The bar was dark and crowded, alive with the energy of young city boys cutting loose. Woody passed easily through the throbbing mass of tight t-shirted gym boys and bubblebutted bar bodies, catching an inviting smile or a casual brush of arm against arm here, a not so casual caress of his own firm ass there. He felt good to be in the midst of all this testosterone; his own balls were roiling in response; but he kept moving, scanning the crowd attentively.

He was looking for someone.

Not someone in particular—or rather, it was someone specific, but Woody didn't know who he was yet. All he knew was, he would know when they met. Not like other people say they'll "know," but they mean some sort of sixth-sense feeling of destiny. Woody would know because something very real would happen to him.

Before six months ago he wouldn't have believed it. He'd never had a father; he and his twin brother Josh had grown up nearly on their own, side by side; discovered their homosexuality together before they even knew what it was; breaking boys' and girls' hearts together through grade school, middle school, and high school, and breaking in the soccer team together too. They'd both gotten into NYU on a scholarship, and it looked like they were set to start repeating the pattern—spending days and nights together, teasing the crush-smitten and awing the select few they drew up to their rooms. Then something odd happened: Josh started acting funny, staying away from Woody, leaving strained phone messages, visiting neither his own dorm room nor Woody's. Woody was perplexed and hurt.

Finally one day he saw him from a distance, walking across Fourth Street, in the company of someone else. Both were dressed in black, with long black overcoats flapping in the November chill wind. Woody ran down the street and across an intersection, dodging a swerving cab. Josh and his friend froze, waiting for him uncomfortably, glancing around.

As Woody came up to them he slowed to a stop, aghast. His brother was his twin no more. He gazed up at him, amazed, his skin crawling. Once his physical equal, beautifully proportioned and so impressively equipped that no one they'd bedded had ever been bigger, Josh now looked like he had been raised a level in size and beauty. He stood nearly a foot taller than his already six-foot-one brother, ice-blue eyes that had once merely glittered now seemed sharp as lasers. Full firm lips invited hours of kissing. Black hair coursed in powerful waves onto broad shoulders; chiseled features gleamed. Woody's eyes traveled slowly down the transformed body only somewhat hidden by a deep black mock jersey and stiff black jeans, taking in heavy, ponderous pecs, a flat, rippling stomach, long powerful legs, and a basket that made Woody draw his breath.

He returned his eyes to Josh's. They were looking down at him, pleading for understanding and forgiveness. They didn't have to say anything. Woody, in a swift flash of sympathetic feeling, knew the conflicting emotions with which Josh had reacted to whatever had changed his body and his life, making him so different from the twin with whom he'd shared everything.

He smiled, and Josh smiled back, relieved. "So what happened?" Woody said, suddenly aware that he had a raging hard-on.

By way of answer, Josh nodded toward his friend, whose existence Woody had momentarily forgotten. "Ken, meet my brother Woody," he said.

Woody turned toward Ken, and they eyes each other appraisingly. Ken was nearly as hot as Woody's transformed brother. Just a few inches shorter, Ken looked like the blond version of Josh, with the same souped-up beauty and sensuality and physical presence. Indeed standing in front of these two gods, even out on the street with people passing by all around, Woody felt more intensely aroused than he had ever felt before. Precum oozed from his huge tool onto his abs as he shook hands with Ken, finding it nearly impossible to let go. "What kind of a sorcerer are you?" Woody said with a grin, a slight tremor in his voice.

Ken laughed, a pleasant musical sound. "I'm not, believe me," he said in a surprisingly rich voice. "I was just as surprised as Josh." He turned toward Josh and suddenly they kissed, causing Woody's cock to throb painfully.

Josh pulled away, his eyes still gazing into his lover's. "I felt it coming from within me," he said softly, the wind nearly whipping away his words. "It was like I had some innate reservoir of power, waiting, lying dormant..." He trailed off. Then suddenly he glanced sharply at Woody. Together, their eyes widened.

