Double D
Written by Aardvark in collaboration with Mad Dog.
https://aardvarkia.tumblr.com/post/183618187992/double-d
Double Whammy Donuts was a town institution. It had been around since the 1950s and looked it, with linoleum floors and neon lighting and a jukebox that didn’t work. Double D, as locals sometimes called it, didn’t have to spend a lot of money on their aesthetics. People were going to eat there no matter what. Decades into their tenure on the corner of Bridgeway and Bush, they were still winning awards for their delicious donuts, and had attracted a whole new crowd of picture-taking youths who loved the backdrop the shop’s candy-coated interior provided.
The shop had gone through several owners, but the quality had never suffered. There was a rough patch in the 80s, some said, when the store looked like it might close as the downtown suffered. But the economy rebounded, a new owner bought the place, and it had been coasting ever since.
Double D had recently been sold again, and the new owner - whoever he or she was - had put a little money into cleaning the place up. The windows were washed regularly now, and a new sign was installed that maintained the classic old logo but spruced it up with a fresher color scheme. Most notably, the staff changed overnight. Double D’s old staff was on the surly side, more focused on making donuts than conversation. The new staff that was installed was outgoing, young, and - most surprisingly of all - gorgeous. Girls on a trip downtown would walk by the store five or six times just to gawk at Nolan, the beaming 6’4 Ken doll who worked the register. Nolan looked like he’d never had a donut in his life. He was a ripped 230 pounds of pure muscle, with perfect teeth and poreless tanned skin and wavy blond hair. In a small town like Wakefield, Nolan’s appearance out of nowhere intrigued everyone.
Along with the beautiful staff came a few signs and cameras. This didn’t surprise anyone who knew about Double D’s history. Part of the donut display was slightly out of sight from the register, and if only one employee was up front, it was easy to walk out of the shop with whatever donuts weren’t behind glass. Health code regulations had made this harder now that most displays were covered, but Wakefield kids always found a way, even if sometimes they would ask for a donut, get it, dilly dally with their friends and then walk out without paying. Everyone in Wakefield had a Double D shoplifting story, be it participating or witnessing.
Kellan Metzger was looking at the sign that read “The donuts are pretty, but shoplifters aren’t!” as he picked a big glazed donut from the self-serve display case. He’d gone to Double D’s with a friend as part of a bet, the kind of idle bet that young teen boys got into when they lived in a small town with nothing better to do. “I bet you won’t shoplift a donut from Double D’s!”
Some has suspected that there was another reason behind the unusually imposing young man running things behind the register at Double D’s. This train of thought held that the new owner, whoever they were, had decided to cut down on the losses from “free” donuts and hire someone for the front that people would be too scared to piss off. Kellan couldn’t discount the theory now that he was standing there in front of the infamous Nolan. For as boyish and charming as his appearance could be, he still looked like he had 18" guns, at least, straining his uniform’s short sleeves. He looked down at the glazed in his hand. Just one donut. That was the bet. He could do just one, right?
“Double Whammy has new security measures in place. You might not see them…but they’re VERY effective!” read another sign propped up on the countertop. Kellan was thinking about it as he held the donut in his hands. He wondered what those security measures were as he dumped the donut into the side pocket of his cargo shorts. He walked as nonchalantly as he could away from the store, then crossed the street to meet up with his friend Max, who’d been watching to make sure he didn’t just chicken out and pay for it. “Got it,” he announced, plucking the pastry out of his pocket and holding it up like it was a trophy.
“Yesss. Still super easy?”
“Yeah, they have these signs about new security measures but I only saw one camera and it was pointed at the door.”
“Dumbasses. Guess that guy’s too buff to be smart.”
“I don’t think he’s the owner, man, I think he just works there,” Kellan laughed. “You gonna get one?”
“Yeah, watch me,” Max said, and he darted across the street with unnecessary speed, considering there wasn’t a car in sight. Kellan watched as Max walked into the shop and perused the attainable donut selection. Then, he noticed Nolan behind the cash register, watching Max.
“Shit!” Kellan whipped out his phone. “He sees you!” he texted Max, but Max either wasn’t looking at his phone or didn’t care, because he stayed in his suspicious position by the same self-serve case Kellan had swiped from. It was only when Nolan walked out from behind the counter that Max looked up, and Kellan saw Max already had a donut behind his back. Then, Nolan moved to stand in front of the door, his huge back blocking Max’s exit and Kellan’s view of what was going on.
Not that Kellan was trying to see more. He was too busy running down the street so that Nolan didn’t see him and report him too.
