Finn'n'Fat

Finn was always bigger than all the kids of his age and always wanted to be a professional WWF wrestler. When he reached puberty, after an initial growth spurt for a year, however, his growth slowed and his peers partly closed the gap. He worked the weights hard, eating his family almost out of house and home, but still didn't make the progress he had hoped for. Pinned to his bedroom wall were pictures of sumo wrestlers, his ideal look. One problem was though that the more he bulked up the more his penis seemed to shrink. This lost him his buxom girlfriend Tina and Finn had to resort to the fat finger and thumb of his fat hands.

Finn worked hard at his sport, starting through Graeco-Roman wrestling, being the star wrestler of school and college. Free of Tina he got plenty of pussy but no lasting relationship. He had a fetish about short overly buxom girls dominated by his huge presence and there were many big girls out there who wanted to be crushed by a giant to get their jollies off, even if it took time to find his weeny wiener.

Finn went pro in WWE and worked his way up the weights, earning promoters' and box office attention though his bouts but felt he needed that extra push to get into the super heavyweights. He had the basic build but he couldn't assume the bulk. He wouldn't be deflected from his ambition to be the biggest so he consumed protein supplements, increased his weight training but still couldn't qualify for the class in which he wanted to compete. Secretly he even tried steroids. He was desperate.

He was told by his General Practitioner and the specialist consultants he was referred to that it wasn't his fault, no matter what he did, it was constricted by his genes.

Then he discovered Gene Therapy on the internet. The technique was experimental, leading edge microbiology and impossibly expensive. It wasn't available on the NHS and his GP didn't recommend it. Finn's wrestling ambition overcame his apprehension so he cashed his savings and signed up with the Harley Street clinic.

He submitted his application form online. Quite a thing for his fat fingers to deal with, but he didn't want family or friends to know what he was considering. He waited his turn and during the consultation he was assured the technology of gene manipulation would work. On the subject of his penis size, he was assured that could be manipulated so it would change in proportion to the changes in his body and they could even give that element of his DNA a bit of a tweak. Finn eagerly undertook the course of gene treatment.

He looked forward to increasing his box office potential, having his pick of WWF wrestler groupies with a preference for the biggest WWF wrestlers, and he'd be one mother-fucking wrestler with a big dick to boot.

He enthusiastically kept up the exercise regimen and tried to maintain his protein intake but he rapidly lost appetite and weight. He started losing heavyweight bouts and had to drop down to featherweight. The WWE pussy at his dressing room door evaporated. His knob disappeared from view so entirely he had to sit down to pee. It was so frustrating.

He checked his physique in the mirror. Finn felt thinner by the hour. He was shrinking, too; to see his reflection in his shaving mirror he had to stand on a box. He could hold on no longer, Finn called the Harley Street clinic but the line was dead. A search online revealed that the clinic had gone into receivership and out of business with no buyers.

Finn consulted his GP, who immediately sent him to the hospital. Their prognosis was not good. There appeared to be little they could do for him, due to the irreversible changes to his genes, the calcium was leaching from his bones. Finn was encouraged to drink dairy milk, lots of it, but all he fancied was a little cheese to nibble.

The Nurse checked his medical records while Finn, failing fast, with his weeping family and ex-girlfriend Tina by his hospital bed, underwent the Last Rites.

"Doctor, the patient appears to have volunteered for some quack gene therapy procedure and I think he filled in his online form using predictive text," the Nurse whispered.

"Why?" asked the doctor.

"It states here that he wanted to be 'As big as a mouse'."