Fountain of Youth

[6 word request: Arrogant Hoss Gets Carseat and Pacifier]

55 year old Hank--”Hank the Tank” as he was known around the gym--was a 6’5” 300 pound beast. The silver-haired gorilla was one of the biggest men at Global Gym, more intimidating than any of the little 22 year old bodybuilding phenoms. He wasn’t intimidated by anybody.

Well, almost anybody. He watched his 26 year old lover, Wes, hitting a heavy chest day with his bodybuilding coach Trent. Hank had just finished up some aggressive deadlifts that shook the gym’s foundation. The thick musclebear rinsed the chalk off his hands and chugged down some protein as he watched, from afar, his much younger boyfriend’s chest get more and more pumped with every heavy set.

Hank couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like Trent was shooting him a glance every time he put his hands on Wes to spot him. Between sets, Trent would slap Wes’ ass. The resounding thunderclap made Hank’s gut go cold. He ran his thumb across his salt-and-pepper moustache as he watched, wondering what he was going to do about this.

Then again, he was Hank the motherfucking TANK. He remembered first meeting Wes back when he was 24, just as tall as Hank and well-built for his age. Hank had dismissed the swooning younger man’s advances at first, deciding instead to help him pack on some mass. Wes’s bodybuilding potential was obvious. Several months in, as Wes started to inflate to match, and then exceed, Hank’s enormous size, the older bear couldn’t keep his affection to himself.

After they coupled, Wes began his search for the right coach. Hank had already set his powerlifting records and was as big as he wanted to be (“Too much more and I’ll start cracking pavement,” he used to joke.) but Wes had a promising bodybuilding career ahead. The first they hired aggressively hit on Wes in a way he and Hank both agreed was unacceptable. The second wanted to pump Wes full of drugs. (“The boy’s a walking chemical plant as it is,” Hank had said gruffly. “You’re not gonna blow out his joints by making him a 400 pound freak.”) Trent was the third. Wes loved him, and his body was exploding with quality size because of it, but there was something about Trent that Hank didn’t like.

It was the first time in his life he thought another man might take what was rightfully his.

“Look at you,” Hank said to Wes as he approached, soaked with sweat. “Your chest is so freaky pumped, I’m betting you won’t be able to see your own feet for a few days.”

“Or his dick,” Trent said. “He’ll need your help finding that He and Wes both chuckled. Hank’s laughter didn’t come for a few moments. The big man was not pleased with Trent’s familiarity. Wes seemed fine by it. Hank tried to brush off the unsettling feeling.

“Ready for date night?” Wes said, leaning in and kissing Hank on the neck. Global Gym was pretty open-minded, but since Wes was six and a half feet tall, with Hank just under that, the two total weighing well over six-hundred pounds, nobody flinched at their public displays of affection.

Trent just came up to Hank’s chest. He didn’t leave when Wes leaned into Hank’s embrace. Hank turned to Trent as if he needed something. “You all good buddy?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m great,” Trent said. “Tomorrow’s leg day,” he said, giving Wes a playful jab in his bloated pecs. “I’ll bring a puke bucket.”

On their way to the car, Hank struggled with his discomfort. “It’s funny that a guy so much smaller than you is really filling you up with size,” Hank said. Wes looked at him, confused. “Trent I mean,” Hank added. “He’s better at blowing you up than I was. And clearly better at blowing you up than blowing himself up!”

Wes shrugged his big shoulders. “Trent’s a pretty big guy. Compared to most people. He just pushes me like nobody else. Really takes me to places I can’t get to without him.”

Hank bristled at that last comment. The two had taken separate cars. When it came time for them to part, he pulled Wes close. The two monstrous gay men kissed deeply. After their lips finally pulled apart, Hank ran a rough paw over Wes’ silky smooth pecs. “How long until we can let that sexy blonde fur of yours grow back in?” he said gruffly.

Wes shook his head. “Maybe not for awhile. After the show in 12 weeks there’s another Wes wants me getting ready for, and then his plan is to keep me in near show-shape even when I’m bulking. He’s got my next two years pretty much planned out.” Had Wes not rested his head on Hank’s huge chest at that moment, the older gentleman may have turned and flipped a nearby vehicle to vent his ire. But close contact with Wes dissolved the feeling--just for a moment.

“See you at home,” Wes said before pulling away. Hank watched him go before approaching his truck. He paused as he recognized the car next to his: Fuller, his gear supplier.

Fuller hopped from his car in his signature wraparound shades (despite the fact that it was dark and overcast) and his signature lifting gloves (even though he wouldn’t touch an ounce of metal while he hovered around the gym that day). “BIG TANK!” Fuller announced, giving Hank a shot in his iron abdomen. “Damn, I’m gonna break my hand! You’re made of fucking steel, tank!”

