Bigger Person (Patreon)

Bigger Person

Written By SteeleBlazer

Bradley Cooper knew he was the biggest, the strongest, the best. He didn’t just think it—he knew it. At Jefferson High, everyone did.

At 6’2” with arms like tree trunks and a chest that strained against his T-shirts, he ruled the hallways. He loved to casually roll up his sleeves, always strutting and posing, and flexing as he reached for things, pretending he wasn’t showing off. But he was. Always.

He didn’t just bully the nerds—he bullied everyone. His little sister, Ellie? A shrimp. A pest. A weakling who worshiped him for some stupid reason. His girlfriend, Megan? Hot, but only because she was dating him. Even his mom? Annoying. Always nagging him about “respect” and “humility.” Blah, blah, blah.

Who needed humility when you looked this good?

One morning, Bradley stood before his mirror, admiring his shirtless reflection with the usual self-satisfaction. His muscular body was perfection incarnate, and the could be said—well, he would often say—would be true of his hair— not a single strand was ever out of place. At least, that's how it usually was. Today, something caught his eye. There, on the side of his head, a small chunk of hair seemed to be missing.

He ran his fingers over the spot, confusion crossing his features.

How did that happen?

It was barely noticeable, but it marred his otherwise flawless appearance. But it was a small, barely noticeable detail. Who would or even could notice it? Especially with these perfect muscles everyone would be looking at instead.

Bradley flexed his chest and biceps together, squeezing them, watching them bulge. He popped his pecs in a flurry, making them dance up and down with a rapid fluttering flex. His smile grew. Yeah, still the best.

At breakfast, his mom handed him a jar of pickles. “Bradley, can you open this for me? I can’t get it.”

Bradley rolled his eyes. His mom loved pickles, but she always had trouble opening the jar.

“Sure, Mom,” he sighed, grabbing the jar and twisting the lid off with ease. He didn’t even break a sweat.

Just as he set the jar down, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Ellie—his twerp of a sister—was doing push-ups in the living room. But these weren’t weak, wobbly ones. These were real push-ups. And—what the hell—she actually had definition in her arms.

“Since when do you work out?” Bradley scoffed.

Ellie looked up, grinning. “Since recently.”

Weird. Whatever. But there was something about the look she gave him, the way she moved—just a bit too sure of herself, just a bit too proud. He decided to cut her down to size.

“Yeah, well, just remember—you’ll always be my small, little, weak sister, and I’ll always be your big, strong big brother.” He flexed, rolling up his sleeve, making sure his bicep bulged against the fabric, stretching it tight.

Ellie’s grin didn’t waver. If anything, it widened. “Yeah, well, one day, I’ll be even bigger than you.”

Bradley snorted. “In your dreams.”

Ellie’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe. But it’ll be your nightmare.”

“Bradley, leave your sister alone,” their mom scolded. “She’s worked hard for those muscles. She should be proud of them.”

Bradley scoffed under his breath. “Yeah, whatever. Proud of those girly muscles…”

He quickly turned back to his mom, handing her the jar of pickles. She wasted no time, reaching her hand in and grabbing a pickle, already munching away.

His mom sure loved pickles.

But his mind wasn’t on the pickles anymore. Since when did Ellie have muscles? She’d been working out forever and never put on any size. Those arms of hers almost seemed to pop up overnight… Weird. But he had nothing to worry about. Nothing to be afraid of. No way she’d ever get much bigger—she was not only just a girl, but his little weak sister, and that’s how it would always be.

As usual, Bradley met Megan a few blocks away from their school so they could walk in together. She was running late, as usual, which was fine by him. Being a big man at the school meant that no one would dare complain if he was late to class.

When she arrived, she was wearing a tank top, her toned arms on full display. Megan was an athlete, sure, but today something was different. First his little sister, now his girlfriend—something had gotten into them, they’d caught some weird kind of gym bug. She casually flexed her arm, and Bradley watched as her bicep popped, defined and strong.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Hmm, he thought. A little bit of muscle looks good on her.

“Nice, you got a little itty bitty bicep. It’s cute,” he said, giving her an approving look.

She smiled back. “Thanks, but I plan on getting way bigger.”

Bradley raised an eyebrow, confused. “Just how big do you want to be?”

“How’d you like it if your girlfriend had bigger biceps than you?” she teased, flexing playfully.

Bradley chuckled. “Good luck. You’re going to need it if you think you can get much bigger than me.”

Megan gave him a sly smile. “I might have something better than luck.”

Bradley laughed, dismissing it. “Keep dreaming.”

But when she flexed again, Bradley couldn’t stop himself from staring. Her arms were stronger than he expected—bigger than he remembered. Still, they were cute. Just as it was cute that she thought she could ever have bigger biceps than him, let alone ever be stronger too.

When they got to school, Bradley did what he did best—showing off. He went to the school’s weight room like he usually did each day before class. It wasn’t so much to get a quick workout in, as it was to both show off and to get a nice pump going before school, which further helped him show off.

As he entered the room, Megan stepped in along with him. Bradley stopped her, a grin tugging at his lips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to join you in your workout, so I can get my pump on, just like you,” she said, flexing again, and Bradley couldn’t help but wearily look at that cute, but bulging bicep. Talk about pumped, it seemed she already was quite pumped up—as that bicep seemed even bigger than before. It really did look a bit bigger than he remembered—bigger than it had any right to be. It was already bigger than some of the guys at school, sure, those guys were nerds and wimps, but still… A girl having bigger girly muscles than a guy? It made him laugh, almost as much as the thought of Megan joining him for his morning workout.

It would be fun to impress her showing off how much he could lift… but a gym was no place for a girl, buff bulging biceps or not. So, he slapped her on her cute, firm, and surprisingly hard booty.

“Go on, get my protein smoothie ready. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria before first bell. I’ll show you what real pumped-up biceps look like.”

Megan squealed at the slap and pouted, rubbing her cute but surprisingly hard tushie. “I hate it when you slap my butt,” she said, pouting at him.

Bradley couldn’t help but rub his hand alongside Megan, who was still rubbing her sore backside. Sure, she was sore at him—almost as sore as her backside, and shockingly, almost as sore as his hand—but he knew she loved it when he slapped her, and so did he. He said as much as he teased her, “Well, I love it. Just like I love you.” He grinned wide, then added, “But as much as I’d love you to join me, you’ve got to go get me that protein smoothie.”

He reared back, pretending but ready and willing to slap her again, but she scampered away, giggling. Bradley chuckled, strutting into the gym as she made her way out.

Now, he could focus on showing off—part of him a bit sad she wouldn’t be around so he could impress her with his workout. But as he worked out, something just felt strange and off. He didn’t feel like his usual self, and his workout was rather unimpressive… at least for him.

He didn’t think much about it, but he couldn’t help but feel perturbed. That is, if he knew what that word meant. But he knew something was wrong. Just as his smoothie tasted strange—off. It wasn’t as tasty as it normally was. The usual smooth, creamy texture had a chalky bite to it, but he just chalked that up to another bit of strangeness on this really strange day.

However, what really was strange was the way Bradley’s biceps would feel and stretch the sleeves—or rather how they just didn’t quite stretch out his sleeves like how they usually did… They weren’t as snug, and so each time he would not so casually flex, pretending to be as casual as possible, he had to really squeeze them to get them to pop out like they used to. This was just all so strange.

But the strangeness wouldn’t stop there.

Football practice was up next, and Bradley didn’t even bother to think too much about it. After all, some people say practice makes perfect, but for him, he was already damn near perfect. He was by far the best player on the team. He didn’t really need practice—he was just there to remind everyone who the star was.

Still, as practice went on, he found himself... missing a few tackles here or there. Nothing major. Just some small stuff. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his focus wasn’t all there. His effort wasn’t what it usually was.

And when he tried to wrap up Jake Johnson, the team’s running back, he knew he had him stopped for a loss, only he couldn’t stop him. He just couldn’t wrap up and complete the tackle. Jake did the impossible—he broke free.

That was strange, but what was even stranger was what happened next. Jake didn’t just break free—Jake ran him over. Bradley was stunned for a moment, watching as Jake just bulldozed through him and kept running, leaving him on the ground. That was the very first time Jake ever ran him over.

It felt like Bradley had hit rock bottom. He'd never been so embarrassed. But hey, Jake got lucky, right? He'd get him next time. After all, he was the big man on the team. He wasn’t going to let this slide.

So, being the bigger person, Bradley walked over to Jake and gave him a friendly pat on the back, saying to him, “Hey, nice job. But don’t get too comfortable. I’ll get you next time, and next time I won’t be so nice.”

