Live From New York

Live from New York

Standing in line to board your flight, you basked in the feeling of possibility. From here on out, anything could happen. After years of working minimum wage at Dairy Queen, you had finally saved enough money to move to New York City. You loved your small town in Iowa, but there was something magical about the Big Apple. There, you could start over and be somebody new. After high school, you wanted to go to college. Some prestigious university would've been your dream, like Harvard, Yale, or Fordham. You had the grades, but you couldn't afford to pay tuition. So you stayed. Luckily, the DQ was hiring, and you got decent pay. By no means were you living large, but you got by. Now, with enough money saved up, you bought a one-way ticket from Des Moines to JFK. You had reached out to a friend living in the city, and they agreed to let you stay with them for a little bit until you found a job and your own place. Armed with just your backpack filled with a couple hundred bucks, some clothes, and a dream, you boarded the flight.

Once you landed in Queens, you desperately navigated the terminal, trying to find your way to the E train into Manhattan. Finding the station, you waited patiently for the subway to arrive. Turning your backpack onto your stomach, you pulled it tightly into your torso. Everything you owned was in that bag, you couldn't bear to lose it. The roar of the approaching train filled your ears, and it skidded to a stop in front of you. The doors opened, and you found the car absolutely packed. You had never seen so many people in one place all at once. Forcing your way into the car, and finding a place to stand near the opposite door, you kept a close eye on the screen, waiting until the 5th Avenue and 53rd Street stop appeared. Then, as the subway stopped and the doors opened, you clutched your backpack and stepped onto the platform.

Exiting the station, you were engulfed by the sounds and sights of Midtown. Your friend lived in a small one-bedroom near 50th and 6th, right in the center of everything. Walking around, you found yourself enamored with the tall buildings and the busy people walking extremely fast. The route you were taking to your friend's apartment took you right past Rockefeller Plaza. Being the tourist you were, as soon as you passed the sign for NBC studios, you decided to pull your phone out of your backpack. Reaching in and then throwing your backpack over your shoulder, you looked up at the words. Growing up, you had seen this marquis on television, and now it was really here. Lifting up your camera, you snapped a photo.

Just as the shutter clicked, a man ran up from behind you and snatched your bag. "Hey!" you screamed. Without stopping, they continued to sprint and turned the corner before you even thought to run after them. Shit. Now what? Looking at the doors of the studio, you figured that they must have security cameras. They could help you. I mean, after all, everything you owned was in that bag. Stepping through the glass doors, you were astounded by the vast ceilings and smooth architecture. You were definitely in the big city.

Approaching the desk, before you could even open your mouth, the attendant looked up at you and gasped. "Sir, you're late, we need to get you upstairs now!" Before you even had the chance to respond, you were whisked away, being led towards an elevator. Shoving you into an elevator, the attendant mashed the button that said "8H." Looking dumbfounded, you opened your mouth to speak, but just as you did the doors shut and you began to ascend into the building.

This was weird, but hey, you had nothing else to lose. It's not like you were breaking in, you were put here. Once you got off the elevator, you would explain exactly what happened, and they would help you find security to figure out how to get your backpack back. As the elevator doors opened and you opened your mouth to speak, two female stylists rushed in and began ushering you through the hallways. The taller one began chastising you for running late as usual, without letting you get a word in. Giving up, you let them guide you into a dressing room. There, you were shoved into a seat. Finally, with the hustle and bustle finished, you finally had a chance to speak. "What's happening?" You managed to finally ask. The stylists looked at each other amused. Without saying a word, they reached towards your body and ripped off your clothes, leaving you nude apart from your underwear.

"Hey! What was that for?" You screamed at the pair. The shorter one explained. "We don't have time to take them off, Sir. Now hold still." The tall one pulled a white jar out of her bag, and the two began applying some sort of cream all over your chest. As the cream made contact with your skin, it began to heat up. As it did, firm muscles began pushing their way from your torso. Thick pecs formed a shelf and dark hair spread its way across them. The stylists massaged the cream into your arms, which flexed with new strength and were covered in that same hair. Your hands cracked as they grew large and manly. You were left with a thick beefy upper body.

