PROJECT CERULEAN MX
by The Pecman
Joey was confused, disoriented. As his vision slowly cleared, he became aware of a familiar face next to him on the couch. It was Michael — or at least someone who resembled his best friend. And yet it was someone else as well. Something was wrong.
“Ah,” said a voice. “I see young Mr. Hartford is now coming out of it. Excellent.”
The boy’s vision momentarily cleared. His hand was lying in carpet, and the fibers were rough and scratchy. He looked down to see his fingertips in matted black fur of his massive chest.
“Oh, shit,” he groaned. “Michael, what the hell have you gotten us into?
“Calm down, you douche,” the boy replied. “Two hours ago, you were beggin’ me to give you the juice.” He forced his voice higher. “‘I want the muscles, Michael, gimme the muscles!’” Michael snorted. “Some thanks I get.”
“You were most unwise to inject him, Michael,” said Dr. Noble grimly. “It’s a miracle that both of you are even alive.”
“Wh... why aren’t we tearing the place up?” asked Joey, opening and closing his eyes, then shaking his head.
“I gave both of you the antidote. It’s a control formula, nulling out most of the effects of the Cerulean MX serum by synthesizing myostatin back into your bloodstream.”
“Myostatin — a growth differentiation factor that nature uses to limit your body’s development.” Noble began to pace back and forth, punctuating the scientific points with broad expressions. “The project’s Cerulean formula completely eliminated this from your body and triggered muscular hypertrophy at a greatly-accelerated rate, achieving true hypergenesis: not just building on existing muscles, but the creation of completely new muscle tissue. Without myostatin, your bodies development will overload, becoming monstrous, out of control creatures that would wreak havoc.” The doctor stopped, then looked at both boys and began to relax. “The antidote’s effects are only temporary, but judging by its progress, I think you both will shrink back down to something approaching normal in another hour.”
Michael yawned and cocked his right arm in a classic bodybuilder pose. “Hmmmph. Still looks pretty big to me,” The arm was boy-sized, but now resembled that of a teenaged Olympic athlete, etched with sinewy veins and muscles that led up to his thick shoulder.
“Yes, but you’ll lose another ten pounds by 2PM. If you two had shown up at your homes the way you looked six hours ago, your families would’ve taken one look at you and called the authorities.” Noble glared at both of them. “And then we’d all be... well, ‘up shit creek,’ is I believe the appropriate term. I’ll plan on giving you booster shots once a week for the immediate future.”
Joey felt his own muscular arm and thick chest, then ran his fingers down through the matted fur on his stomach. “Yick,” he said. “This hair totally sucks. Wait! It’s starting to fall out!” He held up several loose clumps of thick black hair in his hands, letting them drop to the floor.
“Good, it’s started already,” Noble said, examining a tuft of hair. “I’ve turned the clock back, so to speak, on the effects of the Cerulean formula. At least you’ll pass for adolescents, for now. Somewhat large for your age, perhaps, but acceptable.”
“We’ll be like we were yesterday?”
The man shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. You’ll never be your former selves again, not exactly. But had we allowed the formula continue to mutate your genetic structure, you would’ve shot past six feet and reached two hundred pounds by nightfall. Assuming we could get you enough food and you survived the painful transformation, that is.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Michael said with a yawn, as he put his thick arms behind his head and leaned backwards on the couch, revealing an impressive six-pack below his ripped shirt. “In fact, it looks pretty hot.”
“Not on a thirteen-year-old boy!” Noble hissed. “Don’t you see? Being well-developed and genetically perfect is one thing — but your family and friends would never accept you looking like a man ten years older. They’d think you were some kind of monster, a freak of nature!” He paused and glared at him. “And you would be.”
Michael thought for a moment, then slowly nodded as realization set in. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I see that now. We can’t look too different or else it’ll draw too much attention. Too much of a good thing.”
“Exactly. Someday, years from now, we may choose to let the formula’s effect go unchecked.”
“Whoa... go totally Ultra?”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. But not today.”
Joey shifted, then winced. “My balls... they still hurt like hell,” he moaned. His hand rubbed the towel around his waist, which covered a large lump roughly the size of a cantaloupe.
