PLAYING WITH FanTCdude'S TOYS
The Budd Brothers fly to SF for a Littleman’s Seminar
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hello, all! I’ve decided to upload some CLASSIC ABSMAN stories on alternate weeks from KING REX 2, so I won’t feel pressured for a deadline and you get to read some old favorites! First up, PLAYING WITH FanTCdude’s TOYS. For those of you who haven’t experienced FanTCdude’s (aka FanTCman’s) stories, go look them up right now – I’ll wait. No one does muscle-growth/corruption stories better – including me. Anyway, I got to know FanTCdude online and asked him if I could use his conceits (not characters – tho I did get a cameo in) from his story “12 STEPS BACK” and…. play a little. He was totally for it…. and the next 12 chapters are the result. It led me to write an entire series of “PLAYING WITH ______’s TOYS” I did a “PLAYING WITH MAX MANN’S TOYS”, “PLAYING WITH CALLMECRAZY’S TOYS” and a personal favorite “PLAYING WITH ABSMAN420’S TOYS” I tried to ape their writing styles as much as I could. As a writing exercise, it was a lot of fun. Anyway, on with the show….
PLAYING WITH FanTCdude’s TOYS – Part 1
The guys down at Benny’s Hackin’ Shack had laughed at him when he told them he and his brother were going to a seminar in San Francisco. Not so much the seminar, which they weren’t all that interested in, but that the Budd Brothers would be going to “that there city with all them fuckin’ fags.”
“Don’t bend over to pick nothin’ up!” They warned, then laughed.
“Don’t order room service - it ain’t what you think! Hee-hee. Get it? Room SERVICE?”
He was good-natured with their teasing, and even stayed long enough to have another beer before leaving. He didn’t want them to think they’d gotten to him - he was a man, after all. At the door, someone called, “Have fun in San Francisco, Big Budd! If you come back queer, don’t come back here!”
That got the biggest laugh of all.
The next morning, as dawn just barely crept into the sky, in his immaculate Dodge Ram, a plug of chaw in his mouth, spitting in the Styrofoam cup that had held his first coffee, Big Budd drove over to his brother’s trailer, the guy’s comments from the night before echoing in his mind. Was he sure about what he was getting into? What would they think when there was no more hiding it?
He found his brother passed out on the living room sofa in just his Fruit-of-the-Looms and his navy blue work-shirt from the construction company. Only twenty-three years old, and already Little Budd seemed to have lost the battle with life. Discarded beer bottles, an empty fifth of vodka, and his brother’s bong littered the table.
Maybe THIS was why he was doing it, getting involved with them Littleman people, to save his brother.
Though he’d normally be wearing his well-worn Timberlands when he kicked the boy awake, today he had his cowboy boots on - gussied up for the trip. “Hey, Little Budd,” he said loudly, kicking the sofa right beneath his brother’s head. “Time to get up! We got us our trip today!”
Little Budd stirred, moaning and rolling over. “What the fuck time is it?” he asked, wiping his face with the palm of his hands. “Ain’t you early?”
“I ain’t paid money for this trip to have you fuck it up bein’ hung-over,” Big Budd said. “Remember, this was your idea. Now, c’mon, we got to get us to Wichita to catch the plane. You can sleep in the truck.”
After the first half hour - and the first big cup of truck-stop coffee - Little Budd was in a better mood. “San Francisco here we come!” he yelled out the Ram’s window, even though they were travelling east at the time, toward Wichita. “Can you believe we’re goin’ to San Francisco? Hell, I ain’t hardly been out of Kansas before, much less to someplace like that! Brother, we’re gonna get pussy, and pussy, and more pussy. That’s what Mitch and Jackson was sayin’.”
“How ya figure?”
“Think about it - we’re gonna be in San Francisco!”
Big Budd’s confused look kept his brother talking.
“San Francisco?” Little Bud explained, “City o’ fags! Women are gonna be achin’ to find a couple o’ normal guys like us! Brother, with all them fags around, we’re gonna be swimmin’ in pussy!”
