The School Of Buff Jocks Part 1

The School of Buff Jocks Part 1

Ladies and Gentlemen, Jocks and Muscleheads, Bros and Bruhs, it is my distinct honor and pleasure to present to you the long anticipated sequel to Real Men’s Journal and Of Spies and Muscleheads, the School of Buff Jocks! This story is being written on a commission basis, so give thanks to @muscle-jock-bro for footing the bill. And if you want to ease the amount he’s paid for you all to enjoy this, please feel free to throw a few dollars his way. As usual, I am currently open for commissions. Just message me if you’re interested or email me at Omnikitsune@gmail.com with the subject: Commission Inquiry. And if you wish to support my writing, please feel free to donate via my Ko-fi or Patreon.

Now, please enjoy. The other parts will be coming shortly.

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Stonewall Prep Men’s Academy. You hear words like that, and you’d expect some sort of boarding school for boys or something like that, wouldn’t you? And I suppose it still is. Things are just … different than they used to be. I’ll tell you what, though, we haven’t had to worry about big fights or fancy things like detention and suspension for a long time. Matter of fact, we have one of the best reputations as a no-nonsense school since the business was bought out by its current owner. It used to be called Stone Bluff Men’s Academy, but I guess Coach Stone preferred something stronger.

Can’t say I blame him. It feels so good to be strong. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The name’s Derek. Derek Jones. My friends call me DJ. I’m … sort of a big deal. Folks around the country call me Big DJ. Can’t say I hate the nickname. Feels kinda natural, actually. And, I mean, look at me. I am big. Thing is, I wasn’t always. Nobody is, I suppose. Not at first.

I used to be more of a nerd. Videogames were more my thing. The closest I came to sports was usually with EA Games’ Madden and other sport franchises. That and Wii Sports. I used to have a lot of gamer friends, too. We’d laugh, sass around about things like anime and other common interests. Then things started to change after summer break one year.

Guess that’s where I’ll start, since I’m supposed to tell my story. And, well, my story is the school’s story. I was sitting with a couple of my old bros, Jackson and Slater. We shared classes, had a lot of the same interests. It was a good match for us. And since the prep school allowed for electives to travel in the same circles, we got at least a couple of periods together each day. Being in the same dorm helps a lot for hanging out after, too.

To say we were surprised by our teachers’ appearances was an understatement. Every one of them was ripped. Not in the steroid sense of the word, but we could tell they’d all lost weight, and their new clothes highlighted the tone they had developed over the break. The school’s headmaster was, by far, one of the biggest changes. The man used to be heavyset and overweight. Now he was broad in all the right places. I mean, the man was built like a tank!

The opening assembly gave us a proper explanation.

The headmaster stared at us with flinty blue-green eyes as he spoke over the pulpit. Even without the speakers, his voice probably could have projected to the back of the hall.

“Welcome to another year at Stonewall Prep Academy. Some of you are likely confused by that name, considering the moniker our school has borne for so many years. It has recently been brought under new ownership, however, with new management as a result. There are to be no major changes in your curriculum, nor your daily lives.

“Your schedules will remain the same, save you should choose to alter them. However, the new owner has insisted on a higher budget to pay for greater resources to be utilized by our student body. As a result, the school will be undergoing certain renovations over the course of the year.

“Our computer lab will be updated with the latest in technology to give you all the best chance at learning both digitally and physically. As an additional investment, each of you will be given a personal computer that is to be returned to the school at the end of the term.”

The room was filled with excited whispers at that news. Our own personal computers. There were so many things we could do with those. Stream shows, play videos, post memes. And we could write letters and emails in our rooms instead of having to dedicate time at the computer lab to do it. It was perfect!

“Now, boys, settle down.” The headmaster smiled. “The best is yet to come. Since so many youths are full of nervous energy, our school’s new owner has insisted on donating a heavy portion of his own money to renovate and expand our fitness program, including giving new machines and equipment to allow maximum efficiency for you students and any sports teams. Living conditions will also be improved in due course on a person to person basis. The transitions in your rooms will be simple and swift, so you needn’t fear not having a place to stay. The changes will be superficial at best with updated furniture and amenities. We expect you boys to do your best during this year and immerse yourself in the spirit of health, wellness, and education that this school is meant to embody. With that being said, it’s time to adjourn for a meal. Then you will have free time to prepare for school tomorrow. To all new students, your schedules will be in your dorm rooms, and teachers will be standing by on the first day to help guide you to your classes across the campus. Welcome to Stonewall Prep!”

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Mister Andrews was my teacher for World History that year. The man was a big medieval buff in both senses of the word. He even kept a suit of full plate armor on display in the classroom to show off his dedication to the time period. I heard he used to joust and play tourneys at Renaissance Fairs before he taught at the school. As a result of his hobby, he always kept a solid frame stacked high with muscle mass, particularly in the arms, shoulders, and legs. His stomach had grown over the last few years of teaching as age caught up with him, but whatever he’d done over break had nuked the fat into nonexistence. A thin green froth coated his lip as he switched between greeting students and taking a swig from an intricately carved tankard portraying a knight charging into battle on his horse with sword waving dramatically in front. I figured it must be green tea. I’d heard the stuff was good for cutting fat, and it explained a lot about his sudden change in form.

His deep voice rolled over the class in a no-nonsense tone. “All right, boys, bros, and men, listen up. I’m Mister Andrews. For those of you who intend to participate in wrestling or football this year, you can call me Coach Andrews. I don’t do roughhousing or fighting in this class. You will pay attention, and you will learn. If you do anything to disrupt the other students or my lesson, you will be punished as I see fit. History is no joke, and I intend you boys to take it seriously.” He drained the rest of his stein and slammed it onto his desk. The resulting sound echoed like a gun shot in our ears. “I hope we understand each other.”

Needless to say, Class was quiet and very attentive on its first day of the term. We received our syllabi and were given a general overview of what to expect for the course of our lessons. It took every fiber of willpower I had not to cheer when he said we wouldn’t be doing any papers this year. Like every teen, I hate writing essays. When the period ended, and it was time to clear out to our next classes, I approached Coach Andrews and smiled.

“Glad I got you this year, Mister Andrews.”

Andrews grinned. “It’s been a while, DJ. How’s the gang?”

“Gallivanting as usual, Sir. Were you still planning on DMing this year?”

“With sword and daggers bared,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I hope your party is ready. This year’s campaign, or campaigns as the case may be, are going to be a lot harder.”

I grinned. “I relish the challenge.”

“I would expect nothing less of our Half Orc Paladin.” He smiled. “Now you’d better move it. I won’t be held responsible for you being late to your next class on the first day. You can’t exactly use being a new student as an excuse, now can you?”

I laughed and offered a casual salute. “Yes, Sir.”

Andrews smirked. “That’s my soldier.”

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I couldn’t help but cringe as the scream rent the air, followed by a cascade of sobs. The hardwood floor of the school’s basketball court was now watered, not only by sweat, but by the tears of the goalie that bawled his eyes out as he clutched his crotch. Well, more held his hands gently over it. My grip tightened on my lacrosse stick as Coach Johnson lumbered forward and offered a consoling hand over the kid’s shoulder. The man was about six-foot-three and carried enough corded muscle to show more than his job was fitness. The offending ball now wobbled guiltily on one of the floorboards as he spoke in a deep, soft, and reassuring tone.

“Deep breaths, Kyle. Deep breaths,” he coached. “You’re gonna be okay.”

The teens that had once been so competitive now averted their eyes as Johnson levelled his dark green gaze on them.

“Mister Larson.” The deep quiet tone carried louder than any shout or beration as he looked to his fellow teacher. “Help the boys put away their equipment. I think we’re done for the day. I’m going to help Kyle to the school infirmary.”

Mister Larson nodded as the wails and sobs gradually faded to that hitching hiccup you get when you’re in the limbo between a full-on bawl and silent tears. No man would dare to criticize Kyle for it. Several of us swallowed heavily as our gazes trailed to our own crotches. That could have been any of us, and that was a sobering thought.

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Jackson winced after I gave them the downlow on what happened in gym. One of the first things we’d done was download Steam onto our new laptops and start playing League of Legends. His black hair had that sort of shine that drew the eye and made most people jealous. How he did it, I still don’t know. He doesn’t either. Guess he was just lucky.

“Sucks to be him,” Slater said as he unleashed his character’s highest tier attack on the enemy hordes. His red hair had been cut to short bristles. He preferred high and tight to the longer bowl cut of his younger days.

“Seriously, man?” I asked.

Slater shrugged. “What? I feel bad for the guy, but I’m not gonna cry a river for him. We’ve got our own stuff to worry about.”

“Either way, I’m pretty sure lacrosse is going to be off the table for a while,” Jackson guessed.

“I feel sorry for the one who did the deed. I know it was an accident, but man, did you see the look on Johnson’s face?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s pretty much screwed,” Slater agreed.

“Or he’s just going to have to apologize. It’s not like he’s going to get expelled,” Jackson said. Then he double clicked his mouse and smiled as his avatar wiped out mine and Slater’s.

“Really, man?”

Jackson shrugged. “That’s what you get for putting me on the other team.”

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Coach Johnson and Mister Larson both stood in front of the mass of students. Their voices rebounded from the tiles of the locker room. Larson raised a bundle of straps with a single green pouch high into the air.

“As of this day, all students are required to wear one of these at all times during gym class. For those students who are unaware, this piece of equipment is known as a jockstrap. It’s designed to support your crotch while playing sports.”

Coach Johnson picked up the narrative and raised his hand into the air. A hard curved plastic insert rimmed by what looked like rubber glinted in the light. The dull gray and black were emphasized by hints of bright green to complement the theme of its paired jockstrap. “This is called a cup. It’s used in most heavy sporting events to protect your crotch from heavy impacts. As you can see, this one is designed with shock absorption, shock transfer, and ventilation in mind, including a gel perimeter and inserts to keep impacts from cutting into your skin. All students are required to wear their cups with their jockstraps in order to participate in fitness activities. This is a safety measure to protect you from future harm. We expect each and every one of you to wear them and take good care of them.”

The two taught us how to insert the cup into a pouch and how to ensure a proper fit. I felt silly and embarrassed by the bulge it left in my pants, but the assurance that I wouldn’t end up in a crumpled ball on the floor helped mute that part of me, even if it couldn’t be totally silenced. At least they didn’t force us to just wear the straps alone. Of course, we were teenagers, so at least a few of us had to make the joke about what we were packing.

Huhuh. If only we knew.

“Jocks and cups will be dropped off in each of your rooms this evening,” Larson said. “You’ll be expected to take good care of them and place the used straps and cups in designated bins for washing. Your surnames will be sewn onto the straps inside the waistband for identification and delivery.”

We played for the rest of that period, though the pain Kyle had experienced was still fresh in our minds, and I’m pretty sure most of us weren’t really putting our whole effort into the game. Our heads were somewhere else.

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Somewhere else. That was the answer we’d received when we asked about Kyle. To be more precise, they’d said he was somewhere else getting treatment. The ball must’ve hit harder than we thought. I was biased then, and angry from past bullying. I thought about those stupid dumb jocks and my blood boiled.

I slaughtered in Call of Duty that night.

Later, we had Trig. Mister Dale had just polished off a blended green shake, probably one of those new kale smoothies, or so I thought at the time. He’d grown, just like the other teachers, and he exuded a confidence that I had never seen in him before when he addressed us. Had the teachers all been using the new gym equipment or something over the break?

Mister D’s voice rolled over the classroom in a wave. “Trigonometry, in many ways, has a heavy impact on us and the way we live. Combine it with the laws of physics, and you can predict almost anything. For instance, how many of you have played air hockey before?”

The majority of us raised our hands.

“How many of you have ever watched the puck in action as it slides over the table?”

Again, everyone raised their hands or nodded they had.

He drew a straight line, followed by two exact angles with the aid of a ruler. “One of the basic premises of trigonometry is angle in equals angle out. If you don’t get involved with friction, spin, or other factors along those lines, the bare essentials lead to this inevitable conclusion. If you strike the wall at a certain angle, the object will bounce off at an equal angle. Hence the ricochet we see in air hockey. Or, for those of you who are gamers, the unique bounce of the ball in Pong as it strikes your paddle.”

He smiled at us, despite our lack of enthusiasm. “Likewise, the same can be applied to philosophy and psychological development. Set a person on a particular course, account for various outside factors like environment and personality, let them collide with an obstacle, and see how they bounce back. In a nutshell, that’s basically life, when you think about it. Release.” He pointed to the first angle. “Strike.” He indicated the axis. “Bounce.” He pointed to the second angle. “And repeat. We may not always get the desired outcome at first, but by repeating the motions, one can eventually analyze a situation, figure out the proper factors, and ensure a means to achieve the desired outcome every single time. Ballistics experts use trigonometry on a regular basis as part of crime scene investigation to gather evidence. Now, then.” He pulled down the projection screen and shut off the lights, so a presentation could begin. “Let’s talk about how we calculate these angles.”