“That’s to be expected. You’ll find your... your genitals will be somewhat more enlarged than before. We can’t reduce them any further — we’ve already stressed your endocrine system to the limit. Injecting any more of the control serum would be too risky.”
The doctor sighed, then pushed his glasses up to his forehead and rubbed his tired eyes. “Yes. The Revision 2 test subjects wound up being reduced to puddles.”
Joey’s eyes widened. “Puddles?”
“Yes. Reduced to their original metabolic state: a zygote, essentially an embryo in its earliest stage, just a large blob of protoplasm. Radical retrogression is something we need to avoid.”
“Important safety tip,” Michael noted. “Got it. Beware the blob. Any other lessons, doc?”
“Listen to me,” Noble continued. “There’s some important rules you two are going to have to follow from now on.”
Michael smirked. Despite his body having radically shrunk back down, the boy still packed considerably more muscle than he had the day before, and his cocky attitude was unaffected. “I gotta warn ya — I was never much for rules, Doc.”
The old man firmly grabbed his shoulder. “If you don’t do exactly what I tell you, you could die — both of you. And potentially, so could every single person you know and love. I saw it happen two decades ago. You have no idea the terrible danger you’re in, or the risks of your condition.”
Michael started to interrupt, but his friend stopped him.
“Listen to him,” Joey said quietly. “He’s the expert here, not us.”
Noble took a deep breath. “Alright. First, you both have 20% more body mass than you had yesterday. I’ve managed to reduce the effects of the serum down to a manageable level. But until we can come up with a reasonable explanation for your obvious change in muscularity, you’re going to have to hide your bodies from sight.”
“Hide this?” said Michael, laughing, as he flexed his chest, letting the two pectoral muscles swell, revealing a chiseled valley between them. “Fat chance.”
The man nodded. “You’ll need to wear long, baggy shirts — sweatshirts, if possible — and don’t let anyone see you naked.”
“Fat chance of me getting through football practice like that,” Michael retorted.
“Practice doesn’t start for another three months,” Joey pointed out. “We’ve got until September.”
“I would strongly advise that you avoid playing any contact sport,” Noble said. “You could kill one of the other players with one tackle. Trust me: you don’t know your own strength.”
“Wait,” said Joey. “Couldn’t we learn to control our abilities — pull our punches, do all that stuntman stuff they do in the movies?”
Noble thought for a moment. “Perhaps. Our experiments always kept the Ultra soldiers segregated from the general population, so they never had to worry about blending in with civilians. With effort, you two might be able to keep your abilities in check and remain unnoticed.”
Michael nodded. “Sort of like Peter Parker as Spiderman. I get it. Secret identities.” He made an odd gesture with his right hand, letting his middle finger touch his palm, then chuckled. “Nope — no spider webs shooting out. I’m shootin’ blanks.”
The scientist rolled his eyes. “You’re both still human — very strong young men, exceptionally gifted... but still completely human, nonetheless. Not comic-book superheroes.”
“Wait.” Joey stopped, then turned his head and stared out the trailer window. “I hear the postman’s truck down the road. He’s listening to Lady Gaga on his radio. And he’s talking to his girlfriend on his cellphone. He’s going to be late for dinner tonight.” The boy’s eyes widened, then he turned back to the doctor. “Am I imagining all that?”
Michael’s eyes widened. “I hear it, too. This can’t be real.”
“It is. You both have exceptional sight and hearing, increased roughly forty percent over normal. Perhaps more.”
Joey poked at his chest, which was now almost free of hair. He brushed away the last few strands onto the floor. “Are we invulnerable now?”
“Faster than a speeding bullet!” cried Michael, then mimicked a ricochet sound effect and let his fingers spring off his muscular chest.
The doctor shook his head. “No. The bullets will still penetrate your flesh — but you can’t be killed that way. I’ll demonstrate.” He reached over to a nearby dining room table and grabbed a fork. “Give me your hand.”
Michael stared at him curiously, then yelped as the doctor abruptly stabbed the prongs deep into his skin. “OW! Jesus Christ, why’d you do that?”