Woody wanted desperately to spend hours making love to his brother, and Ken as well, but he felt strangely excluded; there was a hint of wistfulness as they parted, though Josh promised they would talk later, now that Woody knew. As he walked crosstown, alone, his unwieldy boner jostling his abs, Woody realized there was one thing he had to know: Would it happen to him? He paused abruptly, his mind filled unexpectedly with an image of himself, transformed, nude, feeling the rippling sexuality he had felt coming off his brother and Ken in waves, warming the air around them, the sparse hairs on his heavy, beautifully rounded pecs standing on end, long thickly muscled arms at his side; and suddenly, right there, standing in the middle of Washington Square Park, he came powerfully, soaking his shirt with a tremendous amount of cum, his head thrown back, his eyes seeing stars; and it was a moment before he realized where he was and why he was attracting stares from every passerby and idler. He hurried home, ashamed and thrilled, his wet-through tee plastered against his still-hard cock.

There was only one thing to do: He had to find his father. If there was an innate reservoir of transforming power buried deep in his body, he knew it had to come from their mysterious father.

So that weekend, with determination but great trepidation he boarded in the R train and waited patiently for it to slowly trundle out to the Brooklyn neighborhood he'd grown up in, and where his frail mother still lived quietly.

As he walked slowly up the walk to the silent house he felt oddly like stranger. His brother's transformation had changed him too somehow. Not just in the constant state of arousal that hadn't died down since he'd met Josh and Ken; he felt like he and his brother were both different people from the children who'd grown up here. Incredibly, when he got to the front door, he knocked.

The house stood silent, and feeling somewhat foolish, but still as though he were intruding, he turned the knob and entered.

There was clearly no one home, though he'd called his mother that morning to say he was coming; but that conversation had felt peculiar, as if his mother were a little sad. Still she said she'd be here, and she was not. Woody's boots rang on the hardwood floors.

He entered the dining room expecting to see a note on the dining room table, and there was.

"Dear son,"

"I know what is occupying your mind, and I decided I could not bear to discuss it with you. You may think me cowardly. Maybe I am.

"Your father, Loren, and I met when we were mere slips at 17. He was handsome and—let's just say he was handsome; and I thought we were in love. Before long I was pregnant with you and your brother, and we were filled with joy.

"Then one day when you were both a little more than two years old he vanished for a week. He called from far away, apologizing profusely, but his voice was strange, not the voice I knew.

"Finally he came back one night. It was dark, and I was sitting in the living room in the dark. He came into the house quietly. I reached for the lamp, but he told me to leave it off. He wanted to hide from me what had happened. But I could see his shape it the dark, and it was bigger than before, taller, wider, and his voice when he spoke was deeper. He told me he had found his soulmate, and their love had transformed them, evolved them. There was no turning back.

"He said goodbye and before he left came close enough to kiss my forehead, and I can still feel that warm kiss seventeen years later. Then he was gone.

"Son, I spoke to your brother last week, and though he tried to hide it I knew his voice was changed the same way your father's changed. And now you want to know about him. Which means, I know love will transform you too.

"I rejoice for you. And I love you. Please—"

The note ended there. Woody knew what the unwritten words were: Please don't forget me like your father did.

"Don't worry, Mom," Woody said softly with a smile.

With his mother's note was a sealed envelope. Woody set down the note and picked up the envelope. It was lettered in a masculine fashion, addressed to "Joshua and Woodrow Underwood," and had been mailed with no return address from somewhere in Spain. It was marked on the back: "To be opened upon ‘coming of age.' "

His heart suddenly pumping madly, Woody sank into a chair and stared at the envelope, drinking in his father's handwriting. He carefully opened the envelope and drew out the single sheet it contained. But the sheet was blank...

Even as he held it in his shaking hand, though a powerful wave of sensation washed over him, tingling every pore, stimulating every cell, pulsing though his powerful body and exceptional mind; his eyes blurred; he felt as though he were blacking out; and then with the gauzy haze of unreality he found himself ... somewhere else.

Woody gazed around him in wonder, feeling no fear. All around him was a blurry, blue-green expanse, formless and featureless, fading to whiteness in the far distance. He stood in the middle of nothing, and suddenly he felt self-conscious, aware of how he looked, his clothes (his newish baggy jeans, black leather boots, and uniform gray heather CK tee), his tousled hair, and most of all his now-constant hard-on, pulsing absently against his ripped abs, plainly visible under the taut tee. He ran a hand through his hair, noticing he no longer held the paper, or whatever it was that had brought him here.

"Hello, son," said a voice from behind him.

Woody whipped around and gasped. Before him was the most gorgeous man he'd ever beheld in his life.