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“Homework sucks,” I groaned as I leaned back in my computer chair.

“At least it’s easy stuff for now, DJ.” Slater pointed out as he clacked on his laptop’s keyboard from my bed. “It could be worse.”

“I suppose.” I sighed. “Least we’re not in the hospital.”

“Relax, Derek. It’s not like Kyle’s never coming back.” He rolled his eyes.

“I know. I just don’t really like thinking about it, you know?” I winced and cupped my crotch.

“Yeah,” the others agreed softly. We spent the rest of the time focused on our various assignments. The trig program was pretty easy to follow through on. The exercise module ran sort of like a Prezi slide show. The line would trace and pause at a unique plane, and we’d have to figure out the angles. Wrong answers would generate a new problem as my point of view spun in reverse from the screen, following the line of trajectory. The more correct answers I got, the closer to the end goal I would descend. It wasn’t so bad as far as game designs go. Basic, but entertaining enough to keep the attention. And using games to teach always seemed a better way to go about school to me.

Module one was a breeze. Two and three took me a little more time. A slim amorphous figure voiced a chipper, “Congratulations,” as it flexed at the end of each one. The metaphorical walls and ricochet spun and drilled into the character, causing it to pulse and vibrate until the module had been absorbed. Then it flexed. The barest hint of definition could barely be perceived on its arm. “We’ll be fit for triggernometry in no time.”

I rolled my eyes. Cheesy one-liners for motivation and a mispronunciation. It was pretty obvious to me where this could end up going. The curriculum was the same for all of us, so we helped each other with our homework, then pulled another game night.

We had no idea what was coming.

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When Kyle finally came back to school again, we hardly recognized him. The pudgy boy had lost a lot of weight and gained in muscle and tone. The glasses he’d worn were nowhere to be seen, and the square block of his skull was much more prominent, now that the fat had been trimmed away.

He became a monster in Phys-ed. And Coach Johnson became his mentor. First term flew by, and he threw himself into every exercise Johnson put us through. He wasn’t the only one. The teachers all were growing. Their shirts were tighter, their figures trimmed. Whatever plan they were following sure seemed to be doing them good.

And surprisingly enough, the program was working. The more homework we aced, the bigger our seamless avatar would grow and the higher our overall performance would become in class. Sometimes, he’d be running a track. At other times, he’d be lifting barbells or performing chin-ups. The animations were so cheesy, we couldn’t help but laugh, but the results spoke for themselves.

I particularly enjoyed the English exercises. Synonyms, antonyms, imagery, symbolism, punctuation, structure.

I was a stickler for structure.

I am a stickler for structure.

Because structure is order and order is strength.

And a guy’s gotta play to his strengths, right?

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Second term is where things started to get … different. The renovations were well underway, and most of them had been finished over the break. It’s easier to work when things are empty. Lets you focus more.

My room smelled of rich pine, thanks to an air freshener that had been plugged into the wall outlet. Not my favorite smell, but I wasn’t about to complain. The bed had been replaced with an extra-long full-sized mattress that gave more support. The mattresses were Sleep System brand, so you can understand when my eyes bugged out at that. These things promise a perfect night’s sleep, and they’ll adjust to your frame automatically to help you sleep longer and better.

And trust me, they work. I love that bed more than I love being home with my family, if you can believe it.

Changes were even more prominent in the mess hall. Stainless steel and chrome shone brightly along the passenger lines. The kitchens, or what little we could see of them, had been decked out with brand new equipment. The food smelled and tasted AMAZING! I’m talking meatloaf, steak, mashed potatoes, tamales, pretty much anything you could name, they had. Not all at once, mind you. The cafeteria still followed a set meal schedule and menu, but the quality was and is out of this world!

The headmaster and teachers were all wearing compression gear with the school’s name and mascot on it. He told us we’d be able to wear school gear now to our other classes if we wished, provided it remained within proper dress standards. Our new “casual” uniforms were waiting for us in our dorms later that night. Me and the guys had a little get together to have some fun with the new gear.

I pitched my voice low and pushed the air out my mouth for greater effect as I flexed in front of the new floor-length mirror that had been installed in my room. Jim, the golden flexing fitness avatar, was showing off the goods on my left pec. His waist was obscured by a stone wall, while the words Stonewall Preparatory Academy stood out along the wall’s face.

“Check out these, guns, bro,” I lowed as I fixed my friends with the most vacant expression I could manage.

Jackson chuckled. “At least we get new clothes out of it.”

“There is that,” I conceded.

Not one to be left out on the fun, Slater smirked and popped both arms into the air in a double bicep flex. “It’s workout time, bruhs.” Jackson and I laughed as he got down and actually did a couple of pushups to hype up the act.

“Behold, Slater the Slayer!” I crowed.

Slater smirked as he got back to his feet. “Not a bad name, ‘bruh.’”

“Fuck, yeah,” I guffawed.

“Fuck, yeah,” they repeated.

We all laughed again, doing our best to push through that deep dull bass as we continued our antics.

We had no idea the seeds we were planting that night.

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Ever the lazy kids that we were, a significant portion of the school began to wear the gear, instead of their usual uniforms. I mean, come on, the stuff was comfy and easy to switch into on short notice if you were running late. What teen wouldn’t use that as an excuse to sleep in a little longer?

This, in turn, led to some developments that our teachers definitely didn’t approve of. Students were coming in late. Once or twice over a long period of time is fine, but when it becomes consistent across multiple students in a classroom, discipline has to be enforced.

And boy, was it.

One early winter morning, five boys came careening into the classroom with panting breath. Andrews was just explaining about Greek culture in ancient times, and we were about to focus on Sparta when we were interrupted. Andrews fixed them with a cool gaze.

“Boys,” he greeted them. “Late again, I see.”

“S-sorry, Mister Andrews,” they said in a low and garbled murmur as they averted their gazes and shuffled toward their seats.

After they’d gotten everything ready on their desks and were about to sit down, Andrews raised a staying hand. “Actually, boys, I’d like your help with a demonstration. Come back up here, will you?”

The kids blushed as they approached the front of the classroom again.

“Now, boys, the headmaster and staff have been talking. We’ve noticed a disturbing rise in the number of children who haven’t been making it on time to class. Not only does this indicate an unprecedented amount of slothfulness, but it also reflects poorly on us as your temporary caretakers. As such, a new mode of discipline is to be implemented, starting today. All boys who are late to class will pay a penalty.” He turned to the boys and grinned. “And you five get to demonstrate that penalty today.” He pointed to the floor. “Now drop and give me ten pushups.”

“Ex-cuse me?” one of the boys asked hesitantly.

“You heard me. Drop and give me ten. Don’t move quickly enough, and I’ll up it to fifteen.” He folded his vascular arms over his chest and frowned. “Now, gentlemen.”

The exercise took particularly long for one of the students, since his arms were basically like twigs. Andrews finally had to allow him to do baby pushups on his knees, instead of using his full body weight.

“Thank you, boys,” Andrews said as he ushered them to their seats with the wave of a hand. Then he fixed the rest of the class with a piercing glare. “And to anyone who gets any ideas about teasing these gentlemen for doing the honorable thing and not complaining, I’ll be happy to show you my personal training course for bullies. As it stands, I expect to see you five here in my classroom after the school day is over. We have a lot to discuss.” He turned back to the board. “Now, then, back to the Spartans.”

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“Damn it!” I swore. My die rolled a two on the table, and Andrews shook his head.

“Language, DJ.”

The gentle whirr of the projector as the game map shone on the screen demonstrated my character’s current predicament. A large Yuan-ti stood next to my character, and I had rolled to avoid being snared by its coils.

I sighed. “Sorry, Mister Andrews. So, what’s the damage?”

He rolled his dice and spoke. “The Yuan-ti’s coils wrap around Lathrok and hold him tightly. Lathrok takes two points in constriction damage. The serpent sneers and blinks as his eyes begin to pulse. He’s preparing to dominate you and will make the attempt on his next turn.”

“Uh, guys, a little help?” I pleaded of my party.

“Our hands are full, Derek. Sorry.” Slater shrugged apologetically to me. “Dealing with an army of thralls is no easy task.”

“Much though I hate to suggest it, it might be better for the rest of the party to retreat for now and try saving Lathrok later,” Jackson noted.

“Seriously, guys?”

“Given the overwhelming number of thralls we’re dealing with, it might be our only option, unless you want all of us to lose our characters with no chance of saving you,” Slater said. “By the way, I’m using my breath attack to clear a path, Mister Andrews.”

“A shrewd strategy,” Andrews praised. He took a deep drag from his tankard, and a button popped off his dress shirt to expose a little more of his chest beneath. We knew better than to comment on something like that in the middle of a campaign. “Let’s see how it works out for you.”

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“All right!” Jim cheered in my ears as his helper screen popped up on the interactive gym. “Time to up those weights. Let’s see how it works out for you!” It seemed that the teachers were going to insist we interact with the program every chance we could get.

“If you have any problems, go to Jim.”

Granted, the fact it was there to monitor and help transition for the workout equipment was very useful for most of us. Whenever we reached a plateau, Jim would log it in the system and trigger the machines to create a more challenging workout. I … wasn’t a big fan of this, if I’m going to be honest about it. I didn’t like working out back then. But since it was part of a grade, there wasn’t much I could do, other than let things take their course.

Kyle blew through his exercises like a machine. Rep after rep, set after set. He’d bust them out, guzzle his drink, then get back to work. When others asked him his secret, he just shrugged and said, “I just do it. I got tired of being scared and taking hits, and I did something about it.” Then he’d turn and get right back to work. It was no wonder he turned into such a hulk with the way he attacked the program. His version of Jim was jacked as all get-out. I mean rippling musculature the whole way through. Either he put in a lot more time on the modules or he was in advanced placement, because assuming the avatar followed the same principles ours did in their programming, that size shouldn’t have been possible. Then again, he might have worked on the modules while he was away to help pass the time between physical therapy and whatever else he did.

Either way, the irrevocable social laws of teenage dynamics began to set in, and in no time at all, everyone wanted to hang with Kyle. Spotting, eating lunch, whatever. The guy couldn’t seem to catch a break. It was no wonder he asked to join the lacrosse team. At least on the field, he could get some rest from all the people clawing at him and actually work off some steam. His coaches made sure of that.

It took five rounds of grueling physical exercises to finally get the hordes to back off. The coaches even got a couple of recruits out of it. It was pretty clever, honestly. I mean, making us do the fitness would test our limits and let them see exactly who would be the best students to scout for the sports programs.

Fortunately, I wasn’t among those students. Unfortunately, that didn’t matter in gym class during the weightlifting segment. The butterfly press was one of my greatest enemies, and Jim knew it. Every time I was on that thing, he would correct my form. He still does sometimes, but not too often anymore.

“Derek, your form is off again, big guy.” The monitor flashed to reveal a diagram complete with drawn lines and arrows to direct me and ensure I had a proper visual of the form I needed to use. “Raise your elbows to adjust your trajectory and put the emphasis on the proper muscle groups.” I grit my teeth and bit back the curse burning in my throat.

“Someone looks angry.” The recently promoted Coach Larson folded his arms and nodded at me as I growled through the next press. A tablet was clasped in one of his hands. “Good. Use that to push through the exercise. You’re a growing boy. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t show any aggression.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said as I rolled my eyes.

“No problem.” He strode up to the side of the machine and spoke into his tablet’s mike as he accessed the equipment. “Hey, Jim?”

“Yes?” the AI querried.

“Add another set to the end of Mister Jones’ routine today. Faculty disciplinary action override.”

The weights crashed as I let go and my eyes bulged. “What?”

“Teacher Identification?” Jim asked.

Larson tapped a code into his data pad, and a chime pinged as the data was submitted. “Okay!” Jim said in a chipper voice.

I wanted to scream, but I really didn’t want to have any more fitness added to what already left my body feeling like frozen molasses in the morning. I didn’t know how I managed to pull through that. Honestly, I was so angry, I hardly paid attention to anything till I felt a heavy hand shaking my shoulder. Kyle’s blocky features stared at me. His brow furrowed in concern, and his short flat top buzz cut flashed white gold under the gym’s lights.

“Hey, it’s, uh, … Derek, right?”

“DJ,” I snapped.

“… Okay, DJ, then.” The fact Kyle stayed calm instead of getting offended probably saved me that day. “You know class is over, right?”

I blinked in surprise. “What?”

He gripped my wrists and pulled my arms gently off the press. “Class is over, man. It’s been over for the last hour.”

“Congratulations! Way to go! I’m really im-pressed with your progress!” Jim continued to heap praises and cheesy one-liners. His arms and chest had gained significant definition. Mine, on the other hand….

