The Slow Burn

I sat at the long table, my fingers wrapped around a pen like a weapon. My notes were precise, my arguments razor-sharp. Sitting beside me, the visiting academic—Dr. Edwin Blake, a middle-aged scholar from some second-rate institution—was sweating through his ill-fitted blazer. The man had just finished presenting a paper on 18th-century economic metaphors in romantic poetry, and I could already taste the blood in the water.

I leaned forward, adjusting my glasses. "Dr. Blake, if I may—your central argument hinges on the idea that economic language in Coleridge’s later work is unintentional, a mere byproduct of the shifting literary landscape. But that’s, frankly, lazy thinking. The notion that Coleridge ‘stumbled’ into economic discourse ignores the extensive documentation of his political and financial struggles. Your thesis didn’t hold up under scrutiny."

Blake opened his mouth, but I didn’t give him the chance. "And another thing," I continued, my voice carrying through the crowded lecture hall. "Your reliance on secondary sources is… let’s call it charitable. If I were feeling less generous, I might say your research is little more than a patchwork of borrowed thoughts. Which, to be clear, is not the same as an original argument."

The silence that followed was exquisite. Blake, red-faced and fumbling, muttered something about revisiting his sources before gathering his papers in a haphazard mess. The room shifted in their seats uncomfortably, squirming with empathetic discomfort. I was already calculating my next move, refining my thoughts for publication.

But as the panel finished and my adrenaline drained, so did the satisfaction. I should have felt triumphant. Instead, I just felt tired. The endless thinking, the parsing, the precision—it never stopped. My brain was a machine that refused to power down, whirring and grinding long after it should have been at rest.

With a sigh, I gathered my things and headed for the pub across campus. If nothing else, I had earned an old fashioned.

----

The Grad Student Society pub was dimly lit, the kind of place where overworked PhD candidates drowned their stress in cheap beer and half-hearted conversation. I settled into my stool, the old fashioned in my hand a small indulgence against the grinding exhaustion in my skull.

I had barely taken a sip when I noticed him—broad-shouldered, with long green hair that tumbled down his back in wild waves. His presence arrived before him, thick with the unmistakable scent of pot. He sauntered up to the bar, leaning one muscled forearm against the wood as he waited for the bartender’s attention.

I wrinkled my nose and angled my body slightly away, hoping the silent rebuke would send him elsewhere. It did not.

“Just a soda,” he said to the bartender, his voice smooth, lazy, like he had all the time in the world. Then, without hesitation, he slid onto the stool beside me and took a slow sip from his glass.

“Hey,” he said, lifting a hand in a casual wave. “They call me ‘The Green Man.’ What’s your name?”

I snorted – that sounded like the kind of nickname you'd give yourself.

“I’m not interested in talking.”

“Really Harry?” The Green Man tilted his head, studying me with a half-lidded gaze, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Because I was in the audience at the panel, and… well, it seems like you’re very interested in talking. You really tore that guy a new one.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, begrudgingly.

He smirked, taking another slow sip of his soda. His presence was oddly magnetic, radiating a kind of self-assurance that was foreign to me.

“But still,” I added, gripping my glass a little tighter. “This is my downtime.”

“Fair enough,” The Green Man said, his smirk never fading. He swirled the ice in his glass, then glanced back at me. “Wanna fuck?”

I choked on my drink, coughing into my sleeve as I turned to stare at him. My mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Or we could just smoke a joint,” he offered smoothly, and as if by magic, a joint appeared between his fingers. He twirled it absentmindedly. “After all, it’s your downtime...”

“I don’t do that stuff,” I said reflexively, my voice sharper than I intended. “It dulls you down.”

“Hey, your call,” The Green Man said with a shrug. In a blink, the joint was gone, vanishing like a clever trick. He took one last sip of his soda, then set it down, still half full. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

He stood up, stretching his arms behind his head like a cat waking from a nap. “Have a good night, Harry.”

Before I could respond, he turned and strolled toward the door, whistling a tune I almost recognized. Then he was gone, leaving only the lingering scent of weed.

------

The night air was crisp as I stood under the flickering fluorescent light of the bus shelter, arms crossed, my breath curling into the cold. The city was quiet this late, save for the occasional car rolling by, its tires whispering against the pavement. I inhaled, trying to refocus for the evening.

Then, there it was—that familiar, pungent stench of weed.

I spun around, already prepared to confront The Green Man for following me, for being some kind of stalker. But the figure leaning against the shelter’s glass wall wasn’t him. Just some frat boy in a hoodie, lazily holding a joint between his fingers, smoke curling around his head like a cheap halo.

My irritation didn’t immediately fade. "You can’t smoke that here," I snapped. I was about to tell him off properly, but curiosity got the better of me. "Why do you do that?"

The frat boy shrugged, taking another slow puff. "It’s fun."

"Fun?" I scoffed. "What’s fun about impairing your ability to think clearly? Dulling your own mind? You have one brain, one shot at being an intelligent, thoughtful person, and you choose to poison it for what? A few hours of stupidity?"

He sighed, as if my outburst required more effort than he was willing to expend.

"I dunno. I guess… I get stressed, y’know? Classes, news, money… smoking this shit… it quiets that down for a while. I’m just headed to this party, and dude… I’m gonna enjoy myself, y’know? Dance a little, laugh a little, see if I can pick up some tail."

"So it makes you shallow, stupid, and slutty," I said flatly.

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess," he admitted. "For like… a little while."

I frowned, feeling a surge of frustration I couldn't quite articulate. "You don't see the problem with that? You're actively choosing to be lesser than you could be. Instead of confronting your stress, working through it, and growing as a person, you take the easy way out. You let yourself become numb."

He exhaled another cloud of smoke, his half-lidded eyes showing no sign of engagement. "Man, I’m not trying to have a debate. I just like getting high and having a good time. I don’t need to justify it to you."

"You should want to justify it!" I snapped. "You should care about whether what you're doing makes sense!"

