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Jeffmasonn - X - Tumblr Blog
Dr. Jekyll
Alexei had been working on this project for weeks. He had been very lucky to be doing a research semester in England when the special military operation began. He took a dim view of any form of war. He was a scientist, not a soldier. But somehow he wanted to play his part in putting the aggressor in his place. As a biochemist, he would not be able to develop weapons. But his plan was to develop a substance that could help increase resistance to injury. And increase the resilience of a wounded body. He was on the verge of a breakthrough. Yesterday he had first inflicted a small cut on himself and then swallowed his substance; today there was no sign of the wound. Not much was missing and he would be able to heal even more complex injuries.
It was already dark. The last colleague had finally said goodbye. Alexei was alone. The last tests with his Laovor rats had been promising. This time he would not inflict a small cut on himself. This time he was going deeper, in the truest sense of the word. To be on the safe side, he had prepared disinfectant and bandages. He took a scalpel and pressed it against his forearm. He had trouble getting the ultra-sharp blade to penetrate his skin at all. There was a short glistening red mark. But it closed again after just a few seconds. No scar, nothing. It had worked! Damn it, it had worked. Alexei was not a person of great emotional reactions… But this, this went right through him. And it went down his pants. In the form of a boner. Fuck yes, his success made him horny. He couldn't help it, he had to jerk off. Here and now in the otherwise sterile laboratory. His otherwise not particularly impressive cock quickly grew to an impressive 20 centimeters. Alexei wanted to enjoy this orgasm, no, he wanted to celebrate it. He wanted…. FUUUUUUUUCK!
There was a huge mess on his lab bench. Test tubes, bacterial cultures, even his lab rats were splattered with an amount of cum that Alexei, as a scientist, would have thought impossible from a human life. And as a scientist, he only needed a few seconds to recover from the orgasm of his life. And he began to clean up the mess. He had amputated a leg from one of his lab rats, one of the first he had experimented with. The wound had closed on its own and quickly, a complete success. But now… Bloody hell! There was no leg missing. And the rat somehow looked… How should we put it…? It was a rat… But a magnificent animal! In a second cage, Alexei saw a rat slurping his cum with its tongue. And here, too, the holes in the gnawed ears closed up and the fur became thicker and shiny. Damn, his cum? A miracle weapon? There was plenty of the stuff left. But Alexei wanted to examine fresh sperm. And yes, he was still or already horny again. He took his cock out of his pants. A long thread of precum shimmered in the lab light. Alexei jerked off, a beaker ready to hand. Even now he didn't have to wait long… He felt it coming and he held the glass to his cock. And again: FUUUUUUUUCK! And another mess. The glass hadn't been able to hold his whole load.
The rat had licked his cum just like that and pure… He wouldn't be able to finish this beaker now. Especially as he wanted to examine a little cum too. But a sip like that…? Alexei was a little disgusted. But it was for science… He had no idea what cum was supposed to taste like. It was kind of interesting, yes… But he had lost a lot of time. He wasn't there yet He began to examine his sperm under the microscope. He didn't know much about human semen. Not his discipline… But this one seemed very agile… Even the one from the first load he had shot. He was getting warm. The lab coat felt tight. He took it off. The T-shirt was also uncomfortable. He was alone, who was going to mind if he worked bare-chested…
Alexei began to work with his cum, fascinated. He chased it through filters and centrifuges, he extracted proteins, he produced new samples. And then he went all out, mixing his previous preparation with a portion of concentrated cum from his last orgasm. No spoon this time. This time a big gulp! Alexei used the scalpel again. First on his forearm. He had considerably more strength than the last time he tried. He managed to make a wound a few millimeters deep. But it healed immediately. It didn't take a second. Alexei started a next attempt. This time not on his arm, but on his free upper body. His chest muscles offered even more resistance than his arms, but here too he managed to produce a briefly bleeding wound. But this also healed in a fraction of a second. Alexei recorded the results in his lab diary. He checked the wound on his forearm again. It was visible. Not as a scar. But in the form of colorful lines. Tattoos were growing on his skin where he had applied the scalpel. And where he had cut his chest, hair was growing!
Shit, it had been over fifteen minutes since he'd jerked off. This time he went to the toilet, massaging the hard-on in his pants. He wouldn't squirt all over the lab bench again. If he was going to make a mess, at least it would be in an easy-to-clean environment. His cock pulsed with anticipation, it took just a few movements of his calloused hands to produce a magnificent hard-on. And it was clear that he was about to squirt all over the walls as well as the toilet bowl. And indeed: BAAAAAANG! He shot off load after load. He tried to catch some of it with his hands in front of the glans. Shit, it got harder with every orgasm. Alexei licked his hands. It tasted so great. Milky pure manhood. He tried to tuck his cock back into his pants. That was harder than he thought. Alexei tried to wipe away some of the mess on the floor with a paper towel. His ass cheeks burst through his pants. And shortly afterwards, the seam on his thighs tore.
Alexei knew that there were a few amateur bodybuilders among the janitors. Maybe he could find something that suited him in their changing rooms. It wasn't really his style to rummage through sacks of dirty clothes. But what could he do? And sure enough, he found a pair of jeans that seemed to fit. A little too wide at the waist. But wide enough on his muscular thighs. He had to do something now. Right: log the latest events in the lab diary. He couldn't remember his cursed password from the notebook. So he took pen and paper.
“And then I'm like jerking my shlong, dude. And then I'm like totally busting a nut. And everything's dripping with my jizz. And I'm licking my fingers, 'cause they're covered in cum. And suddenly, my pants rip, bro. 'Cause, dude, my booty is in absolute competition shape like you wouldn't believe.” What else could he write? For fuck's sake, did this horniness never stop? His tattoos were impressive by now. So was the fur on his chest. Alexei scratched his beard. And shortly afterwards, his sack again. Something was strange here, something was wrong. And he didn't just mean those damn pants, which were too tight around the thighs and too wide at the hips. His crotch was wet from the precum dripping from his mighty boner. He had to get out of here. This air-conditioned air was taking his breath away. As soon as he was out of the lab, he took off his pants. Shit, he was naked, but he was probably alone in the building. There was a locker open in the scientific staff changing room. A racing bike outfit. The matching racing bike was leaning against the wall. Was there someone else here after all? He should have noticed that. He thought for a second about whether he should try putting on the cycling shorts. But they were obviously made for a slim man. And not for a giant 190 cm tall.
Alexei walked down the corridor towards the rooms for the technical staff. He was in the low-security area, where an iris check was enough to open the doors. He arrived in the changing room for the janitors and technicians. Had he been here before today? He couldn't remember… In any case, he found a jockstrap, socks and, above all, a boiler suit in the dirty laundry. It all fitted reasonably well. One of his colleagues also seemed to be in good shape. On the shelf of work boots, he found a pair in size 48 - thank God! The sun was rising, soon the place would be swarming with employees again like an anthill. He didn't want to be naked.
Alex had the feeling he had forgotten something in the lab wing. But he couldn't get back in there. An iris check wouldn't be enough. He needed his ID, which was in the pants he had taken off. He thought as best he could. What could he have forgotten in the lab wing? What would he be doing in the lab wing anyway? Beads of sweat glistened in his chest hair. He smelled under his armpits: sweat and musk. His cock was in someone's jockstrap, surrounded by cum-encrusted pubic hair. If anyone didn't fit into the clean air zones, it was a man like him. And anyway, this biology and chemistry shit wasn't for him. Blocked pipes and maybe a leaky roof: that was his world. But not today. The night shift had been exhausting. Now it was closing time. Maybe to the gym first. But then he was looking forward to a round of wanking and then his bed.
Dedicated to @guytransformedforever; Pics by @ki-kink
Frank’s Auto Shop
Frank’s Auto Shop has been in business for forty years and never once has there been an audit, so Frank himself was quite surprised when an auditor walked into his shop.
“Mr. Fuller, my name is Charlie Thompson. I’m with the IRS,” the young man said while setting his brief case down and then pulled out a government issued identification card. The young man must have been right out of college - perhaps about 22 years old and he did not seem the friendliest. He put his card back in business coat and crossed his arms.
Frank huffed and then said, “Call me Frank…or Sir. I’m the boss around here. See the sign out front?”
“Got it, Frank,” Charlie said, “I’ve came to discuss an upcoming audit of your business.”
Frank opened his shop back when he was this auditor’s age. Always ran it by himself. He built it from the ground up and he wasn’t going to let this boy or the Feds take it away from him.
“Why haven’t I been notified of this?” Frank angrily said. Frank was a big man who was bald, but made up for it with a big, bushy goatee that was starting to turn gray.
“A Ms. Buchanan should have called you. If not, I guess this is your notification. Now please, could we sit down? I have to interview you and ask a few question.”
Frank stared at the boy. “Fine. We can go into my office.” Frank motioned and started to walk to the back of his shop. “You’re lucky that it is slow now, Chuck.”
“Please don’t call me Chuck. It’s Charlie, not Chuck,” Charlie corrected him as he followed.
The two of them entered the back office. Charlie immediately noticed the haze and smell of stale smoke. Frank sat behind his desk that was covered with bills. On top of the various pieces of paper sat a large ashtray with a few spent cigar nubs.
“Now, Mr. Fuller…” Charlie started to say.
“Frank or Sir, I told ya,” Frank sternly said.
“Frank, what is your age?” Charlie asked as he pulled out a notepad and pen.
“62,” he mumbled.
“Any plans to retire?” Charlie continued as he was making notes.
“No - can’t. Gotta run this business till I’m dead. I got no savings. Everything is in the business,” Frank spatted.
“No children to take over? Planning on selling it?” Charlie asked while not making any eye contact.
“No and no,” Frank said, “What’s this got to do with anything?”
“You see mister…sorry, Frank…you owe the government a bit of money. $494,078 to be exact. You haven’t paid income taxes,” Charlie spoke up while looking up from his notepad.
“Yes I have!” Frank yelled as he stood up, his face getting red.
“Please, Frank. I’ll explain. Frank Fuller has. Frank’s Auto Shop hasn’t. You never filed as a sole proprietorship. You never submitted the proper forms. Therefore, your business and you are two legally separate entities.
Frank huffed. Running his business was tough; and running it on his own after all these years made it even tougher. It was hard to hire someone who was both auto and business savvy. All Frank knew was cars. Frank looked at the stern look of boy and that was when he had an idea.
