Results may vary--

[Zuiderzee]

RESULTS MAY VARY. We've all read that warning somewhere.
The next time you see those words, you might want to think about what happened to me and Mom.

Dinah Powers: That's the name the pummeled big-rig driver gave to the state troopers when he came to at the hospital.

If I know anything, the middle name of her alias is Might.

The fifty-foot trailer, crammed with a fortune of TVs, stereo equipment and other goodies for Funk-You's media warehouse was uncoupled at the truck stop. She only wanted the tractor to ride around in; they're roomy.

Our little family, Mom and me, has turned anti-social. I still feel I have my whole life ahead of me. Mom? I don't know exactly what her kick is except for some payback.

My mom has changed her name and her appearance-—don't bother looking for her name and likeness either on the FBI's most-wanted list or among the mug shots at your local post office. Her last driver's license lists her height at five feet, one inch—-and her weight at ninety-nine lbs.
But those are just dry measurements. Before she changed, she shuffled, muttered and spent most of her time sitting or lying down. Limp blond hair, sadly thin on her scalp, didn't quite hang to her shoulders; she covered up her receded hairline with a variety of hats and wigs.

She pawned her wedding ring. Hell, it slipped off her finger so many times she couldn't wear it.

Now way she can wear that wedding ring now unless it's around the base of her clit or on one of her nipples. Given the lousy attitude she had about my dad, she had to have pawned it early on.

Once or twice, at her lowest, she fainted at home. The second time was in her bra and panties which didn't fit her frame anymore and sagged like something she had to borrow from a much bigger woman.

She's got to be about six feet, nine inches now. She probably goes about four hundred pounds. And she isn't obese if that's what you're wondering. It's all bone and muscle. She has hair like a rock star if she lets it grow out. The hospitalized trucker described her as having a crew cut. But from what I observed, her hair grows fast, maybe two inches in twenty-four hours.

Mom used me to get the way she is now, but I've got the upper hand for the moment—-and I'm taking every opportunity to enjoy my freedom and get ready for the next round. She promised to hunt me down. I don't intend to go easily.

Not so long as I've got my once-secret weapon. The ones she made herself. And those take some explanation:

I hide my amazing pep pills in plain sight; they look so unappetizing and innocuous that no drug-cultured freak or professor of chemistry would ever recognize them.
They are amazingly potent. But they were very dangerous to produce and harvest. Once I metabolize the nutrients in the pills, I go a little overboard with my appetites.

Well, life is short. Here today, gone tomorrow---you've heard that too.

I’m going to sleep in a wet spot, but I don’t care.
Hell, there are so many of those wet spots in the sheets it’s impossible to lie down without touching one of them.

Yeah, I feel pretty good about myself if I do say so.

My cock, a fairly tireless monster that stands a foot tall, is still hard after three orgasms. Considering what else I have to do with it, all those extra inches can add to the ordeal.

For the moment, though, I can time things out. My system is amazing. My climaxes, numerous as they are, feel like the best revenge I could have dreamed of. On good days, I can manage seven---and that isn't even my record. Between it and the two girls sleeping in bed with me, that ought to explain the wet spots.

When my story started, I supposed the only wet spot I’d be resting in would be a pool of my own blood.

Things changed, all right, but for the longest time, everybody who knew me,(including yours truly) didn’t give me long to live.

And this is how it all began...

 

[xlyoungstud]

It sounds good so far... I'd like to hear more. Curiosity perhaps?

 

[Zuiderzee]

Never be embarrassed about curiosity...it's the hallmark of intelligence. I'm just doing a little re-editing. The next part will be up soon. I'm glad you commented. Z.

 

[Silversky]

This is interesting. I thought someone had decided to post one of the stories from over at the BE Story Archive. This looks even better than it's namesake. Here's to realised potential.

 

[Zuiderzee]

Thanks. I'm hoping not to disappoint. A test audience complained of "too much filler" and not enough focus on the graphic details. I promise more soon.

 

[Zuiderzee]

I guess it kicked off with superfood.

Super food...or superfoods?

Just what in Hell are they?

Some countries, like the EU, deny there are such things or at least prohibit labeling foods as such. Fine. Those super foods...what are some examples we’ve all heard of? Well, shipmates, there’s that old stand-by, spinach.

Spinach didn’t exactly blow me down, or in any other direction for that matter. The misshapen, yet tuneful
sailorman who popularized spinach isn’t to blame.
Nutritionists who must have been looking at the data with only one eye themselves made a mistake and touted it as an iron-rich vegetable that every child in America should be raised on.

Not as nutritious as originally supposed...but decades of cartoons gave me the idea spinach was miraculous.
And then there’s dark chocolate, red wine, soy beans, yogurt...the lists go on and on. Well, a steady diet of this fare is supposed to heal, energize, add long life and boost performance in every department. I mean every department. Yeah, THAT department.

