It had been five years since Myrna left.

If you had told me before that one man could change the world in five years I would have laughed, thought you were crazy. Turns out five years can be a lifetime. If you had told me that changing the world mostly consisted of driving around the country in a pair of RV's - well maybe it would have sounded so crazy I might have actually believed you.

I woke up wedged between the hard flesh of muscled bodies - three of them to be exact. I untangled myself, and stepped between the limbs. The only complaint was a sleepy groan - a sign that I had not woken any of them.

I could tell as I pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the kitchen from the grey light filtering in through the windows that it was dawn. I grabbed a half empty beer off the kitchen countertop and flopped down on the bench that ran across the opposite side of the trailer. I was still naked - but that wasn't terrible unusual in this household - most days clothing was strictly optional.

I rolled my shoulders, experimentally stretched my arm over my head. It was sore - but that was unsurprising - the girls tended to forget themselves in the heat of the moment - and they are - I can attest - very strong. I was getting stronger myself - even though I didn't work out - certainly not like the girls did. A product of a vigirous lifestyle, I guess.

My hand instinctively closed on the ring I wore on a thin chain around my neck.

I leaned my head back and took in a mouthful of the warm beer. I closed my eyes and let it burn my tongue before swallowing. I could feel the gentle rocking of the trailer before I ever heard the curtain russle. Someone else was awake.

I opened my eyes. Standing holding aside the curtain to the bedroom was Samantha. She tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes, but finally had to rub them with the side of her hand. She was naked - as I said - clothing optional - except for a thin leather collar around her neck.

All three girls wore those silly things. If I asked them to, they'd probably stop - probably - but they seemed so damn proud of them.

She stifled a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Early," I realized that I was being a bit terse and looked up. Samantha had her eyes cast down as if I had rebuked her.

"Sorry, I'm not much of a morning person," I said trying to wipe the look of concern off her face.

She smiled, a look that lit up her pixish face. "I know. You keep us all up too late." When she smiled she was beautiful. Well, even when she didn't smile. She had a beautiful face. It was important - key in fact - to changing the world.

Five years ago she had been a biochemisty grad student. If I had seen this Samantha five years ago she would have been the most muscular woman I'd ever seen - even now it was close. I've measured her arms at the biceps - 24 inches - which, I can assure you, is pretty damn ridiculous. For her height, though, it was downright absurd. I'd never seen anyone even close. Her stomach wasn't flat - each muscle bulged out like handholds on a climbing wall - but she was very thin, her waist waspish. Her breasts were huge bags of flesh - fake unfortunately - a necessary compromise considering she carried almost no fat on the rest of her body.

Anyone who had met her five years ago would scarcely recognize her. A more sarcastic man would say that it was her haircut - she had cut off most of her dark hair leaving only a tomboyish crop of wild hair.

I closed my eyes again and leaned my head back. My left hand was still playing with the ring that hung against my chest.

"Are you okay?" Samantha asked uncertainly.

"Just thinking." A lie - I was actually trying not to think.

"Do you want company?" I looked up at Samantha, she was watching me closely. I had to admit of all the girls Samantha was probably my favorite. She was the smallest - a couple of inches shorter than me - even if, to be fair, she outweighed me by at least 50 lbs. I gave her another look. Probably more than 50 lbs. Being the shortest had given her something of an attitude, which I found adorable.

I nodded and patted the empty bench beside me. I watched out of the corner of my eye as she walked the two steps to sit next to me. Even now - to watch her muscle move under her skin - was awe inspiring. Her biceps quivered with each step, jumping and writhing, leaping with every twitch of her forearms.

She sat down and I felt the solid heft of her arm across my back. She layed her head down on my shoulder.

"Any chance we can go out tonight?"

"I'll think about it," I said noncommittally. I wasn't in the mood to go out and mingle with people, but I didn't want to upset Samantha again - there was no need for her to share my dark mood.

"Oh, come on, please," she pouted. I sighed.

"I guess."

Samantha giggled with joy and pulled me into her lap for a hug. Those gigantic arms wrapped around my chest. She was careful not to hurt me, but in her grip it was still hard to breath and the sudden embrace poured what little beer was left on to her shoulder. It ran in little rivulets down the ridges of her back and the peaks and valleys of her massive arms.

She released me, and I took a deep breath. I had clearly made Samantha's day. She more than any of the girls loved going out. We would go to a bar or a club. As we'd enter every head would turn toward us - me specifically - and then the girls that accompinied me. I had learned to control my powers of attraction better, and no woman in that club could ignore me.

