What I Want
by Marknew742@aol.com
Cliff can remake bodies as he wishes.  But what does he wish for?



1


I am close now to my second great discovery, at the "tender" age of 17.  If they only knew.


When I was fifteen, and a relative runt, I discovered a mind-over-matter technique that allowed
me to change my 5'9" 135 pound frame into my present hunklike 6'1" 210 pound body. 
Gradually, of course, so that no one would be suspicious, I gave myself little growth spurt.  Four
inches last year, another inch this year, just so that everyone would know I'm not "done," while I
decided just how big I want to be.  At first I went from being a little chubby to thin as a rail, so
everyone would see I'd lost my baby fat.  Then, after a lot of "helpful advice," I got interested in
lifting weights, even though no one expected me to accomplish very much.  But lo and behold, I
grew by leaps and bounds.  After a couple of months of work I'd gotten as big as some of the
guys on the football team.  Of course, I used the room at odd hours, mostly, when no one else
did.  Otherwise, I'd really have to do the lifting I said I was doing, and I can tell you it's much
easier to go in at 5:00 am and sleep for an hour or two before showering in the gym.  Amazingly,
my muscles grew just as fast that way.  Must have been the extra sleep!


Don't expect me to explain how I do it.  It takes just minutes a day, as they say in the ads, but my
technique is a lot more efficient than isometrics.


My body does raise eyebrows in my generally undersized family.  I get to hear them ask
themselves, and my parents, "But who does he take after?" at least fifteen times a day when the
gang gets together for a wedding or a christening.  My male cousins stare enviously at my
bulging muscles and my strapping chest, which of course grow larger and larger each time they
see me.  The girls just drool over me, giggling as they peek furtively, over and over, wishing their
boyfriends had a body like mine, conflicted about whether to push their friends at me or keep me
free of entanglements, the better to daydream over.  


But of course I don't need their friends.  I've had the pick of the school ever since the beginning
of my junior year last September, ever since I "blossomed".  "Little" Melissa, only 5'2" but with
firm, round breasts and an overactive wiggle.  Jennifer Lynn, a senior cheerleader no less,
"natural" blond hair, with high, full breasts, great legs, with that perky, enthusiastic cheerleader
attitude to everything she does.  Caroline, a tall, busty (see the pattern?) basketball player who
loves to get rough and physical with a guy who can handle her easily enough to be "gentle" and
still win.  Not to mention the worshipful looks I get from just about every girl who walks by.


Of course, not every girl drools over me.  Rebecca Weston, I confess, has not succumbed.  I sat
next to her for a whole year in advanced math in 9th grade, chatting her up, passing notes,
making jokes, giving her my homework, but that stuck-up bitch just looked down her nose at me,
raised her eyebrows, ignoring me in all those subtle and unmistakable ways pretty girls learn.  All
year I fantasized about her, especially as I watched her body develop before my eyes, from
slender beauty to voluptuous beauty.  In fact, it was the transformation of her body that inspired
me on my esoteric studies.  At the time, I thought my being two inches shorter than she was the
problem.  Then as I mastered my arts in tenth grade I got taller.  No difference.  Was I too
skinny?  I soon filled out with a build as spectacularly masculine as hers was feminine.  Still no
interest.  Just the other day, I walked over to her at her locker, looked down at her face
(incidentally taking in those two highly distracting mounds on her chest) and suggested that the
two of us would be a great pair.  She said, "I already have a great pair, Cliffie, don't you think,"
and gracefully swung her locker door shut with a gentle tap of her hip.  Then she walked away,
her ass swaying to say to me no way, no way, no way, no way as she proceeded down the hall.


I hate the name "Cliffie."  No one else calls me that, not since my growth spurt.  Except for
Mom, and even she's migrating to Cliff, with the way I grimace at the no longer appropriate
diminutive.


But back to Rebecca.  She is achingly gorgeous.  Perfect body, perfect face, perfect nose.  Even
her lips play their own symphony of curves and color, registering, in that perfect shade of red, the
most minute shifts in her moods, her reactions in every conceivable hue of scorn to the entreaties
of us mere mortals who surround her.  But who can focus too long on her lips, when that
incredible body is so close?  When she moves, each tiny part resonates with its own frequency,
its own special logic of dance, all combined into a harmony that sings with teasing seduction.


Did I tell you that I hate her?  Did I tell you that if it weren't for her, I'd have the highest grade
point average in the class?  That she nosed me out for a fully paid summer study program in the
Rockies, which her parents could have paid for anyway, while I ended up with a summer job and
a computer course at the local college?  That she managed a perfect score on the college boards
while I was two ticks below?  And such a goody-goody, helping out at the local hospital where
her Dad has his practice, letting all the doctors ogle her in that tight white uniform they make her
wear, probably giving the patients coronaries too while she's at it.  And the word is she's having
trouble "deciding" whether to start her modeling career or to wait until after college.  After all,
she doesn't need the money, just wants the experience.


Well, I will have my chance.  Soon, maybe tomorrow, I will not only have the power to remake
myself, but also to project this power into others and remake their bodies too.  Then, Rebecca
Weston, you may no longer be the most beautiful girl in the world, or even in the third row of
desks in your homeroom class.  Just you wait.


2


Here we are, June already.  It's taken longer than I expected, but I can do it.  I tried it out on
Marvin, our dog.  Changed his spots around, just a little bit.  Melanie, my brat kid sister was the
first to notice.  "Mom!  Look what's happened to Marvie!"  Mom couldn't see what Melanie was
talking about, but Melanie got more and more excited and finally pulled out her photo album to
show Mom, who then called Dad, who said some kind of stupid Dad thing, like "Oh yes, as
beagles get older, sometimes their spots change color.  It's nothing to worry about."  Right, Dad. 
Now Melanie thought Marvin had cancer or was dying.  So I went in and boosted her endorphin
level a bit to shut her up.  She sure got happy quickly.  I ought to try it on myself sometime, but I
don't do drugs.  


Then I felt a little guilty for messing up her head, so I took a few pounds of her extra flab around
her waist and moved it up a few inches where it would look better, firmed up her tummy and her
rear, and then retreated to my room, feeling like I'd been a good boy for being nice to her for a
change.  So what happens?  As soon as she comes down from her little high, she starts screaming
about how her clothes don't fit and she needs hundreds of bucks for new ones.  And then she has
the nerve to hit me up for some cash.  Forget it, sis.  So we end up fighting, because Mom and
Dad shelled out a lot when I went through a new size practically every week last year and
eventually she gets what she wanted, but that's the last time I'm helping her.  I have to say,
though, that she looks pretty foxy with the new body I gave her.  Wait until Dad sees what he has
to worry about now!


The real fun would be at school.  Ahh, hot June days, no air conditioning, hundreds of maturing
young bodies crowded together in hallways and classrooms with as little covering as the
regulations allow.  But who will be my initial project?  Melissa's too small, Jennifer Lynn's
graduating in two weeks.  It will have to be Caroline.  I look at her from across the hall, admiring
her firm, toned body from afar with my 20/05 eyes.  Her complexion can be finer, her ass just a
bit rounder, the bones less bony.  I turn her over and inside out in my mind and realize ... no, then
she won't be Caroline anymore.  She'll be Rebecca Weston.  This is harder than I thought.  Well,
for my trouble I raise her bust just a little.  She looks at me again from afar, puzzled, and then a
big smile and she comes toward me.  I don't want to talk just now, so I point to my watch and run
off the other way, only to bump into ... Rebecca, practically knocking her down.


"Excuse me, Rebecca I


"You shouldn't be allowed to walk around without a license in that hulk-thing you call a body,
Cliffie.  At least try to learn how to steer it.  Maybe you can take lessons somewhere."


"Hey, I said excuse me."


She looks in the air, poor, long-suffering Rebecca.  "Funny how half the nerds in the school
bump into me by accident.  Why should I expect any better from you, Cliffie?  Just shows that
you can dress them up, but the true form always must show in the end."


"What are you talking about?"


"You know what I mean.  You may have the body of a Porsche, but inside you'll always be the
little put-put who sat next to me freshman year."


I glare at her and before I know it, I've put a huge red zit on her perfect nose.  Her eyes go wide,
radiating her annoyance with the intensity only her inherent superiority can justify, and then she
feels her nose and her eyes get even wider.  What big eyes you have, Rebecca, I think, before I
think that I, of course, am the wolf.  She turns suddenly and speeds down the hall, head bent.  I
hear she missed the rest of the day of classes.  Female trouble is the word.


Caroline and I have a mixed doubles match to play later.  We're both good players but we're
playing the second seed on the school team and his girlfriend Shari (who I know has the hots for
me, but, well, another day).  We're down, 4-2 the first set, mainly because he's used Caroline's
serve for batting practice at my head.  So I decide to get even.  Brent, I say to myself, I like you. 
But I'd like you even better if you didn't have so much mustard on your serves, so I do a little
remodeling inside and voila, Brent's arms and back are not quite what they used to be and what
do you know, his serve has lost its pop.  Caroline's so pleased with herself for hitting two return
aces on his first serves she kisses me right on the court, while poor Brent fiddles with the strings
on his racket, as if that were the problem.  Behave yourself, Brent.  Be a good sport and I'll give
you back your strength AFTER we cream you.


Then for part two, I give Caroline a little special sauce to serve.  She's always had nice arm
muscles for a girl, tomboy that she is at heart, but now I give her a bit of extra power, broader
shoulders, stronger back, harder forearm, bigger biceps.  Hey, I like it!  The extra flesh goes well
with her already rounded chest.  She's staring at me while I work.  Can she feel anything, I
wonder?  I never have.  Well, I'm done, so I turn it off.  "Come on, Caroline, let's tie it up!  Show
'em what you can do."  She nods, grunts (competitor that she is) and tosses the ball and whomp! 
A missile flies into the corner of the service box, passes Brent and burrows into the chain link
fence behind, still rising.  "Hey!  I knew you had it in you," I say encouragingly.  She looks,
amazed, at the ball, which is three-quarters of the way through the fence, and crosses over while
Brent struggles to pull it out.  Caroline stamps impatiently then hits another ace, directly at Shari,
who covers her pretty face with her racquet for self-preservation.  Now Caroline gets that gleam
in her eye, which makes her such a great competitor on the basketball court, and so much fun to
wrestle, and takes special care with her next serve.  She winds up and the ball explodes in flight
past Brent for another ace.  I give her the thumbs up and she gives me an I don't know what's
going on but I like it look and then closes out the game with another ace, which poor Shari,
relieved just not to be hit, lets sail by her.  Caroline and I eat Shari's serve for dessert and I blow
mine past my diminished rival Brent for the set.  Not surprisingly, they beg off the second set and
I let them go, to Caroline's disappointment (she loves to win, again and again, the quality of the
opponent affecting only the flavor of the treat).  I look at poor Brent, thinking how much more I
like him when he's only a little guy, but I keep my promise to myself and give him back what was
his all along.  


Caroline, good sport that she is, waits a decent interval, then rushes over to me and tries to crush
me in her usual enthusiastic hug, which actually is now close to being a dangerous weapon.  I
return the favor and find that I like the extra tissue she's now endowed with.  She can keep what I
gave her, I decide.  Why be dogmatic?  I relax my hold and suddenly find she's hoisted me off the
ground.  This is something new, I think.  I feel a great stirring in my (great) loins.  Is there
something erotic about powerful women I haven't yet appreciated?  I must think about this.


Meanwhile, Caroline is singing in counterpoint to my thoughts,  "I feel so strong, Cliff and so
good.  You know how winning makes me feel.  I just want to crush you in the nicest possible
way."  I know what she means.  I am feeling the same way (with a slightly different metaphor of
course, suitable to my equipment) and lamenting the lack of expansion space in my pants, but we
have the usual logistics problem, which leaves each of us separating in heat.  Awww, the trials of
high school students without cars (or yachts) of our own.


What more can I accomplish in one day?  My new power works.  I've begun to understand what
to do with it.  I've scored one against Rebecca.  So my day is a complete success.  Right?  Well,
maybe not.  A little kink in my new powers shows up.


3


I'm up late reviewing my techniques, then go to sleep dreaming of Caroline (more than dreaming
I admit and to be honest, in my thoughts, I make Caroline even more, say, developed, than she
was this afternoon) and just as I'm ready to drift off, my phone rings (yes, yes, I have my own.  A
little privilege here and there).  It's Caroline, sounding a little strange.


"Cliff, I have to see you, right now." 


(I'm not dressed and uh, a little, uh, sticky.)  "Can't it wait until morning?  I can be around before
school," I say hopefully.


"No," she says, very firmly.  "If you're my friend, and I know you are, you'll come now.  Please
Cliff, I need some help."


There's something in the tone of her voice that makes me want to go see her, and also something
that makes me want to be about a thousand miles away, but I think about wrestling, and about the
cover of night, weigh it against my parents' "school night rules", consider the low probability of
getting caught and the even lower probability of effective punishment, and then I'm washed,
dressed and out of there.  I go around to the back of her house, as she's asked, but I don't see her.


"Here!" she whispers, somewhat forcefully I think, and I snap my head around to see and then,
uncomfortably adjust the angle of my head.  There is Caroline (how could I have missed her?)
against the corner of the house, a full seven inches taller than I am, barrel-chested, barrel-armed
(ok, it sounds silly, but I'm telling you...).  "Oh, Cliff, this is so strange.  I'm frightened."  But not
so frightened that she doesn't lift me and hold me against her, like I'm the well-worn stuffed bear
she talks to when she doesn't want to speak to me directly.  I struggle briefly against her, but, hey,
her biceps are as thick as watermelons, and I'm not about to make myself a freak.  Anyway, given
my own self restraint, I know who's got the upper hand (not to mention the rest of her upper
body).


Besides, I'd just seen those marvelous muscles thirty minutes ago, in my own private little
fantasy, which obviously was not just a fantasy anymore.  Visually, the effect is outstanding,
although I hadn't quite thought through all of the concrete implications, like one of Caroline's
arms having enough strength to pin me to her mighty chest while the other is free to perch on her
hip, a very sexy pose I quickly notice.  One of the results of thinking with my dick, which I think
guys do even more often than they'd admit.  At least I'm honest.  Still, given the situation, I figure
I better act even more surprised than I am.


