The Performance Review

I don’t like being in the company gym, and I don’t really need to.  I’m a trim guy, if not quite dorky or nerdy, and I’m rather work-oriented.  But I know there are benefits to regular physical activities, and our firm has a strong fitness initiative, so here I am anyways. Unfortunately so is Alan fucking Brown.

I have no idea how he managed to climb this high in the company. They say people are promoted until they reach their level of incompetence – The Peter Principle, it’s called – and Alan must be positive proof that you can go even further than that. It’s upsetting that we have to go toe to toe in some bullshit senior analyst evaluation, too.  I’m clearly the most competent candidate. I can’t think of a single thing he has done better than me.

“Hey, Mr. Spreadsheet,” Alan starts in on me with.  What a joker. “You must be pretty confident for the review tomorrow to be wasting time here.”

I roll my eyes at him and don’t even care if he sees.  “Hey Alan. I thought perhaps you wanted to drop the attitude for once.  After all, I’m not the one who clicked ‘Reply All’ last week.”

“It was only a problem since people actually read what I send them,” he replies.

“Oh yeah right.  Like anyone cares,” I say.

“Hey skinny, how about a little competition right here and now?” he says, all cocky and smirking at me.

“Like what, Alan?  I’m not here because we’re besties.  You know that. I’m just here to get my minutes in.”

“Don’t try that excuse. I’ve seen what you can do. Let’s do back squats, bar only. See who can do the most.”

“Well… OK, you’re on.”

I smashed him at it.  Easily. He still doesn’t have anything over me. It was a straight-up competition, so I’m feeling good about it. Could he have been holding back?  Maybe. I was quite a bit taller, but Alan was almost athletic in form.

“Man, I’ll be sore tomorrow,” he said.  “Was that your plan to beat me in the review?”

“I don’t think I’ll need any help, Alan. Best of luck though.”

“No need, but thanks anyway. Hey, you want a can of recovery drink? I got one too many.”

“Sure.  Thanks.”

It was a quite ordinary can with the brand “RECOVER” on it.  I could tell it had the usual slick, energetic fonts touting the post-workout benefits. I think sports drinks are almost always a load of crap, but I was thirsty and this was as good as anything, you know?  I was showering off when I started to feel almost faint, lightheaded, and I also felt like I was going to puke. I stumbled into the toilet and closed a stall door behind me. I almost wanted to gag myself just to get it over with, but I thought, nah, give it a few minutes, maybe this will pass.

Five minutes of dry-heaving later, it started to almost intensify, and then I could feel my stomach really churn.  I was gonna puke. My jaw muscles loosened, and I was breaking out in sweat again, only this time not from squatting. I made the decision that, fuck it, I’ll put a finger down my throat, I’m going to be sick.  That’s the last thing I remember before I blacked out.

It was dark in the room when I came to.  I was still in the toilet, and my head had been resting on the lid.  Apparently all the lights had gone off. That’s weird, because normally there would be plenty of people who would trip the motion sensor when entering the locker room.  Was there a blown fuse, perhaps? My nausea was completely gone, which felt great. I could feel my entire body was warm with heat. It felt exactly like I had a combination of a full day in the sun – enough to start to develop a light sunburn, really – and some intense post workout soreness. My head felt a bit strange too. A bit like when you have stay up too late, aren’t tired anymore, but time feels a bit like you’re rushing along with the strangeness of the universe on that late-night wavelength.

I stumbled on to my feet, and had to steady myself with a hand against the wall. I felt almost drunk, as though I’ve been kneeling so long that my body wasn’t yet ready to quite do what I wanted. It felt really weird. I fumbled with the door lock in the dark and staggered out cautiously into the locker room. Sensing movement, the room’s LED lights suddenly came on and showered the entire room in harsh white light. I froze completely, stone-cold shocked.

In the mirror was a hulk.  I could not believe what I saw in front of me. I’d been a trim guy for all my life. Just a regular guy, really, and chosen somewhere in the middle of the team for every baseball game.  Nothing special. Arms without definition, chest without definition, legs without definition…

Now – perhaps I wasn’t looking at THE hulk.  I wasn’t a bodybuilding world-champion, but maybe a local one.  My height seemed to be roughly the same, but my limbs seemed longer, even, and my muscles looked twice the size. Thick arms, broad chest, huge shoulders, well-defined muscles, massive quads.  Even my face looked square and my jaw looked firm, just like any guy tends to change for the better when he bulks up. I glanced back at the toilet and saw my training shirt, ripped and in tatters, now lying against the wall.