Kellan had to admit he felt shitty leaving Max behind, but it had been Max’s stupid idea to spend the morning trying to score a free donut and prove on Instagram that they were cool, rule-breaking kids. Kellan hadn’t ever been a stickler for rules, but he didn’t normally steal things, either. Max could always talk him into doing something he didn’t wanna do, though. He thought about that as he decided that he needed to eat the evidence, in case that Nolan guy caught up with him. He hadn’t ever seen him below the waist, but maybe a guy that big could run fast, too. He took out the glazed and gobbled it down, trying to wipe off the glazed icing from around his mouth. God, it was delicious as ever. Light, fluffy, sweet… his favorite ever since he was a really little kid. He hoped he’d still be able to come back with his family. His parents brought him there after church every Sunday. How would he explain it if Nolan wouldn’t let him in the door and called him a criminal? Shit, maybe they were already calling his parents, or the police!
Kellan realized how dumb it had been to text Max in a panic. All he’d done was leave proof that he was involved with the theft. Real freaking smart. He hoped Max deleted the texts or chucked the phone in the donut fryer. That thought struck Kellan as odd, then he remembered…Max worked at Double Whammy, didn’t he? Not a lot, but he’d picked up the odd shift here and there. Did Max know Nolan? Actually, probably not, since they had the same role, meaning they’d never be there at the same time. But Kellan thought it was especially stupid of Max to steal from where he worked, and not even do a good job of it.
But damn, were those donuts good. Kellan sucked on his fingers to get every last bit of sugar off. He practically fellated his right middle finger, pumping it in and out between his teeth-
“What the…” Getting a boner was a surprise. It just popped out without warning. That happened in school a few times but because he was looking at a hot girl, not because he was eating donut crumbs and worrying about getting arrested. Kellan folded his hands over his crotch as he leaned against a brick wall, staying out of view of Double Whammy. The donut taste lingered in his mouth, and he licked his lips. Shit, he really wanted another one, and the fact that he couldn’t get it right now frustrated him.
“Grr… stupid Max!” he grunted and hit the brick wall he leaned against with a fist. He thought it was odd when he felt such a solid THUD as he did so. He looked down and saw something that made his eyes go wide and his jaw drop. The hand that he had just sucked the last of the sugar from was… no longer his hand. Or it was, it was just the wrong size. It was… big. It didn’t look like it belonged to a 14 year old freshman who was a little undersized for his age. It looked like it belonged to a man. Not just any man. A man with big gorilla hands. Jeez. He could probably palm his whole face with this hand! He looked over to his other hand and saw that it was looking similarly swollen, a hand that belonged on another person entirely, but was firmly attached to him. “What the hell?!” he whispered. A little voice in the back of his head said that at least he wouldn’t have a problem hiding his public erections anymore.
He got his phone out of his pocket just to compare the size. It looked like a little toy in his palm. He wondered if he could crush it with his hand, but then decided no, that would be stupid. Phones were expensive and his parents would kill him. But trying to unlock it proved burdensome, too - the phone didn’t recognize his thumbprint, and when he tried to use his keycode, his burly finger mashed into four numbers at once. Kellan decided it was best to not use his phone right now anyway, in case he was tempted to text Max, who was definitely still stuck at Double Whammy. He put his phone away, and then froze, still looking at how he’d done so - by storing it in a little pouch clipped to his belt. The gesture had been swift and thoughtless, like he’d been doing it for years. With a stab of fear, Kellan removed his phone from the carrying clip, put it in his pocket, then unclipped the pouch and threw it on the ground.
“Don’t you be littering in front of my store!” said a voice, and Kellan looked up to see a gray-haired lady watering some plants a few yards away from him. The store was one of those little gift shops that sold chocolate and colorful clothes. Kellan had never set foot in it.
“I’m sorry ma’am,” Kellan said, stooping to pick up the belt clip. “I just dropped it.”
“Mmhmm,” the woman said skeptically. “I know your mother, don’t make me tattle! Be on your best behavior!” She didn’t smile, but her eyes twinkled as she went back inside the shop. Kellan had to laugh that he’d gotten more in trouble for that than he had for actually stealing something. He was still chuckling, not thinking as he clipped the phone case back on his belt and put his phone in it.
