POLLINATION: The Series - Book One pt 29-31
The Lenoldi’s host a Garden Party; the Great One emerges; the Staff-Sergeant enters Stage Two
The invitation read, “Guy’s Night at the Lenoldi’s! We want to show off our new additions! Join us in our re-modeled sun-room on Friday Night (the last weekend the wife is out of town) and enjoy being a guy! Cocktails (or sodas) at seven. Comfortable dress. Hope you can squeeze us in.”
Mitch McIntyre read it one more time before he got out of his Honda Civic, parked about a block away from the Lenoldi’s - the road in front of their house had been THAT crowded, lined with much nicer cars than his. It was a bigger party than he’d expected. He knew a couple of the other teachers had been invited - Gregg Lidster, the football coach, and that guy Weir, whatever his first name was, the physical trainer who got the plum assignment of teaching high-school sex-ed. Mitch was actually kind of excited, strangely proud, about being in their company. Imagine, a jock like Tony Lenoldi including Mitch McIntyre, the BOTANY teacher, on his list of favorites.
An impressive house, certainly not anything Mitch would ever be able to afford, not if he stayed in education, but he tried not to let his envy show as he rang the doorbell.
He’d never met the senior Lenoldi, so he didn’t know what to expect, but the mind-blowing bodybuilder who answered the door had never been in the equation. He was clearly a Lenoldi - he had Tony’s face, only mature – Tony’s coloring and structure, even a few mannerisms - but he must’ve weighed three-hundred pounds! He wore a black cotton/spandex T-shirt, which showed every over-developed muscle group, his bulbous pecs, his gigantic traps and delts, the rock-hard dents of his stomach, and a pair of silk dress pants which didn’t leave much to the imagination, impossible to hide the size of his legs, or the fact that he wasn’t wearing underwear, and the impressive monster that lurked beneath that.
“Hello!” he said, offering his hand. “Welcome. I’m Joe Lenoldi.”
They shook - Mitch worried that his hand would be crushed, but Lenoldi was nothing more than firm. “Mr. Lenoldi, I’m Mitch McIntyre, one of Tony’s teachers.”
“Ah,” Lenoldi said, his voice so deep and strong, “the botany teacher. Excellent. Especially glad YOU could come.” He turned his head toward the house and yelled, “Tony!”
He wore an impressive amount of jewelry - a thick gold chain around his neck, a matching bracelet, a Rolex on the other arm, several heavy rings - but Mitch couldn’t get over the man’s size. Just as he was about to comment on it, young Tony appeared in the doorway next to his father.
Now, Mitch knew Tony. He’d taught the boy for two years - both botany AND chemistry. They weren’t particularly close, but Tony was a good student, hardly a behavioral problem, humorous but respectful. Tony was a jock in high-school parlance, a varsity letterman, popular. He’d had an athletic build, though favored in the arms and back, but still youthful.
The Tony Lenoldi that stood next to his father now was an almost exact image OF his father - the only difference seemed to be their ages, their level of maturity. Not only dressed alike, their bodies, their over-sized musculature was identical, too. Tony, an eighteen year-old high-school senior, had the massive bulk of a fully-mature bodybuilder, the swollen, pumped muscle of steroid obsession.
When had Mitch seen him last? Wednesday afternoon, study hall? Yeah, yeah. Hanging with that gang of his, that pack of five. Somehow, in just over forty-eight hours, Tony Lenoldi had gained almost two-hundred pounds of muscle. How was that possible…?
“Hey, Mr. Mac!”
“Tony? Oh my God, what’s happened to you?”
The boy laughed. “Isn’t it fuckin’ awesome!?” He flexed his traps and popped his chest, which jumped beneath the tight material of his black shirt.
“Tony,” said his father, “language.”
“Sorry, dad,” he said, and ducked his head, a three-hundred pound chastised son.
The older Lenoldi took control of the conversation, turning his attention back to Mitch. “Mr. McIntyre, why don’t you come in and get comfortable, safe in the knowledge that, indeed, we will share what happened to us with you.” He backed up enough to allow Mitch entry and gestured that it was okay. Without ever really breaking his stare, Mitch went in, almost rubbing up against the both of them for lack of room around their massive builds.
There were quite a few more people than he was expecting, probably twenty-five or so men scattered around the house. And what a house! Opulent and tasteful, the hand of MRS. Lenoldi was evident everywhere, for Mitch found the decorations - though exquisite - terribly feminine.
High-ceilings, lots of light, the restoration of this old Victorian town-house was worth more than the three sentences wasted on it in this narrative, but there’s already been one construction-crew story told in these pages, so there won’t be any space lost on this one.
These two identically massive beasts led Mitch through the lower floor, the parlor, the living room. A pianist sat at the baby grand and cocktailed lightly – Mitch noted that he was a very FIT pianist, but didn’t know why he’d automatically assume a musician wouldn’t be. And why should it be surprising that at a party thrown by father-and-son bodybuilders, the “help” would be all the gym-rats they knew?
