Chill Hippie Lance Turns Into an Aggressive Athlete by kooldoggie
Kyle had been annoyed by his neighbor Lance for some time now. The 19-year-old Kyle was a cocky, ambitious college student, laser-focused on both school and his dedication to his body, which he treated like a temple. Constant workouts, running, playing soccer and football with his buds, and daily weight-training had won him a killer physique, ripped and muscular but not too thick.
But his neighbor a few doors down at his off-campus apartment complex seemed the total opposite, and it was quickly irritating Kyle. Lance was friendly enough, always saying hi when Kyle came home from class or a sweaty workout, but he was offensive: constantly reeking of pot, which drifted into Kyle's own apartment, sitting outside his door sunning himself in nothing more than a ratty pair of cargo shorts that were so threadbare they seemed ready to fall apart, his dirty-soled big bare feet curled around the railing as he smoked and listened to lazy hippie music on the stereo aimed out his window. A few times when the kid was severely stoned, he'd forget to put on even those wrecked shorts, and Kyle found him hanging out completely naked outside his door, his pot-shriveled skinny cock drooping limply between his long, skinny, tanned thighs, making Kyle grumble, and a couple of times during those stoned-to-the-bone moments, the hippie kid would go beyond merely saying hi and accost his neighbor with a big hug, squeezing him tight. That's where the friendliness crossed the line, and Kyle had had enoughÉ
Lance had the potential to be attractive enough, Kyle could see, but his sloppy lifestyle made that virtually impossible. Tall at probably 6'1" or 6'2", but pretty long and skinny, his muscles very thin from non-activity, the 18 year-old kid was also virtually hairless. Only a sparse coating of tiny blonde hairs on his shins and slender forearms, a dusting under his arms, none at all on his flat, tight chest, or even under his naturally taut six-pack. Although Lance maintained an awesome mane of thick, dirty-blonde dreadlocks hanging past his shoulders and usually draped across his face as he bopped his head to some Grateful Dead, a few times Kyle had glimpsed the pretty teenage face beneath, blue-eyed, pixie-nosed, full rosy lips usually hanging open in a dopey smile to show off some bright white teeth. The kid had model-worthy looks, for sure, but it seemed he lacked testosterone, keeping him hairless and boyish; not even a hint of stubble on those baby-smooth cheeks. And that assessment sparked the idea in Kyle's mind, a way to make things better not only for himself, but to give Lance a new start as well.
From what Kyle could judge, the hippie kid had wonderful potential to grow: The thin, darkly tanned skin was stretched over small but firm muscles, cuts showing from the grooved long calf muscles to the fat-free but unworked abdominals, up to the tight, flat pecs. He just needed the willÉ and Kyle could give that to him. The physical education major was also great at chemistry, constantly finding ways to increase potential, and he had recently come up with an experimental formula that might kick in the drive young Lance needed. It would cause a surge in testosterone, which the boyish 18 year-old desperately needed, and it just might cause an aversion to marijuana, which definitely was holding back Lance's natural potential. That night, Kyle spent some time mixing up the formula, and the next day he chatted up the stoned kid, enough to divert his already damaged awareness so he could sprinkle the formula into the bag of Doritos on which the stoner constantly munched. It would take a little time, but within a few days the effects should showÉ
One day at the end of the week, Kyle returned from another sweaty gym workout, finding it weird he didn't hear the usual hippie music drifting from the kid's apartment. Instead, he found Lance in his usual ratty shorts pacing back and forth in front of his apartment, his long bare feet slapping against the concrete. He wasn't smoking as he always was, and Kyle was relieved to breathe fresh air for once, but Lance was definitely in a weird mood now that he wasn't stoned; the pacing made him seem like a caged animal, the will to change finally set loose but lacking any clear direction, and he would occasionally flick back his long dreadlocks, as if annoyed by them, his more focused blue eyes seeming lost in thought. He looked up as Kyle approached him, and the 19 year-old athlete, bisexual that he was, grew hard upon seeing how much sexier the kid seemed even with this subtle change, now freed from the stoner haze. Lance stood taller and stretched out his long legs and toned torso every so often, causing his ribs to pop against the thin skin. That body was ready to be challenged, Kyle knew; he just needed Lance to make the right move.
"Hey, Lance, what's up?" Kyle offered. The kid merely shrugged and mumbled something. "Not smoking today?" Kyle almost taunted.
"Nah, man, don't feel like it," said Lance. "Hey, what you doing? You wanna hang?" The blue eyes, clearer and more questing than Kyle ever had seen them, bored into Kyle. Bingo.
