Brandon Twice
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Tau Beta Declares War Part 3
🕑 Added 2019-04-12 01:18:34 +0000 UTCEven dressed in scrawny little Squeak’s clothes, Moose looked tiny. He had to pull the drawstring on the shorts as tight as it would go and it still kept slumping down--not that you could see it with the shirt hanging down over it like a dress. We had to stuff some paper towels in the shoes just so he could walk around with them all. He clearly wasn’t ready to leave his room and mingle around with the other brothers, let alone to walk around in public, but I didn’t care. I was tired of him hiding, tired of us waiting for Tau Beta to make their next move. We were going to prove that we were Phi Kapps and we weren’t to be messed with.
Moose stopped after just a few steps out of his room. He was looking up at all of us, his eyes level with our stomachs. The little guy was actually shaking! I grabbed him by a shoulder and guided him toward the front door. Of course people came out of their rooms to get a look at him, and poor Moose’s face burned with embarrassment, but I pretended this was all normal.
“Nine, are you sure…” Two-Can started as we headed toward the door. “Is this what we should be doing right now?”
I looked back at Moose, then over at Diesel and Taurus who were evaluating their sizes in comparison to the newly shrunk-down Moose. Both of them looked up at Moose as their king-sized idol before, so I could imagine their heads were spinning at this new change. “Here’s the thing,” I whispered to Two-Can as I pulled him aside. “I think we may be able to willpower our way past it. Nothing happened to Fabio or Juice, right? I think it’s because they didn’t know anything was supposed to happen.”
Almost on cue, Fabio left the nearby bathroom and strutted back to his room wearing just a pair of basketball shorts. Fabio’s ripped up physique was usually enough to make even those of us in good shape feel a little inadequate, but not nearly as much as that monster dong of his. Even I couldn’t help but notice how he had to alter his stride to accommodate it, waddling while it swung back and forth, barely contained by shorts that would have been roomy on anyone else.
“Did you see that?” Two-Can whispered as he gripped my shoulder. “Fabio’s like 6’6! He has to duck to get through doorways usually! He’s only an inch or two taller than us now!”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t notice that,” I said, “but that beast in his drawers had pretty much all of my attention. That the kind of thing you’re into? A cock the size of your arm?” Two-Can rolled his eyes. “Seriously,” I said, “Dwight has us all freaked out by this Moose thing. I swear, if we just act totally unphased, he’ll lose all of his power. I can feel it in my gut.”
Squeak walked by at that moment carrying a full bag from the lawnmower. With every step he struggled down the hallway, a smattering of grass clippings hit the floor.
“Where are you going with that?” Two-Can asked.
Squeak, barely able to support it at all, set it down and caught his breath. “Brother Juice asked for it,” he said, wiping the sweat from his face. “He told us to mow every lawn and bring it all to him.”
Two-Can gave me a look but I shrugged it off too. “Juice would suck a bull’s dick if he heard it would make him bigger. Guarantee that dummy read some article about grass-fed angus and now he wants to put it in his freakin’ protein shakes.”
“Fine, go to the gym if you need to,” Two-Can said. “I’m gonna stay here. Dwight said something that gave me an idea.”
I gave Two-Can a hug before we left. I don’t even know why, that’s not the sort of thing we ever do. It just felt natural. As our little meathead crew walked away, Two-Can said, “Hey, Nine? Do you remember Dwight from back when we were freshman?”
I just shrugged. I didn’t want to say in front of the guys that Two-Can and Dwight had dated back then.
“When you get back,” Two-Can said, “you and I should have a talk, okay?”
Outside, I noticed Diesel staring at me as we headed to the gym. “What’s up with you and Two-Can?” he asked. “You guys are acting… extra familiar.”
“Back the fuck off,” I said, giving him a shove that sent him right into the street. “Maybe it’s because he and I were threatened by a cadre of UFC-heavyweight looking Tau Betas and barely got out with our necks unbroken. You’d be the same if you’d had the balls to come with us.”
“Jeez!” Diesel said defensively. “Sorry I said anything.”
“You know, this shit all started because we’re not respectful enough to our gay brother.” I stared at Moose as I said it but he just hung his head, struggling to keep his big shorts up. “Maybe this should be a wake-up call. Maybe some of us shouldn’t act like neanderthal assholes all the time.”
