Brock was just giving him a vacant stare; signifying Paul’s words weren’t being retained. “I’ll just tell Nina to fix it.”

 

“Okay anything else, boss man?” Brock asked.

 

Paul rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t call me that. You know Graham is the boss around here.”

 

While it was true Graham Morton was the owner of Dynamo Fitness, he certainly wasn’t an easy man to catch. So, most employees referred to the individual leaders of their departments. Also, Brock personally felt that Graham was lacking in friendliness towards employees. The man could give one hell of a tour and woo new members, but to the PTs it was business as usual. If a PT ever did catch sight of him, it was just a strong nod and half smile of acknowledgement. For Brock that attitude just made him feel like another cog in the machine. Thankfully, It was the other employees and the members that made this place a home.

 

“I’ll call him boss when he starts acting like one.” Brock walked out of the studio room, adjusting his shirt on his pecs. He was too experienced to not be treated like he wasn’t the best. Heck he was a Classic Olympia competitor! There wasn’t much he couldn’t do. As he marched down the halls, pictures of him throughout the ages appeared on the walls. He knew he was a prized employee and everyone at the gym knew it too. How could they not with his bodybuilding physique on show for everyone in pictures and in real life.

 

It was good to be home.

 

—

 

Back at the studio, Paul groaned to himself. Brock rushed out and the man forgot to put on his shoes. He held up the small sneakers, himself wondering if Brock truly had been wearing them this today. A quick look around ensured there were no other shoes around. And it was doubtful a teenager snuck in just to leave his shoes. That’d be a weird prank.

 

“There you are.” A soft male voice caused Paul to spin on his heels. There was a guy standing in the doorway breathing heavily. He was in a short sleeve red t-shirt and cargo pants - certainly not dressed for the gym.

 

“Can I help you with something?” Paul said as the man stepped in closing the door. It wasn’t unusual for new clients to come looking for him. Unfortunately, he was almost always booked. He felt bad turning people away but he couldn’t help everyone. Though looking at how the clothes sat on the panting man’s body, the dude probably didn’t need a personal trainer.

 

Once the man caught his breath, he smiled. “My name is Scott Danvers. I…I’ve been looking for you for a very long time.”

 

Paul let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, the gym is pretty big. We get that comment a lot. We plan to put up better maps.” Those were always Graham’s words, but the owner never seemed to be in a rush to make those maps. After about a week new members would stop complaining about it.

 

“I don’t mean today,” Scott corrected. “I’ve been looking for you for the past few months.”

 

“Excuse me?” Paul crossed his arms. He was popular, but he wasn’t that hard to reach.

 

“It started small. I’d hear a child laughing, or a kid would call out ‘daddy’ in a mall, and I’d spin on a dime expecting to see someone calling me.”

 

“Sorry, I don’t know what your goal is but—

 

Scott didn’t stop talking, “But then it got more aggressive. In the mornings, I’d step on a toy. When that stopped, I started having dreams of going places I’ve never been, doing things I’ve never done. Most of them were so childish I couldn’t imagine why I’d do it alone. I began to realize I wasn’t alone. There was a figure in my dreams. At the start it was like the figure was a black blob then morphed into only an obscured face, just out of reach.”

 

Some part of Paul was getting uneasy listening to this man go on about nonsense. Perhaps one of the crazies had snuck past Nina and got into the gym?

 

“I couldn’t let it go. I needed to know what was plaguing me. My subconscious was trying to tell me I had forgotten something important to me. And then last week,” Scott dove into his pocket. Paul backed up, afraid. Scott caught sight of that and held one palm out open; he pulled out a photo. “This appeared in my wallet.” It was the picture of a boy no more than ten waist up, smiling for a school photo or some sort.

 

Paul looked around. How was he going to escape this crazy stalker. Maybe keep him talking, though if things escalated, Paul knew he could fight. He was a bodybuilder after all. “What does this have to do with me?”

 

Scott looked at the photo holding it preciously. “This is my son. Up to a week ago I couldn’t remember that, but when this photo appeared, it was like fireworks going off, but there’s still so much I can’t remember. But what I do remember is that I walked in here with my son over a year ago and when I left, he wasn’t with me. Not only that, he vanished from my head and everyone else's. That’s unforgivable.”

 

“And you want to blame me? You think I took your son. Think I’m taking kids and erasing them from existence? That doesn’t make sense.”

