Ignorance Is Bliss

Ignorance Is Bliss

“Hello ladies and gentleman and welcome to the special edition of Ignorance is Bliss, the critically acclaimed gameshow where reality is not always as it seems!”

I nervously tap on my contestant podium. The host stands metres away from me, reciting his perfectly practiced speech into the intimidatingly large camera. The studio lights reflect off his teeth and blind me. Behind the camera stands three bleachers, seating large crowds of giddy gawking audiences. Most of them are men. Just a bit older than me, I say. But what really caught my attention was the cube on the other side of the stage. A big one too. It’s like a glass room. A room without a door. What the hell could that be?

The host smiles and waves his hands openly. He’s charismatic, I’ll give him that. I can see why people like his show. Though me personally, I’ve never seen it. I’ve heard about it though. Specifically through people on Reddit. Apparently, it’s a generic trivia show. Aired after midnight too, so the audience for the show can’t be too big. So, even if I embarrass myself on here, my dignity won’t be completely destroyed. I just have to answer a few pointless questions and then I’ll be rich. Shouldn’t be too hard. At this point, I’m broke, so I’ll take any cash prize I can get. Whether it’s $100 or the full $1,000,000, I’m not leaving here empty handed.

“I am your host, Jimmy Clark. Let’s get right into it!” The crowd lets out a large cheer.

“Our first contestant of the day is Atlas Green, an economics student at MIT. He’s a self-proclaimed maths genius, his favourite TV show is Survivor and he has never travelled outside of America!” The crowd lets out a light chuckle.

I didn’t think they’d use my application as my introduction. We’re not even a minute in and my cheeks are already red.

“Hi there, Jimmy.” I exaggerate my phoney smile for the camera.

“So, Atlas, you know how the game works. Get a question right and you’ll be one step closer to our grand prize of $1,000,000.” The crowd goes wild as the figure flashes up on the large screens behind us. “Get a question wrong however…”

The studio falls silent, anxiously waiting for Jimmy’s reveal.

“You will leave here, no money, no grand prize. But don’t worry, here on Ignorance is Bliss, no one ever leaves empty handed…”

I glance nervously at the audience. They had reverted back to their obnoxious cheering and shouting. Although, a part inside me is celebrating too from hearing I won’t be leaving without some sort of prize. But what kind of prize? That’s the real question here. It won’t be a $1,000,000 dollars worth prize, I can tell you that much. Maybe it’ll be a small Ignorance is Bliss trinket or something? I hope not. Though I’m curious about the loser’s prize, I don’t intend on finding out what it is. I’m here for that grand prize. I’m not leaving without it.

“Let’s get started!” Jimmy beamed, the crowd screaming. “First question.”

The rounds start off easy. As easy as you’d expect from a stereotypical game show. Current events, pop culture, geographical stuff. Though, none were particularly difficult, I can’t let myself get cocky. It only takes one royal fuckup and that $1,000,000 dollar prize slips right through my fingers. And the questions are definitely getting more difficult. I know that much. Now, the questions are delving into actors I’ve never heard of or countries I know bare minimum about. I just gotta keep calm and I should be able to do it.

“Last question of the night!” Jimmy applauds me. “Almost no one has gotten this far. In fact, no one has ever won the cash prize, Atlas. Will you be the first?”

“The final question of today’s show is…. ‘In Hinduism, who is the male God of erotic love, lust and sexual pleasure?’”

I look towards Jim, then to one of the camera men and smile nervously. Weird final question. And what makes it worse is I have no clue what the answer is. I’m a young white student. Never left the country. Was raised Roman Catholic. There is no way I am getting this. At least not through rational thought or logical reasoning. I’m just gonna have to guess. I have a one in four chance of winning a million dollars. 25%. Fuck. That doesn’t bode well for me. One in four… one in four… okay. No point in delaying it.

“Your options are:

A) Vishnu

B) Krishna

C) Ganesha

D) Rama”

A timer appears on the screens behind us, ticking down quickly. I glance at all four options. It could be any of them. I don’t know. How am I supposed to know? I have to guess.

“We’re gonna need an answer now, Atlas!” Jimmy warns.

The timer continues to tick down.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

“3 seconds left Atlas!” Jimmy yells frantically.

“Rama!” I shout. Less than a second left on the timer. But is it right…?

“You chose option D, Rama.” The charismatic host looks towards the screens, waiting for them to turn green or red. “The correct answer is…”

Time stops. I look at the screen. Waiting. One million dollars…

Suddenly, the screen and studio lights turn a deep dark red. The words ‘wrong answer’ flash across the monitor. I feel my heart sink into my stomach. Jimmy emulates a sympathetic wince, letting out a condescending ‘awww’.

“The correct answer is…”

“Kamadeva”

What? Kamadeva? That wasn’t one of my options! Was it a mistake? Or was the show rigged? I’m betting the latter. No wonder no one has ever reached the grand prize. They’re being lied too, forced take the stupid loser prize home. I was set up.

“Hey! That’s bullshit! That wasn’t-“ I scream before Jimmy cuts me off.

“Don’t worry my boy! As you know, no one goes home empty handed!” He pats me on the back. “Get over here.”

