Mariposa Honeymoon - Chapter 11

By Cris Kane -
published November 9, 2018
Category: Transformation   Tags: #workout #speedos #twink

Charles feels liberated by his latest incarnation, while Derek and Pierce use their sleuthing skills to search for him.


If you had asked him three days earlier, Charles would have considered it absurd to think he could ever feel uninhibited enough to walk down a public beach in nothing but a neon-blue, ass-accentuating Speedo, with bracelets that stretched nearly to his elbow, sporting a rip curl of blue hair and painted nails on his fingers and toes, yet here he was.

He had been an unusually uptight teenager and, despite his career success and financial stability – or, more accurately, BECAUSE of it – Charles had felt even more hemmed in as an adult by the expectations of others and the demands he placed on himself. His days spent as Chuck and Charlie had been eye-opening and confidence-boosting, but becoming Blu was proving to be truly liberating. For the first time in his life, he felt he could do whatever he desired without worrying about the consequences. No one would expect someone who looked as eccentric as Blu to behave conventionally. In fact, they’d likely be disappointed if he did. Blue was determined to enjoy his day of newfound freedom to the fullest. He’d be disappointed in himself if he didn’t.

His pulse quickened as he neared the area where he had run into Todd the day before. Even from a distance, he could see the Iowa gang’s belongings amassed in the shelter of the same shady palapa, and he could make out at least two bodies beneath it. He strutted purposely in their direction, shifting the straps of his tote bag higher on his collar bone to keep them from slipping down his soft shoulder as he walked. Crossing the uneven sand forced his protruding ass to waggle exaggeratedly back and forth. Without making any conscious effort, Blu’s mere presence was attracting considerable attention from the other sun worshipers.

As he approached the boys’ campsite, Blu saw Bart sprawled out on a beach blanket, looking bloated and greenish, a bottle of beer wedged between his flabby thighs. Seated beside him was Kev, holding a cold beer bottle against his temple, his hair hanging limp and disheveled. Blu stopped about fifteen feet away, resting his wrists against his hip bones, and asked with a titter, “Rough night, boys?” His flutey voice came as a surprise each time he heard it, but he was growing more comfortable with it as the morning went on.

Bart lay motionless, ignoring the question, but Kev squinted over at the weird little dude with the sculpted blue hair and the obvious mini-hard-on in his banana hammock. “You could say that,” Kev replied, his Iowa-bred politeness overruling his instinct to ignore the odd-looking stranger.

Blu dropped his shoulder bag onto the sand and dug through it, reaching past the flip-flops and belly-baring top to retrieve Kev’s loaner shirt. He pulled it out and flapped it in the breeze to eliminate wrinkles. “I brought your shirt back,” he declared, walking toward Kev and dangling the shirt in front of him.

Kev recognized the shirt as his own, but he had no clue who was holding it or why. “Where’d you get that?”

Blu felt silly. He’d already grown so comfortable in his new skin that it had slipped his mind that the boys would find him totally unrecognizable. He realized he needed to concoct a plausible explanation on the fly. “Red asked me to return it.”

Searching his beer-fogged memories, Kev dimly recalled loaning the shirt to the dude who had hung out with them the day before. He scrutinized Blu, who seemed to share little in common with the tall athletic redhead they had befriended yesterday. “YOU’RE friends with Red?”

“Sure am. He’s my…brother!” Blu didn’t know why he had felt compelled to add that detail. He knew he was violating Todd’s law of sticking as close to the truth as you could when you were lying, but he couldn’t seem to rein in his imagination today.

Curious, Bart cracked open his eyelids to get a look at the newcomer. Aside from some general facial characteristics, this guy looked nothing like Red. Bart wasn’t exactly an expert geneticist, but he offered his blunt opinion on the matter. “I call B.S.”

“Well, okay, HALF-brothers,” Blu said with a dramatic eye roll, hoping that made his story slightly more plausible.

“More like half brother, half sister,” Bart mumbled to Kev, who squelched a laugh.