They say lightning never strikes twice, but that’s actually untrue—just as it was untrue the words Bradley said to Jake. Because, strange as it may be and as luck would have it, just as it would be unlucky for Bradley, Coach Carter ran the same play again.

And the same exact thing happened.

Bradley couldn’t believe it. He just really couldn’t believe it. The embarrassment built inside him like a knot in his stomach. It made him shrink a little—or at least feel like he had shrunk a little bit—but of course, such strange things are not possible. Just as Bradley thought it wasn’t possible for Coach Carter to yell at him… But strange as it sounded, and as much as it pained him, and really both stung his pride and made his ego shrink a bit more… Or at least he thought it was only his ego.

He didn’t know what to think, not just of his performance but of his coach’s reaction. It was just two missed tackles. Not a big deal. This was just practice. It’s nothing to be upset or scared over… Only part of Bradley couldn’t help but be afraid.

But then he remembered who he was. He was the big man of the team. Only, as he got back up to his feet, he didn’t feel quite as big or intimidating as before. He was used to towering over most of his teammates, but something about how he wasn’t as towering as normal made him uneasy. Maybe it was his posture, he thought, and so he squared his shoulders and puffed up his chest.

And this time, it was Jake who came over and patted him on the back, telling him, “Better luck next time.”

Bradley couldn’t quite place it, but strange as it sounded, Jake seemed bigger. Maybe he had a growth spurt. And those slaps were a bit more jarring than he’d like to admit. But he wasn’t so small that he was afraid of a little competition. If Jake was bigger, then that just meant that he’d have to step up his game—and that both of them would push each other to become better players. And Bradley would be damned if he would ever let Jake push him around again, growth spurt or not—little did he know, it would be not.

But he did know how those slaps and hits made him wobble and stumble a bit. He didn’t realize just how dizzy he still was from the hit—and being run over—until Jake’s slap jolted him again.

“Coop! What the hell was that?!” Coach screamed, hands on his hips, glaring at him. “That was pathetic! Get your head in the game!”

Bradley, fighting the frustration bubbling in his chest, couldn’t take it anymore. He was Bradley Cooper. He was the best player on this damn team. This wasn’t his fault. It was just one strange and weird practice.

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Coach, I’m not feeling good, okay? Must be some kind of bug or something.”

Coach paused for a second, eyeing him carefully, but then nodded. “Alright, Coop. Get to the showers. You better step up tomorrow. You're hitting like a girl today.”

When Bradley got home, he was frustrated. But he didn’t want to let the day get to him.

He decided that, strange day or not, it was time to set things straight. It was time for a nice, good, hard workout. He’d crush it. Show the world what he was made of. He was Bradley Cooper. He was supposed to be the strongest guy in the room.

He stormed into his gym, ready to hit the weights hard. But as he grabbed his dumbbells, a strange shrinking feeling swept over him. Strange as this day was, the strangeness would continue as the weights never felt heavier—but these were his normal go-to weights. They shouldn’t feel this heavy.

He chalked it up to fatigue from practice, but it still felt wrong. The weights were harder to move. His muscles weren’t responding like they should. It was like they weren’t as big or full or a strong or as defined.

But he didn’t stop. He pushed through, struggling to get the usual reps.

Still, something nagged at him. Something was wrong. But at this point, it felt like the day was just one big strange puzzle he couldn’t piece together. He had to lower the weights on every single exercise, and it was another humbling and belittling experience in a day chock-full of them. While he might have been full of himself, he knew how strong he was, how much he could lift, why he made fun of guys in the gym for lifting weights heavier than even the ones he was struggling to lift today.

This wasn’t who he was. He was the biggest, strongest guy in the room, and even though he was all alone in this room, he didn’t feel like the strongest person in the room—he felt like the weakest. Working out just really wasn’t working out for him today, as his workouts normally energized him, but this one left him exhausted and defeated. After barely thirty minutes—less than one third of his usual routine—lifting weights about half the weight he normally lifts—he called it quits, disgusted with himself.

Standing in front of the mirror, choking down a protein shake that was just as disgusting as his workout and seemed even more rancid than the smoothie from this morning, he flexed halfheartedly. His muscles didn’t have their usual pop or definition. “Just tired,” he muttered, grimacing at the chalky taste of the shake. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” He forced himself to finish the revolting drink, convinced it was necessary despite hating every sip.

He went to bed hoping, dreaming about the big man that he used to be, and with how bad today was for him, he felt like his big, strong dream body was just a dream. But he knew who he was—or so he thought. Truthfully, Bradley didn’t really know much, but he knew that a good night's sleep would be the end of his bad dream, or so he thought. He really believed that come morning, he’d wake up from this strange nightmare. Only he was about to realize that some dreams and nightmares only truly begin upon waking.

The next day, Bradley woke up and tried to flex in front of the mirror again. But his muscles were still flat.
He glanced down at his clothes. His shirt felt loose around his chest and shoulders, and especially his arms—the same arms that just yesterday stretched the shirt sleeves of a similar t-shirt. Those sleeves now hung loose, rather unimpressively, on his rather unimpressive arms. This was all so strange. Nothing fit right; even his pants were sagging.

What the hell?

He grabbed a hoodie from his closet, pulling it on to cover up the loose fit and his shamefully slender body. He remembered the time he decided to help out a fellow student whose pants sagged like his. He helped him by pulling up his pants so far, he gave him the world’s most epic wedgie, and thinking about that memory made him laugh—though his situation was no laughing matter. His laughter died when he went to walk out of the bathroom, as his pants nearly fell down, causing him to stumble. He issued one of his many, many grumbles that he’d utter that day in regards to his pants.

At breakfast, his mom handed him another jar of pickles, "This one's really stuck," she said apologetically. Bradley grabbed it, expecting the usual easy twist, and he couldn’t help but cockily state, “Don’t worry, I’ll open it up, no problem.” Only he was wrong. Instead of feeling like the cock of the walk, those words he was crowing, he had to eat them—just as his mother would have to wait on eating those pickles.

He found himself straining, struggling to open the jar, his muscles trembling with effort. Just as sweat began beading on his forehead, Ellie strolled in, flexing her biceps and grinning like she owned the place.

She effortlessly jumped up and grabbed onto his pull-up bar—acting like she owned that too, cranking out rep after rep, pull-up after pull-up. She did so many he almost lost count—after all, he had to count the amount twice over on his hands. She let go, falling to the ground, shaking off what little strain was left in her arms. Turns out perhaps she really owned that pull-up bar, doing far more than he ever could. Those arms of hers were now even more swollen. Her muscles weren’t just bigger than before—she had boulders for shoulders, and biceps that might as well be boulders too. Bradley noticed, with a sinking feeling, how they rippled effortlessly, just like when she did those pull-ups, every time she stretched and moved.

"Having problems there, big bro?" she chuckled, watching him struggle.

"NO!" he snapped. "No problems!"

She flexed casually, her bicep peaking impressively. "Well, if you need a little muscle, just ask."

"I don't need little muscles like yours," he retorted, "not when I've got bigger, stronger muscles." But even as the words left his mouth, he couldn't help staring enviously at the way her biceps rippled and popped. His might still be bigger—but they certainly weren’t as defined or impressive today, and they certainly didn’t pop like hers. Just like that, the jar finally opened with a loud “pop.”

Ellie laughed. "Took ya long enough."

“Stop it, Ellie,” he muttered, trying to hide his discomfort, and he handed the jar back to his mother. His mother grabbed the jar and hungrily ate a pickle right away, saying to him, “Took ya long enough.” The words echoed in his mind, just like Ellie’s.

Ellie laughed again, and Bradley just gritted his teeth as she flexed, watching her bicep swell up even more. His jealousy and envy swelled in him, and he couldn’t wait to get out of there and get to school… Where he could be the big man again.

Meeting Megan before school proved even more unsettling. She was once again late, and while it wasn’t strange for her to be late, what came next certainly was. Lost in his thoughts, he wasn’t paying attention when suddenly, strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Before he could process what was happening, he was lifted clean off the ground in a crushing bear hug that didn’t so much knock the wind out of him, but forced it out of him in a steely rib-crushing squeeze.

He tried to free himself, tried to pry those small, strong hands apart, only he hadn’t the strength. As panic set in, he wanted to know who had the balls to do something like this to him. He was the big man of the school, and while he struggled futilely, not knowing what was going on, thinking—this was some kind of prank—it did make him think back to when he would do similar pranks to some of the smaller and weaker guys on his football team. He’d sneak up behind their backs and put them in similar wrestling holds, embarrassing them in front of their girlfriends and cheerleaders. He always found that amusing, and doing pranks like that never failed to make him feel like a big man, only now he found his current situation more abusing than amusing, and as he failed to break free, he certainly wasn’t feeling like a big strong man.