Jimmy throws his arm around me, tightly holding me in place. He escorts me towards the other side of the stage. Towards the big mysterious glass cube. As I’m forced to approach it, a side of the cube lifts open letting mist seep out of it, like some kind of sci-fi movie. The intimidatingly tight grip of the host eases before he tosses me inside. As I stumble to the ground, the glass door behind me slams shut, leaving me trapped inside the glass cage. I scramble to my feet. The audience gawks at me. I feel like an animal in a zoo. Is this some kind of humiliation technique? Is there actually a loser prize? Or is this the loser prize after all? It’s a sham either way, that’s for sure. I begin looking for a way out but the cage is empty. Although, at the top of each glass corner, there are orange tubes. The tubes connect to the ceiling of the studio. God knows what’s in it. Maybe thats where the mist came from? It can’t be good, that’s all I know.

“So Atlas! You lost Ignorance is Bliss!” The host announces. I can feel rage filling inside me. “But, no one leaves here empty handed! It’s time to announce your prize!”

“You clearly don’t know much about Hinduism or Indian culture, Atlas!” The crowd giggles and whispers to each other. “So as your prize, Ignorance is Bliss is granting you a LIFELONG TRIP TO YOUR HOMELAND, INDIA!”

The crowd goes wild.

My clueless expression remains unchanged. Lifetime? Homeland? What does he mea- what the fuck? Suddenly, an orange gas is pumped into the glass cage from the tubes above, robbing me of clean air and replacing it with a hot suffocating warmth. I pounce onto the glass and yell for help. My cries are met with the audience gawking at me like I’m some kind of monkey at the Zoo. I try to avoid breathing the gas, but at this point it’s all-encompassing, giving me no choice but to take a gas filled breathe. As I breathe in, a strange feeling travels throughout my body. A strange pleasurable feeling. Erotic almost… I look down to see my 6 inch boner straining against my pants, on full display for the audience. I feel more and more blood rush into my cock. At this point, it feels as if my cock is hard enough to burst through my pants. I grab my boner with my two hands and then realise... never in the 22 years of my life have I fit both hands on my cock… one hand was enough to cover it whole. I slowly look down at my body. My cock… its growing. Inch by inch, I see my cock expand. As if I have a growing boner which never stops increasing in size. It grows and grows, straining my pants, until the tip of my boner presses against the side of my hip. The new cock, which fills my pants, suddenly stops growing in length. Instead, it starts thickening. My cock, which was just thicker than my thumb, begins fattening up, becoming chunkier and thicker. It grows heavier and heavier until my knees feel like giving out. Still adjusting to my new fat manhood, I take a step backwards, tripping. I twist and fall on my new fat package, causing the seams of my pants to burst open. My fat cock flops out, acting as a cushion for my pelvis to lay on. I pick myself up and sit back on my flat ass, my cock now long and heavy enough to still be laying on the ground. I panic, lift myself to my feet and turn around to the audience, displaying my new unnaturally large appendage. It hangs down between my legs, reaching my knee. The heat fills my genitals, more specifically, my balls. My balls, which looked ridiculously small compared to my new massive cock, begin to grow. Almost like a water balloon, my balls fill with hot potent semen, ready to shoot inside some fuckable ass. My new balls begin to appear proportionate to my unnaturally thick penis, forcing my legs apart to accommodate it.

“Look how flustered he is, folks! That new big appendage of his looks like it could cum everywhere at any moment!” The host laughs, inspiring cheers from audience members.

God… I’m so hard. The audience is staring at me… but that turns me on even more. They’re in awe of my Godly cock. My Godly Indian cock…. wait… no. Why am I thinking this? I’m not Indian. I’m not… gonna stuff my Godly Hindu cock into some pathetic white boy and impregnate his hole. Oh fuck! I need to stop. What’s wrong with me?! My average dick turning into a massive monster cock is one thing, but this is even more overwhelming. Not only have I lost control of my body, but now… I’m losing control of my mind. It’s as if the gas is seeping into every crevice of my brain, making my thoughts more lustful… more primal. Images of my fat cock breeding men assault my mind. Vivid fantasies which involve my thick sperm shooting into a big fat jiggling ass. I begin hitting my head. This is too much. It’s all too much. As I smack my head, attempting to knock some sense into myself, I notice something strange.

I look down at my body. It seems to be… growing. My chest… its inflating like a balloon. The two muscles press against my tight shirt. They look soft. The kind of soft that would make for the most comfortable and fuckable pillows. I decide to feel it. I press my hand on it. It sinks into it, fat flowing through the crevices between my fingers. My pecs look like the most beautiful pair of perky fuckable tits. Is that what they’re making me into? Some big titted, massive cocked hybrid? Maximising femininity and masculinity on the body of one person… I panic that this will be my final form. A bisexual’s wet dream.

This worry is soon subsided as I feel the growth shoot down my arms. My biceps triple in size, looking like the arms of a professional NFL player. My hands begin fattening up too. My fingers turning into sausage sized monsters. Each finger is as fat as my old penis used to be… I’m thankful that they’re still useable… mostly. I might struggle to use a keyboard or accurately press the numbers on my phone now. The fingers are fat enough to press multiple buttons at once, like some big brute. My stomach begins to develop abs. They form into six perfectly shaped mountains. I run my thick brute hands over them, feeling the calluses from my fingers glide over each crevice. The growth finally reaches my lower half. Thankfully, my massive cock and balls are unaffected. I don’t think I could handle them growing any larger. I wouldn’t be able to walk… The growth mainly affects my legs, feet and unfortunately… my ass. My two cheeks begin to inflate but not in the way you’d expect. Instead of an unnaturally large increase in muscle mass like the rest of me, my ass seemed to only fill up with fat. Like two water balloons, my cheeks grow and jiggle, bouncing and shaking around with every slight movement. The audience watches as my insanely fuckable feminine ass sways from side to side, preventing me from walking normally. I waddle. It’s humiliating. This will be on TV. My friends will see this. My coworkers will see this. My classmates. My family…

Jiggle. Jiggle. Jiggle.