The stylists massaged the cream into your feet, which grew and expanded, dark hairs emerging from the tops. After applying the cream to your calves, they stretched and ballooned as well. Your thighs were next, the short one was intensely working her hands around your thighs and shoved her hands under where you were seated. The cream made your legs thick and hairy, and your ass lifted you upwards on the chair. The short one continued to massage your thighs as the tall one applied the cream to your face. Your teeth whitened and your jawline sharpened. Your eyes lightened to a piercing blue. The tall one massaged your scalp, as your hair thickened and became immaculately styled, your head felt fuzzy. You remembered attending Harvard? No, you could never afford that. You were from rural Iowa. The shorter stylist lifted her hands from your thighs and pulled down your underwear, revealing your cock. Reapplying more cream to her palms, she began to massage your cock. Your head felt even fuzzier as the pleasure built up. You weren't from Iowa, you were from Staten Island. Your dick grew longer with each tug. You were married, and your wife loved your amazing body. The pleasure built up even more. Shit, everyone loved your amazing body. With one final tug, your thick cock shot out ropes of cum, and with it, every memory you had of your previous life. You lived in New York now.

The shorter stylist pulled out a towel and began to wipe your thick and muscled body clean, as the taller one grabbed your tailored suit off of the hanger. Standing up, you lifted your thick legs as the stylists pulled your pants on. You lifted your thick arms outward, exposing your forested armpits, as your dress shirt was brought onto your body. The two stylists buttoned you up. Lifting your arms again, you felt the fancy jacket pulled over you. Sitting down again, you were handed your tie. As you tied, the shorter stylist lifted your large feet into dress socks and placed them in your shoes. Once you finished tying your tie, you stood up, and without acknowledging the two women, you turned towards the door and began walking through the halls. You knew exactly where you were headed. As you reached the backstage area, a man placed your mic on your jacket. Finding your seat, you heard the intro music play. This was your job. The audience was applauding for you. You read your cue card.

"Welcome to Weekend Update, I'm Colin Jost."

Call Me By My Name: Timothée

You were sick and tired of always being pushed around. Your last relationship ended because they told you would never amount to anything. They had moved out of your apartment leaving you alone for the first time in many years. As much as you tried not to stew in your own sadness, you couldn't help but find yourself isolating in your empty home, trying to distract yourself with the reliable social media rabbit hole. You sat on your bed, scrolling through Facebook, until you saw an interesting ad.

"Become A Star"

The words in bold font permeated your mind. You had just ended a three year relationship. Your minimum-wage job in the office had good benefits, but it didn't seem like a permanent position. The idea of being a celebrity always did appeal to you: never having to try. You could sit around and maybe sing a song, film a movie, or take a picture every now and again. Seemed easy enough. You wished you had that easy life. No worries about money. People throwing themselves at you. You wanted that. Badly.

You clicked on the strange ad and your browser exited Facebook and opened a new tab. Suddenly, all your other windows and tabs were shut, leaving only the new tab. "Hey!" You yelled as you had some work documents unsaved. You tried to click away from the tab, which was still loading, only to find that your mouse would not move. Heading to the power button on your laptop, you reached to press it until the page loaded with just a text bar.

Annoyed that you had lost progress on your work, but still intrigued by this strange website you looked at this text bar. There was no context surrounding it. It was a black page with a white text bar. You remembered the ad: "Become A Star"

You took a deep breath and typed in the star that you most wanted to become.

Timothée Chalamet

Hesitating for a moment, you pressed enter. Nothing happened. Your computer shut off. Now you were angrier that the tab had closed, rather than the fact that it had opened in the first place. Slowly, you allowed yourself to rise from your bed, but as you stoop up, you became extremely light-headed. Stumbling about, you tried to place yourself back onto your bed, but missed and landed directly onto the floor, smashing your tailbone in the process. As you winced from the pain, a new feeling began to arise: pleasure.