“Fuller,” Hank said, nodding his hand. The smaller man was irritating but reliable, and had the best PEDs in town.

Fuller looked around. “Hey, Tank, not that it’s any of my business or anything but… sorry about you and the hubby. I always thought you two were cute together.”

Hank froze in place. “The fuck you talking about?” he barked.

“Nothing!” Fuller said, sensing that he had said the wrong thing. “I just heard, y’know, stuff around the gym, and the last couple times I saw you he wasn’t with you…”

Hank had Fuller’s oversized tank top balled up in his fist a moment later, hoisting the much smaller man into the air and slamming him against his truck. “What. The fuck. Have you HEARD, fucker?” Hank said, punctuating each phrase by banging Fuller against his truck.

Fuller was shaking now. “Jesus, Tank, nothing! I just heard him and his trainer… I mean, it’s just talk! I don’t know, man! Just that Wes was looking for a younger dude, that’s all!”

Hank had to restrain himself to avoid making Fuller into a splatter on his windshield. “Listen here, you fucking runt. Me and Wes have never been better. Wes is psyched to have a fucking Tank at his side, no matter what his age is. And he sure as hell isn’t interested in that scrawny prettyboy trainer of his either!”

Fuller was visibly shaking. Hank came to his senses, gently setting Fuller down. “Fuck, man,” Hank said. “Sorry about that. Roid rage, and all that. You know how it is.”

“I get it! I get it,” Fuller said, still shaking but attempting to collect himself. “Look, no harm no foul. I just misheard stuff, stuff I’m sure wasn’t about Wes and his trainer. Definitely not. Definitely not. Anyway…” Fuller started to walk away.

Ashamed at his loss of control, Hank turned to his truck, eager to get home to his man, but Fuller suddenly turned. “Look, bud, totally unrelated to our last conversation… which, by the way, I’ve already forgotten about… I have this new shit that’s gonna make you go crazy if you’re interested.”

Hank ran his tongue along the base of his moustache. “New shit? What kind of shit?”

“Crazy, new age stuff, top of the line freaky nanotech future science kind of shit!” Fuller said, his tone rising with each word. “Seriously, I’m almost afraid to carry it! I think the FBI’s gonna come beating down my door or something.”

Hank’s interest was piqued. “What’s it, like better than tren or something?”

Fuller leaned in and lowered his voice. “It’s not like anything I’ve seen before. It gets in your genes, right? And it rejuvenates your DNA--like undoes all damage, brings it back to factory-new settings!”

Hank shook his head. “The fuck does all that mean?”

“Basically it’s a fountain of youth!” Fuller said. He jogged to his trunk and popped it, pulling out a beat-up briefcase. He tapped it as he continued. “Like, one shot of this, say goodbye to your achy joints. Imagine having the same recovery time you had back in your 20s. You hit the weights heavy today, right? Imagine being fully healed and ready to hit the same bodypart in two days. Imagine being able to grow right along that freaky monster boyfriend of yours!”

Hank chuckled. “I’m big enough, little man,” he said, turning away. “Pretty sure my truck tires’d pop if I were any bigger.”

“Well, if you’re not interested… I gave one guy a shot of this and his hair went from gray to black. I’m talking in hours! And his face went all smooth by the end of the day. 50 year old guy looked 20 the next time I saw him. One shot! But I guess a guy like you doesn’t need that kind of stuff, so…”

Hank imagined showing up for date night with the size and strength he had built up over years, but the beautiful, rugged face he hadn’t seen in decades. He looked around the parking lot, then dropped his pants. “Gimme a shot. I’ll pay you later.”

“First one is free,” Fuller said, crouching down to load a syringe. “I guarantee, once you have one of these fuckers, you’ll be begging me for another!”

Fuller jabbed the syringe into Hank’s meaty haunches and plunged the glowing green liquid deep into Hank’s muscles.

*

Hank stared at his face in the mirror. He didn’t look one bit different, and his lower back still throbbed from the deadlifts too. He’d need to ice up soon, he thought, and if Wes wanted to get rowdy after dinner, it was likely he’d have to pop a painkiller just to get by. The ape-sized man sneered at his face--he’d never seen the weathering in his skin until he’d expected it to go away.

Still, the blue polo shirt he’d squeezed into showed off his massive torso in a way that he knew would drive Wes wild. Maybe Fuller’s shot was full of shit, but he still had the goods to drive a freaky bodybuilder in his 20s absolutely wild. His enormous lower half was filling out his khakis to the brim as well.

What the hell was he worried about? Hank thought as he checked out the gigantic muscle daddy in the mirror. Back when Hank was 12 years old, he heard the story of Paul Bunyan and had become transfixed by the idea. Now, he had grown into the spitting image of the first man to captivate him! “Fuck yeah,” he said. His anxieties about Trent felt miles away.