 

Scott cocked his head to the side. “Took my son? No Paul, you are my son.”

 

A moment of silence passed between them.

 

“Are you out of your mind?! I’m not your fucking kid!” Paul stated.

 

Scott nodded, “I know how it sounds and I don’t have all the facts myself, but something about this place changes kids. Not every kid, not all the time, but it does.”

 

“Scott, that’s your name right? You need help. Let me go get someone. We can call a doctor.”

 

Scott shook his head and held the photo in his hand out. “This is my son. I called him little Paulie. He was Paulie Danvers. I’ve looked you up. Your name is Paul Daniels.” Scott let out a sad chuckle. “You didn’t let this place even change your name that much. That’s proof enough to me, you wanted me to find you. This photo should prove that I wanted to find you too.”

 

“Scott this is–”

 

“Tell me, Tell me you’ve never seen something out of the ordinary here. Something that doesn’t make sense.”

 

Paul began to open his mouth to say, of course he hadn’t, but he shut up. Instead, he slightly turned his head to Brock’s tennis shoes on the floor. Those shoes were too small to fit on Brock’s massive man feet. But Paul was more than sure they were Brock’s. And an image of Brock being younger flashed in Paul mind. However, Paul’s conversation with that boy seemed like a lifetime go. Just because Brock had been a boy, doesn’t mean Paul was.

 

“I’m sorry Scott, but I’m not your son.” Paul’s deep voice - so often filled with power - wavered a bit as he spoke. His eyes went to the ground, and the world was becoming hazy.

 

Scott sucked his teeth. “Tsk, did Graham tell you to say that?”

 

Paul jerked his head up. “Graham, What does he have to do with any of this?”

 

“He’s the boss! He had everything to do with it! If I thought I stood a chance against that sonuvabitch, I’d take him on myself. He lured me here saying he wanted an investor and stole MY SON!” Scott took a breath calming down. “I was with him the whole time, so I doubt he personally affects anybody.” Scott looked sadly at Paul. “But do you remember? Do you remember the day you first stepped into this place?”

 

Of course, Paul did, it was the day he’d come to apply for a position. That memory of him strutting in proudly was growing muddier, but another memory was forming. “I-I…”

 

—

 

1 year ago

 

Scott Danvers happily pulled into the Dynamo Fitness parking lot, with his son Paulie in the back seat.

 

“So, you said he wants you to invest? And what does invest mean?” Little Paulie asked, hopping out the car once his dad opened the door.

 

Scott laughed. “It’s a fancy word meaning he wants my money.” The two walked into the Dynamo Fitness gym. Their mouths fell open once inside. It seemed the owner used fancy words because he ran a fancy place.

 

“This looks more like a resort than a gym,” Scott said.

 

“It’s like a mansion!” Paulie exclaimed.

 

Scott snorted, “When have you ever been inside a mansion?”

 

“Where we went for Christmas.”

 

“That was a hotel, silly boy.” Scott rubbed his son’s hair.

 

“Noo!” The kid laughed trying to get away.

 

“I’m glad you two think so highly of my place.” The two were stopped in their tracks by a mountain of a man. A real silver fox to boot. He was dressed in his gym apparel showing off his thick body. Clearly this man had no shame nor should he. His body was incredible. The man introduced himself as Graham and the owner. He shook Scott’s hand and gave Paulie a high five.

 

He gave them a quick tour showing off the pool, track, weight rooms, yoga and dance studios, Then he moved to the top floor showing off even more. There had been so much walking Scott kept waiting for Paulie to tiredly catch up. Graham kept going on and on until they made it back to the first floor and his office.

 

“We can talk business inside, while Paulie waits out here.” The two stepped inside.

 

“Be right back,” Scott promised before closing the door.

 

Paulie plopped onto a bench and lay his head against the wall with a groan. He was tired and he’d left his iPad at home so he didn’t have games to entertain himself. He bobbed his feet on the floor for five whole minutes before getting so bored he started to walk around. Another hallway had a TV mounted on the wall, so Paulie stopped there to watch. It was just the news, certainly not interesting to him, but at least it was a distraction.

 

A giant superhero of a man rounded the corner. He was even bigger than the guy Paulie’s dad had met with. Like the Incredible Hulk but not green. He had a square head and a square face and a square haircut and a square body stuffed into a blue polo shirt and khaki dress pants, like what Paulie had noticed all the staff wore.

