Masculinization - Tumblr Posts

its been found!! id recommend reading it :)

Pre-Homo Sapience

Devolution story at last! It's not everyone's cup of tea I imagine but I think this turned out quite well! Hair growth, mental corruption, muscle growth, and loss of self ahead!

Thanks to all who offered suggestions! Went back to a prompt from one of my older follower celebrations! This story came quite naturally, as it were, haha! Enjoy! -Occam

If they didn’t want him to touch the thing they shouldn’t have simply left it out in the open like that. Chris knows such instructions are typically a given in a museum, but staring at the cut on his hand he is indignant and wishes there was at least a sign up. Surely it should be in a case or something. Feeling the warm blood start to trickle down his palm he looks up at the artifact and almost feels it calling out for him to touch it again. He raises his non-cut hand as it is magnetically drawn to the prehistoric piece before shaking it off and going to get first aid.

Chris plays coy with the volunteers, not wanting to out himself as either a scofflaw or irresponsible dullard. His desire to prevent this from happening to another museum goer fades to the back, well behind his need to appear like a man who wouldn’t try to grab an object older than the written word. To that end he is desperately trying to convince himself that he wasn’t bizarrely drawn to the object, though as the stone shard graces his mind once more the desire to hold it in his hands returns.

After getting his cut bandaged up Chris opts to remain discrete and toss a note in their suggestion box. En route there however he passes the stone shiv and finds it encased in a glass box, one that the cut on his hand proves could not have been there minutes ago. He hand stings as he clenches it and he races up to inspect the display. There’s yet another drive by his hands to grab at the piece only to be met with a cold bump against the glass. Nearby a student eyes him suspiciously and Chris nervously laughs, embarrassment clear on his face.

He takes a picture to research the object later, hopefully to find the root to whatever weird compulsion is affecting him. As soon as he snaps the picture he feels a hot flash, his forehead suddenly  burns as he is overcome by a harsh fever. Through the sudden headache and slight delirium from his still rising temperature he stumbles out of the museum and to his car. Chris’ body goes on autopilot as he barely maintains consciousness on the drive home. Slamming the door behind him he just makes it to the couch before passing out, the last image before an empty unconsciousness being the all too alluring artifact clutched in his bleeding hand. 

Sun streams in through the windows alighting the clothes strewn about the floor having apparently been discarded while he was asleep. Chris stretches and loudly yawns as a sunbeam shifts to land on his face. Blocking the rays as he rubs his eyes and groans, he scratches at his stomach and looks down shocked to have slept in the nude. Covered in dried sweat he stumbles into the kitchen to get a glass of water, reaching for a pitcher he sees the bloody bandage on his hand and the events of yesterday afternoon come rushing back to him.

First Chris sets a thermometer going, fingers crossed he can call out. While that’s on he sets to remove the bandage, where he discovers that whatever oddities happened yesterday are not done with him yet. The cut is completely healed. Rubbing the spot where it should be he finds rougher skin, slightly darker than the rest of his pale palm. Quite the opposite of his standard experience with scars but hey he’s no doc. He grumbles to himself that he’d better not have gotten some ancient sickness from that stupid rock before starting his coffee brewing and sitting down to research said artifact before work.

Chris prides himself on the ease with which he usually scours the internet for information. Though to find anything concrete on this, by all accounts, indistinct piece of ancient detritus is a more difficult mission than he was prepared for. His eyes glaze over as he grows bored from staring at barely significant rocks and pottery sherds. He scratches at his jaw finding he could do with a shave before going to pour himself some coffee. He chews on his lip as his mind struggles to put any two thoughts together in his mind on the matter.

On the way back to the desk he takes a sip of his coffee. Chris immediately gags as the coffee tastes stronger and far more bitter than any brew he has suffered before. He can’t help but spit it onto the floor as he stands there still unclothed. It splashes onto his feet and he grunts in pain, his arms raise in rage though finding no target he limps to sit down and check his burns. His brow furrowing at how he could have messed up his coffee to such a degree. Looking back it tasted like it always has? Just stronger, more intense.

He shakes off his contemplation as he brings his coffee stained foot up into his lap. The skin is obviously red from the light burns but there seems to be no long-lasting damage. His eyes drift from his feet to his hands however as he notices something the most bizarre occurrence yet, there is hair on the back of his hands? He doesn’t know how he’s possibly missed it, there are dark brown hairs spreading out from his wrists, down his forearms and towards his long fingers. He’d almost swear his eyes are playing tricks on him as the hair on his right hand, once bandaged if not cut, looks thicker and darker than that on its pair.

Chris ponders on how unaware he must have been lately to miss the hair on his arms growing at such a prodigious rate. Muttering to himself about not doing enough self-reflection he remains unaware of more drastic changes happening across his body. Perhaps if his hands and feet were not observed at the same time he would notice as all four extremities are larger than when he fell asleep the day before. His wider palms briefly struggled to maintain grace on the keyboard earlier but the lengthened fingers found their marks with enough ease to bury the lede. His feet cover more of the floor than they ever have before and, much like his hands, hair is sneaking down from his ankles and creating a hobbit-esqe patch on the top of them, while stray hairs curl out further on each toe.

His mind is torn whether to get back to researching the artifact or to call a doctor. Before either side wins however he takes a step and promptly steps in the coffee sprayed on the floor. He grimaces in shock that he didn’t clean that earlier, it’s unlike him to make such a mess and not immediately clean it up. He groans and rubs his hands on his face, blaming his befuddlement on the fever while ignoring how his whole wider palm now matches the should-be scar. Both hands are darker and rougher on his face as they scratch against his increasingly thicker stubble and harsher brow. As soon as Chris tosses a towel down onto the mess his alarm goes off and he sees it’s time to head to work.

The man rushes for the door and almost exits before looking down to find he’s only clad in a surprisingly tight pair of briefs. He blushes, embarrassed that he almost left the house nigh-nude. The shock of it all hides how darker hairs curl up from his strained briefs as well as his package bulging out further than ever before. Throwing on whatever is easily grabable in his wardrobe with no thought spared on consistency or fashion he makes excellent time throwing on clothes. He doesn't worry about how much sloppier he looks in the mirror, it’s just stress. He pointedly ignores how his arms inch out further from his long sleeves or how his pants bunch at his ankles as they’ve never done before. He skips socks as his feet fit far too snugly in his oxfords for some reason. No time to shave stubble that even since waking up has spread further up his cheeks and down his neck as he again races to his car.

The drive seems to take longer than usual, though the clock on his dash would disagree. Not usually prone to road rage Chris finds every delay due to traffic far more irritating than usual. His brows hand thick over his eyes, casting shadows that can display nothing but contempt as it almost seems like a ridge is beginning to bulge on his forehead. He grunts and clutches at the wheel as the car in front of him hesitates to go on a green. His jaw cramps from how hard he’s clenching it as he avoids blaring on the horn. Underneath his shirt veins bulge down his forearms as hair begins to grow even thicker underneath them as they begin to put on weight and grow in strength.

He scratches at his chest as his clothes feel only increasingly itchy and tight, “God what is up with me today!” He takes a centering breath as his usually then chest pushes against his button up. With a sign he resolves to stay calm the rest of the drive. Having chilled out at all Chris realizes his hand that’s not on the wheel has strayed and is scratching at his crotch. He bites at his lip as he feels a burning itch there as his pants feel far too tight on his waist and in his crotch. He pretends not to see his cock bulging down a pant leg as he’s stopped at another light. He sighs as he maintains his composure and starts to watch passersby to help the light pass quicker.

Staring out the window Chris’ eyes are immediately drawn to a massive man jogging down the road. His mouth waters as he stares at the man’s muscular body shifts with each step, perfectly bouncing in the air. His mouth is not the only thing to water as he grunts and his cock forces into even more of a bulge as it starts to produce pre-cum in a manner it has never done before. His lust changes to envy as he imagines the freedom of the man, shirtless under the sun as his chest itches once more against his wretched garment. The car behind him honks as the light above him changes to green and Chris sees red, his arms again flex and the top button of his shirt pops open as something new burns in his chest. His foot accidently presses harder on the brake before shifting over as he speedily jets off.

Arriving at work just on time he rushes in the door, unfortunately unaware of the sweat-stains under his pits or the unmissable spot of precum in his pants were anyone to study his massive bulge. Rushing in the elevator he bumps into a coworker, Jake, who almost bursts out laughing in shock, “Hah! God Chris you look fucking awful!” He grabs at Chris’ arm lift to poke fun at his too-short sleeves, raising his arm and exposing the pit; he instead bats at the air and exhales, “Pwoh dude, you absolutely reek!?” He shifts to look at Chris’ unshaven face and sloppy hair and his expression drops slightly, concern tinting his eyes. “You are alright, right Chris?”

“Uhhh yeah. Little uh, fever.” For some reason Chris was almost struggling to keep up with his friend’s words. The speed at which he moved from observing aspects of Chris’ appearance was simply hard to follow, as soon as he put his mind to inspecting his own arm as his coworker called it out he was laughing at the next thing. Probably for the best, lest anxiety build in his chest and he cause a scene. As his arm is raised Chris smells his own body odor in a way he’s never been able to do before. The idea that you shouldn’t smell your own armpit mid-conversation does not occur to Chris as the scent briefly drives him crazy. He shoves his own head in his pit and takes a few deep sniffs.  His mouth opens as if he’s wanting to lick as his beard scratches against his tighter shirt.

His friend smiles and backs away, “Chris?” Hearing his name Chris snaps out of it, shaking his head a few times to get his bearings he sniffs the air a few times and is shocked as his sense of smell has clearly increased beyond what he would have deemed possible. He smells the cafeteria as the elevator passes it on the ascent. Less appealing than his own musk he can smell Jake’s cologne and beneath that something bizarre. Chris can smell fear coming from the man as readily as he can read it on his face. Chris’ back hunches as his shoulders grow weighter and his upper body bulges larger as he leans in to inspect Jake more closely.

Jake backs into the corner of the elevator seeing something shift in Chris’ eyes. Not so much crazed as curious. Jake’s own curiosity would be piqued were this whole situation not bizarre and nightmarish. Standing almost a foot shorter with his hunch Chris sees Jake cower and he does his best to calm his friend down. Something in his gut compels him to do a wide toothy smile, that it’s the quickest way to appeasement. He raises his arms and backs away from his scared friend and there’s a tear as his clothes rip from the sudden movement.

Jake chuckles uncomfortably and eyes the button for the elevator doors, reaching for one to allow him a quick escape. Chris nervously goes into damage control, everything in his mind screams at him to act normal but the concept of normality seems increasingly alien to him. He waves his larger arms in the air and clears his throat to try and speak, “Jake. Me- I am sick, yes?” Jake covers his mouth with a handkerchief and stops the elevator on the next floor. Talking through his kerchief he agrees, “Yeah, you should work from home today Chris. You’re clearly, um, out of sorts.” 

The doors begin to close and Chris’ eyes light on the control panel. He blinks hard a few times trying to make out which one will keep the doors open so he can talk with his friend. Just before they close he grunts and he shoves out a meaty fist, causing Jake to flinch, “Yes. I go home and work, uhh, there. Good idea. You bring-” Jake steps back and nods fervently, “Yes, yes. I’ll drop off whatever you need just, go get some rest.” 

Chris offers another toothy smile and grunts in agreement as he lets the doors close. He scratches at his head as he again looks at the panel in confusion. Distress fills his mind and anxiety his chest as he stares at the panel knowing this should be a beyond simple matter. Before he touches a button the machine begins moving down and every muscle in his body tenses. More tears shoot down the back of his shirt as he flies into the corner of the tiny room. Hair pokes out from every button in the front as he pants in fear of the sudden movement. Body tight with fear muscle continues to grow heavier on his body, undefined and powerful as he unknowingly nears the ground floor. 

Arriving at the ground floor the doors open and he rushes out falling on his hands in front of the elevator. His eyes are focused and expression clueless as he breathes through his mouth and pushes past a woman about to step into the elevator before she smells the stink inside and recoils, scoffing at the man. Eying the torn clothes she grimaces at Chris, “God are you an animal?!” Chris’ thick brow furrows and he grunts at her, “Me- I- ugh!” With that he sprints as fast as he can away from the business and to what he can only just remember as his car. He kicks off his shoes as they grow painfully tight, his harrier feet race across the concrete as his soles feel increasingly suited to stomping across matted earth.

He pauses at his car’s door for a second hesitating at the method of entry before hopping in and slamming the door behind him. Everything laid in front of him is impossibly familiar, he’s been at this wheel thousands of times. He moves his hands across the leather wheel and tries to force it to turn, grunting as it stays firm. He wrenches at it with all the might he has, sure this is how it must go. He knows how to drive after all. He’s not stupid. His brow grows even heavier over his eyes as his beard thickens with every grunt. His biceps put on the mass of a weightlifter as the wheel jolts and his car alarm begins to go off. 

His car blaring he has no recourse but to punch at the wheel as anxiety grows. His chest heaves with nervous breaths. He scratches at his chest and feels the hair beneath it thicken and curls as it spreads towards his shoulders and up towards his messy beard. His wild eyes still as he sees another man jogging down the street shirtless as he too rips off the tattered remains of his button up. Grimacing at his confined thighs he tears at his torn pants as well, fighting the urge not to bend down and gnaw them off. Hairy thighs unveiled, his hands try to reach and tear off his impossibly tight briefs as well before his chest pangs and his head wrenches back. He can’t do that. He needs to keep them. He twists in discomfort as two impulses vie to this end. His face grows red under his still thickening beard as he is barely able to retain this smallest shred of dignity.

He pushes open the door with his newfound power, only accidentally getting at the handle before down the street. The weight of his upper body, and the apparent shorter length of his legs, puts the idea in his head that his arms could well help him run faster. His heavy knuckles hang low and he barely maintains his mind as he sprints as a man does and makes a better time back than he ever could in that stupid car. He exhales in pride as he gets to the door of his house. It was thankfully left open by his thoroughly less scatterbrained morning self. This time as he worms his way in he leaves it consciously ajar.

His stomach rumbles with hunger and he sniffs to find a suitable quarry. He squints as he smells food behind cabinets, opening them he finds packages of processed snacks and containers unrecognizable as food. Chris grunts as he knocks a few of them off the shelves onto the floor, grumbling as he grows hungrier by the second. After knocking a glass bottle to the floor, the shattering sound returns awareness to Chris’ eyes, grunting out a “Wha-” 

Seeing the mess he’s apparently made he stands back in shock, looking down at his hairy body and thick arms. His cock finally outgrows his tight briefs and his heavy balls hang low underneath a bush hairier than any human should be able to grow. He searches for his cell before realizing he must have discarded it with his pants, “fuck!” he shouts, clenching at his thick throat as his voice resounds a deep bass.

Standing in his kitchen his mind slowly crawls to find any idea worth pursuing as concepts and meaning begin to fall from his mind never to return. His train of thought is interrupted before he can even realize that he doesn’t know his own name anymore. Language begins to fall by the wayside, another thing not worth knowing as his need for food continues to grow. Every groaned word grows thicker and slower in between grunts as his mind dulls and his senses continue to grow more sensitive, “Me… Hungry…” Barely understanding what a fridge is he grabs and pulls at the door and uncovers a packaged pound of raw meat. 

Chris’ mouth immediately waters as he rips into the package and begins forcing it into his mouth with a speed that would make one think he’s never eaten before. Eating is not a ritual but an act of survival. Not nearly full he continues tearing into anything that is obviously food in the fridge. Handfuls of lettuce and fruit follow a jug of milk and at last the man is sated. What was intended to be hamburgers later this week litter the floor around him as milk trails down his sweaty body. Seeing ground beef stuck under his nails and lettuce caught in his dense beard something deep inside Chris screams before it is buried beneath the powerful will of a creature who has yet to develop the ability to understand.

The ultimate task of survival currently conquered, Chris sniffs the air and sets to tackle the next challenge presenting itself. His cock bulges out and his balls pulse with the same primal hunger that rings from his stomach. He grabs at his cock and has a eureka moment more profound than when his kind discovered fire as he feels more pleasure in the moment than in his whole life preceding.

He falls to the floor and immediately begins masturbating, his balls bouncing with every movement, his hips can't help but rut the air as his brain was hard wired to do. Drool drips into his beard from his open mouth as his eyes again glaze over from the sheer pleasure invoked by his mindless pleasure seeking. After finishing he languishes in the less-than cerebral pleasure, feeling every inch of his  powerful body before his cock begins to rise again and in short order he looses another load onto his own hairy torso.

Sniffing the air he has an urge to scoop his own cum into his mouth. Thankfully, for whatever mute anemic shred of Chris’ humanity remains, he is interrupted. His laptop left open from his flight early this morning chimes and his attention is firmly drawn to the mysterious object. The screen displays mysterious characters that he couldn’t hope to read ‘From: Jake omw.’ beside the enigmatic symbols his attention is drawn to the centerpiece of the screen, finally something he can recognize. Smack dab in the middle of the laptop is the stone shiv from the Natural History Museum. Chris’ exhales with interest and fury as he knows beyond a doubt that the artifact is his. 

Chris’ dull eyes shift as he struggles to make even the most rudimentary plan towards retrieving his shiv. He grunts in irritation as he finds the gears of his mind turning impossibly slowly, at the edges of whatever consciousness is to him he suddenly remembers that he saw it yesterday. He knows where it is, he just needs to go get it. His chest burns with excitement and he is filled with the desire to beat at his chest and cheer. He looks around for any tools that could help in his foolhardy mission before impatiently grunting and turning towards the door.

Outside Jake is approaching, blissfully unaware of what impossible horrors await inside besides an unusually slovenly and sick Chris. Seeing the entrance ajar he hastens and drops the paperwork he brought as concern trumps whatever busywork he brought his friend. “Oh Fuck! Chris!? Are you okay!?” Crossing the threshold his nose wrinkles as he smells odors that men have not produced for hundreds of thousands of years. The scene almost stuns him as he sees a creature that has barely a similarity with the man who woke up on the couch this morning. The fridge door lies on its hinges next to a pile of food waste. There are globs of inhuman cum staining the walls as what was once Chris beats his chest now opposed to Jake. 

The office worker can’t use the one advantage he has over the behemoth. Freezing up as his mind goes blank Jake whispers, “God, you look like a fucking caveman.” Jake stands in the door frame, scared and unsure of what could possibly be going on. Chris quickly jumps down to meet him, sniffing him to find a familiar, if not friendly, scent; he attempts to push him gently out of the way. Unaware of the frailty of modern man he instead bowls him over and sprints off into the distance, unconcerned with the man he’s barrelled past or any of the other weird submissive beings covered in mysterious cloth just as he was. He’s got a mission and more than anything he needs to feel his shiv in his hands once more.

Lightly concussed Jake later awakens to find his clothes stained with Chris’ bountiful dinner and, worse than that, his seed. He grimaces and takes off his button up then in there before heading inside to inspect his friend's domicile. Each step within sharpens his senses and dulls caution as his friends' pheromones draw him further in. while initially beyond repulsive it becomes more alluring by the second. Why should Jake be concerned by the sudden itchiness rising across his form. The rising pressure in his crotch as he takes deep breaths is far more compelling. Clothes feeling uncomfortable and constricting, he rips them off and pays no mind to hair darkening and spreading wide, his mind too dull to recognize how he too is changing like Chris. 

Wandering out of the house he smells a fading trail of Chris’ pheromones going off towards the museum, his cock bobs larger in his pants as it  takes everything in his mind to stop from sprinting after him then and there. Shaking off the lust, sensibility returns to Jake’s mind as the breeze cools his almost entirely nude body. He writes off his phone and clothes, sure that reentering would spell his doom he instead sprints for his car. Before any further action though the wind delivers the beyond pleasurable smell of Chris’ approaching. 

What was once Chris barrels down a field ambling between charging on his legs and all fours, slightly scratched from breaking glass with a stone shiv in hand. Having regained his artifact his body has grown in every possible manner. Jake can’t help but lustfully stare as the massive man approaches and his decaying mind has no ability to prevent him from following his desires. He discards whatever remains of his plan to fly and instead bounds towards the brute, with each step his body devolves. Growing hairier as his mind prioritizes only survival and the seeking of sexual pleasure. His cock surging as he nears his friend, his superior, nothing ever to grace his conscious again besides the desire to fuck and be fucked.

Beau Of The Ball

Forced to spend the night in a town he conceptualizes as worlds beneath him, Brock is drawn to the local mechanic by something more powerful than desire. Try as he might to flee he's becoming more of a community member by the second.

Business busybody into something of a loyal country handyman! Quite the doozy, Hope y'all enjoy! -Occam

Someone had to make the trek to Austin and Brock figured biting that bullet for the team would pay dividends down the line. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out why on god’s green earth he had to physically drive there though. Carbon footprints be damned! Starting out he didn’t quite mind the idea, getting paid his rate to just drive is not too bad a deal, but as the hours rolled past it began to lose its novelty. Worse yet, when he crossed the border into Texas he found his car beginning to make a slightly concerning clunking sound. 

Pursing his lips he briefly wonders what could possibly be making that sound in his electric car. Brock swiftly comes to the limits of his car knowledge and throws in the towel. Not wanting to be stuck in the middle of nowhere Texas however, he keeps pedal to the medal and continues speeding towards the capital. Flying into some podunk town called Smoketree, Brock rolls his eyes at their droll cookie cutter town square. They have banners up for some sure to be trite festival happening in the square this weekend that Brock can’t help but laugh at. He struggles to imagine a single thing worth seeing in this backwater redneck speck.

Nearing the edge of town he notices an acrid scent in the air and soon after his vision is fully clouded by smoke pouring from his hood. Memories of scrolling past articles of electric vehicles blowing up he swerves into the shoulder and jumps into the grass with speed he hasn’t neared in years. Covering his ears and damning his boss for sending him into this fresh hell, Brock awaits some dramatic explosion. Instead his car simply continues idling forward a few feet before coming to a stop as it scratches against the guardrail. Something under the hood shudders and the smoke, initially emblematic of a wildfire, quickly pales into steam before slowing to a stop altogether.

Brock scratches his head in confusion, grimacing at the idea of making a trek into the town he had mercilessly mocked to himself. Unhappy about the prospect of asking hicks for help and, feeling how he does about the South, slightly anxious about wandering around a place sure to be less than welcoming, Brock crosses his fingers and makes to grab his phone from the car. Plugged into the charger he finds it dead, potentially short-circuited from whatever caused his car’s failure. “Fuck!” He tosses it into the backseat and storms away from the wreckage, “God damnit!” Ruffling his own hair he struggles through some breathing exercises while struggling to plan some flight from this god for nothing country wasteland.

Soon enough there is the rumble of an approaching truck. It’s followed by the whistle of a driver, “Whooey! Yew sure got yerself into a pickle there young man! Here lemme see if it’s sumthin’ I can give ya a hand with!” The massive truck pulls ahead of Brock’s burned out husk. Ever hesitant about interacting with bumpkins, the executive quickly goes into detective mode. Sure, the man is offering a helping hand but you never know with these small town folks. Seeing a trucker’s union bumper sticker on the vehicle he feels the smallest pang of optimism. Shifting to look at the man himself as he hops down from his raised truck, Brock quickly drills himself to not be outwardly judgemental to him or the shitty town he must surely come from.

The older man sidles over, squinting his eyes as he looks at the busted car while fanning the air as he smells the residual chemical scent in the air. Brock grimaces as the overall-clad man reaches out a hand with a wide smile, “Names Arthur Rhoades!” Patience already tested by the pleasantries while he’s already teetered past the edge of disaster, Brock keeps his disgust at the man’s hand just hidden as he offers his own. He flinches at the strength with which the man shakes his hand and after a pregnant pause offers his own name, “Ah! Oh, I’m Brock. Thank you for the assistance, sir. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about electric cars would you?”