Wes was wearing a silver buttoned-down and tight dress pants. “Goddamn,” Wes said as he examined his mammoth boyfriend. “That shirt’s gotta be, what, 4XL? And it’s still not big enough.”

Wes chuckled and leaned in. The two kissed. For a moment, Hank felt dizzy. Tingling was running all over his body as he held his massive muscle man in his big arms.

“What the fuck?” Wes said, pulling away.

Hank felt the warmth in his crotch, moving slowly down his leg, but it took him a full minute to register what had happened. “What the… fuck…” he said as he watched the wet spot grow down his legs. He swatted at the urine-soaked pants, turning away in shame. “I don’t… I don’t know why…”

Hank turned away shamefully, then hustled up the stairs. Holy shit, he thought--I JUST PISSED MY PANTS! Several steps up, his right knee buckled. It hadn’t been out of pain--all of a sudden, his muscular leg had just felt limp and noodly. Wes was behind him in a moment, helping him back to his feet.

“Babe, are you all right?” he said as he placed his big hands on Hank’s back to steady him.

“Yeah, I’m… Wes, I dunno… What’s wrong…” He hurried up the stairs, stripping down naked as soon as he got to his bathroom. The moment his boxer briefs came down, piss burst forth again. He couldn’t even stop it! He watched the growing puddle form in his bathroom, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. As the stream died to a trickle, he locked the bathroom door behind him. He didn’t need Wes barging in to see this.

After a quick shower, he took a few steps across the bathroom. His legs felt fine. As he pulled on dry clothes, he worried about another accident--but he felt fine. He had no idea what had happened, but it seemed to have passed.

Wes looked worried as Hank came from the bathroom. “I can get you to the ER if you think you need it,” Wes said.

Hank hated his concern--like someone worrying about a withered old grandpa! “Wes, I don’t know what the fuck that was. Just… trained to hard today, I guess. We can still go out.”

Wes took a moment to react. “How about we make a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning then? Get you in there this week?”

Hank was fuming. “Wes, I don’t need to see the goddamned doctor!”

The mood was dead at that point. Both of them knew it. Wes rose to his feet, headed for the door, then turned around. “How about we just order pizza? Movie? Cuddle time?”

Hank stared at the floor. Even if he did want to go to a restaurant, who’s to say he wouldn’t piss himself again? He couldn’t imagine doing that in public. “Fine. Pizza. Movie.”

Hank made a few extra trips to the bathroom before the pizza got there, just to avoid any further embarrassments. He caught Wes getting texts from Trent. “Just making sure I can have a cheat meal,” he said, explaining why his phone was lighting up. “He said one slice is fine.”

Hank eyed the pizza suspiciously, wondering--if he’d had such little bladder control, how he woudl handle digesting food. Before he could make up his mind, he felt his eyes getting heavy. FIfteen minutes into the movie, Hank’s eyes grew heavy and he found himself dozing with his face buried in Wes’ enormous pecs. He woke up once, as Wes carried him up to bed later, but was so exhausted he fell right back asleep, carried like a new bride in his gigantic lover’s arms.

*

Hank’s eyes fluttered open as the sun hit them the next morning. He felt so uncomfortable! He was both hungry and thirsty, but some other need wracked his body in a way he could barely understand. He tried to sit up but for some reason was only able to roll over. The sheets against his skin felt strange… slippery. Why couldn’t he lift his head? He tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, but they would only wriggle and kick. It was like his body wouldn’t react to his commands.

He tumbled off the bed, landing face down on the floor. The force knocked the wind out of him. Crying was just the most natural reaction--he whined in a much higher voice than he’d ever had. It felt good to let that emotion out, but he felt like he couldn’t control himself! He kicked his feet and flailed his arms, upset with how he felt. He heard Wes stirring in bed. He wanted to call out to him, but his mouth felt clumsy, like he’d been to the dentist.

The best Hank could do was to pull himself across the floor. He got a few feet away from the bed before he caught his image in the mirror. He froze.

The man he saw didn’t resemble Hank at all! His body was entirely hairless and smooth. His silvery mane of hair was gone, as was his moustache. The man in the mirror had a little silky hair up top, but the rest of his body was smooth and pale. He looked at his arms, managing to pull his upper body off the floor. His rock-hard muscles seemed to have a level of softness to them. His face looked round, almost chubby. And his skin! So smooth, so soft.

He tried again to call out for Wes but all he could do was wail. When his enormous boyfriend got out of bed, Wes just stared at him, as shocked as Hank was. Hank couldn’t do anything but cry and kick his feet helplessly.

It took some effort to get Hank upright, then back into bed. It seemed like Wes’ body had forgotten how to move. He stared at the soft, hairless body he saw reflected in the mirror, his cheeks puffing as he started feeling another wail come along. Wes hung a blanket over the mirror to ease Hank’s suffering.