Ordinarily, Charles wouldn’t have been able to hear the muttered remark over the wind and the surf, but Blu’s Mariposa-heightened senses were keen enough to pick it up. He was disappointed in the comment, not having detected any obvious homophobia among the guys yesterday beyond their distaste for Todd’s Broadway cast albums. Then again, they had probably assumed Red was another straight jock just like them, while Blu’s sexuality was far easier to surmise.

Blu tossed the shirt to Kev, who immediately pulled it on, covering up his toned and hairy torso. Kev remained suspicious. “How’d you even know I was the guy you were lookin’ for?”

“Red said you’d probably be somewhere around here. He gave me verrrry detailed descriptions of you boys. I just knew you had to be Baby Bear.” As Bart laughed at the nickname, he began to cough so hard that he worried he might puke. Blu looked at the cougher and said, “Which means you must be ‘Bart the Fart’!” Now it was Kev’s turn to laugh. “Red said there were four of you. Where are your buddies?”

“The Toddler dragged O to go work out,” Bart said.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you boys work out?”, Blu asked the obviously hung-over Iowans.

Bart merely groaned, while Kev said, “I already lifted my weight in beer last night. So, if your brother’s Red, what do they call you? Blue?”

“Actually, it does!”, Blu said brightly, pleased that Kev at least was willing to engage with him. He clasped his hands behind his back and dragged a foot back and forth in the sand, oblivious to how flirtatious this looked.

“Blue and Red?” Bart asked. “Who the fuck’s your mom? Pink?” He raised a hand and got a high-five in return from Kev.

Blu played along, embellishing his fictional family history. “We even got a half-sister who’s bi-racial. We call her Plaid.”

Kev and Bart both laughed, their resistance to Blu fading. Kev gestured to the cooler. “You want a beer or something?”

“I wouldn’t mind a drinky-poo!” Blu giggled, unsure where the hell “drinky-poo” came from. He kneeled beside the cooler and opened it up, evaluating his options, bypassing the various beers in favor of a teal-colored beverage labeled “Calypso Colada”. “Mmm, this looks scrumpsh.” Like “drinky-poo”, “scrumpsh” was not a Charles word. He wondered how the ingredients in every bottle of Mariposa managed to include not only physical traits and mental adjustments but a whole new vocabulary. He twisted off the cap and raised the bottle in a toast. “Here’s to another day in paradise!” He took a sip and found it was indeed scrumpsh.

Kev and Bart lifted their drinks half-heartedly, neither of them finding it remotely surprising that the blue-eyed, blue-haired, blue-nailed, blue-Speedoed Blu would even color-coordinate his choice of alcohol.

Blu walked back to where he had dropped his bag and nestled his butt on the beach. Bart found it unnerving that the impish stranger was facing toward them rather than the shore. “Ya know, the ocean’s thataway,” he said, pointing toward the Caribbean.

“I know,” Blu said, taking another swallow of his blue drink and digging his toes into the sand. He preferred the view in this direction.

When O kept griping about the shoddy equipment in the exercise room of their low-budget hotel, Todd told him about the outdoor workout park he had noticed during his solo morning walks, walks on which he allowed his eyes to roam more than was safe when the guys were around. O was psyched to check it out, but couldn’t convince Kev and Bart to join them. O had woken up just as bloodshot and burnt-out as those two, but he had learned that blasting through a morning workout was the best way for him to drive the evil spirits from his body and recover after a night of overindulgence. Designated driver Todd, of course, had no such need to recuperate.

Todd wore his sleeveless Iowa Hawkeyes shirt and baggy sweatpants, while O was shirtless in blue basketball shorts and sneakers. Todd was ostensibly spotting O on the bench press, but he was constantly calibrating how directly and for how long he dared look at his friend. He couldn’t risk staring as much as he would like at O’s exposed physique, which the weights were pumping to even more impressive dimensions. Then again, if he made it too obvious that he WASN’T looking at O, that might make it seem like Todd was trying too hard not to appear gay. He made every effort to appear nonchalant in his friend’s presence, while silently praying that O wouldn’t notice the raging hard-on that was tenting inside his sweats.

