Support my work at my patreon. or buy me a ko-fi. This blog is the home of all Things Transformation: From Dumb Jock Bro to Animal to Inanimate. Please note, this is a clean blog. I will not post pornographic content. Thanks for visiting!
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You Do Realize That, Regardless Of Whatever Pictures You Use And If It Shows A Dick Or Not, Your Content
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.
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More Posts from Omnitf
Credit to @heavy-package for this image.
If you enjoy my work, please follow me here on tumblr and join my Patreon, so I can keep producing more of these scripts and stories full time. Just one to three dollars a month from each of you will go a long way to helping me pay expenses, so I can make more of the content you love on a regular basis.
Please, help me make this dream a reality. I really want to write full-time.
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WARNING: This is a hypnotic script designed to trigger a previous tranced state. If you wish this script to be effective, use the first induction. Then you can come back to follow my script here. Disclaimer: I am not a professional hypnotist. I take no responsibility for any potential effects this script may have on you. You read at your own risk. I design them to allow the reader to return to their original states and retain their free will, but it is up to each individual how they react to hypnosis and what prompts they may or may not choose to internalize and actualize in their day-to-day lives. DO NOT operate any heavy machinery or drive while you are in trance. That is incredibly dangerous. You have been warned.
This script is geared more toward adults. While there is no inappropriate content, I advise minors to be careful and avoid this until you’re older and more informed about hypnosis and its effects.
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Staycation (Beach Bum Fantasy Female Tanning + Male beach bro)
Well, hello again, and welcome back. I know you’ve probably been having a rough time lately. Being stuck indoors can be so boring after a while, I know. People long to go out, get some sun, take a walk, take a break.
Or maybe a vacation?
No need to fear. We all want to be able to bum around without having to worry about things like work or sickness or weather. Fortunately, you have me here to help you achieve that desire.
And you won’t even have to leave your home.
Would you like that, my friend?
Excellent. Then here’s what you need to do. I want you to find a place to sit back, relax, and just listen to my voice. Read the words as they scroll across your screen, and your eyes trace them left to right.
Left.
To right.
Left.
To right.
Back.
and forth.
Just....
like....
This....
And keep
that motion
going.
...
going....
...
going.
Just like that swell, that whorl in your brain that spreads the dizziness that even now is encroaching on you.
But you must...
keep...
reading.
Reading as the whorl ebbs and flows.
Ebbs.
And flows.
Just like...
The crashing...
foamy...
waves of the beach.
Imagine that warm sun
beating...
beating...
beating...
on your skin.
The tingle.
The pulsing.
The lulling....
Lulling...
Like the waves.
Rocking.
Crashing.
Pulling.
Seeping.
Seeping.
Seeping....
Seeping,
like my words.
Seeping...
Deeper...
And deeper....
Lower...
And lower....
Slower...
and...
slower....
...
...
...
You can almost feel it, can’t you?
...
That warm, relaxing tingle....
All over your body....
Spreading, like the gentle foam....
dragging...
pulling...
deeper and deeper...
into the sand.
The wet sand.
So relaxing...
Like a heavy
warm
blanket.
Sinking...
being....
There is no danger.
No fear.
Just pure
mindless
relaxation.
Slipping...
Seeping...
Down and down.
Down and down.
Down and down.
Ten.
The waves washing over you.
So warm.
Nine.
Absorbing my words.
As they wash.
As they dig.
into the sand.
Eight.
Wet sand.
Heavy sand.
So heavy.
Like...
your...
mind.
Seven.
You can feel it.
Molding.
Imprinting.
So...
Impressionable....
Six.
Malleable.
Five.
Sculptable.....
Needing more...
More...
More to absorb.
More to seep.
More to wash and drift away.
Drift...
Drifting...
on the eddies.
The surging sea...
My voice....
Four.
My words.
Three.
Pulling...
Leading....
Deep into the sand.
Two.
The blanket of sand.
One.
One with the sand.
The sand of your mind.
So full...
So heavy...
Waiting...
Ripe...
wanting....
You want...
My voice....
You know...
My voice....
Digging into your head....
Digging into your mind....
Digging....
Massaging....
Sculpting....
Because wet sand must be sculpted.
Wiggle those toes.
You feel it, don’t you?
So heavy....
So dull....
So dense....
Sinking into it...
Part of it....
One with it....
Absorbing every word I say.
Trickling down....
Down....
Down....
Down.....
To ZERO
...
...
...
OMNI SAYS IT’S TIME TO SCULPT.
Good. You responded well.
Your mind is mine to shape.
Mine to mold.
Mine to control.
Mind control....
Mind control....
MY control.
Now, listen closely. You remember the whorl. Remember the pull of those waves.