“Shit, that was a close one,” he cursed, which was unusual for him. He usually was afraid to use curses, even when he was with friends or by himself. Something about it had always seemed like he would get in trouble. Now, it seemed to just come out of him easily. He looked down and saw that he still had an erection in his pants which embarrassed him to no end. There was no way he could leave this alley while he was suffering from this affliction! He reached up to his collar and unbuttoned one of his buttons to cool off a bit, as his anxiety and the exertion from his previous sprint had raised his temperature a bit. Wait… He looked down at his shirt. It wasn’t supposed to have buttons. It was just a t-shirt with Iron Man on the front. And it certainly shouldn’t have pockets over the breast like were currently forming out of the fabric. “Am I going fucking crazy?” he asked himself, still swearing like a sailor. It did have Iron Man on the front, but it was hard to tell now that his shirt was a short-sleeved button down. The pockets weren’t forming anymore either, they were there, and they were big, covering most of of Kellan’s chest. He unbuttoned the flap of one and peeked inside to see if there was anything in them, but there wasn’t. Kellan itched under the shirt’s collar, which covered the back of his neck. The wide collar points stuck out to the middle of his shoulders and were sharp enough to prick a finger on.
And then, a thought came to him. No wonder he was having trouble covering his boner with his shirt tucked in. Why had he tucked it in, anyway? Only dorks tucked in their shirts. Kellan pulled his shirttails out and let them hang. He noticed they were long, but that was good, because the rod in his pants wasn’t going away…
The shirt he’d selected today was hot. The fabric was heavy and scratchy, and the tall stiff collar kept rubbing his neck. He didn’t know why he’d worn a button-down shirt like this, he never wore anything like it, but he did know he wanted to get out of the sun. The first door was the woman who’d confronted him about littering, so Kellan decided it would be a good opportunity to give her a little business and make sure she wasn’t going to tell his mom.
“Sorry about that again,” he said as he walked into the shop. “Do you have any bottles of water I could buy to make it up to you?”
The lady curtly nodded and took one out of a nearby refrigerator and placed it on the counter. Kellan reached to his front pocket for his little wallet and couldn’t find it. In his frantic patting of his own pants, he found a big bulge behind him and took out a fairly thick leather wallet that had been in his left rear pocket. He opened it up. It had an ID inside, with his picture and name and address and vital statistics. Why did he have one? He didn’t even have a learner’s permit yet. He also didn’t have this much money. He got an allowance of $15 a month from his parents but he saw at least $60 in twenty dollar bills inside this wallet.
He heard the bell ring from the front door of the store that heralded another customer. He turned to see someone else he knew from school, Sarah Woodward, whom he’d had a bit of a crush on. Thank god his shirt covered his very public erection, because it was not going away. “Oh, hey, Kellan,” she said to him with a hair toss, a casual greeting that didn’t tell him much about how she felt about him. She looked at him for a moment before giggling and pointing. “Ew, what’s that you’ve got there? You look like my stepdad,” she teased.
“Huh?” came Kellan’s slightly dull response, his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what she was on about. He reached to where she was pointing with one of his mammoth hands and felt… hair tufting up out of his collar! A lot of it! “Oh, that’s from…my dog…” he said lamely, proving the point by tugging it out. But he only wrenched out one strand, and it hurt like hell. Flushed with embarrassment, Kellan grabbed the water bottle off the counter along with his change and pushed past Sarah to leave the store. For the second time that day, he ran down the street, even further away from Double Whammy, and only stopped when he reached a blacked out window of a currently vacant storefront. It somewhat served as a mirror, and Kellan stared in horror at the curls of hair poking out through his open collar. He opened the next button on his shirt - noticing with another shudder that Iron Man wasn’t visible on it anymore - and immediately regretted doing so. A bouquet of chest hair was on view between the open buttons, and as Kellan watched, it got thicker and longer, curling out of his shirt even as he scratched it. “Stop that,” he said, “Gross…gross!” Desperate to hide the black wool, Kellan stashed his water bottle under his arm and used both hands to yank his buttons together, buttoning his shirt all the way up to the collar. “Much better,” he sighed, looking in the window.
As soon as he turned around, his collar button snapped apart again, as did the next two buttons below it. Kellan strutted down the street unaware that his luxuriant chest pelt was on view to everyone, flowing out like a waterfall between the open buttons.
If his enlarged hands reminded one of a gorilla, the copious hair covering his chest certainly complemented the look! As he walked down the street, he also began to notice his feet feeling heavier. He looked down and saw his shoes had grown… and his feet along with them! With each step they looked bigger and wider, feet to match his giant hands. “Oh my god, this is the worst fuckin’ day ever, Jesus Christ…” he cursed, also seeing how his chest hair had come back out to say hello. After a few strides, he felt like he was walking around with feet like Bozo the Clown!
“I gotta fix this bullshit,” Kellan growled. He clomped into Gilbert Footwear across the street walked over to the boys section, grabbing the first pair of white sneakers he saw.
“Hi, Kellan!”
Kellan turned around to see a nicely dressed woman in her 40s. The only giveaway that she was an employee was her nametag. “Uh…hi,” he said, unsure of how she knew his name.
“Shopping for someone today?”