Dressed all in black like Josh, standing well over seven feet tall, in appearance hardly older than Woody's 19, the awesomely constructed man before him radiated sexuality an order of magnitude higher than Josh had; every slight move of his long, luxurious body, the twitch of a finger, the slight shift of a thick, dense, ponderous muscle, the crookedness of his proud grin—everything about him ached of sexuality, intercourse, love. Mindlessly Woody's bone-hard cock poured precum down his abs as he stared, mouth open, tongue dry.

The vision took a step toward him. Mere proximity felt like penetration. Woody sensed that his very touch would be orgasmic.

"There's something you need to know," Loren said, softly, seriously.

Woody nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"I have passed on to you a special heritage, one I knew nothing about until—until this happened to me," he said, gesturing downward as if slightly abashed at his own beauty. This sudden touch of humanity made Woody smile, and he warmed to the person even as he was aroused by the apparition. His father took a deep breath, causing his bowling-ball pecs to bunch and jump under his black jersey, and Woody drew in his breath sharply, his cock still streaming with precum.

"I found out—from my father, and his twin brother, just as you're finding out now from me—"

"Do you have a twin brother?" Woody blurted out suddenly. "Do we all?"

His father nodded. "Rowan. He wanted to be here, but we didn't want to overwhelm you—"

"I want to meet him," Woody said, a little too quickly.

Loren nodded, smiling. He closed his eyes briefly, and then like the melting away of a veil another god was standing next to Woody's father, a twin brother, impressively tall, provocatively lanky, aggressively beautiful, profoundly sexual, and Woody was buffeted but the sudden combined impact of their powerful sensuality as if by a warm desert gale, a zephyr blanketing his body, feeling every inch of him, caressing him through his clothes as if they were nothing, as if he were completely naked. The two sex gods stood smiling, chagrined at the effect they were having, but also plainly aroused by each other's presence. They turned and gazed into each other's eyes, mirror images of each other, and though speaking to Woody they did not take their eyes from one another. Their faces were close, tantalizingly close.

"We learned from our father that there is an essential duality in the universe," Loren said quietly. "Not good and evil, or white and black, but left and right, up and down, yin and yang. Poles of a magnet. Neither one means anything in particular by itself; but together they are unity. Understand?" he added, sparing a glance at Woody.

Woody nodded. Though shaking with arousal, tingling with sexual energy, he was drinking in every word. Just watching those lips move with speech was like feeling them wrapped around his painfully hard cock.

"There are forces in the universe that keep that balance between dualities. Natural forces, like magnetism and electricity. And some take physical form. Lodestones, dark matter—"

"And us," said Rowan. He leaned fractionally toward his brother and their beautiful lips met in the briefest of kisses, and yet that kiss was freighted with love, sexuality, power, and lust. It his Woody like a deep thrust, like a first deep thrust in a virgin ass, and he nearly blew at that moment, his cock thumping against his cum-slimed abs.

"Each of us, in each generation, finds a soulmate," his father went on, his lips inches from his twin's. "Together, the two lovers become larger than life, pillars together of the universe, creating stability and harmony."

"Your brother has already done this," Rowan said, his breath mingling with Loren's. "They have already transformed, and assumed their place in the universe."

"Most of the pairing are with outsiders," Loren breathed. "As it was with your brother."

"We're very unusual," Rowan said.

"Pairing of the twins themselves has not happened in over a thousand years," Loren said, and suddenly they threw themselves into a violently passionate kiss, their broad hands suddenly busy groping each other's impossible bodies. Their sexuality saturated the air and thrilled through Woody's body like an electric shock, and he exploded, his entire body cumming, shooting load after load.

"How do you know?" Woody gasped.

Together they looked down at Woody, who was panting, still cumming unstoppably, and between one breath and the next they were naked, and Woody was cumming even harder, for each of the physically perfect twins was endowed in a way Woody had only dreamed of since childhood, as he and his brother had lain together, hands wrapped around their two cocks pressed together: Each of the twin gods had one majestic erection filling one hand, and another like it, towering, vital, primeval, swollen with sex and love like the other to an unbelievable size, held firmly in his brother's hand, all four of their big hands filled with superhuman cock. Woody came harder and harder; he was drained, and still he came, even as he found himself sitting back in the living room of his childhood home; his orgasm lasted another ten minutes or more, and he slid exhausted onto the floor, his clothes saturated with cum, his enlarged cock still shuddering with stimulation.