He shook his head, taking one last drag before flicking the half-burnt joint to the curb. "Look, dude, I’m sure you’re real smart and all, but honestly? You’re coming off like a pretentious jackass. Not everything has to be a moral crisis. Some of us just like feeling good for a while."

The bus rumbled into view, headlights cutting through the night. The frat boy shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and stepped onto the bus without another word. I hesitated a moment longer before following, the scent of weed still hanging in the air, along with the uncomfortable feeling that maybe, just maybe, I’d been the fool in this conversation.

-----------

You know that thing where once you meet someone, you start seeing them everywhere? That’s what happened with The Green Man. And, annoyingly, it also started happening with weed.

I noticed it curling out of car windows, wafting from doorways, and clinging to the sweaters of undergrads in my lectures. It had always been there, but now it stood out, gnawing at the edges of my perception.

When I saw him again, he was standing around the corner of the Library, shielded from the rain. He leaned against the wall, a joint glowing between his fingers. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

“Hey, Harry,” he said, his lazy smile widening. He exhaled a ribbon of smoke. “Want a hit?”

“No,” I said reflexively, then hesitated. If I was going to criticize something, shouldn’t I at least try it once? Wasn’t it irrational to dismiss an experience I’d never had?

“Fine.”

I took a tentative hit, the smoke burning my throat, making my eyes water. The Green Man chuckled.

“You’re supposed to ease into it.”

But as the high crept in, something shifted. The ever-present noise in my brain—the relentless scrutiny, the ceaseless analysis—dulled into a hum. My body felt light, thoughts drifting in slow, lazy arcs.

I felt really good.

Like… really really good.

“Do you still want to fuck?” I found myself asking. Hoping.

His grin widened. “I’d love to suck you off.”

He led me inside, past stacks of books and empty desks desks, to a single-user bathroom. The lock clicked. My heart pounded as he sank to his knees, his hands confidently tracing the curve of my hips before undoing my belt. His touch was warm, unhurried, savouring the moment as he eased my pants down.

His lips wrapped around me, soft and wet, his tongue working expertly on my cock. My fingers threaded through his green hair, gripping lightly as waves of pleasure pulsed through me. The warmth of his mouth, the slow pull, the way he hollowed his cheeks—it was intoxicating, more so because of the joint. My breath hitched, my muscles tensing with each flick of his tongue.

He took his time, sucking and teasing, his fingers pressing into my thighs, grounding me. Every stroke sent heat curling in my stomach, the intensity growing, my head tilting back as I lost myself in the sensation. He hummed around me, the vibration sending a jolt straight through my core.

My hips bucked involuntarily, and he just kept sucking, eyes flicking up to meet mine, full of amusement and something darker, something hungry. He wanted this. Wanted me.

It built fast, my breath ragged, pleasure tightening inside me until I shattered with a groan. The orgasm wracked through me, my vision going momentarily white as my body tensed, then melted.

As I came, something shifted—a snap in my mind, a surge of energy that pulsed outward. The Green Man inhaled deeply, a golden mist trailing from my cock as he pulled away. His eyes fluttered shut, and when he exhaled, his breath was thick with something shimmering.  It faded into the air.

He sighed, already looking blissfully high. “That’s the stuff.”

-----

That night, I arrived at my apartment, still feeling unsteady. The thoughts in my head moved in strange loops, bouncing between excitement and confusion, between rationality and something entirely new.

My three roommates were scattered around the living room, one of them tapping away on a laptop, another lazily scrolling through his phone. I barely acknowledged them as I made a beeline for the bathroom, needing a hot shower to rinse off the weirdness.

As the water warmed, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My clothes looked a little tighter, my posture a little different. I stripped off my shirt and froze. My chest, my arms—they were fuller, more defined. My stomach, always slightly soft, was tighter, leaner. I had gained muscle. And not just a little—at least ten pounds’ worth, and I could see it.

My hands ran over the new contours of my body, tracing a hint of my abs, the firm curve of my pecs. I flexed a bicep. A rush of exhilaration shot through me, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling. I twisted side to side, inspecting my reflection from every angle. This was real.

The water began to steam up the room, fogging the mirror, making my own reflection a ghostly blur. Just like my mind, I thought wryly. A haze had settled over me since I’d smoked the joint, the high still clinging to my thoughts, refusing to dissipate.

I stepped onto the bathroom scale. The numbers blinked back at me: ten pounds heavier than I had been that morning. There was no denying it. Somehow, impossibly, I had gained muscle overnight. Overday. Whatever.

I exhaled slowly, my fingers gripping the edge of the sink. This didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. And yet, staring at my reflection, seeing the power in my new form…

A dumb little grin tugged at the corner of my lips. I flexed again, just for the hell of it, before shaking my head in embarrassment at my own loutish behaviour.

What the hell was happening to me?

---------

The next morning, I woke up feeling like my head was stuffed with cotton. My limbs were heavy, my thoughts sluggish. I rubbed my temples and reached for my phone, scrolling through Reddit in search of answers.

Countless posts about lingering highs flooded my screen. Most users claimed they felt back to normal within a few hours, while a few reported residual effects that lasted into the next day. That had to be it, I told myself. Just a fluke. Give it time. By tomorrow, I’d be fine.

Resigning myself to a lost day, I decided to head to the library, hoping I could at least get some editing done. But sitting in front of my laptop, I found my brain unwilling to cooperate. The words on the screen blurred together, my usually sharp analysis muddled by the same mental fog that had clung to me all morning. After an hour of wasted effort, I snapped my laptop shut and left.

Back at the apartment, Zack was tying his sneakers. He glanced up, surprised. “Damn, taking a day off? That’s rare.”

“Can’t focus,” I admitted, dropping my bag onto the couch.

He grabbed his gym bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m heading to the gym. Wanna come?”

The idea had never once appealed to me before. The gym had always been a space for people who measured their progress in reps, not research papers. But something inside me hesitated. A part of me was curious.