Arthur whistles again and narrows his eyes at Brock’s ride, “I myself am not mucha a mechanic, but my son Junior sure knows his way around ‘m. Howsabout we get yer ride towed on back to our place and see what he can do in the mornin’?” Brock bites his lip and quickly sifts through a handful of answers about how he’d rather die before spending a night in a place where cows outnumber people, but looking back at the small trail of steam still rising from what used to be his car, he sighs and thanks the man for his kindness, “I appreciate the offer sir. I’m sure you can tell I’m quite the city boy, as it were, and would more than make it worth your while.” 

He laughs, patting Brock on the back, “Yer not wrong there boy! Can almost smell it on ya hah! But don’t you worry ‘bout payin’ me nuthin. ‘S the least I can do, host ya for the night. Who knows maybe you’ll like it s’much you decide to stay! Hah hah!” Brock laughs as well, hard enough that Arthur can probably feel the disrespect, though he certainly doesn’t show it. Before ushering Brock into his truck the older man turns and give one last look at the car and does a double take. “You said that was ‘lectric boy?” Brock tilts his head impatiently and nods, trying to ignore another passing thought of denigration that the yokel probably hasn’t seen one before.

His eyes follow the man as he walks up to the side and Brock’s face reddens with embarrassment as he sees Arthur open a fuel door. He stammers over himself swearing up and down that his car is absolutely electric. Brock almost hyperventilates as he runs the numbers in his head and begins to question his own mind. Seeing the man who was already on edge start visibly questioning everything Arthur rushes to comfort, “Must just be a plug-in hybrid right boy? Maybe she’s just needin’ some fuel in the tank if’n youve only only been chargin’ her up?” Brock slowly nods, “Y- yeah it must just be a hybrid.” Arthur ushers the slightly shellshocked suit up into his truck, “Easy fix then I’m sure, now let’s get ya t’ somewhere ya can lie yer head.” He quickly calls his son to tow the car to their place and he starts his truck.

Setting out, Brock tries to not let it bother him as Arthur drives the opposite direction from Austin. Heading back through the town square he looses a heavy sigh and Arthur immediately tries to lighten his spirits, unaware what a torpedo shot his first question will be to the man’s psyche. “So what brings ya to town youngin? Don’t get many new folks round these days?” Relieved at the chance to just be honest Brock quickly replies, “Ah, I was just passing through for work.” Mind back to work he sinks even lower in his seat thinking of how he’s guaranteed to be chewed out after being a no-show at the conference, no matter the circumstances. He’ll just need to let someone know when he gets to Arthur’s, surely they’re not so barbaric as to not have internet. Turning back to the driver he realizes that Arthur has continued talking, presumably about whatever nonsense he thinks their shitty little town has to offer.

Saving face he speaks up, “Ah! So sorry sir, I was uhm. I was thinking about work and totally missed what you said.” Arthur smiles with an empathetic kindness and pats Brock on the leg, “No worries, no worries lad. I’m sure Junior’ll get ya back on the road early in the morn. Sportin’ lad he is! Oh! I hope ya don’t mind but we only got the two rooms, so either you’ll share with Art or ‘s the couch for ya.” His ears perk up at the idea of sharing the room with a man described as ‘sporting.’ Judgmental of hicks he may be, but Brock is certainly not immune to the charm of a rough around the edges mechanic. The prospect is so alluring he almost forgets that the man’s almost guaranteed to be straight, in which case the couch could not be more promising.

About fifteen minutes in the opposite direction of town Arthur turns down a long driveway and into quite the idyllic homestead. Realizing he’s left all his luggage in his abandoned vehicle Brock struggles not to chew a hole in the side of his cheek as he writes an explanation for his workplace in his head. He tries to keep appearances as he gets a brief tour of his gracious hosts, meeting Arthur’s wife and promptly complimenting her efforts on decorating the cabin, earning him a peck on the cheek. He tries to settle his nerves and sits on the couch that’s almost guaranteed to be sleeping on tonight as three of them chat about the town. Inside and away from the car it’s a good deal easier for Brock to pretend that he’s not stuck here without recourse, he almost doesn’t mind the time wasted here.

Though as the couple keep talking up the festival Brock can’t help but be reminded of how little he cares for the rurality of it all. The idea of this shoddy little community having a celebration that appeals to him at all is simply beyond his imagination. “Country life ain’t as bad as ya think there Brock! I’m tellin’ ya, take it slow a few days and you’ll be a changed man! Some things are better than the hustle ‘n bustle!” Brock forces a smile and avoids rolling his eyes as he laughs off the appeals, “Oh I’m sure sir, I’m sure. It’s just so,” he pauses as he struggles to find any good way to say it is a life full of nothing. Before finding an insult eloquent enough to not be insulting Arthur’s wife Martha speaks up. Waving her husband off, she apologizes to their guest, “Oh you don’t let him get to ya dear. He’s just all riled up for the shindig y’know.” How could he not the number of times they’ve mentioned it

Before he’s able to respond, the door slams open and in walks a man that forces Brock’s ajar in a pavlovian response. The cowboy’s almost deliberately styled to make Brock drool, spinning the keys to a tow truck around his pinky. He isn’t sure if his being stuck in this town is making him more attracted to rednecks or what, but Brock can’t help but follow the man striding in like a moth to a bug zapper. He sees the man's lips move to say “Who’s the twink,” though thankfully his attention is so focused on ogling the man, his ears can’t quite hear him, or perhaps he’d have lost it then and there. Turning to Arthur as he gives the lowdown Brock shakes off the stupor and offers forth a shaky hand to who must be none other than Arthur Rhoades Junior.

The man smirks and wipes his hand on his jeans before walking up to and squaring up against Brock. Upturning his chin to nod and stare, taking all there is to see of the city boy. His eyes flicker across every aspect of his being, “Brock eh? Names Art.” His stare turns to Brock’s eyes, not so much making direct eye contact but staring through the visitor. His lips are pursed in appraisal and then he reaches out and takes the outstretched hand, his palm completely enveloping Brock’s before he squeezes. Not so hard as to display his brutish masculinity, but powerfully firm. One that clearly shows who is in charge here. It’s a brief moment, but it irrevocably asserts to Brock that he needs more.

Art’s pursed lips straighten into an expressionless straight line as his eyes shift from intense inspection to bemused invitation before he heads upstairs to his room. Martha and Arthur Sr. glance at each other in some charged way that Brock wouldn’t be able to make out even if his attention wasn’t focused on the hand that Art grasped, still feeling the pressure from being held. Arthur’s voice again cuts through Brock’s bewilderment as he prepares to retire for the night himself, “Well it’s gettin’ dark early here so I’m fixin’ to head to bed. Got blankets in the closet yonder if yer lookin’ to sleep down here in the cold livin’ room. If yer thinkin’ about Art’s room or maybe even seein’ if he’ll take the couch ya probably wanna do so soon, big day tomorrow with the shindig ‘n all!” He walks over to Brock to pat him on the shoulder as the guest tries not to interpret the emphasis Arthur had on how cold the living room was. “We’ll see ya in the mornin’ youngin. Hope ya can have a good rest under our roof.”

Martha walks up and offers him some of Art’s old clothes to sleep in since his luggage is away, “Might be a little big on ya love.” Brock thanks her and she heads off with her husband. Left alone in the living room Brock can’t help but focus on the steps in the room above him, he hesitates at the foot of the staircase. Anxiety about talking with the beyond daunting man should well hold him back from action. In any normal case it would. As the seconds pass though, the air around him grows colder and everything in his body begs for the warmth that he only had the smallest touch of. Clenching his hand he pushes down his fears and ignores the couch he had all but resigned himself to as he walks up the creaky stairs.

Before he even reaches the top, the door to Art’s bedroom opens. Light from inside illuminates the landing, and with it flows the woody, musky scent within. Art’s massive form cuts through the beams as he moves to lean on the door frame, dressed down into a strained wife-beater with one arm upraised to expose his pit as an yet another invitation. He leers down the stairs at Brock just long enough to ensure he’s coming before turning back to strip further. Brock stares at his powerful ass as he almost falls over himself climbing the rest of the way into the room.

As soon as he enters the door closes behind him and Art speaks up, his rough voice rumbling sends a shiver down Brock’s spine, “Wha’ chu want city boy. Might think ya got my parent ‘round yer finger but you ain’t got me fooled.” The executive shakes his head in surprise before quickly backing into the shut door, stammering as he tries to find some foothold. “Might not hear every little thought goin’ on in yer head but I can tell what yer thinkin’.” He slowly approaches Brock, slamming a arm above him on the door as the smaller man just gets his hand on the handle. “Ya think yer better than us, ‘s that it? ‘S not all though huh.” He in close to Brock’s ear, his thick mustache rubbing against the man’s cheek, inflaming his passion all over again as it takes everything in his mind and body not to turn to jelly, “can’t right help yerself huh.”

His mouth curls into a grin as he grips Brock’s face, his hand easily covering most of Brock’s head. “Yer fuckin’ obsessed with me runt.” He pulls him into a rough kiss that could have gone on for minutes or years with next to no input from Brock as his body fights to not slide to the floor, any thoughts behind his eyes vacate as no higher function could survive the pure lust taking over. Before he knows it he’s thrown onto the bed like a ragdoll. Brock sees nothing but stars as the passion comes to a head, escalating beyond his understanding. Every inch of his from cries with sensitivity and blares with pleasure. He feels spit or cum splatter across his form, pain and pleasure become one in ecstasy as he is nothing but a sack of nerves for Art to play with.

Once the mechanic is done with him he feels something tight secured on his head and hears the man grunt out in a manner nearing affection, “See ya in the mornin’ pardner.” His dreams are a blur. Rushing through woods on four-wheelers, hunting with Arthur and Junior, home cooked meals made by Martha. He feels the rough hand of Art that he’s so intimately familiar with now in his own, but it feels almost smaller than it should be. He grunts in his sleep and in the realm of dream it sounds deeper to his ears. He looks down at his hands and sees them oil covered, rougher, and impossibly large. He turns his head to see Art smiling at him with a bestial grin. He awakens with a start, face down in Art’s bed sweat, drool, and cum crusted across his form.

“Jesus fuck man!” He hears Art’s snoring come to a stop as the massive man grunts in response. He turns to look at his plaything and Brock sees the same animalistic grin that woke him up grace Art’s face. Brock rolls off the bed and shock and feels his own face, stained with stubble that should have taken nearly a month to grow before their night together. He wrenches the camo hat off his head and hurls it against the wall, “What’d you do ta me ya-” he grasps at his throat, feeling the same stubble has inched down his neck. He feels an adam’s apple three times larger than what he went to sleep with bounce as he swallows in fear, “Ya- you monster!”

Art rolls over, keeping the same smile on as he looks down on the man once more, “Weren’t complainin’ last night bud.” Brock’s eyes follow him as he gets up to stretch, feeling his cock immediately harden as he traces the mechanic’s powerful curves, his face reddens with rage at himself. He sees Art scratch his ass and pits as he feels what must be similar itches rise across his own body, fearful of any further inspection he stands and stamps his feet, “Now you listen here, Bud. I want out of this town, now. If ya don’t- ugh. If you don’t take me to my car now I’ll-” Rolling his eyes Art puts a finger to Brock’s mouth to shut him up and he’s powerless to do anything but obey, “Now listen here, Breau-” 

Art continues speaking but Brock is unable to listen after Art says the name. Breau, it sends a powerful shiver down his spine. It’s like Art hit a reset button on the man. Judging by the blank eyes it’s clear he’s not listening so Art simply turns away and grabs some clothes, sniffing them to see if they’re dirty before just shrugging and throwing them on anyway. He grabs a stained shirt and some shorts and throws the clearly stained outfit at Breau, aiming right for the eyes glazed over. Knocked over with the force he simply lies back and inhales and bathes in the dried musk on the dirty laundry. Feeling his cock grow large enough to strain his shorts he moans and the unfamiliar sound brings him back to his senses, “wha- now gahd-damnit!”

Art laughs as he hears Breau struggle with the new dialect on his tongue, feeling his own heart rate quicken at the idea that he’ll continue to fight against it, not knowing the foregone conclusion. He sees the man’s hands hover near his bulging cock barely holding back from masturbating then and there as it pulses with his heartbeat, clearly exposing pubes darker and thicker than the city boy has ever let them get to before. The mechanic sprays a cloud of axe in the air and walks through it before heading out the door, calling back to Breau, “Now you throw sumthin’ on before headin’ down. Don’ chu be indecent to yer hosts Breau.”

Breau clenches his jaw and tries to ignore the new power he feels surging in his neck, paralleling just about everywhere else on his form. He looks for his suit hoping to just throw that on but his clothes are nowhere to be found, he can’t tell if it’s anxiety or pleasurable anticipation prickling under his skin as he thinks about wearing Art’s clothes. Looking down to see muscles bulging under his skin with every movement his balls pulse and he realizes he needs to cover up now. He goes through Art’s room trying to find the cleanest outfit he can muster before following the man downstairs.

Racing down the stairs he’s just in time to see Art hugging his mother goodbye, something uncomfortable flutters in chest and Breau grumbles under his breath low enough to not hear an accent steep every expletive. Arthur makes his way over to his guest and throws his arms around him, “Well seein’ as my boy’ll get yer car fixed up in no time this’s more than likely goodbye, son! Hope ya didn’t mind our ‘ccomidations too bad. Hope ta see ya again some day y’hear!” Breau is surprised at how overly familiar the man’s hug is, it should be awkward enough to make him squirm out of his skin but it’s like he’s been hugged by the man hundreds of times. He doesn’t even think about the fact that Art’s father hasn’t commented on his clearly changed appearance as he instead goes to hug the man back, pleasantries staining his tongue alongside the accent, “No trouble at all, Art ‘n I had a great time.” Blushing as the memories of their steamy session burn to the front of his mind his voice cracks, “Uhhh, thank ya for yer hospitality Da- er, sir.”

Arthur pats him on the back and nods, wiping his own mustache as he sets for the door, “Well see you boys later, me ‘n the missus are off to get ready for the jamboree tonight!” Martha does a little excited dance at the door before waving off their guest as well, “Besta luck with yer car now Breau!” His head twitches as Art’s mom uses the name he only just realized he has been identifying with since Art first said it. Art closes the door behind them and goes to grab a beer from the fridge. Breau quickly throws his body at the mechanic to stop him, knocking the beer out of his hand, “Now what’re ya doin’ Ugh! What do you think you’re doing Arthur Rhoades!” Grimacing at his can on the floor and the man calling him by his full name he just sighs and looks Breau up and down, “Still think yer gettin’ outta dodge do ya? Look at yerself.”

Breau struggles to ignore his words as he feels abs and a chest that have never been begin to fill a tank top that never should have fit him. “Where’re- are your keys, you hick.” Art’s eyebrows raise in surprise at the fight left in the man and whistles as he picks up his beer and promptly shotguns it, releasing a large burp before pointing at his truck’s keys. “You wouldn’t mind drivin’ now would ya?” Breau grunts and pulls at Art’s shirt as he goes for another beer, the large man smirks at the ease with which Breau pulls his massive form, eying the larger hands and veins pulsing along his thin arms as they gather all the strength with him.

Breau hops into the driver’s seat of the tow truck with ease and familiarity he shouldn’t have and starts the engine. Swiftly, the pair are off down the road before Breau realizes that he’s driving stick, his eyes grow as wide as Art’s smirk at the realization, “Yer a natural at this Breau, jus’ give in. It’ll be so much easier.” One of his rough fingers traces a bulging vein on Brock’s arm, “‘Sides, ya can’t tell me last night wasn’t the best fuck of yer life.” Breau struggles to tune out the man’s words but the still growing bulge in his pants makes it clear that his mind is flashing back to the pleasure beyond pleasure he enjoyed, perhaps for the best, lest he realize he’s driving to Art’s shop with memories he shouldn’t have.

Approaching the shack he sees parts strewn about the yard and a few hunks of junk that must be passion projects parked in a line. He quickly shuts off the truck and tosses the keys at Art before storming out of the vehicle and looking for his car, “What’d you fuckin’ do with by ride bitch?” Art slides out of the truck and meanders up to the man, chin upraised he grimaces at Breau’s rage, “Y’know I’m thinkin’ you should mind yer tongue. Yer talkin’ like someone who's about a foot taller ‘n ya.” Suddenly everything within Breau comes to a boil, he rushes at Art. 

In response the mechanic hoists him into the air by the neck of his wife-beater. He makes direct eye contact and both men feel the tension between them, as well as that in their pants before Breau forces his feet back to the ground. His whole body lengthens over a foot in height in over a second and his arms try to grab at the larger man. The smug grin of a winner returns to Art’s face as he opts to just push Breau away with his leg, keeping hold of his shirt as it tears off him. He slides into the dirt and it sticks to his sweaty back as he convulses with a level of anger and energy he’s never had to deal with before, surely a side effect of the massive balls bulging through his shorts. Art laughs at the man struggling as he pushes himself up, his body vibrating with a desire to enact violence.

Torn between impulses of fucking and fighting Breau can’t control himself in the slightest. His arms desire, lust, need to swing, to hold, to scratch at the man who is just leering at him with a confidence unfounded. He charges again but trips over his longer legs and Art calmly steps out of the way. Seeing red he stumbles back to his feet and charges once more, exhaling through his nose like a bull. This time Art catches him flat out, stumbling back a step but still maintaining complete control of the man. The smile disappears from his face as he leans down to whisper, “Now, clearly yer dealin’ with new hormones coursin’ through ya, but if yer gonna act like an animal we might need to have a change a plans hm?”

Breau’s eyes indeed flicker around like he’s an animal in his trap. Everything in his mind cries out to fight, to flee, to fuck with not a single higher function speaking up. Unable to process thoughts let alone produce words Breau takes heaving breaths as his chest tries to expand, feeling his sweaty body against Art’s he calms down and his mind fights against the lust and anger driving him, “What, what do ya want with me.” Art turns Breau to a small outdoor gym he has set out in between some workbenches and lets him go jutting at the area with his head, “Go work off some of yer energy ‘n get back to me. ‘N we’ll see ‘bout yer car.” Immediately feeling feels every muscle fiber in his being cry out at the challenge, the desire to be even more powerful sends him barrelling to the meager set up.

Art goes to a fridge in the shop and grabs another beer as he watches Breau mindlessly exercise Smirking as he imagines the mileage he’ll get out of every expanding muscle in the man. Picturing pecs as large as his own and biceps that might even be able to hold him down one day. He scratches at his stomach as he looks around the yard trying to remember which car even was the man’s. Turning back to see pounds of muscle piling onto the man he wonders if he’ll even remember that he was some pansy executive by the time he’s done working out his anger. Judging by the expression growing even duller with each rep he’s not even sure the man will remember his own name.

Breau isn’t sure if he’s done two sets or thousands, everything within him burns with years of pleasurable soreness. He feels his cock bulge through his shorts as each rep drives him even deeper into bliss. Pre stains his briefs and sweat drips so fully across his form it’s like he’s in a rainstorm. The exercises drive him so deep into mindlessness he indeed forgets his anger, his balls instead cry out for release that he knows only Art can bring him. Art Rhoades, he looks up to see the man and sucks in the drool that has apparently been streaming out of his mouth this whole time.

He saunters over with a new gait, not used to the larger cock swinging between his legs, and speaks up to the man, “Done gettin’ ripped. Can ya fix my car now.” His head twitches to the side as he feels something is off about the way he’s speaking, the idea graces his mind that his voice just sounds even deeper which turns him on even further. Ignoring the question, Art tosses him a beer and gets to his feet with a groan, beckoning Breau follow him into the yard. Absolutely ravished having grown exponentially in every regard he finishes the beer in seconds before grabbing himself two more from the fridge, burping as he trails the man he can now only think of as a ticket to endless pleasure.

“You remember which one of these beauts was yers Breau?” The theoretical executive looks across the yard, littering the empty cans behind himself as he rolls his eyes at the dumb question, obviously it’s uh. He squints as he struggles to even find a car, it was a hybrid right? His face twitches at the idea, as if he’d drive some pussy shit like that. Nah obviously he must be drivin’ the biggest tanker here yeah? He scratches his ass and Art just smirks as he walks up to a large truck missing a tire, and points to it, his mouth lolling open as is its default state. Art bites his tongue to prevent from bursting into laughter at the idea of that puny man hopping up into that rig. Keeping it under wraps he saunters over and feeling generous gives the man one final out, “You sure about that hun?”

Questioned, the conviction in Breau’s chest only grows as he puffs up his chest with pride. He checks the back seat and smirks as he sees a bag filled with his belongings, tearing it open hoping to find a laptop for reasons that escape him; he instead finds a toolkit, some lube, and old work clothes. Still, each object in the bag is unquestionably his. He tosses the bag at Art with a smirk, “Uhhh, obviously I know my own truck ya fucker, tryin’ get me all confused like!” Art laughs it off as he begins his victory lap. The whole thing began as some karmic payback and all but fuck, if he ain’t excited at the prospect of having someone on his level to fuck around with. Though he bites his tongue as deep in his chest he desires something more meaningful than that.

Art tosses the bag to the ground and looks over at the missing tire and scoffs at the oaf, “Now Breau, surely ya don’ need my help puttin’ a tire back on yer truck?” Breau’s face reddens with embarrassment at the idea and he pushes back at the man now only slightly larger than him. His pride challenged, he quickly runs over to a workbench to grab a tire wrench, Art watches new muscle and fat bounce on the man’s body as his whole form jiggles with power, before moving to wheel over a tire. Breau stumbles running back as his mind begins to fill with the proprietary knowledge of mechanics that any handyman should have, grease stains his shorts and oil his hands as he forgets corporate boardrooms that had already fallen by the wayside.

In no time at all he’s under the truck, shooting off the flat with a haste and finding another problem to fix while he’s under there. Every word out of his mouth drips with an accent deeper than any of the Rhoades’ “I knew t’wasn’t just a tire yew ass! Mah whole strut’s fucked up!” Art watches as the man appraises and immediately sets to fixing the issues found, smirking as the man scratches his exposed pubes in between drilling and sniffs at the forest of hair in his pits that somehow overpowers the smell of metal and motor oil in the air.

Art offers a helping hand that the man in his confidence didn’t ask for and the pair quickly get the truck up and running with ease. They work like they’ve done so for at least a decade, and as sweat runs down one of them onto the other their minds shift to make it clear they have. The job said and done Breau quickly turns his mind to another car on the lot and Art shrugs as they start hammering away at another job that has long been left on the back burner. Working the day away, eventually Art has to step in and convince his new partner to throw in the towel.

The sunset’s beginning to crest over the horizon and Art gets a text from his folks asking when the pair are to make their way over to the festival. Art is uncharacteristically nervous as he looks to Breau, fearful of flubbing so close to the finish line. He clears his throat to calm his voice, lest there be a quiver, “‘S a shame yer not gonna be able to make it to the festival tonight eh Beau.” The oiled up man shakes as he hears the name, his name, who he is, shift one final time. The itch of his pubes races up his abs as he nears the virility, the power, of his partner.

