Chapter 3: Alone with a Giant
The first step was the hardest. Buck lifted his right foot, a slab of flesh and bone the size of a flatbed trailer, from the crater of his garden. He held his breath, the air whistling in his cavernous lungs. Below, his three friends clung to the warm, hairy plain of his chest, their tiny fingers gripping thick strands like climbing ropes.
“Easy, big guy,” Tommy murmured, his voice vibrating against Buck’s sternum. “You’ve got this.”
He set his foot down in the middle of the street. The asphalt cracked with a sound like a thousand pistachio shells being stepped on, a web of fractures radiating out from the colossal imprint. He’d aimed for the centerline, but his heel came down on a parked sedan. The car compacted with a metallic groan, windows exploding outwards in a glittering spray. Buck froze, a wave of nausea hitting him.
“It’s empty, Buck,” Jesse called up, his voice steady. “Look, the dome light’s not on. Nobody’s in it.” He was right. It was just a car. Property. Not a person.
“See?” Finn squeaked, perched near Buck’s collarbone. “Gentle giant. Now left foot, sweetie. Aim for that empty lot between the houses.”
Buck moved with a ponderous, deliberate grace, a mountain trying to tiptoe. Each step required immense concentration. He leaned forward, peering through the gloom at the toy-town landscape, navigating by the streetlights’ hazy glow. He stepped over power lines, their cables snapping and whipping with showers of blue sparks when his thigh brushed them. He circumvented houses, his shadow engulfing them as he passed. He could see people now, ant-like figures fleeing in cars or standing frozen in their yards, phones held aloft, their tiny lenses gleaming like insect eyes.
“Oh my god,” Tommy breathed, looking out from their perch. “Buck. You look… fucking incredible.”
It was true. From this vantage point, pressed against him, they could see the new geography of him. The sheer scale transformed his familiar, burly form into something mythic. The slope of his shoulder was a massive berm of muscle. The forest of chest hair they were nestled in was dense and deep, each strand as thick as yarn. The curve of his bicep, as he carefully adjusted his hold on them, was a smooth, powerful hillock.
“You were always a bear,” Jesse said, awe softening his usually measured tone. “But now you’re a living mountain. It’s… it’s kind of beautiful.”
A warm flush spread across Buck’s cheeks, a heat they could feel emanating from his skin. The fear and guilt were still there, a cold knot in his giant gut, but beneath it swelled a profound, simple pleasure. Their admiration was a tangible thing, a warmth against his chest to rival the night air. He was a catastrophe, but he was their catastrophe.
“Thanks, guys,” he rumbled, the bashful vibration soothing them.
Following Finn’s theatrical navigation, he moved away from the denser suburbs, towards the scrubland and older forest that bordered the river. The sounds of sirens began to fade, replaced by the crunch of his footsteps on untamed earth. The moon broke from behind the clouds, painting the world in silver and deep shadow.
He saw the clearing up ahead—a wide, rocky patch overlooking a bend in the river, free of visible houses. Relief washed over him. A place to stop, to think. He took a final, long stride towards it.
His foot came down on something that wasn’t just rock and soil.
There was a crunch. A deep, splintering, compacting crunch. Not the sharp snap of trees, but the layered collapse of wooden beams, glass, and sheet metal. He lifted his foot, feeling the debris cling to the sole. In the moonlight, he saw the remains of a small, rustic cabin, now a flattened mosaic of lumber and twisted stovepipe nestled in the center of his footprint.
A jolt of ice shot through him. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”
He stared at the wreckage, his immense heart thudding against the little men on his chest. The guilt was instant and crushing. Had he just killed someone? Some hermit, some unlucky hiker? He bent, the motion causing the earth to shift, and peered at the rubble. No movement. No sound but the settling of wood.
“Buck,” Jesse said softly.
“I didn’t see it,” Buck whispered, his voice ragged. “It was hidden in the trees. I just… crushed it.”
But alongside the guilt, another sensation pulsed, low and undeniable. The feel of it. The sheer, definitive power of that crunch under his sole. The way the structure had offered no more resistance than a cardboard box. It had been… satisfying. A deep, visceral pop of release. The realization made him feel sick, and impossibly, more aroused.
He stumbled the last few paces to the clearing and slowly, carefully, sank down. The ground trembled as his immense backside met the earth, his legs stretching out towards the riverbank. He let out a sigh that stirred the trees. He set his three friends down gently on a broad, flat rock beside his thigh, where they could see his face.
He hung his head. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, the words booming softly in the quiet clearing. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to be a monster. But I’m… I’m this.” He gestured vaguely at his own body, a landscape of despair.