“Just me,” Kellan said, waving the sneakers in his hand.
A look of concern came over her face. “Oh dear, well…I hope it isn’t an emergency, because I remember we have to special order for your shoe size. Those boots look like they fit you though!”
“Boots?” Kellan looked down at a pair of polished black leather boots stretching up to his knees. A wave of dizziness and nausea crashed into him, the feeling of pure confusion. “Oh…my boots, yeah,” he muttered.
“Did you want me to ring those up for you?” the woman asked, and Kellan looked down at her. Her eyes were level with his curtain of chest hair. Had she just…gotten shorter? Kellan worried that, with how things were going for him today, it wasn’t the woman who had changed height.
“Oh, um, no, these were…I forgot my shoe size,” Kellan said, handing them to the employee.
“Oh! I just thought they might be for a son or a nephew.”
“A son!” Kellan laughed, but it wasn’t his laugh - it was deep, sonorous, and hard to hear. Like if a gorilla laughed. “I’m too young to have kids. But yeah, you’re right, the boots are fine for today.” Kellan looked down at the shiny black leather. He had to admit that he almost liked them.
As he inspected his boots, he saw the pants leading into them were also changing. His faded, relaxed jeans had apparently been replaced somewhere along the way with the navy blue wool slacks he was wearing now, which were fitted along his thighs and his larger belt clip was hanging from his hip, a few more pouches hanging off of it. “What the fuck, am I Batman now or somethin’?” he grunted, his voice deeper than he remembered it being. He tried looking in one of them and saw a taser. His eyes went wide and he gave a yelp, which sounded more like a grunt. “Th’ fuck?!” What was he doing with a weapon like that holstered on his side? Worry compelled him to high-tail it out of the shoe store, confusing the woman who had been waiting on him. He was panicked and… and for some reason, he knew the only thing that would fix this feeling of his would be going back to Double D’s. Not only had this all started after stealing from them, but something about that place had a calming effect on him. Like when a smoker needed a cigarette. Maybe if he just came clean with them, they could stop whatever they were doing to him?
Everyone outside was short to him, which Kellan worried meant he was very tall. Not that being six-foot-five didn’t have its perks, but it was hard to find clothes that fit, and he always felt cramped. Flying sucked. So did any car smaller than an SUV. He was always hitting his head on stuff too, which hurt even more since he didn’t have any hair to cushion the blow-
Kellan stopped cold and slapped his palm on his scalp. He let out a low moan of pure horror. The sides of his head were covered with short bristles, but the top was smooth. He’d gone bald. Not shaved-head bald, real bald. He could even see himself sitting in the barber chair as the man in the white smock trimmed up the sides and polished the top and reminded him to wear sunscreen. “I don’t wanna be bald,” he whined, breaking off into a jog toward Double D. He just needed to talk to his buddy Mick…was that his name? Something like Mick or Max, but he was pretty sure it was Mick. Whatever it fucking was, Mick could help him out. That big old beast wasn’t scared of shit. Kellan thought it was funny that a bodybuilder of that size and class was managing a donut shop, but maybe all the excess calories helped him put on size. At Mick’s age, he didn’t have to be all lean and pretty anyway. Not like Mick’s son Nolan, who was like a human showpony. Kid had gotten those Hollywood good looks from his mother and his huge muscles from his dad. “Lucky little sonuvabitch,” Kellan said as he hustled toward the shop.
His hustle was getting more difficult as he felt himself getting heavier with each stride. He grunted and looked down and saw his thighs bigger than ever, testing his slacks like sausage casings as they pushed against each other. He had to push them around each other in order to make headway. And his arms were getting heavier swaying side to side, too, his forearms getting swollen and hairy, his biceps and triceps starting to come in, make his fists look like they might be correctly sized after all. He felt the short sleeves tighten around his upper arms and deltoids. Deltoids? Since when did he know that’s what they were called. Then he remembered, everyone down at the gym knew what muscle groups were called. It was just basic knowledge, duh. Even he knew that, and he wasn’t exactly a Rhodes scholar. Whatever the fuck that was. He felt another pressure at the button on his shirt, too, but he was too busy to look down and see what was going on there. He knew as soon as he made it back to Double D’s, it’d all make sense.
Double D’s, heh, Kellan thought as he felt his pecs crashing up and down with each stride. Double Ds were what people were always calling his big, fat muscle tits. They were forcing their way out of his shirt, more muscle and hair pouring out by the second. He’d been teased a lot for his chest. People would twist his giant nipples and laugh when he ripped out the seams of his t-shirts or burst the buttons on his polo shirt. And that was all before he’d gotten hairy. But despite the teasing, everyone in the gym still stopped and watched when he bench pressed.