He walked around his desk and to a humidor on shelf behind Charlie. He had been saving this for another time, but he figured now would be better than ever given the current circumstances. Frank lifted the lid and picked up a large cigar. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked as he grabbed a cutter and cut the cap of the cigar.
“Actually, I do Frank,” Charlie spoke as he stood up.
Frank placed the cigar in his jaw and brought a torch lighter to the flame and started puffing, “Remember, I’m the boss?” The cigar came to life as smoke started pouring out of Frank’s mouth. Frank took another pull from his cigar, inhaled and looked at Charlie. He exhaled the smoke straight into Charlie’s face. “I think it is time I start asking the questions. Sit.”
Charlie obeyed and sat back down. Charlie was starting to cough and Frank knew that was a good sign. It meant that some of the smoke went into his lungs. This made Frank smile with his fat cigar in his jaw.
Frank sat back into his chair with Charlie staring at him. Frank pulled on his cigar “So Chuck, do you like your job?,” Frank continued while blowing more smoke toward Charlie.
“Yes. And my name is Charlie,” he answered.
“Boy,” Frank blew more smoke, “you be honest with me. And I like Chuck more.”
“No Sir, I don’t. I hate my job. And I do prefer to be called Chuck anyways. I’m Chuck now.”
“That’s what I thought, Chuck. And that is why you are here for a new job? A new life?”
“No Sir, I’m here to…” Chuck stopped as more smoke was blown in his face. “I mean, yes Sir. I wish to become a mechanic. I want a new life.”
“My smoke and I can give you that. Do you know anything about cars, Chuck?” Frank continued his questioning while he enjoyed his cigar. Every time he exhaled, he blew the smoke in Chuck’s face.
“I do. Been working on cars since high school.” Knowledge of cars flooded Chuck’s brain. Charlie knew nothing about cars, but Chuck did.
“Did you go to college, Chuck?”
“No Sir. I didn’t even finish high school. Dropped out at 16.” As knowledge of cars filled his brain, everything he knew about accounting went away. Charlie’s memories about school and college were being replaced by new ones. New ones as Chuck.
“Good - I never finished school either. I thought it was a waste.” Frank was happy his smoke was haltering his soon-to-be employee. “You look like a mechanic. You work out?”
“Some Sir. But trust me, I enjoy my beer too,” Chuck replied. As he said this, his face grew a bit and his neck got a little larger. Frank thought he was starting to look more like a man and not a boy.
“When were you able to grow out your beard?” Frank blew a thick cloud of smoke.
“Started shaving when I was 13. Always been hairy.” As Chuck said those words, a short beard appeared on his face while his hair got shorter, as if the hair on top of his head moved to his face.
“And when did you start going bald, Chuck?”
“Probably around 16. Just embraced it at 18 and shaved it all off.” His beard grew larger and his head was completely bald.
“Well, good thing it suits a mechanic like yourself.”
“Yes Sir. Guess being a mechanic is in my genes.”
“I’d say so.” Frank took a deep inhale and exhaled the largest cloud of smoke toward Chuck. He knew the next questions would make the change permanent. “You like my cigar smoke, Chuck?”
“I do, Sir,” Chuck was breathing the smoke deep into his lungs.
“Do you smoke cigars, Chuck?”
“I do, Sir. Started when I was 16.”
“How’d you start, Chuck?” Frank was constantly exhaling more and more smoke into Chuck’s newly bearded face that will always smell of cigar smoke.
“Don’t you remember? I came here, looking for a job right after I dropped out. I always admired you. Wanted to be just like you. You said you only hire men, not boys. I said I am a man and you handed me a cigar. Told me to prove it and smoke it. Got hooked then and there. Been smoking them ever since,” Chuck said, eyeing Frank’s cigar.
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Sorry I was the reason you become a smoker.
“Don’t be sorry, Sir! I love my cigars. I can’t imagine not smoking ever again. If anything, I should be thanking you,” Chuck said.
“Yeah, you should be thanking me,” Frank laughed. “Can’t believe I forgot hiring you after you smoked one of my cigars. Old men like me forget these types of things. Which is why I called you in here. I want you to take over my business when I retire.”
“Really, Sir?” Chuck replied in shock, “I would be honored.” As he said this, his business suit turned into a jumpsuit.
“I mean, you have been a good worker the past few years. You are like a son to me.” Frank stubbed his cigar out in his ashtray. “Just know that my business has some debts that you’d have to take on. Also, I expect to still be on the payroll after you take over. This is my life savings and retirement.”
“Wow, thank you Sir. You are like a father to me as well. I’d be more than happy to keep the family business going for you,” Chuck eagerly replied and stood up to shake his boss’s hand.
“We can hug it out,” Frank pulled Chuck in and hugged him. He noticed Chuck smelling his dirty and smoky coveralls. “Need a cigar, Chuck?”
“I do, Sir. You got me craving one after seeing you smoke. Been a few hours since my last.”
Frank walked to his humidor and pulled out two cigars. He cut them both and handed one to Chuck, who eagerly grabbed the lighter from his coveralls and brought the cigar to life. Chuck took a deep inhale. “Mmm, much needed. Well, better get back to work.” Chuck clenched the cigar in his jaw and said “Thanks for giving me just what I needed.” He then walked out of the smoky office, leaving a trail of smoke behind him.
As soon Chuck left the office, the phone on the desk rang. “Frank,” he answered with his cigar firmly clenched in his teeth.
“Hello Mr. Fuller! This is Laurie Buchanan with the IRS to notify you that an auditor by the name of Charlie Thompson will be stopping by this morning to ask a few questions. Will you be available?”
“Why yes Ms. Buchanan!” Frank exclaimed while taking his cigar out of mouth. “Charlie must have came early. He has actually already left. He said I gave him just what he needed and he is now long gone.”
“Perfect, Mr. Fuller. Do you have any questions?” the woman asked.
“Actually, I am about to retire soon and just hired a new employee who will be taking over the business. Is there a form I need to submit?”
After a lengthy conversation with Ms. Buchanan, Frank walked into the smoke filled shop. He smiled with his cigar. Chuck was working on the engine of a muscle car while smoking away. Frank noticed that Chuck must have already finished his first of many cigars as there was freshly lit one in his jaw. Frank thought Chuck was adapting to his new life perfectly; but to Chuck, this was the life he has ever known.
I loved the beer transformation. I want a beer than turns me into a giant muscle bear who constantly needs to drink beer and smoke cigars.
So you want to be a muscle bear that drinks and smokes? That is one of the Smoke Transformer’s specialties. The change will be sudden and permanent, so I hope it is what you really want.
Either way though, you are now mine to grow.
***
You spend your evenings at the gym with no luck in growing. You have always wanted to become a muscle bear, but haven’t seen the results you desire. Let’s be honest though - when you spend the evenings at the gym, you barely lift anything and never truly push yourself. You also barely eat, not consuming enough calories for your desired growth.
You are skinny and weak and nothing like you long to be.
One evening, the gym was empty. After lifting a few weights, you became thirsty and realized you had forgotten your water bottle.
You grabbed a dollar out of the pocket of your gym shorts and headed to the vending machine. There was a new drink in there; one you have never heard of: “ST’s Muscle Brew”.
Out of curiosity, you put in your dollar into the machine and picked it. A can rolled out and you grabbed it. Immediately, you looked at the label:
“The Smoke Transformer made this brew for you! Guaranteed muscle growth, but may include side effects. Only drink one a day.”
It didn’t list the side effects, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be big!
You cracked open the can and took a big chug. It tasted exactly like beer, but you kept drinking.
After finishing the can, you crushed it and threw it on the ground. You had an urge to lift some more.
As you were lifting, you noticed you were able to lift more. However, you also noticed your face was getting itchy. A short beard sprouted from your face.
You got thirsty again and, despite the one a day warning on the can, you purchased yourself another one.
The rich beer tasting drink was just what you needed.
You continued your workout. You noticed little hairs around you. What you didn’t notice was that they were from you. One of the side effects was hair loss. However, your growing beard made up for.
You decided one more “ST’s Muscle Brew” sounded good. You were starting to feel stronger, even if you didn’t look it…yet.
As you chugged, you started feeling an intense warmness around you. You felt pain all over. You hunched over and fell to the ground. You moaned for help, but no one was around. You felt your body ever expanding. Your skin felt like it was being stretched. You felt heavier as you laid on the gym floor.
Smoke started rolling into the gym and the lights turned off. You thought you were hallucinating, until you smelt the rich cigar smoke. It first was unpleasant, but you quickly grew to enjoy it. Even long for it. You breathed in the smoke.
You heard a deep voice in your head, “It said only to drink one. Now you are a witless muscle bear. Only wanting to work out, drink beer and smoke cigars. The effects weren’t supposed to be this intense. But now you have no choice.”
The smoke cleared out and the lights turned back on. You gained your strength back and stood back up. You saw yourself in the mirror. You were huge and muscular, just what you always wanted.
As you enjoyed looking at your large and visible muscles, you started feeling warm again. Your skin became itchy, just like your face did earlier.
Thick, dark hair was growing everywhere. The muscles you love looking at are now hidden by the fur.
You still looked big, but now extremely hairy - almost cartoonish with the amount of hair. You looked like a what a proper muscle bear should look like.
You wanted to keep working out, but you got a new urge. It was a craving from your new addiction to beer and cigars.
You headed outside the gym, still shirtless, and headed to the minimart across the street. There was a sign on the door: “No shirt, no service.” You didn’t care though. You knew no one would say something; no one would want to confront a beast like you.
The cashier worker stared as you grabbed a six pack from the cooler and a few cigars from their humidor. You didn’t care the quality of the cigars; you just need their smoke in your lungs.
You walked back to the parking lot of the gym, cracked open a beer and lit up a cigar. The smoke filled your lungs as you held it deep. This was your life now. You were going to go back and work out more after you finished a few beers and the cigar. You thought that you might need to turn some of the rooms in your house into mini gyms so that you could smoke and drink as you lifted.
For now, you will take plenty of beer and smoke breaks between sessions in the parking lot. Visitors of the gym will know you as the gym’s cigar smokin’ bear. You will love showing off what you have become.
Aren’t you glad you didn’t listen to the warning, you beer chugging, cigar smoking muscle bear?
Frank’s Auto Shop
Frank’s Auto Shop has been in business for forty years and never once has there been an audit, so Frank himself was quite surprised when an auditor walked into his shop.