O grimaced, grunting loudly as he pushed for one final rep before lowering the weight bar. Psyched, he jumped up from the bench to clear the way for Todd, who instantly began to slide off the plates. “Whatcha doin’, man?”, O said with annoyance.

Todd pointed to the barbell as it had been loaded for O’s set. “You kiddin’? That’s way more than I can lift.”

“Try it,” O said encouragingly.

“Can I call your attention to the difference between my body and yours?” Todd gestured toward O’s jacked arms and chest without looking at them.

“You don’t hafta do a full set. Just see how many you can do. If you’re ever gonna make any progress in life, you gotta push yourself outside your comfort zone.”

“But I’m comfortable in my comfort zone,” Todd replied with a slight whine, instantly realizing how pathetic it made him sound.

O just laughed, casually clapping a hand onto Todd’s back to guide him toward the bench. “C’mon, my brotha. Don’tcha wanna grow up big and strong like me?”

Todd was grateful O couldn’t hear the answer racing through his mind.

Across the park, Derek and Pierce had just arrived, and Derek was in a mood. Before they left the hotel, Pierce had suggested that they ask at the front desk if they could talk to Chico. The exasperated concierge informed them that Chico had left without explanation the day before and had not bothered to show up for his shift today. This news had enraged Derek, further fueling his suspicions that Charles and Chico were off having a Mariposa holiday together. Derek could think of only two ways to exorcise the anger building inside his enormous body: exercise or fucking.

Fucking had obvious appeal, especially now that he was in temporary possession of Mike Cochran’s legendary spike. If Charles was indeed cheating on Derek, a revenge fuck would provide a certain satisfying eye-for-an-eye symmetry, but Derek did not want to risk cheating on Charles without hard evidence that Charles had cheated on Derek first. Derek did not wish to commit premature infidelity. Any fucking plan would also, of necessity, require that Derek find someone to fuck. Sex with a random stranger held little appeal for Derek, leaving Pierce as the obvious fucking option, but Derek was angrier at Pierce for setting all this in motion than he was at Charles. He wasn’t about to reward Pierce for his devious actions by granting him intimate access to Mike the Spike.

So exercise it was.

Derek was curious to see how this lumbering beast of a body compared to the Chinese gymnast he had inhabited on day one. He knew Mike the Spike would be nowhere near as limber but must possess incredible brute strength. He took mammoth strides toward the area of the park with the heavier weights, drawing awestruck looks in his body-hugging red tank and matching track pants. Pierce lagged behind him, his much shorter legs struggling to keep up. It was rare for Pierce to be upstaged by anyone, but he now found himself in the shadow of Mike the Spike both literally and figuratively. Even Pierce’s appearance was pedestrian by his usual standards, just a white ringer tee and faded jeans with his hair pulled back in a braid. He did have an extra spring in his step thanks to the partial dose of Mariposa he had consumed, which had left him looking nearly identical to the way he had appeared as Derek’s freshman roomie.

As Todd fixed his focus on the impossibly heavy bar that loomed above him, he noticed that his would-be spotter’s attention had been pulled away. As Todd lifted his head from the bench to see what was distracting O, he instantly recognized the imposing figure walking toward them, but didn’t dare say anything.

“Holy shit,” he heard O say, “is that Mike the Spike?”

“Wh-OO?”, Todd said, trying to sound blasé and praying that O hadn’t noticed the crack in his voice mid-word.

At the same time, Derek recognized the young blond currently occupying the bench. He leaned down and quietly remarked to Pierce, “Hey, isn’t that the kid who was here the other day checking me out?”

“Who?”, Pierce replied, his own attention focused on the shirtless stud standing behind the bench. When he could finally bring himself to look away from O, he did find the kid in the Iowa shirt familiar. “Oh, yeah, you’re right. Your fan!”

“I noticed him leaving the club last night, and Charles told me they’d been hanging out yesterday. Maybe he knows where Charles is today.”

“For all we know, that could be Charles standing over there with him.” Pierce jerked his head in O’s direction.

Derek hadn’t even considered that possibility. If Mariposa had indeed transformed Charles into the athletic young man who was currently gawking at him, Derek might be inclined to forgive him quickly, then spend the rest of the day back at the hotel having makeup sex. Inside his track pants, he could feel the Spike stiffening against his right thigh. “What should we do?”, he asked Pierce softly.