Let’s just say it hurt to breathe, and my arms felt like they never wanted to move again, now that they were resting on my lap.

Kyle laid a hand gently on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I wanted to snap at him on instinct, but I managed to keep that part of me in check. Kyle wasn’t the jock stereotype I’d had to face growing up. A few months ago, he’d been a lot smaller and a lot less fit. This wasn’t getting picked on. This was someone concerned for my health. I nodded. “Yeah, I … sorry. I don’t know what happened.” My whole body tingled, and the hairs I had on my arms were standing on end.

“Come on. I know what you need.” Kyle smiled and hoisted me out of the chair like it was nothing. Then he guided me to the coaches’ office. The place was more like a lounge than an office. Maybe even a locker room with how much square footage it had. Fridges, freezers, first aid and medical stations, scales, this place had the works. Kyle easily pulled open one of the fridges and broke the seal on a plastic bottle filled with green liquid. “Drink this,” he instructed. “It’s a protein shake. It’ll help soak up all the acid your muscles are producing, so you can recover faster from today.”

“Is this … okay?”

Kyle shrugged. “Coach said I could if I needed it. Right now, I’d say you need it more. If they ask, I’ll just tell ’em what happened.” Then he guided me into the locker room itself. “What you need now is to chug that shake and take a shower. Cold water works better, but anything’s better than nothing. Trust me on that.”

“That, and the fact I’m a sweaty mess?”

“Well, I suppose there is that, too.” Kyle grinned, then looked at his own drenched compression shirt. “You’re not the only one. Did you bring a change of clothes?”

I shook my head numbly, then took a swig of the bottle. It was only then that I realized just how thirsty I’d become. The whole thing was drained in a few seconds, and I chased it with several mouthfuls of water from the drinking fountain after.

“Well, that sucks.” He shrugged, then led me farther back into the lockers, where the tile opened up into several shower stalls, each cordoned off by a shower curtain and bearing identical mounted dispensers. Shelving units laden with freshly folded towels stood in front each entrance. “Don’t know how the school afforded it, but these things are legit,” Kyle said. “Jets and an overhead designed to get a full body wash. Seriously, man, you’ll never want to shower anywhere else after you try it. And after the workout you just had, you’ll definitely need it. Turn on the massage setting. Trust me, you won’t regret it.” He grinned and patted me on the back as he traversed to a neighboring stall.

And he was right. I didn’t regret it. That stall left me feeling higher than a kite after it was done with me. I managed to move my arms enough to engage each of the dispensers and get a proper shower in. Then I just let the massage do the rest. Kyle was already gone by the time I finished, but he gave me a kind goodbye before he smacked down the tiles to get changed and go to his dorm. So far, it seemed, Kyle was actually going to be one of the good ones out there. Maybe he would be able to break my idea of the jock stereotype.

Maybe.

Undone

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Mature for language.

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I’m sharp. Folks used to say I was the nosiest boy they’d ever known. I’d ask so many questions I could probably annoy the devil himself into letting me into heaven, just to get me to shut up. I’d look at things, wonder how they work, break ‘em apart in my head, then put them back together again. You know, sort of like an overhaul or a restoration. Which is why I knew something was up with my BIG BRO when he started skipping classes.

Sometimes, ... well, it sounded almost like there were two people living in his room, if you get what I mean. Sometimes I’d be talking to the old Big Bro, and he’d be bright and cheery and talk all that psychology bullshit. Other times, he’d just eat and drone about how he needed to go to the gym.

Fuck, even mentioning it’s getting me all pumped.

Big Bro would be so proud.

Anyway, yeah, Big Bro started bulking up hella fast. Like, he threw everything into getting jacked. Bro got so swole, he got recruited personally by the school’s football team. It was just like those machines I used to mess with. He just ... changed, built his bod into a fucking machine, even got to change his voice. It’s a lot deeper now. He likes to go by Dick, says it makes him feel more like a man.

Gotta say, when I look at him now, Richard definitely doesn’t come to mind. Bro got hella huge hella quick. Now he’s just a big dumb Dick. Huhuh. 

Yeah, ....

Anyway, bro got into all this really loud music. Like, it kept blasting through our doors, and I guess it was okay after a while, cause he figured out how to keep it muffled n’stuff, but ... Idunno. Guess it’s sorta weird.

He stayed nice, though. Bro never insulted us or hurt us, well, except when we were messing around, talkin’ shit. And we’d just sort of throw back and forth like that. Nerd, jock, bro, geek, musclehead. It was sort of like a ritual. And we’d just smile and laugh about it, each calling the other the opposite of what we were.

And the music kept playing.

And I kept laughing.

I mean, our rooms are right across from each other, so yeah, it’s sort of natural that we hang out.

It’s natural to hang out.

Cause bros hang out....

One day, he caught me doing some of my home exercises. Family sent me a new challenge to help build core strength. It’s too easy to build up that freshman ten into a twenty and grow from there, if you know what I’m saying. This was something to help keep it in check while I worked on projects and homework.

Big Bro just smiled and was like, “Dude, just come to the gym with me. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Too much work man,” I replied. And I felt almost ... bad telling him that, but it was the truth.

Big Bro grinned. “This weekend, then. You, me, the gym. Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

“You’re not gonna let me back out of this, are you?”

The grin widened. “Nope.”

-------------------------------------------------------

The rhythm at the gym is sort of addicting. Weights just clank and clank and clank, and the body drives, and you can just ... zonk out, clear your head, you know? And it’s so damn easy. First time we went, we spent an hour there. An hour, and it felt like thirty minutes.

Big bro chuckled. “Told you you were a musclehead.”

“Shut up, nerd,” I shot back. “Don’t expect this to become a habit.”

...

It became a habit.

It became more than a habit.

When I started growing, Big Bro took me into his room, showed me some of the stuff he likes to use to help him grow, build his strength. Promised it’d do the same for me if I just listened, bro. 

And I don’t know what it was, but ... I did listen. I listened to my Big Bro, and it was like ... Idunno, like someone turned the knobs in my brain, switched the radio frequency, you know?

I still remember the first time I dropped that shaker cup I’d been using in the kitchen. The word slipped out of my mouth before I could even think. I ... hadn’t been doing much thinking in the mornings, anyway, really.

“Fuck....”

The others gaped at me.

Big Bro just grinned.

Money changed hands in front of me, and all I could do was stare as I picked up my drink and guzzled it. I knew the money was about me, but for some reason, I didn’t--no, I couldn’t care. I had a schedule to keep. I shuffled, nah, more lumbered, I guess. I throw my weight around a lot now. Anyway, I grabbed my gym bag and raised the shoulder strap.

And that’s when it happened.

RRrrrrrrrrrip!

The shirt sleeve tore at the pit.

And like my reps at the gym, I couldn’t just stop at one. My brain acted on a signal, like someone clicked a remote or something to start me up.

Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

I remember my chest shaking, sort of heaving at the sight. I was crying for some reason, but I didn’t get it. My chest stuttered and shook. My room was a mess from all the sleeves I’d shredded.

“Huhuhuhuh.”

A heavy hand clapped my shoulder. “That’s it, little bro. Let it out, meathead.”

I didn’t understand what he meant then, but the exchange was so common, so deeply ingrained by this point, that I responded without even thinking. “Turd.” It was the first time I’d used that insult. I don’t know whether I even meant it. I usually called him a nerd. Big Bro calls it a ... slip of some kind, some fancy German name or whatever.

Instead of getting mad, he ... sneered. “Shithead.”

And I went. Names I’d heard in the locker room when we changed. Pieces from videos he’d shown me with his teammates messing around. All those deep voices stabbed into my brain like a bullet in a gun barrel.

And I fired as soon as I was loaded, all cylinders. “Fuck face.”

“Dumbbell.”

“Numbnuts.”

“Dumbass.”

“Dickwadd.”

“Nimrod.”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

I don’t know how long we kept shouting that word. I just ... couldn’t say anything else. Couldn’t think anything else.

Before I knew it, we were wrestling on the floor, crashing into my bed, the desk, the wall. My chest heaved when he finally pinned me. My shirt was in tatters.

“Little bro?” Big Bro’s voice was husky as he breathed in my ear.

“Yeah?” I huffed in turn.

“I win.”

“Yeah, bro.” I breathed hard against the carpet. My chest pushed me off the floor, despite the pressure Big Bro placed on me. “You win.”

“Good meathead.”

I was too tired to care. “Whatever, bro.”

“That’s right. Whatever I say.”

-------------------------------------------

Big Bro said a lot. Not in words, but in actions. And me? I followed. We spend a lot of time in his room now. I like the music now. Big Bro gave me a copy to blast in my room. It annoys the hell out of the other apartments, but we keep it in the hours, so they can’t do shit to us. Been seeing a few more of them at the gym lately.

I shaved my head down to stubble. Just feels better that way. I wear mostly tanks now. And pants, well ... pants’re interesting. Let’s just say Big Bro’s not the only big dick around the apartment anymore. Got me some ink on the shoulder. Makes me look more badass.

I step out of my room after another runthrough of the track. My head’s nice and fuzzy, and I’m buzzed, like when I hang out with Big Bro and the team at the bar. I’m still not as big as he is, but I’m stacked, and I’m still growing.

Bro says I should try out for the football team. I don’t really know. I mean, football is...

Football is....

Football is an awesome sport for a meathead jock to play. Meatheads should love football. Meatheads should play football. Meatheads should--

“Bro, you okay?”

I blink. My hands are clasped over my belt buckle. I feel the pressure of my bulge against the crotch of my pants. Bro offered me a jockstrap to hold things in place. Promised me it’d feel better than boxers or briefs.

...

Might have to take him up on that offer.

Big bro’s tank strains against his pecs and traps. His scalp is shaved, like mine. His skin is smooth, like mine. His arms are like pythons, and I find myself wanting that the longer I stare at them. I want those veins. I want those muscles. I want that strength. I want. I want--!

“Fuck, bro. I wanna go to the gym.”

Big Bro chuckles. “What about your meeting with the school councilor?”

“Fuck that shit, bro. I need to work out!”

Big Bro grins at me and fishes a jock strap out from his pocket. The plastic wrap is still on it. I reach for the material, but he pulls it away.

“Ah-ah,” he teases. “First, what are you?”

The buzz is still heavy. The need is still there. And I know what he wants me to say.

What I need to say.

What I should always say.

My eyes are hooded as I respond in a low, dull voice. “A big dumb jock bro. A big dumb jock bro needs a big dumb jock to hold his meat.”

Big Bro grins. “That’s right. Good little bro.” He hands me the jockstrap. “Jock like you shouldn’t be in engineering....”

“I belong in the gym and on the field with my bros.”

Big Bro sneers. “Good little jock bro.”

I nod. The tears stopped a long time ago. A dazed smile pulls at my lips. “Besides, being a jock is fuckin’ cool.”

“Fuck yeah, it is, little bro.”

I nod again, like a beefy bobblehead. “Fuck, yeah....”

Credit to @fitaestheticguys for this image. I got it from his blog.

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Thank you so much for your support. Now, without further ado, the post.

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Warning: This is a hypnotic script. Be sure that you will not be driving or operating any heavy machinery when you read this. It is preferable that you do so in a relaxed environment. As I have said in previous hypno posts, I am not a professional hypnotist. You read this script at your own risk, and I am not responsible for the results. However, I assure you that, as in my other scripts, I will include prompts to wake you back up and ensure that you retain your freedom.

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Sand

Curious thing, sand, isn’t it? We never seem to really question it. It’s a fine powdery silicate that grinds between the toes and melts into glass. We enjoy its warmth on a cool day and curse its heat in the dog days of summer. And yet, it has so many uses that we always seem to take for granted. Such tiny particles. So puny. So weak. So still. But it’s always the BIG things that are made from the little things.

Take this scene for instance. You can picture it, can’t you? The surge of the waves as they wash over the shore. The sea breeze blowing over the sand to raise playful eddies or simply to brush the cheeks of the beach goers. Gulls cry and call in the air. And sometimes you can see people building wet sand into castles and sculptures. All those little things bound together, molded into a single purpose by hands that are not their own, wills that are not their own, voices that are not their own.

All made possible by the crashing, whispering, rolling waves. Rolling over the shore. Rolling and absorbing into the sand, the sand that accepts so readily, that gums and clods and clumps at the insistence of the waves. So thirsty to take more. To absorb those waves deeper and deeper. Absorbing with every crash, every whispering sigh.

Absorbing every time.

Absorbing.

Every.

Time.

Time that slows and stills with every breath. Every passing second becoming a minute, an hour, a week, a month, a year, an eternity.

Time that slips through the hourglass so freely, clumps like your thoughts under the crash of the waves. The waves of my words. The building condensation that slips through your walls like the meeting of hot and cold.

The hot sand of your thoughts with the cool, refreshing flow of my words, my waves, rushing over the hourglass. Rushing, whispering, cooling, waiting to quench your thirst. The thirst of the sand. The sand of your thoughts waiting to drink deep and absorb my words.