My fuckable ass reaches its limit. It looks like two huge beachballs attached to me. The growth spreads to my legs. My thighs and calves grow, though not to an unnatural size like my bouncy cheeks. Their size is still nothing to scoff at. My legs look like two heavy tree trunks. They make it even more difficult to walk, or should I say, waddle.

I look down at my new self… I feel weird even saying its me. My pecs… my ass… my muscles.. I don’t resemble the skinny economics student who entered this studio an hour ago. I don’t look like me. I look like some dumb fuckable brute. It’s humiliating. I watch the crowd laugh and cheer at me. The new me. Mocking my waddling. Flexing their biceps, which were nothing compared to mine. Bouncing their pecs, which looked nothing like my big fuckable tits. I even glance at one guy in the second row who is fingering his hairy straight ass, letting out a jokingly high feminine moan.

“Do you feel like an Indian God, Atlas?!” The host laughs, his voice booming through the entire studio. “No? Let us help with that!”

The host clicks his fingers causing the gas to become noticeably more intense. It pumps the orange transformation gas into the glass cage at a higher rate than before, forcing me to inhale even more than before. I look down at my huge body, anticipating what could happen next. What is there left to change? The gas already inflated every part of my once skinny body. It elongated my cock, inflated my ass. What more could this smelly gas possibly do? How much more humiliating could this become?

I glance down at my thick forearm to realise something… it seems hairier than before. The hair seemed different too. Well, at least it looked different. Instead of my normal weak arm hairs, this new hair is noticeably thicker, like a wolf’s pelt. I never remember my arm hair being so dark. I assume it must be the gas again. I look at my body, realising my arms aren’t the only part of my body sprouting in thick hair. My chest has too. My once hairless chest now sprouts a thick sweaty pelt of hair. My legs seem to have adopted the wet pelt too. My armpit hair also seems more thick, although that’s the least of my worries right now. My face begins to itch. I reach up with my hairy paws and scratch it. My face feels fully bearded. My eyebrows are significantly more bushy too. Untrimmed. As if they had never seen a tweezers in their life.

I glance beside me to see a man standing on the other side of the glass. He stares at me, watching my transformation. He has dark skin. Beautiful dark skin. It glistens with sweat. I could almost smell his stench from here. He continues to stare at me. He looks confused. Confused and dumb. Very dumb. His jaw hangs agape, breathing strictly through his mouth. His forehead is very pronounced. His eyes are vacant. As if he had no brain. Couldn’t form a single thought of his own. Drool dribbles out the side of his mouth. It gathers in his beard as he dumbly chuckles at me. He looks like he’s only good for one thing: fucking. He continues to stare at me. Dumbly. Vacantly. Confusedly. I reach up and scratch my beard… he does the same. I tilt my head to the side… he does the same. I grab my juicy fuckable big pecs… he does the same. I stumble back in shock. It hit me. All at once… the smelly stench… the big pecs… the huge muscles… juicy pecs… fat cock and fuckable ass… it’s… me.

The man… the one staring back at me… my reflection… his… his skin. His deep dark beautiful brown skin. It’s mine. Gone was my caucasian skin. Gone were my caucasian features. The show completely changed me. It changed me into some big, dumb, fuckable, Indian brute…

“There we have it ladies and gentleman! Our sex God, Kamadeva!” The crowd screams in awe. I gaze into the crowd, displaying my new Godly form. I see men jerking each others cocks while looking at me. Even some fingering their holes chanting my name. I am… a sex God.

“That’s it for today’s show, folks. Tune in next time to see what happens to our next contestant!” The crowd screams and cheers. “This has been Ignorance is Bliss. Goodnight!”

The lights and camera shut off. Members of the crowd pull up their pants and make their way out of the studio. The host walks over to my glass cage and chuckles. I adjust to my new weight. He stares at the Indian God in front of him.

“Don’t worry, Kamadeva. We’ll have you shipped off to India in no time.” He smirks. “Soon, all of this will be just a distant memory…”

“प्लीज मेरा सुराख भर दो। मैं बहुत हॉर्नी हूं” I mutter.

———————————————————————

And so, Atlas will live out the rest of his life in Mumbai as the Indian sex God, Kamadeva.

Reviews conclude he definitely lives up to his name. He puts both his massive cock and fuckable ass to good use, providing pleasure to men all over India. He lets men cum up his big juicy wobbling ass and he also breeds every man with a bubble butt that he sees, making the most out of his Godly body.

The man has no memory of his life in the US. To Kamadeva, he was always Indian. He was always a sex God. He was always a dumb fuckable brute with a low IQ. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As Ignorance is Bliss promised, he definitely didn’t go home empty handed…

Hello! As my birthday approaches ive got the wish to be bigger in my mind. As a short asian American dude in his mid 20s, I’d do anything to get bigger and stronger! I want to tower over other guys! And be the manliest anywhere I go! Can you help?

You wake up, the morning sun glistens over your skin. You groan and stretch your back. Another average Thursday... or so you thought.

You inhale deeply, noticing a strange smell. You sniff your armpit and realise it’s you! You stank. That’s odd. You showered last night, right? The weather last night was hot, I mean, it is the US after all. But you didn’t think it was hot enough to leave you smelling this bad.

You jumped out of bed, the stench clinging to your nostrils.

