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Thirteen-year-old Bobby Jenkins clutched the towel around his thin waist carefully as he made his way across the slick locker room floor, past a roughhousing foursome of his classmates in various stages of undress, and to his locker in the corner. Bobby was a little self-conscious, for among the thirty-odd boys in gym class, he was among the very latest bloomers.

He had no idea whether any of the other boys even bothered to notice, but he certainly did. Several boys already sported thickening pubic hair, broadening shoulders, and deepening voices. Bobby knew from his health class that puberty came earlier and passed more quickly for some, while others, like him, were consigned to wait longer in the realm of childhood. Knowing the facts, however, did not necessarily make them easier to endure.

Take Brett Thompson, for example. Bobby looked with envy upon the youth, whose tall muscled form, dark chest hair, and hint of a peachfuzz mustache all clearly demonstrated that he was on the threshold of manhood. In contrast, Bobby's slight shoulders showed no sign of broadening yet; the fine, sparse hair on his body was virtually transparent, blond despite the fact that hair on his head was dark brown; and his voice had still not broken from its childish alto. He sighed.

Lost in the reflection, he hardly noticed that he'd been staring at his classmate across the locker room. He was startled into realization, however, when Brett dropped his towel to get dressed. For a few moments, the most humiliating distinction was revealed. Brett's penis dangled unceremoniously from a thick nest of black curls, a stout tube of swaying meat that even in its flaccid state was impressive. Behind the relaxed shaft hung a pendulous dark scrotum, holding two distinct egg-sized testicles. Bobby quailed. How could he ever hope to compete with a manly kid like Brett, when his hairless little prick was barely four inches long at its hardest, hardly thicker than his thumb, and backed up by no more than a couple of marbles.

"Life sucks," thought Bobby as he finally averted his gaze and quickly donned his underwear. "I'll never get girls to like me. I'm just a kid, and it seems like I always will be. They never even notice me; they can't get enough of guys like Brett. Shit, I'll never be Brett's size, I bet, even when I'm a man!"

He slammed his locker shut, earning him the only attention from his classmates he was to enjoy, and stomped out of the gym and on to the final class of the day, where he knew he'd moon hopelessly at the most desperately fuckable girl in the entire seventh grade, Shelly Tanner, for an unrequited fifty minutes of forlorn adolescence.

When Bobby got home, he immediately skulked off to his room. His mother was humming happily in the other bedroom of the small apartment, preparing herself no doubt for another date with her current boyfriend, Chet.

Chet was okay, as far as his mother's boyfriends went, although he did have a few annoying traits. He was everything that Bobby was not – rugged, macho, confident. He was an ex-marine, and Bobby had come to notice that Chet never knew anyone for more than fifteen minutes without them learning this essential biographical datum. He also frequently addressed Bobby as "Tough Guy", which was mildly embarrassing, since clearly the boy was anything but. However, his mother adored the man, and for her sake, he hoped they kept dating for a while.

As his mother kept humming, however, Bobby had other things to address. His seventh period distraction had, as usual, left him with an urgent need to break out his stack of old Playboy magazines and play with himself. He opened his closet door, pulled his small desk chair to it, and climbed atop it to reach into the deep recesses of his closet shelf. He felt the comforting weight of the six or seven heavy magazines in his grasp when he was nearly startled right off of his perch.

"Hey Sport! Whatcha doin'?"

He regained his balance, quickly stepped down from the chair, and felt his face flushing, although there was no way Chet could know what he had been up to.

"Oh, nothing, just rearranging stuff." Bobby's mind was spinning. Had Chet let himself into the apartment? Did he have a key or something? "Um, so where are you and Mom going?"

"Glad you asked, Champ. There's something I gotta tell you. I'm taking your mom to Muldoon's, that swanky steakhouse down by the stadium. I'm popping the question – you know, asking her to marry me. Don't look so surprised! Do you think she'll say no?"

"Uh, wow, um, no, I'm sure she'll say yes. That's great, Chet. Umm ... Good luck,"

"Thanks, Tough Guy. See ya later." With that, Chet left the boy's room and headed off in search of his mother, Diane.