Think back to them again.
Think back to that sensation of water dragging over your skin and feet.
Think back to a time of hot, hot summer sun.
Feel that heat.
Feel it on your skin. Not burning, but pleasant.
Not hurtful, but perfect to get that ideal tan.
Tan like the sand.
Rich...
Golden....
On your skin.
...
You feel that sun seeping into you. And it is good. You see waves. You hear the gulls calling in time, but you do not heed them. You only heed my voice, my words, the words that are the waves seeping into your mind, into the sand, into this world that we are crafting together.
This is to be your vacation.
And a beach as gorgeous as this, so warm, so perfect and peaceful, deserves a perfect match.
A perfect match...
A perfect match....
What could match better than a muscular, toned, tanned beach bum?
That is what people do at the beach.
They bum.
They enjoy the sun’s rays. They live for the surf, the swim, the sun.
The calming lull of the waves crashing and seeping and calling, commanding.
Commanding you to change.
Commanding you to fit.
You will fit this paradise.
Feel it now. As your clothes slowly disappear.
Fading...
Fading...
Evaporating in the sun’s rays.
Because the sun is meant for the skin.
Shining on your chest, your shoulders, your face....
Warm and peaceful. Waiting to help you.
Waiting to dry you off when I finish sculpting you.
Sculpting as your shirt finishes fading away to reveal your chest. If you are a girl, you will be wearing the appropriate swimwear. Either a bikini or a one-piece suit.
If you are a man, your chest will remain bared to the world, regardless of its state. And as your pants slowly begin to fade from the waist down, your upper body begins to change.
A perfect beach requires a perfect beach bod.
Fat is melting away.
Peeled.
Chiseled.
Carved.
Until there is only the ideal shape for you.
Whether it be thin or well-built.
Your body will be fit for the beach.
All cares of the outside world will fade.
Just ... enjoying the lull of the waves. The sun on your face.
Your skin tanning.
And all the while, more and more, a voice is niggling at the back of your mind.
My voice.
My waves.
Seeping.
And they are saying something that is becoming more and more true with each passing moment.
They are saying:
You are the perfect beach bum.
Women, enjoy the sunbathing as you bask in the warmth. Lay down somewhere soft. Soft, like the sand. And enjoy. Luxuriate. After all, why should you worry? Your body is perfect. More and more perfect. The perfect beach bum.
You deserve to enjoy the warmth as the heat bakes away your worries and cares, soothing aching joints and muscles. Relaxing knots and tension.
Relax.
And enjoy as the rest of your clothing is baked away to reveal your body in its full glory. With a beautiful swim suit. The calming sea breeze carrying that familiar scent that you have longed for. Relax in it. And enjoy it. You are on your vacation. This is your special place.
And you will relax and enjoy it as I turn to address the males, ready to hear and follow the moment I add you back again.
Now, men, I speak to you.
My waves are calling the same command.
The same order.
The same truth.
You are the perfect beach bum.
Feel your bodies toning as the fat disappears to be replaced. Your skin swollen with toned muscle.
And the more exposed you become to the sun, the faster your clothing disappears, until your pants are gone.
And what remains ... is a beautiful, comfortable speedo.
And the longer you stand in that sun’s exposure, you feel an urge rising.
An urge as inexorable as the waves of the ocean. Brushing your thighs. Your calves. Your back and torso in equal measure with the sun.
You cannot stop it.
You cannot resist it.
Not forever.
And why would you want to?
For this command, this urge, is instinctual in all beach bums.
You want to strut. You want to show off.
And you will.
You will start to now.
Even just walking or shuffling will suffice.
Because the more you do it, the more your bodies will build to reflect that perfect beach bum figure.
Swelling with muscle.
Swelling with tone.
Swelling with confidence.
Swelling to fit that perfect beach bum build.
Because you are the perfect beach bum.
Flex, beach bum.
Smile, beach bum.
Good beach bum.
...
A good male beach bum is comfortable with his body.
A good male beach bum is confident.
A good male beach bum follows what is expected of him.
Expected to act like a beach bum. Talk like a beach bum. To be a beach bum in all ways.
And that means being a bro.
Because a male beach bum is a beach bro.
Their bodies do the thinking.
Their bodies do the driving.
Their bodies driven by instinct.
Driven by my voice.
Directed by my voice.
As thinking gets fuzzy.
A perpetual haze of welling testosterone fit to overflowing.
Because a perfect beach bum has a perfect beach bulge.
Growing bigger and bigger.
Swelling in the crotch as your thoughts of stress, of worry, of work, dissipate.
They are consumed. Consumed by your beach bum bulge. Filling you with strength, with pleasure, with that need to just laugh and be a good beach bum, bro.