“Another shower it is, I guess.” You sigh.

You turn on the shower and undress. You look at the short skinny Asian man in the mirror’s reflection before stepping into the shower. The warm water trickles down each crevice of your body. It feels... really nice actually. It’s like each droplet of water sends a shivering pleasure down your spine. God, you don’t remember any shower feeling this good.

You absentmindedly grab shampoo, and pour it over your head. You close your eyes and continue to run the shampoo through your hair. The soft shampoo spreads an intense pleasure over your scalp. Meanwhile, the water droplets only seem to intensify the sensation. You rub faster and faster until...

“UGHHHHHHHHHHH FUCK YEAH BRO” You let out an intense moan.

Your eyes shoot open in embarrassment. Not only did you moan, but you also said ‘bro’. You’ve never said that before. You wipe the water out of your eyes and look down at the shampoo bottle. It looks different. You pick it up. The label reads:

ChangingMen Shampoo: Wash Away the Old you

On the back, lay a message:

Wish Granted...

You drop the bottle in shock. Your hand! It looks... so... so thick... fat. You look down to see your whole body had undergone changes too. Just like your hand, your entire body had inflated with soft pudgy muscle. You run your hand across your chest. Your fingers sinking into your new pectoral muscles. You feel like a human water balloon. The shower water making your soft muscles expand and expand, filling you up.

“FUCK YEAH BRO! I FEEL LIKE A FUCKIN GOD, MAN” The words slip through your lips. “STINK LIKE ONE TOO HUHUHUHU”

You jump out of the shower in shock at what you just unwillingly said. It’s like you have no control over yourself. It’s like you’re just a puppet... for me to play with...

You stumble around the bathroom, adjusting to your new weight. You look at the bathroom door and lunge for its handle. If you could just get to your phone, you could call for help. But as you open the door, you aren’t met with your bedroom. Instead, you are met with a beach. A beach full of attractive shirtless lads and beautiful busty broads. They look around your age. They stare at you as you stumble out onto the sand. It’s humiliating.

You look around confusedly. Had reality shifted? What was once your bedroom is now a humongous Californian beach. You hear a loud bang. You look behind you to see the door you had entered through was gone.

Before you know it, a handsome 6’1 jock walks by you carrying two ChangingMen beers. He trips. The drinks fly into the air and splash all over your bouncy glistening pecs.

He apologises profusely. You look down at your new body covered in this strange beer. But right now, this was the least of your worries. It was just a mistake. You open your mouth to tell him that it’s okay... but something else comes out.

“WHAT THE FUCK BRO?! LOOK AT MY GODLY PECS DUDE! THEY’RE COVERED IN YOUR FUCKING BEER!” You yell at him. Your voice had deepened several octaves. You sounded so assertive. So dominating.

You stare at him and notice something strange. He’s shrinking. He looks at you in fear as his height slips down to yours. Your eyes meet before he sinks beneath you. Shrinking down to the point where your fat pec was now resting on the jock’s head. You look around confused. What? Everyone had shrunk? Wait... no. You look down and see your body had stretched out. Your feet had doubled in size. You had grown. Your pathetic short body was now a 6’5 God. It intimidates every man on the beach.

“Dude... i’m.. i’m sorry. Don’t hurt me. What do you want me to do? Do-” Before he could finish his sentence you cut him off.

You look down at the pathetic jock and find yourself grinning. A certain confidence washes over you before a powerful word slips from your lips.

“BEG”

“Look man, i’m so-“ You cut the man off mid sentence again.

“I SAID BEG!” You command.

Almost like magic, the jock’s knees give out. He falls onto his knees, directly in front of your Godly cock as it strains against your new swim shorts.

“I’m sorry... please forgive me” He whimpers.

“I AM SUPERIOR TO YOU. ADDRESS ME AS SUCH!” You find yourself shouting.

“I’m sorry sir. I’ll do anything, just please forgive me.”

Your confidence sends waves of mind numbing pleasure over you, muting your old personality. You look at the submissive slut beneath you. The entire beach laughs and snickers at the pathetic weak jock.

“You’re gonna regret those words. Isn’t that right... my personal cumdump?” You laugh as the embarrassed jock shoots his load in his swim shorts.

———————————————————————

And so, you will live out the rest of your life as a cocky, muscular dom. There’s just something about that new deep voice of yours. No one can explain it. Not even science. Apparently, it can bend the wills of others... turning them into submissive pushovers.

Rumours have spread around town. “Master’s voice” they call it. They say it can make anyone into a submissive fucktoy with just one word. Turn tops into insatiable pig bottoms. It can cause mens’ asses to inflate into juicy round fuck melons. There’s even stories about it turning straight men gay...

Well, they are just stories, right? ....right?

Never Trust A Genie

*1000 Follower Special*

“A lamp?” Bobby chuckled, sifting through the miscellanea stored in the decrepit attic’s filthy boxes.

“Must have been left by the old tenants…” Bobby stuck both hands into the cardboard box, pushed aside the useless sundries and took out the dust covered lamp.

“A dusty lamp… just like in the movies.” He smiled to himself. “Better be a genie or something in here that’ll help pay rent for this place.”

Bobby tapped the lamp’s spout on the palm of his dusty hands and sighed. He’d moved into this old Victorian house two days ago. He now lived with his new roommate Carter, someone who Bobby hadn’t taken much interest in getting to know. He was gay, which didn’t necessarily bother Bobby, but it didn’t thrill him either. He had never pictured himself living with a gay person, especially a gay man, but he was willing to for this house. It was everything Bobby looked for in a home. It was spacious, but not enough to inspire feelings of loneliness. It had a good location, only taking Bobby twenty minutes to walk to the office. The house was nestled inside a gated community too, keeping it safe from the rebellious teenage troublemakers that Brooktane City had grown so infamous for. There was only one problem. The price.

