The Many Faces of Eric Janicki

Eric Janicki chuckled as the greasy car salesman once again rolled his eyes after looking Eric’s bulky body up and down. He flashed a disapproving glare and shrugged. “You know, I’ll go give the bank a call, but it’s doubtful you’re going to get approved for a loan since you can’t prove consistent employment.”

Eric flashed a friendly smile and threw his shoulders forward, hoping that would make his body slightly rounder and thus less intimidating. He had worn a polo shirt and khakis to look more professional, but since he had approached the Jaguar he’d had his mind set on, Steve, the salesman, had done nothing but look down on him.

“...you one of those ‘Instagram influencers’?” Steve asked, adjusted his ill-fitting suit and sucking loudly on his front teeth.

“I’m a fitness personality, yeah,” Eric began sheepishly, “but I have a really successful personal training business, and I’m a fitness model…”

“‘Fitness’?” Steve cackled. “You call all THIS ‘fitness’?” He gestured at Eric’s large frame and grabbed his belly as he howled with laughter. “I dunno, Eric, I don’t think you’ll be ‘fitness’ Jaguar! Ya get it? ‘Fittin-in-this’?”

Eric feigned laughter but put his hands on his hips, eager to move on with purchasing this car. If Steve just called the bank he’d realize exactly how well-off Eric was. He was no stranger to others judging him based on his physique. Few people were used to seeing a 6’1” 265 pound bodybuilder in person. Eric was no stranger to guys like Steve, either, who saw a massive, pretty man and started itching under the collar to take him down a notch.

“I dunno, Eric, I’ll go get on the horn, but I’ve got some more affordable options for you when the bank doesn’t accept ‘Instagram’ as a reference.”

Eric smiled through Steve’s attitude as the portly little man waddled inside. From inside the office, Eric heard Steve say, “Hey, Janet, the big dumb gorilla out there wants to buy a car. You think they’ll let him pay his loan in bench pressing?”

As Eric gazed off the lot into the passing traffic. He happened to make eye contact with a man stopped at a red light. The balding man was pale, shaking; maybe he was on drugs. He held something in his quivering hand. Whatever it was caused him pain; he winced as he looked into it and hurled it out his window as the light turned green.

Eric watched something small tinkle across the parking lot, glittering in the son. He glanced back at Steve, who was sipping coffee and chatting with the aforementioned Janet (very clearly NOT running his loan application), then at the little piece of glass shimmering in the sun. Eric sauntered over to it and picked it up in the interest of cleaning up litter.

It was a shard of crystal that sparkled in the sunlight. Eric turned it in his meaty hand and was fascinated by the iridescent beams of light refracting off its surface. “Weird,” he said. “Looks valuable.” His first instinct was to toss it into the trash, but it gave off a pleasant warmth. He clutched it in his fist and sighed. It made him feel good.

“Hey, Steve, how’s that loan application going?” Eric called into the dealership’s office with a friendly grin. Steve rolled his eyes.

“Easy, Gigantor,” he said. “These things take time. Not everything’s as simple as just picking up heavy stuff.”

Eric reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. There were a dozen other dealerships in the area. He’d had his heart set on this silver Jaguar, but the verbal abuse was getting old.

The intricately shaped crystal, in his other hand, started to hum. Eric opened his palm and stared at its hundred surfaces, each one of them reflecting the hunky bodybuilder’s face in a different hue.

“Weird,” Eric said, holding it up to his eye. He looked through it… and his breath caught.

He felt like he was falling.

Suddenly Eric saw himself reflected in the crystal. He was kneeling on a beach, holding up an open ring box. A young man was taking the ring, crying, accepting his proposal. He recognized the man leaping into Eric’s big arms--Zac Efron!

A moment later the proposal on the beach seemed light years away. Eric felt lost in a starry expanse of space once again, but found himself on a street, shivering, filthy, begging for change. A moment later he saw himself as a mechanic covered in grease. He wheeled under a car, unaware that the jack holding up the car was about to give out.

He never saw the results of the falling car; a moment later he was whisked away again. He saw himself as a chubby child, as a withered old man. He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to look like or where he had been.

“Buying a car,” he suddenly remembered. “A big athlete.” He scanned through the hundreds of images of possible Erics, searching for himself.

He cried out as the crystal suddenly burned white hot. He gasped and dropped it, looking around in a panic.

Eric was in the lot of the dealership again. He saw Steve walking toward him, a grin on his face. Eric looked around. Everything seemed the same, but he felt different… big. (But he’d always been big, hadn’t he?) He looked down and saw calloused, chubbier hands. He reached down and felt a thick, firm midsection--a rock-solid gut. He gasped as he realized how wide his waist was. His face felt too wide, a bushy beard reaching all the way down to his chest.