Kyle said he was thinking of going for a run and asked if Lance might want to join him. At first Lance seemed repulsed by the idea, sweeping a long, tanned hand through his dreads, his cute lips wrinkling up in disgust. But Kyle knew his body was in search of activity and would go crazy if it didn't get the proper outlet. Lance looked down at his bare feet, shifting the dirty soles back and forth. Did the kid even own shoes? Kyle wondered.
Sensing his worry, Kyle told Lance he probably had a pair of running shoes that would fit him, also reassuring him they would keep to an easy-paced jog. Encouraged, Lance came into his neighbor's apartment, for the very first time, continuing to pace back and forth in mild agitation while Kyle went to find the shoes.
Man, this was going better than he could have hoped, thought Kyle as he brought out a pair of size 12 Adidas. It was looking like the now pliable kid, under Kyle's mentorship, would be his running partner, perhaps a buddy, perhaps moreÉ But Kyle had to keep it one step at a time.
Kyle helped his new friend slip on some ankle socks and the shoes, which Lance hesitantly pulled up his big, broad feet. It was obvious the kid hadn't worn shoes very often; Kyle had never seen him in anything but bare feet. Lance shyly walked up and down the floor in his new running shoes, getting used to them. A smile began to tug at his beautiful lips.
Kyle didn't care if the former hippie was shirtless, and the ripped athlete opted to slip out of his tank top as well, tucking it into his own shorts around his tight 28" waist. "C'mon, let's go!" The two boys went out for their jog, staying at an easy pace, the skinny hippie teen struggling to keep up with his mentor, gasping often.
It wasn't long before the hot sun and the exertion caused a steady stream of perspiration to emerge from both boys, but it virtually poured down Lance's toned, deeply tanned chest and stomach. This was all very new to him. At the end of the run, Lance was completely out of breath, his hairless skin slick, his wet dreads draped across his face. "Ohhh, fuuuuck," he kept moaning, but after a bit of rest, he admitted he'd had a good time, feeling a bit hyper actually, and he offered to join Kyle for his runs on a daily basis if he would have him. Kyle smiledÉ Over the next few weeks, the formula continued to work on Lance, changes accelerating, but still at a controlled pace. Daily runs got Lance used to wearing shoes. He went out with his new friend to buy a few other pairs of cool, fashionable running shoes and streetwear sneakers. During the first couple of weeks, Lance remained shirtless, even when out shopping and around town; in their beach community, it was pretty easy to get around almost everywhere wearing very little, until one day he was told he'd be thrown out of a store if he didn't put on a shirt.
Lance's bright blue eyes looked stunned. It hadn't even occurred to him to put on a shirt, and he looked worried, but Kyle clasped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. They would go shopping for shirts next, as well as pants, clothing that would be fashionable and athletic, just as jock-like as Kyle's threads. Soon Lance was walking out in a new bright pink tank top with the sides cut low to show off his tanned pecs and brown nipples, but Kyle saw that the shirt still hung rather sloppily off his still very skinny torso. The dude would have to work on building his upper body soon.
Even so, the frequent runs, building up Lance's stamina, had caused his already cut, toned legs to blossom, the calves growing harder, the thighs more striated and swelling ever larger. Kyle even noted that the surge of testosterone now circulating through his bud's body had made him a touch hairier, just a bit, as the natural blonde never would be very hairy, but there definitely was a slightly longer coating on his shins, and when they ran shirtless he could see a few tiny blonde hairs beginning to form a treasure trail between his belly button and groin, and a few emerging between the flat pecs.
The increasingly active kid had latched on to Kyle, wanting in on his soccer games, wanting to join him in the gym, though he still seemed doubtful he could gain very much mass. Lance showed up one day in his too-big tank top, hanging just over a pair of knee-length bike shorts that showed off his growing thighs, brown calves bulging beneath with their shimmering blonde hairs, leading down to the big, high-top clad feet. He had pulled up his thick dreads into a topknot, and Kyle grew hard again seeing his young face exposed, beautiful high cheekbones and pouty lips now with just a wisp of blonde hair above them, a bit of downy stubble on the increasingly chiseled jawline. Yeah, the testosterone was working its magic, and it would definitely drive on Lance to bigger and bigger gains in the gym.
Those blue eyes showed steely determination as Lance pumped weights, working on his biceps, triceps, delts and pecs, his chest slowly seeming to push outward with each rep, each steady breath. The once chill, care-free stoner hippie was now showing an aggressive, determined attitude, grunting as he curled ever heavier barbells, Kyle shouting at him in encouragement. Sweat poured down his face from the wet dreadlocks. Every so often, some hair would come undone and fall into his face, and Lance would grunt in irritation. Kyle could tell the hippie hairstyle wasn't fated to last long, but he would let Lance come to that conclusion.