Bobby’s sales job at Brooktane City’s well known IT distribution company, Hyatt Ltd, barely provided him with enough money to feed himself, let alone pay rent for this new place. Carter was no richer. He was a digital artist. Paid by commission too. Even on a good month, he wasn’t paid half as much as Bobby. Though Bobby’s relentless optimism helped him prevail through the most difficult situations, not even Bobby knew how things would end out here.

Bobby’s hands rose up from the disheveled cardboard box, the glistening lamp resting on his soft palms. He took a deep breathe and blew on the lamp, sprinkling the dull grey dust over the attic’s creaking floorboards. Bobby cleared his throat triumphantly and cupped the side of the lamp.

“Genie!” He announced with a playfully exaggerated grandeur. “Show yourself!”

Bobby closed his eyes and repeatedly rubbed the lamp’s golden curve. His eyes shot back open as the lamp rumbled in his grasp. Without warning, a sparkling purple mist shot out the lamp’s spout, forming into the shape of a man. A fat one at that. He was round, sporting a soft pudgy gut. He wore flashy gaudy necklaces and yellow tinted glasses. His hairless tits jiggled and bounced, showing off his thick suckable nipples. He looked like a joke. Nothing like the stereotypical blue genie you see in the movies.

“Holy shit!” Bobby stumbled backwards, tripping over the previous tenant’s musty boxes. He fell harshly on his flat ass, peering up at the monstrous man in front of him.

“FINALLY MASTER!” The genie’s booming voice bounces around the desolate attic. “I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU!”.

The genie crosses his arms and laughs.

“Mmm- m- master?” Bobby stuttered at the giant in front of him. “M- me? I’m your master?”

“That’s right, master.” The genie chippered. “I’m just an obedient genie and you are my master!”

“So…” Bobby’s eyes remained wide open, staring at the blubbering genie. “Do I have wishes or something?”

“Three to be exact! You may wish for anything. No limits.” The genie rubbed his hands together. “Make em good, Master. I’m ready for some fun!”

Bobby didn’t know what to say. How do you decide? How do you choose a wish when there are endless possibilities? A new house? A new car? A perfect girlfriend? Or why not go even bigger? Though, Bobby never saw himself as an ego maniac but he could go crazy with these wishes if he so wanted. Wish to be a king, prince or something crazy like that. He had an opportunity to bend the world over and make it worship the ground he walked on. Though, these ideas intrigued Bobby, they mostly intimidated him. But among these daunting wishes, one stood out from the rest. One which would solve all his problems and allow him to create a dream life for himself without financial worries. All he needed was money.

“Genie!” Bobby puffed out his chest triumphantly. “I wish I was extremely rich!”

WISH GRANTED

The genie smiled, extended his finger and shot a purple lightening bolt into Bobby’s chest. The light absorbed him and created swirls of purple sparkles which trickled around the room. The purple light faded and Bobby relaxed his scrunched up face.

“Did it work?!” Bobby yelled in excitement, his dreams of becoming a millionaire on the brink of fruition. He pulled out his phone and checked his bank account. The screen read:

$1,000,000,000

“Holy shit!” Bobby screamed. “ Like one million fucking dollars! That’s like… so totally fucking cool!”

Bobby clasped at his mouth. His voice sounded… different. It definitely didn’t sound like Bobby’s regular deep voice. The one which garnered much male approval from his coworkers and football buddies. It was now almost feminine in its inflections. His tongue now making it hard for him to pronounce his S sounds, giving him a slight lisp. He sounded really… gay.

Bobby had never thought of himself as homophobic. It was true, he had never had any gay friends, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like them. As long as they didn’t flaunt their gayness around Bobby, he wouldn’t have a problem with it. Yet, Bobby didn’t realise how homophobic he was until he was forced to speak with the most stereotypical feminine gay inflections. It was humiliating. He couldn’t help imagine what his coworkers would think. “Damn Bobby, you sound like you suck dick with that mouth!” or “You turn gay over the weekend or somethin?”. Bobby’s face turned a crimson red at the very thought of it. Bobby grew more embarrassed as he thought of Carter. Would Carter think he was gay? Make a move on him? Bobby’s imaginary scenarios just got worse and worse.

“I like TOTALLY love the new shirt Daddy bought for me!” The words slipped out of Bobby’s mouth with ease. “He always buys me the sweetest things!”

Bobby looked down in horror to see his Texas sweater, showcasing his proud state of birth, had turned into a thin see-through shirt reading:

SLUT

“Like, what happened to my stupid boring sweater?! And super masculine voice?!” Bobby blurted out. “I sound like so totally gay and stupid! I totally sound like all i’m good for is sucking cock!”

Bobby, in shock, stepped backwards onto a pile of boxes, losing his footing. He fell backwards onto the hard wooden attic floor.

“That totally like hurt my fucking pussy! I wish there was a dildo that I could have fallen back onto!” Bobby’s mouth moaned despite his resistance.

This wasn’t Bobby. Bobby knew that. He wasn’t like this. He wasn’t feminine. He wasn’t gay. He had never touched a dildo in his life, let alone want one in him. He was masculine! A masculine straight man. Not some slutty feminine gay boy!