Woody knew he would find his mate tonight. Since he'd woken up that morning his still constantly hard cock, even bigger and more unmanageable since his revelation, had been tingling madly—and even more promising, he felt a strange sensation in his groin, the ghost of another cock, the cock that would belong to his mate—whoever he was. He knew it had to happen soon.

He'd gone though his day on edge, attracting a great deal of attention, but still he felt no closer to any of the guys from his classes or his buds from the dorms. He decided he would go out, expose himself to as many boys as possible, and hope that they would be drawn somehow to each other.

This was his third club. He was trying to be patient. Thanks to his impressive looks and his obviously huge cock there was a constant stream of guys hitting on him—some getting in his way and trying to talk him up, some groping him unapologetically as he passed, or pressing against his back if he stopped, a handful just grabbing him and starting to make out, as if temporarily unhinged by his desirability. But while he was attracting Grade-A hunks that at an earlier time he would have taken home and given a passionate night to remember, none of them were the one. He still felt that strange sensation in his groin, his ghost dick, searching for its man.

He found himself near the exit. He sighed and turned to go. And when he turned he was suddenly, unexpectedly, face to face with a very cute Caribbean hunk. His skin was smooth, the color of café-au-lait, and his eyes were wide, frozen as they stared at each other; Woody felt rather than saw his taut, lanky body, and then Woody felt his entire body and mind become immersed, saturated, with an entirely new sensation—more than desire, more than lust, more than love; it was a soul-rocking sense of belonging and unity. His body trembled; he felt the Caribbean boy tremble; and then with a sense of wonder and relief his felt his tingling ghost cock rapidly solidify, snapping into being, becoming hard and real, throbbing next to his own cock, two huge hard burning cocks throbbing in unison. Woody gasped, a thrill running up his spine, and simultaneously the Caribbean hunk gasped, and looked down flabbergasted—not at Woody's crotch but his own tightly packed and suddenly straining basket. He immediately glanced up, and a multitude of emotions were in his eyes—and one of them was an uncomprehending panic. He shook his head very slightly, unable to process what was happening, and then suddenly turned and ran, vanishing out the door.

"Hey!" Woody shouted, feeling like something had been wrenched from his chest. This can't be good, he thought anxiously. He ran out the exit, dodging a couple of gym rats determined to get his attention, and burst out onto the sidewalk, his thumming cocks tingling in the cold night air.

The street was deserted, apart from a jock in a tanktop and camouflage pants leaning against the side of the building smoking. Woody turned to him desperately. "Did you see a guy run out of here?" he said.

But the guy was staring at the obvious outline of two enormous cocks thrusting up out of his baggy jeans and jumping against his CK tee shirt. His mouth was hanging open, clearly enthralled.

Exasperated, Woody turned away. "Wait, I'll help you look for him!" said the guy, dropping his cigarette and running to catch up with Woody. Woody glanced over at him as they walked down the little downtown street; he was looking up at Woody, filled with lust, his eyes constantly dropping to his bobbing cocks. "What does he look like?"

Woody considered telling him to get lost, but decided he really did need help. If he and that boy were supposed to be together, some kind of cosmic imbalance might result if it didn't happen.

He looked over at the guy in the tanktop and smiled winningly. "He's Caribbean, light brown skin, very smooth and lanky, wearing a green shirt and gray pants," he said. "And," he added, lowering his voice, "he's got two cocks too."

The tanktop guy panted a little, then started looking around vigilantly, wiping his mouth every once in a while with one hand and rubbing something in his pocket with the other.

At the intersection they came upon two blonds making out under the streetlamp. "Hey," said the tanktop guy. They broke their kiss and glanced over at their accosters sharply; but their irritation at being interrupted drained as the caught sight of Woody. "I'm looking for another guy like him," said the tanktop guy, "but Caribbean, wearing a green shirt. Seen him?"

The couldn't take their eyes off Woody. For his part Woody realized he was starting to transform. His already tight tee shirt was starting to feel skin tight, especially across the chest and shoulders, and it had started to draw up, exposing midriff—and a few inches of both of his palm-wide shafts—above jeans that suddenly seemed no really so very baggy. He felt the tickle of hair on his traps as his raven hair curled and waved. He brought a hand up to his pecs and ran it across them, feeling them throbbing in time to his cocks. His boots were suddenly feeling tight—he hadn't thought about what big and beautiful feet Loren and Rowan had. Damn, he had to find this guy soon!

"We saw him," said one of the blonds.

