I thought it would be tough to type with six arms. But it's really not. My arms work in concert with each other, as if I'd had six long, beautiful, muscular arms my whole life. And maybe I have—maybe the passion that made this possible drove the change into the past as well, and my memories of being a tall, very lanky, six-armed muscle-jock teenager in high school, the envy and desire of every teen hunk who saw me, are not just fantasy but actual memories of a time transformed.

We'd only met a few weeks before. It was purest accident—we both reached for the same sweater at the new menswear store downtown—but somehow it couldn't have been mere accident, because when our hands touched, and I felt what seemed like the touch of fire from his smooth, strong hand, it was like our souls melted together in that moment. We looked up at each other and drank each other in. We were each other's fantasy and destiny, and it was so beautifully simple and crystal clear in that moment that we laughed in pure joy. And we bought the sweater together.

From that moment we spent more and more time together, falling deeper and deeper in love, the power of our passion growing. We made love all the time, our bodies intertwining, our cocks aching, straining to feel the brush of the other shuddering cock or the smooth skin of our abs or the deft ministrations of our hands, mouths, tongues, the tight, furnace-hot ass wrapping round our throbbing, pounding cocks, our constantly hard organs as insatiable as our hungry mouths, our groping hands, every cell of our bodies.

One morning I woke from a long sleep after a particularly incredible night of raw passionate lovemaking to find his face close to mine, his bright blue eyes shining. He was panting lightly, exhilarated. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

I smiled up at him and he breathed, "What's your fantasy?" I could feel his heart pounding in his tightly muscled torso.

I grinned. "That's easy—you."

I leaned up for a kiss and he hungrily complied, and we were making out for several minutes before he resumed, "No, I mean it," he said around luscious kisses. He pulled back a little and looked at me. "I know you must have other fantasies."

I looked at him curiously—he was surprisingly intense about this. I shrugged. "It's not important," I said.

He shook his head decisively. "It's very important," he said softly, taking my hand, which was caressing his back, and maneuvering it down to his cock. I gasped involuntarily as I touched it, then slowly wrapped my hand around it, my eyes boring into his. It was bigger than before. I knew that cock, and the day before I'd been able to wrap my hand around it. Now my fingers wouldn’t quite touch. It was magnificently hard, a stone slab of flesh in my hand. Not only was I instantly hard—I was instantly close.

His breath was coming in ragged bursts. "There is such a passion inside me, I feel like I could be totally consumed," he said panting. "I look at you, I think about you, and it wells up in my chest like a sun. It's more powerful than anything I've ever experienced, and it's growing stronger and stronger—it's unbelievable, honestly, it is so intense. It flows into over chamber and channel of my brain, and when I start thinking about what would make you happy, what would drive you over the edge, it pours into that part of my brain like lava—" He shrugged, gasping, and I thought his shoulders seemed just slightly better defined than yesterday. My mouth was hanging open—but I believed him, because I'd felt that passion when we made love. In him, and in myself.

"I know you love long wide cocks," he breathed. He was gently thrusting my insufficient hand. "I was thinking about that last night, how a big wide cock on me would jazz you so much, and I felt my burning love for you well up inside me and it was so powerful—I can't even begin to describe—"

"You don’t have to," I said. He grinned, relieved.

"I want to keep going," he said earnestly, his eyes filled with excitement and raw passion. "I want—" he stopped, and took a breath "—I want to transform myself for you."

I was already close and I nearly came as he said this. We fell to kissing, our bodies writhing and our hands ravishing each other's torsos (except for the one I kept firmly around his new monster cock)—and even though I hadn’t meant to divulge my true obsession, it slipped out as we kissed. "Arms," I gasped around his hot sensual mouth, and we stopped, just for a moment. I looked deep into his eyes for his reaction, and I was relieved and intensely aroused when he moaned and dove for my mouth again. "I've been imagining you—with six arms—since we met," I breathed around increasingly passionate kisses.

"I've been imagining you—with six arms—since before we met," he whispered in my ear, and in that moment I felt an access of passion so profound that my entire body tingled and grew, eliciting matching moans from both of us as our lovemaking grew impossibly intense. Time stopped, and we knew nothing but that moment, and yet everything was building, our hearts and bodies were pounding faster and harder until—even as I came, torrents of cum shooting from a cock I suddenly realized was huge and stiff and proud—in that second as I came I felt the electric thrill of two big hands on my back suddenly becoming six really big hands, madly groping my growing body, and in that same instant I felt the indescribable feeling that only having many long, muscular arms, brushing muscle against muscle, intertwined with the many long muscular arms of your unquestioned soulmate can provide. I screamed as my orgasm went on, each explosion growing my already massive cock and pumping the delicious muscles of my arms—and he came too, coming and coming, as we stared into each other's eyes, feeling more emotion that I can even begin to relate. We kept coming for I don’t know how long, each intense orgasm shooting though our bodies and transforming them through the energy of unbounded passion. Finally it ended, and we collapsed laughing into each other's arms, amazed, relieved, and impossibly overjoyed that love had made our fantasies about each other come true.

We cuddled then, marveling in our new bodies. We were now a little unnaturally proportioned. My lover now very nicely sized pecs—very nicely sized, and firm--and broad bumpy shoulders with three impressively well-muscled arms hanging from each side, yet the waist was very narrow—dwarfed by the enormous hard-on thrusting up from the groin. His ass was magnificent, and his legs were long and big as well—and below them were large feet, a good deal larger than before, with a broad arch and long, strong toes that played with the hair on my legs. As for me, I had gotten bigger all over, head to toes, but I knew he liked really tall lanky guys and I had become incredibly stretched and lanky, my six arms longer than you'd expect but still strong and muscled, and my legs were off the foot of the bed. He was in rapture drinking me in. Best of all I'd somehow ended up with six monster cocks thrusting up urgently out of my hot loins, just because I'd been thinking as we made love that he'd want to wrap each of his extra-large meaty hands around an oversized cock. He came again as he carefully did just that, wrapping a hand around of my cocks, while I stroked and caressed each of his musclebound arms, nuzzling with my long tongue the supersensitive space between each arm where they join the shoulder—and as he came I shot too, spraying whatever stray cum was in my balls out of six beautiful cockheads.

We lay back now, drinking in each other's bodies, fantasies we had made real from love. I was reveling just in the feel of arms pressed against each other. Suddenly he grinned. "I do want to wrap all my hands around your cocks," he confessed, examining his six strong hands with love and amazement. "But I want to caress your incredible body too. What am I going to do?"

It was my turn to grin. "I guess," I said, "you'll just have to keep growing more hands than I have cocks." We both laughed out loud, and nestled in our many arms we fell asleep, and such was our love and passion that we made love while we slept, heedless and blissful, not sparing even this time to join our bodies and souls in the heat of pure passion.