“Mr. Janicki--can I call you Eric?” Steve said, pulling out his phone. “You mind if I take a pic? I know it’s probably unprofessional to go all fanboy on you, but… I’ve been a die-hard Chargers fan my whole life, and you’re one of the greatest linemen ever to wear the uniform…”

Lineman? Something about it felt right, and Eric nodded. “Sure thing, buddy. I always have time for a fan.” He was confused, his body on auto-pilot, but he gasped when Steve showed him the selfie.

Eric towered even higher over Steve than he remembered. It was still his face, but his body was wide, thick, mountainous. Gone were the exquisitely crafted, bulging muscles he remembered. His body was a wide slab of bulk.

6’5” tall, he immediately recalled. 335 pounds--more in the offseason. While his brain screamed that this wasn’t right, his body went along with it all. Steve rattled off games he’d seen Eric play in as he walked him to a massive truck. “This one’s a beaut!” Steve said, slapping the hood. “King-sized truck for a king-sized man!”

“I’ll take it,” Eric said.

He paid cash. Why wouldn’t he? He played in the NFL.

Steve asked for an autograph before Eric drove his rumbling new vehicle off the lot. As Eric signed, he noticed the crystal still on the ground. He’d forgotten about it. He snatched it up and put it in his pocket before grabbing the keys and driving away.

“This is… impossible.” Eric said as he studied his burly face in the mirror. “How the fuck…” He was very much awake. He had memories of playing football his whole life. He’d played for the Eagles, the Seahawks, and now the Chargers. His joints screamed from decades of stress and injuries.

The crystal had gone dark, its surface blackened. Eric tried to gaze into it, to conjure up his old life, but it was unresponsive.

His phone rang.

“Holy shit, I gotta call my girlfriend,” Eric said, suddenly realizing he hadn’t thought of her since the strangeness at the dealership. He picked up the phone and saw, “JOEY” on the screen. He answered it.

“Bosa! What’s up!” Eric said, shocked as the words came out of his mouth. Of course it was Joey Bosa calling him; they’d been inseparable since they’d started playing together.

“Hey big fella,” Joey said on the other end. “I’m thinking we get drunk and make some bad decisions tonight.”

“I want to be balls deep in some blonde Instagram star by midnight,” Eric said, shocked as the words came out of his mouth. He had a girlfriend--didn’t he? The phrase “instagram star” made his heart race. He was one before.

At a red light he scanned through his phone, looking for his instagram profile. Gone were pictures of workouts and modeling shots, replaced by pics of a tank-sized Eric destroying men on the football field. Every shot featured Eric towering over other large athletes.

“God, damn, I’m big…” he chuckled as he patted his firm belly. He climbed out of the truck and looked up at the club he’d driven to without even thinking: “Limelight,” where professional athletes and actors could mingle with hot young women without having to worry about paparazzi putting their escapades on the internet.

Eric was shocked as he realized he towered over the bouncers, all bodybuilders who were built much like he had been before. They beamed up at him, enamored with his status as a professional athlete. His big hand dwarfed theirs as he gave them fist bumps and pats on their meaty shoulders. A part of him throbbed when he felt their developed delts. He patted his own shoulder--dense, thick, sturdy and strong, but not round and capped like it had been.

Eric beamed with alpha pride as he stepped into the club. He was the largest man there and his status as a wrecking crew on the NFL field was instantly recognized. Actors he’d never met before were eager to make his acquaintance.

The bartender--Brody, Eric somehow knew--handed Eric two beers without a word. Eric took a spot next to the dancefloor and scanned for his next target. I’m not like this, Eric thought. I don’t just bang random women. But memories of a thousand escapades filled his mind. He’d been a notorious ladies’ man, pulling in more tail than quarterbacks. Women couldn’t resist a man the size of a bus with a pretty face like his.

“Look at you, ya big lunk,” said a voice--Eric instantly recognized it as his best buddy Joey.

“Hey stud,” Eric said, chest-bumping his pal, nearly knocking the 6’5” defensive end off his feet. His keg belly was like a battering ram.

“Glad I caught you,” Joey said. “Remember that chick Rebecca?”

“Hell yeah!” He didn’t… but a moment later he did.

“She’s been asking all the bartenders if you’re showing up tonight. She’s crazy for you, buddy.”

“She’s a boring fuck,” Eric said. He was horrified he’d talked about a woman that way. “She’s all yours if you want her. Or toss her to the rookies.”

The two laughed and Eric headed for the bathroom. At the urinal he whipped out his dick--”HOLY SHIT!” he said aloud as his huge wang flopped out of his pants. That thing had to be eight inches soft! He’d been no slouch in the cock department before, but this thing… it was as big as the rest of him!

Suddenly Eric remembered the crystal in his pocket. Walking around as this gigantic football star was fun, but he was eager to get back to his old life. The blackened surfaces had gone clear again. He gazed around the empty bathroom, then held the crystal up to his eye again.