 

“Paulieeee,” the man said, his deep voice friendly and chipper. He made a finger gun at the boy and patted him on the back as he walked by. “Looking good, boss!”

 

“Thanks?” Paulie answered, confused why the guy knew his name. Might’ve been a lucky guess, but that’d be a crazy coincidence.

 

As Paulie watched the boring news, he was unaware that the spot where the man patted his back was now different than the rest of his bright green t-shirt. There was a big blue handprint on the back of the shirt, and the fabric was a blend of polyester and elastic instead of the cheap cotton surrounding it. The blue threads started creeping out across Paulie’s back, the palmprint expanding and spreading as the shirt changed form. Streaks of blue stretched up over Paulie’s shoulders and spilled down his front, and when they swirled into the crewneck of his t-shirt, they pulled it downward: first into a V-neck, then deeper, as three blue buttons sprouted and a shirt collar unfurled around Paulie’s neck. The logo of Paulie’s soccer team vanished under the rich blue color, until he was finally sporting an Under Armour polo shirt identical to the ones the Dynamo staff wore.

 

Paulie didn’t notice the change of his shirt, although he did feel the collar rubbing against his neck and wondered why he hadn’t buttoned his polo. He reached down to connect the buttons over his chest, and then stopped. His brow furrowed. In the wide swath of skin exposed by his unbuttoned polo shirt, he could see little dark hairs sprouting. Paulie watched curiously as the tiny barbs grew longer and curlier. They were a different color than the hair on his head, and a different texture too. He wrapped one strand around his finger and yanked it out, which made him yelp. When three new curls sprouted where the previous single hair had been, he left it alone, opting to button up his polo shirt and cover the weird hair. He’d never heard of chest hair before, and he certainly didn’t know why he’d be growing it. He thought it was gross. But his shirt didn’t - it wanted to show it off. So, after Paulie buttoned his polo and went back to watching TV, the buttons silently fell back open, letting the glossy chest hair puff out proudly from his collar. Now it was joined by darker roots emerging from Paulie’s scalp, his blond hair beginning to shift in color, while a wispy patch of peach fuzz popped out over his lips.

 

Paulie tried to get rid of the itchy feeling by rubbing his lip with his finger. The news anchor on TV was droning on about a new hire or something. Paulie lost interest and walked on. He peered into the weight room: a lot of men working out and grunting, which made him curious to see more. This was his first time in a gym and he had no idea how it worked, but before he got too far a man wandered up to him.

 

“Can I get your help?” The man asked. He was Japanese, with fit lean muscles and at least in high school Paulie guessed. Or he could’ve been 30. Everyone older was kinda the same to Paulie.

 

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” Paulie stated.

 

“But don’t you work here?” The guy bent down and quickly plucked at Paulie’s shirt. It was certainly the uniform the employees at Dynamo Fitness wore. “And what is this, did you stuff hair down your shirt kid?” The man went to pluck at a chest hair assuming they were fake, but Paulie slapped his hand away.

 

“What do you need help with?” Paulie wanted to change the topic as quickly as possible.

 

The man led Paulie over to the workout room mirror. “The thing is,” the man said, “My squats just aren’t cutting for me. I feel like my body isn’t being challenged.” The guy demonstrated.

 

“StAHHHPP.” Paulie’s voice cracked as the man froze. “First of all, your stance is wrong. Keep your feet about shoulder-width apart.” Paulie demonstrated. He was no master in exercise but even he learned that from working out with his dad at home. “Now screw your feet into the floor. Dialing your feet into the ground helps engage your muscles, improve alignment, and creates stability with the ground. Paulie had no idea where that last bit of info came from, but it seemed right. He demonstrated a perfect squat. His height began to inch up as he did. While he was bending and unbending his knees Paulie’s legs would stretch, making his growth subtle as every push up made his height feel natural.

 

“Now what’s important is to keep your chest up. You want it proud; this is to keep pressure off your spine and prevent your shoulders from rounding.” As Paulie talked and went down, he failed to notice the great pressure building within him. First, it stretched out his chest, but his Dynamo fitness shirt was adaptable enough to contain the impressive rack Paulie was developing. Even the sleeves handled the growth in his arms well, no matter how much they expanded. His pants were not so lucky. The whole time he was squatting Paulie’s little bum had been filling out, developing into something fit for someone much older. On his last squat a loud RIIIPPP sounded throughout the room as his boy shorts fell to pieces and his dump truck ass spilled out. All still contained by his Steven Universe underwear, thankfully.