Big Budd actually hoped that was true. Since his wife had left him two years ago, he’d hadn’t even had a date, and he wouldn’t mind finding something in the big city. If any woman would even HAVE him. Hell, maybe he’d even spend some of his savings on a San Francisco prostitute. That’d give him a story to tell the boys back at Benny’s.
Physically, he’d let himself go even before his wife had left him. (Maybe that was why, Budd.) While not the wiry little weed his brother was, they’d certainly inherited the same genes - Big Budd was wider through the shoulders, but thanks to many, many beers and many, many salty snacks, he was a lot flabbier through the middle. Because he carried the weight right up front, the guys down at Benny’s often joked that Big Budd was pregnant. Maybe that was why he was goin’ to San Francisco - to have an abortion!
Yeah, those guys were a lot of laughs.
Nobody would really consider the Budd Brothers handsome - hell, even their mother would have a difficult time with that - but they were on this side of ugly. Plain. Forgettable. Filler-faces in crowd scenes. Nothing special in any way.
A three-hour drive to Wichita, then a commuter plane to the hub in Kansas City, Little Budd was too excited to sleep on the plane either, his childish energy unfocused and uncontrolled. Though he tried to keep calm, even Big Budd had difficulty containing himself. He’d flown once before, but it was still thrilling - and Little Budd had only flown a crop-duster, so he was beside himself.
And what they were going to San Francisco for raised their level of excitement!
How Little Budd had gotten the catalogue in the first place was a bit of a mystery, but when he finally showed it to his older brother, Little Budd had already had a plan. “This is what I want to spend the inheritance money on,” he’d said, handing the magazine to Big Budd.
On the cover, an extreme close-up of an outrageously muscled torso, bigger than some of them wrestlers Big Budd had seen on TV, or even them bodybuilders he’d sometimes see pictures of on the magazines at the grocery store, an almost impossibly muscled torso - it had to be a camera trick or something. It couldn’t be real. Across the brick-sized abdominals was the word, “Littleman’s” and “Joining the Team” in much smaller type beneath that. The whole logo fit perfectly within the curve of the model’s posing trunks, where only the waistband was visible, but pulled down so severely in the front as to give the impression that the model had some heavy equipment just out of camera range.
“What’s this?” Big Budd had asked his brother.
His brother had been giddy, just like now on the plane. “This is the future of the Budd Brothers!” he’d said, holding his arms up like he was cheering at the rodeo.
He never knew his brother had been so into muscles. After a two-hour layover in Kansas City, where he and Little Bud circled the airport time and again, wearing their cowboy hats and checking out the women in the biggest city either of them had ever seen, they’d boarded the 737 to San Francisco, giving Big Budd plenty of time to reflect.
It made sense, he supposed. They’d both been skinny little runts growing up, not the beefy, corn-fed athletic types that got all the gals in high school and all the good jobs down t’ the factory. His brother had been into comic books and professional wrestling, but Big Budd saved his envy for athletes and these big, muscular lawmen he’d always fantasized about being. He wasn’t queer, but he thought about being a big muscular lawman when he masturbated sometimes. What guy didn’t?
But according to this catalogue, this “Littleman’s Project” was capable of transforming ordinary men into these superhuman fantasies, these outrageous bodybuilders with their huge muscles and abundant body hair. Look at these pictures! Look what they’re wearing! And Little Bud wanted to take their inheritance money and buy into this company, this “Littleman’s Project,” and become local distributors of their products. “We’d have to pay for the training,” Little Budd had explained, “and fly to San Francisco for some kind of workshop or something, but the benefits…? Oh my freakin’ God, the benefits!”
It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Big Budd to go along - maybe it was his mid-life crisis a decade early, or maybe he was unhappy enough with his present circumstances to grab at any straw. He didn’t want to be a freak or anything - he’d already mentally decided not to do the whole thing - but he certainly wouldn’t mind bein’ a little bigger. A bigger Big Budd. Little Budd, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to go all the way. “We’ll be freakin’ HUGE, man!” he said. “Think of the pussy we’ll get!”