It felt like a panic reaction that my first thought was actually “what the hell am I going to do if somebody sees me like this?”  Kind of a ridiculous thought, most certainly, as I knew it wouldn’t be long until they would. No hiding this. No doing anything about this, right?  Though my shirt was ruined, my waist was roughly the same size as before, it seemed. My gym shorts were wide enough to accommodate these tree-trunk thighs.  But looking down towards my feet, now large and athletic, I could immediately see that my shoes would not fit. Nothing I had here in the locker room besides a ballcap or maybe a backpack would fit me any longer. Nothing at home either, for that matter.

How the fuck did this happen? And where the heck was everyone else now?  I didn’t want to be seen like this, but would I even have an option? I looked at the wall clock, which read 9 o’clock.  So 9 pm, I’d assume, meaning I’d been out for just over eight hours. I carefully walked out of the locker room and through the gym.  It was deserted. I rang the elevator. Fluorescent lights were coming on above as I moved around, wearing nothing but my grey sweatpant shorts and my black boxer briefs.  They felt tighter and I was just grateful that they hadn’t burst on me.

As I was standing in the elevator, two things caught my notice.  In the dull reflection of the polished elevator door I could see my broad chest, my firm pecs, my defined abs.  I looked great, really. I leaned towards the cold back wall of the elevator, which felt soothing against the warm skin of my hot body.  Looking down, I even kind of notice for the first time that I’ve got a nice package in my shorts, not that I ever had any complaints about my dick before.  Maybe a slightly longer and fatter dick was evident through my shorts… erm… I certainly wasn’t going to check it out right now!

So yes, after all I’d been through, I took a moment to at least reflect and think “man, what a hot, awesome body I have now” followed by “how the hell did this happen” and “Jesus Christ, I bet it was Alan fucking Brown.  That energy drink!” It must have been his doing, which – retracing my thoughts and our conversation – seemed extremely likely given the review tomorrow and all he had let on with his competitive attitude. I can’t imagine how a drink could seriously do something insane like this, but what else could it have been?  And why? This isn’t the sort of thing that ever happens to people. The technology level must have been incredible… and where would he have accessed this?

I was so lost in thought that I realized I hadn’t even pressed my floor yet.  The elevator wasn’t even moving. I paused, stopped myself and pressed the button for 12.  I obviously wasn’t going to want to talk to anyone about Alan and what had just happened to me, this whole crazy story, and wondered if I could get to my office before anyone saw.  I did not want to run into anyone shirtless like this, and I also remember it’s 9pm now… so I’d probably be fine. I needed to get back to my office and see if my coat might fit loosely over my shoulders enough so I could drive home without worrying.  Or, fuck it, I’d be in the car shirtless and nobody would see. And I did look great like this, i had to admit.

As floor 12 approached, I felt light on my big feet, which, like were bare and warm against the cool floor.  I ready to run down the hall as soon as the elevator doors opened. I also knew I needed to come up with a better plan quick. That’s what top-notch managers like me do, and Alan was not going to get away with this even in the near term.  A long term strategy and a short term tactic would solve this whole conundrum perfectly, I told myself.

The long term strategy must be that I’m going to totally fuck over Alan Brown. He may have even done this to other people before, or in with some insanely elite biotechnology firm, or who knows what he’s up to if he’d try this on me knowing the risks involved.  I have to watch every step of mine until I’m out of the office securely.

The short term tactic:  if I saw him, I’d be able to easily tackle him, so that wasn’t a worry.  But I knew he’d be more clever than than to take that sort of risk, certainly not around somebody he’s made as muscular as a linebacker… he may have even gone home for the evening.  What if he had a weapon? Once in my office I could lock the door and regroup, and I’d have my cell phone waiting for me in its charger, too.

A real manager must prioritise, I thought, charging down the hallway, feeling like Tarzan crossed with a football player, almost, and kind of getting into this.  Although my head felt like cotton, trying to think this all through so fast, you know… my body did feel really great. I supposed I was fully rested after being out for so long.  It was Deadsville, and the hallway was dark, too. He must have went home. I closed the door behind me as I entered my office and flipped the latch.

Yes, the long term strategy definitely had to be fucking over Alan.  And the short term strategy too. I definitely wasn’t going to take one this lying down.  I thought of his accidental group send email from earlier… yeah… well, this time I’d send a note out firmwide explaining what he’d done to me and why I probably wouldn’t be in tomorrow.  Whether or not I’d press charges – or what I could do – I had to get home and think that through thoroughly. Damn, did I ever look amazing, though personally I’d like to prosecute him AND tackle his fuckin’ ass.  The thought of throttling him with these meaty hands… and now, well that was strange, but I noticed almost absently that I was half-hard, and from what? From the thought of that? The aggression of throttling a guy?  The bulge in my grey shorts was slowly growing and moving upwards. That was odd.

