Contraindications Part 1
#1 of Contraindications
Matt sat cross-legged in the doctor's office, waiting for him to return. He felt more nervous than he expected to, his webbed palms sweating. What could take so long to review some simple bloodwork? Finally, the door opened and his primary care physician, as they called her, Dr. Jann, came in. She ruffled through a few papers, all stapled together, with laser-printing on them.
"Hi, Mr. Stafford. Sorry to keep you waiting. But I have good news."
Matt brightened. "Good news?"
"Yep," she said. "Completely normal. You're a healthy young male otter."
He felt his face fall, his small round ears sag. "But. but that's not possible. I mean, my sex drive. And my workouts. I have to be low in testosterone. What other explanation is there?"
Dr. Jann looked at him contemplatively for a moment, then sat down in the chair across from him, leaning forward, her labcoat-clad elbows resting on her knees. "You know, Mr. Stafford, sometimes things like this have a medical cause, but sometimes not. Sometimes it's just the way we're made. As far as I can tell, you're perfectly healthy. Now you say you're weightlifting and you're not making any gains. You might try different programs, you can try increasing your caloric and protein intake, and these things will help some. But you're an ectomorph - you've got the high metabolism most people dream of, but it's going to make it very hard for you to put on the kind of muscle mass that you see on bodybuilders. I don't want to step on your dreams here, but I think that going for a fit and toned body is going to be a more realistic goal for you. This is the body you were given. Learn to work with its strengths and compensate for its weaknesses, but if you try to change it,
you're going to be disappointed. If you like, I can refer you to some physical trainers who can help you with a weight program more tailored to your needs."
As she said this, Matt could feel himself slowly sag in his chair, his narrow shoulders slouching forward. He didn't look at her, turning his eyes down to stare at his webbed paws, folded in his lap. He had been so sure this was the answer, that this was why his year-long efforts in the gym had been useless. And that was one more hope dashed.
"As for your problems with your sex drive, we'll try a prescription of Wellbutrin. It's an antidepressant, but it's been shown to increase sex drive and sensitivity in most people. But if you start getting feelings of anxiety or aggression, I want you to stop taking it immediately, all right?"
He nodded.
"And don't take it with any other prescriptions without checking with me first."
"Yeah, okay."
* * *
Matt drove home, trying to fight the feelings of frustration and disappointment away. He'd always wanted to be big, really big, even huge, ever since he was a pup. He wasn't really sure why; otters weren't supposed to get all huge and bulky, but as a fantasy it persisted and intensified. For a long time he was sure he didn't have the dedication to really get big at the gym, but finally he'd decided to give it a go. He'd shelled out more than he could afford for a good trainer, and more beyond that for a gym membership at the local Gold's, where some of the guys were as wide as he was tall. After a few weeks, he started making big gains in strength, but two months after that,
they tapered off, and he saw little, if any, difference in size. A year later, and he was still stuck at that same plateau. He'd tried different workouts, he'd tried cramming proteins (mainly tuna) down his throat until he was sick of it, he'd tried creatine and taurine and arginine and a whole lot of other shit that ended with -ine. Nothing had helped.
Stetson, his boyfriend was supportive as hell; he dug big guys too; he just didn't want to be one. At nights, he'd whisper in Matt's ear about how hot it would be to get fucked by the big, bulging otter he knew Matt would become. But as the workouts continued to failed, Stetson didn't really know how to handle his frustration and disappointment. He tried to soothe and comfort him and keep him encouraged, but Matt sensed he was getting tired of the effort. He could also tell that he was getting increasingly unhappy with Matt's low sex drive. Matt wasn't looking forward to telling him the bad news, so he was driving a little slow.
He saw the local GNC on the right, and thought, what the hell, pulling into the strip mall. He parked and went inside, where a lone raccoon sat boredly tending the counter, flipping through a magazine that had more beef on the cover than the supermarket had in its entire deli. "Hey," he said, not looking up. He was kind of small for a GNC employee, but still filled out his shirtsleeves decently. Matt felt a pang of envy.
"Hey," he said. He looked up and down the aisles.
He'd been here before for creatine and such, but never any of the more exotic supplements, which he'd been reliably informed time and time again were nothing more than snake oil, scams to bilk gullible meatheads out of their cash. The more expensive supplements were all locked away in a plastic case to keep shoplifters from running off with them.