It's crazy. Chicks these days aren't as fussy as they were in my grand-dad's day. A pale, peaked guy is supposed to get girls as much as a tanned, robust jock---provided the sickly sort can pal around with Goths and such. I was never part of that crowd. I wanted to be big and healthy---I wanted to grow into the mold of a stud and just go through the ranks of hotties in nothing flat.

I had the makings of a good cock, not necessarily a giant one, but a good one. Of course, being kinda wimpy, I lacked staying power and a strong libido. What I saw in a muscle and health magazine really fired my imagination. I tore out the page and brought it home, hardly believing the BEFORE AND AFTER pictures.

If ever I was to grow into a jock or a stud, now was the time. And "NUTRA-BOOM" was the stuff to turn me into one.

Stupid me...and my mom.

Actually, Mom wised up faster than I did. When she discovered the real secret of how to utilize the stuff we had been taking, I wound up a prisoner in our own home and she was the jailor.

Of course, I got out, but it was an ordeal I was lucky to manage...

 

[floopypoo22]

This could be very damn good. My only suggestion: go BIG or go home! (haha)

 

[Zuiderzee]

I work best under pressure.

 

[bentos]

do go on

 

[Zuiderzee]

Expect more very soon, and thanks for the encouragement.

 

[Bockwink]

great stuff! eagerly anticipating more....

 

[Zuiderzee]

Wow! I'm almost regretting I didn't submit this in January.

 

[MrDuuude69]

Your first entry was very confusing. The second one looks promising.

 

[Zuiderzee]

Apologies for the confusion--but you didn't go into detail about what tripped you up.

The story is told in a non-linear way, (we don't start at the very beginning) and the
narrator has to reference events both in the present and in the past.

On erotica sites, the average reader won't wait for a slow, logical build-up. That's what we all have to deal with.

I'm glad you described the second part as promising.

 

[Zuiderzee]

While it lasted, we had a quiet, but normal home life, never consistently great. So, I never imagined my mom could do such a thing to me. Well, how could I?

I had to remember throughout my captivity that we had been (and in ways still are) sick people. Losing your health is worse than losing your keys, mobile phone, medication, I.D. card, whatever. But public perception remains the same. If you lose your health, you must also have lost your damned mind.

"NUTRA-BOOM" could very well have warped our minds the way it warped our bodies. Sensible people would have stopped taking "NUTRA-BOOM" at the first sign of weakness and discomfort...we would have as well. But we didn't know about the addictive ingredients and the ongoing effects of that addiction.

Not at the start, we didn't.

Mom just wanted to lose weight and look healthier. I had other reasons for wanting to get healthy.

I'm a dropout, I have to admit. When I went to school, I took a lot of ribbing and goofing from the jocks when I couldn't manage in track and field or in the weight-room.

There were times on dates when I suffered from "equipment failure" despite my youth.

I sure needed something---and I needed it fast.


We turned out pretty wimpy, considering the rest of the family. Dad died young—-anemic, short of breath, chronic fatigue, fallen arches, vertigo. A tragic case.

Mom off-handedly said he was no good in bed.

I didn’t want to turn out like him. Not with so many chances to score if I grew into a sturdier specimen of male than he did. So, I did some timely research into the world of fitness literature. That's when I saw that ad for “NUTRA-BOOM”, a new, completely natural food supplement touted to bulk up a slight frame and kick start the system. Oh, sure...and spinach gives you instant muscles.

“NUTRA-BOOM” What a racket! What a scheme!

Well, why not, I ask you. Go into any store, big or small and you’ll see energy-boosting drinks sold in keen-looking cans and outside those stores you’ll see those same keen-looking cans sitting around empty. There’s a definite market.

Remember friends, this is America. We put a man on the moon, irradiated the Southwest, made obesity popular, killed the electric car...we spend millions and millions of dollars on useless body-shaping, weight-loss cures every year and laugh at the native witch-doctor on the dark continent with his lizard skins and vulture claws who works for free. Unlike him, we know what we’re doing.

It turns out this crud was marketed in other places as “SUSTA-BLEND”, “NITRO-GORP”, "GROWTH-BLAST" and a string of other names. Mom and I were one of the pathetic, gullible minority who unloaded hard-earned inheritance money for “NUTRA-BOOM” and ate our way into ill-health, poverty and misery.

But then, something turned that all around.

It was the turning that almost killed us...

 

[Zuiderzee]

Kidney stones.

If you've suffered from them, you know how awful they can be. Solids scraping and tearing down passages meant for fluids---namely my big cock.

But as it turned out, those little pebbles were the key to my salvation.

More about those damned kidney stones later---they're central to the story, however, I should shed some light about how badly Mom and I were duped...

What fucking chumps we were...!

OK. So where was the fucking muscle we were guaranteed to grow? Mom and I had been ladling "NUTRA-BOOM" for weeks with apparently no change in our physiques except for some slimming in the waist and a general feeling that we were doing ourselves some good.