He was just hoping Megan, running late as she was, wouldn’t be around to see him pranked like this, just as he was hoping to break free any second now. But the grip was too strong. Too tight. Breaking free wasn’t proving possible, as someone had an impossibly strong hold on him. He braced himself, expecting the worst—except what came next shocked him more than anything.

He was set down, and he was about to turn around and find out what tough guy at his school was about to find out they had made a great big mistake trying to prank him by picking him up, only before he could turn around, he felt—soft lips pressed against his neck. The sound of a giggle followed, warm and familiar, filling his ear.

"Good morning, stud," Megan whispered, squeezing him in another hug, forcing what little air he had left from his lungs.

Breathless from the shock and the hug that squeezed the breath right out of him, he barely managed to grunt out, "G—good morning…"

She finally released him, and he turned around.

His stomach dropped.

His girlfriend was jacked.

He remembered back to the time he picked her up and asked her out for the first time. It was at a school dance, and he confidently walked up to her, and just asked her if she wanted to dance… It was that easy and simple, just as easy and simple as what she had just done—having just lifted and squeezed him, and thinking back to that dance, while she looked so gorgeous, he never thought she would be so engorged with thick, rock-hard muscles.

I mean, he knew Megan had a crush on him, but he just never thought she could ever actually crush him.

Looking at her now, she was just as beautiful, maybe even more so, as there was just so much more of her… Her arms are huge, thought Bradley, and coming from a big man such as himself, he couldn’t help but think, that maybe those huge arms were huger than his own… But, she can’t have bigger muscles than him—he’s the big man at the school and she’s his girlfriend. But, as unreal as this all seemed he was looking at those brawny broad shoulders and those burly arms of hers with those beefy bulging biceps of hers and those muscles just looked unreal, and yet, they were right in front of him.

She flexed, smirking. "Surprised?"

His mouth was dry. "How… how'd you get so big?" he managed to wheeze.

"I told you," she grinned. "I've been working out."

He swallowed hard. "But you're so much bigger than yesterday."

"That's just because I got my pump on," she said, striking another pose.

And that’s when he noticed—she seemed bigger.

Not just her muscles. But strange as it sounds, taller too… Even though it was more strange for him to be looking at her just then.

She'd never been able to reach his face when she kissed him. Not unless he leaned down. But now…

She must have heels on.

Yeah, that had to be it.

He tried to look down, but the way she flexed demanded his attention.

She raised her arm, holding her flexed bicep inches from his face. "Feel my muscle."

He had no choice… Or at least he felt like he didn’t have any.

While he felt that big, bulging bicep of hers, he’d never felt anything like it. His fingers met rock-hard flesh. Solid. Unyielding. Somehow, she now was a hardbody, while he had never felt softer.

Megan grinned, her bicep bulging as she flexed it with pride. "Pretty big, huh?" she said, her voice brimming with confidence.

"Yeah..." Bradley breathed, awestruck—then caught himself. "I mean... for a girl."

"You say ‘for a girl’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, it’s just, you know, girls are weaker than guys,” Bradley stated matter-of-factly, still feeling that hard mound of feminine muscle under his hand.

“Are they?” Megan raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening.

Bradley snorted. “Of course! Everyone knows that.”

“Or maybe,” she said, flexing again, her bicep swelling even larger, “you’re just jealous.”

Her hardened muscle pressed firmly against his trembling fingers, the sheer power evident as her bicep effortlessly pushed out any indents his retreating fingers had made.

Bradley tried to play it cool. “I’ll say this—you’re bigger than a lot of the nerds and wimps at school.” Though, he thought with dread, she might be almost as big as me… or bigger. He mentally gulped.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Megan cooed, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Coming from you, that’s a compliment. Come here, you big oaf!”

With a giggle of girlish glee, she grabbed him and scooped him up again in her arms, giving him another crushing squeeze. This time, her grip was even tighter, pulling him into her impossibly firm body. His arms were completely trapped under hers, and his feet dangled uselessly off the ground.

“What—MMPH—!”

What’s the matter, big guy? Can’t handle a little squeeze?” She gave him another playful shake, her grip tightening just a little more, her biceps flexing like steel bands around him, as she held him effortlessly in the air not just deny gravity itself, by seemingly denying Bradley his sense of male muscular supremacy.

"L-let me go, Megan!" he sputtered, thrashing as much as he could, but she barely noticed his struggle, just as his arms could barely even move, and barely even budge Megan’s bulging rock-hard arms.

"Aww, what’s that? You’re so cute when you struggle! Go on, big guy, break free," Megan teased as she gave him squeeze after squeeze.

“I—uh—“

Don’t tell me you can’t,” she giggled. And that is one thing that Bradley would most certainly never tell her—even if it happened to be the truth, which, uncomfortable or not, it was… Just which was more uncomfortable for Bradley—the truth or Megan’s crushing squeeze? At the moment, it was Megan’s bear hug, which Bradley could barely stand… Good thing he was lifted off his feet and held up in the air by his girlfriend.

“Y-you just caught me off guard, is all!” he gasped, and lied, of course.

“Aha!” she laughed, giving him another hefty squeeze with those surprisingly strong, steely arms of hers.

“Besides,” he groaned, wheezing slightly from the pressure, “I don’t want to hurt you. But really, you should put me down before you h-hurt yourself.”

Megan giggled. "Aww, I just can’t help it. You’re so light! You sure you’ve been eating enough? Feels like I’m lifting a feather!”

Bradley’s eyes bulged. Light? Him? He was big! He was huge! He was—!

“I’m a big man!” he declared, more to remind himself than her. But with the ease of her crushing squeeze and the way she lifted him effortlessly, it felt to Bradley like she’d have to take his word for it. At the moment, he was having trouble feeling anything but the overwhelming pressure of her arms—unyielding, unrelenting, and utterly dominating, and utterly humiliating—for Bradley that is, as he found it utterly impossible to break free.

“Relax, big man, I’m just squeezing you,” she teased, laughing at her own pun.

He groaned—not just from the bad joke, but from her latest, rib-crushing squeeze.

"Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad."

He wasn’t sure if she meant the joke or the squeeze. Bradley grit his teeth, struggling harder now. He wasn’t just humoring her—as he found nothing humorous about this situation, as he just found out that either he’s weaker than he feared, or she’s stronger than he thought, or perhaps both he feared… As he was really, really trying to break free. And he couldn’t. How the hell did she get so strong? Or… with a dreadful gulp, he thought… how did he get so weak?

He used to love lifting her up, squeezing her just like this, making her squeal and squirm in his arms. He loved feeling her soft, feminine body against his hard, muscular body.

Only now, he was the one squirming. Now, he was the one being crushed. Now, he was the one pressed against a rock-hard hardbody, wrapped in a hydraulic press of soft, feminine curves.

There was no escape.

She gave him one last squeeze and shake before she put him down, giggling and laughing. He tried to laugh with her, although he couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t just laughing with her—maybe he was laughing at himself.

Bradley stumbled, wobbling on shaky legs, but no way was he going to let her see that, he tried to play it cool but his attempt to do so was about as effective as his attempts were to break free.

He was just glad for that to be over, and he hated thinking it, but he was glad it was time to get going to school—and he hated school—even though he loved being the big man at school. In fact, he loved everything about it except for all the classes. He wished that they could just get rid of his classes so he could focus on weightlifting and football, something he knew he’d need to focus on again unless he wanted to make a habit out of being manhandled by his shockingly muscular girlfriend… something he hoped she herself wouldn’t want to make a habit out of.

Although, right now, he was really finding it difficult to focus on anything, as he was just trying to catch his breath and steady his legs and nerves. But for now, his humiliation at the literal hands and brawny arms of his girlfriend was over.

And that's when she said, "Flex for me."

He hesitated. "Not right now, we're late for school," he muttered, desperate to move and move on and get as far away from this strange humiliating scene.

He tried to walk away, yanking up his sagging jeans for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. He tried to hurry ahead, but Megan grabbed his arm, her grip painfully tight. And with a gentle tug she stopped him mid-step and he couldn’t move forward if he wanted, just like his pants couldn’t and wouldn’t stay up even if they wanted to as well. He had to catch his pants before they fell down. He’d have tripped and fallen over if not for Megan’s firm grasp holding him back and in place.

But, this all just felt out of place for a big man like him, feeling his girlfriend’s muscles, the pain in her squeezing his own arm muscles with that strange, shocking grip of hers, and him having jealousy pangs over how buff she looked in that tank top, showing off her swole arms and shoulders, while he was sweating in his baggy hoodie, and he wasn’t just sweating because of the heat.