“Why not?” I said, surprising myself. “I’ll try anything once.”

Zack raised an eyebrow but grinned. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

——-

The gym smelled like metal and rubber and sweat, the rhythmic clatter of weights filling the space. I followed Zack inside, feeling entirely out of place. My world had always been built on ideas, abstract concepts, and critical analysis. Here, everything was tangible, physical.

Zack led me toward the free weights. "Alright, let’s start with something simple," he said, grabbing a pair of dumbbells.

I picked up a set of the lightest ones, expecting them to be nothing, but the moment I lifted them, my arms trembled slightly. Zack demonstrated a simple curl, and I mimicked him, feeling the muscles in my arms tighten and release. It was... oddly satisfying. The sensation of actually using my body in a deliberate way felt different. Grounding.

"Not bad," Zack said, watching me work through the reps. "Just focus on the movement. Don’t overthink it."

Easier said than done. As I lifted, I found myself analyzing the mechanics of the exercise, trying to articulate why it felt so different from my usual intellectual pursuits. "It’s like... a process of controlled resistance," I started. "A tangible expression of—"

Zack laughed and clapped me on the back. "Dude, just lift."

I shut my mouth and focused on the weight in my hands. The simple, repetitive action, the burn in my muscles—it made sense in a way that thinking never did. I didn’t need to break it down or analyze it. I just needed to do it.

After a while, Zack guided me to a bench press station. "Give this a try," he said, setting up the bar without any weight. I lay back, gripping it with uncertainty. My arms wobbled slightly as I lowered and pressed the weight, but I managed a few reps without disaster.

When I sat up, Zack extended a fist. "Good sesh, bro."

I bumped it automatically. "Yeah. Good sesh." I meant it. Completely.

Zack smirked. "You’re actually enjoying this, huh?"

"Yeah,” I hesitated, then nodded. “I think I am."

----------

The next morning, I woke up with my head still heavy, the fog in my brain refusing to lift. I considered taking another day off, maybe seeing if Zack wanted to hit the gym again, but I shook the thought away. I’d seen too many PhD candidates lose their momentum and completely stall out. I needed to get back to work, even if my thoughts felt sluggish and my usual sharpness was dulled.

I packed my bag and headed for the library. As I crossed the Quad, I spotted The Green Man playing hacky sack with a group of stoners. He fit right in, his long green hair swaying with each kick, his laughter blending into theirs. He caught sight of me and peeled away from the group, jogging over.

"Hey dude," he said with a grin. "How’s it going?"

"Hey," I responded automatically, bumping his fist. "I’m good, but… that was just weed the other day, right? I’m still feeling fuzzy, and according to my research, I should be better by now."

The Green Man laughed, shaking his head. "Better? Dude, it’s not like you’re sick. You just got high. It’s a hangover… and uh… a little bit more."

“More?” I narrowed my eyes.

He gave a self-deprecating shrug. "Yeah. The weed, and… well, when I smoke a smart dude’s cock, I get a few hours of being super smart. Burn up a little of that intellect, huff it, y’know? It’s the only way I’m ever gonna get my thesis done."

I stared at him, my blood turning cold. "You’re telling me you… stole my intelligence?"

He chuckled. "Not stole. Smoked. And come on, man, it’s not like you’ve got to worry. You’re smarter than just about everyone on campus, even after I smoked a little."

“This is permanent?" Fury flowed through me.

The Green Man sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, man. It’s your new normal. You’ll get used to it."

I took a step back, my fists clenching. "You’re a freak. Stay the hell away from me."

His grin faltered, but he didn’t argue as I turned on my heel and stormed off toward the library.

---------

I sat at a desk, staring at my laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, for the first time in my life, I typed: "how to get smarter."

The results were disappointing. Eat more fish. Do brain puzzles. Challenge yourself to learn new things! The same trite advice that got recycled in every self-improvement article. I could probably eat more fish, but the rest of it was beneath me. I needed something real. Something tangible.

Frustrated, I shut the laptop and grabbed my bag. Maybe I couldn’t fix this overnight, but I could make sure it didn’t effect my grades.

I headed to my thesis advisor’s office during office hours, my heart pounding as I knocked. Dr. Marston looked up from his cluttered desk, adjusting his glasses. "Harry," he greeted with mild surprise. "What can I do for you?"

I hesitated, then stepped inside and closed the door. "I was wondering if I could turn in extra work. Or take on an additional project. Just… something to push myself."

Dr. Marston frowned. "Harry, your work is already excellent. You’ve got nothing to worry about."

"There will be soon," I muttered.

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

I hesitated before finally saying, "I tried marijuana the other night.""And ever since, I’ve been feeling… off. Fuzzy. Slower. I can’t afford to let that happen."

I left out the part about The Green Man smoking my intellect. That still sounded crazy.

Dr. Marston let out a short laugh. "Harry, you’ll be fine. You’re probably just overthinking it. A little weed isn’t going to undo years of hard work. Just don’t make it your whole life. Everyone tokes now and then."

I nodded, forcing a polite smile, but as I walked out of his office, I felt no relief. He didn’t understand. How could he?

-------

The classroom buzzed with the low murmur of students settling into their seats, notebooks out, laptops open. I gripped the podium, clearing my throat as I flipped through my notes. Teaching had always been second nature—standing here, wielding my intellect like a blade, cutting apart weak arguments, dazzling with insight.

But today, something felt off. The words on the page weren’t locking into place the way they used to. My mind felt like it was dragging through mud.

I launched into my lecture, doing my best to stick to the material. Then, about halfway through, a smug voice cut through the room.

"So, Professor Henderson," a smirking undergrad in the third row said, "if that argument holds, wouldn’t it also mean that… oh, I don’t know, Socrates was actually endorsing ignorance?"