Samantha loved soaking in those stares - especially when it became clear that I was very much not avaliable. She loved the admirers and the nervous would be suitors - not all of them guys - who in the face of overwhelming evidence built up the nerve to hit on her.

More than once I'd had to find her at closing time. Usually it would be in some secluded dark corner. She would be sitting, legs spread wide, her lucky admirer on their knees in front of her. It was always a woman - and almost always a short waifish one. I suspected she enjoyed her physical dominance and the ego stroke more than she ever liked their eager tongues. I knew no matter how gifted they were, it couldn't compete with an average night with me. "Recompense of Paris," after all.

"Sorry about that," I said, apologizing for the spilled beer.

"My fault," Samantha ran a finger along the edge of her mighty bicep, catching a drop of beer as it ran down the curve of her arm. She smelled it, and then experimentally sucked on it. She winced, clearly not liking the taste. "Ugh," she worked her lips to rid her mouth of the taste. "I don't think that was from yesterday."

I regarded the now empty bottle in my hand. "You know, I think you're right." I looked around the cramped kitchen - pots and pans littered the sink and dirty plates the countertops. I replaced the beer bottle from where I'd found it. "This is a mess."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it - I'll add it to the list of punishments," The punishments were one of the ways the girls motivated each other. Cheating on your diet, not finishing an excercise to reps - any one could be grounds for punishment. The most dreaded was driving the other RV during the long cross country roadtrips. It helped keep the peace, and gave an outlet for petty jealousies and grievenses that arose between the girls. Petty jealousies that usually sprang from one of the girls getting special "alone time" with me.

I stood and Samantha watched me, her brown eyes peering out from underneath long lashes. A wicked glimmer appeared in her eyes.

"So," Samantha said too casually, "seeing as we are the only two up, any chance that I could, possibly, maybe give you a blowjob?"

Clearly Samantha was pleased that she had convinced me to go out this evening and was now seeing how far she could push my acquiesense.

"What about Rose and Amber?" I asked pointedly, nodding slightly in the direction of the bedroom.

"They'll never know," Samantha rolled her eyes, "besides serves them right for sleeping in." Waking up last carried its own punishment - but not one from the list of punishments - with three girls and one bathroom this was a punishment of the more conventional type. I suspected that was one of the reasons Samantha had cut off most of her hair - low maintenence.

I shrugged, and Samantha grinned in delight. I reached over - popped open the fridge and grabbed a cold beer as Samantha settled on her knees in front of me. She saw the beer and offered up her hand.

"Do you mind?" She raised an eyebrow evocatively.

The girls loved showing off. Samantha took the cold bottle and pushed the cap against her bellybutton. She flexed and her abs bluged to life engulfing the cap and the top of the neck. Her arm twitched, her bicep spasmed, and I heard the familiar release of air as the cap twisted free. A trickle of cold beer washed down the cobblestones of her waist and along the upper edge of her massive legs to her perfectly smooth and hairless crotch. She shivered as the liquid crept down.

"That's better," she grinned and took a swig and then handed the bottle up to me. I took it, she relaxed her stomach and I heard the cap hit the floor.

I took a long drink as Samantha kissed the tip of my dick. She worked me expertly and I stood enjoying the cool bottle and her warm mouth. She was methodical and gentle - she pulled back and caught my member within the soft folds of her mammoth breasts. She kneeded them, and with them my dick caught in her expansive bosom.

I came, and Samantha laughed in delight.

"Hey!" I looked up. Amber stood in the doorway holding back the curtain to the bedroom. She looked at Samantha clearly upset. I had warned her they wouldn't like it.

Samantha ran two fingers across the tops of her breasts and neck which were now covered in my seed. She gathered it up as she went until she carefully sucked them clean. "What?" She asked innocently.

Amber and Rose had a predictable reaction. Samantha, it had was decided, had to both clean the kitchen and drive the other RV. Her constant stream of complaints over the CB radio gave no end of pleasure to Amber as she drove us toward New Jersey. I was in the bedroom with Rose. It had also been decided that the only fair way to deal with Samantha's indiscretion was for all of the girls to have a go with me alone.

It was going to be a busy day.

***

Changing the world? Driving cross country in an RV with three incredibly beautiful and muscle bound women? I mean what happened? Even now it seems hard to believe.