“You’re the private investigator. Investigate!”

Derek chuckled, trying to imagine how this scene would play out in one of Mike the Spike’s detective pornos. It would likely start “Law And Order”-style with a few benign questions and nebulous answers, then quickly transition to all four of them fucking on the bench. Derek decided to stick with the questions for now. “Hey, guys,” he said in his full resonant voice, “mind if we work in with you?”

“Not at all,” Todd said, eagerly vacating the bench for the newly arrived celebrity.

Derek straddled the bench and sitting down, automatically adjusting his semi-hard cock for comfort. Rendered essentially invisible due to Mike the Spike’s charisma, Pierce took a seat on a nearby leg press machine and observed the unfolding situation. He noted with amusement that both Todd and O’s eyes were automatically drawn toward the exceptional bulge in Derek’s pants.

As Derek lay back on the bench, he looked up at Todd and asked, “Say, blondie, didn’t I see you here a couple days ago?”

Todd was speechless. Although he had been infatuated with the young Chinese gymnast, he found it hard to believe that he wouldn’t have noticed if Mike Cochran had also been working out in the same park. His oversized presence would automatically have commanded attention, even if Todd hadn’t been familiar with Mike’s work (although he was, in fact, quite a Mike the Spike fanboy). Even harder for him to believe was that Mike would have noticed anyone as ordinary as Todd, let alone remembered him two days later. “I dunno” was all Todd could say in response.

“Sure,” Derek continued, “you were hangin’ over at the monkey bars with that smokin’-hot Asian brotha.” Without trying, he found himself falling into the speech patterns and vernacular of the hard-boiled character from the “Dick” movies. Maybe Pierce was onto something with his theory that a dose of Mariposa would allow literally anyone to play Mike the Spike.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Todd said, trying to sound casual. He didn’t notice O’s curious glance his way at the mention of the “smokin’-hot Asian brotha”. For a park that Todd had claimed to have only noticed in passing, it sure sounded like he had lingered a while.

“Maybe you fellas could help me out,” Derek said, grabbing onto the barbell and doing twelve reps with ease. “I’m on the lookout for a tall, good-lookin’ white boy. Lotsa freckles. Hair as red as a chili pepper. Goes by the name of Chuck. Either of you seen him?”

“Sounds like Red,” O blurted out. Todd shot O a glance, unsure why a porn star would be searching for their pal from the day before.

Derek sat up, swiping a hand across his shaved head to wipe away the beads of sweat. “Red?”

“He means Charlie,” Todd said, his head tilting upward as Derek rose from the bench…and rose…and rose. “He, uh, hung out with us yesterday.”

“That so?”, Derek said, studying O for any indication the well-built African-American might really be Charles in a Mariposa disguise. “I don’t s’pose you’ve seen him today.”

O felt intimidated as Derek loomed over him at his full height. O rarely had to look up to anyone. “No, sir, we haven’t seen him since Todd here drove him home last night.”

Derek looked puzzled, since he had seen Todd leave the club crying. Had Charles abandoned him at the club to chase after Todd? If so, how did this factor into the timeline of Charles ending up in bed with Chico? He turned to Todd. “You drove him home?”

Todd realized he was on tricky terrain, needing to balance the cover story he had told the guys with the events as they had actually occurred. He followed his rule of thumb by telling as much of the truth as possible. “Yeah, we were at the club and Red said he’d had too much to drink, so he asked if I could drive him back to his hotel. So I did.”

“Anyone else with you?”, Derek asked, wondering whether Chico had been along for the ride. Todd shook his head. “Don’t suppose he mighta mentioned what he was planning for today.” Both Todd and O shook their heads. Derek hadn’t detected any trace of Charles in O’s appearance or behavior. His sleuthing had hit a brick wall. Being a dick was hard.

“Well, if either of you gents happens to run into this Red fella, I’d be much obliged if you’d give me a holler.” Derek patted the pockets of his track pants in search of his phone, but the only hard object he felt was the Spike. He pointed a thumb toward Pierce. “My associate here will give you his contact deets.”