It took another couple of weeks, the hippie in Lance still a bit too strong, but as he became increasingly body-conscious, appreciating the gains he made each day, his once skinny torso now a bit bulkier in all the right places, he was falling in love with himself, gazing at his model-pretty face in the posing mirrors, and he would frown if the dreadlocks cascaded down to cover up all that prettiness. One day, after finishing their lifting session, Lance told Kyle he wanted to chop off those dreads and try a shorter hairstyle that would be less difficult to maintain with his now active lifestyle. Kyle smiled and suggested a good salon.
The athletic college student was loving how this was going, seeing those funky dreads snipped away slowly, and Kyle tried to hide the erection in his gym shorts. Very little was left at the end, the back and sides buzzed to mere stubble. Lance preferred to leave the very top a bit long, favoring a style he'd seen in the catalogue, and the bangs were swept up off his tanned forehead, sprayed into stiff spikes, almost punkish. Lance definitely looked very different, perhaps a tad more dangerous, and the bulkier kid bit his lip as he appreciated the look, deciding on something even a little more radical. He had the stylist bleach the dirty-blonde locks until they were nearly white, standing out starkly against the deep, tanned skin and definitely making him stand out in a crowd. And that's what the increasingly cocky, self-centered kid wanted now, to be noticed, to be respected for the hot jockish model-kid he was becoming. Some gel and hairspray, and his new hair was complete. Next, he had the little stubble he had on his face shaved away, so that every cut on his now chiseled jawline could be appreciated. He would definitely be able to rock some fine blonde shadow if he chose to, but ordinarily Lance would prefer the clean-cut look, like some preppy jock, classic all the way.
Lance took his time gazing in the mirror at the new boy, electric blue eyes popping against his dark tan, platinum spikes haloing out on top, his killer smileÉ His once baggy tank top now fit his V-shaped torso perfectly, the sides and scooped out top pushing out a bit to show off his rounder pecs and exposed brown nipples, and Lance flexed a cut, growing bicep. He lifted the shirt to examine the well-worked abs under his thicker pecs. Once a skinny, shallow six-pack, they were now a bulging, deeply grooved eight-pack. Yeah, he was hot for sureÉ
Over the next few weeks, things only continued to improve. Gone was the once lazy, dopey hippie, always mindlessly friendly, and although Lance was still friendly in a more outgoing, confident way, he would often get irritated when he didn't get just what he wanted, sometimes would lash out aggressively, even at Kyle sometimes, but usually targeted mostly at himself, if he felt he wasn't pushing himself hard enough at running, lifting weights, soccer or football. This was to be expected. After all, Kyle had adjusted the formula to include some steroids to increase his gains, sprinkled on the healthy meals both ate together. Still, a gentle massage from Kyle at the end of a particularly exhausting day of pushing limits would help settle Lance down, smooth out stresses in his bulging muscles, making Lance almost purrÉ
They had taken to hanging out even when not pursuing some jock activity, laying out on the beach, going to dinner, just chilling at each other's apartments, and Kyle couldn't help but notice Lance's steady gaze on him, especially whenever he was shirtless. He had encouraged Lance to change clothes together in the same room; they were just two dudes after all, and Kyle was grateful to see the once shriveled, skinny cock, now freed from the damage of marijuana, also had blossomed, now hanging long, thick and powerful over those buff thighs, under a wispy triangle of blonde pubes. Lance had caught him looking and smiled warmly. Kyle was encouraged. Emboldened by the fact that Lance didn't seem to bother with girls either Ð Kyle did date girls, but since his infatuation with Lance he'd been perfectly satisfied to focus his energy only on him, using his fist alone at night whenever necessary Ð one day after a strenuous workout, sweat pouring down both buff, cut chests, the two lay next to each other on Kyle's bed, stretching out and enjoying the pump. Neither were really as big as bodybuilders, feeling that was a little too bulky, but Lance definitely seemed as much a fitness model as Kyle now, and he let his tanned arm rest against Kyle's side.
"Been feeling pretty horny. Haven't got nothing in weeks," Kyle casually mentioned in a breathy tone, his chest heaving.
"Yeah, me neither, bud," Lance said in a huskier tone than the boyish hippie voice he once had. "Would youÉ I meanÉ I don't thinkÉ would you want to do something together?" Lance had to blurt out, his blue eyes looking as questing as on that first day he'd turned to Kyle for help.
Kyle smiled happily. "Aww, sure, man! I've been waiting to do this a long time!" He caressed the chiseled body he had helped build, Lance eagerly running his tanned hands up his best bud, and they started making out, grasping in each other's shorts. It was all let loose, finally, and Kyle had everything he had wanted, possibly even a boyfriend now, yeah, totally a boyfriend.
They worshiped each other and gave in to their passions all through that night, falling asleep together, sticky, sweaty bodies curled up together, happy at last.