During the few hours they were on the plane to San Francisco, Big Budd tried to imagine what it would be like to be one of those freaks while living in rural Kansas, with those huge muscles and what Little Budd had hinted would happen… down there - how embarrassing! What would they say at Benny’s? No, a half-dose was the way to go. Let Little Budd get the whole thing - it was his idea, anyway.
Big Budd could run a distribution center without being a freak.
And then they were there! Sure, anticipation slowed the clock, and it felt like they circled the airport for three hours waiting to land, but they finally touched down, got their baggage and caught a cab to the hotel. Dressed in his cowboy boots, pegged jeans, and the belt buckles they’d won on the rodeo circuit, the Budd Brothers felt foolishly out of place on Market Street. Big Budd obstinately wore his cowboy hat, defying some San Fran fag to say something to him, but Little Budd pulled his off almost immediately, replacing it with the Cat Diesel trucker’s cap he almost constantly wore.
They stared at everything, their awe exposing them as the tourists they were. Look at that building! Look at that homeless guy! Check out the traffic! Big Budd couldn’t wait to get to the hotel, maybe have a beer and relax a little before coming outside again. Damn, he hated the city.
The gal who checked them in was so sweet that Little Budd propositioned her before they’d even gotten their keys. She smiled indulgently at him, which made him comment to Big Budd in the elevator, “See? The gals around these parts look like they ain’t never seen a real man, before. This is gonna be easy pickin’s.”
“She didn’t agree to go out with ya.”
Little Budd shrugged it off. “Pro’lly cause I’m with you,” he said. “She pro’lly thinks we’s a couple o’ fags.”
Their suspicions were confirmed when they opened the door - the plastic, magnetic striped key confused them for a second - and they saw the room, a King Upgrade. More importantly, they saw that there was only one bed.
She HAD assumed they were… “together.”
Big Budd was embarrassed, and more than a little angry, but Little Budd just laughed. “Relax,” he said. “It’s San Francisco. I told ya, they ain’t used to real men. We’ll get it fixed right up.”
But when they called down to the front desk to resolve the problem, they were informed that the hotel was overbooked. Simply put, there WERE no other rooms.
At least for tonight, the Budd Brothers would share a bed, or go to another hotel.
“Well… shit,” said Big Budd.
“It’s just for one day, bro. It ain’t no big deal - we shared a bed when we was kids. ’Sides, when I go out and pick up some pussy tonight, I’ll just go stay at HER place. No thing. Don’t worry about it.”
But it burned. He’d paid a lot of money for this trip - he wanted everything to be perfect. Ah, the lonely cry of inexperienced travelers! God damn, he needed a beer.
They found the group’s itinerary on the mini-bar. “Look,” said Little Budd, reading over the papers in the folder, “we got us a welcoming meeting around supper time. Six to nine tonight.” He read haltingly, as if not his best skill. “Meet and greet the staff and other seminar participants. Dinner and nutritional supplements provided.” (Except he pronounced seminar “SEE-men-ar” and supplements “SUP-pull-ments”)
Didn’t matter. The very prospect of a free-anything at this point brought Big Budd’s spirits up - the inheritance money was all but gone, now. Besides, maybe he could complain to these “Littleman” people about the bed situation and they’d have some leverage with the hotel. It couldn’t hurt.
The Littleman Meet & Greet was in one of the conference rooms on the hotel’s second floor - that’s what they learned at the front desk. Climbing the grand staircase in the lobby, they approached the right room, only to find a registration table set-up directly outside the door. The man seated at the table was easily the most muscular man either of them had ever seen - though again, that experience was limited to professional wrestling and rodeo - they’d never met a real bodybuilder before - still, the guy was huge!
“Hello,” he said with a warm smile. “Are you with the Littleman Group?”
They nodded, he stood, and they got their first full-view of him. The same height as Big Budd, he dwarfed them in every other way. His muscles were so large, they didn’t seem real - it couldn’t be possible that someone was THAT muscular, Big Budd thought. Not without them steroids, or whatever them things was.
He was dressed in a pair of stretchy spandex shorts and a muscle shirt, cut to reveal the depths of his pecs, barely, barely covering his meaty nipples. And the hair! His torso was thick with it, patterned almost perfectly. Almost like a dance. None on his shoulders or back, though, just his chest, his forearms, and his massive, massive legs.