After they'd left for the evening, Bobby could hardly contain himself. What would this mean? Would he have to live with Chet? What would happen to their apartment? Would he live with Chet's sixteen-year-old son, Brian? No, Brian lived with his mother most of the time if Bobby remembered right. Only visited on weekends. Didn't Chet have a daughter, older? He'd never met her; she didn't seem to visit Chet at all for some reason.

Well, in any case, big changes were in store, he was sure of that. If they did move, he'd have to change schools, since Chet lived in another town. No big deal, it wasn't like he had a lot of friends at the current one. And what the heck, it might be nice to have a "father" for a change. He could barely remember his real dad, who had left the family when Bobby was very young. Yep, all in all, it might not turn out so bad.

Once he had settled down, he returned to his earlier project. He broke out his porn collection, and now alone in the apartment, he spent over an hour gently stroking his stiff little penis while gazing upon the gorgeous, big-titted goddesses of Playboy. God they were beautiful! What the heck, if Shelly wanted nothing to do with him, he at least could console himself that she would probably never have tits as beautiful as the pair he was staring at as he reached his climax. The boy shuddered in delight, and after several seconds of joy, he nervously scurried to stow away his treasured horde. As he first pulled his underwear up, however, he was surprised to discover that a small quantity of transparent, viscous liquid had oozed from his pee-slit. "Gee, that never happened before. Is that sperm?" he wondered.

"So you see, Bobby, there's no reason for us not to move into Chet's house this Saturday. I'll drive you back to your school everyday, and Chet can pick you up. There's only a couple of months left before summer break. In the fall, you can start at the new school."

"But Mom, what's wrong with our apartment? Can't we stay here until after the wedding?"

"First of all, I want to be living in a pharmacist's house as quickly as possible. Secondly, I want to move out of a single-mom-secretary's apartment even faster. Besides, Chet wants us there pronto, and Chet's the kind of guy who gets what he wants. You'll learn that about him – he's a very commanding person. He's only pleased when things happen the way he wants them to. The good news is that there's something about him that makes you want to please him." She smiled. "At least it makes me want to please him. But that part of Chet's personality will be good for you. You need a strong male parent figure. And by the way, we will be moving in after the wedding. We're going to a judge this Friday afternoon."

"What, so soon?"

"That's the way Chet wants it, honey."

So on Saturday, Chet brought his son Brian over to help Bobby and his mother load their belongings into a rented truck. Within a few hours, they were moved into the large four-bedroom Tudor that Chet had owned for years. One bedroom was really the master suite, of course, and another was basically a guest room. Brian had his own room, decked out with sports posters and the like. Bobby was relieved to learn he wouldn't be sharing that room, even if Brian only lived there on weekends. There was something about the older teen that made the boy uncomfortable.

The fourth bedroom was clearly decorated for a girl, Chet's daughter Allison. In talking to Brian, Bobby learned that Allison was nineteen years old now, but had never been back to the house since their mother had moved out with them five years before. When Bobby asked why, however, he couldn't seem to get a straight answer.

This was the room Bobby was to occupy. He put his clothes in the closet, next to a few articles already hanging there. They were girl's clothes, a few years out of style, and clearly retained by Chet years before in the anticipation of his daughter's visits. How sad, the boy thought.

He surveyed his new domain. Those dated heartthrob posters would have to go, and eventually he'd have to get rid of that pink comforter. The bed was a four-poster, it would do, and the heavy mattress and box spring combination looked to afford a satisfactory place to stash his "collection" between. Against one wall stood a vanity table and mirror, white, in an unfortunately girlish hearts-and-ducks sort of country style. Maybe Chet could help him move that to another room. He thought the house had an attic – at the worst, they could store it there.

They boy actually had to climb up into the tall bed, in order to lay back and relax. All in all, not a bad move, he thought with satisfaction. Not bad at all.

There was a knock on the door, and before he could reply, it opened. Chet strode in, a warm smile on his face. "How do you like the new setting, Bobby?"

A startled expression crossed the boy's face. "What's the matter? Did you see a ghost?" Chet asked with a laugh.

"No, I just don't think you ever called me Bobby before."

"Oh, well your mother said you didn't like the 'Sport' and 'Champ' stuff too much, so I've decided to make you a promise. I'll never call you anything like that again."