Bobby sat in disbelief on the floor, gazing up at the gaudy Genie’s grin. He was enjoying this. Seeing Bobby so humiliated. Acting so… gay. Suddenly, Bobby noticed a different sensation in his lower half. It didn’t feel like he was sitting on the harsh wooden floor anymore. The floor… it felt soft… like a cushion. It was more comfortable, for sure. The warm soft sensation of sinking into the cushion almost made Bobby forget the humiliating position he had found himself in. The cushion became softer and so very comfortable. It was like it was just forming under him, propping him off the ground. It was so soft… Bobby just wanted to let himself sink into its comfort. The cushion suddenly sent a tingling jolt of pleasure throughout his body.

“Ohhhh fuckkkk.” Bobby moaned. “My new fat fuckable ass feels like, so totally fucking comfortable…” Bobby’s heart dropped and his eyes shot open. He looked down. He wasn’t sitting on a cushion… the warm soft comfortable ‘cushion’ he was sitting on… was his inflating ass.

“What the fuck!” Bobby’s deep masculine voice had suddenly returned.

“You can’t do this to me! M- m- my ass! It’s so fucking big- UGHHH I JUST WANT SOMEONE TO FUCK ME!!!” Bobby’s body began absentmindedly rubbing its new bouncy fuckable ass on the floor, desperate for something to fill his jiggling cheeks.

“I granted your wish, Master!” The genie innocently grinned, his cock rock hard as he watched Bobby show off his altered body.

“I didn’t! I didn’t wish… FOR MY FAT FUCKABLE ASS TO BE FILLED LIKE THE GOOD SLUT I AM!” Bobby drooled in ecstasy, bouncing his fat cheeks, causing them to clap loudly for his neighbours to hear.

Bobby, still having control over his body, attempted to stand up. He grunted and let out a loud girly moan, struggling to get up. After two more tries, the altered office worker found himself back on his feet. It felt so strange. Bobby could feel his two inflated cheeks weighing him down, bouncing behind him. It was a new and unwelcome sensation for the 25-year-old.

Bobby looked down at his body, noticing more alterations. The genie’s purple magic had changed Bobby’s lean body. Now, he looked more muscular. His biceps had grown to the size of footballs. His forearms were now double the size they were before. His chest had undergone changes too. His two pectoral muscles had inflated like balloons, bouncing independently of one another. Their growth caused the the seams of his “SLUT” t-shirt to burst, letting his new heavy round pecs jiggle in front of the genie. They swayed side to side, looking more like tits than masculine pecs. They’d grown so big, they had caused his nipples to point downwards under their weight. His nipples looked thick like pegs. The genie drooled at the slut in front of him, imagining what it was like to suck his new round breasts.

Bobby’s stomach had formed a six pack, creating deep trenches in which sweat would soon gather. Bobby noticed changes in his legs too. His thighs had grown as to accommodate his large butt cheeks. His feet had grown to match the proportions of his new body too. Bursting through his size 8 socks and increasing to a size 13.

Bobby stood exposed in front of the genie. Feelings of humiliation, fear and arousal flooding his mind. Not only did he speak like some gay feminine fucktoy, but he looked like one now too. Carter was supposed to be home soon. What if he found him like this? Surely he would help, right? Right now, that seemed like Bobby’s only hope.

Bobby stood in the attic drooling, watching the Genie tug his precum soaked cock.

BANG

Bobby heard a door slam downstairs. Sounded like the front door. Could it have been Carter? It must have been, right? No one else has keys to this place. At least, Bobby didn’t think so. Though he tried, Bobby couldn’t scream for help. It would just gather in his throat, then dissipate.

Bobby heard the sound of keys downstairs. “Honey, I’m home!” A deep growling voice boomed up into the attic. Bobby furrowed his brow. It sounded like Carter, but there was something off. Carter’s voice was definitely not as deep as the man downstairs. It also lacked the gay ‘like’ and ‘totally’ fill words which Carter was so fond of filling his sentences with. Maybe he was sick? Or maybe it wasn’t even Carter at all… an intruder maybe?

“What’re you doing up in the attic?” The voice growled. “Did someone get lost?”

The intruder’s voice sent shivers down Bobby’s spine. Who the hell was that? Even though Bobby didn’t fully recognise the voice, a part of him felt safer knowing someone was here. He needed help. Even if it was from an intruder. Though, something about the man downstairs did seem off. Bobby wasn’t blind to that fact.

“Is Daddy gonna have to come up there and get ya?” The voice chuckled below. “I can’t have my husband getting lost, can I?”

Bobby clasped at his mouth, feeling a sense of danger from the man below. Though, as soon as Bobby’s hand reached his face, he noticed something strange. As his fingers ran along his lip, he felt something cold. Something metal… on his finger, it seemed. Then it hit him…

“No…” Bobby held up his hand in dread. A wedding ring. He grabbed at it. Twisted it. Yanked it. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t come off. It was like it was locked onto his finger, reminding him that he was legally bound to someone. To… a man.

Before it could get any worse, Bobby pleaded to the genie. He got on his knees and begged.

“Please! Give me my old life back! Genie! I wish- I wish… TO HAVE A SELF LUBRICATING ASSHOLE!”

WISH GRANTED

Bobby’s heart dropped. The genie’s finger raised and shot its purple light into Bobby. Bobby felt hopeless. His second wish… wasted. Squandered by the dumb slut he was becoming.

“Slut! Get down here. I had a rough day at work and need to pleasure my fat cock in that breedable ass of yours!” The stranger downstairs demanded.