His one leg was bigger than Little Budd’s torso. How could he walk?
…and the package! Good Lord, the package! His dick! It couldn’t be… It couldn’t…
Big Budd couldn’t look at it, but he couldn’t look away, either.
The man’s cock was obscene! Bigger than an ear of corn! Thicker than a can of beer! The shorts held it up front and out, as if he were proud of something that freaky. And his balls were just as bad. Bloated, almost the size of oranges…
What the fuck had the Budd Brothers gotten into?
“My name is Dane,” the beast said, offering his hand. Big Budd shook it almost reflexively. Strong grip. Manly. “Welcome to the Littleman Group. Let me get you registered.”
“We’re the Budd Brothers,” said Big Budd, not able to look this man in the eye, but horrified to discover himself looking at the man’s cock by looking down. “From southwest Kansas.”
“I guessed from the belt buckles,” Dane said, chuckling slightly. Almost unconsciously, he adjusted his freaky dick while he spoke under his breath. “Always thought cowboys were hot…”
“Excuse me?” asked Big Budd.
But Dane just smiled with those perfect teeth and that scruffy jaw and said, “Nothing.”
They each got a name tag, a binder full of papers and colorful tabs, a plastic shopping bag of clothes, and a lunch-box sized, cardboard container with a plastic seal. “Don’t open these until instructed,” said Dane, handing them the boxes as if they deserved special treatment. “Now head inside and find a seat. Help yourself to hors d’oeuvres and drinks. We’ll get started as soon as everyone’s here.”
Little Budd spoke up finally. “How many people are doin’ this? Becoming… like…?”
“Just a dozen this time,” Dane said, leaning back in his chair and casually putting his hands behind his head, showing both his outrageous biceps and his furry pits. “But it’s cool. Smaller groups always end up being more… intimate. I think it’s better.”
Big Budd couldn’t get over the size of the guy’s arms - like bowling balls - or the way he casually spread his legs and proudly displayed his prodigious package - what would it be like to be THAT uninhibited? (Or that hung?) What would the guys down at Benny’s think of Dane?
They sure weren’t in Kansas anymore.
Once inside the conference room, Big Budd immediately scanned around to see if there were any other guys like Dane floating around. He was surprised to discover himself let-down that there weren’t. “Can you BELIEVE that guy?” Little Budd asked under his breath as the walked toward the chairs, set in a half-moon around a projector screen and small speaker’s podium. At the back of the room were two large tables of food - and several of the other men attending the seminar.
Like the Budd Brothers, they all looked fairly normal.
“Yeah,” said Big Budd. “He was purty big.”
Then Little Budd said it, so there was no ducking the issue. “And did you see the size of his DICK?” he asked. “I ain’t NEVER seen nothin’ like that.”
Big Budd laughed nervously. “Yeah, it was somethin’…” Then he changed his tone and added, rather defiantly, “I reckon I don’t think I want mine to get like that. I don’t want to be a freak.”
Little Budd smiled widely. “I do!” he said. “Could you imagine packin’ somethin’ like that? Matter o’ fact, I hope mine gets BIGGER!”
Big Budd just rolled his eyes - damn kids didn’t know nothin’ of the world. Little Budd had no idea how difficult it would be to live life at Dane’s size. There’d be no hidin’ what you were, then. What people would think…!
They chose two chairs and put their stuff beneath the seats as they saw the other guys had done, then tentatively made their way to the food table. Big Budd was STARVING - they hadn’t eaten supper yet - and filled his plate like it was a church social at the grange hall. Little Budd started conversations with the other guys while he filled his plate, some of whom seemed just as uncomfortable as Big Budd - some seemed as relaxed and excited as Little Budd himself.
ALL of them had been blown away by Dane. The pictures in the literature were one thing, but to see one of the Littleman Guys up close and in person, well that was something else all together. Was it possible? Would THEY all turn into something like that?