Jesse walked to the edge of the rock, placing a hand on the vast wall of Buck’s leg. “We know you don’t. We know you’re good. This is going to be hard. Really, really hard. But we’re not going anywhere. We’re in this with you.”
Tommy moved beside Jesse, his smile soft in the moonlight. “He’s right. You held my hand when I told my dad. You made me feel like the bravest guy in the world, even when I was scared shitless. You think a little size change is gonna scare me off? Never. I love you, you big idiot.”
Buck felt a tear, warm and huge, trace a path through the dust on his cheek.
Finn, however, had been staring at the crushed cabin with an expression of rapt fascination. He turned, his eyes blazing. “A monster?” he said, the word dripping with new meaning. “Buck, darling, you are a monster. A glorious, incredible monster. You always had this in you. This power. You could tear the world apart if you wanted to.” He stepped forward, his arms sweeping in a grand, theatrical arc. “Imagine it! You, a hundred feet of hairy, glorious beast, stomping through skyscrapers like sandcastles! Crushing cities under your feet! The whole world on its knees, looking up at you!”
“Finn, Jesus,” Tommy laughed, but it was a nervous laugh.
“I can’t do that,” Buck said, but his protest was weak. Because he was imagining it. The imagery, put to Finn’s vivid soundtrack, unlocked something. The satisfying crunch of the cabin replayed in his mind, amplified a thousandfold. The thought of that power, that absolute, unchecked dominion… A heat pooled in his lower belly, fierce and urgent.
His body, unconcerned with morality, responded. At his scale, the reaction was not subtle. A massive, gradual swell began at the junction of his thighs, stirring the dense thicket of hair there. A shaft of flesh, thick as an ancient tree trunk, began to rise, pushing upwards against his stomach.
Finn’s eyes darted down. A wicked grin split his face. “Well, hello there. Seems part of you likes the idea.”
Buck blushed a deeper crimson. “It’s not… I don’t…”
“It’s okay, Buck,” Tommy said, his voice shifting into a practical, soothing tone. He shot a look at Finn. “You put the idea in his head. Least we can do is help him take care of it.” He kicked off his shoes, his eyes holding Buck’s with a warm intensity. “We’re a team, right?”
Jesse took a deep breath, a flicker of his own playful side breaking through the worry. He pulled his shirt over his head. “Peer pressure,” he said with a faint smile. “Always gets me.”
What followed was an exercise in impossible scale and intimate familiarity. They clambered down from the rock onto the warm, living landscape of his groin. To them, he was a world of flesh and scent and heat. They used their whole bodies. Tommy, strong and enthusiastic, pressed himself along one prominent vein, rubbing his back against it. Jesse, more meticulous, used his hands and mouth on the sensitive skin of the tip he could reach. Finn, ever the provocateur, draped himself over Buck’s colossal testicles, whispering encouragement against the skin.
The sensations were monumental, overwhelming. Buck groaned, the sound echoing in the hills. The sheer devotion of it, their tiny, determined bodies giving themselves over to him, stoked the fire higher. He wanted to reciprocate.
With aching care, he lowered his head. His face, the size of a small garage, hovered over them. He extended his tongue, a broad, wet pink promontory, and gently, so gently, gathered Tommy into the warm cavern of his mouth.
Tommy cried out, the vibration thrilling through Buck. The taste of him, familiar and human-scaled, was devastating. It was over for Tommy quickly, a gasp and a shudder against the giant’s tongue. Buck released him, smiling softly as Tommy slid, spent and gleaming, onto his thigh.
Then the focus returned to the demanding need between his legs. Their combined efforts—the slides of their skin, the press of their hands, Finn’s feverish encouragement—drove him upwards. He felt the tension coiling, a tectonic pressure building in his core.
“Now, Buck,” Finn screamed, plastered against the throbbing shaft. “Let it go!”
The release was cataclysmic. It wasn’t a spurt; it was a geyser, a tidal wave of pearlescent fluid that erupted into the night. It drenched the three of them completely, a warm, torrential downpour that soaked them to the bone, plastering their hair and dripping from their chins. It pooled in the creases of the rock, gleamed on Buck’s own skin in the moonlight.
For a moment, there was silence, save for Buck’s heavy, shuddering breaths.
Then Finn whooped, spreading his arms and sliding through the puddle. “Yes! Oh my god, yes!”
Tommy laughed, wiping his face and licking his lips. Jesse simply lay back on the rock, breathless and smiling, utterly covered.
Buck, spent and trembling, looked down at his three tiny, drenched, devoted boyfriends. The guilt was still there, a ghost at the edge of the clearing. The problem of his existence remained, vast and unsolved. But for now, there was only this: the smell of the river, the chill of the night, the warm afterglow humming through his gigantic frame, and the three small points of light, sticky and smiling, on the rock beside him.