For some reason Hank couldn’t form words either. He looked down at his body--still 6’5” tall, still powerfully muscled, but all smooth and hairless. As Wes rubbed his back to calm him, Hank found the feeling intoxicating. He got a farway look in his eye as Wes’ big hand moved over his still massively muscled but now satiny skin. A dollop of drool formed on Hank’s lower lip. Wes wiped it away and Hank felt himself sob in shame.

When Trent walked into their bedroom, Hank started to wail again.

“I swear to god I have no idea what’s happening,” Wes explained to Trent, who hugged him, causing Hank to wail even louder. “He was fine last night when he went to bed. Well, no, actually…” Wes paused, then cringed. “He pissed himself. A couple times.”

Trent shook his head. He slowly approached Hank, who tried to force Trent away but his hands had no strength in them. It was like his muscles had been sapped of their power, and he had lost all coordination. “I think I know what happened,” Trent said, yanking back the sheets to see Hank’s nude, cherubic body. “Bad gear going around the gym. Fuller told me Hank had bullied him about some new steroid that would make him younger. Fuller said he fought him every step of the way but Hank forced him to. You know how Hank could be!”

Hank opened his mouth to protest--that wasn’t how it happened! But his mouth just opened and closed, with a string of incoherent babble coming out instead.

“Younger? Babe, why would you want to do something to get younger?” Wes asked.

Hank felt another tantrum coming on. He was so humiliated, helpless and nude in front of Trent and powerless to do anything about any of it. He felt like a prisoner in his massive, powerful body. The feeling was so unfamiliar, all he could do was bawl.

“I guess the stuff Hank bullied out of Fuller caused a cellular regression,” Trent explained as he reached down and grabbed Hank’s big hand. He formed it into a fist with the thumb sticking out, then fed it into Hank’s mouth. The big man was shocked as he began sucking desperately on the thumb--it did make him feel calmer. “That’s my good guy,” he said as Hank sucked on his thumb, looking pathetically down at himself. “So he’s still a 55 year old man, but his body looks more like 25, and for some reason he’s become… infantile. Anyway, we’re going to need to take him to a doctor, but I wouldn’t recommend going without… protection.”

Wes stared blankly. Hank’s looked up with his eyes wide, just as baffled by Trent’s euphemism.

“Diapers,” Trent finally said, and Hank started to cry again. Trent pulled a pacifier out of his pocket and shoved it into Hank’s mouth. As much as he wanted to spit it out, Hank found himself pumping away at the thing, once again soothed in a way he didn’t understand. “I’ve got two kids with my ex,” Trent explained. “Anyway, I have diapers in my car but not big enough for him.”

“I’ll go get some…” Wes said, looking dazed. “Can you stay here and watch him?”

Trent smiled. “I’ll take care of him while you’re gone,” he said, slapping Wes on the ass. “Me and the big guy will be all good, won’t we big fella?”

Tears formed in Hank’s eyes as Wes walked out the door.

Trent disappeared shortly after, returning with a bottle. “Well, Hanky boy, I put your protein shake in here, because we can’t have you making a big mess, now, can we?” Hank’s lower lip quivered as Trent advanced. He wanted so badly to reject the bottle as the rubber nipple touched his lips, but his mouth automatically latched on and he started chugging away.

“See, the thing Wes will never find out,” Trent explained, “is that I paid Fuller to slip you that supplement. You’re going to be quite a handful as we retrain you to walk, talk and use the potty like a big boy.” Hank sobbed at the condescending tone but continued to pump away at the bottle. “Wes can’t handle all that on his own. Especially not with a competition coming up! So soon enough, I’ll be moving in to help him with his big baby boyfriend, and all this sexual tension between him and I is just going to come to a head. You’ll be fine in years, of course--maybe five or six, you’ll be mostly back to normal, just a childish version of your old self, but by that time... “ He yanked the bottled out of Hank’s mouth and pulled the gargantuan man over his shoulder. He patted Hank’s enormous back several times until the big man belched loudly.

“That’s my good boy!” Trent said with a sinister smile.

When Wes returned, Hank struggled to convey Trent’s ultimate plan to his lover, but all that came out was meaningless nonsense. He struggled as the two men fit him into huge diapers, fought every step of the way as they carried his gigantic, noodle-legged form to the car, and fussed and whined as they strapped him in.

“We’ll need a VERY big carseat for him if this doesn’t pass soon,” Wes said after they finally got him in the backseat. He and Trent laughed and Hank just cried.

“This was my son’s,” Trent said, holding a soft blue giraffe in Hank’s face. “But he got too big for it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you having this!” He pressed the plush toy into Hank’s face and despite himself, he found himself hugging it to him.

“I hope the doctor can help him,” Wes said as they pulled away.

“Well, no matter what, I’m here for you,” Trent said, rubbing Wes’ hand.