“A picture is worth a thousand words. Look.” He withdrew the fork, leaving a row of bloody dots on the boy’s palm. A smear of blood trickled down. In seconds, the wound began to disappear.
The two boys were thunderstruck.
“Initially, you’ll feel the pain,” Noble continued. “But a minor wound like this will heal almost instantly. A bullet wound takes a little longer. Your body’s own protective nature will push the bullets out, attacking them exactly like the way white blood cells react to foreign bodies. Everything will return to normal within a few hours. Even a bullet to the heart will heal in a day, perhaps less.”
Michael examined the wound, which was now completely healed. “What if you chopped my hand completely off?” He gave the doctor a wary eye, then steadily moved his arm away. “Not to give you any ideas.”
“It would grow back in less than a week,” the doctor said simply. “It would hurt terribly, but you’d live. Anything other than your head will regenerate itself.”
“What can kill us?” Joey said.
“Radiation... acid... fire... Extreme heat. Anything over a thousand degrees can permanently kill you, provided the ashes are scattered.”
“Not a stake through the heart?” Michael said, remembering a scene from Twilight they’d both seen recently on DVD.
“No. You’re resistant to all known diseases. You have the strongest immune system in human history.”
“Then what else can hurt us?”
Noble thought for a moment. “Well, you still need air, though our last group of Ultras could survive nearly ten minutes without oxygen. And you need to eat at least 5000 calories per day, or the equivalent in vitamins and nutrients, or you’ll begin to starve. That won’t kill you, but it’s quite painful.”
Michael mulled this over. “OK. Food, air, water. And stay away from fire. Check. But what else can kill us?”
The scientist hesitated. “Only one more thing that we know of: if someone incapacitates you, dissects your head from your body, and keeps it separated for a certain period of time, you’ll cease to exist.”
Even Michael winced at this. “Jesus.”
Joey stared at the man. “How do you know all this? Don’t tell me that you...” His voice trailed off and the room grew uncomfortably silent.
Noble sighed. “I’ve done my best to try to forget those terrible years. Don’t ask me for the details. Just trust me.” He checked his watch, then stood up. “It’s almost 2PM. I told Joey’s mother that I was bringing you back from the outskirts of town. You’ve got your story straight, as we discussed?”
The two boys nodded.
“Yeah,” replied Michael, as he got to his feet. “I got into a fight with somebody on the way home from Joey’s house. I called Joey on my cell, he came to help me, and we decided to leave town for awhile in case the guy came looking for us.”
“This is so lame...” interrupted Joey.
Noble shook his head. “No. This has got to work. Tell them you were only going to be gone for 24 hours. And make them believe it. Don’t forget to force your voices a little higher, the way they sounded yesterday.”
They continued talking as they walked out of the trailer, letting the door slam behind them. Joey was wearing one of Dr. Noble’s plaid shirts and a baggy pair of black dress pants, since his own clothes had been destroyed.
The boy suddenly skidded to a stop. “Wait a minute,” he sputtered. “My glasses — I’m not wearing my glasses. But I can still see!”
The scientist nodded, then reached in his pants pocket, found the glasses, and handed them to him. “You’ll need to keep these on for appearance’s sake, Joey,” he said. “But the Cerulean serum has made eyeglasses unnecessary. Keep them on for now, just until we can figure out a way to cover this for your parents.” He thought for a moment, then handed the boy several small pieces of twisted metal. “Oh, and here’s what’s left of your braces. Your body rejected them.”
“My teeth—” Joey exclaimed, frantically reaching for his mouth.
“—are perfect,” finished Dr. Noble. “Let’s hope your parents won’t notice. I’ll try to come up with some kind of cover story you can give them.”
Michael wore half of a ripped T-shirt, which revealed most of his now-smooth, well-muscled stomach, along with a pair of jeans with rolled-up cuffs. Noble unlocked the Camry and gestured to the boys to get in.
“In the meantime, we’ll stop by a used clothing store three blocks from here,” he said, “and buy you some proper clothes. Nothing too tight or revealing — your parents will be furious enough as it is.”