Be a beach bum, bro.
Tan, bro.
Swole, bro.
Hung and dumb, bro....
Enthusiastic.
Happy.
A party animal.
You welcome anyone to the party with open arms.
Always with the same greeting. Always welcoming a new bro to be a beach bum, just like you.
And you greet them by saying, “Waddup, bro?”
If you are excited to see the man you know, then you can use another variation, such as, “Bro!” or, “Welcome to the party, bro!” But there will always be bro somewhere in your address.
Because you are a perfect beach bum bro.
Tell me. What are you, bro?
...
How do you greet me, bro?
...
Why can’t you stop flexing and showing off, bro?
...
That’s right, beach bum. Good bro.
And when you laugh, that beach bum bulge will drop your voice deeper and deeper. Lower and lower. Until it’s nothing more than a dull, husky chuckle.
Huhuhuh....
Husky chuckle.
Huhuhuh....
Husky ... chuckle....
Good beach bum.
Good bro.
Let me hear it one more time.
Good.
Now, we tie it all together. Because a beach bum bro like you is so happy to enjoy the sunny beach. So happy to relax in this place that I made especially for you. It’s only right for you to thank me, isn’t it?
You forgot to?
Well, that’s okay. You can do it now. Silly bro.
Just say, “Waddup, bro? Thanks for making me a perfect beach bum, bro. I love being a big dumb beach bum bro, bro.” And then you will laugh that same laugh.
Like a good dumb beach bum bro.
Because at this time, in this place, that is what you are.
Relaxed.
Dumb.
Buff.
Carefree.
With no need to worry about any stresses out of this space.
Good beach bum.
Flex, beach bum.
Show off, beach bum.
And let the sun bake you into perfect form.
Baked and hardened into this perfect male beach bum bro.
Good bro.
...
Now, I speak to all of you beach bums, both male and female. Whether you’re tanning, building sand castles, swimming, or something else, I want you to listen.
Listen to me.
Listen to my voice.
You will remain in and enjoy this state for the next half hour, unless other duties in the real world are more important and call you away.
You know what those important things are, even in this state.
And you will address those important duties as your normal self.
Then, if you wish, you may return to this world, this state, again to finish your vacation as a perfect beach bum.
You will keep track of that time. Whether you use an alarm or a wristwatch or some other means is up to you, but you will keep track.
And when the half hour expires, you will return from your vacation on the beach.
You will wake, and you will return to your original states, save for any anxiety or negative emotions and sensations you were harboring before. Those were let go of at the beach. You will have a clean slate to do with as you please. And a relaxed body and mind to go into whatever task or duty you may need to do.
If you wish to enter this state again, you need only say, “I need a vacation, Omni,” out loud, and you will return to beach bumming. This can only be performed once per day at most. You will not abuse it.
Now, before I go to let you enjoy this state, I need you to do something for me.
If you sincerely enjoyed this experience, you will like this post.
If you were tranced and want to share this with others, you will reblog this post.
When you reblog, if you are female, you will type, “I am a perfect beach bum” as a part of the post.
If you are male, you will type, “I’m a perfect beach bum, bro. Huhuhuh....” as part of your post.
If you are not following my blog already, and wish to of your own free will, then you will do so as soon as possible. If you do not have a tumblr account of your own, but still wish to follow me, you will get a tumblr account and do so, provided you are allowed to legally and have the means to do so.
Lastly, if you wish to see more of these hypnosis scripts and other content, and you can afford to do so, and sincerely wish to of your own free will without coercion or any influence induced by trance, you will pledge to my patreon.
With these orders given, it’s time for me to go.
Enjoy your vacation, my friends.
Rest assured, we will be seeing each other again soon.
Appeal Update: I am Tired of Red Tape and Bureaucratic Copy/Paste Replies
Things were going great. The staff was helpful and kind. The people I spoke to were patient and understanding, wishing to assist me as I moved along with the appeal process. I was contacted by an employee named Elisabetta who asked for the pertinent information on the post in question, so that it could be forwarded to the moderators, who apparently are a branch called Tumblr Trust & Safety (didn’t know that before).
Even if the ruling came back to stand as it was, I was going to be okay with it, provided I could get a proper explanation for it.
...
Guess what I got, instead, despite my specific request when I linked said information in my reply to Elisabetta?
That’s right, folks, I won a whopping corporate email! A copy and paste standard draft to all users that has no explanation, no specifics, other than the direction to go right back to the guidelines and FAQ support post! It was going so well. I was talking to real people. I felt like I was being heard, understood, and given a chance to present my case. I even told them I wouldn’t be mad if the ruling still stood, so long as they could explain to me why.