A few chuckles rippled through the room. It was the kind of question I would have eviscerated in seconds before. But now, I hesitated. The answer should have been obvious—I knew it was obvious—but the words wouldn’t come. My brain fumbled for the right phrasing, the right rebuttal. Instead, I stammered.

The laughter swelled. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t have to be. I felt my face flush hot, my grip tightening around the podium. They saw it. They all saw it. They had pulled one over on me.

I forced myself to breathe, to push forward. I muttered something about historical context and quickly moved on, ignoring the lingering smirks. The rest of the lecture blurred, every moment stretched too long, my own voice sounding distant in my ears.

I had never felt so humiliated in my life.

--------

Anger burned in my chest as I left campus. I needed to do something with it, something productive. My first thought was the gym. Zack wasn’t around, but I didn’t care—I could go alone.

The place was crowded, the air thick with the scent of sweat and axe body spray. I hit the free weights, pushing harder than before, trying to drown out the echoes of that classroom laughter. But as I moved between exercises, I couldn’t help but notice them—a group of gym gays clustered near the squat racks.

They were impossible to ignore. Perfectly sculpted bodies, each one seemingly carved out of marble and drenched in just enough sweat to highlight every ridge of muscle. Their tank tops were cut wide, draping over their torsos in a way that was both effortless and intentional, the fabric skimming along chiseled abs. Their shorts—practically painted on—hugged thick thighs and perfectly rounded asses, the kind of proportions that only came from years of calculated work.

But it wasn’t just their bodies. It was the way they moved, the easy confidence in the way they stretched, flexed, and laughed together. They owned the space. Their voices carried, playful and teasing, filled with inside jokes that made their world feel exclusive. One of them, a blond with a jawline that could cut glass, ruffled another’s hair and laughed.

"Dude, if your squat form gets any worse, we’re kicking you out of the group."

"Please," the other, a shorter guy with bouncy dark curls, shot back, rolling his eyes. "My ass is the best one here. You’re just jealous."

The group erupted into laughter, their energy infectious. They weren’t just here to work out; they were here to be seen, admired, to bask in each other’s glow. They oozed camaraderie, the kind that made them seem untouchable, untouchably perfect.

Compared to them, I was a twig. My arms were lanky, my chest barely defined. Even after my mysterious ten-pound muscle gain, I was still just an academic trying to look like he belonged here.

I wished I could be like them. No, more than that—I could be them.

The thought hit me hard. Last time The Green Man smoked my cock, I gained muscle. More than I should have.

If I let him do it again… what would happen?

I wasn’t going to, obviously. That would be insane. But… theoretically… it would work, right? Just one more time. Just enough to make me look like I belonged here, like I wasn’t some scrawny professor standing in the shadow of gods.

Maybe I had been too hard on The Green Man. Maybe it hadn’t been that big of a deal. After all, I was still smart, wasn’t I? I was still me.

And a little more muscle wouldn’t hurt.

--------

The café was packed, the line stretching back toward the door. I stood patiently, scrolling through my phone, waiting for my turn to order. Then, unmistakable, the scent of weed drifted through the air.

I glanced back, heart skipping a beat. Three people behind me, The Green Man stood, hands in the pockets of his oversized hoodie, his long green hair hanging loose over his shoulders. He wasn’t looking at me, just waiting, rocking slightly on his heels.

I ordered my coffee, but instead of leaving when I got it, I stepped aside, loitering near the pickup counter, stirring my drink unnecessarily. I wasn’t sure why. My feet just didn’t want to move.

Eventually, The Green Man stepped up to grab his own order. His eyes met mine, and I saw the moment he realized I was waiting for him. He hesitated.

"Hey," I said.

He smirked but looked a little wary. "Hey, dude."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Look, I was harsh the other day. I’m sorry."

His grin widened. "No worries, man. It’s all good. I guess I’ll see you around."

I swallowed, nerves twisting in my gut. "Um… are you going to work on your thesis today?"

The Green Man raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, probably."

I exhaled. "Maybe we smoke a joint first?"

His smirk turned knowing, but he just nodded. "Yeah, man. We can do that."

The Green Man and I strolled across campus, a lit joint passing between us. The first drag hit me harder than I expected, warmth settling into my limbs as the tension I had been carrying for days melted away.

"Glad you're not pissed at me anymore," The Green Man said, exhaling a curl of smoke that twisted in the crisp air.

I shrugged, taking another slow hit. "I was. But… the extra muscle’s nice."

He smirked. "Yeah?"

I hesitated for a beat, my body buzzing with contentment. "I mean… I could use more.”

He paused.  Making me say it.

“Do you need some inspiration?"

His grin turned sharp. "Yeah, okay. Let’s go."

He led me to his office, a small, cluttered space in one of the older campus buildings. I barely had time to shut the door before he was on his knees, fingers tugging at my belt. My breath hitched as he freed me, his mouth warm, wet, hungry.

Pleasure built quickly, a deep pull that seemed to extend past the physical. My fingers dug into the edge of his desk as heat surged through me, gathering low in my belly. When I came, a burst of golden energy flared from my cock, flowing down his throat like a rush of sunlight.

He swallowed it deep, then leaned back, exhaling a shimmering mist that hung in the air before dissipating. His eyes gleamed as he wiped his mouth. "Yeah," he murmured. "Okay, stud. I’ve gotta work on my thesis."

I tucked myself back into my pants, still lightheaded, still floating. "Cool," I said dreamily. "I’m gonna hit the gym."

-------

I peeled off my shirt and tossed it into my locker. I turned toward the mirror, half-expecting the same lanky frame I’d always seen, but my reflection had changed. I was thicker—my shoulders broader, my chest fuller. My arms, once wiry, had a real shape to them now. I wasn’t big, not yet, but I wasn’t the scrawny academic I had been a few weeks ago. I looked… normal. Average.

I stepped onto the scale, my breath catching as the numbers settled: 135 pounds. Another fifteen added, just like that. My heart pounded in my chest, but not from fear. From excitement.

