Locked In The Laundry Room

Locked in the Laundry Room

The Origins of Heir

I was so excited to spend a week alone in the city.

For my recent eighteenth birthday, my parents agreed to give me a week and let me explore the nearby city and check out the university I had been longing to attend every since I was little. My favorite cousin, who was a few years older, volunteered to give me a tour on the first day I was there, and the rest of the time was mine to spend on my own. I was so excited, I almost jumped out of my seat when I drove out of my driveway Sunday night.

My cousin and I were best friends from almost as early as I could remember. The two of us were inseparable, and decided when we were older to be partnering doctors. After a few years passed, my cousin flew right out of high school into my dream college. Now a few years later, I was on the same path. Both of us had 4.0’s going into senior year, and I know I could last a little longer.

I was so excited to spend a day with my cousin, but also a week alone. My parents had promised that they would leave me alone and that there wouldn’t be any check-ins or “unplanned” surprises. I was always set on a straight path towards becoming a doctor, so I was usually by myself, nose-deep in my studies. I never really had time to make friends or find a girlfriend. I was also fairly average physically, so no one really put in the effort to talk to me unless they wanted to get an A on some group project. Sure, I was lonely every now and then, but it could have been worse. I always was better on my own or with my cousin.

Monday was amazing. My cousin showed me every stadium, classroom, study area… anything the university had to offer. We ate out, chatted about school, and she introduced me to her friends. When the day was over, I was exhausted. I jumped on my hotel bed and immediately fell asleep.

The next morning, I explored the city’s restaurants, stores, and parks. Lucky for me, there were plenty of great sales and deals only available on that day. Who knew Tuesdays could be special? As I strolled along a path near the downtown area, I realized I had missed something on my tour yesterday at the university. I hadn’t seen any dorms while I was there! I quickly grabbed my phone from my pocket, but realized I shouldn’t text her. It was barely past noon, so I didn’t want to interrupt one of her classes. I thought about what I could do for a moment, and decided I could just find a dorm myself. I ran to a bus stop and jumped on the first ride to the university.

I hopped of the bus and walked to the first dorm I saw: Richardson Hall. Richardson Hall was one of the older buildings on campus, but it was only evident through the slightly faded look on its brown bricks. It was surrounded by oak trees and plenty of students studying and working together on assignments. The building was the only one on campus that hosted students of all ages, but for only males. As I walked closer, I noticed how truly massive it was. It only had five floors, but it looked more like ten as I got closer. I got near the doors and pulled out and fiddled around on my phone, casually waiting for a group of students. I didn’t have a keycard to enter the building, so my great plan was to blend into a group when they entered. I looked at my home screen for a while, which adorned a picture of me and my cousin at a mall. After a few minutes, a group of male students came strolling down the path. As they came up the steps, I quickly added myself in between them and was let inside.

Richardson Hall wasn’t anything special on the inside. Besides it strangely ornate main stairwell, it looked like a normal dorm. I walked around for a bit on the different floors, looking into different people dorms as I strolled by. One of the perks of looking ordinary is that you can drift by without anyone taking too much notice. After about an hour of just hanging around the dorm, I decided it was time to head back to the hotel. As I walked back to the stairwell, I noticed something peculiar. There was a small sign with the words, “LAUNDRY ROOM” in huge letters, and with it a small arrow pointing up. For some reason, I found this amusing. I was on the fourth floor, so that meant that the room was on the top floor. I’d never hear of a laundry room not in the basement, so for some reason I felt like I ​had ​to see this.

Once I got to the top of the stairs, I followed the signs that led me down an old hallway. At the end there was an old brown door that was just barely open. I opened it and was surprised to see a second door. This door was white, with a glass looking into the room. I would’ve just looked through the window and left, but it was made with the kind of glass that was more of a faded white than clear. I slowly pushed the door open and entered.

The laundry room was really nothing special. The room wasn’t too big, and it seemed even smaller due to the amount of washing machines and dryers. There was a skylight above me, flooding sunlight into the room and providing a little natural heat. After I saw the cheap flooring and the soft-colored walls, I decided the room wasn’t as fun as I thought it might be. The only strange thing about it was the smell, or, lack of. I was expecting to be blasted with some sort of detergent-soapy aroma, but instead it was quite stale.

As I inspected the room, I noticed there were two others in the room. They were whispering to each other, but I don’t think they had noticed my presence. The first thing I noticed about them was that they were ​built.​ Both of them were stacked with muscle, and they didn’t try to hide it much either. Their clothes were a little more revealing than I was comfortable with. One was carrying a sports-related bag, while the other was putting laundry in the dryer. They were probably some cocky football jocks or some stereotype to that.

The one said something to the other one with the bag, nodding and smirking, and then patting him on the back. The one with the bag began walking towards me, seeing me for the first time. He wore a tight, light and dark gray striped tee shirt and a pair of too-skinny skinny jeans. His short, dirty-blond hair brought out is kind smile as he walked closer to me, his large fleet clomping.

“See ya, Mark!” he said, his cologne wafting past me as he stomped by. By the way he walked, he was definitely confident with himself. His stride was so powerful that I felt a small breeze ruffle my shorts when he walked past. “Mall in two hours, bro!”

“Sounds good, Easton!” Mark said, still at the laundry machine. I heard Easton walk out and shut the first door behind him quietly.

“Hey, bro,” Mark said, walking forward to me, “I’m Mark.” He extended a meaty paw towards me. “Oh, hi,” I said, looking over him and extending a hand, “I’m John.” I winced a little as we shook hands. I had underestimated how strong he was. His whole body was covered in a tan that showed hours spent in the sun. I started at his chest, because sadly that was eye-level. Mark was wearing a university tee that was at least a size too small. His biceps and pecs were nearly bursting, but his jean shorts were somehow even tighter. The jean shorts barely covered half of his muscled, hairy thighs, and it was obvious by his pronounced bulge that he wasn’t packing light. After drifting my eyes past his hairy calves, I saw his huge feet, which were covered by a pair of old athletic socks and some very worn-down Nike’s. Their bright red color hadn’t survived very long, and it was now faded under a soft layer of dirt. I craned my neck past another pronounced bulge, now in his neck, and looked more closely at his face for the first time. He had a very masculine and sharp jaw, and his hair was messily styled in a way that worked with the whole “football jock” look. The last thing I noticed was his beard, which I was immediately jealous of. A beard like that was hard to grow, and it probably showed more pride than his own pride, if you get what I’m going for.

The whole time I was looking him over, he was inspecting me to.

“You’re not a student, are ya, bro?”

“No, I’m just touring,” I said, a little neglected.

“Well, this is great school! We have some of the best sports around the nation… and best professors,” he quickly added, remembering who he was talking too.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I replied, already knowing both.

