Potentialli

"Potentially?"

"Potentialli, with an i. You're an excellent candidate."

The thin paper crinkled under my legs as my PCP went over my test results. My company required an annual physical for all employees, though they didn't care about the results. They just wanted to check off a box for the shareholders.

"So, it's like a weight loss drug? I'm not interested."

"Dan." The doctor pulled over a stool to sit closer to me. "You're five-eight and nearly 300 pounds. This isn't a weight loss drug, per se, but even if that's all it was, I'd recommend it strongly."

I self-consciously rubbed my belly and considered his words. I'd always been "husky," and rugby through high school and college had packed on muscle. He was right, though. "I don't understand, doc. I barely have time to eat breakfast or lunch. I grab a protein shake or two. Where's the weight coming from?"

"How many protein shakes? How many snacks? Hectic schedules make for unhealthy habits. Do you exercise? How's your sex life? I bet those are suffering too."

He was right. One or two protein shakes were more like three or four, plus a straight-up milkshake after work. And any exercise or even sex left me exhausted. "Ok, what's so special about this new medicine?"

The doctor handed me a printout from a medical website. "Potentialli is not a weight-less drug like Ozempic or Wegovy, though it has been very successful for weight loss. You're a good candidate. Yes, because of your weight, but your family history of heart disease is also critical. Potentialli is an engineered virus that unlocks your full genetic potential."

"Say again?"

He pointed at a simple gene chart on the printout. "All of us are a random combination of our parents' genes, like a series of hundreds of dice rolls. Sometimes we're lucky - we get our dad's height, our mom's brains - sometimes we're unlucky - bad skin, male pattern baldness." I touched my receding hairline. "Potentialli rerolls the dice, so that we land a nat 20 every single time."

"So it rewrites my DNA? What's that do?"

"It all depends on your genetic potential and how far you are from your maximum. Let's say you originally rolled a 15 for height and wound up at five-eight. Potentialli rolls a 20 for you, and now you're six foot."

"Wait--I could get **taller**? What is else could change?"

"Everything. Metabolism, eyesight, muscle tone, heart and lung condition, intelligence, creativity. Everything will simply be...better."

----

I arrived at home with the small Potentialli package in my hands. It was a single-use injector, which made me nervous as hell. I walked into Sarah's home office and kissed her on the forehead.

"How was the doctor?" Sarah didn't look up from her screen. We had met at work in a leadership program a few years after college, but she had left the company a few years ago to start her own consulting business. She was a few inches shorter than me, and even though she had never been an athlete, she'd kept in better shape than me through healthy eating, regular yoga, and a few 5Ks each year. I had first been attracted to her raven black hair, now salted with gray.

I moved some papers to the floor and sat in the office guest chair. "Fine. I need to lose weight, obviously, and he was worried about my family history. This is a little weird. I thought he was going to suggest a GLP-1, but he prescribed me this experimental drug called Potentialli."

Sarah pushed back and swiveled around to look at me. Her piercing, intelligent eyes got me every time. "I've heard of that. It's supposed to be great. Are you going to take it?"

I held up the box. "I guess? He made it sound like a no-brainer. Said it could help with weight loss, concentration, even grow my hair back."

"If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is." She turned back to her computer. "Don't forget I'm leaving tomorrow for that trip to Cleveland. Maybe you should wait until I get back next week, in case there are side effects."

"The doctor said at worst it would feel like a mild flu. I think I'll be OK."

"Really? Last time you got the flu, I had to wait on you hand and foot."

"I'll be fine. I promise. Tomorrow's Friday. I'll take the day off and sleep all weekend. There's always DoorDash and 911 if it gets really bad."

"Fine. It's on you if anything bad happens. My Uber is picking me up in the morning at 6. I won't wake you."

----

As promised, Sarah didn't wake me up when she left. I stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror with the injector in my hands. I hated looking at myself in the mirror. I always thought I was a fat in college, but I didn't realize how good I'd had it when I was only 230. Sarah had suggested diets and cardio for years. My belly protruded out, hanging over my dick so it wasn't even visible. My flabby arms and legs were strong but shapeless. I could easily fill a man-bra, and probably have pretty good cleavage.

I was ready for a change. Any change.

The Potentialli injector was about the size of a blood test vial, and it was filled with a green-tinged fluid. According to the instructions, all I had to do was stab myself in the thigh, and the injector would do the rest. Results supposedly began within 8 hours, which seemed impossible. I'd read up on Ozempic and expected slow changes, like less appetite and fewer food cravings. But, I reminded myself, this wasn't Ozempic.

I flipped open the injector lid and stabbed my thigh, just as the instructions said. "Fuck!" I yelled, as the battery-powered device squeezed the fluid into my leg. I started to feel light-headed, stumbled out of the bathroom toward the bed, and passed out.

----

When I woke up, I checked my watch. Eight-thirty. OK, that wasn't too bad. Wait--PM?! Then I looked again. It was eight-thirty PM on SATURDAY. I had been out for over 36 hours. What the hell happened?

I was starving, of course, but I was still naked. My legs still wobbled a bit as I walked a few steps over to my dresser to pull out some clothes. My underwear felt a little loose, and my sweatpants even more so. And they seemed...short? My most comfortable XXXL T-shirt hung off me like a blanket. Before heading downstairs for food, I decided to weigh myself.

As I stepped on the scale, I noticed my sweatpants were definitely an inch or two shorter than last time I wore them. That didn't prepare me for the scale though. Two-seventy? How had I lost over twenty pounds in just over a day? I lifted off my shirt and examined myself in the mirror. Yeah, the angle was different--I was slightly taller. My belly fat was maybe a little less, though it was hard to tell the difference between two-ninety-something and two-seventy.