*
It was tough getting Moose into the university gym. His steak-fed head filled up every inch of the picture on his school ID, very different from the pencil-neck holding it. I recognized the girl at the desk though. Her name was Rebecca and I was pretty sure we hooked up our freshman year, even though she didn’t seem to remember it.
“He just lost a ton of weight,” I said with a wink. “That’s why we’re here, to start building him back up.”
She gave a look at the idea, then at Moose, who hadn’t looked anyone in the eyes since we left the house. “Could I suggest some steroids maybe?” she said to me as she handed it back and waved us through.
“We’re on it! Thanks!”
I started Moose off curling, although he struggled to move the pink 5 pound weights at the far end of the dumbbell rack. “Let’s just do some squats with the bar,” I said. He almost fell over, and could only stand up again with considerable help from me. Two weeks before I watched him squat 455 like a boss, deeper than I’d ever seen before. Some of the powerlifting bulls who had spotted him that day hovered around now. Clearly they had heard what happened and had to get a look at what Moose had become, but they weren’t coming near. Between sets I walked over to one of them, a neckless beast named Mo.
“Yo, Mo, got a question for ya,” I said, fist-bumping him hello. He’d seen me move weight at the gym enough that we were cool, even though I never saw him at the bar or anything. “Looking for a serious weight-gainer. You got any recommendations?”
He looked over my shoulder. “You talking about for your boy over there?” he said shakily. “Dude, I dunno if anything can help him now.”
“C’mon man,” I said. “Big dude like you must have a good idea. I’m not just talking carb-heavy shakes and shit, I’m talking gear. What could pack some pounds on my buddy there?”
Mo just shook his head. He patted his chalked-up hands on his chest and started to walk away. “I don’t think anything can help him now,” he said. “I kind of want you to get him out of here. Don’t want him spreading around whatever did that to him.”
“It’s not contagious!” I said, but Mo just waddled back to a bar loaded up heavier than an SUV and got ready to bench it. When I turned back to my crew, I saw Diesel had grabbed Moose by the shorts and was curling him. Poor Moose looked miserable as Diesel curled him up and down like he was nothing, barely breaking a sweat.
“Can you believe this?” Diesel said with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Dude, this is barely my warmup weight!”
I slapped Diesel hard and Moose went crashing to the ground. “Clearly the problem with our brotherhood is a respect issue,” I said. “Can’t believe you’d treat your own brother like that.” There was a change in Diesel’s demeanor toward Moose. Since he’d joined, Diesel had always looked up to Moose. You could tell the way he acted when his big hero was around that he would have given anything to have Moose’s raw power and size, along with the authority that commanded. Diesel was far from the biggest guy in the house now that Moose had been dethroned (I think that honor went to Juice now, if we were going on sheer poundage) but Moose’s reduction had awoken something in Diesel, something I didn’t like very much.
“Moose, let’s get you over on the bench,” I said, but as I turned, I nearly crashed into Jet McCleary. Jet used to be a big deal on the football team but he’d been off the team for a year now. Ever since he broke his arm--arm-wrestling Moose.
“You know, I’d heard that big Moose got cut down to size but I had to see it with my own eyes,” Jet said. Jet was a real pretty boy--jet black hair, abs you could see through his clothes, and a body that stayed lean year round--but he was a quarterback. He didn’t have the size or strength to be bringing that level of confidence to guys the size of me, Diesel and Taurus, despite Moose’s newfound scrawniness.
“Looking to get your other arm broken?” I asked him as I puffed up my chest. If I wanted I could break Jet in half--not that I planned to. I just wanted him to know that.
“Oh yeah? You gonna do that? Because Mr. Twigs over there ain’t gonna do shit,” Jet said. Moose backed away but I grabbed Moose by the shirt and shoved him toward the cocky former athlete.
“Nobody talks to Moose like that,” I said firmly. “Moose, remind this shitty has-been who ended his college football career.”
They were drunk back when it had happened. Jet had been running his mouth. Moose hadn’t meant to break his arm. He just didn’t know his own strength. Moose and the football team had always been buddies before that, although sidelining their star QB made him more than a few enemies on the team whether he liked it or not. I scanned the gym then for some of the linebacker hulks. Jet we could handle; some of those 300 pound monsters might be out of our league.
“You need a new nickname,” Jet said, poking Moose in the chest. He would have hit the ground if I hadn’t caught him and stood him back on his feet. “What do you call a tiny, insignificant rodent? ‘Prairie dog’? ‘Meerkat’?”