They all had pictures huge guys on their labels, tigers and bears and bulls with more muscle than any two people combined had a right to, muscle which they certainly hadn't grown using the supplements. The labels were plastered with various ridiculous claims, asterisked to remind the gullible that these claims had not been validated by the FDA. Matt looked up at the selection wistfully, the locked case placed securely above his just under six foot height, then looked over at the clerk. "Any of this stuff for real at all?" he asked wryly, jerking his thumb in the direction of the case.
The raccoon snorted. "Sure, if you like caffeine and placebos. That's pretty much all any of that stuff is. Or amino acids you don't need. You wouldn't believe what people do to market this stuff. Like myostatin - that stuff that tells your muscles when to stop growing? They found there's a chemical compound that can block it, and there's something kind of vaguely similar to it in seaweed. So these companies start selling seaweed pills as myostatin blockers, with the price jacked up fifty times what it actually costs to process it. Take it from a friend, man. There's no replacement for hard work."
Matt nodded. "I figured as much. It's just that hard work hasn't been doin' anything for me either. I'm getting desperate."
The raccoon's mouth quirked wryly to one side. "Truthfully, dude, the only stuff that really works is 'roids, and you don't strike me as the type."
Matt heard himself saying, much to his own surprise, "At this point, I'd try anything."
There was an awkward silence. "Yeah, I'm not a hookup, man. Guys are always coming in here droppin' the hints, and I'm like, okay, dudes. No freakin' way."
The otter felt his face flush and burn hot. He tried to cover for himself. "No, no, I didn't mean that at all; I seriously wasn't asking you about that. Oh god."
"It's all right, man."
The raccoon leaned back on his counter; not focusing on his face, the otter found himself staring at the labelstamped nametag: Terry. The otter's eyes wandered back up to the rounded, grey-furred biceps filling the red shirt, and he sighed again wistfully. "Okay, well, I didn't see anything I needed. I'll be back early next month, I guess."
"Take it easy, dude." The raccoon went back to his magazine as Matt headed out, then said, "Oh, look out for the-"
And then Matt felt himself step in something wet and slide forward, his webbed feet slipping out from beneath him, past the yellow CAUTION - WET FLOOR sign. He grabbed at the nearest thing to stabilize himself, which just happened to be a mop handle, and which did nothing to catch his weight. He slipped to one side instead, his shoulders slamming against the shelves and knocking bottles to the floor as he crashed down. He clutched at the shelf for support, short claws scrabbling, and the whole thing slid forward as he fell, pulling right off the rack. He hit the floor heavily, banging his head against the lower shelf, and for a moment or two, everything went dark.
"Oh shit, oh shit," he heard someone saying. "Dude, are you okay? Dude?"
He opened his eyes and saw a masked pair of eyes staring down at him. His back was wet. His shirt was clinging to his narrow chest. His muzzle was wet too, and his tongue felt heavy and coated. He couldn't quite remember what had happened.
"Oh man, my boss is totally gonna kill me," the raccoon groaned. "Just tell me you're okay."
"I think so," was what Matt tried to say, but it came out as "Aggh," as clumped powder in his muzzle slipped to the back of his throat. It felt caked and thick. He tried to swallow, but it stuck, and then he couldn't breathe. He gagged.
"Shit," said the raccoon and dashed away. Matt clawed at his tongue - it tasted bitter, and whatever was on his fingers stung a little. He still couldn't breathe, and was starting to panic. Then the raccoon was back and opening a bottle. "Here, dude, drink this." He put something in Matt's paw, and Matt chugged it back, forgetting that he was lying down, some kind of cold liquid splashing over his face, but a good bit got in his muzzle and he felt the caked powder dissolving. He tipped the bottle more gently, trying to fight back the panic, and washed the powders down his throat, feeling a thick wad of gelcaps bulge in his esophagus as they got washed down too. He gave a quick gasp for breath, swallowed again and again, quickly draining the bottle, and started coughing. Terry helped him to sit up as he coughed; he noticed the bottle was a grape-flavored postworkout protein drink that he'd had before and avoided since because it tasted so awful.
"Oh crap," he finally managed. "What happened? I think I fell."
"You did," Terry said. He still looked wide-eyed and panicked. "When you grabbed the shelf, the whole thing collapsed. Please, man, tell me you're not gonna sue us. For god's sake, please. I'm in enough trouble already with the loss of product."
Matt shook his head. "No, I'm not gonna sue, don't worry. People fall. Shit happens." He looked down at the mess he was sitting in; a mixture of clear and orangish yellow liquids, and caking powders sprinkled with a variety of different gel caps. "What product?"
