Brandon Twice
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TALK ABOUT TF: Muscle Growth
🕑 Added 2018-04-24 21:43:03 +0000 UTC In my own opinion, “muscle growth” is the most basic of erotic male transformations (a point I’d be willing to debate if I were allowed to jack off both during and after the no-doubt sexy-as-fuck discussion). I’d like to focus, for the time being, on muscle growth in its purest form--not macro (growing into a giant), not muscle drain or muscle theft, but a skinny guy turning into a giant bodybuilder, or a big guy turning absolutely absurd (in the best possible way of course).Remember N and Atomic Muscle? Muscle morphs were some of the earliest content I cranked it to during the proto-internet days. Yahoo! Groups were my jam, and there was one called msclpatrolsmorphedmuscle (I believe it’s still there if you search for it, albeit lousy with sexbots nowadays) was the first source of that fantasy. GBMorphs was even more my style.
But pictures only tell one moment of the story. How did those guys get that way? Who were they before?
More rare in the genre are stories of natural muscle growth (there’s an episodic story on muscle-growth.org called Tank that I really enjoyed, just about a big guy in competition with an even bigger guy), and while I enjoy those, most often I tend toward tales of unreal muscular escalation. Let’s visit a pretty standard trope:
Wayne couldn’t believe it--the weird protein shake was still gurgling in his belly as its effects took place all over him. Every inch of him vibrated like it was supercharged, then muscles grew on his scrawny body like inflating balloons. Most noticeable, at first, were his swelling pecs, which pulled his shirt from his shorts, and the widening lats which actually lifted his resting arms. He had to widen his stance as his legs bloated out with rippling muscles he’d never seen before, and he struggled to turn around to see the big mounds of glute muscle blowing up the back of his shorts before they finally burst. His tank top followed quickly after, leaving his newly huge groin obscenely crammed into what used to be baggy boxer shorts.
It’s usually science or magic, a wish, device or chemical that causes the transformation. Genies are big, spells in old spellbooks too, but it’s often a potion or enhanced protein shake. There’s no wrong way to induce a muscle growth, in my opinion.
What is it about the transformation scene that cranks our gears so hard? For me, it’s the accentuation of everything I’ve ever loved about muscle since I first saw Arnold’s first scene in Terminator, Steve Lattimer in ‘The Program’ or any of my older brother’s Flex Magazine issues: muscles are, put simply, the most essential part of masculine virility.
Some would argue cocks are the true representation of male power, and to each his own. (That’s a different discussion: muscleguys with huge cocks are really hot; muscleguys with tiny dicks are EVEN HOTTER; rarely does a skinny guy with a big dick do it for me unless he’s fucking some big-bootied bodybuilder begging to be bred).
I’ve spent my whole life lusting after muscles, immediately lighting up at the sight of them, even ignoring a bad face and a terrible personality in admiration/sexual appreciation of guys with hyperdeveloped bodies (and yes, I’ve explored the follies of chasing after those guys in real life, most often with sad actual results that serve only as hot memories for my fantasy file).
But what if WE could have those muscles? I think a lot of my turn-on in muscle growth stories is imagining that I’m the protagonist. A lot of MG stories are about skinny, nerdy guys (I’ve always been, and still am, the latter). A lot of them have roots in high school, the time when guys around us turned from boys to men. If you’re like me, when that big change hit guys around me, I felt left behind. I can still recall a guy named Aaron Kellman who used to bully me in 8th grade gym class. He’d always been athletic, but over the summer his whole body changed into something the rest of us had only seen on grown-adults and he lorded that over us, strutting around shirtless whenever possible. He used to corner me in the locker room, poking my fat belly and grabbing my man-boobs while flexing his brand new muscles literally in my face.
Think that has anything to do with why I turned out this way?
Let’s revisit my muscle growth cliche:
Of course, the traps that swallowed up his head soon made turning around almost impossible. He had to turn to the mirror to see what was happening--and while the face was vaguely familiar (although blockier, with the kind of rock-solid features that tell you a guy’s an athlete before you ever see his body) the rest of the body was unfamiliar. He raised his hand and watched the monster in the mirror match his movements. For S’s and G’s he made fists and raised his arms, watching the swollen arms in the mirror bunch up and get hard. They were bigger than most legs! He stared at the massive reflection like it was someone else, always going back to his eyes--the only part of him he still recognized. Slowly his brain was processing this, merging the two ideas: those eyes, his eyes, belonged to that pile of muscle. That pile of muscle was him!
In the muscle growth transformation scene, we get to explore every single beautiful piece of the bodybuilders we love so much, crank it up to the size we see on the guys we envy/lust after, and then most often go way past what we’ve seen in reality.
Also, half the time I’m jerking off to a musclefreak I’m imagining myself exploring every inch of his body with every inch of mine. The other half, I’m imagining I AM him.
To an unbelievably muted degree, I’ve actually undergone that transformation. After I quit drugs and booze I got into gym-culture to expel excess energy and keep me sober. It became an obsession, especially as I watched my body change and made friends who pushed me to go further. That first time you flex an arm and see a big beautiful muscle bunch up there has absolutely no comparison. The pride you feel, along with the reflexive lust, are intoxicating. It’s why people (myself included) turn to steroids to accomplish even more. Gym culture is a weird thing; muscle is currency, and straight guys will check you out as much as gay guys will. The entire atmosphere is very sexually charged for those of us who get excited by bouncing pecs and that muscleguy waddle.