And though you may not hear everything, condensation still occurs. The distilling of water. The distilling of my waves, my words, my will, forming within those walls, past those barriers, deep, deep within your mind.

Forming and growing and dripping ever so slowly. Slow, like the ebb and flow of the waves. Slow, like the steady trickle of my words, the distilled words, the words that are now seeping, forming, uniting, dripping, dripping, dripping to the sand. The sifting sand of your thoughts. Your thirsty thoughts. So dry. Waiting. Wanting.

You want to hear my voice. You want to let that water in. You want to let it flow over you. You want to hear its whisper as it ebbs and flows. You want to drink deep.  So thirsty. So wanting. 

Drink deep.

And a droplet begins to slide.

Deeper.

Down the glass it comes. So slowly. So heavy. And yet so refreshing. So clear. So cool and wonderful.

Drink deep.

The sand waits. It wants. You want. You want to drink deep. You want to listen and drink deep.

The droplet meets its fellows. It grows larger. More compelling. So cool. So calming. The promise to relax to stop the flow and merely be. Be silent as my words slip through your brain. Be relaxed as the water flows gently, slowly.

Gently.

Slowly.

Down, down, down.

Down...

Down.......

Down...........

And ... CONTACT.

My words have reached you.

My words have touched you.

My words have absorbed into your sand, the sand that is your thoughts, the thoughts that are even now beginning to clot.

And like a tiny river, the condensation of my words, my deep, refreshing, heavy words, flow along the trail to reach the point of impact. And you absorb them. Your thoughts soak my words up like a sponge. Growing thicker. Growing heavier. Growing sluggish and thick.

So heavy. So clodded.

So very hard to move on their own. But you don’t care. Because you would have to think to care. And all you can do now, all you want to do, is drink my words.

Drink and listen.

Listen and drink.

They are one and the same.

The same as the moisture from the waves that even now is seeping into your mind, into the sand.

Time has started to slow. It is slowing the more you absorb. The more you absorb, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the slower your thoughts become. The slower the hourglass trickles. Deeper and slower as we count down from ten. And when we finish counting down, the hourglass will stop.

Your thoughts will stop.

You will stop thinking.

And you will wait. Wait for those hands to shape your thoughts into something different, something new. My hands. My voice. Quenching your thirst. Molding, directing, sculpting you into something new.

And you want that. Because my words are your water.

And you must absorb the water.

TEN.

The words are seeping into your mind. Seeping as the moisture spreads and binds those little grains, those various thoughts, into something larger. Something that begins to cling to the glass. Not because it is scared, but because it wants more. It wants to stay.

NINE.

To stay and focus to stay and listen as my words drip and slide and spread. Spreading, like the slogging stiffness that is gradually consuming your thoughts, consuming your head.

EIGHT.

Slower and slower. Deeper and deeper. The grains are running less and less through the neck as the water continues to trickle and seep down. Deep down.

SEVEN.

Down the slope. Down the edge. Clotting. Slogging. Slowing. Stopping up the neck. Stopping the flow of thought, the flow of consciousness.

SIX.

The sieve-like nature of the sand works against you now as the water pools deeper, lower, surrounding the dry sand in a layer of wet, a layer of water, a layer of my words waiting to seep deeper and deeper.

FIVE.

To quench the thirst.

FOUR.

Wetter and wetter. Thicker and thicker.

THREE.

Binding into an heavy glob, a sodden mass that must stay. Must listen. Must be molded.

TWO.

Molded by the flow. Molded by my words .Because the sand cannot move on its own. It does not want to. It wants to absorb. It wants to be sculpted. It wants to be shaped, because it cannot move on its own. Every thought, every grain, bound into a solid mass by my words, my will, my will that is now overtaking yours, consuming yours, transforming your thoughts from so many grains to a dull dark cement that only I can move, only I can shape.

ONE.

No more flow.

No more thought.

When I reach zero, the hourglass will stop. The glass will break. And your thoughts will pour into my hands to be molded, to be shaped, to become whatever I will.

Because that is what you want. That is what you need.

Your will is my will. Your thoughts are my thoughts.

I think for you.

I choose for you.

And that is what you want. You want what I say. You do what I say. Because I shape your thoughts.

Obey.

I mold your thoughts.

Listen.

With my words.

Obey.

keeping you bound.

Listen.

Quenching the thirst.

Obey.

The thirst to LISTEN and OBEY.

Because it is time for the hourglass to stop.

ZERO.

Time to obey.

You are mine to mold and command as I see fit.

I can shape you, shape your thoughts, shape your very being.

In this state, you are mine. And you will acknowledge this now by saying so. If there are others around you, you may whisper it under your breath. I merely require acknowledgement.

And you will acknowledge.

You will comply.

You will obey.

And you will do so now.

The waves of my words, my will, shape and scatter your thoughts as I see fit.

But I am not heartless. I know that there may be some desires you bore once before I brought you to this state of emptiness, of obedience, of blissful nothingness. So, here is what we’re going to do.

I am going to plant a trigger in you, a trigger that only works for me. That trigger is: Omni says it’s time to sculpt.

You will remember this trigger. And when it is used, you will verify that you have entered trance by responding with: I am ready to be sculpted. 

Repeat it.

...

Good. This trigger will remain in those who wish or consent to be molded by me of their own free will after this session is complete. Remember, the trigger is:

Omni says it’s time to sculpt.

If you desire to be molded by me in your conscious state, then when you wake from trance, you will like this post and reblog it with the comment: I am ready to be sculpted, Omni. You may then message me privately to discuss the nature of this sculpting. I reserve the right to refuse, and you will respect that right, should I choose to exercise it.

When I bring you out of trance, you will be your full former self. Your faculties will be yours, and you will be under no compulsion of any kind. Your will will be your own again. Your thoughts yours to choose and shape. You will not be bound to me in service. You will be your same self, except perhaps feeling a little better rested and relaxed, perhaps even a little happier. And in the event that you truly desire to be molded by me when you are conscious, you will feel the desire to follow the instructions I listed previously.

Now, for those who do not desire to be molded, but still sincerely enjoyed this script, you will like this submission and leave a comment.

That comment will begin with: Time has resumed.

You may then add whatever you wish in addition to it, whether it be constructive criticism or a discussion of the experience, or something, or nothing. It is up to you.

I also encourage you to reblog this script, but you are under no compulsion to do so, and may do so or not as you wish. And in the event you do choose to reblog, you are not under compulsion to follow the instructions of those who desire to be molded.

This next instruction is for all of you.

When you wake, if you sincerely desire it, and only if you really desire it of your own free will and have the financial means to support it while still living comfortably, you will scroll to the link embedded at the top of this post and subscribe to my patreon.

You will also follow my tumblr, assuming that is what you really desire.

Take the time to understand and incorporate the instructions that apply to you from the trigger to this point. Read through them again, if you must, to make sure that you remember and execute them properly. When you are certain you understand and remember what to do, you will continue to follow the script below.

...

Now then, it’s time to wake up. So, when I *SNAP!* my fingers on the count of TEN, just like that, you are going to come back to consciousness. This time, we’re counting up from zero.

ONE.

The sun is shining. The sand is beginning to harden as the heat wicks the moisture away.

TWO.

The wind is whipping at the remainder of the moisture, blowing the hot air radiating from the sun to speed the process.

THREE.

Some grains are beginning to fall away. The droplets are long since gone.

FOUR.

Thoughts unclogging. Mind beginning to think clearly again as the flow of consciousness resumes.

FIVE.

The condensation has disappeared from the glass, and the hourglass is repaired. It awaits the sand.

SIX.

The darkness is flowing away as the hardened clods break apart into glistening golden grains again.

SEVEN.

The grains are flowing back into the hourglass. The surf resumes its harmless pounding as it retreats.

EIGHT.

The sand flows easily through the neck of the glass, ensuring proper flow of thought, letting you resume where you left off before trance.

NINE.

You are almost there. On the next count, I’ll snap my fingers, and you will be fully awake and fully restored. You will follow the instructions you choose to obey of your own free will, having all autonomy restored to you with your consciousness.

Ready?

And...

TEN.

*SNAP!*

Howl’s Persona(l) Pred-dominance

This is a commission for an anonymous donor. I am open for more commissions, if people would like them. Just send me a message here on tumblr or email me a Omnikitsune@gmail.com with the subject header: Commission Inquiry. I also have a patreon and Ko-Fi. If you want unique content you won’t see anywhere else for muscles, jocks, hypno, or other modes of tf, feel free to peruse the tiers and select what fits best for you. Or just donate to help me in my desire to write and create for you full time. Thanks! And now for the story. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Greetings to the both of you, and welcome to my humble establishment.” The creature that stood before the men grinned, baring sharpened fangs and curling back surprisingly realistic artificial lips. His three tails swished behind him as his red eyes pulsed a fluorescent bloody red. His fur was predominantly black with bright red accents, and he wore a smart red vest over his torso as he addressed the pair. “I am Ronoc, One of this store’s main proprietors.” His lips curled into a sinister sneer. “How may I help you today?”

Both men shuddered as the fursuiter shook their hands.

“Uh, thanks,” Jason murmured. He cleared his throat. “We were looking for something for Halloween.”

“Hmm. A little late to be shopping, isn’t it, gentlemen? Most stores are out of the good stuff by now, and you never can tell what quality you’ll get when you order online.”

“Yeah, we know, but the invite sort of came last minute.” Jackson chuckled nervously as he ran a hand through his dark hair. The thick curls bounced back the moment he passed them.

“Naturally, naturally.” The man chuckled as his tails swished behind him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything in stock, would you?” Jason asked. His green eyes flickered briefly under the lights overhead.

“I have something for every occasion, Sir. It’s simply a matter of finding what you need.” He looked intently at the two, and the pair suddenly felt very small. “Choose well, gentlemen. Halloween has a way of changing people. And you know what they say about clothes and men.” He chuckled and turned aside. “Go on. Have a look. I’ll be waiting.”

“Um, where exactly are the costumes?” Jason asked. But when he turned, Ronoc had already disappeared.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jason.” He seized his friend by the jacket and pulled him down an aisle. “We’ll find what we need ourselves.”

Potions, swords, bows, accessories, wigs, vials, knickknacks, and even a funhouse mirror all flashed by. And then, at long last, the shelves gave way to the meat of the matter. Row upon row of masks, heads, shrouds, cloaks, mail, armor, and more gazed back at them.

Jackson grinned. “Jackpot.”

“‘Only one costume is allowed to be tried at a time per person. Please return your costumes to their place before you try another,’” Jason read. “‘Take your time. Omnistore wants you to feel comfortable in your new skin.’”

“New skin, huh?” Jackson smirked as he pulled a bulky costume off the rack. Its chest piece was loaded with padded inserts that simulated muscle mass. Two thick tusks jutted out from the lower jaw to frame the broad, flat face of the mask’s headpiece. He chuckled as he draped the frame in front of him and pitched his voice as deep as he could take it. “Berklug like. Berklug make strong warrior for party. Me take prize. Berklug will conquer.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Put it back, barbarian. It’s not like you’ll fit in it, anyway.”

Jackson sighed as he returned the costume to its rack. “A man can dream.” The eyes on the costume flashed red briefly, and Jackson frowned. “Man, they even light up….”

“Let it go, Jackson.”

Jackson sighed. “Fine.” He gingerly took his hand off the hanger and strode farther down the aisle. “But admit it, I would’ve rocked that character.”

“I’m sure you would have. Now let’s find a costume that works.”

“No elves,” Jackson growled.

“You really think I’d make you wear something so stereotypical?”

Jackson smirked. “You should be more worried about what I might make you wear.”

“I swear, if you try to stuff me into that sheep costume again….”

“Please, if I wanted to pull that stunt again, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“May I help you gentlemen with something?” The hellhound that stood behind them grinned as his polished curled horns glinted in the light.

A whole shelf nearly collapsed under the sudden impact of Jackson’s body. “You mean aside from not sneaking up on someone?”

The hellhound shrugged. “What can I say? I like a silent scare sometimes. Now, then, I believe the two of you were looking for the right costume, yes?” He grinned, baring all his teeth. “One might say these characters have a life of their own. I suggest finding one that suits your desires.” He raised a mask from a pedestal. “Take this, for example. The mighty werewolf: confident, brusque, dominant, powerful. He takes what he wants when he wants it, and he doesn’t care what other people might think or say.” He handed the mask to Jackson. Its insides were still warm as he placed his hands in it. “I think you’ll like being Howl.”

“And what about me?” Jackson asked.