Snap!
Another button on Kellan’s shirt blew open as his chest exploded out in front of him like a pair of airbags. He stood taller just to hold his giant jugs up, secretly loving the amount of cleavage he was showing. Their bouncing slowed as he did, finally coming to a stop as he stood still just out of view of the Double D’s windows to catch his breath before he walked in. Kellan straightened up and smooth down the front of his shirt, making sure it was tightly tucked in and his belt was straight. Then he calmly walked forward, holding his head high and his spine straight, boots thudding authoritatively over the threshold.
It was like something knew that he was walking back into Double D’s, as the moment he stepped over the threshold, his stomach, which had kept itself trim and cobbled as he’d gained all this other mass elsewhere on his body, blew out like something inflating a balloon. The buttons puckered and strained at first, then the shirt seemed to inflate along with his flesh in order to keep covering it. First it was just a regular belly, then the next moment it was even bigger, girded with muscle underneath and a healthy layer of fat that slightly obscured the abdominals, and the next moment after that he grunted as his gut grazed the sides of the doorway along with his deltoids, his pecs resting on top of his big power gut. He’d always tell the fuckheads down at the gym that teased him that if he ever trimmed down, he’d have the best-looking abs in the precinct because of how much muscle he’d built up down there. That usually just started another round of laughs, because no one could imagine him ever trimming down. “You spend too much time at Double D’s with Mick!” they told him. It was true, he was here at least twice a day, sometimes more than that. It was good fuel for the tank at the start of the day and usually by the end he needed a good reward for a job well done. And sometimes in the middle, if he was handling a tough call, he’d come out to Double D’s to calm his nerves with one of the long donuts with the fluff in the middle. What were those called? Shit, he could never remember, he’d just till Mick to give him one with the shit in the middle and he knew what to give him.
Kellan stopped as he felt his equilibrium shift, looking down at the globe sticking out in front of him. He grunted in shock, putting his hands on the perfect, huge sphere, fingers flicking against the buttons that were poised to pop. He balanced himself against the counter - his face contorted in confusion - and then out behind him burst the biggest ass in town, each cheek blowing up into the size required to balance out his belly. His tight blue pants dug into the meaty flesh as it flowed out of him, hardening into a muscle booty big and wide enough that Kellan was more comfortable standing than seated. The huge boy whined with confusion as he pulled his pants up higher, his chest hair tickling his chin as his pecs heaved toward the ceiling.
“Kellan?”
Kellan turned and saw a giant man behind the counter, wearing a short sleeve uniform shirt that was so tight it was a wonder he could breathe. He was massive, pecs resting on the display case, his belly pushed against the side and requiring him to stand a foot away. His body was huge, the kind of massive that required decades of work, which made his young face look very strange. Atop a pair of shoulders that could carry a refrigerator was the small head of a frightened teenage boy. Since Max didn’t have any hair on his scalp anymore, it took Kellan a second to recognize him. “It’s me! Max!”
“Max!” Kellan lurched forward, nearly falling from his enormous size. His belly smashed into the other side of the display case where Max was standing, and he heard the buttons clink as they touched the glass. “Man, am I glad to see you! I thought you were gonna be arrested!”
“What, by you?”
“Huh?”
“You’re dressed like a cop! Why’s that?”
Kellan looked down at his frame and realized for the first time that he was wearing a tight police officer’s uniform. The blue pants, the tall boots, the crisp shirt with all the top buttons undone - the only reason he hadn’t realized was because it didn’t have any of the other stuff on it, though he couldn’t see the shiny gold pins materializing on both sides of his collar. “I…dunno,” he shrugged. “Why’re you behind the counter?”
“Nolan caught me stealing and put me to work,” Max sighed, his trap muscles twitching. “You have so much chest hair dude, gross.”
“It’s not fuckin’ gross,” Kellan growled, his fingers disappearing into the curly black forest as he scratched at it. “It’s just itchy.”
“Whatever. I just wanna go home.”
“Me too.”
Kellan looked around the donut shop and it seemed to be in one of its trademark lulls in the middle of the afternoon. It was always a good time to go in and get a quick bite since the morning rush was long gone, the lunch rush had just ended and the late night regulars weren’t due to arrive for hours. He furrowed his brow again, which felt heavier. How did he know that? Sure, he liked the Double D… okay, maybe he even loved it. But he didn’t think he visited so often that he had a feeling for how busy it was at different times of day. A tingling in the back of his mind made him think that maybe he did, though, since he visited at least twice a day. He hadn’t gotten the big gut taking up space in front of him from eating salads, after all.