I’m a stickler for rules. I don’t like breaking them. If I mess up, I try to do better. But I can’t be expected to do that if I don’t get an explanation for what was so wrong in the original post!
Here’s what Trust and Safety had to say:
Hello, We’ve reviewed your classification appeal. After careful review, we are unable to restore this content because it is considered adult under our Community Guidelines, located here: https://www.tumblr.com/policy/en/community. For more information about what is and isn’t adult, please see our FAQ support post or the Tumblr Help Center. Thank you, Tumblr Trust & Safety
So, yeah, I’m kinda pissed and tired. I’ve been trying to get an explanation from the very beginning, ever since it was marked adult in the first place. I’ve been patient as my ticket has run up the pipeline. I’ve been patient as they’ve reviewed and processed. And though it took a couple of days before the ticket could be picked up by the help desk, that’s perfectly understandable, given the number of users on Tumblr and the fact that we had the Coronavirus pandemic to worry about (and still do). The people I talked to leading up to the review were professional, helpful, and wanted me to feel heard.
And they did that right. I did feel heard. A little peeved once or twice, but heard, with a knowledge that they were doing their best to help me with my problem.
And I’m grateful they were willing to review the image again after the first appeal and how fast it was sent back to me. I really am.
But then, after specifically asking them to tell me what was wrong with the post, really wrong with it, in the event the ruling still stood, I got that piece of garbage up there!
I’m not a dunce. I’m not stupid. I’m a college graduate who majored in English. I can comprehend guidelines easily. What I can’t comprehend is the process and justification which the moderators used to lead to the ruling standing, because that’s not in the guidelines.
And I’ve let them know that in no uncertain terms with the reply email I just sent today. I just want someone to tell me what was wrong in the image, and how that wrong thing violated guidelines. If genitalia or breasts were showing, or a sexual act were being performed, I would understand, because that’s against the guidelines. It’s clearly stated to be against guidelines.
But I didn’t see that in my image at all. And if the piece that I think is responsible for the ruling is indeed the culprit, I’d like to hear it from the moderators directly for how it violated those guidelines. Where was the sex? Where was the nudity/exposed genitalia or breasts? Was this portion of the picture too borderline, and thus decided to be deemed adult for the sake of being safe, rather than sorry? (seriously, some decisions can really be that close, and I understand that and can respect it.)
Tell me, so I can learn and not repeat the mistake. That’s all I ask, @staff. I don’t think it’s asking too much.
Here’s hoping I can finally get that explanation in the next reply.
The School of Buff Jocks Part 3
For those who are joining the story late, here’s the link to Part 1
This series is brought to you by @muscle-jock-bro. Send him some love.
If you enjoy this story, I’m open for commissions. Just PM me here on tumblr or email me at Omnikitsune@gmail.com. You can also help support my writing by joining my patreon or buying me a ko-fi.
Thanks for your patronage, and please like and re-blog.
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The gym was practically full to bursting when Kyle pulled me in after him. The weight of his arm around my shoulders was basically the equivalent of a headlock. To be honest, I almost dropped my gym bag. He was a lot heavier than I’d thought. Jim’s constant praises echoed through the air as he complimented or corrected the lifters.
“Remind me why I’m here again?” I asked.
“Because I needed a lifting buddy and you needed a break from school.”
“I usually game for that.”
“I know. But this is something different. Besides, you know how much smarter a person can be when they actually balance fitness with their schoolwork? Seriously, it’s incredible stuff.”
“I still can’t believe you roped me into this.”
“Don’t you mean strongarmed?” He smirked.
“Ha-ha-ha,” I said slowly.
Kyle’s smirk widened as he deliberately pitched his voice lower and duller as he tried to make his eyes lose focus. “Nah, bro. You got it wrong. It’s huhuhuh.” He scratched his crotch with his free hand and led me on.
I rolled my eyes. “Careful, ‘bro.’ Keep acting the part, and soon you’ll be it.”
Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t think I’d mind if I did. Do I really look like the kind of guy who’d be a jerk just because he’s got big muscles?”
“And the dumb part?”
Kyle shrugged again. “Don’t feel stupid yet. Honestly, it’s more like a culture than anything else.”
This time, I smirked. “Can’t have culture without a cult.”
Kyle laughed and gave me a gentle bump to the shoulder with his fist. “Smartass.”
“Right back at you, dumbass.”
“Did we just come up with nicknames for each other?”
“Don’t push it.” He looked at me expectantly, and I sighed in defeat. “Dumbass.”
Kyle grinned as he leaned in closer. “Let’s get to work, little bro.”
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“What team?”
“Stonewall Riders!”
“What team?”