"Thanks, Chet. I mean ... it wasn't that bad, or anything. But thanks, I think I like Bobby better."

"Don't worry about it, kid. And that's another thing. Your mother and I have been thinking, and we've decided that you should call me 'Dad'. Okay?"

"Um, sure ... Dad. Say, do you think we could move some of this girl stuff out of my room?"

Bobby was surprised to see a visible change come over Chet's face. He wasn't smiling when he replied.

"Bobby, this is my daughter's room. She left here five years ago, and hasn't been back. Brian visits every weekend, but their mother never let me see Allison after they moved out. And now that she's an adult, she's already been so brainwashed that she won't see me still. But my daughter will be back, and this room must be exactly the same as it was when she does."

Bobby was flabbergasted by this turn. "Gee, maybe I shouldn't be living in here, then..."

"Oh, don't you worry," Chet quickly replied, seeming to regain his old self. "When I get my daughter back, we can worry about where to move you. Right now, you're fine right here. Just don't change anything, okay?"

Bobby felt he had little choice but to accept this odd stricture.

Later that evening, Bobby found a few private minutes with his mother. He shared the oddity of the girl's room, and asked her what he should do.

"Bobby, dear, Chet – I mean, your Dad – has been treated very unfairly. That bitch ex-wife of his threatened to accuse him of molesting his daughter, Allison, unless he gave her everything she wanted in the divorce. Of course, none of that was true, but to save the embarrassment in court, Chet gave in. The bitch then brainwashed Allison, and kept her from seeing her dad. That is, your Dad. Mustn't forget, Chet really wants you to call him 'Dad'. In any case, he is really hurt by all of that, and he desperately wants to restore his relationship with his daughter. Be a dear and try to put up with anything odd, like not changing her room, okay?"

"Okay, Mom, I'll try to help out."

The new school commute plan went into effect that Monday, and everything seemed to work out. His mother carted him back to their old town every morning to finish out the school year, and every afternoon Chet took a break from running his pharmacy to pick him up and take him home before returning to the shop for a couple of hours. Bobby thought it awfully nice of his new Dad to go to all that trouble.

Every afternoon on the trip home, Chet would hand Bobby one or more pills, instructing him to take them as soon as he got home. When Bobby asked what they were for, Chet replied, "Oh, they're just some special vitamins, designed to help you grow up right."

"Gee, is there anything that will make me grow up faster? I seem to be behind all the other kids."

"As a matter of fact, these should do exactly that. Now don't tell anyone I'm giving you these – I have access as a pharmacist, but technically you need a doctor's prescription."

When Chet would return home at dinnertime, he would always confirm that Bobby had taken the pills. After a couple of weeks, Chet would arrive at Bobby's school with an ever-increasing number of tablets and a small bottle of Evian, insisting that he take the pills then and there. The boy thought this strange, but he was more than willing to comply. Anything to grow up as quickly as possible.

Bobby took to checking himself out in the mirror every morning, hoping to see some change from the growth vitamins. Little seemed to be happening. His voice certainly was not changing, his shoulders were not broadening, he wasn't getting any taller, and nary a single dark hair yet populated his groin, or anywhere else below his eyebrows for that matter. The only physical changes of note were a slight feeling of nausea some mornings, which Chet told him was a natural reaction, and a slight swelling and tenderness around his nipples, which Chet wrote off as common growing pains. Bobby also noticed that he must have been eating more these days, since the jeans that had once hung comfortably over his skinny butt were now feeling a little snug around his lower hips. They weren't getting any tighter around the waist, however.

Bobby also noticed a distinct difference between the way that Chet acted toward Brian, his sixteen-year old natural son, and toward himself, his new stepchild. On weekends, Chet would take Brian to sporting events, or toss the football around with him in the backyard. He never asked Bobby to do these things, but the boy didn't really care. For one thing, those sorts of activities had never been too important to him, and they felt even less so lately. Besides, he figured it was only natural for Chet to want to do certain things with Brian, who he only got to see on weekends. Brian still seemed a little odd to Bobby, always giving him sidelong smirks and superior looks, but the older boy nonetheless always treated his new "stepbrother" in a friendly fashion. Bobby wrote off the distant attitude to the difference in their ages.