 

He quickly stood up trying to cover his behind, but there was too much ass to shield. His hands cracked as stronger digits replaced his tiny fingers, and his palms were flooded with size. Now he could cover up the twin globes better but still not fully. The rush upwards had forced him to grow again. Paulie looked down at his lower legs; they were tree trunks, muscles pulsing and hair covering his thighs and calves. Dark brown pubic hairs began to spill from the top of the underwear.

 

“Excuse me!” Paulie ran straight out of the weight room. Something weird was going on with his body. He needed to get his dad and tell him what was happening. But walking in the halls of the gym, Paulie was suddenly stopped with-

 

“Yo, Paul E!” A guy came charging up to Paulie and wrapped him in a hug.

 

“It’s Paul D, man, not…” Paulie started to correct, but his hands flew up to his throat. “M-my voice!” Adam’s apple was firm, pressing against the palm of his hand. “What happened to my voice!”

 

“You good, Paul?” the guy asked, clearly confused.

 

“My voice changed! It’s all…deep,” Paulie said in shock, listening to the low baritone that now naturally came out of him. And then he felt something else - a prickle - he slid his hands higher on his neck, over his chin… “Why is my face hairy?!”

 

“Need to shave, maybe?”

 

“I don’t shave! I’ve never shaved!”

 

“Yeah, the beard really works for you. I know for a fact people here think it’s hot.”

 

Everywhere Paulie’s trembling fingers traveled, more hair seemed to appear, burrowing out from his cheeks and cascading down his lower face, coating his chin and neck. It wasn’t fuzz, it wasn’t shadow - it was thick, handsome whiskers that swirled into a genuine beard, clipped and cared for. Paulie’s eyes were wide as dinner plates above it. “H-how tall are you…” he rumbled, shocked anew by the depth and power of his voice.

 

The guy at this point was clearly concerned but still answered. “Like 5’10.”

 

“I’m taller than you…I’m six feet tall?!”

 

“Paul, seriously, you’re freaking me out-”

 

“I gotta find my dad!” Paulie turned and ran, and the light swish between his legs alerted him to the fact that he now sported a pair of dress khakis. He looked down at them - they were ironed - and noticed his shirt was tightly tucked in. As he reached to pull his shirt free, his chest suddenly erupted forward, covering the view of his waist as his pecs ballooned into the prominent shelf all bodybuilders strive for. His chest hair looked less dense because it was distributed across the broad, round muscles, although there was still plenty on view in the open collar of his polo shirt, which couldn’t be buttoned even if he tried. Atop his mountainous left pectoral was pinned a nametag: “PAUL.”

 

“Something’s happening to me,” Paul whined, running his fingers through his beard just to check that it was still there. His biceps pushed against his short sleeves, threatening to split them open. “Am I…am I growing up?”

 

As soon as Paul said it, everything felt…different. The world became more complicated, no longer simple. Something was happening to his brain, something big. He rubbed his temples and groaned. He needed to find his dad, he kept telling himself - and maybe get some Tylenol for the headache. He realized he was walking different: no longer slouching, no longer shuffling his feet. He walked with his chest out and his back straight. It made him look bigger. He was getting bigger. So much bigger…a real bodybuilder…veins pushed out across his hairy forearms, roping up around his bulging biceps. Paul didn’t want to be excited by the feeling, but he was. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t ready to grow up yet but it felt so good. And that acknowledgement was enough to get his muscles expanding more dramatically, swelling and hardening, pumping bigger and stronger with each passing second as Paul’s body shifted into that of an extremely muscular, virile man.

 

Paul took a step forward - a step into manhood. His brain was filling with information but Paul had not given up on finding his dad. As he pressed forward, his clothes continued to conform to his growing body. His ass was nicely contained as khaki pants drew tight in the seating area. They appeared on the verge of bursting themselves, but held firm. Now Paul’s big drum ass was on display for all to see. In the crotch area another exciting development was occurring: Paul had to spread his legs walking as his balls pulsed with growth, becoming heavier with each passing second. Rich thick seed began to store itself in the massive tankers. Not even thinking, Paul reached into his pants to adjust himself. Unprofessional, but Paul couldn’t stand how trapped his balls were feeling. When he dropped his hand into his underwear, his cock grew rapidly in size and the length and shot down the side of his leg like a garden hose. Paul’s underwear had morphed into compression shorts, but the man was unaware of that change. The massive appendage that had just grown stole his attention. In his pants was an adult’s cock, a man’s cock. And his head was telling him he used it to do very adult and manly things.