The strength and muscle of the man  who forced him against the wall, ragdolled him onto the bed, hoisted him into the air, bursts into his own arms as there's the sound of a fabric tearing, bones cracking, in the air. His bulge expanding to a size that his underwear could never hide, he smirks at the idea that he’d ever wear them anyway. Always been more of a commando guy. Every muscle in his body vibrates with energy as he surges even larger, hair rapidly covers his pits before spreading beyond them as his beard curls even thicker. Sweat drips down his body, wetting his pants and sending an itch down his ass that makes it clear that no inch is spared from his new hirsute masculinity. He grunts as the idea of missing the festival fills him with a greater sadness than he’s ever felt before, “Now why’d I ever go ‘n do a thing like that there Art.”

Suddenly a devilish smirk forces itself onto Beau’s face as his mind changes from affection and back to a lust uncontrollable as his balls surge even larger and he again charges at Art. This time tinged with no existential anger as he knocks the man to the floor. Art smirks as he feels himself pinned to the ground and the two begin wrestling in the dirt, their powerful bodies in a dead heat as they frot in the middle of his lot. Their messy beards wet with spit as they engage in an even sloppier session than they had the previous night, with each thrust Art finds more power within Beau than he has felt from even the most masculine fuck he’s enjoyed previously. 

sees the look in Beau’s eyes he’s filled with confidence, and he’s splattered with cum. After hearing both their phones ring the two men call off their heated session and quickly struggle to seem like they weren’t in the middle of having marathon sex as they answer to hear both of Art’s parents. Beau doesn’t stop to realize his phone is again functioning, and also a far older generation than the one he once preferred. After all he doesn’t need all that fancy shit to get his job done anyway. The two hop in Beau’s recently repaired truck and race to the Rhoades’ residence, Art is shocked to find a full size cabin now built next door to his parent’s house before he sees Beau saunter into it with a confidence and pride that answers all of his questions.

After a moment he races to follow the man, his other half inside and is struck with his new life. He assumed he was holding all the cards but clearly that’s not the case. Looking down at his own body he finds he is not without his own changes, having similarly grown in virility he chides himself for thinking with his balls so much before he is again chided by the man stepping down the stairs. “Didja not hear yer mom on the phone Art! Get fuckin’ ready so we can get down there before yer folks blow a gasket!” 

Art takes the little moment he can to observe all the new perfections of his apparent life. He stares at Beau’s sculpted chest, the pattern of perfect hair trailing down his body like fur. Massive thighs filling jeans to their max and a bulge that tells everyone he’s a stud in between them. Art blushes as he rushes into their shared bedroom, unaware as his step grows heavier with every footfall, his own chest straining the tank that was only just hanging in there. He quickly puts on an outfit matching Beau, almost forgetting to throw back on his silicon wedding band before racing back into the living room and draping himself around his husband’s shoulders.

Beau acknowledges him with a grunt and juts his chin towards the door. The two head off towards the city center, Beau’s head filled with affection for the man to his left and for the town of folks around him. Art is blissfully unaware of the two way street that clearly dulled some of his own edges as the pair step out into the festival and begin throwing down in a line dance, as they do every year. Beau moves with precision and joy as he celebrates his favorite place and favorite people. Can of beer raised high as he shows off to a crowd adoring.

Constantly stealing glances of each other the husbands are uncaring as everyone in the town square also has their eyes on the pair, such a perfect match it’s no wonder they are the celebrities of the little town. Martha and Arthur Sr. watch blissfully, beyond overjoyed that their son has finally found a man for himself, and the city sighs as the two men take turns showing off at every turn. Beacons of Smoketree pride and Southern hospitality in only the best of ways. Ever striving to better themselves and their town and always trying to one up their other half.

Roommates’ Trivial Tiff

Pretty standard nerdy asshole to himbo TF, who doesn't love some cosmic justice ! -Occam

“You just don’t understand what it’s like dude. You have no idea how hard all this stuff is for me.” Brock was struggling to get through to his roommate, someone he has time and time again been more than cordial with. In response Harvey scoffs and rolls his eyes refusing to engage and instead doubling down, “I’m sure it’s real difficult with all your paid tutors and your-” 

“You’re not even listening bro! You like to think you’re so elevated, like you have all the answers but you don’t even try to understand what anyone else is going through.” Harvey grimaces and briefly tosses about whether or not this is true but stubbornly neglects to internalize the criticism, “Uhh, I do too?” Brock bites his tongue to prevent just blowing up at his roommate and instead he tries a different angle, “Oh yeah? If that’s the case then, bet you know a lot about me huh? Since we’ve been roommates for a year now,” pausing as he narrows his eyes briefly at Harvey, “and ostensibly we’re friends right?”

Harvey struggles not to display his ever present irritation as he retorts, “Of course we are, uh, dude.” Brock does a better job hiding his intentions as he issues a challenge, “so if we were to say, quiz each other you think you’d come up on top lil dude?” With this gauntlet laid there is little recourse in Harvey’s mind but to accept it, there are few times he enjoys showing off so much as in a trivia contest. So what he might have a less than pristine record of respecting oafs like his roommate, he is certainly not to lose in any battle of the wits regardless of topic or stipulations there may be.

Brock puts out his hand and states the stakes, “You can of course bow out whenever, but uh, how about every question the winner takes something from the loser?” Harvey was resolved to win before hearing the terms and is now spitefully even more eager now as he eyes Brock’s side of the room looking for whatever his prize is sure to be.

Without any further clarification Brock promptly launches into the game, “I guess we’ll start real easy yeah? Only fair.” Harvey feels resentment start to brew as he feels he’s being talked down to as Brock goes on, “For starters then, What’s my major?” Harvey audibly gulps and feels his face blanche as he scrambles to find such an incredibly simple answer. This is such an obvious and pressing piece of information it would be impossible not to have it on deck.

Seeing the hesitation Brock laughs incredulously, “God dude are you kidding? How could you not know this, I-” He shifts his jaw waiting for the second shoe to drop as it is suddenly clear he is about to clean house, this asshole is going to learn respect by hook or by crook. Harvey’s eyes that were just hungrily looking through Brock’s possessions now retread their path, searching for the answer, his eyes linger on some sports bandages and protein powder and he kicks himself for forgetting. “Well duh dude, you’re doing a sports medicine or a trainer degree or whatever. Sorry that I forgot what the proper name is, it’s not exactly high in the list of things I need to know.”

Brock stares down at the clueless nerd before him and slowly shakes his head. “Not even close Harv. It’s-” Before he can finish though Harvey stands and shouts, “Don’t fucking call me that! I bet you don’t know mine either!” This leaves Brock aghast, he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, “Of course I fucking do! You never shut up about it! I’m lucky if my headphones can block out you whining about homework while also constantly talking yourself up! It’s so, fucking, annoying!”

Hurt by this despite his typical apathy to others Harvey starts up once more, “Okay but you didn’t say-” “Computer Engineering.” Harvey blushes in shame, not over his disrespect but of getting the question wrong. Suddenly there’s a hum in the room and the shadows in the corner grow darker and Brock looks around, “Well I suppose that question really tees me up on what to take huh? I’ll take your major.”

“Wha?” caught on the other foot Harvey blinks and sees that his textbooks and assignments are suddenly piled on Brock’s desk. He feels anxiety rise in his chest unsure of what has happened though confident this must be a prank or something. “No no no that can’t be right? What is happening?” He then returns to look at his roommate once more, a scowl plastered on his face as Brock who, despite his impressive stature always aims to present as kind and gentle, cannot help but smirk as he feels he has gotten one over on this jerk.

He stretches, exposing his midriff and flexing  his arms behind his head, perhaps to try and allure or intimidate Harvey, he’s not sure, but Harvey is not going to just take this sitting down.Though at the present, he is too uncomfortable to even vocalize his discomfort as he stands there trying not to shake. Instead Brock begins once more, “Urgh kinda see what all that complaining was about now Harv, kinda got a lot on my plate now hah!”

Harvey stares daggers at his roommate, “Brock I don’t know what kind of nonsense is going through your dumbass ox brain. But it’s not funny, I’m sure you’re used to bullying little g-”

“Excuse me? I’m a bully!? I know you’re not saying that, I go out of my way to be kind, even to little chip on their shoulder assholes like you. I just,” Brock takes a deep breath and flexes his jaw before he continues. “It doesn’t matter actually. I trust you have a vested interest in trying again though right? Surely you want your major back?”

At the moment Harvey is caught between the idea that this is some kind of Christmas Carol-ass dream where he’s supposed to learn a lesson or once more that this is just a prank by Brock. Amenable as he’s always been, Harvey's convinced that behind this lunkhead is the vitriol of the typical jerk jock. In this impossible chance that this is reality though, he can’t just give up his major. He needs it to be an, uh? God what was, no what is his major anyway? 

Harvey looks around in shock as he suddenly can’t bring his current course schedule to his mind, but he was literally in class this morning right? He feels his coursework draining from his mind as fear and rage begin to rise in his frail body. Images of lecture halls and professors flash through his mind before they just as swiftly dissipate, somewhere within him deeper than memory he feels that he was studying something with numbers. Mathematics, physics, engineering, something he was good at. He is determined to get that back as he speaks up finally, “What is the next question.”

Brock smiles and toys around in his head, confident that he will end up on top. “How about you pick this one, give you a fighting chance.” Harvey purses his lips and struggles to produce a question that he knows the answer to that his roommate will not. Oh duh, he’ll just ask him a math question, easy! Certainly not the aim of the game but Harvey just needed to get his life back. “What’s a derivative.” 

“Kinda not in the spirit of the game dude but whatever. I took calc you know. It’s the rate of change in response to a variable. Now since you’re still being an ass how about I lob one back? How about you derivative 𝑓(𝑥)= 2cos⁡(𝑥)−6sec⁡(𝑥)+3?” Harvey is flat stunned, this is some entry level shit but he cannot for the life of him bring the information to mind. He’s just as sharp as he always has been but anything beyond rudimentary trig is continuing to trickle out of his mind. He meekly chuckles out, “uh easy, it’s f(x) equals, uh tan-”

There’s a blaring in his head as both men are aware of his immediate slip up. Energy once more rises in the air as Brock looks down almost pitifully at his roommate this time. “Now I am sorry for this Harvey but, oof that course load! Like you so relish to say, I am just not that bright hm?” Harvey shakes his head as he realizes the horror about to occur. Brock looks a little uncomfortable as he continues, “After failing to pull your little gotcha, I think I’ll just go ahead and have your intelligence.” 

Both men are instantly struck with headaches the likes of which neither could endure under normal circumstances. As soon as the pain arrives though it is converted into a deep profane pleasure. Pins and needles fill Brock’s mind as it becomes heavy. Ideas and understanding fill his mind as a euphoric warmth flows through him. Harvey had enjoyed learning without truly lifting a finger, he had flourished and gained knowledge through no effort on his part but simple absorption. Brock is overcome with the ease at which he will now flow through life. Equally is he overcome by the ecstasy within his body as it only continues to heighten.

Opposite him Harvey clutches at his head as now not only do his learned experiences at university vanish, but all of his capabilities as a student and academic. Even the pleading within his mind slows down as he feels his ability to swiftly process information breaks down. Harvey turns from the man across from him as Brock’s hands feel up and down his musculature in rapturous delight, just in time to see whatever books and tomes he had collected as trophies begin to fade into the aether along with his memories of reading them. He looks down at his hands in confusion and horror, even with his unaddled mind at full steam he could not make sense of what has befallen him. He knows this is not right.

He is unable to find any answers, though as he searches his brain he begins to find a pleasant warmth in the vacuum where there once was knowledge. While his mind has been emptied, the bulge in his crotch demands his attention, which shall likely be a constant issue now that his mind shall evermore be less than preoccupied. He feels his mouth start to fill with drool as he looks down at his cock as it almost feels larger than it should be. He almost laughs at the idea that from now on he may fully be thinking with his cock. He opens his mouth allowing drool to spill out which shocks him back to sense and he turns around to demand that Brock return this all to sense immediately.

Brock for his part is reclined in a chair just rubbing his cock over his shorts almost forgetting about what they had been doing not seconds earlier. He laughs as he sees the expression on Harvey’s face, “Woah dude sorry about that, got lost in my own mind for a second there! No wonder you had, or have rather, such an attitude problem. It all just came so easy to you didn’t it? I mean we could keep going if you want, what else do you have to lose yeah?” Harvey wipes the drool from his face and takes stock, he can still read, he is pretty confident he still passed high school, he remembers his life before whatever hell is currently happening as well as whatever this new reality is. He nods his head and pushes his erection down as it continues to rise upon seeing his roommate’s cocky repose. He answers, “let’s keep going. Your question right?”

Harvey can’t help but trace Brock’s traps as he shrugs, “If you insist lil bro. What’s my middle name?” He knows this one for sure, he would bring it out to tease his roommate as needed. Brock slams his arm down in excitement and shouts, “fucking Laurel!” then he recalls this is only half the battle, Brock must also get his wrong, “what’s mine?” Brock smirks once more and laughs as he stretches to scratch his back, his roommate hungrily staring, “you don’t have one dude”

The energy rushing between the two men is drastically different this time. Unlike the pleasurable prickles of knowledge or the soothing burn of loss there is a direct, deeper connection between the two. Brock’s grin grows wider as understands, “Oh I getcha, question’s a tie so we share the spoils Harv. Only fair that since you’ve the mind of a what, meathead? May as well have the body of one.”

Harvey watches as his roommate takes off his shirt, he feels a warmth in his chest as he stares directly at Brock’s pecs. His breath catches as he watches his roommate flex them and he feels a nervous energy begin to surge within his own. He’s never had pecs before but he feels his chest pushing, growing, into his shirt. He sees his nipples harden and grow too large to ever hide as his chest expands. His swallows to stop from drooling once more as he sees Brock pose and flex his massive biceps, forcing a burning delight down the whole of Harvey’s arms. He matches the pose of the powerful man he has spoken nothing but ill of and flexes, sweat immediately staining through his shirt as the energy and strain heats his body beyond reason.

At the same time both men drop into a crunch, there is a loud tear as the pants of both men tear as they reach the lowest point in the crunch as Harvey’s ass bursts larger and his thighs swell with strength well enough to carry his increasingly top heavy torso. Not only is Harvey to gain the muscle of a tight jock, but the masculinity expected. The cock he has been til now proud enough of pulses with his heartbeat, with each pump it gorges larger, veins thick as the ones surging down his biceps force his cock thicker and further down his strained shorts. He tears at his pants to free his bulge as his balls bloat to the size of eggs, they pull tight ass they’re exposed to the air and all the soreness, strain, and pain of his still growing body becomes agonizing delight.

Harvey’s eyes water as he struggles to even stay cogent with the pleasure and power coursing through him. He smells his new musk breaking through his senses. Through the burning bedlam across his body he feels a soothing burn as hair begins to sprout and thicken where every man should make clear his masculinity. His pubes thicken and curl beyond his waistline and his pits grow wild and begin to spread to make it clear they, nor his musk, can ever be contained.

He lies, sits, writhes, flexes, exists in nothing but pleasure for some time, no longer concerned for his lost intelligence, beyond the care of his education. His hands, larger and painted with still thickening hair, press tight against his body as he feels the new contours of his body. Each new valley and mountain is a testament to the ecstasy he shall now prioritize above all. Until his roommate’s voice breaks through the haze, “Fuck bro you’re really feeling yourself huh?” Harvey’s eyes open to see Brock’s arrogant sneer has only grown worse as he has contendly watch Harvey lavish his new corpus.

Harvey meets it with a scowl and Brock tilts his head, “Want to do one last question then, bro?” His smile grows tight as he tries not to laugh as the appellation of bro has become the paramount definition of this once genius. Harvey just nods his head, still understandably disoriented as he lies in a pool of his own sweat and pre that remains dripping directly onto the floor. Brock motions for him to ask whatever the presumably final question is but is met with a grunt and a wave of the hand. Brock grimaces slightly, “if you insist bud,” he grimaces slightly as he looks down at the man. Asshole he may have be, may still be even, surely there’s something Brock could do to fix even that. He leans to whisper the question in Harvey’s ear, “what color are my eyes.” 

Between grunts, Harvey strains to look at his roommate only to find them obviously closed. His body contorts with pain and pleasure as he feels the throes of defeat and one final lose begin to seize him. He groans out through clenched teeth as his jaw widens and his brows thicken as changes already begin to work upon his mind, “don’t… know…” Brock nods and sits next to his roommate laying Harvey’s head on his lap. At the point it would be a kindness for the man to forget his life before, and that is exactly what he is to do. 

Brock removes the memories and identity of the sour nerd that made life perpetually unpleasant not only for him, but anyone unlucky enough to grace his presence. His breathing speeds up as his body heat rises beyond imagination, sweat turning to steam in the cold dorm room as he shakes his head and clenches his fists. He writhes only briefly, each flex of his body a final protestation of Harvey as Brock erases even his name from his head. 

After a minute of this his body goes still before he opens his eyes blearily and groans. Still lying in Brock’s lap he stretches his arms, turning to smell his impossibly rank pits before turning it into a flex as he must do anytime he raises them. Brock watches this with trepidation, unsure of who exactly his roommate is to be now before suddenly a name surges into his mind, Bull. Perfect fodder for the jerk he once was and an apt name for the behemoth lying on his lap. Testing the waters Brock pats his chest to wake him up, “Morning Bull.”

He yawns and scratches at the same stubbled face he has always known and he sits up, “urgh got a massive headache bro, must have gone pretty hard to have a hangover this bad huhuh! Wanna go grab brekkie and hit up the gym?” Brock stifles a smirk and helps his roommate up to standing, slightly surprised to see him standing taller than himself before responding, “You got it big guy, how about you get some clothes on first though right?” Bull guffaws, looking down at his hairy sweat-drenched body as he throws an arm around his roommate, cock bobbing around in the open air, still chubbed up. “What would I do without you bro huhuh!” 

Brock looks to see all of Bull’s tops have changed to stringers and tanks. Where Harvey had nothing but pants Bull has piles of unwashed athletic shorts, one of which he promptly throws on, going commando. Seeing Brock watch him, Bull grabs at his crotch and juts at the door, “Come on bro! Faster we get a pump in faster we can get back here and have some fun dude.” 

With that Bull again throws his arm around Brock, once more smelling his b.o. as he almost deliberately spreads it on his roommate’s neck, like an animal marking its territory. The two then off to start their day, in Bull’s mind as they always have. Brock feels his crotch grow weightier as the amble down the hall, unsure if he’s made a horrible mistake in all this. Who is he to say what is too far in acts of cosmic retribution. Brock is certain at the end of the day he and Bull are at least to have quite a bit of fun.

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.

Soulmates 2

[Here's a sequel of sorts to my previous story Soulmates (you don't need to have read it to understand this story). With thanks to @guytransformedforever, @beardobession, @tf-vigilante, @maletransformationlover, @clevertreephilosopher, @scorpionofredsand, and @maletffanatic for providing the photos used as inspiration.]

Hello, my name is Tyler. This is me:

And this is my roommate, Dylan:

Now look, I don’t have a problem with gay people. My cousin is a lesbian. And Dylan is a great roommate. Stays out of my way when we’re not gymming together, but is always down to hang when I need someone to talk to. I just wish he would be less in my face with all his gay shit. Rainbow flags everywhere, blasting Ariana Grande at all hours, constantly bringing new Grindr hookups back to the apartment but giving me side-eye when I ogle women. It’s just… too much for me.

Here’s the thing. I might actually be able to change that. I have this friend Evan, who I’ve wingmanned for on a few occasions over the past year. One night, when we were getting drunk together, he shared his secret with me. He has a magic gift. He clasped my hand and said “tomorrow, you will wake up and have this magic too.” And sure enough, the next day I could feel a tingle coursing through my veins, and I automatically had the knowledge of how to channel it.

Now I have the ability to change somebody’s future. I can’t fiddle with anything that’s innate or has already happened to them. Like, I can’t just make Dylan straight. But I can shape his future decisions or actions, and my magic will make alterations to speed the process along. Like if I made him decide to work out more, he would basically become a muscle beast within the week. Not that I’d do that. I still gotta be the alpha here. I just want to make him a little more… palatable. Someone cool to kick back with all the time, even if he sucks dick. Let’s see... I think I know what will work.

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL BECOME OBSESSED WITH SPORTS

———————————

Hello, my name is Dylan:

Sports are my LIFE. I never cared about them much growing up, but about a month ago I felt the urge to join my local queer volleyball team and never looked back. It became my everything. It’s been great exercise, but on top of playing volleyball and getting totally jacked off of it, I’ve loved the sense of camaraderie. I love my team. So much so that I even pierced my nipples on a dare when we lost the semifinals. My teammate River also recommended I stop dyeing my hair, and I think the look is really working for me. For some reason, even though it’s only been a month, my hair has grown out significantly since then. Was the red dye stunting its growth or something? Anyway. I also feel like my roommate Tyler and I have really bonded. We’ve been watching baseball games together and I think he appreciates how into it I am. He says he’s excited to bro out while watching football together in the fall.

I love Tyler, but here’s the thing. Maybe I love him too much. I’ve always had this huge crush on him, and no matter how many random Grindr hookups I try to distract myself with, I just can’t stop hoping that one day he’ll give up women for good and decide he loves me. Especially now that we’re spending all this time together, bumping chests when our team wins and shit.

I know us getting together is never going to happen, but I have this… temptation. I was born with a gift. Or maybe I wasn’t. Something my twink friend Paul told me made me think maybe he had something to do with it. Anyway, I have the ability to reshape someone’s past. I change just one thing about their past, and everything about their present just ripples forward to reflect that change. It’s a delicate art. Changing something big can have huge effects that are totally unpredictable. It’s a major temptation to make Tyler gay, but who knows how he’d turn out. Plus, I think that’s just too invasive.

But… Maybe I could change something small about him. Something that would make him less my type, and allow me to move on and focus on finding a boyfriend who would actually be into me. I’m into nice guys. I really love how kind and caring he is. And come on, he’s a FIREFIGHTER. So maybe I can try…

TYLER GREW UP SELFISH AND SPOILED

———————————

What’s up, I’m Tyler.

You dig the jacket? Yeah, I’m still a firefighter, I’m just off duty. But babes dig whatever look I rock, you know what I mean? I get what I want, and what I want is a lot of one night stands. I know how to get ‘em, too. I’m so glad I made the decision to grow this beard out a year ago, it’s opened so many doors for me. And opened a lot of legs.

I’m getting what I want from Dylan, too. Finally, I have a roommate who’s willing to grab brews and watch the game with me. But I think I fucked up when I changed him. Queer volleyball isn’t exactly “sports,” at least not in my book. I thought he’d come out like a linebacker or something! I mean, nipple rings were never part of the plan. The gay guys seem to really go for them, too, so he’s got an even steadier stream of Grindr hookups coming in and out of the place.

On top of that, I’m a little sick of his shit. He’s always giving me lip about stupid stuff like leaving my dishes in the sink or dropping my unwashed uniform on the bathroom floor. He says it’s unsanitary. Like his parade of twinks aren’t dying to sniff that shit anyway. He just doesn’t get it. I think his volleyball teammates are a bad influence too. They’re all so obsessed with aesthetic and anti-hetero rhetoric. I still can’t make him straight, but I can definitely make him less… annoying.

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL START HANGING OUT WITH MORE STRAIGHT PEOPLE WHO WILL HELP HIM STOP WORRYING ABOUT STUPID SHIT AND BE LESS PRISSY, WELL-GROOMED, AND UPTIGHT

———————————

Yo, I’m Dylan.

Yeah, I cut my hair shorter than the last time you saw me. The upkeep was just getting to be too much, y’know? A couple weeks ago, about the time I dumped that lame-ass volleyball team I was on, I just got bored with shaving every day, too. I invested in a trimmer and now I rock the stubble look, and it’s working for me. I’ve gained a bit of weight since then, and it’s all for the better because I joined my local football league. Having a few extra beers with my new buds afterward just adds to my potential as a linebacker, anyway.