Chet's treatment of Bobby suggested that he also thought of him as a rather young child. Instead of roughhousing or ball-tossing, quality time with 'Dad' was more likely to consist of watching TV together; Chet would sit in the armchair, insisting that Bobby sit on the floor in front of him, leaning back against the chair between the man's legs. More often than not, Chet would stroke Bobby's lengthening hair, causing a sensation reminiscent of an adult tussling a youngster's locks, and yet somehow different, too. In any case, Bobby discovered that he liked it.

Then Chet invented a new activity, so that whenever he said, "Let Dad give you a backrub," Bobby knew he was in for a comforting and pleasant back, shoulder, and neck massage. When he would say, "How about a backrub for Dad?" Bobby would find himself working his slender fingers into the powerful sinews of his stepfather's massive upper body. He was surprised at how much he came to enjoy doing that – it was almost as much fun as receiving the favor. Bobby's mom would often witness this bonding, and smile happily at the two most important people in her life getting along so well.

The morning self-inspections continued to be disappointing. No signs of impending manhood were forthcoming. The side effects, however, remained, or even worsened. One morning at breakfast Bobby confided that his rump was getting so much bigger that he thought he needed new pants. Chet promised him a whole new wardrobe when school let out in a couple of weeks. When Bobby reported that the flesh around his nipples seemed to be swelling, Chet told him that it was perfectly normal, and a good sign that the growth vitamins were working. He did decide, however, to inspect Bobby's body himself every few days, just to play it safe.

On the last day of school, while changing after gym class, Bobby found himself one last time staring across the locker room at Brett Thompson and his friends as they dressed. Knowing that he'd probably never see these kids again, he waxed melancholy. "You know," he thought, "It's not that I'm really jealous of Brett. I guess I don't really want so much to be like him. I just wish he had wanted to be my friend. Why can't a guy like Brett be interested in me, in being my friend?"

This time, when Brett dropped his towel, Bobby did not quail. The sight did not lead to despair, or even envy. What the boy felt was more akin to fascination. He wanted to walk right over to the well-built lad, get really close to him, and intently examine that specimen of a penis. Of course, he resisted the urge. He didn't want those guys to think he was a fag, or anything.

Bobby sat on the changing bench, his shirt still off, feeling a sense of peace at his final thoughts on this school year, when the boys he'd been watching, now dressed, passed him on their way out the door. Mercifully, his idol Brett said nothing, but one of the other kids said "nice titties you got growing there, honey!" Shocked, Bobby could think of nothing to say until the door was nearly closed behind the chuckling boys. "It's a natural growth phase, stupid!"

In seventh period, he barely looked at Shelly Tanner, and when he did, it was to think "I don't know what I thought was so hot about her. I mean, she's pretty and all, but she's getting kind of fat. And she's got like NO personality."

Chet picked Bobby up after school, as usual, and watched him take his regimen of vitamins. Then he informed the boy that starting the next day, some serious maturation treatments would begin. "It's going to require some real attention from me on an ongoing basis, attention I couldn't give you every day while you were in class. I can take a break from the store and stop by the house, though, now you're on vacation."

"Gee, thanks, Dad."

Once home, Bobby pulled a couple of Playboys out from under his mattress, but couldn't seem to interest himself in jerking off. He pulled idly on his half-limp little prick, staring at the models, and musing, "I wonder what it's like for her, to have so many guys looking at her tits all the time. I bet she likes it."

The next morning, Bobby slept late. No school on a Thursday! Summer vacation was great. He heard his mother leave the house, and had started to drift back off when Chet entered the room.

"Wake up, sleepy pie! I told you I was going to help you really develop over the summer, and it starts today. Turn over."

Bobby was alarmed to see that Chet held a syringe in his hand.

"Dad, you're not going to give me a shot, are you?"

"Yes, it's the only way. The pills alone haven't really worked well enough, have they?"

"Well, no, but that's okay. I don't really like shots. Let's just stick with the pills, okay?"

The odd look that Bobby suddenly remembered from the day he and his mom had moved into this house passed over Chet's face. A sudden resoluteness entered the large man's voice.