They didn’t really have time to contemplate - and NONE of them had time to chicken-out and leave - because the doors opened and Dane stepped into the room, his stride purposeful and manly, shifting his big balls back and forth from the sheer size of his quads. “Gentlemen,” he called, clapping his hands together (he had difficulty reaching around his own torso), “if you would find your seats, we’ll get started.”
They shuffled their way back to the semi-circle of chairs, carrying half-eaten plates of food with them. Big Budd was a little depressed to find only bottled water available - he could really go for a beer.
“There’s only gonna be the ten of you tonight,” Dane said, standing next to the lectern, so they could get a good look at him. He seemed excited by the idea of they were studying him. Again, Big Budd was a little envious of the guy’s lack of modesty. “A father and son team just backed out in the lobby. I guess that got one look at me and ran screaming!”
They all laughed - even Big Budd, nervously.
“But I’m nothin’ to be scared of,” the massive bodybuilder continued. “My name’s Dane,” he said, indicating himself with a flat palm on his big pecs. “But you know that. Let’s go around the circle and meet each other. Introduce yourself, where you’re from, what you do, that sort of thing.”
There was no common thread, at least, none that Big Budd could see. They were from all over the country - one guy from Alaska! - an out-of-work oil-rigger who was fulfilling a life’s fantasy. They had no common career - a law-clerk, a cop, a high-school football coach, or like him, a second-shift man at the local factory, or a part-time construction worker who did time on the rodeo circuit like his brother, there was nothing to link them all together.
Except that they were men - and men who were clearly interested in the Littleman’s Project.
“Excellent,” said Dane, running his hand over his torso, unconsciously squeezing his big pecs and pinching his over-sized nipples. “Great to meet you all. We’ll get to know each other better over the next couple of days. You guys have picked an exciting new career - you’re about to be part of something that’s gonna change the world! But first, why don’t we watch the promotions video? That might answer some of your questions about who we are, and what’s gonna happen to you over the course of your training.”
Dane hit a series of keys on the laptop that was sitting on the lectern and the projection screen came to life. The opening credits/ titles reminded Big Budd of a porn movie, same kind of music and subtlety of shots - the camera swept across insanely muscular bodies, never revealing the models’ identity, showing glimpses of tight clothes and sexual possibilities. The “Littleman” logo faded in, accompanied by triumphant music, then the whole screen went white.
Medium shot of a skinny, awkward young man, probably not quite twenty, standing before the camera in just his jockey shorts. He looked extremely nervous. The words “WEEK ONE” and the guy’s weight, “165lbs” faded in on the bottom corner of the screen.
“Check this guy out,” said Dane, indicating the frozen pic. “Skinny and useless. Hardly even a man at all. Now, watch this!”
He hit another key - “WEEK TWO - 175lbs.” - and the guy on the screen seemed different, a little thicker almost. Or maybe just that he seemed to have a new look of confidence… NO! Lust…
“WEEK THREE - 190lbs.” In this pic, the guy wore a pair of spandex shorts, not unlike the ones Dane had on. He now looked pretty fit - like a lifeguard or a football player.
The pics continued. “WEEK FOUR - 224lbs.” Now the guy was looking like a bodybuilder - not like those big guys who made a living from it, but still pretty damn amazing. And - did Big Budd’s eyes deceive him? - did it seem like the guy’s package was bigger?
Oh my God, it WAS! And it was even more dramatic in the next frame.
“WEEK FIVE - 255lbs.”
And the guy was getting hairier, too. His chest hair had filled in, gotten denser, almost mirroring his muscles. As a matter of fact, his whole body seemed denser - even his face, his jaw seemed thicker, too. Something familiar…
“WEEK SIX - 286lbs”
Oh my God, thought Big Budd. That’s not just any guy - that’s DANE! The guy on the screen was Dane!
“By now, you guys must see the resemblance,” chuckled the live-Dane at the podium. He raised his arms and flexed for the men at the seminar. “As you’ve probably put together, I’m a product of the Littleman’s Project, too - although now I’m closer to 320 than when those pics were shot ‘bout a half-year ago, and my cock is over eighteen inches now. And I gotta tell ya, confidentially… it’s fuckin’ awesome!”