Terry gave a faint groan. "It's all the good stuff, man. Top of the line shit."
Matt frowned, still feeling confused; he hoped he didn't have a concussion. "I thought you kept that stuff locked up in the case."
The raccoon made a rueful face. "Only the stuff for display, you know, so people don't steal it. We put the spares on the upper shelves behind everything." He stood up, reaching out to help Matt up, and very deliberately leading him away from the spill. "That's gotta be like six hundred dollars of spilled product." Then he turned a concerned face toward the otter. "The shelves crushed everything open. A lot of it went in your mouth. I don't think there was anything dangerous in there, but legally, I should probably advise you to contact poison control or somethin', dude."
Matt shook his head. "I don't think I swallowed that much. Really, I'll be fine, okay?"
Terry shrugged as if to say he tried. "Your choice, dude."
* * *
When Matt got in the door, he was really ready for a shower. The stuff that spilled was solidifying like cement into his fur. He groaned as he walked in, grateful for the cool air of the airconditioning. A white-furred rabbit looked up from the couch. "Hey th-holy shit, what happened to you?"
Matt rubbed his head. "Short answer is I fell."
"Are you okay?" Stetson asked. He hopped up from the couch, wearing only a pair of boxer-briefs, his lean, slightly rounded abs flexing under his fur in that way that always gave Matt a twnge of jealousy. Stetson was slightly built without even trying, probably something in his rabbit genes. He had the typical club body, solid arms and shoulders, a decent chest, and thick lapine legs, slightly buff without being beefy. And he didn't work out for it at all. He came around the furniture and gave Matt a careful kiss on the muzzle.
"Yeah, I'm fine, I just gotta clean up. Doctor said I'm fine, btw. All the hormones are normal."
"Oh." Stetson paused. "Well that's good, right? Good to know you're healthy and everything's workin' right."
That was Stetson, always trying to put the bright side on everything. Most of the time it was nice, but sometimes it was irritating. Sometimes Matt just wanted a little sympathy.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I guess. Doctor gave me a prescription anyway, said it might help my sex drive."
Predictably, the rabbit's expression brightened. He'd always been somewhat insatiable, and Matt felt guilty that he had never been all that interested in sex. Maybe this would help things a little after all. "I can't wait to find out," Stetson breathed excitedly. "You're gonna take it tonight, right?"
"Yep, just as soon as I get cleaned up." He gave the rabbit a powdery kiss back and headed to the bedroom. He set his prescription on the counter, and showered off, taking a long and steamy one, letting the hot water dissolve all the supplements, some of which he guessed had been cut with flour and glucose, out of his tan fur. It clumped in the drain, and he stepped on it with webbed feet to push it down. God, what an awful day.
Being an otter, drying off didn't take long, and soon he was standing in front of the mirror, staring at himself. He was so damned lean, barely a bulge anywhere, his flat chest scarcely rounded at all, thin arms like sticks, ribs showing at his sides. He sighed, feeling that familiar sense of self-loathing. Nothing to be proud of there. Even his sheath and balls were undersized - not childish or practical joke small, but definitely below average. An erection barely filled his webbed paw. He grimaced, and looked at the rather large bottle of Wellbutrin. Dosage, 1 per day. He took out one of the pale blue pills and looked at the small round thing sitting in his palm. His sex drive was pretty low. He was pretty sure Stetson would be goin' two to three times a day if possible; as far as he knew, the rabbit did. The low sex drive meant they had an open relationship. They were allowed to get it on with other people on a regular basis if they wanted. Matt never did, but he was pretty sure Stetson was blowing off steam multiple times a week. It was okay. It had never been any kind of problem with them, and if the ability to get his rocks off meant the rabbit stayed with him, Matt sure as hell didn't begrudge him that liberty.
He paused a moment, then took a second pale blue pill from the bottle, cupped it in his palm, and gulped them both down, washing them down his throat with a glass of water from the sink.
* * *
In the middle of the night, Matt's eyes snapped open. The room was dark, but he could see okay. He felt slightly euphoric, a faint but persistent buzz making him seem to float under the covers. The light contact of the sheets against his short fur felt good, and suddenly, to his surprise, he felt himself going hard. This wasn't entirely unusual; he periodically woke up during the night with wood, but this time he felt really aroused, his loins burning with need. He looked to his right; Stetson was asleep with the sheets wrapped tightly around him, a faint but cute snore coming from his mouth.