"You will do as I say. Do you think I'm doing this for the fun of it? Now turn over, before I turn you over. You wouldn't like that, Bobby. Trust me."

Suddenly fearful at this change, Bobby quickly rolled over onto his stomach. "Now pull down your panties."

"My ... my panties?"

"Your underpants. Your underwear, damn it! Pull them down, so I can give you this shot."

"Yes, Dad," the boy contritely replied, pulling his briefs down over his rounded ass and along his thighs. His face was in his pillow, and he couldn't see the stern, powerful man behind him. Lying there, knowing his stepfather was looking at his bare butt, sent strange ticklish sensations through his belly. In his mind, he hurriedly attributed this to his fear of needles. Then he felt a manly hand on his ass cheek.

"I know this will sting a bit," Chet said softly, rubbing his large open palm gently across the boy's smooth flesh. "But it's the only way, child."

Bobby experienced a sudden fright, not at the impending needle, but rather at the realization that he was distinctly enjoying the intimate caress. When the hand was removed and replaced by a businesslike alcohol swab, it wasn't relief that the lad felt, but regret.

He barely felt the quick jab of the injection, his mind and sensate memory still occupied by his pleasant naked display and the firm fatherly touch. He realized that he was practically panting when Chet pulled his briefs up for him and gave him a playful swat n the other cheek.

"I'll be back at lunchtime, to give you another shot, and then you get another at bedtime. Okay?"

"Okay, Dad," Bobby answered meekly. Still looking away from the man, he smiled gently, and quietly sighed.

Every shot was like the first, but more and more lingering and caressing seemed to accompany each successive treatment. On the second day, after the lunchtime application, Chet told his stepson to roll over.

"Take off your shirt, I want to see what is going on with that chest swelling of yours."

Bobby, his face flushed nearly red, pulled his T-shirt up over his head and off. "They seem bigger, Dad."

"Hmmm, I see that." The man caressed the swelling, and gently pinched the fat nipples. "I need to talk to you about something. I know about the Playboys under your mattress."

Bobby caught his breath. "I'm sorry Dad, I'll get rid of them. I've had those for a long time, but I think I've grown out of that stage. I don't really even like them anymore. Are you mad at me?"

"Mad?" the handsome man laughed, and relief washed through the youngster. "No, I'm not mad. I was just going to suggest that it might help you mature if you had some more adult fare. Playboy is okay for the articles and all, but sooner or later you need some more instructive material. So I brought you some. Take a look at these this afternoon. If you like them, I'll get you more."

Bobby spent the whole afternoon in his room, lying on the bed, voraciously consuming the hardcore porn his stepfather had supplied. These magazines were amazing! First of all, the women were very different from Playboy. They showed everything, with broadly displayed pussies that they were actually pulling apart with their own hands! This was not particularly appealing to the boy, but it was very enlightening. The biggest shock though was the presence and activity of men! Couples were engaged in sex acts, and many of the pictures were focused on gigantic erect penises that made Bobby giggle out loud, to think he'd been impressed by Brett Thompson.

In one picture, a woman had a monstrous prick in her mouth, barely able to fit the mushroom head. Bobby felt a tickling sensation in his own small penis, the first he'd experienced in a while. He distinctly thought, "You'd have to spend a lot of time learning how to suck on that thing. I wonder if it's even possible to get the whole thing in your mouth."

On another page, in a before-and-after sequence, a different woman was taking a similar rod into her splayed, greasy pussy. From the "before" shot, Bobby was able to guess that the cock was about ten inches long, and the woman in the "after" photo had taken all but two inches inside of her. His thought at this was, "I bet she really likes that. I guess you'd have to have a pussy to know, though."

After several similar pages, the boy stumbled on a picture that made him gasp. He'd almost passed it by, just another picture of a woman being treated to an oversized stuffing, when he noticed that there was something different. She was getting fucked in her asshole! His own sphincter clenched at the sight, and his little cock was its full stiff four inches for the first time in weeks. He started stroking the little thing eagerly, flipping through pages until he found what he thought would be a suitable climax image, a big-titted woman on her back taking a massive dicking. He tried to focus on the woman, but his eyes kept being drawn to the joined loins in particular. At the instant of climax, his eyes darted, seemingly of their own accord, across to the opposite page, which featured a solo image of a massive, erect uncut prick. "Oooooooooooooh!" the boy wailed as he came, his vision tunneling in on the lordly rod.