It all started the night Myrna left. Cynthia had been thrilled, though she of course had done her best to hide it. She thought she had me all to herself. She was wrong. With Myrna gone, all my inhibitions fell away. I went though phases - red heads, short girls, tall busty blondes (Cynthia had loved that phase). It was a blur, every night brought a new woman, every day a hunt for the next one that caught my eye.

And every time I closed my eyes I saw Myrna. Sometimes I saw her as the devastatingly beautiful fashionista she had transformed herself into for me - but most of the times she was dressed in baggy clothes and shorts painting her toenails on her bed. Myrna from summer break - the best two weeks of my life.

I was lost.

I was also flunking out.

I was able to stay enrolled, mostly by asking for favors from the female faculty. Don't get your mind in the gutter, there was nothing improper, but I was realizing that women always seemed more than happy to lend a hand. Because of them I was allowed to work through my classes at my own pace.

I felt purposeless, hopeless. I certainly had no thoughts about "changing the world." If anything I wanted to break something - I had no thoughts about changine the world - but the idea of turning it on its head seemed intermittently appealing.

I was wandering across campus. I could tell from the pale grey in the sky that dawn was coming. I had spent the night with a Ukranian exchange student and Cynthia, but after they had fallen asleep I'd left.

The campus was peaceful in the pre-dawn hours, quiet and most importantly - no women.

I found my self wandering toward the student center. As I approached I realized that, quite improbably, there was a table of students sitting together. Curiosity compelled me onward. Who else would be out and about at this time of morning?

In the predawn gloom I had to get closer before I realized that they were all wearing matching mesh tanktops and baseball caps - their broad shoulders confirmed my initial suspicions. It was a sports team. Probably headed off to a tournament, I thought. Curiosity sated, I was about to turn when one of them removed their hat. Long blonde hair fell to their shoulders - her shoulders - I suddenly realized with a shock. They were all women.

It was if my brain had suddenly caught fire. I had to know who these mysterious athletes were. I'd never seen such physiques before and - trust me - I'd gotten to known a lot of woman recently.

The girls all looked up startled as I emerged out of the pre dawn gloom.

"Who are you?" I asked, only vaguely realizing how impossible that question sounded.

The girls looked at me, a familiar look of wanting beginning to creep into their stare. They were confused by my inquiry and between their stares cast nervous glances to each other.

It was finally the woman I had seen take off her baseball cap who spoke. She blushed, clearly embarressed to be the object of my attention. "I'm Carrie... um...," she glowed redder, "we're the rowing team. The bus is coming to take us to a meet..."

I felt my lips grow dry. "Carrie, stand up."

She did, and I could already feel the shift in the air as the other girls' jealousy flared as I singled her out. She did. Slowly, and shyly. I walked up to her, I didn't realize it, but now as she stood up she was taller than me - she must have been over six foot tall. She was breathing rapidly now, and I could almost hear her heart beating. If I wanted to, she could be mine, right then and there.

"Carrie," I asked my toungue feverishly working over my dry lips. "Can you flex for me?"

That brought nervous laughter from the table, but Carrie straightened her arm and pulled it torward her. I watched as a solid bicep rose to a peak. I was stunned. I touched it gingerly, unbelieving. At my touch Carrie shivered and closed her eyes. If I had asked her to get down on her knees and give me a blowjob she would have, and been proud to do so. In fact, she would have been the envy of her teammates.

Instead I just asked: "Can you flex your legs for me?"

She lowered her eyes and with shivering hands pulled off her sweat pants - revealing shorts and her magnificent legs. I'd never seen a shelf of muscle hanging above the knee of a woman before. She flexed - and it bunched into hard quadreceps. She relaxed - shook it out, and then quickly flexed again. I put my hand on her leg, just above the knee. It was amazing, to feel those muscles turn to steel under my grasp, to squeeze and feel solid resitance under soft feminine skin. I wanted her, and she wanted me - she wanted me more than anything she'd ever wanted in her life.

She slid up her jersey, revealing the bottom of her tanktop. Under that was a smooth surface that as I watched hardened into a six pack. My mind reeled. I'd never seen a woman with a six pack. Never even considered it. I touched it, let my thumb play over each of the fine ridges that separated the muscles. It was extraordinary. I stared at her body. I hadn't felt like this since the first time I had seen Myrna naked.

Myrna. It thought blazed in my mind, scattering all my other ones.