“Mr. Fuller, my name is Charlie Thompson. I’m with the IRS,” the young man said while setting his brief case down and then pulled out a government issued identification card. The young man must have been right out of college - perhaps about 22 years old and he did not seem the friendliest. He put his card back in business coat and crossed his arms.
Frank huffed and then said, “Call me Frank…or Sir. I’m the boss around here. See the sign out front?”
“Got it, Frank,” Charlie said, “I’ve came to discuss an upcoming audit of your business.”
Frank opened his shop back when he was this auditor’s age. Always ran it by himself. He built it from the ground up and he wasn’t going to let this boy or the Feds take it away from him.
“Why haven’t I been notified of this?” Frank angrily said. Frank was a big man who was bald, but made up for it with a big, bushy goatee that was starting to turn gray.
“A Ms. Buchanan should have called you. If not, I guess this is your notification. Now please, could we sit down? I have to interview you and ask a few question.”
Frank stared at the boy. “Fine. We can go into my office.” Frank motioned and started to walk to the back of his shop. “You’re lucky that it is slow now, Chuck.”
“Please don’t call me Chuck. It’s Charlie, not Chuck,” Charlie corrected him as he followed.
The two of them entered the back office. Charlie immediately noticed the haze and smell of stale smoke. Frank sat behind his desk that was covered with bills. On top of the various pieces of paper sat a large ashtray with a few spent cigar nubs.
“Now, Mr. Fuller…” Charlie started to say.
“Frank or Sir, I told ya,” Frank sternly said.
“Frank, what is your age?” Charlie asked as he pulled out a notepad and pen.
“62,” he mumbled.
“Any plans to retire?” Charlie continued as he was making notes.
“No - can’t. Gotta run this business till I’m dead. I got no savings. Everything is in the business,” Frank spatted.
“No children to take over? Planning on selling it?” Charlie asked while not making any eye contact.
“No and no,” Frank said, “What’s this got to do with anything?”
“You see mister…sorry, Frank…you owe the government a bit of money. $494,078 to be exact. You haven’t paid income taxes,” Charlie spoke up while looking up from his notepad.
“Yes I have!” Frank yelled as he stood up, his face getting red.
“Please, Frank. I’ll explain. Frank Fuller has. Frank’s Auto Shop hasn’t. You never filed as a sole proprietorship. You never submitted the proper forms. Therefore, your business and you are two legally separate entities.
Frank huffed. Running his business was tough; and running it on his own after all these years made it even tougher. It was hard to hire someone who was both auto and business savvy. All Frank knew was cars. Frank looked at the stern look of boy and that was when he had an idea.
He walked around his desk and to a humidor on shelf behind Charlie. He had been saving this for another time, but he figured now would be better than ever given the current circumstances. Frank lifted the lid and picked up a large cigar. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked as he grabbed a cutter and cut the cap of the cigar.
“Actually, I do Frank,” Charlie spoke as he stood up.
Frank placed the cigar in his jaw and brought a torch lighter to the flame and started puffing, “Remember, I’m the boss?” The cigar came to life as smoke started pouring out of Frank’s mouth. Frank took another pull from his cigar, inhaled and looked at Charlie. He exhaled the smoke straight into Charlie’s face. “I think it is time I start asking the questions. Sit.”
Charlie obeyed and sat back down. Charlie was starting to cough and Frank knew that was a good sign. It meant that some of the smoke went into his lungs. This made Frank smile with his fat cigar in his jaw.
Frank sat back into his chair with Charlie staring at him. Frank pulled on his cigar “So Chuck, do you like your job?,” Frank continued while blowing more smoke toward Charlie.
“Yes. And my name is Charlie,” he answered.
“Boy,” Frank blew more smoke, “you be honest with me. And I like Chuck more.”
“No Sir, I don’t. I hate my job. And I do prefer to be called Chuck anyways. I’m Chuck now.”
“That’s what I thought, Chuck. And that is why you are here for a new job? A new life?”
“No Sir, I’m here to…” Chuck stopped as more smoke was blown in his face. “I mean, yes Sir. I wish to become a mechanic. I want a new life.”
“My smoke and I can give you that. Do you know anything about cars, Chuck?” Frank continued his questioning while he enjoyed his cigar. Every time he exhaled, he blew the smoke in Chuck’s face.
“I do. Been working on cars since high school.” Knowledge of cars flooded Chuck’s brain. Charlie knew nothing about cars, but Chuck did.
“Did you go to college, Chuck?”
“No Sir. I didn’t even finish high school. Dropped out at 16.” As knowledge of cars filled his brain, everything he knew about accounting went away. Charlie’s memories about school and college were being replaced by new ones. New ones as Chuck.
“Good - I never finished school either. I thought it was a waste.” Frank was happy his smoke was haltering his soon-to-be employee. “You look like a mechanic. You work out?”
“Some Sir. But trust me, I enjoy my beer too,” Chuck replied. As he said this, his face grew a bit and his neck got a little larger. Frank thought he was starting to look more like a man and not a boy.
“When were you able to grow out your beard?” Frank blew a thick cloud of smoke.
“Started shaving when I was 13. Always been hairy.” As Chuck said those words, a short beard appeared on his face while his hair got shorter, as if the hair on top of his head moved to his face.
“And when did you start going bald, Chuck?”
“Probably around 16. Just embraced it at 18 and shaved it all off.” His beard grew larger and his head was completely bald.
“Well, good thing it suits a mechanic like yourself.”
“Yes Sir. Guess being a mechanic is in my genes.”
“I’d say so.” Frank took a deep inhale and exhaled the largest cloud of smoke toward Chuck. He knew the next questions would make the change permanent. “You like my cigar smoke, Chuck?”
“I do, Sir,” Chuck was breathing the smoke deep into his lungs.
“Do you smoke cigars, Chuck?”
“I do, Sir. Started when I was 16.”
“How’d you start, Chuck?” Frank was constantly exhaling more and more smoke into Chuck’s newly bearded face that will always smell of cigar smoke.
“Don’t you remember? I came here, looking for a job right after I dropped out. I always admired you. Wanted to be just like you. You said you only hire men, not boys. I said I am a man and you handed me a cigar. Told me to prove it and smoke it. Got hooked then and there. Been smoking them ever since,” Chuck said, eyeing Frank’s cigar.
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Sorry I was the reason you become a smoker.
“Don’t be sorry, Sir! I love my cigars. I can’t imagine not smoking ever again. If anything, I should be thanking you,” Chuck said.
“Yeah, you should be thanking me,” Frank laughed. “Can’t believe I forgot hiring you after you smoked one of my cigars. Old men like me forget these types of things. Which is why I called you in here. I want you to take over my business when I retire.”
“Really, Sir?” Chuck replied in shock, “I would be honored.” As he said this, his business suit turned into a jumpsuit.
“I mean, you have been a good worker the past few years. You are like a son to me.” Frank stubbed his cigar out in his ashtray. “Just know that my business has some debts that you’d have to take on. Also, I expect to still be on the payroll after you take over. This is my life savings and retirement.”
“Wow, thank you Sir. You are like a father to me as well. I’d be more than happy to keep the family business going for you,” Chuck eagerly replied and stood up to shake his boss’s hand.
“We can hug it out,” Frank pulled Chuck in and hugged him. He noticed Chuck smelling his dirty and smoky coveralls. “Need a cigar, Chuck?”
“I do, Sir. You got me craving one after seeing you smoke. Been a few hours since my last.”
Frank walked to his humidor and pulled out two cigars. He cut them both and handed one to Chuck, who eagerly grabbed the lighter from his coveralls and brought the cigar to life. Chuck took a deep inhale. “Mmm, much needed. Well, better get back to work.” Chuck clenched the cigar in his jaw and said “Thanks for giving me just what I needed.” He then walked out of the smoky office, leaving a trail of smoke behind him.
As soon Chuck left the office, the phone on the desk rang. “Frank,” he answered with his cigar firmly clenched in his teeth.
“Hello Mr. Fuller! This is Laurie Buchanan with the IRS to notify you that an auditor by the name of Charlie Thompson will be stopping by this morning to ask a few questions. Will you be available?”
“Why yes Ms. Buchanan!” Frank exclaimed while taking his cigar out of mouth. “Charlie must have came early. He has actually already left. He said I gave him just what he needed and he is now long gone.”
“Perfect, Mr. Fuller. Do you have any questions?” the woman asked.
“Actually, I am about to retire soon and just hired a new employee who will be taking over the business. Is there a form I need to submit?”
After a lengthy conversation with Ms. Buchanan, Frank walked into the smoke filled shop. He smiled with his cigar. Chuck was working on the engine of a muscle car while smoking away. Frank noticed that Chuck must have already finished his first of many cigars as there was freshly lit one in his jaw. Frank thought Chuck was adapting to his new life perfectly; but to Chuck, this was the life he has ever known.
The Man Who Became Another
(Hypnotic Transformation)
Mark Harris had never felt so tired. The past week in Berlin had been a blur of endless meetings, stale hotel air, and mediocre cuisine. All he wanted was to get home to his wife and kids, to sink into the comfort of his own bed, and to finally get some decent sleep. The flight back had been delayed, and as he shuffled through the airport with his luggage in tow, the digital clock above the security checkpoint read 11:47 PM. His eyes were heavy, his tie was loose, and his shoes felt like lead weights attached to his swollen feet.
As he approached the security gate, two bald-headed security guards stepped in front of him. Their matching black uniforms were stark against the gleaming airport floors. "Sir," one of them said firmly, "Could you come with us?" Mark's initial annoyance at the inconvenience was quickly overridden by the unmistakable authority in their voices. He nodded wearily and followed them down a corridor that grew narrower and more sterile with each step.
They stopped at a nondescript door. One guard swiped a card and it clicked open, revealing a small, windowless room. Inside, a desk and chair sat opposite each other, and a TV screen was mounted on the wall. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic. "We need to conduct a brief integration," the other guard explained, his tone devoid of any warmth or apology. Mark's heart skipped a beat. Integration? What did that even mean?
He was instructed to sit in the chair, and as he did, the guards stepped outside, leaving him alone. The TV flickered to life, and a spiral pattern appeared, pulsing in a hypnotic rhythm.