"I just love your big, hard muscles," she purred, her hand sliding around to his bicep and squeezing. And not just a light squeeze—her grip was that of a vice, turning his bicep into mush under her fingers. He tried to flex, but that only made it more painful. His muscle strained, bulging against her grip, and she just smiled sweetly at him as her fingers kept bearing down and squeezing his bicep muscle, overpowering it, digging down, down, down to the bone itself.

"I just love big, rock-hard muscles," she continued, her voice dripping with admiration as she squeezed even harder, her fingers pressing down to the bone. "The bigger, the harder, the better."

"I want muscles just like yours, only harder and bigger." She giggled as if what she said was a joke, but the only joke to Bradley was how soft and squishy his arm felt beneath her grasp. He did his best to put on a brave face, but when he thought about Megan having even bigger and harder muscles than him, the sheer thought of it terrified him.

He tried to shrug and free his arm in a kind of casual, surreptitious move—not that Bradley would know the meaning of the word "surreptitiously," but he really did try to sneakily free himself. Yet, once again, he found that he couldn’t break free from his girlfriend’s grasp. "Come on, we’re running late, and we’ll actually have to start running if we wait much longer…”She pulled him back, her grip strong and unyielding as it was him who was literally yielding to her. "Didn’t you hear what I said? I want your body. I want your muscles…”

Looking at her, he couldn’t help but shamefully feel the same way about her muscles. But he wasn’t about to say that.

Instead, he said, “Most men do,” thinking how strange it was for a woman to want his muscles, but how it was even stranger for him—the boyfriend—to want hers! This was just such a strange conversation, and walking to school with Megan felt just as different and strange as his conversation with her.

With a quick, strong yank, she led the way, walking him to school. His jeans were sagging more, and he had to keep tugging at them. On top of that, he found it harder to keep up with Megan. In the past she was always the one telling him to slow down, but try as he did, today he just couldn’t match her gait. It was she who pulled him along, her firm, rock-hard arm crushing into his uncomfortably. He didn’t know which was more uncomfortable to him—the way her arm squeezed and crushed his, or the thought of just how uncomfortable it made him feel.

She looked at him, noticing him struggling to keep up. "What’s wrong? You’re lagging behind."

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though he felt anything but fine.

Her arm was too strong, and he couldn’t focus on anything except how her muscles kept squeezing his, and how delicate and small he felt next to her. She had to be wearing heels, that had to be it, but as he kept trying to look down at her feet, wondering if she was wearing heels, every time, something distracted him—her arm pulling him here, her voice pulling his attention there. He couldn’t focus, and every time he’d try to spy a look, he’d get pulled or yanked this way or that way. It was all so exhausting… and that was the problem, he shouldn’t be winded walking with his girlfriend, but their whole confrontation just left him breathless…

When they reached the school, Megan grinned. "Mind if I join you this morning in the weight room? We can get our pump on together." She playfully nudged his stomach with her elbow—her surprisingly hard elbow—leaving him gasping. The impact shocked him; his stomach shouldn't be this soft. He used to have an eight-pack, perfectly defined. Where had that gone?

 “I’ve got homework,” he lied quickly, still trying to catch his breath.

Megan smirked, “Since when do you care about homework?”

Bradley blurted out, “Coach does. He’ll hate me to be inactive because of bad grades.”

Megan pouted playfully, and punched him on the shoulder. “Alright, see ya later. But don’t be surprised if I grow bigger than you, what with you skipping workouts.”

Bradley winced at the punch—ouch, that really hurt.

He quickly tried to brush it off, but the sting lingered, and it took all his strength and self control to not rub his shoulder in front of Megan, but he didn’t want to know just how much that playful little punch of hers hurt. Lucky for him Megan didn’t linger, and he watched her skip into the weight room, he started to rub his shoulder but quickly stopped as Megan turned back around.

He awkwardly stretched, trying to play it off as she skipped back up to him, and by the glint in eye he couldn’t help but wonder if Megan was trying to hide something in that smile she gave him.

“Hey, can you get me a protein smoothie from the cafeteria? I’ll meet you after I get my pump on.”

Bradley nodded, and before he could say anything, Megan gave him a playful slap on the butt—just like how he used to slap hers. The sound of it echoed in the hallway, and Bradley couldn’t help but let out a squeal. That really hurt. It was so loud that everyone in the hallway turned to look. Bradley, who used to love being the center of attention, felt heat rush to his face. He didn’t want this attention right now—especially while rubbing his behind. That slap stung so much it stung his ego just as hard as it did his bottom.

He tried to brush it off as best as he could, but he just couldn’t help but rubbing his sore backside. “Sure thing, babe,” he muttered.

Megan smirked. “If you say so, stud,” she said, and with a final wink, skipped into the weight room.

Bradley watched her leave, still rubbing his sore bottom and now he finally could rub his aching shoulder with his other hand. It was a comical sight, and he could hear the whispers in the hallway talking about him—well, some were talking about how jacked Megan had gotten. But at least Megan couldn’t see him now. She was too busy skipping into the weight room.

In a way, he used to look forward to his workouts just like her, strutting all around the weight room showing off, having fun. Knowing you’re the biggest and strongest—that’s the kind of swagger he had, the kind Megan had.

As she skipped into the weight room, Bradley couldn’t help but notice something else. His little sister, Ellie, was already in the gym. And she was anything but little.

Ellie was huge.

Bradley froze in the doorway, his stomach sinking and his chest and shoulders drooping and sagging just like his clothes as he watched her. Ellie—his little sister—was lifting weights that were almost as big as the ones he used, and she was doing it with ease. She was shoulder pressing massive dumbbells, each one easily as heavy as the ones he’d used in his best workout days. But she wasn’t struggling at all. She was cranking out reps like it was nothing.

Watching her he couldn’t help but feel that same strange shrinking feeling, as he once more opined on how big and thick her arms were, and how he couldn’t help but pine secretly for arms that big, and bulky and brawny. Not that he knew what opined meaned nor would he actually admit that he was jealous of his little sister’s big muscles, but watching her lift those weights you’d think he had green eyes instead of his blue and if you were to ask him to answer you truthfully you’d think his eyes would be brown instead because he was so full of it.

Ellie looked even more massive than she did at breakfast. Her arms were the biggest in the room, bigger than even the men’s. The other guys looked like boys next to her. And the worst part? That should be him in there right now lifting those weights instead of standing sheepishly in the doorway watching. Well, that and that he could tell she wasn’t even struggling with the weights.

Bradley watched in like a little lamb as Megan walked up to Ellie, giving her a high-five. The sound of their greeting was almost as loud as when Ellie let the weights drop after her final rep, a triumphant thud that reverberated throughout the gym.

It felt like the floor shook… And if it didn’t shake, it most certainly left him shook.

"Nice set!" Megan praised.

“Thanks, that was just a warm-up,” Ellie grinned, clearly proud of herself. “Let’s lift some girly weights—the really, really heavy stuff, not these lightweight boy weights.”  . She reached for another set of dumbbells that were even heavier than before, and Bradley’s jaw nearly hit the floor. These were bigger than anything he had ever lifted.

 “Let’s lift some girly weights,” Ellie teased, her voice light, “the really, really heavy stuff, not these lightweight boy weights.” She grabbed a pair of dumbbells that made Bradley’s eyes widen. Megan took them without hesitation, cranking out set after set like it was nothing, which is how Bradley felt watching them.

That is until he felt being shoved. “Out of the way, wimp,” a voice sneered, and Bradley realized, to his dismay, that it was Jake Johnson, his teammate, shoving past him yet again. As Jake pushed by, Bradley heard him mutter, “This is a gym, not a place for small fries like you.” Part of him wanted to be upset, but oddly enough, he felt a strange sense of relief that Jake hadn’t even recognized him. He knew he had to get out of there fast, before anyone did. Before Ellie or Megan caught him staring, before they saw how weak he felt, how small he was becoming.

Feeling a mix of jealousy and helplessness, Bradley quickly turned and fled the gym. It was bad enough he was tripping out right now, but as he hurried to leave, he stumbled, almost tripping on his sagging jeans.

Sitting at the cafeteria in a room filled with students, Bradley felt alone. He also felt like he didn’t stand out like he used to. He felt more average than the big man he was. But maybe that was due to him being alone in his thoughts, too much brooding, and not enough lifting… He should be in the weight room right now—not his little sister and certainly not his girlfriend.