The weights called to me, pulling me toward the gym floor. I wanted to push further, to feel the strain in my muscles, to see just how much I had changed.

I grabbed my water bottle and shut the locker, heading for the free weights. The gym was packed with its usual crowd—serious lifters grunting through reps, students trying to stay in shape between classes. I moved among them, fitting in a little more now, blending in where I used to stick out.

I grabbed a pair of dumbbells and got to work.

---------

The routine settled in faster than I expected. Every time I hit the gym, I was fueled by the thrill of my new muscle. The way my shirts fit better, the way my reflection looked less like a twig and more like something sculpted. Every session was a rush, the weights feeling lighter, my body adapting to the strain.

But within days, the satisfaction faded. I wanted more. Needed more.

I found myself wandering campus, eyes scanning for that familiar mess of green hair. It didn’t take long. The Green Man was always around, somewhere—lounging in the Quad, perched on a library step, or tucked away behind a building, passing a joint with the usual crowd.

Each time, the ritual was the same. I’d linger near him, waiting for him to notice me. He always did. He’d flash that easy grin, offer me a hit, and I’d take it without hesitation. The weed softened everything, turned my thoughts slow and hazy, making it easier to ignore the part of my brain that told me this was ridiculous, dangerous, maybe even wrong.

Then, like clockwork, he’d take me somewhere private. An empty classroom, a locked bathroom stall, the back of the library where no one ever went. He’d drop to his knees, and I’d let him, my pulse pounding with anticipation.

Every time, that golden energy burst from me, and every time, I left heavier, thicker.

147.  158. 166.

The numbers climbed higher, my weight stacking on in ways I could see and feel. My arms swelled, my chest expanded, my legs thickened. The changes came fast, almost unnatural, but I didn’t care. I craved it.

I had to admit, maybe brains weren’t everything.  Maybe I’d always been jealous of the jocks. Maybe I was gonna look just like them.

And maybe I wasn’t going to stop.

------

I slouched in my seat, shifting slightly on my thickening ass, barely listening to the lecture. The words drifted over me like a foreign language. None of this shit… meant anything. My professor’s voice faded into the background as I stared blankly at the PowerPoint slide. I used to be sharp, engaged, always the one with a counterpoint ready. Now, it felt like my brain was wrapped in fog, heavy and slow.

I exhaled and let my thoughts wander. My body felt huge now, stretching against my clothes in ways that made me hyper-aware of myself. I’d been getting a lot more attention on Grindr lately, and none of those guys cared that I wasn’t the sharpest anymore. They liked the new me—bigger, dumber, eager. I smirked slightly, letting my mind drift to the idea of getting wrecked by some of them. I shifted again in my seat, heat curling in my stomach.

The lecture ended, and I barely noticed. As I was stuffing my things into my bag, The Green Man appeared at my side, grinning as usual. "That was pretty interesting," he said, falling into step with me. "I think I’m gonna try integrating some of that into my thesis."

I gave him a slow look, then smirked. "Can I help you with that?"

The Green Man’s grin widened. "Always."

Later, at the gym, I stepped onto the scale. The number blinked back at me: 175.

I grinned to myself, flexing abs that were getting more defined with each passing day. Yeah. This was good.

-------

Apparently, 190 was the magic number—the point when the gym gays finally noticed my existence.

I stepped into the gym like any other day, dressed in my usual sweats and a snug tee. Except the sweats, once baggy, now clung to my ass like a second skin. My thighs pressed against the fabric in a way they never had before. I was bigger, stronger, and I could feel the difference in the way I moved.

As I set up at the squat rack, I caught sight of them—the guys I had been watching for weeks. The gym gods. Chiseled abs, perfect pecs, round bubble butts packed into tight shorts. They moved in their own orbit, loud and confident, seemingly untouchable. But today, they weren’t just in my peripheral vision. Today, they were coming straight toward me.

"Dude, those glutes are ridiculous," one of them said, grinning as he leaned against the rack. "You should definitely be wearing spandex."

I blinked. "Why?"

"To show off that ass, obviously," he laughed. "I’m Cory, by the way. And this is Jesse and Parker."

Jesse, a bottle blond with tanned skin and a permanent grin, winked at me. "Don’t worry, I’m dumb too.  You don’t gotta be smart to get big!”

"He says that like I’m not planning his workouts," Cory sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Guilty," Jesse said, flashing a toothy grin. "But like… you don’t need brains to be hot, right?"

"I see you guys here all the time," I admitted, shifting the bar into place.

"Yeah, we practically live here," Parker, the redhead, piped up. "And we’ve been pushing super hard lately—Thrust is having a competition to hire a new gogo boy next week. Cory’s gonna win."

"Gotta get pumped, bro!" Cory said, flexing dramatically and sticking out his tongue.

"For sure," I said, nodding seriously. "I don’t know Thrust, though…"

Jesse gasped. "Oh my god. We have to take him."

Cory thought for a second, then smiled magnanimous… magnana… he like, mega smiled.

“What are you doing Friday?"

--------

By Friday, I was 202 pounds, and I wasn’t just wearing spandex to the gym—I was wearing it under my sweats on campus too. Gotta keep that ass looking perky. Every mirror, every window reflection confirmed it: I was bigger, thicker, sexier. The confidence I felt when I caught sight of myself was addictive. People were noticing, their gazes lingering a little longer than before. I liked it. I wanted more.

Getting ready for the club, I took my time. I’d gone on a little online shopping spree and had the perfect outfit—jeans that hugged my ass like they were painted on, a tank top that showed off my pecs, and underneath it all, a jockstrap that made me feel so fucking sexy. I adjusted my bulge in the mirror, smirking. Yeah. This was gonna be a good night. My fingers traced over the slope of my pecs, my biceps looking fuller, shoulders broad. This was a body built for attention.

I showed up at Jesse’s apartment early, knocking twice before he swung the door open, eyes raking over me instantly. "Damn," he said, biting his lip. "You really pull it off."