Try as he might, Mark couldn't look away. His eyes burned with the effort of trying to focus on anything else, but the spiral held his gaze hostage. The words "You are a skinhead" flashed up on the screen, then disappeared as soon as they appeared, synced perfectly with the spiral's rhythm. He felt his consciousness slipping, his family, try as he might, their faces blurring just like the screen that was in front of him. His thoughts were being rearranged like furniture in a room he no longer recognized.
Hours bled into each other as the spiral spun relentlessly. The phrase grew louder, more insistent, and his identity began to fragment. His past, his family, his life as a successful businessman—it all felt like a distant memory, a fading photograph at the mercy of time and the elements. The spiral filled his vision, his mind, his very essence. The walls of the room seemed to close in, yet the spiral grew larger, more encompassing.
The programming was thorough, digging deep into his psyche. It didn't just change his beliefs; it rewired his thoughts, his emotions, his very core. The room grew cold, and Mark shivered, but not from the temperature. The fear of losing himself was a chilling realization that took hold and wouldn't let go. The words played over and over, a mantra that shaped-shifted his soul. “YOU ARE A SKIHEAD, YOU WILL REPORT TO THE BOSS WHEN YOU GET HOME”
When the spiral finally disappeared, the TV went dark, and the door opened with a soft hiss. The guards returned, their expressions unchanged, as if they had never left. "You can go now," one of them said, gesturing to the exit. Mark stumbled out, his legs unsteady, his mind reeling from the transformation.
Back in the brightly lit airport, everything looked the same yet utterly foreign. His eyes darted around, searching for familiar faces or landmarks, but all he saw were strangers passing by, unaware of the tumultuous shift he had just undergone. He gathered his luggage and headed to security, giving a knowing nod to the two security guards that had detained him. As he walked up the steps of the plane, the words echoed in his head with each step. “I AM NOW A SKINHEAD”
At home, Mark tried to shake off the eerie feeling that clung to him like a second skin. His wife, Cindy, was asleep, her gentle snores a comforting sound in the otherwise silent house. He tiptoed into their bedroom, the soft glow of the moon illuminating her peaceful face. He felt a pang of guilt—his mind now a minefield of hateful ideologies that were as alien to her as they were to him. He lay down beside her, the bed feeling smaller than ever before, and closed his eyes, hoping for sleep.
But sleep eluded him. The phrase "You are a skinhead" continued to loop in his thoughts, the TV room's coldness seeping into his bones. He tossed and turned, his thoughts racing. How could he tell Cindy? How could he explain the inexplicable? His mind raced with scenarios, each more absurd than the last. By the time the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, he had made a decision. He would keep his secret, bury it deep, and pray it didn't consume him entirely.
Days turned into weeks, and Mark's nocturnal dreams grew more frequent. Cindy noticed the changes in him—his distant gaze, his sudden bursts of anger, the newfound hatred in his voice when certain topics were broached. She didn't know what to do, or who to turn to. The Mark she knew was slipping away, replaced by a man with shadows in his eyes and a coldness in his touch.
One evening, after Cindy had tucked the kids into bed, she found Mark in the living room, staring at the TV. The news played a story about a racially motivated crime, and Mark's fists clenched at his sides. Cindy's heart sank as she heard him murmur, "You are a skinhead." Her blood ran cold. Was this the man she had married? The man who used to hold her hand and whisper sweet nothings into her ear?
Each night he would leave the house, Mark's absences grew longer, and Cindy's desperation grew with each passing night. She found solace in her work, burying herself in her projects to avoid the dread of what was happening at home. Yet, every time she heard the front door creak open in the early hours of the morning, her heart pounded in her chest. Who was this stranger that slept beside her?
One night, Cindy decided she couldn't take it anymore. She waited up, her eyes glued to the clock, her nerves on edge. When Mark finally walked in, his boots thudding against the floor, she pounced. "Where have you been?" she demanded, her voice trembling. Mark's eyes narrowed, and he looked at her with a coldness that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Out," he said curtly, his voice a stark contrast to the warm, loving tone she had once known. Cindy could see the new tattoos peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, symbols of a world she didn't recognize.
"What's happening to you?" she whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Mark took a step closer, and she could smell the faint scent of alcohol and cigarettes on his breath.
"I'm becoming who I'm meant to be," he replied, his voice a chilling echo of the mantra that had claimed him. Cindy felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. This wasn't the Mark she knew—the man who had held her hand and promised to love her through thick and thin. This was a stranger, a man twisted by some unknown force.
The weeks stretched into months, and Mark's transformation was complete. His suits were replaced with black boots and bomber jackets, his clean-shaven face with a snarling visage of hate. Cindy watched her husband vanish, his eyes now cold and hard, his smile a grimace of anger. The house grew colder, filled with the oppressive silence of secrets and fear.
One night, Cindy followed Mark, her heart pounding in her chest like a trapped bird. She knew she shouldn't, but she had to know. She had to understand. The neighborhood grew darker, the air thick with tension as she trailed him to a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts of town. Inside, she saw a gathering of men, all with shaved heads and tattoos, their faces twisted into snarls of rage. Her stomach churned as she recognized her husband among them.
They were skinheads, a group she had only read about in the news, and here was Mark, her Mark, right in the middle of it all. Cindy felt a part of her die right there, hiding in the shadows. She watched as he threw his fist into the air, joining in a chant that she could feel in her very bones. It was a declaration of war, a call to arms against anyone who didn't fit their narrow vision of a skinhead way of life.
Mark had had one hand on the women's tits of a woman and was kissing her passionately, and Cindy's world shattered. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The woman had tattoos all over her body, and Cindy realized that she had lost her husband to this twisted ideology. With tears streaming down her face, she retreated into the night, the coldness of the air a stark contrast to the heat of her anger and pain.
The following days were a blur of despair and confusion. Cindy didn't know what to do. She couldn't bring herself to confront Mark, to tell him she had seen him with another woman. The thought of losing him was unbearable, but the reality of who he had become was even more so.
Mark arrived home and she confronted him, who was that woman you were with she asked. But Mark's eyes were glazed over, the skinhead persona fully in control. He didn't recognize Cindy's pain, only the accusation. "She is my skin bitch"
The words hit Cindy like a sledgehammer. "Get out!" she screamed, her voice shaking with rage and sorrow. Mark stared at her, confusion briefly flickering across his face before it was replaced by cold anger. He stormed out of the house, slamming the door so hard it rattled the windows. Cindy collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. The house was silent except for the echo of her cries.
Over the next few days, Cindy felt as though she was living in a nightmare. Mark didn't come home at all, and she was torn between hope that he would return to her and fear of what he had become. She threw herself into her work, trying to ignore the emptiness that had taken over their once-loving home. The children picked up on the tension, their laughter muted, their questions unanswered. Cindy's heart felt like a heavy stone in her chest.
One evening, as Cindy was tucking the kids into bed, she heard a knock at the door. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Through the peephole, she saw Mark, his head shaved, his eyes cold and hard. She took a deep breath and opened the door, bracing herself for the worst.
"What do you want?" she spat, her voice trembling with anger and pain. Mark looked at her with a strange mix of arrogance and pity. "You don't understand," he said, his voice low and measured. "I've found something greater than this." He gestured around the house as if their life together was nothing but a prison. Cindy felt the last threads of hope slipping through her fingers.
"Greater than us?" she choked out. "Than our family?"
Mark nodded, his eyes gleaming with a fervour Cindy had never seen before. "The cause," he said simply. "It's all that matters now."
Her heart heavy, Cindy slammed the door in his face, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot. She knew then that she had lost him. The Mark she loved was gone, replaced by a monster with her husband's face.
Days turned into weeks, and Cindy found herself in a new routine of single parenthood. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence a constant reminder of the man who had once filled it with laughter and warmth. Cindy focused on her children, determined to shield them from the horror that had consumed their father.
The knock on the door came again, but Cindy didn't flinch. She had learned to ignore it, to push aside the hope that maybe, just maybe, Mark had come to his senses. Instead, she baked cookies with the kids, their small hands covered in flour as they giggled and stirred the dough. She found solace in the mundane, the familiar rhythms of their lives before the spiral had claimed Mark.
One night, Cindy's phone buzzed with an unknown number. She picked it up, her heart racing. "Cindy," a voice said, and she recognized the coldness that had invaded her husband's tone. "We need to talk." Cindy's hand trembled as she gripped the phone. She knew she couldn't ignore this call.
They agreed to meet at a coffee shop on the edge of town, a neutral place where their past lives could mingle with the bitter aroma of burnt coffee. Mark was already there when Cindy arrived, his new look stark under the fluorescent lights. His eyes searched hers, looking for something she wasn't sure she could give anymore—forgiveness, perhaps, or a spark of the love they had once shared. Cindy felt a mix of anger, fear, and sadness.
They sat down across from each other, Mark now sported tattoos down his arm and on his neck, he had bleached jeans a black polo shirt and braces. On his feet, he wore tall black boots with laddered white laces. the space between them feeling like a vast chasm. Mark spoke first, his voice a strange blend of the man she knew and the one he had become. He talked about the cause, the purity of their race, and the necessity of fighting for it. Cindy listened, her heart aching with every word. She had read about this kind of brainwashing, but never thought it could happen to someone she loved.
The conversation was strained, filled with awkward pauses and unanswered questions. Mark spoke with a conviction that was both terrifying and fascinating. Cindy tried to argue, to reason with him, but his beliefs were now a fortress, impenetrable. She saw the spiral's echo in his eyes, the symbol that had become his identity. "What happened to you?" she finally whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion.
Mark leaned forward, his gaze intense. "I was lost, Cindy. Now I've been found. I have found something greater" His words were like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of the gulf that now separated them. Cindy's eyes searched his, desperately seeking a glimmer of the man she had known. But all she found was a stranger, someone who had traded their vows for a twisted ideology.
As they were leaving Mark produced a set of papers These are Divorce papers he announced coldly, Cindy felt like she had been punched in the gut. "What about the kids?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
They no longer matter, my skin bitch is expecting, it’s a boy and he will be brought up as a skinhead from birth, Mark said with a cruel smirk. Cindy's eyes filled with tears, but she didn't let them fall. She knew that she had to be strong for her children. "You can't do this," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Mark laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that sent shivers down Cindy's spine. "I already have," he said, tossing the papers on the table. Cindy stared at them, unable to process the finality of the situation. Her world was falling apart, piece by piece, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
With trembling hands, Cindy gathered the papers and stood up. "Get out of my life," she said, her voice stronger than she felt. "You're not welcome here anymore." Mark's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move. Gladly he said, we are over, I have my own new family to look after. Cindy's heart shattered into a million pieces, but she held her head high and walked away, her dignity intact.