He had gotten Megan her protein smoothie, and he thought about getting one for himself. But the truth was, he just couldn’t stomach another protein shake right now. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he had some strange, weird kind of bug… That made him think about that strange gym bug both his girlfriend, Megan, and his little but insanely and impossibly buff sister had recently. He never remembered them before being so interested in working out… Well, not Megan at least. Sure, she always fawned over his muscles, loved touching his muscles, and loved asking him to flex. But Ellie? He remembers how he used to always tell her to stop messing with his weights.

And how she’d always try to lift and use them behind his back. And she was always taking off and lowering his weights so that he’d have to re-rack and re-set up all the weights he was using. He remembered how he strong-armed her out of his home gym and how he’d told her she was just a little girl and she’d never be big and strong like him…

And now…

Now... she was lifting more weight than almost all the guys at his school.

This was all just turning into a real nightmare for him. All he ever wanted—all he ever dreamed of—was being the biggest, the strongest person at his school. And he never thought he’d have to compete with his girlfriend or little sister to be the biggest person at the school, at their home, or in a room. What’s even scarier? He never thought they could be actual competition…

He had to get ahold of himself. He had to figure this out. But all he could figure, especially when thinking about those impossibly large and muscular figures of his girlfriend and little sister, was that this was just one of those weird, strange situations. They would plateau and peak in their gains. Even if their bicep peaks seemed to just be growing higher and higher each and every time he sees them flex. =

Speaking of which, he could attest that those recent thoughts were accurate when his girlfriend strutted into the cafeteria.

Seeing him all alone at the table with just her smoothie, she waved to him, her hunky bicep jumping up and down upon arm as her hand fanned left and right, and then, without missing a beat, gave him a flex. It was quite the eyeful. Her boulder-like bicep swelled up and now was more mountain-like that just boulder and seemingly filled his entire plane of vision. Hyperbole, perhaps, but she was looking hyper-muscular.

It wasn’t just his eyes on her, though. The entire student body took notice. She was the largest body among all the students in the cafeteria. There was no denying that.

Megan walked over to him and slid into the seat next to him. “Where’s yours?” she asked, glancing at the untouched smoothie.

Bradley stammered, “Uh… ummm… I already drank it…”

She smirked, eyes narrowing playfully. “Good. I’d hate for you to be getting smaller and weaker while I’m just growing bigger and bigger.” She laughed softly, then wrapped one of her big, bulky arms around him, giving him a great big hug. Bradley groaned to himself—he’d felt softer hits on the football field. Realizing that, and the fact that he had football practice later, was another reason for him to groan.

But he tried to hide his discomfort, nervously joining in with her laughter. Unfortunately, his laugh offered no relief. The only relief he got was when she finally released him from the crushing hug. But sitting next to her, he found his discomfort only growing bigger, just like how she seemed to be from that one workout.

As she took a big swig from her protein smoothie, he couldn’t help but marvel at the way her bicep bounced with each subtle movement of her arm. But she noticed the attention he was giving her muscle and decided to flex for him, making it clear there was nothing subtle about her muscles. His eyes were still locked on her flexed arm—the thick, mountainous mass of her bicep, the pulsing vein popping out. It was almost as if his eyes were about to pop out too.

Bradley felt miserable the entire day. The school seemed to loom over him in a way he had never noticed before. It wasn’t just the building itself—it was the other students. It was like they were all having growth spurts, just like Megan, Ellie, and even Jake. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt like every single person around him was getting taller and stronger. But that seemed so crazy, but the entire student body, all their bodies growing taller, preposterous as that sounded, which almost as preposterous as Bradley himself using such a big word, was the only rational option he could think of… Unless he was really and truthfully shrinking but that is just too unbelievable…

But that idea was just too unbelievable, too absurd.

Almost as unbelievable and absurd as when he bumped into Kyle Millquish. Kyle, a little wimp of a nerd, was someone Bradley used to bully and have fun with in the hallways. He’d shoulder-check him into lockers, knocking the books out of his hands, and it was always a good laugh. But today, Bradley should’ve been paying attention to where he was going. This time, it was Kyle who was laughing as he shoulder-checked him into the lockers and knocked the books out of his hands.

He couldn’t believe it. That wimp Kyle had just knocked him down. He had made the All-State football team every year of high school so far, and last year he won Defensive Player of the Year. And now, here he was—on the defensive, being knocked around by a pencil-neck geek like Kyle. Never, in all his years of walking tall through these hallways, had he ever felt so embarrassed. Maybe it was because he wasn’t walking tall anymore. It wasn’t just Kyle’s laughter—it was everyone’s laughter. The entire hallway was cracking up, and Bradley just wanted to get out of there. Their laughter loomed over him, just like their bodies, and needless to say, the big man of the football team stood there feeling smaller than he ever had in his life.

And as close as he was to Kyle in that moment, the confrontation looming just as much as he felt Kyle looming over him, Bradley tried to stand tall. But Kyle was taller now, just barely, but Bradley found it impossible to stare down someone when you have to, in fact, stare up at them. The worst part? It wasn’t that he got body-checked and humiliated in front of an entire hallway full of his classmates, it wasn’t even that he was genuinely scared he might be in for a beating.

It was when Megan appeared, rushing to his rescue. She easily shoved Kyle away and told him to "beat it," her words almost as strong as her shove, which sent Kyle clear across the hallway.

Worst of all Bradley remembered a time in the hallway when he’d had to come to Megan’s rescue. Some jerk had gotten too handsy with her, and Bradley had to remind him to keep his hands to himself. Megan had told him afterward that he was too rough with the guy, and that she could fight her own battles. At the time, he laughed it off, he thought it was cute that she thought she could fight her own battles, but here she was—not just fighting, but winning Bradley’s battles now.

And that only added to his shame. His girlfriend had to protect him. That’s not how it was supposed to be.

She helped him gather his books, and when she handed them back to him, they felt heavy—heavier than he remembered books ever being. He wasn’t even carrying his full load of classes, and yet, the weight of it seemed unbearable.

By the time he reached the locker room for practice, he was already drained. The exhaustion from the day—dodging, scurrying around, carrying his books—left him in no shape for practice. With each passing period, the books felt heavier and heavier. And to think they were just books, not like the weights he used to lift. Used to being the apt phrase. Just like how weak and wimpy were apt words to describe him now, but he wouldn’t hear of that, despite the whispers in the hallway of his classmates calling him exactly that.

And all this running around before football practice left him so exhausted that he knew he was in no shape or condition for practice…

As he walked through the locker room to the coach’s office, something about it felt off. He didn’t fit in. But he just had to wipe away any such self-doubt. He’d spent the last three years in this locker room, and in a few weeks everything would be back to normal, and he’d be back leading the pack as the big man he was. The leader that his team respected. Then, as he passed by one of his teammates, a towel was thrown at his face.

“Get me another towel,” the teammate grumbled, treating him like a lowly towel boy. Bradley froze. He had no idea who the guy even was. A benchwarmer, maybe. Someone he’d never bothered to learn the name of, despite being on the same team for years. He’d always been too busy being the big guy on the field, the one everyone looked up to. And here he was, reduced to this—being treated like a nobody… Worse even—a towel boy!

 “Get me another towel,” the teammate grumbled, treating him like a lowly towel boy. Bradley froze. He had no idea who the guy even was. A benchwarmer, maybe. Someone he’d never bothered to learn the name of, despite being on the same team for years. He’d always been too busy being the big man on the field and of the team, the one everyone looked up to. And here he was, reduced to this—being treated like a nobody… Worse even—a towel boy!

Bradley stood there, looking at the guy, unsure of what to say. His respect, his authority on the team, was slipping away. And so were his pants, which were sagging yet again. He had to hike them up. But what was worse? The way his body felt smaller, weaker... or the fact that no one seemed to notice him anymore.

He looked at the guy, his old teammate, and finally mumbled, “Oh, shit, it’s you! That’s you? Sorry, man… really… really sorry.”

But even as the words left his mouth, Bradley couldn’t shake that strange, shrinking feeling—he wasn’t just talking about the towel. A part of him wanted revenge, to remind Jake of who he was—the big man on the team. But he could feel it slipping away, his respect, his command over the team, just like his pants, which he had to hike up again. Bradley wanted to snap, to put this kid in his place, but he knew better. He had to be the bigger person.

Let it go. Forget it.

But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t forget it. This wasn't something you could wipe away with a towel. This humiliation, and all the others from today and the last few days, seemed to just keep piling up like dirty, smelly towels. And it all just really stinks, just like those towels... just like the towel that had been thrown in his face. He tossed it to the ground and rushed off to the coach’s office, desperate to avoid any further humiliation.