“Shit, Max,” he groused in his deeper voice, “why are ya still hangin’ around here? No one’s here to make sure you pay your debt to society or whatever… Why don’t ya just get out from behind there? Or are you having trouble getting yourself to squeeze through?” he added with a guffaw at the end, his pec shelf slapping up against his chin again and again as it raised and lowered itself with his laughter.
“I guess that’s true,” Max admitted, rubbing the back of his head. He pulled his hand away and flicked his eyes upward. “Do I…not have any hair?”
“I can barely look at you, yer head’s so shiny.”
“Shouldn’t I have hair?”
Max looked so worried that Kellan wanted to reach across the counter and pat his buddy on his big shoulder, but the counter - and their bellies - kept him out of reach. So instead, Kellan just admitted, “I was wondering the same about myself,” pointing a finger at his own male pattern baldness.
“We got a lot to figure out,” Max said with a shake of his head. “I uh…well, Nolan’s on break. I can’t leave at least til he gets back, I’d never hear the end of it.” An affectionate smile drifted onto Max’s face. “He’d do something like pretend to spot me and then not help when I couldn’t get the weight up.”
“Whaddya mean?” Kellan asked.
“You know, when we work out together.”
“You work out?”
“You dumb or something? How else d’you think I got these?” Max raised his arms in a double bicep pose. His white button down’s short sleeves only wrapped around his deltoids, which was good, because otherwise his gargantuan arms would’ve ripped them apart.
They were the biggest arms Kellan had ever seen, but he wasn’t about to admit that to his friend. “That’s nothin’!” he grunted, replicating the gesture, biceps just as bloated with mass as Max’s. He didn’t see the patches for the local police department on both of his sleeves, nor the new epaulets bulging over his shoulders, clasped with shiny gold stars.
Max laughed out loud at Kellan’s flex, the two burgeoning boys clearly taking pride in the work they had put into their bodies… or at least thought they had put into their bodies. “Dunno why you didn’t know I practically live at the gym when I’m not here!” he barked over at his friend across the counter.
Kellan relaxed his flex and let his arms fall to his sides, but they weren’t sticking straight down anymore. His big, thick lat muscles were forcing them out at an angle. It was like his arms had natural armrests now, that would take some getting used to! He considered Max’s statement and it made his brow furrow some more. “Yeah, I, uh… wonder why I don’t remember seein’ ya there, big guy…” he trailed off, reaching a hand up to start to habitually rub a finger across his upper lip. He felt newfound fuzz there that was starting to grow in thicker, stiffer. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he felt like he had remembered something. “Oh yeah, I work out early in the mornin’, yer prolly over here makin’ the donuts around that time, aren'tcha?” he asked in a voice that seemed to boom no matter how softly he tried to talk. He’d gotten comments about how his voice could intimidate people without meaning to and he was trying to work on his… what did they call it? Oh yeah, people skills… Kellan knew he wasn’t mean, he was just a 6’5 bodybuilder with a really deep and loud voice, a naturally downturned mouth, and a tendency to grunt. But other people interpreted that as being mean, so he was working on it. Kind of.
“The donuts? Oh, right…yeah,” Max said, staring off into space. “I got into later workouts so I could go with Nolan when he got out of school.”
“Did he get you into liftin’?”
“Did he-” Max laughed again. “You’re funny! That boy was always tailing me around the gym, even when he was knee-high. I ever tell ya he got in two fights because he was ‘too pretty’? Kids at school said he was so pretty he looked like a girl. So he comes home crying and says he doesn’t want to look like a girl, so I started teaching him basic stuff…next thing I know, he looks like THAT.”
“He’s still pretty,” Kellan said, scratching at the whiskers under his nose that felt suspiciously like a mustache. “But that ain’t a bad thing.”
“Pretty like fuckin’ He-Man,” Max grunted. “Remember when we’d watch that show at your place after school?”
“After school? Wasn’t that show from the 80s?” Kellan rubbed his mustache - it was definitely a mustache. Just as wide as his lips, the dense whiskers standing straight out to the tip of his nose. Between that and the thick five o’clock shadow Kellan could feel on his cheeks, plus all his chest hair, he wondered why his parents had never bought him a razor.
Max’s features looked older and older as wrinkles began to form in the creases of his expressions, crow’s feet around the eyes, lines over his big forehead. The skin lost a bit of its elasticity as well as it sagged ever-so-slightly. Combined with the chrome dome, Max was definitely looking middle-aged. “Well, yeah, dummy. Shit, surprised they ever let ya pass yer police exam or whatever the fuck they do,” Max chuckled, his voice getting deeper, like Kellan’s. “Though maybe yer gettin’ like me and havin’ trouble rememberin’ things that happened that long ago,” he teased, a mischievous smile on his aging face.
