NOTE: Everyone in this story is 18 years of age or older
During the summer following my 18th birthday, I underwent a sudden, and unusually rapid transformation.
Until then, everyone in my family, (myself included), assumed that I had taken after my mother's side.
While the women in my mother's family were considered dainty and "petite", the men were just plain stocky and short.
Conversely, on my father's side, my dad, his brothers and my grandfather were tall, well built, and handsome.
In fact, with his rugged, square jaw and impossibly wide shoulders, my dad was wasn't just handsome, he was movie star handsome.
Even as a young boy I couldn't help but notice how women, (as well as men), reacted whenever he entered a room.
I had hoped that I would grow up to be just like him, but at 18, I stood at a mere 5 feet 6 inches tall and had resigned myself to the disappointing fact, that, unlike my dad, I had definitely not won the genetics lottery.
No matter, I was shy, quiet and had managed an existence lived under the radar. As a little guy, I was used to being ignored, and had even managed to convince myself that I actually preferred it that way.
The school year came to a close, and, as usual, my family headed off to our vacation cottage for the summer.
By September, when I returned to complete my final year of high school, I was virtually unrecognizable from the unassuming little fireplug I had been before the summer holidays.
It was as though I had emerged from a cocoon, a drab little green slug one day and a brightly colored butterfly the next.
The change, and the subsequent reactions of my classmates (and even my teachers), caught me completely unawares.
This was frightening and unchartered territory for me.
Suddenly, I felt as though all eyes were upon me, as I struggled to navigate what had become a bewildering and overwhelming new reality.
Virtually overnight, I had no choice but to learn to exist within the confines of my new and unfamiliar body. A body that drew more attention than I was used to and much more attention than I was comfortable with.
In my head, I was still the drab little caterpillar, only now, I had to learn how to operate the daunting new wings of the butterfly.
As a result, something as simple as just walking into a room became an exercise in mortifying awkwardness.
At times, I felt like an infant strapped behind the wheel of an exotic sports car, driving in the dark and struggling to find my way home.
For my 18th birthday, earlier that year, my dad bought me a set of weights and set up a home gym for me in the basement. Virtually unused, they had collected dust for several months, but now, suddenly, I became obsessed with working out.
It became my way of taking inventory, of taking ownership, to acquaint myself with my new outward appearance, and to reclaim both myself and my new unfamiliar body.
Working out became therapeutic for me, as I channeled all my anxieties and all my frustrations into developing a body that became ever stronger and more muscular.
I endured hours and hours of ceaseless hard work and dedication.
It paid off.
After only a few short months, whenever I stood naked in front of a mirror, either at home, or in the locker room, at school, I could see that the physique I had so carefully and diligently sculpted, had become impressive, even by the standards of the men on my father's side of the family.
I liked what I saw, though I still struggled to claim the reflection in the mirror as my own.
As a little fireplug, I had been relatively strong and my determination and tenacity had made me a fairly good high school athlete. I had been a wrestler, and a good one, but now, my new body and my new strength, made me a terror on the wrestling mat.
I wasn't just admired by my opponents, I was actually feared.
And though my team mates, were all in exceptional shape, they were still 18 year old teenage, young men, whereas I, to their surprise and amazement, (as well as my own), had reappeared with the body of a grown man and a build that rivaled even that of our 30 year old, hunky coach.
To make matters worse, my wrestling singlet left nothing to the imagination. Not only did it cling tightly, like a second skin, but as I sweat profusely during every practice and during every competition, the mostly white fabric became virtually transparent and revealed every inch of my body, including my cock and my balls.
As if that weren't bad enough, as I competed, my sweaty singlet would inevitably ride up between my ass cheeks and outline the newly massive, meaty mounds of my butt.
I may as well have been stark naked, since I was essentially fully exposed and on display, right in the middle of the school gymnasium and right in front of my all class mates, their parents, and, even my teachers!
Yet, unlike most of the other wrestlers, who after winning a match, flaunted their athletic physiques and strutted as proudly as peacocks, I would immediately get into my sweats and cover up as soon as the competition was over.
The realty, I was too ashamed to admit, (even to myself), was what I eventually came to consider as my dirty little secret.
Though constantly embarrassed, I found the very idea of my exposure erotically thrilling.
It quite literally made me rock hard.
Confused by both my shame, my embarrassment and my inexplicable arousal, I covered up as quickly as I could to conceal the inevitable and uncontrollable hard-on that threatened to expose me on a whole other level.