You felt an orgasmic writhing from your toes. They began to stretch and elongate, each crack and pop sending waves off pleasure through your body. Curly black hairs began to carve their way across the top of your foot and onto the tops of your toes, as the pleasure became overwhelming. You laid down on the floor, your erection throbbing in your pants. As you continued to squirm from the pleasure, you lifted your head between gasps, to see that your new feet were donning grey Nikes. and some tube socks. You squished your new feet in the shoes, the socks were sweaty, feeling damp and moist. But you liked the feeling.

Your legs began to sprout, thin, yet dark curly hairs. Your calves toned, while your thighs thinned, leaving both halves with similar masses. The hairs began to weave their way up, encircling your crotch. Your shorts began to lighten and grew longer, becoming a pair of pink pants, almost reaching your smelly socks and shoes.

Your arms, too, lengthened, with your fingers becoming thin and almost dainty. Your biceps flexed with a new, strange power, as you felt the hair work its way into your armpits. Slowly, but surely, your armpits became a forest of curly, wet, dark hair. Your chest narrowed, and your stomach flattened, leaving your torso a sort of plank-like shape.

The pleasure grew as you felt your jaw clench. Your chin narrowed and your jawline grew defined. Thin, wispy hairs sprouted above your lip as your nose thinned. Your eyebrows darkened and thickened, weighing on your eyes, which were forced to close, only to reopen an intense green color. A tickling feeling began at the back of your neck as your hair began to darken and grow out into intense curls, framing your new face. You reached for a shirt, hoping that whatever was happening was over.

Just as you pulled a grey t-shirt over your thinned body, the orgasmic waves grew stronger and began to originate from your erection. You keeled over from the pleasure. You looked down at your pinked pants and saw your bulge growing and growing with each pulse. Each wave felt like it was pushing your penis further and further away from your body. Underneath, your pubic hair began to sprout thicker and thicker, weaving its way back into your crack. After what seemed like an eternity, one final wave pushed you over the edge, and you came into your pants, leaving a dark, sticky, wet mark. The pleasure was intense. You had never experienced anything like this before.

Still reeling, and still light-headed, now from the pleasure, you sat up.

The website had worked. You were now Timothée Chalamet. Now you were a celebrity. Now you didn't have to try for anything. The world would be handed to you because you were talented, attractive, and charming as hell. Overjoyed, you went to take a shower in your new body. As you undressed, you enjoyed the feeling of your thin body against the fabric. You slowly pulled your sticky pants down, with new waves of pleasure erupting as you felt it rub against your perky ass. You needed a moment to breathe; as amazing as that orgasm was, you need to focus now. Slowly, you resumed pulling off your now sweat-filled shirt. Fully nude, you walked towards the shower, ready to clean off.

As you showered, you ran your hands through your curled hair. You traced your jawline; felt the sharpness. You began to lather up with soap, and as you rubbed your butt, you began to feel a little curious. Slowly, you reached towards the hole, but as you crept closer, the pleasure began to hit you, and your new, bigger penis began to engorge itself once again. "God, he's always horny. I need to be careful of this." You thought to yourself. But that was a later issue. The shower was private time. You continued to play around with your new hole with one hand as the other fondled your penis. God, it felt amazing. This is the life of a celebrity; nothing but pleasure. Your strokes began to speed up as you felt yourself nearing another orgasm. As you finished, you couldn't believe that this was your new life.

Stepping out of the shower, you threw on the first things you could find in your closet that would fit. Ready, and impatient to start your new life, you stepped outside of your home. After walking on the street for only a few minutes, you heard the first scream from behind you: "Oh my god! It's Timothée Chalamet!" As you turned around to look at your fan, you began to crack a smile, knowing that this was going to be such a good life.

Stitches

Max had been searching for a guitar for what felt like forever. He had moved to the big city straight out of college, hoping to find work, but fell in love with music instead. Thus, he was one of the thousands of struggling musicians, working odd jobs to make ends meet, and he dreamed of the day when he could finally afford to buy a guitar of his own. He scoured thrift stores, garage sales, and online marketplaces, but he could never seem to find the right one.