Mark was lost and did not want to be found.
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Dad Bod
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Going Grey
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A Buffed Curse
Dude you're literally bi
Yeah, honestly bro you've hit the nail on the head.
To be fair, I was gay - nothing about female bodies used to turn me on. I fiercely defended my attraction to men, I took a guy to my senior prom, I came out in my early teens. I felt resolute in my feelings and was more than happy to say there absolutely no chance I'd ever be with a woman.
And now cut to the present, and nothing turns me on more than writing about gay guys realizing their straight potential and the wonders of female anatomy. There's just no fucking competition. Nothing gets me harder than a good GIF of a guy sucking a big pair of tits, and don't even get me started on eating out pussy. My fat tongue slipping between her folds, her juices running down my throat. One hand squeezed around her fat, squishy breast.
My body wants it so bad. It drives all my urges, makes my dick throb inside my shorts, gets me so horned up when I scroll through lesbian porn and just imagine those bimbos worshipping me. It's so easy for me to change all these guys because I've already started to change myself. I know how true and honest these urges really are. I can't stop daydreaming about busting my load inside a bitch and getting trapped with these desires.
Becoming a father. Becoming the kind of traditional man I thought I would never be. I want to fill a bottle with breast milk and chug it raw as I palm my package.
Follow my lead, brothers. Pussy is the answer. Be a breeder.
Empty your mind, bro. You don't need to think about anything. All you need to do is let these words make their way into your brain and fill it with nothing but what actually matters.
This is your life now, bro.
When you realize you used to ironically talk like a gym bro/dumb jock with your friend just for laughs, but now you unironically talk like that cause it's just who you are now.
I’m a blue collar worker but over always wished to be a tattooed criminal. Can you make that happen ? Something like this?
Happy New Year, my dear friend! It's quite auspicious that you should submit your query on the precipice of this most recent wrinkle in reality. Ample time to relish the associated changes, and, if I may be so bold, ample magic to exploit from our wellsprings in order to achieve your goal.
I see that you've sought, as your proverbial resolution, that which all have at one juncture or another sought: a new existence. And! In furtherance of the same, you've been gracious enough to supply a visage. How thoughtful! What a form it is, too, boyish good looks and an intricate web of ink. Topographic abdominals that mirror the mountains of my homeland, and, if I peek beneath the veil a bit, a robust but handsome endowment. And - how clever my little Prometheus- a light sentence. Should I follow your suggestion, you would be released in short order to enjoy all that this body has to offer. A loving family, a lucrative trade, and a youthful form. Look at you, trying to dress the bones with glistening fat! But I'm afraid that I have learned a good deal from my compatriot Zeus, and, further, that I'm not so hospitable to punish as he punishes.
In your current station, I'm sure that you recognize and appreciate hard work. I do too. I also appreciate the realism that belies the fabric of hard work. Yes, stand right there. Flush up against the wall. No, no, you can't move. There wouldn't be any fun in that. I want you to feel, feel everything that wends its way into and around your form.
Let's start with the baser elements. You have a pretty cock, I don't mind conceding the same. I want you to reflect and enjoy as it lengthens, the tender rod becoming a bloated staff with heavy walnuts lingering beneath. A thick and inescapable foreskin to trap your sour cum, and a noticeable vein running down the middle. Truly the most sensitive and low born of cocks that I've ever created; a sensitive, hungry behemoth that twitches at the slightest provocation. I daresay that other inmates might call you Stains because of your hapless new proclivity!
You feel your body changing, as well. Lithe and lean muscle forming, as dark ink blossoms over your young skin. Not intricate or appealing, but a riot of misspelled words and vulgar images, the juvenile clash of the barely literate. And that face. Not the handsome one you wanted, but not ugly either. Utilitarian. Threadbare and homespun. Simian, like the neanderthal you are. Behind those eyes, the dull idiocy of an impetuous young criminal. Feel it harden as your body does. The drooling smile to match your drooling organ.
There, how does that look:
I think it's a far better look for you, and still in line with your desires, don't you? You can thank me after the dime you're serving in Midstate. Yes, that Midstate. Follow the nice men in blue, and, please, dear friend, remember: New year, new you.
LIKE OR REBLOG IF YOU WANT TO TURN INTO A SWEATY, BELCHING BODYBUILDER OVERNIGHT!
Gainers Roulette
It's a risky game played by men desperate enough to risk their bodies for a chance at a bigger life. Men come from far and wide to play a game of Gainer roulette, some come out strong and sexy, some aren't so lucky. Although the game isn't all luck, it has a way of punishing those it deems unworthy.
Six needles are loaded, four with a serum that increases muscle and testosterone in the body, and two with a serum that drastically increases age and fat in the body.
The first player is a young man who pulls up on a motorcycle. He learned how to ride a motorcycle so that he could join his dad's group, but now he just gets picked on for being young and skinny. Well regardless, him being skinny won't be a problem after this.
He takes the serum. Immediately his face starts to change. His young and smooth features become more ragged, his clean shaven face quickly grows thick black hairs giving him a bushy beard, and the hairs on his head fall out leaving him with a smooth bald head. At this point it's hard to tell if he's won or not. Aging and losing hair is a common sign of losing, but he did want to look older and tougher so it could be either.
Next his body started to rapidly grow. He grew taller and taller as his shoulders broadened and his chest grew two juicy pecs that burst out of his shirt. His flat stomach grew into a thick six pack with a small layer of fat covering them. His arms exploded with muscle, becoming large and defined. Hair started to grow all over his body, covering his chest, stomach, and arms, giving him a much tougher look.
Moving downward, his previously flat ass perked up and pressed firmly against his shorts. His legs thickened as a thick pelt of hair grew over them, and his feet grew a few sizes, busting out of his shoes. And finally, a large bulge formed in his tight shorts, just for good measure.
Looks like we have a winner. The man leaned against his motorcycle and looked down at his nearly naked body. He smiled before riding off.
Our next player arrives in a luxury car. These never go well, rich guys only have one thing money can't buy them, good looks. So they come here expecting to walk out strong and good looking, let's see how this goes.
An average looking guy in an expensive polo and a gold chain walk out of the car. Not exactly what I expected, but close enough. He appears to be on the phone, and he doesn't seem to be enjoying the phone call. He puts the caller on hold as he approaches and takes the shot without even saying a word to me.
The man's well kept hair quickly falls off his head as his facial features start to age. It's not looking good for him so far. His cheeks puff out as a couple of chins grow under his soft jawline.
His scrawny body bursts out of his expensive polo as his gut grows bigger and bigger. He is left with a big hairy beer gut hanging out of his ripped shirt. His chest soon follows, growing into a thick pair of man tits with cheap looking tattoos on them.
His arms and legs thicken with mostly fat as his hands become thick and pudgy. The man is left old, bald, and fat. This is what usually happens to the rich guys who come here. He resumes his phone call as if nothing happened before getting in his car and driving away.
The next player slowly walks up holding a cane. He is an elderly sheriff who had to quit his job due to his physical condition, but wants to work again.
The man takes the shot, and almost right away his back straightens as he grows taller. Most of the wrinkles on the man's skin disappear as his he grows a clean silver beard. His receded hairline grows back and his skin tans from a pale white to a healthy golden brown.
The man's chest perks up and his shoulders broaden, filling out his sheriff uniform. The fat in his stomach disappears, leaving his uniform hanging off of his pecs. His biceps tripled in size, filling with muscle until they were about to rip his sleeves. His ass perks up and his thighs thicken, filling out his pants.
The man stands tall, smiles and nods at me approvingly before leaving without a word.
Next player is a young man who pulls up on a bike. He says he's close to getting drafted into the football league of his dreams, but he just hasn't been able to put on the weight needed for his position. Well either way I'm sure he'll be beyond heavy enough.
He takes the shot and his body starts to fill out. His skinny arms grow large and strong and his flat chest plumps up into two defined pecs, bursting through his tiny shirt. His pudgy stomach tightens up into a barely visible six pack with a sizable layer of fat covering it.
His legs and his ass explode with muscle and fat, giving the young man the look of a superstar football player. The pressure in his shorts grows until they rip open in dramatic fashion, making his ass bounce as it's released. Finally his face fills out, matching the rest of his massive body.
It looks like we have another winner. He seems to come to after the transformation is complete, an embarrassed look takes over his face as he attempts to cover his dick with his hands. His hands are quite massive, but it would be futile to try to cover up the monster he's got packing down there.
I throw him a towel to cover up and he thanks me before biking off.
The next player is a middle aged man who shows up in a barely functioning mini van. He said he used to be an athlete but had to stop after a serious injury. Ever since he had his kids, he has gained a lot of weight and struggles to do any activities with his kids.
The man takes the shot, and similar to the sheriff from before, his back straightens as his height increases drastically. Within moments the small feeble man with a can has become a tall and imposing man. His height has made his shorts look like short shorts and his shirt look like a bra, exposing his hairy gut. This would not last long however, as the fat in his body rapidly started to drain. As it did, his body began to twitch as an immense amount of muscle started to grow in his body. His hulking gut became a rock hard six pack and his moobs became a juicy pair of pecs. The man's soft arms became solid and defined as his hands became thick and calloused. His legs became strong and sturdy, and his ass became round a perky instead of sagging like it did before.
The man's face slimmed down, making his double chin fade as a thick black beard grew over his face. His receding hairline also grew back a little bit, giving him a more youthful look. Finally, a thick pelt of hair grew all over the man's body. Though the transformation seemed very taxing on the man, and he ended up passing out.
He must have been 6"4 and at least 250 pounds, so dragging his body to a bed was no easy task. It didn't take long for him to wake up. He thanked me profusely before getting up and leaving in the minivan.
Our last player for today is a young man who shows up in a cop car. He approaches wearing a police uniform, he feels he is not being respected by the more senior police. He wants to be more intimidating and demand more respect, but something tells me that his co-workers aren't the only reason he wants to be more intimidating. Unfortunately for him, he has no idea that there is only one shot left and it is not a winner.