"AAHHH!  Caroline!!  What's happened to you?!!!"


"I don't know.  I think it started when we were playing tennis, when I got into that serving
groove.  But then, I was sleeping, and suddenly it was like, I don't know, I was thinking of you
wanting to make love to me (actually, Caroline, I wanted to fuck you) and somehow I started
growing bigger and bigger and more muscular until, well, look at me!"


"Look at you?  I think I'm too close for that."


"How can you joke about it?  What am I going to do?"


"Um, I do think better on my feet, Caroline, and aren't you getting tired holding me?  I weigh
over two hundred pounds."


"I feel better with you to hold.  Please Cliff.  You don't feel too heavy to me."  I feel her arm
tighten against my back and then she grins.  I can see that a part of her is enjoying this, which
doesn't completely surprise me and bothers me a tiny bit.  I reach out to feel her free arm, which
is thicker than most people.  Did I really make her that big in my fantasy?  I'm sicker than I
thought.


"Cliff, what am I going to do?"


"I don't know.  This certainly is the strangest thing I've ever seen."


"Do you hate me for being so big?  Don't leave me Cliff."  Her grip was getting a little
uncomfortable.


"Of course not, Caroline.  I, well, maybe it's some kind of tidal thing."  She looked at me like I
was crazy, but I kept going.  "Maybe it's the new moon and Saturn and it'll just reverse itself
when Saturn declines from Orion.  You were born with Saturn ascending, weren't you?"


She nodded, then scowled.  "What are you talking about Cliff?  You always make fun of that
stuff.  Anyway, people don't grow in reverse."


"Yeah?  Well they also don't grow like you just did.  Hey, there's probably some kind of logical
explanation or maybe you'll go back to normal all by yourself."


"You think so?"


I shrug.  "Sure."  Then she gets this devilish grin, and I get a sinking feeling, the kind that never
happens in the middle of my own fantasies.


"Well, I hadn't thought of it that way, but if you're right, then I better enjoy this while I can!"


Suddenly, I am flat on my back and Caroline has ripped off my clothes and is eagerly pushing my
once again erect member (ahh, to be seventeen; tough luck oldsters) inside her.  Other than the
bruises her superhuman legs are producing, I survive intact, the act proceeding somewhat
differently than my imagined version but no less successfully from my perspective and a bit more
so from hers.  By the fourth go round, however, I am not faring quite so well and I use my
unusual bodily control in an unprecedented way.


"Cliff, are you too tired?  It's not getting any harder."


"I know," I groan.  "You know, long day today, school again tomorrow."


She-hulk smiles.  "At least we got to finish what we started."


"Yeah, hey, Caroline, don't worry.  I still like you."


"As if I couldn't tell.  You're my sweetheart Cliff."  She gets that look again.  "And I wanted to
talk to you about Melissa."


"Not now, sugar."  I scamper off, leaving my giantess with a small (right!) pout and a resolution
to undo this little situation early the next day before she gets too many ideas about her
prerogatives.


4


I am a bit groggy at five, but after a brisk walk to school for my "workout" I realize that I have no
idea how I made Caroline grow from a distance.  Naturally I am thrilled that my power goes so
far and the possibilities seem endless.  But how do I duplicate it?  How do I control it without
watching the effect first hand?  I don't want to make her a runt.  I concentrate.  I daydream.  I
search out Caroline's mind.  Unfortunately it's not like I can hear the phone ringing at the other
end, and even if I did, how would I know it's not a wrong number?


This loss of confidence is highly disturbing.  So I run over to Caroline's house instead, climb up
the outside of her house and stand on the roof, looking at her sleeping with her legs and arms all
hanging down the sides of her inadequate bed.  Quickly, I start to shrink her, but as soon as it
starts, her eyes pop open and she starts looking around.


"Cliff?  Cliff!  Where are you?"  Shit, I think.  Can she sense me?  I duck down, but then I can't
see her, so I pop my head up again and there she is, looking right at me.  "What are you doing?"


"I...I just had to see what happened to you," I stammer as I slowly shrink her down, trying to
concentrate.


"It's so weird, I just sensed you watching me, and, hey I'm smaller, back to my regular size!" 
(Not quite.)  I close my eyes, relieved that it's done.


"I don't know.  I think you're still a little bigger than you were."  


She stands up and examines her arms, feeling the hard balls of muscle that have grown on her. 
"Yeah, I guess so, but nothing like I was last night."  She's disappointed.  "Was that a dream?"  I
shake my head and show her the bruises on my legs and stomach, which makes her laugh with
pride.  "Oh well.  I guess I still have something to show for it, and so do you.  Want to have some
breakfast?"  


She stretches, and I'm amazed again at how turned on I feel looking at her muscled frame.  I want
to jump through the window, in fact, tackle her, wrestle her and subdue her (I think I can) and
then screw her (I know I can, because she wants the same thing), but the timing is bad and we
both know it, so instead I nod and tell her I'll come back in fifteen minutes, when she's
downstairs and dressed.  She grins at me and blows me a kiss.


I climb down and take a walk around the block to think for a bit, both about my sexual response
to Caroline, and about this new power I have, which seems to have become almost second nature
to me in no time at all.  I sit on a curb, thinking, then wander back to Caroline's house.  The door
is open and I pop in.  She's at the kitchen table, dressed in her usual June t-shirt and shorts, hair
in a pony tail, freckles prominent on her smiling cheeks.  The all-American amazon girl.  


Just then her older brother Ken walks in from his morning run.  He's just back from school, a
sophomore at Boulder.  Ken's as big as I am, a jock like Caroline and plays varsity baseball and
soccer.  I don't like him.


"Hey, Cliffie's growin' up.  You gonna go out for a sport now, Cliffie, or are they just for show?"


(Well, they are just for show, big shot, but that's none of your business.)


"Ken, he hates when you call him that.  Call him Cliff."


"Oh yes, dear sister.  I apologize for not treating him with the proper respect."  I smile.  "Is he
here because he's eaten his folks out of house and home?"


"Hey, Ken, I need to eat.  That's how I got so big and strong.  Are you still drinking your milk?"


He raises his eyes.  "You bet.  Clean living wins in the end, Ken, and don't you forget it."


I shrug.  "Maybe.  You never know, Ken.  Maybe the next time you see me I'll be stronger than
you."


"Never, pipsqueak.  You challenge me, you die."


"Oh?  Want to arm wrestle?"


"Any day.  Let's go."


We sit down and I grasp his sweaty hand to start.  We're a pretty even match and no one moves
for about thirty seconds, but then I slowly move his hand down and pin him on the table.  He
looks up at me, amazed, then waves his hand and scowls.  "Ahh, I'm just tired from my run. 
We'll do it again the next time you come over.  Then we'll see who's stronger."


"Sure Ken.  Any day."


He glares at me for mimicking him.  Then Caroline pipes up.


"My turn.  I want to do you too, Ken."


"What?  Come on, sis.  I don't want to hurt you."


"I've gotten stronger since you've been away.  Right Cliff?"


I swallow.  "Oh, she's pretty strong Ken."


He sighs.  "All I want to do is take a shower.  OK, but no crying if you get hurt."


"Promise."  She's excited, licking her lips.  I wonder if she really is strong enough to beat him. 
After all, I beat him.  She's not as strong as I am, but she's a lot more coordinated and she might
be able to pull it off.  I stare at her as she settles into my seat and feel a little jealous of how
natural she is.  Even the added strength I gave her fits her as easily as the build she accumulated
on her own.  Rebecca's right, of course, about my still being a little guy, inside.  I bet Caroline
could handle any amount of strength without looking or acting like a freak.  Oh well.  I can't
complain.  


Now they're locking hands.  Caroline gets off to a fast start ... her quick reactions ... but Ken
stops her advance and starts to move her hand back to vertical.  Caroline puts her reserve strength
in and stops him, and for a couple of seconds their hands are locked at twelve o'clock noon,
shaking under the strain.  Caroline's face is turning red from the effort and she strains again to
push him down, but now Ken's superior strength is telling and he stops her easily and starts
bending her arm back.  Damn, I think.  I really wanted her to blow him away.  Suddenly, I see
Caroline's arms balloon with muscle, her forearms swelling, her biceps growing to the size of
grapefruits.  I can see her chest and shoulders thickening too, straining against her t-shirt.  Ken's
jaw drops, just as Caroline effortlessly pushes his hand onto the table and then without even
thinking, cracks the end of the table off.


Ken is aghast.  "Wh-wh-what's happening to you?  Are you the She-hulk or something?"


Caroline stands up, her mouth open too, then turning into pure exhilaration.  She holds her arm
out, her eyes running up and down along it, marveling at its vascular muscularity, its striated
thickness.  She tenses her biceps and a steely globe bursts through her t-shirt sleeve while her
pectoral and lateral muscles simultaneously shred her shirt at the chest.


"Cliff!  Look!  It's happened again!!  I'm soooo-oooo strong!!!!"


This time she's no taller, but as a result she looks even stronger than before.  She puts her
powershovel hands around my sides and lifts me like a rag doll, almost putting my head through
the ceiling.


"That's amazing, Caroline."


"So do you still think it's Saturn?"


"I...I"


"I don't care.  It's GREAT!  Look at these muscles.  I don't think there's anyone in the world
who's as strong as I am."


Ken finally closes his mouth, then opens it again to start talking.  "What are you talking about? 
What do you mean by happened again?  What does Saturn have to do with it?  Are you on some
kind of drug?"


This gets Caroline angry.  After all, she's as straight as they come.  She drops me, turns on Ken
and pushes him.  Of course she has no idea of her own strength, and he flies across the room and
crashes against the wall, then sinks to the floor.  Caroline is horrified and runs over.


"Ken!  Ken!  Are you all right?  I'm sorry.  I'm so, so sorry.  Speak to me.  Say something."  She
bends down and picks him up to cradle him in her powerful arms.  He opens his eyes,
disoriented, looks up at his baby sister and realizes where he is.


"Put me down!  Put me down!!"  Caroline lets him go and drops onto the floor, staggering,
feeling his arms and his back to make sure nothing's broken, then looks at her carefully.  "Who or
what are you really, and what have you done with my sister?"


"Ken, it's me, honest.  Tell him Cliff.  Tell him what happened yesterday."


"It's Caroline, Ken.  Really.  She's uh, she's just growing.  It happened when we were playing
tennis and then, in the middle of the night too, but uh, she seemed to be fine this morning until
now."


Ken stares at me like he was trying to decide whether I was part of the alien invasion force too. 
His eyes narrow.  "Now Cliff.  You're a rational, intelligent person.  Don't you find this just a
little bit strange?  I mean, just a little out of this world, like, may I say, impossible?"


I nod.


"THEN WHY THE HELL AREN'T YOU RUNNING AROUND SCREAMING LIKE ME?!!!
Unless you're involved somehow."  He raises his eyebrows.


He must be smarter than I give him credit for.  "I don't know, Ken.  I've never been a terribly
emotional person, I guess.  My approach to life is: if it's happened, it can't be impossible.  Right? 
Now there's got to be a logical explanation."


He stares at me and then at Caroline.  "I don't trust either of you.  You just stay away from me,
and Mom and Dad too."


"Ken!!  I will not.  You have no right to say that.  They're my parents too.  Just because you're
older and bigger, well, you're not bigger anymore, you have no right to tell me what to do."  She
starts crying and runs over to bury her head on my shoulder, knocking me down in the process.


I look up to her, hold up my hand and let her pull me to my feet.  Nice grip she has, I like the way
it feels to be handled by her.  "Uh, Caroline.  We'd better get going.  Ten minutes until the bell,
right?"


"You better go by yourself, Cliff.  I can't go dressed like this," she says, pointing to the open view
of the right side of her chest.  She glares at Ken, then goes up to her room, still sniffling.


"Doo-doo-doo-doo.  Doo-doo-doo-doo" I say in my best off-key rendition of The Twilight Zone
motif, and leave Ken to his Wheaties.


Shit, I think, leaving the house.  This is not what I had in mind.  Having hundreds of forty-two-
inch-double-D-busted-sex-crazed-teenage-girls running around the high school would be a lot of
fun for everyone, except maybe ol' soon-to-be-standout-no-longer-Rebecca, but even one
superpowerful Caroline is a bit frightening (though more than a little thrilling).  I'm walking
quickly, completely lost in my thoughts and don't even see Melissa, practically trampling her in
the process, but fortunately catching her (in a highly strategic spot, quite luckily).


"Earth to Cliff!  Earth to Cliff!" she says, smiling up at me and then burying her head on my
chest and pushing her breasts into my stomach.  I reach under her arms and pick her up, and she
anchors herself by wrapping her delectable legs around my middle so that we're eye-to-eye. 
"You're not paying enough attention to me, favorite big boy.  Something I should know about?" 
She sticks her pert lower lip out a little, which gets my attention, and then does the same with her
chest, which naturally gets even more.


"You know, I was playing tennis with Caroline yesterday.  How about lunch at Ced's Burgers?"


She's sucking on her tongue, thinking.  Watching me wolf down a half pound burger, fries and a
shake while she eats a salad probably isn't too high on her list, but then she brightens and nods. 
She puts her arms around my neck and squeezes and I carry her inside as the bell rings.  "Thanks
for the ride.  See you later!"  She runs off and I slip into home room under Mrs. Magruder's usual
frown.


I usually walk with Caroline from her home room next door to my English class, which is next to
her class, but not surprisingly she's not there.  So I'm on my own.  I spy Rebecca leaning down to
drink from a water fountain, a small Band-Aid on her pretty nose.  Through her shirt, I see her
brassiere jealously hugging those immense, perfect breasts.  I don't allow myself any fantasies,
but I can't resist a word or two.


"Now I know you didn't cut yourself shaving, Rebecca.  Are you hiding something that's just a
little bit ugly?"