I thought hanging out with more straight people would make me get used to their vibe and kinda inoculate me against Tyler, but I’m still totally obsessed with him. He’s more of a bad boy now, but I’m finding that less unappealing than I used to. Plus, he’s still parading around in his uniform all the time. I can’t help it! I’ve jerked off more times that I can count to his Mr. June photos in the local firefighter calendar.

Whenever I see his mom, she’s constantly going on about how, out of all his Tonka toys growing up, the fire truck was always his favorite. She thinks that’s why he grew up to be a firefighter. Maybe I can change that core memory into something a little more… disreputable. That would definitely make him not my type anymore. I hope.

TYLER’S FAVORITE TOY GROWING UP WAS A TONKA MOTORCYCLE

———————————

Fuckin’ A, man, I’m Tyler.

God, I love my hog. She’s a beaut, ain’t she? My parents wanted me to grow up to be a doctor or a lawyer or a firefighter or some shit, but all I ever wanted to do was ride my hog. Chicks want to ride my hog too, and I let them. As long as they don’t go near my bike! Hahaha, get it? Fuck, I love life. Let me take another drag on this stogie real quick.

Where was I? Oh yeah, my roommate, Dylan. I wish I didn’t have to room with anyone, but my boss at the garage keeps refusing to promote me. I should knock him around one of these days, see if that changes his mind. Anyway, sure, Dylan isn’t so much of a priss anymore. He doesn’t give me shit if I leave my grease-stained clothes on the couch or light up when we’re watching a football game.

But I wanted him to be straight-acting, you know? I tried to train him up as my wingman but he wore a super gay shirt with all these see-through holes to the party, and all the chicks kept their eyes on him the whole time! Fucker. Why can’t he be more like his brother? I’ve seen pictures. That dude is a full on redneck slob, got a Confederate tattoo and everything. I know they had the same backwater-ass trailer trash upbringing, why can’t he be rougher around the edges? You know what… maybe he can!

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL REALIZE HE WANTS TO EMBRACE HIS WHITE TRASH UPBRINGING

———————————

Hey y’all, I’m Dylan.

Hoo-ee, life has been good lately. I dunno why I resisted my good ol’ boy roots for so long. This goatee really makes me look rugged, dunnit? Also the chest hair. So grabbable. I decided to stop shaving my body, and poof! There it went. A full rug, within like two days I reckon. Like a sign from God. This is how I was always meant to be.

I know I was trying to push away my crush on Tyler by making him not my type, but what’s the fuckin’ point? I need someone who can handle me, and this hot as fuck biker dude I’ve created might be the only one who can handle me at this point. I ride ‘em rough and bareback, just like the horses back home, and weak city dudes just can’t handle it.

Will he be the same if he’s not straight? Maybe not. But as long as he can take my eight inches, I’ll keep him around. I vaguely remember having some sort of compunction about changing him so drastically, but I’m too horny to remember what it was.

Fuck it.

TYLER WAS BORN GAY

———————————

Uh… hi. I’m Tyler. Who are you again?

Sorry, I’m pretty forgetful. Daddy Dylan says I don’t gotta remember shit though, as long as I let him ride me as rough and as long as he likes. He’ll do all the rest for me. He tells me where to go, what to do, who to do. There are so many nice, hot guys who are willing to pay our rent if I turn a few tricks. I love it.

I’ve been like this as long as I can remember. My mom and dad kicked me out when I was 18, in my senior year of high school. I was caught sucking my English teacher’s dick behind the locker rooms. I never went to college after that, but it’s not like I was getting good grades anyway. Sucking Mr. Brentmon’s cock wasn’t for my health, you know. He had a nice juicy one, too. I still dream about it sometimes.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I took up with this biker gang for a while after getting kicked out. I’ve always had a thing for bikers. But once they got through using my ass, they got bored. It was hard for a while, but now things are oh, so easy. I get all the dick I could ever want. I have a roof over my head, and no job to worry about. All I do is go to the gym and eat and fuck and I never have to think. Dylan said he might take me out muddin’ sometime too. I don’t know what that is, but anything Dylan does is fun. Fuck, I love the way his goatee tickles my skin when he kisses me, so rough, so manly. Way manlier than I’ve ever been. It’s so fucking hot. I love how he takes care of me.

I really have no complaints. I wouldn’t change anything about my life, even if I could remember how…

Diet Diaries

Hi all! Thank you so much for 500 followers! Here's a little style switch up to celebrate, got a lotta refs in this one and I quite leaned into the diary entries so I hope it's not too much! Hope y'all enjoy this stereotype reversal and as always, best! -Occam

Monday March 21st-

Andy:

I am beyond sick of Steve. Moving in together was a mistake, I don’t care how cheap the rent is, he is a narcissistic slob and I am eager to never see him again. Well no, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. Our R.A. had this idea to try and walk in each other's shoes, which I don’t know? It might not be the worst thing? My big idea was switching diets actually- honestly I’m just hoping if he ate more like me he’ll stop stinking up the dorm. I can dream at least. Literally though he just can’t go to the gym as often if he eats like me. If I'm lucky at the very least his deodorant will last longer, I cannot take another day of his b.o. seeping through the walls, ugh! Anyway, wish me luck! I’m sure this will be a breeze for me, he usually just eats junk anyway, hope he enjoys my salads~

Steve:

Andy that little fucker. He was being such a little bitch to James and now I’ve gotta eat his rabbit food for a week or lose this bet or whatever. Steve don’t lose tho. Lil twink’s gotta eat whatever I make him too and you can bet your ass I’m gonna make him match my macros if I’ve gotta starve myself like he wants. Fuck! This shit is going to absolutely tank my routine! I’ve gotta make Andy give up. I’m gonna go so hard on him he’ll have to hit weights if he doesn't want to blow up like a pig. Maybe then he’ll stop bitching any time I don’t fucking shower every time I get back home. 

Tuesday March 22nd-

Andy:

My Lord! He is trying to kill me! I don’t know how anyone could consistently eat as much as he’s telling me to. I’m so bloated from all this food.. He looks so smug every time he tells me to keep eating, I’m sure he doesn’t eat like this. He’s just trying to break me but I’m not going to let him win this easy.

Ugh, I feel so bloated my pants are so tight on my waist. I didn’t think meat sweats were a thing but man I am needing to put on deodorant like twice a day now and I’m not even exercising. I will say that now that I’m eating so much, I don’t hate the idea of going to the gym. It’s been a while since I went but I should probably at least hit up the treadmill lest I get even more of a gut- maybe I’ll see if he wants to go tomorrow. This is all just an exercise to understand each other more after all, no need to make it a stupid competition like he wants eh~

Steve:

Fuck! I am so tired of Andy’s pussy-ass diet. I had absolutely no energy at the gym today, I told all my bros that I was just gonna take it easy but fuck! I really was working my ass off and I struggled to even meet a PR I set last week. It was supposed to be a push day and I didn’t even get a chest pump! Why the fuck am I still going. I’m abso-fucking-lutely not getting gains on his fuckin’ bitch-ass salads and oats.

Eatin’ like a fucking twink and the fucker has the nerve to ask to go to the gym with me tomorrow. I’ll make sure he regrets that >:) Gonna work him like a horse so he’ll throw in the towel! After feeling how sore actually working on yourself makes ya, he might actually learn something. I’ll turn in early so I can go all out and show him what a real man looks like.

Wednesday March 23rd-

Andrew:

Man! I totally get why Steven eats so much now~ I am absolutely raring to go and get this; He said I could go to the gym with him today! He even seemed like he wanted me to go with him! I feel like I have more energy than I’ve ever had before, I might even try some weights!! I don’t know but I’m so excited! It’s like I can feel my chest and biceps begging me to go and hit some iron haha! Or whatever those “bros” say~ I hope he’s got something good planned for lunch because I fuck Sorry! I just want to show him that I can do all this dude stuff too! I’m a man right? I guess all this protein is making me feel more like a man than usual idk. Either way though I’m ready to go! Hope we have some fun!

Steven:

That bitch’s fuckin’ fru fru salads are ruining my PR’s for sure! I bet he knew that when he begged me to take him to the gym today, knew it was the only time he could show off to me was when I’m so out of it. And he didn't! Just to be clear I could still wipe the floor with  him even if I’m not at my A-game. Ugh, I do gotta hand it to the little fucker though. I KNOW he hasn’t even really set foot in a gym before but man. Beginners luck my ass, as soon as I showed him a technique he lifted like he’s been doing it his whole life! It’s like I could see his pecs and tris swelling up with each lift. Not that I was staring at the bitch or anything but he’s just I just need this fuckin’ diet thing to end so I can get back to my grind, I guess I wouldn’t hate taking him to the gym more often, would be hot to make a bitch into a bro Fuck! What am I writing, I just need to lift again.

Thursday March 24th-

Andrew: 

Bro! Weird? Whatever, I am absolutely on fire! Steven’s diet is absolutely killer! I don’t know how it’s working so well but man I couldn’t care less, I felt like a pro in there! My coaches in school would always shit on me for not trying but man! I was barely trying yesterday but I could tell from the look on Steven’s face that I was acing it! I guess I’ll have to admit to him that he is definitely onto something with his macros but man, not until he gives up haha! Man, I need to chill haha, it’s not like I’m any stronger than I was Monday but man, looking at myself in the mirror it just seems like my clothes are just fitting better. Catching on my chest rather than my stomach y’know? I’ve never noticed that there is muscle on my arms before but man the way my sleeves are kinda hugging my biceps mm. I need to chill haha! Can’t use all my energy before hitting the gym again today!

OH! Also totally weird, I’ve had to shave twice this week! Once last night and then again this morning which is so weird! I’m not complaining though, it’s not like I wouldnt look hot with a beard right? Although my face is a little itchy already, my chest too? Whatever though haha! Time to head back to the grind lol!

Steven:

God!! Andy Andrew is being such an asshole! He’s clogging the sink shaving which I know he would so be on my ass if I had done that. Wait, he did get on my ass for shaving! But it hasn’t been a problem this week, it’s like I’m not even growing stubble for some reason? Probably from not working so hard at the gym, is that how that works? Whatever it’ll be over as soon as this stupid diet thing is. We’re halfway through now. Thank God! Because that fucking twink is starting to stink up the dorm which again!! He was such a little bitch all the time to me about that! It’s like he’s literally stopped using deodorant as soon as he started needing it! He’s never exerted himself in his life and now that his pits are sweating at all he’s suddenly allergic to hygiene, ugh! I saw last night too the fucker fell asleep with his head in his pit too so it’s not like he doesn’t know it. 

It was a little surprising actually, cause I would’ve sworn he was hairless like one of those freak cats but man his pit was as thick as my pubes! Thicker maybe, uh? Man I wish I could get that image out of my head, it’s like the tuft was pushing out further each time he inhaled, man that’s kinda hot? Fuck! I swear this twink-ass diet is making me think like him too. I need to sneak to the gym later, without him. I cannot have him getting ahead even while I’m still on his chickenshit diet.

Friday March 25th-

Steven:

Ah!! That Little bitch! He was already at the gym when I got there! Ugh! It makes me want to punch a wall, or fight him. Or something I dont know! It’s just, he was lifting my body weight on the bench when he saw me, it was so ho ugh! It doesn’t matter what it was, I can’t stop thinking of that smug look on his face- what I would give to wipe it off… That absolute prick knew what he was doing. Ugh, speaking of pricks! He may as well have not been wearing shorts at all by how much his cock was showing through them.

I knew my meal prepping was fucking tight but man, I can’t believe hot its made him. It just really fucking turns me on, or no its such a turn on for chicks. Yeah. Whatever. I need this bet to end already. Clearly he’s totally obsessed with my lifestyle so he should just admit it already! Also, hate to say it, but to Andrew’s credit his diet ain't too bad either. I’d never tell him this, and it is all a little emasculating but my skin has never looked this good. I’m not even doing skincare or anything but it’s like I’ve been on a routine for years, it’s crazy! It’s still ruining my upper gains but man, my ass looks so good it's crazy..

Oh also re: facial hair, I woke up this morning and could’ve sworn I used to have chest hair but now it looks like I’ve got just a little left around my nipples and leading up from my pubes? I might go ahead and shave those too, might as well be totally smooth like a chick right haha, I wonder what Andrew would think? I need to chill haha, maybe I’ll go see if he’s still at the gym~

Andrew:

Fuuuuck dude lol. I should’ve started hitting up the gym ages ago. Don’t know what I was even wasting time on before I started doing twice-a-days? Studying I guess but I can figure that shit stuff out hm. Fuck it is so much better to be strong than a dweeb. Every set it feels like I’m just busting out new PR’s! Gonna need to buy new clothes though cause I am absolutely tearing up my crop tops, my twinky little wardrobe just isn’t cutting it anymore. Maybe Steven’d be down for a clothes swap, I’ve seen him eying up my fits all week, god knows he’ll fit them better lol. Oh haha, and speaking of him eying things up >:) You should’ve seen his little face blush when he walked into the gym this morning! He looked so pissed at me lol, but I’m not gonna grab him to come along every time I need to get some sets in right? It was pretty embarrassing for him yesterday anyway, the way I showed him up lol. I’m not just gonna sit around and watch him not lift weights when I can figure this shit out myself, thought it was supposed to be his thing though lol.

Mm, saying that though, I def didn’t hate having a little audience from his treadmill. God, his blushing face as he stared directly at my work-out chub. Fuck, it really got me going. It really helped my sets too haha. Maybe I should hit him up lol, I can tell how bad he wants me >:)

Saturday March 26th-

Stevie:

Ugh! That douche is walking around the dorm completely shirtless! Do you know what it’s like to have an oaf flexing away across the room from you 24/7! He knows what he’s doing, and thank god my dick isn’t showing through my shorts like I thought it usually does because he might literally pounce on me then-

Ugh! I didn’t even mention this morning. I literally woke up to him jacking off his morning wood! Do you know what a bitch-fit he would have thrown if I did that! He would’ve filed a police report, probably the dweeb, or. I guess I could too?? But it was just so fucking hot. I tried to pretend I was asleep, but he totally caught me. He literally smirked and made eye contact as he finished too- thank god he didn’t see my boner as he asked if I wanted to clean up his mess. He’s such an ass! 

I still have a boner now actually, it’s his B.O. driving me actually crazy! It’s like I can’t think near him if he’s going to stink this bad god.. Oh, he’s doing pullups on the door frame fuck. He’s supposed to be hairless but I see sweat dripping from his pits god I can't. God with each pull up his chest looks even more powerful. His cock is bobbing up and down in his pants and I can not look away. Fuck it’s getting even bigger. I’m supposed to be the strong one right? It’s not, fuck. This isn’t right. He just so fucking, god that body, I need him-

And Drew:

Heh. I knew that fucking twink couldn’t resist me. Every little thing I do wraps him even tighter around my finger. Every flex and smirk turns him on even more I bet he can’t even think straight the way his little dick is losing it in his briefs- I took all his jocks since I’m sure he would need them anymore. Bet the little bitch didn’t even remember they were his.  

Might as well have been drooling when he saw me jacking my cock this morning lol, surprised he didn’t take me up on the offer to lick up the mess. I know he wanted to lol. He’ll get the chance soon enough though >:) God it’s a two-way street though. That fucking twink is so fuckable now, thank god he doesn’t need to shave anymore, don’t want his peachfuzz scratching my cock cause god that mouth is so fuckable now.. To say nothing of his fucking juicy ass, god! I’ve been working out in the room all morning waiting for him to give in and ask me to fuck him, idk if I can hold it in much longer. I might need to jack it again, my balls are bluer than I ever thought they could be, fuck. It’s like they're sore. Ugh I feel them getting heavier, heh, that little fucker cant resist though. God I feel precum starting to pool in my jock. If I put my pit within a foot of his face I give him five before he can’t help but shove his face in. I need to fuck him, but as if I’m going to let him see how desperate I am. Stevie that little fucker. He’ll be riding my cock any second now.

Sunday March 27th-

Stevie:

Fuck <3 !! He finally fucked me!! God, it was like nothing I’ve experienced before~ His cock was like a beer can and goddd the scratch of his beard as we were making out.. Hehe if I keep thinking about him I might just cum again right now! He can fully toss my body like a ragdoll and I’d thank him ugh! He’s just so hot, and to think he wants to fuck me!! Ah~ I’ll need to keep myself pretty so he won’t get tired of me hehe! Not that it’ll be a problem, I just need to keep on his diet, God who knew it would be this good! I don’t even remember whatever problems we had before all this and I can’t imagine anything better than getting fucked by him <3 Ah! He he~ He’s staring at my ass right now so I guess it’s time for another round! Can’t thank our R.A. enough for this idea, well he he I’ve got an idea for how to thank him, oh! Drew’s ripped off his jock! Wish me luck he he~

Drew:

My little bitch is so tight, fuck. I’m surprised he can even take my cock but god can he ride it. Gonna have a hard time taking a break from fucking him to even hit the gym. Need to make sure the twink keeps up the diet tho or we’ll have an issue. Be sure to make him come to the gym whenever I do, if not to tighten up then to watch me heh. Won’t hate fucking him in the locker room too. Mm, God his fucking tiny body makes me feel so powerful. And I fucking am. God my bis are the size of his thick thighs, fuck his ass. My cock is straining my jock just thinking about it. His tiny waist ugh, I need my sweaty body over him now. Not like he’ll mind, the horny fucker. Mmm hope he’s ready to take my cock, bet his mouth is already watering heh. Pop my pecs at him and he’ll struggle not to cum on the spot, he better keep it together until I let him though. Can’t be having my bitch blow his load that fast. Thank fuck he’s chilled out finally, though I guess my cock’ll work wonders on anyone >:) speaking of it’s about that time again. Hope he’s ready for some more action, hate to have to find another hole.

Man Of Your Dreams

Wallflower Dylan is gifted a new psychedelic from his friend. Used to watching frat bros from afar he finds the pill seems to affect far more than his mind.

Intended this to be plot light but so it goes! Probably going to take this week off to avail myself to other authors entering my Viral Transformation Challenge! The next story will likely be my own take on the theme so look forward to that next week alongside those from a litany of other stellar TF writers! Until then! -Occam

Dylan was fairly straight-laced, going into his senior year of university he hadn’t strayed much at all from class besides tagging along with his friend from high school to some of the more boisterous frat parties. Said friend Tony was quite more of a wild child, often invited himself because he was the source of some of the more illicit substances to be found at these parties. He’d invite Dylan whenever he’d need a more sober pair of eyes, namely if he was planning on rolling or otherwise getting high on his own supply. Despite his mild manner, Dylan always hopped on the chance, going to ragers was supposed to be part of the whole college deal right? And besides, he didn’t mind the chance to ogle brazen men he would under normal circumstances be fearful of making eye contact with.

Knowing of his friend’s meek disposition, and repressed hunger for the most vulgar of men, when Tony hears of a crazy new psychedelic on the market he has a feeling Dylan might finally let his hair loose. Reviews say the stuff makes reality feel like a waking dream. Anything seems possible and to your body it might as well be. Steamier sources swear that dreaming about sex on the stuff is even better than the real thing. Tony, never concerned about side effects of his material, gets straight to hitting up the usual channels to see what he can get and is able to scrounge up a single pill of the stuff. He wonders if he should try it out himself first before deciding he owes his friend at least first dibs.

Dylan is floored at how quickly he agreed to taking the pill. After initially being standoffish at Tony’s suggestion that he use it to fuck frat bros in his mind, once his friend started explaining what he’s heard Dylan couldn’t pass up the opportunity to really live out his fantasy. He’s not going to outgrow being a wallflower, nor is at all confident that any of the performatively masculine men would fuck him. Staring at the pill the only thing holding him back is Tony’s vapid instructions. ‘Just have a blast dude, fuck your way through those bros hah!’ Dylan’s asking about the side effects falls on deaf ears as Tony just crassly humps the air to try to convince his friend to go out on a limb. Despite his qualms and fears, and the lack of confidence inspired by Tony’s actions, Dylan feels sure that his friend wouldn’t give him something actually potentially dangerous.

Holding tight to that misplaced confidence, as soon as Tony departs Dylan pours himself a glass of water and chokes the pill down. The small tablet leaves a metallic taste in his mouth, quickly hidden by the copious amount of saliva and bile starting to rise in the back of his throat as he immediately feels the urge to vomit. Man of will despite appearances, he keeps it down and just as soon scowls as he thinks about the lack of preparation offered by his friend and prepares to tear into Tony as soon as the trip is over. Standing up he feels the room spinning around and murmurs in shock, “su- surely it’s shouldn- work this… fas-” He stumbles over to his bed and falls face down as he feels his body growing sweaty.

Before his well-practiced anxiety response can rise his mind is flooded with every pleasant hormone it’s able to produce. Every muscle in his body tenses and he feels his cock struggle to force itself erect in the awkward position he’s fallen in. Dylan moans as every sensation sends signals so intense and potent that his mind can barely maintain consciousness. Indeed he finds himself struggling to even hold his eyes open as his eyelids grow weighty. Even perfunctory bodily functions feel erotic as he begins to fade, the burning of cold air in his stretching lungs, the sound of his own heartbeat and the warmth of blood coursing through his veins. Drool immediately pools under his head as he crests into a stuporous induced unconsciousness, far too unprepared for what awaits him in his trip, and the new world he is to encounter afterwards.

Dylan is sitting in a chair across from a man he knows too well and not at all. Face to face with Ben Harrington, president of Beta Delta Alpha, Dylan has to push down the immediate rush of fear. Taking a breath he reminds himself that this is a dream, one that Tony swears he should have pretty lucid control over. As the president stands opposed, leaning on nothing he flexes his arms and the pastel button up Dylan usually sees him clad in changes into a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. He smirks as he pushes sunglasses up his face and speaks in a tone intoxicated, under the influence of nothing but Dylan himself. His raspy voice sends a shiver down the meek man’s spine as he feels himself unable to retreat, “So, uhh, Dylan is it?” 

Approaching enough to touch him, Ben puts an arm over Dylan’s shoulder, exposing his clearly unwashed pit. Dylan takes a deep breath and forces his eyes closed from the burning over-stimulation of this man baring down on him. Still, from the sticky breath blowing across the face it's clear he is continuing to inch even closer, “You want me do you?” Dylan gulps as the man gets even closer, Ben’s lips almost touching his own, “Or do you just want to be me?” This takes Dylan out of it as he steps back away from the imposing man. Eyes opening he tries to manipulate the scene as Tony implied he should be able to. The Ben of his mind tilts his head and tsks, “‘Fraid you’re not the one in charge here after all.”

Ben closes the gap once more and throws his arm around the easily manhandled Dylan pulling his body against his own sweat stained form. He smirks and leans in directly to whisper something into the dreamer’s ear, “and if you do really wanna fuck me, well. You’re gonna have to become something more my type. Yeah?” Dylan blinks in surprise, he’s heard of bad trips and the like but something seems decidedly wrong here. Before he’s able to come to any cogent conclusion the dream Ben reaches down his free hand into Dylan’s pants. His sweaty hand instantly wraps around the smaller man’s balls and squeeze. Dylan hasn’t a chance to scream in shock he feels himself lose control. Of his body, his mind, and the world around him as he begins to fall back.