There seemed to be a bit of a haze in the room that Mitch initially took to be cigarette smoke, but his nose told him differently.
He’d been a botanist long enough to recognize plant pollen, even the slight trace of pheromones in the air. The deeper they went in the house, the more of it there was. “We have to show you our new sun-room,” said one of the Lenoldis, but Mitch wasn’t sure which. From the back, only the few flecks of gray in the hair indicated a difference. “Don’t worry. It’s on the way to the bar.”
“I’ve noticed the pollen in the air.”
They both chuckled lightly, exchanged a glance. “Yeah,” said Tony, turning his head slightly to face Mitch. “Definitely something in the air.”
The senior Lenoldi added, “The flowers are in bloom. It’s the reason we invited you here, Mr. McIntyre. Let us show you.”
They walked the few remaining steps to the home’s new addition, the glass-dominant sun-room. The pollen in the air got thicker. Men milled about the house, cocktails or beers in hand, animated discussions, excellent energy, none of them seemed to notice or care about the plant pollen - which was odd because, frankly, it didn’t smell all that good. Almost like old sex, Mitch noted. He spotted Coach Lidster across the room, and they nodded to each other. Though he was too far away to see clearly, Mitch was almost certain Lidster had some kind of dust on his face, like someone had screamed “Makeup!” and smacked him with a powder pad. As a matter of fact, SEVERAL of the men in the room had…
“Here we are,” said one of the Lenoldis - the son, Mitch saw when he turned his head back - interrupting his train of thought. The boy grabbed Mitch’s upper-arm and led him through the doorway. “Mr. Mac, get a load this!”
It WAS a beautiful room, back-lit now by the setting sun glittering off specks of airborne pollen, spacious and simple.
And filled to the brim with hundreds of flowers, row after row of identical blooms. Mitch had never seen anything like them, though they resembled a* Nepenthes*, the pitcher plant. The shape of the flower was different enough that Mitch supposed they were in the same family, but they weren’t the well-known carnivore. As a matter of fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d say their blooms were shaped like penises - BIG penises, but still that phallic.
“What are these?” Mitch asked, taking a tentative step into the room.
“That’s what we were hoping you could tell us,” said the Lenoldi on his right - the father. “You’re the botanist. We don’t know how this happened.”
“You’re saying these plants did this to you?” asked Mitch again, incredulous, indicating the outrageous muscles before him.
They both nodded, and with the same gesture, adjusted their balls.
“Well,” said the elder Lenoldi, rubbing a hand across his torso, “certainly improbable.”
“But damn lucky!”
“Mr. McIntyre, as hard as it may be to believe, it’s true. We put on this muscle from breathing the plant pollen, same as happening to ALL the guys in the house right now, yourself included.”
“You’ll start to notice it in a couple of minutes,” he said, smirking like he was letting Mitch in on some big secret. “You’ll feel the energy, the stimulation. It doesn’t take very long.”
“And then you’re built like this!” Tony happily interjected, hitting a front double-biceps, stretching the shirt for all it was worth, his biceps almost as big as his head.
The doorbell rang, breaking the moment, and the older Lenoldi said, “Tony, get the door. It’s probably your friends.”
Tony said, “Okay, dad,” and was gone.
The hulking Joe Lenoldi turned his attention back to Mitch - he adjusted his balls again. “Now, Mr. McIntyre, let’s get down to it. We invited you here because you’re a botanist. We need you on our team.”
Mitch nodded. He believed he knew where Mr. Lenoldi was going. “To help you understand what happened to you,” he said, as if completing a sentence.
Joe Lenoldi shook his head. “No,” he said. “To help us expand the operation.”
Mitch laughed politely, but still took a step back. “Mr. Lenoldi, I’m not interested in anything like that. I’m CONCERNED that something has happened to you from exposure to these plants, but I suggest STUDY instead of marketing. If you want me for anything more than that, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong guy.”
The senior Lenoldi smiled his patronizing smile and put his arm around Mitch’s shoulders, probably more to hold him in place than to be buddy-buddy. “You’ll change your mind,” he said, leading Mitch into the sun-room. “Well, more accurately, your mind will change.”
Mitch tried to struggle, but the vise-like grip of the steel-armed Lenoldi held him securely. “Mr. Lenoldi, please!” said Mitch, trying not to betray his growing fear. “I don’t want this.”
“It’s too late now,” said Lenoldi. “You’ve been breathing the pollen for the last ten minutes - it’s already affected you. You just don’t know it yet.”
They walked up to a free-standing planter that held about a dozen potted flowers. Each one had a little white paper, like a place-setting or a gift-tag, identifying who the plant was for. Mitch saw the one that read “Mr. Mac” in Tony’s handwriting.
Mitch felt dizzy, like he’d had too much caffeine, a crazy wave of energy. He was surprised when his dick twitched to life in his pants.