She looks up at me, her face so fresh, so sweet, so dry (everyone else drips water down the chin
after drinking from a fountain.  How does she do it?)  and so indifferent.  She raises one
eyebrow, lifts her hand to her face, and pulls off the Band-Aid, revealing her perfect white skin
beneath.  


"I don't have anything ugly to hide, Cliffie, and, by the way, nothing that I do hide is little.  But
you'll just have to take my word for it, won't you?"  She walks away, her body displaying its
usual restless undulation, while I marvel at her beauty's remarkable powers of recovery.  I feel
more than a little pleased that she went out of her way to arrange that little show for me.  I'm
about to wonder why, when I realize the hall is empty.  The classroom beckons.


6


I am getting spooked about this new technique.  Sure, making Caroline into a superwoman with
biceps that would fatigue most forms of metal, let alone human flesh and blood, was exciting.  It
was fun reading all of the learned opinions on her sudden growth and frightening power, and to
see poor Ken slink around fearing that Caroline was the real world vanguard of the "Species"
alien invasion force, but I have to say that I felt a bit too much like my old, puny self standing
behind her at a few photo sessions she literally dragged me to, and wrestling with a girl isn't quite
as much fun when she can lift you with one hand and pin you against the wall.  Anyway, now
she's disappeared into the U.S. Olympic Team, which is a blessing, because I was wondering
whether I was going to exhaust myself healing the new bruises she gave me each time we got
together.


That's not all that's happened.  There I am, watching the movie "Eraser" with Melissa one night
and feeling a little bored with Arnold rescuing the helpless Vanessa Williams time and time
again.  I'd always liked Vanessa and saw her twice in Kiss of the Spider Woman on Broadway. 
Anyway, my mind starts wandering and given my new perspective on unusual fetishes I find
myself thinking about Vanessa with bulging biceps, tearing the James Caan character into two
pieces with her bare hands.  All of a sudden I realize what I'm doing, and I look back at the
screen, but of course, there's the film, proceeding as usual.  Just then, Melissa starts moving her
fingers around on my lap, under the cover of the popcorn, and, feeling the large mass that my
little Vanessa Williams fantasy produced, giggles and starts fingering me skillfully through my
pants.  I turn to her and smile appreciatingly, then remove her hand before she causes an obvious
mess (I know.  Why didn't we rent a movie?).  I go through the rest of the film with the old,
familiar yearning, which is deflated but not appeased by the film's narrowing focus on Arnold's
physique, to the exclusion of Vanessa, except for a nice scene with the terrorist in which she
clouts him with a coffee maker.  Melissa is a tease, but she always does finish what she starts,
eventually, and that night is no exception.


I don't think too much about my fantasy until I read an account a few days later on alt.fan.vanessa
about a singing appearance she gave the night I was watching the movie.  I had heard that she
canceled her tour due to illness, but the story was that in the middle of a song, her body suddenly
burst through her slinky sequined dress, sprouting huge, hard muscles not unlike Arnold's.  I was
mystified (although not only a little curious about her next action movie) at how my daydream
had entirely unintentionally produced such an effect on someone I didn't even know, and without
even looking at her, and I realized I was utterly clueless about what activated my power. 
Obviously, erotic daydreams were part of it, but if it worked every time I had a little fantasy, the
world would be a different place than it is.


As a result, I am a lot more cautious about using this technique.  I'm wondering how I am going
to get a handle on it.


7


Junior year ends, and I get a summer job at one of the posh local beach clubs.  Not prestigious
work, but lots of sun, girls in bikinis and good tips if you hustle.  As you might imagine, I look
pretty good in my beach uniform, and no one complains when I take off my cabana boy shirt on
hot days. I worked here last year too, and the ladies just love to talk to me about how nicely I've
developed since last summer, and I don't mind hearing it.  Of course I have to deal with some
jerks, and some of the rich kids there are the worst, but some of these rich bitches aren't so old,
and their husbands seem to travel quite a bit.  


One of the other small pluses is that Rebecca's family belongs to this club, but I don't see her
much.  They're at the other end of the beach from where I work, and she spends more time
auditioning for modeling jobs than exposing her skin to UV radiation.


So, with Caroline off in Atlanta dreaming (quite realistically) about winning twenty gold medals
(assuming she can survive the thousands of blood tests to prove she really is a girl and hasn't
been drinking steroid shakes), and Jennifer Lynn getting into college mode, I've been spending
entirely too much time with Melissa.  (There's nothing wrong with Melissa, of course, that
several nights a week with other girls won't fix.)  I start going out to bars with the other working
beach guys after work.  They've all seen Rebecca once or twice at the club and are just a bit
jealous that I go to school with her.  I regale them with stories of her snottiness, changing a few
parts where she might be seen to have gotten the better of me, but while we're laughing, we're all
running a little movie of Rebecca in our heads, thinking about all those splendidly large, round
attributes happened to coincide on one impossible, inaccessible body and feeling hornier all the
time.  So what do we do?  Keep drinking, of course.


They're getting more and more pissed, while I turn all the alcohol in my bloodstream to water
(after the first mug, for the sake of companionship).  Soon I notice a tall redhead at the bar
looking at me, and it doesn't take me long to get up and talk to her, to the cheers of my mates.


Her name, coincidentally enough, turns out to be Vanessa, Vanessa O'Brien.  I ask her if she
wants a drink, but she shakes her head and points to a mug of beer, three-quarters full, in front of
her, so I grab it, down it, and ask if she'll have another with me.  She puts her hand on my arm
and gives me a little squeeze.


"Nope.  That was my drink for the night.  You can take a walk with me though, if you want."


"Yeah, sure," I say in my best relaxed tone of voice.  We step outside and walk down the
boardwalk.  She's about 5'10", with long legs, a little small up top, but with deep green eyes that
seem to glow each time we pass a street light or a car's headlights shine at us.  Red hair, green
eyes.  I could spend a good amount of time learning my colors, I think.


"You work at one of these beach clubs?"  I ask.


"Naah.  The jobs for girls don't pay enough.  I've got a waitress job for now.  You in college?"


I clear my throat.  These kinds of lies always get out.  "Actually, I'm going to be a senior in high
school."


"Get out 'a here!  You're kidding me, right?"  I shake my head.  "Jeez.  I would 'a thought you
were at least twenty."  I smile.  "Haah!  My girlfriends 'ould really laugh if I told them I let a high
school kid pick me up.  You are cute though."


"So are you."


"Yeah, I'm alright, I know.  You got a car?  No?  That's okay.  I got mine.  We can go for a drive
or something."  We walk down to a battered Tercel and I squeeze myself inside.  "I know it's
pretty small for you.  Me too.  But it runs good.  It's Japanese.  My Dad was really mad when I
got it.  He's a cop, big on unions an' all that.  Where do you live?"


"Amagansett."  She shoots me a look.  "Not the fancy part or anything."


"Sure.  That's okay."  She turns down a street that ends at the shore and cuts the engine.  It's dark. 
"I think we're out a' gas," she giggles, "at least for the time being."  She opens the door.  I spring
out to follow her as she finds a place behind the dunes, then stands there, waiting.  I walk up to
her to make the first move, and she laughs and starts running.  So she wants a chase, I think.  I
turn on the speed, but she's very agile and keeps switching directions while I plow through the
sand.  Finally I grab her leg and bring her down on top of me.


"Took you long enough.  I was getting tired."  I pull her against me and she kisses me.  She tastes
really sweet and I wrap my hands around her ass and pull her even tighter.  I like the feel of her
long legs against mine, and I know she can feel my stiff member through her thin shorts.  She
rubs against me, back and forth, sizing me up.  "Mmmm.  You are a big boy, aren't you?  I can
always tell from the fingers, you know."  I grin.  "You got protection, don't you?"  My eyes
widen.  "Oh no!  You're kidding, right?"


"I-I-I."


"Jesus!"  She pushes against me and rolls away.  "I should'a known.  Gina tells me I ought a'
carry it myself, but I like a guy to take some responsibility, you know?  I mean...."


"Hey, Vanessa, there's still stuff we can do...."  She pulls her lower lip.  "Okay, okay, I know. 
There's an all night place near here.  I can get some."


"I don't know if I'll still be in the mood."


"I'll take the chance.  Come on, Vanessa.  Try it."  She looks at me, a bit sullenly.  The full moon
lights up her eyes, and I'm feeling even more turned on, but I hold back.  She looks like she's
coming around.


"Okay.  You drive."


I pull her off the ground and we troop back to the car and drive toward a place on the outskirts of
my town.  Vanessa's mood is improving, and soon she's running her hand up my leg and onto my
dick.  I don't know how, but her touch is firm enough to feel clearly through my cut-offs and light
enough to drive me completely crazy.  


"I think you're going to get arrested if you get out the car," she laughs, obviously back in the
mood.  She takes her hand away, but I pull it back.  "Quit it.  There's people around."  She takes
my hand and kisses it, then lightly licks my palm.  I'm going crazy.  I park the car and get out,
heedless of my obvious arousal and stride through the door and right for the condom display,
grab half a dozen and reverse course ... only to slam into Melissa, practically flattening her.  My
eyes widen.  She looks stupefied, starts to break out into a smile to laugh it off, then takes one
look at what I'm holding, another look at what my shorts are struggling to hold and her face turns
to stone, then fire, then water.  Exploding in sobs and tears, she throws her box of Tampax at me
and runs out of the store.  


Now I'm no longer in the mood.


I pay for the stuff and walk back to the car, my shorts suddenly fitting a lot better.  Vanessa's
standing in front, leaning on the hood.


"Don't tell me.  That was your girlfriend who came flying out a' the store.  Am I right?"  I nod. 
"Yeah.  She's like hysterical, then stops to look around, stares at me and bursts into tears again. 
She's a little thing, but she's got a nice figure."


"Yeah."


"Hey, don't just stand there.  If you really like her, go chase her.  I know my way home.  I can tell
you're not gonna be good for much now, and I'm too tired to listen to your story.  Maybe some
other time.  What was your name again?"


"Cliff"


"Yeah.  Cliff.  I'll see you around.  She went off to the left.  I'd give ya' a lift, but I think you'd do
better if you got there yourself."


I smile and thank her and start running off to catch up with Melissa before she gets home.  It's not
too hard.  She's crying too much to move too quickly.  I put my arm on her shoulder.  She turns
and looks up at me and reaches up to slap me.  I duck back and easily evade her.


"Just go away!  I don't want to see you!"


"Hey, come on, Melissa.  Don't be like that.  I came back to see you, didn't I?"  She's just staring
at me.  "We never said we were going steady or anything.  You know I go out on other dates."


"Yeah, well it's one thing to know that and another to see you in heat over some cheap bitch you
picked up off the street.  I hate you!"  She starts raining her fists against me, which I can hardly
feel, partly because she's so hysterical, and partly because she's so small.  I notice a car stopped
about a block away and I feel embarrassed being on the street getting hit by her, so I take her
hands to stop her.  


"Just let me go!  Let me go!  It's no fair," she's whining.


I had no idea she'd be so hurt by this, and I'm actually feeling a little guilty, which is fairly
unusual for me.  I do like her, after all.  I look down at her body and then find myself feeling
really turned on by her breasts bobbing around while she struggles with me.  I want to say
something, but I don't know what.  Meanwhile, she's fighting with me harder and harder, and I'm
a little worried someone's going to come along and get involved in this, so I pick her up and carry
her down the block and through a path to a park, where it's more private.  I look up and see that
the car has moved too and parked, a discreet distance away.  Now I know I'm being watched,
maybe even being filmed, or maybe they're calling for the police.  Meanwhile, Melissa's still
struggling weakly in my arms, though less so than before because she's getting discouraged and
tired, and I'm thinking what a creep I am, and how I don't deserve to get off so easily, and then
this idea just seizes me of her deserving to be strong enough to take her anger out on me.  All of a
sudden, she stops moving and stares at me with her eyes wide open, and then she feels a lot
heavier to me, like I can't really hold her anymore.  She slides to the ground, looks up at me and
then reaches up to my leg and in one fluid motion pulls me down on top of her.  I think, 'Oh no,
not again!', and turn my head and see that her arm mass has practically quadrupled, so that her
biceps are probably thicker than they are long.  She's looking at the same thing, completely
awestruck, but only for a second, because she grabs me with both hands and with no more than a
flick of her wrist hurls me ten feet into the air.  There I am, spinning around, totally out of
control.  I land heavily on my side.  I can feel my leg broken and I'm in blinding pain, but I
quickly knit it up and stand up, before she can see what she's done.  She's still coming at me
though.  I grab at her wrists but she just shakes me off and punches her fist deep into my
stomach, knocking me flat again.  Her technique is bad, but against that much strength I'm as
helpless as a baby.  She stands over me and she's about to stomp on my groin with a leg as solid
as a sledgehammer when I yell.


"Melissa!  Melissa!  What are you doing?  Are you trying to kill me?"


Suddenly, she kinds of wakes up and looks at me, clutching my stomach, as doubled over as you
can be when you're lying on the ground.  Her face softens and then looks totally vacant.  I figure
now's my chance and I concentrate on removing all of that muscle I put on her body.  She opens
her eyes and looks at herself, and she's completely back to normal.  I repair my broken ribs, my
damaged spleen and reverse the hemorrhaging that would have otherwise sent me to the hospital
for two weeks and stand up, putting my arms around her (usually an acceptable male reaction to
any form of stress experienced by a female, whether or not she has caused it).  I can feel her
slowly relax and accept my hug, until she's relaxed enough for her brain to kick into gear and she
moves back to look me in the eye.


"What the FUCK was THAT?"


"You-you-I"


She looks at me carefully.  "I'm not crazy.  There was a minute or two there when I was strong
enough to throw you around like a piece of fluff, and don't you deny it.  It was the same thing that
happened to Caroline.  But somehow it went away."


"Yeah, I saw.  I mean, how weird!"


"Do you know anything about it?"