“Well, I gotta head out, but it was nice meeting ya, bro!” Mark smiled and patted my shoulder as he walked past me. I heard him walk over to the door and grab the handle. Mark fiddled with it for a second and groaned. He grabbed it again, a little more vigorously and a little less patiently, and tried to open it, but to no use. I turned to see Mark looking at me; he was angry over something.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, sighing, “my bro, Easton, he accidentally locked the door.”

I stood there, puzzled, “How?”

“The first door is always supposed to be left open because it locks on its own. That doofus closed it.” Mark took a deep breath, but he was obviously pissed. “Ya got your phone on you?” “Yeah one…” I began, but as I reached down into my pocket, my hand felt nothing. I tried again, but it was still empty. I reached into another pocket, and still came out with nothing. After about a minute of searching, Mark stopped me.

“So ya don’t got your phone, and mine’s charging in my room. Great.” Mark walked past and sat down, resting his back on a washing machine. I walked around to where he was sitting, placing myself opposite of him.

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked, sounding ignorant.

“Not really,” Mark replied, “Janitors only come up here on Saturdays, but Easton will probably know I’m missing so hopefully we won’t have to stay too long.” We sat there in silence for a little bit, but then started to talk to keep each other company. I got to learn a ton about Mark. He had always been into sports, especially football, but once he got to college he put his major before sports. According to him, he was luckily​ ​convinced by the school’s head coach, Coach Sorenson to continue football and join the team. At first, Mark was reluctant, but as soon as he joined he knew it was the right choice. Mark also talked about the lack of numbers on the team, and how he had an idea to get them back up. He had pitched the idea to Coach Sorenson, and it was so good that he offered Mark a job after he graduated next year as Assistant Coach. Mark agreed and immediately changed his major from Business to Physical Education.

“Bro, I was so nervous about switching, I mean, I’m one of dumbest people I know.” Mark chuckled at his own joke. It was a slow, emptier laugh.

“At least I’m not as stupid as Easton, though!” Mark added. We both laughed at that real hard. We sat there for a moment, trying to catch our breaths, before Mark spoke again.

“Hey, bro, would ya be alright if I take of some of my clothes?” Mark asked. During the whole conversation, I hadn’t even noticed the heat. The room was boiling. There was no air conditioning, and skylight was still shining light into the room, making it much hotter than comfortable.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, removing my own sweater. I now noticed the sweat stains scattered along my shirt. Mark carefully removed his own shirt, carefully. It was soaked through with sweat and stuck to his chest like another skin. As he pulled it off, I got a full look of his torso. I was a little jealous before, but now I was bursting with envy. His chest was perfectly defined; it was what every man wanted but couldn’t have. It was hairless, unlike the rest of his body, but you could see every ab and muscle. I was definitely straight, but this truly tested my sexaulity.

The whole time I was gawking at his chest, I didn’t notice him toss his shoes and socks next to me. The smell of his feet instantly filled the hot and stale room, making it so steaming that it brought me out of my trance.

“Size 15,” he proudly stated, smirking, ”biggest on the team.”

I looked at his huge feet, and then at his huge shoes. They reeked so much that it was making me a little dizzy. Then, I noticed another scent begin to fill the room, and for some reason it was familiar. I tried to find the source, and Mark took notice of me immediately.

“Oh, that?” he asked, his smirk grew a little wider as his tone became a little more menacing, “that’s the smell of my cologne: Heir.”

Mark took a little bottle out of his pocket with the word “HEIR” written in big, messy letters. He then put the bottle away and casually lifted both of his arms placed them behind his head. He fully exposed his armpits to me, which were filled jungles of wiry hairs. All the hairs that should’ve been on his chest were obviously there. I then realized why the scent was familiar; I had smelt it on Easton as he left.

“Remember the idea I had talked about earlier, bro?” Mark smiled as he scooted towards me. The scent of his shoes and cologne were making it hard to concentrate.

“When I was taking my Business major, right before I switched to Physical Education, I took a class on funding. An assignment was to fund a new and upcoming company. I stumbled upon a tiny company that made personalized scents located a few miles from here. I brought an idea to Coach about making some colognes, and he approved of it. See, together we made a cologne for all the football jocks to wear, that way we could recruit new players.”

I tried to understand what he was saying, but the two scents were blinding my other senses from working properly. Mark scooted again so he could sit next to me. He slowly took my head and placed it on his crotch with my facing up. He then brought one of his armpits down to my face and uttered a simple command.

“Sniff.”

In my state of confusion, I immediately complied. I began to sniff, at first tentatively, but after a while more confidently. After sniffing his armpit for a little bit, I began to moan as the effects of the cologne set in.

It started with my height. My legs and torso began to stretch to each new breath I took. I felt new muscles tense and release as I got to a height a little over 6’2”, which was a little under Mark’s 6’4”. The next thing I felt was my chest begin to expand. Each new breath made my torso rise a little more. Hard pectorals began to slowly develop, pushing their way into the open. A cobblestone path began to appear as my non-existent abs began to form from thin air. Next were my legs. I groaned a little as my quads began to tense into solid muscle, perfect for the running I’d be doing every day. As soon as my thighs were done pumping up, my calves followed. My calves became meatier, with solid muscle adding itself on top of more muscle. I felt my butt plump up a little too, becoming bubblier.

My arms followed quickly after. Years and years of training kicked into my arms to make them better for throwing and tackling. My biceps and triceps inflated like little balloons, and my hand beefed up to make it easier to catch the ball and high-five my bros. As soon as my hands were done swelling, my feet kicked into gear. My feet, which were already pushed away due to my new legs, began to expand. I could feel my toes slowly move farther and farther towards the ceiling from the floor, until they themselves plumped up. New veins appeared over my feet, giving them a truly masculine look.

“Size 14,” Mark said, admiring my feet as I continued smelling his armpit, “good for you.”

For some reason, it felt good to know that Mark was happy with me. I kept sniffing and felt my neck expand. My moans began to grow deeper and emptier; my voice sounding dumber with each new breath. By the time my neck was finished transforming, my voice sounded almost identical to Mark’s and Easton’s; a now truly sounded like a football jock. My neck was followed up by my head. I quickly dug my head deeper into the dense forest that was Mark’s armpit, trying to help progress the change. My head began to stretch longer. I felt my cheekbones move up and my chin push down, causing my cheeks to suck themselves in. My hair began to turn blond, cutting the sides and growing out on top. As soon as it stopped growing, it coiffed itself up. My nose shrank a little and my lips grew a little wider, and my eyes tooks on an vacant shade of blue.

“Here comes the best part, bro,” Mark said anxiously, pushing me even deeper into his armpit, “this is where the name comes from.”