"You like?" I teased, turning around slowly so he could get the full view.

"Oh, I like," Jesse murmured, stepping closer. One hand slid over my chest, then down my stomach, before gripping my hips and pulling me in. Then we were kissing, his body warm and firm against mine. His hands gripped my ass, squeezing, teasing.

We made out for a while, grinding against each other, my breath coming out in shallow gasps. Jesse’s fingers slipped beneath my shirt, exploring the hard planes of my back. I felt his grin against my lips. "You’ve been working hard, huh?"

"Something like that," I muttered before capturing his lips again.

Before things could go further, the door opened, and Cory walked in, laughing when he saw us. "Already starting the party without me? Rude."

Jesse just grinned, not letting go of my waist. "We’re just warming up. Let’s do some shots and head out."

Cory rolled his eyes but grabbed a bottle from Jesse’s kitchen. He poured out three shots, and we all grabbed our glasses, clinking them together. "To new friends and good nights," Cory toasted with a smirk.

"To good nights," I echoed before downing the liquor, letting the heat settle in my chest. My body already hummed with anticipation.

Tonight was gonna be wild.

--------

Thrust was the kind of place that didn’t just exist—it demanded attention. The gay club dominated a prime corner on Davie, a beacon of neon, pounding music, and writhing bodies. The line stretched down the block, a dazzling parade of mesh, harnesses, and deep-cut tanks. Men shifted impatiently, their toned bodies glistening under the streetlights, waiting for their chance to be swallowed by the music.

But Cory didn’t wait. He never did. With a lazy nod at the bouncer, he got us waved past the line like we were royalty. My stomach twisted with excitement as we stepped through the doors. This wasn’t just a club—it was an ecosystem, an electric jungle where confidence was currency.

Inside, the heat hit immediately. The air smelled like sweat, cologne, and the metallic tang of alcohol. Laser lights sliced through the fog, casting moving silhouettes on the dance floor. Shirtless men danced on raised platforms, their bodies slick, their muscles flexing under the rhythmic flashes of the strobes. A drag queen with a gravity-defying platinum wig swayed past, her sequined bodysuit catching every beam of light as she blew glitter from her palm.

Jesse leaned in close, his voice barely cutting through the music. "You look like you’re in shock."

"I think I am," I admitted. My pulse was pounding, my senses on fire.

We pushed through the crowd toward the bar, navigating through a tangle of bodies. Hands brushed against me—some intentional, some not. By the time we reached the counter, my head was spinning, and I hadn’t even had my first drink.

As Jesse ordered shots, my gaze landed on a poster behind the bar: "THRUST’S NEXT GO-GO STAR! Open competition—who will take the crown?" The letters glowed under the blacklights. My stomach flipped. "That’s awesome," I said. "Maybe I should try out?"

Cory snorted, tilting his head. "The list has been full for like… a month already."

Before I could respond, the bartender turned, his sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe. He was tall, built, with an easy smirk that suggested he had seen it all before. Then, with no hesitation, he reached out and grabbed the back of my neck, his grip firm, fingers pressing just enough to make me shiver.

"We’d make an exception for you," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the music. "What’s your name, big guy?"

I opened my mouth—and blanked.

Jesse, always quick, jumped in. "This is Hunter."

I nodded, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "Uh, yeah. Hunter Henderson."

The bartender’s grin widened. "Love it. You’re on the list.”  He pointed at Cory — “Your buddy knows the deets.”

Cory shot me a look—sharp, scrutinizing, jealous. But before he could say anything, the bartender slid three shot glasses across the counter. "Drink up, boys."

I downed mine in one go, the liquor burning its way down my throat, making my head spin. The night blurred into a swirl of flashing lights, grinding bodies, and wandering hands.

At one point, Cory leaned in close, voice dripping with something between irritation and amusement. "They’re all over you because you’re fresh meat."

I barely heard him, because just then, I locked eyes with the hottest guy I had ever seen.

Dark hair, sculpted features, a tight mesh tank top clinging to every inch of his chiseled torso. He was dancing like he owned the floor, and as soon as he caught my gaze, he smirked—an invitation, a challenge.

I knew exactly how my night would end.

--------

The sun blazed overhead as I stretched out on my towel, the sand warm beneath me. Wreck Beach was quiet on a weekday afternoon, just the sound of the waves rolling in and the occasional laughter from a distant group. It was the perfect place to disappear for a few hours, to let my thoughts drift while my skin soaked up the sun.

I took a slow drag from the joint between my fingers, holding the smoke in my lungs before exhaling toward the sky. The haze settled over me, wrapping me in a lazy, heavy calm. The world felt distant, like I was floating above it, watching myself from somewhere else. I stretched again, absently adjusting my pose. My body had changed so much in the past month. Bigger, stronger, heavier. It felt good.

My phone buzzed in my bag. I groaned, debating ignoring it, but eventually fished it out. The screen glared in the sun—my advisor.

Shit.

I swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Harry. You missed your class today. The one you were supposed to teach?" His voice was calm, but there was something measured about it.

I blinked. "Oh. Right. Shit, sorry, dude." I exhaled a laugh. "I’m like… such a goldfish brain lately."

There was a pause. "Yeah. I had a chance to talk with some of your students. Maybe we could have a chat tomorrow? Nine AM at my office?"

My gut twisted, but the feeling was sluggish, muffled by the high. "Sure thing," I said casually. "See you then."

We hung up, and I stared at my phone for a second, trying to summon up any real concern. But whatever. It was just a conversation. That was tomorrows problem.

I stood up, brushed the sand off my legs, and grabbed my bag.

Today, I needed to hit the gym.

------

The next morning, I strolled into my advisor’s office at 9…ish. The door was already open, but Dr. Monroe didn’t look up immediately. He took a long, measured breath before glancing at me over his glasses. I plopped myself down in the chair across from him, stretching my legs out in front of me like I didn’t have a care in the world.