“Believe me, Mr. McIntyre,” said the massive Lenoldi, as he pushed Mitch’s head toward the bloom - Mitch didn’t offer much resistance - “believe me, this is gonna be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
The flower shot a ball of dusty pollen right into Mitch’s face. As he breathed it in during his struggle, Lenoldi continued.
“It hasn’t hurt anybody yet.”
Old man Bowden was dead. His heart hadn’t been able to take it - obviously, transformations were too rough on the bodies of eighty year-old men.
Though one probably wouldn’t want to tell that to the creature that just slid into the old man’s balls, intent on creating a home - the one that spent the last three days physically manipulating its intended host, preparing it for Symbiosis with a Great One. But the creature had pushed the body beyond its capability. A foolish mistake.
Immediately, it set to work. With its own vines, it forced the heart to beat, mimicking the rhythm it had sensed only moments ago. Then, it spread its tendrils into the meat of the brain, stimulating the fleshy-organ with small electrical charges.
So when the heart took over on its own, and Ed Bowden came suddenly back to life, he was so weakened, so unprepared for his visitor, that the Symbiont was able to assert almost complete control.
Ed Bowden felt nothing but orgasmic bliss, waves of ecstasy as he rode along in his euphoric haze, not what guys purportedly felt after a heart attack. He felt himself grow - or someone that used to be him, someone outside - he felt that person’s muscles expand. He felt the power.
He felt his blood replaced by - or mixed with - chlorophyll. He felt his hair fall out. He felt the sun on his back and the energy it gave. The sun brought him back.
Back to reality and a sense of focus. He was himself again, Ed Bowden, the dominant personality. And when he stood, he found himself almost eight-feet tall - his head almost hit the ceiling. After taking in his new perspective on the room, he looked down at himself, and saw what the creature had done.
Strangely enough, it wasn’t the gross muscle size, or the veins that looked like vines beneath his skin, or the obscene size of the cock that hung almost to his knees, or the weight or the heft of the balls behind it - the ones that held the creature - it wasn’t any of that that got his attention. No, it was the fact that the chlorophyll in his blood had given him a greenish tint - he was turning into a plant.
He sensed the Symbiont, the thing in his balls. “Join with me,” it whispered. “Together, there’ll be no stopping us. Join with me, and we’ll rule this planet. Together, we’ll be the Great One.”
The massive cock the creature had given him began to harden, and Ed already felt the lusty rise in the pleasure he was experiencing. It was too much for an old man to take, an old man who hadn’t experienced the joys of sex in almost two decades. He’d barely touched his newly-tooled tool before the Symbiont allowed him to climax.
“Join with me,” the creature whispered.
“Oh, my god, yes,” mumbled Ed Bowden, as he began his never-ending orgasm.
And in that moment, the two of them ceased to exist as separate entities, old man Bowden and the Creature.
They came together. They became something new.
The Great One.
And since He was now too big for the door, the Great One had to take out a wall to get out into the sunshine. With this new-found power, it was easy. Nothing could stop Him.
The General studied the Staff-Sergeant through the two-way glass. What he saw was impossible. In the ten minutes since the Sargent had been hit in the face by that plant’s pollen, he’d gotten bigger, more muscular. The General was sure of it. The Sergeant had been in incredible shape before, which was why the General wasn’t sure at first, but there was no denying it now.
The Sergeant was in fact getting bigger.
“What’s happening to him?” he asked the balding scientist, the wishy-washy man he shared the observation room with.
“Staff-Sergeant Wendt is experiencing Stage One Symbiosis,” said the scientist, while he watched with the General through the two-way glass. “It’s characterized by a rise in energy, libido, giving the subject a general sense of euphoria, and slight muscle gain. It’s not unlike the buzz men describe when on cocaine, except for the weight gain, of course.”
“Then what happens?”
The scientist sighed. “A lot of the timing depends on Staff-Sergeant Wendt. It takes some men as many as three hits of pollen before they’re ready to engage in Stage Two Symbiosis, but the average is two.”
“What’s Stage Two?”
The scientist shook his head. “General, I’d rather you saw it for yourself. It’s fairly unbelievable when described.”
Looking at Staff-Sergeant Wendt, whose t-shirt was only held together by the strength of luck, who was desperately trying to resist the urge to flex in the mirror, or to ignore the erection that raged in his boxer shorts, the General said, “I’ll take you at your word.”
They were distracted by the Staff-Sergeant’s movements, which stopped conversation. Suddenly, Staff-Sergeant Wendt reached into his boxers and grabbed his cock, masturbating with a ferocity of one who lost a battle of will. His t-shirt began to tear. Two steps closer to the plant, and it launched another volley of pollen at his face. The Staff-Sergeant used his free hand not to wipe the dust away, but to get more in his nose and mouth. He didn’t stop his savage masturbating.
“Ah,” said the scientist. “Here we go.”
The General watched in horror as the Staff-Sergeant knelt before the plant, slipped his cock into the blossom, and engaged in Stage Two.