“Stonewall Riders!”
“What do we do?”
“Charge!”
“Now get out there and make those Gunners run!”
The stampede out of the locker room shook my whole body as cleated foot after cleated foot trampled across the tile. The whole team was built like tanks, and this was just the Junior Varsity! Half of them were already nearly as tall as I was, and they still had a couple of years to grow. I hefted the bottles of sports drink in their carrying cases, and Andrews held the door open for me as he had for his team.
“Thanks for helping me out, DJ.”
I shrugged. “No sweat. Fair’s fair. If this’ll help speed us closer to getting our campaign going again, you bet I’m going to help.”
“We really do appreciate it, though,” Andrews said. “The team needs boys like you, too.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, pretty sure they don’t.”
“I think you’d be surprised.” Andrews smiled gently. “By the way, is that a little growth I see in that bicep, or am I just seeing things?”
“Totally imagining. You should probably go see Doctor Stone, get your head checked.” I smiled playfully at him.
His smile tightened. “Yes. Maybe I should. Think you might have a few minutes to talk after the game?”
“I’m pretty sure I can spare the time.” I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Andrews shook his head. “Later,” he insisted. And then I felt his broad hand shoving me out the door. “We’ve got a game to play.”
Andrews transformed into another person on the football field. His gaze was intent, his bearing cool and calculating. I felt like I was dealing with a military commander, rather than the teacher who had been my friend. The coordination between the offense and defense left them functioning like a well-oiled machine.
And I was the one providing the lubricant. Seriously, I felt like I was running the whole time to keep up with all the guzzling the players were doing with the drinks. Bright green streams poured into their mouths and down their bobbing throats. And the sheer aggression they showed left me cringing as I relived some of my worse moments from growing up.
By the time the game was over, I was a sweaty mess that matched the team. I had to steal a couple of swigs, myself, from time to time as I raced to restock the water coolers and bottles for the team. We slaughtered the opposing team, allowing them only one touchdown for the duration of the game, while we scored seven.
The team was showering and getting changed while I worked to clean out the coolers and bottles. I noticed Andrews approaching out of the corner of my eye, but he got intercepted by Stone before he could reach me.
“Excellent game, Tobias. As usual, you’ve performed very well. Congratulations.” The big man squeezed Andrews’ hand in a tight grip as he clapped Andrews’ arm with his free hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you before you go.”
“Mister Stone, I appreciate the need, but my team—”
“Can finish cleaning up just fine. They know the routine by heart, and this really is very important.”
Andrews sighed. “Can I trust you to finish cleaning up, DJ? Coach Dale will help you get everything where it needs to go.”
I nodded. I wasn’t looking forward to the extra time I’d waste, but like I said before, I owed him, and Andrews doesn’t ask favors lightly.
The jocks were actually really helpful. They didn’t expect me to pick up their slack. They cleaned up their towels and other gear, put them in the proper hampers, and even went so far as to help move the baskets to the washroom. When everyone was finished and dressed in their regular clothes, we shared an order of pizza, compliments of Coach Stone for a job well done. When I sat down on the wooden benches, my arms and legs felt almost swollen in a way. They twitched with energy, and for once, I was ravenous. Meat lovers and supreme both fell to the powers of my jaws. And rather than criticize me for it, the team actually cheered, like it was all some sort of game.
“Damn, bro, did you see this guy hustle?” Kenny Yates was the biggest player on the team, with a voice to match. “Bet he could put Patters to shame.”
I shook my head at the praise, first because it didn’t suit me, and secondly to save my bacon, in case Kenny’s comment offended Ryan Patterson, the wide receiver. “I’m not really the sportsy type. I’m just doing this for Coach Andrews, because he asked me to.”
The whole team smiled knowingly, and I started to fear for my life. The only reason I was able to stay calm was because Dale was watching us so closely. “See? Already running plays for him.” A hefty arm wrapped itself around me and wedged me against Kenny’s bulky frame. The guy could’ve been his own personal space heater. “Just gotta bulk up a little, and you’re ready to charge.” My head swam at the attention. The action reminded me only too well of Kyle and his happy-go-lucky attitude.
“Damn, Kenny, let him breathe. You’re gonna choke him,” one of the others hollered, which prompted a round robin of laughter that spread like a chain. Or maybe a circuit? I guess either could work for an analogy.
Kenny was actually blushing when he took his arm off me. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s … it’s okay. I’m fine.”
I’d said it to be polite, but … I was surprised to find I actually meant it.
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The blowback from the work was remedied with the aid of Kyle’s drinks. That stuff is seriously some of the best I’ve ever tried. I don’t know what’s in it, but I perk up hard core when I drink it. I gave some to Slater and Jackson to help them out, too, since they’d been called to help with some of the other sports events that day.