The man’s deep voice caused Bobby’s sensitive skin to shiver. The man sounded so dominant… so demanding. The man’s voice alone caused Bobby’s ass to start emitting a certain wetness which lubricated his hole. A type of wetness which would perfectly lubricate any dick that came near it, allowing it to slide into Bobby’s greedy tight hole.

“Down here now, boy! I’m not joking now!” Bobby’s husband shouted in a slight southern drawl. “Or am I gonna have to come up there?!”

Bobby felt an overbearing pleasure emit from his ass as soon as his husband spoke. It was overbearing, causing the straight man to cry out in overwhelming pleasure. The pleasure created pink clouds which fogged over Bobby’s mind. Thoughts of big cocks and sucking on the fat nipples of hairy chests filled his straight mind. Bobby could feel his heterosexuality slipping away. But he force himself to care. He just continued to slip away into the pink fog’s pleasure.

“I’m coming up there, boy!” The ladder shook and the sound of the man’s footsteps on each ladder rung grew louder.

As the man climbed each rung, the pleasure grew more intense, causing Bobby to moan like the pathetic slut. The pleasure just filled Bobby from head to toe, destroying his rational mind. Making his thoughts hazy and more sexual. Making him lose himself in a pink fog of dumbness.

The gravelly voiced man reached the attic. He slowly stomped his way over to Bobby, each step shaking the boxes of clutter around him. He stood right behind Bobby and growled like a primal animal.

“So that’s what you’ve been doin up here, eh?” The dominant man grumbled.

Bobby, able to pull himself away from the pleasure, turned around. The man towered over Bobby, causing him to feel insecure. Bobby’s head reached just under the man’s hairy pecs. The man looked like a monster! Or some kind of animal. An ape, to be exact. His entire body was covered with a thick coat of smelly manly body hair. His beard was thick and crawled up the man’s cheeks. He looked familiar to Bobby. He’d seen this man before. Had it been in work? No. Maybe back in college? No one looks like this in college. Then it hit him… it was… Carter.

The genie’s magic had devolved Carter into this monstrous ape-man. He looked nothing like his frilly feminine self. Instead, he looked more manly than any man Bobby had ever seen before.

Carter’s stench was invading Bobby’s nostrils, causing him to scrunch his nose.

“What’re you doing with that hand of yours, boy?”

Bobby focused his fading attention on his hand, realising it was not down by his side like he had thought. Instead, it was jammed in between his big fuckable ass cheeks. His fingers reaching deep inside his hole, jamming against his prostate.

Bobby slides his fingers out of his hole and looks at the lube tracing down his wedding ring.

“That’s nothing, trophy boy! Let me show you what real pleasure feels like!” The big man grunts and whips out his cock. He forces Bobby onto the ground and easily slides his fat 10 incher into his boy’s wet hole. The genie watched eagerly, laughing and chuckling at Bobby’s struggle.

The pleasure was unlike anything Bobby had ever felt. It was intoxicating. More pleasurable than sitting on his inflated cheeks. More pleasurable than his sensitive nipples. More pleasurable than fingering himself. No one but his husband could make him feel like this. His husband is who held the power to pleasure. His husband is who held the power to everything.

No, he wasn’t Bobby’s husband! He wasn’t earlier at least… right? Bobby was single. He was straight. He wanted a wife and kids. Bobby tried to remember but he couldn’t escape the blissful confusing pleasure caused by his husband’s cock ramming against his prostate. He felt so confused.

“SUCH A GOOD TROPHY HUSBAND!” His husband yelled. Bobby’s ass and tits bounced with each thrust. “YOU LOVE DADDY CARTER, DONT YOU?”

Bobby knew he had full control over his body, his voice, everything. Yet, the tight grip from his husband and the pleasure he felt was enough to make him question everything. Maybe he was gay? Maybe Carter was his husband? Maybe he was just a gay fuckable submissive himbo after all? Were the memories of his ordinary straight life from a dream? They had to have been. They had to have been fake. He was getting deep dicked by his husband, his wedding ring scraping along the floor. He could feel the pleasure. This was real. This was reality. Bobby was a dumb slut. What had gotten into his head? Thinking he was a successful businessman? He couldn’t even spell ‘businessman’, let alone, be one. He was only good for shaking his fat ass and taking care of his Daddy’s cock.

“SAY IT, BOY!” His husband yelled into his ear.

“I. LOVE. YOU.” Bobby yelled in between Carter’s thrusts. “DADDY MY PUSSY IS SO WET!”

“I KNOW, BOY. DADDY MAKES YOU FEEL GOOD.” Carter growled deeply. “YOU WANNA FEEL LIKE THIS FOREVER?”

“YES DADDY!” Bobby, his brain completely scrambled, moaned in ecstasy.

“SAY IT. YOU KNOW WHAT TO SAY.” His husband began fucking him harder and harder. “SAY IT FUCKTOY!”

“I WISH…” Bobby screamed as prostate got rammed harder and harder. “I WISH…”

“SAY IT!”

“I WISH I WAS STUCK LIKE THIS FOREVER!” Bobby screamed causing his Daddy to grunt and shoot his thick potent load between Bobby’s jiggling fertile cheeks.

The genie chuckled in amusement watching the former roommates, now husbands, collapse upon each other’s new hyper sexualised bodies.

WISH GRANTED

———————————————————————-

And so, Bobby lives as a trophy boy with his husband, Carter, in a million dollar mansion. No more thinking about work or mortgages. In fact, he couldn’t think about those things even if he wanted to. He didn’t have the mental capacity to. Now, he can only focus on looking slutty and pleasuring his husband’s fat cock.