I look her in the eye.  "No.  I mean, I saw what happened to Caroline.  I mean, I was there.  But,
uh, no, I mean, how could this be happening?"


"Did I hurt you, Cliff?"


"Uh, yeah, I think so, I mean you hit me pretty hard and all."


"I could have sworn I heard things pop when you landed, and when I hit you."


I run my hand down my chest and up my legs.  "No broken bones.  I think I'll live."


She stares at me and closes her eyes.  Then she shakes her head.  "You're lying to me."  She starts
crying again.  "Maybe I could live you seeing somebody else, or with weird stuff happening.  But
the horrible thing is I don't believe anything you say.  I don't trust you anymore, and I'd never
believe you again!"  And with that, she turns around and walks away.  Even I can tell there's no
point following her, not now.   Damn, she's a lot smarter than Caroline.  I hadn't realized that. 


I watch as she disappears, walking right by that parked car, which starts up and approaches me
right after she passes.  The window rolls down.  It's Rebecca, her alabaster skin lighting up the
inside of the car under the glare of the street lamp.


"Life has its ups and downs, doesn't it Cliffie?"


I swallow.  "Yeah, I guess so."


"And things seem to be spinning out of control for you.  Yes, strange things are happening to
Cliffie's girlfriends.  Maybe I should take you for a ride sometime and try pushing some of the
buttons myself."


"You can


She looks down at my inflating member.  "Yes.  I know.  I can push your buttons anytime I like." 
The window rolls up, and she's gone.


After that last jolt on the roller coaster, I just wanted to burst with frustration, not to mention
pain.  I activated a small hit of endorphins in my brain to take care of the minor aches from
Melissa's bashing, but I've never been one to use my power to vanquish sexual frustration, as that
type of suffering only makes the ultimate release more satisfying, so I sit on the curb and
immerse myself in the glow of my natural high and my useless yearning for Rebecca.  Well, I
decide, I've gotten sidetracked.  If I can't get Rebecca, I'll just have to make one.


8


The next day at the beach I cruise for a target, and it's not long before I find her, not one hundred
feet away from Rebecca's cabana lies April Summers, sixteen years old, blond, friendly and cute,
but most definitely not a killer.  Is it her 34B breasts?  Her 5'5" height?  The slight jiggle in her
thighs when she walks?  Or maybe her laugh, which is too high-pitched and comes a bit too
easily for my taste.  (How did Rebecca learn how to be difficult in such an attractive way, I
wonder.) Nothing I can do about that last part, but everything else is up for grabs.  But first, I
need to establish a bit more of a relationship, which is not hard.  April is happy to meet me after
work, with her Saturn (not quite in the same class of car as Rebecca's 'Z, but this is just the
beginning.).  We take a walk on the beach to watch the sun set, and then walk back to her car.  I
like the way she leans on me and laughs at my little jokes.  Over burgers, we talk about people at
the club, how phony they are, the usual stuff that interests girls, then I go on for awhile about my
family, the car I want, where I want to go to college, and she listens and asks a few questions.  I
can tell she's interested, but a little unsure about why I've asked her out, so I steer the
conversation a bit, in my subtle way.


"You look like you're thinking about something.  What?"


"I don't know.  You really want to know?"


"Yeah, sure."


"It might kind sound weird, I mean, I'm sure you've heard this a million times, but you've got to
be one of the most gorgeous hunks around (hey, thanks).  Why are you interested in me?"


"What kind of question is that?  You're a good looking girl."


"Oh, I know I'm not bad or anything, but I'd think you'd be going for someone like Rebecca
Weston.  I mean, you guys would be such a power couple and all that.  You go to the same
school, don't you?"


I nod.  "I'm not into Rebecca Weston.  I think she's very stuck on herself, you know.  Not like
you.  But you do need more self-confidence, April.  I bet you could be just as glamorous as
Rebecca if you believed in yourself some more."  She laughs.  "I mean it.  A lot of it is attitude. 
But you don't have to be a jerk, just because you're beautiful.  You know what I'm saying."


"I guess so."  She reaches out, touches the back of my head and strokes my hair lightly.  "I'll think
about it.  Maybe I believe you."  I like the way it feels and I can tell this is going to be fun.  


So right then I take her hand and kiss the backs of her fingers, then look into her eyes while I
search out her body with my mind, getting to sense how it's put together, and how I can improve
it.  Muscle tone first, I decide, as that will be the foundation for everything else, so I lay in some
additional muscle fiber everywhere, take out some of the fat cells, firm the tummy, arms, legs,
and those cute buns.  She's flushed, biting her lip, and I wonder again if she can feel anything or
do I turn her on just sitting here.  I want to make her taller too, but I have to go slow on that, a
quarter of an inch a week or so, so I stick to the subtler things.  Her complexion is becoming
smoother, her blue eyes deeper, richer, her lips fuller and redder, her vocal cords a little larger
and stronger, for a more melodious sound.  Nervous system, circulatory system, teeth, stomach,
all the stuff that doesn't show directly.  Her breasts, oh, I want to do her breasts, make them burst
through that little halter top she's wearing, but miraculously I control myself.  I can already see
that they stand a little higher with the extra muscle tone I've given her.  I pay the check, turning
down her offer to split it, and we stand up.  She almost trips, and giggles, saying that I'm making
her dizzy, but I know it's the extra oxygen pulsing through her system from the improvements
I've made in her heart and lungs.  Amazing how the basics make a difference.  I like the deeper
overtones in her laugh too.  Yes, this will be fun.


She hangs on my shoulder and I put my arm around her.  I can already sense her standing
straighter, walking more solidly, confidently.  She laughs again.


"I don't know, Cliff.  I feel so good.  Do you always have this effect on girls?"


"They like me alright, I guess."


"Oh, I like you.  I do.  But somehow talking to you just makes me feel so alive.  Maybe it's what
you said about having more confidence.  My Mom always told me that, but it's different, you
know, hearing a guy say it, like he really cares about who I am."


We're outside and walking to her car.  She gives me the keys, so I get in the driver's side and then
we're off for a drive out of town, to a quiet place I know.  I look over at her and she's happy,
nodding her head to the music, so I know I've read it right.  I stop the car and we get out of the
car and walk over to the beach, where she looks up at me and then pulls me down to her head for
a long kiss, then I pull her down to the ground and we lie together, feeling each other's bodies.  I
already know what she feels like, having remade her from the inside, but now I'm enjoying the
sensuous sleek feeling of her lithe muscles, her tight ass and the tight closeness with which she
clings to me.  I reach inside her halter and feel her breasts, not even a handful, and now I give in,
a little, to my wish and give her another half cup size, and then another half, so that with the
other changes she's probably a 36C.  I wonder briefly whether I'll see her at the beach the next
day, or whether she'll be too busy shopping for new swimming suits, but then she reaches down
into my shorts and I lose my train of thought, at least for a few hours.


9


April's not at the beach when I get there the next day, but around the middle of the afternoon I
catch her spying on me from halfway down to the shore, watching me hustle for my tips.  I wave
to her to show her that I've caught her, and I can see her smile and walk up toward me.


"I have to make a junk food run for the Gallaghers.  Want to walk with me?"  She slips her hand
in mine and we head off for the cafe.  "Late nights don't bother you, do they?"


"I slept until 11:00, and I would have come right here, but nothing fit right.  I've heard of love,
uh, I mean, being happy, changing your point of view, but, not your, I mean"


I look down at her.  Her larger breasts are definitely noticeable.  Not Rebecca's size for sure, but
they look completely different, and make her look much more mature.  Not quite dangerous yet
but suddenly more a woman than a girl.


"I thought you looked a little different."  She blushes.  "You look great."


"You think so?"  Then she kind of tugs me so that I lower my head and she says quietly in my
ear, "You know, I always wished my breasts were larger.  I thought they were as big as they were
going to get.  Great timing."  She gives my earlobe a kiss and kind of burrows her tongue inside,
and I'm quickly becoming indecent, so I push her away, gently, and feel the nice solidity of her
body.  I want to make her bigger, taller, bustier, stronger right now, but I keep myself under
control, order the food and then make small talk with her at the counter.  The guys there are
eyeing her, like she's new, which she is, in a way, and then I see their eyes snap away at
something else.  Without turning my head, I can guess what it is, and as I watch their heads pivot
and their eyes dart, I know she's walking this way.


"Well, hello Cliffie.  Working hard for your pennies?  You really should try modeling.  I think
they pay me more for getting my picture taken for two hours than you'll make all summer.  But I
suppose you wouldn't care for the rigors of working for Calvin Klein, now, would you?  I'm sure
he'd like you a lot."  I grimace.  "But tell me, who is your new girlfriend?  She looks familiar. 
Are you from these parts honey?"


"Rebecca!  It's me, April."


"Oh goodness me, April.  I wouldn't have recognized you.  You must be working very hard in the
gym these days, just like Cliffie here did.  And where did you get your breasts done?  They
almost look natural."


"Why, no I just


"Were you going to tell me it just happened?  It must be love then.  I've noticed falling for Cliffie
does wonders for a girl.  I should try it some time."  She walks past me, the manifold gears and
levers of her body rotating in their usual way to produce an irresistible longing in every man
within fifty feet of her, drawing our dicks toward her as plants follow the sun.  April looks down
and frowns.


"What is it about her?  I felt beautiful when I woke up this morning, but now I feel so ordinary."


Rebecca pauses and turns her upper body back towards us, the motion forcing her breasts
outward in profile, like two battering rams against my heart.  She raises one hand in the air and
lightly stabbed her index finger, then continues on her way.


"What was that, Cliffie, I mean, Cliff?"


"She's telling me she's pushing my buttons.  She thinks I'll come whenever she calls, but she's
wrong."


"Well, if you really want to, Cliff, don't let me get in the way.  It's not like we're going steady or
anything."


I sigh and look at her.  "I had a great time with you last night, and I don't see any reason to stop. 
Do you?"  She shakes her head.  "Good.  Now I better get Mrs. Gallagher her Dove Bar, and the
triple ice cream cone for her bratty daughter, or else she won't overtip me as usual and I won't be
able to take you dancing tonight.  Oh, and don't let her see me with you.  She'll be jealous."


April laughs.  "Cliff, if the money's a problem, you know, I have


"I'll let you know if it's a problem, ok?  It's not a problem right now."


"All right.  It's just such a shame you have to cater to those people when we could be hanging
out."


"Don't I know it."  I kiss her and hold her for a moment against the remnants of the hard on
Rebecca gave me.  We walk back and April disengages from me, but it's too late; we're in full
view of Mrs. Gallagher and Brenda.  I walk up and hand them their ice cream.  She takes the
Dove Bar, a little sullenly, and Brenda picks up right away on the chemistry of the situation and
crinkles her nose at her ice cream cone.


"Momma, he took too long, hanging out with that girl, and now my cone is all melted."


"I'm sorry, Mrs. Gallagher," I say appeasingly, "but I came right back with it.  It's just a hot day."


"Cliff, I don't like to see you socializing when you should be working.  We pay you a lot to work
here.  Do I have to put in a complaint about you?"


"No ma'am, I


"Make him get me another cone, Momma, and make him pay for it too out of his own money. 
It's only fair.  This one's all drippy."


I look over at Brenda and try mightily to hide my anger.  She's an underdeveloped, unhappy
fifteen year old with her mouth set in a permanent pout.  Not that she's ugly.  With bigger tits, a
better disposition and a little work on her appearance she could be cute.  But a makeover for
Brenda is not what is on my mind at the moment.  Quite the contrary, if anything.  This little
twerp runs me all over the beach every day, carrying her chair down to the water, carrying it back
to the cabana, getting her cokes, ice cream, hot dogs, sending messages to her friends.  Her
family tips me well, and I know she does it mostly because she has a huge crush on me, but why
should I be understanding? She flaunts her power to make me do things for her, and all I'm
looking forward to is putting her in her place once I get the last $50 tip of the season.


"I think Brenda has a point, Cliff.  We've been very generous to you all year.  I think we have a
right to demand your full attention.  That girl is not in your section, is she?"


"No ma'am."


"Well I for one don't want to see you with her when you're supposed to be working, and I'm sure I
speak for the rest of us on Court B.  Is that clear?"


"Of course ma'am.  It won't happen again."


"Well," she sniffs.  "All right then."  She looks at Brenda, who has now finished most of the
cone, which really isn't all that bad.  "And that's enough ice cream for you today.  You're going to
get fat if you keep eating."


"I'm not as fat as you."


"I wasn't fat either when I was fifteen.  Now why don't you go for a swim?  All this talk is giving
me a headache.  Cliff, would you run and get me an aspirin?  And then you can take Brenda and
her chair down to the water.  That's a good boy."


I leave and turn around when I'm twenty feet away to catch Brenda staring at me.  She blushes
and runs back inside.


This is my day.  As usual, Rebecca has a point.  I work my butt off to serve these snobs, and earn
less than I could if I used my brain.  But I'll have plenty of time for that in a few years.  Right
now, I decide, the sun and the view are worth it.


10


I ease off the transformations for a week or so, to let April get used to her new body, and sure
enough, little by little she learns what she can do with it.  Picking up on Rebecca's remark, she
starts spending time in the gym, and by the end of July she starts turning those toned muscles into
clearly outlined bulges on her arms and shapely calves and thighs.  She dresses differently, now
that she has more of a chest to throw around, and more dramatic shoulders to accentuate her
waist.  When we're out on the dance floor, she now draws more looks than I do, which is actually
quite fine with me.  By mid-August, she's grown an inch and a half in height and more muscle all
around.  I've bumped her up another cup size too, so that little girl is now 5'7" with a 38D bust. 
Going out with her is a blast.   Everyone stares at us, and we take it as our due.  