“People are gonna eventually have to see us,” Michael warned, as they sat in the car and shut the doors. “Eventually, somebody’s gonna catch a glimpse and think we’re escapees from the Russian gymnast team.”
Noble thought for a moment, then reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said. “Here’s $200. As soon as possible, go to a sporting goods store and buy a set of weights. Do either of you have a garage?”
“We do,” Joey replied, fastening his seat belt. “A three-car garage. We just have boxes ‘n’ stuff in the third one.”
“Perfect,” the scientist replied, as he started the engine. “Buy the biggest set of weights you can. Have it delivered. Start working out today. In a few weeks, you can at least let your parents see your arms. But don’t tell any of your friends, yet. They’ll ask too many questions.”
“I’m... I’m starting to feel weak,” Joey said, clutching the dashboard. “I’m really hungry, Dr. Noble.”
The man nodded as the car pulled forward, then slowly picked up speed down the dirt road.
“That’s to be expected — it’s one of the drawbacks of the serum. You’re going to have to eat twice as much as an average human, just to keep your system satiated.”
The boy nodded, then cleared his head. “Okay,” he said. “I think I can hold on for another ten minutes or so.”
“Good,” Noble said. “Once we get you some clothes, our next stop will be the health food store at the mall down the street for some protein shakes. Both of you should drink at least two of them before we head to Joey’s house. I think at least 150 grams of protein a day will do it — along with your regular meals. You’ll need to consume as much protein as possible, so these new bodies of yours don’t starve to death. If your parents express concern, tell them you’re going to try out for a team this fall.”
Michael snorted. “Joey’s is so not a sports guy,” he said, suppressing a guffaw. “I’m the athlete — football and soccer.”
This time, it was the doctor’s chance to grin. “Have you taken a look at your friend lately? I think Joey would be superlative for in his weight class for wrestling.”
Michael leaned forward. The boy in the front seat flexed his arm and the edges of the sleeve strained and began to tear slightly.
Jesus, he thought. He’s as big as me — maybe even bigger. “Hey,” Michael snapped, “that’s not fair. How’d he get like that?”
“You only had half a dose. Joey, on the other hand, received the full 20cc dosage. But since you started off with a body far more developed than your friend, I think you’ll wind up approximately equal.”
“Hmmmph,” Michael said, leaning back in the back seat. Except in the dick department, he thought to himself. I got him beat there.
He looked over at his friend, who grinned back and wiggled his eyebrows.
Michael felt a slight shudder. Then again, maybe not.
§ § § § §
Noble pulled up in front of the Spears’ house on Elsinore Avenue and parked the car.
“I can’t believe I’m not tired,” said Joey, tugging at the sleeve of his new Diesel designer hoody. It was loose and baggy, and perfectly hid his muscles. “I’ve been awake for almost two days straight.”
Michael nodded in agreement, “Do we sleep? I haven’t had more than a coupla hours of rest since yesterday, but I’m still totally wired.”
The man shook his head. “No. You won’t need it any more. Your system is reacting the same way the chemical compound Modafinil does for fighter pilots: it completely eliminates the need for sleep. It’s permanently altered your circadian rhythm — that is, your sleep cycle.”
“Won’t there be... side-effects?” Joey asked, as the trio got out of the car and started to walk to the front door.
Noble sighed. “We’ll go over those another time. While you won’t need eight hours of sleep anymore, I would suggest that you meditate at least an hour a day. Physically, your body doesn’t need it anymore. But mentally... you need to relax your mind. Meditation will give you that discipline. I’ll bring you some books to explain it.”
Michael abruptly stopped. “If we’re awake like 24 hours a day, but don’t sleep, what are we gonna do with all that extra time?”
Noble raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you two will think of something.”
§ § § § §
Much to Joey’s shock, his parents bought the entire story — lock, stock, and barrel. Dr. Noble was completely convincing, taking the role of a random driver who just happened to be on the outskirts of town at 6AM and picked up the two hitchhikers. He apologized to Joey’s parents, explaining that they were almost to Los Angeles before the boys finally broke down and revealed they were runaways.
“And I immediately turned the car around and brought them here, the moment I suspected anything was amiss,” Noble said.