In the end, Bobby got what he wanted. Bobby is a millionaire. Well, his husband is anyway. You see, he married into a rich family. Carter is a bit of a sugar daddy. He buys Bobby all the things he could dream of. In this last week, he bought Bobby a vibrating prostate massager, a slutty pink thong and a new pair of dick sucking lips.

As for the genie, well, he remains in the attic. Sitting in his small lamp… waiting. Waiting for another man to come along and fall victim to their own grand ambitions…

This is a bit overdue, but we hit 1000 followers (we’re actually at 1.3k right now but still)! I didn’t do anything to celebrate it last time, but this time, I wanted to do something special! So, enjoy this LONG story as a celebration! :)

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m putin you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, whats da word, invasion? Influx? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

I'm totally interested in the Nissan Sentra! It may not be the fanciest car on the lot, but it reminds me of the first car I was (or, my parents) ever able to afford when I first got my license nearly two decades ago. Call it the nostalgia factor, but that's the one I'll choose!

Oh wow! Look who just got their first car ever as a birthday gift for your sweet 20 🎂! after failing their drivers test twice like a typical bottom driver.

I mean, I don’t really know why you’d lie and say you got your first car two decades ago, but twinks aren’t really meant to be smart, nor are they known to be the best drivers, but I’m sure you’ll take care of it. It’s a small, compact and very cute car ! Just like you actually, it fits you very well. What I’m sure though is that it won’t smell the best inside, you do have some pretty bad gas and foot smell issues, but that’s totally fine, a cute little air freshener could help it all. Drive safe and go pick up your friends to go to starbies now!

Identity ;

Name : James

Age : Just freshly turned 20 ! Happy birthday, some people say your teenage years are over yet I still see you scrolling on TikTok all day, hanging out to Starbucks with your friends and sometimes skipping showers and brushing your teeth, and all the birthday cake you ate is definitely gonna do wonders to your gas…

IQ : 87, youre under average but still not so dumb. You can hold good conversations and be very sweet and understanding of others.

Personality : Fun, very nice and empathetic, a bit flamboyant and overall cute and friendly! It’s a pleasure to be around you, although you can get a little judgy with your friends, it’s just for fun!

Sexuality : 100% Homosexual. No questions here.

Body :

Body type : Twinky and skinny

Overall attractiveness : 10/10, or should I say overall cuteness! So adorable and cute.

Package size : 3 inches active, 1 inch soft. Although it isn’t big, you won’t really need it so it’s fine. At least it fits comfortably in your pants.

Rear end size : Small, a little flat but still cute and soft ! Your pants just don’t even cover it, it isn’t visible at all, which is kinda adorable as well!

Overall B.O : 6.5/10, You can definetly get a little sweaty when it’s hot as you live in Florida, and your dove deodorants don’t always hide the smell. Your pits can smell a bit like a sharp and salty sweat, while your feet will smell like melted butter. I’d say you smelliest area is definetly your feet, without speaking about your gas of course.

Gassiness : 9/10, Those Florida fast-foods you’re eating definetly have an effect on your gas…you fart a lot and can’t really control it. Thankfully they’re all mostly quiet puffs, but they still do smell of musty scrambled eggs and sulfur. You are embarrassed each time you let one out, but you also love the sensation of the hot steamy air escaping your little buns, and somewhat love to smell your own gas when you’re home alone. That’s just your little secret though.

Muscles : You’re quite bony, but it’s just so adorable and perfectly fits your friendly vibe, and I wouldn’t change that for anything!!

Bored At The Metro

I was bored, waiting at the metro, when I noticed two handsome men nearby, both wearing earphones. Perfect, I thought. I opened my laptop and activated my special mind-bending program. I easily hacked into their phones and started typing: "Make out with the man wearing a black shirt on your side" I send the command to the phone of the young man wearing a blue dress shirt.

"Make out with the young man wearing a blue dress shirt on your side" I send the command to the hot man in a black shirt. Now I just had to wait...

I watched as their eyes rolled back for a few seconds, their earphones transferring the commands to their vulnerable brains, suddenly they both looked at each other with hunger in their eyes and started making out in front of everyone. It was such a hot sight.

I just love using my mind-bending program on strangers and making them fall in love with each other, most of the time they are straight men, like these two love birds, but no matter how much straight they are, they always obey the commands.

Information about the two subjects began to appear on my laptop. The one in the black shirt was a 31-year-old married dad with one child, heading home after a long, exhausting day at work. The other, wearing a dress shirt, was a 21-year-old also returning home from his job.

I decided then to make them a permanent couple, I mean, look how cute they are together. I wanted to make things more fun so I started typing again.

"You're a gay bottom for your new boyfriend, you do everything he orders you to and you will obey without questioning, you love to be his slut." I sent the command to the sexy Daddy, and I immediately started to notice a tent forming in his jeans.

"You're a top, an alpha male, you love dominating and humiliating your new Daddy boyfriend." I sent the command to the young man's brain, his demeanor immediately changed and he started to dominate the kiss, he grabbed the Daddy's bulge and squeezed it hard. "I don't even know your name, but I want you to come home with me, I need to fuck you like the slut you are!" He said, his voice filled with desire.

"Yes sir, do whatever you want with me!" They went back to kissing. People started to give them weird stares but they didn't care, they were just a happy couple now.

I closed my laptop with a smirk, I wasn't so bored anymore.