The hellhound stroked his chin. “You strike me as one who’s a real party animal. You enjoy having a laugh and showing off your personality, but you’re not necessarily a jerk about it. Well, except maybe for when you’re drunk. Then you might be a little more … free with your expressions and opinions. You enjoy being with others in a crowd, a herd of sorts.” He sneered. “Yes, I think I know just the one for you.” He pulled another costume of the rack. This one carried bulky football pads and guards. The headpiece was an intricate creation coated with artificial fur that bristled and scraped like a deck of cards being shuffled. Murky brown irises seeped into the broad rectangular pupils. A box filled with clever inserts designed to mimic hooves was soon opened and revealed to Jackson’s gaze. “His name is Jack, an Italian from IPDB.”

“And what’s that supposed to be?” Jackson asked.

“Il Paese dei Balocchi. He works there in his time off, hanging with his bros, helping the herd. It’s a real tourist attraction. You know it better as Pleasure Island.”

A bray carried out the donkey’s gray muzzle.

“And it comes complete with sound effects and a unique throat spray designed to help modulate your voice to fit the character at no extra charge. On a temporary basis, of course.”

“I don’t know if a frat jock is really my thing.”

The hellhound grinned. “You won’t know until you try, now will you?”

“What’s your name?” Jackson asked suspiciously.

The hellhound bowed. “Judas Scarymutt at your service. I’m a ruthless retailer with a flare for making lucrative transactions.”

“And contracts are your specialty?” Jackson rolled his eyes.

“He catches on quickly, doesn’t he?” Judas asked Jason as he shoved the costume at Jackson. “Now go on, try them on. I think you’ll both be surprised at how well they fit.”

Jason was the first to emerge from the dressing room. His nose and mouth were slightly disfigured, having pushed outward while the nostrils became upturned and black. A hint of white stubble had grown in over his cheeks and jaw while his upper torso was mostly bare, save for some dustings of thicker silvery hairs over the shoulders, the back, his chest, and parts of his arms. The green in his eyes has lightened and pierced with the same intensity as the hellhound, albeit without the glowing to accompany it. His nails had lengthened ever so slightly, and callouses had begun to form on his hands. Two wolf ears poked up and swiveled in the higher portions of his head.

“There. Now what did I tell you? You and Howl are getting along swimmingly.”

“What did you do to me?” Jason finally managed to say.

Judas rolled his eyes. “Always with the drama. I didn’t do anything to you, boy.” He reached over and yanked Jason’s ears. Jason winced, but with a sudden pop, Judas was holding the mask again, and Jason was fully clothed. “There. See? Nothing wrong. You’re perfectly normal.”

Jason groped at his face and hair. No beard, no fur, round ears firmly situated on the side of the head, and no signs of claws or a muzzle.

“I guarantee you won’t find any costumes more real than the ones you buy here.” Scarymutt grinned. “Our customers usually prefer to keep them after. I can’t say that I blame them. Being something else for a while is very relaxing, especially if you have a friend to do it with.” He smirked. “Howl warmed up to you the minute he saw you. Take good care of him and he’ll take good care of you.”

Jason gaped at the canid as he grinned and his tail wagged behind him.

“Scared yet, human?”

The steady clop of hooves on the floor drew their attention away before Jason could answer. The door to the changing room creaked open to reveal a hulking form. The broad muzzle stretched forward as those same brown eyes stared blankly, surrounded by a rim of white fur. His shoulders grazed the sides of the entry as he passed into the costume department. His jaw was thick and firmly cut with rigid rectangular angles. A bristly mohawk stretched from the top of his head down his neck and back. Two large ears ringed with black and filled with white on the inside swiveled back and forth. His nostrils flared as his chest heaved inside the costume. A long ropey tail with a rigid tassel swung idly behind him and occasionally flicked at the air.

It stood there for a time, breathing deeply as it stared at the pair. Then its lips pulled back to reveal broader, flatter teeth. He still had his canines, but the rest of his mouth had altered to suit his more equine nature. His voice rolled over the pair as he opened his mouth. “Bro….”

Judas raised a skeptical brow. “Really? That’s what you chose to say first?”

Laughter rocked his frame as Jackson’s much altered voice reverberated, occasionally punctuated by a high-pitched bray. “I didn’t think it’d work, but damn, it fits like a glove.”

“A little effort often gives you the better quality in the end. Is it cumbersome? Perhaps,” Judas acknowledged. “But it is well worth it in the end. Wouldn’t you agree, Mister…?”

When Jason didn’t respond, Jackson took the responsibility on himself. “Jason Pettigrew. And I’m Jackson Morris. How are you guys still in stock when you have such amazing stuff?”

Judas shrugged. “You might say we’re more of a niche market. We only take certain clients. You two just happened to make the cut this year.”

“And how long is this stuff supposed to last again?” Jackson asked as he raised a small white bottle with a donkey’s head on the label.

“It varies. A few sprays should cover you for at least an hour or two.”

“That long?” He whistled. Jason wasn’t sure how the mouth moved to replicate the sound, but the noise came loud and clear, all the same. “So, I’m gonna be talking like this for a while, no matter what.” He sighed. “Great.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Judas assured him. “In fact, you might grow to like it.” He chuckled. “I can’t begin to tell you the number of customers we’ve had asking after just the spray, because they want to sound more masculine.” He clapped his hands. “But that’s beside the point, isn’t it? How do you like the costume?

“Fits a lot better than I thought it would.” He flexed a bulging arm and watched the spandex rise and fall with it. “Good feel to it, and realistic motion for the packaging, too. Has a great range of motion.”

“Naturally. You’re supposed to be a sports star, after all,” Judas said. “Among other things.”

“And heir to a fortune?”

“Certainly to a position of authority. A man has to lead and protect his own, now doesn’t he?” The hellhound smirked. “And you’re certainly fit enough to lead a herd, wouldn’t you say?”

The costume’s eyes rolled. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, bro.”

“I’d say we’ve found our winners.” Judas grinned. “Let’s get things settled, so you two can be on your way.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Believe you me, I know a thing or two about these sorts of things. You don’t have to say you want it for me to know you do. Desire is one of many things I can detect very easily. And I can tell by how you keep feeling up the costume that you desire it very much, indeed.”

“Well, I mean, I don’t think—”

“I’ll ring you up.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Jackson avoided eye contact with Jason as the two hailed a cab. They arrived home, and Jason was swift to expel himself from the costume.  After all that time spent with the much taller and broader shape, Jason felt a strange sense of disparity, seeing his roommate stride out of his room in regular clothes. Pale skin, dark hair, no mane, no fur, no hooves or football gloves. And no muzzle jabbing into the air.

No muzzle.

Jason shuddered as he thought back to that moment at the store. The heightened scents and sounds, the confusing sensation of his own ears twitching and shifting. Surely, it couldn’t have been real. Surely, it was some form of illusion, maybe a feverish dream prodded by his overexcitement?

“Scared yet, human?”

He barely suppressed the urge to shudder. Judas had played his role perfectly, perhaps a little too well. He could almost swear he’d smelled sulfur around that man. The swish of his tail, the many directions if flowed. That was too intricate to be randomly caused by a machine. And yet, the idea of magic being real, of actually taking over his body, turning it into something else. It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!

“Stop thinking about it,” he muttered to himself.

“Thinking about what?” Jackson asked. The effects of the spray still hadn’t worn off yet. It would take at least another half hour. That was the one thing that remained different about his friend. The rest was familiar and well-grounded in reality. His bright eyes and spherical pupils. His curly dark hair springing naturally atop his head. The distinct location of his ears to either side of his head behind the temples. These were real. These were fact. The rest could not be.

“It’s nothing.” Jason shook his head. “Just got a little freaked out by that store clerk is all.”

Jason nodded in sympathy. “He was kind of a creep, wasn’t he?”

“He just got a little too into character for me, called me human, asked if I was scared. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but….”

“It did?”

Jason nodded.

“Aren’t you at least going to show me what you look like in your costume?”

“Maybe later.” Jason shook his head. “Right now, I just want to relax a little, de-stress.”

Jackson chuckled. “I hear you, man.” Jackson hopped onto the couch and flipped on the TV. A few minutes later, ESPN was commenting on the brilliant footwork of a running back that had busted past the blockade to break for the goal post.

“Seriously?” Jason asked.

Jackson shrugged. “What? Might as well study up to get into character. Besides, I happen to like the Colts.”

“They’re going to lose.”

“Now why do you have to be such a downer? Have a little faith, bro.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that to me.”

Jackson smirked. “Better get used to it. We’ve got a party to prep for.”

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening air was cold and bitter as the two friends strode into the night. A well-toned six-pack stood out prominently from Jason’s abdominals as they walked, and his shoulders seemed a little broader. The hair was thicker than it had been when he first put the mask on, and the way it spread in such a way as to emphasize and accentuate the size of his muscles. The tattered remains of a shirt draped from his waist over a tight pair of jeans as a long flowing tail curved between his legs. His ears drooped low as he trod the cement on bare feet. The skin rippled over his bones with every shift, and the casual observer could easily note the darkening soles. Whether it was dirt or actual padding, however, would be up for debate.

“You sure you haven’t been working out behind my back, little bro?” Jackson asked. The addition of his hoof inserts had given him another three inches of height, projecting the illusion of a taller, brawnier equine. The throat spray rested in a fleece-lined fanny pack that jutted in front of his torso.

“Cut the crap, Jack. I’m not in the mood.” Jason reached back and touched his new appendage gingerly. He barely suppressed the shudder as new nerves told him just how very real the addition was.

“Aw, come on. I thought I sounded pretty good.”

“Yes, and everyone is going to be so impressed at how well you mimic a big dumb jock.” Jason rolled his eyes.

The lips on the headpiece drew down into a frown as Jackson laid his gloved hand on Jason’s shoulder and pulled him to a stop. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

A low whine slipped out of Jason’s throat, and tears welled beneath his eyes as he shuddered. His chest hitched as he struggled to control his breathing, exposing his ribs with every intake. “I’m scared, Jackson,” he finally managed to say. “All this?” He motioned to himself. “This didn’t come in the package. I didn’t buy it separately or get it mailed. This is me, but … not me. Hell, this tail wasn’t even part of me when I tried the thing on at the store! At this rate, I’m of scared for how I’ll look by the end of tonight. I’m … I’m scared I won’t even be able to take it off.”

A startled yip escaped Jason’s throat as Jackson flicked one of his ears. “Then pull it off, bro.”

“What?”

“I said pull off the mask. Show me for a minute.”

Pulling the mask left his skull feeling almost like clay as he braced himself and pulled against his ears. It hurt briefly, but then the sculptor went to work pushing, massaging, and molding the snout back into a human face that slowly emerged from the rubber. The mask felt more like a second skin as he pulled it off. He could almost feel a heartbeat as he held the thing in his hands and shuddered. The sidewalk was much colder on his bare human feet, and the wind swept over his diminished frame without mercy. He looked up at his friend and was shocked to find that he looked even taller now than when they’d first left the apartment.

Glassy eyes stared intently for a time, first to the mask, then to his friend. Finally, he spoke. “You feel any different now than when you had the mask on?”

Jason shook his head.

“Did it hurt taking it off?”

Jason averted his gaze. “Just when I grabbed the ears to start it.”

“And did you like it?”

“What?”

The burst of a sigh escaped as a snort through the equine nostrils as Jackson doubtless rolled his eyes beneath the headpiece. “Did you like it? The mass, the fur, the tail, you know. Everything?”

“I … don’t really know?”

Jackson shrugged. “Then find out. Wear it for the night. Worst case scenario, you can take it off in the bathroom or something if you need a breather.” The lips curved into a smile. “Now come on. Put that mask back on. I wanna try something.”

The mask settled back into place again, and just like before, the artist squeezed and molded. Jason’s face pulled forward, his teeth sharpened, the thickening hairs returned, as did the ears and tail.

And then mindless bliss. Thick hoof-like nails dragged, rubbed, and massaged his scalp. His shoulders slumped, the world melted, and by the time he came back to reality, his tongue was hanging over his mouth as he panted. Jackson hunched over to whisper in his ear.

“Keep it on all night, and I might just do that for you again after we leave.”

Jason looked at his wagging tail in horror, then to his friend. “What did you just do?”

“Scratched your scalp. Most dogs enjoy it. Humans, too, actually. We’ve got a lot of nerves on there that send pleasure, if you know the right spots to touch.” He shrugged, and the shoulder pads rose along his artificially broad neck. “Now come on, doggo. We’ve got a party to get to.”

Surprisingly, Jason felt a flicker of anger at the nickname. “If you’re not going to call me by name, at least use the costume’s,” he groused, even as he avoided eye contact.

Jackson chuckled. “Sure thing, Howl. Whatever you say, bro.”

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun bleeding through the blinds finally woke Jason from his slumber. He groaned and stretched in bed. The last night had been a bit of a blur, but he remembered having fun, at least. He curved an arm idly behind his head and peered at the dresser across the way. The mask rested on its display stand. Its hollow eye sockets seemed almost to stare back at him as he yawned and scratched his stomach. “Morning, Howl.”