I particularly get a kick out of watching April interact with other guys, making them keep their
distance.  We're out at a bar one night and one little jerk is being especially obnoxious.  He's
older than us, about nineteen, but he's only about 5'9", and just a little more muscular than I was
before I started my growth spurt.  He's hitting up on April while I'm getting us some food and I'm
watching from across the room, just to make sure April doesn't need rescuing.  I can see her
telling him to buzz off, but he doesn't move, he just leans in closer to her.  I can see her look of
disgust and then she turns away, just giving him the cold shoulder.  I start to think I should help
her out when he puts his hand on her to pull her back to look at him.  That really gets her mad. 
She hates when any other guy gets too familiar with her, and I see her jaw clench and her muscles
tense.  (Wow, I think, when I see her biceps pop out.  Did she do all that herself?  I have no idea.) 
She says something to him and then takes his hand off her shoulder, but he just puts it back on.  I
start to walk toward them, but she catches my eye and raises her eyebrow slightly, so I figure
she's not asking for help yet and I stop.  Meanwhile the guy keeps pushing his face closer to her
and is clearly staring down at her tits, which are already slightly compressed against his chest. 
Suddenly, she slips her hands under his arms and lifts him up in the air.  He looks shocked that
this busty blond has just picked him up four inches off the ground and he looks down at her and,
for the first time, he sees her biceps, which are now really popping.  I can see her smiling, and
then she throws him back a little so that he sails right onto the dance floor, crashing into a few
couples and landing on his back.  April claps her hands and laughs, and the whole crowd, which
was watching this scene with sideways glances, now cheers her.  I walk up and give her a kiss
and then pick her up for a little victory twirl, and we settle down to a night of free beers and some
very triumphant boinking.


I wish I had all year to play with her body, but you know summer romances.  They never taste
quite as good when the weather cools off.  As the season ends, I start to figure, well, I've had fun,
and I'll be leaving her with a dividend she can enjoy the rest of her life, but it's time to move on. 
Besides, something happens that makes me think.  Rebecca continues to be pretty scarce at the
beach, and I frankly stop giving her much thought.  After all, I'm pretty pleased about the way
April's turned out.  But one evening in late August, after I've packed up the last of the crap for the
Gallaghers, I make my way over toward April's Court and I see Rebecca, her back turned to me,
her hands on her hips, just waiting for her mother to finish dressing.  And it's like a blast of hot
air hits me.  All of a sudden, it's like I've been eating supermarket tomatoes all my life and
someone has just popped a freshly picked garden tomato in my mouth.  Sure I've given April a
spectacular figure, and somehow, consciously or unconsciously I must have made her an amazon
as well, but from one hundred yards away, showing only her ass and her legs, just standing,
motionless, I feel a momentous yearning throughout my entire being, and I realize that Rebecca
Weston is a five course three star meal that I simply must consume.  I feel her presence like a
thousand year flood, and I can see that April, waving to me from halfway down the court, is only
a month.


That evening, April senses that I'm a little distant.  There was a time when she would have
blamed it on herself and felt withdrawn, then a time when she would have fought for my
attention, using with increasing skill all of the new weapons of attraction I gave her.  Now she
simply stands up, puts her hand on her formidable hip, and leaves for the ladies' room, never to
return.


11


So I've been dumped by April, and I'm not feeling badly at all about it.  I pay the check and go
home and call Rebecca, on her private number.


"Hello?"


"Rebecca, it's Cliff."


"Cliff?  I don't think I know a Cliff."


"Rebecca, you know me, from school, the beach."


"Listen, I


I know she's going to hang up.  In desperation I say, "You know, Cliffie."  I hear a low chuckle.


"Of course.  Cliffie.  I won't ask how you got this number.  I never gave it to you, but I know you
can be very clever."


 (I have good eyes and ears, you see.)  "I want to talk to you."


"So?  Talk then."


"Not like this.  Can I come see you now?"


I hear a low sigh.  "No.  I'm sure we'll run into each other sooner or later."


"Please Rebecca.  It's important."


There's a long pause, then, in a lower, richer tone, she says, "OK.  Come now."  And I almost do
(in my pants).  I spruce myself up and then speed over to Rebecca's house, in the estate area, as
fast as I can.  


The lights are all out, except for the den, where she's reading a book.  Either her parents are
asleep or away.  She opens the door, wearing a loose robe and a sheer nightgown that's very low
on top and very high on the bottom.  In fact, I can't believe how much flesh she leaves exposed. 
It seems at least to my imagination that her gown is held up solely by the force of her nipples. 
I'm amazed that she's dressed this way for me.


"For a boy who had to rush over to talk, you are very, very quiet Cliffie."


I must have been standing, staring at her for some time, because I suddenly realize my throat is
very dry.  I clear my throat and walk inside, barely able to keep my eyes off her.  She closes the
door, the motion setting off seismic waves within her gown.


"Is you mouth dry?  Need a mint?"


I nod.  Prepared, as always, she opens her hand and places a bright red hard candy into mine.  I
pop it into my mouth and suck on it furiously.


"So?  What was so important?"


The words just tumbled out of my mouth.  "Rebecca, you know you're the most beautiful girl I've
ever seen.  I just had to tell you."


A faint smile is showing.  "You mean, you've only just discovered this, Cliffie?"  She looks
directly at me, and my head burns from the sudden focus of her attention.  "What about April? 
The last time I saw her she looked very appealing, almost made to order.  Or isn't she your type?"


"She's nothing compared with you."


"Of course she isn't."  She walks away from me and lounges on a sofa across the room.  "We all
have our special talents, don't we, Cliffie, and beauty is mine.  Am I right?"  I nod.  "And what
about you, Cliffie?"


"Me?  What do you mean?"


"I think you know what I mean."


"I-I have a talent too," I say slowly, reluctant to divulge anything, but thoroughly under her spell. 
"I can," I swallow, then decide it's better to show than tell, and I start to think about making
Rebecca just a little taller, when


"DON'T YOU DARE, CLIFFIE!  STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!"


I look at her in disbelief.  Her eyes are flashing fire, her face is red.  I've never seen her this way.


"I didn't like that.  You'd better go."


"But, I-I didn't mean


"I said go, Cliffie.  Now."  She stands and wraps herself more tightly in her robe, which only
accentuates the curves of her body.  I want to cry out in longing, in desire, drop on my knees to
beg to stay, but I stand obediently.


"I wasn't going to do anything bad to you.  Please Rebecca."


"Don't you ever, ever think about me that way.  You have a lot to learn, Cliffie.  Now go!"


I leave the room and head for the door by myself and turn once to see Rebecca glaring at me from
the hall, her arms firmly crossed in front of her chest like an immovable elite guardian corp
defending the palace.


I walk home slowly, replaying the conversation in my mind.  Was this simply proof that my
technique can be sensed by the object's conscious mind, or did she know more than that?  She is
so maddingly smart, and anyway, what male can maintain two consecutive conscious thoughts in
her presence?


I toss and turn in bed for hours, the taste of the mint curiously lingering in my mouth, then finally
fall asleep at 3, awaking barely in time to make it to the beach for the next to last day of work. 
It's a cool day, and I decide not to bother setting up the chairs in advance because most of the
members probably won't even show.  I sit in my chair at the head of the court, dozing, my moth
still dry, until I feel someone kick me.  I open my eyes.  It's Brenda.


"You're not supposed to be sleeping.  Why aren't my chairs on the sand?"


I stand up groggily and look around.  She's the only one in sight.


"Where's your mother?"


"She dropped me off.  She has errands to run."


I nod.  "OK.  OK.  Give me a minute.  Where do you want your chair?"


"By the dunes.  It's private, and I want to watch the waves and read.  And I'll want you to get me
lunch and snacks and stuff all afternoon.  I'm having my own little party."


I groan.  The dunes were on the farthest end of the beach, on the opposite side from the cafe.  I
think for a moment.


"Tell you what.  Why don't I get lunch now?  I'll take my beeper, in the unlikely event anyone
else shows up and we'll go down together.  I can sleep as well there as anywhere else, and then
you can tell me when you want to go back.  It will save me a few trips."


She considers it and decides that having me around might be better than the fun of ordering me to
trudge back and forth all morning.  So I get lunch and her chair (naturally she picks the heaviest
one), and we start the long hike to the dunes.  We walk along the shore, and I look back toward
Court E and notice the door to Rebecca's cabana is open.  Probably just her mother.  I set up the
chairs and lunch and we eat together, both of us facing the shore.  I notice that she takes sidelong
glances at me from time to time, and I figure she wants to talk.  Well, I'm not going to make it
any easier, and I keep my gaze on the horizon.


"Do you work out a lot, Cliff?," she asks, smiling a little, her voice relatively pleasant in an
attempt to make conversation .  I nod.  "I guess you'd have to, to look like that.  Men are so lucky
that way, I mean, if they work at it, they can just build themselves up.  The only thing a girl can
do is make herself fat or skinny.  Nothing I do will ever give me a body like your girlfriend April
or Rebecca Weston."


I laugh.  "I guess not."


She doesn't look too happy that I agree, and the pitch of her voice rises a bit.  "You really like
April, don't you?"


"Actually, we broke up last night."


This interests her.  "Really?  Why?"


I shrug.  "I don't know.  It was just a summer thing."


"God!  Just like that.  You didn't really love her then, did you?"  She looks at me again, trying to
figure out whether there's some kind of opening for her.  "So, now you're, like, unattached, huh? 
Well, uh, could you, like, rub my back a little.  It's kind of tight."  She turns and arches her back,
showing those pointy little booblets.  I scowl involuntarily, which frightens her off.  Her voice
rises to its usual annoying pitch.  "You're so full of yourself, you know?  Just because you've got
this great body, and you know it too.  You probably figure you could get any girl you want just by
snapping your fingers."


I shrug.  Of course it's not true, but I'm sure not going to talk to her about Rebecca.


She starts sniffling and her lower lip swells into a pout, but somehow it just seems like an act to
me this time.  (Being tired makes me even more cynical than usual.)  Anyway, she whines, "I
only wish you felt what I feel, and I could be in your shoes for a change.  That would teach you,
for sure!"


This is really unbearable.  "Hey, Brenda, stop acting like you're the only person in the world
who's ever been frustrated.  You know I didn't always look like this," I start to say when suddenly
I feel strangely weak, like I'm getting the flu, and I start to shiver.  I look over at Brenda who
looks angry, almost triumphantly so, her jaw tightly set.  I try to concentrate, to identify what part
of me isn't working right so that I can fix it, but I can't focus for some reason.  I don't panic.  This
has happened to me before when I'm tired, so I lean back in the chair, try to relax and center
myself.


Ignoring my sudden lassitude, she goes on, "Oh yeah, like I'm sure you did.  Well, who cares
anyway."  She smiles, beams in fact and throws her arms out to greet the ocean.  "Will you just
look at the surf today.  I love to stand here and feel the wind blow through me.  I could do it all
day.  You can sit like a lump if you like, but I'm going to swim.  Wanna come?"  I shake my
head, relieved that she'll be gone for a while, and close my eyes.  Thankfully, the beeper doesn't
go off.  


About napping half an hour I hear her shouting to me, so I open my eyes.   I feel a little better.
There she is, standing in front of me, dripping wet and getting me wet too.  She's looks different,
and she's grinning too, an expression I don't think I've seen on her face before.  I look her over
more carefully, and realize her body has changed.  Her breasts have filled out, but it's not only
her breasts.  Her hips are wider too.  And then I notice too that her legs and arms have thickened. 
I even see small biceps on her arms.  Nothing spectacular, just the long, low ridges some women
have, but there's something there where there was nothing before.


"Hey, were you watching me?  I was just zooming around out there, cutting through the waves.  I
don't even feel cold, but then I thought I'd come back and see what you were doing.  You're so
lazy.  Is this all you do when you don't have to work?"


"No.  I just didn't sleep much last night."


"Why?  Crying about April?  Maybe she's the one who broke up with you?"


"None of your business."


She makes a face at me and I look at her again.  She's swinging her arms around, twisting the top
of her torso back and forth.  It looks childish, but with her new breasts fighting her swimming
suit as it struggles to accommodate her movements, it's hard not to watch.  She knows it too.


What was the matter with me?  Why was I doing this?  I sit down and concentrate, but I can't
sense anything.  No thoughts about her.  Certainly no fantasies about her.   But I must be doing it.


"Hey, Cliff, notice anything different about me?"


"No."


"You're lying.  Look at me.  My breasts are bigger.  And I'm taller too.  I thought you were going
to say something, but if you're going to pretend you don't see, well, I'm going to make you." 
What can I say?  She's definitely popping right out of her one piece suit, which is now barely
large enough to cover the bottom of her breasts and is pushing them up in a very noticeable way. 
And now she takes her arms and pushes her breasts together so that they stick out even more. 
"It's because of my wish."


"Your wish?  What wish?"


"The wish I made.  I got a wishing stone, and I made a wish on it.  And it's coming true."  She
stands and arches her back and her round, fleshy breasts now pop triumphantly over the top of
her suit, which drops sadly down to her waist.  And they're absolutely lovely breasts, perfectly
round, with the nipples pointed high like two extra eyes.  And in spite of all of my feelings about
Brenda, I'm getting turned on.


"What do you mean wishing stone?  Can I see it?"


"No way.  Anyway, it only works once, and I threw it back in the water after my wish, like she
told me."


"Who?"


She sticks her tongue out at me.  "I'm not telling.  Hey, look at your thing.  It's getting bigger.  I
can see it pushing through your bathing suit.  It's me, isn't it?  You wanna do it with me, right?"


She's talking nonsense, about the stone of course, because she's absolutely right that I'm getting a
serious hard on for her body, which is getting sexier with each passing minute.   Her breasts keep
growing, rounder and sweeter, while the curve from her waist to her hips is developing into a
spectacular ratio.    I'm guessing she's already about a 38-22-38, but I'm not a dressmaker, so
don't take my word for it.  Not only that, but her fitness level is increasing too.  Her waist is not
only small, but it's looking harder and harder beneath her little suit.  Her legs are developing too,
with sexy round calves and solid thighs.  I want to grab her, fondle and suck her breasts, and
wrestle her down in the surf to make passionate love (or fuck, as I usually say), but shit, this is
Brenda.


Besides, I'm still trying to get back control of my body, and hopefully of hers as well, and I can't
seem to engage my power.  The first little stirring of anxiety starts to awaken in me.