One day, Max was walking home from work when he stumbled upon a thrift store he had never seen before. He decided to pop in, just to see what they had, and that's when he saw it - the most beautiful guitar he had ever seen. It was love at first sight. Max approached the guitar and couldn't believe his luck. It was in excellent condition, and it was priced well within his budget. He felt like it was meant to be.

Max eagerly took the guitar back to his small apartment, and as he walked through the door, he felt his excitement reach new heights. He had always dreamed of owning a guitar of his own, and now, finally, that dream was within reach. He carefully placed the guitar on the floor of his apartment and sat down beside it. Picking it up and holding it to his torso, he got ready to play his favorite song: Stitches. He eagerly began strumming the first chord.

The vibrations of the guitar seemed to echo throughout his body, rippling and causing his body to pulsate. Max closed his eyes; the sounds of the music that he was making felt so good that he was overcome with pleasure. As Max played each chord, his body changed. The first chord caused his muscles to grow, and he felt his biceps bulge as they expanded. His arms became thicker and stronger, his veins popping out from under his skin. The second chord caused his chest to expand, and he felt his pecs become defined. His chest became wider, and his nipples grew larger. The third chord caused his legs to grow, and he felt his quads bulge as they expanded. His legs became thicker and stronger, his calf muscles rippling with each movement. The fourth chord caused his back to broaden, and he felt his lats become defined. His back became wider, and his shoulder blades grew larger.

His face became chiseled and defined, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His eyes became deeper set, and his eyebrows grew thicker. Opening his eyes and looking through his new curls, he peered down at his body. His body was covered in hair, and his clothes were tattered on the floor beside him. He had grown too large for them.

Max was in awe of his transformation. He had never felt so powerful, so strong, and so confident. He continued to play the guitar, and with each chord, he felt the magic of the instrument coursing through his veins. Max had become Shawn Mendes, the famous musician, and he was ready to take on the world.

An Error Code

Something happened.

My boyfriend Henry and I were playing FIFA on my PS4. We were messing around with creating our own players. There was something so invigorating about making some hot guy play sports for you. They could look however you wanted. Henry made a player who looked like some muscle oaf: beefy, covered in body hair, with some stupid goatee. My player had less body hair, and a sculpted beard, but was still well-muscled. They both were quite hot, to be honest, and looking over at Henry, I noticed that he was chubbing up looking at them. After we had both made our characters, we loaded them into the roster and started the game.

But the game didn’t start. It crashed leaving an error code on that familiar blue screen:

AN ERROR HAS OCCURRED IN THE APPLICATION: CUSTOM CONTENT NOT FOUND, RELOADING PLAYERS

We were left staring at this blue screen and strange error code. Neither of us had seen anything like it. The game began to automatically reboot. I turned to Henry to ask what was wrong with the console but instead saw a large beefy man in his place. His large hairy legs splayed wide on the couch, revealing his thick cock straining against his blue underpants. His hairy chest showed tufts of hair stemming from his neckline and coming from the armholes, which led to his massive muscular arms with thick armpit hair. His bearded face remained fixated on the screen. Looking down at myself, I saw large thick legs leading to a massive bulge in my grey underwear. Scratching my face, I could feel my well-groomed beard. My hand lowered to my giant bulge, rubbing it and moaning with my new deep voice as the game continued to load. The smell of our odor was intoxicating. The sweet, tangy scent of man permeated my nostrils. My dick swelled even further.

I heard the game begin. I pulled my hand off of my massive crotch and grabbed the controller, looking up at the screen through my glasses. It was crazy that Henry and I could make players who looked exactly like us. Seeing my beefy boyfriend's body on the screen running around and getting all sweaty made my dick swell again.

Once I kicked his beefy ass in the game, I knew what I was going to do with that ass right afterward.

Wacked Out

It was late August, and you were finally on campus for your freshman year at Vanderbilt University. You had studied super hard all throughout high school, ending up with a 3.9 GPA and a 1580 SAT (almost perfect). However, since you had spent all of your time studying and doing class work and homework, you never had the opportunity to live a normal, teenage life. Now that you were already at this prestigious school, you were going to let yourself take a break and work on yourself, not just focus on school.