When he finally made his way to the coach’s office, he told his coach, “I’m not feeling so good today.”

The coach, looking him over, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see that. You alright?” he asked, concern mixed with a little curiosity.

Bradley shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah… I guess.”

The coach eyed him for a moment, then asked, “So, what about your sister? Is she any good?”

Bradley looked at him, confused. “Any good at what?”

“Well, you know…” The coach began to say, not knowing the exact words, as he didn’t want to hurt or injure his star player, knowing he was already injured enough, but not knowing just what was going on.

“Being a little pest?” Bradley chuckled nervously, “Yeah, she’s great at that…”

The coach laughed. “I don’t know about ‘little,’ I saw her in the weight room this morning. I saw those weights she was lifting. Heck, I even saw her challenge and beat Jake in an arm-wrestling match…”

Bradley’s jaw dropped. “She beat Jake at arm-wrestling?”

His brain struggled to catch up with the words. Jake? His little sister had beaten Jake? The same player who bulldozed him not just once but twice at yesterday’s practice. He didn’t know which hit him harder—Jake running him over, or the news that his little sister beat him at arm-wrestling… or maybe just his little sister and her big muscles.

The coach laughed. “Yeah, you should have seen Jake’s face—it’s a lot like yours.” He paused, watching Bradley. “So tell me… You know, football. Is she any good? You know, like you—uh... used to… uh... I mean… Like you?”

“Good? Don’t make me laugh,” Bradley scoffed, his voice more filled with frustration than laughter.

The coach continued, “Well that’s too bad she asked for a tryout… I was kind of hoping football was it in your genes.”

Bradley didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want to think about that—the only jeans on his mind were the ones he had to hold up. His pants were slipping down his waist again.

“Well,” the coach said, clearly amused, “I guess I’ll have to change my insult about you guys tackling like girls. I’d love a team of guys who tackled like a bunch of girls like her.”

Bradley just stood there, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure if he was about to laugh or cry.

But it was the coach’s last question that really felt like a bomb dropping.

“And how about Megan Rivers—she’s your girlfriend, right? I saw her lifting weights with your little… Well your sister… She wanted a tryout too. Do you think she’ll make a good football player too?”

And with that bomb drop going off, so too did his pants drop. Another dirty bit of humiliation was added to his laundry pile of dirty towels—only this time, it was his sagging pants.

Bradley stood in front of the mirror, wearing his workout clothes, staring at himself. He flexed—or at least he tried to. His muscles didn’t flex, bulge, ripple, or so much as twitch. No matter how hard he strained, no matter how much effort he put into it, his body refused to respond. Hard wouldn’t be the word to describe his flexing. Sure, he was really straining—his face flushing red from the effort—but nothing happened. His muscles remained soft. His arms were soft. His biceps refused to twitch, let alone bulge. No veins, no definition, nothing. Yes, soft. That was the word to describe his muscles… Along with small—only maybe small might be too big of a word, perhaps tiny was more fitting.

More fitting than any of his clothes.

He grunted, pushing harder, his frustration mounting. His fists clenched, his entire body shaking with the effort, but nothing. He screamed in frustration, his anger boiling over. He slammed his hand into the mirror. Instantly, he regretted it—not because the mirror broke or because he’d gotten seven years of bad luck. Nah, the mirror didn’t break. Hell, his luck couldn’t get any worse. But as he felt the sting of pain shoot through his hand, he realized he had just really hurt his dainty little hand.

He stood there for a moment, clutching his hand, rubbing it gently as if that would help. He couldn’t believe what he had become—this weak version of himself. The man he used to be was nothing like this.

His mind wandered to the last words his coach had said to him, echoing over and over again: "Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you should ask those girls for advice. They really know their way around a weight room."

Bradley couldn’t help but grit his teeth. What was he supposed to take from that? He was the big man, not them. They were girls! Sure, they had some muscle. Hell, a great big bit of muscle… okay, a huge amount of girly muscle, but they were still just girls. He was the man. The big man at the school, the big man of the team, the guy everyone looked up to.

He marched into his gym, ready to show everyone he still had it. He was still the star, still the big man. He had this strange “bug,” sure, but with a few good workouts, he’d get back to his prime. He’d show them all. Grabbing a set of dumbbells, he tried to pull them off the rack. But… he couldn’t.

He tried again, grunting, but the dumbbells didn’t move. Not an inch. His frustration grew, his pulse hammering in his neck. He couldn’t even lift his warm-up weights.

So, he moved down the line, grabbing a different, lighter pair, and tried to lift those. Straining, feeling every muscle in his body scream with the effort. But it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t lift them. These weren’t even his heaviest weights by far. He used to use these for the final sets of his workout, when he was so worn out he could barely move. And now, he couldn’t even lift them, just like the majority of the weights in his gym.

They were all too heavy for him.

Why was all he could think.

Why was he so weak?

Why was this happening to him?

Why were Ellie and Megan so damn jacked?

Why did they want to be on the football team?

Why did Coach even want them on the football team?

What right did they have to be on the football team?

And how could Coach seriously think they should try out?

With a deep breath, he turned to another set of dumbbells and tried those. This time, after a huge struggle, he managed to get them off the rack. They were lighter, sure, but still… it felt like lifting a mountain. But Bradley shook it off. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t some loser. He could do this. He could lift those weights!

With great effort, he strained against the dumbbells, his iron will against the iron of the weights. He tried his best to curl them, truly giving it his all, but all they gave him was indifference and resistance. Finally, he managed to move them and swung them up—it was something, but what it wasn’t, was a proper curl. He couldn’t get them fully up.

Sweat began to pour down his face. And he couldn’t help but remember seeing the weights that Ellie and Megan were lifting and curling the last few days.

They were just girls.

Muscles were for men, not girls… He should be the one lifting heavy weights.

He tried again. Sweat stung his eyes. He could hardly curl the damn things.

I’m a man! I should have the muscles!

But he didn’t have the muscles. Just like he couldn’t properly curl those dumbbells. Even with just swinging and rocking the weights, using gravity to lift them like a pendulum, his arms were shaking from the effort. And again, it was more gravity doing the heavy lifting. Even though you really couldn’t call those lightweight dumbbells heavy, nor what he was doing lifting…

The weights swung wildly as he struggled with them.

He was a man, he thought to himself once more. He should be able to get these dumbbells up.

But he couldn’t, so he finally gave up, putting the weights back on the rack. His workout had barely even started, and already, he was drenched in sweat—not from a proper workout, but from sheer frustration. His muscles refused to cooperate. He wiped his brow and looked at the lightest dumbbells. His sister’s pink dumbbells.

He hated having them in his gym, but his mom insisted on keeping them there for Ellie, so she had something to lift. He reached for them, knowing full well that they weren’t even his weights… Knowing full well that those were girly weights.

As he started curling them, his mind drifted to the last thing Ellie had said about girly weights. She and Megan had needed to add more weight to the barbell to make it a “proper” girly weight. Bradley gritted his teeth. The anger he felt wasn’t just because of what they said—it was because these were the only dumbbells he could lift now, and these were girly weights…

Or so that’s what he’d call them.

Boy weights—that’s what Ellie and Megan called the lighter, smaller weights. If that all sounds confusing, just know that Bradley was in fact never more confused in his entire life. And no matter what you might call those small, light pink dumbbells, no one would ever say they were heavy. But now, here he was, curling these little pink dumbbells, and they felt heavier than anything he had ever lifted.

“AHHHHHH!” he screamed in frustration, throwing the dumbbells at the wall. But they didn’t make it to the wall. They fell short, clattering to the floor.

"This isn’t right… this isn’t fair..." He slumped, shaking his head. He was the big man—he should be lifting more than this. He was the strongest—how could he be reduced to this?

Toweling off, he leaned against the counter, not remembering it being so high off the ground, staring at the rack of dumbbells—all of which, except for the pink ones, were now way too heavy for him. It had to be the strange bug. It had to be. He wished he had the same strange bug that affected Ellie and Megan. Hell, he wished he had muscles like theirs.

Bradley looked at his protein powder, then opened it, scooping out a full scoop. He felt sweaty and exhausted, but he hadn’t done anything real lifting—just a few pathetic attempts at lifting. He used to make fun of other guys for lifting far heavier weights than he was lifting now.

He threw the scoop back into the protein jug and then tossed the entire jug into the trash.

He shouldn’t wish he had muscles like Megan’s or Ellie’s… A man shouldn’t wish that he had muscles like his girlfriend—let alone his little sister… Besides he was the guy everyone else wished they could be. His teammates used to look up to him, his girlfriend used to admire him—he was the one who had the muscles. He used to be that guy, the one everyone envied… Used to be…

And now… now? Now, he couldn’t even lift pink girly weights.

