“There we go,” she says, getting me out the door to the communal bathroom just down the hall. Oddly, with each step, I feel better, stronger.
I trudge into the bathroom by myself. When I pass the mirrors and sinks, just opposite the urinals, a strange face stares back.
“What the! Jesus!” I jump. It’s me, but it’s not. Same eyes and brows. Same shape to everything, including my lips with the pronounced dip on the top one. Yeah, it’s definitely me, but my features are more defined—the blue of my eyes is more intense. My jaw is squarer, and the scruff is ten times thicker.
I approach the mirror and lean in for a closer look. There are a bunch of thick black hairs sticking from my cheek. I tug on one, and it comes loose.
“My stitches?” I inspect the threads that disintegrate in my hands. There’s no sign of the lacerations from last night. Not even a red mark.
“No way,” I mutter and pluck out the rest of the threads. My eyes can’t believe what they see. The tiny holes left behind from the sutures close up immediately.
I rub my hand over my chin, ear, and jaw. The sensation is dulled, almost like there’s a protective coating on my skin.
My pulsing bladder calls my attention. I still have to piss. I turn and sprint for the urinal, freeing my—
“Jesus Christ!” I step back and stare at the huge, thick cock flopping from my pants. I stare at the thing and give it a poke.
I felt that. I poke it again. The damned thing is definitely attached to my body, but this is not the dick I wore to the party last night. That was an average-sized penis—which I felt damned proud of. This is…is porn-sized!
The urge to piss is too overwhelming to ignore any longer, so I grab hold of the sucker as it lets go.
Oh god. It practically breaks free in my hand like a fire hose. The stream launches out of me like a rocket, piss going all over the place. I step back, unable to control the stream.
I don’t know what’s happening to my dick, but I’m pretty damned sure it’s a weapon of some sort.
The ceramic urinal starts to crack, and before I can move back another inch, the thing jars loose from the wall.
“Huff! What’s going on?” River rushes into the bathroom, her eyes locking on my huge dick. “Oh shit. Is that yours?” She then looks at the wall across from me and the broken urinal sitting on the tile floor. Water is going everywhere.
My eyes meet hers as I grip the snake of destruction in my shaking hand. “I believe you now. Something definitely happened last night.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
That morning, Ronno is generous enough to take me to get a new phone because River was in serious need of a shower, food, and sleep.
I dress in a pair of gray sweatpants and a red T-shirt that was once too big on me. I’m definitely going to have to buy new clothes today, because as is, I look like I got this stuff at Baby Gap.
At least my Converse still fit.
Two hundred bucks later (money I don’t have to spare), I’m telling myself it’s a necessity. My phone got crunched last night—found its remains in the parking lot—and Mom has probably texted me more than once. She loses it if I don’t respond right away, and the last thing I need is to worry her.
The new phone comes to life inside the store, and I’ve got eighty texts from River. Not good. When I get to Ronno’s car and start scrolling, I realize I haven’t managed to alter her fears about our “plan.”
“Our plan” consists of lying low and denying anything happened. We were never in that SUV. I only went to that party for an hour. After the fight, I left for the ER and went home. We will say nothing about what happened after she picked me up in the ER. Why? Because something is wrong with me.
Point one: I’m not a sci-fi freak. I don’t believe in magic, kryptonite, or radioactive super-spiders. I believe in facts and data. So why have I transformed? I have no clue. Not yet. But there has to be a logical, scientific reason.
Which leads to point two: That reason will likely be of interest to more than just me. I can think of a thousand different people and organizations that wouldn’t mind figuring out how I’ve gained fifty pounds of solid muscle and a monster cock in one night. If I go public, I’ll be locked up for either being crazy or to be experimented on. Denial is my friend.
Point three: I’ve secretly wished for this to happen all my life. I’ve always been smaller and weaker than the rest. As of today, that’s all history. I don’t know how it happened or why, but I seriously couldn’t give a crap. I feel the pulse of life in my veins. I feel like the part of me that was always missing has come home. Even my heart feels different. Bigger somehow.
The best thing about it is, I’m in a new place. Hardly anyone has met me yet, and if they have, they probably forgot about me five seconds later. The risk of anyone noticing I’m different is pretty low. Except for Blake and his bros.
But I have a plan. It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m paying a visit to my new friends. We need to have a little talk.
Doesn’t take long to figure out where Blake and his boys live. Their frat house is listed on the internet.
I’m still in my sweats and too-tight shirt, heading for the elevator, when a couple of girls pass me. They both smile and say hello, followed by giggles.
“Did you see the size of it?” one says.
I look down at my crotch. Yeah, this is not a modest look. The gray sweats are practically presenting my dick to the world.
I lift my chin. Maybe it’s a good thing, considering where I’m going. This super chicken has been transformed. Blake needs to know he shouldn’t mess with me.
I make my way down to the lobby, passing several more students. Almost everyone smiles and says “hi” or “wassup?” One guy even high-fives me. “How’s it hangin’, bro?” he says.
Okay. I get that I look and feel different, but I wasn’t expecting this. Girls checking me out? Guys practically saluting me? These are people I’ve never met.
I go outside, and it’s a warm, sunny afternoon. The birds are chirping. The trees and grass seem greener than usual. And wow, everything is so loud.
I start walking toward the frat house, which is all the way on the other side of campus, and I spot a cute girl sitting on the lawn beside the dorms. She and a bunch of her friends are in a circle, tossing around a little rope. There’s a brown puppy with white spots trying to catch it.
One of the other girls glimpses my way and stares like she’s seen a ghost. Or a giant doughnut she wants to eat? Whatever. She looks downright carnivorous.
I look away and keep on going.
Moments later, I hear a scream, “Baxter! No! Get back here!”
When I look over my shoulder, that puppy is running straight for the street. A bus is coming from the other direction, and the driver won’t see the furball between all the parked cars lining the curb.
You know how people say that when there’s a life-or-death situation, time slows to a crawl? I used to think that too. Seconds passing like minutes. The adrenaline flooding your brain, absorbing all the sights, smells, and movements around you. For one short second you’re pulling energy from an unknown place to heighten your senses. People have been known to lift cars or run into burning buildings, coming out completely unharmed by flames.