“Wishful Thinking”
by The Dove

Werewolf Muscle Growth Story

“I swear, if I see one more freaking algebra problem, I’m gonna hurl!”

Later, the person grows excessive body hair and becomes feral with huge glowing yellow or green eyes and fangs, then in minutes, the werewolf will become a wolf. A werewolf returns to their human form by the touch of sunlight. After the first transformation, the werewolf will experience muscle aches. Muscle Growth Bulge Growth If you like stories like this and wish to support or maybe just tip me, check out my Patreon here!

You could say Sam Baxter was agitated. Well, maybe agitated wasn’t quite as strong a word for what he was feeling. He was nothing short of busting a gasket at the thought of yet another homework problem that took more than one hour to do. Just for a single problem! His algebra teacher was one sadistic individual. I mean, seriously, like, who was even going to need to know how to find “x” or solve for “y? Who used that stuff anyway? Only the people who actually taught the stuff, that’s who!

These were all thoughts Sam was thinking as he barreled down the country roads of his small hometown, the sharp chunks of rock and gravel sliding and spinning before flying out like shrapnel underneath the heavy-duty tires of his pickup truck. Sam was finishing up his junior year at the local high school and all his friends could definitely say he wanted to be done with it all and move on, outside of this rustic dump of a town. He had aspirations for college, of degrees and diplomas, and an actual career that didn’t involve him working as a busboy at the local diner. More than anything, he wanted to be in an academic setting where his creativity and outgoing nature was rewarded, not smack dab in the middle of some sort of staged reality popularity show where every action was judged by its own merit in relation to popularity and other frivolous social statuses. Sam loved school, but at the same time hated how he had to get from one academic setting to another. It was, unfortunately, a means to an end, even though it was part of merely growing up.

Even though he was faced with these realizations, Sam still managed to excel in his creativity and drive for higher thinking. All the teachers knew it too. Only so many people could discern such abstract ways of dealing with the complex, multi-ended and often controversial topics in debate class or even alternate solutions to the semester’s most perplexing calculator-crunchers in algebra, regardless of the level of insanity the instructor exhibited. The teachers knew him by name and were never afraid to say hello to the dirty blond-haired boy, his hair cut down and short with spiking in the front, his perky blue eyes always eliciting a greeting whenever they crossed gazes with a faculty member in the hallway. Sam was always a little embarrassed to engage in much contact with them at the thought of being made into a so-called “teachers’ pet” and the laughing stock of his baseball team. Even though Sam was fed up with the status quo of the school life, he couldn’t help but play by the rules of the book. Sam, though, in his own mind, would write his own book before he was through with it all.

“That Baxter boy is going places”. “He really applies himself when he isn’t stressed over his extracurriculars”. ‘He takes on so many tasks at once, let alone his baseball investments. I don’t know how he manages!” “He is one of the mot hardworking young men I know”. He was in my class last semester; what a creative gem that boy was!”

Such were the forms of praise that Sam heard from his teachers and advisors. Indeed, Sam was a hardworking young man with a rich extracurricular foundation to boot. He was active on the high school baseball team and even served as an officer at the school’s honor society. This semester, though, Sam was just stressed. He wanted to be done with his junior status and ride that senior wave of accomplishment all the way to graduation day. More than anything in the present moment, Sam just wanted a distraction. If he could, he’d stop time and relish in the majesty of his own solace; his own schedule and freedom to do whatever the heck he wanted. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. Sam may not be able to stop time but little did young Sam know, his world was going to change. Very, very soon.

It was a beautiful and windy spring afternoon as Sam pulled into the gravel driveway of his home. The house wasn’t anything too special he had to admit but it did have a nice country charm to it. It was odd seeing such a suburban-looking house back in a country pastoral setting such as this. Sam and his family lived back deep in the woods of their town along the boundary of the county line. They didn’t have much property to their own, just the house, a shed with a motorized garage door that was installed by his father, and the well hidden under a fake rock you see at home and garden stores. Sam indeed missed being able to hang out with all his old friends back in the city but the country had a special blend of comfort to it. He didn’t have to hear the hustle and bustle of the cars, the shouting expletives of angry drivers, and the angry couple who lived in the upstairs apartment of 94B. Ever since Sam’s parents found new vocational duties in the country, the family was able to actually purchase a house and enjoy their own solitude without the constant reminder of monthly rent and rowdy, unkempt neighbors.

Sam and his father (sometimes his mother would join along too if she wasn’t busy pet-sitting at the neighbor’s residence down the street) would take a long walk together down into the dense forest behind their home. A short ten-minute walk back into their woods and across the edge of the pastureland of the neighboring farming family led them into the large and vast hunting reserve in the backwoods of the county. It used to be a timber-harvest location for an urban lumber company. Ever since the company foreclosed, the owners purchased the now-cheap property and turned the vacant land into a seasonal hunting location before selling it back to the county. His father oftentimes told him about the beautiful waterfall that remained on the property; completely untouched and undisturbed by the former property owner. If one listened carefully as they crossed the pasture, they could hear the rapids tumbling over the rocks far off into the reserve. His father promised to take him when his job settled down, but alas, his work duties always seemed to be at the forefront of his agenda.

Opening up the garage with the electronic key hanging above his visor, Sam parked his truck, leaned back in his seat and rubbed his forehead.

“School, friends, baseball, graduation plans, college applications. I wish it could all just, I don’t know, disappear for a while.”

Sam looked out the glass window of the garage and into the deep expanse of the forest. A large spider was busy crafting a web in the corner pane of the garage window. Dust and soot from the rafters of the garage were filtering down and settling onto the fine fibers of the silken web. Sam sighed.

“Nature always seems to find a way to move on, doesn’t it? It’s resilient and unwavering. I suppose I have to as well. Anything to get out of this school.”

Taking a deep breath, Sam stepped out of the driver seat of the truck, grabbing his backpack before slinging it over his shoulder. Sam opened the backseat passenger door and grabbed his large duffel bag of baseball gear and cleats. It had been a long day at practice and Sam’s track shorts and sports t-shirt were still somewhat saturated with his sweat. Sam couldn’t help thinking about how nice a snack and a nap would be after a day at school. He could work on homework in the evening after the family ate dinner. Right now he just wanted to let his mind rest and wander. As he started down the gravel driveway, he suddenly stopped.

“Oh, crap!” Sam exclaimed as his eyes widened in realization at what day it was.

The first of the month. Yep, it was that day again. The day when Mr. and Mrs. Baxter went down to the city to do their work-related errands. They tended to not get home until around midnight, by which that time young Sam had already nestled in for bed in order to get started with his early school-day the following morning.

“Guess I’m cooking my own grub tonight,” He thought to himself as he gripped the felt handle of his duffle bag in frustration.

Step by step Sam walked up towards his house, setting down his heavy load before turning his house key in the door. The door swung open into the modern furnished living room as a pair of paws came barreling down from upstairs. A wiry

Werewolf Muscle Growth