What if I sent a picture of my body to the whole firm – would they think I’m crazy?  It would be the proof. It would be embarrassing, but not really as look at this bod, ha!  Who’d want to hide it? I really wasn’t nervous at all, and just wanted to get the computer’s camera set up.  I rarely used it. I logged in, my thick fingers stumbling over the keypad. Whoa. This body truly was a whole different animal to get used to.  A lot to adjust to now, I’m sure.

But that I was getting hard?  Seriously? Hard over the thought of fucking over Alan… fucking him over real good.  I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. I rubbed the thick, long stick in my pants, fully hard now and tenting the grey fabric.  Honestly, if Alan hadn’t turned tail and ran home – had I caught him in the office – I wouldn’t know whether to strangle him or just smack my hard cock on his smirking face.  Or I could maybe make the prick deep throat this cock for doing this to me.

Whoa.  Crazy thoughts… me fucking with a dude?  And Alan? Who knew I hated Alan this much.  It must be some kind of hatred that I’m literally thinking of humiliating him with my dick.  It’s not like he’s that amazing, and I’m the one with the amazing bod. Maybe I’m just high off my own masculinity and it’ll wear off.  But what if it doesn’t? Damn, and it sure does look like I have big ass cock now, that’s for sure. I rubbed it gently through the fabric of my shorts and then forced myself to stop.  Not now. Can’t complain about that dick though, I sure thought. I’m really packing some heat now, and that sure felt good. I rubbed a hand across my firm pecs. Good Lord, what a body.

I had to clear my head.  Think! You’re a manager!  To wit: It was time to give Alan his comeuppance.  Cum-uppance, haha. Yeah, if that asshole were here right now I wouldn’t mind cumming up his ass as he screamed in humiliation.  How would he be able to even show up for his presentation tomorrow after that? The thought of that made me grin.

I’d rather settle for the short term strategy, yeah, or was it long term strategy, whatever, the strategy was going to be me emailing the whole damn firm.  I logged onto my computer and started to log into Windows. “Access Denied” cropped up on me. The fuck? Did he – did Alan put some sort of block on my account?

That asshole.  Oh, how hard it is to think of him as anything but an asshole.  And I’m still hard, haha! That is so fucking… wrong. But it feels so right, in a strange way.  How could a guy with a body like this not be hard as fuck? I mean, I’ve got the kind of body now that people visualize as needing to cum three times a day, you know?  I’ve got the kind of body that people see as a total fuck machine, constantly horny, constantly ready to rumble. WIth all this muscle and all the hormones that have to be coursing through my bloodstream all the time now, it’s guaranteed that I’m going to be more sexually aroused than I was before.  That’s just common sense.

It really is common sense.  And Alan Brown is a fucking little bitch compared to me.  He always was, and he definitely is now. Is definitely GOING to be soon.

I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.  If he’s going to lock me out… I bet he’d freak the hell out if I chased him down.  Is he at home? It’s past 9 at night, right? I bet he’s at home like the pussy he is.  Where does he live? I know he lives over in North Point, but his address…

I grab my phone and my coat, tromping down the hall, still barefoot – reception.  Deborah keeps everybody’s personal information on file to the left of her computer, I’ve seen that before.

3021 Enderly Road, North Point – Alan’s ass is toast.  I’m gonna fuck his life up so hard tonight.

I try to pull my coat across my shoulders.  It covers most of me up but isn’t about to zip up with my chest being this broad and full.  I let it dangle off me, feeling like a model or a sexy football player in a magazine shoot. Can’t believe this body, man.

In my mind the part where I dash over to Alan’s house is going to be quick, but after I’ve unlocked the car I have to spend forever to unlock the seat and roll it back a tad. Fuck, I need a proper truck for this body. A truck would better fit this bod for sure. If anything I’m getting more frustrated, and hard, just getting in the car and burning out of the office parking lot. Alan is gonna be so fucked.

What can I say, feelin’ like the man the way this body fits in the seat now.  I had to adjust it. I really want to get over to his place fast. I turn on the stereo and find something LOUD.  Whatever… nothing’s on the radio that I like. I lean over to turn on my music collection, just want to hear some old school Dre or anything loud right now.  I don’t care. I look kinda like a thugged out bro now, haha, and just marvel at the heft of my arm on the steering while now, like it’s just a toy to me being this size.  “Fuck yeah,” I say under my breath as I speed down the interstate. My voice just seems to rumble out of my chest. “FUCK YEAH” I scream at seventy miles an hour. I feel like a fucking beast, man!  This bod! I run a hand over my pecs again, fondling the thick python in my shorts, really wanting to almost jack it right now… just getting off on my own masculinity. I almost can’t help it, and it feels good so fuck it.  I know I should be worried but for one I’m going to get Alan to explain and for two it just feels good. This body is fuckin’ stacked, man.