 

“No, no,” Paul whispered under his breath, his deep voice only getting heavier. He was a good boy, always tried to be. But right now his head was telling him he did very naughty things with the cock attached to him. He’d had sex. So many different kinds. Hot steamy sex, loving passioniate sex, tough and rough sex. Being gorgeous, he had sex just about anywhere he wanted. In the shower, out in the woods, on a plane, in the car, on the beach. There was no place he hadn’t done it. A favorite of his was stripping down to his birthday suit at the thrill of being butt ass naked if caught. He liked showing off his hot body, he’d worked hard for it and didn’t mind sharing. How many women had learned that fact? A fuckton! A couple men, even. They were okay but he craved that female connection. Paul shook his head. If he wasn’t a good boy would his dad even want him still? Paul fastened himself back up.

 

He was now perfectly strolling towards Graham’s office. More adult knowledge and behavior entered his mind along with X-rated scenes. His cock began to chub up along the side of his leg. It was warm to touch against his powerlifting thighs. Paul couldn’t stop the onslaught of new memories. He still wasn’t ready to be an adult, but he was loving turning into one. The memory of losing his virginity became a staple in what made Paul give into being Paul. Having a set of twins on prom night. Since it was two to one he wasn’t sure who seduced who, but the result was the same. Paul had them all night long and satisfied them. It was such a strong deep-rooted memory that defined him as a man. Even Paul’s inside voice no longer sounded like a child, itself reshaped by the new experiences.

 

With little Paulie gone, Paul was having trouble remembering what he was doing. He had just been a child a moment ago. He closed his eyes, grunting. He was trying to bring that child’s voice back out inside his head but no luck. When he opened his eyes Paul caught his reflection - he was one sexy man. Deep rich brown hair covering most of his body and head. Besides his matured face, Paul bore little resemblance to the blond kid that had walked the gym halls.

 

A thought flashed in his head: Go to Graham’s office.

 

Paul peeled himself away from the mirror and marched on. He prepared to knock on the boss’s office when the door flew open. Graham was at his desk, eyes locked on the man holding the door.

 

“Sorry Graham, but I don’t have that kind of money. That’s not a contribution I can make.” The man said.

 

“I know it’s asking a lot, but–” Graham’s eyes flew to Paul.

 

The man at the door turned around to see where Graham’s attention had gone. He was greeted by the sight of Paul staring at him.

 

For Paul though it was a different experience entirely. The moment he saw and heard the unknown man, Paul’s heart was aflutter. There was a warmth in his chest that wasn’t stopping. Paul felt his mouth dry up. Was this love? He had never felt it so strong for another man before, but there was no mistake he was drawn in. The moment their eyes met Paul stood at attention, hands folded, hoping that this man would praise him for being well behaved. Though Paul himself was confused while he desired that.

 

“I’m sorry, didn’t see you there,” the mystery man said.

 

Immediately Paul wanted to say “No, it’s okay,” but kept his mouth shut. Obviously, the boss was having an important meeting that wasn’t ending well.

 

“Who are you?” Graham asked in his gruff voice.

 

“It’s me Paul, sir!”

 

“Paul?” Graham scratched his beard, “Paul…” Suddenly he jumped up and rushed to the door pushing his guest out the way. Graham looked at the empty chairs outside his office, then he looked back at Paul. A smile crossed his lips, “Ya know Scott, forget the investment. I think you’ve made a huge contribution just by being here.”

 

—

 

Paul panted as the memory of that day flooded back into him. “Dad?” his voice sneaked out.

 

Scott’s hands flew up to Paul’s face and gripped it on the sides. His thumbs ran up and down against Paul’s pretty beard, astounded that it was there, that Paul could grow it. “Paulie…do you remember, Paulie?”

 

“I…I…” Paul’s eyes were wide and scared. “It’s not possible…” He shook his head wildly. “It can’t be!”