Your first stop was the gym. Growing up, you were always smaller than everyone else. Rather than playing sports and running around the playground, you stayed off to the side, reading and learning. That habit stuck throughout high school, but now you were ready to change that.

Shoving whatever loose gym shorts and t-shirt you had into your backpack, you left your dorm room and began the short walk across campus to the gym. The weather was still summery, and you began to break into a sweat almost immediately as you stepped into the hot sun. Luckily it was not a long walk, and you soon approached the athletic center. As you were about to key into the building, you noticed something in the corner of your eye. Turning, you saw a dark green Under Armour compression shirt. Maybe it fell out of someone's bag? Picking it up, and holding it away from your body, you thought it was around your size. Bringing it to your nose, it smelled vaguely of body odor around the arms, but it wasn't something that a simple run in the washing machine wouldn't fix. Shrugging, you decided to put the shirt in your bag and keep it as your workout shirt. Anything beat your regular t-shirt.

Stepping into the locker room, you found an open locker and placed your backpack into it. Unzipping the large pocket, you pulled out the shirt. Sniffing it one more time, it definitely smelled of body odor. You wanted to pull away, but something about it was so entrancing. Without thinking you ripped your t-shirt over your head and chucked it to the ground beside you. Holding up the smelly shirt to your nose, you felt your dick stir in your pants. Grinning, you shoved your scrawny arms into the shirt and lifted it over your head. The smell of sweat and musk filled your nose as you pulled your head into the neck hole, leaving you intoxicated with the scent. With the shirt firmly over your slim chest, you felt a pumping in your chest as your pectorals filled the compression shirt, stretching it in the front. Still reeling from the smell, you rubbed your hands lazily over your stomach, feeling washboard abs appear out of thin air. As you rubbed, you lifted your hand back to your pecs, tweaking your new sensitive nipples. A moan escaped your lips as your fingers and hands thickened, squeezing each nipple harder. Your arms and forearms thickened, leaving the sleeves of your new shirt stretched to the limits. Your thighs expanded, stretching your gym shorts. Your calves thickened as well, with light curly hair etching its way up your legs and towards your crotch, which swelled with power and masculinity. Dark spots appeared under your arms, as thick smelly hairs poked their way out of the follicles. Now you were producing more of that intoxicating smell. You lifted your arm and inhaled as you shot ropes of cum into your shorts.

Taking a breath, you left the locker room and went into the gym, heading straight for the mirror. Pulling out your phone, you snapped a photo.

You looked like Ethan Wacker, that kid from that kid show or whatever... the one who dated that girl who sang about her driver's license. He was hot?

Surprised at your new look, you ran back to the locker room. Lifting your bag out of the locker, you got another whiff of your arms. Your dick rose again. "Shit!" Why were you so horny? Breathing and attempting to will your boner down, you began to speedwalk out of the athletic center and back toward your dorm. Trying to hide your face, you threw a mask on. You had to be having a nightmare. There was no way this was real. This was impossible. As you sped across campus, you pulled out your phone again, flipping the camera to selfie mode, only to be treated with your new face.

Seeing your muscled chest and thick arms on the phone screen only caused you to panic further. Breaking into a full sprint, you finally reached the dorm. You swiped into the building and ran up the stairs, and down the hall. Reaching your room, you fumbled around your backpack, hyperventilating trying to find your keys. Grabbing the keys, and pulling them out, you placed them in the lock, but the keys kept slipping out of your hands. Shit, your fingers were so much bigger than before. Finally, you felt the key push into the lock, and you twisted every which way until the door finally fell open and you tumbled inside and onto your face.

Pulling yourself up, you ran to the full-length mirror, only to have your fears confirmed. In the mirror was a hot former Disney star. But that wasn't you. You were skinny and nerdy and good at school, not an actor with big muscles. You did have big muscles. They look kind of good. But this wasn't you. These weren't your strong man's hands. You didn't have these sexy abs and thick pecs. Your biceps weren't that big. Your armpits reeked. You pulled off your shirt, just to make sure that those pecs on your chest weren't yours. You spent your days in the studio filming, not on the playground. You didn't have time to go to regular school. Damn, your chest looked good. Why wouldn't it? You started going to the gym after being so small for so long. Lifting your arms to flex your massive biceps, the smell of your pits engulfed you. You were Ethan Wacker.