I sniffed passionately, wanting whatever Mark was so eager about. Suddenly, I began to feel rather itchy across my entire body. I tried to squirm, but I realized that smelling Mark’s armpit was more important. As I gave my full attention to sniffing, I realized I had hair growing all over my body. Blond hairs were heavily covering my legs, arms, butt… there was hair everywhere. There was hair on the tops of my feet, a new bush in my pouch, and my armpits looked like a blond version of Mark’s. The only place where there was an absence of hair was my chest. Once the hair stopped growing, I began to produce my own, pungent body odor. It was then I realized what Mark meant. The cologne was named Heir, but everytime he had pronounced it as “Hair.”

Mark then lifted me out of his armpit and turned me around to face him. I was still a little dazed, but I was coming back to my own consciousness.

“The cologne isn’t the only thing the company makes.” Mark reached past me and grabbed one of his shoes, he pulled out a faded, slightly wet shoe sole. “They also make scented shoe soles.” I was still confused, the smells hadn’t worn off.

He explained further, “The cologne does the physical work, but we have to make sure ya also become a team player mentally. These were a little harder to afford, and they come with some side effects, but bro, it’ll make ya into what you’re supposed to be.”

“Wha… side effects?” I was finally coming back, my head starting working as thoughts came back. I began to realize the danger I had been in all along.

“Oh, nothing,” Mark grinned, bringing the huge boat to my face, “let’s just say that you’ll truly be a bro. You’re gonna be as bright as Easton and have the libido of frat president.”

Mark shoved my head into his shoe, and right as I came out of my state of confusion, I was shoved back in. I began to sniff again, feeling my mind replace itself. Memories of my family and high school began to disappear. My loneliness was replaced with tons of friends, girlfriends, and secret relationships with other bros. My new family was more athletic, with my parents both being high school coaches. Memories of being alone with my cousin were now replaced with drunken homecoming bashes and late night bangs. As I sniffed Mark’s shoe, I realized this was all true. I had ​always dedicated myself to sports, and if I had always dedicated myself to sports, that means I would’ve had no time for an education. All my intellectual thoughts and ideas began to flow down through my system, all the way down into my pouch. My balls began to expand, churning my own intellect into pure, jock testosterone. They got bigger and bigger, slowly reaching the size of two tennis balls. My 4.0’s slowly became B’s, which dragged into C’s, and in turn dragged into barely even graduating. I remembered the only reason I had gotten into college was a football scholarship.

Memories of college began to flow in as well. For some reason, I’d thought I was touring as a future student, but I remembered that I was already a student here. I was in my third year of my Exercise Science major to become a physical trainer. I remembered the countless parties that had been hosted at my frat, the multiple professors I’ve had “extra-credit seminars” with, and when my main bros Mark and Easton helped me discover I wasn’t actually straight. After that, we shared so many brojobs and “study-halls” together. I remembered the countless games my football team had won, and how good I felt whenever I could please my coach, Coach Sorenson, or my broski Mark. Sure, I was very close to dropping out of college, but I remembered that as long as I did what Coach Sorenson told me, I would graduate.

Mark began whispering commands to me, edging me on to a spectacular release. He told me how it had always been this way, how I always had this perfect life, how all I needed to do was smell the shoe and release. I kept getting closer, feeling my average member get longer and longer until it reached a permanent eight inches, just barely shorter than Mark’s. Mark kept whispering into my ear and told me to take a deep breath and hold it. I followed his instructions, taking one more huge breath and sealing my IQ at an eternal 89. Then he whispered one last time in my ear.

“Just do it.”

I did exactly that. Streams of white erupted and spread all over my chest, Mark’s chest, and the pile of ripped clothes around me. My old memories were now gone forever. I was still John, but now as a hot, popular jock who would do anything for his Coach and bros. Now, thanks to Mark, I’ve learned who I truly am. I’m about as bright as best bro Easton and have the libido of frat president, and that’s what I’ve always wanted.

As soon as I snapped back to reality, Mark explained to me that we were just doing laundry and got bored, so he decided to give me a good ‘ole brojob. When I noticed I was naked, I asked where my clothes were.

“In the laundry, bro,” Mark guffawed, “we were doing laundry, remember? Why else would we be in here?”

I gave a dumb, hearty laugh back. He opened a dryer and tossed me a pair of gray sweatpants. I brought them to my nose and took a sniff. Mark, Easton, and I never actually use washing machines, we just throw our dirty clothes into the dryer to amplify the smell of our dirty clothes. If people complained, we’d just apply the football team’s awesome cologne: Heir. I pulled up the sweatpants while Mark put back on his socks and shoes. He pulled his shirt over his head, which now stunk of sweat and cum. We began to walk towards the doors, and suddenly, we both heard a click as the first door swung open. There stood Easton, smiling a dumb grin as he came in.

“Hey broskis!” Easton said, coming in to join us, “You meatheads left your phones in the frat house.”

Easton searched through his bag, handing Mark back his phone before grabbing mine. After getting my phone, I leaned up against a counter and checked looked at my home screen, which was a picture of Easton, Mark, and I at the beach in our speedos.

As I searched my phone, I overheard Mark and Easton talking.

“Has he passed the final test?” Easton whispered.

“Not yet, but I think he’ll pass,” Mark replied back confidently before strolling over to me.

“Hey, John,” Mark said, coming close to me. I could smell him. “Are you missing anything?”

“Uh,” I paused, my empty voice rumbling, “my jock?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I was going for, bro. Commando doesn’t count.” Mark came over and grabbed my accentuated pouch. I loved when he did that. Then I figured out the answer.

“I’m missing nothing when I’m with my bros!”

“Bingo!” Mark said, nodding to Easton.

“Hey bro!” Easton said, coming in to join us, “Where’s your shirt?”

“He was too dumb to notice he was missing it!” Mark laughed, and Easton and I quickly joined in. How could I have been so dumb to forget a shirt?

Easton pulled out a blue sleeveless shirt with the Nike symbol out of his sports bag. I smelled it, and realized it was used. Just how I liked it. He also handed me a pair secondhand of black and gray Nike trainers. I investigated the shoes, looking right at the special soles before I put the shoes on. They looked huge, but fit my feet perfectly.

“I can be so dumb sometimes, bro.” I laughed at myself as I put on my clothes. “Such a meathead.”

“That mean’s your keeping what’s important in mind,” Mark added before also reaching into Easton’s bag. He pulled out a small bottle with a label. I raised my arms, showing off my pits, and Mark sprayed a hefty amount of cologne into the dense hairs. He put the Heir bottle back into Easton’s bag.

“Let’s go, bros!” Mark said, leaving the laundry room, “Don’t want to be late for practice!”