He’s humping the air as he’s falling into an abyss. He doesn’t feel the fear that this descent should evoke. Usually nightmares that turn this way immediately blast him back to consciousness, instead it fills him with adrenaline that only heightens the delight coursing out from his cock. Sure that he’s now laying face down in a pool of his own semen in the real world, Dylan does what he can to focus on the pleasure as intended. 

The sound of wind tearing past him makes him unable to hear his moaning screams as his clothes are shredded by the searing gale. Rapt in delight, the blaring gusts begin to slow. Air caresses him like a full body hug and suddenly he is deposited onto soft ground. Dylan doesn’t quite repose as his body continues convulsing. Cum begins to sprinkle down on him from the plethora of loads released during his descent and he finally finds wherewithal to paw at his crotch. Grasping at his balls he finds them unmistakably larger, “Wha?” No longer falling, Dylan opens his eyes and seems to be back in reality.

Dylan awakens and blearily rubs his eyes with clearly semen stained hands. “Oh what the, ugh- Am I awake?” His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the lighting of a room that is decidedly not his bedroom. “Can’t be right?” Shaking the mess off his hands without a second thought he stands to his feet with a grunt and feels his cock bobbing, still impossibly rigid. His hands return to this turgid beacon before they almost happenstance fondle his balls. His sluggish mind struggles with how heavy and large they feel, nothing like the ones he has in reality. He smirks as the last words of Ben snake through his mind- “Become something more my type.” Who’d’ve thunk the president was into horndogs.”

Sniffing the air he begins to inspect the room surrounding him. Dirty clothes litter the floor and he finds a pervasive musk filling the air. Something in the back of his mind itches that there should be a can of axe around somewhere to cover it up, which he ignores for a number of reasons. He should be able to will the room to stop stinking. He certainly wouldn't do so with cheap body spray, and for the life of him he can’t bring himself to want to. Each deep breath of the stink he finds himself growing even hornier. Dylan feels his balls churning as he grasps them, he’s already cum a good number of times and yet he still craves release. 

He imagines the firm ass of a frat brother and leans against his dresser he uncontrollably begins to hump once more. Something flickers at the back of his mind yet again and he rips into an open drawer. Throwing clothes onto the pile of dirtied garments already littering the floor, Dylan removes a fleshlight which he proceeds to make exuberant use of. No time for his mind to question why he’s suddenly a top as his cock fills the sex toy more with every grunting thrust. 

Pubes scratch against his thumb as his crotch shifts into one that would instantly render a razor unusable. Likewise hair that has never even had to be controlled on his ass begins to thicken, growing itchy as a true jungle of curls begins to flourish on both sides of his waist. Soon enough his cock grows large enough that the toy is rendered unusable, with a furrowed brow and ungrateful grunt he tosses it to his room leaving it dripping on the floor as he somehow remains just as sexually unfulfilled as when he began, “Fuck I need the real thing…”

The real thing not present Dylan looks down at his cock and gasps as he sees what has become of his package. He doesn’t have a ton of sex but he usually keeps it clean and pretty hairless down there just for his own sake. Beyond the forest of pubes thick enough to get his hand stuck in, he covers his mouth in shock as he sees a veiny cock larger than he’s ever seen on a man with the low hanging massive balls to match. He does his best to focus up on anything besides how horny he is, but as pre continues to trickle from his hardened cock that becomes increasingly difficult. He bites his lip and looks past his throbbing cock at the floor. If he puts it away perhaps it’ll quiet of its own accord.

Dylan doesn’t pay heed to which clothes are clean or dirty as he throws on whatever best could hide his cock from his hands and mind. Nor could he notice just how far cleanliness and decency have fallen as priorities for him as he struggles to fit his package in clearly stained sweatpants. Itching at his waist as his pubes begin creeping up into a treasure trail racing to mee the spreading curls beginning to decorate his chest, his dull awareness finally notices that his whole body has begun changing. His thin arms have clearly put on powerful muscle from his mindless sessions of self-love, veins trailing down them make it difficult for him not to get straight back to masturbating at the thought of his own strength.

Similarly his eyes latch onto a chest that has somehow exploded into pecs without his knowing. Muscle that has never begun to grace his body now jiggles with every movement. He clenches his jaw hard trying to muster willpower not to give into his most basal urges, but as he feels his thighs fill the sweatpants he just threw on he wonders how long he could possibly hold out. His cluttered mind struggles to recall that he is on some kind of psychedelic trip as he fails to remember how long Tony said it would last. Instead swimming through dulling memories the voice of his, er, the frat president speaks up. “Ah god… You’re looking fucking good Big D. How’s your mind hangin’ in there?”

It takes a few moments for the words to sink in before Dylan can reply, “My, unh- mind?” His balls pulse as his eyes dash across the room while he struggles to think. God he’s been struggling to think this whole time. His cock lurches as he’s able to realize that every thought in his mind has been growing increasingly clouded. “Big D?” Dylan can’t help but smirk as his beyond impressive cock strains his sweatpants at being called Big D. He grunts as he tries to shake off the lusty delirium, “Need to chill out. Ugh. Sober up.” He hears the president tsk at him yet again, waiting with bated breath for the mans words his pecs bulge even larger on his chest. “Too late for that bro, just give in. Why have a trip into true unadulterated ecstasy when you can have a lifetime. You can finally be the man of your dreams.” 

As soon as the words of Ben, his president, are spoken in his mind it becomes clear that Big D doesn’t even have the ability to fight back against the ever-present urges that now control his body. He tears off the sweatpants that were barely holding in there as he fully give himself to whatever is calling out for him, the drug, Ben Harrington, whatever. His body bulks beyond measure to become man enough to carry the vulgar package that lies in his crotch. He masturbates into the leg of his sweatpants torn asunder as his torso bulks up, evidence of his endless celebrations as a man of Beta Delta Alpha.

Bestial body hair begins to cover his torso as his beard grows thick and dark. The tangle of hair in his pits thickens and spreads enough that it, nor it’s dominating musk, could ever be hidden. Muscle bulges on his arms large enough to haul kegs and toss out fuckers that get to rowdy at their festivities. Beyond apathetic to manicuring his appearance as he knows he’ll have people lining up at his doorstep regardless of needless things like hygiene or cleanliness he rubs his thick sweat covered thighs and feels how sensitive every inch of his skin has become. 

He smirks as he imagines, recalls rather, how constantly he gets to enjoy the sensual opportunities offered by his new form. He’s got all he needs dangling between his thick thighs and everyone who matters already knows it. The president certainly does. Big D smirks as he thinks of their vacations together on the frat’s dime. He puts his arms behind his head and sniffs his musky pits as he lays in repose, a thick cloud of musky sweat surrounds him as he begins to hear the sound of festivities breaking out on the floor below him and someone’s fervent footsteps racing up the stairs to his den.

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and Big D imagines that some couple is looking for an empty room with urgency. He paws at his crotch excited to join in on their fun. Instead he sees some nervous looking guy who freezes as soon as he sees the behemoth, fear in his eyes. “D-Dylan!? I- That drug, there was something, something s-” He stutters and his hands shake as Big D rolls his eyes and stands almost two heads taller than he should over Tony, one of their frat’s little party drug dealers. Still, he wouldn’t have come up here for no reason. Big D silences him with a finger and slams the door shut behind him. Tony’s brow furrows as he looks around the room in confusion. Even his perpetually drug-addled mind can tell something unreal, something impossible has happened to his friend. “That pill can’t have done this right?” Tony takes nervous breaths and Big D’s musk rapidly fills his lungs, distracting him from whatever petty issue brought him in. Who cares about concern when his small cock is beginning to rise from simply standing near the priapic titan.

Big D’s voice rumbles through Tony, making him weak at the knees, “You wanna have some fun don’t you?” The drug dealer can’t help but nod and swallow the drool pooling in his mouth as the bestial Adonis stands over him, cock dripping ever-ready for another round. Tony isn’t sure if he’s started tripping himself or what, but as he begins making out with the frat bro he finds himself not minding as memories of whoever Dylan was disappear. After all pleasure is the most important thing, and no one is better at spreading heady delight than Big D.

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

Purgatory

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

Q: Bro, you were so smart, bro. Why’d you have to go throw it away like that?

A: Because I had to, man. I guess I just felt like it was something I had to do. Haven’t you ever gotten the feeling that you just had to do something? I’m really glad that I did choose this, too. Love working out.

Q: You had a great future ahead of you, though. Graduate studies at King’s College, a future in the National Health Service, all sorts of prospective opportunities with biotechnology companies, in research, or in higher education. Look at you now, and look at your priorities now. I don’t even recognise you, bro. The studious, bright young scholar you were has been replaced by some sort of aspiring muscle jock. How far are you going to take it with this? You’re not going to seriously keep working out, are you? Are you really planning on getting even bigger?

A: It’s true, man, haha, I am not the same wimp anymore. Not at all. I’m maybe at the halfway mark, the way I see it, in becoming the sort of bro I want to be. A lot has changed for me. Yeah, that guy I was, he was smart and all, but I wasn’t happy. I feel like he’s starting to cease to exist. He’s maybe halfway out the door at this point. I’ve been watching a lot of rugby lately. Been watching Manchester United. Kinda want to try Australian footy someday.

Q: No way, bro. But kinda beside the point, now you’ve got me curious about any potential fetishes of yours. How do you feel about ‘man chest hair’, since we’re on the subject? You want to get united with that?

A: Haha, clever, man. Wordplay or whatever. Yeah, chest hair is fucking hot to me. I swear it’s even hotter lately. Always grabs my attention, but that’s what it’s biologically supposed to do, strictly speaking. Not that I really care about the science of it all as much right now, haha. Just love the way it looks.

A: Maybe you should just stop where you are right now, bro. Ok, yeah, I agree that maybe the guy you were before was kind of overly bookish, but you have to admit that right where you are right now, sort of right in between two worlds, probably strikes the perfect balance. You’ve got a tight jock bod and yet are still capable of being conscientious and having an intelligent conversation. Why ruin that?

A: Am I at a nicely balanced level, ha? I don’t know man. I sure feel kind of stupid. In a way it’s like my mind doesn’t run away all the time like it used to. I feel more of a greater sense of calm. I suppose you’re right, though. So, to answer your question, yes, I am going to take it further.

Q: What’s it like to not even be away from the classroom so much?

A: It’s strange, to have not not studied very hard at all in so long, already. I’m not sure I could ever pick up where I left off. I mean, I used to be able to do the Schrödinger equation and the wave equation. I don’t think I could right now. Even the word ‘equation’ seems kinda funny to me right now, to be honest. Haha. I doubt Stephen Hawking would be very proud of me for that.

Q: Bro, but what about the major good your science and math background could do for humanity? It’s not too late. Lots of people take a gap year. You could just make this your gap year and start focusing on again.

A: I guess, but when you’re in these highly competitive fields, it’s not so simple as writing it all off as a gap year, really. Also, why would I want to give this up? Everyone’s treating me way better, mostly. Even the ones who are jealous to see that I’m becoming something they wouldn’t ever have the work ethic to ever become make me feel good about myself, in a way. Haha. A lot of them just want to play the victim.

Q: What do you mean by that? Bro, do you want to end up stupid or something?

A: Might not be so bad. Dude, my back’s sweaty, because it’s hot in here, haha. My pits are kinda sweaty, too. I need a bottled water. I swear I can already feel all the muscle swelling up from that last pump. I know it takes a few days, but it’s still a good feeling, that post-working endorphin high.

Q: See bro, you never would have talked like that before. You’d have been going on about how fascinating fenestrated capillaries are and how they contrast with much-wider sinusoidal capillaries, going on about basal laminae, getting technical… what are you doing to yourself, really? You wouldn’t have even drank bottled water before. You’d have been saying a refillable glass is healthier for the planet, or something that’s all socially conscientious, bro.

A: Yeah, haha, that’s pretty funny. Use it or lose it, they say, which is why I intend to keep working out and upping my workouts. I love these gains, bro. So maybe I do want to end up stupid, haha. I gotta say, it’s true that I used to hate on gym bunny types, but now that I’ve sort of become one myself, I totally get it. You don’t really know it until you try it. Feels so good, bro. I really could care less if folks want to call me stupid. It’s not like I really have time to read anymore, and most people don’t at all. So it’s no big deal if you don’t, really.

Q: What do you mean you don’t really have time?

A: Who has time to read? It’s a serious question. There’s work to be done, man. Plus I’m at the gym a lot. Ok, haha, I’m not that stupid, at least not yet, so I’m just kinda fucking with you, bro. I know reading’s a good thing.

Q: Most people think it’s a good thing, bro.

A: Yeah, but to be totally honest, I really haven’t in a while now. I picked up the Canturbury Tales on a bus ride. Thought I’d revisit it, and really didn’t want to bother with my technical textbooks, you know. Just some weekend ready. The Wife of Bath’s tale has always been my favorite. Raunchy stuff. But really, I stopped about a quarter through as I was getting sick of it. A lot of that’s just that I’ve read it before, anyway. Plus it’s hard to see how relevant Middle English is right now, especially with Brexit going on and all.

Q: With Brexit and all? How do you feel about Brexit?

A: Yeah, I don’t know, I see myself as more outside of politics now. It’s just not my thing, man. I honestly am getting kind of sick of seeing anything political in art, in the schools, in the workforce, in movies, even in porn, in everything. Jordan Peterson is right that it definitely doesn’t belong in universities. Those are supposed to be about learning facts, not about indoctrination. And you have to admit, we’ve got a lot to focus on right now other than just college.

Q: Seriously?

A: Yes, seriously! Look at what the Americans are doing. We could learn a lot from them. In a lot of ways I think it was, in retrospect, actually kind of a mistake to isolate ourselves from the USA. Even places like India would probably be better off if they still had colonial rule, and I know that’s not politically correct. But markets are important, even to scientists, who need to get their supplies from like, China. It’s a global economy now. I’m just not as much of a bleeding heart as I used to be, I guess. I think it’s important to stay prepared and to make sure businesses want to have their headquarters in the UK, right? We can all agree that that’s a good thing. And the facts are that it’s harder to do that with a high corporate tax rate.

Q: Bro, you used to say discussing politics was for those who didn’t want to focus on work. And now you’re one of those guys you probably would have caalled stupid. It’s really something to witness. You really seem to think you know it all now, or that you maybe even talk like you think you’re better than others or something. I can hear it in your voice, basically.

A: Well, hey bro, like the left doesn’t think they’re better than others? They’re the masters of that. They’re the ones trying to manipulate and cancel everything. I don’t believe in either party really. Labour controls the media, so you never hear the negative sides about them. It’s important to have two balanced political poles, I think. And mostly I’m just annoyed that politics has just gotten into a lot of things it shouldn’t even be in.

Q: You already said that, bro. You really do seem stupider than before to me. You definitely seem cockier and less interested in listening. You used to say all stupid people suffer from Dunning-Kruger.

A: Dunning-Kruger, lol. More like Dumbing-Kruger.

Q: You think that’s funny? What’s so funny, bro?

A: Hey, don’t piss me off, man. Look, like I said, I don’t really care if people want to at like I’m stupid. I knew some guys would say I’m stupid just because I wanted to work out and do something better with my body than I had been. You can’t win with a lot of people.

Q: It’s not too late, bro. Have you at all considered that maybe you should purge this muscle hunk fixation from right out of your mind before it’s too late? You’re becoming somebody totally different. Or at least don’t push this muscle stud game further.

A: Why would I want to do head back in the wrong direction, bro? Look, guys are way more into me now. I got a ton of adds on Instagram. And as a guy, you’re supposed to have muscle. It’s biologically what’s attractive to others, isn’t it? I was too thin before. When I look at those guys who are total studs with their pecs and cobbled 8-pack abs, it gets me hard as fuck. Not gonna lie. I’ve always wanked to those guys. It was probably just a matter of time.

Q: Bro, but why are you so into your own body all of a sudden? Has your philosophy on gay life changed at all?

A: Haha, yeah, not gonna lie, my perspective has changed. I used to consider myself gay and all. Now I’m just a guy who happens to be into guys, I think. I don’t see any real need to advertise my sexuality. I mean, we have our rights, so that’s kind of over now. I’d rather just be the best guy I can be. So yeah, getting into my body, flexing in front of the mirror and all that, is really helping me develop a sort of confidence I never had before.

Q: Dude, that’s totally hilarious. A guy who just happens to be into other guys?

A: Yeah, I mean, isn’t sex supposed to be kinda funny, haha? It’s not hilarious, man, it’s hot. Plus I thought we were supposed to be able to choose from multiple identities these days? I’m more fun now than I ever was in bed, probably. I love getting sweaty and wrestling with a guy, having him feel these abs and flex while I feel up his biceps. I’ve gotten way more comfortable with my body. I love doing a double biceps pose and facing another guy who’s doing the same, that eye contact, that kind of intense… it’s almost like a brotherhood, man. I’ve noticed my sex sessions are getting way longer.

Q: Tell me about that.

A: Well, I don’t know, I’ve been hooking up and having fun for sure. Last guy I had over, he wanted to get all shirtless and sweaty with me on my couch. So we did. So I’m drinking a Thatchers Cider and it’s tasting really good, and I’m leaning over him, kissing him, maybe more aggressively than I usually do. I’m so randy these days, it seems. He’s just focused on my abs, feeling them up, and asking me to flex. So I flexed, first in a double biceps, then, with my arms behind my head so I could flaunt my abs and my triceps. That’s when he said that my pits were so fucking beautiful. So, I kept doing it. Then he wanted to lick them out. Said my hairy armpits looked hot and he felt lucky to be able to see them up close. I’ve never had a guy suggest that before or flatter me in that way. So I let him. He said I smell so good, man. That felt good.

Q: Aww dude. Fuck. I kinda see where you’re coming from with this all. That’s hot for sure, bro.

A: Right? It’s way more pleasurable than trying to do research on the Great Barrier reef. In a lot of ways, it’s probably even more useful than memorising rote facts, like how your nose can remember 50,000 different scents. What’s a statistic like that matter compared to actually stopping and smelling the roses sometimes?

Q: I wonder how many of those 50,000 scents are the scents of a guy’s musk, haha. Do you mean to find that out, bro? How many pits you been in?

A: Haha, yeah bro, I mean, I’ve definitely gotten sluttier and I’m not ashamed of that at all. I love learning how to kind of dominate a guy, lead him on, and I’m getting more energetic as a top. I like my face in their pits, too, it turns out.

Q: You do look a lot better, there’s no getting around that.

A: Yeah man? Fuck. I feel better for sure. You think I should go all the way?

Q: Bro, just that you say that or even suggest it is pretty hot to me. Just being real. I still think you’re in the perfect middle ground right now. But the thought of you pushing it further…. hell… in some ways I feel like you’re turning into a sort of deity. A muscle king among men. Don’t tell anyone I said that.

A: Yeah? Like some sort of muscle God? Haha. I”m fine with that for sure.

Q: Yeah bro, you’re definitely getting to be closer to… well, maybe it’s better left unsaid. I know I really shouldn’t be encouraging you.

A: That I’m becoming better than I was before? Haha. Bro, it’s ok. I already fully intend to pack on at least another ten, fifteen pounds of muscle and might go even further than that. I used to think where I’m at now was more than I’d ever want.

Q: You really have changed. It’s kinda awesome to witness.

A: You admit that this is awesome, right? You like these muscles, man?

Q: Fuck yeah I like those guns, muscle boy. Aww fuck. Flex for me.

A: Awwww, fuck yeah bro. I love this.

Q: Fuck yeah you love this, idiot.

A; Fuck, it’s so hot when you call me an idiot, man.

Q: Fuck yeah it’s hot.

A: I gotta tell you man, I really don’t give a fuck anymore. All I want to do is be the best muscle dude I can be.

Q? Yeah? You’d like that, muscle boy?

A: Yeah. To be as sexy as I want to be, get all the cock, man. I don’t care if I’m turning into a slut even.

Q: Fuck yeah you want it, slut.

A: Aww fuck. Call me that again, man.

Q: You’re a fucking slut, muscle boy. There is no going back for you. I can tell. What a shame, dumbass. You’re gonna be just another stupid muscle boy.

A: Yes. Fuck yes. I can feel it, man. There’s no choice anymore. I can’t go back to the route I was on.

Q: Then run with it, muscle boy. Be the best muscle slut you can be.

A: Exactly, man, yes, I’m going to. The guy I used to be was boring, barely living. Now I feel alive. It feels soooo good when you call me stupid.

Q: That’s because you are stupid.

A: Fuck. Yes. You know I am, man. Suck on my jock cock. I want you to. I want you on your fucking knees worshipping me as I flex and talk about how much muscle I’m gonna put on still.

Q: Suck on my cock, muscle slut. Then maybe I will.

A: Aww, fuck yeah. Ok man. Fuck. (mmmmph, mmmph). Fuck yeah! (gasp, mmmph, mmmph) Fucking delicious! All I want to do is jock up, suck dick, get fucked, fuck random guys… Fuck, man. I want it so bad, man. You’re hot, man. I think everything about man sex is so hot. (slurpppp, mmphhhs)

Q: You’re gonna get fucked tonight, muscle slut. And I’m going to tell you about how thick your pecs are gonna be, and how hot your bubble butt is, and how sexy it is that you’d do a stupid thing like jock yourself up. Every kiss I give you will make you dumber. We’re gonna snort so many poppers that we’re both going to be drooling on each other and not have any thoughts left. It’ll just be sex, bro. Sex, sex, sex. Muscle sex, man sex, biceps sex, furry leg sex, hairy crotch sex, licking necks sex, slobbery kisses sex, nipple-flicking sex, and slutty dumbfuck sex.

A: Fuuuuuuuuckk yeah… kiss me.

Q: Fuck yeah, bro. (smack, slurrrpp)

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.

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.

Strapped Down and Beefed Up

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

It was a nightmare scenario for Aiden, but his dad, firm of tone and sick of having a snowflake of a son, was fully adamant.

“You must do this, Aiden. I’m not giving you a choice. Everybody gets some body work done these days. It’s not like I’m forcing you to change your gender or get massive reconstructive surgery like one of those CK models. You’re not going to be a Gaga Version 7.0 or a Beyoncebot. I’m not putting you through any oddball risks for a Guinness Record, either. Look, you think those freakish long legs on Nastasha, excuse me, but that’s how I think of her, Natasha Abioye look natural on a woman? Not to me they don’t.”

“Think of it this way. It’s not any different than going to the dentist or barber shop, ok? You think your teeth are natural? You think your hairstyle is natural? Of course not. I just want you to live up to your fullest potential. You haven’t exactly been a stellar student. You’re not even in the top 10 percentile. You’ll finally man up. You’ll have some serious guns and everybody will be jealous. And I’ll get the son I was always hoping for. It’s win-win. You’ll still be you, just a much better version of you. Don’t you want to be a better man?”

“Yes it is different, dad. For starters, we’re supposed to be making society more feminine, not more masculine. For second, it’s not my choice. I have some serious gender dysphoria, which I’ve told you about repeatedly. If I’m getting any hormonal or surgically corrective work done, it will be to transition to a woman. Mom said maybe I could. Almost every queer guy my age goes in that direction. There’s not even many lesbians who want to be a man anymore. You just don’t get it because you don’t go to my school. Men are obsolete. I’ve read Caitlyn Moran. You haven’t even read her, dad. I should know better than you on what’s real,” Aiden said.

“Just look at the statistics about men,” Aiden continued, trying to really connect with his father on something he could relate to. “I am good at statistics so I do have something to offer. I’m making plenty of progress. Maybe someday I’ll even be an actuary or accountant for an LGBTQIAP+ Resource Center. I can’t see myself caring about most jobs but I could care about that. I do get a say in my own life. What about that can’t you understand?”

