Previously posted on the Land of the Male Giants.
"Okay, let's give it a try," said Kristoff. Paul set an unopened can of soda pop on the table, and Kristoff lined up the sights. Then Kristoff turned back to the computer and typed for a few moments. "Okay, ready," said Kristoff. Both grad students backed up a respectful distance from the table; the computers and other equipment were still drippings from the can of soda which had exploded in a failed test a few minutes earlier. Then Kristoff hit a key to start the process.
There was no sound; only the small glowing red indicator on the side of the magnetic gun indicated that it was being prepared. Both grad students waited for the bang of another exploding can of soda. But when the indicator turned briefly green this time to indicate that the transformation was occurring, there was no bang; there was only a faint sucking sound of air molecules rushing inward, and suddenly the can of soda was twice its original size.
The grad students laughed and slapped each other a high-five. "Excellent!" said Paul. Their months of clandestine work had finally paid off. Paul, a physics student, had been working out two separate but related problems: first, he had been working out a way to measure the location and makeup of each molecule in a body; and second, he had been doing work in nanotechnology, or the direct manipulation of individual atoms. It had occurred to Paul some time ago that these two pieces of technology, driven by the proper software, could be used to enlarge or shrink items. If the soda pop contained ten water molecules for every sucrose molecule, one should in principle be able to enlarge or shrink the mass of pop by adding or removing the appropriate molecules in the right locations and in the proper proportions.
What Paul needed was the help of a computer scientist who could write the code to make the right generalizations about what molecules were found where, and about what needed to be added or removed. He and Kristoff had worked together over several months to put together their test system, and after many false tries, they had finally achieved this initial success. "Let's have some soda," said Paul, lifting the double-sized can from the table and popping it open. He poured some into a glass, eyed it and smelled it, and took a sip. Kristoff watched Paul's contemplative expressive as tasted it. "It's the real thing!" Paul declared, and poured another glass for Kristoff.
"You know, we're gonna be rich-- filthy, stinking rich," said Kristoff, taking his glass. "Transportation is going to cost next to nothing now. You want to move a bunch of steel girders across the country? Drop them in a shoebox and stick them in the mail! Think of the possibilities for space colonization-- we've overcome the cost of lifting the payload."
But Paul was looking out the window, his eyes turned absently toward the high school football team practicing in the field by the school across the street; he was not watching the team, but rather was already thinking about the next challenge. "You know, the thing we can't do yet is manipulate living tissue," he said slowly. Then he looked at Kristoff. "I mean, you'd need a much more complicated algorithm. Right now we can make a duplicate of a DNA molecule right next to the original, but that wouldn't result in a viable cell; not with the same DNA twice in one nucleus. What we need is a way of duplicating the whole cell."
Kristoff frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know enough biology to know how to make a copy of a whole cell beside the original; we'd need to no more about the structure of a cell to be able to do something so specialized." But he could immediately see the commercial implications: how cheap it would be to fly some temporarily reduced people coast to coast, and then restore them to regular size at their destination! Or, as an advertising novelty, one might make a person into a giant. But that could only be temporary-- what would such a giant eat, after all?
Paul was thinking. "You know Bruce over in the biology department? He might be able to help us."
And so, in the weeks that followed, Paul and Kristoff brought Bruce into their confidence, and the three grad students gradually worked out their improved algorithm.
It was almost summer when the three grad students were ready for the next stage of their testing. The window was open, and the sound of gentle wind through the new leaves drifted in from the open window, as did the sound of the high school football team practicing across the street.
Paul nervously set the cage on the same table. A white mouse was continually searching for an exit from its little prison, its delicate paws soft against the metal bars. "Okay, let's give it a go," said Paul again.
Kristoff typed at the keyboard, and again there was silence, and the red indicator glowed. Then the light turned green; there was a familiar sucking rush of air, and the mouse had abruptly grown to become a rat.
"It worked!" said Bruce. He had never more than half believed that this dubious new technology could be made to work.
The rat was still. "Is he alive?" asked Kristoff.
But then the rat slowly began to move again. "He was just a little stunned," said Paul. "He's all right."
"We should see if we can get him back to his right size," said Kristoff. "Paul, can you please point the magnetic gun away from him while I get this set up?"
Bruce's eyes were on the mouse, and Kristoff's eyes were on the computer screen. Paul absently swiveled the gun away from the rat without paying attention to where he was pointing it. There was a quiet minute where the only sounds were Kristoff's typing, the distant sound of the football team, and the tinny sound as Paul tapped his finger against the cage side, playing with the rat.