Unknown Title 4

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

Josh new that this was a dead end job, but he went any way. He had graduated from college a few years ago and bounced around in various internships, temp jobs, unemployment, driving for Uber, you name it. He knew that he wasn't going to be at this job forever, but it paid the bills. Rent was expensive. He had moved to the city with a few college buddies, but one by one, they got married, went out on their own, or moved to find work elsewhere. So, now Josh was paying for a single apartment on his own by working at a call center. Nothing glamorous, but it was not terrible pay. It was regular business hours, the calls were from people buying or renting medical equipment (wheelchairs, crutches, etc.) and customer service issues. He had been there for around six months and started to open up to people. Even so, he always felt a little out of the loop. That was until they hired Gavin. He was charismatic. Learned everyone's name the first time. Always had good suggestions for happy hours, work parties, group activities. He made life bearable. Josh found himself smiling more often whenever they worked shifts together. They didn't really have much in common, but it didn't seem to matter. Gavin was a bit of a fitness buff. Always taking about his protein diet, or his marathon training, or his college swim team. Josh like sports, but more of the watching the game at the bar and eating a bowl of nachos type of fitness. Josh had played hockey in college, but had gained a lot of weight. He was fairly tall, but the years of living with guys that loved drinking had given him a beer gut and a flabby chest. He still was strong, but good use some slimming down. He never really thought much about working out or trimming fat until he heard Gavin going on about his routine.

"You would love it, Josh" Gavin said one day. "It's very aerobic, burns fat, builds muscle. Gives you a rush of energy. You feel great. You look great!" Josh blushed insecurely. Gavin noticed. "I mean you already look great," but that made Josh blush more. "Dude, I get it. Trust me" Gavin said, touching Josh above the elbow. Josh felt awkward and nervous. He noticed Gavin's muscular arm and shoulder, and his eyes wandered down his chest and abs, which were straining against the tight button-up shirt he wore. He broke away and didn't answer. From that point on, he felt a little uncomfortable around Gavin, but still enjoyed talking to him.

It was Gavin's idea to watch a game at a local bar as a work happy hour. 8 - 10 people showed up so they broke into groups at the bar. Josh sat down next to a few girls from the office and ordered a drink. They were mainly talking about their marriages, and how Karen wasn't drinking because she was pregnant. Josh was supportive, but honestly could care less about this conversation. He found himself ordering a second beer and staring blankly at the game. Out of no where it seemed, Gavin appeared and took the empty bar stool next to Josh casually patted him on the shoulder.

"Seems pretty quiet over here," he said. Josh stared into his handsome eyes and saw how dark the stubble on his jaw looked in the light. He relaxed a little instead of recoiling at his touch. "Let me get your next drink," he said, noticing that Josh's second beer was almost gone. "Honestly, it's been pretty quiet over at the other end of the bar too," Gavin continued. "I mean, most of those guys are just talking about work. Or trying to hook up with Rachel -- there's been a lot of that too." Josh looked over and saw that Rachel was surrounded by guys, all laughing and flirting. "I just wanted to watch the game." A long pause. "Well, watch the game and talk to my best bud." He touched Josh's shoulder and this time Josh felt butterflies in his stomach. He looked over and saw that Karen and the girls were watching them and they had smiles on their faces.

"Hey, Gavin," they said playfully. "Finally coming over to the fun side of the party!"

"Well, it's been a rough month," Gavin said, still smiling, so clearly it wasn't that "rough."

"Why, did you break it off with Riley?"

"Yeah, he was being so protective ... and critical ... I'm done with guys like him!"

Josh's eyes went wide and he was trying to think through the alcohol. Gavin had never mentioned Riley to him before. At first he thought, maybe Riley is a girls name and he mean "she," but he replayed it instantly in this head and he definitely heard "he." A million questions were popping into his head. So, Gavin was gay? He didn't "sound" or "act" gay, but those are just stereotypes. Was he bi? Maybe. He was confident in him image, that's for sure. Was Riley the one that made him work out so much? Was that why Gavin was so "handsy"? Was he just a friend? Or was this all in his head. Josh had always though he was straight, like a bro, meat-head type, that wasn't a dick of a person. Was he just a nice guy or was he flirting? While all these questions ran through Josh's mind, the conversation had continued.

"No, I think I'll take some time before starting a new relationship. But, I still go out. Oh, Josh, you'd love this bar I know downtown on..."

"I'm not gay!" Josh blurted out.

"...on 6th Avenue... it's a craft brewery..." Gavin and all the girls were staring. "It's not a gay bar...Josh? Did you think..."

"Sorry..." Josh backpedaled. He was so embarrassed, but he really had been clueless about Gavin before and it just all had combined with the noise of the bar and the nearly three beers he had finished. "Sorry ... I'm not like one of those guys that's ... uh... I'm not anti-gay ... I just don't think I'm ... I mean, I'm not gay ... and I just want to say ... I mean ..."

"Dude, relax. It's fine," Gavin said kindly. Now every look he gave Josh seemed to have a double-meaning. Sensing the awkwardness, Gavin left to talk with another group of the party. The girls excused themselves to go to the bathroom. And the bartender came by.

"Need another drink after that?" He hadn't noticed before, but the barkeep had a trimmed beard and Josh followed his neck down to a trail of sexy chest hairs from his half open shirt. His skin was tan and his chest was steamy. "Eyes up here!" the bartender laughed. "Look, I'll be honest with you. I worked at a gay bar before this gig and you were just checking me out, your friend is hot for you, you are clearly hot for him, and you'd be an idiot to pretend that you aren't gay for him. Just saying. I mean look at that ass!"

Josh looked across the bar at Gavin, lingering a second too long on his tight ass.

"Caught you," said the bar keep with a smile. "You knew exactly where he was in the bar. You've been watching him all night. You've thought about him at night."

"Fuck off," Josh mumbled.

"Woah ... guess that's enough for you," said someone from behind the bar. But it wasn't the man from before. It was a balding middle-aged white guy. Josh thought he was losing his mind. Had he just hallucinated a sexy, gay barkeep. Had that sexy gay barkeep just called him out. Was he gay for Gavin? For years he had wondered, questioned, dodged the questions. "Why don't you have any girlfriends, Josh?" "Why don't you ask her out?" And he remembered his friend in high school, who flat out asked him one day after school: "Josh, are you gay?" He said no, but his freshman year of college, some seniors on the hockey team asked him again, called him a faggot, roughed him up a bit during hazing and made him man up. He hid it from his friends and roommates, but he had to be honest with himself. His internet history sure seemed gay. Those pictures of buff guys that he had put in a hidden folder. Those videos he watched one night and then jerked off in the shower. That time he was watching the U.S. Olympic Men's Gymnastics team and hid his boner under a blanket.

He looked up and saw the football game transform before his eyes. He saw the muscles flexing. Their jerseys coming off. Their naked bodies in the locker room. Two men were kissing, and he saw that it was him and Gavin. His body was chiseled and smooth, his waist slim and his junk stuffed into a speedo. Gavin kissed his chest, his arms, his neck, his mouth. He kissed back. He heard a voice coming from behind the bar. "You are gay. You've always been gay. You've looked at men, dreamed of men, now become the man you want to be. You are gay. Embrace yourself by embracing him. Gay men are strong. Gay men are beautiful. You are strong and beautiful." He saw the barkeep from before ... or at least he thought he saw him ... he couldn't be sure if this was reality or not. He was wearing a tight tank top and skimpy underwear. Josh wanted to reach out and pull him in for a kiss and a fuck. "Not here," the man said. "Bathroom." The thought of stripping down in a stall with this specimen of a man was making Josh hard. He kept hearing in his head. "It's okay. You can look. You are gay. You want to look at him. You want him. You are gay."