He tumbled through endless emptiness for a moment before he saw himself sitting at a computer, pale and scrawny, chugging an energy drink as he rapidly entered lines of a code. Then he was tall and lean, in college, stomping his feet in a speedo. He’d just been cut from the swim team for failing a drug test. Tall swimmer Eric vanished, replaced by an overweight trucker, chomping on speed to stay awake as he hauled cargo on a seemingly endless Utah highway.

Then he was back in the club. He relaxed as he found himself back where he’d started. The crystal was hot again and he tossed it aside. It tinkled as it bounced around the sink basin, stopping right at the drain and lay across the top. It had gone black again. He snatched it up and put it in his pocket, then panicked when he realized that while he was in the same room, he was not the same man.

The bathroom looked bigger. Even the sink seemed higher! His gut went cold when he looked into the mirror.

It was still his face, but the beard was gone. It was so smooth and small! Slender fingers went to his smooth skin, tracing its soft lines, his pronounced cheekbones and button nose. His arms were skinny, his torso not even as wide as the sink. He looked down at skinny legs, crowned by a huge, voluptuous ass stuffed into his designer skinny jeans. He turned around to see his plump caboose in the mirror--the only feature on his lithe little body that had any curves to it--and gasped as he felt it brush against the cool marble of the sink.

The door opened and Joey walked in.

“Joey!” Eric blurted out, momentarily forgetting that he wasn’t Joey’s best friend anymore.

“Well, shit,” Joey said as he stepped up, looming down on little Eric. He was HUGE. Eric’s knees wobbled as he stared UP at the massive stud he’d been bigger than just minutes before.

Eric tried to remember who he was now: he was Eric Janicki. He was brought to Limelights by the owner, to service some of the needier clientele.

Eric’s stomach clenched as he suddenly remembered all the times he’d been on his knees in this very same bathroom, sucking athletes cocks as they ruffled his hair and told him how adorable he was. He remembered Ben Roethlisberger fingering his tight asshole until he came hands free. He recalled a time Vin Diesel confirmed a movie deal on his phone while Eric bounced his juicy ass on Vin’s cock in the bathroom stall. He shivered as he remembered Rob Gronkowski flipping little Eric upside down and shoving a full Budweiser bottle in his ass, the icy suds filling Eric up as he moaned and squealed.

He was a gay hooker now. And Joey Bosa licked his lips and grabbed him by the arm.

Eric couldn’t believe how strong Joey felt. His own arms were skinnier than he’d ever remembered, even as a kid. Joey hoisted Eric up on his shoulder and carried him like he was nothing. Eric’s little dick shot to attention as he bounced on the massive lineman’s meaty traps. Joey ducked out an emergency exit with Eric in tow and tossed the pretty little hooker in the passenger side of his Jeep.

Eric was all too eager to undo Joey’s belt, desperate to get to the juicy cock beneath, but Joey just stroked Eric soft, curly hair and put a finger to his lips.

“Nah, I’m bringing you home, you little stud,” he said. “Cuz I heard you have a little surprise in those tight little jeans.”

Eric knew exactly what Joey had meant. It was how he’d gotten the job at the Limelight: he was small and cute, sucked dick like a champ, but he had a ten-inch cock swinging between his skinny legs. After the Limelight’s owner had bottomed for Eric, he hired the little whore on the spot, perfect to service horny famous men no matter what their preference was.

Eric was quiet as Joey drove him back to his house. He had left his phone in the bathroom. He wondered about his truck until he remembered a totally different Eric had owned it.

But every time the big NFL lineman moved, Eric felt himself tingling. He couldn’t believe how erotic the huge man’s sexy body was. He still had memories of palling around training camp with Joey, but this Joey had never met him before. He saw Eric as just a little sexual toy. Joey reached over and grabbed Eric’s bulge with his big hand, giving it a squeeze. Eric’s whole body convulsed. He couldn’t believe he was about to fuck Joey Bosa!

They walked silently into Joey’s penthouse, the big man stripping off his clothes slowly and sensually. When he peeled off his briefs, he tossed them to Eric, who huffed them desperately, his big dick drooling in his pants over the musky smell.

Moments later Eric was dumbfounded as Joey hopped on to his back on the bed, lifting his huge legs in the air to expose his pink hole for the little hooker. As Eric’s pants came down, he was shocked at the big cock that emerged. It seemed nearly as big as it had been when he was a beefy lineman!

As satisfying as it was to bury all twelve inches of his hard cock in Joey’s ass, nothing compared to the way Joey squealed and begged for more. Eric couldn’t believe the power he had, riding this man twice his size, making his big cock flop and spurt precum all over his ripped torso. When he came, Eric moaned in his high-pitched voice as Joey’s big cock shot a load frosted the lineman’s own face. Eric grinned at the cum dripping off Joey’s face, making the big athlete look like a frosted donut.