Kellan blinked at that. There was no way he could actually be talking about the 80s, right? He was born in the 2000s. He’d had his own Facebook page in 6th grade. He only knew about the reboot He-Man they did a while ago. But he was also getting some other memories and he began to grunt like he always did, sounding like an angry bear. “Fuck, Max, I… I dunno. Maybe,” he boomed, reaching up with his huge hand and rubbing the bridge of his nose, feeling it get wider. Maybe he really was confused. After all, how could his friend Max have a kid like Nolan if he was a teen like Kellan was? Wait… if he was a teen, why was his best friend a middle-aged bodybuilder with a boulder gut? “Things ain’t makin’ sense…” he grunted, starting to tremble a bit as his thoughts started to unravel. He knew he had to be strong, to hold himself together, to not lose his way in all of this change. That determination seemed to add another 25 lbs to his body, his uniform feeling even tighter as he grunted louder.
“Who’s Max?” Max asked. Damn, he looked old.
“Huh? What’d I say…”
“You called me Max. Shit, you ARE havin’ a rough day.” Max grabbed a piece of paper and reached into the display case. “You need an eclair, Kennan.” He held the pastry over the counter. It looked so delicious.
“I…I really don’t think I should,” Kennan said, shaking his head.
“What, you watchin’ yer figure or somethin’?”
Kennan’s mind was spinning. Max calling him Kennan was wrong - he thought it was a joke for calling Max the wrong name, even though the only name he could think of still was Max - but it had knocked his real name right out of him. Kennan. That wasn’t right. Alarm bells were going off in his head. He had a good internal system for that shit, always sniffing out bad situations…
“I know this sounds fuckin’ dumb, but them donuts…I feel like they’re doin’ somethin’ to me.” He looked down at the long, delicious eclair hovering in front of him, then his eyes wandered to his shirt…all the top buttons were open because his chest was too goddamn immense. There was a big gold shield pinned above his left breast pocket, but his pec was so big it had moved the shield nearly to his armpit. On the right was a small gold bar that said “K. RUSHTON,” though as Kennan looked at it, the K turned to a D. “You see that shit, Mick?” he grunted.
Mick squinted a little at the little bar on Kennan’s uniform that was dwarved by the muscle and mass that surrounded it. Making that face made Mick look older. He made that face a lot when he was asked to read something without his glasses. “Naw, what the hell are ya goin’ on about, Dennan?” he asked, a thick eyebrow lifting quizzically. “Go ahead and eat the fuckin’ eclair, will ya? Free of charge for my best customer… just feel better, okay?”
Dennan swallowed. The name that Mick had just told him didn’t sound quite right… but it was close. Closer than Kellan. “I… I dunno…” he whined, the last bit of the scrawny, awkward teen kicking and screaming inside of the burly cop, the final embers of resistance flickering behind his eyes. “Everything started’ goin’ fubar after I had one'a these earlier…” he reasoned, furrowing his brow even further as his intuition told him that the pastry in his hand held a power he couldn’t understand. He looked down at it again, the innocent chocolate icing on top, the golden dough, the slight bit of goop in the middle poking out of it, like a navel.
He was broken out of his reverie when the counter rumbled from the impact of Mick slamming his palm down on top of it. “Goddammit, Dennis, eat that motherfuckin’ donut before I shove it in your hole!” the bellied man behind the counter roared, clearly losing patience with his dithering friend.
Dennis, formerly Dennan, formerly Kellan, licked his mustachioed lips before doing as he was told. The first bite was bliss. A little bit of icing got caught up in Dennis’ mustache, and he licked it out.
The next few bites tasted good, too, but they felt uncomfortable. His teeth were aching and not pressing together like he expected them to. Dennis bit the inside of his mouth twice, punctuating each incident with an angry growl. He didn’t understand what his issue was - all he did was fuckin’ eat, why all of a sudden couldn’t he even fuckin’ chew?! With Mick’s back turned as he retrieved a fresh pan of donuts, there was no way for Dennis to know his jaw was literally changing shape as he chewed. It grew big and broad, just like his body, as his boyish brow hardened into a jagged cliff and his skin thickened. Dennis got to skip his worst acne years but went straight to getting wrinkles, and he got a lot of them from all his time working outdoors. Each chomp stuck more years on him, his head growing in size atop his enormous shoulders; by the time Mick looked up, Dennis was in his late 40s but had enough mileage to pass for a decade past that.
“Lookin’ more like yerself.”