Grateful for GPS because I don’t know this neighborhood at all.  But there he is, a real pisshole of a house, stupid little flowers planted that he probably maintains himself.  “FUCK YOU ALAN” I shout even before exiting the car… I come to a rolling stop that’s half into his front lawn. I see lights coming on in the hallway, the front porch light turning on, and a surprised looking Alan opens the door.

“I… didn’t expect you here. Isn’t there somewhere else you’d rather be?  A club? A… a men’s club? Why the hell are you here!” he said, clearly panicking.  “You need to…”

I don’t think Alan expected a brick shithouse of a body like mine to be as fast as it is, so I have the door ripped out of his hands, slammed behind me, and Alan pinned to his own hallway floor in no time. He’s squealing like a trapped animal, face in terror.

“What the fuck did you do to me, Alan?” I roar in his face,  You fucking asshole! Your are sooooo fucked now!  What was that shit? And how do you like me now? Can you feel this, Alan?  You feel this body?  You feel me, man? It’s the body of a real man holding you.  You like that? This what you wanted? And why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this juice of yours earlier?” I grin at him, winking.  I don’t stop pinning his arms down for even a moment, though. I mean business now.

His expression reverts from fear back into utter surprise. “You… like it?”

“Fuck yeah! This is the best – maybe the craziest, but still the best – that has ever happened to me. I feel fucking amazing!  I know you have more of it. And you gotta tell me what’s in it so I know what I took and where the hell it came from. Show it to me, man.

“Just let me go. Please, be gentle,” he pleads.

Visibly shaken, Alan staggers into the kitchen, and I pad into the room behind him, keeping a close eye on him.  I see him open the fridge and take out another RECOVER sports drink can from some juice pack with the bottom cut out.

“This is the last one I have, I promise. But you’ve seen what one can do. More than one would…”

“Thanks bro,” I say, popping it open.  “More than one would what? Come on, dork, what would it do?”

“You’re not supposed to…HEY!” he yelps as I grab him by the collar, setting down the can on the table.  I then grapple him again and put him on his back, knocking the air out of him, reach my arm up to grab the can and start pouring into his mouth. His eyes widen in fear when he realizes what is about to happen. “Drink it, you little bitch.  Drink it!” I roar right in his fucking face, grabbing him by the jawline with one of my big hands. Soon I’m pouring it straight down his gullet with the other. I hold the can firm. He sputters and chokes on the juice all a little but I do get most of the it down his throat.  “Oh god, oh god,” he gasps, trying to sit up. I just laugh at him.

“This is gonna be you soon too, bro.  How you like them apples? Or these footballs, these fuckin’ ‘ceps” I say, flexing my bicep. “Let me see those puny arms,” I say, grabbing Alan’s shirt from the front and just ripping it off him, twisting him around to get it all the way off him.  A button flew off even, and I laughed at that, too. It’s not like he’ll be fitting in this mangled dress shirt soon.

“Yeah, look at those weak guns,” I say, holding my big gun next to his scrawny arm and flexing.  The contrast is striking. “Flex for me, Alan. I said fucking FLEX!” I roar, and he complies, his face red and leaking hot tears, the fear in his eyes palatable.

“You know what you’re gonna become, don’t you, pussyboy?” I playfully sneer in his face.  Serves him right for how cocky he was in the gym today. “You’re gonna love it.”

“I’ve earned this,” I say, and grab him by the neck with one firm hand again and pin his body to the floor.  I lean in to kiss him, but with my hands busy holding him down he manage to face a different direction. Then, with a surge of determination he knocks my nose with his forehead and I lose grip of him. Fuck, that hurt.

I lunge out and grab his ankle and pull him back towards me, and punch him in the arm. That wasn't where I aimed, but he shifted so my fist connected with his biceps or deltoid or whatever the fuck is up there. Alan screams out in pain. Surprisingly much so, given I didn't hit him that hard. Though who knows, this body is new to me. Then something wonderful happens. As Alan grasps his arm with his other arm and wails, the area around the impact is visibly growing a bit. I let go and watch in fascination as the growth stops. I punch him in the other arm, about the same place, about the same impact, and his screams take on a new vigor. His tearing eyes are darting between me, his left arm and his right arms. The color is draining from his face. He knows. He knows I know, and he knows I'm not going to stop hitting him until he stops growing.

Read my commentary and further commentary.
Read continuation.