Dinner came, and Bradley walked into the kitchen, still wearing his hoodie to conceal his shamefully skinny body and sweatpants that hung loose around his frame, because they were the only pants of his that fit, and he really had to pull on the drawstring to get them real tight as the sweatpants elastic band hung loose around his waist.. His mother looked up from setting the table. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t you worry about me.”

“Well I’m you mother, and I do worry about you. You’re my little boy.” She said it so sweetly, but Bradley clenched his jaw.

“I’m a man, Mom. Not a little boy.”

“I know… but you’ll always be my little boy.”

She handed him a jar of pickles. Bradley frowned and grabbed the jar, irritated. Another one of these stupid pickles.

“Mom, this one’s tight,” he muttered, gritting his teeth. He strained, twisting the lid, but nothing happened. The jar wouldn’t open.

He tried again. And again. But it wouldn’t budge. It quote an idiom he was in a real pickle being unable to open that pickle jar, and he didn’t want to have to admit to his mother that he couldn’t open up that jar of pickles.

Before he could try again, Ellie grabbed the jar from his hands, smiling. "Having trouble, lil' bro?" With a swift motion, she twisted the lid, and it popped open effortlessly. Simultaneously, her bicep gave a small, sharp pop of its own—a small pop on a great big bicep, that is!

Bradley scowled. "I had it… I loosened it for you."

She laughed, "Sure you did."

Ellie mussed his hair. “Stop that,” Bradley growled. But she gave him a few more, only this time a bit rougher, and Bradley tried to push her arms off. It was like pushing against a stone pillar, and that’s exactly how Ellie looked—like she was chiseled from stone.

“I’m going out,” Ellie said, walking toward the door. “I need to go clothes shopping. Nothing seems to fit me anymore.”

“You are a growing girl, after all,” their mom said, smiling as she set the table.

“That I am,” Ellie smirked, flexing her arm to show off her massive bicep.

His mom smiled. “Be careful, sweetie.”

Ellie flexed again. “Don’t worry, I’m armed and dangerous.”

His mom chuckled. “You certainly are.”

Bradley stared at his sister’s flexing muscles, feeling a surge of jealousy. He tried to straighten his hair, but like everything else in his life, there was no straightening it out or fixing it.

Later that night, he sat in his room, bored. So bored, he was actually doing his homework, something he’d never done before. That’s when he heard the noises from his home gym—clanging, banging, and the sound of laughter. Girly giggles and girly grunting.

Bradley didn’t know why, but it really set him off.

That was his gym, his space. His sister had no right to be in there, using it. Just because she had mighty female muscles didn’t give her the rights or permission. Which is kind of ironic as he used to tell everyone that "might makes right." All those kids he’d bullied over the years, the ones he shoved into lockers and made fun of? He’d told them it was okay because he was stronger than them and might make right. If they didn’t like it, well then they could grow bigger and stronger than him and stop him. But no one ever did. Why, because he was better than them, he was the mightiest.. He earned it, in his mind. Even Ellie—he’d always shoved her out of his gym, told her she was just a little girl, that she’d never be as big as him, as strong. He’d never even considered that she might actually get bigger than him.

But now... now she had those muscles. Mighty female muscles. And the worst part? It wasn’t just her. It was his girlfriend Megan, too.

And as he stormed into the gym, he found… not his sister, but his girlfriend, Megan. And she was bigger than ever.

If might made right, there was no way she could be wrong.

He stared as she casually pressed the biggest pair of dumbbells he had over her head, over and over and over again, her muscles swelling, rippling and expanding with each easy ease filly rep.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Working out. Isn’t it obvious?” She smiled, winking at him. “Want to join me for a pump?”

Bradley shook his head, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. “No… I’m good.”

Megan set those weights down, a bit roughly and they shook the entire floor, or maybe that’s just the excuse that Bradley made because his knees were knocking together. She grabbed one of the smaller weights and tossed it to him. “Come on. If you don’t lift, you’ll turn into a wimp.”

Bradley shook his head, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. “No… I’m good.”

Megan grabbed one of his smaller barbells and walked over to him, curling the two-handed barbell easily with just one of her arms. “Come on. If you don’t lift, you’ll turn into a wimp.”

“I’m not a wimp,” Bradley said.

And Megan just looked him over from head to toe, sizing him up, which didn’t take long because there wasn’t much of him to take in. With a sly smile, she said, “Prove it,” and shoved the barbell into Bradley’s arms.

He wanted to prove it, not just to Megan, but to—for—himself. And so he held onto that weight, but sadly that was practically all he could do with it.

“I thought you were the big man on the football team?” Megan teased, her voice playful yet teasing.

While Bradley was struggling with the weight, his arms trembling, as it was a struggle just to keep from dropping it, sweat started pouring down his forehead. She just casually walked over to the dumbbell rack, grabbed the heaviest dumbbell in the gym, and started curling it just as casually, her muscles rippling, her sinews dancing, her veins pulsing. He watched, wide-eyed, as she worked the weight in a way that he never thought was possible… But then again, he never thought it would be possible that he was struggling with a mere 30-pound barbell, and that his girlfriend would have bigger muscles than him and he would be a wimpy weakling… But then again, Bradley truly was never much of a thinker.

"Me and Ellie… we tried out for the football team. We made it. Coach was so excited. He said he’d never seen players like us before. He said we hit like girls. And he meant it as a compliment."

Bradley’s face went pale as the words hit him. The barbell slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a loud crash. “Guess we’re going to be teammates,” Megan added. “But since you’ve been cutting weight, you just might get cut from the team.”

“I don’t know what you mean…” Bradley stammered.

Megan smiled. “I think you do.”

She walked over to him, standing too close. “You’re lying,” he croaked.

She smiled sweetly. “Look me in the eyes, Bradley. See if I’m lying.”

He slowly looked up at her and into her eyes, his heart hammering in his chest and that’s when he realized, with horror, that he had to actually look up at her to look her into her eyes.

Way, way, way up into her eyes!

“What’s going on?” he gasped.

Megan smirked, her posture imposing as she crossed her arms over her chest. “We got tired of you belittling us,” she said, her voice sharp, filled with a mix of playful defiance and pride. “Calling us little girls, treating us like we less than just because we were smaller than you... so we decided to belittle you, and show you how it feels to be smaller and weaker for a change… Get it for a change.”

Truthfully, Bradley still didn’t get it. While he would admit he wasn’t the brightest knife or sharpest bulb, he would always say he had no problem winning or finishing arguments. But days of winning arguments are over, just as are his days of winning arm-wrestling contests.

She stepped closer, her muscles swelling with each movement. “And I must say, I love being strong now. I didn’t realize how much I hated being weaker than you.” She leaned in, eyes gleaming, her voice low, almost seductive. “So tell me, Bradley... how does it feel to be weaker than me now?”

Bradley’s jaw clenched. “I’m not weaker than you,” he said, though his voice trembled with doubt.

Megan didn’t flinch. Instead, she flexed her arm right in front of him. The bicep bulged large as a boulder, hard as granite, veins rising like snakes under her skin. Bradley couldn’t help but flinch, stepping back involuntarily. She laughed, a soft, silky sound, and flexed again—this time with more force. The power in her muscle seemed to radiate through the air, and Bradley’s knees wobbled as he stumbled back even further.

“Not weaker than me?” Megan’s voice was light, almost teasing. She grunted softly as she even flexed harder, her bicep swelling, her abs tightening, her shoulders flaring out, and her chest rising up and expanding, even her neck thickened and flexed as her thick traps rippled and swelled right along with all her other muscles. Bradley moved back again finding he couldn’t stand his ground just as he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, he was entranced and under her spell, and he didn’t realize how right he was thinking that. Her veins swelled with each pulse, each flex seeming to grow her stronger, more powerful.

Megan struck a pose that would make professional bodybuilders envious, her muscles rippling with definition that seemed impossible on a female frame—or any frame. As she brought her bicep up for another flex, the peak caught Bradley's slack-jawed expression—literally—as it smacked his open mouth shut with an audible click.

Gasping and rubbing his throbbing jaw, Bradley stumbled backward. Megan's next flex was so powerful it caused her sports bra to protest, the seams straining audibly as her muscles swelled. The back strap began to split, unable to contain her expanding frame. Her short shorts, already tight, dug into her growing thighs like they were painted on. She extended one leg, giving it a playful wiggle before snapping it into a hard flex. As she brought her legs together, her quads expanded like granite pillars, the muscle fibers visible through her straining shorts.