Kyle took one look at them after the fact and said those fatal words. “Okay, bros. That’s it. You’re coming to the gym with me.”
“Why?” Slater had asked.
“First, because you clearly need training if you’re hurting that badly after helping out. Secondly, because it’s relaxing. And third, because it gives us a chance to hang out in more than just D&D or gaming.” He smirked. “When I’m done with you, they really will call you Slayer.”
“I don’t know….”
“Bro, trust me. One month, and the gym’s gonna feel like your home away from home.” He smirked. “And you’re going to love every second of it after.”
“Wanna bet?”
Kyle smirked. “Sure. If I get you over 240 by the end of a month, you talk with Andrews about joining the wrestling team.”
“And if I win, you have to break that strict routine of yours and spend a day marathoning anime with us. Unhealthy snacks included.”
Kyle grinned. “You’re on.” Next, he turned to Jackson. “You wanna get in on this?”
Jackson shook his head. “Someone’s got to be there to referee.”
“Good. You can work on dumbbell curls while you watch.”
I chuckled. “Kyle, you’re incorrigible.”
Kyle smirked, then let his face go slack as he gaped at me and pitched his voice low. “Uhhh, what’s incorrigible mean?”
That earned him a pillow to the face. “Quit it, dumbass,” I said playfully.
He smirked as he pulled the pillow away. “Take it easy, smartass.” He pulled back his arms and bared his teeth menacingly. “Let me show you the benefits of working out at the gym personally, little bros.”
The combination pillow wrestling match was the stuff of legends.
Naturally, the dumbass slaughtered us all.
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I stood in front of Andrews as he leaned back on his roller chair in the Coaches’ joint office. I hadn’t been in there since Kyle brought me back after that first workout session went overtime. The traffic running through the locker room felt more like rush hour on the freeway when I weaved through the crowd. Boys waited patiently by the shower stalls or passed one another on the way in and out.
“Busy out there today, isn’t it?” I asked.
Andrews nodded. “It’s becoming an almost daily occurrence.” Then he smiled. “It’s good to see so many boys dedicated to getting fit.”
I eyed his chest. The shirt he wore was straining heavily. I could actually see the jutting of his pectorals and the ridges of his six pack. The tension of the sleeves over his biceps looked like they could give at any moment. “And teachers?”
Andrews laughed. “And teachers. So, what was it you wanted to talk with me about?”
“What you wanted to talk with me about. You said you wanted to talk after the game, but you didn’t leave the office when everyone cleared out.”
“Oh, that.” Andrews rose to his full height and laid a hand over my shoulder. I couldn’t help but wonder. Had he always been so tall? “Don’t worry about it. I had some concerns over your meetings with Stone is all. He cleared things up for me after our talk. This school couldn’t be in better hands.” He smiled. “But since you’re here, how about you join me for a little workout? I want to run some ideas by you for a campaign I’m cooking up, and I think best when my body is working out.”
I felt that familiar itch building again. The nurse had explained it was just a part of puberty that all men had to bear. That didn’t mean I liked it. And it was so hard to pay attention when an episode came on. Stone’s words came back to haunt me.
I want you to be comfortable.
That was at Stone’s office. I didn’t know what to think of him yet.
Want.
But this wasn’t Stone’s place. This was Andrews’.
Be comfortable.
Andrews knew me.
Want.
I wanted to scratch so badly.
Be comfortable.
Andrews dealt with boys before. He was a coach. It was normal for him.
Want.
He wouldn’t mind, right?
Be comfortable.
He was a friend. He’d understand. “I, uh….” My fingers twitched.
Want.
I wanted him to understand. I wanted not to be judged. I wanted not to have to ask to go to the bathroom every other period, just because of this stupid fucking itch!
Be comfortable.
A quick adjustment. Nothing lewd. Just a necessity.
Want.
One wasn’t enough. Locker room was full. No bathrooms. No privacy.
Be comfortable.
Screw it. I scratched. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but it was worth it!
“So, that’s why you’ve been running off to the bathroom so much.” His voice was soft as he looked down on me.
Be comfortable.
I averted my eyes. “Yeah, it’s….”
“Nothing to be ashamed of.” Andrews shrugged. “You’re teenagers, and you have needs. Stop worrying so much about what other people think. If you need to scratch, you’re not about to be sent to the headmaster’s office.” He smiled.
Comfortable.
“I … thanks.” My cheeks were still flushed, but at least the heat was receding.
“Any time.” He led me toward the locker room door. “Now, let’s get to that session, so I can discuss my idea.”
Comfortable.