In muscle growth stories, we live out that scenario we’ve always dreamed of, attaining the inhumanly beautiful body we fantasize about and getting to live in it.
Suddenly a new tingling crawled over his skin, like every nerve suddenly lit up pleasantly, and he watched as his pillowy mass started to change consistency. His skin seemed to shrink wrap over his muscles. He didn’t lose one inch of size as the fat and water melted away, Instead, giant veins snaked their way across his body and he watched as his size reshaped into an exaggerated anatomy chart. He looked inhuman. Even the act of breathing, filling his giant new lungs with powerful abdominal muscles, felt strange and new. He patted down his new body. The longer he stood in it, the less it felt like a suit of flesh-armor. This was his body!
What kind of muscle do you like? I’m an “All of the Above” guy, but in truth I appreciate a bloated offseason body (like Jeff Long) over shredded contest-shape guys. I think it has to do with pure size, which my reptile brain responds to in a pretty direct way.
But there’s something unbelievable about a man whose body just IS muscle, nothing else, like there’s no room for bones or organs. Veins sticking out because there’s no room between the muscle and the skin, smaller stabilizer muscles so bloated out that they stand on their own… that’s the difference between “gym guy” and “100% devoted bodybuilder”--and it’s that level of extreme that muscle growth seeks to explore.
To get to that point takes 24/7 devotion, absolute focus and obsession, a ton of money, certainly lots of drugs, and a knowledge of fitness and nutrition that can only be gleaned from decades of trial and error as well as studying the greats.
In MG fiction, it’s automatic. Male power in its purest form just appears, and we explore our fantasies of being it, or being dominated by it (or both).
Recently a friend of mine (an amateur physique competitor, and thus huge chest and bis, lean as fuck, but no legs to speak of) gave me a playful shove and I shoved him back. My point of contact was his chest, which he flexed just before I touched him. I’d never felt such solid ripped-to-shreds muscle before, and just the consistency of it (the warmth, the hardness) scratched an itch I didn’t know I had. Ever since I’ve been desperate to get my hands on that feeling again (unsuccessfully, mind you, but I’m trying). It’s that feeling a lot of us explore with MG fiction.
Wayne filled up so much of the mirror that he hadn’t even noticed a crowd had formed behind him. Still overwhelmed by the sudden change, it dawned on him that being both as huge and as scantily clad as he was in public was quite a spectacle. He’d need to cover up soon--or did he? Who was going to say anything?
He turned around and almost didn’t recognize the two guys standing closest to him, Randy and Rex. Looking on them now, it was hard to believe he’d jerked off to these guys so furiously for so long. In his memory they were hulking brutes, but looking on them now, they wouldn’t even be his size if someone squished them together!
“Holy fuck,” Randy murmured while Rex just stared on, slack-jawed.
Wayne realized he could one-hand these guys through the wall with ease and they knew it. He wondered if they recognized his glasses, realized the guy they’d bullied for years had suddenly turned into this thing casting a shadow they both fit inside. Then his eyes fell to his bullies gym shorts, each of which had begun to tent out at the sight of the hypermasculine freak he’d become.
That sight was all Wayne’s distressed boxer briefs could stand. As his engorged cock reduced his last article of clothing to shreds, he easily reached out and snatched the two bullies by their tank tops while the rest of the crowd ran for the exits.
What would you do if you were made into a giant musclebound monster?
I’d fuck every guy I’d ever lusted after, savor every second of it, then track down new pieces of ass to pursue. Bigger than I’d ever dreamed I’d be able to get close to. The size we thirst for in MG fiction most often results in a turning-of-tables. What’s more erotic than the idea of being bigger and stronger than the guys we envied and lusted after (especially those of us who were mean to us)?
To me there’s nothing more erotic than the idea that I could dominate the guys whose strength and size ignited a sexual thrill in me before. Right now I’m picturing Morgan Aste and Halfthor Bjornsen, literal giants, and imagining how small and powerless I’d feel next to them. That in and of itself would be enough to get me to blast my balls dry (if I could just put a hand on their bodies and explore, fingers only, I’m pretty sure I’d blow my load without even touching my dick). But the unattainable idea of being bigger and stronger than these men, manhandling all that brawn and have them bend to my wishes, is the very essence of TF fiction. It’s the very essence of what we explore through genres like macro, body swap and muscle theft: what if they felt about me the way I feel about them? Holy shit. I’m barely able to continue writing about this. Titillated is an absolute understatement.
One aspect of muscle growth I never really touched on here is the idea of an already big guy growing to monstrous proportions. Let’s imagine our human musclemorph Aleksey Lesukov putting on muscle exponentially, proudly strutting around at a size previously unattainable. Before the point where he’d be unable to move (that’s a different TF, and I’ll talk about that someday) it’d be thrilling to watch him outsize his competitors, to take all the things we love about him and magnify them to fantastic proportions.
If I had to pick a favorite muscle growth author (and again, I’m sticking with straight muscle growth, excluding stories with macro or muscle theft elements) I’d have to go with Onix. Arguably his stories also feature himboification, but nobody describes the sensuality of magnified male muscle like Onix. His prose is beautiful on its own, and his stories are beautifully crafted. But more than that, he seems to portray an intimate knowledge of the overgrown bodybuilder as a sexual animal, and that’s what makes his TF tales hit harder than most. If you’ve never tasted from his product line, I suggest you get started and cancel all of your plan:
Onixstories.blogspot.com
Disagree with anything I’ve said here? Or did I put words to things you’ve felt for a long time? I’d love to hear from you, as well as your favorite pure musclegrowth stories!