Pierce stood up, suddenly deputized. As he traded phone numbers with Todd and O, Todd voiced a quiet concern to Pierce, who seemed more approachable than the big man. “Is Red okay? He’s not in any trouble, I hope.”

Pierce shook his head reassuringly. “I’m sure it’s all just a simple misunderstanding.” For his own sake, Pierce hoped that was the truth. Dodgy as his actions may have been, he had convinced himself that he had given the six pack to the newlyweds with the noblest of intentions. He was sure it was considered poor etiquette for the best man to sabotage the marriage during the honeymoon.

After he and Todd had exchanged information with Pierce, O waved to Derek and said, “Good luck in your search, sir.”

Derek hadn’t meant to scare them away. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your workout.”

“It’s fine,” O said. “We were pretty much done.” He grabbed Todd by the elbow and turned them toward where their car was parked.

Todd didn’t mind. He had been spared the humiliation of trying to lift more than he could handle in front of a big buff porn star. But he was still surprised by the abruptness of O’s decision to leave the park, and by how rattled O seemed by this encounter. “You okay, man?”

“Don’t you know who that dude was?”, O asked, awestruck. “That was Mike ‘the Spike’ Cochran. He’s, like, a huge porn star. And when I say huge…”

Todd had been so focused on concealing the fact that he knew who Mike Cochran was that it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder how O knew the man’s identity. “I think I maybe heard of him. But isn’t he in, like, gay porn?” The last two words came out in a strangled whisper, as if they shouldn’t be said aloud, like Voldemort or Beetlejuice.

“Yeah,” O said, laughing. “My girlfriend in high school rented one of his movies once by mistake. All she saw was the brother on the cover. She ended up digging it more than she expected.”

Well, that answered that, Todd thought. Perfectly innocent explanation. “I wonder how Red knows somebody like that.”

“Maybe we’re better off if we don’t know,” O said as they reached the minivan. They climbed in and drove back to the beach to rendezvous with the other guys.

Back in the park, Derek and Pierce watched the Iowans depart. “So, what’d you think of them?”, Derek asked Pierce.

“Well, they were both hot in their own way. I’m sure you preferred the little preppy blond, but the big one was more my type.”

Derek snorted a laugh, not surprised that Pierce’s mind would immediately gravitate toward an evaluation of their do-ability. “Your type is any guy under 21. That why you aged yourself down today? So you could date an older guy for once?”

“Screw you,” Pierce said, taking an ill-advised swat at Derek’s wall of muscle that left him with throbbing knuckles.

“What makes you think he’s even gay,” Derek asked, “aside from your usual wishful thinking?”

“You serious? The way he was checkin’ out your goods? Puh-lease!”

“Who wouldn’t look at this damn thing?”, Derek asked. “It’s so big, it’s got its own gravitational pull.”

“Nevertheless, I’m telling you, those two boys are gay. Probably not out, or at least not OUT-out. Pretty sure they’re not a couple. Too much personal space between them.”

“Why, you’re a regular Sure-Fuck Holmes,” Derek said.

“Damn straight! Maybe I should be the one doing pornos where I solve crimes. For a world-class dick, you’re not very perceptive.”

“Guess I’m still gettin’ the hang of my dickishness. So I assume you agree with me that the big guy wasn’t actually Charles?”

“Nah,” Pierce said. “He woulda reacted more when he saw me. Even if he was tryin’ to be chill, there woulda been some flash of recognition. Always focus on the eyes. Some things not even Mariposa can hide. So, what’s our next move, Doctor Twat-son?”

Still churning with excess energy, Derek noticed a boxing sandbag hanging in the corner of the park. He bunched up his cinderblock fists and said, “I need to go punch something several hundred times.”

When Todd and O arrived at the beach, it appeared to be siesta time, as both Bart and Kev were zonked out under the palapa. O prodded Kev with the toe of his sneaker. “Guess we didn’t miss anything exciting.”