“All right, get out,” Joey commanded as he wiped off his face. He tossed Eric’s clothes at him and shoved him carelessly out the door. 5’1” Eric was too small and weak to resist.

Outside Joey’s building, Eric dressed hastily as he wondered how he was going to get home. A tall older gentleman passed by and Eric considered offering a blowjob for a ride. “Fuck,” he said as the man passed by. “What have I turned into?”

He recalled the crystal again and fished it from his pocket. “I can use this to get back home,” he said. “I’ll get back to my old self, back to where I’m supposed to be.” He held the crystal up to his eye and the world fell away again.

Instantly he was obese and eating a meatball sub, thick sauce pooling on his exposed belly. A moment later he was maintaining perfect balance on a unicycle while juggling flaming sticks to the delight of a circus crowd. He strained to find the Eric he remembered--big muscles, a bodybuilder, handsome, living in L.A. He skimmed through a seemingly endless lineup of versions of himself until he stopped on one.

He was MASSIVE, flawless, the pinnacle of perfection. He was onstage at 275 ripped-to-shreds pounds, accepting the title of Mr. Olympia in bright purple posing trunks. Jay Cutler and Phil Heath cheered him on as he raised his massive arms in triumph. It wasn’t the version he was before, but he would take it. He tried to reach out for that world, to insert his spirit into him, but it fell away at the last moment.

He blinked. He was in the gym. He gazed down at his hard, bulging muscles, grateful to be a bodybuilder again. His sported a tiny lilac-colored tank top that stood out against his deeply tanned skin.

He turned to face the mirror and hit a double biceps pose. He had never been so happy to have muscles again. He felt MASSIVE--had he ever been this big? He eyed up what had to be 26 inch biceps, bouncing them to evaluate their size and density. He giggled as he watched the muscles bounce. He loved big muscles--he loved HIS big muscles.

“Big dog!” said a voice. Eric whirled around to see his HERO, Brad Rowe, walking up to him

Wait, that wasn’t right… he and Joey were friends, contemporaries. They trained at the same gym, got along, gave each other advice...

No. No, that wasn’t right. Brad Rowe was his idol. And ever since Eric had shown up in LA, Brad had taken the freaky little bodybuilder under his wing.

Eric’s jaw went slack as he realized he was standing up straight and staring the 5’9” bodybuilder in the chest. Brad was a full-head taller than him, even though Eric was decidedly more massive.

Eric took a few steps on quads so massive he could barely get them around each other. He felt like an ape, and beat his huge pecs as such. Brad chuckled and patted him on the head.

“How’s my little superstar doing today?” Brad said, talking to him like he was his kid brother.

Eric beamed at the attention. He yearned to have Brad’s success in bodybuilding and in acting. Someday, he would. Now, at age 21, Eric was just happy for the recognition.

Age 21. Something about that felt wrong, but Eric’s brain felt so slow. He waddled along next to Brad, excited to have an epic legs day. Eric chuckled as he noticed his huge dick bouncing in his compression tights.

“Hey, bro, you gonna control ‘the Python’ today?” Brad said with a wry smirk. “Or are you gonna cum in your pants on your 20th rep again?”

Eric chuckled. “Haha, gee, Brad, I hope I don’t. That sure was embarrassing!” He adjusted the huge hose in his pants and smirked as he noticed a wet spot forming just from being close to Brad’s beautiful body.

“What’s this? You dropped it,” Brad said, snatching the crystal from the ground. He held it up high, way out of Eric’s reach.

The little musclemonster reached up for it, remembering it was important somehow, but Brad stashed it away in his gym bag.

“I need you focused on squats today buddy boy,” Brad said, giving Eric’s massive back a slap. “You can fiddle with your little toy later on.”

Eric chuckled as his dick twitched.

“I don’t mean THAT toy,” he said. Brad leaned over and whispered into Eric’s ear, “if you outsquat me today, I’m gonna fuck you so hard it’ll make the pain of leg day feel like nothing.”

Eric moaned, his dick suddenly erupting. Brad laughed and gave Eric a shove toward the lockers. “Go clean up, and maybe throw on some sweatpants. Seriously, Eric, you really need to get control of that cock of yours.”

Brad was right. THe only thing needier than Eric’s massive cock was his tight hole. As he walked, he felt that incessant itch. He had to hurry up and clean off so he could work out with Brad. He had to do whatever Brad said, because only then would Brad hit those spots of Eric’s that no one could reach.

He leaned a hefty shoulder into the locker room and walked in, the idea that everything was wrong fading away slowly as his simple-mind settled into his new reality. He was a horny himbo freak, possibly a future Mr. Olympia candidate--secretly a Mr. Brad Rowe hopeful--and he wouldn’t have it any other way.