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.
It didn't help that the minute I stripped off my singlet and stood naked in the communal showers, I became the center of attention, as though under a spot light, like a rare specimen exhibited in a museum, or a wild animal caged in the zoo.
As soon as I peeled off my sweaty singlet, I was met with a chorus of admirers relentlessly singing the praises of various parts of my physique.
In what they believed was a show of good natured camaraderie and admiration, my team-mates would swarm around me (while I stood among them stark naked and sweaty) and pester me to flex, do all sorts of body building poses and show off my muscles.
Hands from every direction would "bro-slap" me on my upper back (or on my meaty ass) and appreciatively feel up my pecs, my abs, my biceps, my quads and even my muscular glutes.
It was as though my body didn't really belong to me anymore and my nakedness became a means for them to tangibly satisfy their curiosity as well as to somehow claim me as their own.
Though I "reluctantly" complied, secretly, I really enjoyed being naked and groped by my team-mates. I was usually the first to strip down and the last to get dressed.
It wasn't just my muscles that fascinated them. In the showers, their eyes would surreptitiously steal glimpses of my cock.
Though no straight guy would ever dare admit it, regardless of sexual orientation, gay, straight, indifferent or whatever, most guys have a fascination with other guys' cocks, especially if the cock in question is unusually impressive.
Along with everything else, I had inherited the family jewels from my dad's side of the family.
The fascination of my team mates, for what was, essentially, the generously proportioned cock and hairy balls hanging heavily between my legs, embarrassed, unsettled and, (alarmingly), aroused me.
More often than not, by the time we hit the showers, all the attention, and the groping had led to an impressive semi (or worse) much to everyone's amusement. I would turn my back, face the wall and escape under the cold water hoping it would drown out the laughter and deflate my wayward cock. Despite appearances, it was still an 18 year old's cock, and had a mind of it's own.
Horse play, bordering on the sexual and the homoerotic, is common among young men in the locker room.
I remember later in college, when I was still a wrestler, a brood of Irish brothers on my team, constantly rough housing and smacking each other's bare asses in the communal showers, until, at least one of them, would inevitably get hard.
They all thought it was uproariously funny.
Hardly incestuous, it was just boys being boys, enjoying the bond and shared exuberance of their young, joyful manhood, by celebrating the recently discovered magic trick of every young man's favorite toy.
I knew my team mates found my embarrassment (and my hard-ons) amusing and enjoyed relentlessly teasing me, however, as much I longed to bond with them, my feelings of inexplicable arousal confused, unsettled and even terrified me for reasons I was was still too afraid to explore.
My embarrassing erections in the communal showers were becoming more frequent and more inevitable. The mere anticipation of the muscle worship session that would await me as soon as I got naked in the locker room, had become an embarrassing trigger to my uncontrollable arousal.
Outside of the locker room, I wore my clothes loose and baggy in a misguided effort to conceal my body and to avoid drawing the attention that led to the potentially embarrassing responses of my dick.