I gave Moose a nudge. He was shaking but I saw him swallow hard and stare up at his aggressor. “I dunno, we always just called you ‘Jet,’ “ he said. Clearly Mr. Injured-Reserves didn’t like that, because I hawked up a throat full of phlegm and spit it right at Moose’s face. Poor little guy almost drowned in it.
Taurus jumped forward but I held him back. It was important that Moose handle himself then, even though he only came up to Jet’s waist.
And handle himself he did: Moose wiped the scrum from his eyes, then reared back and kicked Jet in the balls as hard as he could. Mind you, the little guy couldn’t generate too much force, and he was kicking pretty much straight up in the air, but hunky Jet doubled over, grabbing his gut.
“You little shit!” he sneered as his face turned red. With his free hand he grabbed Moose by the shirt and tossed him, hard. Poor little guy must have sailed 20 feet away. Hitting the padded gym floor knocked the air right out of him. Worse than anything else: his shorts came flying off. The whole gym got an up-close view of the reduced manhood of the once famously donkey-hung Moose. Even I cringed a little.
Gym security was on us then. Clearly they were going to side with the former athlete over the bunch of fratboys, so I just informed them that we would be on our way. I had Taurus grab Moose’s shorts, but we couldn’t get the little guy dressed until we got outside. He walked hunched over, trying to cover his little dinky with the length of his shirt. I just tried to ignore the stairs and open laughter all around us. Anybody on campus who hadn’t heard about Moose yet were sure to know now.
Outside, as we got Moose dressed, I tried to boost the morale of our crew: “To be honest, guys, I thought that went pretty well.” Moose had had enough, clearly. The little man dissolved into tears, burying his face in my thigh. I crouched down and held him to me, letting him get it all out, but Diesel and Taurus looked horrified. It was like the Moose we all knew was gone, and we had to get used to this new person in his place.
Back at Phi Kappa, Moose headed straight for his room. I didn’t try to stop him. He’d been through enough that night, and not one ounce of his size had come back to him. Hopefully Two-Can’s plan had turned up something new.
“Uh, Brother Nine?” Squeak said, approaching me cautiously just before I went into my room. “I think… Brother Juice might need… some help.”
I stared at the little pledge, wondering what the fuck he was talking about. It had been such a weird day, though, that I figured I could handle anything. I just headed to Juice’s door without asking for more info, walking right in without even knocking.
Juice’s room usually stunk--like sweat-soaked jockstraps and Axe bodyspray--but it was like every pungent stench of a farm was crammed into that one little room. I gagged after one breathful of it. It was immediately apparent why.
Juice was just wearing his posing trunks--not out of the realm of possibility for him, especially when he was getting ready for a competition and took progress pics every other day--but his normally hairless body was covered with a coarse brown… no other word for it: fur. His posing strap looked like it was about to pop. Juice’s junk had been whittled down by years of heavy steroid use, but something had bloated it way bigger, like a balloon. There was no other way to describe it: instead of his cock and balls there was a very full udder, barely contained by the shiny purple posing strap.
He wasn’t on all fours exactly, but he was hunched over like he wanted to be with his hands on the couch. His moans were low and drawn out and he was shaking. When he turned to me, I was shocked to see two horns sticking out of his head. When he looked at me I noticed a big metal ring hanging from his nose. There was no way Juice would have consciously decided to get a piercing like that.
Not one inch of his muscularity was missing. Unlike Moose, it seemed whatever had changed Juice had enhanced his size. But his body had lost his its bulging veiny hardness, replaced by a softer looking mass, like his whole body has just expanded. The newfound weight made him absolutely gigantic. If I had to guess I would have estimated him up around 400 pounds.
“Nine?” he moaned as he turned. His whole body seemed unwieldy, like all that size had made him less flexible and harder to move around in such small quarters. “That you man?” he moaned. “I need help, buddy. Please, I hate to ask but…”
There was an empty lawnmower bag discarded by his side that he kept reaching for. I knelt down and grabbed the last handful of grass clippings from inside. His eyes lit up as I raised to his mouth. He ate it right out of my hand, chewing it endlessly.
Not knowing what else to do, I patted his back. Unsurprisingly it felt like I was massaging a dense side of beef--even moreso than Juice’s back usually did. His breathing got shallow and it seemed like he was trying to surpress something.