The Halloween color scheme of the drums its sold in should have told me that a trick was in the treat from the get-go.

We were going all out. We noticed, however, we weren't growing healthier.

We had "NUTRA-BOOM" by the pallet in our garage. But it looked like it was ours until we consumed every last can. We couldn't give the stuff away, though our first goal was to get rid of it at a profit. No luck---it was like trying to sell torn parachutes or flat tires.

Our waistlines shrank. We lost weight. But no vigor and vitality. Exercise made our bones ache. We got winded even with warm-ups. But we didn't stop taking the pink stuff.
I observed actual muscle loss. I peeled the label off one drum of "NUTRA-BOOM", had it enlarged and hung it on the wall to read---just in case I was making a mistake in the dosage and preparation.

Nope.

Everything looked A-OK. So what was the problem? Tapeworm was just one of the paranoid ideas I entertained during those tense weeks. Only a parasite that big could account for the weird lack of metabolism we experienced. We experimented up and down with the food groups, gorging on everything to keep the weight on. No difference.

I wanted muscle, but figuring that virility was part of the upshot, I measured my schween both at erection and between erections. That's better than saying "soft", isn't it?

Measuring along the top, I maxed out at six and a quarter inches with a real stiff one. The diameter? Amazingly, the same. Six and a quarter. I was pretty regular, but with some potential to grow.

Between erections, the measurements were three inches fewer, give or take a few sixteenths.

Well...get ready for a shock.

I didn't grow.

The measurements didn't improve.

If anything, the erections didn't hit the mark after a few months. Hard-ons were rare and faltering. Interest in sex diminished.

Jacking off become an exhausting, self-raping waste of time with just a warm feeling that I could have gotten by giving a bum in the street a handout.

Girls avoided me. Then everyone. I looked bad. I smelled bad. Wishful thinking told me the ill-effects were just old, rotten toxins leaving the body. I was wrong.
As my weight fell off, my closest friends shied away, thinking I had something contagious or terminal.

Nope.

Death would have been easier than what I was going to suffer in a few weeks more.

And why shouldn't I have been concerned? Here's the deal:

I was shoveling down protein-rich foods and guzzling NUTRA-BOOM shakes like a madman. So was Mom. We ate breakfast and dinner together. Our lunches-—mine at my store job and hers at the office-—were identical. Still, our bathroom scales (we replaced them numerous times out of sheer skepticism) said we weren't gaining weight. In fact, we were starving to death faster than supermodels. Oh, there were times it looked as if we were going to quit cold turkey with the stuff. I remember one night. We didn't have the gusto to exercise anymore. Our heartbeats were irregular, our skin tone was bad; we got bedsores. Our hair fell out. Our nails were brittle. Our teeth loosened. And we didn't know what was going wrong. Mom missed work, I missed school. We were in bad shape. With my head pounding, I hit the nutrition books, looking for answers.

That same muscle and health magazine disappeared from store shelves without a follow-up issue. I tried contacting the publisher for information about "NUTRA-BOOM", but the phone number, web address and street address were dead ends. They had closed up shop.

Using internet search engines for "NUTRA-BOOM" got me no results, the wrong results or plenty or 404's.

Somebody, somewhere knew about us; pallets of "NUTRA-BOOM" kept arriving. Not on a "NUTRA-BOOM" company truck, but from a global delivery company who confessed they picked up their shipments from sources they couldn't trace.

What the hell was going on?

We were somebody's experiment. All my hopes for health and virility fell away one afternoon, despite all the dogged hopes for stud-dom.


"Mom", I said one evening in a tired, pitiful voice, "This stuff we've been taking...it's poison. We...oughta sue!"

Mom grunted and groaned in the garage like she was trying to cope with a bunch of pulled muscles or a second degree burn.

And then, I heard her fart; I wonder if the neighbors could have heard it.


She made a move to pour it down the kitchen sink---but couldn't. Trembling, she drank the rest and made herself another damned "NUTRA-BOOM" shake. In a few minutes, I made one myself and got a sensation like a slow-motion gut-punch.

I felt awful. I had no sex drive. No bouts of horniness. No morning erections. No wet-dreams.

We were addicts. We were unable to part with the treasure, no matter how bad it was warping us.

Like I said, dupes.


Now, getting back to those kidney stones:

My Uncle Phil, God rest him, on my father's side of the family, went through a terrible experience which should have told me something. The trouble was, Phil's ordeal was so wretched to look at and remember that I worked up a dense mental block and shut it all out until perhaps it was too late.

Fuck me, I should have tried to remember Uncle Phil.

I didn't. Not till it was too late. Too damned late...

 

[Bockwink]

this is like watching a train wreck in slow motion...I love it

 

[Zuiderzee]

Lots of negativism in this story---but you got to let the hero take his lumps, even in erotica. IMHO. Getting back up if the real fun part.

 

[ETown7]

Fantastic!

 

[Zuiderzee]

Glad you think so. More is on the way.