“Still feel kinda funny,” Dennis grunted. He looked at the trickle of cream emerging from the middle of the eclair, and his pecs made a single heave as he thought about how it looked kinda like a dick about to cum. Dennis bit into it, a trickle of filling dripping down the side of his mouth and landing right on his crotch, which immediately began puffing up.
He looked down with a mouth full of the cream, attempting to see where the dollop had landed, but his furry pecs and gut wouldn’t let him see past them, even though he could feel something was happening. He looked back at the eclair. Yeah, it did look a lot like a dick that was about to cum. He chuckled a little as he thought of that. That was kinda hot. Kinda really hot, actually. He grunted and widened his already wide stance a bit as he felt his balls bloating up in their cotton prison. They went from the size of grapes to golf balls to jumbo eggs! As his nuts started to take up all the space in the front of his crotch, his cock had to go up and away toward his hip to find room for its own growth, as it grew not only longer, but fatter. Hell, his dick would’ve looked a lot longer if it wasn’t for how big around it was; made it look almost stubby despite the fact that he couldn’t think of any dick he’d seen that was bigger. Even the pretty boys in porn had dicks that looked a little underfed compared to his locker room record.
He felt his eyebrows thicken as he furrowed his brow into his familiar expression as he thought about that. Dudes in porn, huh? He suddenly remembered his adolescence, sneaking looks at physique mags and telling himself he wanted to have muscles like those, so he went out and got himself some. He got married to a high school sweetheart without really thinking about it and pumped out a few kids with her, also without thinking about it. It was what he was supposed to do, after all, fags didn’t look or act like he did, right?
The marriage didn’t work out and he entered his 30s divorced with a couple of rowdy boys and a thirst for cock that he was only just starting to let himself slake in the showers at the local muscle pit. He had gotten big, real big, so big he knew no one would say shit if they caught the local big man macho mustachioed cop sucking cock on his knees in the back corner stall.
He was getting older at that point, the abs giving way to the domed-out muscle gut he currently owned, his hair vanishing and his kids starting to ask why he wasn’t dating. He realized he was being a chicken shit not being honest about who he was and if there was one thing Dennis “Big D” Rushton wasn’t, it was a chicken shit. So he came out and started going to bars and learned that he was what the boys called a “muscle bear” and he was in high demand, despite his gorilla-looks and rough demeanor. He reached down with a free hand to adjust his 13 inches of night stick in his pants. Shit, why was he gettin’ boned up eatin’ an eclair? he asked himself with a chuckle.
Then another thought came to him. He laughed aloud at it as he fondled his nuts.
“What’s yer dumbass laughin’ at?” Mick asked.
“It’s nothin’.” Dennis gulped down the last of his eclair. He couldn’t say it out loud to Mick, because it was too fuckin’ crazy. Mick’s dumb ass had put out all those fake signs about having new security, and Dennis got this weird idea in his head that the security just transformed the thieves into permanent customers.
But that was fuckin’ stupid.
“Oh hey, Lieutenant Rushton!” said an eager voice walking through the front door, and Dennis turned around to look at Mick’s kid Nolan angling his big shoulders through the frame. “Dad bribing you with treats so that you keep an eye out for any shoplifters?”
“I don’t know what kinda idiot would fuck with either one o’ ya,” Dennis said as he wrapped up the bodybuilder in a bear hug. “Damn, lookit yer boy’s arms, Mick!” he squeezed Nolan’s shredded bicep with one hand. “I remember when you were just a lil squirt.”
“Thanks, Mr. Rushton.” Nolan’s big white smile gave Dennis an erection, but nah, this was Mick’s boy, he couldn’t do any kinda shit with him. Nolan was friends with Dennis’ sons too, they’d done bodybuilding contests together. It’d be too weird.
Sure was fuckin’ nice to look at, though.
“How many goddamn fuckin’ times do I have to tell you to call me Dennis, boy?” Dennis had meant it as a nice thing - showing that he recognized Nolan as a grown-up and his equal now - but when that gorgeous smile went away he realized he’d sounded harsh. “Sorry,” he grunted quickly. “Boss says I still need ta work on my people skills.”
“Get a new face while yer at it,” Mick said behind him.
“Fuck you. Gimme a glazed for the walk to my cruiser.”
“Wouldn’t want you to pass out in those twenty steps.” Mick handed over a glazed donut. Dennis looked at it. Was this the first glazed he’d had today? It felt like the second, but he couldn’t remember when he would’ve had another.
“Bye fellas. You keep an eye on yer dad, son,” he said to Nolan on the way out. The last few glimmers of confusion lingering in Dennis’ mind were stomped out when he heard his boots clomp down the sidewalk. He rolled his shoulders back, hoisted his chest up and out, and twitched up the corners of his mouth when he caught himself scowling. “People skills. People skills.”