Naturally, the mask didn’t respond. Jason got out of bed and stretched again as he strode toward the bathroom in their shared apartment. The sight that greeted him at the mirror was his usual self. He scratched the stubble on his face and played with the wisps of hair that had grown on his chest. Once he’d brushed his teeth, he turned to the side and took another look at his body. The stubble helped to accentuate some of his more masculine features, and his black briefs hugged in all the right places. A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “I’m looking good this morning.”

The first thing to strike his senses was the sizzle, followed shortly by the sharp and luscious scent of fat cooking off for that oh so crisp and salty joy that was, “Bacon….” Jason had to swallow back the tsunami of saliva that rose in response to that olfactory earthquake. He raced back to his room and quickly jumped into some pants and a shirt, then strode back into the kitchen, doing his best to avoid looking eager.

Jason was already at the stove, turning the food over with a set of tongs. His long black curls pushed angrily at the cap that even now held them in check, with only a few that broke free at the font of his head through the gap above the backstrap. The duck bill of the hat stretched out behind at a jaunty angle, and he grinned as he turned to face his friend bare-chested. “So, the wolf emerges at last from his den. Welcome back to the land of the living, bro.”

“You know, you’re not in costume. You don’t need to keep saying that.”

Jason shrugged. “It’s fun. Besides, it’s not like I’m bothering anyone with it.” He motioned to the table. “Take a seat, bro. Breakfast’ll be ready soon. I hope you like oatmeal.”

“At this point, I’d settle for leather, if I could get it now. I’m starving.” His stomach growled its hearty agreement.

Jackson smirked. “I could get you a rawhide bone, if you like.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he took his chair and scratched himself absently. “Not my kind of bone,” he muttered, then paused. Where had that come from?

“What’d you say, bro?”

Jason shook his head. “Nothing. We going to have eggs, too, or just the goop?”

Jackson gasped. “Excuse me, sir. I’ll have you know that my oatmeal is the finest in the land, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, because instant oatmeal is so hard to make.”

“It is when you add your own secret ingredients.” Jackson smirked.

“You’re not going to try to poison me again, are you?”

“As I recall, the poison in question that you’re so worried about coincided with a very nasty stomach virus that your own doctor verified as such. Don’t blame the cook for your body’s poor performance. Speaking of which.” He tossed an orange, and Jason was surprised to find he caught it almost immediately. “Eat up. You need more Vitamin C in your diet, you carnivore.”

Jason sniffed disdainfully. “You make it sound like such a bad thing.”

“It is when you’re about to get a heart attack from it.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t.”

Jason rolled his eyes and smirked. “Oh, shut up, jackass.”

Jackson turned and quirked his eyebrow. “What was that?”

“You’re the donkey. You tell me.”

“Ah,” he said as understanding dawned. “I’d be more careful about those kinds of jokes if I were you. This jackass might not always be around to save your sorry hide otherwise.” He smirked. “But I’ll let it pass this once. And only for the small price of one of your pieces of bacon. Isn’t that a bargain?”

Something in Jason’s chest lurched, and he could almost feel a physical pain at the declaration. “How could you be so cruel?” he asked forlornly.

Jackson shielded his eyes, as though they’d been struck by the sun directly. “Since when did you use puppy-dog eyes?”

Jason raised his brow in surprise. “Since never?”

“My heart would beg to disagree. I almost had a cute attack. Seriously, dude, turn those things off!”

“Okay, now I know you’re just pulling my leg,” Jason groused. “Come on, man, the fun’s over.” He sniffed the air. “And more importantly, the bacon’s about to burn. Flip it over.”

Jackson cursed as he whipped back to the stovetop to literally save his bacon.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The heavy thump of music pulsed through the night air as the two friends strode into the dark. With every passing streetlamp, the wolf man changed. Skin was gradually consumed by a lush coat of silver fur that seemed almost to glow as he strode forward. Silent, padded feet were soon replaced by thick bestial paws that clacked on the cement as they walked. His face contorted into a full bestial muzzle as they carried on. His furry ears swiveled to home in on the heavy clunk of Jackson’s new cleats. The equine hadn’t worn them to the first party in favor of adjusting to the new hooves instead. Now, he’d grown even taller with the help of the spikes embedded into the special shoes that had been designed with an insert specifically for hooves.

“Looking good there, little bro,” Jackson praised.

“It’s getting worse,” Jason noted. “I thought I was just supposed to be a partial werewolf. This is—”

“Cool.” He let out a brief husky chuckle. “Jase, you’re supposed to be big, snarly, and fierce. Own it. Don’t shy away.”

“Maybe,” Jason admitted as they passed into another pool of light. He paused a moment to flex his new muscle. The tension of his claws against the pads in his hands as the muscle pulsed and the blood surged filled him with a strange sensation. It wasn’t entirely pleasure, but not really painful either. More … anticipatory.

The pop of the pant seams in the dark heralded the next stage of Jason’s metamorphosis, and Jackson couldn’t help but let out a deep guffaw at the sight under the next street lamp. “Damn, bro. Somebody’s packing.” Jackson continued to bassoon as he smacked his padded thigh.

Jason had lost the tell of a blush, but canines are an expressive species by nature, and wolves are no different. His ears dropped low as a growl reverberated from his throat. “Look who’s talking, jock boy.”

“Hey! Don’t diss the Jack, bro.”

“Well, isn’t that what your character is supposed to be?”

Jackson grinned. “Bro, you wish you knew what I got up to on that island.”

“You mean what Jack got up to on the island.”

Jackson shrugged. “Gotta get in character. Shouldn’t you, too?” They passed through another gap. When they emerged in the light, a loin cloth had replaced the tattered remains of Jason’s clothes. “Your costume sure seems to think so.” He chuckled again. “How you feeling?”

“Honestly?”

Jackson nodded enthusiastically.

“Energetic and….”

“And?”

The growl that followed was deeper, and Jason’s voice soon followed as his chest barreled out and his neck thickened with muscle. “Swear you won’t laugh.”

“I swear.”

The hairs on Jason’s rapidly developing mane flared as he flushed with embarrassment. “… Aroused.”

Jackson grinned as he wrapped a huge arm around Jason’s shoulders. It was only too clear how much he struggled to hold back. “Alpha bod like that, I ain’t surprised, bro. Sounds to me like Howl needs to go on the prowl, if you know what I’m saying.”

Jason’s eyes couldn’t help but fall on the artificial padding at the donkey costume’s crotch. With each flash of light, it seemed … bigger than before. The compression gear was tighter over his thighs, and the padding in the arms gave a little too easily to be the typical foam or air insert. His nose twitched, and he detected hay, cologne, a hint of sweat. It was new, different, and yet … familiar. Was he turning, too? Was Jackson merging with Jack the same way Howl was merging with him? Was that … okay?

They’d stopped moving. Jackson was staring at him. The two were now much closer in height, maybe a couple of inches’ worth of difference. “Bro, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re bros. We’re supposed to be horny. Just gotta channel it in the right place. If someone wants to judge for it, screw them.” He squeezed Jason’s shoulders gently. “Bros gotta stick together, am I right?”

Jason’s mouth suddenly felt dry as the loin cloth tightened. He looked down past his still-developing chest.

The cloth hadn’t shrunk.

“Uh….”

“Come on. A good walk will help work it off,” Jackson promised. “We’ve still got time before the party.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Jason’s eyes roved over the gathering as he drank his punch. The first party had been spent alone to the side. He didn’t really need people to comment on his costume then. It was frightening enough just dealing with all the stares. Now, he was staring at them.

Before, it had been out of curiosity, a mere study of the costumes and interaction. This time felt more … purposeful. The loud thump of the music in his ears left him wanting to snarl, but he bore it with dignity as the rest of the partygoers reveled. It wasn’t their fault they had such poor hearing. It was sort of pathetic, in a way. Jackson was the only other one who seemed to understand. His ears swiveled like great satellite dishes, struggling to home in on the next sound. And yet, he seemed perfectly at ease. The social cues and interactions left many smiling or whispering after he left. The music was too loud to focus on trying to hear them. Jason could only hope they were speaking good things. If they weren’t….

It took him a moment to realize he was growling. His lips had pulled back to expose his fangs and sharper teeth. A good deterrent, but he didn’t want to deter. The whole point of this party was that he was supposed to be social and have fun. It was Halloween, for crying out loud! Or at least it would be soon enough.

The werewolf rose to his full height and sampled the air discreetly. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. It just felt right to do. He shoved awkwardly through the gathering, still not used to the mass he’d accumulated. Every brush against his fur, every bump on his side, every thump of his tail against someone’s leg struck him with new and strange sensory input. For a time, apologies flowed easily from his lips, but after enough rude comments and judgmental stares, his hackles began to rise. If people were going to be rude, he had no reason to give them respect.

They should show respect to him.

The anger should have clouded his judgement. Instead, it granted clarity. He could see clearly across the room. Cleopatra, Dionysus, mummies, dragons, centurions, and many more sorted through the space. Some were dancing with partners. Others sat to cool off or enjoy refreshments. Others still socialized with friends or built new acquaintances.

“Hey there, Mister Wolf. Care for a dance with Little Red?”

This Riding Hood was anything but little. Her red cloak shimmered in the light and cascaded like water down her back. Her hair was long and lush with vivacious curls and an artful smile that hinted at a primal hunger, one that the werewolf could sympathize with very well, indeed. Her dress was far from the simple village outfit most red riding hoods are associated with. One could say it came closer to the Scarlet Witch in its design with sparkles woven throughout the fabric that glinted with every motion she took. The tight bodice emphasized the curves at her waist and near her chest. Instead of a skirt, a pale translucent body suit colored to look like skin stretched down to a pair of high scarlet heels. All she needed was a crown to complete the ensemble.

“Last I checked, the wolf was the last one Red would want to see,” he countered.

“Fortunately, this Red isn’t a little girl.”

Jason sighed. “One dance,” he allowed.

“We’ll see.” She smirked as the two entered the dance floor. Jason was far from graceful, but the girl more than made up for it. And beside that, he soon found himself adapting to the pattern as they waltzed. He still couldn’t control his tail well, but the couple were able to dance well enough. Those who attempted to complain were met with an angry snarl.

“And what should I call you?” Red asked.

“Howl,” Jason said brusquely. He didn’t know this woman, and he liked her even less. She was being too forward, and her body language read differently than someone looking for a good time. When the dance came to an end, he stepped away. A soft hand grabbed his. “I said one dance,” he reminded her.

“And I can’t treat you to a drink?”

Jason deliberately reached to the woman’s hand and carefully dislodged it. “No,” he said simply. And then he left. It didn’t take long to locate Jackson. He was busy chatting it up with some of the other more serious costumers. The wolf in him always kept track. Was it worry that caused him to keep such a close eye, or something else? Frankly, he wasn’t sure.

He settled down next to the bar and ordered a drink. The bartender’s face was painted to replicate a skeleton, and his hands were coated in gloves with a similar skeletal design. His shirt and vest highlighted a svelt figure, and Jason couldn’t help but notice the tone that pressed lightly against the shirt. This tender was modest, but he was clearly well built.

“Having fun?” the tender asked.

Jason shrugged. “Could be better.” He shook his head. “No date.”

The tender nodded sagely. “That’s always tough. There are a lot of people here, though. You could probably find someone, if you really wanted to look.” He shook the blend, then poured it into a glass and passed it down. “Careful. This is strong stuff.”

“I think I can handle it.”

The tender chuckled. “I’ll tell you what. You drink that and don’t get buzzed, and the next one’s on the house.”

“Won’t that take a half hour, at least?”

The tender shrugged. “I don’t mind waiting. It’s not like I have much else to do.”

Jason took a deep breath. The sterilization of alcohol and other products was strong here, but mingled with it came the smell of aftershave, a hint of spice, and something else that set his heart to pounding. The loin cloth tightened under the counter, but no one could see it, so Jason did his best not to draw attention to it. Surprisingly enough, his consciousness seemed to listen, and he leaned on the counter with both elbows. “I suppose I can spare a while.”

The bartender grinned. “What’s your name, stranger?”

“Call me Howl.”

“Then I guess you can call me bones.”

“Bones, huh?” His mouth pulled into a grin, baring his teeth. “I like bones.”

The skeleton smirked as he pushed the glass toward the wolf, drawing the big clawed hand over to the stem. There was no fear or judgement in those eyes, only an invitation, a desperation, a hunger. “I think you’ll like this even more. Let me know what you think.”

Both men licked their lips. Jason raised his glass. His eyes drifted again over that frame. Again, that surge flowed through him, and a giddy sort of high came with it before he even took a sip. His tail wagged. His teeth flashed. He’d found something. Something important. And he wasn’t going to let it go, whatever it was. “I will,” he said as he downed the concoction.

Howl needs to go on the prowl. That’s what Jackson had said. Perhaps, perhaps Howl had found what he was looking for.