"Tell me who you got that stone from."


"I won't.  Are you going to make me?  So why don't you try?  Afraid you won't get your big tip?" 


She talks in this immature sing-song voice, like she's eleven years old, even though she's fifteen
and now looks like she's fully grown, and then some.  And I'm starting to get angry.  I don't know
whether it's lack of sleep, the tension of seeing this little twerp suddenly walking around half-
naked in front of me with a body that would make April die of envy, or that last taunt after a
summer of trying not to show this little bitchlette exactly what I thought of her, but I stand up to
face her down, to intimidate her a little with my size.


Only I don't feel so intimidating all of a sudden.  You see, when I stand up, instead of looming
over her like I should, I'm only a few inches taller than she is.  I'm thinking, of course she's
growing.  Where else could she put all of that shapely flesh if she were still only 5'3"?  And then
I look at her again and her tiny waist is even smaller than before, curving out to hips as luscious
as I've seen and a tight ass that sings to me to be pinched and then flattened by my fingers as I
pull her against me.  She follows my eyes and wiggles her new tail and I feel my blood pounding. 
She stretches back again and I watch those tits stand in the air, just floating free in the wind.


"Now what do you think of my bod, Cliff?  Don't you wish you'd been nicer to me all summer? 
Take a good look now, cause I'm putting them away."  And she takes the sweatshirt I'd brought
and stripped off and pulls it down over her chest and damn if her tits don't fill up the whole extra-
large shirt, and maybe even stretch it out even a little more than my chest does.  She curls her lip
a little and sniffs under the arm.  "Jesus, Cliff, I'd think you'd wash this thing every so often. 
Can't you afford it?"  And she runs back into the water and dives into a wave, pops up, squeezes
herself a few times to wring out the shirt, then gets it wet again and comes out, shirt dripping and
stuck tight to her chest, showing every goosebump on her tits, including two huge ones where her
nipples are.  She reaches underneath and pulls off the old suit, then runs her hands down her
sides and cups her hands around her waist.  I can't believe how small it has gotten, although
intellectually I know that I haven't found any limit yet on how I can alter the human body.  She
does a little shimmy with her hips and puffs her lips out at me.  I feel like my dick is going to
bust a hole in my suit and I figure whatever's going on, there's no use in resisting what dick
wants, so I walk toward her.


"That's right, Cliff.  Come and get it."


I put my arms around her tight buns and pull her into me, feeling the springy softness of her large
breasts spreading against my chest and bend my head down (only slightly now) to her lips.


"MMMmm!  Yes Cliff, let me have a real kiss from you," she moans, and I comply, pushing my
lips further into her as my tongue finds hers and my steel hard rod probes too for its goal,
frustratingly trapped behind my suit and hers.  Of course, this does nothing to quench my desire,
and as I strain my body forward toward hers, I'm also looking for some indication that she wants
to move from the vertical to the horizontal, and failing that, to find some other way to play.  


But she has other ideas and breaks off the kiss.   "Uh-uh-uh," she sings out, voice rising
obnoxiously.  "That's enough for now."  And looking at my expression, she adds, "Oh, am I a
tease?  You'll have another chance later, if you're up to it," she says with a wink.  "But right now,
I want a Coke," and she snaps her fingers.


"You've got to be kidding.  I'm not walking all the way back there now for a Coke!  I've already
brought you what you ordered."


"You'll do it!" she orders shrilly.  Then, in a softer voice more fitting to her sex kitten body,
"Don't you want to do it for me?  I'll be much happier after I drink my Coke."


I glare at her.  Then I remember something and walk over to my carrying bag and pull out a can. 
"Take mine, if you really need it."  She looks disappointed, but flips the top and drinks about a
quarter of it, then bends down and screws the can into the sand, the motion making her breasts
flop wildly under my sweatshirt.


"What's this all about, Brenda?"


"It's about my getting what I want."


You always get what you want, I want to say, but I hold my tongue.  After all, summer's ending
in two days, and after that, well.  "OK, you've got a great body now, somehow, and you've got
your Coke, thanks to me.  Are you satisfied?"


"Not quite.  There's still more that I want."


"I'm not going back to get you an ice cream cone, or a hamburger."


"That's not the kind of meat I want."  Hearing that makes my dick jump to attention again and she
watches it with glee.  "Oh lookee!  It's getting bigger again."  Her lip curls slightly.  "Well, I think
I'm ready.  Yes.  You can make love to me now, Cliff, if you can get me down on the sand."  I
look at her like she's crazy, but I don't hesitate more than a second before I hustle over to her and
put my arms around her, but she feels different than before, more solid.  "Yes, Cliff, feel my
body, it's all yours (in a way) for the taking, but you have to take it.  Wait.  I'm getting warm.   I'll
take off this sweatshirt of yours."


I let her step back and she crosses her arms in front of her and pulls off the shirt in one easy
motion.   I watch her breasts spring out again, even larger than before.  I also see that her
shoulders are broader and her arms have little bicep curves on them.  That tiny waist of hers is
streaked with lines of muscle as well.


And I don't feel quite right either.


"What are you going to do Cliff?  Just stand there and look at me?  Haven't you ever seen a girl's
body before?  But I'm not like any other girl am I, not anymore?"  


That's for sure.  I can feel the hard pulsing of blood in my cock looking at her, mixed with an odd
feeling of fear watching the tissues build and dance on Brenda's body. 


"I'm getting tired of waiting," she says in her obnoxious fifteen year old sing song voice again.


So more to silence that voice than anything, I charge forward again and wrap my arms around her
to push her down gently, but she doesn't give as I expect.  Instead, she pushes right back at me,
keeping her feet firmly on the ground.  Here I am, one of the biggest guys around, standing there
trying to push this little twerp (yes, I know she's grown a little, but still) onto the ground and
instead we're still locked in place, upright.


"Yes.  Yes.  Try harder.  I want to make you earn it, Cliff.  I want to feel your strength, your
power, your manliness pushing against me.  Don't hold back, I can take it."


I can't believe what I'm hearing, or what I'm feeling.  I don't want to hurt her, but her body is
driving me wild and I don't want to wait, so I reach down to lift her up, but she's heavier than I
expect when I try to pull her off the ground and she twists her arms and legs around so much that
it's hard to control her.


"What's the matter?  Can't you wrestle a little girl like me, you big, strong boy.  I thought you
wanted to.  Why are you pussy footing around?"  


That mocking voice is making me even angrier, and I double my efforts, pouring on the strength
I'd been holding back before.  I bend her body back so that she's nearly horizontal to the ground,
but she keeps her feet down and holds on tightly to my neck so that we're both as good as
standing, and just as I'm about to put my weight on her to drag her down, she pushes me and slips
out of my grasp again.


"You're not getting anywhere."  


I'm really mad and now I put everything I have into it and lean into her.  And I push her back a
few inches.  But that's all, and then she straightens out her legs and pushes me back!  


"Hold me tighter, Cliff.  You're not going to get me down unless you really use those big, big
muscles of yours.  Why, I can hardly feel you trying.  I'm telling you, you'd better grab on or I
might slip away, and then you'll never catch me."


Heedless of hurting her now, I pull her into my arms, trap her arms beneath mine to immobilize
her and squeeze her with all of my strength.  I feel that sweet, bosomy softness against me for a
moment, but what follows quickly is a thick, firmness that doesn't make sense, in her chest, her
back and even in her arms.  Suddenly she tightens her arms around my unprotected sides and I
feel real pain, like she's going to crush my ribs.  


"Ha-ha!  You really flinched.  Did you ever imagine I could hurt you?  You better protect
yourself."


She slips her hands down around my waist now and squeezes them and I see stars.  I grab at her
and pull them off me, but incredibly she fights back and I can feel her trying to match every
move I make.  I struggle to keep her hands away from me, and I do it, but it's weird and worrying
that I have to try so hard.  I feel a kind of panic, like something's going on that I don't understand,
but I have no real time to think since she's still squirming around, trying to jab her hands into my
ribs and I have to protect myself from her probing fingers.  I try to pin her arms down by her
sides to hold her down, but she keeps wriggling out of my holds, darting her fingers deep into my
abdomen, which seems increasingly unable to resist her sharp finger thrusts.  I grab her wrists
hard and hold them down by her sides, and finally, I have a solid enough grip that she stops
trying to get away.  I feel her whole body relax.


"What the hell are you doing Brenda?"


"Hee-hee.  You were getting rough, so I wanted to show you I could too.  But maybe now you're
ready to be nicer.  Come on, give me a hug.  I won't bite.  Promise."


She lifts up her mouth to kiss me, and as I look down and see those huge tits squashed against my
chest I remember how turned on I was just a couple of minutes ago, which puts my other problem
out of my mind completely as I feel my erection coming back full force.  I bend down slightly
and she joins those juicy lips to mine and then gently guides my hands along her firm ass.  I can
feel the rest of her body adjusting itself along mine pushing closer and closer and then she slips
her hands under the back of my swimming suit, pressing her fingers against my ass, and I almost
come right there until I calm myself down a little.  She's stroking my ass lightly with her fingers
though and I keep drifting to the verge of an explosion before I settle back down again, unwilling
to let her know just how much I'm responding to her body.  (After all, this is Brenda, I try to
remind myself!  But I'm quickly losing track of that.)


I settle into the kiss and feel our bodies merging closer and closer together, our breathing
becoming more rapid, more passionate, the swampy odor rising from her crotch mingling with
the more acid odor of my sweat.  I've never felt so lost in the sensuality of any woman.  I move
my hands around to her breasts, and she obligingly leans back slightly to let me cup them.  I'm
amazed at their size and their firm weight.  


"Don't I feel different now, Cliff?  Are you more interested in me?  Would you like to suck on
them?"  


I look down at her.  Her expression is mostly welcoming, with a slight undercurrent of
triumphant mockery, no doubt at my new interest in her, but I let that pass without further
thought, just wanting to get my lips around those luxurious nipples of hers.  My head bobs down
on top of her right breast and I hear her sigh at the fierce workings of my mouth and tongue.  


"Mmmm, this is so nice.  Don't stop, Cliff.  This is just what I wanted you to do.  You can just
keep doing that all day as far as I'm concerned."


Which slowly brings me back to thinking that nice as it is, I don't want to do this all day.  I've got
some pressing needs that are getting worse while I'm only pressing against her, which just isn't
good enough for me, if you know what I mean.  So I lift my mouth off her breast.


"Uh, actually, I was thinking of something else."


"Like what, Cliff.  What are you thinking of?"  Somewhat involuntarily, my stiff member pushes
harder against her and she looks at me, that funny expression a little more prominent now.  She
wrinkles her nose and then smiles in a not very friendly way.  "Oh that?  I said you could go
ahead.  You have to get me down on the sand, but maybe you're just not strong enough..  I
thought you gave up before when you found that you couldn't do it."  She laughs, almost
innocently, and then suddenly pinches my ass, hard.  My eyes pop open, water a bit and I want to
cry out in pain but I don't.  "Don't I have strong hands?  They say it's from practicing the piano a
lot."


She squeezes again and it feels like she's going to yank my ass right off my body.  I quickly shift
my hands to my back and take hold of her wrists again to pull her off, but I can't do it.  


"You don't play, do you?  You ought to, you know, not only to make your finger muscles
stronger.  The music is nice too, really a lot nicer than those awful grunting sounds you're
making."  She starts singing a scale, increasing the pressure with each rising note until, with the
last one she lifts me off the ground!


"What are you doing?  How can you do this!?!"


"Mmmm?  Am I like freaking you out?"  Go on, look at my body!"  I let go of her wrists and she
leans backward, her hand still on my ass.  My amazed hands run up her back, along hard ridges
of muscle, bulging shoulders and then down her arms and I feel her biceps erupting with hard
pulsating strength.  But I haven't made her nearly as big as Caroline was, maybe only a little more
than half as big as I am.  I should be able to hold my own with her.  I struggle to free myself from
her grip so that I can look at her more closely and see what is happening, but she's holding on too
tightly.  How can this be?


"Ha ha!   You can't get away!  Doesn't this just kill you?  I've got a little meat on my body too,
don't I?  In fact, I'm a lot stronger than you are.  Just try to get free.  You'll never be able to now!"


She's right.  She's trapped my arms now behind her back and I can't do a thing to get them out.  I
try lifting my legs to push her away, but she just hooks her left one behind mine and practically
cuts off my circulation, so I have to stop.  Then she starts pulling me closer, pressing deadly hard
muscles of her chest lying camouflaged behind those lovely breasts more and more tightly into
my chest, making it harder and harder for me to breathe.


"Please Brenda," I gasp, "stop it.  Let me explain.  There's no such thing as a wishing stone.  I-I-I
have this power, see, to change people's bodies, and sometimes I can't really control it. 
Something's happened, and although I don't know how, I'm the one doing this to you.  I'm making
you stronger." She looks at me, amused.


"Oh yeah?  That's a good one.  That's about as believable as my wishing stone, and the only
reason I believe the story about the stone is that my wish is working.  Anyway, if this is all
because of you, why would you want to make me so strong anyway?"


I go on, a little more boldly now that I have her attention.  "Never mind why.  Just understand
that what I'm doing, I can undo.  So let me go.  Now.  Before I give you the body of an eleven
year old girl.  Permanently."


She looks up at me, her clear blue eyes, narrowing, and almost glowing with anger.  "You must
think I'm really dumb if you think I'm going to believe that crap."  She squeezes me more and I
cry out in pain.  "There now, did that feel like the strength of a young girl to you?  Come on, let's
see you do your worst, Mr. Magic.  Better yet, I think it's time for you to see that something's
happening to your body too."  She throws me to the ground and I tumble roughly onto my ass.  I
look up to see Brenda with layers of muscularity far beyond what any woman would normally be
able to achieve, but still short of my build.  But then I look down at my own arms and . . . they're
the arms of a normal teenage boy.  That's all!!  