The man impatiently takes the shot. Almost immediately, the man's flat stomach distended outward into a beer belly. It grows and grows until rips through his police uniform, leaving him in a tight black undershirt. He is left with a thick ball gut that hangs out of his shirt. His once defined pecs grow into two soft man tits that lay on his gut. The fat in his chest has even forced his arms to lay further out from his body. Speaking of his arms, they plump up under a thick layer of fat, nearly ripping his sleeves in the process. Even his hands look fat, with fingers that look like stuffed sausages.
Lucky for the young man, his uniform pants seemed to be slightly too big for him, so they have enough room to store his new body. His ass explodes with fat, stretching his large pants to their limit. His thighs follow suit, filling his pants until they're about to burst.
Just when the transformation is about to end, it gets worse for the young man. His face becomes pudgier as a thick double chin forms on his neck. But as the fat filled his face, the stubble on his chin went from brown to white. The hair on his head followed suit, becoming a pale white colour as his hairline slightly receded. Wrinkles started to form on his face as he began to rapidly age. From his mid twenties, to forties, all the way to his sixties in mere moments. His body started to sag under its own weight as blemishes formed on his skin.
Police equipment was scattered across the floor as the man was left in a tiny black undershirt and pants that barely fit. He flexed, making his shirt ride up even more, and smiled as he looked at his body. It seems as though he is unaware of how different his body was mere moments ago. He chuckled and states that the station will have no choice but to respect a man of his stature, and besides, he's definitely old enough to get some seniority. He picks up his ripped uniform off the ground and comments that it must have shrunk in the wash and that he needs to get a new one. He thanks me before squeezing into his police car and driving off
Tailored to Perfection
Ethan had been invited to a large corporate meeting next week, requiring nicer clothing than his usual work getup. He’d never liked dressing up; he felt it never looked good on his thin lanky body. But he had no choice now, so he’d gone to the store to get fitted for a nice new business suit to make a good impression on the higher-ups. As he entered the store the tailor came out from the back.
“Hello! Welcome, what can I do for you sir?” he asked Ethan. The tailor was an older man with a cheerful smile and a slightly mismatched outfit.
“Hi, uh, I need a new suit for a business meeting and it's been years since I’ve worn one,” Ethan replied.
“Ah yes yes, I understand,” the tailor said, “What has kept you all these years then?”
“Well, I don’t love how I look in them if I’m being honest, they always look oversized and baggy. But I have to look nice for corporate, so let’s just get this over with,” He lamented.
“A shame to have such a view of the suit!” the tailor exclaimed, “It is an extension of you, your confidence.”
“Well it sure doesn’t feel like that,” Ethan muttered.
“Follow me, we will get you fitted,” the tailor gestured at Ethan, walking towards a setup of mirrors. Ethan followed him over and stood awkwardly on the pedestal, bombarded with reflections of himself. The tailor pulled out some measuring tapes and began stretching them across Ethan’s body, muttering some numbers to himself.
“Well you’ve got a decent frame here,” he said to Ethan as he measured his back and shoulders, “definitely some improvement to be done but a good start.”
Ethan was slightly taken aback by that comment, but he didn’t say anything, eager to have this experience over with as soon as possible. He felt the tailor’s hands wrap the tape around his chest, talking to himself again.
“Well… if we add some size here that would be a good start…” he overheard, before suddenly a strange feeling arose in his chest. It was a pounding, pulsing feeling, on the edge between painful and pleasurable, almost like a deep massage. It almost felt as if his pecs were growing, stretching larger and thicker with every beat. The feeling grew so strong that Ethan looked at his reflection, and to his shock he could see them becoming more prominent, pushing his shirt away from his body. He stayed still as the tailor was still working, but he looked down to double check, and they had grown so large he could barely see past them to his feet! The strange sensation he had felt was spreading, and his stomach area felt it next. He could feel his abdominals heaving and growing, pulling in tighter as muscles grew and swelled. Ethan was stunned.
“Give me just a moment, I need to grab a better pencil,” the tailor said before stepping around the back side of the mirrors. In that moment Ethan felt his new torso, his hands cupping his massive pecs and gliding over his now defined stomach. But while rubbing his hands over the smooth skin something felt wrong. There was something prickly on his chest. He pulled up his shirt and his jaw dropped. There were thick brown hairs starting to sprout all over his torso. The hairs spiraled out around his nipples and coated his large pecs in a thick rug, follicles pushing out hair after hair as the pelt grew dark and dense. The hair spread down his abs and covered his new definition in a thick layer of hair as well. His hands were running through the coarse hairs as they grew longer, poking through his fingers.
He heard the steps of the tailor and quickly pulled his hands out of his shirt. The tailor had come back with some different tapes and quickly got back to work. He got on a stool to measure Ethan’s shoulders, wrapping the tape tightly under his armpit.
“Mmm yes, I want you to feel confident. The suit will showcase the true you,” he said from behind. Ethan could feel that same sensation returning as his shoulders inflated, growing from bony to boulders as his delts exploded. He felt power and size flow down his arms as his biceps and triceps grew to twice, three times their original size. His forearms pumped up and he gained the thick hands of an experienced lifter. He felt the same itch as dozens of thick, wiry hairs sprouted from his pit, overwhelming the sparse few he had there before. They grew in thick and dark, and he could feel his pits becoming sweaty immediately. The hair on his chest spread up and out, traveling over his shoulders in a wave of hair that would be clearly visible. The hair spread down his arms, popping out of the smooth skin of his upper arms and burying his forearms in thick fur. Even his hands weren’t safe, as Ethan watched thick hairs worm their way out of the backs of his hands and knuckles.
“Raise your arms up for me,” the tailor commanded. Ethan complied as more measurements were taken, but immediately the stench from his pits filled the room. What was happening to him? The tailor wrapped his tape around Ethan’s pumped biceps, measuring a hefty 18 inches.
“Yes, yes, everyone will see and know your power, your virility,” the tailor said, Ethan beginning to see the connection. “Your masculine hair will stick up out of any shirt collar, and poke out of the ends of any sleeve, there will be no doubt.” As he said this, his already thick chest hair grew just a little more, sprouting up above his collarbone and reaching onto his neck so that it did indeed show above his shirt. The hairs continued to climb upwards, poking through on his chin and sprouting on his cheeks. His upper lip darkened as numerous dark hairs erupted from the previously smooth skin. The hairs grew quickly, his face filling in with a dense beard in moments. The itching was relentless as hairs pumped out of the follicles, coating from his cheekbones down his neck and everything in between.
“Good, a thick beard will stand out against your skin and the fabric well,” the tailor said as he walked around to the front of Ethan. “Now I believe I have most of your measurements, we’ll need to try some things on as well.” He darted away into the back of the store. Ethan now had a moment to take in what had been done to him. This tailor had changed him from a lanky nerd into an insanely hairy beefy man, or at least partly. Ethan should’ve been horrified, but something inside him was excited by the change, almost turned on by it. He felt like he could be more bold, more assertive. People would listen to him looking like this. He caught himself feeling his massive arms and tried to get a grip of himself; this was not natural, not good, and he should definitely not be enjoying it. But the tailor had reemerged holding a white dress shirt with a beige jacket and pant set. Despite his brain telling him to run, to get out, Ethan’s body stayed put, he was losing control. There was a part of him that craved this new body, this new attitude he could feel developing.
“Alright, try these clothes on,” the tailor handed the suit to Ethan and drew the curtain shut behind him. Ethan hung it on the wall and tried to take his own shirt off, which was certainly more challenging than he’d expected. Those bulging muscles were not going to let it go. He eventually got both shirt and pants off and got to marvel at himself in the mirror. It looked as if he’d put on at least 30 pounds of pure muscle. His body was built and toned, though it was hard to tell under the massive amount of hair that had covered his upper body. He took the dress shirt and slipped his arms into it. It was snug, but fit in a way that showed off his new build. That same part of Ethan’s brain was ecstatic, when the old Ethan would hate to be seen in clothes like this. He similarly slipped on the pants and jacket which fit fairly well. After admiring himself for just a moment he opened the curtain and returned to the tailor.
“Hmm, it’s good but could still be improved,” the tailor said disappointedly. “Turn around for me and let me check the seams.” Ethan did as he was told, and all of the sudden he felt an immense pressure in his back. His spine stretched, adding multiple inches to his height. The same muscle growth he had felt earlier returned in stride, with his traps and lats growing as if years of training had passed in seconds. His shoulders broadened even further, which was the final straw for the suit he’d put on. The jacket and shirt both shredded, unable to contain the new and improved Ethan. Out of some instinct, Ethan flexed his arms up, destroying the rest of the fabric that had hung on. His pose revealed that the bushes in his pits had gotten even thicker, and the itching had now spread to his back. He turned around to see the reflection of his back in the mirror, and a grin crossed his face at what he saw.
Thin hairs began popping out of his shoulder blades, quickly growing thicker and darker. The patches of hair grew rapidly, spreading across the empty field that was his back muscles. The hairs joined up with the fur that had grown on his shoulders, and traveled down towards his ass. The hairs continued to grow thicker and longer, weaving together into a furry rug that coated his massive back. The more hair grew in, the more Ethan fell prey to whatever the tailor was doing to him. He now wanted to become more massive, more furry, more masculine. He wanted to show the world at every second that he was in charge.
Ethan then looked down at his pecs, watching the already thick hair grow darker and curlier as it absolutely covered him. That trend raced down his torso to his groin, where until now there had been a lightly trimmed bush of light hairs. Those soft wisps were quickly overtaken by the thick, dark, and curly hairs that reared their heads all over his groin. His pubes blossomed into a forest of hairs, the bush spreading out in every direction. He couldn’t resist the urge to shove his hands into the growing fur, feeling it push out and curl around his fingers. He let out an uncontrollable moan as the hair continued to spread, giving him a truly manly crotch for the first time. The hairs raced down his thighs, coating his legs in a pelt thick enough to hide the skin in some spots. While these hairs were sprouting his legs continued to bulk up, quads doubling in size as his slacks split down the seams. Even his feet began to grow, pushing against his now incredibly tight shoes until they too burst open. He could see the same dark hairs that coated his whole body sprouting on them as his toes stretched out. There was no hiding that he had become a beefy hairy man, and that new body was seeping into his mind as well.
“Well that suit certainly won’t do, let’s get you fitted again,” the tailor commented after Ethan had absolutely destroyed the last suit.
“I want to go navy blue this time,” Ethan said with a newly commanding voice. He shocked himself at how much deeper it was now. He really did have a new powerful persona.