“We can’t thank you enough, Doctor,” said Mr. Hartford, visibly overcome with relief. “He’s never... he’s never done anything like this before.” He turned to his son and frowned. “This is so unlike you, Joseph. Why didn’t you call us?”
The boy winced. It’s never good when he uses my full name, he thought.
“If you don’t mind a suggestion,” Noble said, starting for the door, “perhaps both of these boys need some discipline — something to keep them occupied and off the streets.”
“You mean like the Boy Scouts? Camping? A church group?”
“Athletics, I think,” the doctor mused. “Perhaps a physical activity. They are growing boys, after all.”
Michael shot him a look.
Mrs. Hartford nodded. “Yes. Joey has been growing so much lately. Perhaps you could join the swim team, like your older brother did years ago.”
“No!” said both boys simultaneously.
The parents stared at them.
“I’d like to start working out,” Joey said quickly. “You know — pump iron. Maybe... maybe not be a 97-pound geek anymore. Put on a little muscle.”
Noble seemed to consider this. “Yes, I think an exercise program is a very good idea. Particularly at this age — in moderation, of course.”
Mrs. Hartford frowned. Her son had never expressed interest in lifting weights before. That seemed so... so down-market. “Joey, I wouldn’t want you to become one of those... those people.”
“Hardly,” Joey said with a reassuring grin. “I just want to keep up with Michael.”
His father nodded. “Yes,” he said, giving the other boy an appraising look. “I can see that your friend Mike is getting pretty big.”
Joey’s smile froze. You don’t know just how much, Dad, he thought.
§ § § § §
Just after 6PM, Joey’s cell rang with the “Boom-Boom-Pow” ringtone — Michael’s favorite song. The boy hit a button.
“About time, you moron,” he said. “So did your mom totally kill you, or what?”
Michael laughed. “I gotta hand it to the doc — he’s very convincing. Gave her the same story he gave your folks, and she totally fell for it. I went with the whole ‘total remorse’ act, tears and all. She actually seemed a little sympathetic.”
Joey shook his head. He never understood how Michael’s mother let him get away with so much.
“I’m still grounded for a couple of days,” he continued. “No bike, no movies, no XBox — no nothin’. I’d go nuts if it weren’t for the net.”
“Yeah, me, too. I just hope they don’t notice that my braces are missing.” Joey thought for a moment. “Is your mom still going to let you work out?”
“Yeah. She said I could go over to your place for an hour or two a day to exercise, but only in the afternoon. But no horseplay.” He paused. “Speakin’ of which, you know what I’m playin’ with right now?”
Joey rolled his eyes. “I assume it’s not chess.”
“No. It’s my cock. It’s not quite a foot long, but it’s close. How ‘bout you?”
Joey felt his pulse begin to race. He reached down and was shocked to see he was instantly hard. He walked over to his bedroom door and locked it, then sat back down at his desk. His mouth suddenly felt dry.
“I haven’t checked,” he said quietly.
“Get a ruler.”
The boy let out a sigh, then reached in his desk, pulled out a measuring stick and laid it on the desk. He’d done this before and had always been disappointed with the results. But things were different now. He removed his shirt and tugged his pants and underwear down. His erection immediately sprang up and slapped against his rippled stomach.
Whoa, he thought. This was going to take some getting used to.
“So how big is it?”
Joey positioned the ruler flat on top of his rock-hard penis, placing one end against the lowest part of his abdomen. “Hate to tell you, but it’s bigger than the ruler.”
“No friggin’ way.”
“Way. The ruler barely hits the bottom of my cockhead. It’s got to be 13 inches, easy. That’s one inch for every year.”
“Shit! You must be measuring it wrong. Or that’s like a metric ruler or something.”
There was a few seconds of silence, followed by some slurping sounds.
“Joey? What’s goin’ on?”
Another pause. “I can actually blow myself!” he exclaimed. “God,” he said, “I may never leave the house now.”
There was another slurp. “I’ll call you back, Michael. Lemme take care of this.”
“Wait! What if you...”
Joey snapped the phone shut and killed the power. No way is Michael gonna interrupt me.