"Get it?  It's your own strength you've been fighting.  Your strength, your muscle is mine now. 
Don't you feel weak, now Cliff?  Soon you'll know how it feels to be a weak girl, like I was, and
I'll make sure you get to experience every part of it.  This is the last part of my wish.  First to
dazzle you with my body, to make you want me with all of your being, and then to take from you
what made you such a stud.  I'm getting you back for despising me all summer, thanks to my
wishing stone.  I knew how you felt.  I knew you were just waiting for the summer to end to get
back at me.  Well now it's too late for you, isn't it?"


So suddenly I know the cause of the funny weakness I've sensed since I got down to the shore
with her.  I look up and she's smiling at me, enjoying my shock.  She takes my hand and pulls me
roughly back to my feet, then wraps it on her upper arm, flexes, and the force of her expanding
muscle practically tears my hand apart.


"Go on, Cliff, let's see your muscle now.  I want to see what's left."  She grabs my wrist and
compresses it.  I wince in pain.  "Let's go!  Do it, big boy!  NOW!"  Gulping, I try to make a
muscle and incredibly see only a slight rise, barely even distinguishable as a separate muscle, and
even it seems to be diminishing right before my eyes.  The tight blue veins, which had run up and
down my arm, had vanished, the smoothness of the skin now looking eerily feminine.


Brenda is leering at me, gloating, her pleasure at my transformation unbounded.  "Wondering
where it's all gone, Cliff?  Just lookee here."  She lifts her fist and barely squeezes her arm, and I
see my old biceps, looking much larger on her small arm than it did on me.  "Ha-ha!  And I'll
keep draining your strength until you're exactly as weak as I used to be.  Oh, it won't be long
now.   Even now you're like the 98lb. weakling in those old Charlie Atlas ads, aren't you?  'Don't
let it bother you, little boy.'  Is that what his girlfriend said?  Well, I'm not as sympathetic.  Why
don't you tell lil' me what's bothering you about bad little Brenda, hmmm?  Brenda not treating
the big high school boy with enough respect?  Brenda running him ragged with her little whims? 
Does big Cliffie not deserve to be treated so bad cause he's so big and so smart and has so many
more important things to do?  So many pretty women chasing him?"


She drops me on the ground.  "Well why don't you do them?  Go on, I'll let you go.  But first you
have to take all this stuff back to the cabana.  Let's see you do it."


I look at the chair and then down at my bony chest, my pipestem arms, looking even thinner than
Brenda's were because they're longer.  I pull and I can barely drag it across the sand, much less
carry it and all her other stuff back a half mile to the boardwalk where I left the cart.  My
weakness is frightening.  Brenda sidles over closer and bumps me with her hip.  I sail to the
ground helplessly.  


"You are so pathetic now, I ALMOST feel sorry for you."  She bends down, placing her small,
powerful hand on top of my larger one.  "But I don't, not one bit."  She pushes down with two
fingers and I feel my knuckles cracking under the pressure.  I cry out and then faint from the pain.


A few minutes later I come to.  My hand feels like it's broken.  I close my eyes and concentrate
hard and suddenly feel my power again.  I knit the bones in my hand together and then furiously I
try to get some of my muscle back.


"Hey, what was THAT?!"  I look over at Brenda, who's sitting on the beach, admiring her body. 
"I just felt a new surge of strength.  But where is it coming from?  You don't have enough muscle
left to make a mouse stronger."  


Oh no, I realize.  She's still draining me.  I try to build myself up more quickly, to get ahead of
the curve, but although I can sense the technique working, I look down at my arm and there's no
effect on me at all.


"I don't believe it.  Then you weren't bullshitting me, were you?  You're using that trick you told
me about, trying to get your strength back, but it's all going to me instead!  Just look at me!"  I
am looking at her, and it is unbelievable.  She's growing at an ever-increasing rate, the muscle
piling on her body like air bubbles rising furiously from a boiling pot, and I can't seem to take it
back.  "Ohmygod!  I feel so powerful, like I could lift a car."  She flexes her muscles and they
bulge obscenely from her arms and chest.  She looks around the empty beach for something to try
her strength against, but there's nothing but the sand, the waves and . . . me!  She leaps over to
me and picks me up like a doll.  "Damn, you weigh nothing to me.  I could break you in two like
a twig if I wanted!"  Instead, she reaches back and hurls me like a paper airplane fifty feet into
the ocean, where it's all I can do with my weakened arms to keep myself from being swept out to
sea.


"Hey, you've stopped!  I want more strength.  You'd better watch out!   Here I come!"  She runs
to the water, covering the ground in ten foot leaps, and then charges through the incoming surf as
if the waves were just ripples on a pond.  She reaches me in seconds and lifts me, gasping for
breath, out of the water with one hand while she treads water with only her legs.  "Didn't you
ever learn how to swim?"


Spitting out water, I cough weakly.  "Of course I can swim.  But it's no use.  I'm just not strong
enough in this surf.  Look at me.  I have no muscle left."


She looks down at her soccer ball sized biceps, barely registering my weight, and says
sarcastically,  "Oh you poor thing.  I feel so sorry for you.  It must be so difficult for you to be so
weak, I mean, like considering the way you used to tower over everyone and show off your great
body.  Maybe you think I should have realized that the amount of muscle on my body just
wouldn't be enough for a big, boy like you, like I could have wished more carefully.  Hey, but
you know what?  Truth is, I did think about it, and I'm so happy it's worked out this way, even
better than I'd thought.  Look at you, eying my bulging arms.  Just like I used to look at you.  And
did you care?  Were you ever, ever nice to me?  Now are you jealous Cliff?  Jealous of my bod? 
Of my strength?  I love it, especially because for the rest of your life, every little bit of muscle
you add to those itty bitty arms of yours or anywhere else on that thin body of yours will just be
for my benefit, not that any muscle you could build would even make a difference to me now. 
But I do like being so strong.  I really do.  It's like a dream.  Now, get back to it.  I want you to
make me a lot bigger, like you were doing before!"  She shakes me, for emphasis, like she's
disciplining a puppy. 


I'm trying hard, trying to weaken her somehow, but I feel totally blocked.  I can't seem to act on
her body at all. I'm desperate, Brenda's mocking words make me angry, but I daren't say anything. 
She's the only thing saving me from drowning.  "Please put me back on land.  I can't concentrate
here.  I'm too frightened." 


She scowls at me.  "God Cliff, you are so pathetic.  All right."  She carries me roughly to the
shoreline and dumps me onto the sand.  "Now close your eyes, or whatever you do, and make me
bigger, stronger, and give me giant breasts and hips and everything to match."  She takes my arm. 
"Or I'll snap this in two!"


I feel her fingers already compressing my bone.  What am I going to do?  Live with Brenda
sucking the strength out of me for the rest of my life?  Going around weaker than I've even been,
hardly able to drag myself from one place to the next?  It's unbearable.


"I'm waiting.  Did you think I wasn't kidding?"  She closes her supercharged fingers around my
bone and my arm erupts in fiery pain.


"B-B-B-renda!  Stop!  I can't take it."


"It's so easy for me to hurt you, and so enjoyable.  Well?"


I nod, quickly.  I have no choice.  I imagine a huge, hard block of muscle, as large as a fist, and
make it real, inside Brenda's brain.  Brenda's eyes pop, and she collapses onto the beach.  


Dead. 


I gulp.  I can't believe what I've done, that I've killed her.  I stand up shakily and walk over to her,
standing above her huge form.  Her eyes are lifeless, but I hear her throat still gurgling.  Her legs
are twitching, but soon even that stops.  She's completely still.  And suddenly the enormity of
what I've done hits me, and I pass out, cold.


Hours must have passed.  I feel normal again, almost and look over at Brenda.  Her body looks
normal again, and I'm as large as ever, but she's still dead, quite dead.


I immediately run back up to the office.  Who knows what an autopsy will show, but I have to
report the death, shaking like a leaf is distress, which under the circumstances isn't hard for me to
fake.  As I walk down to the shore with the manager and the local police, I see Rebecca's cabana
is closed tight.  Just as well.


12


It's two months after I killed Brenda, and I suppose I'm still feeling kind of shaken up.  The
investigation and the autopsy found nothing to implicate me, although no one but me would have
been able to explain the massive severing of the capillaries feeding the central part of Brenda's
brain.  Her family thanked me for responding so quickly, but naturally they didn't give me much
of an end-of-season tip, and I wasn't too surprised when the office suggested that I move on to a
more "challenging" job next summer.  I wouldn't have gone back anyway. 


I think I drifted through the first month of school without really noticing anything going on
around me.  Of course Melissa steered clear of me, but after seeing me walk around half-aware,
most of the other girls did too.  I guess it's kind of like a curse or contamination you pick up,
being near someone who died strangely.  It's just as well.  For the first time since I discovered
jacking off at age twelve, I wasn't in the mood for over six weeks.


But now the fog is lifting a bit and I'm noticing all of the things that the passage of time brings. 
Like Melanie, for example.  Her natural hormones have kicked in to supplement the head start I
gave her, and suddenly she's easily the sexiest thing in the tenth grade, strutting her tits around,
leaving all the guys in school in heat.  If it weren't for Rebecca, she'd probably own the whole
school by now, she and her less developed, but still very foxy girlfriend Jemma.  Dad is totally
panicked, but Melanie has him under her control, just by cooing, "Daddy, you know I've listened
to you all these years.  I'm still a good girl," instead of fighting for her freedom.  And then
naturally doing what ever she wants.  Mom's amazed and a little frightened at her girl's looks,
being relatively flat-chested herself, but I think she's proud too of her knockout daughter, so she
lets her have her way.  I mean, between the two of us, they must wonder at how we sprouted
from such plain parents.


Time hasn't been as kind to me.  I guess maybe with the guilt I've been feeling about Brenda, I've
punished myself a bit.  I let my muscles go a little soft, with small rolls of fat replacing my
washboard stomach, and my arms losing their tone.  Nothing I can't fix, but I really haven't had
the heart to do it.  In fact, for a long time I didn't use my technique at all since I killed Brenda. 
Then I started to worry a little that without the practice I might forget how, so I fixed a nick I got
shaving, just to prove I hadn't lost it, and helped old Brent out with his serve before an important
match.  It may seem hokey, but it actually made me feel a bit better to do something good for
him, and I think that's when I started to come out of my funk a bit.  Still, I haven't done anything
really fun for awhile.


Another sign of my return to health is I'm noticing Rebecca again.  She seemed to drop out of
view for awhile after Brenda died, which would have made me suspicious if my mind had been
working at the time, but I can't really be sure of anything that happened back then.  Anyway, she's
still strutting her stuff, whenever she deigns to attend school, which I'm convinced she does just
to prevent me from walking away with valedictorian honors.  I haven't been pursuing her with my
usual interest, and I'd like to believe that she misses it, but I can't detect a sign that she does,
until, that is, she passes me an envelope in physics class with a note saying "Friday, 8:30 pm,
same place," along with a button from her blouse.  So, is she pushing my button, or is she going
to let me push hers?  I can't wait to see.


13


Friday night.  I arrive promptly.  Rebecca's parents are away.  (Are they ever home?)  She keeps
me waiting at the door, cold in the November air, for a good two minutes, then opens it, a vision
of paradise in a tight, red fleece dress, which itself seems amazed at its fortune to be worn by her,
barely hugging her breasts, which threaten to escape from its plunging neckline, but hugging
them tightly nevertheless.  Instantly, I'm warm, painfully envying the dress.


"Cliffie.  You came when you were called.  I'm so pleased."  I walk in, instantly seeing and
smelling the food in the dining room, soup steaming in the bowls.  I ate earlier, but I'm hungry
again just at the thought that she's made it for me.  "Yes, come in.  Sit down.  I'm sure you'll eat,
won't you?"  I nod.  "Good.  The meat will be on in an hour.  Let's start with soup."


I walk dumbly behind her, watching her ass rotating forcefully beneath her dress, which as it
hangs in her closet between wearings must anticipate with its own painful hunger the delectable
workout she gives it.  We sit together in a corner of the large table.  I watch her lift the spoon
delicately to her mouth, as the liquid disappears silently into that pink cavern.  I do the same,
unconsciously at first, then as the ambrosia of her cooking fills me, more quickly.  "More,
Cliffie?  I have another bowl for you."


My manners struggle to assert themselves.  "Uh, sure, I mean, unless you want some."


"Please, Cliffie.  You are my guest, you know."  I nod.  "Just a moment then.  I'll be right back." 
She waltzes into the kitchen and returns with a partially filled tureen, which she empties
completely into my bowl.  She sets it down on a side table, then rejoins me, motioning that I
should eat, which I do while I watch her chew on a carrot.  I envy the carrot.


"You were free on short notice, Cliffie.  Is your book a little empty these days?"


"I haven't been out much, Rebecca, since Brenda."


"Oh, yes, poor Brenda.  Very curious.  I wager you know more about that than you've told,
Cliffie.  Want to tell me?"  I look up, a little worried, then back down at my soup, which has to
be the most delicious thing I've ever eaten.  I keep spooning it into my mouth, afraid to say
anything.  "I'm so sorry.  I shouldn't make you talk when you're enjoying my soup so much.  Why
don't we take a break when you finish.  We can chat before the main event."


"The main event?  You mean the meat?"  She smiles, beaming a sparkle from her teeth into my
heart.  I empty my bowl and wipe my mouth.  


"Come, let's go to the sitting room."  She rises and I follow her to a cozy room with a fire
burning.  She lounges on a love seat and motions me to take the easy chair next to her.  I feel
funny, entranced by the taste of her soup, her presence, her enveloping eyes.  


"Last time you were here, you were telling me about a talent of yours.  Did that have anything to
do with Brenda's death, Cliffie?"  I look at her, amazed.  "You do find it hard to say no to me,
don't you, Cliffie?  Most men do.  I want you to tell me all about it."  She stretches, like a cat, her
breasts pointing higher than I'd ever imagined, and suddenly, even though I feel very far away, I
can hear myself talking.


"Yes, I, well, she was draining me Rebecca.  I had to do it."