Suddenly, there was a earth-shaking rumble outside, and a sound like air being sucked in, although on a much larger scale than before. The three grad students looked at each other in alarm. "What the hell was that?" asked Bruce.
Just then, Kristoff noticed which way the magnetic gun was pointing. "Hey, man! You should be careful where you point that thing. You don't know..." He stopped, realizing what might have just happened. His code hadn't been thoroughly debugged, after all; what if some bug had scheduled the gun to turn on at a time that he had not intended? He went to look out the window. "Oh, shit!" he cried.
Joel had been running a fourth lap around the field with his teammates. He was getting tired, and would be glad when the Coach's whistle rang out to order the boys into the shower.
But the sound of the whistle never came; instead, Joel heard a strange sound of rushing air, a sort of sucking sound. Joel thought at first that it was the wind blowing. But the sound seemed to be coming from behind him, and it quickly became louder than the wind ought to be. He turned to see what was going on.
What he saw was so entirely outside his experience that at first he could not take it in properly. Coach Johnson was growing-- growing faster than a flag is hoisted up a pole. This was impossible; Joel stared openmouthed. By the time Joel what was happening, the Coach had already completely outgrown his gym clothes and had burst out of him; already, the Coach's naked, muscular figure was taller than the school building, taller than the trees.
Terrified and bewildered, Joel could only stare. By the time the Coach's growth stopped, he was as tall as a 10-story building. High above, the Coach himself looked rather bewildered as well; what had happened to him? He looked down at the tiny football players staring up at him, at the roofs of the school and neighboring houses and at the treetops, and although he had no clue as to the reason, he realized that he had somehow become a giant.
The three grad students had not thought to anticipate that such a change in size would almost certainly result in a major change in personality of the transformed person. Although the students had succeeded in duplicating the nerve cell's of the Coach's brain properly, it had not occurred to them that the massive new number of cells would work together in a different way than the original cells had. This is why, as the Coach regained his bearing, he looked down at his football players with an evil masculine smile.
"Here, boys, let me get you somewhere where you'll be safe," said the Coach. His massive naked form stooped down and began to pick up the football players, setting them on the flat roof of the school where they could not get away without a ladder. Some of the boys scattered in fright, but many, like Joel, were too astonished to move. In a moment Joel felt himself caught between the giant's thumb and forefinger, and felt a lurch in his stomach as he was lifted faster than an elevator to the school's roof. Joel was dropped coarsely to the gravel-and-tar rooftop. Crawling to the edge of the roof, he watched as the Coach reached from side to side, gathering up most of Joel's fleeing teammates.
Finally, the Coach stopped and took a few steps over to stand beside the school. At each step, the earth shuddered under the giantUs weight. Joel craned his neck up to see the massive legs towering up like skyscrapers. The Coach did not seem at all shy about being naked in front of so many people; even before this transformation, he had showered with his students all the time, and he was even less modest now. The Coach's cock hung down proudly between his legs. The rippled muscles of his abdomen were on the same scale as the markings of a football gridiron. Above all was the Coach's face, looking down at his team with a smile that looked to Joel like no good.
"Get out of your uniforms, boys," ordered the Coach in a voice that boomed like thunder. The football players looked at each other, each waiting for the others to act. "Strip," said the Coach in a louder voice. Nervously, each football player undressed. Joel trembled as he slid his T-shirt over his head, took off his shoulder pads, and quickly unlaced his cleats. Soon, the whole team stood on the roof as naked as their giant Coach.
"That's good, boys," said the Coach, and looked them over as if considering. Finally he moved his enormous hand over the boys and picked up Stu, one of Joel's friends. The coach lifted Stu up until Stu was even with the Coach's enormous face; he was so far up that the football players below could barely see their teammate. But they could see as the Coach slowly opened his giant mouth and pushed Stu inside. The Coach closed his mouth and swallowed, and the boys below could see the struggling lump move down the Coach's throat. A cry of dismay went up from the football team. The coach smiled his evil smile and looked back down at the football team.
Across the street, Paul and Bruce looked out the window in dismay at what was happening. Kristoff was typing frantically at the keyboard, trying to get a program running that would reduce the coach back to his proper height.
"Oh, my god, he swallowed him!" cried Paul in dismay.
"What? What?" said Kristoff, who had not been looking out the window.
"The coach-- he picked one of the football players and-- and just plain ate him!" said Paul.
"Can't you get that program to work?" asked Bruce.
At that moment, the system froze. "Aw, shit," said Kristoff. "I have to reboot! We're going to be in a lot of trouble."