Where is Mark?

Every day after work, when you arrived home, you set aside a half hour to simply walk off the stress of the day. Sitting in a cubicle answering phones all day meant you needed to stretch and use your legs. Luckily, you lived in a lovely condominium with a beachfront on one side and a small green space on the other. As you placed your small satchel with your computer and files onto your couch, you grabbed your phone and stepped out. As you descended the stairs you received a phone call. Assuming it was one of your coworkers calling you (again) about not turning off your monitor "properly" or something menial like that, you whipped out your phone to silence it, only to see that it came from an unknown caller. Spam, no doubt. You declined the call and continued through the lobby and out into the exterior.

You turned right onto the sidewalk that snaked around a mound of grass, lined with palm trees. Beginning your stride, you allowed your steps to fall in rhythm with the imaginary music playing in your head. You had made it no more than fifty feet when your imaginary music was interrupted by the non-imaginary sound of your ringtone. You pulled it out once again, only to see it was another unknown caller.

Furious that they had interrupted your rhythm, you decided to pick up this time and give them a piece of your mind. You aggressively raised the phone to your ear, but before you could say a word, you heard a man with a deep voice ask for "Mark." They had to have dialed the wrong number. "This is not Mark, you have the wrong number" you forced through your gritted teeth. There was a brief moment of silence. You thought maybe the man had hung up, but before you could lower your phone to check, the man said "No. This is Mark."

A sharp pain erupted in your chest, and you began to stumble, losing your footing on the sidewalk and staggering into the grass. Everything seemed so... foggy. Your grip on your phone was loosening, and you collapsed in a heap onto your back, your phone landing next to you. You could hear the small voice in the phone asking "Mark. Are you okay?" Everything was so strange. It felt like the world was in slow motion. The pain in your chest had subsided into a dull ache, but your body would no longer respond.

As you lay there immobilized on the ground, you felt your breath tightening. You thought to yourself that you were having a heart attack until you heard the top button on your dress shirt pop off, and the tightness briefly subsided. As you inhaled once again, the tightness returned only to diminish when the next button popped off. Your chest was expanding rapidly with beefy pectoral muscles, stretching out your shirt. With each breath, your chest grew, further and further out until you had a shelf. Your stomach tightened and cramped as hard abs pushed their way out of your formerly flat stomach. Still immobile and unable to see, you felt as your shoulders stretched out and your biceps and triceps grew round and thick. You heard a sharp rip as your shirt opened up underneath you You felt your forearms thickening. Your hands, which were sprawled out on the grass, pushed outward finger by finger, ripping the grass beneath it, and leaving you with meaty man hands.

What the fuck was happening. You could see anything, but at this point, you were unsure if you wanted to see.

Your thighs were next. Your former twigs were widening and forcing themselves into each other, rubbing your unimpressive cock in the process and stretching the confines of your dress pants. You felt as your lower body lifted off the ground, as your ass expanded into two perfect globes of muscle, ripping your pants apart entirely. As your thighs continued to stimulate you, your calves ached as they grew and stretched longer. Your feet thickened and lengthened, with thick hair growing on your toes. Your feet pushed out of your shoes and socks, leaving you barefoot. A sharp stench emanating from your newly exposed feet wafted back toward your face in the ocean breeze. Lastly, your cock began to grow, further pushing it against your massive thighs which grew even further and sending waves of pleasure throughout your unmoving body. Slowly, your cock stretched and thickened, rubbing sensually against your body. Your hips began to buckle. You could move, but all you could do was moan in pleasure as your growing cock masturbated itself. Finally, release. You yelled as you finished, ejaculating for what seemed like minutes.

As you struggled to catch your breath, you heard the phone again. "Mark, are you there?" You picked up the phone and slowly rose in your new hulkish body. "Yeah, I'm here now"