"He was heading for Splash," said the other, gesturing down the street with his head. They were caressing each other as they started at the slowly transforming Woody, mesmerized, as if they were stroking themselves.

"C'mon!" said tanktop guy.

They hurried down the street. Along the way they collected four or five more guys, all entranced by Woody's bod. They all went into the club together.

The club was packed with hot guys, but they all turned and looked at Woody as he entered, everyone reacting with pure lust as they closed around him. Several dozen hands relieved Woody of his now-painfully tight tee (and each others' as well) and began gently caressing his torso, gasping as they felt the swelling, throbbing muscles of this arms, his shoulders—those who could reach—and his chest, many of the hands drifting onto his massive, surging cocks.

Woody found he was now tall enough he could see over the crowd, but it was the tanktop jock, jumping up to see over the lust-enthralled throng, who spotted him first. "There he is!" he said, grabbing Woody's straying attention.

Thrusting out of the crowd were the head and shoulders—much broader shoulders—of the Caribbean hunk, and around him was teeming a coterie of young guys, much as those surrounding Woody. His head was thrown back; his confusion was melting into deeper feelings, and Woody felt them even across the room. The tanktop jock started moving guys aside, making a path for Woody to get to him. They barely noticed him, drawn as they were to the two transforming men.

Suddenly the Caribbean man sensed Woody's presence, for he looked up, and their eyes met. Woody moved toward him, bursting into a great smile, and the mate did the same, flashing a brilliant smile. They drew toward each other through the crowd. The pace of their change quickened: now their entire shoulders and half their pecs were visible above the throng, and they looked like they were wading through a sea of men. Now everyone drew back, awed and aware that these two were of a kind, meant for each other, and they drew back, forming a circle around them, enthralled and aroused, pressing against each other, caressing each other's broad backs and muscular arms and bubble butts, as they drank in the physical metamorphosis before them. Both of them were growing, expanding, pouring on muscle, stretching every cell, becoming hotter and more sensual before their eyes as they finally stood before each other, themselves amazed by the spectacle but more than that feeling the power of their attachment, their unity, a bond between their swelling bodies and growing souls.

Woody bit his lip, taking in his lover, his soulmate. There was no doubt his body was spectacular—it had taken to the growth in muscle even more than Woody, who had been solidly built to start; now he was surpassing him in bulk, putting it on like water. They were still growing, standing over 18 inches taller than the tallest in the crowd, though he was a little taller now, and their muscles were still growing as well, yet their impossibly muscled bodies were exquisitely well proportioned and profoundly sexy. Evidently his mate had had a largish cock to begin with, for now his twin wide uncut cocks had shot up past Woody's and now pressed urgently against his massively heavy pecs.

Somehow the rest of their clothes had gone away; they looked down to see long muscular legs and large long-toed feet, then they looked up and held each other's gaze for a long time, sinking into each other. The power of their sensuality filled the room; every man there was taken in by it.

As one they reached out and wrapped a hand around one cock of their own and one cock of the other's. The cocks pounded in their hands for a moment, and then they drew together and kissed, slowing stroking the cocks, as a shudder of pleasure ran through the crowd. The kiss turned deeper, and then without even realizing it their mouths were wrapped around each other's cocks, slowly stroking with four hands, their bodies still percolating, moving as one, a harmonious unified entity entwined upon itself, consisting of two bodies radiating raw sexuality, beings of pure sexuality. Their lovemaking increased in intensity, their magnificent bodies writhing together, but they were already so tremendously aroused that it built to fever pitch within minutes, bringing the crowd along with it, until after ecstatic moments of holding back the two lovers exploded together, shooting with four cocks, covering massive pecs and bursting shoulders with load after load of cum—and the entire room, saturated with the sex gods' unstoppable sexuality, came as if like the bursting of a dam, kissing and groping the hottie next to them. The two lovers collapsed onto each other, laughing, exhausted, sated, and fulfilled, still holding onto one cock of their own and one of the other's' the powerful cocks still hard and dribbling cum. Woody took a hand from his cock and massaged some cum into his lover's dense, heavy pecs, and laughed again. He felt huge and wonderful and part of something grand. He wondered if he was bigger than Joshua now—he felt bigger than Loren, bigger than anyone—though a glance at his lover (Jean-Paul? How did he know that?)—reminded him that at least one person was bigger. He didn't care, he was happy. He wondered what else could happen to him.