“Mrooo!” We both looked shocked. Juice had just mooed like livestock, right into my face. I could see the fear and confusion in his eyes so I started rubbing him behind his ears, which had gotten big and floppy.
“Well, this sure is… unexpected,” I said, trying for Juice’s sake to act like this was no big deal.
“Fuck, Nine, I can’t… I can’t stand it, dude… It’s like… I’m so full I’m gonna pop!” He shook his pecs--holy shit, his pecs had grown far more than the rest of him, now two giant muscular melons hanging off his torso--and I could actually hear liquid sloshing around inside them. Out of sheer curiosity I grabbed one of his engorged gumdrop-sized nipples and squeezed it. A thick creamy substance squeezed out and Juice moaned and mooed, desperate for more.
I had to know what it tasted like. It wasn’t cum, as I for some reason suspected. No, it was sweet and tasted like bananas and milk. I squeezed more into my hand and lapped it up. I knew exactly what it tasted like: big Juice was producing protein shake in his bloated out muscle titties.
He had a shelf full of colorful protein shakers so I grabbed them all, sat down, and started squeezing those jiggly pecs dry. Juice moaned and mooed despite himself as I filled up shaker after shaker with undeniably delicious protein shake. I wondered if they were going to fill back up. With all the amino acids and steroids in his musclebeast body, that stuff was no doubt packed full of anabolic nutrients. I imagined us selling it in cans. Beefy fratboys would line up around the block to drink some of this super-heavyweight’s all-natural shake. Imagine all those guys getting bigger and thicker, a whole army of meathead studs while Juice spent all day chewing his literal cud while a milking machine drained him dry. Massive profits were only one of the many possible benefits of this situation.
It didn’t take long to dawn on me how fucked up that fantasizing was. Why would I want bigger dudes running around campus? Not to mention the fact that Juice turning into a cow was something I should have been freaking out about. Was he going to turn more into a cow? If so, should we send him home to his parents or to a farm?
Since all the protein shakers were full, the last bit I millked from his pecs I had to drink myself. I wasn’t unhappy. His pecs were still massive but looked considerably less swollen, although I had a feeling they were starting to fill up again immediately. Juice still looked agonizingly uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, NIne,” he moaned between moos, “you gotta do the one down below… Please…” As I examined the massive udder his junk had developed into, the posing trunks finally gave way and snapped, shooting across the room like a slingshot. The udder hung full and heavy and Juice let out a long protracted moo now that it was able to swing free. It looked like it was going to burst. There was no doubt about it: I needed to do something.
“Hang tight, big man,” I said running my hands along the course fur of his body. By the door there was an empty jug of protein; the big musclehead used to only get his stuff in massive quantities. I put it under his udder and took a look. “How much you got in there?” I wondered aloud. My uncle ran a farm. I grew up milking cows with my cousins. Who knew I’d be using that skill in college?
Juice moaned like I was giving him a hand-job as I drained him dry (which actually wasn’t far from what was actually happening, to be honest). I was man enough to admit I would do what needed to be done to give a little relief to my brother, though. Luckily he gave his last couple of squirts just before I had filled the empty 20 pound jug to the brim.
Juice was panting like he had run a marathon. I moved to the front of him (he couldn’t turn to see me so well from near his udder) and stroked his ears again. His eyelids fluttered and he gave me a hearty moo. “Fuck,” he said. “What’s happening to me?”
On a table next to us was a picture of him winning his first competition, right next to another of him flexing at the beach. I took a look at the massive monster he used to be--and realized how much more literally that term applied now.
“We’ll get this all figured out,” I said. “I promise.”
“I’m fucking starving again,” he moaned. “Please get me more grass… please…”
It was clear feeding and milking Juice was going to be quite the cycle very soon. I grabbed the lawnmower bag and headed to the door.
“Don’t leave me!” Juice moaned. I had never heard him whimper like that.
“I’ll be right back,” I assured him. Luckily Squeak was right outside the door. I shoved the bag into his arms.
“Go mow more lawns. Keep bringing Juice grass,” I ordered.
“I mowed the lawns on every side of the house!” Squeak protested. “There’s no more grass. He…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “He ate it all!”
“Go mow other houses lawns. Do it for free. Just keep him fed. That’s an order, pledge.” Squeak looked like he had a lot of questions for me but it was clear I wasn’t giving him any further info. He hustled out the back door.