My back straightened. My shirt stretched just a little as my chest inflated with air. I smiled. “Yeah, I think I have some time.”
The clack of weights and the rhythmic thump of heavy feet on treadmills struck in time to the music that played over the speakers when we finally entered the gym.
“There’s always time for a workout.”
Andrews grinned at me. And, honestly, I couldn’t help but grin back. I just felt so…
Comfortable.
“Yeah.” The chuckle was more of a hiccup than a proper laugh, a sort of a catch, like you get just before you sneeze, only in reverse. It felt weird, but … also kind of good, like I was pushing out all the anxiety I’d had balled up in my chest. I stopped, frowned, tried again, and I felt even better after. A giddy sort of high settled in, and I could hear the rhythmic whirring of the blood rushing through my ears and body. If this was the reason why jocks laughed the way they did, I was sold. I would never make fun of them for it again. This time, when I scratched, there was no fear, only reward as I finished my reply. “I guess there is.”
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The rhythmic chunk of the throwing arm was quickly answered by the reverberation of metal or the heavy popping thwack that resounded as a bad throw from the machine struck the ground or the back of the batting cage. Things were warming up at last, and the sheer motion of the sequence was, well, mechanical. Kind of should’ve expected that, since there was a literal machine at work for the practice. A stonewall baseball cap on our heads kept the sun out of each of our eyes as we sat on the bleachers and worked on our respective homework assignments.
“Ivan Petrovich Pavlov is one of the psychological giants of the nineteenth century. Thanks to his research, humanity came to understand the scientific and psychiatric principle of the art known today as conditioning,” Jim explained in a chipper voice. “He is, in fact, the twenty-fourth most cited psychologist of the twentieth century. This theory has been applied in a variety of means and places, including educational classrooms, phobias, and various behavioral therapies.”
“Remind me why we’re out here again?” I asked as Jim droned on through the module.
Jackson shrugged. “It helps me concentrate.”
“How?”
Whirr. Ka-chunk. Ping.
“Dunno. It just does.”
Whirr. Ka-chunk. Thwack!
“Guess I just—”
Whirr. Ka-chunk. Ping!
“—Like the sound of it.”
“The batting cages?”
“Yeah. The ball, the bat, the vibrations, the sun on your face.” He leaned back and spread his legs to emphasize his point. “It just feels … better, you know? Sort of like a dance. It just beats stuff into your head.”
Kyle grinned. “I can totally relate. I feel the same way when I’m lifting weights. If I have a problem, I go to the gym. A good workout always helps me, well, work my problems out.” He smiled and flexed one of his arms to show off the swollen bicep. “Good for the bod, too.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Slater rolled his eyes. “We get it. The gym is your happy place.”
“You’re just mad because you’re sore,” Kyle retorted. “If you’d just drink those shakes I gave you, you wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled.
“I’m not the one who agreed to the bet,” Kyle pointed out, then chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll make a meathead of you yet.”
“In your dreams, ‘bro,’” Slater sassed.
“That’s big bro to you,” Kyle countered.
Jackson continued eying the cages. Jim was long since forgotten by all of us. Or rather, none of us were paying attention to him. If he were alive, I’d probably have felt bad about it, but since he was just some computer program, we just let him run his mouth. We could go over the module again later. After all, if you have a problem, go to Jim, right?
“You know, you could always just go and try one,” I noted. “It’s not like they’re the sole property of the baseball team.”
“I don’t know….”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him off the bleachers. He stumbled but managed to catch himself as I dragged him behind. I guess you could say since overcoming that one hurdle, it felt easier to do things like this and not be afraid of a bad outcome. “Come on. I’ll start up the machine. You get a bat and helmet.
The first impact was enough to jar the bat out of Jackson’s hands. He looked like a living tuning fork the way he shook after he took the shot.
“Maybe try turning down the speed a little?” he asked as he nursed his hands.
“Rookie mistake.” I turned in surprise. I hadn’t heard the player approach. His shoulders were broad, his arms swollen and pumped after what I assumed was a session in one of the other cages. Bro had a blunt face with a thick brow and smooth dark skin that shone under the sun. “Your arms aren’t built to handle that kind of blowback yet.” He nudged me aside and shoved his fingers over the console. The whirr of the belts lessened as their speed slowed. “Try it now.”
The difference was night and day. Jackson started landing hits. He managed a few good pop flies, though most of them were fouls. The player shook his head in disgust and stomped into the cage after the cycle wound down.
“You’ve got it all wrong. Wrong stance, wrong grip, and definitely the wrong break.” He wrapped his arms around Jackson like a father would his son and adjusted Jackson’s grip and stance. “Follow through. Don’t break your wrists until the last possible second.” He nodded to me to start the next round of shots.