Aiden’s dad just shook his head and laughed. It wasn’t a mean laugh, but a bitter one, a sad laugh. Aiden could tell it was his dad’s way of coping with a world that had headed in a direction he just didn’t understand. Aiden figured his dad must have feel he like the world that had shifted right out from under him, so he tried to be empathetic. He even felt kind of guilty and ashamed for the moment, feeling aware of his dad’s antiquated value system and how he hadn’t measured up to that expectation. But it was still Aiden’s life, not his dad’s. There was no way he was going to let his own life be derailed. Being a part of community-based social justice movements for almost two years had taught him so much about what truly should matter to us all.

“Aiden, my son, maybe someday you’ll understand. But this babble that’s pouring out of your mouth is exactly why this needs to be done for you. No more arguing, ok. I’ve already put money down for it.”

The fateful day was just around the corner, and Aiden was even considering running away from home. But where would he go? He was thinking about begging the school to intervene, but could they? Would they? That would almost definitely lead to a conference call with his father, and how would that end. He tried his mother, but she just said talk to your father as it was his decision, not mine. So he sulked and refused to budge instead. Maybe his dad would eventually listen to reason if he displayed how deeply upset he was.

But then it was Wednesday, and his dad had told him he was off school for the rest of the week, and he’d already let the school office know about his doctor’s appointment today. As far as Aiden was concerned, he’d have to be frog-marched there as he wasn’t going to go. He practically was marched out, in the end, as his dad had to take him by the arm to get him moving down the stairs.

“Here’s one way to think of it, Aiden. You’re transitioning, son, which is the big contemporary trend, right? You’re just transitioning in a different way from the herd. Think of it that way if it helps you get through this. I’m going to be so proud of you for taking it like a man today. You’re legitimately going to transition into a real man right before your very eyes. Believe me, that’s going to be so much more valuable and needed in the future than anything your friends are playing around with right now.”

“Dad, this is so wrong,” Aiden pleaded from the passenger seat. He was looking over at his dad behind the wheel, eyes straight ahead on the road. Aiden tried to make his own face look as panged as he could, hoping the expression on his face would be enough to make a difference. It wasn’t.

“There really is no right and wrong, so give it a rest, Aiden. I’m your dad and whatever I say is just as right as anything they might teach you in that school. Sheesh. I should have packed up the wagons and moved the family to Sandy Springs or Alpharetta a long time ago. This joke of a school system has totally failed you. Just you wait, my son. Dad’s fixing the mistake he made by skimping on a better neighborhood and school district. That was my mistake, but I’m finally making things right for you today.”

Even in the doctor’s office Aiden wouldn’t give it a rest. “Please, dad. Please,” he tried to beg at the reception desk, clutching at his dad’s sleeve, trying to get through to him, somehow, even though he wanted nothing more than to push him away and pout hard. He had to try, though. This was his life on the line. The embarrassment of whatever his dad was going to put him today through was nothing compared to what he’d even have to deal with at school.

None of Aiden’s friends were on the side of men, and who knew how they’d treat him after this. If you wanted to be respected, you had to have a body that was oppressed and had at least some sort of claim to victimhood. Everybody knew it. A man’s body was going to mess everything up and who knew how he’d be treated in one of those. He’d be stuck in the exact same kind of body he and his friends were always trying to take down. His dad didn’t seem to understand any of this. Aiden was even sobbing right in the waiting room.

“Oh Aiden,” Aiden’s dad said, sighing heavily. “I’m so disappointed in you. Really, stop it with the tears. I was hoping you’d start finally begin to at least try pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. But it looks like we’ll be strapping you down today instead.”

And indeed, in the doctor’s office, it soon became clear that restraints were an option. Aiden had started panicking over the mere suggestion of a needle, and seemed to barely be able to simply make it through his blood pressure being taken today without a panic attack. Aiden’s dad was the one who suggested to the doctor that they restrain him. “Sorry, doc. He’s overacting because he thinks it’ll get him out of this,” Aiden’s dad said to the doctor. “I don’t know why he has to be like this today as he knew it was coming. But I’m sure you’ve seen this behavior before.”

“Yes, we do see this a lot,” said the doctor, calm and collected, continuing on with his work as he talked. “We usually go with restraints in at least 3 out of 4 cases or so. It’s just easier that way for everyone involved. Sometimes the liberty of the changes happening freely is good option for everyone involved, and we’ve even done them with the boys sitting upright before. You’ll find you get the same results either way in the end, however.”

Aiden was asked to disrobe, which he did very slowly, full of embarrassment and shaking with nervousness. Then he was asked to lay on his back on the doctor’s table, the rattle of the medical paper below him catching his attention as he got situated. The doctor opened a lower cabinet and got out the velcro restraints to be clasped upon his arms and legs. Aiden had never seen velcro so thick before. The doctor had to pull the cuffs open with both hands, straining to unclasp all four of them as they were so heavy duty. Aiden felt frozen and numb, like a dumb animal, as the restrains clamped him to the metal bars of the table.

He could feel the chill of the metal brush up against one of his thighs, which was a bit splayed out and lightly brushing against the cold gleam. Aiden didn’t really know much about metal or beds, medicine or velcro, any of it. It wasn’t what was important to him. But right now he at least wished he knew more so he could find a way out of this.

He tried to sit up and couldn’t. Maybe something would go wrong. He hoped so. An earthquake, a blackout, anything at all would be good right now. Maybe his dad or the doctor would just die of a heart attack. “Please,” Aiden started to say out loud, really wanting to make his point about how wrong this all was. “You’re not my dad. Stop it. You’re not my dad at all if you do this to me.”

“Sure thing, Aiden, whatever,” his dad said, chuckling the tone in his voice lightly dismissive. “Look at you, you all all prepped and ready to go. Are you ready to say goodbye to sissyhood?

Aiden’s dad continued, “I just have to tell you, son, that I knew this was the perfect option for you once you started sassing off so much and saying ‘sis’ all the time like you thought it was the same as saying ‘peace on earth and mercy mild’. It’s really a travesty that your school let you down. The war on men has been going on since before I was even born, and I suppose you didn’t stand a chance. That war was already the establishment by the time you went off to kindergarten. It really did make you a sissy. Well, son, now you’ll finally be a man, a big man. Just you wait until your worldview becomes clarified for you. You’re gonna have the time of your life.”

Aiden whimpered as he saw the doctor get out a long needle, and continue to do so as the doc approached his nutsack, but he couldn’t see anything that far down in these restraints. All he could really do was stare to the sides, or stare at the ceiling, so it was just a quick job of pain at first. And then there was the sickening feeling of a large amount of liquid being injected into his right testicle. It was just as bad when the doc did his left nut.

“Goodbye, sissy,” Aiden’s dad said. “Look at those nuts. You’re getting some big ones already, you should see them.” Aiden would be mad if he weren’t so terrified. This was all so wrong, so evil and such a betrayal. When he was free again he would definitely do everything in his power to make it clear this was not ok. Just because he’d end up with a changed body did not mean he ever needed to go along with it in his own mind. And he would never accept that his dad was doing this to him. This was so terribly wrong.

And then the pain started, just a flicker at first, like a match being lit inside his nutsack. Aiden started screaming as he felt the fluid start to burn. It was as if his balls were heating up. It felt as if they had already swollen and as if they were swelling even more. The felt as if somebody had just set them on fire. Even worse, it felt like the blaze was still growing. The pain felt absolutely excruciating, as if his body was going to swell, pop, and mutate into some heated up mountain of flesh, the monster of muscle his dad had told him he wanted, a jacked stack of living meat and flesh. It was the polar opposite of what he wanted to be. But it was already happening. Aiden could feel his dick burning, throbbing, as the fire spread, the sensation of blood pumping into his dick. His dick was swelling, burgeoning, expanding clearly palpable to him. He could feel it swell and feel it embiggen against his nuts. He tried to wrest his way out of these tight velcro manacles. They were so much tighter than the blood pressure cuff, though. He couldn’t break them. He was stuck.

It already felt like whatever had been injected into his groin was spreading outwards down his veins . The formula had gotten into his bloodstream. He could feel waves of heat radiating upwards towards his abs, out towards his ass, and all down his thighs.

Muscle started to swell and explode on Aiden’s upper thighs as he cramped up, shaking with cramps and pain. The muscles of his ass felt thick, hard, pushing backwards against the table, his glutes expanding outwards. The pain spread down to his lower legs as his calves started twitching. His quads and hams were totally on fire now. His feet were already cramping, and almost his entire torso felt aflame. He could see when he opened his eyes – which was hard to do given the pain – that his cramping, sharply strained abs were swelling up hard, firm, round and as cobbled as well-worn bricks arising from his smooth belly. He had abs that would never retract now, it looked like, firm and proudly raised from a tight belly that was taking on a very cut V-shape. He was really turning into a man, some sort of muscular dude with a cut gym body. He felt a wave of nausea. The shockingly painful, jolting sensations of a body that was mutating beyond his will, a sharply masculine body, had completely flooded his mind and were almost overwhelming him.

Aiden could smell the sharp scent of adrenaline rising off him, a scent that caught his attention immediately because it wasn’t the norm for him unless he was really being pushed to run hard in gym or something like that. His pecs were twitching, swelling, turning into firm, wide mounds of muscle as the pain spread upwards to his neck and all down his arms. His biceps were cramping, baseballs of muscle jumping up on them, which he could clearly see from his position on the table. The cramps in his legs had died down, and now his arms were fine, the burning and cramping being more in his feet and hands. Breathing deeply, his lips pulsed in the shape of an O, he thought for a brief second that maybe this wasn’t so bad, despite all the pain. Maybe he would be able to handle this, this new muscle, which wasn’t as hulky as he feared. The baseball shaped biceps on his arms looked just about right, an attractive, jocked-out model look that he could learn to live with. But then the burning sensations were returning, and he was heating up more, and the cramps returned. He saw his abs pop even harder, his pecs continue to expand, and watched his biceps strain and swell further as the pain persisted, refusing to stop, refusing to die down. His guns, which is what they were starting to look like, were pushing into larger baseballs and then more towards a small football size, stretching the skin so tight as veins started to pop out and demand the attention of his eyes, all while his muscles seemed to be throbbing, harder and harder on a rocket of swelling pain.

He was screaming freely now, as he hyperventilated, such dry, sharp screams, until suddenly his voice cracked down in a hoarse, choked-off scream, the fall of a whole octave in one jolt. His vocal chords, steeped in the spreading effects of the serum, were growing and maturing in size along with the rest of him. And he couldn’t stop screaming, sounding like a cow or a bull to himself, these lower, stupid-sounding screams of a man trapped like a prodded bull in a stall. His voice continued to fray as he screamed uncontrollably, sounding ever more ragged and shredded, and not being able to stop screaming seemed to only strain his taxed vocalizations all the more.

Looking down at his sweating, overstrained body, the pecs that were now jutting from his chest, all Aiden could think to do now was try to break out of his restraints and scream. He let out a low, gutteral groan that sounded more and more like a roar as he shifted his weight to his side, trying to find the power to break the velcro. This was too much pain and transformation and he would not comply. It was evil. He had to get out of this, he had to make it clear to this doctor’s office that this was not right, he had to get out of it all before things got even worse. He wasn’t thinking clearly anymore.

Aiden’s body, or at least as much as he could see of it as he looked down, was looking masculine, massive and freakish. His broad pecs now a thick shelf of meat that expanded outward. His back had widened into a thick hood of meat that took up a bigger slab of the table. His neck was thick and bullish, and his arms were just snaking with veins that had popped up all up and down the length of his forearms. Most of his arms and some of his torso now had a vascular look that he’d never be able to hide again. The pumping veins of his football-shaped biceps were drawing his attention once again, so much bigger than he had ever wanted or thought possible. His rounded shoulders and glutes had him feeling like he was sitting higher on the table, even, which was completely disorienting. His cock and balls had stopped burning, and he mostly soon only felt burning and smaller cramps, smaller jolts, on the nape of his neck, in his hands, and in his feet.

And then it died down, the rollercoaster of a mutating injection being largely overly and done with, and then there he was, breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were wide open and roving wildly over minute details about the room that he didn’t even seem to care about before. He looked back at his swollen bicep and couldn’t get over how it looks completely different, with so many lines of vein to trace and note, so many different shapes and ridges of muscle to take into account.

“You ok, Aiden?” his dad said, looking down at him, patting on one of his legs as if to comfort him, the doctor taking notes with a pen and a chart to his side. “Just wait until you see yourself, Aiden. You’re not even gonna believe it.”

Then they were undoing his heavy straps, the doctor and his dad working together, ripping the heavy straps open. And then he was sitting up, feeling somewhat dizzy. Part of him wanted to lash out at the two of them, which he probably could, given this body. And yet he was so disoriented and even more importantly, it was already over now. It couldn’t be undone. This was his body, now. He had to at least figure out what they had done to him first.

They walked him over to the mirror, his dad gripping his arm and helping to steady him as he found his balance.

He looked at his reflection. He had completely hulked out and turned into a freak, he thought, like a bull of a man, or a beast of a man. Maybe a silverback gorilla crossed with a bull, he finally considered. He barely even recognised himself like this, and this body seemed to have nothing in common with the personality traits of his that he had long considered so important. His face was now covered with a dense, short but thickly bristled beard. He hadn’t even noticed it in all the ensuing chaos and the intensely burning, muscular mutation. It’s not easy to see your own facial hair without a mirror, Aiden figured. It still surprised him to see a hairy face reflected back at him.

He was now just corded with vascularity. He looked massive and felt massive, noting that they were two very different things, and both happening at the same time now. The doctor gave him a towel to put on to cover himself up, and he couldn’t even believe the size of his long, thick dick and how low his nuts were hanging, hairier than ever, not to mention the way his pubic bush had thickened up and spread out. His dad helped him wrap the towel around his waist, tucking the the corner in tight so it would hold. “There you go, big guy,” his dad said, slapping him gently and affectionately on the back. “Man, Aiden, you really do look great. You did a great job getting through that pain, too.”

Aiden looked in the mirror again, eyes both glazed over with shock and wildly searching, as if he weren’t even able to quite yet find even himself. He felt like he was still trying to come to. It was similar to feeling like he was underwater, and very much a dreamlike sensation, like he couldn’t quite wake up, although he definitely wasn’t sleepy. He still felt on edge and could feel the pump of his blood right through his arteries as it pulsed to feed his new, much thicker muscles. He could feel the tight, eager power and energy in his legs. He could see it all over his torso, this raw power he now had, this taut, lean meat that was stimulated with adrenaline and ready to burst into physical action, physical activity, the sort of life he hadn’t led before. All that muscle he’d developed looked both out of control and good at the same time. Aiden really wasn’t sure what to think, and he felt like it was difficult to even try to think right now. He didn’t want this, and it was going to be so awkward to go to school like this, right? He had been mad at his dad earlier, right? How was he going to manage at school when he looked like this? What was he… he was trying to think, and decided it didn’t matter right now. He had to get accustomed to this body. He looked so different. The muscle looked good, didn’t it? He really looked fit as hell.

“Flex for us, Aiden,” the doctor said, calmly and clearly. “Like this,” the doc said, putting down his chart and doing a double biceps even in his lab coat, smiling. Aiden didn’t react right away, still feeling dazed, so the doc did it again. “Like this,” the doc said, putting his arms up again.

“Ok, doctor,” Aiden said, thinking his own voice sounded low, stupid and weird. He wasn’t sure what to say. This really was like a dreamstate, almost, he thought. He thought of how weird it felt to even feel his thickened, larger feet against the bare carpet. How weird it felt to have this towel around his very tight waist and these huge thighs just bursting out from under it. How weird this fur looked on his face in the mirror, far denser of a beard than he could grow before.

Aiden turned to the mirror, raised his arms in a couple biceps and flexed, hoping he was doing it right, noticing the corded veins pop even more. He felt lightheaded from all of this, but at the same time, he felt confident. His dad and the doctor really liked the results, and it was hard not to be impressed by such a body. It was very hard, Aiden realised, and it was his now. His.

“Uh, um… like that, doctor?” he started to say, struggling for words, focused on his reflection.

“Like that, Aiden,” the doctor said, picking up his clipboard again.

Then his dad was standing by his side, talking to him again as he looked in the mirror and down at his own body, still getting to know how different it looked. “Very nice job, Aiden, and I’m proud of you,” his dad said. “You are going to be able to chase any tail you want in school now. Just look at those guns. Just make sure to make those boys earn it. Put them in their place and show them who’s boss. And don’t ever let them act like they’re better than you.”

“For sure, dad,” Aiden responded, just wanting to agree with him for the moment, not really thinking about all that right now. The thought of scoring any boy in school does seem pretty awesome, though, since he mentioned it. In this body he’d be the ones always expected to top guys, he suddenly thought, but especially with the way he was feeling right now, he might be fine with that, or more than fine. He could top any guy he wanted with this body, probably. All this muscular energy was going to have to go somewhere, he knew, and it might as well be into sex. And would he be getting into sports now? He’d be working out from now on, right?

“Aiden, I know you were afraid of this all at first, but we sure knocked the sissy right out of you with that formula, didn’t we? How are you feeling now? You can be honest.” his dad said with a cheerful, friendly tone.

“Well” Aiden said, flexing in front of the mirror, trying to figure out how he really felt. “I look in the mirror and I see a real bull of a man. It feels better than I expected. I guess I can’t say I asked for this. But with all this muscle on me and looking and feeling so different, I honestly think I’m really going to come to like it. I can see why you wanted me to do this. Right now, I’m feeling like I should even thank you, dad. I mean, this is crazy, but that’s how I feel. The energy of this muscle is amazing,” Aiden said, flexing again in a double biceps, enjoying the feel of making that muscle pump up. It felt kind of weird that he had just said that to his dad, like he wouldn’t have said it before at all. And yet it felt right. His body felt so different so why wouldn’t he feel totally different, too? He had the right to change his opinion if he wanted to.

“You’ll figure it out in the end, Aiden. They’ve got to weigh you up and take some bloodwork and a few diagnostics. Glad you came around. I’ll be outside waiting for you when you finish up.”

“Thanks, dad. This isn’t so bad. In fact, I think it’s kinda badass.”

“Hell yeah it is,” my dad says. “That’s what I want to hear, Aiden.”

“Well then hell yeah, it’s some badass shit, dad. I look like a total stud now. Really looking forward to seeing what this body can do.”

I give my old man an embrace and pat him on the back as he walks out towards the waiting room.

I Was Just Being Ironic, Bro

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

That’s how it started, you see. With irony. With a joke. A joke Daniel made about grabbing em by the pussy. Jared said it was kinda offensive, man. Daniel doubled down, saying he was just being ironic, explaining how he’d never be that misogynist, obviously.

Jared did end up laughing, just not wanting to be rude more than anything. I mean, they were friends and obviously Daniel didn’t swing that way.

But one joke turned into another joke, days later. And another. And the ways things were spiraling, soon the two roommates – they lived in a shared house of four – were joking about it all the time. Pretending to be alt-right. Pretending because it was fun, it was funny, it was something to do, a way to make fun of guys who acted like that while simultaneously getting to feel what it was like to be that sort of guy themselves.

They were pretty regular guys. But it became funny to pretend they were jock studs, too. “I dare you to work out, bro,” Daniel goes one night. “I fucking dare you. If you can do 100 pushups consecutively, I’ll even let you grab me by the pussy,” Daniel goes, grabbing his own cock and balls through his shorts for emphasis, which wasn’t hard since he was freeballing that night.

“Oh yeah?” Jared said, “Watch this, bro.” He only made it to fifteen, laughing, but they kept up their dare. Jared was building some pipes on those arms. And months later, after a few shots of whiskey, he hit one hundred pushups for the first time in his life.

“Dude, if I’m gonna grab you by the pussy, I want to see you wearing those Old Glory shorts.” Yeah, the shorts Daniel bought to be ironic. Jared knew those.

And he did grab Daniel’s cock and balls through the shorts, holding onto them tight, laughing, squeezing. “Ouch, dude, that fuckin’ hurts,” Daniel said. It was hilarious. They were so drunk.

But then it was Jared’s turn to dare Daniel, saying he should get as pumped as he was, that is if he could ever catch up. “I’m working on 120 pushups, bro, and look at you. Fuckin’ puny. Little Daniel. I dare you, bro. You can grab me by the pussy if you ever catch up.”

Daniel wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. And soon his guns were just as big, if not bigger. Their jokes were becoming almost infamous in the house.

“Drop and give me 20, Daniel. ‘Merica!” “Come on, tiny hands, let’s see if you can beat me at arm-wrestling.” “Aww, so hot, bro. You and that MAGA cap. I bet you’ll be able to score all the pussy you want if you wear that out to the bars.” “Lock her up, lock her up!” Daniel said to Jared when he was drunk off his ass, trying to tie him to his chair with rope. The guys loved horsing around.

Jared and Daniel both had American flag shorts, now. They had flag tank tops, t-shirts, hats, even MAGA caps. They were getting to be pretty buff guys. Acting like right-wing jockbros had been ironic, but now they looked pretty convincing in the part after working out so much and buying the gear they bought. Vocal inflections, ironic at first, now sounded more and more legit as they got their impersonations down pat. Sometimes they’d go out and hit the bars, ham it up, see who they fooled, which was pretty much everybody.

They were good at this. It was fucking funny and fun as hell.

Drunk one night, Daniel found himself confessing to Jared that he thinks it’s really hot when Jared acts like a MAGA guy. “Yeah bro?” Jared said, “I think it’s hot too. Makes me feel hot. It’s like everything I secretly want to be when I’m like this.”

“Yeah bro?” Daniel said, “I think that’s so fucking hot, man. You look great as one of those guys. I almost feel like I could grab you by the pussy for real, bro.”

“Why don’t you do it then, bro,” Jared said, “When we’re home. I fucking dare you, bro. Get those tiny hands on this big cock of mine. Bet you don’t have the balls.”

But turned out Daniel did have the balls, and when he took Jared’s cock in his mouth behind that locked bedroom door, all Jared could say was, “Fuck, bro. MAGA, bro. That’s so fuckin’ hot, bro,” before he came, five minutes later, flooding Daniel’s mouth with white hot cum.

The New Frat: Part 1

--- Original author: newyoutf ---

“Ah, Chris…”, Todd bemoaned, “it looks like they’ve sent shoes instead of the costume pieces…”

“I don’t get it…”, Chris rummaged through the box, hoping to find any clothing. He held up the shipping invoice to see it matched his order: “New You Industries - Assorted Frat Boy - Quantity x 3 - $120″.

“The invoice is right, but this isn’t what I expected?”, Chris sighed.

“What do you mean, ‘what you expected’…”

“Well… the description didn’t technically say they were full costumes. It was listed as one-size-fits-all and had some cheezy description about feeling like a real frat bro or something. I thought that meant they were costumes… Sorry…”

“Look… We got an invites to this thing, so, let’s just use what we’ve got now, if the shoes fit okay then we can use those too,”, Todd replied as he scanned his eyes along the labels pasted to the shoe boxes within the larger shipping box, “Flip-flops, boat shoes… and slides! These are fratty, Chris, so look on the bright side! You check these out and try to find something to wear, I need to shower before James gets back.”

Todd was adamant to at least attempt to finalise the frat bro costumes. The idea was originally that of the third roommate, James. A simple and safe enough concept, likely to get a little laugh here and there at the party being held on their colleges campus.

“You’re right, James will be back soon and we can help each other see what looks douchiest”, Chris said with a laugh.