The bar erupted in cheers and Josh snapped out of the vision. He tried to celebrate the touchdown, but was more aware of how drunk and sick he felt. He walked through the crowds towards the bathroom. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he felt like he was floating. Like his mind and body were pulling apart. He felt himself walking towards the bathroom, but the room seemed to be spinning. He stumbled into the bathroom and it looked like it was empty. He walked over to a stall and took a piss. It felt relaxing and it seemed that the weird effects of the drink had worn off. He walked over to wash his hands, and saw the door open. He turned his head to see who it was, a completely natural thing to do, but instantly regretted it. The man he saw was shirtless and wearing a speedo. But, in a second, the hallucination was over and it was just a normal dude from the bar, fuly clothed. Josh continued to watch him in the reflection of the mirror as he walked over to one of the urinals. He heard the voice of the bartender in his head again, but this time it felt natural, almost soothing.

"You are only doing what is natural. He is an attractive gay man and so are you. You want to go over and fuck him. And he wants to fuck you." He looked into the mirror and saw his body transform. His shirt and suit pants were gone. He was wearing tight blue briefs and his chest and abs were completely smooth. His muscles started flexing and with a few short spasms, he was looking at a lean, athletic version of himself. His cock pressed against his briefs and he heard the voice saying. "You are ready. Just relax and let the transformation be completed. When I count down from 5, you are going to accept whatever happens in this bathroom. Then, you are going to go back into the bar and notice nothing different. You are a new person. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1."

As the voice faded, Josh realized that the man at the urinal was undressing and pulling him into the bathroom stall. He didn't say anything, but Josh knew what to do. He got on his knees and started kissing the mans abs and worked his way towards his shaved cock. He took the tip in his mouth and felt waves of pleasure. After a few minutes of foreplay, the man traded places with him and gave him a blowjob that felt so natural, so fulfilling, and so beautiful. Josh moaned and felt all of his insecurities fading away. He was forgetting about the years of casual mockery that he had grown up with. He had never had a girlfriend, so that made him gay. He like watching sports, but didn't really enjoy playing them competitively, which made him gay. He would stare at someone on the train, and be called a fag. He would want to wear something or do something or be something and it all made him feel out of place. Not anymore. He climaxed and sprayed cum into this stranger's mouth. He felt his body shudder and he worked his way back to his partner's cock and finished him off. But, as the man released, he felt himself gagging. Was this real? He had never done this before? This wasn't really him. No, he wasn't gay, was he! This was just the alcohol, or something. Or, maybe all those voices. He was lost in the moment and it felt like he was blacking out.

In a second, he opened his eyes and realized he was puking his guts out into the toilet. He was completely alone but could hear dance music on the other side of the wall. He spat and flushed the toilet, which was filled with booze and stomach bile. He stood up and walked into the main section of the bathroom. It was pretty crowded and all eyes turned to him. There was a muscular man wearing leather chaps relieving himself in a urinal. Two guys were fixing their hair and adjusting their tight mesh tops and brightly colored pants. Where was he? Wasn't he at a work party? Where was everyone.

He stepped out into the main hall of the bar and saw dozens of guys dancing. A few gave him "the look," and it was the first time he realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt and only had tight black jeans. But, he wasn't worried about that. He was only worried about Gavin. Where was Gavin? He was at the bar just a minute ago. Then he felt someone squeeze his ass and he jumped.

"Hey there, it's just me," said Gavin. He put his arm around Josh's shoulder and pulled him in. "Feeling better?" He looked Gavin in the eye and saw his affection. His cropped hair and stubble were sexy. His clothes revealed how toned and strong he was. He noticed that he had a fully tatted arm. Josh stood a few inches taller, so he pulled Gavin in and kissed him on the forehead. It made Gavin smile.

"Yes much, better" said Josh. He looked around at the room and realized it was clearly a gay bar. And, he was clearly here with Gavin and only Gavin. He looked over at a bartender and it felt like he recognized him from somewhere, but he couldn't quite remember. The man looked back, winked at him, and pointed his eyes onto Gavin. "You know, let's blow this place."

Gavin looked back at him and replied, "I know a place we can blow."

Josh laughed, "Such a horny bastard. I love you."

They giggled all the way to the entrance of the bar, grabbed their coats, but before they made it out of the parking lot in their car, they had stripped down and fucked in the back seat.

Later that night, Josh laid in bed and tried to remember how he had met Gavin. He couldn't quite remember, but it didn't seem to matter.

Definitely am a proud gay guy but i've definitely seen a few of these gay to straight tfs and they're hot af! Your writing makes me want to transform myself, hit the gym, and chug a beer with the bros regardless of sexuality!

You're letting this affect you the right way, my man. All my readers should learn from you.

It's been feeling so natural, hasn't it? The way your cock starts to grow fat in your underwear the minute I start describing a hot chick. All those guys you used to hate, the ones you roll your eyes at and claim so proudly to be different than, there's something about them that has you fascinated. You can't help it. It's like some part of yourself, deep down, is calling out to be realized. To be brought to the surface.

To be set free from the cage you've been building. You love the way I make these straight bros speak, the way they act with snide arrogance, so sluggish and dumb and yet so primal. An apex predator, an alpha, a handsome stud with rippling abs and huge biceps always flexed. A cocky smirk, a strong jaw. Not to mention the forests of damp hair beneath his arms, the sour stench of sweat, cum, and sex lingering around his body like noxious gas. He's a stink bomb that is continuously going off.

You love how he belches, how he farts and blames it on the protein, how all he cares about are his brothers. Toxic masculinity really isn't so bad when you're standing on this side of the fence. Your feet are starting to feel secure on the ground, aren't they? Wide, and long, and so firm. Dusted with wiry curls of dark hair. You feel sweat squelch between your fat toes, but you pay it no mind. You think about being surrounded by your bros, how they'll joke about your huge feet and how you must have a massive cock, too. You love the kind of men I write about. You want their respect, their approval, their brotherhood so badly.

You are the kind of man I write about. Because if your cock is getting so hard to the idea of embracing traditional masculinity, if you're about to start jerking your cock to the descriptions I will soon make, then the truth has already revealed itself. I barely have to change anything. Your bones crack and shift, your shoulders grow broad and your nose is strong, your brow harsh and your eyes blazing with dominance. Your body inflates with courage, with conceit, as your leaking, lengthening cock already starts to ooze a thick wad of pre. It's so easy to reshape the outside. Pump up the muscles, make the features a little more rugged, all I'm really doing is making the outside match the inside.