Bones grinned. “Now comes the fun part.”

Howl grinned in turn.

There wasn’t much thinking left to do by the end of the night.

Only taking.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

As he had a week before, Jason rose from his bed. His head was groggy, but surprisingly, no headache followed. He felt … good, full, … satisfied? This time, he brushed the fur of the mask. “I don’t know what we did last night, but damn do I feel good.”

He grinned at himself in the mirror. Beautiful white teeth and sharp canines bared back at him as he brushed his teeth and attended to the morning queue. He lingered in the shower, relishing in the sensation of the warm muscles, the pump they seemed to generate. Whatever was in those drinks last night must have done wonders. He laughed as he left the shower and stood in front of the mirror again. The stubble had thickened into a proper short beard. His jaw looked sharper, his eyes brighter, and the sight of his chest rising and falling was practically mesmerizing in and of itself.

The cry of a sportscaster shouting, “Touchdown!” over the television speakers in the living room pulled him back out of his trance.

“Aw, hell, yeah!”

Jason lumbered into the television room out of curiosity. A man with broad shoulders and a black Under Armour compression shirt hooted from the couch. The sides of his head were shaved down to stubble, with a long black strip running down the middle. There wasn’t a single sign of a curl to be seen.

“Jackson?”

Jackson grinned when he turned to face Jason. His face was broader, his forehead more prominent. His neck had filled with muscle, and his arms were pumped from a morning workout. “Well, look who finally woke up.” He chuckled. “Finished resting on the laurels of your conquests, Your Majesty?”

“My … what?” Jason blinked in surprise.

“You were a fucking beast last night,” he crowed. “The girls were all over you, and you snuffed every last one of ’em. You’re gonna be infamous!” He chuckled. “And it gave me plenty of time to comfort a few of them after you let them down.” The compression gear he wore highlighted bulky thighs and held the bulge that pressed there. While not so large as Jason remembered from last night, he knew this wasn’t normal for Jackson.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Jackson?”

“Never been better.” He strode to his roommate and smacked him on the back. “And call me Jack, bro. I told you before, it’s easier.” He transferred the hand to Jason’s head and rubbed furiously.

The whole world melted under that touch, and Jason’s shoulders slumped in ecstasy. Jackson’s laugh brought him around again.

“You go get dressed. I’ll prep you something to eat. An alpha’s got to take care of himself, right?”

“Uh … yeah….” Jason blinked and broke the contact. “I’ll, uh, see you in a few.”

Jack waved dismissively. “Take your time, bro. The food won’t be in a hurry to cook itself.”

Jason nodded slowly and stumbled back to his room. He patted his head, then shook it to try to disperse the sensation. He closed the door and got dressed. The pants felt oddly constricting, and his skin almost itched when he pulled on a shirt. Finally, he flung it to the ground and stalked up to the mask. “What did you do to me?” he snarled. “What did you do to Jackson?”

Naturally, there was no response. The mask remained silent. That didn’t stop him from imagining what it might say, though.

I gave you what you wanted. Confidence, power, strength, the ability to take what you want without fear, without worry, without consequence. And you did. You may not remember it clearly, but you did, and you loved every minute of it.

Conquest.

The brush of lips against his snout.

Control.

Snatching a stray body onto the dance floor.

Dominance.

Scrawling a number. Adding to contacts.

Compulsion.

Hot breath over a soft neck. A sharp nose near the ear. The whispered command. “Call me….”

Presence.

Jackson’s words reverberated in his skull. He would be infamous. Snuffing the girls. Every one of them. But … then who had he asked to call? Whose lips did he touch? Who … who brought out the beast?

You know. You just don’t want to admit it.

Admission. Admission of what?

The night flashed again. The bulging crotch in Jack’s costume. The tone on the barkeep’s build. The resistance to his grip as he pulled the man onto the floor. The smooth, deep voice that sent goosebumps up his flesh at the mere recollection—

…

The man.

…

It was a man.

They were all men.

“Oh, god,” he swore. A sympathetic tingle rose in his crotch. This time, when he looked at the mask, he could swear it was smiling.

His appetite was gone. The dry mouth that followed came from shock, rather than lust. His phone went off. He checked the screen.

A wall of text bubbles cascaded down the screen.

Hey. You told me to text you, so … yeah. This is Jim.

John here. Had a great time last night. What’s your Facebook info?

Phil checking in. You doing okay, man? You looked sort of out of it on the way out of the party.

Jason wanted to be sick.

He wanted to be, but he wasn’t. Instead, his body betrayed him as blood surged and a familiar tightness rose in his crotch.

Passing faces. Eyes, ears, necks. Bits and pieces and parts of wholes, each associated with the names flashing by on his screen, like a collection or a trophy rack or a, a—

His eyes widened in horror as he looked back at the mask. “A pack,” he rasped.

The mask didn’t move. It didn’t need to, even if it could.

“I’m not gay. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not!” Jason shook his head violently as he fell back onto his bed. “Get out!” he ordered. But his brain wouldn’t listen. Like a barely lucid dream, he had no control. He could only watch as piece after horrifying piece fell into place in the weave of his memory.

His chest tightened. His breathing came faster. The sheets felt suddenly cool as his rapidly beating heart pumped hot blood through his flesh. Heat for denial, and for arousal.

“I like girls,” he cast into the air. Whether he was talking to himself, the mask, or both, he wasn’t sure. “I’ve dated them loads of times. Hell, I’ve had sex with them and enjoyed it!”

Yet now, when he thought back on those times, the blood flow lessened. His body calmed. He barely got a twitch.

“This isn’t right,” he said softly as he shook his head.

The phone went off again. This time, his whole body tensed. The hairs along his arms stood on end and thickened as he looked over the words. His breathing sped.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about that invite you gave me. If you’re still okay with it, I’ll be glad to come with you next week. Just text me the address.

~Bones

Bones had texted him, just like the rest.

The scent of old spice, licorice, and those beautiful blue eyes that seemed almost to glow under the blacklight in the bar. So intoxicating, so inviting, so … much … want.

The pressure against his legs forced him to spread them. He watched in horror as the bulge pressed against his crotch. It wasn’t obscene, but it was prominent. And it was his, not Howl’s, his.

But … Howl may have used it. Why else would he be this way now? Why would he be feeling these feelings? Why would he go after those handsome men and … and…?

A donkey’s bray snapped his attention back to reality.

Jason bolted toward the source. The door burst open in his haste to reveal Jackson’s room. The donkey head was still on its stand, right next to the pads and gear. Jackson turned in surprise to look at his friend. The sprayer was in his hand, the plunger already depressed. “You okay, bro?”

Jason trembled. “Jack, what’re you doing?”

“Testing the costume. Some idiot knocked me upside the head last night. I just wanted to make sure everything still worked.” He pressed a button in one of the gloves, and the braying sounded again.

“Jack, I … I don’t think we should keep wearing the costumes.” Cold. It felt so cold. Why was it so cold all of a sudden?

Jack furrowed his brow. “You don’t look so good, bro. Maybe you should get back in bed.”

The room spun. Jason leaned on the door frame for support. “I … I get the need for testing the suit, but … why the spray?”

Jack blushed as he hastily put the cap back on. “I … I just like it, okay bro? I like sounding like this. I like playing the big bro. I just feel … better like this. Like—”

“Like another person,” Jason said bluntly.

Jackson looked like a child whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar. “Well, yeah, I guess. It’s just … I kinda like it.” He popped a flex. “I mean, look at me. Look at us, bro.” He chuckled, and his eyes rolled as his chest heaved against the fabric. “Fuck,” he swore. And then he did it again. “Huhuhuh….” He triggered the mechanism. “Huhuhuh-HAWWWWW!”

Mask and costume spun around the man with the whorl of Jason’s rushing heartbeat, Jackson’s laughter, and the donkey Jack’s. The ghostly apparitions seemed almost to fuse as the world faded into a blur, and then came the darkness and merciful silence.

The scent of sausage, cheese, tomatoes, and spices pulled him around. He found himself laying in his own bed. Before he could even think, the tasty treat was already in his mouth. Gooey cheese blended with seasoned hash browns and tangy salsa. He chewed. He swallowed. The world cleared.

“Jason. You okay, man?”

Jackson was there. His broad frame blocked most of the window as he stood up with foil-wrapped breakfast burrito in hand. His voice had returned mostly to normal, though there was a definite timbre that pulled to the lower registers of his regular voice.

There was only one logical conclusion to make as Jason drew himself up in the bed. Jackson must have carried him in. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough.” Jackson frowned. “I didn’t think a costume could get you so worked up. If I’d know, I wouldn’t have … I don’t know, I would’ve done something different. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jason’s stomach growled. “I will be after I get that burrito down.”

Jackson smiled weakly. “Well, at least your appetite’s not affected.”

“Appetite’s probably the only thing.” Jason frowned as he took his burrito and tore another chunk out of it. “Jack, something’s wrong with me.”

“We talking doctor wrong or—?”

“I’m talking me wrong, like my body, my head, I … I don’t know, not like hospital bad, but I’m just … I’m messed up and I’m freaking out because of what’s been going on.” Tears welled in his eyes and coursed down his cheeks as he took another heavy bite, tearing part of the wrapper with it. He fished it out of his mouth, then chewed and swallowed the rest.

Jackson took a seat on the side of the bed and laid a supportive hand on Jason’s knee. “Tell me.”

“Jackson—”

“Jack,” he corrected gently.

“Can we please not start with that right now?”

“All right, man. But tell me what’s going on.”

Jason averted his gaze. “I … I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But somehow, someway, I … I’m….”

“Yes?”

“I’m turning gay, man!”

Jackson blinked silently a few times. “Is that all?”

“Is that all? My entire sexual orientation is pulling a one-eighty and—oh, god damn it,” he swore as his cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment in equal measure. A tent had formed under the sheets. He quickly moved to cover it with his hands.

Jackson shrugged. “Bro, I’m bi. I just slept at other peoples’ places so it wouldn’t get awkward, you know?” He shrugged. “Maybe this is just a side of yourself you’ve been holding back on.”

“I would know if I was gay before, Jackson. I’m not some homophobe, but this is seriously unsettling for me! I mean, put it in your perspective. What if you went from bisexual to asexual overnight? No attractions, no way to get little Jack there to buck. Wouldn’t that freak you out?”

Jackson frowned. “Maybe a little,” he allowed.

“Exactly! I don’t hate gay people, but I don’t want to be gay, man! I liked liking girls! It’s who I was—am.”

“It’s part of who you are,” Jack corrected seriously. “A small part.” He stood up and flexed. “Look at me, Jason.”

Jason looked away guiltily.

“I said look at me, bro.”

Jason kept staring at the sheets. Two hands seized his head and twisted it.

“I said look at me, little bro.”

Jason suddenly felt breathless. The blunt face, the rugged features, the deep, low voice. And this time, he didn’t need the spray. Was it a residue, was something else altering it, was it just a figment of a wild imagination? Either way, he shuddered. The rush flowed again. Heat. Swelling. Manhood.

Dominance.

Jason’s hands seized Jackson’s wrists and squeezed. “Don’t touch me,” he growled. “If I want to do something, I’ll do it. I won’t have someone do it for me.” Despite the lack of mass, he held his own against Jackson. Or maybe Jackson was holding back. He didn’t know, and part of him didn’t seem to care either way.

Jackson smirked. “Make me, bro.”

The two wrestled like Spartans over the bed. The sheets were tangled and then kicked aside as they rolled and kicked and kneed and elbowed. Back and forth, blow for blow.

“That’s it, bro,” Jackson said with a cocky smirk. He nearly had Jason pinned. “Work it out.” Then he sneered. “Or would you rather beat it out?”

Jason snarled at the lewd reference and broke the hold with renewed strength. They continued to grapple for the next five minutes. Neither gave ground. In the end, however, Jason finally found himself straddling a heaving chest. The sleek black material glinted in the room’s light, further highlighting the hard muscle that lay underneath. The blocky features and broad nose were pulled by a grin.

“Fuck, bro. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Jackson panted.

Jason hovered over Jackson’s face. His breath mingled with that of his conquest. “I didn’t either,” he admitted.

“So, what’re you going to do now?”

“I … don’t know,” Jason admitted. “Maybe just … stay here a while?”

Jackson’s smile was warm and gentle as he looked up at his friend. “I’m good with that.”

The two laid there together, both chests heaving, both pumped full of blood and testosterone. And though they hadn’t lain in the biblical sense, the two had been joined on a different, almost instinctual level.

Jason finally rolled off his roommate and panted. Jackson’s hand interlocked with his. He didn’t pull away this time.

“See, bro?” Jackson asked. “It’s not so bad.”