As Todd swayed into the bathroom, Chris picked up the box and moved it into his bedroom. Inside, he opened his wardrobe along with the large cardboard container and proceeded to give the contents a closer look. Three individual shoe boxes sat inside the larger box with generic labels “flip-flops”, “slides” and “boat shoes”.

“Todd’s right, these might actually work… if they fit…”, Chris thought to himself as he picked the box of slides out removed the rubber footwear.

He tossed the slides to the floor, noticing immediately there was no possibility of them being a good fit. The rubber sandals looked practically massive next to his feet. For good measure, he slipped his feet into them and turned the shoe box box in his hands to find the size

“Size 13?! Way too big…”, Chris thought, “They feel like they’re going to fall straight o- ooooooooooofffffff!”, Chris hunched over with a yell as the slides blasted his body with an invisible energy. He immediately felt the front of his shorts, fearing he’d cum into them, only to feel that they were perfectly dry. Chris growled as he began to stretch taller, watching in horror and lust as his lengthening legs and torso made the floor move further away. Chris shuddered at the sight of his pale, white skin becoming bronzer as he stretched taller, leaving him with the deep tan of someone who spends plenty of time in the sunshine. He could feel his arms elongating, stretching further as they grew in proportion. Soon, the 5′7″ Chris was standing at a proud 6′3″.

The toes on his size 8 feet felt as though they were being pulled and pushed from both the inside and out as they began to slowly lengthen. The soles slithered out longer and wider, pushing toward the back and front of the rubber. Chris could feel the strap begin to grip around around the sides and tops of his feet as the entire foot expanded. Hairier toes jutted out further and further from under the strap as they reshaped into long, thick digits. “H- holy shit!”, Chris’ cock throbbed as the feet finished filling the slides.

Impatient for their turn, Chris’ calves began to bloat outward as thick hair spread across his entire legs. He could feel the tiny muscles swelling and growing, forcing him to grip the corner of the wall as he convulsed in pleasure.

The sound of tears signified the growth of Chris’ thighs. They bulged outward, larger and larger, followed by two huge ass cheeks fattening at the rear. The bottom clothing stood no chance. The hairy legs and ass exploded through the small shorts, tatters of denim and cotton underwear falling to the ground.

“Fuuuuuuck!”, Chris screamed in bliss as his exposed cock began to expand. The 6.5 inches twitched up and down as it stretched longer. The shaft pulsed as if were trying to shoot ropes of cum. Longer, thicker pubes flourished around the growing pole while his balls ballooned. The larger balls had their genetics rewritten, just like the rest of Chris, producing thick bro cum and huge amounts of testosterone.

Chris looked at his hairy, muscular lower half in astonishment. He couldn’t believe what was happening, but it turned him on like nothing before. He wrapped his hand around his now 8 inch cock and stroked hard, feeling the head mushrooming outward as the cock arrested its growth at 9 thick inches.

Sweat was pouring down Chris’ unimpressive chest, tingling against his stomach which had begun to throb. He knew what was going to happen now and swiftly pulled his t-shirt over his head. Slowly, two by two, a six pack of abs grew across the flat stomach. He comically puffed his chest out as he felt muscles building and surging forward in his chest. Sensually, two meaty pecs began to appear and swell larger, and larger. Chris was too enraptured to even notice the dusting of hair spreading across the muscles of his formally hairless chest.

Chris wailed as his arms began to swell. Muscles ballooned and spread through his shoulders and biceps. He could feel his shoulders broadening and strength flooding across his back. His forearms gained a covering of hair while they widened and filled out. Chris fingers coiled into a tight fist as his hands began to swell larger. He thumped the wall hard with one hand, orgasming once more, feeling his fingers lengthening dramatically, thickening as well. He held the other hand in front of his eyes where he could see the long, thick instrument spreading larger while hair poked out from the first knuckles.

Chris stifled a loud scream as veins bulged from his neck. It broadened and thickened. He could feel his vocal cords growing, becoming deeper, his entire accent shifting as well. Hair began to unravel across his face, growing longer and longer. Bones reshaped underneath the short beard, bringing the curved face into a straight edged, sharp jawline. Hairs growing along his upper lip tickled his nose while it grew larger to fit the new face. His brow masculinized while his hair grew out into a brown undercut.

He clutched at every part of his body while his personality became more brutish and extroverted. He thrust the air, spraying enormous ropes of jock cum across the floor and tattered remains of his clothing.

Outside the room, Todd had just exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, greeting the third roommate, James, who had arrived home moments ago.

Screams of ecstasy roared down the hall, triggering Todd and James to rush toward the source in Chris’ room.

“Chris, what’s wrong? What’s t- oh my god!”, Todd gasped in surprise at the heaving muscular stud who was continuing to shoot out streams of cum before collapsing backward onto the bed, panting. Todd and James looked to the ground seeing Chris’ tattered clothes littering the floor, damp from cum.

“What the fuck? Who are you? What is going on?!”, James yelled angrily.

The pair got an increasingly better look at the unfamiliar man, noticing how his face seemed to look ever so vaguely familiar to that of their friend.

“Where’s Chris?”

“Right here, bro”, Chris cockily replied, flashing a wink as he approached his stunned roommates…

The New Frat: Part 2

--- Original author: newyoutf ---

“C- Chris? No way… This is some sort of prank right?”, Todd stuttered.

“Not a prank, man! Tried on those slides and now look at me!”, Chris replied, “Guess I don’t need a costume now if I’m the real thing!”

“What slides? What is going on?!”, James yelled, puzzled.

“T- the frat bro costumes we ordered… We just got footwear, but this can’t be real… Wh- where’s Chris? Who are you?”, Todd answered.

“Todd, James, it’s me! You told me ten minutes ago to make the best with what we had for the party tonight!”

Todd’s mouth slackened slightly, no-one else could have heard that conversation…

“You guys should try this shit on too!”, Chris continued enthusiastically as he reached back into the shipping box, “I think these boat shoes might be a good match for you, bro!”

Chris tossed the box containing the boat shoes at a startled Todd, followed by the final box holding the flip-flops towards James.

Todd’s mind raced. If this was really, actually real then he might be able to *become* a frat boy instead of just lusting over them from a distance. Part of him still feared this was an elaborate hoax of some kind, but this was almost certainly Chris, no other explanation made sense. And the thought of actually being what he what desired most was too much to pass up.

“S- So… I put on the shoes, and I became a ‘bro’ or whatever?”, he asked nervously.

“Uh, I’m 99% positive, but only one way to be sure, bro!”

“Todd! You’re not actually believing this right?”, James interrupted.

“James, man, we all know Todd’s crazy for the prep bros, this is his one chance!”, Chris snapped back.

Both of the roommates were stunned, only the real Chris would know about Todd’s admittedly embarrassing predilection for the preppier men on campus.

“O- Okay, I’ll do it…”, Todd began to kick the shoes and socks off his feet while opening the box in his hands and tossing the leather boat shoes to the floor.

“I- uh… s- sure…”, James added while he more cautiously followed.

Todd slipped on the left shoe. It went on with ease being larger than his foot. At the same time James nervously stepped into the flip-flops. He couldn’t believe he’d ever fit into these, the massive slabs made his feet look tiny in comparison. In that moment he thought how crazy he was for falling for whatever joke this was.

“These are like wearing skis! This is ridic-”, James stuttered as he inhaled deeply.

Todd looked at his roommate in surprise just as the right shoe covered his remaining foot. Unimaginable waves of intense pressure and pleasure rocketed up the two men’s legs causing the sounds of moans to fill the room. Todd bucked his hips in the air, “C- Chris! You… urgh…. didn’t mention this p- paaaaart!”

Both men could feel their limbs stretching longer as they grew taller. Backs groaned upward and arms dangled down longer. Todd growled as his 5′9″ frame was stretched into one 6′0″ tall.

James - previously the tallest of the trio - grew slower going from 5′10″ to 6′2″ - a substantial increase, but leaving him to be now the middle height of the group. He staggered forward and tripped over the leather slabs loosely held by his toes, catching himself on his knee as the bones and tendons of his size 9 feet were forced to grow. Sweat rolled down his face to the floor as leant onto his bent knees, watching the exposed feet spreading wider, thicker and longer as they covered the size 13 leather soles completely.

By this stage Todd’s toes were stretching forward within the boat shoes. His heel eased backward while the rest of the sole grew forward. The feet pushed wider, his lengthening toes striking the sides as they filled up the size 12 shoes.

James began muttering senselessly with his lip trembling. All over his skin had darkened to a deep bronze surfers tan. He pulled desperately at the waistband of his pants and freed his hard 6 inch cock. His member quivered with tension as it began to very slowly extend extend longer…

Chris watched on as the mens four legs began to tremble as growth infected them. Thick muscle spread up from their strengthening ankles, wrapping up the back of their calves. James’ legs bulged harder and thicker than Todd’s, violently blowing apart his pants revealing thick, bulging thighs and sturdy, strong calves - all now devoid of hair.

Todd’s shorts, on the other hand, groaned under subtler pressure, tearing and falling away slowly as strong legs emerged from the ruins. Light hair spread across the powerful thighs and reached his pubes, which became tidier, revealing more of the gradually expanding cock.

Todd choked back a loud moan as head of his cock surged in size wildly. He stood panting and shaking as pecs and abs began to press against his shirt, the buttons struggling against the muscle. One by one the buttons popped away, revealing a lean, muscular chest decorated with light hair.

The other friend’s transformation was becoming more dramatic by now. Failing in an attempt to stifle a lustful growl, James collapsed backward onto the side of the bed, feeling abdominals bulge out of his stomach. He placed a hand on his abdomen and felt defined cum gutters chiselling their way out below his new abs. His pecs weren’t far behind as the sensitivity in his nipples rose to unbearable levels, the muscles beneath them surging outward. As his hand brushed along the meaty chest muscles, he felt what little body hair he had dissolving away, showing off his tanned skin and glistening muscles. His small shirt began to warp and tear before exploding under the pressure of the meaty pecs and huge shoulders.

“Fuck yeah, man!”, Chris chimed up, turned on and excited by his friends becoming frat studs like himself. He pawed gently at his own hard cock watching the transformations unfold in front of him.

James wailed, pushing his shoulders back as they expanded even wider. Muscles bulged from them and rippled down his biceps where they swelled even larger. Individual muscles could be seen wriggling and expanding, creating the deeply attractive bulges of muscle seen on other jocks. With the growth spreading down the limbs, hair faded from his inflating forearms. The fingers on his hands stretched outward as they grew longer and thicker alongside his palms. He watched as the digits cracked and flailed becoming intensely long and broad.

The disproportionately enormous hands would provide the world a hint of the massive cock he possessed, now sitting at 8 inches and continuing to swell. He gripped the shaft with his hand and began to stroke.

Todd meanwhile was growling with lust at his own expanding biceps. He gripped his scalp as the changes moved through his head. He could feel his fingers sliding longer through the mop of hair on his head, the hands becoming large and nimble. The hair pushed through the long, tidy fingers, sweeping into a neat, preppy part. He rubbed his face and moaned feeling short spiky stubble where none existed prior. His fingers traced a reshaping facial shape: a sharper jaw and chin, a smaller, cuter nose and ears, a steely-eyed brow.

Both men moaned in acceptance as their personalities were plucked apart and rearranged. Todd staggered, feeling thoughts and memories filling his head: sex, drinking, prep fashion, sex, more sex.

Similar mental changes zapped away at James’ mind. His days would now be consumed by sports, working out, the beach and fucking. Overrun with lust, he angrily stroked his cock as it stretched to its finale of 9 veiny inches. While he thrust desperately he gritted his teeth, feeling them shifting in his mouth. His face creaked and rippled as it shifted into that of a gorgeous, vain, beach-dwelling jock.

The fully transformed James was close to his climax now as he turned to Todd, witnessing his friend clamor and grasp in lust at his own shifting visage. His face was widening and elongating, accomodating a broad and ever more stubbly jaw. He was smiling and moaning, running his hands through his hair as it swept across and lightened a shade. His newly blued eyes fluttered open as he felt his cock surge outward.

“Oh shit, bro!”, James watched lustfully as his friend approached the end of his changes, “Almost… there, man!”.

Todd nodded at James, his mouth hanging open while his cock and balls inflated like balloons - what was once 5 inches minutes ago now pushed beyond 7.

“You ready… bro!”, James gasped loudly.

“I- I’m… r- ready… b- b- broooooooooo!”, with two simultaneous roars, Todd’s cock shot out to 8 long inches and ejected it’s preppy frat boy contents over and over. Similarly, James’ huge cock sprayed stream after stream of his hot jock cum across the floor and up his tanned abs.

“So you guys believe me now?”, Chris chimed in.

“Ha… ha… yeah, man…”, “Ch’yeah, bro…”, the two new additional frat boys replied.

“So, fuck tonight’s party. What do y’all think about throwing our own frat party? A few beers, maybe order some more shit from that site for some friends? What do you think, boys?”, Chris said with a smile as his yanked his phone off the bed and opened it to the website that had started all of this.

James and Todd looked each and smirked, nodding in approval.

“Hell yeah, bro…”

--- Originally posted on 2024-07-03 by breedertfs ---

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

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.

Jonny Get Your Gun

While thrift shopping Jon stumbles upon an old helmet from which he will not walk away the same. Sub to dom army masculinization!

Been a while since I’ve written a military TF and after somehow getting Over There stuck in my head this happened! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Jon and Troy were at the thrift store looking for something cute to wear to a friend’s party this weekend. The couple certainly have established wardrobes to choose from but are looking for something new, something flashy. They’re looking for something that’s just calling out to them. Never wanting to spin their wheels in place they want something to mix it up. Lo and behold as Jon makes his way to the back of the store does he find a hat doing just that, or rather a helmet.

Almost out of place on a dust-covered in the back of the store, rack Jon’s interest is immediately piqued by the army helmet. Nearing it his mind shuffles through thoughts, each one drawing him closer and compelling him to just go ahead and try the helmet on. Camo is chic right now, surely this would be just the kind of quirky experimental look they’re going for. At the very least Jon can’t help but grin at what Troy’s reaction will be when he sees Jon do a little campy salute wearing it.

With a slightly scheming grin Jon’s hands grasp at the helm, ignoring the pleasant warmth as it sits in his fingers as he hoists it onto his head. Heavier than he thought it would be, he thinks before everything around him goes silent. For but a moment he is alone with his thoughts, he hasn’t even enough time to notice that his priorities have immediately realigned before the buzz of the outside world returns. Jon shakes his head presuming that to have been his ears popping as he returns to his business, only briefly struggling to recall what that business was.

He would almost forget the helmet was on his head were it not for the soothing comfort it offers. Scratching his thin chest as he pushes it lower on his head before seeing his boyfriend and lighting up. Jon quickly aways to meet his Troy standing at a rack of tacky clothing that he for some reason he can’t bring himself to care about. He almost laughs as he sees his boyfriend pull out a technicolor blouse, presuming it to be some kind of joke. Forgetting his own plan of using the helmet as a joke he greets his love.

“Troyyy, surely you’re not wearing that yeah?” His boyfriend turns and holds up the certainly eye-catching silk blouse with a sarcastic scoff, “Ugh! I thought it was cute!” He does a brief pose with it and Jon laughs transparently judgmentally. Jon holds for some witty remark on the garment that should well have spilled forth from his ever-clever boyfriend, but none arrives after his boyfriend laughs louder than usual. He rolls his eyes and then looks to his boyfriend shocked that he’s missed something so dreadful on his head.

“Oh you’re one to talk G.I. Jon.” He half smirks as he pokes fun, assuming this is what his boyfriend intended walking up dressed like they’re at some surplus store. For his part Jon looks briefly confused before feeling at his head and remembering his new accessory. He laughs harshly once more, Troy flinches at the volume and looks around hoping no one is disturbed by his boyfriend acting uncharacteristically boorish. “Hey keep it down babe!” Jon swiftly obeys, holding a finger to his mouth only slightly mockingly before forcing a hand onto his boyfriend’s head and ruffling his hair.

Troy jumps back and rapidly sets to righting his pristine hair with a click of his tongue before returning the blouse to the rack, “Surprised you even but that on babe. Surely your hair looks like a nest now under that bowl.” Jon thinks about that for a second, sure that his boyfriend is right, that he should care about how messy his hair would be. After a second he is reminded of just how right the helmet feels and he knows he doesn’t mind whatever after effects there could possibly be. He begins scheming for a way to walk out of here with the helmet as it seems his boyfriend doesn’t seem to appreciate it nearly as much as he does. But Jon needs to have it.

They spend about half an hour longer browsing the aisles, Troy picks out a few things every so often turning to his boyfriend for his takes which come slower and less tactful at each turn. Jon’s mind swims as he feels this should be more enjoyable than it currently is. He briefly looks at some clothes for himself but with each passing minute the idea of him experimenting with clothes feels increasingly alien. Eventually he pulls out his phone and just trails behind his boyfriend, scrolling for any stimulation as he finds the idea of clothes shopping suddenly not only rote but impossibly boring. 

He groans loudly as Troy turns down another rack and his boyfriend turns in absolute shock to find Jon’s face plastered with genuine irritation. “Is everything alright Jon?” Seeing a look of concern on his boyfriend’s face Jon quickly struggles to hide his sour mood, pushing the hat down once more as he apologizes, “Uhh yeah of course, sorry I just read something, uh, on twitter.” Troy, grimaces at the phoned in lie and resolves to hurry up, “Sure sure, we can head out soon. I’ll grab this anddd you can put that helmet back and then we’re gone.”

Jon stands still in shock and Troy’s brows rise at the idea his boyfriend actually intended to keep wearing that stupid looking tin can. The idea is so bizarre to him he doesn’t even know how to respond, in the moment he just does an awkward smile and speaks through his teeth, “Oh, did you um. Want that? helmet?” Jon’s eyes race as he too struggles to find the words racing through his mind, overwhelmed by a level of desire he’s never even neared feeling before the army gear graced his head. Almost like hunger or the need to breathe is the desire for the helmet, his helmet, to stay where it belongs.

Seeing something strange painted on his boyfriend’s face Troy sighs and turns to walk to the counter, “If it’s more than thirty bucks we’re leaving it.” Jon’s heart thrums with excitement as he follows behind his boyfriend. For a brief moment that pings as uncomfortable for the man, surely he should be the one in front right? He shakes it off just as quick as they arrive at the counter, scratching at his hair underneath the helm, unaware as his lengthy curls almost seem shorter underneath, thicker and rigid as it pokes his hand and the helmet.

The cashier quickly rings up Troy’s pile of purchases before turning to see what Jon has brought, seeing the helmet on his head, “Oh, did you want to buy that as well?” Jon wordlessly nods with excitement that the cashier couldn’t miss, he continues, “Pshh, y’know what? That was going to be trash tomorrow so I don’t really mind just letting you have it.” Seeing the needy grin grow into a confident smirk on Jon’s face the cashier’s heart almost flutters as he concludes he made the right choice there. Despite knowing the two are definitely boyfriend’s he can’t help but flirt with Jon, “Consider it kismet, looks good on you.” with a wink. Troy scowls and the cashier quickly apologizes profusely before the two quickly usher themselves out the door.

Troy holds his tongue as they make their way to the car, less than thrilled that the helmet is coming with them. Even less thrilled at the fact that Jon’s gait is clearly shifting after being flirted with, in a manner Troy is quite familiar with. Not usually the jealous type, Troy easily pushes that down but remains on edge as he sees Jon maneuver to the driver side of the car. Holding the keys he honks the car to remind his boyfriend he’s the one driving. Jon scoffs and rolls his eyes before sauntering to the passenger side, deliberating adjusting his crotch as he does so. Troy narrows his eyes and lets loose his held tongue, “Are you just hungry or what Jon!? Can you chill?” Moving his hand from his package Jon raises his arms defensively but before he can answer his stomach indeed growls and he laughs. Taking this as confirmation that his boyfriend’s odd state is just some form of hanger Troy hops in the driver’s seat and starts the car.

Jon can’t help but grimace getting into the passenger’s seat, he knows this is his boyfriend’s car and that he doesn’t even like driving. But something just feels emasculating about this current situation. Try as he might, it's just bothering him, like a buzz in the back of his mind that something is wrong. Agreeing with Troy’s appraisal that he must just be ravished he reclines his chair as far back as it goes and shifts the helmet to cover his face. He can’t even hear as Troy chides him for doing so while driving, nor the playful judgment at how that helmet must stink. Instead he relishes the familiarity in its scent.

Eyes on the road Troy can’t see how Jon’s hair has changed in a manner totally unexpected. Rather than disheveling the long wavy curls as should have happened, his hair has completely changed to a look he would never be caught dead in, not quite a buzz or high and tight; his boyfriend is now sporting something jarringly jockish. Not only that but as he takes deep seemingly sleepish breaths of his helmet his chest rises higher, stretches wider than ever before, the hem of his shirt inching higher and exposing a waist not quite as thin as either man would have expected. Hearing snoring Troy steals a glance of the midriff exposed and blushes as he sees not only the barest hint of a treasure trail rising above the waist but that his bulge has returned with a vengeance, pulsing as whatever swift dream Jon has found is clearly more than a little alluring.

Under the helmet Jon isn’t quite asleep, as soon as the helmet covered his face he found himself obsessed with the scent that now bathes him. Something deep, musky, and impossibly familiar. Not quite the locker rooms of his youth, nor the sweaty bacchanals of pride events today. No it is something he knows he has never smelled before but with each breath the sweaty metallic scent imbues the not-quite memories with more reality. It’s at the edge of his mind, the edge of his tongue. He opens his mouth and looses his tongue into the humid breathy air underneath the helm and a memory that never was sears itself into his mind. Lifting weights with men clearly performatively masc, bodies stained with patriotic tattoos, grunts filling the air. Long dark nights in barracks, sweaty bodies grinding silently against each other in bunks.

Half-dreaming of a reality he never experienced and yet knows intimately his true body finds itself awkwardly catching in between his reclined seat and its seatbelt. He shifts as muscle groups never trained strain to grow. His ass hardens as in his mind he can’t help but picture grinding against other men in his cohort and his body responds in kind. Pushing against his seatbelt as it holds him tighter, his cock staining the jock-strap he threw on this morning with pre as his cock grows to push it further than it ever has before. Hearing the concerning sounds of fabric stretching and eventually a deep breathy moan Troy blushes and calls his boyfriend’s name, “Jon?”

Immediately cogent, the flashbacks of a life he hasn’t lived cease and Jon rockets up in his chair, slamming into his taut seatbelt, shooting his helmet into the windshield. “Fuck!” Going flying it thankfully bounces off safely before landing in Troy’s lap as he squints in irritation at his boyfriend. Without pause he stretches and yawns like a foghorn, his hands bumping against the low roof of Troy’s car as they rise higher than his thin arms should allow, “Yeah I could eat. You gonna cook?” Troy tilts his head at the question, both of them obviously knowing that Jon is the cook between the two. 

He pauses for a few seconds waiting for his boyfriend to address this in any form. Saying he doesn’t want to cook, that it’s a joke, anything at all. But after realizing how matter-of-fact Jon was Troy realizes that something is up. Biding his time he goes with something less than confrontational, “Did you want to grab something to eat?” Jon looks over at him in excitement, eyes flitting between his boyfriend and the hat in his lap, “Oooh Yeah! Fuck I’m craving some burgers babe!” 