The Coach reached for a second football player. The young men scattered from side to side on the roof, trying to avoid the giant hand. But the edges of the roof kept them from running far. This time, it was Joel who was caught in the sandpapery-warm grasp.
Joel struggled as he was lifted up toward the Coach's mouth, but the fingers that encircled him were hopelessly too strong for him. Joel caught sight of a few confused images: blue sky, treetops, the wiry curls of hair on the Coach's vast field of chest, the tiny naked teammates on the school roof. But soon he was face to face with the Coach, only a few yards from the giant lips.
"Please don't!" Joel squeaked. "Don't-- don't eat me! Please!"
The coach smiled. "What are you going to do to stop me?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he opened his mouth to a gaping cavern and brought Joel closer. Joel felt the soft lips against his naked body. Then the Coach sucked him all the way inside, so that Joel was lying face-down on the wet, coarse surface of the giant's tongue. The sunlight disappeared as the Coach closed his mouth behind Joel. The interior of the Coach's mouth was dark and soft and humid; Joel was covered with the hungry Coach's saliva, and he could hear the low rumble of the Coach's breathing further back in the cavernous mouth.
But Joel was given no time to contemplate his surroundings, because the Coach immediately swallowed him. Joel felt the tongue lift him; and then he felt the smooth surface of the Coach's throat pressing and sliding against every bit of his naked skin as the Coach's throat muscles took over and forced him down, down, down to the huge, nearly-empty belly.
When the tightness of the throat opened up, Joel knew that he had arrived in the Coach's stomach. There was a little air here; Joel managed to sit upright on the floor of the stomach and panted for several moments. It was dark and hot and moist, and the walls of the Coach's stomach were soft to the touch. Joel could hear the rumble of the Coach's breathing from above. Then Joel remembered that he should not be alone here. "Stu?" he asked.
"Is that Joel?" asked Stu's voice.
"Yes," said Joel. Even though he knew Stu could do nothing to get him out of the Coach's stomach, he was glad to have a friend nearby.
"How are we going to get out of here?" asked Stu, hopelessly. Stu still could not believe that the Coach, who had been every player's pal, would suddenly decide to eat them all.
After a long pause, Joel said, "I don't think we're getting back out."
The Coach, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. He picked up boy after boy and swallowed them as carelessly as he might have gobbled cocktail peanuts. He loved the struggle of those hard young bodies in his grasp. He loved the taste of young man on his tongue. And he loved the feeling of swallowing the boys whole and alive; they went down as smoothly and as easily as if he were swallowing an oyster. He could feel a pleasant sensation in his stomach which felt like the tiny boys inside still struggling. Never before had he felt power like this. What a great day this was!
Across the street, Kristoff had just succeeded in getting the computer back up. He was typing furiously, but it was becoming increasingly and painfully obvious to him that while the flesh enlargement program was working more or less properly (other than somehow being inadvertently activated when the Coach was enlarged), the flesh reduction program still had serious bugs which would take much time to resolve. Paul and Bruce looked at him helplessly as boy after boy disappeared into the Coach's mouth.
Although it was not obvious from the outside, it was getting quite crowded inside the Coach's stomach by now. The Coach had eaten nearly the entire football team, and he was starting to feel pleasantly full. He ate the last few boys more slowly, taunting them and playing with them. "You like my big balls?" the Coach asked the boy in his hand, rubbing the boy against the giant ball sac. "You like them? You're gonna help make my balls even bigger, boy!" he said, popping the squirming boy in his mouth and swallowing him at one gulp.
The Coach placed the next boy in his mouth, but did not swallow him right away. He simply used his tongue to force the boy to the back of his mouth, and opened his lips slightly so that the boy could see the way out. After a moment, the Coach could feel the boy crawling forward, trying to escape; it made a kind of tickling sensation on the Coach's huge tongue. But just as the boy stuck his tiny head out from between the lips, the Coach's tongue forced him back to start over again. Several times the Coach allowed the boy to almost escape. But finally the Coach grew tired of this game and simply swallowed the boy down.
Finally, the Coach had eaten the very last boy. He felt wonderfully full, and he slapped his huge belly in satisfaction. The three grad students watched helplessly as the Coach stretched and then strode away. Each step made a tremor like an earthquake, but the tremors grew weaker as the giant grew further away.
The football players in the Coach's dark stomach gradually succumbed to the Coach's digestion, and were absorbed and made into more of the Coach's muscle. Soon the Coach was many miles away, and when he had finally disappeared beyond the horizon, the grad students knew that they were going to have a terrible time getting him back to his right size, even if they could get the reduction program working properly. And in the meantime, what would the Coach do? When he got hungry again, how many more people would he eat?
To be continued?
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