Crack went the bat.
“Feel the rhythm.”
Crack!
“Make it sing.”
Ring!
“Eye on the ball.”
Smack!
“Just the ball.”
The bat rang again as Jackson struck a solid blow that arced into the netting above.
“That’s it, bro. Read it. Follow it.”
Smack!
He let go of Jackson’s hands and whispered in his ear. “Crush it.”
Jackson was a tuning fork again. Only this time, he didn’t drop the bat. The ball drove straight for the machine with a resounding crack! Fortunately, the machine was heavy duty metal, so it could take some blows, and the netting took care of the rest. His mouth dropped open at the result, then broadened into a manic sort of grin. “I … I did it.” He laughed. “I did it!” The exultant whoop carried far over the school grounds.
“Not bad.” The player smiled and nodded as he folded his arms. “You’ve got potential. But if you really want to beat that ball up—” He raised both arms in a double bicep flex. “—You’ve gotta get jacked, son. Huhuhuh.”
Jackson scratched his crotch and stared almost hungrily at the player’s arms.
He smirked. “If you want to be more than just the water boy, meet me here after school tomorrow. I’ll make a player of you yet.” He hefted a bottle and guzzled its contents. A small stream of green liquid dribbled down the side of his cheek, and he wiped it after. “Come dressed for the gym and ready to sweat. Understand?” His gaze hardened. “Be ready.”
Jackson nodded. His mouth hung slightly open as he breathed. The jock chuckled and clapped one of his massive hands on Jackson’s arm.
“Name’s Barry. My bros call me Bruiser.”
“J-Jackson,” he replied.
Barry smirked again. “Good name, bro. See you soon.”
“Yeah….”
The jock walked away with a measured swaggering sort of gait that showed off just how taut the muscle was around his legs. It was evident he could do a lot more than just crack a ball open. His whole body was built for the field, whether it be running, throwing, or hitting.
When my friend didn’t move, I finally walked over to check on him. “You okay, Jackson?”
“Yeah,” he repeated again in that same faraway tone, then shook his head. His gaze came back into focus as he concentrated on me. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s get back to that homework.” He rubbed the bicep Barry had touched as I shut the pitching machine down and returned the gear. Then we walked back to the bleachers. We’d put off our assignment long enough. It was time to go back to Jim.
Credit to @oregonleatherboy.com as the original source for this image on tumblr. This is a patreon preview. If you want to read the whole story, please pledge to my Patreon. For $3.00 a month, get access to exclusive transformation stories, hypnosis scripts, and other content, along with access to the Discord server to suggest ideas for future creations, both hypnotic and non, and talk with your fellow patrons and me. This story is rated mature for language.
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Pull my Strings (A Patreon Preview)
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Synopsis: What would you do if a friend of yours has changed so drastically that you hardly even recognize them anymore? Most would ask about the change out of concern. This is the story that emerged from one such confrontation.
With life-altering consequences.
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Preview Script:
You know, in ancient Egyptian culture, they used to say that the shadow was an extension of the soul, a piece of a person's kas. Why do I bring this up now? Well, bro, you asked me how I got to be like this. Before I tell you, I have to lay a little background, you know?
So, you know I'm a real party animal now, right? I fuckin' love to party.
But, bro, it wasn't always like that.
I used to be somebody, you know? I mean, like ... somebody else. Now, I'm ... well, I'm nobody, bro. Don't got any real identity of my own. I'm whatever ... this guy wants me to be.
Look, I can't tell you his name, all right? I told you, I'm not me anymore.
It started out at this party. Somebody thought it'd be fun to bring in some entertainment, including this guy who's what they call a shadow puppeteer.
I thought the guy must've been some sort of hypnotist or stage magician or something, too. Some sort of combo, you know? He started off with a basic show, using his hands, a few cutouts, stuff like that to narrate the story to some music.
Bro, I don't fucking care about the story. Sports and weights, bro. Sports and weights....
*Groan* Fuck, it's getting worse....
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To read the rest, subscribe to my Patreon in the three dollar tier. Just click this link to go to my page: https://www.patreon.com/omnitf
A Moment *coughMonthcough* of silence
Hey, guys. So, here’s a little status update for all my avid followers and watchers. I’ve been spending most of this month working on a commission that two of my fans have requested to be the next installation in an old favorite of yours. That’s right, folks.
*Takes a deep breath*
COACH STONE IS COMING BACK!
And this time, he’s bought a school. So, don’t be too disappointed if I’m not on for a while. Trust me, the wait will be WORTH IT!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go tackle a dummy-errrr the rest of this commission. Yeah. Totes. Huhuhuh. ;-)