The boy leaned forward in the chair and gently eased his cockhead past his lips. The feeling was exquisite. His erection was absolutely rigid, like steel encased in soft velvet, ridged with a bright blue vein that throbbed along the top side. He held the erection in his right hand, using the left to explore the rest of his body. His chest was hard and ridged with solid muscle, like that of some kind of idealized Greek statue, without a trace of fat. He let his cock fall back again to his stomach, pleased to see that it rose high enough to slide in-between the groove between his pecs. He rubbed it back and forth for a few moments, enjoying the sensation, and let out a satisfied sigh.
His fingertips explored the deeply-etched ridges in his abdomen, then carefully moved back upwards around the edges of his pecs. He grabbed one of his chest muscles and squeezed slightly; his hand could barely contain it, almost like grabbing a large slab of beef. He moaned with pleasure at the touch, aroused by the sheer power in his own body. His nipples were slightly enlarged, protruding like pencil erasers. He tweaked them both simultaneously and moaned at the unexpected feeling from an erogenous zone he’d never before tried.
God, he thought. I can’t believe how this feels. He looked down to his cock, which was glistening with saliva, throbbing, only a few tantalizing inches away from his mouth. With some effort, he could bend down his head almost perpendicular to his stomach. He was pleased to see his sinewy body had the agility of a gymnast.
His mouth plunged lower until fully half of the enormous penis was inside. It grew thicker at the base, forcing his jaw open as far as it could go.
I can’t believe I can bend this far, he thought, his mind racing. I bet I could almost tie myself in a knot.
He began to slowly thrust his mouth up and down the shaft, playing with his enormous balls, squeezing them lightly, letting the cock respond with short momentary spasms of delight. His cock began to softly nudge at the back of his throat as he felt his pulse quicken.
Joey moaned out loud, the sound muted by his full mouth. Momentary mental images of Michael flashed in his mind. It was the Ultra-sized naked Michael from the night before, savagely kissing him, his body hair rubbing at his bare skin, his partial beard like sandpaper against his face. Their tongues intertwined as he felt the serum burning in his veins.
Suddenly, he saw a mental image of Michael penetrating him. But there wasn’t any pain. Their bodies were as one, locked together, their sweat mingling, their muscular torsos desperately pounding against each other over and over again. “Fuck me,” he murmured. “Deeper!” He caught a glimmer of a new kind of pleasure deep inside him, almost like he was sensing the beginning of an orgasm in two separate parts of his body.
Suddenly, his whole body tightened. A lightning bolt of pleasure ripped upward from his groin, causing his cock to erupt and spasm. He jammed his mouth further down, fighting the urge to gag, letting his lips graze against the thick adolescent patch of curly black hair at the base. A flood of warm liquid gushed down his throat — once, twice... he lost count after six. At last, he slumped to the floor, absolutely spent, on the verge of blacking out.
“Joey?” called a voice from down the hall. “Are you alright, son? Did you drop something?”
“No, Dad!” he called, catching his breath. He quickly stood up, his half-wilted erection spilling another thick dollop onto the carpet, then cleared his throat. “Just, ah, putting a book back on the shelf.”
“You really should get some sleep,” called a voice outside his door. “It’s almost midnight.”
The boy pulled up his pants and quickly buttoned them up, then slipped on a loose long-sleeved T-shirt. He quickly unlocked the door and leaned out.
His father stared at him curiously. “You alright, Joey? I hope you didn’t pick up a flu bug while you were out early this morning.”
“No — actually, I feel great. But I’m really starving. OK if I make myself a snack downstairs?”
“Sure. Just don’t make a mess.”
“And put the dishes in the dishwasher!” called his mother, overhearing the conversation from down the hall. “Especially if it’s another one of those messy protein drinks.”
“No problem, mom.”
Joey checked his groin to make sure the bulges were completely hidden, then hurried downstairs. I’m gonna need all the protein I can get, he thought. Especially if I can’t get this dick of mine under control.
§ § § § §
The sales clerk at the Sports Authority store on West Sunset Road had assured Joey and his father this was the best weight set they carried. “On sale now for $395,” he said. “There’s nothing better outside of a real fitness club. And this will cost you a lot less than a year’s gym membership.”