“Of course sir, I’ll be right back with that. Something to show off the new you,” he scampered off to the back once again. He came back with a finely made navy blue suit and a matching shirt and tie. “This, sir, will do the job I assure you,” he said. Ethan slipped on the new shirt and tried to button it up, but his new pecs were too large even for this shirt. He turned back to the tailor.
“Ah yes I know it will not close, but a man like you is not afraid to show off his powerful hairy chest. You will overpower anyone else in the room, making them drool like dogs,” the tailor assured him. Ethan roared with laughter, becoming accustomed to his new deeper voice. He sounded powerful, confident, and masculine. He put on the rest of the clothes which fit perfectly. He looked at his reflection and no longer saw the old Ethan, but a new one. An Ethan that would make a statement upon entering any room, one who knew what he wanted and was not afraid to take it for himself. He knew he wanted to wear clothes like this every day now, not just for this business trip. He turned back to the tailor with a smirk on his face.
“I’d like to be fitted for another while I’m here”
Building a New Life
Justin was the star wrestler at his high school. He had won regional titles and the adoration of all the local families for years, and was ready to head to college to continue his streak. Senior year he was at his peak, winning matches left and right. All he had to do was wait for those recruitment offers to roll in. He waited and waited, still kicking ass in his wrestling, but while everyone around him was committing and getting accepted, there were no letters to him. To his dismay, one never came. His plans for the future were shattered, what was he supposed to do now? The wrestling scholarship was his only shot for college.
With the year ending and not many options, Justin started looking for entry level jobs that would take him. He lived in a fairly rural area so most of what he found was either farm work or construction, and the latter paid better. He called one of them up and they told him to swing by the site a few days later. He drove out to the construction site later that week and walked into the mobile office they had there. The manager came out to greet him. He was a rugged man in his late 40’s, with a stocky build and thick stubble. He’d clearly been in the business for years and it showed through his worn hands and gruff voice from yelling orders at his lackeys. The man looked Justin up and down.
“A little scrawny but I can work with it,” he said after a few seconds.
“I was a top wrestler in the region!” Justin protested.
“Doesn’t matter in this industry,” the man said flatly. “Can you handle heavy loads and equipment? Can you deal with being outside most of the day in rough weather?”
Justin was caught off guard, usually people were much nicer to him. “Of course I can! I can handle whatever you throw at me,” he assured.
“Well alright, If you think you can handle it let’s see how you do here,” the manager said, handing a pile of clothes to Justin. “Here’s your safety and HiVis gear, make sure it fits and then we’ll get you set up outside.”
Justin took his uniform to the bathroom to try it on real quick. It included a hard hat that was adjustable, which he fit to his head, a bright orange and yellow HiVis vest, and a couple other things. He put it all on and stepped back into the office.
“Alright follow me, Justin was it?” the manager gestured towards the door.
“Yes sir,” Justin responded uncharacteristically.
“Name’s Blaine, the manager revealed, “Around here we usually work on residential projects, we’re currently assisting on a development outside of town.” He led them away from the office around the immediate site, which currently seemed to be mostly used as storage for equipment and materials. “Since you’ve got no experience you’ll start by shadowing some of our guys for a few weeks and handling more basic tasks til you’re ready for more,” he continued. “You can head back to the office and they'll take care of the nitty gritty for ya. I’m expecting great things from you, wrestler,” Blaine laughed as he left Justin and headed out towards the development. Justin heard his gruff voice booming in the distance as he barked orders to the workers.
Justin was unsure about all of this, but he didn’t really have a better option at the moment. He felt out of place in his new safety gear, and he was younger than nearly everyone he saw working. He took care of the paperwork and headed home for the day; they'd hired him on the spot to start the next morning. With considerable unease, he went to bed, closing one chapter of his life for the next.
As the weeks went by Justin began acclimating to this new job fairly well. He got to know the guys he worked with, learned how to use the equipment, and began to feel comfortable on the site. He even felt like he had put on some mass to better handle all the physical work he was doing. His rock solid abs were a little less visible than they had been but for some reason that didn’t bother him. He was already starting to forget the sting of not being recruited for wrestling. Every day he came into work those past dreams seemed to fade a little more, replaced by his new life. His coworkers had made fun of him for having such a baby face at the beginning, but now he was starting to sport a little bit of stubble. Justin was slowly starting to blend in more with his new crowd.
The months continued to pass, with Justin becoming more and more entrenched in his new construction life. It was getting colder outside, and his body began to adjust without him even noticing. His stubble grew out into a real beard, short and dense. He began packing on more body fat as he spent less and less time at the gym and more and more working and drinking with his new bros. His voice began to sound a little deeper and rougher, matching those around him. The hard hat really suited him now with his more rugged looks. He had never been a good student in school but he seemed to really be taking to this new job, completely forgetting about his old goals. The occassional approving nod from Blaine was driving him forward. He was thriving in this new position, but the job wasn’t done with him yet.
Unbeknownst to Justin, under his thick winter clothes things were changing. His previously toned body, while still fairly muscular, was steadily becoming thicker with fat. Not only that, but he’d always been near perfectly smooth and that too was slowly changing. It had started with his chest, where on the previously bare skin thin wispy hairs had started to poke out. That didn’t last long though, as they were quickly overrun with thicker, darker hairs that began sprouting in between his pecs. They grew curly as they spread out, covering his entire chest in hair, spreading up across his collarbone and down across his slowly growing stomach. The new hairy coat was just another part of his insulation against the harsh winter weather. But the hairs didn’t stop there either. His pits erupted with thick wiry hairs, coating his underarms in curly hairs that trapped both heat and sweat. The hairs pushed out, tangling together as they formed a thick tuft of hair under each arm, even spreading out to connect with the rug on his chest. After each day of hard work he’d come home stinking like the other men he worked with, and over time he started to enjoy the musk he produced.
Of course he wasn’t done filling out his uniform quite yet. His formerly modest bush began growing with no end in sight, engulfing his groin in thick, wiry brown hairs that radiated out from his lengthening cock. Sometimes while on the site Justin would instinctively reach down in his pants to itch the growing bush, the feeling and texture of it driving him wild. With pubes erupting day and night his musk only grew stronger, as Justin began to truly have a manly aura around him that he’d never had before. It seemed to help him bond with the other guys more, as they welcomed him into their groups and invited him out more and more frequently. Underneath his work pants his legs bulked up considerably from carrying all sorts of materials around, followed closely by the same dark fur. It raced down his legs and coated them with curly hairs that rubbed against the inside of his increasingly tight jeans as he walked around, an almost arousing feeling. Within the first year of working Justin had gone up four sizes in his work boots, as his feet grew and widened to match the rest of him. The massive steel-toed boots hid how hairy his feet had gotten, with dark hairs covering the tops and toes.
The next year was largely the same. Justin continued slowly changing to better fit his new job. He was really beginning to excel at it, and he’d attained a close friendship with many of the men he worked with. It almost seemed as if he’d aged ten years over the last one, he certainly looked it at this point. His fur coat only thickened, growing even denser across his chest and stomach to the point you could barely see the skin beneath the hairs. Hair had also spread up and onto his shoulders before enveloping his massive back. The hairs gushed out across his shoulder blades before shooting down his spine and spreading out wide. The heavy coating slowly grew thicker and spread out further as time went on, reaching down to his ass. It too became covered with thick, dark hairs as it inflated to a truly massive size. During the warmer months sometimes he just wore his vest and hard hat, his incredibly thick hair covering the rest of him and sticking through his vest.
Justin earned the nickname ‘Grizzly’ from his coworkers after they saw how hairy he’d gotten, and his body had put on the size to match. Gone was the small but toned body of a wrestler, replaced by a thick, hairy, and sturdy body of a weathered construction worker. He oozed masculinity from not only his stained and dirty work clothes, but from the thick chest hair that he left his shirt open to show off. His entire body was now coated with a dense coat of hair and he liked to make that known, as long as he wasn’t caught against safety regulations at least. He never questioned why he’d changed so much in such a short span, it never even occurred to him, and honestly he liked his new life. He was just one of the guys working on the site now. The hair felt as natural to him as anything else, and the other guys seemed to like it even if they made fun of him once in a while. Occasionally when they went out drinking some of the guys would have too many beers and start rubbing their hands through his thick fur, but he didn’t mind at all. It felt good to be masculine, and to be appreciated for it by other guys. Months continued to pass though no one could really remember how long Justin had been working there at this point, but they were all glad he was there. He was the best construction worker on their team.
Spring Break
Noah was pissed. Today was supposed to be the beginning of the best spring break ever. He’d planned a week-long trip with his college friends to New York City. They’d had it all lined up- museums, restaurants, sightseeing, it was perfect. But about a week before, Noah’s mom had called and delivered devastating news. They were having a family reunion that week. In rural Florida. Attendance was not optional. She’d bought his ticket already and there was no way out.
The day had arrived, and he solemnly made his way to the airport and flew to Tallahassee. They were meeting at his relatives’ place in the Florida panhandle, in the middle of nowhere. He’d been once as a kid and vowed never to go back. After a two hour drive from the airport he made it, driving up a dirt driveway to the massive, yet ramshackle, house in the forest. The next hour was a blur of greeting extended family, most of whom he barely remembered since they tended to stay out here in the country. After that settled down his mom came up to him, clearly very excited about something.
“Noah! You’re not gonna believe this, but since it’ll be a few more days before everyone’s here, your cousins Chevy and Logan are gonna take you out on a hunting trip! Just for a couple days,” she was nearly bouncing off the ground.
Noah groaned. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He had nothing in common with his cousins, and certainly did not want to spend time alone with them out in the swampy wilderness. His mom was not hearing any complaints from him though, and she dragged him out back to reacquaint him with his cousins. Chevy and Logan were chatting with each other on the patio, beers in hand, decked out in the camo hunting gear Noah assumed they lived and slept in. They were only a couple years older than Noah, but looked quite a bit older compared to the baby faced city boy.
“Ayyy Noah! What’s up, it’s been a while man,” Chevy walked over and gave him a bear hug, spilling some beer on his back.
“Hey Chevy, nice to see you too. I heard you guys were uh, taking me out camping,” Noah said unenthusiastically.
“Not just camping my guy!” Logan butted in, “We’re talking full on country backroads hunting boy’s trip! We’ll show you what you’re missing by being cooped up in the city.”