“Well, look at that,” said a voice I hadn’t heard in years. It was instantly familiar but I couldn’t place where I knew it from. “Mr. President barks orders and his lackeys jump to obey.”
Behind me was a blonde guy in his early 30s stroking his goatee as he poured some more beer into his mouth. It was our Alumni Advisor, Pan. Two-Can stood behind him. Clearly calling in the old guys was Two-Can’s brilliant idea.
Pan had been “the old guy” back when we were freshman. He used to hang around the house more back then, mostly stopping by on weeknights to polish off a few brewskis and lecture us about how cruddy the house looked or how to boost morale. The stories about Pan from his time as an active brother were the stuff of legend. From what I’d heard, Pan would fuck just about anybody--guys, girls, he didn’t care, and gave no shits when it came to people who gave him a hard time for being gay. Even I had to admit that Pan had a sexy air about him. He wasn’t exactly a big dude but had always been in good shape. He’d thickened up in recent years but the weight looked great on him.
Nowadays Pan only showed up for Homecoming with the other alumni, and to consecrate each pledge class when Hell Week was over and they became brothers. Whenever he was around I always ended up getting wasted. He seemed like he was immune to alcohol or something. I’d never seen him buzzed, let alone drunk. Pan’s arrival usually meant I was getting drunk even when I had stuff I needed to do.
“Pan,” I said. “Great to see you.”
“Thanks for keeping me posted about everything that’s going on around here,” Pan said with an eyebrow raised. I stared at my feet; for some reason Pan always made me feel like I was a fuck-up pledge again.
“Yeah,” I started. “Lately there’s been some… stuff happening.”
“Tau Beta declared war?” Pan said. He finished his beer and chucked it over his shoulder. It ricocheted off two walls before landing in a trash can 20 feet away.
“Y-yeah,” I stammered. I hoped Two-Can had filled him in more. Standing there in Pan’s disapproving gaze was making my brain short-circuit.
“I heard about Moose,” Pan said. “What else is going on around here?” He nodded at the door behind me. “Who lives in there? Why’d you come out of there looking so bewildered and…” He sniffed the air and grimaced. “Jesus, stinking like shit!”
I looked at Two-Can, then at Pan, and took a deep breath. “Look, Pan, I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch lately, but… I mean, I thought we could handle this on our own. Two-Can was right to get you involved though.”
Pan nodded, then walked past me. I didn’t have it in me to stop him from going in Juice’s room. He walked in quietly. As the door opened I could hear Juice mooing inside. After it slammed shut Two-Can and I stood quietly in the hallway. He searched my face for some sign of what was going on while I failed to find the right words to tell him what I had just seen in there. Then Pan reentered the hallway, just as cool and calm as when he’d left.
“So, that guy’s a cow,” he said nonchalantly, pulling a flask from his pocket and taking a swig.
“Juice is a cow?” Two-Can asked as if he had misread.
“Juice is like half-cow,” I clarified. “I think he might be turning more cow-like as time goes on though.”
Two-Can’s eyes were wide but Pan just nodded thoughtfully as he took a couple more biting swigs from his flash.
“Nine, if something happened to Juice, we have to go make sure Fabio’s okay!”
“Oh hell yeah,” Pan said, licking his lips. “I forgot about Fabio. Man, that guy is like god’s gift to guys who like guys. Is he still a smoking hot giant with a huge wang?” That kinda talk had been shocking back when we were young, but anyone who knew Pan was used to him getting all riled up to hump just about everything. Pan drooling over one of the brothers was nothing new.
“Well,” Two-Can said as we started down the hallway. “We hope so.”
“Good god, if those Tau Beta assholes turned him into a cow too…” Pan sneered.
“I doubt Dwight would choose the same thing for him,” Two-Can said as we approached Fabio’s door. He raised his hand to knock, then paused. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m ready to see.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Pan said, shoving Two-Can aside. “I’ll go in.” He gave the door a couple knocks, then opened the door just enough to slip inside. We couldn’t get a glimpse of what was in there though.
After a few tense moments, we heard Pan through the door: “Oh. My. Fucking. God.”
“Is he a cow?” I yelled through the door. I swear it hadn’t sounded as stupid in my head as when I said it aloud.
“No, he’s not a cow,” Pan yelled back. “It’s WAY better than that!”