Matt didn't want to wake him. He slipped out of the covers, suddenly feeling very awake, his cock almost painfully hard against his boxers. It must be the Wellbutrin, he thought. Holy shit, that stuff really works. Quietly he made his way back to the bathroom and stood in it with the lights off. He unhooked his boxers from around his erection, and curled his webbed fingers around the shaft, feeling its familiar length fill his paw, and gave it a few squeezes.
Electric pleasure shot up its length, rooting itself in his balls. He gasped in shock, toppling forward, barely managing to catch his weight on the bathroom counter. He squeezed at his cock again; it was unusually hot, harder than he'd ever felt it, and another wave of intense pleasure shot through him, and then all of a sudden he was cumming, the spurts of his seed spattering against the doors of the sink cabinet in a few quick bursts. His knees almost buckled beneath him, and he cried out once, then gasped for breath, feeling his balls draw up. Then a strange feeling rushed through him. As his cock pulsed in his paw, he felt every muscle in his body tensing hard, flexing, making his back arch, and each time it flexed a little harder than before. It felt like it should have been painful, but coupled with his orgasm, it felt oddly pleasurable. His hand gripped the counter hard as he gasped, trying to stifle himself so he didn't wake Stetson, but then it was over. Panting more from surprise than anything else, he grabbed the still-damp washcloth from the shower and cleaned off the cabinet and the floor where his cum had dripped down. It looked like he had blown a full tablespoon of seed, and he had trouble collecting it all in the washcloth, but he got the area clean, rinsed out the cloth, hung it in the shower, and then tugged up his boxers over his still slightly hard shaft and headed back to bed.
He woke dimly, faintly, not completely aware, as he nestled up against his soft, warm rabbit, slipping one arm over him. He felt really good. His cock was hard again, and had worked its way through the hole in his boxers. He wriggled closer to Stetson, feeling the achingly hard tip nestle up between the bunny's rounded, soft-furred rump. A low growl came from his throat, surprising him. He knew it wasn't too early, dimly aware of the morning light on his eyelids. Stetson stirred in his arms. His hand slid down toward the rabbit's hips, pulling back against him, and the skin of his tip pulled as it pressed up against the pucker under the spade tail.
"Matt?" the rabbit murmured blearily, but the otter just gave him another soft growl in return. He flexed his cock, and felt sudden warm wetness against the flesh at his tip. So this was what it felt like to make pre. He wriggled his hips, feeling a surprising amount of slipperiness. Maybe that would be enough. He gave a little push, and the rabbit gasped, now aware of what was going on, aware enough to be into it, not to stop it. Matt reached forward from the hips a little and felt Stetson's prodigious length, already erect. He wrapped his fingers around it, sliding it up the good ten inches his boyfriend had been endowed with. Stetson gave a low moan and then pushed back suddenly; there was an explosion of heat around Matt's tip as he felt himself sink into his boyfriend, and he heard himself cry out at the incredible pleasure. He didn't get long to enjoy it. Of its own accord his cock flexed once,
twice, then exploded cum into the bunny's ass, making Matt cry out again, his paw clutching at Stetson's side, his slender body arching with the pleasure. He came again, and again, and then that feeling from last night came over him again, every muscle in his body tensing hard, then harder, then harder, his arm squeezing involuntarily at Stetson as he groaned with the pleasure. His cock was only half-buried inside his mate, but suddenly there was the strange feeling of it sinking in a little deeper, maybe a half-inch or so, burrowing its way into that tight ecstasy.
Finally Matt relaxed, panting, leaning back as his still-hard shaft slipped slowly from its passage. He let his hands rest on his belly as he waited for himself to go soft, waited for the buzz to fade from his mind.
Next to him, Stetson leaned up on one elbow. "Well," he said. "That was a surprise. Guess that prescription you got works after all, huh?"
"Uh huh." Matt stared upward, and nodded wordlessly, still amazed.
The rabbit chuckled, stroking a fuzzy paw down Matt's chest and side. "Well, that was unexpected and wonderful, love, but maybe next time a little lube, hmm?"
Matt nodded again. "Sure thing."
The rabbit patted his side and stood up, looking down at him. "Hey, you know, I know you're disappointed about what that doctor said, but I think you're underestimating yourself. The gym is definitely working for you."
The otter sat up, bracing himself on one elbow. "What?"
"I'm just sayin', I can see a difference, that's all." Stetson winked at him and headed into the bathroom.
A difference? Really? Matt got up out of bed and looked in the closet mirror. He felt his jaw go slack. He was bigger.