Noah’s heart sank; it was worse than he’d thought. They were gonna drag him out there and make him hunt? He didn’t like killing anything and worse, having to deal with the aftermath. He put on a forced grin since his mother was right there.
“Wow, that sounds real great guys, I can’t wait,” he said through gritted teeth. His subliminal messages to them were entirely lost.
“Hell yes bro! Here’s a pack with some of our extra hunting clothing, you won’t want a whole suitcase out there,” Chevy said, handing Noah a backpack. “We’ve got some extra gear that should fit you, it’s already in the truck. We’ll leave in 30 minutes, so get yourself ready.”
30 minutes?? That was immediate, he wouldn’t even have time to plead his case to get out of it. Begrudgingly he went back inside to get his stuff together. The next thing he knew, it was time. The boys were out front in their pickup truck, the back full of tents, camouflage gear, and who knows what else. Logan laid on the horn.
“NOAHHHHHH! It’s time to scram, let's get outta here!” Logan shouted over the blaring horn.
Noah groaned, this was setting the tone for the whole trip. He looked at himself in the mirror, the camo pants and hoodie just looked wrong on him. He for sure didn’t want his clothes getting covered in mud though, so he sucked it up and headed out front. Chevy grabbed his bag and tossed it in the back before climbing in shotgun, leaving Noah in the cramped back seats. And with that, they were off.
“There’s a real nice game area ‘bout an hour, hour and a half from here,” Logan said. “We’ll get in, set up a nice camp, then relax. Then at sunrise we’ll start you off with somethin easy, maybe a deer or boar,” he turned and looked at Noah, grinning.
Noah bounced around in the back of the truck as Logan drove through the forest on bumpy dirt roads. Chevy had put on some country music up front, and they were practically yelling to have a conversation over it. They tried talking to Noah about what he’d been up to, but Noah was sulking and gave only short answers. The sun was starting to hang low in the sky when they pulled off, offroading through some clear land towards a spot they’d clearly been to before. They stopped at a neat little clearing near a creek. It was objectively a beautiful little spot, but Noah was not in the mood to appreciate it, already swatting at mosquitoes swarming him.
“Alright man, you ever pitch a tent?” Chevy asked Noah.
“Uh, no, I haven’t”
“Well here, I’ll help ya out,” he said earnestly. “We’ve already got a well used spot here, so first we just lay out this footprint, and here let’s have you start with the poles.”
Noah fumbled around with the metal poles before eventually getting them together. He was frustrated, why would he ever need to know this? Chevy took the poles and got the tent up while Logan was still unloading the back of the truck.
“Alright we’re nearly done, just gotta secure it with these stakes,” he handed them to Noah. “Just stick these through the corner, make sure they’re deep in the ground now.”
Noah took the stakes and tried pushing them into the dirt, but they only made it about an inch in. He tried scraping the dirt away with his hands but that didn’t help. Chevy tapped his shoulder, holding a mallet as a suggestion. They’d just gotten here and already Noah was annoyed despite his cousin’s encouraging attitude. His hands were covered in dirt too, he hated being dirty! And he had no escape from all of it. He stormed off to the water’s edge in a huff while the other two finished putting their site together. The sun was really setting by then.
“Ey Noah!” Logan called, “Come have a beer with us man! We’ve got some chili cookin’ too, ya gotta eat somethin,” he laughed. Noah sighed. There was no point in sulking the entire trip like this, even if he wanted to. He walked back over and pulled a beer out of the cooler they’d brought and sat down.
“It seems his highness has decided to grace us with his presence,” Chevy mocked. Noah chuckled. He’d make it through this, even if it took all the beer in that cooler. The boys ate dinner and talked as the sun dipped below the horizon, with Noah actually giving some substantial answers this time. He was exhausted, having flown in and driven all day. He climbed into his tent to hit the sack. If he’d had a mirror in there, he would’ve noticed what looked like some dirt smeared on his face, just on his upper lip and the sides of his face by his ears.
Noah was abruptly awakened by Chevy shaking him. “Hey bro! It’s just starting to get light out, let’s get moving.” Noah groaned, it was his vacation and he was getting woken up at five something in the morning. He crawled out of his tent, banging his head on the pole; was it really that small last night? The boys were up and moving already, and Chevy handed Noah a granola bar to eat. “It’s a light breakfast I know, but we don’t wanna miss the prime time of the day,” he said softly.
Despite being exhausted, Noah’s annoyance was fading quickly. Maybe this would be a little bit of fun; at the very least it would be something different from normal. He scratched at his chin, his fingers brushing through the smallest bit of stubble that had sprouted overnight. Noah had never been able to grow facial hair, but for some reason this didn’t alarm him, it felt natural even. He put on his hat to hide his messy hair and began to chow down on that granola bar. As he did, that small amount of stubble began pushing out more, giving Noah a shadow across his jaw. It grew thicker, sticking out further until he had a rough, patchy beard. It made Noah look more natural in his hunting gear, aging him up just a hair. His clothes had also grown less baggy on him, attributing to an extra inch or two in height and some mass he’d never been able to pack on before.
Within a few minutes, they were off, trekking through the tall grass into the brush. Logan guided them to a denser pocket where they set up watch and waited for some wildlife to show up. Logan had told them he knew there were deer that tended to feed nearby, so they just had to be quiet and wait. The tension grew as time passed, and before he knew it, a buck had shown up in the clearing. Chevy had prepared him for this, and he took the shot. The deer went down, and Chevy and Logan cheered.
“Hell yes dude! Nice shot, especially for your first time,” Logan patted him on the back.
Chevy gripped him with joy, “It must be in your blood bro, you’re a natural.”
The adrenaline was coursing through Noah’s veins and to his surprise he was actually having a good time. He couldn’t remember why he hadn’t wanted to spend time with his cousins, they were chill, and this was turning out to be better than being cooped up in the house. The three of them carried the animal back, working together to hoist several hundred pounds. The sun was fully up now and it was humid. Sweat ran down Noah’s back, and he could smell the putrid stench coming off Chevy in front of him. He didn’t mind though, after all, that’s what a working man smells like.
The sweat was clinging to Noah’s damp skin, beading on his forehead. As he slogged ahead, carrying this massive weight on his shoulders, his body began to adapt. His twig like arms expanded with new muscle, his thighs exploded with size, and his chest produced an impressive set of pecs before softening with a layer of fat. The sweat and smell really began to soak into his skin, and under his sopping shirt small brown hairs poked up around his nipples. Those soft, small hairs didn’t remain so for long, sprouting from his chest, covering the expanse in a curly rug that was slicked down with sweat. Noah’s stubble was not to be left out, pushing further out of his face. Hairs wriggled out in the gaps between old ones, leaving him with much better coverage on his cheeks. Around his chin it even started to fluff up a little, coarse hairs puffing out.
They finally made it back to their camp, dropping the load and slumping into the chairs they’d left around the fire pit.
“We’ll have to gut and clean that in a minute, but here champ,” Logan handed Noah a beer. It was cold, and exactly what Noah needed against the oppressive humidity. “Here’s to many more,” he toasted, before chugging his own down. Noah was finally able to take a breather, and thats when he noticed.
He STUNK.
He raised his arms back behind his head, airing them out. The sweat drenched pits aired their stench to the world, but to Noah, he just matched his cousins now. The exposed pits had a few hairs plastered to the skin. As he sipped the beer and relaxed, more wisps of hair shot out from his skin, growing thick and wiry. What started as a few extra hairs quickly blossomed into a thick forest of hairs, tangling together and poking out of the sleeves of his t-shirt. The hairs itched as they grew in, prompting Noah to dig his fingers in there, scratching through the sweaty, smelly hairs. He didn’t question it, as far as he remembered he’d had hairy pits since middle school. The hairs spread out of his pits, connecting to the dense coating on his chest. The rug on his chest had started creeping upwards, reaching with thick tendrils of hair towards his burgeoning beard.
After a short reprieve Noah was back on his feet, jumping at the opportunity to learn from his cousins how to clean their kill. They were eager to teach him, to fold him into their ways. Noah’s distaste for his cousins, the country, hunting, all of it was evaporating. He felt like he had so much in common with them now, how had he never realized?
The rest of the day Chevy and Logan took Noah on a whole laundry list of activities they’d planned. Fishing, mudding, you name it. All hesitation had disappeared, Noah was in deep now. He kept drinking with the boys, not noticing that his gut was pushing tight against his shirt. In fact, his whole upper body was stretching out. His shoulders pushed out, growing broader. His frame was massive now, bigger than either of his cousins. He stood out on the edge of a pond in the harsh sunlight fishing, his shirt absolutely soaked with sweat that dribbled down his massive back. As it reached his waistband, it began fertilizing the growth of a new patch of hair right above his plump ass. The hairs sprung out of the wet skin, shooting up his spine in minutes. Before long the hairs had spread out across the wide expanse of his lats, pressing against the tight shirt. The fields of hair were thick, dense enough to darken the shade of his skin, and definitely didn’t help with the sweat situation. The hairs continued to spread, climbing over his round shoulders and down his arms, coating him with a wild fur that cemented his place out in the country. He was really starting to look like his cousins now, between his camo gear, hairy body, and beer gut.
When the three of them returned to camp that night, Noah was exhausted. He grabbed another can from the cooler and cracked it open. Putting up to his mouth, he tilted it a little too far, spilling foamy beer down his face and into his chest hair. He chuckled and half attempted to wipe the foam off. Where it sat in his beard, the hairs began to thicken and sprout. His mustache grew incredibly thick, making itself known above the rest of his scruff. His chest fur also took to the growth, turning into a real carpet that climbed up and out of his shirt collar. Noah let out a massive burp in response.
“Yo Chevy, we really gotta head back tomorrow? Shit rocks out here,” Noah said with a deeper voice than he’d ever had previously.
“Yea bro, Ma will skin us if we miss the reunion. But don’t worry man, I know you’ll be back out with us in no time,” he flashed a grin at Noah.
Noah went and dug through their bags, finding a lighter and pack of cigars. Now that the sun was going down, it was cool enough to enjoy being outside. He lit it up and took a hefty puff, his huge, hirsute body taking it in like a champ. Any thoughts about his old spring break, his old life, had been dragged through the mud and stamped out. All he wanted to do now was relax, listen to the sounds of the crickets, and spend time with his bros.