"Hey dude," I said casually. "What’s up?"

Dr. Monroe sighed, folding his hands on the desk. "Harry, we’ve been getting complaints."

I blinked. "Complaints? About what?"

"Your students say you’re unprepared. That you ramble. That you don’t seem engaged in the material."

I frowned, leaning back in my chair. "I just like to make it more of a discussion, you know? Get them engaged."

Dr. Monroe’s eyes darkened with something sharper than frustration. "Last week, the ‘discussion’ was about The Real Housewives."

"Yeah, I’ve been getting really into it," I said, nodding. "It’s like…" I paused, trying to come up with some smart justification, some academic bullshit that would make it seem relevant. Nothing came to mind. I shrugged. "It’s good television."

Dr. Monroe exhaled through his nose, pressing his fingers together like he was holding back something stronger. "Harry, this isn’t a joke. You are supposed to be leading a classroom, not distracting it. Do you understand what’s at stake here? You’re putting your future in jeopardy."

The words cut through the haze in my brain, but only slightly. "Whoa, okay. It’s not that serious. It’s just one class."

"It’s not just one class," he said sternly. "It’s a pattern. This department is built on reputation, and right now, yours is sinking. If this keeps up, you won’t just lose your students’ respect—you’ll lose your position here."

I sat up a little, shifting under his scrutiny. "Look, I hear you. I’ll tighten it up, alright? No more tangents."

Dr. Monroe didn’t look convinced. He studied me for a moment longer, his sharp gaze cutting straight through me. "Harry, be honest with me. Are you high right now?"

I hesitated for a split second before shaking my head. "Nah, bro." Then I grinned. "Why, you wanna spark up?"

--------

I walked across campus, no longer a student, but definitely one hot piece of ass. My thighs strained the seams of my sweats, and my ass—well, that spoke for itself. Heads turned as I passed, but I barely noticed. I was free. No more lectures. No more deadlines. Just the gym, good times with my crew, and looking as pumped as possible.

As I crossed the quad, I spotted The Green Man lounging under a tree, as always, looking unbothered by the world. I veered toward him, hands in my pockets, grinning wide.

"Yo," I said, flopping down next to him. "Guess what? I don’t gotta be smart anymore."

The Green Man arched an amused eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Yep," I said, stretching my arms behind my head. "Got the boot. Which means… I got nothing to worry about. You wanna, I dunno, work on your thesis? Celebrate? I’m a free man?"

The Green Man exhaled a slow breath, grinning. "Actually, I finished my thesis. I’m defending it on Friday."

I blinked. "For real?"

"For real," The Green Man nodded. Then his grin turned sharp. "Maybe you wanna sleep over at my place Thursday? Could use a blast of that brain to help me out. I mean, I know you’re running dry but…"

"Let’s do it!" I said without hesitation, my excitement bubbling over. "I got this thing on Friday night, and I wanna look PUMPED!"

-------

The Green Man had his school thing at 10 AM, so I woke him up at six by licking his nipples. He squirmed under my tongue, his cock rising as I worked it with one hand.  If he just wanted to suck me off, that’s cool… but I’d been bottoming a lot with hookups and I figured I’d let him take a crack at my ass.

“Mornin’ stud,” I whispered in his ear as his eyes fluttered open.  He let out a soft groan at the morning and stretched.  “I think you outta fuck my hole today… I mean, like… so long as you still get the good stuff.”

He gave me a sleepy nod and I reached for the lube.  I worked my hole, starting with two fingers, but getting up to three before I lathered up his cock.

“Want poppers?” I asked, sniffing from a bottle.  “Or just like… no?”

“Not today,” he said softly.  “Today I need to be as smart as I can be.”

“I got you babe,” I grinned, then lowered myself down onto his cock.  He didn’t have to do anything, he barely moved as I flooded my brain with a wave of pleasure.  Fuck yeah… that’s why I’m alive.

“Fuck you’re a big one,” I winked at him, feeling him inside me for the first time.  We’d hooked up for like… a whole semester, and this was seriously the first time he topped me?  That’s so dumb!

“And you’re a slut,” he chuckled.  “Not exactly the pretentious jackass I met, are ya?”

I grinned again and started fucking myself on his pole.  Smooth strokes up and down.  Even time.  It feels so good to just like… exist in a body, y’know?  Especially for a muscle stud like me.

I grabbed his pecs while I fucked myself.  I bounced on his cock over and over, my breath coming out in ragged gasps.  My mind flickered like a candle, getting brighter and brighter, the last vestiges of my once brilliant intellect marshalling themselves for a final thrust —

A final thrust —

My cock jumped, golden haze bursting out and filling the room and swirling in the air.  Dude, it was soooo pretty.  Sooooo shiny.  And it was everywhere!

Like we were hotboxing the room.  The Green Man sucked it in greedily. Getting high off the kief of my intelligence.

I collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my head empty, my body buzzing. The world was nothing but sensation now—the stretch of my skin, the pulse of my muscles, the weight of my own breath. I flexed, my fingers tracing over my pecs, down to my abs, feeling every ridge, every hard-earned inch of mass. I grinned to myself, running my hands over my thighs, squeezing them just to feel their thickness.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard the shower running. The Green Man was getting cleaned up, but I stayed where I was, lost in my own body.

He had a scale in the bathroom.  I had to know.  I stepped onto it, watching as the numbers blinked to life.

265.

I exhaled, smiling dopily at the number. Fuck yeah. I’m a fuckin’ beast!!

By the time The Green Man emerged from the bathroom, towelling off his hair, I was already getting dressed, pulling my tank over swollen tits, loving the way it stretched between my nips. He smirked at me as he tossed his towel aside. "You look good, man."

"Feel good," I mumbled, pulling on my hoodie. Too small.  Fuck it - who needs a hoodie? "Real good."

We left his place together, stepping out into the cool morning air. I stuffed my hands into my shorts, rolling my shoulders, loving the sheer bulk of myself. I turned to The Green Man and grinned. "Good luck at school."