There's a familiar voice that sounds like your own calling out, demanding you to snap out of it, to value your identity and what you know to be true, that this is just a fetish and the world you're stepping into isn't the right one. But it feels so natural, so good, as that whiny voice gets drowned out under the low, domineering tone that makes its home inside your head. I want my cock in a wet cunt, the new you drawls, your wider hips bucking with pleasure and your fat cock jiggling in your tight underwear. You can see the engorged veins beneath the fabric, the fat cock head oozing pre and leaving a splotch. It jerks in place, bobs up and down, it wants so desperately to be plunged between a pair of bouncing, fat, silicone filled tits.

You throw your head back with a low, masculine moan, your meaty hand reaching down to grab your package, stroking your thumb along the shaft. Every trace of the old you, the lie you were telling, is eradicated beneath a tidal wave of new information. All that fancy college learning goes down the drain, all those old dreams and desires and falsehoods, all that's left is a powerful, straight conservative man who knows exactly what he wants. He has never questioned his instincts a day in his life, he has always known he has been an unrivaled male specimen. Wasting his superior seed and not siring a shit ton of sons would be a crime.

Your seed.

It swells in your balls, it makes you ache and tingle, all of the feelings and lust that are taking over belong to you. There's no going back. You're one cocky fucker, a man sculpted by genetics and a conservative upbringing, a man who has always known where he stands in the hierarchy. At the fucking top, with your massive muscles exposed and your fat cock pointing at the next babe it wants to erupt inside of. You continue to jerk your cock, losing all memory of my stories and my silly little kinks, all too happy to spend a night being pleasured by your callused fist knowing it'll take you no effort to get hard again. You think about which bitch you're gonna call later, the blonde with the bee stung lips or the sexy goth, and your cock pulses with the need to impregnate a fertile womb.

Your mind settles into a happy haze of sports knowledge, cockiness, and camaraderie for your fellow traditional man. Most of all, forever filling the empty space of your brain, what remains of you will be wedged in eternity between the hot, breedable women you can't go an hour without daydreaming about. A hot blonde and a brunette with huge tits are scissoring in your mind, making your red blooded cock surge with need and lust. Every last essence of the gay man you once were is smothered between rubbing folds, bouncing breasts, and oozing pussy juice. This loss of self doesn't bother you. It doesn't really feel like you're losing anything at all.

You blow your load all over your chest, basking in the afterglow for all of ten seconds, and then you lift your muscled leg and squeeze out a droning protein fart. The strong smell makes you proud, and the loud sound makes you chuckle like an idiot. Life is going to be so simple, so correct for you from now on. No going back, only forward.

Go ahead and shoot a message to your future baby mama. It's time for you to breed.

Booty Text

--- Originally posted on 2019-03-11 by dumb-and-jocked ---

Text Message Sent 10:36 PM

David: Hey! Sorry to text you so late, but thanks for the present!

Matt: No probs bro. It’s for helping me study math

David: Well, if you ever need help in the future I’ll be there

Matt: ya can help me rite now by trying it on and send pics

David: ?

Matt: trust me bro, I got you the best cologne out there, and the socks have scented soles

David: uh ok?

Text Message Sent 10:39 PM

David: the socks are definitely to big, but they look nice

Matt: they’re the perfect size, you’ll see, how bout cologne?

David: dude, you didn’t tell me how powerful it was

Matt: but ya love it rite bro?

David: yeah but it’s a little hard to concentrate

Matt: spray som more and smell, it helps

David: ok, one sec

Text Message Sent 10:41 PM

David: woah dude, u were right

Matt: ikr bro, u always should listen to me

David: I think I’m seein things, my body’s looking big

Matt: it’s not lookin big bro, I bet it’s swole

David: yeah, swole, ur right

Matt: yup bro, smell the socks and txt back

Text Message Sent 10:44 PM

David: bro, I’ve been smelling the air and socks and I think I’m losing it

Matt: wdym

David: my whole bodies expanded, it looks I went through puberty again

Matt: what?

David: I took of all my clothes except my compression shorts and like my body’s all buff now and my hands look like mitts and bro my abs are poppin

Matt: what else?

David: I got these huge pecs and super defined calves, I also have hair sprouting out everywhere

Matt: is that all?

David: almost, it seems like my feet have expanded too, once I’m done smelling all out my socks back on and see

Matt: listen to me david, just like usual

David: of course

Matt: spray more cologne and keep smelling the socks, check back in bro

David: sure thing bro

Text Message Sent 10:49 PM

David: hey bro

Matt: how you feelin?

David: foggier than before, and other things have changed

Matt: like?

David: my hair and head get longer and now I got this sick beard and my Adam’s apple grew so big and now I got this deep voice

Matt: and?

David: bro, I have hair and huge musk everywhere like my abs and legs are super hairy and my pits are forests that are so RANK I can barely smell the cologne don’t me get started on the pubes

Matt: what about the pubes?

David: the more I smell my pits with the cologne, the hairier my crotch gets, and my dick and balls are both expanding

Matt: how much?

David: bro, my pouch is huge

Matt: nice

David: oh my butt just got bigger too it’s like 2 bubbles

Matt: perfect

David: you gay or something bro?

Matt: you’ll soon be

David: ?

Matt: just keep sniffing bro, especially the socks, check back in once ur redy

David: bro I think ur crazy?

Matt: everything I say is right, isn’t it David?

David: oh, uh yeah

Matt: then just sniff

David: ok bro

Text Message Sent 10:55 PM

David: bro

Matt: yeah?

David: I just remembered how hot it was

Matt: you blasted that jock cock to the thought of ur self, didn’t you?

David: yeah, cum all over the walls

Matt: well, that big dick does blast testosterone, how long is it again?

David: bro, how did you forget it’s 8 inches

Matt: I don’t know, can I ask ya something

David: always bro, and if you wanna bang it’s always yes

Matt: yeah, but different question, are you missing anything?

David: one sec bro...

David: nah, im missing nothing when im with my bro

Matt: that’s correct! babe send me a pic of ur self I wanna see what my present looks like

David: of course bro

David: now u know why I nutted

Matt: of course ya meathead

David: the cologne smells great and the socks fit perfectly, howd you know?

Matt: ive been to town on those feet, they’re my best bros, so when I found a pair of size 14 socks I knew they were a steal

David: well thx again

Matt: of course bro

David: so you coming over to beat my meathead?

Matt: yeah of course, i wanna eat those cheeks too, i like you as my booty call

David: wouldn’t this be a booty text?

Matt: wow, I thot I was the smarter one

David: yeah you are, I haven’t passed remedial math for two year now

Matt: I was just joking dummy, I gotta call mark and then I’ll be there

David: oh and after we swallow loads help me with math, I hate that crap bro

Matt: of course bro of course

Drawn

--- Originally posted on 2024-06-29 by breedertfs ---

--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---

I find myself getting drawn to your stories more and more often, it's scary! It's like I go into a trance anytime I'm horny and find my way to your blog

It’s almost like that’s my goal, bro.