“That’s what’s gonna happen to US?” shouted Little Budd, an anticipatory smile on his face, not unlike a kid at Christmas.
Dane smiled and adjusted his massive package, shifting that big log over an inch or so. “If you decide to go with the program,” he said, “yeah.”
When Little Budd said, “Yee-haw!” the other guys laughed nervously, excitedly.
Some, like Big Budd, thought, “Oh my God…”
“Do we HAVE to go that far?” asked Big Budd. “I mean, I reckon I don’t want to be that big. Do you have to do the whole thing, or can you stop after, say, the second dose?”
That smile! That perfect smile of his! “No one’s gonna force you,” Dane said, leaning one arm on the lectern. “When you get to the size you wanna be, if you want to stop - stop. No one’s putting a gun to your head - or a syringe to your ass, as the case may be.”
A few more laughs. Like Big Budd, that was clearly a worry for some of the other guys as well. Dane’s casualness about the answers inspired confidence among the men.
“But watch the rest of the video,” Dane said, “then we’ll talk.”
He hit a key on the laptop and the screen changed to the title, “The Next Step in Masculine Evolution.” For the next twenty minutes or so, the video spewed its exposition.
Accidentally discovered in a search for a sports supplement and athletic performance enhancement tool, the hyper-masculine look of the Littleman’s Man was fast becoming a trend on the coasts - the Littleman Group capitalized not just on the formula, but its own line of clothing and athletic wear as well - add to that the health benefits they purported and it seemed the drug had nothing but positive effects on the men who used it.
So, in an aggressive bid to dominate the market place, the company was seeking representatives across the country to oversee distribution points for the formula and general recruitment. (There were always opportunities to model for the catalogue too, but Big Budd barely paid attention to that. Why would he? He was hardly the model type.)
Finally, the video ended with a montage of men going through the transformation, stills, like with Dane’s, only sped up, with musical accompaniment, so that it was possible to SEE the changes take place. Ordinary men, skinny, fat, pot-bellied, bird-legged, cave-chested, worn-out, old, young, black, white, muscles grew, clothing stretched, dicks lengthened - the same thing over and over - ordinary men turned into muscle-freaks. But every single one of them looked like they’d liked it. Every single one had lust in his eye when it was over.
And then it ended, and the lights came back up in the room. Dane still leaned against the lectern, trying unsuccessfully to hide his erection. “Sorry, guys,” he said, showing it off more by trying to conceal it - or maybe he wasn’t trying all that hard. “Can’t help it. That part of the vid always gets to me. I remember how it feels.”
His cock pushed against the waistband of his spandex shorts - over his left hip! God damn, thought Big Budd, his cock IS eighteen inches! What do you do with a dick that big?
All of them were stunned.
“Okay,” Dane said, trying to change the subject, “let’s move on to the next part of the evening - the taste. For that, let me introduce one of our very fine company medicos, and a helluva guy in his own right, Dr. Troy! Doc?” He motioned his hand to the back of the room, where a new man sat - obviously, thought Big Budd, he’d slipped in during the video.
This man was also a bodybuilder, though not quite as big as Dane - he’d obviously taken the Littleman stuff, which was apparent when he walked - he had that “look.” Dressed in hospital scrubs, his big dick flopped back and forth beneath the material, unrestrained and free. Jesus, thought Big Budd, the dicks these guys have! How…?
Doctor Troy was a handsome blond, the same scruffy five-o’clock shadow that Dane had. He wore only a lab coat on top, open to reveal his own incredible, rock-hard torso, coated with beautiful blond swirls. Big Budd always thought them bodybuilders shaved. Personally, Big Budd was glad HE didn’t have all that much body hair - he’d feel like a damn animal.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the Littleman’s Project. My name is Dr. Troy Adams, but everybody calls me Doc, or Dr. Troy. You’re very lucky to be accepted into this company, especially as it stands on the crossroads of world-market domination. You’re about to be a part of history, how does it feel?”
“That’s what we’re hoping to find out!” shouted one of the men - the football coach seated on the other side of Little Budd. All of them laughed. Big Budd, too.