 

“I know, but it is…you know it and I know it. C’mon, Paulie, please remember–”

 

Paul’s mouth twitched. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to call this guy a weirdo and tell him to get away from him. But…he remembered. “I’m sorry Dad,” Paul stammered, “I don’t know why it happened - I don’t know what I did - I hope I didn’t do something wrong…”

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Scott pulled Paul into a hug, flinching when he felt the big muscles bulging across the bodybuilder’s back. “You didn’t do anything wrong, buddy…it wasn’t your fault.”

 

Paul’s fingers were twisted into the fabric of Scott’s shirt, gripping it as tightly as they could. Tears squeezed out of his eyes as he rested his head on Scott’s shoulder. And then, finally, the dam burst, and he wept - big, shaking sobs that shook his whole body and made his dad hold him tighter. “I was so scared! I remember changing now…I just shot up!”

 

“Let me look at you.” Scott pulled himself away and looked at Paul. “You’re handsome and strong and tall. You’re what every man hopes his son becomes. I just didn’t want it to be so fast.”

 

“I’m sorry, I know,” Paul sniffled. He fell back into his dad’s arms and they stood there until the tears abated.

 

Scott squeezed Paul’s arm and decided to gently steer things in a positive direction. “You are solid freaking marble, man. How does a person get a body like this?!”

 

“Sign up with one of my trainers and we’ll show you,” Paul smiled, his voice froggy from the tears. “Oh, I’m the PT manager here if you didn’t know that already. You raised a boss and a leader, Dad.”

 

“I’m not done raising you yet, kiddo. Come back with me. Come home. Maybe it’ll change you back,” Scott said hopefully. And then he looked at Paul’s face, and he knew. “You don’t want to change back, do you.”

 

Paul shook his head. “I don’t. I’m sorry…I know you want me to.”

 

“Come home with me though. Let’s talk. Man to man. I can still teach you things. There’s still a boy in there, I can see him.”

 

“I’m…I can’t live with you, Dad. I live with my fiancee.”

 

Scott shook his head. “No, Paul, come on-”

 

“She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant with a boy. She’s seven months and he’s perfect in there, all healthy. Look, I keep a sonogram pic in my wallet…”

 

It was Scott’s turn to cry.

 

The photo was as real as his picture. Regardless of what ‘reality’ was, the facts remained Paul was no longer a boy. Paul was going to be a dad. He was going to be running around with his own boy, having adventures. As opposed to Paul, silent tears were falling down Scott’s face. The moment Paul saw them he wrapped his dad up in this huge body.

 

“This is my fault. I didn’t find you fast enough,” Scott lamented.

 

“Dad, the fact that you’re here at all means everything to me,” Paul wiped his dad’s tears away. “I… I think I’ve seen things here that I never question, but you being here making me remember, makes me have to reexamine this place.”

 

“What does any of that matter if you don’t want to be my son?”

 

Paul held Scott tighter. “I loved being your son. I can only dream to be half of the father you were to me.”

 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Scott sighed.

 

Paul took a hold of Scott’s hand, “I may be a man but I still want a dad. I still want to be your son. I just can’t go back to being your little boy. The truth is I like being a man too. If I could do both for you I would.”

 

Scott digested his son’s words and took a deep breath. “You…you don’t have to go back to being a boy. But please can we just spend some time together. You and me, Paulie.”

 

Paul bit his lower lip and looked at his father. He was just a man, like Paul was. Not the godly figure he’d been when Paul was little. As an adult, Paul saw his father in a whole new light. His dad seemed genuine in that he had no intention of forcing Paul to return to being a child. Probably didn’t have the ability, either. It warmed and saddened Paul’s heart because Scott deserved a son. That’s one thing he was sure of. “Take me home, Dad.”

 

“What?” Scott said in surprise.

 

“If you’re honestly not going to force me back into being a child, then I don’t see any reason not to go with you. I haven’t been home in a year. I miss our house.” Paul paused for a minute. “Though I will probably have to tell my fiancee I’m sleeping at a friend’s place tonight.”

 

“Are you serious?” Scott asked. Paul shrugged and made his way over to the door holding out his hand.

 

“I’ve learned I shouldn’t go walking about this place without you holding my hand. It’s not exactly crossing the street but …” Scott didn’t hesitate to grab Paul’s huge hand and start walking them out of there. On the first floor, they walked through the people who were gathering for the Brock Benson event. And though Scott was the smaller of the two, his grip on Paul’s hand was ironclad. Never again would his son slip away.