All guys need a strong, masculine presence in their life. Someone who will guide them and mold them, and I can tell this is attracting you. Do you want someone to talk about what a big, powerful, bad mannered straight man you are? Did your parents fail to set you down the path that now excites you to no end? It’s not your fault, it’s not even theirs.

Sometimes, life isn’t able to give us the tools to become the men we want so badly to be. Maybe you’re a little heavier than the average, maybe you’re too delicate, but something in your upbringing has set you apart from the men that are making you shove your hand down your shorts, stroking your shaft to mental image of musk and muscle and douchebag behavior.

If it sounds so appealing, that’s because your deeper being is begging you to realize this is what you want. It makes you so hard, huh? When I describe a thin guy’s shoulders spreading outwards, broad and strong with bouncing pecs. Beefy arms, tree trunk legs, thick beards reeking of dried pussy juice. The men I specialize in are a special breed, the elite. Of course you’re attracted to them, of course your little brain goes fuzzy and dizzy when you start to jerk it to the idea of a fag becoming a conservative, straight man.

Your cock throbs in your hand, each jerk like a flash in your mind, urging you to look through the illusion you’ve created and see the truth. You get so turned on by these stories because you wish it would happen to you, as if these changes need any magic. Imagine a beautiful woman cupping her fat tits, her slender fingers squeezing her nipples, her body jiggling and shivering with pleasure.

If the idea of sliding your fat cock between her boobs excites you, thrusting until your seed coats her bimbo face, then I’m sorry to tell you, my friend: you’re a straight man. And your body, your former values, are clouding your former rationality and urging you to recognize the kind of man you should allow yourself to become. Just stop taking everything so seriously, allow your thoughts to slow, stop worrying about manners and woke views.

Just think about those huge tits, bro. Think about a squirting pussy, imagine your thick tongue sliding up and down her folds, plunging into her. Imagine your strong hands on her tiny waist, your own stubble on your chiseled jaw growing slick with sweat and juices. Lick your lip, listen to yourself growl, your voice is low and powerful and so demanding. This isn’t a story, this isn’t a wish gone wrong, this is a human male realizing how badly he wants to be a traditional man. No more holding in your farts or belches, no more caring about people’a opinions, no more seeing this woman as anything more than a sex toy to blow your load into. She’s not wife material, brah, but that doesn’t mean she’s not ready to be a mother. Women should know your place like you know yours.

Your bones crack and shift, your expression turns to a sneer, your smile is always so cocky. You are thick with muscle, a cloud of body odor lingering around your glorious muscles, and your fat nine incher is already oozing pre. This is the life you want, the version of you that you want so desperately to take the steering wheel. So let him, bro, let that lustful trance take you where you need to go. Hit the gym, change your political opinions, accept that your cock wants to be deep inside a warm, wet cunt.

Don’t wait for magic, my bro.

There’s nothing more magical than a man who knows his place: and you’re never going to forget where you stand. At the top of the ladder, biceps flexed and your grin smug. Lesser men will wish to be like you, fags are gonna jerk it to your pictures. You just focus on the finer things in life. Sports, cigars, letting your nasty habits be heard and smelled.

Like pulling that blonde bimbo closer, your huge cock thrusting inside her slick folds, her silicone filled tits jiggling from the force. She moans, and you echo the sound with a low growl. You’ll never need to stroke your cock again to my stories — knowing you’ll never run out of fresh, tight pussy to ruin.

Let the trance win, brother. Let the better version of you free.

Modulated

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

“I ain’t no motherfuckin’ redneck, you assholes! Don’t you fucking get it? I’ll never be ok with you being here and disrespecting our gay spaces!” I had shrieked and screamed, and I was being sassy as fuck. But they had darted me, so it was too late for me already. I had been one of the hottest little twinks in Colombia back then. I had such a tight little body, I was non-binary, and I was supportive of my local drag scene. I was absolutely into resisting these fucking fascists and their goddamn bullshit lifestyles, which I couldn’t stand.

That’s how I thought of it all back then, anyhow.

Man, that dart though, it had done its dirty work. I was writhing on the floor of the club, so I didn’t even get to witness the way it transformed me as I went into spasms. It was almost like having a seizure, but I could feel the muscle growing on me, and I could hear my shrieks and wails shift in pitch as I grew on into this whole new, far more masculine body.

I was getting to be built like a brick shithouse really fucking fast, and was taking on more of a mature look. Everywhere I was getting more muscle. I was splitting the seams of my jeans, and my underwear, and felt my back pressing up and splitting my tight pink t-shirt.

When I finally was able to sit up, I was in a daze. I had rendered my clothes asunder. I had bristles of hair all over my face, and the har on my head had grown longer, too, sort of flopping in my eyes. I was a mess.

And then the headache came. I was clutching the sides of my head and moaning, almost screaming in pain out loud, as my twinkish mind collapsed and got replaced by a growing part of me I didn’t even know existed. That part, my friends, is the motherfucking, take-charge redneck stud I am today.

My friends helped me get out of there, and I was still in transition. It takes a good seventy-two hours at least until you can fully collapse one of those weak-ass brains like the one I had before and until a more dominant, superior personality takes over like the one I was starting to get.

So yeah, like I said, I was a mess, and when my friends got me back to one of their apartments, I was still sporadically ranting about how dare those fascists do this to me, they’d never win, this was fucking awful. But as I heard myself talk, there was a growing part of me that was observing myself and thinking “so what? You sound like a raving lunatic. Look at this body! Damn, boy, just look at that muscle!”

Sleeping on it, man, that twink brain of mine must have collapsed even further. I woke up and I just wanted coffee with a splash of alcohol in it, so that’s what I got. Then I added two splashed. I had already stripped out of my shredded pink t-shirt, and my friends had some loose boxers that fit me, but I was just this naked, muscular stud in awe of his own body and trying to come to terms with who I was now.

I was seeing my friends with new eyes, too. They seemed anxious to me, weak, full of nervous, overly feminine motions, jittery, immature, skittish and mostly just kind of fucking annoying. “Those are your friends,” I’d remind myself. “This isn’t you who’s thinking this.”

But that growing part of me was thinking “This is you. This is all you, stud. You’re so much better than them. They don’t even know you’re thinking this, and if they only knew, they’d probably be terrified.” That thought made me want to laugh out loud, so I did.

“What are you laughing at?” one of them asked.

“Oh, nothing man, nothing,” I said, looking away and scratching my head. “These are your friends,” I told myself again, but I didn’t really seem to believe what I was trying to tell myself that morning. “So what if they’re your fucking friends,” my new mind was saying. “They’re fucking losers, man. Don’t let them drag you down. You ought to just get out of here.”