Kev grumbled, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked up. “Oh. Hey. No, it’s been pretty dull. We did get a new neighbor.” He pointed to the blue-haired waif snoozing nearby, his head resting atop a semi-full tote bag. “You’ll never believe this, but he says he’s Red’s brother.”

Todd and O looked incredulously at the boi in the blue trunks. “No fuckin’ way,” O said, not seeing the resemblance.

Kev said. “Said his name is Blue. You believe that shit? Who ever heard of a family that was color-coded?”

“Shit, man, my whole family’s named Brown,” responded Theo “O” Brown.

Todd looked eagerly around the beach. “Is Red with him?”

“Ain’t seen him,” Bart mumbled out of the side of his mouth, lying face down and immobile. “Fuckin’ lightweight’s probably still sleeping it off.”

“Yeah, not everybody bounces back as easy as you,” O said sarcastically.

Todd rummaged through the guys’ stuff, grabbed something, then began walking in Blu’s direction. “What’re you doin’?”, O asked him.

“He might be blue now, but he’ll be red soon enough without some of this.” Todd held up a tube of sunscreen and continued toward Blu, flipping open the cap as he walked. As he got closer, Todd couldn’t help but notice the small but emphatic boner inside the dozing man’s Speedo. Todd stopped short and reflexively squeezed the Coppertone, launching a stream of white cream which splattered across Blu’s stomach.

Wincing, Todd tried to think of a way to wipe the goop off the stranger’s body before he noticed, but the semi-awake twink simply grinned as he felt the substance land on his skin. Todd watched with fascination as Blu drowsily rubbed his hand through the puddle of sunscreen, then brought his fingertips to his lips. By the time Todd stepped forward to stop him, Blu was already licking the substance from his hand. His lips curled in disgust, having expected cum with a hint of blueberry but only tasting cold cream and coconut. He snapped awake, spitting and feeling around for the half-full bottle of Calypso Colada he knew he had left within reach.

Todd, always eager to help, saw the bottle planted in the sand, picked it up and placed it into Blu’s hand. Grateful, Blu drained the contents to wash the sunscreen taste out of his mouth. Crisis averted, Blu opened his eyes to see who had handed him the bottle. Upon seeing Todd, he leapt to his feet and screeched “Iowa!” His immediate instinct was to hug his young friend, but when he saw Todd backing away skittishly, it came back in a rush how much he had changed since they had last been face to face. Blu took him a moment to compose himself and get back in touch with today’s persona.

“Just thought you might need some sunscreen,” Todd said, handing the tube to Blu at arm’s length. “You can keep it.” He started to turn back toward his buddies, but Blu reached out and grasped his wrist.

“Didn’t mean to freak you out,” Blu said, scrambling not to alienate the kid. “You’re Todd, right? My brother’s Charlie. He told me so much about you, I feel like I already know you.”

Todd glanced back, flattered. “Charlie told you…about me?” It surprised Todd how much this news delighted him. “Is he…around?”

Blu shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.” It pained him to see how disappointed this made the kid. He wished he had a bottle of Mariposa that would turn him back into Charile, even for an hour, just so he could spend a little more time with Todd.

“Is he, like, avoiding me?”, Todd asked vulnerably. “When I left last night, I got the feeling he was tryin’ to blow me off.”

“Not at all,” Blu reassured Todd. “It’s just…well, you know how people say ‘It’s complicated’? Well, believe me, Charlie’s situation is, like, waaaay complicated. But I can tell you for a fact that Charlie would never wanna hurt you. He knows how tough it can be when you’re not sure you can really be who you know you really are.”

Todd looked curiously at the blue-haired imp. “You’re kidding. He seems, like, totally secure about who he is.”

“All an act,” Blu said, leaning in to whisper. “Poor guy has to get his confidence from a bottle.”

Todd could totally relate. He was trying to get a fix on Blu’s age, but it was proving tricky. He was shorter and skinnier and spritelier and ditizier than Todd, yet simultaneously seemed much wiser and more mature. “So you really are Charlie’s brother? The two of you seem so different.”

“Way down deep, we’re more alike than you’d think,” Blu assured him with a glint in his eye.

“This is so weird. O and I just ran into a couple of guys who were trying to find Charlie.”