Downstairs, I crushed a whole bag of Doritos, but I was still hungry. Even though I knew I was supposed to be trying to lose weight, I decided to order a large pizza. No, two pizzas--I could have the leftovers for dinner the next couple of days.

There were no leftovers. I ate two whole meat lovers pizzas in a single sitting, then collapsed into sleep on the couch.

----

I woke up Sunday morning at ten. At least it was only twelve hours this time. Unlike yesterday, I felt a surge of power, like I was ready to do anything. I had forgotten to put on a shirt before falling asleep on the couch, and in the hallway mirror I looked even thinner, with more muscle definition. My manboobs now simply looked chubby, and I could see a couple of small bicep bumps when I flexed. I ran upstairs, taking two stairs at a time, and the bathroom scale told me I was down to two-thirty. How was this possible?

It had been three days since my last shower, so that was next on my agenda. As lathered up the shampoo, I felt stubble on top of my head, filling in the gaps in my receding hairline. And I discovered more growth, too. I had read that you gained half an inch of penis length for every thirty-five pounds lost, but I could swear my dick was at least two inches longer and...thicker? I squeezed out some extra shampoo and stroked my dick a few times. Yes, definitely thicker, most sensitive, yet also more controlled. Each stroke gave me a surge of pleasure better than I had ever felt, but I knew that I could keep going for as long as I wanted. Five minutes in, I allowed myself to cum with incredible force. I almost passed out again from the intense orgasm.

After washing off, I was ready for another.

I spent the rest of the day cleaning and organizing. Not only did I have tremendous energy, but my thoughts and focus were clearer than ever. I decided to vacuum, and moving the furniture was easier than ever. I even cleaned out the basement in only a couple of hours, and reassembled the weight bench I had bought years ago. A full day of cleaning should have left me exhausted. Instead, I decided to fit in a workout, too. I kept having to add weight. In college, my PR on the bench was 250. Even though it had been years since I had lifted seriously, I hit 200 with ease, and I could probably have gone heavier if I'd had a spotter. After my workout, I finished reading a novel that Sarah bought me for a couples' book club a few months ago.

The only negative was that I could not stop eating. Whatever was happening to me, it was consuming huge numbers of calories.

Before bed, I decided to weigh myself again. One-eighty. In the mirror, I could see defined abs, even the start of a V-line at my waist. My pecs were starting to fill in, as were my shoulders and arms.

I ate a carton of rocky road ice cream and went to bed.

----

In the morning, I realized that none of my clothes fit any longer. I messaged my team that I was feeling a little under the weather and I was going to work from home.

On the scale, this time my weight had INCREASED to one-ninety. Hardly any fat remained on my waist, though, and I noticed that my chest, arms, and legs were getting bigger. Taller, too--now it was obvious that I was a couple inches taller than when I had started. My hair was growing back in rapidly. While shaving, I noticed thicker stubble than usual, and my jawline was more defined. I also realized that I had not put on glasses that morning, yet I could see perfectly fine.

Work was easier than ever. I finished eight hours in less than five, though I had to have lunch delivered twice in that time. Once all was done, I needed some new clothes before Sarah returned tomorrow.

"You'll notice a few changes when you get home. Potentialli is working great," I texted her.

"Wonderful," she wrote back. "You could stand to lose a few pounds."

I had lost more than a few. And I had gained several inches, both in height and in my dick. Last Thursday, I had been five-eight. It was not easy to measure myself with a tape measure, but I was at least six-foot now. And hung like...well, not a porn star, but a very proud amateur porn enthusiast.

I weighed myself again before I went out. I was up to one-ninety-five, and the additional weight seemed to be going entirely to lean muscle. Somehow, I knew I was getting close to the end of my transformation. I stripped naked so I could observe myself from head to toe. Broad shoulders, wide pecs, six-pack abs, veiny arms, a huge package, giant sculpted ass and thighs, perfect calves. I looked like Brad Pitt in Fight Club, if he'd had another thirty pounds of muscle.

Nothing fit except for an old pair of gray sweatpants, tied VERY tight at the waist, and a black Radiohead t-shirt of Sarah's. The shirt barely fit me, like it was painted on. My chest stretched it out, and you could see my hard nipples through it. The short sleeves rode up over the curve of my shoulders and triceps. Not even my shoes fit, so I had to make do with a pair of flip-flops.

At the mall, lots of women and some men tracked me with their eyes as I walked through the crowd. I thought at first it was because I was dressed like a slob. Then I realized it was because I was a **hot** slob.

I had no idea where to buy clothes that weren't XXXL, so I decided to try The Gap. Two young associates rushed over to help me as soon as I walked in. The blonde, who couldn't have been older than twenty-four, touched my arm. "Is there anything you're looking for, sir?" I thanked her and told her I was fine. The attention made me uncomfortable. I grabbed a few different sizes of jeans and shirts and took them into the fitting room.

The last time I bought clothes, my jeans size was 40-30. Now it was 32-36. My shirts had shrunk from XXXL to Slim L, though mediums hugged my new muscles in an appealing way. The blonde knocked on the dressing room door as I was changing. "Do you need some help? With anything?"

I decided to have some fun with her. With my shirt off, I opened the door. She stared my chest and abs. I coughed so she would look me in the eyes and asked, "These jeans are really tight in the crotch. Do you have anything with enough room for a large guy?" She turned bright red and shut the door.

I was going to enjoy my new life.