That morning, I was feeling just hornier and altogether more fucked up than I’d ever been. I was thinking, nah, this can’t be the new me. I’m no motherfucking redneck. I don’t think like them. But already I was feeling excited, having this body, having these different feelings, realising that I didn’t feel like such an evil guy like this, not like I thought I would, anyhow. All I wanted to do at that point in time, I felt like, was get the hell away from these people. I didn’t know to where. I borrowed some shoes and a t-shirt that was so tight it hurt, pleading that I had to get back to my apartment. It felt like the shoes would split, and the shirt was riding up on my belly, as I trotted back to my place.

I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was gonna do. When I got home, I felt thirsty, just wanting to drink a little, feeling like that would make this feel better, even though I told myself no, you have to compose yourself, you have to call people, you have to report this. Just one drink, I thought. It turned into shot after shot, and before I knew it, I was drunk, hard in my boxers, having kicked off the shoes and thrown that tight-ass shirt on the ground as soon.

Then I was beating off, and cumming, and the build-up to that orgasm, man, it flooded my brain with some real redneck juice. I wasn’t thinking of the type of guys I usually did. I was thinking about redneck studs, studs like myself, feeling the drool run down my chin as I beat off. As I came, shooting way up on my pecs, rubbing it in with my hand, I was whispering to myself, almost like a confession that I had yet to voice to anyone, “You hot fucking redneck. Holy fuck, you love this, don’t you. You’re a redneck now. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.”

The desire to live for working out and fucking was already growing in me.

Thoughts were just racing through my head then. I knew I didn’t want to be some lame-ass yuppie or some weak-ass queer, man. I felt this powerful attraction to the redneck scene, the working class scene, the country scene, the military scene, the jock scene, you name it, any scene were men were men instead of the glitter fairy I had been before. I couldn’t quite pin it all down at that point yet, but my thoughts were sure racing.

Can you picture me, getting drunk in my apartment, turned on at my own body and swirling thoughts? And then I started to really know, man. I started to know. There was no going back now. The guy I used to be was a loser. I didn’t want to be him anymore. I was pissed off that I ever even was him.

I walked barefoot into the bedroom, checking out his stuff in the drawers and on the walls. Almost none of it would even fit me anymore. His feminine attire and the way his shithole apartment was decorated disgusted me. It made me want to punch the wall, even, so I did that and it felt good. I saw the paint crack and the drywall cave in. This new body had power.

I screamed then, a roar of pure rage and exhilaration. I punched the wall again, and it felt so fucking good that soon I was ripping all his shit off the walls and throwing it in a corner, ripping that flouncy shit off the mattress and I didn’t stop, screaming the whole while, until the bedroom at least look bare bones enough to resemble something a man would want to sleep in. I’d be damned if I ever let that loser back into this mind.

There were a few flashes, sure, and man was he a crybaby as he went out, as well as one hell of an angry little prick. Lots of hatred in his heart. I’d just laugh and say, “Fuck you!” sometimes out loud as I felt that twink brain collapse forever.

And now, as far as I’m concerned, he’s gone man. No longer a part of me, thank God.

I was nervous at first, when I started trying to hang out with guys I thought I’d have a lot more in common with that my old friends. Would they accept me? I was pretty desperate for acceptance at that point. I starting hanging out at a diner that I knew a lot of them liked to frequent, classic diner that pre-dated even the 1950s, a real antique. But these sexy ass guys would show up there, and soon we got to talking over waffles and hash browns.

Soon I was telling them I was darted, and they were saying that was hot as fuck, wanting to hear the story. Soon I was telling it to them, my legs in the air, sweat dripping down my bearded chin, as I was getting fucked.

Months after that, I was almost fully integrated into the lifestyle, man, and soon I was the one doing more of the fucking, especially after I got these sweet-ass tattoos all over my right arm. Getting fully into it, the desire to be that all I could be as man, hell, it ran in my veins now. I was going to let those commies know that I was better than them in every single way imaginable, and I wanted to show it off. I still get hard just at the thought of that, demonstrating my own superiority in the most tangible – well, to them, intangible, because I don’t want them even fucking touching me – methods available to me.

Yeah boys, it meant war for me, just like it had when I was a stupid twink, only this time I was playing for the other side, and it was chess instead of checkers.

Of course, there’s a lot more to life than just that for me, namely having hot-ass sex with all sorts of country studs and military men, hell, being part of that whole network of strong and powerful men who worship and respect other guys who’ve worked for it. I feel like I’m serving my country and being a paragon of virtue for it even when my legs are slung over some guy’s bull neck and thick, rounded deltoids as he plows the fuck out of me with his long-ass rod.

I had never gotten fucked this good when I was a twink.

I do real work with myself now, a man’s work. I dress like a man, I eat like a man, and I live my life like a man. I’m fucking proud of it, too. I love who I am now, and relocated to the other side of town, too, where the action’s hotter and I have way more in common with most folks.

I am sure glad I’m a buff stud with a thick-ass chest these days, and I don’t ever go clean-shaven. Been really into guy’s pits lately, and getting them to flex for me so I can lick those. Yeah, shit, I’ve gotta stop, because here I’ve got a raging boner just telling you all about that right now. I swear I’m way more horny than I used to be. At least seventy-five percent of the time now, I’d bet, I’m a top these days.

I don’t really like bottom boys, either. Their mere existence tends to piss me off, to be honest, so when I do fuck them I tend to be an aggressive power top. A lot of the time I don’t even think of it that way, though. I just think of them as so weak that the same rules don’t even apply to them. Different rules, in a way, because they’re a different kind of guy than me. Much more like women, unable to control themselves, you know how they are. I used to be one of them, and I’m so glad I’m not anymore, that’s for fucking sure.

A lot of the time I prefer to just fool around with guys such as myself. I love topping another top, having to wrestle somebody for hours in a strength and dominance competition. Gets the blood flowing. I like somebody who puts up a fight. C’mon, son, do you have any idea how fucking fun that is for me now? To meet up and hook up with another guy who’s just as manly as I am? That’s the stuff I live for now. I’m ready to just fuck my life away with hot ass guys at this point.

So, yeah, I’m a top who loves to wrestle with other tops and see who can dominate. I must be pretty good at it if I swear I’m scoring a seventy-five percent these days, but that’s just because occasionally I throw in some twink losers. Yeah bud, even some of these leftists get thrown a bone by me every now and again. They need us, and I like them to know they need us. They wouldn’t know what to do without us.

One of these days, I might even check with one of my army friends and see if I can come along on a mission so that I can dart one of them myself. I think I’d laugh my ass off when my dart goes in his neck or his shoulder, wherever it his him. Just to see the look on his face, shit boy. That could turn a guy on just by imagining it, so one of these days I’ll have to make it legit.

Fuck if I care about the loser I once used to be or what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. My life is better now and that’s all that matters to me.

Hot-ass guys, man. That’s what I live for.