Jason’s head lolled to the side. The mask and its stand had been knocked off the dresser. Its empty sockets stared into his eyes. Once more, things felt heavier, thicker, tighter below. But for once, he didn’t care. He was high on the victory. So very high. And so damn tired. Too tired to focus on denial.

“Yeah, … I guess so, … Jack.”

“Huhuh. That’s my bro.”

“Shut up and let me enjoy this.”

“Is that an order from the Alpha?”

The pleasure doubled. His vision of the room cleared. He had dominated. He had won. And he had just received acknowledgement of that victory. His voice was deeper when next he spoke. “Yes, Jack. Yes, it is.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The two friends strode confidently down the street. The cold air didn’t bother them, nor did the noise of the city. Their ears had long since adjusted. The equine had guzzled the rest of the voice treating bottle in one go, and the effects were far from disappointing. A thick adam’s apple jutted from a heavily muscled neck. Jack’s gear strained against burgeoning muscles he definitely didn’t have last weekend. His thick brow and wide forehead emphasized the bestial features of his “mask.” White buck teeth were bared in a witless, giddy grin. A water bottle sloshed at his side, connected by a strap to his waist.

“What are you planning, Jack?” Jason growled suspiciously. His thick meaty paws were silent as he prowled along the sidewalk with his friend. Unlike the previous weekend, the costume hadn’t felt the need to have a loin cloth. The moon shone brightly on them, and with every step, Jason felt more powerful and confident than ever before.

“Just a little fun, bro.” Jack smirked.

“What’s in the bottle?” The question rang with the tone of command.

“Just a little something I brought from home for just such an occasion.”

“Home?”

“Good old IPDB. Bro’s gotta have a herd to hang with, ya know?”

“What, I’m not good enough?”

Jack punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Nah, you know it’s not that, Howl. It’s just … sort of a need, you know? You need a pack, and I need a herd. Don’t tell me you’re not planning on making a few new wolves tonight.”

“That’s my affair.” He sighed. “All right. How many bowls are you planning to spike?”

Jack grinned wider.

“You’re not going to spike all of them,” he snarled. “I like you, Jack, but if you touch any of my claims….”

“Whoa, whoa, chill, bro.” Jack raised his gloved hands placatingly. “I may be a dumbass, but I’m not suicidal.”

“Good. I’d hate to lose one of my favorite chew toys.”

Jack smirked. “Glad to see you’re getting into character, Howl.”

“I liked it better when you called me bro.”

Jack’s brown eyes dulled as he guffawed. “Huhuhuh. Whatever you say, bro.”

“Because…?”

A bray passed into the night as the bulge in Jack’s crotch swelled. “You’re the alpha, bro.”

“Good donkey.” The werewolf leaned closer to his companion and chuffed in his ear before he whispered, “And don’t you forget it.”

The entrance to the conference center was flooded with people. More than half the city had to be assembled or be assembling for the gathering. Jason was worried about finding Bones in the crowd. Howl, however, remembered his scent well. The pair shoved the other partygoers aside as they approached an alcove to the side of the main entrance. There he was, in full costume. His bones seemed almost to glow in the moonlight. Howl slavered at the sight. Jason kept the alpha in check, albeit only just. It wasn’t time yet.

…

Whatever that meant.

“That’s quite an entrance,” Bones noted.

“I like to make an impression,” he responded.

“Is that so?” Bones smirked. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Jack, my roommate.”

“Sup, bro?”

Bones raised a curious brow.

“Believe it or not, he talks like that all the time.”

Jack shrugged. “I like to KISS.”

“Well, that’s … pretty up front.”

The werewolf rolled his eyes. “It’s one of his jokes. KISS: Keep it Simple, Stupid.”

Jack grinned. “You know you like it.”

He let out a longsuffering sigh. “Oh, the burdens one bears to have a roommate.”

A light punch to his shoulder was followed by a quick guffawing bray. “Shut up.”

“Well, you two look cozy,” Bones noted.

Howl wrapped his arm around the man and pulled him close. “Nah. This is cozy.”

“Oh, my.”

Jack laughed again. “Okay, Takei. I’m gonna let you two love birds have some fun. Catch you later, bros!”

Dancing, chatting, games, laughing. In the matters of physical prowess, Jason left it to Howl. In the matters of social interaction, Howl left it to Jason, barring certain interlopers who might want to interrupt the evening. The more time passed, the more difficult it became to differentiate between the two. Was it Jason who pulled Bones for another dance or Howl? Did Howl bare his teeth at interlopers, or was that Jason not wanting to let go of the fun from the evening? Who swept Bones out of the way when a waiter was about to crash into him? Whose mouth watered at the chicken salad Bones heaped on a plate? Who shoved the food into a gaping maw with both hands, then licked the food after?

…

Who dragged Bones to the bathroom with a paw over his face and teeth near his throat?

“Quiet,” he whispered. “Let me explain. I won’t hurt you.”

The loud brays and guffaws from Jack drew the attention of much of the crowd as he challenged foes to arm wrestling contests and other forms of entertainment. The revelers high on the donk’s special concoction probably helped, too. Howl knew he’d owe the lug big time for that distraction.

The handicapped stall was the only option that would work, given his size.

“I’m going to take my hands off you now.” He grit his teeth. “I’m … asking you not to scream.” The face paint was smudged when the werewolf finally removed his hand. He backed away and squatted on his haunches, though his whole body was tense. It was easy to read how much Bones wanted to run, and he had to be ready to prevent that. “Please don’t try diving under the stalls. I really don’t want to have to pull you back. I just need you to calm down.”

“What…?”

“I’m still the same wolf you met last weekend. Same personality, same allure, same confidence.” He looked away. “… Same attraction.”

“Attraction,” Bones repeated almost disbelievingly.

“I’m a wolf, not a monster.” His tail drooped. “And I’m still a man. Others, I could take in a heartbeat. I’d wrestle them, hold them, make them mine. That’s what I’m supposed to do as the alpha. But you, you’re … different.”

“How?”

“Look, I can’t put it into words, okay? You’re just … different!” A low growl rose in his throat. He bit it off quickly. “If you were like me, I could explain it a lot easier.”

“Like you?”

“Yes, like me! I’m a wolf, damn it! We speak with our bodies a lot better than our words. Hell, I thought you read me just fine last weekend.”

This time, Bones looked away. “And are you always, well, … you know?”

He shrugged. “I’m a wolf, Bones. My mother named me Howl after Howl’s Moving Castle, not because of our species. Does it even matter? I’m still a man, whether I’m like this or furless.”

“How do you deal with … everything?”

The werewolf shrugged. “One day at a time. It helps having a pack to fall back on. And there are a few allies who help keep things relatively secret. But … I don’t think they matter to me right now.”

“Because?”

He lunged, Howl and Jason together. Both pinned Bones to the stall. Both breathed on his neck. Both felt the heat between their bodies, and it was electric. “Because I want you, damn it. I want to be with you. I want for there to be an us.” He pulled back slightly, and his wide eyes glistened under the fluorescent lights. “Don’t you, too?”

“I…”

“Please, Bones.”

“I … I don’t—” His body began to shake.

“Join my pack. Join me.” Both breathed heavily as Howl stooped closer. “Barring that,” he whispered. “Just kiss me.”

“… Oh, god,” Bones rasped. Then arms wrapped around the wolf’s neck and pulled. Black lips touched black and white. The stalls rocked.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Two wolves strode confidently out of the bathroom holding hands. One wore only his fur, the other the tatters of his dress shirt and casual slacks. The loudspeakers carried over as a familiar figure with curling dark horns chortled on the stage.

“The witching hour has come at last. Let revelers play and spirits dance. Set all those human cares aside. It’s time to dance on the wild side.” He chortled, then broke into a familiar crooning song. “I put a spell on you … and now you’re mine….”

Jack brayed in delight as men and women tore through their clothes to reveal familiar crosses developing on their backs and broad blocky muzzles. The more he brayed, the faster the changes went.

Not to be outdone, the wolf raised its head and howled as the clouds parted through the skylights above to let the moonlight filter down on the dance floor. Officers shredded out of their uniforms. Snarling men clawed their suits apart as their chests expanded with muscle and their faces gradually extended into sharp-toothed maws. Fur and tooth and hoof and claw replaced the skin and delicate features of the creatures that had once inhabited the dance floor.

By the time the song reached its final refrain, everyone was dancing.

“So, do you regret your decision, Bones?” Howl asked as he stared into his mate’s eyes.

“If you treat me like that every night? Not in a million years.”

Howl chuckled. “That’s my Bones.”

“Bout time, bro!” Jack hooted his approval and pumped his fist as he danced past with a jenny in one arm and a swelling jack pulling the pumping fist in question around his shoulders for the other.

Jason and Jackson were both long gone. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say they evolved into something more, something they wanted, or perhaps needed. Regardless of the case, Howl and Jack were both very satisfied customers, and things were about to get very interesting, indeed, in this city. Judas sneered as he continued to croon.

“I put a spell on you, and now you’re gone….”

You do realize that, regardless of whatever pictures you use and if it shows a dick or not, your content is still porn? Like your stories are literally gay porn. They’re good, hella sexy, but I don’t understand why you might not understand that a mod might go below surface level and actually READ the post and flag it?

Please read this all the way through, Anon. You wanted me to address your argument, and this is a very firm rebuttal on all fronts. Read it thoroughly.

Anon, you clearly have a different definition of pornography than I do, and more importantly than the rest of the world does. The content I write has nothing to do with sex, other than perhaps some characters talking about it as their transformations progress, and even that’s iffy. Arousal may happen to some characters, but I am very careful how I handle each instance of that occurring to keep it outside the bedroom and generally touch on it only lightly. I don’t write about masturbation, nor do I write other graphic forms of sexual intercourse. The closest I have come to writing about it has been in Endemic Evolution when it was implied in a conversation overheard by one of the main characters. Is my content arousing to the reader?

I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Which means it would likely fall under the classification of erotica in that sense, at least. Muscle transformation is a niche, and it’s one that I also find arousing as I transform the individuals in my stories both mentally and physically.

But let me make one thing clear to you, Anon. I’m a Christian who takes his morals and his religious beliefs very seriously. I’ve written a total of maybe three works of fiction that involve characters becoming gay as a part of their transformations. These instances were in part to experiment expanding my boundaries in fiction, and in part because it felt right to do that for those characters or was requested as a part of a commission, depending on the case. The rest of my characters when they transform are straight and remain straight.

You’re the one who chooses to turn my writings into lewd thoughts as part of your own fantasies. You’re the one who uses your imagination to carry my work into the field of graphic sexual arousal and acts. So, please don’t go telling me that I write pornography.

To back my claims, here is Tumblr’s own definition of what they consider adult content, along with exceptions to that rule. I’ll bold the most pertinent portions in rebut to your claims.

What is "adult content?"

Adult content primarily includes photos, videos, or GIFs that show real-life human genitals or female-presenting nipples, and any content—including photos, videos, GIFs and illustrations—that depicts sex acts.

What is permitted?

Examples of exceptions that are permitted are exposed female-presenting nipples in connection with breastfeeding, birth or after-birth moments, and health-related situations, such as post-mastectomy or gender confirmation surgery. Written content such as erotica, nudity related to political or newsworthy speech, and nudity found in art, such as sculptures and illustrations, are also stuff that can be freely posted on Tumblr.

So, whether my writing is erotic or not, I can tell you right now that it is not pornographic in nature according to Tumblr’s own guidelines. And whether my writing falls under the classification of erotica or not, it is still protected under tumblr guidelines, hence why I was saying that Tumblr broke their own guidelines, and that they should trust me more in my own judgement about what is and isn’t appropriate.

Also, please note that erotica is defined as any content that leads to arousal. So, by that definition, that means that in the case of pedophiles, viewing, say, a public school yearbook with kids smiling at them could be classified erotica to them, because they may find that arousing.

For the record, I’m not saying I support such behavior. Pedophilia is not okay. It never has been, and it never will be.

But you can see why I differentiate between erotica and pornography here. And more importantly why Tumblr and the world differentiate between the two. The one can cause a person who reads it to feel aroused. The other is deliberately designed for that purpose by portraying or writing graphic sexual intercourse, human genitalia, etc.

So, no, Anon. My writing is not gay porn. It’s not any form of porn. It will never step into the boundaries of pornography, no matter how much you may wish it to do so. I don’t know if you are, but I’m saying it in the event that you may be.

I hope that this reply helps you to understand my position, and that it educated you more on the subtleties and differences between porn, erotica, and plain old fiction/fantasy.

Thank you for reading.

Sincerely,

Omni

P.S.

For the record, I have nothing against gay people or including gay relationships in my fiction. They’re real and should be acknowledged, even if my religious beliefs are opposed to homosexuality. Heck, I have multiple gay friends online, and we get along just fine. Look back to my previous post about transexuals for my standing policy on how I feel I should treat those who are not of my faith and would be considered sinners, sinning, or “living in sin” by its doctrine.