Dr. Troy chuckled lightly. “Well, then, let’s get to it. I don’t want to keep a man from his destiny. Get that cardboard box out that Dane gave to you on the way in.”
Big Budd had to put his plate down, still largely uneaten - he’d stared slack-jawed at the video rather than snack - and pulled up the lunchbox-sized cardboard container. Dr. Troy told them to break the seal, which he did.
Inside were five vials of golden-liquid in a little sponge holder so they wouldn’t break, and a little… well, it looked like a gun, or a child’s toy. It was plastic.
Dr. Troy continued. “Inside you’ll find your complete cycle of the formula as well as our new delivery system. We’re experimenting with this pneumatic injection equipment on a larger scale after showing success in the lab with it - it actually delivers the formula quicker to the bloodstream than the traditional syringe poke-and-bleed.”
The guys chuckled again. This energy was all nervous though. Nothing funny was happening.
“I did it the old way,” said Dane, from the side of the circle, where he supervised the men. “Trust me, this is a hell of a lot better!” He was cupping his balls as he spoke, gently cradling them.
Dr. Troy held up one of the “guns” in one hand, and a vial of the formula in the other. “Okay, slip this little bottle into the hole here in the back of the handle,” he said, looking around as he spoke to watch the guys. “Good, good. Press it in until you feel the seal break - there’ll be a little ‘pop’ - there you go! Now you’re ready.”
“Where does it go?” asked Little Budd. “In your shoulder, your butt?”
Dr. Troy smiled again. “Actually, it goes in your balls,” he said. It was Big Budd’s reaction that made him continue - kind of a freaked-out sharp intake of breath. “I know that reaction,” Dr. Troy said. “But don’t worry, the first time’s the hardest - then you’ll realize it doesn’t hurt the way you imagine. You might even find yourself looking forward to the next one.”
Dane chimed in. “Think what it was like back when it was needles,” he said. “We used to call it ‘The Cost’ or ‘The Sacrifice.’ ‘The Pain Before the Glory!’”
“Honestly,” said Dr. Troy, “with this new system, you’ll hardly feel it. It’ll be like a ‘whoosh’ of air or like somebody slapped your gonad.” He looked at Dane and smiled. “Hardly like it was back when it was needles.”
Big Budd didn’t like people slapping his ’nads, either. Still, the alternative…
(Besides, he thought to himself, he was only gonna do it once or twice - not the full cycle. He could put up with anything once.)
“All right, gentlemen,” said Dr. Troy. “Drop your drawers!”
Again, that hesitation through the crowd. Was he serious? Were they gonna do it right here in front of each other? They weren’t gonna go behind the screen one by one with the Doc?
“Let’s go, gentlemen,” said Dane, clapping his hands. “Let’s do what the doctor asked.”
Some, like Little Budd, moved with great confidence, standing and dropping in one swift move. Others, like Big Budd, moved a little more slowly, suspiciously - uncertain.
Ultimately, all of them did it - none of THEM chickened out like that wimpy father/son team from before.
They all stood there in their underwear together, then they lowered those, too.
Dane as well, which was the first time they’d seen his magnificent equipment free of spandex - freaky. Dr. Troy made him demonstrate how to hold the ’nads around the base - and because Dane’s were so big, he handled them differently than Big Budd, who was always a little embarrassed by the size of his balls, or rather, the lack of size.
Apparently, that was about to change, one aspect Big Budd secretly welcomed.
Separate one, press the “gun” up against it - then fire!
Big Budd quietly watched his brother take the shot before he did himself - he wanted to see if it would really hurt or not. (Or maybe he WAS just a little chicken.) Little Budd took a sharp intake of breath and the pulled the gun away, leaning back in his chair for a second before he pulled up his pants, like he was winded. “Go on,” he said when he saw Big Budd hesitate. “It don’t hurt. Honest.”
Big Budd put the gun up to himself, the barrel almost as big as his ’nad, and before he could think better of it, he pulled the trigger.
And just like that, it was over. The Budd Brothers’ journey had begun.