"How do you like my legs now, baby?" she purred, running her hands along her massive thighs. "I know how much you used to love staring at them. Aren't they even more gorgeous now that they're so packed with muscle?" She bounced her quads, making them dance under her skin.

Bradley took another step back, but Megan advanced. "Why don't you flex with me?" Before he could refuse, she grabbed his hoodie and lifted him clear off the ground. He flailed helplessly, slipping out of the oversized garment and landing hard on the floor.

In one fluid motion, she scooped him up with her leg, balancing him on her massive thigh like he weighed nothing. Face to face now, she performed a devastating double bicep pose—devastating to Bradley’s ego that is—and also just so devastatingly big and beautiful. "Your turn," she commanded.

Trembling, Bradley attempted to mirror her pose. His arms, once his pride and joy, looked like twigs next to her mountains of muscle. She lowered her leg suddenly, dropping him to the floor. Before he could recover, she brought her leg down beside him, her meaty thigh slamming down on his leg, causing him to nearly topple over if not for Megan squeezing his shoulder crushing him against her steely physique. Her quad was so massive it was dwarfing his entire torso and that’s including the added bagginess of his sweatpants.

Twisting her around, Megan showed off her calf muscle flexing and un-flexing hypnotically up and down and up and down and in his dazed stupor Bradley followed the movement up and down with not only his eyes but he also in turned bobbed his head up and down along with the flexing of her calves. Each diamond-shaped muscle was larger than Bradley's head—but perhaps not quite as big as what his ego… Or what it once was.

She performed a sensual shimmy and gave her hips a sexy swing and shake, then suddenly swung those powerful hips right into Bradley, hip-checking him away from her. As he stumbled to her side, she let her lats flare out so wide they seemed to fill the entire room. Bradley stumbled back again, running out of space as she dominated more and more of it with each flex.

Placing her arms behind her head, Megan flexing her abs as she proudly showcased and showed off her midsection. Where Bradley's eight-pack had once been his proudest feature, now Megan's abs put his former glory to shame. Eight distinct blocks of muscle rolled and rippled under her skin as she flexed them rhythmically.

"Don't you just love my abs?" she teased. "I've got eight big reasons why you should." Her eyes dropped to his midsection, where his once-impressive abs had softened into an unremarkable belly. She poked it with one finger, making him wince and retreat another step.

"Come on, Bradley," she giggled, drunk on her own power. "You were always the big man, remember? But now..." She leaned in close, her bicep swelling impossibly larger, "you're just a little man now."

She spun with a fluid, commanding grace, her back a sculpted landscape of rippling muscle that caught the light with every movement. Pausing, she arched her spine, flaring out her back and rising onto the tips of her toes, her calves tightening as her body stretched like a bowstring, muscles taut and defined.

With a mischievous grin, she flexed her glutes, one at a time, the muscles fluttering before firming with a controlled ripple. She shook her backside, teasing him with the movement, before bending forward and thrusting her booty out with exaggerated flair as she slammed her hips back into him, sending him stumbling a step or two. Her giggle filled the room. "Still wanna slap my ass?" she teased, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling. "Careful—it slaps back now!"

Turning to face him again, she thrust her flexed bicep right in front of his face. "Feel it," she commanded. Bradley, without hesitation, did as he was told. In all their months of dating, this was the most he’d ever listened to and done exactly what Megan asked. He was finally behaving like a good and proper little boyfriend. The emphasis on little, as even using both hands, Bradley couldn't encompass the massive peak of muscle. She gave her bicep a hard squeeze, and his hands flew off, unable to contain the sheer, surging might of her mighty female muscles. He stumbled backward once more, his legs shaking.

With each flex pushing him back, Bradley's legs trembled until his back hit what felt like a wall. But walls don't breathe. Walls don't radiate heat and power. And walls certainly don't laugh with his sister's voice.

Turning slowly, Bradley found himself staring up—way up—at Ellie. She wasn't just standing there; she was towering over him, her massive frame blocking any escape. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place—or more accurately, between his rock-hard girlfriend and his hardbodied "little" sister. Though calling her little now seemed like a dangerous proposition, given how she filled the doorframe with pure muscle.

Her massive frame blocked the doorway completely. Her shoulders were wider than a doorframe, and her arms were as thick as tree trunks, each muscle group clearly defined under her skin. Flexing her biceps, she sent them surging with power, her muscles exploding into raw muscular glory.

Bradley’s heart raced. There was no escape. His little sister, now towering over him, was every bit as powerful as Megan.

 “Looking a little small there, lil’ brother,” Ellie smirked, flexing an arm that could put bodybuilders to shame.

Bradley could barely speak. “I’m not your little brother,” he grumbled.

Ellie just laughed. “Sure you are. Just like I’m your big sister now.”

“How is this happening?” Bradley whispered.

Megan laughed. “Should we tell him?”

Ellie flexed again, her muscles swelling even more. “I don’t know. He’s always been a big jerk. Not sure I want to tell him.”

Megan smirked. “Well, he’s a little jerk now.”

Bradley winced. “But Megan, when have I ever been a jerk to you?”

“When I saw you kissing Kim Riley,” she said, flexing her arms, making her pecs bounce with her muscles. “With that kiss, you might as well have kissed your muscles goodbye.”

It was the same flex he used to do to drive the ladies wild, but now? It was driving him crazy, for all the wrong reasons.

“This is wrong,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Ellie added, “He used to be thick… now he’s just thick-headed. We came clean with the jerk, and he still doesn’t believe us.”

Megan smiled. “What should we do?”

Ellie walked to the barbell on the ground. “Well, I’m going to get my pump on and do a clean and jerk.”

Bradley watched in disbelief as she deadlifted the barbell—all of it. She pressed it overhead effortlessly, her muscles bulging with power.

“You can’t steal muscles…” he whispered even though it came off more of a whimper.

Ellie smirked, setting the barbell down with a loud clang. And it shook the entire room, shaking Bradley to his very core, and he wiggled and wobbled and he very nearly fell over—while Ellie and Megan just stood strong as ever, “Well then, how did we get so strong?” she asked, her tone dripping with mock innocence. She flexed her arms, her biceps bulging in a way that made Bradley’s stomach churn. “Go ahead, Bradley. Explain it to us. We’re all ears.”

Bradley opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted to argue, to come up with some logical explanation—anything to make this make sense. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized they had a point. When you ruled out all other possible explanations, the only remaining one, however impossible, had to be the answer… At least that’ what Sherlock Holmes always says.

Not that it took a genius to figure it out. In fact, it didn’t even take Sherlock Holmes. Which was good for Bradley, because he used to say what he lacked in brain power, he made up for in muscle power. Now, though, he was lacking on all fronts. His strength, his size, his ego, his confidence—all of it was gone, siphoned away by his no longer little sister and his girlfriend.

Megan smiled sweetly at him. “Want to know how it happened?” She pulled out something from her pocket—a small lock of hair.

His hair.

She twirled it between her fingers. “That’s how. We put a spell on you and now all your strength is mine.”

“Well, ours,” Ellie chimed in, stepping up beside Megan. Both girls giggled, their laughter light but tinged with triumph. In perfect sync, they flexed side by side, muscles swelling and expanding as if on cue.

Bradley’s eyes widened, bulging bigger and bigger as Ellie’s and Megan’s biceps swelled larger and larger. They squeezed with every sinew and muscle fiber in their bodies, their muscles rippling and expanding, muscle upon muscle in a mind-boggling display of sheer muscular mass and might. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. His brain short-circuited, overwhelmed by raw physical power, their muscles exploding out on their frames as their clothes receded, swallowed by their expanding muscular mass. Bradley’s brain exploded along with their muscles.

Unable to take anymore, and perhaps unwilling for anymore to be taken from him, Bradley turned and bolted.

He ran to his mom, panting, shaking. He didn’t know why he ran to her, he didn’t know what she could do to help him, it’s just the only thing that made sense to him, he used to be a big man, and now he was a little wimp, being picked on and bullied by his big sister. So he ran as fast as his little legs could take him, looking for her. In his frantic search he finally ran into her…and he fell down to the ground once more. When he got to his feet, his Mother was unfazed, she didn’t even spill a single drop of her tea, but he was ready to spill the tea himself and rat on Ellie and Megan and what they’ve done to him.

“Mom! Ellie and Megan are—they’re stealing my muscles!” he wailed.

His mother sipped her tea, calm. “Well, sweetie… sometimes you just have to be the bigger person and forgive them.”

Bradley felt tears sting his eyes. “But—but that’s the problem! I’m not the bigger person anymore! They are!”

His mom patted his head, but…

Her hand had to reach down to do it.

Bradley screamed.