Once Bobby admitted that he'd enjoyed the new porn, Chet brought him more. Every magazine was hardcore, with plenty of spread pussy and stiff cock. The models were not as attractive as the ones in Playboy, perhaps, but the boy preferred the rough-and-ready explicit look now.

Chet continued giving the injections, although over the weekend, when his son Brian was in the house, he made quick work of the effort, and barely spared a momentary caress before plunging the needle into Bobby's ass, depressing the syringe, and making a quick exit.

On Monday, however, Chet was back to his old, lingering, attentive self. During the lunch-hour shot, which, as usual, was administered in the pink-and-white appointed room Bobby had come to call his own, the lad reminded his stepfather about his clothing situation.

"Dad, remember when I told you my jeans hardly fit anymore? Well, it's worse now. It's like my butt is getting bigger. My tummy is as flat as it ever was, so it doesn't seem like I'm eating too much."

"It's the growth medicine working, Bobby. Some parts of your body are going to grow faster than others at first. I'm sorry, I forgot about the clothes. I'll bring you some tonight, alright?"

"Okay. It's just that I can hardly leave the house, I've got nothing to wear."

"I understand," Chet chuckled and shook his head. "I'd say your vitamins are really starting to work." The man got up to leave, as Bobby puzzled at his last remark, when he reached into the paper bag he had brought and turned back around. "Almost forgot. New magazine. I hardly looked at it before buying it, I'm not even sure which title it is, but I hope you like it."

Bobby ripped the plastic off the magazine the minute his stepfather had left. Its title was one the boy had never seen before, and didn't really understand: "Bi-Times." He opened it to find that the "cast" of the main layout consisted of one woman and two men. He quickly leafed through the pages, and was shocked to discover near the back that the two men were sucking on each other, in addition to fucking the woman! Once over his surprise, however, he was able to make good use of his latest gift.

After dinner that night, Chet sent Bobby up to his room, to prepare for his treatment. Bobby casually glanced his mother's way after getting these instructions, and was surprised to see her look quickly away. She had been acting strange around Bobby for days, and he was beginning to worry why. However, by now the boy had learned that when Chet told you to do something, you did it right away. He could think about the situation with his mother later.

Chet followed him into the bedroom, carrying a shopping bag. After quickly administering the evening's shot, he said, "Try these on, Bobby."

Bobby reached into the bag to pull out what looked like a very small pair of synthetic shorts and a half-T-shirt. "Are these the right size, Dad?"

"Yep. The shorts are spandex - they'll stretch. They should be comfortable no matter how much you grow. The shirt should be comfortable in the summer weather, giving you leeway around your sensitive breasts ... I mean your sensitive chest swelling."

"Gee, Dad, do you really think that I should..."

"Try them on, Bobby. Don't make me tell you again."

"Yes, sir." While Chet took at seat on the desk chair, Bobby stripped down to his underwear. He felt quite embarrassed to be changing in front of a grown man like this. He knew that the developments in his body were just the temporary side affect of the growth vitamins, but it was really weird how the swelling around his nipples had become so extreme that it looked like he had actual breasts. Bobby was no expert, but he would have judged the out-thrusting cones to be A-cups, at least. They were certainly larger than the real breasts on many of the girls at his school the previous year.

He noticed Chet was looking right at them, and he wasn't laughing or anything. Of course, if anyone should understand it should be Chet, the pharmacist. He was the one who had explained the temporary side-effect in the first place. One thing he hadn't warned him about, however, was the change in the actual nipples themselves. Previously, they had been flat little dime-sized dark pink circles, capped with what looked like deflated BB's. Now they were the size of quarters, and they were slightly conical themselves. Worst of all, the BB's had swollen to the size of erasers, and now they stiffened in a breeze or whenever the boy became aroused while looking at his porn. And they stiffened whenever his stepfather caressed his bottom before giving him a shot. Especially then.