Carrie's body was sculpted for rowing - to compete. Suddenly I felt it was very important that I not get in the way of that.

"Carrie..." I couldn't find my voice, I wanted to feel that body under me. I wasnted to feel those strange hard muscles slide under her feminine skin. "Carrie... good luck at the meet."

Carrie froze, and her lips pursed together in disappointment.

"Maybe, I'll see you around?" I suggested. That brought a huge smile to her face.

I waited with the team until the bus came, Carrie entered last, casting a long lingering glance back at me from the stairs. When she got in she was mobbed by her teammates all competing to share with her how jealous they were, or congratulate her on how lucky she was.

I became an instant fan of the rowing team. The crew pressured their coach - an old battleaxe of a lady - to let me ride the bus with them to meets. She had been unhappy, until the first time we met, and ever afterward she loved that I came along.

When it became known that I attended the rowing meets attendence soared - mostly women. And when I started hanging out with Carrie - a fact that provoked no end of disbelief - it suddenly thrust Carrie into the role as most popular woman on campus.

That's when I first noticed the change. I was still working the late night desk at the fitness center. More and more woman were making their way to the weight rooms. Carrie and her fellow crew members began to work out more fervantly than ever before. All across campus I began to see the unmistakable bicep bulge from girls picking up textbooks, answering cell phones or having their morning coffees. Carrie kept ahead of all of them her body responding to the new intensity she put into her workouts.

It gave me an idea - the first glimmerings of a plan. I began to see evidence of it everywhere I looked. The women around me were changing. I wasn't changing them - not physically at least - but it was clearer with every bare midriff I saw that showed the beginnings of a six pack.

I now had a theory. I can pose it as a question: Why do women starve themselves? Is there a guy out there who likes to be able to count all of his woman's ribs? No. The simple answer is that woman starve themselves because other women tell them that's how to look good.

Maybe not directly, but they see that the girls the guy favor are not overweight, they hear their about their friends dieting and suddenly its a competition to see who can eat the least.

You see women have always been the guardians of standards of beauty. And I'd flipped the whole rat race on its head. Now women on campus were telling their girlfriends how they needed to get to the gym and lift and they all saw Carrie with me walking tall and strong. Now, they were comparing vitamin supplements and protein shakes. Now, they were debating the relative merits of lifting to failure.

A plan began to perkolate in my head - an experiment on a wider scale. I started going to clubs with Carrie or a amateur bodybuilder name Theresa I'd met at a gym downtown, or both. We'd dance, we'd trade little whispers at a table. They would flex for me, I'd dotingly kiss their biceps while the whole time hundreds of female eyes watched me, were drawn to me by a force they couldn't understand.

I began to see changes - changes measured in days - gyms filled up, nutrition stores suddenly found their stocks depleted. I had a wild thought, a wild thought that gave me direction for the first time since Myrna left. I'd get to break something, give release to all my dark thoughts that had been trapped in my head since Myrna had gone. However, I was going to form something new from the old broken order. I was going to break old taboos and create new ones.

The thought was almost intoxicating. I was going to change the world

And I probably wouldn't have had destiny not intervened. I had started hopping from big cities, finding the most muscular women I could and going out in public with them.

Maybe it had nothing to do with me, maybe it was just dumb luck, or maybe it was the sudden changing focus of fifty percent of the population that made it inevitable. Science provided me with a godsend - a way to turn off Myostatin production in women. What is Myostatin? I have no idea. What I do know is that whatever it is, without it women grew huge muscles. It was a treatment that didn't work on everyone, and it was a delicate art, but it existed.

And my mind virus spread. Bodybuilding shows showcased huge women to sold out crowds. Hollywood noticed - and summer by summer the love interest's biceps swelled. Fashion magazines showcased new fashions for the buff and beautiful - modeled by women who were just that.

And at the middle of the storm was me. I rode across the country casting a watchful eye for the women I needed to further my goal. Amber and Rose, best friends who had jumped together into the great unknown and whose bodies had responded to the Myostatin treatments amazingly. Samantha, a grad student who had become obsessed with muscle and had designed a specialized treatment course that had turned her proportionally into the most muscular women on the planet. They were beautiful, young and more than happy to jump into an RV with me. They called themselves my harem and took a perverse pride in wearing self fasioned collars of ownership. We travelled the country - being seen together and in our wake leaving old concepts of beauty upturned and discarded.

It had been five years, but the world was now a strange and wonderful new place.

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