He gave me an amused look. "Yeah. Welcome to your new life… dummy.”

I almost came again.

----------

I leaned in close to the mirror, touching up my makeup with slow, deliberate strokes. A dusting of glitter shimmered on my eyelids, catching the dim greenroom light as I swiped a fresh coat of collagen over my lips. Hyaluronic acid and caffeine cream was dabbed under my eyes, smoothing out my skin, making me look fresh and fuckable. Perfect.

A pounding bass thumped through the walls, the heartbeat of Thrust. The greenroom was packed with muscle boys in tiny scraps of clothing, each of us looking as slutty and pumped up as possible. Some flexed in the mirror, fine-tuning their angles. A shredded guy in a camo thong did pushups in the hallway, his pecs bouncing with each rep. Another behind me adjusted his bulge, making sure it sat just right. A third leaned in close, nudging my shoulder.

"Hurry up, bro," he said, eyeing his own reflection. "I need the mirror."

I took a slow drag from my joint, exhaling into the dim light before stubbing it out in an ashtray. I turned, flashing him a lazy grin. "All yours, hot stuff."

Just then, a twink with a clipboard bustled into the room, headset slung around his neck. "NUMBER 8! HUNTER HENDERSON!"

I raised my hand. "That’s me!"

"Let’s go," the twink said, already moving toward the stage entrance. I followed, my body thrumming, floating on a cloud of anticipation and leftover weed haze. The music grew louder as we reached the stage wings, the energy in the club a living, pulsing thing. I could hear the crowd, the chatter, the laughter, the anticipation.

Then the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. "Our next contestant is new to the dance scene, but he’s already making waves! Give it up for HUNTER HENDERSON!"

The twink gestured urgently—my cue.

I stepped out, momentarily blinded by the stage lights. The club stretched out before me, packed with bodies, every eye infatuated with me. A rush of heat spread through my chest. This was so cool. The way they were watching me, drinking me in.

The music pounded, the beat kicking in, and my body moved automatically. Hips rolling, ass shaking, pecs bouncing in rhythm. My muscles gleamed under the lights, my pink thong riding high on my thick thighs. The cheers exploded, the crowd going wild. I flexed for them, smirking as they screamed louder.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the twink waving me offstage, but I was riding the high, soaking in the attention. As I finally stepped back into the wings, I passed Cory—his compact, shredded frame squeezed into bedazzled black trunks.

He shot me a dirty look, lips pressed into a tight, jealous line.

I just grinned back. This was my night.

-------

The music still pounded through the club as I was absorbed into the dancing crowd, my skin buzzing with adrenaline. I barely had time to catch my breath before I felt a familiar presence beside me.

"Damn, bro," The Green Man grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. "You fucking killed it."

I turned to him, still riding the high, and threw an arm around his neck in a sweaty, excited hug. "Dude, that was insane! Did you see them? They loved me!"

"Of course they did," he chuckled. "That ass was built to be worshipped."

I flexed playfully, still glowing, then caught the glint in his eye. "Wait. What are you doing here? I thought you had your thing today?"

He smirked, leaning back against the bar. "Oh, you mean my thesis defense? Yeah. Passed that shit."

I blinked. "For real?"

"For real. Guess you gotta call me The Green Doctor now."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Damn. My boy’s a whole-ass doctor."

"And you’re a whole-ass star," he said, raising his drink in a mock toast. "We did good, Hunter."

I clinked an imaginary glass against his and grinned. "Fuck yeah."

---------

The moment Cory spotted me, his expression darkened. He strutted over, arms crossed over his bare chest, the rhinestones on his trunks catching the dim light.

"So this is how it is, huh?" he sneered. "I take you under my wing, show you the ropes, and you repay me by stealing my moment?"

I blinked. "Dude, what? I didn’t—"

"Save it, Hunter." He spat my stage name like a slur. "You waltz in here, all fresh meat and wide-eyed, and suddenly you’re the club’s new golden boy? Please. You think that lasts? You think you’re special?"

I opened my mouth, but he was already shaking his head, scoffing. "Enjoy it while you can." He stormed away, leaving an awkward tension in his wake.

Parker slid up beside me, beer in hand, watching Cory disappear. "Don’t let him get to you," he said, clinking his bottle against my shoulder. "He’ll have a new nemesis by Monday."

I exhaled and laughed. "Good to know."

--------

I set up my phone on its stand, flexed once in the mirror for good measure, then hit record. The ring light bathed me in a flattering glow, highlighting the cut of my jaw, the fullness of my pecs, and the thick mounds of muscle that stretched my tank to its limit.

"Yo, what’s up, my dudes? It’s Hunter Henderson, coming at you with a little day-in-the-life action!" I grinned, bouncing my pecs for emphasis. "Y’all been asking what it takes to get big, stay big, and still have a good ass time, so let’s break it down."

“First things first—you gotta eat big to get big. We’re talking protein, we’re talking carbs, and yeah, we’re talking calories on calories on calories. You think this ass builds itself? Nah, bro. It’s all about fuel."

"Second? You gotta relax. Can’t be all work and no play, dudes. Gotta let those muscles recover. And yeah… getting a little high helps keep the appetite up. Bodybuilders call it ‘optimized bulking.’ I just call it a good time."

"Third thing? We hit the gym hard. Squats, deadlifts, presses—you gotta hit every angle, every muscle, and then hit it again. If your shirt ain’t tight by the end of the week, you ain’t working hard enough."

"And, of course, you gotta shake your booty on stage. Best part of the day, not gonna lie. Alright, that’s the rundown. Like, follow, and hit me up if you wanna see more."

I paused, then added, "And if you wanna see this ass live, catch me at Thrust this Friday night. It’s gonna be wild."

I winked, tossing a quick kiss to the camera before ending the recording.

I watched the playback, then hit post.

Yeah. This was the life.