Competition - part 1 (Patreon)

He was twenty minutes deep into pumping up backstage, working a final coat of Dream Tan into his shoulders, when his hamstring twitched. Not a cramp, just a deep, weird pull. He figured it was the C4 kicking in. Or dehydration. But then his bright, tie-dye speedo rode up in the back and dug tight into his hips.

He looked down.

His quads were bigger than five minutes ago. The deep cuts between the vastus medialis and the sweep were just gone, smoothed over into one continuous curve. His stomach dropped. The thin lycra of the posing slip was cutting deep into actual hips. Thick ones. The fabric stretched tight across a wider pelvis, covering glutes that looked straight out of the bikini division lineup. Like some Instagram girl who practically lived in the squat rack.

He grabbed his own thigh. The skin felt wrong under his calluses. Denser, maybe, but too soft. The stray hairs he’d missed shaving were gone. Just warm, bare skin over heavy muscle.

"What the fuck." His voice sounded normal. Deep. He tried to hit a front double bicep, tensing his lower half on instinct, and the way his new glutes shifted made his spine tingle.

He wiped sweat off his forehead, trying to do the math on how many guys were left in his class before the expediter called his number.

Part two available here.