Troy almost swerves as Jon says this, his boyfriend has been a vegetarian as long as the pair have dated, before even. He again waits for Jon to state this is an odd joke that simply hasn’t landed but the seconds slowly pass and judging by the dumb almost drooling expression on boyfriend’s face it’s clear that Jon is being nothing but genuine. Still driving he glances over to inspect his boyfriend closer and finally begins to pick away at his appearance. He balks at the bizarre haircut, sure that Jon did not have it this morning, nor could he picture a world where he boyfriend would deign to get it as it inches even shorter still. Trailing down to look at his body he sees the seatbelt straining to hold him down, he hears Jon grumble as it almost seems to cut in even tighter. Suddenly muscle that has never graced the chest of his boyfriend begins to rise underneath the belt.

Acting first out of concern Troy asks him, “Babe, I think your seatbelt is a little tight?” Jon guffaws in response, agreeing before undoing it and letting it slam into the window, “huhu you’re so right babe! So are we gonna stop at Micky D’s or what?” Seeing his boyfriend scratch at his pubes and refraining from returning his seatbelt Troy, ever a superstitious type, begins to suspect something sinister and otherworldly occuring and the root of it is more than clear. Clenching his own jaw as he sees Jon’s dumb smile above a jawline not nearly as petite as it should be, he rolls down his own window and prepares for the only recourse he can think of. 

When Jon checks his phone looking for the nearest fast food restaurant, Troy acts. Grabbing the helmet and launching it out the window. Unbuckled Jon drops his phone and launches himself onto his boyfriend, “What the fuck!” The helmet shoots back and crashes against the highway as Troy swerves with the weight of his boyfriend on his lap, heavier than Troy knows him to be. He ignores the harsh litany of swears being shot at him as Jon ambles back to his own seat and stares at the highway behind them. Each insult in his diatribe at Troy sounds crueler than the one before it, darker and almost deeper before he turns back and sulks in his chair. Arms clenched as anger begins to seep into every muscle in his form.

“Can you put your seatbelt back on?” Jon scoffs and ignores him, “Why did you do that?” Troy puffs his cheeks as he tries to think of a reasonable explanation for his actions, knowing that his boyfriend is generally against his superstitions, and certainly not knowing just how consumed his boyfriend had been by the helmet now dented in the dirt behind them. Eyes hidden by a brow higher and deeper than the pretty boy's face should have. Jon barely listens to his boyfriend’s justifications, finding absolutely nothing of note to justify such wanton destruction of something so meaningful, so tantamount to his own being. Troy continues to try and offer meaning, unaware that the damage has already been done in more ways than one.

The rest of the ride home is silent and brief. The boyfriends opt to fend for themselves for dinner. Hiding away from ire he simply can’t bring himself to understand, Troy goes to make himself a sandwich later that night and finds the kitchen in absolute shambles. The floor is littered with packaging from every piece of junk the two men had in the house, he balks as he tries to imagine his usually meek and pompous chef of a boyfriend stomaching the mess that lies at his feet. Almost a dozen egg shells lie tossed into the sink alongside tofacon that was clearly spit out and discarded after a single bite. 

Troy puts off his dinner to clean the mess made by his boyfriend. He knows it’s unlike Jon to leave a mess like this, or, he racks his brain to remember just how neat his boyfriend is supposed to be and struggles to really come to a conclusion. Soon enough he is completely overcome with a headache, one that grows with intensity as he tries to remember aspects of Jon. Though usually the human mind is skilled at holding contradictions Troy is struck with a migraine as two paradoxical images of his boyfriend come to mind.

The former the one he swears to be true. He remembers him at university, always going out of his way to speak up in class. Eager to go above and beyond. Showy but never too ostentatious. Anyone would describe him as kind and caring. Nothing like the man who jumped on top of him while he was driving. The Jon he knows would never go this long without checking in, especially after they had such a spat as they did. Nor would he leave half eaten tofu on the counter. Ugh but such is the sticking point, would he? He certainly has now. Troy scours his memory once more for another instance of indecency. His mind latches onto something, it is just like when they first moved in together! Right after Jonny finished his tour. What? Troy clenches at his head as it feels like a metaphysical ice pick just stabbed into his mind.

He screams and even more distress arrives after Jonny doesn’t even come to check on him. Troy hasn’t the prescience to care all too much at the moment as he feels but seconds away from passing out altogether. He barely gets up to his feet before stumbling down the hall to their bedroom. The room is filled with a musk that Troy doesn’t even have the prescience to notice. Seeing the man on his bed his vision blurs as the massive body is juxtaposed in his memory. Arms that hadn’t enough muscle to lift a cinder block fade before the powerful biceps in front of him. He moans as aftershocks of his migraine arrive before he collapses onto the bed, unconsciousness swiftly arriving as he feels the massive arms immediately encompass him.

He awakens completely entrapped in biceps that are larger than his own legs. Jonny’s new arms hold him tight to his sweat covered chest as Troy struggles to even have mobility to take a deep breath. “J- Jonny!” He chokes out before squirming around in Jonny’s iron grip, finding it easier than it should be as his torso is slicked by the inhuman amount of sweat drenching him. Troy tries to push off foolishly as his hands find no purchase. Changing strategies he instead slips out underneath as Jonny starts to stir, his face coming awfully close to a soaking wet package far larger than it should be. He sees tattoos stained across his boyfriend’s body. Ones that he wouldn’t in a thousand years imagine his boyfriend getting. Though as he does indeed imagine he finds he clearly remembers Jonny telling him about his plans to get each and every one.

Jonny awakens with a loud yawn, stretching as his whole form lengthens to its final height. Legs truly as thick as tree trucks hang off his bed while his arms raise high above their headboard before moving elsewhere to scratch the dense bushes in his pits and pubes. Troy pointedly looks away from the morning wood bobbing in the air between them as he desperately awaits for some sense of normalcy to return to his life. Finishing his morning ritual of feeling himself up and scratching at every itch that arises Jonny speaks up, his voice a harsh and raspy baritone that forces all, especially Troy, to pay attention, “Mornin’ babe. Yo can you make me some food while I get a morning pump on?” 

Troy is torn between nodding enthusiastically and fleeing for help, causing him to stand motionlessly in place. His mind is made up as Jonny stands suddenly a foot taller than him and reaches to pull him close once more, forcing his head into his sweaty pecs, inches from the forest of already musty pit hair. Troy struggles not to sharply inhale as Jonny grabs his hair and forces him to make eye contact, he smirks before releasing his boyfriend and heading off to their office, slapping him on the ass before beginning whatever work he sees fit.

This has never been their morning routine but Troy sets out like it is the only reason for his existence. He finds a fridge beyond stocked with everything such a massive trooper could desire. Swiftly preparing a meat filled breakfast Troy has barely any time to himself to even begin to question what has gone on, and when he does so his paranoia and discomfort is replaced with a desire to do nothing but obey his boyfriend. After all, is it not his place to please him? He is the man of their house. This is how it has always been.

Troy loads up a large plate to bring directly to his boyfriend, only pausing to tidy up his own appearance. He pulls an apron, one once monogrammed with a J, tight to highlight his slight curves as he knocks on their office door. He is washed with a rush of musk and sweat as if he were walking into a rainforest. Where there were once desks and bookshelves there are reams of free weights and other gym equipment, Troy’s head twitches before he has no problem at all, the room obviously is as it always has been. As it always will be, he blushes as he sees Jonny hard at work, his arms already far larger than when he woke up to them around his waist this morning.

He feels his cock stir as he sees Jonny’s pulse with every lift of the weight. The army green of his clothing highlighting every bulging muscle as he continues to exercise it towards perfection. Troy bites his lip as he imagines the things that could be done with that cock, memories of himself topping swiftly erasing as Jonny is so obviously the top it would require a rewrite of reality for it to not be the case. Hanging on the wall is an old helmet that Troy would have sworn he threw against the pavement at 60 miles per hour. His psyche immediately chastises him for the thought, how could he have done that! He knows how much Jonny loves that helmet!

Troy quickly goes to leave the food on a bench out of use before retreating from the room, not waiting for his boyfriend to say thanks. He skips making his own breakfast to instead tidy the kitchen and their living room, somehow already soiled with dirty laundry. He smells his boyfriend coming before he sees him, a trail of post-workout sweat steaming off in his wake as he goes to sit on the couch. Immediately staining it before discarding clothes onto the only recently tidied floor. He turns on the television before patting on his meaty thigh.

His boyfriend, knowing what this means, immediately rushes over to make his acquaintance. Doe eyes inspecting every bulging muscle and pulsing vein across his body. Jonny’s cock clearly begs for post-workout release as the two sit on the couch together. Troy gets to the floor and begins to pull at his boyfriend’s underwear when he hears the massive man click his tongue, “You know babe I’ve been thinking.” Already on the floor Troy waits patiently, his face inches away from the throbbing cock, “You ever wanted to enlist?”

Images of powerful army bodies dance through Troy’s mind. His small figure out of place among them certainly, but with each passing day he could fit in more. Be more. He imagines himself becoming far more than he is, running drills, pumping iron, commanding lesser men. The idea sends butterflies in his stomach as he pictures himself finally being on top, alongside Jonny. It’s barely enough for him to bear as whimpers on the floor in front of his boyfriend. Jonny just smirks and reclines, “Gotta start somewhere.” planning to go grab his favorite helmet off the wall as soon as the pair are done here. There’s always room for more men in the corps, and wouldn’t it be nice to get head from someone else who's fucking huge.

Man Of Your Dreams

Wallflower Dylan is gifted a new psychedelic from his friend. Used to watching frat bros from afar he finds the pill seems to affect far more than his mind.

Intended this to be plot light but so it goes! Probably going to take this week off to avail myself to other authors entering my Viral Transformation Challenge! The next story will likely be my own take on the theme so look forward to that next week alongside those from a litany of other stellar TF writers! Until then! -Occam

Dylan was fairly straight-laced, going into his senior year of university he hadn’t strayed much at all from class besides tagging along with his friend from high school to some of the more boisterous frat parties. Said friend Tony was quite more of a wild child, often invited himself because he was the source of some of the more illicit substances to be found at these parties. He’d invite Dylan whenever he’d need a more sober pair of eyes, namely if he was planning on rolling or otherwise getting high on his own supply. Despite his mild manner, Dylan always hopped on the chance, going to ragers was supposed to be part of the whole college deal right? And besides, he didn’t mind the chance to ogle brazen men he would under normal circumstances be fearful of making eye contact with.

Knowing of his friend’s meek disposition, and repressed hunger for the most vulgar of men, when Tony hears of a crazy new psychedelic on the market he has a feeling Dylan might finally let his hair loose. Reviews say the stuff makes reality feel like a waking dream. Anything seems possible and to your body it might as well be. Steamier sources swear that dreaming about sex on the stuff is even better than the real thing. Tony, never concerned about side effects of his material, gets straight to hitting up the usual channels to see what he can get and is able to scrounge up a single pill of the stuff. He wonders if he should try it out himself first before deciding he owes his friend at least first dibs.

Dylan is floored at how quickly he agreed to taking the pill. After initially being standoffish at Tony’s suggestion that he use it to fuck frat bros in his mind, once his friend started explaining what he’s heard Dylan couldn’t pass up the opportunity to really live out his fantasy. He’s not going to outgrow being a wallflower, nor is at all confident that any of the performatively masculine men would fuck him. Staring at the pill the only thing holding him back is Tony’s vapid instructions. ‘Just have a blast dude, fuck your way through those bros hah!’ Dylan’s asking about the side effects falls on deaf ears as Tony just crassly humps the air to try to convince his friend to go out on a limb. Despite his qualms and fears, and the lack of confidence inspired by Tony’s actions, Dylan feels sure that his friend wouldn’t give him something actually potentially dangerous.

Holding tight to that misplaced confidence, as soon as Tony departs Dylan pours himself a glass of water and chokes the pill down. The small tablet leaves a metallic taste in his mouth, quickly hidden by the copious amount of saliva and bile starting to rise in the back of his throat as he immediately feels the urge to vomit. Man of will despite appearances, he keeps it down and just as soon scowls as he thinks about the lack of preparation offered by his friend and prepares to tear into Tony as soon as the trip is over. Standing up he feels the room spinning around and murmurs in shock, “su- surely it’s shouldn- work this… fas-” He stumbles over to his bed and falls face down as he feels his body growing sweaty.

Before his well-practiced anxiety response can rise his mind is flooded with every pleasant hormone it’s able to produce. Every muscle in his body tenses and he feels his cock struggle to force itself erect in the awkward position he’s fallen in. Dylan moans as every sensation sends signals so intense and potent that his mind can barely maintain consciousness. Indeed he finds himself struggling to even hold his eyes open as his eyelids grow weighty. Even perfunctory bodily functions feel erotic as he begins to fade, the burning of cold air in his stretching lungs, the sound of his own heartbeat and the warmth of blood coursing through his veins. Drool immediately pools under his head as he crests into a stuporous induced unconsciousness, far too unprepared for what awaits him in his trip, and the new world he is to encounter afterwards.

Dylan is sitting in a chair across from a man he knows too well and not at all. Face to face with Ben Harrington, president of Beta Delta Alpha, Dylan has to push down the immediate rush of fear. Taking a breath he reminds himself that this is a dream, one that Tony swears he should have pretty lucid control over. As the president stands opposed, leaning on nothing he flexes his arms and the pastel button up Dylan usually sees him clad in changes into a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. He smirks as he pushes sunglasses up his face and speaks in a tone intoxicated, under the influence of nothing but Dylan himself. His raspy voice sends a shiver down the meek man’s spine as he feels himself unable to retreat, “So, uhh, Dylan is it?” 

Approaching enough to touch him, Ben puts an arm over Dylan’s shoulder, exposing his clearly unwashed pit. Dylan takes a deep breath and forces his eyes closed from the burning over-stimulation of this man baring down on him. Still, from the sticky breath blowing across the face it's clear he is continuing to inch even closer, “You want me do you?” Dylan gulps as the man gets even closer, Ben’s lips almost touching his own, “Or do you just want to be me?” This takes Dylan out of it as he steps back away from the imposing man. Eyes opening he tries to manipulate the scene as Tony implied he should be able to. The Ben of his mind tilts his head and tsks, “‘Fraid you’re not the one in charge here after all.”

Ben closes the gap once more and throws his arm around the easily manhandled Dylan pulling his body against his own sweat stained form. He smirks and leans in directly to whisper something into the dreamer’s ear, “and if you do really wanna fuck me, well. You’re gonna have to become something more my type. Yeah?” Dylan blinks in surprise, he’s heard of bad trips and the like but something seems decidedly wrong here. Before he’s able to come to any cogent conclusion the dream Ben reaches down his free hand into Dylan’s pants. His sweaty hand instantly wraps around the smaller man’s balls and squeeze. Dylan hasn’t a chance to scream in shock he feels himself lose control. Of his body, his mind, and the world around him as he begins to fall back.

He’s humping the air as he’s falling into an abyss. He doesn’t feel the fear that this descent should evoke. Usually nightmares that turn this way immediately blast him back to consciousness, instead it fills him with adrenaline that only heightens the delight coursing out from his cock. Sure that he’s now laying face down in a pool of his own semen in the real world, Dylan does what he can to focus on the pleasure as intended. 

The sound of wind tearing past him makes him unable to hear his moaning screams as his clothes are shredded by the searing gale. Rapt in delight, the blaring gusts begin to slow. Air caresses him like a full body hug and suddenly he is deposited onto soft ground. Dylan doesn’t quite repose as his body continues convulsing. Cum begins to sprinkle down on him from the plethora of loads released during his descent and he finally finds wherewithal to paw at his crotch. Grasping at his balls he finds them unmistakably larger, “Wha?” No longer falling, Dylan opens his eyes and seems to be back in reality.

Dylan awakens and blearily rubs his eyes with clearly semen stained hands. “Oh what the, ugh- Am I awake?” His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the lighting of a room that is decidedly not his bedroom. “Can’t be right?” Shaking the mess off his hands without a second thought he stands to his feet with a grunt and feels his cock bobbing, still impossibly rigid. His hands return to this turgid beacon before they almost happenstance fondle his balls. His sluggish mind struggles with how heavy and large they feel, nothing like the ones he has in reality. He smirks as the last words of Ben snake through his mind- “Become something more my type.” Who’d’ve thunk the president was into horndogs.”

Sniffing the air he begins to inspect the room surrounding him. Dirty clothes litter the floor and he finds a pervasive musk filling the air. Something in the back of his mind itches that there should be a can of axe around somewhere to cover it up, which he ignores for a number of reasons. He should be able to will the room to stop stinking. He certainly wouldn't do so with cheap body spray, and for the life of him he can’t bring himself to want to. Each deep breath of the stink he finds himself growing even hornier. Dylan feels his balls churning as he grasps them, he’s already cum a good number of times and yet he still craves release. 

He imagines the firm ass of a frat brother and leans against his dresser he uncontrollably begins to hump once more. Something flickers at the back of his mind yet again and he rips into an open drawer. Throwing clothes onto the pile of dirtied garments already littering the floor, Dylan removes a fleshlight which he proceeds to make exuberant use of. No time for his mind to question why he’s suddenly a top as his cock fills the sex toy more with every grunting thrust. 

Pubes scratch against his thumb as his crotch shifts into one that would instantly render a razor unusable. Likewise hair that has never even had to be controlled on his ass begins to thicken, growing itchy as a true jungle of curls begins to flourish on both sides of his waist. Soon enough his cock grows large enough that the toy is rendered unusable, with a furrowed brow and ungrateful grunt he tosses it to his room leaving it dripping on the floor as he somehow remains just as sexually unfulfilled as when he began, “Fuck I need the real thing…”

The real thing not present Dylan looks down at his cock and gasps as he sees what has become of his package. He doesn’t have a ton of sex but he usually keeps it clean and pretty hairless down there just for his own sake. Beyond the forest of pubes thick enough to get his hand stuck in, he covers his mouth in shock as he sees a veiny cock larger than he’s ever seen on a man with the low hanging massive balls to match. He does his best to focus up on anything besides how horny he is, but as pre continues to trickle from his hardened cock that becomes increasingly difficult. He bites his lip and looks past his throbbing cock at the floor. If he puts it away perhaps it’ll quiet of its own accord.

Dylan doesn’t pay heed to which clothes are clean or dirty as he throws on whatever best could hide his cock from his hands and mind. Nor could he notice just how far cleanliness and decency have fallen as priorities for him as he struggles to fit his package in clearly stained sweatpants. Itching at his waist as his pubes begin creeping up into a treasure trail racing to mee the spreading curls beginning to decorate his chest, his dull awareness finally notices that his whole body has begun changing. His thin arms have clearly put on powerful muscle from his mindless sessions of self-love, veins trailing down them make it difficult for him not to get straight back to masturbating at the thought of his own strength.

Similarly his eyes latch onto a chest that has somehow exploded into pecs without his knowing. Muscle that has never begun to grace his body now jiggles with every movement. He clenches his jaw hard trying to muster willpower not to give into his most basal urges, but as he feels his thighs fill the sweatpants he just threw on he wonders how long he could possibly hold out. His cluttered mind struggles to recall that he is on some kind of psychedelic trip as he fails to remember how long Tony said it would last. Instead swimming through dulling memories the voice of his, er, the frat president speaks up. “Ah god… You’re looking fucking good Big D. How’s your mind hangin’ in there?”

It takes a few moments for the words to sink in before Dylan can reply, “My, unh- mind?” His balls pulse as his eyes dash across the room while he struggles to think. God he’s been struggling to think this whole time. His cock lurches as he’s able to realize that every thought in his mind has been growing increasingly clouded. “Big D?” Dylan can’t help but smirk as his beyond impressive cock strains his sweatpants at being called Big D. He grunts as he tries to shake off the lusty delirium, “Need to chill out. Ugh. Sober up.” He hears the president tsk at him yet again, waiting with bated breath for the mans words his pecs bulge even larger on his chest. “Too late for that bro, just give in. Why have a trip into true unadulterated ecstasy when you can have a lifetime. You can finally be the man of your dreams.” 

As soon as the words of Ben, his president, are spoken in his mind it becomes clear that Big D doesn’t even have the ability to fight back against the ever-present urges that now control his body. He tears off the sweatpants that were barely holding in there as he fully give himself to whatever is calling out for him, the drug, Ben Harrington, whatever. His body bulks beyond measure to become man enough to carry the vulgar package that lies in his crotch. He masturbates into the leg of his sweatpants torn asunder as his torso bulks up, evidence of his endless celebrations as a man of Beta Delta Alpha.

Bestial body hair begins to cover his torso as his beard grows thick and dark. The tangle of hair in his pits thickens and spreads enough that it, nor it’s dominating musk, could ever be hidden. Muscle bulges on his arms large enough to haul kegs and toss out fuckers that get to rowdy at their festivities. Beyond apathetic to manicuring his appearance as he knows he’ll have people lining up at his doorstep regardless of needless things like hygiene or cleanliness he rubs his thick sweat covered thighs and feels how sensitive every inch of his skin has become. 

He smirks as he imagines, recalls rather, how constantly he gets to enjoy the sensual opportunities offered by his new form. He’s got all he needs dangling between his thick thighs and everyone who matters already knows it. The president certainly does. Big D smirks as he thinks of their vacations together on the frat’s dime. He puts his arms behind his head and sniffs his musky pits as he lays in repose, a thick cloud of musky sweat surrounds him as he begins to hear the sound of festivities breaking out on the floor below him and someone’s fervent footsteps racing up the stairs to his den.

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and Big D imagines that some couple is looking for an empty room with urgency. He paws at his crotch excited to join in on their fun. Instead he sees some nervous looking guy who freezes as soon as he sees the behemoth, fear in his eyes. “D-Dylan!? I- That drug, there was something, something s-” He stutters and his hands shake as Big D rolls his eyes and stands almost two heads taller than he should over Tony, one of their frat’s little party drug dealers. Still, he wouldn’t have come up here for no reason. Big D silences him with a finger and slams the door shut behind him. Tony’s brow furrows as he looks around the room in confusion. Even his perpetually drug-addled mind can tell something unreal, something impossible has happened to his friend. “That pill can’t have done this right?” Tony takes nervous breaths and Big D’s musk rapidly fills his lungs, distracting him from whatever petty issue brought him in. Who cares about concern when his small cock is beginning to rise from simply standing near the priapic titan.

Big D’s voice rumbles through Tony, making him weak at the knees, “You wanna have some fun don’t you?” The drug dealer can’t help but nod and swallow the drool pooling in his mouth as the bestial Adonis stands over him, cock dripping ever-ready for another round. Tony isn’t sure if he’s started tripping himself or what, but as he begins making out with the frat bro he finds himself not minding as memories of whoever Dylan was disappear. After all pleasure is the most important thing, and no one is better at spreading heady delight than Big D.

Image is on my other blog: https://beastcz.bdsmlr.com/post/636821813 The young jock didn't know what to expect from the new supplement his bros recommended to him. They swore it gonna blows his mind. And he could see why, his bros looked like they have been on gear for years, and with none of the usual side effects on their junk, if the giant bulges he saw was anything to go by.

He didin't think it would be near this literal, however. It's been a couple of days since he took the unassuming capsule, and he felt amazing. Too amazing. He could feel how his much his usual thoughts were slipping away, pushed deep beneath the onslaught of horniness and drive to get jacked and manly.

He's been cumming three huge load in the past couple of hours alone, and there's no sign of stopping. It's almost like his balls produced more cum than he could get rid off.

Everything felt so sensitive; The muscle filling his rapidly too small clothes, the hair sprouting all over his body, his nose picking up his increasingly intense musk and pheromone, especially his growing cock and balls.

Not that he has the mind to care anymore, what's left of his mind is devoting to experience all this pleasure and satisfying his overwhelming desire to breed.