"What do you mean, Cliffie?"


"She was draining my strength, leaving me with nothing."


"But how did she do that?"


"She said she had a wishing stone, that she wished to be as strong as I was, and soon she left me
with nothing.  And when I tried, I tried..."


"Tried what, Cliffie?  Don't stop.  Please don't stop."


Her lips look so red when she says those words, which I wish mean something else entirely, but
I'm paralyzed looking at her mouth.  "...when I tried to build myself up again, it kept going back
to her."


"Build yourself up?  Were you doing calisthenics on the beach, Cliffie?"  She makes a motion
with her hand against the chair, like she's doing a push up.


I shake my head.  I can't believe I'm telling her this.  "No.  I...I can change my body.  I can change
anyone's body.  But it wasn't working right.  I couldn't change her, no matter what I did, and she
was taking all the muscle from me."


She looks at me impassively, as if I had just told her I walked home from school today.  "What an
amazing thing, Cliffie.  Is that how you got your body?"  I nod.  She smiles.  "Of course.  April
too, I'm sure."  She stands up, puts her hands on her hips to smooth out her dress, and rotates her
torso a little, side to side, showing off her wondrous curves.  "You do like my body, don't you
Cliffie?  Would you do something for me?  I want to see how your little talent works, right now. 
Stand up, would you?  Show me how you would look, today, if you hadn't done anything to
yourself."


I stand up, looking down into her luminous eyes, and swallow.  "Alright.  I guess so."  I
concentrate and slowly I shrink to about 5'9", shedding my layers of muscle, my hair fading from
rich to mousy brown, the hair on my arms thinning, my penis returning to normal dimensions.  I
look up at her, my eyes now even only with her mouth.


"Hmmm," she murmurs in a low voice and moves over next to me, closer than she's ever been
before, putting her arms around me and pulling me into an embrace.  I'm too shocked to do
anything at first, then I do the same, my body reveling in the sensation of the deep softness of her
breasts, the alluring scent of her perfume.  I want to fade into her body, feel its unique texture,
inhale her aroma, and experience all of her intricate angles and curves, but all too soon I feel that
the embrace is over.  She's withdrawing from me, pushing my smaller body gently, but firmly
away, and I'm looking up at her again.


"It was so nice of you to do that for me Cliffie.  I really did appreciate it.  Now tell me, do you
think my body is perfect?  Do you think it could be improved?"  I shake my head.  "Oh yes you
do.  Don't you?  Don't you like a more amazonic body?  Like Caroline perhaps.  Or April?  I've
never had that kind of strength you know."  She pulls the sleeve of her dress back and flexes her
arm.  She's right.  It's a classic woman's muscle, a slight rise along the line of her arm, but
without any bunching in the middle, without that ball of power or the maze of blood vessels that
would feed it.


"But Rebecca, neither of them can compare to you."


"Oh of course not, Cliffie.  But I'm not talking about having their bodies.  I'm talking about mine
with a few extras.  How would I look if I had that kind of muscle?  Wouldn't it turn you on even
more?" 


"But your arm is so beautiful as it is Rebecca, I"


"Think about it, Cliffie.  Just imagine how I could look with my arms bulging with power,
flexing hugely at my will, my large breasts thrusting forcefully from a power-packed chest, my
tiny waist, tight and impregnable, my shapely legs, accentuated by thick balls of muscle.  Show
me what you can do."  I look into her eyes.  The image is overpowering and I just can't stop
myself.  I start to concentrate, and before I know it the muscles in her arm focus, gather force and
began to rise like dough.  "Not just there, Cliffie.  Everywhere."  I swallow and soon her legs
begin to thicken, her chest begins to rise under her dress, which is now contending with new
forces, with vectors of movement outside its training.  "Slowly, Cliffie, carefully.  I want this
done right."  She looks down at her arms, now nearly as thick as mine had been and flexes them
again, beaming with satisfaction at the round spheres that deftly grow out of her arms.  She feels
her hard abdomen, places her hands below her breasts, and smiles.  "Very nice, Cliffie.  Sit down,
won't you, and look at me."


I stare at her.  I can't help but stare at her.  It seems that the whole world has narrowed itself to
Rebecca and me, and most of it is Rebecca.  In fact, if someone had asked me how big she was
now, I'd almost say 200 feet tall.   Her face, her breasts, her muscles, her will, all seemed to
overwhelm me, like I was a speck of food on her tongue that she could swallow or spit out.


"Now Cliffie," I heard her say, "do it everywhere."


I look up at her, puzzled.  "But I just did.  I"


"I mean everywhere.  Every woman.  Everywhere.   Do you think I want to stand out this way?  I
want to remain the most beautiful, not the most unusual."


"But I"


She looks down at me and picks me up in her newly powerful arms.  "Isn't this what you wanted,
Cliffie?  Don't I thrill you now, even more than you could ever have imagined, even in your
wildest fantasies about me?"  I gulp and shake my head.  My heart is beating two hundred times a
minute.  My dick feels like it's about to rocket to Mars.  I hang on to her tightly, feeling her
massive strength now along with her irresistible allure.  But how can I do this?  How can I
reshape half of the entire human race, two and half billion persons?  She's growing impatient.  I
feel her muscles tighten; her chest growing broader, her smile no longer so friendly.  No.  I can't
do this.  I can give her this power, this evening, perhaps longer.  But to unleash it in women
everywhere?  How can I do this to my fellow men?  Then she looks down into my eyes,
displeased.  Her eyebrows rise and her two bright blue points of light burrow into my heart, and
like the rapid and unstoppable movement toward an orgasm that is coming too soon, I find
myself giving in, my power building, concentrating and suddenly I'm in contact with billions of
female souls, from America to Asia, from budding girls to mature coeds, from anorexic teens to
obese matrons, from doddering crones to babbling infants, all of them growing muscles twice the
size of normal males their age, then three times.


"Yes, yes, you're doing it.  I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the tightness of your puny body. 
Yes.  More, more."  She holds my limp body fast, her arms a painful, yearned for prison.  I feel
woozy from the release of energy and struggle to clear my head.


"You're finished?"  I nod.  "Alright, now, Cliffie, close your eyes, visualize in your mind the
organs in their bodies, the eggs of those billions of girls, even their chromosomes.  Feel with your
senses the interaction of the proteins, and let me describe to you how you will rebuild those
strands of atoms, to change the nature of the female body on its most fundamental level and to
make those changes inheritable by our daughters."


I stare at her.  "What the fuck are you talking about, Rebecca?"


"Such language in my house!  It's just a little gene therapy Cliffie.  I know you can do it.  Now
listen closely."


"No.  I won't do it.  I won't play God."


"You misunderstand.  I'm playing God.  You're just my instrument.  Your little belly is full and
your mouth is tingling with the spices.  Your mind is groggy, but so alert for more sensual
pleasure.  And look at me Cliffie; feel the power of my beauty.  Next to me, you have no will of
your own. I know how your fantasy life is connected with your power.  The idea of strong women
is so seductive, that all I need to is suggest it to you, and you will find a way.   Am I right?"


I look up at her and feel the shelf of her chest supporting me.  I know she's right.  I am
completely in her power, or at least my power is hers to play with.  Against my will, I feel my
power concentrating, following her instructions, so complex, so precise, and so beyond my own
comprehension, that if she's wrong the human race will end and there will be nothing I can do to
save it.  Finally she finishes and I beam out the last of my transforming energy.  She puts me
down, shakes her hair and sighs.  


"That's lovely, really.  Already, I can feel the effects of the new hormones my organs are
producing.  You've done well.  You can go now, Cliffie.  Thanks for a lovely evening."


"What?!  Is that it?"


"Yes.  I have what I wanted from you."  She walks away.


"No.  You can't leave me like this!"  Though painfully hindered by my solid erection, I still rush
up to stop her from leaving me, to hold her again, but she puts out her hand and holds me off like
she's swatting away a paper airplane lazily flying her way in class.


"You're so little Cliffie.  So weak too.  I really don't think you should persist in this.  You might
get hurt.  I'm not at all violent, but I really don't know my own strength just yet.  It's still so new
to me."


With a slight movement of her wrist, she pushes me and I tumble down onto my back.  My
arousal turns to anger, and I turn to my power to claw back the muscle I've given her, but with no
effect!


"Having a problem, Cliffie?  Can't get to me?  Of course you can't.  You already protected us
against your power.  So is it a familiar feeling, a little like what you felt on an almost deserted
beach, back in August?"  She cocks an eyebrow.  My mouth dropped open.  "Yes, Cliffie.  I was
there too.  I thought it was very clever of you to kill her.  I hadn't thought of that way out for you,
but I'm not as brutal as you are, with your little truncated "Y" chromosome.  You see, we all have
our special talents.  I know about yours, but I doubt that you can guess mine.  What good would
it do you now anyway?  What's been done will not be undone, Cliffie, I assure you."


In desperation I turn it on myself, and with relief I rebuild the body I had shriveled for her
entertainment.  In seconds I'm big again, back in top shape.  I spring to my feet.


"Nice work.  But what are you going to do, beat me up?   Do you really want to hit me?  Besides,
maybe I'm stronger than I look."  She puts her hands on her hips, her new biceps rivaling mine,
her frame ten times more dramatic, with her breast-enhanced chest and her wasplike waist.  But
of course, what I want is to cling to her, not break her.


"Rebecca!"  I moan.  It's no use.


"Go home, Cliffie.  I've had a wonderful evening, but I plan to enjoy the rest of the night without
you."


She turns away, completely ignoring me, and I retreat sadly to the front door, exhausted, beaten,
and convinced now that Rebecca was forever out of my reach.  


I walk outside down the long front path to the street.  The world seems altered, even the smell is
wrong, as if the dreamy ambrosia of Rebecca's soup has replaced the dying leaves of the crisp
autumn air.  I'm dimly aware of shouts in the neighboring houses, too far from the road for me to
hear distinctly, but as I pass through the business district near my own neighborhood there are
people outside partying, and already I see the general effect of the night's work.  The usual Friday
night crowd on Main Street is in an uproar, the girls flexing their new muscles, their shrieking
laughter penetrating the night as they playfully lift their boyfriends into the air and gayly wrestle
them to the ground, ignoring their hapless protests. 


I want to intervene, but there's so much going on I don't know what to do.  Then I see my sister
with Jemma, part of a larger group of girls laughing as two of their friends play catch with one of
their male classmates, tossing him higher and higher each time.  The poor guy is crying and
terrified, which seems pretty wimpy to me because they're not trying to hurt him.  But it still
seems wrong. Just for the hell of it, I first try using my power to take away their strength, but I
can do nothing with their bodies, so I jog up to them in person to get them to stop, one way or the
other.  After all, Melanie and her friends are just thirteen or fourteen, and I can see that although
their arms bulge impressively, they're still smaller than mine.  Besides, I'm also about a foot taller
and outweigh them by at least seventy pounds.  If anyone out on the street is going to break it up,
it's me.


"Hey, Mel, Jemma.  Get your friends to cut that out!"


Melanie turns toward me and laughs, then whispers in Jemma's ear.  Jemma motions to the other
girls and points at me, and they all start giggling.  The game seems to be winding down.  They
stop throwing him and put him down, but one of the bigger girls still holds the guy under her arm
so that he can't run away.  Jemma whispers back to Melanie, who laughs and nods, and then
Jemma walks over to me.  She's about 5'5", her small breasts now completely overwhelmed by
her newly developed pectoral muscles, which push out her tight sweater close to its breaking
point, just as her formerly slender hips are by her thick thigh muscles.


She puts her hands on her hips and challenges me, her face with a kind of mocking tough look. 
"What's it to you Cliff?  We're not hurting anybody.  Are we girls?"  They all laugh.  "And I think
Brian here likes the attention."


I look at him.  Actually, now that he's not flying through the air, he seems to be enjoying
snuggling against his powerful captor, who has her hand over his crotch, massaging him.


"Maybe.  But you were bullying him before."


"So?  Were you going to do something about it?  Can't you see we're not just girls anymore, we're
supergirls!  Am I right?"  The girls all put their right arms in the air and chant some kind of
stupid cheer, which sounds like one of those interminable patty-cake games they used to play in
grade school.


"Right.  So I see.  Well you may be bigger than Brian, but you're not bigger than me."


"Ha, ha, tough guy.  You think you could take all seven of us?  We're pretty strong.  I bet you
couldn't even take me."  She holds her fists out, like she's going to box me.  "Come on, defend
yourself, big shot.  I'm not afraid of you.  I've been fighting my big brothers for years, even when
I didn't have any real muscles."


The other girls start clapping in unison and form a ring around us, with others from the street
slowly moving our way.  This is just what I don't want, a scene.  I put my open hands out in front
of me.  "Come on, I don't fight girls, and I don't want to hurt you Jemma.  Cut it out."


She shakes her head and starts jabbing her fists at me, testing my reflexes.  I block her with my
hands, but I can feel a real sting.  Then she sneaks under me and drills a punch into my gut.  It
hurts, but a lot less than it would have if I hadn't restored my muscle tone when I was with
Rebecca.


"You're trying to boss us around?  I bet you the last one hurt.  Well, you better fight back Cliff,
unless you want to be clobbered, 'cause we're not going to listen to you, and you haven't even felt
my big punch yet."


I can see the sheen of perspiration rising on her forehead as she dances around.  She draws back
and takes off her sweater, careless of the open view she gives me of her chest in her t-shirt, her
new muscles severely taxing its integrity and pressing her breasts tightly against the fabric.  I take
the opportunity to slip out of my jacket too, and then strip off the nice shirt I had worn for my
"date" with Rebecca.  I hear some whistles when the crowd looks at my chest and arms, and then
Jemma responds by pumping up her arms.  I have to admit I'm impressed by the robust balls of
muscle that pop easily out of her arms, stretching her t-shirt almost to transparency.  She rubs her
hands together and spits on them and heads back toward me, jabbing again with her right hand.  I
stay back, not wanting to hit her, but unable to figure out how else to get out of the situation. 
Little by little she's backing me into th