Joey tried a couple of quick barbell arm curls. “This is too light,” he said, dropping it back on the stand with a metallic thud. “Can we go a little heavier? Maybe go to two 25’s?”
The clerk gave him a curious look, then squeezed his arm through his thick shirt. “Whoa, kid! You must already be lifting.”
Joey glanced over at his father, who was absent-mindedly going through some flyers on the table. Luckily, he wasn’t paying attention. “Never mind about that,” he said quietly, slipping the salesman another $200. “Do me a favor and double the free weight plates. And don’t let my father know — it’s sort of a surprise.”
The man winked. “Got it. We’ll just total out the invoice at $395. No problem.”
The delivery truck showed up three hours later at noon, right on schedule, and the men loaded everything out and helped him set it up the weights and the bench in the garage. Joey had spent several hours at dawn moving around the boxes, preparing enough space for two people to comfortably work out. They’d have to keep the roll-up door open, due to the lack of air conditioning, but other than that, the makeshift gym would do for now.
Promptly at 1PM, Michael rode up on his bike, hopped off, leaned it against the garage door, then walked inside and whistled appreciably.
“Not bad,” the boy said, inspecting the gleaming weight set. “In fact, it looks great.”
“It should be,” Joey said with a grin. “That’s about six hundred bucks’ worth of weights, plus the bench. And I got this book.”
Michael took it from him and snorted. “‘Weight Training for Dummies’? That’s so lame.”
The boy shrugged. “They didn’t exactly have much of a selection at the store. Let’s just come up with a workout routine for today, then get some more info from the net later on.”
Joey sat down on the bench and began to lean back. His friend stopped him.
“Hey, listen,” Michael began. “You really pissed me off on the phone last night. I was all hot and... well, you know. I really needed to do it.”
“Jesus, Michael. Call somebody else when you need phone sex. There’s 800 numbers for that stuff. And porn sites. And don’t forget we’re both still grounded.”
The blond boy glared at him. “I thought you were my friend.”
Joey returned the glare. “Yeah, I thought so, too — until you practically raped me last night. Twice, unless I lost count. And that’s not even counting the blowjob.”
Michael’s face reddened. “I didn’t know what I was doing. That was... it was like another guy was pulling the strings.” He leaned forward and gently squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that happened. But you gotta admit: you didn’t mind at the time.”
Joey turned away and thought for a moment. In the heat of passion, it had been amazing. And he did find his friend attractive. Was it wrong?
Finally, the boy smiled. “Alright,” he said. “Maybe it wasn’t completely rape. But you definitely owe me one. It’s your turn next time.”
Michael grinned. “I was gonna suggest that.”
Joey flicked his eyebrows. “And I’ll prove to you my cock is bigger than yours, too.”
His friend guffawed. “You keep dreamin’,” he said. “Alright. He who has the biggest cock gets to fuck the other. Deal.”
Joey grinned ear to ear as they shook hands then bopped their knuckles together. “Oh, I like this bet already. Now, shut up and lift.”
They began to struggle with the heavy bar, which was loaded down with about 135 pounds of barbell plates.
Less than half a block away, a man sat in a white Chevy cargo van, adorned with a large blue sign: “Chet’s Swimming Pool Service — Serving the Greater Las Vegas/Henderson Area Since 1992.” He glanced at an image of the boys in the open garage through his dashboard monitor, which displayed a video signal from the truck’s almost-invisible roof-mounted camera, then hit a button to sharpen the focus.
He pinged the walkie-talkie through the coiled cord in his right ear. “You getting all this?”
“Yeah. Continue surveilling the subjects. We’ll keep the satellite positioned for the next 12 hours, in case they try to leave the city again.”
“Any further instructions?”
There was a brief burst of static. “No. Report if there’s any more activity. Keep a low profile. We’ll send in relief at 6PM.”
“Got it.” The man clicked off the walkie, then zoomed in on the camera. Damn, he thought. Get a load at the arms on that kid.
“What is this all about?” he muttered to himself.
Feedback to the author is welcomed at email@example.com.
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