 

The two made their way to the front. Nina sat watching the two walk up. “Paul, where are you going? We have Brock’s event-”

 

“Something more important than Brock Benson has come up,” Paul said, still following his father.

 

“Nina, could you excuse us for a moment?” A familiar, thick, gruff voice cut through the air. Nina quickly got up and left the front desk. Scott and Paul froze knowing exactly who it was. The two turned around, finding Graham with his feet up in the waiting area, an unlit cigar in his mouth. Some men just like to show off.

 

“Can I ask where you’re taking my employee?” The owner smirked.

 

“I’m taking MY SON home. He wants to come home. To be with his dad.” Scott fired back.

 

“Is that true?” Graham pulled the cigar out his mouth, twirling it around his fingers.

 

Paul nodded, then spoke “Yes, I want to go home with my dad. At least for a night.” Then his eyes glazed over Scott, “Maybe more if he wants me. If he likes me as an adult.” His eyes went back to Graham. “Don’t try and stop us, boss.”

 

“Stop you? Heavens No! I’m truly impressed. Never before in my history of running this place has a parent ever stormed back in for their child. Too many mothers and fathers were happy to forget about their brats. Of course, those new adults would stay here until it was their time to move on. But this,” Graham pointed his cigar at Scott. “You must really have loved your son to deny the reality the gym had constructed. Maybe if more parents were like you this place wouldn’t exist at all.”

 

“Why did you do this to my son?” Scott asked.

 

“I didn’t do anything. You really think having workers and members appear is a walk in the park? It was the building. It’s been like that for ages though.” Graham tapped a wall. “Don’t worry though I’m sure someday it’ll take his son too.”

 

“What?” Paul stated.

 

“You work here, Paul. It is obvious one day you’ll bring your son and then…well I guess I don’t have to tell you two what happens next.” Graham smiled.

 

Paul froze in shock, eyes burning with fury. He couldn’t speak. It was Scott who pulled him out of there. He got Paul into the car and had to buckle him up as the overgrown man was unresponsive. Scott sat in the driver’s seat. He was hounded by the feeling he was forgetting something…someone. But he couldn’t stay in this parking lot another minute. He peeled out and rocketed down the street, getting as far away as quickly as he could.

 

“I can’t go back there, Dad. We’re gonna have to move. I have to protect the baby…” Paul was staring out the window, but his hand still clutched his father’s. Scott pulled off to the side of the road.

 

“I know, if you saw your son change-”

 

“That’s not it, Dad. I’m not like you. If my son changed. Although I love him so much and he’s not even here. I don’t think I’d be able to pull his memory back like how you did for me. Paul squeezed Scott’s hand. “I’m so lucky you’re my dad.”

 

When the two arrived at Scott’s home, their former home, they breathed out a sigh of relief. Something in the universe was clicked back into place. When the time for bed came Paul elected to sleep on the couch as his former room was gone - not that he would have fit on the bed anyway.

 

In the middle of the night Paul woke up sweating. He had a nightmare that everything that had transpired hadn’t happened and he was still working at Dynamo. It was the first time since becoming big, he had felt so small. He looked at his hands: large, strong. He wasn’t changing back, he thought with a sigh of relief. Couldn’t leave his girl and his son. They needed him the way he was to defend and protect them.

 

Paul wandered up the stairs, shirtless to his father’s room. He didn’t turn on any lights. The trip was familiar.

 

Knocking on Scott’s door and peeking in, Paul watched as Scott roused from slumber.

 

“I had a bad dream.” Paul was ashamed to admit it. Scott smiled softly and threw back his covers holding out his arms, welcoming Paul to join him. Paul hopped in. It was a wonderfully familiar feeling crawling into his Dad’s bed, except for him now being the larger presence. Scott spooned Paul from behind, then drifted back to sleep. Paul thought of the future and plotted.

 

—

 

The next day, Nina knocked on Mr. Graham’s door. She cautiously walked in trying to avoid his ire. “You’re not going to want to hear this, but Paul just quit. He said his family was moving. He said to make sure to mention all of his family was moving. Though I thought it was just him and his wife?”

 

“No,” Graham stated, “He has a father.”