“They were looking for me…I mean, him?” Blu tried to imagine who might be trying to locate a person who didn’t exist, but the only question that popped to the surface of Blu’s bubbly, flirty mind was “Were they cute?”

Todd wasn’t accustomed to discussing guys’ cuteness, but for some reason he felt instantly comfortable talking with Blu, possibly because he felt Blu wouldn’t judge him. Even so, he controlled his body language, making a deliberate effort not to appear too chummy, for fear of what his buddies would think. “The little guy was pretty cute,” he said quietly. “And the big guy was…” His voice sank to a confidential whisper. “You know who Mike the Spike is?”

Blu gasped and covered his mouth. “OMG! He looked like Mike the Spike?”

Todd’s eyes grew wide. “He WAS Mike the Spike! Can you believe it? RIght here in Cancun. How the hell would your brother know him?”

How indeed, Blu wondered.

Across the sand, O watched with fascination as the usually shy Todd chatted amiably with the odd little blue-haired guy. He reached into his pocket and surreptitiously pulled out his phone.

Derek had been working out intensively for more than an hour, but showed no signs of fatigue. If anything, his body was feeding off the testosterone and adrenaline churning through his system and craving more. His already massive muscles had swollen to colossal dimensions, with thick veins erupting everywhere beneath the surface of his skin. Early on, he had shed his saturated tank top, and would have stripped off his track pants too if he’d been wearing anything beneath them.

Right now, he was in the middle of a marathon set of chin-ups. A throng of parkgoers had abandoned their workouts and encircled him, following him from one station to the next, awed by the big man’s stamina. They were chanting, counting each rep. They had reached fifty, and Derek seemed to just be warming up. At the front of the group was Pierce, more than a little jealous that he had allowed Derek to be the one transformed into Mike the Spike for the day. As incredible as it was to gaze upon such an exquisite specimen pulling off fantastic feats, he could only imagine how much more astonishing it must feel to experience it from the inside.

Derek’s pace began to slow as he reached his seventy-fifth chin-up, and he struggled to pushed himself through five more before allowing himself to drop to the ground. The gallery applauded, with many approaching him to slap him on the back or offer words of encouragement. When Derek announced that he was done with his workout, the crowd dispersed, aside from a few stragglers who approached him to let him know more intimately how much they enjoyed his films. Derek accepted their compliments graciously and was happy to pose for selfies, but drew the line when one of the fans asked if he could snap a quick shot of the Spike itself. Derek felt squeamish about giving a stranger a dick pic, even when it wasn’t technically his own dick.

Derek swaggered over to Pierce, reveling in the power surging through every one of his engorged muscles.

“Finally pooped out, eh?”, Pierce teased. “What a wimp.”

Derek leaned down stiffly and whispered, “Honestly, I probably could go another hour, but all the attention was making me uncomfortable.”

“I don’t know that feeling,” Pierce said. “So, did you get out all of your aggression?”

Derek paused to evaluate his mood. He was thoroughly amped up, but couldn’t detect any of the fury he had been harboring earlier. One thing which hadn’t faded during all of his exertions was his near-constant state of arousal. The monster extending down his pants leg had been at least semi-hard throughout the whole workout, kept in check only by the resilience of the reinforced nylon of his track pants. Derek had never held an erection this long in his life, whether you measured in minutes or inches. “I’m doin’ good,” he assured Pierce, “but if I don’t get my rocks off soon, I think I’m gonna explode.”

Eager as Pierce might be to assist in that task, he knew he had to keep his own urges in check to avoid making this honeymoon any more turbulent than it had already become. As he tried to think of a safe place for Derek to “relieve” himself, he felt a vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and saw a text from an unfamiliar sender.

“Aha! So you do read SOME people’s texts,” Derek bellowed indignantly. “You just ignore mine.”

“Oh, hush. Don’t be such a drama queen. It’s from one of those Iowa kids,” Pierce informed him.

That got Derek’s attention. “Did they find Charles?”

“Not quite,” Pierce said, holding up his phone to show a blurry snapshot of two guys standing together talking on a beach. “But they did find his brother.”

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